#crying shaking frothing at the mouth just thinking about what's next ...

[gojuo]

1 day closer to the "not zen'in huh? good for you" scene .......

#TOJII LOVE OF MY LIIFEEENENENRNGNEJWJFKSKD #OH GODD DJFJFJDJHFJSJFKD KM SSSOOOO GIDDY 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 #jjk #jjk lb #toji #bakma bana #crying shaking frothing at the mouth just thinking about what's next ...

[bts-siwan]

www.jiwancutemoments.com

intro : hello losers i’m back after a year long hiatus 💀 i’ve been catching up on content recently and have been bombarded with so many jiwan moments that i finally decided it was time to make this compilation

intro : jiwan are literally my roman empire so without further ado let’s get into the video!

clip one : run bts ep.71 (behind)

“should i eat one?” *jm eyeing the pork belly + looking back at the other members who are busy with something else*

*heavy contemplation* “no i need to maintain my diet” *really wants to eat it tho*

*cue siwan entering to save the day* “everything okay?” *always the heavily concerned hyung as he takes a seat next to jm* *now cue jm pretending to be fine*

*mindreader sw knows what’s up* “you want to eat the pork belly?” *he can see the way jm’s mouth is frothing tbh* “why don’t you just eat it then?”

*jm shaking his head* “i have to maintain my diet” *sw literally spacing out for a moment before turning to the cameraman*

“i think camera-nim disagrees. isn’t this samgyeop-sal so delicious?” *picking up some with chopsticks* “camera-nim and i will keep it a secret. you can have one”

*proceeds to feed him like half the plate*

commentary : ladies get yourself a man who dotes on you like siwan does jimin because ain’t no way he’s looking at anyone else like he is this man

clip two : run bts ep.12

*literally in the midst of filming the police skit* *jm is being interrogated by officer sw*

“you don’t know what you’re in for? are you trying to play a joke on me?” *actor sw has been on a role so far but jm is ready to pull out the big guns*

*pushing down sw’s laptop screen to see him better* “ah, officer~ but is it really my fault? i don’t know why i’m here” *pouting + seduction charm*

*sw is big gulping rn* *they so caught it on camera + sw’s pursed lips trying to stay in character* “y-your charms don’t work on me” *avoiding eye contact to the max* “look into the camera with those eyes”

*jm giggling bc he can see he’s affecting sw but follows his instructions anyway* “like this?” *posing at the camera cutely + sw making the slightest eye contact and immediately melting from within*

*sw’s junior officer tae puts a hand on his shoulder* “should i take it from here? you seem like you need some rest, hyung-nim” *calling him out but trying to save him at the same time*

*sw leaves as jm blows him one last kiss + a flirty wave*

commentary : your honour he malfunctioned in 4K LMAO but honestly who can blame him 😭

clip three : jimin’s injury

commentary : so for context jimin needed a temporary arm sling due to sustaining an injury during practice. some of the members were eating in another room

*staff letting the few members present know about jimin’s injury* *cue sw’s face immediately changing from laidback to sitting upright*

“is he all right? is jimin okay?” *hobi also concerned as jm walks into the room* *sw struggling to conceal his emotions*

“can you not move it at all? does it hurt a lot?” *jm is explaining the situation but sw still feels anxious and worried*

“jimin-ah, come sit here” *sw already making space + standing up to help jm* *jm can’t help but smile bc sw always gets like this over minor issues* “you’re cute”

*moody sw who scolds jm for getting hurt but coddling him to death*

commentary : no because tell me why this man is so precious HE LOOKED LIKE HE WAS GONNA CRY OVER JIMIN’S INJURY. protect this man at all costs.

clip four : run bts ep.145

*jm tugging on sw’s sleeve for attention as he attempts to read a hint* *confused but curious hyung* “how do i look?” *asking for ops on his cute lil pink hanbok*

*sw blinks as jm does a twirl* *proceeds to grab a flower from the bush behind jm before offering it to him and leaving without another word lmao*

*startled jm at the camera* “i think he just helped me with my mission without realising”

commentary : so tsundere of him tbh 😍😍😍 ik jimin loves a little play of hard to get (also he looked so effing cute in his hanbok like the ring is ready, the dress is ready, the altar is there)

clip five : run bts ep.83 (behind)

*baby jm who seems to be having too much fun in the pool and doesn’t wanna get out* *swimming cutely rn*

“ah, get out already! we need to film” “this guy, seriously…” *older hyungs are complaining*

“look at this!” *jm continues to swim cutely like a puppy* *nj is so done even tho he finds it cute too*

“wanie, get him out” *literally the only man for the job* *sw decides to enter the pool to collect jm but jm sees it coming*

*quickly attempting to neutralise the threat by splashing water on sw* *sw wiping the water from his face before dipping beneath the water fully*

*jm is startled when sw comes up from underneath him* *jm is now sat upon sw’s shoulders in the pool*

“yah… he’s coming out in style!” “those shoulders are no joke…” “me next! me next!”

commentary : one thing both jimin and i have in common is our love for siwan’s strength because he did not need to do all that and yet here we are

commentary : not that i’m complaining 😏

clip six : run bts ep.75 (behind)

*jm is tired from a long day of shooting* *still not time to go home yet*

“we might have to film yoongi’s again. i wanna try it with a different angle” *lots of retakes bc bangtan are perfectionists* *jm is honestly half asleep in his pjs*

*director sw is not too bothered as he gives jin a thumbs up + easily guides jm to settle his head against sw’s shoulder*

*moments later and sw has requested for a blanket for jm too after quieting everyone else down* “i think we should stop it here for now” *totally not bc jm is asleep or anything*

commentary : they are honestly so kdrama boyfriends coded it’s not even funny y’all

clip seven : jimin’s cheeks

*jm gauging his face as the cameraman records him* *hands on cheeks* “are they red? can you see it?” *feeling shy rn*

*trying to get another look but quickly covers his cheeks again* “ah, is it really bad?” *cue jm going on a manhunt to ask another member’s opinion*

*ends up locating sw by the food table filling his plate* *walking up to him + tugging the bottom of his sweater*

*sw mid-snack as he turns to look at jm and sees the camera* *full cheeks laughing shyly before turning his attention back to jm after he’s done eating* “mm?”

“do my cheeks look red?” *asking with a pout* *sw instinctively lifts his hand to cup jm’s cheek + caresses it with the pad of his thumb* “a little. why, did you drink?”

*entranced jm cosying up to sw’s affection immediately lol* “i think it might’ve been the noodles. does it look bad?” “it’s cute. you always look cute.” *continues to caress jm’s cheek*

“YAH STOP FLIRTING!” *hobi in the bg*

commentary : WHAT WAS THE REASON?? WHAT WAS THE REASON??? hobi is all of us actually

clip eight : jimin’s cheeks pt.2 (because siwan is obsessed with them)

*in the midst of an interview* “siwan-ssi, what about you? we’ve heard you have a very close bond with jimin-ssi. can you tell us what you like about him?”

*shy sw hour as he smiles + avoids eye contact* *cheeky jm can’t wait to hear his answer* “hyung-nim loves all of me right~?” *biggest tease on the planet*

*other members are also enjoying this way too much* “they’re always together.” “yah, he’s blushing. look at him.”

*sw waving them off + trying to collect himself* “no, no. ah,” *looking over at jm for a moment* *finding it difficult to maintain eye contact but he’s smiling bashfully* “i think… i like his cheeks. they’re chubby and squishable so i like to play with them.”

*an innocent comment is quickly taken out of context* “WHAT?!” “siwan-ssi, you play with jimin’s cheeks?” *nj being dirty minded* *sw quick to defend himself and waving frantically* “no! no, i meant i like to- ah, forget it. you guys need to get yourselves checked.” *tsking*

*jm is honestly living for this tbh* *interviewer is clearly a big jiwan fan as he asks his next question after everyone has calmed down* “would you be able to give jimin-ssi a kiss on the cheek for fans?”

*cue a ‘disgruntled’ sw placing a kiss on jm’s cheek + jm’s hand instinctively reaching up to touch the area he was kissed with a giggly blush*

commentary : i would actually kill for fetus jiwan because just look at how pure they are here. siwan was so shy :(( i love them so much my lil beans

conclusion : guys i could seriously go on forever with the amount of jiwan content there is out there but i needed to end the video at some point <\3 i hope everyone enjoyed jiwan’s cute little moments as much as i did and i will see you guys in the next one, bye bye !!

TAGLIST

@pandorasword , @ateezsora , @anqelws , @kaitieskidmore97 , @vizianary

#( 🕸️ ) ───── siwan’s fan videos ! #bts 8th member #bts 8th male member #kpop added member #kpop added male member #kpop addition #kpop male addition #kpop additional member #kpop additional male member #bts additional member #bts additional male member #bts added member #bts added male member #kpop member au #kpop male member au #kpop oc #kpop male oc #bts oc #bts male oc #bts addition #bts male addition

[scorchieart]

Falling Ahead - Part 2

Do you ever think Chevalier was just as shy around Yves as Yves was around him? Probably not, but now you're thinking it...

Ages: Yves (4), Clavis (7) - ft. Chevalier

previous part ☆ Masterlist ☆ next part

“Clavis?”

“...And a cinnamon stick, because it smells nice. And a little pickle juice to give it a kick…”

“Clavis…”

“...And a pinch of turmeric for a pop of color. And lots and lots and lots of sugar—”

“Clavis!”

Clavis teetered on the stool, but quickly regained his balance by grabbing the edge of the counter. “What? More sugar?”

Pungent fumes wafted around the kitchen, and Yves peered into the frothing mixing bowl through scrunched up eyes. “Clavis, it looks yucky.”

“That’s because we didn’t bake it yet. You have to bake the batter before it becomes a yummy cake, understand?” Clavis explained, gently patting his brother’s head. Dusty remains of yellow turmeric and white sugar sprinkled over Yves, making the boy sneeze with gusto.

“Goodness! Are you getting cold, Yves? Don’t worry, we’ll light the oven soon. Then we can sit by it and plan the party while we wait for your cake to finish.” Clavis grabbed a wooden spoon and began mixing the dubious ingredients, turning the bowl a more sinister foaming puce with each pass. Yves gulped and covered his mouth and nose.

“No, thank you,” he whispered feebly.

“Nonsense, you’re shaking worse than autumn leaves! Talking will make you forget about the cold, so let’s start with the guest list.” Clavis reached for a jar of crushed scallops and added it to the bowl as he spoke. “Now, who do you want to invite to your birthday party?”

Yves slightly lifted the hand from his mouth. “My brothers.”

“All of them?” asked Clavis. Yves nodded.

“I don’t think there will be enough cake for everyone,” said Clavis, subtly scooping out spoonfuls of batter and dropping them over the far end of the counter. 

“They can have my slice,” Yves offered.

“No no no. The birthday boy has to have birthday cake. That’s the rule,” said Clavis.

“Can I have a different present, please?” Yves asked, turning away from the bowl.

“Silly Yves. This isn’t your present. Presents have to be a surprise, understand? And my real present to you will make you scream with so much joy you’ll say—”

“Aaaah!”

Yves leapt off the stool and buried his face into Clavis’s shirtfront. Clavis grabbed the counter again to steady himself and looked around the kitchen for what could have spooked Yves. But he didn’t have to search for long.

Standing in the dimly lit doorway was Chevalier, a stoic look on his face and a thick leather-bound book in his arms.

“Chevalier, you meanie! You’re scaring my precious little brother!” Clavis whipped the spoon out of the bowl and brandished it like a sword, but Chevalier paid no attention to the impromptu weapon nor the putrid lumps it dripped on the floor as he approached the counter and extended his arms. The book in his hands was sharp and glimmering, a delectable drawing of sweet cakes and pastries printed on its cover, all smartly tied with a soft pink ribbon bow. 

Yves whimpered and slowly poked his face out to look at Chevalier. Too slowly for Clavis to notice. 

“Didn’t you hear me? I said you weren’t invited here!” Clavis shouted, waving the spoon threateningly in the air. Chevalier calmly tilted his head to avoid the “attacks”, but Clavis’s frenzied movements flung globs of batter in all directions. They hit walls, cabinets, pots and pans and plates, and eventually the book with an incredible SPLAT!

It all happened in an instant. Clavis paled. Chevalier darkened. Yves screamed and ran, slipping on the batter Clavis scooped earlier and knocking into the counter. The bags of turmeric and sugar fell over the edge and burst on Yves, leaving him a teeny, weepy, sneezy mess. 

Color returned to Clavis’s cheeks as quickly as it left. “No no Yves, please don’t cry! It’s all Chevalier’s fault! I told you he shouldn’t come to the party!” 

Chevalier set the book down on a clean section of the counter and stepped up on the stool. Clavis blanched once again.

“I mean, ahahaha! It worked! Just according to plan!” Clavis yelled, shakily brandishing the spoon again. “Happy birthday! Now weren’t you surprised by that, Yves? It was a fun little show, wasn’t it? Your big brother won the battle and you’re crying tears of joy, right? Right?”

Yves sobbed harder. Chevalier neatly pulled back his shirtsleeve and seized Clavis by the back of the head.

“I mean! I mean! Lookatallthoseingredientsyougatheredwecanmakeabizillionmorecakesandinviteabizillionmorepeopletoyourpartyisn’tthatjustwonder— NO NO NOOOOOO—!”

Chevalier dunked Clavis’s face into the mixing bowl. It is said that on that day, young prince Yves’s laughter could be heard as far as the throne room on the opposite side of the castle.

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #yves kloss #clavis lelouch #chevalier michel #ikepri yves #ikepri clavis #ikepri chevalier #scorchie writes #falling ahead series

[gentleranium]

For the writer meme. I feel like I know some of these but I’m always curious 🤯✅ 🤲❌ 🤡

Thanks for the ask, lovely 💚

🤯 What's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

Action for sure! I don’t have the best ability to picture where bodies are in a space, which is why many of my fics focus on like, a hand on a shoulder or something with a similar narrow scope. Action requires being able to account for a sprawling scene, and I’m just not that interested in constructing that much of something.

