#Note to self to stop fucking men i get in knife fights with PLEASE

[anarcho-masochist]

Okay, I thought this was universal but maybe my last three therapists were right that it is not:

Is it normal for boredom to be truly unbearable?

As in, worse than anything else, would rather get eviscerated while fully conscious, will do anything to escape it which might actually include suicide if no satisfactory options are available?

#it's bad #and no it's not 'when you aren't distracted you're forced to experience existing pain' #I'm not generally suicidal. There are a lot of things I enjoy and want to do. I have plenty of problems but I tend not to care about them. #I do have things to do. Usually even if I don't want to do anything I can entertain myself since I can't switch my brain off anyways. #Literally infinite things to think about #The problem is when none of it feels interesting or exciting enough. Which doesn't make any sense at all. #If I'm unbearably bored and a friend makes the mistake of talking to me I get really toxic. It is a problem. #Usually I have great self control when it comes to destructive or toxic behaviors but not so when I want to end it all because nothing is #interesting enough. #It's like 'if I do something really extreme I'll stop because bored' #Bad things happen... #Or I try to overdose or slit my wrists #better yet is when I try to get myself killed because suicide isn't good enough.... great reasoning (disappointed) #I met three of my ex boyfriends that way #Note to self to stop fucking men i get in knife fights with PLEASE #it is ALWAYS a bad idea. Has never turned out well. #Invariably they always either have anger management/impulse control issues or they're just arrogant jerks who want to be tougher than you #sometimes both #Man really rambling in the tags here. Should probably delete that. Oh well. POST

[camslightstories]

Tolerate It - Part 10

Lena Luthor x reader, Kara Danvers x reader, Alex Danvers x reader. Baby Danvers.

Notes: Hey guys! First of all, thank you for your patience and your support. I’m so sorry I took so long, like I commented it had been a rough two weeks. I think this chapter closes many questions but also opens a lot to understand what is going to happen...

I hope you guys enjoy it!. Thank you for reading, for your support and patience. I hope you have a great day!

Taglist: @multi-images @captain-josslett​ @aznblossom​ @venteen​ @coxmicbabygirl​ @lezzzbehonesthere​

Song use: Rat by Penelope Scott 

Russian Translations:

Принцесса - Princess

The room was filled by your heavy breathing and the sound of your hands making contact with the heavy bag. The slight light that came from the bulb gave enough sight for you to see and the others to check on you. The smell of french fries invaded the room as well as the sound of the arena coming out of the bag after your last hit. 

Taking your wrapped hand out of the bag, you huffed as the last of your patience started to leave. The last three days made you frustrated, every hour one of the teams would come into the room and try to make you open up. Some of them calmer than others.

Your conversations with them had been cold and short. Your disinterest every time they came made some of them have more determination and others to leave faster. The blank and void expression in your face every time they would come up with something that they hoped would let you open up, scared them. 

Kara overflowed with hope, but every time she tried with you and your expression kept beginning blank, your sister hated herself inside for making you leave. Alex was blinded by rage and sadness, she tried to be considerate but after the third visit without you talking, her comforting voice became yelling, determined to get you back. 

Oliver stood hours with your training and trying to make up to you, he was the one who had the longest time with you, his and yours silence made him know a lot of things. How much were you hurt and broken on the inside? Your fighting was somehow balanced to his, and he knew every time he looked into your eyes, you were lost and he wasn't going to stop trying but your best friend’s hope was slowly leaving. Felicity was calm and comforting, somehow made you comfortable when the blonde with glasses started to ramble out facts. Her hope and determination were the same as her fiance, she knew you were going to come back just like Oliver did. 

Lena never came inside of the room after your guys' first encounter. Pain covered her heart at the sight of the void you. Self-hatred and more had been going on since the first minute. She stood watching you from the window, but never coming inside, never trying to get you back. Kara and Alex had comforted your girlfriend as she never left the place, she was scared of losing you again, and there were nothing and no one that would eliminate that feeling. 

You lay on the couch as you eat the fries. Everything was silent and calm, comforting you inside. Thoughts have been moving through your head somehow making your bottle of feelings stir. You wanted to get out of there and find your life again. The soft smile of satisfaction when you remember how you had almost gotten back to Roulette, only to leave when the pain on your stomach began to fly in when you remembered the black-haired had shot you. 

The youngest Luthor stood outside watching you from the window, smiling softly when she saw your smile. Tears overwhelmed her as she did, remembering the times that smile grew bigger lighting the room and was only for her. 

Her expression left when she heard the strong footsteps of the Queen man, followed by the two Danvers sisters and Felicity. Oliver grabbed a gun and a knife from the glass cabinet before speaking up. “Don't stop me, she is going to talk”

“What!? Oliver!” Lena and Felicity screamed as your sister held them back, as the Green Arrow entered the room with determination. 

Immediately at the sound of the door, you sat up straight observing the Queen’s posture. Oliver didn't even hesitate to put the gun in your temple making you chuckle while getting up.

 Lena screamed as tears ran down her face trying to lose the redhead's grip. “No! You are going to hurt her, let me go!”

“Come on, Queen. Why are we wasting time? Both of us know that I don't have anything to live for, and neither I have something to die for, I'm just remaining” You said, the words hitting everyone have a cold stone. Your tone was truthful and somewhat open, closing your eyes as the last words purred from your tongue you stood there waiting for it. 

You didn't flinch at any moment of the encounter. Oliver gripped the gun stronger and walked away, the four women watching from the outside some calmer than others. The knife made his way in your direction almost grazing your face as you took a step aside well aware of Oliver's throw. 

Your expression remained intact, you didn't flinch, didn't think, didn't even breathe. That's when your redhead sister let go of Lena and came back with both of your parents. Eliza and Jeremiah both remained quiet as they entered the Arrow’s cave. Both of them knew of the situation. Jeremiah was different from Eliza and had determination and angriness in his eyes while your blonde mom stood with worry and sadness in her eyes. 

You stood there having a connected glance with the archer, only to furrow your eyes as the door opened again, only this time for all of them to come in. Lena and Felicity on the front walking to each side of the room, your sisters following behind and your parents at last. 

You scoffed the moment you saw your father, anger began to fill your body as your bottled feelings began to flow out, as your last bit of patience broke. “I'm not doing this anymore”

“You are not going anywhere kid,” The black-haired man said getting in front of you. Your sisters watched closely, while Oliver tried to put together your anger burst.

You spatted, glaring at him. Lena looked into your eyes finding a burst of pain, hurt, resentment, and anger hidden in your eyes. “Get the fuck out of my way, Jeremiah”

“Lilian let you out to play fetch, or did she finally get tired of you?” When the scientist only stepped closer, one of his hands trying to grab your clenching fits as blood came down from them. You tilted your head gaining control of the situation and speaking only for your sisters and mom’s eyes to go wide and your father to scoff.

“You do not speak to me with that tone, I’m your father, we are your family” Your father scoffed, taking a step back, looking at you disapprovingly with his arms closing in his chest.

You claimed with a sarcastic laugh. All of the hatred and angriness could be heard in your tone, also the hurt could be heard by everyone. “Here I thought you were are allergic to this family, or more specifically me” 

Leaving everyone confused, you walked out of the cave. Everyone stood quietly before your oldest sister burst in anger looking at your dad. “What the hell did she mean by that?”

----------

You entered the bar, and the sound of the music overwhelmed your ears. The smell of alcohol could be identified by your nose. The dark bar was full of people. Colored soft lights rotating around making you distingue where the bar stool was. 

“Pass me 5 shots and the bottle of vodka, please,” You said to the green-eyed bartender as you sat on one of the stools, keeping your glance to the table. 

Minutes became hours as the third vodka bottle stood empty at your right side, while you drank the five shots in less than a minute. Tears slowly gained control in your eyes as all of your feelings gained control of you. 

“Can I get another one, please? I just want to forget” Slurring your words while pouting to the blonde bartender, who had a worried expression on her face.

The blonde started but was interrupted by a voice behind you “Sweetheart, I don't think you should keep drinking-”

“Hey! You up for a competition?” A tall dark-haired guy with a group of women and men behind him asked you. Gaining your attention, you smirked before nodding fastly. 

You walked back to the table where all of the shots were begin arranged, determined to win, you chunked down a water bottle on one of the girl’s hands. Your drunkenness is starting to hit.

The minutes passed on a bliss, one moment you were drinking the first shot, and the next one you were begin cheered on after you chunked down a full bottle of vodka in less than 2 minutes. 

You start crying as one of the guys brought out the whisky and the wings. The boys drunkenly comforted you as you cried and sobbed for Lena. You sat at the edge of the table as you sang drunkenly with the rest of the group.

“I loved you, I loved you, I loved you, it's true”

“And sometimes I feel like I still fuckin' do”

Your hand made its way to the vodka, closing the distance on your way to chunk down as much as you could so you could forget, even though you didn't want to forget, it hurt you and you just wanted the pain to be gone. A hand grabbed the bottle with force and stopped you from drinking. 

In a second you were surrounded by your sisters, Oliver and Lena. All with worried faces on, as Kara read the name of what you were drinking. “Alien Vodka, out of this world”

“Hey, guys” You slurred, moving your head to rest in your hand as you smiled dumbly at them. 

All of them stood in shock when your warm and open personality was regained. You turned around when you felt a voice startled you. A brown-eyed brunette asked you, as she extended her hand to you. “Would you like to dance?”

Lena felt everything burning inside, the jealous feeling of seeing you with another person made her feel sick. Her whole demeanor changed the moment she smiled at you. ‘How dare any person think they can get their hands on you?’ Alex had caught on to her friend's reaction and slightly hit her shoulder playfully. 

“No, thank you. I have a certain type, soft black hair, green eyes you can get lost and an accent.” You responded with a dreamy smile on your face, as you put your head on the table and looked dreamily at the bar as you described Lena. 

The brunette nodded and walked off, Lena feeling pride inside as all of them watch you stare dreamily at the vodka bottle. Memories of Lena began to flow into your mind, nights of cuddling and kisses, holidays, galas, dates, everything. Her smile made you fall to your knees at every waking moment of the day.

The moment you went to grab the bottle again when the pain of the break up flowed back in, two strong arms scooped you in bridal style making you giggled as your best friend spoke. “That's enough for you, Y/N”

“Ollie! Ollie, I missed you so much” You claimed as you tried to hug him as strong as you could, giggling. 

“Me too, idiot,” Oliver said as he kissed your forehead with a smile.

“Idiot in love, Ollie. I told you that, Idiot is so much love” You said pointing a finger to his chest, as you hide your face in his neck.

Lena and your sister walked behind you and Oliver as he carried you. Glancing at her dreamily before speaking, playing with your hands, the trio heard the conversation.“You know we both wanted to marry strong geniuses. I had a ring, Ollie, the best ring for Lena. It was perfect for her. I worked so, so, so hard and I had it all planned. Christmas morning, only letting my sisters know that day because they would have asked me and bullied me the whole time.”

“Y/N-” He said softly only for you to interrupt him again.

“I don't ever want to stop loving her, even though it hurts, she was my everything Olie, like Felicity she is a soft genius, like Alex, my sister, do you remember her? She is strong, and like Kara she is a star and a hero” You interrupted, your voice came in as a broken sob, sadness coming out of it as you spoke. 

Oliver began to walk slower, as you started to cry silently. Emotional and physical pain overwhelming your body. The trio walked right up to you, as you spoke. “Dad told me I needed to put my feelings in a bottle and keep them inside, that would make me strong enough to fight the demons away. But Dad also left me two times, Ollie, he left me all alone after making me bottle my feelings.”

Alex and Lena clenched their fits as the words fell out of your mouth, while Kara scooped you in her arms, trying to calm you as heartbroken sobs began to come out of your mouth. Oliver kept his worried glances every once in a while, while Kara tried to comfort you as much as she could, having a heavy gut feeling that they weren't going to like what you have to say.

“I don't want to be alone. I wanted to be strong for everyone, so they could be happy” You whispered under your breath, as everything began to flow in. 

Flashback - 3 years before, 2 months after leaving National City

The nights after your departure from National City leaving everything behind had been the worst. Cold and silent nights in Texas as you cried yourself to sleep. After hours of clinging to everything that you could, it left you exhausted physically and mentally. 

Boxes and bags of takeout and beer flood the apartment. The mess of your clothes dividing your living room with your bed. The study apartment smelled like french fries, ice cream, and car oil. You laid your back on the couch dipping your fries into the ice cream bowl. Tears unstoppably running down your cheeks and heartbroken sobs coming out of your mouth.

The strong yet soft knock on the door startled you, making you face land into the floor when you went to get up off the couch. Walking over to the door you opened without even looking through the peephole. 

Your breath caught your breath, as you looked up to find a familiar, way too familiar face in front of you. Small and soft tears began to flow in your eyes when your eyes caught the view of your deceased father. Your stomach clenched painfully. Your vision became blurry and everything began to fade around you. 

The last thing you recognize is the warm embrace you had missed for years. The fatherly embraced that you craved after his death. 

-----

“You took a snooze” You woke up on the couch seeing a figure moving at your side, cleaning the apartment. Everything came crashing to you as your father walked over with a smile, you struggled to return one when all the emotional pain you had felt for the last two months and the pain from losing your father began to combine. 

You claimed to get up from the couch with hesitation, taking all of him. Scared that he would just vanish into the air. Memories of his funeral, memories of sleepless nights of crying and the void feeling for years.“Dad?”

“I know, it's confusing and almost unbelievable but I'm here, I'm real, I'm alive, Y/N,” Your father said, walking up to you waiting for your first move. The moment you touched his arm, your body became automatic and embraced him as much as you could, clinging to him scared that he would disappear again. 

Minutes passed and both of you pulled away, with teary, red puffy eyes you mumbled questions, not knowing the right one. “How...? What...? Why-?”

“A lot of things happened, I was severely injured and Cadmus took me in, they helped me get better and in exchange, I helped them with a few things.” He said as he sat upright on the couch.

The hurt that passed through your eyes as the relaxation hit you, was enough to not make you understand a few things. You said as you walked various times back and forth in the living room  “So you've been alive this entire time?”

“Yeah, I couldn't get in any contact with anyone who knew me as Jeremiah Danvers, if I did I would have put you all in danger, especially your sisters” He responded looking up to you, waiting for your reaction. 

“You have been keeping up with our lives?” You asked as you took a seat beside him, looking at him with teary eyes, and the same scared face you did as a kid.

“I have, your sisters grew up to be the strong, independent, heroes they were always meant to be. And you, my little artist did the same” He said bringing you into another hug, only for you to pull away before the hug.

You got up off the couch, as tears began to flow in again, the hatred that you had him for dying so early, the caring he gave you when you hurt yourself accidentally, the holidays, all of you together as a family, everything.

“I’m sorry” You exclaimed looking into his eyes, before taking a deep breath continuing. 

Your voice cracked the moment the last few words left your mouth. You tried to keep the tears from coming out, with shaky hands. “For hating you the time, I hated you. It just kept hurting and I didn't know how to stop it.”

“And when mom told us that you entered the DEO to protect Kara, and died in a plane crash when I was just a kid, that you did all of these things with them because they were older and it was their time for you to teach them that, but I never received them. I felt less when you weren't in my first father-daughter dance, or when I didn't have a dad to take to the fathers day in middle school, or when you taught Kara and Alex how to cook, or when you taught them how to go camping or to help me in the tryouts for my sports, or the tryouts for the band, or how to do my first Rubik's cube, I didn't have you for any of that, while they did” You commented. Your father sat on the couch, with teary eyes.

You finished breaking down in your knees as the last words left your mouth.“I know mom was there, and I love her for that but there were things that they learned from you, that I never got to do them. Inside jokes that were not appropriate until I was in middle school and more. Mom was amazing but there was always a missing void inside of me that I never got to fill until lately until it left again”

“I promise you, that it was never my intention. You, my little artist just like your sisters mean the world to me. And I promise you I will never leave you again” He promised, wrapping you in a fatherly embrace, as you sobbed.

“You promise?” You whispered after your breathing had become calmer, now in a more calmed but hurting stage, still wrapped in the hug with your now very alive father.

“I promise, crossing my heart with it” He whispered, kissing the top of your head after you let out a small chuckle. 

Hours had passed by and the two of you were eating pizza, as you caught up with him. A few things left your mind at unease but he was your father so how could you not trust him. Even though you force a smile from moment to moment, the broken feeling inside you never left, and Jeremiah had seemed to keep up.

“I know you loved her-” He said carefully, before putting his beer on the table as you interrupted.

You said cleaning your face with the napkin, looking him in the eye. Trying to make him understand. “Love, I love her that. I don't think I will ever stop”

“To be at your best, you need to face your demons and yours are all these insecurities and feelings that you have. And put them in a bottle, closing it, keeping them there. You are not going to feel pain or hurt or anything. You are going to be powerful, strong” He said calmly. 

Your mind went into overdrive, you didn't want to forget your feelings and less for Lena, she was the love of your life even though you weren't hers. You also didn't want to forget the caring and protectiveness towards your family. Your feelings were normally the greater part of you and you didn't know if you could just shape them into certain things.

You responded worriedly. “Why would I do that? I don't wanna stop feeling that, and less stop caring for everyone” 

“Do you trust me, Y/N/N?” He recounted looking at you with a sad smile and determination in his gaze. 

Somehow the question felt so foreign and everything inside you yelled for you to not trust him but you could only see the father that wanted the best for his kids. So you went and picked out your heart before your instinct as always. “I do, I do, dad”

“Then trust me with this, and if you do this I would be so proud of you,” He said walking to the couch, signaling you to go. 

Your heart and mind ached for his approval and his pride, something you had craved from everyone since you were a kid, and right now that your dad was willing to give it to you after all of this was more than worthy of it.

You murmured as you nodded sitting on the couch, turning to him. “Okay, I will make you proud dad”

“Close your eyes, clench your fits, breath fondly, and open your mind.” He said as you reclined into the couch following each one of his instructions.

Your father kept going after a pause, everything became quieter and the only thing you could focus on was in his instructions. “Imagine the glass bottle like if it was a room, and inside the room are all of your feelings, it doesn't matter if they are bad or good. Nothing can be left behind”

“Now when you breathe in again you are going to suck them all into the bottle and when you breathe out, you are going to close the glass bottle like if it was new, with a champagne cap so it can't be open” He finished taking a deep breath. 

Everything began to fade out. Your feelings, your memories, your insecurities, your wants, your needs, it was just blank. Until there wasn't anything anymore.

He said after he saw you fall asleep, looking over at you one last time before walking out of the apartment without even bothering to say goodbye. Leaving you behind unconscious and now in a new territory that you never experienced before. “There that's it, there it is” 

-----

You opened your eyes and everything was gone. There wasn't pain, or happiness, or hope there wasn't anything. A gut feeling of betrayal was what you felt as you got up off the couch. The solitude and silence were what gave you the bad feeling as you started to call out for your father. The only person you could rely on from now on. “Dad!? Dad!?”

The time of the day passed and you realized you were alone, that even you knew he was real and alive. He left you once again, this time more broken than before, and void than before. 

After giving you an out for your feelings all he did was put you in a box. Where you had to stay. And you understood that maybe you just weren't enough for anyone, and everyone was just too good for you. And now you weren't going to let anyone walk over you, you were going to be what your father once thought and wanted you to be. But this time, everything was going to be different, now that you were broken beyond repair, you were just going to remain.

Flashback ends

“Ollie?” You whispered as the five of you went into the elevator, your head on the crook of your blonde sister’s neck, finding the glance of your best friend.

He waited for your question, as everyone went silent. Alex and Lena froze when they heard your vulnerable, fragile, and hurt voice.  

“Do you think I am a princess?” You asked as you cling to your sister's shirt. Kara reassuringly kissing the top of your head. 

The last minutes had been intense, you had opened to them about your’s and your father’s interaction three years ago. Alex and Lena remained silent as well as Oliver, Kara would occasionally when she felt you sob quietly reassure you that you were not alone.

“I do, you are a strong, brave, and unbreakable princess” He responded with a smile, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he did. 

“Anatoly said the same, that's why I get to be the принцесса in the Bratva. Did you hear that Kar? I'm a princess” You claimed drunkenly with a chuckled and a small smile. Just like when you were a kid and you just had won a prize. 

Kara chuckled before hugging you closer to her chest as she spoke. Alex's small laugh in the background and Lena's heels sound as you guys walk into the room. “Yeah, I know little one, I know. But you need to sleep”

You looked up to your older sister with a pout on your face, almost crying. The same expression of a kicked puppy. Your voice was more into a yawn than a request. “You think Alex would sing to me? I can make the lemon pie she likes so much-”

“I will sing to you but you need to do two things for me, okay?” Alex responded as Kara laid you on the couch softly. Her voice was the same one she used on you as a kid when you got injured or sad.

 You responded as you brought her into an embrace, in which the redhead started to tear up. “Whatever you want”

She whispered kissing your forehead softly, before cleaning her tears waiting for your response.“You tell me about your scars, and you don't shut us out please”

“I promised, and Alex?” You called as they began to leave the room. 

She asked, walking closer to you. “Yes, honey?”

Your drunken thoughts, memories, and insecurities came out as the words left your lips, the drunkenness had seemed to take more effect on you when you didn't notice both Kara and Lena still standing at the doorway of the room begin able to hear the conversation.

You asked quietly, before looking up to her with a kicked puppy face worried. Your tone almost lets out a sob that you caught the moment your ex came into your mind.“Do you think if Lena had seen the ring, she would have liked it?”

“I know she would have loved it, baby bear,” The redhead said, cleaning away the tear that had got out of your eye. Smiling sweetly at you before walking away again.

You murmured when the door closed, your consciousness and foggy mind leaving you. As you fell asleep “I love you guys so, so, so much” 

-----

Lena stood at the side watching you and your sisters interact. Her heart ached painfully when she learned that you had a ring for her. You were planning to propose to her as if you were the love of her life. The moment the words fell out of your lips ‘perfect like her’ her heart broke into million pieces. 

Lena remembered every single smile, laugh, kiss, hug, cuddle, and more. As everything fell into place, the hits in the romantic movies. The sudden and carefully said by you ‘I want to wake up like this every single day of my life’ ‘I want to have you forever and always’ ‘I could get used to your sudden use of bad jokes’ ‘i wish to kiss you infinity times’ and more.

Reliving the same pain over and over again. Kara and Lena stood outside of the door where Alex looked apologetically between them. Both of them silently cry, at the sudden relaxation. Alex opened and closed her mouth a couple of times before walking away without a word. 

The best friends stood there unable to put their thoughts together. Both of them hurt inside for hurting one of the most important people in their lives. Both of her hearts and minds hurting and hating themselves for it.

They had ruined you, as well as your father did. And now they didn't even know where to start getting you back. After all, you were just you, you were strong but easy to break, and now that you were broken beyond repair, would you be able to come back forever and not as you are intoxicated in something?

#baby danvers #lena luthor x reader #lena luthor #kara danvers x reader #alex danvers x reader #supergirl imagine

[fangirlovestuff]

A Thin Line - Natasha Romanoff x avenger!reader

a/n - hey lovely people! i’m so excited for this one! it’s for @candy-and-writing ‘s 1,000 followers challenge - congrats lovely!! i’ve never written for Natasha before, but i hope i will again because i love her:) divider is by @firefly-graphics and italics are for thoughts. enjoy!<3 

Summary: Natasha seems like she wants nothing to do with you, but you two get sent on a mission together. It was supposed to be a simple in-and-out, but when things get complicated can you count on her to come to your aid? aka, a sort of enemies to lovers :)

Prompt: “How the fuck do you turn it off?” (bold in the fic)

Word Count: 3,385

Warnings: blood and violence (both pretty brief), mentions of insecurity, explicit language 

You closed your eyes and sat back, relaxing in your seat. Natasha was the only one with you on the quinjet today, and she was flying it, so you didn't need to deal with her. For now, at least.

Most times, dealing with Natasha just meant not talking to her. Or looking at her. Actually, just… try to get out of her way. You weren't sure why, but for the moment you two met, Natasha always tried to push you away, always giving you hard glares and cold shoulders. You got the message and promptly removed yourself from her immediate surroundings every time it was possible. But, being Avengers together was a serious flaw to this plan, seeing as you needed to go on missions. Luckily, this should be a pretty easy mission today; get in, disable the missile system, get out.

You never understood Natasha's coldness towards you. In the beginning, you had tried to get close to her, talk to her even. Every time she would just brush you off, so eventually you just stopped trying. You spent countless hours wondering what on earth could make her dislike you this much. Maybe she thought you weren't good enough to be an Avenger? Or maybe the other way around – she thought you were a threat to her, because you were so little women in the Avengers? but that's absurd.

You were certainly no threat to Natasha Romanoff, who was a way better spy than you, has more field experience than you, and was prettier than you. Like, ridiculously pretty. Pretty enough that the first time you met her in person, you had to physically stop your jaw from hitting the floor, and you had to admit – she was really hot. And if you weren't working together, you would've totally asked her out right that second, but you knew better. You thought you could at least be friends, but those hopes were also crushed fairly fast.  

Safe to say, things between you and Natasha were never smooth. Right now though, you could simply rest until you got to your destination, the middle of nowhere.

You were dosing off, and you opened your eyes abruptly at the sound of Natasha's voice. "Buckle up," she said, "we'll land in five."

You did as she said and braced for the landing.

You and Natasha went out of the quinjet side by side, silently observing your surroundings. The icy land stretched out before you, the warehouse that was your target just out of sight because of a hill, but you knew it was there. You started walking, and it didn't take long for you to be on the top of the hill, the warehouse a mere 3 minutes away from you. You could see the missiles system on the roof. Very poor installation, but what could you really expect from lowlifes like the ones who used to run this place.

"It looks abandoned," you remarked, feeling awkward about the lack of conversation.

"The files said it was," Natasha answered dryly, moving forward to continue walking. You swallowed your questions and quickly caught up to her. Even on a mission, agent Romanoff just can't seem to make conversation with me.

You stood in front of the back door, and took your guns into your hands, while Natasha took her gun and tested the door handle. It was locked, as expected, but she wasted no time kicking the door down, pointing her gun at whatever emerged from the darkness, but nothing did, and she lowered her gun a little, entering cautiously. If you were friends, you would've told her she looked totally badass kicking down that door, but you weren't so you stayed quiet. Besides, I'm sure she already knows, you mulled as you followed her inside. You felt along the wall closest to you, finding a light switch and turning it on, squinting slightly at the fluorescent light.

Before you was a long hallway. The warehouse was turned into a makeshift building, different rooms for different people or occasions. You had memorized the blueprints, but even without them you could find what you were looking for – it was kind of hard to miss.

A huge room with glass walls was at the end of the hallway, and even from this distance you could see the big, old-fashioned computer system used to control the missiles.

You and Natasha moved wordlessly towards it, opening other doors in your way to make sure there was nothing there, but you found mostly supplies, which is unsurprising since this place is abandoned and in the middle of nowhere, you thought, fighting your disdain at the frankly stupid protocol of checking every corner. This whole mission seemed a little boring and unnecessary to you, disarming a missile system just so no one could get their hands on it, but sometimes that's how it is.

And it is a pretty massive missile system, you thought as you entered the big room, your eyes scanning over the large machinery. Natasha stood guard by the door while you approached the main computer, turning it on. The program was old, but very effective, you noted as you observed it for a bit, contemplating how to turn it off for good. There was always the option to set the place on fire, but that's never a good idea when the missiles are stored on the roof.

You found the self-destruct but without blowing up part of the software and were just neutralizing it when you heard heavy footsteps. You were about to call out to Nat from the other side of the room, but a hand clamped down on your mouth, and a foreign voice growled into your ear, "Shhhh. Who else is here?" the man asked.

You quickly looked over at the door and found that Natasha wasn't there, and you sighed in relief. She must've gotten away.

