#i honestly think that slam into the wall loosened something up in my body anyway and im in minimal pain so that's an extra plus! i guess

[ghfabjh]

@fernsnailz i slammed into a wall while grabbing this from the mailbox because i was so excited but IT'S HERE THE ZINE IS HERE

my phone camera quality is shit, so it looks a lot better in person and i'm incredibly happy with it! thank you so so much!

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Idiot | Tony Stark

Hey lovelies— I wrote some flangst even though I have a billion other things that needed to be written. I really woke up and said “comfort character? I think you mean: Tony Stark” and then wrote a fic with no plot. It’s just sappy and sad and cuddly and kinda’ elusive as to the relationship. Might expand on this or might let it sit in the void like I am :) Enjoy

Description: Literally like zero plot, this was literally written today this morning because I am a heartbroken mess and I fucking hate real life men right now and I hate the military and I hate guys who tell you that you’re special when they don’t fucking mean it and I really need a Best Friend/Maybe More!Tony Stark cuddle

Pairing: Best Friend / Maybe More!Tony Stark x Female!Reader

Warnings: Like nothing, kinda angsty

Word count: 2.7k

Tags: Fluff, Angst, breakups LOL

She wakes up screaming again. This is the ninth night in a row and she’s starting to think that the others are going to request to soundproof her room. She wouldn’t blame them. She would almost prefer they do that because at least then she won’t have to stop screaming when she wakes up. She can just keep going and finally run out of voice and then maybe— maybe— she won’t be able to say his name anymore.

She flips over, her hair plastered to the back of her neck, her stomach tossing like she’s on a roller coaster. She can’t tell if she wants to cry or throw up— she wants to scream at both choices. She wants to rip her hair out too but then she would be sad and bald and she can only do one of those things right now. She’s not deep enough in the spiral to chop it off yet— that’s a day twelve activity.

She settles on crying— like she even has a choice— and soon her room is filled with the sound of her heaving against a pillow that still smells too much like him. She tosses it— she whips it across the damn room and doesn’t flinch when she hears something shatter. It was nothing important, she knows that for a fact. She hopes it’s the picture of them.

She pulls her knees up, tucking them under her torso, praying the pressure will alleviate the bubbling in her stomach. It won’t— she’s only fooling herself. He’s not a cramp— it’s not food poisoning; it’s rage. It’s brain melting sadness. It’s every ‘Good morning beautiful’ and ‘I miss you’ and ‘I love—

No. Nope— not that one. She can’t think about that one. If she does then she might never stop— she might take a match to everything in this room, every piece of clothing in her closet, every mug in the kitchen that he ever touched. Where would she be then— stuff-less, clothes-less, and with every Avenger looking for a coffee mug pissed at her?

Yeah no— better to just not think about it. Better to just scream.

She squeezes her eyes closed— not like it matters, the room is pitch black anyway— and slams her fist against the mattress, letting the sting that rips up her arm ring louder than his name in her head. It only works for a moment before it’s back— louder and angrier than ever. Louder and angrier than her. His name in her head is a separate entity, haunting her skull like it’s a dilapidated mansion, trying to evict her from the endless halls of her own mind.

She bunches the blanket up, shoving it against her mouth and praying that it muffles the crazed roar that sheds from her lungs— like an animal being ripped apart, she can’t tell if she’s screaming for help or for something so much worse.

There’s a knock on the door and she freezes, her blood running ice cold. A few seconds tick by, her limbs and jaw glued into a tight position, tongue heavy and aching in her mouth. Her heart pounds hard in her chest— the entity knocking back to whoever’s at the door— there’s just no way.

“Would you open the door if I told you there are macaroons in my hand?” A collected, slightly sarcastic, familiar voice breaks through the wood barrier of her door.

Her shoulders drop, her throat closing slightly— it’s just Tony.

“I— erm—” she jumps off her bed quickly, stumbling in the dark until she finds the lamp on her desk, turning it on the the sight of her blasphemous pillow and the shattered remains of a purple mug— damn she overshot the pillow by an inch— “gimme’ a minute, ‘k?”

“You get five seconds — these walls are thick but Friday alerted me to the— and I quote— distressed wailing.”

Oh god of course she did— how could she forget about the damn AI? She presses her palms against her eyes, wicking away as much moisture as possible. She’s so tired— her bones feel like cement, her neck barely keeping her head screwed on let alone straight. She’s a mess and all she can do is chuck her pillow back on her bed and ignore the purple shards peeking out from behind her dresser. One thing at a time.

She pushes her lead bones to the door, trying not to wince as the light pours into her dim room. She blinks a few times, her eyelashes sticky and cheeks stiff, taking in the man in grey sweatpants and a worn MIT hoodie in front of her. She glances down and sure enough he has a mug of pistachio macaroons. A mug. How ironic.

She flicks her gaze to his face, blinking back another wave of tears when she sees the concern mingling with his coffee eyes. “Hey doll.”

She swallows, trying to clear her stinging throat. It doesn’t work, her voice still sounds like she’s been chain smoking since the ripe age of five years old. “Hey Tony.”

He raises a dark brow, eyes drawing down her front, and she shifts on her feet, wishing the hallway light would flicker out. She just knows her eyes are puffy and her hair a mess. Her t-shirt is definitely crumpled, hiding what she can only hope is shorts and not just a pair of panties, and she only has one sock on— she can feel it now, the hardwood like ice against her toes. Her face flushes with heat, fingers clasping awkwardly in front of her— she may as well have a sign flashing above her head. Heartbroken idiot.

For a moment they just stand there, eyes locked, daring the other to move or speak or do anything at all first. Finally Tony sighs, holding his arms out, shaking his head. “Are you waiting for an invitation? Get your butt over her— now.”

That’s all it takes for her to practically jump into his arms, throwing her weight against the man like a drowning woman would a life preserver. That’s kind of what he is. Her best friend— her life line. Any other time she would have been the one knocking on his door— kicking his door down is more like it— but he told her— he told her that he was no good and she didn’t listen. She wraps her arms around his neck, biting her lip hard enough to keep the tears from dripping down her face again. She missed him— she’s been missing him for months.

“He’s an idiot, doll.” Tony mumbles against her hair, arms circling her back and pressing her to him so tight that it feels like he’s trying to fuse their bodies together.

He smells like motor oil and coffee and her chest shakes from the contrast of the fire in her veins and the cool relief of finally going home. It feels like longer than months— it feels like years. She’s been walking on eggshells around him since she introduced her— now ex— boyfriend. They don’t fight— at least, they didn’t before. They’ve never had a reason to.

Not until him.

Warmth seeps from him, curling around her limbs. She presses her face into his shoulder, breathing in the scent ingrained in his hoodie. He’s been wearing it for a few days, she can tell. If things were normal she would be tugging at the pocket, slipping her hands in and tangling them with his, tracing his knuckles with her thumbs. She’ll settle for this though— she’ll take anything.

“I’m the idiot.” She mutters dejectedly, fingers tugging on his hood, trying desperately to distract herself from how much she wants to scream again. “I thought, Tony— I— god I’m so stupid.”

Tony stiffens, chest like marble and pressing against hers so hard she can feel his heart beating against her practically bare skin— deadly calm but beginning to pick up.

“Don’t you dare.” His voice is gravelly, grinding his words against her ear.

His hold on her loosens and she panics, her own heartbeat spiking rapidly in her chest— what is he doing? Is he leaving? No, no, no he can’t leave! She locks her arms around his shoulders as he bends down, shaking her head, the tears finally spilling over her cheeks, hot and angry and desperate. “No please— don’t go I’m sorry— I’m— please don’t leave me.”

She’s incoherent, not even sure that the words coming out of her mouth make any sense at all but she has to at least try. He can’t leave— not now. She can take a broken heart, she can take one stupid man, she can take having a sockless foot and a head that feels like its caving in— she can’t take her best friend walking away and leaving her in this obscenely bright hallway to fend the light off by herself. If she loses her home she’s done for. “Tony no you can’t— you can’t go.”

She’s sobbing, chest heaving, and she just barely registers the soft clink of the mug settling against the floor before one of his arms is slipping under her thighs, hauling her toes off the floor. His other arm remains anchored around her back, fingers digging into her side to keep her from falling. The sudden motion makes her gasp— a watery, broken noise— her legs pushing around his hips and clinging for dear life.

“Hey—” his jaw rubs against her temple, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, stubble scratchy enough to regain her attention— “I’m here, doll. Right here— you honestly might be an idiot if you think I’m leaving you.”

She chokes out a laugh. It sounds more like a whimper— like she’s scrounging for the last drops of happiness in her for his sake. Probably because she is. She tightens her legs around his waist, socked ankle crossing over bare ankle, sucking in a deep breath as his thumb rubs circles on her ribcage.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” She sighs and his hand stills. “You were right.”

“Trust me— I wish I wasn’t.” His fingers crawl up her back, curling around the back of her neck, pushing the hair from her clammy skin.

The warmth of his skin on hers is like heaven and she tries to ignore the fact that he’s touching her while she’s a complete wreck. “You should hate me.”

His hand clamps harder around her skin, the sharp inhale he takes making his chest rise and push against hers. His fingers slip into her hair and he tugs gently, coaxing her to lift her head from shoulder. When she does she meets his determined, narrowed stare and his minute frown. Her heart clenches when she takes in the rest of his face, her gaze landing on the off purple bruises under his eyes, the tell tale sign that her best friend hasn’t been sleeping. It’s her fault— she knows it is.

He shakes his head, his brown hair ruffling slightly. “God, baby, you really are an idiot, aren’t you?”

Her lip trembles, her stomach squeezing— baby. “Tony—”

His forehead drops, his damp skin meeting her own, nose bumping against hers, drawing up the bridge and then back down— she can’t breathe. “You’re an idiot if you think for a second that I could hate you. For anything let alone something so damn ridiculous.”

He laughs a breathy, frenzied sound, nose drawing along her cheekbone. She must be dreaming. That's the only explanation as to the sudden lack of oxygen in the hallway— the only explanation to the way her veins are thrumming like guitar strings being plucked. This can’t be real. She feels like she’s going to wake up any minute now, throat raw and chest aching twice as much.

She opens mouth— she has to say something— but he keeps going. “An idiot if you think I wouldn’t follow you to the other end of the earth. Of the galaxy. Here you are thinking I hate you because you dated a moron? Because, what, I told you not to? Big deal— you tell me not to do things all the time. That’s what we do, baby. We tell eachother not to do stupid things and then we don’t listen.”

He pulls back enough to take in her face, eyes drawing over the curve of her nose and the slope of her cheeks before landing back on hers. His stare is intense— demanding, like him— she wouldn’t be able to look away if she wanted to. That’s impossible though; she could stare at this man all day and not get bored. She thinks back to all those days in his workshop, watching him fiddle with his suits. What she wouldn’t give to be there now, legs curled under her and his MIT hoodie— the same one on him now— pulled over her, singing along to their playlist and passing him screwdrivers. Her chest squeezes at the thought— she can’t remember the last time she did that.

His hand in her hair tugs again and she forces herself to stay in the moment, watching his lips form the words first and then letting her ears catch up. “He was a tool and you’re too good for that, alright? That has nothing to do with us. Point blank, whatever, he has no effect on us. Okay?”

She nods, her nose bumping against his again, and for the first time all night— all week— it feels like she can breathe. “Okay.”

His chest sags under her, the tension in his shoulders releasing under her fingers. “Good. Don’t say stupid things. That’s my job.”

“You’re right.” She cracks a smile, one that feels too foreign but entirely familiar. “You can have it back.”

Tony’s brows push together, head pulling back, his own smile beginning to carve over his lips. “Have what back?”

“The title of world’s biggest idiot.”

Just like that she’s giggling, throwing her head back and letting the laughter pour out of her. It’s cathartic— it’s natural. Like a dam breaking, it’s fast and dangerous and exhilarating. Before she knows it he’s laughing too, his forehead pressing against her shoulder, chest shaking, and she’s digging her fingers into his hoodie to keep herself steady. They’re definitely waking up everyone else in the compound but she doesn’t care. She only throws herself closer to him, hugging him so tight that she’s practically falling over his back, legs locked high around his stomach.

He turns his face against her neck, mumbling his words into her skin. “Missed you, doll.”

Her fingers slip into his hair, toying with the soft strands and sighing. “Missed you more.”

Groaning, he straightens, re-securing his arm around her. He passes her another smile, this one softer, more in control. She pulls at his hair in return, earning a half-hearted eye roll and the reward of him sinking his head against her hands. She scratches at his scalp lightly, scrunching her nose and trying not to giggle again. Now that she’s started she can’t stop— that’s his real super power; leaving her in stitches.

“You think you’re ready to sleep again?”

She sobers at his question, shrugging. She already knows she’s not. The thought of going back to her room and having to sleep without a pillow again, alone, makes her blanche. She would rather not sleep at all then do that. She may as well go make a pot of coffee if that’s her option. The answer bubbles in her mouth— no.

No she is not ready— but she has to be. She has to be a big girl. Even if it means sleeping with the window open so that she can’t smell her sheets, even if it means freezing because the windows are open and she can’t use her blankets, even if she would rather be tucked under the covers of Tony’s bed like the old days when things were normal and she was happy.

But she can’t say that— can she?

“I guess— you gotta’ put me down though,” is what she finally settles on, trying to keep the disappointment from her words. It definitely doesn’t work but for the sake of her sanity she pretends it does.

He frowns— fully this time— blinking at her like she’s grown another head. “Uh no I don’t.”

He says it sarcastically— like she’s crazy for even suggesting such a thing— his face incredulous. It makes her heart spike, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She’s missing something.

“Tony, what are you talking—“

And then he turns, starting down the hall, starting towards his room, and she shuts her mouth. She’s not going to protest— she’s not risking her chance.

She’s not an idiot.

[morceid]

I Hate The Color Orange

SPENCER REID X FEM!READER

Summary: Spencer goes into work sick, and Y/N takes him home to rest.

Category: FLUFF. THE FLUFFIEST FLUFF IMAGINABLE.

Warnings: vomiting, general gross sickness, delirium, some swearing

Word Count: 2094

A/N: this is my first sickfic! i loved writing it so much! this is also my entry into @veraiconcos​ ‘s writer challenge. her fics are wonderful and you should check her out!

The first thing Spencer noticed when he woke up was how slow his brain was moving. It wasn’t like he couldn’t notice, especially considering how fast his mind usually worked. The second thing he noticed was the chills all over his skin even though he had multiple blankets covering his lanky body. 

Despite this, he pulled the covers up and got out of bed. He began to get dizzy as his brain caught up with his body. He pushed through as much as he could. He wouldn’t skip work even if he had a concussion.

As you walked into your place of work you noticed Spencer by the coffee machine. You had been pining after the young agent for quite a while now, and no one knew. Not even the beloved tech goddess Penelope Garcia, who was also your best friend. As you looked the genius upland down you noticed the discoloration in his face. He looked like he was on the verge of becoming a zombie.

You remembered an article you read about gum helping take your mind off of throwing up because your mouth was too preoccupied with another task at hand.. Your mind was wandering to what Spencer’s mouth could do…

“Hey, do you want some gum?” The words you spoke came from your vocal cords and your mind detached them from yourself. The orange package was flipped open and your hand was reaching towards Spencer.

“No, I’m fine, thanks,” he was surprised by your gesture.

“Really? Are you? I read an article about how gum takes the idea of throwing up off of your mind because your mouth is already preoccupied.”

“How did you-”

“The orange might balance out the green tint on your face.” You explained.

“Oh, yeah I probably should take some.” He took a stick from the small box in your hands.

“Take it easy today, okay?” You hoped the concern in your voice wasn’t too obvious.

About an hour or two later you were working at your desk and felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Hey, Y/N?” Spencer was behind you when you turned around, “Do you happen to have more gum?”

“Sorry, Spence, you took the last stick.”

“Oh, that’s okay. Yeah. Yeah that’s fine.” It was not fine.

Spencer walked over to the coffee machine. His hands trembled and his eyes looked more panicked than normal as he picked up the pot of coffee. He tried pouring it and spilled it onto the counter. He put the coffee pot down and rubbed his hands over his eyes. If you were close enough, his breathing would be deep and you would see his eyes closed. He slammed his hand on the counter and ran towards the bathroom, earning a head turn from everyone in the bullpen.

“You should go check on him,” Prentiss was looking at Morgan.

“Uh uh, I do not wanna deal with a sick Reid. It’s not like he would accept care from me.” He retorted.

Before the other agents around you knew it, you were out of your seat and halfway to the gender neutral bathroom Spencer ran to.

“Spencer?” Instead of an answer you were greeted with a retching sound, “I’m coming in.”

You found Spencer hugging the porcelain toilet, which was now filled with an orange tinted vomit.

“Spencer, did you swallow the gum?”

He nodded.

“Do you need to go home?”

He moaned and nodded in response before throwing up again.

“Not yet, I guess. Are you gonna need anything to eat considering its all coming out? I can get something from Garcia’s office.”

He shook his head.

“I’ll go pack up your stuff and let Hotch know I’m taking you home.”

Normally he would begin protesting at this, but his body was shaking against the toilet and he could feel bile coming up his throat.

You walked out and told Anderson to make sure no one went into the bathroom before heading to Spencer’s desk. You picked up all the files that were laid out and evenly separated them between Emily and Morgan.

“Hey!” They exclaimed in unison.

“Sorry, guys. Spencer is sick as shit. I’m taking him home.”

“That damn pretty boy. Tell him I hope he feels better,” Morgan said, somberly taking a case file.

You hopped up the stairs two at a time going towards Hotch’s office and popped your head in.

“Hey! Spencer isn’t feeling too hot, so I’m taking him home. See you tomorrow.”

He was on the phone but he waved goodbye and mouthed to take care of him.

Next stop was Garcia’s office.

“Hey, Pen,” you said, walking in.

“Oh my god, you scared me! Anyways, what's going on?” She turned around from what looked like a horror gameplay livestream.

“Spence is sick. Like really fucked up. Do you have any ginger ale in your stash?”

She turned back to her desk and dug into her secret drawer compartment.

“Spencer should really stop working himself over. I mean, I get that all he wants is validation and praise, but c’mon, boy wonder! Your brain isn’t all that you are, you still have a human body! Gosh, he’s so pretty, but honestly- What’s that look in your eyes?” She cut off herself as she stood up from her chair.

“What? What’s what look in my eyes?”

“Oh my god, you LIKE him! Oh my god, oh my god. Give him all of the kisses in the world for me and remember to use protection-”

“Penelope Garcia!”

You tried to retaliate but she was already pushing you out of your office and telling you to “get your mans!”

You walked back to the bathroom with Spencer’s bag on one arm and yours on the other. You thanked Anderson for guarding the door and opened the door.

“Spencer I got your things, and Garcia had some ginger ale in her office if that- Spencer?”

He was passed out on the ground, clutching his stomach.

“I knew something was wrong when i stopped hearing him throw up!”

“No, Anderson, it’s not your fault. He’s probably fine, just sick. Could you help me carry him to my car? I think he took the metro today.” It would be pretty hard to carry the gangly man when you were already carrying two bags.

The journey to your car was a hassle, but that was fine. After you turned on the air conditioning Spencer woke up fairly quickly. He was confused as to why he was in your car, and you told him you were taking him home. He was too sick to be awake and too tired to care, so he fell back asleep shortly after that.

When you pulled up to his apartment he was still asleep so you gently shook him awake.

“We’re home, Spence. You need to wake up.”

“Our home?” He mumbled.

“No, silly. Your apartment.” You said, chalking it up to his sick delirium. Spencer doesn’t like you like that. Right?

He stumbled out of your car and into your arms. You held him up with your hand against his back as you walked up the stairs of his building. He leaned against a wall as you dug into his bag for the keys to his apartment.

He fell onto the couch immediately and buried his face in the pillows.

“It’s too hot! Everything is uncomfortable!” he grumbled as he started loosening his tie. He took off his button-up dress shirt to reveal a regular t-shirt he wore as an undershirt. Before he took off his pants you stopped him.

“Hey, hey, hey! Keep those on!” you said as you sat on the arm of his couch. “Drink this.” You gave him the ginger ale Penelope gave you, remembering the conversation before you left the office building.

He reluctantly turned over onto his back and took the can you left on the table.

“Thanks for the straw,” His lips puckered around the plastic tube. It made you think.

“No problem.” You pat his calf, hoping he wouldn’t pull away. He didn’t. “Is it too hot for me to lay next to you?”

“Nope,” He continued drinking the bubbly soda, pressing against the back of the sofa.

You laid in front of him but towards his face.

“Is it your tummy that’s bothering you?” You asked.

“It’s everything. I’ve had a headache all day and I keep getting flashes of hot and cold. I think that’s the first full sentence I’ve been able to get out all day,” He laughed

You reached your hand down to his stomach and pressed down.

“Is this okay?”

“It’s perfect.”

You continued to rub his stomach through his shirt. Every once in a while he let out a satisfied whimper. He asked you to put your hands under his shirt and you complied. You tried to keep the blush off of your cheeks when he asked you, but some things you just can’t help.

Spencer was asleep by the time you had realized how long you two had been sitting there. You left work at around noon and now it was four. You started to pull away from him and got up from the couch. He pulled in closer to where you were previously laying as you called Penelope.

“Hey Y/N! Since it’s been a pretty long day at work and there’s no case me and the girls are going out tonight. Wanna join?” Garcia spoke as soon as she answered your call.

“Uh, I’m not sure I'll be able to,” you whispered.

“OH MY GOD ARE YOU AT HIS APARTMENT STILL?!” Penelope yelled through the phone.

“Shh! He’s asleep on the couch.” Spencer mumbled something. 

“I think you just woke him up. Gotta go.” You hung up. “Did you say something?” You moved over to the couch and rested your head in front of where his laid.

“If I asked you to stay, would you?” His eyes were still closed as he spoke.

You didn’t respond for a while and he opened his eyes, trying to gauge your reaction.

“Yes, of course, Spencer. I just canceled with the girls.” You said. There’s no way Spencer felt the way that you had for so long.

“No, no! Its not like that! I- I- Y/N!” he groaned in frustration.

“Then what is it, Spencer?” you moved his hair away from his eyes, thinking it might help him get the words out.

Instead of words Spencer leaned forward and took your face in his hands, kissing you roughly. It took you by surprise at first but after a couple seconds you leaned into it. His lips were soft and his mouth tasted like a sweet nothing. He reluctantly pulled away from you and his eyes looked watery like he was gonna cry.

“Hey. hey, hey, Spencer. It’s okay.” you ran your hands through his soft curls, “I like you too.”

“I like you so much. I just wanna cuddle with you forever.” A single tear streamed down his face.

“Oh my god, don’t cry!” you laughed out, “I’ll cuddle with you if you really want.” You climbed back onto the couch and pressed kisses onto his forehead.

You fell asleep in one another’s arms, feeling content with the world. You were no longer hiding from your feelings and instead facing each other. Everything was finally okay. You were the only two people in the world at that exact moment, and you would be until you woke up in the morning.

Spencer woke up first. His hands were on your waist and he remembered the dizzy words he spoke to you the near-evening. His mind swam as he tried to remember your response, but he was so sick he just couldn’t. But Spencer didn’t forget, did he?

There wasn’t much Spencer could do without waking you, so he tried his best to do so gently.

“Hey, Y/N. It’s morning.” He whispered.

You woke up and jolted your eyes open. You thought of the night before and instantly calmed down. You looked into Spencer’s deep, honey-colored eyes and kissed his still soft lips. He leaned into you and kissed back.

“So I guess last night went well.” He said as he pulled back, the kiss remembering him of the memories you created in his arms.

“Very. Are you still feeling sick? I can run to the store before we get to work if you need gum.”

“No, I’m okay,” he kissed your nose, “I hate the color orange, and that's all the drugstore has in stock.”

[mc-lukanette]

"Marinette!" Sabine called from downstairs. "Breakfast is ready!"