✅ What's something that appears in your fics over and over and over again, even if you don't mean to?

Literary allusions/references and usually, I’ll have one specific work I get stuck on for a period of time. This summer, I couldn’t shake The Tempest.

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

This is a snippet from my sprawling WIP that was originally part of the OFMD Big Bang before I decided it was better suited for me to work on on my own. Post season 1, Izzy helps Lucius hide aboard the Revenge. This scene begins after Blackbeard orders Izzy to catalogue the auxiliary wardrobe and get ready to sell it at the next port:

It’s filled with clothes. A space bigger than the cabin he picked for his own, frothed to the ceiling with silk and lace and fuck knows what else. Izzy tries breathing in through his nose and out his mouth to quell his rising anger. Blackbeard’s right: this will more than fill their low stores of gunpowder and other rations.

Izzy pushes the hangers full of clothes apart to inspect the walls on the other side. As he makes his way to the exterior hull, Izzy spots a trapdoor, swinging with the motion of the ship.

Invaded and murdered in his sleep and his ship burned down, and the Devil’s own fucking luck none of that happened, Izzy decides, pushing the trapdoor open.

A pale haggard face looks back. Izzy gives a strangled cry and jerks backwards, hand going foolishly to his sword. What good it’ll do him about a specter risen from the waves to—

But no. The ghost flinches backwards, too, and—fuck, he knows that face.

“Spriggs!” Izzy barks to cover the sweet relief washing over him. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Seeing the world by barnacle bench,” Lucius snaps back, his voice hoarse. “What d’you think I'm doing, you asshole?”

“For fuck’s sake. Get in here.”

“Oh brilliant, never would have thought of that.”

Izzy does another round of breathing, reminding himself it would not, in fact, make him feel better to dump Lucius in the ocean. As annoying as the boy is, tossing him overboard was not one of Blackbeard’s more cunning plans. They’re lucky Izzy is a fair hand with a quill, but it’s only fair.

Besides, Blackbeard seems bent on running Izzy into the ground with work. That’s nothing new, but it used to be subconscious before. These days, it feels… purposeful. Like a punishment.

“Give me your hands, you idiot,” Izzy says, shoving the troubling thoughts aside.

Lucius is speechless for a long moment, staring at Izzy.

“I’m not going to throw you in the ocean.”

“And what assurance have I got of that?” Lucius asks.

“None,” Izzy replies. “It’s either die out there or take your chances with me. Well?”

“I’m thinking.”

Izzy mutters another string of curses, leaning out the trapdoor to grab one side of the bench. He pulls Lucius closer. Izzy grabs Lucius’s arm just past the elbow in a grip that makes Lucius wince.

“On three, you push off as hard as you can from that bench and grab my arms. My upper arms if you can reach them, forearms if not, but not my hands. Do not loosen your grip. Do not worry if you’re hurting me.”

Lucius has gotten paler, eyes fixed on Izzy. “And you won’t drop me? Try to drown me a second time?”

“Weren’t me that tried it the first time,” Izzy replies.

“And you think that’s a convincing argument?” Lucius snaps back, panic building in his tone. “You, right hand to Blackbeard? Signing off on all his murdering adventures?”

“Look at me,” Izzy says. “Spriggs, look at me.”

Lucius’s eyes are fixed on the ocean below, his breathing sharp and fast.

Christ. Izzy will lose him if he doesn’t swallow that fear for thirty seconds.

“Lucius,” Izzy growls, and Lucius’s eyes snap up to his. “Listen closely, boy, because I’m only saying this once. If I decide to kill you, it won’t be tossing you overboard in the middle of the night. It’ll be at the end of a duel, after I’ve put the sword in your hand myself.”

Lucius barks a laugh. “God, Izzy, have you always been this romantic?”

“Eyes up. Do not loosen your grip,” Izzy repeats, ignoring the question. “One… two… three!”

❌ What's a trope you will never write?

Mpreg or Alpha/Beta/Omega. Related (and I don’t mean to suggest the previous two tropes always do this), I’m very resistant to replicating heteronormativity in writing queer relationships. That shows up in a lot of different ways, most obviously that I don’t like to have Character A always be a top and Character B always be a bottom or I try to be more nuanced in what submission or dominance can look like.

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

I’m sharing an MCU fic snippet for you :) basically this entire sequence of deep-cut Animal Crossing jokes from Avengers Crossing was just me amusing myself:

“Help you with something, Cap?”

“You’ve been down here for four days. Thought I’d check in and...”

He catches sight of the screen over Tony’s shoulder.

“That’s that raccoon,” Steve says slowly. “The one obsessed with real estate.”

“Tanuki, technically. They’re like a raccoon dog. Mostly in Japan.” Tony blinks a few more times. “I don’t trust him.”

“I thought you said it was a waste of time. 'Who would want to play a game where all you do is everyday tasks.'”

“I guess I did.”

Steve’s expression settles into his I can wait for this explanation all day face. He folds his arms and leans back against a table.

“You weren’t impressed with Clint’s fishing tourney trophies.”

“Shooting fish in a barrel is just an expression, Cap.”

“I think Thor was hurt you didn’t share his sadness over Bam leaving his island.”

Tony frowns.

“And I remember some unflattering things said about my blue windflowers.” Steve looks to the ceiling then slowly back down at Tony. “So. Now you’re playing it.”

“It was an experiment,” Tony snaps defensively. “See what the big deal was. I had JARVIS scan it for brainwashing alien tech because you were all so sucked into it.”

“Find anything?”

Tony lights up like Steve asked him to demonstrate his latest idea. “I know how to make it better.”

“Make it better,” Steve repeats, one eyebrow going up.

Tony turns back to the Switch, pulling up a screen above him that’s filled with notes that begin logically enough (“Tom Nook: upgrades house, undersells on bugs. Wait for Flick”; “Scorpions appear in evening”) and then descend into chaos (“Eugene is Barton”; “Exile Gigi, fat-shamed Boomer”; and “Gulliver needs latest Stark phone”).

“Tony,” Steve begins, staring as he realizes the list moves into charts and graphs and—are those surveillance reports on the other villagers? “Tony are you trying to hack into this game.”

“The secret is to start looking at what can make you the most bells the fastest, right? Well, it’s not the stalk market; that’s a waste of time and there's no logic to it. But if you start building up a supply of fruit from your island and travel to others’ islands with your tools and—hey! What—are you doing. Aren’t you listening, I can make this stupid game better if you just—”

It’s really not much of a fight, Super Soldier vs. Sleep-Deprived Genius Billionaire Playboy Philanthropist but Tony squirms and kicks at Steve, even manages to throw an elbow in his gut. After a few minutes of struggle, Steve pins Tony’s legs and tosses him over a shoulder.

“JARVIS, please close up the game and shut down anything else that’s on down here.”

“With pleasure, Captain Rogers.”

“Traitor,” Tony whines.

“You need to sleep,” Steve tells him, striding for the door. “For a full night. Without making government surveillance files for the villagers on your island. Who are fictional.”

“Pierto’s up to something,” Tony mutters into Steve’s back. “It’s a matter of island security.”

Ask me more questions here!

#fanfic writer emoji ask

[contemplativepancakes]

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

i.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geralt sighs. “Serves you right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geralt’s not sure how to respond. 

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

“Try not to drown in your own blood.”

“Always nice to know you care.”

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

ii.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he'll say

Oh, how, oh, how unreasonable

How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do

I'll spend my days so close to you

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

And I'll stand—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine,” he says gruffly. 

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

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

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

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

Geralt grits his teeth. 

iii.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, gods, did he miss a lot. 

iv.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

v.

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

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

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

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

“Nevermind. Just—what is going on?”

“Ah. Right. That. I got…kicked out.”

“Did she have a husband?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+ i.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geralt grunts. “For cuckolding the husband?”

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

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

“It’s you, Geralt,” he whispers. 

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

Geralt rolls his eyes at Jaskier’s crudeness. 

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

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

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

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

A smile tugs at Geralt’s lips. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jaskier,” Geralt grits out. 

“Okay, okay. Insensitive, I apologize.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t mock me,” Geralt mumbles. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, yes, please,” Geralt babbles. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls. 

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

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

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

Are you good?” Jaskier whispers. 

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

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

Geralt hums. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geralt gives an unimpressed hum. 

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

Geralt likes the sound of that.

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

[maybe-your-left]

Dr Ren publicly pounding that pussy!?! Please and thank you 🖤

publicly?! ANON HES A DOCTOR, A WELL KNOWN PHYSICIAN.... what would his patients think?

You were exhausted from being charming all evening, sulking in a corner. Nursing a flute of champagne, glaring at everyone mingling. Ren was chatting with his colleagues, talking about some new stitches material that’s supposed to be even better for post ops. Frothing at the mouth when they discussed the upcoming lecture summit where Ren was presenting research on new knee replacement caps.

All you did was smile and shake hands, saying you were a student. They didn’t need to know how much younger you were... but they looked at you funny when you said it. If only they knew!

“There you are,” Ren purred in your ear, his left hand coming to rest on your lower back. “I thought I lost you.”

“Nope, I’m just over here. Drinking,” you lifted the glass.

Ren smirked down at you, placing a kiss on your forehead as he whispered. “Why don’t we take a walk, hm? You’ve been so good all evening, you deserve some attention.”

“Attention?”

He nodded.

Dragging you away from the crowds of people. Off towards the banquet halls back doors, no one around in the area. Except for the waiters, shooting you weird glances as Ren pushed you into the dimly lit back staircase.

Both of you wasting no time, Ren hoisted you from the floor. Pushing your dress around your hips, hooking your legs around him while he attacked your neck. You tried to kiss him but he pulled away, “No, your lipstick.”

You whined, rubbing your hands over his broad shoulders as he sucked on your ear.

“Take my cock out love, I can feel how soaked you are through your silly thong.”

You snaked your right hand between the two of you, tugging his zipper down. Ren groaned when your hand pulled his cock out, gripping the base tightly.

“Good girl,” he moaned into your neck, licked a broad stripe along your sensitive skin. You angled the tip at your entrance, pushing aside the gusset of your thong in the process. Hissing when you felt him push in, stretching you around his head. Once it was in Ren pushed you flush on the wall, ramming inside you.

Your voice echoing in the corridor when he did, Ren chuckled at your mewl. Plunging in and out of you in shallow thrusts over and over. Bouncing you up the wall in the process, the open back of your dress stratching on the cement.

“Kylo, please kiss me,” you begged. Seeking out his lips once more. He dodged you, fucking you faster. Letting his tip run past your front wall each time, cunt twitching around him. “No baby, I don’t want to be made a mess.”

You cried, gripping the collar of his white button up and bringing it to your mouth. Ren was too focused on your cunt to realize you were painting his collar with your red lips. Moaning into him as his cock slid in and out of you. Wrapping your legs around him tighter.

“Fuck! Kylo-right there!”

“Yeah,” he groaned into your ear, “I’m gonna fill you up-so deep love.”

You hooked an arm around his neck, using a free hand to rub your clit. Crying when you touched the swollen nub, “Please daddy, I want your cum. Fuck it so deep in me.”

Ren slammed you into the wall, hissing while he ground his hips. “Gonna cum-fuck.”

The door next to you squeaked open, a waiter walking out and freezing when he spied you. Rens head snapped over, growling at the young man.

“Get the fuck out!”

“Sorry-sir!”

He made eye contact with you, eyes dilating at your fucked out face. You clenched around Ren, loving the attention. Ren stayed still until the door shut, latching his lips to your jaw line. Thrusting into you again, “You’re such a slut, gripping me so tight when he saw you.”

You moaned, clenching again.

“So wet-should I take you out to the banquet hall? Let everyone see what a whore you are for me? Spreading your legs for my cock?”

“Ky-please!”

His teeth dug into your ear, “You’re mine. Those petty doctors don’t get to see your pretty cunt, unless it’s glistening with my cum. Do you understand?”

“Fill me baby,” you gasped, finally trapping his lips with your own. He growled when you did, cock twitching in your heat as he spilled inside you. Licking into your mouth as you both came, hearing the soft plops of cum that globbed out of your poor cunt when he pulled out.

Ren tugged your thong back in place, “Keep that safe.”

———

🤤 fuck me Dr. Ren.

TAGGING: @kirah36​ @morby​  @finn-ray-nal-beads​ @onlykyloscenes​ @candycanes19​ @desiraypark​ @princss-bucky​ @officialfangirl​ @historyandfandoms50​ @swiss-mrs​ @caelum-phyriina-vermillon​ @douglasdriver​ @ghoulian13​ @mrs-kylo-ren​ @millenialcatlady​ @emeraldsiren20​ @dancingmicrobes​ @relationshipwithmybed​  @wayward-rose​ @daddysbabycubb​ @safarigirlsp​ @contesa-lui-alucard​ @daydreamsofren​ @caillea​ @insufferablelust​ @ohdamnadamm​ @mariesackler​ @callmehopeless​ @jalexunderthestars​ @shesakillerkween

#adam driver #kylo ren #adamdriver #modern kylo ren #kylo trash #doctor ren #ask fridays #anon answers #1.29.2021

[fuckallthegood0nesweretaken]

New World CH. Three

Title: The Barn

Words: 1,887

Warnings: Strong language, canon-typical violence, SOFT Daryl

A/N: Chapter three is here! Hope y’all enjoy!

If you’d like to request something, send me an ask. I’d love to write for you!