You quickly picked your plan of action. "Please, I'm alone, I didn't know there was anybody here," you said, allowing the panic that was rising in you to be heard in your voice. Because Natasha may be safe for now, but what if she can't turn the missiles off? Or what if she just left you here? She was a spy, it would be so easy for her to just lie and say there were complications and you died, and no one would question her because they like her more than you, and she would've gotten rid of a person she hates while you rot here and—

You took a breath as deep as the hand on your mouth allowed you. This wasn't the time to spiral. She's a professional, she won't leave you here even if she hated you. And you were a valued member of the team. You forced yourself to relax, your irrational thoughts fading. You can act panicked without actually being panicked.

The man looked around the room and clearly didn't see anything else, because he started leading you through another corridor, one you hadn't been in before.

When you left, Natasha went out of her hiding spot and cursed under her breath. She hid when she heard the footsteps, but before she managed to signal you to do the same, she saw the man grabbing you and seizing you away.

She wanted to go after you, but instead went and after seeing that it's all clear, stood in front of the computer you just stood in front of a couple of moments before.

Every fiber of her begged her to succumb to her initial urge and go after you. And she wanted to slap herself for it, because if it would've been Cap or Tony, she wouldn't have felt like this. She knew you could handle yourself, and besides, she was extremely good at containing her emotions.

She stared at the program in front of her, trying to make sense of it, trying to remember what little she knew about it, but that was your specialty.

"How the fuck do you turn this off?" she whispered under her breath before willing her mind to calm down and start figuring it out.

You let yourself be dragged by the man until you eventually entered another large room, filled with people, seemingly of the same age as the man who took you. Currently, he sat you down and tied your hands to a pipe behind your back.

"Why are you here?" he asked, taking a knife from one of the men next to him. Everyone in the room quieted down, listening.

"I just…" you said, feigning panic to buy you some time. "I was hiking and I was getting really cold but then I saw this building and it looked abandoned so I thought…" you willed yourself to look as scared as possible, tears coming to your eyes, and you inwardly thanked your mom for making you sign up for that one acting class. "I thought I could come here and get a little warm. I didn't come looking for trouble, I promise," you wavered your voice.

The man punched you in the face and you clenched your jaw at the pain. "Then why were you in the control room?" He reached inside of your pocket. You tried to get him off you, but two of his friends held you down quickly. You squirmed when he entered his hand, pulling out a paper that you had prepared to help you disable the missiles – it contained the program shortcuts for you to use if you needed them to destroy the missiles. A valuable part of your pre-mission research that the man tossed aside. Thankfully, he probably doesn't understand the program.

"Keep an eye on her," he said, leaving the room, probably to sweep the perimeter once more. Hopefully, this little interrogation bought Natasha enough time to figure out how to disable those missiles, because if not… you were definitely screwed.

Natasha spent about one minute trying to disable the program before realizing it was useless. Without you, she could never do it. She ran back to the quinjet, making it twice as short as it took you both to walk. She contacted the team back at home, and thankfully Tony answered her right away.

"Nat? What's up? Did you and—"

"Tony, I don't have time for your stupid quips. The warehouse isn't abandoned. We need backup, asap."

He could hear the urgency in her voice and told Jarvis to call for backup.

"Did you disable the missiles?" he asked.

"No," Natasha answered, moving around the quinjet in a hasty search for anything that can help her when she goes back in.

"Why? Let me talk to-"

"You can’t talk to her, Tony, they took her," Natasha said, straining to keep her voice leveled.

Tony was shocked at the display of emotion that still managed to be heard, a sign she was really upset. Things were probably going to shit over there.

"I already sent in backup, they'll be there in a bit," he said. He wanted to live, so he ignored her anxious tone.

She hung up without saying goodbye.

The people who were sitting around the room started closing in on you, looking at you.

"Poor girl," one of them said, smirking down at you, "you got into the wrong building." He took out a knife and slashed the rope that was tying you. The others still kept you in place while he grabbed hold of your wrist. You tried to pull away from him, but your face was already painfully puffing up from the punch you got before, and you couldn't break away from his grip. He moved the tip of the knife across your inner forearm, and you stopped moving, realizing if you did it would rip into your skin.

He smiled an unpleasant toothy smile when he saw you stopped moving and cut you across your arm, a long line that immediately started bleeding and you yelled at the sudden, burning pain, actual tears rising in your eyes right now. You were done for. He reached for your other arm, no doubt to do the same. Before you could struggle away, the door was kicked open.

It was kicked open by one very angry Russian spy.

You had never been happier to see Natasha than at that moment. She went in, her gun securely in her hands, steadily shooting the people who were holding you before they had the chance to realize what was happening. You fell to the floor, clutching at your bleeding arm. Everyone else scattered away, leaving the room quickly, and Natasha rushed to your side.

"Did you disable the missiles?" you asked her, your tone urgent.

"I couldn't," she shook her head, kneeling next to you and helping you up.

You couldn't help but lean on her a little, dizziness clouding your head. "Let's go to the computer room," you said through gritted teeth.

"You need medical help, you can't-"

"I can and I will. Let's go before they come back," you said. You instantly regrated taking your aggravation out on Natasha, but apparently it worked, because she started making your way to the room.

When you got there, you leaned heavily on the table, blinking a little until you could focus. You entered the final few lines and the system shut down. You sighed in relief. Natasha was back at your side, helping you move out of the warehouse, making your way to the quinjet.

"I called backup," she said, "they should be here soon." She looked at you, a frown on her face. You were losing too much blood.

"Great," you nodded, before you tripped, nearly falling on your face before Natasha caught you.

"Stay with me," she told you. You barely made the rest of the way to the quinjet, collapsing against the nearest wall. Natasha told you to stay awake, and she went to get the medical supplies.

"Keep your eyes open!" you heard her call out to you. And you tried, you really did, but you just couldn't. Your arm hurt like hell, so did your face, and you were almost grateful to feel your consciousness slip away from you, your eyes closing.

You awoke in a seat that was propped back to make a sort of bed. You could feel that your arm was bandaged. You tried to get up, but as soon as your head lifted you felt a wave of dizziness hit you. In an instant Natasha was by your side, grabbing your healthy arm and lowering you back into your previous position. "Wow, I wouldn't do that if I were you," she chuckled. "How are you feeling?"

"Dizzy," you smiled. "What happened? How long was I out"

"Twenty minutes. You lost a lot of blood, but you managed to disarm the missiles," she smiled. "The backup team got here fifteen minutes ago, and hey went to deal with everyone that was there."

"Who were these people?" you frowned, "how did we not know they lived there?"

"They were a part of the gang who used to run the place, and our intel that they all left was wrong. A bunch of psychos," she said, frowning at your now bandaged arm.

"Thanks," you said and moved it a little, "for that. Also, for coming back for me."

"Of course," she said. "Why wouldn't I come back for you?"

"I'm pretty sure this is the longest conversation we've ever had," you chuckled. "You hate me. It's fine, I got the hint. But I'm just glad you're professional enough to disregard that. Thank you."

"I don't hate you! Why would you think that?"

"Come on, it's okay, really. You don't talk to me, you escape every time I enter the same room as you, you're never in my presence unless you have to. I'm not dumb. I just can't figure out why you can't stand me," you shrugged as best as you could from your lying down position.

"But I don't do these things because I hate you," Natasha said. "I… okay, I almost got you killed, you deserve to know," she gathered her courage. "I don't want to talk to you or be in the same room as you because I think I'm going to make a fool out of myself, like I'm doing right this moment. I'm scared that if I spent enough time with you, I'd start… feeling, and for a spy that's a disadvantage. But the joke's on me I guess, because even when I distanced myself from you I still feel enough to lose my head, not be able to diffuse those missiles, and almost not get to you in time."

"Feel what?" you asked, still a bit puzzled.

"Feel…" she looked for the right words. Apparently, she couldn't find them, because the next thing you know she was gently cupping your bruised face in her palm, leaning down and putting her lips on yours. She kissed you gently, not wanting to hurt you, but you couldn't care less, pushing your face up against her to deepen the kiss, until you flinched in pain and broke apart from her, lying back down.

"Well, why didn't you just say so?" you smiled at her, biting your lip.

She laughed. It's corny, but it was one of the most beautiful sounds you've ever heard, and knowing you made her laugh made it all the sweeter.

"I was taught that feelings will only ever get in the way of my missions. And… I thought you wouldn't feel the same about me, so it would be all this trouble for nothing."

"Well, I do," you said and smiled brightly at her. "And see? You did great on this mission. No matter what you felt or didn't feel about me, you don't know programming and you couldn't have disarmed that system. But you saved me, and just in time," you said.

"So what you're saying is it all turned out for the best and I should take you out to dinner?" Natasha smiled.

"Mostly the first part, but dinner would be very nice," you smiled back at her.

She leaned down to kiss you again, and you broke apart with a smile. At that moment Tony entered the quinjet, calling out to you and Natasha. She promptly stood up, checking the bandage on your arm.

"Agent Romanoff, I see you've become a nurse," Tony quipped.

"I can currently think about 50 different ways to kill you," she shot back and you fought the giggle that arose in you at her sudden change of demeanor. "I have a reputation to uphold," she shrugged, as if answering your thoughts.

"Yep," Tony agreed, "Nat, you can go, and we can take it from here."

"Why would I wanna go?" Nat quirked her eyebrow.

"Well, no offense, but don't you, you know," he pointed at you, "don't like her?" he stage-whispered.

"First of all, if I did, that would be the rudest thing to say ever, but second of all, why does everybody think that?" she said incredulously.

"Okay," Tony said, raising his arms in mock surrender. "I just thought you'd both be happy to know we found everyone we could. The lunatics confessed to everything right away. And you have a week off," he added and walked out of the quinjet.

"A week off," you whistled. "That's a lot of dinners."

"It is," Nat agreed. "Why, do you have any plans for them?"

"Not unless you make them with me," you said, smirking.

"Good thinking," she smiled.

"Thank you. Now, I don't know about you, but I'd die for a shower right now, and I'm gonna need help because of this bandage," you smiled, falling into a banter with her easily.

"Oh really? I wonder who could help you," she chuckled as she left to fly you both home.

You would've pinched yourself but the pain you were still in was enough to confirm you weren't dreaming. Natasha didn't hate you, she wanted to take you out on a date. And there was nothing you wanted more than that date. A smile on your face, you dosed off into a peaceful slumber, feeling secure and happier than you have in a long time.

hope you liked it! tell me what you thought and if you want to see more nat in the future, i definitely want to write more for her! also, next on my agenda is a new Cycle update, so keep an eye out for that;) Thank you so much for reading!<3

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[wherethingscomebackx]

Top 25 Larry fics of 2019

It’s that time again!

You may be familiar with these lists:

Top 25 Larry fics of 2016

Top 25 Larry fics of 2017

Top 25 Larry fics of 2018

As always, I read a lot of fic and the majority of it is Larry. I like making lists and I like Larry so I thought I’d do some minimal research of the top 25 larry fics published/completed in 2019 in order of least to most kudos (with links). All of these fics are top notch so you should all check them out! 

25.) Foolishy Laying Our Hearts on the Table by @runaway-train-works (11k)

“You think Harry wants that?”

“Dunno. Maybe. Wanna make him happy.” Harry takes advantage of the red light he’s pulled up to turn and look properly at Louis’ face. He’s not even looking in Harry’s direction though, focused instead on something out of his side window, head drooped, mindlessly playing with the string of his hoodie between his fingers, lost in his own world somewhere. For some reason, it makes Harry’s spine straighten.

“Because he’s your best mate?” Harry questions carefully.

“He’s my boyfriend.”

He couldn’t have heard him right. “What?”

Louis releases a deep breath, still not turning around. Harry wonders who he thinks he’s talking to right now. “He’s so pretty. Want to kiss him all day long. And buy him a big house and give him presents and marry him.”

Or

The one where Harry is in love with his best friend Louis but doesn't think he stands a chance until some wisdom teeth and a rather unusual confession might just change his mind.

24.) Tainted Saints And Velvet Vices by @toomanydreamers (126k)

A self-fulfilling Hogwarts AU in which Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they're forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue.

23.) all we can do is keep breathing by @avocadolouie (310k)

“Harry, I-I’m so sorry…” Louis stutters out, trying to keep his voice level and even, to portray a depiction of strength, but with the way Harry is looking at him, staring at him like he has a personal passage way straight to Louis’ soul, it’s so hard, nearly impossible.

That simple opening phrase, that short introductory acknowledgement that is often rushed out so easily, painlessly, at a safe distance. Giving a doctor the ability to portray empathy without true emotion, without feeling the full brunt and sheer force of the underlying pain itself.

But Louis feels it, he feels the crushing agony laced behind the phrase, he feels the weight of the painful words slipping from his lips, the cause and effect that the three-word expression holds. The distantly empty “I’m so sorry” that doctors throw out in self-preservation, isn’t at all empty for him. Louis recognizes it, he understands it, he feels it.

--

a fated story of two broken and battered boys who barely survived the unimaginable and how the love of one little brave girl defies all the odds and somehow puts them back together.

22.) Raise a Glass to the Four of Us by @2tiedships2 (25k)

Louis stared at his luggage.

Well. Apparently not his luggage, because the clothing he was looking at currently was a: worth more than everything he currently possessed, b: not his size at all, and c: more suited for a fancy ass lawyer than a holiday in NYC with his best mates.

“Ooh, nice loafers,” Niall said as he pulled one out of the suitcase. “I love the rainbows.”

“Okay,” Liam began. “What do you want to do first? Eat, shop for new clothes, or spend hours on the phone with the airline?”

Louis continued to stare at the luggage.

21.) You Have to Retreat to Advance by @2tiedships2 (18k)

“What am I going to do, Perrie? I can’t go on this retreat by myself. My boss literally said he wants to meet my omega.” Harry paused. “Okay, not literally but he definitely expects me to be bringing him.”

“Don’t people go on these things by themselves?” Perrie asked.

Harry shrugged. “Of course but that’s not the point.”

“What’s the point?”

“My boss is expecting to meet my omega! I don’t have an omega!”

“Is this a paying gig?” Perrie asked.

“You mean paying an omega to spend the weekend with me? I’m sure the resort has nice amenities. Does that count?”

“I take that as a no,” Perrie said with an eye roll. “It’s okay, Louis might be willing to do it for free.”

“Who’s Louis?”

Or the one where Harry is expected to bring his longterm omega to the company's mountain retreat. Since he hadn't told anyone that they'd broken up months ago, he now has to find someone willing to play the part.

20.) A Darker Shade of Love by LittleSpoonStyles94 (750k)

Louis is a 30 year old multi-billionaire with a very dark past. He is violent and is a sadist with a taste for pain. Harry Styles is a 19 year old student who sets out to London after being kicked out by his homophobic father to follow his dreams. He wants to go to the best University to study but he needs a lot of money so he starts to work as a part time stripper at a gay club to support his studies and his life. The club he works at, Garland's, is part owned by Louis Tomlinson. When they meet, its life changing for the both of them.

19.) You Still Make Sense to Me by @amories (37k)

Harry, Louis, and their family navigate life together through the years.

18.) Like Water Over Fire (Like Water On Fire) by @mcssymon (119k)

“I’m sorry your highness, I think I misheard you, did you really say that you are hoping to meet your husband?” Oh god, Louis panicked. Was Prince Harry gay? Was he even allowed to be gay? Surely he wouldn’t be allowed to have a selection from a group of men, right?

Prince Harry looked partly like he wanted to laugh, but also very, very nervous about what he had just admitted, “Yes, sir, you heard correctly”

Or Prince Harry has 46 men and 13 weeks to find the husband of his dreams, Louis has a limited amount to time to live out a royal fantasy. They might just be exactly what the other needs.

17.) waiting for the tides to meet by @nauticalleeds (59k)

Louis lets out a deep breath, thinking about Harry’s soulmate. Thinking about how Harry’s soulmate is probably as beautiful as Harry, some person that Louis cannot compare to, and how the universe has chosen them to be Harry’s. Fuck the universe. “Fuck you,” he calls out to the universe. He’s aware of how crazy he sounds.

Maybe he is crazy, with how he’s falling for Harry. And fuck that, too.

Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with heterochromia — one eye is their own eye colour, while the other is the colour of their soulmate's. It's only when they meet their soulmate for the first time that their own eyes match properly. After a hazy night at a frat party, Louis wakes up to blue eyes and the shocking realization that he had met his soulmate, without any sober recollection. Seven years pass where Louis comes to terms with the fact that he'll never know who his soulmate is. Then one fated summer, a beautiful green-eyed photographer arrives at Louis' workplace, with promises of endless laughter and a familiar feeling in Louis' heart.

Featuring a lovely cup of OT5, a road trip down the coast, and a scene where Harry eats a whole head of lettuce. Don't ask why.

16.) Call Answered by @vondrostes (249k)

The day after his 27th birthday, Harry Styles attempts suicide. Louis is flown to his bedside to unravel the mystery of why he did it after a flash drive is found with a note attached, addressed to Louis. On it are a collection of 78 songs, all written for different dates from their past.

15.) Counterbalance by @louandhazaf (44k)

Harry Styles loves two things: teaching ballet and racing motorcycles. Those two worlds collide when his greatest rival on the track, Louis “Tommo” Tomlinson brings his tiny siblings to Harry’s class.

14.) Everywhere and Nowhere by @2tiedships2 (16k)

Niall took a seat and said, "Apparently Louis' downstairs neighbor is a fan of giving Louis creepy gifts. Maybe I should go introduce myself and tell him that Louis actually prefers food."

"What has he given you?" Liam asked.

Louis shrugged as it were no big deal. "There was a rabbit's foot keychain on the door a little after he left from introducing himself and there was a small teddy bear sitting by my door tonight. Obviously I can't prove it's from him, but they seem to have his scent. I could be wrong though."

"Wow," Liam said, looking deep in thought. "That's old school."

"What's old school?" Niall asked. "Giving creepy gifts?"

"I've never known an alpha to do it, to be honest, but he's courting you."

Louis couldn't contain his look of disbelief directed at Liam. "He's courting me. Like some sort of romantic shit they'd do in the 1800s or something?"

13.) Swallow The Knife by whoknows (76k)

“You came,” Louis says, still breathless, clinging to Harry, uncaring that his sweat is getting all over Harry’s presumably clean dad shirt, or that he’s making Harry hold up all of his weight.

“Of course I came,” Harry says. He shifts, one arm curled underneath Louis’ arse, the other spreading wide in the middle of Louis’ back. “If I ignored you every time you pissed me off we would have stopped being friends a long time ago.”

Louis already knows that, of course. It doesn’t do anything to stop the pleased squirm in his belly every time Harry proves it, though. They fight like nobody’s business, both of them too stubborn to pull their punches when they’re arguing, and it used to get them in trouble, but they always make up.

Adrenaline makes Louis loose-lipped, and they both know it. He tightens his arms around Harry’s neck, buries his face in his hair. “I missed you,” he confesses, quiet. “Doesn’t feel the same up there by myself.”

12.) and oh, all of your saturdays could end up in woe by ihavetoomuchfreetime (70k)

a fic in which louis' in a long-term relationship with an abusive asshole, niall, zayn and liam are so far but not really, and harry is that all too friendly guy who works in sainsbury's.

11.) thinking about the t-shirt you slept in by @absoloutenonsense (52k)

Harry's alpha fraternity donates to a local thrift shop (because of Liam's latent crush on a cute beta in his lecture). Louis' financial situation (and confusing omega instincts) lead him to make some interesting fashion purchases. Lots of pizza, feelings, and not-really-lying.

10.) Consequences by @allwaswell16 (78k)

Two years ago Harry let his powerful family come between him and the love of his life, something he deeply regrets. Louis has tried to move on from their devastating break up. Sometimes, he even thinks he has. It only takes one moment to freeze them back in time.

An amnesia au

9.) Strawberries & Cigarettes by @dimpled-halo (76k)

Harry looks up and immediately freezes. Next to Ms. Archie stands the boy from just the other day. The boy with the leather jacket and chipped black nails, that might or might not be sketched in the very book Harry has just placed on the table in front of him. The leather jacket is missing today, probably because they aren’t allowed as part of their required uniform attire, but Harry can still see the fading black nail polish on his nails, and eyeliner around his eyes. Harry’s mouth goes a little dry. This boy is so intriguing to him.

“Ye-yes, Ms. Archie?” Harry tries to play it cool, but he’s almost positive that his cheeks are burning red, and he’s relieved neither of them can tell how fast his heart is beating in his chest.

The boy seems to also recognize Harry, because his lips curve into a knowing smirk.

“Harry is at the top of his class. He’s your best bet at getting familiar with things around here.” She explains.

Louis nods, his smirk still very prominent on his face. “Thank you Ms. Archie. I’ll be sure to take advantage of young Harold here.”

*

Summary: Two stories, eleven years, and the two boys that never stopped loving each other.

8.) Pain makes people change by Deidei (113k)

An organization called Canis Lupus existed solely for changing humans imprisoned in their wolf form back to their human form. Some people after experiencing some traumatic event can only ‘’protect’’ themselves from the pain by forgetting everything. To do that, to feel safe, they shift into their wolf form.

Which they'll be stuck in forever should no one intervene.

Louis Tomlison went through a traumatic experience at the age of twelve in which he lost his mother, to make the pain go away he shifted into a wolf and fled. He survived in the wild as a wolf for five years until Canis Lupis caught him... Though he wasn't alone, he had a pup at his side.

7.) Pretty Please (With Sugar On Top) by @angelichl (113k)

Harry is a sugar baby omega who cons rich alphas for a living. Louis is a rich alpha with too much self-control.

6.) Enemies with benefits by ssii8 (267k)

Where Harry is captain of basketball team and Louis is captain of football team and they hate each other. But somehow this doesn't stop them from having sex.

And everything is perfect until they start to feel something more.

5.) Ready To Fall by whoknows (21k)

“Ninety and rising,” Nick says triumphantly, as though making Harry’s heartbeat pick up by thrusting an obscenely attractive person in front of his face is any kind of success. “Louis Tomlinson has just walked into our control room and suddenly our dear Harry Styles has lost all ability to speak. Could this be some kind of strange coincidence?”

“I hate you,” Harry hisses, forcing his eyes back into Nick’s direction, uncaring that the mic must have picked it up. “I thought we agreed that you were going to play fair.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nick denies, except he’s holding up a picture of Louis’ face now, sharp cheekbones prominent, soft lashes nearly sweeping against his cheeks as he looks down, and his fucking mouth –

“A hundred and two!” Nick crows, all but clapping his hands together in glee. “The highest it’s ever been!”

“To be fair, I did bend over the desk on purpose,” Louis’ voice comes crackling in the headphones. Harry practically breaks his neck whipping his head around at the sound of it, gaping at him through the glass panel. “You can’t really blame him for getting a little excited about that, can you?”

4.) Close to Nowhere by @angelichl (34k)

“I will kill you in your sleep,” Louis threatened as he quickly stepped out of his jeans.

“I don’t think that would work very well baby, seeing as you talk to dead people all the time.”

“I’ll kill you in your sleep and ignore your ghost. And don’t call me that.”

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

3.) Play Pretend, Find a Friend? by @angelichl (40k)

They had to pull back for air. Louis surveyed the guy’s face, in awe of his blown pupils and sharp jawline, the way their shared spit glistened on his lips.

“Hi,” he breathed. He blinked, and came back to himself a little bit, blushing at his own boldness. “Sorry. Is this okay?”

The stranger removed his right hand from the curve of Louis’ waist in order to cup his jaw, tilting it up to the angle he desired. He pressed their lips together, murmuring, “Definitely.” And then he kissed harder.

When Louis sees his ex-boyfriend kissing a random girl at a party, he acts out of blind jealousy. He kisses the first guy he can find. It turns into a thing.

INSPIRED BY CLOUDS.

2.) Let Me Feel Your Heartbeat by @angelichl (34k)

Harry is 98% sure Louis hates him. So he feels like his bewilderment is justified when the omega offers to help him through his rut.

1.) All My Colours by IceQueenRia (267k)

Green… yellow… red. Red! RED!!!

Some people were born Dominant and others submissive. Sixteen year old Louis Tomlinson was a submissive and was proud to be so… until he was forced to his knees for the first time. The man before him was every subs nightmare, an abusive Dom, the kind who didn’t believe in the colour ‘red’ unless it was in the form of blood.

There were others, but Louis was the ‘favourite’ and he was the one the Dom liked to ‘play with’ the most. In fact, when the rescue team arrived, Louis was the one currently providing ‘service’ to the Dom.

Or

Louis, Zayn and Niall are abused subs. Liam Payne is their devoted new Guidance Counsellor who just wants to make Niall smile and hear Zayn speak. As for Louis, he knows his guidance won’t be enough to help the boy heal. No, Louis Tomlinson needs something very special and very specific. He needs Harry Styles.

#larry #larry stylinson #harry styles #louis tomlinson #fic rec #larry fic rec #one direction #1d #one direction fan fiction #larry fan fiction #larry is real #larry fic #dom/sub fic #alpha/beta/omega verse #1d fan fiction

[keepcalmandcarryfire]

From Eroica With Love incorrect quotes 😁😁

(just Dorian, James and Klaus because tbh I get everyone else mixed up way too much to do this with them)

Adding a read more bar right off the bat bc this is gonna be looooong.

James, texting: Answer your phone Dorian, texting back: Wait a minute, I can’t find my phone James: Understood James, 5 minutes later: You’re a terrible person. You know you’re killing me. You’re killing me, Dorian.

Dorian: *texting* Hey can you pick me up I’m drunk. Dorian: Oh you don't have to anymore. I'm home now. James: Yes, I'm aware of that after dropping you off at home.

Klaus: I’ve never been in a snowball fight before. I don’t know the rules. Dorian: What? Klaus: Is there a point system, or is it to the death?

Dorian: I'm gonna need a human skull but you can't ask why. James: Only if you also don't ask why. James: *pulls four pristine human skulls out of his bag* Dorian: ... Dorian, grabbing a skull: This one will do.

James: You fuckers don’t know about my knife stick. It’s a knife taped to a stick and it’s the ultimate weapon. Dorian: Spear. James: BLOCKED.

James: How much did you spend on this date? Dorian: $1400. But all of it's on credit cards, so it's like $5 a month for the next 2,000 years.

Dorian: I was born for politics. I have great hair and I love lying.

Dorian: I have one foot in the grave but in a kind of fun flirty way, the way one might slip on a fishnet stocking.

Klaus: Dorian, we tried things your way. Dorian: No, we didn't. Klaus: I did it in my head and it didn't work.

Klaus: The next time I open up to someone, it'll be my autopsy.

James: You use emoji’s like a straight person. Dorian: That’s literally the worst thing anyone has ever said about me.

Police Officer: You have the right to remain silent. James: I choose to waive that right! James: *screaming*

Dorian: Bottling up negative emotions is bad for your health, so you shouldn't do it. Klaus: I know, that's why I bottle up all my emotions, both positive and negative, so it cancels out. Dorian: Th-that's not how that works-

James: Do you know a turtles only weakness? Dorian: No... well, their slowness. James: Their weakness is they can't roll over when they are on their backs. James: Now I have a plan. James: If I duct tape two turtles together, they'll be unstoppable.

Dorian: I sort of did something and I need some advice, but I don't want a lot of judgment and criticism. James: And you came to me?

James: How do tall people people possibly sleep at night when the blanket can't possibly cover you? Dorian: James, it's four o'clock in the morning. James: So, you can't sleep, huh? Is it because of the blanket?

Dorian: Ah, Hello again. We really need to stop meeting like this. Klaus: Maybe we would, if you would sTOP BREAKING INTO MY FUCKING HOUSE!!!

Dorian, hungover: Please tell me I'm imagining that I claimed I was king of the ducks. James: I would, but then I would be lying to the King of All Ducks.

James: I can't imagine what Dorian is planning. But I can tell you two things. We won't like it and it won't be legal.

Dorian: Are you mad? Klaus: No. Dorian: So sharpening your knives at 3 in the morning is just a hobby?

Dorian: The time to act is now. Dorian: Wink, wink. James: Don't say "wink wink". Just wink. Dorian: Oh, sorry. Dorian: Wink.

James: Look, I’m glad everyone’s on the same page. James: But it’s the last page in a book titled “we’re all going to die”. Dorian: That’s not even clever.

