#really tired of wanting to die every day because it's less painful than the idea of wasting away bit by bit slowly 🙃

[frostbitedoesstuff]

So Koomaxx made another Star Rail Hunger Games video, and there was a moment in it that gave me a random spark of inspiration. I ended up writing a little fanfic of sorts in the comments section, and I figured I’d post it here too!

Spoilers for this video from here on out.

The sun slowly set in the horizon, marking the fifth night of this hellish game. Near the edge of the cliff stood Gepard and Lynx of the Landau siblings. An inseparable trio turned duo in a cruel twist of fate.

“Gepard,” Lynx spoke out, her voice tired yet full of sorrow. “I know things have been hard, I know. But…but…we still have each other. We’ve made it this far, against all odds. We’re Landaus. We can do this. I believe in us, and…I believe in you.”

Gepard scoffed bitterly. “You? You believe in me? Do you have the slightest idea what I’ve done? What I’ve become?”

Lynx opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off as Gepard continued to speak.

“Serval is gone. She’s dead. She died on the first day, Lynx. That…that changed me. Ever since that day, I’ve been feeling less and less like myself. I’ve been having nightmares every night…nightmares of her dying moments, the carnage…the sound of that explosive going off rings in my ears endlessly, haunting me, driving me crazy.”

His voice became strained, more distressed, more ashamed, more frantic.

“Now look what I’ve become! I’m a murderer! I’ve killed people who didn’t deserve it, I’ve killed people who couldn’t even defend themselves! I’m supposed to protect people, and now here I am, slaughtering people like some kind of sadist!”

Lynx’s eyes flitted across Gepard’s body, watching as his trembling hands began to clench and unclench with barely contained emotion. It was so much different from the calm and composed man she knew as her brother. Even in the midst of this mess, when they made their truce, he had seemed fine (as fine as he could have been, anyway). Had he really been hiding this pain and guilt up until now?

“You are so, so much better than me, Lynx,” He continued. “Serval was your sister too, and yet, you’ve been merciful, kind, considerate. Even in your grief, you didn’t allow that loss to change your principles. You’re strong...truly worthy of the Landau name. I’m just a monster, a monster that doesn’t deserve to live by your side.”

“No! No, that’s not true! I won’t let you talk about yourself that way!” Lynx shouted, tears welling up in her eyes as she too got emotional. “This game only has two objectives, to kill, and to survive! You had no choice but to become this way. These people…these people who put us here, they don’t care who deserves to live, they just want to see us die! They did this to you, Gepard, it’s not your fault!”

“Oh, it’s not my fault? This wasn’t my choice…is that what you think?” Gepard inquired, as if challenging her.

“Yes.” Lynx spoke without hesitation.

“Then, who have you killed, Lynx? If we have no choice but to kill, then…who have you killed?”

Lynx went to reply, before she suddenly froze.

She…didn’t have an answer. Nobody had died at her hands thus far. She stared up at Gepard, her expression clearly conveying her inability to provide an answer to his question.

Gepard stares back at her, his voice filling the tense silence. “Numby. Topaz. Misha.”

“What…?”

“I killed Numby, Topaz, and Misha. I almost got Welt too, but…he escaped. Do you understand now? The difference between us? I have ended people’s lives, and you have not. That’s enough proof that my actions were a choice.”

He went silent for a moment, before continuing, his voice quieter, but still firm. “That’s enough proof that you’re better than me.”

Lynx could feel her resolve crumbling as she scrambled to find a way to refute his statement. “B-But…but surely it was in self-defense, right…? Right?”

He stared for a short while longer before shaking his head in the negative. He hadn’t been attacked first. He didn’t even do it out of obligation. He did it because he wanted to, because there was a sick part of him that had emerged that wanted nothing more than to see other people suffer for what was taken from him.

To see people die the same way Serval had.

“You…You really have changed,” Lynx mumbled, before her voice began to increase in volume. “But…I still need you, Gepard. I need you here. Even if you’re not the same, I need you, I love you, you’re all I have left! You’re my brother, Gepard! Nothing you can do will change that!”

“I’m dangerous, Lynx! You should hate me, fear me, something! Something other than thinking I deserve to live after what I’ve done!” He yelled back at her, his patience starting to wear thin. Why couldn’t she get it, damnit?! Why wouldn’t she understand?!

“NO!” Lynx screamed, so loudly that Gepard was stunned into silence. She repeated herself, quieter, but still just as firm. “..No.”

Their eyes gazed into one another’s intensely, before Gepard’s narrowed in an emotion that Lynx couldn’t quite identify.

He took a step forward, his voice lower, more threatening. “Do you need me to prove it to you? Do you need me to prove that I’m dangerous?”

There was a flicker of fear in Lynx’s expression, before it hardened again. “Fine. Prove it. I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

She thought he was bluffing.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought, too…” He murmured, as he walked closer, and closer, and closer.

“Gepard…you wouldn’t hurt me…right..?”

The silence after that sentence was spoken was ear-piercingly loud.

“…I’m sorry.”

Before Lynx could even think to ask what he meant, she was falling.

Gepard stood at the edge of the cliff, his entire body quaking as he heard Lynx’s scream grow quieter, and quieter, and quieter, before it cut off completely with a loud CRUNCH.

…Then she was gone.

(While you’re here, I also make Star Rail art! To see that, check me out at frostbitedoesfanart!)

[myfandomrambles]

@tessellated-sunl1ght

tessellated-sunl1ght

Hello I would like to know why bc I love reading your takes (and the Tumblr in-blog tag search function is a dumpster fire on a good day).. if you’ve already made a post you can just link it, I’m super curious 👀

Okay this is a goddamn mess but I hope it is somewhat coherent.

So one of my biggest problems is that I don't think Donna should have gotten her memories back side-effect free. Like I love Donna's end, things can be heartbreaking and not happy for the characters and still be good. Like it feels like they wanted Catherine & David back because of ratings/streams etc. and I need a better reason. I LOVE Donna and I've said so on this blog but it feels so cheap.

And the reason why was so clunky. Like loving the recognition of a nonbinary Doctor but like the idea that they as women can like let go when 14 can’t because he’s male presenting? I just don’t understand. Not to mention I don't think Donna has ever let anything go in her life, and I love that about her. 

I do admit that I was sensitive to the whole getting your best friend back when my own died only a few months before. I'll own up to that personal bias but I do think it maybe just shouldn’t be done and characters’ stories don’t need to be undone after they’ve meant something. 

Another thing is bigeneration is stupid? Like why do we need 14 running around? Why does that need to be a thing? I don't care so much that it breaks tradition, it annoys me sure, but it pisses me off because there is no reason. And I hate the idea they can just use them whenever and also why would the current Doctor need to come back to earth if you have a full-blown regeneration of The Doctor with a TARDIS? ugh

Like I don't read this as a poignant story about healing. And fuck do I understand running on fumes. But I relate to 12 being tired and not wanting to carry on much more. Also like Donna's gonna die soon in terms of how long a regeneration can last. So is Rose. So why does this break heal them and not like Darillium? Why are those 24 years worth less?

Not to mention guarding the vault for 60ish years. I get no loved one outside of Nardole but like he did stay there and teach and watch over Missy. So like I just I don't even know. 

And the flippant listing of all the trauma? That’s supposed to be moving because they hang on Adric’s name?  Like I've talked about those a lot on this account and listed them but like I'm making a blog post so be better! Think of better ways to reference all the past The Doctor's pain, I appreciate them noting all of the trauma but it doesn't feel like it's really artfully dealing with it

Just vaguely alluding to The Doctor getting better for some reason now? like there is so much more wrapped up in dealing with millennia of trauma than just having a good friend.

They even say in Wild Blue Yonder that it will take a million years to get better!

Then you have the lines about family and being happy in the end of The Giggle

DOCTOR 14: I love them. But here we are, Grandad and all. Who'd have thought? I ended up with a family.

&

DOCTOR 14: The funny thing is, I fought all those battles for all those years, and now I know what for. This. I've never been so happy in my life.

Like, do The Doctor's actual children and grandkids not count?

And the Ponds are similar to the Noble/Temples and they just do not count? And if they don't count, why?

Not to mention like all of the companions Ian & Barbara -> Yaz? Like why aren't they family?! So none of that time was as happy as this? Did The Doctor just not love all of those people as much as Donna?

We even have Sarah calling all 10's friends his family:

SARAH: You know, you act like such a lonely man. But look at you. You've got the biggest family on Earth. (Journey’s End)

It's frankly insulting to every person who's poured their heart and soul into this to say that only now he has a family and only now he's happier than ever before.

Only this character matters, and like I've literally written a post just about 10 & Donna's relationship and how singular it is, but that doesn't make her more important, it doesn't make her better than everyone else.

And I think 15 should have gotten classic regeneration moments and his own TARDIS interior. Like Yeah Ncuti Gatwa is killing it and many people were super excited about getting to see him for a full episode, it doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t gotten his own TARDIS interior!

And if you're going to have 14 stay on Earth WTF does he get a TARDIS? Like if you're going to say staying still is healing then make him stay!

Okay, that was too long but my brain is still buzzing. I've been a fan for most of my life and it's been a companion for many of my worst moments. So I know I'm overly emotional but I think there are parts that aren't good.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Speaking of Jake and Cassie's breakup, can you go into all the reasons why it happened? Because I think I missed the part where it was "a long time coming" as you put it (and tbh I was under the impression that it was mostly to do with Jake thinking he didn't deserve to be happy after the war).

So some of the signs of their breakup that I see, looking back:

In #47, Jake is fairly dismissive of Cassie's point of view. He's becoming more and more concerned with winning at all costs, and he doesn't listen to Cassie the way he normally would when they are making that particular battle plan. Cassie in turn is upset with Jake dismissing Toby's (legitimate) concern that the hork-bajir can't just abandon their valley if there's even a chance it can be saved.

In #50 Walter offers to "adopt" Jake while he's without his family, and Cassie realizes that that's the worst idea imaginable because Jake does not need to be treated like a kid: "Jake’s mouth went tight. I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach... Jake was the center. If the center didn't hold..." (#50). If Jake has a surrogate parent then it's Eva, because Eva does a lot less hugging and a lot more telling him to get off his ass and start making decisions.

Throughout #50, Cassie knows she's reacting to Jake's pain by withdrawing rather than offering support. She regrets it, but then he keeps pulling shit like debating whether to let Rachel's mom die or recruiting kids who are disabled and thus more vulnerable, so she's really not that comfortable with him. Especially not the ultra-ruthless version of him we meet in those later books.

But the big one for me is #44. Cassie spends almost the entire book away in Australia. She's aware the whole time that she is interested in Yami — she thinks he's cute, enjoys spending time with him, blushes when he touches her arm — but doesn't act on that interest. Mostly out of obligation to Jake, rather than a decision to prefer Jake.

Part of it is that Yami is fun. He doesn't sweat the small stuff, keeps cool even during a crisis, and does silly things like teach Cassie to throw a boomerang when it's definitely not a weapon she needs to learn. Jake, by that point in the series, is no fun. It's not his fault (there's a war on) but it's also true. He's dour and snappish and perpetually tired in a way that Cassie finds tiring. Yami doesn't have any serious problems, and Cassie likes being around a boy who doesn't have any serious problems.

And when Cassie gets back from Australia, she discovers that Jake has been "A zombie... can’t eat, can’t sleep, spends every minute of the night and day searching the airport and all other known Yeerk hangouts, and can only utter one intelligible sentence: ‘I have to FIND HER" (#44). Cassie feels a surge of guilt, because she wasn't worried about getting back to Jake, wasn't even really thinking of Jake at all. Their relationship has become unbalanced, and uncomfortable. Cassie doesn't even really have a moment of reconciliation with Jake at the end of #44; instead we cut to her smiling over the postcard she's just gotten from Yami. She feels sad about it, but her heart has already moved on.

Cassie doesn't leave Jake for Yami, or for anyone else. The decision that ends their relationship is one she makes to try and protect Jake, but she also doesn't let "I would lose Jake" stop her from making that decision (#50). Jake is the one who ends things with Cassie at the end of #50, and makes their breakup official in #51, but Jake is also the one who ends up asking Cassie for forgiveness and reconciliation in #53, and it's Cassie who turns Jake down.

So anyway, my read is that Cassie (who is excellent at securing her own oxygen mask before attempting to help others) realizes that she's falling out of love with Jake as early as #44, and maybe even earlier. Jake doesn't want Cassie to leave him, but he also doesn't exactly support her a ton after #36, and he acts like an ass over their breakup in #51 and #52. By the end of #54, Cassie has moved on to a guy with whom she can have a more mutually supportive dynamic and more quality time, and Jake has learned to let her go.

[ray-ray-writings]

Hybrid!Reader Galore-SBI (and one Awesamdude)

So I am combining four different requests with this one post because I have recently discovered that I am allowed to do that hahaha. So instead of five separate posts, it’s one big post!! I hope you enjoy!!! (There is a bonus idea at the bottom, it is not SBI, rather a Sam idea and it is so amazing and is not mine, the idea comes from our very own Sunflower anon who has my whole heart.)

Elytran 

Well first things first, you guessed it. You have wings. You have beautiful wings that allow you to fly for miles and miles without getting tired. They are big and cover most of your back. When they’re not in use, they’re tucked in tightly to your back for save keeping. 

You and Philza are obviously very close. You and he can relate on so many levels. You spend a lot of time bonding over your wings. You know you can always go to him when you have questions about your wings and he is always willing to give you his knowledge, tips, and tricks on how to properly take care of your wings and stuff like that. I like to imagine that the two of you definitely help each other preen your wings. He more so you though. Like if it has been too long in his opinion he will force you to sit down on a chair so that you’re straddling it and your stomach is pressed against the back of the chair and he very carefully pulls the loose feathers and gets all of the grass and leaves and stuff out of your wings. Every so often you will return the favor, but because he’s been around so long he is practically perfect at doing his own wings himself and so he usually just focuses on you because you’re his kid and he wants to make sure that you’re taken care of. He gets a lot of the preening done when you two are sitting on the couch together and you’re snuggled up to his chest and his hand is just softly trailing up and down your wings. Smoothing out your feathers and carefully pulling out the ones that need to come out. It feels very nice and is very comforting. 

I also feel though that your brothers would also do this to you sometimes. Just when you’re having a conversation with one of them they will grab your shoulders and turn you around and you would be forced to talk to them as they pick at your wings. Sometimes Tommy is too rough and so he can only do it when he’s absolutely calm. I 100% believe that before his death, Wilbur was the best brother to go to for help with your wings when Phil wasn’t around. He has the hands of musician, steady and gentle hands but still calloused and rough from years of plucking at a guitar. So he would be really good at being careful but also would be very good at picking out the things that needed to go while also being good at, i guess, petting your wings. I feel like Techno would be okay at it, not as good as Phil and Wilbur though. I feel like Tommy could be too rough sometimes. I feel like there are two different Techno’s you could get. A soft and gentle Techno who is very careful when messing with your wings or a rough and quick Techno that just really wants to be done with whatever you’ve asked him to do. So you would have to catch Techno on a good day in order for him to be able to properly help you. 

Like Philza and Techno do, You and Philza go on adventures together all the time, only there is a slight difference obviously. You two go on flights. You two fly for hours at a time sometimes, not always have a particular destination in mind. You two just like to fly together. It’s such a freeing feeling. You two just fly together, feel the wind in your hair and your wings. The time is usually spent just chatting about anything and everything. It’s nice. You just get to spend a lot of time with your dad and you get to feel free and get to get away from all of the drama of the smp. I like to imagine that sometimes you two fly for so long that you get too tired to keep flying, but you have to get home. So Phil will pick you up, you wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, and he will fly the two of you home. He’s been alive for hundred of years and has had years of flying practice and so he almost never gets tired from flying and so he has absolutely no problem carrying you home if you’re too tired. Once you get a bit older and stuff, I also like to think that you’re able to do the same for your brothers, obviously not as long as Philza can, but you can pick them up and take them on a little flight around the server. Tommy would love it the most. He would cling to you, terrified you would drop him, but he would love being so high up, seeing everything and feeling free. He would love that he actually got to feel like a kid again. Wilbur and Techno would like it a lot less than Tommy. They would take you up on the offer every once in a while, but I don’t think they would like it that much. Like Techno would like to feel the wind through his hair and to feel free and not have to worry about anything, but I feel like he would just be hella scared that you’re going to drop him. He’s a big man and he trusts you a lot, but that doesn’t mean you’re strong enough to hold him. Don’t tell anyone, but I kind of headcanon that Wilbur is scared of heights. I don’t know why, I just kind of get that vibe from him. So like on the very very very rare occasion where you take him for a fly, he spends the whole time clinging to you for dear life with his face buried in your neck and his eyes clenched tightly closed. You can’t help but laugh at him though. You asked him about it once, why he accepts your offer if he’s so terrified, his answer warmed your heart. “I just like spending time with you. Anyway that I can.” (Complete side note, Ghostbur on the other hand would love love love love to go on flights with you. Like would beg you almost every day to go on one.)

Ghast hybrid

Listen, I am not saying this to exclude anyone okay? Please don’t take it as that, but you would be pale. You would be so pale. It’s the ghast in you and so you would be so pale. Like I feel you would almost have to wear a hat or put on sunscreen every time you left the house in the overworld because you would so easily be burned. That being said, you definitely would thrive in the nether. Like the heat and the brightness of the lava wouldn’t bother you at all as you travel through your home biome. You would also be able to fly. You would move so smoothly through the sky. You wouldn’t have wings or anything like that, you would just be able to fly. But like it would be so funny to scare the hell out of Tommy. Like you two are arguing or something or he’s just being annoying and so you just start fucking levatating as you stare him down. He would 100% shriek and run away from you causing you to laugh. 

You always accompany any of the boys when they go into the nether for anything because no hostile mobs will attack if you’re nearby. Ghasts won’t shoot at you, hoglins won’t charge, blaze won’t fireball… you get it. Like the nether is your home and you are one of them, and they know that. You also are super good at navigating the nether. Think Human GPS but like half ghast GPS instead haha. You have absolutely saved the boys’ asses on more than one occasion. Like one time Techno wasn’t paying attention and he was just kind of walking around in the nether freely without thinking about it. He was going on and on about how it was nice to have you here but he probably could have handled it himself. He was right in the middle of telling you about how he probably could navigate the nether better than you when he literally walked straight off a cliff that hung right over a giant lava lake. You didn’t have time to laugh at his obliviousness. You knew that he couldn’t swim in lava, he may be a piglin hybrid that can survive the heat, but he absolutely could not swim in lava. So you very quickly ran right off of the edge of the cliff, flew down to him and just before he could sink into the lava, you grabbed him and flew him back up to the edge of the cliff. Once he was secure with solid ground under his feet, Techno would pull you into a giant hug. “Thank you,” he murmurs in your hair. You can’t help but giggle as you hug him back. “Of course. What was I going to do? Let you die? Besides, now we have prove of who’s the better nether navigator.” And Techno goes to argue but you just stare at him with a raised eyebrow and so his mouth snaps shut. You both knew you won that. 

So Ghast tears right? So when you get upset to the point of crying, you do your best to keep in the tears because when you cry, they literally leave tear stains. Like your cheeks are stained and scarred for the next few hours because of the tears. It burns and is a painful thing, so you try to avoid it as much as possible. Another thing that happens when you’re upset is you begin to breathe fire and shoot fireballs out of your mouth. You accidentally discovered this once when Techno wouldn’t give you back your axe and you accidentally fireballed him into a wall, exploding parts of the wall as well. So when you get angry/upset, you clamp your mouth closed and don’t speak. That is the telltale sign that you’re angry, when you go silent. Tommy loves to push you at this point. Saying anything he can to get you to… well explode. It’s only worked once. Let’s just say that Tommy’s clothes and hair got a bit singed and he didn’t mess with you while you were upset for a few months afterwards. 

Something useful about your tears is they can make regeneration potions. Obviously they aren’t full effect because you are only half ghast, but they still work. So even if you are crying and you are upset, you’re always sure to physically bottle up some of your tears when you do cry so that someone, mostly you or Techno, could make regeneration potions with them. 

Raccoon hybrid

TRASH PANDAS!!!! Okay, right, sorry. 

