#deep enough to bleed over into his subconscious even when hes human and can remember that he hates sagawa but its hard to actually... hurt

[dirt-str1der]

Sagawa is unfuckable in my head but in my heart he and nishitani had something embarrassing going on

[mendespideys]

in need of saving | e.y.

pairing: eren yeager x reader 

warnings: mentions of fighting, swearing, blood, etc. it’s angsty

summary: eren’s emotions get the best of him and you’re his last hope. based on the line “you’ve been talking with your fists” from when you love someone by james tw.

a/n: this is my first ever drabble/fic/one-shot (whatever you wanna call it) of aot. my husband made me watch it, i became obsessed and now i am here putting my obsession into my writing lol. hope you guys like it. enjoy! 

also, to the people following me for marvel/sm content - i’m sorry lol

gif credit 

it was no secret that eren jaeger was slowly but surely losing it. maybe not losing it, but definitely losing his cool. and a lot more frequently than what everyone had deemed normal for him.

because it was also no secret that eren was known for losing it time and time again. everyone in the 104th cadet corps had seen the green-eyed boy pick a fight more than once - especially with jean. the two of them seemed to bubble with anger just at the sight of one another and no one really knew the real reason why. 

whether it was jean using what was definitely eren’s least favorite nickname he had ever gotten (suicidal maniac) or eren making a comment about the redhead being a coward - the two of them could barely get along on a good day. 

but, lately, everyone seemed to be getting on eren’s bad side. horse-face was no longer the only insult coming from him and it certainly was not the most cruel one that had slipped past his lips either. eren’s anger - or whatever it was - was no longer only focused jean. he seemed to be taking his feelings out on everyone. everyone except you. 

even the captain and the commander had been getting their fair share of snarky comments and attitudes from the titan shifter. while they were undoubtedly unable to hold their ground, eren was definitely crossing lines he shouldn’t have. 

and, so, you were forced into your current situation. 

“tch,” captain levi pushed himself off the table he had been leaning on. “the brat is out of control. while i have no problem beating the living shit out of him, i doubt more fighting is what he needs.”

hange nodded. “it seems he’s either too tired to heal himself or he chooses not to. his injuries are taking longer and longer to disappear. we have to do something before it’s too late.” 

before it’s too late. 

you shuddered. the thought of something happening to eren sent a shiver down your spine. worrying about him was like second nature to you and the only one who appeared to understand you was mikasa. 

“with all due respect, commander,” armin spoke up, his bright blue eyes studying the room before continuing. “we have all tried. he doesn’t want to listen to any of us. it’s pointless.”

a sigh fell from his lips, as a subconscious hand rubbed his bandaged shoulder. poor armin. even the innocent, genius best friend had been unlucky enough to experience eren’s wrath. 

“everyone but y/n.”

your eyes darted toward the mention of your name and you met captain levi’s steady gaze. you cowered under his intense stare, feeling other eyes on you as well. you cleared your throat, feeling a weird sense of pressure in the pit of your stomach. 

“i’ve tried, too,” you swallowed thickly, refusing to remember all the times you had tried to talk him. “i- he doesn’t want to listen.” 

“you haven’t really tried,” levi remarked. “the brat’s picking fights left and right. every little thing seems to set him off and you are the only one who can get him to stop. y/n, we all see the way he looks at you. eren might be humanity’s last hope, but right now, you’re his.” 

your heart was thumping in your chest. you had noticed the difference in eren’s actions toward you as well. the touches that lingered a little bit longer than normal, the longing stares he thought you never noticed, the way his anger practically melted away when his name left your lips... 

but to hear someone else confirm it aloud felt weird. foreign. because you had pushed those observations to the back of your mind, desperate not to over-analyze any of them. the two of you were just friends. 

a knock on the door startled you out of your messy web of thoughts. the door opened before either one of the superiors could give permission to do so, revealing a timid yet determined sasha. she addressed the whole room, but her brown eyes were on you. 

“um, sir, sorry to interrupt, but eren and jean are back at it again and i’m afraid neither one of them is stopping, sir.” 

no one seemed to notice the half-eaten potato clutched in her hand - or if they did, they chose not to mention it - as she saluted the captain and commander. you were already practically out of your seat before she could finish and the look from sasha that went unnoticed by everyone else certainly did not go unnoticed by you. 

you followed hot on her heels, your gaze fixated on her bobbing ponytail as she scurried through the hallways but your mind totally elsewhere. there was an uneasy feeling bubbling deep inside you and no matter what you told yourself, you couldn’t shake it. 

while eren did lack the ability to take control of his emotions and strategically plan out his next moves, his brute strength and impeccable hand-to-hand combat techniques made up for it. therefore, you were more worried about jean than eren, to say the least. 

so, to say you were surprised when you entered the field and laid eyes on the two was an understatement. the sight you had imagined and prepared yourself for was nowhere to be seen. instead, the one eren was injuring was himself. by the look of it, there definitely had been a fight between him and jean, but the latter was merely watching connie’s attempts at stopping the brunette. 

you came to a halt immediately, unsure of how to process the scene playing out in front of you. a trembling hand mutes a sob, which is now nothing more than a pained whimper as your eyes traveled up and down eren’s body, mentally assessing his injuries. 

his nose was definitely bleeding. this wasn’t an unusual sight as it tended to happened a lot during his early experiment stages with hange. but you weren’t prepared for the bruising that was already forming and there was no doubt in your mind that his nose was broken. 

his forehead was stained red as well, strands of his growing hair sticking to the sides of his face. it was impossible for you to appraise the extent of the damage as you were unable to determine the origin of the crimson liquid. 

everything seemed to happen in slow motion and too fast all at once. at the sight of the your group, connie’s attempts were replaced by captain levi’s with mikasa not far behind. hange made a beeline for jean, who was muttering frustrated nothings while rubbing his jaw. 

so eren had gotten a few hits in. 

a gentle nudge brought you back, once again, from the dark chaos within your mind. you met armin’s blue orbs, attempting to ignore the pure worry swimming within them. his eyebrows arched as a silent plea and you followed his gaze to where eren was wildly trashing against the captain. 

in any other situation, you would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. the captain’s height was a frequent talking point among your group and there was no denying how small he looked compared to eren’s towering frame. in any other situation, you also would not have bothered hiding how impressed you were with the captain’s ability to overpower the younger boy. 

“y/n-” levi warned, voice strained, as the bloodied boy continued to attempt resisting him. 

with a nod (to convince yourself or as a response to levi, you were unsure), your unsteady legs carried you toward the two of them. eren’s eyes were wild with determination, his nostrils flaring with anger. but you quickly realized when walking closer that there were a dozen other emotions pooling within his emerald orbs. 

“eren,” his name fell from your mouth with ease. skillfully, you maneuvered your hand around his flailing limbs, placing your palm on his swollen cheek. “eren, it’s okay. hey - stop, it’s okay, i’m here.” 

it was as if a boulder had fallen off his shoulders. his actions halted immediately and his entire body relaxed at the sound of your voice. you wouldn’t have believed the effect you had on him if you hadn’t just witnessed it. levi reluctantly let go of eren, still on stand-by in case the boy would try anything.

“y/n,” your name fell from his lips just as easily, his voice nothing more than a whisper. 

and just like that, he crumbled underneath your touch. you fell to the ground with him, ignoring the pain as your knees came in contact with the hardened dirt beneath you. bringing your other hand up as well, you trapped his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. 

he didn’t try to look anywhere else. he couldn’t. the pained look he was giving you was almost too much and you resisted the urge to look away. his bottom lip was trembling, the slit in it leaking blood with every movement. you found yourself having to withstand the yearning to kiss the pain away. 

“eren, what’s going on with you?” you tried to maintain a steady voice but there was no doubt that everybody could pick up on the worry behind every word. “this is- you can’t keep doing this. you have done nothing but talk with your fists and you need to stop. you can’t go picking fights with everybody over the smallest things.”

eren didn’t respond. the mixture of dirt and blood - both dried and fresh - and the threat of nightfall made it hard to see, but the violent jerks of his body made it obvious: he was crying. your own tears fell as well as sob after sob raked through his body. 

“i can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,” you swallowed down your own cries, your mind focused on nothing but helping the heartbroken boy in your arms. “eren, i need you to talk to me. please?”

“w-why? you shouldn’t- i’m a monster. a stupid good-for-nothing bastard. you- why do you want to help me?”

anger coursed through your veins. you wanted to beat the living shit out of whoever had made him feel this way about himself. they had absolutely no right. eren’s cries echoed in the twilight. you didn’t check if your comrades were still an audience. frankly, you didn’t care. 

“you want to know why? because you’re human. because you have the abilities you have. because i truly believe you’re one of humanity’s last hopes. because you deserve to have someone believe in you the way you believe in saving all of us,” you inhaled deeply, overcome with emotion. “because i love you.” 

eren’s sobs stopped just like that; as if they had an off button that you just pushed. the momentary silence - which felt way longer than you would ever admit - was broken by a sound somewhere between a shaky sigh and a surprised gasp coming from eren. 

you couldn’t bring yourself to regret your confession. you didn’t feel an ounce of remorse and definitely not any embarrassment. maybe it was due to eren also showing vulnerability or maybe it was because you had practiced said confession more than once. 

you didn’t care. he knew. he knew now and that was all that mattered. 

his eyes searched your face. you weren’t sure for what, but you assumed for a sign of wether or not you were speaking the truth. your features held nothing but earnest as you returned his analyzing stare and it seemed to satisfy his silent investigation. 

“i feel- it’s too much. too much pressure. i don’t know what i’m doing anymore. i’m not- there has to be someone else. i-i can’t do it... so many people. they’re all dead because of me. i’m not strong enough to-” 

the last drops of self-control you had were eliminated by his proclamation. while it might have been difficult to comprehend for some, you had understood every word and with each broken sentence, your heart ached more and more. 

eren’s disjointed admissions were halted by your lips on his. you didn’t know where your newfound confidence had come from but you were grateful for its presence. his lips molded against yours almost instantly - so effortlessly. 

you ignored the taste of iron just as eren ignored the stinging from the cut on his lip. while the kiss was nowhere near being sexual, it was definitely more than just a peck. your lips moved together in pain and understand and love and relief. 

unwillingly, you pulled away. suddenly aware that you more than likely still had an audience, the fresh evening air felt good against your flushed cheeks. the two of you remained silent, attempting to revert your breathing patterns back to normal. 

eren rested his forehead against yours. you were sure sasha could practically hear the way your heart was stammering in your chest. and if not, eren definitely could. with each thump, your chest tightened and you were sure that if human bodies had not been designed with rib cages, your heart would have been long gone. 

your thumb caressed his cheek, his fresh tears smearing with the dried crimson in the process. a gust of wind took ahold of the few pieces of hair framing your face. eren gingerly grabbed the loose strands, tucking them behind your ear. he had done so countless times before, but something just felt different this time around. 

“i love you, too,” he whispered, the previous insecurities long gone from his voice. he had never spoken truer words. 

you smiled. “let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? and i think you might owe someone an apology.” 

eren’s limbs ached and although he didn’t want to admit to that, his body betrayed him. he had just barely stood back up when his trembling legs buckled. he prepared to meet the cold ground and the pain that would ensue, but a pair of hands caught him before it happened. 

you were just as surprised as eren appeared to be as levi attempted to steady him. it seemed the captain hadn’t ventured far. hyper aware that he probably had heard every word shared between you and eren, you didn’t dare meet his eyes. 

you sprung into action immediately, moving to eren’s other side. he winced as you navigated his arm around your shoulders, causing you to sputter out apologies while doing so. captain levi’s amusement didn’t go unnoticed by you or eren, but neither of you decided to comment on it. 

with you and captain levi both being significantly shorter than eren, supporting his weight was easier said than done. after some trial and error, though, the three of you were able to move almost seamlessly. 

eren’s strength was wavering by the second, you could tell, but he had enough left to come to a halt when you neared his most recent victim. you met jean’s eyes, hoping he could sense how apologetic you were. he confirmed with a nod then turned his attention to the boy who seemed to be getting heavier and heavier in your arms. 

“i’m sorry, jean, i-i honestly don’t even know... i’m sorry.”

“what? no ‘horse-face’?” the redhead chuckled, almost sadly. you realized that they had already cleaned him up. “don’t worry about it, eren. you did more damage to yourself than me anyway.” 

jean placed a hand on eren’s arm that was thrown over your shoulder. the interaction was brief but seemed to mean a lot to the both of them. then, they nodded and jean walked back toward the remainder of the group. sasha and connie were both saying words to him that you couldn't hear. 

you could feel the distressed stares that armin and mikasa were both sending in your direction. you gave them a nod, promising that their childhood friend was okay. he would be, at least. you had already made it your mission to ensure it. 

as you and captain levi hauled eren toward his dorm, the severity of the situation began feeling heavy on your shoulders. eren had definitely broken more than a few rules and you were sure captain levi would make sure he was punished for his insubordination. 

you weren’t entirely sure you would be off the hook either. sure, you hadn’t broken rules or gone against direct orders, but you hadn’t exactly abided either. captain levi could easily find a reason for why you should receive punishment as well and no one would even question it. 

captain levi’s steel eyes followed your every move as you opened the door to eren’s room, you could feel it. it didn’t feel like his typical burning glare but you couldn’t quite place your finger on the emotion behind the action either. 

as if sensing your thoughts that were now moving a hundred miles a minute, a groan came from eren. you watched them both quietly as captain levi managed to plop eren down on the chair you had placed next to the bath. another groan escaped the green-eyed boy and you could tell he was exhausted and in pain.

“captain, i’m-”

“tch. save it, brat. we have all been there and if they haven’t, they will. i’m surprised it took you this long. you’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for, kid,” levi interrupted, turning his attention toward you. “y/n, i trust you’ll take good care of humanity’s last hope. i’ll see the both of you at breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“i- yes, sir.” 

captain levi left without another word, leaving you and eren alone for the first time all day. you suddenly felt hesitant, unsure of what to do next. eren’s grunts of frustration filled the silent room as he began - well, tried to anyway - removing his tunic. 

you swatted his hands away gently, removing the article of clothing with ease. you had seen eren’s bare body before but you were still just as awestruck. this time, though, his skin was littered with scrapes, cuts and bruises of almost every color imaginable. you swallowed the urge to yell at him. 

the silence continued as you washed his body ever-so-gently. once you had been able to get him into the tub, that is. more than once, you had to momentarily stop your actions to check if eren had either fallen asleep or passed out. 

every time, his eyelids would flutter open instinctively, as if missing the warmth of your touch the second it disappeared. his green eyes would widen until they landed on you and he would relax, his lids falling shut once again. 

the silence wasn’t uncomfortable; it was filled with unspoken words of gratitude and affection. the two of you enjoyed it to the fullest - maybe even a little too much. reluctantly, you stopped running your fingers through his brown locks that never seemed to stop growing. 

eren didn’t protest when you told him it was time to get out despite how much he wanted to. he also didn’t protest and tried his best to help when you began putting a change of clothes on him. he didn’t protest when you whispered it was time for bed, either. 

he did protest when you attempted to take your leave, however. 

“stay,” it was a soft plea that pulled on your heartstrings. “please?”

and, so, you climbed into bed with him without hesitation. he nuzzled into the crook of your neck so quickly that it seemed like second-nature to him and was asleep within minutes, his soft snores the only sound within range. 

well, you had definitely broken rules now. but you decided that eren sleeping next to you was more than worth whatever form of discipline captain levi could ever devise. you would handle whatever it was with pride if it meant you could stay like this forever. 

/ / / / / 

ok, um, this didn’t exactly go where i had envisioned it to but i’m not really mad? idk. i had to put some levi x eren in there bc i live for their mentor/mentee relationship. if you made it this far, please send me some asks and let me know what you thought 🥺

[a-simple-gaywitch]

Embers to Ashes

hotch x unsub!reader

Summary: When (Y/N) leaves the BAU, she doesn’t expect to get wrapped up in a crime spree

Word Count: 2609

Warnings: abusive relationship, pregnancy & mentions of childbirth, typical criminal minds violence

“The real monsters are humans without conscience.” -Robert E. Keller

~

Your decision to leave the BAU was not an easy one, but it was what was best. After your mother fell ill, you decided to move back home to care for her, as she was alone. Your team protested, not wanting you to leave, of course. Penelope fought for you to stay the hardest. She was like the sister you never had.

The team followed you to the airport to see you off. Hugs went around, followed by promises that you’d call when you land. The only person who didn’t hug you was Hotch, which you found weird for a number of reasons. Even Spencer hugged you, and he wasn’t big on physical affection. And you’d always thought you and Hotch were close.

“Hey, promise me you’ll keep in touch,” he said, resting his hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah, of course,” you said.

“Oh, I need another hug!” Penelope said, squeezing you tight again. She’d been crying the whole time and her mascara was running. “I’m gonna miss you so much, Peaches.”

“I’m gonna miss you too, Pen,” you said. You glanced at your watch. “Okay, I really have to go now. I love you guys so much.”

~

You were grocery shopping for your mother when you ran into him. Nicholas Gully, one of your old high school friends.

“(Y/N)? (Y/N) (L/N)?”

“Nick! Hi!” you said, tossing the box of pasta into your shopping cart. “How have you been?”

“Oh, great. What about you? Big FBI agent out at Quantico.”

You laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of your neck. “Yeah, uh, I actually quit.”

“What? Why? All you talked about in high school was getting into the academy.”

“Uh, well, it’s because of Mom actually. She’s sick. I quit to move back out here and help her until she… Well…”

“Yeah. Well, I’m here if you need to, I don’t know, let off steam?” He handed you a business card. “Here. My number. Give me a call, we’ll go out for drinks or something.”

You smiled. “Thanks, Nick. It was good seeing you.”

~

Your mom died about a month after you moved home. You were an only child, so it was your responsibility to handle all of her affairs. It was stressful, and you felt isolated. Alone.

You looked at all the funeral plans spread out on the kitchen table, and before you knew it, you’d called Nick and asked him to come over.

What happened next was a blur. You buried your mother next to your father, Nick stayed by your side the whole time. While your mind was clouded with grief, you thought the only good thing to come of it was your new relationship with Nick.

He was nice. He treated you well and helped you through your grief. Only, he didn’t like how much you talked to Penelope and Emily, saying that it was unnatural to be so close to your ex-coworkers. So you stopped talking to them.

Nick moved in with you not too long into your relationship. He said that living in your mother’s house alone wasn’t healthy for you. He helped you sort and pack up her belongings, taking the things you weren’t keeping or throwing out to the thrift store.

You were together for about 8 months before your relationship changed.

You hadn’t been feeling well and you had your suspicions. You took a trip to the drug store and bought a few tests while Nick was at work. You took all of them, trying to rule out a false positive.

When you heard Nick come in from work, you decided to tell him.

“Hey, Nick? I have some news,” you said after he put his work bag down on the couch.

“What’s up?”

“Um, you know how I haven’t been feeling well lately? Well, I went to the pharmacy and picked up some pregnancy tests. They were all positive.”

“Are you serious? You’re pregnant?”

You nodded. “I’m calling my doctor first thing tomorrow to schedule an appointment.”

Nick’s tone should have tipped you off to his true nature. But you were in too deep.

~

A few months passed. You were showing significantly, though your doctor was worried about your health. The bags under your eyes grew, and you were showing up to your appointments with more and more bruises on your arms. One day you came in with a poorly concealed black eye.

One day, you came home from a doctor’s appointment to see Nick packing some bags.

“Nick? What’s going on?”

“We’re going on a trip,” he said. “Roadtrip, it’ll be fun.”

“Nick, I’m 7 weeks away from my due date-”

“You’ll be fine,” he snapped, thrusting a bag at you. “Get in the car.”

You headed outside, Nick’s hand firmly on your back. He steered you away from your old clunker towards a shiny new SUV. “Did you buy a new car?” you asked.

“Sure, buy. Let’s go with that.”

“Nick, what did you do? What did you get us into?”

“Don’t worry about it. Get in.”

“Nick-”

“I said, get in.”

~

“Des Moines PD has a case for us,” Penelope said. “As do St. Louis, Louisville, and Charleston.”

“Carjacking?” Morgan asked, flipping through the case file. “Why are they asking us to come in?”

“It’s the same MO,” Hotch explained. “It’s a couple, a man and a woman, presumably his wife or girlfriend. They find a home just outside the city and take the car at night, leaving the previously stolen car.”

“They’re active at night? How do we know it’s a team?” Spencer asked.

“The second victim had security cameras installed. They caught glimpses of the couple, but not enough for us to identify,” Penelope explained.  

“Why are they only bringing us in now?” Emily asked. “It says the first theft was over a month ago.”

“Because this one ended in a murder and assult. The surviving victims are at the hospital. Wheels up in 30,” Hotch said.

~

When the team landed in West Virginia, Hotch divided the team up between the hospital, the crime scene, and the coroner’s office. Hotch and Emily took the hospital to interview the victims. One was a woman in her mid-30s, and the other was her 6-year-old son. The husband had been the murdered victim.

“Hi, Mrs. Foster? I’m Agent Hotchner,” Hotch said, taking a seat next to the woman with Emily. “Would you mind answering a few questions for us?”

“Well, I’m-I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to remember but…”

“Anything you tell us can help us catch these two,” Emily said, gently patting the woman’s hand. “We’re going to try something called a cognitive interview, to see what your subconscious picked up, okay?”

The woman nodded. “Okay.”

“Go ahead and close your eyes,” Emily said. “So, it was late. You and your husband were getting ready for bed. Then what?”

“Neil heard a noise,” she said. “He said it sounded like a man. He grabbed Micah’s little league bat from beside the front door. He told me to wait inside. Micah had fallen asleep on our couch and came to see what was going on. I-I heard Neil yell and I heard a gunshot. I ran outside and I saw a couple. A man and a woman.”

“What can you tell me about them? What did they look like?”

“I didn’t see the man too well, but the woman, well, I only saw her face. But she looked bad.”

“What do you mean?” Emily asked.

“Well, her skin was sunken and sallow. She had bruises all over. She looked like she was ready to drop at any second.”

“Okay. What happened then?”

“Neil was bleeding on the ground. I-I ran over to him and felt for his pulse. It was already gone. Then the man hit my head with the gun, and I fell to the ground. But Micah- I didn’t know Micah followed me. The man pointed his gun at Micah. I was terrified. I thought he was going to shoot my son, too. But then the woman stood in front of the gun. She started pleading with the man. I was fading in and out of consciousness, but I heard her.”

“Nick, don’t!”

“What did I tell you? You don’t get to call me that, whore.”

“I-I’m sorry, sir. But, please, don’t hurt him. He’s just a boy.”

“He saw our faces. You know the police are already on our trail. We can’t have a kid squealing to the cops.”

“No, I… I won’t let you.”

“You won’t let me?”

“He hit her,” Mrs. Foster said. “Hard. It was so hard I thought he shot her, too.” She shook her head. “After that, he knocked me out. I don’t know what happened next. I just remember waking up here.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Foster,” Hotch said. “This was very helpful.” Hotch and Emily got up to leave.

“Wait, Agent Prentiss,” she called after Hotch left the room. Emily turned around. “When you find them, go easy on the woman.”

“Why would you want us to do that?” she asked.

“I work at a battered women’s shelter. I see women like her all the time. She’s profoundly abused. She’s not a criminal, she’s a victim.”

~

Micah Foster was able to give a detailed description of the man to the sketch artist. Thanks to his description, they were able to track him down outside of Charlottesville, Virginia. What they weren’t counting on was seeing you, in the passenger seat.

Nick didn’t want to go down without a fight. But his idea of a fight was to use you as a human shield. He held you in front of him, his arm bracing against your throat. He had a gun in his other hand, training it on the team.

“You shoot, you hit her!” he said, pressing harder on your throat.

“Okay, okay,” Morgan said, holding his gun up in surrender. “We won’t shoot. Just let (Y/N) go.”

Nick turned the gun and pressed it to your temple. “Why are you so concerned about her?

“Because she’s a person,” Derek said, trying to negotiate. “She doesn’t need to get hurt.”

A gunshot went off. You screamed and stumbled forward, Morgan catching you. Nick fell to the ground, dropping his gun and gripping his thigh. Hotch had snuck up behind and shot him in the leg.

~

The next thing you knew, you were in an interrogation room with Hotch and Emily.

“(Y/N), what happened?” Emily asked you, her voice gentle. “You look awful. What did he do to you?”

Your eyes were trained on the table. “Nothing. He treats me with nothing but respect. I did this to myself.”

“(Y/N), we all know that’s not true,” Emily said. “Talk to us. You know us.”

You kept your eyes on the metal table and you stayed quiet.

