#a beast that needs to be locked away since it can’t be killed or maybe they didn’t have the heart to him (for some reason)

[mindtrcks]

for tyler - maybe something about reader helping rescue him from thornhill & being the hyde’s master instead of her? love your writing style!

this is hungry work

Pairing: Tyler Galpin/Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: vague mentions of grooming/violence, smut, quite a bit of plot oops, unrealistically happy ending

Summary: You may not have a master plan or a decades long vendetta, but you do have Nathaniel Faulkner's diary, and a recurring penchant for taking wild leaps of faith.

Nathaniel Faulkner says that the Hyde is a beast lying dormant in an innocent man. Something waiting to be awakened. A creature loyally dependent on its master, subservient to its core.

Wednesday says that it’s Tyler. 

She says he’s a monster, that he killed enough people to get a taste for it, and now he’s killed his master, too. That he’s out of control and it’s only a matter of time before he does something big, before more people get hurt. She says anything he’s done before now has been a lie; he doesn’t care about you, and he never did. You were a pawn in he and Kinbott’s game, and he would've tossed you away the second you’d served your purpose. She says that he isn't the boy you thought, and he isn't to be trusted. 

But he's sitting right in front of you, with the same puppy dog frown and furrowed brows as always. He's looking up at you with something like desperation in his eyes, and for the first time since you’ve met her, you doubt Wednesday. How could this boy—quiet and sweet and scared—be the monster she claims? How could Tyler from the coffee shop—Tyler who’s soft spoken and friends with outcasts and isn’t even screaming at Wednesday for kidnapping him—be anything but good?

You don’t doubt he’s the Hyde. If Wednesday had a vision, you’re not going to question that. But you do question whether or not she knows the whole story. 

—

You’re at Nevermore when Wednesday finally pieces it all together. She’s been expelled, taking the fall for you and anybody else who’d been in that shed with her. Weems had taken it upon herself to personally escort Wednesday to the station, but evidently, even expulsion can’t stop somebody as stubborn as her.

She texts you from Eugene’s phone, the message just a single word. Thornhill.

It’s all you need to bolt up in bed, to shove your shoes on and search blindly for your jacket. You’re not sure whether it’s wishful thinking or just plain hubris, but some part of you—the outcast that wants nothing more than to fit in, to be a part of something—thinks that if you can stop Thornhill, you can stop it all. You can keep anybody else from being killed and thwart whatever Thornhill’s plan is, and best of all, you can help Tyler in the process. 

It’s either that, or die trying. 

—

Breaking into Thornhill’s classroom is easier than expected. She doesn't leave Ophelia Hall after eight anymore; the lockdown has grown too serious, the dark too dangerous. It allieves your fear, as you creep through Nevermore’s halls, to know that her classroom will be empty when you arrive. To not be afraid of Thornhill would be stupid; if Wednesday’s right, and Thornhill’s responsible for everything, you don’t doubt she’d be willing to kill you for snooping. 

The door is locked when you reach your destination, but you waste no time in picking it. You aren’t sure how urgent this is, aren’t sure where Wednesday is or where Thornhill is or where Tyler is, and you aren’t sure what she could possibly be making him do. 

You choose not to think about it as your eyes scan the room. You head to her desk first, frantically flipping through sheets of paper, turning over folders and ransacking drawers. You move to the bookshelf when the desk proves fruitless, scanning the dust on the spines of books. Nothing sticks out; the last thing you deem to try is the filing cabinet, looming in the corner of the room. There’s only one drawer that’s open, the metal dented and bent like it’d been slammed in a rush. Your feet take you to it before your brain even has time to consciously make a decision; your hands pulling it open before you know what you’re doing. 

It’s empty, save for one thing: a leatherbound journal with the name Nathaniel Faulkner engraved on the spine. 

—

Nathaniel Faulkner says that the Hyde is a beast lying dormant in an innocent man, a creature loyally dependent on its master. 

He also says that this loyalty does not run as thick as one might think.

—

The thing is, you don’t know Tyler as well as you wish you did. You don’t get to talk as much as you’d like, or to hang out without the murders hanging over your heads. But it’s not like you’re a stranger, certainly not like Thornhill was. No, you’d go as far as to say you’re his friend, maybe among his only ones. He trusts you, and despite yourself—despite everything that he’s done—you trust him.

A Hyde’s relationship to its master is built on trust, says Faulkner.

And maybe you don’t have a master plan, or a decades long vendetta, but you do have Nathaniel Faulkner’s diary, and a recurring penchant for taking wild leaps of faith.

—

He’s in the woods outside of Nevermore when you find him, looking antsy and wrong. 

You don’t want to think about what he’s doing there, about why his fingers are curled up into fists at his side. What he’s done doesn’t matter to you; all you care about is what he will do, what choice he’ll make. You approach him carefully, not wanting to set him off, or scare him away. You can’t imagine what kind of headspace he’s in, or the things going through his mind.

It’s only been hours since you’ve last seen him, but he already looks changed. Whatever act he’d been keeping up in Xavier’s shed, in the police station, he’s dropped now. His eyes are dark and his shoulders tense, mouth curled into something cruel. You hear Wednesday’s words echo in your head—he isn’t the boy you thought, he’s a monster, he’s using you—but you try to drown them out. You know Tyler. You know the good he’s capable of. So what if he’s capable of bad, too? 

“Tyler,” you say, keeping your voice steady as you step forward. He doesn’t back up, but he does narrow his eyes, leveling you with a gaze that has you on edge, shifting on your feet, your body screaming at you to back down, turn away. 

He smiles at you; not the small, shy thing you’ve seen from across the Weathervane so many times, but something sharp around the edges, showing a few too many teeth. Have his canines always been that big? Sharp enough to pierce skin? You feel something run up your spine; a shiver or a thrill, you aren’t sure, and you don’t care enough to try and discern it. Tyler’s walking towards you, and it’s hard to care about much of anything besides him in front of you and the diary weighing heavy in your bag. “You're the one they sent to fight the big, bad wolf?” he asks, looming over you. He expects you to be scared, to run away.

But scared isn’t exactly the word you would use. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

You can see his face flicker for a moment, quick enough that it would've gone unnoticed if you hadn't been looking for it. “And why is that?” he asks, nostrils flaring as he steps impossibly closer.

You refuse to let the proximity affect you, no matter how much it's trying to.  “Because it’s pointless,” you say, chin lifting up in defiance. “You know Wednesday. She won’t let you win.”

“So I should surrender, then?” he scoffs, because he thinks those are his only two options. He thinks this is kill or be killed; keep fighting or get arrested, sent away for life. But you have another option.

“Not necessarily,” you say, as your hand snakes down to your satchel and pulls out the diary. Tyler’s eyes zero in on it instantly, lighting up with recognition, with want. “How would you like to put this whole mess behind you, Thornhill included?”

He blinks a few times before glancing back up at you, narrowing his eyes. “I can’t,” he says, baring his teeth around the words, like it physically pains him to say them.

You raise an eyebrow in challenge. “Why?”

He looks mad, now. Not the simmering anger that’s been in the air the whole time, but a lighter kind of rage that’s more akin to simple frustration. More akin to something you’ve seen on Tyler before. You never thought you’d be relieved for somebody to be mad at you. “That's not how it works.

“Because she’s taught you so much about how it works.”

“More than you possibly could,” he spits out, and it’s supposed to be an insult, but instead it’s just plain wrong. Because you have the exact same diary that she did, the exact same knowledge at your fingertips. Only, you’re willing to share your toys. 

He watches as you lift up the diary, flipping to your bookmarked page. It’s power in your palms; power over Thornhill, over Tyler. It makes you sick, a little, knowing his fate is literally in your hands. How did Thornhill ever take it? “‘I have heard of Hyde’s gaining new masters only through means of battle spoils or dark magic, but I imagine there must be one other way,’” you recite, reading off of page three of Faulkner’s section on masters, the chapter you had found the most helpful in your frantic skim-through. Tyler stares down at you with something in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. You’ll unpack it later. “‘Seeing as the decision is always ultimately the Hyde’s—whether consciously or not—if a prospective master was ready and willing, a Hyde might simply choose them.’”

“You want…” he starts, incredulous, but doesn’t finish. He just looks at you, conflicted, confused, and maybe a little bit of something else. You understand that what you’re offering is bigger than anything you’ve done with him before now. Going from sitting across from each other at the Weathervane or being present in the same car—Wednesday or Enid or even Fester always a buffer—to offering yourself up as his master is quite the leap. Still, for whatever reason, you’re hopeful. 

“Yes,” you answer, even if he technically never finished asking his question. Yes, you want to do this, yes, you’re willing to take the leap, yes to everything. 

Tyler shifts on his feet, suddenly seeming wildly uncomfortable as his eyes skirt around the treeline. He’s looking for her, you realize. He’s scared she’s there, scared she’s watching. Scared he’s in trouble. 

A gnawing pit forms in your stomach. “Tyler,” you say, and your voice draws his eyes away from the woods. “I’m offering. All you have to do is make the choice, and all this goes away.”

It sounds simpler than it is. There will be things to do, after. Strings to tie, messes to clean. But right now, all you need is to get Tyler away from Thornhill. Permanently. 

Tyler stays silent for a moment, regarding you with something on his face that you don't recognize. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, unreadable. But you refuse to falter.

“Because you don't deserve…her,” you say.  “The things she did to you. It doesn't have to be like that.”

He seems to consider this, for a moment, eyeing you up and down. He has no reason to refuse, not really. Not unless he actually does enjoy it, like Wednesday claims. If he likes killing, gets off on the taste of blood in his mouth. You know he doesn't, though. That's Thornhill. Right? 

“So what do I do?” he asks, shrugging his shoulders up. “Since you're the expert here. What do I do?”

You close the diary, dropping it down to your side. There aren't step by step instructions, no ancient ritual for you to follow in the dead of night. All Nathaniel Faulkner had to say on the matter is that the choice is always the Hyde’s. 

You roll with it.

“The choice is yours, Tyler. Make it.”

He furrows his brows, looks like he wants to protest, but doesn't. He keeps his mouth tightly shut, ducking his head down and focusing hard on the ground. You don't know what it's like, on his side. Aren’t sure how hard it could possibly be to make a decision, but won’t comment on it. You’ll give him however long he needs. 

After what feels like an eternity but must’ve only been a few moments, he looks back up at you, and you know instinctively that it’s done. 

“Did it work?” you ask, peering up at him. He seems unchanged. The same Tyler you’ve been talking to this whole time. The same Tyler that killed all those people and put Eugene in the hospital.

He shrugs. “Tell me to do something.”

You consider it; there's a million things you could tell him to do, endless ways this could go. In the end, you land on something simple. Something with no strings. “Come here,” you request, plainly.

And he does. 

—

So you’re Tyler’s master, now. 

It’s weird to think about. Weird to think that you’re the one who figured it out, that this victory belongs to you. You expected it might go to Wednesday, that she’d be the one to help Tyler. Either that, or kill him. You thought his fate would end up in her hands, for better or for worse. 

Evidently, it did not. 

—

There are many things you come to realize about Tyler in the following months that you never thought you’d get to know. 

You know he doesn’t really drink coffee, despite his choice in occupation. He wears socks for as many hours of the day as possible, and he sleeps with three blankets instead of a comforter. You know he keeps a secret stash of twizzlers in the cabinet above the microwave, because if his dad sees them they’ll be gone before the day is over. You know what shampoo he uses, how he prefers Spotify over Apple Music, and which drawer is the sock drawer. You know his favorite TV show is Friends, and that he’s embarrassed to tell people about it. 

You’re watching it right now, curled up on his couch in pajamas, empty bowl of popcorn abandoned at your side. Moments like this feel equal parts right and bizarre. Tyler’s a killer, and yet you’re spending your Friday night watching Friends together in his living room. It’s strange, but everything about your life is strange. You barely even notice it anymore. 

Tyler shifts beside you; you’re so close on the couch that it seems less like two bodies and more like a wild conglomeration of limbs; a leg here, an arm twisting there, the brush of fingers on the back of your neck. His hipbone is digging into your thigh, but you don’t mind. You wouldn’t move if every one of your extremities had fallen asleep. If the couch had set fire.

“You should…maybe move your leg,” Tyler says, breaking you out of your haze. You don’t have to do anything but tilt your head to look at him; when you do, he’s staring back up at you with furrowed brows and flushed cheeks, working his lips together. 

It takes you a moment to realize what he means, to feel that familiar weight pressing into the skin of your thigh. When you do, it’s with a start. Yes, you’ve done this a few times. But not enough for it to be a common occurrence. It may be rare, but it’s certainly not the first time. Once you get your bearings, you find that you’re confident enough to smile down at him, to raise an eyebrow and ask, “Should I?”

He makes a little sound in the back of his throat, and you can feel his hips arch up, ever so slightly. “I mean,” he starts, breathy and quiet. “Or you could keep it there. If you want.”

“What do you want?” you ask, sneaking a hand down to the sliver of skin exposed between Tyler’s shirt and his flannel pants. He shivers, but doesn’t answer. “Tyler,” you urge, trailing your fingers over his stomach. 

“Touch me?” he asks, squeezing his eyes shut, tilting his head away. 

And you’re not really in the business of denying him. It takes some adjusting—you do have to move your leg—in order to find the right angle, but Tyler waits patiently as you shimmy your way down the couch, until you can look at him and touch him all at once. You aren’t sure how long he’s been hard, but when you trail your hand down and underneath the waistband of his pants, he gasps too loud for it to have been a short while. 

He’s hot and heavy in your hand, already a little wet, too. As you grasp him, he shoves his face into your shoulder, exhaling long and slow into your skin. “This what you mean?” you ask, maybe a little mean.

He nods. You won’t make him say it—you’re not that mean—but you could. If you asked, he’d answer. You’ve found that’s true in a lot of aspects of your life. It’s a power you’re still scared to wield, no matter how many times Tyler reassures you. You prefer subtlety, to guide him in this way, rather than by giving outright orders. You think he likes it better like this, too, if the way he’s squirming under your touch is anything to go by. 

Friends is still playing in the background, but you’re too distracted to find the remote and mute it. Instead, you tilt your head to press a kiss to Tyler’s hairline, as you start to stroke him in earnest. You try to set a slow pace, but Tyler’s hips chase the contact until it’s fast and hard, just like always. One of these days, you’ll make him sit still, but today is not that day. You let him set the pace, pumping his cock for all it’s worth as he thrusts up into your first. He’s embarrassed, you know, but he barely shows it, apart from the way he hides his face. He’s as enthusiastic as you think he can be, not shy in showing you how much he’s enjoying himself, through little punched-out moans that have the tips of your ears turning red. 

You’re not sure how much time passes like that. All you know is that your wrist is cramping and your bicep is aching, but you still feel like you could do this forever. The sight of Tyler underneath you, panting and sighing and practically shaking, is enough fuel for you for as long as he needs. Him falling apart for you has got to be one of your favorites sights; the sounds pouring out of him are music to your ears. At a particularly loud moan, you glance up, take in his state.

His shoulders are tense, his hands clenched into his fists and his hips staying shock-still. You let yourself smirk; one of the many things you know about Tyler is that he’s not always the best at lasting. “It’s okay, Ty,” you say, whispered into his jaw as you pick up the pace, moving impossibly faster.

He exhales in a gust of air, deflating almost instantaneously; now that he knows he doesn’t have to wait, he lets himself relax, sink into the couch. It’s not long after that that his hips jerk, and he jams his face into your shoulder once more, and you know.

You guide him gently back by the curls on the nape of his neck. There are many things you’ve gotten to know about Tyler, but the face he makes when he comes has got to be one of your favorites. 

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER SEVEN: Downward Spiral

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: After agreeing to go on a date with Matt, you start realizing the weight of your decision, and your thoughts begin spiraling. In a moment of need, you turn to the only close friend you have in Hell's Kitchen, hoping she can pull you away from the edge of the very steep cliff your trauma is trying to throw you into.

Warnings for this chapter: ANGST (the caps feel appropriate here), mentions of domestic violence, suicidal thoughts, allusions to a suicide attempt, allusions to sexual assault, mentions of being taken advantage of by a superior, (I guess you could say) mentions of hypersexuality, self-loathing, PTSD, some foreshadowing, mental breakdown, alcohol, Season 1 related plot (spoilers)

Word Count: 6.4k

A/n: Surprise! I'm posting early because I'm going to see my family this weekend, and after I had an epiphany at two in the morning and spent 3 days writing this, I got it done, and I'm actually quite proud of this (or maybe it's the caffeine). Anyway, heed the warnings because the topics of conversation in this are pretty dark. That's why I highlighted the angst. And if you haven't watched past episode 1 of Season 1, this might spoil some things for you. (Also, I have no idea how this turned into a beast with a word count over 6k. Sorry in advance.)

Read Chapter 7: Downward Spiral here on AO3

You don’t know what came over you.

You typed in Matt’s number in a moment of weakness, and once you heard his voice through the line, you gave up on being careful. You gave up on denying yourself what you’re so desperately craving, and you abandoned all rational thought.

For him.

You promised not to get attached to someone ever again—let alone a man. You started a new life in Hell’s Kitchen to find your way back to normalcy. You took all the necessary precautions, and even though you look back at the shreds of your old life every day, you are never going back.

Two years. That is the longest you have managed to stay in one place ever since you left California. But you still haven’t found your way back into the real world.

You have been guarding yourself, afraid of having your heart broken, afraid of losing this chance at a new life, and afraid of the man who ruined you. 

Every time you close your eyes, you see his face. You hear his voice in the back of your mind. He’s everywhere, even when you don’t want him to be. 

It’s easier to put a wall between yourself and everyone else. A wall no one can break through, not even yourself. You trapped your soul for the sole purpose of keeping yourself alive after you made the hardest decision of your life. When you ran, you believed your life was over, but you have always been too much of a coward to end your misery. God knows you’ve tried, but even a trained doctor can’t fully understand death, and some things just don’t work out the way we want them to. 

Drunken one-night stands can’t possibly compare to a meaningful emotional connection, but they satisfy the need for physical intimacy. At least for a little while. It killed you; slowly, almost pathetically, but sleeping with strangers in dirty motel rooms did a better job than you ever could. 

For the longest time, you used sex as a coping mechanism. You let strange men use you because that is the only way you know how to be with someone else. You let them hurt you to feel something, anything because pain is better than feeling nothing at all. But when you finally got settled in Hell’s Kitchen, thanks to Claire, you stopped. 

You locked up your heart and threw away the key. You started to shield your body the same way you have shielded your soul. You retreated into a shell of restlessness and constant fear of every little sliver of hope you feel being taken away from you. 

You have nowhere else to run, which is why keeping a low profile is so important to you, but after two years, don’t you deserve to finally live? 

We don’t exist to just survive; we exist to live the life we were given. You are Olivia Clarke now, not the broken girl you left behind, but every time you think about it, his voice returns and backs you into a corner that you can’t escape from. 

Every time you see the scars on your body, all you want to do is rip the skin off your bones and feed it to the dogs. 

The men you slept with while you were running from your past saw you as a mere object, and you are used to being seen that way, but it was isolating nonetheless. They didn’t care about your scars, they only cared about what you could give them. They treated you like he did without lifting a finger. 

Even though you don’t do that anymore, it still weighs heavy on your wounded soul. 

Matt treats you like a person. He can’t physically see, but he still sees you. He sees you in a way no one has ever seen you before. And he is gentle, and patient, and—

You scream into your pillow. Your nose still hurts, but it is nothing compared to how fast your heart is beating. 

To you, Matt is perfect. You know that no one can be perfect, and you should be careful, but he makes you feel things you have long denied yourself. He makes you feel wanted. Desired. Like you can be yourself around him and still be worthy of his attention. Like you matter. And he has a certain way of being around you that makes you feel protected, almost. 

You don’t need protection. You have made it this far without a bodyguard by your side. You know how to fight your own battles better than most, but you can’t deny that you wouldn’t mind being saved by him. 

You wouldn’t mind those hands he always wraps around his cane to wrap around you instead. He can’t see your scars, but he can feel them, and as terrifying as that thought sounds, it also excites you. 

You’re treading dangerous territory, but God, he won’t leave you alone, not even when you’re trying to sleep. He could offer you a sense of normal that you have long missed. He could teach you how to be a person again. And maybe, just maybe, you could let yourself be cared for by him. 

You roll back onto your back when you need to breathe, one of your hairs getting stuck to your lip. You let out an annoyed huff. There won’t be much sleeping tonight, you’re sure. Not when you keep thinking about tomorrow.

“You’re not fifteen anymore,” you mutter to yourself. “What is wrong with you? God!”

It’s almost too surreal to believe that this magnetic force of a man managed to retrieve some of your long-lost hope, and he only had to call you beautiful once for you to be completely smitten. 

When he allowed you to take care of his injuries on the first day you met, you didn’t think a person could be this guarded yet so vulnerable at the same time. He’s breaking under an invisible weight that must have been on his shoulders for years, maybe even decades. You’re painfully aware of other people’s feelings, and it wasn’t hard to tell that Matt carries a lot of unresolved pain with him. Always. He reminds you so much of yourself, it’s like staring into a mirror. Two broken halves of a whole. 

Your thoughts won’t stand still, no matter how hard you try. You’re stuck inside an invisible hourglass. Not even heaven knows what will happen once time runs out. You don’t understand why you’re overthinking this while, at the same time, knowing exactly why. And you hate it. 

There is a part of you that you can never get back. A little girl who grew up too fast. A girl who didn’t know any better. A broken teenager who wanted nothing more than to escape and live a better life than her parents could ever give her, and when she did manage to escape one hell, she found herself in a new quarter of purgatory built just for you.

You used to think that maybe you just bring the worst out in people, but after seeing the worst of humanity outside of your broken relationships, too, you’re not so sure about that anymore.

The fact that you don’t understand why you can’t stop your usually so intelligent brain from spinning out of control makes you want to claw at the walls of your apartment that threaten to cave in on you.

Part of you wants nothing more than to run and never look back, but you can’t run forever. This time, you wouldn’t be running from the Devil; you would be running from a fear of your own feelings. Human feelings. Feelings that have a high likelihood of recurring, and then you will have to run again. 

You can’t run from reality forever. It’s a different reality now, but it’s a better reality. That is a rational thought, but being rational currently has no place in your mind, so you’re spiraling, and all because a nice guy asked you out for coffee. 

You find yourself in a cab a few minutes later, wearing a pair of sweatpants, and an oversized shirt, with an untouched bottle of wine in your bag. Your worn-down sneakers are not the appropriate footwear for today’s weather, but you couldn’t be bothered to pick another pair. 

You’re aware that it’s late and maybe you should have texted, but you’re already here, and Claire told you that you could always come to her, even if it happens to be the middle of the night. If the rule still stands after she suddenly decided to stay at your co-worker’s place without a proper explanation, you’re not quite sure though. 

You knock. At first, no response. You knock again. The floorboards creak on the other side of the door. 

“Claire, it’s Liv,” you call out.

You can hear the exact moment the person inside the apartment starts to panic. The floorboards creak again, more frequent this time, and it sounds almost as if Claire is turning the room upside down. You raise your eyebrows. 

Before you can knock again, the lock finally clicks, and she opens the door. She’s more of a mess than you are, and that is put lightly.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Claire greets you. “What are you doing here?”

You blink a few times. “Hello to you too?”

She sighs. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry, it’s just been a long night.”

“I can see that,” you answer. “Are you alright?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” She looks you up and down. “What happened to your nose?”

“It’s a long story.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah. Can I, uh, come in?”

She hesitates before stepping aside to let you in. “Sure.”

You take a quick look around the apartment. Nothing seems out of place. A bowl of cat food stands in the corner by the kitchen. The window in the living room is open, but it seems intentional. 

The scent of antiseptic lingers in the air. You’re not sure if your nose is betraying you as you breathe in, but the smell is familiar. Bandages, disinfectant, and salve. You don’t want to question it, but you can’t help it. 

“Did you hurt yourself?” you ask. 

Claire blows her nose behind you. If you didn’t know better, you would think she was actually sick. She shakes her head upon hearing your question, but there is a faint blush on her cheeks. 

“What makes you think that?” she retorts. 

“Oh, no particular reason. It just smells very… hospital-y. That’s why I asked.”

“I, uh, I had to put a bandage on my leg earlier ‘cause this stupid cat decided to scratch me after peeing everywhere.” She sniffs. “Had to clean the wound, that thing—“ she nods toward the cat sitting in the cat tree, “and then the apartment. Maybe that’s why.” 

You follow her gaze toward the little furball resting on his cat tree. You approach him, but Claire seems less pleased at the prospect. 

“Be careful. He’s pissed.”

“At you,” you correct her. “Also, you’re having an allergic reaction, and—if he really, honest-to-God scratched you—very probably an infection. Why are you even staying here?”

Your voice rises in pitch when you reach the sleeping cat. “Hello, you.” You stroke his fur. He only opens one eye to sniff you, but once he recognizes you, he starts purring. For a moment, you forget the reason why you even came here. 

Claire exhales loudly. She scratches her neck, her skin threatening to break out into hives. “It’s a long story,” she says. 

You glare at her over your shoulder, your hand still stroking up and down the cat’s back as he settles back into a deep sleep. “I’m worried about you."

“That’s sweet of you, but I’m fine.”

“You called out of work and told Shelly you were sick.” You straighten up and turn back to face her. “You’re not sick, Claire.”

She sniffs as if to prove her point.

“Your immune system is overreacting by producing Immunoglobulin E. The antibodies are traveling to the cells responsible for releasing chemicals into your body, causing you to get a stuffy nose and break out into hives. You’re not sick. You’re allergic to cats and sharing an apartment with one. There’s a big difference,” you state. “Look, I know it’s none of my business, but you have to admit that, from where I’m standing, your behavior looks a little suspicious.”

“I’m going through some shit, alright?” she says. “And it’s a lot easier to deal with them here than back at my place. That’s why I called in sick.”