Dorian: Do you want to play 20 Questions? James: Sure! James: What’s your favorite color? Dorian, laser fucking focused: Triangle. Do you like men?

Klaus: Dorian... Dorian: Oh no, 'Dorian' in B flat. Dorian: You're disappointed.

Dorian: When I was young, I left a trail of broken hearts like a rockstar. I'm not proud of it. James: You're kind of proud of it. You work it into a lot of conversations.

James: I found a note in one of my old word .docs that said Note to self: Get revenge on Dorian. James: Except I couldn't remember what I was supposed to get revenge for. James: But I trusted my own judgment, so I went with it. Dorian: Hmm... I don't know what you were supposed to get revenge for, either. James: I can only assume you got what was coming to you. Not 100 percent sure, though. Dorian: Well, whatever I did, I guess I deserved it. James: Let that possibly be a lesson to you.

Dorian: Relationships should be 50/50. James cooks us dinner while I sit on the kitchen counter looking pretty.

Dorian: I think I just figured something out. I got to go. Klaus: Aren't you forgetting something? Dorian: Uuh...*hesitantly kisses Klaus's forehead before running out.* Klaus: No, pay your bill! Damn, who raised you?

James: You read my diary? Dorian: At first I did not know it was your diary. I thought it was a very sad handwritten book.

James, looking at a selfie of Dorian’s: I hate this photo. Dorian: I’m cute as fuck in that photo! I’m smiling kindly. James: You’re not smiling kindly; you look like you’re up to something. Dorian: Up to kindness.

Klaus: I’m genuinely surprised you haven’t gotten arrested, let alone gotten a felony yet. Dorian: Nat 20 Charisma. Klaus: That is NOT how that works-

Dorian: We have fun, don’t we, James? James: I have never been more stressed out in my entire life.

Dorian: James! Have you no dignity? James: Of course not! How long have we known each other?

Klaus, to the Alphabets: And remember, if I get harsh with you it is only because you’re doing it all wrong.

Dorian: If I see a bug, I simply leave the room elegantly and require someone else do something about it. Dorian: If no one fulfills my wish, I simply never go back in there.

Dorian: Let’s watch Sharkboy and Lavagirl. Klaus: Okay. Dorian: And make out during the scary parts. Klaus: Th- Klaus: The scary parts. Klaus: Of Sharkboy and Lavagirl.

James: I want to kiss you. Dorian, not paying attention: What? James: I said if you die, I wont miss you.

James: Did you like the food I made? Dorian: No, not really. James: But I put my heart and soul into it! Dorian: No wonder it tastes so cold and dead.

Dorian: I made tea. Klaus: I don't want tea. Dorian: I didn't make you tea. This is my tea. Klaus: Then why did you tell me? Dorian: It's a conversation starter. Klaus: It's a horrible conversation starter. Dorian: Oh, is it? We're conversing. Checkmate.

Dorian: Question. When they shot Bambi's mother, did you find that a sad moment...at all? James: I'm sure she's mounted on a nice wall in a fine home somewhere.

Klaus: What doesn't kill me better start running, because now I'm fucking pissed.

Dorian: To everyone who has treated me poorly; I am sexier than you.

James: I'm a nice person, but I'm about to start throwing rocks at people.

Klaus: All of your existences are confusing. The Alphabets: How so? Klaus: Your presence is annoying, but the thought of anything bad happening to any of you upsets me.

Klaus: I could kill you if I wanted. Dorian: Yeah? So could any other human being. So could a dog. So could a dedicated duck. You aren't special.

#incorrect quotes #from eroica with love

[clintbartonswife]

i’d trade my life for yours

Pairings: Geralt of Rivia x Jaskier Summary: Jaskier will be loyal to Geralt until his last breath, this he swears. Notes: im sorry. descriptions of torture. mentions rape (not graphic in the slightest, more like an allusion, but tagged it just to be safe), major character death. This is the bad ending, for a nicer ending read the series below :) masterlist  || nicer ending (p2)

Jaskier had always felt too much, falling a little bit in love with almost everyone he meets. The seamstress from Beauclair with the deepest green eyes he had ever seen, the knight from Kerack who had muscles the size of Jaskier’s head, the innkeeper and his wife from Rinde who had the warmest smiles he had ever seen.

All loves that he treasured, yet let go after a night or two, the heartache keeping him company until he found another gorgeous person to fall for.

When he finds Geralt at the ripe age of 18 it’s different, for once the bard doesn’t want to leave, a nagging feeling pulling him along the path by the Witcher’s side.

His love grows easily, from that of shallow appreciation of his honey golden eyes to a fierce want to protect his love from those that scorn him in every village they visit, a need to nurture the fragile relationship they were building.

It’s only Jaskier’s luck that the only person to ever intrigue him enough to stay seems to want him to leave, impenetrable walls built around his heart.

So, Jaskier writes songs of their travels, being respectful of Geralt’s boundaries whilst still trying to provide as much tender love and care as he could without scaring the Witcher, all the while falling deeper and deeper in love.

Everything starts to go wrong after the djiin.

He watches through the window as his heart breaks with every thrust of Geralt’s hips, the Witchers disinterest (which he had assumed was general Witchery distance) suddenly making more sense - he just didn’t like Jaskier.

Still the bard stayed, sewing his heart back together with every step he took beside the Witcher. His affectionate touches didn’t falter, not allowing his own personal hurt to affect his Geralt negatively. He still deserved as much softness as he could bring himself to provide - Melitele knows Yennefer wasn’t providing that.

Jaskier funnelled all of his creative energy in to his songs, more and more of them staying in his private notebook, too personal to be sung in front of Geralt, let alone the general public.

After each time they met with Yennefer, Jaskier was there to pick up the broken pieces the Witch left behind, baring the brunt of Geralt’s bad mood for a week after she had gone, heart chipping a little more each time as his hatred for the woman grows.

The last straw was the dragon hunt. The whistling winds whipping Jaskier’s hair in his eyes as Geralt’s words lashed out at him, vicious and hateful.

In the following two weeks, Jaskier drank to forget, falling back into old habits and into strangers beds with a new desperation.

The young farmer with hazel eyes - not as beautiful as Geralt’s. The miller’s daughter with blonde hair - not light enough.

The people begin to blend together, yet it doesn’t work. The heartbreak still radiates through his body, numbing him from any other emotion.

He’s too drunk to register that Cintra has fallen.

Too drunk to hear the rumours of the bounty on his head.

Too drunk to notice the Nilfgaardian soldiers entering the tavern.

Too drunk to defend himself against their arms that steal him away that night.

When he awakens the next morning, head throbbing with the familiar pain of a hangover, Jaskier is hit with a wave of nausea.

Turning his head to the side, he reaches for the bed-side table, blanching when he finds his arms restrained. It takes a few seconds to register that he’s in unfamiliar surroundings: the distinctly tavern smell (of weak ale and piss) gone, the slightly scratchy linens of the bed replaced with a hard wood surface.

Unrestrained panic swelled up in the bard’s chest, his instincts kicking in as he tried to mimic sleep.

‘Just breathe slowly, keep your eyes closed and stay calm’ repeated through his brain, sounding suspiciously like Geralt’s voice.

“-the bastard up yet?”

“He wasn’t the last time I checked, no sir”

“And no sign from the Witcher?”

“None sir”

Jaskier heard a scoff as the door opened, two sets of feet stopping at the side of the chair. Unnerving silence fell for a few seconds, before a heavy kick was given to his ribs, punching the air from his lungs in a loud exhale.

“Now listen here, bard” the bigger of the two men all-but-growled, looming over Jaskier as the singer blinked heavily to clear the daze that had settled over him, “We’re going to make this real simple. You tell us what we need to know, and maybe we wont kill you”

Scrunching his nose in disgust, Jaskier considered his options, “What is it that you want to know?”

Another scoff.

“Maybe he’s not so useless after all” the tall man sneered, exchanging an amused glance with the man stood in the corner, “Tell us where the Butcher of Blaviken is”

Self preservation was forgotten as the nickname stirred up anger deep inside Jaskier, the unfairness choking him, “I’m afraid I don’t know any butchers, not the biggest fan of hanging around long enough in towns long enough to befriend anyone in that profession I’m afraid”

That earnt him a sharp slap, the sting helping to ground him.

“Don’t try to be smart. Where is the Witcher - Geralt of Rivia?”

“Oh, I do know him” Jaskier answered, tone kept light and conversational, “Of course I haven’t seen him in months so I’m afraid I’m really of no use to you gentlemen”

Another slap.

“Now that must be a lie. Why would the Witcher leave his little whore behind?”

Now that one stung, the frown forming on Jaskier’s face before he could stop it.

“Aw, struck a chord with that, did I? He found someone else I assume - though Melitele knows how anyone can lay with a monster like -”

Rage finally overflowing, Jaskier spat in the man’s face, “How dare you call him a monster. He’s a better man than you’ll ever be”

A bitter chuckle, followed by a punch that left the bard tasting copper.

“I think you might actually be in love with that thing” he said, amused, “That just makes this all the more fun”

Jaskier held eye contact with the man, glowering as he slowly spat out the pooled blood onto the floor.

“Tell me where he is”

“No”

Two punches to his stomach, and a hard kick to his shin.

“My sister hurt me worse than that for stealing her brush when we were seven” Jaskier sneered.

“Where is he”

A backhand across the face, followed by three hard kicks to his ribs.

“Toss a coin to your-”

Another heavy kick to his stomach, winding him slightly as he keeled forward, a burning pain spreading over his chest.

“Oh valley of plenty” he wheezed, forcing his head back up to stare at his captor’s face.

The day carried on very much the same, Jaskier working through his repertoire of songs as he was beaten black and blue, the lyrics keeping him focused and alert.

The man in the corner just stood and watched, his silent presence looming over the beating.

“I must say” Jaskier eventually huffed, directing his words at the man in the corner, “Your indifference to this situation is highly annoying. Are you not enjoying the performance?”

His question was met with another heavy hit to his stomach, the skin there surely covered in a patchwork quilt of forming bruises.

“You bore me”

The voice was cold, cutting through the pain like a knife and replacing all feeling in his body with the need to flee, an innate wrongness surrounding the man.

He stepped forward into the light, pink eyes flashing at him, “I think it’s high time we shut you up”

The taller man grinned, a shark-like expression that just added to the bard’s discomfort, moving behind him to grab him by the sides of the head, tilting him so that his neck was bared to the room.

They’re going to slit my throat, Jaskier thought absently, half delirious with pain, this is it.

The slimy tendrils of magic prodding at his mind made Jaskier’s eyes widen in panic, struggling against the bonds in a fruitless effort to get away from the unsettling sensation.

No. No this was so much worse.

He could handle pain. He could handle taunting words and harsh treatment. The one thing Jaskier couldn’t handle was fucking mages.

“No - “ he gasped, voice distorted by the angle of his head, “please-”

Yellow eyes. Lips curled in to a snarl.

The mountain.

“Damn it, Jaskier!”

No. No no no no no no no. Not this. Anything but this.

“Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, its you, shoveling it?”

White hair. Curled fists.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands”

Wet eyes. Shattered heart. A wasted life.

“Damn it, Jaskier!”

And it looped. Again, and again, and again,

“Ready to talk, bard?”

His eyes fluttered open, eyelids heavy, fighting to remain closed.

“Fuck. You” he hissed, words mangled through gritted teeth.

The mage smirked, fingers reaching for his temple again, “Very well. It seems like one hour wasn’t enough”

The last thought Jaskier had before being pulled back to the mountain was one of horror, that one hour had felt like an entire day.

When he came to once more, Geralt’s voice still ringing in his ears, Jaskier realised there was a new man in the otherwise empty room.

“Going to talk yet little birdy?” the man asked, voice far too light for the circumstances, his posture reminiscent of those that approached him in taverns with hopes of charming him into bed that night.

The realisation occurred to him as he noticed his hands were free, a rusty cot added to the corner of the room.

“No” he whispered, the horror palpable in his tone.

“Well that’s too bad” the man sneered, his too-rough hands dragging him out of the chair and towards the cot.

The irony was that in that moment Jaskier would’ve given anything to have been back on that mountain, Geralt blaming him for everything, rather than be faced with his current reality.

Of course, the mage wasn’t kind enough for that.

Jaskier wasn’t sure how many days had passed since his capture.

What he did know was this: his throat was too sore to speak, ruined from both abuse and lack of water; his body was so mottled that it looked like he had begun rotting, greenish-yellow marks covering almost every inch of his skin; his back shredded by the impromptu whipping session earlier that morning; and he wasn’t sure he could muster a smile, even if informed of the untimely and gruesome death of Valdo Marx.

But, no matter what they threw at him, he would not betray Geralt.

He had made this vow to himself during a quiet moment on (what he guessed was) the second day, that no matter what faced him - be it further torture, mutilation and eventually death - he would not speak a word of the little information he knew.

He may have ruined Geralt’s life, may have annoyed him with his incessant and unwelcome company, but one thing Jaskier could give him now was his undying loyalty, the one thing that no one could take away from him.

They wouldn’t take away his love.

So he breathed steadily as he looked as his hands, tied down firmly to the arms of the chair, taking in every detail of the calloused fingers that made him the famous bard that he was today.

“Last chance. Where is the Witcher”

Jaskier just grinned, the smile bloody and insincere.

“Fucking your mother I would imagine” he croaked, withholding the wince of pain from the strain on his throat, instead widening his grin at the look of anger on the man’s face.

With a growl, the man brought the hammer down heavily on Jaskier’s left ring finger, smiling sickeningly at the bard’s agonised scream.

“Where is he?”

Head fuzzy with pain, Jaskier scowled and spat his blood in the man’s eyes.

The sickening crunch of bone echoed around the small room, Jaskier’s scream ringing out as another two fingers were smashed.

The line of questioning continued until all of his fingers were unrecognisable, the bard humming ‘Fishmonger’s Daughter’ through tears as he tried to regain control of his breathing.

“What a shame” the captor said, fake sympathy swimming in his cold eyes, “Looks like you’re worth even less than you were when we found you. What worth is a bard if he cant play anymore?”

The man pretended to think, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “Of course! A brothel worker!” He paused, tutting again and shaking his head, “No you cant even be that, we’ve made you far too ugly”

Jaskier tried to ignore his words, focusing on his rattling lungs instead, forcing them to inhale and exhale.

Unconsciousness crept forward, the pain finally overwhelming him, Jaskier falling into it’s open arms gladly.

“-cher isn’t coming for him. We’ve had the word out for two weeks and got nothing”

The words drifted in to Jaskier’s cell, the conversation prying him from sleep.

“So what do we do? The bard’s not talking”

“We were meant to give a destination by yesterday”

“So we make one up, blame the bard when it comes back empty”

“… That could work”

“Then I’m guessing we kill him afterwards?”

“Theres no reason to keep him”

“Well-”

“You’re not using army funds to feed just so he can be your personal whore, Cahir would skin you alive if he found out”

Jaskier huffed a laugh at that - the realisation that his worth had finally been reduced to what his father had called him all those decades ago, ‘a worthless whore’, ‘useless to polite society’.

The conversation carried on, though Jaskier’s mind drifted, thoughts racing yet head surprisingly clear. He shifted in his seat, only slightly to the left, wincing as the healing whip wounds on his back pulled open again, the stinging pain keeping him tethered to consciousness.

Not for the first time, he wondered where Geralt was. Safe, that he was sure of, hidden from the greedy eyes of the Nilfgaardian army if their unhappiness was anything to go off of.

Had he found Cirilla yet?

Was Roach okay?

Was he taking proper care of himself?

And - in even his lowest moments - he found himself wondering how Yennefer was.

If she was handling the break-up better than he did.

If she was safe, happy, looked after.

Or maybe, perhaps even back with Geralt. The three of them playing happy families while Jaskier rotted in a cell and waited for a hapless death.

Being on your deathbed gave you a lot of perspective, Jaskier had realised, and he found it hard to even hate Valdo on occasion (until he regained some energy from a piece of stale bread thrown at him and immediately felt disgusted that the thought had even crossed his mind).

As the fog in his brain seemed to seep into his dimming vision, his thoughts returned to Geralt’s eyes.

“Goodnight my love”

The news reached Geralt as they were passing a backwater town. 

“The bard Jaskier - I swear it was! They dragged him out t’wards the Nilfgaard base”

“Tom stop jabbering, they would’a been shouting that from the rooftops if they got ‘im”

Coldness seeped into the Witcher’s bones as the words registered in his brain, his eyes flying to Yennefer. The sorceress was looking at him with pity in her eyes.

“I can try scrying-”

“Please”

Ciri watched in awe as Yennefer set up her equipment that night in their camp, bouncing with barely restrained curiosity at all the new instruments that the mage seemed to summon from nowhere.

The young princess’ enthusiasm calmed Geralt slightly, focusing on her youthful movements instead of the dread that settled over him at the thought of Jaskier’s current situation, guilt hitting him every few minutes as he replayed their last conversation.

‘If life could give me one blessing-’

“He’s in Neunreuth” Yennefer said, looking up with a solemn expression, “in a Nilfgaardian fortress”

“They were right” the Witcher breathed, utterly defeated.

“So we’re going to get him right?” Ciri asked, enthusiasm now dampened by the morose mood emanating from the two adults.

“Of course” 

Yennefer quirked her eyebrow at his firm reply, before nodding in agreement, “We’ll leave first thing tomorrow”

Geralt knew the second he stepped out of the portal that something was wrong.

“He cant be here” he thought aloud, “It’s been abandoned”

Yennefer frowned, her expression telling him everything she refused to say out loud, “He’s here”

“No”

Striding forwards, the Witcher advanced on the old manor house, nose picking up on the scent of Jaskier’s blood the second he reached the front door.

“No!”

Strides turned in to a sprint as he chased the scent, denial still swirling through his brain as he got closer and closer to the muted wildflower scent. 

“Jaskier”

The name fell from his lips as his knees gave out from under him, the sight of his bard’s limp body hanging from the chair punching all the breath from him. The smell of rusted blood was overwhelming, a pool in the corner dating back months.

Geralt sat there, disgusted by himself as he imagined how long Jaskier had waited for him to come and rescue him, how long he had stayed faithful to a monster.

He wasn't worth Jaskier’s life.

He wasn't aware he was crying until Yennefer laid a hand on his shoulder, “Geralt-”

“No” he hissed, struggling to his feet and moving over to the bard, “he cant be dead - he -”

Eyes wild, he turned around to face the sorceress, rising to his full height, “Fix him. I know you can - you did it last time”

“Geralt-”

Anger overtaking him, he pulled Jaskier’s limp body into his arms, unaware of how much his own hands were shaking.

“FIX HIM. YOU NEED TO FIX HIM NOW”

“Geralt stop”

“YOU NEED TO FIX HIM” he shouted, falling to his knees again, cradling the cold body in his arms as he sobbed, “Please fix him, Yen I need - I need you to fix him please”

The woman sighed, brushing a hand over Jaskier’s temple, looking for any sign of life.

“He’s gone"

Geralt’s cries could be heard in the next village over, lasting well into the night.

Not long after, tales of the White Wolf, Princess of Cintra and the Raven Sorceress were spread far and wide, the image of Cahir’s head on a stick engraved in the public’s minds.

#jaskier whump #geralt whump #geraskier #geraskier whump #Geralt de Riv #geralt of rivia #geralt x dandelion #geralt x jaskier #torture fic #geraskier angst #geralt angst #jaskier angst #not a happy ending #im sorry #fanfiction #witcher #the witcher #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fic #jaskier fic #jaskier fanfic #geraksier fanfiction #Yennefer of Vengerberg #cirilla fiona elen riannon #major character death #major character injury

[elderbwrry]

Even if he doesn’t say so - Chapter 4/?

Kylo/Hux/Poe Witcher AU

Chapter summary: Poe gets into a barfight - minor warnings for blood. (word count 2141)

Chapters 1, 2, 3 and on ao3

Kylo and Hux were on their way back to the tavern where Poe would be giving his latest performance...

They had spent all the afternoon consulting with the mayor of this backwater little town as to what services they could possibly render him. He was an odious man who didn't seem to know exactly what he was talking about, and prattled on for hours about werewolf sightings – Kylo was almost certain that the mayor's reports were only rumour – before changing tack to ask Hux a million pointless questions. It had taken so long that it was now almost night. The least he could have done, if all he wanted was to be able to say he'd met a mage and a Witcher, was compensate them for their time. Still, it had been fun to see how politely Hux could insult him.

There was a considerable noise coming from somewhere ahead of them on their path, and, as they rounded the corner, it became clear that the source was the tavern. The place was full to bursting, people crowding in the door and standing on tip toes to see in. The music which should have been flowing out of the place was instead replaced with shouts and jeering. Hux and Kylo figured out what was happening at virtually the same time, quickening their pace.

The place smelt of spilt beer and sweat, and the loud, human noise bit at Kylo's senses with an acidic tang between his eyes and at the back of his neck, making his fists curl. Hux shouldered his way forward, but the crush parted easily for them, creating ripples of, “It's the Witcher!”, “that horrid magician,” “mutant freaks.”

If everything had stopped when they arrived, the solid blow of flesh hitting flesh kickstarted it all again, sending forth another round of jeers as everyone turned back to the commotion at the centre of the room. The last layer of people peeled back, and the cause of it all was revealed.

Poe, his lute and doublet discarded somewhere, was squaring up, fists first, to another man who was both younger and larger than himself. The sleeves of Poe's shirt were rolled up to expose his forearms, the collar of that same shirt flapping open lower than usual, his knuckles of a shade suggesting that a number of blows had already been dealt. His hair was in disarray, sweat sheening his skin, and there was a bright red split freshly on his lip. It was... handsome. It made Kylo angry.

Growling, he took an abortive step towards Poe's adversary, only to be blocked by a surprisingly firm hand on his sternum. Hux.

“What is the meaning of this?” the mage asked the room icily.

“They're voicing their unwanted opinions,” Poe told them, and it was with such hostility that Kylo would scarcely believe it could come from him, if he didn't know that Poe had a righteous streak a mile wide.

“We don't take kindly to things like you coming to these parts,” someone said.

“Witchers and their murdering.”

“Mages and their sin.”

“We've heard the stories!” another added, and noises of assent scattered around the room.

Kylo had been in situations like this before. He'd been known to act badly in them. Rashly. Angrily. He cast his gaze around, and people seemed to shrink back from it. He could only imagine how he looked, pale skin, red scar, irises a sick, blank yellow, like a vulture. Finally, he found himself facing the man Poe had been fighting.

“Inhuman thing,” the man looked Kylo up and down with disgust and spat at his feet.

Kylo could have had the man in a choke-hold in a matter of seconds, but a determined blur shot forward, ducking under the fists the man's slackening stance had let weaken. Poe punched the man hard in the stomach, causing him to double over enough that Poe could then bring a knee up into his nose, letting loose a fountain of blood. The man yelled in pain, grabbing a hold of Poe's shoulder. Kylo had never intervened faster in his life, hitting away the man's arm and standing in his way.

“You need your pet monsters to save you, huh?” the man taunted even though he was clearly scared, or at least wary, his eyes flitting between Poe and his reinforcements, his speech clodded up with his nosebleed.

“Watch your damn words!” Poe shot back. “My friends are better men than you'll ever be.”

“Pussy.”

Kylo had to stop Poe's lurching attempt at an attack.

“Everyone out!” Hux ordered, his voice almost impossibly loud. People began to slink out of the door, but slowly enough that Kylo decided to take matters into his own hands and bundle Poe off in the direction of the stairs. He went with a few firm nudges, snatching his lute and doublet up from where they were stashed by the bar as he went. His tendons stood out where his grip on them was so tight.

“Go to the room,” Kylo hissed at him, lingering on the stairwell in case Hux needed backup.

It was quickly revealed to be a pointless consideration.

Hux already had backed Poe's assailant up against a wooden wall, the point of a dagger to his throat, his other hand glowing at his side. Kylo was almost certain that was the initial stages of a nasty hex, more than was required to intimidate some bigoted peasant.

“He started it-” the man was saying, and Hux was shaking his head with a sneer.

“That could not matter to me less. If I hear a single word from you I don't ask for, you will regret it. Do you know you laid hands on a lord?”

The man's throat bobbed. Of course he hadn't known Poe was nobility.

“In his kingdom,” Hux continued, turning the dagger so the edge was on the man's clavicle, “he is known as a good man. A righteous man. You angered- no, you infuriated a good man. Riled him up enough to do this.” Hux's tone changed, getting impossibly sharper. “I am not like him. I could raze this pathetic spit of matchsticks, if I wanted to. And you,” he dug the dagger in a little, skirting the man's jugular, “would be the one to blame, for harming someone I hold precious.” He let the threat sit for a moment before stepping back, the glow by his hand dissipating. “In fact, you had better check your house isn't already up in flames.”

The man made to scramble for the door.

“And next time,” the man paused, the hate in his eyes now significantly dwarfed by his fear as Hux spoke, “I suggest you remember that a mage's wrath is far worse than our sin.”

Kylo got up to the room before Hux could catch him watching on the stairwell.

Poe was pacing restlessly. When Kylo entered, he stopped, tapping his foot. “You should have let me beat the shit out of him.”

“You should have let me beat the shit out of him,” Kylo replied, his voice curling into a growl. To hear the way the townspeople spoke about himself wasn't unusual – he'd lashed out before, and it was one of the reasons he stayed out of towns as much as possible – but it was the first time he'd heard someone speak about Hux that way, and it was the first time Poe had come to blows that Kylo wasn't there to stop before he'd sustained damage. Crossing the room and lifting a hand to carefully tilt Poe's head to the side, examining the bruising on his jaw and temple, Kylo asked, “Did he hurt you?”

“Just bruises,” Poe replied, his teeth gritted more, Kylo suspected, from residual fury than from pain. No, that would hit later when the adrenaline dissipated. “Those things they were saying about you – fucking rude. And untrue.”

Kylo hummed some assent. “You both should be treated like royalty,” he muttered, thinking it only true; Poe wasroyalty of a self evident sort of virtue, and Hux was both powerful enough and well respected enough to demand that sort of praise.

Poe laid his fingers on Kylo's wrist. “And the things about you,” he insisted, his brow furrowing in a way that said he was concerned in a new direction. “You don't believe them, do you?”

The disbelief in Poe's voice made Kylo want to deny it. Luckily, Hux joining them in the room saved him from stumbling his way some verbal deflection.

“Did he hurt you?” Hux asked immediately.

“Just bruises,” Poe repeated as the mage approached, before protesting with a weak “Hey!” as his shirt was unceremoniously lifted by Hux to inspect him for more bruises, wincing as his surprised twist to the side made something twinge.

“What if he'd had the presence of mind to pull a knife?” Hux reprimanded him, noting with disapproving exactitude the red patches by Poe's ribs.

“Well he didn't, so it's fine.”

“That is not-” Hux cut himself off with an irritated sigh, heading to where Kylo's pack was by the table and picking through it without asking. “In the future, please remind yourself of your mortality before throwing yourself into something so foolish as a tavern brawl.”

“You sound like Leia.”

“I desperately hope not,” Hux replied drily, and, having found the vial he was looking for, returned to stand before Poe, looking over his bruises again. He popped open the vial – Kylo recognised it as one of his own healing potions, too strong for Poe just to drink – upturning it with his finger over the top, before dabbing the liquid onto the bruises.

Poe hissed at the contact. “Look, you can't expect me to just stand there while people insult you!”

“That is exactly what I expect-”

“Don't ask me to, Hux. I won't.” Poe's dark eyes flicked up to Kylo again, anguish creeping in to the set of his features. “Not when Kylo believes those things.”

Hux froze in what he was doing and straightened up, turning his own piercing eyes onto Kylo. “You do?” Voice as fine as wine, Kylo could detect in his tone notes of disapproval, mild shock, and, surprisingly, genuine pity.

