#:gun: follow her u cowards

[comfortless]

write swagger. anything for swagger. anything. i’ll take a crumb, I’ll take medic x swagger i’ll take any overdone trope give me something for this man!!!! i love u and your writing sm syl i’m sorry this isn’t a köni request but..

Spin Cycle

Roland “Swagger” Kaminski x mercenary fem!reader

CONTENT / WARNINGS: 18+ minors do not interact! violence, enemies -> lovers, implications of sex (no actual smut), swagger points a gun at your head sorry, reader may have a gun kink.

i hate(love) you, lele!! i listened to this guys voice lines so many times they’re just embedded in my brain at this point. lil rushed & not proofread, so there may be some mistakes, sorry!

wc: 3k

Cold. Wet.

This isn't the weather for a battle. This isn't a night to die. But some lack taste in the intricacies of being victimized, and as her sight settles on the enemy maneuvering through the war torn warehouse, she realizes he certainly doesn't have a preference in which way he's ripped apart. The mask covering his face tells her everything she needs to know, he's dead already, hiding beneath an ugly cover to conceal his identity; an unknown, evil thing in her eyes. She would be doing him a favor. Mercy for the man marching around wearing a face not his own.

She slowly positions her pistol, quietly aiming as her finger brushes the trigger. Once, to prepare herself for more blood on her hands. Twice, to make peace with his creator in his stead— he wouldn't have the time nor the delicate nature for it. Thrice, because she likes the feel of the cold metal against her fingertip; it grounds her, tethers her to the reality of what she’s here to do. Lucky numbers be damned, it was all for the thrill of it.

She pulls the trigger and the bullet rips from the barrel as she bites her lip.

To her chagrin, it buries itself in the wall behind her target. To her relief, it definitely struck. The man buckles to the dirtied floor with a groan, gloved hands reaching out to apply pressure to the gash in his calf. It's not enough to kill, they both knew it, but it would put the buck down long enough for her to reload and fire a shot right into his brain. She wonders if she could tell what his face actually looked like when his mask was blown off and gray matter spackled  the floor behind him.

"Knew you were in here, you slimy bastard."

The voice pulls her from her thoughts, and if she were forced to have any sort of virtue left she could be honest and embrace the fact she isn't the most coordinated mercenary out there. Her pistol clatters to the floor. She quickly slips further into the dark, not bothering with her lost weapon for the time being as she positions herself behind a crate to hide.

"Your aim is shit. Your hands must be shaking."

The man's voice continues to rasp. He's taunting her, wants to lure her out. There's something playful about his voice that sends a swell of unease from her chest to the pit of her stomach. The man had just been shot, and that surge of confidence couldn't stem from a wounded man unless he had some sort of a plan. She's been here so many times with so many different flavors of prey that the warning signs aren't lost on her.

She swears she hears the click of him replacing his magazine, the static of his radio, the sound of ripped fabric and a lightening quick application of a makeshift tourniquet. The thought that the gunfire gave out her position crosses her mind.

"Come out, fucking coward."

She's been here so many times, in the dead of night, playing this one-sided game of cat and mouse. She's seen blood, felt the sting of a bullet carving it's way through her, and she's never been afraid. Not until tonight.

This isn't a night to die, yet she's pissed off the fucking grim reaper.

A church bell rings out in the distance, some small mercy. It plants the seed of an idea and she follows the path her mind carves with her hand grasping for a knife at her belt. The knife rips through the quiet air of the warehouse, coming to a clatter some three meters behind him after she tosses it. The man takes the bait, fires several shots in the direction of the noise as she quietly finds her escape. Delivered from death by the heavenly portal of a broken window.

But when it comes to the intricacies of being victimized, it's very rare that things play out so simply. Hunting is a messy task, and one slip up can so quickly prove that prey often have fangs, too.

Her target, some Polish elite soldier, Roland Kaminski, isn't a buck at all. Bucks are easy, they're skittish and stupid. You fire off a shot at one of them, they buckle or prance back into the plush foliage of the forest for cover. When thundering footsteps can be heard in the dark, just past the safety of the broken window, she realises she's not dealing with another deer. Shes got a frenzied boar at her heels.

She's defenseless, her arms scattered in the darkness of the warehouse the boar is charging from, and she finds she lacks the will to break her ankle jumping down onto the pavement below. This is the line where the hunt becomes a proper fight. Her pulse beats like the thunder tearing apart the sky above her, every muscle in her body pulled tight like a spring waiting to maul her impending threat.

The fight never comes.

One moment, he's charging through the wreckage inside like a behemoth with a taste for human flesh, and the next he's simply staring at her while he's shrouded by the dark. It's almost comical, really, her thoughts flood with pictures of horror mascots as she teeters on the windowsill, staring right back into the wide, dark eyes of his mask. They remain in a stasis for a moment, both breathing shallow, both watching the other. Then, he does something that surprises her. Surprises and infuriates her.

He pulls his radio up to his mask, breathes out a heavy sigh as the sound of static cuts through this pair's silence. The grim reaper has the audacity to pretend his frustration over arches her own, and she's gritting her teeth wondering how likely it was she could free his esophagus from the column of his neck with her mouth alone.

She feels his gaze rove over her, lingering along the empty holster at her hip and the garter on her thigh.

"Target's down."

He's lying to his team, lying because he pities her, and she can't think of a thing more insulting. A mercenary is no different than a prostitute, money for flesh, pain or pleasure. She's aware of it, she's seen her fellow mercs gunned down without a second thought from their enemies. She's heard the men in her company boast of ravaging paid women without thought. For some time, she's considered they may all be beasts, but the grim reaper is sparing her. Sparing her, because he doesn't see her as a threat at all. A defenseless woman clinging to a broken window like it's the only tether she has to the world at all. He's no boar, no blood-stained reaper, just a person. He doesn't see her as pounds of flesh to march into battle before him. She sees humanity, and he sees an insect unworthy of his bullet.

"I tried to kill you," she breathes out, enunciates each word careful and slow as she tries to get a read on him, praying her assumption isn't true. There's the creaking of broken glass beneath the toes of her boots as she pivots herself to fully face him, standing in the window with the backdrop of a dark sky threatening violence. The man shrugs his broad shoulders, turns away, as though nothing has even happened. Her stare drifts to the tourniquet on his calf, and it dawns on her that he isn't even limping.

"I wouldn't even need a minute with you." He sounds bored. The pity stung enough. She wasn't just a hapless rabbit in his eyes, she was a gnat. A nuisance to top it all off. "Who are you working for?"

She falls silent, teetering on the ledge of the windowsill in silent debate. The jump would end in injury, but the darkened sky and the rain could cover her. There’s a building less than half a mile away and if she just made it there then—

“Answer.” Roland’s gruff voice sounds out in the quiet warehouse again, and she hazards a glance up just in time to catch those dead eyes of his peering at her from over his shoulder.

“I don’t know.”

“No?”

“I don’t have a name.”

Roland merely huffs at that, rolls his shoulders a little. He’s confident, a bit too arrogant for a man that’s been shot. She may have seen a boar, and he may have seen an ange, because he has the audacity to give her a comforting pat on the shoulder with a gentle swipe of his thumb along her neck.

Tells her, “Get lost.”

Follows it up with, “Let us never meet again.”

She doesn’t die on this frigid, rainy night, but a part of her is lost with him. Lost with a man that looks at her as though she had tiny angel’s wing, buzzing at her back. Lost with a man who’s entire existence is an enigma to her. Shoot to kill, and she hadn’t. Shoot to kill and not ever would she again, not to him, not to the man who gave her mercy when she deserved none.

— — —

She finds herself working alongside the Polish GROM. Realistically, she had returned sopping wet to her shabby hotel and spent hours researching how to work her way in. She doesn’t know why, but she’s found herself enthralled in a shadow, worshipping him in her own way. All for a chance to see her should-be reaper. And she’s no elite, can barely keep her trigger finger steady, but supplementing for a fallen soldier is the standard and she’s got enough falsified experience under her belt to look the part of a proper gunman.

It pays enough to keep her afloat until the next thing piques her interest or her contract ends, whichever comes first. Her room is simple, a barren mattress and dark walls, a concrete floor. It doesn’t feel homey, but no place ever does nowadays. Small blessings are found in the fact she doesn’t have to share the space, it’s hers and hers alone.

She spends her first few hours inspecting the place for bugs, then takes to staring up at the ceiling, listless, because what the hell had made her so impulsive? Roland could have already had his head blown clean off by anyone else by now. Did she even want to see him? To choke him with his own words or thank him for his kindness?

All of this uprooting driven by impulsivity for a man who told her not to meet him again and yet she’s here, walking about the compound like she truly belongs.

She should have cut her hair, tried to make herself look different from the trembling mouse on the ledge that night, but a part of her wants him to see her. Recognize her, bring him down from that gilded throne of his where women like her are just nuisances instead of a proper challenge.

Only, she’s not a challenge. Not at all, because the second she meets him in the stairwell her mind starts swimming and all she can do is stare. He looks a bit tired, likely having just returned from some dreadful mission, even wearing all black he’s covered in sprays of dust, the denim of his trousers painted darker in some places, blood.

“Ja jebię.”

He hadn’t forgotten.

His breath sounds shaky, and she’s not sure if it’s because the gas mask in its proper place or if he’s actually surprised, startled. If anything could shake him down from his pedestal she imagined meeting the woman who tried to kill him once again would do it.

“How’s your leg?”

“Better than your aim, pizda.”

She imagines that he would probably like nothing better than to put a bullet through her right then. The man merely laughs, something breathy and low. She’s surprised him, probably both startled and impressed that she even had the balls to face him again. She likes that, likes that little laugh, that his voice isn’t angry, that he’s playing with fire just as much as she is.

“What are you doing here?”

“Contract,” she states simply, not bothering to hide the way her gaze rakes over his body in the yellow haze of fluorescent lighting. “Just a few months, filling in a gap.”

He mutters something under his breath, a string of Polish and French that she doesn’t quite catch. She knows that he knows she’s infatuated, taking to follow after a wild coyote like a house pet.

It’s a dirty word, infatuated; dangerous in a way that scares her more than facing down the barrel of a gun.

Roland takes a step towards her, brushes her hair from her face with a touch too rough and leans in close to look at her, inspect her as though she’s not even really here, some figment of his vile imagination. She just… lets him. Despite her better judgement she lets him grip at her face like she’s nothing but putty in his hands.

“Here to kill me?” He asks his question as he retreats from her and drops his hands to his sides, staring at her as though she’s not an implant in his force, but an implant on the planet itself.

“Not this time.”

He gives her a tilt of the head and a grunt in response before brushing past in a hurry.

— — —

The following morning, she wakes to several rapid knocks at her door. Sounding just impatient enough to pull her from her sleep with her heart fluttering like a small bird in her rib cage. She readily hops out of bed and dresses before turning the knob to reveal something she didn’t expect— Roland. It’s the first times she’s seen him without his gas mask, but she recognizes him immediately. He’s more handsome when he doesn’t look the part of a famished buzzard seeking out carrion.

“Kaminski.”

“Swagger,” he corrects and she can’t help but laugh at the usage of his callsign. She wants to know how he got stuck with that, something so embarrassing it makes him sound as though he’s some teenage boy desperate to fit in or perhaps even a pirate, not the man she sees before her.

“We aren’t on the field.”

“Today we will pretend.”

He grabs her arm in the very same boorish way he had grabbed at her face just yesterday, and leads her down an empty hallway in silence. Each step seems to echo louder than the last. She wonders for half a moment if he does intend to kill her, hazards a look up at him expecting to see some flame of gruesome determination in his eyes only to be met with a calmness that makes her reconsider.

Today isn’t a day to die, either, it seemed.

He leads her to a room of bulletproof glass and well-placed targets. Pulls his gun from his holster after inspecting that she hadn’t thought to bring her own. She feels silly when his touch goes to prod at her hip, dips along the waistband of her trousers to seek out a weapon that just isn’t there. She’s ill-prepared and now her face feels hot all while Roland didn’t seem to have so much as a care.

“I’ll teach you to shoot,” he huffs as he steps behind her and places his gun in her hands, an ugly thing she recognizes to be a SIG P226. The metal feels cold and heavy in her hands, but she handles it well enough. It doesn’t particularly help that one of his arms curls around her middle to keep her steady. It’s even worse that one hand remains splayed over hers as she holds the gun.

Shooting when you’re in a desperate situation is difficult enough. The thought that death could be approaching doesn’t keep most grounded, not her at least. It makes her shaky. This is far worse. The man is so close she can smell him, gunpowder and something pungent and clean like mint. She feels his warmth cover her back, his fingers digging a bit into her side.

“I’m ready.”

He grunts in response, maneuvering her a bit closer to a small window carved out in the glass.

“Then shoot.”

So, she does. She misses, of course, and she feels even more silly when he mutters something into her shoulder and deliberately moves and angles her arm properly. The only thing good is that the gun’s recoil is soft, because if she were pushed any further against him she may very well melt down into putty.

Again and again she takes aim and fires at the brightly colored target through the window. After what feels like hours she’s finally hit some place that makes Roland give her an appreciative pat to her tummy.

“I’m improving.” She feigns his confidence, puffing out her chest a little in pride.

“Are you?”

He steals the gun from her hand and draws away to face her properly. There’s a tension she can’t place, something strange in the flicker of his eye.

“You saw—“

Her words are cut off when the man tackles her to the floor, covering her entirely as he pins her from either side. A sharp intake of oxygen is stolen as her spine tingles in pain from the sudden force. She yelps, he laughs, and none of it is funny because he’s still holding a loaded fucking gun. Only, worse, when he presses the muzzle against her cheek and uses his free hand to fix her wrists to the cold floor beneath her.

He tuts at her when she doesn’t try to fight him off, only looks up at him with wide-eyes and parted lips, a face too warm to only depict fear. If he didn’t know before, he knows now. She catches a mischievous glimmer in his eyes right before she tilts her head to kiss the cold steel clutched tightly in his fingers.

Roland stiffens above her for a moment, every muscle in his body pulled taut, jaw clenched and eyes fluttering.

“Not pizda,” he whispers as he clicks the safety back on and shifts to holster the weapon. “You are like a…”

“Ange?”

“Non,” he laughs. “Aniołku.”

If she didn’t know before, she knows now.

— — —

Any training session is spent with Roland.

Every mission they’re tethered to one another.

Any free time she finds yourself having is spent with him, even seeking him out herself just as often as he comes pounding at her door.

It feels both natural and absurd, sharing meals with the man she almost murdered, covering him as he covers her, both finding themselves less and less willing to be on their own as the days pass by. The progression just doesn’t halt, a train plowing off track, the man has his blunt talons curled into her and she just doesn’t have the sense to beat him back because she knows she’s got her teeth embedded just as deeply into him.

It doesn’t even come as a surprise when she starts her mornings peeling herself away from him, still sleeping peacefully in her bed. His room lacks taste— too barren, too bogged down with well-oiled metal and violence. She’s spruced hers up in the free time she has with small items, things she can pack up and carry with her to whichever side she finds herself pulled to next.

The thing she keeps most sacred, however, is a little photograph of him, one he had insisted on her keeping on the bedside table, despite being in flesh, wrapped tightly around her each and every night.

She picks it up, turns it over in her hands a few times before the weight of a heavy hand splays itself out across her middle, languidly tugging her back down.

“Stay,” he murmurs, someplace lost between dreaming and waking.

“Just for a bit,” she whispers in reply, nestling close, curling against his chest.

“Forever, aniołku.”

With a soft inhale, she falls back against him in a tangle of limbs and warmth, a part of her lost to the fantasy of permanence.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

ange: angel (French)

Ja jebię: fuck me

pizda: cunt

non: no (French)

aniołku: angel

[thefangirlthatwaited]

Encounter (Chapter 117) - A Destiny 2 Story

Crow X Female Guardian

“Anyway, I’m not here to talk about that. I actually wanted to talk to Stell alone.”

“Me?” Stell asked, sounding uncertain.

“Yes. We can go for a walk or head upstairs.”

“U-Upstairs is fine.” I stood, and Sell followed me to my room. I kept the door unlocked this time, easing Stell’s fear. I could feel it coming from her in waves, and I knew I was the reason.

“Could you calm down? I’m not going to hurt you.” I grumbled.

“I’m sorry.”

I sat down on the edge of the bed while Stell stayed at the door. “I want you to tell me how you feel?”

Stell made a surprised sound, coming a bit closer. “How I feel?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I need to know how you feel about what happened after Calus.” I was annoyed that I had to explain my reasoning.

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters!” I stood abruptly, causing Stell to coward back in fear. “Sorry, I’m a bit on edge.”

“Ruby, I wanted to apologize-” 

I held my hand out to silence Stell. “No apologizing right now. Not till we get everything out that we need to. So, please tell me how you feel.”

Stell’s shell spun as she hovered there silently. Maybe she doesn’t want to talk, and I shouldn’t force her. Amanda said to understand how she felt, and I was trying my best. “I’m scared.” She finally said. “I’m angry. I’m hurt.” I sat back down and waited for her to elaborate. “I-I couldn’t control my body, but I could see everything. I saw you aiming your gun at me, and in the back of my mind, I knew... I had to die to save the Traveler. To save everyone. But it never happened.”

“Stell,”

“I’m alive, and so is everyone else... But the Traveler,” Stell looked to the sky that once held our God. “It’s out there, a hole torn through it, and it’s all my fault.”

Having Stell blame herself broke my heart. I rushed to my Ghost and pulled her to my chest. “This isn’t your fault, Stell. None of this is your fault.”

“Ruby,” She shuddered. 

“It’s my fault. I saw the warning signs. I knew what the darkness could do to you, that the Witness could control you, and I selfishly put you in danger. Almost killed you because of it.”

“Ruby,”

“You made mention of it before, Stell.”

“I did, but what could we have done? Send another team? The same thing would have occurred.”

“I WAS ORDERED TO KILL YOU!” I fell back onto my bed, and my head fell into my head. “And for a minute, I was gonna do it. Kill my best friend. The one who has been through everything with me. Then, when I didn’t, I felt like a failure.”

“Ruby,”

“I’m a failure because I didn’t kill you.”

“Oh, Ruby.” Stell laid on my lap as tears fell. “You’re not a failure, and I’m not either. It was a trap we never expected.”

“I’m scared. I don’t know what I’d do without you,”

“I know.” Stell nuzzled her way closer. “I hope we never have to figure it out. But I’m not mad about what happened back there. I understand why you thought you needed to kill me. I would never hold that against you.”

“I love you,”

“I love you too, Ruby. I knew what I was doing when I chose you.”