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Daryl Dixon Masterlist

Walking Dead Masterlist

Masterlist 

~~~~~~~

[Y/n]

Once Sam and Rick got back from talking to Hershel, you started talking about where to look for supplies.

 “Where have you looked so far?” You asked.

 “All over this area here. Maggie says the town has basically been picked clean but there are other houses and farms we can search too,” Rick said.

 “Are you going with us?” Andrea asked.

 “I’d like to.”

 “Rick,” Hershel said, approaching you.

 “Hershel. We just have our guns out because we’re planning on going on a run,” Rick said.

 “Before you do that, I could use your help with something. Sam too. Shouldn’t take more than an hour, maybe two.”

 “Count me in,” Andrea said.

 “Just Sam and Rick. But thank you.”

 “I’ll be down at the barn, keeping watch until you’re ready,” Andrea said.

 “I’ll keep looking at the map. See if there’s anywhere else we can look,” you said to Rick.

 “Don’t go wandering off,” Sam said to you.

 “Don’t worry. I won’t.” You bent over the map again after kissing Sam’s cheek.

 ---

Sam

 Sam and Rick followed Hershel and Jimmy through the woods and to a little bog. Two walkers were stuck in the water and Sam frowned as he walked up.

 “That’s Lou Bush,” Hershel said.

 “You knew him?”

 “Lou as in Louise. She has a farm just up the road and grew sweet corn mostly. Worked at the bar in town on the weekends. The man I don’t know, but I recognize the coveralls he’s wearing. I’ve been to where he worked.” Hershel looked at Rick and Sam. “How many have you killed?”

 “Too many to count,” Rick said.

 “Me too,” Sam said when Hershel looked at him.

 “Could you stop?”

 Rick and Sam shared a look, Rick making eye contact with Hershel after. It was clear that both the men were hesitant in saying something and Hershel knew it.

 “There are people out there who haven’t been in their right minds. I think that they can be restored.”

 “You’re not talking about the walkers, are you?” Rick asked. Jimmy handed Hershel a snare pole, getting it ready.

 “It doesn’t matter if you don’t think the same or if you even see them as human beings anymore. But if you and your people are going to stay here, that’s how you’re gonna have to treat them. My farm, my barn, my say.”

 Hershel handed Rick the pole and after glancing at Sam, Rick took it.

 ---

[Y/n]

It had been a few hours and the two of them still hadn’t gotten back from the errand with Hershel. You were getting a little worried and was pacing around the porch. Adeline and Sophia were sitting with Carl and Beth, Beth playing a game of chess against Patricia. Andrea, Dean, and T-Dog were walking up from the barn. Looking up when you heard them, your brow furrowed.

 “What’s going on?” T-Dog asked. “Where is everyone?”

 “You haven’t seen Sam or Rick?” You said, worry in your voice.

 “They’re still somewhere with Hershel. We were supposed to leave hours ago,” Andrea said.

 “Yeah ya were. What the hell?” Daryl said, coming up to the house, Carol in tow.

 “He said they’d be back soon, two hours at most. It’s been almost four.” You were chewing on your lip and Carol rubbed your back soothingly.

 “Fuck!” Daryl said. He was upset and when he looked out towards the field, he spotted Shane. “Oh here we go.”

 You looked up too and saw that Shane had the gun bag in his hands.

 “What’s all this?” Daryl asked.

 “You with me, man?” Shane said. Daryl nodded and took the rifle Shane handed him.

 “Time to grow up.”

 “What’s going on?” You asked.

 “I thought we couldn’t carry?” T-Dog said.

 “We can and we will. It was one thing sitting around, picking flowers when we thought this place was safe. But it’s not.” Shane looked at Glenn. “How ‘bout you? You gonna protect yours?”

 Glenn took the gun with a nod and Shane turned to Maggie.

 “Can you shoot?”

 “Can you stop? You do this, my dad will make you leave tonight.”

 “We have to stay, Shane,” Carl said. Lori came bounding around the corner of the porch and you made eye contact with her. You shrugged your shoulders, just as confused as she was.

 “We ain’t goin’ anywhere. Now, Hershel, he’s just gotta understand. He- He’s gonna have to.” Shane knelt down in front of Carl and held out a gun. “I want you to take this. You take it and keep your mother and the girls safe. Do whatever it takes.”

 “What the fuck are you thinking?” Lori seethed, grabbing the pistol and getting in between Carl and Shane. “You can’t just give a gun to a twelve year old! And Rick said no guns. This is not your call! This is not your decision to make.”

 You were looking between Lori and Shane before T-Dog said something.

 “Oh shit.”

 Looking where he was, you saw your brother, Rick, Hershel, and Jimmy leading two walkers towards the barn. Shane took off running, you and everyone else close behind.

 “Shane!” You yelled. You were hot on his heels, trying to catch him before he did anything stupid.

 “What the hell are you doing?” Shane yelled as he crashed through the gate.

 “Shane, back off!”

 “Why do they have guns?” Hershel asked Rick.

 “You’re kidding me! You see what they’re holding onto?” Shane was in an angered frenzy.

 “I see who I’m holding onto.”

 “No, man, you don’t.”

 “Shane, just let us do this then we can talk,” Sam said, raising his hands.

 “What is there to talk about, man? These things aren’t sick and they’re not people. They’re dead! Ain’t gotta feel nothing for ‘em ‘cause all they do is fucking kill!” Shane was basically frothing at the mouth and you put your hand on the gun in your waistband. Looking behind you, you saw Lori had a hold of both Adeline and Carl.

 “They killed Amy! They killed Otis! And they gonna kill all of us.”

 “Calm down, Shane!” You said. One of the walkers got a little close to you and you pulled out your gun, pointing it at the walker.

 “Hershel, lemme ask you something. Could a living, breathing person survive something like this?” Shane cocked his gun and proceeded to shoot one of the walkers in the chest.

 “Shane, stop!” Rick yelled.

 “That’s three rounds to the chest. Could someone who’s alive take that? How is it still fucking standing?” He shot again, and again, before shooting it in the head.

 “Enough risking our lives for a ‘safe place to live’! Enough living next to a barn full of things that are trying to fucking kill us! Enough!” Shane walked closer to the barn and turned to Rick. “Rick, it ain’t like it was before! If y’all want to live, to survive, you have to fight for it! Right here, right now!”

 Shane ran to the barn and cut the chain holding it shut. Rick was begging Hershel to take the snare-pole, but he was still on his knees on the ground. He seemed to be in shock. Everyone was yelling at Shane to stop, but you knew he wouldn’t listen. When Shane threw away the last thing holding the walkers back, you readied your gun, standing next to Daryl and Dean.

 When they started walking out, you started shooting them down. Even though you knew this was the wrong way to go about it, you wouldn’t let anything hurt your family. Behind you, you could hear Maggie and Beth sobbing. You felt bad for killing their family a second time, but if you had to do it to make sure your daughter stayed alive you would do it again in a heartbeat.

 After the final shot rang through the air, you heard Beth let out a sob as you approached Lori to grab a crying Adeline from her.

 Beth had managed to get out of Jimmy’s arms and had ran to her mother. You heard voices tell her not to go near them, but she ignored them all. Crying, Beth turned her mother over and knelt by her head. She wasn’t dead yet and Beth screamed, trying to get away. The walker had her by the hair and everyone went to save her. Andrea stabbed it in the head and Beth was safe in her father’s arms.

 “I can’t believe Shane did that,” you muttered to Dean while you calmed down Ada. “It could’ve been handled differently.”

 “You’re right. But what’s done is done. You should get some rest.”

 “Can’t. Need to make sure Adeline’s okay.” You looked at your big brother. “I’m worried about the kids growing up in this new world. Ada already would’ve grown up with carnage around her, but Carl, Sophia, and Beth shouldn’t have. This isn’t a good world for children to grow up in.

 “It’s not. But what can we do?”

 “They need to be able to act like a normal kids. Their childhoods are being stripped away and I feel helpless in knowing there’s nothing I can do about it.”

 Shaking your head, you walked off towards the house as your brother watched you go, worry in his eyes.

 ---

 Later that day, you had a small funeral for Annette and Shawn. You had helped dig the graves and when it was time, you had the service.

 At the funeral, you stood in by your brothers, hand held tightly by Sam. Adeline was in your arms, head tucked into the crook of your neck. When it was over, everyone went their separate ways. Adeline stayed with Carol and Sophia, and you found yourself walking to Daryl. He had started setting up his camp away from everyone else and you couldn’t say you blamed him. Things were getting hectic and you found peace in the quiet away from everyone. You sat down next to him and the silence was broken after a few minutes.

 “Thank you,” you said softly. Daryl looked at you.

 “For what?”

 “Bringing me back to my family. I really appreciate it.” The atmosphere was slightly awkward, but you looked at him nonetheless.

 “It was nothin’.”

 “But it was something. I’m practically just a stranger to you but you helped me out anyways. So, thank you.” Hesitating slightly, you kissed his cheek and stood up. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

 As you started walking away, he grabbed your wrist. Stopping abruptly, you looked back at him. Daryl stood up and cupped your cheek. Eyes fluttering shut, you basked in the softness of his touch. He got closer to you and he kissed your cheek softly.

 “The same ta ya.” With that, Daryl walked away and you knew the conversation was over. Smiling to yourself, you walked back to the house and about half way there, you saw Lori running towards you.

 “Daryl over there?” She asked you.

 “Yes, why?”

 “Beth collapsed from shock and Hershel’s missing. Rick took Dean and Glenn to go get him but they’re not back yet.”

 “Beth in the house?”

 “Yes.”

 “I’ll go see what I can do to help.”

 “Thank you, hun. Now I gotta see if Daryl will go out to find them.”

 “Alright. Good luck.”

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead fanfiction #supernatural x reader #supernatural fanfiction #daryl dixon #The Walking Dead #twd #supernatural #spn #x reader #xreader #reader insert #winchester!reader #New World

[dearest-kibble]

Choking Point

TW: Noncon, choking (via dick) oral. Noncon oral (male receiving) Glass shards, Facefucking

 Little pops and the smell of burning caramel permeate the room. The sound of his voice, rough from screaming but not letting up in ferocity. You know you’re flinching, over and over. It gets even worse when Bakugo smacks over a vase on the floor. Glass shatters on the soft, carpeted floor. His face gets especially close to yours, teeth bared in a grimace and voice as acidic as the taste of the drugs he gives you. In a blind moment of unthinking panic, you scrabble back on the carpet. Mind only on the monster in front of you.  Your palm splits, porcelain digging into flesh Bakugo made sure was soft and unblemished. He’s not going to be happy today.

“Fuckin pathetic. Look at you, crying your eyes out over a little vase.” He rolls his eyes, sneering as the harsh words roll over his tongue and into the air.

“It hurts Bakugo…”

“The fuck did you just say?” His red eyes snap to your mouth, hands curl into fists before releasing little pops of explosions. You flinch and shut your mouth. “C’mon, out with it you cow.”

“Y-you hurt me.” His eyes widen slightly, and you can hear his labored breathing shallow slightly at your admittance.

“Stand up” The room isn’t quiet - breaths short and sharp punctuate your whimpers and Bakugo is barely containing the little explosions you know are as much a nervous habit as anger. As his red eyes stare into you, you’re not sure who’s more scared.

“I said, stand the fuck up!” A loud “boom” sounds from his left palm as the scent of  smokey sugar seeps into your nose, suffocating you.

“Yes sir.” You quickly stand, pain in your palm still throbbing. He grunts and circles round you once. Seeing no problem with your front or back, he gives an order.

“Be a good little pet and hold out your hands.”

“Y-yes Bakugo.” Stiff as a board, you lift your hands, keeping them straight and postured for easy access.

“Your palm.” The gruff tone of his voice drops. “It’s bleeding, open it.” His fingers needlessly pry gently at your already open hand, a cloth he always has on him starts to absorb the blood that was dripping from your palm.

“The vase, y-you-”

“Use your words.”

“You broke the vase a-and” He’s removed the glass and is carefully - gently wrapping the cloth around your palm. “And you hurt me.” Breath stops flowing as Bakugo’s hand - gentle hand - wraps around your neck.

“You fuckin cow.” He’s smirking as he lifts you off the ground. Your hands, though one has been bandaged, are clawing at Bakugo’s wrist, you’re kicking and fighting and you can’t breathe and he’d never hurt you. “You know I’d never hurt you.”

“B-bu-”

“Shut the fuck up, sweetheart.” The edge in his tone is mocking and the squeeze to your throat leaves you with tunnel vision. “It looks to me like you wanna get hurt.” He drops you and immediately you begin to cough on air that comes rushing back to your lungs.

“N-no-”

“Why’d you poke yourself with a stupid ass piece of glass then, huh?! Got any fucking idea how many arteries are in your palm?”

“Bakugou I didn’t know-”

“Of course you knew. How the fuck didn’t you hear a vase shatter? Your cow brain affecting those ears of yours?”

“I can hear your bullshit about not wanting me to be hurt.” Bakugo growls as you speak. “You just want to be the only person who can hurt me!” The air in your lungs has barely returned and this is the first time in months you’ve raised your voice.

“You such a little bitch that you think I'd hurt you?” You gasp for air, maybe if your lungs are full, you can talk him out of this, tell him you're fine - go back to your room - anything but be on the floor looking up at his red - boiling over like lava, threatening to melt you - eyes. “Fine. I’ll hurt you if you really want me too, you painslut.” Air doesn’t come quickly enough and you are still trying to breathe to speak when he roughly takes hold of your wrists. The sweaty hands feel rough around them as you shake your arms desperately to try and free yourself from Bakugo’s grasp.

“Too bad I don’t have any rope.” His eyes are so stern and his smirk a little forced. “You’ll just have to be good for me.” Once the words escape his mouth, his grin is a little more natural as he tightens his grip. “C’mon now, look at me! You wanna be hurt so bad and baby, I fuckin live to serve you.”

You're still surrounded by shards of glass that normally would've been cleaned up while you were forced to sit in your overly padded room. A rough hand collides with your cheek and finds its way into your hair to give a harsh tug up.

“I said look at me slut!” You look at the ground, uncaring of the pain in your scalp. “Fuck, you really wanna be hurt.” He laughs mockingingly. “I’ve been treating you all wrong, I shoulda known a whore like you wants to be hurt.” His hand leaves your hair only to grab your chin roughly and push up. Muscles strain in your neck as you fight to keep your head down. “Fucking look at me!” His voice roars and as you flinch his fingers lighten their grip for just a millisecond. The roar floods your ears as you look up at his other hand, slowly moving down to his zipper.

