#I think my mother has gone to bed so I’m going to slink into my own bathroom and maybe throw up a little 👍 I am excited to see what the fuck

[kkodzvken]

right here - dabi x f. reader

“it’s happening again but i don’t give a fuck about your friends i’m right here, here. baby take a look around i’m the only one who hasn’t walked out i’m right here, here.” - chase atlantic, “right here”

touya-nii wants his baby sister all to himself. smut + angst, DARK CONTENT, 18+ MDNI

wc: 5k

warnings: stepcest (reader’s mom and rei are together, and reader calls him nii-san/touya-nii), emotional manipulation + toxic relationship, drug use, mentions of violence + murder, dumbification, infantilization (reader’s a crybaby lol), degradation, unprotected sex w no prep

a/n: the lovely @inkykeiji ‘s touya-nii series is my absolute favorite fanwork i’ve ever read, and it inspired me to write this!! thank u so so much clari for letting me post this and for creating such a beautiful world with your words </3

“Oh, baby, what’s wrong?”

His words startle you, and you jump with a little yelp, dropping your bag onto the ground in surprise. It lands with a loud thump against the shiny hardwood floor, the sound making you flinch again.

He wasn’t supposed to be home yet. Your nii-san was almost never there when you got home from school. He was rarely home before the late hours of the night, well past midnight, when he’d slip into your room without your mother or Rei noticing. Which is why you’d allowed yourself to cry as you walked into the house, why you didn’t bother to wipe away the spidery mascara tears dripping down your face or swipe the snot off your nose. Your stomach coils uncomfortably at the thought of your nii-san seeing you like this, and you duck your head down, sinking onto your knees to retrieve your fallen backpack.

“Princess.” His voice was sterner this time, and it sent a little spike of fear shooting through you. You couldn’t handle his disappointment, not today, not after everything that had happened. “When I ask you a question, I expect an answer.”

“S-sorry, Touya-nii,” you stutter, eyes still trained on the floor. He sighs, a dramatic, overly exaggerated sigh that sends another dagger into your heart. You hear the sounds of the couch creaking as he gets up, the sound of his sock-clad feet treading against the hardwood as he made his way to you. His own knees hit the ground, and a large hand finds its way to your chin, long fingers hooking under your jaw and pressing upwards. You let out an involuntary whine as you’re forced to look up at him. Please don’t be mad, please don’t be mad, please don’t be mad, you think over and over, bracing yourself for his disappointed glare.

But instead, you’re met with concern swimming through his turquoise eyes. Somehow, that hurt even more than his reprimands would have. He was so busy, already so stressed, and now you’d gone and made him even more worried with your stupid crying. Stupid crybaby. Stupid, pathetic crybaby.

The thought triggers a fresh wave of tears, and you instinctively raise your arms to him. With a coo, he wraps his strong arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his body. Your face finds its home in his chest, nose buried in his soft cotton t-shirt. Your body shakes as sob after sob pours out. His hands trace comfortingly over your back, rubbing gentle circles against you as he holds you so tight that it almost hurt. But it doesn’t hurt, could never hurt. Nothing ever hurts when it came to him.

“C’mon baby, talk to me,” he whispers against the crown of your head as he presses soft kisses into your hair. “Nii-san can’t help until he knows what’s wrong, baby.”

You sniffle, and then pull your face out of his grey t-shirt, now stained with your tears and makeup and snot. “’M sorry, nii-san,” you whimper. “Sorry for worrying you. ‘M fine, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

He tuts at that, and pulls you close again. This time, your face buries into the crook of his neck, your nose pressed directly to his skin. You inhale his familiar scent – Marlboros and spicy deodorant and something distinctive that’s so painfully him – and as it floods your nostrils, it helps to calm your breathing a bit. He’s saying something, his voice impossibly low, even lower than usual as he speaks directly into your ear. You force yourself to pay attention to his words. “…always worry about you, princess, you’re my everything. Don’t hide yourself away from me. You know, you make me more worried by not telling me what’s wrong, and you don’t want that, do you? You don’t want to worry your nii-san, right?”

You shake your head furiously – or, at least, as furiously as you can when his strong arms are caging you tightly against his body. It’s enough, though, because he coos and nuzzles into your hair. “Then tell me what’s wrong, baby.”

“It’s stupid,” you mutter against his skin. “I’m just being a crybaby.” You don’t look up, partially because you can’t with how tight he’s holding you, but partially because you didn’t want to see the disappointed expression on his face. “But…my friends. You know, I’ve told you about them. Katsu and Hanta and Eiji and Denki. They…they told me we couldn’t be friends anymore. They said they don’t want to be friends with a stupid baby like me.” Reliving the moment makes your skin crawl, and threatens to make you start crying again, but you blink your eyes to force the tears away and continue. “I don’t understand, Touya-nii! Just yesterday, they walked me home, and everything was fine! And now they hate me! I’m... I-I’m just…” The dam in your chest bursts, and the tears that you were trying so hard to keep at bay erupt at full force.

But your nii-san is there, with his arms wrapped tight around you and his warmth enveloping you. By this point, you’re completely in his lap, your thighs straddling him. You can’t deny that being this close to him affects you, like it always does. The combination of your already fragmented emotional state, paired with his hands that have now snuck under your shirt and weight of his clothed cock pressing against your core, make you desperate. Without realizing it, you’re rocking your hips, chasing bliss in one of the only ways that you know how to.

His warm hands grip at your waist and squeeze. The pain makes you gasp and still your movements, and you look up at him. Your wide eyes, sparkling with unshed tears, meet the blue flames of his own irises. His blown-out pupils cover most of his eyes, but you can see the ring of turquoise that surrounds them, that beautiful cerulean sea that you adore so much. Your heart pangs, and for a second you wish that he’d stop with the drugs and let you see those pretty aqua pools more often. But you catch yourself before you can get carried away. Nii-san knows best, after all. Who are you to question him?

You’re just a stupid baby, like your friends said. You suppose that they’re your ex-friends now, although the thought sends another sob wracking through your body. Touya’s eyes don’t leave yours, and he swipes away at your tears with one of his long fingers. “We’re not fucking right now, baby. You’re too emotional. C’mon, let’s go to bed.”

He gently repositions you in his arms so that he can carry you, and then he stands up and walks towards the stairs. You just let him, too dazed to say anything. Touya-nii? Turning down a chance to fuck? What has gotten into him? It’s so out of character that it leaves you dumb and confused. He walks up the grand staircase and across the plush carpeted hallway that leads to his room, easily transferring your weight to one arm so that he can push the door open. He gently lays you onto his plush mattress, and you expect him to climb in with you, but he walks towards his dresser and opens the second shelf from the bottom.

Your heart sinks, but you try and ignore it. Touya-nii knows best. Touya-nii knows best. Touya-nii always, always knows what’s best. He rifles through the various bottles and baggies that he keeps in that drawer before pulling out a little orange bottle filled with blue and white capsules. Wordlessly, he shakes a few out onto his palm before tossing them into his mouth and swallowing them dry. He’s probably used to it, with the way that he swallows more drugs than actual food these days.

He slinks back to the bed and plops down next to you, the weight of his body slightly launching you up. You shriek, and he chuckles. You try to shoot him a glare, but your nii-san is just so pretty when he’s smiling that you can’t help but giggle along. He extends a finger and curls it in a “come hither” motion, and you obey, scooting yourself towards him and nestling into his familiar warmth.

“Your friends are stupid,” he says. It makes you flinch. You had almost forgotten about the reason you were so upset – Touya always made you smile, always took the weight off your shoulders and made you forget about everything that was wrong. But his words are a harsh reminder, and everything comes tumbling down once again.

He notices the shift in you – always so perceptive, always so attentive – and presses a kiss to your forehead. You tilt your head up, desperate for the warmth of his lips against your own, desperate for him to touch you and take the pain away, but he shifts away. “Listen to me first,” he says sternly, and you nod, ever the obedient little puppy.

“Your friends are stupid,” he continues. “They’re stupid, and if they don’t realize your worth, that’s their loss, baby.” One of his hands comes up to cup your face, titling your chin so that he can gaze directly into your eyes. It’s far too soon for the oxys to have taken effect already, but you could swear that his pupils are even bigger than they were before. His eyes feel like an abyss, like black holes, sucking you in. You don’t think that you could ever escape – you don’t ever want to escape. “They think that you’re a dumb baby? They think that you’re too weak and stupid? They’re idiots. You’re my baby, and you’re perfect just the way you are.”

His words are like a fire, and it burns away some of the ice that formed in your chest after you’d spoken to your friends. Still, your pain doesn’t disappear quite so easily. Your little hands clutch his shirt and tug. “B-but I love them, nii-san. I don’t want them to think I’m dumb.”

Touya’s eyes flash dangerously, and your stomach twists. You don’t know what you did wrong, but you’re terrified that you made him mad, that he’ll throw harsh words or blows at you. Or, even worse, that he’ll push you away and leave. But the anger disappears as quickly as it came, and you try to tell yourself that you just imagined it. “I don’t give a fuck about your friends. You don’t need to love them, princess. You don’t need to love anyone else.” The hand that was cupping your face moves down to your chest, and you think that he’s finally going to touch you like you want him to and make you feel good. But instead, he taps at the space between your breasts, his large finger thumping against the spot on your ribs that shields your heart. “This little heart? Princess, you don’t need to give it to anyone but me. I’ll take care of your heart.”

You furrow your brow. Touya has always been protective, has always insisted that you don’t need anyone but him, but this still leaves a sour taste in your mouth. “Touya-nii,” you start to say, but he cuts you off.

“This isn’t the first time this has happened, has it, angel?” His words are just leaving you more confused, and you open your mouth to say so, but his hand shoots out and squishes your cheeks like a fish, effectively silencing you. It hurts, with how tight he’s squeezing you, but you can’t deny that the warmth of his hand is comforting. “Everyone’s left. Your dad left. Your mom’s never around. Those girls you used to hang around with, they don’t talk to you anymore. All of my siblings,” he says, spitting the word with so much venom that you recoil, “can’t stand you. And now these boys. Baby, take a look around. I’m the only one that hasn’t walked out.”  

His words hurt. They hurt because they’re true, because you scramble to find a single example of someone who love who hasn’t left you, and you can’t. You can’t. Your nii-san is the only one who’s stuck around, who’s listened to you cry and comforted you without running away. The only one who hasn’t recoiled at how sensitive you get, the only one who takes care of you and gives you what you need. A fresh wave of tears springs out of your eyes, and you try to bury your face in his chest, try to do anything but stare at the voids that used to be his eyes, but his grip on your face is far too strong.

“What’s wrong with me?” you whimper.

He coos, and releases his bruising grip, choosing to instead cradle your face again. You expect him to give you comfort, to tell you that there’s nothing wrong with you. You open your heart, ready to embrace the warmth of his words.

“You’re dumb,” he says, matter-of-factly, and your face must betray your surprise, because he begins to rub little circles into your cheek. “You’re dumb,” he repeats. “You’re sensitive, and you’re childish, and you wouldn’t survive a single day without someone taking care of you.”

You don’t register exactly when you started crying again, but tears are flowing freely down your cheeks now, running over his fingers that are still moving across your skin. “But,” he continues. “You’re perfect. You’re perfect for me. You’re too much of a god damn brat for anyone else to handle you, but I can handle you. Only I can handle my dumb baby sister. Do you get it?”

He pauses for a second, giving you time to try and absorb his words. The gears in your mind feel like they’re turning painfully slowly, and you can tell that he notices your confusion, because he gives you a dry smile. “This is exactly what I’m talking about, angel. You’re so dumb.” He knocks his fist against your skull, far too harshly, and you yelp a little at the pain. “There’s nothing going on up here. You’re so damn sensitive and annoying, nobody else can bear to deal with you. Don’t you see, princess, how lucky you are to have your nii-san?”

You nod. Your foggy brain is beginning to understand his words. “I’m…I’m so lucky to have you, Touya-nii.”

He chuckles, and he leans down, and finally presses a kiss against your lips. It’s chaste, and over far too quickly, no matter how desperately you try to prolong it, He pulls away and laughs at the pout on your face. “See, puppy, you’re so needy. Your nii-san gave you a kiss, but you’re still pouting and whining and asking for more. Don’t you see why nobody else likes you?”

You nod again. He’s right, you tell yourself, even though there’s still a piece of your brain that recoils at the idea. It doesn’t make sense, what he’s saying. Your friends never said anything about you being needy before, and your mom’s only gone all the time because she’s working, and, besides, she’s the one who took you and left your dad. It doesn’t make sense, but you push aside the stupid resistant part of your brain. Touya-nii must be right, Touya-nii is always right, and you don’t want to make him mad by being a brat and asking too many questions. You were being so dumb, he had to practically spell it out for you. He’s right. Touya-nii knows best. Touya-nii knows best, Touya-nii always knows best.

You look up at him with your glossy eyes, and he smiles back at you with his empty ones. But you can still see the small ring of turquoise that surrounds the voids, and you latch onto them, dive into those tiny blue-green pools and take respite. “’M sorry for being so needy, nii-san.”

“Oh, baby,” he coos. “My pretty, needy baby. Nii-san’s gonna take care of you, because if it wasn’t for him, who else would? You’d be so lost without your nii-san.”

“So lost,” you parrot back. You want so badly to make him proud, to make him give you more praise and sweet words. “Need you.”

“Fuck yeah you do,” he mutters under his breath, before suddenly pulling your face in close and kissing you. It’s violent, it’s messy, but it’s just what you need. He’s what you need. His teeth sink into your bottom lip, and you cry out as the sensitive flesh breaks. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t care – he just slides his tongue into your mouth, and you can taste your coppery blood on his tongue. Your blood, and the acrid taste of smoke from his Marlboros. It’s not bad though – no, it’s great, because it’s your nii-san and you love him more than words can say. His fingers sink into your hips and push you onto your back, and he climbs over you, teeth leaving little marks all over your soft skin.

“Nii-san,” you gasp, and Touya thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. He breaks away from your neck and revels in the needy whine you let out.

Right now, with your small legs wrapped around his waist and your hands desperately clawing at his shirt, trying to pull him impossibly closer… this gets him higher than any drug ever could. You get him higher than any fucking drug ever could.

You grind your hips against his, and he growls before leaning down to reclaim your lips. It’s not romantic. Nothing about what you have is romantic, despite what the pretty words he whispers into your ears claim. It’s all a means to an end, a deception to get him what he needs. You’re his drug, and he’d rather die than come down. Would rather die than see someone else get their disgusting fingers on what he owns.

Which is why he was so fucking furious yesterday, when he saw you walking home with those four boys that you call your friends. A joke. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so pathetic. You really think those boys have any interest in being just friends with you, any goal in mind besides fucking you?

It was honestly just luck that led to him catching you. Jin was too damn stoned to move, and that idiot Tomura had sent Touya to do the runs instead. He was counting the money that a group of scared-looking college students had handed him, making sure that they weren’t trying to stiff him. He knew they weren’t of course – one look at those kids proved that they were too close to pissing their pants to even think about cheating him – but protocol was protocol, and it was there for a reason. Even if that reason was that Tomura’s big, scary daddy would get mad. He had just tucked the bills into his right pocket and reached into his left for the bottle of little green pills that those kids wanted when he saw you. Or, to be more accurate, he saw you being ogled by four boys, their hands all over you as you walked.

It made him sick. He didn’t even realize that he was clenching his fists until the bottle of pills in his hand exploded and little orange fragments sliced his palm. And even then, he barely registered the pain. It was the startled yelps of those kids that snapped him out of his furious haze, and he just threw the pills and plastic shards in the general direction before turning around and marching towards his car. They were saying something, complaining about something or the other, but he couldn’t fucking care less. His hand was bleeding freely by then, and he stopped before getting into his car – he didn’t care about whatever temper tantrum Tomura would throw about his shitty service, but he did care about his white leather seats. With a frustrated groan, he clawed at the wound with his blunt nails and dug out the bits of embedded plastic, and then pulled the sleeve of his jacket over his palm to staunch the bleeding. It probably should’ve hurt more, but the cocaine and rage flowing through his veins were a hell of a painkiller.

He knew those boys, of course. He knew everyone that you interacted with. He drove around for thirty minutes so they’d all have enough time to get home. His work phone wouldn’t stop ringing, and his fingers were too shaky to silence it, so he just smashed it against the dashboard. It sent more little pieces of glass into his already bleeding hand, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care, he didn’t care, didn’t care about anything besides how fucking furious he was right now. He wasn’t mad at you, of course – you were too dumb to realize otherwise. You probably thought those boys were just nice because they liked you, that they only had innocent intentions when they offered to walk you home. Fuck Jin for rolling when he was supposed to be working, and fuck Tomura for deciding that Touya had to be the one to take his place. Touya picked you up from school every day, and he dropped you off in the morning, and he took you wherever you needed to go. You’d assured him that you’d be fine getting home by yourself today. He assumed that you’d take the bus, which made him antsy, of course – plenty of fucking creeps that could get their hands on you, but at least you’d be in public – but seeing you walk home with that pack of wolves behind you made him see red.

Bakugo Katsuki was his first stop. That blond haired bitch had his disgusting hand thrown over your shoulder, and Touya had half a mind to blow his brains out for that. But, no. He forced himself to stay calm and rational, to control his rage and think about what the best solution would be. If all four of your friends suddenly disappeared, you’d be grief-stricken, and Touya couldn’t have that. He couldn’t have his cute little baby sister wasting her pretty little tears over some brats that just wanted to fuck her, to use her.

Killing was Touya’s go-to way of dealing with inconveniences, but if that wasn’t an option, he was a master at intimidation. With his scarred flesh and maniacal eyes, as well as the pretty little switchblade that he’d carried for years, he painted a menacing picture. He had to ring the doorbell seven fucking times before little Katsu answered, and the brat had tried to give him attitude. All that attitude had melted away within just a few moments, though, and poor little Katsu was left snot-faced and promising that he’d never go near you again. The next three had been much of the same, although they were much more initially scared than the blond kid had been.

It was a shame, really, that Touya didn’t get to actually hurt them. He would’ve loved to sink his switchblade into his flesh, would’ve adored their screams and the tearing of their muscles. A shame, but this was for the better. They’d let you down harsh, and you’d come crying into your nii-san’s arms.

You’re just so damn predictable.

He has every one of your reactions memorized, knows your body like the back of his hand. He knows, when he cups your pretty little face with his large hand, you’ll nuzzle into it. When his thumb runs across the seam of your lips, you’ll open them obediently, pulling his fingers into your mouth and sucking so sweetly.

He knows, because you’ve done it hundreds of times before, but it still feels so fucking good each time. The feel of your tongue swiping across his fingers drives him insane, and he has half a mind to just shove his cock in and fuck your face until you’re crying. But he holds himself back, because you’re pawing at him so cutely, begging for him to fuck you, begging because you need him.

“Please, nii-san,” you babble, your words slurred as they try and push past his fingers. “Need you. Need you so bad, nii-san, need to feel you inside me, please.”

“Be patient,” he says, his hand leaving your mouth and trailing your body. “I need to prep you, or you’ll keep fucking whining about it hurting.”

You shake your head furiously. “I can take it, please!”

He’s so beautiful, your Touya-nii. He looks like a fucking god right now, towering over you, backlit by the hazy yellow of his ceiling light. His fingers leave your body and find his belt instead, and he wastes no time in unbuckling it and shoving his pants down. His cock is already hard and weeping, the prettiest shade of red that you’ve ever seen. He wraps his large hand around it, hissing at the contact, the sound so pretty that it makes your heart sing.

You feel like you’re underwater, like chlorine and salt are filling your nostrils and pooling in your lungs. Your body is buzzing, and you so desperately want to throw caution to the wind and take the edge off. Your fingers are itching to touch yourself. But you know better, know that Touya will be mad. And you want – no, need – to be a good little girl for him. You’ve already given him so much to worry about today, with your whining and crying and babbling.

It’s like he said – you’re a dumb baby, right? That’s what he said, and you know that he’d never lie to you. Nii-san knows best, you remind yourself, chanting it over and over in your head like a prayer. He knows best. He’s the only one you have, and you want so badly to make him proud.

The head of his cock presses against your dripping hole. The feeling makes you flinch, but before you can react and further, he’s already pressing his hips forward. “Fuck!” you exclaim, body stinging at the stretch.

His movement pauses, and he looks down at you with disappointment in his pretty eyes. “C’mon now, princess, you know you’re not supposed to use those bad words.”

Your eyes widen and you instantly backtrack as you realize your mistake. “Sorry, sorry, ‘m sorry! It just felt so good, nii-san, I’m sorry, I just wasn’t thinking!”

He chuckles at that, dipping his head down to nip at your lips with his sharp teeth. “I know, doll,” he whispers against your mouth, his breath tasting like menthol and smoke. “You never think. My dumb baby sister, got no thoughts in that head of yours, huh? No thoughts besides my cock?”

You nod, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Please, Touya-nii. Please fuck me stupid.”

The grin that graces his face is nothing short of sinful. He doesn’t reply with words. Instead, he hooks his massive hands under your knees and pushes up. Your body is like putty in his hands, and you bend at his whims. He folds you up like a doll, your knees pressed up to your chest. You feel so vulnerable, so exposed. But truth be told, you always feel vulnerable around him. You feel like his fiery eyes scorch away at your skin whenever he looks at you, but fuck, you love the burn.

He wastes no time in setting an unrelenting pace, slamming into you so hard that you know your body will be covered in bruises tomorrow morning. Bruises on your inner thighs from his sharp hipbones, bruises on your neck from his teeth. A necklace of purple and blue around your neck in the shape of his fingers. Bruises on your heart from his harsh words, degrading little insults spat against your skin as he fucks into you without mercy. But for every bruise, every insult and painful touch, he gives you the sweetest salve. Pretty little words whispered into your ear, reminders that he loves you, that you’re his.

“My baby,” he grunts, voice shaky from exertion. “Gonna cum. Beg for my cum, my dumb little baby. Fucking beg for it.”

You babble, too far gone for your brain to produce any real thoughts. A jumbled mess of need your cum and please nii-san’s fall past your lips. You can hardly think, but you can always beg for him. Your vision is hazy and your mind is foggy, filled with nothing but thoughts of him, and the feeling of his cock slamming into you, and the heat of his breath against your neck. It hurts, hurts so much, but there’s bliss in the ache.

His fingers slip between your legs and toy with your clit, rubbing harsh circles in time with his thrusts. The combined sensation is too much. With a harsh thrust and squeeze of the hand around your neck, your body explodes. You feel as if you’re in fire, as if there’s electricity coursing through your limbs, burning through your blood and short-circuiting your veins. You cum so hard that it almost hurts, pussy clenching and gushing. Touya lets out a growl, so deep that it makes your stomach flip. He grabs your chin and tilts your face up to meet his, squeezing so hard that the pain cuts through your fucked-out haze and makes you gasp. His lips crash into yours, teeth clacking and tongues swirling as he moans into your mouth and releases. You tremble at the sensation, body overloaded and still buzzing with electricity.

After a few painfully long moments, he shifts and finally lets your legs down. Your muscles scream at the movement. Touya reaches over your body to get a water bottle and press it to your lips, making you tilt your head up and take little sips.

Your arms feel like lead, but you force them to move. They wrap around his waist and tug. Your whines are pitiful, but you’re too tired to be embarrassed. “Snuggles,” you beg, looking up at him with glossy, wide eyes.

“Need to clean you up, doll,” he says. His voice is stern, but there’s a fondness in his expression that warms your heart. You shake your heavy head, trying in vain to drag him closer. He chuckles, dipping down to press an uncharacteristically gentle kiss to your forehead. “God, you really are so fucking needy, aren’t you?”

#again thank u so so much clari !!!! #dabi #dabi x reader smut #dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya #todoroki touya smut #dabi smut #tw: drugs #tw: violence #tw: stepcest #tw: dumbification #tw: infantilization #tw: toxic behavior #dabi x you #tw: emotional manipulation #touya todoroki #dabi x you smut #tw: degradation #my hero academia #my hero x reader #mha smut #mha x reader #bnha #bnha smut #boku no hero academia #bnha x reader #bnha x reader smut #mha x reader smut #touya-nii

[thatmultifandomhoe]

Otherworldly Lovin’

Pairing: Alien Taehyung and Human Reader

Word Count: 6,319

Genre/Rating: NSFW - Alien AU - Friends to Lovers AU - Smut - PWP - Fluff - Rated R

Overview: Not only did he crash land into your yard, but he also crashed right into your heart...among other places.

Warning: oh boy. Alien sex - masturbation - tentacles - light bondage(?) - throat fucking - breast and nipple play - oral sex (fem and tentacle receiving) - Taehyung has the ability to extend his tongue - size kink - Taehyung can change his dick to any size - there’s slime from said tentacles - multiple orgasms - multiple penetration - breeding kink - cream pie - tiddie fucking(it’s a tentacle mushed between boobs having the time of its life if that counts?) - unrealistic sex - hentai, it’s basically hentai - swearing - dirty talk - maybe some sub (fem) and dom (Tae) undertones if you squint - cum play - talk of pregnancy.

Main Master List:

Wish Upon a Star Collaboration Master List

Tagging: @thedarkwinterrose​​ @thatlongspringnight​ @ggukcangetit​ @ezralia-writes​ @hidinginmycupboard @ifntelyinspirit​

©thatmultifandomhoe 2021. Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without permission.

The breeze felt like chilly kisses along your skin during the late-night walk home. It had been fun to see your friends, but as the house party grew in numbers and space became limited, that was your cue to head out before there had been a visit from the men in blue to break it up.  It wasn’t Cara’s first time throwing a party that climbed into the triple digits, and despite being on a first name basis with law enforcement in regards to her wild parties, it wouldn’t be her last party.

Kicking at the gravel, you gathered up the hair off the back of your neck with both hands, leaning back your head to look up at the night sky while still walking. The stars were bright, brighter than diamonds, and not for the first time you found yourself grateful that you had made the decision to move to the outskirts of Arizona. Was it hot? Of course. Were people behind the wheel absolutely insane? Fuck yes. Was it risky living on your own, in the desert, in an area where crime was going up again? Extremely. Maybe it was childish and stupid, but between the sunsets and mother nature’s natural landscape, it was all worth it in your eyes.

By the time you reached the front door, you barely glanced at the ten-foot ditch that was only a few feet from the side of your house as you went inside. The ditch hadn’t always been there, and as you turned the three set of locks behind you, a cooling sensation wrapped around your calf to begin its ascent up your bare leg.

“How was the party?” it asked.

You raised an eyebrow, unphased with having a conversation with the green blob.

“Alright,” you said, holding out a hand for it to jump on to like it usually did. This time, it simply shook its little nub of a head. “I mean, it was nice to hang out with her and have a few drinks, but her house filled up fast.”

“And it’s not good for humans to be surrounded by so many people?”

The corner of your mouth lifted as you walked to the kitchen, feeling him climb up to your knee this time. “I mean, it can be dangerous when there are over a hundred people partying in a small house while intoxicated, a lot of people don’t care though.”

“But you care.”

“I do.”

Opening the cabinet, you pulled out a glass and went to the water cooler to fill it up, dropping in a few ice cubes for that extra chill, trying not to think about how cooling and enticing it felt to have the little alien crawling up your bare leg, nearly reaching your thigh. He was a slow mover but he got around.

It was this little green blob, no taller than a hand, who had been the one to create that lovely ditch in your yard, and had succeeded in scaring the absolute shit out of you at four in the morning when it happened. The last thing you ever expected in the world was for aliens to be real – yes, you had been one of the many who was a non-believer – but Taehyung had been the one to convert you quite quickly.

“You don’t look like an alien,” you said, watching as the green, see-through blob slid around on the kitchen table.

“And what does an alien look like?” it asked.

“A crap ton taller,” you immediately answered, rubbing your eyes to try and see just how it was able to talk, let alone have a voice. You could see the wooden chair that was behind it, and there was nothing inside of it. It was just a blob about the size of a softball, from space.

Apparently, that offended the creature, as it suddenly formed two small nubs – what you assumed to be arms, which were promptly placed on its side - and a nub on top for its head. “Excuse me, I don’t know what it’s like here, but where I come from, it’s extremely rude to point out someone’s size. And I’ll have you know; On my home planet I am quite larger than this.”

You blinked.

Maybe it was because you were still wondering if you were insane to be talking to a green blob claiming to be an alien, but a sudden pang went through your chest at having hurt the little guy. Sighing, your footsteps papped against the tile floor as you pulled out one of the chairs at the table to sit down.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, leaning your cheek in the palm of your left hand to look at it. “You’re right, it was rude of me. Let’s start over. What’s your name?”

It stared up at you. At least, you assumed it was as it turned its body to face you. For a moment, the green blob stood there until finally taking a few steps towards you.

“Taehyung.”

These last few months had been an unforgettable experience, but it would be a lie to say that it hadn’t made life more interesting. The ship he had been flying in was a small metal contraption that could have easily been mistaken as a toy drone. At his request, you had brought it in the house that next morning, and after inspecting it, Taehyung announced it to be completely damaged, but not unfixable. Since then, there had been several times where you stumbled upon him trying to form the arms that he needed to try to patch it up himself, but the crash had forced him into his smaller form for protection, and made it impossible to expand himself the way he needed to.

Only a few days into his stay, you learned that his people – the Flubbers – were similar to that in regards to human height and features. Unlike measly humans, they were able to turn their bodies into this green blob at will, but mostly it was used as a defensive measure to protect themselves or when they were traveling in their small ships. As a result of the crash, Taehyung had trouble returning back to his regular form and with nowhere else to go, he became your new roommate.

But as he began to crawl underneath the fabric of your shorts, the coolness of his body was enticing in more ways than one. Your breath turned shaky as you hurried to reach down and remove him from your thigh.

“How was your night?” You suddenly asked, not wanting him to question why you removed him.

He tilted his body, but settled down in your palms. “I watched more of those shows on your Netflix account.”

“Which ones?”

“Black Butler.”

You gasped, narrowing your eyes at him as you carried him back to your room. “Come on, we were supposed to finish that together.”

“But you were gone, and I wanted to watch it,” Taehyung only remained still for a few more seconds before stretching out himself to begin crawling up your arm.

It was perhaps the weirdest sensation in the world, but it reminded you of the end result of making slime when you were back in college and your roommates dragged you out to the craft events put on by campus. Taehyung was sturdier, more solid, and less gooey. Okay, he wasn’t gooey at all. But as he crawled his way around your arm and shoulder, you were suddenly awfully aware of the fact that you were only wearing a skimpy black tank top with spaghetti straps, allowing him to feel every inch and curve of your body and soak in your body heat. He was naturally cool but he usually warmed up after crawling on your arm for a while.

The fact that he was crawling up to you wasn’t unusual. Tonight however, it was like he was attached to your body and trying to feel every single part of you.

“That’s not nice,” you murmured, shakily inhaling as he slid a tendril-like arm across your neck, his body slinking across your chest. You kicked off your shoes and glanced at your reflection in the full-length mirror. Cheeks flushed, throat bobbing as you swallowed, and you could see that he was forming another limb, stretching it out to wrap around your bicep.

“You said I could watch whatever I wanted. And I wanted to watch Black Butler.” Taehyung said.

In the mirror, you could see his small head glance down, his body suddenly pausing at the discovery that there was something underneath your shirt. He was an alien. Since his arrival, you made sure to get dressed in the bathroom so that he didn’t see certain things.

In addition to that, you hadn’t been entirely sure if he slept or not, so you had created a small bed for him on the floor of your bedroom out of a box you had and thrown in a bunch of soft towels to make it comfortable for him. He seemed to enjoy it since he slid to his bed every night, even tucking himself underneath some of the towels. So not only had you been sharing a room with an alien, but these last few months had been incredibly, touch starving, especially since you were single. It wasn’t like you could suddenly make yourself feel good when Taehyung was right there and would probably ask what you were doing and why.

And now…now you were feeling incredibly horny.

You watched him create another limb, only to close your eyes to feel it softly slide down your sternum, heart racing as it followed the curve of your breast, your pussy clenching around nothing. A second – or was it a third? Maybe a fourth? - limb slipped underneath the shirt to encircle your other breast, but this one was more curious, feeling the size and tightening around the boob when it suddenly ran over your nipple. You stumbled back against the foot-board of the bed until you sat on it, accidentally pressing yourself against the frame and hitting your clit, resulting in an audible gasp.

His limbs suddenly retracted at the sound and before you could stop yourself, you whined at the loss of them only to realize what you had done. He was an alien. You were a human.

“Did I hurt you?” Taehyung asked.

You shook your head, opening your eyes to remove him from where he had wrapped himself around your neck and set him on the bed. Not once did you glance at the mirror, already knowing how flustered you looked. “No, I’m fine.”

“Then what was that sound?”

Damn him for being so curious. “Don’t worry about it. Why don’t you go to bed? I’m going to get dressed.”

Before he could ask another question, you grabbed the spare bed and hurried to the bathroom, taking several deep breaths when certain that you were, in-fact, alone. Not once during these last few months had he touched you like that, and now that he had, you found yourself craving more. It reminded you too much of those hentai videos you occasional stumbled upon while on the hub, and as you hurriedly kicked off your shorts to slip your own hand underneath your panties, you softly moaned when you felt how wet your panties were.

He had created those limbs like it was nothing. Easily curling and wrapping himself around you like second nature, and as you ran your own finger over your clit to take care of yourself, you couldn’t help but imagine what he would have done had you let him crawl up your shorts like he had started to do. Taehyung typically kept himself in the shape of a blob, but you were certain that he would have no issue in filling you up completely.

You pressed yourself further against the wall, another soft moan escaping you. Eyes closed, you were so focused on getting off, that you missed how underneath the doorway, a flat green blob slid its way underneath the door. A limb shaped itself, watching your general direction like it was absorbing your reactions, only to disappear the same way it came when you were satisfied.

A few nights later, you sighed as you shifted under the blankets once again. The fan had done its job and made the bedroom chilly, but you still couldn’t fall asleep. You tried warm milk, listening to instrumental music, counting sheep. Nothing seemed to work.

“You’re not sleeping?” Taehyung asked.

You glanced at the box on the floor, seeing his towels shift as he moved around. He hadn’t spoken about what happened the other night and neither had you, and for that, you were grateful. He was a friend. The last thing you wanted to do was ruin the only friendship he had while he stayed until his ship was fixed.

“Just having a hard time,” you softly answered.

He was quiet for a moment. “Would you like to talk about it?”

A soft chuckle slipped out of your lips and you rolled over, holding a hand out over the edge. In seconds he was wrapping himself around the limb and crawling on to the empty space next to you.

“Do you miss it?” You asked, slipping an arm underneath your head. “Your home? Your friends and family must miss you a lot.”

“Parts of it,” Taehyung admitted. For being a small green blob – or a small green Flubber – he had a deep baritone voice, and when he spoke softly, there was a calming effect that washed over you. It was the type of voice that not only promised protection, but had the power to be absolutely sinful. “There’s my family and friends that I do miss, but it was a strict place. We’re not a species that was intended to survive you see. A long time ago, the very first of my kind had been created here on your planet by someone…a doctor Jacob, Philip, or Robin, someone at least made a mistake, and from that the first Flubber was born. Over the decades we’ve evolved and managed to repopulate ourselves, but even I can’t remember how we managed to leave this planet and end up on our own. Some poor Flubber had probably been somewhere he shouldn’t have been.”

He shifted and for some reason, if he had facial features right at that moment, you could imagine him lifting an eyebrow with the smallest of smirks. “That’s why our society is strict. We were a mistake yes, but we quite like being alive and would rather keep it that way Flubbers are expected to do as they’re told and I wanted to explore. To see other worlds and galaxies. Granted, crash landing in your back yard was not at all part of the plan, or ruining my ship, but things have had an unexpected way of working out. After all, I did go off in search of the unexpected.”

Gently smiling at him, you nodded in agreement, wetting your lips. “Do you think you’ll go back? Once you fix your ship and explore for a while?”

“Good question. Maybe. I’m not entirely sure. The human race is, well…you people are certainly the most complex creatures I have ever met. I could spend a century here and still be trying to understand everything.”

You rolled on to your back with a laugh, feeling him slide his way up onto your stomach, the sensation sending shivers running through your body since the night shirt rose up at some point. Glancing down, Taehyung stretched a limb out, running it along your waist.

“Humans are very complex,” Taehyung repeated, his voice turning husky as if this was affecting him as well. “Complex, but perhaps, the most fascinating of all creatures to exist.”

No words came from you. Once again, your breath was stuck as he extended his other limb and you watched it crawl its way underneath the shirt, this time rubbing itself right over the nipple. Like he had memorized your reaction to it last time. You shakily gasped again, but you didn’t stop him. You could barely think, unable to look away as his body shifted, expanding itself to a larger version of himself.

“I’ve been practicing to regain my normal form,” he said. “It’s been hard, but I believe I can finally go back and stay in it permanently again.”

The two short nubs he had for legs elongated and thickened with his body. No longer was he a small blob, but he was taking on a new shape. One that was leaner, taller than you, and for the first time, he was gaining features that individualized him. The more he changed, the less green and see through he was. Instead, it turned into a very dark green tint on sun kissed skin, with dark brown eyes delicately painted with streaks of green. Looking down at you - like you imagined - a smirk had found its way home on his face while at the same time, a thumb harshly squeezed and rubbed against your nipple again. You moaned and leaned back into the pillow, wanting him, wanting more.

“Like I said before, us Flubbers are very similar to you humans, only we have…something extra.”