You don’t know what to make of her answer. It’s vague. You don’t like vague answers because they often indicate a bigger problem. It is one thing for you to deal with your demons on your own and refuse to talk about it with your best friend; it’s another thing entirely to keep a dangerous truth from the person you’re closest with, one that could potentially lead to worse consequences. If Claire were a naturally secretive person, maybe you would understand, but she isn’t like that. She isn’t you. 

She’s the only person who knows your entire story. She saved your life. You can’t imagine her keeping secrets from you that might end up hurting her. 

You dare to ask, “Are you in danger?”

She shakes her head a little too fast. “I’m fine, Liv. Really.”

“I’m sorry, but I have a hard time believing that.”

“It’s…personal.”

“Personal? Oh, my. Are you sleeping with Luke again?”

Claire stammers. The look on her face suggests that she didn’t expect you to jump to that conclusion. “What? How did you even–”

“Are you?” you repeat your question. 

The last time she slept with Luke Cage, she lied to you about it. She knew you would worry. It’s only natural for you to come to that conclusion now. Except that Luke is in prison, serving his sentence, and it doesn’t make sense. 

“How would I sleep with an incarcerated man?” Claire deadpans. 

“I’m sure you have your ways,” you say. 

“You’re grasping at straws.”

“That’s… true, but it’s coming from a place of love.”

She responds with a sigh. “I don’t wanna fight.”

You join in. You exhale, slowly lowering yourself down on the couch. “I’m sorry,” you murmur. “Just tell me you’re okay, please.”

She offers you a gentle smile. “I’m okay,” she says. 

“Thank you.” 

You choose to believe her. For the time being, at least. 

The silence tugs at your brain cells. You obsessed over Claire’s situation because you didn’t want to face your own, but now that your thoughts have regained the freedom to roam and cause irreversible destruction, you start spiraling again. 

You reach into your bag. 

“You brought wine,” Claire points out. 

“Yep,” you say. The bottle weighs heavily in your hand.

“You need a glass?”

You unscrew the top. “No.”

She doesn’t listen. Claire makes her way into the kitchen, reaching for the wine glasses in the cupboard. “Does this have anything to do with why your nose is all blue and swollen?” 

You shake your head at her question. “That was a patient I tried to sedate. No, I, uh… I have a date,” your voice falls flat. 

The wine glasses move back into the cupboard. Claire turns around, her eyebrows moving up to her hairline. “Come again?”

“I have a date.”

Saying it out loud makes it real. Something so surreal cannot be real, but it is. You have a date with Matt Murdock. Your heart begins racing again, and you feel the same desperate urge to scream into the nearest pillow again. 

You take a sip of wine straight from the bottle. You have a date with a nice man who, for the first time in two years, made you see some resemblance of light at the end of this endless tunnel of despair, and the thought alone is terrifying. Because how are you supposed to live after just existing for the longest time? After you dedicated your life to the act of survival?

Claire steps out of the kitchen and in front of you. “Liv, that’s… that’s amazing!” she says. She sounds like a proud mother. Maybe she is. 

You want to shake your head, but you can’t find it in yourself to do anything other than put the bottle back against your lips and take another sip. The alcohol burns down your esophagus into your stomach, spreading a warm feeling through your fragile body, and into your broken soul. 

“Or not,” she corrects herself upon seeing the expression you’re carrying. Your eyes are empty. “I’m confused,” She pauses, “Are we not happy about the fact that you’ve finally got a date after two years of being miserable?”

If she puts it like that, you feel even more miserable. Another sip of wine finds its way down your throat. 

“Okay, maybe you should put the bottle down. I’m sorry if I said something wrong–”

“It’s not you, it’s me.” You put the bottle down. 

Claire sits down next to you, but you get up before she can take your hand and look at you with that caring look she always gives you when she’s worried. You’re not even mad that she played your concerns down when you expressed them and now she is expressing concerns about you; you’re mad at yourself. 

She watches you. “You have a date. That’s a good thing. It means you allowed yourself to finally say yes to someone interested in you, right?”

“No,” you shake your head. 

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer.”

You’re pacing over the creaky floorboards. “The last time I went on a date with someone was after my intern year.”

Her gaze softens. “You told me that,” she murmurs. 

“He took me to a restaurant,” you tell her. Your lip quivers as you speak, and your nails dig into your palms until they draw blood. You can barely feel it. His face is right in front of you. “It was a nice restaurant. He paid for me, even offered me his jacket while we were walking home. It was the best date I ever had. And then he kissed me on the doorstep before wishing me a good night.”

“I know. You told me all of that before. But you couldn’t have known that he would turn out to be who he turned out to be. He was your boss. He had no right—”

“That is precisely the problem, Claire!” your voice breaks. “The guy I met, he’s… his name is Matthew. He’s… he is so nice to me. He cares. He treats me like a human being. He… he’s respectful. He called me beautiful. I don’t even know how he knows that. He just… he was so nice to me, and I feel so comfortable around him. I haven’t felt this comfortable around a man in so long. I… I wanted to go out with him. I flirted with him, for fuck’s sake! And when I’m with him, I finally feel wanted again.”

“But you know who else was nice to me when I first met him?” you say. “Who was respectful? Who said I was the only real thing in this world, the only important thing in his life, and that he loved me? You know who made me feel safe and wanted, and who said he cared about me? John said that I was the most beautiful woman on this planet, and I fell for it because he was nice to me. He–”

“But that guy isn’t John,” Claire cuts you off. She raises her voice only slightly—only enough to make you stop and stare at her, tears streaming down your cheeks. You’re miserable. You’re a mess. It is truly embarrassing. But she doesn’t look at you any differently.

“Don’t you think I know that?” you snap back. 

“Liv–”

“Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. I’m 32, and I can’t sleep without a nightlight most nights because I wake up in a cold sweat. I can’t drop a glass without going into shock. I can’t look in the mirror without feeling his hands on me. Without feeling disgusting and worthless, and…” You can feel the shiver traveling up your spine from the thought alone. “I can’t exist without feeling like he should have killed me when he got the chance.” 

“Liv, I know you’re upset, but please, don’t say that,” Claire says, her voice gentle yet assertive.

“Why? It’s true. I wish he would’ve killed me. He took four years of my life that I can never get back. At least if he’d killed me I wouldn’t have to suffer now.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t want you saying things like that.”

“You don’t get it,” you say. “Every time I look in the mirror, I want to vomit because I see what he made of me. I can’t even meet a nice guy and allow myself to like him without seeing his face and hearing his stupid voice in my ear, telling me—telling me that no one will ever love me, that he tainted me, and that I will never be free of him because I can’t exist without him.” You break into a sob. 

“And he was right, you know,” you cry. “I ran from him. I made the hardest decision of my life after years of living in his shadow, and I almost died. Because of him, I can’t trust a kind and respectful man who treats me like a person to actually be kind, and I recoil at the thought of someone being gentle with me. Something is seriously broken inside of me, Claire. Very, very broken.”

Claire opens her mouth, but all she can do is bear your tirade. She knows that if she speaks now, you will find another reason to shut her down. This is your pain talking. It’s a powerful avalanche set out to cause destruction on a global scale.

“With Matt, I—” you exhale. “I was myself around him for the first time since I ran away, and he didn’t shy away. I had hope, Claire. I felt like I could finally step into normal life again after settling down here, and I thought I’d have a chance,” you say. “But I just have to close my eyes, and John is right there to ruin everything for me. He is always right there, and I can’t fucking escape him. That’s the problem. That’s why I can’t be happy about this date because I’m fucking terrified. I can’t go through this again. I—I can’t give myself to someone again because there is hardly anything left of me. He took everything, including my ability to love another man ever again, and that thought is fucking with my head.”

You fall silent. The tears continue running down your cheeks, and you bury your face in your hands. Your knees are so weak. You don’t have it in you to hold yourself up any longer. You drop to the carpet, crying into your hands, but you don’t sob. You stay silent because your pain is so great, you don’t know whether to scream or shut down, so you scream internally and shut down from the world around you because you can’t face it. You can’t face Claire. 

The couch creaks. Her feet brush against the carpet. “He abused you,” her voice borders above a whisper. 

She kneels beside you, her hand reaching out—but not touching you. She knows what lines to cross and which to better leave untouched.

“What he did to you wasn’t your fault. He’s a cruel man with cruel intentions.” When you don’t shy away from her proximity, she finally places her hand on your shoulder. “You did the impossible. You survived. You’re here now because you chose to save yourself, and that is so admirable,” she says. “It’s been two years. You’re safe here, you’re not alone anymore, and I know it hurts and it is terrifying, but it’s a good sign that you want to feel more of what this guy made you feel.”

“But I can’t,” you choke out. 

“I know, and I wish I could help you, but I’m not a professional. The truth is, John may have made you feel like there is nothing left of you, but you’re not Olivia Clarke. You’re still you. You’re still…” Claire takes a deep breath before she utters your name. Your real name. The one you were given when you were born. 

The mention of your name makes you shiver. “She’s gone,” you say. “He killed her, but he left her body alive.”

“She’s not gone, she’s just buried very fucking deep. I mean, you said it yourself. You could be yourself around this other guy, and he took you for who you are. That isn’t Olivia, that’s you. And it’s such a good sign that you want to go out with him. That you like him. John hurt you, but he didn’t break you beyond repair. Please, you have to remember that.”

Your tears slowly subside. Her words finally manage to reach your rebelling mind through your ears. Even though everything feels like it has been wrapped in cotton, she manages to get through to you like no one else. It was a subconscious decision to come to her, but perhaps your soul knew something that you didn’t, and you can’t say that opening up didn’t help. 

The mess slowly subsides. Left behind is nothing but hot air, and the words Claire decided to share with you. 

You look up to meet her eyes. She smiles down at you. “I just… I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” you whisper.

“That’s why I think you should go on that date,” she tells you.

“Yeah, but who wants to sign up for a mess like me?”

“Seems like he does. And if he’s a good guy, he’ll like you regardless of your mess.”

“You know it’s not that easy.”

She shrugs. “I hate to break it to you, but you can’t pretend it never happened. And you can’t give John the satisfaction of putting your life on hold because of him. That’s just giving him what he wants.”

“I don’t want to give him what he wants,” you’re quick to answer.

Claire hands you a tissue, and you take it gratefully, wiping your runny nose and the salty tears stuck to your dry skin.

Her words stir something within you; even though you don’t want her to be right, she is. Matt may not deserve a mess like you, but if he’s truly a good guy, it can’t hurt to see if it would work between you. And when your past comes out eventually, there is a chance that he won’t abandon you. A slight chance, but a chance nonetheless. That’s a positive outlook you still have to learn how to adapt.

“C’mon.” Claire helps you off the floor and onto the couch. 

You reach for the bottle of wine instantly, but she takes it away from you. She screws the top back on and places it aside, far out of your desperate reach.

“This is not the answer,” she says, “talking is.”

“Can’t we talk and have wine?” you counter.

“Not when you’re on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”

You sniff, wiping the remaining tears on your cheeks with the tissue. 

“We need to take care of you, and alcohol won’t fix your problems.”

Once again, she isn’t wrong. You let out a defeated sigh before dropping your head in her lap. 

A long time ago, you used to be an affectionate person. The fear of being hurt again, of someone raising their hand against you, took that away from you. With Claire though, it’s different. You know she won’t hurt you. She’s not that kind of person, and you can say that with complete certainty. 

Claire Temple is not a violent human being, except for when the people she loves are in danger, but only then. 

She gently brushes the hair out of your face and crumbles it into a messy bun at the back of your head. She wipes at your nose and the last of your tears before they can dry out your skin more than it already is. The past couple of days have taken an emotional and physical toll on you. 

You wince slightly when you notice how sore your nose is. It isn’t broken, but you still got hit. You’re not quite healed yet. A shiver rolls down your spine. 

Shaking her head, Claire gently removes her hand. “You always get yourself in trouble when I’m not around,” she mutters. 

You scoff softly. “Maybe that’s a sign.”

“A sign for you to be more careful, yeah,” she says. 

“Now, where would be the fun in that?” You try to joke, but your voice falls flat with the weight of your exhaustion. 

Claire offers you a chuckle, but it’s more of a pity laugh than anything else.

You sigh. You know that you’re not an example when it comes to the significance of making the right decisions. Not at all. 

“Did I ever thank you for saving my life?” you ask her then, breaking the silence between you in two.

She leans back against the cushions. “Once or twice.”

“Not nearly enough then.”

“I don’t know about that. I mean, if you hadn’t come into Metro General with your hand in a man’s chest cavity, I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to help you. You chose to stay.”

“Well, I had my hand on his vena cava, so, letting go would have been unfortunate for the poor guy.”

“That’s true.”

“But if you hadn’t disobeyed protocol, risking your job by putting your trust in me, I wouldn’t have had a reason to stay.”

Claire looks down at you, and you meet her eyes. “That sounded a lot like a love confession,” she nudges you.

You roll your eyes playfully. “You wish.”

“Hey, I’d understand it if you were in love with me. I’m hot.”

She never fails to make you laugh, even when you feel like a truck has rolled you over and broken every bone in your body. That is one of the many qualities you value about her. She’s a good person with a good heart, and she is the kind of person you could trust with your life and she would always make sure that you come out on the other side unharmed, mentally and physically. 

If she hadn’t taken you under her wing, you’re not sure where you would be, but it surely wouldn’t be where you are now.

When your laughter quiets down, you nod. “I can’t argue with that. You are hot. If you weren’t my friend,” you say, “I’d ask you out.”

“And if I were into women, I’d say yes,” she says. 

“I appreciate that.”

“Speaking of dates though–” She stops when you sigh a little too loudly. Claire shoots you a stern glare before she continues, “Promise me you won’t cancel.”

It’s not a question, it’s a statement. She wants you to mean it. You won’t lie; canceling your plans with Matt did cross your mind, but after Claire worked her magic on you, you can see a little clearer. The fog that kept your mind clouded has started to lift slowly but steadily. You’re no longer spiraling as fast as you have before. 

If you could wash your hands and wash him off of you, it wouldn’t be as much of a problem as it is, but you’ve tried. You have tried washing all memory of him off of your body, out of your mind, but he’s a resilient son of a bitch. John will always try to drive a wedge between you and a normal, happy life, the question is just if you will allow him to do so without even being near you, or if you will finally allow yourself to crawl out of the dark hole he tossed you into. 

You can’t do it alone, and asking for help is terrifying. You have spent the past two years trying to push through. Unfortunately, your healthy coping mechanisms won’t work forever. 

You sigh again, a little quieter. “I won’t cancel,” you tell her, your voice barely above a whisper, yet still so very certain. As certain as you can be, anyway. 

“Thank you.” Claire reaches for the wine bottle next to the couch. “You deserve to be happy.”

“Hm,” you can only murmur. 

“What?”

“What are you doing with the bottle?” you ask. 

“Drinking,” she says. 

“Now I feel betrayed.”

“You should celebrate the fact that you found a Matt, or whatever his name is, and not another Mike.”

You promptly sit up. “Hold up. Pause. Rewind. Mike, like your ex?”

Claire takes a sip of the bottle. A storm rages behind her hazel eyes. You have never seen her that conflicted before. 

“Is he the personal reason why you’re subjecting yourself to a constant allergic reaction by staying here?” you ask. 

The pieces slowly start falling into place. She nods. “Not Mike Mike, but yeah. It’s always the Mike’s.”

Your jaw drops. “I feel like you skipped some chapters there. You met a guy and you didn’t tell me? What–”

“He met me,” she corrects you. “I didn’t tell you because we’re not a thing. Let’s just say there’s a reason his name is Mike. That’s why I’m here.”

Claire takes another sip. You watch her closely, trying to catch her in a lie, but it seems like she’s telling the truth—or a version of the actual truth, but that still makes it true. She’s giving you as much as she can after you cried your eyes out to her. 

You clear your throat, lowering your voice. “But you’re not in danger?” you ask to clarify. 

She shakes her head. “I just have shitty taste in men, even if it's platonic, apparently. It’s like… I’m trying to exist, and then I find a stray cat in a dumpster, but the stray cat has been stabbed and needs medical attention.”

“But you’re allergic to cats and you’re not a vet?” you try to make sense of her analogy. 

When she lets out a sigh and nods, you figure you came as close as possible. It still doesn’t make sense to you, but when does anything? At least when it comes to romance and people’s love lives.

You decide to push a little more, “Did you actually find an injured guy in a dumpster?” 

She shakes her head. The reaction comes a little fast, but you don’t question it. “No, that–that was just an analogy,” Claire says. 

“And Mike is the stray cat in that analogy? But not your Mike, another Mike?”

“Yeah.”

“Dude, you’re frying my brain cells.”

“The single one you still have, or did you buy new ones?”

You try not to laugh, trying to look like you are genuinely offended, but your lips still curl up into a smile. “Shut up,” you mutter. You reach for the bottle, against better judgment, and take a sip.

Claire shakes her head. “What I’m trying to tell you is that, if he’s a good guy, you can’t let him slip away. You can’t let a good thing slip away and possibly end up with a–a Mike kinda guy for the rest of your life.”

“I know.” You look down at your hands, your broken fingernails, and sore knuckles from the constant scrubbing. “I just wish I could understand what he’s doing to me without questioning my entire existence.”

“Some people are just that enigmatic,” and she sounds as if she knows exactly what she’s talking about. 

You wonder about Mike. Not her ex-boyfriend but the one she mentioned. He sounds like he has no sense of self-preservation, and he may not even be a good influence. He reminds you of yourself, and that’s creepy—you don’t even know him. 

And then there is Matt, who is also so eerily similar to you, but in different ways. It’s more of an emotional connection. His heart is in the right place. And unlike the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, he doesn’t have a savior complex.

Why did he even come to your mind? His existence should not be playing into the equation. You brush the picture of his chiseled chest in that tight shirt away, or the way he looked even more dangerous with that smirk below the the mask. 

You hand the wine bottle back to Claire. If you don’t cut yourself off now, you will melt into a puddle of embarrassment. 

Your focus should be on Matt and Matt alone. You have to try. Claire was right. You can’t sacrifice your happiness because you’re scared—you can’t give the man who dedicated his life to breaking you and your confidence down the satisfaction of cowering in fear every time a man shows an interest in you. A good man. A man who could make you happier than he ever had. 

You won’t run this time. You will face the situation head-on. You owe that much to the little girl who dreamed of a life beyond the hell she grew up in, the same girl who was obsessed with finding her soulmate and still believed in true love. Above everyone, you owe it to yourself. No one else matters quite as much as you do. 

And for the sake of seeing what could be instead of wondering what could have been, you have to try.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41 @kiwwia-wiwwia

[natasha10273]

The hidden beast Pt2

NOT MY GIF

-At the Avengers tower-

“sir directer Fury is 10 minutes away I suggest get everyone down to the meeting at once sir”

The whole team look at one another and quickly get up and go to the meeting room everyone sits down and as tony sits down Fury and Maria walk in

“Good afternoon mf’s now we are all here I need all of you to go a important mission the mission has updated to where all of you need to step in agent Romeoff has requested back up Hydra and the Red Room have made a very big move with there test examine both of them have there hands on ‘there beast’ they killed the other person who was working with them so I suggest all of you train as hard as you can get Banner on board with the mission we don’t have much time if they start to fight over that subject who knows what will go down and if they don’t then that maybe the second worst thing to happen”

“What is the worst thing that could happen sir” Wanda asked looking at him

Nick takes a shakey breath “this” Fury waves his hand and the screams of you could be heard and then silence that is to quiet for the teams liking

“ВЕРНИТЕ ЕГО ПОТЕРЯ КОНТРОЛЯ” (GET BACK SHES LOSING CONTROL) then there’s blood curdling screams from the masked guards as your burning body comes into view of the video then you run at the camera and smash it making the video end

“That she has multiple trigger words to trigger different emotions and powers she without those trigger words she can’t control her powers she doesn’t know of them they make her black out at a Pacific times during training or when she falls asleep” Nick shows your files on the screen your old ones everyone reads them and sit in horror “you are dismissed everyone train and get ready for this mission as soon you are ready tell me because you need back up Agent Romeoff will keep in contact with all of yous and if she says she needs back up you go no matter if you think you ready or not got it!?”

“Yes sir!” Everyone says and get up and go there separate ways in the tower

-mean while with you-

You have gotten drugged and you are now knocked out and 20 odd guards come raising out and hand cuff your wrist together and take you down into the highly guarded feels and underground and then they take you to a very big dark dimly lit room and walk in 10 guards in the other ten out but have there guns pointed at you as two guards lift your body up and they start to chain your wrist up above your head and your legs apart from each other to make you look like your an X in the middle of the cell room every one walks out as one guard stays behind and presses a button to raise you into the air and then leaves above your cell is a a floor above you where guards can keep watch of you and testing

-back with the avengers-

It’s been 2 months since the team had that meeting two near close calls for Natasha two months since the transfer and now the team is ready to give you the taste of freedom

“JARVIS call the whole team in for meeting in the meeting room please”

“Right away sir” in everyone’s room and the training rooms “Mr stark has ordered everyone to the meeting room as soon as possible” everyone says thank you and rush to the meeting room and take there seats

“Now everyone is here I believe it’s time for us to start to rescue mission what do you all think?”

“Well I agree with stark” caps voice comes into the room

Everyone agrees with Tony and start to plain there attack

- Back with you-

Your being held in the testing room and the head of Hydra walks in with the top ten guards walk in with him and stand around you with the weapons drawn and you look at him with no emotions at all and his leans down in front of you and smirks “your going on your first mission with the masked assassin of the red room (Natasha)” he stands up and waves his hand “strap her down wipe her memory’s and get her ready for the mission now” the guards and scientists nod there head start to rush around as the guards and the man walk out and shut and lock the door

-Natasha pov-

I’ve been under cover for long months now but the mission is creeping up and myself and our target are going on her first mission soon I need to let the team know

Natasha grabs her ear pice from underneath her bed and turn it on

“Agent Romeoff who would you like to talk too today” the AI voice vocals into the ear pice “pull up my hologram and call a urgent meeting now please FRIDAY” “right away Miss Romeoff” while the AIdies as asked Natasha taps her wrist and from the tower Wanda is the first one to make it the meeting room first Natasha’s hologram once everyone is seated in the meeting room

“What’s the matter nat?” “Hello to you fossil anyway I don’t have much time to talk but heads up myself and our target have a mission tomorrow be ready we’re targeting you be careful when attacking us mainly her righto I have to go bye” Natasha’s hologram disappears everyone stears at one a other “okay you heard Nat be ready everyone”

———————————————————————————

:0 Oop well that’s a cliffhanger anyway I hope you enjoyed this chapter and sorry for taking so but I’ve had school and family issues that have happened so yeah anyway I hope you liked please comment if you have any ideas and message me of them but anyway bye bye :))))



[raijutsuiga]

NEW: The Proximity Paradox

BRAND NEW WORK!

Y'all I am so EXCITED about this one!

A tear drop fell on Naruto’s striped cheek, and he quickly brushed it away. It wasn’t Naruto’s tears, as the small bundle was fast asleep in his arms, swaddled tightly in a blanket Kushina had picked out for him. No, they were his own tears. He couldn’t hold them back at his wife’s funeral, even being the Hokage. It wasn’t just Kushina’s funeral, but several shinobi and civilians of Konoha had died that night.

They had perished that night. The night his son was born, he had failed to protect Kushina. He failed to protect the village. Some Hokage he was. He had failed to keep the Kyuubi at bay when the seal broke as she gave birth, and the Kyuubi had broken free. Somehow, he had protected his son, but the love of his life was lost when the Kyuubi was released. He could do nothing when the seal broke; it was inevitable. A Jinchuuriki will die when their beast breaks free. Kushina was no exception.

Minato pulled Naruto closer, holding him tightly against his chest. This little blonde bundle was all he had left of her, and he swore to protect his son with his life.

“Minato,” a voice called behind him as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Jiraiya-sensei,” Minato replied after turning to see who it was.

The look of pity and grief on his sensei’s face almost made him break again, but he held it together. Looking around, he noticed the cemetery was empty. Everyone had left, leaving him before the framed pictures of lost people. He was so consumed with his own grief that he hadn’t noticed everyone else shuffling out.

“Come on,” Jiraiya encouraged.

Minato nodded, then glanced at the framed photograph of his wife in the center of the altar.

I’ll protect him. I swear, Kushina. I won’t fail this time.

Minato looked at his son in his arms. He had placed a terrible burden on his son, but he was Kushina’s son too. He knew Naruto would be strong enough to keep the Kyuubi controlled. He chose to believe in his son.

One Year Later

It had been an entire year since he had lost her. He missed her more than anything. He thought time was supposed to help the pain of grief, but in the year since, nothing had changed. The pain had yet to fade an ounce. He tried to focus on Naruto and his job as Hokage, but the grief was ever-present. Nagging in his heart, he reminded him every moment of what he had lost.

A few weeks after the anniversary of her death and Naruto’s first birthday, Jiraiya, Tsunade, and Kakashi convinced him to get out for the night. So, he sat at a bar late at night, nursing a glass of whiskey. It had numbed him a bit, and for that, he was grateful. He knew it wouldn’t last, and alcohol wasn’t the answer, but for tonight, it was worth it.

He glanced up when he heard the bell of the front entrance ring and several shinobi stumble in, probably from another bar that had closed already. Their conversation piqued his interest.

“Did you hear?”

“About the kid?”

“Yeah!”

“Why isn’t he locked up?”

“I know! He destroyed the village!”

“I can’t believe they let him live!”

“He needs to pay for the people he killed!”

“What I’d do if I got my hands on the brat…”

“I can’t believe the Hokage hasn’t done anything about him!”

“Minato-sama should have taken care of that kid already.”

“The Hokage’s too soft nowadays, you know that!”

“That fucking Naruto kid! He needs to be taken care of!”