“Open wide sweetheart.” You glance up at his face with apprehensive eyes, met with darkened crimson and a tongue dragging along his lips. “Open those cocksucking lips for me baby. I know you like it rough.” Fingers pull at your bottom lip, and the taste is sweet and acidic, like caramel dipped pineapple. He prys softly at first and when your teeth still grind he yanks harshly at your chin and shoves a finger in your mouth. His other hand reaches down, palm resting on your cheek as he keeps your teeth from meeting.

“Be a good little slut and don’t bite, got that?” You blink twice, unable to move your head as he removes his finger from your mouth and moves it down below his waistline. You can hear a groan as he pumps his cock. His hand stays there and you almost try through open teeth to murmur a “Stop” before the salty taste of precum mixes with the sweet acidity of nitroglycerine. Your nose pressed flush against bushy blonde hair and the burning caramel smell mixes with a more pungent musk. He removes his thumb from your mouth and positions his hand firmly in your hair, getting a solid grip. He lets his cock sit in your dripping mouth for roughly thirty seconds before he takes his first thrust. His cock hits the back of your throat. The feeling makes you want to vomit and you move to pull away from him immediately. If not for the tight grip on your head, you’re sure you would’ve gotten away but instead he speaks in a rough, low voice.

“Slut can’t take my cock? Too bad.” And he gives another sharp thrust as the slap of skin fills the room. “Your little throat just-” He lets out a hushed groan as he fucks your mouth again. “Tightens so good baby.” Another thrust and his dick lingers in your throat as you heave slightly, mouth frothing with saliva. “Fuck - what if I just pinched your nose shut and you passed out with my cock in your mouth?” You try not to look at him, really try. But your eyes must flit up for a small second. “You’ve got such cute eyes baby, just begging me to fuck that tight little throat like I mean it!” He picks up his speed, already swollen lips feeling stretched too wide around his thrusting in and out. In and out of your throat, but never leaving your mouth. You look into his eyes, and hope he knows what you mean with the biggest doe eyes you can make.

“Yeah yeah-” His voice isn’t as calm as it might’ve been a minute ago, it’s strained, taught like a string about to snap. His thrusts, which were already erratic, speed up with small growls and groans of “Like that baby-” “Gonna fucing- yeah.” and “You take my cock so good.” He lets out a loud groan that reverberates on the walls as he finally pulls from your mouth, however slowly it is. There's hot, salty cum in your mouth and he’s still coming on your face, ruining your clothes.

“S-shit sweetheart- look so good covered in my cum.” He finally drops your arms which are sore and feel like they’ve been bruised and with his hand, thumbs over your cheek softly. “Can you say ‘I love you?’” Your tongue is still coated with thick white liquid that you just know he wants swallowed. You gulp it down quickly, acrid tang of salt and sugar mixing and slowly it passes down your sore throat and open your mouth, lips still painted the same white. You try to speak, yet all that comes from your throat are small rasps of “I” but you smile - if he thinks you enjoyed it, he wouldn’t do it again right?

“I knew you’d love it, you slut. Next time, you will pass out on my cock, like that baby? Wanna pass out with your mouth full of daddy’s cock?”

#katsuki bakugo x reader #yandere bakugo x reader #yandere bakugou #yandere bnha #yandere bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugou #bnha katsuki #bnha #bnha x reader #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw facefucking #yandere x reader #yandere fiction #bakugo x reader

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (26) || atz

You drift in and out of consciousness.

Dreams flash through your mind, juxtaposed with reality and hallucinations. You can no longer tell what is true or not, simply choosing to accept them all as you continue falling endlessly into nothingness.

You sit on a rock in a small cove. Men and women clamour around you in the water, tails flickering in beautiful jewel tones as they eagerly offer you all sorts of precious gifts, mother of pearl, a beautiful bouquet of colourful anemone, a silvered shell. You laugh and accept them, your tail shimmering with silver scales under the sun.

You feel a hand holding yours, cool metal brushing your soft skin. A pair of lips, soft and warm, brushes against your temple.

“Wake up soon, alright?”

Storms rage all around you. The sea heaves with massive, turbulent waves, the water grey with froth and lightning flashes. You scream with rage, despair, absolute loneliness and the seas respond, swirling around you as if they’re alive with fury.

There’s someone next to you. He’s reading to you in a chair at your bedside, a book about essential oils distilled from natural plants.

“And the clary sage oil is colourless, with a nutty smell. People say its effects feel euphoric, you know, do you think it’s true?”

You’re at the beach of a small island, sitting in the sand. The blue sea stretches on for miles, not another ship in sight. A young boy smiles and asks for your name. You don’t have one, but you tell him what you are. He can’t repeat the word to you with his tongue.

“Please, be okay. Don’t go without letting me thank you.” Someone sobs, wetness soaking into your shoulder. Another person reassures him quietly, his voice a little more gruff and rough around the edges, but still soft.

A man with green hair, San, you think his name with, dances around the ship wearing nothing but two starfish and a skirt of seaweed.

Okay, that’s definitely just a nightmare.

Someone’s singing. His voice is beautiful, striking high notes with ease and pulling you into the melody of the song. The notes wrap around you like a lullaby.

You’re in a prison cell, the place dank and dirty. In your hands, you hold the cut crystal, running your fingers along the words inscribed into it until you find the catch that separates the chain from the gem. The crystal reveals itself to be a tiny vial, containing a mixture inside that sparkles like liquid diamonds. You close your eyes one last time, remembering the little boy’s face, and swallow the contents whole.

“Please wake up.” Someone whispers to you. He holds your hands against his forehead as he pleads with you, and your fingers brush cloth. “Please, Chin Hae, wake up.”

Chin Hae.

Is that your name?

No, it’s not. I don’t have a name. But I am ****.

Chin Hae?

Hurry and wake up, Ch*n H**.

Why are you calling me that? My name isn’t C*** H**.

Hurry up, hurry up, ****.

Your eyes fly open.

You’re in a bed, staring at the ceiling. For a moment, you stay like that, suddenly uncomprehending of who you are or what you are. Every limb feels heavy, as if you haven’t moved them in months, and when you finally muster the strength to turn your head sideways, there’s a head of green hair there.

You scream.

“Wassgoingon?” The head of green hair mumbles, lifting his head to look for the source of the commotion. His eyes are bleary, tired, until they meet yours, then he freezes in shock.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment.

A word forms on your lips instinctively. “M…” Your voice is rough and scratchy from disuse. “Master?”

The man continues staring at you in shock for another few seconds. Then his eyes widen and he finally lets out a massive scream.

“What’s going on?” A young man with dark hair bursts into the room with a club over his shoulder, looking around for the source of the green haired man’s discomfort. When his eyes fall on you, they widen almost comically.

The club drops to the ground.

“Jongho-hyung?” You ask, and suddenly memories come flooding back to you, sitting in the square with a cream puff in front of you, entering a fortune teller’s booth together. The maknae simply keeps staring at you, before he finally reaches forward to pinch your cheeks.

“Ow!” You shout in pain and bat his hand away, but it’s like trying to move a ship by blowing at its sails. “That hurts!”

His hand falls limply to the side, mouth hanging open in shock. “I’m not dreaming.” He turns to San, who still hasn’t moved from his seat, jaw dragging along the floor. “You’re not dreaming.”

San nods confirmation, just as shocked. You frown. Did you turn into a ghost or something?

Then Jongho tears out of the sickbay before you can ask his what the commotion is, and you can hear him screaming outside. “Everyone! Chin Hae is awake!”

You blink owlishly at them in confusion. Honestly, you just woke up. There’s nothing special about it.

San catches you in a crushing hug, so tight you can feel every rib creaking, but you simply put your arms around him. You’re stunned for a moment, but raise a hand to stroke his back to comfort him.

You feel him sob against you.

“Thank you. Thank you for being alive.” He wails into your sleeve, and your shoulder is damp with his tears. You can barely bring yourself to ask him why he’s crying, confused to as why everyone seems to be overly excited about you waking up. Then it comes back to you.

The whipping.

Captain.

Betrayal.

Wooyoung.

The gunshots.

Blood.

Yeosang.

You force yourself into a sitting position as fast as you can, glancing around the room desperately. It’s empty, except for you. Your heart sinks.

Yeosang isn’t there.

“What happened to Yeosang-hyung?” You demand, turning to your master. “Oh god, is he dead? Did I fail? Did he-”

San opens his mouth to reply, but he’s cut off from answering you when someone bursts in through the door of the sickbay, panting hard and hunched over on his knees. When he finally does catch his breath, he looks up, and then he sees you.

It’s Yeosang.

It’s Yeosang, still looking a little pale and ashen and weak. It’s Yeosang, who looks like he hasn’t slept in days. But it’s Yeosang, who’s blessedly and wonderfully alive, and that’s all the matters to you.

“Yeosang-hyung-”

He takes three steps to cross the room and wraps his arms around you, delicately and gently, as if he’s afraid you might dissolve into nothingness if he touches you too hard. San moves away so Yeosang can take his place, and the navigator stares at you in wonderment. You turn a little red in embarrassment.

“You’re alive.” He says, still stunned. You nod in reply, a sheepish smile on your face.

“Yeah.”

“You’re not a ghost.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I’m not dreaming?”

The way he says the last question, as if he’s so sure that you’re nothing but a figment of his imagination, how he doesn’t dare to trust what he sees in case it’s all a lie breaks your heart. You grip his hand earnestly, warm blood flowing under yours.

“You’re not.”

Then Yeosang is cradling you to him tightly, silent tears running down his cheeks. “Don’t ever do that again, you dumbass.”

A laugh pulls at your lips. Yeosang is swearing, and maybe that’s a bigger miracle than you actually coming back.

“I won’t if you don’t save me the next time.”

Yeosang pulls away from you a little, just to look at you, sniffing as he wipes his eyes with the hem of his sleeve. “I can’t do that.”

“We’ll have a rotation.” You tell him, as you help him dab dry the tears, an amused smile on your face. “I’ll sacrifice myself for you on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and weekends. You can have the others.”

Yeosang hiccups a little through his smile and tears. “No fair, you get so many more days than I do…”

The two of you sit in silence, both of you having gone through the same trial together has forged a bond between the two of you no one else has. Yeosang is smiling so brightly, like a small sun, and you can’t help but laugh at how happy he looks.

Then San clears his throat. “Yeosangie, she needs to change.”

Yeosang glances down at you, only to realise that you’re wearing a thin white shirt over your bindings and nothing else. His face turns cherry red and he leaps away from you, scrambling to avert his eyes with his hands and immediately knocks his nose into the door frame.

“I’ll be going now!” He squeaks, and you laugh at how sweet he is. He glances back at you one last time, shyly peeking through his fingers as a real, genuine smile blooms across his face. “I’m really, really happy, Chin Hae.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“I know.”

With one last smile, the navigator exits the room, leaving you and San in silence.

Your master stares at you for a long moment. Then he opens his mouth to speak.

“That should have killed you.”

You had known that the moment you’d started the link between you and him. What you were intending to do, what you were trying to get back, and the price you’d have to pay. You had known all of this, and you’d still gone ahead with it anyway.

“I know.”

He fixes you with a stern look, as if you’ve just made a mistake in your healing theory or you’ve done a bandage wrong. “That was the stupidest thing I’ve seen anyone do, and I live with Wooyoung and Yunho.”

A snort forces its way out of your mouth.

“But you did it anyway, and you’re still here.” San smiles gently, his strict facade cracking. He looks so relieved, as if he’s been carrying this weight on his shoulders ever since you attempted the healing. Then something strikes you.

“How long have I been out?”

“About a week or so.” Your master replies as he places a bundle of clothes on the bed. Your eyes fly open in shock. Exactly how close did you come to completely draining yourself that day?

Your master jabs a finger at you.

“I should expel you as my student.” Fear wells up in you for a moment at the thought, but then he shakes his head and smiles. “Get dressed, apprentice.”

With that, he leaves the room.

You change your clothes slowly, your muscles sore and limbs stiff. As you take off your shirt, your fingers brush the silver chain of your necklace.

The words inscribed on it leave your lips.

“I will be with you every step of the way.”

Suddenly, excitement wells in you as you fumble with the necklace, brushing your fingers across the silver, trying to find the hidden clasp. And as though it knows you are looking for it, you find it faster than you thought you would, and there’s a small clicking sound.

The tiny crystal vial falls to the bed.

I want a name, you hear a voice whisper around you, carried on the wind as it swirls around you and fades.

Your mouth falls open.

Because the voice was yours.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #jongho #san #mingi #wooyoung #ateez pirate king #w; ot8 #w; fanfiction #w; pirate king

[icedthoma]

4 o with oikawa?? Congrats on 2k!!

the story of him

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x Reader

4o. Sharing a drink + “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Warnings: Slight manga spoilers ig, also thank you for leaving a request, I hope you enjoy! 

Every life has a story to tell, an account of past events centering around that person as the main character. If in everyone’s life dwells a story, why is it the one within you only seems to have been highlighting your best friend, casting you as a supporting character in your own story from the very beginning?

When it comes to Oikawa Tooru, anyone else who gets too close to him is but a mere candle to his light, easily lost next to the pages and pages of all his accomplishments. You’re no exception. You’re just there, the afterthought, the “only invited because it would be rude not to invite all three of you” (the third being Iwaizumi, but he shines bright enough on his own, anyway). 