So we will begin with looks. You have little raccoons on top of your head, dark circles around your eyes, and a fuzzy black and white ringed tail. You have to take very good care of your ears and of your tail, making sure that it doesn’t get matted and stuff. I also feel you’re rather short. And sometimes you feel out of place among the absolute giants that are your brothers. 

I feel like you would get along the best with Tommy. THIS IS NOT AN INSULT AT ALL but like for some reason I get a raccoon type vibe from Tommy. So I feel like you two would just vibe very well together. You’re mostly nocturnal due to your raccoon hybrid and Tommy is a 16 year old hyper boy who doesn’t like authority that much. So like he very often can be found in your room late at night. The two of you laughing and just hanging out together. If you get him on a good night, he will carefully pet your tail or brush it while you talk. You two have bonded a lot and shared a lot of sweet moments through your nocturnal nights together. 

That being said, it does not stop Tommy from making fun of you. Raccoons are thought to be colorblind and Tommy knows this applies to you and does not stop making fun of you for it. “Hey Y/N! What color is this flower?” “Fuck off.” Because Tommy makes fun of you, you like to prank him a lot. Raccoons are actually very clever and this absolutely applies to you. You can move very quietly if you want so you manage to always prank Tommy really well…. That being said, you also find yourself very often ruining your own pranks because of how loud you can be. Have you ever heard a raccoon rummaging through your garbage at night? It feels like the loudest thing in the world lol. So sometimes you are accidentally careless and are very loud. 

Raccoons can fall from pretty high heights without getting hurt, so you would be able to do the same. It would have been a total accident of how you found out though. You would have been helping Tommy build a random cobblestone tower when he accidentally pushed you off the tower. You didn’t have a water bucket and there was no water below you, so you literally prepared yourself for the loss of your first canon life. Your body finally hit the ground and you were left a little breathless from the force of the hit, but nothing hurt. You checked your wrist and found you had only lost one heart. Even though you were completely fine, Philza still gave Tommy hell for pushing you off the tower and grounded him for a few weeks. Even though you know you’d be fine from a big fall, you are still very careful when you’re high up. Like I said, you know you’ll be fine, but you don’t want to push the boundaries. 

I feel like you have definitely been caught rummaging through the trash before. You were probably just bored and looking for something to do, or just something to play with and so on instinct, you reached into the trash and began searching through it. Philza would be the one to catch you. He wouldn’t even react too. He would simply let out a sigh, walk over to you, grab your arms and pull them out of the trash and walk you over to the sink before making you wash your hands. While you were doing that, he would take out the trash, making a mental note to get a more efficient/better way of getting rid of your trash. 

Cow Hybrid 

Yes yes yes yes. Okay okay. I love cows. Okay.

Starting out as always, appearance. So I think that you would have a few brown and white spots littering your skin. You’re entirely covered in them, but there are some on your arms, torso, and legs. You also have little horns that poke out of your hair. They’re a bit sensitive and your hair gets caught on them a lot, but they’re hella cute. You’re ears are where a human’s ears are, but they’re a bit bigger and a little more pink and flimsy than normal human ears. You also have a thin tail that pokes out behind you. You use it to swat things, mostly Tommy, away from you. When someone gets hit by your tail, it stings quite a bit. Your skin is rather tough, not like super tough, but like it has a rather leathery feel. So not only does it hurt when you hit people, but it can also be a bit harder for you to get hurt/cut and stuff. Which is rather nice. 

Something just random but hella cute that I like to think happens is that if you’re out walking, with or without your family, baby cows will begin to follow you. If they get far enough away from their parents and you happen to be nearby, they 100% will begin to follow you. It warms your heart a little bit, but it also worries you because you don’t want to upset their parents, but the adult cows just think it’s really funny. Like, it is so obvious that you’re not a full cow and that you’re barely an adult yourself, but the baby cows will still follow you and it is just so funny. 

I feel like when you get very frustrated, you begin to moo or let out huffs and puffs. The boys find it very funny, but also not to bring it up to you. One time Wilbur made the mistake of laughing out loud when you mooed…. You charged him and tackled him and broke the table. So now the boys have just learned to try and comfort you and then laugh in private. 

Listen I have seen many photos and videos of cows being petted and owners sitting in fields and the cow comes over and just lays on them and cuddles them and so like I feel that a lot of the times when you would find someone sitting on the couch or something, just chilling, you would try and cuddle up to them. Tommy and Techno wouldn’t like it as much, they would give you like a pat on the back before shoving you off. Philza would chuckle but allow you to rest there. Wilbur would absolutely let you cuddle up to him and oftentimes would wrap his arms around you and hold you to him. I also feel like he would be the only one to do it back to you. If you were just seated somewhere lounging around, Wilbur would absolutely flop down on top of you, crushing you a little bit, yes, but it is still nice… not having to be the one to initiate the contact. So you would just giggle and wrap your arms around him and nuzzle your face either in his curly hair or in his chest, it depends on how he flops down on top of you. Wilbur would also absolutely pet and stroke your horns and would just let you relax completely against him. 

A lot of the time you can be found with a piece of hay hanging out of your mouth. I feel like you would just enjoy the taste but also just the feel of the plant on your tongue as you chew would be so comforting. Philza at first would try to take the thin straw out of your mouth but after you almost cried about it, he decided to just left it alone and let you do whatever you want. Tommy still tries to steal it from your mouth, but you’ve gotten good at chomping down on it and not letting it go. Techno gives you a little bit of a weird look but goes on about it. (It’s because he absolutely has tried it without you knowing and he hated it so much and he has no idea how the hell you keep doing it.) Wilbur I feel would be the one to help you keep your supply of it and would always get you a new one if you needed it. I feel like you would offer him one and he will sometimes accept it, but he doesn’t like it but he doesn’t want you to feel that your habits are weird so he partakes to make you feel better. Also for eating, you would love everything wheat based and would have a field day with things like that. You absolutely cannot and will not eat beef and you will not be around if anyone around you is eating it. It makes you sick to your stomach. So you don’t eat a lot of meat and you’re mostly vegetarian. Philza is more than willing to adjust his recipes to accommodate you and make sure that you’re okay at meal times. 

Minecraft cows avoid going into water at about all costs, so I feel like you would do the same. You would avoid everything from stepping in puddles to swimming across the river to even having a beach day at the ocean. I think you would be fine, it’s just the floating in water and having your feet not be completely on solid ground that you hate. Your family sometimes makes fun of you for it because they have to build a bridge of some kind or craft a boat for the smallest thing of water, but in reality they want you to be comfortable and so they do everything to make it so you could have your way when it comes to the water like that. When Wilbur becomes Ghostbur, Ghostbur likes to hang out with you a lot because you’re good company but also because he knows you don’t go anywhere near water, and he’s allergic to water so it works out very well for you. 

Cat hybrid w Creeper hybrid Sam

So 🌻 had this fucking amazing idea okay. Like all credit for this idea goes to her, I am but a simple writer that wrote it out a little bit more, but this was completely her idea and she has my whole heart because she has a big brain. It is praise 🌻 hours friends!

So you are the newest addition to the SMP, a cute little cat hybrid. You have cute, fluffy ears that sit on the top of your head and you have a matching fluffy tail that pokes out behind you. Everyone that has met you agrees that you’re very cute and very sweet to everyone. Everyone loves to be around you and loves to spend time with you….. Well almost everyone. 

As we have learned in previous hybrid headcanons, Sam is terrified of cats. It’s the creeper in him and he feels so bad that he avoids you so admently, but he cannot help the trepidation that swells in his veins when he’s near you. He has tried to approach you several times, tried to properly introduce himself, but he just couldn’t get close enough to you to do it. Sam had definitely asked others about you though and had fallen in love with you through the other’s descriptions and through watching you from afar, trying his best not to be seen. You weren’t dumb though, you knew he was there watching you. And when he took his eyes off of you, you let your stare turn to him as well. You let yourself stare at the man that refused to approach you. You, like him, asked around about him and you learned about him through others. You learned about how passionate he was about his work, how kind he was, how he had practically adopted a few of the minors on the server, how he was such a nice guy. It made your heart ache. If he was such a nice guy, why would he only watch you from a far then? Why wouldn’t he approach you? He must hate you… Yeah that had to be it, he heard about you, watched you for a bit, and decided that he didn’t like you… It made you hella sad, but it’s just something you would have to deal with and live with…. Oh well…. Better get building your house. 

Sam decided that he would try to make a move on you. He wanted to get to know you better through your own words and stuff, not just what others had to think about you. So he decided he would try to approach you while you were working on your house. Sam didn’t want to come empty handed, he figured he had already made a bad enough impression on you by not approaching you sooner, so he picks some flowers, roses and sunflowers because I’m a self indulgent bitch, and he took a few deep breaths before making his way to the plot of land that you have claimed as your own. He finds you working on the front wall of your house and he finds it very easy to approach you when you’re not paying attention to him. He is getting rather close to you, the closest he’s ever been to you and he’s really proud of himself. You must have sensed him, or heard his footsteps or something though, because your head snaps to look over your shoulder and your gaze locks with his and every single bit of confidence that Sam had worked up leaves his body. The fear of being around a cat fills him and he can’t help but let the flowers fall from his fingers and he sprints away. “Hey! Wait!” You call after him, rushing forward a bit, trying to stop him. But he’s gone so fast that you can only get to where he dropped the flowers before he’s out of sight. You can’t help but let out a sigh as you turn around. He must really hate you huh? Your eyes catch the flowers on the ground and you bend down to pick them up. Are these for you? They must be if he brought them here… Even if he did drop them on the ground to run away from you. Either way, you brought the pretty flowers to your nose and took a deep breath through your nose, inhaling the sweet scent. You can’t help the smile that curls on your face as you make your way “inside” of you under construction. You very quickly find a vase and get some water and set the flowers on a makeshift table in your house before going back to building the walls, every time your gaze catching the flowers, a grin growing on your face. 

Sam berates himself when he gets back home for how stupid it was for him to just leave like that. So he tells himself he is going to go back tomorrow and at least introduce himself to you. He will speak at least three words to you. The next day comes and he does as he’s promised. He gathers all of his confidence again before making his way back to your land. He freezes just outside the property line and sees that you have constructed your walls and you are now working on your roof. Your back is to him once again and so he lets out a deep breath before deciding to make the first move. “Hi there!” He shouts from his spot, about 25 blocks away from you. Your attention moves from what you were doing to the man that called out to you. You were very surprised to find Sam standing there. “Hi! Can I help you with something?” You call back. Sam takes a deep breath, happiness filling him at the fact you were actually having a conversation and he wasn’t running. “I uh, I just wanted to introduce myself to you. I’m Sam, it’s very nice to meet you.” You give the man a warm smile, “I’m Y/N. It’s very nice to finally meet you Sam… I must admit, I thought that maybe you hated me because you seemed to avoid me like the plague,” you tease, moving a few materials around before sitting down to face him. A blush that you can’t see spreads across his face as he scratches the back of his neck as he subconsciously takes a few steps forward. “Yeah, sorry about that. I don’t hate you… It’s just that you’re a cat hybrid and my creeper side doesn’t like that very much. I’m sorry I made it seem like I hated you.” It all made so much sense to you now and you couldn’t help but feel bad for feeling that he hated you. “Oh!” You let out, laughing at yourself causing Sam to smile, he liked your laugh. “That’s right… I forgot that. Well, I’m sorry I scare you” you claim with a giggle. Sam gives you a slight smile as he takes another few steps forward, “It’s alright, not your fault. Just both of our natures,” Sam claims eliciting a hum out of you as you nod your head. 

The two of you take the next few minutes to get to know each other just a bit better. Even though you scare him still a little bit, Sam can’t help but inch his way toward you. You notice this but don’t say anything about it, you only smile. 

Sam is telling you about his latest redstone project when it happens. You momentarily forget your on your roof and so you move to lean in closer to hear him better and it happens. You slip. You feel yourself falling from your roof. It’s pretty high up, easily at least 15 blocks high. You’re pretty relaxed about it, but Sam is panicking. He makes the split decision and he rushes forward and catches you in his arms. Half of his mind is screaming for him to run away from you by the other half is screaming for him to stay and make sure you're okay. You are very surprised to land in his arms but it is a very welcome surprise. You two lock eyes and you give him a big smile. “Hey” you greet casually. Sam gives a big gulp before giving you a nervous smile back, “Hey.” You have a very quick mental debate with yourself before saying screw it to yourself, “Guess you could say I fell for you huh?” The joke causes a bit of tension to leave Sam and he lets out a little giggle and shakes his head. “Guess you could say I caught feelings then huh?” he retorts with a cheesy grin. You blush a little bit before leaning up and kissing his cheek making him blush too. “Do you want to go on a date with me?” Sam blurts out. You’re a bit surprised at the question but you very quickly nod, “I would love to Sam. Are you sure you’ll be okay though?” You ask him. He gives you a reassuring smile and nod. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Now that I know what it’s like to hold you I’m not sure I ever want to let you go.” The heat returns to your cheeks, but like a million times hotter now. You left speechless for a few moments causing Sam to chuckle and set you down, but his hands don’t leave your waist and yours don’t leave his shoulders. You two simply beam at each other for a while before Sam looks over to your house, “Do you want some help?” he offers. You give a series of quick nods, “Yeah that would be wonderful… Thank you.”

(So I was going to make it a little funny because cats don’t take fall damage and so like hybrid cat reader wouldn’t either but then I began writing the little scene at the end and I liked that a lot and I couldn’t find anywhere to squeeze it in without ruining the mood. So just please think about how Sam got over his fear of cats because he thought you were in danger of getting hurt, but you weren’t because fall damage doesn’t affect you, and so he caught you even though it terrified him… That’s all. Hope you enjoyed)

[harpywritesfic]

Two unfinished fics I have lying around... lmk if you like one, and I’ll try to get around to it! I’ve got about 30k of ironstrange in my main fic doc, and I’ve only posted 3k ;-;

1. Stephen twists his ankle. Badly. He is, of course, walking on it. Tony harasses him until he admits he shouldn’t be putting weight on it. 

“Sit still!” Tony pinned Stephen down on the couch.

“I’m fine!” 

“Oh really? What if I were to call your doctor friend right now?” Tony threatened. 

Stephen froze. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

Stephen paused for half a second before he stole Tony’s phone from his pocket and dropped it through a portal. Tony put on his glasses. 

“Fri, call Christine.”

“No!” Stephen grabbed at Tony’s face, but he ducked out of the way and danced a few steps back. Stephen tried to follow, but fell back the second he stood. “Tony no-“

“Tony yes. Hey, are you busy? Your favorite patient is dying to see you. Not literally, don’t worry.”

“Christine I’m fine, he’s lying!” Stephen shouted. 

“For the love of god- do I need to bring blood?” Her exasperated voice replied. 

“No, as far as I can tell he’s not bleeding.”

“Because I’m not injured!” 

“Can you get him to make a portal for me? I’m at home.”

“Stephen, will you make a portal for Christine?”

“To the Yrfelln dimension? Sure.” His sarcasm was sharp enough it would’ve physically pained a lesser man. “No, I’m not helping you two gang up on me. I’d rather die.”

“He says no. He’s trying to convince me that being unable to walk two steps is normal.”

“Tony if you don’t stop right now-“

“Can you just come over? 177A Bleecker street.”

“Of course. Who knows what he’s done this time.”

2. You guys have no idea how much I’ve written about magic-exhausted Stephen.

Stephen wanted nothing more than to sleep. For at least a week. Preferably in his own bed at the sanctum, but the ground right here was quite appealing. More appealing than making a portal. 

His cloak stubbornly held him upright where he kneeled in the dirt. The last traces of his spell faded away, leaving only the lingering stench of the beast and the dimension he’d trapped it in. 

Stephen knew he’d pushed himself into dangerous territory, knew but couldn’t summon the energy to care. Beyond the exhaustion, he was terribly cold, no longer able to maintain his own body temperature. His stomach cramped as if he hadn’t eaten in days. This was why the spell was meant to be performed by several sorcerers in a group effort. 

Nearly every task Stephen took on was completed alone. Most other sorcerers were deadweight, less competent and less efficient. Stephen found he could get more done on his own and regularly paid the price. 

The cloak smacked him when his shallow breaths paused. It wound itself around his arm and guided his shaking fingers into the sling ring attached to one of his belts. 

What did it want from him? He just wanted to sleep. It insisted he make a portal, even supporting his hand in the air. Apparently it was smarter than him, as he’d forgotten that he would need help to recover from magical exhaustion this severe. 

He should go to Wong. He knew spells to help, and had used them for Stephen many times. But Stephen realized he didn’t want to ask Wong. He could hardly even picture the library where his friend would be. His mind was occupied with the image of Tony’s bedroom at the compound. 

So be it. Anywhere would satisfy the cloak. 

He opened an unstable portal from where he sat, but made no move to get up. Exasperated, the cloak scooped him up, carried him through the portal, and deposited him on the floor. Rude. It opened the door on its own, thanks to Tony switching many of the door handles from knobs to levers.

Before he knew it, Tony was shaking him. “Stephen! Stephen!”

“What…” he groaned. 

“Oh thank god. Are you hurt, or is this just exhaustion?”

“Tired.”

“Then let’s get you into bed.” Tony lifted him easily, and had Stephen been more aware, he would have recognized the sadness at his lack of weight. As it was, he was blissfully ignorant as his lover climbed under the covers to hold him.

[jaskiersvalley]

Witchers didn't have daemons, that was a known fact. They were terrifying in their solitude, unfeeling and unaffected. Monsters made to fight monsters, they didn't need part of their soul for that. What the general public didn't know though was that the daemons weren't imprisoned somewhere, nor were they dead. The mages had figured out a way to separate daemon from child and force it into the most unnatural of shapes, another human. It meant two Witchers from a single child and the best part was, neither child nor daemon felt any connection to their counterpart once the process of the trials was complete.

In an effort to make sure full separation was certain and not even a sentimental link remained, daemons and children were separated and trained in different schools. Lambert had arrived at Kaer Morhen, still tripping over unfamiliar human feet and seething at being separated from his human. Over the years he tried to remember his human but, like all Witchers, they were given new names when they got their medallions and Lambert didn't think Luca still went by that name, nor would he be the scrawny kid Lambert remembered him as.

Whenever Lambert met another Witcher, he couldn't help but wonder whether it was his Luca that he was meeting. Though he wanted to believe that there would be a spark some kind of recognition there. He had been a little relieved when he met Letho and there was nothing there between them.

Of course Geralt had to be the first one to find his daemon. The smug bastard had found a bard who told people his daemon was a flea which was just like him; unnoticeable until he causes a nuisance. Most pitied him but Geralt had seen through the charade. He watched the bard without a daemon, curiosity and caution allowed him to permit Jaskier to tag along. The story tumbled out eventually.

"My great grandparents bought me. I was some kind of freak novelty some merchants were selling."

That was all Geralt had needed to hear and he was all but dragging Jaskier back to Kaer Morhen in the winter. Nobody had expected Vesemir's face to close off completely.

"I remember you!" Jaskier said in way of greeting. "You were a dick."

"Julian." The reply was terse and tight.

Lambert got a front view seat to seeing Geralt's face flit through more emotions in one second than he usually did in a whole year. The embrace was tight, Geralt's nose buried in Jaskier's hair.

Jealousy trickled through Lambert's veins. For all he knew, his human was already a dead Witcher. There was no link between Witcher and daemon, the trials severed it all completely so when one died, the other didn't even notice, let alone die from it.

"Why isn't he a Witcher?" Eskel asked, eyes glued to the happy reunion.

"Kaer Morhen needed money. Your cohort, the daemons didn't become Witchers. We sold them to the highest bigger."

Lambert didn't expect Eskel to punch Vesemir across the jaw but he was sure as shit glad he saw it. It meant he didn't need to do it on behalf of Geralt and Eskel. For the first time though, Lambert had an optimistic thought.

"It might mean he's living a happy life somewhere. I mean, look at Jaskier. He's had it better than us."

That was a topic that came up repeatedly over the next few weeks. They dreamed up all sorts of fancy lives Eskel's daemon could have lived, the wonders he would have seen. Through it all, Lambert bitterly wished his daemon could have been anything but a Witcher. Alas, Vesemir rapidly disillusioned him from that idea.

"He's become a Witcher, probably dead by now. And if you met him, you'd probably wish he was."