Minato froze.

How did they know about Naruto?

It was supposed to be a state secret. He had invoked it to keep Naruto safe! Who leaked the information? Minato looked up at the shinobi. They hadn’t seen him yet. He kept quiet, hoping the information would present itself during their conversation.

“Maybe you should do it!”

“Hell no, I ain’t going anywhere near the Kyuubi!”

“What will happen when that kid starts learning about jutsu?”

“He’ll release the Kyuubi, that’s what!”

“The Kyuubi should be locked away!”

“Locked up? They need to get rid of him before he gets older!”

“Yeah, before he can defend himself.”

“I’d enjoy doing it myself.”

“Like you could do it!”

Minato couldn’t take it anymore. He slammed his glass on the counter, surprised he didn’t shatter it. He stood quickly, knocking over the stool he was sitting on, catching the entire establishment’s attention.

“Hokage-sama!”

All the shinobi he was listening to stood up, shocked at his presence. The expression on their face told him that he knew that they were in trouble. They had information they weren’t supposed to have. Minato grabbed one of them by the front of his shirt. He knew part of his was being irrational from being slightly drunk, but at this point, he didn’t care. Minato brought the shinobi’s face close to his.

“Who told you about Naruto?” Minato demanded.

“No one! Everyone was talking about it at the Mission Assignment Center. Everyone knows!”

Minato shoved him back into his chair.

“That was supposed to be top secret,” Minato said.

“I’m sorry, Hokage-sama!”

“You should be!” Minato snapped, “Talking about murdering a child. What is wrong with you?”

“But…”

Minato shook his head, cutting him off. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the establishment. He couldn’t even look at them. The owner of the bar would forgive him for not paying his tab.

“He’s the Hokage! Who else would be strong enough to control the kid?”

“You’ve seen him! He’s broken!”

“He’s fine!”

“Hiruzen, we’ve given him time to grieve! It’s been a year!”

“Minato couldn’t do anything that night! How can we expect him to keep his son controlled?”

“Danzo, there was nothing he could have done that night! You know that!”

“Hiruzen, it doesn’t matter. We need to protect the village.”

“Homura, while I agree with you, I know this isn’t how to do it!”

“Then what do you recommend?”

“Hiruzen, we can’t just let the Jinchuuriki wander free amongst the village!”

“Koharu, this is an infant we are talking about locking up!”

“He’s not just an infant, Hiruzen, you know that!”

“I do. He’s the Hokage’s son!”

“He’s the Jinchuuriki for the strongest-tailed beast! Even Kushina wasn’t given the beast until she was older!”

“I trust Minato and the seal he used.”

“That isn’t the point, Hiruzen. We’ve heard reports about the Jinchuuriki in Suna losing control. They also sealed the beast when the kid was an infant, and he can’t control it. The Kyuubi is a lot stronger than the Ichibi.”

“We have to plan for the worst, Hiruzen.”

“Danzo…”

“No. We all know you have a soft spot for Minato, but we will override your choice.”

“Yes, it has already been decided. Hiruzen, we will remove Naruto from his father’s custody and place him under the highest security within Danzo’s Root Program.”

“I will train him to control it.”

“Danzo! He’s not a weapon! He’s a child!”

“He is, Hiruzen. You know that as well as I do.”

“Minato will fight you on this. He won’t let Naruto go without a fight.”

“We are aware, so we are counting on you.”

“Very well.”

Minato stood frozen outside of the door to the council’s chambers. He couldn’t be hearing this right. They wanted to take his son. Put him under Danzo. They didn’t think he was strong enough to keep Naruto under control. No, he wasn’t going to let them. He refused to let Naruto go. Naruto was HIS son! Minato balled his fists as he felt the anger start rising inside. He had never been angrier than he was at this moment.

He needed to get his son. Now.

Minato turned sharply on his heel and stormed out of the Hokage’s tower, heading to the small childcare center that was only a short walk from the base of the tower. The lady at the front desk beamed at him when he walked in and asked for his son. Moments later, she came back with a little blonde in her arms.

“Look, Naruto! Your daddy came to get you early!”

“Naruto!” Minato smiled at his excited son.

Naruto reached for him when they got close, and he took the little boy from her arms.

“Thank you,” Minato told her as he turned to leave.

Minato headed to their home as he started to think about what to do. He felt a bit calmer with Naruto in his arms. He wouldn’t let a single person take him. He promised Kushina that he would take care of him, no matter what. He would keep this promise. He couldn't do it as he approached their home, knowing no one would be home to greet them. Kushina’s memory was too strong there.

He turned to one of his favorite spots, the small field behind the Hokage monument. He sat down with Naruto in his lap, handing the small child a binky that he always seemed to carry with him nowadays. Naruto fell asleep quickly in his lap.

“So, what do we do, Naruto?” He asked the sleeping child.

Minato looked up and gazed at the scene of the entire village in front of him. At this moment, he was faced with a choice. The village or his son. He needed to find a way to protect both. That was his job as Hokage. Almost like he knew, Naruto rolled in his lap, which caused his shirt to ride up a bit around his little toddler potbelly. Minato laughed at his son as he reached to pull the shirt back down.

Minato’s face fell when he noticed it.

There were small bruises around his ribs. Minato lifted the shirt a bit farther, careful not to wake his son. There were red and purple bruises around his entire torso. They were new and still forming; it couldn’t have been more than a few hours since he received them.

People were hurting his son.

His choice had been made for him. He was determined to protect his son, which meant getting Naruto out of the village.

[xoxo-teddybear]

The Bakugou Kids - Bakugou Katsuki

(Dad)Bakugou x (Mom)f!reader

Warnings: Fluff, Crack, Cursing

Summary: Bakugou and Y/N love their son with their entire beings, but sometimes, parents need a break. Especially when those parents are responsible for creating a literal demon spawn. He is kind, well behaved, and cute of course! But he does have Bakugou blood in him. With Y/N already away on a girls trip, Bakugou has to find out how he’s going to deal with his (now) many, many kids.

A/N: You passed down your duplication quirk down to Katsuo.

BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” You asked your husband as you stood at the doorway. “Katsumi may be a calm baby but she’s still a baby. And Katsuo’s quirk just kicked in and it is mine. I would know how difficult it can be to manage.”

“Stop worrying, Babe. It’s just a duplication quirk. And he’s only 5, how powerful can it really be?”Katsuki said, wrapping his arms around you. “Just go on your little girl’s trip with Ponytail and Racoon Eyes. I can handle the brat.”

You looked at your husband with a raised brow and smile before rolling your eyes and giving him a kiss. “Alright then. I’ll see you in a few days!”

With that, you walked out of the house and into the cab to meet your friends at the resort. Katsuki chuckled before walking back into the house to find his son napping on the couch. His spiky, blonde locks were all messed up with bed head while his E/C eyes he inherited from you remained shut. Katsuki walked over to his newborn daughter and picked her up while he took a seat next to Katsuo’s sleeping form, rubbing at his soft hair until he woke up.

“Can’t be all that bad, right Katsumi?”

The baby girl merely cooed with sparkling ruby eyes that mimicked her father’s.

—

Wow. Wrong. He was so wrong! It had only been 2 days since your departure but things had already gone so wrong! When you said your quirk was difficult to manage, Katsuki thought it would be difficult for Katsuo to manage. Not him!

Katsuki should’ve known his son would’ve taken the opportunity to act out while his mother was away. He had always been your little angel while Katsuki saw him as his little gremlin. With Y/N gone, Katsuo has been pushing all kinds of limits. Limits that had Katsuki beat.

Katsuo had been fortunate enough to inherit a quirk. And not just any quirk, but your quirk. Duplication. Basically, he can create copies of himself. When you were his age, you could only create 4, max. Katsuo was different though. He had Bakugou blood flowing through him. He was advanced the second he was born. So now, Katsuki was stuck looking after Katsumi, Katsuo, and Katsuo’s 16 other copies.

“Aye! Number 15, you’re gonna break that lamp! 11 and 8! Don’t wrestle in the mud! Go take a bath! NUMBER 3 GET OFF THE KITCHEN ISLAND! KATSUMI!” The adult blond screamed, looking for his infant daughter, eventually finding her sleeping in her little rocker on the living room floor. “Oh right, you don’t talk yet.”

Katsuki sighed as he slumped down next to his daughter, and leaned his back against the couch. He looked around the room and saw the 17 Katsuo’s making a ruckus around the house. All he could do was question how the hell is 3 month old daughter could possibly sleep through all this.

Katsuki almost lost all hope for humanity until a knock was heard on his front door. Knowing exactly who was there, he quickly got up from his place on the floor and ran to the entrance. “You idiots are finally here!”

Katsuki pulled in his 3 friends, the boys of the Bakusquad, and slammed the door shut. The 3 friends all stood in shock at the sight of the house. Not that it was overly messy or anything. It’s just that there were about 16 more figures in the house that aren’t usually there.

“You gotta help me!” Katsuki said, running infront of them, shaking his best friend’s shoulders. “I love my kids! I do! I love Katsuo, I swear! BUT I DIDNT SIGN UP TO BE A FATHER OF 18 FREAKING DEVILS!”

“Okay! Okay, relax man. We’re here.” Kirishima said, patting his friend’s shoulder as he wept. “How the hell are we gonna take care of 17 little Bakugous?”

“Right? We thought 1 Kacchan was a lot. Then you brought another one into the world, who apparently brought some unannounced friends.” Kaminari joked.

“They’re demons!” Katsuki exclaimed. “This has to be some fucking Karma for the shit I did. I knew I should’ve listened to my old hag better. Now shits came back to bite me in the- HEY! PUT YOUR SISTER DOWN! SHE’S NOT A FOOTBALL!”

Katsuos number 7 and 5 placed a sleeping Katsumi back in her rocker with an annoyed pout before running off to play something else.

“Welllll, there’s nothing that 3 cool uncles can’t fix!” Sero enthusiastically said. “Hey kiddos! Who’s ready to have some fun?”

All the mini blondes stopped their movements, some freezing mid-air, and looked to the slim man. They all shouted in joy at the sight of their uncles and ran to pounce on the 3 men, including their father. From the point of view of the boys in the Bakusquad, it looked like a Bakugou stampede.

“Run, run, RUN, RUN, RUUUNN!!!!” Kaminari screamed as the boys all ran for their lives to escape the herd of Katsuos. This was going to be an interesting day.

—

Safe to say after the day had passed, the boys of the Bakusquad were completely exhausted. Sero had half his clothes torn, Kirishima’s hair fell from it’s great spikes and even lost some red hues, Katsuki’s eye bags had never been heavier, and Kaminari was just straight knocked the fuck out. They were all thrown across the couch as Katsumi rested in Katsuki’s arms.

“What do we do?” Kirishima exclaimed.

“I don’t know.” Katsuki said, looking at his scrambling son(s). “There’s just too many.”

“And we’ve already lost a soldier.” Sero said pointing to Kaminari’s sleeping form. Katsuki and Kirishima followed his gaze and bowed their heads in respect towards the defeated Kaminari.

“Well now what? Is Bakugou just supposed to live like this for the next 3 days?” Kirishima asked.

“Hell no. If I do, there’s not gonna be anymore Katsuki. I’ll just be some body without a soul because my damn gremlins sucked it outta’ me.” Katsuki said with his head dropped down.

“Well how do we get them to calm down?” Sero questioned.

“I don’t know. They’re all mini me’s. Nobody could get me to relax.” Katsuki said in defeat, but that’s when Kirishima had a lightbulb go off for him.

“Except for Y/N!” The red head said, popping up from his seat on the couch.

“Uh, if you haven’t noticed Shitty Hair, this all started because she’s away on her trip.” Katsuki said with sarcasm as he looked at his friend as if he was an idiot.

“I know that! But Y/N wasn’t the only one to tame you, Bakugou!” Kirishima said in excitement.

“So then who else?” Katsuki asked.

“You know,” Kirishima smirked. “Denki’s favorite person. Y/N and.........”

It took Katsuki a second before his eyes popped when he finally got it. “No!”

“Yes!” Kirishima said.

“No way! We’re not going to her!” Katsuki complained.

“Who?” Sero asked.

“Nobody!” Katsuki screamed.

“Oh it’s somebody alright! Somebody who was able to tame the beast in Bakugou the second he was born!” Kirishima said.

“Who?” Sero asked. Katsuki finally sighed before he gave in, realizing this was his only hope for sanity. He grabbed his phone and made a quick call before explaining to his dark-haired friend.

“The demon of all demons...”

—

The door opened to reveal a tall standing brunette and an elder feminine blonde.

“...My mother.”

—

The boys of the Bakusquad all sat lined up on the couch as Mitsuki stood at Katsuki’s end and smacked her son’s head.

“You idiots! Y/N leaves for 2 days and all hell breaks lose?!” Mitsuki screamed at the 3 young men.

“You old hag! Quit hitting me! Ima’ grown man for crying out loud!” Katsuki screamed as he rubbed his head. Masaru simply bounced the sleeping Katsumi in his arms as he watched the scene play out.

“Well if you’re such a grown man then why can’t you manage your own kids without your wife’s help?!” Mitsuki argued, leaving Katsuki silent as he grumbled. The eldest blonde sighed before continuing. “Alright listen, I’ll watch these little devils for the next few days until Y/N comes back. I’d love to spend some time with my grandbrats. Why don’t the 3 of you go take a break and-“

“THANKS! Let’s go losers!” Katsuki said dragging his friends to the exit. Mitsuki and Masaru only laughed at their son’s behavior as they began tending to the kids.

The boys of the Bakusquad all quickly walked out of the house and headed for their cars as they all walked together.

“So, where to?” Sero asked.

“We could go head up that new resort in Tokyo!” Kaminari suggested.

“Naahhh. That’s where Y/N’s having her girl’s trip. Wifey would kill me if she saw me there instead of at home with the kids.” Katsuki said with his hands in his pockets. Kirishima raised his brow at this.

“Oh? So then, maybe we should go back and-“

“You know, on second thought,” Katsuki said with wide eyes once Kirishima made the suggestion. He took his hands out of his pockets and placed them behind his friend’s backs to keep them moving. “Maybe she won’t kill me..if I’m lucky..and wish..upon a shooting star....a million times over. Hah.....yeah. TO THE RESORT!”

As they walked, Kaminari attempted to look at the house once more, prompting Katsuki to turn his friend’s head back around. “No, no, no, don’t look back, they can smell fear.”

[spaceskam]

a follow up to this fic

AO3

Michael liked the ring.

Of course he liked the way it made him feel, the way it's power seemed to make him feel comfortable in his own skin above all else. It was no longer a power high as much as it was like a security blanket or a favorite shirt.

The power, however, didn't escape him.

He never really had to strain before, but this was a different beast. With a thought he could read people's aura, move multiple things at once, feel around larger areas than he even knew what to do with. It was fun and felt like he could really breathe for the first time in a long time. He did his best to not rely on it too much, to make sure he didn't get too used to the power it gave him, but he couldn't help but enjoy it.

Alex was slowly but surely getting more comfortable with him wearing it as well. At first, he babied him incessantly and was so sure it was going to overload him somehow and that it was going to kill him or something. He still watched him, spent all his free time with Michael to make sure the ring wasn't effecting him negatively. Michael couldn't complain about it.

"So, this group you're working with. Do they know this exists?" Michael asked, inspecting the ring on his finger. It didn't occur to him until just then that maybe he shouldn't just leave it on his left hand like that.

"As far as I can tell, no," Alex said, sighing as he looked up from what he was working on. It was just a notebook full of crude sketches of his actual project. Michael wanted to help, but the thing couldn't leave Deep Sky and Michael couldn't go there, so he simply had to listen to Alex speak and bounce ideas off him.

It was probably the most fun he'd ever had in his entire life.

"But I'm not about to risk them trying to hunt it down before me. I need to be a step ahead, at least. I'm so fucking tired of being stupid about things," Alex said. Michael rolled his eyes.

"You're far from stupid, Alex."

"Too trusting which is a form of stupidity."

"It's not a bad thing to be trusting, it's other people's fault for taking advantage," Michael insisted.

Alex sighed and looked at him. He was so tired. He always did. Michael was never good at figuring out what to do to help that other than instigate. Maybe he could try to persuade him, but somehow that felt like a dead end.

"People are never going to stop taking advantage, so why should I remain open to being taken advantage of?"

"Okay, fine, point made. But still, I like that about you. The way you don't automatically assume people have shitty intentions. It's, like, the exact opposite of me," Michael said. A smile tugged at Alex's mouth and he let it show just a bit, leaning against the table.

"You assume everyone has bad intentions?" Alex asked, "Even me?"

Michael scoffed, his heart thrumming and the ring on his finger all but singing in delight. That was another fun thing about the ring. It always encouraged positive feelings.

"Now you know damn well–"

Without much warning, the hatch to the bunker opened and caused them to break eye contact as they both looked up. Sanders stood there looking as grumpy as ever.

"What do you want, old man?" Michael asked, only having to feign his annoyance a little bit. As much as he didn't like having his moments with Alex interrupted, it wasn't so bad when he knew he had more.

That knowing was everything.

"You and the boyfriend gettin' along now?" Sanders asked. Michael's neck felt hot and he didn't dare look at Alex. He felt like a teenager being caught all of the sudden.

"Can you not make it weird?"

"Weird for who?" Alex asked. Michael's eyes went to him, Alex's face with a small smirk and his head tilted. He looked so good. Happy. The ring was damn near vibrating with joy again his skin.

"We're talking about research," Michael responded instead. Sanders grunted.

"Sure, research."

"We are!"

"I believe that as far as I can throw you," Sanders said. Michael scratched his arm, trying to dilute the feeling building up inside him. It was overwhelming, an overdose of goodness that the ring amplified. "Right, well, I was just reminding you that Jane Garcia is still bringin' that truck in an hour and you're the only hands that have touched it in a decade, so can't have someone else doin' it for you."

"She needs to just get a new one," Michael responded, relieved to change the subject despite Alex's eyes still being on him. He couldn't say he minded that.

"You ain't got no room to talk with that thing out there," Sanders huffed. Michael grinned, shrugging his shoulders.

"I can get away with it, I know what I'm doing."

Sanders grunted in response. "Sure, kid. Just be out here when she gets here."

"Got it," Michael said, giving a thumbs up. Sanders rolled his eyes and closed the hatch, leaving him alone with Alex again.

"You can go get set up, I'm good down here," Alex said. Michael settled his gaze on him again, feeling warm and sated and really not having any intention to leave him.

However, they locked eyes for all of half a second before Alex breathed a sharp intake and stood up straight.

Michael's excitement started to leak out of him and was replaced with complete concern. He sat up straighter, his feet hitting the ground as he tried to maintain eye contact with Alex.

"What?" he said, "What happened?"

"Your eyes," Alex breathed, his eyebrows pulling together.

"Huh? What about them?" Michael asked, mindlessly reaching up to rub them. When he pulled his hands away, there wasn't anything on them.

"They're... glowing," Alex said, coming closer, "Well, they were. Went away when I said something."

Alex grabbed Michael's chin without any hesitation, tilting his head back to look at them. Michael instantly became malleable under his grip. It'd been too long to be otherwise. He let his face relax, let his body dwell in the delight it caused and let the ring sing in response.

"It was like you were lighting up from the inside or something, like you literally glowing. Just showed mostly in your eyes," Alex said, still concerned as he manuvered Michael's head this way and that to look at him in different angles. "It's because of that fucking ring."

"You think?" Michael murmured, still staring up at him. His heart thudded in his chest, his mind going wild at the tactile attention. Alex's eyes widened again.

"It's doing it again," Alex murmured, placing the back of his other hand on Michael's forehead, "You're warm. Warmer than usually. How do you feel? Maybe you should take it off before you become a fucking lamp. Do you feel alright?"

"Good," Michael said. Alex blinked, stilling his movements as he looked at him rather than the glow.

"What?"

"I feel good, Alex," he said simply. Alex swallowed and he dropped his hands from him. They were silent a beat before Alex bit the inside of his cheek, holding back whatever expression his face wanted to show. A smile, hopefully.

"You stopped glowing," Alex said. He huffed a laugh, his eyes scanning the room before landing back on Michael. "So you're a glowstick now?"

"You think it's the ring?"

"What else could it be? It amplifies your powers, right? So the longer you wear it, the more it becomes accostomed to you and how you work. So I'm sure the longer you wear it, the more it'll do. But we should definitely work on you not glowing without your permission every time you feel good," Alex said, watching him still. It was less concern now, more intrigue.

Michael wanted him to touch him again, to experiment as much as his heart desired.

"Okay, just, like, throw something at me if I start glowing," Michael said. Alex laughed.

"I'm not going to throw something at you," he said, "But I'll let you know."

"I don't think it's like an actually problem, just when I get overwhelmed. The ring had kinda helped regulate that, though," Michael said. Alex tilted his head in confusion.

"It's helped when you're overwhelmed?"

"Yeah. Like either a distraction or it's amplifying the good feelings. It's, like, stretching it's leg, you know? It's this thing that has gone untouched for so long and it's just happy to be in use. So it wants me to feel good, wants me to use it. And when I feel good, it just reacts to that and then I feel really good," Michael explained, "It's a wedding ring. It's probably used to being used in that context. Happy ever after context."

Alex breathed, his fingers twitching at his side. Michael couldn't tell if it was the ring or just his own desperation that was screaming for Alex to touch him again. He really didn't think it mattered.

"You we're glowing when I was touching you," Alex stated. Michael nodded obediently. "And you stopped whenever I stopped." Michael nodded again.

"I believe it."

"And you're just... happy?" Alex said.

"I'm spending time with you," Michael said simply, shrugging, "No fighting or tension. Just spending time and talking about research. Why the fuck would I be anything else?"

Alex watched him, taking a step forward. Even though he was already so close. Now he was close enough that Michael's thighs bracketed his legs.

"You've been different since you started wearing that thing," Alex said, fingers catching Michael's sleeve.

"I've been different since I got over my shit and got some openness between us," Michael said. Alex clearly fought a smile and lost, a grin splitting his mouth and the back of hand rubbed over Michael's arm.

"You really thing the ring has nothing to do with it?" Alex said.

Michael shrugged. "I can't say that. I know it definitely gave me a little push, but the things I'm feeling are all 100% mine."

"And what are you feeling exactly?" Alex asked, his hand trailing up into his hair. He seemed to be gravitating closer, leaning down as Michael craned up. Michael resisted the urge to just pull him into his lap at this point.

"Happy," Michael answered, "Obsessed with you. First is new, second one isn't."

Alex breathed out, swallowing hard. He looked away for a moment, but his eyes eventually came back to him.

"You can't say shit like that," Alex whispered, reprimanding him with a soft tug on the hair at the tape of his neck. Michael's lips parted. He wasn't really sure how to tell when he was glowing just yet, but he was sure that he was now.

"Why not?"

"I might get ideas," Alex said teasingly, leaning a little more. His hand was resting on his chest while the other was in his hair, Michael's hands trying not to take initiative and just grab him.

"Get them," Michael said. And Alex laughed. And it was sweet. And he was close enough to kiss.

"Michael..." Alex said, right there. His eyes flickered around his face, hovering on his lips. Michael could feel his breath on his face.

"Alex," Michael responded, finally touching him. He put his hands on the back of his thighs, urging him closer. Alex smiled wider.

"You're glowing again," Alex said, breath caressing his face. It was teasing at this point. "I wonder how bright you can get."

"Wanna test it?" Michael asked.

Alex looked at him, looking over him before he nodded.

"Yeah, I do."

Alex leaned closer, their noses bumping.

And then there was knocking on the hatch before it was opened up.

Alex moved back, flushed. Michael flexed his hand as a silent command to drain him from any residual glow. He hoped it was successful.

"You forgot how to tell time, boy?!" Sanders called down. Michael evened his breath and tried to calm down his body's natural reaction to Alex being so close.

"Yeah!" he said, "I'll be up in a second!"

Sanders grunted in response, leaving the hatch open before walking away. Michael huffed a laugh and looked to Alex who looked like he was on the verge of laughing as well. A couple second of staring and he did, both of them bubbling with laughter and excitement at being caught in such a casual way.

A normal way.

"I gotta go," Michael said, "But you can stay. Won't be too long."

"Take your time," Alex said, "I'll be here."

Michael nodded, knowing he would be.

"Alright," Michael said.

"Alright," Alex agreed.

"Alright."

*Go," Alex laughed, shooing him. Michael obeyed, heading to the ladder and all but flying up them.

Michael's heart and the ring on his finger thrummed in tandem, all singing on the high that was Alex Manes.

Alex Manes, Alex Manes, Alex Manes

[sparkbeast20]

You're my Treasure (Mammon X MC) Pt7

The Blue Lotus petals (series)

As a fan of Beauty X Beast pairing, Showing your “true self” to Lover or (Monster Love) Tropes. I figure to make a (More Demonic Forms AU/head canon) story for each brothers. Heads up each brother’s Story is long as fuck. So, I’ll be posting them as parts and finishing one brother before moving on to the rest of them.

(spoiler for lesson 1-60)

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4 Pt5 Pt6

Warning: Swearing, Demonic nature, mention of Pain, Blood, Violence, Body horror, Graphic Transformation

Previously

All of them look at each other, with fear and worry on their faces. Trying to know who has the answer. While Lucifer look through the hold in the ceiling and into the sky, wondering where is Mammon taking you and hope that the two of you are safe.

You and Mammon are curl up in each other. You have your arms wrap around his torso, your legs wrap around one of his and you have your face in the crooks of his neck.

While he his arms wrap around you. His wings are scratch out behind him and a tail grow over night is bounces about behind him, when it hit a small statue over hitting coins making a noise. Causing him to wake up.

He yawns and use his hand to rub the sleep out of his eyes, not knowing his fingers turn into talon claws he accidentally scratch his cheek.