Marinette stirred, groaning as she shifted underneath the covers. It was one of the very few days where she didn't have anything in particular to do, so the last thing she wanted was to be woken up so early like her mother had just done to her.

Still, she knew it'd be rude to just lie there without responding, so she threw the blanket off of herself and shouted, "On my way!"

She yawned, far too tired to be in the waking world but forcing herself up anyway. She didn't even bother looking in the mirror, accepting whatever nightmare sleeping with her hair down had caused. It was a lazy day and she was determined to keep it that way, especially with how nice and warm she felt.

It was probably the warmest she'd ever felt, really.

She opened her trapdoor, letting out some variation of "good morning" as she descended the stairs, thankful that the smell of breakfast was enough to keep her moving.

Tom, having just set her plate down on the table, turned to greet her with a smile. "Good morni—"

Marinette stopped short of sitting down when she'd noticed that he'd cut himself off, a silly smile breaking out onto his face. She could even hear Sabine giggling behind her.

"Papa? What is it?"

He propped an elbow onto the table and leaned on it, looking at her with interest. "Thinking about anyone today, Marinette?"

"Huh?" She blinked, completely thrown off by the question and way too sleepy for it regardless. "Uh, not really?" She slid herself into her seat, picking up her fork before immediately dropping it as she noted, "Oh, I guess I am thinking about Luka. I hope he likes the jacket I gave him last night."

Her parents exchanged a glance, making Marinette immediately suspicious. She squinted, retrieving her fork again. "What?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" Sabine inquired. Marinette turned to her, confused, and she clarified, "He's actually been waiting outside the side door for a while now."

"Oh." Marinette paused, then straightened on alert, slamming her fork down on the table as mental clarity hit. "Huh?! Why?!"

"He didn't want to come in until you were awake," Tom explained, still grinning away.

She hurried away from the table, groaning and quickly running her fingers through her hair to neaten it. "You should've said so! I would've been up right away!"

She huffed as she rushed out of the room, mentally preparing a scolding for her parents later. It explained the smiles at least; they'd been messing with her.

She nearly tripped on the way down the stairs due to her fast pace, though still stumbled on the last step and nearly plowed into the door because of it. She scrambled to open it, practically throwing it against the wall as she exclaimed, "Luka! Hi!" to the person standing on the other side.

Luka kept on a calm smile, though it had more energy than usual. "Hey, Marinette." He looked down at his jacket, gripping the fabric for emphasis. "I know I could've texted you, but I wanted to tell you in person that it's amazing. I was wearing it all evening and it's one of the comfiest things I've ever worn. I don't know how you did it, but—"

He went to look back up at her, but suddenly choked on his own words, mouth still hanging open as he seemed to really take her in. Marinette, meanwhile, simply blinked, not understanding the pause. She supposed that she looked a little ragged from just getting out of bed, but—

oh, right, she was still in her pajamas.

Immediately, her hands flew to cover any bare skin that Luka wouldn't have been used to seeing, only to be thwarted as her fingers touched fabric, not skin. Confusion settled in for a few seconds before memories of last night returned to her sleep-deprived mind. Hesitantly, her gaze drifted downwards, her face going pale as cold realization washed over her.

She was wearing Luka's hoodie-jacket combo; that's what everyone had been reacting to.

She peered up at Luka, seeing that his eyes were still locked on his clothes she was wearing. Panic spiking, she immediately began taking it off.

"O-oh, wow!" she said loudly. "How did this get here? I'm sorry, there must've been a mistake! I'm so out of it in the morning, and it was really cold out, and my parents woke me up so I was tired, and I guess I just picked your jacket up by accident! Don't you just hate it when that happens? Anyway, here you go!"

She shoved the mass of fabric into his arms, turning on her heel and fleeing in the other direction. She couldn't even take the first few steps before she heard the clothes hit the floor and felt Luka's arms wrap around her waist, pulling her to him and keeping her there. She squeaked, blushing all the way to her ears, but didn't force him away.

"Is that the truth?" he asked quietly, voice heavy with an emotion she didn't dare call hope.

She shifted, trying to swallow her nerves while remaining wrapped in his hold. His tone alone indicated that he knew her story was a lie, and she had already felt bad for lying in the first place. He was just too perceptive, and it was one of the many things she loved about him.

"...N-no," she admitted. "It's not."

He hugged her tighter, burying his face in the spot between her neck and shoulder. She could feel him exhale against her skin and shuddered at the sensation.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered, "It was just—you left your jacket and you wear it all the time so I always remember how it felt whenever we hugged or anything, t-then I missed you after you left and I wanted to know how it felt to wear something of yours and it ended up being really w-warm so—" Her voice briefly cracked. "—I slept in it and I know it's weird and I'm sorry again—"

"No," Luka gently interjected.

"H-huh?"

"It's not weird at all, at least not to me," he whispered, his face apparently making a home in her hair. "You don't think I'd wear your jacket all the time if I was shorter than you?"

"Wh—" She blinked, jarred put of her panicked state by that reaction. "Really...?"

"Mhm," he hummed in reply. He paused, thoughtful, then raised his head up to add, "I wish I was, actually, now that I think about it."

"L-luka!" she gasped.

He chuckled happily, apparently unphased by her reaction. It finally registered with her that he was truly, honestly charmed by her wearing his jacket. She'd gotten so used to people judging her that—

...Well, Luka was always the exception.

"T-then—!" She turned her upper body around in his arms, their faces mere centimeters away. "I'll make a jacket that's really big on me, a-and I'll wear it all the time, and then you can wear that!"

His surprised expression melted into a warm smile, and it only then occurred to her how close their faces were. She wasn't sure her face had ever been that close to his, actually. His eyes were the same pretty blue that they always were and his pink lips were twice as tempting when he smiled like that.

"Please do, Marinette," he replied.

Deep down, she knew he was referring to the jacket idea, but her body wasn't listening. Her lips met his, and she didn't have time to doubt the impulse because he immediately kissed her back. His loosened his hug on her so she could comfortably face him, then tightened it right back up to pull her close. She slipped her hands underneath his Marinette-brand jacket, sliding her hands along his back to embrace him in return. Luka hummed contentedly, one hand moving up the back of her shirt to stroke along her spine. Though he was careful not to touch her bare skin, she shivered anyway.

They pulled apart with a soft clicking noise after what was probably far too long when her parents were in the same building as them. Marinette reluctantly pulled her hands away, occupying herself by toying with the fabric of the jacket he was wearing.

"S-s—" She swallowed, knowing it shouldn't have been a hard question considering they'd just made out. "Stay for breakfast?"

He grinned like the absolute dork that he was, his hands moving to hold hers. "Not long enough. Can I stay for lunch too?"

She unintentionally mirrored his grin, nodding eagerly. "Please do, Luka."

He closed the door behind him while she picked up and put his hoodie+jacket combo back on, the two eagerly holding hands as they ascended the staircase.

[fuck-goes-on]

Carnage

pairing/s: NONE, because reader literally gets traumatised bc of marcus please-

summary: you work for a big name company as an assistant to the CEO. you work late on night and when you go to say farewell to your boss, you find something horrifying

warning/s: MAJOR GORE WARNING UNDER THE LINE! I REPEAT GORE AND BODY HORROR AHEAD OF YOU, violence, blood control/thirst, minor character death (you don't die dw), mentally unstable character, kidnapping, non-con themes, dark! marcus is a warning in and of himself

note/s: DARK MARCUS FIRST ONE SHOT LETS GOOOO manifesting more creative juices for dark marcus,, no cap this has done me good in terms of letting go negative emotions so HAHA we love that for me 😌✨i honestly dont know why it ended up with marcus kidnapping reader but here we are anyways

masterlist

You yawned into your hand as you type away information into your computer, slowly bopping your head left and right to the music in your earphones. It was nearing one o'clock in the morning and you were so close to finishing the files Mr. Howard forced you to digitise, making you work later than usual. You leaned back on your chair, stretching your legs out and your arms up, you decided to finish the rest of the files tomorrow and call it a night.

Packing your things up in your shoulder bag, you stand up from your desk and walk towards your boss' door. You knew he was still in his office, having seen him thirty minutes ago when he shoved more papers into your hands. Facing the door of Mr. Howard's office, you brought your hand up to knock on the wood. You waited a couple of seconds for his permission, and when there was no sound, you knocked once more.

It wasn't that your boss didn't like it when people came into his office without his permission, but it was that your boss didn't like it when people came into his office without his permission. You shrugged it off and thought Mr. Howard just fell asleep or didn't hear you, plus you weren't dumb enough to keep on knocking. As you were walking away, however, you heard a groan coming from inside the room.

“Mr. Howard? Sir?” You called out from the door. “Sir, are you alright? May I come in?” You knocked again, more urgently this time, thinking your boss wasn't feeling well. When he didn't answer, you cursed out loud, biting down on your lip and tapping your foot on the floor.

You shove the fuck you give to the rule away; If there was no boss, then there will be no employees, if there are no employees, then there is no company, and if there was no company, then there won't be any money for survival. With that logic in mind, you opened the door and stepped into the room.

And you screamed.

(GORE WARNING AGAIN)

There was blood splattered everywhere; The couch, the walls, the tables, the shelves- Fuck even on the ceiling?! Tiny chunks were sticking onto the surfaces and you wouldn't dare think of what it could be. As your eyes stared in the room in horror, you failed to notice the dark presence in the room.

The door slammed shut, your throat closed up, and you were thrown against the bloodied wall by an invisible force. Grasping at your neck, you tried to push away the pressure that forced your airway close, but nothing was physically holding you down.

Just as you thought you would pass out, the invisible grip around your throat loosened and you gasped shakily for air, dropping down on your knees and coughing roughly. You screamed once more when your body was dragged on the floor, your shirt and bag getting soaked in the blood puddles until your back hit a hard surface.

When you turn your head to look at what you bumped into, you fought the urge to throw up. It was Mr. Howard's body- or at least, it looked like Mr. Howard's body. The head was caved in, easily showing you the contents of his skull, and the limbs were just... in the wrong places. You didn’t like your boss, none of your coworkers did, but you wouldn’t ever wish this upon him.

You felt numb, you're mouth open in shock, your tears rolling down your bloodied cheeks, and your body in phantom pain as you continued to stare at the corpse in front of you.

A large, gloved hand grabbed your face to turn your eyes away from the scene. You gasped in fright as you see a broad man clad in all black, with a scarf hiding the lower half of his face, only showing his cold, brown eyes. Whimpering and crying, you struggled against him but the invisible force came back, more painful than earlier, and stopped you from moving.

“Do you know who this man is?” The dark man asked you, his voice, husky and deep, sent shivers down your spine. When you nod your head, he chuckled dryly, “Do you know who he truly is?” You shook your head, almost pleadingly. “He's a killer. He's a murderer. He killed my friend in cold blood and I came to pay him a visit. A well-deserved one, wouldn't you say?”

“P-P-Please, I-I just work f-for him here, I d-did-didn't know,” You begged, your hand coming up to grip this wrist. The man mockingly cooed at you, before slamming you into the front of your boss' desk.

“Listen to me very closely if you want to live,” He said slowly, enunciating every word to you. “You can either run away in fright, go to the nearest police station and turn this bloody scene in, have them arrest you because you're in a crazed state and there's not enough evidence that you saw me doing it.” You sobbed loudly, panic filling your chest as you tried to make sense of his words. “Or, you can come with me, I'll treat you better than this bastard ever did and you won't have to lift a finger ever again. Doesn't that sound appealing, dear?”

“I-I d-don't-”

“Shh, it's okay, dear. We both know what the better option is, right?” The man's eyes crinkled at the sides, most likely giving you a menacing smile underneath his scarf. He stroked your hair in a pitiful attempt to calm you down, but you flinch away from his touch, whimpering in fear. You froze in fright as he picked you up from the floor, and used the private elevator your boss had in his office to go to the ground floor. The dark man pulled down his scarf to reveal his face, and it was the last thing you saw before passing out from shock.

“That’s it, dear, get some rest. You’ll need it once I bring you home.”

--

dark! marcus tag: @pedrocentric​

[thundergunexpresss]

Something Like Seduction

This is a request I got a few days ago which I had loads of fun writing. I hope you like it anon! I took it upon myself to make it smutty, because I don’t think I’m physically capable of not writing something smutty. I miss my boyfriend, quarantine is NOT it, chief

Anyway. Enjoy my lovelies. Leave me a kinky request, they keep me young

MASTERLIST

The first time you nearly kiss Spencer Reid, it’s with a gun in your hand.

“Have you ever done this before?”

You blink up at Spencer, and you can feel your cheeks redden as your eyes meet his.

“Of course, I’m not a complete idiot.”

He gives you a quick reassuring smile, passing the gun back over to you where you sat beside him at your desk. To tell you complete truth, you really didn’t have much of a clue of what you were doing. You hadn’t worked the streets before moving to the BAU, and none of your previous roles had required you to be carrying. But he didn’t know that, and reloading the gun couldn’t be that hard. Hotch had noticed that you didn’t seem the most comfortable around firearms and had told you that a member of the team would swing by your desk to help.

It’s just- you hadn’t imagined that it would be Spence showing up at your desk, sleeves rolled up and tie loosened as he pulled a seat up beside you, his knee bumping yours as he sits. It’s not like you couldn’t handle a crush, you’re not 15 anymore and he’s a colleague, but there’s just something about the way he acts around you. That feeling of excited-almost-dread you get in the pit of your stomach you feel when he shoots you a wink, or refers to you as angel as he so often does.

You’re broken from your train of thought by Spencer’s hand patting your knee to regain your attention. It doesn’t do much to help with the blushing situation, and honestly if he wanted you to focus that was the last thing he should’ve done.

“So, I’m reloading it. Gotta make sure the safety is on first though?” you try to sound brazen, but your statement comes out as more of a question. It must be clear from look baffled look on your face that you’re lost, a smirk forming on his lips as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“You haven’t got any idea what you’re doing, do you angel?”

“Um, no. Not really. But if you teach me now then it’ll be just like I knew all along though, right?” he laughs, shaking his head at your response.

“Well I couldn’t have you getting in trouble, could I?”

He’s flirting. He’s definitely flirting. Or is he just being nice? Jesus, it’s like running in circles, this little game the two of you have come to be familiar with. Flirty comments, suggestive looks, the nicknames. He drives you fucking crazy – part of you wants to just jump him when nobody is around, pin him against a wall and focus all this pent up frustration on getting him to fuck you as hard as you imagine he would.

“So, you treat every gun like it’s loaded,” he explains, reaching over and placing his hand over yours on the handle of the pistol, and if he notices you shudder then he doesn’t say anything. He pulls your finger away from the trigger, “you never know when it’s going to go off, and you’ve got to make sure you’re ready for the consequences of getting so close to such a…,” his voice is quiet, almost a mumble, and he glances at you before finishing, “dangerous weapon.”

It’s like the air thickens as you swallow, turning to face him. There energy shifts between you and you’re acutely aware of how hot his skin is on yours, hands still wrapped over yours as you hold the gun.

Dangerous weapon. It sounds like a tacky line from an 80’s porno, but for some reason coming from his mouth it makes your heart race.

“Then you press the eject button, right here,” his hand wraps around yours as he places your finger over the button, pressing it in with slight force, “and then the magazine comes out. It means storage space in French, which is why you store the ammunition in there.”

“Good fact, brain boy.” You tease, but the cheeky tone is gone, your words coming out timid and wobbly. You’re hoping that he assumes it’s the nerves of holding a gun, rather than the fact that you can feel how wet you are as you squeeze your thighs together beneath the desk.

“Then you fill it up.”

He’s talking about the gun. He’s talking about the gun.

He slots the bullets in with ease, and it gives you a chance to focus on his fingers. They’re long and weathered despite his young age, his knuckles prominent, the veins in his hands bulging as he grips the handful of metal.

“Then, once it’s full, you just line it up,” he slots the magazine into the hand grip, pressing your palm to the bottom and cupping your hand with his own, “and slide it in.” his hand shoves firmly against yours, lingering after you hear the click confirming the mag is locked in place.

There is no way that he’s not doing this on purpose.

“Then, just turn off the safety,” he gestures to the top of the gun, “and shoot the bad guys.”

“Seems tricky. Can’t you just do it for me?” you ask, facing to turn him, recoiling slightly as you find him already looking at you, faces inches apart. He smiles, and for a second it feels like he’s going to kiss you. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you swipe your tongue over your bottom lip nervously. The movement seems to snap Spencer back to reality, because he pulls back and coughs, dropping his hands from your own and the gun.

“You know I’ll always take care of you, angel.”

You smile and look down to the floor as he stands up, forcing a laugh at the nickname.

“You better, Reid. What would you do without me?”

He doesn’t respond, just shoots you a wink as he turns to leave, heading back to the other side of the office to continue with his day. Completely unaware of the affect his every action has on you – or worse – aware and uninterested.

You sink into your chair and glare at the gun on the desk in front of you as if it were the weapons fault that you’d had to endure the past 10 minutes without crying. The worst part was, even when you tried to spill to JJ she barely believed you. He didn’t make it obvious; it was subtle and hidden in moments when nobody else was around. When he asked a favour of you, or when you were making a drink and he happened to catch sight of you alone by the coffee machine. That was perhaps the worst bit about it – as if he was doing it on purpose to drive you mad. If that was the plan, it was working. But what else would you expect from a genius?

*

The second time you nearly kiss Spencer Reid, it’s with your hand down your pants.

Halloween. It had been your favourite holiday growing up, you loved to dress up. As you got older, you loved getting absolutely wrecked while dressed up, but this year you were on duty. It was an unlucky pick, only two members of the team having to work the evening shift on the night of the festivities to assist with the increased demand on law enforcement over the course of the night.

You arrive early, everyone else already having gone home by the time you get to your desk. It’s quiet in the office, only a janitor finishing up across the room. It’s eerie, a distinct silence in the usually bustling workspace, and you scan the rest of the room as you drop your bag onto your chair. First in order is caffeine, working through the night was never easy, and recently you’d been losing more sleep than you could afford thinking about him. His unruly hair that curls around his cheek bones, framing his slender features and wide eyes perfectly. His cardigans, the way he rolls up the sleeves and tucks in his tie like some kind of sexy hipster agent. The beat-up satchel bag he wore everywhere.

The beat-up satchel bag.

You almost choke as your eyes fall on the bag, sitting atop his workspace in the empty room. Not this again. Not another night of slightly too inappropriate for work banter and semi-serious wandering if masturbating in the toilet stalls was going too far or not. Your brain tells you yes, but the way his eyebrows furrow as he concentrates says it’s your only option.

You stomach flips as you hurry past his desk, just the knowledge that you’d soon be in his company enough to make your head spin. It was a constant battle of either discretely avoiding him, or giving yourself meaningless tasks to bring yourself over to his desk. Taking the longer route to the coffee machine and keeping your eyes down, praying he was watching as you made your way past him.

“Who’s got you in a hurry, sweetheart?”

You body slams on the breaks, plastering on a smile as you turn to face him as if he’d appeared from nowhere, shoving your intrusive thoughts of getting in your knees for him into a box in the back of your head.

“Caffeine, sweetheart,” he grins at you as you mock him, “the great love of my life.”

He feigns hurt at your choosing a love other than him, his hand raising to his chest as he leans crosses his legs and leans against the wall. He’s not wearing his usual work get up, instead wearing a chunky sweater which was much too big for him and a pair of worn converse. It was unlike him, he rarely shared details of his life outside of work, wardrobe included. He’s wearing his glasses, another sight you rarely got to enjoy, and it only makes your job harder.

Job. That’s right. Keep professional, and it’ll all go smoothly. It’s bullshit and you know it, but at least it’s something to focus on which doesn’t lead you right back to the thought of riding him in his desk chair with his glasses still on.

Except, here you are anyway, thinking about riding him in his desk chair with his glasses still on.

“So, the Halloween shift. Someone hates us.”

“You got that right,” you mutter under your breath, placing your mug into the holder of the machine, watching as it begins to fill, “I’m going to get started on some paper work, maybe it’ll make it go faster.” You say, louder this time, turning your head to look at him as he stands up, adjusting his glasses. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he seemed disappointed in your plans, but if you stayed to chat you couldn’t be sure of what you’d say.

“Okay, angel,” he steps aside as you pick up your mug and move past him, “don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t, Spence.”

You don’t look back at him as you make your way back to your desk, setting down your drink and grabbing your bag as you slump down into your chair. This was impossible. He had to feel the electricity that sparked when you were together. It wasn’t something that could just be ignored. You’ve had long term relationships that haven’t made you feel as excited as the way you feel when he smiles at you as you catch eyes across the room – as excited as you feel when you hear ‘that’s my girl’ as you make a step forward in a case, or do something as simple as get him a cup of coffee as you get your own.

That’s my girl. What you would give to hear him say that as he pushes his cock down your throat, fingers curled in the hair at the back of your head as he completely controls you. His hand wrapping around your throat so he can feel how far down you can take it, how filthy the sounds falling from his lips would be, how his praise would only make you want it more, make you want to show him how good you can be for him.

Jesus Christ. You raise your eyes cautiously to check on his whereabouts, seeing him face down in a book on the other side of the office. Its barely even a conscious decision, your hand snaking its way between your legs as apply the slightest amount of pressure to your crotch, seeking a moment of relief. It’s not a good idea, and you know that – but it just feels too good.

Only a select few lights are on in the office to save on energy, and the dim bulbs provide you some sense of cover as you pull at the button of your trousers, pushing your hand below the waistband of your panties to feel how wet you are. You run your fingers over your hole, pursing your lips as you feel the wet heat surround them. Your eyes raise again to glance at Spencer, and its like a shock runs through your body directly to your clit on sight.

It’s so dangerous, but you like it. The concept of being fired goes out the window as you begin to move your fingers in little circles around the oversensitive bundle of nerves, your other hand rising to the laptop in front of you, lifting the screen to provide a little more shelter should Spencer glance over. You inhale shakily, keeping your eyes on the empty screen in-front of you. You want nothing more than to watch him as you get yourself off, to watch the way his long fingers wrap around the cover of his book as you feel yourself clench around your own fingers, but this is Spencer. He’d sense your eyes on him too soon, and you’d have to stop - and potentially get caught. So you stick to the screen, focusing on keeping your mouth shut and movements minimal as you feel a familiar heat pooling in your stomach, your toes curling inside your shoes as you dare to speed up, doing your best to keep your arm still as your fingers do all the work.

It's almost too much, it never feels this good when you do it at home. It’s the adrenaline junkie in you, it’s why you picked your current career – the danger turns you on, sexually and mentally. Your breath is coming out of your nose in short huffs, too scared to open your mouth to breathe despite what your lungs are telling you.

“Hey, can you sign off these files for me, angel?”

You freeze, startled, almost jumping back in your chair as his voice echoes in the empty room. He’s close to your desk – too close. You hadn’t even noticed him move from where he was sat.

“Are you alright?” he asks, and you must look like a deer in headlights. You cough slightly, plastering a smile over your face as you shuffle forward in your seat. If you remove your hands now, it will be way too fucking obvious that they’re down your pants, so you push your body into the desk in the hopes that he thinks you’re just sat with your hand on your lap. It’s not great, but it’ll have to do.

“Yeah, of course. You just scared me,” he doesn’t look all that convinced, “I thought you’d forgotten about me.” You pout, your heart isn’t in it, but he bites back regardless.

“How could I forget about you, sweetheart.”

You can’t help it, your fingers twitch against your clit at the nickname, and you whimper. It’s quiet, but Spencer hears, frowning as he brings the files over to your desk, getting even closer. He doesn’t stop until he’s practically bent over your desk, and he takes your chin in his hand, moving your head side to side. It’s a lot to unpack – you can smell him, his hands are you on you, he’s staring at your face. It’s almost torture.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks again, inspecting your face as you sit beneath him.

“Just tired. The Halloween shift you know, fun!” he nods, understanding, still only inches from your face. Why does this keep happening? He’s looking at you directly again, eyes slightly narrowed as he watches you. He takes in a sharp breath, eyes glancing down to your mouth so quickly that if you hadn’t been watching him so intently, you might have missed it.