Full Chapter on Ao3

[kimarisgundam]

Rockerboy hates my Netrunner's dad cos dad tortured him, flatlined his chooms, and is currently threatening to call a hit on more of his friends

Exec doesn't hate dad, but is really salty over having his pride wounded. He has to occasionally work for dad now as a corp backed fixer cos dad let him walk from Arasaka

My Netrunner is super frigging pissed at her family cos

^ pissed at myself for being a coward and helping dad zero Rockerboy's friends + following orders and backstabbing my party

Big bro found out years ago that our sponsor helped facilitate the internal hit on our mom and his dad but didn't tell me

Big bro knew I was our sponsor's bio kid but chose not to tell me anything. No wonder he never called dad "dad" >:U

Dad is threatening tell MaxTac Solo has cyber psychosis if I reveal his affair to Arasaka (I retaliated cos he threatened Rockerboy)

And wtf dad! You told me the code I wrote was being used for therapeutic/medical purposes. Medical my butt! You used it to torture people >:U

The 3 of us are basically seething right now. And for the first time in this entire campaign...

My/my Netrunner's salt > my sense of honour/duty towards serving Arasaka/dad

Salt > my respect and fear of dad

Salt > not wanting to be a disappointment to my big bro

I basically just want to tell my family to go frig themselves now cos I've had enough of being lied to and manipulated >:T

Dad wants to take everything back from me cos I'm disobedient?

FINE. I'll borrow clothing from Solo2. I'll go from dressing in Jinguji to looking like Hatsune Miku with a gun >:T

I get why dad wanted to hide my Netrunner's existence cos it's not a good look having an affair with a traitor. But like, why didn't he tell the truth to my Netrunner? Is he that ashamed that she's his kid? Am I such a disappointment?

My current plan is to become dad's worst nightmare as a metaphorical middle finger to him. Like literally be a total disgrace as his bio kid. I'll even lie and say Rockerboy is my input

Exec is fully on board with this cos he wants to see my Netrunner's dad freak out, plus he gets to suck up to dad and play the good guy by saying he'll "look out" for me cos I'm with Rockerboy

Rockerboy just wants to stir crap so he's eager to do this

But our DM and Nomad are giving us the ಠ_ಠ look now cos we're hitting a hornet's nest

[fratboykate]

Looks like Tumblr keeps eating my ask so I’ll take that as the universe saying my other fic sucks lol. On to the next! You put them moving in together after 6 months in your forks fic so they’re hitting milestones at a breakneck speed. Here we go, first kiss!

--

It happens on the New Year. Clint and Laura told her repeatedly she was more than welcome to stay with them but she declined. Her mom’s first court appearance is set for the day after Christmas and despite everything, Kate wants to be there for her. A text comes through when she’s just getting home.

‘You promised me drinks, Kate Bishop.’

‘How’d u know I was back?’

‘I am a Spy.’

‘Should I be worried? Am I ur nxt assignment?’

‘Haha. You think I would make appointment to kill? Also poison is for cowards. I would use gun. You would be dead now if I wanted it so.’

Kate doesn’t want to examine how her life got to the point where that was both a turn on and a comfort to read. Another text comes through.

‘This Christmas market you spoke of where can I find it?’

Yelena wasn’t joking about hitting all the tourist traps. Rockefeller was out thanks to Kate’s lumberjack moment but she’d done the statue and the empire state. Kate agreed to the tour guide role, promising drinks and a trip to the market. They see each other every day after, Kate introducing Yelena to more of the city. The trip to Katz Deli followed by Magnolia’s bakery is particularly popular with Yelena but a hole in the wall pizzeria has her perfectly happy as do street meats from vendors in between stops at the Met and the Museum of Natural History. It doesn’t take long to realize food is the way to impressing Yelena and Kate pulls out all the stops to do just that.

They get shawarma at three separate places all claiming to be the destination of the Avengers after the battle of New York. Kate listens to childhood stories of two kids who would grow up to be two of the deadliest women in the world. Smiles at the thought of the woman in front of her, young and lost, whistling knowing she would be found by her big sister.

They agree to watch the ball drop together and it takes a while but Kate finally convinces Yelena not to do that in person. The logistics of it make it far too much of a hassle especially when it’s visible from her rooftop where they’d have easy access to toilets, heat, food and drinks.

Yelena carries the tv up there and rigs it to get cable. Kate refuses to help but watches her lug everything up with no effort. There's a lot of strength in that little body and Kate feels warmer just watching her.

“We have phones that work just as well, Yelena.”

“Not as well, Kate. Bigger screen, all the channels. I don’t want to miss any good performances. This is best.”

“They’re doing the opening number of Rogers the musical at 11-“

“No, no, no! We have tickets for this, I want to be unprepared. It’s going to be hilarious, I can’t wait.”

“Please don’t laugh the whole time, they’ll kick us out.”

Yelena laughs, setting up a couple lawn chairs in front of the TV.

“So funny, Kate Bishop. Kick me out? They do not have enough security in all of Broadway for that. You are hilarious.”

Kate sighs but lets it go. Whatever Yelena gets her into she’s sure they’ll handle it. She brings over a couple blankets and the cooler of drinks then she heads back for the pizzas Yelena brought with her and they settle in to watch ring in the new year.

--

Tag!

I left the kiss up to you. Mostly cuz I can't decide if they also sleep together that night so you decide lol. Merry Christmas!

Not "breakneck speed"! They're just useless U-Haul gays. 6 months is taking it slow by gay standards lol :)

Let's do it. First kiss(es)!

//

11:50

Yelena had already told Kate the story of her and Natasha, their childhood in Ohio with Alexei and Melina, her life in the Red Room, and everything after it.

"I read file but it is not the same. You tell me the Kate Bishop story in Kate Bishop's words."

"You already know all the spoilers."

"I like movies I know the endings of. Predictable. I can tell what's coming. Like well thought out attack."

"Of course you'd say that."

"What?!"

"Nothing. It's just a very...Yelena thing to say."

"I do not like how you say that. 'Yelena thing to say.'"

Kate looks at her and smiles then looks at the countdown on TV. Seven minutes to midnight.

The dreaded "Midnight Kiss" tradition popped into her head about thirty seconds ago and it's started to make her toes tingle. The sensation has been slowly crawling up her body since. What happens at midnight? Are they going to do the awkward hug thing? The cheek kiss thing? What if Yelena leans in to kiss her? What if she kisses Yelena and gets rejected? What if? What if? What if?

"...ishop? Kate Bishop? If I am that boring that you tune my voice out you should just say so."

"No. No! Sorry. No. Not you. I was just...yeah. Not you. Sorry. What were you saying?"

"That your mother paid me a lot of money to kill you too and maybe I should have done it."

"Very funny."

Kate looks at the clock.

11:55

Kate can't sit anymore. She grabs her beer and stands awkwardly stiff in front of the chair she was just sitting on. She doesn't move, doesn't go anywhere, she just...hovers in front of it.

"Was the chair not to your liking?"

"Chair's fine. Chair's great. Chair's not a problem."

Yelena takes a beat and chortles.

"You are nervous, Kate Bishop."

"I am not nervous. Why would I be nervous? I don't have a single thing to be nervous about."

"I was trained to read body language at twelve." Yelena allows the words to hang in the air. "You are nervous."

"You see this scar right here? Face first into a giant rock in Central Park because I still couldn't even ride my bike properly at twelve. Rub it in."

11:56

Yelena laughs quietly, grabs her vodka rocks, and stands next to the still perfectly immobile Kate. Yelena kills her drink and pours another. She wouldn't say she's drunk but she's not sober either.

"Do you want another American Piss Water bottle?"

Kate shakes her head, pretending she doesn't find the thing endearing.

"Stop calling it that."

"Looks like piss, tastes like piss, and not a real beer. American Piss Water is what I will call it. Come to Russia one day. We will have a real beer together. Do you want another then?"

"I will take another regular American beer, yes."

Yelena grabs one of the bottles she had lugged up earlier and passes it to Kate.

"One American Piss Water for Kate Bishop."

11:57

Kate stands in silence looking out at the sea of people beneath them. She can feel Yelena's eyes scanning her skin.

"What does Kate Bishop think of when she stands in silence?"

"Lots of things."

"Obviously I asked because I want to know what those things are so, tell me."

Kate feels the pit of her stomach light up ablaze. There was something inherently sensual about the way Yelena didn't ask but instructed her instead. Would she ever admit that out loud? Only time would tell.

"I told you. Lots of things."

11:58

But the time wasn't now. Right now she was a bit drunk, quite anxious, and a lot bratty.

"Is one of those things if I will kiss you when midnight happens?" Kate clears her throat trying to hide the fact that she half choked on air. "Because if so, the answer is yes." Yelena pauses. "Unless you do not wish me to."

"NO! No! Do wish! Totally wish!" Kate realizes that was much too eager and reels it back. "Like...if you want...or whatever. Wasn't even thinking about it y'know. It's..."

Kate gets cut off by Yelena's lips on hers. Kate's hands fly to the side of Yelena's face, her cold beer pressing against the older woman's cheek. Yelena's hand snakes behind Kate's neck pulling her impossibly close. Their tongues meet for a brief moment. Kate feels Yelena's teeth graze her bottom lip in a soft but possessive pull. But before Kate knows it, it's all over. It feels like a million things happened, but the kiss lasted five seconds. If that.

11:59

Yelena pulls away and takes a nonchalant sip of her vodka as if absolutely nothing major had just transpired. Kate turns to look at the clock on the TV. The minute countdown has started.

"It's not midnight."

"Sometimes you just have to...not talk."

"Ah. Yeah. Heard that before."

They stand ungracefully as the clock counts down.

"That was...nice." Kate tries to fill the dead air as the screams of the crowd below chanting down from thirty threaten to drown her out.

"You have soft lips." Yelena screams above the people. "And you smell good. Like peaches."

"Thank you! I know right? It's this like, exfoliating thing my mom got me. You're only supposed to use it three times a week but I said 'screw it' and I've been using it every day and it's been so..."

Yelena groans, rolls her eyes, and steps forward to close the distance between them. Her lips are on Kate's with eight seconds to spare.

This time they kiss in earnest. This time they pour everything - all - into it. It's not a "shut up" kiss. Well, it's not just a "shut up" kiss. It's both of them letting out a sigh of relief neither of them knew they'd been holding in for years. It's both of them finding home for the first time.

The ball drop comes and goes by the time they finally decide they need air.

"Is that like...a Russian thing? The tongue thing you did?"

Yelena shrugs, cocky smile painted on her face.

"Maybe."

"I shouldn't have said anything."

"You like how I kiss. It is good. I welcome the feedback."

"Whatever."

Kate smiles and leans in to steal another kiss, seemingly not able to get enough of Yelena's lips. When she pulls away Yelena takes in her face and raises a single brow. It's clear she's quite proud of herself.

"I was right."

"Right about what?"

"You wanting me to kiss you at midnight."

Kate exhales dramatically.

"What? You're going to tell me they taught you how to read minds when you were fifteen?"

"No. But they did teach how to study targets. I paid extra close attention to your file."

[aftgficrec]

i have a few!! i’m looking for fics where andrew and neil are like best friends or roommates or something, there’s one where andrew like throws a knife and neil catches it. i’m looking for another one where neil was dead but like comes back to life and finds andrew. anything that’s like longish and has a happy ending. thank you so much!!!

Hi, Anon. I hope these are the fics that you were looking for, and that you also enjoy the previous recs that fit your more general questions. Lots of great stuff here — a fandom feast! - A

best friends/roommates/neighbors

andreil roommates with pining here

BFFs Andreil with pining here

‘No Place Like Home’ and ‘Neil's Guide to Stalking Your Neighbor’ here

‘We might be hollow (but we’re brave)’ here

‘stab me yourself u coward’ here

‘under the kitchen lights (you still look like dynamite)’ here

‘definitely something’ here

‘Feels Like Wasted Youth’ here

Neil catches Andrew’s knife

12 Ways to Woo a Minyard by NikNak22 [Rated M, 69292 Words, Complete 2021]

Neil is a math nerd who, by a stroke of dumb luck, falls into a group of friends that are the closest thing to family he’s ever had. So, when he tells them about his new mysterious crush, he shouldn’t be surprised how immediately they come up with a plan to help win them over. One they insist that if Neil follows it, he’ll have them falling for him in no time. But things don’t always go to plan – or do they?

Nicky wants to set him up with someone else. Matt and Jeremy are confused but supportive. Allison and Seth offer lewd suggestions, while Dan does her best to keep everyone in line. Jean and Renee know something, Aaron doesn’t really care, and Kevin just wants Neil to join the lacrosse team.

But one thing’s for certain – whether Neil’s successful or not, everyone’s got money riding on this.

tw: sexual innuendo, tw: panic attacks, tw: bullying, tw: negative self-talk, tw: negative body image,  tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: homophobic slur, tw: violence, tw: blood, tw: depression

Deadly Affections by NikNak22 [Rated T, 12287 Words, Complete, 2020]

Neil Josten is not soft- has never been in fact. But when an unintended comment from one of the Foxes throws Neil for a loop, he finds himself reminding them why no one should think of him in that way. But why is Andrew suddenly so distant? And what happens when all of these reminders of his past start to catch up with him?

Aka: all the times Neil proved he was a badass, and Andrew reminds him he's an idiot.

tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced rape/non con, tw: gun violence, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: alcohol, tw: blood, tw: car accident, tw: dissociation

more Neil, master of the blade:

Neil shows off his knife skills here and here

‘Trust Fall (And Welcoming Arms)’ here

‘arrivals/departures’ here

‘TFC minifics...Ch 23 here

‘Leave the Past in the Past’ here

‘Out of the Ashes’ series here

‘Take This Heart (Put Yourself In It)’ here

‘Remind me I’m not home’ here

‘Lifeline’ here

‘Neil Josten’s Vendetta,’ ‘You Don't Even Know Me (It's Only A Feeling),’ and ‘The Nameless Monster’ here

‘Innominate’ here

‘Sunrise, Nathaniel, and Death’ here

‘Black as is the Raven, He’ll Get a Partner’ here

‘Redemption’ here

‘Amor Vincit Omnia’ here (now complete)

dead Neil comes back to life

A Phantom and a Fly by 5a5b5p5 [Rated M, 22063 Words, Complete, 2020]

On the day of Neil’s funeral, Andrew drives north until he can’t keep his eyes open, ignoring the desperate tug in his chest pulling him back. He needs to disappear. Needs to be somewhere nothing can ever hurt him like this again.

Four weeks after his own funeral, Neil Josten wakes up in Baltimore.

or: how Neil came back from the dead and traveled thousands of miles to find his way back to Andrew, and what Andrew did in between.

tw: scars, tw: temporary major character death, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: panic attack

longish fics with happy endings

NB: Most all of these have happy endings; some have angst along the way

‘progress comes in small steps’ series here; part 8, part 9 (now complete)

single parent aus here

andreil longish romcom here

long cute fake dating here

long underrated faves here

long fics with recovery process here

long soft fics here

fluffiest long post canon college fics here

post canon long domestic andreil here

long Katelyn/Aaaron here

long renison here

long kandreil here

long jerejean here and more long jerejean here

long jeremy-centric here

long fae/magic aus here

long no exy aus here

staff fave longer fics one and two

staff faves 30-40k here

staff faves 40-50k here

[mimibtsghost7]

Fuck you and all your little brain washed rats sending people hate because you cant take responsibility for your actions!! But go on stay silent like you always do, pretend its nothing of your business, keep being a fetishizing racist delulu like you love to be while pretending to be the best blog on tumblr!!!

NOT like anyone will see this but YOU will so LET’S GOOO!!!~~

TW: mental health and more (if you feel like this can trigger you, pls don’t read this, breathe in and out and listen to this HERE and remember I love you), loads of tea and Mimi NOT being a friendly and kind ghost. 

funny enough: 

I never pretended of said I was the best blog. But I guess the fact that you say it might be because you heard it frequently? Thanks for thinking so^^

I sent hate to no one and u r the one sending it to me rn ^^ In my whole 4 year journey on Tumblr I received a lot of love but also worse hate that you can imagine. Yes you are saying now you are receiving hate ... funny how it’s bad when It’s addressed to you but when it’s at me and my dear followers it is not. Still, I never told anyone to go hate on you. You were the idiot that tagged my old blog and as soon as my blog was gone pple searched me and found out you were the reason behind this. But as you keep hating on me. Let me tell you I am kind but don’t mistake that for me being a coward.

I am not into insulting others and I don’t care much if you insult me. BUT don’t YOU DARE touch my dear followers. Insulting ain’t hard. Let me try: The only rat here is you hiding in your hole as an anon. I went and compared your writing with this ask and previous hate asks. And it was you~ Good for you~ the sewers smell just like your filthy mouth spilling sh*t left and right. So on brand. However, I know who you are @hobisbeautifulass Hi ^^

Me racist? HAHAHAHAH you truly know NOTHING about me nor my ex-blog’s message. It was a place when you were welcomed no matter your skin color, religion, gender ... proof? well it got deleted thanks to you. but ask around this time and search for who reblogged my posts as they were always the top of the tags (even if I don’t trust how bad you are at research). I supported the BLM movement and still do and will always do but I did so veeery early without anyone telling me. Not for the notes but because of my humanity. I wished my dear followers’ happy holidays no matter their religions. And never cared about those things. Why judge someone on something based on religion or how they were born. As for the LGBTQ+ community, I was always and will always be there for love being love. I talked about mental health and opened venting nights. I helped left and right and when I was receiving hate because of people like you spitting lies about me. What did I do? Did I go online and called people bad? No. I looked back at myself and asked myself if I did anything wrong. I tried to educate myself and apologized sincerely when I had to. I read books and watched documentaries to learn how to become a better human. AND never repeated a mistake twice. You tend to forget that our cultures are different and sometimes you grow up to see some things as normal when they are not. This is not an excuse tho, so I always believed that I was lacking and if someone had something to say against me, there is a chance they are right and just in case I should reflect on myself. But for your case it was pure nonsense. ME? a stalker? how can I stalk when I have social anxiety and at that time couldn’t even leave my room? I am even afraid of taking public transportations and just the other days I was crying from joy when I took a taxi alone. they said I was in Japan stalking Jimin and Jungkook and took a pic when I was NEVER EVER was on that land. You put me on the same list as people who bought info about BTS’ flights to be on the same plane as them? I was stalked before and let me tell you it ain’t cute and fun. I am even scared of the idea of being followed. that’s why I never shared openly my age, country, or anything about me on my blog. that’s why I have no personal social media to this day and that’s why making my ex-blog was some sort of miracle in my life. 