"Is that so?" Lambert drawled, emptying his tankard with a disappointed sigh. He couldn't believe it was empty again.

"You suffered the same shit fate I did. Your human was trained by Cats. Guxart turned into an utter dick."

The words were muttered darkly and Lambert tried not to take it to heart how much hatred Vesemir oozed. It made him all that much more determined to not go the same way as the bitter old man. Instead, he turned to Geralt with a leer. "So, is it gay or is it masturbation to want to get off with your own daemon?"

To say the table erupted in uproar was an understatement. Geralt was scowling somewhat fierce, arms crossed over his chest in protest. It only egged Lambert on further.

"I think it's incest," he declared with a shit eating grin. "Technically it's part of your family because you have the same parents."

"It's masturbation at most." Geralt was growling and glowering. "Because the daemon was still part of you."

Through it all, Eskel stayed rather quiet. It was only when the other two looked to him for opinion that he leaned forward, propping himself up on the table with a serious crease to his brows.

"I think-" the words were low and measured, "-that as long as everyone involved consents, it's fucking hot is what it is."

"The only thing it is," Vesemir finally butted in, "is a disaster waiting to happen. You don't want to meet your counterparts. Trust me."

Except that only made Lambert all the more keen. He wanted to both prove Vesemir wrong and also have what Geralt and Jaskier seemed to be hurtling towards. So, come spring, he set out with the intent of fulfilling one contract only. It was one that he would pay himself for in emotional fulfilment. He was going to find every Cat he could until he found Luca.

He met Gaetan along his travels who laughed in his face and said he was much more into snakes than wolves. That was an encounter Lambert was more than eager to cut short because he did not want to think about how Letho and Gaetan were oddly complementary. It was also another jolt of bitter jealousy, another Witcher and daemon had been reunited while he was still out there looking for his own. Assuming Luca had survived.

Meeting Guxart was a bit of an accident and Lambert wished he'd not encountered the old Cat. He growled and hissed about his stupid daemon who would probably have turned into a useless pigeon if left alone. There was obviously no love lost between them and Lambert desperately hoped he wasn't going to have the same fate.

Third time lucky, as the saying went. Lambert had trailed the new Cat for a few days, learning his habits and watching him work. There was no ounce of recognition or familiarity. But then again, the last time Lambert saw Luca, they were being dragged away from each other, foreign hands on his rapidly shifting body so his eyes could barely adjust enough to see the screaming, tear filled face of his human. It was quite possibly the worst last image he could have had of Luca.

Satisfied that the Cat wasn't someone Lambert wouldn't want to associate with, he approached in the evening when the campfire was still bright but slowly settling.

"I was wondering when my shadow would make himself known," the Cat said easily enough, barely glancing up from where he was whittling something.

The last two times Lambert had tried to be careful with exploring the idea of the Cat Witcher being his human. He was tired and cut straight to the point.

"Luca?"

By the fire the man froze. It was only luck that meant Lambert could hear the shuddering exhales of someone trying to keep up the façade of calm and collected. Finally, the man set his carving aside and stood with an easy smile that felt like a thousand lies.

"I go by Aiden." It wasn't a reply and Lambert knew it.

"I don't remember my name," he admitted softly, desperately hoping he wasn't about to make an utter tit of himself. "People call me Lambert. But I'm looking for my Luca."

He didn't expect to suddenly have an armful of Witcher clinging to him like their very lives depended on it.

"It's really you!" Aiden sounded close to tears. "You never did have a single name, usually going by Idiot, Pain In The Butt, Menace and so many other equally flattering names."

"Guess that never changed," Lambert laughed wetly. He held Aiden close, wishing he could feel as he used to when they were connected. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

It was just that start of something Lambert never thought he'd have. Easy companionship, shared disdain for the whole Witcher thing, stories upon stories of contracts gone well, gone wrong, or just plain gone. By the time winter rolled round, Lambert was firmly of the opinion that he and Aiden would travel together, fuck the Path and all the teachings about it being lonely. If Geralt could have his bard then they sure as hell could have each other.

Getting to Kaer Morhen, Lambert gleefully had an arm slung around Aiden's shoulder, introducing him to the rest of his family. He especially delighted in the flaring of Vesemir's nostrils as he took in the situation.

"Cats and Wolves don't mix. You of all people should know that."

"And you should know it's my life's mission to prove you wrong, old man," Lambert shot back.

Perhaps the most curious part of the whole winter was that Geralt was already back with not one, but two guests. Jaskier was a known quantity and Lambert greeted him warmly. The other though was a near silent man who watched them through eyes that looked way too old for his body.

"This is Cahir," Geralt said when the man didn't even introduce himself. "We'd heard rumours of a Nilfgaardian without a daemon and went to investigate."

"Not a Nilfgaardian," Cahir grumbled with a half-hearted glare.

It took Lambert a moment to figure out just why Geralt would bring such a man back before his eyes widened in delighted realisation.

"You think that-"

"Mhm."

That was the extent of their conversation because Lambert was cackling in delight. He looked Cahir over with a newfound interest. Young, like Jaskier but so very different in behaviour. As much as they'd wondered about Eskel's daemon's fate, this wasn't one they'd predicted.

Three days later Eskel was leading Scorpion into Kaer Morhen's courtyard. Lambert and Aiden were all but bouncing with excitement, not wanting to miss the moment Eskel met his daemon. In their opinion Geralt was drawing things out and making it less fun by not having them all meet in the stables. Instead, Eskel was allowed to venture into the kitchen in the company of Lambert and Aiden who were vibrating in anticipation.

"Eskel," Geralt greeted him with a warm hug. Jaskier and Cahir were behind him, even Vesemir had ventured out to see what the outcome would be. "It's good to have you home. Allow me to introduce you to Cahir."

The two looked at each other with guarded gazes and Eskel gave a terse nod. It was as anticlimactic as fuck. No recognition, not interest, nothing. Just a slow once over which, if Lambert had thought about it, was pretty much a mirror image of each other, equally considering and closed off.

Despondent, he dragged Aiden off, helping lay the table for a shared meal. Vesemir was quick to follow, there was no way to tell whether he was disappointed or relieved by the lack of drama. Geralt and Jaskier wandered out, oddly deflated. Not two seconds later there was an almighty crash from the kitchen and they were all racing back. Only to turn right around and flee after a glimpse of Cahir pinning Eskel to a wall and kissing him like Eskel was the last gasp of air for a drowning man.

"So, are they?" Jaskier asked, glancing towards the kitchen. Something else crashed and thumped but it was best not to investigate.

After a moment it was Vesemir who tiredly said, "Does it matter? It doesn't seem like they much care."

All in all, Lambert didn't think he cared either. Cahir and Eskel seemed happy enough in their new acquaintanceship, trying to figure out their past could wait, if they even wanted to explore it. Though Lambert had a hard time imagining Cahir as a goat. Over the years he'd heard Eskel lament enough about how his daemon preferred to take the form of a goat.

Regret came the next morning at breakfast when Eskel and Cahir appeared at the table, seemingly indifferent. If the rest of them hadn't see the two almost violently making out in the kitchen before disappearing to a bedroom, they wouldn't have guessed anything had gone on between them.

"Hey Geralt," Eskel called, face passive. "You know the difference between a goldfish and a mountain goat?"

"A mountain goat could live in Kaer Morhen but a goldfish couldn't?"

Eskel rolled his eyes. "No, a goldfish mucks around a fountain."

"And a mountain goat fucks around a mountain," Cahir finished the joke. He and Eskel high fived without looking at each other. Lambert only smacked his head on the table when Cahir continued, "And I am no goldfish."

[byorder-fanfic]

How They Look After You When it Gets Bad: John

Requested by @apollonshootafar

Preference Masterlist

Warnings: Reader going through a hard time, touch aversion, sexual remarks and suggestions, swearing and mentions of injury

Word count: 1608

Author's Note: I'm nearly done with these, just had a bit of a block trying to get this one done. Hopefully you like it and if you do, I absolutely love to hear your comments and I appreciate your reblogs. I think John might be a little OOC here, but I tried. I'm always here to talk if you need it.

(Gif by @peakascum) (and....)

(Gif by @talicat713) (cause that face holding thing john does is the premise of this fic)

John always loved to have his hands on you, his cheeky grin pressed into the side of your neck as he whispered jokes and suggestions to get you giggle. And it wasn't just when the two of you were alone. No, he seemed to become all that more handsy (if it were possible) whenever his family was near. You often said it was as if he were claiming you, showing his possession with each imprint made on the softest parts of your body. Like a bloody dog pissing on his property. He just gave you a shit-eating grin and called you kinky. You rather liked the attention, to be honest. It wasn't as if it were violating or unwanted, even if you've rolled your eyes at his touch more times than you could count. Truth was, he made you feel attractive. Desirable. Good. There never was a time when his hand on your hip made you feel anything but loved or safe. Your big bad Blinder boyfriend who pouted like a wounded pup when you were too busy washing up to hold his hand. John may have made his constant touching seem like a thing of bravado- a masculine need to claim and possess. However, the both of you knew the real reason why the two of you were attached at the hip: John was clingy as hell. When you'd confronted him on that hypothesis, his whole face turned red, right to the tips of his ears. He was stuttering out excuses (it was a damned strange thing to see you smooth-talking lover start choking out sentences) and you swore he was making his voice go lower, trying to gain some fragile sense of masculinity. In the end, you just grabbed his belt loop and pulled him to against the front of your body. You felt all of him relax as soon as he felt the warmth of your skin seep through both of your clothes, the feel of your hand at the bottom of his abdomen and your lips barely an inch from his. His hands immediately wrapped around you, all embarrassment cooling off him in a sigh of relief. "Don't worry, love, it'll be our little secret, ey?" You whispered as you stroked through his hair. After that, John had continued being just as bold as the day you met him when you were in sight of others. As soon as you stepped into the threshold of home, though, he was nigh-on begging for your touch at every available moment. You were used to him teasing you, trying to excite you and get into bed whenever the house was empty. But when you were dishing up dinner, with the grumbling of four hungry kids, the last thing you wanted was John pawing at your busy hands for a touch. His touch had always been a wonderful thing- then it wasn't. You didn't know when the change began, only that your tired muscles didn't ease when his strong arms were wrapped around you, your heart didn't flutter like it used to when he kissed the back of your hand, and you didn't feel so warm when he grabbed your waist at the pub. All you could feel was the uncomfortable imprint of skin, and you didn't know why. You still loved John. God, did you love him. You loved when he smiled at you from across the room, eyes ignoring every other person that as vying for his attention, and landing entirely on you and only you. Maybe you were a bit possessive too. You loved him when he came home from long nights, weary and barely mumbling a good night as he jumped into bed next to you. He snored like a lion and fell asleep quicker than the four kids in the room next door. You loved him when he cam home bloody and beaten. He always at down in a chair whilst you tended to his cuts and bruises, his hands between his knees and head bent like a prayer, and you always presses a kiss to his forehead before he even started to recoil from his position and hold you, his head pressed against your belly. You loved John. But his touch had lately been too much. Of course, you didn't tell him that. You were pretty sure John would die if he wasn't close to you for even ten minutes, he'd die, and you weren't willing to test out that theory. Instead, you gave a little smile when he came up behind you as you washed the dishes and wrapped his arms around your waist. You let him nuzzle his nose into your neck,

letting the discontent be seen only over his shoulder. It made you feel fragile, and stiff. John was asking you more and more, "Is this okay?" and "Can I touch you please?" and each time you perfected the art of saying yes convincingly. Sometimes though you watched him, snoring the house down at night, and whispered the words in the dead of night where not even the monster that lived in Katie's wardrobe could hear: "Help me, John." It was at the Garrison where you spilt over. After a long day, you were looking for a drink with your mates not another chance for John to grasp at you. You were just sat side by side in the snug, laughing at some stupid joke John had made (at the expense of their dear and absent cousin Michael) when you felt it. As soon as he had caught his breath after calling that certain 'big boss' a prick, his hand had landed on your knee. It shocked you at first, as John had been remarkably restrained all night. You thought it was cause of Tommy, who'd given both of you the side eye when you'd walked in, and said he didn't want any funny business. He hadn't touched you till that moment and it made you freeze. It took one flinch of your knee and his hand slipped away, but it didn't slip from sight. You could feel all the eyebrows in the room raising, even John's. "Hey, you and Y/N having a tiff ey, John boy?" Arthur chuckled to himself. You knew you must have made a face comparable to the horrible feeling inside, because as soon as he said it you saw his smile drop into regret. Arthur wasn't really a thinker, so you knew he never meant to say anything. Still, you didn't let him say his apology as you muttered something about being tired and jumped from your seat, walking out of the Garrison so quick you could've swore you were running. "Y/N! LOVE, HEY WAIT!" You heard John scream at you from down the street. Subtlety wasn't his specialty. You turned around, the tears stinging your eyes not quite clouding the clear worry on his face. "What's wrong, hey, love, please-" He stepped forward to hug you but you took a step back, head nodding wildly. The hurt in his face was as painful as if you had smacked him. And you hated yourself for it. "What did I do?" His voice trembled. His voice never fucking trembled. "I'm- I'm so fucking sorry, John, I love you, I swear." You felt every ounce of guilt in you swell up and pour itself into tears. "I don't know what's fucking wrong with me, why I can't just let you freaking touch me!" He moved forward again, arms out in a hug. Then he stopped, realising what he was doing and awkwardly settled his arms back down. "Shit, sorry love, it's just me, you know? I need to touch you." H scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "I don't know what it is, John." You said it again. "I love you, though. I love you." "I know," his cockiness had risen from its slumber. "And I love you too. If you don't want me to touch, then I won't." He held up his hands in surrender. "I can control myself." "No you can't," you quipped back, a smirk settling on your lips too. "No, but I will," he admitted. "If it's what you want." You nodded shyly, still feeling far too guilty and far too far away from him. "Here I was thinking I'd hurt you somehow, and all you needed was a bit of space," he sighed, the relief obvious in the little upturns of his mouth. "John, give me your hand," you said, an idea forming. He looked at you with furrowed brows but did so none the less. His hand still had faded bruises on the knuckles, covered up by an abundance of rings, a burn mark from his cigar hidden on the side of his middle finger, and you sought out for the crease on his palm which he swore on your first date meant that he was the best kisser you'd ever had. You didn't think it was palmistry that made that a fact. Gently, you pressed his hand on the side of your face over your hair. It was like a ghost of a touch, but you leaned into the curve of his palm lightly. "This is okay," you told him, John was perfectly still, looking at you with a cautious awe, his hand not daring to move from your assigned spot.

After a moment, he smirked again and got that cheeky look you adored: "So does this no touch thing mean no sex or-" He was cut off by you dropping his hand, rolling your eyes and walking away. "Wait no babe I was only joking!"

[sopxhiea]

Rules

Alfie Solomons X Friends with Benefits!Reader

Summary: The chase continues under the disguise of being friends who occasionally help each other out, but Alfie gets tired even though she doesn’t stop running.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Warnings: Blood

“You need help with that?”

“Is there some secret to winning you?”

The curtains are closed today.

The inside of the venue is booming with loud music, almost to a point of being obnoxious but it’s easy to tune it out at this point. The inside is crowded, there are more men in the club than there had been in a while. Mostly high end men, to note, since they all seem dapper and rich in their newly tailored suits.

The girls prance around in their new costumes, a dress but mostly in lace. The color matches the wooden interior, a hint that was done to draw in the rich more than anything. Some of the newer girls do the chatting, since that’s easier and the more experienced ones handle the dancing, touchier ways of dealing with rich lads.

And that includes you.

It’s been a while since you’ve worked this late. Not to mention you always work late, but late as in after the sunrise. The club opens later in the day to begin with but today’s busy to a point of keeping you later than usual, not that you complain with the hundredth tip of today in your hand as you walk towards the back part.

The room’s decorated with a bunch of mirrors and too much light compared to the where the men are being entertained. There are a couple girls sitting on their stools, touching up their make up or getting ready to leave as you’re about to do. After settling on the stool, you pack your bag and start taking your make up off but just as you’re about to do just that, the head of the club comes in with a scared look.

His name is Jack, a proper man with a talent in dabbling in bad side of entertainment. He hasn’t been unkind to you but not particularly kind either. You think he’s alright in general, but not when he looks like a ghost as he does now. You know men like him and they aren’t easily scared of anything, so when he comes in with a broken voice and pale lips, it makes you stop your movements and wait for him to speak.

“There’s someone here to see you, Y/N.” he says and you know better than to ask who it is. You already have a pretty good idea anyway so you put on a robe and seal it tightly around your body before shaking your head.

“Out on the back.” Jack speaks and you nod, you know he’s not coming with you from the way his eyes roam around the room.

The back exit is through a dingy corridor, with not so bad lighting and a couple other girls smoking in the hall. You murmur small greetings with a faint smile as you pass by and open the door to the exit. The weather is colder than you thought, also due to the early hour of the morning.

And there he stands, covered in an ungodly amount of blood.

His breathing is uneven, there is a cut on his upper lip and left eyebrow but his stance is not tilted, just slightly lower than usual. He waits as you take it all in, with the blood covering his once crispy white button up but the blood is vicious. You can see the lines of his black coat soaked in it as some of it drip down his left hand to the pavement.

Nothing about it surprises you.

You know what kind of a person he is, the work that he does is anything but safe so you don’t expect him to show up with flowers every time he drops by. Your eyes meet his once more after you’ve scanned his entire figure and there’s the ghost of a smile on your lips when you speak which comes as a surprise to him, but a pleasant one regardless.

“You need help with that?” you ask and he can hear the amusement in your voice.

Because there he is, knocking on your door again and rather than turning him down, you can’t help but try and stitch him back together.

You know he’s not about to faint on you or die, you can make out from the way his breathing evens out. Sure, he’s probably been shot or stabbed but he’s a tough brute, you know not to doubt his capacity to handle pain. It’s clear that the blood that is currently soaking his coat isn’t his but someone else’s. 

But all is fair in love and war, so you decide his wars have been picked.

Although it is not love, and you’ll make sure of that.

He scoffs at first, the first rays of sun finding their way through the street into the back exit as you stand. You don’t wait for him to answer before you motion him to sit in front of the exit where there are a couple benches and pull him by the coat when he doesn’t move. For all his might and power, he is spent as he moves towards you as you pull him.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Alfie.” you whisper as he sits down and you ask one of the girls to bring you alcohol and the first aid kit.

And much to your surprise, he doesn’t.

He’s a stubborn lad, someone who will do what they think is right even though they know they’re wrong but Alfie doesn’t even make a noise as you crouch in front of him. He sees the glint of tiredness, mixed in with a thin layer of sweat and make up as your skin under the streetlight glistens. His eye twitches every now and then due to the pain he’s experiencing but that is about it as you clean him up.

He needs three stitches, one on his left bicep, one on his left side and one more on his cheek. You figure they’ll heal up well, even though he’s told you that he doesn’t heal as fast while he talked about his younger days. 

He’s still at times like this.

But it’s like how a stallion would be still. He’s never calm, you know this from the way his anger latches on to anything in close proximity. He might get offensive at any given moment as he’s a beast among men, knows it too and that’s the most dangerous part but it doesn’t scare you. He’s just a man after all.

His breathing evens out as you work through the last stich. His eyes are glued to yours as you clean the cut on his eyebrow. The blue orbs don’t leave yours as you make sure your eyes don’t meet his, you don’t need this today. Not at this hour and especially not during work. He watches as you lick your lips and dab the last bit of alcohol on the cut before putting everything away and getting up.

The robe you had on is slightly covered in blood now, not his but someone else’s. He sees no bother on your face, no remorse as you stand up in front of him and get ready to walk back inside. He knows he broke the rules, your rules, and sees the slight annoyance on your face but it’s mixed with something else. Almost overcome by it.

Dare he say, you look worried.

He knows you’ll be the last to admit to it, since you’re even more stubborn than he is, but he likes seeing your delicate features a bit etched than usual. And all because of him. 

He’s a right bastard.

“Thank ya’, lass.” he says as you stand in front of his seated form. He’s not as pale as he was when he first arrived and it makes you sigh inside.

You nod and speak, voice stale.

“No problem. Just don’t bleed out somewhere in an alley.” you say and his eyebrows raise.