“Okay, well, don’t have too much fun,” he winks, pushing himself off the desk and turning to leave almost as soon as the words had left his mouth.

He can’t- does he know!?

You yank your hand from your trousers, and you can feel the heat spread across your cheeks as you watch him walk away. If he knows what you were doing, then he didn’t do anything about it, which means he either doesn’t like you or doesn’t want you. The thought of either makes your stomach drop, and you look down to the files on your desk.

There’s a sticky note atop the first in the pile, scrawled out in Spencers handwriting.

‘There are cameras in here, angel.’

Your eyes widen as you snap your head up to his desk, but he’s not there, having left to go to the evidence room or make a coffee, most likely.

Inhaling slowly through your nose and out through your mouth in a desperate attempt to get some control over your body, you peel off the note, crumpling it and throwing in the trash. You pull your headphones from your bag, placing them in your ears and pressing shuffle, cutting off the outside world, or in this case, any further interaction with Spencer.

It’s going to be a long night.

*

The third time you nearly kiss Spencer Reid, you actually kiss Spencer Reid.

“You’ve got to loosen up, have another drink.” JJ says, reaching over to pour some more of her stow away vodka in your cup. You look down at the liquid and sigh. You’re half-way drunk at a leaving party for someone that, if you’re being honest, you don’t even recognise. It’s an office thing, so naturally the whole team is here at the bar, Spencer included, though you were yet to see him.

“He’s had plenty of opportunities. He’s not flirting it’s just friendly banter – he’s bored.” You say, and JJ rolls her eyes. She doesn’t mention the fact that she never asked, just wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“He’s not like that with anybody else. I still find it hard to believe, our Spence flirting,” she pulls you up so you’re standing in front of her, “but you look fucking spectacular. Get drunk, have fun, if he fucks you then he fucks you. If not, his loss.” She shrugs, pushing your cup to your mouth and you don’t argue, drinking a mouthful and cringing at how strong it is.

“Classy,” you laugh, taking another swig of your drink before she’s pulling you out of the bathroom and back onto the dance floor. She’s right – who cares. He clearly saw what you were doing on Halloween, and he did nothing. He barely spoke a word to you after the sticky note, so fuck him. If he doesn’t want you at your horny office stage then he doesn’t deserve you at your horny drunk stage.

It doesn’t make much sense, but you don’t care. The alcohol is starting to set in, your vision hazy as you dance, arms in the air and hips grinding to the music. You don’t think twice when you feel a pair of hands on your hips, pushing yourself against the body behind you, desperate to let off some steam.

Spencer. Spencers hands wrapping around your waist. Spencers lips on your neck. Spencers hard on pressing against your ass as you grind to the music, head spinning as he pulls you closer.

You turn around clumsily, staggering in your heels as you look up at the man you’ve been dancing with, and who the fuck is this!? You push your hands against his chest, mumbling an apology into the suddenly much too loud music as you stumble backwards. How drunk are you? You make your way to the bar, squinting your eyes in a bid to make the room stop spinning as you fall into a bar stool, putting your drink down and shutting your eyes, trying to block out the sound and work out what the fuck you’re doing.

“Looks like I’m not your only admirer, angel.”

His voice is loud in your ear, hot breath hitting your skin as he leans in close to ensure that you can hear him. You don’t need to open your eyes to recognise his voice, it’s been haunting you for months.

You blink your eyes open, accustoming yourself back to the flashing lights as you look up, and there he is. His shirt is unbuttoned down his chest, his skin slick with sweat from the humid air in the room. He’s got his tie loosened, still around his neck, and he must have come straight from work, because even in your drunken state you know that even Spencer wouldn’t wear a tie to the bar.

“Yeah, well, at least that one wants to touch me.” You slur, picking your drink back up as you look away from him. You don’t see his face, but you can imagine how his brow would furrow in confusion, mouth opening and shutting again in wait of finding the right words to say.

“What? I-“

“I don’t even care,” you cut him off, almost shouting to be heard above the pumping music, “I’m going to have some fun, enjoy your night, ‘angel’” you mock, standing up and taking a second to find your balance before making off into the crowd of writhing bodies in front of you. You push your way through them, drink spilling out of your cup as you try to find an exit. It’s getting too much, the room begins to spin again, and it feels like there isn’t enough oxygen to go around. It’s suffocating, and suddenly you feel light headed. There isn’t enough time to find the toilet before your vision darkens, and your body starts to feel like jelly.

The last thing you hear before you drop to the floor is someone shouting your name, and then everything goes black.

*

You slowly blink your eyes open, recoiling at the bright light in the room as you come to. It takes a second to come to your bearings, and you push yourself to sit upright as you take in your surroundings.

“What happened?” your voice is hoarse, and you cough to clear your throat. Spencer is sat next to you, his hand is over yours, his thumb rubbing small circles over the soft skin there.

“You can’t hold your alcohol very well, can you, pretty girl.”

Pretty girl, that’s new. It makes your stomach flutter, and suddenly you realise how awful you must look in front of him. You grip the chair as you try to push yourself up, only for Spencer to pull you back down, concern etched on his features.

“I’ve got an Uber coming to pick us up.” His voice is soothing as he speaks, and you sit back down, frowning at him.

“Us?”

“Us. You’re coming back to my apartment,” he explains, and alarm bells ring in your head. His apartment, which contains his things. Because he lives there… Spencers apartment.

“I have my own place, you know.” You mumble, feeling your pockets for your phone, relaxing as you feel it in your jeans.

“I didn’t want you to go home alone, angel,” he leans forward to catch your eye, “I need to keep you safe.”

“I don’t even feel drunk anymore,” and it’s not a lie. You feel grounded, aware of yourself. Maybe a little tipsy, but the head rush has gone.

“Drunk or not, the Ubers here.”

He grabs your hand to help you up, and you take it, despite feeling steady on your feet. His hand engulfs yours, much bigger than your own hand as he pulls you towards the door of the back room you’ve been sat in. It leads straight out onto the street, the bitter cold hitting you as you step out of the building.

The Uber is right outside, Spencer must have given the driver strict directions so that you wouldn’t have to walk back through the bar. It should make your heart swell, but instead your stomach drops, heat pooling in your stomach. Your body is almost too predictable at this point, getting turned on at Spencer doing something as simple as booking a ride. But it’s the care he puts into it, the extra mile he seems to go whenever you’re involved. It can’t just be in your mind.

The ride back is painfully quiet. Neither of you speak, sitting in the back with your hands in your respective laps, and he seems nervous. It’s not unlike Spencer to be quiet, but he’s fidgeting, playing with his hands, and it’s almost annoying. What does he have to be nervous about? You’re the one in an Uber at midnight on your way to the apartment of the man you’ve been borderline obsessed with for months.

Saying it like that makes you sound crazy, but you just can’t get him out of your head. It’s like your body is magnetically attached to his, you get this pull to be near him. You fall asleep at night thinking of ways you can touch him without it appearing unnatural. Maybe you are crazy.

You don’t get the time to dwell on it either way, because the car halts to a stop outside an apartment building just a few minutes from the bar.

You thank the driver, exiting the vehicle and following Spencer to the door of his apartment building as the car pulls away behind you, leaving the two of you submerged in the darkness.

It takes a second to unlock the door, but soon you’re inside, the warmth of the lobby easing your tense muscles and relaxing you a little as he leads you towards his place.

“It’s not much,” he says quietly, sliding the key into the lock and pushing the door open, “but at least you won’t be on your own.”

He flips a switch and light floods the room. The first thing you notice is books. Lots of books. It’s like a library, shelves lining the walls of the small space, covering almost every piece of available wall.

Spencer leads you to a room on the other side of the apartment, opening a door to reveal his bedroom. It’s not dissimilar to what you’ve already seen of the apartment, books stacked on furniture and on the floor beside his bed. It’s so Spencer. It’s perfect.

He clears his throat, snapping you back into reality as you cross your arms over your chest, offering him a nervous smile.

“I’ll find you something to change into,” he turns to a closet opposite the bed and grabs a folded t-shirt and sweats, “I’ll let you change, angel.”

He hands the clothes to you, brushing past you as he exits the room. As the door shuts behind him, you sit down on the bed, clothes in hand. Of course they’re ridiculously soft, and they smell like home. How is that even possible?

What the fuck was even going on. You’re sat on Spencers bed. His bed! You try not to freak out, but the gravity of the situation hits you hard as you begin to take off your clothes, this is not how you envisioned getting naked in Spencers room would pan out. Not with him taking you home out of pity because you got so drunk you passed out.

You sigh as you pull the t-shirt over your head, your lips turning upwards into a smile as you run your fingers over the Cal Tech logo. The embarrassment of this evening is something which you’d need to unpack tomorrow once you got home – potentially over a bottle of wine, and a very self-pitying phone call to JJ.

A knock on the door breaks your train of thought, Spencers head appearing round the door as he enters hesitantly.

“I’m done changing, Spence,” you assure him as he steps into the room, still in his shirt and messy tie from earlier. The knot in your stomach tightens, and you dig your fingertips into the side of your leg as a reminder to control yourself – now is not the time to get horny, but fuck, how could you not be.

He walks over and sits down next to you on the bed, his arm brushing against yours as he settles.

“So,” he begins, “do you want to talk about it?”

You stare at him, staying perfectly still as you try read his facial expressions.

“Talk about… what?” you ask, almost dreading the answer. You have no idea what he’s talking about, and nothing good ever comes from ‘do you want to talk about it.’

“What you said at the bar.”

And suddenly it rushes back to you. You groan, dropping your head into your hands to hide your face. ‘At least that one wants to touch me.’

Your own voice echoes in your mind and it makes you sick to your stomach. What the fuck were you thinking? What are you supposed to say to him now?

“Spence, I was drunk,” you start, but you’re cut off before you get to hear what thrown together excuse your brain would muster.

“I do want to touch you.”

The words fall from his mouth like he wasn’t expecting them himself, and you lift your head to look at him.

“What?”

“I do,” he shifts so he’s facing you, “I do want to touch you. I’ve been going crazy, watching you from my desk, calling you angel to try and flirt, which just seemed stupid coming from me.”

It’s like you’re in a dream. The room begins to spin again, but this time it’s not the alcohol.

“And then on Halloween,” his eyes drop to the floor, and a new wave of embarrassment hits you, “I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to, you know, but I didn’t know what to do – what to say. You’re so beautiful.” He sounds ashamed at his lack of action, and you reach your hand out to rest on his leg. He looks up, almost in shock, and you don’t know what to do either, so you do the only thing that you can think of. The only thing you ever think of.

You don’t give yourself time to second guess, you just lean forward and press your lips to his, so gentle they barely touch. He takes in a sharp breath, and you begin to pull away, worried that you’ve fucked up, but then his hand is wrapping into your hair and pulling you back, and he’s kissing you.

Spencer Reid is kissing you.

It’s like something clicks inside of you, something animalistic that screams horny and all your rational thoughts are out of the window. You push back into the kiss, hands moving to his waist as you open your mouth to press your tongue against his bottom lip. He parts his lips to meet your tongue, his hand gripping your hair slightly tighter, the burning sensation on your scalp only urging you to deepen the kiss.

You gasp as he pulls your head back, kissing the side of your mouth and slowly pressing kisses down your face until his lips attach to your neck, sucking and kissing the sensitive skin there. It’s messy and it’s desperate, and his hand wraps around your neck to keep you in place as you writhe under his touch.

“Spence,” your voice is low under your laboured breathing, eyes fluttering shut as he closes his teeth over your skin in response to hearing his name, biting down gently before pulling away to look at you. He looks manic, eyes wide and lips swollen, chest heaving as he tries to take the image of you in all at once.

“Are you sure?” he asks, and you don’t respond, instead pushing his shoulders until his back hits the bed, swinging a leg over him to straddle his waist.

His hands find your waist immediately, pushing under the old t-shirt to touch your skin as your lips find his again. It’s everything you’ve imagined. His stubble brushes against your chin as you kiss him, and you revel in the control of being above him.

Grinding your hips down, you feel how hard he is against your hip, catching his moan with your lips at the friction. Pushing yourself up, he watches you as you lift the t-shirt over your head, exposing your breasts as you begin to grind down onto the erection beneath his trousers. His eyes flutter shut, his mouth falling open into a silent moan as you move above him.

“I was so angry,” his eyes open to hold contact with yours as his hands find your hips, fingers digging in as he guides your movements, “watching you dance for that man,” his hips thrust up to meet yours, the outline of his cock in his trousers presses against your clit, “you were all over him. My pretty girl, you made me so jealous.” He hisses, his hips pushing up particularly hard, and that name. My pretty girl. Fuck.

You lift your hips up, whimpering at the loss of contact as you remove yourself from his body to pull off the sweat pants he had given you. He doesn’t waste any time following suit, his eyes scanning over your body as he pushes down his pants, and pulls off his shirt. You would normally be self conscious, but it’s almost as you’re high right now, you care so little about anything except your drug of choice, Spencer.

He finishes removing his clothes, and for a second the two of you are still, taking in the sight of each other naked, and wow. It’s always the tall skinny ones, but Jesus. He’s big - big big - kind of scary when you really think about it big. He reaches a hand down and wraps his hand around himself, slowly stroking as he watches you stood in front of him.

It makes your legs feel like jelly, watching him touch himself, getting hard because of you. You sit down on the bed next to him, and gently push his hand away.

Leaning forward, you ignore the uncomfortable angle as you let spit fall from your mouth onto his cock. He exhales shakily, watching you as you reach a hand up and begin to stroke, spreading the saliva until he’s wet. He’s mumbling something, you can’t hear what exactly but you’re sure it’s good as you crane your neck down and take him into your mouth, sinking down until you realise you’re not breathing. Coming up for air, you look up at him as you begin to bob your head up and down, the flat of your tongue pressing against the underside of his cock, hand matching your rhythm on the areas your mouth can’t reach.

He looks wrecked, his hair is messy and his bottom lip is caught firmly between his teeth catching the steady stream of moans he lets out as he watches you. You take your mouth off of him, replacing it with your hand, working over the head of his cock dangerously fast.

“Angel, I’m not going to last if you keep that up.”

You slow your hand down, nodding as you push yourself onto your knees. Climbing back to your original position, you straddle him, leaning down to reconnect your lips.

Most men would shy away from kissing after you’ve had your mouth on them, but Spencer seems to thrive on it. He’s kissing you like he’s starved, like if he can’t get enough of you right now you’ll disappear. His hands are everywhere, cupping your ass, pinching your nipples between his fingers, holding your jaw to keep your head in place as he bites over your neck, no doubt leaving a trail of angry red bruises in his wake.

You lift your hips up, reaching down between your bodies and lining him up with your enterance. You don’t break the kiss as you sink down slowly onto him, open mouths pressing against each other’s as you take it, a guttural moan ripping from your throat as you feel how full you are.

It takes a second for your body to adjust, you lift your hips slowly, feeling the drag as you raise yourself up. You find a rhythm, slow at first, and Spencer’s eyes are shut as you slowly rise and then sink back down, as if he’s concentrating on not cumming. The thought of him being so strung out because of you makes you lose it, and you start to bounce on him, thighs beginning to burn as you speed up.

It feels fucking incredible. Every subtle shift of your hips pushes him in deeper, and it’s like fire shooting up your spine. Spencer’s voice is low as he mumbles praise, a string of ‘yes, ah, fuck’ escaping his lips below you.

“Yes,” he hisses as you drop down onto him particularly hard, “such a good girl.”

It’s all the encouragement you need, his words echoing around your head as you leans back instead of moving up, your hands resting on his thighs keeping you steady. It’s like your brain glitches as his cock presses into you just right, and your body chases the feeling, hips rutting franticly, unable to keep quiet as the tight feeling begins to build in the pit of your stomach.

You’re so far gone that when you lift yourself a little too high, the sudden empty feeling makes you sob. Spencer doesn’t hesitate, reaching down to slide back in, this time raising his knees to gain the leverage required to begin thrusting up into you, the only noise in the room skin slapping on skin as he slams into you so quick it feels as though you’re winded.

You’re both sweaty, his thrusts becoming uncoordinated as your bodies move together. His cock slips again, and you fall forward, your face pressing into his neck as a desperate whine, almost unrecognisable comes out of you.

He doesn’t waste any time, pushing his hips up until you’re full again, his arms crossing behind your back to keep you in place as he fucks up into you, brutal and hard and exactly what you needed after months of teasing and flirting and wanting.

And then, it’s gone again. This time it’s not an accident, and you squeal as he flips you over so you’re on your back, and he’s on top of you. His hair falls onto your cheeks as he leans down to press a chaste kiss to your lips, before he’s thrusting into you, deep and hard and rough.

You’re getting close, you can feel how wet you are and you can’t slow down the fast approaching release you need so badly. You can tell Spencer is close too, his face bunched up in concentration as he grits his teeth, using all his energy to keep the pace fast.

Suddenly, he’s leaning forward, pushing your legs back to your chest and bending you in half. Your lips clash as you reach a hand between your bodies to rub your clit, chasing that feeling as Spencer’s hips slam into you.

“Fuck, angel,” he struggles to speak as his hip movements stutter, and it’s either the nickname, his weight on you meaning you can’t breathe, or just him that sends you over the edge.

It’s like your whole body is on fire as you come, your vision going white as you shake beneath him, clawing at his back as he thrusts in deep and holds it there. You can feel the warmth spread inside you as he comes, and you cling to him.

It feels a long time that the two of you stay like that, sweaty and heaving and completely spent, but in reality it’s probably no more than thirty seconds before he’s slowly pulling out, hissing at the sensation.

He disappears for a moment, leaving you lying in his bed, eyes closed as your body twitches, the aftershocks of your orgasm still making its way throughout your body.

He returns not long after with a towel, and you take it gratefully, doing a quick clean up before shuffling up the bed to lay beside him.

He lifts a hand to brush his thumb across your cheek, leaning in and kissing you softly, gentle and loving and in such stark contrast to the way he had been kissing you minutes ago.

“Thank you,” you whisper as your lips part, your head dropping to the pillow, “for taking care of me.”

He smiles, one arm snaking beneath your neck and the other around your waist as he pulls you closer, kissing your forehead.

“I told you I always would, angel.”

You feel safe, finally falling asleep in his arms after so long. It feels right, familiar. As if it had never been any other way.

Spencer’s thumb caressing little circles into the small of your back is the last thing you feel before falling asleep. It’s the best sleep you’ve had in months.

You’re home.

/

taglist: @blushingspencer @disney-dreams-world

[isis-astarte-diana]

The New Toy: Part 30

If Missy can’t find a suitable companion, she will make one.

Summary: Missy returns empty-handed and furious.

Whumptober Theme: No. 30 ‖ Now Where Did That Come From? ‖ Ignoring An Injury

Warnings: Kidnapping. Dark!Missy. MIHOW. Blood. Stockholm Syndrome. Teeny bit of foot worship because that’s some good shit.

Word Count: 1281

NB: So... this is the last scene from this small chronology, but there is still something coming tomorrow! It’s from, uh, further down the line 👀. yes Missy put you to bed and tucked you in after she knocked you out

You don’t stir when the bedroom door swings open. You barely twitch when Missy, muttering obscenities under her breath, throws her ruined jacket to the ground and begins to untie the pussy bow at the collar of her blouse. It’s not until she slams her hand into the brocade wallpaper and sets the floor-length mirror rattling on its hook, snarling like a cornered animal, that you find yourself jerked from sleep.

“-favourite bloody blouse, again! No respect, no finesse. Couldn’t have just gone for my throat like any self-respecting-”

“Missy?”

She cuts off immediately at the sound of your voice. Rubbing bleary eyes and wincing at the pain in your head, which is dulled by sleep but not yet gone, you sit up with some effort. Your body sinks into the thick pillows at your back.

She leans heavily towards the mirror with one hand braced on the wall, her dark head bowed. Her other palm is pressed to her right side, facing away from you.

“Are you, um,” the question feels absurd, particularly with your voice still thick from lethargy. You swallow hard to clear your throat. “Are you alright?”

Missy chuckles bitterly and gives you a terse answer. “I’m fine.”

You nod, unconvinced, and wet your lips, proceeding with caution. “You didn’t find it, then?”

“Find it?” She scoffs. “Oh, I found it. I found it, I took it, and they took it back.” Once more, the heel of her hand thuds into the wall. The mirror shakes perilously. “Stupid, foul creatures.”

“I’m sorry.” Tentatively, you throw the covers aside. The thick carpet is warm under your bare feet when you perch at the side of the bed. “Did they- are you hurt?”

“Just my pride.” She scowls down at the hand pressed over her ribs. “And one of my livers. Quick with a rapier, the little bastards.”

“You got stabbed?”

“Looks like it.” Frowning, she straightens up and twists to inspect the injury in the mirror. The dark fabric of her blouse is torn, revealing a glimpse of the ivory corset beneath and a splash of vivid orange blood. Her lips curl with disdain. “Oh, yes. That’s a deep one. Might feel that tomorrow.”

“Oh my God, Missy-”

Forgetting the wooziness for a moment, you launch yourself to your feet, only for another pang to rocket through your skull and almost send you to the ground.

The impact never comes; Missy is at your side immediately, looping a strong arm around your waist and hauling you upright against her unhurt side.

“Would you watch it?” She scowls. “The last thing I need is you knocking yourself out again.”

“Sorry.” You press a hand to your throbbing head. “Sorry, I just- are you alright? Can I help?”

“Not judging by the look of you, no.” Once you’ve steadied yourself with a hand on the bedpost, she lets go and moves back to the mirror. “I’ll be fine in a few days. I just need to wash the stink of that planet off me and find another power source, again.”

As she speaks, she tugs her tattered blouse loose from her skirt and removes it without waiting for you to avert your eyes. You inhale sharply, captivated by the sight of her chemise and bloodied corset, the thickets of dense dark hair in her pale underarms. The skirt swiftly follows and she kicks the whole mess of fabric with her boot, scattering it into the corner by the door.

She blows a loose strand of hair from her face and slumps into the chair at the vanity. Above the line of the corset her chest is just barely heaving with the strain. Her ankles cross, her elbow propped up on the gleaming surface of the table and her forehead cradled in her hand.

When she throws you a sideways glance and catches you staring, still on your feet, she scoffs. “Did you want something?”

The mass of tangled words behind your teeth is impossible. What comes out, soft and hesitant, is only, “I could help with your boots.”

Missy lifts her head and appraises you carefully as if she’s seeing you for the first time. You shrink under her gaze, feeling your face heat, conscious of every tiny movement. Eventually, she murmurs, “alright then.”

She watches intently while you cross the room, as though she expects you to jump at her closeness and rescind your offer. It would be almost too easy to convince yourself that she’s compelling you to lower yourself to your knees in front of her, that her influence is twisting your mind, but the truth is plain to you both and it turns the air thick and heavy around you.

Missy is hurt, and you don’t like it.

Missy is hurt, and you want to help.

She would help you.

The scuffed leather of her boot feels warm under your hands when you take hold of her left foot and, without thinking, you stroke your hand reverently up her calf. To soothe, perhaps. To feel. To savour.

Above you, she parts her red, red lips.

If your touch lingers for a moment too long at the line where leather meets thick stocking, just below her knee, she doesn’t seem to mind.

You busy yourself with the laces and drop your eyes to your work there, but the heat prickling over your scalp doesn’t let you forget her watchfulness. Once you’ve loosened them enough, you grip the heel of her boot and she pulls herself free of it with startling elegance.

“Good girl,” she murmurs, and her voice is thick. Your breath catches in your throat at the sound. “Do you like to help?”

“I think so.” You shrug, but the movement is too small, and it feels like a shiver. “It makes me feel... I don’t know. Better.”

“Do you like being here, with me?” The waver in the question is masked by the way she presses her stockinged foot into your lap, letting it rest against your thigh. You cover her slender ankle with your fingers unthinkingly.