“Damn it, (Y/N)!” Hotch yelled, slamming his hands on the table. You flinched back, closing your eyes and wincing like you were bracing for a hit. Hotch took a step back. “Prentiss, take over.”

He left the interrogation room and stormed over to the second room where Morgan and Reid were interrogating Nicholas.

“Hotch-”

“What the hell did you do to her?” Hotch nearly screamed, his blood boiling.

Nick smiled. “I didn’t do anything, she did it all to herself.”

“We both know that’s not true, you piece of-”

“Aaron!” Rossi said, cutting him off. He then proceeded to pull Hotch from the interrogation room. “What the hell is going on with you?”

Hotch took a deep breath, rubbing his hand over his face. “You saw her, Dave. You saw what that asshole did to her. You saw her flinch away from me. That’s a woman who has faced down some of the worst humanity has to offer, and she’s been so badly abused that she’s…”

“Aaron, you know what abuse does to people. We’ve seen it more times than I ever want to count.”

“But it’s never been someone we know. It’s never been someone we love.”

“Ah. So that’s what this is about.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Why don’t you sit this one out? Prentiss and I can handle it.” Rossi walked into the room and sat next to Emily. Emily had given you a glass of water.

“(Y/N), why did you save the mother and her son?” she asked you.

“I don’t know,” you said, twisting the glass around in your hands.

“(Y/N).” Emily reached out and put her hand on yours. “You specifically looked out for the boy. Why?”

A tear rolled down your cheek. “Nick made me leave mine,” you whispered.

“What?”

“He said she would slow us down, that she was a burden. He made me leave her at a church. I didn’t even get to hold her.��� After that, you broke down sobbing. Emily slowly crossed to the other side of the table and cautiously put her arm around you.

~

The team worked out a deal for you with the DA. You would be acquitted if you testified against Nick, and you would be closely watched by the team.

“She can’t keep sleeping on the couch in the conference room, Hotch,” Rossi said as the team gathered in the bullpen. You were asleep and the team wanted you to have peace. “She can come stay with me. Lord knows I have the space.”

“Wait, why should she stay with you? She’s my best friend,” Penelope argued. “She can stay with me.”

“Babygirl, you don’t have a spare room,” Derek reminded her. “I can take her in.”

“She just spent the better part of two years under the thumb of an alpha male, do you think she’d feel comfortable staying with another one?” Emily said.

“Did any of you think maybe she should make her own choice?” Spencer piped up. “I mean, she hasn’t been able to make her own choices, I think we should at least give her that.”

“Reid is right,” Hotch said. “We should let her make the choice. And please, don’t pressure her. She’s not the same (Y/N) she was when she left. She’s been through hell and back.”

~

In the end, you chose to stay with Aaron. Something about him made you feel safe. Slowly but surely, you started warming up again. You spent your days taking care of Jack when Hotch was on cases. When Aaron was home, he spent time with you and Jack. The two of you grew closer and closer.

You’d stayed with Aaron for a few months before there was a shift in your relationship. You weren’t sure when it happened, but you and Aaron were closer. You became more comfortable with physical contact, and you found yourself curling up on the couch with Aaron for movie nights after Jack went to bed.

You kissed Aaron first. He’d come back from a case with a book he knew you’d been wanting to read. It was something simple, but it meant the world to you, knowing there was someone who listened to you and wanted to do something nice for you.

Your relationship blossomed from there, and Aaron made sure to show you he respected you and never wanted to hurt you. Of course, there were bad days and there were days you argued, but Aaron never raised a hand against you. He never wanted you to experience the pain Nick caused you ever again.

~

“The difference between the right word and the almost right word is like the difference between a lightning bug and the lightning.” - Mark Twain

[janekfan]

ooooh..... difficult anniversary and/or you’re not human anymore bingo prompts for jarchivist obliteration?

AAAA This took so long! I am SO SORRY!!! <3 <3 <3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31123295

Jon was used to hurting.

Used to hiding.

Which is why he didn’t notice. Didn’t understand what was happening to him and more importantly why.

A panic attack here. A bad day there. A cold, maybe? Until the scars on his skin from the worms and the corkscrew and the scratching woke one day as though they were fresh and new. His skin crawled, the slightest touch filled him with revulsion and, lord, he had to keep it together because Martin would almost certainly overreact and Jon hated, hated to be the source of his worry.

So he would ignore it as usual.

Whatever it was would pass. And he could avoid being the center of attention for this thing that was out of their control. He’d read the Lord of the Rings. He knew about the less romantic side of anniversaries. What was one more thing for him to overcome?

It didn’t stop them from hurting like the day they were drawn on his body and while the rents in his skin looked the same as they ever did, he nearly bloodied himself after a particularly wretched nightmare with his frenzied clawing.

And it passed. The burning, bleeding, boring sensations disappeared and Martin hadn’t suspected a thing. Okay, that was a lie. But he seemed mollified enough when Jon wrote it off as a tough week at university.

“I’m just tired, habibi.” He forced himself to reach for Martin’s hands, sighing in gusty relief when everything was normal and allowing himself to get wrapped up in warm arms.

The mark left behind by the Distortion ached deep and throbbing and somehow also elsewhere. It was a phantom pain traveling the myriad corridors of his veins, his arteries, his nerves and when he couldn’t rid himself of it in any conventional way, he waited. It would pass. It would. Just like the last one. This was just pain. He knew pain. Was fast friends with it by now and this was nothing like his worst days.

“Jon-darling?”

“Mm?” He was flipping through the pages in a book, not too fast, not too slow, not really reading anything, trying to pretend that everything was normal when his foot cramped up like he’d been bitten. He was practiced now in not looking; there wouldn’t be anything there anyway. His skin might as well have been a great big door and the only way through to the other side didn’t involve knocking.

“You look pale.” Ah. Well. Pain like this would do that to a man.

“Just a little sore today, love.” It wasn’t a lie. Jon set the book aside, not bothering to mark whatever random page he’d landed on, and threaded their fingers together.

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you talk me into carrying the shopping.”

“What are you talking about? I always help carry the shopping.” Despite his chronic conditions, Jon pulled his own weight.

No, stop. Of course you do and you have nothing to prove, especially not to Martin of all people.

“You’ve been run down.”

“I have not!” Martin fixed him with a stern look and he cowed under his scrutiny. “Perhaps a bit, but you know how these things go.”

“I do. And I can’t help but feel like there’s something you aren’t telling me.” Here it was. Martin’s overture, his olive branch. His invitation to come clean and tell the truth and avoid his wrath when he found out later. But Jon never was a quick learner of these social lessons.

“I’m fine, hayati.” Jon soothed, tipping Martin into his newly throbbing shoulder. “I’m fine.”

The next three hit him like a lorry, nearly as hard as they had a year ago and nearly all at once.

His burn scar, just like the worm scars, felt blistered as badly as the day he’d taken Jude’s hand, and he shook violently at the onset of it, thankful he was squirreled away in his office at the University and not crying into Martin’s shirt even if that’s where he’d prefer to be but Martin hates burns.

Hates how they look, how twisted and ugly they become when they scar.

Burns made him upset. Burns made him sick.

He hates them. Hates them. And while Jon was reasonably sure Martin would never turn him away when he was hurting like this, the fluttering undercurrent chanting what if wouldn’t leave him be.

So Instead he sniffled away in the dark, wrist pressed between his knees in a vain attempt to stop the shaking while he tried to remember how to breathe.

It was dark when he slipped into bed beside Martin, dead asleep after a run of night shifts. For a frantic moment Jon wanted to shake him awake, beg for reasurances, for relief, but it would ruin this. Martin looked so peaceful, face relaxed in repose, cheek soft when Jon pressed his trembling lips there.

“Jon... ?” Washing out on a swirling tide his voice was fuzzy, thick with exhaustion, and the hand that brushed the small of his back lingered only for the time it took for him to drift back under. No. He’d wrought enough damage here. Better for Martin to rest without worry. He shouldn’t have to deal with Jon and his problems. Especially when they would be arriving like clockwork for the rest of his life. Jon pressed himself against Martin’s warmth, trying to soak it up, stop the shivering. How could he be so frozen when his whole right arm was engulfed in flame? Silent, he let the tears come, closing his eyes against a burgeoning dizziness he knew would only grow worse.

Be quiet. Just be quiet. Don’t disturb him, you mustn’t. You’ve nothing else to give except more burdens that aren’t his to carry.

The ceiling was spinning so fast above him; lights, cast shadows, cabinets whirling, reeling, spiraling so much he’d be sick with it any minute. The vibrations from Martin’s pounding footsteps resonated through the whole of him, pulsing, in time with his uneven battering pulse.

He barely remembered the actual fall, just the terrifying sensation of being weightless and the fear welling in his throat like coagulated ink. Forever. He’d be falling forever. Nothing to hold. To grab. To slow. To Know.

Endless.

His scream wrenched away from him in the rushing winds filling up his ears, stealing his voice, his breath. No one could hear him in this place. Martin would never know what happened. That Jon was eaten up by the sky. Surrounded infinitely on all sides by a sea of simultaneous nonexistence and brutal presence. Jon’s awareness whittled down only to the pull of gravity in all the wrong directions.

“Jon!” A bleary shape manifested above him, blocking out the worst of it. Hands, gentle, probing, searching subconsciously for breaks, contusions, his training winning out over the panic Jon could just make out in the set of his mouth. Fingers ran soft through his curls, seeking out any swellings and Jon winced when he found one. Must’ve struck his head on the way down. Those cool hands settled, cupping his face, and twin thumbs brushed over his cheeks. “You’re warm, love.” A murmur, almost to himself as Martin puzzled.

“B’bit of, of vertigo, s’all.” Uncoordinated, Jon’s arm struck out as he tried to reach for him and landed on his wrist. “Tryin’...nnh.” He gripped Martin like a lifeline, slamming his eyes shut against the need to be ill.

“You’ve clocked yourself.” Fair enough. “But I think you’re alright. Think you can move?” With no other option than to speak lest he set it all swirling again, Jon whimpered. “Okay.” With one more pass through his hair Martin stepped away and soon enough had Jon settled as best he could on the tile, tucked beneath a blanket with a cold pack pressed to the back of his neck. Relief came gradually and Martin’s unasked questions lingered on the edges of their companionable silence. “Better?”

“Mm.” Despite the hard surface applied to every pressure point, Jon was falling asleep cocooned in the safety of Martin’s soothing company.

He wouldn’t be able to keep this up

Martin teased him mercilessly about the loss of his voice and Jon let him have it if it kept him from noticing how sore his throat really was. He wanted to tell him that it was Daisy’s mark, to cry and come clean and beg Martin to stay.

But that wouldn’t be fair. Jon had to be a whole person in this relationship and stop relying on Martin to pick up the slack. He would figure this out. He’d prove his past didn’t control him.

After he could get out of bed.

And here was what he’d strived to avoid. Finally laid low.

“I worry, Jon. You know that.” That was the problem. Martin was already going to be late to work from all his fussing. With the scrap of voice he’d gained back he protested in a hoarse whisper, syllables squeaking past what felt like a shredded voice box and listened to Martin call in again. He had to be better than this but he was overwrought, dangling at the end of a very frayed rope. This marked a sharp decline and Jon was sure it hadn’t escaped Martin’s notice that they were coming up on the date he’d more or less died. He could barely rouse himself in the mornings for school, drifting through lessons and relying more on his TA than he’d like. More than once he’d splurged on a cab, not sure if he’d make it on the tube and Martin’s fretting and worry and distress only made Jon more secure in his conviction. If it was this bad already, how bad would it become if he knew the reason it was all happening? They were supposed to be free of this. Jon wasn’t supposed to keep doing this to Martin.

Melanie’s scar throbbed, chipping away at any scant reserve he had left and ruthless with its aim. It was worse than Daisy’s even though he could understand both motivations. Daisy was putting down a monster. Mel was striking out at someone trying to help, driving home with the scalpel that no good deed goes unpunished. Rationally, he knew he’d deserved it. Too bad it didn’t dull the sting of it all really.

“Darling? Sweetheart?” Jon forced his eyes open, gasping when it sent the dark room to pirouetting, his stomach to churning, staging a mutiny against the scant meal he’d forced on himself not too long ago. Anything he’d gained in their short reprieve had long melted away under the stress. “I’m here, what’s wrong, love?”

“Nnothing…” he regretted the word as soon as it passed his lips.

“You’ve a fever so high it woke me. That’s not nothing, Jon.” Mercifully, he gave him a moment to gather his thoughts, catalogue how much more of this he could take before it broke him. Burned hand shaking, Jon clenched his fist which didn’t help the pain rocketing through his arm and into his heart, but steadied him.

“Jus’a, a bit of a flare up.” Those sometimes came with fevers.

“Oh, love. Why didn’t you say?”

Because it was a lie. Because I didn’t want you to worry. Because I never want to see you upset over me. Because I’m not worth it. Because if it’s always going to be like this--

“Din’t want you to, to…” The cramping agony slurred his voice badly, stringing syllables together with an uncooperative tongue was too much effort. “Nngh.” Dazed and groggy, Jon shut his eyes tightly, trying to focus on Martin’s soothing touch stroking over his face. Like a coward, Jon let sleep rescue him from the truth.

It was the flesh that gave him away.

Woke him screaming; hot and twisting in agony with Jared’s phantom fingers dug into his rib cage. More fingers clamped onto his shoulders, shaking him, a distorted voice calling, shouting his name over and over and over.

“Jon!” Martin was little more than a blur, obscured by tears, and Jon’s panic was reflected straight back at him. “Where does it hurt?”

“Wha…?”

“Where, habibi? Left, right? Please, Jon.”

“Not...not. S’not--” He couldn’t get the words to come, to admit after so long what he’d kept poorly hidden.

“Not what?” Frustration bled sideways into his words and Martin gripped him harder as though he might tear the answers out of him.

“Real.” It burst from him in a raw, somehow soft explosion. It wasn’t. Not really. The wounds were long healed over.

“Looks plenty real from here, Jon.” He batted away questing fingers.

“No. No.” There was no way he’d be able to explain through this piercing agony, the literal holes invisible in his skin.

“It’s the fears, isn’t it? Your marks, your scars.” Martin already knew judging by the disquiet in his tone. This was merely confirmation.

“Yes.” He sobbed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There was hurt in his voice, sadness and betrayal, alongside the ire.

“I thought, I thought--” Jon couldn’t breathe, panic and pain stealing the very air from his lungs. This was only going to get worse. After all they’d done, he’d done--how was he still a monster?

“Shh, shhh, thought what, love?” Martin held him carefully, mindful of all the ways Jon hurt, ticking off fears and scars on mental fingers, trying to figure out how long he’d been hiding it. How long he’d been suffering alone.

“Supposed to be, god, supposed to be safe, free of this.” He was trembling now, with chills or anxiety or both, gasping for every sip of oxygen and swallowing seawater for his trouble. “Can’t, what if--?” Choking himself off, Jon strangled. Martin stayed silent, rocking them both gently, back, forth, soft, slow, calm, calm, calm, and when Jon finally spoke again had to strain to hear him over the echo of a hammering heart beat. “Every year?”

Every year.

He couldn’t Breathe.

Everything was close. So close, too close, and he was crushed under the implications.

“Jon?” Now he was heaving for it, fast and deep, and while Martin could feel the strain it was to breathe he knew it wouldn’t be long before Jon lost consciousness altogether. “Hey, hey, listen, hayati, slow down, sloow down.” Jon’s entire body lifted when Martin inhaled, and again, and again, until he picked up the thread and made more than a half decent attempt. “Okay, there you are, you’re doing so well, sweetheart. So well.” Time passed in measured breaths, so much so that Martin had begun to think Jon had fallen asleep when:

“You’ll leave.”

Soft and shattered. All the fear that he’d piled onto the pain flowing out of him, a dam burst and broken.

“I won’t.” Jon’s movements were hard-won but he managed to shift himself enough to face him. His expression was firm.

“You, you can’t be stuck taking care of an i’invalid again, Martin. I won’t. I won’t have it.”

“Ah. You won’t have it.” Martin scoffed. “And what about me? When do I get a choice?” Jon, eyes wide and dark with exhaustion and pain, looked at him as though he’d grown a second head, perhaps a third.

Or like Martin was a predator and Jon was prey, cornered and hurting.

“You shouldn’t want this.” Me. “This, this burden. This trap!”

“You’re not some sort of trap!” Martin could see the moment Jon decided to change tactics, to try and convince him otherwise, win the game. Too bad for Jon that Martin knew him better than he knew himself.

“You want this don’t you?” He sneered, so convinced, and while once upon a time it would have made Martin wilt and retreat, now he was familiar with Jon’s lashing out. Sorry, Jon. “I won’t be another reason for you to martyr yourself.”

“And I won’t be scared off by your nasty attitude.” Softening, he reached for Jon’s trembling hands, running his thumbs methodically over the backs of them. “I won’t. Together. Right?”

“Martin.” His name broke open on a sob. “I don’t. I don’t want this for you.”

“Tough.” Smothered, Jon’s next words died in his throat, a fledgling bird crushed before it could take flight. “You don’t get to choose for me, even to protect me.”

“Every year--”

“We don’t know that. Not yet.” Martin eased him down. “You aren’t a burden. You aren’t trapping me here.” He kissed away the tears, the hopelessness, even as Jon shook his head nigh delirious.

“I am, I am.”

“No, love. What you are is worn out and hurting.” Martin teased out Jon’s tangled curls, stroking his fingers through them and watching him relax as much as he could at the moment. “What you’re going to do is let me take care of things. Of you, Jon.”

“Don’deserve you.” Fresh tears welled in half lidded brown eyes, slipped into the fly aways at his temples when they closed. “Never have.” Martin stood, pressing lips to his hot brow, intending to gather up anything he thought might help.

“We’ll talk when you’re feeling better.” Jon nodded and Martin turned to leave, stopping when he found himself caught by quaking fingers tangled in his sleeve.

“I, I love you.” Contrite, whispered and awaiting rejection. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, darling.” Martin leaned down, thumbing away new tears. “I know, I know and I love you too.” He stole one more shivering kiss. “Let’s get you taken care of.”

[tehrevving]

Stop and Stall What’s Safe

When a stray bullet ricochets, Dante doesn't know how to save you. With a last ditch effort, he remembers how the bruises on your skin used to heal after sex, and just prays that it works.

Dante x Reader (Reader is neutral but can get pregnant), Gunshot wounds, Angst, Masturbation.

I had a little bit to drink, and was in mood. So this is like, angst but with a crack premise.

I don't know what to say about this apart from that Reader gets shot, Dante doesn't know what to do and ejaculates on the wound to try and heal it. That's it, That's the premise. Enjoy lol.

Dante’s heart is still racing, even though it’s been hours. You’ve been asleep on his chest for a while now and even though you’re breathing and warm and alive, his head just won’t stop spinning. It had been his fault. He’d almost lost you because he was too fucking stupid to think about the consequences of his own actions. He was terrified, lost in his own thoughts with no idea how to go about not making the same mistake again.

He’d never liked involving you in his line of work, even though of course sometimes he didn’t have a choice. It’s not like he could always keep his lives separate. Dangerous creatures often decided to try and invade his home that he shared with you, though luckily they never seemed to attack while he was away. They would always wait for him to appear before they made their move, he was never sure why, but he was thankful for it. 

In general though, in a fight, you knew what to do. You would hang back, away from the battle, arming yourself with one of the numerous weapons that were stored underneath his desk, or under your desk, or behind some of the artwork. So when a bunch of low tier fucking assholes decided to disturb the peace today, it had all gone according to plan. To start with anyway. 

He’d been fighting them, dispatching the weak ones easily. They were never a match for him anyway, but especially not when he was showing off for his mate. It had been easy, he hadn’t been concerned, or worried at all, until a Chaos had sauntered its way into the office. 

Dante knew that they were fast, far faster than you as a plain old human would be able to handle. So he’d focused his attention on it, trusting you to dispatch any of the small fry if they managed to get close. He’d tried the usual strategy, shoot to stun, and then tear it limb from limb once those sharp spikes were no longer a factor. 

He’d never had to consider the enclosed space before though, while fighting something so fast, so high powered. He’d aimed properly, got it in his sights right in between the eyes. He’d waited until he’d thought the timing had been perfect, but even though he liked to think so, Dante wasn’t perfect. 

He hadn’t been able to anticipate the way that the creature had moved, the way that it had shifted slightly and thrown his marksmanship off. That the piece of shit would shift slightly, throw off his aim, that the thing would start rolling, moving its spines so fast that no bullet would have a hope of reaching it. He never expected the angle at which his bullet would ricochet off it’s shining carapace at full speed. Dante never fucking anticpated that any devil hell bent on destroying him would be smart enough to deflect his weapons straight into your god damn body. 

He’d watched it happen in slow motion, the bullet deflect and start to turn in your direction. He’d seen your eyes widen, but he’d not been fast enough to do anything. Dante had watched as you crumpled to the floor as his stray bullet hit you, he’d watched it part your flesh, and embed itself deep within your abdomen. 

Fuck, he’d been overtaken by an all consuming rage, he’d never felt anything like it before. It was like he wasn’t himself anymore, like his subconscious was moving without permission from his physical body. The entire world around him slowed down as he lost control. He wouldn’t have been able to recall exactly what he had done if you’d asked him, but every single damn devil in the building had been destroyed by his hand within an instant. 

The Chaos was the last to go down, the ultimate subject of his rage. He moved faster than it could react to, his claws ripping it to absolute shreds. It didn’t even get a chance to shriek before it hit the ground, dead, and his entire focus shifted to you.

Dante was by your side seconds after you’d taken his deflected bullet, surrounded by the shrieks of dying devils around him. He grabbed your body before you hit the ground, lying you down carefully onto your back. You had looked up at him, with shock and horror and fear in your eyes, before immediately pressing your hand to the blood pouring from your abdomen. He’d expected to see disgust, or hatred, because he was the one that did this to you, but instead, you’d just been terrified. 

He hadn’t known what to do, he’d just panicked, his entire mind wiped blank. You’d started speaking, throwing him out of the haze that had threatened to overwhelm all of his senses. “Bandage,” you’d said to him, snapping him out of his stupor. “Dante. Pressure on the wound.”

So he had torn the shirt he was wearing to pieces, the fabric didn’t matter in the slightest. He’d ripped the material from his front, wrapping it around his hand. He didn’t know how much pressure to use, how much pressure humans needed, so when he pressed the fabric against your slick abdomen, it didn’t seem to do anymore. 

“Harder,” you’d barked at him, and so he pressed down with the sort of pressure that might have bruised you on a normal day. He didn’t know what to do, he could feel your blood pouring out from the wound, even through the layer of fabric bound around his palm. 

You were surprisingly calm, or maybe you were just in shock. He didn’t know how being in shock felt, or what this much pain might actually feel like. He could be cut in half and recover from it a trace of a scar of course, do he had no frame of reference. “Is it bad?” you had asked him, and he hadn’t known how to reply. 

“Did it hit any organs? I can’t feel anything,” you’d asked him, and in the moment he had ignored the way that a small amount of blood had bubbled up from your throat to your lips while you’d spoken, but now that it’s all over, he can’t help but imagine the whole fucking thing in vivid detail.

He’d tried to think. He knows when his own organs are compromised, it’s a slightly different feeling, but as he’d looked down at you, he’d realised he doesn’t know how to map his own experiences to your body. You’re so much smaller than he is, and you have more organs in your abdomen than he does, don’t you? “I don’t know,” is what he finally manages to say, because he doesn’t know how else to respond. 

“Call an ambulance,” is what you’d said next, but as he’d looked around the shop, and at the carnage his own enraged demon had caused, he knew there was no way anyone would be able to get to you. 

“I can’t. Fuck. I can carry you. I can fly,” he’d said, panicked, desperate. He’d tried to move you, but you had screamed in pain, a sound that he’d never heard before, a sound that tore him in half all the way down to his soul. He’d immediately put you back down, but even then, your screaming hadn’t stopped. 

His entire hand had been wet, your blood welling up around his crappy shirt. He was going to lose you, because he didn’t fucking know human first aid, because he hadn’t fucking thought about his actions and shot a firearm in an enclosed space, against something that could easily deflect bullets at insane speeds. “What do I do?” he’d asked you desperately, but you hadn’t replied. You’d been in shock, and Dante doesn’t think he’ll ever forget how pale your face was. He’d started crying and he hadn’t even noticed. He hadn’t known what to do. 

“I don’t know how to stop the bleeding.” He’d been distraught. He knows the basics, but not how to save you. The pitiful fabric of his shirt had been dyed completely red, and he knows it’s not absorbing your blood anymore, there’s just too much of it. 