Kylo had been standing there quietly until now, trying not to do anything to bring Poe back to that subject. “Well I...” he fumbled, casting around as if for an answer, pressure mounting as he could feel their attention trained on him, “I'm... it doesn't...” His eyes began to sting and – fuck that – he didn't. He didn't need to be pitied, by Hux, by Poe, by anyone else, no matter who they were to him. He knew what he was, and, though it made his blood boil to hear commoners who hadn't known half the fear and pain he had throw words around like they did, it only hurt so much because he worried they were right.

Poe was reaching out for his wrist again, and the contact made Kylo snatch his arm away and stalk over to the window with a snarled, “Just leave it.” He gripped the window sill and the wood of it creaked with the strain.

Three open-palmed bangs on the door, and the landlord hollered through to them, “I want you out! Out, you hear?”

A few more bangs had Kylo whirling round and snapping, “Fine, now fuck off!” Footsteps hesitatingly retreated, the landlord no doubt wondering whether they actually would go, but there was no way they would stay; there was an even chance Kylo would hit the next person who bothered them, and an only slightly less likely one of Poe doing the same.

“I'll fetch my things,” Hux said. They'd taken two rooms, and, as usual, Kylo and Poe were sharing while Hux got his own. “We should head north a mile or so,” he continued to lay out the reasoning for a sheltered spot he'd noticed, tending to the last of Poe's wounds.

He crooked a finger at Poe, who leaned forward a little. Hux dropped a little of the healing potion onto his thumb, and placed the pad of it tenderly onto the split on Poe's lip. It was just a moment, but though Hux was all business, Kylo noticed Poe's shoulders drop and his eyes flit to Hux's lips momentarily. When Hux removed his thumb the merest of seconds later and turned his attention to recapping the vial, Poe's tongue laved over the spot, which had already faded from red to pink under Hux's care.

The scene made Kylo want – he wanted to touch them, to patch the two of them up when they needed it, to look after them. He gripped the windowsill tighter. Next time, he'd be the one defending them.

#darkgingerpilot #armitage hux #kylo ren #poe dameron #kylo/hux/poe #darkpilot #kylux #my writing #fanfiction #witcher au #fantasy medieval au #star wars #thanks for reading my niche stuff #ok im go take a nap now much tired

[for-i-am-dying-of-such-love]

that time I watched Antony + Cleopatra

I don’t even know where to start with this one. Please don’t mistake my criticism of the episode with my hating it, because I actually think there’s a lot going on here with Xena (and Gabrielle too, but I am less focused on her arc) that’s quite nuanced and compelling. I love that Xena’s role in orchestrating Marc Antony’s downfall contributes to her moral and emotional conflict. What I abhor (and refuse to accept) is the suggestion that it’s born out of her falling in *love* with him, especially when there are far more consequential things in Xena’s life, past and present, fueling her angst in this moment. I have my own reading of what’s causing Xena’s uneasiness here, but more on that in a bit.

First: I think my greatest frustration is with the show itself. Like, THE FUCKING AUDACITY to foist a Boyfriend of the Week on us with just a handful of episodes left in season five. After everything, *everything*, that Xena & Gabrielle have suffered through (actual, literal HELL), and the continued devotion they show for one another, it’s just not believable that Xena would fall in love with someone else, let alone a ROMAN GENERAL. The emphasis here is important, but patience grasshopper, I’ll get to that.

Now, here’s where we start to get into the weeds with this notion of ‘Xena falling in love’ and there’s a lot to unpack around it, but before I do, let me just finish unspooling the threads of frustration I have with the show and it’s AUDACITY. Because it’s important to note that the show’s intention *was* to frame Xena’s attraction for Marc Antony as romantic - on top of whatever else she may have initially felt (indifference, intrigue, lust) - and not just sexual. And while I’ll concede that a story where Xena is forced to sacrifice her heart for the greater good by killing the man she loves is intriguing, it’s one we’ve already seen (Immortal Beloved). More than that, it’s a story that doesn’t fit with the Xena we know now, and the show, better than anyone, should have recognized this.

I know I’m being hard on the show runners here, so allow me this small tangent to give a little contextual understanding before furthering my arguments. As much fun as it is wrestling with the internal logic of this show (a surprisingly uphill battle all the time), I understand the unfortunate truth is that character motivations don’t always drive the story in the ways you would expect. Sometimes external factors complicate the stories XWP wants to tell and the ways it’s *allowed* to tell them. I get that.

I also get that Xena: Warrior Princess - both the show and the character - was expected to be sexy (hello, an easy win because Xena & Gabrielle). And that means, from time to time, it had to tease the audience with sex and seduction and romance (I guess fighting demons in Hell for the soul of your SOULMATE is not romantic enough, but I DIGRESS). What that often translated as on screen was a parade of Boyfriends of the Week for our two favourite Gal Pals, and by this point in the show, well, frankly it had been a while since Xena had had her a boyfriend (the Ares arc in season 5 doesn’t count). Simply put: a Marc Antony type was past due.

In this case, he wasn’t just past due, he served a dual purpose - fulfilling their Boyfriend of the Week quota, but also helping to re-establish Xena’s sexuality after she’d had her baby. I happen to think the latter take is overly simplistic and misguided (because, what, pregnant women are not also capable of being sexual creatures?), but it’s something Rob Tapert has commented on. So, ok, sure, fine whatever.

To be fair, I’m not sure if the show was deliberately signalling the return of Sexualized!Xena, or if it was simply a byproduct of the chemistry between the characters, and the inherent sensuality of the story’s setting. Regardless, the end result was certainly titillating. And I get it. I get why they want Boyfriends of the Week sometimes. Sex sells, and this episode was a blockbuster.

And before I return again to being hard on the show runners about dumb boyfriends, I just want to point out that my specific problem isn’t that Xena has been given a *boy*friend. Xena is bisexual, so men are always going to be an option when she’s considering a romantic or sexual partner. My issue is that she’s considering *any* romantic partner at all! By the gods, she’s essentially married to Gabrielle at this point.

Ay, but there’s the rub. Because the same expectation that dictated XWP should be sexy, also dictated that it should be heteronormative. The show can repeatedly double down on Xena’s & Gabrielle’s emotional and spiritual fidelity but it can never be seen explicitly to be sexual too (just a reminder, I haven’t seen S6 yet). That’s the unfortunate and uncomfortable reality of television in the late 90s and early 00s.

But this is where I take umbrage: XWP may’ve been limited (by studio notes) to giving us a chalk outline of what Xena’s & Gabrielle’s relationship really looked like, but they most definitely had the ability to control how they coloured the relationships Xena & Gabrielle had with their Boyfriends of the Week. And again, in ‘Antony and Cleopatra’ the show chose to frame it as a love story, a romance, when simply playing it off as Xena’s libido run amok would have satisfied the episode’s need for sex appeal, while also honouring the fact that her heart has long been spoken for (don’t worry: taking Xena’s heart out of the equation won’t lessen her moral or emotional conflict any - I’m getting there!).

Because here’s the thing: Xena getting caught up in the heady thrill of a seduction play, especially with a man as attractive and powerful as Marc Antony is totally believable. And really, Xena taken in by *lust* makes sense, especially at this point in her life. I mean, it’s been a while since she’s had to play this seductive cat-and-mouse game (Ares doesn’t count) and maybe she’s forgotten how easy it is to slip into this character, how much fun it can be. Maybe it’s even a little liberating - this return to form from when she was wild and free - because a lot has changed since she last had to do this; she’s changed and in ways she never anticipated. She’s settled down, even if she’s still travelling the known world. Made a commitment to Gabrielle to share a life together, had a baby, and now the three of them are carving out their own little domestic sphere. And all of this is happening while she’s still reconciling the person she was before with the person she is now. Maybe she’s a little itchy.

Because this… this tension, the cadence of a feint and parry charm offensive, it’s familiar. Comfortable in a way she didn’t know she missed until she felt it again. It would be easy to see her drunk with dark delight, to momentarily lose sight of her head. It would be believable. What’s not believable is that she - a pragmatist - would ever lose sight of her heart. Because the stakes of the game are so high, for Egypt but also for her. (And for you in the back who’s clearly read ahead on the syllabus and is about to point out Xena’s checkered romantic history and her self-proclaimed soft spot for Bad Boys Who Love Like Fools - don’t worry, we’ll get there too.)

What I’m taking a generous amount of time to say is this: if they simply wanted to give us a lush and sexy episode, they could have delivered on the sexiness without attaching it to a love story! We are long past believing Xena only kisses people she’s in love with, or that she’s in love with all the people she kisses. There’s no need to pretend her sexual agency is only relevant or operational within the confines of a romantic plot line. But more than that, throwing an unbelievable romance into the mix really only serves to threaten the integrity of Xena’s motivations, because it risks reducing the entirety of her turmoil to: Xena loses another boyfriend, how le sad. And that is absolutely not the point.

Because the point is this: Rome fucking corrupts and perverts everything it touches. And Xena’s motivations are built from her (and now Gabrielle’s) tortured history with the empire and the men who run it. And if you’ll permit me, like 4,000 words, we can get into it and, hopefully, you’ll agree that shit is heavy enough on Xena’s mind without a ‘star-crossed lovers’ storyline. Remember, it was only a year ago that they both were nailed up by Romans and left to die under a cold, grey sky at the foot of Mount Amaro. That cross alone, and the long shadow it casts, is more than capable of supporting the dramatic weight of this episode, never mind the crosses that came before it.

So, I can’t overstate the importance of Xena’s past connection with Caesar and Rome. It informed so much of who Xena was to become, as a cruel and bloodthirsty warlord, and then later, as a warrior fighting for good. Even now, after Caesar’s death, that connection is still informing her. It will never stop. And, Rome will never be absolved of its sins against Xena & Gabrielle. There’s simply too much trauma in that shared past. Trauma that‘s telegraphed onto every interaction Xena has with Rome and its strongmen going forward.  

And it’s exactly the reason Xena would never fall in love with Marc Antony. She might well lust after his body, but she will never pine for his devotion. Because, even in that moment under the stars when he is just a man with his chest cracked open, offering up to her his heart, beating strong and hungry in want of her affection, she can’t help but see the hardened, black veins where the love of Rome - like a creeping scourge - has left its vile mark. Of course she recognizes it, her own heart bore the same disease. A gift from Caesar. The pretty boy with his pretty words and his pretty promises, who so subtly disarmed Xena and then skillfully stripped away her defences until she had bared her heart to him. Who didn’t hesitate to flay it with a knife of her own making, it’s blade poisoned with his love for Rome.  

He did not take her heart - sometimes she wished he had - but left it to rot in her chest, slow and angry. And it nearly destroyed her. Nearly drained her of every ounce of humanity she had left, as hatred and spite and cold brutality filled her up instead. He had weaponized Xena’s affection for him and used it against her and she was forever changed. In that singular moment she saw Caesar, and Rome - because Caesar was Rome and Rome was Caesar and they were one and the same - for what they truly were: insidious and unrepentant in their calculated villainy. And she hated - not just the man who betrayed her, but the monster who nursed him with poisoned milk, and all the other strongmen who nursed at the same teat. Because in that moment too, Xena learned that all the men who kneeled before Rome and lusted after her glory were the same.

But she didn’t let her hatred go unproductive. She had been careless and imprudent in her dealings with Caesar, and nearly paid for it with her life. Except she survived and then thrived, in her own insidious, unrepentant, calculated villainy. And she never forgot what Caesar had done to her, how he had done it. She turned it over and over and over again in her mind. Studied it from every angle. Studied *him*. Until she knew how he thought, how he moved, where he was weak and unsuspecting. Until she knew every single one of his plays, and how best to counter them. Where and when to lay siege. A secret weapon she cultivated, not just to destroy the man who destroyed her heart, but to lay waste to all the fools who followed in his footsteps. She wouldn’t be taken in by Rome again.

And, to be fair, the episode doesn’t try to run from this history. It just doesn’t linger in it any longer than is necessary to give a brief nod to Brutus and the crucifixion (which is a shame, because it informs so much of both Xena’s & Gabrielle’s psychology, but we’re getting there!!!). Even still, Gabrielle’s first words are loaded with its legacy, if not also quiet resignation: “Are we really going to do this?” Because: Fuck! Rome, again? They’re only willing to go another round with Rome because of Cleopatra, only willing to embrace the ghosts this will stir up because they feel they owe it to a friend.

So, of course they’re going to do this. Only, it’s no longer about vengeance, at least not the white fury that once burned hot in Xena’s veins. This is different. Xena’s ire still seethes, but she doesn’t plan to wield it like a mighty sword, rather she’ll channel it with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel poised to excise a tumour, deliberate and clinical. The plotting is easy - Xena has a library of schemes stored away in the vast reserves of her grey matter - but made easier by the fact that she knows Caesar’s playbook so intimately. The man may be dead but he lives on in Rome and the hearts of all the faithful men who love her - proud and predictable. Puppets whose strings she knows she can deftly manoeuvre.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            The problem is that Xena’s too comfortable in her self-assuredness. Her plan and her assumptions of how Roman strongmen operate and her ability to manage everything is founded on her understanding of Caesar. And none of these men are the next Caesar.  And it’s a problem, because this was supposed to be a quick and straightforward trip up the Nile to Memphis to do a little housekeeping on behalf of a friend and it’s been complicated by the fact that her pawns are not being cooperative.

This entire endeavour is not what she was expecting, Antony is not at all what she was expecting. He’s disarmingly handsome and charming, like many of Rome’s great strongmen, and their chemistry is electric - a bonus when you’re really trying to sell your part in a seduction play - but she realizes a little too late that the game she plays with him is not the one she had planned on. It’s actually much more dangerous.

And, I get that many fans believe Xena’s sexual attraction to Marc Antony is meant to telegraph an underlying romantic attraction as well. That as their physical encounters become more intimate and intense, so too must Xena’s feelings for him. And it’s easy to read it this way because Gabrielle’s own jealousy seems to reinforce the very idea, and Xena, herself, looks increasingly unsettled after each interaction. But I think it’s too simplistic an answer. Xena’s unease about Antony is growing because her plan has been frustrated by unforeseen hurdles, none of which include her falling in love with him.  And Xena is frustrated in return.

We totally see this play out in Xena’s treatment of Gabrielle. She is curt and cool and dismissive (at least until their balcony talk), especially after Gabrielle puts a spectacular halt to Xena’s picnic with Marc Antony. But Xena’s distance here is not because she’s being defensive (at Gabrielle’s continued suggestions that she’s lost the plot), or because she’s angry for the interruption (ok, I’m sure there’s a very base part of Xena that *was* disappointed), or because she’s hurt (how could Gabrielle not have faith in her?). It may come across that way, but, really, Xena’s just acting out her frustrations.

Because this whole situation with Marc Antony, if a little intriguing at first, is irritating. And Xena’s frustrated. On many levels. The most obvious, and least surprising, being that Antony’s attentions have left her itchy and it’s distracting. And not because the chemistry between them has set off a chain reaction of romantic feelings for him - Xena is not spending her free time daydreaming about the man behind the General. It’s simply because there’s a kind of fire in her veins now that she wasn’t expecting to deal with this time out and it has the tendency to keep her on edge. And it’s not that she can’t handle it - spontaneous combustion is sometimes an occupational hazard when she’s playing at desire - it’s just that this particular element was not part of her plan.

That’s the real frustration: Xena’s not used to her plans being stymied. Her opening move - rolling herself, naked and chained, out from a carpet - though, brazen, should have been the perfect lure, should have painted her Cleopatra as an easy, if not unwilling, target for Antony’s ambitions. Because all Roman strongmen are the same: pretty boys with pretty words and pretty promises and pretty predictable tastes for cunning and seduction that they weaponize for the glory of Rome; heartless but for their love of res publica.

And so, this exact play is one Xena is confident any ambitious Roman would pounce on - remember: she knows their playbook, was once herself on the near-losing end of such a gambit, back when she was still a little naive and the right words could soften her heart; before her legs and her psyche endured the full force of Rome’s wrath. Except Antony doesn’t take the bait, like she expects, and it catches Xena flat-footed, a position she rarely finds herself in and one she isn’t particularly fond of. And so now she finds herself having to regroup and change tactics on the fly, which is fine - she’s used to that too - it’s just that her forward momentum is frustrated by the fact that she can’t get a good read on Marc Antony, doesn’t quite know his angle. He’s an unknown and unpredictable variable in a plot that already has a lot of moving parts and it introduces just the tiniest element of doubt into the equation.

Which is why it doesn’t help that Gabrielle is dubious of Xena’s motivations surrounding Antony. Not that Xena blames her for her concerns. She knows they aren’t really meant to provoke - that they come from a place of genuine anxiety, born from Gabrielle’s intimate understanding of Xena’s unhappy past with both bad-boy types and the ravages of Rome. Knows that Gabrielle, whose heart has traced all the scars of that past and let her love be a salve, is steadfast in her belief in Xena, even when the wheels are falling off. But Gabrielle’s questions do provoke. They pique Xena’s frustrations. It leaves her feeling cagey - like her back is up - and she hates it because it means she’s dangerously close to being on the defensive.

And really, by the time Marc Antony invites her to meet him under the pyramids, Xena is running out of options. Her back isn’t just up, it feels dangerously close to being backed up against a wall. She’s only playing this game because she’s confident she’ll win - that’s why she led with such a shameless opening bid, presenting herself to Antony as she did - but with each round Antony’ coyishness has forced her to up the ante while she waits for him to play his hand. Once upon a time she might have enjoyed and encouraged this slow, deliberate back-and-forth - would have been willing to play it out until she was out of chips (and her clothes) - but she no longer has the patience. Not that she’s entirely immune now to the thrill of what they’re doing - Xena has always enjoyed the hunt and then playing with her food - it’s just that she needs him to reveal his hand before he can call her bluff because there aren’t anymore chips to spare and she has too much on the line to go all in.

But Xena’s emotional conflict isn’t just being driven by her frustrations with the way her plan is playing out - it’s priming the engine, to be sure - there are other feelings at work here too. And chief among them is a deep and growing unease with the roles she and Gabrielle have cast themselves in and the very real consequences that will come from their interference. It doesn’t sit well with Xena, the way they’re toying with the futures of Egypt and Rome - as if they are just prizes to be won and Brutus, Antony and Octavius are the game pieces that need to be maneuvered around the board until a winner appears. As if there aren’t millions of lives at stake. She hates it. Hates that she has been somehow cast above it all, to dabble, like some unworthy god, in the lives of so many, and yet also stuck in the thick of it, an unwitting pawn herself.

And the longer Xena’s game is in play, the murkier everything becomes. What seems like a straightforward plan on paper, is actually a mess of competing interests, each as cold and ruthless as the next. And right at the heart of it all: Xena (and Gabrielle too), judge, jury & executioner. Because despite her business-like approach when they arrived in Egypt, Xena’s ability to remain detached and objective is under pressure, especially as all the players in her game reveal themselves and their motivations resolve into finer focus.

And there’s something about Marc Antony. He’s truly unnerved Xena. Because he didn’t play by her rules, the rules she owed to Rome - and he, a Roman no less. Maybe there would have been a time in her past when this would have endeared him to her, but now it’s left her uneasy. He needles at her resolve, the confidence she has in her plan. There’s a part of her that starts to wonder if she’s mis-read him completely, and that’s the start of a slippery slope into thinking she has mis-read this entire situation. And she doesn’t have the time for back-sliding.

But the problem is this: no matter how she looks at it there’s no clear answer, only devastating consequences if she’s wrong. For herself, for the lives she’s playing with, and probably for most of the known world. Because Rome and her strongmen will stop at nothing to take it all. And that thought never leaves her. Rome is a constant drum beat in her mind: Rome Rome Rome. Xena knows what Rome is capable of, what these three men jockeying for her power are capable of, even if Xena doesn’t know *them*. It echoes in her mind every time one of them is before her - even as Marc Antony’s kisses leave behind a fever in her blood - Rome Rome Rome.

And while her mind whirls constantly, turning over strategy and tactics, she’s tried to keep her heart mostly out of this affair. Left it unburdened by the machinations of statecraft and violent political intrigue. Except for a dull ache - when she thinks about Eve downriver in Alexandria, or when her eye catches Gabrielle in an unguarded moment - Xena could almost believe the desert sun had turned her heart to dust. Almost. Except that ache is there and, like her frustration and unease, it’s been growing more persistent.

Because Xena has more than herself to consider now. Sure, she’s spent the last five years dedicated to preserving the greater good - whether fighting for her closest friends or the nameless, faceless masses - but it’s different now, she’s different, and not just because she has a daughter who needs her to come home. She has Gabrielle too. They have a little family. And even though Xena has loved Gabrielle for years, she feels fiercely protective of Gabrielle’s heart and love now, in a way she’s never felt before, with anyone. But then, maybe it’s not surprising: they did battle demons in hell for each other’s soul. That sort of thing changes everything.

And Xena can see how this is affecting Gabrielle, even if she doesn’t say it out loud. Remembers the pierce of iron through the flesh of Gabrielle’s hands as surely as she remembers it through her own. Rome has robbed them both and Xena sees the weight of it in Gabrielle’s gaze. Sees, too, the way Gabrielle traps her bottom lip in her teeth as Xena smiles seductively at Antony. Watches the flush creep across Gabrielle’s pale skin when Antony’s kisses become more emboldened. Catches the dangerous flash in Gabrielle’s green eyes. The one that hasn’t gone away since they arrived in Egypt. Xena sees and it makes her heart lurch. To watch her beloved watch her take delight in the charms of another. And to know the sight of it is a white hot grip on Gabrielle’s heart. Xena feels the burning clench around hers too.

And this is the Xena we see when she meets Marc Antony under the pyramids. Frustrated and uneasy, heart aching. Tired. Tired of this game and her role in it. Tired of Rome, but mostly tired of all the horrible things that happen by her hand because of Rome. And then there is Marc Antony waiting for her. Disarmingly handsome and charming, unnerving in his refusal to play into her hands, a Roman above all: a pretty boy with pretty words and pretty promises. And like all Romans, she expects the promises to be lies. Except, there’s something in the way he’s played his hand, the way he’s held back all this time, that tells her there might be truth in his words when he tells her he wants her love.

She can sense his confession even before the words are out. Maybe on some level she always knew, had seen the inevitability of this moment even as she refused to believe in the possibility. But his words pierce the haze that has kept her from seeing her own folly. And it’s like lightning in a bottle. The way every frayed nerve snaps and jumps and arcs all at once - the rain of sparks illuminating everything that had left her mind and heart unsettled - in an instant of sudden, total understanding. It steals her breath and slices at her heart, this clear and unbearable realization. What she’s done and what she still has to do to bring this absurd game to a close.  

See, she’s made a terrible miscalculation. Because in her mind Roman brutes are heartless. Capable of loving only Rome. And her seduction of Marc Antony was only ever meant to be a power play. How could it be anything more? She had weaponized lust and sex in the past to get the things she wanted, this was to be no different. Except that it was. And her hubris - her prideful overconfidence in her infallible, little plan, coupled with her resolute belief that all Roman men are Caesar at their core - has led her to overplay her hand. Not that she won’t still find a way to win. It’s just the cost will be much higher than she could have anticipated.

Because she has unwittingly weaponized Marc Antony’s affection for her and now she is going to have to deliberately use it against him. It is devastating. To see his chest bared to her so willingly, and to know that she must flay his heart with a knife of his own making. It shakes her resolve. It brings tears to her eyes.

But of course it brings tears to her eyes. She has done the unthinkable: she herself has become Caesar. The thing she hated most. The man who won her trust and her love and then betrayed her. Cold and hard and heartless. Brutal and ruthless and willingly so. In this moment she is Caesar. And soon she will become Rome, sacrificing another man, who might yet have been good, in the name of her unrequited love.

This moment under the pyramids is so important. Everything hangs on this declaration from Marc Antony, on Xena’s tears. I know people see it as confirmation of Xena’s feelings for him - and she has feelings to be sure - but they’re not romantic. Xena’s emotional reaction, and the genuine unease she wears thereafter do not hinge on her being in love with him. Xena’s humanity is enough to soften both her heart and her regard for Antony in this moment. Her compassion and regret are not dependent on attraction or attachment. And so the story doesn’t need to frame her tears for Marc Antony as a lover’s heartbreak, because her heart was always going to break for him, as it breaks for herself and Gabrielle and the ruin left in their wake.

And there will be ruin. Xena is certain of it. Although, for a moment, she might have held a glimmer of hope for Antony. This Roman who’s willing to give up his army for love. For love. Not that she wants what he’s offering. She just wants to believe he could be different. Not for her. For Rome. But then his sword is hilt deep in the belly of one of Brutus’ men and then slicing through the throat of another. And Xena knows - even as she and Gabrielle dance around the subject hours later, bathed in moonlight and disquiet - that any hope for him is misplaced. Knows exactly what he will do with Brutus’ army and Octavius if he prevails. Is keenly aware of what awaits if he learns of her deception and is allowed to live.

Because once upon a time she was the one who trusted and loved and was betrayed and lived. And thousands paid the price at the end of her sword for Caesar’s treachery. Xena can’t even imagine what Marc Antony, favoured son of Rome, might do. Can’t risk the chance. So he must pay the price at the end of her sword too. Xena wishes it weren’t so, tries to avoid the fight that will take his life - because now that she’s seen the humanity in her enemy she wants no further part in this madness she’s helped to orchestrate - only she doesn’t have a choice now. Alea iacta est - the die is cast, and her blade and her betrayal find Antony’s heart all the same. And when the end comes, there’s Xena, soaked in blood and rain and tears, in the middle of this fucking mess, the dead and wounded scattered about her. She can’t escape the truth of it then: she did this.

And it’s this! All of this - the many layers of trauma in need of reckoning and Xena’s tangled heart, twisted further by the part she is forced to play in Egypt and the goddamn fucking senselessness of it all - that carries the emotional weight of the episode. Who needs a Boyfriend of the Week when there’s already all this angst?

And, ok, I hear you say: Pattie, you’ve made some valid points about Xena’s state of mind, but why can’t Xena’s emotional and moral conflict be born from this fraught personal history AND from the fact that she *was* falling in love with Antony? Wouldn’t that make it an EVEN MORE dramatic and powerful story? Because she was specifically falling in love with a ROMAN GENERAL, the very epitome of the thing she has spent most of her adult life hating?

I would like to agree with you, dear skeptical reader, but the simple truth is that there isn’t room for both in *this* story. The reality is this: a 44-minute-long, action-focused show like XWP just doesn’t always have a lot of extra time to linger on the emotional beats. And this episode, in particular, already so busy with all the palace and political intrigue, has even less. So much of what we’re able to read of Xena’s psychological state - and *why* it’s so deeply fraught - doesn’t even come from this episode. It relies on past emotional beats to inform our understanding of her behaviour. (And, I don’t know, perhaps this is why a casual viewer might pass off Xena’s and Marc Antony’s interplay as romantic - because most of the horrible things that have happened to Xena by Roman hands are left unsaid, and surely, if we’d been reminded of them we would never accept that Xena would fall in love with a golden boy of the empire.)

As it is, there’s barely space for any kind of meditation on how either Xena or Gabrielle are feeling about the roles they are being forced to play and the seemingly callous and ruthless tactics they increasingly use to do so, let alone a tenuous romance. And the former is what this episode should be actively engaging with: the moral ambiguity that has been driving season five and will continue on through the end of the series.  

Further complicating things with a love story, doesn’t make the episode more dramatic, it just takes up emotional bandwidth that could be better served elsewhere. Because, yes, Marc Antony is the epitome of the thing Xena has spent more than a decade hating! Xena’s history with Caesar and Rome (and everything they both stand for) is richly layered and devastating. It cannot be erased or ignored. To suggest that she is capable of falling in love with Antony (and to ask us to then believe it) without also deliberately exploring the tension inherent in that act is obtuse.

Those kinds of emotional beats need room to fucking breathe. And the episode doesn’t do this because there’s just too much happening. It tries - in broad, moody strokes - to capture the tenor of Xena’s emotional landscape, and it succeeds in wrapping us up in the same angst that drapes Xena, but the source is nebulous. Her haunted looks and tears - under the sphinx and when her sword finds Antony’s belly - can only telegraph so much, especially when we have been given very little reason to feel invested in her supposed affection towards him.

