#boy & bear blood to gold

[t9fi]

allure. — ryomen sukuna☆

pairing. true form!sukuna. fem!reader.

warnings. lil suggestive. violence. lil misogyny. sukuna being sukuna.

word count. 1.4K

notes. this is the start of my series AAAA!! yes they’re will 100% be smut in the next chapter mwah

ch. one.

Ryomen Sukuna, the most formidable ruler in human history, stood as the embodiment of malevolence—a cursed spirit whose sinister presence haunted the earth. His eyes, a shade of crimson akin to blood, pierced through the darkness; his hair, spiked and unkempt, added to his fearsome countenance, complemented by sharp, pointy teeth that instilled terror. The features of Sukuna were a nightly torment, vivid in your dreams.

Each night, you awoke bathed in cold sweat, the memory of his haunting gaze lingering. Attempts to banish the nightmares proved futile, and as you faced another sleepless night, a glimmer of hope lingered—that, perhaps, the haunting visions might fade away today.

Today marked Sukuna's quest to find a wife, someone to bear an heir for his throne. In the midst of four other women, your kimono adorned with a black coat, red and pink flowers accentuating its elegance, you stood. Your hair, secured by a gold knife engraved with your family's name, framed your face, creating a captivating allure.

All heads bowed, anticipation thickened the air as the women awaited the arrival of their lord. Your heart pounded, body trembled, breath caught in your throat.

"Lord Sukuna has arrived," a guard announced from the castle corner.

His cursed energy permeated the surroundings, a palpable force. You dared not lift your gaze, feeling his presence draw near.

"What do we have here?" Sukuna's voice echoed as he surveyed the women before him.

Advancing slowly, he examined each one. The first woman dared to meet his gaze, only to have blood spill on the floor, a grim warning. 

“Pathetic” He grumbled.

Moving to the second woman, Sukuna's piercing gaze swiftly assessed the scene. One glance was all it took for him to form a scathing judgment - her hair in wild disarray, kimono tattered and stained, and makeup smeared across her face. He scrutinised her from head to toe, a sneer forming on his lips.

"Do you hold no regard for me, woman?" His voice echoed with disdain, yet she dared not reply, avoiding his gaze.

Sukuna seized her unruly hair, yanking it back, forcing her to meet his eyes. "I am neither boy nor man. I am King. Show your respect to your lord by fulfilling your duty," he growled. With a harsh release, he pushed her aside, moving on to the next victim. A cry escaped her lips, drawing his attention back.

"All you women do is cry, cry, cry," his voice reverberated through the room. "The only tears you should shed are beneath me, woman."

His attention shifted to the third girl, who exuded confidence and beauty. A smirk played on her lips, earning a chuckle from the lord. "You think you could be my wife? You're far too cocky," he declared, causing her to gulp nervously.

As your eyes shifted towards him, he caught your gaze. Skipping the fourth girl in line just to capture your attention, you knelt down and uttered, "My Lord."

Your demeanour exuded propriety and impeccable manners, channeling all your undying faith towards him, a scent he could detect. "Your name?" he inquired, a question he hadn't posed to the other girls. You cleared your throat before responding, "Y/N, my Lord."

Sukuna merely hummed, tilting his head to scrutinize you closely. "Eyes on me, little one," he commanded.

Gradually, your gaze ascended, tracing the intricate patterns of his tattoos until it met his face. Razor-sharp teeth, bloodshot eyes, and flushed pink hair greeted your vision. 

Obedient, well-mannered, and undeniably beautiful, he thought. 

Leaning in close, Sukuna's voice slithered into your ear, "Aren't you pretty?”

You remained silent, gripped by fear and apprehension about what might unfold next. Sukuna, now standing tall, surveyed the guards in the room.

"I have found my wife," he declared, his gaze shifting down to you. 

"Escort the others away and inform their families that they have brought shame to their villages."

Your heart pounded, as if threatening to burst from your chest. Seated in the opulent bath meticulously prepared by the maids, you found yourself in a spacious tub that could accommodate more than just one person. Nestled in the corner, your hair still secured in the pin you referred to as a knife, vulnerability consumed you.

The realisation that you were now the wife of the king of curses left you feeling scared and shaken. The prospect of being in his presence, let alone marrying him, filled you with dread. Thoughts of death seemed more palatable than the idea of being intimate with him.

A knock on the door interrupted your turmoil. "Lord Sukuna is here to see you," a maid announced.

Shit. Panic set in. This would be your first solo encounter with Sukuna, and he would see you in this compromised state. You scrambled to cover yourself with bubbles, your arms shielding your chest.

As Sukuna entered, his cursed energy permeated the room. Clad in a scant black coat and baggy pants, he spoke your name, making your body tremble.