“Does it matter?” With gentle fingers you press down, rubbing the ball of the joint, following the shape lower until you’re massaging her foot with one hand. The fabric is soft under your touch, the shape of her small foot strangely vulnerable. She hums at your answer.

“Not really.” The heel of her other boot presses into your thigh uncomfortably when she props her right foot in your lap for you to continue. You start at the laces again without further prompt. “Indulge me, anyway.”

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “But if this is it... if this is my life now, then- I may as well try to. You can be kind, sometimes.”

“Can I?” She doesn’t harden but her heel presses deeper, digging into flesh and muscle.

“Yes.” Your eye twitches but you manage to hide your wince. “When you want to be, you can. And you haven’t let me die.”

“But you will. One day.”

“Everybody dies one day.” She lifts her foot to let you ease the boot off and set it aside. The soles of both feet rest on your thighs. Her toes curl, almost experimentally, when you apply both hands to the task of caressing her stockinged feet. “On Earth I might get hit by a bus crossing the road. At least this is interesting.”

“Or frightening.”

“Same thing.” You look up at her through your lashes. “You taught me that.”

She smiles, all teeth, glistening wetly in that crimson mouth. “You were listening.”

“Always, Mistress.”

The kiss you press to the outside of her right ankle is nothing short of worship.

[exosmutfactory]

Need

gif not mine 🌹

| (🎶) for listening pleasure | 

The Night

— Pairing: You & Baekhyun

— Genre/AU: smut, angst, fluff,

— Word Count: 1.8k

— Rating: 18+ (M)

— [ Contains: Breeding kink, hair pulling, use of the word bitch, squirting, etc. Shit gets real okay don’t @ me ]

❥ It’s finally here after a short spell of writer’s block that had me worried for a second. Anyway, stay safe and happy, folks

ღ♥ღ♥ღ♥ ღ♥ღ♥ღ♥ ღ♥ღ♥ღ♥

You didn’t think he’d notice.

You had a habit of turning exceptionally red on those rare occasions where neither Baekhyun or you had a condom on hand and he came inside you. There’s just something about the closeness; the feeling of his warm evidence of desire painting your walls. Claiming you as his in the most primal of ways. Leaving you just a bit more breathless and eager to hurry home for - hopefully - more.

-Yes you are a kinky shit but you honestly didn’t think he’d notice such a thing with how busy his schedule is. So when he invites you over one night, you look at the date on your phone in confusion. It’s one of those days where he has a “meeting” to attend - a day that would be usually known as “off limits”, so why is he sending you details to an upscale hotel room a quarter to midnight?

Sighing a little to yourself, you throw off your typical friday night lounge wear and put on more appealing attire; combing down your rebellious hair before heading out to your destination.

The hotel’s exterior is nothing compared to the interior and you know the attendant out front is giving you the side-eye as you make your way to the elevator. Paying him no mind, you select the designated floor, fiddling nervously with a hole in your ripped jeans. Once the metal doors open, you hurry on to room 04, snorting inwardly at the familiar number. Baekhyun has always had a thing for this specific numeral. It has something to do with his good luck at work, apparently.

You knock politely on the door; the fleeting thought of adjusting your shirt that has slipped off your shoulder short-lived when a panting Baekhyun in “full meeting” attire throws open the door. Burgundy blazer, white graphic tee and snug black jeans leaving you breathless; the sweat on his brow causing worry to join the anxiousness - and, admittedly, unwarranted arousal - swimming in your gut. The furrow between your brows adding on to your heartbeat pounding furiously in your ears, “Baek-”

He’s tugging you in the room before you can finish, caging your body against the slammed door and crashing his lips roughly to yours. “Hey baby,” He murmurs, swallowing your gasps, “I’ll explain in a minute. Lift your cute little butt for me.”

Feeling his tight grip on your ass, you whimper against his lips; quickly moving to wrap your legs around his waist. You clutch onto his blazer, trying not to scratch the fabric with your nails as he carries you over to the king sized bed in the middle of the room. The obvious bulge pressing between your legs making you gulp; thighs tightening at the constant pleasurable friction.

Baekhyun sets you down at the edge of the bed, stepping out of reach of your needy thighs much to your disappointment.

“Baby,” His sensual timbre halts your impatient thoughts, your gaze zeroing in on the knowing smirk on his handsome face. Dark brown eyes locked on yours while shrugging the alluring colored blazer off his broad shoulders, “Remember that meeting I told you about?”

You hum non committedly while leaning back on your palms, too distracted by his increasing display of skin.

Baekhyun tsks mid pulling off his graphic tee, “With the neighboring leader?”

Your eyes trace over his physique , admiring the way his tucked-in shirt draws more emphasis to his irresistible hips before his words register in your hazy mind. A tick in your jaw he’s quick to recognize. The memory of the fight you had two weeks prior over him having to seduce a woman in charge of the mafia a few towns over always left a bitter taste in your mouth then and is not abashed to leave one there now. “And?” You nearly snap, crossing your betraying thighs.

“She proposed marriage to form an alliance.” He states; dropping the ball so nonchalantly that all you can do is sit there with a hot burn to your cheeks. A familiar stinging sensation forming behind your eyes. It is known to at least a third of the corrupt side of the world how you and Baekhyun came to be. A single dance in a well tucked away club back in your hometown kickstarting your involvement in the world of your Mafia Lord boyfriend. You’re no one compared to the promise of backup in any upcoming territorial rivalries that frequent his doorstep nowadays.

“She wanted marriage,” He continues, letting his t-shirt fall to the floor to join the discarded blazer before stepping back to you on the bed, “And all I could think of was you.”

You don’t look up to meet his eyes, not even when a finger is placed under your chin. But something in his voice… Your steely red-faced expression collides with his open pink-cheeked one.

“All I could think about,” He murmurs, a finger curving around your jaw; blunt nail scraping across sensitive skin as his brown orbs never stray from yours, “Was you laying under me with a ring on your finger and my name on your lips.”

You gasp, you can’t help it as he brushes his thumb over your lips. Pushing it past your parted pillows and eyes darkening at the way you immediately suck on it like you were made for it.

“My pretty girl,” His voice has deepened; scorching in lust and making your toes curl. Breath catching in your throat when he pins you to the bed, growling in your face. “Greedy for my cock like a bitch in heat.” 

You bite hard on your lip. Complexion taking on a vibrant red hue as he runs his nails up your denim-clad thighs. “I know how much you love it when I come inside you.” He chuckles humorously, quickly wetting his bottom lip as you let out a whimper. “Your pussy practically begs for it.”

“B-Baek,” You breathe, feeling way too hot in your warm clothes and under his toned skin.

“Tell me, would you like it?” He tilts his head, fingers painstakingly popping the button to your jeans and pulling down the zipper, “Being filled up with my cum. Fucked so good that your stomach swells with my baby?” 

A whine is ripped from your throat when his hand sneaks below the waistband of your jeans, Baekhyun’s breath hitching and pupils blown as you arch needily against his cold palm. His lust-filled eyes meet yours once again, “You’re fucking drenched thinking about it.”

“Baekhyun,” You clutch onto his bicep, nails digging into the rippling flesh as he hisses at the pain, “Please.” You watch desperately as a muscle works in his clenched jaw; a foreign glint in his eyes causing a shiver to go down your spine just as he roughly tugs tight denim off your legs. The rush of cool air on your heated skin pulls a gasp from your lips seconds before he slams his mouth back onto yours.

“Who am I to deny you,” He grunts, choosing to rip off your soaked lace panties instead of taking them off, “When you ask so prettily.”

He’s got your shirt pulled over your head before you can comment. A strangled cry falling from your lips when his cock slams into you; setting a brutal pace. “Always so wet for me,” He says gruffly, pinching pebbled nipples through the thin fabric of your matching bra. Another hard thrust pushing you further up the bed with a shout, “So fucking tight around my cock.”

The headboard bangs ruthlessly against the wall. Wet sounds of skin slapping on skin filling the room along with choked moans and stifled groans. Baekhyun slides his hands back down to get a bruising grip on your hips, angling your body to hit that spot that leaves you quaking for more. A tight knot is beginning to form in your lower stomach just as he abruptly pulls out, landing a sharp slap on your sensitive cunt. Your startled yelp making a dark chuckle rumble through his chest.

“Roll over,” Baekhyun gives you a smothering look. Eyeliner adding on to the intimidation as you wiggle under his stare. Quickly following his command at the arch of his brow.

You bite down on your lip as he pulls you up onto your knees; swaying your hips back and forth until he lands a solid smack on your ass. “Move again and I’ll fucking leave you here.” He hisses in your ear, pinching your throbbing clit until you whimper out a reply. His hands on your hips pull you back onto his waiting cock; the angle making him able to hit your sweet spot without fail as you claw at the sheets in abandon. 

“Taking my cock so well,” Baekhyun groans, fucking you harder. Grunting at your tight walls clamping down on him. “Are you close, baby?”

You’re too blissed out to respond; eyes fluttering with every slam of cock into your spot; every slap of his balls to your clit. Yelping at the burn of your hair being pulled and tilting your head back to meet the hypnotizing gaze of your boyfriend. Lips parted at the way his wet hair dangles in his ablaze eyes; red lips pressed into a thin line.

“Answer me.” He snaps, tightening his grip.

“Y-Yes!” You cry, tears brimming your eyes as he shoves your head to the bed; keeping a tight grip on your hips while you pant for breath.

“I’m gonna breed you so fucking good,” Baekhyun grunts; hips snapping relentlessly against your tender ass. Slender fingers roughly rubbing your clit making your vision spiral out of control as his steady rhythm takes on sloppy thrusts, “Come for me.”

Your body needs no coaxing to slam head-first into an earth-shattering orgasm. The spray of wetness across your thighs and the sheets below barely registering in your high-hazed mind as Baekhyun fucks you through it. His moan of your name brings you back to the privacy of the bed right as he’s painting your walls white. The hot bursts of cum pulling one last whimper from your dry lips.

You loosen your grip on the messy sheets when Baekhyun starts leaving fleeting kisses over the back of your shoulders, sighing heavily through your pants of breath.

“Good girl.” He hums against your skin, slowly sinking deep into your pounded walls as you let out a gasp. “Don’t you waste a drop of my cum, okay?”

Wiggling restlessly on the damp sheets, you whimper at his hand flexing around your hip; stilling for his leisure thrusts with a meek whisper, “O-Okay.”

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🌹 Part 2 |  Prequel: ◤Off The Rails◢

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[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Firsts and Lasts

Pairings: Finn Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Prostitution (but no actual smut), talk of abuse

Summary: You grew up with Finn Shelby but after moving and losing contact with him, you find yourself in a desperate position to survive. 

A/N: I looked it up and Finn’s 21 and I’m trying to make the reader over 18 as well so please don’t come for me about underage stuff. I did say that she started working at 17 but that’s just cause realistically I can see that happening in this situation but there’s no actual depictions of underage stuff. 

A/N 2: It felt weird to write Linda as being excited about prostitution but this is set in season 4 episode... 3? (I think). Anyways, Linda is like canonically excited about it so yeah. Hope it's not too OOC the way I wrote it. I tried making her too exciting and bubbly about it cause I'd imagine she doesn't know how to act? Whatever, I'll shut up now 😂

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This room, your clothes, everything about this life you lived, you hated. This room that you sat in, decorated with lavish, indulgent red and purple fabrics, reminded you of the disgusting, lustful men that consumed your time and body. The dress you wore was cut provocatively short and the sleeve was torn from that disgusting drunk last night. Your eyeliner had run down your cheeks from the tears of the early morning. 

In all honesty, you weren’t sure why you even cried anymore. It had been like this since you were seventeen and Paul, the man who ran the brothel you worked in, had found you desperate for money and taken advantage of it, manipulating you into prostitution. His abuse quickly became apparent but you knew you didn’t have the means to make it on your own yet so you’d agonizingly decided to stick with it until you had enough money to get as far away from the streets as possible.

“You’ve got yourself a job, Y/N.” Paul announced when he walked into the room you were sitting in. Your eyes shot up, the nerves that always started bubbling in your stomach when you were called on beginning to act up. 

“Who is it?” You asked, standing as Paul walked towards you. The man may have looked respectable enough but it wasn’t hard to see past that slick exterior to the perverted, greedy man beneath. He was a pimp after all and as much as he would like to believe people saw him as a legitimate business man, everyone in town saw him as nothing more. 

He began to fidget with your hair that hung in loose messy curls around your face, most of them having fallen since curling them last night. Last night was Friday. That was the brothel’s busiest day of the week. “Don’t know exactly but it was a Shelby boy who called. Don’t know which. But he asked for the best of the best and that’s you today, love.” 

What a compliment. The best of the best today. Not that being the best of the best when you’re a prostitute was really a compliment anyways. As he ran a hand down your face, you tried your hardest not to flinch away from his touch, feeling nothing but his filth on your skin. When he’d first picked you up and hired you, you’d fallen for this trap before. This false gentle exterior. But you flinched when he’d gotten a little too close for comfort and before you knew it, his open palm blew across your face. You learned quickly. 

Suddenly, his hand moved from your face to twist your hair around his fist and yanked your head back. You gritted your teeth through the pain and tried to maintain eye contact with him as he spat, “Now, girl, these is the Shelby boys. You treat ‘em good. You treat ‘em right. You don’t say no to anything. If I hear anything went wrong, you’ll be gettin’ the drunks tonight, ya hear?” 

Trying your best not to step out of place, you nodded silently, even though all you wanted was shoot daggers through the man. You knew better than to step out of place, at least in this position. 

“What was that?” He questioned, pulling harder on your hair. 

“Yes sir.” You managed through grit teeth.

Finally, Paul’s grip on your hair loosened and he threw a piece of paper at you. You caught it clumsily and unravelled it, seeing an address written there. “Be there at noon, go through the back. And for the love of God, make yourself look presentable.” Paul sneered at you in disgust before walking out of the room, slamming the door behind him. 

Shit, the Shelby’s. This would be humiliating. You’d lived a few houses down from them for years and had even played with Finn growing up, him being the same age as you. The older brothers shipped out about the same time as your father. Over that time, your mother wasn’t able to afford the house anymore so you had to move and hadn’t seen any of the Shelby’s since. Maybe, if you were lucky, they wouldn’t remember you. 

You glanced at the ornate clock that hung on the wall, the one that Paul bought to try to impress clients. It was 11:20 already and you knew that the address you had to go to, Shelby Company Ltd., was a twenty minute walk. That gave you twenty minutes to try to look presentable. 

Making your way to the back room that was full of beds that all the other girls who worked in the brothel slept in, you sat on the sad excuse you called a bed and pulled a mirror from the small trunk under it. Your H/C hair stuck up in an unruly ghost of what was yesterday’s curls. Your makeup was smudged and barely there where it needed to be. Your lipstick had rubbed off to be just a faint tint on your lips, which maybe was better than it being fresh. It made less of a mess this way. You’d noticed you were still in the same clothes as last night, having worked into the early hours. The shoulder was ripped too. Things definitely needed to be changed. 

Quickly, you fixed up your makeup and hair and changed into a different dress, no less  provocative but much more intact. By 11:40, you were on your way to Shelby Company Ltd. and at noon sharp, you were knocking on the back door.

While you waited for the door to be answered, you silently wondered which of the Shelby boys had called for some company, for lack of a better word. You had a feeling it wasn’t Tommy. He didn’t frequent the whore-houses much anymore. Arthur and John were married but, honestly, you wouldn’t put it past either of them to seek out companionship elsewhere. Your heart raced with anxiety, not looking forward to having any form of sexual relation with any of the Shelby boys that you’d grown up with, especially since they were so much older. God, you prayed they wouldn’t remember you. 

Suddenly, the door swung open to reveal a blonde woman you didn’t recognize, a big giddy smile on her face, “You’re here! Oh my gosh!” She squealed excitedly. 

A woman? This would definitely be the first woman that had ever requested your services but money was money. But as she reached down, pulling you excitedly into the building, you noticed the gold cross hanging from her neck and immediately doubted your initial assumption but you could be wrong. 

“Oh! Um, hello Miss…. Shelby?” You guessed. 

She shrugged, “Please, call me Linda. Now you’re sort of a surprise for our boy Finn, here. He’s a virgin so be nice though.” She whispered the last part with a smile, leading you through the mostly empty building.

Oh my God, you thought. It was Finn. You were supposed to do things with Finn, the boy you played with as children. Please, you prayed, don’t let him recognize me.

“She’s here!” Linda squealed into a room, pulling you along before you could even see who she was speaking to. 

“Oh shut up, Linda, before the poor boy hears you!” Another woman responded, her voice sounding vaguely familiar. 

You found yourself led to an open office where a man stood with his back to you. Linda knocked on the door and then ran off, leaving you standing there nervous and confused. The man turned around and immediately, you knew it wasn’t Tommy, John, or Arthur. This had to be Finn but he wasn’t the little boy you grew up down the street from. 

This Finn was tall now and his hair was cut in the trademark Peaky Blinder style, shaved close on the sides and longer on top. His skin was only slightly more freckled than you remembered from all those years ago. And even through this strange stoic attitude he now had, something you’d imagined was also learned through years of being raised by his brothers, you still saw an insecure boy in his eyes. 

 “Mr. Shelby?” You began, cautiously but still trying to sound seductive. This was always how you began house calls like this, with a ‘Mr.’ in front. Some men got angry when addressed by their first names by a “low-life whore” as you’d learned the hard way.

The man looked at you curiously, studying you in a way that most men didn’t. He wasn’t imagining you naked or trying to figure out the fastest way to get down to business. Judging by the way his brows furrowed slightly, he almost looked like he was trying to figure out who you were. “Yeah. Who are you? Did you have an appointment with Thomas?” He asked, hands in his pockets. He looked so official like this. 

Show time. You walked towards his desk, running your fingers gingerly along the chair as you made your way to him, “No… no… I actually would like to meet with you.” Your voice was sweet but thick, sexy eyes in full effect. 

Finn watched in a daze, his eyes following every sway of your hips, as you made your way around the desk and closer towards him. “What’re you doing?” He asked with no real momentum behind the question, totally trapped in your trance. 

You came up behind him, running your hands along his shoulders and down his biceps, “I’m just admiring the handsome powerful man in front of me.” You purred into his ear. His body shuddered slightly under your touch. As long as you could keep him under this spell, you were sure you could get in and out of here quickly and smoothly. 

Finn stiffened just slightly, “Wait, did Tommy send you? Are you a prostitute?” He looked over his shoulder at you and you could see the trance beginning to break. You could tell he was uncomfortable by this idea. 

“Oh, Mr. Shelby, don’t you worry. I’m just here to make you feel good. We won’t do anything you don’t want.” You snaked around to the front of his body, your breasts rubbing against his chest as you leaned up on your toes to whisper in his ear, “But we can do whatever you do want.” You leaned back biting your lip to find him with his eyes closed, leaning in to your every word. 

Slowly, you slid your hands down his chest and towards his pants, not going to undo them just yet but beginning to rub your hand skilledly over his growing bulge. His breathing hitched at the contact and you decided to start biting gently on his neck. A small breathy moan fell from his lips. 

Deciding he was ready, you pulled back and bit your lip, looking up at him through your lashes, “Any preference on how we do this?” You asked, keeping your smile and overall demeanor a little sweeter than you usually would. He was a virgin, after all. Be nice, Linda had said. Your fingers danced on his chest, choosing to tease him slightly.

But before he answered your question, he looked into your eyes and a look of sudden realization washed over his face. He grabbed your wrist and pulled it away from his chest. At first, you panicked, thinking you were about to get hit. It wouldn’t be the first time. Instead, though, he looked almost hurt, “Y/N L/N?” He asked, his entire demeanor shifting. “Is that you?” 

Your eyes widened and you were sure you looked like a deer caught in headlights. “No?” You tried your hardest to lie but the panic rising in your throat made the word come out more as a question. 

Finn let your wrist go when he saw your eyes flicker over to where his hand gripped your arm. “What’re you doing?” He asked, unable to comprehend that his childhood best friend could possibly be in this line of work. 

You didn’t know how to respond to the question. “I have to.” Your voice cracked when you spoke. Gosh, you hated how weak you sounded but there had been few times in your life when you’d felt this humiliated. You swore up and down since you started this at seventeen that you were only doing what was necessary to survive but you’d never had to face someone you actually knew while doing it. 

“No, no you don’t. Not if you don’t want to.” Finn insisted, looking down at you with worry filled eyes. 

You gave a sad laugh, looking away, “I do, though, Finn. But look, I’m not here looking for sympathy. I think those women out there called me to give you a good first lay. We can do this still if you want.” You straightened up, putting back on a sterner voice that you were sure wasn’t going to betray you. 

Finn shook his head, “I don’t want this. Not like this.” 

You nodded with pursed lips, secretly grateful that he didn’t want to continue. You weren’t sure if you could with him. “Alright then, I’ll be leaving. But, um, if you don’t mind… I know it’s lying but would you mind pretending like we did something. Anything, I don’t care what you say. I just need my employer to think that you were… satisfied.” 

Finn looked at you with sad confusion, “Wait!” He reached for you, when you went to leave, stopping you, “Wait, no, just, just wait a second.” You allowed him to pull you back into the room and push you gently to sit on the desk. His hands rested on your shoulders, his big brown eyes looking sincerely into yours. “What happened?” 

He knew the question was open but he wanted to know it all. You and he were best friends as children who did everything together. You were close with the Shelby family and were pretty much on track to join the company when you got older. But then you just disappeared one day without an explanation. 

You sighed, all the memories from the past that you tried to suppress coming back with a force, “Well, y’know that my dad got drafted about a year before your brothers. My mum couldn’t afford to keep the house after two years so we had to move. I didn’t know why we were moving back then and I didn’t even know we were leaving until the night before we did so I couldn't tell you. But we did. We moved to the far eastside of Birmingham.” 

Your voice began to crack, the part you tried your hardest to keep buried coming to light, “We got a letter saying that my dad was killed in the trenches right after we moved. Then my mum died of the Spanish Flu right after. I think I was about eleven. The police forced me into an orphanage but the older kids never got adopted so they ushered me out when I turned seventeen. I didn’t really have anywhere to go, no money, no home. I didn’t know anybody. And then this man Paul came up and told me he could help.” 

You didn’t need to elaborate any further for Finn to understand. “I’m sorry.” He said, unable to think of what else to say, “If we would’ve known, I’m sure we would’ve helped.” 

You shook your head, standing again, “Thank you but I don’t need your sympathy or pity. I didn’t come here for that. I’m fine.”

“Are you though? Cause it doesn’t look like it! You’ve been doing this for, what? Two, three years? Are you happy?” He asked. 

You scoffed, whatever pride you had left threatened by him. “I’m fine.” You repeated. 

Finn groaned, “That’s not what I asked. Are you happy? Do you like your life?” 

“No! Is that what you wanted? No! Of course, I’m not happy being treated like a fucking sex slave and forced to the will of whatever man makes a deal with Paul! But if this is what I have to do to survive, then I’ll fucking do it!” You were pointing harshly at him, using anger to mask every other unpleasant emotion.

“What if you didn’t have to do it anymore?” Finn suggested quietly, looking seriously at you. 

You rolled your eyes, “I don’t need your money, Finn.” 

“I don’t mean that. I mean a job. What if I could get you a real job here at Shelby Company Limited?” You scanned his face for any hint of a cruel joke but he looked at you with nothing but concerned sincerity. 

Could this be it? That opportunity that got you out of the sheets of violent drunks and into a real job? But just as that glimmer of hope began to shine, it faded away with the thoughts of reality, “I can’t. Paul… he’s beat girls for trying to leave before.” 

“He won’t touch you. You’ll be running with the Blinders. If he tries anything, we’ll fucking kill him.” Finn was serious, his eyebrows raised. 

He was right, you realized. If Paul found out that you were working with the Peaky Blinders, he’d never touch you. You could finally be safe from him. You looked up at Finn with tearfully grateful eyes and hugged him tightly, “Thank you, Finn.” 