"Hey, you’re finishing the whole thing!”

“Huh?” Blinking rapidly, you’re forcibly brought back to the present (and the milkshake you’ve been sipping at nonstop for the past few minutes). Quickly popping the straw off your lips, you raise your eyes from the half-finished drink to where Oikawa’s in front of you, elbows rested on the small circular table the two of you are seated at. 

He sits back and huffs, lips curving into an insufferable pout. “That was supposed to be mine.”

“And you made the mistake of sharing it with me,” you say teasingly, forcing a light tone out of your mouth. “Lucky Iwa isn’t here, he’d have smacked you.”

“I've already settled things with him,” Tooru mutters, and you flinch as you remember the aftermath of their crushing loss against Karasuno. “So what if I wanted to spend my last day here with you?”

Another thing you don’t want to remember forced back into your memory. Despite your attempts to pretend that this is just a normal hangout between you and your best friend, you know for the years following this moment you’ll only be able to see him through a screen. The two of you are freshly graduated from Aoba Johsai, and Oikawa’s leaving for South America tomorrow morning. 

He snatches the drink back from you and, to your dismay, drains the rest of the shake in seconds. Long after the glass is empty he’s still holding his straw in his mouth, gaze cast down to the bits of froth left inside. The silence between you gives you an opportunity to tune in to the not-so-subtle conversation of the two girls working the counter out of pure boredom. 

“That brown-haired boy’s kind of attractive,” one giggles, elbowing her friend. “I should tell Haruki we had a super cute customer today.”

“Keep dreaming, your coffee shop romance won’t happen anytime soon.”

“Come on, you never know!”

It’s like you’re not even there, and you wish you hadn’t listened. Oikawa doesn’t seem to have heard them, though, as his eyes are still fixed dazedly on the glass and he hasn’t moved an inch. “Sorry,” he says out of nowhere, only slightly startling you while he abruptly stands up with the glass in his hands. “I’ll buy you another one.”

He’s gone before you can protest, walking back over to the counter where the girls bring their conversation to a screeching halt and fall over themselves in an attempt to look natural. When Oikawa returns, you gratefully accept the drink (with promises to pay him back that he waves away) and take a refreshing sip from one of the two straws embedded in it. “What were you thinking so hard about earlier?”

“How I’m, really, really, really, going to miss you,” Tooru says without hesitation. 

“Don’t worry,” you say, though it comes out a little dryer than you’d like. “You’ll have lots of opportunities abroad to keep you occupied. You’ll make new friends, meet lots of new people...you’re destined for success, you know.”

Oikawa stares at you, sliding the glass out of your grip and over to his side of the table without breaking eye contact the whole time. You don’t have the heart to tell him he’s just taken a sip from your straw, not his, as his narrowed gaze is focused elsewhere rather than the milkshake. “You really think I’d forget about you that easily?”

Yes. 

“No.”

You’re not a memorable person, that’s certainly been proven all throughout your middle school and high school years. In the grand scheme of things, aren’t you just another supporting character, vaguely mentioned once in the “Early life” section of someone’s wiki page?

“You’ve always been there for me since we met back in middle school,” he says, folding his hands together on the table. “You’ve seen me at my very worst, you bring me down to earth when I get big-headed, you listen to me talk about aliens even though everyone else says it’s stupid, heck, you even let me cry on your shoulder after I messed up my knee and it hurt.” Oikawa pauses for breath, voice uncharacteristically raw and strained.

“So don’t you dare say I’ll forget you, because I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

All you can do is blink in surprise down at your clenched hands and swallow hard, not trusting your ability to speak at the moment. After a minute of silence, you finally manage to choke out a small, “Thank you.”

And you mean it. 

Once the two of you leave the cafe and eventually reach the point on your way home where your paths split, the two of you stand there silently, neither wanting to make the move to leave. 

“I’m going to miss you, too,” you say, answering his statement from earlier and shoving your hands in your pockets. “But I look forward to seeing you play on the big screen.”

He laughs at that, but it’s laced with a hidden sadness as he opens his arms for one final hug. which you gladly accept. “I know this marks a new chapter for both of us, but you’ll do great at university for sure.”

You rest your head on his shoulder and breathe in his scent for the last time, memorizing the pressure of his arms around you and warmth flowing into your body, for it’s the last memory you’ll ever have of him in person. 

“Go make history,” you say, pulling away and fixing your eyes on him with determination. “And don’t forget to call me every so often.”

Oikawa nods, a small smile tugging the corners of his mouth up. “I will.”

The next time you see him will be alongside the rest of the world.

2k event masterlist

#t's 2k event #oikawa tooru x reader #tooru oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #oikawa scenarios #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #hq imagines #hq scenarios #oikawa tooru imagine #tooru oikawa #oikawa tōru #haikyuu oikawa

[solicuttle]

Toritsuka’s Guide To Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Blood, Violence

Characters: Most of the cast

A very, very self-indulgent zombie apocalypse themed post. Not sure if I’m going to add a reader to this?

The world goes to shit when Toritsuka is getting his first (willing) kiss.  He hasn’t seen her face yet but any girl who doesn’t run away at “hey cutie wanna smooch me?” must be beautiful.

She doesn’t seem to dislike the idea of kissing or start screaming bloody murder the minute Toritsuka leans in. It’s not as picture perfect as he thought his first kiss would’ve been-- kissing under the bleachers after skipping graduation is hardly scenic but Toritsuka’s a wise man, it would be dumb to waste this opportunity.

She’s close, so close he can feel the puffs of her breath on his face and—holy shit her breath stinks. Toritsuka stumbles back with a groan, hand clamping over his mouth to resist the urge to vomit. It takes less than two seconds to stand back up (leaning away from our first kiss is douche behavior) and he’s ready to apologize (and offer a few mints to her), “I’m so sorry—” he steps back to avoid the obvious slap he might receive; Toritsuka looks up – half of her face is a sickly green, and there’s a gaping hole where her eye should be.

He vomits on her shoe. And then runs, screaming bloody murder.

Toritsuka’s feet take him back to the school, because where else would he go?! Home is too dangerous, what if he runs into another not-cute-girl who wants to kill kiss him? He bursts into the gym – or well he tries, but Hairo’s blocking the way. The red head is built like a tank, and he refuses to budge, “What the fuck? Let me in, I’m going to be sick—”

At his words, a loud sob breaks through the room. Toritsuka stops his panic-induced struggling and turns towards the sound. It’s Teruhashi, this is a sight he never thought he’d see, but she’s curled into the corner, crying. Still as beautiful, but she’s crying. Mera and Yumehara sit next to her, Mera eating a packet of biscuits with vigor but the distress on her face is clear. Yumehara is staring blankly into the wall, scratching her arms vacantly. The blue graduation dress she’d spent ages gushing about is dirty and tattered.

The lights are flickering – they’d been working perfectly fine when Toritsuka had left from boredom – and whenever it swings and creaks it elicits another round of hushed sobs. Any words Toritsuka has dies on his throat, he goes lax in Hairo’s hold.

“Have you been bitten or scratched?”

The words come from Nendou, the weirdo sitting next to Kaidou – and Kaidou is obviously trying (and failing) to resist the urge to cry. Toritsuka mutedly shakes his head, and the redhead finally pulls him in before crushing him into a hug, “You aren’t dead! Amazing!”. Toritsuka balks, Hairo’s words cracking the tense atmosphere.

“Why would I be dead?!” Toritsuka once again struggles in Hairo’s hold, the other male not even flinching as he slams the doors shut. “Answer the question? Did the teachers find out I left after I received my diploma—”

“The teachers aren’t here anymore—” Kaidou’s wail interrupts his sentence; at the look of pure confusion on Toritsuka’s face, Kaidou adds, “You don’t know what’s going on, do you? Are you an idiot or something?”

“What’s going on?” His words have Kaidou staring at him incredulously. The blue haired male stops crying for a second, little laughs coming out. He’s in hysterics—Toritsuka would’ve cursed him out but Hairo flexes his muscles once and suddenly Toritsuka’s out of breath. Damn his hold is tight.

“You’re an idiot.” Those words have Yumehara murmuring in agreement, “The news—the news s-says that there’s a parasite and its killing people,” and that’s the most Kaidou says before he breaks into another fit of sobs and mumbles incoherently about “the doings of dark reunion”.

Whatever the fuck that means.

Hairo finally sets Toritsuka down. He gasps, inhaling that sweet, sweet oxygen that Hairo deprived him of. Kaidou is obviously a lost cause, the boy crying about the “Jet Black Wings” and Nendou’s too busy laughing at Kaidou. Not that Nendou was ever an option-- has Toritsuka ever mentioned how annoying Nendou is? A whole real girl liked Nendou before him! It’s times like this that Toritsuka truly understands that life has no balance.

A screeching sound snaps Toritsuka out of his jealousy induced reverie. Hairo’s pushing up chairs against the door he’d just come from. Toritsuka’s brow furrows from confusion, “Why are you pushing chairs against that door? There’s another one over there.”. He points at the curtains, many people forgot about that door when they hid it beneath the frilly curtains. That’s how he’d escaped their boring graduation.

Mera frowns, “There’s another door?” Her words come out muffled due to the food in her mouth.

“Close your mouth a bit Mera, some food is flying out.” Teruhashi takes a break from dabbing her eyes with tissue to kindly remind Mera. Said girl turns around, stress clear on her face,

“Eating relaxes me!”.

“Relax differently then I—” Yumehara’s words are cut off by a low growl. Toritsuka’s blood turns cold.

“Did you guys hear that sound?” Nobody gets to answer, another growl reinforces the idea that they are going to get mauled to death by something. Sure, they could exit through the door Hairo just finished blocking but that doesn’t account for whatever they could run into outside.

The curtains ruffle, the thing behind it obviously struggling. Teruhashi pales more than Toritsuka thought humanly possible—and this is the perfect opportunity to be her knight in shining armor but any thought of approaching her ends when the curtains rip at the seams. It’s a… thing.

The thing is hunched over, frothing at the mouth. It’s jaws gnash with each passing second, Toritsuka should move, should leave before the thing tries to kill him but his legs refuse to move. Is this how he’s going to die, at the hands of an ugly zombie? Even though it’s a staircase and a few tables away from them, Toritsuka can see his life flash before his eyes. He hasn’t even gotten his first kiss and he’s going to perish in obscurity.

The zombie growls, its maw opening to show a deformed set of teeth. Mera sucks on a lollipop. Toritsuka says his goodbyes.

And in the moment where he’s supposed to die—Toritsuka doesn’t die. The zombie falls down. Toritsuka’s eyes widen in surprise, the zombie nothing more than an unmoving splatter on the floor.

“Are you alright?!” Toritsuka never thought he’d be happy to hear Kuboyasu’s voice but in this very moment he could sing praises for the other boy. Kuboyasu’s suit is skewered, and tinted in red – its probably blood, but Toritsuka isn’t willing to think about why.

“Yes, I’m fine – I was about to protect the ladies,” the withering glare Yumehara sends his way shuts him up.

“Toritsuka’s still alive?” The voice is annoyed, and immediately Toritsuka knows who it is.

“Saiki!” The pink haired male stands next to Kuboyasu, dark green suit surprisingly neat and tidy. His glasses are in immaculate condition unlike Kuboyasu’s blood stained pair. “Why would I be dead?” Toritsuka sputters indignantly, “I can keep myself alive just fine.”

“Ah? You said you were going to be sick when you came in—" Toritsuka frowns, glaring at Nendou. The idiot smiles in return, and it takes all Toritsuka’s willpower to not throw a chair at the goof.

Saiki walks down the stairs, a frown etched on his face and holy hell Toritsuka has never been so happy to see him in his life—

When the thing came in, and Saiki and Kuboyasu killed it almost instantly, it hit Toritsuka: Saiki and Kuboyasu must be the protagonists of whatever horror story Toritsuka’s got himself in, and everyone knows the protagonists are typically the best people to be around. Unless you’re a woman – then you’ll become the damsel in distress, and nobody wants to be a real-life damsel in distress.

The only path to survive is obviously to stick close to Saiki (Kuboyasu’s a muscular freak so that’s a no), and the best way to do that is to let Saiki know he’s dependable!

“Saiki, I love you so much!”

“No.” Saiki’s words are the nail in the coffin.

“But without you I’ll die!”

Mera turns to face him, a chicken wing in her mouth, “I don’t think this is the time for a confession, Toritsuka.”

#the disastrous life of saiki k. #saiki kusuo #saiki no psi nan #toritsuka reita #kaidou shun #kuboyasu aren #zombie #zombie apocolypse au #soli's imagines

[whythinktoomuch]

iii. half-dead & buried

(pt. i)  (pt. ii) 

tw: gore & death

Turns out that Lena’s a pretty private person, which Kara thinks is why no one else is too keen on trusting her. But Lena also happens to be a pretty pretty person, which Alex thinks is why Kara is so very keen on overlooking that compulsive need for such privacy. 

“She won’t let us search her pack,” Alex complains to Kara, as she so often does. “I get that she needs her space and all, but what if she has a weapon? We need to know.” 

“She doesn’t have a gun,” Kara says. “She had one, but ran out of ammo several months ago. She does have a swiss army knife though, and a hunting knife on her at all times, but that’s it.” 

Alex stares at Kara in disbelief for a long moment, then snorts. “You two do a lot of chatting then? Is that why you’re always holed up in your room together?” 

“Shut up. It’s not like that.” 

“Mm-hm. So... whose bed are you gettin’ busy on anyway?” Alex asks without missing a beat. “Because if you’re doing that on my bed, I fully expect y’all to disinfect every—” A swift pillow to the face cuts her off before Kara’s blush can get too widespread. 

But honestly, Kara gets it. She fully understands the need to keep certain things to yourself. It’s a manner of exercising control in a world that regularly abuses the very lack thereof. 

It’s the reason why Kara starts off every day with 25 push-ups and caps off every night with an hour long run. 

And why Alex cleans her gun 12 times a day. 

And why every other resident there has their own personal idiosyncrasies to be tended to on the regular. 