"My lord," you replied, unable to meet his gaze.

Sukuna approached, taking a seat beside the bathtub, leaning against its edge. "Look at me, little one," he commanded, and reluctantly, your eyes met his.

"You are my wife, yes?" he inquired. You nodded, feeling small under his scrutiny.

"You bathe with me, not by yourself," he declared firmly. Again, you nodded, acutely aware of your diminutive stature in his presence.

"Now move, make room for your husband," Sukuna ordered. Your eyes widened as you shifted away, still clutching your chest protectively. Sukuna began to rise, nonchalantly removing his thin coat with his two arms. His hands then met the waist band of his pants, slowly taking it off. 

Your eyes were stunned. You had never been touched, cared for, or seen anything like this.

He chuckled upon entering the bath, wearing the broadest smirk across his face. Seating himself, he leaned against the wall, his dark gaze fixed on you. The smirk remained as his third arm extended, reaching for your waist. "Come here, wife," he beckoned.

Your back was gently pulled into the warmth of his chest, the stark contrast in size apparent as his colossal arms enveloped your smaller frame.

"You have to get used to this, little one, especially for our wedding night," he chuckled, his words hanging heavily in the air.

Your wedding night?

You turned your head to glance at him; he was impressively large. His substantial muscles subtly flexed, playfully enticing you, and his bold grin illuminated his face. He cocked his head, questioning the direction of your gaze. You found yourself staring, considering the possibility that Sukuna wasn't entirely unpleasant to look at.

“See something you like?” he teased, nudging your shoulder to snap you out of your trance. Your body shifted to face forward, a move he didn't appreciate. He seized your chin, compelling you to meet his gaze. "I enjoy it when you look at me like that; it gets me going” he admitted.

You could feel the warmth spreading through your core, accompanied by a wave of guilt. Why were you feeling this way? You shouldn't, considering how evil, destructive, and vile he was. You couldn't help but flutter your pretty eyes at him, turning your body to finally face him.

His hands firmly gripped your waist as his arms leaned against the edge of the bathtub. Veins ran up his forearms and hands, giving them a rugged yet captivating appearance. "My Lord," you began to speak, your voice barely above a whisper. You pointed towards his hands resting on the bathtub, "Your hands, they're quite beautiful."

A smug grin spread across his face as he replied, "Yeah?" Sukuna mocked, his gaze shifting towards your breasts. He pointed towards them, stating, "I like these." His right hand cupped your breast, eliciting a whimper that escaped your lips.

Anxiety coursed through you, unsure of what he would do next. But damn, you loved it. His touch, his body, his words - he knew exactly how to captivate you. Sukuna's hand trailed down from your chest to your stomach, applying gentle pressure to that area. "This right here," he began, his thumb tracing circles over and over again, "This is where my heir will be." You nodded your head and pouted your pretty lips.

"Yeah? You think you can handle that?" he questioned.

Oh fuck, he made you feel so hot. Your cheeks flushed as you responded, "Yes, my Lord."

"Good girl."

note two. y’all I would love it if u guys gave me some suggestions on what to put throughout the chapters. Smth spicy smth sad, angsty ANYTHING.

#sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #jjk sukuna #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #jujutsu sukuna #sukuna ryomen smut #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut

[charlietheepicwriter7]

"Mr. Bubbles, Mr. Bubbles-"

A little boy's voice--the first little boy that Tim had discovered in the labyrinth city below Gotham--echoed through the cavernous halls. Tim crept over the rubble of a broken stalagmite that had fallen through the ceiling, destroying the white and gold decor and dripping water inside. The room up ahead was lit only from glowing green tubes of liquid that lined every wall of Amity, the ectoplasm that powered the entire city.

"Are you there? Are you there?"

He peeked out from behind a crumbled wall. On his own, the little boy was crouched over corpse, fresh enough that it's blood was still wet on the floor. The boy's giant needle, the go-to weapon of all the Little Sisters that Tim had seen so far, was jabbed into the corpse's stomach and, slowly, ectoplasm and blood filled the glass jar on the end.

"Bring me a lolli-"

There was no sign of a Big Daddy, but Tim knew there was one nearby. These children were never without their protectors after all.

"Bring me a toffee-"

And at this point, Tim had killed enough of them to know for certain that one was around.

His left arm, marked all over with the needle marks of constant Plasm and ecto-dejecto injections, tingled, like there were ants under his skin. Or more accurate, he mused grimly, electricity-

Don't Think About It.

"Teddy bear, teddy bear."