He’d pulled his hand away, just to get a look at your wound. It had been bad. The blood wasn’t stopping, and he could see your insides, his bullets are much more powerful than a normal calibre, even a ricochet. He’d willed himself to think as he’d felt your breathing start to slow, and felt your life starting to drift away. Fuck. He wasn’t going to let that happen. 

His brain for some reason, had decided to fixate on when you’re first gotten together. When he hadn’t been able to control himself, and he’d left bruises on your skin. He’d noticed the bruises, felt guilty about them, but then suddenly they’d started disappearing once the two of you had decided to become exclusive, and stopped using condoms, and started pulling out and spilling himself on your belly instead. He remembered the bruises returning though, once you’d confirmed that birth control would still work on his half devil spunk, and he stopped pulling out. 

It had been stupid, and a fucking long shot. But he hadn’t known what else to do, and your lips had been turning blue right in front of his eyes. He hadn’t know how the fuck he’d planned to manage it, but as he’d pressed down on your abdomen with slick fingers, he’d started struggling to undo his fly with the other. 

It had felt wrong, so fucking wrong, as he’d pulled out his cock. He hadn’t been hard, but there had been no other options. He’d started stroking himself, and of course nothing had happened, arousal had been the last damn thing that his panicked mind was expecting. 

He couldn’t keep looking at you, watching the life drain from your face. He’d shut his eyes, imagined you teasing and encouraging him. He’d imagined the way you would bite your lip and look up at him through your lashes while egging him on.  

It had started to work eventually, but he was so worried it wasn’t fast enough. His dick had started to rise and for the first time in his life, as a virile and overeager half devil, he’d wondered if he could ejaculate at half mast.

He’d pulled out all the fucking stops, because he hadn’t known what else to do. He’d pressed down on your wound with one hand, trying to block out the feeling of your heartbeat starting to slow while he stroked himself.

He’d twisted his hand on the tip of his dick, stroking loosely and then putting pressure on the base, before moving back up. Of course he knows how to get off, but it’s completely different under pressure. 

It had been a struggle, but the longer that he had kept his eyes closed and pretended, the easier that it had gotten. It had become easier to convince his penis that this wasn’t a life or death situation, that he was just casually jerking off and not using it as a last ditch attempt to save your life. 

He’d gotten there eventually, though all of his progress had almost been ruined when he had to lift his sticky palm from your flesh. The wet sound had broken his heart. He hated the way that he could hear your laboured breathing start to bubble up from your lungs when he released the pressure. 

He’d just hoped that this would fucking work. 

Dante had taken his dick in hand, lined himself up, and with a terribly reluctant moan, shot his seed all over your wound. He’d tried his best to hold back tears as he watched the white settle over the red staining your skin, watching with bated breath, wishing for anything to happen. 

He’d been able to see it right in front of his damn eyes, that his cum was slowly disappearing, sinking into your wound and reducing the amount of red. He’d watched as the bleeding had gradually stopped, and as your skin began to knit itself back together. 

He’d waited with baited breath, watching as every trace of what had just happened disappeared from your skin, within moments there wasn’t even a scar on your abdomen. The only evidence remaining being your blood staining your skin, and his hands and the floor, and the tears streaming down his face. 

He’d pulled you to his chest, begging for you to wake up, wiping his eyes on your hair. The office had been a disgrace, was still a disgrace. There was blood everywhere, sticky stains from where he’d ripped the damn devils apart, and of course your own life essence, staining the floorboards by his desk. 

Eventually you had stirred though, eyes disorientated and unfocused. You had been in no state to do anything for yourself, but he didn’t care. He’d carried you against his chest, washed the blood off of your now healed skin, and off his own and then gotten you into bed. 

You’d been exhausted and incoherent, immediately curling up against his chest and falling asleep, but his mind couldn’t stop racing. He’d been so fucking close to losing you and he hadn’t even known what to do to give you a fighting chance. 

His last ditch effort had been disgusting, even though it had worked, and he’s horrified with himself. Repulsed by the fact that he’d even considered it, but horrified by the fact that he’d actually been able to get off to you dying. It makes him reconsider everything. 

Dante knows that he won’t sleep at all tonight, but that’s okay. He had to watch over you, and make sure that you don’t stop breathing, that nothing else happens to you. He cries again, his face pressed to the pillow to try and muffle the sounds so that he doesn’t wake you. He vows that he’s going to be better, that he’s going to learn how to save your goddamn life next time, no matter what it takes, and that he’s not going to let anything like this happen again.

[darkpoisonouslove]

Prey on the Heart

Summary: Valtor is on the hunt when his hound makes an unexpected discovery - Griffin is on the premises and defenseless against his rage over her betrayal. Valtor has to decide what catch he’s after - her head or their love. AU.

CW: Blood, dog bites, injury neglect, non-graphic violence and sex

This has been an outlined idea for almost 11 months. It was supposed to be an entry for Whumptober last year but I managed to turn it back into romance instead of torture somehow. I never got around to writing it unti today the universe conspired to bring it into existence and I am so happy to have finally finished it!

Love Again by Dua Lipa is giving me feels for this AU so give it a listen if you want.

The tufts of yellowed grass barely rustled under his feet as he followed the hound south. A little further and they'd leave the borders of the Coven's estate for the uninhabitable wasteland his mothers hadn't bothered to purchase even at the low cost of Obsidian land.

The rainless summer had left the otherwise infertile ground dry and cracked, no prints marring it's hardened surface. The hound was relying purely on her animal instincts and despite the boost from his magic, his senses couldn't catch up. He was barely keeping up with Violet herself glancing around for a trace on the foliage of what she'd sniffed.

He caught a strangled scream without the need to strain his ears. It was loud and clear despite the attempt to muffle it. He'd thought it was an animal the hound had shot after but that scream... It was a human voice. A familiar voice.

He followed the sound, steps hurried and heavy on the ground to chase away any game in the vicinity but he'd have his prize regardless. Unless he was dreaming or under one of mother Lysslis' illusion spells.

He called the dog back to lead him to where she'd left her victim. He'd seen Violet do her thing under Lysslis' training. Whenever she got her teeth into something, it wasn't getting away before she let go. And it wasn't getting away after that either.

Violet's teeth had a wet red tint to them, muzzle damp with blood and saliva as her nostrils expanded voraciously with every breath from the heavy copper smell. She circled him frantically and dashed forward only to run back to him in an attempt to prompt him to catch up with her speed. At least she was happy with her find.

An unusual circle of trees formed a perfectly lined up clearing in the forest. Stepping inside it left him face to face with a lone tree in the middle that was keeled over and charred. It must have been stricken by a lightning but its sturdy, forked roots had grounded it deep in the soil to make it the only thing standing in the clearing.

Leaning on the other side of it, partially concealed by its thick trunk, was none other than Griffin. Her hands trembled as she tightened the knot on the bandage she'd wrapped around her bleeding calf. She hissed when the dirty rag she'd torn from the hemline of her tattered and muddied dress constricted the tender wound Violet had left in her wake. And to think Griffin had been the one who'd gifted him the hound when she'd still been a pup that had fit in the palm of his hand. Valtor had even named her after Griffin, the striking shade of her hair coloring everything from his sketches to the very dreams his subconscious concocted. If she hadn't left so soon after presenting him with the puppy, Violet may have remembered her scent. Not that that would have given her a chance against Lysslis' conditioning of all hunting dogs, including Valtor's personal hound.

Griffin's eyes pinned the hound where it was pacing from one side to another behind Valtor's legs with her tail wagging and her labored breaths filling the silence of his own lungs. The sight of him had Griffin's whole body tensing as her hands hit the tree bark behind her back and she scrambled to her feet.

Her movements were lagging from the pain and panic dripping from her hunched form. Her hair fell down her back matted with red where she'd brushed it back with bloodied hands. Large chunks of unrefined obsidian crystals were strapped to her wrists with clumsy threads of silver into bracelets that ran up her arms under her sleeves.

She'd made those herself–in a hurry–her magic pulling the crystals and metal straight from the core of the planet. They would have impeded any other witch considering his own mothers' magic was notably subdued by the large deposits of obsidian under the planet's surface but not her. Crystals were one of her areas of expertise–and the reason why she'd walked into his life–yet even her knowledge had failed her along with her luck. She'd made it to the very edge of the territory controlled and owned by the Coven under the protection of the black crystals she'd adorned herself with to ward off dark magic but still not far enough.

It had been fear cutting off her magic to prevent her from fashioning herself a bandage the way she'd crafted her protection charms. Her golden eyes were wide like pits of inextinguishable fire and her chest wasn't moving to push the ample cleavage her dress left exposed into the forefront of his mind. She'd had an easier time drawing breath with the weight of his head nestled over her ribcage, over her heart beating steadily with the promise of her presence.

Valtor's step forward echoed like a gunshot in her body. Her back pressed into the tree, muscles pulled taut with compressed energy readying her to pounce.

"Run." His first word to her. He could have lost a bet that it would be a vile curse in a lost language only she could understand. "I dare you." She'd turned her back and left unprompted. If she still abode by that logic, then she'd have to stay.

Griffin swallowed. "You're going to hunt me down like an animal?" Her teeth gritted as she strained against her eyes slipping from his form.

His fingers clenched to white around the cold metal of his shotgun. Her jaw would have been dust in his grip where he wanted it to tip her head back and pin her gaze with his. She'd forced him to endure far greater pain being the one left behind. She hadn't earned the right to writhe and scream in agony.

"Violet here is an animal," he extended his hand and the hound pressed her head into his open palm. She always obeyed his calls, never running off where she wouldn't hear him and come back. "She is loyal and dependable which is more than I can say about you." He may have named the dog after Griffin but he'd raised Violet to never follow in her footsteps.

"So I am less than an animal to you, too?" Her gaze darted to the dog and back – to the piece of herself she hadn't stolen from him.

Valtor frowned, hand stilling between Violet's ears to make her rub it in his fingers insistently. He ignored her.

"What do you mean to me too?" Once again Griffin took precedence. Over his hunt, over his dog, over his own heart. Only his stomach sank from the prediction of what he'd hear from her mouth.

"You think I came here on a picnic with only the dress on my back?" Griffin stood steady on her feet, her tenacious nature breathing life into a smirk he had to bite back.

He hadn't given thought to the circumstances of their meeting. Her aching form in front of his eyes was everything. One blink and she'd melt away, swept up into another one of the portals the locations of which she was best at estimating. Indeed her presence on top of her disheveled state posed multiple questions he hadn't paid mind to. He was making it too easy for her to deceive him again.

"Your mothers chased me down and electrocuted me to the point of nearly frying my organs," her arms crossed over her belly to raise alarms in his head. If anything gave him the strength to best mother Tharma, it would be the rage over touching what was his. Griffin was a central part of that even if revenge was all that was left between them. That and the truth she spoke. "They kept me locked up for weeks in a tiny shoe box where I couldn't even stand up straight and only let me out last night. Right as darkness fell for me to read on the star-filled sky that it was the first day of hunting season."

There was disdain in her voice instead of the fear everyone else held for the way his mothers took beauty and strength and twisted it into despair. They had taken her love of astronomy and turned it into the herald of her death sentence. Just like they'd repopulated the area around their estate with hunting game only to have their fill of murdering unsuspecting animals.

Griffin's eyes burned so fiercely he half expected the tree behind her to catch fire. "They let me out to be your prey." And she'd dashed for the quickest route out of there. She hadn't come back for him.

"You betrayed me."

Violet sat down on her hind legs, body taut like a string and tail beating harshly into the dust. She would leap at the smallest shift in him.

Griffin was like a rock in front of him. His fire wouldn't touch her and his bullets would bounce back at him. "They are enslaving people and I didn't know I was helping them."

He hadn't told her. All he could have given her had been the illusion of a choice. She never would've picked him if he'd let his mothers force her to lay the world at their feet. It had been the only chance the two of them had had to be together.

"I had to put an end to it."

"You betrayed me!" Valtor raised the shotgun, his hands shaking too violently to aim it more precisely than just in Griffin's general direction as he stalked closer. Violet was growling on his left to keep his flank safe. "I gave you my everything. You were all I had and you left!"

All the riches flowing into Obsidian under his mothers' direction and Griffin's accurate calculations of opening portals to other planets were resources for the Coven's needs, not for his personal use. He wasn't even allowed in certain rooms of the mansion. The magic in his very veins had been embedded there by his mothers' efforts and lessons. Griffin had been the one building a little home with him in the room they'd come to share, she'd been the one putting a heartbeat in his palms only to leave him clutching empty sheets with a cold blade sticking out of his chest.

"Bursting your heart into atoms is exactly what you deserve." He stalked closer, the cool barrel of his shotgun and Violet's razor-sharp teeth were his only defense. The obsidian on Griffin's wrists weakened his magic and the shine of her eyes had obliterated his resolve to chase her down even from his memories.

Griffin's eyes hardened, hands balling into fists. "If you're going to shoot me, do it!" she grabbed the shotgun and pressed it into her bare skin.

The force threw him off balance and he stumbled forward, pushing the stiff metal into her sternum while her breath invaded his mouth with their faces inches apart. "Do not. Tempt me," he growled, his fingers twitching from her audacity to wrap around her throat and force more breath from her.

"Do it!" Griffin was still gripping the shotgun close to her heaving chest unafraid of the fire that could burst from the contact. "I knew this–seeing you again–would be the end of me. But if taking the shot is what will take your pain away, then I'm ready to go. As long as it will let you live." Her eyes lost focus and her head lulled, a small smile tugging at her lips and his heartstrings as her gaze dropped to Violet.

The dog was pacing behind him to no reason or direction. Her nose was lowered into the dirt in defeat.

Valtor forced Griffin's head back with the barrel of his shotgun until their eyes were locked together. "Do you think I'm that dumb? That I'll believe you after all your lies?" He had to watch out for the hands. One wrong move and they'd be in his chest again. Or his would be in her hair under the clink of his forgotten shotgun to draw a moan out of her that would melt him in a puddle at her feet.

"It doesn't matter what you believe, what either one of us believes." Vulnerability was sealed in her eyes like they were amber preserving history. Bullets wouldn't work on them. Shattering them would only spill the truth of his own wrongdoings. "It will not change the fact that I love you." A gasp came – from him or from her. "You can cut me open and reach inside me to feel it if you need to. It will still be there once my heart has stopped. Not even the planet can absorb it."

His hands shook as the shotgun trailed back between her breasts. The dry ground would soak up her blood instead of water and the forest would claim her body but the energy pouring from her wouldn't disappear in the well in the planet's core. Obsidian absorbed negativity from all over the universe to cleanse it and Griffin had thought it fair to trade protection for resources borrowed from other planets when it had little to no of its own. But she was offering her life to him for nothing in return. She was offering the purity of her love and that wasn't something the planet could protect from or swallow.

Valtor licked his lips. His mouth watered in her proximity for her to plant her deception into it. Yet his tongue hardly moved with his words in the breeze her breath was on his taste buds. "You're playing mind games. This is nothing more than manipulation." She could be an inch from his face and hop into a portal to the other end of the universe in the blink of an eye. And he hadn't been able to follow despite the pull in his heart.

"Nothing's stopping you from pulling the trigger. Or taking your hunting knife and carving out my heart." The blade weighed on his chest from its secret pocket as her voice reverberated through him. "Go ahead! Eat it like I always knew you would. And once its in your system, so will be my love." Her hand slid down the barrel of the shotgun, her fingers bathing his in their heat. "It will be a part of you, flowing through your veins and making you mine forever. Death by your hand does not scare me. I'll never die inside you."

The metal burned in his hand. Or that was the love for her that had never gone out. Not even at the look of the vast blackness of the sky where she could have disappeared forever. "You know I won't-"

"I know you want to." Griffin's hand slipped on top of his, colder than the blade of his knife over his heart. "But you won't. You pull that trigger and you lose me forever. You're not going to cause yourself that pain. Not even after I ran away." Her skin was like stone grinding against his to chip away his resistance. She knew him to his selfish core. Having her love forever inside him where he wouldn't be able to touch it wouldn't be enough even if she wouldn't be able to leave again.

"How could you bring my heart back after you fled with it?" It was right there clasped between her teeth. A kiss would free it and tugging at it with all his might would rip it to shreds. It was a miracle Griffin hadn't chewed it to bits when Violet's teeth had sunk into her flesh.

"Because we belong to each other. With each other." Her heart trembled in her pulse point for him to see. "No portal between worlds can change that. Not the one that took me away and not the one that brought me back."

How could he kill her when simply hating her would pull her out of his arms? Taking a step back would make him crumble under his self-loathing. He couldn't be the one to take her away from himself. Not when she was right there like a vision. One only she could make come true.

"Would you have ever come back if my mothers hadn't dragged you here?"

"Does it matter?" her voice was like a gunshot in his ears, like the weapon in his hand had gone off pressed into his own chest rather than hers.

The metal clanked as it hit the ground where he threw it and a shot echoed through the forest on accident that had Violet barking frantically. It could have been Griffin's magic wringing the bullet from his shotgun to drop him dead – he didn't care. His fingers had the freedom to tangle in her purple tresses again and a moan greeted him on her lips when he pulled her to his mouth.

No. It didn't matter. It didn't matter what could have happened when she was in his arms, chest pressing into his with her ragged breaths. She returned his kisses, teeth sliding over his lips to mark her territory like her life depended on it although she could pick up his shotgun and leave a hole in his chest. All she had to do to get away with murder was part with several hairs and blink back the tears from having them torn away in his death grip. Yet, all she was grasping at were the lapels of his coat to hold him in the reach of her kisses. She was still giving him everything she had with the threat to her life gone. It was all the proof he could want.

Her legs wrapped around his waist as he hoisted her against the tree. The bandage on her calf was wet with blood under his fingers but she was pulling him closer like she'd lost her mind to love and couldn't understand it was impossible to push herself into him more. Her magic would be no use for healing in her state and his would be no use at all.

Her skin was still soft despite the odd chilliness that had fallen over it and broke under his teeth on her collar bone to let him have her blood. Her wet flesh welcomed him as he entered her once he'd pulled all the fabric of her dress and underwear out of his way. His fingers dipped under her neckline to find her breast but brushed over dried mud instead. The rough surface of confusion threw him back into a questioning stare aimed at her.

"My chest was pierced by the Obsidian belladonna your mothers pushed me on." Obsidian threads from the land ran through the plant to claim each part of it and give it a crown of crystal-edged petals. The black crust was like a blade that cut through the flesh to release the poison of the belladonna directly into the bloodstream. Only Griffin's magic had saved her life from the toxins rushing from the roots to the petals of the plant. "The blood from the wound would draw the dog to me for sure in case my deep frozen state interfered with my scent." She didn't have to tell him it had been mother Belladonna's idea and magic to do all of that to her.

Valtor ran his hands over every inch of her in his reach. Her skin had remained cold after a full night of running. He had refrained form startling her with his magic but the heat of it passed from him into her to leave her body all his to claim with Belladonna's frost retreating from it. Griffin was burning now, hot moans dropping from her mouth with every thrust as she reached a hand under her dress to stroke them both further into the heights of pleasure. His open-mouthed kisses to her neck let him feel every breath and his tongue leaving a warm, wet trail over the column of her throat had her gasping. He'd cover her all in himself to erase the horror they'd been subjected to.

"We have to get you out of here." His mothers would finish the hunt themselves if he came back to the mansion without a trophy for their walls.

"Get the dog out of here." Griffin's voice wavered as she moved her palm under his shirt to brace herself on his abs. She let out a shuddering sigh, eyelids falling over the suns of his world. "We don't need public. She already saw enough." Griffin licked her lips, head falling back to thud against the tree trunk lightly with every push of his hips into her. Her back would be bruised with reminders of the movements they'd shared like they were one.

Valtor's whistle had Violet's attention and he sent her to keep the perimeter clear. His mothers wouldn't dirty their hands right away and she could hold her own against any other Coven member to buy him and Griffin time to talk.

He'd spend eternity watching Griffin's face scrunched up in concentration as she grabbed at her pleasure, hips matching his motions, but they had no more than a couple hours. "We need a plan."

Griffin knit her eyebrows at his interruption. "I had one right before they dragged me out of my life. I found a small island of pure amethyst orbiting an uninhabited planet." Energy currents turned all kinds of crystal structures into mini heavenly bodies. Someone with her talents had no trouble finding all the curiosities of space. "I was going to go there. Live on the planet and meditate on the island to clear my thoughts and overcome my grief." Amethyst was good for that. Just the shade of her hair cleansed his mind from agony to leave him clutching harder at the purple strands to keep them from slipping through his fingers.

"I wasn't dead." Abandoned but not dead. Not yet. He'd retreated into the dreams of a sky set ablaze in violet by a rising sun. They'd become his poison and his cure until she'd come back to put his heart back together.

Griffin's eyes snapped open, tears gleaming all over their gold. "I was dead to you."

"Not dead. Never dead." His fingers slid over the top of her breast to the wound she'd closed with mud to make her the one shivering. Her cold, lifeless body stuffed in his mind would force him apart at the seams.

"I was hoping there I would come up with a strategy for future action," Griffin continued to distract him. She rolled her hips into him and gave him a moan to ensure her success.

"Good." He leaned in to pant against her ear. "You continue according to plan then." His mothers would never look for her there. The only resource they'd ever pursued was human lives. His job had been to keep her distracted so she'd do the groundwork unknowingly.

"What about you?" He could hear her frowning over the pain of her nails digging into his abs.

He grabbed her wrist and pressed it harder into him so she'd be branded over his body. "I can't come. They'd put everything into finding us. It'd be more dangerous."

Griffin pushed her body flush against him, all of her weight falling on his muscles with her back barely brushing the tree. Her teeth were gliding over his neck but she pierced him with her voice instead. "You can't go back without my corpse."

He kissed her forcefully, tongue stuffing her mouth to trap the words there. They'd suffocate with no oxygen and Griffin yielded to him for a moment, pulling him closer until they were out of breath.

They fell back on the tree and a whimper was forced from her lips. Their mouths were just an inch away, breath mingling between them in perfect harmony. He had to be the one to speak first and keep the magic alive.

"You left once because there were people who needed help." Because he'd lied to her that that wasn't the case to keep her to himself. Her heart was bigger than his and he'd tried to cut it down in fear of the difference between them.

"Valtor-"

"I'm not losing you again." Because her heart was so big, he had a home. And she could give the same to others, too. "Once you have a plan, we end this once and for all and you'll never leave my side again." He had to let go of her hand to slip his fingers between her legs and drive her wild with his love for her.

Griffin was the one grabbing his wrist now. "I don't want to leave you with them again." Her fingers clasped his in a firm grip despite the trembling of her body. "They'll pay you back for not bringing their plan for us to fruition."

"They can't. Without you they need someone else to open portals for them." He'd picked up enough from the time they'd spent together to do that job without giving her perfect results. No one else could fill that role for his mothers' plan and the punishment for letting Griffin escape hadn't been nearly severe enough thanks to his usefulness. "You already gave me a weapon against them." He stroked his fingers over her arousal. It was only his place to be the source of her shaking. She deserved all the pleasure she could stand.

"I've made you a weapon for them," Griffin arched into his touch to escape the guilt she was trying to pile on herself.

Valtor thrust into her with all the vigor she'd given him to make her eyes roll in the back of her head and her thighs quiver around him. "They won't get to use me long but you're the only one who can find out how to stop them. You have to be protected." If his mothers wanted her dead instead of brainwashed and turning Obsidian into their empire of slavery, then she was dangerous enough to bring them down. "I'll come for you. Now come for me."

"Valtor."

It was not a scream of passion. It was an uttered love confession that made him weak in the knees. Supporting her was the only thing keeping him upright through his weakness. She was still bleeding – not just from her calf, but from her chest, too. If having his heart hadn't mended the wound he'd left on hers with his lies, he had to give her more. He had to send her away to heal so that the world could become a home for them again.

[sillylittlelouie]

Children Develop Trust

Awareness was slow in coming, after the late night that he'd had last night. It came in parts, ebbing and rising like the tide. The first thing that Frankenstein noticed in one of his more lucid moments, was that there was a weight on his chest. A warm, sweaty and panting weight, that shivered slightly, even as it peacefully snored. Swallowing his disgusted sigh, he looked down at the child whose upper body laid across his chest.

M-21 whined softly in his sleep as he wiped his runny nose in the scientist's sleeping shirt. He shifted, dragging more of his body onto Frankenstein's chest.

He must have agitated his ribs, as he let out a keening wail before he'd done much moving.

Frankenstein waited with bated breath, to see what his little one's reaction would be.