And here’s where we finally touch on Xena’s checkered romantic history - and her self-proclaimed soft spot for Bad Boys Who Love Like Fools (10 points to Ravenclaw for your patience) - because I’m sure you’re about to suggest that Marc Antony’s air of a Bad Boy is itself cause enough to garner Xena’s affection. Powerful, disarmingly handsome, and charming? Check, check, check. Capable with his ‘sword’? Bonus: super check. But just because her past is littered with dysfunctional relationships and Bad Boys - though I’m sure not all were bad, and some were definitely women - doesn’t mean she’s interested in repeating her mistakes. The Xena of old is vastly different from the one we know by season five, even if there are parts of her that are very much the same.

The principal driving force in her early adult life and formative romantic relationships was lust. It ruled over every part of her. Lust for: power and for violence and for blood and for riches and for infamy, and, of course, for sexual gratification. And so, she sought out partners - themselves driven by the same hunger - who could satisfy all of her desires, not just her (very) carnal appetite. She fell hard and fast and burned white hot until something, or someone, else came along and made her feel even more incandescent. In those early days, Xena wasn’t looking for *love*, she was looking for a good time.

Now, that’s not to say Xena’s past romantic entanglements were frivolous or lacking in genuine sentiment. At the very least, I suspect many were sustained by the warm affection that comes naturally from the intimacy of sharing your life with someone, whether they’re riding into battle alongside you or just warming your bed over a long winter. Nor is it meant to be dismissive of whatever fondness she felt for her lovers. Because: not all love looks the same. There are different kinds of love and different ways to love.  

For Xena, though, whose heart had been so thoroughly and devastatingly mangled by Caesar’s betrayal, love was immaterial. At best, it was the unintended, if pleasurable, byproduct of a mutually beneficial arrangement. At worst it was a weakness that her enemies could exploit. Mostly, it was just a silly notion to scoff at. And the feeling Xena would come to associate with love - whether she acknowledged it as such, or not - was informed by both the dynamics of her relationships with Bad Boys and her own dark, irrepressible designs. It was selfish, and often cruel. Grounded in hot blooded impulses and savage desire, rather than growing out of an honest and patient connection.

And it became so thoroughly ingrained in her psyche. It was her overriding view of love. Even after she came to recognize how different love could be - and look and feel - once it was no longer centred in selfishness, when it was open and giving and kind, it was a struggle for Xena to undo her conditioning, to rewrite her love language. Because: first, she had to accept that she was worthy of this new kind of love, and then she had to actually accept it once it was offered.

But, old habits die hard, even for Xena, and I’m sure there were times - when she was just beginning to reframe how she viewed love and was learning how to reopen her heart - that she slipped back into her outmoded ways of thinking. Conflating lust with something else; allowing herself to be tempted by dalliances with partners who stoked her selfish desires, instead of tempering them. And maybe if Xena had crossed paths with Marc Antony then - back at the beginning of the series when her history with Rome was still messy but not nearly as tortuous as it is by the end of season five (you know after Britannia and its fallout which was the beginning of The Rift, and the deaths of Crassus and Ephiny and Pompy and the countless others who were the collateral damage surrounding those events, and, of course, Xena’s & Gabrielle’s own death on the cross) - I’d be willing to believe that she could love him.

Because, at one time Xena might have been interested in a man like Antony, might have been able to look past the Roman tunic and pursued him, taken in by his magnetism and allure. But by this point in the series Xena just isn’t interested, and not because her duplicity has made it impossible for her to be, but because by now her entire understanding of love - of being loved and giving love and nurturing it and making room for it to grow - has fundamentally changed. It’s been re-centred in selflessness, and everything that Marc Antony represents is antithetical to this new appreciation.

And I get that there’s an argument in here somewhere, that suggests Xena’s new approach to love might have softened her heart in such a way that she’s both able and willing to see the man behind the General, and be open to loving him too. But I would argue that the very things, the very people, whose love has transformed Xena’s heart are also the very things that would stop her from ever letting her heart go there. It’s not just that her point of reference on love has changed, it’s that she’s had years now of lived experience to break that cognitive dissonance between her attitude - knowing the kind of love she wants, the kind of love that’s *good* for her - and her behaviour - choosing that reaffirming, selfless love instead of the tempestuous, selfish one. She’s not blind to her past weaknesses, she knows exactly the sort of temptation Marc Antony offers - as surely as Gabrielle does the moment she lays eyes on him - but recognizing it is not akin to considering it. Because: Xena’s already found the love she needs and wants (and knows she’s earned and deserves).

Ok, but what of Xena’s admission on the balcony, when she cops to having a soft spot for Bad Boys Who Love Like Fools? I think it’s less about admitting (to herself as much as Gabrielle) that she’s developed romantic feelings for Marc Antony, as it is about Xena acknowledging a certain sort of fondness she feels for these ‘Bad Boys’. A fondness that’s born from a mutual understanding. Because: I think Xena sees herself in these men - at least an earlier version of herself - when she was ‘bad’ and foolhardy at love, and her heart tugs at the memory of it. Some curious mix of nostalgia and empathy, that softens her regard for them.

And she certainly sees herself in Marc Antony. The parallels between her story with Caesar and the story she’s now playing out with Antony are unavoidable, and if she’s cast herself as Caesar in this shadow play then Marc Antony is her younger self. Of course she would have a soft spot for him, she knows how this story ends. Knows, specifically, what it’s like to be willing to give your trust and your love only to be betrayed in return. And, of course, it’s made only more complicated with the knowledge that she’s the one who will ultimately be his ruin.

So, finally, exhausted and exasperated and, like 7,000 words into this, I hear you ask: what does it really matter? Xena doesn’t choose Marc Antony in the end, so what does it matter if it was lust or love or guilt or a fucking mid-life crisis that was driving her in this episode? Well, dear, patient reader: it matters because Gabrielle deserves better (THIS IS A BOLD STATEMENT, I KNOW, AND IT’S NOT AN INDICTMENT ON XENA’S CHARACTER EITHER, IT’S JUST THAT I FEEL VERY PROTECTIVE OF GABRIELLE’S HEART, OK! AND THE ONE THING THIS EPISODE DOES IS GIVE GABRIELLE THOSE LITTLE BEATS WHERE WE LINGER ON HER VISIBLE REACTIONS TO XENA’S TETE A TETE WITH ANTONY AND SHE’S CLEARLY JEALOUS AND HURT AND WORRIED AND SO, LET’S NOT LOSE SIGHT OF THE FACT THAT HER EMOTIONAL STAKES ARE ALSO INCREDIBLY HIGH IN THIS EPISODE, NOT JUST BECAUSE HER LIFE PARTNER IS SEDUCING SOME DUDE, BUT ALSO BECAUSE THE LEVELS OF BRUTALITY SHE’S INCREASINGLY HAVING TO EMPLOY ARE ALARMING. AND SO, SOMEONE IN THE WRITER’S ROOM WAS THINKING ABOUT THIS WHEN THEY WERE OUTLINING THE STORY - UNDERSTANDING THAT THERE’S AN UNDERCURRENT IN XENA’S & GABRIELLE’S RELATIONSHIP THAT WOULD MAKE SEEING XENA WITH ANTONY UNCOMFORTABLE, BUT THEN NOT ALSO RECOGNIZING THAT THAT SAME UNDERCURRENT WOULD MAKE IT EQUALLY UNCOMFORTABLE FOR XENA. AND IT’S JUST LIKE: TEAM, WHY DO YOU HAVE TO DO THAT TO GABRIELLE? HER HEART MUST HAVE BEEN IN A TERRIBLE STATE. AND WHY DID YOU HAVE TO MAKE XENA COMPLICIT IN THIS?)

But, seriously, I’ve spent all this time diving deep into this episode and the ways it comes up short and why, and while I’ve alluded to it, I’ve mostly avoided the elephant in the room.

We need to talk about Gabrielle.

Because: Gabrielle is at the heart of why a romance between Xena and Marc Antony feels contrived and unconvincing. At this point in the show, it’s clear Xena & Gabrielle are fully and completely committed to each other (and, yes, I know that doesn’t necessarily preclude either of them from also seeking romantic or sexual partners elsewhere... I just don’t think they’re the sharing types, but I DIGRESS) - I mean, we *just* had ‘Kindred Spirits’ where they were nesting and talking about domestic bliss and privately teasing each other about their sex life in the most blatant way possible and failing miserably at breaking up but winning at being cute and married and adoringly in love. And I think it’s important to acknowledge the weight of Xena’s decision to very clearly have Gabrielle as her *life* partner - because implicit in the act of choosing to commit yourself to another person is a vow of fidelity, a bond that would be near-holy to Xena, whose word means everything.

But more to the point: Xena loves Gabrielle and Gabrielle loves Xena, and their love has been the beating heart of this show from the beginning. Gabrielle’s care and tenderness has been transformative - everything that Xena has come to understand about love, everything that she does to honour and protect it, is because of Gabrielle and the heart she’s so selflessly given of. And it’s this love story - and how the show has framed its slow and beautiful unravelling - that becomes the bench mark, the gold standard, for how all other love stories in this universe should be viewed, for how Xena, herself, now views love.

So, I guess what I’ve been saying all along is this: Xena can’t possibly be falling in love with Marc Antony because she’s already in love. Deeply, profoundly, bound-for-all-eternity in love. And no one, in this life (or any other, let’s be real) will ever compare. Not pretty boys with pretty words and pretty promises. Not Bad Boys Who Love Like Fools. Not even a god himself. There is only Gabrielle.

#xena #xena warrior princess #xwp #otp: for i am dying of such love #xena and gabrielle #S05E18: Antony + Cleopatra #pattie has some thoughts #the fucking audacity #i still cannot even

[alexmercer2424]

could you do nsfw abc with freddy krueger and female s/o please?

My fun past time, NSFW ABCs??? Of course! Sorry if it took longer than expected, but there are 26 letters which means 26 ideas, lol!

Freddy Krueger NSFW ABC’s

Aftercare

Haha. Haha. Ha… well this is an awkward way to start. No, no Freddy doesn’t believe in aftercare. Did you really think he would? Clean your self up, or don’t for all he cares. The only time he’ll have the slightest bit interest is if he scratched or bruised like your back, where you can’t reach, and if you beg enough. Beg even more and he may play with your hair after Leary’s, but don’t count on it.

Body Part

His fav body part on you? Freddy loves that slim waist of yours. It’s easy for him to grab onto and hold you in whatever place he desires. And if he squeezes it tight enough, the surprises noises that come your mouth are one of his favorite things! But let’s be real, a secret between you and me, all your parts are his fav parts.

Cum

Like your bod, this is more than one. As much as he loves to cum inside you, mark his territory and make you yourself feel like he’s his, he also loves to cum other places as well. Your face of course, seeing you covered in it always gets his motor going, or your thighs, so the sick bastard can play with it during your next round.

Dirty Secret

Don’t tell him I told you this, or else I’m dead lol, but a dirty secret of his is being the sub. And I’m not talking the receiving end (at least not that I know of 🤔), but pin this chatty cat down and prove to him he’s not top dog around here. He loves to see your feisty side and as much as he likes to prove he’s the dominant one in the relationship, the change of things is always a pleasant surprise.

Experience

Well, uh, this is awkward again, depending on what you choose to believe… BUT! on a lighter note, yes he’s well experienced (not because of the awkward but). Freddy is a chatty charismatic guy, even if he is a killer, no doubt he’s had a few women in his days (maybe even men), but don’t let that dishearten you. After all, you’re the one he’s chosen to keep around for more than a hookup.

Favorite Position

You think it’d be something like doggy style, a dominating position, but it’s not. It’s missionary style and this is because, he’s still a killer and the sick fuck likes to get a rise out of you in terms of horror and scares. Whatever he may choose to do to scare you, he wants to see the fear on your face as he does it and what better position than the basics?

Goofy

This depends. Sometimes he’s serious, as in wanting to get off and leave it at that, other times he’s looking for something more lighthearted that can go all night. Freddy may even let out a chuckle every now and then, if you slip off the bed part way for whatever reason, but he likely won’t be laughing and being lighthearted all the time. It’s something that shines through occasionally.

Hair

As a burned victim, like Deadpool, he has no hair so this is boring… But he enjoys pulling on your hair, loves the noises that come out of you, and also loves the dom play that comes with.

Intimacy

…no. Michael, maybe, in his own weird way, Japan I can totally see it, Brahms or even Chucky, but the doll did have a twisted wife at one point so yeah. But Freddy? He’s too sacastic for it to be intimate, even in his own way. Besides, totally not good for his reputation.

Jack Off

Are you away at work, during the day, like the majority of people. Did you leave poor Freddy at home alone with nothing to do as he waits for night to arrive? Is he horny af and again, YOU’RE NOT HERE TO HELP HIM?!?! Yeah he’ll jack off, and believe me he’ll find a lewd pic of you somehow for inspiration, but he’ll likely he complaining as well because WHY AREN’T YOU HERE WITH HIM?!

Kink

Freddy’s got a knife kink no doubt, or blades… his glove or any other blade really. But he’s also got a thing for getting into your dreams and making them as lewd as possible with him. After all, he’s the only thing you should be dreaming about. How dare you dream about anything other than him!

Location

If Freddy can get you into someone else’s dream with him, then that’s definitely the place he likes to do it best. Other than that, it’ll likely be anywhere in the house. The bed for comfort and easy access to pining you, the couch because he distracted you, the kitchen (away from open flames) also distracting you…

Motivation

Freddy loves to scare you just for you to get mad at him which will call for make up sex. But he also loves distracting you from anything you’re doing because he loves watching you fuss and get angry with him. Something about it really turns him on, so be prepared to be annoyed.

No

An odd no, but no fire. It sounds weird because who’s bring fire into the bedroom, but if you’re into the wax deipping with candles or want a romantic night by the fireplace, it’s not happening. And if you have a no, of course he’s going to test these boundaries, but if you really show it’s a no like stern words and threats of your own, then he’ll listen.

Oral

Freddy loves to both receive and give. He loves the 69 position for ppgysical pleasure rather than his physiological pleasure because not only can he indulge himself with you, but he had easy access to reach down and push your head down to control his own pleasure.

Pace

Things are generally fast and quick, but that doesn’t mean they’re over. Freddy will happily go another round, possibly round after around, if he’s in the mood. Slow isn’t his thing, he’s looking for a fun, wild time.

Quickie

Quickies can be his thing, if he’s looking to just get off and no more, otherwise he’s not that easily sated. Or after a kill, expect him to be full of hot energy that may drain quickly which will result in a quickie.

Risk

Freddy is of course willing to take a risk, after all he’s a killer. Risks are his thing, especially when it doesn’t involve him, and rather you, his “victim” that night. Be prepared to fight a little if things get too uncomfortable for you.

Stamina

Generally, he’s got a lot of stamina. Anything that means he’s in the dominant position and has control over a situation gets his blood rushing leaving to many restless nights for you. But sometimes, just sometimes, will it be a one round thing done and over with.

Toy

Unless it’s knife related, no! Unless he has complete control over whatever the toy may be. If he ever finds you with a vibrator, expect to be in a world of trouble because the only thing that shall bring you pleasure is him! The only time he’ll allow you to play with yourself is if it’s with your hand and if he’s there to watch.

Unfair

Of course this little shit likes to tease. He’s going to be the most unfair lover there is and it’s just to watch you squirm and whine, and to make you really beg for him. There’s nothing he loves more than watching you break down with need for him.

Volume

Freddy can get pretty loud, it comes with the chatty side of him, but he’ll never be louder than you. He’ll do all he can to muffle himself to just grunts and groans of it means hearing your voice rather than his. However, that won’t stop him from talking dirty to you, of course he’s still going to talk dirty to you.

Wildcard

Sometimes when Freddy is chasing you, getting in your nerves, or trying his best to scare you he doesn’t just want you to submit. He wants you to fight back. Not just verbally either, heaves the thrill of someone trying to kill him, like someone is actually powerful enough to do that, so the next time you’re running, take a moment to find the closest thing nearby and use it as a weapon against your “attacker”

X-Ray

We already established he doesn’t have hair down there so that’s not a problem, but aside from that he’s more length than girth. And that fire got him everywhere so things may look much more out of the ordinary, but don’t let that freak you out. If anything, it adds for a pleasurable texture.

Yearning

Freddy doesn’t yearn for anyone or anything! Let’s get that straight! There will be times, when you’re away, that he’ll get frustrated. But that’s only because you’re not here to fuck and play around with! Seriously, that’s the only answer! Nothing else…

Zzz

Afterwards, it’s doubtful he’ll go to sleep. After all, it’ll likely be night so that means he’s got to go hunt. So expect him to not sleep, but to be gone as well. If it’s in the morning, he may stay for awhile, after all where is he supposed to go? But sometimes he may go back to sleep and other times he’ll stay up and become that thorn in your side.

~

Five more until my secret is revealed!!! Also ignore the double ask thing, idk why it did that, lol.

#nightmare on elm street #freddy krueger #freddy krueger imagine #freddy krueger headcanons #freddy krueger hcs #freddy krueger x reader #freddy krueger x you #reader insert #slashers #slasher imagines #slashers x reader #slasher imagine #dead by daylight #dead by daylight imagine #dead by daylight freddy krueger #dbd #dbd freddy krueger #dbd imagine #dbd headcannons

[ms-rampage]

Eden’s Gate: Left Behind Chapter 14 - Skin Wearer

Warnings: Swearing, violence, demon possession 

Word count: 2.4k

Summary: John gets possessed by Saleos, and forces Kate, her friends and some locals to atone. Leaving Kate and Morgan the only ones to save him.

Guest characters: Sam and Dean Winchester [mentioned only]

Note: I’m trying to wrap up this series. There will most likely be 16-18 chapters. I might post the first chapter for The Mother series probably later today.

************************************

“You’re not John” Kate says, aiming her pistol at “John”.

He tilts his head in confusion, “What are you talking about Katella?! It’s me John!”.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes, “Yeah sure, the vessel of the man that I met the other day. He’s dead, and rotting in the ground by my friends campsite. Several traits left behind that indicate a demon was there. Sulfur".

She backs up slowly, getting away from him as he moves closer to her.

“Stay where you are!!!’ she says, turning off the safety on her pistol. Slowly walking towards the front door.

“Katie!! It’s me, put the gun down!!” he says, stepping closer to her.

She glares at him, and says “Christo”.

His eyes turn completely black. Bloodshot black.

“That’s what I thought” she says, still aiming her pistol.

“If you shoot me, you kill your boy toy” he says.

“Saleos. You better get your demon ass out of John-” she says before getting cut off.

“Or what?! You’ll kill me?! Sure go ahead, but like I said you’ll kill Johnny as well” he says, cockiness in his voice.

He suddenly moves closer to her, and she manages to throw holy water in his face.

He screams in agony as the water burns his flesh, Kate makes a run to the door only for “John” to throw her across the room hitting a wall with the wave of his hand.

“You little bitch” he mutters, as his skin burns, “Do you really think John loves you?!?”.

He kicks her in the stomach as she attempts to stand up.

“John doesn’t love you!!. He’s only using you for his own pleasure, but after this he’s not gonna want anything to do with you” he says kneeling, as she coughs up blood.

“You’re- you’re a fucking liar!!” she wheezes out.

He clicks his tongue, “Yeah, but I’m being honest here”.

She kicks him in the face, and struggles to the door.

He grabs her by the shirt, and throws her upstairs. Breaking the railing. 

“Katie!!!!” he calls out from downstairs. 

Hitting the floor hard, groaning in pain, she crawls to a nearby room. Shutting the door, and locking it.

Using her blood to make a demon warding sigil to keep him from getting in the room.

She reaches into her jacket, and pulls out her phone. 

Surprised she still had it on her person, and it worked even through all the shit she went through a few minutes ago.

In a panic, she doesn’t even think to call Morgan for backup.

“Katella, where are you?!?!”, “John” says in a singy voice.

It’s still his normal voice, but it’s a lot more bone chilling when there’s an actual demon soul harvesting his human soul.

A bang on a door coming from several rooms down, makes the walls shake.

Her mind is in a panic, and doesn’t think to call Morgan, instead her cousin Dean, who is probably nowhere near Hope County, or Montana for that matter. It goes to voicemail after a few rings. 

“This is Dean Winchester, leave your name, number and nightmare at the tone” -beep-

The vibration of the demon’s strength makes the whole house shake.

“Dean!!!!It's me Kate. I'm in Hope County, Montana. I need yours, and Sam’s help. My boyfriend John got possessed by a demon Saleos, and Paige isn’t around to help me”

John’s voice coming from the otherside of the door, “Katie!!!, I know you’re in there!!!’ he says in a teasing voice.

Hitting the door, the whole house shifting.

“Please, I need your guys' help!!!” she says into her phone before hanging up. 

“Katie!!! Opening the door!!!’ he says, his voice growing malicious. 

She looks out the window, and tries to pry it open, she knows the sigil won’t hold him off forever. 

The window being her only way out, even if it’s a 10 foot drop to the ground.

“Katie open the fucking door!!!!!!!” he yells, trying to break the door down.

She’s able to get the window open, she crawls out. Walking along the roof trying to avoid falling off of it.

She finds a ladder going down. She takes it, and once she gets to the ground she is immediately knocked out by Merihem who is possessing one of John’s followers.

***************************

A few hours go by, Kate wakes up disoriented and sees John hovering over her looking down at her chest around. Concentrating on something. 

The stinging sensation of needles pinching, stabbing her skin, she tries to move away, and is immediately held back by a couple of peggies.

“Hold still” John growls, his eyes turning black for a split second, “It’s supposed to say Lust, not, Us”.

He talks a bunch of nonsense, and some other stuff.

A few minutes later he finishes, looking down, admiring his work.

He gets off of her, letting her sit up. She sees Nick Rye, Mary May, Pastor Jerome, her friends Morgan, and Ryan standing behind him

He looks at her with his hands up, smirking “Ahhh perfect”.

He chuckles, “If Mohammed won’t come to the mountain, then bring the mountain to Mohammed. Let’s begin!!” he says, grabbing a book from one of his followers while walking towards the other end of the church.

A peggie grabs her, pulling her up, and moves her towards the others. 

Morgan looks back at her confused, and obviously annoyed. 

Several of John’s followers there, probably possessed by demons, or they’re just that damn loyal to John.

Putting her friends, and the business owners in front of her.

John smacks the bible from Pastor Jerome’s hand, and puts his own book in his hand.

“I thought a friendly face might make your atonement easier” “John” says to Kate.

Kate knows Saleos is forcing John to do all of this. He’s in full control of his body.

She knows it, Morgan knows it and she’s pretty sure John knows it.

Everyone in Hope County knows John Seed is known to do this shit.

He stands behind Pastor Jerome, and says slowly.  

“Our devoted. We are gathered here to bear witness.”

When Jerome doesn’t oblige, one of John's men hits him on the side of the head with his pistol. 

Having him fall to the floor.

“You son of bitch!!!” Mary yells at him, getting in his face, and is hit with another peggie’s pistol. 

Morgan and Kate give him a death stare. They have to get that demon fucker out of John, and then Kate has to dump his ass before any more damage can be done. 

He laughs, “Let’s try that again”.

“Our devoted. We are gathered here to bear witness.” John says again.

“Our devoted. We are gathered here to bear witness.” Jerome repeats after him.

“To those willing to atone for their sins” he says.

“To those willing to atone for their sins” Jerome repeats. 

“Will you Nick Rye place your hand upon The Word of Joseph?” John says.

“Will you Nick Rye place y-”

“Oh fuck that!!. Nah I ain’t ever giving in to that psychopath”, Nick interrupts him.

He moves Jerome out of the way, and says to Nick.

“And there it is. Greed. Always thinking about yourself”.

Nick spits in John’s face.

He grabs Nick’s shoulders and whispers something in his ear.

Kate, Morgan and the others can’t hear a word he says to him, but whatever it was made Nick’s reaction change, and he does the unbelievable.

“Nick?” 

“Yes. Yes I will atone” he says.

Everyone looks at him in disbelief. 

“What!?! No!!!!” Ryan yells.

A peggie hands John a knife, the other two hold Nick down to the floor, while John cuts off the piece of flesh with his sin on it.

“No, John, No. Stop!!!!” Kate yells, while being held back.

Nick grunting in pain as his skin gets cut off. 

John holds up the piece of skin, his hands all bloody. Looking like a psychopath.

“That is the power of yes. The power to take away your sins” he says as staples the piece of skin onto a wall, “The power to set you free”. 

He moves on to Kate, Pastor Jerome standing in front of her while holding the bible, John standing behind him.

“Will you Kate Winchester. Place your hand upon the Word of Joseph?, and renounce your sins, and admit your transgressions”

Jerome repeats after him for both verses. 

Kate stares at John, and quickly glances over at Morgan.

“You’re so fucking screwed” she says to him, shaking her head.

She starts to incite an exorcism she was taught years ago by her mother.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas” 

John’s eyes turn black for a moment then go back to their normal self.

“What are you doing?!?” he asks, his voice growing irritated.

Everyone in the church looks at her confused. Not understanding what is going on. 

Pastor Jerome is aware of what she’s doing, but unsure why she’s inciting an exorcism.

“Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo, omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te... cessa decipere humanas creaturas” 

“What are you doing?!??!” he yells getting angry. His eyes completely blackened. 

“She’s exorcising your demon ass!!!” Morgan yells at him.

Kate is interrupted by the strike of a pistol to the back of her head.

Getting knocked to the floor.

“You motherfucker!!!!!” Ryan yells, he takes the gun from the peggie, and shoots at John. Missing him by a few inches.

He gets tackled to the floor, and Morgan comes to his aid.

A few peggies get John out of the church, blocking him from the bullets.

“Get John to the ranch!!!’ one of them yells. 

They all fight the peggies, killing every single one of them. 

Morgan and Kate go after him to get the demon fucker out of him.

“We’re going to the ranch, and we’re gonna get that fucker out of him” Kate says, getting into a Cult truck.

They arrive at the ranch house. A Cult truck, and Kate’s car are outside of it. 

“Looks like Johnny demon is here” Morgan says. 

“Come on” Kate says, getting out of the truck.

She ain’t gonna stop until that douchebag demon is out of John’s body, and sends him back to Hell.

She kicks in the front door, and sees dead Cultists on the floor.

“It’s about time you two showed up” John says, spinning around in a chair.

“You better get your ass out of him now!!!” she orders the demon.

He chuckles, “Nah. I like this vessel”. 

“I’m sending your ass back to Hell where you belong” she says.

He stands up, “I like your new tattoo piece” he says, motioning to her chest, “Wait until Johnny sees that. He’ll hate himself forever. I also like the other 3 I-. I mean he gave you”.

Kate rolls up her sleeves, and sees Wrath on her right arm, Pride on her left arm and Greed on her right shoulder.

Feeling sick to her stomach. 

“I wanna speak with him now!” she demands. 

He crosses his arms, “No”.

Out of nowhere Morgan hits him with an iron bar. Knocking out the demon.

“Okay. So now we take him home, we tie him up and we exorcise the demon out of him”.

They shove him into the trunk of Kate’s car, and drive to their house.

After an hour, they have him tied to a chair, and put a Devil’s trap on the ceiling above him to keep him from escaping. 

He finally wakes up after almost 2 hours.

Kate throws holy water in his face to wake him up.

His flesh burning, he wakes up, growling in agony. 

“Oh good, you’re finally awake!!” she says enthusiastically.

“So!. I want to speak with John right now!” she orders him.

He chuckles at her, “Sorry he’s not home”.

“Bullshit!. I know you were making him do all that shit at the church” she yells.

He laughs at her, “Oh Kate” he lets out a loud exhale, “I wasn’t doing anything at the church that was all Johnny boy”.

“Liar” she spits, “I want to speak with him”.

He stares at her with a cocky smirk. 

Morgan throws holy water in his face.

He growls in pain, “You bitch!!”.

“Thanks!!!” she responds.

“Put John on now!!!” Kate yells. 

“Why? He never cared about you anyway!. He used you for his own sexual pleasures. He’s really good at hiding his true face”.

