#► All I can be is me. Whoever the hell that is. || visage. ◄

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

hello love! can i make a request for gaz x f!reader she a civilian and a florist and he keeps visiting her and they slowly fall for each other and he calls her his sunflower or something cute like that? you can make up the rest, sorry if it’s not super detailed!

Gossamer Silk Smiles

Pairing: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Florist!Reader

Synopsis: You loved your job more than anything, and at the end of the day, even with pricked fingers and cramped muscles, you went to bed happy. It had all been going well, insanely well. You were focused; self-assured... Until he showed up. 

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Insane amount of fluff, this is the definition of a soft fic, beginning of a relationship

A/N: I know this man would treat me right. Also changed the nickname around a bit, but sunflowers are still prominent. Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

When you opened your flower shop, you told yourself there was no going back – no distractions or second options. This was what you loved more than anything and at the end of the day, even with pricked fingers and cramped muscles, you went to bed happy. It had all been going well, insanely well. 

Until he showed up. 

It had been a shitty day, one for the record books, in your opinion. Shipments for Larkspur, Zinnias, and Sunflowers had come to the shop damaged. The boxes had been so beaten up you half-believed the mail carrier had gotten into a personal disagreement with them. All initial humor aside, you were now out of this week's product as well as a good chunk of money – the flowers couldn’t even be considered that anymore, seeing as they were really just broken stems and stray crumpled pedals. Then came the unusual amount of rude customers and the building of minor inconveniences. 

But to your credit, you didn’t let it get to you. 

Well…externally, at least. 

“Have a great rest of your day,” you force out with a strained smile to an older woman who only huffs. She stalks out of the shop with a vase full of Daylilies, Purple Cornflowers, Yarrow, and Taro leaves. “I hope your brother gets well soon–” The glass door shuts with a clatter of the small silver bell attached to the frame. 

Leaning back on your heels, your eyes close; taking down a deep breath, you hope your lungs won't explode in your chest as you hold it there. 

“Fucking hell.” The air flies from you in a weak groan. 

Your fingers tap against the countertop, and a small, humorless, chuckle later you’re walking out to change the window sign to closed instead of open. It was well past your usual shift anyways, but the previous customer had been relentless about the ‘perfect bouquet.’

“Like there’s even such a thing,” your lips twist into an annoyed frown as you speak to yourself in a grumble. “...Should have just denied her service… Didn’t even leave a tip.” 

You really wouldn’t have minded helping her that much if she had just been kinder towards you.

Grabbing the small paper sign held up by a suction-cup hook, you flip it around with little thought, already trying to plan out a way to make up for the weeks worth of ruined product. You don’t even notice the man speeding down the sidewalk until his desperate face is staring right into yours – only separated by a thin piece of glass. 

Yelping, your shoulders tense at the sudden visage. 

The man was around your age, tall, and had a handsome face inlaid with eyes reminiscent of deep amber. Light reflected off the iris in ways you can only describe as the glinting sun does off waves of water; gentle. Nearly soft, really. He was wearing a ball cap with an embroidered British flag on the front and had a panicked look set on his lips. 

Close to the door handle, his long fingers freeze mid-air and you find the prominent muscular build and set of his shoulders staining the back of your eyelids like a movie screen. Whoever this guy was, it didn’t stray from the fact that he was attractive.

You’re not happy about it, but your mind blanks as you stare with wide eyes; heart steady in your breast. 

He blinks at you, square jaw loose, also double-taking from beyond the see-through barrier. His flickering eyes flew quickly over your form just as you had ogled him moments prior. 

Silly, perhaps, and childish at best, but you felt your throat tighten with stilled breath. There was a small chunk of time that you both just gawked at each other – as if Cupid had suddenly stabbed you both with one of his blots; gazes inexplicably locked as blood dripped to the floor from copper arrowheads.

If you were more gullible, you would have called it love at first sight. But you were anything but that. 

Sighing, you rip your eyes away and take a breath. Opening the door with more questions than answers, you were praying that it didn’t get dark before you could help this man with whatever it is that he needed. 

I can see the fucking veins on his forearms. You think as the chilled air hits your face,  recalling the peek you sent to the rolled-up sleeves of this stranger’s blue button-down. 

The bell above you dings as you set the door in the crook of your shoulder, leaning out halfway. Clearing your throat, you ask steadily, “Can I help you, Sir…?” 

He sets his stubbled jaw, vision snapping to the side for a split second that was so fast you almost missed it. 

“Erm…my apologies, Ma’am, for rushing up like that.” He lets off a chuckle, and the flag on his hat is quickly explained away by the prominent accent. “Hope I didn’t worry you.” 

Fighting the uptick of your lips you feel your chest let go of a sliver of tension. He was smiling slightly at you, the khaki pants he wears creasing as his feet set themselves; his brown eyes never leave your face. 

Respectful, you think.

“Not every day you have people trying to barge into a flower shop. Trust me, Sir, I sleep well knowing no one wants to rob me.” Attempting a light joke, the stranger's chest jerks in a silky laugh. The tips of your ears heat, the blood under your skin rushing. 

His laugh was like a blanket during a storm; a cup of hot chocolate during a blizzard. Could you be attracted to a laugh? You seemed to ask yourself. Already your mind was coming up blank at this, all of a sudden, welcome intrusion. 

“Well, I’d imagine that’s a good thing, then?” He teases showing off pearly white teeth.

“Incredibly.” Opening the door wider, you beam. “You’re lucky I was still here. I’d normally be all locked up by now.”

You should be closing – telling this stranger to leave and come back tomorrow – but something inside of you told you to just open the door. It was illogical, unprofessional, and downright strenuous on your already foul mood…but this individual had such an air to him that you wondered who exactly he was. He made your skin pule with goosebumps.

“Thanks,” the man utters as he slips inside, nodding his head to you and fixing the position of his hat with one hand. “Yeah…I’m incredibly sorry about this but I’m runnin’ on a bit of a time crunch, to be honest with you. I’ve been checking every shop in town – you’re the only one with the lights still on…” He looks to you, “I really hope I’m not causing any trouble for you, Ma’am.”

Slipping your fingers into your work apron’s pockets, you let the door shut and tilt your head to the side, gaze softening at the pure candor of his words. 

“Emergency flower orders are always my favorites to work on. It’s no problem, really.” You say your name as an introduction and ask what he would like to purchase as he scratches at the back of his neck with a boyish twist to his lips. 

“Kyle Garrick.” He sticks out his hand and you shake it instantly. Kyle’s hands are warm despite the cold weather outside, and you have to stop yourself from melting into him as you pull back. But already your skin tingles. “Actually, I was wondering if you might be able to help me on that front. What flowers would be the best for an apology?…just not something too flashy, if that’s possible.” 

He trails with an awkward chuff, obviously not used to being in a flower shop before. You wondered if he even had a favorite flower. You hoped he did.

You could really tell a lot about someone based on the types of flora they surrounded themselves with.

“Apology?” You wonder, tilting your head. Quickly falling into work mode, you continue, “I can work with that. Do you have any preferences? Colors?”

“Well, she likes orange, yeah?” He speaks and your heart sputters for a moment. Smile freezing. “I don’t suppose that’ll help very much, but it’s really all I have to go off of. I’m a bit of a hopeless bastard when it comes to flowers.” Kyle lets off a huff of laughter.

She. Of course, he’s already in a relationship. 

Nodding, you swiftly walk past the man, catching the scent of fresh-tilled earth and rainy grass as your shoulders nearly brush. You can’t help but feel a little disappointed. It wasn’t every day you found yourself attracted to someone. But, oh well, life continues on.

“Well,” heading towards the wall baskets, your body feels heavy, but you quickly force it to the side. You really shouldn’t be surprised. “You said orange? I have about seven you can pick from.”

“Affirmiti–erm, yes, Ma’am.”  

“Hm.” You hear him come up behind you, following at a respectful distance. Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you watch as his eyes slide over the various types of flowers, all separated by color, with deep thought. 

A slight furrow was in his dark brow. His dedication was adorable. 

“What’s this one called?” Kyle asks, moving around you to a bushel of orange poppies and accidentally bumping into your side. 

Grunting, you lightly jerk forward until a hand swiftly grabs your shoulder. Eyelashes fluttering, you look up with shock at the embarrassed face slightly leaning over you. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. That’s my bad.” 

“N-no, you’re fine.” God, this was so awkward. Smiling shakily, you feel the press of his hand over your skin, separated only by the thin barrier of your shirt. Kyle squeezes your flesh before letting go. 

He was staring at you, though. Brown eyes set into dark skin with a soft expression like Pygmalion staring at his marble-wrought Galatea. But as quickly as it was there, the look was gone and the man was clearing his throat, snapping his neck back to the basket and shifting his feet.

Even if you couldn’t explicitly see it, you knew he was blushing – just the same as the heat in your capillaries mirrored. Swallowing to get rid of the dryness of your throat, you realize you’ve been gawking before sliding your hands into your pockets and quickly looking away. 

Why won’t my heart stop beating so fast?

“Those are Orange Poppies. Papaver orientale.” Speaking, you reach forward and grab the stem of a single bloom holding it to him as he gazes down at you from your side. “Common in ‘get well soon’ bouquets, if you were curious.” 

Holding it up to him, you watch his fingers delicately pluck it from you like the flower was made of glass. It nearly made you laugh, but you settled on a small smile instead. 

“It’s pretty…” Kyle pauses, and you read it well enough.

“...But not what you were looking for.” Settling on the answer, you giggle when he passes off a sheepish smile and a nod. “I kind of guessed. Here – how about this.” 

He ends up buying a handful of orange Tulips, Myrtle leaf for greenery, and a small gathering of Baby’s-Breath. Behind the counter, you try to stay focused on setting the flora perfectly in the clear vase as your clippers lay beside it. Frowning, you take the long stem of a Tulip and snip the end at an angle, placing it to the far left of the rest with a concentrated set of your eyebrows. 

“So,” Kyle says, breaking the silence, and your fingers twitch as your spell is shattered. Soul stilling, you look up at him as he waits on the other side of the counter with his arms comfortably crossed. He leans back on his heels, feet shoulder-length apart. “Busy day today, then? Other places around here are mostly dark by five.”

Standing straighter, you politely smile before going back to the arrangement, hand reaching for the small white tufts of Baby’s-Breath.

“Mostly, yeah.” You cock your head to the side, “I was supposed to be home two hours ago, but one lady was very adamant about getting the most ‘perfect’ flowers, as she told it.” 

Chuckling humorlessly, you step back and stare at the vase, not aware of the eyes stuck on the tired slump of your shoulders or the slight frown staining the man’s lips. 

“Two hours? Well, that’s a bit excessive.” Kyle remarks, eyelids creasing, “I’d hope she at least left a tip for you?” 

That gets a laugh out of you, lungs jerking for a moment; focus once more brought back to the present at the preposterous words that just left your customer’s mouth. Those brown eyes suck you back in to a point where you wonder if you’d ever be able to look away.

“Now that’s funny, Mr. Garrick.”

He lets the subject drop, but you notice a slight crease in-between in brows – a narrowness to his eyes that wasn't there before. You try not to think too much into it, but Kyle certainly did seem like the man to get upset when people aren’t treated respectfully. The thought warms your heart. 

Or maybe I’m just reading too much into this. 

“Is there anything you’d like me to rearrange, Sir…? Do you want a note to go with it?” Seemingly lost in thought, Kyle comes back to you with a diligent shake of his head.

“It looks perfect, Love. And, please, just Kyle’s alright. You’re makin’ me sound like an old man when you talk like that.” He chuckles, and it’s a rich, velvety sort of thing – twisted with blue satin and wrapped in a gentle breeze. Your stomach twists. 

“Then I suppose that’s it, then. I’ll get you the bill and you can be on your way.” Turning around to calculate the total price, you make a quick comment in passing, not really thinking about it as you tap on your calculator. “I hope your girlfriend and you make up.” 

A stunned silence falls, but you only focus on the numbers, jotting down the total on a sticky note and turning around after re-running the costs a last time. When your eyes lock with him, your feet stall at the dumbfounded look on Kyle’s face and the confusion ingrained in his body language. His head had pulled back slightly, hat tilted.

“What’s that?” He asks. 

“Your…girlfriend?” You say slowly, walking closer and passing him the sticky note, “you said you were getting her apology flowers?” 

The handsome man blinks at you before realization lights in his eyes like fire. Kyle laughs deeply, putting a hand on top of his head and pressing down on his cap.

“Oh, Bloody hell, no.” He takes a deep breath and you feel your lips pressed together in confusion, innocent intrigue taking place in your skull. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart, I should have told you right off. This is for my mum.” 

Blinking in surprise you pause, looking up with wide eyes. 

Sweetheart?...Mum?! Your face heats to an intense level. Oh. 

“O-oh I didn’t…” He’s reaching for his wallet with a large lop-sided smile on his face and understanding eyes, watching you as he flips it open. You settle with a single laugh and say, “sorry, I guess I just assumed.”

But you can’t help the sudden relief that sprouted out of nowhere that leaves your lips pulling back in a mirrored grin. You’d been doing that a lot, as of the last fifteen minutes. 

“It’s no problem,” Kyle admits, “Thing is, I’ve been off on deployment for a while, and I missed my return date party, unfortunately. Just got back about noon today and I decided I was going to surprise her tonight.” The man pulls out a large stack of bills, “Thought she’d like that, yeah? Can’t go wrong with flowers, can you?” 

“You’re in the military?” You ask smoothly but internally swoon at the thought of a son giving his mother flowers out of the kindness of his heart. Whoever she was, you know the woman who raised this man would be overjoyed with the prospect of simply having him home safe and sound before anything else. 

Did not Penelope, wife of Odysseus, care for her son Telemachus more than anything? Above danger and possible death? They protected each other. You supposed it was the same in this situation. 

Being able to be a part of it made your legs weak.

“Something like that, Ma’am.” Kyle’s lips flick into a smirk as he hands you the bills. “Feels like I’m surrounded by children most days, but there’s no place I’d rather be…When I’m not nearly getting my head bloody blown off, that is.”

You huff in amusement, and slight concern, taking the payment and settling it on the counter without checking the numbers; never doubting whether he gave you the right amount or not.  

“Well, it seems like you’ve got it all figured out.” Garrick looks to his feet for a moment, pocketing his wallet, and clears his throat near mutely. He tilts his head back up to you.

“Nearly,” he whispers under his breath, a delicate wrinkle on his forehead as his lips pull in a minute, closed, grin. Sheepishly, you look away from his intense brown gaze before you can make a fool of yourself as giddiness sparks in your racing heart. What was happening to you? You have to ask yourself. Where was all of this blatant scatterbrained activity stemming from? No one had ever made you act like this before. 

As you look away, your eyes unintentionally land on the wall clock across the room, and your thoughts still like water in a puddle. Eyes widening comedically, you feel your lips part. 

“I really need to be closing up.” You say apologetically, looking back to the man who touches one of the Myrtle leaves carefully, running it between his thumb and forefinger. Under you, your feet shift over the floor. “Is this all you’ll be needing?” 

“Pretty sure.” Garrick answers easily, “I won't keep you any longer, eh? I’d hate it if I made you go home by yourself after dark.” 

“That’s very thoughtful, Kyle, thank you.” Pushing the vase over the counter, he takes it up and pauses as if he wants to say something. His mouth opens before closing – looking at his feet for a moment and itching at his neck with his free hand. 

“I…don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Ma’am,” your breath hollows, watching carefully as you listen. “But, uh, I,” Kyle shifts his eyes to your face, standing a bit straighter as the corner of his lip flicks up, “You’re just about the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met – if that’s not overstepping, of course.” 

He laughs stiffly to dispel tension, and the air suddenly gets ten times hotter at the brutally honest, if not mildly stuttered, confession. You can nearly hear the blood rushing to your head like a flood of ocean water – more violent and immediate than a tsunami. In your ribcage, your bones ache at the beating organ and the swell of your lungs. Having to take a deep breath to not forget yourself entirely, your mind rages.

Did he really just say that? He…he called me beautiful. 

When was the last time you had been called that? By such a lovely and kind man nonetheless. Kyle seemed like a confident person, his profession telling you that already, but the way he was acting now he seemed hesitant; like he was appalled by the fact you would take what he was saying the wrong way and come off creepy. 

But that was so blatantly opposite of how you were reacting. 

“I-” You stutter, eyes snapping away and hands coming to hold themselves in front of your abdomen, “well, I think you’re very handsome, yourself, Kyle.” A meek expression spreads your visage as you see the breath in his chest hitch, “and I wouldn’t call that overstepping at all. Not by a long shot.” 

His eyes widen, and a second of intense eye contact later, he smiles and glances away. Garrick sneaks looks as you bite your lip, and finally, he nods firmly before his phone starts to ring in his pocket. 

As if a switch had turned, his hand snaps down and grasps the device, peeling it out of his khakis and checking the contact. Immediately he utters.

“Oh, Shit, this is her. I’ve got to run.” He walks backward a few steps before turning and lightly jogging to the front door. Following with your eyes, you’re somewhat entranced by the man. 

Before he can walk through the door, he stops in his tracks.

“Sorry, again,” Kyle turns back around, and his dark eyebrows crease, “but, uh, what days are you open?” 

The giddy smile that forms on your cheeks leaves your skin hurting.

“All of ‘em except the weekends,” you say, confidence suddenly sprouting in your veins, “but I’m sure if you told me ahead of time that you were stopping by, I’d make an exception.”

“I’d imagine for emergency flowers only?” Kyle teases, a smirk on his face. His eyes promise you, though, that this will not be the last time you see him. 

“Of course.” You reply, raising a brow. “I’m a florist, after all, Garrick. Emergency flowers are my specialty. If you’re ever in need of more, I’ll be here, waiting.”

He laughs, stares for a few seconds longer with a distant sheen, and disappears through the door. You don’t follow when his form fades from the windows entirely. You don’t ask for his number, even if you knew you should have. You don’t look at the amount he gave you as you put it in the register, knowing, even by your intuition, that it is double the amount he was due. 

You’d just tell him all about it when you saw him again.

Until Kyle Garrick showed up you had been focused; as immovable as a mountain, but then as the days drew on, you faltered. Your eyes would linger on the glass as people pass by, heart in your throat and feet tapping as you bound stems. Flowers had taken up so much of your life, but now another was trying to push its way in – slowly infecting you like a parasite in your mind as the days went on. 

And as he kept showing up, month after month, he had taken to calling you Persephone. A goddess of spring and nature; beautiful flowers of all colors and shapes growing on hills and in vibrant meadows. It was perhaps the greatest compliment someone like you could have been given. At first, it had been a nickname until it had become as common as your actual title, and Kyle used it so much even regular customers teased you with it with smirks and side-eyes. You only rolled your optics with a burning under your skin and a small smile.

“Well, look, it’s Persephone…”

“That boy of yours here, Persephone? Hiding in the back room perhaps?”

“Persephone – you have any Peonies this week?”

You didn’t mind it…really, you didn’t. If anything, you thought it was precious. A man comparing you to a goddess that danced in green fields as flowers sprouted at her feet? Yes, that was quite alright.

Quite alright, indeed.

—

The office room was cold, he thought. Nearly a meat locker. 

How in the hell can he stand to work in here, Kyle asked himself. Bloody place is like a damn winter storm just minus the snow. 

He was seated in one of the two chairs in front of the mahogany desk, hands on the armrests and feet tapping the floor. When the Sergeant had gotten the order on his radio to come to Captain Price’s office ASAP, he had expected the man to already be here, but five minutes later he was still sitting in silence. 

That wasn’t to say he was bored, though. He was thinking of you. He could never be bored when he did that. 

It brings a small smile to Garrick’s face as he relives your last interaction, lips unconsciously twitching as his eyes grow distant. 

You’d made him a flower crown, mostly as a joke, but had been left in raging fits of laughter when you’d placed it on his head. 

“Hold still,” you grunt, sitting on the front counter and keeping the weaved headpiece in your grip as it hovers above the man’s scalp, “I want to get it centered on the first go.”

“Y’know,” Kyle chuffs, “I could always do it myself – I do have working hands, Love.” 

“Shush!” Exclaiming, your breath fans his face, leaving him more still than a statue, if only to smell your scent and be content with your body so close to his. Kyle was still working out the best way to ask you out officially, but that didn’t seem to extend to his instinctual actions when it came to you. It was increasingly hard to stop his head from leaning just that tiniest bit forward and connecting his lips to yours. 

The pressure on his head brings him back, and his eyes blink as if they could force all the rogue thoughts from his mind. Kyle clears his throat when you lean back, acutely aware of the longing set of his dark brows as he had stared off at you. 

“Well, then,” The Sergeant clears his throat and smiles at your concentrated face, though he notices the hitch in your chest with a strange sense of pride. “How’s it lookin'? Is just as you imagined, eh?”

Your face scrunches, head tilting. Kyle couldn’t remember a time he’d let someone put a wreath of flowers on his head, woven with Forget-Me-Nots, Silver Dollar Eucalyptus, and Tiger Lillies. The others would make fun of him for this. 

But he found he cared little. If you kept smiling at him like that, he’d let you do anything to him in a heartbeat. 

“Perfect.” You chuckle. “You should have let me do this earlier.”

The shop was closed – it was a weekend, after all, and that was the time for restocking and number crunching. Not really the time for making crowns for a man who was totally smitten with you.  

“You sure that you don’t need these?” Kyle asks, a hand reaching up to his head to touch the flora. “I’d hate to not pay you for them, Love. Can only imagine how expensive they are to order.” 

“Eh,” rolling your eyes, your legs brush the Sergeant’s hips from where they sit around them, and the man has to remember how to breathe properly, “they’re the old product, anyway. I’d have to get rid of them by Monday. Better for such a handsome individual to have a crown of his own, with all the gallantry he practices in his job. It’s the least I could do, hm?”

You’re teasing him, a smirk taking up the frame of Kyle’s vision. He returns the action, hands coming to rest on either side of your hips; leaning forward until his nose with mere inches away. He hears your chest rattle with a slow breath.

“Are you teasin’ me, Persephone?” He asks sneakily, as you begin to giggle. “Insinuating I need a flower crown to be recognized at work? It’ll certainly get me attention, that’s for sure, yeah? Just not the kind I want. Soap’ll have a field day.” 

“He’d just make a few comments, I’m sure.” 

“You’ve never met him. The bloke would never let it go until the day I kicked the bucket.” You’re laughing, one hand coming up to cover your mouth. 

Kyle hates himself at that moment because you’ve never looked so beautiful, and he can’t quite pick up the courage to just lean in. So he watches with a matching look of happiness and an embarrassing, yet adored, flower crown on top of his close-shaven head. He watches with an ache in his chest and a violent beat to his heart as your body heat melts into him; urging him, prompting him. 

But he just smiles and watches a moment longer before taking a step back. 

“Sir,” Garrick asks, settling back down and watching the older man slink behind his desk, “What’s all this about?” 

The door opens with a firm hand. Kyle startles to his feet, tuning and about to go into an instinctual formal greeting before the Captain speaks, beating him to it.

“At ease, Sergeant. Take a seat.”  

Price sighs as he takes a seat, slapping a large file that was previously in his hand to the wood before opening his drawer with a grunt. Gaz watches with narrowed eyes as his superior ignores his question, pulling out a large cigar from a lockbox and slotting it between his lips. A lighter follows soon after, and soon the smell of burning tobacco enters the air. 

“...Captain?” Kyle was starting to get nervous now. Why was he looking at him like that? Blue eyes seem to dig deep into Gaz’s soul, trying to find something that was hidden behind layers and layers of flesh and bone. 

John pulls the stick from his lips and holds it between his fingers, smoke now entering the air and rising to perforate like mist. Feet shifting over the floor, Kyle’s heart skips a beat. 

What in the hell is going on? 

That’s when the bearded man speaks. 

“Well, who are they, then?” Price asks, tilting his head forward as his bucket hat sits where it usually does atop his brown hair. The Captain’s eyes are squinted; curious but still laced with that authority that never seemed to leave no matter how many years the two had known each other. 

“Pardon, Sir?” Gaz has to ask, confusion prominent in his expression. “They?”

John raises a thick brow as if the answer was obvious.

“You’re distracted. Been checking your phone like it’s going to explode the last few days. So,” the Captain stares at him heavily, taking another drag before placing the cigar in his ashtray and breathing out a cloud of smoke. He leans forward and places his hands on the table, as Kyle watches, perplexed, “who is it, Sergeant? No use hiding it.”

“I…” Gaz trails before blinking dumbly, lips parting, “oh, hell, was it that obvious?”

“Painfully.” The answer makes the younger man cringe and his skin pulls tight. A pause leaves the room silent, the Sergeant avoiding his Captain’s gaze as he tilts his head away for a moment. He clears his throat. 

“She’s just…” Kyle clears his throat, “someone I met in the city. A florist. Down on Main Ave.”

“A florist, eh?” Grunting, John nods his head to himself. “Asked the bird out, then?” 

“What?” Snapping his head up, Gaz says loudly with stuttering lips, “N-no, Sir. Not yet.” 

The man ahead of him hums, leaning back and flipping his file open, taking a moment to pick up the first page and skim the contents with small eyes. He looks over the top with a blank expression. 

“I’d get on that, Son.” 

—

Today was different, you knew. Something was going to happen. An unexplainable feeling was in the back of your mind, making you somewhat anxious even if you didn’t know exactly why. It was like a sheet had been thrown over your head and someone had just told you to run in circles without hitting a wall; feet tied with a rope. 

The morning had started off normal, as had everything else that followed, but there was an air of expectation wafting in front of you. 

What’s going on? You ask as you wipe down the counter with a wet rag, swiping stray leaves and petals into the garbage bin at your feet. Why am I feeling like I’m expecting something to happen? 

It was Tuesday – nothing astounding ever happens on Tuesdays. 

The front door opens with the ringing of a silver bell, and you say absentmindedly, still caught in your thoughts, “be with you in a moment!” 

A cough startles you, your hand squeezing the rag a bit tighter as your neck twists upwards. 

“Hope I’m not interrupting.” 

“Kyle,” you laugh and take a breath, “I didn’t expect you today…” 

Freezing, your lips part in a silent gasp when you see it. The man you had come to have quite the crush on was standing a few paces from the door, dressed in a nice shirt and dress pants, jacket in the crook of his arm. He holds a single Sunflower in his grasp. 

It wasn’t anything overly impressive, a bit small and dead at the tips, but nonetheless, your heart stuttered at the gift. Staring at it silently, you turn your gaze to Kyle as his feet shift over the floor nervously. A strange look had overtaken his face, but he had a confident air to him that you’d been seeing more and more of the last few visits. 

“What’s this?” You ask carefully, body going hot all over and lungs swelling. 

You’d loved flowers for most of your life; worshiped them like the people of Delphi worshiped their god-chosen Oracle. But never could you recall a moment when you had been given any out of free will. Everyone always assumed you disliked getting them because of your job, but, oh, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Flowers were like declarations of emotions – they could mean so many things to so many different people. They were the truth laid bare in nature as plainly as it could be, wrought with promises.

Your breath stills, eyelids pulling back delicately; lips parting. 

Kyle speaks softly, raising the flower in his grip.

“I remembered you saying you liked these more than roses – you called them ‘tacky’ if I’m…remembering correctly. The roses, that is.”

He was remembering correctly. But that had been just a passing comment to another customer you had been helping before him. Unimportant. A quick piece of yourself that hadn’t mattered while you were cutting stems and looping twine. 

But he remembered it. 

A giggle falls from you until your hand snaps up, trapping it behind parted fingers and an awe-filled face. 

“I wanted to give it to you,” he continued, walking forward with measured steps, “and ask you a question, if you’d let me.”

“Of course, I would.” It’s breathless, the way you say it, and suddenly you know exactly why you've been so on edge today. 

You’d been waiting for him.