When the boy's fever had first set in, he'd been inconsolable. The slightest brush against his chest, or movement of his ribs while he slept would have woken him with a bout of coughing that would culminate in a bawling fit. Now, the young werewolf merely whimpered, shifting once more before settling into deep slumber once more.

Whether M-21's decreased discomfort came from the healing of his injuries or adaptation to the pain, Frankenstein wouldn't be able to tell. Not without getting the child up for a series of tests.

He pursed his lips. M-21 wasn't a bundle of overactive pain receptors anymore. Nor was he losing any more much-needed sleep.

That thought brought a smile to Frankenstein's face as he craned his neck to press a soft kiss to the boy's sweaty forehead. It was a small blessing that he would not take for granted.

Still, he would have loved to rend Shark to pieces for putting his youngest through this suffering. But alas, the dead could not be brought back to life, no matter what Mary Shelley had speculated.

Still, a man could dream.

Unless he had an important meeting that required his physical presence.

Frankenstein opened his eyes, not knowing when he had closed them.

Right, he had that board meeting today.

With a heavy heart, Frankenstein sat up carefully, one hand under M-21's bum and the other on the back of his neck, attempting to rouse his little one with the action. When that failed he gently, but incessantly patted the boy on his bum.

It was slow going, but eventually, M-21 grumbled as he cracked open an eye. The patting continued, and the other eye opened. A pathetic whine came from him.

It was all that Frankenstein could do, to stand his ground and insist that the child woke up. He had to force himself to keep tapping M-21's bottom, until the boy stopped his whining.

"Good morning," the scientist whispered, smiling when the boy sleepily grumbled at him once more.

"Mm'ning Ff'anken," he murmured rubbing at his eyes with tiny fists. There had been casts on those arms, up to three days ago.

"Will you walk, or would you like to be carried?" Truthfully, there was nothing wrong with his ward's legs. But, after being brutalized by an overgrown bully, Frankenstein felt that the werewolf was entitled to a bit of spoiling-

"...c'n walk..."

-which was always going to be declined, apparently.

"That's not what I asked," Frankenstein replied, taking the boy's hand regardless, "but I will accept that answer."

Frankenstein led him out of the room and down into the living room. Setting him down on the couch, he allowed him to capture a few more minutes of sleep as he went ahead and began preparing breakfast. The smells soon roused the other members of his household and, one by one, they all joined the scientist and the young werewolf.

Seira's gentle voice drifted into the kitchen as she led M-21 away for a bath. Her exact words were lost, covered up by the sound of the little one's grumbling, and the rustle of Regis as he prepared their belongings for school. Tao and Takeo were the next to shuffle down. The hacker bounding with all the exuberance of a puppy, while the sniper silently slid into the room. Both immediately migrated towards the coffee pot, casting wary glances at him.

Frankenstein gave them a tired smile as he flipped a pancake, and they relaxed slightly.

"How's M-21?" Tao ventured, pouring a large mug of coffee. A very large mug.

Frankenstein eyed it skeptically. He kept on frowning at it, until Tao finally got the message.

"He's doing much better," he replied, smiling brilliantly once he saw the caffeine being split into two mugs. "His fever's been greatly reduced, and he's been staying awake for longer."

M-21 had also been sleeping for longer periods without nightmares, but Frankenstein was sure that he didn't need to mention it. They'd all noticed the distinct lack of screeching in the middle of the night, he was sure.

"Will you be sending him to school then?" Takeo asked, taking the second mug from Tao. Confusion marred his features when Frankenstein shook his head. "Why not? If he's doing much better, then shouldn't he be able to resume his schooling?"

"While his internal bleeding has stopped, his temperature is still very high, Takeo."

The sniper's gaze sharpened. "Didn't you say that his fever was lowered as well?" he shot back, as if he were daring Frankenstein to renege on his words.

As if he would take the child and flee, if he found that Frankenstein was unreliable. The only thing stopping him, the scientist surmised, was the fact that he would have to take M-21 back to the Union, if he did.

Again, Frankenstein sighed. He began putting their breakfast on plates as he contemplated his words.

Tao and Takeo were much more stable than M-21, and their modifications were more complex. Illness, let alone illness in unmodified humans, was most likely an unfamiliar concept for them.

"His fever is still high enough to be dangerous, for a regular human."

Takeo nodded, his face smoothing out into an unreadable slate. "So you will both remain home for a little longer?"

A tempting thought, but an ill-advised one, considering the amount of paperwork that he just knew was waiting for him. "He's coming to work with me today," Frankenstein sighed, turning his back on them as he motioned for them to take a few plates and follow him into the dining room. His right hand ached at the thought of the veritable mountain of paper. "I have a very important meeting today, and I can't afford to miss it. M-21 however, can be in the office while I conduct my meeting."

He set his cargo down on the table and paused, hands resting on the back of a chair. He'd need both hands and then some, if he wanted to take stock of all the times that his colleagues of years past had ever needed to bring a young child to the factory. Or, in more recent cases, the office. "It might even be expected, in fact."

When he looked at the two DA-5 members, he was a bit surprised to see a calculating glint in Tao's eyes. He'd thought that the hacker had finally been satisfied with the results of his previous tests of Frankenstein's reactions. Apparently he'd been wrong.

"Ya sure that you're not only taking him because you think that everybody else thinks you should?"

For a split second, Tao's easy grin fell away, replaced with something colder. More clinical.

Then it returned, warm enough to  melt the ice in the freezer, and the meat in the deep freeze. His eyes however, remained frozen.

Frankenstein pursed his lips. It seemed that it was finally time to place all of his cards on the table. Because, depending on his next answer, he'd never earn the hacker's complete trust.

Honesty would be the best policy, at this moment.

He smiled at the two men as he stretched a hand out to the hallway, where Seira was just emerging with a freshly showered and, surprisingly, coherent child.

"Well," he started, giving Seira a grateful nod as he gently lifted M-21 into his arms, "I'd be lying if I said that that wouldn't be an added reason to keep him close." He tweaked the child's nose, relishing the fact that the boy was feeling well enough to bat his hand away.

Still smiling, he swept over to join his patiently waiting master at the table.

M-21 was in pain. Raizel was certain that he could feel that pain, despite the fact that he'd  been unable to sense the emotions of the teachers once they were in the administration wing, and he was in his classroom.

In his mind's eye, he could see the youthful face, contorted in pain, as it had been for those first few nights. The wet, hacking coughs drifted into the room, echoing around and drowning each of the human professor's words.

When it became unbearable, Raizel swallowed his recalcitrance and peered into the minds of his unconcerned colleagues, if only to discover how they could ignore the sound.

…the sound was the product of his own subconscious? That would not do.

That was how he found himself standing on the inside of Frankenstein's office, listening to the child's ragged breathing as he slept on the sole sofa in the room.

His friend had run from the room only a few minutes after Raizel had joined him in his office, but not before leaving him with explicit instructions on what should be done if the young one woke before his return.

Raizel had almost been sorely tempted to cut the human off as he gave a staggeringly large list that he had no hope of remembering. Decorum, however, kept his mouth shut.

Barely.

But, a victory was a victory nonetheless, and Frankenstein was allowed to list duties and plans and contingency plans, right up until he was forced to leave or risk missing the meeting entirely.

In a few seconds, his feet had taken him from the center of the room, and over to the sofa. Leaning over, he used a single finger to stroke a plump cheek. A memory of the recently mottled skin rose to the fore of his mind, causing him to frown.

The assassin that Tao and Takeo had called their teammate had caused the boy grievous bodily harm.

Frankenstein, to his credit, had tried to keep the full extent of the damage from them. But, such a level of suffering was impossible to hide. Even if one was as talented as Frankenstein.

As if he sensed Raizel's disquiet, M-21 drew back with a whimper. When the boy squirmed and let out a breathless cry, he realized what was going on.

Placing a hand at M-21's side to prevent him from moving anymore, Raizel winced at the feel of a section of ribs as they flailed about. Every time M-21 inhaled, that particular area dug into his lungs, the pressure only being relieved when he exhaled.

Raizel frowned once more.

Blood had already been collecting in the boy's lungs, because of the stab wound that Shark had delivered. With this...Raizel's mind blanked, and he drew on Frankenstein's knowledge for more assistance.

With the 'flail chest', M-21's ribs were bruising the boy's lungs. Already, there was blood pooling within, and air escaping his lung.

Frankenstein would have to cut the boy open, in order to repair this damage. At M-21's age, there was no way that his body would be able to heal without assistance.

Or...

Frankenstein would worry if he ever found out what he was about to do. But the child was in pain, and Raizel...h-he couldn't let the boy suffer any more than he already had. He wouldn't let the boy suffer.

Not when he was so young, with so much more of his life ahead.

The thought of such a thing was inherently abhorrent, for some reason.

Glancing around to make sure that they were indeed alone, the Noblesse began funneling his power into the child's chest. The infantile bone resisted his efforts at first, adamantly committing to their positions. But, at Raizel's insistence, they began to ease into their proper positions.

Through it all, M-21 wore a grimace. Once it was finished though, he heaved a sigh of relief and burrowed further into his blanket and the couch.

Drained by the effort, Raizel sank into a nearby chair and closed his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them again, there was a faint sense of pressure against his torso.

Glancing down, Raizel froze at the sight of the white blanket draped across his upper body. How had..? He looked up, scanning the seemingly empty room for M-21.

"You're up."

Raizel looked down at his feet. A pair of grey eyes blinked back up at him.

"Where's Franken?" M-21 asked. He might have added on something else, but the rest was lost to his yawn. His eyelids began drooping, and, as if it would stop him from yawning once more, he began to crawl into Raizel's lap. "...'m ribs don't hurt no more."

"They've healed," Raizel informed him.

The boy yawned again, curling up against his chest. "...'s good, right...?"

"Yes, it is."

Another yawn. "Good."

Raizel held himself stiffly as he allowed the wolf pup to make himself comfortable. Once the boy was settled, he allowed his hand to rest atop his head.

Frankenstein had been doing so with increasing frequency, during the past few days. He'd claimed that the motion had proved to be soothing, for M-21.

However, now that he was here, running his hand through the boy's hair, he wondered if his friend had also been finding comfort in the motion.

M-21 shifted beneath his hand, and Raizel looked down, slightly curious as to what he would do next.

The boy however, seemed content to allow the question in his heart to go unsaid, if even for a few moments more.

Raizel's hand resumed its path, combing through the grey locks. He stroked his head in silence, mindful to avoid the burn of M-21's desire, lest he unwittingly intrude upon his thoughts.

His hand fell away when M-21 began moving again. But, before he could glance at the boy, his vision was filled with grey.

Raizel blinked, and the grey retreated, just enough for him to see the full face.

"I..." M-21 began, hesitancy clouding his voice, hanging around him like a dark curtain. "Can...can I-" he swallowed, and fell silent.

His mind, however, was a cacophony of half-formed questions and thoughts. Nothing would stay, flitting into being and dissipating just as quickly as they had come.

"I wanna-"

The rubble.

The pile of rubble that had trapped M-21's comrade loomed, higher and more daunting than Raizel had ever seen it, whenever it graced the little one's thoughts.

He blinked, his hand resuming its path across the top of M-21's head. "I'm sure that he would not mind if you were to go and visit him." He paused, using his fingers to loosen a knot in the child's hair. "I will accompany you."

The pup gave him a weak smile. "Can...can I bring some flowers too? I wanna pick flowers for him, because...because..."

It flashed across his mind's eye, almost too quickly for him to get a proper impression. But Raizel had seen it.

He smiled. "As many as we can."

[sanoiro]

Lucifer Meta: Smile

This meta will be divided in three parts as it involves Chloe, Trixie and of course Dad/God. 

Let’s begin with the most difficult yet easier to decipher. Trixie. 

Trixie is just an 11 year old on the threshold of teenagehood and now understands more than people think. Her relationship with Lucifer is not great at that point and it becomes worse when she takes it out of her scope, places it on her mother and gets it back because then she has to ask what she means to Lucifer as well.

Smile carries a great optimism as a song. A melody first from Chaplin's 1936 film Modern Times up to this day it carries its innocence. And through the eyes of the children comes the truth that Deckerstar in P2 starts and remains in a very painful place not to due to the absence of love but because it overflows.

Now Dad is seen outside Chloe’s place, his visit was not meant to be without him talking to Chloe addressing certain things but as we see when he listens to Trixie two things happen. 

First he realises that everyone is in pain and Lucifer is blind to his love because he cannot connect with his son while the woman that has given Lucifer an abundance of it. However there is also so much pain from Chloe’s part, the same pain that Lucifer has exhibited in the Family Dinner. Suddenly Lucifer’s plea to have a relationship with him in order to have a relationship [with Chloe] makes so much more sense. Dad realises that Lucifer sees himself as broken and that in reality affects his relationship with Chloe and everything is sourcing from Dad’s inability to get close to humans despite having created them. 

On a second note the one that started singing was Trixie not Chloe. Trixie expresses the same anguish over her mother that Lucifer did over his Dad on the Family Dinner. Dad is now more aware of how children are affected by their parents how they try to fix things but usually they bottle everything up because the parent is not there to realise they need to open up. Parent-children relationships are always hard but like He wants for Lucifer to be happy, he has ignored Lucifer’s feelings over everything. Better yet he is completely unaware of what is happening hence why in the end of the episode he says to Lucifer that he cannot fix Lucifer. Not because he doesn’t want to again but because he cannot as Lucifer has said already in S2 that he is not broken but the distorted view of himself follows him well into S5P2. 

So Dad refrains from having a talk with Chloe and leaves to find his son.

Chloe’s part is the most difficult one... As the song progresses we see her main memories of her relationship with Lucifer... So let’s analyse them a bit...

In order to do that we need perhaps to put them side by side with Lucifer’s panic attack memories in 2x12.

Different circumstances of course but it is interesting what kind of memories they were more vivid for them also... 

Both Chloe and Lucifer start with their meeting at LUX and end their recall of their times together with their first kiss by the water in 2x12. Although three seasons apart we see that although they have a different footing in their relationship subconsciously they were always on the same page...  

So Chloe like Lucifer starts with their meeting at LUX, who could ever forget that one? 

There is an innocence in his smile there something that Lucifer’s memories didn’t hold. He remember himself as being cocky and flirty but for some reason she saw him despite everything as a goodhearted man from the very beginning... Interesting to know that...

In her next memory we see her smiling and now we can be assured that she was smitten with him as much as he was in that scene. Perhaps neither of them admitted it but there was something there and now in S5 she is willing to allow herself to remember that moment as a very beautiful one where she indeed felt something. Surely not love. Perhaps lust but both felt a connection and that’s enough but also rare.

Her playful moments around him as her second memory also remind us how she tried to coax him on opening himself to her advances to a stage where she thought there was something and like then, in S5 Chloe has more cards on her hand on that relationship but not the words she need to move forward so her insecurity is creeping like it did back in 2x12. 

That insecurity and naiveness comes also with youth which she experienced on Lucifer’s prom dance at LUX. There was something special there for sure but again the key here is innocence and insecurity. Do not forget that next Chloe moved to Marcus when Lucifer drew back only two episodes later on ‘Let The Pinhead Sing’ aka 3x17. 

Now though Chloe knows not to give up. She has the knowledge she needs but that does not make Lucifer’s distance over their relationship and his feelings any less painful. So like in S3 she is waiting for Lucifer to open up but it ain’t easy and as we know she will not wait for much longer.  

Next comes the scar scene. What an iconic scene but also a scene where Chloe understands not only his physical scars but his emotional ones. It’s a moment when she realises he is in a bad shape, where he shows afterwards his own insecurity and vulnerability to her... Not with bullets but by a being that is not accustomed on people caring, who believes all will eventually disregard him and that is a connection to his Daddy issues. What it is also is that he is not human and thus his baggage are so much heavier and agonising to carry around. 

But even then, even with his scars and his deep open wounds when his Father is mentioned or when he awkwardly attempts to show emotion, he is capable of feeling so much. She remembers his words as she pretended she was asleep, he remember his gift and she now knows more than ever it was never a joke. It was him being vulnerable to her because he trusted her and yes he is capable of love...

He is capable of love because she saw him mourn and love through a friendship with a priest. Only a person who feels so much, loves so much can also find himself in so much pain... So she understands his pain but she allows herself to feel hers as well and she knows she has to be next to him once again and she does that in 5x11 and onwards. She is clear about her feelings soon after when she believes he has adjusted with his father a bit in 5x13. 

What she also remembers is that again he is a man who needs support to thrive. It is perhaps why she assumes later on she has to give up her job as Lucifer is more fragile than anyone thinks. He also attaches himself to people and places and again he has exhibiting love...

In one of their earlierst *good*days she was able to see him feel and respond to love. Share it as well. Because this is real and Chloe knows she cannot doubt him. Linda has warned her as much. He is set to destroy everything good that comes his way so again he needs help. She needs to trust him as she did in 2x12. 

Because when she trusts him, she knows they are incredible. She was the one that initiated their relationship, their lovemaking and their partnership after a while but he has a tenacity to make things last if only he is allowed some space and is given the love he needs.

And there have been so many happy times... In 5x07 she cannot fathom that Lucifer cannot love. He can love but whether he is in love is a different matter now. 

She remembers when she felt his love (above) but also when he cryptically said it when he again opened up to her with his wings. There is a purity about Lucifer than not many if anyone can realise aside from her and it’s perhaps that reason she does not recall his bad days as she always remember him as the person she met in 1x01. A cocky lovable bastard. 

So when he left he said: “It was always you Chloe”. Again she remembers that she knows he means more and her insecurities are great so that is why knowing she offers him in 5x13 an easier front. Are we together or not? Is this a relationship? She has faith in him to return to her as she had faith to him when he left to go to Hell. 

And she has faith because she remebers he has protected her so much. “You are safe that’s all that matters”. If we ever wondered about 3x24 well now it is canon that Chloe even in a hazy state was aware what happened that day. 

That Lucifer protected her, he bled for her and made sure no harm would come her way. For a selfish being he was so effortlessly giving to her and that again is Love. A bleeding one and she knows she would have done the same... She eventually did in 5x16. 

Seriously... It’s canon she remember that scene people...

And here comes the realisation again. He would endanger himself whether vulnerable or not for her over and over and over again. He told her so in 5x02 and that was again one of his grand admisions. Because since the beginning he loved her...

Since that first kiss they both knew... Both end up their recollection of their relationship with that kiss. Because they were both so open there, especially Lucifer.  It was also the point where they know even for a brief while what to do the right way in order for the person they love to feel safe eventually, consequences be damned. Because they love them so through all the anguish how is it possible not to smile?

There is love. It is apparent but not told by Lucifer yet it’s right there so they will both smile for what they feel while they try to protect the one they love. Pain be damned. 

[ravenforce]

Cheating Death VI

Warning/s: None

Summary: Natasha confronts you and finds out the truth. 

A/N: Now, shall end it at that? Also, stay safe. Stay home. x

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

“No,” Carol yelled at Natasha, making the team wince except for the redhead.

“I’m not asking permission, Carol.” Natasha continued to disarm herself, pulling all her guns and knives out and on the table, making everyone confused.

“Okay but you’re not going alone,” Carol tried to reason. “I’m coming with you.”

Natasha turned to her girlfriend and sighed. “I can very well take care of myself.” She’s trying really hard not to be aggressive with the blonde but Carol’s keeping her from being where she wanted to be longer.

“I know -”

“Then let me do this alone.”

“But that woman is dangerous.” The rest of the team couldn’t do much more than just sit and watch the heated exchange.

“She’s not gonna hurt me.” Natasha sighed, quietly remembering the moment your eyes connected. Carol crossed her arms and scoffed, making the redhead look back at her.

“You don’t know that.”

“You don’t know her,” Natasha countered.

“And you do?”

“I do, Carol! She’s my other Clint!” Natasha yelled in frustration. Carol opened her mouth but Natasha was already storming out of the room. Carol looked at the team and they all shook their head.

“If Y/N Al Ghul is her other Clint, there’s no force on earth or beyond that could stop Natasha from going to her,” Wanda tried to explain. Carol hasn’t been earth-bound long enough to see who Clint was for Natasha. They were best friends, partners, and Wanda knows by the look you gave Natasha a few hours ago, that the two of you are even more than just that.

***

Talia and Nyssa are having a drink by the bar at home when one of their guards announced that someone wanted to see them. They looked at each other and sighed. The breakfast fiasco with the Avengers rendered them in the mood for day drinking.

“Let them in.” Talia’s smooth voice reverberated around the room.

“Hello.” Natasha greeted politely. Nyssa cocked an eyebrow at her sister and took a swig of her beer. “I wanted to see Y/N. Is she home?”

“State your business with our sister?” Nyssa spoke with her serious CEO voice.

They’ve never met Natasha before but you have regaled them of so many stories about how you met in Budapest, how she had the most beautiful green eyes you’ve ever seen, how you have adventured through Europe with your other friend Clint until Ra’s caught up with you. They’ve probably heard it all, even after you’ve come back to the League, Natasha was still the topic of every whispered story you shared with your sisters at dead of the night when the three of you are sure that your father has retired for the day. They’ve never met her yet they feel like they’ve known her just as long.

“I just wanted to talk. It’s been more than a decade since I -” Natasha choked back a soft sob. Thinking about how much time has passed without her knowing that you’re alive hurts her like no other.

Talia sighed, Natasha looked tired like the big revelation of the day took years out of her life. “She’s not here, Natasha.”

Natasha bowed her head and was about to apologize for disturbing their time, again, when Nyssa spoke. “But if you know our sister, you’ll know where to find her.”

She looks back at the brunette and nod. “Thank you.”

***

“We’re being followed,” Natasha whispered as the two of you continued to walk hand-in-hand after just spending your first-anniversary dinner at one of your favourite restaurants in Scotland.

It’s been over a year since you two have me in Budapest. Your friend Clint called you for help on a mission, which you easily agreed to, to be away from your father for a while. The mission should have been simple enough for two highly skilled assassins like Osiris and Ronin but no one told you that you’ll have to put down the highly dangerous KGB agent Natasha Romanova. 

You didn’t know what possessed you to defect from your original orders but something about Natasha speaks to you even when she was doing her absolute best to kill you. Something in her eyes tells you she wanted the same thing you wanted most in life; freedom. You remembered it too well, the look on Clint’s face when you finally pinned down Natasha on the ground but instead of delivering the final blow, you offered her an out.

You remember the way she looked at you too like you just grew two heads. You told her about your predicament with your father, and how you wanted a life out of the league. Natasha was skeptical but she wanted nothing more but to get away from the path she’s on. That night the three of you decided you will be the masters of your own fate, and boarded the first train out of Budapest. 

Currently, you were living in Scotland but you will be moving again soon as to avoid being tracked for staying in one place for too long. The three of you didn’t mind, thinking of the situation as an opportunity to see the world rather than sulk about being fugitives from your own pasts and families. 

You shook your head lightly to bring yourself back to the present. You knew this day would come. You knew your time with Natasha is numbered. So you had put up a plan with Clint to ensure Nat’s gonna survive. 

“Y/N, where are we going?” She asked when you pulled her in the opposite direction of your apartment. You two are almost jogging on the side of the street for five minutes when Natasha recognized the route.

“Why are we going to Clint’s?” She sounded confuse and a little bit scared. You wanted nothing more but to stop, pull her in a hug, and assure her that everything will be alright but you don’t have enough time.

You nearly kicked the front door to Clint’s building off the hinges in your haste to get inside. Clint opened his door after three frantic knocks. 

“What the fuck is happening?” He asked confused after you went directly to his room without so much as a greeting.

“We were being followed,” Natasha answered while retrieving her guns that she taped under his furniture. 

When you walked back inside the living room, Natasha was baffled when you handed her and Clint a backpack. Clint shouldered his immediately. 

“Wait -” Natasha started to say. 

“You remember the plan?” Clint nodded. 

“What plan?” She yelled making you and Clint turn to her. Clint took her arm lightly and tried to manoeuvre her towards the front door.

“No!” She yelled and yanked her arm from Clint’s hold and run back to you. You easily caught her in a tight embrace. “I’m not going anywhere without you.” 

You sucked in a deep breath to keep yourself from changing your mind, and backing out of your own damn plan. “It’s -” you chocked down a sob. “It’s only temporary.” You pulled back to look at your girlfriend’s face. “I will find you, I promise.” 

A hollow laugh sounded behind the closed door. A laugh you’re so familiar with, you subconsciously pushed Natasha behind you. Then the door burst open, revealing your father’s smiling face. 

“Y/N Al Ghul, what did I tell you about making promises you cannot keep?” He stopped at the threshold, Clint moved sideways to help shield Natasha too. 