“OW! The fuck was that?” his cursing woke you up, like somedays you sleepily smack his face with your palm. “Mammon I’m trying to sleep”

“I’m sorry, it just I felt something scratch my~” he finally focuses on his hand, his eyes widen.

“G’AAAAAH!” Mammon jumps up and scream in a panic completely waking you up. As he stares at his hand, then he felt that his wings are out so he brought them Infront of him and shock that his wings are different causing him to panicking more.

“Mammon calm down!” slowly got up and walk over to him, as he flailing his arms and wings around almost hitting. Then you quickly gave him a wake slap on his cheek, stop him from moving.

You cup his face with your hands and look at him directly in the eyes.

“Baby, calm down and change back” he nods grab your wrist and uncapping his face. As stood up straight. “Right......right okay” he took a deep and try to focus. However, nothing is happening he try shaking both hands, but still nothing.

“I-I can’t change back” he looks at you a defeated face, scare of what’s happen. Then he looks back down to his hand eh or talons clenching them and drop down on his knees as he brought his arms close to his chest.

“Mammon” you mutter under you’re breathe. You kneel down beside him hug him at his head running you through his hair. “You’re not alone, I’m here will…. Will find a way to change you back. I promise” you kiss him on the cheek and nuzzle face into his. He brough one hand on top of your arm and push it closer to his mouth kiss it. “Thank you…...I-I love you so much”

You smile and hug him even tighter “I love you too” you said it in a loving tone.

“Now…… where are we? and you have a tail!”

“I can see the outside of the cave, come on” you quicken your pace at the sight of light well moonlight, with Mammon following behind you.

Once you two are out of the cave, you notice that you are surrounded by trees.

“This is isn’t the wood near the house?” you look back at Mammon, who is confuse as you are.

You grab his hand and smile reassure him, he blinks and flash a cocky smile back to you his little way of making you feel safe with him.

“Don’t worry babe, I’ll just fly up and see we’re we at” he lets go of you hand and gets ready to fly looking in the sky. Before he leaps, he looks over to you “Be back in a sec” then his off in the air, as you watch him fly up.

Once he got high enough, he looks arounds and let out an airless gasp.

Miles and miles of nothing but trees and the mountain with the cave where you two came out from. But that doesn’t shock Mammon. What shock him was remembers this forest, it’s the same one in his nightmare with the same trees and the same mountain where he saw Nightmare Satan standing a top from.

He quickly flew back down, as he decent down he can feel his heart races as everything is coming back to him, why you two are here, why he brought you to the cave, and why he needs to bring you back to his cavern.

He landed Infront of you with a worry look on his face.

“Mammon? What did you saw?” but he didn’t reply all he did was walk close to you grab your uninjured arm, and start heading back to the cave with you in tow.

“Mammon”

“He’s still out there, you’re not safe out here”

“Who’s still out there?”

“Basto! That son of a bitch got out from prison and Lucifer knew and didn’t tell me or the others. Now he’s loose in Devildom and we don’t know where he is or what is his next plan”

Your eyes widen to the revelation “What?” you mutter under your breathed.

“I’m not letting him get near ya” he quickens his pace and tighten his grab on your wrist.

“Mammon please slowly down” you call out to him, but he couldn’t hear you as he continues to talk.

“If I ever see him…...”

“Mammon!”

“I’ll kill him!” he said it a deep and threating voice.

“Mammon it hurts!?!” that snap him back from his train of thought, he quickly looks back and see your face pain, he looks down to your arm and saw your hand twitching cause of his grab. He immediately let go step away from you scare to what he almost did to you.

“I-I’m sorry” he can barely say it without chocking on his own words.

“Mammon” you call out to him with a worry tone, as you try to reach out to hold him.

He shook his head trying to snap out of his guilt daze. “J-just stay inside the cave. I-I’ll need some spaces, I be back once I get a clear head and when a have some food”

Before you can say anything, he flew off leaving you near the cave. Feeling guilty of hurting you tears start building up in his eyes as he flies over to the nearby lake.

“Fuck. fuck. fuck. FUCK!!” Mammon curse to himself, as he bangs his arm in the tree near the Lake.

“Why is it always everything I do, I screw up and the others always have to clean up”

Maybe because you get way over your head or you don’t think clear enough to the point always jump to conclusions.

Mammon tremble to hear a voice in these woods, whip his body looking around where the voice came from.

“W-who’s there, if that’s you Levi this isn’t funny…... Its not like a can get scare or something” Mammon playing his brave card. Which the voice isn’t buying it.

Are you being serious right now! This is the first time I hear you talk like you aren’t afraid, and I don’t believe you!

Mammon face turn pale, he couldn’t move because he was frozen in fear. When the voice spoke again.

Oh, for the love of ~ MOVE!!!

Mammon startle by the yelling. “Oi ya don’t have to yell…… by the way where are ya?” he looks arounds “All I see are trees and the Lake~” Mammon trails off when he saw a figure reflecting on the surface of the lake near shore.

Mammon walks slowly to the lake, as he got closer to the lake can finally make out what’s is reflected on the lake.

It was a white crow-like beast with his front legs serve as he’s wings, with gold similar marking across his torso and his horns similar to Mammon’s only bigger. And his eyes with sapphire blue iris and ink black sclera looking directly at Mammon. It was his demonic form, his beast within, Finally face to face, but Mammon start laughing like a mad man.

“Hahahahaha……. I might be going crazy, because I seeing things”

Or you finally losing control over your mind and making it easier for me to take over.

“No!! I been eating those stupid petals; I can’t be losing control”

Oh…... the same petals you been vomiting for the past two weeks.

Mammon mouth gave open to the realization, on what the beast was talking about.

He quickly shut his mouth and stomp over to the reflection and drop down to his knees and start smacking the water.

“Yer not here! Yer still lock up in mine mind!”

Face it! There nothing stopping me from taking over. Even smack the water…… will you stop that!!!

Mammon stops mid smack at the beast command, he huffs crosses his arms and turn his back at the beast. but after a moment of silence Mammon demeanor changed.

“Please…...”

Hm???

“Please do take over, not-not just yet…… at least let me take y/n back to my brothers…... I-I” Mammon start sobbing causing his voice to crack. “I don’t want to leave them here in the woods alone and scare and I want to see them one last” Mammon start crying to the idea of not see you again. But Mammon heard the beast laughing, causing he to look back to the beast.

“Oi this isn’t funny, how cruel are ya” but the beast shook his head at Mammon earning him a confuse look on Mammon’s face.

If your smart enough to realize that I’m not planning

“What are you talking about?” but only met with the beast smiling even with a beak.

Let’s just say after our talk you’ll be begging me to help you.

“Mammon!! Where are you?” You call out to your boyfriend as you wandering in the cold and unforgiving woods looking for him. At least you’re wearing his jacket.

Is been hours since you decide to look for Mammon, in hindsight this wasn’t one of your smart ideas. But you could stay in the cave and wait for Mammon.

Its Mammon you’re talking about, the same demon who runs when from his mess and try to hide from the brothers who he gets them involve with his shenanigans, and the same demon who said to you to run away with him, when he gets emotional.

No, you need to find him, and be there for him in his time of need.

“Mammon~” before you finish shouting his name, you heard him scream in agony.

“Mammon…...” mumble his name, in fear of him being in pain. You start running towards the screaming, each step you took your heart start beating faster. And the louder screaming gets you start feeling tears falling from your eyes.

You saw a clearing ahead, as you got closer you saw a lake and Mammon crouch down digging his claws into the dirt as his body violently shaking.

“MAMMON!” you scream his name in fear and sadness, causing him look at you shock that you manage to find him in this big ass woods.

“Y/n…...” his voice sound hoarse, due to the screaming or something else causing it.

You rush over to him, only stop dead in your traces when raises his hand up.

“StaY BaCK…… PLeaSE……. I-I…….. dOn’t WaNt tO hURt yA……” you cover your mouth with both hands as you start to cry, hearing his voice change in each word to his normal one and to a sinister one. Seeing Mammon in pain causing you to fall on your knees sobbing. All you can do is be here for him.

He smiles at you for comfort, while tears of pain slowly fall from his eyes through his cheek telling. And he mouthed I love you, before looking down and groan it pain.

Then his wings folds in half and start creeping through his arms, as the end of the wings made it to Mammon’s wrist the thumb part of the wings dug into skin causing him to scream in pain, and you yelp.

Then feathers start sprouting out throughout his body, his boots start to tear open revealing four toe talons, feeling his face start to change he turn his back on you not showing what his about to do.

He stood up on his legs, as his body start to grow longer. Then he grabs and dig his talons into his face draw blood, luckily his palm is over his mouth muffle his scream of agony. As the sound of clothes tearing over leaping his muffle scream. Well now for long, as he feels growing under his skin of his face, irritated he start rip off the flesh of his face revealing a beak growing where once his mouth was. As he continues to remove the remaining flesh on his face.

He’s voice start to change into something demonic and animalistic, he’s screams turns to a crow-like shriek. As his skeletal frame start arranging themselves in his demonic form with bones bending and breaking.

Once done, He let out an unnerving shriek before dropping down on all fours and shake off the remaining clothes, blood, and flesh off of him, then turn his head at your direction with his sapphire blue glowing eyes stare at you.

Terrified you took a step; he sees that you’re moving he face his entire body towards you, he shrieks as his feathers stand upright and he pounces forward, see it made you trip and fall on your back, before you can get Mammon was on top of you pinning you down on the ground as he stares into your eyes. Scare of was going to happen, the only thing you can muster in this moment of fear is.

“Mammon”

[neighborhood-houseplant]

Hello! Can you do Garfield Logan (beast boy) comforting a male reader who’s power is more vampiric in nature? Define that how you want but someone needs to get hurt. Maybe the reader hates that part of themself? Hence the comforting.

Pairing: Garfield Logan x Vampire! Reader

Relationship Status: Best Friends

Type: Fluff, Mild Angst

Gender: Male Reader

Prompt: "I want the truth."

Warnings: Mentions of blood.

_______________

Ever Since (Y/n) had joined the team, Garfield knew something was different about him. Technically speaking there was something different about all of them, but why did (Y/n) stand out so much? He took it upon himself to find out.

He tried to befriend the newbie, but it was clear that they weren't aware of his attempts and took it as blant kindness. However this didn't stop Garfied. He had asked batman to pair them up more on missions and training exercises.

After what seemed like eternity, he warmed up to Garfield. Garfield noticed how (Y/n) didn't push him away when he hugged them out of pure joy, or when they rarely initiated conversations with him. M'gann had noticed how much more, glowing Garfield had become.

"What's up Gar? You seem really happy." She asked, quirking her brow at him. This immediately set Garfield into a happy rant. "It's just that (Nickname) high five me after our patrol. He didn't look at me wierd but he high five me! Can you belive that?" He jumped up and down excitedly.

The older female smiled at him fondly. She was happy that he'd made friends with the newcomer seeing as they looked really lonely. Eventually Garfield left, in search for (Y/n). It wasn't that difficult, as they rarely left their room unless they had to.

He opened their locked door, having previously persuaded them to give him their spare key. Pushing the door open, he walked in, noticing his friend sitting on the bed, their hair slightly damp from their recent shower, reading a book in a language that Garfield didn't understand.

"Hey (Nickname)! I was wondering if-" Garfield's voice cut out as he accidentally cut his finger on the pair of scissors on the desk he had been leaning on. He hissed, but brushed it off, turning his head to face the male with him, noticing how he was covering his mouth, his eyes looking red instead of their usual (Eye colour).

His mind wandered back to when he'd heard Zatana mention how vampires had to feed on blood once a month. They could go without it, but they would become irritable and dizzy. Garfield remembered that on their patrol, (Y/n) looked like he would pass out at any moment and had accidentally snapped at him on their way back to the cave.

Suddenly realization dawned on him as he took a step forward. This inturn made (Y/n) back up, their back hitting the wall. "(Y/n)? Is something wrong?" He asked, his voice gentle. "No! Nothing is wrong. I think you should leave. Like now." His voice trembled slightly.

Garfield continued his advance, perching on the end of (Y/n)'s bed. "You're lying. Your eyes are red and your voice is trembling. Do you need blood? I want the truth." He tilted his head in confusion, trying to ignore how the male's eyes trailed to his neck.

"No." He flatly replied. "I told you I don't like feeding on human blood! Its wrong an-" he was cut off by Garfield. "It's only natural, though. Right?" He sighed again. "Yes but, I hate it. I hate having to feed off human blood. Of course, I could feed off animal blood, but I don't want to upset you, so that's off the table." (Y/n) turned his body away, trying to ignore how his fangs were sharpening.

"But you're killing yourself for this!" Garfield raised his voice. "Thats not right!". "But it's keeping you safe, so I'll keep doing it." Garfield frowned at how stubborn his friend was being. Suddenly an idea struck him. "You can have some of my blood."

(Y/n) turned around, a mortified look on his face. "Absolutley not! I might hurt you or worse!" Garfield smiled. The fact that (Y/n) was willing to kill himself, so that he wouldn't feed on him warmed his heart. It both amazed and annoyed him.

He wrapped his arms around (Y/n)'s neck, sighing as he felt tears wetten the fabric on his shoulder. "You wouldn't hurt me. If anything, I'm to blame for suggesting the idea. I trust you, okay?". (Y/n) took in a shaky breath, speaking, his voice cracking. "You t-trust a monster like me?"

"You're not a monster. You're my best friend and I trust you. So take some blood, okay?" Grafield spoke, comforting his friend. "O-okay." (Y/n) caved in, sinking his fangs into Garfield's neck, rubbing his back soothingly when he stiffened. It hurt a lot more thank he thought it would , but he was willing to go through with it.

(Y/n) on the other hand, couldn't get over how amazing and rich Garfield's blood tasted, making him want more and more. He stopped a few moments later, pulling back to let Garfield breathe. Garfield stood up, "See? Wasn't so hard now was i-" he suddenly felt lightheaded, as his legs bucked and he collapsed.

Luckily, (Y/n) was quick enough to catch Garfield before he hit the ground. Thankfully the still awake, Garfield was groaning. "My head is killing me." He sighed looking into (Y/n)'s eyes, which had now turned back, to their regular colour.

"Why?" (Y/n) whispered. Garfield hummed signaling him to continue speaking. "Why would you let me suck your blood?! Look what I've done to you! I can't believe- I'm a monster." He sighed, putting his head in his hands. Garfield sat up looking into the distraught boy's eyes. "It's okay, I don't blame you, who knows how long you went without feeding. "

He looked into his eyes. "I'm not mad. I promise, besides, now I have an excuse to ditch training tomorrow." He grinned when (Y/n) started laughing. "Just please promise me you'll tell me next time?" Garfield pleaded. "I promise." (Y/n) finally sighed. Then Garfield pulled them into a hug as they both sat there, on the floor. Maybe he wasn't a monster. Maybe he was just like everybody else, different.

I'm sorry if this isn't how you wanted it! This is my first time writing for male reader. I hope you liked this.

- Pinky

[crackinwise]

My pet AU is Kiyotaka and Mondo somehow out in the post-Tragedy Japan, surviving and saving people. Like either they didn't agree to stay locked in Hope's Peak for safety, or they survived the game and left with the others but didn't join Future Foundation. Major points up front, details divided into sections under the cut:

Mondo's objective would be to find his gang, and Taka's goal, besides finding his dad, would be repairing society while punishing those responsible for its destruction. But their direct task is keeping each other safe & helping victims along the way.

Mondo even stresses calling Taka "Ishimaru" instead of "bro" or his given name in front of others, so they might KNOW who's saving them. Taka caught on quick & is very grateful.

Taka would have kind of a breakdown reconciling who he is with what he has to do in a lawless world where every public moral is ignored. He keeps a small ledger of places they loot from, to compensate in the future.

At the start, Taka can only sleep burrowed against Mondo's chest or back, blocking out their damaged surroundings & pretending everything is as it was.

He cries in Mondo's arms one night after he couldn't avoid killing someone to save Mondo's life, and that's the tipping point. He thinks if he was better, stronger like his bro, he'd have noticed sooner & found a better option. Mondo is being so brave; he's Taka's rock and Taka wants to be as steady for him too. Their souls are already connected so obviously he just has to borrow more of Mondo's spirit, right?

That's how Ishida is created.

(In reality, Mondo just compartmentalizes and shoves down unhelpful feelings. You thought he needed therapy BEFORE all this, oh man-)

Ishida:

Taka ends up slipping into the Ishida facade for fight and flight; any time adrenaline kicks in and he feels he needs that boost. Sadly, that's most of their waking time. He guards Mondo and anyone they're saving like a fierce watchdog, and won't hesitate to bite.

He'll only come out of the role when he personally verifies it's safe and if Mondo can confirm it. Survivors are confused by the dual-sided Ishimaru switching right in front of them, but they're so grateful (and so much weird crap has happened) that it never phases them long.

Too many times, Ishida will go all day without a break. This means when their hideout for the night is absolutely safe, that it's okay to let go, Taka just collapses in exhaustion. But Mondo is there to catch him.

Mondo feels conflicted over the Ishida role because Taka is just a beast in it--it's very flattering and a little hot--but it also makes him worry more than before about Taka's health. He comforts Taka with a lot of praise and reassurances, and Taka sleeps lightly but otherwise fine.

Relationship: (slight mature warning)

When they touch, Taka swears he can feel the link between them flare to fuel them. Twin fires ignited. Mondo doesn't know about all that, but when their eyes meet it definitely makes him feel invincible, so, he can believe.

If they weren't already new boyfriends when The Tragedy hit, all this closeness makes sure of that soon after. Being together is their happiness and, for a while, their only link to pre-Tragedy lives. Vows not unlike marriage were exchanged one night. Where one goes, the other will follow. Anywhere. Always.

When they kiss, safe and alone, Mondo will ask what Taka wants; what he can handle that night. Sometimes it's just the kisses before passing out, sometimes it's more intimate touches to please them both after another hellish day.

Sometimes Taka will ask to be made love to, for obvious couple reasons, but also because Mondo inside him makes their tether feel stronger, more complete. Like going over the invisible line in bold marker. Taka believes any marks they can create with their mouths, any traces of themselves they can leave on or in each other, the easier they can find their bond and tap into it. (He had started a nervous habit of pressing in on lovebites to keep Ishida going when tired.)

Mondo tells him he doesn't need to find a poetic excuse for fetishes and Taka lovingly answers with a stomach punch.

Crazy Diamonds:

Mondo's gang members, the ones not dead or overcome with Despair, are slowly found and joined back up.

Any smaller and sturdier motorcycles are kept when found. If Mondo was able to keep his own in this version, it's a bit heavier than would be good for any off-roading--and much too loud for any stealth--but he refuses to part with it.

Every gang member respected Taka/Ishida the second they saw him fight beside their leader. Before Mondo says a word about him. They readily take orders from him in either form. The change in appearance was a surprise, but they're already used to some members wildly changing demeanor in or away from the gang, so it's easily accepted.

With the gang as backup to keep watch during downtime--after Ishida sized each one up and watched them for loyalty--the pair can feel a lot more relaxed. They joke about having a date in a blown-out restaurant they find, and they can finally enjoy a deep sleep.

When the group finds safehouses with more than one room, Mondo & Taka are given their privacy. Taka tries to insist everyone deserves a chance at privacy and they should rotate, but changing a gang's long-established hierarchy is a losing battle. And Mondo's not on his side because when they're alone he can be as sappy or touchy as he likes.

Legends:

Taka and Mondo save a lot of people over their journey and kinda become a legend that gets spread around and gives people Hope.

This area still needs work from me. Probably some research into Japanese myths and supernatural symbolism. A placeholder right now is something corny like "Two Men with burning eyes and thunderous voices will answer your cries for help. But if you're evil, the two will appear to you as One Demon and drag you down to the land of the dead."

There's also probably a need for costume changes since their color scheme is the same black & white of the Despair Remnants and monokumas killing people. Legend or not, it'd be easy for traumatized survivors to not know they're good guys at first.

Darker Moments: (blood, violence and vague attempted sexual assault)

After he killed a man to save Mondo, Taka luckily (he wouldn't use that word) doesn't have to again. Hurt? Yes. Beat unconscious? Yes. Maim? Yes, but some of the vile dregs of humanity are caught doing things that deserve worse--

--That deserve Mondo. Once when they were still traveling alone, a group of Remnants jumped them, managing to separate the two, and one knocked Taka out with a bad blow to the head. Mondo dispatched the others attacking him and got to Taka right as the Remnant was about to do something unforgivable.

Mondo snapped. He still doesn't remember what he did, he just remembers coming to in all the blood and dazedly picking Taka up to take him to a place he knew was safe.

Taka never finds out. He woke up a day later with a bandaged head and Mondo crying and kissing his hands. Mondo just told him he beat some and scared away the others.

Minor Details:

They try to always fight back-to-back and, to observers, seem to read each other's mind for where to move.

Taka/Ishida would use a sword or hand-to-hand. The pickaxe might just be a random pickaxe they find, if he uses it at all. Kinda hard to carry both a sword and a railroad pickaxe on your back, and I can't imagine it balances very well. (The size in official pics would be a 5lb head w/2-3lb handle.)

Mondo seems like he would use anything lying in debris to fight. Poles, pipes, chains. Aaaand maybe the knives he mentions in School Mode.

For any costume changes, Mondo would keep his jacket at least. A beacon for the Diamonds. Maybe a purple tank top, and different pants better for knife holsters. Unless the holster should wrap around his waist or hip instead?

Any changes to Taka's outfit would keep his armband. It's a reminder of his Talent and his goal to make Japan even better than before. Also wanna keep his boots or change to more rugged ones.

End Goal:

Obviously they'd end up in Towa, after the events of Ultra Despair Girls. They're reunited with Takaaki and Takemichi. Maybe they help set things right there a bit, or Makoto would get word to them about his plans vs Future Foundation's. Look at me, do I look like someone that knows how to end things?

There is no way you read all that. (I love you if you did.) But feel free to use all or any bits of it in your own works. Almost positive I'll never get to compose all this into a coherent fic format. I might update in short scenario posts under a 'Tragedy-survivor au' tag if I think of anything.

If you have a question or want something expanded upon, ask away.

[tetsurobunni]

The Final Battle

☞ harry potter x jjk crossover au // 3.9k words

☽ the battle of hogwarts: jjk style, remnants of satosugu friendship, pain, hurt, more pain…sigh… pure angst with a magical twist for flavor

☽ warnings : major character death

☽ pairing : satoru gojo x suguru getou

☞ my inner harry potter geek really came out full force with this one…so did my sad writer juices i apologize beforehand :)

“satoru….hey, professor nanami cast the spell to defend the school. it won’t be long…”

“i know. i’ll join you when it’s time.”

the illuminating sheen of the dome rose high over the towers of hogwarts. gojo could hear the hum radiating from it, the power from the spell glowing against the overcast sky.

this is it.

should he count his blessings? pray? to what deity, or god, or higher being should he speak to before his world comes crushing down?

gojo’s wand feels heavy in the palm of his hand, thumb gently grazing over the smooth spruce. he imagines the dragon heartstring at its core, the beast he knew lived inside.

he had seen it himself, his peers had too. how even before traveling to hogwarts in his first year just how powerful a wizard he was-and would grow up to be.

if only he knew where he would be in his seventh year. standing in front of the large oak doors leading to the great hall, his fellow students young and old rushing into place all around him, wiping their brows and preparing for a war.

a war that would cost gojo everything.

he knew who he would see on the other side of the battle. the image of his face made gojo’s stomach churn and his chest ache.

his best friend.

his only friend.

he felt a hand rest atop his left shoulder, the scuffed toes of professor nanami’s boots coming into view beside him. he met his professor’s eyes, receiving a small nod of acknowledgment. gojo had grown quite close to his professor throughout his years at hogwarts. he was one of the only people that had garnered gojo’s appreciation and trust.

nanami knew. he had watched all of them grow up, after all. he was the one who informed gojo of the news that sent him spiraling.

that was two years ago.

now, as voldemort rallied his followers and dark creatures of the forest, gojo knew he would face him again.

“the spell is weakening.”

“it was only a matter of time.”

“are you prepared?”

“no.”

“neither am i. but we must.”

with a pat on his shoulder the professor left his side, sheathing the oak wand in his sleeve.

“strength. endurance. tolerance. balance. practicality. that is what my wand stands for. each of you have your own unique wand that chose you; yes, the core of your wand does hold great power and meaning, but so does the wood that keeps it intact. it is a vessel. and it is strong.”

gojo remembers listening to his professor and thinking he was absurd. but his friend had watched on with glimmering eyes, thirsty for new knowledge, and he had decided that maybe the idea wasn’t all that abhorring.

“hawthorn. somewhat arrogant, reflection, intelligence, vigor, new beginnings or endings. feels most at home with a wizard of natural talent. wicked, eh satoru? what about yours?”

“ah, mines spruce. quick-witted, adaptable, flamboyant, strength, resistance, is known for its unusually fast reactions and somewhat stubborn nature in the hands of a nervous or untrained wizard or witch. good thing i’m not that, eh?”

“your wand is supposed to be stubborn? you’ve had no problems!”

“well of course i haven’t! i don’t remember a moment in my life where i’ve ever been nervous. no wonder…”

the conversation had drifted away in a few minutes, the flickering of the lantern lulling gojo to sleep. when he came to, the weight of a second robe rested on his shoulders. he had ignored the blush that rose on his cheeks and wiped drool from the corner of his mouth

gojo had looked down at the book that ended up as his makeshift pillow and found himself mindlessly reading more information. gojo had failed to mention the extra research he had done; it was innocent, just an extra flip of a page. what he read he never told.