You’re being considerate and it makes him feel like he’s been punched.

He then pulls you closer by the sleeve of your robe so your knees are touching his seated ones. He’s almost as tall as your standing form, that’s how big the size difference is but it doesn’t faze you. You feel his breath tickling your face as you look down on his seated form. His hand is on your wrist while the other remains on his thigh and he speaks, almost in a hush.

“Ya’ worried about old me?” he asks, a glint of amusement mixed with affection is thrown your way and it makes you smile. Almost.

“Well, I’d like my landlord to be alive.” you say, reminding him about how he had gotten you the place.

He hums then, nodding as he looks up at your standing form as small strands of hair frame your face. It’s almost sunrise and he feels fucking hopeless underneath your gaze, like he’s a teenager again. “That right?”

“Hm.” you nod and speak once more, hand now resting on his thigh and the other on his shoulder as you talk with a softer tone than usual. “He’s a grumpy old man but he’s alright.” you say and it earns a laugh from him.

And it’s not the usual laugh either.

When Alfie laughs, it’s usually at some stupid joke the blokes working with or for him have made a dumb fucking mistake. It’s mocking, degrading in some occasions to make sure the other person knows who’s in charge. It’s rarely because he’s found something funny, seeing as there’s very little humor in his life.

But this time, he really laughs.

You smile at the sound and the vibrations almost make you want to pull him in an embrace but you know where you stand. You hear the commotion from the inside as the girls get ready to leave, as you were about to do before he showed up and realize that it’s much later than usual. You sigh and pull away from him while speaking slowly, tiredness getting the best of you.

It catches him off guard, makes him feel much younger than he is.

“Take me home, Alfie.” you speak and hear an answer right away.

“As you wish, ma’am.”

He is a right bastard.

---

His breathing gets faster by the passing second.

It’s been a while since you’ve been like this with him but it seems as though he’s missed you more than you’ve missed him. The bed creaks each time he moves, sharp groans spill from his mouth and you revel at the sight. His hair is messy in a way that you don’t associate with him, bruises from the fight earlier still on his skin as he moves on top of you.

He’s less aggressive, though. You make a note of it.

A curt thrust brings your attention to the present moment as he moves, at a slower pace now. Like he’s trying to thoroughly enjoy the split moment of you almost adoring him. You smile at him then, it’s a faint one but he catches it as it turns into a small moan at the end. His hips rock at the same, slow pace as he watches the sunrays illuminate your face and hair.

Your eyes close, slowly and your small mewls fill the room along with his grunts here and there. He wants to bask in the glory of the woman laying in front of him. He hears your moans become louder as he moves slightly faster. He takes a moment before fully speeding up, hand gripping the headboard as the mattress moves slightly with each stroke.

Your voice comes out low, like a plea you’re afraid to put out but he hears it. “Slower.”

His eyebrows furrow at that, knowing your climax was near. But he listens, unlike most men, he takes his pace down and kisses you feverishly this time and speaks against your lips. It’s a low murmur when he does, goes back to kissing you once he’s spoken between all teeth and tongue.

“What’s wrong?” he says before kissing you again and you just groan at first, pleased with the pace he’s set even though you know both of you are close.

Your words are muffled against his lips but you speak regardless.

“Just go slow, please.” you speak and it makes him halt for a second.

Because it’s far too gentle.

For a man who works exclusively with dangerous people, the existence of the word ‘please’ sometimes escapes him so acts if kindness makes him slow down on its own. It makes him feel hopeless inside, to know you have graced him with some kindness despite the cruel acts you know he is capable of.

“Alright, lass.” he speaks against your collarbone and kisses his way down until you feel him reach over to connect your lips with his in a kiss.

And you’re right. He reaches his climax right after you do with a low moan, filled with curses you’re sure would make anyone red-faced but you lie still under him, panting with a smile on at the words. He stays like that for a while, kissing your neck and cheeks before he lies down next to you and his eyes are on you again.

Like damn clock-work.

It’s like a ritual of sorts for him. After you’re both done panting and moaning and he’s laying down next to you on the bed, he watches you. You don’t do anything spectacular, just try to catch your breath and sometimes even fall asleep but his gaze doesn’t leave you, not that it bothers you.

Just makes you curious.

You see the glimpses of the man he used to be: young, naughty for sure and maybe a little shy. His beard covers up the blush that rarely graces his cheeks but you see it in his eyes, the giddy man he becomes every now and then. He’s gentle with you, you’re not complaining but merely curious of how he used to be before the cruel ways of world got to him.

“You’re staring again.” you state and he chuckles lowly at that. He’s aware of the fact that it doesn’t bother you.

“Any complaints?” he asks and you can hear the sarcasm dripping from his words.

It makes you wanna punch him.

Because he knows that very little of what he does actually annoys you, yet you act like everything he does is a menace. You won’t admit to it, but you’re fond of him in certain ways that keep you up at night.

“It’s not smart to ask questions when you already know the answer.” you speak and he laughs this time, which makes you look at him with a smile.

He looks happy. Unbothered, like this.

“Smart lass.” he says under his breath as he faces the ceiling and then his eyes are on you again.

He realizes this is where you two always end up.

Doesn’t matter of he’s coming your way with bloody fists or if he’s in your house alone, waiting for you at sunrise and you arrive with bags under your eyes. Your bed seems to be the place where things stand still and it’s only you and him. Not when you’re fucking either, although he’s very much a fan of that part as well. It’s when you lie down next to him that he feels the weight of the world lift from his shoulders and he’s a simple man again.

Not Mr. Solomons but Alfie.

And he knows this is doomed from the start. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. You won’t quit, he certainly can’t and it makes the entire ordeal confusing. He reckons he’ll never have you, you’ll never be his but he can settle on being around you. Or so he thinks.

“Is there some secret to winning you?” he whispers at a low tone.

You stare at the ceiling for a minute and make sure you heard him correctly. It wouldn’t matter if there was a secret, you think to yourself before smiling and turning to face him on the bed. There is no smile on his face, just serious questioning.

“Probably not.” you say, unaware of just why he’s asking but you don’t dare question him further when he’s looking at you the way he is.

“Fuckin’ probably eh?” he says once more and it makes your eyebrows furrow.

“Well, I’m not exactly sure.” you say and hold yourself up on the bed by your elbows. Hair messy and eyes wide, you face him and speak once more. “You’ll have to figure that out for yourself.”

He chuckles and then watches you roll out of bed. Your hair is messy from earlier, no matter how many times you try to straighten it down with your hairs. You pick up the robe from the nightstand and shoot him a smile before disappearing into the kitchen to make coffee.

He shakes his head when you ask if he’d like some, hair framing your face. Time is somewhere around six and he’s supposed to head to work, make sure the lads are in place and so are the orders but he finds himself in the kitchen next to you, watching as you make yourself some coffee for the day and look to see he’s already staring.

He likes puzzles, is fond of complex things and enjoys threatening people on occasion. He’s smart, has to be when he’s doing what he does. He prides himself on always having the upper hand but maybe not with you. He takes one look at you then, yeah, definitely not with you.

He decides he likes a challenge, and you’ve provided him with a good one.

---

Tagging: @clairecrive​  @parkbearum​ @sourirez​  @vetseras​ @mollybegger-blog​ @babylooneytoonz​ @peakascum @fuseburner​ @ttzamara​ @babaohhhriley​ @fairypitou​  @paintballkid711​ @manamajil  @tommydoesntpayforsuits​ 

A/n: Hello! I hope you enjoyed yet another chapter of this. We’re getting close to the end!! Let me know what you thought. You can comment under the post if you’d like to be tagged <3

[chokiipng]

Hay fever : Genshin various

a/n : suffering from seasonal allergies isn't fun . so instead of trying to do school work, i'm gonna write hcs to make myself feel better

character(s) : Xiao, Diluc, Kaeya, Albedo, Childe contents : fluff with a bit of crack (my specialty) + : reader has really bad seasonal allergies

Xiao :

he doesn't really understand tbh

he plays it off as a common cold at first and entrusts you with Verr, much to her annoyance. he didn't realize the true severity of the situation until a week had passed.

he's heard of seasonal allergies before, so it's not like he was entirely clueless, he just didn't know how to go about treating it.

because of this, he turned into a big ball of concern for the entirety of spring

he asked everyone he could for help, even that ginger haired harbinger (to which he had no clue since he basically lives on an iceberg)

this also happened to peek Zhongli's interest, who then took him to Bubu pharmacy to learn more. it took Xiao about 5 different interrogations to actually visit Bubu, he cursed himself internally for not checking there in the first place

of course, Baizhu laughed it off and informed the both of them on how allergies work, how they're triggered, and how to prevent/soothe them

if you sneezed/sniffled, he was immediately by your side with a tissue and some water. itchy eyes, he had a small bottle of eyedrops for you courtesy of Dr. Baizhu and Qiqi

it was amusing to say the least, watching a feared Yaksha running around frantically in order to soothe your allergies

of course, he soon picked up that it was because you went outside every goddamn day to complete commissions and to pick flowers for who knows who (Qiqi, you often found yourself picking herbs with her because who could say no to that face?)

he legit locked you in your room at Wangshuu Inn and did your commissions for you. he didn't want you in any pain, so he stayed with you when he finished all of his tasks

he didn't isolate you though, but if he takes you out he makes sure you take your allergy medicine (given by Qiqi, ty bby) and that you have a mask on

Diluc :

he never really experienced hay fever, but he knows the gist of it

he's heard stories of it from customers of the Angel's Share and was immensely grateful to the Archons for blessing him with immunity to seasonal allergies

but he wasn't prepared to catch you practically sneezing your guts out one morning

Diluc drops everything, much to Adelinde's horror, and orders for a box of tissues and water immediately. he whips out the blankets from under the couch that he knew you hid and props you on some pillows he fluffed in a panicked rush

the maids watch with a nervous chuckle as he runs around the mansion, completely forgetting about his shift at the Angel's Share and his nightly heroic duties

as soon as he calms down from the initial shock of how hard allergies hit you, he asks you how your feeling and if he can do anything

the next day he asks Donna (who stutters at his mere presence), who mind you is an employee at the Floral Whisper, since Flora isn't there herself about hay fever. he figured that people who worked at a flower shop would know about allergies caused by the pollen produced by flowers

he brings back medicine that you've been instructed to take daily as to lessen the affects of your allergies

despite his day duties, he offers to take up your daily commissions during the days you are physically unable to do them or just does them of his own volition

he trusts that the maids will take care of you in his stead

in the mean time, you're allowed to roam the city as you wish, but that's about it. he threatened Lawrence and Swan that they would feel the wrath of retribution if you stepped foot outside the city

Mondstadt was a land of eternal springtime, there was no way in hell he was letting you out of the city without his supervision

while all of this may be a bit much, he makes sure to let you know that this is just him caring for you. he doesn't want to seem overbearing and trusts that you know what's happening to your body and how to treat it

Kaeya :

he laughs at your demise

what did you expect ?

but he really is worrying on the inside

he makes sure to check in with Barbara just to make sure that you're not suffering from a lethal disease

once he knows that they're just seasonal allergies, (almost) all his worries subside and he sighs of relief

he notifies Jean beforehand (but sometimes forgets), he works considerably less during the time of your allergies since he doesn't really trust anyone else to take care of you

he also doesn't drink as much, surprising, he knows

he refrains from bringing you flowers as he usually does and instead spoils you with unnecessary affection

Kaeya doesn't worry as much since he puts faith in you that you know what's going on in your body. since they're seasonal allergies, he realizes that you must've gone through this before and know how to treat it

since you can't really cure it, you just act more cautious in the outdoors

he often accompanies you on your daily commissions and such, just to be sure that your okay. he takes over the moment you pause to sneeze or itch your nose even once

aside from this, he's the other reason why your allergies are unbearable

once they're all done and over, he teases you relentlessly about how reliant you were on him when in reality it was him doing your tasks of his own volition rather than you asking him. you told him several times that you could handle it, but he persisted nonetheless

he's more reasonable during your hay fever, and despite his unnecessary comments, you find it endearing

Albedo :

he is among the few men who are actually calm during the situation, but since when is he not?

he probably already has a remedy for you that greatly lessens the affect of your allergies

but even without it, he trusts that you know how to handle it

the only factor in here that would cause chaos-

is Klee

once Klee hears you sneeze all hell breaks loose in Albedo's workspace

she runs around everywhere looking for tissues and then ends up bringing Mondstadt's entire supply, which you and Albedo laugh nervously at

once Klee calms down, you explain the bare minimum of hay fever, which she manages to understand

while he has faith that you can treat it yourself, Albedo still recommends that you stay inside more rather than going out exploring and looking for chests, to which you sheepishly comply

Jean cannot thank you enough when it comes to Klee's behavior during this season, as Klee tends to spend more time at home with you and Albedo once you finish your commissions so that "you don't feel lonely!"

she even drew you a picture to show how much she cared!

if you can't sleep at night because of your allergies, Albedo (who is probably still up working) will gladly allow you to indulge in his studies or to just simply read with you until you fall asleep

he too is also happy that you managed to tame Klee

Childe :

this man has no idea what the fuck hay fever is

need I remind you that he grew up in the land of perpetual winter, hay fever doesn't even exist to him. unlike everyone else, he hasn't even heard of the concept

so when you hold a finger up during your weekly sparring, he pauses with a curious tilt of his head

he screams in horror as you sneeze out all of your bodily fluids not once, not twice, but three times

Childe calls off the spar and cradles you in your arms as if you're about to die

it's until he rushes you to Baizhu in a panicked frenzy that he realizes that its...a fever?

now Baizhu is a patient man, he had to raise a zombie child who basically loses her memory each time she wakes up and wields a sword/cryo abilities

but he was getting tired of Childe's endless questions quick.

Childe shrieks as the normally passive pharmacist slams his hands down on the counter with a sickeningly sweet smile

he ceases in his questions, apologizes for bothering him, and races back to the Northland Bank in a cold sweat

it takes you explaining it in a calm voice for him to finally understand it

and he takes this very seriously

while he knows that it's seasonal and that you've gone through it before, he can't help but worry for you

he coddles you, and he doesn't relent even if you tell him

he slaps a mask on you, takes away your fighting privileges, and even order his subordinates to keep an eye on you at all times

that is if he's not already

he clings

he's attached to you

he just wants you to feel better, and you appreciate it, but it can get a little too much sometimes

and while you do tell him this, the same situation happens every year when spring comes around and there's nothing you can do to stop it. Baizhu can't catch a break from the rowdy harbinger

[spectaclespencer]

P.H. // Part 1; Alone

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

A/N; Here’s the first chapter! Let me know what you think <3 this is based off of this request I got. Any and all feedback is appreciated. Please know I know this theme/part has little to nothing to do with the actual meaning of the song, but some lines work if you ignore the rest 😅

Summary; After Gideon leaves, Reader takes up chess to comfort Spencer through the difficult time.

Category; Fluff, Angst(?), Hurt/Comfort

Content Warnings; Sad Spencer otherwise none!

Word Count; 3.5k

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Next

It started when I found Spencer one morning. He had fallen asleep on a chair at the bau, and he explained to me that he’d been waiting for Gideon because he promised to play chess with Spencer that night.

“Is Hotch in yet?”

“No, he will be soon. We have a case, JJ is gonna brief us and we leave in 30.”

He thanked me and left the room, with his head down. He kept the same mood during the briefing, he kept drifting off as JJ was talking. Spencer was known to be stuck in his head often, but this was far more unusual behaviour. I figured maybe he slept wrong, or maybe just was simply looking forward to playing chess with Gideon. That was their usual routine, to have a game or two after cases to relax. It was understandable to see him on edge after not hearing from him all night.

As we got on the jet he didn’t sit with me on the couch right away as he usually did, instead he walked over to Hotch in the back corner. I craned my neck to try and see what he was doing and hear what he was saying. He spoke in soft whispers, seemingly asking questions I assumed were about Gideon’s presence. I saw Hotch shake his head, to which Spencer’s expression dropped. He thanked him, then made his way over to the couch beside me.

“You okay?” I asked.

He gave me a quick nod -- yet didn’t meet my eyes -- then curled up at the end of the couch to presumably take a nap before we landed.

We were all worried about Gideon, none of us had heard from him since the last case. We figured he just needed a break from the chaos; having a loved one die would take a toll on any of us. It was logical really, any one of the team would need time to recover when presented with that situation.

Spencer remained more quiet throughout the case, not engaging in conversation when it wasn’t crucial to the work. We ended up sharing rooms but even then he didn’t budge. He mostly sat in the corner and played chess against himself, often zoning out and staring at the wall. It was hard to see, and even harder to sit back and let him try to get through it. I could tell he was fighting himself in his head, probably going over scenarios on Gideon’s whereabouts. I imagine the stress was affecting him heavily -- or at least it was clear with the way his forehead had been creased all night.

Chess. Nobody on the team had a fair shot at him besides Gideon. Sitting there staring at the pieces probably wasn’t doing him too good, only making him worry more.

It wasn’t that I didn’t care because I did, but when it comes to certain things Spencer can be defensive and refuse help, so I wanted to give him a chance to get better. It wasn’t unlike him to refuse help, and I didn’t want to make the situation worse by opening my mouth. Instead, I opted to ask, “Mind if I join in for a game?”

“What? Uh- no it’s fine. I mean, okay yes. Sure,” Spencer stuttered, spooked by my sudden appearance beside him.

“Stop slouching, you’re gonna make your posture even worse,” I chuckled lightly, patting his shoulder to remind him. He shot me a small smile, watching as I rounded the table to sit across from him. I wasn’t too good of a player, but I wanted to make Spencer feel just a little less alone.

“Do you even know how to play?”

“Ouch,” I mocked offense, slapping a hand over my heart. “So cruel, Spencer.”

He raised his eyebrows in a form of asking again, to which I replied with, “Kind of. I haven’t played for years but I’ve observed you.”

“Y-you’ve observed me?” Spencer questioned, resetting the chess pieces on the board.

“Well, yeah. Kind of hard not to. You’re a pretty interesting guy.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

I smiled when he finally made eye contact with me. He looked tired -- more so than usual -- with his eyebags a deeper shade than they were normally.

The game didn’t last long. In only seven minutes, he managed to beat me. I groaned at my loss, lips pulled into a tight line. Spencer didn’t react, however.

“Okay that’s enough for me,” I said, heading over to the bathroom to brush my teeth before bed. “Goodnight Spence. Get some sleep. No offense but you look like you need it.”

He hummed at me, cleaning up the table before he climbed into his own bed.

I could tell he didn’t sleep much that night, as he kept a lamp on and littered his bed with various books. He looked cute, all swaddled up in the blanket he brings with him on every case for a sense of stability. His glasses were perched on his nose, and he was chewing his fingernails -- a habit I’ve tried to get him to kick over the past two years.

We didn’t talk during the night, but we both knew that each other were awake. I was kept up by my thoughts, trying to figure out how to get Spencer out of his slump. Re-learning how to play chess seemed like a decent enough idea -- yet one that would take some time. I was proved tonight that my skill needed to be greatly improved. It was nice in the moment, but realistically it would take a few weeks, if not more, to get the hang of.

The next day at the precinct I was stationed at the map, trying to figure out our geographical profile. I heard faint chattering coming from outside, and looked over my shoulder to see Spencer and Derek talking. I couldn’t hear much, but I did get that Spencer mumbled about calling Gideon, to which Derek answered that he might’ve just missed the call. It was possible, but likely deeper than that.

“Six times? Six calls? Something’s wrong,” Spencer sighed, rubbing his eyes.

I didn’t intervene with the conversation, instead deciding to finally speak to him about it after the case had ended.

On the last day, we all headed to our rooms after grabbing some dinner, to get a good rest before we took off early the next morning.

“Hey Spence, you awake?”

He hummed in response, and I could hear the rustle of the sheets as he rolled over in his bed to face me.

“I know you’re worried about Gideon. How about when we get back tomorrow I’ll drive you down to his cabin? We can go check on him.

“Would you really?” he asked softly. I couldn’t see him fully in the darkness, but I could sense he was looking at me with pleading eyes.

“Of course. I don’t like seeing you this stressed and down. I want to help.”

“Thanks ____, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Spencer.”