“I never broke a promise before, father.” You spat out. Ra’s just shrugged since he doesn’t really care. “Let them go.” 

Ra’s laughed before pinning you with a look like he’s trying to search something within you. “Okay,” he said simply. 

“Okay?” Clint whispered confuse but you didn’t pay him any mind. 

“Give me your word. No harm is to come to them.” 

“Give me your word that you will be the heir to my throne, and I will make sure that these two puny humans you so care about will be unharmed and even be put under the protection of the league.” 

You stared at your father for a minute as you mull the situation over. You can feel Natasha tugging at the ends of your shirt from behind. “I give you my word,” you said softly. Your father grinned so hard, Clint wondered how his face hasn’t split in half. 

“Very well.” You father stepped aside to let Natasha and Clint passage. 

You looked at Clint before the guy was practically dragging Natasha to the door. You didn’t dare look away from your father. You know him too well to trust his words. You know that it can’t be that easy. True to his nature, you watched in slow motion as he pulled out his dagger from under his tunic, and right when Natasha has her back on your father, he made a move to stab her. You teleported yourself behind Natasha, catching your father’s dagger between your chest cavity.

Natasha gasped and yelled. Her knees buckled as she watches you bleed out. She tried to come back to you but Clint stopped her by wrapping his arms around her torso.

You caught Clint’s eyes. “Run,” you mouthed and Clint carried Natasha out of his own building.

***

Finding you wasn’t as hard as Natasha thought it would be. You’ve always had the affinity towards the altitude. So, it was no surprise to Natasha when she found you on the top floor of the Empire State Building, legs dangling on the side of the building. She didn’t announce herself, she knew you well enough to know that you know she was there. She just stood there quietly watching your back for a minute, trying to figure out what she’s feeling exactly.

She missed you. If there was a God, and if Natasha believed in Him, He would know that Natasha has missed you for the last decade that she hasn’t seen you. She misses you so much but she’s also confused. She thought you were dead for a decade but there you are, in front of her, alive and well. She’s getting frustrated and angry too.

“Hey, Tasha. Long time, no see.” She can hear the teasing in your voice but this time, she can’t think it’s cute and funny. Your smile dropped when you heard her grit her teeth.

“I thought you were dead.”

You frowned at the New York City skyline. “I was,” you answered simply. Natasha knew you weren’t exactly human by your ungodly ability in combat, and ability to heal quickly but she didn’t know you were almost immortal. She didn’t know about the Lazarus pit, as well. So, you started your brief explanation with that.

“Why didn’t you find me then?” You can hear the hurt in her voice, as clear as a summer sky. “You broke your promise.”

You gripped the ledge of the Empire State Building too tight, your knuckles turned white. “I did not.”

“Liar,” she spat out.

“I found you, multiple times.” It was your turn to grit your teeth in an attempt to reign in your rising anger. “But it wasn’t the right time.”

She was about to call you out on your bullshit but you turned around and faced her. “The first time I found you, you were with Bruce at Clint’s ranch house.” You crinkled your nose at the memory of her looking so beautiful and soft that morning, wearing a robe, and standing toe-to-toe with Bruce Banner. By the look on her face, you know that she remembers the day too.

“That’s not -” she tried to defend herself but you cut her off. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You chuckled mirthlessly. “I had a plan. Until it was finished, it wasn’t the right time.”

“Is it done?” Natasha couldn’t hide the hope in her voice even if she tries. “Is that why you’re back now?”

You only stared at her for a minute. You wish so bad that you could cross the small distance and kiss her senseless but you had to remind yourself that she’s dating someone else. “It has been done. It took a while to be strong enough to kill my father but it is done.”

“You what?”

“I killed my father, and disbanded the league to ensure no one will ever stand in the way of us ever again.” You frowned deeper. In the end, you have lost her to Captain Marvel anyway. “I killed my father to keep you safe and imagine my anger when I found out you came to fucking space and sacrificed yourself for mankind.”

Even with only the city lights illuminating your face, Natasha knows you’re about to cry. So, she finally closed the distance and pulled you in her arms. And try as you might, your body couldn’t stop itself from melting in her arms after not being home for so long.

“I’m here now,” she tried to comfort you.

“Of course you are.”

Natasha pulled back a little to look at you closely. “You didn’t come to Vormir, did you?”

You rolled your teary eyes at her like she should know the answer to that. “I can live in a world where you’re not in love with me but not in a world without you in it.”

Natasha wiped your tear-stained face. “I was never in love with someone else.”

[halinski]

Cold Bones

I’ve finally found enough courage to start working on my goal to just write when I feel like writing... there’s a long road ahead of me but here, have some self indulgent sterek bc today i remembered that last year I found out I’m not the only one who gets unreasonably freezing cold when I’m really sad. I can be wearing 2 sweaters, have a blanket and be pressed up against a strong heater and I’ll still be shivering, teeth clattering and so so fucking cold, bc it’s a psychological thing, not physical whatsoever. I guess this is also kinda me implementing my mental health stuff into sterek -another goal :) 

comforting yourself when you’re sad is v important. allow yourself to hide in bed and hug your plushy, warm yourself up and wrap your blanket around you like a cape. it helps

sterek also helps :P hopefully there will be a lot more of these spontaneous writing sessions (and hopefully it won’t take a big glass of wine for me to do what I want and love to do, aka write (sterek))

Werewolves don’t get cold, everybody knows that.

Well, they don’t get cold as easily as humans do, at the very least. Something about their metabolism makes them more adaptable. Stiles hasn’t figured it out yet. All he knows is that he’ll be freezing his ass off in four effing layers, while Erica prances around in barely more than a spaghetti tank top over her bra. They’re all like living space heaters even in the dead of summer and Stiles is jealous.

He’d also like to be figuratively hot, thank you very much, but you don’t usually get what you wish for. Most times you don’t. That’s just life.

Either way, werewolves don’t get cold and Stiles knows that better than anyone else in the world -especially compared to humans who don’t even know that werewolves exist, for example- and so he’s stumped to find out that Derek even owns sweaters. He doesn’t say anything about it, though. Derek’s allowed to make whatever ridiculous fashion choices he wants. He even gets to make thumb hole sweaters look attractive rather than cutesy ridiculous, so yeah, Stiles doesn’t get a say in any of if because he’d be sure to put his foot in his mouth and that’s not tasty.

His concern does overrule his nagging crush when he notices that in fact, Derek sometimes does get cold. Stiles can’t really see if in any of the other pack member’s behaviors and he really doesn’t think it’s just because he sees Derek more than anyone else. It’s a thing. Derek wearing a sweater and wrapping himself up in a blanket and still pressing himself deep into the cushions and making himself small.

The worst part about it is that it happens in summer, too. So when Stiles walks into the loft on a warm day that warrants a t-shirt, and he sees Derek on the couch, hiding in a blanket that goes up to his ears and is actually shivering, he puts his foot down.

“Werewolves can’t catch human colds, but you must have your own, right?” he asks, as he makes his way to the kitchen.

“No,” Derek says softly, shaking his head. “We can’t get sick. Not unless we’re poisoned or something.”

“Right.” That doesn’t exactly lessen Stiles’ worries. It takes him a moment before he remembers that Derek doesn’t even have a kettle. Much less anything to use as a heating source.

He looks through all the cupboards anyway. And the closets. There’s nothing.

“I know you’re nosy but what are you doing?” Derek sounds tired and Stiles makes his way over, letting his gaze roam over the werewolf closely. Stiles would’ve expected more snark or resistance to his snooping. Sure, this is his second home now but it’s still primarily Derek’s.

He sits down on the coffee table opposite of the alpha -who doesn’t even say anything about this unmannerly behavior.

“You’re not coming down with something,” Stiles states but it sounds as unsure as he feels.

Derek shakes his head. Stiles bites his lip subconsciously before he lets himself lean forward to place a hand on his forehead.

Derek raises an eyebrow. “I’m fine, Stiles.”

Stiles wishes he could argue with that but… he doesn’t even know what Derek’s forehead normally feels like, let alone when he’s sick – or has been poisoned or whatever. He lets his hand fall.

“You don’t seem fine,” he counters. “You’re obviously low energy and fatigued and you look tired. How do you feel?”

Derek stares at him for a long time. Stiles almost gives up hope that he’ll answer. Then, Derek looks down and makes a little movement that could be a shrug but didn’t necessarily have to be classified as such.

“I am tired,” he then says quietly, pulling the blankets tighter in around himself.

Stiles doesn’t believe it for a moment, and waits.

Derek fidgets but stubbornly doesn’t say anymore.

“You better not lie to me, Hale.” Stiles sighs and leans backs a little to give him more space. “You’re not sick and you’re not poisoned?”

“I’m not. Just tired and a little cold. That’s all.” Now, Derek meets his eyes again.

Stiles believes him. But he knows something is still off. Nevertheless, he nods eventually.

“Okay.”

“There’s no reason to worry.”

“Okay.”

And that’s that.

The next day, Derek is fine. Just like the day after that. And the day after that.

Stiles almost forgets about it.

Until the day Derek schedules a pack meeting on the anniversary of Laura’s death. Stiles assumes maybe he wants to plan some sort reference, honor her memory, or something. Except there’s no mention of her whatsoever. Derek sits, poker faced in his chair, arms crossed- all business.

What tips Stiles off is that Derek’s wearing a sweater and it’s not even autumn, yet. Yesterday Derek was in a sleeveless shirt. He was fine.

Today he’s rigid, almost vibrating from the tension, shoulders pulled up and seems to be fighting tremors. Stiles doesn’t let him out of his sight for a single second.

He takes his time packing up as the others leave one by one, until he’s the only one left. His brain has almost settled on how to approach this situation, when Derek speaks up.

“Close the window before you leave, yeah?” His voice is feather light, like he’s either afraid to speak too loud or like he doesn’t have enough strength. That’s not even the only reason why it’s weird. Stiles knows for a fact that Derek prefers windows open.

He watches the alpha pull his sleeves over his hands for a moment before he makes his way over to the window and shuts it. A glance over to Derek proves again, Derek making himself small as he huddles into a corner of the couch.

“You know, all that could’ve waited?” Stiles points out, busying himself with his backpack again in an attempt to appear casual.

“Hm?” Derek looks over.

“The meeting. It could’ve waited a few days. You don’t have to put everyone else’s demands before your needs.”

“But that’s my job as alpha.”

“It’s your job to be there for everyone, make sure everyone is okay. That includes your dumb ass,” Stiles says, pointedly zipping his bag.

“I’m fi-“ Derek attempts.

“No.”  Stiles will have none of his bullshit. Derek watches him walk away, only slightly bewildered and more determined to fight Stiles – as always – if the stubborn pout on his lips is anything to go by.

“No more bullshit,” Stiles tells him, from the kitchen where he sets up some water to boil and prepares a hot water bottle – both a courtesy of his last impromptu home improvement shopping trip. The new kettle is miraculously fast and Stiles wishes it was his, rather than Derek’s. But he can sacrifice an appliance for Derek. He owes him that much, at least.

“I know what today is,” he adds, making his way back to the couch, while simultaneously twisting the top of the hot water bottle onto it. He doesn’t specify, doesn’t want to be throwing the reminder into Derek’s face when he obviously doesn’t need one.

“And it’s okay to be sad,” he concludes, stopping in front of Derek and holding out the radiating warmth.

Derek stares at it, visibly fighting himself, and Stiles swings it a little closer until Derek takes it and gingerly pulls it closer to his chest.

“How did you know?” Derek asks, looking up to him, a lot more vulnerability cracking the emotionless mask.

“I have a lot of things filed away up here. Lots of names and facts and dates. An incredible amount of knowledge.” Stiles taps on his temple with a small smirk, grabs the fluffiest blanket and spreads it over Derek with a flourish. He makes sure to tuck in the edges of it around Derek’s body so that no cold can creep in.

Derek still sits rather uncomfortably. “I mean about-“ he gestures slightly with his arms, hot water bottle and blanket moving with him.

Stiles pats down the blanket, more of a comforting touch than anything else. “I heard someone else mention it. Getting cold. Different emotions causing different physical responses.” He shrugs, way too fond of the man in front of him. Stiles dares to go a step further and run his fingers over his hair gently.

Derek’s breath hitches.

“It’s all just psychological bullshit, really.” He shrugs. “But it works. Contact, warmth, safety… It helps.”

Stiles isn’t sure how many second tick past. His own heartbeat is beating a little too fast for measure and besides Stiles’ hand in Derek’s hair, neither of them really moves much.

Eventually though, Derek’s letting the tension bleed out a little and he lets out a breath as he says, “It does help.”

[watchtower-feed]

Dream Over

SSA Spinoff ✧ Tim Drake ✧ Subconscious Link Anon:  the Subconscious link with Tim Drake(Young Justice version) Note: Sadly, Tim barely had any spotlight in YJ so I’m writing from headcanon here. Words: 1,957

     “Tim! Behind you!”

     You shout on reflex and stop paying attention to your own surroundings. Tim knew it was there. He acts on reflex, not even looking, and shuts it down before it could take a bite at him. But you’re not so lucky.

     As Tim turns around, he witnesses the very moment an undead bites into your wrist. You scream in agony and it makes the rest of his senses numb. Your pain was vibrating through the air and he can feel it.

     You can feel its teeth boring deeper into your skin until it’s gnawing at your bone. Blood is oozing out and dripping on the ground. You try to pull your arm back which only makes it bite harder.

     You kick the zombie on the side of its head and it finally lets go of your bleeding and mangled limb. The absence of your voice knocks Tim back to his senses. He grabs you and drags you away from the rest of the horde, hacking and slashing them out of the way.

     The Narrows is a great place for escaping hordes because of its network of alleyways. Tim finds a hidden basement door and the two of you hide inside. You look around the small studio that used to be somebody’s office. There were blueprints, corkboards, and whiteboards hangup on the walls lit up by green glowing question marks littered all over the room.

     “What is this place?” you whisper.

     You sit down on a rolling stool and watch Tim go through a chest and take out a medical kit and a saw. You immediately stand back up.

     “Woah--”

     “We gotta cut it off, Y/N, before the infection spreads.”

     You back off slowly. “Na uh. No way. It’s one thing to be bit by a zombie and another to get my hand cut off.”

     Tim takes two steps forward for every step you take back. “You have to trust me.”

     You stomp your foot in place and glare at him. “Hell no. Dream over.”

     As soon as the words leave your lips, your eyes are forced open and you’re back in your bedroom. You blink three times before you assess your surroundings, making sure you really are in your room.

     Tim’s subconscious is a lot stronger than yours, which means he mostly controls everything that happens in the dreamscape. But you talked about it and decided to create a safe word. ‘Dream over’. Anytime any one of you says it, you’ll both wake up. 

     But that doesn’t mean you trust the system. Whenever you’re dreaming with Tim, everything feels so fixed and logical, as if you’re actually experiencing everything consciously. There are no time jumps and unbelievable events. It’s hard to tell it apart from real life.

     Even the apocalypse dreams Tim cooks up for you two feels real. As if Gotham was really hit by a new form of Scarecrow fear toxin that turned everyone into zombies. Tim even did an analysis on the toxin and came up with the result that Scarecrow mutated it with components from rabies.

     Your phone lights up and rings with Tim’s peaceful sleeping face displayed on it.

     “I sooooo cannot believe you right now.”

     “You would have turned if I didn’t--”

     “Tim. You told me we were going to have a zombie apocalypse adventure tonight. Not another simulation!”

     Tim is quiet for a second before he answers you, “I thought it was a great opportunity to test out plan Z.”

     Plan Z. Not because it’s his 26th plan. No way. Tim has about 72 plans, that you know of and have dreamed through so far. All plans for sudden world-ending events. You definitely know what the Z stands for in this one.

     “You could have let me turn then we could have reenacted human zombie relationship tropes-- Wait. Is cutting off my arm part of your plan Z?”

     “It’s just a contingency--”

     “Tim!”

     “You wouldn’t have gotten bitten if you just stuck to the plan. We were supposed to be assessing the area. No noise. No muss. No fuss.”

     You slump in your bed and pout at the phone. “Oh, well, forgive me for caring about you enough that I would risk my life in the process. Won’t happen again.”

     “Doubt it,” he teases. You place the phone in front of you and stick your tongue out. “How about we go back to sleep and I’ll make it up to you?” he says. “No more simulations tonight. I promise.”

     The fact that Tim thinks of absolutely everything also means that he creates the best worlds. Tamaran. New Genesis. Even his rendition of Mars feels real. Your favorite so far is his version of Themyscira.

     Of course, it’s not like Tim would’ve actually been to all of them. Magical places like that are only pipe dreams for born and raised Gothamites. Maybe Batman’s children have been to some of them. But you and Tim, all you’ve ever known are the streets, alleyways, and rooftops of Gotham. 

     “Where are we going?”

     Tim smiles. He can already hear how excited you are. “Go to sleep, Y/N.”

     You look at the time on your phone and it’s half past five. You have classes in the morning and you don’t really trust that Tim would wake you up in time. But you bite your lips and think about what could be waiting for you in the dreamscape.

     You close your eyes and thankfully sleep comes to you quickly.

     When you open them, the first thing you see is your hair floating in front of you. Your arms move slowly against the new gravity as you pull your hair back. Suddenly, it’s clear. You’re floating in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Deep underwater, right in front of the majestic gates of Atlantis.

     You open your mouth in awe and a bubble comes out of it. You quickly close your mouth and forget that you don’t know how to breathe underwater. But as you hold in your breath, you don’t feel the urge to take in oxygen.

     You see small bubbles fluttering about coming from your side. Tim is chuckling as he watches you. He points to his neck and he has gills opening and closing. You quickly feel your own and it almost grossest you out and excites you at the same time.

     ‘Come on.’

     You stare at him with wide eyes.

     ‘I can hear your thoughts!’

     Tim rolls his eyes at you with a smile.

     ‘Every time.’

     You’ve had other dreams where you and Tim would communicate telepathically. It’s not something you knew you could do with your links but Tim had figured it all out. After all, in the dreamscape, both of your subconscious are already connected. It was just a matter of opening your mind to each other.

     Tim leads you to the gates of Atlantis and you watch in awe as the guards open them. It’s not like any city you’ve ever seen.There are no roads or paths. The buildings are made from overgrown corals with other Atlanteans swimming in and out of it. The sun’s rays are slipping through the water's surface like small thin beams scattered about.

     Tim swims over to one of the overgrown foliage decorating the city.

     ‘They use magic to make the kelp grow this big.’

     ‘Magic? Did you make that up or did you read it in a Justice League journal?’

     Tim chuckles, making small bubbles float around him.

     ‘You’re messing with me aren’t you?’

     Tim stops chuckling and he puts his arms on your shoulders.

     ‘I swear I’m not. I’ll show you.’

     You swim after Tim. He leads you into a dome-like enclosure with a small platform in the middle. You’re about to swim to the middle when Tim stops you.

     Across the dome, a figure emerges from the shadows.

     ‘Is that-- That’s Aquaman!’

     He towered over the two of you. The dome’s ceiling only made him look bigger and more intimidating.

     ‘Are you allowed to just conjure up League members like this? This feels blasphemous.’

     Tim shakes his head and holds your shoulders to keep your eyes forward but Aquaman is just standing in the middle of the dome. Waiting.

     ‘Oh right.’

     Tim has visited Atlantis a few times but he’s never seen them perform their magic. The only magic he’s observed an Atlantean do is in combat.

     You grab Tim when he takes a step forward.

     ‘What are you doing?’

     Tim gently peels off your hands and smiles.

     ‘Remember. This is just a dream, Y/N.’

     You blink at him as he walks off. Then you scowl and cross your arms over your chest.

     ‘I know that. You’re the one who takes this stuff way overboard.’

     ‘Minds still linked.’

     You stick your tongue out at him.

     As soon as Tim is in the middle, Aquaman changes his stance for combat. Then the markings along his arms light up a cerulean hue, glowing in the water. He brings his arms back, grabbing at the water, and whipping it at Tim, knocking him down.

     ‘Tim!’

     He’s propped up on his elbows and he shakes his head.

     ‘Woah. Guess I left the difficulty level on hard.’

     ‘Oh my god. This is another simulation, isn’t it? What plan is this? For when the Justice League goes rouge?’

     ‘No, that’s Blackest Day--’

     Aquaman sends another wave at Tim before he could get up, making him fly against one of the pillars of the dome. You watch Tim’s body float down with your fists clenched.

     You stand in front of Aquaman and your arms light up, bathing you in an aquamarine glow. You have no idea how Atlantean magic works but this is your dreamscape and anything goes so long as you can believe it.

     The water around you starts to stir and you see a small whirlpool growing beneath Aquaman. You just want to stop him from attacking Tim. The whirlpool starts getting bigger. When Aquaman notices it, it’s strong enough to keep him in.

     You keep your focus until the whirlpool grows enough in size that Aquaman is no longer underwater and gasping on the ground. You’ve created a pocket in the middle of the ocean and trapped Aquaman inside it. 

     ‘Woah, YN. ‘ Tim floats beside you. ‘I don’t think whirlpools actually do that.’

     Tim’s thoughts are too much for you and your hold releases the water back around Aquaman. You immediately grab Tim by the gills, ‘I’m trying to help you! Stop distracting me with your logic.’

     Tim blinks at you for a second before he starts laughing, filling the gap between you with bubbles. ‘You know he can breathe on land, right?’

     Your eyes widen and your cheeks redden, ‘I knew that!’ You turn around to face him again but Aquaman is gone.

     ‘I made him go.’ Tim takes your hand. ‘I always forget that anything is possible here. I mean… I just watched you do Atlantean magic. How did it feel?’

     You bite your lip and turn to the side, letting your hair create a floating wall between you and Tim, hiding the blush that keeps spreading. 

     ‘The truth? I kind of feel like a level 99 waterbender.’

     Tim stares at you before he scoffs. It’s one of those little ones he always does with his eyes closed and mouth open like he’s silently laughing. ‘Sometimes I forget you’re such a nerd.’

     You smirk and squeeze his hand. ‘Coming from you, that’s insulting.’

     Tim smiles at you and then leans in slowly, using his other hand to slowly turn your face to him. He leaves a small kiss on your red cheeks. Then gently tugs on your hand.

     ‘Come on. You can show me Atlantis, Y/N.’

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

[se0kie]

chapter 4: the boundless ocean

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: fluff, eventual smut, ANGST (whoo boy)

tags/warnings: some talks of mortality, otherwise nothing much

greek gods au, poseidon!taehyung, marinebiologist!reader

summary: it’s difficult being a god. what with all the immortality, the decades bleeding into each other and losing every human being you come to care about. and taehyung’s lived, or whatever it is gods do, for a very, very long time. he thinks he needs help but the fates are being the mysterious, useless hags they’ve always been. how can a conservatory and it’s passionate, fiery owner possibly help him. turns out Y/N is the only mortal he’s met who’s ready to challenge him head on. of course it’s not like she knows her new intern is the king of the sea, maker of horses, the earthshaker, poseidon himself after all.

previous <> next ; series masterlist

It’s next to chaos at Hamdeok beach.

The day after the male turtles returned to the shallow waters you made sure to have every worker and volunteer of the Blue Side Marine Conservation on your property and spread around the shore keeping an eye out for the slightest activity. Taehyung had successfully survived two whole weeks with you and your gang of flaky friends.

His job for now had mainly been running around passing on information about the temperatures of the water and the sand, sodium levels in the seawater and clearing any boats away from coming close to the shallow end of the ocean.

Although he didn’t really need to remember the results you passed onto him.

He knew the exact temperatures of the sea, he could feel the number as soon as he reached the thought, he could taste the brine on his tongue as he conjured the digits for sodium levels and the boats... well let’s just say all he had to do to take care of the boats was swish the waves in the opposite direction.

Hoseok, you and Jungkook were keeping lookout at the rocks far out into the water, close enough to shore but distant enough to keep track of the dozen or so male turtles floating lazily in anticipation of their mates.

Taehyung would never admit this to his fellow Olympians but he was having fun here. He got to spend time with the sea as a regular mortal instead of solving disputes between whales and sharks. He would occasionally accompany Hoseok out to the deep waters to observe the coral reefs, even diving in sometimes if Hobi deemed it appropriate.

He had grown to like your two friends, Hoseok was a breath of fresh air from the dripping Nereids and his annoying brothers. Although he did remind Taehyung of his nephew, Apollo. Both of them positively radiated the sun’s energy. He would have to ask the god of archery about his mortal consorts, Hobi could very well be a demigod born of the fickle Olympian.

Jungkook was what he would’ve imagined all young adults were on earth, were he not an incredibly innocent and loving person. He had never met anyone as nice and helpful as Jungkook. He seemed like the paler photocopy of his sister, Hestia. They were both just so sickeningly likeable.