‘although hawthorn is a very powerful wood, it is adept to curses. many of those who practise dark magic have been affiliated with wands made from hawthorn. they are not to be taken lightly in the wrong hands.’

he didn’t regret it then, but after he had gotten the news from nanami about what his friend did, the guilt ate him alive.

now as he looks out the castle doors to the cracks spindling in luminescence revealing the murky darkness of the stormy sky, gojo realizes that this might be his last day at hogwarts.

the realization is fleeting. he can’t afford to be thinking that way. not now. he feels the eyes of his classmates pouring into his being. they’re looking to him to save them.

you should just try to save yourselves.

itadori comes to stand to his right, fushiguro to his left. maki and nobara flank behind him.

this is is family. they all know their tie to one another. they’ve been training together for almost a year on their combat skills. itadori had been experiencing some difficulties, but nonetheless proved to be the closest match to gojo himself.

“holly. with a phoenix feather core. why?”

“just curious. look up what your wood means sometime, will ya?”

“yea…sure. not sure what that has to do with anything…”

gojo and professor nanami both had thought his wand would be made of dogwood- it matched itadori’s personality-the holly was a surprise. paired along with a phoenix feather core was practically unheard of.

but as the dark magic started to rise, itadori started to blossom. he was an amazing wizard.

gojo had his own hypotheses, but as always kept them to himself. no need to cause any further turmoil in his life.

“gojo?”

“you can call me satoru, y’know.”

“sure…gojo?”

“…yes itadori”

“i’m scared.”

gojo felt his heart clench. the boy beside him might be powerful, but still just that- a boy. he didn’t deserve this. none of them did.

“you can always back away. you know that, right?”

he watched as itadori looked across the bridge towards the darkness, then to his friends and classmates surrounding them.

“gojo?”

“hm?”

“are you scared?”

“no.” yes.

despite what lay ahead of them, itadori cracked a smile. “same as ever, eh?”

gojo forced the corners of his lips into a smirk. “you know it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

as soon as the remaining bits of professor nanami’s spell wore off, the fighting commenced. the huge stone knights began at the putrid giants that shook the ground as they walked, but, as expected, they didn’t hold for long.

there were hundreds of death eaters that immediately swarmed the entrance to the castle. gojo and the others had already gotten separated. he found himself looking for glimpses of them as he fought, power rushing through his veins as flashes of light shot through his vision.

one death eater after another fell to his wand. a goblin here. an enormous arachnid there. a shield spell shot itself from his wand to catch a pillar that threatened to fall on a young girl. gojo didn’t spare a second to marvel at how his wand seemed to act on its own.

itadori was nowhere to be found. nobara was matched against a witch he swore he had seen on the cover of a newspaper. she had been locked up in Azkaban for upwards of ten years.

a patronus he knew belonged to megumi weaved itself through the dust and dirt of the fight, closely followed by its darker counterpart. he made the mistake of watching the white wolf too closely in its decent over one of the towers and felt the breath get knocked from his chest as he flew backwards into a wall.

he coughed weakly into his hand, rubbing the blood that surfaced there onto his pants. the wall he flew into crumbled around him. he wasn’t sure who had landed a blow on him, but whoever it was had to be powerful.

only three people had ever managed to conquer such a thing, and two of them were currently fighting for hogwarts.

gojo petrified a lone death eater that had tried to sneak up on his left. he quickly ran over to the frozen body to lift the mask, though he knew it wasn’t who he was searching for.

“gojo, on the bridge!”

the yell had come from megumi, whom he saw battling three death eaters at once. after quickly disarming one them, gojo turned towards the bridge.

a flash of pink hair caught his attention. he watched as itadori seemingly chased after someone and raised his wand to cast his patronus to follow him. he stopped in his tracks when he saw a figure across the ravine.

it was him.

gojo’s hands shook with a ferocity no one had seen before. his wand illuminated the battlefield so bright many had to shield their eyes. the fighting ceased for only a moment as everyone turned to look at the being that stood in place of gojo satoru.

the short silence was broken when a death eater sent a curse flying towards nobara. a flick of gojo’s wrist was all it took for the death eater to fall in a heap on the ground, dead.

gojo’s entire being felt laced with ice. he knew he would see him. he knew. so why…

why did it hurt so badly?

screams and cries fell on deaf ears as gojo made his way across the crumbling bridge towards the forest. his hands trembled at his sides, legs weak as they carried the weight of this moment.