Silent? yes I was silent when I received hate and didn’t even vent to my dear followers or pointed fingers. Why? because I thought as my day was hell I shouldn’t make anyone’s day worse. I was worried about my dear followers with mental illnesses being triggered. I tried to take my life so many times I lost count but I still came here and smiled. It was my safe place and you took it away. Yet, I should pity you? You hated on me first for no reason and you know it deep inside but right now you are trying to convince yourself that you are the angel and feel no guilt. Compared to you. I pointed fingers at no one and didn’t name you when my blog was gone. Why? because compared to you, I thought you will not be able to manage the hate and what was done .. I didn’t want you to suffer the same way I did when you are the one who made me suffer the most the past couple of days. But the kind Mimi is someone you will never remember because you dared touch the friends I love and calling them names. I don’t mind people insulting me but don’t you dare touch my people. I know myself best. My dear friends/followers know me best. I thought ... I could leave without this mess but you keep barking in my ask box and it’s annoying. I left this backup account just to talk to my friends and yet you are here to ruin things again? I should stop being kind to the ones who deserve non of it. I ignored you when I had so many followers and you went silent too because you were scared of me. But as soon as I lost my blog because of you, you went, edited and then reblogged that stalker post. How can I be a stalker? do you even know the definition of a stalker? do you even know shame? well .. I don’t think so.. you said it yourself. You are NOT ashamed (and you reblogged that so many time lol). 

Death threats? this is no competition but thanks to people like you I have been there and wish no one to be there not even you. The only difference is that you almost killed me for real. You were not the sole reason? Great job walking away from you beloved word: RESPONSIBILITY. And I didn’t get just anon hate, I got literal tagging by people like you, DMs, and people pointing guns at me. That’s why I didn’t mention you. I was worried about the one who took away what I worked for for 4 YEARS. I was more sad and concerned about the ARMY fandom here. Do you know how many rely on my updates? do you know how many people said I helped them? do you know any of that? do you think 200k people were “rats”? Do you think if I did and say wrong thing I will not be questioned by those people. I always told my dear followers: “friends, if I do or say anything wrong or share anything that hurts anyone please tell me. I am willing to learn from everyone.” But what did you know? what did you do? Well ..  guess you love notes? As the most notes you ever got and the most attention was when talking about me? 

Love how you talk about fetishing when my blog was what people call “family friendly”. I also like BTS. I love them for their music, talent, personalities and the happiness they give me. I also enjoy BTS’ bond and love their interactions. I posted content of all kinds of interactions JM X JK, JK X V, V X JIN, JIN X SG, SG X JH, JH X RM, RM X JM ... If you are calling this fetishing asian men just because I scream over BTS as a fan and love their bonb. Then aren’t you against the idea of being an ARMY? I was a clear OT7 and you were told that you weren’t right: 

 Then you answered this without even explaining the nonsense about me: 

idk .. I am trying to find sense in your nonsense so .. wait wait let me look at the definition of fetishism first. 

Fetishism /ˈfɛtɪʃɪz(ə)m/ noun: a form of sexual behavior in which gratification is linked to an abnormal degree to a particular object, activity, part of the body, etc.

Then .. judging from your URL alone hmmm ... cute. I won’t even talk about the SMUT you write that is full of kinks and fetishism. Well I have no problem with fan fiction but the irony you spit is out of this world.

Also, I made money out of mimibtsghost? HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH no lil one. I worked day and night for FREE. At some point when BT21 just came out and there were no products on AMAZON or anywhere but S.Korea, someone reached out to me to offer 20% off or something for my dear followers. When they asked what I wanted I said what about international giveaways for my dear followers. Basically, made gifs, found content, updates, analysis, edits, and so on for free. Again, w-wait .. Aren’t you the one asking for commissions? Well .. It’s not wrong. But again THE irony. 

So, I went to see that post you made about me with “PROOF” and it was just another person who was salty as I got them blocked I can’t even recall who they were but oh well. Their arguments according to YOU and many should be taken as FACTS just because they said them?  You said HERE that your first comeback was MOST:7 that came in just last year (2020) SO what the hell do YOU know about what happened years before you came when all the proof you pointed at where baseless without any backing?

Let’s see this so wise person you used to delete my blog and what I have done ^^

The gifs: There is a story to this. The first week I came to Tumblr, It was my first time on this site and the first time I share anything. I shared some content and my analysis had a lot of notes for a small creator that started just a week ago. But I made a mistake, I found a gif and posted it while crediting the gif maker. At the time I had NO idea it was wrong. I logged off and after 5 hours I log in and there was a WAR for that ONE gif. The big blog had me blocked and her friend was telling me to take it off. As soon as the person told me I did IMMEDIATELY and apologized againa and again and told them to tell the original gif maker to deblock me as I want to apologize directly and that they can block me after that. They did and I apologized but they just kept insulting me. Of course it was MY mistake and that’s why I apologized. But for them. for a mere gif (yes I say a mere gif because I made so many gifs and they were used on all platforms but I never thought it was necessary to hate that much on someone like they did to me). That blog was big and had big blog mutuals. Thanks to that, I became someone you do NOT become mutuals with but block and never reblog content from. Without any big mutuals. Without any shoutouts. Only my love for BTS, my dear followers’ support and my hard work.. My blog, became bigger and FAST (I got 10k in less than 6 months after I started) and that brought loads of jealousy and thus more rumors. Even if, I apologized and since then made my own gifs. And I made SO many gifsets that I can’t remember how many there were. What I can recall is at some point I made them daily and many times a day.

Ships Jikook? I posted content of ALL the members interactions. I was here at a time where Jikook stans and Taekook stans where always fighting. BUT I posted about both and even made so many posts to encourage loving all the members and all the interactions. I also used the tags solely used for shipping with other big tags to show that BTS’ interactions are all important and their bond is beutiful. That our fandom shouldn’t hate on a member just because they are not part of a ship we like. And wait .. even if I shipped Jikook? I got called ALL those names by someone who ship the members with readers and write sexual scenes? Like, wait ... I am truly confused. Like, write fanfic and do all you want as long as you hurt no one I guess but why am I getting hurt for doing non of it? Like according to you, the person you should be cancelling is yourself?! I am also not into cancel culture like you so hahah whatever.

Posted stalker pics: well wow the story changes each time. Next thing you will hear that I was the one holding a camera for a member in a Vlive lol. Let me teach you about this update thing I was doing. I follow accounts I trust and that’s how we get info circulating fast. I always do reasearch but sometimes mistakes are made. For example when lately people shared pictures of BTS leaving their virtual concerts and schedules. There was a watermark of a news outlet. Normally we trust those but only later we realized that those people stalked BTS. You clearly can’t know it all. But I still didn’t share many pics related to many events (I will not name those as pple can search them even now because some pple never deleted those). And all big accounts shared many pics then deleted later. This happens all the time but it happened like ONCE for me. However, I am called a stalker for that? 

When Jonghyun passed away ... I don’t even wanna recall that night as the memories just ... when that happened I posted about it and send my condolescences. that post had over 10k notes and was at the top the tag. Why did I do that? I was devastated. Yes, many were but I will talk about me rn: I was suicidal the days before that and one of the songs that I listened to when I was broken where by him. I has been in the kpop world since 2006. And learned about his group since their debut with ‘Replay’. I was never a stan but I still knew of many groups and listened to all the songs I liked. I was very sad when he was gone and ANGRY mostly. Why is this angel leaving? Why is someone like me still here? Why did I not leave instead of him? How much did he suffer? And in the midst I posted a post from twitter that stated how agencies usually put down pple with mental illiness and hide it in the industry. Yes, that was important but NOT at that time. I shouldn’t have posted that and I realized after 5 min of doing so that it was WRONG. So I deleted it FAST but it kept being reblogged and I kept getting hate and people telling me: “Go kill yourself”... the sad part is that I almost did as my answer was “true ... why am I still here?” I apologized and logged off then to this day won’t forget crying at 3 AM while walking outside next to my dad. I was outside as I couldn’t breathe anymore and the idea of seeing the walls of my room was hell. I cried and cried and the teary eyes that my father looked at me with are something I am ashamed of to this day. To add one more thing while I am spilling the beans. I hate learning about someone dying. My grandma passed away sometime before that and it was so shocking to me. and some people came and told me when I was mourning her: Go follow that bitch of grandmother of yours. And for what? At that moment I didn’t think I would live to see the next year but I went to therapy and took medecine that was hurting and made me shake all day just to turn somewhat sane. No one knew tho ... I smiled all day and cried all night.. Even on the blog I fought no one of the ones who hated me. I just blocked them but even that was an insult to them?

Again, you said no one should defend me. Yet, you were ready to fight whoever touched anyone around you. What about changing your URL to beautifulassirony

Also THE hypocrisy. If you are sorry then why are you answering an ask of someone isulting someone you want to apologize to? Just make a post wher you apologize or ignore it from the start?

One more thing but surely not the last. You said you were good with research which you are NOT. So, let me show you what an OG detective ARMY can do. But first, as I was scrolling I saw some of your “work” (let’s not even talk about those gifs) and I am just giving my point of view here: I hate how you painted Namjoon as this horny-idiotic-make-dog. Like I get it it’s a fanfic or Namjoon as a dad but ... Namjoon is such a smart man who is very respectful and ofc he is a human with needs like many but what the hell is this way of portraying a character? Also a character is not cool, amazing, and a strong woman just because they curse and belittle their partner. 

Oh well, only you kept reblogging that as it show 36 reblogs when only 33 as still there when I looked and out of those 13 reblogs are yours? (you might have reblogged it more) but again some people might have liked ... people have different taste ... so ... whatever. 

Let’s continue, shall we ^^. You said you were the victim here when I was the one getting robbed right? How can I believe someone who reblogged the post below and was proud calling themselves an abomination or how the Oxford dictionary defines it:  a thing that causes disgust or loathing. For once you weren’t wrong.

What can you expect from someone who has the “I am not like others” kinda mentality while stating relatable things that everyone goes through?

This is getting pretty long. So to sum this up. You are now telling others that hate is NOt ok and that they should be ashamed of themselves when you yourself is not ashamed of hating on me?

I am not the type that sends anon hate. I might ignore some barking but the past days you came and bite me hard. I face the ones I have to face without fear. I know I am not the bad guy here and I don’t care much what you think about me. Even BTS got haters. This says a lot. BUT do NOT dare talk badely of my dear friends/followers. You said you do research well? Start by deleting the post below that was originally by ME from your blog ... oh how meticulous you are. From your baseless receipts to your twisted logic. Indeed people on the internet can say anything and it will be FACTS. You painted me as the devil and painted yourself as this researcher? What’s next you receiving a Phd in ‘pity me’ after your MBA in lies and irony? Whatever~ 

Whaaatever~ Karma will have upcoming talks with you. No need for you to apologize. I never cared about you and you only got attention using me. But I am not here anymore how will you get that blog running now? Are you gonna add me in a fanfic next? No need for you to send me my appearance fee when you do so~ And no need for you to apologize to me just apologize to you conscience if you have any left.  As for me @hobisbeautifulass​ you are just someone I will forget soon anyway~~ 

And because according to what you said HERE when you described the things you hate about people and I thought that was VERY close to how you treated me. Thus, you might really not stand yourself rn.

Do.Not.Worry. BTS are starting the Love Myself campaign again and just in time for you to jump in (you are good at jumping to conclusions about me so I won’t worry about you). I know you don’t like me or my friends but be sure to love yourself at least ^^ 

You are a Hobi stan? Then learn from Hobi to share some sunshine not bring the storm. Have a good day~

[xtrashmammalstefx]

Stubborn Asshole (A Zak Bagans x Reader SMUT)

WARNINGS: Smut, language, possession

Special Thanks: To @xcazzax​ for being an awsome reader and source of inspiration. I couldn’t do this without you girly. 🥰

I love Aaron like a brother, don’t get me wrong, but DAMN HIM FOR BRINGING SUCH AN ASSHOLE INTO MY LIFE!

Douchey McGee: Hey Aaron said to message u.

He said: Get the fuck up Y/N!

Me: Tell him I said thnx and

and 2 not have the douche do

his dirty work.

Douchey McGee: Well fuck u 2 Y/N.

I sighed and crawled out of my hotel bed. We’d flown in late the previous night and I was still exhausted. I showered and got dressed in my ripped black skinny jeans, my black GAC shirt, and combat boots. I grabbed my hoodie and purse on the way out. Downstairs in the attached restaurant the rest of the crew were gathered for breakfast and much needed coffee.

“Morning gorgeous,” Aaron greeted.

“Fuck off Goodwin, I haven’t even had my coffee yet,” I said taking my seat beside him. “And by the way since when is boss man your own personal secretary.”

“And here I thought you didn’t know me as anything but Douche McGee, douche, or my personal favorite: Stubborn asshole son of a bitch.” Zak chimed in.

“Good morning to you too Satan,” I rolled my eyes.

I swear ever since we met Zak has made it his life mission to push my buttons in any way he can. But unfortunately for this psychotic fuck, two can play that game.

“Huh that’s original,” Zak continued.

I rolled my eyes and ordered an omelet with coffee. “So you gonna tell me when you decided to make boss man your bitch?” I asked Aaron.

“Well I figured I’ve been the bitch long enough so…” Aaron said.

“Dude, since when have I ever treated you like a bitch?” Zak asked.

“Every time you forced him to stay in a fucked up room by himself during an investigation like a fucking sadist?” I pointed out.

“Oh...right…” Zak said looking like he felt a tinge of guilt.

“Does that mean I’m a bitch too since he’s been doing the same thing to me lately?” Billy chimed in.

“Unfortunately,” I said just as my breakfast arrived arrived. “Oh, thanks.” I said to the waitress.

“Only you can go from bitchy to bubbly in zero seconds flat,” Zak said.

“Fuck you too, Bagans,” I muttered taking a bite of my omelet.

“Not in this life babe,” Zak muttered taking a sip of his coffee.

It continued like that even in the car on the way to the days location: Bly Manor. According to our sources Bly Manor was built in the 1800’s by Charles Bly, an Irish immigrant who made a fortune selling liquor and tobacco. By the time of the Civil War he decided to try his hand at weapons manufacturing which earned him enough to break ground on his dream house. He lived in the manor with his family. His wife Athena, and his daughter Josephine.

It said that on a sunny afternoon while do work in the Manor’s yard a man by the name of Bishop Wiley showed up and shot him dead. Supposedly Wiley’s son Robert was a soldier in the war and was killed by the very guns Charles helped build.

Charles has since been purported sighted walking the manor grounds. His wife Athena has been seen playing the piano, and wandering the halls. As for Josephine well… she was the most famous spirit of all.

“Josephine has been seen on the balcony of the Red Room,” explained our tour guide as we interviewed her. “The story goes that Josephine had met and fallen in love with a man at a nearby farm. And just before they were due to be married he left to fight in the war. She promised to wait for him there until his return. Hopeful that they could still marry and have a family. Sadly the man lost his life in Gettysburg. Charles felt so horrible he felt the need to keep it from her. So she continued to wait. And continues to wait to this very day.”

My heart ached for Josephine. It’s a whole other level of hell to lose someone so dear… I damn near jumped when I felt his hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, you okay?” Zak asked.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine,” I said before following the tour guide.

We eventually took a break for lunch and then got ready for the investigation. Unlike most of the crew I made it a habit of carrying a small black backpack. I was just stuffing a recorder, spirit box, and MEL Meter when someone pat my shoulder.

“Hey are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Zak asked again.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m good, um, why the niceties?”

“I may be an asshole sometimes but I do feel for people now and then,” he said.

“Even me?” I arched an eyebrow at him. Before he could answer Aaron barged in needing to grab a spare lens for the camera.

We continued prepping in silence and then slowly but eventually the sun went down and moon shined bright.

Aaron, Zak, and I went in together. We worked together as a group for a while before (in true Zak Bagans fashion) we split up.

“Y/N I want you to stay up here for a while and see if Josephine will communicate with you,” Zak said.

“Alright,” I said stepping out onto Josephine’s balcony. Zak and Aaron disappeared through the Red Room door and I took out my recorder. “Josephine, are you here?” I started. “If so do you think you could answer a few questions for me? I promise you I mean no harm. Just speak into this little device for me.”

I felt a chill in the air but continued. “Why are you still waiting for him?” I asked. “Don’t you think he’s waiting for you on the other side?”

I suddenly felt an overwhelming feeling of sadness and anxiety. I slid down to the ground and then... He promised me. I kept thinking for some odd reason. He promised...he promised we’d go...he promised on the stars...he promised we’d be together.

The thoughts kept coming, and I don’t know when it started but I only realized I was crying when I felt someone shake me violently. “Y/N TALK TO ME DAMMIT!!!”

Zak knelt in front of me looking freaked. “D-Don’t ever leave me,” I cried. “Please don’t ever leave me.”

“Josephine leave her alone, please,” Zak asked. “I know what happened to you was cruel and unfair but that doesn’t mean she should suffer like this.” Call me crazy but Zak actually sounded kind of pissed. There was another chill and he knelt beside me again. “I’m here  sweetheart…” He whispered brushing my cheek with his hand. “I’m here.”

I looked up at him and saw a face that was not his. His hair was chocolate brown and barely touched his shoulders, his eyes the same. My heart took off in joy and I threw my arms around him. He squeezed me before pulling back and taking my face in his hands. “Promise not to disappear on me again?” I asked.

“I promise,” he muttered before bringing his lips to mine. We kissed passionately as though it was a long time coming. After a while it felt like a weight lifted off me and my legs became limp. “WHOA!”

Zak caught me. It was for sure him this time. I was suddenly more aware of things...more awake. “Zak...what? What happened?”

“I dunno,” he said. “But I’m getting you the fuck out of here.”

He scooped me up in his arms and carried me all the way to the GAC van.

“You know you didn’t have to carry me right?”

“Says the girl who just nearly passed out on me,” Zak said setting me down in the back of the van.

“Um Zak did you want us to edit out the last bit of her footage or..?” Billy asked awkwardly.

“Edit it out? Why?” Zak asked. Blushing furiously Billy replayed the footage from the night vision cam we had facing the balcony. It showed me slowly crumbling and then…

“Oh sweet fucking Jesus,” I groaned as Zak and I started making out on screen.

“Uh...yeah I don’t think we need to uh-*cough*-show that,” Zak said turning back to me. “Are you, uh, gonna be okay?”

“Um...yeah I think so,” I said not entirely meeting his eye. “You-uh-you go ahead. I’m just gonna chill with Billy the rest of the night.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Now go before I drag you back in by your balls,” I threatened.

“Oh yeah you’re gonna be fine,” he said turning his back on me.

“You know you two are actually kinda hot together,” Billy said.

“What? Are you high? Zak and I can barely stand each other,” I said.

“Bull-fucking-shit Y/N,” Billy laughed. “We all can see there is insane tension going on between you. We just don’t get why you guys haven’t done anything about it.”

“What are we the hot gossip going around the office or something?”

“I mean, if this almost-porno is anything to go by...then yeah.”

“Billy I swear to God if I catching you jerking off to that—.”

“You’ll cut my nuts off I know,” he finished for me. “Besides I would never in hell jerk off to my best friend and his girl. It’s too weird.”

“I’m not his girl,” I snapped at him.