And then there was you.

Taehyung can clearly see you sitting on the largest rock, your knees pulled close to your chest as you stared diligently out at the horizon, then turned your head back again to catch sight of the green turtles poking their heads out of the surface of the water to breathe; and then diving back in with a small splash. Jungkook is writing in the journal that contains notes, statistics and other data regarding the nesting project.

Hoseok has his arms spread out behind him, soaking in the gentle sunrays as he hums a little tune. Taehyung settles down on the soft sand, tucking his legs crossed as he observes the trio on the rock.

He can almost feel your anxiety radiating off of you in waves, you seem to be especially sensitive about this nesting period. Subconsciously, he starts humming along to the tune Hobi is singing far away from him. The sweet melody filling his ears as he concentrates on the area you’re in. He can see the rush of the wind coming towards you, dangerously close to toppling your research material and snack basket into the water.

But quick as a sailfish, Taehyung flicks his wrist and the gust of air flows over the group’s heads.

He sits there in the sand patiently waiting for the female turtles to arrive along with you, he can see the enthusiasm slowly drain from your expression as a faint frown brushes over your brows. You’re disappointed, he can see it clear as day.

The office had received a call from the small group of professors sailing in the waters surrounding Jeju, they were the ones who had notified your team about the male turtles closing into the coast, how the females would follow close behind. But it seemed that the others were late, or even worse, lost or attacked by predators.

Professor Kim Namjoon and his husband had been so sure that the turtles would reach the nesting site in the mere matter of a day or two that you had made it your mission to overlook the mating process. You were beginning to look a little crazy to Taehyung, but he could stomach it.

He had seen far worse.

And you were now looking close to tears as the sun was setting gently into the waters and the seagulls were picking at the fish they had caught, Taehyung closed his eyes and looked for the group of distressed reptiles in the ocean surrounding the island.

He could see them clearly in his mind, the turtles were swimming hard but unfortunately the current was flowing in the direction opposite their destination. He breathed in slowly and coaxed the water to let the tired group make their way back to the coast where they had been born. He could tell these turtles were returning to the beach they had hatched in. Perks of being the literal god of the sea, huh?

He helped the animals swim back, letting the current slightly carry their bodies. When he opened his eyes again it felt like Zeus had knocked the air out of his lungs.

Because there you were, absolutely beaming at the sea. Hair caressing your face with the breeze as the orange sun glowed behind your head, making it look like you wore a halo. Your face was lit up by the rays of the sunset but not as much as by the dazzling smile you wore. You were softly laughing as you watched familiar green shells bobbing away in the clear, blue water.

A triangular head poked out, nose pointing straight at you as if trying to say hello. And if anyone was paying attention to the small, overwhelmed woman on the rock instead of the turtles, they would’ve caught how your cheeks glistened with silently shed tears.

Taehyung was paying attention.

You and your newly befriended intern were walking along the shore, both on your lunch break, four weeks after the mating season had gotten over. The pregnant turtles would arrive any time soon to lay their eggs at the beach.

You were constantly on edge, anxious about the delicate situation but excited for the opportunities your little conservation would come across if the nesting season passed successfully.

“So how did you and Hobi manage to open up Blue Side? You’re both far too young to have done it all by yourself,” Taehyung voices from beside you. He wasn’t very chatty, not usually. But he had his moments when he would ask questions you had never been asked before, or take interest in the mundane routine of your life.

You release a puff of air, flashes of your past running through your mind as you lazily pick at one to answer, “Well, you know we’re a nonprofit organisation. But we had financial backing from Hobi’s parents, and my dad. Mr. and Mrs. Jung are both professors at the Stanford University. My dad used to be a research biologist, he’s a visiting lecturer now.”

You look up at your companion, softly kicking sand with your toe. You catch him looking at you with a peculiar smile painting his face, you reach out and brush the sun bleached strands of hair out of his eyes as you catch yourself squinting at the scene just behind him.

It’s a man you recognise from somewhere, his hand emptying a plastic bag full of trash into the foamy waves of the ocean. It clicks in your head and you know why he seems familiar. You shriek with sudden irritation, “YOU!”

You stomp the few meters towards the man, who now resembles a deer caught in headlights. Although it looks like you’d rather just run him over.

“What is the matter with you?!” It’s more of an accusation than a question. You don’t give the offender any time to retort when you’re flying off on one of your passionate rants.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing? Green sea turtles, almost extinct by the way, just mated here in these exact waters a month ago, they’re gonna be back to lay their eggs any day now. You have any semblance of coherent thought to know how delicate they are and how trash in the ocean can literally suffocate them?!” you take a breath as you really look at the man’s red face.

You continue mercilessly, “Eighty percent of marine debris is plastic, the mass of plastic in the oceans are as high as one hundred million tonnes. You hear that? One hundred million. The Great Pacific Garbage Patch is twenty times the size of Texas. You’re killing the planet, the animals and yourself. Have some empathy for your home,” you finish off with disgust lacing your tone.

The severely embarrassed man was quietly leaving with his bag of rubbish as you stared holes into his back, crossing your arms across your chest as you blew the strands of hair hanging in your eyes. You can feel Taehyung’s gaze on you, but you can’t find it in yourself to turn to him. The god is looking at you with fascination, never has he met a woman quite like you. A violent blush is staining your cheeks as you feel your face heat up under his intense scrutiny.

“Why do you always do that?” you hear his deep baritone ask.

You still refuse to look at him but respond anyway, “What do you mean ‘always do that’? Do what?”

“I don’t know? Why are you always so passionate about the sea? It’s not just the sea either, the fish and the plants and everything underwater,” he’s still looking at you as he says, “You want to protect it all so badly. Why?”

You sigh as you finally turn your head to look at him, the pink glow of the sunset makes him look even more ethereal than he does on the regular. You sweep your eyes over his face several times, taking in his features as you carefully sort the words building in your throat.

Your gaze drops to the ground where the littlest of waves are kissing your toes, the smell of the ocean thick as you feel the wet sand under your feet.

“Because,” you begin.

“Because what?” he retorts.

You look back at him intensely, your eyes burn with the light of the dipping sun but Taehyung doesn’t think it’s on purpose. Your eyes just look like that whenever you talk of things you’re passionate about. He’s noticed that since he’s met you.

“Because!” you huff. “It’s my job. It’s my job to protect the sea.”

Taehyung scoffs at your reply, it’s lame and you know it but being vulnerable has always been difficult for you. “Yes, it may be your job but nobody expects you to do it 24/7. You’re always scolding people who litter, always picking up trash you catch in the waves. Hell, you’re always hanging out with the fisherman to make sure they’re using the right methods while out at sea and not overfishing.”

He presses on, “Tell me, Y/N, what’s it all about?” Only this time his voice is softer and infinitely more intimate.

“I want to do all of that. I love the sea, that’s the short answer. But the sea is all we know,” you reply with a breath. “Air, water, earth. It will all remain even if we die out. And if I could help save even a few inches of the ocean, just a handful of fish in my measly lifetime I will live on as the sea.” You say sincerely as you turn your eyes up to catch a glimpse of Taehyung’s reaction.

He’s looking at you with emotion you don’t recognise, a peculiar tilt of his lips and eyebrows slightly furrowed as if he’s doing a tricky math problem. You speak softly, your voice dropping to a low whisper now that you’re both standing closer than before, “My work, my achievements, my life. It’ll all be immortalised in the waves.”

Internally, the sea god thinks of what a wonderful woman you are. He has never met a mortal as selfless or as loving as you. You have so much love to give that it bursts out of the seams of your heart and splashes everything around you in golden hues.

“You, me, Jungkook. We’re all just mere human beings, Taehyung. The ocean and the sky? They’re what truly matters in this universe. I live my life for the ocean and its creatures so that years and years after I’m dead I’ll still be floating in the waves,” you tell him honestly, wondering how did you let a man you’ve only known for a month or a half hear your most personal truth.

But you know that if anyone deserves to know something like this about you, it has to be Kim Taehyung.

More minutes of comfortable silence follow, the hypnotic slosh of the waves pulling the stress and anxiety out of your mind. You and Taehyung face each other in front of the now barely visible sun, and the glittering horizon.

He says after a long minute of gentle breathing, “Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“I like you,” he confesses, not a hint of hesitation or embarrassment laces his voice. Just sheer declaration.

Your cheeks flare up once again, something that seems to be happening increasingly ever since the new intern arrived. You somehow manage to keep your cool as you say, “It’s only been a few weeks, Taehyung. How can you know if you like someone if you’ve barely even met them?”

“Weeks, months, 400 years. It doesn’t matter. It’s all the same to me. Time doesn’t determine emotions, Y/N.” Taehyung says wisely, the young and carefree looking boy doesn’t talk like the many kids his age.

You smile sweetly... at him? For him? You don’t know, but you smile instead of affirming his confession.

“Sure Kim, but you still gotta clean the aquariums.”

taglist: @a-kookie-with-my-tae @btsxdoll @taffyteffy @aesthetewriter @happyhrsme @yoongifiess

[fandom-necromancer]

A fresh Start

This was prompted by a wonderful anon! I really enjoyed this! I hope you do too!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 (Warnings: repressed childhood trauma, self harm (description of scars and mention of cutting oneself))

‘Phck you, you phcking tin-can!’ It wasn’t the first time Gavin shouted at Nines in the bullpen, but it was the first time their argument held on for so long. The Detective had come down from Fowler’s office just to stop in front of Nines who was still seated at his table. Gavin had begun screaming curse words at him causing Nines to rise to his feet. But the added height and the fact that he stood in front of an android build for war failed to intimidate the man. If anything, it made him even angrier. ‘How could I ever trust you?’, Gavin screamed, subconsciously taking position to evade a coming blow from Nines. ‘How? If you pull something like this without even phcking preparing me?’ ‘Gavin, I don’t even know what you mean, I-‘ ‘No! Don’t you even dare go down this road! Don’t pretend you didn’t mean it. Don’t dare pretending this wasn’t exactly what you wanted! As if anyone in this damn precinct wouldn’t be happy about me being gone. You don’t want me to die on the job, yeah, no one dares to voice that and it isn’t decent to think about that, am I right?’ ‘Gavin-‘ ‘Oh, but if I conveniently disappeared, that wouldn’t be so bad. You don’t care if I take a vacation, or if I’m sick, or suspended. You wouldn’t care if I got fired! You would like that, wouldn’t you? Finally getting rid of that annoying brat that never was good for anything than causing trouble. Would be a nice life, wouldn’t it?’ ‘Gavin!’

The Detective’s head spun around, and he focussed back on Nines who looked far more offended by that than from any curse thrown his way before. But Gavin didn’t back down. He pointed at his collarbone, stopping only centimetres away from actually touching him. ‘Phck off, tin-can! Phck. Off. You all get what you phcking wished for. See you assholes next week!’

Gavin stomped away, determined on getting home while his head was already in his liquor cabinet in his kitchen. But Nines had grabbed his arm to hold him back and an unstoppable force met an immovable object. He felt his leather jacket being pulled from his shoulder halfway down his arm. Then Nines’ grip fastened, realising he wouldn’t stop Gavin this way. Then he heard the fabric of his old hoodie tear apart. In a panic, he tried to pull himself free, but only managed to lose the sleeve of his jacket completely and rip his hoodie the entire length from amidst his upper arm down to the seam.

Time stopped. Mortified, Gavin looked up at the android who held the piece of fabric from the hoodie in his hand and stared at it quizzically. Both seemed to realise Gavin’s arm lay bare for everyone to see that very second and Nines’ eyes widened. Too frozen by totally irrational fear, Gavin didn’t move when the android gently held his wrist to get a better look at the white lines criss-crossing all over his arm in no discernible pattern. When he started using his other hand to trace them though, it all got too much. Gavin pulled his arm to his chest and struggled to catch the side of his jacket to pull it back over his shoulder and hide the arm. He looked back at Nines once with an unintentionally hurt and fearful expression on his face, before finally bolting. He had to get out, just get out of there and get home. He was safe there. He didn’t have to play a role or be the strong guy anymore. He had to get home. Now.

-

Nines had watched Gavin run away from him. He had been aware of the faces of his co-workers watching him. He did the only logical thing and went back to his desk to continue working. But he couldn’t concentrate. He had folded the ripped piece of fabric and laid it next to his terminal hoping to look busy, so the rest of the force went back to their work. In truth he continued thinking about what just happened. The Detective had screamed at him frequently. He had screamed at everyone on a daily basis and was quite renown to be a huge asshole. Nines could work with him and the Detective’s outbursts were always quick to be over. But not this time. This time he just knew he had overstepped a boundary. But he didn’t know what action of his had led to this. And then there was this new discovery about the man. These… scars. These white lines he had covered up. Since when? Nines could not remember a day Gavin hadn’t worn long sleeves, now that he thought about it. He had put it on poor circulation resulting in a permanent feeling of cold in the Detective. But now… Maybe there was more to it.

And Nines needed to know. He had to know how these scars had come to exist and what he had done to receive such a reaction from the man. If only so it wouldn’t happen again. He made a decision. Once his shift was over, he would drive over to his house and talk with him before getting back home himself. If the man was even willing to talk. If Gavin would even open the door.

Even though he had doubts, he still had to at least attempt on getting some information. He thought about the right words to get the Detective’s attention and convince him not to just slam the door in his face while he sat in a bus heading his direction. When he finally stood in front of said door and had rung the doorbell, he clearly hadn’t expected he didn’t even need these words. A tired looking Gavin opened the door and stared at him out of red swollen eyes. His eyes didn’t allow any question, as he just stared up at the android from the gap between door and frame. Then he sighed and opened the door completely. ‘Come on in.’

Surprised, Nines followed the invitation and scanned the room. His eyes managed to fall on the kitchen table that supported a first aid kit. The android turned to the human. ‘Gavin what-‘ He stopped as his eyes fell on the man’s bloody arm, but Gavin would have interrupted him that moment anyways: ‘Shut up, tin-can. Let me take care of this first and then we can talk.’ ‘Why do you agree on talking about it?’, Nines asked nonetheless. This behaviour was entirely atypical for the human. ‘You wouldn’t have accepted that and went home regardless of my answer, right?’ Nines hummed. ‘I would have for today. Although I doubt, I would have let the topic fall.’ ‘See? Better to get it out of the world before you confront me at work and everyone knows about it.’

Nines followed Gavin to the table and sat down opposite of the man, watching how he dabbed a wet cloth over his arm to wash the blood away. Nines saw several clean cuts, not deep enough to be of any real danger. Most had already stopped bleeding by themselves. Afterwards, Gavin covered them with a light bandage and pulled the torn sleeve from his hoodie over it. He had experience in cleaning these kinds of wounds. Nines didn’t want to think about why he had it.

Gavin put his tools away, threw the razor blade he had cut himself with away and closed the lid of the first aid kit. Apparently, that was the sign conversation was allowed to start. ‘Before you say anything, I know it is a bad habit and that I should stop but I can’t, so don’t even try.’ Nines nodded. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to convince him later though. For now, he only asked: ‘Why?’ Gavin blew air through his teeth while reclining on his chair. ‘To have a reason to cry? To focus on something? To destress?’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because my dad’s an asshole?’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because I wasn’t good enough?’

Nines sighed in frustration. ‘Gavin, either don’t tell me anything or explain it to me, but please, make a decision.’ ‘Alright. Men aren’t supposed to cry, right? If a child cries, it’s because that’s what children do. If a teenager cries, it’s because of idiotic crushes and hormones. If an adult cries, it’s because they aren’t manly enough or weak or some bullshit. No one ever asks why they cry. But if you are hurt you are allowed to cry because that is pain and bodily responses and no one can control that.’ He looked up at Nines, who just nodded encouragingly. ‘My dad favoured my brother. Nothing unusual, I mean many people have that problem growing up. And with Eli that was reasonable. I mean, I would have favoured him too. It’s just the same as buying something new instead of second hand. I’m not angry about Eli getting all the attention, I can live with that. I was…’ He swallowed and covered the piece of bandage visible through the tear in his sleeve with his hand as if that could hide it away from Nines’ memories. ‘I had problems being told I wasn’t enough. Didn’t matter what I did, I was always told I wouldn’t be as good as Eli. It was true, I knew I would never be. But I didn’t need to hear that. They could have told me what I did was bad or not worth the effort, but they told me I could never improve. And if you hear that shit long enough from people you look up to, you start to believe it.’ He stayed quiet for a while, before cursing. ‘Phck, I need a drink for this.’

He stood up and came back a few minutes later with a bottle of wine and two glasses, realising too late that, shit, android. He shrugged and placed them anyways, filling only his. ‘I cried a lot. Whenever I thought about how useless it was to put any effort in anything because I would never be good, I asked myself why even continuing. But I liked what I did, I enjoyed school, even though I never got good grades. So I continued and cried when I needed to. My mom always was concerned when I did, coming to my room and trying to comfort me. She meant well I guess, but it didn’t really help. Because every time she tried to speak to my dad, he would come to talk with me, scolding him for not having the guts to talk with him when I had a problem. So in trying to help she made it worse, so I told her to stop. She did. Don’t know if it made it better or worse though.’ He took a long sip from his glass.

‘Well, I started cutting myself then. It helped focussing on something real too. I moved out the moment I finished school and a friend of mine, Tina, applied at the police academy. So I thought to do that too. Didn’t really knew what to do anyways. And life got better. I had nothing else in my life, so I put my everything into this. And I was good. I was praised for my good grades and exceptional performance. Likely was the first time anyone did that. When I started working at the precinct Fowler was far more of a dad for me than my real father could ever be. Made it Detective in no time, could have been Lieutenant by now, I guess. But… Well, I’m still an asshole. Can’t take criticism without immediately lashing out. I get easily riled up in tough situations and having mental problems recognised in your patient’s file doesn’t help either.’

Gavin closed his eyes and concentrated on just breathing for a moment. ‘My work is all I have. All I’ll be ever good at and I like it. I’m happy when I can be there. I enjoy being a detective. I don’t need to make it big. I can afford a home and what I need to live and can go on vacation.’

This time Gavin kept quiet and didn’t make any move to break the silence between them. ‘Why are you telling me this now?’, Nines dared to ask. ‘Why have you never spoken about this before?’ ‘Because I’ll quit’, Gavin answered, his voice wavery again. ‘Or ask for a transfer. Or try and get a grip in the PI business. I don’t know yet. But I need a fresh start, I need a second chance somewhere where no one knows me yet. I need to try to be better.’ ‘What did I do wrong, Gavin? You clearly made that decision after leaving Fowler’s office and you were angry with me before your feelings overwhelmed you. What did I do wrong?’ Gavin watched him for a long time, maybe trying to see whether he was joking or not. ‘You did nothing wrong, tin-can. You just wrote a report that got me suspended, but it were my actions that lead to that. I can’t punch a suspect in the interrogation room. I know that. And I still did it.’ ‘He provoked you.’ Gavin grumbled something unintelligible. ‘Well yes, but I shouldn’t have done it still.’

Nines thought about what the human had said. It was Gavin’s fault, but still Nines couldn’t shake the feeling that he could have done something to intervene and stop it from happening. If he had known Gavin better back then in the interrogation room, maybe he would have recognised what the suspect had been trying to do when speaking to the Detective. He was quite certain he knew Gavin’s weakness now. He could try and protect that spot that would hurt most when struck.

‘Why not stay?’, Nines asked. ‘With what I told you just now? Never. You’ll just laugh at me and tell the others.’ ‘Have I laughed at you once since you told me what bothers you?’, Nines defended himself. ‘I value the trust you put in me by telling me, Gavin. Your secret is safe with me. I am your partner and I will support you if you want me to. I won’t tell anyone.’ ‘Huh’, Gavin huffed unfazed. ‘As if.’ ‘I promise you I will never tell anyone until I am no longer functioning. And if I do you have the explicit permission to put a bullet through my central processor.’

That made the man lift his brows. ‘Alright. Still, even if you kept your mouth shut. Why should I suddenly change who I am?’ ‘I could keep you from sabotaging yourself. You just told me what could trigger you to lose control and I can look out for them. We could try to be a… a real team instead of just co-workers. If you allow me, of course.’ Gavin sat up and smirked at him. ‘A real team, huh?’ He tapped his fingers on the table and bopped his head a few times, mulling it over. ‘Could work. Don’t know why you’d offer that to the precinct’s asshole who continuously screams at you, but I’ll take it.’ Nines smiled, feeling his stress levels settle a bit. ‘Then consider this at least our fresh start as co-workers.’ Gavin chuckled and took the bottle to fill his glass anew.

‘As partners, dumbass.’

[geraskierficrecs]

For more Fae Jaskier, check out the AO3 story here.

His hands were covered in blood.

Geralt made a rough sound, fighting against the urge to panic.  The body in his arms shuddered again as he ripped off his shirt and pressed it against the open slash across her stomach.

Her stomach.  

There’s no pretending the tiny, shivering mass in his arms was a monster.  Whatever was left of the curse that created the striga, it had left behind a child that had already lived a life of pain and agony.  

Gods, he’d really thought he would be able to save her.

He’d tried so damn hard.  Even though he knew how difficult it would be.  He’d looked at the father’s face and saw a man who might actually try to give the child a chance.  He’d heard the story of lies and lust and horror and thought only about the innocent child who’d been left to bear their burden.  Deep in his mind, he’d remembered the line in a forgotten book hidden among Kaer Morhen’s keep and thought, I could save her.  I could make this right.

At first it had even seemed like he would succeed in his ridiculous plan.

He’d managed to keep the striga at bay through the long hours of the night.  It had been little more than a gory game of cat and mouse, hampered by his desire to keep from doing any serious damage.  All he had to do was survive the night.  If he could keep her alive just a little longer, she could go home.  She could be free.

He should have known better than to try to be a hero.  He should have remembered the lesson he’d learned the first time he’d turned, covered in the life’s blood of another, only to hear the screams begin again.  

Even with all his training, he couldn’t keep himself from the choice that always came in battle--who would fall.  Was Geralt willing to lay down his life to try to save a girl who’d never truly lived?

The answer, apparently, was no.

He’d reacted on instinct.  Sword moving like an extension of his body.  Sinking deep--too deep.  Burying into the stomach of a face shifting from monster to an innocent in one shocking flash.

“Someone help!” Geralt shouted, hoping against all hope that the soldiers of the local lord who’d played his part in this tragedy would hear.  Maybe their mage would be enough to save her.  “Help her!”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

Geralt froze, shock overwhelming his panic in a dizzying rush.  He spun, still holding tight to his makeshift bandage and took in the sight of the fae lounging indolently across a broken, rotting pew in the midst of the ruined chapel.

Despite the five years that had passed since their last encounter, there was no sign of any time passing on his beautiful face--not that Geralt expected it.  Fae were immortal, unchanging.  A creature dedicated to cruel mischief hidden behind a beautiful mask.  The fae watched him in the shadows of the old shrine with a small smile like he knew how much research Geralt had done on the fae after their last meeting.  The warnings repeated over and over by countless Witchers rumbled in his ears like an oncoming storm, but it was already too late.

“What are you doing here?” he asked hoarsely.  Geralt focused on not looking down at the dark line that wrapped around his forearm like a tattoo.  It itched and burned slightly, eager within to be close to its creator.

“How could I not when you were crying out so sweetly?” the fae asked, not looking bothered by the girl bleeding out in Geralt’s arms.  “I couldn’t risk someone else coming along and taking advantage of you.”

Geralt’s eyes narrowed on the creature.  “All you want is for me to owe you another favor.”

“That is one of the many things I want from you, dear Witcher.”

“Can you save her?” The question was tempered by the heartbeat beginning to slow beneath his fingers and the glassy sheen on the girl’s eyes.

The fae barely glanced at the dying girl.  “Do you think she should be?  You’ll be condemning her to a life she doesn’t understand--if she ever will.  She’ll be seen as a monster.”

“It wasn’t her fault!”

“That rarely matters.”

Something in him wanted to rage at the truth of the fae’s words.  It settled oddly in the air between them, like an invisible force too large for the space between them.  There was something complicated hiding behind the small, humorless smile on the creature’s face--like he was waiting for Geralt to understand something.

But the smell of blood felt like it was all he could think about and the Witcher tightened his hold on the girl like he could channel some of his own strength into her fragile body.

“She deserves a chance,” he rasped, dangerously close to pleading, “please.”

The fae’s smile went flat, a new darkness flickering through his eyes.  “You should never beg to a fae.  I might begin to crave it.”

Geralt ignored the shiver of anticipation that curled through his stomach at the dangerous rumble.  “What do you want then?”

“You’re not ready for the answer to that question, Geralt.”