the figure had seen him and immediately dissipated into thick black smoke.

~~~~~~~~~~~

the forbidden forest had never scared gojo. he actually found comfort in the deep hollows and twisted roots that overcame the dense woods. he spent a lot of time here throughout the years even though students weren’t allowed.

his feet led him along the familiar pathway he had taken numerous times before. a lone centaur raced towards the castle, not sparing gojo a second glance. he had long since become acquaintances with the creatures of the forest.

“gojo!”

“itadori? what in the- what are you doing out here? you’re going to get yourself killed!”

“i saw voldemort go into the forest so i-“

“well, what a sight.”

gojo’s eyes widened as he registered the voice that came from behind him. itadori looked over his shoulder in confusion; when he saw who the voice belonged to, his face morphed into a look of pure rage.

“itadori. this is my battle.”

“but-“

“you need to leave.”

“no, no i’m not just going to leave you here-“

“yuuji? wow, it’s been a while… you’ve grown.”

gojo turned to face the voice, visibly wincing as his eyes landed on his old best friend.

“satoru”

“suguru.”

getou had gotten taller since he last saw him. a scar ran across the length of his forehead and his hair had grown longer.

i always said his hair would look good long.

“i can feel the power radiating from you, satoru…it’s delicious. my lord will be quite pleased to meet you”

“your ‘lord’ can kiss my ass.”

getou chuckled, “no need to be vulgar”

gojo’s hand clenched around his wand. one spell and this could be over, but it would be irreversible. even though gojo knew getou wasn’t the same person he was a year ago, he still trembled at the thought of his old friend not being alive.

“gojo-“

“no, let him stay awhile satoru! it’ll be so much more fun”

itadori sneered at getou before pointing his wand towards him. gojo could see the slight shaking of his hand. he was terrified.

getou laughed, his arms opening wide as if welcoming the two into his home.

“so much more bite than when i last saw you, hm? the dark lord spoke highly of you…”

“stupefy!”

gojo’s head whipped around in a flash just in time to see itadori’s body fall to the forest floor. a man with long gray hair skipped towards them, giggling maniacally.

“ah mahito, just in time!” the man bowed in getou’s direction, inching closer to itadori’s paralyzed body. “master informed me that yuuji itadori had followed him here and sent me to fetch him…who is this handsome fellow, hm?”

gojo stood tall, senses on high alert. he was almost okay dealing with getou alone- but now there was an unknown wizard present. if voldemort sent him to do his biddings, then he must be strong…

“this is my old friend from hogwarts…satoru, meet mahito.”

“i’d rather not.”

mahito licked his lips in response to gojo’s remark, sending an unpleasant shiver down his spine. every aspect of this man screamed lunatic…and he was here for itadori.

a grunt escaped itadori from his position on the ground. gojo could see him trying to regulate his breathing, but it was obvious the younger boy was panicking.

“oh satoru, don’t be crass. the dark lord has been yearning to meet the young boy for a long while.”

“a long while? what the hell are you talking about?”

getou chuckled, brandishing his wand from the dark cloak that hung around his shoulders. gojo’s hand instinctively tightened around his wand as he watched his old friend walk towards itadori.

mahito tapped his fingers rhythmically against the handle of his own wand, seemingly awaiting orders. getou kneeled down closer to itadori’s face.

“yes, a long while.”

gojo still didn’t understand what that meant. itadori hadn’t met getou when he was at hogwarts, so how did his presence suddenly become voldemort’s pentacle of fascination?

“take him.”

“WAI-“

before gojo could even move to cast a spell, itadori’s scream was cut off as mahito apparated them both away.

“he’s just a boy!”

“maybe so…but a very powerful boy indeed.”

“his power doesn’t justify voldemort’s infatuation with him! i don’t understand why his involvement is needed-“

“they are tethered, satoru. remember?”

gojo’s body turned ice cold.

“…no, you…you…it was just-“

“just a suspicion, yes, that is what you told me, wasn’t it?”

no. no. it couldn’t be.

“the dark lord was very delighted with the information, so, i have you to thank, satoru. whatever may happen to the boy will be because of you.”

gojo’s mind went stark. he didn’t think, just moved with no purpose; he just let his rage pull his limbs into action like a puppet.

unspoken spells flew from both wands, the two wizards trapped in their last battle. the two were evenly matched. this didn’t surprise him.

after all, getou was one of the three people who had been able to land a jinx on him.

it was nonstop. gojo couldn’t stop himself if he tried. he was seething with anger not just towards getou, but towards himself. there was such a sinking feeling in the air, like they were dancing on cracking ice.

for an instant the two locked eyes. gojo felt his footing slightly tip, and that was all it took for getou to find an opening and send him flying backwards through the air. he landed hard on his back, wincing as a jolt of pain went through his head.

he knew he should get up. continue the fight. run and find itadori.

but he didn’t.

“you didn’t kill me.”

he didn’t see getou’s reaction to his comment. a patch of night sky that had broken through the clouds caught his attention.

for a moment he wished getou had killed him.

“get up.”

“i don’t want to.”

“satoru, get up and fight me.”

getou snarled and grabbed gojo by the collar of his jacket, pulling him up to meet his face.

“don’t you hate me?”

“…no.”

“why not! you…you should despise me! i betrayed everyone-including you!”

“i don’t.”

and it was the truth. gojo had spent hours in his dormitory stuffing his leaking eyes into his pillow, trying to be revolted by his best friend. he still had scars on his hands from punching the stone walls of the dungeons, trying to force his own physical pain into hatred.

it never worked.

“…i still don’t understand why you did it.”

that seemed to catch getou off guard. he slackened the grip he had on gojo’s collar, backing away with his head hung low.

“…he found my father.”

gojo’s eyes widened at the statement.

“i…i thought your father was-“

“dead? me too…” he paused for a moment, scoffing before continuing, “but he wasn’t. all that time we spent searching for letters, newspaper articles, headlines on the news- hell even muggle police reports- was for nothing.”

“so you went with him.”

“what other choice did i have, satoru?”

the atmosphere that had engulfed the two snapped.

what did he mean? ‘what other choice did he have’? gojo felt the anger from before start to trickle back into his veins.

“you could have stayed.”

getou met his eyes. they stood in unison, gaze never faltering.

“i had no reason to stay.”

“that’s bullshit and you know it, suguru.”

“what reason then? i was a horrid student, i didn’t care about grades, our so-called friends loathed me satoru! i had no family, no home to call my own i-“

“you had me, suguru!”

getou went silent. the only noises that could be heard were their heavy breaths and muffled yells from the castle. the wind sent a chill straight to gojo’s bones and he shivered, suddenly realizing there were tears trailing down his cheeks.

“i betrayed you satoru. without a second thought.”

“i don’t believe you.”

“i pushed you to investigate itadori’s powers. voldemort told me he would reveal my father’s whereabouts if i gave him information on the boy,”

“but-“

“i broke your trust! i didn’t even try to warn you of what i was planning, or that my father was alive-“

“suguru-“

“don’t you see!”

gojo stared at the look of pure exasperation and pain on getou’s face. he had a feeling it mirrored his own.

he watched as getou pulled the sleeve of his cloak above his forearm, placing the mark of the death eaters etched into his skin on display.

“this is what i am now, satoru.”

“and i’m just supposed to…what? hate you? was i supposed to hate you then? because i didn’t, and don’t.”

“that’s- that’s exactly what you should do! i would hate me-“

“well guess what suguru!” gojo was yelling by now, the words clawing their way from within his chest, “you don’t get to decide how your decisions make others feel!”

he ignored the fact he was moving steadily towards getou as he yelled. when he got close enough, gojo realized they both were shedding tears.

“i don’t understand why you care so much about me-“ gojo let out an unhumourous laugh, “what’s that supposed to mean, huh? you think i stayed up all those hours searching for your father out of what- obligation? pity?”

getou searched for an answer, stammering over the thoughts running through his head.

“i don’t understand why-“

“because i loved you!”

no more skirting around thin fractures, or waiting with baited breath to discover to truth. it was done.

and it broke him.

gojo had done well hiding his pain the past two years. the signature smirk was automatic-it appeared on his face without effort. conversation passed through his mouth without falter. he had trained himself to be the perfect student.

but this…this he couldn’t pretend to recover from.

“you…”

“it doesn’t matter now. what’s done is done.”

“were you ever going to tell me?”

“…i don’t know.”

when did his wand become so heavy? was his chest supposed to hurt this bad?

“oh god…satoru…”

he didn’t want to feel this way anymore. the sorrow was eating him alive, peeling back layers and layers of his soul.

he repressed the urge to comfort getou as he watched his past love fall to his knees.

“i’m so sorry, satoru.”

“sorry can’t fix everything, suguru,”

if only you had said it then…

“not now. not ever.”

please make this pain stop.

“…i know.”

“so let’s finish this.”

every fiber of his being was screaming at him to stop. a tiny voice yelled ‘you can help him!’. he forced the thoughts from his mind, they would only get in the way.

he had made his decision.

getou didn’t falter from his position on the ground. his wand stayed by his side. the only movement he made was to lift his head towards the night sky as gojo himself had done before.

i love you, suguru. forgive me.

“avadakdavra!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the walk back to the castle was torture. the weight of getou’s body was heavy in his arms. it was worse than he ever could have imagined.

the silence that had encompassed him the forest was shattered the moment he stepped foot onto school grounds. the battle was over, it seemed.

the carnage left behind was gut-wrenching.

gojo ignored the gazes of his peers as he wandered into the great hall. he knew this was where they had planned to house all of the wounded, and despite the hollow feeling in his gut, he needed to find his family.

“gojo!”

he turned to see who had called his name and felt relieved when he saw it was itadori. the relief was short-lived, however, when he noticed the sobs wracking the young boys’ body.

gojo retrieved a lone bedsheet and carefully placed getou’s body down, taking one last look at his past love’s face before he covered it. he left getou there and made his way over to where itadori was crouched over a figure lying on the floor. megumi and maki were both there too.

where was nobara?

“it happened right before you went after itadori…”

gojo’s gut wrenched when he saw who the figure was.

“i assume you saw getou…you didn’t even realize what had happened…” the memory of the battle flashed before his eyes.

“i killed that death eater. the woman. i- i could have sworn…no i know i killed her-“

“it was too late.”

“…gojo?”

he kneeled down and took one of nobara’s bloody hands in his own.

“yes, it’s me, i’m here now nobara.”

“you found getou…didn’t you?”

“…yes. i did.”

this wasn’t supposed to happen. gojo swore he had done everything to prepare them… butit wasn’t enough.

nobara wheezed as a chuckle tried to escape her body, the action causing her to cough uncontrollably as air tried to seep into her lungs.

“i can’t believe…out of all of us…that i’m the one dying…could have sworn it…would have been yuuji…ha!” itadori offered a small laugh, more tears escaping his eyes.

“wow, even on your deathbed you’re still fighting with me…”

gojo met the eyes of maki, who he could tell was choosing not to say anything. megumi refused to look at nobara’s face. instead he stared at the floor, silently crying, not bothering to wipe the tears away.

they’re so young.

gojo felt a sob lurch in his throat but he refused to let it free. he had to be strong. or, at least, act strong. it wasn’t time for his facade to break.

for their sake.

“you ok, nobara?”

“yea…i’m ok.”

gojo watched as she took her final breath.

“gojo…gojo she’s… she’s dead, gojo…”

he pulled itadori’s smaller body into his own, holding him there as the boy sobbed openly. megumi took ahold of maki’s hand, the latter turning her head into the boys’ shoulder as she let her own cries break free.

i’m sorry… i’m so sorry…

[datawyrms]

Ectober Day 11: Doors

On Ao3

The demon did not return. Both of them had doubted the creature would stay away for long, considering how it crawled back into their shadows within a day last time. She kept expecting a shadow to suddenly stare at her, a clawed hand to reach out from below her bed. It was easier to ignore it when she wasn’t home- so they’d been spending most of their free time anywhere else.

Tucker had managed his great escape undetected by her parents, even if he insisted on joking about being ‘thrown out of the window’. It was absurd, lighthearted and downplayed why he had to risk climbing down the lattice in the first place.

It was foolish, to pretend there was no demon and to try and get back to normal. To grin and pretend they didn’t feel the clawing emptiness inside that seemed to worsen if they weren’t together. Acting like their poor sleep was simply school related stress instead of a cold crushing weight around their hearts and lungs. A weight that worsened in the dark. Outwardly, they were perfectly fine. She was a bit jealous of her friend, he’d always been the better actor. If she didn’t know better, she would totally believe Tucker was perfectly fine.

Even if they weren’t. Phantom had said something about ‘the door already being open’, and she was starting to suspect it was a more literal one. Some awful gateway inside them that would let monsters out and suck their humanity away. Could they close it, or block it somehow, lock the demon away and throw away the key? Or were there more doors, countless ones the beast could bound through?

“Hey Sam? You should probably take a break” Tucker nudged her, looking between her and the dusty book she’d been spending every free moment pouring over. “Like I know I make glasses look good, but that book isn’t worth it.”

“Of course it is. We need to be ready for when that monster comes back.” She resisted the temptation to rub her temples, not wanting to admit it was starting to wear her down. “Or find out what it meant by ’the door’.”

“Sam, it’s been a week. Maybe he can’t come back since you ordered him to leave?” Tucker put emphasis on ‘him’, an odd reminder considering why she’d managed to get him to leave.

“Even if it can’t, you can feel something’s wrong. Can’t you?”

“Well yeah but” he bit at his lip, hesitating to continue. “I don’t think being nasty back is going to help? Isn’t that just doing what a demon wants?”

The rebuke was ridiculous at first, her gut already wanting to tell Tucker off for being so worried about the monster that almost killed him. Except. He might have a point. She’d been telling the truth a week ago, about not wanting to hurt the demon. So why did she keep wanting to think of Phantom as an ‘it’? Maybe because that’s how the book referred to demons. Or something uglier. Something foul and wrong that had given her the excuse to ignore her morals. Her stomach churned, even if she was thankful Tucker was a good enough friend to call her on that.

“Yeah. Right. We still need to deal with Phantom safely though. That’s not just being cruel when we know what he can get up to.”

“So what were you thinking of doing? You never had the chance to actually give me the details,” he left the reason why unsaid, fiddling with his glasses instead.

“Nothing painful. Just a way to contain him if he’s doing something. Like at first I was thinking a whistle to call him back or make him pay attention but that seems too risky now.”

“Like what? Enchant a soup thermos and stick him in there?” Tucker snorted “A real sinful soup?”

She rolled her eyes. Though she hadn’t actually decided what would be good for holding a cranky demon. “Well. One might be big enough for it? And keep him from seeing out…”

“Naughty shadow demons get made into soup. Oh man, that sounds terrible.” He kept laughing, but eventually managed to settle down. “I don’t think he’d be a fan.”

“He isn’t meant to like it, it’s to keep him from hurting people.”

“I guess. The whistle idea sounded better to me? Like a dog whistle so no one else hears it?”

“Only if it works. Which it might not since Phantom might not be his real name.” That was a problem with the container idea too. They could probably make one, but instead of being able to key into the specific demon and drag it back from anywhere...they’d have to aim it. On the upside it could catch demons that weren’t Phantom too. If there were other ones. It might just be paranoia, but ever since Phantom had gotten tangled up in her life, she’d always felt a bit uneasy in the lunchroom. Like something was watching.

“It suits him? It didn’t really sound like a lie.”

“Demons aren’t going to give you their true name unless you make them say it. I’m pretty sure he just gave us his cover name.” Sam sighed, wondering if she should have insisted that Tucker had done some more reading. “He shouldn’t be able to lie to us, but since he’s only listening half the time, he’s probably lying the other half.”

“Soooo if we both ask something at the same time, he’ll tell the truth?”

“Maybe? It’s worth a shot.” It would be helpful if it worked that way, but the constant warnings in the book reminded one that a human’s idea of sense and a demon’s rarely coincided.  “Anyway, can you use your PDA to make sure the angles on these are exact?” Sam pulled out a sketched circle, handing it over to her friend.

“Y’know, if exact shapes are a problem I could probably make them and print em. A printer isn’t going to have a shaky hand.”

“The book kinda predates computers, Tuck.”

“So I’ll try it. If it doesn’t work I’ve got a nice compass too.” He shrugged, already plugging away at something.

“Thanks. I think I have most of this right, but I’ll feel better when he can’t just show up out of nowhere anymore.”

“I’m kinda starting to think demons don’t do apologies. He seemed fine just looking at things and sleeping after the Dash thing.” Tucker didn’t look up from his work, more musing out loud than anything.

There was being nice, and there was...whatever Tucker was. Absurdly forgiving? “I have no idea how you’re so comfortable about him.”

“I like cats? He’s a lot like a cat.” Tucker gave a helpless shrug, earning another eye roll. “I bet if I told him humans apologize if they don’t mean to do something, he would.”

“Oh really? What do I get if he doesn’t?” She didn’t buy the little theory that traumatizing Tucker had been an ‘accident’.

“You get to say I told you so?”

“Deal.”

[clairecrive]

“Small thing” - Alfie Solomons x reader

A/n: So, I failed to post this on saturday but here it is! Thanks again for requesting @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby! I changed a few things however I hope you’ll like this!

Summary: Alfie can’t help but step in when he sees that the man you were talking to was about to hit you. Then, one thing leads to another and eventually it’s your shared love for animals that’s what brings you together.

Word count: 2.2K (roughly)

TW: violence on animal, abusive behavior but fluff overall

Tag list: @mollybegger-blog, @evelynshelby, @br0ck-eddie, @of-love-and-of-the-sea, @shadow-of-wonder, @fandom--0verdose, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @sopxhiea, @fuseburner, @ashesbelle (let me know if you wanna be added or removed)

(this beautiful piece of art was made by @fortunetellingnonesense. she has other amazing art so go check her out!)

“Hey, stop! What the hell are you doing?!" Your voice resounded in the streets, its echo jumping through the buildings amplified. You weren't one to shout, nor did you get into fights easily. But if there was one thing you hated, it was bullying. Especially when those pieces of shit always picked on people half their size or age. It wasn't fair and showed how insignificant they were. However true that might be, the cuts and bruises that their kicks and fists would leave on them weren't insignificant. Especially compared to a smaller body such as the one of this little kitty that piece of shit on the other side of the road had decided to kick. 

Unfortunately, it had taken the small kitten cries for you to notice what was happening. But now that you had, you couldn't turn a blind eye to it. Not even if you weren't a strong muscular person and there was no one in the streets could give you a hand. Given the hour, the street was deserted.

"This little shit has decided to pee all over my doorstep. That’ll show him." Not happy with the kick that had probably broken the kitten's ribs, the bloke spat on its trembling body and was about to keep going. 

"Don't you see that it's a little kitten? They don't even know what a doorstep is." You pointed out incredulously but wasn't it obvious? 

"You almost killed him", you added to show that it was totally unnecessary and simply a dick move. 

"I don't fucking care. He peed on my doorstep and I taught him a lesson." His voice became even harsher as he bragged what he thought was a grand gesture. But really, he only proved your point further.

"You're a piece of shit." Simply put.

"Oi, lady, I don't know who the hell you think you are but ain't no one gonna talk to me like that." You could see that he trying to make himself look bigger and threatening but you didn’t expect anything less from him and were set on not let him win.

"If only you cared about yourself just half as much as you cared for others than I wouldn't have to point out the obvious." Dismissing him, you turned towards the poor kitten that was pathetically laying on the floor. Their breath was uneven and you could tell they were having trouble doing so. 

Your words must have confused the man, who apparently wasn't accustomed to a more complex way of speaking. You hadn't apologized but he wasn't sure that you had offended him either. By your tone though, he figured out that it must have been the second. And of course, his ego was bruised. 

"Right, you sl*t, it seems that you need to be taught a lesson too." Too busy cooing over the small thing, his words didn't even register. It was probably going to be too late once they did but luckily for you, a guardian angel interceded for you. 

"It ain't very manly to hit a woman, mate, right." A loud husky voice spoke behind you and you looked up, cradling the kitten to your chest, ready to make a run for it if it came to it. A tall figure of a man leaning on his cane with a big hat that cast a shadow over his face was the newcomer. You had never seen this man before but one look at him was all it took to understand that you did not mess with him. If you didn't want to end up bloodied and broken, that is. 

The bully was about to shoot a retort but the burly man spoke again before he could, "Just like hitting small animals. What fucking beast would do that, hm." And then he spoke no more, only stared at the guy. You found amusing how big and mighty the guy was trying to be just a moment early when it had been only you, and how scared and spineless he was being now, under the stranger's unwavering stare. 

It only took a minute, maybe even less, for him to lower his head and retreat. 

"That's right, no more lesson teaching for you, bastard." You snickered, mocking him. When the man in question turned to send a death stare your way, you shivered and moved behind the stranger's back, just to be sure. 

"Keep on going, mate." The stranger said fully ridding you of that menace finally. 

"Asshole", you muttered under your breath as the man disappeared into his house. You must have been louder than you thought because that prompted the stranger to look at you. 

"What are you doing, lass, getting head to head with a guy bigger than you, eh. Got a death wish?" As you were standing close to him now, you were able to see his face clearly since he was looking down at you for the height difference. What a lovely face. A guardian angel had sent him for sure because there was no way that such a handsome and kind man would stumble into your life by coincidence.

"Look, he almost killed this kitten and was definitely going to if I hadn't stopped him." You didn’t move to put some space between you. His eyes were too mesmerizing to look anywhere but at them and the way his lips trembled before forming a small smirk, was too endearing to miss.

 The stranger’s name turned out to be Alfie, but that wasn't the only thing you ended up knowing about him. He was a fellow animal lover and the human of a sweet bullmastiff. He had a trusted vet and offered to take you to him. On the way, you got to know each other. Albeit, he did all the talking, only stopping to let you answer the many questions he asked you, it wasn't annoying as it may sound. His rumbling was… comforting, in a way. It gave your mind no room to think back about what happened or worry about what could have happened if Alfie hadn't shown up. It only allowed you to lightly caress the kitten's fur and hum now and then to what he was saying. 

———————————————————————————

And after months of knowing him, you could vouch that it was. 

He was an interesting fellow, this Alfie. Such a scaring looking guy, all burly and dishevelled. His cane angrily stomped the ground, his boisterous voice and confident stride successful kept away any wandering eye and unwanted attention despite how difficult it was to not notice them walking down the street.  Of course, since you had just met him, you couldn't know that this happened mainly because of his reputation. And you would have never guessed either because despite his rough exterior, there was an underlying tenderness in the way Alfie looked at the small thing in your arms and how quickly and unprompted he had offered to help. It was the recipe for a sweetheart, wasn't it? 

"Right, I reckon we should get him some help, don't we?" Alfie couldn’t help but find you amusing and was more than willing to spend a little more of his time with you. His day had been uneventful up until now. Besides, the small thing in your arms did need help.

After the kitten was entrusted to the vet's care and eventually saved, Alfie, moved by your love for animals, had asked you to take care of his boy, Cyril. Of course, you happily took the job. Yes, the money was good and certainly helped but you mainly agreed because of him. As naive as it sounds, Alfie had made a really good impression on you that day and always had been the portrait of the perfect gentleman around you. 

He would welcome you in and offer a cup of tea when you’d get to his home in the morning and another one when he'd come home in the afternoon before you'd leave. And whenever he needed to stay at the bakery until late at night, he'd phone and tell you either offering to have someone walk you home or when you'd refused to leave Cyril alone - that was your job after all- he had given you one of the spare rooms for you to crash in and get some sleep, always with the promise of a raise for the inconvenience. 

You were titubant at first, yes Alfie had always been nice to you but was it enough to trust him? Eventually, you caved and stayed the night. The door of your room locked and a route for a quick escape already in mind. You'd soon find out that you wouldn't need it though. Alfie had come home a little past midnight and despite the late hour, he didn't go to bed straight away. Instead, you heard some noises coming from the living room. 

Curiosity got the best of you and you ventured downstairs. You had cooked a small dinner and left some for him in the oven. Alfie however, hadn't even noticed. The concept of a cooked meal was new and far away from him, his nightly routine mainly consisted of whiskey and the papers he'd brought from the office. 

Coming home to someone was also something out of the ordinary for Alfie, so when your silhouette appeared in the doorway he thought he was hallucinating. The whiskey made him a little slow but his mind still worked quickly enough that you didn't notice his moment of disorientation. 

That night turned out to be an interesting one for both of you. Looking back to it, it was also a kind of turning point in your relationship. Whiskey proved to be something that made Alfie even more prone to speaking and since the night is young, you two talked a lot, and you inevitably ended up feeling closer to him. 

After that night, Alfie made sure to come home a bit earlier so that you could talk a bit before you had to head home. And you ended up spending more nights at Alfie's too. 

Today was one of those days when Alfie said he would come home in time for tea. So, as usual, you had got everything ready, the cookies you had just taken out of the oven were nicely arranged on a plate beside the two steaming cups of tea. 

———————————————————————————

"We are restless today, aren't we? But we just came back from our afternoon walk, so what can I do for you, eh?" You were sure you sounded utterly ridiculous, using a baby voice with him but you loved doing so whenever you talked to him. And you’d swear that he could understand you. 

"A-ha, these are not for you sweet boy," you tutted at Cyril when he tried to help himself to the food.

It felt like a crescendo, your relationship getting out of the acquaintances’ stage and entering something blurry that you still couldn't figure out. All you knew was that it was warm and it felt a lot like home.

"Alright, alright, I'll give you some cuddles." Yeah, maybe you were a little soft on him but how could anyone be anything but when he looked so cute laying on his back with his little paws in the air?  

Exactly. 

The sound of the door closing caught your attention and you got up from the ground and walked in the hallway to meet Alfie who was taking his hat off. 

"Welcome back, Alfie. How was your day?" Walking to him, you helped him take his coat off. After hanging it on the coat rack, you turn back around to listen to his answer. You expected him to have moved away instead you found your faces extremely close after you had turned around. 

A gasp left your lips when your noses brushed whereas Alfie appeared unaffected. His eyes flickered between yours, his moustache tickled your upper lip as he spoke, "it's about to get a lot better, it seems pet. What do ya think?" He whispered on your mouth, referring to your previous question. 

The kiss was slow at first, your lips were cautious of each other, tentative and shy. Then Alfie’s hand reached the back of your head and it was like a flip had been switched. Only a  brief pause to get some air, your forehead touching, before your lips reconnected. This time with far more hunger, like you had been waiting for this moment. And in fact, you had been. 

"Look who's decided to join, cheeky bastard", Alfie commented, amused at his dog who was now panting on his leg. Cyril barked as if he had understood his human and you couldn't help but laugh. This dog was something else. 

Your hands trailed on his shoulders up to his neck while the kiss grew more desperate and Alfie pushed you to the wall behind the coat hanger. His hands began wandering trailing down on your body and his mouth was about to follow when something humid and wet interrupted them. 

Your eyes bore into his then flickered to his mouth, so close to yours, before you answered him. "I wholeheartedly agree." And that was all he needed to hear before his mouth was on yours. A shot of electricity ran through you when he did.

"I'm sorry mate, but this is a dance for two," Alfie gave him a loving pat on his head, "now where were we?" he turned back to you before connecting your mouths again. 

[softomi]

The Alternatives

prompts: When we feel like we aren’t in control, we’ll reorganize ourselves; we’ll think of other solutions; but in the end, we’ll always find ourselves where we began. 

My dream may not have begun with you, but it sure as hell will end with you.

pairing: oikawa x reader

Your keys twirled on your finger, they jingled against each other as you entered the gym. The ball smacks against the floor during the two men’s argument. The quarrel created tension in the bare gym, the two boys at each other’s necks.

“Will it be worth it?!” Iwaizumi was gripping Oikawa by the material of his shirt, “When you finally injure yourself enough to be forced to quit, will you finally be satisfied?”

“Maybe!” Oikawa pushed his arm away, hands reaching down to grab one of the fallen volleyballs. The ball in his hand slips from his grip when he spots you through the net. He attempts to cool the high rising of his chest, “Y/n.” He whispers your name.

“Tooru.” You wave at him.

Oikawa’s head tilts at the way Iwaizumi knocks him with his fist, “Stupid.” Iwaizumi states as he leaves to gather his things.

You sit on the bench, legs swaying, you bid farewell to Iwaizumi as he leaves. The male simply pats your head, a habit he developed from when you were the small freshman in high school. You hear him faintly whisper under his breath, asking you to tame the beast on the court.

Oikawa’s eyes linger on the way Iwaizumi touches your hair, waiting for him to leave the gym before he walks to you. You flash him a smile, one he hopes you only give him, as he approaches you. His shoulders slump when he takes a seat next to you, eyes glued to the volleyball he’s placed between his feet.

“Are you here to yell at me too?” His voice is soft compared to the roar he gave his friend.

You sway slightly, just enough for your shoulders to bounce off of his, your lips hum, “No.” You see the way his lips pout but yet his eyes are shaking, “I can already tell you’re doing it to yourself.”

That’s what he liked about you, no; it was what he loved about you. You were like water, fizzling the flame coursing his veins, providing life to his wounds.

“Do you think I should quit volleyball?”

Your swaying ceased, you noticed the way his eyes were no longer shaking, they were still as they stared deep into the ball. He was serious, just like he always was when this thought passed his mind; for someone who breathed for the sport, some days he gets the wind knocked out of him.

“Okay.” The way his eyes shot to look at you, it almost made you jolt, “Well.” You say, “What’s plan B then?” You bring your gaze to stare at the net, “Let’s strategize. Plan A is professional volleyball, what’s plan B?”

He takes the ball into his hands, “Plan B.” The words roll off his tongue, “I could teach volleyball.”

Your lips pull into a grin. Of course. You think, “Okay. Plan C?”

“Definitely a model.”

Your head nods, “Definitely. Plan D?”

Oikawa purses his lips, “Oh! I could be a referee for volleyball games.”

“I feel like you would be very biased.” You counter.

He lets out a flabbergasted gasp, “I would never.”

“Says the person who refereed a checkers game between me and Iwaizumi. You definitely saw me cheat.”

The ball is abandoned on the ground as Oikawa turns to you, “I saw nothing. You won fair and square.”

You cackle at his comment, “Okay. Then, plan E?”

You waited as he stared at you. He gave you one of those looks, one that you just couldn’t entirely pinpoint where his thoughts were leading him. Most times you could read him like the back of your hand, but then he gives you this look; as if those other times he was letting you read him.

“I marry you.” You froze yet he was so nonchalant, “Then we get a big house and have lots and lots of kids. Enough to make a volleyball team.” A smile graces your lips, you let him ramble. He names your children, plans where they’d go to school, plans the ages of each child, “And then when our last child gets married and moves out of the house, we’ll move to the country side where I’ll teach the neighborhood kids how to play the greatest sport ever, volleyball.”

The excitement in his voice dwindles, his eyes staring at the net. You perk your head to him, viewing his still expression; the longingness in his eyes, “Plan A sounds like the most pleasing doesn’t it.”

Oikawa meets your gaze, “It’s my dream.” His voice falls to a whisper, “I worked so hard to get here, I can’t just stop.”

“I know.” Your voice is flat, “I’m so proud of you, how far you’ve come, everything you’ve achieved.” Your shoulders brush against his, your head falling onto his shoulder, “You worked so hard.”

Oikawa was someone you wondered would he ever be satisfied. When he tasted victory, would it fulfill him or would it make him hungrier? Even on days when he was designated as being off from volleyball, his mind still raced to get ahead; it was what you loved about him. Every second he grew passionate and failure made him starved.

“Shall we go home?” He asks after moments of silence, “Tomorrow’s Monday.”

You ponder his statement for a minute, “I don’t think it would be fair to leave without showing me some of what you were practicing.”

The way his lips contort into a grin, he turns to you, placing a kiss onto the top of your head, “Since you asked.”

He’s eager to grasp the ball, back facing you as he runs to the court. You automatically pull out your phone, opening the camera app to switch to video mode. You stand to your feet, making your way to the opposite side of the net.

“If it looks like it’s coming too close.” He calls out.

“I know I know.” You wave him off, “Duck, run, just basically get out of the way.” You pull the phone down to look at him, “You act like I haven’t gotten hit by one of your serves before.”

“You act like it didn’t give you a concussion.” Oikawa sticks out a tongue to you.

“Yeah well,” You stomp, “Just go.”

It falls silent. His footsteps are ghostly mute, the ball is tossed in the air, he jumps; his palm slapping against the ball. It lands strikingly in front of you, just centimeters in front of your position before bouncing off the floor and over to the side. A chill danced on your spine and you couldn’t help the astonished gasp coming from your mouth.

“Was it too close?” Oikawa moves closer to the net, a slight jog in his step.

“No.” You choke out, “it was perfect. Let’s get a few more.”

His second serve was just as perfect, it landed slightly closer but enough for it to not hit you. As he jumped in the air for a third time, your eyes remained locked on the ball; unconsciously you moved forward a centimeter, you could hear your name come from his mouth as the ball knocked against your shoulder; you fell back, your cell flew from your hands and instinctively you held your pained shoulder.

“Hey.” Oikawa was in your line of vision but his expression blurred in and out. The pain was almost unbearable, “Just wait a second okay.”

You were shouting obscenities, it helped to dull the pain. Perhaps if you were a volleyball player, you’d be able to bounce back from this quicker, but being an average fan who loved to watch instead of play; the pain was much worse than it ever looks on professional players.