“Whatever you say Y/N,” Billy laughed. “Now did you wanna review this evidence with me or..?”

And so I did.

Once the investigation ended we packed up, caught a few minutes sleep then made our way back to Vegas.

Billy, Jay, and Aaron were dropped off first. Then it was just me and Zak.

Aaron: Try not to kill Zak please.

Me: No promises.

Zak then pulled up to my place.

“Are we never gonna talk about it?” I asked as he parked.

“What’s there to say?” he asked. “It-It was a freak incident. We-we weren’t ourselves.”

“True you were actually nice for once,” I said sarcastically.

Zak glared at me. “Go fuck yourself, Y/N.”

“Fuck me yourself you coward,” I blurted out. “I mean...um...fuck!” I sighed and stepped out of the car. I had just unlocked my door when…

“Y/N!” I turned around and saw Zak running up to me.

“Wha―” I was cut off by Zak slamming his lips to mine.

He kissed me hard, as though he was relieving an ache deep within his heart. I kissed back and clumsily opened my door. Zak picked me up, wrapping my legs around his waist and carried me to my bedroom. He placed me on the bed and I reached up to pull his shirt off. I tossed it aside and eventually more articles of clothing followed.

Zak laid me back on the bed and started pecking a trail of kisses all the way down to my heat. A moan escaped my lips as he kissed and sucked on me. “HO-HOLY SHIT!”

To say Zak knew what he was doing would be an understatement. He didn’t stop eating me until I was writhing beneath him. “Z-ZAK!” My back arched and my toes curled up in the most powerful orgasm of my life.

He crawled back up to me, smirking. “Not much of an asshole anymore, am I?”

“Oh shut up,” I brought my lips back to his as I ran my hand up and down his length which like the rest of him was thick and hard. I suddenly felt him move my hand before he reached down and placed himself at my entrance. He kissed me once more before pushing in. “FUCK! How the fuck have you been single this long?”

“Demons tends to be excellent cock blocks,” Zak said as he started to thrust. “Lucky for us, they tend to stay away from you.”

“R-Really?”

He grunted then nodded. Despite his big, tough, persona Zak was actually really sensual and passionate in bed. He kept his thrusts gentle (probably because he knew his above average size could inflict some damage if he wasn’t careful) until I urged him to go faster and harder. After a while he flipped us over so that I was on top. I rode him hard, and Zak, being a gentleman, helped me out by thrusting up into me as I did.

The tension began building up inside me. “Fuck...Zak I-I think I’m gonna…” It hit me like a wave. I tightened around him, arching my back, and damn near screaming his name.

Zak flipped us over again and continued thrusting until he grew sloppy. I suddenly felt him twitch inside me as he cursed and groaned. His body shuttered as he painted my womb with his seed. Finally he collapsed beside me, both of us breathless.

“Wow,” I said.

“I know,” Zak said.

Once my breathing was under control I turned to him. “So...what now?”

He looked over at me.

“I guess we just be together,” he said. “It’s kind of what you do when you’re insanely in love with someone.”

“You’re in love with me?” I asked.

“I’ve always been in love with you,” he smiled. “Ever since we met...I just didn’t want the spirits in my life to hurt you so I decided to keep you away.”

“What changed?”

“Besides that they for some reason stay away from you?” I nodded. “I was tired of letting them get in the way of what I want. I was tired of being away from you.” He draped his arm over my waist. “I love you.” He muttered.

“I love you too,” I said pecking him on his swollen lips.

We spent almost every day together after that. It’s been a year and we are still together. Life was the same for the most part. We still investigated places, while not in bed or spending time with each other. The guys were relieved to see us together (at last) until our PDA became a little too much for them to handle. Oh and there was one other difference as well…

“Y/N BAGANS COME GET YOUR MAN HE’S BEING FUCKING TERRIFYING AGAIN!” Aaron shouted at me through the walkie.

“What happened to having the preggo investigator hang back all night?” I asked rubbing my stomach. Zak made everyone swear not to let me into the buildings with malicious spirits and demons.

“Y/N please,” Aaron begged.

I sighed and looked down. “Aaron Nicholas Bagans for the love of god don’t be a stubborn asshole like your daddy.”

With that I exited the van and went to save the love of my life.

[paperficwriter]

I’ll Follow You Into the Dark

Harboring a fugitive means having to be careful, having to be smart about it. Because what terrible things might happen if someone were to find out? Unfortunately, being particularly clever is not one of Badd’s strong suits.

Written for @kaincuro​! Cut is for length, not for content.

“Where have you been?”

Badd hasn’t even gotten in the door yet. He’s just opened it with his shirt covering his hand because it’s gross, because there are splashes of gore on his clothes. Showers are available at the Hero Association HQ, yes, but it would have meant being out even later. The chance to take advantage of the Class S wing’s amenities was outmatched by his desire to be home with Garou.

“I got sidetracked by two monsters when my shift was supposed to end.” Garou’s eyes shine in the dark like a cat, even when the rest of his face is obscured by shadow, and Badd gropes for a light switch. “Ya could have at least waited with a lamp on. Where’s Z—”

“She’s staying over with that one annoying girl from her class.” A hand grabs his wrist and pulls him. “Why didn’t you call? You’re always browbeating me about using the burner phone you got me.”

“I said I was—”

“After.”

“It died. Garou, let me get a damn light, ya fuckin’—”

There’s a mouth jamming into his, which isn’t really the best way to describe a kiss. This is more like he’s being berated, like it’s a scold in the form of affection that’s being taken rather than given. Garou licks his face, and that’s so fucking gross, he’s told him how gross that is, especially right now when he’s sweaty and dirty. 

That sharp nose presses in next to his, and his face is held by icy fingers. He can hear his lashes falling on his cheeks, and between their eyes is this singing . That’s the only way he can think of it as. A high-pitched energy.

I was worried, Garou is thinking into him so he doesn’t have to say it. 

“I’m sorry.” Despite the grime (clearly Garou doesn’t give a shit) Badd palms the back of Garou’s neck until their foreheads touch into a point of pain. “Hey. I’m sorry.”

“Mm.”

He puts on a little smile. “I’m real flattered that ya missed me so much, though. It’s nice to be missed. Kinda sweet, comin’ from you.”

“Shut the fuck up.” There’s not even an ounce of bitterness in those words; the only thing reflecting any hurt is the way he pinches his cheek.

“Ow.”

“What? You’re the one who liked being missed so much. I should show you all the things I miss. Like these stupid soft cheeks of yours.”

“You’re just jealous. You’re like all skin and bones and shit.”

It’s still dark, but Badd’s eyes have adjusted. He leans his bat against the wall by the coat stand, on the linoleum where he can take it out and hose it off later. It’s the only moment he takes his hands off Garou, and he returns them just as quickly to sweep over his chest. Garou’s shirt is just a little loose on him, which is a pretty big indicator that he’s borrowing one of his.

He leans up until he feels a little soft hair on his nose and the bump of Garou’s ear. “Why don’t you show me all the other things you missed in the shower with me?” he whispers, and damned if he isn’t dragged down the hall on the spot.

Garou hisses when he finally turns the bathroom light on, and Badd gets his eyes on him for the first time since that morning. God, he kind of looks awful. Not that he’s going to say that, but there is this worn quality to the skin on his face, his eyes are a little squinty (even after he gets accustomed to the light) and there’s just a fatigue that’s there that’s not normally there.

“G. I’m okay. See? None o’ this blood’s mine, yeah?”

Slim fingers pick at some dried blood on his collarbone, then practically tears his shirt off. 

“I’m really, really sorry. I promise I’ll try not to let it happen again. I—”

“I almost went out looking for you.”

Badd stops talking for a second. His heart squeezes uncomfortably. “Ya know ya can’t do that durin’ the day. You’re…” A wanted criminal. The only monster that has ever escaped from the Hero Association. “It’s not safe.”

Garou scowls, pulling back, his touch rescinded entirely. He bends his head to rub his face against his own shoulder like a cat, and it makes Badd wonder if he’s trying to spread his scent onto his cheek. “I didn’t, did I?”

"It won't be forever. And it's nice when we go out at night, yeah? To our special spot?"

On the hill that overlooks the river. The one that's two miles outside the city, where sometimes Garou will meet him after work or Badd will drag him out on evenings like this in a completely different outfit.

Sometimes they don't even get there at the same time. They even pretend they're strangers. To spice things up. Keep it interesting.

But Garou doesn’t seem to want to go anywhere. He’s kissing him again, grabbing for his pants, and those pale fingers are getting dirty on his buttons. Badd scrambles to try to undress him too, but Garou is like some unstoppable force when he’s like this. 

“No trips tonight,” he says when he gets to his neck, hand slapping out to start the water. It hits too hot, but Badd can’t get to it to adjust. “I need you here. I’ve needed you here. I don’t want to share you with anyone else, even if it’s just the fucking bugs and birds and shit.”

Badd chuckles and lets Garou pin him to the wall. The water is running murky right now, and this should be gross, he should be shoving him off, but denying Garou is like trying to stop a hurricane with a parasol. 

“Alright, babe. I’m not going anywhere.”

How does it happen?

They fuck up somewhere. It’s hard to say where, or when, or how.

Was it when Garou slinked along beside Badd when he went on a midnight grocery run?

Or the time Garou snarled at a guy who catcalled a girl as he was waiting for Badd to get off the train, and Badd grabbed his arm so he wouldn’t actually take off after the weasel? 

Or was it just chance? A suspicion, a hunch, and a window open a little too wide in the bedroom?

It doesn’t matter.

Garou had gone for a walk. Just a walk. It was fall, so the nights were getting longer, so while Badd dropped Zenko off at their cousin’s for the weekend, Garou went out into the crisp air, hat pulled down over his ears, Badd’s favorite jacket on with the embroidered tiger on the back (the hero had made the piece of clothing too tantalizing, always scolding that if he ripped it or stained it, he’d fucking kill him).

Although Garou’s walks always took him into a run, and then a leap, dashing up buildings until he could see for miles. And this one was different. His slippered feet propelled him from rooftop to rooftop, the smell of drying leaves and burning wood in his nostrils, air whistling.

His phone vibrated. ‘Gonna pick up food. What u want?’

He landed on one foot on the top of a stone cross erected on an empty church. Pigeons noisily swarmed from inside the belfry and out into the air. ‘Dumplings. Soup. Meat.’

‘lol, ok. See u soon.’

That’s the last one. The last text.

When he’s coming back, the noises make his ears twitch as much as his nerves. Anyone else wouldn’t notice, but he knows every inch of Badd’s house. He knows the furniture in it, the weight of it, and he knows what it’s like to fight inside (there were a few of those when he first started living there). 

There are people inside the house. There are people ransacking Badd’s house. 

The part of Garou that Badd always calls “the guard dog side” heats up to combustible levels. Usually it’s “cute” (again, something Badd says), when he glares at the door before he’s pushed off Badd and down the hallway out of sight. 

They’ve sprayed something on the windows so he can’t see. Fine. If they want to do this the painful way, he’ll oblige.

The window breaks as he goes through it so fast that he barely cuts himself, rolling into the bedroom. There are three men in suits, and the bed - their bed - is turned upside down. The nightstand is cracked, the drawer thrown open and turned out. Everything that they have worked to make theirs is ruined, and Garou roars. 

“He’s here! He’s—”

Garou grabs the man’s face and throws him through the broken window. The other two reach for guns on their belts, but the movement takes far too long compared to the speed with which Garou attacks, sending each of them flying into the walls. 

I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you all.

“Garou…”

It only takes a few sprinting steps to get to the stairs that lead to the living room, although it takes three (precious, few, too many) seconds to take out goons in the upstairs bathroom and in Zenko’s room. One manages to get a shot off, and the sound rings in Garou’s ears even as his fist breaks through his nose and jaw. He drops the bullet he caught onto the ground.

From the landing, he can see down into a black sea of men in suits, like the ones he’s dealt with upstairs. Badd is sitting up in a chair, and even from here Garou can see that his eyelids are heavy, a sagging in his cheeks and muscles. 

He’s been drugged with something.

One of the guys has his foot on his bat, which is on the floor, and there are several guns trained on Badd’s head.

He does the math.

Garou is fast, and if it was one person, only one, he could make it. But there isn’t one. There’s...twenty. They are crammed in here, and they all have guns, and there are too many for someone not to get lucky. And from the range they have on Badd, they don’t even need luck.

Run. 

It’s not a word that comes to his mind. It’s one silently mouthed by Badd.

Run, Garou.

Garou shakes his head. How can he run? How can he leave him? Now, at their worst point? That’s not just making him a coward. It’s making him a truer villain than he ever possibly could have conceived of himself to be. “No. Badd—”

So Badd is the one who moves. He sinks his teeth into his own hand, and Garou can feel as much as see how his Fighting Spirit flares. 

That’s when all hell breaks loose.

Shots fired at him, around the room. Ten men pile on Badd, and he disappears under their bodies. “Run, Garou! Get the fuck outta here! ”

Two shots hit him. In the side and in the shoulder. Too much happening. Too many distractions. Below him, he can see Badd struggling, and he knows he’s alive and if he’s alive he can find him, he can get him back.

“Take him down! Don’t let the Hero Hunter get away!”

The Hero Hunter.

That’s all he is to them. He’s still that version of himself that he had given up, the already-flimsy mask that had been torn off in that last fight.

Breaking into a run down the hall is like running through mud. Maybe not physically - physically he outpaces them all, a wild animal that knows the woods better than any clumsy human - but with every step he’s calculating when, where, why, how, will they, won’t they, what are you doing?

He doesn’t just go through the window; he takes half of the wall with him. This time, he barely touches the rooftops as he jumps from one to the next. Anything it takes to put as much distance as he can between himself and that house, those men.  

And Badd? A voice in his head asks.

He smothers it in his molten rage.

---

Who is he kidding? Garou can’t stay away. It doesn’t matter that it’s only been a few months. It doesn’t matter that they will probably check in on the house, or that they may be watching it now. He’s drawn back to it like a bird - like a chicken, that awful voice says again, rearing back, returning over and over no matter how much he ignores it - and in the dark he’s much harder to spot.

He waited a day. That’s as much as he can be expected to wait, isn’t it?

They’ve only put tarps over the holes, so he goes in the exact same way as he did that afternoon. 

Everything is still a mess. Any shelf that was standing or on the wall has been torn off, tipped over, emptied. Clothes have been pulled out and left scattered on the floor, or in piles. Nothing seems intact.

Even the bed has a gash running through it, clearly torn open by a knife. It nicked Badd’s pillow, and feathers are bleeding out onto the comforter. The sight makes him so angry that he picks up the whole bed and he’s about to throw it through the wall when two eyes shine up at him.

“Meow.”

Tama. She’s pushed herself into the tightest ball she can in the corner, somehow evading the terrible events of the afternoon. He puts the bed down, leaning it against Badd’s desk, and reaches down for her. She darts down the hallway into Zenko’s room.

The scene is the same. Granted, he always hated the posters and standees of Amai Mask, but seeing them ruined, torn off the wall (for what fucking purpose, those bastards) makes him nauseated. 

“Meow.” Now she’s under Zenko’s bed. He gets down on his stomach and pats the floor. She doesn’t move.

“Come on, Tama.” She backs up, and he kicks the door closed with his foot so she can’t run away again. “Come. On.”

She can survive. Cats are predators, and they can handle themselves. You’ve done enough— 

“Come on!” His fist lands on the floor. A piece of paper falls off the pink cork board over Zenko’s desk, fluttering to the floor. Not paper. A photo. Badd is grinning, with her up on his shoulders, and Zenko is making bunny ears over his head. Garou stares at it, not blinking, not moving. And then he realizes that he’s just barely in the picture. Half his face, the visible part of his smirk, and he recalls Zenko begging Badd to let her keep it. 

“Just that one. And it stays at home. Understand? No showin’ it to anyone at school.”

“I promise!”

He hates this feeling.

And it’s one he should be used to, isn’t it? Being on his own. He was on his own for so long, living in that shack, stealing food. And only a few times did it ache a little, to be away from the world, but it was worth it, because he had a goal.

What does he have now?

...nothing.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Liar. Liar. Liar.

You could have stopped it. You should have died stopping it. 

No. No. No.

The bristles of Zenko’s carpet are making his face itch, but all the energy has gone from his body. It’s hard to tell how long he stays there, the silence so eerie. No television. No talking. No breathing. 

And then, there’s something. A gentle vibration. He glances up to find that Tama has occupied the space of his slightly-bent arm, where it had been outstretched. Her eyes are heavy, and she’s purring gently. When he picks her up, she lets it happen, and he pockets the photo as well.

For a moment, he considers taking more, but…

No. 

...better to let this chapter end. It’s easier to let it all go. He has the jacket, and Tama, and one picture of them together.

Yes. Look at where attachments have brought you.

---

Garou memorizes the address on the fridge, and rips it into tiny pieces. If they found it already, they have it, and if they don’t, they won’t now. It doesn’t look like anyone is watching the place, so far as he can tell.

He gently knocks on the window.

“Garou!” Zenko looks like she’s been crying, so she must have some idea what’s happened. That makes things easier, although who knows what they’ve told her. Her face is red, and she grabs his arm, trying to pull him in from where he’s crouching on the window sill. 

“No. I can’t stay.”

“You can’t go!” One of her fists punches his arm as her eyes start filling with tears again. “Don’t go, Garou!”

It hurts. He doesn’t...he wasn’t expecting it to hurt this much. “Here.” Reaching into his jacket with his free hand, he takes Tama out and hands it to her. She has to let him go to take the large cat in her arms.

“Tama…” Now she’s sobbing into the cat’s fur, and he remembers just how old Tama is. Old enough to have been there through losing their parents. Old enough for all Badd’s antics, all the things that led him to promise ‘no violence in front of her.’ 

Some good that did.

“Do you…” she hiccups and scrubs her eyes. “Do you know where he is?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you know if he’s okay?”

“...I don’t know.”

“What do you know?!”

“Nothing!” Before he can stop it, his voice goes as sharp as hers. “I don’t know anything yet! Are you happy?!”

At first, in the moment he regrets it, he thinks she’ll start crying and then...what, is he going to try to comfort her? But instead she puts Tama down, jumps up and slaps him in the face. Which doesn’t really hurt all that much (physically, at least). Not as much as when she yells at him, “You’re the adult! You’re supposed to be able to deal with it!”

...he is, isn’t he.

He holds his hand out. “Give me your phone for a second.”

When she unlocks it and hands it over, Garou brings up the news and searches for ‘Metal Bat.’ Immediately, there are several articles about his “leave of absence” from the Hero Association, about “suspicions of misconduct,” and how he was currently staying in the Hero Association Headquarters where they would be investigating his involvement with “possible criminal monsters.”

A monster...

Garou hands the phone back to her. “You probably saw that he’s at the hero headquarters.”