“And what’s that?” You forced out; eyes closed as another moan slipped out when his hands grabbed both breasts. He didn’t need to answer though, because as he played with your chest, something wrapped around your leg. It was similar to his limbs that he normally curled along your body, just as cool and thick to the touch. The thing making its way up your thigh was nearly forgotten about when Taehyung suddenly yanked off the shirt you were wearing, not wasting a second to kiss and suck at your breasts.

Chest heaving, it was impossible to think straight. Parts of your body had chills running across them while others felt hotter than the desert. He wasn’t letting up. Once satisfied, Taehyung gave his complete attention to the other, determined to leave behind a purple and wet path of where he had been. Every now and then there was sharp pain, but he was quick to quiet your whimpers by running his tongue over the marks and leaving a sweet kiss. The thing that had been crawling along your leg was at mid-thigh when it tightened, drawing your attention to its existence when suddenly, something else was sliding inside of your shorts.

Your eyes immediately opened and when you looked down, common sense went out the window as you swallowed the saliva building up in your mouth, pussy clenching. The limbs that you were used to seeing were back. One was coming out of the middle of Taehyung’s back, another appeared to be coming from his side, and as you watched, two more were forming and extending themselves. Unlike the rest of his form, they were completely green, nearly see through.

“We call them Extenders,” Taehyung murmured as he left thick kisses on your skin. “Extra limbs to help carry items and with everyday tasks.”

He lifted his head, eyes searching yours as his eyebrow quirked at you. “But I believe the term that you’re more with, is, tentacles.”

Oh. Oh, you were absolutely fucked.

A soft whimper slipped out when the tentacle that had been sneaking its way underneath your shorts purposely rubbed hard over your underwear. Taehyung must have heard it because his grin widened, and his Extenders were moving your legs to cage him against you.

“Usually I’m not like this,” he continued. “I think my body is still adjusting to this planet but thinks I’m back home. During this time of year, this is normally our season when we mate. That’s something you humans don’t have here, do you?”

Despite how much you wanted the tentacle to slip underneath the underwear, it stayed right where it was, content with teasing you. “We do that whenever we want,” you finally answered. Your gaze met Taehyung’s just in time to see his eyes light up in curiosity.

“Really?”

An ache was growing the longer you remained empty, and if the Extender underneath your shorts continued rubbing the way it was, you weren’t going to be lasting much longer. So, without caring about the consequences, you cupped Taehyung’s face and kissed him deeply. The sudden action allowed the tentacles around your legs to loosen just enough for you to wrap them around his hips, pulling him closer to you. Something thick pressed against your pussy, much larger than the other Extenders growing out of him, made both of you groan at the sudden pressure.

“Mate me,” you breathed out in-between kisses. His form was solid like a human, and his hair was soft when you ran your fingers through the locks. “Please Taehyung, please mate with me. I’m begging you.”

For a moment, Taehyung just stared down at you. Even the tentacles that had been sliding along your body paused at your words. It only lasted for that one moment. The corner of his lips curled upwards and the green streaks in his eyes darkened before he kissed you again, pressing himself completely against you.

Taehyung’s normal form may have appeared human, and besides the tentacles that moved on their own and were currently crawling their way up your sides and arms, it seemed that he was able to extend not just them, but every part of his body. The kiss was a frenzy from the start, and when the tentacle finally slipped underneath the underwear like you wanted and began to rub your clit earnestly, butterflies swarmed as your lower belly tightened, the orgasm that had been building was now forced from you.

He abruptly broke the kiss and pushed himself up, his hungry gaze running down the length of your body as you gasped in the fresh air. There was no break for you because he ripped away the remaining clothing and threw your legs over his shoulder to lick at your pussy. You lost track of how many tentacles were wrapping along your body, barely noticing that it wasn’t Taehyung holding you open as he ate like a starved man. Tears pooled at the corner of your eyes from over-stimulation, but when he suckled at your clit and something long entered your pussy, you cried out in pleasure at finally being filled. It was different from the tentacles caressing your body, more tapered and thinner, and when your walls squeezed around it, Taehyung groaned and every vibration sent your nerves into overdrive.

Glancing down at him, you realized that what was inside you was not another tentacle. There were two green Extenders holding your legs in place, and one currently held your wrists together bound above your head as numbers four and five slid along your body. One of them curled around your chest, leaving behind a slippery green slime in its path that felt cool to the touch as the other made its way closer to your face. You dropped your head back down on the pillow and tried to lift your hips to grind against Taehyung’s face, but a harsh suck made you gasp and stop all movement.

The tentacle reached your face, lazily poking your cheek until you rewarded it with undivided attention. Its movements were gentle as it traced the shape of your lips, the slime it left behind smearing across your face elicited a moan from the alien that was on the receiving end of you being turned on. This was one wet dream that you had never thought would become a reality, and now that it was happening, you didn’t want it to stop. Relaxing against the bed, you wet your lips out of habit before opening your mouth. Like you hoped, the tentacle went in to inspect this new place.

It was slippery as you ran your tongue against the tentacle, discovering it had some weight to it, and the slime that it oozed was sweet like the honey you used in teas. Out of curiosity you swallowed around the limb. A strangled groan came from Taehyung, and it twitched within its confines but didn’t try to remove itself. The more you sucked, the more it appeared to lubricate itself, forcing you to alternate every so often.

“Fucking hell,” Taehyung moaned. Sitting on his knees, he gazed down at you with eyes dark enough to appear black, those green streaks bright enough to glow in the dark. He was finally able to see what his tentacles had gotten themselves up to while he had been busy having his own meal, his chin wet as his tongue shrunk back to normal size.

Taehyung stared at you as the tentacle went further in your mouth, his chest heaving when you relaxed yourself to take it even further. All of the tentacles tightened at your actions, but his gaze went to your chest where one Extender had succeeded in wrapping itself around your breasts to squeeze them together and was currently rubbing itself between the small space, creating a slippery mess that made your skin tingle until it was numb.

“Look at you,” Tae murmured, lowering himself back down to your lower half. “You’re a mess darling.” He kissed your hip sweetly, quite the contradiction to everything else as one of his tentacles was in the midst of thrusting itself down your throat. Butterflies fluttered when he kissed his way across your belly, following the path of slime that had been left behind until his lower half was firmly pressed against yours, his hips grinding against yours so his cock rubbed along your lips.

“An absolute, fucking mess.”

You were so used to the jokes and pleasantries from Taehyung that to hear him swear, to call you darling as he rubbed himself against you, to have him use you as he wanted, it made your head spin until there was nothing but pure desire and need on your mind. He had already gotten you to orgasm twice without cumming himself and you still felt empty. He had yet to give you what you really wanted.

He went higher, not stopping until he was leaving wet kisses on your throat. “Such a beautiful, fucking, mess, and we’re not even done. Think you can keep up with me and my friend’s darling?”

The tentacle pulled out of your mouth then, allowing you to sharply inhale as Taehyung wiped away the string of saliva connecting you to it. He was patient as you caught your breath, amusing himself by continuing his kisses up to the back of your ear. Strands of hair were plastered to your forehead and despite everything, you felt more alive than you ever had.

 “More,” you softly whispered, throat a bit sore.

Taehyung softly hummed. Palms trailed up your sides, smearing the slime all over and up on your breasts, not caring that there was a tentacle obsessed with loving them.

“I don’t think you know what you’re asking for,” Taehyung taunted. There was a shift in his hips and this time, the head of his cock was now pressing against your pussy.

You tilted your head, capturing his lips in an open mouth kiss. Out of habit you tried to wrap your arms around his shoulders, but the Extenders tightened around your wrists. He didn’t even try to coax his tongue in your mouth. He slipped in with ease and you groaned when you realized that you tasted yourself on him. His hands settled on your hips and this time, to your pleasure, he pushed his cock in. The stretch stung but after finally having him in like you wanted all along, it satisfied the ache of being empty that had been growing since this all started a few nights ago.

“Fuck,” Taehyung groaned, knuckles turning white from his grip on your hips. “So different. You’re so warm.”

His cock moved but his hips remained pressed and still against yours, drawing your curiosity to look down. Taehyung had pushed himself balls deep, but you felt his dick changing within you. It was growing thicker, longer, and when he pulled back to thrust back in, you gasped as the new ridges that were along his shaft. He was accommodating himself to fit you perfectly. A one true fit that was made just for you.

The green in his eyes flashed, the tentacles still wrapped around your body tightened to hold you in place as Taehyung’s pace picked up, the ridges rubbing against your inner walls with each stroke became more prominent. You closed your eyes as you pressed back against the pillow, and when there was an eager poke at your lips, your mouth simply opened for the tentacle to slip inside. You were just as eager; the honey flavored slime was addicting to the taste. It was only when there was new wiggling pressure on your clit that you looked down, past the tentacle that was fucking your tits with a newfound passion as it tightened around them to make the space smaller, to see that there was a new Extender rubbing itself on your clit. The pressure was enough to make you moan, legs shaking even in Tae’s grip, but as you watched, it appeared that it didn’t plan to stay there very long. With every thrust from Taehyung, your pussy grew slicker, allowing this appendage to nudge its way into your pussy alongside his dick, all while still rubbing against your clit with each thrust.

Your cry was muffled, the stretch almost becoming overwhelming when more tentacles appeared to cover your body in an attempt to soothe and draw your focus away from the pain. Two more latched themselves on your nipples and by some magic he was able to shape them into mouths that pinched and sucked the same way Taehyung had done earlier. Another two appeared in the palms of your hands with similar ridges to his cock, and not wanting you to be too empty, a thinner tentacle slipped inside your mouth as well. You were completely and utterly stuffed, and had lost count of how many of them there were now with all senses on haywire as your nerves felt like lava with his every touch and yet, somehow, something was still missing.

The headboard thumped against the wall as Taehyung went faster, almost erratic as he chased his own high that he had been holding back from. In the darkness of the bedroom, a green light radiated from Taehyung and the Extenders that were wrapped around you, and when his gaze locked on yours, even his eyes took on the faintest glow. It was otherworldly. For a brief moment, everything slowed around the two of you as the tentacles in your mouth suddenly removed themselves. He swooped down to replace his lips where they had been, his kiss sweet and gentle as he cupped the back of your neck.

A chill racked through your body as the tentacles hugged your body, but your mind was focused on the softness of Taehyung’s lips, and how they made your heart flutter. For a split second, he pulled back to press his forehead against yours while murmuring a foreign word. Despite not knowing what he said, you softly hummed and brushed your nose against his, making him smile. He tried to kiss you again but kept breaking out into a smile that you found yourself unable to resist.

It was when he recaptured your lips in a kiss that the glowing grew brighter, lighting up the room completely. A tingling sensation ran through your body, the temperature skyrocketing as beads of sweat dotted along your skin. Taehyung thrusted one last time, his hips hilting against yours as he reached his release filling you with a green tinted substance that also spurted out of the tentacles, coating your body in goo. You would have been grossed out, but the cum that oozed out of his tentacles along with the slime from earlier was cooling to your feverish skin.

You moaned into the kiss, the Extenders that had curled and twisted around your arms suddenly dropped down to the pillows spent and exhausted. Now free, you were able to tangle your fingers through his hair. Neither of you cared how the goo dripped down your wrists or matted itself in his locks when he leaned down to leave several kisses on your cheek among the sweet words of endearment that he whispered along your skin. This gentle and tenderness was reminiscent of the Taehyung you had known while he was still in his blob form.

All of his Extenders had released you from their grip, simply resting themselves on your bodies before Taehyung called them back. You had gone to kiss him once more when his hips pressed further against yours, his dick still inside you as some of his cum spilled out from around him and down your thigh.

“Shit,” Taehyung murmured, glancing down at where the two of you were still connected.

You softly chuckled. “Is mating season usually this messy?”

He looked back up at you, a boxy smile appearing. “Sorry about that. It’s meant to ensure a successful mating, which entails with the female being pregnant by the end of the season. But it’s never been this pleasurable before.”

Even though you had never met a female Flubber in your life, a sense of pride flashed through you. You weren’t his first apparently, but you were the first to make it feel good at least. “Does that mean you have kids back home?”

“No,” he shifted his weight, lifting an arm to shove his fingers through his hair and off his forehead. “I had only come of age five winters ago, and it’s expected that Flubbers who participate for the first time are not likely to have a successful mating. This would have been my sixth attempt.”

“Sixth attempt?” You asked, leaning your head back against the pillow.

Taehyung carefully sat up. He was mindful this time of his dick keeping his cum inside you, the last thing he wanted to do was risk losing another drop. “When there is a successful mating, the two Flubbers then join in unity until their deaths. If they can produce children the first time, then they’ll be able to have another successful pregnancy next season.”

“So, if I get pregnant, you’ll stay?”

The room fell silent. The glow that had been emanating from Taehyung dimmed now that he was no longer caught up in the moment of his orgasm, but you could still see the way he pressed his lips together. One of the tentacles curled around your arm once more, slightly squeezing you in a gentle manner that reminded you of a hug.

You didn’t want Taehyung to go. Even before tonight, you had enjoyed his company greatly, and if he were to leave, who were you going to finish watching Black Butler with? There wouldn’t be anyone who would spend hours asking about what it was like to be human, who offered help around the house, or would tell you stories about what it was like where he was from. Even going to bed wouldn’t be the same without his check ins, wondering if you had enough blankets, a glass of water on the nightstand, and not so casually reminding you that if you scrolled through your phone until three in the morning again, you’d be cranky when having to go to work the next day.

It wouldn’t be home without Taehyung.

“Actually…” his fingers dug into the fleshy bits of your thighs, his thumb moving in circles as it rubbed some of his cum into the skin. “I was hoping that I could stay. Even if you never got pregnant. If…if that’s okay with you of course.”

Not able to really move, you stroked the length of one of the tentacles still on you, watching Taehyung’s body shiver at the touch. “Nothing would make me happier than that Tae.”

His thumb stopped moving, the green streaks in his eyes once again brightening as he leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss. The Extenders came back to life then, each one slipping underneath your body in a tight hug as Taehyung lifted you off the bed when he stood. Your legs squeezed his waist but he merely laughed.

“What are you doing?” You asked when he carried you to the bathroom. With the help of one of his tentacles, the light flickered on.

He lightly nipped at your collarbone. “If you hadn’t noticed yet darling, I am still lodged inside you, and we are covered in various liquids. We are in desperate need of cleaning ourselves.”

Glancing in the mirror behind Taehyung, you were finally able to see the result of tonight’s love fest. The slime had left a clear green tint that had dried down to your skin, and the release of his cum had even gotten in your hair. Tae had not been lucky either and was fairly covered in the goo himself.

“Besides,” he murmured, recapturing your attention as the water from the shower head suddenly turned on. You however, were focused on the way his eyes darkened and his smile curled into a sneaky grin that sent your heart racing. “Like I said earlier, my body is still adjusting and thinks that it’s mating season here. This is not a one-night occurrence my darling.”

One of his tentacles roamed over your chest, paying particular attention to your breasts as Taehyung stepped into the shower, the hot water only seeming to help his Extenders in their movements. At least with a shower, the result of this round of love making would be easier to clean than your stained and ruined bed sheets.

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Feeling Warmth Through Doused Fires (Masky X F!Reader)

Feeling Warmth Through Doused Fires

[Masky/Tim Wright X F!Reader]

[Warnings: murder, language, angst, mentions of death and actual death. Mostly the angst.]

[AN: Another brilliant request from Eris! This was also a Ko-Fi commission! ALSO ALSO this thing is 13K words! This is my longest fic yet! buckle in.]

When are there not stars in your eyes? It’s hard to dim them even when the sun comes up, which is such an odd thing to even admit due to the mud life has made you trudge through.

You are the product of a proxy father and a human mother. To be the Slender Man’s child is your birthright, and so far, you’ve been living up to that birthright with flying colors. As a young one, she had woven you stories of the culture and society your father was a part of and everything he had been up to.

Visions of murder, deals gone sour, and morally grey acts have been threaded into your soul. You grew up thinking that was normal, and by twelve, you had knowledge on things that no child should have ever opened their ears to.

“And then what happened?” You ask your mother, urging her to continue the story.

She giggles like a butterfly ready to take flight and holds your tiny six year old body closer to her. She smells of honey and vanilla. “That group had messed with the wrong people,” she continues, her voice falling deceptively low. “The tall man in the woods-”

“You mean the faerie?” You ask as your eyes sparkle. “The Slender Man?”

Your mother nods, her index finger reaching up to tap your nose. “Yes, exactly that,” she hums. “He sent another group of proxies to handle the mess.”

“Ooooooo they’re in troubleeeeee,” you giggle, still hooked around your mother.

She laughs. “He initiated what is called a ‘proxy hunt’. It’s something only the bad proxies are subject to,” she explains. “It’s important you don’t make mistakes like that, Reader. Do you understand?” She questions with a warm hum as she secures you in her arms, bringing your tired form to your bedroom.

“Got it,” you say in the most serious tone a six year old can muster. “No making the faerie mad.”

“That’s my girl.” Her lips pull up in a grin that rivals the Cheshire cat.

Your father is a proxy. He is tall, unstable, but loves you like the moon loves the tide and the sun loves the earth. To be a proxy is to be closed off and untouchable, but the sound of you running to greet him on the blue moon he visits you and your mother has always been enough to humanize him, if even for a moment. He loves you, his special little girl, with all the grains of sand there are on the earth.

He comes around sparsely, and as you grow older, rarely. It’s not that he doesn’t love you, it’s just that he’s busy and the Slender Man enjoys making his favorites suffer. Every time he sees you, he remarks how much bigger you’ve gotten. He’s more than upset that he can’t be there to watch you grow into a fine young lady.

“You’re late,” you say, eyes narrowed as you look up at the tall, bulky man who stands before you. You take your hand off the doorknob and stand tall as you cross your arms.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” the man apologizes, crouching down to your eye level. “I brought you a present.”

You eye your father carefully, arms relaxing for a moment before noticing the wrapped gift in his hands. “Is…”

“It’s something you’ll like,” he answers, holding the gift out to you. “I promise.”

You narrow your eyes again but take the wrapped present from his hands, shaking it slightly. You hear something rattling around. “Can I open it?” You ask as you attempt to hide your smile.

Your father chuckles. “I don’t think your mother would appreciate it, but yes. Go ahead, open it.”

You relent in the angry front and plop down on the floor, opening the present without any grace as a ‘proper lady’ as your mother would put it. You peel back the brightly colored wrapping paper and then tear into the box. “Oh my gods,” you whisper to yourself in surprise as the stars once again light up in your eyes. It’s an entire art set of fine materials. “Where did you get these?”

Your father shrugs. “That’s for me to know and you to never find out,” he says in a teasing tone.

You push at him before placing the box of expensive art supplies to the side. You can’t help but lunge into your father’s waiting arms.

“I heard you were getting seriously into art from your mother. Doing art for friends? I’m so proud of you!” He laughs and hugs you, his lips pressing to the crown of your head. “Happy twelvth, sweetheart,” he mumbles into your hair. “I love you so, so much.”

You can’t help but cry and hug your father tighter.

For a person who was supposed to be brutal, uncaring, uncouth and simply inhuman, your father had the whole dad thing down when he was around. He never raised his voice to you, was kind and thoughtful in his responses, and you adored how he treated your mother with nothing but love and understanding.

You know that if he wasn’t shackled to a life he had no choice of entering, he would have been one hell of a father.

Your mother, a mentally fragile woman who loves a damn near unattainable man, brings you the news one overcast morning. Her eyes are red and puffy and it looks like she hasn’t been able to stop crying for hours. Her posture is broken but her heart even more so. It’s probably irreparable.

You were sitting at your desk, doing your homework. Tomorrow was Monday, starting the final week of school. It was one of the final essays before you were out for summer break, and then you’d be gearing up for your first year of high school once autumn came.

Earbuds in, you didn’t even hear your mother slink into the doorway of your room. When you finally get the inkling that someone is watching you, you take out one of your earbuds and turn your head. “Mom?” You sound genuinely confused, especially after seeing her rough appearance. “What’s wrong?” You slowly push back in your chair, ready to stand and meet her in the doorway.

“Your-your,” her breath hitches as she leans helplessly in the doorway. “It’s your father,” she manages to rasp out as she begins to slink downwards, her knees buckling.

Your eyes go wide, tears welling in them and blurring your vision as you jump out of your seat and collapse on the floor with your mother. You wrap your arms around her, burying your face into her shoulder as she cradles you in her arms.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so, so sorry,” she wails like a mantra, clutching onto you like she’s afraid to lose you too.

You don’t know how to feel in that direct moment. You loved your father, more a shadow than a real man, but his loss cuts deep and hard. He wanted to show you things “when you’re older” and tell you of the world you were born in. You wanted so badly to learn it all by his hand and his knowledge.

When your mother has finally come to a grounding point where she is no longer choking over her words, she leads you to her bedroom. She moves slowly, as if she’s trying not to remember anything about the man she loved and lost. Her steps are quiet, almost like she’s floating.

You follow her just as quietly. It’s as if you don’t want to disturb the silence that has settled over the two of you. It’s heavy and suffocating, but it’s a blanket shielding you from the reality that someone is gone and never coming back.

Your mother opens her bedroom door and shifts around in her drawers.

Unsure of where you should be and if you’re allowed into the sanctuary that is her room and her space, you wait in the doorway, much like she did when she brought you the bad news. You’re still wiping away tears with the bottoms of your hands and by extension, rubbing your skin raw. Your vision is still bleary, but when your mother finally resurfaces, you don’t even need to be told what it is she’s holding.

In her hands is a mask. It’s dark brown and has a simple face almost reminiscent of a dragon. It’s simple, but elegant. It’s simple, but horrifying. You feel drawn to it.

Your mother weakly smiles and sits down on her bed, patting the open spot for you to sit down.

You do so without question and take your spot next to her, almost on instinct leaning yourself onto her side. You smile softly as she wraps her arm around you, pulling you close.

“It was your father’s,” she says quietly, fingertips gently tracing the mask's face. She then gingerly shifts it onto your lap. “Now it is yours.”

You feel more tears cascade from your eyes as you gaze longingly down at the mask on your lap. “Are you sure?” You shakily question, wondering why she’d want to pass such a beautiful memento down to you so soon.

“It’s your birthright,” she replies, her lips pressing to the side of your head that gives you a love only a devoted mother could.

You didn’t understand what she meant at that moment.

You never saw your first year of high school.

When the summer came, you had bounced back like any child could. Children are plastic. They can bounce back from almost anything, just give them enough time, space, and care. You were no exception.

In truth, after losing your father, you hadn’t found any desire to go to college. Your heart was telling you that a life that was so cookie cutter and parallel to everyone else’s was never in the cards for you. Your blood sung for something different.

Proxies always return to him.

Your mother knew it too. She saw it in your longing gaze as she drove the two of you back home from grocery runs, how your eyes would follow the breeze in the backyard to the woods, how your hands naturally found their way to knives, and how your thoughts transcended what should be humanly possible.

But you’re not human. You never have been. Never will be.

Your mother knew that best. It was only natural that she found contact with the tall man of the woods halfway through the summer of losing your father.

“She’s different, my little girl,” she explained as she gazed up at the imposing, almost immaculate figure. “I don’t think I could ever give her what is expected or needed.” She hates to admit that she’s not good enough for you, but that is the curse of being a born, not turned proxy. Proxies always return to their master, regardless of age, creed, or background.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘What would you have me do?’ He’s only asking as a formality. He knows that you belong to him. Your father had been attempting to gear you up to join. The Slender Man is only finishing what one of his most beloved proxies started.

Your mother shifts uncomfortably, crossing her arms over her chest as a defensive maneuver. She absentmindedly tucks some strands of her hair behind her ear. “I think she needs to be with you,” she mumbles, still not wanting to admit she’s not good enough because she’s human. “I think she needs to be fully immersed in… Whatever it is my husband says you do.”

The Slender Man chuckles deeply. He knows your mother knows what his beloved proxy does, but he lets her feign her ignorance. ‘That’s rich coming from a woman who loves her child more than the land loves the sea,’ he taunts coldly. In truth, it is nothing against her as an individual, but it is everything against her as a human being.

Your mother scoffs and holds her ground. “Will you take her in or not?”

He raises his hand to convey a truce. ‘My apologies.’ He doesn’t mean it. ‘I will. She is my child, afterall-’

“She is NOT your child,” your mother snarls, fully aware she is in the presence of a very temperamental being who could smite her just for thinking wrong.

The Slender Man, in all his mercy, once again holds his hand up as a sign of truce. ‘I understand the loss is still heavy on your heart,’ he begins, voice heavy and almost exhausted to be dealing with human emotional flare ups. ‘I will take her as soon as you are ready to let her go.’

Your mother’s shoulders drop slightly as she comes to the realization that yes, that was a decision she was making. She feels tears well in her eyes, but refuses to blink them away. “Thank you.” She nods to the tall man, then turns on her heels and heads back home, where you lay asleep waiting for her.

The Slender Man watches her leave with curiosity in his gaze. He already knows where he’s going to be placing you. You are not the youngest to fall under his influence, but you are the first in a while. He tends to pluck young adults, not children. And if he did choose children, consider it target practice.

Nothing more.

When your mother tells you that you are leaving her side, you are once again thrown into a plethora of emotions, a maelstrom .A part of you can’t believe she’d just willingly give up on you like that, but another says this is the direction you’re meant to go.

“This isn’t a decision I make lightly, Reader!” She exclaims in budding frustration, her fingers raking through her hair like a tick. “Really, I have no say in the matter!”

“Yes you do!” You cry back. “You’re my mother! How could you just abandon me?” You fight back. You ball your hands in fists. You’re not backing down from her.

Your mother sighs deeply and shakes her head. “I am not prepared for this,” she mumbles. “I do not have the right knowledge to allow you to grow into the person you could be,” she finishes, plopping back onto the wall in the kitchen. She’s exhausted on every facet. Her heart hurts with just how much she loves you.

“What could you not be prepared for?” You seethe. “What on this hunk of rock are you not prepared for?”

Your mother honestly doesn’t know how to answer that. Your father had always been oddly tight lipped about certain aspects of the proxy lifestyle, perhaps out of safety reasons for the two of you. She doesn’t know what you’re going to be thrown into. “I know that it’s rough-”

“Just like that?” You retort, a fire in your eyes that reminds her much too much of her departed husband. “You don’t want me? Is that it?” You finally relent, a crack interrupting your once strong tone.

Your mother falters and comes to your side, holding you in her arms once more. “Of course not,” she murmurs. “Of course not.”

“Then why?” You prod softly with a small sting.

“You are a proxy by blood, that’s all,” she offers as advice, swaying you.

You feel your heart begin to slow from its racing pace. You don’t want to accept that as an answer, but you do just to bring her peace.

You leave your mother’s side near the end of July. Just twelve years old and on the precipice of something no ordinary human could ever even begin to understand.

Your final dinner with her was uncomfortable, but bittersweet at the same time. You and your mother had shared stories, laughs, tears, everything and anything. You know that after this, you probably won’t ever be able to see her again.

Your mother brings you to the woods herself. She holds your hand, a knot in her stomach over seeing you holding your father’s mask followed by a backpack strapped to your still small body as you are about to venture into the unknown. She never thought she’d be losing you so soon.

The Slender Man is never tardy. He pops into your view once you are a safe distance into the forest with splendor - it’s probably to impress you to some degree. He really hasn’t worked with a child in a very long time.

You feel your head go dizzy with static. Your breath hitches and your heart stops. It’s almost intoxicating that you are in the presence of the man who will now have control of your entire life. You look up at him and the stars return to your eyes. Still, as a child-like crutch, you grip onto your mother’s side and hide yourself with her form, terrified of the imposing man that stands tall in front of you.

“It’s okay,” your mother says softly, gently urging you to the man you will now consider your god. “He’s here to help you.”

The Slender Man hums deeply. His voice invades your head like a virus, infecting every thought and feeling until it overtakes you and makes itself home. Curiously, he bends down. He is lit up by the light of the full moon.

You peek out from your mother’s form and gradually find the stones to leave her side - still hesitantly. You take in a deep breath, reminding yourself to be brave, and approach the now bent down figure who sits at eye-level with you. “It’s… It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir,” you say quietly, a childlike innocence making the Slender Man mentally smile. You look at him with fear and curiosity in your eyes.

He chuckles deeply - the sound sends chills down your spine - before holding out a flower to you. It’s small, much like you, and pretty. The petals are free of any damage the bugs might have caused, and the color is absolutely spellbinding. It’s your father’s favorite color, red, though it’s not a rose. ‘For you, my dear.’

You allow a sheepish smile to spread onto your lips before you take the flower from his waiting hand, and sniff it. It’s so sweet and familiar. You recognize the scent as something your father carried on his person. The thought makes you tear up.

His large, clawed hand comes up to your face before his thumb gently wipes the tears away. ‘It’s time to go. Say goodbye, dear.’ He nods for you to bid a farewell to your mother, who is trying her hardest to not break in front of you.

You don’t hesitate in turning around and running into her open arms, face crashing into her chest as you take in her familiar scent for a final time.

“I love you,” she whispers, peppering your face and crown with kisses. “Never ever forget that.” She holds you tighter, and you hold back just as tight.

When it’s time to go, you leave her warmth to a cold that burns bright.

It wraps around your hand, and takes you to a diner.

“Where are we?” You ask as you take a gander at your surroundings. You see that you’re still largely obscured in darkness, but the artificial lights of a lit up IHOP grant you that soft, almost annoying light that disturbs the night.

He lets go of your hand. ‘Head inside and you will meet your group.’

You look up at the Slender Man curiosity. “My group?” You quizzically ask, still looking up at the tall man.

He nods and then puts his hand on your back, gently nudging you to cross the parking lot, almost as if he’s nonverbally telling you that they are waiting for you. “Like a family. A new family.”

You feel a little nervous, but nod your head and decide to be strong - or whatever you think your father might have done in a similar situation. “Thank you for your time,” you say, remembering your mother and father both stressing how important it was to show reverence to those in higher positions than you.

The Slender Man’s wolfish smile floods your mind’s eye, gently, and warmly before he nods once more for you to go. Like a proud father, he watches you take tentative first steps into an entirely new future. Only when you open the doors of the establishment does he mentally tell his proxies that wait inside of the newest member’s arrival, and then zip out of existence as you know it.

Tim waits at the diner with a small frown on his face. He’s not entirely pleased with the news his boss has given him and it shows. He's drinking far too often from his coffee cup for his group’s liking.

“Ease up,” Brian huffs as he pushes Tim’s coffee cup back to the table and away from his lips. “You’re gonna be bouncing off the walls.”

Tim rolls his eyes and picks up his coffee cup much to his right hand’s chagrin. “I’m handling it how I want to,” he mumbles into the lip of the coffee cup.

“Come on, it’s not the end of the world-”

“It’s a child,” Tim cuts him off. “The youngest person we had prior to us was Toby, and he’s-”

“I’m w-what?” Toby hums as he comes back to the table, sliding comfortably back into his seat.

“He’s bitching about the kid we’re getting,” Brian answers as he absentmindedly stirs his drink with his straw.

“Is he n-now?” Toby chuckles. “I’m s-surprised you’re n-not more w-w-w-worried, to b-be completely h-h-honest,” he breathes out in a teasing tone, lightly elbowing Brian who smiles for a moment in response.

“I fought my demons on this issue and won,” Brian smirks. “Masky here clearly hasn’t.”

Tim rolls his chocolate colored eyes once more and leans back into his seat, looking at the fourth and empty chair that will eventually be filled by you. “I honestly don’t think you two are worried enough,” he grumbles under his breath before he crosses his arms over his chest.

Snickers ring out from his two companions. Clearly, they find amusement in his worry. Tim almost hates to admit how worried he is.

You’re not just a runt, you’re a child. A literal child. Something about having you in this life feels morally and ethically wrong, and he knows that. A part of him is scared you’ll just… Fold.

Brian has had his reservations about the situation, but overall, he has made peace with it - for now. He’s not too thrilled over the Slender Man putting a child in his group, but at the same time, he’s nowhere near as frazzled as Tim is.

Toby finds the entire situation amusing. He was the youngest of the group. In some ways, Toby has never quite grown up. That’s not a bad thing though, it just means it’s easier for him to relate to you. And honestly, you aren’t his entire responsibility, so he’s able to be the fun guardian.

That’s what the Slender Man called the three of them, your actual guardians. No questions asked, you were now theirs as much as you are his.

You push through the doors and look around the IHOP, looking for anyone who might have any inkling of what you should be doing. Your eyes dart around and the palace is relatively empty. There’s a few groups interspersed and lost in their own worlds, and you have no idea which one you should be heading towards.

Your thoughts are answered when you hear steps approaching followed by the heavy smell of cigarettes that hang in the air thickly. You look up to see a man in a black t-shirt, with dark and tired eyes. He gives you a faint smile as you look up at him.

“Are you hungry?” He asks suddenly, almost throwing you entirely off guard.

You blink a few times. “Uh, I wouldn’t mind anything else,” you answer a tad awkwardly. You don’t why, but you get the overwhelming feeling to not disrespect him. It’s almost stronger than the feeling to respect your mother and father.

“Come with me then,” he says.

You watch as he begins to walk towards a table and squeak in response before picking up the pace and following him.

Tim weaves you through the sea of tables and sets your sights on a table that has two men sitting across from each other, talking. You look at the two with slight curiosity before the man leading you puts his hands on the back of a brown haired boy’s chair.

There’s a minute pause between the two before the boy silently gets up and joins the blond haired man’s side.

You take a seat next to the man who led you in, a little quiet due to being shy and in the presence of imposing figures (though nowhere near as imposing as the Slender Man) and focus on the table. Remembering to be polite, you keep your eyes trained on the table and open your mouth to greet them. “Hello.”

The blond haired man’s lips curl upwards into a smile. “So she does speak,” he says more as a joke to the other two men rather than directly to you.

The man who led you in kicks his right hand’s shin under the table. “Be nice,” he hisses quietly. “Sorry,” he apologizes, eyes darting to look at you. “Why don’t we uh, go around the table and say our name and a fun thing about ourselves?” He suggests tiredly.

“What are we, five?” The blond haired man chuckles. He winces when Tim kicks his shin again. “Alright, fine,” he mutters under his breath before finally turning to you. “Hi, my name is Hoodie. I really like photography,” he states, an amused twinkle coming to his hazel eyes.

You perk up slightly.

“M-Me next?” Toby asks before deciding to go up himself. “Hi, I-I’m Toby. I c-can’t feel pain.”

You raise your eyebrows and look over at the pale, vaguely grey skinned boy. “You can’t feel pain?” You inquire, voice raising slightly to convey your budding curiosity.

“Mhm,” he hums, a smile slowly coming onto his lips. “You c-c-can slap m-me, I won’t f-f-feel it.”

You glance at the other two men who both nod out of unison, sly grins curling the corners of their mouth upwards. Almost shyly, you lean over the table and open your hand. You look at Toby for confirmation and close your eyes, hitting him across the face as hard as a twelve year old can muster. When you open your eyes after your hand made impact, you see that he’s unmoved.

There’s nothing in Toby’s eyes that tells you he’s masking the pain either. He’s genuinely unbothered. “S-See what I m-mean, Princess?” He chuckles as you sit back in your seat, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, yeah, Toby is special,” the man who brought you in chuckles tiredly before waving Toby off. “Anyways, my name is Masky and I’m your group leader,” he tells you in passing.

Brian rolls his eyes and lightly kicks Tim’s shin from under the table. “That’s not a fun fact.”

“D-Ditto,” Toby agrees as he crosses his arms over his chest. “T-Tell her a r-r-real fun fact.”

Tim pauses for a moment before he finally sees the stars in your eyes. He finds it hard to not indulge you. “Hoodie and I used to go to the same college together,” he finally states, earning an approving smile from both Brian and Toby.

You want to press the topic when the waitress finally makes her grand appearance.

“Hi, hon! Apologies for not getting here any sooner. Did you want something?” She asks with a warm smile on her dark lips. “I can get you some juice to start off with if you don’t know what you’d like yet?” She continues in a semi-speculative tone.

You think it over for a second before looking up at her. “I would like some apple juice and a small thing of chocolate chip pancakes if that’s okay with you?” You’re both asking her and the men at your table.

“Sure thing,” she hums. “Anything for you boys?”

“We’re fine, just stuff for the little lady,” Tim replies. “Though uh, I would like another pot of coffee,” he trails off.

The waitress takes the empty pot of coffee and then walks back to the kitchen to get what you asked for.

“Alright, what about you?” Brian asks as he rests his elbows on the table, hands under his chin as he turns his attention back to you. “Name and fun fact.”

“I’m Reader,” you begin, not noticing how their expressions shift slightly. “And a fun fact about me?” You take a moment to consider what you’re going to tell them before divulging into one of your hobbies, drawing. You mention the alcohol markers your father gave to you on your last birthday, your twelvth.

The three men listen to you attentively all the while holding a conversation in their heads.

‘Holy shit, you never mentioned that this was the Wraith’s kid-’ Toby’s voice hurriedly exclaims through the mental connection he shares with his teammates.

‘She can’t be right,’ Brian tacks on. ‘This can’t be his kid, the man didn’t have any kids,’ Brian jumbles out. On the inside, he is screaming, but outwardly, he shows he’s happy to be listening to you.

Tim mentally scoffs. ‘Now you know why I’m so horrified,’ he grumbles in a very lightly annoyed tone. He knew the Wraith, your father. He was a good man by proxy standards, and flawed by human ones.