After our conversation it was like a blanket of grey was lifted over his head. He settled in more, drifting off to sleep within minutes. I hated seeing him sad, and I did my best to try and fix his mood whenever I could. Spencer didn’t like change, I knew that, and the team knows that. A part of me had a sneaking suspicion that Gideon wasn’t coming back, and I had fear for what that would mean for Spencer.

-----

“Do you want me to come in with you?” I asked, pulling up in front of the cabin and turning off the engine. The only sounds were the faint hum of rain outside, splattering against the windows.

Spencer shook his head and took a deep breath, before unbuckling himself and opening his door. He mumbled something about being right back, as he headed off towards the building. It wasn’t dark yet -- only being four pm -- but it wasn’t too light either.

It looked as if the lights inside the cabin were off, and I could just hardly see Spencer as he knocked on the door. He waited on the porch for a moment, waiting to see if anyone would come to the door.

Nobody did.

It was hard to just sit there and watch, as his desperation grew stronger by the millisecond.

-----

I took deep breaths, trying to even out my intake of air and remain calm. When nobody answered the fifth time that I knocked, I reluctantly grabbed a hold of the knob and turned it. Much to my surprise the door opened, creaking inch by inch as I stood there unmoving.

“Gideon?” I called into the home, taking one step inside. “Jason?”

I wasn’t greeted with an answer, he didn’t come to the door and thank me for coming to visit. It was eerily quiet -- so quiet I took a few more steps inside to create some sort of volume.

“Hello?” I spoke again, louder this time. Shutting the door behind me I took off my jacket and hung it on the coat rack next to the entrance.

The place had been mainly cleared out, there weren’t many personal items behind. I stalked over to the kitchen, to see if there was any trace of someone within the last few days. It’s been officially a week and a half since anyone had last heard from him that I was aware of. I thought someone must have eaten, or at least left a bit of a mess behind them that would signal a presence.

As I turned the corner to enter the new room I noticed something on the table. I stopped in my tracks, leaning down to take a closer look.

Gideon’s badge, gun, and an envelope.

I swallowed thickly, walking around the table and took a seat in front of the items. When I saw the envelope had my name on it, my heart dropped. With shaky hands I picked up the paper and opened it, seeing there was a letter inside.

Spencer,

I knew it would be you who came to the cabin to check on me.

You must be frightened, I apologize for that. I never meant to cause you any pain. But then I also never envisioned writing this letter. I’ve searched for a satisfactory explanation for what I’m doing, all I’ve come up with is: a profiler needs to have solid footing. I- I don’t think I do anymore. The world confuses me. The cruelty, indifference, tragedy.

I stopped there, my eyesight becoming blurry from tears. I shoved the letter in my pocket, not caring at the moment if it got crumpled or not.

I was out of the cabin in no time -- choosing not to stay there and sulk in a deeper sadness.

-----

Waiting in the car for Spencer felt like torture. It was difficult, letting him go in there alone to be met with possibly no answers. I was thrown out of my thoughts by the sound of the cabin door slamming shut, Spencer jogging over to the car.

“Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked, red flags hanging immediately as he climbed in the car, tear soaked face pointed down towards his lap. It took me a moment to realize he was crying -- the rain had completely soaked through his top layer of clothes. He didn’t reply with words, instead reaching into his pants pocket to retrieve a piece of paper. He handed it over to me, still not meeting my eyes.

I unfolded it and began to read -- it was hard, through the tear stains smudging the ink across the page.

“Oh, Spence…” I whispered and stopped after the first few sentences, leaving the rest for him. I didn’t know what to say, how to comfort him.

“He’s gone,” Spencer sniffled, wiping his eyes on the sleeves of his nearly drenched jacket. “He just left. He didn’t say goodbye. He left me a note,” he froze, taking a few deep breaths. “Just like my dad did when I was a kid.”

“It’ll be okay. Wherever he is, I’m sure he’s okay,” I assured him. “You know he cares about you, right?”

“I know he is. It’s just-” he started, trying to find the right words between his gasping for more air. “Can you just take me home, please.”

I nodded, while turning the car back on to drive away. Spencer kept his gaze towards the window, refusing to let me see his face. I’m selfishly almost glad for it, because I don’t know if seeing his heartbreak is something I could handle.

It was a long, quiet drive, taking around an hour and a half to finally reach his apartment. He scrambled out of the car fast, but I still walked him up as I usually did. He got to the door before me, thanking me for driving him home. He shut the door just as I got fully up the stairs, leaving me standing with my mouth open.

‘Baby, when you fought me at the door

Kinda hard to force what's natural

Maybe you don't want what you need most’

-----

The next day when he came over after work he was almost back to normal. It was weird to see, to see such a shift in his behaviour after less than twenty-four hours. As much as he tried to hide it, I could tell just how hard it was for him. The sudden change didn’t go well with anyone, we’d all been informed that Gideon wouldn’t be returning and that he’d moved on from the BAU. It was especially hard on Spencer too, since Elle had just left not too long ago, and then Emily joined the team. First he loses a friend, someone who truly understood him as I did, and then someone he considered a father figure.

And neither of them had said goodbye to his face. It was scary, knowing a member of your team could walk out and never return before you know it.

We were seated on the couch, a game of chess displayed on the middle cushion between us.

It wasn’t anywhere near a fair game -- Spencer’s skills were still far ahead of mine. However I noticed it made him smile, and that’s all I wanted. For him to feel loved, and secured. It was a sense of grounding, a routine that was regular in his life. I still wasn’t very good -- not having played since high school and that night on the last case. But I downloaded an audiobook and several player’s guides for the plane ride home to study, because I wanted to learn for Spencer’s sake. However I soon realized it was easier to watch Spencer and how he plays, and to ask him questions. He seemed to enjoy it, having someone else in his life to play with.. And he loved to teach, to help people learn. He was so good at it too, his big brain being used to help people no matter the context.

Eventually he won the game as usual, causing me to groan in frustration..

“You bastard.”

“Not my fault you kinda suck,” he laughed bashfully, lips curling up into a small smile. It was nice to see a bit of happiness on his face, no matter how temporary.

“You’re so rude to me,” I joked, moving the board to the coffee table. “I thought we were friends.”

It was silent for a few moments, with me figuring out what I was going to say next.

“Spencer I know you haven’t wanted my help, but please tell me what I can do for you. Tell me how you feel, at least?”

‘Maybe you don't want what you need most’

“It’s nothing, ____,” he breathed, looking away from me and instead at the wall the couch was facing. He could see our reflection on the blank tv, and instead opted to just look down at his lap. “I’m better now.”

‘You ain't even there for me

Now you're scared to be alone’

“Respectfully, that’s bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh come on. I know you don’t want to talk about this but at least give me something. Don’t keep it all in. It’s not healthy.”

His face screwed up at my words, eyebrows furrowed and lips twitching. I could tell he knew I was right, as much as he hated it.

“I’m just- I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Spencer whispered, barely loud enough for me to hear.

‘Got me thinkin' that you scared of yourself, not me’

It all made sense -- the way he’d been distancing himself lately. It took me promising candy and Star Trek for him to come over tonight, and even then he almost declined. Too many blows to the heart made him afraid to get attached. He didn’t want anyone else from his life to disappear in a flash.

“Look at me,” I said, and he snapped his head to face me. “I’m not going anywhere. I can’t claim to be far in the future, but right now? I’m here. You’re stuck with me for a while, Spencer.”

He smiled, closing his eyes as a stray tear graced across his cheek. I used my thumb to wipe it away, and pulled him into a tight hug. He relaxed against me, I felt the tensions in his shoulders deflate as I held him.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. His breath shuddered, and he wrapped his arms around my middle tighter, pushing his face into my shoulder to muffle his crying.

We sat for a while, my hands tracing patterns along his back. It took a few minutes for his cries to calm down, but eventually his breathing evened out with only a few hiccups here and there. He was practically sitting in my lap with his legs flung over mine, suddenly not caring about his personal space. I couldn’t blame him -- the boy was so touch starved he so clearly craved all contact he consented to.

“Do you want to spend the night?” I asked, quietly so I didn’t scare him with the sudden sound.

“Could I please?”

“Of course,” I smiled, pulling away. He still held on tight, not wanting to let go.

We made our way to my bedroom, repeating our usual routine. This wasn’t the first time we’d had a sleepover, and it won’t be the last I’m sure. Sometimes after particularly harder cases he would spend the night, just to be close to someone.

I went into the bathroom to change, giving him the opportunity to do the same. When I returned, he was dressed in a t-shirt and flannel pants he left at my place for sleepovers like this. He was already in bed, and when he saw that I was done in the bathroom he lifted the side of the blanket to welcome me in.

I joined him, grinning as he scooted over and pressed his back to my chest. I felt him breathing softly, my right arm slung over his torso to bring him in closer. He held onto my hand, and didn’t let me drift away. I was happy to comply, happy to feel his body warmth radiate through me.

“Thank you, ____. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Spence.”

From that day on for the foreseeable future, I swore to myself to have check-ins with Spencer whenever it seemed necessary. Whether it was in the form of words, sleepovers, movie nights, or chess.

His smile got brighter everyday, and eventually he no longer felt as much weight on himself a few weeks down the road. He still cried to me about how he missed Gideon, but it had gotten less frequent. And I was always there for him, offering my shoulder and the promise of my embrace. I knew he appreciated it too.

After a few months since our first game, I beat him in a game of chess. We were on the jet on the way to Montana for a case, and Derek was sitting beside Spencer. He kept annoying him, doing little things like twisting his hair and fanning him with files. Spencer kept shrieking quietly -- trying not to alert Hotch of the bickering.

“Checkmate,” I said, biting back a smile.

“What?!” Spencer froze, arm raised in what looked like to be a poor attempt of whacking Derek’s head.

“Awe, pretty boy. You’ll get her next time,” Derek threw his head back in laughter.

“What?” Spencer repeated quieter, eyes darting across the board, likely running calculations in his head.

“Better luck next time,” I smirked, tilting my head to the side. I wiggled my eyebrows, my small victory boosting my ego.

Spencer tried to keep a neutral face, but I could see by the tension in his cheekbones that he was happy. He was enjoying it.

-----

Please tell me your thoughts on this chapter here!

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permanent taglist; @spencerscumrag @spenxerslut

[didsomeonesaydaddydraco]

Baby you | Tom Felton x Reader

Pairing: Tom Felton x Reader

Words: 1,637

Warning: none. just fluff

Author’s note: Sorry for the long wait, I was on a hiatus. I had to figure out a few things in my life and focus on my mental health. 

Hospitals have always been one of my least favorite places on the planet. When a family member or acquaintance had a kid, I didn't even want to go there. I felt sick to my stomach from the scent of antiseptics and the notion that someone could be dying in one of the rooms, so I tried to stay away from the building as much as possible. But right now, I'm sitting in the waiting room, staring at half-white, half-sage green walls, trying to take in as little air as possible to avoid the stench of antiseptics and my excessively protective boyfriend freaking out next to me. 

"How many times do I have to tell you that you need to be more cautious?" Tom sighs and fidgets with his watch on his wrist, checking the time every second and blaming the ER nurses and physicians for their slow job. "We've been here for more than a half-hour and no one has bothered to inquire as to what we're waiting for.”

"Tom, I have a sprained ankle, but I'm not going to die. Calm down, just because you're impatient doesn't mean they can work faster," I say as I roll my eyes and gaze around the waiting area, attempting to figure out why people are there. He groans and gets up to find a nurse or a doctor who can finally check on my leg. I take a big breath and rub my temples. Deep down, I'm glad he went to see a doctor because my ankle has swollen and become more painful than it was when we arrived. I would never have given him the satisfaction of being correct about me pushing my limits too hard and refusing to accept when my body attempts to tell me to stop or not do anything, putting me in situations like the one I'm in now. When I tried the online yoga session, it was meant to be a simple assignment, and I carefully followed every instruction, but my body was still fatigued and stiff from the hiking the day before. And, of course, my obstinate arse refused to listen to Tom when he advised me to take a break and try the class again a few days later. 

He sits down next to me and takes my hand in his, massaging the back of it with his thumb. "Alright, a nurse will be with us shortly," he says. Without saying anything, I kiss his shoulder and express my gratitude for his kindness and affection. "You don't have to hide it; I can tell how much pain you're in right now just by looking at the size and colour of your ankle, dear." 

I roll my eyes and lie my head on his shoulders, smelling his wonderful aroma and listening to his slow breathing. I attempt to ignore the puzzled looks of onlookers and patients who recognise him and are undoubtedly trying to figure out why he's there and with whom. We never told the gossip-hungry social media users and the deceitful newspapers about our relationship. Only those who were close to us knew about us, and we want it that way. 

"Miss Y/L/N, please come with me," a middle-aged nurse says, smiling gently and directing us to the examination room, where a doctor is already waiting for us. Tom assists me in standing and sitting up in bed, and then graciously moves away to give the nurse and doctor more room.

"What appears to be a problem, Miss Y/L/N?" He gets up from his desk and walks over to me, where he sits on a little stool and gently touches my ankle, causing me to groan in pain.

"She felt it would be a good idea to try an online yoga class with no prior experience in either an online class or yoga," Tom says, looking at me and then at the doctor.

"On my own, I can tell him what's wrong." I give my lover a mischievous scowl before returning my gaze to the doctor, who is attempting to examine my ankle without further injuring it. "But in a nutshell, that's what happened, huh”

"All right, let me see that ankle," he jokes, and a two-hour treatment begins, including a trip to another hospital level to have it x-rayed.

——-

"Careful" Tom assists me out of the car and supports me by placing my arm around his shoulder as we walk to the house. "You know what the nice thing in this?" I asked, holding a gorgeous pink plaster on my ankle up to the middle of my shin and a small bottle of pills in case "You know what the good thing in this?”

"No, but knowing you, you'll tell me in less than a minute," I say softly as I take a seat on the living room couch, my leg propped up next to me to relax.

"I can baby you, and you won't be able to stop me," he grins as he walks to the backyard to allow Willow in and feed her. She dashes inside, but Tom stops her and kneels to cup her cheek. "Willow, listen to me, mommy's ankle is injured, so you must be gentle around her," he says. "Please don't jump on mama or lay on her legs." He kisses Willow on the head and walks away. I chuckle from the living room, knowing well well that no one can stop Willow from sleeping on my leg.

———

"Tom?" you might ask. An hour later, I dial his number. After the painkiller knocked me out, I got a great nap, and when I awoke, Willow was sleeping on top of me, breathing noisily in my neck. I hear loud and rapid footsteps, so I suppose my partner is running down from our room or his study to the living area.

"Are you all right? Is there anything else you require? Do you have any discomfort?" I giggle quietly as he looks at me with a worried expression on his face. 

"I'm alright, but could you just get me a bottle of water?" I give him a friendly grin and gently massage the area behind Willow's ear. I smile at her as she groans a bit in her sleep.

Tom goes in and brings me my water before sitting down next to me and wrapping his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to his body, and kissing my cheek softly. 

"How are you doing?" he inquires.

"Much better," I say softly as I put my head on his shoulder, my eyes resting a bit. "Now that you're with me, sweetheart," I say softly as I kiss his lips and lean my head on his shoulder, resting my eyes a little.

"I've been thinking about us," she says. "We've been dating for a while, and if I'm being honest, you're the only person in my life who gives meaning to everything," Tom says, taking a deep breath. "Y/N, you're the light in my days, and I'm tired of always having to go over to your place, or waiting for you until you're off work and can come over.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to figure out if the butterflies and peculiar feeling in my stomach are due to the love and happiness this man has given me for almost two years, or to my concern about his intentions about this brief speech. I raise my eyes to him and admire his features.

"Y/N, would you like to move in with me and Willow?" he asks, sighing and looking down at me with genuine love in his ocean blue eyes. I give him a big smile and kiss his jaw. When my buddy put me up on a blind date with him two years ago, I was convinced he'd find someone else shortly. But no, this man has always been at my side, giving me his undivided attention, sharing his dreams and anxieties with me, and becoming not only my lover, but also my best friend. I knew I didn't want to be with anybody else the moment he revealed me his soul.

"I'd love to, babe," I say as I stroke his thigh and advance a little to lightly kiss his lips. He pulls me closer to him and places his palm on my cheek, stroking my skin with his thumb as he smiles against my lips and intensifies our kiss. I make a slight movement, and he instantly pulls away from me, frowning at my leg.

"No, no, no sexy time till your leg is better," he says, shaking his head and kissing the bridge of my nose. "Do you need extra pillow under your leg?" he asks. Or do you want me to take Willow off your lap?" 

"No, I want you to kiss me again," I say as I grip his chin and turn his face back to me.

"Okay, so, I brought additional pillows to our bed, so you may put your leg on them at night," he pecks my lips a few times before pulling away, prompting me to grunt in irritation. “My mom will be here shortly with soup and cookies, as she is concerned about your health. In addition, I composed a song about our hospital visit and-“

"Tom, I love you, but you talk too much sometimes" I chuckle and look at him. "You know, you could use your lips for something other than talking" Tom grins and leans in closer to my lips. "Oh, really?" he asks, softly touching his lips to mine. "I can think of a few things you don't need your leg for" he kisses the corner of my lips and pulls me onto his lap.

[imagine-nation20]

Sunshine and The Art of Picking Your Battles

Summary: “I wasn’t planning on rescuing anyone today, but it looks like my plans just changed.”