She nods. “That doesn’t narrow it down much...the new one is huge. You can’t just— Garou!” Zenko pulls hard at his arm as he tries to jump away, like she can yank him inside. “You can’t just go in!”

“I don’t have much of a choice.”

“Take me with you!”

“No way.” She’s about to yell at him again, he can tell, but he gently, firmly pulls his arm out of her grasp. “Your brother will kill me if I get you in trouble. And who will take care of Tama then?”

Zenko hates it. He can tell, because the expression on her face is how his gut has felt all day: angry, grief-stricken, hurt. “Promise you’ll come back for me. That you’ll both come get me!”

He nods. “Fine. Call Tareo. He’ll be worried, and I don’t want you alone.”

He leaves after that without saying goodbye. There’s nothing more to say, and he can’t make any more promises he’s not sure if he’ll be able to keep.

---

Garou spends that night in the special spot. He curls up in the tall grass where he usually does, and below him he can hear the water gently lapping over the rocks. It’s dark, and there’s a breeze, but there are stars overhead. 

He takes Badd’s jacket off and balls it up under his head, where he can breathe it in.

“I love ya, Garou.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah, it’s right, jerk.” Badd laughs and smacks his chest. He’s using him as a pillow, that night, and it’s warm yet cool enough that this is the first time they’ve been able to stand being out in it. In the distance, storm clouds are moving in. They’ll be forced home soon.

Garou is playing with his hair. He usually has it down when they go out. The pompadour is too much of a signature for him, too unique. Like this, Garou can pass his fingers through it without it getting caught in product. 

“You don’t have to say it back.”

“Good.”

Badd’s smiling into his flesh, and he traces the outline of one of his pecs. It makes goosebumps jump up across Garou’s shoulders. “You at least like me, don’t ya?” he teases, poking him near the armpit so he jumps. 

“God, no.” Garou rolls until he’s got Badd on his back and he’s looming over him, growling as he places several nipping bites down his throat. “Can’t stand you…”

“Yeah, I get that a lot from folks,” Badd laughs.

“No, you don’t. And that’s what I hate the most.” He follows the path of the bites with little kisses, faintly feeling Badd rubbing at his scalp. “You’re so damn likable...everyone fawning all over you...you’re like the neighborhood mutt everyone wants to give treats to.”

Badd sits up a bit until he can press his face into the soft space of skin under his eye, slotting his nose into the dip of his cheek. “Do ya wanna give me a treat?”

God. He wants to be annoyed, but Badd’s boyish face, his little smile, his hands, even the calluses on his fingers...every piece of him just endears him more and more. Does that mean that this is love? Is this what love is? It’s not like he’s ever felt this for someone before, this positive energy. The only things that he can think of that have fueled him are spite. Anger. Bitterness. At best: boredom.

Not that he hasn’t been kind to others (as kind as he has thought possible) but…

But he doesn’t know enough to say it.

…

You should have said it. You might never get a chance to tell him again. You knew at the time, and the only reason you didn’t say it was because you were a fucking coward.

Garou curls up tighter. 

Or.

An itch is beginning to cover his skin. His eyes actually hurt, like he’s been swimming with his eyes open, but it deepens into a worst burn.

Or you never loved him at all.

“No!” When Garou punches the ground, he can see that his skin is different. Harder, stony. Like that day. His head is on fire. The voice that comes up from his throat doesn’t even sound like his. It’s coming out of a smoking muzzle. 

When he gets up - on all fours, so tall now that the long, hard tail swinging behind him knocks two trees over - he picks up the jacket, the picture still in the pocket, and holds it against his chest. The armor shell that has been forming around him seems to swallow it up, and he can feel the material, feel Badd, pressed to him. Present. Protected.

It’s very possible that he won’t survive the night.

He accepts that.

And as he lets out a howl so long and so low, so reverberating and far-traveling that he can hear dogs on the far shore return his call, he turns away from the hill and begins to run back toward the city.

---

It’s like this was the only form he could take to quiet his mind.

Because when Garou gets to the Hero Association Headquarters, he doesn’t stop to think or consider his next plans. He’s not crafty or cunning (was he ever?). He’s a mad dog. No, a wolf. A rabid wolf, in form as much as action now.

And the Hero Association has never been good at actually defending itself against monsters.

The glass in the front of the huge building shatters as he goes through it. 

“Baaaaaadd!” It’s the only thing that comes out of his mouth where gray fangs make the darkness within look like a cave without an end. “Badd!”

The men inside are shooting at him, but this isn’t like inside the house. The bullets bounce off him, and he runs through them, into a door, another passage. His huge nose sniffs at the air, and even though they begin crumbling under his weight, he starts taking the stone stairs that lead up further into the building.

More security. This time, in the form of flying drones with both constant artillery as well as drugs, electricity, nets. 

Insects. All of them.

It’s not to say that Garou doesn’t feel their attacks. The rocky armor surrounding him cracks in places, pieces falling to the floor in small piles. But he’s being fueled by something greater than metal and energy.

They crunch like cans in his jaws. 

“Baaaadd!”

He tears through another door, clearly reinforced, having to dig through it with his claws. Cameras are watching him; sometimes he catches one out of the corner of his eye, and in the lens he can see his blood-red, burning eyes. 

He doesn’t waste time with them. Let them see.

More humans. More humans with guns, with long spears that end in shock cords, like the kind used to leash strays. Do they think it will be effective? They sting when they touch him, sure, when they manage to loop his ears but the moment he shakes his head he can hear their bodies make contact with the walls.

They keep trying to trap him, trying to close him between lock-down gates. It’s obvious they think he’ll try to go through the steel, but then he just turns and rips his way through the wall. 

More robots. More rolling, shielded automatons. They issue warnings he doesn’t heed, and the ones he can’t literally destroy he just ignores.

Then, it gets quiet.

And that is worse than any of the defense that he’s faced to this point as he’s climbed higher and higher in the building, following Badd’s scent, tracking him through corridors and stairs and firepower. 

When he gets to a large, open room, empty but for equipment and air ducts far up in the ceiling, he’s about to start scaling the wall when the door in front of him opens and a lone figure walks through.

“Ah...I just want to sleep...why do they want to put me to work so late?”

It’s him. Saitama. Again, here, at the end of everything, why, why, why .

He’s picking at his ear, his other hand in the pocket of his striped pajamas. “Didn’t even have time to change…”

Garou’s options are limited. He can go back the way he came, or he can charge forward. But then, would he make it either way? Saitama was fast last time. And Garou… 

He can’t help slumping. God, he’s tired. 

He’s no stronger than he was before…

“Oh, it’s you again. You look a bit different. So...you here to cause trouble, or…?

Garou growls. He’s talking to him like he’s a child that’s gotten somewhere he’s not supposed to be. On the tip of his nose, he can just barely smell Badd still. They’re moving him. Higher? Farther away? It’s hard to tell. “Badd…”

Saitama turns and looks up toward the ceiling, where Garou’s gaze is fixed. “Is that why you’re here? Are you two friends now or something?”

The growling intensifies. This isn’t a conversation he wants to have. This isn’t a moment he wants to share. Not with him. Not with the one person who could break him down so completely, who could ruin everything like it was nothing. 

“I don’t like that, you know. What they’re doing.”

Garou stops moving. 

“Everybody knows Metal Bat. He talks about his sister in every meeting. I don’t think he would do something that would endanger her.” He drops his fist in his hand, as though something has made sense to him. “It was you, wasn’t it? Who they think he’s associating with. You two are friends now. Good thing Genos isn’t here...that probably wouldn’t be enough to stop him.”

Garou watches as Saitama moves, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I think,” he says, cracking his bare feet against the floor, “this is better for you, you know. Doing more of the hero thing. The villain thing was kind of half-assed, you know.”

Saitama walks away from the door he came out of, leaning against the wall.

“And I’m sure I’m probably already in trouble, but it’s going to be worse for you if you don’t go get him now. Because they’ll probably send one of those other heroes after you...maybe that scary girl that flies around.”

Every instinct Garou has is telling him this is a trick. A trap. Not to trust anything he says, to stay and fight.

But what is there to gain? What would be smarter or better than just letting the strongest hero kill him right here, right now? 

...he’s still not going to thank him. He won’t give him that satisfaction. 

Garou just smashes through the door and keeps running.

—

Badd wonders if he’s having some kind of out-of-body experience.

He can’t focus on anything, he realizes. Not asleep. Not awake. 

At one point he thinks...is he at the dentist? Because there’s something in his mouth, keeping him from putting his teeth together...but they don’t cuff your hands to the bed at the dentist, do they?

Now and then, he hears people talking.

At this moment? People are talking much louder. More excitedly. Above him, lights are moving quicker. He can see them around the mask over his nose. 

He’s in a hallway.

And everything is starting to feel...bumpy. Like there’s an earthquake. Is it an earthquake? Are they taking him somewhere safe?

...somewhere safe...because...this place isn’t safe, is it?

People start screaming, and suddenly something huge is standing over him. He’s staring into gray dark, and there are four limbs over top of where he is laying. Somehow, in all of the fog, it’s like…

It’s like he knows he’s being protected.

“Hnngh…?” He can’t talk with the thing in his mouth. And his hands are still trapped.

This...god, yes, this has to be a dream. It’s the only thing that makes sense when all the sounds stop and the creature backs up and stares down at him. A wolf. But...a statue of a wolf? No, more like a gargoyle, because there are cracks in the stone, and that’s falling away, getting smaller until…

Garou.

Garou’s here.

He tries to reach his hands out to him, but...right, no, those have to stay where they are. Except then Garou breaks the thick cuffs, and he’s snapping the harness that’s around his head, holding what he sees now is some kind of bit. He takes the mask off him too.

Slowly, he begins to come back into the real world.

“Garou…Garou, I…” Arms go around him, holding him so suddenly, so tightly, that his muscles object because… “How long have I been here?”

“Two days. I love you.”

Badd blinks. “Garou, it’s—”

“This is my fault. It’s all my fault. I ruined your life. I ruined your life, and they took you away, and if I had lost you, I would have...I don’t know what I would have done. And you would have been gone without me having said it back.”

Badd pulls back enough to look him in the face. He doesn’t even know how to describe the expression that’s there. Garou looks like he’s the one who was coming close to death. “I love you too. Okay? I’m okay. They probably...fuck, they were probably keepin’ me under and all so I wouldn’t trigger my Fightin’ Spirit. If I accidentally bit my tongue ‘r somethin.’”

Garou kisses him, and he kisses back. He’s pretty sure they both know this is not what they should be doing right now, but… 

“Zenko. Fuck, Zenko, is she—”

“She’s okay. So’s Tama.”

Even in spite of the terrible condition they are in, as Garou helps him out of what seems to be a modified hospital bed, Badd has to laugh. “Ya went back for Tama, huh…”

Garou picks up something off the floor. His jacket, he realizes, and Garou puts it on him, over the sort of sterile gown they changed him into. He takes a step and almost falls, and Garou picks him up effortlessly in his arms.

“Ya know...I didn’t think that the first time you would carry me like this would be so...dire, ya know?”

Garou’s face is starting to soften, and as he hears approaching footsteps - running, quickly - he takes them through an empty room. The windows overlook the city beyond. It’s a long way down, but...they’ve both managed from higher places. “Ready?” he asks.

Badd tucks his face into Garou’s neck and steals one last kiss before bracing himself. “Yeah...yeah. Let’s do this.”

He’s not lying. The rest of the details aren’t important. He just closes his eyes as Garou carries him through the glass and the air, into whatever comes next for them, trusting that he’ll get them there, no matter what. 

[argylemikewheeler]

oh my god based on that last ask... can u write something where mike completely loses it on everyone because something is happening to will AGAIN and he just can’t do it anymore because he’s so in love with him and he’s never got to tell him and everytime something happens to will he always says he’s gonna confess when it’s over and then he doesn’t but he means it this time

I can see Mike so clearly trying to keep it together when they’re all piled in the basement, Will kind of out of it and still plugging his bloody nose. Mike knows his own fear isn’t the most important thing. Everyone is spit-balling causes and solutions, but he can’t stop watching Will from across the coffee table. He’s laid out on the couch, his neck bent back and pinching his nose. There’s a tissue in his hand and about twenty other bloody ones on the floor around him. Mike isn’t sure how much blood the human body has, but even thinking that he has to figure it out makes his palms sweat. Makes his lips feel cold. Makes his legs numb.

They’d been standing upstairs– doing a more calm version of their current sleuthing– when Will scrambled for a piece of paper from the table. His hands were trembling and he was muttering to himself as he sketched the outline of a country. Steve was the first to proudly identify it as Russia. (Mike was the first to ask why Will was drawing it in the first place.) Then Will slammed his pen down to mark a specific point, making the pen explode in his hand. Behind them, Mike’s family phone began ringing, nearly falling off the wall. With his ink stained hand, Will grabbed it, whipping around and holding it out to them like a loud-speaker. Or a gun. The cord swayed with Will as they all leaned in, hearing the low crackling static of a radio transmission. It wasn’t in English, but they knew the voice: Hopper.

Will collapsed in Mike’s kitchen, a smear of black, charcoal ink and thick, red blood following his sliding body on the linoleum floor. The whole scene had only lasted a minute. Maybe two. Steve grabbed Will, Nancy grabbed the phone, and the Party gathered their supplies and ran to the basement. Mike was the slowest, unsure how to process the excitement everyone had shown over the voice on the other line. Had no one seen Will move, near-possessed? Had no one noticed the black, voided fear in his eyes? Did no one notice the weak, strangled cries that escaped while he was drawing? Mike was sure they did. Then… did anyone notice that it all bothered Mike the most?

Will couldn’t be hurt again. He couldn’t be under the grip of the Upside Down again. He’d lived twice. Twice. He’d shown that freaking monster he could survive. Why didn’t it just give up… before Will did.

“Hey, guys… I think that’s a lot blood.” Mike said, turning to his sister who was behind him at the taller table, previously reserved for happier adventures and make-pretend monsters.

“The nose is really vascular, Mike. He’s okay.” She was trying to be supportive. But did so without even looking.

“No, Nancy, I’m being serious.” Mike was talking about Will and he didn’t even look over. He probably didn’t even hear Mike. Mike could’ve said anything and Will would’ve never heard–

“Oh… Yeah, Nance? That looks like a lot–” Steve nudged her arm as he walked around the table. Lucas craned his neck too, Max popping up behind him. Mike saw what he assumed to be his own expression replicating on everyone else’s.

She turned and checked her watch. “Uh, give it another five minutes… and then… and then we’ll start getting heavier stuff.”

“I think I have a tampon in my purse–”

“No.” Mike said, pushing himself to sit on the back of the couch. He swung his legs over and stood beside Steve. “Not five minutes. Not even two minutes. Stop looking at your maps and help him.”

“Mike, it’s okay. I promise, we aren’t going to let anything happen to Will.” Robin said, giving him a smile that was only half assured.

“Yeah, man, look, we’re just trying to figure out–” Mike swatted away Steve’s comforting hand.

“I don’t think it takes eight people to read a map. I don’t even think it takes five. So someone who knows what the hell is going on stop trying to find the fastest route to Russia and help Will. Because he’s right. here. No traveling required!” The room blinked at Mike. He barely noticed he’d started shouting. In the silence, it occurred to everyone else that Will hadn’t spoken up– hadn’t tried to assure everyone he was fine. He was still, his breathing languid but heaving.

In the few moments Mike had taken his eyes off of Will, he’d passed out. His neck had relaxed against his pillow prop and his tight, pinching fingers had fallen awkwardly against his face. Mike wasn’t sure if he would’ve wanted to watch it happen; if he wanted to witness the last fleeting moments Will would’ve been aware enough to hear him– if Mike ever wanted to say…

Mike had promised himself before. The promise was made in a panicked blur, hands covering his ears as he listened to Will screaming that he hurt everywhere. In the peak of anguish and terror, Mike knew he couldn’t live with both the horror of watching his best friend suffer and the secret shame of knowing he’d been a coward too many times before. But when Will came back, and things were settling back to normal, his feelings felt wrong to say. Will wanted his old life back, not this new earth shattering newsflash. Will had survived death twice, he didn’t need to hear Mike blubbering about how much he loved him.

But Mike knew he had to, if he was lucky enough to have the chance. He knew he had to. He’d never seen blood so red before. It felt like a sign, a strange telling of how loud his own heart was thudding in his ears. Mike felt like he was bleeding too– bleeding out. He didn’t know how to stop it, how to stop feeling like he was going to start screaming or crying or some other terrifying third thing. He didn’t know how to stop pointing at Will, harshly shoving Steve over to him and demanding he help him! help him PLEASE.

Mike didn’t know how to stop caring as if Will’s life was his own. And it wasn’t yet that he realized Will was.

[omgsquee2001]

One Piece: Various x Former Slave/Whitebeard’s Daughter Reader: Part 4

~Whitebeard’s POV~

We were all positioned in a hidden cove near the Celestial Dragon’s Auction House. The Straw-Hat Pirates were quiet. Luffy was sitting on the mast head of the Thousand Sunny, his hat covered his face. The whole atmosphere was solemn and filled with anger. I still couldn’t believe that my little girl was alive. I  felt horrible. I should have tried looking for her harder. I spent at least a year or two searching for my daughter, but gave up hope when there were no signs of her. I should have spent more time looking. He should have asked the Strawhats. Sensing my anger and sadness, Marco placed his hand on my larger one. 

“Pops, it’s not your fault. We had no idea that she was with Luffy and his friends-yoi.” Marco said, trying to comfort me. I gave my son a sad smile. 

“Thank you, my son.” I said. Zoro, being the first mate of the Strawhat Pirates, looked at Nami. 

“Nami, why don’t you explain the plan. We all know Luffy is in no condition to explain it.” He said, glancing back at his captain. Nami nodded. She looked at the Heart Pirates and my Crew. 

“First, we’re going to need someone to go and see how many guards are stationed around so we know how tough the competition will be.” She said. Marco looked up. 

“I can take care of that by transforming.” He said. Nami nodded in thanks. Law frowned. 

“We have an eavesdropper.” He said. Su-Yin gasped quietly and walked out form behind the trees on the island. We tensed, ready for a fight. Su-Yin raised her hands in surrender. 

“Please! Don’t hurt me! I’m not here to fight! I’m here to help!” The young marine shouted. Zoro narrowed his eyes. 

“How do we know that you aren’t going to hand us over to the marines?” He asked. The girl frowned. 

“My name is Su-Yin Orahime, and I want to stop all of the wrongs that are happening here. I also know where [Y/N] is being held in the Auction House.” She said. Marco looked up at me. 

“Pops?” He asked. I looked at Su-Yin with pleading eyes. 

“Please. If you know where my daughter is, help us.” I said. Su-Yin nodded. 

“Of course, Mr. Whitebeard,” she said. She looked at Nami. “May I join you in your plan?” She asked. Nami nodded. 