“Stop being so damned secretive and help me save her!” Geralt growled.  “I’ll give you another favor if that’s what it takes.”

“You shouldn’t be so quick to offer such things,” he warned, “There are many who would take advantage of such a thing.”

Geralt’s lips twisted into a bitter line.  Why should it matter what happened to him?  He was a monster, just as hated as any fae or striga.  The humans tolerated his presence when they needed him and the creatures he hunted hated him for what he did.  No one would mourn his passing if he were to hand himself over to the fae’s cruel entertainment.  

The fae seemed to understand the direction of his thoughts because it stood and moved closer.  “Fine then--I’ve never been good at passing up temptation.” He stood just outside of Geralt’s reach and put his hands on his hips.  “But my price has gone up.”

Geralt glared at him.  “What do you want?”

“This time I want two favors,” he said breezily, brushing away a speck of dirt, “I can’t allow anyone to think I’m going soft.”

The girl’s heartbeat stuttered and Geralt felt his own heart lurch in response.  He knew his expression was far too panicked and desperate to attempt to bargain.  There wasn’t enough time.  It came down to whether Geralt was willing to risk himself and his future to a fae in order to complete this impossible task.

“Fine.  Hurry.”

The fae’s eyes went bright and electric, shining with an unholy light as Geralt agreed to his terms.  The thin veneer of humanity seemed to tremble beneath his skin and Geralt felt his heart speed up in anticipation--of an attack or something else, he wasn’t sure.  

“It’s a deal then.”  

As if the words released his magic, the room was flooded with the sharp scent of power and old magic.  It crackled along his skin like a lightning storm, bringing with it the scent of meadowgrass and dandelions.  Geralt raised his hand to shield his face when light flared out from the girl in his arms and winced when it was paired with a bone deep hum that seemed to dig into the very core of him.  

The magic seemed to pulse in hot waves, pressing against the girl’s skin until it began to knit together in front of his eyes faster than even a Witcher could claim.  She sucked in a shuddering breath that Geralt subconsciously mimicked.  His blood stained fingers raised to trace over the pulse in her neck, slowly growing stronger.  He smiled slightly and closed his eyes as the magic began to fade.

She would survive this.  He had saved her.

Now he just had to survive the ramifications of his bargain.

The fae was watching him curiously when he opened his eyes again.  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you cared for the girl?  I thought Witchers didn’t have emotions…”

Geralt didn’t answer the question hidden in the last statement in favor of looking the girl over.  “Will she live?”

“I always keep my promises,” the fae said with a tight smile.  “We’ll have to see how well you’ll keep yours.”

“A deal is a deal.”  Even if it meant more suffering on his part, he couldn’t regret his decision when he could watch the steady rise and fall of an innocent chest.  “I pay my debts, fae.”

“Jaskier.”

Geralt looked up with a frown.  “What?”

The fae shrugged and turned to talk away.  “My name,” he called over his shoulder, “so you know who to cry out for next time.”

He disappeared before Geralt could say that he had no intention of calling for the fae again.

[softjeon]

Here there be beasts | Pt.3

• Pairing: Jimin x Wolf!Namjoon • Genre: Angst, Fluff | Rating: Mature | RedRidingHood!AU / Fairytale!AU → Gifset Trailer • Words: 7,6k | AO3 • Disclaimer: nsfw-content, smut, mentioning of blood, abuse, violence, weapons, dark themes, anxiety

written with @cassiavioletblue​

↳  Fear was a strange feeling. People feared the unknown, the dark and witchcraft. The shadows that were lurking through the forest at night. The same fear that made the folks in the village keep their distance from the forest at night; that locked their doors on nights when there was a full moon, or no moon at all.

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Maybe what they said was true after all. And maybe it was his time to realize that his world was turning upside-down, crashing into a million pieces and ripping the beautifully painted images and what he believed in. The evil existed and he was staring right back into its eyes, claws about to rip into his flesh. He felt sick from the metallic smell of his own blood that was trickling down his chest, that was dissolving into the water, tinting it red. Maybe he would drown. Maybe he would bleed out.

The wolf; the nightmare. 

Jimin had barely made it into the water, arms extended as he tried to keep the wolf at arm’s length when he realized that the wolf wasn’t moving, instead he was only staring at him. And Jimin was holding its gaze. 

The human kept on paddling, not really getting anywhere so he would have been easy to rip into or just drown and drag ashore. Still he waited, trying to see if he would yell that strange word again. His anger was gone, eaten by his curiosity as to why his prey was making him suddenly feel all fuzzy inside.

Jimin completely stilled as he blinked up at the unmoving wolf. Did he recognize him? His smell? Just like Namjoon told him he would? It was nothing and yet, it was the only chance he had.

Carefully, Jimin reached out with shaking fingers. There was still blood on them but tried to focus on the task at hand as he slowly put his hand by the wolf’s mouth and by his jaw. He waited for a moment, when the wolf growled low and it send a shiver down his spine. Closing his eyes, Jimin reached further and then softly pushed his fingers into its fur. “I…It’s me,” Jimin’s voice sounded so thin and broken. “T-the one with the red hood? J-jimin,” There were tears falling down his eyes and into the shallow water beneath, when he opened them again 

He almost snapped at the hand that was coming close to him but then he smelled the blood and because he didn’t want to kill this strange prey just yet, but he was hungry and there was blood he did the first thing that popped up: he started to lick the blood off. Pushing his snout roughly into the youngers hand he licked his fingers clean and.. it didn’t taste like he wanted. There was blood, yes but was even more delicious was the boys smell. Why hadn’t he noticed it before? He paddled closer and even though the younger kept talking, saying things he couldn’t quite grasp he pushed his snout into his face, licking his face too, then his neck, everywhere he could reach without lapping up water.

Jimin couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, one that sounded a little too desperate to be cheerful but when the wolf licked him, he knew he wasn’t in danger anymore. He recognized him. “Wolf, please.” Jimin whispered, soothing over his soft but wet fur. Never had he been so close to the other before and here in the water it was still dangerous with how the wolf was leaning against him. “Can you listen to me, wolfie?” Jimin coughed a little to get rid of the croaky sound and then tried again, “I need you to let me go, because I have to visit someone. Namjoon,...you know him, right? I need you to go further east and...and please hunt a wild boar for me. Only that, do you understand?” Jimin search the wolf's eyes and kept still. They still weren’t right, a little too dark, except from the sparkle and reflection of the moon light. “A wild boar,” He whispered again, hoping that the wolf would understand him enough to do as he said or at least run the other direction from where he had sent the old man. “Please.” He was pleading softly, moving back to see if the wolf would let go off him. 

The wolf had no idea what the other was saying but he liked the sound of the others voice. He still smelled delicious and a great part of him wanted to rip into that soft, plump flesh and swallow him whole - but there was still that part that was curious and enjoyed their encounter. He had the boys scent now. He could hunt him again if he got hungry or eat him for dinner another time Something told him that he would see their encounter differently in a few hours and that it would be a pity to kill him, like a lingering thought at the back of his head that he couldn’t quite grasp. As he was so close to the boy and paddling right in front of him his hind leg brushed him under water in a way that nicked the boy’s skin. The other made a face and somehow the wolf didn’t like that. He didn’t like the other hurt. But he was hungry. He knew he wouldn’t eat that prey, not tonight. So, he sniffed him one last time, pushing his snout against the boys neck because it was warm and comfortable there - and then he turned, swimming back on land to hunt for something delicious that wouldn’t confuse him that much.

Jimin didn’t think twice, he turned around and swam until his arms were hurting. Luckily the cold water made the new wound not as painful, cooling it down and the adrenaline was still so high that he didn’t even flinch, when he walked out of the water on the other side, shivering and lips looking pale and blue.

There were tears falling down his cheeks and Jimin wrapped his arms around his body as he stumbled forward until finally the small cottage came in sight. For the last time, Jimin sped up a little, calling out for Namjoon - but there was no answer. His heart was drumming so loudly that it was the only thing Jimin could hear, when a thought crossed his mind that he’d rather not dwell on. He pushed the door open, calling out for him again but there was no one. The cottage was empty. 

And Jimin was too tired. 

With shaking hands, trembling limbs and lips he closed the door and got rid of the wet clothes on his body. A sob broke from him and Jimin almost fell when it shook him so badly, but he managed to pull himself into Namjoon’s bed, where his scent was still lingering and embracing him, making him hold onto the cushion as if it was the only safety he had left. 

...

Namjoon had ran the whole night. He had found something to eat, something leftover that some other predator had killed and then not finished for some reason. Apart from that his night was pretty uneventful. The noise the humans and then his little prey had made had chased any real prey into hiding so he was glad he had found the leftovers or else he would have started to hunt for squirrels out of frustration. When his paws started to feel heavy and his mind dizzy it drew him closer to the home he lived in when he was human. Each step had him feeling more and more tired until he collapsed into a dirty, furry heap, ready to go to sleep until the next transformation or the next full moon.

When Namjoon awoke he had a headache - or rather a body aching practically everywhere but worst his head - and his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth because it was so dry. His throat felt sore as if he had yelled too much. Probably a bit too much growling and howling throughout the night. He tried to remember what he had done but the taste of stale meat had him almost throwing up, so he decided to go home, clean himself up, drink a nice, strong herbal tea and then decipher the images in his head. He could already see his little house and he ached for its warmth and comfort and humanness so that he would be able to feel like himself again in a little while.

Jimin had fallen into a deep slumber, his body so tired and exhausted that he didn’t wake at the faint noise of the door opening. Maybe his subconsciousness knew that it wasn’t anything dangerous or evil that came closer. So instead of hiding away, Jimin turned, revealing his rosy and very dirty cheeks to Namjoon, mumbling something with a sleepy pout on his lips.

“J..Jimin?!” Namjoon stood in the doorway, all sickness forgotten at the shock of seeing Jimin in his bed. He stumbled towards him, naked as he was, ripping the covers off to see if he was fine. There was blood and for a second his heart felt like it had stopped right in his chest before he realized that there was no bite wound. He had scratches. Just scratches. And he was absolutely, fully naked.

Namjoon stared at him in confusion but then covered him up again because it didn’t feel right to stare. Not now, not when the other was sleeping so peacefully. He sank down besides the bed in relief, chuckling to himself at the absurdity of the whole situation. Jimin, on a full moon night in his home. Anything could have happened. Thankfully they had apparently both been very, very lucky. Now the only thing he had to do was find an excuse why he hadn’t been home instead of burying a body (or teaching a new werewolf).

The younger reacted to the touches and noises, only slowly coming to and when he blinked his eyes open to see the shadow hovering before him turning to be Namjoon he immediately reached out for him. “Where have you been? I thought...I thought,” Jimin’s voice still sounded a little croaky and he pulled Namjoon in to hug him tightly, “Oh god, you’re alive…,” Jimin couldn’t help but feel relief wash over him, holding Namjoon just a little tighter, before he pulled back hastily and examined his (just as naked) body. 

“I..I slipped and got stuck so.. I couldn’t get back in time and.. just stayed in the caves.” He stuttered awfully unconvincingly. That Jimin had just pressed his naked body against him wasn’t helping. “How did you get here? I mean, I’m so glad you’re safe but.. where you here all night? Don’t tell me you actually walked through the forest during a full moons night! That like.. completely suicidal!” He hastily wiped over his mouth, remembering now that there could be blood or dirt or probably both giving away what he had been doing.

Jimin traced down a few new bruises Namjoon was sporting, humming in response. He wasn’t so sure if he believed it, but he did see the wounds on his body.  “I told you to be careful,” He whined, tracing them carefully as he bit down his lip trying to come up with something himself – but in the end, he settled on the truth.

“They wanted to sacrifice someone, and I couldn’t let it happen, Joon. I just couldn’t. I know it was crazy…but I had to!” Jimin blinked up but he wasn’t able to hold his gaze, averting it quickly, “I got him out of there and then…there was the wolf.”

 “A.. what?” Namjoon’s head was spinning. A sacrifice? And he killed it? In front of Jimin? “So, you saw.. the wolf killing that person - and ran here to safety? Did he hurt you?” His grip on the other’s shoulders tightened a little. He still didn’t know why Jimin was naked but now it made sense that he got rid of his clothes when they had blood on them. Oh god, had Jimin really been so close? He felt like he had to throw up at the thought of almost eating Jimin tonight. He didn’t let himself think any further and that he might have killed someone else instead. Even though he tried to stay calm his hands started shaking a little and soon the shudder ran all over his body, bringing his exhausted muscles to the brink of collapse. “Let’s… let’s sit down, please..” 

Jimin nodded and lifted the blanket up to pull Namjoon in closer and make sure he was embraced from the warmth and heat underneath. Carefully, he soothed over his cheeks and smiled at him apologetically. “Don’t worry, I told the wolf to hunt somewhere else.” Jimin said so nonchalantly, completely leaving out the fact of the wolf wanting to attack him at first. He shook his head, trying to sort out his thoughts, but Namjoon wasn’t making it much easier for him to concentrate. “F-first I freed the man and I told him to go north, up the hills to the caves to hide. I thought it was the beast coming but then I saw the wolf…but it was still different. He was so different, Namjoon. His eyes…they were pitch black. I was so scared and…and then I threw my hood at the wolf to irritate it and made sure it followed me instead of the man. And I thought maybe if I come close enough to your home then you would hear me, but the wolf caught me the moment I jumped into the water. I tried calling for you, but…,” A smile formed at his lips, “But then the wolf remembered me, just like you said. He remembered my scent. You were right, Namjoon. He just sniffed me and when I told him to hunt somewhere else and that I would come and visit him he let go off me. And then I swam across the lake and seeked shelter here.” His voice dropped, “But you were gone and I…”

“This… this can’t be true!” Namjoon was sitting there frozen, listening to what Jimin told him. “You were close to the wolf and it... it listened to you? Are you sure it didn’t get scared because of.. hunters or anything?” His voice was so weak it broke, but he just ignored it and pushed through. He didn’t understand it, nothing could keep the wolf from taking what he wanted, not Namjoon, not anything else he tried. And Jimin, someone sweet and delicate should be able to make the wolf listen? By talking to him? Namjoon couldn't believe it. “But... the blood...” 

“There were no hunters. Believe me, he recognized me, and he licked and sniffed me before he let go off me. I just kept talking to him and it seemed to calm him?” Jimin shrugged his shoulders, “What blood are you talking about? My wounds? It’s not as bad. They don’t hurt, but the wolf just came too close when he jumped me and his claws…but it’s fine. I am fine, Namjoon.” He took the others hand and squeezed it lightly, trying to make the other realize that he was in fact alright, because he looked awfully like he was spiraling. “Come here, come…” Jimin’s voice was a whisper, when he shifted a little more down and pulled Namjoon in so he could lean against him and would be fully covered by the blanket. The other was shaking and Jimin had no clue why. “It’s okay, shh, please…”

“He.. he jumped you.. the wolf...” Namjoon couldn’t process any of this. It didn’t make sense. Luckily Jimin noticed his state and pulled him in, grounded him with his warmth and his kindness while whispering sweet reassurances into his ear. When Namjoon finally had enough control over himself to make decisions again he gently loosened himself from Jimin’s embrace. “Thank you... for this... just now. I really have to shower and... brush my teeth but when I’m back I can make you breakfast, or we can just get back into bed and cuddle and forget what happened this night.” He would need Jimin to tell him everything again, in detail, to understand why the wolf could listen to him when it didn't even listen to Namjoon. But not now. Now all he wanted and needed right now was comfort.

And Jimin gave him everything and more. He stood no chance, when he felt two familiar hands on his back joining him under the stream of water, soothing over his muscles as if Jimin knew right where he needed him to relax just a little more. He had done everything to feel like himself again and yet, only when Jimin’s touch lingered on his skin could he let out the breath he was holding.

“I can’t stay for long,” He whispered into Namjoon’s skin, leaving a kiss on his shoulder blade. He had thought about staying for breakfast and even longer, but Honsung was angry and he initially locked him in and would get even more furious the moment he would find out he wasn’t there. And now, in the broad daylight, with no adrenaline chasing through his veins he didn’t feel as brave. He would rather face a furious wolf again instead of Honsung. 

“I wish I could…I so badly do, but if he comes home and doesn’t find me there.” Jimin was leaving a trail of kisses behind until he stood in front of Namjoon. His eyes were glistening with uncertainty and fear, more than he ever feared the wolf. But he knew where he needed to be more than ever, because no matter what path he would take in the forest it would lead him back to Namjoon. And he wanted to follow its aching pull, the need, the love he felt. “I want to be yours, please make me yours tonight.”

Namjoon didn’t know what to say, the sudden confession had hit him unprepared and it had taken the breath from his lungs to hear Jimin say those words without hesitation, words that he seemed to mean with all his heart. As an answer he hugged Jimin tight, nakedness be damned and kissed him heavily right where they were. He didn’t pay the rainwater reservoir on his roof that would soon be empty and leave them without shower water any mind. Only Jimin was important right now, Jimin who even called to his most feral being and could tame him with just a few words. How could he stand a chance against a bond like that.

Jimin knew this was where his heart belonged, because the moment Namjoon’s lips enclosed his, it calmed and maybe it even skipped a few beats making him breathless, falling against his lover.

Fear had always been a weird feeling to Jimin, but Love was something he understood even less. At least as long as he had been within the village. If what Honsung was giving him was love, then he didn’t want to experience it in any way. But Namjoon had tipped his world over with a single touch, lured him in and make him lose his heart. Maybe he was the evil after all, but if he was – then Jimin should be damned. He didn’t care anymore.

Jimin promised him again to be back tonight, hands wrapping around Namjoon’s neck for a final kiss, before they finally had parted from one another and found clothes to wear that weren’t ripped or still wet. At the door, Jimin held onto Namjoon’s hand for as long as he could. “I’ll be here tonight, before dawn after I’ve seen the wolf. I promised him.” Before Namjoon could tell him again that he should be careful or ask to come along with him (at least that’s what Jimin thought he would do), he turned around and walked deeper into the forest and back to the path. 

When Jimin was gone Namjoon actually felt a little nerves at the prospect of having Jimin tonight. It would be the first time that there was an actual chance of being with the person he slept with again because Jimin was close by. And he also had feelings for him but that was something that made him even more nervous. Because in his ‘condition’ letting someone close to you could be very, very dangerous for everyone involved. Everyone would pick up the pattern if their partner mysteriously vanished every month at night to come back naked and bloody and with more bruises than before. Also, he couldn’t keep his wolfish nature for long when he got very angry he liked to burn off that energy in a good, long run through the woods - in his wolf form.

Namjoon sighed and shook his head to get rid of those thoughts that were leading somewhere way, way ahead of time. Tonight, was what he should concentrate on. Because tonight was going to happen, and he wanted it to. He wanted to make it special for Jimin, as best as he could so he brought all his candles to the tables, all that he had - which turned out to be five and half. It was funny that when he thought about it they indirectly came from Jimin, because Jimin brought his grandma the candles which gave some to Namjoon in exchange for herbs and berries that she couldn’t get herself because of her eyesight. He had wondered before why she hadn’t just taught her knowledge to Jimin but now that he had met Jimin again he knew: Jimin was rebellious enough to go to the forest as it was; if he had more knowledge than he would probably spend whole days outside the village, collecting everything that could be useful to his grandma and the villagers. Which would probably get him killed in the end because people who were fearless and well versed in herbal medicine were always a witch. To stupid villagers at least. Namjoon grieved for all that lost potential that people had to bury just to appear ‘normal’ and stay alive when they could be so much more, do so much more, for themselves as well as others.

But apparently stupidity was what always won in the end.

…

Jimin sat on the edge of his bed, when the door unlocked again, and his gaze flickered up to meet Honsungs. Without a word, he opened the door a little wider and Jimin pushed himself through as if he hadn’t spent all night in the forest instead of being locked in. Keeping his mouth shut, Jimin was tidying up his little home, glad when the other just vanished outside again. The spot where he had kissed him on his cheek was still burning like a mark and Jimin wiped over it aggressively, turning his skin red.

With the other gone, Jimin could finally relax a little more and because he had already taken a shower with Namjoon this morning, he was taking his time to look through his clothes. He hadn’t much fancy things, most of it too obvious that the people in the village would notice so despite wanting to, he chose the inconspicuous outfit. Jimin was nervously biting on his lip, when he thought about his confession and what had happened. Opening the heavy wooden box by his bed, Jimin took out the last red cloak he owned. Mumbling an apology under his breath for ruining his other one last night, Jimin wondered if his grandma would show him how to sow another one. With a smile, he made a note to visit her soon again but today he had someone else to visit.

The wolf.

And Namjoon.

It was second nature to Jimin to slip right through the village gates without being seen even in the broad daylight. Some didn’t even dare to look the way into the forest and the few that did always stayed close to the path and the village. Jimin didn’t.

The moment he couldn’t hear the faint noises from the market anymore, Jimin took a left turn, pulling his hood a little more into his face as he walked through the thicket. Jimin was walking for a while, before he stopped and the only thing he could hear was his heart beating roughly and the birds chirping around. This was the spot where he’d seen the wolf the most whenever he had crossed paths, but right now there was nothing but the sound of the leaves rustling beneath his feet whenever he moved. From where he stood, Jimin could see the path he usually walked on to get to his grandmother’s house and he smiled, thinking of how the wolf had seen him from here. Turning around, Jimin walked in a little deeper again, his hands nervously fiddling with his cloak. He couldn’t deny that he was still fearing that the wolf was maybe mad at him or wouldn’t want him to come back. He had been so furious last night, something that made Jimin shiver. Was it because of the full moon? Did it’s magic make him lose his mind? Could he be the beast after all? But then who attacked on every other night if it was only the full moon making the wolf rage? Jimin had so many questions and he feared that the wolf wouldn’t be able to answer them for him. And somewhere in the back, he was nervous to meet Namjoon a little later.

...

When he had everything prepared Namjoon decided to go search for some more berries for dessert because even though he had some potted fruits the freshest were always the best and he wanted the best for Jimin tonight. So, he took his little basket and a knife in case he found some mushrooms too and then went out to get some food for the both. Even though he could have smelled them better with a snout picking berries and collecting mushrooms was definitely a job for a human job - not considering the fact that he hated turning right after a full moon’s night because he was still aching. Probably not the best time to have sex with someone but he wouldn’t complain.

Meanwhile, Jimin was tired of searching, so instead of going deeper and potentially getting lost he just plopped down onto the meadow. With his red hood, he would be seen by the wolf quickly either way and since he knew who Jimin was he would come over.

Jimin was sure of that.

So, he waited, pulling his knees in and staring into the distance. Then he leaned back a little, bathing his face in the warmth of the sun rays peeking through the trees, before simply laying back down. A whine left his lips, when the wolf still hadn’t showed up anywhere near. 

Namjoon had good ears no matter what form he was in so when he heard something like whining he immediately stood still and listened to find out who was making that noise. When he had made sure that he hadn’t misheard he followed the sound that seemed to grow louder by the minute, especially when he left the small pathways and got closer to a clearing. He saw red blinking through the last leaves shielding him from the clearing and his heart beat faster at the thought of a very special person that tended to wear red.

“J...Jimin?” The younger was laying on the grass, splayed out like a starfish and looked very unhappy. He didn’t look hurt but Namjoon couldn’t think of any other reason why he was laying down like this, so he carefully approach while asking, “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

Jimin startled a little, but the moment he recognized the voice his heart calmed, and he propped himself up on his elbows, before turning to look at Namjoon.

“You’re not the wolf,” Jimin whined with pursed lips, not being able to deny that his heart nonetheless jumped a little at the prospect of seeing Namjoon earlier than expected. “I’m fine. I was just waiting…and I don’t like waiting.”

That statement was absolutely wrong and yet it had Namjoon holding his breath.

 “That’s...uhm, very perceptive of you?” He answered insecurely and then sat down beside him while putting the basket behind his back so Jimin couldn’t see what he had already gathered. “That sounds like you two had a date. Did he stood you up, the wolf?” He teased him lightly. He wondered why Jimin would think that the wolf would be here now.

Jimin shrugged his shoulders, suddenly feeling a little childish to think that the wolf might have understood him. But he had been so sure last night, when their gazes met that he did. That he knew that Jimin was talking to him and that he understood him – somehow.

“Maybe I did.” A grin appeared on his lips and Jimin nudged Namjoon’s side, “Are you jealous?”

Namjoon leaned in with a smile as if he was sharing a secret. “Do I have to be? Did you kiss him too? Did you get wet, fishy snout kisses from the wolf?”