And when he smiles at you, your mind runs to gossamer silk. Such a delicate thing; that smile, comparable to the millions of strands a spider spins in a lifetime. Gorgeous and so very easily missed if you weren’t looking at just the right moment. Gossamer Silk. 

Since when has his grin become so important to you? To where you craved it just as violently as water or food? That look in his amber gaze – the one that left you breathless even when you simply thought about it, that was what you wanted to witness when you woke up in the mornings. You wanted his arms around you. You wanted his lips pressed to yours. You wanted him to be in your kitchen making you dinner as the rain fell outside and the flowers in your back garden grew strong and beautiful. 

You wanted him to be yours.

Kyle stops behind the counter and hands you the flower. You reach for it without complaint instantaneously, wondering momentarily if he had just happened upon one and taken it in a moment of passion. Both of your fingers brush, and the imaginary sparks that fly make you turn slightly shy, head tilting to the side for a moment. 

But a finger hooks under your chin, moving it back as delicately as bird wings, gentle feathers tickling your flesh and nerves. 

A hum resonates in your chest, eyes crinkling as you stare into amber brown with flecks of gold. You could get lost in them if you looked too much. 

But you didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“Persephone, would you do me the great honor,” the two of you laugh at the wispy and teasing tone, and suddenly you wish the counter between you would disappear into thin air, “of going on a date with me tonight?” 

Tuesdays, perhaps, might have just become the best day of the week, and a small Sunflower with dead tips and fading yellow, your new favorite flower. 

Ironic, how that works. He ended up distracting you more than you could ever imagine.

—

“Don’t you have to be back on base soon, Garrick?” You mutter into a warm chest, street lights shining into the windows of the apartment. 

“Bloody hell, yes…But I’d crawl back to you, if you asked it of me.”

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[dollwritesarchive]

Anonymous sex, Jesper?

𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝒶𝒾𝓉 ⎹ 𝓙. 𝓕.

fandom shadow and bone / masterlist coming soon

featuring darkish!jesper fahey x reader ( f! )

rating none of my work is meant to be viewed by minors (anyone under the age of eighteen), and i will happily block any that interact with my posts or my blog.

content warning dub con, bondage, sensory deprivation, oral sex ( m )

summary he wasn’t supposed to find you, but it would be a shame to walk away now.

word count 1.6k / mini musing ( this was supposed to be a drabble what the fuck 🥲 )

attention do not repost or translate, even with ‘credit’. just don’t do it. reblog instead of like. leave feedback if you enjoyed.

“Oh,” the syllable tails the squeak of a door, and then shuffling. you’re staring into a black sea of fabric, but you can imagine by the surprise in the tone, that whoever had stumbled in had done so upon you on accident. “What do we have here?” the voice is smooth like velvet, purring as something metal or iron jangles in tandem with booted footsteps. you shudder, deducting that he must have twin firearms strapped to him, by the sound of metal on metal when he walks.

“What happened, love?” the stranger teases with obviously feigned concern, and a set of long, slender digits brush over the harsh rope that bind your elbows behind your head, “Got all tangled up in a spider’s web, did we? I’m afraid the city is full of them, quite dangerous for a soft, little thing like you to go alone…” he seems to trail off, and you shudder when the pads of his fingers run along your tricep.

“Untie me, please,” you whisper, lower lip trembling. you didn’t know who he was, but he didn’t seem to be with the ones who’d bound you and left you here. “Help me.”

“And risk the spider coming for me, as well?” a guttural chuckle erupts from his direction, where you’ve craned your neck as if you could look up at him in pleading, though you see only inky darkness. then, his palm rests against the top of your head, giving it a few, soft pats. “I can’t do that, love.” you squirm, helplessly in your bondage, legs forcefully spread with each knee tied to a leg of the chair you’re slumped in. you want to beg him for help, scream and cry, but what good would that do? he’d said no, and considering the flippant way in which he’d said it, there wouldn’t be any changing his mind. “However,” you hear the man’s garments, leather whining as he probably squatted or knelt beside you, because soon his hot breath was on your cheeks; smelling of whiskey. you flinch, and try to turn your head from him, but he’s caught your face with one hand, thumb against the corner of your mouth, palm on your chin, whilst those willowy digits splay across the opposite cheek. he guides your visage back in his direction as he exhales, “It’s not so often that a gift as pretty as you falls right into my lap like this. I would be a fool not to… Take advantage while I can.”

“A gift?” you ask, puzzled, “T—take advantage?” the words feel sinful and dark on your tongue, but the way they fall from his is sweet and almost… enticing.

the pad of his thumb brushes across your trembling lips, and he exhales though his nose— though you couldn’t see him, you imagined the wicked grin he must have on his mouth, tiers sealed together. “I can’t let you go, but, you and I can still have some fun in the meantime.” you loathed yourself for actually considering each syllable as they leave his lips. “How about it?” if he hadn’t used his grip on your face to nod for you, you weren’t so sure that you would’ve protested. hell, you may have even nodded yourself. “Good girl.” and then, you hear him stand up straight again, his hand abandoning your face.

you turn your head up in his direction, again, listening to the sound of a disturbed buckle, rustling of fabric. “What are you going to do to me?” you were almost too nervous to ask, but you were inexplicably excited, as well— a fire spreading across the apples of your cheeks.

another chuckle, but this one seemed to hide behind gritted teeth, as if he was frustrated suddenly. followed by a muffled hum, and you can hear his garments shifting. you imagined he was either palming himself through his trousers or he’s pulled himself from them. both thoughts were equally as dizzying. “Oh, sweetheart. That little tremble in your voice…” he’s moaning, now, “It’s putting all kinds of wicked ideas in my head.” and you silently agreed, because every pleasured sound he makes sends another round of obscene possibilities swarming your own mind. you lick your lips, subconsciously. “But, for now, I’ll settle for those pretty lips stretched around my cock. Open wide for me, love.” your head spins at the thought, but your jaw falls slack obediently.

a moment later, you feel the twitching tip trace the shape of your lips, smearing his scent of your mouth. it was intoxicating and warm, the stranger in his rawest form, and your eyelids flutter behind the blindfold. drawn in, your tongue peeks out from the shelter of your cavern and meets the underside of the thick head. you can hear a sharp inhale of approval from the man, and feel one of those large hands plant itself against the side of your head. he doesn’t pull you closer or shove your head down, instead, his digits tangle themselves in your hair. he seems content to let you take him at your desired pace, but once you were drunk on his smell, you were hungry for him. you pull yourself away from the chair as much as possible, sealing your lips around the tip with a soft hum. sucking on it with hollowed cheeks, the stranger grips your hair tighter, grunting happily.

“Saints, you are a greedy one.”

in this moment, you would take it as a compliment; the way his voice strained and he had to hold on to your hair. you imagined he probably wanted to push you down, or thrust to meet your service, but he doesn’t. that doesn’t mean you waste any time, though. your tongue laces him in a coat of saliva before you invite more of him in with a bob of your head. your mouth was already fuller than anticipated, the shape of his tip pushing to bulge out from your cheek. he must be watching you, because he snickers and pats the bulge with his free hand. “Ambitious, aren’t you, love? Are you planning to take all of it?” you nod and try to mutter a garbled affirmation. it seems enough for the stranger, who shifts on his feet to angle his cock towards the back of your throat, instead. “Show me, then.”

you mewl around him. it would be infinitely easier if you had your hands freed. you were also at a tricky angle, and taking this size into your throat was sure to have you gagging. still, your head undulates vehemently, bringing his cock entirely into your mouth. the swollen head batters the back of your throat as you do so, punctuated each time with a vulgar cluck. the sound doesn’t sound like it came from you, but you’ve little time to dwell on how uncouth it makes you feel. drool oozes from the aching corners of your mouth, stretched too tight around him. he’s so addicting that you hardly notice the discomfort; you’re too bewitched by the way he purrs expletives, making them sound sweet like hymns.

his other hand joins the first on your head, grabbing twin fistfuls at your scalp. “Eager to— please—“ he pants, “with a mouth that feels this divine? I almost want to, mm, take my chances and steal you… Keep going, pretty girl. You’re doing so well, making me feel so fucking good… Just like that… I’m just about there!”

you weren’t about to lie to yourself and pretend you didn’t like the idea of this man keeping you for himself. maybe it was in the heat of the moment, and you were so drunk on him that you would’ve agreed to whatever he said, but you moan, mouth full of him.

it’s enough for the stranger to lose his composure. his cock throbs in your mouth, fingernails biting at your scalp, and his hips seem to quiver, jutting forward as he expels a heavenly groan. the warmth of his release spreads within your cavern in mere moments, taste pure and intense enough to wipe your mind free of any and all thought. when he pushes your head back, his cock pops free from your swollen, wet lips with a sickening pop, and you can feel his cum and your spittle dribbling down your chin. you swallow in order to stop any more of the precious flavor from escaping, before sputtering, attempting to catch your breath.

“What a good girl you are,” he croons, petting the top of your head again. if you were in your right mind, you might’ve found the gesture insulting— belittling. but in this moment, you accepted the praise with a dizzy grin, even nuzzling into it. “Worshiping my cock like you were born to do so. You’re impressive, love.”

“D—does that mean,” you stumble over your own words, hopeful, “does that mean you will steal me, after all?” you wished you could see his face; it was still a mystery to you but if his voice and touch was any indication, he was a handsome one.

the man whistles through his teeth, thoughtful, before you feel his lips for the very first time, plant a butterfly kiss over the bridge of your nose. “I’ll tell you what, since you’re so cute, I’m going to walk out that door and have a little chat with the boss man. Decent chance he’ll also want a demonstration of your… worth, but if you show him half the hospitality you did me, well, I think he’ll be on board with the idea of a shiny, new toy. As long as you promise to play nice.”

[monocaelia]

aquarium [modern au!childe]

genre : fluff

w.c : 2.5k

a/n: hbd childe!! idk if you've noticed but uhh, he's my (second) favorite character and what better way to celebrate than a fic? hehe, i hope you enjoy!

thank you, mara, for proofreading for me!! <3

The shrill sound of your phone ringing on your bedside table rouses you from your slumber, your eyes slowly cracking open when you’ve grabbed the godforsaken device in your hand. Grumbled curses leave your mouth seeing the name on your screen.

childe is FaceTiming you…

What the hell did he want at seven in the morning?

You grumble some more before your finger slides across the phone screen to accept the call. You’re ready to give the stupid ginger a piece of your mind for waking you up so early on a weekend, curses ready to spill out of your lips and glare set on your visage.

What you aren’t ready for is coming face to face with a child that is one inch too close to the phone camera.

You squint your eyes and blink a couple more times to make sure that what you were seeing was true and not an illusion in your half-asleep state. But you’re brought back to reality when the child on the screen brightens up and flashes you a big grin.

“You’re [Name], right?” he shouts into the phone, blue eyes glimmering with anticipation. You can see the freckles dusting his cheeks and you have to admit that this kid is adorable. … Whoever he is anyways. Is he Childe’s… child? You didn’t think so. At least, you hope not. Childe seems a bit young to be having children, especially considering the both of you are college students.

“Hellooo? Are you even awake?” The child speaks into the phone again, effectively dragging you back to the conversation you are supposed to be having. You give the kid a small smile, shifting in your bed so you aren’t laying down and showing him an unpleasant angle.

“Yeah, yeah I’m awake,” you reply raspily, “I’m [Name], the one and only. And you are?” The kid beams at you and you can’t help but smile back at him.

“I’m Teucer! It’s Big Brother’s birthday, you know!” he shouts animatedly into the phone. “Do you want to come to the aquarium with us today? Pleeeease?”

Ah, there’s your answer to this mystery kid. You didn’t peg Childe to be someone with siblings, at least younger ones. You thought he was the youngest in the family with how he acts around you. Cocky, witty, kind of a brat. Always conveniently outside the door when your classes are over so you guys would have lunch together or at least walk to your next class together.

‘The university campus is big! You never know when you need your strong knight to come and protect you,’ was always his excuse.

Before you can answer the kid, there’s a shout of Teucer’s name and a whine from the kid as the phone is snatched away from him and a familiar face enters the frame. His hair is all over the place - he probably just woke up - and his eyes are wide in shock at seeing you on the other end of the call. A curse leaves his lips as his hands quickly move up to straighten his messy hair, causing you to laugh a little at the scene.

“Ah, shit. I thought he was calling Anya or something. Sorry, [Name],” Childe murmurs into the screen. When he looks back into the camera, his hair is a little better than before, but you can still clearly see he just woke up. Your smile widens and you refrain from laughing again, though you’re not any better considering you have also just woken up.

“It’s fine,” you brush off, “though I guess you can properly apologize for interrupting my weekend sleep with a trip to the aquarium, birthday boy.” Childe perks up at that and sends a look at his younger brother, who is still whining off camera.

“Teucer told you about that huh,” Childe says, facing away from the camera to ruffle the kid’s hair. You aren’t expecting the playful smile to return to Childe’s face when he looks up at you. You don’t like where this is going. You meant to tease the ginger and try to rile him up but it seems he’s always one step ahead of you.

Before you could say you’re joking, Childe beats you to it.

“I guess you kind of have to go now,” his voice teases from the phone in front of you. Your smile drops slightly when he says that and you can’t help but roll your eyes at the sound of his laughter. “I mean, come on [Name]. Teucer wants you to go to the aquarium with us since my sister isn’t able to make it today, don’t you kiddo?”

Teucer’s face returns to the screen and you feel your resolve crumbling at the sight of his puppy dog eyes. They’re working together against you, which isn’t fair at all.

“You wouldn’t want to disappoint little Teucer, do you? He’s only ten and he really wants you to go,” Childe continues. “And besides, it’s my birthday. You don’t want to disappoint the birthday boy too, do you?”

A sigh leaves your lips and you glare at the pouting gingers on the screen.

“Fine. I’ll go, but only if you buy me lunch.” Cheers are heard from the other side of the screen and you can’t help but roll your eyes at the grinning boys. Teucer’s eyes sparkle with delight as he begins telling you about which exhibits he wants to visit and how it’ll be the best trip ever with you and his big brother. It’s only when Teucer begins slipping in how Childe was thinking about asking you to go with them personally and how his siblings have been urging him to just ask you already that Childe snatches the phone away again and says his goodbyes before hanging up.

sorry bout that! see you in a little bit, [name]!

don’t miss me too much ٩(◦`꒳´◦)۶

The aquarium is huge, bigger than you remember at least. To be fair, you haven’t visited this specific aquarium in a while due to its high prices. Your family could only get enough tickets every once in a while, so visiting wasn’t a priority in your family. But it seems Childe and Teucer visit often, seeing as the younger boy runs in front of you two to stand with his arms out underneath the hanging orca.

“Are you sure you’re okay with giving me the free ticket?” you ask Childe as Teucer animatedly hops around while he waits for the two of you to catch up. “These aren’t exactly cheap, you know.” Childe smiles, a gentle one, not the one that’s usually laced with mischief and playfulness, and you feel a fluttery feeling in your chest.

“Of course! It’s my birthday gift from me to you to me, and it would have been a waste if you didn’t accept it.” Childe laughs when Teucer runs to his side to yank on his hand. “Besides, your company is the best gift I could ask for, [Name].” He winks at your stunned expression before being tugged towards the otters. You can only gape at what he said, shaking the burning creeping up your cheeks away. ‘He’s only teasing you,’ you reassure yourself before following after the Snezhnayan boys.

The aquarium trip was rather… fun. Though that was pretty obvious considering Childe was your partner for today. The otters were fun, with Teucer squealing happily before being lifted onto Childe’s shoulders to get a better view of the marine mammals twisting and turning in the pool behind the thick aquarium glass. You couldn’t help but giggle as well when an otter stopped in front of the pair and pressed its tiny little paw on the glass, causing Teucer to gasp in surprise and place his own against the glass.

The three of you saw so many different fish and marine animals while visiting the aquarium, including small hermit crabs that made Teucer go on a tangent about them and a moray eel that you compared to Childe. You had expected him to compare you to a different vicious looking creature, but to your surprise he compared you to the penguins when you visited them. Though, it was immediately overruled when he saw the Atlantic wolffish and told you that was what you looked like.

After a while of walking around and viewing the beautiful displays of the aquarium, the three of you had decided to stop for a while in the seated area of the open ocean exhibit.

You smile as you scroll through the photos you took with Teucer and Childe throughout the aquarium, laughing softly at one of Childe holding Teucer while sitting in a clam shell. There’s a hum from beside you and a soft weight on your shoulder. You scroll to the next photo, a photo of Childe and Teucer squishing their cheeks against yours in front of the penguins. Your smile grows wider remembering how Teucer convinced you to get a photo like that, telling you that penguins cuddled together for warmth and that the three of you should too in a photo.

“You know, we’re very cute,” Childe’s voice comes from your shoulder and you roll your eyes in response, though you suppose it’s hard to see in the dim lighting of the exhibit.

There’s a comfortable silence between the two of you, the only noise coming from the crowd of other guests below you viewing the marine animals swimming in the large tank in front of you. Your eyes spot Teucer in the crowd, smushing his face against the glass so he can get a better view of the hammerhead shark roaming the tank. You smile hearing his excited whispers to the kid beside him who then begins to excitedly whisper back.

Your name slips from Childe’s lips, so soft you would have missed it if his head wasn’t currently resting on your shoulder. You hum in response to acknowledge him and he shifts his position, his head no longer resting on your shoulder and instead facing you. Your heart flutters at his stare; the deep ocean staring right back at you, staring as if you’re the only person in this room with him.

“Can I ask you something?” he asks. His voice is gentle, as if scared to startle you or ruin the atmosphere if he speaks too loudly. He takes a breath when you nod your head, his eyes glancing down at your lips before meeting your eyes once again.

“Can I… Can I kiss you?” His question shocks you, your eyes widening and your brows furrowing in confusion. Childe wanted to kiss you? Somehow, you find that hard to believe; you find it hard that Childe viewed you as anyone other than his friend. You’re just you after all.

You think he’s joking, that at any moment he’s about to pull away from you and laugh at your reaction to him wanting to kiss you. Or that he would headbutt you and tease you about letting your guard down in front of him. But his eyes are dark and serious under the dim glow of the aquarium exhibit. Jokes and mischief are void from his eyes as he stares you down, patiently waiting for your answer.

Maybe it was the intimate atmosphere between the two of you or the dim lighting that ensured no one would be able to see you, but regardless you nod your head. You barely whisper out a soft ‘yes’ before Childe leans in to connect the two of you in a soft kiss.

The kiss is gentle, scared even, as you assume Childe is a bit afraid of scaring you away from his declaration. But when you begin to kiss him back, his rough hand cups your jaw to hold you so he can kiss you even more. This time, fear is thrown out of the window as Childe tries to memorize the way your lips feel against his as quickly as he can. You pull away enough to whisper his name, but it’s quickly muffled when he chases after you and closes the space once again.

Kissing him is like the soft lull of the ocean lapping against the shores of a beach. A simple, yet comforting push and pull rhythm against his lips, and you can’t deny that you want more of him. You want to pull him against you, to feel his embrace as he showers you in love the way the waves wash over the rocks on the shore.

But as much as you want more of him, Childe pulls away from the kiss, his sapphire eyes gleaming in the dim exhibit room. You don’t miss the smile that quirks on his lips when you chase after him and a pout forms on your lips. Before you can complain about him pulling away so quickly, there’s a sharp gasp and a gag from behind you.

“Eww, Big Brother. I know you like [Name] a lot, but that doesn’t mean you have to kiss them right in front of me.” Teucer grimaces, frowning even more when Childe presses a kiss on your cheek. You roll your eyes and shove the taller male away from you, though your efforts are futile against him. Childe chuckles, his chest rumbling from beside you, as he pulls away.

“Alright alright, I’m done,” Childe says, getting up. He turns to you and offers you a hand. You gently place your hands in his and your heart beats against your chest when he squeezes it before hoisting you up and out of your seat. You expect him to let go of your hand so Teucer can lead the three of you to the next exhibit he wants to see, but Childe is always full of surprises. His hand never leaves yours, even when Teucer drags the both of you towards where the touch pools are located in the aquarium.

Childe’s hand, larger and rougher than yours, feels completely perfect slotted in yours. Like the missing puzzle piece finally coming to bring the entire puzzle together. And you can’t help but let your heart soar when his thumb rubs small circles on your hand and when he turns to admire you rather than the exhibits around you.

---

“What’s this?” You raise an eyebrow when Childe hands you a cerulean, sparkling shell hanging on a silver chain. Mermaid pendant, $500. Your mouth drops seeing the price tag and you glare at the Snezhnayan, who simply shrugs and gives you a playful smile.

“A gift from me to you,” he replies cheerfully, as if he didn’t just hand you an expensive necklace. You deadpan at him and begin to whack him with your arm. Though it's short lived as he easily catches your wrist in his hand and pulls you closer to him. You curse internally when his smile grows seeing you get flustered at the close proximity.

“Besides, I think it’ll be useful for the near future. You’d look stunning in it, [Name].”

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

no matter what it takes

summary: y/n is kidnapped, and for once reid can’t think of a solution

inspired by this request: Hiiiii! I absolutely love your writing it’s so amazing! I was wondering could there be a storyline where your all working a case (the reader is dating Spencer) and have a lead and you go to the suspect’s house and while there you get kidnapped when back at the BAU the team is trying to work out how to get you back and they get a ransom vid of you getting beaten (dark I know) so they all have to work faster and they find you but while you're taken can we see it from like Spencer’s POV and his thought process on your being gone. Anyways they find you and you’re like drugged majorly injured you wake up in hospital Spencer’s there and it’s fluffy at the end.I know that’s rough but I really love your writing and hope this is ok x

word count: 2,331                                                                                               reading time aprox: 8 mins

a/n: to whoever requested it, i kinda didn’t follow your format or ending. i’m really sorry to disappoint you, but i was writing the plot one way, then suddenly it took a turn. i hope you still enjoy it!

masterlist

Spencer’s POV

My eyes scanned the words in front of me, Charles Dickens displayed in between my hands. I hoped my thoughts would wander more as I explored the novel, taking my mind off of the case I worked previously.

Out of the blue, two soft hands appeared on my knotted hair, massaging the scalp tenderly. “Are you settling okay, my love? How was the case?”

I exhaled deeply, setting the book down beside me as I guided my best girl to my lap. I cushioned her to my side, nuzzling my nose into her shoulder.

“That bad, huh?” Y/N sympathized, trailing her fingers at the cut of my chin. I nodded into her, taking in her calming scent. She smelled of fresh daisies in the summer and the first layer of snow in the winter.

I lifted my head from hers, bringing my arm around her shoulders to pull her closer to me. I sighed in relief as a wave of calm brushed over me. “We were too late...we couldn’t get to one of the last hostages before the unsub.” I shook my head, taking her hand in mine. I examined the daintiness of her fingers, chuckling softly as I placed kisses upon each of them.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she whispered, nuzzling into me as we enjoyed each other’s presence. “Did you catch the unsub?”

“No...he got away last minute,” I sighed, running my hand over my face. “This unsub likes to make things personal. He only killed the last victim to mess with us.”

Silence infiltrated the conversation before it dived into the dark details of the case. The combined sounds of our breathing created a tranquil environment, lulling us to sleep with every second passed.

“I promise you Y/N...”

-

The shade of grey that covered the walls of the BAU prevented agents’ minds from meandering from their tasks. This proved quite effective in intended circumstances, although the caveat was the consequence of a disconcerted mind.

The film cast over my eyes exacerbated the existing burn from staring into space for too long. Although the sensation was unmatched for the void that consumed me from the inside. My limp fingers twitched beside me in a rhythmic pace, reminding me that this was real. My feet felt heavy against the granite tiles of the office, barely able to hold up the rest of my stature. I felt my muscles sag underneath my weight as the feeling of emptiness flooded from my torso to the knuckles of my hands.

“You be careful, Y/N!” I teased, watching as my lover’s silhouette disappeared into the elevator.

“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone!”

I shook my head, amused at the incessant Marvel-themed references that had been thrown my way since our last movie night. “How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

I hissed as I felt my nails dig into my palms. I hadn’t realized how hard I’d been clenching my fists until I looked down to see blood trailing around my nail bed. Shaking my head, I cleaned off the evidence against my slacks, watching it seep through the material.

“Guys?”

My head shot up to find Penelope typing away at her computer. Her brows were crossed with worry and her eyes would flicker frantically between her four monitors. The rest of the team seemed to follow me to her station, gazing with anticipation at what she discovered.

“What do you have Garcia?”

“I-um. I’m picking up a satellite feed somewhere in Danbury, Connecticut,” she spilled out, her fingers shaking over her keys. “Ther-there’s a livestream that just went active two minutes ago, an-and it’s...there’s-oh my god.” Penelope pushed herself away from her screens, tearing her eyes away as her face grew hot.

“Reid. Out.” Hotch demanded, not taking his eyes off the feed in front of him. JJ moved beside him, further blocking my view of the monitor. Her face contorted in shock and disgust, similar to the expression Garcia beheld moments ago.

“What...why?” I questioned, taking steps forward to investigate, but was ultimately stopped by Morgan. A coil wrapped around my insides, getting tighter with every breath that I took. The sides of my forehead began to warm up with a disorienting blaze, traveling down my eyelids. The fire followed down to the pit of my stomach, sending an uneasy chill down my spine.

“Kid…” he whispered, shaking his head in caution.

“What…” I breathed, feeling my cheeks swell up. Morgan couldn’t meet my eyes--none of them could. “God, it’s my girlfriend. I deserve to know where the hell she is,” I huffed, pushing past Morgan. Although the words were launched back into my esophagus, turning into bile that burned away at my pride.

A high-pitched ringing echoed and bounced around my head. My ears thumped with a resonating drum, overwhelming my senses. Every sharp intake of air felt like ice shooting up my nostrils, and every exhale felt like fire to my lungs.

Y/N was hunched over in a chair with braces around her wrists and ankles. Her beautiful hair was matted with dirt and blood, sticking to the sides of her face. Her skin was painted with a mixture of sweat and grime, hiding the usual radiant glow of her skin. Fortunately, the blurry pixels of the video saved me from witnessing the large gashes that ran along her flesh.

A man stood next to her with a Cheshire grin, his pervasive eyes scanning every inch of his work before breaking the fourth wall. He stared at the camera with a joyful gleam, tilting his head as he inspected the lenses.

“Spencer.” I imagined her call out. A phantom chant met my ears, remembering the softness in her voice and the soothing gravity she carried within her words.

“Spencer, stop it!” Y/N giggled, burying herself deeper into our duvet.

“Why baby?” I murmured into the crease of her neck. “We should just stay like this all day. Maybe if we stay long enough we can morph into a chrysalis.”

“Spencer,” she giggled. “Spence…”

“Spence?” JJ empathized, searching my eyes. She placed a hand on the outside of my arm, lingering there for a comforting moment. Although when she realized her attempts were futile, she retracted her arm with a tight frown on her lips. “I know that-”

“The feed is displaying audio now,” Garcia announced with a wavering tone. I slid past JJ, standing my ground next to Hotch as we listened to the livestream. Whimpers echoed throughout the concrete compound she was trapped in. Her body flinched as the man inched closer to her with an object out of view from the camera. The fear in her eyes left a sharp pang in my chest as a burning resentment ignited my bloodstream.

“Stop…” she whispered, pulling away from the man. “Stop...please,” she sobbed. Her face was contorted in anticipation, glancing down at the item creeping towards her. It was only then a glint of a metal object bounced off of the camera, a foreign substance leaking from its tip.

“Stop! Please!” Y/N’s voice amplified in volume as the inevitable came. “NO!” she screamed, thrashing in her seat as the needle penetrated the soft layer of her skin. “SPENCER! HELP!” she cried out, desperation seeping through her weeps.