“We already have Marco as a scout. Once we know how many guards here are, we will send Luffy,” Luffy had taken a seat next to Nami. “And Ace in as the front lines. Once we’re in, Robin, Chopper, Usopp, Law, Su-Yin and I will set out to find [Y/N] and free the other slaves.” She said. I looked up, more determined than ever to save my daughter.

“Let me come with,” I stated. Nami looked up in surprise. “I want to be able to save my daughter and apologize for not looking hard enough for her when I lost her.” I said. Nami nodded. 

“Very well.” She said. Su-Yin looked at all of us. 

“There is a secret door that I use to go in and out when I visit [Y/N],” she said. We looked at her in surprise. “It leads straight to the cells where she is being kept. But there is the possibility that one of the Celestial Dragons will be down there, so we might have to take the long way around.” She said. Nami nodded. Usopp raised a trembling hand. 

“U-uh, Chopper and I discussed it, and we decided we wanted to stay behind and keep watch.” Usopp said. Chopper nodded. 

“Besides, Law is a doctor. He can immediately assess [Y/N]’s condition.” Chopper said. Nami rolled her eyes at the coward/sharp shooter of the Straw-Hats. 

“Fine. Let’s get going.” She said. 

_______________________________________________________________________

~Third Person POV~

Everything was going according to plan. Marco had scouted, Luffy and Ace had busted open the gates, and now Nami and the rest were following Su-Yin’s directions down to the cells where you were being held. Luffy had joined them. He also wanted to see his friend. They came to a fork. Nami glanced at the young Marine. 

“Which way?” She asked. Su-Yin looked left then right. She closed her eyes. 

“Left.” She said. The group ran down. Nami and Robin stopped. Su-Yin turned to them. 

“Nami? Robin?” The others turned as well. Nami smiled. 

“I know this wasn’t part of the plan, but you guys keep going. We’ll keep watch. You guys go,” Nami said. Su-Yin nodded. “And Luffy,” Nami said. Said rubber boy turned to his friend. “Bring [Y/N] back safe!” She shouted. Luffy smiled and raised his hand. 

“You got it!” He said. 

“Alright. Let’s go.” Su-Yin said. They raced down. Su-Yin held up her hand, signaling them to wait. They heard shouting. 

“My name is not Number 261. It’s [Y/N] Newgate. I am the daughter of Edward Newgate. He, my older brothers and my friends will come for me. And once they do, they will kill you and stop all the horrible things you are doing here!” It was [Y/N]’s voice. Whitebeard clenched his jaw as he heard the loud smack of a hand against a face. The Celestial Dragon said something that was inaudible. But the words shouted by his daughter afterwards made Whitebeard’s chest swell with pride. 

“My father is the greatest and strongest man alive, aside from Strawhat Luffy! My family WILL come for me!” [Y/N] shouted. There was a cry of pain. Su-Yin looked at the group and nodded. 

“Let’s go.” She said. They all walked down. They stayed silent as they watched her get kicked in the stomach and sides, making [Y/N] cough up blood. 

“If they really were your family, they would have started searching for you the minute you went missing! But no, it took three long years for them to look for you and here you are, back in our clutches,” he said. The Celestial Dragon gripped her throat, choking her. Whitebeard’s eyes narrowed. “I would love to actually see them here for you. So that you could prove me wrong. But they aren’t here, are they?” He said. 

“You have one second to let go of my daughter before I kill you, you filth.” Whitebeard said. His voice was low and demanding. Striking fear into the slave owner’s heart. The Celestial Dragon froze, letting go of [Y/N]’s neck. She fell, the chains catching her. She coughed, some blood leaking from her mouth. The group watched as a weak smile formed on her lips and tears of happiness trickled out of her [e/c] eyes. 

“F-Father,” she breathed out, before fainting. The Celestial Dragon backed up. 

“W-Whitebeard? Strawhat Luffy, Fire Fist Ace, Marco the Phoenix, and T-Trafalgar Law,” he stuttered. “W-what are you all doing here?” He asked. Whitebeard walked closer. 

“Why do you think we’re here,” he gestured to his allies and his sons. “We’re here to retrieve these brats’ friend and sister. She also happens to be my daughter.” He said. The Celestial Dragon’s eyes fell on Su-Yin. His eyes widened. 

“S-Su-Yin?! What are you doing here?! Have you come here to defend me?” He asked, hope in his pathetic voice. Su-Yin scoffed. 

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here to get my friend out of here.” She said. Luffy cracked his knuckles. He glanced at Whitebeard. 

“Old man,” he said. Whitebeard glanced at Luffy. “Can I punch him? It will allow Ace and Su-Yin to get the chains off of [Y/N].” He said. The Celestial Dragon picked up the unconscious and beat up [Y/N], the chains clinking against each other. He held a gun to her head. 

“D-don’t even think about it, Strawhat! I-I’ll kill her!” He shouted. Su-Yin took out her own gun and shot the gun out of his hand. He cried out in fear. Whitebeard nodded. 

“Go ahead, my boy.” He said. Luffy smirked and pulled back his hand. 

“Gum-Gum, Hammer!” Luffy shouted. His rubber hand struck the Celestial Dragon in the face, just like it had done all those years ago. The Celestial Dragon went flying through several brick walls. Once he was out of the way, Su-Yin and Ace ran up to the unconscious [Y/N]. Su-Yin took out the keys and unlocked the chains. The young girl collapsed into Ace’s arms. Ace held [Y/N] tentatively, brushing her hair away from her scratched up face. Law ran over and looked her over, assessing her wounds. 

“How is she, Law?” Marco asked, walking over and kneeling next to the Supernova. Law looked at the first devision commander and the captain. 

“She needs medical attention right away. We will bring her back to the Polar Tang where I can treat her. She will then be allowed to rest on the Moby Dick.” Law said. Whitebeard nodded. 

“Understood. Let’s go.” He said. Ace scooped [Y/N] gently up, holding her bridal style. Law knew it would take her a few days to recover, but she would be fine. As long as he could treat her in time. 

~Sorry for the long wait everyone. I’ve been stuck in writer’s block for some time, but I have finally completed part 4 of the One Piece: Various x Former Slave/Whitebeard’s Daughter Reader series. Part 5, the finale will be coming soon. In this, there will be different scenarios you can choose from: Staying with the Whitebeard Pirates and falling in love with Marco, Staying with the Whitebeard Pirates and falling in love with Ace, Leaving with the Heart Pirates and falling in love with Law, Leaving with the Straw-Hat Pirates and falling in love with Luffy, Leaving with the Straw-Hat Pirates and falling in love with Luffy, Leaving with the Straw-Hat Pirates and falling in love with Zoro, Leaving with the Straw-Hat Pirates and falling in love with Sanji. If you would like a scenario with any of the ladies like Robin, Nami or Su-Yin, let me know down in the comments and I will write one for them.~ 

[lucarioisinthevoid]

pspspspspsps come here kittys! i got the treats you like!

(1/5 You know what, I’ll put one of these up every day, because my brain is leaving my body and I don’t have the energy to gather them all up at once) Instantly both of the cats perked up, their ears twitching. Mary gasped, in pure terror. “OH NO, IT ISN’T CATNIP, IS IT-“ But before she had managed to reach them to prevent it, they had shredded open the packaging, proceeding to glitch out and scream loudly and continuously. The poor Candy Guard could only watch on in terror as the machines went fully feral, shredding the entire nearby furniture. “I- I am SO sorry, oh my god, oh please, I’m so sorry, they- sometimes do that at our location, but I thought-“ Mike was watching on, grinning slightly self-satisfied. “Well, I guess I’ve been a little too hard on our shitty machines, huh? They never pulled this fucking nonsense, I can say that.” “U-Usually they don’t just- bring- catnip-“ The cats have started to run around wildly, dealing with the zoomies- And that’s cute and fun with two cats that go up to your ankle… … it was less fun with two GIANT machines, that were heavy and left nothing but destruction in their wake. Hell, even the Marionette had fled to the ceiling, holding up Jeremy to ensure he would not get in any way hurt. Phone Guy was angry- certainly not at the girl, but absolutely at the machines. “STOOOOOOOP THAAAAAAT!” However- They didn’t stop. At all. They didn’t even PAUSE. They were just ripping apart the location, while everyone was watching. Distraught Phone Guy turned to Mary. “THEY’RE- THEY’RE NOT U-UH- LISTENING TO ME! D-DO SOMETHING!” “I’m sorry, sir, but- when they’re like this… I don’t think I can do anything-“ “DO YOU WANT ME TO DO IT MYSELF?!” “C-can you do it? That would be fantastic, I-“ “G-GET THE GUNS.” “… wait what.” Mike threw his hands up. “Can I? Because last time I tried-“ “LAST TIME Y-YOU TRIED YOU WERE AIMING AT A CHILD.” “THE LITTLE SHIT DESERVED IT.” Mary was appalled. “Y-you did WHAT?” Too bad for her, she was being ignored. Finally, Mike showed his most morbid grin, as he reached behind him, pulling out the bat from behind him, his eyes following the kittens that were STILL SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF THEIR LUNGS. “I’ll be deactivating them the old fashioned way.” “N-no, please don’t!” Mary seemed about ready to jump in the way- But something slunk from the ceiling. Abruptly. Crushing down. A doll without strings. Of course, this instantly caught the cats attention- After all it could be a bird! Something to hunt and kill- However, as soon as they managed to get over, it floated upwards quickly, looming over them, grabbing them by the throats- Its eyes were bright and white. And glitching. The cats screamed and scratched- Then went limp. Glitching out too, until they were placed down again. Vinnie slowly dragged itself over to Mary, who took his hand, while the cats rebooted. “HELLO EVERYONE! I’M CAT!” “And I! Am Candy!” “And we are here to entertain you!” The aggressive guard lowered his bat, frowning. … he didn’t like that puppet thing. It was even worse than the one THEY had. “… did it protect you?” Mary was flustered at the question, just shrugging. “I- I think Vinnie here… just doesn’t like fights.” From the back of the room, a rather cold voice sounded. “And it is a him. Michael. You should rememb-“ “MY NAME IS NOT FUCKING MICHAEL YOU STUPID FUCKING BITCH, IT’S JUST MIKE. JUST FUCKING MIKE-“ Henry passed him, ignoring his words, simply throwing him a candy’s uniform. “We will have to be up to standard for the customers. They expect this to have Candy’s flair… and I do not care to test what will happen if we do not abide to the rules. Please change into these uniforms, employees.” Henry walked around, handing everyone their candy-blue uniform jacket. It was a much worse color compared to the superior Freddy’s “sky just before the first stormclouds approach” blue, and everyone could agree with that, however, they still had to wear it. Aside from Phone Guy, who seemed to be SEETHING as Henry approached with his jacket. “I- I am NOT- NOT h-HECKING wearing THAT!” His words got all jumbled up as he glitched. “Get over yourself.” Henry dismissed him. Huffing and puffing, Simon raised his fingers. “Y-YOU KNOW WHAT? I THINK I- I WILL NOT! I THINK I WILL G-GET- UH- EVEN MORE UPSET.” To stress his words he jammed his finger into Henry’s chest. “YOU! I-IT WAS YOU W-WHO PROGRAMMED ME T-TO FEEL LIKE THIS! Y-YOU HAVE NO RIGHT-“ “Oh, so now you are programmed again?” A rather cruel smile crossed Henry’s face, as he mocked his employee. “You made me this, you made me that… so you ADMIT that you are nothing but a machine who feels the way he is made to? Because I want you to know, Simon, you cannot have both. You cannot be your own person with thoughts and feelings that need to be respect and blame ME for your emotional tantrums when they are convenient.” His voice had abruptly turned cold. “You are all the same- but perhaps not because I programmed you. Perhaps you and all who were in your shoes merely realized they could get away with shedding all responsibility by harping on about your lack of your head. Perhaps you are all merely amoral cowards who love the path of least resistance, who love to point at the higher ups, or fate, or circumstances in order to never try and change themselves.” “You… y-you… you can’t talk to me like this!” “I cannot? Peculiar. Perhaps you should recalibrate your ability to predict people, because I seem fully capable of talking to you like this. Go cry to your partner, a partner who you have used as an excuse too, a partner you have left all the dirty, disgusting and violent work to in order to not do it yourself, might I add! Go cry to him and let HIM do what you want to do. Then sit back and feel good about manipulating others into doing what is needed in order for YOU not to change!” Freezing up, Simon stared at the man- this vile fucking man. … this was a ploy to make him act out. This was a ploy to make him- He clenched his fists. “I- I am NOT falling for this- th-this trick!” “Trick?” Henry merely raised an eyebrow. “… if that is what you would like to deem my words as. After all, if I am playing tricks on you, that is a rather comforting excuse to dismiss me, right? Put on your jacket, Phone Guy.” With that he left. Leaving the Phone Man to clutch the disgusting fabric in his hands.

[myhauntedsalem]

10 Terrifying True Ouija Board Stories

1. Ask Zander

Oh Lord. I was about twelve when a friend and I were playing Ask Zandar (a board game with an electronic wizard that makes sounds and talks) when the batteries died. I tried to find replacements but with no luck.

So my amazing friend says “hey that Ouija board could be fun! Let us play and become possessed by demonic entities for all time”…or something along those lines.

We’re going along and asking questions, pushing the little eye around and having a grand old time. Until I say “if something is there, prove yourself”. THE MOTHERFUCKING NO BATTERY ASK ZANDAR WIZARD SAYS “Dun dun dun, you win!”. I flipped that board, tossed it in the trash, and absolutely refuse to have one in my house again.

2. Obviously Possessed

We were goofing off in a neighbor’s house playing with the Ouija board, and we asked a “demon” to talk to us (shut up, I know.) Five minutes into our “conversation”, the girl next to me vomited then fell off her stool and bashed her head on the counter. We called her mom and she took her to the doctor. She came to school the next day (with a huge knot and bruise on her head) and said the doctor said he didn’t know what caused it but she was fine, although she said she still felt a little funny. It was most likely unrelated, but I haven’t touched a Ouija board since, nor have I hung out with that girl since she is obviously possessed by a demon.

3. Night Time Visitor

The night we played, something came through and was calling me horrible names – I thought it was my friend doing it so I made my younger brother try it with me and it was most def not her, my brother was 7 and didn’t know about those words or how to spell them. I asked it to do something to prove it was real and nothing happened… fast forward to next morning, we were all sitting in the family room, watching TV when our fireplace (which we were not using), literally exploded into flames. We were all freaked out and swore we’d never use the Ouija again but, it didn’t matter, the door was opened.

After that, I had many episodes of sleep paralysis, things in my room would move on their own, something would come in my room and sit on my bed while I slept, I could feel it and see the depression in the bed.

4. The Gun Shot

Yeah. Went to this house that burned down with a whole family inside with 2 of my friends at 1 am. It was a still night, no wind or anything. We were in my truck doing the Ouija and it started to get mean, so we stopped, then it sounded like someone shot a large gun outside the truck window, and it felt like a huge gust of wind blew over us because the truck rocked, and then we all started freaking out. I tried to start the truck, and it wouldn’t go.

Then, we did it again at a friend’s house, one of the 2 people there with me the first time, and we were in the basement. Shit started getting weird again so we went to turn the lights on, and they wouldn’t turn on, and the basement door locked. None of us ever did it again.

I don’t even believe in that kind of stuff, but it was really creepy.

5. KILL!

I’ll never forget. I was 13 and my three friends and I wanted to try the Ouija board. It was the middle of the day, so we went into my friend’s walk-in closet where it was dark and we brought flashlights. We were just playing around. Eventually this “spirit” named Michael came on and we starting talking to it. Of course each of us starts joking that someone is making it move. But the more we started talking to Michael, the more it was apparent that none of us were pushing the navigator around. It was really creepy, but fascinating, too. One of my friends asked the spirit where it was in the present moment. It started to spell C-L-O-S when one friend hit the navigator off the board, started freaking out and screamed, “Closet! He was spelling closet!!” We were spooked, but in a fun way. The friend who freaked out wanted to stop, but we insisted that we keep on talking to Michael as we at least had to say goodbye and close out the session. We got the navigator back on the board and said we were sorry for interrupting him. He was not happy. He said to not do it again. Then for some stupid reason I asked Michael what was he going to do in the closet with us. It started to spell K-I-L and then the same friend threw the navigator off the board again and started screaming, “KILL! He’s going to kill us!!” and ran out of the closet. We all got really freaked out and ran out too. We didn’t close out the session so there was an argument between those of us who felt we needed to go back in and say goodbye so Michael would be sent away, and those of us who refused to ever touch the Ouija board again. We ended up not going back in and I had nightmares about Michael following me around and wanting me dead.

6. Look In The Shower

In seventh grade, my friends and I went over to “Mary’s” house intent on playing with her mom’s Ouija board that night. None of us had played with one before. Mary’s mom was an extremely spiritual person who believed in energies, witchcraft, stuff like that. Before we used the board, Mary warned us that her mom would be really pissed if she found out that we were playing with it because Ouija boards can attract bad spirits into the home. With full knowledge of this, we decided to proceed anyway. This Ouija board was not like the average Ouija board you had ever seen. Along with the usual characteristics (the alphabet, “yes”, “no”, “goodbye”), there was an entire array of symbols and signs that were all arranged in a circle. This was some seriously intricate stuff.

We started just goofing around and “communicating” with random spirits here and there until we finally met one that had us in tears the entire sleepless night. First, we asked the spirit if it was a man or a woman, to which he replied “M-A-N”. Then we asked how he was killed: “M-U-R-D-E-R”. That freaked us out only a little bit but we were mostly excited. All of a sudden, before we even asked another question, the glass goes to the eyeball symbol, then spells out “I-N”, and goes to the water symbol. We didn’t have a clue what that meant. It wasn’t too scary until the spirit spelled out “S-H-O-W-E-R” and my best friend realized that the spirit was trying to get us to look into the shower.

We froze.

I’ve never been so scared in my entire life, especially sitting directly in front of the bathroom with the shower curtain all the way closed, faced in my direction. We all screamed and promised on our friendships that we had not moved it ourselves (very important promise). I felt like I was being watched and my friends thought so too. It was only 4 of us and I believe with all my heart that none of them had moved it because we were all too nervous to do anything.

I’ll never use a Ouija board again because of how crazy and intense that night was. I understand that people say Ouija boards are controlled by your subconscious but f**k that. I know I felt something in that room with us. I know it was dangerous.

7. Get The Boy!

My friend had mentioned that she had one, so I asked her to pull the board out so I could check it out. At first she said no, but then agreed to do it as long as she didn’t have to participate. After she had the board set up I asked “Is there anyone in here”…. Nothing. So, being a dumb teenager I said “If anything is in here and not talking, you’re a coward”. The board was put away after that.