“Don’t listen to him Kate, all demons are liars” Morgan reassures her.

Saleos scoffs, “Oh please, the second you say yes, I would’ve forced John to cut off your skin, and I was gonna leave his body, and have him witness his own hands cutting off his little girlfriend’s flesh”. 

He starts to laugh maniacally, Kate out of annoyance, and frustration throws holy water in his face, and says without taking a breath. 

“To be 1000% honest, I was gonna break up with John. Because I don’t know how I could love someone as sadistic as him. Yeah he’s handsome, and all. He certainly knows how to pleasure me in the bedroom and all, but if you’re telling us the truth which I 100% doubt about him being in control throughout that whole horror show. Then yeah I am gonna dump his ass, which I should’ve done a long time ago. The second he wanted me to be “cleansed. I know I can’t change him, people like him never change, even if it’s for someone they love very much”

Unknown to her, and to Morgan. Saleos switched from him to John, and he heard everything Kate had said about him.

John’s eyes grow wide in sadness “You? You were gonna break up with me?!” he asks softly, his eyes getting watery.

“Oh shit” Kate says underbreath, in shock and not knowing what to say.

Stammering over her words, “No John I didn’t-”

Saleos switches back to his demon self.

“Yeah sorry his time was up” he says in a smartass way. Scrunching his nose.

“You motherfucker!!’ Kate says softly but with aggression.  

#far cry 5 #john seed #my ocs #kate winchester #supernatural references #sam winchester #dean winchester #my writings #eden's gate series #eden's gate: left behind #fc5 john seed #john seed x oc #john seed x kate winchester #jacob seed #joseph seed #faith seed #fc5 #the seed family #paige winchester #my crossovers #my crossover shit #the deputy

[katsukikitten]

Hey :) would it be possible to have a fluffy scene with Bakugo taking care of s/o reader who has bad period cramps and suffers panic attacks when they can't take the pain? (The suffering is real lol) Please and thank you 💛

Period Panic

A/N Thank you for being so patient bb. Here is your request and I hope it is fluffy enough and that you like it 😊😊

Your quirk was unique and tricky to get right at first.

You had the ability to make the smallest paper cut feel like a laceration that was bone deep.

Pain amplification is what they called it and for the most part there was no draw back to your quirk.

That was until you got your first period.

Any pain you had amplified was done unto you during those seven days while your uterus shed, angry that you would not be used as a vessel for new life.

Crippling, imobilizing pain that only heightened your anxiety.

Most men and even some women thought you were exaggerating. Brushing off your agony as mere teenage dramatics.

That was until you pushed through the horrific cramping to make it to school only to end up collapsing.

Doubled over, clutching at your gut as if your apendix had burst.

That or your uterus literally burst through your abdomen wall. At least thats what it honestly felt like.

So nothing was new this month, the usual heavy flow and cramping except this particular week your sweet boyfriend demanded he stay home.

It was something you hid from him for years, a mixture of embarrassment and fear of discredit causing you to shy away from his gruff helping hand.

He said he needed to see it all, especially if you were to ever bare his child, how would he know what to do to help you.

But sometimes you didn't even know how to help you. Sleeping most days, getting obscene amounts of overtime and using all of your PTO every month to get out of work since uterus go stabby stabby wasn't a valid enough excuse.

You're curled into his neck, breathing in his sweet caramel musk as he strokes your hair. While his free hand holds his phone watching videos with his wireless head phones.

So far so good. Your period has been mild, Bakugou has been attentive if not borderline smothering although you'll take it considering he is not normally so lovey dovey, and there hasnt been a bad cramp in sight.

Maybe you had grown out of it.

It feels as if a knife is suddenly plunged deep into your gut, before being removed to be swiftly plunged again only a few inches away.

Your bite your lip to keep in a groan, curling into him further. His hand goes from your hair to your back, bringing it up your spine slowly still beautifully ignorant to the intensity.

You needed to keep it this way. Bakugou did not take kindly to weakness and showing how pained you really were was the very definition.

The invisible knife takes a new route, plunging into your back before multiplying, twisting as it finds purchase before stabbing you between the legs.

That one makes you grunt and worry compels the hot head to move.

"Oi." He says voice husky with disuse, "Are you okay?"

You nod in way of answer as your heart rate increases, your skin becoming flush as you feel the rise of panic begin to take hold.

But nothing grips you tighter than the disembodied hands that hold fast onto your uterus, wringing it out as if it were a rag.

You push away from him quickly, between the panic and the pain you're about to empty the contains of your stomach.

You rush to the en suite bathroom in your small apartment sure to lock the door as you grip onto the cool porcielin. Inhaling the all too familiar oddly fresh smell considering the things done to this particular throne.

The scent alone earns a retch that encourages your stomach to heave and heave hard before an even more concerned ash blonde is at the door.

"Y/N." He snarls when he finds it locked.

"Go away Katsu I'll be nnngg." You cannot finish as another column of pain shoots right through you. Your breath hitches and you fight the bile rising up your throat trying hard to even your breathing.

But you lose, you flush as the last of your stomach empties itself into what was once clean porcielin.

"Like hell you were going to say okay. Open the door or I'll open it my God damn self." He growls and this is what you feared most.

Not of his aggression or his inability to take your word for it that you were fine but of him seeing you like this.

Hair damp, clinging to your forehead, cheeks flushed from panic and raise blood pressure. Splattered bile on your shirt and underwear that was now heavily bleed through from the exertion.

He would see you looking every bit repulsive and never want you again.

A loud bang takes place in the bedroom before the door falls off of its hinges landing with a harsh slap on the tile km the bathroom.

His scalding gaze turns tepid with worry when he sees you, going to gather you up but you push away.

"S...stop..." You gasp for breath with sharp inhales, spots begin to form in your peripheral as your body overheats. Useless sweat dripping down your brow.

This was it.

This was the pinnacle moment in time where Bakugou would see you for what you really were.

A fragile glass cup sitting on the edge of a high counter top.

Tears prick your eyes as you think of your uterus falling out of your fucking body with a wet thump.

And Bakugou was going to pack his shit and move out promptly.

The room spins.

He clutches onto your hand with his own strong palm, fingers lacing with yours.

"Copy me baby." He snarls, harshly contrasting his pained look. He holds your gaze as he breathes in through his nose deeply, holding it for a moment and letting the air naturally push out of his lungs through his mouth.

After a few tries you mimic him perfectly slowly regaining your thoughts.

He smooths your hair out of your face before picking you up and setting your on the cool counter.

He steps away to yank up the handle to the bath, steaming hot water pours out, filling the tub. He turns to the linen closet produces a fresh towel and two rags.

He dips one beneath the steaming water before setting the other two items on the vanity top.

"Bakugou..." You fight back tears as he wipes your mouth, folding the rag as he moved along your face. He places the dirty rag in the bowl of the sink before pulling at the hem of your shirt.

"Arms up." He hisses when you resist, you meet his gaze and obey. He pulls the dirty shirt over your head before pulling at your underwear.

"NO!" Embarrassment floods your cheeks and pain bites into your stomach again.

"Fine. I'll turn around but you better get in that bath." He sucks his teeth at the end. He listens as you finish undressing, waiting for the sounds of sloshing water as you adjust yourself.

You see now he has put Epsom salt to help ease your muscles.

Suddenly your chest is tight from a feeling other than panic, as you look at his strong back flexing as he reaches for something at the top shelf of the medicine cabinet.

He produces an orange bottle with white top that you hate. Shaking out two pills for you before wetting a rag in cold water.

"Here." He holds out his hand but you refuse the two white pills with a shake of your head, "Why not?"

"Makes me too numb." You admit and he gives you a look, slamming the pills on the counter before pressing the cold rag to your forehead.

He sits next to you on the floor, scarlet eyes roving over your body for any physical pain that he can see.

You watch it bother him that he cannot help but in these last few moments you've been more in love with him than you ever had.

"S..sorry I'm so weak." You whisper and the air becomes charged.

"When did I say you were weak? When did you need to apologize for something you cannot help?" Your cheeks burn when you realize he did not once look at you in such a way.

"Now focus we are going to do an exercise." He gets up enough to turn off the rushing water before returning to his sit by the tub.

"What do you do to amplify the pain in someone?" He asks and you think of how to word it, normally you just acted on instinct.

"I...I concentrate on their nervous system. I make their body panic and send distress to the brain."

"Can you see your own nervous system like that?" You blink at his question slowly before answering

"Yes. It's difficult but when I really close my eyes." Another sharp pain sinks into your abdomin causing you to wince.

Sharp eyes cut to your feminine pouch he loves so much, he notes that it is a little swollen and silently vows to look up diets better suited for less painful periods.

In his mind food fixed everything.

"So close your eyes." He says, sliding the cool rag over your eye lids. It some how soothes the second heartbeat there that you did not realize you had.

He begins to breathe deeply, like before and out of habit you follow suit until your nervous system stands before you.

A mess of angry nerve bundles through out your lower back and stomach constantly sending messages to your brain as your uterus contracts.

"I...I see it."

"Now do the opposite of activating the nerves. Slow them down or turn them off."

"Bakugou I can't." You go to move the rag, moments away from breaking what you can see before rough hand settles over your eyes.

Applying just the right amount of pressure as it rests there.

"I didn't ask you if you could or couldn't." He says flatly but you can imagine the harsh look in his eyes.

So you listen, you try as you focus, mentally stroking the nerves, begging them to become less hyperactive, one by one they begin to obey.

And your mind numbing pain begins to dull to a light ache.

For the first time since you were eleven you didn't feel as if you were Kane from that iconic scene in that 1980s movie.

You felt like a normal woman who had normal cramps.

You pull at his hand to make eye contact, gleaming with excitement.

"I did it!"

He just smiles in confirmation, as if he knew you could do it all along that is until your face twists and your uterus is being rung out again.

The pain comes flooding back and with it frustrated tears. A slam of a fist agaisnt tile as you let out an audible sob. Bakugou smooths back your hair before tilting your face towards his.

"I will be with you until you can ease your own pain." He kisses your lips gently before adding, "And if for whatever fucking reason you can't I will *always* be here."

He presses his forehead to yours gazing into your eyes and you had never realized how much you needed this.

Him.

That even his support was enough to ease your suffering. He stands, rewets your rag with cold water, places it gently onto your forehead as he returns to normal rough self.

"Now soak in this bath and don't fucking move while I make dinner." He plays soothing music on your phone before slamming the door to the bedroom shut.

Hastily opening google onto his own phone as he makes his way to the kitchen to prepare you a meal plan that will help strengthen the nervous system and dispel inflammation.

Thinking only of how he will always support you, even if it meant putting everything on hold once a month for the rest of his life.

#bnha ask #bnha ask prompt #bakugou fluff #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #bnha x you #bnha prompt #bnha fanfiction #bnha fluff #bnha katsuki #bnha bakugou #bnha kacchan

[nekojitachan]

I am desprate need of a fic from Stuarts POV! send help. I have a weak spot for people calling Neil, Abram. >¬

Uhm, okay, not sure if this fits exactly, but this is what happened when I took up this prompt.

It’s Armies fic, so fair warning. Hatford stuff, so a tiny bit dark (gang stuff going on, bad guys tied up and questioned under force, but not graphic)

Stuart being his usual gruff, doting uncle self.

Set after the end of Armies.

*******

Stuart sighed as Abram and Andrew arrived at one of thefamily’s warehouses in Harringay in a sleek, storm grey McLaren 720S Spider.“Someone couldn’t resist getting a new toy?” he called out as he tossed asidethe filter of his clove cigarette.

“A belated birthday present,” Andrew explained as hesmoothed out the front of his black dress shirt. “I took my babe up onhis ‘anything’.”

Stuart felt a muscle twitch in the left side of his jaw atthe mocking way Andrew said that one word, which stopped when he noticed thepleased smile on his nephew’s face. “Well, you agreed to the holiday break inAbisko, so I thought it was only fair,” Abram said while he tucked back a waywardstrand of wavy, auburn hair.

Any remaining annoyance Stuart felt over the expensive ashell car faded at the reminder of the two weeks’ holiday that he, Davis, Jamie,Sean, Abram and Andrew had spent in northern Sweden in a luxury cabin, cut offfrom most of the world during a rare break from work. Andrew had obviously notbeen pleased with the cold weather, yet had suffered it without any complaintwhile Abram and Jamie had spent most of the nights (wrapped in multiple layersby their respective partners) oohing and aahing over the Northern Lights.Stuart had joined them once or twice, a sense of contentment filling him uponseeing his nephew’s and niece’s faces bright with joy over something so simpleand pure.

Then he’d gotten his ass inside where it was warm and hecould drink from an always filled pot of mulled wine.

He shook the memory aside as he motioned to the warehousebehind him. “Well, even if you showed up in a flashy as hell piece of metal,I’m glad you’re here, Ram.” Andrew’s hazel eyes narrowed at the jabwhile Abram continued to smile. “As I said during our call, all you need to dois stand around, this isn’t anything that should affect our agreement withLloyd when it comes to you.” He wouldn’t risk getting Abram into any trouble.

He supposed the same could be said for Andrew, since theAmerican runt was doing a semi-decent job of looking after Stuart’s nephew.

“What, you mean we don’t get to have any ‘fun’,” Andrewdrawled as he tugged at the cuffs of his black overcoat, which were looseenough to allow him access at his armbands. “Why are we here, then?”

Abram placed a light hand on his husband’s left shoulder.“We get to help train the new MI5 recruits on Monday, save it until then?”

Andrew appeared to consider that offer for a moment thenclicked his tongue as if in agreement; Stuart felt a rare bit of pity for thepoor bastards.

Abram directed his attention at Stuart and smiled. “I assumewe’re to stand around and look menacing, then? Redirect questions as well?”

He’d always been such a clever little shit; pride swelled inStuart’s chest as he nodded. “With your reputations? Just be yourselves whileDavis and I do the hard work.”

“Okay.” Abram nodded in understanding while Andrew appearedbored, but Stuart knew better than to take his nephew-in-law at face value,even when the runt complained to Abram about stopping for fish and frieson the way home.

If he didn’t know that Andrew truly cared for Abram, woulddie for him rather than let him be hurt at all… he’d accepted that Abram hadchosen well in the end, but some days he had to wonder if maybe the boyshouldn’t have given Camilo and the others a chance after all.

Ah well, what was done was done, and Abram would have hishead for doubting Andrew.

Such a stubborn little shit, just like Mary.

Well, not entirely like Mary, as Andrew would neverhurt him, would gut the first person who tried to harm Abram with his barehands, if need be, so Stuart would only grumble a little about the newMcLaren.

(At least the American runt had the sense to keep buyingBritish cars.)

He jerked his head toward the rusted metal door of the oldtextile warehouse, which opened before the three of them were within a meter ofit; Davis grinned at them, the sleeves of his light blue dress shirt rolled upin anticipation of work, and stepped aside while Abram murmured ‘hello’.

Bren was quick to hand Abram and Andrew paper cups filledwith coffee while Donny took their coats; Stuart caught something about ‘overfeedingthe damn fish again’ from Andrew while he followed Davis over to the threeyoung men tied to wooden chairs by the numerous plastic ties around their forearmsand ankles. One of them, the blond with a blackened left eye, tried to spit athim, but that was a bit difficult to do when one hadn’t anything to drink in awhile.

All three of them tensed up when they noticed Abram andAndrew approach, dressed in dark suits (Andrew had left his jacket open, whichexposed the holstered gun at his side – someone certainly enjoyed havingthat fancy license to bear arms) and radiating a palpable menace between Abram’schilling smile and Andrew’s emotionless, scarred face.

These dumb Albanian fucks might think that the Hatfords weresome pissant gang they could mess with, but there were enough horror stories onthe Continent about the supposedly untouchable gang lords and worse that Abramand Andrew had taken down (all for Queen and country, of course).

The one with the dark hair shorn close to his scalp mutteredsomething in a quivering voice as he gazed at Abram as if he was some nightmarebrought to life, which made Abram tilt his head to the side.

“Albanian? Northeastern, from the sound of it.”

Andrew grunted while Stuart shook his head at his nephew’s linguisticability and Bren beamed with pride. “Most likely the Djajtë e Uritur gang; they’resupposedly fighting for a new foothold since the Turks threw them out of southernFrance.”

Of course Andrew knew shit like that; between Bren hangingout at their house all the time and the man’s nights’ out with Liz and Liliya,he was more than up to date on what went on in London, underground-wise. “Well,they’re not gonna get that foothold,” Stuart declared as he shed his jacket,then held out his right hand for Davis to hand him a knife.

He’d start with the one who’d spoke upon seeing Abram.

It went the way it usually did, with a lot of curses andmess and the damn ache in Stuart’s lower back which reminded him that he wasn’ttwenty-five anymore (he wasn’t thirty-five anymore). Andrew would pull aknife now and then and take a deliberate step forward while saying something toAbram in German, or Abram would ask something in Turkish when the unluckybastards were proving to be tightlipped, which got them past stubborn bouts ofsilence without either the two (technically) breaking their word to Lloyd.

Eventually, they got enough information on the gang out ofthe men, so Stuart left the remaining two to Davis while he went to clean up;Andrew led Abram to the back office, probably so they could say they didn’tknow what happened to them if pressed for answers. Once he finished washing offand changing his clothes, he went to the office as well and grunted inappreciation when Abram handed him a tumbler of gin (of course Andrew had foundthe bottle of whisky which Will favored stashed away).

“Sounds like someone’s gonna have their hands full, rootingout those assholes,” Ram commented as he leaned against the desk near Andrew,who of course had chosen to sit behind it. Stuart was pleased to note that heappeared well-rested for once, not too worn down from work (from running allover Europe for MI6), a slight, true smile on his face as he sipped his own tumblerof gin and rested his right hand on top of his husband’s, which curled around hiship.

Stuart grunted softly as he eased his tired body into theempty chair in front of the desk and sipped his drink before he answered (andheld up two fingers to Andrew, whose hazel eyes sparkled with mirth over him ‘showinghis age’). “It’s not too bad since we caught on to them so early. Jamie’stalking about setting Marcela on them, it’ll be good experience for her.”

“Hmm.” Abram seemed to consider that while Andrew pouredmore Glenfiddich 1937 in his empty glass. “She’s a good choice, has done excellentwork for Jamie and Marcus lately, and speaks Albanian which will help. I’msurprised she wasn’t here for today.”

“She’s busy following up a few leads.” Stuart felt a warmthin his chest that didn’t have anything to do with the alcohol at the way Abramstill kept tabs on the family and their people. “Besides, I figured that youtwo needed something to do other than feed fish and play with the cats.”

Abram’s smile strengthened as he came over to the front ofthe desk and pulled out his phone so he could show Stuart the latest picturesof the cats while Andrew clicked his tongue and muttered about ‘spoiledfurballs’. Stuart gave him another rude gesture then told Abram to send him thepictures.

He spent about half an hour with his nephew andnephew-in-law, trading verbal jabs with Andrew and chiding Abram to eat enoughduring the short break from field work, and arranged for a night out for thethree of them. When it was time for them to leave, he gave Abram a hug inparting, a sense of peace filling him at the way that Abram hugged him backwithout any hesitation.

“Call Will,” he reminded his nephew. “I don’t wanna listento him whinge over how I’m your favorite uncle.”

Abram’s blue eyes lightened with humor as Andrew tugged himtoward the door. “I guess I better, then. Take care.”

Stuart watched him leave until Davis came over and handedhim his coat. “They grow up so fast, don’t they?”

He rolled his eyes at the man’s mournful expression. “Let’sgo, I need a drink after the thought of you producing offspring.”

Davis trailed him out of the warehouse arguing about how Rambelonged to all of them (wait until Andrew heard that bit of nonsense).

********

#nekojitachanfics #mumbling into the void #armies fic #stuart hatford #the hatfords #neil josten #neil as abram #andrew minyard #andrew hatford #aftg #aftg au #neil and andrew are married #secret agent!neil #secret agent!andrew #mob fic #prompt fic #somewhat dark? #somewhat fluffy? #idfk #what else is new #reallyneedtogetalife

[prince-cally]

A little thing I wrote for Team Same Voice based off a Headcanon I have with @helixed-inferno about how Jack was the one who gave the Vagabond his jacket. Please enjoy!

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Jack  knew that Geoff was desperate for a crew. It had been the two of them for some time. Old friends committing basic crimes. She knew Geoff craved more, so did she. However , she wasn’t sure about the man when Geoff dragged off the streets. She had heard of some rouge kid with a bad attitude on the streets causing chaos. She knew Geoff wanted to meet him and offer him a job. He already had a kill count, and the first time Jack saw him. She could see why. He was large but well covered. He was silent and barely spoke. He could easily sneak up on someone in an alleyway. She was surprised when Geoff announced he had taken the job. Now there were three of them. Jack decided she needed to do her best to welcome him into their small crew.

 Geoff had been working with him , helping him build his skills and trying to discipline the other. He had a bit of a temper in  him when he wanted. A few holes in the wall and bloody knuckles after fights had shown that. Jack did her best to get him to open up. She would chat with him - or to him whenever he was around.  A month went by before she heard him speak. He had a deep voice and soft southern accent. She found out his alias was The Vagabond , he was a year older than her and he was from Georgia. 

It wasn’t long before Geoff brought home two more kids , Michael and Gavin. The Vagabond fell back into his quiet self. Only responding in soft grunts and growls when the Jersey boy or Brit tried to speak to him. Jack felt like she was back a square on with him. She wasn't about to give up though. Training continued for them , and Jack found herself being paired with The Vagabond while Geoff handled the pair of best friends. Jack would talk about her experiences during cool down , The Vagabond sat and listened. Offering nods , grunts, and the occasional snort or chuckle. 

Finally, Geoff felt comfortable enough letting The Vagabond out on his first job. Geoff would be sending him out on a simple stake out.He would be sending Jack with him. The Vagabond grumbled in response and wasn’t seen again until it was time to leave. The Vagabond had his face painted the same the day Jack had met him. However, instead of being smudged from sweat and rain , it was clean and sharp. It scared the shit outta Gavin when he saw it. 

Jack was waiting by the car for Ryan. She leaned up against reading over the notes Geoff had given them. She looked up and offered the other a smile as he made his way through the garage. 

  “ Ready to go?” She asked , reaching to open the drivers door , his hand caught her wrist. 

   “ I’ll drive. “ He simply said, sliding around her. 

Shrugging she climbed into the passenger side. It was the first time he'd spoken to her in weeks.

 “ Seatbelt. “ The Vagabond growled , clicking his own into place. She obeyed silently. There was no reason to fight him on it. 

The first few minutes of the drive was in  awkward silence. The Vagabond reached forward and turned on the radio , turning to dial. He found a classic rock station and settled back into his seat. Jack almost swore she saw him smile. The drive was about an hour, they rode in comfortable silence the rest of  the way. The Vagabond pulled into the motels parking lot with a huff. 

“ Wanna grab the gear ? I’ll go check in.” Jack offered. He responded with a nod and another huff. 

She wandered to the front desk, using cash and the fake ID Geoff gave her, she grabbed the key and returned to the car. 

“ Looks like we’re in room 106. Right across from the appartement we’re supposed to be watching.” 

The Vagabond said nothing. This was going to be a fun few days , Jack thought with a frustrated sigh. Once in the room and set up , Jack dropped onto the bed. “ At least this is a nice room for a motel.” She said, mostly to herself. 

“ Geoff really went out of his way for us, huh?” The Vagabond chuckled a bit. 

The voice startled Jack, but she laughed a bit herself. “ I suppose so.” The rest of the night passed with nothing but the T.V and  passing traffic for noise. The Vagabond laid on his bed , back propped against the headboard. He was cleaning his knives, every once in a while there was a hum of approval or a sigh of annoyance from him. Jack had been reading details , for about the third time that evening. Wanting to be sure she had every detail, she sat the papers down.  “ I’m hungry. I think I’m gonna grab some food. Want anything?” 

“ Honestly, I could go for a burger.” 

Oh, so the fearsome Vagabond did eat fast food. She couldn’t help but smile to herself.

“ Alright , I’ll be back.” She ran down the street to a burger joint. She returned with food not much later.

“ One burger meal , and a surprise chocolate milkshake.” She hummed dropping his bag by his side. She glanced down , taking a look at his knives. “ Got enough of those? “

“ No.” He said, pulling out a fry. “ You never have enough weapons.” This time he was smiling. 

They ate their meals , flipping between the News and Jeopardy reruns. Jack caught herself glancing over at the other person. She had never spent this much time with him outside of training.Usually , The Vagabond stuck to his room, during dinner he’d grab his food and return with little notice to anyone. He’d give Jack a quick nod in thanks and be gone. Now she felt she could get a decent look at him. She could tell his black hair was dyed, his blonde roots starting to show from neglect. His jeans were worn and faded in places. He wore a plain black hoodie , she never saw him without it on. Now he had the sleeves pushed up around his elbows. She could see the tone muscles and  scars from knife fights that littered his arms. Looking closer Jack could see where the jacket had been sewon several times. The hoodie itself seemed thin too. Granted Los Santos was warm most of the time - It could still get cold during the winter. She suddenly felt for him. Wondering just what kind of live he lived before having a place at the Penthouse. 

“ Can I help you?” She nearly jumped at the sound of his voice. “ You’ve been staring at me.” When she looked at him, she wasn’t able to read his expression. 

“ No. Just never seen you with your sleeves rolled up.” She said. 

“ Ah, well there's a reason for that. “ He held up an arm, showing off the scars again.

“ I assume those are from fights ?” She asked.

“ Something like that.” There was a bit of smugness in his voice. She rolled her eyes as he pushed down his sleeves. She wasn’t going to pry into that.

“ Who's taking the first watch?” Jack asked. Moving off the bed and to the window. 

" I will. I don't sleep anyways. " He said plainly. Jack raised a brow, not sure if that was supposed to be a joke. She assumed it was not.

" Suit yourself." She finished her milkshake and tossed it into the trash bin. 

She looked at the time. It wasn't too late , about 12:30. However, if they were going to do this job right she'd need to be rested and ready. While she hot herself ready for bed , The Vagabond made himself comfortable by the window. He closed the blinds leaving just enough open that he could see the apartment across the way. The lights were still on. Hopefully he'd catch something tonight. Jack killed the lights and slid into her bed. She pulled out her phone, sending Geoff a quick text letting him know they were settled. 

" You won't sleep if you're on your phone." 

" Okay, Geoff." 

That got a snort out of The Vagabond. Jack couldn't help but smile to herself. She was surprised with how much more talkative he was when they were alone. Something in her chest lit up. After months was he finally opening up? She hoped so.

Jack wasn't sure when she fell asleep or how long she had been out-  but she woke up to The Vagabond standing over her. 

" Our guy is on the move. " Was all he said in a hushed voice. 

She sat up reaching for the light when he stopped her. 

" No. It could give us away. Apparently we weren't the only ones watching out for someone." He sat his gun in her lap. A dagger was in his hand and a tri-dagger on his hip. The Vagabond moved back to the window, peaking out of it. "No time for you to get ready. Now's our chance. "

 He quickly moved through the door. Jack sighed , a tank top and shorts wasn't ideal to fight in, but at least he let her have his gun. She followed him out the door and took cover between cars.  Their target was going in and out of the building in a frantic manner. He was throwing bags into the trunk of his car , he was on the phone with someone.

" Ramsey isn't going to get his fucking money. This much dough ? I'm not letting this go. I think he has someone watching me though. I gotta get out of here." The other man shoved the phone into his pocket. Using the man's panicked nature to go unseen The Vagabond moved across the street. A purr left the Male as he came up behind the other. He was so much bigger than the other man. Jack had never noticed how large The Vagabond was.

" I don't think my boss will be too happy to hear that you're taking his money." He purred out in a low voice." Also, if you think you're being watched. Maybe you shouldn't announce what you're doing while standing outside, dumbass."  

The man spun pulling out his own blade. " Who the fuck are you? " He shouted , swinging his knife wielding arm at him. " Ramsey sent you? Get lost asshole ! " 

Jack took this chance to move across the street , gun drawn and ready to fire. The Vagabond had the other man occupied. He effortlessly dodged the attacks of the other man. A hysterical laugh left his throat. 