A suffocating poison ran its course throughout my body, entrapping me in the limited reality of my abilities. I felt my inner conscious thrash against the walls of my mind, begging for an answer, a solution. I tore my eyes away from the screen, my hand unconsciously clawing at the base of my neck. Staggered breaths blocked my airway, and the room shrank under my feet.

I needed to get out.

I let my feet sweep me away from the office, as far as it takes. My back hit the cold wall of the eerie hallway, feeling the chill penetrate through my blazer. I closed my eyes as I banged on my forehead, hoping that the gears would start working, but nothing seemed to bring me assurance.

Nothing could assure that she’ll be okay. I failed her. I failed to assure her that I was going to keep her safe. I failed at keeping her safe. I failed her.

My heart was pulled against my spine, attached tethers tearing it apart in opposite directions. Contractions of adrenaline seeped into my nervous system as her anguished screams left the room silent behind me. It was like gravity had ceased to exist, leaving me floating in a mind-numbing state of desolation.

I failed her.  

“I’m always going to love you,” I reassured, tucking in a hair behind her ear as she swung her legs back and forth atop of the counter.

“Really Spence?” she giggled, bringing the spoonful of 3:00 am ice cream out of her mouth, dangling the utensil from the bottom of her plump lips.  “Prove it?”

“Darling, isn’t there a tub of ice cream--that I bought--in your hands?” I teased, tapping at my watch. “And last time I checked it’s the middle of the night.”

“Whatever,” she giggled, nudging at my shoulder. My hands traveled to the sides of her hips, pulling myself closer as I inspected the beautiful glow of the moonlight reflecting off of her visage. “I thought you were going to say something cute.”

“That wasn’t cute?”

“Not even close, Spencer Reid,” she mumbled, tapping on the end of my nose before taking my face into the softness in her hands. She playfully scoffed as we inspected each other’s eyes for what seemed like hours. My arms found their way around her waist, melting into her, as I lessened the gap between us.

“What is it?” I whispered, my eyes flickering from her eyes to the pigment on her lips. Closing in proximity, I nudged her into me. But before our lips could meet, a chuckle filled the air and a hand was placed above my chest.

“I...am out of ice cream.” With that, she scurried away to the fridge with a bounce in her step. I shook my head in amusement, whispering to myself.

“That girl’s damn lucky that I love her.”

Frenzied feet inside the office took me out of my daze, but it was the sound of soft steps approaching me that made my shoulders stiffen in anticipation. I collected my composure the best as I can, maintaining a brave face for whoever would walk into the doorframe.

I didn’t even bother to look up to see who it was. The figure’s footsteps halted beside the door frame, leather shoes in my peripheral. Without a moment of quiet, the figure stooped down with its back pressed lightly against the wall. Although despite the thick tension, the figure remained silent.

“You know I don’t always need company…” I murmured defensively.

“I know kid...I know,” Morgan huffed, bringing his hands to his head. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have any.” He knocked his knee into mine, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “She’s going to be okay Spencer.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know that she’s strong,” Morgan countered. “You just gotta believe in tha-”

“Don’t- Don’t give me hope like I’m one of the victims we interview. I’m- I’m not a victim.” I nudged his large hand off of me, feeling confined in the big desolate hallway.

“I wasn’t saying you were-”

“But you implied it!” I combed through my hair, my lungs still sore from staggered breaths. “I’m...I’m sorry,” I sighed.

“I said I’m sorry!” I yelled, feeling my throat dry up from the venom dripping from my words.

“This is the third time, Spence. The THIRD time you came home late,” Y/N seethed.

“Who are you? My mother?”

“All I want is to know that you’re safe, Spencer! God! I wait here all day for you, knowing that you’re out there on the field, and something could happen. How does that make me feel?”

“This is ridiculous,” I shook my head, dismissing her ignorance. I headed towards my jacket that I strung up on the coat hanger a few minutes ago, not bothering to take my keys with me.

“Where...where are you going?” Y/N whispered.

I made the mistake of looking back and seeing the hurt present on her face. The apples of her cheeks were stained with tears, and her eyes were glistening with fresh ones. Her lips were parted ever so slightly, still looking plump and soft even in her distressed state.

“To work,” I monotonously replied, turning away from her. I shuffled out of the apartment with anger dominating every part of me, blinding me to the point where I guess I forgot to lock the door.

“I did this.”

Morgan’s head shot up at the utterance of my words. “What do you mean, kid?”

“I left her by herself...alone,” I scoffed. “We were fighting, and I just left her there. God, I didn’t even lock the door.” I rammed the back of my head against the plaster wall, squeezing my eyes tightly. “How can I be so stupid? Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

“Hey, stop that!” Morgan intervened, pulling my shoulders off of the wall. “You didn’t know that this was going to happen…”

“Yes, but I should’ve known, Morgan! Don’t you get it!”

“Spenc-”

“I had one job…” I sighed, the inner walls of my chest collapsing into themselves. “God I...I should’ve known.”

My head fell back into the curves of my palms, my tears shamelessly peeking out of the corners of my eyes. My chest heaved reluctantly, as my heart lurched forward. Heat crawled up my cheeks, combining with the coldness of the tears running down my face.

Morgan’s supporting hand felt like a phantom’s upon the skin of my back, knowing that nothing compared to the innocent touch of my Y/N.

-

“What is it, Spence?”

“I promise you that....that I’m always going to keep you safe, no matter what it takes.”

-

taglist: @rexorangecouny​ @howdycharlie @honeymilk-4​ @linthebinbag​ @andreasworlsboring101​ @ssareidbby​ @kyleetheeditor​ @tclaerh​ @jimilogy​ @lulwaxim @jhillio​ @m3ssytrash​ @haylaansmi​ @meowiemari​ @ashwarren32​ @spencerwaltergubler​

[k-atsukidayo]

headcanon ⤏ waking up with kisses

REQUEST: hi loves! i’d like to send in a request for todoroki, deku, and bakugou ❤️ headcanons for their female s/o waking them up with kisses maybe? nsfw and sfw? if you can’t do all the characters it’s okay you can choose whoever you want. REQUESTED BY: 🌺 anon WARNINGS: fluffy; suggestive/semi-spicy

AUTHOR’S NOTE: best believe i did the future big 3 for you 😤 not full blown nsfw, but i hope you enjoy these as much as i did since i’ve caught a cold? the flu? and writing these made me feel a little better. under a cut because i went pretty overboard hehe 🥴 take care!

⤏ safe for work ⤎

First things first: he is an Early Riser. Though, this habit had been born from his father’s abusive behavior and onslaught of training throughout his childhood. Touched with remaining embers of anxiety, he’s a light sleeper. And with a career as a Pro Hero, he’s tip-top ready to take on the world at ungodly hours. When he clocks out for the day, Shouto is, more often than not, the first to sleep. If there’s anyone doing the wake-up kisses, it’s definitely Shouto.

Sometimes during the night, his heterochromatic eyes will crack open, scanning the room that’s only visible through the dim lighting of the moon. He keeps an arm around your waist to pull you closer and kisses you softly or a hand resting on your stomach, the warmth of you able to lull him back to a relaxing sleep. 

On days when Shouto doesn’t need to wear the hero label, it can go one of two ways: either you wake up first and Shouto naturally follows suit a few minutes after or Shouto wakes up first and silently admires you, the image of you in a dream-filled slumber too damn cute to cause any kind of disturbance. And it’s because you’re so cute, he’ll end up peppering you with kisses. Thankfully, you’re quite the morning person too, so you both begin the day together. 

Kissing Shouto awake is something you’ll never get tired of. Sweetie, you are positively enamored for him. 

As much as you love waking up to his kisses, you make it a point to always spoil him when the opportunity presents itself. You’re quick as hell to take what you’re given, especially if it relates to him. It’s in your desire to love him unconditionally.

The music of birds chirping welcomes you, your circadian rhythm plucking you from your sleepiness. Rubbing your eyes, you let out a hefty yawn. As you arch your back and extend your limbs, bones popping faintly, your line of sight curves to the side to form the visage of the man next you. Lips twisting upwards, you savor the image of Shouto, the steady rise and fall of his chest, his face so serene. 

Feeling overjoyed that you are the winner this morning, you sneakily drift closer to your sleeping Shouto. With your faces merely centimeters apart, you silently chuckle knowing what comes next.

M’lady, it’s your time to shine. 

Your lithe fingers part his white-red hair cautiously; when the surface of his forehead peaks through, you’re quick to plant one, two, three subtle kisses. Your caresses waltz down the bridge of his nose and you make sure to leave extra affection at the tip. You have to suppress a giggle when Shouto crinkles his nose at the sensation of your lips. Precious. 

Leaving open-mouthed kisses across his cheeks, you begin to leave lingering pecks around the length of his scar. If you had to name a favorite part of him to kiss, other than his lips, it is, hands down, his scar. While it doesn’t name good memories, it conveys a powerful tale that’s helped shape him into the hero, the man, he is today. You hope your kisses will wash away any persisting discomfort, that your love will offer pure light and happiness to him.

“Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” Shouto’s amused, an arm reaching around you to pull you in closer to his broad frame. Tilting away slightly, you share the same pleasure on your face, your eyes sparkling a bit more now than they did when you woke.

“Of course,” you laugh. “Good morning, love.” The room is quiet; but, if you listen closely, you can hear the beats of his and your hearts, the melody of your deep, deep, deep passion that can even put Romeo and Juliet to shame. As you play with Shouto’s hair, his hand happily seats itself behind the back of your head. Closing the distance, he steals your lips, smiling in between kisses. 

⤏ suggestive/semi-spicy ⤎

I like to believe that while you can be bold as hell when it comes to initiating the more intimate parts of your relationship with Shouto, your half-and-half babe won’t let you conquer for too long. It’s written loud and clear in the Todoroki genes—he’s meant to climb mountains and cross oceans and take what he desires. Lucky for you that’s a dream come true. He and you are always aching for more.

In all honesty, it doesn’t take many kisses from you to wake him.

 But, listen, Shouto is fucking sly and will pretend to stay asleep just so you can continue your sweet assault. This is his way of allowing you to relish your final moments of glory before he takes the reign. Once he’s let you have enough of your fun…oh, darling, you’re not going anywhere. 

As soon as your lips trail down from his ear to the crook of his neck, that little thread inside Shouto snaps, his patience unmistakably out the door. He finally opens those gorgeous eyes of his and pulls away with a smirk. His two-toned watch on you scorches through your very core, sending sparks of electricity up your spine. 

My dear, didn’t anyone tell you that if you fly too close to the sun, you’ll get burned? Though I’m sure you’ve long thrown away all your reservations.

“Mind if I have you this morning, sweetheart?” The sound of Shouto’s pet name for you rolls deliciously over his tongue. You’re over the edge and you’re enthusiastic to find out what happens when you turn the page of this chapter. With Shouto, you’re again and again left catching your breath for his touch. There’s just never a dull moment with him.

Who knew wake-up kisses could make you swell in romantic heat? 

A squeal bubbles through your lips when Shouto hovers over you and pins your wrists above your head, his gaze traveling up and down your delicate figure. Like a lion towards its prey, Shouto’s hunger can only be satisfied by you. He smiles at you sweetly despite his eyes delivering…spicier intentions. When he’s like this, the duality of Todoroki Shouto is certainly a marvel to behold. Count your blessings—you are the only one to see such a beauty. 

You don’t have time to speak his name; his lips are on yours in seconds, enjoying your honeyed flavor. Lip-locked and gasping for air, Shouto backs away, his thumb playing with your bottom lip that shines with saliva mixed with his and yours. He chuckles at the image of you, your cheeks so adorably flushed. He attacks your jaw, lingering kisses up and around, and swiftly trails hot caresses along your throat. Tugging the neck of your shirt down, he pays special attention to the spot just below your collarbone and your chest. 

Shouto thinks you’re beautiful all the time, but when you’re like this, you’re exceptionally more beautiful. He could carve you in his mind forever. When you say his name through heavy breaths, Shouto is fired up, more and more eager to take you to seventh heaven with him. 

⤏ safe for work ⤎

Believe it or not, this green curly hair cutie is up and running just before or at the first glimpse of sunrise. He’s quick to leave bed, stealth at 100% to avoid waking you. Much like his time as a U.A. student, he either trains to begin or end his days. If it’s the former, it provides him that boost of energy when he puts on his costume and works as a Pro Hero. In his eyes, there’s always room for improvement, especially since One For All is one of the most powerful quirks in existence. It’s difficult to fully master. So, don’t be surprised if Izuku’s sleeping hours are rather…questionable. One of his favorite things to do is kiss you, but he’s not much one to continue if it means interrupting your needed rest.

But for the mornings he’s able to sleep in, you never hesitate to shower your beloved with kisses. He loves waking up this way. 

Cold air brushes your face, tickling your nose. Your eyebrows furrow as you huddle in closer to the source of warmth in front of you, seeking additional comfort against the breeze. While tugging the blanket higher with a free hand, you feel slow steady breathing against the crown of your head. You’re careful to peak upwards, your eyes drawing the precious image of Izuku sleeping soundly, his soft lips slightly parted and a little…tempting to touch with yours.

You bite your lip, suppressing a smile with fruitless success. You don’t get enough chances to see him in this peaceful state since he’s typically awake before you. And, with Pro Hero work, there’s no guarantee he’ll always be with you when you fall asleep. He tries, and you appreciate his efforts. You relish in all the moments you do get. Twisting your body, you reach for your phone, of course making sure to not disrupt Izuku’s slumber—not yet at least. With a hurried swipe down the screen, your finger presses the camera icon. 

Time for a photoshoot of a snoozing Izuku? Definitely. What Izuku doesn’t know won’t hurt him. 

Photo after photo, you become overwhelmed by the desire to kiss him. You nuzzle the tip of your nose against his chin, the whites of your teeth shining. Moving up, you press a gentle kiss onto his lips. You take a moment to gaze at him, wondering how many kisses it’ll take before he stirs awake. You thumb his lower lip, your other fingers providing delicate strokes to the side of his face. You mentally count the soft pecks to his mouth, his nose, and his freckles, your favorite. 

You’re having too much fun peppering his cheeks.

Izuku’s arms twitch over you, his hands spreading over your spine before squeezing you into a tighter hug. Once your eyes find his, you’re internally screaming, weeping over the visage you see. Izuku is blinking once, twice. His eyes are half-lidded as he gifts you a sleepy grin.

 Oh, how you want to wrap him in your arms and never let go. 

“Well, good morning to you too, honey.” Izuku chuckles as he caresses your cheek; and you’re all too eager to lean in and plant a kiss onto the palm of his scarred hand. At the sight of you, his heart swells up, him feeling so eternally grateful for the love you’ve given him.

He wishes you could kiss him awake every day. 

Izuku brings himself closer, ending the gap between his lips and yours and kissing you with all the tenderness he can ever muster. It’s a breathtaking kiss, a kiss that inspires all the new and old stars to shine even brighter. 

⤏ suggestive/semi-spicy ⤎

Alright, please hear me out on this: I imagine you being the one to initiate a…good number of things at the beginning of your relationship with dear Izuku. He’s quite shy and nervous about all kinds of physical affection because it’s you, and the last thing he’d ever want is to make you uncomfortable. Babe wishes only the best and nothing but the best for you. 

But, watch out. Once Izuku is gains enough confidence, he’ll initiate the intimacies, even the steamy ones. If your lips are lingering on his, he’ll gladly reciprocate and adjust to what you enjoy.

There’s no doubt that darling Izuku can take the lead when he desires. On some days, though, he savors the pleasure in letting you control the pace in your salacious escapades. 

With a mischievous smile on your face, you press open-mouthed kisses on his neck. Izuku loves, loves, loves neck kisses since he’s just so sensitive there. When you begin nipping at his skin, Izuku is instantly wide-awake, trembling ever so cutely. His hands grip your hips, guiding you up to sit comfortably between his abdomen and pelvis. You prop your hands near the curls of his hair and lean into his face.

“Good morning, baby,” you say in between pecks. Long gone is Izuku, utterly pure goo by your loving touches. 

Expectedly, he’s speechless, too focused on the generosity of your passion. Because he’s hopelessly lost in you, his words are incoherent, a mumbling mess when he makes an attempt to ask for more. Fortunately for him, you’re able to comprehend his sweet soft ramblings; and with a giggle, you comply with deliberately slow caresses before shifting in hurried fervor when he least expects it and then repeating the cycle. 

Such a tease. You don’t see Izuku complaining though. Hell no. 

If there’s anything truly addicting it has to be your kisses. And, no, you can’t fight Izuku on this. He’ll take this to his grave if he has to. Your lips, against his own or over his body, leave sweet delectable marks of your unwavering adoration; though unseen he knows you’re forever with him. 

Sweetie, Izuku is under your spell. He’ll follow you through the ends of the earth if you allow him. You are the one for him.    

Deft fingers play with the hem of your over-sized shirt, lifting it up and exposing your soft skin to draw little shapes. You hum when Izuku traces your bare back, the combination of the cool air and his hot digits too tantalizing. With one hand cupping your beloved’s face, the other is interlaced with his. You can feel the various diminutive bumps and ridges adorned around his palm and digits. Bodies meshed together, tongues tangled, lips coated in saliva, you and Izuku are living a euphoric paradise this morning. 

⤏ safe for work ⤎

We all know about the legendary Bakugou Hours. The man’s already asleep by 9 P.M. on some days. I say some because, well, working as a Pro Hero is certainly not a walk in the park. That’s silly. Expect him to be home to you at god knows what hours most of the time. With his body already conditioned to somehow function at peak performance at the crack of dawn with merely a few hours of sleep is a feat in and of itself. He is most likely the one waking you up with kisses. 

However, the days that you wake up before your explosive darling are his favorite days. 

Gleams of the warm sunrise peak through the tiny spaces between the curtains of your shared room, stroking your face and stirring you from a deep delightful slumber. The bridge of your cute nose scrunching at the sun’s intrusion. You swiftly move a hand to your brow bone, creating peace to your delicate eyelids. Your eyes flutter open, the tenderness of your gaze on Katsuki faintly snoozing as he lays on his side.

You take a moment to swallow in his image—the vulnerability and natural beauty of Katsuki while he sleeps pulls at your heartstrings every single time. You want to cradle him forever, guard him from the darkness of the world because you know he damn well deserves that kind of love, the love that brings peace to his mind.  

As he sleeps, you oh so carefully shuffle closer, your body mirroring his position. Both of you typically hold each other in your arms, him the big spoon or vice versa; but, you and Katsuki tend to move around as your sleep cycles further during the night.

With your fingers, you delicately trace his lips, which are so soft despite some cracks faintly peeking through now. Closing the gap between you, you press your lips against him, peppering Katsuki with chaste kisses that hold the weight of the world in them. Craning your neck, you trail loving caresses along his jaw, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, both eyelids, even his eyelashes, and his forehead. 

Katsuki’s body trembles underneath your gentle assault, his limbs beginning to rustle under the blanket, his handsome face crinkling. His vermillion eyes snap open when he feels your lips lingering just a tad longer at the sensitive spot between his neck and shoulder. A shiver runs down his body.

Fuck, what a great thing to wake up to.

Is he pleased? Hell yeah, of course. But, he could definitely have more of you. 

He shifts and releases a low grunt of satisfaction from the back of his throat, relishing the warmth of your kisses. You rub your nose against Katsuki’s for an eskimo kiss and pull back, admiring the sleepiness etched onto his face. He’s adorable. And, you’re ready to bury your face onto your pillow and squeal. You bite your lip as you smile and use the pad of your finger to tap his nose.

“Good morning, sweet prince.” Watching him blink through his sleepy daze, you giggle, the sound of your voice intoxicating to Katsuki. He wraps an arm around the small of your back, bringing your body to fit snug against his. 

“G’mornin’ princess,” he murmurs against the top of your head. You can feel his lips curving. It makes you truly happy to spend these quiet moments with him. No one, but you can see him like this; and every day you’re thankful to love and be loved by the one and only Bakugou Katsuki. 

⤏ suggestive/semi-spicy ⤎

Okay, real talk. You simply don’t wake up Katsuki with your lips pressed against him without expecting something in return. If he is the one initiating the morning kisses, then you’re guaranteed for one hell of a ride. If you are the one taking the initiative, you bet your ass Katsuki will want more. But, this can go two ways: the need for food in your belly overcomes the need for Katsuki or the need for Katsuki overcomes the need for food in your belly. Well, let’s just say your appetite for him is too strong on most days.

The man is insatiable for you and will, more often than not, take you when he pleases and however he pleases. You don’t mind though, not in the slightest. You crave him as much as he craves you.

The sensation of a particular kiss against his throat easily rouses him from a relaxing sleep. His fingers tangle in the soft locks of your hair, gently pulling to guide your head upwards and making you come face to face with him. Katsuki has that look—an unquestionably sinful glint in his eyes. His vermillion gaze burns through your own, sparks of fire dancing between you. Before you can greet him, Katsuki pulls you close, your back arching as he hovers his face in the valley between your breasts exposed by the lace camisole you’re wearing and nips at the delicate skin.

Will he leave a mark? Yes. This is Bakugou Katsuki. He just has to claim you in any way possible.

“Mmm, Suki. What about breakfast?” You’re breathless, the words from your mouth spoken through each slow passionate kiss.

“I’m having you for breakfast, princess.” Katsuki pushes you down, your figure falling a little…unceremoniously against the mattress. His brawny frame hovering your small one, his knee finding comfortable purchase between your bare legs. Your head is caged between his forearms. 

Good luck trying to get out. Once he has you in his clutches, there’s no way out.

And suddenly, that familiar tingle rushes through your body, the tips of your toes slightly curling, the rosiness of your cheeks painting the obvious excitement for what’s to come.

Playing with fire is dangerous, honey. So, don’t expect to be having an actual breakfast any time soon. Maybe a late lunch. Who knows?

Katsuki captures your mouth in great haste, his tongue smoothing over your bottom lip and eagerly welcoming yours in passionate heat, devouring you like a starved man. You’re breathless, overwhelmed by the intensity of his desire. Pulling away with a pop, there’s a string of saliva connecting you both. He brings his delicious ambush down your body as his nimble fingers lift your camisole to feel the softness of your skin. Your hands grip his hair, lightly tugging and grazing your fingernails against his scalp in pure bliss. This action only spurs Katsuki, a smug grin drawing onto his face. His caresses are teasing, but they become more fervent, quicker, messier.

Katsuki has always been a passionate person; his explosive nature and steadfast determination are obvious indications of his character. And, well, naturally this carries over elsewhere. 

[kiame-sama]

Could you do a Yandere Silva where the reader is getting hit on by a butler with a death wish and Silva freaks and it ends with rough sex where reader won’t be able to walk👀🍵