Fast forward about a week later and have me sleeping upstairs on my couch. I wake up on a stereotypical “Stormy Night”. Thunder and lightning, wind and rain..the works. I look around to see why I woke up and couldn’t see a thing, and decide to try and fall back asleep. After laying there for about 30s I hear from downstairs “Get the boy” in a very raspy, wispy voice. I open my eyes and listen… Nothing. Start to go back to sleep…”GET THE BOY”, it was MUCH louder this time. Then my downstairs door SLAMS shut. I freak the F*ck out because nobody slept down there and we had no drafts.

Nothing really happened after that… I learned my lesson.

8. Are You For Real?

A lady I worked with brought one in to play around with one day. We messed with it and didn’t really think it was doing anything weird or moving on its own. So my coworker goes to lunch and leaves me all alone at the store. I didn’t have any customers so I went to the back where the board was. I put just my index finger on it very lightly and said, “are you for real?” That thing moved straight up to yes on its own! I ran out of the back room freaking out. Never touched one since.

9. Answers

A few friends and I mucked around with ouija boards a lot as teenagers. It had always been harmless fun. One night we were “speaking” with a young boy called Niall who had told us he had been murdered by his father. We “spoke” with him for a while and then got bored of the conversation, “left”, and eventually tried again. We started to speak with someone we assumed was an elderly lady, when actually it turned out it was Niall again. Someone must have asked “what do you want?” because the ouija pointer spelt out “Satisfy my requests” and then continuously spelt “answers” over and over again until we freaked out and just abandoned everything: the board, the house, the street.

I have never touched a Ouija board since. Early last year, a few of us got together again (having all gone our separate ways since high school) and we brought that night up – and everyone swore again that they hadn’t moved anything on purpose that night. Of course, someone could still be lying, or we could have inadvertently been moving the pointer without realizing, but just remembering the force of the pointer moving so rapidly – and what it spelt out – freaked me out enough not to want to mess with it again… just in case.

10. The Eagle

One of my best experiences involved talking with a spirit of air, which happened back when I believed only in the mental aspect of magic, and thought that the ‘spirits’ I was talking to were were just parts of my psyche. To test this I asked the spirit to show some kind of sign of its existence, which I did not expect to manifest. When I asked this a huge eagle (birds being part of an air spirit’s domain) landed right outside my window, stared at me, like, really stared into my eyes, looked down at the board and flew away. Maybe it was coincidence, but I closed down the communication, did a Rose Cross Banishing ritual and noped the fuck away from magic for a while. Good Times.

[mistersshelby]

the woman assassin | part seven

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX | PART SEVEN

wow it has been a Minute, i’m really sorry for the wait, i’ve had the craziest writing block but i decided with the new year i’m going to try and write everyday even if it’s just a little bit and it has REALLY helped with my block and i’ve realized that i have a problem with like when things get hard just kinda stopping writing and seeing it as a sign that my writing is bad but i don’t think that’s the case i think i just need to start forcing myself to work through the blocks. but anyway, here’s part seven, pls let me know what u think!! i love hearing from you guys!! and thank u for all the sweet messages while i’ve been away

p.s. i’m starting to cross post on wattpad to widen my audience so if you have wattpad account and want to give it some love over there that u can follow this link! i only have the first chapter up there right now but i’m gonna update it to post the remaining six so that it’s caught up

“Tommy.” Polly says sharply as everyone files out of the family meeting. Clara turns to look back, but after a pointed look from Tommy, she too, files out. “Are you sure about this?” Polly asks as the door swings shut behind Clara.

“Polly, I don’t need you questioning me as well--”

“Lizzie’s concern is purely out of jealousy and we all know that, as is Michael’s.” Polly cut in, “I just worry that you’re allowing some silly attraction cloud your judgement, you remember when Grace betrayed you--”

“Please, don’t.” Tommy ground out.

Polly paused, “I know you loved her and I was sad to see what became of her, but I don’t want you to make the same mistake--”

“This is not that, Pol. I assure you, there is nothing between Clara and I beyond fucking, alright?” Tommy snapped. Part of him knew he was lying. He didn’t think he was in love with Clara, but it was pretty clear to him now that there was something more between them than just physicality. But he lied, conscious of the fact that he would not have done half the things he’d done and risked for Clara for anyone else.

“You should marry Lizzie.” Polly said after a moment.

“I won’t have this discussion again--”

“It doesn’t have to be for love, Tommy, she’s the mother of your child, it’s the right thing--”

“She will be miserable with me. I don’t love her, nor will I ever.”

“But she loves you.”

“Well she should bloody well get over that then. I’ve provided for her and Ruby well enough, there is nothing more between us.”

Polly watched him for a moment before turning her back on him, “You’re making a hell of a lot of mistakes lately, Thomas. You should try listening to your family for once.”

***

Tommy cocked the gun, aiming for Adrian who was strangling Clara. He could hear her gasping for breath. But when Adrian turned around to face Tommy, it wasn’t Adrian at all, but Lizzie who was crushing Clara’s windpipe. A smooth smirk on her face.

Before he could react, Tommy was pulled out of his dream. Taking in his surroundings, it took a few moments to realize he was in Clara’s bed and she was the one who was waking from a nightmare, which had pulled him out of his own dream.

“Clara,” He lightly touched her shoulder, not wanting to startle her.

She bolted up in bed anyway, her chest heaving, clawing at her chest as if to give the oxygen a clearer path.

“It’s okay, it’s alright, it’s just me,” Tommy said calmly when she realized there was someone next to her and reached for the gun under her pillow.

She dropped the gun, still breathing hard, and then the tears began to flow. Tommy was unsure at first if she even wanted him to comfort her, he knew when he woke up from his dreams he felt deeply humiliated if there was someone else in the room. So hesitantly, he reached out to hold her and she fell into his arms quite easily. As if they had done this several times before. So he pressed his cheek to her hair and rubbed her back, repeated soothing words in her ear, but her breathing did not slow.

“It’s raining,” He murmured, “Let’s go outside.”

“W-What?” She managed, pulling away from him.

“The water and the rhythm of the rain will calm you, I do it all the time.” It took a bit of coaxing, but he got her out of bed, they both dressed and then tiptoed down the stairs of her apartment out into the street. Clara stood, her face up to the sky, and let herself be drenched. She thought of nothing but the rain, the sound of it bouncing on the road and the windows above.

Tommy watched her, as slowly, her mouth turned upwards into a grin, and then she started laughing. She looked beautiful out in the rain. It was hard for him to remember that she was an assassin as she laughed like a child as the water drenched her. Clara turned to see him watching her and then walked into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He was a bit thrown off by the intimate gesture, but eventually wrapped his arms around her shoulders, resting his head on hers. Her warmth filled him and he felt at peace for the first time since Grace died.

***

Clara’s hands shook only slightly as she loaded the revolver, stuffing extra bullets in her boots.

“The boys will be waiting for you at the perimeter like you asked. If you are not in and out safely within twenty minutes, I’ve ordered them to go after you.”

She turns to see Tommy, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips as he buttoned his shirt. He had been staying with Clara nearly every night the last few days, but neither of them spoke about what it meant. She turned away to hide the warmth that entered her face at the sight of his chest and tattoos that peaked beneath his shirt.

“I told you, I don’t need babysitters.”

“And I told you that I’m in charge and I won’t have your life recklessly endangered.”

Clara turned back to him, “Who stops you from recklessly endangering your life, eh?”

He smirks, but his eyes remain cold, “When you’ve lost everything good in your life there’s nothing left to endanger.” Tommy turns to leave before she can respond, “Don’t fuck this up.” Is his parting request before he slams the door behind him.

She stares after him for a few moments before shoving more knives in her boots and heading out herself, trying to calm her nerves.

***

The truth was, Clara was afraid to face her family. She hadn’t killed anyone since before Adrian and the way she froze up in front of him, nearly allowing him to kill her, still haunted her nightmares. What if she froze again? There were three of them and only one of her. 

“You don’t come in unless I signal you.” She told Tommy’s men while they stood outside the building.

“Tommy said--”

“This is my mission. I’m going in there to kill my family. You don’t come in unless I say you do.” She reiterated, “Understood?”

They all smirked at her and chuckled, “We mean no offense lady, but Tommy pays us, not you.”

Clara smirks back before quickly grabbing one of their arms, twisting and forcing her knee up into his crotch hard before pulling a knife to his neck. It all happens in a few seconds, the other two boys stare aghast, not even thinking to pull their weapons, “How about this then,” Clara says, still pushing the knife against the boy’s throat, “I see any of you fuckers in that house before I signal it I will shoot you point blank. Do we understand each other now?”

They all nodded quickly and she released him, adrenaline flooding her veins, she felt her confidence return to her. She was still capable of killing, she knew as she held that boy that one flick of her wrist would end him and it had filled her with seductive power. She could do this.

She walked away from the boys, leaving them staring after her as she sauntered into Alfie’s, trying to blend in with the crowd. There were few women there though, so Clara abandoned her plan of socializing until she found her cousins and instead began to blend into the shadows. She took note of the high ceilings, the rafters above them. She quickly snuck out of the large room to find a way up to the rafters. Soon enough, she found a ladder in an empty shaft. 

Once at the top, she realized there were more people here than she expected, more people who could possibly whisper to her cousins that she was here. She tried not to let the panic set in, but she could feel the cold sweat building, damp on the small of her back as she scanned the people, looking for her cousins. She needed to get out of here. 

Watching all the people mill around, she also was unsure that she would be able to hit her cousins from up here without harming anyone else. “Shit.” She murmured, and decided to climb back down the shaft, but when she turns, one of her cousins is below her, smiling with his gun pointed up at her.

“Hello there, cousin. Fancy seeing you here.”

Though in shock, Clara manages to kick his gun from his hand as he pulls the trigger, making the bullet ricochet in the shaft until it hits his wrist. Clara doesn’t wait, she slams the heel of her boot in his face, spraying blood as he yells in pain and falls from the ladder. Clara quickly jumps down and grabs him by the arms, dragging him to a secluded room before dropping him. 

He’s still groaning in pain, cradling his wrist. She kicks him in the ribs and feels some satisfaction at the way he cries out. There’s a sick part of her that calls out, wants to take out her knife and carve him up like a butcher. It was inconceivable that just weeks ago she trembled while holding a gun to Adrian, now instead of being afraid that she would freeze up and not get the job done, she was afraid of going too far. She kicks him again instead to curb the desire, but she only feels more of a rush when she hears his ribs crack beneath her feet and he begs her, “Please, Clara.”

“How did you know I would be here?”

He takes too long to answer and she takes out her knife, he cowers just from the sight of it. Coward, he disgusts her. “Alfie warned us, said he would let us have you as long as he got a turn with you before we were done.” The things men would do for a chance to get their cock warm, she felt nauseous thinking of what could happen to her if she didn’t get out of here. Fucking Tommy was right, she should have taken the men in with her. 

Her cousin still lays on the floor begging her for his life while she’s thinking, pulling her from her reverie. She cocks her head as she watches him, fascinated. The way a toddler watches a slug as they pour salt over the creature. She raises her knife again and quickly leans over, slashing his throat before he has time to react. The blood splatters on her face, but she doesn’t seem to notice, still watching as he claws at his throat, blood bubbling from his mouth. 

She stares at him as the light ebbs out of his eyes, distracted by the power that blooms in her chest. It’s the mistake that will bring her down, because she doesn’t hear her cousin come in behind her. She spins almost a second too late, and he pulls the trigger. 

Shouts ring out after the gunshot resonates through the building, “Fuck.” Clara murmurs. She only takes a second to look at the bullet hole in the wall, only inches from where she had been standing, before shoving aside her cousin and running out the door. She hears the agonizing roar of her cousin as he takes in his brother dead on the floor, she doesn’t have much time. She moves into the crowd, trying to blend in, keeping her gun close to her chest. She needs to get out, she has to abandon the mission if she wants to get out of here alive. As she goes, she spots the back of Alfie and shoves him, unable to stop herself from calling him out, “What the fuck did you do?”

He looks at her and chuckles, “A pretty lass like you should have stayed home making babies with her husband instead of trying to play at the games of men.”  

This was about her rejection, the fragile egos of men, she felt her face warm with rage, “You stupid horny bastard--”

She doesn’t have time to finish her sentence as someone grabs hold of her collar and rips her back away from the crowd. Before she can turn around to see who holds her, there’s a gunshot. The sound echoes through the room before she realizes she is the one who’s been shot. She doesn’t feel pain, but feels the warmth of blood as it soaks the back of her dress. As she falls to the floor, her cousin smiles down at her and the edges of her vision grow fuzzy. She knows she must be dying. He leans down close to her ear and says, “Thomas Shelby can’t save you now.” And he spits on her before her vision goes black. 

***

Tommy approaches the boys who stare at the building that has erupted in chaos before them, looking back and forth from the cacophony to each other in question. “She told you not to come in, eh?”

“Mister Shelby she threatened to shoot us--”

“It’s alright, boys. You’ll still get your pay.” And then he walked into the fray that he had orchestrated. 

All of Alfie’s guests had fled, but Tommy still walks slowly through the building, pushing open the door to a small room. There’s a body of a man, Clara’s cousin. Looking closer, Tommy can see Clara played with him for a while before slashing his throat. It was always a game to her, it was why she made so many mistakes. He left the room and saw more bodies spread apart on the floor, two were men with single gunshot wounds to the head. Tommy knew this was the work of the Russians, just as he had asked. 

***

One Day Earlier

“Thomas Shelby, you have quite the reputation around here.”

Tommy sat across from the head of the Russian family, Ivan Sokolov. His accent was heavy, he had long blonde hair that he slicked back, and eyes the color of storm clouds. When Tommy offered him a cigarette he refused, opting to chew on the tobacco leaves instead, a habit Tommy found particularly off-putting. “Spare me the niceties, I’m looking to make a deal with you. Your presence is making some people around here particularly nervous. I have been asked already to find a way to remove you from the territory, and believe me, it would not be difficult for me to arrange.”

Ivan sat back in his seat before spitting in a spittoon. Tommy did nothing to hide his disgust. “Does my presence make you nervous, Mister Shelby?”

Tommy shrugged, “I mind my own, I pay no mind to others until they become an inconvenience to me and then I take care of it. You don’t interfere with my business, I have no problem. Unfortunately, the Jews have already become quite restless with your presence and so have asked for my help to root you out. I will honor my word.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because Mister Solomons has a tendency to betray me, so this time, I will not make the mistake of trusting him again. If you want my protection, I ask only for a small favor in return. If not, I will remain true to my word.”

Ivan chews on the tobacco leaves contemplatively for a few moments before speaking again, “What is the favor you ask?”  

***

Slowly, as if he knows what he’s about to find, Tommy’s eyes landed on the third body. Clara. His knees practically gave out when he saw the amount of blood that pooled around her. His mind immediately shot back to Grace. He had done it again, he had put her in danger, made her a part of his scheme without telling her and now she was going to die here. “Clara.” His voice shook as he knelt beside her, putting a hand to her cheek to try and wake her. She was still warm. He pressed his fingers to her neck, almost too afraid of what he’d find, but he felt a faint thrum against the pads of her fingers and his breath shuddered through him violently.

“You made a deal with the Russians.”

Tommy looked up at Alfie and stood, regaining his cool composure, conscious of the fact that if he did not get Clara out of here soon, she would be gone. “I made a backup plan for when you inevitably betrayed me. You fuck me, I fuck you. Simple.”

Alfie nods then looks down at Clara, “Could you get her out of here? She’s staining my floors. Very porous material, wood. Pain in the arse to clean.”

Tommy keeps one eye on Alfie as he bends to scoop Clara into his arms. She grunts as he moves her and the sound fills him with relief, “Are you going to try and kill me while I have a woman bleeding out in my arms or am I free to go?”

Alfie looks around and shrugs, “I’d say we’re even, don’t you think, mate?”

If Clara died, Tommy decided then and there he would kill Alfie. But for now… “Goodbye Alfie. Always a pleasure.”

And he turned and walked from the building, trying to ignore the way her blood trickled down his arm as he carried her. It was good she was still bleeding, he tried to reassure himself, it meant she still had a pulse. He placed her in his car as gently as he could and then sped away, only then allowing the panic to seep through his cracks just a little bit. He kept glancing at her out of the corner of his eye to detect movement, but she was impossibly still. 

It felt like hours until Tommy reached the hospital, skidding into the courtyard. He ran with her in his arms and yelled for help until someone put her on a stretcher and left him there, his forearms drenched in blood, the floor spotting with it. He sat and waited for hours. He didn’t wash off the blood, waving off well meaning nurses who approached him with wet towels. What if it was the last time he would have anything of Clara’s on him? The last way he could touch her?

Eventually Polly showed up, having grilled the boys who had waited outside the building on where Tommy went. They sputtered out that they saw him leave with Clara in his arms and she didn’t look well. Polly looks torn between lecturing Tommy and trying to comfort him, but Michael barrels in soon after, his eyes wild as they land on Tommy’s blood drenched arms, “Where the fuck is she? What did you do to her?”

Polly immediately stands between them, but Tommy doesn’t move to defend himself, “Michael, now is not the time, go take a walk,” Pol says lowly through clenched teeth.

“I told her, I fuckin’ told her if she didn’t stay away from you you would ruin her.”

Tommy looks up and his eyes are cold and empty, “So what, Michael, do you feel like a big man now because you were right?”

Michael shakes his head, his face red with unadulterated fury, “When all this is done, I swear to God, Tommy, I’ll put a bullet between your eyes while you sleep.”

“Michael.” Polly said sternly in warning, hospital staff were looking over now.

Tommy was trying hard to keep his temper leashed, knowing it was only being amplified by his panic at the idea of Clara not walking out of the hospital, but he couldn’t resist the retort that left his mouth, “I hope you can see well in the dark, you might hit Clara by mistake.”

Polly wasn’t able to hold Michael back this time when he barreled through her looking to punch Tommy, but Tommy grabbed his wrist and twisted hard before using his other fist to pummel Michael in the jaw. The hospital staff was already calling the police, Polly was yelling, and Tommy leaned down to whisper in Michael’s ear, “You can try all you like Michael, but you’ll never be me. And Clara will never love you. S’time to grow up and stop throwing these temper tantrums. The day you raise a pistol to me, after everything I have given you, it’ll be your last day in this world.” And then he walked out of the hospital before the police could arrive to drag him out.

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[securityreports-blog]

How to really storm area 51

I had a hotel guest come down today (some young girl, brown hair, dark eyes, shabby tee shirt) and say to me

“Hey I know this is weird, but your security, do your u know anything about Area 51 security”.