When Tim first received the news from the Slender Man that he was taking in the Wraith’s child, he almost passed out. The responsibility of taking care of not only a child, but a legend’s child? He saw the light and it was NOT as beautiful as people make it out to be. You are his responsibility first and foremost, whether he wants this or not. He watches you with furrowed brows, only to find that during the

The night begins to dwindle on, and it’s clear that you’re getting sleepier. Besides, the table knows that you’ve probably never stayed up until midnight and it’s nearing that odd hour. The IHOP is almost completely empty, but every now and then stragglers come in to have a cup of coffee and hashbrowns. It’s a slow night.

“You’re looking tired,” Brian says softly as he watches your eyes lid.

You fling them open and shake your head. “I’m not tired at all,” you pout. You cross your arms over your chest, but the position proves to be too comfortable and you’re already nodding off again.

“Yeah, we’re calling it a night,” Tim says as he begins to get out of his seat. “Hood, cover the money. I’ll bring her to the car. Toby’s driving.”

“May the gods have mercy on our souls,” Brian wheezes under his breath as he reaches into his pocket to find his wallet and pay.

Toby lightly slaps his teammate’s shoulder before pushing in his seat and stretching slightly.

You watch with weary, tired eyes and slowly begin to drift off in your seat, barely even noticing how Tim carefully scoops you into his arms.

He’s able to pick you up like you weigh nothing, and really, you don’t. At least, not to him. He holds you as gently as he can and begins moving to exit the IHOP as softly as possible, not wanting to wake you. He doesn’t doubt that you’ve had a rough time leading up to this paired with the fact your father is dead too.

Toby opens the IHOP’s door for Tim who is still carrying you and then clicks open the car as well. “W-Why don’t you h-hang out with h-her in the backseat? We h-have quite the d-d-drive until we make it t-t-to Alabama,” he suggests as he opens the back doors of the car behind the driver’s side. He then moves to allow Tim to do his work before slipping into the driver’s seat.

Tim hums thoughtfully before nodding. He gingerly sits you into the car before carefully prying your backpack off before dropping it softly to the floor of the car. After that, he puts your seatbelt on and closes the door gently, once again, to not startle you awake.

He then walks around the back of the car and gets into the passenger side’s back seat and puts his own seatbelt on, exhausted and wanting to take a nap himself. He absentmindedly watches the doors of the IHOP to see Brian waving good night to the staff in the building before he heads over to the car where Toby brings it to life.

“She asleep?” Brian asks as he takes his spot in the passenger seat.

“Yeah,” Tim replies quietly. “Quiet from here on out and head talk,” he finishes just as softly before Toby begins to drive out of the parking lot.

You stir a bit as the car moves, mostly staying in a sitting up position until Toby finally enters the expressway heading down south to the temp house that the Slender Man wishes for them to essentially ‘raise’ you in. Your body falls as he turns onto the long stretch off road and you remain sleeping, head now resting on Tim’s lap.

Instead of moving you, he chuckles quietly to himself and then reaches in the back, groping around for his jacket until he finally finds it. Once in his hand, he drapes it over your small form. He watches you for a moment or more before relaxing back in the seat himself, quietly succumbing to sleep alongside you.

Toby and Brian watch him from the rear view mirror, ghosts of smiles on their faces.

You wake up late the next day. A groggy glance at the car’s clock shows that it’s almost past 2 in the afternoon. Goodness, you’ve never really slept in like that before! You shoot up, clearly startled.

“Nice to see you’re up,” Tim says in a slightly teasing tone as he stops gazing from out the window. “Really tired, huh?”

You nod slightly and allow your body the time to wake up. “I guess so?” You reply in a slightly embarrassed tone, still rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Where are we going?”

“Alabama,” Brian answers as he glances at you from the rearview mirror. “Gonna be living there for a little while.”

“Why’s that?”

“The Operator wants us to be closer to him while you grow,” Tim says before he turns his attention back out the window.

When you give him a confused look, Tim relents, drops his shoulders and takes in a deep breath. “Alright, listen up, this is gonna be a lot.”

You look at him with stars in your eyes.

Tim begins to weave to you a story of the culture and society you are now expected to integrate into. He tells you of the Slender Man, or as you are now expected to call him the Operator's origins. He tells you of a similar being named Zalgo, and it is with him that the Operator tirelessly fights against. It’s an eternal battle that he, and everyone else in the car, doubts will be won or lost in your lifetime.

Tim tells you of proxies, those who serve directly under the Operator and what their purpose is. They are the ones who are held dearest and nearest to his heart and have the privilege of being on the top in this society. Proxies are cold, calculated, and tend to not have free will because they are so blinded by the Operator’s light. Still, there are some instances in which proxies retain their humanity - and that is what makes them simultaneously and strongest and weakest lengths in the hierarchy.

Then there’s the independents. Those that are, as the name implies, independent. While they can come and go as they please, but are still considered the Operator’s children because of how often they work with him. They also benefit from the Operator’s presence and protection, so they too are part of the hierarchy, they have not devoted themselves entirely to him and are considered lesser than proxies. In the Operator’s vision, they are more expendable than his direct children, but more than outliers.

Outliers are the beings that have little to no business with the Operator and do not directly benefit from his influence and protection. They are the blacksheep and scapegoats of the culture you are just learning to swim in. A good chunk of outliers are removed from the society all together on account of them not having exact higher thought, feelings and mentality. They are monsters, cryptids, the things who cause harm but do not think. There are some outliers that are exceptions to the common stereotype of what an outlier is, but they retain that status due to being stripped of an independent title. They aren’t even allowed most times in proxy spaces, but independents tend to welcome them with open arms.

Afterall, both independents and outliers know what it is like to be on the losing side of a classist divide.

Tim also tells you what he knew about your father. Known as the Wraith, he moved like a ghost and struck fear in his victims to the point of spellbinding paranoia that could land them under hospitalization. He made them lose their minds, slowly, painfully, until they were but a shell of what they used to be - a mockery of whatever came before. Your father was a damn good proxy, revered and respected. To hear of his loss was mourned across all three classes, as he was surprisingly fair and just in his treatment of those of lower social standing than him, even going so far as to attempt friendlier outlier contact between the other two, more cognitive groups.

Time and time again on the trip to Alabama, you are reminded that your father was a good man by proxy standards, and flawed in the eyes of humans.

And you can’t help but agree even though what you’ve seen from your father thus far has been minimal at most. You love him in the way any child would love their shadow.

“I only ever really saw him for special occasions,” you begin to explain, eyes focused on the passing trees, hand out the window as you guide it like an airplane as Tim drives the car. They’ve been shifting drivers every other hour now. “He was so kind and warm,” you continue, voice soft and fragile, fluttering like a butterfly’s wings. “I wish I could have known more of him.”

You get the sense that your teammates agree.

“Y’know,” Tim begins. “He would be pleased to see you’re taking up this mantle of his.” He throws you a supportive glance from the rearview mirror. “I remember him being worried he’d thrown you into a life where you’d come out the other end hating him. But, from what I’ve heard, you accepted your blood with relative grace.”

You feel a heat rise to your face as you focus on how the air glides over your hand, lifting it like a bird. “Yeah…” You trail off with a semi-awkward chuckle.

Tim throws you a knowing glance, smiling softly before turning back to the road.

You arrive in Alabama sometime during the night. The car, which was being driven by Toby once again, pulls into a house somewhere off the beaten path and mumbles about the foliage before he turns on his brights. The place looks relatively spooky, but in a very picturesque way. He continues driving on the uneven terrain before finally reaching the front porch of the house.

There, two men are sitting and talking. The one in the white hoodie looks up from his conversation with the blue masked man and waves, stepping down the first two steps to meet your group halfway.

Toby breathes out with a chuckle and turns the car off. “W-Were you g-guys waiting here a-all day for u-us?” He asks as he exits the car, twirling the car keys in his fingers before tossing them over to Tim, who catches them like second nature.

“Anything to see our favorite cannibal and hurricane of a being,” Brian lightly ribs, making the man in the white hoodie grin and the blue masked man chuckle.

Quietly, you get out the car and round it so you’re near Tim, mostly eyeing the two men with adrenaline coursing in your veins. The appearance of the man who is paler than the moon frightens you just a bit.

“Who’s this little sunflower?” He asks as he turns his attention from almost play fighting with Brian and Toby to waltz over to you. He’s just as imposing as everyone else and leans down slightly to match eye level with you.

“She’s W-Wraith’s k-kid,” Toby hums as he crosses his arms over his chest, head turned slightly to gauge how you’re feeling.

You look up at the clad in white man and attempt to smile. “Hi, I’m Reader, who are you?” You ask softly, still not entirely comfortable in his presence.

A grin begins to light up on his face. “Jeff. Jeff the Killer.” He crouches down and holds out his hand to you.

You grip onto Tim’s forearm, hiding behind him like you did with your mother when he nods that it’s okay for you to say hello.

“He won’t bite, not while I’m here,” he says in a reassuring tone. “You can say hi,” he gently encourages.

You shyly hold your hand out to the man you now know as Jeff and shake it, amazed that he feels like a still smouldering fire. “Killer?”

Jeff suppresses a giggle and nods. “That’s right. Your father was a good one too,” he compliments before letting your hand go. He then turns his head over his shoulder. “EJ, stop being a wet blanket and come say hello to the sunflower.”

The man on the porch scoffs before slowly getting up from the stairs. He stretches slightly as he walks over. His mask startles you as he comes up to you. He does not crouch down to meet you like Jeff did. “I’m EJ.” There’s no warmth in his tone, but he holds his hand out regardless.

Jeff rolls his blue eyes and elbows Eyeless Jack’s ribs. “It’s a kid you dickhead, not a patient,” he hisses before elbowing him again. “Try that again.”

Your group laughs slightly in response, but Eyeless Jack obliges his friend.

“Hi, I’m EJ.”

“What does that stand for?” You ask as you take his hand into yours, shaking it. Your other hand remains firmly planted to Tim’s forearm. He’s just really comforting for you in such an uneasy situation.

You notice Eyeless Jack give Tim a slight look, almost asking if he could do so before getting a very reluctant nod.

“Eyeless Jack.”

“You have all the grace of a drunken sloth” Tim sighs.

“What? You said I could be real.”

“No lead up? You just?”

“Masky, you know I respect you more than most proxies, but you’re literally going to train her for this stuff. There’s no use in beating around the bush. Look,” the grey skinned man pauses for a moment and begins to slip his mask off.

You watch in deep curiosity as you look upwards, wondering what he looks like. When you get your answer, your curiosity grows. Though, it shows up as a shocked fear despite that not being what you feel.

“You okay, Reader?” Tim asks softly as he looks down at you.

“You b-b-broke the kid,” Toby says with an eyebrow raised, leaning in the doorway of the temp house before Brian shakes his head with a stupid grin, heading into the house to set things up and properly accommodate everyone’s move in.

“Yeah, because he’s so ugly-”Jeff is barely able to say before you cut him off.

“You are so cool!” You suddenly exclaim, small hands reaching upwards to Eyeless Jack’s face and to signal him to come down so you can see him better.

Eyeless Jack’s stoic face blooms into a smile as he crouches down almost instantly, a heat rising to his cheeks over the compliment.

You immediately leave Tim’s side to look over the grey skinned man’s face, fingers gently brushing over his cheeks. “What is this?” You ask excitedly, clearly referring to the inky black tears that waterfall from his eyes.

“Some goop that comes from my eyes when my body decides I need to eat the food most of you don’t,” he explains, holding back his amused laughter at how gently you touch him with all the wonder a child can. Normally, Eyeless Jack would not let anyone touch him, nor would he let a stranger get remotely this close to him, but he’s admittedly charmed with you.

“Jeeze, Masky, you never told us Wraith’s kid wasn’t a psychopath,” Jeff teases slightly as he rests his forearm on Tim’s shoulder.

“To be fair, I didn’t know either - we really haven’t spent too much time with her,” he chuckles warmly as he watches you brush your fingers through Jack’s hair, amazed that the texture is so soft despite it looking scratchy and a little dry. “Okay, Reader, that’s enough petting EJ,” Tim says as he rests his hand on your shoulder. “I think our uh, meat eating friend needs to get some food in his stomach judging by how many tears he’s producing right now.”

“Do I have to?” You ask as you step back from Eyeless Jack, allowing the tall man to stand up and recompose himself.

“Yup,” Tim replies, popping the ‘p’. “Besides, it’s late and I’m not messing your sleep schedule up anymore,” he finishes as he nods for you to head into the house.

“Will we see these two again?”

“Of course you will,” Tim says as he begins leading you into the house, waving goodbye to the two men who are about to head out into the woods. “You have all the time in the world,” he hums, pleased you made a good impression on some of his society's most prominent figures at the moment.

You turn over briefly and smile widely. “Bye! I hope to see you soon!” You bid before finally being ushered into the house by Tim.

Both Eyeless Jack and Jeff wave back, smiles on their faces.

“See you soon, sunflower,” Jeff murmurs to himself.

A pregnant pause comes between the two best friends.

“You see what she’s doing to him?” Jeff absentmindedly chuckles as he and Eyeless Jack begin to travel into the darkness of the woods.

“What a softie,” Eyeless Jack agrees.

“Takes one to know one,” Jeff retorts.

The two laugh.

Tim spends most of his time teaching you and that’s only because the Operator keeps sending out his teammates over him. It’s probably just how the tall man wanted it. You soak up information like a sponge. Everyone can see it.

He teaches you everything he can. For instance, the proxy hierarchical role is strict and considered one of the most respected of rules. Group leaders are leaders because the Operator says they are, but it can also be taken by force. That normally doesn’t happen though. Group leaders hold the responsibility of ensuring their proxies are taken care of, and if they are new, properly integrated into the society. That’s what he’s currently doing with you.

Next up comes the right hand. Not every group has a right hand because some group leaders are paranoid or jerks and cannot learn to trust, but it is highly recommended group leaders have a right hand. This group’s right hand is Brian, or as you know him, Hoodie. Right hands provide guidance when group leaders are conflicted, and can step in on behalf of their leader depending on the situation. They are to be just as respected and revered and can be the stand in should a group leader be missing. This role is not given, it is asked.

Then come what Tim lovingly refers to as ‘the middle children’. Those are the proxies that aren’t group leaders, right hands, or runts. They are the ones who just exist as part of the group unit. They have no significant power but are allowed to participate in the hazing process. ‘Middle children’ tend to pop up when runts outgrow their runt status or a new runt takes their place. It is possible to have multiple ‘middle children’.

Runts are the lowest in the unit. They are the newest in their group, but not always the newest or least inexperienced. If you are traded amongst groups, you become a runt, but in such cases as this, the hazing process is nowhere near as brutal as it would be for those who are inexperienced and coming into the proxy life for the first time. Because runts are usually in an initiatory stage and still learning, they must be bent and broken until the group leader says there is no further need. Runts are often the lapdogs of the group and tend to do everything the rest of the group does not want to do. They are considered the most expendable.

The hazing process is something that you are exempt from. Tim told you it was because you are a child, and he is not a child abuser. Still, after learning of the hazing process, you admit that you feel sick to your stomach. The hazing process is brutal in every sense and can sap the life out of the proxies it affects. Everything goes when a runt is in the process, from mental, emotional and physical torture. Depending on the group leader, the process will last anywhere from a few weeks, months, to even years.

You are thankful you are exempt.

Tim teaches you more and more as the months go on, and still, with stars in your eyes, you soak up information like a sponge. Technique is something he’s always testing on you, and it plays like a fun game.

“I’m going to wait upstairs and read,” he says one morning. “Maybe get some other work done. Wait down here for however long you need, and tap my shoulder without me hearing you. Stay silent as possible. If I hear you, you lose.” He then gets up from the kitchen table and heads upstairs, coffee cup in hand before he heads into the study.

You watch Tim leave and furrow your brows, your heart racing. So far, he’s drilled stamina into you, basic self defense, and other things young proxies might need but this is the task that makes your heart palpitate. You hear him open the study door and half way close it before he settles in and begins reading.

You don’t want to rush into this. So, you take your time, just silently moving from the kitchen to the bottom of the stairs, that task in itself taking until the afternoon. You don’t want to mess this up.

You hold your breath as you make it to the bottom of the stairs. Even though it’s carpeted, you don't want any part of you betraying your stealth. You wait at the bottom of the stairs, inching up step by step until you finally reach the top.

The sun has set by the time you wait outside the wall in front of the study door.

You hold your breath as you quietly step into the doorway - and you see it - Tim has flinched. Hopped up on adrenaline, you take your time and slink your way behind him before finally tapping him on the shoulder.

He doesn’t jolt, but he turns around and smiles widely. “Good job!” He compliments, standing up and stretching his limbs. He’s been sitting an entire day, after all. “I’m really proud of you.” He pats the top of your head and you see it in his eyes- he’s actually super proud of you.

But he flinched when you waited in the doorway.

He knew.

Still, you accept this victory with grace, wondering what else he might teach you.

Tim teaches you so much as you grow older under his care. Though one of the most monumental lessons was after you took a life for the first time at fourteen. He had wanted to wait until you were sixteen, but the Operator demanded it.

You’ve learned so much knife skills from him, weaponry in general, but nothing he could have taught you would have prepared you for what it means to take a life.

The two of you had just gotten through interrogating a man who really did not deserve to live. He had been blubbering for the past few hours, and Tim was exhausted from trying to weasel information out from him.

“Ghost,” he addresses, his masked face looking at you with budding amusement. “Finish this for me.”

“What?” You say. You know what he means, you just don’t want to actually admit it.

“Finish him for me,” he shrugs. “It’s about time.”

“I don’t know how?”

“Sure you do,” he hums. “You have your knife and I know your skills are more than good,” he says as he rests his hand on his hips. “You could also shoot him. We’re in an area where no one would even care about a gun going off. Or, you could brutalize him,” he trails off as he lists off the ways you could end a life like items on a grocery list. “I don’t know if you have enough power for actually brutalizing him though,” he jokes slightly, lightly slapping the man’s face to keep him up. “Y’hear that, bud? You got lucky. If it were up to me, I’d break off your limbs one by one and tear open your chest letting you see your beating heart.”

The man’s eyes go wide as he squirms helplessly.

He’s not getting out of this one alive.

You awkwardly look at Tim. “What… What do you suggest?” You ask quietly.

Tim’s eyes dart to your gun. “For your first time? Clean and fast.”

Obliging your group leader’s words, you take out your gun and flick off safety. The hardest part is looking them in the eye. You raise it and point it at the man’s forehead, eyes narrowed from behind your mask.

The man is pleading with you, tears streaming down his face.

“Always pull the trigger..?” You begin, attempting to buy some time.

“On empty lungs,” Tim finishes.

You pull.

It’s almost a little sinful to admit how easy murder has become after that moment. For the next two years, you and your group began going out on more missions as a unit. Your power had grown immensely, and the Operator’s point was beginning to show through.

The younger the proxy, the more efficient they become as they grow. He knows children are plastic, and you are his living proof that success must start young. Still, he watches you grow carefully, and Tim keeps his boss in the loop with every little milestone you hit.

First it was ten confirmed kills, then twenty five, and before you knew it, fifty. Fifty confirmed kills before you were sixteen.

Tim himself has grown rather fond of you in ways that no one else has - though, you are easy to get along with. Besides your group regularly spending time with you and falling deeper and deeper in love with you as their little one, Tim has become what you always envisioned the shadow of your father to be.

He’s the first to greet you in the morning and the last to wish you good night. He spends most of his waking hours with you, and it’s a good memory every single time. He trusts you immensely, and in turn, you trust him. Admittedly, he’s always had a soft spot for you and that much is apparent and always has been.

Tim has always been there for you when it all feels like too much.

“It’s nothing,” you mumble as you curl deeper onto your bed, sheets over your head.

“What happened?” He asks in a serious tone, clearly not wanting to play games.

“I said that I’m fine-”

“Bullshit,” he says as he marches into your room, ready to tear off your blankets. He knows teenagers are prone to giving the adults in their life hell, but you’ve never done this until, well, now.

You’re clawing to keep your blankets on but your strength pales in comparison to Tim’s. You screech as he finally tears the blankets from you, expecting full anger but instead, a look of horror.

“What the-what happened to you?” He asks in shock as he looks at the large red claw marks on your midsection and legs. It looks like you fought off a bear. “How long have you been like this- this is dangerous, you could get infected!” His tone is only loud because he’s scared. He wastes no time in scooping you up into his arms and rushing to the bathroom to tend to your injuries.

You hiss in pain but keep your lips tight, not wanting to admit what happened.

You let Tim work on you and disinfect your wounds as his emotions finally come down to a normal place. You realize it’s because he cares about you, but you’re still worried that he’s going to flare up again.

“Are you ever going to tell me what caused this? Or am I to believe some poltergeist waltzed in here and cut you up?”

You avert your gaze from the only solid father figure you’ve ever had. “I… I snuck out late at night and got attacked by the notdeer,” you mumble.

“What?” He sounds genuinely confused, as if he didn’t hear you correctly.

“I snuck out late at night and got attacked by the notdeer,” you speed out again, face burning with embarrassment.

You see a plethora of emotions pass over Tim’s face as he applies another bandaid to one of the more minor cuts on your leg before he settles on relief. “Holy shit,” he breathes out as he drops the products he had been working with. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” he breathes out as he takes you into his arms, squeezing you as tight as he can without causing any pain to your body that is still healing.

You feel tears well in your eyes as you hug him back.

Your skill grows so immensely, that your group and the Operator trust you with going on one of the most high stakes missions he’s ever sent modern proxies on. He hasn’t sent you a group on something like this since… Goodness, the 1700s? It’s been a while.

The Operator asked you to hunt down Zalgo’s favored son and kill him. It sounds easy in words, but in practice, near impossible.

“He’s sending us on a death match,” mumbles Brian. “I-What do you guys think? Are we ready?”

You and the other two shrug, not knowing what to say. You just know that you will be following Tim’s lead, as he is your group leader and the man who matters most in your life.

“I’m a-a-apprehensive,” Toby hums. “But, I t-t-think with our collective t-talents, we m-might have a shot.”

Tim looks at you, wanting to know your input when you hesitantly nod. “Guess we’re going.”

Finding Zalgo’s son was easy, but pinning him down was anything but. Everything had gone so smoothly up until it was time to face off with him, the man of the hour.

Toby and Brian were preoccupied with fending off Zalgo’s proxies who were placed in the house to keep his favored, most beloved son safe, and you and Tim had managed to slip in.

It was just the two of you with Zalgo’s son, and he was beating the two of you close to death.

“I’ll ask again,” his smooth, velvety voice growled. “Who do you consider the most expendable in your group?”

When neither you nor Tim answer, the child of Zalgo screams in frustration and rage before barrelling towards you, grabbing your weakened body and throwing you into the large stained glass windows.

Due to the sheer force of how hard he had thrown you, you tumbled out onto the grassy lawn, air stolen from your lungs. You laid on the ground gasping like a fish out of water before slowly attempting to crawl back in and help Tim.

Your fingers hoisted you up through the broken windows, allowing you to see what was going on inside. And it horrified you.

Zalgo’s son was holding Tim up by his neck, choking the life out of him.

“Who is the most expendable?” He demands again.

“I’m… not..!”

“TELL ME-”

“Fuck you-” he barely manages to wheeze out.

You’re panicking, wondering what you can do to help him when the son leans in exceptionally close.

“Say it.” He tosses Tim’s body to the ground, watching as he weakly attempts to get back up.

“R...Reader,” he admits. “She’s the most… She’s the most expendable,” he coughs out, blood and other things being released from his damaged system. “You already threw her out-”

“So you wouldn’t mind if I ended her now?” The son taunts, eyes shifting to the stained glass windows where he hurled you out.

Tim shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m saying-” he cuts himself off by coughing more. “I’m just saying she’s not prepared, she’s still weak-”

You feel your heart stop. You listen into his thoughts, he’s emotionally vulnerable, and see that he’s telling the truth. There isn’t any second thought that’s telling you he’s fibbing to buy time.

“You don’t trust her?” He inquires, bending low, ready to choke the life out of Tim again.

“I don’t,” he weakly says. “In fact, she’s due to be transferred from us soon-” he’s cut off by the son laughing and lifting him up again by his throat.

The son looks over his shoulder to see tears streaming down your cheeks. “And you call me a monster,” he cruelly laughs.

It’s cut short by Toby and Brian breaking down the door, shooting the son with his father’s favorite gun.

Tim is once again dropped to the floor, and Brian rushes to help him.

Toby leaves their side and sprints to the window to help you. He sees you're crying. “W-What’s wrong? W-Where does it h-h-hurt?” He asks, worry lacing his expression as he helps you back over.

You shake your head and refuse to say anything.

The car ride back to your temp house is awkward at best and downright uncomfortable at worst. You are sitting in the passenger seat because you refuse to sit next to Tim who had admitted something you weren’t really supposed to find out.

And the other two men, both Toby and Brian know it too.

‘Is it true?’ You ask the right hand, looking emptily out the window. The lights that pass overhead are counted as mental busy work.

‘Reader,’ Brian’s voice sighs. ‘I… I’m really sorry,’ he says. ‘I fought him on this, but… But being a proxy isn’t easy-’

‘So you’re abandoning me?’ You ask, tears threatening to fall from your eyes again. ‘You’re gonna leave me in the hands of some strangers because I’m not good enough?’

Brian sighs deeply and glances at you briefly as he continues to drive. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I don’t accept it.’ You shift in your seat and curl up, not wanting to even look at your group. They’ve basically broken your trust, but hearing it from Tim? The man you viewed as most important in your life? The man would talk to you over cups of coffee on the rooftop before the sun came up? The same man who had once said you were the child he was never allowed to have?

He called you weak. Expendable. He has said you are not worthy of his trust.

The first time your anger boiled over was a few days after downing Zalgo’s son. It was just the two of you in the living room, your other two teammates out on other errands. Every day felt like a ticking time bomb of when you will be released to another group.

“We need to talk,” Tim says.

“About?”

“What… What I said back then.” He still has marks on his neck from the son attempting to choke him to death.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He sighs deeply. You have every right to be mad at him. “It’s not that simple,” he starts. “I never meant for it to come out like that,” he says with a frown, eyes not entirely meeting you. He attempts to explain further, but you don’t want to hear it.

You get up, waving him off. “Shut up.”

“Reader-”

“Shut. Up.” You storm upstairs.

The fights do not get any lighter. They say time heals all wounds, but in your case, it exacerbates them. It becomes a nearly every day affair now.

Words are shot like bullets into the house that used to be built by the loving relationship you had with Tim. But, ever since he uttered those words and dug his heels in deeper over the fact you were actively challenging him, you drifted further and further from him.

Toby and Brian try to stay out of those conversations. They both care about you, but at the same time, they understand that being a proxy really isn’t easy. You get jumbled around, shaken up, and sometimes, traded. While no one is replacing you, the fact Tim agreed to let you go was what hurt the most.

According to Toby, he never even fought for you.

You leave them at the same diner you met them at. Sixteen years old and ready to be in the hands of another group. You sit in the passenger seat of the car, eyes empty, and heart torn.

“Do you want us to come in with you?” Brian asks with a small smile.

You shake your head. “No.”

He sighs and drops his shoulders. “I…” He pauses, and when words fail him, he leans over in the driver’s seat and wraps his arms around you. You hug back, realizing your beef isn’t with the right hand and allow tears to well in your eyes. He presses a kiss to the side of your head. “It’s going to be quiet without you,” he mumbles. He looks at you with all the adoration an older sibling might as he lets you go.

Toby, has gotten out of the car at this point and walked around the front, opens your door and leans down.

“No, let me,” you say softly as you unbuckle, grabbing your backpack and whatever else you may need before stepping out. Once you’re standing, you find yourself tangled in Toby’s arms.

“I h-hate goodbyes,” he admits as he sways the two of you.

You hug him back and smile softly. “I’ll be seeing you, yeah?” You mumble as he squeezes you tighter.

He nods. “Y-You better!” He laughs, not allowing his thinly veiled choked up tears to enter his voice as he lets you go. Toby checks you over once more, nothing but love in his eyes as he reluctantly takes your place in the passenger seat. You can tell he’s bitter over finally having it back.

Tim is in the back seat, passenger side. He looks at you through the window of the car, eyes red and puffy. He wants to say so much to you and nothing at all.

You share in the sentiment, nod slightly and fight cursing him out again, then head into the same place you met them in. Ready to be a part of a new group. One that hopefully, will not doubt your abilities as a growing proxy.

When you head in and walk out of their lives, Tim’s mask falls, and tears begin to roll down his cheeks. He feels like he can’t breathe, like he’s suffocating and can’t even think clearly.

“Fucking drive,” he coldly hisses as he takes in deep, labored breaths.

Brian, not wanting to fight his leader and understanding the man hasn’t been this emotionally broken since Jay’s death, obliges him.

Tim watches you greet your new team, and his heart breaks all over again.

You’re now twenty years old. My how the time flies. You are more than an established proxy now, and your new group treats you as such.

There’s four of them, your new family.

A group leader named Wallace, who is fair but kind. A right hand named Theo, who is a nightmare in proxy form. A ‘middle child’ named Ruth, who vaguely reminds you of your mother. And finally, an independent by the name of Nyein.

They’ve been good to you over the years you’ve known them, and you can tell they genuinely love you in their own way. You feel like you can tell them almost anything and everything, but everyone has skeletons in their closet and you are no exception.

It’s Wallace’s job as your group leader to understand his proxies and be able to understand them at all costs. He doesn’t mean to pry while it’s still fresh.

“So, how are you doing this fine evening?” The deep voiced proxy asks as he joins you on the balcony of the hotel the five of you are currently staying in.

“I could always be better,” you answer. When you sigh, he gives a knowing hum. “What?” He shrugs. “Pardon my reach,” he begins. “But, Timothy…”

“Too early,” you cut him off.

“Right, my bad,” he apologizes. “We can always come back to this later.”

You huff.

Ruth inquires about it next. She’s gentle in her approach, and you almost spill it all to her, but the pain of what happened ices you back over.

“I understand that you and your previous group went up against Zalgo’s son?”

“Yeah.”

She gently moves some of your hair behind your ear. “How did that go?” She sees your expression fall, and she frowns. “So that’s what happened,” she hums, not even needing you to say what happened directly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you say. “Not like you contributed,” you mumble. “He didn’t want me.”

Her hand rests on your back, silently telling you that you can always find comfort in her.

Theo asks in the most brash manner he can. He doesn’t really care about feelings or making people uncomfortable, but he does respect you.

“So, Masky traded you like pokemon cards huh?”

You throw a decidedly hard punch at him.

“Take that as a yes.”

“Are you fucking with me?” You groan in an exasperated tone.

“If it fires you up so your punches stop feeling like taps, sure,” he grins. “Come on, let it out. What did that bastard do to you?”

You answer him with harder punches.

Theo doesn’t respect Tim, but it’s not like he ever respected him to begin with.

Nyein honesty doesn’t ask. They don’t want to make you uncomfortable and they refuse to push your boundaries. They know something hurtful happened, and they understand that pain is carefully guarded for a reason. The only time they ask anything in regards to what hurt you from before was when you were preparing to meet up with your old group for what was ‘lovingly’ dubbed a collaboration.

‘You’re sure you’re okay?’ They ask, cocking their head to the side.

“I’ll be fine-”

‘I know you’re lying,’ they sign with a frown. ‘I can smell that on you, y’know?’

You chuckle and push lightly at them. “If anything isn’t to my liking, you can always eat Masky.”

Their face lights up.

The news that you and your previous team were going to be working together was hell on the ears. In fact, you heard it, and found yourself panicking over the fact you might need to see Tim again. According to Wallace, yes. Tim was still alive and well.

“He looks older though and more depressing,” the blond haired man chuckled. “Fuckin’ hate Timothy.”

Theo rolls his eyes but turns to you anyway. “He’s right on the old and depressing thing.”

You take that thought in and sigh.

Time to face him again.

You and your group decide to meet Tim’s on the edge of the town you all will be invading. Something about mass recruitment and taking out multiple targets. You all know it’s busy work and the Slender Man likes to make you suffer, but it gives you some time to talk until the sun sets.

Ruth and Nyein immediately overtake some time waiting by swarming around Toby and sharing giggles. Wallace and Theo (who may or may not have been talking to Tim prior to this) have run off with Brian to also just talk.

They’re not always at each other’s throats.

That leaves you with Tim.

You’re currently sitting in a grassy field, plucking flowers from the earth and taking in the sweet scent as the sun slowly makes its way to bed. You’ve spent a good portion of time alone, and when Tim finally makes his appearance, you do not stir. You do not acknowledge him.

It’s uncomfortably silent when he takes a seat near you, but not close to you.

“How have you been?” He asks quietly, almost as if he’s scared you’ll take flight again.

It’s been four years, you can reply without anger overtaking your system.

“Decent, like any proxy,” you answer, eyes still honed in on the flowers and how the remaining golden shafts of light filter through the leaves and change the color to something delicate and pure. “And you?” You’re just asking as a formality, not because you actually care.

“The same as you, I suppose,” he answers back, his voice still soft.

Another silence passes until you finally get the urge to look over at the man you once viewed as a parental figure.

Your eyes almost water when seeing him. He’s older now, much older. Still has that kind of youth that comes with being the Operator’s play thing, but he’s sad. His eyes are dark, devoid of light, and soft as if he’s barely holding it together. He still smells like cigarettes.

Tim is the first to speak, a sorrowful smile on his face as he takes in a deep breath and looks at you with an adoration that never truly left. “You look older,” he notes, taking note of how you grew into your looks. You don’t look like that scrawny little preteen anymore. He knows that you’re a young lady now, and he only wishes he was there to see it. “I like it.”

You bristle on instinct. “I don’t need your approval-”

“I know,” he sighs as he turns his gaze up to the clouds that pass overhead. The skies are the faintest of pink and purple. He thinks it’s pretty.

“You look… Older too,” you finally say, feeling awkward and at home all at once.

Tim chuckles quietly under his breath. “Yeah,” he hums. “I’m in my thirties.”

For some reason, it makes you giggle.

He lights up at the sound of your laugh.

When it dies down, the two of you remain in silence, just letting the world pass by as the sun sinks lower and lower. It’s peaceful, nowhere near as hostile as you were originally expecting it to be, and you find that you enjoy the overall experience.

Still, there is a nagging thought in the back of your head. One that reminds you of everything that has happened, and it still stings. It is the wound that will never heal.

As if he was reading your thoughts, Tim breathes out again and continues looking up at the slowly darkening sky. “I really am sorry for what happened,” he apologizes once more. “I was sorry back then, and I’m still sorry now.”

You frown and knit your brows together in confusion. “You… You just let me go, like I didn’t matter.”

“I know.”

“Tim-”

“I can’t undo that,” he says. “But… But I can try that now-”

“Please no-”

“I have better credit in the Operator’s eyes, maybe we could-”

“No-”

“I could ask for you back-”

“That’s enough.”

Your eyes are dark and you can feel something unpleasant bubbling in your chest and throat. When you had first been placed in Wallace’s group, some part of you had some naive childish dream that Tim would come back, take you in his arms and prove that he wanted you and was truly the right sort of man to have as a role model in your life. That dream never came true, so you stopped having it. You let it die and get returned to the earth. You let it drift away.

But at the same time, you wonder what would be different now - if you could even accept being taken back into his group. Would that even be healthy? It took Wallace and the others months just to get you to stop waking up in tears, nearly on the verge of losing your guts through your mouth and to stop you from panicking when one of them said they had to go out. It took them months to get you to even remotely let down your guard on your abandonment issues.

They’d been so patient with you. They watched you grow.

But here was Tim. Sitting next to you in the world’s most beautiful flower field extending an olive branch, wondering if he could ever atone for his sins by asking for you back and making you a part of his group again.

And that makes you wonder, is he doing this because he misses you, or because he feels bad?

The sun sinks below the horizon, and the moon begins to rise in the sky.

An uncomfortable silence falls between the two of you.

You have a job to do, and some things?

Well, they’re better left unsaid.

#masky x reader #masky #marble hornets #tim wright #mh #creepypasta #creepypasta masky #angst #eyeless jack #jeff the killer #hoodie #brian thomas #slender man #the operator #creepypasta x reader #marble hornets x reader

[yellowsuitcase]

In the Prefect’s Bathroom Part 3 // Draco Malfoy

A/N: Hi guys! I’m so excited for y’all to read this. This series has gained a lot of traction and tbh it’s a bit scary but I really hope you guys like this. There WILL be a Part 4 and it WILL be the FINAL part! Look forward to it! Thank you so much!

Summary: Y/N deals with the aftermath of her breakup and Draco comforts her. The pair grow closer and Draco can’t ignore his feelings, but is Y/N able to accept them?

Warning(s): Swearing, mention of breakup, lots of crying, violence

Word Count: 3.8k

Masterlist & Taglist form

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

{Not my gif}

Y/N didn’t know where Harry had gone. Three hours had passed, and he'd never come back to his dorm. Y/N knew she ought to leave. She couldn’t stay in his room, not anymore. Luckily, it was Saturday, which meant no classes. Y/N slid off Harry's bed, the same one they'd cuddled on almost every week, and walked over to his mirror. Her reflection didn’t surprise her; her hair was knotted, and her eyes were bloodshot from all the tears. They hadn’t ceased until an hour after Harry left. While letting out an exhausted sigh, Y/N rubbed her hands down her face. She just felt so disappointed in herself. And not to mention her newfound sense of loneliness. It was crippling.