Warnings; lemon, rough behavior, yandere relationship, yandere behavior, mentioned non-con, reader gets threatened, reader has female parts, oral (female receiving), oral (male receiving), 69, peak into the yandere mind of an assassin,

~~~~~~~~

You sat quietly in your room, relaxing back on the large couch and idly listening to whatever was currently on the TV. It had been a fairly quiet day, but most days were quiet (other than when Silva decides he needs attention). You were rather bored, slightly considered taking a nap or even calling for Silva just for some kind of entertainment.

Just as you were in the middle of deciding what to do, the door slowly began to open. This immediately put you on guard since the only ones who would enter your room tended to fling it open despite how unbelievably heavy the door actually was. You were quick to retrieve your panic button, a distress alert Silva had given you just in precaution for someone getting to your room. It only happened once that some fool decided to kidnap you without anyone knowing until you were already gone, but he made certain it would never happen again.

You fiddled with the small device nervously, watching the door with great anticipation for whoever it was on the other side. You were surprised to see a man you had never met before. He wore a suit identical to that of the butlers that worked in the manor, but all of the butlers should know better than to even come within twenty feet of your room.

"So you're the famous Zoldyck treasure. I can certainly see why."

He looked you up and down, making you feel far more exposed than you actually were. The man was blond and had bright blue eyes that seemed to glimmer in the light of your cell. He was fairly tall, though not as tall as Silva, and he had sun-kissed tan skin. The way he looked at you like a piece of meat made your skin start to crawl, so you subtly pressed the button and hoped that this man wouldn't have the time to do anything to you.

"You're quite the big mystery. Most here don't know what's in this room, and It's even one of the most enforced rules; don't go near this room. I can see why you're considered a treasure, a lovely thing like you would attract a lot of attention. But, I don't see why you're kept away from everyone like this. Can you tell me?"

"..."

"It's okay, I don't bite, unless you want me to. You must be such a fragile little thing, being locked up like this for your safety."

"I'm not locked up for my own benefit."

"Oh?"

"I'm here because my husband doesn't like sharing."

This, instead of making the man back off like you thought it would, the man only seemed to become more interested in you due to your words. He began a slow approach towards you, making you retreat until your back was pressed against the wall and he was mere inches away from you. You tried to turn your head away from him, keeping as much distance as possible between the two of you, knowing just how Silva will react.

"He doesn't have to know... Isn't it exciting, though? Sneaking around like this."

"No."

"Oh come on, live a little, sweetheart."

"Leave me alone."

"Nah, I don't think I will. In fact, no one even knows I'm here, so no one will come check on you. I could do so many things to your tight little body with the time I have... And no one would even hear you cry for help."

"Stop- Stop it."

"So scared. Good. I like 'em scared. You're gonna be so much f-"

He was suddenly cut off by the door slamming open with enough force to make the walls shake, him turning on his heel to confront whoever just arrived. You were quick to slide past the stunned man as he turned away from you, hurriedly making it to Silva's side and hiding behind him. The man had a look of pure terror on his face, clearly not expecting the terrifying assassin to appear.

You gripped tightly to the back of Silva's shirt, pressing your forehead against his broad back as you hid from the intruder that had threatened you so gleefully. The small glimpse you got of Silva's expression was enough to tell you everything you needed to know. He wasn't just mad, he was furious. Luckily, none of that fury was directed towards you.

Not only were his burning blue eyes filled with pure hate, they seemed to glow in the light of the room with a predatorial glint. He never really seemed to smile anyway, but his expression wasn't his usual scowl, it was akin to the stone-cold expression of a wild animal ready to kill. There was a palpable hate in the air that made it quite clear Silva had no intention to let the man live.

"Did he do anything to you?"

"He threatened me."

A low hum that sounded more like a growl rumbled from his chest, clearly displeased. The man had yet to move from his original spot, frozen in terror at the intimidating visage of your furious husband. Had the situation been different, and had the man not threatened you, you would have felt pity for him, but you felt no pity now.

"Explain."

"Wha-What?"

"Explain just what you are doing in my wife's room."

The man had already been terror stricken, but now all of the color disappeared from his face as he realized just how stupid his decision had been. He had assumed you were just another family member, maybe a sister or daughter. He only began to now realize just how fucked he was. Even though he was a relatively new butler, he knew of Silva's infamous temper and he also knew to never talk about Silva's wife, lest he wish for the most painful death possible.

He had seen Kikyo around, and since Kalluto was always trailing behind, he had assumed that she was Silva's wife and did his damndest to stay away from her and stay out of her path. He had heard stories about what would happen to anyone who took any level of interest in Silva's wife, but he had just figured it was meant as a basic warning about the woman herself. Yet here he was, staring at the most terrifying man he had ever encountered after just having threatened and attempted to force himself onto the very woman he was warned to never speak of.

"Well?"

"I- I didn't- I hadn't- but-"

"You've already exceeded my patience, filth."

"I'm- I'm sorry! I didn't know who she was! I wouldn't have said those things to her if-"

"Said what 'things'?"

"..."

You pulled away to look up at your towering husband, seeing him glance over his shoulder at you, his eyes far more gentle and loving. The glance was a clear prompt to speak, and you'd rather not push Silva's buttons at that moment, given his unyielding rage about to overflow.

"He threatened to rape me and said no one would hear me scream."

There was a sudden change in the entire room the moment you finished your sentence. It was a crushingly heavy pressure that seeped into every corner like a rolling miasma, consuming everything. The pressure quickly lifted from you, allowing you to breathe though it was clear the intruder did not receive the same kindness as he choked and dropped to his knees.

If you thought Silva was mad before, he was as tame as a kitten in comparison to the rage that now consumed him. You were well aware of Silva's knowledge in ways to kill a man, but it seemed more like he was interested in a slow drawn out slaughter. He never once looked away from the terrified man, even as he spoke in a gentle tone to you.

"(Y/n), go wait in our room. Don't come out until I tell you to."

"Alright..."

Quickly scrambling to the room you two shared, you caught a glimpse at Silva's expression and felt your heart drop into your stomach. Even though you knew he was not angry with you at all, that look alone sent fear running down your spine and into your very being. You closed the door and sat on your bed, hearing a sudden shrill voice begin screaming.

It wasn't hard for you to guess the kind of mood Silva would be in once he was done dealing with the man. There was no doubt in your mind he was going to be rough as well, knowing how he got when jealous. You also knew he would be jealous as all hell due to the man being in your room. It may not have been your fault and the man may be dead, but with Silva, jealousy didn't fade away.

There were few things you could do at that point to soften Silva's mood, and honestly him being rough wasn't that bad (so long as he doesn't break your bones). Given how terrifying just a glance at him was, you figured you'd do something that should brighten his mood and help soothe his jealousy a bit. You dug through your clothes picking out your white and blue lingerie- Silva's favorite for obvious reasons- and waited on the bed.

The screams had yet to stop, though they certainly took on a more gurgling tone the longer it went. You shivered slightly, wondering just what Silva was doing to the man, since he was an expert at torturing people. Though he has hurt you in the past- most being accidental- you know just how strong he is and just how deeply his few emotions impact him. Looking from the outside, he feels nothing, but with you he is extremely expressive in everything he does.

You lay back on the bed, thinking about how much you truly impacted him and how much your wellness meant to him. Hell, the man would move heaven itself if you wanted him to. He was the dominant partner, but he was also a slave to your every emotion.

While you let yourself get lost in thought, you slowly slipped off to sleep with Silva's pillow cuddled in your arms.

Movement on the bed drew you out of your peaceful slumber, letting out an upset whine at being woken. You were slightly disoriented from your sudden awakening and blearily blinked the sleep out of your eyes. As your brain began to fully wake as well, you realized that Silva was right above you, his large hands on either side of your head.

There was a faint feeling of surprise as you noticed not a speck of blood on the giant man. You figured he would have been soaked in the blood of that idiot butler, but not a single fleck of red marred his flawless skin.

"Trying to cheer me up?"

There was the slightest of smiles pulling at his lips as his eyes slowly dragged over your barely covered figure, letting out a low hum of pleasure and licking his lips slowly. He seemed almost too calm at that moment, but you knew the beast that dwells within would easily come forth once he began.

"It certainly does help..."

"I thought it would be nice to surprise you... but I guess I fell asleep before you came back."

"You are a wonderful creature, (y/n), did you know that?"

"Well, there has to be some reason you keep me around."

"Sassy thing."

His tone was teasing, but you knew he wouldn't be teasing you for very long, not with the way his sharp blue eyes roamed your body. He sat up, now letting his hands roam your soft body and squeezing every few seconds. No matter what mark may be on you- be it a scar, a birthmark, a mole, didn't matter- he adored you and held such reverence for you. Even when you gain or lose weight, you are a Goddess in his eyes, and he made sure to treat his Goddess well.

"Mmm, you do know how to rile me up."

"Lots of practice."

You reached up to run your fingers through his hair, watching his eyes narrow in bliss from your gentle touch. When you suddenly tightened your grip and tugged on his long hair, that calm expression changed in an instant. He was now less of a man than he was a beast, moving you suddenly so your legs rest on his shoulders, your back against the pillows.

He didn't say a single word as he gripped the lacy panties you wore between his teeth, pulling back in one smooth motion and ripping the delicate fabric with ease. You were about to whine at the destruction of his favorite set but you didn't even manage to get a single word out before he buried his head between your thighs, tongue easily sliding through your soft folds. He didn't bother with being slow in working you up, he just slid his tongue as deeply into you as he could to slurp up your juices.

The noises coming from him were obscene as he sucked on your soft pussy, low moans vibrating against you as he gripped your legs tighter, pulling you closer to his mouth. You ran your fingers through his hair, gripping tightly and tilting your head back with breathy moans. He held your hips still, making it so you were unable to do anything other than writhe in the pleasure he gave you.

It was clear that him holding you still was more of a dominance thing to reassure himself and soothe his burning jealousy more than it was to show his dominance over you. He was using your presence and your sweet moans as his own validation of being your one and only. Reminding himself- and in some ways, you- that you were still his and he had no intention of sharing you in any way.

You truly have only had honest social interaction with three people on a consistent basis and your five children on the odd occasion for more than twenty years. If that didn't give you a good visualization of how deep his jealousy runs, then it would be the contempt he has for his own children. As far as he was concerned, you only truly needed him in your life and no one else would have the chance or ability to get between the two of you.

He was much like a religious zealot with how fiercely he coveted you and everything about you. His tongue was as deep in you as possible while his large thumb rubbed your clit, blue eyes closed in bliss as if he truly received deep pleasure from taking care of you and pleasuring you like a wild animal did its mate. You were his everything, and he wanted your everything desperately enough he had you kidnapped only days after meeting you, already in deep obsession and fanatical adoration for you.

Continuing with endless stamina, he brought you up to mindless pleasure and kept you there, every whining cry you made only served to fuel his desire and increase blood-flow to his achingly hard cock. In typical Silva fashion, he completely ignored his own needs to not only ensure your pleasure, but to test himself to see how long he could listen to you moan before snapping and giving in to the starving beast within him. He was quite the dominant masochist when it came down to it, always adoring every scratch and mark you make on his fair skin but also making sure he was the one on top and in control.

With a loud sucking sound, he pulled away from your soaked pussy, licking his lips with hazy bliss filled eyes never leaving your shaking form. He was completely lost in his desire to possess all of you, and he gently trailed his warm hands up your soft front until he lightly gripped your chin, holding your mouth open. You were faintly worried about what he planned on doing while in such a blissed out state, yelping when he moved you down the bed with both hands before moving so his muscular legs were on either side of your head.

He slid his large cock slowly into your mouth, your jaw stretching a bit further to accommodate the rock-hard length. A deep moan rose up from his chest as he thrusted his hips a few times before returning to digging his tongue into your slick heat. He did the majority of the work to pleasure you both, ensuring to keep himself from making you deep throat him just yet. You reached up to rest your hands on his hips for your own sake should he unintentionally begin to choke you, but to Silva the contact of your gentle hands on his pale skin was overwhelmingly intense.

He was extremely touch starved when it came to you due to his distant and cold upbringing despite how much physical contact he actually had with you on a regular basis. Just another reason for him to be obsessed with the touch of your skin and the feel of your body against his. Each small brush of your hand anywhere on his body sent intense sensations running through his very being. To feel not a hint of affection during the critical developmental beginning years of his life left him distant and made him believe all outside touch would bring only pain.

Of course, when he met you, his entire world changed drastically. Your touch was gentle and brought no pain with it, only the sweet sensation of honest care and empathy. He had to have you, and only you. Only your touch brought him such calming pleasure and consuming affection. Even as he bucked his hips into your warm mouth, he was past cloud 9 in absolute bliss, sinking his tongue into your extremely wet pussy and almost desperately trying to bring you the same level of pleasure that he felt even when simply in your presence.

That's what he always tried to do.

He felt so much from and for you that he couldn't help but attempt to reciprocate that pleasure any chance he got. His addiction to your touch was likely why you two were still so sexually active even after decades together, that and Silva used that intimate connection to soothe his own mind consuming anxiety. It was why he became so irritable whenever he is away from your side for more than 24 hours. His mind drowns him in anxiety with every outcome of you being attacked while he is away.

It would destroy him to know something hurt you or you were unwell in some way while he was gone. He would feel like he failed you as your husband and that he failed you as your protector. He refused to fail. The cost would be too great.

You, on the other hand, happened to be lost in the feelings of pleasure running through your veins, to the point you didn't honestly notice much other than the warm cock in your mouth and the hot tongue on your pussy. Every moan you made only made that large length twitch and throb, feeling the slide of your tongue against his flesh as you let your fingers slide over his hips. It was clear he enjoyed it as he let out deep moans and growls of pleasure, holding himself back as long as possible.

Just when you felt the pulse of his heartbeat flutter, he pulled away from you, leaving you confused and slightly dazed. He was watching you try to collect your thoughts, proud he made you so delirious with pleasure that you needed time to return to awareness. His movements were slow and methodical as he positioned himself between your legs, raising your hips up so he could slide through your soft folds.

"Look at me, (y/n)."

His deep voice drew your scattered attention, staring up into his intense blue eyes in an almost questioning way. There was a moment of silence as he stared at you in adoration, not looking away from you as he slowly slid his firm length into you, watching the way you gasped and writhed on the bed. He gave you only a moment to adjust to his size once more before he began to thrust into your welcoming body, drowning in the tight embrace of your warm insides.

You moved up and down on the bed with each rough thrust, clawing at the sheets beneath you. Silva pound into you with such intensity you could barely draw in a breath before it was being forced back out with another rough thrust. He leaned over your writhing and mewling form to start pressing open mouthed kissed against your neck, biting down a few times to hear you yelp and whine. You wrapped your arms around him and let your nails bite down on his fair skin, shivering from his rumbling moan directly against you ear.

As you felt your orgasm creeping up with alarming speed, you reached up to his hair and gripped on the long locks, tugging hard enough to remove his lips from your neck. You had to stop tugging on his hair and just cling to him as his thrusts became rougher, pressing one of his hands against your soft stomach and feeling the way he moved inside of you. The increased sensation of his large cock rubbing against your tight walls practically made you scream in delight, your pleasure overwhelming and consuming you as your orgasm flooded your body.

"So tight..! You are mine. You will always be mine. I'll never let you go. I'll never let you forget."

You barely registered his crooning words due to your overstimulated nerves sizzling in your brain. He adored the hazy look in your eyes as you were consumed by the pleasure he provided you. That sweet expression on your lovely face was enough to push him over the edge, his hot cum painting your soft insides with every intense pulse.

When he finally pulled out of you, you were still trying to catch your breath and clung to his body with all of the remaining energy you had. The low humming chuckle that came from him was a soft and soothing rumble that was quite like the purr of some feral beast. You curled close to his warm body, snuggling down into his grasp as he pulled the blanket over the both of you, kissing your forehead gently.

"Mine."

[lupin-et-rose]

Second Chances Best Served...

Jigen x Female Reader (1st person)

"Supernatural" AU

(Warnings for mild language, mentions of violence and sexual themes. Minors DNI.)

'Your target can be found at the Monkshood Cafe, 8 o-clock sharp on Saturdays. Revenge best served hot.'

With the sun streaming through the tinted windows, I could almost convince myself the sun was setting. But it's much too early for that. Grinders and boilers whir to life around me. The clicking of cups and tills carry the rich scent of coffee and cash through the air. Tendrils of steam dance on the wood-panelled ceiling. Tapping to the tune of human chatter from every direction.

Heat emanates between my palms as I lift my own cup of 'coffee' to my lips. I glance at the clock on the wall. Quarter till eight. Fifteen minutes till payday number two...The thick, full-bodied beverage in my hands soothes the burning hunger in my gut. Though the prickle of anticipation still lingers on my skin. I can be patient, it's not like I'm low on practice. It's just another mangy mutt I'm putting down, after all.

The client gave me no physical descriptors to engage with; the place and time were really all I had to go off--actually, scratch that. That's not necessarily true. They certainly did their research beforehand, nailing down the target's habits and haunts. Certainly makes my job easier. Whoever it is I'm looking for, they have a very specific comfort zone and are quite picky about punctuality. Another point in my favour. Judging by the venue I've been sent to, seems this target is rather old-fashioned as well. I could think of a couple well-known names in the underworld who fit that description. But, perhaps the most telling detail of all--this new client sought me out by my reputation. That can only mean one thing. 58...59...

The bell rings over the door.

I look up. My frozen heart jolts inside my chest. Or...not. At the same time, I can't help thinking; you've gotta be shitting me. But there's no mistaking it. The rumpled suit, the gangly limbs, the scraggly beard--and that thrice-damned hat! I bite my tongue. The sharp tang of iron swells in my throat, setting my nerves on fire. My stomach burns.

I can hear the beat of his heart from here. Ba-dum, Ba-dum, slow and steady as he strides to the counter. Just an ordinary day at an ordinary cafe. No curled fangs. No pointed ears. No flashing tail. To any passing civilian he's just as human as anybody else. I run my tongue over my teeth. To those beneath the surface, he's a well-known thief and a nigh-perfect marksman. Still presumed human. I know that man is hairier beneath the suit than most would expect, but that's a far cry from the monsters I'm typically enlisted to hunt. To kill.

A low hiss rattles under my breath.

His head snaps to the sound. On a dime, his eyes meet mine. Pulsing fire turns to chilling ice in my veins. That lazy-tom-cat visage balloons beneath the brim of his hat. Jaw slack. Tanned skin turned pale. The barista hands him his drink and his change. He doesn't even look at her. His actions are somehow automatic, inattentive, and miraculously polite. A familiar sight when his mind is so far away.

He keeps those slow and steady strides, now away from the counter and toward my booth. The scrambling of his pulse nearly swallows the sound of his steps. I hide the aching in my gums with a sip of my cup. The disgruntled gunman slams his drink on the table and snarls.

"What in the hell are you doing here?"

"Aww, so you do recognize me," Turn on the charm and everything comes easily. His nose pinches. "I'm touched Jigen, truly. It's so good to see you--"

"Don't play coy with me, woman," The man insists on keeping his voice lower than the thermostat. "People like us don't bump into each other by accident. Just what the hell are you up to?"

"Up to?" I ask, quirking a brow. One long sip is enough to prompt a scowl. "Well, I've found a new job recently. Pays quite well. I was scheduled to meet with a new hire here this morning, but it's just as well I ran into you."

A growl rumbles deep in his chest. My own ribs tense. Skin prickling, jaw aching, crimson red flaring at the edge of my vision. One deep breath. Keep it together, I remind myself. Don't lash out. Target 'best served hot,' remember?

"So there's a bounty on my head."

"Something like that," I shrug. A wave of a hand finds him sitting in the bench seat across from me. "Makes sense, wanting to take a mangy mutt off the street. It's perfectly sunny and you still smell like wet dog."

The marksman's lips curl in a half-snarl. "And you smell like death-"

"Rude."

Jigen scoffs. His nose twitches. The brim of his hat suddenly locks onto the lid of my drink. "What's your poison?"

"Tea." Single syllables are the easiest lies.

"Tch. Of wcourse, you would," his dimples twitch. The movement flickers like candlelight before disappearing again. He sniffs. "-What flavour?"

"Blood Orange."

His hat lifts scarcely an inch. One hazel eye, sharp as a knife, pins me to my seat. "Tell me the truth."

"You can't handle the truth."

His teeth grate and grind from across the table. "You're after the price on my head, aren't you?"

"If I had known it was you, I wouldn't have drawn up the contract."

"Oh really? Got a soft spot for all the sorry suckers you screwed over the years?"

"Stop it, you know it wasn't like that."

"Wasn't it? And how would I know, exactly?"

"Now you're just being bitter."

"I'd say I have a right to be bitter, don't you? Sixteen years of nothing but a note and now you show up to arrest me? Tch. What a shitty joke." Jigen sits silently for a moment. This may be the first sip he's had of his own coffee since we spotted each other what was it--I glance a the clock--twenty minutes ago. Wow.

"Are you here to arrest me?"

"Do I look like a police officer to you?"

"No, you look like a washed-up actress. Maybe a blood-sucking parasite. But I'm guessing that's not what you do for a living."

"Asshole. You're lucky I'm supposed to bring you in alive. Otherwise, I'd put a bullet in your head like the dog you are."

"You rotten-!" His insult falls short. "Hold on a friggin' minute. Since when were you doing hit-jobs?"

"Not as long as you."

"Hey-!"

"Don't act like you've got ground to stand on, Scruffy," My vowels clip sharply between growing teeth. "You and every boss you've ever worked for haven't given a shit about killing for as long as I've known you. Even your 'precious'-"

"Don't." One word. Clipped and colder than mine ever were. "He's not like that. Not anymore."

I'm ashamed to admit it, but I almost believe him. Almost. "Pfft, is that so?"

"That's never what he was about anyway," Jigen says quietly. "It just happened."

"Right~...Between 'just you and me'? That's a crock of blood and bullshit."

"(Y/N)--"

"Look, we can play this whole cat-and-mouse, chicken-and-egg game 'till the sun goes down, alright? So let's just cut to the chase," One last drag of that bloody drink--the lingering red on my lips never tasted so sweet. "Why don't you just come along quietly? I turn you in, get the next half of my paycheck, then we never have to see each other again. Deal?"

"Do you even know what you're turning me in for?"

"Oh, sure. Wrote up a contract and everything. But that doesn't really matter now, does it?"

"If that's how you feel about it, then no."

"Huh?" Sure, single syllables are always better to lie with. But every woman in the underground knows that a no means no. But still- "You're passing up a golden opportunity here, Hotshot. I get paid, you get your ass whooped, and then charming prince Lupin can come to your rescue. It's a win-win-win!"

"No." Jigen insists. "Let me go."

Pointed teeth prick the flesh of my lip. Moulting from charmer to snake in the blink of an eye. Again that iron tang flushes my tongue. This time the taste is bitter and boiling. "I could just kill you, ya know. Bleeding you dry would be worth more than any bastard could pay me."

"Oh yeah?" One long sip from now-cold coffee. He doesn't seem to care at all. My cold veins burn. "And why would you want me dead over all your other romantic rejects?"

"Why does any woman want any man dead?"

"You want me to count the reasons?" Jigen drawls.

"Hah! No need," my lips twitch against my will. I force them down. "Though if you remember how the saying goes, revenge is best served--"

"Revenge is best served on a warm, naked body."

"Jigen!"

The sharpshooter throws his head back and laughs. "Haha! You ancient prude."

"Rude!"

Jigen continues laughing. Such a candid response throws me back on my heels. My fangs grit against one another like nails on a chalkboard.

"What the hell are you laughing at?!" I snap. "I am here to drag you with your tail between your legs, you filthy mutt. Not to ham it up like one of your drunk-ass poker nights with--"

"What if I told you I could get you your money without dragging me anywhere?"

"Eh, that wouldn't be as fun."

"The hell?!"

"Just saying," I shrug. "Whether it's my hands or someone else's wringing your sorry neck, the money would just be a bonus."

"A bonus? Don't give me that shit about a bonus!" Jigen bristles. "Just what the hell did I do to piss you off, huh?"

"You want me to 'count the reasons'?"

Silence. Lighting outside the window shows morning has passed to midday. The clock keeps ticking, though it sounds more like a heartbeat now. The sharpshooter sits still, his cup still in hand. "Let me guess." He says. His voice simmers beneath the clatter of the cafe. "If I'm right, you let me go and sate your bloodlust some other way. If I'm wrong...you can kill me. Turn me in. Whatever. Either way, you never have to see me again. We have a deal?"

That paper cup I'd been holding was now a crumpled ball. A collapsed star pricks the inside of my palm. My white-knuckled grip splinters the space between us. "Hmph. Alright, Bullseye. Hit me with your best shot."

His voice starts low and quiet. Without hesitation, as if he's been thinking about this for a long while. "I kept that note you left, ya know. The paper's long gone, but I'm not the kinda guy to forget someone's last words to me. You said-

'Jin--I know we both tried, but I guess 'just you and me' is not enough anymore. You're in over your head. I am too. I'm sorry I can't stay.'

"-Short and sweet, just like that," I see the words he spoke so clearly I could swear I was writing them all over again. His voice is stronger now, but still so distant: "Spared me the long break-up monologue, I'll give ya that much. You're right. I was over my head; with my siblings both 'out the nest' --hell, I'm not gonna lie. I was drowning. Didn't see another way out.”

"So you signed on with the mafia?"

"Hey, the mafia paid better wages than that damned bodega. So I took it. I know you want me to say I regret not telling ya-"

"But you don't."

"No, I don't. Because I know exactly what you'd do if I did. You were in deep shit, too, ya said so yourself. Twenty-some years without drinking human blood--without turning--you were getting the Hunger pains, weren't you?"

"Pfft. 'Turned'? 'Hunger?' What do you think I am, a werewolf-like you?" I ask.

"No, you're a vampire. So you left me planning to take that news to the coffin with you."

"Hmph. I see your sharp eye hasn't changed much. Think the werewolf senses tipped you off?"

"Not many creatures stink of iron and raw meat," Jigen says, snarky as ever. "I'd heard rumours of a vamp for hire hunting werewolves. Didn't occur to me that-"

"That I'd be the one?" Something like a dry smile ticked the corner of my lip. "Yea, I get that a lot. Told you ya couldn't handle the truth."

"Who says I'm not handling it?"

"I can hear your heartbeat, Jigen. I can smell your godawful stench and that stupid hat-"

"Eh, what's my hat got to do with this?"

"Everything and nothing, now just shut up and listen, would ya?"

Jigen slouches in his seat but keeps his mouth to himself. The man sits silently. Fingers clenched to the point of trembling. A marksman shaking in his boots. He couldn't draw a gun fast enough to defend his life. Now's the time, something pings in my mind. Perfect time to take him in or take him out--bada-bing-bada-boom, revenge is served.

I know exactly how I'd do it, too. Shove the table forward, stabbing the edge into his solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. My heeled boots could nail the instep of both his ancient loafers before he could catch his breath. Breathless, panting, pained and pinned the booth. His only other avenue would be his nose. A far too prominent feature that could easily be knocked out of place with a well-aimed punch. Would hardly have to worry about the groin, after that. I could make a run for it, make it look like he'd been about to assault me. Or, I could cuff him all professional-like an officer making an arrest. Either way would be fun. Messing with public opinion is always part of the game.

But, for the first time in...I don't even know how long--I don't move. I don't wanna play. I want to sit. I want to stay. I want to watch his face unfold as the whole truth unravels before him. The truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth. An unravelling I once witnessed within myself, oh so long ago. So help me, god... I continue.

"You lied to me, Jigen. All those years ago I could feel you lying to me. I didn't know what was happening to me or to you and I couldn't even talk to you about it." My lips twitch a little at the callback. Unintentional or not, the irony still stings. "So why should I believe a damn word you say right now?"

The marksman's slouch wilts with every word. When I look up he's almost melding with the seat of the booth. He opens his mouth a couple times but all that comes out is: "Was I right then?"

"What?"

"That you hate my guts for all the shit I pulled back then. The reason you're so gung-ho to gut me head to toe."