Oikawa was pressing a cold pack onto your shoulder. You were finally able to sit up, your shoulder completely sore and numb from the cold. After a few minutes, Oikawa insisted on seeing your shoulder. His looks softened into concern when you lifted your shirt to expose the patch of skin. He tried not to apply pressure as he grazed the portion of skin already starting to purple from the deep impact. He can only image how much darker it would turn out the next day.

“I told you if it got too close.”

“I know.” You state.

“No.” Oikawa’s eyes are sharp, holding back the shakiness that he feels, “What if something happened? It could have hit you right in the face, you’d have another concussion. Tomorrow we’re taking you to the doctor.”

“Tooru, I’m fine.” You try to play it off by moving his hand but his fingers graze against the forming bruise with pressure and you wince.

He helps you stand up, a frown on his lips, “We’re going, who knows, I probably took out your shoulder. Gosh, your mom is going to kill me. She already hates me because I gave you a concussion.”

“If you keep bringing it up, of course she’s going to hate you.” His hand holds yours, his eyes staring at your throbbing shoulder. Your hand brushes against his cheek, “I’m fine.” You attempt to reassure him.

He lowers himself, pulling the neck of your shirt to reveal the spot of skin. He presses a kiss onto the tender spot, a kiss on your neck, a peck on your chin, lips on your cheek, and he draws a breath from your lips.

The flush of your cheeks distracts you from the pain. Your hand instinctively lifts to pull him down for another kiss, but a hiss escapes your mouth as you forget about your shoulder. Oikawa is practically grinning with glee.

“Was my kiss just that good, you need more?” Oikawa leans down, a cocky grin on his lips.

“Never mind.” You push away his puckering lips, walking to your things sitting on the bench.

“Aw, wait for me.”

You sit idly, watching him clean up his mess of volleyballs. You throw instructions at him periodically and he gladly tries to comply. He’s adamant on carrying your bag for you, leaving you to intertwine your fingers with his as you two exit the gym.

“Can we not tell your mom I ruined your shoulder.”

You laugh, “Okay, we’ll just tell her Iwaizumi did it. She’d never get mad at him. She still thinks I could have a shot at marrying him.”

He lets out an audible gasp, “Don’t even joke about that.” Oikawa twirls a strand of your hair when you two stop at the front doors, “If you do, I’ll just skip to plan F.”

“Plan F?”

Oikawa uses his fingers to aim at you, his tongue pokes out teasingly, he lets out a pop from his lips, “Shot-gun wedding.”

“That’s it, I’m leaving you for Hajime.”

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Of Monsters and Men

Chapter 9- Rare Species

Summary: You may be about four-hundred years old, so why not finally let your eyes behold the sight of a dragon?

Warning: blood, a bit of smut, angst, tad longer then usual because it gets spicy

Masterlist

You had left Jaskier down in the rocky valley with Roach, packs of supplies and valuables in her back, and two travel guides that lead the way to this dusty mountainous place as you and Geralt searched for some type of vicious lizard creature. You had already confirmed with yourself that those two guides were trouble and as usual your suspicions had been correct when your ears pricked with the sounds of scuffling and Jaskier's protests as you make your way back down the trail.

But by the time you made it round the jaggety rock formation does your crimson eyes find a shocked Jaskier, one dead guide, two beautiful warriors, and a grey bearded man with a tinge of enchantment about his aurora and peculiar scent. Honestly you kind of expected something randomly unexpected to happen at least once today, only to your small trio of course.

The fearful guide looks up wide eyed at your sudden presence, Geralt coming to a halt right behind you, a puzzled expression crossing his features as yours does about the same, "I believe those are mine." Mutters Geralt before the man quickly drops the items in the rocky dust, throwing you the small sack of coins he had stolen, then hastily turning around and booking it down the uneven path.

Jaskier looks to the two of you, pointing at the new strangers, "Ger-Geralt, Y/N...uh, This woman just killed a man with her bare hands for trying to steal your horse." The warrior stands unfazed at Jaskier's inquisition.

You snort, "Maybe she'll make a better travel companion, then." Geralt lowly chuckles at your comment, a smile upon the mystery mans face as Jaskier scoffs before turning to him.

"Uh, I'm sorry, who are you, exactly?" He wonders, something that's definitely in your mind, they seem harmless enough at the moment but you're not ready to just trust anyone.

The short greying man steps forward, a wise smile upon his face, "I am Borch Three Jackdaws. These are my companions, Téa and Véa." He reveals, tilting his head as his companions stand to either side of him protectively, "I've been looking for you two, Geralt of Rivia and Y/N of Alkatraz." You side eye Geralt, how and who the fuck is this guy?

——

After traveling down the mountain trail for a while, the old man has now lead you all into some bustling tavern, he takes the lead while exclaiming how meeting people of yours and Geralt's likeness is a first for him, he's rather quite excited to dine with you two as he boasts about how legendary your adventures are, thanks to Jaskier. Though with how lively his body language is, you can tell he's sought you out for something important, people like him don't just butter you up with compliments without meaning to get something out of it.

He finds a long table by the fireplace, directing the tavern barmaid to get him one of everything they have and to keep the ale coming, Geralt sits down as you go to do the same upon his left, Jaskier making himself comfortable on your immediate left. Your body sat in between them as the man, Borch, brings his own bottom onto his wooden seat as his companions seat themselves across from Jaskier.

Borch claps his hands together, "A short while ago, a green dragon landed across the border in King Niedamir's mountains." Your eyebrows raise in curiosity as Geralt's simply furrow in thought, Borch smiles knowingly, "I know what you're thinking. Impossible, dragons are so rare. But it's true." He takes a sip from his mug, the barmaid going around the table and filling each one of yours up with ease, "Locals spotted it and went after it in search of treasure. Of course, they succeeded only in wounding the creature and angering it so righteously that it swooped down from its lair and set half a hillside ablaze." Geralt scoffs, disinterested before taking a sip of his mug, "Dead sheep everywhere." Finishes the intriguing man.

You chuckle with a shake of your head, this may not quite be something that you'd like to get involved with if actual fire breathing dragons are concerned. Taking a sip from your shiny dented mug you listen as Jaskier tries to turn on his charm, "You have the most incredible neck. It's like a...a sexy goose." You snort into your ale as the faces of Téa and Véa appear to be less then impressed.

"Now, the King is in a bind." Continues Borch with his dragon story, "He's set to marry the princess of his rival kingdom, Malleore, which means it's bad timing to have a murderous pest lurking about in the mountains. He's commissioned a hunt to kill it. Four teams have signed on. The winner gets the dragons treasure hoard plus the title of lord over one of his new vassal states. That is...if he survives." Explains Borch thoroughly, it all sounds intriguing at best, but you could care less about treasure and a lordship over some needless state.

"Great overview of the details, but what does this have to do with us?" You ask, seriously you just got done with a weary monthlong hunt, you're not exactly chopping at the bit for another go around with a monster.

"I want you to join my team." Inquirers Borch with a small smile, you take another sip as Jaskier's face lights up.

"I can hear it now, a tale of two Zerrikanians and their valiant poet lover. Oh!" Chuckles the bard, "We're so doing this. We're in."

"You've wasted your breath, Borch. We don't kill dragons. Take my advice. No treasure is worth dying for." Mutters Geralt.

"Depends on the treasure." Answers Borch, "What I need is...a new adventure. One final first before I'm too old to do anything but die."

You think about his proposition, he is an odd little man with quite the wish, "You think killing a dragon will bring you that?" You wonder.

"All I know is there's one path up that mountain, and it's overrun with monsters."

"Oh in that case." You quip as he continues with his reasoning, "With you both on my team, a Witcher and dhampir princess, we'll be unstoppable." He confirms before suddenly a loud squabbling is heard behind Borch, a group of dwarves are being hassled by the other bar patrons. One of them screaming for the bartender to give his friend, and you quote "four fucking pints", apparently those imbeciles are one team. Tèa adding in another team called the Reavers, asking if you both have heard of them, of course you have. Nasty lot they are.

You turn away from those men to address Borch of your decision, telling him bluntly that the answer is no. He doesn't appear to be very fond of that reply, almost disappointed he leans in and tells that you're missing something, what could you possibly be missing?

"Sorry to interrupt this lovely moment...That's only three. Where's the...What's the fourth team?" Questions Jaskier as he leans over you to point at Borch, gently pushing him away, your ears prick at the sound of a door opening. Borch turns around in his seat to look, "Them." Comes from his lips as you look up from your mug, mouth going slightly agape, your eyes stare on in befuddlement at the titular individual standing across the tavern, a knight at her side.

Jaskier starts to laugh as you break out into an uneasy chuckle, he quickly declines the dragon hunt invitation as you suddenly feel compelled to join for some deeper unknown reason, "Thank you for the wine and such but we really can't get involved. Geralt, Y/N, shall we?" Says Jaskier with a friendly pat to your shoulder.

Your eyes never leave the infamous mage as she locks eyes with you before reverting her gaze towards the knight, "We're in."

Jaskier mumbles a swear as Geralt nods in agreement, whatever you say goes in his book. No matter the crazy witch you happen to be old friends with.

Borch smiles kindly, "The hunt begins at sunrise." He exclaims excitedly as you take another sip of your ale. Well things just got a hell of a lot more interesting with the unexpected appearance of your longtime troublesome friend, let's find a fucking green dragon!

——

Just as agreed you and your boys had made it to the forest grounds where the other teams are, all preparing for the journey ahead as they tie their horses down since the terrain is too dangerous for the hooved beasts, including Roach.

You walk past an angry dwarf who's mad that his pack has been stolen, without two fucks to give you continue onward and over to Geralt and Roach as Jaskier introduces himself to the small man. They have a modest conversation before the dwarf departs, his other shorter companions following him as they ask if Roach is for sale as they scamper on past, "Charming how everyone wants to get their hands on Roach these days, isn't it?" Points out the bard as he walks over near you with his lute in its case hanging from his hand.

"He means we won't make it out alive." Mutters Geralt as he pets the mare's flowy mane.

Jaskier's face contorts in surprised concern, "Wait, what? No one mentioned anything about impending death!" He worries as you pet Roach's soft nose, a small snicker leaving your nostrils in quick short bursts of air, his face looking even more troubled at your amusement.

Roach nudges her snout into the opened palm of your hand, wordlessly greeting you in her own way before you must leave the kind mare behind. Thump. Thump. Thump. You purse your lips together at the approaching heartbeat of a certain mage coming your way.

When she's close to your little group, you don't care much to turn around for the time being. "How is it that I've walked this earth for decades without coming across a Witcher, and then the first one I meet, I can't get rid of?" She presses, Geralt makes quick eye contact with you as he ignores her.

"I'd say something strange was afoot, but then again, Witcher's are bound to bump into monsters eventually, with the exception of our dear Y/N here, obviously." Jests Jaskier as Yennefer hums in fake amusement.

"Jaskier."

"Yennefer."

"The crow's feet are new." She muses with a tilt of her head.

Jaskier frowns, "Yeah, well, your jokes are...old." Scoffs the bard as he turns to walk away down the trail as more of the teams begin their trek for the mountain.

You watch as he leaves before turning around and suspiciously eyeing up your mysterious old friend, "What brings you from causing unnecessary chaos to hunting for a dragon, Yenn?"

A small smile forms onto her lips, "I'm here with my escort. Noble Sir Eyck Denesle." She nods towards the kneeling knight as he prays for safe travels, "To assist him in killing the dragon." For kingdom and glory shouts the knight as he sheaths his sword, she smiles almost adoringly at him before turning to you again, "Till we meet again, Y/N. Geralt." She turns to walk away towards her knight as Geralt says goodbye to Roach.

You can't help but feel incredibly apprehensive of her true intentions for making this tiresome hike to the lair of a dragon of all things. Deciding to abandon your wondering troubles, with a shrug do you turn around and follow the other travelers up the trail as Geralt falls into pace behind you.

For hours do you walk up the mountain path over rocks and rubble, fallen sticks and trees, and Jaskier's constant voice as he fruitlessly attempts to talk to Téa and Véa about whatever happens to pop into his head at the moment. You're honestly one more sentence away from smacking him upside the head when he suddenly expresses to the two warriors that he'll go into the brush and find them something to eat.

How chivalrous of him.

The group stands upon a flat section of the mountain as Jaskier walks off the path and into some bushes on the hunt for something edible. You're not tired in the slightest due to your inherited abilities so lack of rest and food at the moment feels like nothing. You suddenly raise your head to sniff the air as the scent of some furry malnourished creature catches your nostrils, it smells almost like that of wet dog and garlic, its got to be sick. Not a pleasant scent by any means.

A second later your observations are confirmed as Jaskier claims to be looking at something in the brush. His heartbeat suddenly spikes as he jumps back and races out off the mountainside greenery. He stumbles back onto the trail, "Y/N it's one of your friends again." He rushes before jogging over behind you, ever so slightly pushing you in front of him as he cowers back wide eyed at the lanky werewolf looking bastard growling near the edge of the trail.

"What in the name of Bloemenmagde is that?" Exclaims a fearful bald dwarf.

"It's a hitikka." Answers your Witcher as the others bare their silver, "It's probably starving. Sheath your weapons." Advises Geralt as Yennefer's knight does exactly the opposite, he pushes past a dwarf before hacking away at the hungry scared beast. His sword slicing off its arm as it screams in pain, another slice to its stomach before the sword cuts its head clean off, the knight hacking at it in a frenzy as blood spurts forth. Everyone looks on in disgust as he really lets into it, he finally stops, breathing heavily as he looks down at his work.

Snorting you fold your arms, "I think you got it." Jaskier lets out an amused huff of air as the knight ignores you, shouting "for kingdom and glory!" blood still dripping off of his face.

"Sir Eyck!" Shouts Yennefer worriedly as she races to his side, touching his face affectionately as he looks into her lavender irises, "You could have been killed." Turning your head away from the sappy interaction you pick up your pack before slinging it over your shoulder, "We should have just fed Sir Eyck to the scrawny fucker and save my nostrils the disturbed scent emitting from that heap of guts." You muse as the knight glares at you, a smirk upon your lips as you turn to continue up the trail.

Another hour is spent hiking before camp is set, a decent fire aflame as Sir Eyck cooks the hitikka over the spit, he picks off a chunk of the diseased meat and eats it with a smile, proud of his kill and the meal it produced. You watch the idiot consume the infected meat, a brow raised at his ability to feast without a single concern, "Not that I give a shit about your valiant life as a knight of whoever the fuck, but I wouldn't eat that." He keeps chewing as his irritated blue eyes find your crimson ones, you can tell your presence puts him off.

Nonetheless he answers you, "Knights never waste a kill." He coughs, "It's precisely why I'll make a great lord to Niedamir's vassal state. A great knight must lead by example. For..."

"Kingdom and glory. We know." Adds Téa with a truthful jest of annoyance for the irritable knight as you and Jaskier let out a small chuckle.

"My subjects will be the luckiest serfs in all the lands." He turns to Yennefer fondly who's seated by his side, "Especially with the beautiful Yennefer as my mage."

She smiles, her eyes never leaving his, "I cannot wait to serve you, My Lord." She speaks softly, Sir Eyck studies her face affectionately as one of the Reavers walks to the fire, undoubtedly about to disturb the peace.

"How would you like to serve me tonight...witch?" He boldly asks while reaching down to tear off a chunk of meat, if not for the fact that this dragon hunt has multiple teams working together you'd without a doubt suffocate him in his sleep.

Instead you bite the inside of your cheek at his godawful scent, "Careful, Boholt." You challenge darkly, he stands up with a piece of meat in his hand as he turns to Yennefer.

"So, the lady dhampir wants to play knight too, hmm? That is interesting, I wouldn't mind you both visiting me in my tent this night if..."

"If I was to seek you out in the dead of night, I assure you, you would not be alive at dawn." He scoffs as his eyes trail over you, you stare at him unflinching from his lustful gaze, "Besides, she's plenty able of murdering you herself, better yet...maybe I'd make a pretty necklace out of your vertebrae." The dirty man smirks, laughing lowly at your threatening presence. Just by looking at him you can you can tell he's more nervous of your existence among this group then of anyone else. Apparently old wives tales of vampires runs deep in this one no matter how bold he displays himself.

The bald dwarf insults him once again before the Reaver makes a crack at Geralt about if the Reaver will either kill the monster or monster hunter first, leaving the circle in peace as you listen to the grumbling of Sir Eyck's upset stomach, "Uh..I'm afraid I must take my leave." Says the knight as he stands, his face growing pale, "Lady Yennefer, may I escort you to your tent?"

She tugs on his hanging attire, "Will you be joining me?" A smile coating his features as he stutters, "Uh...My Lady, I would...never degrade your honor in such a way." You simply roll your scarlet eyes at his annoying chivalry, Yennefer picked this one of all people to fuck around with?

Jaskier snorts, "I hate to break it to you, but that ship has sailed, wrecked and sunk to the bottom of the ocean." He flinches back as you smack his arm, though it was indeed humorous there was a more intimate reason for her actions a while ago that goes deeper then just a friendly jest in your personal opinion.

But yes, it was quite funny.

Holding his stomach while he fumbles off towards the bushes to relieve his bowls. The rest of you laugh at his expense, the bald dwarf suddenly intervenes with his own bit of knowledge about how there will be no state to rule with the quickening approach of Nilfgaard on the rise. His words do trouble you for the close by innocents that will no doubt suffer from their forces soon enough.

War is war.

Not long after does Yennefer excuse herself from your campsite lot of unruly characters, the dwarves following after for their own rest; leaving you, Jaskier, Geralt, the two warriors, and Borch at the fire to converse about the existence of dragons and how creatures with mutations always fight the hardest to survive. Ending the conversation with a jab at Sir Eyck, who's quite literally the shittist knight of all the knights anyone has ever seen.

What. An. Idiot.

——

After a restful slumber wrapped up in your Witcher's strong arms, do you wake and walk outside into the fresh forest air before the scent of shit and someone's decaying body wafts into your sensitive nostrils, you grimace as Yennefer walks past you, appearing to be in search of that flashy knight. She asks around if anyone has seen Sir Eyck recently, oh shit, you turn and casually walk yourself away from her and Geralt, who's just gathered his belongings. You follow the gnarly smell until you reach the edge of a small cliff, where down below lays the dead body of Sir Eyck.

How can not a single person smell this. Oh right.

You travel down to where he lays; his pants remain around his ankles, only the length of his tunic covering his bare arse from the world. A small pile of dung rests nearby from when he was relieving himself earlier, blood noticeably seeping out from his throat. You crouch down and inspect it better, it is indeed fresh, "Yennefer! I found your knight...I don't think he'll be joining us further!" You shout as the others run over to the small cliffs edge to get a look for themselves, their faces all showing obvious variations of discontent and nervousness.

"Who slits a man's throat while he's relieving his bowls? Is nothing sacred anymore?" Worries Jaskier as he stares in revulsion, hugging his side with a look of distain.

"Fuck." Blurts out Yennefer in frustration as she abruptly turns around, walking away as you make your way back up to where everyone is standing.

The journey continues on as it has before, a couple hours going by before the bald dwarf delves into the promising fact that there is a shortcut nearby that miners would use to travel faster, your team agrees as Yennefer wanders onward, seemly disinterested in the news. Rolling your eyes at her insistent moodiness, you turn to Geralt and ask for him to keep going as you'll get her to follow. You can't help but feel compelled to have her in your company, and as far away from those untrustworthy group of Reavers who smell of ill intent, no matter how irritating she can become.

He nods and leaves you to it, not questioning your capabilities for a second as he follows the rest of the group. You turn to find Yennefer a good distance away from you walking down the gravely mountainside landscape, so to catch her before she's out of sight you race to her in a blur, stopping directly in front of her with a windy woosh of air in her face. You smirk as she frowns at you, no doubt about to say something witty, "I didn't kill Eyck if that was your question Y/N."

You chuckle as she rests a hand on her hip, "Of course you didn't, the bastard's scent was one of the Reavers, that fucker Boholt." You confirm, "And all before you could accomplish what you've actually come here for."

She scoffs, "And what could that be, hmm. I'm here for the dragon." You raise a brow at her shitty explanation as she scoffs, "God I hate you sometimes...I'm here because...there are certain healing properties it's rumored to possess." Your brows furrow in thought, thinking back to the djinn and the wishes and all that shit. And everything before that.

"I thought your transformation healed all physical problems?"

She looks down, avoiding your gaze, "At the cost of others yes." Oh right, the participant will always lose their ability to produce a child of their own. Male or Female.

Suddenly your mind clicks in realization, you tilt your head with a knowing smirk, "You've traveled all this way for made-up fertility cures using fresh dragon hearts?" You muse.

She simply glares, "They're not made up!"

"They are," You argue, "once some things are bound by deep powerful magic they cannot be undone. There is always a balance to everything we do that deals with magical properties, you of all people should know that." Her face falls as you continue, a tinge of humor in your voice now, "And honestly, call me an asshole but come on. You, a mother?"

"You think I'd make a bad one?" She challenges, half offended as you shrug.

"Well, you'd be fun. At least." She turns away from you, not content with that lackluster reply, "I don't really know what you'd want with a child..."

She snaps around, "They took my choice. I want it back. Not that I'd expect you to understand." She smirks, proud of her little jab at your more sinister origins.

You let out an annoyed huff, "I didn't choose my parents, or what unholy abomination they made of me through their lust. But listen, the ones who pieced us together, there's probably a valuable reason why they made us sterile...maybe it's a blessing. This lifestyle isn't exactly suited for a child, but if you really wanted you could fuck around with feeble idiot kings in their court in between naps and feedings..." she turns and walks away, anger in her heart as you follow.

"Do not patronize me!" She snaps as she continues to stomp in the opposite direction, "You know nothing of how I feel."

You're standing in front of her in an angry blur as she turns away from you, "You don't think I haven't thought about it either! I have Geralt, whom I love more then the very earth I walk on or the stars in the sky, but I'll never have a child with him, ever. And I'd rather feed this fucking Child Surprise to a harpy then..." She turns her head to face you, immediately stopping your protests.

"What'd you just say?" She wonders as you purse your lips, looking away from her now that you've let slip some secret information.

"Uh...fuck."

She chuckles, "Isn't that rich. You lecture me on made-up cures for having a child, meanwhile you cheat with destiny to steal one." Presses Yennefer as you scowl down at her.

"It's not like I wanted this! Fuck." You grumble as she studies your troubled face, "It's not even mine but like that matters, the little shit will be in my life whether I want it or not." You pause for a moment before coming back to why you actually stopped her, "Uh, listen Yenn. The others are taking a shortcut, come with us and avoid getting something rather unpleasant creeping into your tent at night. It'll be enjoyable." She rolls her eyes at your dark humored implications of the other travelers.

"Fine."

——

Your band of merry adventurers finally reache the shortcut, it's a pass on the side of the mountain that's held up by wooden planks and metal bars thrust into the rock. You look over the edge as the dwarves give the rest of your company a hard time about crossing since this path is quite literally made for just a dwarf. The small men walk out first as Jaskier gives you a wary glance, a swift breeze blowing your hair about as you smile at him, "Y/N don't you dare think of leaving us, I swear to god." He mutters as you break out into a mischievous grin.

Oh he knows you too well.

"See you on the other side my loves." You blow him a kiss before free falling backwards off the steep rocky ledge, you hear the worried shouts of the warriors, Borch, and Yennefer as they call out for you. The wind whips past your face while you watch them grow smaller and smaller until you shift yourself into a cluster of black bats that all catch on the wind current. You race up to the edge once more before screeching past them on the mountainside, a smile forming onto many of your furry faces as you hear their swears and jabs at you.

"Fookin' vamps." Grumbles one of the dwarves.

Not caring to stick around for however long it may take them to cross, you swiftly glide on the wind as you take in the mountain air and all the wild she has to offer you on this fine day. Your fun feels short lived as soon enough the dwarves make it to the end of the cliff path and onto safer ground.

You shift back into your normal self and wait for your more familiar companions to arrive, after forty-five long boring minutes do they make it round the corner. A melancholy dreariness about them, your face falls as soon as you see Geralt reach the firm rocky ground without Borch, Téa and Véa behind them like they should be.

You know they didn't make it.

Geralt, Jaskier, and Yennefer walk to the campsite without a word as the dwarves start a fire and set up their tents. You throw yours and Geralt's tent together as he walks over to a nearby rock to sit and think about whatever terrible thing must have happened to the others. Jaskier catches your eye and nods for you to follow, standing to your full height do you turn to trail behind him. Seating yourself on the left of Geralt, Jaskier on his right as the three of you look out into the great valley beyond.

"You did your best." Begins Jaskier softly, "There's nothing else you could have done. Look, why don't we leave tomorrow. That is, if you'll both give me another chance to prove myself a worthy travel companion." Solemnly laughs the bard as Geralt hums, a small smile upon your face as you listen, "We could head to the coast. Get away for awhile. Sounds like something Borch would say, doesn't it? Life is too short. Do what pleases you.....while you can." He ends with a tired sign.

"Composing your next song?" Jaskier smiles at your comment.

"No, I'm just, uh....Just trying to work out what pleases me." You smile softly at the dusky mountainside, Geralt's golden irises glance over you with the tiniest of content grins lays upon his handsome features. Jaskier says his good nights before patting Geralt on the shoulder and walking towards a half made stick tent, his prized lute by his side.

A soft cool breeze fans your face as Geralt ever so subtly opens up his palm that's placed atop his thigh, without a second thought does your own hand fall into place with his larger one. A grin on either of your faces as you scoot closer to him so that you can rest your head against his broad shoulder.

A soft joyful sigh leaves your parted lips, "We should go to the ocean. Get away from all this nonsense and danger...more so for Jaskier's sake then mine, but uh...I'd love to feel the salty breeze upon my skin once again. See the great blue waters, feel the sand on my bare feet." He hums in reply, pressing the lightest of kisses upon your head, "You ever been to the ocean, my love?"

"No." His voice is soft and gentle.

You lightly squeeze his hand, "Well, you'd love how peaceful it is...the sounds of the waves are just something else. I never feel as small as when I'm standing on the edge of the world, a vast mystery of water stretching like a grand crinkly blanket. I can't wait for you to see it." A yawn escapes as you bury your face into the crook of his neck, a smile breaking out upon his lips at your adorable actions.

"We should catch some sleep if we're to travel for the ocean tomorrow, after finding that dragon and all." Mutters Geralt, you nod before standing up, slowly unlacing your fingers as he stands to his full height as well.

"Alright, to bed it is."

You turn to walk back to your tent as he picks up his belongings to follow you there, your tent is dirty white and appears rather unsuspecting from first glance, although when you walk in, the volume of the space triples to a large comfortable room. A king sized bed pressed against the center of the right wall, a table to the left and a couple lanterns placed perfectly on a few of the wooden tables for a cozy warm feel to the billowy room, or tent in other words.

You walk in and immediately take off your dark leather armor adorning your torso, your hard leathered gauntlets next as you set everything onto the nearby table. You listen as your Witcher sets his things down next to the edge of the bed, his slow heartbeat picking up ever so slightly as he walks up behind you, a smirk creeps out over your face as he snakes his large muscular arms over your body with ease.

His head leans into the side of your neck as he places a gentle feather light kiss to your temple, you hum in content, "What do I owe this pleasure?" You muse as he kisses the side of your cheek, his left hand feeling underneath your shirt as he gently caresses your hot skin.

"The pleasure is all mine." Mumbles Geralt into your exposed neck as you fight back a moan when he begins to press butterfly kisses all over your skin. One hand resting upon your breast as the other one trails up your torso from underneath your clothing.

A low moan escapes you as he nips carefully at your jawline, his hands continuing to explore your body, a slow warmness forming from deep within you as he shows you more and more love to your heated vessel. You suddenly bite your lip as the feeling of something hard pressing against your bottom, with a smirk gracing your beautiful features do you reach an arm around to slyly palm his hardening member. Just as you'd intended does he grunt at the feeling of your hand squeezing him.

Letting him be, you break away from his grasp to turn yourself around to face him, "Will you make love to me this night?" You whisper as he kisses your soft wanting lips in reply.

Slowly pulling away he rests his head against yours, "Of course." Is all he's able to say before he's captured your lips with his once again.

You move in sync as his hands trail all over your clothed sides, you lean into his hardness as he gently squeezes your bum. Your lips keep locked onto one another as he begins to unbutton your trousers, your nimble fingers working on his own buttoned pants. Your hands become a quick tangled mess as finally your bottoms are loose enough to pull down. You both keep your tight embrace as he tugs at your pants, pulling them down to your ankles for you to step out of. He pulls away to get rid of his own ones, a lustful smile dancing across his features as he tugs off his shirt to expose his blessed muscular body.

Smiling cheekily at him, you raise your arms up for him to pull off your top, he does so a second later. The fabric long forgotten on the carpeted floor as you reach around to unlace your bra and finally rid yourself of the tight constraint with a blissful sigh. Geralt fearlessly eyes them up as you chuckle, your breasts bouncing with your heaving chest, sending Geralt wild. In an instant he's on you again, his hands exploring all over your exposed skin as you trail your nails down his bare back. He kisses you feverishly as one hand plays with your breast and the other rubs at your wet womanhood, sending you into a heated lust that's slowly overtaking your wanting body.

In a blur do you have him naked as his name day, laying dazed on the soft mattress, his white hair tousled as you shimmy out of your undergarments and give him a playful smile, your fangs showing in your joyous state as he awaits your next move. Reaching your hands out do you push his parted legs farther apart, his member bouncing deliciously as you do so. Your next action a slow and meticulous one as you crawl over him, your naked vessel hovering over his as you lean down to capture his lips with yours in a heated embrace. Just as quickly as you started do you pull back to hover your dripping entrance over his erect manhood, you hold it in place before gently placing it right in line with your folds.

He grips your exposed thighs as you lower yourself onto his hard cock, a breathy gasp leaving your lips as he slides into you, your face shifting from discomfort to pure bliss as you adjust to his largeness, he lets out a groan when you starts to rock back and forth in a quick calculated motion. He feels like a hot dream as he writhes and bucks into you while you pin his hands to the soft blankets in your lust. You can tell that he desperately wants to kiss you, but you're taking this orgasm before he gets the privilege to claim your lips. With a smile upon your sweaty face do you rock him into the bed, a swift warmness building in your womanhood as the blessed friction continues to drive the both of you to the edge.

Another blessed roll of your hips has you undoubtedly cuming all over his member as you ride out your high, Geralt releasing his load into you as his eyes close in pleasure, a moan leaving his parted lips as he tightly grips onto your bare hips for support. You ride him some more as he squirms underneath your touch, a pleased grin upon your face at how easily you're able to bend him to your will just by taking the lead and thrusting your hips against his while for the fun of it do you swirl your hips around his throbbing cock. He moans once again at the contact until suddenly he flips you onto your back in a flash, his lips connecting with yours as you gasp in surprise. Geralt taking this generous opportunity to stick his tongue into your mouth, his whole body leaning into you as he parts your legs even further.

Your hands quickly claw at his muscular back as he pumps into you vigorously over and over again, sending you into a moaning mess underneath him as he grunts into the quiet night air. The sweet sounds of skin on skin contact singing beautifully into your ears with each new thrust into your slick entrance. He pounds you into the mattress as you bite back a scream, deciding to mark up his back instead of giving him the satisfaction of hearing your pleasure. Though you're not so sure how much longer you can hold on before you let loose a loud howl from his deep strokes into your wetness.

He continues to relentlessly pound into you before a cry emits from your throat at the sheer pleasure he's handing you so freely. Another moan leaving your mouth as he shuts you up with a kiss before your body shakes in ecstasy all around him, he kisses your neck as you cum for the second time tonight like a little puddle of bliss underneath his stone body. Another kiss against your cheek as he releases himself into you with a grunt, his ending thrusts turning sloppier and sloppier as he gives what's left of himself to you before he's truly spent.

Humming in content at his last fruitful efforts to pleasure you, you pull his head down to capture his lips with yours in an act of silent appreciation for his never disappointing love making skills.

Geralt's lips leave yours as he kisses your forehead before pulling out of you completely and falling into a tired heap of Witcher by your side. You smile as he closes his eyes, the both of you breathing heavily as you feel is seed seeping out of your entrance and onto your legs and bed as you stare up at the cloth ceiling. Not caring for the mess in between your throbbing legs, you turn yourself onto your side as you nuzzle into your soft pillow, your body falling into a blissful slumber as you fall asleep to the sounds of Geralt's breathing. No words need said, everything you've both needed to say was just done and that's good enough for you.

When you wake the tent is basked in the light from the morning sunrise, illuminating the room in a dull grey hue as you open your crimson eyes to find Geralt's golden ones watching you adoringly. A shy smile pulls at the corners of your lips as you become aware of the thin sheet of fabric hiding you from the world, "Did anyone ever tell you it's rude to stare at a naked woman?" You muse with a light chuckle.

He averts his gaze as a smirk appears onto his lips, "My dear Y/N, I have seen you in a much more compromising position then laying in the nude by my side." You gasp before smacking his arm.