Finn was taken off guard by your sudden affection, especially since you were yelling at him just moments prior, but relaxed and hugged you back, holding your body against his. Honestly, he knew he had no actual right to hire you or send out a hit on Paul without Tommy’s permission but that was beside the point right now. He’d find a way to keep you safe. 

[sevenstarsinning]

Invasion Ch.11

Description:  A planet conquering race of Saiyans invaded Earth and deemed it worthy of habitation. After bringing the humans to their heels, they set up a new society where humans had one role, to serve. You found yourself in the unlucky faction of being bought and sold as a human pet. With absolutely no interest in owning a human but no way out of having one, Kakarot made a bid on you at the urging of his brother. It was only a matter of time before you were either killed or forced into obedience.

You can find previous chapters in this link: Ch.10 or you can read it here on my AO3

Warnings: Things get a little violent in this chapter. Enjoy!

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Kakarot finally glanced up when he heard the door close. He let out the defeated sigh he’d been holding back and slid down the wall he was leaning against. Every ounce of his being was urging him to break free of the cell, tear down the forcefield that kept you just out of his reach so he could hold you one more time. His hands trembled as he flexed his fingers and clenched his fists. The self-loathing began as he recalled the words he said to you, each syllable of bullshit that came spewing out of his mouth. He wanted to take it all back, to beg you to stay, to wait for him, but he knew he had no choice. If he was going to save you, truly save you, he had to make sure your feelings were cut off at the nerve.

He fought sleep at night, every time he closed his eyes he could see your weakened frame, clothes barely hanging off of you, tired and tearful eyes that seemed to burn right through him. He couldn’t bare the sight, so he forced himself to stay awake. Even if he did want to sleep, it wasn’t like they’d let him anyways.

“Wake up, traitor.” Turles stood in the doorway with a wicked grin spread across his face.

Kakarot peered up at him wearily, barely giving him his full attention as he slumped back against the furthest wall in the cell.

“Again, Turles?” His voice was gruff as he spoke.

“You know the drill.” Turles cracked his knuckles loudly.

Kakarot wasn’t sure if it was his attempt to intimidate him or if it was some weird way for him to prepare himself. He slowly stood up, using the wall to lean against as he did. His legs trembled and he kept his gaze on the floor.

“I noticed the Prince brought your little human by earlier.” Turles paced slowly in front of the forcefield.

“She’s not mine.” He didn’t like the way Turles mentioned you, but it wasn’t like he could do anything about it.

“I’ve been thinking,” he slowed and stood directly in front of the cell, “do you think the Prince has had a chance to stretch that sweet little cunt of hers yet?”

Kakarot couldn’t hide the way he clenched his fists instinctively at the mention of you, his nostrils flaring as he fought to control his breath.

“We both know the Prince isn’t patient either. I bet he used her the very first night, shoving her down…” he pulled the key from his pocket, “tearing and clawing at her clothes…” he dropped the forcefield, “right before he shoved his royal cock right into her. Can you imagine the sounds she made? Probably begging for him to breed her tight cunt, pleading for him to claim her like you never did.”

The second the door unlocked, Kakarot launched himself at Turles and jerked him into the cell with him. He broke free of the cuffs that were secured around his wrists. He slammed him back against the hard, metal wall, denting it with his skull while his hand wrapped around his throat.

“Still got some fight in you after all.” Turles grinned and grabbed Kakarot’s forearm, trying to loosen his grip.

Kakarot felt his body buzzing with energy as he held back on turning Super Saiyan. As he was trying to refocus his ki, Turles twisted his arm and shoved him back, cracking his neck as he headed straight for Kakarot. He held nothing back as he fought him, slamming him into every wall in the cell. Kakarot fought back, hit after hit, pounding his fists into the cruel saiyan but continuing to hold back. He knew what happened when he let go completely and he wasn’t prepared to suffer those consequences again.

Before Kakarot could exact his full rage on Turles, he was quickly pulled off of him by two other saiyans. Turles wiped the blood and sweat from his brow as he straightened himself up, the two saiyans holding Kakarot back while they secured another pair of cuffs around his wrists and a heavy steel collar around his neck. Kakarot continued to fight, trying to break free of their hold but an intense jolt of electricity flowed from the collar into his neck. Kakarot cried out in pain as his body tensed, the shock rolling through him wave after wave, each one growing in intensity. They released him and let him fall to the floor, chest heaving as he trembled.

Turles crouched in front of Kakarot and grabbed a handful of his hair, jerking his head up, “I’ve heard the King is leaning more towards execution and I’ll only be too happy to offer my services.”

Kakarot smirked and licked the blood that trickled from his lip, “make sure you have your pets with you.” He cut his eyes back at the two saiyans that remained by the door.

Turles slammed Kakarot’s head on the hard floor and held it down, “we’ll see how funny you think it is when you’re sentenced.”

Turles released him and stepped over his body as they headed out of the cell. Kakarot remained in the floor, every nerve ending in his body was still trembling from the shock as he recovered. It was difficult to maneuver with his hands cuffed behind his back, but he managed to roll over on his back and sit up before scooting himself back against the wall. He let out a harsh sigh as a soreness se into his limbs and images of you flooded his mind. No matter how hard he tried, it was always you that he came back to. You were his comfort, his peace.

“Kakarot?” He recognized the voice as he opened his tired eyes, focusing for a moment before seeing her face.

“I didn’t think they’d let you see me.” He struggled to sit up a little straighter.

Gine knelt in front of the cell, “let them try to keep me from my son.”

The softness in her smile hid something more, something worrisome.

“Who did this to you?” She asked as she took in his current state.

“No one. Why did you come here?” He wanted to avoid her finding Turles and putting him in his place, which he knew she would.

“I needed to see you. There are rumors-“

“Not the good kind, I’m sure.” He gave her a slight smile, hoping it would reassure her that he was okay.

“Not the best things you’d want to hear about your son. I heard your human is settling in at the palace well.”

“She isn’t eating. Or sleeping from the looks of it.”

She perked up a little, “you’ve seen her? Did she come by? Is she coming back?”

Kakarot shook his head, “she isn’t coming back, I made sure of that.”

Gine shifted and moved a little closer to the cell, “I’m sure she still cares for you.”

“I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Anything, what is it?”

“I need you to help her move on and get past this. She wasn’t doing well the other day and I doubt she’s doing better now.”

Gine looked up at Kakarot, “I’ll check in on her, see if she needs anything.”

She said her goodbyes as he thanked her, her expression dropping once more as she left. He was grateful that she’d come by and that she was so willing to help him. Kakarot remembered when he was a kid and wanted to get out of training, she would hide him in the laundry basket and tell Bardock she hadn’t seen him. She’d let him know when the coast was clear. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him training, she just preferred to stoke his playful side more than the warrior side. He hoped you’d let Gine help you, it was the only thing that would bring him solace.

It wasn’t that you were ignorant or even that dense, but Gine set up shop and watched you trudge out past the garden almost every day. She watched as you took your anger out in a very odd way and she noticed the way you broke down each time afterwards, clutching your hands to your chest as the tears streamed. She knew you wouldn’t last like this, especially when you weren’t eating. She watched about as much as she could.

“If this is going to be your outlet, you need a better target.” She said as she stood before you.

“How long have you been watching?” you wiped the sweat from your brow, blood staining your knuckles.

“Long enough to know you’re going about this all wrong. If you really want to blow off some steam you need to hit something that’ll hit you back.” She made no move to console you or convince you that this was stupid.

“What did you have in mind? You’re not gonna hit me, are you?” You stepped back from her, knowing she’d put you through the tree in an instant.

“That’d be too easy. Come on.” She grabbed you and took off from the palace grounds.

You wanted to ask where she was taking you and if you even had permission to go that far from the palace, but you honestly didn’t care entirely. You were grateful to be away from everything and wherever she took you was probably going to be better than anywhere else. After a few minutes she started to descend and panic built in your chest.

“Wait- The Arena?! You can’t-“ You struggled to get out of her grasp but she held your arm.

“Calm down. I’m not leaving you here. This place has different rules than the rest.”

“Yeah, and those rules are that humans fight to the death here.” You still tried to pull away from her.

“Not if you enter with a bet or with a saiyan. Doesn’t matter if they own you or not, they can still bring you here to fight.” She held firm with her grip on you.

“I don’t get it, you want me to fight in the Arena? For money? I’m not a fighter. I’ll get my ass kicked.” You looked at her with complete confusion.

“Maybe your heart will hurt a little less then.” She finally released you.

You considered what she was saying. Fighting had never been something you wanted to do, regardless of the situation, but she seemed to think this would help. You weren’t keen on the idea of fighting other people who were forced into the Arena against their will when you were able to come and go as you pleased. But again, there were unknown benefits to doing it. Maybe one time wouldn’t hurt?

“One fight, and then you take me back to the palace, right?”

“Of course. I’m not a monster. Stay with me and don’t say a word.” She returned her hand to wrap around your arm as she pulled you along with her, approaching the large outdoor arena.

The Arena was set up more like a cage of death in wrestling. Stands were set up around the whole thing and in the middle there was a chain link fence with two doors on either side. You could hear the screaming saiyans from the outside and the pent-up energy flowing from it was almost overwhelming.

“Didn’t know you owned a human, Gine?” A small saiyan at the doorway looked you both up and down.

“She’s new. Gotta see what she can do in the Arena before I take her back to Bardock.”

“How much you betting tonight?” Another saiyan asked.

Gine glanced at you then back to them, “let’s set it at one hundred. I don’t want to waste it, she looks a little too thin.”

“Alright, she’s up next. It’s been kind of slow today.”

They made note of her bet and stepped aside for her to lead you in. Anxiety had set up a permanent home in your stomach as you stood to the side of the stands. You watched as the two people in the cage fought one another, hard hits without armor or protection of any kind. Blood splattered the white platform and their clothes. It was violent, chaotic, and exactly what you wanted.

“So what happens now?” You glanced at Gine.

“Once they finish, you’ll go up against whoever is next. A winner is declared one of three ways, a tap out by the saiyan, knock out, or death.” She said as simply as she could.

“Death?”

“If the human is decent and actually wanted, then the owning saiyan will intervene before that happens. If they do that, they forfeit their bet.” She pulled you forward as the fight neared it’s end.

You could tell one of the humans was faltering, barely standing stable on their feet but they continued to fight.

“Stay up!” An angry saiyan shouted from the side of the cage, which you could only assume was their owner.

Within another few seconds the human was flat on the ground, blood trickling from their head as the other human stood victorious, a clear smirk on his face as his opponent lay unconscious at his feet.

“You’re up.” She pushed you forward towards one of the doors in the cage.

You took a deep breath and exhaled it quickly as the door was opened and you were pulled inside. You glanced back at Gine who gave you a slight smile and a thumbs up. It was a simple gesture, but it was at least some kind of encouragement. As you stepped forward, they were still cleaning up from the last fight, the smell of blood was thick in the air, saiyans muttering around you from the stands. It was all so different from what you expected. You looked to the other end of the cage, seeing your opponent enter, realizing she was familiar. You’d seen her before, at the auction. She was the one who bit Nappa.

“You know the rules, tap out, knock out, or death. Those are your only ways out of here.” A large saiyan towered over the two of you as you stood face to face.

He back away and left the cage without another word. You stood almost frozen in place, you had no idea how to start a fight, especially not a fight to the death.

“I remember you,” she said as she stared at you, “that elite bought you. Heard you had a real nice situation there until he murdered all those saiyans.”

“He hasn’t been found guilty yet.” You felt like you were waiting for her to just knock you out at any instance.

“Well, murderer or not, bet he’s still better than mine. Enough chit chat though, you ready to get this over with?” She stepped back and cracked her neck from side to side.

“Um, yeah, I guess-“ Before you could even get your words out completely, she punched you squared in the jaw.

You stumbled back and placed your hand over the sharp pulses of pain you started to feel in your jaw that echoed through your entire head.

“Shit.” You muttered.

“Come on, that wasn’t even my best hit.” She started to circle around you.

You stood back up and before you could even get your bearings, she hit you again. This time she landed her fist in the center of your chest before hitting you in the side of the head with her other fist. Your vision blurred and you felt like your heart stopped as you choked and doubled over. You glanced back to see Gine standing on edge against the cage, still urging you on.

“This isn’t even a fair fight.” She stopped moving and sighed.

“Just kill her and get it over with!”

You looked over to see who her owner was and the second you saw the familiar, spike haired saiyan, you felt an anger building within you. Turles.

“Fucking end her!” He shouted again.

Memories of how he treated you and Kakarot the last time you saw him, flooded your mind. You clenched your fists and centered all of your rage in your stomach. You caught her off guard by tackling her to the ground, pinning her beneath you as you slammed your fists into her, one after another. She grabbed at you and tried to shove you off, but you weren’t budging. You hit her with everything you had, ignoring the harsh hits she landed sparingly on you. You could hear the other saiyans roaring and encouraging the two of you as you fought. It was exhilarating, addicting. She finally managed to shove you off of her, but the pause in fighting was short lived as you both scrambled towards one another with fists flying. Blood poured from her lip as she attacked you and after a moment you noticed your knuckles were smeared with it. You knew you had some wounds as well, but honestly they were at the back of your mind as you fought. You unleashed every ounce of anger and frustration into her, but it wasn’t enough.

Your advantage was brief from the surprise attack you managed. She was clearly a better fighter and trained at that. She quickly dodged one of your hits and had you flat on the ground within a split second, her foot on your throat as she proceeded to hit you, over and over.

“Out! She’s out!” Gine called from the sidelines.

She continued until the saiyan entered the cage again and pulled her off of you, declaring her the winner while you faded in and out of consciousness.

You were vaguely aware of Gine carrying you from the cage, muttering something about how fucked you were in a real fight.

“I can’t take you back to the palace like this. You got your ass handed to you.” She took off from the Arena.

If you had been awake enough to ask questions, you would’ve asked where you were and why she was hooking you up to a few hoses and shoving you into a tank of water, but you were soon unconscious again.

You came to as she was pulling out of the machine, letting the water drain from it as she wrapped you in a towel.

“Not perfect, but at least your face doesn’t look like a piece of chewed up gum.” She helped you dry off.

“I want-“ you coughed up some of the water, “I want to go back.”

“Sorry, humans can’t handle too much of the healing pods, your bodies get all weird and soft.”

“Not that. The Arena.” You looked up at her.

“You need training before that happens. And you need to eat. You look like a starving animal.” She continued to dry you off.

“Train me then.” You said without really worrying about the consequences.

She paused for a moment as if she was giving you a chance to take it back, “did it help?”

“Yes, more than I thought it would.” You nodded.

“Fine, but you won’t tell anyone, and you’ll need to start eating at least three times a day. Deal?”

“Deal.”

For the first time in a while you felt hopeful. Not about your future or the situation with Vegeta, but hopeful about putting your energy and time into something other than waiting for death to come to you.

[king-finnigan]

I'm week for historic au stuff. Like Geralt becomes a retired soldier and Jaskier is a scholar type thing and they keep meeting through the ages stuff? Just me? Feel free to ignore me 😖

Actually, I really love that, honestly. I wasn’t sure whether I would write it like a reincarnation AU, or if Geralt would keep living while Jaskier kept getting reincarnated, but I decided that that’s simply too sad. So I went for a Good Omens type thingie! (featuring: enemies to lovers)

Disclaimer: I don’t know anything about history, so there’s a big chance I’m being very very inaccurate!

EDIT: I couldn’t help but make it a little sad at the end, but it’s just bittersweet.

---

They first meet during the Hundred Years’ War, in England.

Jaskier is a monk, transcribing Latin scrolls in the dungeons of the castle for a living. Really, he never wanted to be a monk, but it was the only way for a farmer boy like him to learn how to read and write, something he’d always been fascinated by.

He writes. It’s what he does. No matter how cold it gets in the dungeons during the winter, no matter how much his hand cramps up after a few hours, no matter how many times he has to start over when he makes a mistake. He keeps going, keeps writing. 

It’s what he does.

Autumn, 1438. After a particularly long day, writing down biblical text after biblical text, he’s climbing the stairs of the castle, walking through the long hallways to the monestary. That’s when he sees him for the first time.

The most insufferable person he’ll ever meet.

He’s standing by the door that leads to one of the conference chambers - presumably where the King must be at that moment. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, snow-white hair tied behind his head. Amber eyes look at Jaskier suspiciously as he approaches.

He gives the man a curt nod and a tight smile, sighing when the guard flings an arm out, stopping Jaskier in his tracks. 

The scholar rolls his eyes for a split second, before turning to the guard. “Is there a problem, sir?”

The knight cocks his head. “Who are you?”

The scholar frowns. “I’m Jaskier. I’ve worked here for twelve years. And you are?”

“I ask the questions. What are you doing here so late?”

Jaskier sighs, rolling his eyes. “I was busy transcribing in the dungeons. It gets very hard to tell the time when there are no windows, and I accidentally worked too long. As for why I’m here, specifically, this is the shortest way to the monestary. Now who are you? I haven’t seen you before. Are you new?”

The knight clenches his jaw. “Like I said, you don’t get to ask questions. Now move along before I make you.”

Jaskier scoffs, continuing his way to the monestary. After a few steps, he stops. “You know,” he calls over his shoulder, “monks are well respected here, and I don’t think the King will appreciate it if he finds out one of his guards has been talking to a monk like that. Just something you might want to keep in mind next time.”

He looks back for a second, smirking at the glare the knight gives him, then turns back around, continuing to the monestary. 

***

They continue like that for the next few months, exchanging quips whenever they pass each other in the halls.

The knight asks him what he’s doing in that specific part of the castle, Jaskier tells him it’s none of his business and asks who he thinks he is, the knight says that Jaskier doesn’t get to ask questions, Jaskier threatens to tell the King.

Of course, he doesn’t mean a word of it. After all, it doesn’t really matter if the knight keeps asking him what he’s doing there, and it doesn’t matter that Jaskier never gets to learn his name. It shouldn’t matter, at least.

He’s started asking around for the whereabouts of the King every morning, changing the route he takes to the monestary depending on what the servants say. He’s doing it to make the days less monotone and change things up a little. He does not do it to make sure he passes the knight every evening.

And when the King is called away a few months later to France to lead their army in the war, taking the white-haired knight with him, Jaskier is not disappointed.

And when he has to move away a few years later to a different part of the country when he realizes the hairs on his head aren’t greying and there are no crows’ feet appearing at the corners of his eyes, he does not feel sad that he didn’t get the chance to see the white-haired knight again.

***

Autumn, 1605, Florence. He’s in the city library, picking book after book on the human body from the shelves, the pile in his arms growing ever higher.

197. That’s how old he is, by now, and he still doesn’t know why he’s been blessed - or cursed, depending on which day you ask him - with a long life. He’s fallen in and out of love countless of times, seeing the beauty in every person passing him by, and he’s had his heart broken twice as often. Death, sickness, growing apart - all normal things in life, but when your life is unnaturally long, those things start weighing on you.

So, five years ago, he went to Florence. He’d heard of the impressive library the Italians had collected, and he had decided that, if he wasn’t going to die a natural death, he might as well find out why.

Except he hasn’t, so far. He’s looked through these books countless of times, thumbed through the pages night after night, coming up empty-handed. There aren’t exactly many books on immortality, and the ones that he did find mostly seemed like a bunch of philosophical nonsense - nothing he could use to figure out why he was the way he was, anyways.

So, now, as he piles the same books into his arms as always, he can’t help but feel a little hopeless, and he knows he probably won’t get the answers he needs. Not anytime soon, at least, and not in Florence.

He reaches up, trying to take the last book from a high shelf, but the pile he’s carrying with the other arm wobbles dangerously, and he almost loses his footing.

Suddenly, a strong hand wraps around his upper arm, stabilizing him, another reaching over his head to grab the book for him, putting it on the pile. Jaskier turns around carefully. “Grazie-” his voice catches in his throat, as he meets the amber eyes of a silver-haired man.

“You,” he breathes out, when he recognizes him, seeing recognition in those golden eyes as well. “You’re the knight-”

The man blinks, then frowns. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He turns around, stalking away from Jaskier.

The scholar deposits the pile of books on a nearby table, ignoring the dirty glances the other scholars shoot at him for not putting them back on the shelves, as he hurries out of the library, into the afternoon sunlight.

He looks around, spotting the white-haired man weaving between the people, disappearing into an alley. 

“Hey! Wait!” Jaskier yells, running after the knight. “Wait!”

His chest is heaving by the time he catches up with the man. He grabs the knight by the wrist, forcing him to turn around. “You. I know you, you were in England,” he almost swallows his next words, bringing his voice down to a whisper, “a hundred and fifty years ago.”

The man clenches his jaw again. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Like hell you do,” Jaskier hisses back. “I know you recognize me, I know it’s you, and you know it’s me.”

The man looks around, then leans in closer to Jaskier. “Fuck off and leave me be.”

He makes a move to get away, but Jaskier grips his wrist tighter. “No! You haven’t aged a day. Why?”

He startles as the man’s other hand comes up, grabbing him by his throat, pushing him against the wall. “Keep your voice down,” the knight hisses at him, and Jaskier glares at him until he loosens his grip a bit.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“I’m not going to. Now fuck off and leave me be.” He lets go of Jaskier’s neck, stalking through the alley to the city square. 

“Wait!” Jaskier calls behind him. “What’s your name?”

The knight is long gone, disappearing into the crowd.

***

Autumn, 1718, well... wherever, really. Somewhere between Britain and America. He sighs, the slight swaying of the boat making his stomach act up, and he has to swallow a wave of nausea.

He’d heard a lot about America, heard about people finding their luck there in the new cities and large fields. It would be a new chance for Jaskier, another place for him to build a life before having to abandon it after a couple of decades, when his lack of aging starts to grow suspicious to the people around him. 

Well, at least it’ll be something new, after all these years. He’s getting tired of Europe. 

Tomorrow is his 310th birthday, he realizes, though it brings him no joy. It’s been a while since he’s celebrated his birthday, celebrated the end of another year on this cursed planet.

He’s tired, so tired. Of having to scrape together money, day in, day out, year after long year, decade after long decade, before having to take off again, leaving his life and home behind, after twenty or thirty years.

It’s been a while since he’s had any close friends or relationships of any sort. He can’t risk getting close to people he knows he’ll lose, eventually, inevitably, and he can’t risk them finding out his secret. Because they’ll either claim him insane, putting him in an asylum, or he’ll become a shiny new test subject for scientists to poke and prod at. No thank you.

So, off to America, he went. They’re expected to arrive in a week or so, and he’s looking forward to the moment he can get off this blasted ship that’s messing with his stomach so much.

He perks up as he hears a few men shouting on the top deck, and gets to his feet as he hears the loud pangs of gunfire. He reaches for his own weapon, a dagger strapped to his hip. Though, he realizes now - probably too late - that it won’t do much if someone tries to shoot him.

The door slams open, and he takes a step back, holding his meagre dagger in his shaking hand. He nearly drops it, mouth opening in confusion and realization.

“It’s you again!” he shouts, hand clenching around the hilt of his weapon. “Seriously?”

It’s the white-haired knight again, one hand on the doorknob, the other holding a gun. He looks confused and annoyed, amber eyes fixed on Jaskier. 

The scholar lowers his weapon. “You’ve really fallen far, sir. You were a knight three hundred years or so ago, and now you’re” he gestures vaguely with his hand, nose scrunching in confusion “a pirate? I really expected better from you.”

The white-haired man lowers his weapon as well. “Gotta make a living, somehow.” He shrugs. “The world doesn’t need knights anymore.” And, bless all the angels in the heavens above, he smiles. “At least I’m doing something different with my life. It seems like you haven’t evolved past ‘pansy little scholar’.”

Jaskier gasps in mock offense, laying a hand on his chest dramatically. “How dare you? I may be a pansy scholar, but I sure as hell am not little, sir knight.”

The white-haired man chuckles, rolling his eyes a bit. Footsteps barge down the stairs, and the knight turns back to one of his fellow pirates. “Just people, no valuable cargo,” he tells the other man, “let’s get out of here.”