I told her I’m not military, but tried to answer her question as honestly as I could. Anyway it got me thinking about it. So I made this post. I doubt Area 51 security is a joke. Based on what you might have access too. Your going to need the following:

Several drones for reconnaissance and surveillance. You know, the ones you get at Walmart for cheap(ish). Get a buttload of those bad boys. They can only shoot down so many

Get some of those unreasonably-large small-dick Hummers and load them up with NRA gold bugs and conspiracy nuts. Don’t worry, they’ll bring their own guns(with plenty to spare) That’s the first wave

Wave number 2 is the breakthrough. Naruto dweebs, furries, mall ninjas, and “the everybody else” who convinced their parents they had a sweet job interview in Nevada but couldn’t afford the airfare. They’re going to have nunchucks, unreasonably large swords, kitchen knives and paintball guns. A few might have sharpened teeth or some shit. Send them in last. You need the Humvee Hillbillies to cover them.

While you have the real fighters duking it out with advanced US military weaponry and perhaps even extraterrestrial technology. Your going to have tourists, YouTub fanboys and cringe-streamers watching from afar streaming to every twitch YouTube and twitter channel in the fucking galaxy. Don’t let these cowards go to waste. Anybody can wear a suicide vest

Those loudspeakers hooked up the humvees blasting Taylor Swift? Yea turn that shit off. Declare victory. You’ve found the aliens?! Only then will the YouTubers rally and swarm in, dooming themselves to a glorious demise. And even better, now half the world won’t see all the good loot you’ve stolen.

Get the aliens grab the weapons and go. Just don’t let Billy Joe Bob get his hands on that Tractor beam. He can get little trigger happy at times

Over and Out.

[sherlockfanficwriting]

Sherlock “She’s my sister”                  (x reader)

Summary - You are Mycroft and Sherlock’s younger sister. You are very much like them in plenty of ways with the most obvious one being your extraordinary intelligence, but you are more human. You feel emotions. During the fatal events of The Final Problem, the clock ticks fast. Will you obey your sister, Euros' commands, and if so, how will you handle them? 

Warnings - brotherly love, violence, angst

A/N - Bonjour! I hope you guys like this story it was a request. And I added some fluff as well as angst! I’m just writing stories in the orders of the requests I get and honestly, I love your ideas. You guys are super creative and I can’t get enough of it so send me more! I also hope u guys love my angsty violence stories as you can obviously tell they are my favorite, who doesn't want one of them saving you? I’m trying to get more romantic tho.  if you are waiting for one as you can see I am kind of slow this next week is huge for me - midterms/apps/meetings, but I’m doing them at a relatively quick speed making sure they are amazing! 💕 

What situation have you gotten yourself into? You were always the most sane one. Your brothers always got themselves into trouble. You tried to sympathize. Your sister was evil. She always was. Now you’re one of the pieces of her big game. 

“(Y/N),” your brother Mycroft said in a distant tone. You were sitting against a wall, thinking. Your sister, Eurus spoke randomly through the loudspeaker. You were terrified. 

“On to the next game!” Her voice boomed through the speakers. You shook and stood up, your legs shaking. Sherlock swiftly sped through the door and John followed, slower, behind him. As you walked, Mycroft placed a comforting hand on your shoulders. 

The room was large and plain, much like the others you saw in the prison it felt desolate, but there was someone standing in there. The governor. You looked at John and Sherlock. Sherlock remained calm, but you knew he too was scared. From the moment you were born you knew all his secrets. How he always tried to be inhuman, when in fact he was, but he did get frightened quite easily and you weren’t surprised in a situation like this. John, on the other hand, looked sad. Distant. You felt bad for him, he should be somewhere peaceful with his wife and daughter, but no, circumstances didn’t allow for. 

You looked around the room and suddenly the screen turned on. There you saw your sister. Her dark brown hair in a heap of messy waves. Her face was full of terror and evil. Her eyes sad, hung down and mislead everyone. When you were a young teenager and you and your siblings started to look different, you were always mistaken as a cousin or friend, never as someone related. It didn’t shock you. You saw it yourself. Now being a young adult, you still looked different. It just wasn’t your outward different physical beauty, it was your inner one and your emotions. Human. Loving. Ambivert. Cheeky. Playing hard to get. People loved you and you had many friends, but you always retained your genetics of being rather intelligent and clever even when at your most vulnerable. That’s what made you yourself. 

“Oh, why the sad faces?” Her voice was full of fervor.

You stared blankly at her as did the others. 

“What do you want us to do now?” Sherlock asked. 

“The governor’s here. One of you is going to kill him.” 

Your heart sank. You knew it was coming. Who couldn’t? 

“Your time starts now.” 

“Or what?” Mycroft asked, facing the screen. 

“They both die.” Eurus moved her chair, revealing a woman trapped in a mess of rope. You swallowed. His wife. You looked at your brothers. They looked at each other and at you and to the governor. Sherlock gripped the gun. 

“You have to do it,” the governor pleaded out. Tears escaped his eyes. He was desperate. You heard it in his voice. Sherlock bit his lip and held the gun tighter. 

“Are you sure?” He asked, his voice slightly quivering. 

“Just do it.” 

Sherlock held the gun up to his head and waited. Just waiting. 

“Sherlock,” Mycroft softly said. 

He dropped the gun. “I can’t I can’t do it.” 

The governor began crying harder. “Just please!” 

“Tick - tock.” Eurus’s voice sounded through the whole room. She seemed to get in everybody’s head. 

“John. John, you do it.” Sherlock handed him the gun. John took it bravely and placed his hand on the man’s shoulder, easing him down. You looked intently, trying to analyze his actions. You feared for the governor, for John, and for Sherlock. John pressed the gun against the back of his head, digging the tip inside. You felt Mycroft tense up behind you and he placed his hand over your shoulder. John waited. He closed his eyes. He placed his legs a step further apart. It seemed like minutes flew by. You continued watching his motions. Nothing changed. He wouldn’t shoot. You knew it. He was a coward. What was the point of doing this, all he would do is humiliate himself. 

You broke free of Mycroft’s protective arm and stepped straight to John, snatching the gun. He looked as if Jesus himself stepped in front of him, but you concentrated on the gun. You held it, pointed it at the man’s head, and with a hand squeezing his neck, trying to offer all the comfort you can, you pulled the trigger. The same bullet that caused the utter demise of this man in front of you seemed to suddenly shut down your thinking process and kill your aura. You looked down at the man you killed. 

Blood spilled from his head and expanded its area on the ground. You tightened your clench on the gun. This all happened in seconds. You looked at the screen. Eurus looked deeply into you. She never liked you. You were seen as a competition, but she won. 

“That’s too bad,” she remarked while turning around and suddenly shooting the governor’s wife. Her body went limp. Your hands turned cold. You felt your skin becoming paler and the temperature of a winter lake. You felt like you were floating, except you weren’t going up. Your body was falling. Falling down to the ground. It all seemed to go in slow motion. You felt someone wrap their arms around your body before you hit the ground. Someone else grabbed your hand, sliding the gun out. You looked up. Sherlock stood over you, holding your body. You closed your eyes. 

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

“I know, that’s what I’ve been saying.” Someone said. 

“It’s all my fault.” Another person said. 

Your senses slowly turned back into action as you heard people talking. You recognized it was Mycroft and John’s voice. What were they talking about? You felt your head was on something soft, but firm. An arm was wrapped around your legs tightly but comfortably. You inhaled slowly. Cologne. Tea. The slight smell of cigarettes. Sherlock

“No, it was mine.”

You opened up your eyes and saw his chin. You were lying down. You startled him as you got yourself up. Everybody was silent. Suddenly Sherlock rushed to you and hugged you. He squeezed you hard, pouring out his sorrow and love for you. He picked you up and you hugged him back. You knew he felt bad. 

“Are you okay?” He asked you. You looked up at him and nodded. You were fine. It really wasn’t a big deal, or so you thought. People do this in war all the time, right? 

Mycroft walked over to you and hugged you. He always gave you a different kind of hug, but you enjoyed it just as much. It was firm, but he always propped his chin on your head and squeezed your shoulders. John came to you and hugged you too, apologizing. You remained silent, just wanting to get everything over with. 

“Why that was surprising,” Eurus’s voice spoke through the speaker. You sighed. Would this end? You found yourself questioning your family. You came to the conclusion that Eurus was a different kind of specimen. Something bad. She wasn’t human, but she acted like it. Mycroft was intelligent but stuck in the shadows of his younger brother until he had to showcase his governmental power and common sense to him. Sherlock’s mind moved miles a minute, but his human side was always touched by you, his sister, and a few other people. For whatever happened from now on, you were grateful for brothers like this. A new adventure every week from where you all learned different things about each other. 

[queen-of-deans-booty]

The Curious Case of Dean Winchester: Part Three

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,258

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

In order to find out where Patrick keeps his chip stash, you needed to stake him out to determine when the best time to strike was. He was currently waiting outside of a bar, checking his watch every two seconds before finally walking onto the road. There was a car that was speeding towards him, and before he could react, the car slammed into his body. The driver freaked out, got out, checked on Patrick, and ran to a construction crew to get help. It didn’t look like Patrick couldn’t have survived the impact at all. However, another car passed by the scene, and Patrick was gone from the ground and into the car perfectly healed up.

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath. Patrick drove the car passed the confused man and the construction workers, honked his horn, and sped off.

“I got to say, I kind of like the guy,” Dean laughed.

“Just drive,” you sighed at the younger brother.

Sam followed your instructions and kept Patrick’s car in sight at all times. Patrick went home, and you knew this is where his chips were going to be. It was a while since he left again, but when the coast was clear, you all got out and headed inside. Opening the door, your eyes landed on the note taped to the elevator doors which meant that the stairs were the only way to get to Patrick’s apartment.

“Well, I'm out.”

“I can use my magic, if you want. It might be a bit bumpy, but it works,” you offered.

“No, go without me. I’ll just slow you down.”

“Stay safe,” you whispered and kissed his head.

Your father nodded just as you and the two men left. Due to your more limber bodies, you and Sam moved up the stairs quickly with Dean lagging behind. He was out of breath, leaning against the railing, and rolling his eyes whenever he saw how far you and Sam were.

“Dean,” Sam said when he stopped on the second-floor landing.

The much older brother looked up and Sam pointed to the sign that informed people that it was only the second floor. He smirked lightly before continuing, and you walked on without a second glance at dean. He deserved this for what he did. Dean sighed, glared at the sign, and then continued with a determined look. Patrick loved on the third floor, so it didn’t take long to get to the room. You and Sam worked on picking the lock just in time for Dean to join you two. He was panting loudly as he limped over to you.

“I hate this,” he whispered when Sam got the door open.

The three of you headed inside and you quickly took a hard right to search one of the rooms while Sam and Dean went into another room. This was going to take all day, but luckily, you had another idea on how to find some poker chips. Your hands moved around each other just as a buildup of blue magic swirled between them. When there was enough magic, you let it loose around the room as it searched for you. If it got a match, it would hover over the spot.

The magic searched the entire room, but you weren’t getting anything. Just when you were about to lose hope, Dean called you and his brother into the room he was in. Your magic dissolved as you left, meeting Dean in front of a safe that was hidden behind some normal items.

“Dime-store model. Piece of cake,” Dean grinned.

He turned the dial, but he squinted his eyes because he couldn’t see the numbers. He leaned further and closer to it just in case it would help, but it didn’t seem to be working.

“It's like Mission: Pathetic. Watch out,” you scoffed, shoving Dean to the side.

You flicked a wisp of magic at the dial which unlocked it for you. The dial turned to the correct numbers before bouncing open.

“I could have done that,” Dean pouted.

“Yeah, right,” you shook your head.

Sam leaned in to grab handfuls of chips when you heard a throat clear from behind you.

“What are you doing?” a woman asked.

All three of you turned around to see a blonde woman standing there with a not-so-amused looking face.

“Aren't you the chick from the bar?” Dean asked, squinting at her.

“I'm a lot more than that,” she commented, throwing up a hand and closing it into a fist.

Sam and Dean double over in pain, but it was like her magic only affected them and not you. Probably had something to do with Amara and her magic running through your veins.

“What the hell are you doing to them?” you asked just as Patrick rushed into the room.

He put a hand on her arm to halt her movements.

“It's alright, Lia. It's alright. They're harmless,” he assured her.

She put down her arm, and Sam and Dean were fine just like that.

“Why didn’t it work on her?” Lia asked herself in confusion.

“You folks want chips? Take 'em. They're just chips, Einsteins. It's showmanship. This may come as a shock, but the magic does not lie in a pile of crappy plywood or in any phony abracadabra. It's in the nine-hundred-year-old witch. You folks want years? Score 'em the old-fashioned way. Texas hold 'em,” Patrick spoke as he chewed on his toothpick.

“Fine. Let’s do it,” Dean nodded.

Patrick pulled out a card from his jacket pocket and held it up to face Dean. It was the eight of hearts.

“What card am I holding?” he asked. Dean squinted but looked away in shame. “That’s what I thought. If your eyesight's that bad, what about your memory? I'm not a murderer. You, on the other hand…”

“No, Sam,” Dean sighed, already knowing where this was going.

“What, Sam not much of a player? What about you, darling?” Patrick asked when he looked at you. After none of you said a thing, he just smiled. “Okay, well, happy trails, Dean. Enjoy the twilight of your life. Should have taken better care of that ticker, though. You’re free to go.”

“Come on, Sam,” Dean sighed, leaving through the door that Patrick opened. You and Sam both followed, but Patrick stopped the taller Winchester at the door.

“Oh, but, Sam… your brother's situation—that's punishment enough, but I can't let you leave without a small parting gift,” he winked as he clapped three times.

“What the hell are you doing?” you asked.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Let's get out of here, Sam and Y/N,” Dean said.

“You wonder why your magic doesn’t work on me?” you said to Lia as the brothers left your side. “I’m a much more powerful witch than you thought. Don’t take it personal, it’s not just your magic that doesn’t work. It’s everyone’s.”

“Have a good day,” Patrick smiled as he closed the door.

Sighing, you left the apartment building and headed over to the three men waiting for you. Grabbing the handles of your father’s wheelchair, you wheeled him up the incline on your walk back to the motel room.

“You know, I still think I should play,” Sam started.

“No, no, no. You're not good enough. I'm better. Bobby's way better. We both lost,” Dean argued.

“Exactly.”

“So, what? So, I don't get a say in this anymore?”

“Sammy, when you get to be our age—”

“You're thirty, Dean! Look, I've watched you hustle plenty of poker—”

“Knowing the game is not enough, Sam. It's not about playing the cards.”

“It's about playing the other guy. I know that.”

“Well, hooray for you. All I'm saying is, I played this guy. I know his style. I can take him.”

“What about me?” you asked after you gave it some thought. The older men looked at you in silence.

“You’re not going in there,” Dean said.

“Come on. How many times have I beat you? Have I beat my dad? I can win. You don’t get as good as I am by not playing you. I learned a few things.”

“No, look, no one is playing him. We have to come up with something else. Plus, Bobby, you don’t have enough years in the bank.”

“I got enough.”

“You’ll die if you lose, dad.”

“So, what if I do, huh? What exactly am I living for, huh? The damn apocalypse? Watching men die bloody while I sit in this chair, can't take a step to help 'em?”

“Dad,” you whispered.

“No, no. It's the facts. I'm old... and broke down... and I can't...” he took a moment to breathe before speaking again. “I ain't a hunter no more. I'm useless. And if I wasn't such a coward, I'd have stuck a gun in my mouth day I got home from the hospital.”

You didn’t know the tears were rolling down your cheeks until you tasted the salt. It hurt you a lot to hear him say this.

“Bobby, you are not playing again. I'm not letting you do that. There's another way out of this. There's got to be, and I'm gonna find it,” Sam declared as he walked off. Dean noticed how sad you got after your father’s confession, and your dad saw it too.

“Y/N—”

“No, Dean!” you exclaimed, leaving their side. It was a nice day to take a walk, to take a break from all of this emotion and drama.

You didn’t know where you were going, but it felt nice to be away from the men for a while. You were able to think about what was going on without anyone else’s input. Your tears had dried on your cheeks, making the skin a bit tighter than usual. It was getting late, so you started to head back to the motel when your phone rang. Seeing it was Dean, you answered it immediately.

“What?”

“You still want to play?” Dean asked.

“Really? You’re going to let me?”

“We have a plan, and we need your help.”

“Tell me what I need to do,” you agreed.

After Dean told you all that you needed to know, you took a U-turn and headed to the bar you knew Patrick would be at. After taking the elevator ride down, you saw him with a man at a table. By the look on Patrick’s face, he was going to win and potentially kill this older man. Patrick chewed on a toothpick, and you eyed it before approaching the table.

“Hesh here is gonna live to see his granddaughter's bat mitzvah. Isn't that right, Hesh?” Patrick grinned as the older man got up

“Thanks again, Patrick,” the old man smiled as he left with the years he’s gained.

“Shalom, my friend. Shalom,” Patrick smiled.

“That was nice of you,” you commented as you sat down in front of him.

“I'm a nice guy. What can I do you for?”

“Deal,” you motioned to the cards.

“Where’s Sam?”

“You don’t get him, you get me. Now deal,” you crossed your arms just as Patrick smirked.

After Patrick dealt the cards, and you were well into the game, you kept eyeing the toothpick in his mouth. He has a glass of whiskey on the table, two cards in his hand, and several stacks of chips in front of him. Several chips are piled in the middle of the table next to the four of diamonds, a red court card, a black seven, the three of hearts, and a black two. Patrick takes out his toothpick to talk to you.

“I like you, Y/N. I do. You're smart, and your heart's clearly in the right place,” he said and placed his toothpick down next to his glass and picked that up to drink it. Looking at the toothpick, you clenched your jaw before looking at him in the eyes.

“I can tell a lot about a person by looking.”

“You mean you’re psychic.”

“No. That'd be cheating. I'm talking about good old-fashioned intuition.”

“Let’s just play.”

“We are playing,” he smiled, placing his glass down by the toothpick. “Does your boyfriend know you’re here?”

“Bet five,” you changed the subject and placed five chips on the pile.

“Didn’t think so,” he chuckled, and placed a stack of five chips on another stack of five and placed that on the growing pile. “I raise. Here you are, right? Trying to clean up their mess, and they still want to sit you at the kiddie table.”

“I can handle myself just fine,” you spoke lowly.

“Oh, that’s right. You’re some big-time witch. You think you can go off and make big girl decisions, fine. But just know I’m still gonna kick your ass into the nursing home.”

“Does this armchair-psychology routine usually work for you?”

“You tell me,” he laughed. “You’re the one who’s losing.”

Patrick chewed on the end of his toothpick as he shuffled the deck of cards. His pile of chips is a lot bigger than yours, but you knew what you were doing. No magic tricks, no cheating, just intuition and skill. You were going to win this thing. As your pile decreased, Lila walked in and approached Patrick. He places his toothpick down next to his glass just as she leaned down and kissed him. Rolling your eyes, you leaned back and crossed your arms.

“Little break?” Patrick asked with a wink once Lila pulled away.

“Take your time,” you smiled.

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