"I'm royalty my loyal Witcher, I could have your head for speaking like that." Instead does he reach his muscular arm over to your side, pulling you closer to him. The two of you flush against one another, your blanket leaving your bottom bare from the quick movement.

You kiss his cheek, a smile forming onto both of your lips, "Though perhaps you could show me how you're planning on making up for it." Geralt kisses you in reply, his hands trailing down your bare sides as he holds you close for a heated embrace.

——

After making love to your Witcher in the early morning light, not caring if anyone heard your time together, you walk out of the dirty white tent, dressed accordingly and ready to slay a dragon. Although when you step closer to where everyone should be, the dwarves have gone missing, their scent leading away down the trail. With a low growl do you begin your hunt, Yennefer and Geralt close behind as you all make haste for the unknown whereabouts of the small men.

Your hike lasts about fifteen minutes before the scent of the dwarves becomes stronger and stronger the farther down the trail that you all go. Once you turn a rocky corner do you spot all four of them, Yennefer shouts some paralyzing enchantment upon them before you're able to quite literally rip them a new one. She quickly races past you and the dwarves, you easily follow in step behind her as she makes it to the large vine covered mouth of the dragons lair.

The both of you walk in, your eyes adjusting to the darker atmosphere as Yennefer's eyes widen in bewilderment. You quickly find the source of her shock as your sights land on the huge shimmering body of a dead green dragon, a small egg near her head. You frown before both Téa and Véa make an angry appearance, they demand for the two of you to halt, their swords out and ready to defend.

Aren't they supposed to be dead?

Yennefer steps forward with her shiny dagger, ready to get what she came for before Geralt races into the cave, shouting for everyone to stop. A second later does a golden dragon screech as it comes out from its hiding spot in an opening in the rocky ceiling. The dragon greets all three of you; Téa and Véa explaining along with Borch in his dragon form why this female dragon was laying carnage against the nearby kingdom, she was protecting her egg so it would not die.

Right, of course, and this man is now a dragon.

Taking in all the hectic information with a grain of salt perhaps; a moment later your ears prick to the thumping of multiple erratic heartbeats nearing the caves entrance, you quickly turn to find the team of Reavers hastily stalking their way into view. Shit.

"Looks like we get to fuck up the whole family." States their leader, Boholt, "Slay that dragon!" He shouts before his men charge at you all.

Shifting into a defensive pose you ready yourself as the bastards ascend, "Oh fuck." Slips from your tongue as one of them lunges for your head, his spear making a swooshing noise as it whips in the air readying for its intended mark. Clearly anticipating his advances you twirl to the side, his staff missing you by inches as you rip it out of his grasp and thrust it into the neck of his friend nearby.

Snapping your attention back to the first man, his eyes widen as you roughly clamp your hand around his bicep, he groans in pain before you thrust his lanky body into the air where he cracks open his skull against a ragged stony edge. Lifting your eyes to find the state of your friends, you race to the aid of Yennefer as multiple men advance closely upon her. She finds your determined gaze before using magic to create a sort of sticky quicksand at the feet of the four men. It sucks in their legs until the ground reaches almost to their knees, they shout their protests and obscenities before you unsheathe your silver dagger and in a blur race past them.

When you reach the last one, you turn around to the fresh scent of blood as a thin waterfall of red bursts forth from each of their exposed necks as you listen to their gargled screams. You find Yennefer's eyes as she gives you a hasty nod of approval just as she turns to quickly use her magic once more, throwing about five men into the dirt with a thrust of her hand into the air, the men hit the ground with a hard thud as they struggle to get up. With a smirk do you swagger over to them in their dazed states before driving your dagger into their soft flesh before they have a chance to even register what's going on.

You hear a scream and look up to watch as Geralt slays one last man before you all notice more at the caves entrance, in a hasty blur do you race out of the mouth of darkness and into the sunlight, picking them off one by one as your two companions run to your aid.

They stop at the opening wide eyed as you break the neck of the last Reaver, he falls to the dirt as you turn towards them, blood and dust coating your face. "Nice of you two to finally show up. Gotta do everything myself." You jest, breathing heavily from the whole ordeal. Geralt smirks as Yennefer shakes her head, a small smile upon her lips.

Jaskier suddenly makes it to the top of the moutain, he stops, eyes trailing over the dead and your roughed up appearance, "What I miss?"

——

Once Borch gave some prized dragon teeth to the grumpy dwarves did the mountainside finally calm. They left with huge smiles pulling at their faces as the rest of you found company on some nearby rocks, the lot of you resting for the time being. All three of you somewhat worn out from the whole entirety of the trek to this place and the battle that just ensued.

Jaskier sits off on his own part of the giant flat rock as he listens to Borch speak, "This is my final first. A child. This treasure, this legacy must endure. There is no other reason to go on. Thank you for protecting it." Nods Borch as he looks to the three of you sitting next to one another, "You, Yennefer of Vengerberg, and Y/N of Alkatraz...I can tell why Geralt did not want you two separated, you are both a powerful force of nature when in each others company." He smiles knowingly, eyes squinting in the sun as your brows furrow in confusion, how strange of him to word that sentence.

How strange indeed.

Yennefer's face shifts in puzzlement, "What does that mean?" You both turn your questioning gazes to Geralt, he takes a long pause before he glances warily between the two of you, nervousness radiating from his tense body.

He sighs, "In Rinde. The djinn." Another agonizing pause as your mind turns with troubled thoughts and apprehension for what he's done, he wouldn't, certainly not.

Right?

An uneasiness practically consumes the atmosphere as you connect the dots, the djinn and the wish he must have made that you never asked him about, because certainly he would have used it for himself, on himself? But just looking at him, the way he won't meet your eyes or how his heartbeat picks up with the prick of his nerves, you know. He used magic on you.

You frown as your eyes lock with his, your voice is almost a whisper, "That's why I feel so drawn to Yennefer...why I feel almost responsible for her, so protective...." You trail off, sadness growing in your heart.

"Why I feel this way inside too." Inquires Yennefer while you turn to look at her as she continues, "I haven't seen you in decades, haven't cared about your existence for so long, then the djinn and I suddenly feel incredibly drawn to you like how I felt as a young pathetic mage in Aretuza." She scoffs as a sick feeling forms in the pit of your stomach.

Your fingers crack the rock as you grip it tight in your heated irritation, "Geralt what did you fucking do?" You growl as he slowly blinks, the knot in your stomach growing with each passing second.

He takes a cautious breath as you and Yennefer await the truth, "I wished that...for you and Yennefer to always have each other." Her face falls as you release the rock, quickly standing up as you take a step back, your pained eyes boring into Geralt's the whole time.

You shake your head, trying not to believe it, "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" You plead with sad eyes, already knowing exactly what he did, you just need to hear him say it.

"I just wanted...ah fuck....I just meant for." His eyes are sad as he studies your face, "When I die you'll live on, much longer then I ever could or ever will....and I, I love you too much to let you suffer the rest of your existence alone." Geralt pauses for a moment as he looks from you to Yennefer and back to you again, "I bound you and Yennefer together, so you'd have one another when everyone you know is long gone." Your breath catches in your throat as you turn your head away from him. Your face looking out at the vast sky ahead as your body swirls with mixed emotions, but most of all, betrayal.

"Why would you..." Whispers Yennefer as she looks to you for help with this heavy information, blinking you turn around to face them again. Your heart twists with how broken your Witcher looks.

Geralt reaches a hand out to touch your arm, instead you take another step back, anger in your voice, "You could have wished for anything Geralt, anything you fucking wanted!" His face falls as you continue, "Why couldn't you have given Yenn a chance...I thought that would have been your wish, it would only have made sense. Fuck Geralt, I can't ever have a child because of what I am! Not even a djinn would permit the offspring of a Witcher dhampir hybrid upon the continent, its an abomination even in their eyes, a demon infant." Your voice is shaking, "I was lucky to be born and not slaughtered on the spot once I came forth into this world." A frustrated lump forms in the back of your throat as you fight for your words, "It could have worked if you'd let it dammit, now we're bound to one another for eternity instead. You...you..promised me....Geralt....a long time ago to never use magic against me, to never let dark powers like that manipulate my inner feelings, or body...you know why I hate it so much!" He flinches back at your words.

"I could have had a child." Whispers Yennefer, solemn expression looking elsewhere.

Tears slowly begin forming in your eyes, "I've never truly given a shit about anyone but you, Geralt. Then I find Yennefer again and I can't help but feel compelled to help her in her search for a cure....I feel like I can fully trust her, I hate mages, I haven't even seen Yennefer for such a long time. But what you did, this is wrong!" You scream in fury, "No one gets to make decisions for me! Especially when goddamn magic is concerned!"

He flinches back, "Your story in the bathhouse, you seemed very found of one another...and I, I thought that if you were bound to one another then you'd never feel completely lost once I'm gone."

My love, this is not the way.

You shake your head with a pained laugh, "That doesn't give you the right." You look into his sad golden eyes, "I tolerated the idiot novice mages the best I could and their fucking incompetent adversaries! I had a roof over my head and comforts of a room for free, that doesn't mean I gave a shit about anyone else there! And that defiantly doesn't mean you should bind my soul to another."

Yennefer turns to you then to Geralt, her voice that of a whisper, "You had one wish, just one. It could have been anything, I could have finally had a baby."

"I didn't realize." Inquirers Geralt softly, "I didn't mean for..."

"No." Snaps Yennefer coldly, "No you didn't! And here we are, on the fucking mountainside...if I'm lucky I'll never see you again." Growls Yennefer before her harsh glare finds yours, "and if the gods give a shit, we'll never cross paths in this lifetime." Her voice heavy with emotion before whipping around and stalking off down the trail.

Another lump forms in your throat as you glare at the dirt, a few stray tears falling down the sides of your cheeks as you find his pained gaze once again, "You said...you promised...to never use magic on me...not once, not ever." He opens his mouth to say something but you cut him off, "How dare you bound me to a goddamn insane fucking witch of all people! I have always been free of any ties to anyone without my own will to keep me bound, like I have with you and Jaskier....but this...this is just..." You quickly bite your lip to keep from losing it altogether as you lock eyes with Geralt, "you've lost me. I can't....I just, I need time." Your voice a soft whisper as Geralt bolts to his feet, sheer panic in his eyes.

"Y/N no..." He pleads as Jaskier and Boholt watch soundlessly from the sidelines.

You blink a couple more tears away, your body moving a step back, ever so closer to the ledge, "You've linked me to someone...bound me to them so that even when I shouldn't care to help them or give a shit about their life....I do. Even now I want to find Yennefer and join her so she's not alone walking back to wherever the fuck she's going! I shouldn't feel that way, I never have! I shouldn't fucking care!"

"Y/N please..."

You take another step back as his golden eyes frown, "Goodbye Geralt." More tears fall down your face as this hurtful feeling of betrayal consumes you, "Don't try and stop me, I just...I need time." You turn away from him and take a step towards the ledge as he takes a cautious step closer.

"Y/N I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to go this way, I just thought..."

You don't even bother looking at him, "I understand your intentions. Truly. But right now I can't forgive what you've done....if I even dare look at you I might lose control and break your fucking jaw." You seethe through clenched teeth before taking another step forward as he hits his fist against a jutted out rock next to Borch in hopeless frustration.

"Don't look for me, I'll find you when I'm ready."

"Y/N!" Cries Geralt, as you grimace almost in pain. So much anger, hate, and deep sadness coursing through your heart.

You can hear him take more rushed steps in your direction before you leap off the cliff, tears slide down your cheeks as you free fall in dreary bliss before shifting into a wild chaotic pack of screeching bats. Your heart hurts with anger and sorrow as you force yourself to keep flying away from both Geralt and Yennefer.

Away from the mountain. Away from the pain. You are a storm.

-

Tagged:  @notahappytree​ @ashleyforeverareject​ @sokkasdarling​ @kmuir1​​@haleypearce @diegos-butt​ (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work)

[thefanficmonster]

Never Satisfied [Chapter 6]

Corpse Husband x Original Female Character

Warnings: Language

A collaboration between Vy & Ashens 🖤

“I don’t wanna look like this, fuck”

Previously on Never Satisfied:

Digital Checkpoint activated. Reply to save progress. 💜 — Cora

With minimal contemplation he replies seconds later.

Corpse: save

Cora: your progress has been saved. Thank you for choosing A.S.S. - the Automated Save System. You are now free to activate the digital checkpoint at any time. 

Cora: I had a nice time. Text me whenever you need to. We’ll hang out again soon, deal?

Corpse: thank you

Cora: anytime sugar ;)

Funny how a text exchange so simple and short can turn so much around for a person. Funny how a huge weight lifts off him the second he locks his phone, suddenly finding it easier to breathe, to move, to blink, to function - to live. She gives him that kick he needs to be reminded to live and not just be alive. He’s still not comfortable with how much he’s relying on her but seeing her effect on him is nothing but positive, the most and best thing he can do for himself is go with the flow and let things happen. No overthinking, no planning, no shooting guesses, just facing things as they come face-to-face with him. He may never get used to it, but he won’t know that until he tries, will he?

                                                            *  *  *

Corpse sighs as he looks at himself in the mirror. He’s been trying to step up a little with the dressing game since he’ll be having a special guest over - ok, truth be told, he didn’t invite her, she invited herself but he’s glad she did. Lord knows he wants her company and wants her around but he could never bring himself to invite her over or initiate a hangout. Good thing Cora doesn’t expect anything from him, not of that nature at least. It’s oddly amazing having a person like her - someone who basically reads his mind like an open book and then takes action according to what she’s read. It’s not only the fact that she accurately gauges all his wants and needs, but also how she knows exactly what to do to satisfy them. To calm him down, to relieve his anxiety, to make him feel comfortable. He feels strangely selfish for always being on the receiving end of this friendship, although he doesn’t see much he could do for her. He’s decided to let time have full control of the course of their relationship, hoping his giver time would come soon.

As of now, however, it still hasn’t and he can stomach that.

It’s been about a week and a half since their first hangout but he hasn’t missed her once. That may be due to how much they’ve been texting ever since he unlocked that checkpoint she offered him. To be more specific, it probably has something to do with the fact that her texts are always so full of life and light, sounding almost like she’s there with him, talking in her signature upbeat and bubbly way which is such a contrast to his own melancholic approach to any conversation ever. 

She’s also sent him a ton of memes and selfies, plus pictures she took of clients’ pets. In return for her kindness, he’s sent her bad jokes, weird internet articles about ghosts and pictures of the current game he was playing. Needless to say, their chats have been very colorful.

Now that the scene has been set up a little better, a direct timeline of events lading up to this one would be appreciated, wouldn’t it? Ok so, it all started with an “I’m bored” text Corpse received from Cora about two hours ago. Instinctively, and partially because he didn’t have any idea what else he could possibly say in response to that he sent back an apology. An apology Cora apparently deemed a loophole she could use to invite herself over cause that’s exactly what she did, not that Corpse minds it much. In fact, he felt his heartbeat quicken with excitement when her “K then, I’ll be there in a bit :)” text came in. At first he thought it was his anxiety kicking in but when he realized the rest of his typical symptoms remained absent it took him a little while to pinpoint what that emotion could be.

The epiphany came in the form of the word ‘excitement’.

Regardless of the newfound feeling, or maybe exactly because of it, he attempted to protest. A protest she killed easily with a threatening “I know where you live” text which sent Corpse scrambling to get the apartment in some kind of order. Himself too, it’s safe to say he wasn’t looking the most presentable when he received that message. 

His cleaning session consisted mostly of him shoving the strewn about items in his closet and closing it shut like a wild beast dwelled inside, placing a chair in front of the door as a sign for her not to open it and also as a way of preventing the thing from opening on its own because of how overflowing it was. 

Afterwards he scrambled into the shower to scrub himself down. It’d been too much for him to tackle given he wasn’t doing too well mentally, but considering he was now suddenly expecting company he thought it’d be for the best not to subject his new friend to the three-day-unshowered Corpse stank. 

Right now, his main focus is his face, his stomach sinking at the sight of himself in the mirror’s reflection. 

How does she even want to see me? 

His mirror is cracked along the right side, spider web-like cracks reaching towards the center of it from the impact point serving as a reminder of a particularly bad night he’d rather forget.

He sighs as he combs his hair, knowing the dark curls won’t oblige and behave no matter how much he tries. He touches his jaw, deciding to let himself off the hook by deeming that a shave wouldn’t be necessary for at least another day. And then his eyes land on his clothes - an outfit it didn’t take him long to put together since those are the only articles of clothing in his closet he’d consider presentable enough to be shown off in front of a new friend who is yet to find out how much of a slob he really is. That clothing choice consists of a black button-up shirt and jeans. 

This is nice, right? It’s fine. It’s business casual but definitely leaning more towards casual, as some would say. I look...nice, decent. I’ll take it - it’s enough. Far better than my ‘usual’.

A knock at the door startles him, though it’s quickly followed by a voice he’s grown to find very endearing: 

“THIS IS THE COPPAS! OPEN UP YA’ DOOR!” The voice yells out, probably loud enough for the whole complex to hear but it’s not like he gives a shit. And, as context clues show, neither does she.

Corpse exits his bathroom, heading for the front door, pulling the chain off and unlocking the deadbolt before opening it. The object of his newfound affection stands on the other side, grinning and beaming with that usual light she has surrounding her. Her hair is thrown up into a messy bun - a hairstyle she seems to love - and she’s wearing a simple red t-shirt covered in little chubby, cartoonish black cats that seem to be struggling to exist. 

He smiles a little, finding it in himself to speak up but when he opens his mouth to do so, she cuts him off.

“Jesus, did you just come back from a funeral?” She asks, pulling at one of the buttons on his chest as she walks past him, letting herself in. 

His eyes, completely on their own accord, wander down as she walks on by, causing him to swallow hard as he finds himself staring at a pair of tanned legs, patterned by the fishnets she’s wearing, leading up to a pair of short black shorts. 

She turns on her heel about halfway down the hall, leading him to take an inevitable notice of how her well-loved boots could use a polish. Anyhow, he snaps his gaze away to hide the fact he’s been gawking, despite not really meaning to.

“No, but for real, why are you wearing that? You seem super confined and uncomfy, bud.”

Corpse blinks before swallowing and glancing down at himself, pulling at the button she touched before looking back up, his gaze traveling up the length of her legs. She has suspenders hanging over her thighs, more of an accessory than a necessary addition to her outfit. “I just...I dunno, I thought it looked nice. Does it not? I mean, I wouldn’t know, really. I don’t usually dress like this.”

“I mean, you look dapper as fuck but if you’re not comfortable then change, get your comfy game on. I’m the last person you need to impress in this world.”

God, she sees right through him. Even so, he considers protesting, trying to convince it’s all fine, that he likes this shirt and the outfit in its entirety. But her stare sets the record straight for him - she’ll know it’s all lies. And with that in mind, he lets his shoulders fall. Not a full second passes before he promptly starts undoing his buttons. 

“Oh, thank fuck.”  She comments as he  goes to retreat into his room, stripping the shirt off as he walks, unaware of her lingering eyes on his back, unaware of her lower lip bitten between her pearly teeth. Unaware of the subtle shift in her stance as she looks him over much like he did her moments earlier.

When he returns a moment later in a simple dark grey t-shirt, she greets him with a grin and pats his chest. “Much better.”

It doesn’t take long for them to decide to crash on his couch, throw on a bad movie and just sit in comfortable silence. Comfortable silence - something that usually eats away at him and is anything but comfortable he now sees as calming, a soothe to his ever-racing mind. 

Disrespecting the movie, Corpse takes to analyzing his guest instead. She has so much confidence, he can’t help but notice, like she’s been here hundreds of times, known him for so long. He hates her a little for it. Well, it’s not quite hate, it leans more toward envy. Jealousy. That human-nature characteristic of wanting what someone else has but you desperately need/wish you had. In his mind, she’s almost selfish: Why couldn’t she share some of that confidence and carefree manner with the rest of the world? It oozes out of her like a drip of honey from a beehive, sweet and warm. And all he wants yet has none of.

He instinctively tenses up as he feels her move closer before, suddenly, her head drops into his lap, legs kicked over the armrest of the couch. He holds his breath almost subconsciously, staring at her as she remains focused on the television. Unsure of what to do with his hands, he puts one across the back of the couch and the other awkwardly bent above his head. He doesn’t want her to get the wrong idea if he touches her. He doesn’t want to come off as a creep nor does he want to overstep any of her boundaries, despite the fact she’s walking a dangerous line of overstepping his. Well, that would’ve been the case if this was done by anyone but her. The way Corpse comes to this realization is when he figures out that he really doesn’t mind this proximity, as long as he doesn’t embarrass himself or creep her out in any way.

What felt like an eternity passes before she finally speaks up, still without looking away from the movie playing on the screen opposite the couch, “You know, I can feel how tense you are.” 

His face flushes with embarrassment, heating up as his mind immediately goes to the worst possible outcome of this situation.

She’ll probably sit up, or leave, he thinks to himself, heart thumping in his ears as he tries to observe her face the best he can from this angle. Nevertheless, he swallows that fear as she rolls her head to look up at him with those large glittering doe eyes, grinning a bit as she seems to always do, “You can just put your hands wherever it’s comfortable for you. I don’t mind.”

He hesitates for a moment but, as always, he doesn’t get much say cause she makes the choice for him, knowing that pesky fear is keeping him immobile. She takes the hand from over his head and pulls it down to rest just next to her skull. She then drags the one resting at the back of the couch, placing it so his hand is resting dead-center on her stomach. Satisfied with how she’s rearranged his posture, she goes back to watching the movie but not before asking: “This okay?” while looking at him through her peripheral vision. 

He’d have to admit it’s far more comfortable like this.

“Yeah, it’s fine. You’re okay?” He asks, feeling relieved when he feels her nod against his leg. 

He moves his hand a little and swallows hard as he contemplates if he really should make the move he’s thinking of at the moment. And then he abruptly decides not to think. So, instead, he acts on it. 

Without thinking of any potential negative consequences, Corpse slides his fingers to lace with hers, resting their conjoined hands on her stomach in the same spot where she left his hand a bit ago. She curls her digits around his tighter as reassurance that it’s ok. Her palm feels warm in his hand, her thumb tracing his cold metal rings. 

Checkpoint...his checkpoint. 

Is this what it feels like to be normal?, he wonders, Is this what it feels like to really connect with someone? He has never felt this before. He’s never met someone who has such an effect on him, understand him like this - Without even having to ask she grounded him; she knew what he needed and didn’t make him feel like an idiot about it. Instead she gave him the comfort he needed.

And suddenly he finds himself afraid - realizing that this isn’t simply a vibe of two buddies hanging out. He has that subtle ache in his chest that’s telling him he wants something…something substantial from this friendship. He wants this to last, or for it to blossom, he’s not sure yet. But for the first time, he doesn’t feel the overwhelming need to figure it out. That’s one of the many effects this girl has on him - she’s the definition of improvisation, unpredictable and alive. He’s slowly learning to let loose himself, all thanks to her. Slowly, he’s learning to trust time. 

He abruptly realizes he’s glancing at her often as the movie is still running, examining her features and slowly running his gaze down the length of her fishnet-clad thighs before quickly looking away, mentally scolding himself. It’s hard, but he manages to turn his gaze elsewhere for his sake and hers. For the sake of keeping things normal, platonic and not in any way awkward for either of them. The last thing he needs is to make things weird by letting his mind wander and activate his libido and then she’d really notice how tense he is. 

Cora remains oblivious to what’s going on in his head, thank God, as she continues running her thumb across his knuckles, eyes half lidded in calm content - something that’d typically seem like the complete opposite of what she is. He likes seeing her like this, tamed almost. He feels like no one else has had the privilege to see this calm side of her. Maybe that’s not the truth - it probably isn’t - but he still feels special, knowing that it’s a tight circle of people who have seen her this way.

And then he realizes the movements of her thumb on his hand have stopped.

He freezes for a moment, his fearful gaze travelling to her face where he’s relieved to find her eyes closed only seconds before he hears a light snore escape her.

She’s fallen asleep.

It’s an odd scene. She’s such a wild and free spirit, seeing her fall asleep like this is like observing an abnormality, a paranormal event. You know, like something one doesn’t usually believe exists or is capable of happening. He’d never before been able to imagine her asleep. It’s ridiculous, he’s aware - she’s human after all, but his mind has never been able to comprehend the thought and image of her captured by the power of sleep. He simply couldn’t see it happening. But now that it’s happened in front of him, he can’t look away from the sight of her relaxed, peaceful features, overcome by sudden slumber.

And then he comes to the realization that he’s now practically held hostage on his own couch, crippled by the danger of waking her up. It’s gonna be a long while, isn’t it, he thinks to himself, yet there’s still a satisfied smile on his face. A smile that’s a result of knowing he’s held hostage by her. That’s more a blessing than a curse, if he’s being honest.

@fockingwhore  @vixenl  @annshit  @wineandionysus  @wiseflamingoqueen

[ruewrites]

Just a Taste

AO3

Ship: Solomon/Asmo

Word Count: 1643

Warnings: Blood

A/N: Happy Day 5 of Solodeus Week! I'm super happy with how this one turned out. I chose to use Vampire for my prompt. I have another idea with Vampire!Solomon that I might do at some point. But I hope you all enjoy this one!

Solomon has been chasing vampires for years. He can still remember the day he lost everything clear in his mind. He remembered the vampires raiding his village, he remembered hiding, the screams, the smoke, fire, the smell of death lingering in the air. But most of all, Solomon remembered the sense of shame he felt. As a grown man now, he knew that there was nothing he could do, but the guilt of his childhood still lingered. As he stared into the puddles of blood running down the street, he made a promise amongst the corpses: He would have his revenge.

He found himself within a hunters' coven and the rest was history.

Solomon was a successful hunter, a skilled hunter. He'd killed many and never let his target escape him. He'd never had a slip up.

Well…

Not until now that is.

"Hunter," the whine from the back of his cart dragged him out of sleep and back into the night. Could the beast not let him sleep? With a grumble he pulled back the curtain and walked into the back.

He was met with big, orange eyes staring up at him. Solomon had taken percasions. He was chained properly and Solomon had a blindfold on standby. He'd been good so far, he hadn't tried to hypnotize Solomon in a while now, so he rewarded the creature.

As long as he didn't pull any funny business.

This one hadn't been the one he was after, but Solomon figured if he had him, he'd be able to take him to his master.

"What?" Solomon asked, not bothering to hide any ounce of annoyance that lingered in his voice, "What do you want?"

The vampire pouted and shifted in an attempt to get more comfortable in his chains, "I'm hungry, and the chains you have me in are too tight. My donor hadn't fed me yet when you barged in."

Donor.

So he hadn't always been one of those night beasties.

"You can't hunt for yourself then? What type of vampire are you?" Though, Solomon supposed he should be thankful for that. The more he stared at his little prisoner, the more he noticed how pampered he looked.

The vampire scoffed, “Hunting is for the lesser. I’m my donor’s prized jewel. He told me himself.”

“And yet he left you alone to get captured,” Solomon cut in. He ignored the growl that came from the vampire, “But I suppose I could be nice and go out. Maybe I’ll find you a nice rat or a rabbit-”

The gag interrupted his thoughts, “Really? That sounds disgusting! How could you even think of such a terrible thing?"

"Well, I guess you can starve then beastie."

"My name is Asmodeus, and couldn't I have just a little from you?"

Solomon shot him a look. Really? The creature wanted to drink from him? Did he honestly believe that Solomon would allow such a thing? Well, from the pout he was receiving, there was a very good chance that Asmodeus did believe that. Solomom had never met a vampire that was so…

Spoiled.

"No," Solomon said, "No you cannot feed from me. I'm more surprised you even asked, ignoring the idea that you also thought I'd say yes."

"You won't have to say yes when my donor comes," Asmo scoffed, seeming surprised that Solomon even dared say no to him, "Because he'll give you to me and maybe more as a little apology for being late feeding me and coming home to me."

"He abandoned you," Solomon wasn't sure where it came from. The more he talked with the vampire, he realized that he wasn't the one that he'd been after. There was no way Asmodeus was the one terrorizing the town over when he didn't even hunt for himself.

"I was not abandoned."

"Really? Because the way I see it, he fled and left you to take the heat."

Solomon didn't even flinch when the vampire attempted to spring forward, the chains straining to hold him back, fangs bared. Solomon had struck a nerve. He knew he had.

"You'll see," he growled, "He's going to come back for me, and when he does you'll be sorry."

Solomon doubted that. And as he stared down at Asmodeus, he couldn't help but feel sorry for him. The vampire he’d been after left Asmo behind to take his place. Most likely he’d been hoping that Solomon wouldn’t take a second thought, that he wouldn’t notice that this vampire couldn’t fend for himself.

And as he watched Asmo thrash and scream from his chains, he could feel sympathy leaking into his heart.

***

Days passed by. Solomon should have been making Asmodeus' donor's job easy for him. He was still trying to track him down and in turn he was bringing Asmo closer to him, but the vampire kept slipping through his fingers. To his credit, Asmodeus had kept his confidence in his donor for the first week, but Solomon had watched doubt finally creep into his eyes. And as his doubts grew, so did his hunger.

Apparently Asmodeus hadn't been tempting enough as bait.

Solomon stepped into the back once more. He was dirty and tired. Collapsing onto the floor, he stared at Asmodeus who was curled up opposite to him. Wheels started turning in his head.

"You should just kill me now instead of letting me starve to death," his voice was weak, and Solomon swore he heard him sniffle, "You made your point. I wasn't as special to him as he said I was. I wasn't worth anything, even after I gave up everything."

Solomon moved closer, and Asmo didn't even attempt to get up.

"What are you waiting for Hunter? Aren't you going to finish me? Or do you wish to humiliate me further?"

Solomon didn't answer, instead his hands moved to the chains. Asmo didn't seem to notice they were being undone until they hit the ground with a thumb.

"No. But I do have a proposition for you," he said. Slowly Asmo propped himself up in order to listen, "Why don't you join me? You can't be on your own as you are, and I need to track down your donor."

Solomon could see the idea swirling around Asmo's mind. While the betrayal was sitting in Solomon didn't doubt that he still held some sort of feelings for his donor.

So, Solomon's fingers moved up and pulled down the collar of his shirt, "I'll let you feed."

Asmo's eyes widened and fixed on his neck, but he did stay in his spot.

"I'll feed you and take care of you in exchange for your help," Solomon continued, keeping his locked on Asmo, "But I'll need you to swear your loyalty to me."

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, Asmo crawled over to him. He took his hand and looked up into Solomon's eyes, " I swear to you Hunter-"

"My name is Solomon."

Asmo nodded, "I swear to you Solomon that in exchange for my care and feeding that I will be and remain loyal to you, whatever it may be."

Solomon nodded and tugged down the collar of his shirt, "Good."

***

"Solomoooon!" Asmo tackled him as soon as he walked in the door.

"Hey hey! Careful Asmo, I'm not ready to feed you yet."

Living with a vampire had certainly been an adjustment, and Solomon couldn't tell any other vampire hunters about him.

He got used to the feeling of Asmo's fangs piercing his skin, but it still made a shudder run up his spine and a gasp escape his lips. That first night, Asmo had been quick to go for his neck, and Solomon wondered if he’d made a mistake as pain shot through him. Maybe Asmo would kill him right there, drain him of his blood. But he didn’t. He even licked the area after he was finished. At the time Solomon thought it was to catch anything he missed, but now he realized it was done to dull any remaining pain. Since then, Asmo tried to be more gentle. When they finished, Asmo would rest Solomon’s head in his lap, running his fingers through his hair and cooing gently to him. Sometimes he would even kiss Asmo’s forehead. He even started getting little snacks for Solomon for after. The more they went through their routine, the more Solomon found himself enjoying it. He felt closer to Asmo.

"I don't want to be fed, I want a kiss," Asmo pouted. Asmo usually asked for little affections, and Solomon did enjoy his reactions. They were sweet and made Solomon feel some sort of way.

"Remember we have work to do," Solomon murmured, leaning in close, "We're hot on the heels of the vampire who killed the duke."

Their lips met and Solomon relished in how Asmo held him and how his lips felt moving against his own, even as his fangs pierced him. When they pulled away, Asmo's tongue quickly darted out to lap up a little of the blood. But Solomon felt more running down the two pierce marks on his lips.

His cheeks went red as Asmo's index finger came up to wipe away some of the blood. Then he sucked on it.

"I know, it won't take me long to get ready," Asmo giggled, "I'll be back in just a second and ready for you." With that, he blew Solomon a kiss and disappeared.

Solomon covered his face and leaned against the wall.

What was he going to do with him?

Despite the thought, Solomon couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. Asmodeus had added something new into his life, something he enjoyed. His donor had made a mistake, he had lost a precious jewel. Solomon pushed himself off the wall and followed Asmo to where he’d disappeared.