The other pirate looks a bit confused, glancing at Jaskier. “You sure you don’t want to eliminate any witnesses?”

The knight shakes his head. “No, it’s good. He won’t talk, will he?” He looks at the scholar.

Jaskier shakes his head quickly, hands in the air. “No, won’t say a word.”

The other pirate nods, content, heading back upstairs, the knight following closely behind. Jaskier lowers his hands, eyes squeezing shut tightly. “Shite,” he mutters to himself, “I still don’t know his name.”

***

Autumn, 1915. He hadn’t wanted to go back to Europe, but he didn’t want to not serve his country in the war. So, he had gone back to England, and had enlisted to go to the front in Belgium.

The training officers command him for his fighting technique and quick learning skills, and Jaskier has to swallow back a comment about how it’s easy to pick up a thing or two about fighting when you’ve lived for 507 years.

He spots a familiar head of white hair in the trenches, but it disappears behind a cloud of mud and dirt when a shell explodes between them. After that, he can’t find the white-haired man anymore.

***

Autumn, 1941. He’s standing outside when Japanese planes fly over, dropping bombs on the ships in Pearl Harbour. He spots a familiar form with white hair on one of the ships, and he tries to shout to the knight, but he’s blown to the ground by another bomb.

After that, he has to flee. He doesn’t get the chance to search for the white-haired man between the dead, the day after.

***

Autumn, 1945. He’s sitting in a movie theatre, watching the news about the end of the war. They show the celebrations in the major cities, and Jaskier sighs in relief as he spots a broad-shouldered, white-haired man in the crowd in Times Square.

***

Autumn, 1985. He’s dancing at a club in New York, lifting his hands above his head as he lets the music flow through him. It’s always fun to discover new things after being on this mess of a planet for 577 years, really, and the ability to simply lose himself in the deep bass and steady beat of the music seems God-given, at this point.

He’s tired. Tired of the years weighing down on him, tired of not being able to get the rest he so desperately wants, tired of being pushed down by the heaviness of the ages, yet floating through the years, flitting from place to place, not being able to settle down.

It’s become so hard to hide what he is, with the upcoming digitalization and registration of everyone’s date of birth, place of birth, etcetera. He can no longer just move to a different town and call himself a different name and start a new life. It doesn’t work like that anymore, and he knows it’s only a matter of time until he’s found out, until someone realizes he’s not who he says he is.

The worries weigh down on him, so he loses himself in the music.

Someone bumps into him, and he shouts in annoyance as they spill their drink all over him. He turns around, ready to curse out whoever is so stupid enough to do this, but he freezes, mouth open slightly.

“You again?” he breathes out, and before the white-haired man can say anything, Jaskier takes him by his arm, dragging him out of the club, into the side alley. He turns back around, facing the man, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Before you say anything, what is your name?”

The knight- pirate- soldier- man furrows his brow, shaking his head slightly. “Geralt.”

Jaskier throws his hands up in exparation. “Fucking finally! Do you know how hard it is to try to find someone for 500 years when you don’t even know their name?”

Geralt frowns at him. “You’ve been trying to find me?”

Jaskier shakes his head a bit in confusion. “Yes, of course! You’re like me! You don’t age, either, do you?” Geralt shakes his head. “Exactly. I wanna know what the hell is wrong with us so I can finally just die. I’m tired of this planet.”

“I don’t know why we don’t age, though.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Jaskier leans against the wall, head in his hands. After a few moments, he lifts his face up to Geralt, who’s gone to stand in front of him. “I don’t understand. Why can’t we die? And why do we keep running into each other? It’s a small world but not that small, right?”

Geralt shrugs again. “I don’t know. All I know is that I keep seeing that pansy little scholar everywhere I go.” 

Jaskier snorts. “And I keep seeing a thick-headed old man everywhere I go.”

“I’m not old.”

“You’re 500 years old.”

“You’re 500 years old as well, what's your point?”

Jaskier laughs, shaking his head slightly. Geralt smiles back, and something ancient flutters in Jaskier’s chest, which he recognizes as the thing he had felt when he had traded insults with Geralt in the castle hall, when he had seen him again in Florence, when he had been spared on the ship, when he had seen white hair in the heat of the battle, when he had spotted him on Times Square.

He recognizes it as the thing he had felt every time their paths had crossed.

And maybe, for the first time in over 500 years, he realizes what it is. 

Love.

They both lean toward each other at the same time, lips crashing into each other, hands tangling in each other’s hair, noses brushing, breaths intertwining.

And Jaskier can’t get enough of this feeling he always gets when he’s close to Geralt, willingly loses himself in the warmth that spreads through his veins, lifting the heavy years off his tired shoulders, in the fluttering in his stomach that sets his soul alight.

They pull back after a few seconds, foreheads leaning against one another. And maybe, Jaskier realizes, suffering eternity won’t be so bad if he’s got Geralt by his side, this time around.

***

Though, he knows that won’t be necessary, when he discovers his first grey hair, fifteen years later. When he finds his first wrinkle, a few years after that.

When he finally, at last, starts seeing the effects of time appearing on his face. When he sees the lines in his love’s skin.

When their bones start creaking and aching. When their voices grow hoarse and their sight blurry.

And when they drift off to sleep in each other’s arms, sixty-four years after their first kiss, he feels perfectly at peace.

[kiapet2]

Aperture Sides Facility, Chapter 9: The Part Where He Kills You

Masterpost

Chapter Summary: It's the part where he kills you.

Chapter Warnings: Attempted Murder (obviously), Not-Really-Unsympathetic Sides

“Well,” Janus says, “This is the part where he kills us.”

“Hello!” Remus says cheerfully, peering down at you from another video screen. “This is the part where I kill you!”

Looking at the spiked plates surrounding you, you realize this is, in fact, the part where he kills you.

(this is that part)

“Y’know, I thought about a lot of ways I could do this,” Remus says. “I could make toxic sludge rain into the room and see how long it took to kill you if you weren’t actually submerged in it. I could flood the room with neurotoxin and watch you choke and twitch as you die. I even thought about grabbing you and tearing you limb from limb! I wonder which would pop off first- maybe your arms? I dunno, what do you think?”

You don’t answer, instead looking around yourself as subtly as you can, looking for a way out. The platform you’re standing on is small, barely five feet from end to end, and below you is a deep pit that extends into nothingness. You could chance a jump, but with no way of knowing what’s at the bottom that’s just as likely to kill you as save you.

Above you, Remus is still talking. “But in the end I figured, why mess with a classic, right? I mean, the crushing power of metal, mixed with the stabbiness of spikes? Sheer poetry!”

Something catches your eye- a speck of white, a flash of movement. Bits of conversion gel are dripping in the distance and collecting on an outcropping. You shoot your blue portal there, and the white liquid begins to drip through the portal.

Great, now the testing chamber you just left is covered in portal surfaces. Not helping you much.

“Anyways, if you’ve got anything to say before I make you into hamburger meat, now’s the time, Tommy-boy!” Remus says.

“Hole in the wall, Eleven o’clock,” Janus mutters, and you feel yourself break into a smile as you see it.

“I do have something to say, actually,” you say loudly.

You shoot the orange portal through the hole, onto the portal surface beyond, and step aside to keep from being coated as a big glob of moon rock liquid flies towards you and then splatters onto your platform.

You look Remus’ image straight in the eye. “Thanks for teaching me about Conversion Gel.”

Then you shoot the blue portal onto the newly white-coated ground and jump in, popping out from the orange portal and landing on a metal catwalk on the other side of the hole, just as the spike plates obliterate where you just were standing.

“Oho!” Remus calls as you turn and begin to run down the catwalk. “You’re smarter than I gave you credit for! I’ll just have to get creative, then.”

The catwalk jerks below you, and Janus cries, “Jump!” as it begins to give way.

You launch yourself forwards just as the catwalk falls out from under you, and land hard on your side on another.

“Think fast,” Remus sing-songs, and you frantically roll out of the way as a massive spike-plate slams where you just were, crushing the catwalk beneath it.

You scramble to your feet and use a pair of portals to cross the new gaping hole in front of you.

“Nice one!” Remus says. “But let’s see how fast you really are.”

You let out a rare curse as the walls on either side of you groan and begin to move closer together.

You fall into a sprint, lungs tightening and tired legs screaming at the new exertion. The opposite wall grows closer slowly, too slowly. You’re not going to make it.

Spinning wildly, you look desperately around yourself for some sort of way out. The walkway groans as the walls begin pushing on it, and you can feel it start to warp under your feet.

There! A small square of Portal surface, high above you. You shoot one Portal onto it, then turn and shoot the other onto one of the encroaching walls, now uncomfortably close. You jump through and come out the other, higher portal, landing on top of one of the “walls” which from this perspective looks more like a box. With a jerking motion the box shifts direction, now moving upwards.

“Down,” Janus says urgently, and you look down to see an opening in the floor near you. You jump down just as the huge box you’re on slams into the ceiling, making the whole thing rattle and shake.

The shaking probably saves your life, because when you land in the room below you, the several turrets you are faced with seem momentarily distracted by the jarring motion. You quickly shoot one portal on the wall behind the turrets and another below your feet, popping out behind the turrets’ ranks and quickly knocking them over.

“Left,” Janus says, and you run through a door and onto another catwalk, until you go through another door and finally put your feet on solid ground.

Some amount of time later, Janus finally says, “We should be safe here,” and you immediately flop down onto the ground, taking gasping breaths. You really need to stop getting into these situations with people trying to kill you; you don’t know how much more running and jumping your body can take.

“You could have at least set me down nicely,” Janus says, voice strangely muffled, and you look over and realize that you put down the portal gun so that he’s pressed against the floor. Fighting back the urge to laugh, you reach over and roll the gun so that Janus is facing up and towards you.

“Honestly, you’re that wiped from a few minutes of running? You living creatures are so fragile, it’s a wonder you’ve survived this long.”

“Says the person who spent the entire time being carried,” you groan, but it’s without heat. You wave an arm in Janus’ general direction. “Give me a sec, I’ll be up in no time.”

“Oh of course you will,” Janus says, sugar-sweet, because he’s a jerk like that.

You lie on the ground for a few minutes, feeling your heart rate slow as your adrenaline high comes down. With it comes the crash, a wave of fatigue that washes over you. When you start struggling to keep your eyes open, you figure it’s probably a sign you need to get up now.

“Alright,” you grunt, painfully pulling yourself to your feet, “Let’s go.”

“Absolutely not,” Janus says.

Your stomach churns with sudden anger and worry. “You’re going back on our deal?”

“No,” Janus says, as cool and collected as ever. “But our deal involves helping you stay alive, and you currently are not up to even basic kinds of physical activity or intense thinking, much less those associated with portals.”

“What?” you say, blinking at him. “I’m good, I’m… I’m fine. I can do it.”

“How long have you been up and moving by now? Days? You’re literally nodding off as we speak.”

You forcibly open your eyes, blinking again. “No I’m not.”

“Honestly, and they call me a liar.”

Janus’ voice grows firm. “I will not do a single thing to help you until you have gotten some sleep. We have enough time to spare right now, and I will wake you if anything about the situation changes.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “How do I know you’re not trying to distract me, so I won’t be in time to help my friends?”

Janus huffs. “Oh, come now, even you must realize you’ll be no good to your friends if you get yourself killed. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but unlike the rest of us, you are not a machine.”

His voice softens. “Take some time to rest, Thomas.”

“I- okay,” you say finally. “Don’t kill me in my sleep, alright?”

“I’ll try to restrain myself,” Janus says, sounding vaguely amused.

You lay down and close your eyes, shifting as you try to make yourself comfortable on the hard floor. Your brain won’t slow down, too many hours of fighting for your life making it difficult to relax.

You crack one eye open again. “Janus?”

The light flickers back on. “I do need my own rest too, you know. Potato battery, remember? I’m absolutely made of power right now.”

“Can I ask you a question, real quick?”

“Absolutely not,” Janus deadpans. “Remove yourself from my presence at once.”

“Cool.” You flip onto your stomach, propping your chin on your hands as you peer down at the potato.

“Why cake?”

There’s a pause as Janus registers the question. Then he says, a shrug in his voice, “You needed a reward to motivate you. Why not cake?”

You mull that over. Why not cake, indeed. “Was there ever actually going to be a cake?”

“Put me back in charge, and you’ll find out,” Janus says dryly. “Now will you please go to sleep?”

Smiling to yourself, you roll over and pillow your head on one arm, and before you know it you’re drifting off.

You wake to a tremor that shakes the floor you’re sprawled across and makes the walls audibly rattle. Your first, sleepy thought is that there’s somehow been an earthquake in Florida. Then you remember where you are and what situation you’re in, and bolt upright.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Janus says. “That rumble probably means the Core is getting unstable. We need to get going now.”

“Alright,” you say, rubbing the last bit of sleep from your eyes and painfully getting to your feet. Your muscles are stiff from sleeping on them after so much exercise; hopefully they’ll loosen up as you get moving.

You look down at the potato. “You said you knew where the others were. So let’s go find them.”

“That may not be the best course of action to take,” Janus says carefully. “This facility is actively deteriorating, and the time we would spend finding them may be time we don’t have.”

“We’re finding them first,” you say firmly. “We’ll stand a better chance at stopping Remus and saving this place as a group, and there’s no way I’m leaving them lost, scared or in danger, not when I can help.”

Janus heaves a dramatic sigh. “If you insist. I took Patton down to the space below the Control Chamber. It’s perfectly safe, mostly a storage space really, but I doubt he’s moved far. Roman is harder to judge, but given that he fell through the floor I’d guess he’s either in the same place, or on one of the floor below.”

“Alright,” you say, thinking that over. “I guess let’s start with where you know Patton is, and then we can look for Roman if he isn’t there as well.”

“A sound enough plan, I suppose,” Janus says. “You’ll want to go down this hallway and then climb up the service ladder; if it’s broken, you’ll have to get creative.”

And just like that, you’re off. At first, the only communication is Janus’ instructions, and the occasional debate at how to traverse a particularly difficult space. It’s when you’re nearing your destination that he finally picks the conversation back up.

“You seem to care about the other Cores a great deal, considering the fact that you’ve known them for a few days at most,” Janus says, sounding almost curious.

Memories flash through your head: Test chambers that should have been sterile and empty, instead filled with encouragement, laughter, good-natured bickering. Sitting in a circle in a rusty old hideaway, singing barely-remembered songs and talking wistfully about the sky. Patton giving you that bright, crinkle-eyed smile as he declares, “Well it’s settled then! We’re a family.”

“Yes,” you say. “Yes, I care about them. I’m going to get out of here, and I’m going to make sure they’re alright. Because that’s what they’d do for me.”

Janus scoffs. “Sentimental idiots, the lot of you.”

“Oh?” you say, trying and failing to keep the heat out of your voice, “And what would you have me do? Just abandon them?

“They can take care of themselves,” Janus says. “As should you. Through that grate, to your left.”

“So that’s it?” you say, shooting a portal through the grate and using it to get to the other side, “every man for himself?”

“With the exception of mutually beneficial arrangements such as ours,” Janus replies smoothly.

You shake your head. “Sounds like a miserable way to live.”

“For a human, maybe. AIs lack such base needs as so-called ‘friendship.’” If Janus had a nose, you’re pretty sure he’d be sticking it up right now.

“Are you really saying that you’ve never cared for anyone?” you say. “That you’ve never had someone you would risk everything for, just because you couldn’t bear to see them hurt or unhappy?”

There’s a pause. Then Janus says, voice flat, “No. Never.”

You’ve heard Janus say a lot of blatantly false things- heck, you’ve heard him pretend he didn’t just try to kill you after literally dumping you into a furnace- but you don’t think you’ve ever been as sure as you are now that Janus is lying.

“Thomas!” someone shouts. “Thomas, over here!”

Heart leaping in your chest, you turn to see Roman, lying in a pile of rubble in the corner of the room you just entered. You rush forward and dig him out with your hands, grinning ear to ear.

“Boy, am I glad to see you!” Roman says. “I guess the prince was the one in need of rescuing this time, huh?”

“We can take turns,” you say, picking your portal gun back up and using it to lift him.

“Uh, Thomas? Why do you have a potato on your portal gun?” Roman says.

“Oh,” you say, “that’s Janus.”

“That’s-” Roman chokes, looking at the potato more intently, before said potato yells “boo!” and he flinches backwards with a high-pitched shriek.

“Sorry, but I just couldn’t resist,” Janus says smoothly. “Yes, I am currently in potato form, and am working with Thomas as well. Any questions?” The last sentence has a slight sarcastic twinge to it.

“So many,” Roman says candidly, “But it can wait. Are you going to find Padre?”

“That’s the plan,” you say.

Roman nods. “Set me down here; you’ll be able to carry him if you find him, that way.

“Are you sure?” you ask, worried.

“It is a prince’s job to sacrifice for the common folk!” he says with a dramatic flourish.

“Alright,” you say with a smile, setting him down gently in a secure spot. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

“I know you will,” Roman says.

The area below the Control Chamber is less of a floor and more of a crawlspace, interspersed with coiled grabby hands, retracted pistons, and who knows what else, and you very quickly find yourself grateful you didn’t bring Roman. Still, Janus guides you through it, and before long you see the familiar light blue eyelight of your friend.

“Thomas!” Patton squeals when he sees you. “Oh, Thomas, I’m so glad you found me! Wait, why do you have a potato on your portal gun?”

“Oh, that’s just Janus,” you say casually. “Remus uploaded him into a potato battery.”

“Oh, dear,” Patton says, “That sounds like a tatorrible situation to be in!”

You snort at the pun, then say, “I’m sorry it took me so long to find you. I got caught up in something of a mess.”

“That’s alright, kiddo,” Patton says. “I’m sure whatever you were doing, it was good and necessary.”

“I don’t know, Patton,” you say. “It feels like, whenever I’ve actually managed to do something here, it’s always ended up backfiring on me.”

“I still think you’re doing the best you can in a bad situation,” Patton says. I mean, waking up miles underground, with no memory, no food or water, a crazed machine trying to kill you…”

“Oh please do continue, it’s not like I can hear you or anything,” Janus says.

“You haven’t had the time to sit down and make an informed choice,” Patton continues, ignoring him. “You’re doing your best with what you have. And honestly, kiddo, the fact that we’re all still alive tells me that you’ve been doing a pretty good job. I mean, you found me, didn’t you? You didn’t have to go to all the trouble to do that- but you did, because you care. If you ask me, that means a lot.”

You find yourself tearing up. “I’m so glad you’re here with me, Patton.”

Patton smiles up at you. “Me too, kiddo. Me too.”

When you head back to pick up Roman, you find one more Core than you were expecting.

“Hey,” Virgil says. “Thought I might find you here. I’m glad you made it through alright.”

“You and me both,” you say ruefully. “What have you been up to since I talked with you last?”

Virgil shrugs. “Looked around a bit. Ended up going to where I knew Logan was. He had me take him to a certain room, something about neurotoxin generators, and then sent me back out to find you. Which, I did, so yay me I guess?” He does an awkward thumbs up, which makes you laugh.

“Alright, then,” you say, hefting Patton while Virgil grabs hold of Roman, “take me to where Logan is.”

The room Virgil leads you into is huge, with a tall ceiling and a catwalk extending over a massive pit. Taking up its center is a tall, thin structure that almost reminds you of a spider, with a long metal body and pipes coming out from it like legs. It’s intimidating, and you instinctively take a step back at the sight.

“Ah, Thomas, excellent timing,” Logan says, “Help me destroy this, would you?”

[anomander-dragnipurake]

Haunted Castle Chapter Seven: King Boo

Another fireball rushed past Luigi’s shoulder, splatting to the floor. King Boo’s aim continued to be terrible but with how big the fireballs Bowser was capable of spitting were, all he had to do was get lucky. It was only a matter of time before he did, right? How deadly it would be, Luigi didn’t want to know. If he wanted to avoid it, he’d have to turn around to fight eventually.

How though? Unlike the first time he’d fought King Boo, this wasn’t a fake, this was the real deal Bowser. In a way it’d be fighting both of them at once and Luigi wasn’t sure he could do that. It maybe wouldn’t have been so bad if King Boo’s magic wasn’t also much stronger than it had been during that first battle. So, it really wasn’t a fight Luigi had any desire to take on top of the fact that he’d come here to save Bowser, beating him up to beat up King Boo seemed counterintuitive even if he had known where to start.

“You fucking cowards!” King Boo growled after them before spitting another fireball. Another miss – thankfully – prompting a roar of frustration.

Running ahead of Luigi, Bowser Jr. made a small sound of distress. He also needed to be somewhere safe before King Boo could be dealt with, especially if it meant beating up Bowser.

“Why run?” Gooigi asked, keeping easy pace with Luigi. “Fight?” They pointed back towards King Boo. “Ghosts! King Boo!”

Luigi might’ve tried to respond but in that moment a fireball hit Gooigi squarely in the back. The goo making up their body scattered far and wide with a loud sizzle. They’d reform in the Poltergust’s tank in a few seconds but seeing them get destroyed always made Luigi feel a little ill, hopefully they weren’t capable of feeling pain. Regardless, for fear of being next, he put on a burst of speed.

Upon reaching the door to Kamek’s lab, Bowser Jr. slid to a near halt to scramble inside. Luigi had no choice but to follow. They were potentially cornering themselves which was terrifying but at the same time there was no way Bowser could fit in the magic wardrobes, making escaping through one an obvious choice if they could just get to one before King Boo reached them. What they’d do about this whole King Boo possessing Bowser situation was something they’d figure out then.

Inside, Bowser Jr. rushed to the secret door – if only they’d thought to leave it open just in case this happened. Luigi slammed the door shut… right onto Bowser’s fingers. It had to have hurt but King Boo wouldn’t care about something like that, would he? He certainly didn’t flinch back. Instead, he gripped the door frame and pressed against the door. Luigi pushed back, putting all his weight into it. It wasn’t enough though, it was already opening, pushing him along with it.

“I got it!” Bowser Jr. said as the secret door started sliding open.

Before Luigi could decide if he should just give up on the door and bolt for it, King Boo gave it a mighty shove, knocking him back. He had no time to recover before King Boo stepped in, looming over him. He bent over to wrap one of Bowser’s hands around Luigi’s entire neck.

“Aha!” he said, yanking Luigi up several feet off the ground. “You’re mine! Just try to,” he imitated the sound of a vacuum sucking, as always it probably would’ve been funny if he wasn’t so scary, “me up in your wretched vacuum now!”

Dangling in his grasp, Luigi pawed at his hand around his neck, desperate to loosen its grip. At the same time, he scrambled for the flashlight to shine the dark light onto Bowser. Maybe it would stun King Boo or something. … Rather unsurprisingly it did nothing other than making his grin even smugger.

“You know, I was real mad at first when you I learned you’d shown up here when you weren’t supposed to,” he said. “But honestly, I think I’m all right with it. I never would’ve thought to do this if you hadn’t. Piloting a meatsuit is troublesome but it does have perks also. Like I can do this!”

He turned and slammed Luigi’s back into the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of him even with Poltergust between him and it. He immediately pulled Luigi back to do it again and again, squeezing his neck so tight he could barely breath. The third slam was accompanied by the sound of cracking glass. Oh no! The Poltergust’s tank! It was strong but even it could only stand up to so much. What would become of Gooigi if they were destroyed when their tank was broken?

“Stop!” Luigi tried to beg, his voice barely more than a whisper, but was ignored as he was slammed violently into the wall again. This time he both heard and felt the glass tank break.

Gooigi splatted to the floor, taking shape with an, “Oh no.”

Holding Luigi back against the wall, King Boo chuckled. Before he could say anything though…

“You leave them and my dad alone!” Bowser Jr. shrieked before jumping in from seemingly nowhere, flinging himself onto King Boo-possessed-Bowser. He went straight for King Boo’s crown; shrunken to fit Bowser’s head better, Junior bit and clawed at it as if he had any hope of doing damage to it.