But when she felt well enough, she stepped away from the mirror, walked through the wooden door, and all the way down the familiar stone steps. The closer she got, the louder the voices were. Of course, she thought. It's Saturday; it makes sense that everyone would be in the common room. Once Y/N was near the last few steps, she could see fellow Gryffindors hanging out by the fire while others were doing their schoolwork. But when Y/N emerged into the room, all conversations quieted, and all eyes turned to her. It seemed as though word of the breakup had already reached their ears. She did her best to block out the whispers and avoid eye contact with anyone as she continued walking to her bedroom. Once she arrived, she was surprised to find that her roommate was inside.

“Oh, there you are. I was wondering when you’d be back,” she said. Y/N stood still in the doorway for a moment, debating whether or not to reply. Ultimately, she decided she didn't have the energy to fake a smile. Instead, she stumbled to her bed and collapsed on top of it, face first. “Did you get breakfast?” her roommate, Stephanie, asked. Y/N groaned in reply. Of course, she didn’t get breakfast; she wouldn’t be able to stomach anything in such a state. Stephanie stood near Y/N's bed, wondering if she should say or do something. Eventually, she decided she was uncomfortable with the tension in the air. “Well, I have some Charms homework, so... I’ll just… leave you to it,” she said awkwardly. Y/N heard her footsteps, then the sound of their door opening and closing. Tears instantly rushed to her eyes. Not even her roommate wanted to be around her. And based on the reaction of the students in the common room, nobody did. But Y/N couldn't blame them; she wouldn't want to associate with a cheater either.

The Gryffindor turned over on her plush mattress, her back now pressed against it. Upon opening her eyes, she noticed she’d stuck a photograph of her and Harry onto the ceiling. A jolt of pain struck her chest, but she forced herself to her feet and jumped. Her legs propelled her high enough to rip the picture down in one swift motion. It felt heavy in her palms. She breathed in shakily as she examined it. Her head was on Harry’s shoulder in the photo, and his arm was around her waist. It was from one of their trips to Hogsmeade earlier that year. The Y/N in the picture was smiling brightly as Harry squeezed her tight. Y/N gripped the paper, and with tears falling from her eyes, she ripped it down the center. The sound of it caused a painful cry to escape her lips. But once her hands stilled and she saw the destruction clutched in them, her suppressed anger took over. Forcefully, she put the pieces on top of one another and ripped through them again. And again. She kept going until the image of her and Harry was reduced to tiny little shreds of paper.

Y/N then cried for a couple minutes, wetting the shreds with her tears as she mourned what once was. But when she got a hold of herself, she clutched the pieces in one hand and slid off her bed. Stephanie had left the windows open, so Y/N walked over to them and stuck out her closed fist. With a heavy heart, she opened her palm and watched as the pieces scattered into the wind. 

When all of them were out of sight, Y/N grasped the windows' handles and pulled them towards her, shutting out the late morning air. Defeatedly, she sunk into the seat below the windows and breathed in a shaky breath. She felt so broken, so stupid. Even though Harry hadn’t been the perfect boyfriend, Y/N knew she was the one who fucked up; she was the one who cheated. And despite everything that happened between them, Harry didn’t deserve that. Not at all.

--------

Later on in the day, Y/N’s hunger finally got the best of her, so she dragged herself out of bed and cleaned herself up. She threw on a comfy sweater, a simple pair of sweats, and pinned her hair back with some clips. It was late in the afternoon, surely the Great Hall would be nearly empty as it was Saturday. At least, that was what Y/N was hoping for. The idea of the entire school staring at her made her feel uneasy. But she shook the thought away, grabbed her wand, and headed out the door. The people in the common room, once again, looked up upon her arrival but said nothing. Y/N could feel their judging stares on her back as she rushed through the archway, closing the Fat Lady portrait behind her.

The hallways were pretty deserted, save for a few wandering Slytherins. They were always rather fond of slinking around corridors. Y/N paid them no mind as she walked down the stairs to the Great Hall. It was, as she suspected, nearly empty. The Gryffindor table was clear except for some first years. Y/N started to walk towards it when her elbow was grabbed. She instinctively whipped around and wrenched her arm from the person’s grip. Her heart clenched when she saw who it was. 

“Hey… I heard about you and Potter,” Draco said. He looked sheepish as he fiddled with a loose thread hanging from his dark green sweater. 

“Is that all?” Y/N almost whispered, her voice scratchy from all her crying. 

Draco’s eyes seemed sad when they met hers. “I… don’t know what to say. But I do know that if I were you, I’d want someone to check up on me, so...” he paused, looking away from her. “Are you okay?” he finally asked. Y/N stared at him for a moment. She was not expecting those words to come out of Draco Malfoy’s mouth, but when they did, and when they registered, she couldn’t stop the sob that fell from her lips. 

Draco froze in shock. He had definitely not been expecting the girl to burst into tears right in front of him. But now that she was, his instincts screamed at him to comfort her. It was just...he didn’t quite know how. Draco was unfamiliar with girls. All he knew was how to have sex with them, and usually, that was a fun activity with no strings attached. Well, except with Y/N. Something about her was simply different from the others. The first time they did the deed, he’d pushed away the fuzzy feeling in his chest. The second time, however, he cleaned her. He cleaned her. Usually, he’d leave the girl to do that on her own time, but for some reason, with Y/N, he had taken it upon himself to fulfill that gesture. And not to mention the fact he kissed her. Twice! Granted, they were only on her temple, but they were still kisses for Merlin's sake.

But here he was, facing the girl responsible for all his confusing emotions, and she was crying. Draco glanced around the hall and noticed people beginning to stare. He shot them mean glares without thinking twice. They averted their eyes. When he turned back to Y/N, he found that she was looking at him. Her eyes held so much sadness that they made Draco’s heart physically hurt when he looked into them. So he did what his mother would always do when he cried. He lifted his arms and gently took Y/N into them. She hesitated at first but then buried herself into his chest, still heaving heavily with sobs. Draco rubbed her back in a soft, soothing motion. But then he quickly remembered where they were, so he put down his right arm, leaving his left on her back, and led them out of the Great Hall. 

Once in the corridor, Draco wasn’t sure where to take Y/N. He couldn’t take her to his common room. His housemates would likely be doing all kinds of illegal shit, and he didn’t want to surround Y/N with that while she was in such a fragile state. And, of course, her common room wasn’t an option since Harry and his friends would probably be there. It was too dark to go outside, and they wouldn’t be able to talk properly in the library. Draco was beginning to panic, but then it hit him; the Astronomy Tower. It was one of his favorite spots, and it was relatively likely that no one would be there. He wrapped his arm tighter around Y/N and began walking towards the tower. 

After a few minutes of walking and climbing the long staircase, the pair came to the top and shuffled into the Astronomy Tower. Y/N’s cries had died down already, she was only sniffling now, but Draco still kept his arm around her. “Why are we here?” she asked. Draco said nothing; he only walked them over to the railing. Y/N stared at him, perplexed, but Draco remained silent as he turned his nose up towards the sky. He loved looking at the stars. They reminded him how small and insignificant he truly was. And for someone like him, who had what felt like the weight of the world on their shoulders, it was comforting. 

When he was finally able to tear his eyes away from the sky, Draco dropped his arm from Y/N''s back and turned to her. She, too, had been staring at the sky. But when the blonde faced her, she tilted her head towards him and raised an eyebrow. Draco cleared his throat as his fingers found that loose thread. “Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked. Y/N scoffed. “Talk about what? How I’m the shittiest girlfriend ever? Or rather, was the shittiest,” she asked, her eyes shifting back to the stars. Draco sighed. “Well, I’m at fault here too, you know…” he said. Y/N rubbed her fingers on her forehead; she looked exhausted. “Draco, I appreciate it, but I made the decision to have sex with you. I knowingly and willingly cheated on Harry. You may have been the one I did it with, but that doesn’t put you at fault for my actions.”

“But I knew you were—,” Draco cut himself off with a sigh. “Well, why’d you do it then?” he asked. Y/N gave him an unimpressed look. “I already told you why. He didn’t satisfy me in the bedroom. Point, blank, period.” Draco shook his head. “But you obviously loved him, so why did you go through with it?” he pressed further. Y/N said nothing as she sunk to the floor and stuck her feet out so that they dangled off the edge of the tower. Draco didn’t join her initially, but after a minute or two, he sat down beside her and leaned his arms against the lower rung of the railing. Y/N played with her fingers anxiously for a bit before responding. “I guess…I felt like he and I were growing distant from each other. We stopped going to Hogsmede, we stopped studying together, we just...stopped,” Y/N said quietly, her voice deep and rough from her tears. “But that doesn’t make it okay; nothing makes it okay.” Draco’s eyebrows furrowed together. He could hear the pure pain in her voice, and he didn’t know what to think of it. All he knew was that it made his fists clench and his heart squeeze. 

Draco gazed at the girl beside him. She was so beautiful in the moonlight. Her skin looked soft. He so wished he could reach out and stroke her cheek, but he knew that would likely put her off. Instead, he unclenched his fist and wrapped his hand around hers. He felt her jump slightly upon feeling his touch, but then, she smiled at him. God, how he loved her smile. It made him feel warm. He wanted to share that warmth Y/N, so he scooted close to her. Their shoulders were now pressed together. He gazed down at her, studying her face. “How do you feel?” he asked tentatively, not knowing quite where the question came from. Y/N hummed and replied with one word. “Alone.”

“Well...for what it’s worth, I’ll be here if you need someone,” Draco replied in an uncertain tone. He still wasn’t really sure what he was doing, but he trusted what his gut was telling him. And it seemed like it was the right thing to say because out of nowhere, Y/N’s arms wrapped around Draco’s neck, and her body pressed up against him. Instinctively, Draco returned the hug. He pulled her close and nestled his face in the crook of her neck. Nothing was okay, not yet, but at the very least, they now had each other. 

-------

A few weeks later…

Draco twirled his wand between his fingers while he strolled through the stone corridors. He had a free period this school year and would often spend it by riding his broom around the quidditch pitch and trying out new tricks. He was on his way there now. He’d even asked Y/N to meet him there, considering she too had an open slot in her schedule. 

After their night at the Astronomy Tower, they started spending lots of time with one another. They played gobstones, hide n seek around the castle, and had recently begun studying together. Surprisingly, the two of them had become pretty good friends despite having only started talking about a month ago. But when Y/N had mentioned to Draco that she hadn’t ridden a broomstick since first year, he had insisted she join him for one of his joyrides. She resisted at first, but Draco promised her he’d let her choose another activity for the two of them and that he wouldn’t protest, no matter how stupid he thought it was. He was quite proud of himself for thinking up that one. Truth be told, Draco had gone soft for Y/N and would probably do whatever she wanted to do, but she didn’t need to know that.

While Draco was walking down the corridor, he heard the faint sound of laughing as well as a thud. It seemed like it was coming from ahead, so he increased his pace. When he turned the corner, he was surprised to find Y/N sprawled out on the floor with some Gryffindors standing above her, snickering. “What a piece of shit. Fucking slag,” one of the girls spat. The rest of the group laughed at her words and even began to kick Y/N’s sides. Draco felt anger rising in his chest. How dare they. How fucking dare they. 

Without thinking, he ripped his wand from his pocket and shouted, “Stupefy!” A shot of bright light flew towards the group. It knocked them off their feet and into the air. They each landed with a loud thump, but Draco couldn't care less. He ran over to Y/N just as she was getting to her feet. “Are you alright?” He asked her as he scanned her body, looking for injuries. Y/N nodded, but it was clear that she was frightened. Before he had the chance to comfort her, Draco’s attention was taken by the sound of a soft chuckle. He looked past Y/N to see the Gryffindors back on their feet. 

“Would you look at that? The man-whore came to save you Y/N. Why don’t you drop to your knees for him and give us a little show?” said a tall, light-haired boy. Draco’s shoulders heaved with fury, and he raised his wand again. “Draco, no!” Y/N shouted desperately, but the Slytherin was already casting the curse. “Petrificus Totalus!” Draco bellowed. Instantly, the boy’s body froze in place and fell over, causing his head to hit the stone floor. His friends jumped to his defense, raising their wands towards Draco, ready to strike. But Draco was smarter. He pointed his wand towards a pile of books on a nearby bench and whispered, “Oppugno.” The books quickly shot into the air, and with another wave of Draco’s wand, they were directed towards the two remaining Gryffindors of whom were confused at first. However, when a book slapped one across the face, they realized these objects were attacking them. Hastily, they scrambled for their previously discarded items, grabbed them, and bolted down the hallway, screaming as they went. 

Once they were gone, Draco marched up to the frozen boy lying on the floor. He glared into his eyes and lifted his foot. “Draco, don’t you dare,” Y/N warned as she followed after him. But all Draco could see was red. There was no way he'd back away from the chance to give the boy a taste of his own medicine. So, he pretended he hadn't heard Y/N, and rammed his foot into the Gryffindor’s side, just as he had done to Y/N. “Stop!” Y/N shouted. Draco continued to ignore her. He kept slamming his foot into the boy with absolutely no remorse. But to his dismay, his rampage was stopped by Y/N grabbing his arm and yanking him backward. He flailed for balance as he stumbled back. “Draco, that’s enough,” Y/N stated firmly before she quickly cast the counter-curse, effectively freeing the boy. He jumped to his feet, shooting daggers at the two of them. “Just go, Jack,” Y/N mumbled. The boy hesitated, but an angry look from Draco ultimately sent him on his way. 

When Jack was out of sight,  Y/N let go of Draco. “What the fuck was that? You could’ve seriously hurt them!” she yelled. Draco gaped at her, absolutely shocked. “They were hurting you! I was only giving them what they deserved, those arseholes. How dare they call you such things; who do they think they are?” he grumbled. 

Y/N sighed softly and rubbed her fingers against her temple. “By doing all that rubbish, you only proved that you’re no better than them. You should’ve just let me handle it,” Y/N retorted, trying to get her friend to understand. But Draco was not having it. “Y/N, you were lying on the floor getting kicked. I had to do something. I couldn’t just watch you get harassed—”

“Well, you know what, Draco? Not too long ago, you were the one harassing me, or did you forget?” Y/N screamed, her eyes welling up with tears. 

Draco paused. He didn’t know what to say; she was right. He only watched as Y/N rubbed her eyes and mumbled, “Fuck,” while she slid to the floor, her back against the wall. “You always treated me like shit Draco. Always... And besides, they were giving me what I deserved. I cheated on someone, and if that isn’t deserving of kicks and harsh words, then I don’t know what is,” she said sadly, her face in her hands. She couldn’t see that Draco was adamantly shaking his head. “Don’t say that; you didn’t deserve any of that bullshit,” he said through gritted teeth.

Y/N’s head shot upwards, and her fists clenched. “That’s rich coming from you. Since when did you become my protector, huh? You hated my guts a month ago, did you not? Why the fuck do you even care, Draco?” she shouted angrily, her eyes boring into Draco’s back since he had turned and begun walking away from her in frustration. But then, suddenly, he spun back around. “Because I like you, okay!? It’s because I like you.” 

A few awkward seconds passed before Draco found the courage to look up from the floor and to Y/N instead. She was staring at him with a look of panic on her face. The dreadful feeling of guilt began to swirl in Draco’s stomach. Nevertheless, he breathed in deeply and started walking over to his friend. She said nothing as he neared her, but when he crouched down beside her, she turned her head away from him. “Y/N...” he started. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I just...I couldn’t stand to see you hurt. I acted on my anger without thinking, and for that, I apologize.” 

Y/N maintained her silence. Draco took a chance and hesitantly put his hand on top of her knee. When she didn’t push him away, he continued to speak. “Y/N, I really like you, and I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I know that sounds cheesy and probably a bit unbelievable, but I promise you it’s true,” he said while stroking her knee through her corduroy pants. She still didn’t meet his eyes, but Draco was in too deep, and he didn’t know if he’d get another chance to say this. So he inhaled sharply and spoke his thoughts into existence. 

“I think I want to be with you, Y/N.”

For what felt like hours, neither teenager said a word. Draco’s heart was pounding nervously in his chest. He felt like he might cry if she didn’t reply. But then, she turned her head. By the look on her face, Draco knew whatever she had to say wouldn’t be good. Y/N glanced at his eyes momentarily but couldn’t keep the contact. “What is it?” Draco asked gently, trying not to upset her but also wanting her to break her silence. Y/N breathed in deeply and scooted her feet forward, causing her legs to straighten and Draco’s hand to leave her knee. He pulled it close to him, feeling as though he’d been punched. 

“Draco, I..." she started. “I can't. I’m not ready for a relationship, not after Harry. I’m sorry.”

Draco felt his hands begin to shake. This couldn't be happening. “Y/N, please, I promise I—”

“No, no, I can’t do this, Draco. Not right now,” Y/N said firmly as she got to her feet. Draco stammered to find the words that would convince her to stay, but she was already breaking into a run. All he could do was watch as her figure grew smaller and smaller as she traveled down the corridor. Draco considered chasing after the girl he wanted so desperately, but he knew he had to let her go. He closed his eyes, regretting his decisions. When his eyelids reopened, she was gone.

Taglist: @beiahadid @pastelpuffbar @cutie1365 @dracoxmgg @lumlfy @sambucky8 @emilianamason @orangecrayon​ @obsssedwithjustaboutanything​ @hustlinhufflepuff​ @goddessofgames @dracocanslytherin8​ @superbturtlemakerathlete​

#draco lucius malfoy #Draco #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy x yn #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy imagines #draco x you #draco x gryffindor!reader #draco angst #draco fluff #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter #harry potter imagines #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy smut

[contemplativepancakes]

five times geralt saw jaskier naked on accident + one time it was entirely on purpose. ~6k. Read on AO3 here!

i.

“Get back here, you mangy knob!” echoes down the hallway, and Geralt pauses on the way to his room. 

It’s been a long night, and Geralt would like nothing better than to collapse into bed, but trouble has a habit of following Jaskier like flies to shit. He’s the whole reason Geralt even has a bed for the night, so Geralt sighs and follows the shouting. 

He wishes he could say he’s surprised when he rounds a corner and Jaskier runs head first into him, but honestly, it’s nothing short of expected. What does throw Geralt for a loop, though, is the fact that Jaskier is completely naked, expanses of smooth skin exposed as he sprawls back on the ground in a very undignified manner, clutching his nose. 

“Fuck, Geralt!” he cries, but it comes out garbled. “You broke my nose!”

The man who was chasing after Jaskier comes to a sudden halt, panting in front of them. “He slept with my wife!”

Geralt frowns. “Are you sure it was him?”

The man gapes and gestures at Jaskier’s nakedness. Geralt curses Jaskier for being so obvious; it makes his job much more complicated. 

“Maybe he can give you some tips on how to satisfy her so she doesn’t feel the need to look elsewhere next time,” Geralt suggests, one hand coming up to casually rest on the hilt of his dagger strapped to his belt. 

“It’s all about the tongue,” Jaskier pipes up in a nasally tone, and Geralt rolls his eyes. 

The man’s eyes dart from Geralt to Jaskier, and back to Geralt before a look of realization crosses his face and it drains of color. “You’re… the butcher of Blaviken?”

“That’s him! So you’d best get back to your chambers if you want to keep all your limbs!” Jaskier crows, but only half of it is intelligible through the hand he’s holding to his nose. 

The man looks like there’s something else he wants to say, but he bites his lip and retreats, after one last withering glance at Jaskier. 

Geralt turns to Jaskier, suddenly very aware of his lack of clothing. “Will you ever learn?” he asks in exasperation. “I’m not always going to be around to clean up your messes, you know.”

“I’m fairly certain you have a much longer life expectancy than me,” Jaskier lisps, looking up at Geralt with doe eyes. 

Geralt sighs and sticks out a hand to help Jaskier up. 

Jaskier takes it, his fingertips lingering on the soft flesh of Geralt’s forearm, and heaves himself up. His hand stays on Geralt’s arm, and Geralt drags him back to their room. 

“Sit,” he says gruffly, rustling around in his pack for a clean rag. 

He steps over to the wash basin and dips it in before walking back to over Jaskier. He wipes the blood away from Jaskier’s nose gently, but an observer wouldn’t think so from the way Jaskier winces and groans.  

Geralt sighs. “Serves you right.”

“That’s just cruel, Geralt.” Jaskier squirms on the bed, pulling a corner of the blanket over his lap. 

Geralt resolutely focuses on his face. He squints at Jaskier’s nose, which is just the slightest bit crooked. “This is going to hurt,” Geralt warns. “One, two.”

Jaskier yelps as Geralt sets his nose back into its proper place, finishing up dabbing the blood away before he packs Jaskier’s nose full of gauze. “There,” he says. “Good as new.”

There are tears welling in Jaskier’s eyes from the pain. “I don’t know if I’d go that far,” he says weakly. 

“Maybe you’ll be able to go more than a week without cuckolding another husband this time.”

Jaskier lets out an indignant snort. “Hey, sometimes I just sleep with the husbands themselves. Then I have to watch what I eat, though,” he blathers on, and Geralt is honestly impressed with the lengths of his chatter even when Geralt imagines it must be painful to speak. “Have sex with one wrong person, and all of a sudden everyone and their mother is trying to poison you.”

Geralt’s not sure how to respond. 

Jaskier sighs and turns over in the bed. “Good night, Geralt.”

“Try not to drown in your own blood.”

“Always nice to know you care.”

And then, almost too softly for Jaskier to hear, “Good night, Jask.”

ii.

Geralt jerks awake and sits up in his bed roll. The fire is crackling happily, a far cry from the smoldering logs Geralt would have expected. He looks around, and Jaskier is gone. Normally, this would worry him, but if Jaskier took the time to stoke their fire, that probably means he hasn’t been eaten. Most likely. 

The slight chance that something untoward has happened propels Geralt out of the warmth of his blankets. He tugs on his boots and follows the faint scent of Jaskier, a warm mix of wood smoke and contentedness, these days. 

His nose leads him to the river bank, and he hovers right on the edge of the tree line, scouting for any possible dangers. He doesn’t see any, but as he does his sweep, his gaze catches on Jaskier’s bare back and lingers there. There’s a smattering of freckles that Geralt can just barely make out, until they disappear when Jaskier dunks his hair under the water. 

Geralt knows that he should stop just standing here, should either reveal himself or just slink back to their camp and start packing things up, but he finds himself rooted in place as Jaskier rubs a rag over his shoulder blades. 

Geralt is half tempted to offer his help in reaching Jaskier’s back, but he knows how that would probably be received. 

Geralt is transfixed as Jaskier begins to sing, and he sinks down to sit with his back to a tree to listen. Jaskier is always wanting his opinion on his songs, so surely he’d be fine with this, right?

It's not fair, oh, it's not fair how much I love you

It's not fair, 'cause you make me ache, you bastard

And he'll say

Oh, how, oh, how unreasonable

How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do

I'll spend my days so close to you

'Cause if I'm stood here, then I'm stood here

And I'll stand—

Geralt’s jerked out of his trance of listening to Jaskier sing in his honeyed tones by a disturbance in the water, and Geralt focuses in on the ripples that are starting to froth before a drowner emerges, its scaly skin glistening in the morning light. Jaskier screams, and Geralt leaps from his hiding spot, unsheathing his sword. 

Jaskier turns to look at the new disturbance with wide eyes, minutely relaxing when he sees it’s Geralt. Geralt jumps into the water, landing on the drowner’s back. It jerks and bucks, deceptively strong as it tries to toss Geralt off. Geralt hooks his hands around its neck, his sword gripped precariously. 

The drowner gives one last shake, and Geralt goes flying, his sword falling with a splash. There’s a clawed, webbed hand on Geralt’s head, forcing him under the water. He thrashes, trying to get free, but to no avail. Geralt keeps his mouth tightly shut, and his lungs start to burn as he continues to fight. 

Bright spots start to dance at the edge of his vision, getting darker and fuzzier now, and Geralt knows he’s right on the verge of losing consciousness. He’s unable to stop his gasp for air, but only water finds his lungs. He’s resigned himself to this being the way it ends when suddenly the grip goes lax and he’s able to propel himself to the water’s surface, gasping for breath. 

“Geralt? Geralt?” comes a worried voice, floaty and distant sounding. “Geralt, are you okay?”

There’s a pounding on his back, and water dribbles from his lips. A litany of curses follow and sharp tugs on his arm that lead him back to the bank. 

Geralt coughs and splutters, more water escaping him as he finally registers Jaskier pacing around anxiously... completely naked. Geralt chokes, and Jaskier is there in an instant, a warm hand on his back, rubbing in soothing circles. 

“You’re okay,” he croons with a gentle pat. 

Geralt doesn’t feel okay. He feels like he about died and is seconds away from doing it again via spontaneous combustion at the sight of all Jaskier’s skin on display. Geralt picks a spot on the distance and fixes his gaze on it. 

“Good thing you were around,” Jaskier says finally, and Geralt burns in shame at the thought of why exactly he was there. 

He’s lucky Jaskier isn’t running away in repulsion, like he would be if he knew the truth. 

Jaskier asks him if he’s okay yet again, and Geralt grunts. 

“Oh, goody, you’re well enough for monosyllabic conversation. Back to normal, then.”

Geralt grunts again, and Jaskier laughs, a delightful trilling thing. 

“Oh, here you go,” Jaskier says, handing Geralt back his sword that’s covered in monster guts and ichor. 

Geralt’s eyes do not bug out as the realization hits him. “You… you?”

“Well, it was drowning you! I couldn’t just stand around, now could I?”

“I...suppose not,” Geralt mutters, but in actuality, he can count on one hand the number of times someone’s actually come to his aid while he was fighting a monster. The most he can wish for is someone who won’t recoil as they patch up his wounds later. 

“Are you sure you’re alright? You’re acting a bit,” Jaskier pauses, “distracted.”

“I’m fine,” he says gruffly. 

“Well, I guess it’s not every day you have a near death experience,” Jaskier muses, “Oh, wait.”

“Maybe if I didn’t have to save your sorry ass so often.” Geralt shoves at him and instantly flushes red as his hand touches Jaskier’s bare skin and he registers again that he’s naked. 

“Put on some clothes,” Geralt mumbles, averting his eyes. 

There’s a heavy silence as Geralt waits for Jaskier to say something in response, some sort of rib, but nothing comes, just the soft swish of fabric as he gets dressed. 

Geralt grits his teeth. 

iii.

Geralt trudges down the rocky path, Roach just behind him. The trail from Kaer Morhen is downright treacherous at the best of times and fatal at worst, so Geralt would rather walk than risk Roach making a wrong step and sending them both pitching off a cliff. 

Not that that would be entirely unwelcome, after the winter Geralt has just endured. Eskel and Lambert took great pride in elbowing Geralt and making him the butt of their every joke, saying in glee that they could smell the longing drifting off of him. 

“Is Geralt in loooove?” Lambert had sang, until Geralt shoved him off his chair to shut him up. 

Lambert tumbled to the floor with a clatter of his armor, but he still wore his unbearably smug expression. Eskel had looked at him with soft eyes. “You could have brought them here, you know. I want to know whoever can make you happy.”

“Yeah, we all know how impossible that is for Mr. Melancholy,” Lambert said. 

Geralt shakes his head and puts his focus back on putting one foot in front of the other. The other witchers had endlessly pestered him about his plans for the spring, but Geralt hadn’t wanted to tell them. He likes Jaskier being just for him, and he had waited impatiently for the snow to melt in the pass. He was the first to set out, and he valiantly tried to ignore Lambert’s snickers as he left. 

Geralt is headed to Oxenfurt. He and Jaskier hadn’t made set plans to meet up, because it normally doesn’t take too long for them to accidentally on purpose run into each other, but this year, Geralt doesn’t want to wait. The winter had stretched out into much longer than normal, with biting cold and piles of snow, so Geralt is more than ready to be warm again. 

When the path finally stops twisting and turning, Geralt mounts Roach and picks up their pace a bit. It’s certainly only because he’s eager to sleep in a bed, never mind that he’s been sleeping in one all winter. 

Geralt pulls his hood up against the early spring chill and soldiers on. 

-

When Geralt finally arrives, several days and sleepless nights later, it’s just before dawn. Jaskier has always had a proclivity towards nocturnal behavior, with only Geralt’s need to be up and moving at first light tempering it, so Geralt doesn’t think Jaskier will mind the intrusion. 

Geralt ties Roach to a hitching post, promising to come back and find her a stable once the sun breaks over the horizon, and then he wanders until streets start to look familiar, and Jaskier’s cozy house comes into view. 

Geralt steps up to the door and knocks, and he definitely does not try to tame his hair into some semblance of kempt or get an anxious churning in his stomach at the prospect of seeing Jaskier again. There’s no answer to his knock, so he tries again, but Jaskier still doesn’t materialize. Geralt tries the knob, and to his alarm, it’s unlocked. 

His first thought is one of panic—what if something’s wrong? Jaskier wouldn’t just leave his door unlocked; someone could walk right in and steal his lute. Geralt opens the door quietly and creeps through the dark house. There are no immediate signs that there’s anything amiss. There are only three rooms, and Geralt eases the bedroom door open to peek inside. He’s immediately arrested by Jaskier sprawled out naked on his bed. 

Geralt takes a hurried step back, but not before his eyes dart all over Jaskier’s body. He’s just taking stock of any new injuries Jaskier might have incurred while Geralt wasn’t around to protect him from the wrath of cuckolded husbands, that’s all. Jaskier looks paler and more gaunt than he was when Geralt left him, but Geralt supposes that’s just a side effect of winter. 

Geralt retreats slowly, locking the door behind him and resolving to come back when the sun is high in the sky. 

Geralt stumbles onto the street, the early morning light making everything washed out as he scuffs his boots along the ground. He meanders back the way he came, deciding he’ll stable Roach and then see about something for breakfast. He hadn’t felt hungry in his haste to get to Jaskier, but now that his enthusiasm has been tempered, he’s starving. He tries to remember the last time he stopped to eat something more substantial than whatever he could pull out of his pack. Two, three, days ago, maybe? 

Roach comes into view, pawing her hoof against the dirt impatiently. Geratlt huffs a laugh as he walks closer, untying her reins from the hitch and clicking his tongue as he leads her in a direction that he’s getting a big whiff of horse from. 

Geralt leaves Roach at the stables, with his usual stern frown at the stable boy and a chastisement to Roach to be good as she nips at his shirt. 

Roach taken care of, he sets off to look for something to eat, wondering if it’s too soon for Jaskier to be up yet. His eyes flicker shut for a moment as he thinks of the Jaskier’s robe, and how if he goes right now and knocks on his door, he might answer wearing that and nothing else. 

Although, if he does that, even Jaskier might be able to smell the lust rolling off of him. 

Geralt sighs and continues his trudge, until he stops in his tracks and redirects his path. He looks up at the sun’s position in the sky. It’s been long enough. Surely Jaskier is wearing actual clothes by now?

Geralt walks back to Jaskier’s home, the path turning from dirt to cobblestone as he gets closer. There’s a patch of grass peeking between the stones with three orange wildflowers growing in it. Geralt stoops down and picks them without thinking too much about it. 

Geralt carries the flowers loosely in one hand down at his side. When he reaches the steps leading up to Jaskier’s door, he pauses to steel himself, to try to prepare himself for if Jaskier’s whole chest is on display in his robe, but he’s interrupted by an obnoxious throat clearing. 

Geralt whirls around to glare at the person, but he’s arrested by the sight of a man scowling right back at him. “Hope you’re not planning to bother some nice girl, Witcher. Like anyone would ever want you.”

Geralt glances down at the flowers in his hand, and then back to the man, mouth flapping uselessly. He has a point. 

“She’s probably just too scared to tell you to fuck off,” the man sneers, and Geralt’s fingers itch to pull his dagger from his belt, but he restrains himself. 

He surreptitiously looks around for a place to drop the flowers. The man is right; this is a terrible idea. What is he hoping to accomplish with this? Just to make Jaskier smile? He’s an idiot. 

A door slams open, and then, “Well, I have no such qualms. Fuck off.”

Geralt turns around to see Jaskier—and thank fuck he’s wearing clothes this time, but he’s wearing that ridiculous lavender robe, with his leg jutting out right below where it’s knotted together. Geralt desperately averts his eyes, turning back around to frown at the man, but he’s disappeared. 

He looks at Jaskier, then, drinking him in after a winter apart. Jaskier makes a pleased hum in the back of his throat. “For me?” he asks, holding out his hands for the flowers. 

Geralt hands them over without comment, but he can’t hide the smallest of smiles as he follows Jaskier into the house, Jaskier chattering away about everything Geralt missed. 

And, gods, did he miss a lot. 

iv.

When Geralt bolts awake this time, Jaskier is gone again. Geralt would be concerned that just anyone could sneak up on him while he’s sleeping, but he knows his body has started to become in tune with the sound of Jaskier and it no longer deems it necessary to rip him from his sleep for just Jaskier padding around. 

Still, Geralt wipes the sleep from his eyes and slowly gets up to start disassembling their camp. Jaskier will be back soon, and then they can be on their way. Geralt casts his eyes to the horizon, noting the first rays of morning peeking over it. 

 Geralt ambles over to where he had tethered Roach to a tree and scratches his fingertips over her neck. She headbutts his other hand, impatiently waiting for her breakfast. Geralt huffs a laugh. 

Geralt has everything packed up and he’s been leaning against a tree impatiently for three minutes when he starts to get worried. Who knows what could be in these woods? There could be any number of things looking to make a meal out of Jaskier. 

Geralt paces in a circle around their doused fire. On one hand, Jaskier could be doing something like taking a shit somewhere, but on the other hand, he might be hurt. 

Geralt freezes when he hears a faint strangled cry, and his feet are moving even though his mind has barely registered the sound. Geralt crashes through the underbrush, uncaring about how much noise he makes or the thorns that tear against his skin, until he skids to a stop in front of Jaskier. In front of Jaskier, who locks eyes with him while his cock is in his hand and comes with an aborted gasp. 

Heat burns up Geralt’s face. “Sorry, I—” he cuts himself off and flees back the way he came. 

He berates himself as he walks back to their camp. They haven’t been in a town in over three weeks, why was that not what he expected? In all honesty, that’s why he hadn’t gone after Jaskier immediately, but after he heard him shout all of the thoughts of restraint flew out of his brain. The only thing he could focus on was Jaskier needing help. 

Geralt tries not to dwell on the thought of how Jaskier’s cock had looked, flushed and jutting out proudly. Geralt pulls Roach’s brush out of the saddle bag and works her over carefully, making sure every hair is going the same way and helping her shed her thick winter coat. 

By the time Jaskier stumbles back, Geralt had thought he had managed to put the incident out of his mind, but the sight of Jaskier proves him wrong. “Ready to go?” Geralt grunts. 

Jaskier opens his mouth and shuts it with a click of his teeth. “What are we waiting for?”

Geralt swings himself up onto Roach, and doesn’t let himself look back to make sure Jaskier follows. 

v.

Geralt’s eyes crack open as the door to the inn room squeaks. He grunts in displeasure at being disturbed, and then remembers Jaskier is supposed to be with the barmaid and bolts upright. The door is just out of view from the bed, so Geralt eases himself out of bed and picks up the dagger. He creeps to where the wall juts out and then jumps out on the other side, revealing himself. 

“Is that a knife or are you just happy to see me?” Jaskier laughs nervously, and Geralt sheepishly drops the dagger onto the chair as his eyes widen. 

“What is with you and always being naked?” Geralt growls in frustration, trying not to look at the creamy expanse of Jaskier’s skin, marred with freckles instead of scars like Geralt’s. 

Jaskier’s brows pull together in confusion. “What?”

“Nevermind. Just—what is going on?”

“Ah. Right. That. I got…kicked out.”

“Did she have a husband?”

“Um, yes, yes, that’s exactly right. He did not appreciate the soiling of their marital bed.”

Geralt rolls his eyes fondly even as a pang of longing lodges itself right between his ribs. He doesn’t stop to examine it for too long. 

Geralt turns his back and slips back over to the bed. The one bed, because he had thought he would be alone tonight. Geralt sighs. 

There’s a quiet swish of fabric as Jaskier pulls on some clothes. “That was one of my favorite shirts, and now it’ll probably end up burnt or some other ridiculous thing.”

The doublet in question was a gaudy scarlet thing with obnoxious gold threading and beading sewn into it. The light always caught on it just wrong to shine into Geralt’s eyes and give him a headache. “What a pity.”

Jaskier shoves at his shoulder as he clambers into the bed without a second thought. Geralt swallows hard at the dip of the lumpy mattress, at the body what so close to his all of a sudden. Jaskier’s heartbeat thuds, and a peculiar smell drifts off of him that Geralt can’t quite place. 

Geralt turns over so that he’s facing Jaskier. “What’s wrong?”

Jaskier buries his face into the pillow. The one pillow, that he tugs away from Geralt. “Nothing,” he says, heaving a dramatic sigh. 

“Hmm. Well.” Geralt pauses and tries to think of a way to respond that won’t have Jaskier calling him an emotionless boulder later. “If you want to talk about it, I can listen.”

Jaskier lifts his head up from the pillow to meet Geralt’s eyes. “Wow, I didn’t know that I was speaking to anything other than the wall when I talk to you.”

Geralt yanks the pillow out from under Jaskier and hits him with it. “Shut up.”

+ i.

Jaskier sighs as he unfurls his bedroll. He’s been unleashing heavy sighs about once an hour for the past week, and it’s driving Geralt up the wall. He’s asked Jaskier if everything was all right four separate times now, and Jaskier has brushed him off each time. 