Requested By: Anon

Request: “I wasn’t planning on rescuing anyone today, but it looks like my plans just changed.” for Jason Todd (with the reader being kidnapped by any villain you want)

A/N: Jason Todd will forever and always be the best robin and I will not take criticism. Also I love writing established relationship with superheroes where one doesn’t know the other is a vigilante, so enjoy some reader having no sense of self preservation, and Jason outing himself as the red hood.

~~~

You hated Gotham. Or rather, you hated the criminal underbelly of Gotham, which wasn’t so much an underbelly as it was a very obvious toupee on the top of the head of the city. Gotham was built on crime, and it would probably crumble under the weight of crime. Most people who lived there were either involved in crime, or involved in the vigilante justice served by the masked crusaders.

Running a bar in Gotham was bad, running a bar in the crummy part of Gotham was worse. That is, if you could claim any part of Gotham wasn’t crummy.

Still, it was a better job than some of the other options. Who could blame the owner of the place appointing you manager and fucking off to his apartment in the only part of Gotham that could afford working deadbolts.

So it was no wonder that you got jumped on your way home after a particularly grueling shift.

Three men dressed in suits too nice for the area. It was pretty much common sense to learn some form of self defense if you were going to live in a city like Gotham, however, three against one wasn’t exactly fair odds.

They tied your wrists, dropped a bag over your head, and then hit you with something heavy and blunt that was probably going to leave permanent damage.

Waking up was a headache, to say the least. Your head pounded like a drum, the blood rushing through your ears sounding like the waves against the harbor. Or maybe that really was the harbor.

It didn’t really matter, because you had a bigger problem to worry about than whether or not the ‘whooshing’ in your ear was blood or water. 

A man, dressed in an expensive suit, stood a few feet away. His head was covered in the dark, slightly shiny material of a mask, shaped like a skull. Beady eyes peered through, staring you down.

“So, what is a bartender like yourself doing associating with the Red Hood?” Roman Sionis was easily recognizable, and his identity was not a secret to the citizens of the city. He seemed almost proud to lord the fact that everyone knew who he was, but couldn’t put him away for anything tangible.

Unless of course that person was Batman or one of his many disciples.

“What the fuck are you on about?” You slurred. You cursed yourself internally for your inability to keep your mouth shut. Most of the time you were okay, but you were tired, and in pain, and this was the third time this week you had been assaulted, so you were over it. Criminals and crime lords were a dime a dozen, and despite his very intimidating reputation, you could not care less about Black Mask.

He laughed, and it almost sounded genuine, “I’m talking about the fact that I have on good word that Red Hood has been in your shitty little bar almost every night for the past week.”

You were going to kill Kallista.

You avoided associating with vigilantes, but your coworker, and the woman who worked most night to day shifts, was known for giving vigilantes free drinks when they dropped in. Now, it seemed you had been mistaken for her. Serves you right for having the audacity to pick up her shift when she was sick.

You had seen a few of them drop in on your way out, but never Red Hood. She probably told him not to catch you, since you would have reemed her for it. Red Hood wasn’t a criminal, but he was known for incurring their wrath like no one else, and that usually ended up in situations like this.

Yes, Kallista was going to die… so long as you made it out of this.

“Listen pal,” you started, glancing around the room for a way out. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You weren’t a bad friend, and you certainly weren’t going to sick Roman Sionis on your friend. Even if she did get you in this situation in the first place.

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” He yelled, taking quick steps towards you. You winced back, hearing the flick of a switchblade, and feeling the cold press against your cheek.

“Listen, if I was associating with the Red Hood, I would have told you by now.”

“For some reason, I just don’t believe you.”

“Well well well, look what the cat dragged in,” A voice echoed through the warehouse. From above, you could see the familiar brown leather jacket, and bright red helmet of the Red Hood. He was reclined against a support beam, legs dangling off the one he was sitting on. “I’m going to be honest with you, I wasn’t planning on rescuing anyone today, but it looks like my plans just changed.”

Hopping down from the beam, he landed, knees bent, feet light. It was almost impressive, the way he could silently drop. If you weren’t so tired, you might have taken the time to marvel at the way his pants bunched and stretched. Kallista was right after all, there was a certain appeal to the vigilantes in uniform.

Roman shifted around you, knife going to your neck. You took in a sharp breath, glaring at the Red Hood as he faltered in his pace.

“Take another step and she dies,”

“I was gonna say thanks for coming, Hood,” You glared, “but you’ve kinda made the situation worse.”

You could almost see the tick of annoyance through the mask. His fists clenching slightly, he grumbled, “This is the thanks I get?”

“I’ll thank you when I don’t have a knife to my jugular.”

Black Mask tightened his grip on you, knife digging in a slight bit. You didn’t think it had pierced skin yet, but you couldn’t be sure. 

The next few seconds seemed to go by in an instant. The shattering of glass, the whizzing of something through the air, the knife nicked your neck, then was gone, and so was the grip of Roman Sionis.

Red Hood moved towards you, gloved hands untying the ropes that kept you bound to the chair. You looked to the side, seeing Black Mask passed out on the ground, a strange arrow sticking to the outside of his helmet. You could have sworn you saw little strings of electricity still moving over the black material.

The masked vigilante hoisted you from the chair, his arms slipping behind your back and beneath your knees.

“Seriously?” You deadpanned, “I can walk, you know. My legs aren’t broken.”

It didn’t seem like he cared, as he scoffed, “I still haven’t heard a thank you.”

“I didn’t think heroes were so egotistical.”

“Not really a hero, sunshine,” you could hear the smile in his voice, even through the strange effect his helmet gave off. You went stiff at the name.

Jason faltered mid step, and you knew you had him. Spewing a flurry of curses, you wriggled out of his hold and onto the gravel below. The rocks bit into your skin, and Jason moved to crouch and help, but you were already up and slapping at his arm.

“You son of a bitch, Jason,” you whisper shouted, “you’re so stupid. How long have you been the- no, I don’t want to know.”

“Sunshine-”

“Don’t you sunshine me, Todd,” you growled, “You didn’t think to tell me you were a fucking vigilante? And moreover, you were getting free drinks from my coworker while she ranted to me about your thighs?”

“What?” Jason asked, shaking his head. “No, no, I wasn’t… I was looking out for you! I was trying to make sure you got home safe! What about my thighs?”

You paused, mouth hanging open. You hadn’t known Jason for very long. He had come in during one of your shifts with a busted lip and a dazzling smile, and left with your number and the promise of a date. You should have guessed back then, if you were being honest, but you believed him when he said he had gotten jumped. Maybe he had been telling the truth, just not the whole truth.

Stalling so that you didn’t give in to his guilty look so easily, you glanced around. So it had been the ocean you were hearing. You turned back around, trying and failing to hold the vicious glare.

“You better have a ride back to my apartment, cause we are about to have a long talk about impulse control, honesty, and the art of picking battles.”

“You sound like my dad.”

Silence.

“OH MY GOD IS BRUCE WAYNE-”

[aalbedo]

injured!tartaglia x reader (part 2)

part two of this

request: Hello I absolutely loved your one shot of Tartaglia helping an injured reader sdjgksjfkf if you don't mind I'd like to request a part 2 where reader asks him the story behind that big scar he pointed out? Maybe reader finds HIM injured and returns the favor and asks about his other scars while they treat his wounds?? Ahaha reader's just like "fuck I can't just leave you here to bleed out but don't you dare think this means I care for you or anything" lmao

format: two-parter (again, read part one first)

ship: tartaglia x reader

tags: fluff, reader is the traveler-ish (a completely separate character from aether and lumine, but still the traveler, does that make sense?), author forgets basic wound care halfway into the fic

warnings: blood, mildly graphic depiction of injury, stitches and needles

words: 3027

notes: hey so uhhhhhhhh i kinda went off the rails with this one, i didn't really follow the prompt in some points since uh... the part about the stories behind the scars... i kinda forgot about that... or like... eh you'll see, anyway, - banner still fucked up it will be fixed i prommy

Despite the high number of hilichurl camps, abyss mages, fatui agents, ruin hunters and ruin guards, Lisha was still one of your favorite places to explore, it was full of treasure chests to open, sweet flowers to pick and ore to mine. Plus, the atmosphere managed to still be peaceful, the open fields where the sun would shine uninterrupted for hours and hours on end were your favorite place to sit down and bask in the sunlight.

Your leg was still recovering from the tough hit you had taken a few weeks prior, which meant that you had to take more breaks while adventuring. Not that you would complain, taking breaks, putting some numbing cream on your wound, eating some reinvigorating food and drinking fresh water was just as satisfying as exploring.

After resting for about half an hour, you decided to get up, careful not to put any pressure on your injured leg. You threw your bag over your shoulder and walked north-west, towards the road to the chasm.

In the distance, you started hearing sounds of fighting, and as you got closer to them, you could see a tall figure fighting not one, but two separate ruin hunters, with a bow. It was too far away to see the person’s face, but you had half an idea of who it could be.

Then, out of nowhere, a bright purple flash, and in less than a second the ruin hunters were both on the ground, completely destroyed. Yep, it’s Tartaglia.

You thought about turning away and changing your direction before he could see you. You had already reluctantly thanked him for helping you that day, as well as paying for your medication out of his own pocket, but you still felt like you owed him a favor that you really did not want to fulfill. He was still the guy that almost destroyed Liyue, and made you fight for your life, despite everything.

Until you saw him fall to his knees, and as he turned to face your direction you could see his chest covered in blood.

You acted on instinct, ignoring your brain telling you to leave him alone, that he could tend to his own wounds, and you sprinted towards him. He may be an asshole, but you just want to avoid him, not leave him to die.

He was resting his back on a wall, head thrown back. Even from far away, you could see that he was breathing heavily. That same backpack you had seen on him the day he helped you was now sitting next to him, his left hand already rummaging through it.

His head shot up, he had definitely heard you coming towards him, his eyes widened as you kneeled down right in front of him and got a better look at his condition. You could see a cut crossing his chest, from his right shoulder to the middle of his torso, right over his heart. His grey coat was soaked in blood, as it pooled on the bend of his hips and slid down to the ground.

“So you do care about me.” he broke the silence, struggling to talk through heavy breaths and groans. He was completely out of breath, covered in blood, definitely in pain, and all he could think about was joking.

“I don’t. Just because I hate you, it doesn’t mean I want to see you dead.” You didn’t have time to get mad at him. “Also - I owe you a favor, I guess.” The only thought in your head was to help him, so you did not think twice before quickly unbuttoning his coat and undercoat and moving them out of the way.

You got a look at his chest and through the blood you could see several other scars, most of them looked years old, a few of them looked pretty large, carving his chest and abdomen. You wondered if his entire body looked like this, and why his face didn’t.

“Like what you see?” he joked again, his voice sounded hoarse, strained, very clearly struggling to talk. You sighed, couldn’t he just shut up for a minute?

You turned to your own bag to pull out anything you might need to help him. Potions, numbing cream and even a stitching kit laid next to you. You had bought the kit after that day, and started learning how to stitch wounds.

“No,” you dismissed him again. He whined quietly, you weren’t sure if it was because of your response or the wound.

All of the sudden, you felt… fear? Fear of what? Him passing out? And anger, at the fact that he wasn’t taking the situation as seriously as you were. He could easily die from this wound and all he was doing was making jokes.

You quickly started cleaning the blood with a cloth in one hand, while holding a bottle of antiseptic potion in your left, ready to pour it on top of the cut. You were being quick, passing your hand over his chest as fast as you could, trying to gather all the blood while avoiding the open skin, but there was so much of it that in mere seconds the cloth was soaked and completely useless.

You looked up at him and he was staring at the ground, his eyes completely unfocused. “Childe,” you called him and he squeezed his eyes closed, “try to stay awake.”

“Easy to say,” he muttered. At least he was awake.

You threw away the bloody cloth, and poured the antiseptic potion directly on his scar with no warning. Despite knowing that you were just helping him, a wave of guilt washed over you as you heard him cry out from the pain and throw his head back, wincing again when he hit the wall.

Half a bottle of potion and another clean cloth drenched in blood later, the wound had completely stopped bleeding, and you finally breathed out all the tension you were holding in your body.

His face, and body, were completely pale from the blood loss. His mouth was agape, eyelids half closed - looking at you, he sighed, barely letting any air out. You glared back, but by the way his head was positioned, you couldn’t help but look at his lips, the way they moved slightly every time he breathed out, they seemed so… soft, sweet. You brushed aside a thought that had snaked into your brain. His mouth curled up and he barked a laugh, but he stopped immediately and groaned again. Had he noticed that you were looking?

“Don’t laugh, it’ll hurt you,” you reminded him as you threw away the second blood drenched cloth.

“Sure,” he replied, voice still strained. “Whatever you say.”

You find a third cloth, the only clean one you had left, used some water from your bottle to make it damp and used it to wash your hands.

“Don’t talk either,” you looked at him as you opened a small glass jar containing numbing cream. “What were you thinking, being here alone and fighting two ruin guards?” He opened his mouth. “Don’t answer, you’ll tell me later.”

“I was just collecting some debts when those two attacked me.” He groaned again.

“I said, don’t talk if it hurts.” You made it clear from your tone that you were annoyed at the way that he was acting.

You dipped a couple of fingers into the cream, and hesitated before placing your bare hand on his chest, carefully placing the cream around the wound, so that he would not feel pain when you would be stitching it closed. As you got a better look at the cut, you noticed how the skin had been basically mangled, it looked like it would not be an easy recovery.

“You look like you know what you’re doing,” he pointed out, before groaning again. You were starting to wish you had taped his mouth with something.

“Because I know what I’m doing, I’m not an idiot. And you’re making me regret helping you, just shut up already.”

“Make me.”

Your hand froze over his skin. You moved your eyes back up to him, trying to decipher his expression. Was that an invitation, or just teasing? He hadn’t even tried to put on a smug face, his expression just looked tired and worn out, which made it even harder to decipher.

The longer you looked at him, the weirder it would get, you would have to do something before it got awkward and that thought from earlier slammed back into your head.

You wanted to wish you had run the other way, but the truth was that you were glad you hadn’t. Maybe it was all of the tension you had accumulated while seeing all that blood flow out of him, maybe it was the heavy lidded look he was giving you, but you placed your clean hand on the side of his face, cupping his cheek. His eyes widened, mouth parted ready to say something, but, before he could, your lips were on his.

The kiss was fast, you pulled back almost immediately and averted his gaze right away. You could feel him staring at you as you put your hand back into the jar and picked up some more cream.

“I didn’t think you would actually-” he didn’t finish the sentence.

You quickly caught a glimpse of his expression before focusing on taking care of the wound. You contained a laugh as you saw him look absolutely dumbfounded and flustered, he had seriously been rendered completely speechless by what could barely be considered a kiss. If he hadn’t lost that much blood that day, his cheeks would definitely be red.

Honestly, you couldn’t believe what had happened either. You couldn’t believe you had even done it. You could’ve just laughed it off and kept medicating him in silence. But you were glad that you didn’t.

Neither of you uttered a word for a while, and even though the atmosphere wasn’t explicitly awkward, you wished he would say something. After a thick layer of numbing cream and several minutes of silence, you finally gathered the courage to look back at him. He was clearly pretending to look away, as if he hadn’t spent the entire time looking at you working.

“Is the pain gone? Can I stitch it now?” Your voice came out unexpectedly soft. You touched the skin around the wound, waiting to get a reaction from him.

His head snapped back to face you, and he nodded. “Can’t feel a thing,” he said as he touched his own chest. “I can stitch it though, if you wa- Ah!” He lifted his right arm, the injured one, and immediately stopped mid-air, “fuck- shit, not this,” he almost yelled.

“You ripped a tendon.” You gently took his right arm, putting it back down for him, and looked at his shoulder. “I’ll stitch it, don’t worry - I’ve learned.”

He didn’t say anything, and you took it as permission. You opened the kit you had bought at Bubu pharmacy weeks prior: recurved needle, thread and tweezers. You could feel Tartaglia’s gaze on you as you struggled passing the thread through the needle, but in the end you managed to do it.

As you hovered over the wound, your gaze fell on a large scar, the one that would normally be visible from over his coat on his neck, and it went down over the left side of his body down until his hip. It looked pretty old, but it was still very visible.

“Can I ask you… how did you get that?”

“Mh?”

You pointed at the scar with your pinkie and slightly traced over it, “this scar, what happened?”

He followed your finger with his gaze, and kept his eyes on the scar even as you moved back to the still open wound. “Oh, that?” You passed the needle through the skin and pulled it out on the other side. “I was 14.”

You saw some blood trickle from the cut as you carefully pulled the thread and passed the needle through one more time. By the way he had spoken, you felt like he was going to continue talking, so you didn’t interrupt.

“Uhm, when I was 14, I-” you heard him pass his tongue over his lips, “the Abyss, you know.” You nodded quietly as you passed the needle through a few more times.

“You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” you reassured him, you knew that it was a pretty sensitive topic, or at least you imagined it would be. You stitched a few more loops with ease, getting progressively more comfortable with what you were doing.

“It’s fine, I- I was in-” his voice was starting to shake the slightest bit, but you noticed the change of tone in his voice.

You finally reached the end, and you cut the thread, tying it tightly at the end. You put the needle and the tweezers back into their container.

“I had to fight this… huge- and when-” once you looked up at him, you realized how lost in thought he was, looking at his scar, unable to take his eyes off it, he was probably getting some flashbacks. “I-” his voice cracked, his lower lip trembled ever so slightly, and you could not bear it anymore. Without even thinking about it, you grabbed the side of his face and dragged him in for an actual, proper kiss.

He fell right into it and reciprocated immediately, placing his left hand on the side of your waist. It was sweet, and tender, and you got a better feel of what his lips were like: just as soft as they looked.

You pulled back first once again, and as you got to look at his surprised face, eyebrows raised and everything, your mind started racing. You had just kissed not just a Fatui, not just a Harbinger, but the Harbinger that had tried to kill you, that manipulated you and that nearly destroyed Liyue for the second time. And he was sitting in front of you looking like an idiot.

You couldn’t figure out what you were feeling, but there was something going on deep in your chest, and stomach.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you quickly clarified before he could say anything. “Neither of them do, they were just to shut you up.”

“Were they?” he asked. And just like that, he came full circle back to the false smugness.

You really, really did not want to think about the weird feeling that was growing in your stomach. “Look at what I got from Baizhu.” From your bag, you pulled out a thick strip made out of cotton and a small vial full of Slime concentrate.

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“What do they mean to you?” you bit back, waiting to see if he would face the question himself, or back out like a hypocrite.

“What did you get from Baizhu?”

You both chuckled, and you noticed his bare chest rising and falling back down as he laughed. “He said it’s a new type of bandaging, you use slime concentrate to stick it to the skin.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t love the sound of that, actually.”

“I was skeptical too the first time I tried it, but trust me - it’s much more comfortable.” You heard him sigh in defeat as you already spread some of the slime condensate over the strip, and set down the half empty vial. “It won’t hurt.”

“Do you promise?”

He looked into your eyes with a relaxed expression, you looked right back. “I promise,” you replied with a kind smile, before turning your attention to the strip and stuck it over the wound, carefully placing it so that it would cover the entire cut.

“All done,” you said as you started getting up, but you felt a hand grabbing your arm, another one grabbing the side of your face, and tugging you back down, and before you could realize it your lips were once again on Tartaglia’s.

You couldn’t help but reciprocate the kiss, his lips were still soft, and at that point you felt like you could get used to them. The kiss was exactly as gentle as the one before, you could feel your fluttering in your chest as Tartaglia’s thumb started gently rubbing your cheekbone.

He pulled back first this time, and as you opened your eyes back you could see a wide smile on his face.

“Sending me mixed signals, huh?” you pointed out.

“I told you, I never had anything against you personally,” he said as he put his clothes back on, trying to fix them as much as possible, despite the very clear cut on his chest and the blood covering them completely.

“I’m gonna need some time before I’ll believe that.” You got up and reached down a hand for him to get up. “You’re gonna need to prove it to me.”

He grabbed it with his non-injured hand and stood up beside you. “While you take your time, care to walk me to Bubu pharmacy, so I can buy some of these sticky bandages?” he asked, a wide smile still on his face.

“Sure,” you simply replied, picking up both of your back and tossing them over your shoulder.

You watched him move his injured arm slightly, to figure out how much he could move it. Unsurprisingly, not much.

He hummed. “I’m gonna have to take some time off from duty, hopefully they won’t kill me for it,” he said in a joking manner, but you could sense that he wasn’t kidding about the killing part.

“Well,” as you both started walking back to the harbor, you got an idea, “you could use the time off to show me that you truly don’t hate me.”

“Like what?” You could feel his gaze on you.

“Like, we could go out for dinner,” you suggested, keeping your eyes in front of you. “In a completely neutral way, and then see what happens from there.”

“Sounds good.”

“It’s a plan, then.”

[pricklynoodle]

real or not real

Itadori Yuji/Fushiguro Megumi pairing | Squid Game AU | Rated T | warning: implied character death | ANGST