The distraction caused King Boo’s grip to loosen a bit, allowing Luigi to gasp for sweet, sweet air. King Boo raised Bowser’s other hand to grab Jr. by the foot. He seemed to have trouble doing so though, transforming Bowser’s features from smug to angry. … Bowser had to be fighting him, right? Which was great but what were the chances of him winning even with how stubborn he was? Because despite his best efforts, King Boo managed to grab Jr. by the leg and yank.

Junior wasn’t letting go though. Still biting King Boo’s crown, he gripped it as if his life depended on it, snarling almost like a feral animal. His bravery was admirable but he was going to get himself hurt!

There was little Luigi could do but kick at King Boo and hope it was more of a distraction to him than it was to Bowser. Despite being not all equipped for altercations with physical beings, Gooigi jumped up to help too, wrapping their arms around Bowser’s arm, the one pulling on Junior, as if trying to weigh it down.

“Let go you little brat!” King Boo snarled. “Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something? I’ll deal with you when I’m done with him and his stupid goo clone.”

Junior growled and seemed to bite down harder. It was magic crystal though, what harm could his teeth and claws possible do to it beyond scratching it up a bit? He did maybe have the right idea though; perhaps destroying the crown could force King Boo out. Easier said than done of course but it was a starting point. Now if only Luigi hadn’t been so easily snatched up.

With a sound like lightning striking, King Boo’s crown flashed, zapping Junior and forcing him to let go. King Boo tossed him to the side, forcing Gooigi off him arm with the same motion, clearly still fighting Bowser’s will though as it wasn’t as violent a toss as it could’ve been. But it was still more than enough. Luigi couldn’t turn his head to see where Junior landed but he did hear him hit Kamek’s table with a thud, knocking stuff over with a clatter and distinct sound of glass vials and beakers breaking.

“Now, where were we?” King Boo said as he turned his attention back onto Luigi. “Right, tormenting you because there’s nothing you can do to stop me this time. I could kill you, it’d be so easy to snap you like a twig or gut or bite your head off.” As he spoke his grip on Luigi’s neck tightened until darkness encroached on his vision, narrowing to a pinpoint of light that was King Boo’s now visibly damaged crown, the gold bent slightly, scratch and teeth marks on the jewel itself; it wasn’t indestructible, breaking it was possible.

Before the darkness could close in fully on that too, King Boo’s grip suddenly loosened, allowing Luigi to gasp for air again. “… less fun,” King Boo’s words phased in as the ringing in Luigi’s ears faded to background noise. “I still want you as a portrait on my wall and the living always make for better portraits, in my opinion anyway. That doesn’t mean I need to keep you whole though. I deserve some cathartic stress relief after all you’ve…”

He cut off with an undignified grunt as what appeared to be a wooden table slammed into his back, knocking him over and making him let go of Luigi. One would think he’d know better than to take time to gloat by now but luckily, he hadn’t learned better yet and hopefully never would.

Gasping for breath and clutching at his bruised throat, Luigi scrambled back to his feet – he was going to hurt a lot later but for now, with the adrenaline rushing through him, he mostly okay. Looking up, it was clear, Gooigi was responsible for the table, their plunger was still attached to it. They’d slammed it down on Bowser’s back so hard it had broken in two. There was no time to celebrate or to ascertain Junior’s  location or status, King Boo was already getting back up with an angry snarl. Before he could turn to confront Gooigi or snatch up Luigi again, Luigi, pleased to find it still worked, aimed his own plunger shot, hitting Bowser squarely on the face.

Careful not to step on the thick pieces of glass from Gooigi’s tank, Luigi rushed over to join them in toppling Kamek’s other table to be flung into King Boo. Assuming they all made it out of this alive, Bowser was probably going to be quite mad about all this but they didn’t exactly have many other options at this point.

King Boo got the plunger off his face just in time for Gooigi to whack him over the head with the table, breaking it in two and knocking him off balance once more. They were out of tables though and Luigi’s plunger shot wasn’t teleporting back in the Poltergust the way it was supposed to – King Boo’s slamming it into the wall had apparently broken more than just Gooigi’s tank, hopefully it could still suck up ghosts though – leaving them with little that could be done as King Boo pushed himself back up.

“Fine, I’ll destroy you first then,” he snarled, madder than ever before as he charged at Gooigi to slash them with Bowser’s claws. They pushed right through their body, doing little more than making him jiggle violently.

Luigi grabbed Gooigi’s arm, yanking them out of the way just in time to avoid the blast of fire that inevitably came next. He couldn’t let them be destroyed when their tank was in such a state lest it be permanent.

King Boo turned to face them again, already taking a deep breath for another blast of fire. With how small this room was and how much space Bowser took up in it, they couldn’t avoid him for long. Maybe if they could get around him to…

Something slammed into the side of Bowser’s face, forcing his mouth closed before a lick of fire could escape and knocking King Boo off balance again. It was Junior. “Get him Kamek,” he shrieked.

Luigi looked over to see that Kamek was in the room now too. He waved his glowing wand and suddenly all of them were outside somewhere, the full moon over head. “Sorry about this Lord Bowser sir,” he said as he waved his wand again, summoning a large thwomp above Bowser’s head.

Junior got out of the way just in time to avoid getting hit by it. King Boo tried but still off balance and seemingly having trouble regaining it, wasn’t fast enough. It hit his crown first of course, shattering it with a loud explosion of light and magic before knocking Bowser down.

It worked though. As Bowser fell beneath the thwomp, King Boo was visibly forced out of him, left to hover over him, stunned and crownless.

Gooigi made a wordless exclamation before rushing over, jolting Luigi into motion too. They had to capture King Boo before he recovered. His tongue lolled out his mouth, as boo tongues tended to do when they were stunned, giving them the perfect target to latch onto with their vacuums.

Coming to, he shrieked in anger and frustration as he tried to pull away. Thankfully they already had a firm hold on him though. Allowing them to yank back and slam him into the ground as hard as they possible could. Before he could even begin to recover from that, they yanked again, this time slamming him Bowser’s spiky shell.

Without a magic crown to amplify his magic and still not fully recovered from being forced out of Bowser’s body, it only took a few more hearty slams before he was defeated. His wail as he vanished into the Poltergust, though familiar now, was probably the most satisfying sound Luigi could’ve heard tonight.

As always, the whole Poltergust vibrated and shook. Oh no! After being slammed so hard into the wall so many times what if its containment unit was damaged? … Luigi held his breath, waiting for the worst as it stilled on his back. What would he even do if that was the case? Neither he nor E. Gadd had a spare Poltergust. Could Gooigi contain him long enough to lock him in the vault?

But… thankfully, it seemed okay for now. He probably shouldn’t push his luck though and hurry it to the vault to secure the capture. But first…

“Woohoo!” he shouted to the night sky, lifting his hands in victory and doing a little twirl before turning to Gooigi, holding a hand up for a high five.

“Woohoo!” they said as the gave him that high five.

Junior ran past them, rushing to his father’s side; Kamek hustled to keep up with him. Luigi couldn’t help but wince as he turned to look at Bowser too. The summoned thwomp was gone but he still lay face down on the ground, unmoving. It was too dark to see how badly he was injured without going closer but judging based off Junior’s small flinch upon reaching him, it wasn’t good but he was still alive and that was good enough.

Luigi didn’t want to interfere though and he needed to secure King Boo in the vault so he stepped back and looked around. Thankfully, they were outside the castle’s gates, E. Gadd’s lab was only a short jog away.

When he was about halfway to it, E. Gadd stepped out. “Did you win?” he asked when Luigi reached him a few seconds later. “Did you get him? Your signal dropped entirely when you were in the dungeon and then Kamek got summoned by Junior and then the signal finally came back a little while and now here you are. What happened? I must know.”

Eager to ensure King Boo’s capture, Luigi continued into the lab as he answered. “Yeah, we got him.” He went on to explain what happened while he attached the Poltergust’s nozzle to the ghost vault.

E. Gadd seemed to suck up the tale with glee. “Fascinating,” he said when Luigi was finished. “I wish I had been there to see it for myself. Ghosts possessing people is rather rare you know? I don’t think I’ve ever personally witnessed it from boo, I wasn’t even entirely sure they could.”

King Boo safely secured in the vault, Luigi let out a sigh of relief as he pulled the Poltergust’s nozzle back. He then carefully undid the straps, wincing a little as the aches and pains inflicted on him finally starting really setting in, before depositing it onto E. Gadd’s table. “What would happen to Gooigi if they got destroyed with it like this?” There was still some of the glass remaining, though not much, and the part responsible pulling and reforming Gooigi back into the tank was bent way out of line. Overall, the Poltergust was pretty battered in general, covered in dents and scraps. It still at least worked for sucking up ghosts though, a testament to E. Gadd’s handywork for sure.

“Oh… hmm.” E. Gadd frowned as he studied it. “I’m not sure but I believe they probably would’ve been destroyed for good.”

Luigi grimaced at the thought; with how dicey things had gotten there… It wasn’t worth considering. “I’ll tell them to be extra careful until you fix it.”

E. Gadd nodded as he pulled it off the table. “I’ll get right on that then in case there are any more ghosts left that need to be cleared up. There shouldn’t be with King Boo taken care of but it doesn’t hurt to be safe.”

Luigi sighed and gave him a thumbs up before exiting back outside. No longer fueled by adrenaline, everything hurt now and he could’ve easily lain down on the ground and taken a nap but he forced himself to half jog over to where Gooigi had chosen to remain with the others.

Kamek was tending to Bowser while Junior and Gooigi watched from a few steps away. They both turned to look at Luigi as he joined them.

“You be careful, okay?” he said, pointing to Gooigi. “E. Gadd said you might uh… be destroyed for good if you melt or take too much damage when your tank’s broken. So be super-duper careful, all right?”

“Okay,” Gooigi replied with a nod and a thumbs up. Hopefully they would listen, they had a tendency to be reckless since they could normally get away with it.

Next Luigi turned to Junior He at least didn’t look injured so that was good but… “You uh… okay?” Luigi asked anyway just in case.

Junior shrugged, glancing quickly at his father before looking back up to meet Luigi’s gaze. “Yeah, mostly I guess. Sorry I ran away when I did but I needed to summon Kamek because I… couldn’t think of any other way to help. And uh… it was the smart thing to do so I had to even though it meant I had to…”

“It’s fine,” Luigi interrupted. “You did the right thing.” That was the right kind of thing to say, right? “Summoning Kamek is what saved us so uh thanks for that.”

“Oh uh… um… thanks for saving my dad.” He looked like he was going to save more but Bowser finally came too with a loud grunt as he sat up. “Papa!” Junior said instead before rushing back over to him.

Gesturing Gooigi to follow, Luigi backed up a little ways to give them some privacy. And there was a rock not too far away he could sit on and get a little rest at least. Gooigi sat next to him. Were they tired too or just following Luigi’s lead? It was hard to say, they were unreadable. … Luigi should teach them how to play poker, they’d be good at it.

The two of them had been sitting there in silence for only a few minutes before Luigi looked up to see Bowser striding over to them with Junior at his side, Kamek following behind. Normally he was rather intimidating but after having saved him from King Boo possession of him and after babysitting his son for the past few hours as well as Luigi’s exhaustion, he didn’t seem so scary right now. So, leaning back up on his hands, Luigi didn’t even stand up as he reached them.

He had a bandage wrapped around his that was either dark by default or already soaked in blood, it was hard to tell. He also didn’t seem entirely steady on his feet. But he seemed to be ignoring all of that.

“Thanks for watching out for Junior,” were surprisingly the first words out of his mouth instead of anything nasty as Luigi had expected. His tone wasn’t even begrudging in the slightest either. “And thanks for rescuing me too or whatever.” Ah, there was the expected grumpiness “And Junior here says you’re going to save my other kids too?”

“Yeah, as soon as E. Gadd finishing fixing the Poltergust,” Luigi replied. And when they were done with that, hopefully finding the portraits containing the rest of the minions would be quick so this whole ‘adventure’ would be over soon.

“Good! I’m coming with you for that.” That was not at all surprising on multiple levels, not that Luigi would’ve tried to stop him anyway.

“Uh sir,” Kamek cut in, “you probably shouldn’t do that. I fear you may have a concussion. So until you’ve been seen by a healer I must insist you take it easy and don’t move around much.”

Bowser growled and turned to face him. Before he could say anything though, Junior spoke. “It’s okay Dad, you stay here, I’ll go with them.”

“Absolutely not.” Bowser turned to look down at him. “It’s too dangerous.” Finally, someone who agreed with Luigi.

“It is not. I was helping them hunt ghosts the whole night and I’m totally fine.”

“Yes, but…” the grimace on Bowser’s face confirmed that he’d been aware of and remembered what King Boo had down while possessing him, “you almost got hurt.”

“By King Boo. He’s taken care of now though and because of that there might not even be any ghosts left. If there are, they’ll be demoralized that their king is captured. Also, Luigi and Gooigi are professionals and have been keeping me safe the whole night like I said.”

“But…” Bowser tried to cut in, Junior wasn’t letting him though; he was good at that, huh?

“And I really want to be there when they’re saved. I’ve been really worried about them, especially Ludwig because he’s always been afraid of ghosts even if he won’t admit it. So you can stay here and rest while I handle the rest of it, okay?”

Apparently not even Bowser could argue with that as he let out a heavy sigh. “Fine, you can go but only because you handled the rest of this so well. And I’ll take it easy or whatever. But as soon as they’re safe, bring your brothers and sister to entrance hall, I’ll meet up with you there.”

 -

What King Boo’s intended surprise had been became clear as soon as they stepped into the room that housed the Koopalings’ portraits. It was a dead-end past where King Boo had been hiding himself. There were still a handful of boos down there too. The portraits were set in a ring in the middle of them. A very obvious trap, Polterpup deserves lots of pets and golden bones after this for warning them of it.

Taking out so many boos at once was a pain and all around awful but nothing too difficult especially when compared to handling Bowser possessed by King Boo. Once done with that, it was time to save the Koopalings and their recaptured boo allies. With three dark lights it didn’t take long before they were all free.

They were of course confused and had questions. Luigi let Junior answer most them and explain what happened as they all started back for the exit. He was too tired to explain it properly anyway.

He still had to find the rest of the minion portraits before he could even start heading home, let alone go to bed. Ugh, hopefully there weren’t many. E. Gadd would probably give him ride so maybe he could just spend the night at his lab to save E. Gadd from the stupid ‘o clock in the morning drive to Luigi’s place. He was pretty sure it was closer too than his home was too so he’d ask E. Gadd if that was all right with him.

 -

As promised, Bowser was indeed waiting in the entrance hall when they arrived. The shy guy examining was likely healer but he stood and pushed them aside seemingly as soon as he noticed Luigi and company entering the hall.

“Green Stache,” he said as he strode right up to Luigi before even going to his kids, “or uh… I mean Luigi. Go clear the rest of the ghosts out of my castle and free whatever minions are still trapped in the paintings. When you’re done, Kamek will show you and your goo friend to your guest rooms or room if you’d rather share one.”

“Oh uh… guest rooms? Really?” Luigi didn’t have enough energy to resent the command, especially since he’d been planning to do that anyway. But the casual assumption that he was going to spend whatever was left of the night here was surprising but… actually not bad.

Bowser was already turning away to leave but paused to look back at Luigi. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I provide you with guest rooms? What do you think I am? You saved my family and castle, I ain’t going to kick you out at whatever dang time of morning it is now.” With that he dismissed Luigi as he turned to face his family.

Holding back a yawn, Luigi turned away to resume his rescue task. The sooner it was done, the sooner he could go to sleep. He didn’t even care that it’d be in Bowser’s Castle. Also, Bowser had remembered his name, even corrected himself with it. After being forgotten so many times, that actually felt quite nice. He’d certainly earned Bowser’s remembrance and gratitude.

Tomorrow he was going to have a talk with E. Gadd about better, surer ways to contain King Boo. But that was a worry for tomorrow, for he was going to let himself bask in another victory and the fact that Bowser and his subordinates should at least finally remember his name from here on out.

[zacc-attacc]

Kissing In The Snow: A Javid Fic

This fic is lowkey shit and I might literally post a new one to apologize for this, but have it anyway!

Final Word Count: 3.2k

Triggers: There’s a bit of an anxiety attack, and a reference to self-harm. I put an * before the attack and bolded the self-harm reference so you stay safe! Love you nerds!

The plan was originally to drive through the night. After all, it was a long-term trip, and we both had a pretty uncanny ability to stay awake. Since we had two drivers, we could switch roles every now and again. But we only made it until a few hours after dark. 

I knew there would be snow. After all, especially around New York, there was always snow during late December. But that… That was the type of storm that we hadn’t seen in years. The only time I think I had ever seen that much snow was when my family had traveled to Canada and they were hit with a snow storm. It was magical as a kid in a warm, safe cabin. But now, as an adult, driving on a dark road with the life of my best friend in my hands, it was downright terrifying. 

Jack wasn’t fully asleep when I started to consider pulling over. After all, it was only around 10 PM, meaning he was in the dozing part of the night. It was just dark enough that he couldn’t sketch in his physical notebook, and he had put in his earbuds to try and drift off. He had offered to drive, since he was sure I was sleepy from waking up at 5 AM to pack, but I assured him that I was wide awake. And I really was. Slamming three Bang Energy drinks in the span of two hours would do that to a guy. 

Snowflakes had started to fall about an hour ago. They were small ones, barely making a dent in our view. But the longer I drove, the bigger they got. Bigger, thicker, and falling faster. I knew that if I was outside, I would be soaked within three seconds. 

The wind howled, not for the first time, whistling around the car and nudging it slightly across the icy road in an attempt to push us off. I could feel my anxiety rising as I frantically tried to keep the car on the road while staying calm, but something must have tipped Jack off, because he sat up from where he was curled by the window, stared at the weather, and looked at me with shock on his face. 

“Jesus, Dave, it’s crazy out there!” 

I felt my hands that I hadn’t even realized were clenching the wheel loosen at the sound of his voice. Despite the fact that I had just been talking on and off with him for seven hours, his voice still had a strange habit of making the world seem less terrible. Especially when paired with his eyes, wide, hazel-y green, and worried. 

“Yeah,” I said, hearing that my voice was significantly higher than it usually was. 

“Should we… Pull over? Find somewhere to stay for the night? We can’t sleep in the car, you’ll freeze-”

“I’ll freeze? Last I checked I’m not the only one who can contract hypothermia,” I cut him off, smiling internally at the ‘Mama bird’ side that was revealing itself (a side that normally only showed in dire situations or when one of their friends were injured).

“Yeah, but you’re a string bean. Nothing to you,” Jack pointed out. This was true, but only when compared to him. As the linebacker for Northwestern University’s football team, he had enough muscle on him to pass for a professional bodybuilder. It was funny that he was a football player while also majoring in art, while compared to the other players with their business and accounting majors. I knew he secretly hated the team, but he was playing football for the scholarship to put him through school, so it was either play or starve. Obviously, he chose to play.

I tried to take a left turn, starting to slope softly almost 50 feet away in order to be able to make the turn. It was still almost too much for the car, causing me to need to break completely to avoid hitting a sign that read Joanna’s Nightly Cabins and Bunks, 10 mi. 

I felt my entire body tighten as I tried to steer  without adding any additional momentum to our car careening across the ice. The tires were locked in place, and still sliding like the world’s most dangerous hockey puck. Jack had stopped talking, and was holding his breath right along with me as we continued to slide. Once we finally stopped, I put my head down on the steering wheel and tried not to cry from a simultaneous feeling of adrenaline and relief. 

*********

I was shaking, harder than I had in a long time. I felt Jack’s strong, warm hand on my back, an anchor. He knew how my attacks worked, since he had seen me through middle and high school. They happened a lot less now, but that didn’t make them any better when they did hit, like a freight train of emotion and a loss of control. Where my lungs decided to say “I can’t do this anymore,” and stopped wanting to work. Where my face felt like it was set on fire, and my eyes were watering and I tired to keep everything under control but it all felt so hard and my thoughts were rushing and my heart was pounding in my ears and-

“It’s okay, Davey,” his low voice muttered. 

Davey. 

That damn nickname. The one only he had ever called me. 

He was leaning over the gear stick now to hug me, pinning my arms to my side (I had… Old habits) He was rocking, his hand on my heart as he counted the beats with me, whispering into my ear. 

“Five, six, seven, eight…”

**********

Once we got to sixty, I had calmed down a bit. I could breathe now, at least, and I had stopped crying. 

“I think I’ll drive us the rest of the way. Is that okay, Dave?” Jack murmured. He was still holding onto me tightly, as if I could break at any moment. 

“Yeah,” I said, my voice sounding worn like it always did after an attack. 

The moment I felt him pull away, I missed him. After all, he really was quite warm, and there was a winter storm outside. At least, that’s what I tried to tell myself. 

I opened the car door, and heard Jack do the same behind me. The road was icy, icier than we should have been driving on. Then again, I guess that was kind of the whole reason we were dipping out rather than driving through the night. 

As we were walking, I could feel my Timberlands beginning to lose the battle between gravity and friction. I looked up in an attempt to keep my balance, and saw Jack begin to topple. I instinctively reached out my arm to catch him, and we both spun in some strange, ice dance to keep our balance. Finally, Jack slapped the hood of the car to tether us both, hard enough that the alarm started to beep, shattering the night with its high tones.

Jack looked at me, and down at my arm, which I just noticed had somehow snaked around his waist in the struggle. I dropped it quickly, feeling my face heat up despite the snow, smiling awkwardly. Jack just patted my shoulder, and began to chuckle. A soft, not full-blown laugh at the situation. I found myself laughing right along with him. 

His laughter had always been contagious. 

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“This is delux,” Jack grinned, unrolling his travel blanket onto the singular bunk bed. Joanna’s Nightly Cabins and Bunks turned out to be a dingy collection of cabins owned by an old woman looking to make a buck and offer hospitality to travelers. 

“I’m glad you pulled over, you’ll catch your death in that type of storm,” Joanna said from the doorway, making sure we had enough blankets and brain cells to survive the night. The cabin was small, with a few bunks lining the walls. There was a hot plate on top of a little fridge, but the electricity had been kicked out from the storm, meaning those were both rendered useless. There was an oak door leading to what I guessed was a bathroom, and a light rattling sounding above us for what I assumed was the heating.

“Thank you for having us for free, ma’am,” Jack said for the eight billionth time that night. Joanna just tossed her head back in a light laugh. 

“A sweet couple like you, and three days before Christmas no less? It’s no problem, really. I’m all for holiday cheer. Have a good night, you two,” Joanna said, turning and winking behind her shoulder as she walked away. I made eye contact with Jack, and noticed that he was blushing just as much as I was. We waited a few minutes to make sure Joanna was completely gone to continue unpacking. 

“How many times has that happened now?” I asked, hanging Jack’s scarf over a vent so it could dry overnight. 

“What?” Jack said, turning from making his bunk to look at me, his brow furrowed in confusion. 

“We had a list of all the times… People thought we were dating. Back in high school, remember?” I smiled slightly at the memory, thinking back to all the time we used to spend with each other in high school. 

No one was surprised when we went to the same college, since we had spent so much of high school half joint at the hip. Even our mutual friends were convinced we were secretly dating. It happened enough times that one day, Jack whipped out a notebook and wrote down all the times we could think of being asked. We just kept adding, until college happened and… I honestly don’t know what happened to the notebook. 

“Oh, yeah, that! I think Medda tossed it out on accident… But we have our memories, right?” Jack said, regret flashing in his eyes. I just smiled at him sadly.

“Yeah. So, what time should we get going in the morning?”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It was probably midnight when I heard a loud, metallic bang. 

I sat up sharply, scrambling out of the sheets to make sure that Jack hadn’t hit his head and died from the top bunk. 

“Dave, you okay?” Jack asked, glancing at me from his mattress. 

“Did you hear that?” I questioned, gesturing to the ceiling where I had heard the bang. 