“Jaskier, just tell me what’s the matter,” he begs after Jaskier sighs as he returns with water from the stream. 

Jaskier plops the bucket down right next to the fire, and some splashes out and douses the small smolder Geralt had got started. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls before Jaskier can even react. 

“Fine! You want to know what’s so wrong? It’s you!”

Geralt rears back, blinking rapidly. He wants to make a beeline for Roach and try to get the feeling of Jaskier’s eyes boring into his out of his mind as soon as possible, but he can’t just leave Jaskier high and dry out here all alone. Geralt shakes his head and turns away. 

“Wait,” Jaskier’s hand comes around to clamp onto Geralt’s wrist. Geralt nearly shakes him off, but then Jaskier is saying again, “Wait. That’s not what I meant.”

Geralt meets Jaskier’s eyes cautiously and arches an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. 

Jaskier rubs the back of his neck. “You know I got kicked out of that room the other night.”

Geralt grunts. “For cuckolding the husband?”

“Well, yes, but not exactly. I lied. There was no husband. Turns out some people aren’t all that impressed when you say the wrong name in the heat of things.”

“Jaskier, what does that have to do with—” 

“It’s you, Geralt,” he whispers. 

“Oh.”

Geralt is taken aback. He’s never had this happen with a human before. It’s… hard to imagine that a human could see him as anything other than repulsive, something to be tolerated just to part him from his coin. 

“And now I see that I’ve made a complete and total mess of things. I’m sorry, I’ll just—”

As Jaskier’s grip on his wrist loosens, Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand instead. “You haven’t made a mess of anything.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen before he reaches the hand Geralt isn’t holding up to cup Geralt’s face. Geralt turns his head to nuzzle into Jaskier’s hand, and Jaskier leans forward to press his lips to Geralt. Their fingers become untangled as they move on, Jaskier’s coming up to twist in Geralt’s hair, and Geralt’s stroking across Jaskier’s cheek bone. 

When they pull away, Jaskier lets out a disbelieving chuckle. “Wow. It seems like I could have saved my hand some work while we were on the road.”

Geralt rolls his eyes at Jaskier’s crudeness. 

“Come on, you know that was funny,” Jaskier wheedles into his ear. 

Geralt pushes him aside and crouches down to rebuild their fire. “You’re rarely funny.”

Jaskier claps a hand over his chest and splutters. “Okay, still incredibly rude. Nice to know some things never change, I suppose.”

Jaskier huffs and walks away, going over to feed Roach while Geralt attempts to find some kindling that isn’t damp. 

A smile tugs at Geralt’s lips. 

When the fire is roaring once again, Geralt wanders over to where Jaskier is now sitting against a tree. 

Geralt sits down beside him. “I do think you’re funny sometimes,” he admits. 

“You’ve already wounded my pride, Geralt; it’s too late.”

“And so if I offered you a… hand, you’d turn me down?”

Jaskier jerks his head up and turns to Geralt. “That is not what I said in any way, shape, or form.”

“Hmm.”

In the end, it doesn’t happen that night, or the day after that. It’s when they’re finally at an inn that Jaskier pounces on him. Geralt has barely shut the door to their room when Jaskier is on him. “I’ve been so patient,” he whines. 

Geralt raises his eyebrows, unconvinced. “All you had to do was ask.”

“Geralt, you’re impossible,” Jaskier huffs in exasperation. “Well, I’m asking now.”

Geralt kisses him, slow and sweet, and Jaskier groans his eagerness into his mouth. 

Jaskier’s fingers fumble with the clasps of his armor, until Geralt laughs and takes it off himself. When he turns back around after carefully setting all the pieces on a chair, Jaskier is already naked, and finally, Geralt allows himself to look. He drinks it in, notices the tiny scar Jaskier has on his thigh, rakes his eyes over Jaskier’s chest. He moves closer so he can comb his fingers down the hair between Jaskier’s pecs, and he preens at the attention. 

Jaskier reaches down to undo his trousers, and Geralt steps out of them. He takes off his shirt, and sheds his smallclothes, looking back up to see Jaskier staring at him. His soft expression turns into a self satisfied grin as he hums to himself. 

“What?” Geralt asks, already sure he doesn’t want to know the answer. 

“Nothing. Okay, fine, just—the carpet matches the drapes, is all.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “It’s a mutation. Do you think I would choose for it to be white? What were you expecting?”

“You’re no fun,” Jaskier pauses. “What color did your hair used to be?”

Geralt stops and thinks. “Brown, probably? I don’t remember.”

Jaskier whistles. “That’s terribly sad. Do you think your childhood would make a good ballad? I bet it would.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt grits out. 

“Okay, okay. Insensitive, I apologize.”

Geralt pulls back, but Jaskier winds his arms around his shoulders and keeps him in place. “I’m sorry,” he says again, rubbing his nose against the delicate skin of Geralt’s neck. 

Geralt shudders and lets Jaskier distract him. It’s not like his childhood is something he particularly likes to dwell on, especially when there’s something much better for him to focus on in the form of Jaskier’s swelling cock judging against his hip. 

Jaskier presses up close against him, bracketing Geralt against the door and putting his palm flat over Geralt’s heart before he kisses him again. 

Geralt lets the sensation wash over him, the pleasant feelings and the vibration that sends a thrumming through his bones. He walks Jaskier back to the bed and lays him out, crawling on top and straddling him. 

Jaskier sucks in a breath. “Gods, Geralt. You’re beautiful.”

A hot blush rises to Geralt’s face and he turns away, but Jaskier takes his wrist. 

“Don’t mock me,” Geralt mumbles. 

“Darling,” Jaskier says, sitting up and taking both of Geralt’s hands in his. “I’m not.”

Geralt doesn’t know how to respond. He looks down at his body, littered with scars, some pink and small and some, long healed, white and wicked looking. “Hmm.”

Jaskier sighs and tugs Geralt in for another kiss, before he maneuvers Geralt so he’s the one laying down. Jaskier works his way down Geralt’s body, lingering on each scar until Geralt squirms uncomfortably beneath him. 

Jaskier huffs a soft laugh as he makes it to the soft inside of Geralt’s thighs, and Geralt starts squirming for a different reason. A whine comes from the back of Geralt’s throat as Jaskier continues to ignore his cock, throbbing and painful at this point. 

Jaskier finally has pity on him and takes him in hand, making Geralt sigh and his eyes flutter shut. Jaskier jacks him quickly, bringing Geralt to the edge faster than he would like to admit before he backs off and moves his hand. He goes back to tracing Geralt’s scars, his fingertips finding the one that cut through the muscle of his leg and healed jagged and rough. 

He hovers over a different one, looking up at Geralt with a question in his eyes. Jaskier’s wheedled most of the stories of his scars out of him, but this one—Geralt huffs. “I tripped over a rock and fell right onto a very pointy root,” he admits. 

Jaskier’s lips quirk up into a grin, and Geralt is about to chastise him for laughing when Jaskier directs his attention back to Geralt’s cock. 

Geralt gasps as warm heat envelops him, and his hand comes down to tangle in Jaskier’s soft hair. Jaskier’s other hand comes up to stroke the part of Geralt’s shaft not in his mouth and scoots further back to trail his fingertips over Geralt’s balls and ghost over his perineum to his hole. 

Geralt shudders at the feeling, and Jaskier pops off of him with a wet sound. “Can I—?”

“Yes, yes, please,” Geralt babbles. 

Jaskier disappears for a moment to rummage through his pack, and Geralt tries to slow his pulse. His heart is practically trying to thud out of his chest compared to its normal steady pace, so he sucks in a deep breath through his nose. 

Jaskier returns and settles himself between Geralt’s legs. Geralt lets Jaskier position him until his knees are bent and his feet are planted on the bed on either side of Jaskier. Geralt swallows past the lump forming in his throat as a wave of vulnerability crashes down on him. 

Jaskier must be able to sense his skittishness, because he takes Geralt’s hand in his and rubs soothing circles into it with his thumb. With his other hand, he rests the pad of his pointer finger against Geralt’s hole until he slips it in, a second finger quickly joining it. 

Geralt can feel himself tensing up, but he tries to relax, tries to let himself give in and just be boneless. 

Jaskier stretches him out until Geralt whines in anticipation. Jaskier chuckles and pats his clean hand on Geralt’s thigh. “I seem to recall you saying I was the impatient one?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls. 

Jaskier laughs again. “Fine, fine. I truly don’t understand why people think you’re so frightening.”

Geralt could list a few reasons, but he doesn’t want to kill the mood. He just grunts at Jaskier until he finally shuffles closer to Geralt and presses inside of him. 

Geralt’s head thumps back against the mattress as he squeezes his eyes shut, adjusting to the overwhelming fullness and the way the feeling radiates through his stomach. 

Are you good?” Jaskier whispers. 

Geralt nods, one of his hands finding Jaskier’s and tangling their fingers together, while the other grips the sheets as Jaskier begins to thrust.

He starts out slow, almost too slow for Geralt to bear, each slide dragging inside of him and creating delicious friction while the head of Jaskier’s cock nudges his prostate.

Geralt hums. 

“Let me hear you,” Jaskier says into his ear. 

Geralt looks off to the side, but Jaskier puts a finger on his chin and tilts his head back. “You’ve never been shy; don’t start now.”

Geralt stays sullenly even quieter than before, deliberately slowing his breathing. 

Jaskier laughs at his obstinance. “No performance review for me?”

“Just shut up and fuck me,” Geralt says breathlessly. 

“Who am I to say no to that?” Jaskier asks, and then there’s no more talking for a while, just gasps and moans as Jaskier slams into Geralt at a pace that leaves them both panting. 

Finally, Jaskier shudders to his climax and wraps a hand around Geralt’s weeping cock to bring him over the edge with him. 

Jaskier slips out of him and collapses onto the bed beside him, draping his leg over Geralt’s thigh, his fingers meandering their way again to the forest of scars that live on Geralt’s skin. 

“You’re lovely. Do you believe me yet?”

Geralt gives an unimpressed hum. 

“Well, lucky for you, I have the whole rest of my life to make you see reason.”

Geralt likes the sound of that.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ficlet #fanfiction #contemplative writing #5+1 fic

[lumosandnoxwriting]

Snuggles and Sacrifices - Fred Weasley

Title: Snuggles and Sacrifices Pairing: Fred x fem!reader Summary: Reader isn’t going to let anything get in the way of her dreams, as silly as they may be A/N: for the anon who wanted a fic where Fred and the reader go to adopt a cat and the reader has an allergy attack! It’s a little short but very sweet! Feedback is always welcome, and requests are open!

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

“Hi love,” Fred greets softly as he leans against the doorway to his and Y/N’s bedroom.

Y/N looks up from the book in her lap, giving her boyfriend a warm smile. Her smile falters a little as she takes in his appearance. His tie has been loosened and the first few buttons of his shirt are undone. There are bags under his eyes and his hair is messy, something he tends to do when he’s frustrated. He and George have been working extra-long hours at the store in the lead up to start of term at Hogwarts. He’s often gone in the morning before Y/N wakes up and he doesn’t arrive back home until she’s already eaten dinner.

“Come here, love,” she beckons, waving her wand so the books that had been sprawled out on their bed put themselves in a stack on their dresser. Fred immediately plops down on the bed, lying on his back with his head in Y/N’s lap so he can look at her. She places a light kiss to his lips and starts to run her hand through his hair.

“Mmm, feels good,” Fred sighs. His eyes close as he feels all the stress melt away from his body. The shop is no doubt one of the best things that happened to him, but he must admit that it’s hard work a lot of the time and a major cause of his stress. But returning home to Y/N always makes him feel better, and she is no doubt the best thing that ever happened to him.

Y/N scratches at Fred’s scalp lightly as her fingers run through his long hair. Molly has been begging him to get a haircut for weeks and Fred keeps saying he will once things with the shop slow down, but Y/N knows that he secretly keeps it long because she prefers it that way. “Long day?” she asks when Fred sighs.

Fred nods, opening his eyes so he can look at Y/N. “The longest. I wanted to leave after closing but there was a never-ending list of things to do. Every time I tried to sneak out it there was something else that we needed to do. I think the universe is trying to keep us apart my dear.”

Y/N laughs at Fred’s dramatics, leaning forward to kiss him again. “I don’t think it’s that serious, Freddie. You’re busy, I get it. I’ve got plenty to keep me busy while you’re gone,” she says, gesturing towards the large pile of books on their dresser.

After the war Y/N had decided to become a Healer, partially due to all the time she spent at St. Mungo’s with Fred after his brush with death. It destroyed her that there was nothing she could do to help him recover and as she watched the Healers work on Fred and the other patients it inspired her to do the same thing. She enrolled in the training program once Fred was back on his feet and now 2 years later all that stands in her way of becoming a full Healer is her final certification exam. It’s scheduled for the last week of October and Y/N has spent every waking minute preparing.

“I know,” Fred says with another sigh. “But I still feel bad. You’re here alone all day. You wake up alone, you eat alone. We moved in together so we could spend more time together, but it feels like I see you less than I did before.”

“You know it does get kind of lonely around here,” Y/N muses with a grin. “But I think I know something that we could do to make it less lonely,” she trails off, looking down at Fred expectantly.

Fred rolls his eyes and sits up, situating himself so he can look at Y/N. “No, Y/N we talked about this,” Fred scolds lightly. “We’re both way too busy right now to even entertain the idea.”

Y/N pouts at Fred and pushes his face away when he tries to kiss it away. “Come on, Freddie, please? It’s actually the perfect time! I’m still going to be home for the next few months, and by that time the shop won’t be as busy. It’s perfect.”

“I just don’t think it’s the right time for us to get a cat, love,” Fred says softly.

Y/N sticks out her bottom lip as she gets on her knees, her hands coming together in front of her like she’s praying. “Please, Freddie,” she begs while using her sweetest voice. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted in life.”

And she isn’t lying. Ever since she was a little girl all Y/N ever wanted was a cat. She’s not particularly sure why, but every year for her birthday she would ask for the same thing, a little black kitten. She would constantly beg her parents for one, but they always said no. And as much as she hated to admit it, they had a pretty good reason. Both Y/N and her mother are fairly allergic to cats.

Despite the sneeze fit she gets every time she’s around a cat, Y/N never let that stop her from yearning for one. It made going to Hogwarts quite difficult, especially after Hermione adopted Crookshanks. Cat hair was all over the common room and Hermione’s cat was always slinking about. Y/N could have told everyone about her allergies and Hermione could have kept Crookshanks in her dorm, but Y/N loved the fact that the orange kneazle was always around and cuddling up to anyone who would allow it. No matter how badly he irritated her nose she kept seeking him out, hiding her sneezes from all of her friends. She had gotten quite good at it too.

Y/N first brought up the idea of getting a cat when she and Fred moved in together 5 months ago. Y/N had been living in an apartment with a few of her friends from school and Fred was living with George and Angelina above the joke shop. Both places were far too crowded for them to get any alone time, so they decided to just go for it and get a place together. Y/N had figured it would be the perfect time to get a cat but Fred and vetoed it, saying that they were both too busy to be able to take care of a pet.

Fred sighs, unable to resist Y/N’s please. “I’ll think about it. Alright?”

Y/N squeals and wraps her arms around Fred’s neck, hugging him tightly. “You’re the best!” She pulls away to press kisses all over Fred’s face, a plan already forming in her head.

-

Sunday’s are usually reserved for family days at The Burrow.  Everyone spends the day hanging out and decompressing from the work week and Molly prepares an amazing dinner. Y/N looks forward to it every week, but this week she convinced Fred that they should skip out so they could spend the day alone together instead. Fred had agreed immediately, and Y/N could put her plan into action.

“It’s so nice, isn’t it? Just spending the day alone together,” Y/N says. Her and Fred are walking around muggle London, their hands intertwined and softly swinging back and forth between them. They’ve just left Y/N’s favorite muggle café after having lunch, and she suggested that they take a walk before heading back to their flat.

“It is, love. I’ve missed this. Just us, being us,” Fred muses, bringing their hands up so he can press a kiss to the back of Y/N’s hand. “Although I can assure you I don’t miss my weekly lecture about my hair.” They both laugh as Fred shakes his head, tousling his long locks.

They walk in silence for a few moments, just enjoying being with the other. Y/N almost feels bad that she’s using this opportunity to trick Fred, but as they approach their final destination, those feelings start to get replaced with excitement. They’re standing at a corner, waiting for their turn to cross when Y/N turns to look at Fred.

“I feel like you haven’t kissed me enough today,” she says, her lips turning into a pout.

Fred laughs and immediately leans down to kiss her softy. “I’m sorry, love. Let me fix that.” He kisses her again, lingering for a moment.

When he pulls away Y/N smiles at him and decides it’s time to enact her plan. She lets her gaze move from Fred’s face to something just behind him. “Oh, look!” she says excitedly, directing his attention to the storefront behind him.

“Oh no. No, no, no, no, no,” Fred says when he turns around to see what Y/N is pointing to.

They’re standing just in front of a muggle animal shelter. Fred looks down at Y/N’s excited face, frowning. “I said I think about it, Y/N. And I’m still thinking.”

Y/N gives Fred her best innocent look. “I know, I know. But there’s no harm in just looking, right?” She grins up at Fred as she starts to drag him towards the entrance.

-

They’ve only been in the kitten enclosure for a minute when Y/N can start to feel the familiar tingle she gets behind her nose whenever she’s around a cat. But she knows that seeing a kitten will break Fred down and she can’t give up now that her dream is about to be realized. She scrunches up her nose to get rid of the feeling and makes a beeline towards the only black kitten in the room.

“Aw Freddie. Come look at how cute this one is,” Y/N coos as she gently scoops the kitten up. It’s just a bit bigger than the size of her palm and is blinking up at her with large yellow eyes. She resists the urge to nuzzle into its’ soft fur, knowing that it will put her over the edge.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cute,” he mumbles as he comes up behind Y/N, trying to seem disinterested. He reaches a finger out and slowly strokes the kittens head. Any faux toughness he had dissolves as the kitten starts to purr. “I thought we were just supposed to be looking,” he teases lightly.

Y/N smiles up at Fred. She can see the happiness in his eyes and knows that they’re going to be leaving there with a kitten. “We are looking. We’re just looking with our hands,” she responds playfully. Y/N is suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to sneeze and she holds the kitten out to Fred, needing to get away from it as quick as possible. “Here love, hold him.”

Fred takes the kitten from Y/N, eyeing her warily. “Are you alright, love?”

Y/N’s face has screwed up and she is desperately trying to blink away the sneeze she feels building. She tries to nod, thinking of some excuse for her weird behavior when she can no longer hold it in. “Achoo!” Y/N sneezes loudly, scaring the tiny kitten in Fred’s hands.

She hopes to play it off as some dust in her nose, but once she’s started she can’t stop. She sneezes a few times in succession, her eyes starting to water from the force. Unable to contain it anymore, Y/N tiptoes around the kittens that are crawling along the floor, heading towards the exit.

Fred meets her outside of the kitten enclosure a few moments later and she waves away his look of concern. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“What the hell was that in there?” he asks, coming up and wrapping his arms around Y/N’s waist. “Thought you were gonna sneeze your brain out or something,” he chuckles.

“No that was just an. Um. Allergy attack,” she admits sheepishly, burying her face in his chest.

Fred starts to rub her back. “An allergy attack?” he asks, his confusion evident in his voice. “You’re allergic to cats?”

Y/N nods sadly, pulling her face out of Fred’s chest so she can look up at him. “Yeah, unfortunately. Mum is too.”

“Then why in the hell do you want a cat?” Fred asks with a laugh, completely confused by Y/N.

“I don’t know, I’ve just always wanted one. They seem pretty cool,” she explains with a shrug. Y/N leans up to press a kiss to Fred’s cheek and then untangles from his embrace. “Come on let’s go, I wanna see if we can adopt that little black kitten. He was so sweet!”

Fred grabs Y/N’s wrist to stop her. “Um, what are you doing? Did you forget what happened back there?” Fred pauses when Y/N pouts at him. “Love I know you want a cat but I can’t let you suffer like that everyday just so you can have one,” he says softly, pulling her back into his chest. He cups her cheek and presses a soft kiss to her lips.

“But, kitten,” she says softly, looking up at him.

Fred smiles down at her and kisses her again. “I know, love. If there was some way for us to get a cat and it didn’t set off your allergies we would. But until that happens we aren’t going to get a cat.”

“Fred, have you ever heard of something called allergy medication?”

-

One hour, a trip to a muggle pharmacy and a pet store later, Y/N is lying in bed with their brand-new kitten sleeping softly on her chest.

“You’re a crazy cat lady, you know that?” Fred says with a laugh as he lays down next to Y/N.

She smiles up at him and tilts her head back to ask for a kiss. After Fred presses their lips together softly she looks back down at their kitten. “Yeah, but I’m your crazy cat lady.”

#fred weasley #Fred Weasley fic #Fred Weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fluff #Harry Potter fanfiction #fw #golden

[1kook]

commercial break ; THREE

this is a netflix & chill drabble kook’s pov during their argument in d&b !

summary; But Jungkook loves the sun. warnings; post-fight, drinking, heart ache :( miscellaneous; everyone say thank u kim namjoon 🤩 word count; 1.5k

notes; a lot of people wanted to know his thoughts during the iconic d&b fight scene so here’s the closure we all needed </3 

He knows he’s said the wrong thing the second the last syllable departs from his lips.

Jungkook doesn’t mean it, that much he knows right away, but even still… there’s a silent moment of shock between the two of you, one where even he is surprised by his own tongue.

You move first, phone whipping across the room.

Now Jungkook has seen a lot of scary things in his life. He’s seen horror movies and walked through a cemetery at night once. He’s come home way past curfew and had to face the wrath of his normally lenient father. He’s sat front row in his first ever college seminar. Yet none of that fear, that anxiety, that dread, compares to the level of emotion he feels wrap around his throat the moment you get up.

“___, wait,” he calls out frantically, hands shaking the further and further you get. He has to tell you he doesn’t mean it, that he would never mean it. But how do you follow up a statement like that? Even when he catches your eyes, beautiful irises colder than the bottom of the ocean, he doesn’t know what to say. He stutters through an excuse he wouldn’t have believed himself and watches you slip further away.

Jungkook can’t let you leave, not when you’re so hurt and he’s so confused, but what else can he say? He doesn’t know, and when you angrily send him back inside he feels every bit the scolded child. Funny how that works.

He calls and calls until he realizes the muted hum from upstairs is the phone you left behind. He’s crazy and in love, desperately scouring through your social media accounts for a sign you’re safe and home. (You were on Twitter three minutes ago, so that’s a relief.) But even then he can’t relax, turning his own words over and over in his head.

Jungkook values a lot of things in your relationship. There’s a beautiful understanding that comes with being in love, a new sense of comfort he’d never felt before. You make him feel warm and in love, keep him grounded when the world threatens to swallow him beneath its surface. You care for him and he for you.

Where those thoughts had come from, he didn’t know. All he knew was that one minute you were picking at the edges of his patience, and the next he was shooting a dagger into your chest.

Self-reflection, Namjoon had always said, the key point to understanding oneself. Usually, that’s followed by some tips on yoga, on calming the mind, but his leg won’t stop bouncing and there’s a boa constrictor wrapped around his throat so that zen mentality will have to wait for now. A harsh exhale, foot thumping against the floor.

Carefully, he unscrambles his thoughts.

There were times you were childish and, for the most part, Jungkook didn’t mind. You brought out the most beautiful things in life with just your laughter alone. You roped him into doing things he never could enjoy growing up, which made him rekindle his love for old hobbies. If sunshine was a person, Jungkook is sure it was you.

You were bright and ever-burning, always with a mission in your head, even if it was something as small as cleaning your windows that day. A star, he thinks, except your smile alone garners the power of ten supernovas combined. The amount of joy and euphoria you’ve brought him this past year was immeasurable. You made him smile, even when you were tired, rising every morning and setting every night dutifully just like the sun.

But too much sunshine could be hot, scorching even.

His mom had mentioned it once, very early into your relationship, how you were a little too childish for Jungkook. He had angrily defended you, stormed out of his parents' house like he was ready to leave them all for you. (Would he? He likes to think so.) But a mother’s advice always haunted one the most.

Yes, your youthful outlook made his life colorful and bright, but there were times he found himself wondering what it would be like to have someone… not as outgoing.

Someone plain and always collected. Someone who would gently remind him of his deadlines, and watch all his favorite documentaries with him. Someone like him, he supposed, who matched his interests perfectly.

It sounds awfully boring.

It sounds terrible to be damned to such a dull life, especially now that he’s had a taste of you. You, who brings laughter and sunshine everywhere you go, his amazing other half. He’d hate it if you always did what he wanted— he loves when you pick at everything he likes because you let him do it back! Jungkook’s head was a never-ending spiral— that much he’s known from a young age. But with you in his life, it became fun and exhilarating. Gone was the dark tunnel and in its place was a twisty slide with loops and turns that defied all laws of gravity. It wasn’t a scary place anymore and it was all because of you.

You, who he might possibly lose forever. His own negligence was to thank, an inability to voice small issues until they piled up and became this big, warped monster that no longer pertained to his original frustrations. It was an ugly thing, so twisted and vile, taking the thoughts he seldom had and weaponizing them against you.

Was that it? Had those mindless thoughts been the root of today’s brash decisions. Jungkook wants to blame it on that, but part of him knows it’s his own inability to share his feelings that led to that spontaneous outburst. There were obviously some things he still needed to work on, but pinning it all on you, his dazzling ray in the sky, was the worst move he could have made. Self-reflection, he repeats to himself.

His heart is still pounding in his ears, drumming obnoxiously loud as if it wants to torture him for his actions. His phone rings across the room and Jungkook lunges for it, hoping and praying it’s you.

It’s not.

It’s just Namjoon calling to wish the two of you a happy anniversary. “You two having fun?” he teases before Jungkook can get so much as a greeting in.

“Hyung,” he chokes out hoarsely, glancing down at the ground. “I-I said something to ___,” he whispers even though there is no one here to hide from but his own crippling thoughts. “And I don’t think she’s coming back.”

His voice cracks a little. He hides it with a gulp so dry it hurts. “What?” Namjoon asks. “What do you mean?”

Jungkook sighs, running a hand over his eyes. “Are you busy right now?”

—

“You need to go to bed,” Namjoon tells him, ambling the two of them up the stairs. Jungkook snorts, sliding against the entire wall on the way up.

“I refuse,” he announces. He has to pause on the next step because he’s pretty sure there’s about four of the same step whirling before his eyes. Beside him, Namjoon sighs. “Hyung, I can’t see.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes, deciding the stairs are too much of a hassle and guiding them back to the living room instead. “Couch,” he informs him before rather carelessly dumping him onto it. “Listen,” he begins, crouching down beside Jungkook. “It’s like, 4 AM… and I have work tomorrow. So I’m going to leave,” he says, slowly pointing in the direction of outside. Jungkook nods, even though Namjoon is definitely pointing upside-down backward. “Okay, JK?”

“That’s me,” he agrees, letting his head slump back against a throw pillow. Namjoon groans.

“That is you,” he concedes. “And you need to sober up before you try talking to ___ again.”

The mere mention of your name turns a switch on inside him. “Can’t,” he whines, features twisting up together. “She hates me. Will cut my balls off.”

Namjoon goes to protest but eventually stops himself. “Yeah, well. Probably.” Jungkook wails at his friend’s poor attempt at consoling him. “Sleep a little and then head over to hers, okay?” He pats him on the cheek once before finally making his exit.

Jungkook can’t believe this. How embarrassing. If you saw him right now, you’d clown him for getting this drunk off wine. But he truly understands it now. It was the devil’s drink, so sweet and cooling only to suddenly slap him across the face with his own insobriety. Oh, his head was going to ache badly later.

Well, that was a problem for later’s Jungkook, he decides as he slinks off the couch and back into the kitchen. There’s a new box of cherry vodka he’d bought just for tonight—or last night, technically—because he knows it’s your favorite. And well. He misses you so much he’ll do anything to feel close to you again.

He’s not sure how long he sits on the floor, swing after swing going down his throat until he’s got three extra fingers and a new middle name. Just that when the sun finally filters through, so warm and bright, he finds himself missing you again. His feet take him out the door before he can think twice.

The morning rays bring with them a wicked headache that almost has Jungkook throwing up into his bushes. Part of him, the last droplet of reason, tells him he should change. He’s wearing the same clothes from yesterday and they reek. Furthermore, the sun is hellbent on soaking up every inch of his black clothing.  

He should change if he doesn’t want to suffocate in this heat, under this blazing sun in the sky.

But Jungkook loves the sun.

He walks on.

—

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

#goldenclosetnet #bangtanhq #jungkook fic #jjk fic #mine

[electrictoes]

All We Are

For @dailysvu’s Sonny Carisi Week

Day 4:  “What is this between us?  Relationship: Amanda Rollins  / Sonny Carisi​

Read on AO3

They don’t define this thing between them - it just is.

After a week, Sonny thinks maybe they should - but he’s so happy, and he doesn’t want to break this calm comfort they’ve found in each other by putting labels on things that have never needed to be labelled before.

Everyone around them is so curious though; other people want it defined. And it shouldn’t matter - shouldn’t be anyone’s business but their own. But it isn’t that simple. Their friends and family make no secret of the fact that they've been waiting for this almost as long as he has.

He skipped out on most of Memorial Day weekend with his family for the first time in his life - only putting in an appearance in his parents’ backyard late on Monday afternoon, a white lie on his lips; that he’s been stuck at work - a lie his mother sees through in an instant.

He can’t stop checking his phone; types and deletes a message to Amanda - an I miss you that he can’t bring himself to send, because it’s so ridiculous. He sends her a photo of the backyard filled with family instead, and smiles down at his phone when she sends him a photo back - the girls at the park, ice cream cones in their hands, sprinkles and chocolate sauce already trailing down Billie’s arm.

He tries to duck out of sight to call her a little later, but his mother catches him as he creeps up the stairs to his childhood bedroom; she stands at the foot of the stairs, hands on her hips, a scolding frown on her face - he hears the Dominick before she says it, and slinks back down to the hallway without a word, thinking about how he’s a prosecutor and he faces tougher opponents than his mother on a daily basis, but no one can reduce him to his thirteen year old self like she can.

His mom doesn’t let him slip back out to the party, her grip on his arm is firm as she tugs him into the kitchen, “Alright, out with it,” she says and he feigns confusion.

“I don’t-”

“It’s either a girl, or it’s something bad,” she says, arms crossed over her chest, a shadow of worry on her face. “And your sister told me you broke up with-”

Sonny sighs, resisting the urge to fold his own arms. He hadn’t actually told Bella that at all, just relayed one of the many arguments he and Nicole had had before they’d called it quits, but he wasn’t surprised that she’d drawn her own conclusions. “Bella needs to stop gossipin’ about me.”

“Tell me.”

“There’s nothin’ to-”  His mother fixes him with a look that would have had him running to his bedroom as a kid; he resists the urge to bolt now. “It’s new,” he says, and because his mom doesn’t so much as blink, he adds. “Rollins.”

There’s a part of him that’s almost giddy at the way she reacts - the way her posture softens and she smiles up at him. He enjoys it for half a second before the questions start coming in thick and fast - he deflects, but she ploughs on.

“So the two of you are-”

“Figuring that out,” he says. He listens to her as she talks about not wasting time, tells him he’s not getting any younger, reminds him his grandmother’s engagement ring is still sitting in her jewellery box upstairs just waiting for him to need it.

“Way too far ahead of yourself, Ma,” he says - too far ahead but still visible there on the horizon.

The closest they come to having the what is this? conversation in those early days is the is this a secret? conversation.

“I don’t want it to be,” Sonny admits, “But if you wanna wait until-”

“Until what?” Amanda asks him, “I’m sure,” she says. “If you are.”

They’re on the couch, the girls fast asleep down the hall and her feet resting in his lap; it’s casual and domestic and not really all that different from the way things have always been, but he lets himself take it in, appreciate the way his world is changing. He rests his hands on her shins as he smiles over at her, “I’m sure,” he says. And that’s it.

Everything left unsaid passes between them in looks, kisses, and touches. They don’t need more.

They don’t advertise it; there’s a time when they’ll have to - disclosure paperwork and conversations about professionalism and objectivity as though they haven’t been managing just fine up until now. But Sonny’s diligent - he’s checked the paperwork - he might have checked the paperwork over a year ago, when she’d left him at his desk with a sad smile and he’d spent the next forty-eight hours kicking himself, only for a global pandemic to stop him calling in that rain check  - and he knows they have time.

They do arrive at the precinct together one Tuesday morning a couple of weeks in; he has a meeting scheduled with Liv first thing and he hasn’t been back to his own apartment in three days. They’re not so blatant as to hold hands, but they do work with some of the best detectives in the city, so it isn’t a surprise that they’re caught out within minutes.

Fin gives them look, but he doesn’t say anything. Sonny’s sure he’ll get a comment in at some point, but while everyone knows Fin enjoys a gossip way more than he lets on, he’s good at keeping his questions to himself until the moment that best suits him.

Kat doesn’t follow suit. She’s nothing but questions and Sonny tries to escape under the guise of waiting for the captain in her office, but Amanda grips his jacket sleeve, silently telling him not leave her.

“How long?” Kat asks, “And what exactly-”

“Our business,” Amanda says; she’s smiling at Kat, no malice in her tone, but no room for argument either.

Jesse get a pass. Because she’s Jesse. And because this affects her just as much as it does Sonny and Amanda. For the first two weeks of waking up to Uncle Sonny sleeping in Mommy’s bed she doesn’t ask any questions - it surprises him, because that first morning waking up beside Amanda his second thought had been that they would have to figure out how to explain his presence there to Jesse and Billie. When Jesse had raced into Amanda's bedroom, though, she had just greeted him like she was used to him being there, and he’d wondered if they’d ever actually need to sit them down and explain.

Eventually she does ask, one night after he’s tucked Billie into bed with a kiss so it’s just the three of them awake. He leans in the bathroom doorway while Amanda gives Jesse her bath. She’s been unusually quiet, and there’s a thoughtful look on her face, “Mommy,” she says after a while, blinking water out of her eyes as Amanda washes her hair, “Is Uncle Sonny your husband now?”

Amanda coughs as though she’s the one with a face full of water, turning to look at Sonny with a startled expression. He gives her a soft smile, but he doesn’t have the answers either.

“Not yet, baby,” she says, and Sonny can’t help the grin that comes over his face, however wide Amanda’s eyes go at her own words.

“You’ve gotta have a weddin’ first,” Sonny adds, and Jesse beams over at him; he sees a dozen questions forming, but Amanda pours more water over her head, rinsing out the shampoo and buying them more time in the same moment.

Once she’s out of the bath, dressed in her pyjamas and ready for bed, Jesse throws her arms around his legs, hugging him tightly, “I’m glad you’re gonna have a wedding with Mommy,” she says, and tips her head back for a goodnight kiss before skipping to her bedroom as though she hadn’t essentially just told him to get on with proposing to her mother.

Amanda’s mother shows up unannounced at her apartment one Sunday morning, and it’s Sonny who answers the door - not expecting Beth Anne Rollins to be standing in the hallway, an impatient look on her face. “Oh,” is all she says when she clocks sight of him, her gaze travelling down the worn t-shirt and pyjama pants he’s wearing, his bare feet on the wooden floor. She pushes past him into the apartment, not greeting him or stopping for breath, “What are you doing here? Amanda finally admit she’s got a thing for you?”

He closes the door behind her and follows, not answering her questions. Billie scrambles down from the dining table to run and hug her grandmother, abandoning the cereal he’s spent the last ten minutes trying to coax her into eating, while she’d stubbornly refused and told him she wanted garlic bread for breakfast.

“Where is Amanda anyway?” Beth Anne asks, turning to look at him again. He feels self-conscious with her gaze on him, the soft clothes, untamed hair, shoeless Sonny Carisi was reserved for Amanda - and by extension the girls - certainly not for his possible future mother-in-law.

“Takin’ Frannie for a walk,” he says, “Jesse’s gone too,” he adds unnecessarily.

Beth Anne nods, still eyeing him with suspicion as she reaches into her handbag and pulls out a lollipop for Billie, who grabs at it gleefully.

“No-” he starts, but Beth Anne is already unwrapping the treat, and he sighs as Billie puts it in her mouth. “She hasn’t finished her breakfast,” he sighs.

“And who says you get to tell me what my granddaughter can eat?” Beth Anne says, smiling indulgently at Billie.

Sonny shakes his head, “I’m gonna… if you’re here I’m gonna get dressed,” he slips away to the bedroom, taking jeans and a shirt from the drawer he now has in Amanda’s dresser. While he changes he hears the sounds of Amanda’s return - Frannie barking, Jesse yelling a greeting to her grandmother. He hears murmuring as Amanda questions Beth Anne’s impromptu visit, and when he returns Amanda and her mother are at opposite ends of the kitchen, Amanda leaning back against the counter with an unimpressed look on her face.

“And then he tries to tell me not to give Billie candy-”

Amanda shakes her head, “He's right. It’s barely 9am, Momma.”

“Well, is he your boyfriend now or not?”

“Momma,” Amanda starts, but cuts herself off when she spots him hovering just beyond the kitchen, she gives him a warm smile, “We’re together, that’s all that matters,” she says, meeting his eye - all she feels and all that goes unsaid held in her gaze for him to see.