Jimin cocked up an eyebrow at Namjoon’s teasing, a blush appearing on his cheeks. “It’s your lucky day, since I only kiss handsome strangers living in the forest.” He leaned in, breath fanning over Namjoon’s lips right before he pulled away again with a giggle, leaving the other to almost fall over. “If the wolf doesn’t want me, will you take me with you then?” 

“Of course! You can come with me, but I need to pick a few more berries and mushrooms or else we will have a very small dinner tonight. I didn’t want you to see but if it means that I can take you home sooner than expected I’ll even share my favorite spots with you.”

Jimin’s eyes widened and something pulled at his heartstrings. “You prepared dinner?” When Namjoon nodded and held out his hand, Jimin almost fell over his own feet as he stumbled forward to intertwine their fingers. Once again, noticing how perfectly his small hand fitted into his – like a lock into a keyhole.

The wolf was long forgotten while he was with Namjoon, listening attentively whenever he told him something about poisonous berries and helping him pick as much as he could. He sneakily ate a few, tinting his lips a little more red but the berries were just too sweet to resist. Namjoon could understand the notion. To him, Jimin was just too sweet too resist as well so in the end both their lips were tinted red. They were happy and giggly when he opened the door to his home where they put their edible treasures on the table. Despite them being a distraction to each other they had gathered a full course meal and Namjoon couldn’t wait to prepare it and then share it with his lovely visitor. “Do you want something to drink? I have tea, I have elderberry juice, I even have some self-made liquors if you want to go there.” He mainly did them for fun or to exchange them for other goods because he lost control enough every month he didn't need to soften his control at other times through alcohol, but he didn’t mind others enjoying it.

Jimin was getting more and more nervous, trying to hide it with a smile but somehow it was making him a lot shyer than usually was. So, he nodded as an answer, quickly realizing that Namjoon had given him multiple options. “J-just water, please.” He bit his lip, glad when he handed him the cup and he could pretend to be busy with drinking. While preparing the meal, Jimin was quiet, humming his responses and avoiding Namjoon’s gazes a few more times than he usually did but he was just so god damn nervous and whenever he looked at him from this closely his heart did this thing and Jimin felt absolutely breathless.

So, he quickly took the opportunity to gather some flowers from outside, leaving the rest to Namjoon, so he could take a deep breath and his time with picking the most beautiful ones. Jimin hadn’t known about the candles or anything else that Namjoon had prepared, so when he stood by the door again, flowers in hand, he was just staring blankly ahead with his mouth open. 

It was Namjoon’s time to get a little shy. He had no practice with decorating so when Jimin stared he wasn’t sure if it was a good surprise or if the other was just weirded out by it.

He had lit all the candles, but the candle holders didn’t match and for the last one he had just stuck it to a piece of wood with melted wax to keep it from falling over. He had kept some of the branchlets and pretty berries to place them around the candles and had braided some plant stems into some sort of pleated wreath to finish it off. “I know it’s not like.. how you’re used to it, in the village. I know they have much more pretty stuff, but I hope it’s nice and you like it.. a little. If not I can take it off the table it’s not like it’s special or anything I just.. wanted it to be …something nice for you.” He awkwardly managed to say, waiting tensely for Jimin’s reply.

 “H-how I am used to it?” Jimin came closer, reaching out for Namjoon to hug him tight and hide his face with it. “It is special to me, more than that…no one has ever…,” He whispered, hugging Namjoon a little tighter before he turned in his hold and placed the flowers in the small vase. He didn’t need to tell Namjoon about how he had never been on a date before, nor how Honsung had never cooked and if he did something wrong was most likely punished with a slap to his face. It wasn’t often anymore that Jimin did something for Honsung either. He had tried to make his day a little brighter, to cheer him up and make him less agitated and with that wanted to make his own evening less stressful. But Honsung hadn’t even glanced at the flowers, giving them an uncaring shrug before taking the food. Jimin had stopped caring either. Just sometimes for himself he brought a few fresh flowers and placed them onto his table.

Seeing Jimin happy was definitely worth it to feel insecure and so he prepared the plates with equal creativity, arranging the hot mushrooms and the herbal salad and the berries in a way he hoped Jimin would like. When they sat down it was quiet for a while, Jimin savoring the taste of his meal and Namjoon watching Jimin while almost forgetting to eat himself. Only the growling of his stomach reminded him to fill it before his cocked meal got cold. No matter how much he liked mushrooms though Jimin was like the tastier thing in his sight right now.

Jimin couldn’t help but giggle, when he noticed how Namjoon took a small bite from his meal, when he clearly wanted to dive in. It was obvious that usually Namjoon didn’t have to care about manners at all but with him around he wanted to try. Jimin felt touched and the nervousness only grew.

Did it mean as much to Namjoon as it did for him? Jimin peeked over to him when he had finished, hands folded in his lap as he nervously tugged at his shirt. He felt awkwardly out of his depth right now, not really sure what he should do next and his heart was beating so loudly that he was sure Namjoon could hear it. 

Jimin finished his plate and ate the whole dessert that he had prepared so Namjoon took that as a good sign that Jimin wasn't just smiling from politeness but because he actually enjoyed the food. After he had offered him another glass of water and juice that the other declined there was nothing left to do but the dishes - and what Jimin had initially come for. “If you want to you can take a breath of fresh air outside while I do the dishes and see if you can watch some bats hunting for moths. Or you can rest if you’d prefer that.”

Jimin just nodded a little dazed and stumbled outside of the cottage. He hadn’t taken his coat with him, nor anything else, so he was shivering the moment he stepped outside. The sun was setting low over the lake, dipping it into beautiful colors but Jimin couldn’t really enjoy it while his mind was spiraling, and his nervousness was only heightening. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but the sudden hands rubbing up and down his arms were making him jump in surprise and Jimin blinked out of his stupor. The sun was gone and there were actually bats circling the early night air. “He will kill me,” It was so quickly spoken that Jimin wasn’t sure if Namjoon even understood what he had just said. “If he finds out, he will kill me and yet, I want to be so selfish and be with you. I want him to see I was yours and if only for a night.” Jimin leaned against Namjoon, knowing that he would be safe to do so. He wouldn’t get pushed away, like so many times Honsung had done. “It feels so right to be with you.”

Namjoon immediately took his hands off Jimin, stumbling back. “What did you just say?” He had no idea what Jimin was talking about but ‘killing’ was understandably a sore spot for him. At first he thought Jimin might be talking about the wolf - that he was scared after all after meeting him during a full moon - but then Jimin spoke further and it didn’t make any sense anymore before it finally clicked. “Are you talking about.. your fiancé? Is he a violent person?”

Jimin averted his gaze and bit down his lip as he tried to avoid to spill too much or make Namjoon worry about him, but his silence told Namjoon enough. “I am just scared about so many things that I don’t understand,” He took a step closer to Namjoon, hoping he wouldn’t back off. Slowly, Jimin reached out for Namjoon, letting his hand soothe up Namjoon’s chest. “What’s the worst he can do? He doesn’t care about me and he will take the first opportunity to throw me out into the forest on a full moon anyways. I don’t belong to him anyways.”

“So - throwing you out would be his method of killing? You are sure he wouldn’t do anything else? Like hurt you. Or kill you himself? Shouldn’t he... I mean... why are you promised to each other if he would push you away that easily?” He couldn’t just let it go that easily. If what they were doing put Jimin at risk of dying then he wasn’t up for it!

Jimin was nervously chewing on his bottom lip as he shrugged his shoulders. “He does it all the time when I don’t listen to the rules of the village. Hurt me, I mean. And Honsung, we’ve been promised the day my mother…” Jimin sighed, taking in a deep breath before he spilled it all, “She was condemned of being a witch and to be in contact with the wolf and it’s evil. My mother had cried at the wolf’s death, while others celebrated but she couldn’t stop it. I tried to calm her, but she cried as if she had lost a friend…a lover…and people turned it against her.” There were no tears in his eyes when Jimin told Namjoon everything, just his fingers were trembling, “They said I would be promised as the only one who survived the wolf’s and witches fangs to be forever in the care of the hunter and therefore his son. So, no evil could spread within me. As they would protect me.” Jimin chuckled low, “Maybe I am the beast?”

Namjoons eyes widened. “No...” His voice gave out as he turned his head away to not let Jimin see how he was fighting the tears. He knew that his mum had been close to someone from the village and he had been pretty sure that it had been Jimin’s mum because - like Jimin - she had a reason to visit the forest. But he had thought that after his mum died she didn’t want to come and now learning that they killed her for being kindhearted enough to cry for his mum broke his heart. Quickly he wiped over his eyes, trying not to show how much it hurt him to learn the truth. This wasn’t about him, it was Jimin’s story and he would deal with his pain another time. He took the boy’s hands in his and squeezed them gently. “I’m so sorry, Jimin, so very sorry that fear and stupidity made the villagers do those… horrible things and hurt you like this.”

“I’m okay. I remember her lovingly,” The words were over his lips a lot easier than he would have thought, but seeing Namjoon aching and feeling his pain, was only making this harder for him and it was still the truth. Jimin didn’t want to remember the pain, but all the good things she had given him.

“I want to be yours, Namjoon.” Jimin stepped closer, hands wandering up his neck and his fingertips were soothing over his soft skin. “I don’t want anyone else to have me but you, because…” A smile played at his lips and his heart was beating so hard against his chest, that he knew Namjoon must feel it with the way he was leaning against him. “This is where I need to be. She told me not to be afraid of the wolf, so I strayed away from the path and found you. Don’t let me go, please.”

“I’m… I’m not planning to.” His throat still felt constricted as he hugged Jimin back, trying to keep the younger from hurting even though he knew that there were already scars on Jimin’s heart that he couldn’t heal. “You don’t have to go back, you know? You could just... stay in the forest. They might think the wolf killed you. Why did you never move in with your grandma before?”

Jimin blinked at Namjoon unbelieving of what he offered him. “I…I wanted to, but she told me not to leave until I knew.” With a chuckle, he traced a finger over Namjoon’s cheeks softly admiring his features under the moonlight. “I don’t know what she means by that and no matter how many times I asked she just told me the same thing again. She refused to let me stay until I do.” He smiled, thinking of his loving grandma, who was the kindest person he’d ever met and although she had pushed him out each day to be back by dawn in the village, Jimin loved her dearly. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Until you know?” He was thankful to Jimin’s grandma to keep his secret because he was certain that she knew who he was even though they didn’t talk much. She wouldn’t make her grandson find out and get him in danger, would she? Sometimes the truth was the most dangerous thing you could get. “I... I do. But I don’t want to go against your grandma’s wishes. She must have a reason why she thinks you’re safer in the village, right?”

Or to be more honest: He wanted Jimin to stay but was scared about him finding out if he would. 

Jimin shivered and although he stayed close to Namjoon right now, it wasn’t close enough to keep him entirely warm in the cold night’s air. “But what about what I want?” He couldn’t help but feel teary-eyed, when Namjoon told him to go back and crashing the hope that had just gleamed within him that he could stay with him. “M-maybe if she knows that I could be with you?” Jimin asked with a shaky voice, “Then she would know that I am safe. And…and I don’t want to be with him. I love you, Namjoon. I want to be yours, please.”

The last thing he wanted was to make Jimin cry, so he gave in. “Okay then... let’s just ask her, okay? We can go there, together and I can officially ask her for your hand. Like... you villagers do right? And if she’s okay with you living with me then you won’t ever have to worry about your fiancé again. We can make something up. You were eaten by the wolf. Or drowned in the lake. Whatever works best. You just… can’t go back to the village then. So, you might want to think about it. About all the people you won’t meet again or the things you love that you can’t get here. I can only provide you with what the forest gives me.”

“M-my hand?” Jimin’s heart took a leap and with it (and a joyful giggle), he jumped right into Namjoon’s arms, kissing him. It was like his mind and heart were through a storm and now it had calmed down, because with Namjoon it was where he wanted to be. “I belong to you, Namjoon. I don’t need to think about it. It’s you that I want. My path leads to you and only you.” He smiled against his lips and with another little jump, Jimin wrapped his legs around Namjoon’s waist, knowing that he would catch him. 

“Don’t jump me like that - who knows if I’ll catch you.” Namjoon teased him lightly, while the wolf in him enjoyed the playfulness. He wanted to playfight with Jimin, roll in the sheets, see who would be able to get the upper hand but he would try and be gentle with Jimin this time.

Because he wasn’t sure if the younger could handle his wolfishness just yet.

A/N: Oh, someone is in love and ready to give up everything ;) But is it the right thing to do? To trust the big bad wolf ;) 

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[gcldenchild]

let it be known that goldie is not okay by any stretch of the imagination. 

as shown in the ask post, he has some serious mental health issues. his most pressing? his suicidal tendencies and thoughts. this covers how those came to be, and how they’ve affected him throughout his life.

to say that he’d always dealt with it is inaccurate, but it certainly has been persistent for a good portion of his life, even before the attempt at transmutation.

at first, it was only the thoughts. they were minor, of course. after his mom died and he and al were truly left orphaned, ed had wondered if it was because he existed that their dad left. hohenheim was crying in that one photo they had together, after all. it always stuck at the back of his mind, and thus began the fantasizing in order to somehow justify what had happened to him and his brother.

he grew a mild fascination with death. constantly envisioning what it would’ve been like if he’d never been born- or died before he could damage his parents relationship somehow- and how al would’ve lived afterwards.

how al would’ve felt having a normal family to take care of him for his whole childhood, instead of it being completely taken away when he was only four. 

part of it stemmed from an inherent longing to see his mother again in some fashion, twisted into childlike fantasies where he’s the one to die first and watches on from whatever kind of heaven he’d go to, reunited when the rest of his family passed on. peacefully.

he didn’t want to deal with grief anymore, but he couldn’t deny his true reality. their mother was gone, their shithead father was nowhere to be seen, and the house was unbearably lonely. things began to get overwhelming. he’d begun to grow slightly delirious in his study of alchemy. 

most of it is masked as enthusiasm. it becomes a subconscious habit to talk about alchemy with a fake sense of determination, in order to fool the people around him into believing he wasn’t losing his mind understanding the greater world of science ahead of him, with every single word he’d read swirling around in his brain as he attached it all to the fading face of his father.

yock island, though instilling a certain lesson, does intense damage to his psyche. it was the first time he’d started to grow uncomfortable with his own fascinations. at this point, it wasn’t his own life at stake- it was al’s, too. he’d already started losing it by studying things for days on end, but nearly starving to death with his brother really put things into perspective. 

he learned the meaning of all is one and one is all, but the cost could not be justifiable. not when a pool of fear stirred in his gut constantly, him finally aware of the true nature behind all his “harmless” fantasies. 

he tried to shut them out. to ignore them. and then izumi had to go and warn them to never commit the taboo of human transmutation. 

something broke in ed the day he even suggested that they try to find a way to crack human transmutation. so much had grown. he’d barely been able to get up that morning. even still, he acted like everything was normal. like he wasn’t struggling to even stand, being crushed under the weight of his spiraling, pent up emotions and thoughts.

he just talks with al, and something in him just... breaks. completely. he can’t bear the weight of it all anymore, and he finally talks, from the darkest recesses of his soul.

“i think we could bring mom back.”

he wishes al could’ve known better. he regrets ever saying those words, ever pushing his brother to help him with it all, ever placing his hands on that transmutation circle. 

for a brief moment, he feels like he dies. it’s almost satisfying, to him. and then he wakes up in the fucking gate, truth taking his leg as payment. and then- the fucking thing they brought to life, for the cost of al’s whole body and his leg. it spits blood, reaches out at him, and he has to literally resist the urge to retch and let himself bleed out.

he only continues for al. to get al back. al didn’t deserve this. he was only ten, damnit. 

it gets worse. he screams during his automail surgery, ranting about anything he can think of, trying to keep himself breathing. trying to push through it all for alphonse. everything is boiling over, and he can’t handle it. 

he slowly begins to develop anger as a protective shield. it’s the only way he’s able to shut everything in his head up. the only time it begins to boil over to a point he can’t control is when he can’t bring himself to be angry.

ed still cared for other people, no matter how much he tried to ignore it. he still does good things out of his own natural moral code. unfortunately, though, being that nice? it actively hurt him, because it lets the chaos spiraling in his stomach return. he’d barely be able to get up the next day without a solid thirty minutes of extra “sleep.”

his naps become ways for him to cope with the hellish cacophony. it’s just so much easier to yell and not acknowledge the fact that people want to help him, no matter how much he may need it. 

when nina happens, the nightmare that follows- although not the first of its kind- is one of the only ones to render him inconsolable upon waking. he can’t just go back to sleep, but he can’t talk, either. he has to sit through it, with his heightened breath, the heavy feeling in his chest practically choking him the entire time.

he shuts people out. he shuts his own brother out. the normal facade serves its purpose well.

when scar almost kills him, he is pained to say that the conflict in his head is wildly disproportionate.

living for al’s sake is outclassed by the want to die.

it’s the first example of his thoughts breaking out from their prison. he was ready to accept death, above all else. and then al punches him for being stupid. with everything having already snapped, he can only respond as if he were a deer in headlights, unable to truly comprehend the situation.

things just get worse. and worse. and worse. he can’t cope with it all. his anger keeps exploding, trying to protect him from himself. to keep him from going through with some of those thoughts and just sacrificing himself to get his own brother’s body back, as if the world would be better off without him.

to an extent, he was convinced it would. he never acted upon it consciously, however.

ed would never make a direct attempt. he’d do stupidly self-sacrificial things sometimes, yes, but he’d never try to kill himself outright. he wouldn’t want al to see- al had already had enough death in his life, and ed didn’t want to burden him with both his own death and the fact he was his own murderer at once.

this doesn’t stop the fantasies from getting worse. though. nor does it stop him from looking at himself in the mirror, hallucinating both the feel and sight of choking himself. (not like that would be the only way, though, of course. he’d imagined so many, over and over, and they played in his head constantly.)

he thinks about it so, so much. al is the only thing to keep him grounded. his little brother is the only being that grounds him.

it doesn’t stop him from doing things to harm himself, though. when he’s alone, he finds himself knocking against the side of his own head hard or pulling on his hair to intentionally cause pain. his head becomes sensitive, but only because hes desperate to do anything to drown everything out.

one could even find scratch marks along his arm from when he gripped onto it too hard during one of his fits, paired with the tips of his automail having a sharper edge. he hates letting people see those, but at least they’re faint. he can play them off as simple wounds from getting into a fight. the bruises are a different story, but its not as if he cant make something else up to explain them.

he panics when people see through his facade, and retaliates with even worse anger. he goes on the attack like a caged animal because deep down, he WANTS help. it’s just hard for him to even receive it before he’s been completely, utterly broken for that day.

being separated from al is debilitating.

even though he knows that alphonse can handle himself, it still does not change the fact that he’s become unhealthily dependent on him. al is his entire reason for living, and being far from that tether eats away at what composure he has left.

when he’s impaled, he wasn’t even sure if what he was going to do would even work. to envision himself as a philosopher’s stone? he’d never had that sort of a handle on his own soul before.

as he’d seen with envy, though, the yelling of everything inside him, screaming to be let out perfectly matched the stones of the homunculi. ed saved his own life, only letting himself live for alphonse, wherever he may have gone.

the months of being separated are fucking torture.

or, at least, they are, for only a while. by the time he was in alenthaal, ed had grown ... unnaturally hopeless. even though he looked fine, almost everyone in town saw through his mask.

luitumi is the one to break him first.

“edward?” “yeah, whats up, luitumi?” “you don’t need to pretend anymore.”

he’s completely dumbfounded. she attacks him right at his core. naturally, he puts up his shield, trying to force her out. to get her away from his problems. and then she fucking takes his normal hand, squeezes it, and looks at him with those unwavering glass eyes, and he breaks. 

it’s all let out at once. every thought swirling around manifests as panicked crying, yelling, whining- really, anything he can verbalize. he says “you don’t know anything,” and she shuts him up completely by saying “i wouldn’t be talking to you if i didn’t, edward.”

she doesn’t destroy his shield. she takes the other route of forcing him to put it down.

ed still doesn’t remember a lot from that day, other than the feeling of being hugged by multiple people at once. the entirety of team lazarus.

emotionally drained, he can barely get up the next day, too. but instead of suffering through it by himself, he can feel a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him through it. 

he’d fallen asleep inside the living room, and lucaun and carson were waiting for him the next morning. luitumi was making food with yularosá, and cobalt was talking with heinkel and darius and greed.

it’s ... sickeningly domestic.

and yet, it wasn’t something he’d experienced since mom died. he hadn’t felt this familial safety since then, not even at the rockbell house. luitumi had broken down his walls in a single night, most likely fueled by whatever emotions charity had been able to pick up on, and now the rest of the people who could be considered “friends” in this fucking town are doing what they can to help.

talking with any of them about his feelings becomes mandatory. they don’t give him a choice, and for some reason, he can’t bring himself to fight it. the better part of him knows that he needs it.

at first, its twice a day. usually luitumi and lucaun handle it. cobalt and carson deal with his constantly presenting daddy issues, though. carson knew the feeling of growing up with a dad who didn’t love him (and, initially, no dad at all), and cobalt knew the feeling of fucking hating his own father. 

his need for a parental figure slowly dies down. cobalt will never be a father to him, just like mustang, but he’s okay with that. cobalt doesn’t have any legal standing over him unlike the colonel, and he’s a lot more fucking comfortable with that.

cobalt doesnt have to pretend like he’s a father in any capacity for ed. what he does is out of his own heart, not because he sees ed as a ward.

at least, that’s what ed believes. and he likes it like that. people not pretending to be things they aren’t helps him shut away that one need.

it moves to once a day. he trails them a lot. his attachment issues come into presence, but they keep reminding him that its okay to need someone. slowly but surely, he’s able to deal with being left alone, though not for very long.

it moves to every other day. his thoughts are a lot less loud than he remembers them being. 

it moves to only twice a week. the first time ed doesn’t artificially smile is for their christmas and new years celebrations, when luitumi drags him into the dancing circle with her. the whole thing reminds him of some of the celebrations they used to have in resembool in the summer. he says he’s not a good dancer, but luitumi doesn’t care. he lets her take the lead for the start, and just like everything else in his life, he learns fast. 

he finally begins smiling, completely free of his thoughts for once. he actually has fun that isn’t tethered to everything he’s been building up for over these many years.

alenthaal becomes his safe place. “whats said in alenthaal, stays in alenthaal.” he genuinely believes it to be true.

when the promised day draws closer and closer, he promises to come back. it’s not just al he’s living for, anymore. he’s living for this town, too, full of people who make him feel safe. 

when al sacrifices himself to bring his arm back, it sets ed back what feels like years. his anger returns, completely unstoppable, and his one focus is to kill father. and then greed dies. 

it just gets worse. even with the bastard gone, his progress is still set back significantly.

he yells at hohenheim. calls him a rotten father. he didnt want to deal with any of that self sacrificial garbage, not because that was the man who left them, but because thats exactly what ed does.

he thinks. thinks so, so hard. finally, he draws out the circle, everything finally becoming clear.

he sacrifices his own alchemy. ed doesn’t need it anymore, not when it’s caused him and his brother so much pain.

he has the town of alenthaal. he has his friends. he has his family.

who needs alchemy, when he’s got them?

and he beats truth, in his own special way. al is brought back. even though they spend months in rehabilitation, ed’s head is so much clearer than its ever been.

he returns home resembool. everything was worth it. 

when he visits alenthaal once again, luitumi’s changed. she’s permanently merged with charity as a result of the promised day. they become two extremes- a complete lack of any alchemy at all, and a newfound power that still has so much unknown alchemy to tap into. even still, they share that hug, ed having kept his promise to not die.

he does his best to be more open. alenthaal is his safe haven, but having more than one isn’t impossible.

in the time before he goes off to the west, he tries to open up, bit by bit. its hard. the thoughts aren’t gone, and he knows they never will be. he’ll still have times where he’s rendered useless by them all, but this time, winry and al are there to help. 

his emotions are genuine. his smiles are genuine. he doesn’t have to fake anymore. 

when decides to study alchemy in the west, he knows every possible risk. he continues, despite the danger, because this would be his way of coming to terms with what happened to hohenheim. he ties alchemy to him, and even in death, that doesn’t change.

his father is gone. his father was one of the greatest alchemists the world had seen.

so ed will just overcome him, even without being able to perform alchemy anymore. he’ll prove that he’s more than just his kid. he’ll make his dad proud, as much as he hates calling him by that name.

luitumi joins him on his journey. they ground eachother. neither will have to deal with their pain alone, not this time. ed knows suffering through it isn’t an option for him anymore.

the thoughts will return, once in a while. 

ed no longer shuts them out at this point. he lets them be, allowing them to stir until the mental soup is done. until his head finally becomes clear.