( yes, writing instead of doing school lol, squid game ruined me so if you want to read this then be warned of SQUID GAME SPOILERS. There's no graphic death, but its sad as hell either way TT)

---

“The player who takes all ten marbles from your partner wins.”

Megumi had always kept to himself, never saying anything unless spoken to, never stuck to groups, and never took the choice to attach himself to something. Everything had an expiration date. Unnecessary things like friendships had never appealed to him. He only needed his sister, and it wasn’t like she had the choice to have him as her brother. But the fact that she still stuck around caring for him until she worked herself to a coma.

So honestly, it’s a surprise why he feels his heart drop when the announcement tells him he has to go against … whatever 310 is to him.

He hardly knows 310, and doesn't know anything about his life actually. Other than that he’s crazy strong, has an impressive pain tolerance, but also the loudest kid he’s ever met. He's always around him, sticking to Megumi like a persistent piece of gum stuck to his shoe. But he doesn't dislike him, but he can't say he's thrilled with him either.

But would Megumi kill him?

Stupid, he tells himself.

“Oh, fuck, I honestly didn’t see that coming,” 310 says with a grimace, looking at Megumi guiltily as if he was the cause of Megumi’s inner turmoil. He sits down on one of the stone benches. The whole setup was supposed to mimic a typical neighborhood, something Megumi wasn’t fortunate enough to grow up in. The bastards even made the effort to add in the sounds of cicadas from the fake trees, as if this was a completely normal summer for a couple of teens.

Megumi doesn’t say anything, he feels dizzy. He drops down to the bench, away from 310 as possible.

“I’ve always wanted to say this,” 310 says as he rests his elbows on his knees, looking at Megumi seriously, “This whole thing reminds me of Hunger Games.”

Megumi looks at him with furrowed brows.

“You know, Jennifer Lawrence?” 310 pushes. Megumi says nothing. “...Tall girl, big ass? The one with the arrows?”

“Can you shut the fuck up,” Megumi deadpans, then he shakes his head. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He counts to ten, then glances down at his hand. 10 marbles. “Just tell me how to play this game.”

“I don’t know either,” 310 admits, sounding sheepish. He shrugs carelessly, “This is more of the games my gramps used to play, but he was too busy being sick to teach me though.”

Megumi looks up at 310. He looks tired, but nostalgic. Like he was thinking of a good memory.

310 perks up, grinning at Megumi brightly, “though they said that we can make our own rules. I’ll think of something.”

Megumi nods solemnly. The silence stretches until 310 lets out an ‘aha!’.

“Let’s bet everything and just play one around,” 310 says, even dropping his fist down onto his hand as if it were the best idea ever.

Megumi freezes, staring at 310, was he going to trick him? He doesn’t even know him. They’re not friends. Of course, everything still is a death tournament at the end of the day.

310 seems to pick up Megumi’s reluctance, he jerks his head to the side. He points towards the pair of men competing against each other, looking frantic and panicked.Their faces are sheened with sweat, t-shirts drenched in sweat. It’s… it’s a pathetic sight.

“Fine,” Megumi relents. “What are we playing?”

“Calm down,” 310 chuckles, “are you that excited to kill me?”

Megumi stays quiet.

“We have a lot of time left,” 310 says breezily, pointing towards the timer mounted on the wall. “Let’s do it at the last minute.”

“What do you suggest we do till then?” Megumi asks with a scowl. “Sit nice and pretty, twiddle our thumbs and shove these marbles up our asses?”

“Jesus, man,” 310 laughs, “no just… talk.”

“Talk,” Megumi repeats.

“Talk,” 310 smiles, looking down at his hands. Megumi looks at them too. He remembers the hard calluses on them, when they shook hands. They’re thick and sturdy, and hold a lot of power. He really could have killed Megumi before, just wrap his hands around his neck and it’s all over.

Megumi also shakes away the filthy thoughts of what else those hands could do. Get a grip, Fushiguro.

“Things we couldn’t tell other people,” 310 says, smiling wistfully. “One of us is going to die here anyways.”

Megumi swallows the lump in his throat.

310 smiles wider. He’s always smiling, Megumi notes.

“There’s no reason to feel embarrassed if that’s the case,” 310 tells him, “I promise I won’t laugh when you blush like a tomato.”

“I don’t,” Megumi denies, but he can feel the heat already rising up to his cheeks.

“You do,” 310 says, “but I think it’s cute.”

Cute.

“So, uh, you have someone back home then?” 310 asks.

“Yeah,” Megumi says.

“...like a girlfriend or something?”

“Sister,” Megumi says quickly, “no...never a girlfriend. Impossible for me.”

“Ah, okay,” 310 says, nodding. “Just your sister?”

“I had a dad, but he … never came back.” Megumi confesses, “he was a shitty dad. He was never really home, but he gave us shelter and food. He had a bad temper, but he never hit us. He never liked to be around me especially. I … used to think he hated me.”

“What changed?” 310 asked.

“I… I became him. I understand why he did what he did,” Megumi says, fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket. “Doing dirty jobs, stealing, never at home. Hiding from danger. Hiding us from danger. Protection.”

310 nodded, he slid closer to Megumi. Thighs brushing. Silence continues.

“He came here,” Megumi says, looking up at the ceiling. It’s painted a pink-orange gradient, like a sunset. “I found half of that business card in one of his jackets. The last two digits were cut off. I dialed every possible number until I got here.”

“For what?” 310 asks.

“Find him,” Megumi says, “punch him. I would have killed him, I think, if I found out that he left us to rot. Then steal all his money to pay for my sister’s medical bills.”

“Oh, she’s sick?”

“Coma,” Megumi clarifies. “Some rich bastard from work hit her on her way home. He got off easy because of money.”

“I see,” 310 says, clenching his fists. “That’s terrible.”

“Yeah,” Megumi says gruffly.

“You’re still getting money though,” 310 says. He doesn’t say but you don’t get your dad back. “What would you do with it?”

Megumi doesn’t even hesitate, “pay for my sister’s medical bills. Buy a nice house for us to live in. A car, if I can.”

“If you can?” 310 says, “where would you drive your car?”

“school,” Megumi says simply. “I would use my car to drive to school.”

310 blinks. “You know, you can do much more with that 40 billion. You really don’t want anything else? Don’t have a destination?”

“I’d go to Sendai.”

“Wh—Sendai? I’m from Sendai. Are you kidding me? Are you going to drive there with a shiny new Toyota Yaris?”

Megumi blushes furiously, “enough about me, ugh, it’s your turn anyways.”

310 shakes his head, but he’s giggling like a schoolgirl. “You really have to think bigger. Have you ever been to the beach?”

“No,” Megumi says.

“You should, one that’s got nice soft sand and blue water. With palm trees too. And you should get piña coladas.”

“What?”

“C’mon man, you don’t get to be frugal with 40 billion. I’ll teach you how to splurge once we get out—”

Ah.

“Right,” 310 breathes out, laughing to himself all silly. “Only one of us leaves.”

Megumi grunts.

Silence.

“...Ever seen a dead body?” 310 asks.

“...I’ve been answering all these questions. You haven’t answered at all,” Megumi points out, feeling far too exposed for running his mouth.

“Ah you’re right! Uh, I don’t have anyone.”

“But your grandfather—”

“He’s dead. For a while now. My mom and dad. Also dead. My brother is on the run. He’s, uh, killed a lot of people. He got the death penalty, so yeah, haven’t really seen him around.”

Megumi looks at him.

“I don’t think he counts,” 310 says, scratching his face. Megumi realizes the scars on his face aren’t from the previous games. They looked healed, puckered and faded from time.“He looks a lot like me, though. A lot of people can’t tell us apart. He hated that. He’s only a bit taller than me, and he loves to brag about it. He has a huge ego.”

“I see.”

“Yeah,” 310 says, but he doesn’t look awkward about it. Just mildly inconvenienced. “Oh, have we really been talking for that long?”

Megumi looks at the time. They have less than 2 minutes.

310 stands up, swiping the dirt off his pants. He pats around for his marbles. “Okay, so you see that wall over there?”

Megumi nods mutely. It’s quite far, maybe around 2 meters.

“Okay, we throw one marble, and the one closest to the wall wins, okay?”

“Okay.” Megumi nods, easy enough.

“Okay, you go first.”

Megumi scowls.

“added rule, we do it together,” he says, jaw clenched.

“Eh?” 310 looks at him, confused.

“I’ve been doing things first, so it seems rather fair if we do it at the same time, with our best effort, okay? I have the blue marble, you get the red one.”

“... okay.”

“Don’t give me a weak ass toss, alright, that doesn’t count,” Megumi says gruffly, narrowing his eyes at him. “Do your best.”

310 nods, giving him a thumbs up. “Okay!”

“On three,” Megumi says.

“Okay!”

“Three.”

“Two,” 310 continues, positioning his arm.

“One,” Megumi does the same.

They both throw their marbles. Megumi’s heart leaps out of its chest as he watches his marble in the air.

Clack!

Clack!

Clack!

Megumi looks down on the marble that lands right next to his shoe.

It’s red.

“Ahh, shoot, I threw it too hard,” 310 says with a pout.

Megumi sees red.

He shoves 310 against the wall. “Are you fucking with me?”

“Whoa! No, you won f-fair and square, man,” 310 stutters. “I did my best shot, like you said!”

“Any idiot would know that shit would bounce right back if you threw it like that!”

310 laughs, “I must be some one of a kind idiot, then.”

Megumi shoves him further into the wall. “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“You can’t kill me if I’m gonna be dead anyways.”

“THEN I’LL KILL YOU IF YOU DIE.”

“See, that doesn’t really make sense—”

“Shut the fuck up! Why did you do that?!”

310 slumps against the wall, body lax. Not looking at him.

“Answer me!”

“You… you have a lot more to live for than me,” 310 says quietly. He looks up at Megumi, tears in his eyes, “what kind of asshole would I be to deny you for a life?”

“You have a life!” Megumi snaps.

“I don’t, not anymore,” 310 sobs, a wobbly smile on his face. “Before my grandfather died, he told me that I should help others. That when it was my time to go, I would die surrounded by others and not end up like him.

“I should use my strength to help others, that’s what I’ve been doing here. Out there, no one wants me to help them. No one wants the face of a killer to help them. No one wants me to be around them. I can’t go to places, I’ve… I’ve always hated what Sukuna did to me. Made me carry his sins, his crimes. The way people looked at me as if I was him. I can’t move forward, not like you.

“I… I never went to school either, y’know. Or I never graduated. When Sukuna became a wanted man, I became a target. I stayed in my room. The doors were locked. The curtains were always down. It was like this for years. I received no support. The only way I could get by was doing interviews with journalists, feeding the narrative. Making people hate Sukuna more, making them hate me more. That’s no way to live.”

Megumi felt the back of his eyes burn, his teeth aching from being clenched too tight.

“Even if...I had the money. I can’t erase what my brother did. I can’t erase my existence in the world. I would just keep doing the same thing everyday. I don’t… I don’t want a bigger house, not when it’s just me who lives there.”

“You and I are not so different,” he says, looking up at Megumi.. “I think that’s why… I want you to win. You get to experience all these normal things, and feel… happy. You have a chance.”

Megumi wipes his eyes harshly, “Shit.”

“That’s true.”

“... What’s your name?” Megumi asks.

“Itadori Yuji,” 310—no, Yuji says. “My name is Itadori Yuji.”

Megumi takes a shaky breath, he raises his hand for him. “Fushiguro Megumi.”

Yuji grins, he clasps his hand onto Megumi’s. “That means blessing, right?”

“I don’t fucking know.”

“I’m glad then, Megumi. That I’m friends with you even through this hell. That itself is a blessing in a disguise.”

“Shut up,” Megumi punches his shoulder.

A guard suddenly arrives, carrying a gun in his hand. Waiting.

Yuji looks behind Megumi’s head. “Ah, I wish we had more time.”

Megumi bites his lip. “I wish I’d… met you sooner. I don't know anything about you.”

Yuji jaw drops, “Okay, I’ll … summarize this in ten seconds! I’m twenty-years-old, my favorite color is green, my favorite manga is Bleach, my type is tall people with big butts! Uhh, I really like watching action films—”

“Not … whatever, nevermind,” Megumi says softly as he listens to Yuji ramble on about himself.

Yuji pauses from his ramble looking winded, “uhm, Fushiguro, can I hug you?”

Megumi freezes.

“I just haven’t had a hug in a long time—” Yuji trails off before he gets cut off with Fushiguro hugging him desperately, clinging to him.

“Idiot, idiot, idiot!”

“...Hey, Fushiguro Megumi, live a long life, okay?”

Megumi lets go.

He turns around.

Eyes burning as he stares unblinking down the path. Footsteps. Silence. Breathing. He feels something salty on his lips when he licks them. It's not sweat.

He... he got attached. He stares forward, he doesn't regret it. Not at all. He got to know Yuji Itadori, the real him, and the pain in his heart is the best he can give back. A reminder that he was more than what people saw him. Yuji Itadori didn't deserve what the world gave him, they did not deserve his cries. The fact that... no one would shed a tear for him.

...Ah.

Megumi notices the dark wet spots on the dirt.

“Thanks for playing with me.”

[javier-pena]

alone

Chapter 1 of The Hunt

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Rating: Mature (for now but that will - spoilers! - change eventually)

Summary: When your best friend and companion is abducted by a group of outlaws, you hire a Mandalorian to help track down the men and get your revenge. What seems like a simple enough task stretches into a month-long trek through inhospitable terrain while both you and the Mandalorian are trying to come to terms with events in your past you cannot change. Set after Season 2.

Warnings: mentions (and short descriptions) of death, murder, and torture | a lot of hurt and no comfort | mentions of loss | mild to moderate language | a lot - and I mean A LOT - of talk about Din’s hands lmao

Notes: This is my first attempt at a Mandalorian fic and the first time in months I’ve written anything. It’s vaguely inspired by my favorite western movies, True Grit (1969/2010), The Quick and the Dead (1995), and The World to Come (2020). So yes, this is going to be very much like a western. I also want to - again - thank Dani @javierpcna​ who was like “are you writing Mandalorian stuff?” about a month ago and has, since then, read through this chapter more often than me and encouraged me to continue to write it and offered so much valuable insight whenever I came to her with an idea ... seriously, Dani, this fic wouldn’t exist without you and I hope I can find a way to repay you! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this first chapter (I’m already working on the second one) ...

masterlist | join the tag list

The day the Mandalorian arrives on Alvorine is the day you lose your best friend. You’re still busy putting out the fire, running your soot-blackened hand across your face, where the dirt mingles with the tears you’re too tired to stop from streaming down your face, when you hear the thrusters of a spacecraft roaring above you. You barely glance up; you can’t be bothered to. It could be the remnants of the Empire looking for recruits, it could be the New Republic looking for the remnants of the Empire, or it could be the bandits coming back for more. But what do you care? They already took away the one person you care most about in the galaxy. You just grip the shovel tighter and drive it into the soil so you can choke the fire underneath moist stones and dirt.

While you exhaust your body with physical labor, you occupy your mind with thoughts of revenge. Revenge as dark and quenching as the soil beneath you. With every load of dirt you heave onto the searing flames, your plan gains another sharp edge until all you can think of is driving the cutting edge down onto the throat of the man who gripped Brea’s arm and pulled her onto the speeder bike. Maybe his head would come off right away, maybe your tool would just obstruct his windpipe as you watch the life drain slowly out of his eyes. And even that would be too good an end for that monster.

It’s not just in your mind – those thoughts aren’t simply there to ground you while you continue your work in the ruins of what was once your home. It’s not pure fantasy, something to give you back a feeling of control. You are determined to follow through on it; you are going to hunt down these men who burned down your farm and stole Brea from you. You will not rest until they are all dead by your hand. And if you should die in the process … then you won’t go out without a fight, without taking as many of those bastards with you as you can. They have sealed their own fate by coming here today.

You know Brea isn’t dead; they won’t kill her unless she tries to kill one of them first. And she wouldn’t do that, she is too gentle for that, too docile. She would rather turn the other cheek. They should have taken you instead; she doesn’t deserve the fate that awaits her. You would’ve at least put up a fight, make them pay for what they did. And Brea? She would just die.

For now, she’s alive. But whatever you set out to do once you’re done here won’t be a rescue mission. You aren’t under the illusion you can save her. You know that even if you were to leave right now, even if you had your own speeder bike, you would never find her in time. No, this possibility hasn’t even crossed your mind. All you want to do is cause these men more pain than they caused you. You know it is impossible because you cannot imagine anything worse, but you sure as hell will do your best.

You straighten your back, drive the shovel into the ground, and use it as support while you try to catch your breath. The air burns in your lungs, and not just from the cold. There is also the steadily rising black smoke that makes breathing hard; your throat stings, so do your sides, and there is a bitter taste in your mouth. But you’re almost finished here, you’re almost done putting out the fire, so it won’t endanger the surrounding forest. And with every flame you bury, you also bury a piece of your soul until you feel like there is nothing left that makes you human, until all the pain and despair you’re feeling since listening to Brea’s screams grow quieter and quieter until they were swallowed up by silence has turned into a cold, brazen cry for revenge. But you’re glad this has made you less forgiving, less kind, less … human. Those things would only get in the way of the task ahead of you.

As the last flames go out with a wet hiss, one of Alvorine’s three blue white suns vanishes behind the treetops. You know the other two will be quick to follow. And you don’t have anywhere to spend the night. You wouldn’t mind sleeping with your back propped against a tree. You’ve done it often enough. But it’s winter, and the air is already cold and will be even colder once the other two suns set too. And you just lost every blanket, every single piece of fabric that could keep you warm in a small inferno. You know this is just an excuse, a comforting lie you tell yourself. The truth is you cannot spend a minute longer on this clearing, even if that means you have to walk the four miles to the next settlement. You’re so exhausted you cannot feel your legs, but you don’t care. Anything is better than spending the night here, even collapsing in the middle of the dark forest.

You leave the shovel where you stand and walk to the edge of the clearing, swallowing around the lump in your throat, trying to hold down more tears that are threatening to spill over and down your cheeks. Once you reach the edge of the forest, where the air is a bit clearer, you take a deep breath and turn around to look at the ruins of your home, now nothing more than a black pile of rubble. You have nothing, nothing but the clothes you’re wearing, not even a small trinket to remind you of Brea and the many happy hours you spent here tending to your fields, sweeping the front porch or sitting around the fireplace sharing supper. Even remembering how you worked on menial chores now feels like the most precious memory, one you will hold onto until your last breath. Because even though they have taken everything from you, they can’t take away the memory of Brea’s laugh.

***

They stare at you as you enter the inn. They stare and then look away. They can’t bear your presence because it reminds them of their own guilt. Not one of them came to your aid this morning, not one of them came afterwards to offer help. And you ignore them too because there is nothing left to say. All you want is some food and a dry place to sleep before you turn your back on them forever.

You sit down at a small table in a dark corner. The patrons around you either turn their backs to you or stand up to move their meals and conversations someplace else. It’s as if you’ve been marked. If you had any strength left in you, you would call them out on their behavior. Shit, you would wreak havoc, and only stop when the last one of them is on their knees begging for forgiveness. But you’re glad you’re too exhausted because your sudden hatred for everyone and everything scares you. The villagers don’t deserve to fall victim to your rage. There is nothing they could’ve done. They are just as defenseless and helpless as you. Would you have come to their aid if your positions were reversed? You would like to think so, but just because it gives you a false sense of moral superiority. Deep down you know the truth. Deep down you know you would hide too, praying that you would be spared.

As you dig into your bowl of soup, you realize how hungry you are. Even though everything tastes like ash in your mouth, your stomach is glad to have something to clench around when your thoughts stray to this morning’s events again. And you know there’s no need to punish yourself by refusing your body the nourishment it needs. The opposite, in fact – you know you’ll need all the strength you can get if you’re really going after them.

As you swallow one ashy bite after the other, you let your eyes wander around the room, looking for something that will distract you from your thoughts and your feelings of guilt. Everyone avoids your gaze; everyone acts as if your corner is empty. Everyone … except one stranger.

He sits in a booth close to the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze on you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you – he’s wearing a helmet that covers his entire head, the kind you’ve seen twice before in this corner of the galaxy. He’s a Mandalorian, a bounty hunter, and his presence here doesn’t really surprise you. Even though actually seeing one is a rare occurrence, stories about them are countless.

Alvorine is a planet without laws, a planet that lives by its own rules, so many criminals decide to hide out here while they wait for their crimes to be forgotten. There is no military presence on the planet, no judicial system, no one to catch and punish the wrongdoers. The planet follows the rules of whoever is in charge, which changes frequently, but none of the powerful people have enough resources to enforce those rules anyway. Disputes are often just settled by the parties involved in whatever way they see fit. Only the Mandalorians, who are hired by people on other worlds, by people who have never experienced what it is like to live on Alovrine, are brave enough to get involved in those disputes. You have to admit you do feel a tiny bit curious as to why that particular Mandalorian is here ... who hired him? And who is he hunting?

You tentatively let your gaze wander over his stoic body, over the beskar covering his arms and chest, over the bandolier wrapped around his upper body, over the visor hiding his eyes. If you had one like him on your side, you wouldn’t need to worry about getting your revenge. He would catch those men in the blink of an eye. And if you paid him enough, he would do to them whatever you wanted.

He would cut off their limbs but keep them alive long enough to feel it.

He would make them run for it, give them the illusion of hope, only to crush it like their bones.

He would let you watch, let you choose whatever punishment you saw fit.

You shift in your seat because you can almost smell the blood, you can hear a faint echo of their screams, and it makes you feel light-headed and nauseous, but also elevates you, lifts a weight off your shoulders, even if just for a brief moment.

But he’s not here to do your bidding. And when you lift your head again, he’s gone.

You finish your bowl of soup and then decide to rent a room upstairs for the night. You don’t have a place to stay anymore and it’s too dangerous to start your pursuit while it’s dark. The forest belongs to dangerous creatures during the night, more dangerous than any man out there. And you’re planning on staying alive for just a little while longer.