They fill in the disclosure paperwork that evening; they don’t have to just yet; they’ve still got time, Sonny’s been keeping the deadline in his head, but Amanda leaves him on the couch and goes out into the entryway where her work bag is; she returns a moment later, a manila folder in her hands that she passes over to him as she sits down. The form inside is mostly filled out - all their basic information already there in Amanda’s handwriting, the only empty boxes are Date of Disclosure, and Nature of Relationship.

“Time to make it official?” he asks, and she pokes his arm gently.

“It’s already official, Carisi,” she says, “Unless you’re thinking otherwise.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head at her, “You got a pen?”

“We’ve got to decide what to write in that box,” she tells him tapping the Nature of Relationship box with the pen she’s just grabbed. “Whatever we’re calling this,” she gestures between the two of them.

“According to Jesse, I’m your future husband,” he says, only half-joking.

Amanda just laughs at him, “I think you’d need to write fiancé,” she says, “But you’re not getting off that lightly - you need to propose to me yourself,” she tells him; she glances away as she adds, “Not yet, though.”

Someday, he thinks, leaning over, a hand reaching for her face, turning her back towards him so that he can kiss her; she lets him, kissing him right back for a minute or so before she puts one palm to his chest, pushing him back from her, “Carisi, let’s finish this first.”

He sighs as he pulls away, but it’s worth it not to have missed the impatient smirk on her face.

“I got it,” he tells her, resting the sheet of paper on his knee as he adds one word to the empty box. Partners.

#carisi week #sonny carisi #rollisi #rollisi fic #svu #svu fic #my fic #amanda rollins

[kiivg]

.I decided to just go with my three heroes instead of like all my dragon age romances because I’ve got someone for Blackwall, Gaspard, and I’ve got a mind for someone with Dorian too. Then I’ve got a whole load of OC x OC as well, and trying to draw all of them would be time consuming. However! During drawing this, I realised that, technically, Andrastopher, Anders, Marcus, and Zevran, have all slept with one another. Whether that’s between two people or more just depends on when in the timeline haha…. ,’:)c.

.Anyway there’s some things about my Heroes and their love interests below :), thank you for asking! I’m always excited to talk about my OCs.

...

.Andrastopher and Zevran’s relationship starts out as quite a basic thing. Something that’s not talked about in camp or on any of their journeys, but everyone knows it’s happening. On Andrastopher’s side, it’s something to make him forget for a little while, something to take his mind of everything that’s happening to him. Zevran, after all, offers this to him as more of an incentive to keep him alive knowing that Andrastopher most likely will end up killing him. Something that Andrastopher wasn’t exactly quiet about, he did actually plan on presenting Zevran’s head to Arl Howe at some point.

.Of course, everything changes with the course of time. Fighting beside one another in such dangerous situations, it was bound to leave them closer than before. They save each other’s lives, they tend one another’s wounds, and one night, Andrastopher doesn’t slink back to his own tent with a satisfied hum in his belly and stays curled around the other man. There’s a tenderness that blooms between them both, and what was not talked about before, is shown more and more openly.

.Zevran, I think, falls in love with Andrastopher before Andrastopher falls in love with him. He’s too broken to glue himself back together long enough to even think about such a thing. It probably doesn’t help that Zevran had started off by complimenting him on his looks above anything else, and Andrastopher knows he’s a weird looking man; more of a curiosity than a crush to anyone who looks at him. Anything Zevran had said after that was taken with the knowledge that the man would be lying.

.By the end of the blight, something that Andrastopher had hoped to die in, he’d found a reason to live again. Completing Morrigan’s ritual was a risk to take, but one he did so willingly so he could waken next to Zevran another day. However odd their beginnings were, neither man was willing to see the other one gone.

.After the blight, Andrastopher struggles with everything he knows. There’s no place for him in the world, and he cannot hide in Zevran’s arms as if there is nothing wrong. He takes a year to himself, sacrificing himself to the Qun, accepting that he needed a restriction in being who he was meant to be. It was a hard time apart, but the reunion was a sweet one. Though time and work takes them apart for perhaps months at a time, they remain loyal to one another. They marry at some point, a small thing which really only included the pair themselves, a chantry Mother, and Oghren who was both amused and embarrassed about it all.

.To this day they remain together, and regrets have been spoken about how they had initially started out. Andrastopher knows he should have treated Zevran better, something the man has forgiven him for over and over throughout their years. 

...

.Marcus and Anders’ relationship was in-game the rivalmance because it’s so much more delicious than the basic romance. But, in my mind, it’s different.

.They start off butting heads in Kirkwall, Marcus needs Anders’ help, and Anders’ needs Marcus’ help. The idea of anything between them isn’t really on the table at the time since Marcus has been spending his time between Meeran’s legs more often than not. They both find each other insufferable for a variety of reasons; Marcus is egotistic, narcissistic,  overtly cocky, and spends most of his time either fighting or fucking or playing that ridiculous lute he won in the Hanged Man. Whilst Marcus thinks Anders’ fight has been blown to unrealistic proportions, and he’s championing something that can be overcome easily enough, the man has a hero complex that grates on his nerves. Marcus is a Fereldan apostate who lives freely, and he can’t understand why people don’t just escape from the circle; his father did easily enough.

.After the Deep Roads expedition, coming home after eating nothing but mushrooms and drinking rock water for weeks, just to return to Carver’s newfound templar job really makes him rethink his attitude in Kirkwall. Marcus becomes openly supportive of the Templars, he has no choice; Carver’s relation to a mage has him under valiant watch, and though money helps, Marcus has to be on his best behaviour. Being seen with Anders can only damage his reputation, but they had kissed in that foggy desperation in the Deep Roads, not that they’d spoken of it, but it remains a memory that tasted sweet despite their breath.

.Marcus spends most of his time in the Blooming Rose in the next few years, wealth and desire letting him flaunt his time in rented beds. Anders yet plays on his mind, pulling him back time after time whenever he hears the man needs his help. They fight and disagree, snapping with magic curling in their fingertips. Anders feels like Marcus is betraying the very core of himself; denying that he’s a mage in every positive song he sings of the Templars. He hates the man with an intensity that boils over in the need to return to that time in the Deep Roads; when mages and templars didn’t matter, and the once fat Fereldan apostate gave away his shares of tasteless fungi to the mage who knew how to heal wounds. They fight and kiss, biting at each other with teeth and nails, and it is Marcus who storms away; burning with confusion and singed footsteps, and awaiting a visitor at the end of the night.

.When things get particularly bad, Marcus gives in to Anders’ way of thinking, apologising for what they had been through over the years. He gives him a key to the Hawke estate. It’s a safe place to hide, a safe place to smuggle mages in and out. He warns him on Carver’s inclusion, Marcus can’t be seen helping; it would only come back upon his brother and he’s not willing to risk such a thing.

.Anders stops by the estate more and more, and the animosity between them settles into something of a comfort. The man is there when Leandra is killed, he is there to stop him from killing Merrill just a few nights after, he is there to drag him home from the Blooming Rose when he drinks too much to remember where he lives. Marcus knows he doesn’t deserve any of it, and he is selfish when he kisses Anders for the first time in years, selfish when he tries to drag him into bed, selfish when he asks him to stay the night. Marcus’ rise to Viscount is the only thing that keeps Anders safe, and is the only reason that Anders is able to be smuggled from Kirkwall after the explosion.

.It’s a year and a half before they see each other again. Justice has been calmed over the months, and Marcus’ attempts at keeping Kirkwall sane had slowly been overthrown by a group of zealots. A mage couldn’t hold position for any longer, and he had no choice but to flee. He’d spent six months building a home for himself in the ruins of Lothering, and he welcomes Anders with laughter and disbelief when he sees the man again. Years had passed since they had first met in Darktown, but seeing Marcus with a small herd and a weight settling in his gut, it’s the most real he’s ever been.

.They settle together, never intending for it to be permanent. But there is a loneliness that could only be combatted together, and when mages begin to find them it’s hard not to fall in love with one another when they work to rebuild what was once lost. A small village sprouts around them, mages seeking safety and succour found under the guidance of a heavy stranger named Conchobhar, and that taller fellow named Jarl.

...

.Goddard and Yetta’s relationship isn’t actually an in-game thing, since he’s seventy-one at the beginning of Inquisition, and like what options do I ever have apart from making him a sugar daddy (I missed a thing there for sure AH), so I gave him a wife called Yetta.

.Essentially, it’s an arranged marriage for them. Which begins terribly, because neither want to marry the other; Goddard is still holding out hope that he will find his first love again, and Yetta was betrothed to him since she was a child so she’s never had a choice. Their wedding is awkward, Goddard tries to convince his little brother, Milward, to take his place, and Yetta is caught trying to escape from the actual event. Goddard also turns up in Orlesian finery in an attempt to insult Yetta’s family and to remind them that he spent a good few years in bed with a chevalier. It works, but, the wedding still goes ahead, and they’re both miserably married by the end of the day.

.Despite his tactics, Goddard promises Yetta that he’d stay truthful to her regardless of whether or not they end up in bed together. And, in the beginning, neither of them wanted to. Goddard spends his nights sleeping on the floor, and there’s a more than obvious rumour floating around that they haven’t yet slept together. Despite all the pushes and shoves they receive; Goddard being pushed into Yetta’s room as she dresses for the day, Yetta being forced into the bathing chambers whilst Goddard is alone in there, conversations of sex being brought up at their meal times, and even being locked in their bedchamber for so long that Goddard ends up bum rushing the guards who bring them food at meal time.

.It’s not the best beginning, but there is a camaraderie that begins between them in their joint frustrations. Their attraction to one another begins in the written letters they send over the years. With Goddard working in Ferelden, and Yetta remaining in Ostwick, it’s the only way of communicating they have. And though it takes years, it’s hard to deny the way that their feelings grow each time Goddard gets some weeks away from the military.

.Together they have three children over the years, agreeing to stop trying after that due to Wakefield’s complicated birth. They remain happy together until this day, accepting a few blips over the years, and the rather gargantuan blunder of Goddard having an affair whilst incapacitated and presumed dead in Ferelden. Everything that is thrown at them is tackled head on and together, and it is obvious in almost everything that the do together, that their love grows ever stronger every minute they spent beside one another.

.TL:DR: all my heroes are happy and loved and alive :)c.

#andrastopher cousland #zevran arainai #marcus hawke #anders #dragon age #goddard trevelyan #yetta trevelyan #dai #dao #da2 #dragon age 2 #dragon age origins #dragon age inquisition #mxm #mxf #andrastopher x zevran #zevran x andrastopher #handers #hawke x anders #anders x hawke #goddard x yetta #yetta x goddard

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Non-Sequential [Ch. 28]

Pairing: Pre-Serum Steve Rogers/Steve Rogers x Reader

One night, Steve Rogers met a beautiful dame named Y/N. He hadn’t intended on letting her get away. But fate had other ideas. Y/N appeared and disappeared in his life so hauntingly that Steve started to wonder if she was an angel meant to watch over him.

Word Count: 2,300

Chapter 27

The Battle of Wakanda was simultaneously the shortest and longest day of Steve Rogers’ life.

The dog-like aliens were released in too many droves, making Steve believe they would never stop attacking. Even if Shuri was successful in detaching the stone from Vision, would destroying it even stop these monsters? But Steve didn’t have time to think about that.

Thor’s arrival felt like a blink to Steve. He didn’t have time to process the return of his long-lost friend. The two of them were too busy trying to survive. But Steve somehow seemed to sense the personal ties Thor had in this war.

Steve started to come to on the forest floor. His body quick to recover from being knocked unconscious by Thanos. But it wasn’t fast enough.

He slowly got to his feet and looked up to find Thor pressing his axe into Thanos’ chest. But for some reason, Steve knew it was too soon to celebrate a victory. Something felt off.  

“Nooo!” Thor bellowed just before Thanos snapped his fingers.

A flash blinded Steve as he tried to move forward.

When he regained his vision, Thanos fell backwards into a portal and disappeared.

Steve clutched his side as he made his way to Thor. “Where’d he go?”

Thor said nothing, just remained in a daze and breathed heavily.

“Thor?” Steve begged. “Where’d he go?”

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice begged for his attention.

But when Steve looked over, Bucky’s body was already disappearing, turning into ash.

With utter shock, Steve slinked to the pile of ash that once was his best friend.

Him and Thor shared a look, finally understanding what was happening.

Everyone regrouped. Well… not everyone.

Steve went to Visions body, colorless and lifeless. The stone was missing from his forehead, proving what they were already figuring out.

“What is this?” Rhodey asked. “What the hell is happening?”

Steve breathed deeply as it all finally made sense. “Oh, God.”

Then her face flashed in his mind.

“Y/N,” he gasped and jumped to his feet.

“Steve…” Nat called after him, but there was no life in her voice. She just sounded scared.

All the injuries he had meant nothing to him now as he sprinted back to the palace at super-soldier speed. It didn’t matter how much his body hurt and protested. All that mattered was getting to her.

He ignored the panicked looks and the various piles of ash that were scattered across the palace hallways.

He shoved his shoulder against the doors of the wing that protected the royal family and Y/N.

When he entered, the Queen Mother whipped around with tears in her eyes.

Steve’s eyes raced around the room, looking for her. “Y/N!” He yelled.

But when he did not find her or receive an answer, his gaze returned to Ramonda.

She simply shook her head.

“No,” Steve whispered as he shook his head. “No.”

“She’s gone,” Ramonda gasped. “Shuri and her...a-and the rest of them.”

First his best friend and now the love of his life.

Tears filled his eyes.

He left, needing to go to her room. Despite the Queen Mother’s words, Steve’s heart wouldn’t believe her. She couldn’t be gone. It could not be true.

But what he found was an empty bedroom. Clean and barren.

It took a second glance around the room to see the envelope that lay waiting on her nightstand.

Steve didn’t know how it caught his eye when he was having a breakdown.

He saw his name written on it – just Steve. But it was Y/N’s handwriting.

His hand shook as he reached out to pick it up.

He already knew what he was going to find waiting for him inside the envelope.

Y/N knew this was coming. She had seen it. Kept the secret hidden as her own burden to bare. Letting everyone else live in blissful ignorance.

Steve,

By the time you find this, I’m sure you will have figured out what has happened. Thanos was successful. And with his success I have been taken from you.

You have also already realized that I knew this was going to happen. I’ve known for…Well, it doesn’t matter how long I’ve known.

I’m sorry I didn’t warn you. I knew it would destroy you, and maybe it would’ve destroyed us. Is it selfish that I just wanted our time together to be spent without the dread of the future looming over our heads?

I know this is not the goodbye you want or need. But this is all we could have.

Steve, I love you. I love you more than I could ever put into words. You know they aren’t my strong suit. But I hope I made you feel that love.

I know you, Steve. I know you will be OK. You were always stronger than me. You can survive missing me, but I would’ve never survived missing you.

I love you, Steve.

Please don’t forget me.

Steve turned the page over, expecting to find more written. 

But that was it.

He wanted more. He needed it. It was a goodbye, but why did he feel like something was missing or that something was off?

The next couple of days were a blur. He hid his feelings. The team needed him. They didn’t need a broken Steve Rogers; they needed Captain America. He wasn’t the only person that lost someone. They all had.

The team decided to return to the compound in New York, regroup and make a plan. Then they discovered Fury’s pager and Carol Danvers explained her relation to it, and Steve allowed himself to feel hope.

But their attack ended in disappointment.

Steve knew in hindsight that it made sense: Y/N wouldn’t have written him a letter saying goodbye if they could bring the world back in a few days.

The solution wasn’t that easy… if there even was a solution.

Now Steve sat on the dock on the lake. The compound’s lights weren’t lit like before – well, everything – making it easier to actually see the stars.

He heard her walking up behind him. But he wasn’t really in the mood for talking. Maybe if he pretended she wasn’t there, she wouldn’t try to engage.

But she’s not one to back down like that.

Nat sat down next to him on the dock, dipping her barefoot into the lake.

“I think I’m going to…get out of here. Thinking about Brooklyn.” Steve spoke first.

“Steve…” She started.

“I can’t stay here, Nat. Everything reminds me of her. The grass on that lawn? Every time I look at it, I think of the night she met me. When I walk into that kitchen, I’m still convinced she’s going to be standing in there waiting for me with a mug of coffee in her hands.”

“So, that’s it? The Avengers are no more?” She challenged.

“We lost, Nat.”

“It was just lost one war, Steve. There will be others. There already are. Carol says–”

But Steve whipped his head to look at her. “We didn’t just lose a war,” he snapped. “I lost everything!” Then he controlled his temper. “She was everything,” he muttered as he looked back onto water.

Nat didn’t say anything more, already knowing when Steve made up his mind, there was no changing it. The only person more stubborn than him was Tony.

“Have you found him yet?” Steve asked her carefully.

She shook her head. “His house arrest bracelet was cut, which can only mean he survived. And there was a call to the compound just minutes after the snap.” Her eyes started watering. “I know he’s out there. But I think Laura and the kids…” She couldn’t even bring herself to say it.

“You shouldn’t stay here,” Steve told her as he looked back at the compound. It was empty and looked lifeless. The agents and scientists that once busied the space were either snapped or had gone back to what family and friends they had left.

Nat ignored his statement.

“Thor’s left. Bruce is acting strange. Tony has clung to Pepper. Rhodey is going back to DC. You shouldn’t be here by yourself, Nat.”

“So, where should I go? To New York City with you?” She challenged.

“Is that such a terrible idea?” He asked.

“I can’t, Steve. I can still help people. I know I can.”

He stood up. “You know…there are other ways to do that than just this.”

———————

Some Time Later…

Steve’s eyes snapped open when he heard the intruder.

His apartment had been restored to keep the character from the time period he was truly from, while being updated enough to be accepted and functional in modern society. But with it came squeaky floorboards and sometimes lack of soundproofing.

But that just meant that there was no mistaking when there was some other presence in his home.

He slipped out of bed completely silent.

Steve didn’t have his shield, but he doubt he would need it to defend himself from a thief. 

Crime had skyrocketed since the snap. Turned out that Thanos’ mission didn’t include only ridding the world of bad people. Some took advantage of the world’s vulnerable state, stealing and killing and assaulting others.

But when Steve peaked around the corner, he didn’t find a burglar.

“It’s just me,” she said gently.

Immediately recognizing the voice, Steve rushed around the corner.

Y/N was waiting for him with the blanket from the couch wrapped around her naked body.

Before she even had a chance to say his name or a hello, Steve was pulling her into his arms. The gesture wasn’t uncommon for him, but it still took her by surprise a bit.

“Hi,” she breathed into his shoulder.

He pulled back a bit, “Hi.”

His eyes and body language were now uncertain.

And Y/N knew why: he was trying to figure out what she knew and where she had come from.

“It’s after his snap?” She asked him quietly, proving that she already was aware and he didn’t have to be careful about what he said to her.

He just nodded sadly. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

Steve’s situation was simultaneously lucky and heartbreaking. Unlike his friends that survived, he got glimpses of the person he lost. Y/N’s time traveling that once felt like a curse was now a gift to Steve.

He got to hold her, to be reminded of how her skin felt and what she smelled like and how warm or cold her body felt against his.

Y/N leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. She didn’t want to think about when the last time that he felt her lips.

Steve blinks suddenly. “Sorry! Let me get you some clothes.”

Before she could stop him, he rushed back into his bedroom and started shuffling through drawers, determined to find Y/N’s favorite sweatpants and t-shirt of his.

When he looked up with the clothes in his hands, Y/N was leaning against the doorway with an appreciative grin.

She thanked him as she took the clothes from him.

Steve turned his back to give her some space to change, but he couldn’t find it in him to leave the room and truly give her privacy. He was scared she would disappear at any moment and he didn’t want to miss a second of her visit.

He heard Y/N giggle behind him. It sent a chill down his spine.

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, Steve. In fact, you see it quite often.”

He slowly turned to find her already dressed. He cleared his throat, “Sorry. It seems I’m not sure how to act around you anymore.”

She walked up to him and cupped his cheek. “You don’t have to be sorry, Steve.”

He nodded. 

“You’re looking at me as if I’m a ghost,” she whispered to him. 

And in a way, she was. 

Her hands then went to his shoulders. He seemed to preen at her touch, so she’d give him as much of it as she possibly could.

“Can I ask you something?” He muttered.

Steve only said things like that when he was nearing a fine line, when he wanted to ask her something about her time traveling. Something that he already knew she wouldn’t want to tell him.

But Y/N nodded.

“When did you find out?”

He didn’t have to elaborate, Y/N knew what he was asking about.

“Not until I was living in Wakanda.” She kept it generic.

Steve seemed somewhat relieved by it. He couldn’t imagine Y/N keeping the secret of the apocalypse for longer that she already had. A couple years was still torture. But Steve had been imagining the worst, often thinking of a teenage Y/N learning of the end of the world, having it haunt her ever moment.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whimpered. “I’m sorry I didn’t save you.”

Y/N him to her. “Oh, Steve. Shh. There was nothing you could do.”

“I’ve lost so many innocent lives. And I used to tell myself that as long as I had you, I could bare that guilt. But once I lost you…”

Y/N shushed him again. “You’re a hero. No one has ever doubted that. But you’re still just a man, Steven Grant Rogers. And Thanos – Thanos was a titan. A titan with the most powerful weapon in the universe. None of you stood a chance.”

Steve nodded, but she knew it would take more than a few words from her to convince him of that.

“I wish you could stay,” he muttered.

She wiped away some of his tears that had escaped. “I wish I could, too.”

He pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes.

All the tension left him from just the feeling of her. His body hadn’t relaxed since the last time he’d properly held her in his arms – before the snap, before the Battle of Wakanda.

Nevertheless, when he opened his eyes again, Y/N was already gone. The sweatpants and t-shirt she had been wearing piled at his feet.

It was then that Steve wondered if he really was luckier than everyone. Because having to say goodbye to Y/N over and over and over again now felt like a different type of torture.

Maybe her visits were going to become his drug. In the end, they weren’t good for him. But he still craved them like his life depended on them.

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

Chapter 29

Just want to clarify that I have not “returned” from my hiatus or to this tumblr in general. 

Quite frankly this fandom has lost its fucking mind and I’m rather disgusted with the behavior I’ve seen in the past month or so. 

No wonder all of the talented writers have left.

I’m only finishing this stupid series to clear my conscious. But I regretted looking back to see that while +2,500 people follow this series’ masterlist, the past few chapters have received 300 or less notes. And that, I tell you, is one of the reasons I hate it here. 

#non-sequential #non-sequential series #non-sequential chapter 28 #steve rogers series #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #captain america series #steve rogers reader insert #captain america reader insert #captain america x reader #captain america x you #invisibleanonymousmonsters #invisible anonymous monster #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff

[gins-potter]

Of Crushes and Coffee

(Coffeeshop AU / Hinny / Non-magical AU / Modern AU / Written for the @harryandginuary Gift Exchange / Cross-posted to Ao3 and FF.net)

Ginny’s so absorbed in the football match playing out on her phone that the hustle and bustle of the coffee shop around her is little more than a distant hum.  So much so that she almost doesn’t notice at first when someone stops by her table and deposits a fresh mug of coffee on the table in front of her.  The hand responsible hovers for a moment, before nudging it closer like they’re waiting for it to be acknowledged.  Ginny glances at it and notices that the coffee is adorned with a familiar foam heart.

“I didn’t order that,” she mumbles, rewinding a section of the video to watch over again, frown furrowing her brow.

“Is that how the kids say thank you these days?”

The slow amused voice of her flatmate - not to mention her brother’s best friend - has Ginny sighing and pausing the video with her thumb, before glancing up at him.

“You’re barely a year older than me,” she reminds Harry, pushing the mug back towards him.  “And seriously, I didn’t order this.”

He just gestures for her to take it, and slides into the seat opposite, smiling a bit.  “I know, but it looked like you needed it.  On me.”

Ginny tries to pretend like her heart doesn’t swoop at both the sight of the dimples brought forth by his smile, and the kindness of the gesture and busies herself reaching for the mug.  Her tongue protests vehemently as it comes into contact with the still steaming liquid but she forces herself to swallow anyway.  Harry’s smile deepens as he leans back in his chair and watches her every movement, like he knows exactly what just happened, but Ginny jumps in before he can tease her about it.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“I’m on my break, and besides…” Harry trails off and gestures lazily at the other tables.

Surprised, Ginny turns to see that the place has all but cleared out in the last few minutes that she’s been distracted by her phone.  Besides the two of them, there’s only her brother left, where he’s leaning against the counter and flirting with Hermione, who, uncharacteristic for her, is blushing and playing with a stray curl that’s escaped her bun.

“So Ron sent you over here to check on me?  Or has he completely forgotten he was the one who dragged me here in the first place?”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest and Ginny tries her best not to notice the way it makes his tattoos flex and move.  He’s spent enough time at her house, a great deal of it playing shirts and skins football matches in the yard with her brothers, that she knows each of them intimately.  An artistic rendering of a stag’s head on his left forearm, a swirling, raging lightning storm on the other shoulder, raining down on a single lily blossom, an entwined silver wolf and black dog on his ribs, snapping and snarling at each other playfully.

“First of all,” Harry says, snapping her out of her thoughts.  “I don’t need Ron to tell me when you need a pick-me-up.”

Ginny feels herself blush at the implication that not only had he noticed her bad mood but also that he’d come over to cheer her up of his own volition.

“Second of all,” he continues obliviously.  “You needed to be dragged out, Gin.  You’ve been hiding in the flat for a week now.”

Her giddiness fading a bit, Ginny scowls at her coffee.

“It’s only a loss.”

“Two in a row.  And that’s rich of the uni footy legend who sulks for a month every time he misses a goal to say.”

“Hey, that’s Mister uni-footy-legend-who-sulks-for-a-month-every-time-he-misses-a-goal to you.”

Ginny rolls her eyes but despite herself, feels a smile tug at her mouth.  Harry’s eyes, which had been scanning her face, drop to her lips for a split second before flicking away.  Thrown by the movement, Ginny feels her face heat further, and she resists the urge to curse her fair skin soundly for no doubt giving her feelings away.  She turns her head, hiding her face in her shoulder, eyes catching on her brother and his girlfriend.

“Why is Ron harassing Hermione with a football jersey?”

Harry allows the blatant subject change graciously, and follows her gaze over to where Ron is indeed enthusiastically brandishing a jersey in the university’s red and gold at Hermione, who’s looking distinctly unsure about it all.

“Ah,” Harry says, nodding in understanding.  “Well, Ron wants Hermione to come to our next match wearing a ‘Weasley’ jersey.”

“Wow,” Ginny says, watching as Hermione takes the jersey and holds it up against her chest.  “Isn’t that kind of…”

“Cheesy?”

Ginny snorts, something that would make her mother cluck her tongue in disapproval if she was here, and says, “Well yeah.  But I was going to say couple-y.”

“I know, it didn’t take long for that to happen, did it?”  Despite the sarcasm in his voice, there’s a faint smile on his face as he watches that tells Ginny he’s happy, truly happy for them.

“Speaking of couples,” Ginny says, before she can stop herself.  “Romilda Vane’s planning on asking you out.”

She watches carefully as his eyes slide back to her, and she hates the triumphant stab in her chest when his expression remains blank, clearly having no idea who she’s talking about.

Finally an eyebrow arches from behind his glasses as he asks, “Who?”

“Romilda on my football team.  Studying psychology, thick dark hair, more confidence than you can poke a stick at.”

Harry looks torn between laughing at her description and grimacing as memories of the girl surface.  “Oh,” he says finally.  “Her.”

“Yeah.”  Ginny grins openly at his discomfort and he rolls his eyes at her.  “You’re a lucky guy.  But if she’s not to your fancy, Lavender Brown likes to tell me every chance she gets how she’s single and looking for a fit footy lad.  I think she’s hoping I’ll pass it on to you.”

“That explains why she tried to corner me at the twin’s party last month.”  A noise of vague protest emerges from Ginny’s throat before she has a chance to stop it, and Harry cocks his head and regards her curiously as he continues, “She seemed very put out when I declined to join her in the broom cupboard.”

“Oh.”  Ginny hides her smile in her coffee as she takes another sip.  “Well, if not them, you should ask someone out.  It’s been ages since you dated anyone and you’re turning into quite the sad little git.”

Harry pulls a face before squinting at her across the table.  “Have you been talking to Hermione?  Anyway, I don’t want to date Lavender or Romilda.  Maybe,” he continues, face growing thoughtful.  “I just need someone to come to a game wearing my jersey and they’ll back off.”

His gaze sharpens on her, something familiar and mischievous in his eyes, and she barks out a startled laugh.

“Absolutely not.”

“Awww, come on, Gin.  You said yourself that it’s a very couple-y thing to do.”

Ginny scoffs and blusters for a moment before finally getting out, “Because it is.  But we- ” She gestures between them.  “-are not a couple.”

Harry doesn’t answer immediately, but he doesn’t look away either.  There’s still a slight smile on his face, but the amusement has faded, replaced with something deep and intense that has Ginny’s heart thudding in her chest.  Something heavy hangs in the air between them as they gaze at each other, and Harry’s mouth opens, to say what Ginny isn’t sure, because in that moment they’re interrupted by a clatter and a laugh.

Ginny’s arm jerks, jostling her coffee and spilling dark liquid all over the table, while Harry leans back in his chair, ruffling his hair subconsciously.  They both glance over to see Ron swinging Hermione, now wearing the jersey thrown over her work shirt, around the counter, tucking her under his arm.

“Hey, Harry, mind if I head out early?” she asks through a laugh as Ron grins and presses a kiss to her temple.  “There’s only an hour late and it’s pretty dead.”

Harry nods, smiling wryly and tossing her a salute, while Ginny ducks her head and busies herself by mopping up the spilt coffee with a serviette.

“No worries.”

“I’ll see you at training tomorrow, mate?”

“You got it.”

“See you, guys.”

“Bye Ginny.”

They go, giggling and chattering with their heads close, and Harry glances back at Ginny.  But whatever easiness that had been between them has vanished and whatever he’d been about to say has been lost to the moment.

“You hungry?” Harry asks, standing from the table and scratching the back of his neck.  “I think I’ve got a few buns left.  Or maybe a pasty.”

She tries to tell him she’s fine, but he’s already stepping away, distracted by the couple who’s wandering in through the door.  Ginny sighs and reaches for her phone, figuring she can either torture herself thinking about the opportunity she just missed, or torture herself rewatching the football match she lost the weekend before.  Neither are particularly desirable, but at least she has a chance to redeem her footy skills in the next few days.

With the person technically responsible for her own presence in the coffee shop gone, Ginny is surprised that she doesn’t feel like slinking back to her flat and crawling back into bed.  Instead she finds herself barely moving for the next hour, alternating between rewinding the clip of herself missing a goal in the second half, and watching Harry over the rim of her mug as he keeps himself busy by wiping down the already spotless counters.

Her feelings for Harry have been growing for almost the entire year that they’ve lived together; transforming from a largely innocent and ignorable crush into something deeper and more intense than she’s ever felt for any of her past boyfriends.  So she doesn’t know why she thought that tonight was going to be the night she and Harry finally talked about this thing between them, whatever it is.  Something that she knows he must feel as well.  The thing that makes her heart flutter every time he hands her a coffee decorated with a heart.  The thing that has her blood running hot when she runs into him coming out of the shower in their flat, chest wet, and only a towel slung around his waist.  The thing where he’s the only one who can make her feel better on her worst days.

So Ginny sits and she waits and she thinks maybe it’s time for her to make her own opportunities.

They’re near silent as Harry closes up, the shop dark and quiet as he locks the front door, Ginny shivering beside him in the night’s breeze.

“I might drop by the pub, some of the guys were talking about getting a drink tonight.  Do you want me to drop you home first-?”

Ginny isn’t sure what makes her say it, but she doesn’t want him to go off to the pub, where some girl will doubtlessly walk up to him with a smile, putting a hand on his arm while tossing her hair.  She doesn’t want that to happen without her finally saying how she feels first, so she opens her mouth, and what comes out is, “So are you going to get me a ‘Potter’ jersey or what?”

Harry’s eyes go wide behind his glasses.  “Gin?” he says uncertainly, not sure if she’s being serious, or if this is just more of their usual banter falling somewhere between flirtatious and teasing.  If she’s just agreeing to the idea he’d jokingly proposed to her before.

“To be clear, I don’t do the whole pretend girlfriend thing.  Not with a guy I actually like.  So tonight can count as our first date, you did buy me coffee after all.  But I’m telling you now, Potter, I expect a little more effort next time.”

Harry must be able to tell how absolutely terrified she is under all her brazenness, because some of his surprise melts away, and satisfaction curves his mouth into a grin.

“Is that right?”

Ginny swallows, her mouth dry and her heart hopeful.  “That’s right.  Emboldened, she takes a step closer, catching either side of Harry's open jacket in her hands and pulling him close.

Eyes bright, Harry cups her face, fingers achingly gently against her skin.  “Noted,” he says quietly, and they’re both smiling as he ducks his head and brings his mouth down to hers.

#harry and ginuary #harry and ginuary gift exchange #gift exchange #harryandginuary #harryandginuarygiftexchange #hp #harry potter #hinny #ginny weasley #mywriting

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Killing Cure (Part 23)

He is still angry even when the flask is in his hands. In fact, she thinks that he might be angrier now that he has it. Now that he is staring at the label. His brows knit and his face is marked with a look of something that lies between loathing and repugnance. “You’ve had my daughter’s head this whole time!?” And when he puts it like that it really does sound quite horrible.

“I didn’t think that you would want to know until she is back in one piece.” She lies. Mostly it is that she had forgotten to tell him entirely. Partly she didn’t want him to know at all. He already thinks her to be a monster--surely he must.

“Of course I would have wanted to know! She’s my daughter.”  They already had this discussion. She doesn’t want to have it again.

“My God! What would you have done to me if I trapped parts of Cassandra and kept them in a flask?”

She would have dismembered him and he knows it. “Mother Miranda gave me a task and I didn’t want to disappoint her. I had to…”

“You haven’t been in league with her for a little over a month now. Have you?”

Her face pales, “I--that’s preposterous, Winters! Why would I go through all of this trouble if I wasn’t on your side?”

Moreau looks between the two of them, following the conversation with his eyes and slinking back at the roughest and loudest points of the conversation. “Perhaps it is time for a change of topic.” He suggests. “I watched a very silly TV show the other day…”

“Quiet, Moreau!” She snaps.

“Don’t take your mistakes out on Salvatore.” Ethan scolds. “He might be a little dull but at least he’s honest and actually kind of friendly.”

Kind of friendly… Is she not pleasant company to keep? She had thought that she wasn’t so awful to be around. “Ethan, this was a mis--”

“Don’t try to tell me that this was a misunderstanding! It’s very clear; you were hiding part of my baby from me. You had plenty of time to tell me but you didn’t.”

Really she doesn’t think that there is anything to say to that. It is rather simple and entirely indisputable. And it certainly was not a small and mundane detail to forget. Though forget she did. “Well you have the flask now. Unharmed and untampered with.”

There is no thank you and the frown doesn’t leave his face. He turns away from her. “I’m going to get the other flask from House Beneviento.” "Alone?"

"Of course not!" He replies. There is a short lived flutter of relief on her heart. "Salvatore will be coming with me."

She crinkles her nose. "Why him!?" Why would he choose that rancid little fish man over her? It is likely the same reason that "I am a more useful travel companion." She still has her doubts about this. She can still only barely use that gun and mostly he had to quite literally carry her throughout their journey.

"That doesn't mean anything if I can't trust you."

"Then what will I do?"

"Figure it out."

So he will recruit her siblings and leave her behind after she had paved the way for him to do so. She will have to grovel for Mother Miranda's mercy, will have to swear that Winters had coerced her. And in doing so she would only confirm his suspensions, but what would it matter anyhow? If he thinks the worst of her she may as well show him the worst. Maybe it would be best to let him go and she can warn Mother Miranda while he is gone. That would keep her and her daughters safe. And they are the only things that matter to her.

"You won't like what I figure out, Winters."

He is already storming forwards the door. Moreau hesitates, once again looking between the two of them before meekly following Ethan.

Fine, let him go! He will see if she lets him back into Castle Dimitrescu! She has given him his silly flask, she hopes that it will be enough to keep him well away from her and her daughters.

He doesn't bid her a farewell and she won't open her doors to him when he returns. "Come on girls, let's go share a glass of wine." She will have a copious amount of it. A very copious amount.

.oOo.

He feels both prideful and guilty to leave her. To have stood his ground against the woman after letting her walk all over him even. He spares only a glance back at the castle and wonders if he has made a mistake. Alcina’s moods can be quiet turbulent even without having them roused.

He is pushing his luck and he knows it, maybe he has pushed it too far. But he has made his decision and he won’t go back on it. Not when that would give her the impression that she is in the right. Not when that would open the door to let her continue to walk all over him.

“Lady Dimitrescu isn’t pleased.” Salvatore squeaks.

“She usually isn’t.” Ethan grumbles. Though he is well aware that she is more than just a little unpleased. He hasn’t even left the castle grounds and his heart and head feel heavy. There is something that feels so permanent about this departure.

And when he reaches the gate he looks back at Castle Dimitrescu once again. He shouldn’t have.   He sees her in the window, lips pressed into a thin, grim line. She holds a glass in one hand and a wine bottle in the other.