" Oh, this will be easy ! But fun." The Vagabond laughed.

Jack took this chance to search the car.Looking for any sort of information on the guy, who he was talking to or where he could be going. She didn't expect this to happen the first night of the stake out , but hey , what could she do. She listened to the two men fight it out behind her. In case The Vagabond needed her for back up. He didn't seem like the type who would ask for it. And she wasn't sure he'd even need it . She let out a soft gasp as she was grabbed and pulled from the car. Apparently their man wasn't alone. Jack was able to get away from his grip, easily throwing him to the side. She felt for the gun which had been left in the front seat. She swore under her breath. It was a rookie mistake. Nonetheless, she stood in a fighting stance, ready to go. The guy picked himself up and pulled a switch blade from his pocket. At least it wasn't a gun , she thought. Jack and the man struggled for a moment, she had gained a few shallow cuts and a bloody nose. They pulled apart briefly and he lunged at her before she could react. In a split second Vagabond was in between them. The man's knife caught his hoodie and tore it open, it then caught his arm , leaving a deep stab wound. That sent a fire Through the Vagabond and his dagger found the other man's throat. He dropped the lifeless body like it was nothing. 

" Grab the cash. And let's go." Jack was picking herself up , glancing between the body and the Vagabond. Who had a crazy , pleased look in his eye. " We need to go before the cops show up. Someone was bound to see or hear that. Where's the other one?" 

" Dead." He said ,pleased and smiling. He already had his arms filled with bags.

She didn't say anything else, grabbing what was left. Jack packed the car as the Vagabond sweeped the hotel room for items that could give them away. Once it was clear they retreated into their car and left. 

Jack was driving this time. Taking back roads and detours to avoid any main roads just in case. After about thirty minutes of driving she pulled over. 

" What?" The Vagabond asked. He was still hyped up from the altercation.

" I need to fix up your arm. That looks nasty." 

" It's fine. Don't worry about it." 

" No." She said , reaching for the first aid kit. She got out and went to his side. 

" I don't need your fucking help." He snapped suddenly. " Touch me and I swear to God-" 

" You'll do what?" She snapped back. " You'll do what Vagabond? Kill me ?" 

He fell silent, eyes wide for a brief moment. Then he looked forward and stripped off the torn and blood soaked jacket. Jack tossed it in back and went to work on his arm. 

" Have you ever stitched yourself up before ?" She asked, trying to break the tense mood. " Vagabond-"

" Ryan." 

" What?" 

" My name is Ryan." 

" Why are you telling me?" She asked, genuinely curious. 

" You aren't afraid of me. I think that deserves you knowing my first name."

She snorted. " Why would I be afraid of you?" 

" I killed two men less than an hour ago. Threatened you - and yet you stood your ground." 

" Well, yeah. I don't fuck with punks." 

" Yet you put up with Michael?" 

They both laughed then. Once she was done, they rode back in comfortable silence.

Once back at the Penthouse, they unloaded the car , getting ready to take the bags to Geoff. Michael greeted them right of the elevator. 

" You assholes are on the news. Geoff isn't happy." He glanced down. " Maybe he will be once he sees all that cash of his that had gone missing though." Michael smirked. 

When they entered the living room,  a picture of their fake IDs was displayed on the screen. 

" Shit. We missed those." Jack sighed. " At least they were fakes." 

The screen displayed a news woman now. Way to dolled up for it to be covering a double murder. 

" The authorities are calling these two criminals "The Fakes" since all that can be found is their fake IDs. Whoever these criminals are - They are intelligent and dangerous -" Geoff switched off the TV.

" The Fakes. I like it." He said , turning to them. " Oh, you both look like shit. Put my money in the office and get cleaned up." They both simply smiled and did as they were told. 

Geoff ended up cutting them in a good chunk of money. He said it was for " all the troubles" they had to deal with. They weren't complaining though. It had been a few weeks and Jack decided that she had been laying low long enough. She went out to do some basic shopping and to just have some fun. When she returned she found Ryan at the kitchen table. She made her way to him and dropped a bag in his lap.

" What's this?" He asked.

" A gift? You've never gotten one before?" 

" Haha. Fuck you." He said playfully. He opened the bag and pulled out a leather jacket. It was black and blue with white strips on the arms. 

" What's this for ?" 

" I feel bad that your hoodie got destroyed. " She admitted and he rolled his eyes. " Plus you need something better to keep you warm when it gets cold.. and you seem like a leather guy ." She winked at him. 

That got her a true laugh. 

" I hope you like it and I hope it fits. I guessed your size."

" I like it a lot. Thank you, Jack."

" No problem, Ryan." 

#team same voice #fake ah jack #jack pattillo #fahc jack #fahc ryan #ryan haywood #fahc vagabond #fahc #fake ah ryan #fake ah #fake achievement hunter crew #blood tw #violence tw #murder tw

[you-a-southpaw-doll]

Buzzed - A Negan One-Shot

Summary: After an incident in the Sanctuary, Leigh takes matters into her own hands. What will Negan’s response be? 

Warning(s): Language. Angst. Attempted rape. Violence. Death. Slight Panic Attack. Anxiety. Leigh being a badass. Negan caught off guard (no pun intended). Mentions of what could be considered self-harm. Daddy kink, but not really. You’ll see. Protective Negan. Fluff. Sexual Innuendoes. Puns (Sorry Not Sorry!). Happy ending. Not Beta’d. I just finished writing this and had to post it! Sorry for any errors.

Author’s Note(s): 

I cut my hair myself, usually every 2 weeks, but no more than 3 weeks. I just can’t have my hair touch my ears; it makes my anxiety 10 times worse, and in a way, I kinda explain the reason behind that in this story. I was cutting my hair tonight, (it’s now 2:30 am, 5/24/2020) and I thought of this story idea and Negan’s reaction to the main character having short hair. 

Also, if any of the warnings are triggering for you, please don’t force yourself to read. The last thing I’d want to do is trigger someone into having a panic attack. Feel free to give me any feedback, thoughts, questions, comments and/or concerns you have with the story. I love hearing from y’all! 

As always, if you’d like to be added to my taglist, just let me know and I’ll happily add you!! 

Word Count: 5,301. (A lot, I know, but I think it’s worth it, and I just couldn’t get everything I wanted across in less words, so enjoy!)

Relationship(s): Negan x Leigh Sullivan (OFC)

Characters: Negan. Leigh Sullivan (OFC). Simon. Dr. Carson. 3 unnamed Original Male Characters. Sanctuary People.

Taglist: @negans-network @prettyboynegan @mychemicalimagines @spnnnxangelsx @rockinkel21 @misskittycat02 @band--psycho@ofxallxwexlost @iron-halt @thamberlinawrites @ravenwings73 @lettherebepink @stoneyggirl

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Story Time:

Leigh’s P.O.V. ~ Then

They’d caught me off guard, for once. 

Normally, I never let anything or anyone catch me off guard. Or at least...I tried not to. Due to having anxiety, I was usually hyper-aware of shit going on. But, today, my anxiety had eased off after the relaxing morning I’d had with my husband. We’d spent the morning, snuggled up in his big king-sized bed, just shooting the shit and goofing off. 

He didn’t have to go out on a run today, so there was no need to rush the morning like we normally had to 95% of the time. Eventually, though, the day had to get started. Dwight came knocking on the door, interrupting our relaxation time, saying he needed my husband for something. Being the man my husband is, he grumbled, cussed Dwight out, and then got outta bed while apologizing to me for the interruption and assuring me we’d finish relaxing when he got back later.

After a kiss, and a soft “I love you,” he was gone. Off to do what he did. It was my day off, so I laid in bed for a little longer before I too got up, dressed, and made my rounds. As the top female Savior, something I’d worked my ass off, fought for, and took seriously, I said hi to who I needed to, did what I needed to, and finally, sat down under my favorite tree out by the greenhouses. 

I laid my leather jacket on the ground next to me, leaving me in my usually black t-shirt, holey but patched up and well worn blue jeans, and faded brown leather boots. Strapped to each thigh was a holster. In the right one was my signature gun, a .357 Magnum, 6-shot revolver. In the left holster, I kept my handcrafted 6 inch blade that I made back when I was 15, well over half a decade, shit closer to a decade ago, considering I was almost 25.

Bending my knees, and pulling them close in a comfortable position, I propped up the notebook I usually kept in my leather satchel with two backup knives, an extra gun, ammo, and a spare notebook for work along with several pens and pencils. The writing equipment was a rare commodity these days, so I always kept them close to me.

As I was writing a story I’d started a few days prior, I zoned out just a bit, focusing on it. I’d started writing when I was just 12 years old, and kept the habit up, even now, 3 years after the world ended and the dead started walking back in 2020 after the Coronavirus outback after the new year, new decade had started. 

I was writing, losing myself in the words I printed on the paper in my chicken scratch. I say chicken scratch ‘cause, well...that’s basically what it was. As a lefty, my handwriting wasn’t necessarily the best, and a doctor’s prescription note was probably more legible. It was a mixture between slanted and curved print and semi-elegant at times cursive. 

But, it was my handwriting, and I could read it. My husband sometimes had difficulty reading it, but he’d always put his black-rimmed glasses on, and fuck if they didn’t make him look sexier than he already was. Because of that, I sneakily wrote a little sloppier when I knew he’d have to read something from my notes about the runs I went on.

It was all an excuse to see him with those glasses perched on his nose, giving him that sexy professor look. He thought they made him look ridiculous, but I loved it. Since I was writing and zoned out, I wasn’t nearly as focused on my surroundings. I didn’t think I had to be. The tree was my safe spot when I wasn’t with my husband.

The Sanctuary was a relatively safe place, and that was thanks to the rules that were in place. So, it’d make sense that I wouldn’t focus on my surroundings as much and relax a bit as I wrote. But, boy was I wrong. I just didn’t realize it till it was far too late. Before I realized what was happening, I was being punched in the right side of my face, slinging my head to the side, as my notebook and bag were jerked away from me and my hair was roughly pulled, jerking my head backwards.

I went to grab my gun and my knife, but they’d already been taken from me. My eyes flirted back and forth in front of me, trying to process what was going on. But, everything was blurry and I was dizzy from the hit. I could barely make out three men close to me, far too close to me. They were basically on top of me. 

Fuck. One of them actually was. I could feel the weight of him straddling my thighs, keeping me from standing. I couldn’t hear anything as the beating of my heart flooded my ears. I tried to fight back as best as I could, but the other two men grabbed my hands and jerked them away from my body and pinning them to the ground as they shoved my upper body down.

When they jerked my arms away, I felt, more than heard, my left shoulder dislocate. I clenched my jaw. The pain wasn’t anything new. I’d been dealing with a shoulder that dislocates when I fuckin’ sneeze since I was 13 years old. The pain, when it happened, was now at a tolerable level since I was so used to it happening.

I didn’t cry out. I knew not to. Plus, the wasn’t the type of person I was. I knew what was ‘bout to happen. It, like my shoulder, was something I’d had to put with for years growing. It wasn’t anything new either. But, that didn’t mean it was enjoyable. It was anything but. I barely processed my jeans being jerked down my hips and past my knees. 

I could just barely hear the men laughing and joking around with each other, talking ‘bout what they were going to do to me and wondering why the fuck I was wearing two pairs of boxers under my jeans. I watched them, as best as I could with my vision being what it was. When the blurriness faded just enough, I could make out their features and recognized them as members of the new group that was brought in last week. 

Members I’d brought into the Sanctuary. Into my house. I dropped my head back down to the ground and groaned to myself. I let my body go slack, waiting for the perfect time. When the men realized I wasn’t struggling anymore, they laughed and the two dumbfucks holding my arms down eased up on their grip.

The man on my legs lifted himself up just enough push his own pants down. Their easing up on their grip was their mistake and ultimately what led to their demise. Since they weren’t paying attention to me, thinking I’d just given up, and instead focusing on getting their baby carrot sized dicks outta their pants, I was able to strike back. 

I immediately brought both my hands up, fingers curled in to form perfect fists without worry of possibly breaking my thumbs, ignoring the protest of my left shoulder, and cocked both the men on my sides straight in the noses. I internally smiled at the sounds of their noses breaking and their screams of pain. 

They stumbled back just a little bit, hands covering their faces as they clutched their noses in an attempt to stop the extensive amount of blood falling. Clearly, I caught the man on top me off guard with my actions and he was shocked for a moment. It was perfect. I bucked him up off me, managed to jerk my pants up as I stood. 

All one fluid motion.

Since he was still obviously in shock at me suddenly fighting back, he stumbled, tripping, and falling backwards on the ground. He tried to scurry backwards as fast as as he could. Despite being 5’3”, I was able to stay with him. I slammed my boot down on his stomach, making him howl in pain and wheeze as he struggled to get the air back that i’d just forced outta his lungs.

I kept my foot on his gut, putting most of my weight on it, digging the worn sole into his abdomen. He let out a sad excuse for a grunt as I did. I just smirked. This fucked had no idea who he’d fucked, or tried to fuck with. I leaned down and started pummeling the shit outta his face, keeping him in place with my foot.

Since he couldn’t get fresh air back into his lungs because of the position of my foot, he was too weak to try and fight back. To say I was a little disappointed at not having a challenge, would be like saying the dead weren’t walking around. It was a lie. I was disappointed, and I fueled that disappointment in with the anger as I literally beat him to death. 

He kept trying to apologize, tried to plead with me, to not kill him, but I didn’t give a fuck. He was ‘bout to rape me, and I’d had ‘nough of that in my life. I wasn’t putting up with it. I eased up just before I knew he was about to die. Gave him false hope into letting him think his words had affected me. I let him get one last breath in as I completely lifted my foot off his torso. 

“Than-” He started to say, but I cut him off as I slammed my boot into his face, effectively crushing his skull. 

“Don’t fuckin’ thank me, prick.” I muttered to him as I wiped my boot off on his once clean but now bloody clothes. “You fuckin’ ruined my goddamn favorite fuckin’ pair of boots, asshole.”

Before I turned away from him, I spit on his crushed skull. Since it was destroyed, I didn’t have to worry ‘bout him coming back as a dean’un. I was a little sad that I wouldn’t get to kill him a second time, but he’d gotten what he deserved. Turning to the other two dumbfucks, I repeated my actions, and did to them exactly what I’d just done to their friend.

I knew my husband was going to be pissed that I killed these men, instead of letting him do it, but I’d deal with that. I wasn’t going to let these fuckers back inside the relatively safe concrete walls of the factory that was the Sanctuary. By the time I was down stomping in the skull of the third man, I looked up, as I finished, and noticed that I’d gathered quite an audience.

Including Simon. The right-hand man, third person in charge of the Sanctuary. His, and everyone else’s, eyes were wide, and everyone was silent. I knew I was gonna be in trouble since they’d just seen me stomp the life outta three men, but I didn’t give a fuck. I had shit to do. I gathered up my weapons, my jacket, and bag after shoving my shit into it and stormed inside the Sanctuary, flipping everyone off, not wanting to deal with their gawking.

Not caring ‘bout my bloody appearance, I made my way to the commissary, needing to grab a few things before I went back to my room. I found what I needed: a new pair of jeans identical to the ones i was wearing, a new t-shirt, undergarments, a pair of boots and a special item, an unopened, brand new boxed set of hair clippers. 

Once I had what I needed, I stormed up to the room I share with my husband, stripping down to my bra and one pair of boxers when i get there.

Leigh’s P.O.V. ~ Now

“What the fuck was that fuckin’ shit out there, Leigh?!?” 

I sigh as I hear my husband storm into our room, the door slamming shut behind him. I look at myself in the mirror as I lay the scissors down on the bathroom counter by the sink and pick up the clippers. Turning them on, I don’t reply to my husband. Not wanting to explain to him what happened at the moment.

I stare at myself in the mirror as I bring the clippers up to my shortened hair. I press the #2 guard to my head and move it backwards from my forehead to the back of my head, sticking to the once familiar hairline I used to see and live by religiously. I watch as the hair falls, joining the rest of my once long, curly locks, on the floor by my feet. I use my fingers to guide my movements, making sure I don’t go too high and completely fuck up my hair.

Once I have the hairline visible, separating what I want to keep and what I want to shave off, I move the guard down below my ear and with practiced ease, I shave the sides and back of head, getting rid of the hair. Keeping an eye on myself, making sure I don’t fuck up my haircut, not that I would since I used to do this every 2-3 weeks, I watch as my husband steps into the bathroom.

I watch as his eyes nearly bulge outta their sockets when he sees me. I watch as the anger vanishes from his face and body, being replaced with worry, sadness, and a hint of curiosity. I watch as his eyes traveling over the reflection of my face in the mirror, taking in my black eye, bruised and split open cheek, covered in blood and even the nasty black eye I’m now sporting.

I watch as he slowly moves his eyes up to meet mine in the mirror. 

“What...what are you doing?” He asks softly. 

My left eyebrow shoots sky high as I look at him. My husband rarely says a sentence without cussing every other word. And yet...he just asked a simple question without one sentence enhancer thrown in. 

“What the fuck’s it look like I’m doing? I’m cutting my hair.” I say. “Decided I needed a new fuckin’ look. Don’t you fuckin’ love it?” 

I know I’m being Captain fuckin’ Obvious at the moment, and a bit harsh, but I’m not ready to tell him what happened. That’s for after I get done. Cutting my hair is the only thing keeping me from completely shutting down and giving in to the panic attack that’s trying to take over. I watch as he lets out a deep breath as he slowly steps into the bathroom, padding across the tiled floor to me.

He places his hands on my shoulders and I do my best not to flinch. But he still sees it and quickly lifts his hands off me, holding them up in a surrendering pose. I know he’d never hurt me, and he was the one to save my life after this shit hole of a world started three years ago. But, I can’t help it. The feeling of those fuckers’ hands on me, plus the fact that my shoulder is still dislocated, keeps me from wanting to be touched.  

“Can...let me help. Please, sweetheart.” My husband’s soft drawl meets my ears.

“No. I need to do this myself.” I reply, tightening my grip on the clippers.

I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down in his throat as he swallows deeply and nods. I keep my eyes on his in the mirror and finish cutting my hair. It’s been three years since I’ve cut my hair, but the muscle memory is still there. It’s like riding a bike. My husband watches as I finish shaving the sides of my head down to where there’s just a bit of peach fuzz. 

Switching the clippers off, I replace the guard with a #1 and go back over the bottom hairline on the base of my neck. Once I have that done, I take the guard off completely and just put the metal of the clippers to the back of my neck doing my best not to flinch at the burning heat coming off it as it meets my skin. 

I take that little strip down so there’s no hair there, running along along the hairline on my neck. I use the blending guard and even out the area, making the hair have a fade. Replacing the blending guard with the #7, I bring it up to the patch of hair on my head, and trim it down. When I finish, my feet are covered with a mountain of what used to be the long, thick, curly hair on my head.

My neck and shoulders are also covered with the little strands of hair that I buzzed off. Setting the clippers on the counter, I run my hands over the buzz cut I now sport and take in a deep, shaky breath. I let my head drop down, pressing my chin to chest and take another shaky breath in after letting out one. 

“Baby?” My husband asks softly.

I lift my head and look up at him. My eyes roam over the unzipped black leather jacket he’s wearing over his standard white t-shirt and down to the grey jeans he’s wearing, held up by two leather belts. I let my eyes rest on his feet, no longer hidden by his own pair of black combat boots, but rather a pair of white socks. 

Taking in another deep breath, I bring my eyes up to meet his. I can see the worry swimming in his muddy water brown eyes. I shake my head as i start to take my bra off and push my boxers down, stepping outta them as the pool ‘round my ankles.

“I need a shower.” I mumble and step ‘round him to walk to the stunning shower we share.

I grip the knobs tightly as I turn the water on, as hot as it’ll go. I need to feel the pain of the burning water over my skin. If I don’t, I know I’ll give in to that panic attack that’s already  on the verge of consuming me. Stepping into the shower, I glance back at my husband over my shoulder. 

“You can…” I mumble.

He nods as he understands what I’m trying to say. I look away, for the first time since we met, and eventually became intimate, not wanting to watch him undress. I know that if I were to watch, I’d see those assholes tugging their pants down, and I don’t want that. I don’t want my husband to be mixed in with them.

Standing under the burning hot water, feeling it flow over and pelt my skin, I bring my hands up and tightly grip what’s left of my hair, tugging on it. I feel Negan step into the shower, behind me. I don’t have to look.  I know he’s there. I can feel the heat rolling off his skin, along with the worry and helplessness. 

He hasn’t seen me like this in three years, and even then, it wasn’t this bad. I blindly reach for the bottle of men’s body wash he and I share and I vigorously scrub my body with it. Trying to get the touch and the blood of those men off me. It takes four harsh washes and rinses before I even begin to feel clean. 

Negan just stands behind me, leaning against the back wall of the shower. He’s giving me my space while still letting me know he’s right there if I need him. The bottle slips outta my hands when I go to pour more of the soapy liquid into my palm. I’d leave it there, but Negan gently reaches around me, picking it up. 

I hear the bottle open and can tell he’s pouring some into his own hands. I figure he’s just gonna wash his body until I feel his soft and gentle touch on my skin. I flinch and tremble at first, but eventually give into the feeling of him touching me. He takes his time, gently washing me, letting me get clean for the final time. 

Letting me know that it’s ok. That it’s over. That’s he’s got me. That he’ll take care of me. Neither of us say a word as he takes the removable showerhead from it’s dock and gently rinses me off after he turns the cold water on, letting the temperature of the water mix until it’s no longer burning, but rather warm and gentle.

He lets the showerhead drop and dangle as he turns the water off and steps out. I keep my eyes closed and feel him wrap a soft towel around me. I open my eyes and bring them to meet his, only to find him staring at my dislocated shoulder. He blinks and his tongue darts out just a little from between his lips.

“Want me to put it back in place, sweetheart?” 

I nod slowly. 

“Put your right arm ‘round my waist, baby, and I will.”

I follow his soft command and a moment later, I feel his palms against my left shoulder. He’s helped me pop my shoulder back into place enough over the last few years that he knows what he’s doing. I suck in a deep, shaky breath right as he pops it back into place. I bit my lip to hold back the whimper from the pain.

As soon as he’s done, he wraps both his arms ‘round me and just holds me close as I bury my face against his wet chest. We don’t say another word for a solid 10 minutes. He just holds me as we stand in the bathroom, water pooling ‘round our feet. Eventually, he gently scoops me up in his arms and carries me to bed. 

Sitting down on it, he just holds me in his lap, not saying anything. I know it’s his way of helping me get outta the panic attack and also letting me know that he’s listening when I’m ready to talk. It takes me a hot minute before I get the words out, and even then they’re just a whisper.

“They...they were trying to rape me.”

I hear him let out a growl and his arms tighten ‘round me, protectively. That’s his number one rule. Rape is not allowed. Followed by the prohibition of abusing women and children. He doesn’t say a word, letting me continue. I tell him everything that happened, as I tremble in his arms. He just holds me close, softly rubbing my back and taking even breaths to help me subconsciously focus on keeping my own breathing even.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, baby.” He finally murmurs after I finish recounting the events. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. They got what they deserved. I just wish I could’ve introduced them to Lucille.” 

My eyes flirt over to the barbed-wire baseball bat propped up against the wall by our bedroom door. She’s surprisingly clean. I guess Negan didn’t have to dish out any punishments today. Only I did.

“I’m so fuckin’ proud of you, though, baby.” He whispers in my ear.

I look up at him, confused. “Proud?”

He nods. “Mmhhmm. You shut that shit down, and kept your cool until you were up here. I don’t know how you fuckin’ managed that, but I’m not surprised. I heard what you did, heard how you described it, and fuck, baby. I wish I’d seen you go Rambo on their asses. You’re my badass girl. I’m proud of you.”

A small smile tugs at my lips. Despite the events of the day, and me doing what I did, my husband still manages to make me smile. He slowly brings one hand up, keeping it in my line of sight, and cups my good cheek. 

“Will you let me send Carson up here to stitch your cheek up and get you checked out?”

His eyes search mine, waiting for my reply, and hoping I’ll let him. I nod against his palm, and he lets out a deep breath. He reaches over to the nightstand and plucks his radio off it. His thumb pressed against the side button.

“Carson. Get your fuckin’ ass up to my room now, and bring your bag. Fuckin’ now.” He growls into the receiver.

“Yes, sir.” Comes the doctor’s reply not even  a moment later.

Negan then pushes the button down again and talks.

“Simon. Bring two plates of food up to my room. Now. And make sure it’s some good shit too.”

Simon replies in the affirmative and Negan sets his radio down. He looks back at me and places his palm back against my good cheek. A gesture that always makes me relax.

“Can I ask why you cut your hair?” He asks softly.

“I refuse to let another man tug me around by hair, guiding me to do his bidding,  especially during a situation like earlier. It was a flashback to my dad doing what he did. It’s why I’ve also cut my own hair. It’s the one thing I about my body that I can control. So, I keep it short and no man will ever be able to use my hair against me again.” I say, the truth just spilling out. “Plus, having it touch my ears, always made my anxiety ten times worse.”

He knows what my dad did, and he’s known that tugging on my hair was a hard limit for me. So, he never did it, which is why I let my hair grow out. I felt safe around him. I still do. But, having long hair is just a liability, and I refuse to be put in that situation again. He nods in understanding.

“I’m gonna miss your curls, though.” He says. “And waking up with a mouthful of your hair in my mouth.”

I can’t help but giggle at that. It’s true. Most mornings, he’d wake up, sputtering to spit out the strands of my hair that ended up in his mouth as we slept next to each other.

“I left enough on top so you can still play with my hair, babe. And, there’s still enough to run your fingers through it.” I assure him.

“Can I?”

I nod and a moment later, I feel his fingers on his other hand stroke through my wet hair, lightly massaging my scalp as he does. I let out a soft moan at the feeling and lean into his touch on my cheek, closing my eyes. He chuckles as he plays with my hair.

“If that’s your reaction to me doing that every single fuckin’ time, I could get used to it. And I’ll just have to get used to having an even stiffer hard on from the soft moans.” He smirks as he looks at me.

I blush and open my eyes looking up at him. “You're my husband. I think I can manage helping you out with the baseball bat you have in your pants.”

He laughs softly. “Yea?”

I grin. “Mmhhmm. You’re fond of Lucille. I’m quite fond of your own bat.”

He grins, showing off his dimples. “I’m fuckin’ fond of you, baby. Have been since we first met in the woods. Why else do you think I got rid of the wives years ago?”

I try not to grin as I shrug. “It was the only way you were getting in my pants and scoring a homerun.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Not the only reason, baby. It was because I love you, Leigh.”

I grin from ear to ear and turn my head to place a soft kiss to his palm. “I love you too, Negan.”

Before he can say anything else, there’s a timid knock on the door.

“Come the fuck in!” Negan calls out, holding me close.

Dr. Carson comes in. He’s no longer as nervous as he used to be when I first showed up. But he’s still a little nervous around the man. I’ve gotten Negan to ease up on the fear of himself he’s instilled in people, and gotten him to be nicer in the way he treats folks. He’s not the bat-wielding lunatic he was when we first met. 

He’s the man I always knew he was.

A soft, 6’2” teddy bear wrapped in leather. 

My soft, 6’2” teddy bear wrapped in leather. 

After Carson checks me out, determines nothing’s broken, assures me that everything is good, and stitches my cheek up, he leaves. Negan helps me get dressed in a pair of his boxers under my new jeans and one of his shirts before he pulls on a pair of sweatpants. Simon comes in shortly after I finish getting dressed, holding a tray of food for Negan and I. 

His eyes widen as he looks at me, taking in my new appearance.

“What, Si? Never seen a girl with short hair before?” I ask, teasing.

He shakes his head. “I have. I just wasn’t expecting you to have cut your own. It looks good on you, fitting.”

I smile. “Thanks, Si.”