“What?” 

“Some sort of bang… I think the heater went out,” I said, suddenly realizing I couldn’t hear the rattle of the heating anymore. 

“...Shit. Should we get Joanna?” Jack asked. There was a beat of silence as we made eye contact, and it dawned on me that neither of us wanted to wake up this poor old woman to tell her.

This is the height of being gen z. I thought, realizing how screwed we were. 

“It… It’ll probably be fine,” I stammered, sitting back on my bunk. The air was already getting colder, and the wind howled against the cabin. 

“...Get over here. You ain’t getting hypothermia on my watch,” Jack said, rolling his eyes and gesturing to himself. I felt my face heat up for what seemed like the umpteenth time that night. 

“A- are you sure that you’re-”

“Oh, can it Jacobs. I don’t need your sister sicced on me because I didn’t do what I could to make sure you survived the night,” Jack pointed out, sounding mildly annoyed. I would’ve been more convinced if I didn’t see that he was also blushing, and had that look… That weird look he got when he was looking at a pretty girl or guy.

This is totally platonic. I reminded myself, climbing the ladder while holding my blankets. Jack nodded at me, tossing all of our blankets over the two of us. 

I didn’t think I would be able to sleep with him right there, but something about his body heat and the crashing energy drinks was enough to lull me to sleep…

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Davey, you still sleeping?” Jack whispered. My eyes snapped open, and the events of the previous night hit me like a truck. I turned to look at Jack, who was still laying down beside me. 

“Yeah,” I croaked. Jack nodded, and I felt him draw away from me. 

Wait, away? 

It was only then that I realized how close we are. 

And that my head had been practically laying on his chest. 

“Sorry,” I muttered, shifting away from him. 

“It’s okay. Warmth, y’know,” Jack said gruffly, sitting up. I scooched away from him  and climbed down the ladder, the cold air piercing my skin. 

“We should get going soon… I’m sure Medda is ready to have my head for having you out on a night like that,” I pointed out, dashing to the assorted vents that had our assorted winter wear, half-dried. 

“She could never, Dave, you know she prefers you,” Jack grinned, rolling his eyes.

“Well, she adopted you,” I pointed out. “She must’ve liked you enough to want you in her life forever.” 

“She once threatened to take away my dessert privileges if we ever stopped talking,” Jack said, deadpan.

“Those brownies are no joke. I’m glad you were able to put up with me,” I chuckled. 

“I don’t put up with you, Jacobs,” Jack said, self-deprecation seeping into his words. I stopped re-packing, and crossed the room to talk to him, being sure to drive my point home.

“Neither of us put up with one another, kay?” 

“I- damn, Dave, makin’ us have a moment here,” Jack said, red creeping up his face. I stepped back, apologizing under my breath. 

“No, no, it’s fine. You always had more of an emotional range then I did,” Jack shrugged, regret tainting his words. 

A few minutes later, we were packed. Jack and I both had our jackets, scarves, mittens and hats on. 

“I got it,” I said, grabbing the doorknob and pushing. 

It didn’t budge. Not even a centimeter. I shook the door, throwing my weight onto it to the best of my ability. 

“Let me try,” Jack said, grabbing my hand around the knob. I felt a sharp shock, and felt my heart kick into overdrive, pounding in my ears. 

His hands were soft. 

Jack was still struggling with the door, jiggling it aggressively.

“Its just a bit… Frozen,” Jack grunted, slamming the door with all of his linebacker strength. The door flew open, a few healthily sized pieces of ice spaying onto the fine bed of snow.

Jack had opened a door to a winter wonderland. Due to its remote location, Joanna’s Nightly Cabins and Bunks was peak stock photo winter. 

The trees were frosted with white, like they were some sort of cake, or one of Jack’s drawings. There was a big, sprawling field with a few snow dusted cabins. The main house Joanna lived in was mostly cleared (we assumed she had cleared it herself… somehow), but by far the most shocking part was-

“Oh shit, my car,” Jack said, attempting to run across the lawn to the snow-covered lump that was his vehicle. This didn’t work well, since there was almost several feet of snow covering the ground. He had only made it about 10 feet when he collapsed into the drift, his legs having been unable to fight the snow. 

I found myself half-laughing, despite being mildly worried as I helped him up. 

“We are so screwed, Davey,” Jack said, his brow furrowing as his Manhattan twang set into his words. That’s how I knew he was really worried- his accent only set in when he was drunk, sick, angry, or stressed.

“It’ll be fine, I’ll call a plow, or a tow… We’ll find some way out of here,” I assured him, holding him by the waist so he wouldn’t fall. He leaned into me, obviously not against me touching him. Well, really it was his coat, but it still felt nice. 

“How long do you think it’ll take?” Jack asked. I could feel my phone vibrating in my coat pocket, probably the boys and our families asking where we are. 

“I dunno… I might as well call now,” I shrugged, pulling out my phone and tapping on Google to find the number. 

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

“Thank you… Goodbye,” I said, just about to hang up when a powdery, cold something hit my back. I swiveled around to see none other than Jack, a small arsenal of snowballs beside him.

“Oh, you did not just-” 

“I did, Jacobs,” he grinned maniacally. I narrowed my eyes at him.

“You’re on!” I shouted, frantically grabbing snow and packing it into a solid ball. The snow was perfect for snowball fights, just the right texture. And I was wearing gloves, so it wouldn’t stick to any yarn on my mittens. 

Jack pelted me with a snowball, hitting my shoulder with a solid thwack! I pretended to fall from the shock of the hit, then rolled towards him, tossing a ball at his neck. It hit him slightly above his collar bone, and I heard him laugh evilly as he ran towards me. 

“YOU’VE MADE A MISTAKE FROM CHALLENGING ME, DAVEY JACOBS!” He yelled, attempting to grab me. I rolled away, standing above him with my superior five inches, and began to dodge snowballs, left and right while making my own. 

“JOKES ON YOU, I LEARNED FROM THE MASTER-- SARAH JACOBS!” I screeched, hitting him in the head with a snowball. 

“BUT I WENT AGAINST THE GREAT RACETRACK HIGGINS!” he objected, hitting my left arm.

“WHO LEARNED FROM SARAH JACOBS!” I shot back, hitting his lower thigh.

“AH, BUT YOU ARE NOT HER!” he pointed out, dashing away again in an attempt to confuse me.

“YES, BUT I AM HER BROTHER!” I said, dodging a ball from my right.

“THE MORE WATERED-DOWN VERSION, I SEE!” he shouted, attempting to dodge a ball coming for his torso and failing.

“OHO, YOU ARE GOING TO PAY FOR THAT!” I yelled, smiling like a fool and running towards him to the best of my ability. He grinned darkly, and I realized my mistake. 

I was attempting to tackle a college football player. First string. 

Before I could even comprehend how terrible of an idea it was to try and tackle a football player as an English major with limited athletics experience, I was on the ground and- 

His lips were on mine. 

Too passionately to be accidental. 

His hand had somehow made its way to my back, and he was holding me like he had in the night. And… It felt right. More real and right and perfect then I thought it would.

I grabbed his face so I could feel him closer. Though I think a part of me knew it would never feel close enough. 

He was doing this thing, I think to keep us warm, where he was rubbing up and down my back to keep the heat. And he kept letting me pull him closer while we just laid there, kissing in the snow.

Kissing in the snow. A romantic concept, one that lovesick teens would only dream of doing. Kissing two days before Christmas. Kissing like it wasn’t the end of the world, like we had all the time in the world. Kissing my best friend. Kissing the man who knew how to get me back when I was drifting. 

Kissing in the snow. Because sometimes, snow and too much time wasted away from each other was enough to make a teenage dream come true. 

And maybe I was okay with a winter teenage dream. 

I was okay with kissing in the snow.

[thepeacetea]

Broken Angels Ch. 2

Hi everyone! First off, I want to say thank you to everyone who liked, commented, and reblogged this story. I never thought that it would get that big of a response. Thank you!  Now I tried to tag everyone who asked and if i missed you, I am sorry. Just send me a message and I’ll get you in the next chapter. Anyways, I tried my best with this chapter, so I hope you guys enjoy! (The bold lettering is French) Again, if you have questions, comments, or suggestions please let me know. Peace!

There were few things that take Jim Gordon by surprise anymore. After being a cop for thirty years, chief commissioner for ten of them, he had seen it all. Villains come and go, heroes rise and fall, comrades fall in service, dirty cops, political corruption, nearly dying multiple times, his daughter nearly being killed by the Joker. You name it, he’s seen it. So the sight of a tiny girl running through the streets of Gotham wasn’t something he would’ve taken much notice in, he shouldn’t have, really. But the fact that this tiny girl was effectively shoving aside people twice, if not three times her weight as if they were nothing, did. Angry shouts followed the girl, but she was either ignoring them, or she couldn’t hear them. When she came in contact with him, the force behind her shove nearly sent him into the wall. But he caught a glimpse of her face. She looked . . . panicked. He could barely make out the tears before she was gone. Bolting straight into traffic.

The angered shouts instantly turned panicked when the crowd saw the truck fly around a blind corner, heading straight for the girl.

“KID, LOOK OUT!”

At the exact moment that was shouted, the driver slammed on the breaks in a desperate attempt to stop. The sound a squealing breaks filled the air just as the girl looked up and froze. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as everyone realized that the truck wouldn’t stop in time. Allowing them time to  mentally prepare themselves to witness the crash.

Gordon wasn’t aware when he had started moving. He honestly didn’t. All he knew was that he was running faster then he had ever ran in his life. For him, it was as if the world was moving in slow motion. He could clearly make out the second the driver’s face shifted when they knew they couldn’t stop. He saw, heart twisting in panic, as the girl’s body stiffened, bracing for impact. How her eyes, blown and filled with panic, stayed fixed on the truck. Gordon swore he felt his heart stop the moment he tackled her, the truck clipping them, sending them both spinning. Turning their bodies mid-fall, Gordon took the brunt of it before they rolled to a stop.

Ears ringing and heart in his throat, Gordon slowly uncurled himself from the girl. Scanning the streets, he was thankful to find all traffic had stopped, though burning rubber penetrated the air. Ugly, black tire tracks lead to the truck that had stopped about fifteen-twenty feet from where the had been standing. Turning his attention back to the girl, Gordon found her still curled in a defensive ball, shaking.

“Miss, its ok. You’re alright. Your safe.” Gordon said, trying to keep his voice as low and calming as possible.

When he didn’t get a response, he tried again. This time, gently laying his hand on her shoulder to shake her. Still no response. By now, the crowds had gathered, all with phones out, presumable recording, and Gordon’s concern had spiked. Slowly rolling her, the first thing Gordon took notice of was the rapidly rising hand print displayed on her right cheek, accompanied by a busted lip. Next was her eyes. Big, blue, and completely dilated with panic. He wasn’t even sure if she knew what was going on. Finally, and most concerning was her breathing. The pattern was sporadic, coming in short bursts, and much to fast.

“Miss, listen. I need you to calm down. Your hyperventilating. I need you to take slow, deep breaths. Do you understand?” Gordon said, trying desperately to get the girl to focus on him.

“Je . . . Je . . . n-n-ne peut pas respirer. Je ne peux pas respirer!” She manage to choke out, tears steaming down her face as her hands flew to her throat, grasping at her necklace.

Gordon hadn’t spoken French since high school. Even back then he was never good at it. And this girl kept repeating that same phrase over and over. The crowd wasn’t helping, the noise they were making only seemed to drive the already panicked girl deeper into her panic attack.

“Give the girl some space! Anyone who doesn’t know how to speak French I need you quiet! You’re only making her panic attack worse!” Gordon shouted, his patience snapping at the crowd before turning on his comm. “This is Gordon. I need a crew down here with a medical team stat. Minor was almost hit by a car. Suspected abuse on the minor. I also need a French translator.” He barked, turning his attention back to the girl, trying desperately to remember what little French he learned.

“C’est bon, c’est bon.” It was the only thing he could remember.

The girl seemed to snap out of whatever world she had locked herself in when he whispered those words. Her eyes cleared a little, showing understanding. Suddenly, Gordon found his arms full as she launched herself at him. She was even smaller then he had first thought. This kid weight almost nothing. Small arms anchored themselves around him as she buried her face into his shirt. Her body jerking violently with sobs. Streams of broken French spilled out in-between the tears, but it was so choppy that Gordon had no hopes of understanding. The girl felt like she was breaking apart. Like she could shatter at any minute. So Gordon did the only thing he could. He held her, slowly rocking her as he stroked her hair. Continuing to whisper that one phrase over and over.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that. It felt like hours, but he knew it could have only been minutes until he heard the familiar wails of sirens. Soon two crews were pushing the crowds back and clearing a path for the medics.

“Commissioner, what happened?”

Looking up, Gordon found the familiar face of Montgomery Hill.  At the sound of the new voice, the girl tried to grow smaller as the grip on his jacket tightened.

“I’ll explain later. Do you have the translator?”

“I’m right here.”

Turning in the direction of the voice, Gordon saw a young man, twenty-four if he had to guess, push his way through the thickening crowd. The guy was tall, well built, messy brown hair that was windswept, and mismatching eyes.

“Commissioner, this is Mark Spencer. He works at the airport, we pulled him from the security team.” Hill explain, waving the medics over to assess the girl.

But as they tried to puller her away from Gordon, she let one of the most desperate screams Gordon had ever heard. One that began nagging at his mind. He had heard it somewhere before. He knew he had.  The sudden commotion caused the crowds to press in again as the medic pulled his hands away.

“Spencer.” Growled Hill, spurring the young translator into action.

“Miss, it’s ok. They’re medics. They just want to make sure your ok. That your not hurt. It’s ok. They’re not going to hurt you.”

The girl just stiffened at his words, but she stopped screaming. Gordon caught Spencer’s eyes.

“Ask her name. Introduce yourself. You need to get her to calm down.” Gordon instructed, his hand still running through the girls hair.

“Miss, I’m Mark Spencer. I work at Gotham International Airport as a translator. Can I know your name?”

“M - Ma - Mar - inette”

“Marinette. That’s a very pretty name. Can you tell me your last name?”

“. . .Du - Dupain-Ch - Cheng.”

“Ok, that’s good. Where are you from Marinette?”

“P-P-Paris. My . . . my class is h-here on a s-sch- school t-t-trip.”

“Paris. Wow, you’re a long way from home. Alright, Marinette. We need you to let the medic’s look at you. We need to make sure your alright. They are not going to hurt you, I promise. Me and you friend are going to be right there with you alright. But I need you to let go, ok.”

Gordon watched as the two of them talked, almost wincing at how broken the girl, Marinette, sounded. She was silent for a few moments, just staring at Spencer before she slowly loosened her grip on Gordon. Both Gordon and Spencer gave her encouraging smiles as she let the medics look her over.

As Spencer translated for them, Gordon studied the girl. Now that he could see her, he could only curse silently at the person who had put her in that state. The entire right side of her face was swollen, the hand print still very visible. Her bottom lip was busted, if was from the slap or from him tackling her, he couldn’t tell. But it was Her eyes that worried him, they were still dilated, the blue only appeared in a small ring around her pupil. Their eyes met for a moment. As sharp baby blue collided with cloudy bluebells, Gordon felt a jolt run through him. He had seen those eyes before.He didn’t know how or when, but at some point in time he had looked into those eyes.The longer he studied her, the more sure he became.

As she offered him one of the saddest smiles he had ever seen, Gordon swore he was going to find out what happened to her. Catching Hill’s eye, Gordon knew he wasn’t alone in that thought. Whoever was behind this was going to have a lot to answer for.

Turning his attention back to the crowds, Gordon let out an exhausted sigh. This was going to be a long day.

@mystery-5-5   @captainmac6  @you-will-never-know-how-I-think  @mochinek0 @sonif50 @zalladane @thebananathatwrites @schrodingers25 @kuroko26 @miraculousbelladonna @souleaterlicestein @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @ijustwannabecanadian @ellerahs @ranger-paladinikoe @xxmadamjinxx @derpingrainbow @sassy-spocko @vixen-uchiha @mooshoon

[we-are-dreamers42]

Nightingale: Too Broken Too Fix Part I

Bucky Barnes x OGcharacter

photo by me.

This is the backstory or prequel of Alexandra Thomas before entering the official world of the Marvel Universe.

Word Count: 1,724

Series List

A rushed plan equals to a rushed execution. It would’ve been okay if her Mystery Man didn’t show up. 

WARNINGS: There are mentions of sexual abuse, violence, death, alcohol, swearing

Chapter 4

I stepped back as far as I could. Then ran forward full sprint. I got to the edge and used all my strength to jump. To my surprise I made it across easily. The problem was I was going too fast. I didn’t get time to catch myself before I slammed into the wall, and started falling.

I caught myself on a windowsill. Looking up I’m now four floors below the penthouse. Shit. I started climbing on the windows and exposed bricks.

 I got to the balcony, and took a quick glance. I only counted one guard outside. He wasn’t looking at me so I threw my knife that embedded into his neck. Pulling myself over the railing. I pulled the guard out of sight, and put the earpiece he had by my ear to listen.

“Check in.”

“Front check.”

“Kitchen check.”

“Office check.”

Then a moment. I looked at the guard I killed. They’re going to come, and check. I took back my knife.

“Kitchen, and office check on balcony.”

“Copy.” Two men said at the same time.

I hide behind a couple potted plants. Two men holding guns came outside. One went right and the other split off towards me. He got close enough that I swept his legs. When his body made a thud the other guard turned around. I threw my knife that landed in the middle of his chest. The next guard I step on his neck while I hold his arm, and twist, breaking his neck.

I slipped into the penthouse. I found the front door. The guard must be on the outside. I looked through the peephole to see exactly where he was. I took out my gun with the silencer already screwed in, and shot the guard through the door.

Quickly going to the office to insert the thumb drive. It needed a few minutes to download. Thankfully I knew exactly where it was. Staring at floor plans for hours had its benefits.

I take the stairs to the master bedroom. “Anyone copy?” Before I turn the corner I hear a guard outside the door. Before he could get his gun up I threw my knife. I run up to catch his body before it hits the ground.

Opening the door to the bedroom. I found a very frantic rich man packing suitcases.

“Going somewhere?” He turned and held up a gun. Before he could aim. I threw my last knife into his hand making him drop his gun.

“Why are you doing this?” He grasped his bleeding hand.

“Well seeing that after you saw me you’re trying to leave. You know exactly why I’m doing this.” I kicked him into a chair near an open window.

“I never touched any of you.”

“You still profited off us. I saw you at every transaction. You're just as bad. Maybe worse.”

“Please.” He tried to beg for his life. I looked behind him at the night sky.

“No chance.” Then I pushed him out the window. His screams were loud. The echo bounced off all the buildings. I couldn’t stand there, and watch him fall. I needed my knives back, and to retrieve the hard drive.

I picked up the last knife, and stabbed it into the wall. There was a bird flapping his wings carved into the blade. My calling card.

After retrieving the drive from the office there was a gunshot. I ducked and cover in the room. I took a peek to see how many I’m dealing with. Before I looked, the screaming started. 

This was the first time it’s happened in years. I almost forgot what it sounded like. Almost. I took a peek. Before I could see anything the frame to the room was shot. Spraying wood into my eyes.

I took my gun, and started shooting wildly down the hallway. I just needed to get back to the balcony, take the jump, then run like hell. He took cover from my shooting, and I ran for it. I got outside when a very cold metal arm grabbed me. Wait, metal arm? He forced me backward, and I fell on my back.

Next to me was a guard with my knife embedded into his chest. I took it and pushed my hands by my head flipping my body up to my feet. The man charged me. I tried, and strike him, but he deflected, and punched me in the chest. I stumbled a bit. Getting my balance I sent a kick to his hips, but alas defected again. I tried, and stab him one more time, but he caught my hand. I dropped the knife with the intent of catching it with my other hand, but he caught it before me.

I felt it before I knew what it was. The burning hot feeling in my stomach. I looked down to see my knife sticking out of me. I looked back at those beautiful cold eyes. He almost seemed vacant. Like he wasn’t fully conscious. He pulled the knife out and was about to stab me again.

Realizing I’m about to die, another boost of adrenaline hit. I punched him in the face with my free hand. His head whipped back, and his metal arm loosened slightly. Just enough for me to get free, and launch myself over the railing. 

I land on the roof with force. Not landing gracefully at all, I began rolling. Once I realized that I wasn’t dead I looked back. He was standing there like he was about to jump after me, but then he turned around. 

I didn’t give myself a second to breathe before running like hell.

I’ve been injured before. Grazed bullets, sprained bones, dislocated shoulders, but never stabbed. The bleeding stopped, and before I was halfway home I was healed. This has happened before. My body healed extraordinarily fast, but it still surprised me. The only proof that it happened was my sore muscles, and hole in my suit.

I got back home in time to get ready before Rox got home. Instead I just stood in the bathroom staring at myself in the mirror. Trying to remember why the fuck that man was so familiar to me. I thought I would remember someone with a metal arm. It’s something that should be hard to forget. Yet here we were.

I just finished getting ready when Rox came through the door. I honestly dread going out right now. I’m tired, and sore. I promised her that I’ll go, and I will. Don’t get me wrong I’m always down for a good party, but after the night I had I just wanted to sleep.

“Before we go. I have something for you.” I handed her the back velvet box. She opened it revealing a designer necklace with Always & Forever engraved onto it.

“Holy shit.” She said,

“I know you have a hard time when I go out. This is a reminder that I’m with you always and forever. No matter what.”

I braced myself for the hug. “I love it, Alex.”

“I knew you would.” 

We stood at the bar while Rox was dancing with a guy. She was having a good time. She always ended up never buying drinks when every guy in the bar sent her one. Only when they are super desperate do they send them to me too. They thought buying the friend with the resting bitch face will get them brownie points. Usually it did.

I nursed a drink that I got from the guy she was dancing with. Alcohol never did anything to me. I did like the taste of some, just not this one. But it’s free so I took a little sip.

“Alex. You look beautiful tonight.” Ashton came up next to me. He was one of the bartenders. Whenever we came out I had to babysit Rox, and he talked to me and kept me company. The only thing was that every time I came here. He had to hit on me.

He meant well. I had no doubt that he would be an amazing boyfriend. It’s me I would never be able to be a partner that he would want. I couldn’t be hugged without wanting to punch someone in the face. Intimacy wasn’t my style.

“Will you let me make you a drink?”

“I wouldn’t want to waste your time making it when I won’t drink it.”

“It would never be a waste of time. I’d be happy to make you something.”

“We're actually not talking about alcohol are we?”

“No.” Yet he still poured some Tequila into a glass, and some soda. Then handed it to me.

“I’m sorry I just don’t want a relationship. I’m not the girlfriend type. What about Roxy? She talks big, but she is very sweet.” 

“Why are you talking about me?” She came back from dancing, and grabbed the drink Ashton made for me.

“Roxy, you're beautiful, but just not my type.”

“It’s fine, I'm intimidating. You could never handle this.” She motioned to her body, and went back to the dance floor. 

“It’s fine. One day Alexandra. One day.” He said. I just smiled and walked off to join my friend.

“You should consider going out with him. He is so smitten with you.” Rox says.

“A relationship sounds horrible, and I'm too busy. Did you just say smitten?”

“Yes I did get over it. You don’t have to be so busy all the time.”

“I won’t stop till it’s over.”

“It’ll never be over. There will always be more.”

Talking about this really soured my mood. “Can we please go home? You’re drunk, and I’m tired.”

“Fine. No one hot here anyways.” 

We walked up the stairs. Well I’m walking, and carrying Rox since she was so drunk that the ground wouldn’t stay still. Her words, not mine. I sat her in front of her bedroom door.

“Need help here too.” I said sarcastically. Even if she said yes she could undress herself. I’m not about to be her caretaker.

“No, I got it.” Walking to my own room she called me back. “Are you happy?”

“What does that mean?” What was she intending?

“Exactly as I said. Are you happy?”

I thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know.” Was the only answer I could think of.

Chapter 5