I swallow past the sudden dryness in my throat.

"Heh. I don't regret keeping you out of my mess," Jigen says. "But that doesn't mean I wouldn't've been there for yours."

"...I know," I confess. Every word aches, but it needs to be said; "I think I always knew that. I guess it was just..."

"Easier to believe the other's gonna cheat ya somehow. Yea, I know the feeling."

A moment of silence. It strikes me, that ringing of sincerity in his words. Leaned back in his hair, hat drawn low over his eyes. This is the most relaxed I've seen him since before this moment. Before this conversation, past all the years of separation, before everything went to shit it was just--this. Just this. The thought tilts me back on my axis. As if this is the first time someone told me the earth is round instead of flat. Though I can't see much of his face beneath the damned hat, I get the sense we're both seeing differently. More intently, I decide. I can see it in his posture, in his mouth; the lean of his shoulders absorbing his every word and movement, his lips curl into dimpled corners, soft and sincere. I flush and turn away.

"So...I guess this means you won. A deal's a deal."

"Huh?" I never realized before just how Jigen-like that sound is. "What about your contract?" He asks.

I shrug. "Eh, I'm allowed to change my mind. Scumbag didn't read the fine print so I'll be in the clear with cash in hand."

"But it'll probably only have the commission, right?"

"Oh well, twenty-five million's nothing to scoff at. I can get by for a little while." I pause, glancing from the table to the clock to the window. It'll be a few hours before sunset. But the rest of my day will probably be cutting ties and cleaning up the mess of this job.

'Either way, you won't have to see me again ...'

I look back at Jigen. His words echo between my ears. Even after sixteen years, this man doesn't really feel like a stranger. And yet he is. A stranger that you meet once in a cafe and never cross paths with again. I could just go along with the deal. It would be just as he said. But--I don't wanna play that game. My jaw aches, fangs slowly retracting to where they belong in the light times. Finally, I can venture an unabashed smile.

"In the meantime, what d'you say we do a little catching up sometime? Say...eight o-clock next Saturday?"

Jigen splitters, having been lost in his own thoughts. "Wha-real, er, where?"

"Anywhere in the world."

His startled gape stretches into a blinding-wide grin. "How about right here?"

"--It's a date."

'Note to self: Your target will be found at the Monkshood Cafe, eight o'clock next Saturday. Second Chances best served hot.'

[ddarker-dreams]

Puppet Strings. Yan Ghost Josuke x Reader [COMM]

Warnings: Josuke’s temper flaring, typical yandere elements, brief alcohol mention. Word count: 3.1k

i.

You didn’t think much of it when you saw your window wide open. 

No, it wasn’t that particular moment that sent alarm bells ringing. It’s remarkable what the human mind is capable of scrounging up to justify an otherwise horrifying situation. Moving from one place to another is an exhausting effort -- you reasoned to yourself -- maybe you reopened it and forgot. That sounds perfectly plausible. Sleep came easily to you that night and all was forgotten the next morning. There were some other minor occurrences, cabinets being open, the television flickering. Nothing incriminating, nothing to worry about. 

For a time, this logic worked in your best interest. The last straw was when your personal belongings started going missing. Lip glosses, shirts, and even some sketchbooks. Contacting the police served to be no help. When they asked who could hold a vendetta against you, you had no solid leads. You’d only been in Morioh a little over a month. Earning an adversary in that short a time felt unlikely, if not impossible. Classmates were interviewed, their alibis clearing them of possible suspects, the investigation stagnant. Your neighbors hadn’t seen questionable figures lurking around your home. Days went by, and a few patrols later, the police claimed there wasn’t much else they could do. There were no signs of breaking and entering, no fingerprints, no leads. 

No peace of mind.

You’ve explored every logical avenue. Not knowing what to do next is the worst part, it’s what serves to frustrate you the most. Sighing, you dry your hands off, mulling over what to do next. Now that you’ve finished washing the dishes, there are no other chores to procrastinate with. Guess I better get started on that project, you think. God, but it’s so hard to focus anymore. 

Without noticing it, you felt drawn to the living room. Anyone would understand, that from the stress you’ve suffered, it’s fine to take a break. A distraction from reality sounds great right about now. Your PlayStation 2, which has been collecting dust, can finally get used. The multiplayer games are bugged -- a Player 2 shows up even when you play it with yourself -- so you haven’t used it in some time. Scanning over the various game choices, you never get a chance to pick one out. 

“Huh, so they released a sequel to that?” An unknown voice, masculine and lighthearted, chimes in behind you. Your immediate reaction is to whip your head back, searching for the source. Heart pounding, you realize this is exactly what you feared. That whoever was stalking you would eventually come to settle things for seeking help from law enforcement. You don’t see him, even though the voice had been close enough to assume he’s behind you. There’s no way you imagined it. Where is he? 

That’s when you see him. 

Whether or not it was intentional, he stands blocking your path to the kitchen, where your phone is. A young man of imposing size, easily dwarfing you. His style throws you off, it’s like he was ripped from another time. That hair… a pompadour? Narrowing your eyes, you stand from your kneeling position, preparing to hold your ground. He might be blocking your ability to call the police, but there’s still the option of running out the front door to alert your neighbors. It’ll be fine, you tell yourself, not entirely convinced. Just don’t panic. 

“Who are you?” Is the first question that slips past your lips. There’s unfiltered hostility in the words, despite your hesitation to aggravate him. Your eyebrows furrow when he puts his hands up in defense. It gives an impression of mockery in an otherwise grave scenario.

“Woah, calm down there,” he lets out a nervous chuckle that further irks you. “You can call me Higashikata Josuke.”

This person -- Josuke -- is acting too casual about this. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s the source of your torment these past few weeks. How else could he be standing in your home, acting in such a deplorable manner? For your own best interest, you bite your tongue, that’s dying to hurl numerous insults his way. In contrast to his polite speech, he’s dressed like a stereotypical delinquent. Who knows what Josuke would do should you provoke him. You’ve heard rumors of rambunctious youths in the area and don’t want to test the validity of those claims. 

“Alright, Higashikata-san, I’m going to ask you to leave. This is my house. If you just… leave me alone, I won’t contact the police. Alright?” You feel like your proposal is a considerate one, even if you don’t intend to follow through. Once you get to safety, like hell you’re going to let this punk get away with it, he just doesn’t need to know that yet. Josuke shifts weight from one leg to another, contemplating your words.

“I can’t do that. Besides, the same way you feel this is your house, I equally feel like it’s mine.” Josuke replies, scratching his cheek. His tone almost sounds… apologetic. As if it isn’t completely within his control to leave. You gulp when you realize your approach might not work. Maybe he’s not mentally sound? That’s the most plausible solution. Taking a deep breath, you shift to a less combative posture, still hoping to talk him down.

“Is there someone I could call? A guardian, a friend? Let’s figure this out.” You will yourself to keep each word steady to lure him in. The innocent inquiry doesn’t have the intended effect, Josuke frowning as soon as the word guardian left your lips. Shit. Was that a sensitive topic? The scowl is gone in a split second like it never existed. He takes a step closer to you and you take a step back.

“There’s not much to figure out. I’ll be honest then since I’m sure you’re freaking out right now. Which makes sense. I’d be freaking out too…” he trails off, going deep into thought. Finally, Josuke manages to choose the proper words. “How do I go about this? Alright, I’ll just come out and say it.” 

“Well, to put it in simple terms, I’m dead.” 

You blink. Tilting your head, you conclude that this Higashikata Josuke is not mentally well. Getting in contact with a professional is your new top priority. Josuke picks up on your hesitant body language and rushes to give credence to his claim.

“I know, crazy, isn’t it? I’m sorry about your stuff, by the way. Felt like the best way to understand my new housemate without sending you running right away. I’ll return it now,” Josuke’s demeanor doesn’t give you the impression of a liar. Still, a spirit? You don’t know what to think anymore. He sighs at the sour expression on your face. “How to prove this to you… ah, I know. Hey, check this out.” 

Josuke points to the controller sitting on your couch. Not a second later, it starts levitating in the air, your jaw-dropping at the unfeasible spectacle. Josuke lets out an airy chuckle at your bewilderment. “Sorry, that was pretty lame. I didn’t know what else to do.” 

“There’s… really a spirit, in my house.” You struggle to say it aloud. The people living in Morioh could be superstitious, a view you attributed to living out in the country. This paranoia, or sometimes reverence, never fell in line with your beliefs. There was no solid proof that the supernatural existed. It made for riveting local stories, for youths to gossip and movies to adapt, but the line was drawn there. A timeline plays in your head of the past few weeks. It would explain how no one in this active community spotted an intruder, or how the police never found physical evidence. 

“Our house, actually.” He corrects with a beaming smile.

ii. 

Maybe it’s not so bad. 

Josuke, with whom you have an unusual relationship, makes for decent company in your otherwise uneventful life. You still can’t help but feel on guard around him for his earlier behavior. As he explained it, borrowing your belongings was just a way to get to know you. He apologized wholeheartedly for the stress he put on your life. It felt genuine, but an apology doesn’t make everything go away at once. Little by little, Josuke’s grown on you, worming his way into your heart. Memories and feelings fade, your first few weeks after the move are no different. 

“Have you seen my red scarf anywhere?” You call out, peeking underneath your pillow. Josuke appears from thin air -- an element that took some getting used to -- helping to look around your room. One of your conditions for remaining here was that he’d show up in your room only when invited, a condition Josuke was more than happy to agree to. You guess everyone is lonely in their own way.

“It’s not over here,” Josuke yells from beneath your desk. “What do you need it for, anyway? Can’t you just turn the heater on?” 

“Well, I could, but that wouldn’t do me much good. Some friends invited me to karaoke tonight, and the weather report said it’ll drop to four degrees celsius.” Feeling defeated, you plop onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. Josuke leans over, popping into your line of sight. He’s lacking the trademark smile you’ve grown used to seeing. For such a minor change, it packs a punch. Josuke sulks like a kicked puppy.

“Karaoke, huh?” He mutters, more to himself than you. “My old classmates used to do stuff like that. Sounds fun.” 

You sit up and cross your legs. Josuke’s tone is a longing one, wishing to fulfill a dream that can never be, visage painfully bleak. Guilt bubbles up in your stomach for the insensitive comment, not realizing he has a lot on his mind too. Josuke’s bubbly personality stood on a thin sheet of ice, ready to plunge into the depths at any moment. You wrack your mind to try and appease him. 

“It really isn’t anything that exciting. I was going to say no, but they insisted. Just imagine it as a bunch of tone-deaf people drunkards belting, that’s all it is.” You console. Josuke doesn’t light up at your joke, his eyes hollow. From what you know about spirits, if they linger in this realm instead of moving onto the next, that means an obligation is holding them here. You’ve never asked Josuke why he hasn’t passed on. That leaves room for speculation, numerous hours spent ruminating over theories. Maybe he’ll tell you one day, or maybe he won’t. Either way, it’s still tragic he never got to live his life.

“Mm… guess so, yeah.” He isn’t paying attention to your words. Guilt as sharp as knives slices through you at Josuke’s gloomy mood. For a split second, you consider canceling with your friends, to stay home and cheer him up. He always loves playing games with you or just speaking over trivial matters for hours. You push the idea away. Fraternizing with a spirit on the daily isn’t enough to supply your social needs, only friends of flesh and blood can fill that role. 

“Hey, I’m sorry for mentioning it. If you want to talk about--” 

“No,” he cuts you off, shaking his head. “Go ahead. Go live life.” 

You don’t offer a rebuttal. Josuke probably needs time to think, you decide. We can talk about it later.

iii. 

“What’s up?” 

You lean against the wall, payphone pressed against one ear and your hand covering the other. Music blares in the background, terrible acoustics of the crowded bar making it difficult to hear the other line. One of the workers grabbed you, saying you had a call, your guesses of who it could be next to nonexistent. You scrunch your nose up when you hear Josuke’s distinct voice on the other side.

“It’s late,” you hear him say. His voice is muffled, but the exasperated tone is hard to miss. “Shouldn’t you be back by now?” 

Sighing, you struggle to rationalize why Josuke’s pestering you like this. You never gave a time when you’d be home, not thinking it was necessary. “I was going to leave soon. I don’t have class in the next few days, so it’s fine.” 

“It’s dangerous to be out on your own--” 

“Josuke,” you deadpan, rubbing your temples. “I appreciate the concern, really, I do. But I used to live in Tokyo, remember? If I could survive the city at night, I can survive here.” 

“That’s not the point here,” Josuke counters, voice dropping dangerously low. Your patience is wearing thin at his attempts to police your autonomy. It’s not his place to enforce a curfew on you. “You don’t know what kinds of danger lurks in Morioh.” 

Josuke’s statement is full of bone-chilling conviction. Almost like he was speaking from firsthand experience. You take a deep breath, remembering that you’re speaking to someone who likely died in a traumatizing manner here. Maybe extending a little grace wouldn’t hurt. It’s a shame to cut the night short, but it’s not that big a deal.  

“Okay, I get it. It’s about a fifteen-minute walk back home. I’ll see you soon, alright?” 

Softening your voice seems to have the effect you intended. Josuke takes a second to consider, the two of you waiting in tense silence. This is the first time you’ve gone out with friends, maybe he just wasn’t sure what to make of it. You hold no intention of bending to his every whim, but this one time, you’ll offer him peace of mind. There’ll be major boundaries set up in the future. 

He sighs begrudgingly. “... Right.” 

iv. 

This is getting ridiculous. 

Josuke’s behaving no better than an entitled child, your paper-thin patience starting to give way. The circumstances you’ve been placed into were unusual enough, to begin with, but they never felt malicious, not until Josuke’s personality seemed to switch in the blink of an eye. What you can only describe as sabotage has become a regular occurrence. It perfectly parallels the problems you had upon first moving into this house, only now you know the one responsible. He’ll act none the wiser, claiming innocence in what has to be his doing.

Cut phone lines, missing shoes, personal journals disappearing into thin air, nothing has been spared. Maybe you were foolish for trusting a spirit. You’d like to have thought you were on solid terms with Josuke, your mortal mind doing its best to wrap around the otherworldly events. You’re at your wit’s end, now fully prepared to confront him on this unacceptable display. It’s a shame it came to this, you think. Confrontation is the worst.

“Josuke.” 

“[First].” 

The two of you sit in the living room, on opposite sides of the couch. Ever since the karaoke disaster a few weeks ago, Josuke’s attitude has taken an undesirable turn, as evidenced by how he’s acting now. Never did you imagine he could be so petty. You straighten out your posture, squaring your shoulders, and placing your hands on your lap. He stares at you with faint interest, cerulean eyes shining at your attention. 

“I’ve tried my best to be understanding,” you wince at how dramatic your words are. It almost sounds like you’re breaking up with a partner. “If I did something that upset you, please just be honest about it.” 

Josuke gives a nonchalant wave. “Nah, it’s not that important anymore. I recently made up my mind, so I don’t feel too concerned about it.” 

There weren’t many expectations in place for this talk, but Josuke dismissing you this fast wasn’t an outcome you envisioned. It feels like a slap to the face after you spent days dreading this talk. What did “recently making up his mind” even mean? Irritation rises in your throat like bile, words snapping out before you can stop them.

“You don’t just get to be that dismissive,” you point out with a scowl. “I know what you’ve been doing. Taking my stuff again, right, Higashikata? I’m fed up with this shit. Maybe I should just move out--” 

Your sentence gets cut off by the coffee table’s glass shattering. The high pitched noise makes you jump, shards flying in multiple directions on the floor. Glancing from the mess back to Josuke, you find the sight of him as a stronger cause for worry. He looks thoroughly unimpressed with your emotional outburst. Thick eyebrows knit together, his face contorting from friendly to enraged. You gulp when a sudden chill in the air sending shivers down your spine. With how friendly your relationship with him had been up to this point, you forgot to watch your tongue, the initial reverence wearing off long ago. 

Josuke stands up, flaunting his towering build. Looking down at you through lidded eyes, he reaches down, and you catch a glimpse of light blue and pink. Huh? What was that? A trick of the lights, maybe? As fast as it was destroyed, you watch in awe as the pieces return to their original place. Broken glass, chips of wood, screws and all, become whole as if it was a movie playing in reverse. Is this something else a spirit can do? 

“Y’know, [First],” Josuke begins with a humorless laugh. “This is great. I wasn’t sure how to do this part. Now I don’t have to worry about that, so let me cut right to the chase.” 

You feel the blood draining from your face, goosebumps dotting your skin. This is wrong. Whatever he’s doing now, you can’t stand another second of it. “Josuke, you’re scaring me.” 

“That’s fine by me.” He smiles. There’s a palpable thickness in the air, tension elevating as each second crawls by. Your mind trips over itself in search of a solution to this, but deep down inside, you’re filled with dread. A dread that this damage is beyond repair and that you’ve made a fatal mistake. Would screaming even help you? Could you outrun a ghost? Your heart pounders against your ribcage and you pray it isn’t Josuke who’s trying to rip it out. 

“You saw that table,” Josuke points to the once destroyed furniture, now neatly put back together. He frowns at your lack of confirmation, pressing further, voice increasing in volume. “Right?” 

You somehow manage to nod. Your throat and tongue are too dry to use and the room feels like it’s spinning. 

“That makes this simple then,” Josuke sits back down to his spot from before and stretches his arms. “There’s a lot I’m capable of. Way more than I’ve shown you. Breaking things apart and fixing them is my specialty, but… that last part can easily be omitted.” 

Josuke turns to face you, eyes peering into the depths of your soul.

“Threaten to leave me again and I won’t even bother to put you back together.” 

[dubsxreader]

worship the king //.o1 // shigaraki tomura x female!reader

summary: after the soul crushing realization that you're not meant to be the Hero you've spent your life training to be, you hunt down the most indiscriminate killer you know: Dabi. his man-child of a leader being there only makes the task easier, right? too bad Shigaraki has a knack for seeing things in others they don't see themselves. wc: 3,312 playlist: here!

rated: M for dark and mature themes; future lewd tw: suicidal ideation (seriously don't read if you're in a bad mindset this probs won't help), depression, toxic thoughts, manipulation, the start of a v dependent, idolizing relationship ie "worship" in all definitions of the word haha. Shigs taking advantage of a mentally vulnerable hero basically; dead dove do not eat for that reason.

a/n: this is something I wrote almost year ago now, when I first fell head over heels for Shigs and really felt like bnha was saving me from insanity haha. I have 15 pages of notes for this fic, but for now, for the King's birthday, this is my thank you to him and a year of loving Shigaraki Tomura <3 also to the xreader community for being my gateway into every fandom that takes over my life haha. will be posted to ao3 later

You stand on a cracked, littered rooftop, sullenly looking over the calamity you figured would be destroying the lives of every day, happily unaware citizens tonight. A slight sigh of relief leaves your chewed-to-hell lips, hidden to your own addled mind but glaringly apparent to any of your fellow heroes who’d commented on your state of mind the past few months.

You appreciated their care, you really did—for all the surface level care it could give, that is. It wasn’t their fault they couldn’t understand. They were simply more Heroic than you, official capital and all. More driven, stronger, faster… But you’ve been doing the absolute best you can, and you were sure of that. Days–weeks months?–of harshly honest self speculation assured you of your failures and of the fact that, simply put, you weren’t cut out for shouldering multitudes of lives every time you stepped out your door. Heroism didn’t just end when you took off your costume; no, it was an ideology that should be ingrained into the soul of the costume wearer, and you’d come to the jarring conclusion that, after all your special training, you just weren’t up to snuff.

You couldn’t even save yourself from your own demons. How the hell were you supposed to save those more deserving of life if you couldn’t cope with your own shit?

A small, condescending snort leaves your nostrils as you observe the blue flames engulfing the area below you. Fucking worthless. What was the point, then? Hours of support Hero's work on your items, costume—wasted. The countless words of love and support from friends and family. Ha. Your eyes track the small movements of the current chaos’ perpetrators with a keenness you've found twisted comfort in recently. A familiar, all encompassing fixation gears up that brings you out of the cloud of self-doubt, hate, and deprecation that was so, so wrong to feel as a Pro-Hero in today’s society. In this bubble there's a solution, so it's okay. You let out a numbing breath.

Maybe you could give the Villains +1 morality in the eyes of whatever twisted being rested on their laurels, idly watching as you drive yourself insane.

A swift gust of wind knocks the empty cans and bottles from their peaceful resting places as you leave your perch, descending into the empty alley below to begin your last stand against yourself. Resolute and heavy steps echo in the widened, deserted streets of the city you vowed to protect—a small, still aware part of you thankful it’s so late at night that most would be sleeping. Your targets (saviors?) usually moved when they would make the most social impact, but you’d been tracking a certain member that didn’t seem to adhere to their strict schedule.

Whoever they were behind the obvious moniker, they seemed to kill liberally. It should be easy. You take a numbing breath.

The stench of burning flesh and ash is suddenly all too pungent, assaulting your senses enough to kick your mind into another, more logical plane and question how stupid you’re being. How disappointed everyone who knew you would be. Izuku and Hitoshi, especially, had been trying their hardest to devote extra time to you recently, you knew that—fuck, how selfish were you to bring their attention away from a goal they’d fought so hard to achieve?

The flames are smoldering char on concrete when you arrive at the end of another alleyway, just as dirty as the one you’d come from… But the incineration just seemed to have cleansed the way of its trash. You nearly sigh again in morbid relief when you see two men still standing there in the aftermath. You can see from behind that the man you’ve been tracking, Dabi, still has his left arm extended, as if relishing the memory of his flames destroying the ones he deemed unworthy.

Hands in your hero costume’s pockets, you steel yourself in your usual Hero emotions: indignation, conviction, disgust at the idea of them feeling they had a right to do anything going against the grain of the society you were indoctrinated into. You clear your throat with the last of your practiced confidence, bringing the sights of the two Villains to your own frame shadowed by the bright street lamp at your back.

“You two aren’t planning on getting away with this, are you?”

Your simple, deadpan drawl has both men scoffing to themselves and sharing a look of exasperation and annoyance. They clearly want nothing more than to be done with whatever the hell they were doing; your gaze sharpens in acknowledgment while their own take note of your hero costume. This is it. This is really it. You’ve done it. Is it really what you want?

Your eyes ice over, hardening to protect your vulnerabilities when they meet those of the second man’s own carmine flecks, so unflinching and so, so bored from behind his trademark hand.

Yeah. This is it.

Resignation freezing the rest of your visage and nothing left to say, you dash forward with simple physical speed, locking onto the Villain you recognize as the leader of the League of Villains himself. Sure, Dabi was a proven relentless killer, but you figure if you go after the leader himself there would be even less hesitation or time to think on either side. They were both reportedly unflinching, ruthless, uncaring and absolutely evil, but Shigaraki’s devilishness was practically beaten into you at this point. He was the obvious candidate, the oddness of his presence meaningless yet welcome at this point.

Your eyes never leave his as you take those last three lunging leaps, your arm cocked back in a hopeful show of some impressive power you might possess, in a display grand enough to paint yourself as a threat if not at the very least an annoyance.

Blue flames lick at the back of your costume. You’d somehow been faster than Dabi’s flames, which made no sense at all—you weren’t fast in any capacity if you were to judge yourself. It must’ve been a misfire. Lucky you’ve targeted the faster acting Villain.

Something distinctly odd flashes in his previously disinterested eye as you rush him, your Quirk barely powered yet still reflecting in his observation as you aim for the mask. Your own, in contradictory spite, slows as your mind races, brushing the hand enough to feel the inexplicitly soft and leathery texture, knocking it clean off the face of the man you’d targeted. Maybe it's the adrenaline, maybe it's the anticipation of the end, but you don’t feel anything near what you thought you’d feel when his living hand grazes your outstretched arm. If anything, it feels like an angry wasp had come at your elbow in some sort of misguided revenge attempt. Bearable.

Fucking livable.

You skid to a shaky stop feet behind them, your glare going to the small hole in your costume’s arm where he’d made the briefest of contact. The skin had only begun to crack and decay from a central point; nothing near the scale and intensity you’d been warned about by your superiors and peers. What the fuck gives?

A desperate rage threatens to erupt at the lack of damage. You feel cheated. Your eyes shift from the minimal damage to the apprehensive yet notably curious eyes of your chosen euthanasist. Was he just not taking you seriously? You didn’t blame him, but…

“I thought the League was the best of the best?” The sting in your arm is mockingly there and you scoff, barely hiding your indignation at his unfulfillment of the role you’d forced upon him. You take it and use it to fuel the crumbling foundation of your resolve, ashing it to the ground yourself and focus on the slightly slumped figure topped with white-blue hair.

His eyes are now magnetized and piercing, never wavering from your own, adding to your rage and confusion. Just what is he getting at, looking straight at you in the fucked up state you’re in and just–just fucking seeing–?! You aren’t looking for pity, fuck all if it's from the person you’ve deemed would have the balls you didn’t to end this shitty nightmare you live in. With a primal, anguished and utterly guttural scream you dash forward once more towards Shigaraki Tomura, hand erupting in a more accurate show of your true power.

Once again, he simply guides your attack away from him into empty space, this time with a deft shove of his index finger. Silent and calculating. You stumble on your feet as you land, ignoring the insulting sting, and turn to face them at a pace you know isn’t up to Hero standards but unable to even fake it anymore. Your eyes, though.

They fucking call to him.

How could he dust you? A Pro-Hero, coming at him alone, a deadly ally at his side, with what he knew from his research to be nowhere near their quirk’s power and potential?

Nevermind the look in your eyes he’d recognized immediately—this Hero was asking to be killed. Cracked lips twitch to grin at the situation. His mind works at full throttle to balance the possibilities.

“Heh…” The small breath leaves him, a smirk winning out and pulling at already taught skin, “You’re looking to die, aren’t you, Hero?”

Your brows furrow in… Fuck, you can’t identify your feelings at this point–they shouldn’t matter–they’d become obsolete the moment you took a swing at the supposedly impulsive and irrational Villain in charge. All you can feel is the overwhelming sense of weight, of pressure, of absolute and total CHAOS destroying any semblance of unity you’d pulled together to end this.

“What the fuck does that matter to you, Villain?!” Your glare is full of a rawness you can’t recognize, let alone mask, “Fucking fight me or die!”

His smirk, now fully on display, stretches to the smuggest of smiles as he takes his experimental first steps forward, casually retrieving the hit hand and placing it safely in his trench coat pocket. You weren’t immediately attacking him—hell, you weren’t even defending yourself! You’d only be more obvious if you’d delivered yourself to his doorstep tied in a bright, blood-red ribbon labeled “do what you want, I don’t care anymore!” It made his blood simmer, his skin itch in excitement at all the optional routes opened up before him.

Quickly, too quickly to deploy your defense {even if you wanted to}, he’s in your face and encircling your neck in a four fingered grasp. Your eyes vaguely mark Dabi looking on with a detached interest, and you can’t help but mirror his lack of understanding—your emotions and thoughts unfortunately too far past controllable to be hidden behind the usual Heroics.

“You could still serve a purpose, you know.”

Narrowed (e/c) eyes meet piercing, analytical rubies set to freeze and crumble enemies. You have no answer to that, none at all—if you hadn’t come across another anything while you’d been searching in earnest, how could it be tossed into your lap from the hands of a Villain? Your clear disbelief doesn’t deter him in the slightest. It only gives him the subtle signals he needs to ensure a dedicated new member of his team. This situation could only go well for him and the League, if he plays it right, and he’s thankful Dabi knows when to shut the hell up and take the back seat when he truly should.

He’s never seen Shigaraki’s version of recruitment before. After Dabi's climate destroying display, he could use a lesson.

On the edge though this Hero is, the line is thin and the touch needed is delicate and calculated.

“You can make a real difference in this rotten world,” Shigaraki slowly lowers his defensive arm and loosens his grip on your neck, conveying his intentions to calm you. He notices this strikes an especially sore nerve that you’re too unhinged to recognize. You’re taken over by your emotions, unable to distinguish that you’ve offered your weaknesses to your enemy on a silver platter. Disgusted rage he’s now certain is self-focused meets him, only bringing him a step closer to your frozen and highly panicked figure. His free fingers fidgets on the clammy skin of your neck, tapping a pattern across your throbbing pulse, expectant and soft while the other stays loosely, carefully, against your clavicle.

It's constant.

It's… calming?

No, it's fucking overwhelming and uncomfortable and— As if your body’s acting on the last vestiges of your studies, you struggle in his grasp and pull your dominate arm back, channeling all your sadness and panic you’d been unable to expel into the attack you hoped would just fucking end this fucking end this it’s done—