And it’s why Lena wants to keep the contents of her beat-up rucksack to herself. And why Lena seems to be singlehandedly reading her way through their tiny makeshift library. And why Lena insists on wearing her tattered red flannel over every single outfit, even on the hottest of days, even with her long dark hair matted and dripping in sweat. 

“She’ll show us when she’s ready,” Kara says whenever the topic comes up, and eventually, she’s proven right. 

“Can I share something with you?” Lena asks one day, and Kara’s stomach does little flips in response. 

“Of course,” she says as a more verbal response. 

Lena studies Kara with narrowed eyes, then reaches inside her bag, the contents a-clanking like they always do, and pulls out a large yellow can to drop into Kara’s hands.

“Oh. Okay.” 

“They’re peaches,” Lena says. “Canned peaches.” 

“Yeah, I mean, I can read, yeah.” 

“That’s all I had to eat before you found me.” 

“Really? Jeez...” Kara hands back the can, scratches at the back of her neck. “Well, at least it tastes good, right?” 

“Are you kidding? I almost shit my pants every other day.” 

“Oh. Well, that sucks, man.” 

Lena rolls her eyes, shoving the peaches—and apparent bane of her existence—back into her rucksack. “I can’t even stand the sight of them anymore.” 

“So, you’re just lugging all those heavy cans around all day?” Kara asks, incredulous. 

“Well, what else am I supposed to do with them?” 

“You could always give them away,” Kara says, and the very suggestion has Lena tightening her grip on her bag, knuckles paling noticeably. “I mean, you don’t have to, obviously. But if you weren’t gonna eat ‘em anyway...” Kara shrugs. 

And Lena does. At the end of the day, she hands over four 15oz cans of Del Monte sliced peaches and a small tin of kidney beans to the kitchens, and Alex actually thanks her. 

The following morning, Kara almost spills both of their breakfasts onto the library floor as she bursts through the doorway, unaccustomed to carrying two trays instead of just the one. 

When the time comes for the next scavenging mission, Lena wants to tag along, and Alex okays it, but refuses to give her a gun. 

“Are you serious?” Kara demands. “We always arm everyone when we go. Even Mike, and he’s a terrible shot!” 

“Resources are already low as it is,” Alex says, talking over Mike’s heated protests. “Just can’t risk it.” 

“I don’t care,” Lena chimes in. “I have my knife.” 

“She doesn’t care. She has her knife,” Alex promptly repeats, throwing a hand toward Lena, but Kara still leaves the compound all glowering and huffy. 

They travel for nearly a day before they discover an abandoned warehouse full of goods. One that they can surely mine from for the next five months, at the very least. Maybe even seven if they’re frugal about it, which Alex always has them be. 

So, Kara marks it on her ever-expanding hand-drawn map, tongue poking out between her teeth as she tries to get all the proportions just right. Later, she’ll wonder why she even wasted so much of her time and attention on such trivial matters. 

Its movements are clumsy, but oh so terribly quick as it claws its way out of the wall. The first slash catches Franklin around the chest, tearing through shirt and skin, and a burst of red hits the open air. His scream is what ends up grabbing everyone’s attention and sends most of the team sprinting in the opposite direction. 

Kara snatches her gun off the ground—stupid, stupid, stupid, it never should have been down there in the first place—and fires off a single round that puts a neat hole through the zombie’s forehead. It crumples instantly, but it’s too late. It was too late the moment it had appeared. 

Franklin is bleeding from too many places. There’s gashes all over his arms, the wound on his chest is flowing freely, and he has a hand pressed to his neck, where half-rotted teeth had torn through flesh and sinew. 

Kara’s hand is trembling as she raises her gun. “Franklin...” 

“It’s fine,” Franklin says, nodding furiously. “Just do it.” 

“Kara, there’s more!” Lena shouts in warning, and Kara whips her gun around, swiftly sending three more zombies dropping to the ground with bleeding foreheads and the backs of their heads blown out. “Okay, we gotta go. Now.” 

Kara stares helplessly back at Franklin, her gun hand raising half-heartedly once more, but this time, he’s shaking his head. 

“Look, they’re just gonna keep coming,” Franklin says, breath already stuttering and shallow. “But I can slow them down for you.” 

“We can’t let you do that,” Kara grits out, throat already welling up with regret. 

“I’m dead anyway. Go. I can do this.” 

Eventually, it’s Lena tugging insistently at her hand that drags Kara away from the scene. And it’s Lena’s hand squeezing at hers that keeps Kara from collapsing to her knees when they hear Franklin’s screams echoing after them. 

They run full-speed down a long, darkened hallway, chasing after the intermittent gunshots sounding somewhere ahead, hoping against hope that all the snarling noises are farther away than they sound. 

When they get to a dead end, Kara picks a door at random and shoulders her way through, hauling Lena after her, and they both end up face to face with a shotgun. 

“Jesus, Mike,” Kara hisses, swatting the gun aside. “Are you serious? You could’ve shot us!” 

“I thought you were a zombie! How the hell was I supposed to know?” Mike says, hands raised in defense.  

Kara just sighs and pushes past him. “All right, tell me the truth. How fucked are we right now?” 

“Not at all, actually.” Brainy tears his gaze away from the window. “We’ve managed to dispatch all the creatures at this end of the warehouse, and aside from a few stragglers outside and by the main entrance, I think we’re in the clear. It appears as if it was just a small horde wandering on its own.”

“Just,” Kara echoes, jaw clenching tight. “Just a small horde, huh.” 

Brainy stares, bewildered. “Yes?”

Kara shrugs her backpack off, dropping it at Mike’s feet. “Fill that for me. I’m gonna go pick off those stragglers.”

“By yourself?” Lena asks incredulously. 

“Let her go,” Mike says, eyes rolling. “She’s always like this.” 

Just as Brainy’s predicted, there’s only a few zombies left for Kara to take out, which doesn’t take too long. But almost an hour later, Kara’s still hovering by the main entrance when Lena comes looking for her. 

And Kara is just sitting there, hugging her knees, with her gun lying uselessly next to her. She’s watching Franklin, or at least, what used to be Franklin. 

He was only recognizable through his attire, half of his face having been chewed off. His limbs—all broken and bloodied, with the bone exposed—are already twitching, every open wound darkening in rapid decay. The light hazel of his one remaining eye disappears behind his pupil, and the body comes back to life. 

It’s frothing at the mouth as it tries and fails to sit up, lashing out with arms bent at odd angles. 

“There weren’t even that many,” Kara says finally, voice so quiet that it’s barely heard over the violent rasps. “He didn’t have to go like that.” 

“You can still help,” Lena says just as quietly. 

“I’m supposed to—” Kara covers her face with a frustrated groan. “I’m supposed to use something else. It’s protocol. We have to stab him in the, you know, even though he’s already so... We have to save bullets. Alex says that we have to save our bullets.”

“Well, Alex doesn’t have to know.” 

Slowly and cautiously, Lena reaches over and picks up Kara’s gun, and makes the decision for her. 

When they rejoin the group, no one asks about the stray gunshot fired, or why Kara is crying, or how come she and Lena are now holding hands. Everyone reacts to loss in different ways, after all. 

(next part here)

#this is 1655 words. #WHY!? #there's going to be a part iv and i hate myself i'm sorry y'all #my words.

[lailyn]

A Funny Turn

For @kymera219

Pairing: Loki/Tony Stark

Prompt: Epilepsy

The first time it happened, Tony did not think too much of it. He had seen Loki all manner of injured since he talked Loki into joining the Avengers on missions; the more dangerous they were, the better. Like a magnet, the Asgardian prince attracted trouble wherever he went, a magnet without which they would not have won half as many battles. 

So it all balanced out in the end, Tony figured; a concussion here, a fractured ankle there. If it meant victory, Loki was all for it, his all-too-human lover less so, for Tony was beginning to wonder if the latest knock to the head was one knock too many. Magical exhaustion, Loki had said. 

Magical exhaustion my ass, Tony fumed. In order for it to be called magical exhaustion, by definition, a magical act needed to have been performed, before any sorcerer worth his salt could claim to have succumbed to such a thing. 

No. Loki had simply been watching the television when it first happened with Tony by his side; one second, he was playing idly with Loki’s black curls (unearthly fragrant ever since Nat introduced him to bubble bars and bath bombs - which sounded terrifying and dangerous but were actually things you chuck in the tub when you feel like luxuriating in the bath after a long, hard battle) and the next, Loki was sprawled on the living room floor, frothing at the mouth, his limbs jerking erratically like a fish out of water. 

Tony did not panic. At least, not until the five-minute mark had passed with no sign of the seizure planning to cease anytime soon. The sight of Loki’s bluish lips sent a bolt of icy fear into his gut and Tony damn near broke his phone trying to get someone on the line, when all of a freaking sudden, Loki stopped flailing. 

After the hair-raising first ‘episode’, without waking, Loki sank into a deep sleep that had Tony obsessively checking his wrist for a pulse and his chest for spontaneous breathing every five minutes (despite reassurances from Banner and Dr Cho that Loki was fine, all his vital signs were fine). 

The next morning saw Loki all bright and cheerful and flipping pancakes, for God’s sake.

“Are you okay?” Tony showered Loki’s face with kisses and got doused with flour for his effort but he persevered, for not many things in the world could scare him like the sight of Loki shaking and blue (even if blue was Loki’s default setting, bless his beautiful Jotun form), “Are you really okay?”

“I’m fine! Stop kissing me!” Loki yelled, hitting Tony on the arm with a spatula. “What is going on with you?”

When Tony confronted him verbally about the ‘episode’, Loki only said, “Pish posh.”

When Tony confronted him with a five-minute-long video footage of Loki thrashing on the floor, his mercurial lover stared at the screen long after it had gone blank. 

“Magical exhaustion,” was the only explanation given Tony. 

What did Tony know about these things? He would have accepted the bizarre reasoning at face value had Loki not looked suddenly alarmed (a better choice of word would be terrified. Yes, Loki looked terrified) and the pancake all but forgotten. 

Of course, Tony did some asking around, and most of the Google doctors said the same thing: seizures were quite a common occurrence, one that could happen to just about anybody at any point in their life. And most people never experienced another episode after the first one. 

Well. Loki was not most people. 

Luckily (or not) the second episode happened in front of an audience, and Tony meant audience. 

Just the week before, Loki had saved a little girl from being thrown out of a tenth-story window by her mother who had fallen victim to one of Victor von Doom’s illusionary attacks and someone caught the rescue in all its magical glory on video. It spread like wildfire in a matter of hours. 

Of course, it warranted a medal ceremony that simply must take place; the mayoral election was just around the corner and Loki of Asgard could not possibly say no without having to answer questions. Loki hated nosy journalists; Tony did not mind them so much, especially the leggy ones.

So there Loki was, accepting his medal with the swagger of a successful pirate and all the surly demeanour of a teenager when lights flashed from the cameras and he dropped like a stone. 

“Medic!” Someone shouted. 

Never had Tony run up the podium so fast, but someone got to Loki before he did, and he damn near pushed the person off the stage before he realised who it was. “Strange!”

“Wong got a stomach virus,” Stephen muttered, already rolling Loki onto his left side to keep him from choking on his vomit. “I told him the tuna smelled funky.”

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

 

When Loki awoke, the unfamiliar surroundings had him scrambling for his magic to draw his daggers but the only thing he drew was a sudden bolt of pain spiking his temples. 

“Easy,” an annoyingly familiar voice said, deep and wary.

Loki gritted his teeth. “Second-rate.”

He should have known. The whole room smelled of incense and moth balls. 

“Loki, be nice.” Tony sounded hoarse, like he had been screaming. Or crying. “You’re at the Sanctum Sanitorium.”

“Sanctorum,” Stephen growled. 

“Tony, stop playing with my hair.” Loki flung an arm over his eyes. “What happened?”

“You tell me. And if you say magical exhaustion one more time…” Tony could not find the words to convey just how upset he was. 

Loki could not resist. He peeked through the crevice between his fingers. “You’ll what, spank me?”

“You stopped breathing on me, Bambi.”

Loki sighed. That would explain Tony’s red eyes alright.

“That’s unsettling.” He hoped his voice only sounded shaky to his own ears.

Stephen rolled his eyes. “Right. So here’s the lowdown. Ebony Maw left a piece of his torture instrument in your cortical gray matter back when you were...under.”

“Under.” Loki had to laugh. “Fancy choice of words, but accurate. In a manner of speaking.”

“You think this is funny?” Tony snapped. “Your heart stopped beating, Loki! If Stephen hadn’t been there - ” he choked.

“Tony,” Stephen called softly. “You’re not helping.”

Loki ignored his boyfriend and addressed the Sorcerer Supreme directly for the first time. “How do you know?”

“Because he practiced his art on me too,” Stephen said quietly. “Good thing Tony was there to stop him or I would probably be suffering from the same.”

Loki laughed again, a sad, soft chuckle. “I couldn’t get it out.”

“You knew?” Tony raged. “You knew you had that thing in you all this time and you didn’t tell me?”

“...I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Lokes.” Tony snarled, fighting hard to keep his composure but failing spectacularly. “This thing could kill you. It almost did.”

Stephen watched as Loki regressed slowly back into his shell, his eyes glazing over as Tony’s rant fell on obviously deaf ears. 

“Stark, I think that’s enough.” He grasped Tony’s shoulder and pulled him away from the bed. “I can help.”

Tony stared into his eyes and Stephen saw the kind of crazed desperation he used to see on a daily basis, back when he was living his old life, cutting into people for a meaningful living. 

“I can help,” he repeated; Tony dropped onto the bed, shell-shocked. 

Stephen redirected his attention to his once-nemesis who had snapped out of his stupor, just in time. “I just need you to consent.”

He watched Tony promptly pick Loki’s hand up to rub it in between his palms, wondering just what he had gotten himself into and if this was even the right thing to do. 

“So what will it be?” The Sorcerer Supreme crossed his arms impatiently. “Let’s be quick about it, I haven’t got all day.”

But things happened for a reason. Wong picked today to be sick for a reason, leaving him one man down with noone to stand in as security detail at the function.

Mystical threats were everywhere, even at silly award ceremonies.