You stretch and yawn and move to get up when your path is suddenly blocked. It happens so fast you don’t register anything at first apart from the cold, hard beskar chest plate that is level with your face. Its unexpected appearance makes you lose your balance and you fall back down onto the bench you’ve been sitting on. The Mandalorian extends his hand, his fingers closing around thin air. It’s a half-hearted attempt to stop your fall, and it comes too late – your backside has already painfully collided with the hard wood.

“May I join you?” His voice sounds distorted through the modulator in his helmet. He sounds like a machine, not like a being with a heartbeat.

You want to tell him no, want to tell him to fuck off, but for tonight you have no fight left in you. So you nod.

He sits down and you expect to hear the clink of his armor, expect to feel a tremor when his heavy body comes to rest on a stool opposite you. But there is no sound, no movement, and the lack makes you sit up straighter. This isn’t just another cowardly villager you can get rid of by glaring at him … this is an apex predator.

You swallow with some difficulty. “Can I help you?” you ask, your voice level, your eyes resting on his glove-clad hands lying on the table. You figure you’re safe as long as you can see them.

At first, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you. You cannot see his eyes behind the tinted visor. No matter how uncomfortable the situation makes you feel, you try not to move … you try not to show any sign of weakness, to give him any excuse to lunge across the table and strangle you.

Finally, he answers. “I’m looking for work.”

Now you cannot help but move. You exhale sharply, and with that release of breath comes a release of tension as you slump backwards, your back hitting the wall behind you. You cross your arms over your chest. “I can’t help you,” you say. You don’t have any work to offer him, no work worthy of the skills of a Mandalorian who usually hunts down important people, kings, merchants, people who influence the course of the galaxy’s history. Following a few lowly bandits is not the work he’s used to. You don’t even want to tell him about it because you know he’d take it as an insult. And even if - by some miracle - your quest for revenge would be deemed a worthy cause in the eyes of the Mandalorian, you couldn’t afford his services.

The slightest movement of his helmet is the only reaction your answer gets out of him. Whether he shifts because he’s surprised or because he’s angry, or whether his scalp itches under the metal you cannot tell.

Still, you feel the need to explain yourself. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money.”

Shit, that’s the wrong thing to say. It implies you have work for him, but that you’re too poor to pay him. For all you know, this could be a grave insult in Mandalorian society.

His fingers on the table clench around thin air again. “What can you offer?” he asks.

He doesn’t want to know about the job, the quarry as you know they call it. No, he just wants to know how much he can earn.

“240 credits,” you answer. It’s all you have. You won’t need it anymore.

He tilts his head and you expect him to refuse, but then he says, “That’s enough.”

You’re taken aback, surprised. He’s caught you off-guard. You were fully prepared to see him walk away at hearing the ridiculously low amount of money you just offered. “You don’t even know what the job is,” you protest. The last thing you need is a Mandalorian hunting you down because you’re not paying him enough.

“They told me,” he says with a nod behind him.

You follow the movement with your eyes and see heads whip to the side, gazes wandering downwards, you notice conversations being picked up again. White hot fury fills you, more powerful than the flames that destroyed your house.

“They had no right,” you press out through clenched teeth.

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything. He sits still like a statue, unwavering, as you fight a small battle with yourself. You should leave without looking back. Messing with a Mandalorian is even more dangerous than the task ahead of you. But he’s offering you something invaluable, something no amount of credits can get you: a chance. If you go alone, you’ll be dead in about a week. There’s no use pretending you’ll get out of it alive. But if you accept the Mandalorian’s help – his services, you have to remind yourself – you might make it through two. You might get to see your dreams of revenge become reality.

You sigh deeply as a heavy weariness settles over you. You’re exhausted, and now that all the adrenaline has left your body, you can feel all the small cuts and bruises today’s labors have left behind. And you feel empty … cold and empty, and utterly alone.

The Mandalorian still doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t defend the villagers, he doesn’t tell you what he knows about you or the job, he doesn’t try to persuade you to take him up on his offer, nor does he walk away from it. He just sits there and waits for you to make up your mind, as if it’s all the same to him. And it probably is. Either he goes with you and earns some money, or he doesn’t and looks for work elsewhere. He is completely detached from the whole affair. There is no emotional investment, just a job that needs to be done.

He doesn’t care if you live or die, he just cares if you pay him or not.

This realization is what finally helps you make up your mind. “I want to hire you,” you say, your tongue heavy in your mouth. All you really want is to sleep.

There is no reaction for the longest time but then the Mandalorian nods. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something, give him details or explain the specifics of the job to him. But before you can decide what to say next, he stands abruptly.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he says before turning around.

Your brain needs a moment to catch up but when it does, you’re already on your feet. “Wait,” you say, and to your surprise the broad, steel-clad man listens to you.

He doesn’t face you, but he stops.

You briefly consider asking him if you can accompany him, but you don’t. You don’t have to ask, you get to decide.

“I’m coming with you,” you tell him.

You tell a stranger, a dangerous one at that, one who makes his money by making other people’s lives a living hell, that you will travel with him through dark, deserted forests where no one will stop him from taking what he wants from you instead of earning it, where no one will come to your aid should he not honor the deal you apparently just made with him. And you don’t care. Because no matter what he will do to you, it can’t be worse than what has already been done.

But all your worries and fears focus in on just one tiny aspect of this whole, fucked-up situation when he says, “I work alone.”

You don’t want to negotiate. This shouldn’t even be up for debate. You’re his employer now, you get to decide how things are done. But if you insist on this, he could just walk away from you. And you cannot let that happen now that you’ve had an idea of what it would be like to have a Mandalorian on your side.

“We’re not a team,” you say. “Think of me as an interested party. As someone who is fascinated by your work.”

You’re not sure if that is the right thing to say. His shoulders move, but he still doesn’t turn around. When he speaks again, you know it was the wrong thing to say.

“I work alone or not at all.”

You don’t want to accept that. You want to be there when those men are punished for what they did. You don’t want to wait around for the Mandalorian to come back, not when you don’t have anywhere to wait around in. You’ve lost everything. Had he talked to the villagers as he claims, he would know this. Or maybe he does. Maybe he knows you lost your home today but doesn’t care. He doesn’t even know the definition of the word home. It means nothing to him.

You take a deep breath. “Then I won’t be needing your services.”

This finally makes him turn around. Everything in you screams for you to take a few steps back, to put yourself out of his reach. You can feel the atmosphere between you shift – he draws back his shoulders, makes himself even taller than he already is. And you know, you just know, that refusing his offer, that backtracking on your agreement is the worst mistake you made tonight.

You’re pretty sure that not honoring a deal is the worst insult to a Mandalorian.

“Going alone will be your death,” he says when you cannot bear the tension a second longer.

“What’s it to you?”

The words are out. They are a challenge, one you didn’t mean to make, one you shouldn’t have made, but it’s done now. Your hand begins to tremble, and your feet grow cold with fear as you prepare yourself for his reaction. You don’t know if he will hit you, tie you up, torture you, or just kill you on the spot. He could do all of these things without having to fear any repercussions. You curse yourself for not having been more careful, for making this fatal mistake, because now Brea will go unavenged. Just because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut, just because you’re stubborn and hot-headed and oh so stupid.

But to your surprise, the Mandalorian shrugs. He lifts his broad shoulders, then lowers them again as your eyes follow the movement. But he’s not giving you anything more: He doesn’t insist on going alone, he doesn’t turn around and leave, he just keeps standing opposite you, motionless, emotionless, until you’re convinced you imagined the shrug.

So you decide to make the next move by removing yourself from this situation before he changes his mind and drags you back to his ship to do whatever he wants to you. You take a deep breath and start to step around him, a movement that is almost impossible to complete in this small space you’re both in. But you attempt it, nevertheless. When you’re level with him, doing your best not to brush up against him so you won’t enrage him, you hear his voice. It’s just one sentence, four words, but for some reason it sounds so much more human than it did when he was opposite you. Maybe it has something to do with the distance between his helmet and your ear, maybe it’s the angle from which the sounds hit your eardrums or maybe it’s because you feel light-headed, dizzy with the realization he hasn’t killed you yet and probably won’t.

He says, “Have it your way.”

You stop right next to him, staring ahead at a group of three men who do their best not to look at you. But you don’t see them anyway. In fact, you don’t see anything at all because the rushing sound in your ears drowns out everything else, even other senses.

“You can come with me,” he says, and it’s the first time he has spoken two sentences in a row. “But you do as I say.” Three. “If I tell you to run, you run.” Four. “If I tell you to get out of the way, you do so.” Five. “And if I tell you to kill, you kill.” Six.

Then nothing, just the faint sound of his deep breaths through the modulator.

Your thoughts are racing, tripping over their own feet like children running down a hill, and they’re unbearably loud. Everything is loud suddenly, from the sound of the barkeep filling a glass to the way that woman over there is chewing her food. The only thing that’s quiet is the last one you would have suspected to be so: the Mandalorian. Now he is waiting for you to say something and as he does, he balls his hand into a fist and then releases the tension again, over and over like a nervous tic, like he needs an outlet for the tension in his body, the tension you have no idea he is feeling until you see his arm flex beneath the fabric covering it.

But, once more, you’re at war with yourself. You don’t know what to tell him. There is still that shimmer of hope on the horizon, the light that makes you believe you stand a chance if you bring him along. But his terms … you’re not sure if you can accept them. He doesn’t know Alvorine or the men you would be hunting half as well as you do. And you’ve never been one for following orders. So if you feel that his assessment of a situation is wrong, you’re not sure you’ll be able to run just because he tells you to.

You have a feeling that defying his orders would be the most dangerous thing you could ever do, even more dangerous than hunting down a group of ruthless bandits who like to torture and kill for fun.

“All right,” you say finally.

His fist unclenches one last time and he exhales slowly.

“But when we find them,” you swallow hard, once, but your mouth is completely dry, “I get to decide what happens to them.”

The Mandalorian turns toward you so abruptly that you almost lose your balance. You lean back and hit your elbow on the wall behind you. The pain makes you curse under your breath.

“Agreed,” he whispers. He sounds like a machine again, as if everything that makes him human is shut away beneath that cold, hard, invaluable beskar steel. You too feel cold suddenly, cold and afraid. “But until then you do as I say. Understood?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. He is too close to you, and drowns out everything else, even the sounds that you considered to be too loud mere seconds ago. If he wouldn’t be wearing a helmet, you would be able to feel his breath on your cheek. He takes up your field of vision almost entirely. You’ve never felt more on display, and yet more hidden. And you know that if you say the wrong thing now, it will have terrible consequences.

So you just nod again.

“We leave in the morning,” he tells you, then turns around suddenly and leaves, his cape trailing behind him.

All sounds come rushing back at once, as if you’ve just emerged out of a pool of water. You release your breath quickly, only now realizing you’ve been holding it. Then you slump back against the wall, a shaking, quivering mess.

***

tag list: @bella-ciao​, @filthybookworm​, @frannyzooey​, @khalysa​, @leannawithacapitala​, @mothandpidgeon​, @mrsparknuts​, @mxsamwilson​, @piscespussybabe​, @something-tofightfor​

[heartless-symphony]

Word of love

Just an other one shot to make myself feel better 

MASTERLIST

~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~ ~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~

Word of love

Ship : Spencer Reid x Reader

Type : Fluff

Warning : mention of a case, blood, kidnapping, curse word, gunshots

~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~ ~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~

1- JJ

When you had met Spencer, you immediately figured him out. The way he was holding himself, the constant fidgeting, you could tell he was a shy person. At least, he was toward you. Of course, you had only just joined the team a few months ago, so he didn’t know you that much. But it was easy to say that there was something off about him, the way he never met your eyes, never had those full-on rants you so often overheard. You weren’t close, because of that. He didn’t really let you get close to him, to be fair, no matter how hard you tried. So you gave up, deciding that if it was meant to be, it would just take time and you shouldn’t rush it. 

That’s why, the first time it actually hit you in the face, you were surprised. You hadn’t let yourself get too attached –or so you thought. You had tried to put up a wall between the both of you, just like he had done. But as you were all in the emergency room, surrounding JJ’s bed, and as you heard him whisper a soft ‘I love you’ to his best friend, it hit you really, really hard. You realized a few things, all at once. First, it was the first time he actually showed a hint of emotions in front of you, and you shouldn’t have found it as adorable as you did. Second, you should not have felt jealous of JJ at this minute. Yes, a very adorable, cute, smart FBI agent had just told her he loved her –in a friendly way, you needed to remind yourself- but he said it because she was in actual danger. She had been shot during a case and so you were all here, hoping for her to get better. There was nothing –nothing- to be jealous of. Finally, what really hit you was the way you couldn't stop looking at him, wanting to take his hand, tell him everything will be okay and his friend would be fine. You wanted to be close to him. Which, considering how much distance you both tried to put between you, was weird. Unpleasant. 

When it hit you, you looked away. You shook it off. You didn’t allow yourself to feel anything. You couldn’t. You weren’t allowed to fall for him. 

 2- Motherly love

The second time it happened, you –almost- saw it coming. You were all in Vegas, and you were about to go home after a very tiring case. Spencer, of course, went to see his mom, and Emily had decided to pick him up from there right before leaving, and you just ended up in the car with her as you were driving to the airport. You made your way to the parking lot of the facility, before jumping out of the car. Emily waited for you as you walked to the door, going to get the genius. When you saw him, he was hugging his mom tightly, like it would be the last time. He was resting his head against hers, and you heard him whisper a sweet ‘I love you’, before letting go of her. She smiled sadly, in that way mothers do, and gently patted his cheeks. Blushing a bit, he turned to face you. He looked even redder and you smiled softly. You had always admired the way he was treating his mother, doing his best. You knew it wasn’t easy with the job and it was even worse for him. He had so much love for his mother that it made you feel happy, for her, for him, for the both of them. No matter the hard times they had to go through, they survived and were stronger every day. You admired that in them, their way to take their pain and turn it into love. 

When Spencer arrived at your level, his cheeks had gone back to a normal color, but he still had a slightly ashamed look, like he hadn’t wanted you to see him so vulnerable. But you couldn’t care less and you made it very clear, opening the door without a word and walking back to the car. Before taking his seat, he sent you a shy smile and you couldn’t help but look down to hide your own. Letting your guard down was probably the right thing to do, because some people deserved the pain. Because even if it turned badly, you could grow from it. So why keep your heart away from such a compassionate boy? 

 3- Love you all

It was his birthday, and you hadn’t gotten him anything. Well, not really at least. JJ had hoped for one single gift where everyone would participate, and you had jumped on the occasion. That way you were sure he would get something he liked, without you having to worry about anything at all –like him hating your gift. So, you didn’t know what JJ had gotten and when she got in the bullpen with nothing but a simple envelope, you couldn’t help but worry. Maybe she had changed her mind, or maybe it was something stupid. You had thoughts about buying him books, something like that, but not a letter. You were freaking out, silently, sitting at your desk, watching her make her way to spencer. She handed him the envelope and smiled, and you got up, just like the others, to surround the boy as to watch his reaction. You were further away, as usual. You may like him, but you knew he wasn’t feeling the same and he was still very, very cold with you. 

You almost didn’t see him open the letter, but you very soon recognized the two tickets in his hands as he took them out. The vintage-looking picture, the handwriting. 

‘Tickets for the ‘Letters through ages’ exposition?’ 

The team didn’t know who to look at. You had both screamed at the same time, interest cursing through your veins. You had jumped from the desk you were sitting on, rushing to Spencer’s side in complete awe of the tickets. Those kinds of tickets were rare and hard to get, only a handful of people had gotten the chance to see this exposition of vintage letters coming from all over the world, and you had dreamed of going there ever since you heard about it. Apparently, Spencer felt the same because his eyes were shining so brightly with happiness, you were almost jealous. Almost. You were too happy for him. What made your heart break a bit, though, was the second ticket. You knew more than anyone else that no one in the team –except the both of you- were interested in this kind of thing, which meant... He had someone else to take. 

‘Thank you, all, i love you guys.. I just.. I wouldn’t know who to bring with me...’ 

You blushed a bit. Of course. He didn’t have anyone, and it shouldn’t have made you feel as relieved as you did. You shrugged and looked up, only to see all eyes on you. Derek’s smirk made you squirm uncomfortably, making you think he was up to no good. And, being himself, he definitely was. 

 ‘Well, I feel like Y/N wants to come with you, don’t you ?’ 

You blushed even more, gently hitting Morgan on the shoulder. Part of you hated him for suggesting that, but the other was thankful. Maybe you would have a chance to finally see that exposition and, more than anything, you would be able to spend an evening with Spencer, just the two of you. Which sounded like a very nice idea to you. 

He looked up to you, smiling shyly, and handed you the second ticket. 

‘I do hope you’re free that evening.’ 

4- Evening together

When it happened, you weren't ready for it. Well, you should’ve, but some part of you still felt like it was unreal. You were both walking home from the show, in silence. It wasn’t awkward, compared to what you had imagined. The silence was calm, almost reassuring. Spencer's hands were in his pockets and he was looking up at the sky with a slight smile that hadn’t left his lips ever since you had arrived. You couldn’t stop yourself from looking at him. He looked like a little kid who had just spent the best day ever, with red cheeks, messy hair and a smile on his lips. You were feeling the same, to be honest, so you couldn’t say anything. 

 ‘I forgot to, uh... Thank you.’ 

You tilted your head and turned your head to look at him, frowning slightly. His eyes were on you and you wondered how long he had been looking at you. He bit his lip and took his hands out of his pockets, playing with his fingers. 

 ‘I mean, tonight was.. Really great. I didn’t know you like that kind of thing and I'm so glad you-you came with me. It was really... Really thoughtful. I-I loved it.’ 

You smiled and shrugged, trying to hide your own feelings. You felt great, awesome actually. The night had been so calming, walking through the alleys and reading old love letters from all ages, all origins, in different languages. And the best part had been Spencer. The minute he had picked you up, you knew you would have a good time. His walls were down, like he was suddenly more comfortable around you, trusted you more. And you loved it. He had been adorable, and if it had been a date, you would’ve easily said it was the best you had in a long time. Walking in silence surrounded by paper might sound boring to most people, but Spencer made it entertaining. You stood side by side, facing each paper as he waited for you to finish reading before moving onto the next one. When the letter was in a language you didn’t understand –which sadly didn’t happen as much as you wanted-, he would read it to you, translating every word in a soft whisper, his eyes focused on the page. He had spent the evening doing everything right, and you regretted that it wasn’t a date. He would’ve been a perfect boyfriend, and you were only wishing for him to find the best –someone who would deserve him. 

You answered with only a smile, and when he smiled back, it felt like your whole world was finally turning right. 

 5- I love you

You sort of wished he didn’t have to tell you he loved you that day. It was almost painful, because you couldn’t answer. The tape over your mouth, the tears rolling down your cheek, the gun pointed at your head... Everything was keeping you from talking. From saying it back. And even that, it wasn’t the best moment to tell a coworker you were in love with them when the both of you were held at gunpoint by an unsub. 

You knew you were about to die. Well, you thought you were. You believed in the team to save Spencer, but you were pretty sure you were done. You weren’t the one with the information the unsub needed, you weren’t the smart one, you weren’t the useful one. You were just bait, and you had been since the beginning of the case. 

Stuck in a cage, you had time to sort out your feelings, admit them to yourself and accept that you would never be able to share them with the one person you loved. Yet here he was, ruining everything, telling you he loved you as you were about to die without telling him you had felt the same ever since you first saw him. 

When you heard a gunshot and a scream, you were sure you were dead. Or wounded at least. But there was nothing, until you felt a hand under your head. 

 ‘Open your eyes, Y/N. Dammit, open your eyes.’ 

 And so you did, fluttering your eyes open, waiting for the tears to fade away to see Emily’s gentle, worried smile. You tried to move, tried to get up, but you were still tied up and you knew she was working on that. But you couldn’t think about anything else, anyone else other than the person you were thinking about for years. 

 ‘Spencer...’ 

‘He’s fine. Don’t worry, we got you.’ 

You whined, trying to get up again. This time, your feet were free and you stumbled up on your feet, fighting against the tape holding your hands together. As Emily took it off, you looked around and let out a sob when you saw the blood where Spencer had been sitting, but you quickly looked away and your eyes fell on him. This time, you cried. You ran up to him as he was sitting on the floor, Morgan next to him with a medic. But you couldn’t care less. You rushed by his side, wiping away your tears, and kneeled by his side. He looked up at you and you saw worry, relief, fear and shame in his eyes. You bit your lip, searching in his eyes, before leaning in and quickly kissing him, before moving away. 

 ‘Say it again.’ 

 ‘I love you, Y/N’