Another four fingered grip captures your wrist, directing your power away from anything important and only ruffling Dabi’s clothes as he watches on. You choke on a cry, near your mask’s end with Shigaraki’s unexpected patience. You’d been told this was nothing more than a spoiled, raging, calloused young man entirely unable to connect with any feelings other than his own selfish need to destroy all Heroes he came in contact with. The only conclusion your racing mind can come to is that he doesn’t even view you as a Hero worth destroying. Thick and torrid tears rush from your eyes, betraying your need to be recognized and being denied that luxury in your final moments.

“I can’t even get what I need from you fuckfaces—!” Your cry rings out, eyes shutting tightly, shaking with the force of your emotions finally finding the breaking point they need to crash through into the real world, “What the fuck can I do to make a fucking difference?!”

Shigaraki pauses to assess your sobbing. You’ve all but folded into yourself; you would’ve disintegrated against his hold on your neck if he hadn’t been paying attention. No… he sees you. He sees you. His fingered grip on your neck slides up to force your head to follow, meeting his sure gaze. You’re lost. You’re anxiously grasping at anything you can to stop the burning, itching need to destroy your own mind… And he gets that. He knows what it took to hook him tightly into his own mindset. He knows of seeing a seemingly impossible goal set before him, of feeling unworthy and needing to prove himself to his peers and himself. If anyone could reshape you... it would be him. If anyone were to reshape you... it should be him.

“It isn’t fair, is it…?” He starts slowly, voice dripping with cooing understanding, gauging your expressions and body, “You work so hard to be what others want you to be… And never feel enough, even when you put your all into it.” Your whole being shudders at his words, breaking down and melting into the pressure of your expectations for yourself. You choke on another messy sob, tears blinding you, snot nearly reaching your lips, a trail of drool unknowingly slipping from the corner of your grimacing lips.

“We’d never expect more than you can give, you know,” He all but whispers into your ear, his words echoing with staying power. You miss the tiniest bit of excitement he lets slip into his tone at the thought of corrupting a fairly strong Hero to his cause with mere psychological one-upmanship. The power over your entire existence is an intoxicating prize and he’s not about to let go of it if he can help it.

A sad cross between a whimper and a cry escapes you as you crumble even more into a hold you’d only come to for annihilation. Why wasn’t he killing you? Why weren’t you dead? You’d wanted to die, needed to just stop everything and just—just STOP, finally, just stop. He was a hardened criminal with no need for heroes, what the hell kind of use did he see in you? You still the tiniest bit. You just need a use, a tangible use, is that what you’ve been missing? A clear direction set before you by an overwhelmingly liberating, intelligent, capable force… Could he see it through all the absolute shit you covered yourself in?

A tentative spark lights the furthest parts of you as you finally meet his confident and knowing gaze. Fuck if you don’t feel seen for the first time in your life, finally seen and accepted for the absolute mess you see yourself as. The conflicting, philosophical doubts you’ve had about Heroism, and your own heroics in the existential race you call a life, find a peaceful place in Shigaraki Tomura’s vision.

It's an alien calm, a powerful sedative on your mind, leading you to melt into his look—telling him all he needed to know and more. The grin he sports widens and his eyes shift to give a silent command to Dabi, still (surprisingly) observing quietly, before changing your life indefinitely, “Follow me, little hero. You'll never be lost again.”

A deep, swirling purple warp gate you’d only seen in footage appears at the entrance to the alleyway.

The loose grip on your neck finally leaves completely, giving you ample room to escape up and out across the rooftops. You’re frozen in your battling thoughts at the suddenly very real decision in front of you.

You knew you weren’t good enough to be a Hero. You’d been struggling with the core beliefs on what the word even meant, if the world you’d been taught was even so black and white. Did you even want to die or did you just need someone to come and give you a purpose, some great refocusing direction? Someone to swoop in, recognize and acknowledge your pain before wiping it away and giving you something definite to live for? You knew you couldn’t make it as a Hero. You were nothing in that world. But maybe you could make that nothing existence, doomed to the weaker, better…?

Eyes nearly blinded before blinking down more streams of tears, you sniffle and take a tentative step towards the man looming tall over you, an umbrella shielding you from a brightness you couldn’t stand to be seen in. You harshly wipe your falling tears to watch Dabi walk swiftly into the portal, an unlit cigarette of some sort dangling from his patterned lips. Shigaraki steps to it much slower. He stops before he reaches it, twisting subtly to look at you from over his shoulder. He shouldn’t have to say anything more for you to follow, if his assumptions are correct—

They are.

Your first steps are slow but pick up speed quickly, feet nearly throwing you into his right side, at the mouth of the portal to a place described by your thoughts as no return. His eyes widen in delight, a manic grin following as he places the fingers of his left hand onto your head in a semblance of comfort. More than he ever got. His right arm wraps confidently around your waist, absurdly consoling to your rapidly evolving morals and needs.

It allows you to let it all go, though. It tells you someone more capable, more prepared is there. That he sees you and is keeping you alive because you’re useful to him. You can’t seem to care why when the overwhelming realization that such a powerful man saw you as you were, truly were, and still found a profound use for you in a world you were dying in takes a strong hold. You’re practically weightless as he guides you into the inky blackness of his caretaker’s portal, mind clicking into place and recognizing the distinct choice you’re making with a calm acceptance of this development in your life.

You were a useless hero. Perhaps this is your chance to prove you could make a difference to someone as a villain.

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

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! :) hope you enjoyed~ happy birthday, Shigster! maann I wish he'd take me away ;w; drop of a hat, I'm gone lol. the ultimate escapism... yandere!Shigaraki! xD annyway, I hope you have a wonderful day~ <3

[godtier1]

let's go with Misfit and/or Armor for DinCobb :3

Thank you Niki!! I’ve cross-posted this to ao3 as well cause I *really* wanted to bring us to 600 fics ehehehehe

Prompts are: “falling in and out of a restless sleep. Feeling safe when a loved one presses a kiss to their forehead and strokes their hair.”

And

“getting out of bed too soon, insisting they feel much better, and collapsing/passing out”

Din was between bounties, hurtling through space on hyperdrive, when the call from Cobb came in. He was lightly dozing when he was woken up with the sound of beeping coming from up above. He shot up in his bunk, hitting his head on the top, before cursing loudly and slowly making his way to the cockpit. Whoever was calling couldn’t be important enough to make him hurry.

“Hello Cobb,” he said, sounding slightly out of breath. He could hear Cobb laughing, and his visage on the other end had his hands on his hips.

“Howdy. Didn’t think you were going to answer,” Cobb replied, sounding rather amused. “I didn’t wake you, did I? I didn’t know where you’d be, so I wasn’t sure what time of day it would be for you.”

Din straightened his stance and cleared his throat.

“You, um, didn’t wake me, don’t worry,” he said. Then he could feel his face grow hot as he continued, “I was actually planning to swing by Tatooine soon, if you’d be up for a visit.” Cobb’s crooked grin faltered at that.

“Ah, actually, I was kind of hoping you might be available even sooner. Like, the day after tomorrow soon.” Din could tell from the holocall that Cobb was shifting back and forth from foot to foot. It had been a while he’d seen his friend seem so worried. He checked his coordinates and what time it was currently on Tatooine.

“If I left now I could probably be in Mos Pelgo by sunrise the day after tomorrow.” Din thought for a moment before commenting. “Are you… are you okay?”

Cobb just sighed, running a hand over his face.

“Yeah I’m alright.” He laughed nervously. At Din’s concerned stare, he continued.

“I finally found someone here on Tatooine who would be willing to take the tracking chip out of my head. I’ve been trying to find someone for years who would do it, and this is the first time I’ve had any luck.”

Din let out a soft gasp at that. He knew Cobb had been a slave in his youth, had seen his brand on more than one occasion, but hadn’t stopped to consider the possibility that he would still be chipped.

“That’s fantastic Cobb!” Din exclaimed, feeling truly ecstatic for his friend. “What can I do to help? You said you need me there?”

“That’s… yeah, so here’s the thing,” Cobb began, a weary look on his face. “There ain’t a lot of docs on Tatooine that will take out a slaver’s chip, right? You can get in a lotta trouble doing that. But on the flip side, if someone were to pose as a doctor and offered to take a chip out…”

Din sucked in a harsh breath.

“They could leave the chip in and sell you back into slavery.”

“Bingo,” Cobb replied with a tired sigh. “That’s why I need someone I know I can trust to see me through this. I hate to impose Din, I really do…”

“I’m setting a course for Tatooine as we speak. Where are you getting the procedure done?”

Cobb laughed, sounding optimistic for the first time during this conversation.

“Mos Eisley. I really do appreciate you, you know that right?”

Din blushed again, feeling too hot under his helmet.

“It’s not a problem. I’ll see you soon?”

Cobb gave Din a little wave.

“See ya soon friend. Safe travels, as always.”

————————————————————————-

When Din spotted Cobb outside hangar 3-5, he could feel his heart do a little flip against his ribcage, which was a more common occurrence the longer he’d known the man. He waved in greeting, expecting Cobb to smile and eagerly approach him. Such was the song and dance Din had grown accustomed to. However, Cobb just looked around himself nervously before walking quickly to Din’s side.

“Hey Din,” he said quietly, looking rather pale. “Alright, here’s the deal. My procedure is in an hour, in the seedy district in the center of town. I’ve requested that they let you be present for it, which is awful, I know, I’m sorry. I promise, you won’t have to watch, you’ll just need to be sure they don’t take me while I’m under. Once I’m awake, I should be able to get myself back home.”

Din paused for a moment, taking in all of Cobb’s words, before hesitantly putting a sturdy hand on his shoulder. Cobb jumped slightly at the touch.

“Alright, I can do that. Though I’m not about to let you go home by yourself, you know that right?”

Cobb sighed.

“You sure? I know how busy you are, I hate to intrude more than I already have.”

Din shook his head in fond exasperation.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll worry half to death if I don’t go with you.”

Cobb grinned sheepishly, before offering Din his arm.

“Shall we?”

————————————————————————

Cobb had been all too right when he had called their destination the seedy part of town. There were suspicious folks around every corner, hoods up or masks on, concealing their faces. Cobb lightly tugged on Din’s arm and led him to a non-descript looking building.

Once inside, things moved very quickly. Before Din knew it, Cobb was lying on his back on a makeshift gurney, the doctor and her assistants prepping him for surgery. Luckily Din was not a squeamish man, so he wasn’t worried about feeling faint during the operation, but when he saw the medical assistants strap Cobb to the gurney and place a piece of leather in his mouth, he began to panic.

“Hey, what the hell are you doing?” he asked, alarm seeping into his voice. The assistants paused in their task, before the doctor shooed them back to work. She turned to Din.

“Standard procedure, surely you understand? We can’t have him flailing all over the place while we’re trying to work.”

It was at that moment that Din realized they would be operating without anesthesia, and his stomach dropped into his boots. He chanced a glance down at Cobb, who was just as frazzled. He was already sweating profusely. Din stood by the gurney and dabbed at Cobb’s forehead with his cape. Cobb leaned into the touch with a shaky sigh.

“It shouldn’t take long, right? That’s what you said? So just hang in there, I’ve got your back.”

Cobb nodded, and Din slowly offered him his hand. He gripped it like a lifeline.

———————————————————————-

The procedure was quick, barely fifteen minutes, but it was the longest fifteen minutes of his life. Din stood by the whole time, far enough to be out of the doctor’s way, but close enough to keep holding Cobb’s hand. Cobb let out muffled scream after muffled scream, squeezing Din’s hand hard enough to bruise.

When the doctor held the bloody tracking chip aloft, Din could cry from relief. He knew how much this meant to Cobb, so by extension, it meant the world to him too.

Once Cobb’s head was stitched and bandaged, the medical assistants immediately hoisted him up to standing. Din was at his side at once, protesting the decision to have him up and about so quickly.

“Sorry,” the doctor replied, “we don’t have a recovery room here, and I have another patient soon. You’ll have to find somewhere else for him to recuperate.”

Cobb leaned heavily against Din’s armor, his knees slowly buckling under him as he breathed heavily and tried to stay upright. Din wrapped a hand securely around Cobb’s back to steady him as he glared daggers at the doctor through his T-visor.

As they walked back into the oppressive Tatooine heat, Cobb staggered along at Din’s side, barely conscious. Din gave him a quick squeeze.

“I’ll find us a hotel room for the night, alright?”

Cobb shook his head, then seemed to regret it as he winced at the sudden movement.

“I’m fine Din. I just want to go home.”

Din raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“You’re in no condition to travel, Cobb, and it’s a long ride back to Mos Pelgo.”

Cobb brought a shaking hand to his mouth for a moment, looking rather sick, before swallowing thickly and slouching back against Din.

“Please. Just take me home.”

————————————————————————

By the time the pair reached Cobb’s home the dual suns had long since set, leaving Mos Pelgo bathed in the dim lights from the sparse dwellings around them.

Cobb had passed out miles back, leaving Din to grip him tightly in front of him on the speeder to keep him from falling. He carried Cobb bridal style into his home, where he gently deposited him on his bed. Din quickly removed his armor, sans helmet, before joining Cobb under the covers. Cobb blearily opened his eyes, a low whine escaping his throat, before he closed his eyes and went back under once more.

Din sighed as he laid on his side, facing Cobb in the dark. It wouldn’t be the first or last time they would share a bed like this. Each subsequent time they did this, one of them always grew a step bolder. A hand on a bicep. A pair of legs tangled with the other’s. Cobb’s forehead against Din’s helmet.

Tonight Din grew even bolder still. Once he was sure Cobb was really asleep, he gripped the lip of his helmet and pulled, fresh air chilling his face. He looked down at his sleeping companion, through his own eyes for the first time, and smiled as he carefully brushed a strand of hair away from Cobb’s angular face. He battled with himself for just a moment before leaning down and sweeping his lips against Cobb’s forehead, mindful of the bandages covering his left temple.

He could practically feel Cobb smiling.

——————————————————————-

“What are you doing up?” Din asked in alarm as he entered the bedroom the next afternoon, cup of soup and glass of water in hand.

Cobb was standing shakily by the bed, grasping tightly to the dresser to stay upright. He slowly raised his head and smiled weakly up at Din. His strength might have been gone, but his charm was certainly not.

“Howdy Din,” he rasped as he let go of the dresser, only to sway alarmingly and clutch on to it again. If Din hadn’t been so deeply worried, he might have chuckled at the similarity to Grogu when he stumbled around.

“Cobb,” he warned as he put his food on the dresser. “You shouldn’t be up and about. For kriff’s sake, you just had surgery less than twenty four hours ago.” Cobb just waved him off nonchalantly.

“M’fine, I have things to do. Gotta stop in at Werlo’s, gotta check on the vaporators, gotta…”

Then his eyes were rolling back in his head and he was pitching forward, and Din just barely reacted quickly enough to prevent him from hitting the ground.

———————————————————————-

Despite the circumstances of the surgery, Cobb’s recovery was swift. He was just as stubborn as Din had expected him to be, insisting on changing his own bandages and making his own meals. Din just rolled his eyes and let him do what he wanted, hovering by closely just in case he needed a steadying arm.

When Cobb took off the bandages at last, a prominent scar resided on his left temple. He would wear it proudly for the rest of his life.

Then when Din was sure Cobb was finally healed well enough to hold a blaster, he held out the still bloody tracking chip to him. Cobb stared at it for a moment, looking surprised, before his lips turned up in a wide grin.

“How far do you reckon I would need to blast this thing to kingdom come?”

[permian-tropos]

Daniil - Liberosis

Didn’t think this prompt word would become so poignant so soon. The subject matter wound up kind of surreal and taking whatever path I thought might be interesting but sometimes it’s nicer to let other people search for meaning in something. 

IDK yeah I just wanted to publish this. Contains canon-typical misery.

Liberosis: The desire to care less about things.

-

It rains again, always with that damn rain, and inside of each puddle in the street is the reflection of a man with cold eyes. They’re a little bit sardonic, as if the protective cloth tied over his mouth obscures a world-weary smirk. They track movement deliberately, and never dart or flash.

When did this happen? When did his features freeze in place like this? It’s interesting. The last time Dankovsky saw his own reflection, he was burned out like a candle stub.

This is better. You’d rather see a second wind from the Capital doctor on his rounds, a man who cares less and does more, even if what he does isn’t much use to anyone. It’ll give people less reason to panic.

The plague is spreading on the wings of panic. That’s why the patrolmen show no mercy to the sick, those shambling mummies, when they stray into the streets.

Dankovsky never gave such an order. The man in the puddle wears his intentions well: But I wouldn’t countermand it.

When you think about it, the only way to fight the plague is to resist your natural human desire to seek help, or even the comforting touch of another; instead you must succumb in solitude, to save others.

The nature of epidemics really is to target the most precious aspects of our being…

“What do I do? What do I do? I’m lost…”

Dankovsky first expects that wheedling voice to come from a child, but it’s too knowing, like it’s playing a game.

Sometimes they’re called mimes, but they talk too much. They’re more amused by the circumstances than the name Tragedian suggests. Subconsciously, Dankovsky has gotten into the habit of treating them as if there is not a human under that patchwork black cloth, but paper stuffing, or an animated wire frame. They’re an oddly useless counterpart to the orderlies, and they certainly don’t answer to the Bachelor.

“One of you?” he sighs, backing up a few steps. “What do you want from me this time…? Get it over with.”

The masked man dawdling under the streetlamp tips its head slowly one way, then the other. “His Excellency thinks I spoke to him?”

“I’m the only one on the street. Unless you’re raving, in which case I have no time for lunatics.”

“How cruel. In any case… I’ve lost my mask.” The Tragedian shields its eye-holes from the rain with a hand, and looked far and wide.

“It’s right on your head,” Dankovsky grouses. “Now what’s my reward for finding it, a bag of marbles? Or wait, you’ve lost those too.”

“Oh, no, not this. This is my face. You see how blank and plain it is? It wants a character, a role to play. A mask, a mask.”

Dankovsky folds his arms. “What about playing a man who doesn’t leave his house… wherever he comes from, his burrow, his den, and doesn’t get himself into trouble?”

The Tragedian offers an apologetic shrug and spread palms. “I tried it but alas, it weren’t for me. I didn’t know my lines, and came too late…”

The Bachelor mutters, “You’ll be a dog soon – playing dead.”

“I’ve lost a mask of careless cruelty… I think it would be fun to wear a while. It grins at simple victories and doesn’t shed a tear for those less fortunate. I’d like to be the one who laughs in Hell…”

“Fine, I’ll look for something like that… I suppose.” It wasn’t the first bizarre request he’d taken, and been able to fulfill despite not understanding it at first. Whatever the Tragedian was looking for, it would turn up eventually.

Now the Tragedian was clasping its hands together, pleading. It was remarkably expressive for having, as it said, such a blank face. “But if perhaps you’d let me borrow yours…”

“That’s completely unsanitary.” What kind of idiot request was that?

“I mean the one behind the cloth, the visage that regards the world so icily…”

The Tragedian pokes an impudent, spidery finger right between the Bachelor’s eyebrows, which pinch together in great chagrin.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at… but I get the impression you’re not asking for a real object.” He slaps the finger away. “If you want to wear my face, playact all you like. Just don’t impersonate me to anyone important, or use my name for any stupid ventures. Or you’ll regret it.”

Dankovsky leaves the actor to mime out his gratitude, head fervently bowing, clasped hands pumping up and down. He’d expected to get something out of this exchange, but perhaps it’s a longer-term investment. Or it’ll be quite the farce when the thespian starts wandering around the town pretending to be him. He’s not sure what he’s given away.

Signal fires mark the start of an infected district. He tightens the cloth around his mouth and nose and rushes in. There’s one house in particular he has to visit, so he very much intends to keep his head down all the way there.

His ears are assaulted by wails of the dying, carried far even by stagnant windless air.

At first he doesn’t understand why his skin is prickling. Senseless paranoia.

I gave away my mask…

It doesn’t mean anything!

But something’s changed in him for sure.

Even though it’s illogical, he’s shivering like ice has been poured down his shirt.

His eyes catch movement and he jolts away at first, because he’s learned to flee whenever a human shape stumbles across his path in districts like these. One filthy touch from any of these walking corpses could pass on the infection.

“Don’t,” he whispers. “Don’t come near me…”

“Help us…” the mummy gabbles. It’s sobbing under the linen wraps, but those cries might be of relief as well as pain. “Please, please, you’ve got to help us… I’ve been looking all over for a doctor… You’ve got pills, haven’t you? Kind sir… spare us something… even just a sleeping draught…”

Dankovsky should be fleeing, and he’s frozen instead. He should do the compassionate thing and put a bullet through this faceless cloth-wrapped head, and he cannot. He has the unsettling thought he would rather turn the gun on himself.

The supplicant takes his inaction as permission. Its hand has seized him and is crawling up his forearm, creeping as surely as a mold on a wall.

“There must be something…” the infected one pleads. “If only to… I just wanted to… oh, but it’s so… my head’s spinning… I can hardly hear myself, can you hear me? Am I speaking? Are you there?”

More dying souls are shambling out of the alleys and either they can smell healthy skin like sharks smell blood or they’re spotting him through the gauze over their eyes and immediately recognizing him. Two have emerged from behind one building… a third and fourth from a park…

The dead come to drag him down into the earth. Rain pours down his cheeks.

“Hey!”

There’s someone behind him, shouting, but he doesn’t realize it’s directed at him until—  

“What do you think you’re doing, dummy? Dummy Dankovsky!”

“Hah?” He’s unstuck when that strident childish voice pierces his ears through the white noise.

In comes charging none other than the wandering saint girl, shoes pattering and splashing through the sodden pavement. She spreads her palms out like she’s pushing out a great wave of force from them, some kind of heavenly wind, and even though no immediate magic goes off with a theatrical bang and puff of smoke, the sickened townsperson withdraws.

Clara catches Dankovsky’s arm. Her grip is mighty steel.

“You didn’t think you could heal them with your touch, did you?” Her tone is either mocking or heartachingly sincere. She’s too peculiar to ever be one thing or another, so maybe it’s both. “Don’t… don’t get those funny ideas into your head, okay? You’ll make people worry about you…”

Of course he finds her words ironic, but not surprising. It’s the usual way that young people parrot the things they’ve been told by others, as a way of expressing concern.

Especially ironic now that she’s extending her free hand towards the bandaged wretch, with a strained but beatific smile, flashing white teeth. Her fingers unfurl, flexing, preparing for an incredible sleight-of-hand.

“Don’t be scared,” coaxes the Changeling. “I’ll take care of you!”

“Careful—!” the Bachelor croaks, voice stolen by panic. But he still waits with bated breath, wondering if he’s about to witness a miracle.

But as soon as Clara’s palm brushes the gauze-wrapped fingertips, the infected person’s hands turn to claws. They gasp and clutch their chest, rocking on their heels, head bobbing.

It’s almost as if they’re trying to express a profound devotion and love that cannot fit inside them. Then they exhale without a word, collapsing in a heap, like a thread over their head has been snipped.

Clara’s smile shrinks by millimeters. Water droplets slide off it, dropping from the corners of her lips.

“Why…?” Her query is a quiet chime, a small tolling bell.

“Leave it, leave it. It was a myocardial infarction,” Dankovsky mutters. “Plainly, a heart attack. It’s usual for them to die like this in the end… Perhaps they were startled by us… Overwhelmed by a moment of hope.”

“I thought I was the one who healed…” the girl says, eyes fogged with confusion. “I mixed it up… Even we can’t tell us apart anymore…?”

Damn this… The girl’s delusions are only going to worsen now. Whoever’s been letting her roam about without supervision needs to rethink their priorities. She used to irritate Dankovsky with her proud preaching, and he was afraid she’d be able to stir the town’s population into a fervor. They come out of their homes in search of her sometimes.

Still, it’s possible she’s been witnessing frightening things for days — or longer? who knows where she came from or what she’s suffered to be without a family now — and has convinced herself she must have a purpose. Whose mind doesn’t falter like that in the face of an insane world?

The Bachelor doesn’t think he’s nearly as paternal as his rough-and-tumble counterpart, the favorite of the orphan underclass, Burakh. But Burakh’s not here right now.

Dankovsky slings a strict enclosing arm around Clara’s shoulders.

“You didn’t do it, Clara…” he commands her to believe, as his heart keeps minutely panging in that new way that he’s not accustomed to. “Don’t think about it. Pull that ratty scarf over your mouth and nose and keep moving.”

She’s stumbling after him, reluctantly keeping apace. “But can’t you see I’m not her…?”

“Whoever you are, I don’t care,” Dankovsky mutters. He stares only ahead, at the distant waterlogged signal pyre marking the invisible border between poison and safety.

[skellebonez]

Smoke, Flasks, and Unfinished Tasks: Chapter 6

AO3 Link!

Chapter 1 Link!, Chapter 2 Link!, Chapter 3 Link!, Chapter 4 Link!, Chapter 5 Link!

Summary: Revelations. History. Collision.

Warnings: Descriptions canonical violence in Journey To The West, smoking and drug use on others.

Author’s note: So... this was supposed to be up on Saturday last week... I thought I had posted it, but due to issues offline I had completely forgotten. But I went over this chapter, edited it, and moved some things from it into the next chapter for a better flow and therefore it is a smidgen short! (No special spoilers here.)

Chapter 6: Knew you weren’t human but who’d guess?

“Jin! Jin, what’s happening!?” MK yelled, watching as the Gold Demon in the form of his mentor fell to his knees and screamed. His entire form glitched and rippled as the world around them shook and shook and shook so hard that they could barely keep on their feet. The world rippled around them, wisps of pieces of the ground and building glitching in front and between them blocking their vision. “JIN!”

The demon didn’t reply, the longer he screamed the more none of the trio was even certain that he could, curling into himself and bending at the waist so much that his forehead dug into the ground beneath him. And suddenly the shaking was gone while the pained screaming remained.

“What is happening!?” Mei whirled around in the hopes of seeing anything that could give them a hint as to what was happening. “W-what the hell?”

No one was reacting. Every single fake person in the Calabash city just kept on going about their day as if the visage of the Monkey King doubled over and screaming in agony wasn’t in front of them at all.

“Oh please,” a voice rang out from all around them. “Did you think I wouldn’t catch on? No cheating allowed in my little game you four.”

The trio looked at each other with wide eyes. They didn’t recognize this voice at all. It was feminine, that was much was certain, smooth and calm like nothing was happening at all and it was spoken as if through the opening to a vast cave that made it vibrate the very air surrounding them.

“What did you do to Jin!?” MK yelled back, kneeling down to put a hand on his back. Jin’s screams had begun to die down and now he was shaking violently, though whether it was because whatever had caused him to start screaming had stopped or if it was because he physically could not anymore.

“Just a little incentive for him to cooperate while I do a little something something,” the voice rang out again, a high pitched and haughty chuckle following soon after. “It’s amazing what these two little buffoons have managed to create while being sooooo bad at figuring out how to actually use it. Almost as clever as growing little kits.”

“Kits?” Red Son muttered, looking to the sky and narrowing his gaze.

“Shit...” Jin suddenly groaned out, not getting up from his place on the ground. “What did you do to me?” He tried to turn his head but didn’t seem to have the energy to do so and the sight of this happening with Sun Wukong’s face made MK feel sick to his stomach.

“Incentive, I said,” The voice sounded exasperated now, a low drawn out groan sounding out. “You should be very familiar with it by now, though this batch is more of the paralyzing variety than the sleeping one so maybe it should be expected for you to not realize what I had blown into your secret little calabash.”

Vapor. The voice was most definitely Vapor, or whoever was hiding behind that moniker. The realization they had had been caught before their plan to escape could even really start sent ice cold shudders down all of their spines.

“How did you even k-”

“You thought I actually left?” Vapor cut Mei off with a tut, and suddenly the world started shaking violently for a few seconds before calming down. “I wouldn’t be dumb enough to turn my back on these two for a second, they may not be the best plotters but they’re not dumb. No no no, I knew they had a little something up their sleeve. That’s why I pretended to leave. Muuuuuuch easier to deal with one of them than both of them, less costly in supplies as well.”

“What did you do to my brother!?” Jin screeched, just barely managing to push himself to his feet with a snarl that dissipated instantly. “Wh-what... did you do to me?”

“You like it?” Vapor giggled this time, still high and haughty. “Why wear the face of Sun Wukong remotely when you can just be him instead? Much easier to keep track of you when you’re all in one place...” The sound of a crunch could be heard, ringing in all their ears as Jin’s face dropped in horror at the realization that it had been the calabash he was originally in. And no longer in. “As for your brother he is taking a much needed nap. He’s veeeery comfy I can assure you, very safe. Safer than you will be.”

“You let us out of here right now you damned fox!” Jin yelled, finding his anger just in time for a whooshing sound and smoke to start billowing from the sky and to surround them. “Aw shit, no! No, cover your mouths!”

The warning came far too let, the smoke seeping into their mouths and eyes before the trio could even attempt to cover them. They coughed and gagged on the sickly sweet and bitter taste on their tongues, eyes burning and tears failing to relieve them.

“F-fox?” Red Son coughed out, trying his best to remain standing and failing miserably as he joined the others in the ground in only a few seconds. “It’s n-not possible, you’re-!”