Tony’s jaw clenched in suspense as he waited for Loki’s answer; when it came, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. 

“Yes,” the beautiful thing said. “Yes, I consent.”

 

THE END

#frostiron #loki #tony stark #sick loki #loki whump #fic #ask

[meigh-day]

Obligation (Tendou x Reader) - Part 13

———————————————————–

Title: Obligation

Pairing: Mafia AU Tendou x F!Reader

Characters: Includes characters from both Shiratorizawa and Seijoh/Some OC background characters

Includes: Swearing, Guns, Knives, Violence, Blood, Torture

Status: Complete

Word Count: 1.6k

Previous Next

———————————————————–

So far Tendou had only seen the pictures but as he scrolled through a video loaded. It started off with a shaky angle but slowly your form came into view. You were still propped up in the corner of what he assumed to be a van, eyes closed and head bowed. A figure moved across the screen and then knelt before you, his back was to the screen, short blonde hair the only distinguishing characteristic that could be made out at the moment.

"C'mon doll, why don't you wake up and have some fun." He cooed out in an attempt to coax you awake before reaching a hand out. He pressed three fingers and a thumb roughly into your cheeks and pulled up so your face was now facing towards the camera. Your lips parted from the pressure on each side of your face, so he decided to take the opportunity to stick his index finger inside your mouth. He wiggled it around, dragging the pad of his finger across your tongue, a visible shiver ran through him.

"Dude, don't be a fucking pervert..." The camera holder spoke, obviously uncomfortable with the turn this had taken. The blonde man turned his face slightly, giving the other a side eyed glare before pulling his finger out and wiping the saliva he had gathered across your cheek and chin. With a sigh the man released your face and stood, the video cut as your head started to fall to the side once again.

The next few pictures showed you in a new setting, this time on the bare floor of a room. The way you were crumpled up on the ground almost made it seem like someone had just dropped you in a pile on the floor and walked away. Finally, Tendou was facing the last two videos, he wanted to stop watching, it was equal parts heartbreaking and enraging to see the state you were in. Yet, he had to see, he needed to know what happened next, he needed to see what they had done to you. Tendou was absolutely frothing with rage after seeing that disgusting goon stick his vile finger in your mouth.

The next video is short, only about 15 seconds. You are seated in a chair, your arms and legs bound to the chairs arms and legs. Your torso was held fast to the back of the chair by more restraints. At first your face is angled down and away but at the sound of your name, you stir. Your head was throbbing and your body ached, someone was calling out to you but the lights just seemed so bright so for several seconds you just glance around in confusion, blinking rapidly as you try to shield your eyes. You want to cover your eyes with your hands but you can't seem to make them move. It takes a few more seconds for you to realize you can't move, your eyes widen as you realize why. As the room comes into focus, the realization hitting you, you look up in the direction of the phone. The last thing Tendou sees before the video cuts is you, wide eyed as tears slip down your cheeks.

For several seconds all he can do is stare at the screen, the final frame of your frightened face frozen on his screen. This was all his fault. Despite not know for certain why you had left, there was no doubt it was connected to the way he had treated you over the last few days. As a result you were now in danger, you'd already taken at least one hit according to the bruises on the side of your face and then that thug had put his hands on you. There was one final video left, all he could hope for was that you were in one piece and alive at the end.

This video is longer but you are now awake, a neutral expression on your features, a similar expression to the one you had given Tendou the day before.

"Why don't you say hello to your fiancé, little cutie?"

You lift your gaze to the side, looking to the person who was speaking just out of frame. "Look I don't know who you think I am but I don't mean anything to him or anyone else." It hurt to say the words out loud. Words that others might have cried out in desperation, hoping the lie would be believed. However, you knew those words to be true and what you were about to say would have had you in tears if not for the perilous situation you currently found yourself in. "I'm just....some girl he got saddled with." You hoped using the cruel words Tendou had said, the very words that had broken your heart, would prove to these thugs you were speaking the truth but as a grin spread on the mans lips, you knew it had been futile to even try.

"Now now, no need to be so modest Y/N..."

This guy was really irritating, an odd thought to have while being captured for sure but it was true. This whole situation was terrifying but also just really annoying. How had they even known where to find you? Had they just been lurking around town on the off chance you went for a midnight stroll? You sigh, shaking your head as you glance away. "You do realize it's an arranged marriage, right?"

"And?"

You look back over at him, narrowing your eyes a bit as if you were confused. "Are you stupid or something?" The words just came out and before you had time to regret what you had said the man was suddenly in front of you.

"Stupid?" His voice was low, an edge of anger in that one word. His back was to the camera but it was easy to tell that he was a tall and well built, his short cropped hair initially seemed light brown but as he moved it almost looked pink at times. He glowered down at you. "You should learn to watch your mouth little girl." Before you had time to brace yourself he had already completed the swing. Pain flooded your senses as your mind worked to sort out what had happened. Really all he had done was slap you across the face but the force he had used had your vision spotted with white. Blood appeared a moment later on your lips a small bit trickling down your chin as you tried to focus again.

"Now, why don't we try this again." His hand grabbed onto your jaw, forcing you to look at him as he leaned down. "Beg like the bitch you are for that psychopath to come save you."

You grimace as he holds your head still, your face still burning with pain. As you slowly began to center your gaze on him, a smirk pulled at your red stained lips. "Drop dead asshole." His fingers dug into your cheek causing you to wince in his grasp. It felt like he was going to crush your jaw in his hand but after a moment he let go and took a few steps back. "This obviously isn't working. Shido, give it a shot." He turned and disappeared off camera. For a moment you were sat alone on the screen, head still throbbing as tears, you hadn't realized you'd shed, dried on your cheeks. Footsteps could be heard approaching and soon you were join by another man. He was shorter and slimmer than the previous guy, with black wavy hair that hung in his eyes. As he approached you, a sadistic grin stretched across his lips, it was hidden from the camera but your eyes widened slightly upon seeing it. He knelt to the side of your chair and all you could do was watch as he pulled the bandage off your finger. He slide the pad of his finger across the still healing skin, his touch was gentle at first but soon his thumb was being driven down causing you to yelp out.

"What the fuck...get off me!" You hissed out, trying and failing to pull your hand out of his grip. The restraints held your arm fast to the chair, severely limiting your movement. The man looked up at you with such perverse pleasure at your reaction it had you wishing you'd been able to remain silent.

"So pretty...." He whispered, returning his gaze to the wound on your finger. He pressed down into again, an involuntary hiss leaving your lips. As if what he'd been doing wasn't bad enough, he decided to amp it up. He placed one finger on either side of the injury and pulled viciously in opposite directions. His grip was crushing and no matter how you wriggled your hand you couldn't get free of his grip.

"Sto-AHH!!" As the skin finally gave away, blood welled and quickly began to weep, gathering in your palm. You threw your head back, eyes closed shut as you let out a short, frantic, shriek of agony.

"Enough." The man from before commanded from off camera, the man at your side frowned but let go of your hand and retreated out of frame. Tears spilled across your cheeks as you trembled in silence, sparing a brief glance up at the camera before looking away. You looked almost ashamed, embarrassed for letting them get to you. You hated that they had made you scream, you felt weak and humiliated for sitting here crying. The screen went black signaling that the video had come to an end.

Tendou was shaking, darkened red eyes shifting upwards. Yamagata had seen this look before, whatever had been on that phone must not have been good, he'd only been able to hear a few snippets but it sounded bad.

"Boss..."

"Round up the team. I'm gonna talk to Jin and Reon. We either take care of Seijoh now or I do it myself."

#tendou x reader #tendou #tendou satori #tendou mafia #haikyuu #haikyuu mafia

[captainsassmanes]

Just a Goodbye

My version for @pastelwitchling 

“You’ve been an asshole lately. What’s going on?”

Michael froze with a fry to his lips, eyebrows knit together. “Nothing’s going on, asshole.” He tossed the fry at Max and they laughed. It had been a long road back, rebuilding their relationship but today, sitting together at the Crashdown, he felt content.

“Seriously though,” Max took a sip of his shake, eyes shifting over to watch Liz greet a new set of customers. “You’ve been more surly than usual. Snippy.”

Shrugging, Michael kept his eyes on his food. “I dunno. I guess I’ve been feeling, kind of, wound up?”

“Everything okay with Maria?”

Michael nodded, taking a bite of his burger and resisting the urge to spit it out. Everything tasted like nothing lately. “Yeah we’re fine.”

With a smirk, Max muttered, “romantic.”

The truth was something wasn’t sitting right anymore. The time he spent with Maria had always been quiet, no expectations, no fear, no nerves. He could just exist and laugh and breath. But lately it didn’t feel like enough.

“I’ve been wanting simple for a long time, you know? Someone not so tangled up in our extraterrestrial bullshit that they couldn’t just be with me. And Maria is perfect. I can just be myself. No pressure.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

Rolling his eyes, he stole Max’s shake and took a big gulp, ignoring the stink eye he got in return.

“Alex.”

“Alex?”

“Alex.”

“Why Alex? I thought you guys were friends?”

Michael scoffed, drawing designs in the green froth with the straw. “Can you just be friends with someone you love?”

“I’d never be able to be Liz’s friend after all this.” Michael looked up to witness Max’s dreamy gaze drift back to Liz who stuck her tongue out and winked back. “But I also can’t imagine not having her in my life so, I guess I don’t know…hey!”

Max wiped the milkshake Michael had flicked in his direction off his face.

“Thank you, Maxwell. Very helpful.”

“Well I don’t know! If you love Alex why the hell are you with Maria?”

“I just told you why!”

“You just told me why you decided to be with Maria in the first place. You didn’t explain why you’re still with her.”

“Oh, shut up, Deputy.”

They both chuckled and went back to their food, Michael mindlessly shoving one fry after another into his mouth while his mind raced. He thought he loved Maria; when they were alone, laughing and holding onto one another, he felt peaceful and was sure it was love. But in the rare moments he dared to compare it with his feelings for Alex…

“Write it down.”

Michael raised his eyebrows and looked around, confused. “Huh?”

“It’s how I coped when I loved Liz but couldn’t tell her. I wrote her love notes. Helped me deal for a while.”

Snorting, Michael said, “we’re not all Tolstoy, buddy.”

Tossing a fry at Michael’s forehead, Max muttered, “fuck off, I’m serious. Write him a note, explaining everything or apologizing or ending it or whatever you need.” He shrugged and took a bite of his burger. “I kept mine ‘cause, well, you know. But you could rip yours up or burn it, whatever dramatic choice you wanted to make.”

“You boys need anything else?”

“Yeah,” Michael smiled at Liz and rested his chin in his hand. “I’ve gotta know how you do it.”

She smiled and tilted her head, ripping their bill from her pad. “How I do what?”

“Deal with this cheesy motherfucker.”

**********

That night, he’d left the Pony a bit early, giving Maria a quick kiss and apologizing for not staying, offering some excuse about files to review or formulas to work on. He couldn’t even remember.

He sat in the airstream, crickets chirping loudly outside, with a tiny lamp illuminating the space. Bringing his knees to his chest, he rested his head against the cool aluminum and stared at the blank piece of paper, twirling his pen between his fingers.

Glancing towards the door, he remembered the first time he’d seen Alex in almost a decade, how beautiful he looked but the way he stood, obviously prepared for a battle. Michael grimaced when he remembered his words, a real Manes man.

How many times over the months, years, had he said the wrong thing? Made Alex feel small when he may have had the power to help him feel tall again. Crawling out of his too small bed, Michael opened up a box and pulled out his favorite photo. Alex looked so relaxed, even though he still carried too much weight for a seventeen-year-old kid. The years had only added to that pressure, made his shoulders slump a little more each day with the burden of this world and, at least, one other.

He kicked off his boots and shimmied out of his pants, crawling under the covers and grabbing the paper and pen once more, his favorite photo resting on the covers beside him.

********

It was a few days later that Max had shown up at the ass crack of dawn to pull Michael out of bed so they could surprise Isobel. He’d been doing that now and then, seemingly determined to make sure the three of them remained close, all feeling needed and loved.

Michael wasn’t complaining.

They’d picked up coffee and bagels from Bean Me Up and had a relaxing morning catching up and gossiping, enjoying the perfect weather.

“Did you end up taking my advice?” Max looked at Michael over his coffee once the inevitable subject of his romantic life was brought up.

Nodding, Michael sighed. “Yep. It wasn’t too bad if I do say so myself.”

“Fill me in please.” Isobel leaned back in her chair, long legs crossed and swinging playfully.

Michael pushed a hand through his hair and shook his head with a smile. “I guess I’m having a hard time letting Alex go? I’m happy with Maria but it feels like something changed.” He watched Isobel’s eyes soften and had to look away. “Our resident writer suggested I put pen to paper to move on.”

“Or not,” Max pushed Michael’s knee with his foot. “Could just help you process it all. Don’t have to make any final decisions.”

“Nah, I’m alright. I feel better about it already, I think.”

“He thinks,” Isobel smirked towards Max who nodded in agreement, eyebrows furrowed in false seriousness. “He thinks.”

“Ah, fuck you both.”

He laughed with his siblings as his heart sank.