Leaning up, I kiss his cheek and then kick him out before Negan can Lucille him for staring at me. My husband knows Simon’s like a dad to me, the dad I never had, and that there’s nothing there. He just gets jealous and protective over me, not liking other men to stare. And, for once, I’m thankful, given the events of today.

As we eat, Negan and I stay on the bed, me snuggled up to his side. When we’re finished though, I look up at him. 

“I have to tell you something else.” I say.

His eyebrow raises and he looks at me, grining. “What’s that? You planning on buzzing anything else?” 

I laugh and playfully slap his bare chest. “No, asshole.”

He pretends to be hurt and rubs his chest, grinning. “Damn, girl. That hurt.”

I laugh and kiss his chest where I smacked him. “Feel better, Daddy?”

He grins that dimpled grin again and nods. “Mmhhmm. Now, what else you gotta tell me, babygirl?”

I smirk. “Well, Daddy…you see...”

He growls low in his throat. “Don’t tease me, little girl.”

I giggle. “I’m not, Daddy.”

I bring my hand down to rub my tummy. 

“You full from eating?” He asks, covering my hand on my tummy, rubbing what he thinks is a food baby.

“Nope. But, it’s nice to see you already rubbing my tummy. I can happily get used to this over the next 7 months.”

“7 months?” His brow creases in confusion for a moment before his eyes widen. “You...you’re...we’re…?”

I giggle and nod as I lean up to kiss him softly. 

“Yes, honey. I’m pregnant.” I say. “I’m 2 months along, and found out a few days ago. I was working on a story earlier, and that was gonna be how I told you, but shit happened, so I figured I’d just tell you.”

He lets out a high pitched squeal that I never would’ve expected from him, and pulls me right back into his arms and his lap. His beard tickles my neck as he grins against it, placing a soft kiss there. I giggle and wrap my arms ‘round him. Like I said, he’s a soft, 6’2” teddy bear wrapped in leather. 

My soft, 6’2” teddy bear wrapped in leather and I’m his buzzed haired girl. 

#Buzzed #A Negan One-Shot #Negan Fluff #Negan Angst #Daddy!Negan! #Negan with a happy ending! #No harem of wives #He's got the one he needs and wants #Negan #Jeffrey Dean Morgan #Jeffrey Dean Morgan Fluff #Jeffrey Dean Morgan Angst #Jeffrey Dean Morgan One-Shot #JDM #JDM Fluff #JDM Angst #JDM One-Shot #the walking dead fluff #The Walking Dead Angst #The Walking Dead One-Shot #The Walking Dead #TWD Fluff #TWD Angst #TWD One-Shot #TWD

[hopeaterart]

The shittiest family reunion in the history of ever: Chapter 4

Sadao vs Devo.

Aka Imagine being a professional assassin and Stand User since birth and getting your ass kicked by a 152 cm (Just a bit shorter than five ft) tall, slightly underweight, Standless 48 years old man who hasn’t gotten in a fight in over twenty years.

Noriaki slowly made his way through the house, supporting himself on a wall and occasionally wincing in pain at his wounds. He continued taking deep breaths, thinking of how he needed to get out of this house fast. He didn’t want to be around when Dio’s men came to collect their heads-

And he just stumbled into the kitchen. Kujo Jotaro was sitting here, sitting in a tank top and shorts while he ate the ungodly amount of pancakes on his plate, and his father Sadao was currently making coffee, standing in his pajams with his long hair up in a bun. The shorter man turned toward him. “Oh. Kakyoin-san. Hungry?”

“I... uh...” The teen decided to nod, coming to sit down and trying not to let his pain show. Sadao nodded back, taking a plate out of the cupboards and, setting a few pancakes on it, and giving it to the redhead along with utensils. “Th- thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The shorter man reassured him, before pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Jotaro, do you want some?” His son nodded, his mouth full with pancakes. Sadao nodded back, pouring another cup of coffee and putting some sugar and milk in it before giving it to the teenager. “There you go.”

Jotaro swallowed, taking the cup of coffee. “Thanks, old man.” Sadao nodded.

“Are either of you panning on going to school today?” He asked. “I know it’s just a half-day today, but... well, Jotaro, you came back early, and Kakyoin-san, you spent your afternoon trying to kill us.” Noriaki winced. “Sorry.”

“Fuck that.” Jotaro muttered. “I’m gonna stay here with Kakyoin to figure out whatever this... Stand thingy is.”

“And I’d rather avoid people for now.” The redhead admitted. “My face hurts...” he then added in a small voice. There was some movement out of the corner of his eyes, and two bags of frozen vegetable slid across the table to him. “Uh?”

“For your black eye and broken rib.” Sadao explained. Noriaki hummed in understanding, taking one of the packs and applying it to the bruised side of his face.

“Thank y-”

“Stop thanking me for basic decency.” Sadao cut him off, frowning in confusion. Noriaki blinked, then nodded, averting his eyes from the shorter man and landing on Jotaro instead. Who was looking at him.

He frowned. “What?”

“Are you gonna eat your breakfast, or...?” The taller teenager asked Noriaki, who turned toward his plate. A few seconds passed, before he put down the frozen bag and took the utensils in hand, cutting into the pancakes before bringing up a piece to his mouth.

The redhead immediately lightened up, humming in pleased surprise at how good the pancake was. He quickly ate the rest, Jotaro and Sadao watching him intently. He slowly slowed down, his self-consciousness catching up to him. “Sorry.”

Sadao frowned. “What are you apologizing for? You need the food.”

“Yeah...” Jotaro started awkwardly, looking off to the side and avoiding eye contact. “I’m the one who carried you to the bathroom, and you’re light as shit. So eat up.” Noriaki blinked, before turning back toward his plate and eating what was left on it.

“Thank you for the meal.” He said as he finished it, Sadao nodding in satisfaction.

“You’ll tell Holly that when she comes back, ‘kay?” The older man asked him, the redhead nodding in acknowledgement as he continued eating breakfast.

“Where did mom go, by the way?”

“Your uncle told her he’d be there as soon as possible, so she went to pick him up at the airport.” Sadao reassured Jotaro, sitting down at the table and sipping on his coffee. “Where are you two planning to... do whatever?”

Jotaro blinked at his father slowly as Noriaki choked on his food at the wording. “Don’t- don’t put it like that.”

“What’s wrong with the way I put it- oh.” Sadao looked off to the side. “Okay, yeah, I see it now- I mean, if you’re into guys it’s okay, your mom will still love you and I... kind of don’t care, but I meant the whole evil spirit business.” Noriaki frowned in confusion as Jotaro pulled a face.

“Evil spirit? Do you mean Stands?” Noriaki asked only to be promptly ignored.

“Yeah, we’re gonna go in the backyard.” Jotaro answered his father before turning toward the redhead. “Finish eating, then follow me.” Noriaki stared at the taller teenager for a moment, before sighing. It’s the least he owed them.

-

Sadao entered his office, tying his hair up in a high ponytail as he neared his piano, a half-done music partition on it. He sat down, fingers gently splaying over the keys as he looked over the sheet, frowning. He had the bones of the melody, but that was it. He cracked his knuckles and gently brought them to the keys, playing the notes, music filling the room for a few seconds.

He opened his eyes, turning toward the closet in the room. “You know,” he started, turning around on his seat. “I usually don’t mind having an audience, but I do prefer it when they’re not spying on me.” He narrowed his eyes, getting up and opening one of the drawers in his desk.

He heard the door of his closet open, and turned back around as he closed the drawer, pocket knife in hand. There was now a heavily scared man hunched over, long black hair covering his face. He turned toward Sadao, raising an eyebrow. “How did you know I was in the closet?”

Sadao raised an unimpressed eyebrow, gesturing at the boxes on the floor. “Those were inside of my closet,” he then pointed the opened chain lock. “I keep my closet locked at all times,” and he picked up the doll on his desk. “And that wasn’t there before.” He put the doll back on the desk, glaring at the man. “Now, get the fuck out of my house.”

The man just laughed, infuriating the shorter one further. “And who are you to order me around?”

“The guy who 1) owns the house and 2) got a knife.” Sadao snapped back. “So why don’t you just get out without starting any shit before I make your face look even worse, hm? I mean shit, you look like you throw yourself out of glass windows on a regular basis.”

The man simply laughed further. “You? Hurt me? You’re just a little man without a Stand, what could you possibly do- AUGH!” CRACK! Sadao had reacted faster than lightning, his free hand taking a hold of his nose and twisting, the sickening noise of bones and cartilage breaking resonating in the room.

Sadao used his hold on the stranger’s face to throw him over his desk, before jumping on his back, wrapping his legs around his torso, took a fistful of his hair and bashed his head in on said desk. “I might be small and not have an evil spirit following me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t fuck your shit up!”

“Get off of me, you-!” The man screamed, reaching at his back, one hand taking a hold of Sadao’s hair. The lighter man gave a shout of his own before biting at his shoulder, feeling blood in his mouth. One of his hand came up to hold the arm in place, the other one stabbing in the shoulder.

The enemy let go with a shout, and Sadao moved his legs so he was able to kick him away. The man now had his back turned to the open door, usually open when Sadao was in his office. He suddenly started giggling, confusing Sadao further. “What’s so funny?”

“You fool!” The man suddenly exclaimed! “How dare you do this to me!? Now, now I can hold a grudge against you!” He laughed further, Sadao backing away for a moment, disturbed. “It hurts! It really hurts! Curse you... how dare you! How dare you do tha-”

The shorter man grit his teeth just as he started advancing again. “Alright... so now, for the last time...” His leg suddenly shot up, knee connecting with the guy’s junk and making him scream in pain just as Sadao’s face switched from frustration to pure rage that wouldn’t be out of place on his son’s face. “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!” He then kicked him in the face, sending him flying backward into the corridor just as Sadao slammed the door to his office closed.

He then felt a pain in his calf. He looked down, a cut that wasn’t there before bleeding abundantly. He tch-ed under his breath, heading for his closet, taking out the first aid kit he kept in there to bandage his wound as he texted Jotaro about this recent .

u and kakyoin stay caerful

*careful

some crazy dude broke int he house

i dont want u 2 to get hurt

*in the

Got it Sadao

Sadao sighed, his elbows hitting the desk as he sighed. He turned toward the doll on it, frowning. He’d have to find a way to get rid of it. Maybe give it to Yuichi? He was into that kind of creepy stuff, with it’s worn down wooden texture, weird red gems encrusted in it and beady green eyes-

Wait.

It’s eyes weren’t open before.

And sure as heel didn’t have a creepy smile with pointy teeth.

Before it could do anything, however, Sadao threw it far away from him. The doll landed on the wall with a heavy sound and a pained yell, which confirmed his suspicion of fucking haunted. He grabbed the closest object he could easily swing (a spare microphone stand in the closet) and pointed it in the direction of the doll, a string of profanities leaving his mouth.

[How dare you!] The doll suddenly suddenly screeched, getting up and waving what looked like a very sharp object at Sadao. [How dare you destroy one of my shoulders!]

“... Oh, what the fuck.”

[At least, you gave me enough of a grudge to- ACK!” The doll was cut off by Sadao as he wacked it on the head with pole, the sound of metal hitting wood echoing in the room.

“I said GET OUT!” The japanese man yelled, attempting to hit the doll again, this time to no avail as it dodged it. The doll then proceeded to jump onto the improvised staff, cackling all the while as it ran up it. Sadao screamed in surprise, but was able to dodge at the last second, ending up with a cut on his cheek rather than wound in his forehead.

The doll cackled further, dashing at Sadao's side and cutting into his hip, the short man yelping in pain and surprise as he jumped out the way. [Are you really planning on defeating me with a random metal pole you found in your closet!? You'd be better off twisting yourself on it!]

"And you," Sadao hissed, "would be better off if you never came here in the first place!" He then threw the stand at the doll, knocking it on the ground. The staff then flied off in the air for a few seconds, before landing onto it. Sadao then calmly walked to it, taking a hold of it's throat. "Now, time to get rid of you."

The doll looked at him for a few seconds, before smiling creepily. It then bit him, making him let go with a yelp as it laughed, running toward the door. [You fool! You think a Standless user like you can hurt me!? Once I'm done with the brats, I'm going to kill you!]

Brats?

Jotaro.

Sadao gasped in realization, before feeling rage overpower him as he ran toward the doll in the corridor, jumping onto it. He took it's head in one hand, it's neck in the other one, ans twisted.

“KUTABARE!” Sadao screeched as he wrenched the doll’s head from it’s neck. It’s shortly after that he heard two screams. He ran toward the source, only to stumble upon Jotaro and Kakyoin in the kitchen, screaming their heads off. In the air, the headless body of the man he had been fighting was suspended, and his head had rolled not too far away.

And it is with a strange sense of numbness and a complete lack of regret, that Sadao realized that he just killed a man.

The door suddenly opened. “Boys, I’m baaa...” Holly trailed off, the scene of the two screaming teenagers, the headless body floating between green strings, and her frazzled and wounded husband looking at her like a deer in headlights.

“Alright sis, I’ll admit it.” The man behind her started, pushing his sunglasses up to his forehead to reveal beautiful blue eyes. “You weren’t kidding when you said you guys were in one bizarre situation.”

#writing #my writing #jojo #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyo na boken #sadao kujo #kujo sadao #jotaro #jotaro kujo #kujo jotaro #kakyoin #noriaki kakyoin #kakyoin noriaki #holly kujo #kujo holly #jojo oc #oc #not my oc #devo the cursed #violence #blood

[flightsoffandom]

Ketch-ing Feelings Part 4

Pairs: Arthur Ketch x Gender-Neutral Reader

Words: 3084

Summary: Running from your feelings got you into a very dangerous situation, but it looks like someone showed up just in time. With Ketch taking care of you, you start to see how serious his feelings for you are.

Continuation of Ketch-ing Feelings. Part 1–Part 2—Part 3--Part 4*--Part 5

Notes: Left completely gender-neutral. Pretty much fluff. Ketch might be a Psychopath but he is one of my favorite Psychopaths and lets just all agree that Ketch would be extra soft and nice to someone he had feelings for.

Warnings: Description of getting stitches, blood, and pain.

    Ketch looks down at you, “Just take me along next time, will you?” He was trying to appear casual but you could see the worry in his eyes. You just nod, unable to say anything. Your heart was pounding and you realized you were shaking. Unsure if it was because all your energy was gone or how close to dying you just got. Ketch crouches down, “You alright?” You sigh loudly, “I am now…” You start collecting yourself as much as you can. You work on sitting up. Ketch offers you a hand. When you grab it he pulls you up onto your feet with him. You immediately go in to hug him, you didn’t care if it hurt your shoulder further. Doing your best to hide your wincing. Ketch wraps his arms around you, “You’re covered in muck.” Ketch sounded like he was protesting but didn't move you away from him. If anything he pulled you closer. You started to feel better. After a few minutes, you think you've gotten most of your baring back. You pull away from him. Wincing as you look at the carnage around you. Ketch notices your pained expression right away. He shares a look with you and he decides to wait before investigating. You sigh and pick up your shotgun and knife. Ketch keeps an eye on you while he checks all the bodies on the ground. You walk back over to Ketch. Your mind starts to clear up, “How did you find me?” Ketch looks at you, “British Men of Letters have a tracker on you.” You furrow your brow, “You tracked me?” Ketch rolls his eyes, “You’re welcome.” He walks over to you and starts nudging you to leave. “No word from you in over a week. I don't know what else you expected me to do.” You sigh, feeling the guilt starting to come back. You let him herd you out of the room and then out of the building. 

You walk over to the car and open the trunk. Throwing your weapons inside before looking for a jug of water. You look at Ketch, “I’m sorry.” He makes a face before trying to look serious, “You damn well better be.” Ketch tried to sound mad or at least annoyed but you could tell he wasn't. He seemed relieved that he had found you. You pour some water on your hands washing them off. It gets most of the blood off. Next, you dump the water over your head. You wince as the water ends up running right over your shoulder. Trying to clean some of the blood off your face. Ketch grabs a towel out of the trunk and he starts wiping off your face. You blush and try to push him away. Grabbing at the towel so you can do it yourself. Ketch doesn't let you, “Enough.” He pushes your hands away. You huff and let him. Even though you found it embarrassing, it allowed you to conserve energy. He already had to come rescue you and now he was taking care of you. You weakly protest by constantly huffing and shifting around. Ketch chuckles, “Ah, there we are.” You glare at him. Ketch continues, “You're acting more sprightly already. Like your usual self.” You roll your eyes, “Are you gonna keep being an ass?” Ketch finishes getting as much blood off your face as he can. “Of course.” Even though you missed this banter, you groaned to try to act like you didn't. Ketch tosses the ruined towel into the trunk, “Clearly there is something wrong with your shoulder.” He gently pulls up the collar of your shirt to get a look at your wound. “I don't know if the rest of that blood is all ghoul though… So I’ll be checking you for additional wounds back at the hotel.” Ketch finds another clean towel in the trunk and pushes it onto your shoulder. You try to hold in the pain but a whimper escapes you. Ketch gets another worried look on his face, “Hold this.” You hold the towel in place with your other hand. Ketch lets go of your shirt, letting his eyes inspect you to look for more injuries. You shake your head, “I’m not a child, I can take care of myself.” Ketch looks at you, “I never stated you were. But when you disappear and almost get yourself killed. I have to take some initiative to make sure you stay alive.” You knew this was your fault and you could feel a sense of shame creeping over you. So you cross your arms and look away in an attempt to hide your emotions. Ketch sighs, “Why were you ignoring my calls?” You shift around a bit, “Not now Arthur, please.” You wanted to avoid this conversation still. You knew you'd have to have it eventually but you would rather it be when you were less tired and emotional. Ketch narrows his eyes at you, “You can't just use my forename and get away with whatever you please.” You chuckle walking around to the driver's side of the car. You shrug feigning innocence, “It's worked pretty well for me so far.” Ketch shakes his head, “That it has.” He walks over to you and moves you away from the driver side, “You can barely drive normally. No way in hell am I risking you driving right now.” You try to open the door anyway, “I’ll be fine. Plus you have some sort of vehicle that got you here.” Ketch keeps the door shut, “My motorcycle. I can come back for it in the morning.” You try to protest. Ketch speaks before you can, “Don't make me forcibly put you in the passenger seat.” You huff, “You can't-” Ketch smirks and interrupts you, “‘It's worked pretty well for me so far.’" He uses your own words against you. You glare at him, “Fine.” You give in and walk over to the passenger side before getting into the car.

The drive with Ketch was abnormally quiet. You didn't like how silent it was but you couldn't bring yourself to talk about anything. Your mind felt a bit foggy and you found yourself just staring out the window absentmindedly. Even when the car stopped you didn't register it until Ketch nudged you, pulling you back into reality. You got out of the car and moved back to the trunk. Ketch tries to grab your bags for you. You stubbornly stop him. Removing pressure from your shoulder to grab your bag. Ketch narrowed his eyes at you, clearly annoyed but he doesn't fight with you about it. You look up to see you were at a hotel in town. Ketch leads you up to one of the rooms, “I only got one but I can fetch an adjoining, room if you don't want me to stay here with you.” You walk into the room, already peeling off your disgusting clothes. You look over to Ketch, “No, you can stay.” You gingerly try and take off your shirt, wincing the whole time. When you remove the towel you inspect it. The once lighter colored fabric is now almost completely stained bright red. Only tiny spots remain to show what the original color used to be. You drop the soiled cloth onto your pile of clothes. Ketch keeps an eye on you, “Good. I wasn't actually planning on leaving you to your own devices.” He starts moving around pulling out a few things. Once you're completely naked you go into the bathroom and start showering. 

You start scrubbing the grim off. Then you focus on trying to clean your shoulder as much as you handle. A sharp pain started coming from your shoulder and it caused your head to start to spin. You feel your legs get a bit shaky. That's when you know you have to sit down before you collapse. You hold onto the side of the tub with your good arm, slowly lowering yourself to the ground. Once seated you let the water pelt you. A few minutes after you sat down the curtain is suddenly pulled open. You hiss and cover yourself, “What the fuck Ketch?” Ketch looks down at you, unamused. “I’ve been inside you, love. Seems quite pointless to hide your body from me at this point.” Ketch was still fully dressed in his tactical gear. He had a med-kit in his hands and a chair was set up behind him. You growl trying to pull the curtain shut again, “This is different. And extremely humiliating for me. You already had to save me and-” Ketch rolls his eyes and interrupts you, “-Ohh, do shut up.” He sounded more impatient than upset. It wasn't the being naked part that was the issue. Hell, you didn't care about being naked in front of Ketch before you slept with him. It was because of how this whole situation made you feel almost like a burden and vulnerable. If your recent mistake and current state was annoying Ketch, he showed no sign of it. That made you feel better and helped you relax a bit. You glare at him but stop protesting. Ketch sits down on a chair he brought in, “Do you have to be so damn stubborn?” All you respond with is an annoyed nod. Ketch sighs, “I'm worried you might be a tad in shock. So let me sit here and make sure you don't die.” You huff, “I’m perfectly fine.” Ketch leans back in his chair, “Yes, The chunk missing from your shoulder and you sitting in the bath make that quite believable.” You grumble and bring your knees up to your chest. Laying your good arm on top of your legs before resting your chin on your forearm. The water was still coming out red but you didn't have the energy to do much of anything at the moment. Surprisingly Ketch didn't say anything else. So with Ketch keeping an eye on you, you just closed your eyes wanting to rest a minute. 

The water turned cold as you rested in the tub. You let out a whine and reach to turn the water onto a warmer setting. You glanced over at Ketch who seemed to be reading a magazine until you had made a noise. Now he was watching you. Ketch puts his reading to the side. “What a pathetic looking thing you are.” You turn to look away from him, “I am fine.” You hear Ketch moving as he speaks, “As you keep saying.” You sigh, “I only keep saying it because you aren't listening.” Next thing you know Ketch’s hands are on you. Ketch speaks as he moves his hands to your back, “You have yet to prove it to me.” You tense up for a second, looking back at him. Ketch had rolled up his sleeves and was busy looking at the stitches on your back from over a week ago. You relax and watch him. It was interesting seeing Ketch like this. On top of so many questionable things, you had seen him torture monsters and he enjoyed it. But he always seemed to soften up around you. After he is satisfied with the condition of your stitches. He moves onto the main concern, your shoulder. Ketch tries to be as gentle as possible but he also was trying to fully investigate the damage. You manage to contain your pain until a whine finally slips out. Ketch study’s your face, “Sorry, love.” You just nod, knowing he didn't mean to hurt you. That was another thing you had noticed. Ketch may have enjoyed hurting others. But hurting you, even accidentally, made him uneasy. Ketch doesn't seem pleased with the state of your shoulder but he stops messing with it for now. Ketch inspects as much of you as he can, checking for any other injuries. 

When he finishes he looks at you. Ketch teases, trying to lighten the mood. “Do they not teach you how to bathe in the states?” You chuckle, “Probably not to your high standards.” You shrug jokingly, “Guess you'll just have to show me.” Ketch chuckles as he grabs some soap, “Indeed.” You assumed he was going to hand it to you. Instead, he puts some soap on his hands and starts to clean you up. You blush brightly, unsure of how to react. You didn't expect him to respond like this. Watching him you finally ask the question, “Why are you so nice to me?” Ketch freezes for a second. His eyes flick up to look into yours. Ketch sighs and goes back to cleaning you, “How to put it...” Ketch thinks for a minute before continuing, “You're the only person who hasn't treated me like I’m... disposable.” Ketch glances at you before avoiding eye contact again. “Kendrick’s made how expendable we all were very clear. No matter what questionable actions you’ve seen me commit, you have never treated me as replaceable.” You let out a hum to show you were listening. Ketch using this as a chance to check you for wounds. You move when needed so Ketch can reach different sections of you. You keep watching how kind he is being. Chuckling as you comment, “You're a real romantic deep down aren’t you?” Ketch stands up and grabs the showerhead. He pulls it down to rinse you off. Ketch scoffs, “Perhaps… or I've gone soft.” Ketch guides the water over you. The water finally starts coming off mostly clear. It only seemed to be your fresh blood tinting the water now. You rub the water over your face, making sure you're all cleaned up. Now that you were completely cleaned off you felt much better. Ketch turns off the water before putting the showerhead back. 

You sigh and look up at him, “Thank you for… for everything tonight.” Ketch’s face softens as he looks down at you. He reaches his hand down for you. Ketch masks kindness with snark, “Don’t expect this kind of treatment all the time. I don't want you to become spoilt.” You take his hand and roll your eyes, “There's the asshole I’m partnered with.” You tease him as he helps you out of the tub. You felt tired and you were quickly getting cold. With a smirk on his face Ketch groans, “I will drop you.” Ketch still keeps a firm grasp on you, making sure you're steady on your feet. You laugh, making your way to a towel. “You like me too much.” You wrap the towel around your body, walking out to the main room. Ketch follows you out and teases, “I suppose I do.” Before you can get too far Ketch stops you, “You need stitches... again” You sigh and sit on the bed, “I guess I’m lucky you're good at patching people up.” Ketch brings the med-kit over, standing next to you. Ketch chuckles, “It’s just what I normally do in reverse.” You scrunch up your nose, thinking about it. “I guess it is.” Ketch pulls out the needle and thread. You close your eyes, trying to think of anything else. He starts stitching you up. Even the first stitch was extremely painful. Causing pain to radiate through your shoulder. With each stitch your shoulder throbs. You ball up your fists. Digging your nails into the palms of your hand. You could handle pain. During hunts, you had dealt with much worse but you always had something to distract you. Whether it was fighting or just the adrenaline. You would take that over being stationary while injured. Ketch speaks up as he continues, “You don’t have to hide the fact that this smarts.” You gave up on trying to hide the pain, letting out a low hiss. Ketch tenses up for a second when he hears your pained noise. He starts working a bit quicker, still making sure to do it properly. Your pain turns into a dull throbbing, allowing you to relax a bit. You open your eyes, watching Ketch as he ties off your stitches. Ketch cuts the string, “All finished.” You let out a sigh of relief glad it’s over, “Thanks again.” Ketch hums, putting things away. “You’ve done the same for me.” You stretch as much as you can without hurting yourself. You let out a nervous chuckle, “Seems pretty one-sided lately.” You stand up, keeping your towel wrapped around you. Ketch teases, “Well stop almost getting yourself killed and I’m sure the scales will even out.” You laugh and roll your eyes, “You ruin all the fun,” 

You feel a new wave of exhaustion hit you. Making you decide to ignore changing into pajamas. You yawn and flop onto the bed, still wet and in your towel. Ketch starts taking off his clothes, watching you. You close your eyes, ready to pass out. He walks over to where you're laying on the bed, “Come now, pet. You’ll become ill if you don't put on dry clothes.” You open your eyes, “Pet?” You questioned the new term of endearment. You liked it but Ketch had never used it before. Normally it was ‘love’ but he used that with varying meanings to different people. Not just you. ‘Pet’ on the other hand, you had never heard him use it with anyone. So you wondered what the change in moniker meant. Ketch of course completely ignored your question. He looked down at you, “I didn't save you from being eaten just to have you die from something so mundane.” You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious about him ignoring your question. Ketch rolls his eyes and starts pulling on your towel to get you to move. You grumble, “Yes, Mister Ketch.” You chuckle as you stand up. Ketch grabs your uninjured arm, pulling you close to him. Ketch talks in almost a whisper, “Don't start things you don't have the energy to finish, hmm?” You feel yourself blushing but try to look unaffected. Ketch lets you go, “Clothes then rest.” You're about to at least fakely protest but you're interrupted by a yawn. So you just nod in response. You dig through your bag and find clothes that will work to sleep in. By the time you pull them on and head back to bed, Ketch is already in the shower. You flop down onto the bed again, curling up under the blanket. It doesn't take long for exhaustion to overtake you and fall asleep.

Endnote: I know that the British have different terms for things and I have tried to make sure to keep that as accurate as I can. That being said, I also know that they normally use the term ‘motorbike’ instead of ‘motorcycle’ buttt canonly in ‘War of the Worlds’ Ketch uses ‘motorcycle’ instead of the other term.

Part 1–Part 2–Part 3--Part 4*--Part 5

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