“Dead?” Vapor’s voice rang out again as a form glitched in front of them, a patchwork tapestry of people before eventually forming a whole person who’s face lit up as Red’s fell into one of horror and recognition. “Awww, you do know me! I was afraid your father had never kept any of my portraits.”

She stepped forward, tall and regal and draped in rich silken robes of old fashion. Hair half up with intricate pins and a jade comb, the tell tale giveaways of a fox spirit showing in her long tail and large ears.

Princess Jade Face knelt down, smile softening even though no kindness shown through it as she cupped Red Son’s face in her hands. “Oh my dear little kit, I am terribly sorry you had to meet your step-mother like this.”

----------

Thunder and lighting surrounded them, electricity and bangs that could shake the ground itself the backdrop to their battle. Princess Jade Face gritted her teeth, growling low in her throat. If she knew this is what would become of her after moving from being the demon Bull King’s concubine to his second wife she would have never taken the chance.

“This altitude ain’t the only thing I got over you!” That damned pig, Zhu Bajie, yelled from the rocky alcove above her with a wickedly proud smirk. He swung his rake, mythical energies emanating from it in a clear warning to stay away. She couldn’t afford to listen to that warning, not if she wanted to keep her position. She’d worked so hard to gain the bull’s favor and she wouldn’t just give it up now.

“Big words traveler, but can you back them up?” Jade Face snarled, allowing her fangs and claws to morph in. Damn this pig for forcing her to reveal herself. Damn that monkey for demanding the fan. Damn the monk, the fish, the dragon-horse! Damn them all!

“Oh I can back them up and than some, show me what you got!” With a yell the pig leapt off the rocks.

“Gladly, your journey ends here with me!” She leapt forward in turn, allowing her herself to fully become her fox-woman form. She grabbed the rake before it made contact with her skull, swinging it and it’s owner to the other side of the field.

“Knew you weren’t human but who’d guess?” The pig sneered, swinging the rake again to show off. “A fox spirit all along. Doesn’t matter what you are though, this rake will rend your soul regardless!”

Oh, rend her soul would it? Not without a fight! Jade Face dropped to all fours, running around Zhu Bajie and cartwheeling once behind him to catch him off guard and kick his legs out from under him.

She lengthened her claws, swinging down to gore at his throat before the blunt end of the rake slammed into her stomach and sent her flying with no air left in her lungs. Barely landing on her feet she just managed to catch the pig lunging at her with nine teeth aimed right at her face, falling back just in time to be missed. She rolled, kicking him in the stomach in retribution and grabbed one of his ears to bite at his neck.

That’s when she felt all nine of those barely missed teeth sink into her back.

She froze, jolting only when they were pulled out and the pig moved to let her fall face down into the dirt.

“Gotta admit,” she heard him say distantly, growing further and further away. He was leaving, no doubt to return to his master and companions. “You ain’t half bad. No match for me, but still not half bad. Maybe if I ever end up in the underworld we could have a rematch.”

Rematch. Rematch, that word spun around in her head as she laid in the dirt. Warm blood seeping from her wounds and painting her back in a deep red. A rematch.

‘He will get much more than a rematch some day,’ Jade Face thought to herself as she finally moved once she was sure he had left, crawling through the field to hide away and lick her wounds. ‘He’ll learn not to leave things unfinished.’

----------

Princess Jade Face leaned back in her chair, hands typing wildly at the keyboard in front of her as she turned the memory over in her head. She watched the chaos unfold on the screens before her, a smile forming on her lips as she finally turned away to empty her smoking pipe to fill it with another concoction of her own making.

Yes. Zhu Bajie would learn not to leave things unfinished.

Zhu Bajie would learn the hard way.

She was sorry for getting Red Son involved, but her husband... well. Not him.

[tabbyrp]

🎤 for a trope filled drabble

[x] [x] [x]

“Hey. Hey.” Persistence earned Tabby a single glance of acknowledgement. “My nose itches. I don’t suppose you could, like, untie me for two minutes so I can scratch it.”

Despite unleashing all of her charms, with big sad eyes in the mix, their captors remained unmoved. Sighing, Tabby slumped back against the wall.

“Which trick was that?” From a similar position beside her, with hands bound at the back by a thick white zip tie, Corinne merely sounded curious. Not afraid or quivering, as any normal person might be during an armed robbery gone sour. “Was that the ‘annoy the bad guys so they leave’ tactic, or ‘humanize their victims’.”

“Option three. My nose is really itchy.��� Several years of hopping from one tropical island to the next had darkened the freckles upon Tabby’s face, and the marks bunched in as her nose wrinkled for emphasis. “Besides. Today is already enough of an epic fail. I’m not going to pretend to be a big damn hero. I am going to sit here and wait until these dudes and their showdown with the local law enforcement comes to its natural conclusion.”

To call the past few hours eventful was an understatement. The plan had been for a quick layover, swapping of boats, and on to the next destination. Easy. Something they’d done time and again. Except today the boat seller suddenly decided he didn’t want local currency. He wanted US dollars, forcing Corinne and Tabby to detour to the local bank. Barely two seconds after joining the queue for the sole open teller, the men with guns had come bursting in.

“Do you think we got set up?” Amid the panicked screams from the other customers, Tabby hissed the question in Cory’s ear. Her friend merely gave a resigned sigh.

“Honestly, Tabs, I can’t even tell anymore if it’s bad guys out to get us, or just bad luck.”

Maybe the robbers were having a rough time too. If the whole bank heist was designed around stealing the sizable lump sum Tabby had been hoisting around in a duffel bag, the criminal masterminds had neglected to dole out appropriate bribes. The police had come squealing up right as the bank teller withdrew the last note from the till, her hands shaking so hard the money resembled the blur of a humming bird’s wings.

Half an hour in, nerves had settled into stillness. From the ceiling, three-blade fans kept their slow rotation, filling the silence with a steady hum, if doing little to actually keep the air circulating. Beads of sweat dripped down exposed skin. Corinne’s loose cotton shirt clung where damp patches grew, and Tabby fared no better. She regretted wearing white, even with an old bikini beneath. Their captors wore masks, the cheap plastic Halloween type with elastic over the ears. Lion was the leader. Dog paced around nervously and then there was Devil. When that flame red visage turned towards Tabby and Cory, her gut twisted into knots. It was a relief each time he rotated out of the main room, sweeping over the rear with his assault rifle cocked from the hip.

More time ticked by. Lion took a phone call from the negotiator, ending with the handset being slammed down, causing a few nervous jumps. Dog and Devil swapped their positions, leaving Tabby’s favorite Devil looming over where the hostages sat in a messy row. Of the several people unfortunate enough to have been in the bank at the portent hour, Tabby and Cory stood out as the obvious tourists. Maybe that was enough to draw Devil’s attention. Maybe he was restless. Or maybe their lack of fear provoked him.

Devil breached the distance his compatriots had maintained. Empty eyes locked onto the two women, daring them to respond when he dragged the tip of his rifle over the hems of their shorts. Their silence proved insufficient, and he dug into Tabby’s thigh, metal pushing through denim, speaking for the first time as he detailed with French’s usually luscious vocabulary what played through his imagination.

Even while Tabby’s stomach rolled violently, she simply lifted her chin in defiance. “Je t'emmerde, connard.”

Devil pulled back his gun, flipping the direction. Tabby tracked the shift in muscles and angles, knowing he intended to smack the butt of the rifle right in her face, and there was nowhere to dodge.

Except, Corinne was faster. The thugs had only bound their hands and Cory’s heel shot out, getting Devil right in the knee cap. “Stay away from her.” Even through the language barrier, the woman’s fire burned bright, the yell echoing from wall to wall. Devil stumbled back a step before recovering, taking Corinne by the collar and hoisting her upright, just to slam her back into the unforgiving concrete of the wall. It must have hurt her friend, and she hated it, but Tabby still took her chance to aim for the man’s shins, getting in one good, distracting blow. The commotion forced Lion to leave his post at the counter before mayhem could complately break out. Rapid French passed back and forth between the men, too colloquial for Tabby to completely follow. Dog returned from the rear, head cocked as if trying to catch up on what he missed.

Devil was gesturing wildly, furious, with the Lion trying to pacify him. The subordinate angrily shook off his leader’s grip, making what sounded like a suggestion to take the two women to another room, when Dog lifted his rifle. Bang. Bang. Two shots and both Devil and Lion slumped motionless to the ground.

One of the hostages began to scream. Then another. Cory merely turned to give Dog the space to slash a knife through her restraints. The blade swapped hands while Tabby clambered to her feet, Corinne freeing her friend of the ziptie while Dog hustled over to where the robbers had piled the money. He stayed low and moved fast, grabbing the duffle bag that Tabby had originally carried into the bank, then nodding for the women to follow him.

Corinne paused only long enough to tell the other hostages to stay down, to wait for the police to come bursting in, with better French than Tabby possessed. Tabby herself was already making a move, following Dog out the door to the back corridor. Inside, the original Dog lay sprawled across the floor, his naked body pointed towards the ceiling, his chest unmoving.

“C’mon. This way.” Dog – or rather, Aaron Cross, - gestured down another corridor into an office designed for some level of management. Whoever it was felt they deserved air conditioning, even if the main rooms did not, and a vent hatch to the pipes hung open. Without needing a prompt, Tabby let Aaron hoist her up, her small fingers finding the ladder he had prepared so they could all get the hell out of there.

Once outside, Aaron dropped the canine mask onto the dusty road, leaving it to rot while they walked back towards the boats, shucking a layer of the original Dog’s clothing along the way. “Did you know I was already inside when you began to cause that ruckus?” As the two women exchanged glances, he let out a sigh. “I guess not.”

“Hey, before you give a lecture. One, they were assholes and deserved it. And two….” Tabby waggled a finger before quickening her pace, giving Corinne some privacy to thank Aaron in her own way. “I knew our own personal big-damn-hero would come to save the day.”

[sophi-s]

After three days. Three freaking days.

It is finished.

A kiss to die for

By: sophi-s (me)

Words: 4,531

Franchise: Darksiders video games

Characters: Fallen!Astarte, Abaddon

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, near death experience, angst, necromancy, I changed the storyline just a tiny bit for the purposes of this, Abaddon gets his ass handed to him by his ex :P.

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

Eden. The first gift from the Creator himself to the Humanity. A home for the First Ones. Once, an indescribably beautiful place full of grand trees and fresh, soft grass, flowing with cool, crystal clear waters. Colorful fruits growing in the trees, a delight to eye and tongue. Within, no danger could reach Humanity's ancestors. Truly a paradise the first humans rightfully called it. But now, after a great war that took place here, seemingly not that long ago, the great garden was left scarred and burning. Made into a tomb for those who sought to claim it. Bodies of Nephilim were left to burn and decay, forgotten and abandoned.

However, something has changed. A dark shadow passed over the sacred graveyard, leaving only madness and corruption in its wake. Those who perished picked themselves up from the ground and lashed out at Eden's guardians. Surprised and unable to respond with a coordinated defensive, the Faneguard had to call for retreat after their leader, Malahidael fell to the blades and arrows of the living dead. Amongst the scattered angels was the general of Heaven's Legions. Trying his best to keep his brethren focused and plan a tactical escape.

At least that's what he was trying before. Before he saw the cause of this nightmare. Now, outstretched on the ground in the dust, he forced himself up onto his elbow as he crawled towards his discarded blade, clutching at his chest that felt as though it had been caved in after a charging monstrosity trampled him in full speed.

How could this happen?

Fighting with his chaotic thoughts, he finally got a hold of the hilt but when he turned around, it was already too late. A large paw armed with razor-sharp claws landed on him, pinning him down and successfully immobilizing his lower half. And then his own blue eyes stared up into a pair of white ones, the same eyes that doomed him from the moment he met their gaze for the first time. The eyes that occupied his thoughts when he was awake and his dreams while he slept. Eyes of Astarte.

But what stood above him… this thing, this monster was Astarte no longer. From the waist up, the woman was stunningly beautiful as she always was, with her pale white eyes and long flowing, platinum blonde hair. But her legs have been replaced by a body of a feline beast with wings coated in blackness of corruption, feathers shimmering with red glyphs. A wicked smile was twisting her petal like lips and wherever her clawed paws fell, the dead bodies shivered and rose, called back into the accursed unlife. Utter insanity shone in her eyes.. Keeping his stone façade was no longer possible as inwardly he was falling apart. Astarte. The same Astarte who would kill and die for him, the same who he trusted more than anyone. The same Astarte he dared to love. Her smirk grew wider as she chuckled.

"Who do we have here? The great general of Heaven's Legions Abaddon himself!"

The unfamiliar taunting tone of her voice sent a shiver down his spine, as did the way she bared her teeth in a disturbing grin. Giving the large paw a tug to try and wriggle free, quickly realising it's pointless as the damned thing didn't even budge, Abaddon took a struggling breath, pretty sure his sternum was damaged if not broken.

"Astarte…"

His voice came out as a broken, pleading whisper. He still couldn't… or maybe he didn't want to… cope with what he was seeing clearly like on the palm of his hand. Astarte, his most formidable soldier, the strongest of them all, and the only woman in the Universe he felt something special for… Fallen into the vice-like grip of Lucifer's corrupting influence. Gone was the gentle smile that crawled its way up onto her face whenever she spotted him. Abaddon swallowed thickly when he noticed the spear in her hand poised to strike and carve his broken heart out from his chest. Astarte would never harm him…

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

She scoffed and used her other paw to press his right arm to the ground should he try to take a swipe at her. But they both knew far too well that he couldn't have, even if he wanted to. Astarte leaning over him was still the one his heart yearned for, still beautiful just… in a different, more horrifying way. Through the ringing in his ears after his head cracked against a rock, he could hear someone call out to him but whoever it was, they were successfully pushed back by the horde of undead Nephilim.

"Astarte, don't do it.."

He quietly begged, even though he never begs. Seeing her like this, twisted and bestial, did something to him he couldn't quite comprehend. Touched that part of his soul he didn't even know about. Strangely enough, even in her madness, Astarte must've sensed something in him that gave her a pause as she curiously tilted her head to one side. All the moments, even the shortest ones, he'd spent with Astarte in the past were flashing before his eyes. Every time they had one another's back in battle, every time one saved the other's life, every time they spoke about the things they would never tell anyone else whenever they were alone. And that memorable moment when they stood together, away from the prying eyes that moonlit night. Abaddon was listening to her as she asked him if what she feels is right, if there's any possible way he feels that way as well. He almost laughed at her obliviousness and the fact that his love was there before she even realised her own. Of course.. He took her hands in his and gazed into her eyes, absolutely mesmerized, waiting for permission to finally grant her the proof of his love and devotion, one which she silently gave him with a nod and a smile.

"I would walk through the fire of Nine Hells for you."

He said before leaning down to place a chaste kiss on her lips. A kiss, stolen kiss he was dying to receive. It was very brief but still felt like his first flight over the White City. Liberating, wonderful and equally as intoxicating. Those were the most beautiful memories he'd ever made but now they were like a parasite buried deeply into his brain, one that refused to leave his head, reminding him of better times and cackling maniacally at him as the present was coming undone before his very eyes. He wanted those memories to go. But there was no escape. Neither from them nor from Astarte herself.

"Look at me.."

"I am."

"Please, come to your senses. It's not you.. You need to fight it, I know you have it in you. Don't leave me like this… Don't you remember everything I'd done for you? Everything you'd done for me ?"

For a second, Astarte's grin fell, making place for a thoughtful expression and for this short second Abaddon dared to hope that there's still light in her. That he somehow managed to get to her. But all these hopes were taken away when she shook her head and looked at him… not with anger. It was pity, plain and simple as she spoke in a condescending tone.

"Fool. So loyal and righteous. Look around! The war had ended long ago, yet we remain stranded in this forsaken tomb! We've been abandoned and no one will set us free if we don't do so ourselves! Don't tell me you cannot see it."

He couldn't believe his ears. It wasn't the honorable and just angel he used to know. The Astarte he knew was gone. This was a twisted monster bearing the visage of his dearest, taunting him with her beauty that was always keeping his hand paralyzed whenever he tried to strike her even though his life depended from it.

"I have chosen my path, Abaddon. And you can walk it with me.."

Abaddon eyed her hand warily as she stretched it out to him, offering him help in standing up. He was torn. On the one hand, he so, so wanted to accept and be with Astarte as he used to. No one would take her from him ever again. But taking her hand would also mean slipping into the hateful darkness. Welcoming the sullying blackness inside and succumbing to madness. Straying from the light and forsaking his duty in favor of the same accursed power that destroyed her.

It was a dangerous thing, this love.. Pushing even the most reasonable people to do unthinkable and dangerous things in the name of it. More often than not at costs that rarely make it worth it. Lucifer knew this. And he used it as a weapon against Abaddon by turning Astarte. He knew not what the Dark Prince offered her but it must've been worth losing oneself. Astarte was now Lucifer's servant, not the love of Abaddon's eternal life. He couldn't… he couldn't end up like her. His already bleeding heart screamed out with anguish when he finally gathered himself to speak.. and refused.

"I… can't do this, Astarte. Not even for you…"

"That's a pity…"

Abaddon grunted in pain when the pressure on his wrist increased to the point when he could feel his bones beginning to crack. And then as suddenly as it appeared, the crushing weight was gone, both from his arm and his chest. But he wasn't free. His breath was abruptly cut off when Astarte's slender fingers, which often fiddled with his hair when he had a moment to lie down and rest after a hard day, looking up at her sitting beside his head, before all this, mercilessly curled around his throat and lifted him up to her eye level until his toes could no longer reach the ground. She was strong. Stronger than he remembered. His left hand grasped Astarte's wrist as he tried to struggle free while he raised his sword to attack. But… looking deep into her eyes, at her face, mouth curved in a poisonous sweet smile, the silken skin of her cheeks… His hand trembled. Once again he proved her and himself he doesn't have it in him to do this. Damn it all. This one, seemingly harmless emotion was what ultimately led him to his own doom. If he'd never fallen for Astarte he wouldn't be here, flapping his wings madly in an attempt to wriggle out of her hold. But he couldn't command his heart. It would not listen to him.. Abaddon couldn't simply stop loving Astarte. Her eyebrows furrowed in a gentle frown and he felt the tip of her gilded spear press insistently against his abdomen, right under his ribs. Cold sweat began to bead around his brow. Oh Creator…

"Fret not, love.."

Astarte purred, making him finally stop beating his wings and look her in the eye again only to see an unsettling spark in there. Despite the obvious danger, hearing her call him her "love" in this deceivingly sweet voice still made his racing heart skip a beat.

"It won't be long.. And when you die, you'll be forever at my side. Just as you desired."

As a monster, not unlike her. A living corpse that defiled the natural order by its existence itself. He didn't want to go like this. What an end it is for a general of Heaven? Killed by his own lieutenant and brought back to life as a shambling husk of what he used to be? Preposterous. Cold lump of fear settled into the pit of his stomach. He could only count seconds. One.. two… it didn't even come to three when the blade sunk deeply into his flesh, piercing the armor as though it wasn't even there in the first place and running him through. After all, the spear was created specifically to fight armored opponents… Abaddon wanted to scream out in pain but the wail of agony was cut short by the firm grasp on his throat that stopped the air escaping his lungs. Pain clouded his vision but did not silence his racing thoughts. He was weak. He couldn't strike Astarte down as his enemy, denying her the well deserved rest and falling to her blade like a fool he felt like. He struggled to breathe and keep his eyes opened when he felt Astarte loosen her ironclad grip on his neck and move her hand to his face, oh so gently pulling the strands of his hair, matted with sweat, to the side and behind his ear before placing the same hand on the back of his neck to keep his head still. He gasped for air through his opened mouth as blood was beginning to well up in his throat and dribble down his chin. And then Astarte unexpectedly leaned in and decisively captured his lips with her own, granting him the final kiss for a farewell.

Abaddon's eyes widened in fear and shock but even though the pain of the spear through his side, he found himself going slack in Astarte's arms. His ornate blade clattered to the ground when his fingers unfurled and let it slip out. No strength remained within him to even try and respond to Astarte's lips, even if he wanted to. But what he hoped to be his last comfort turned out to be nothing more than a cruel torment with how cold and meaningless the kiss felt. It was nothing like the one back in the White City. Hollow seconds ticked by. It tasted only of the blood flooding his tongue and the bitter defeat. No love, no passion and no feelings remained in her black heart. Only the empty void and tasteless ashes… Monster. Astarte no longer… She would never hurt him…

Astarte knew him and all of his weak spots all too well. She knew how and where to strike to make it hurt. And this last kiss was only a tool to her. There wasn't any physical pain anymore when she finally pulled away with his blood painting her lips in deep crimson and let his body slip down the spear to collapse onto the shriveled grass. The last thing Abaddon saw before numbing darkness swallowed him was Astarte delightedly licking his scarlet life essence on her mouth and teeth before she hummed contentedly

"Farewell, my love. I'll see you again soon enough…"

She stood close, gazing at the distant stars shimmering in the black sky.

"The night sure is beautiful."

"It is. Even more so with you around."

"Tsk. Sweet-talker…"

In the impenetrable black, Abaddon heard nothing, saw nothing and felt nothing aside from the dull ache within his chest. Betrayal… Every beat of his heart was a torture. He couldn't even tell if it was really beating or not anymore. It bled ceaselessly. Craving for the lost love. Crying out to Astarte as something started to tug at the strings of his very soul. Trying to pull him free from his still body that refused to move no matter how much he wished to stand or at least sit up. Memories were passing all too quickly through his head. Eyes shining with uncertainty, a relieved smile as he staggered upright with a pained grimace that was supposed to be a comforting smile..

" Are you certain everything is alright? For a moment there I was afraid you were gone.."

"Never, my light. I would never leave you."

He wasn't going to the Kingdom of the Dead, he was certain. Astarte would make sure of it.. Curse Lucifer.. curse this wretched feeling still coiled in his chest, like a festering plague. Warriors of Heaven are people of unbreakable steel. Calm and collected beings of logic. But when it comes to honest feelings, there's nothing in between. They either don't care or love to the death. And when they love and it all falls apart, their hearts break like no one else's. No, they don't even break… they shatter to a million pieces like a frozen flower. And even if they are ever put back together, they're never the same. Those scars run too deep to ever disappear. Curse everything… Soft hair he tangled his fingers in, a heartbeat right beside his… warm presence next to him and a misleadingly delicate cheek pressed to the skin on top of his chest..

"What happens now then?"

"Doesn't matter. As long as we stay together."

"We will, Abaddon…"

He tasted the copper tinge of blood again as Astarte's voice echoed in his head when she swore to him. When he believed her..

I  P R O M I S E .

Those two words… They meant a world to him. Even after he saw what Astarte had become… Abaddon desperately clung to those words like a drowning man holds onto the final breath until the very last second. And that was his downfall. She promised me…

The last memory of Astarte before all this chaos wormed its way into his mind. A less pleasant one. He could see there was something wrong with her back then. This was the first time they had a true falling out. Well.. can this really be called a falling out if it was just him being yelled at? Astarte was changed already. Something happened to her after the Nephilim slaughter. Something he had foolishly overlooked. Maybe he was just too preoccupied with his own grief? Blood tumbled down from her wound, painting both her and his armor in vibrant red from where a crude spear met her body… 

It didn't take long for the last of the Nephilim to fall when this happened. She held onto life tightly as he led her deeper into the garden where healers would take care of her. Abaddon waited outside the tent, pacing back and forth until Azrael, who'd been tending to Astarte himself, walked out. A slender hand fell onto his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks and making him look at his old friend bearing a sullen expression. He'd never been so terrified in his life like in this short moment when he waited for Azrael to inevitably tell him that it was too late to help her but he merely asked Abaddon to come with him inside. Somehow, it was even worse. He saw her sitting on the edge of a cot, face pale, lips pressed into a thin line, staring at nothing. Eyes of other angels were on the three of them as the two archangels walked in. It was a relief to see her alive but there was no doubt that something was wrong. The patches of fresh crimson staining her trousers on her inner thighs only confirmed his suspicions. And Azrael didn't keep him waiting for an explanation.

"She was with child.."

The news hit him like a slug to the face. With a sack of bricks no less. Astarte, his beloved, bearing his blood in her womb. By all means he should feel ecstatic. He should rejoice. But this one word, this tiny word filled him with absolute dread. Was.

"The blade went deep.. There was nothing I could do. I'm sorry."

Who knows how long he stood there like a wooden stake? There was nothing I could do. Azrael was inarguably the best healer in the White City. He knew what he was saying. And yet… Abaddon found it difficult to believe his words. A child. His child. Died before they even had a chance to live.. It hurt more than any wound he'd ever received. When he finally could move, he approached Astarte and sat beside her, reaching for her hand to give her something to hold on to. But her violent reaction caught him off guard. She jerked away, her words dripped like acid.

"It's your fault. Get away from me!"

"Astarte, listen.."

"No! It never should've happened! Why would you do this to me?!"

This was the first time she called him per "you" in the presence of other angels. He knew not what she was truly going through but if his own sorrow was any indication, it must've been a nightmare. They'd lost something they didn't even know they had and it felt like the end of the world they'd built together. In a way, it was... Abaddon tried reaching out again but Astarte batted his hand away and leaped up to her feet despite the pain.

"Don't touch me! Do not speak to me, get off!"

"Astarte!"

He managed to call out before she stormed out of the tent, wrapping her wings around herself as a barrier that could protect her from the world around. Were it not for a firm grip on his arm, he would've gone after her. It was Nathaniel who stopped him. Abaddon looked at his friend, the right side of his face wrapped up in bandages just like his side he was keeping his hand over.

"It's not going to help. Let her go for now."

It's been a long time since he felt this lonely. He left the tent without another word, ignoring whatever it was Azrael was saying, and walked away from the camp like a wandering spectre who lost its way to the Well. And when he was far enough, he found himself collapsing on the ground, angrily hitting it with his fist as though it was the culprit here. They died without so much of a name.. Abaddon knew that what Astarte said wasn't true. He had no idea, it can't have been his fault… and yet this thought kept bothering him.

I should've protected you better. I have failed you.. both of you…

It took a couple of shaky breaths to collect his thoughts. Unable to do anything else, he pulled himself to his knees, clasped his hands together and started to whisper a prayer, seeking compassion in the Creator and his silent presence.

Astarte was already slipping after that and the prolonged stay in Eden only made it worse. She became distant and irritable, constantly itching for a fight, be it with words or blades. He thought she needed time to grieve. But this was something else. Something more sinister. Perhaps if he noticed it earlier.. done something… If only…

The odd tugging suddenly ceased and moments later a wave of comforting warmth washed all over him, gathering in his side where he was impaled. Deep within his chest, he felt his heart quiver, desperately fighting to keep beating. At first he thought he was merely waiting for Astarte to pull him back into the land of the living as a detestable abomination but no.. He yet lived. His thoughts were abruptly dispersed when he heard voices, very familiar and concerned voices, break through, the buzzing in his head.

"Did that do it?"

"Is he even alive ?"

"Hard to tell. It doesn't look good.."

"No, it doesn't.. Do you think we got to him on time?"

"I do not know. I'm not even sure if- Wait, I think he moved."

Abaddon indeed stirred, prying his eyes open with no small effort, immediately regretting his choice after a far too bright light intruded underneath his eyelids, and descending into a fit of uncontrollable coughs, spitting out all the blood that remained within as soon as he took a deeper breath. Pain. Horrible, excruciating pain filled his chest. He had been right. His sternum was definitely broken.

Damn all of it. Damn Lucifer, damn the Nephilim and damn the blasted air that hurt his lungs with every breath. Mist eventually fell from his sights, revealing to him familiar, tired faces of angelic soldiers leaning over him with distressed looks. His men. The Faneguard. They survived. Some of them at least… Malahidael wasn't so lucky.. One of them, Fariel if his memory doesn't deceive him, was holding up Abaddon's hand in his, and held between his curled fingers, Abaddon noticed an emptied crystal, a used up healing shard glimmering in the sunlight as the energy that was channelled into his body began to close the torn blood vessels.

"Lord Abaddon. Can you hear me?"