He isn’t sure what sort of display he will come back to. He isn’t sure if he should come back until after Karl is on his side. Now that he has good and angered her he thinks that his odds of being double crossed have heightened. So maybe it is in his best interest to change his plans. Yes, he will go and visit Karl once he retrieves a flask from Donna. He hopes that he won’t have to kill the woman to get it. He peers at Salvatore, loyal, timid Salvatore and hopes that that will be enough.

.oOo.

The Duke clicks his tongue, he doesn’t know how many bottles the lady has gone through. Probably enough to have gotten her taller self drunk. In current she is far past drunk; likely within the next few minutes the poor thing will be sprawled out on the floor or slouched in her arm chair.

He watches Cassandra stabilize her when she stumbles.

“Maybe you should go to bed, mother?” Bela asks only to have the woman stubbornly shake her head.

The Duke doesn’t feel particularly comfortable, nor gentlemanly in going through Dimitrescu’s belongings but he recalls Ethan mentioning that he should sell her as much alcohol as it will exasperate her condition. The woman is having a rough time as it is without a physical flare up.

He finds her pills and sets a green bottle on the dining room table. “Cassandra, come over here.”

She steps away from Daniela and Bela who are working to get their mother to her feet. “We’re a little busy, Duke.”

He gestures to the medications and resting his hands back upon his belly he replies, “just see to it that your mother gets a dose of both of these tomorrow. First thing in the morn.”

“Of course.” She nods.

Perhaps he ought to stay anyways, just to make sure that the woman is okay. At any rate he doesn’t even get the chance to leave. She stumbles her way over and practically flings herself upon him. Thankfully he is very much an unmovable man. She buries her face in his rotund belly and mumbles something both enraged and indistinguishable through tears and a drunken slur.

“Yes, yes, you are right, Lady Dimitrescu.” Though he can’t be certain that she has made a statement that required agreement. And if she has, he can’t imagine that it would be smart to agree with her. It matters not--she won’t recall in the morning so he pats the back of her head and lets her weep and rage about ‘that asshole Winters and his stupid baby.’

“There, there, Lady Dimitrescu, he will be back soon enough.”

Her shouting and crying only grows that much louder.

What a mess these two have. He has to give it at least a small chuckle. He waits until the woman finally passes out to beckon Daniela and Bela over. He watches them carry her towards the stairwell. He supposes that he wouldn’t mind spending a night in the guest bedroom, the lodgings here are quite comfortable.

#Alcina Dimitrescu #Lady Dimitrescu #Ethan Winters #Alcina/Ethan #Fanfiction

[nalgenewhore]

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter

☽ ☼ ☾

five years ago 

Elide drank her iced coffee and idly watched her friend, Lysandra, race around her bakery. “Elide! Where is my phone?!” the normally collected woman asked, her voice shrill with nerves. 

Calmly, Elide shoved off of the table she leaned against and walked over, the buckles on her knee-high platform boots clinking. She reached around Lysandra’s waist and plucked the green-eyed beauty’s phone from the back pocket of her mom jeans, “Here you go. Coffee?” 

Lysandra sighed and tucked a strand of hair that had escaped her loose braid behind her ear. “No, thanks. It’ll make me more nervous.” 

Elide smiled gently and put her hand on Lysandra’s upper arm, rubbing it up and down to soothe, “Lys, c’mon. You and Nesryn are ready for this. Evangeline adores you two.” 

“Yeah, but her room isn’t even finished! There isn’t even a bed,” the baker replied, her voice only rising in pitch. 

“And that’s what the boys are for,” Elide said. “Why don’t I go call them, see how it’s going?” 

“Yes,” Lysandra said. “Please.”

The tattoo artist nodded and smiled, stepping away to call. Her thumb hovered over Rowan and Lorcan’s contacts, deciding which of the two she would call. Fenrys hardly ever picked up his phone and she didn’t know Vaughan well enough to call. 

She chose and held the phone to her ear, her gut wrenching with anticipation. It rang a few times before it picked up and a voice answered, smooth like whiskey and just as deep, “Hello?”

“Hey, you,” Elide said, her voice somehow steady. She hadn’t seen or spoken with him in three weeks, since they’d both gone home over the holidays. 

“Princess,” Lorcan said, a small smile in his voice. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

She looked at Lysandra, “Ms. Ennar-Faliq would like to know when her daughter’s bed is getting here?” Behind her, the door opened. Elide turned to see Lorcan, Rowan, and Vaughan carry in a large box. Fenrys danced in after them, off in his own world with his earbuds in. Over the few months Elide had known the boy, the one thing she had learned was that when he had his earbuds in, there was no mortal that could call him back down to earth. 

Lorcan had the phone to his ear and smiled at her, “Momentarily.” 

Elide rolled her eyes and hung up, “Honey, the menfolk have returned!” 

He snorted and put his phone in his pocket, his question directed towards Lysandra, “Where do you want this?” 

“Follow me,” she instructed, waving them to the back of the bakery. There was a staircase that led to the apartment Lysandra, Nesryn, and now Evangeline lived in. 

The boys nodded and dutifully followed Lysandra. Elide watched them go, her eyes on Lorcan. Heat rose to her cheeks and she hoped they would get a moment to chat later. 

She had missed him. 

At that moment, her phone buzzed. Elide looked down to see a number she didn’t recognise had texted her. 

[phone]: Elide! It’s Yrene 

[phone]: I loved seeing you over the holidays

[phone]: I hope you don’t mind that I asked your mother for your new number 

elide: yrene ! no, no it’s fine

elide: it was great to see u too

She added Yrene’s name and number to a contact and they texted, benignly, for a few minutes. Then, Elide heard a shout and loud crash from upstairs. She looked up in alarm and fisted a hand in the gentle material of her black tiered skirt so her steps wouldn’t be hindered as she went up the narrow and steep stairs. “Guys? Is everything alright?” 

The black door at the top of the steps was closed, but not locked, so Elide twisted the doorknob to let herself in. 

“We’re good!” Fenrys hollered back from the second floor. 

“You’re bleeding, pup, I think that counts as ‘not good’,” Rowan’s deep voice chastised. 

Elide snorted softly and walked upstairs. She peered in, seeing Lorcan, Vaughan, and Rowan kneeled around Fenrys. Rowan held a tissue to Fenrys’ nose until the boy batted his hand away, “I’m fine, it doesn’t even hurt that badly!” 

“Fenrys, you broke your nose,” Rowan reminded him, his tone dry and ever-suffering. “We need to go to the hospital.” 

Fenrys rolled his eyes and turned to the women at the door, “It’s not that bad, is it?” He stood up and Rowan got to his feet as well, steadying his friend. Fenrys pulled the tissue away and Elide gasped. 

“Fenrys! It’s completely broken,” Elide said, walking over to him. The bridge of his short nose was snapped at an almost perfect ninety-degree angle, though the rounded tip remained in the same place. She reached up, gingerly touching it. Fenrys winced, tears drawn to his eyes. “You’re going to the hospital.” 

“But the bed–” 

“I will drive you there and you three,” Elide pointed at Lorcan, Vaughan, and Rowan, “will stay and finish the bed so Lys doesn’t lose her mind whole.” 

“Lose my what whole?” Lysandra asked idly as she walked into the room, carrying a basket of things. “Fenrys, oh no, are you alright?” 

“I broke my nose,” he said, his head tilted up. 

Lysandra’s eyes widened and she quickly put the basket down, stepping over to him, “What, how?” 

He started to speak, but his words were so muffled and jumbled, no one could understand him. Lorcan spoke for him, “Vee was holding one of the boards and it slipped and hit Fen’s face.” 

Fenrys nodded in confirmation. Elide sighed, “Ok, well, let’s go, Fen. We’ve got to get you to the hospital.” She led him down the stairs, carefully, and out the front door. “How’re you feeling, hon?” 

“My nose hurts,” he replied, his voice clogged and thick. “And I want to punch Vaughan.” 

She laughed and helped him into the passenger seat of her car, “I’m sure you do.” The boy leaned his head back against the headrest and groaned, his eyes screwed shut. Elide quickly crossed the front of the car and slid behind the wheel. “Buckle up, buttercup.” 

Fenrys complied, his eyes remaining closed as he groped for the seat belt buckle. Elide did hers as Fenrys clipped his and they were off. 

She drove smoothly and reached over to take his hand, “You want some music, Fen?” 

“Sure,” Fenrys said. “Your choice.”  

☽ ☼ ☾

They stepped back, scrutinising their handiwork. Lorcan reached up and shook the frame, while Vaughan tapped the tall posts it was lofted on. They looked at each other and shrugged, turning to Lysandra. “It’s done.” 

“Perfect, because Nes is on her way home right now,” Lysandra said, smiling in relief. “Can you two help me with something downstairs?” 

“Of course,” Vaughan replied, nodding his head serenely. 

“Good!” The baker turned and walked downstairs, leading them along. 

When they got to the café, Rowan had Aelin pressed against the side of the coffee machine, her hands locked around the back of his neck, her leg hitched over his hip. Lysandra paused and crossed her arms, arching a brow at them. Vaughan muttered something about sexual deviants and averted his eyes.

“You know Lys has to serve customers with that thing, right? I think they’d appreciate not having you guys infect it with your STI’s,” Lorcan commented, leaning his forearm on Lysandra’s shoulder and using her as an armrest. 

Rowan pulled away, his cheeks flushed. Aelin smirked and kissed her boyfriend once more before slinking away from him, “I’m glad to know you’re concerned for my sexual health, Lorcan.” 

He gagged.

The golden nightmare cackled and fixed her hair, waltzing up to her friend, “How can I help you, boss?” 

“If you two can’t control yourselves,” Lysandra started, shoving Lorcan off and towards the chairs stacked on the table, “you may leave. And get the chairs.”

“And miss meeting your daughter? Never,” Aelin sniffed. “We can control ourselves.” 

“We?” Rowan asked. 

Aelin rolled her brilliant eyes and conceded, “He can control himself.” She waved her hand, “Whatever, I’ll be good.” 

The brunette walked into the kitchen to fetch trays of Evangeline’s favourite baked goods and sweets, muttering, “You’d fuckin’ better.” 

The others made quick work of readying the chairs and setting the table. Vaughan and Lorcan were strategic and subtly put themselves between Aelin and their roommate, so there was no way for them to go to each other without passing under the disapproving glare of the cousins. Lorcan’s promised violence, but Vaughan’s was much worse - filled with fatherly disappointment and gay distaste. No one could withstand it. 

Lysandra swept back out, bumping the swinging door open with her hip, “Guys, it’s so boring in here, will one of you play some music?” 

Aelin practically lunged with her phone towards the amp and took the aux before either Lorcan or Vaughan even looked up. Lorcan made a confused face, “What was that?” 

She scrolled through her music library, “I’m not letting you corrupt that dear child with your punk rock shit.” 

“Corrupt?” 

“Mm-hm!” 

“Not that I don’t simply adore it when the two of you go at it,” Lysandra cut in before Lorcan could snap back something, “I need someone tall to help me.” 

“Vee’s tall, make him do it,” Lorcan countered, even though he crossed over to help her. 

“Shush, you. Come this way.” 

They walked into the backroom and after Lysandra’s direction, Lorcan started pulling heavy boxes from the top most shelf. They were heavy and he puffed, not prepared for how heavy they’d be, “Hellas below, Ennar, the fuck’s in these?” 

“Bags of flour and sugar,” she answered, dragging them to a wheeled dolly. “So, how was home?” 

He shrugged, “It was fine. Cold as shit, though.” 

Lysandra laughed, “Is that all?” 

“No, there was a powwow,” Lorcan said, tugging the last box down and putting it on the dolly. “I was designated as the official photographer.” 

“Of course you were,” she said, taking another trolley and loading crates of butter onto it. The blocks would sit overnight to soften before Lysandra and her assistant got up to bake. “This wasn’t a competition, was it?” 

“No, not this one. Just for the solstice, ya know?” 

“Ah,” Lysandra nodded, understanding. “Did you dance?” 

When he was a child, Lorcan used to be a powwow dancer, like the others. His grandmother and mother kept shelves in their house dedicated to the trophies and medals he used to win and the ones his sisters brought in now. “Nah, I didn’t. I’m out of practice and none of my regalia fits anymore. The girls did, ‘cause they got new jingle dresses at the feast.” 

Lysandra made a noise of exertion as she braced her feet against the polished concrete floor and leaned into the handle, pushing the trolley out. “And how was everything else? You went with Ess and Vee, right?” 

“Yeah, but Essar’s staying a week longer,” Lorcan said, using his foot as leverage to push the heavy dolly. “She and Dresenda went to Oro with Fen before flying up. What’d you and Nesryn do?” 

“Oh, not much. We had a lot to do for Evie and we fostered a set of triplets,” she said with a beaming grin. Lorcan hadn’t ever seen her smile this much, not even after she’d barfed on him the first time they’d met. Twice. 

Thankfully, they had become fast friends after that. 

“And Yulemas is always a busy time for Nes,” she added. The social worker worked harder than anyone Lorcan had ever known and was always bringing home the strays, as she affectionately dubbed the children she met in her work. “She managed to find a home for the kids, which is especially hard for siblings, but they’re so happy.” 

They conversed like that, effortless and understanding, as they put the ingredients away and Lorcan moved the industrial stand mixer for her. 

“How’re you and Elide doing?” 

His spine straightened and Lorcan cursed the heat rising to his cheeks. Lysandra’s voice was casual, but her question was anything but. “We’re fine.” 

“Mmm-hmm,” she hummed, pulling out her binder of recipes and flipping through them to choose an array of baked goods. “Did you two talk over break?” 

“A bit. We were both busy.” 

“Right,” Lysandra said. Lorcan looked at her and chuckled a bit, knowing she had completely zoned out. 

“Lys?” 

“Hmmm, what? I’m listening, promise.” 

“No you aren’t,” Lorcan said, reaching over to flick her forehead. 

Lysandra clicked her tongue and looked at him, “What, what? You talked a bit, you were both busy, I’m listening!” 

“You’re drooling over chocolate and strawberry mille feuilles.” 

“Well, of course I am, they’re delicious,” she sniffed. She sighed and flipped through the laminated pages, muttering something to herself. 

Lorcan knew that she was stressed and nervous - Lysandra would obsess over recipes in her binder whenever she felt herself lose control. The kitchen was the one place where she was in charge of everything. Calmly, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him, “Ennar, you need to breathe, man. You already chose the specials for tomorrow and you’ve done everything you can. Breathe.” 

She nodded, her eyes searching his until she calmed and breathed slowly, “Yeah. Yeah, I can do this. I’m ready.” 

“Fucking rights you are,” he said, slinging his arm around her shoulders. Lorcan led them out of the kitchen. 

The door opened as they walked out, the bell above it chiming. A slender, brown hand reached up to silence it, “Hello, all.” 

A little girl, with hair like flames, sprinted across the shop, “Lys!” 

Lysandra grinned widely and stepped away from Lorcan, her arms open. The girl crashed into her, her reedy arms locked around Lysandra’s neck. The dark-haired woman held her daughter close, a hand cradling the back of her head, “Oh, hi, Evie.” 

Everyone else grinned at the sight and a slim woman sidled up to Lorcan, her eyes on her wife and their daughter, “Hello, Lorcan.” 

“Hey, Nesryn,” he said, nudging her with his elbow. “How’ve you been?” 

Nesryn turned to face him and Lorcan saw tears shining in her eyes, “Never better.” 

☽ ☼ ☾

Elide helped Fenrys get out of the car, as the splint they’d set his nose in obscured part of his vision. “Come on, you big baby.” 

“I am not a baby, my nose hurts!” 

She laughed and tucked her arm through his elbow, “You’re very macho, Fen.” 

He nodded, his short dreads bouncing, “Yes, I am.” He raised his chin and howled like a wolf. 

Elide laughed, her stomach aching, “Stop being goofy, let’s go, we’re already late.” 

“‘t’s Vee’s fault,” he pouted. 

She merely laughed again and pushed the door open, singing, “We’re back! Did you miss us?” 

“With everything I am,” Aelin responded. 

“Aha, I knew it,” Elide said. Her eyes scanned the room, snagging on Lorcan. She gave him a small grin that widened when he winked in response. Before she could become distracted, Elide moved on and saw a young girl. “Hello, there. You must be Evangeline.” 

She nodded, shyly, “Yes. It’s nice to meet you.” 

“It’s nice to meet you too, Evangeline. I’ve been looking forward to it,” she said, grinning warmly. “My name’s Elide and this is Fenrys.” 

Fenrys waved, “‘Sup? Don’t mind the face, I broke my nose.” 

Evangeline nodded seriously and tentatively trailed up to them. She looked at the buckles on Elide’s boots, which were hearts. “Your boots are cool.” 

In the background, Lorcan punched Aelin as if to say, My work here is done, in regards to ‘corrupting’ the child. Aelin grabbed his wrist and viciously twisted his arm behind his back, pushing until it hurt. 

Nesryn reached over, “Stop that.” Immediately, they stopped and mumbled sheepish apologies. She chuckled and shook her head, turning her eyes back to her daughter. 

Evangeline strayed towards Lorcan, Elide, Vaughan, and Fenrys, asking them questions about their clothes and tattoos. She gingerly touched the spikes on the shoulders of Lorcan’s jacket and asked Fenrys about all the rips in his jeans.

He told her about each and every skate fall with huge, theatric sweeping arm motions. He wore them like badges of honour. 

The others readied the table and dinner, sitting down too. Elide was opposite Lorcan and he watched her watch the pair. Her grin was easy, her eyes thinning. He wanted her so badly and dearly. To be called hers. 

Something alerted her and she looked down at her lap, a bluish light, like her phone, shone on her face. Elide’s pale cheeks bloomed with a deep blush and his heart fluttered, then cracked when he realised it wasn’t his message she was blushing over.

He cleared his throat and spoke to Vaughan about nothing in particular. They ate their dinners and laughed along everyone else. Lorcan’s mind kept drifting to her blush, wondering who it was. 

After dinner, he volunteered to clean up. Their riff-raff family understood his need to be alone sometimes. It was… overwhelming, being around them for too long. It didn’t mean he didn’t care about them.

Lorcan trudged to the kitchen and hung his jacket up before he washed, his ratty black Joey Ramone t-shirt hanging from his lean frame. He attached his phone to the speaker and played his favourite playlist. 

Come on, people, now 

Smile on your brother, everybody get together, try to love one another right now 

He started to wash the dishes and pushed his hair back with soapy fingers. It was long, past his hips and low belt. In all his life, he had never cut it. He hoped he would never have to.

When I was an alien, cultures weren’t opinions

Gotta find a way, find a way, when I’m there 

Gotta find a way, a better way, I’d better wait

For his people, for the Ozuye, hair was sacred - an extension of his spirit. Cutting was a sign of respect and grief, when someone you cared for deeply passed. 

Never met a wise man, if so it’s a woman

Gotta find a way, when I’m there

The doors swung open and clunky boots walked closer to him. He tensed and looked over his shoulder at Elide. Lorcan smiled tightly, “Hey, princess.” 

She sighed and stood beside him. Elide punched his shoulder and hopped up on the counter. “Don’t call me that, stupid. I’m not a princess.” She sniffed primly and crossed her leg over the other, clasping her hands on her knee. 

“Riot princess,” Lorcan replied, rinsing the utensils. 

“...Ok. That I like.” She looked at him, “Is that my contact?” 

He snorted and laughed, his shoulders shaking. “Nah… not exactly, Lee.” 

She gasped and pushed his shoulder, “What? Tell me, I gots to know!” 

Lorcan rinsed his hands and dried them with the towel. “You really wanna know?” 

“Yes, yes, yes, you twit.”

He flicked her cheek, “Insulting me won’t help.” Elide sighed and crossed her arms, drumming her fingers in her upper arms. “It’s ‘Discount Alice Cullen’.” 

Elide’s jaw dropped open and she gasped loudly, “Come on, that’s not even good!” She gestured to her hair, which was really more of a curly shag cut. “I don’t even look like her anymore.” 

Laughing, Lorcan leaned away from her and she punched him again, “Fine, I’ll just change you to ‘Discount Heath Ledger’.” 

He shrugged, “So? I stand by him.”

Elide clicked her tongue, “Stupid.” 

He knocked his head into hers, “Princess.”

 Just because you’re paranoid, don’t mean they’re not after you...

Gotta find a way, find a way, when I’m there

Gotta find a way, a better way, I’d better wait!

They sat in a comfortable silence. Elide picked at her nails, “How was your break?” 

“Pretty good. Got some cool photos.” 

“Yeah? Anything you wanna show me?” 

Lorcan nodded, “Yeah, actually. I dunno, it’s a ‘lil thing to say congrats for the tattoo job.” Elide had graduated her apprenticeship a month and a bit after they’d met. 

For her first tattoo, she’d tattooed Golden Girl above Aelin’s knees, one word on each leg. They’d thrown a party after to celebrate. 

Her eyes sparkled and she toyed with the stud in her Cupid’s bow. “I look forward to it.” They looked away again, stomachs hopping. 

Lorcan bumped his shoulder into hers, “Did ya miss me in your ivory tower?” 

“Yeah,” Elide said, resting her head on his shoulder, “Kinda. Did you? Miss me?” 

“Yeah,” he sniffed, knocking the toe of his Doc Martens into the rubber mat over scuffed linoleum. “Kinda.” 

☽ ☼ ☾

They all slinked out when Evangeline became sleepy. Elide had hugged Lysandra, kissing her cheek, “I’ll see you later, honey.” 

“Of course, El,” Lysandra said. 

Lorcan and Vaughan were standing by the streetlamp. The taller of the two cousins carried Fenrys in a piggy back, the teen drowsy from the light pain meds. 

As Elide strolled to Rowan’s car with Aelin, her phone buzzed. She knew who it was and had been blushing at her texts all evening. 

Something about talking to Yrene always made her feel like a young girl again, so smitten with her first girlfriend. 

yrene: You can totally say no if you don’t want to, but I’m going to be in Orynth soon to check the med school

yrene: Maybe we could get dinner some time? 

“Honey, you want a ride?” 

“Oh… no, it’s fine. I’m going to walk with the boys,” she said, slipping her phone back into her pocket. “Bye, you two. Behave yourselves, I have to get up early tomorrow.” 

They laughed and got into the car. 

Elide half-jogged to catch up. By the time she got to them, Vaughan was slinging Fenrys over his shoulder and walking away. Her friend- well, she didn’t know if friend was right, but anyway. Lorcan waited for her and they walked slowly, Elide’s bag swinging between them. 

“So, how was home for you?” 

“Not too bad,” Elide said, looking up at him. “Got to see some old… friends and the like.” 

He hummed and nodded his head, “Yeah. It’s nice to visit home.” 

She nodded and bit her lip, “Essar and Dresenda are Ozuye, too, right?”

“Yeah, but they’re also Bogdano, like Fen.” 

“Oh, I didn’t know that Fen was Bogdano.” 

They walked and chatted to the intersection. Elide would turn off and Lorcan would walk straight on. She nodded towards the rolled paper in his hand, “Is that for me?” 

“Sure is,” Lorcan handed it to her and she turned to see it in the streetlight. He peered over her shoulder as she unrolled it. 

 A soft gasp left her when she saw it. It was a picture of Elide, bent over a long leg with a tattoo gun. Aelin leaned forward too, holding her hair back as she kissed the back of her sister’s head. Elide was smiling. 

“It’s the tattoo you did for Ash, Golden Girl?” 

“Lorcan…” she breathed. He watched her cheeks, and though amazement and tears glassed her eyes, there was no flush. “This is amazing. I love it.” 

He grinned, even as his heart sunk. “You think?” 

Elide spun on the toes of her Demonias and her skirt twirled, “Yes. You’re so good, Salvaterre.” She rose to kiss his cheek and whispered, “I’ll frame it in my studio.”

“You flatter me, Lee.” 

She rolled her eyes and stepped backwards, pushing him away. “Good night, stupid.” 

They parted. Lorcan flipped the hood of his sweater up as he crossed the street and looked back at her. 

She had stopped by the street corner and looked down at her phone. His picture was held beneath her arm and it was slightly crunched. High on her cheeks, that same blush pinked. 

He clenched his jaw and looked away. 

Lorcan regretted looking back.

☽ ☼ ☾

an: we're getting into the plot and i am SO excited hehe <3

powwows are culturally significant events for lots of native nations, but especially plains natives (Blackfoot, Arapaho, Assiniboine, Cheyenne, Comanche, Crow, Gros Ventre, Kiowa, Lakota, Lipan, Apache, Cree, Ojibwe, Sarsi, Nakoda, and Tonkawa). there is lots of different types of dancing and for lorcan's sisters (my oc's) i chose jingle dress ! they're called jingle dresses because of the metal cones sewn onto the skirts that make noises when the dancers dance <3 here is a video about its roots and here is a video of someone performing a jingle dress dance

songs played in chapter (by order of appearance): 1. Territorial Pissings - Nirvana fic playlist

@mythicaitt @eyllweambassador @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @ladyverena @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @cursebreaker29 @empress-ofbloodshed @b00kworm @hizqueen4life @silversprings98 @amren-courtofdreams @jadeaffliction @superspiritfestival @sanakapoor @ireallyshouldsleeprn @spyofthenightcourt @thegoddessofyou @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @claralady @neonhellas @darlinminds @readingismyonlyhobby @autophobiaxx @myshadowsingeraz @firestarsandseneschals @elriel4life @always-in-a-daydream @jlinez @ladywitchling @mariamuses @darklesmylove @adelzd-bookblr​ @rowaelinismyotp @sassyhobbits @swankii-art-teacher​

#draammmaaaaa lol #star-crossed & moon drunk #sc&md #elorcan #elide x lorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #stella luna salvaterre lochan #isa writes #nalgenewhore

[redmaneroster]

Our Home Away From Home, Away From Home

[1] [2] [3] [4-5] [6] [x] [8-9] [10]

PART 7 – Crustacean

They've been awake for at least an hour now, staring at the ceiling. It's dark all over, breached by apertures on the steel portal door of their room but the slits of light only cut into a broken ceiling fan and Yang's fingernail next to Jaune's ear.

Penny's voice comes muffled through the thick ceiling. Ruby's high-pitched cheers like distant whispers next to the megaphone voice of their android friend. They're all on a boat house for the sea and it's clear the girls are having a blast trying to steer the thing.

"They're having fun," Jaune says. He means nothing by it. Just an observation. Pointless conversation through the sleepy haze of a rocking ship. Jaune would have gotten sick were he not on a stable bed. He has pills for the motion sickness but they won't last him the entire trip. Sleep is the only way he can ration them.

Yang shifts over his arm and raises her hand, letting the light catch her nail again. It glistens like a solitary star off a cosmic trail. She giggles because the haze has caught onto her too and she's half-awake as it is. "He he, we could have fun too, y'know?"

He seizes, sitting up. "Y-Yang…?"

Yang does the same, huddling into a ball, clutching the comforter like it might shield her. "I-I meant by joining them! I didn't… I mean, I don't think I meant it that way…" Most of her is certain she didn't mean it like that but halfway through speaking, she wanted to take it back. She thinks she's ready, prepared to not freak out at the idea of exposing herself and seeing all of him. Her every uncertainty is truth, as honest as her apprehension to let him touch her.

She can barely see his face but his features soften in the dark, clearer when he gets closer. And for a moment it scares her to think he's taking that initiative. Her chest thumps like earthly tremors, cracking against her skin as it splinters like desert ground. Lips just as dry.

But he doesn't get any closer. He crouches next to her, facing away, but one of his hands reaches out for hers to close the rest of the distance. Her hands twitch when the warmth of his rolls over the back of her palm and hovers over her knuckles.

His hand stops and, instead, takes her fingers between two of his and a thumb. It's a gentle and quiet contact. He doesn't want to scare her. "I know you're having second thoughts," he says slowly, deliberately. As if knowing. Just like Saphron. "But how about we agree to do this when we're both one-hundred percent on it? Like when we have no doubt that this is how we take things going forward."

"Yeah… I think I'd like that." She clutches his hand fully now. Even shuffling closer. A warm breath tickles the hairs on his extended arm. "Look, I want it clear that it isn't you I'm apprehensive about. It's everything that comes after."

She can feel the heat of his blush from his hands alone.

"Uh… Yang, I hope I haven't somehow gotten you thinking I was going to do anything wild."

"No, no," she laughs, "nothing like that." She squeezes his hand and shuffles till her arm is flush against his. "I… I want kids."

"Um!" He tenses but doesn't let go of her as a sign of resolve.

"I don't mean now! Or anytime soon, I swear!" She lets him take a breath and unwind his rigid bones. "Really jumpstarted his heart, didn't I?" she thinks. Another squeeze from her, asking for courage he pours out of his sweaty palm.

"I'm afraid," she says finally, "of what comes after. If I don't try to stopgap how quickly things are going, sooner or later I'll have a kid of my own and I'll stare them in the face and… I'm worried that I'll be afraid. That, somehow, Mom running away would make sense."

He stares at her, eyes wide. "You called her mom."

An uncomfortable shiver runs down her neck and scrapes against her ribs. She shudders as she buries her head between her curled-up knees. "It's not about her. At least, I don't think so. I've caught myself calling her mom in my head when I think about it. Like I'm hoping I can still call myself a mother."

"That's a lot of thinking ahead, Yang. Who knows how long it'll even be till then."

She shrugs with a laugh that doesn't reach her eyes. "I've always been wired that way. I got a full life to live but I had to spend a lot of time prepping Ruby's future. If I don't prepare for the inevitable, I'll waste time trying to figure it out when it actually arrives."

"It doesn't sound like you're waiting to know if you'll be ready. Only that you worry if you'll ever be ready at all."

She nods, a touch of shame welling in her chest. "Is that bad?"

"I think it's human."

"That just tells me I could screw up like everyone else…"

"I like to think it means we're afraid of the same things."

Yang pulls her head out of her knees and blinks at him. Their hands are sweating and her nerves are mirrored on him too. She can see it on his face but it almost doesn't make sense. "Why?" she asks. "You'll make a great dad, Jaune. Hell, you'd make a great mom too!" She almost doesn't notice the little smile on her cheeks.

"Could say the same to you," he says, smiling again but there's a quiver in his hands. It's uncomfortably weak. "But it doesn't really matter that we think the world of each other. We'll probably mess up anyway. I may not share your fear of becoming like your mom but I'm every bit as afraid of not turning up like mine. My parents are storied huntsmen who raised eight proper kids. My grandparents before them were hard won veterans who were their children's heroes. That's a lot of legacy to live up to. And…" He makes a series of faces. All of them uncertain.

Her hand slides up his arm and the other knits between his fingers. Their heads lean onto each other before he speaks.

"Sometimes it feels like everything I'll ever do will be dwarfed by them. Short of saving the world and raising a dozen huntsmen–" Yang resists visibly wincing at the thought of raising twelve kids "–I'll never live up to them. And even if I do? I'm still not sure how to stop my kids from sharing the same fears…" He laughs. Not bitterly. There's a genuine hearty sound puffing out of his chest. "I think I know why Dad wanted me to be a doctor."

"Hm… Sounds like he was afraid of the same thing we are," she muses.

"I think so, too."

The sliver of light through the door passes them and, for a moment, the light is gone. The warmth and sweat of their hands are the only tangible things in the dark. And they cling to each other, summoning courage as fears drip away like melting ice.

"Jaune?" she asks.

"Yeah?"

"We should talk to your parents. I think there's a lot of easy-to-reach wisdom we aren't taking advantage of here." He's silent for a long second and Yang nearly calls him out until she notices the sheen of his scroll. "What are you doing?"

His Cheshire grin is mortifying under the pale glow. "Calling my folks."

"No! Stop!" she screeches, scrambling on top of him like a wild monkey. "I'm not ready! My hair's a mess!"

He pulls his hand away. "C'mon! They'll love you!"

"Can it, Arc! Sweet talking won't stop me!"

They wrestle for a while and Yang is so focused on getting his scroll that she forgets what she taught Jaune. They've wrestled in the past for training and something he's very broadly taken from those lessons has been going on the offensive. Tucking away his scroll, he manages to slink around her and grapple her arms.

"What? Hey!"

Trapping the length of her arms above her with his arm, he reaches around her with the other to grab his scroll. He pulls it up. It goes to call and the preview camera puts them both in view (strangely, like two floating heads from the dark).

With enough struggling, Yang knows she can break out even at a disadvantageous position, but the call answers quickly and she freezes up. Her awkward smile is automatic. Her panicked heart is full-auto.

"Hey, Mom, Dad! This is Yang, my girlfrie–" His mouth hangs open when their eyes meet in what can only be described as abject terror.

They hadn't exactly agreed on a label.

There's click from the scroll. "…And saved!" Jaune's mom sings. "Aren't you two cute."

-0-

They don't get a lot of answers. Jaune's parents, Apolian and Helia (she insists on Aunt Hess), tell them that this is the kind of discussion you have over dinner. Yang is promptly invited to see them over the Summer.

They do end up sharing stories, and by the end of it Yang feels confident that she's left a good first impression. Yet, by the time they walk into the morning light and find an empty spot together at the front deck, their nerves worm their way back in but for different reasons this time.

"So… labels. Yay," Yang cheers weakly against the railing.

"Yeah," Jaune drawls. "Fifteen percent off. This side up. Expires yesterday. Labels!" he cheers sarcastically, awkwardly. "Totally love 'em."

It's very easily something they can agree to discuss another time but it doesn't feel right doing so. Like it's not so big a deal that they can't hold off but not small enough to ignore for too long. Besides, people are going to ask questions (not that they haven't already) and just agreeing on something would work for a few more miles.

"Y'know, it's funny," Yang says, "I was fully prepared to just be boyfriend and girlfriend when this all started. Now that I've got clarity, I'm starting to wonder if we're even pacing ourselves right as friends."

Jaune hums agreeably. "But maybe we've worried so much about the pace that we've forgotten if it even matters… I mean, so what if things are going too fast? What should matter is if we want it or not."

"Do you want it?" she asks.

He shrugs. "I guess I don't mind telling everyone we're dating. And exclusive. But what are we if not that by definition? What's the difference with that and being an item?"

She sighs, pivoting around to lean her back against the railing instead. "What if the label's pointless to begin with? It just sums up what we are for other people. Like you said, it should only really matter to us."

"Maybe that's just it. The label isn't important to us and so it's only for them. If all they're asking is to sum up what we are, then we should just pick a label that answers enough questions and any nuance we need we can keep to ourselves."

"Yeah, we don't have change to fit it, even. We'll just be the way we are."

But the uncomfortable question of what they even are lingers between them. Not a label, per se. Perhaps a name truly is pointless, but what does it mean to be what they are?

When their hands meet in the middle, there's an air of comfort, a touch of romance. A quiet laugh and a knowing smile. They balk at the smell of salty sea air, laugh at the antics of an excitable Penny, gossip at some friends huddled a little too close. It's all friendly, familiar. Uncomplicated.

They decide that quantifying it is either too hard or actually impossible. And a quiet ambivalence washes over them – stinging and uncertain – and figuring it out will take a lot of testing.

-0-

It was supposed to be a little solitary date but Sun knows a guy with a boat house and Pyrrha has a sponsorship with an outdoor grill you can take to the beach (the sponsor feels that a photoshoot on the deck of a ship is an inspired take). The fact that there's a small, unfamiliar crew onboard is a little concerning but they're largely invisible and stay out of the way. Though Sun and Pyrrha have made it a game to hide away from them.

Yang has started wearing a red wig to throw them off and, stood next to Jaune who is a muscular blonde, from behind he can pull off looking like Sun at a glance. Most of the crew is understanding and they have a few good laughs.

Yang muses that she might look good as a redhead and posits to Jaune that she might dye her hair down the line.

"And here I thought those locks were sacred."

"Yeah, I don't think they can stop being immaculate," she says as she twirls in front of a mirror, trying to get a good look of it down her back. "Red's sufficiently bright. Maybe…"

"Well, bright colors will match your eyes," Jaune says sat across from her in a half-zipped wetsuit, "but I don't see you having many options with hair that long. You gotta get a hairdresser to cover all that thickness. You're gonna mess up trying to do it yourself."

Yang chews the thought like she does her lip. "I guess I could just cut it."

Jaune blinks at her. "I'm not the most religious man but even that sounds blasphemous."

"Heh. I might've thought the same thing last year."

"What changed?"

She bundles her hair in her hands, draping it over her shoulder. "I inherited my hair from my mom, but it's something I took and made my own. I took pride in that, but nowadays that just feels… petty. I mean, I still take pride in taking care of it, but I've started to come around to the idea that I could just like however I look as long as that choice is my own. Even if I end up looking ridiculous for a semester."

He comes up behind her, eying himself in the mirror. "Okay, but only if you let me do the same."

"Dye your hair?"

"Yeah, to match yours. Maybe I'll even grow mine out. Always wanted to try a wolf-tail." He turns his head and bunches up a few of his locks. It's not enough for a full tail since much of the length is lost in his fist, but Yang can kind of see it working.

But red?

"I can't put you through that."

"But you won't be," he says matter-of-factly, "I'll be putting myself through that. So, if I choose to stand behind you by experimenting with my hair the same way, that'll be my choice."

She sighs and backs up into his chest. "Why do you keep cheating? You know I can't argue with that kind of logic. And you'll just end up looking ridiculous by the end."

"At least I'll look like the bigger fool."

"Jaune…"

"I'm used to it," he maintains evenly, sternly. "I'm glad people don't look down on me anymore but being with me means you have to live with the fact that I'm still every bit that little spaz who threw up on your boots. Which I'm glad you forgave me for, by the way. Real quick on that too."