********

Max dropped him off at the airstream a few hours later with the promise of a free beer at the Pony that night. He was surprised to find Maria sitting around the fire pit, eyes on a fire that sat extinguished.

“Hey. I didn’t know you were coming over.”

She nodded slowly; eyes fixed on his. “I lost my phone and thought it might be here.”

“Ah,” Michael said as he took the seat next to her. “You could have let yourself in, taken a look. You didn’t need to wait for me.”

“Oh, I didn’t.”

Something began to shift uncomfortably inside of Michael, realizing too slowly that something wasn’t quite right with Maria. “You okay?”

She smiled as tears welled in her eyes. “No, I’m not.”

Michael reached out for her, but she stood quickly and moved out of reach. He watched as she faced away from him, listened as she steadied her breath.

“A veteran move as you limp into frame, longing to be your crutch, I want to consume your pain.”

“Maria, wait- “

“So I loosen my belt, a familiar feeling, ten years later and my heart’s still reeling.”

“Maria, just stop and listen- “ but she continued, undeterred.

“Then you show up on my porch, floating down the stream, while I swim uphill, running out of steam.”

As Maria’s voice cracked, Michael held his head in his hands. He never meant for anyone to see what he wrote, let alone Maria. But there was something undeniable about hearing his words out loud. Something he couldn’t walk away from anymore.

“Lies upon lies, thighs upon thighs, of a woman’s touch but damn that guy.” He grimaced as Maria’s voice broke. She turned to face him, crumpled paper shaking in her delicate hands.

“The one who lifted my heaviest sighs with ease. Too much pride to beg; I’ll let my looks say please. So ignore my words, this is where I stand. You’re a pretty little liar, and I’m your man.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Michael’s heart ached at the look on Maria’s face and he wanted nothing more than to comfort her, to make that expression vanish.

“It’s just a poem, Maria.”

“For Alex.”

“It’s nothing. It’s a last goodbye.”

As a tear danced down her cheek, she shook her head. “You think that poem was a goodbye?”

Michael stood, legs feeling like jelly and out of his control. “I know it was. I wrote the damn thing.”

“When did you write it?”

He buried his hands in his pockets and stared at the sand covering his boots.

“Michael.”

“A couple days ago.”

Scoffing, she took the few steps to stand in front of him, taking hold of his face and forcing him to look at her. The paper in her hand left a small papercut on his cheek.

Her gaze was intense, making him feel naked, too exposed. He tried to pull away, but she just held on tighter. Michael felt his eyes fill, hands coming to her wrists in a silent plea.

“Fuck you, Michael.”

He nodded, finally able to avert his eyes. She dropped her hands and gently pressed the poem against his chest. He quickly covered her hand with his and their eyes met again, both crying and flayed open.

“I knew, Michael. I just kept hoping you’d grow to love me as much as you love him.”

Swallowing, Michael whispered, “I tried. I promise I tried.”

She nodded and leaned into his warmth, arms wrapping around one another and swaying slightly, a last dance in the quiet of the desert. Eventually, Maria pulled back and wiped her eyes, looking around at everything but Michael.

Clearing her throat, she took a step back and pulled her keys from her pocket. “Stay away from the Pony for a while, okay? I need time.”

He nodded and said, “yeah. Of course.”

She nodded in return and walked toward her truck, stopping with the door open and one foot inside.

“That,” she pointed at the paper in his hand, blowing gently with the breeze, “is not a goodbye. It’s a confession.”

Michael watched as she drove away, the dust clouding his view as she left.

He looked down at the paper, reading his poem through blurry eyes. Roughly wiping at his face, Michael carefully folded the paper and tucked it in his back pocket.

In something of a daze, Michael walked into the airstream, sitting on the edge of his bed with his phone in one hand, the photo in the other. He took a deep breath as he hit send, leg bouncing with nerves and a naïve sense of excitement as the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Alex. It’s Michael.”

“Hi. You okay?”

Michael smiled. “Yeah. I was just hoping you could come over. I wanna talk to you.”

His heart raced as Alex said nothing, the seconds ticking away with his pulse pounding in his ears.

“Uh, yeah, of course. What do you need?”

“You.”

#roswell new mexico #malex #malex fic #the poem fic #if rin asks she shall receive #poem belongs to Michael Vlamis #my fic

[unokins]

No Truth Left - part 4

CW: violence, possession, gross monsters

Link to Archive

"I'm sorry- I just-" Chie cut herself off with a click of her teeth and focused again on breathing steadily. In… out. In… out. Breathe. She could feel tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. Just calm dow-

It gurgled again, shifting where it lay on the floor, and Chie felt panic spike through her veins.

Come on, Chie, Maverick pushed. It won’t stay there forever.

“Right,” Chie whispered, clutching the knife with both hands. She inched backwards towards the monster, shoes dragging on the ground. “You’re right. It- It would have killed me, without thinking twice.” 

Or worse.

“Or worse.”

Her bare leg brushed against the thing’s skin. Its slimy mucus clung to her, cold and wet and sticky. Disgust shuddered through her. Slowly, Chie turned, staring above the creature than at it. Purple blood stained the stone wall, streaking down in thin rivulets. 

It hit its head before going down, Chie realized. That must be why it was still out. She got lucky. 

Squeezing her eyes shut, Chie next to the monster. Knife poised, blade down, she turned her head away, hiding her nose and mouth against the sleeve of her shirt. There was no comforting scent of laundry detergent. Just mud that smeared her face.

You need to look at it. We need a clean hit. 

With whimpering reluctance, Chie opened her eyes and beheld the creature’s full visage. Her breath caught in her throat as the world swayed. 

The first comparison that came to Chie’s mind, which did no justice to what it actually was, was that this thing was a cross between a rotting human corpse and a fish. Its shriveled skin was a sickening grey and clung to the thing’s body as if vacuum-sealed. Its upper arms, shoulders, and legs boasted dense musculature, striations visible under the tight skin, while its white stomach, feet, and hands succumbed to bloat not uncommon with drowned corpses. The skin on its neck was feathered and flabby - gills, Chie realized - and webbing bridged the gap between long, thick fingers and toes. 

Dull blue and green scales clumped over its body, collecting densely at its face. Bulging, watery eyes stared upwards, the dull yellow of the irises thinned to small rings around yawning black pupils. Its large mouth hung slack-jawed, and Chie saw several rows of sharp teeth, orange with the plaque that rotted them. It gurgled again, water frothing from the back of its throat. 

She saw two of them, then three, as her mind reeled to comprehend the monster. “Oh… Oh fuck…” Chie breathed, pressing her hand hard against her forehead. Her breath hitched, and more tears tracked down her face- had she been crying this whole time?

The faster you kill it, the faster you won’t have to look at it anymore. Maverick needled her with impatience.

"Shut up." Shaking her head, Chie forced the world back to clarity. She raised the knife again. The monster’s thick throat lay bare, and she carefully brought the knife down, gauging where she needed to strike. The blade's tip scraped scales covering a prominent Adam’s apple. Chie took a deep breath, and held it as she drove the knife into its neck.

Animalistic and furious, it tried to screech. But the knife blocked any sound beside a weak whistling. Chie pulled the knife out, blood spraying out of the wound-

Again! Stab it again!

-and brought it down again. Maverick's violent screaming overpowered the dying monster’s weak moaning. Its eyes were wide with malice. She stabbed it again. It thrashed, clawing at Chie, ripping feebly at her skirt. She stabbed it again. She stabbed it again. She-

Chie. Chie! That’s enough! It’s practically decapitated.

Chie jolted and froze, knife hanging in the air. The blade trembled in her hands, and the monster’s blood dripped off it, landing on her bare leg with a chill. Her eyes fixed steadily on the wall above the monster, drenched in purple blood. Slowly, her gaze trailed down.

Don’t look at it, Maverick ordered.

Chie’s eyes snapped back up. 

It’s not something you need to see. You’re already… Maverick faltered, then sighed. It’s just not going to be pleasant.

“Do you think any part of this experience was pleasant?” Chie asked weakly. Her legs refused to fully cooperate so she dragged herself from the corpse. Purple blood covered her arms, clothes and legs. She tried wiping it off, but stains remained.

You have a point. Maverick paused, as if trying to give Chie a moment of peace. No sense in prolonging the unpleasantness, then, he continued. It’s time to head deeper into the caves and get our answers.

Chie sheathed the knife, biting back a reply. She stuffed it in the backpack, exchanging it for the flashlight. With a quiet click, light down the back of the cave, and relief washed through her as she saw the ground. It was probably ten, maybe fifteen, feet down, but at least it was there.

“Should we hide the… the monster?” Chie asked, taking the rope from the bag. She moved to tie it around a rock but faltered. 

I doubt you have the guts to move it. Here- wait. Let me.

Chie’s hands moved automatically again, and she watched, mouth agape, as another expert knot tied the rope securely in place. 

Toss it down the hole and get moving. We’ve wasted enough time here.

"A 'please' would be nice," Chie muttered as she did so. With the flashlight in one hand and rope in the other, she began her slow climb down. 

“For someone who remembers almost nothing,” Chie started, pausing to test a foothold, “you sure do know a lot about what’s going on.”

I literally don't. Maverick scoffed.

“You called this place the Devil’s Reef. You knew that thing could smell me, and that there are more of them here.”

There was a thoughtful hum before Maverick responded. Suppose so.

“What else can you remember, then?” Chie asked. She continued down, hissing when a sharp stone scraped her palm.

Careful, Maverick warned. He was silent for a moment, and Chie could almost feel him remembering. I know those monsters are called Deep Ones, and they’ve been around the world - not just the Devil’s Reef- for a long, long time. Effectively immortal-

“But we just-”

Unless they're victims of physical violence. Maverick’s voice grew louder as he tried to talk over her. Chie huffed, annoyed. I think there was an incident back in the twenties or so. The feds got involved. Pissed a lot of people off. Another pause. I don’t remember how I know that, or why.

“Hm.” Chie turned this information over in her head. “Who would get mad over those things dying?”

Their worshippers. 

The purple blood on Chie’s hands gleamed menacingly in the flashlight’s glow. She grimaced. Best to wash that off, first chance she got.

“Okay, so what about us?” 

What about us?

“Well,” Chie started, then paused. Water droplets echoed off the rocks around her, and- was that a groaning she heard? She continued quieter. “How long have you been in my head?” 

I think it’s been around two weeks, Maverick recounted. Yeah, yeah. About two weeks.

Chie shuddered. That was about when her memory problems started. “Have you been doing things to me? Like what you did with my hands and my legs?"

Every now and then. Controlling you takes a LOT of focus, Chie. It wears me out, especially if I take full control. Twitching a muscle, or tying a knot is simpler. 

“So you’ve been using my computer, and arguing with my roommate.”

Sounds about right.

The flippant way Maverick spoke twisted Chie's stomach into a knot. The uncomfortable warmth of anger bloomed in her muscles. So it had been him, not her. The strained relationship with her roommate, the confusion at work, the compounding stress. Had he seen her when she showered? Did he do anything to her while he controlled her?

Chie’s feet hit the ground, breaking her train of thought momentarily. She stepped away from the wall and looked up. Best to leave the rope. If she had to make a fast escape, it could save her life. 

Get moving, Chie.

The corner of Chie's mouth twitched down. This ended now. No matter what had happened to him, this was her body, not his. “Maverick, you're going to stop controlling me.” Chie's voice was steady and firm.

Like hell. If your incompetence gets us in trouble, I’m doing what needs to be done to get us out.

“Oh, so that was the case over the past two weeks, huh?” Chie snapped back, moving down the tunnel. She felt him, almost like seeing someone square their shoulders, and spoke first. "No, it wasn't." 

Maverick seethed.

Her flashlight beam illuminated smooth, black rock. The tunnel had strange striations on it, like it had been carved from giant claws. At least she didn’t see any other Deep Ones. "You could've talked to me on day one. Whether or not you chose this, you still invaded my life, violated my privacy, and kept it secret. So until you prove yourself reliable, I'm calling the shots." The beam wavered slightly as her hand shook. 

Maverick's voice radiated rage. Prove myself reliable?! It felt like an earthquake rumbling in Chie's brain. I AM reliable! If it wasn't for me, you'd be fucking dead!

"If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't fucking be here!" Chie yelled back. She immediately clamped a hand over her mouth as her words echoed against the stone. When nothing happened, she continued in a whisper. "I don't care what happened to you. You want to live? Then you don't control me. I will fight back tooth and nail, Maverick. And that'll get us both killed."

Maverick didn't respond. 

"Did I make myself clear?"

You're too weak to commit to that. 

"Excuse me?!" Chie demanded.

A deep rolling laugh reverberated in Chie's head like far off thunder. You heard me. You couldn't move when that Deep One almost grabbed you. Stop me? At the price of your life? Don't make me laugh.

Just you wait, Chie thought to herself as she continued walking. Annoyance panged when she realized she couldn't leave him behind. "Insufferable prick," she spat.

Whiny bitch, Maverick returned.

Not bothering to respond to that, Chie continued down the tunnels. The more she thought about the fact that this stranger was inside her, seeing what she saw, manipulating her like a puppet, the more violated she felt. 

Where did he get off? Chie thought. First chance that presented itself, she'd toss him from her mind like the trash he was. Acting high and mighty because she was reasonably scared of a literal monster. Asshole!

The tunnel turned slightly, then branched off in two directions. The one to Chie's left tilted upwards slightly. The walls were covered in a tarry slime, clumped together like chewed up bubble gum. The one to Chie's right dipped down at a gentle slope. Standing water sat in pools shaped disturbingly like large footprints. Swinging her flashlight up, Chie illuminated loping carvings and symbols etched into the walls.

Go… left, Maverick said.

>Go Left >Go Right

#horror #writing #horror story #choose your own path #choose your own adventure #original writing #ocs #original characters #lovecraft #lovecraftian horror #lovecraftian #let me know in the replies or reblogs what you would like Chie to do #thank you everyone who keeps reading #no truth left