Gasping for another bit of air, horribly weakened but still very much alive and likely to stay that way, Abaddon gurgled out a disturbing sound that was supposed to be a miserable chuckle. In honesty, it sounded more like a dying demon than a laugh.. It only served to agitate them even further until he breathed out with relief and nodded as no coherent word could form in his mouth. What happened to Astarte when he was on death's door, he could only guess. But one thing he was sure of. She was still out there. Raving mad and dangerous to all who step into Eden. The law was clear. Astarte had fallen into darkness, defiled the dead and raised her weapon against her brethren. This was not an easy decision but after what he'd seen and lived through, Abaddon was certain now. He tried to bring her back, save her from the hate that grew within her like a malicious weed. But she was clearly too far gone. He couldn't help her.. Too late. As always, he was too late. Whether Abaddon likes it or not, Astarte needs to die. There was nothing more he could do for her. But he won't be the one to play the executioner and the hand of justice. He knew he couldn't. He'd failed twice already.. It will be done, just… not now.

Perhaps another time… They were safe for now. And he needed to think… Abaddon lifted his free hand to his mouth. It was still there, this horrid sensation.. and he knew it won't go away for a long, long time. Resting his head against the ground, he exhaled heavily as blessed unconsciousness started to take a hold on him once more. He needed to rest. They all did…

Even as he was falling into the dark again, he could still feel Astarte's venomous kiss upon his lips. Burning like fire and sinking cruel claws into his chest. Would he ever forgive her for tearing his heart apart? Probably. It wasn't her fault after all. It can't be, can it? Would he ever forget, though? Unlikely.. Abaddon couldn't help but wonder… if it was all his fault? He couldn't command his feelings and order them to leave him. But still, he felt guilty. Not even for Astarte's fall anymore but for ever letting this infatuation control him. That's where this love had gotten him so far. It left him weak and vulnerable. It was beautiful while it lasted but now? Only suffering remained.

No wonder Heaven has such a disdain for love. It causes naught but misery and ruin. A dire thought invaded his hazy mind. It matters not what Astarte had done. He still loved her. Soon, she will be put to rest. And him? Well.. Every, even the greatest warrior has to fall in battle. Eventually… And when that day comes, he will be ready to embrace his end. When that day comes.. they will meet again. Maybe... But until then… His heart hastened even still as he took another breath and silently told himself…

…Never again…

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

It.. it was supposed to be short? I did say short fic, didn't I? Uhh.. Whoops 😓

Also, Gimp 2 has nearly succeed in driving me nuts. In Poland we say "stand on eyelashes and clap one's ears" when something is nigh impossible. Yeah. That was that.

Btw, I take back everything I said about Abaddon's shoulder pads , they're mf'ing gorgeous 👌

[handlewcaare]

It was a rarity in on itself.

Often was it reserved for those who had either: a) lost their wealthy homes, b) lost members who were patrons of the Association’s funds or, c) both, so was the lines he read implied.

He being S-Class, Rank-8 Zombieman. A name he wouldn’t have personally chose, but with the hero almanac constantly updating, he supposed he couldn’t blame them for their hasty decision. What he could was their refutation to see past how fat their wallets would get.

On one hand, his agency attracted more than he anticipated. Civilians from the majority of most populated cities frequented his office when they could. Many of them were average people living average lives, none who could really afford being protected by the H.A. On the other, the cases were relatively the same:

“Could you please kill the monster that ruined my Kabu garden?”

“I-I’ve been feeling like someone’s been stalking me, think you can swing that heavy axe of yours and kill them?”

“I need you to handle my ex-boyfriend. Since the breakup, he turned into this... thing and now he keeps destroying the city.”

From humble private investigative work to monster hunting, if someone told him that was where his life had lead to twenty years ago, he would have scoffed and called them crazy.

While his clothes would often be shredded, stained with copper-scented rose petals or mucus, bile—just about whatever the body secreted really—he couldn’t complain that it was good money he made. It certainly extended his arsenal and sharpened his skills. Though, the concept of empathy was often what made his shadow heavy at his heels.

He wasn’t human, in truth he didn’t know what he was, but the monsters he slaughtered—both in his cases and whatever Sitch had in the roster—were once upon a time. Whether they had a bad breakup, they were forced to surrender their dreams, even if they were on the brink of suicide: they all were once.

It was a wonder that left him awake at night. Was the fault their own or was it his for being the guillotine of their inhumane accomplishments? Could there have been a prevention?

Such a question was answered for when he was tasked to partner with another hero to handle a Demon Level Threat in C-City.

“Just lemme fuckin’ handle it!”

Quite the type for first impressions.

“Metal Bat, it’s really not that simple,” Sitch attempted to hastily state past the adolescent’s obstinate declaration, “we don’t know what kind of monster we’re dealing with—“

“Ya just said it’s a demon threat, yeah?” He barked as he tossed his signature instrument atop of his broad shoulder: a declaration of war, “if it’s got a threat level, I’ll bash its head wide fuckin’ open!”

Hasty planning, eager footsteps out the door, and no dedication for patience; the immortal detective raised a brow as he hastily caught up with the vain delinquent, “what are you in a rush for?”

Whether or not it was the absence of Sitch, there was a distinct growl that weighed the teen’s baritone, “my little sister gotta piano recital an’ I feel like ‘m gonna be late for it.”

“Does Sitch know about this?”

That much evoked a dirty look, “of course, he fuckin’ knows. Why do ya think I mention her every time I’m pulled outta school to attend his bullshit meetin’s?”

The private investigator couldn’t help suppress his own distaste in the form of a stiff upper lip. It was one thing to employ a kid genius who essentially taught his own classes, it was another to employ one who wasn’t. To envision how his grades were would have made just about any parent worried.

“How long do you have?”

“Three hours.”

“Let’s make a bet,” if there was one thing that made quick work, it was heavy hands. Given how silent Metal Bat was, it only egged the detective to resume, “whoever delivers the fatal blow in an hour and thirty minutes wins.”

It certainly piqued the disgruntled brother’s interest, what with his lack of hasty intervention; no dismissive ‘yeah, yeah’ or his steps to punctuate his ignorance. “Wins what?”

“Dunno,” at least the detective was honest, “udon?”

“How about I get yer real name?”

That was a new one. Usually with the gamble came a promise of paid ice cream (usually with Dr. Hajime or Pig God), to share a bottle of sake with (Kamikaze) or have their drink paid for at the nearest pub (One-Shotter came into mind). The inquiry of his name managed to certainly stun the detective.

“I didn’t think you’d want to get to know me.”

“Well, considerin’ we’re gonna be workin’ together, it’s the least I can ask for,” Metal Bat quipped, “ ‘sides, I don’t think ya like bein’ called ‘Zombieman’ .”

“How’d you wager that?” For a moment, he assumed he was dealing with a quick study. It wasn’t uncommon for the hardy, brash types to have some light upstairs.

“Iunno anyone who wants to be called a corpse.”

“...Yeah, okay,” he certainly was on the nose about that one.

it was a reasonable price for a hefty, time-constraint mission. It certainly made his wallet breathe a sigh of relief and they might even make it to the piano recital on time. There was a bit of a lilt in the undead detective’s tone, “would you like to know my dog’s name too?”

The delinquent rolled his eyes, “now yer pushin’ it.”

————————————————————

On the transit to C-City, Metal Bat was as restless as the White Rabbit in Wonderland. In the span of twenty minutes, his knee shook and he frantically glanced at whatever face had numbers on it. More importantly, he held a mannerism that was awfully polite in his strange definition.

Anyone who recognized him would never be met with the snarling dog the detective would see during the meetings. Rather, the delinquent would scrawl his signature along baseballs and sheepishly raise a hand in a small wave when someone took a photo of him. Not once did he bark at any of them, though his brow did twitch with each stop that was not for them.

Once they finally stepped off, the detective practically had to keep in tandem to the storm Metal Bat brewed. “You seem to be popular,” calling him a celebrity would have been an insult.

“Nah,” it was a guttural remark, “just friendly.”

It wasn’t exactly the word Zombieman would have used, but it was close enough to bonafide. He wasn’t overtly friendly nor was he chatting up with his fans. It was brisk and it was momentary; as friendly as strangers could get.

Once they reached past the tournament was it completely barren. It wasn’t the same as the alley the private eye peered through with Dr. Hajime, as it felt vacant; the phantoms could only whisper as loud as the billowing wind.

What was beyond the horizon was an oxen-like creature, his maw gaped into a hellish cry as his eight tails swayed and lashed out tirelessly at the tree trunks in the park. The playground beside it was but a debris of twisted metal and splintered wood.

It was strange to say the least. As short as Zombieman’s presence in the H.A. Was, no monster was without bloodshed. Too often would he be welcomed with the pungent odor of sanguine, be it his own or (worst case) another. There was not a semblance of casualties, no grotesque visage that would prompt him to make Metal Bat look away from.

“I think we—!”

Moments before he could provide his analysis, Metal Bat already charged headfirst after the oxen.

“Ay, Nesquick!”

Nesquick was a good name, given how laconic the beast seemed ready to lash its heavy appendage at the delinquent. Though, it wasn’t without reciprocation when his muscles visibly strained to bat the tendril aside.

Seeking opportunity for the opening, both the detective and the delinquent lunged with both bat and axe in hand. While the oxen had little to no trouble catching both instruments, the howl it emitted wrought a singeing sense of combating emotions: dedication to his work and empathy.

Within that same beat of revelation, the oxen hastily tossed the two heroes aside. Lavender sanguine dribbled heavily from its palms. Had he not landed back first into a gazebo’s rooftop, he probably would have noted the dewdrops of tears budding along the monster’s wrathful gaze.

It wasn’t long for Metal Bat to shoot him a whistle from where he landed in the bush. As coordinated as they were, they both seemed to have a mutual understanding that this wasn’t just another monster for the slaughter. That lingering, dreadful sense of empathy weighed heavy at his shadow.

“Cover me.”

The instant that Metal Bat sprung to his feet was where he used the tendril as a launching pad. The oxen could barely muster a decent swing before a bullet ripped through its hand. What grueling ache of a cry had been interjected by the silver bite of a bat down onto it’s maw. The earth nearly caved into the beast’s weight.

It would have been a victory, had the beast not blindly swatted at Metal Bat. Claws easily ripped through the maroon shirt and part of the overcoat he kept draped over his shoulders. However, not once did the delinquent ceased his relentless blows into the beast’s countenance. Not even as sanguine petals stained his uniform.

The hero almanac declared this as a victory, but there was no valor in it. Not if the delinquent would practically kill himself. Once the detective leapt down from the gazebo’s rooftop, he made the mistake in trying to block another thrashing blow. Under the sheer brevity did his tibia and radius shatter to knock his entire forearm out of joint. However, it was enough to alarm the delinquent out of his barrage.

“The hell are ya doin’ ??”

“He’s down,” that was more than enough for Metal Bat’s reluctance to turn into compliance. Just as when the adolescent readied for an diatribe, the detective grunted when he felt a tendril puncture through the entirety of his torso. His ribs were splayed and the flora of intestines managed to inch their way out from the intrusive appendage.

Oh.

He barely could manage to reach for the machete he had tucked under the collar of his shirt before he sliced the tendril. The howl now caressed a painful chirp under the brevity of his swing.

What hampered him, he couldn’t say. However, as the beast writhed in agony, there was a spiteful strike against its horn by his coorespondent.

“Why the hell did ya stop me?!”

As Zombieman’s fatal wound deliberately regenerated by tissue to organ, he was swift enough to keep the tendrils from penetrating the adolescent. Be it that he was subjected to the stabbings himself or he managed to utilize his dual machetes simultaneously. “Thought you were going too far.”

“Too far?!” The delinquent’s incredulity was presented with a harsh swing that evoked the detective to duck under it. Once the tendril was swatted, he was hasty to fire his desert eagle, “it’s a fuckin’ monster! There ain’t nothing that’s ‘too far’ when handlin’ it!”

Not true, would say a poet. As he was going too far for himself.

With their simultaneous efforts, it wasn’t long until the oxen crumpled up into a little ball. What stubs of its appendages attempted to thrash wildly to pry the two of them off.

“Bat!”

The instant the delinquent turned, he fired his final bullet along the edifice of indestructible metal. The chirp of the richochete struck through the detective’s skull and punctured the beast’s last horn.

Just as his limp body collapsed, as did the oxen’s. It was only a matter of time before either of them would come to, though he was surprised to find that the oxen’s physique gradually dispersed into a thick penumbra. Most monsters would have been but a thick trophy for the hero to stand victoriously upon. The crowds of the city would have cried their names and they would have made it to Zenko’s piano recital on time.

Once the detective came to, the uttered curse from his partner evoked a sense of dread. As the monster’s physique was entirely replaced with a sobbing child who kept her bruised knees close to her chest. Her lithe physique quivered, as if recoiling from the suffering she had just regained. She couldn’t have been much older than six.

Empathy was a heavy shadow.

Just as the detective stood to his full height, he huffed, “Why don’t you go to your sister’s—?” It would have been easy to assume that the monster had been vanquished in that moment. A hearty slam of a bat to put the beast out of her misery.

Rather, the detective’s russet gaze only watched when Metal Bat hunkered down to his heels and draped his partially tarnished jacket over her quivering shoulders. His bat and his concept of time neglected to keep the sniveling little girl company. He even opted to scoop her up in his arms and implore where her father was.

At times, the concept of being a hero made the detective ponder. He wondered if the association truly did just hire desperate folks like him or if there truly were genuinely good people affiliated with such a corporation. Everyone, himself included, had their strange definition of good. Even if that meant being a few minutes late for a piano recital.

Once the two of them reunited the girl with her mother, the transit to Zenko’s Elementary school was a long and quiet one. The detective might have even lit up a cigarette, had there not been any signs to prohibit it. Instead, he suggested to help treat the kid’s wound, only for Metal Bat to remark that his ‘fighting spirit’ will keep him conscious.

It was a weird religious remark, but the detective complied.

A few minutes afterward, Metal Bat thumbed the sparse bills of yen in his wallet, though he could barely contain his grimace, “how much is this udon place ya wanna go to anyway?”

“Daichi.”

One could hear a pin drop when the delinquent’s fiery glare flickered in astonishment. His brows raised as he stared owlishly, “ ‘scuse me?”

“I don’t remember my real name,” the detective drawled, “but I remember being called Daichi by some people.”

The delinquent could only offer a little simper, it was a lopsided grin, but it was better than a curled lip of a snarl. “Badd.”

The detective couldn’t help but sigh, “yeah, I guess it is.”

“No, I mean, that’s my name.”

When there was a hint of intrigue, there was a punctual snap of Bad’s wallet when he slumped, “yeah- ya could say my parents hated my fuckin’ guts. Tossed my ass out when I was fourteen and told me to take Zenko with me.”

The detective’s hands drowned within his pockets as he listened to the rest.

“I mean, shit- she’s already doin’ so much better than I could ever do, y’know? I mean, yeah- her piano tutor is expensive, but it makes her happy. Plus, I wanna be there to make sure she grows up right and not a complete fuck-up.”

It was hard to imagine Badd as a bleeding heart, but there was no denying the thick droplets of sanguine that stained the tips of their shoes. Though, he might have gotten a bit sentimental from the scrapes and cuts he sustained prior. It was within that beat that the detective tilted his head back, “want my honest opinion?”

For a moment, Badd sounded like he was prepared for an insult. “Yeah.”

“I don’t think Zenko could ask for a better brother.”

There was a silence that befell them. Whether or not it was Badd actively suppressing the urge to laugh or cry, Daichi couldn’t tell. However, there was a little “thanks” that managed to squeeze out from his throat.

——————————————————

Once the two of them made it to the recital, Zenko had just begun her playing her piano. Her older brother practically destroyed the back of the seat to suppress the urge to openly weep. Had it not been for the quivering, the tucked lip and the profuse reluctance of weeping, Daichi would have been rather intimidated.

“You...uh..—“

“SHH!!” Bat hissed in a whisper, “Zenko’s playin’ !”

In truth, the girl was a formidable pianist. However, unlike her brother, she was not the whole reason as to why Daichi was there. It didn’t take long for him to figure out who her tutor was, considering how she practically meandered toward him and asked if he was their uncle shortly after the recital.

“...yeah,” a good lie wouldn’t have hurt, especially since Badd was too busy gushing about how fantastic Zenko was. Though, her concern of him being a mess seemed to interject. “Say, how much is the tutoring lessons?”

“About ten thousand yen,” she elucidated, “do you have a son or daughter who’d want to perform?”

No wonder Badd couldn’t afford it.

After the moment he spent with the piano tutor, Daichi turned on his heel, “I’ve gotta go do some sleuthing,” the detective proclaimed, “I’ll see you around, Badd.”

“Oh- yeah! See ya.” For the strangest of reasons, Zenko evoked this harmony Badd would never demonstrate in the presence of his co-workers. Even his little simper held a semblance of juvenile naivety at the contours.

After a brief pause, the detective nodded toward the little lady, “keep an eye out on your brother. He’s one of the good ones.”

“I promise!!” Zenko piped up, they were siblings alright.

Even now, Badd could never did figure out who paid for Zenko’s piano lessons. Even after he would manage to scrape up the money, her tutor would always refute the offer.

While a heavy burden, empathy was the most humane thing to carry.

[michael-langdon-appreciation]

Apocalypse After (Part 11)

Pairing: Michael Langdon x fem!reader

Summary: There was never any hope of saving Michael Langdon, never a chance to stop the apocalypse. The Antichrist was already too intertwined with his destiny when the reader met him all those years ago. But Mallory can go back and make things right and when the reader travels with her, an opportunity sparks to try and make things right after all.

Words: 2.4K

Warning: Character!Death, violence, the afterlife, religious references 

A/N: Time for another long awaited update! We’re getting into some BACKSTORY here and I hope everything is still making sense. We get some drama in this chapter hons, so I hope you are READY!  

(The Apocalypse After masterlist is up to date, so if you are new you can read the whole series there!) 

Descending is peaceful. It’s pretty much dying, except you get a sliver of hope that somehow you might return. Your body goes completely weightless, as if you’re gliding through water as you materialise inside your own hell. 

Metal pokes at me, glass rains down on my face.

I will myself to be calm.

It isn’t real. Not this time. 

The car engine whirs something horrid as I try and inch myself out of the wreck, but I’m stuck. My leg has been crushed in the fray and no matter how I scream I can’t get free and no one is coming to save me. 

Fear floods me, the claustrophobia and the knowledge that my pursuers are also dead in the backseats. Blood coats the driver’s headrest, the body-shaped hole in the glass is my biggest indicator that whoever was driving crashed. 

‘HELP!’ I shove my body weight against the steering wheel, gripping on as I try and ease myself free.

I can’t move my leg. 

The goons, sent to get me.

Fiona.

‘HELP ME!’ I scream louder, begging for anyone to come. 

I don’t know how long I try and work myself free, it could be seconds or hours. 

I could be dead again and never know. 

My magic is useless.

‘MICHAEL!’ 

‘Now this is interesting.’ A face looms in at me, through the cracked windshield. The cracked visage, those coal-red eyes that can see into your very depths. ‘Of all the people I thought would come for a visit, you are not one I thought would be back.’ 

‘Papa,’ My breath leaves me, mystified as the Loa reaches a hand through the hole and cups my chin. ‘Did…who sent you?’

‘Despite your death occurring once before, you have tried again knowing that your fate will be the same.’ He purrs, ‘Suicide? After all I did for you?’ 

‘This is not suicide.’ I say, unable to look away from those penetrating eyes.

Understanding dawns and then settles, twinkling in those eyes, ‘The boy. You follow on his command?’ 

‘I didn’t have a choice.’ 

‘You said the spell yourself.’ He warns, ‘You do not have to be here, living the worst time of your life over and over.’

I swallow, wishing I could wrench myself from his cold touch, ‘He’ll come find me.’

‘You trust him?’ Papa’s head tilts to the side, ‘He is the Antichrist, no?’

I hesitate, ‘Not anymore.’

‘No.’ Papa’s yellowed teeth appear as his lips stretch into a smile, ‘You corrected that part of him. Despite my very clear warning.’

‘I didn’t break our contract.’ I insist, ’The deal was you’d give me another life so long as I never interfere with a soul that belongs to you. Michael never belonged to you.’

‘Not to me.’ Papa withdraws his hand, ‘But to another, far more powerful than I.’ 

I hadn’t thought it through. 

In trying to keep Michael safe, I’d delivered both of us right to someone far more sinister than Mallory. 

’They want to see you,’ Papa elaborates, his hand rising. The car and our surroundings dissolve, leaving us in a white box. 

I’m paralysed, incapable of getting up despite my freed leg. ‘Where is Michael?’

‘He’s back in the land of the living.’ Papa breezes past me, towards a door I hadn’t seen before. He takes out a key ring with more keys than seem possible, glowing a spectrum of colours. He inserts a distinct white key into the door and with a clack, it opens. ‘He did ask after you, but I have orders and thanks to you, the boy is no longer in a management position.’ 

There goes my window of opportunity. 

The escape I’d been banking on. 

‘Come, now.’ There’s no arguing or fighting Papa Legba. I follow him out into corridors of polished black marble, gloomy after such stark whiteness. We walk for an indeterminable amount of time, past doors upon doors upon doors. There are no numbers, but as we travel along occasionally Papa will insert a key, open a door and peer inside. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that doors with a dark coloured key a someone’s personal hell. The screams of terror of confirmation enough. Every so often, Papa will produce a pastel key, open a door to which there is silence.

Those doors unnerve me even more.

What could make a person be completely silent in hell? 

‘We have seen the work you have been doing,’ Papa comments after closing another of these doors. He keeps the key ring in hand as we continue walking, ‘Freeing the souls of the damned.’ 

‘No one should be stuck in eternal torment.’ 

‘You no longer have voice in those matters.’ 

‘I still have my power.’ My voice stings with defensiveness, I can barely control my shakes. ‘So long as I have it I’ll defy them.’ 

We emerge into a foyer, more elaborate than the endless corridor and turn left, down a side hallway. ‘Between you and I’ Papa says, ‘I have rather enjoyed your efforts.’ That takes me by surprise as a deep chuckle emerges from the Loa, ‘It has been a long time since I saw them so…rattled.’

He raps once on a door and then sets back down the corridor, ‘I hope to see you again, Y/N. Under better circumstances.’ 

The door opens and I suck in a breath. 

                                              Manicured nails drum against a desk. I slip into the office, trying to compose myself before they turn around. They consult a whiteboard, head tilting in observation before connecting a line in red marker to another. ‘Close the door.’

I do as I’m told, but stay close enough to try and get some semblance of a head start if I need to. The marker clatters to the floor, a feminine giggle rising between us, ‘Running, you’re better than that.’ 

I haven’t seen them adopt this form in years, but we all know she remains one of their preferred physical forms. The simple black dress, the habit that hides blonde hair and the infamous, tell-tale lipstick sitting on the desk. Blue flashes orange as finally, they turn round with a face full of glee. ‘You’ve come home to us, finally.’ 

‘A pleasure.’ I say, still not moving. 

‘Tea?’ They cast a hand over the desk, where a teapot, sugar sachets, creamer and a spoon appear, ‘Or coffee?’ 

A Starbucks Frappuccino materialises and I’m almost surprised, still I walk over and start sucking on it. ‘A new acquisition?’ 

‘Took long enough didn’t it?’ Satan is pleased with themselves, perching on the desk. ‘Such a corrupt corporation, such capitalism and they only just pledge themselves to me. It will never fail to impress me how much people are influenced by greed.’ 

I know what they’re getting at. 

‘I wasn’t greedy.’ I say, ‘I love him.’ 

’Still greed.’ They counter, spinning a finger at me. ‘You could not resist meddling. My son was doing well enough on his own.’

‘I thought after four days, if you weren’t going to bother…’

Satan re-applies a fresh coat of scarlet, ‘I was teaching him to not be so fucking soft. Pathetic, piss-dribble of a boy couldn’t even tie his own shoe laces without applause.’ They take in a breath, a tight smile back in place, ‘Nevertheless, we are here.’

‘I really got under your skin, didn’t I?’ I say it as it dawns on me, Satan’s barely just restraining themselves from lashing out at me. Their grip is too tight on the lipstick, their smile so far removed from a genuine humane smile. Even my Starbucks has gone acrid, sour and makes me want to vomit. 

‘Tell me why I shouldn’t slit that little throat, set you alight and use your blood for my next bath?’ 

‘I don’t work for you anymore.’ I say, trying to remain brave despite how my voice tremors. Satan’s pushed themselves right up in my face, Starbucks shoved to the side and splattered on the chair meant for me. ‘My deal with Papa exonerated from you.’ 

‘All the fallen work for me.’ Satan snarls, ‘As it has always been.’ 

‘You’ll try again.’ I’m working towards an angle, ‘You always try again. If you’re anything it’s committed. Regardless of me, Michael would still be dead. You’d still have no Antichrist.’ 

I’ve got them there. Satan stalks back to their desk and throws themselves in the chair, those blue eyes are now a permanent orange. I can see the whiteboard now, behind which is a very detailed plan, written in cursive red marker. I follow the lines to a set of names with a black ring around them. ‘It’s happening,’ I murmur. ‘You’ve already done it.’ 

‘It will take time.’ Satan never takes their eyes off me, ‘2020 is the next prime year.’ 

‘But you still face the same problem Michael had.’ I counter, feeling a little more confident. I inspect the work laid out, following a black tangent that connects to a name I’m all too familiar with, ‘You’ll never succeed until you end the witches entirely. Especially, the Supreme.’ 

‘I am aware.’ 

‘Then do it yourself.’ I say, ‘Stop making your children do you work for you. You have the capability.’

‘Always more fun to entice men and women to their own dirty deeds.’ Satan echoes, a smile back on their face. ‘All are corruptible, even you.’ 

‘Your efforts are pointless until you finally get off your ass and do it yourself.’ I head for the door, ‘You’ve told me what I need to know, Michael is no longer the Antichrist. He’s free of you and all this.’ 

‘But you are not.’ 

The voice is a whisper in my ear. When I turn round Satan is right behind me. They seize my shoulders, lifting me a couple centimetres off the ground as if I were a feather. ‘My son is as dispensable as a fly, but you-

‘I don’t belong to you anymore.’ I hiss, feet dangling. ‘Your father saw to that himself.’ 

‘You will kill them.’ Satan murmurs. The echo of my hiss manifests, till there is nothing but hissing all around me. The floor has turned to snakes, writhing with their mouths open, fangs bared to snap at me. ‘The witches. The Supremes, all of them.’ 

‘No.’

‘And if you refuse me,’ Satan sings, ‘I will drag that fucked up, useless brat of mine beyond the veil where not even your God could find his mangled carcass.’ 

The office door bangs open. Both Satan and my head snaps towards the figure standing in the door. 

Mallory seizes my wrist, dragging me out of the room, ‘We need to go, now.’

‘You…’ My brain can’t catch up, as Mallory drags me further away from Satan. The devil does nothing but offer a simple wave, before returning to their calculations. ‘The snakes?’

‘No snakes.’ Mallory says, ‘Just magic, Y/N run.’ 

My feet start running, the two of us racing back into the foyer and down the endless corridor of torment. No one follows us, but the voices inside every room are louder, their screams and pleas for sanctuary right on our heels as we run for our lives. ‘You shouldn’t have come back for me.’ I tell her.

‘And let you die?’ She shoots back, ‘Baby Alpha is already crying, you think I want to live with that?’ 

‘Baby what?’

I collide with something so hard, we all go sprawling on the floor.

‘OW!’

‘Michael?’ I breathe, shoving my hair out of my eyes to see the Boy Wonder rubbing the back of his head. 

‘You didn’t come back.’ He’s a mess, eyes bloodshot with fresh tear tracks running down his cheeks. ‘Why did you do it!’

‘I wanted to protect you.’

‘From me?’ Mallory picks herself up off the floor, ‘I just saved your life.’ 

‘Well it’s not exactly in your character, is it?’ I snap back at her, ’Have you lost your penchant for four-wheel drives?’

Her face distorts into a snarl as Michael puts himself between the two of us. I catch my breath as Michael studies Mallory, ‘You, tried to kill me.’

Mallory puts her hands up, ‘I had to.’

Michael’s eyes blaze, but I yank him back, using his arm to clamber back to my feet, ‘Don’t.’

‘Why shouldn’t I?’ He growls, ‘I never did anything to you.’

Mallory’s eyes dart to me, ‘You will.’ 

‘No he won’t.’ I say firmly, ‘He isn’t…that’s not part of him anymore.’ 

Michael turns to eye me, ‘Did she try and hurt you?’

My silence is a fraction too long. Michael’s eyes gleam with vengeance as Mallory’s chant dies, her throat clasped firmly in Michael’s grasp. ‘MICHAEL.’ I press forwards, trying to push him off her but Michael sends me flying back against the wall. He squeezes hard, but to her credit Mallory lets out no sound. I fight against Michael’s magic as her eyes bulge, bullfrog like. Colour seeps out of her, lips turn blue.

Neither of us spot the flash of silver till after Mallory’s struck. Blood seeps from Michael’s throat and he staggers back, releasing her. I move on pure instinct, seizing the knife as it falls between Mallory and Michael. I drive it into her so hard I’m sure it must be sticking out the other side. Blood sputters from her lips as I shove her back against one of the doors to hell. I clamp my hand over Michael’s throat, failing to stem the gushing flow of blood as Mallory takes a final breath. 

There’s laughter all around, shrill and deep and manic and full of such much mirth. 

Papa peers over Mallory’s body, his eyes meeting mine once more. He holds up a finger - my final chance. 

My body convulses, trying to cram air back into my lungs as I surge upwards. Faces peer at me and I push them away and wheel round. Michael too has risen, clutching at his throat as he gargles and screams. The Warlocks are all over him, trying to calm the boy down. We lock eyes, equal terror reflected back in the other. 

Cordelia’s scream is petrifying, she sinks to her knees as Mallory’s body disintegrates.

Just like Misty Day, all those years ago. 

The Supreme quakes as Zoe tends to her, wrapping her up in a tight hug. 

Myrtle remains as stoic as ever, fixing a crease in her gloves as she casts her eyes over each of us ‘Now, that’s a sorrowful turn of events.’ 

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