"Heh, well, my temper's never been about my style. An unfortunate dork just gets pity, and even a mild jerk might just get a glare. It's mostly about my pride. I worked hard on my hair back in freshmen year and… I hated losing. I mean, god damn does Yatsu hit hard. I guarantee that I'll start seeing red again if I get a repeat of last year's Vytal."

"You're competing again this year?"

She gives him gigawatt grin. "JNPR didn't need to compete but you all did anyway. If Jaune Arc can stand on international television despite obvious odds and harbor an unnecessary need to feel like he's somehow a burden, what's Yang Xiao Long to do but follow his example and beat her own demons to death?"

His cheeks are a touch red and she gives him the small mercy of not pointing it out. "I guess I can't argue with that either," he says.

Yang pushes off him and raises one hand while pressing the other against her chest before she announces before him, "I swear mercy upon my hair, that you might see fit to show mercy on yours."

"Even if things go horribly wrong and I decide that the only way to one-up you is to grow a mullet?"

She snorts. "I will shave you bald in your sleep, and don't think for a second that I won't do that."

They're laughing and he rolls his eyes but he's certain she'll make good on if it comes to that. "C'mon, we've spent enough time not getting ready. They're probably already in the water."

She helps him with his zipper. "Blake's probably already caught one," she says. There's an excited tingle that runs through her spine. "Now I've got an itch. Wanna see if we can catch more than she can?"

"Both of us against her?"

"She used to dive for clams with her dad. No gear either. Two against one is only fair."

They still lose to her, and they're not even in second place. Sun has been diving for seafood since he was kid.

They manage over two dozen lobsters and a handful of crabs, and unanimously agree not to boil the poor things alive. Still, they mess up a few times cause no one actually knows how to cook lobster even with Penny's encyclopedic knowledge but they manage a lovely dinner eventually with a few failed attempts.

Neptune and Weiss disappear at some point only to be stumbled upon below deck. They'd been drinking. Everyone respects their privacy and don't ask why.

-0-

Nora interjects on a Tuesday team meeting that – now that it's public that Jaune and Yang are basically a couple – people both see it and don't see it.

Jaune is confused for long enough to just outright ask what she's talking about.

Sometimes people will catch them getting a little close in the halls (they're starting to notice the stares), but they're not always together and you wouldn't have noticed that something was up if you didn't already know. They sit next to each other all the time but are frequently talking to the rest of their teams (there was rumor that Jaune was secretly dating Ruby after they laughed out loud during class a few times). Witnesses spot them boarding bullheads to Vale around the weekends but are as frequently found shopping for groceries, ammo, inspecting ingots, and once even at a car dealership (and they're surprised how most of the things they do together could only be classified as dates if you squint hard enough and pretend they're doing anything else).

They're never caught holding hands. The one kiss was even on the cheek and some people still believe they were seeing things altogether. It almost feels like fiction or outlandish gossip. Not because it's them, but because no one saw it coming and people are still refusing to trust their eyes.

Yang thinks it's hilarious. Jaune thinks they need to clarify things before they get awkward. Yang was already propositioned after she lied about there being nothing between them. Lies are only going to complicate things.

So, in that moment they decide, "We're a couple."

Sure. Fine. Give them a label when they ask but they aren't changing anything else. They'd already agreed on it anyway. Still, the societal pressure to look the part just didn't vibe with them and they hope the label is the last thing they ever give into outside of themselves.

-0-

They find out two things on the last week before the semestral break, the one they'll mostly spend in Patch with Yang's parents.

One, that lobster needs to be preserved damp and freezing with salt water. Fresh water off the tap ruins their last reserve crustacean. Shame. Guess they'll have to plan another boat trip.

And two, that – at least according to the crusty boatman – lobsters don't stop growing. They get bigger and bigger until they've outgrown their own shells. So, they shed it and grow a new one. Then, eventually, they outgrow that shell, too, and start the process over and over again until we find them, crack them open, and feast on their delicious insides…

The boatman forgets his own metaphor in the reverie of polishing off the last of his meal, plucking his lips over the last delicate morsels.

He tells them all, then, that the price of growth is to constantly find that what was once familiar will inevitably feel alien. That everything about you and around you will change, and adaptation is not only what makes it survivable, but it also keeps you sane.

When they think he's done, he coughs, wheezes, then speaks again.

You should always look out for the in-between, he says with a serious look in his eye. Thing is, after shedding their shell, lobsters have to spend their meantime being vulnerable. Squishy, ugly little things, he emphasizes with gusto.

Transitions in your life will be like that, often terrifying and tumultuous, and the scary part is that your worries doesn't stop there. You have to be careful about who you become when you come out the other end. That it's not only hard to make the transition, that your choices in that change will determine who you are moving forward.

A lobster will come out wrong if something unexpected happens in the middle of molting. Might grow another claw or bulge out somewhere uncomfortably. But the boatman, rather optimistically, says a lobster has the option to cut off an offending part of them and regrow it. It'll take a while though. Years even, but correcting your character is never as easily solved with an apology or an act of will.

Because you'll never undo your mistakes. You can only make things right. And sometimes you can only do that little by little.

For a moment, Yang thinks of Raven.

-0-

It's when they're out by the pier to try an egg sandwich that Yang is thinking about lobsters and metaphors. "So, what happens after the apartment?" she asks. "After Beacon?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. "I haven't thought that far ahead." Except he has, but it's all substitutions. He used to think of a future with Terra, but now Yang has replaced all those naïve, boyish dreams with a series of blonde heads bouncing on a couch. Still, these are fragmentary thoughts, and he doesn't think Yang would like it if he tried for the civilian life. No, right now – and for the past week – he's been trying to see where that future is now with Yang instead. "We should pair off, by the way."

"Uh, haven't we already?"

"I mean when we go hunting. I know you're only supposed to pair off with your own team but I don't see JNPR and RWBY splitting up… ever. I think we should get a head start."

"Okay, future proofing. Sounds like your next report for Leadership." It is, and Yang helps him figure out his bullet points while they chew thoughtfully on their egg sandwiches (it's really eighty-percent meat and cheese but it's got an egg inside and on top so it gets the name).

They talk about the car they're looking for. Jaune's racetrack savvy sister, Sable, it still swearing up and down about the Highway Aries being an ideal match. Yang still insists on a bike.

When they're packing up and driving home, Yang talks about her "cousin" Vernal and her estranged bedmate Shay. Jaune adds that he has cousins he doesn't remember because seven sisters are enough, he doesn't need to add another eight. (Yang reels at the idea of so many blondes at a single family gathering and those are just the grandkids).

When they're home they talk about another trip out to sea and inevitably segway back into lobsters.

Sitting on the couch, she's thinking about her future. Jaune plops next to her and laughs about something Ruby sends him on his scroll.

Yang's ignoring her messages from Nora – she's staring at her scroll on the coffee table and it buzzes but she can't register what's happening – and suddenly she blurts, "Hey, I know this is a ways off and I probably shouldn't be something you talk about it at eighteen in the middle of academy training but… if we get a girl, can we name her Summer?" There's no embarrassment blooming off her cheeks. Her face is completely neutral, and her eyes are searching for a response in his wide, vacant stare.

His typing hasn't stopped, only slowed. "…"

"Jaune?"

He sighs, and it's long and beaten like he's preparing himself for self-destruction. "Only if we agree to name our son…" he swallows uncomfortably. "…uh, Qrow?"

She's aghast, mouth opening and closing. "Did… did you lose a bet or something?"

He kisses her – his way of saying yes – but it's not cute this time. It's sad and piteous and his eyes scream an apology his lungs are strangling him not to say for fear of combusting in what is already volcanic embarrassment.

"Win the bet," she says sternly.

"What? But I already lost!"

"Then double or nothing! Short of him kicking the ever living fuck out of the bucket, I am not naming my son after my uncle." After his furious nodding, she summons a tiny strength in her lungs to speak, but not enough to look him in the eye. "So, you, uh, didn't answer my question."

The clatter of his flask on the coffee table almost scares her, but she can see that he isn't drinking at the thought of Terra. This time it's just about Qrow. It makes her feel less afraid. When he answers, there is no burden in his tone caused he'd downed his nerves in quarter-parts whiskey. "I'll agree to Summer if you let me name our next daughter Agrippa."

"Oh? Why?"

"Was set on it when I was kid. This was before Pyrrha, before Terra, even. I just remember crying at home during a storm. My bedroom door was stuck cause of a leak – y'know, cause water inflates wood – and no one could hear me call out to them under all the rain drumming the roof. I was soaking wet cause the leak got onto my sheets. Stupid thing was, I wasn't even afraid of getting sick or if my small boy body would get hypothermia. I just had a sleepover at a friend's place the morning after and I didn't want to miss it. Then, out of nowhere and probably from a fevered haze, I see a guardian angel or – as my sisters called it – an imaginary friend."

He pauses to look at her, to check if she thinks he's crazy. She doesn't. Yang doesn't judge. She listens.

"It was a girl just a head taller than mine," he continues. "The dark made her hair look brown or a dull red, so I can't recall that for sure but I remember her eyes. They were blue, like mine, only brighter. She said her name was Gri, short for Agrippa. She saw that I was cold and she knelt to my level and hugged me. Her body felt warm, but too warm like the way your hands might after holding freshly brewed coffee. I didn't notice I was dry until I was laid in an equally dry bed and already falling asleep."

She doesn't ask if he thought it a dream. "You weren't afraid?" she asks instead.

He shakes his head. "I just assumed she was someone from the neighborhood I neglected to meet. My hometown, Clove, is a community of retired huntsmen surrounded by their farmlands, and everyone outside of it knew not to mess with huntsman families. If anything, we kept giving passersby the spooks. Cause of that, I was taught to be friendly, not wary of strangers."

"Hm," she sounds thoughtfully. "That explains a few things, actually."

"Really? Like what?"

"Well, just one thing. Ruby told me how you two met. You told her that strangers are just friends you haven't met yet. Thought you might've even been a little sketchy until I saw you myself. Seemed like the kind of guy who'd meet her in the middle. Vomit and all."

"Heh, I'm glad we hit it off. Ruby's a good friend."

"She makes a better sister," she says, winking.

"I suppose I'll find that out eventually, huh?" He gives her a suggestive grin.

"Eh?"

His grin drops. "Y'know, cause she'll be my sister-in-law if we…" He rolls his hands.

"Uh… Oh. Oh! You were flirting! Damn it, I missed my chance!'

He laughs because she seems genuinely upset. She decides that pouting is for suckers and proceeds to bite his neck. This time he bites back.

-0-

They wake up with the hickeys still on their necks and they opt to leave it there for all to see. The reactions from their peers at Beacon are interesting, and they take it as sufficient proof enough for everyone that they're an item. No one bothers asking about them after that.

When the week comes to an end, Pyrrha promises that they can pay her back for covering for the car's down payment and that – by the time they get back from Patch – that it'll be in the apartment's designated parking spot. Only slightly used cause, of course, she's going to cruise in it with Sun when he flies back to the city tomorrow.

They're surprised when Jaune and not Yang is the one that makes them vow to clean the stains. Yang is very proud of him.

On the pier, they hug their friends goodbye and Ruby promises to catch up once she's done meeting someone important from Mistral as per the headmaster's instruction. She says she can't tell them why she's nervous. They don't pry and tell her they'll listen when she's ready.

Jaune, also, promises not to look at her baby pictures (until she's there, he doesn't say).

Once they're in transit on the ferry, he tries to straighten out a crease in Yang's leather jacket. The shard of fire dust in a cup of water is his attempt to steam it straight. He spends the time talking about his mom's home remedies and his dad's jury rigging. She answers with talk of Summer's garden that her dad and uncle tend to. He scoffs at the idea of Qrow gardening but admits that it makes sense.

With Jaune busying himself, Yang wonders if things will stay this way. If all they have to worry about is down payments, creases, spoiled lobsters, and baby names. That all the big problems, like her mother's abandonment and his actual, biological son, might rear themselves instead and come back to haunt them in devastating ways. But just before any doubt sinks in, he holds her hand from his perch on the floor. He kisses her knee and eyes her from over her lap.

"Whatever it is," he says, squinting. Thinking of what else to add but settles with, "It doesn't matter whatever it is…"

She is prepared to eat up anything he offers. That he'll be there for her, that they'll work it out somehow, that he'll banish any ill thought or doubt, but he says none of those things. Instead, he leans up and kisses her – tender and brief – on the lips.

She blinks. "What are you saying yes to this time?" She's so bewildered that she doesn't even know why she asks such a thing.

"You," he answers anyway. "All of you. I can't fix everything and I can't right every wrong, but I'll take you as you are, or whatever you'll become. Even if you're in pieces. Even if you stop loving me. I don't have be your boyfriend to be with you every step of the way."

It's clear, then, that Jaune's been dealing with doubts of his own. Yang swallows as things bubble to the surface before she blinks a few times and…

"I love you," she says, and she realizes that it's the first time she has said it.

-0-

Down the line, she remembers this moment most vividly of her trip to Patch that one Autumn afternoon. The uncomfortable smell of sea water and steam off a heated cup, the rock of the ferry that forces Jaune to swallow a pill and drops a dozen more just to stop from hurling, and the way her shorts nearly catch fire from the dust shard spilling onto her lap.

Cause then he's stable and she's got a change of clothes (the small fire charred the color in an uncomfortable spot), and they try for the overpriced food court a floor above to mask the smell of all the water in almost lousy, reheated pizza.

The boatman told them that change is tumultuous, and that screwing up in the middle of growing their new shell is almost inevitable. Maybe they won't fit quite so well in their new shell, and maybe they'll take a few cuts and scrapes before they settle comfortably in their own skin, and maybe an old wound might not quite go away and leave them vulnerable there forever…

…but even if so, they decide – after a toast with pizza that tastes like the box it came in – that they'll always have these beautiful little imperfections, and that they can be ugly, squishy lobsters together.

#jaune x yang #yang x jaune #Jaune Arc #yang xiao long #rwby dragonslayer

[scullysexual]

Baby Cries

Post Emily | Words: 2055 | Angst | Warning: Tiny bit of borderline child abuse | AO3 |

How Scully deals with Emily’s death post funeral. 

My angsty Emily fics never do as well but this post got me thinking. Don’t let the warning put you off reading I just thought it was important that I said something about that bit (which you will understand if you read it) I hope you like it :)

@today-in-fic @mypanicface @impulsive-astrophile

- - - 

He brings flowers. Carries them in his arms much like a mother would carry a new-born baby. It just makes her cry.

When he hands her the flowers to remove the lid of the coffin to reveal a box full of sand, she cries even harder. Her gold cross stark against the dimmer yellow.

She looks down at the cross, then at the altar, wanting to curse the god- her god- that would take her baby away.

But God gives and God takes away; he gave her a child, then took that child away.

Mulder takes her hand and guides her out of the church. In the distance, Matthew whines and it creates the strangest sensations within her. An instinct which should have died with her daughter remerges, tugging at her chest. In her fuzzy-grieving state she hears Emily’s cry.

All baby’s look the same at that age. All baby’s sound the same at that age.

.:.:.:.:.:.

The wake is small and quiet. Much like the funeral, only the family attend. The family and Mulder.

His whiskey sits before him, going stale with each passing minute. Bill Jr. eyes him from the kitchen but even he’s smart enough to know that now is not the time to pick a fight.

Mulder’s attention is trained on Scully. There’s the quiet murmur of a conversation between Bill, Tara, and Mrs Scully. It’s Scully who sits alone on the two-seater table, the wine bottle in front of her, downing wine glass after wine glass.

His eyes flick to the clock on top of the fireplace.

Can I buy you a drink?

It’s 2 o’clock in the afternoon, Agent Mulder.

Another glass.

It’s 2 o’clock now, Agent Scully.

He takes a glance behind him, her family looking on towards Scully from the kitchen doorway as they continue to converse softly, their words low enough to be inaudible from here.

It makes Mulder uncomfortable. He has an urge to remove Scully from the room, take her somewhere more private away from prying eyes. He knows they’re her family and yet they should be the last people being judgemental.

He downs the whisky in one gulp, not as courage but more necessity- it would be wasteful after all- and is about to move from his seat when there’s another cry from Matthew.

Whatever trance Scully had found herself in with her wine is broken at the sound. Her head snaps up towards the direction of the noise and she stands as if about to go up there herself.

“It’s okay, Dana,” says Tara softly as she enters the living room. Matthew and his presence has become a touchy subject. “He’s just hungry.”

Scully sits back down, a dazed look returning to her face as she looks to be repeatedly blinking.

Mulder pushes himself off the couch and walks towards her, extending his hand out.

She looks at it, then at him, confused.

“Where are we going?” she asks childlike.

“I think a lie down would do you some good,” he answers.

She looks towards the bottle and Mulder’s eyes follow, sees it’s almost gone.

“Come on,” he says gently. She takes his hand and much like in the church, she allows him to guide her out.

Upstairs, they hear Tara tending to her son and Scully’s stopping suddenly has her yanking on his arm, her hand tightening in his.

“I thought it was Emily,” she says, tears beginning to form in her eyes once more. “Mulder, why do I keep thinking it’s Emily?”

She searches his face for answers but he has none to give. He feels dumb, inadequate to help her. He opens his mouth but the words don’t come out.

He closes it and sighs as she looks down to the carpet, realising he doesn’t know himself.

“Come on,” he says again.

.:.:.:.:.:.

Her bedroom here is the same one as the one from her childhood only it’s cold and devoid of her things. A suitcase lies on the floor, half packed, reminding her of a flight she should have taken days ago.

But then she found Emily and then Emily got sick and then there was Emily’s funeral.

“Can we go home tomorrow?” is what is asks.

Mulder is bewildered. “Scul—”

“Please!” she begins to beg. She never begs, only ever done it once when she was dying. She feels like she’s dying now, wilting away like the flowers at Emily’s coffin, wilting away like her daughter’s stolen body. The thought makes her beg some more.

“Please, Mulder,” she asks, grabbing at his shoulders, clinging to his arms. “Please, take me home. I want to go home.”

She crumbles against him, falling against his chest, the weight of her body knocking him off balance momentarily as he catches her. Saying nothing, his hand touching her head, fingers in her hair as she splutters her anguish into him.

His cheek resting against the top of her head, wrapping his arms tighter around her.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he says.

The answer is enough, it has her calming down, her weeping turning to sniffles.

She’s sleepy against him. Wined-drunk and exhausted, snuggling into his chest, snotting all over his shirt. She wipes it away with her sleeve.

There is still a persistent ache in her chest. The wine and exhaustion doing nothing to send it away. She wants it gone, she thinks. Wants to numb it until she can’t feel it, until it’s a distant memory. She wants a distraction; work or…

She has work in her arms: Mulder, her partner, her best friend, her one companion.

She lifts her head up, rests her chin on his chest.

“Mulder…” she says.

He looks down and Scully rises onto her tip-toes, stretching up for her lips to touch his.

And it’s not enough. This mere contact between them, she needs more. She pushes against him, tongue poking between his lips seeking access. Her hands moving from his waist to the top of his neck to press harder.

But he realises what it is she’s doing, begins pulling away.

“Scully, no…” he starts. “Not- not like this.”

“Yes like this,” she answers, seeking him once more, chasing after him, following him like she always has done, like she always will.

But his finger is at her lips, preventing her from getting any closer.

“Not like this,” he says, looking into his eyes. In them she sees it, the gentleness, the understanding, the want but the restraint. This isn’t a rejection, he’s telling her. It’s just not the time.

She slinks away, back to her natural height, and turns away to the bed.

“Will you stay with me?” she asks pulling back the covers, looking towards him.

He nods. “I’ll stay,” he answers moving to the chair.

.:.:.:.:.:.

She wakes and he is gone.

She wakes and there is crying.

She’s slept a full twelve hours if the clock is right.

I’m coming, baby, she thinks. Emily is crying. Emily needs her.

She makes her way to the nursery, her eyes on the cot and the baby that squirms around in it.

She is smiling. It feels foreign, as does the heaviness in her breasts but she goes to the cot away, to the baby who still whines.

But when she reaches it, realisation hits her. Her hands touching the rail of the cot has her remembering.

She has no baby. Her Emily is dead.

Instead lies Matthew staring up at her with curiosity.

She stares down at it with disgust.

Matthew, she thinks, reaching down to pick him up. His head hangs back.

He smells. A scent coming off of him, the low-hanging diaper the cause of what woke him.

“Why did you get to be born while Emily died?” she asks him. “Was this the price? Tara’s baby for mine?”

Matthew has no answer and Scully has the urge to shake him until she gets one but no, instead her hands find themselves squeezing his side. The baby begins to whimper and the harder she presses the more his cries break through until he’s screaming.

It’s release. The baby screaming is her screaming. It’s doing the thing she can’t do. It’s also doing it because she’s hurting him.

A bright light is on just as she realises, releasing her grip on him.

“Dana?” Tara’s voice has Scully spinning around to the four people standing in the doorway.

“What are you doing?” Her sister-in-law’s voice in equal parts curious and in denial. They all know what she was doing. She sees that knowledge in Mulder, the way he looks down at the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she says, handing Matthew back to Tara. She leaves briskly, pushing through the small gap between everyone, down the stairs, towards the door, grabbing Mulder’s car keys as she goes.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

He can’t say what he saw exactly.

Scully holding Matthew, Matthew crying. It could’ve been anything.

“I don’t know why she was holding him like that,” Tara says sounding scared. She holds Matthew close to her, protecting him.

“She’s grieving, Tara,” says Mrs Scully.

Yet Bill Jr. is fuming.

“It’s not Matthew’s fault the girl is dead,” he says his voice full of quiet anger.

Mulder leaves, intending on finding where Scully ran off to and leaving the family to figure it out.

Through the window by the stairs, he sees her sitting in his car. Her head bowed down. This is not somebody who needs to be berated right now.

He puts on his shoes and opens the front door. She doesn’t see him when he reaches the car so he taps on the window, alerting her. She looks up and smiles sadly. He smiles back slightly, opening the car door and climbs in.

They sit in silence for a while and Mulder looks over to Scully, to her hands that tangle together and how glum she looks, staring out the window, her eyes wet.

“I was gonna drive off somewhere,” she says finally. “But I didn’t know where to go.”

Mulder nods. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

Scully let’s out a breath, followed by a quiet, “Are they angry with me?”

He thinks to Bill, his seeping anger, his lack of understanding.

It’s not Matthew’s fault the girl is dead, he said. That’s her daughter, Mulder thinks. She wasn’t just a girl.

“They don’t understand what you were doing,” he answers. “I don’t even understand what you were doing,” he admits then looks to her. “And I don’t think you understand it either.”

She shrugs and he has no idea what to make of it.

“I thought it was Emily crying,” she tells him. “Then I realised it wasn’t and I just got…so angry.” She lets out a breath before she continues. “I started asking him why he was alive and she wasn’t. Then I squeezed him and he started crying and then screaming and it was what I needed, someone to do what I wanted to do and just as I realised what it was I was doing the lights switched on and everyone was there.”

He digests what she’s said and reaches over to still her hands. It brings her attention away from them, to him.

“I found a direct flight for 10am tomorrow,” he tells her. “But if you want, we can go to the airport now and see what’s available.”

Scully looks to the road then to the house and Mulder waits as she weighs up the decision of whether to apologise to her family or make a fun or it.

She choices the former. Shaking her head.

“No, I think I best apologise.”

Mulder smiles, removing his hand. “Okay.”

They climb out of the car and walk back towards the front door.

“I’m not gonna sleep for the rest of the night.” She looks at him as if what she’s about to ask is selfish. “Do you mind staying up with me?”

He doubts he’d be getting any more sleep himself tonight. He had been awake to hear Matthew cry, awake to hear him scream.

“Of course,” he says, taking her hand as they walk side-by-side up the driveway. “I know a good infomercial we could watch together.”

She smiles, her hand tightening in his, and Mulder’s just glad he could put a smile on her face.

#txf fic #baby cries #post hijacking #i write

[grimbeak]

hi! here’s another fun n cheerful ghost jay drabble, definitely not really depressing at all! :D 

Mistakes 

Pixal was expecting many things to be going on when she got back to the temple, almost a month late after her mission went awry. It was supposed to be only two weeks she was gone, but, well, duty calls. 

Out of all the things she has been expecting (mourning, an empty temple, arguing, etc.), seeing Jay on the couch talking to Cole was not one of them. 

“Um.”

Both boys look up, confused looks turning into delighted smiles almost instantly as they jump up. “Pixal!��� Cole runs over to her, and she laughs as his arms wrap tightly around her in a hug. “How’ve you been? Zane and Lloyd are doing a patrol,” he explains, “something about a rogue batch of serpentine. They should be back in about an hour or two, unless something goes wrong.” 

“Great,” Pixal smiles, squeezing him back one more time before stepping away. Her eyes land on Jay, and her smile fades. “How- my apologies, but... why and how is he here?”

“Well, uh...” Cole trails off, clearly a bit uncomfortable. “He’s kind of...”

Jay’s smile, however, doesn’t falter, instead clearing his throat and pulling a paper out of his pocket (is he... see-through?). Reading from the paper, he says, “So, funny story, I died. And now I’m a ghost. With no memory of dying, or... anything that caused me to die. So, don’t-” he frowns, slightly- “don’t tell me anything that may trigger memories, and try not to act weird around me. And, um, that’s about it.” He folds the paper, slipping it back into his pocket. “Kai wrote that for me,” Jay explains. “Pretty informative.” 

Pixal blinks. “Right. Well. So you don’t remember... anything?” She’s been told about the island, but... apparently her friends have neglected to tell her that Jay is alive (well... half-alive. A ghost. Whatever) and well (as well as one can be with zero memories of their death.) 

Jay shakes his head. “Nope. And, apparently, no one’s allowed to tell me about it.” He sounds a bit disappointed at the last bit, but regains a smile that seems rather forced. “Anyway, good to see you again! I’ll go tell Kai you’re back.” 

Pixal waits until her friend (friend? Formerly-dead-but-now-alive friend? Formerly-enemy-friend? Hmm.) jogs off before turning back to Cole. “So. When did he turn up?”

The master of earth rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Few days after you went on your mission. From what I heard, he just kinda... popped out of the wall. Scared the crap out of Kai.” 

Pixal smiles, slightly. “So, I’m assuming I will be informed about what happened when the others return?”

Cole nods just as Jay re-enters the room, followed closely by Kai. The fire ninja offers a smile and a wave to Pixal. “Hey, Pix. How was the mission?”

“Long,” she sighs, and Kai smirked. 

“So, uh... wanna come get some tea? Lloyd made some, earlier.” Pixal raises an eyebrow, and Kai hurriedly adds, “Zane helped him. It doesn’t taste horrible, for once.” 

“Yes. That would be nice.”

***

So maybe Jay shouldn’t be doing this. 

But hey. He did figure out how to turn invisible all on his own (well, mostly on his own (having your best friend become a ghost for over a year and a half does have its advantages)), so he should use it. It’s his decision, not any of his friends’. 

Not that he’s told his friends about his ability to turn invisible, anyway, but still.

From what Jay understands, the other ninja are going to have Important Discussion Time with Pixal in around five minutes. Explain to her what happened on the island and what not.

So, the logical thing to do is sneak in while being invisible, listen to whatever happened on the island that nobody wants to tell him about, try to figure out why they didn’t want to tell him. Can’t be that bad, right?

Right. Everything’ll be fine, and Jay will be fine, and he’ll tell the others that he knows, and everything will be great. 

Pixal interrupts his train of thought, standing up with the others. “So, we’re gonna go...” She gestures vaguely to the living room, and Cole and Kai wince in unision behind her. They probably don’t think that Jay has noticed the fact that they shoo him away for a few hours every time that they have to explain his existence (half-existence?) to someone. Which, surprisingly, happens a lot. 

Jay pushes himself away from the wall he was leaning against (being able to touch solid things is a lot easier than being able to touch people, or have people touch him.) with a smile. “Yeah, sure. I’m gonna go rest for a bit, see you guys later.”

He’s not going to go rest for a bit. What he is going to do, actually, is pull the tracker off his uniform (it’s not as hidden as Zane thinks) and put it on his bed, then sneak back into the living room, invisible. 

(One of the first things he worked on as a ghost was turning invisible. Going invis is easier than getting out of invis, actually. It’s sort of like a switch you flick down to disappear.

Getting out is harder, due to the fact that it takes physical contact with someone to switch out. The last few times he’s done it, Jay just bumped shoulders with Zane while he had his nose buried in a book.

Jay hopes this meeting won’t take too long. The longer he’s invisible, the more he can feel himself fading away.)

The other ninja (and Pixal) dissapear into the Important Discussion Talk room, and Jay wanders off to his room. Quickly, he pulls the mini tracker that Zane made off his elbow (not the best hiding spot, seriously) and places it carefully on his bed. 

Time to overhear some things, like any good person questioning their existence and/or past would do. 

Once he’s back into the kitchen, Jay flips the internal switch.

And vanishes. 

It’s... it’s pretty much exactly the same as being a regular ghost, except for the fact that he can’t see himself.

Jay pushes the door open (and silently thanks the FSM that it doesn’t creak), and gets noticed almost immediately. Crap. 

Cole frowns, pushing himself up from the couch. “...Jay?”

Zane pulls something out of his pocket before turning it around so that Jay and Cole can see the screen. “No. He’s still in his room. We should really get that door fixed- does that all the time.”

...Oh thank god. 

Zane sets the tracker pad back down onto the table, Jay slinks farther into the room, and Cole closes the door before plopping back down onto the couch. “We ready to start?”

Pixal nods, slowly, looking a little less unsure than earlier. “Affirmative.” 

“Alright, so...” Kai leans back in his chair, in a ready-to-start-talking-about-our-friend’s-demise-and-resurrection pose. “Let’s begin.” 

And they do.

They talk about getting to the island, about being... not exactly welcomed by the locals (understandable), and about-

“His mother?” 

“We think so,” Cole says awkwardly. “Well, not think so, Master Wu did explicitly say that she was Jay’s mom. Said her name was Linda, or something.” 

“Liberty,” Nya interupts “But when they were kids, everyone apparently called her Libber. She used to be really nice and kind too- a lot like Jay, really, but...” She looks at the ground.

Jay can’t breathe. His mother was there, his mom, and they didn’t tell him about her? Why? 

He finds it very hard to stay quiet right now, and instead shoves his fist in his mouth and bites on it, hard. ...Doesn’t really do anything, but the numb feeling he always has grows worse. He’ll start sort of... tingling, soon. Always happens when he gets stressed, now.

“But she had lost it.”

Hold on, she- what?

Nya takes a shaky breath, and her brother squeezes her hand comfortingly. “Libber was... clearly not herself. Insane, really. Just kind of... bent on destruction. Something had happened, we don’t know what, but she wasn’t- wasn’t herself, anymore, according to Master Wu. Jay was kinda... messed up about that.”

“Of course he was,” Cole murmurs. “I mean, you meet your mom after not even knowing she existed for most of your life, and she doesn’t even care about you? Gotta screw you up a little. Along with... all the other stuff.”

Jay’s starting to think he really doesn’t want to know about all the other stuff. 

But the other ninja keeps talking, and he keeps listening, and Jay really understands why they didn’t want to tell him about any of this. 

“So,” Pixal says eventually, after Kai’s taken a break from speaking. “Just to be perfectly clear- Jay went evil slash insane because his mother didn’t care about him, and he thought that none of you cared about him as well?” 

Yes, Jay wants to scream. Yes, that’s exactly what happened. 

There are thoughts in his head, memories blinking in and out and Jay doesn’t really know what to do with all of them. 

“Well,” Kai starts slowly, “it wasn’t all that, but-” 

“Shut it, Kai,” Cole interrupts, and his companions stare at him in surprise. “Look, just- yes, Pixal. It was our fault. We made him feel like we didn’t care about him. Kai especially,” he added, and the fire ninja glared at him for a few seconds until he gave up, looking down at the ground. Cole continued. “And now we have another chance, and just- we can’t mess up this time.”

“And then what happened?” Pixal asks.

“The tribe got to him,” Cole says, “offered him a way out.” 

And they all keep tallking. 

And Jay listens.

Listens to how he turned against his friends, how he was going to destroy Ninjago to bring them pain and suffering, and how the others had no choice to but to take him down. And they did that by-

After a few seconds of silence, Pixal speaks up. “So... how’d you stop him?” 

No one says anything, and Jay’s stomach drops as Kai looks at the ground.

Pixal’s eyes widen. “You didn’t- you guys- you...” She trails off, shocked.

Kai whispers, eventually, “We didn’t mean to kill him. But he... we were just trying to hit him with all our powers at once, see if we could snap him out of it, maybe stop him, but-” he looks at his hand as if it’s covered in blood. “...We’re more powerful than we thought.” 

Jay’s frozen, and the one remaining part of his head that can think clearly hopes that this meeting’ll end soon, otherwise he’ll start to fade away. Once that happens... 

His friends-

They killed him. 

Jay had assumed it was something that happened with the tribe, or-or maybe even his mother and where was she?, but not his friends.

He feels sick. 

...Maybe he deserved it, honestly, with the way he was acting, but still. 

“OK,” Pixal says after a moment, “so he’s dead because you guys killed him.” Cole and Lloyd wince at the true accusation, but nod in agreement. “So how’d become a ghost, then? There’s... I can’t think of any logical way.”

“We think,” Cole starts, “that the tribe has some kind of resurrection ritual. But either something went wrong or there’s a cost, because Jay doesn’t know how or why he died. Also the whole ghost thing.”

“I see. And- was Libber there, too? Did... did she have to watch? Did you guys kill her, too?”

“No! She... she disappeared, just before Jay lost it. We’re not sure where she is- probably alive somewhere else. The tribe didn’t know where she went. She might’ve told Jay, but... if she did, he won’t remember.” 

...OK. So his mom is still out there, somewhere, probably insane. That’s... good to know, sort of.

“And, um...” Cole drums his fingers on the armrest of the couch he’s sitting on. Jay’s legs really hurt. “I think that’s about it.” 

“OK,” Pixal says slowly. “And I’m not allowed to tell Jay about this?”

The others shake their heads immediately. “Nope,” confirms Kai. “Too dangerous. Might go all insane-ey and lose it again.”

Jay...

Ouch.

...His friends don’t trust him, that’s for sure, and to be honest he deserves it.

But he deserves an apology, as well, not some half-baked lie about how when he died they realized they weren’t as nice to him as they could’ve been. 

...Maybe he can think of a way to tell him that he remembers, without them trying to kill him for it. 

As Jay’s thinking/beginning to have an internal mental breakdown, Cole stands up and starts walking towards the door. “I’m gonna go check on Jay, see how he’s doing. He’s asleep, right?” Zane holds up the tracker pad, which shows a little dot marked Jay on his bed. “Great. I’ll see how he’s doing, and-” 

Oops.

Jay had tried to go through the door just as Cole opened it, but apparently the other ninja has no respect for the personal space of friends he can’t see and didn’t know where there.   

Jay takes a few careful steps back, internally keeping the invisible switch down due to the fact that Cole bumped into him.

Cole hesitates, then reaches out a hand, and Jay is suddenly filled with so much dang panic that he can’t move, and Cole shoves him back so that Jay stumbles, landing hard against the wall and almost knocking over the coffee table. “Watch it!”

Cole’s eyes go wide and mouth drops open, the other ninja (and Pixal) twisting around in their seats to see what’s wrong.

..Jay’s not invisible anymore, is he.

One glance down at his body confirms that. He’s back to being a dark green/blue combo, the floor an odd colour beneath his feet.

 “You were...” Cole’s voice is quiet, but it quickly grows to a normal tone, albeit stunned. “You were listening? You were here the whole time?!” 

“I-” Jay glances around the room, eyes landing on Kai. “I didn’t-” 

His friends killed him.

His friends killed him. 

Kai swallows, before asking, “How do- Jay, are you... how do you feel?”

Jay looks at him.

And turns and sprints through the wall. 

It’s getting dark, outside, gray clouds indicating rain soon. Too bad. Jay can’t stay here.

His friends killed him his friends killed him- 

Jay hears a yell of “After him!” from behind him as the others claw their way through the temple.

He doesn’t have much time.

His friends killed him his friends killed him his friends-

Jay summons his dragon, pushing through the fear that seems to be overwhelming his body, more and more every second-

Hisfriendskilledhimhisfriendskilledhimhisfriendskilledhim-

He flies off just as the remaining ninja burst through the door. He can hear them calling their dragons, as well, with the sound of wings behind him within a few seconds.

He flies faster. 

“Hmmm, what you’re looking for is an Aeroblade, forged by Deepstone, an aquatic material mined from the bottom of the ocean. Very unique. Even more expensive.” 

Aeroblades.

Ronin.

He needs to find Ronin.

Jay looks back at the five dragons following him, their riders too far away to see clearly (he got a head start). 

He looks ahead of him, to Ninjago City the place that he apparently tried to destroy a few months ago. 

..He’ll lose them there.

#smh jay #bad examples #wow this is dark #not as dark as the next one tho uahgiuaruig #Ghost Jay #Ghost Jay Drabbles #Villain Jay #Memory loss #memory gained? #bad memories #unhelpful friends #ninjago jay #ninjago cole #ninjago nya #ninjago kai #ninjago lloyd #ninjago pixal #ninjago zane #ninjago ronin #libber ninjago #fic writing #next drabble will either come out today or tomorrow #or in a few days time when i get the motivation to write ab a depressed boi #ninjago s14 #ninjago s15