He kicked his bare feet excitedly as he finished harvesting ectoplasm. Screwing off the jar, the child lifted it up to his lips like a cup and drank the viscus liquid down in huge, chest-heaving gulps like his life depended on it. Unlike Little Sisters who wore gore-covered dresses, the Little Brother was dressed in a white medical gown, relatively clean considering his filthy surroundings. His arms and face were free from dirt or blood, and even his hair looked suspiciously washed and combed.

Tim tightened his grip on his gun.

The Little Brother sighed, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Brushing off his skirt, he yanked the needle out of the corpse. Then, like he could sense him, the boy looked straight at Tim. He froze.

Blank eyes covered in a green flim stared at him... and the Little Brother smiled at him, his teeth stained brown from the muck. "Mr. Helper! There you are, I've been waiting soooo long! Big Sister thought you'd never catch up!"

#bioshock au #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #little brother danny #c: tim drake #c: danny fenton #danny is just a creepy little baby #tim's having a mental crisis about becoming what is basically a meta on a bender #tim: this little brother looks strangely well taken care of compared to the little sisters what does this mean!? #Big Sister Jazz: take care of little brother. little brother should no get dirty... little brother keeps getting dirty #Amity in it's prime would look super futuristic. modernist and white #after the civil war though cave ins and water erosion is slowly destroying everything #there's an entire garden filled with hallucinogenic mushrooms that tim is going to have to deal with and he's NOT going to like what he see

[cod-fishing]

Thinking about Price being possessive over his boys. Not romantically or sexually (he likes to tell himself), but any time Soap starts chatting about some bear he met in a bar during leave, or Gaz mentions a girl who gave him her number, he can feel himself bristle. He tries to bury it, but it only gets worse after Las Almas, their bonds forged in far too much blood, and he struggles to bite down discouragement for any connection outside their little family.

When soap and ghost finally get together, he can’t figure out which of them he wants to throttle, but the sensation is intense nonetheless. Enough that he can’t stop himself from ordering them to his office and dressing them down so meticulously his old drill Sargent would be proud. They both look defiant. At perfect attention, military perfect in their stance, but fire in both of their eyes. It’s only when Soap, jaw clenched, demands if Price is going to transfer them that the Captain falters.

He sits heavy into his chair, and orders his boys at ease.

“I could never let go of either of you,” he finds himself gritting out through cigar smoke and choking emotions, far too unfiltered, “I just don’t want you boys to get hurt.”

He sees them soften, understanding. Not expecting a real answer, Price asks them their intentions with one another. He doesn’t want either of them to hurt the other, and while he knows they both have hearts of gold, they’ve got a lot of thorns as well. But they talk, and Soap is his usual genuine self and Ghost- Simon, really - is more honest and open than Price has seen him be ever, so…

He says okay. But keep me updated, he says. The good and the bad. They nod, and he assumes he’ll have to pry information out of them, and they move on.

Miraculously, they do keep him updated. Soap comes knocking one day, and Price asks about those reports he sent him off with and Soap says, aye, captain, got those for you, but ah…can I tell you something sweet Ghost did for me today? He’s bursting with joy when Price looks at him properly, and how can he say no to that?

Ghost, too, comes in one day, and asks to speak with the captain. Need some advice, sir. Johnny wants to take me home to his family for the holidays and I’m feeling real conflicted, he says. And they talk it out, fingers playing with the rims of their whiskey glasses. Price gets this feeling in his chest, likes he wants to reach out and trace his fingers somewhere else, but he ignores it.

It keeps happening that way, Price getting deeper and deeper in their relationship. He knows everything about the two together - almost everything. Ghost is on a solo mission one day and soap is moping, and so price pulls him into his office with the intention of getting him plastered and making him go to bed.

Instead, Johnny gets talkative. He should have known.

“God, Price, you wouldn’t believe the things he can do with his mouth. His fingers, too, lord knows where he learned it, but it’s like he took a fucking class on making me cum just from the teasing alone.”

“You’ve heard his voice captain, I mean no wonder I was creaming my pants to be with him so bad, and boy was I right. Downright evil how good it sounds during and early morning shag.”

And, even worse than all that, somehow…

“Well you know me, I like to be the best. So I told him we should start training my throat, so I can actually take his monster cock, the bastard. Did pass out the first time but we’ve been taking it slowly but surely ever since.”

And Price just…he should shut him up, but instead, he just takes it. Just lets the lad ramble about his love, like some lass back at home pinning for her deployed soldier. He hates it, he hates it, he tells himself. But he takes it for Johnny, and for Simon, and for the trust they have put in him.

And when he fists his cock in his quarters later that night, aching from being hard for so long, he can’t help but picture all those filthy things Soap told him.

Maybe, all this time, he was just jealous.

#cod mwii #soapghost #ghostsoap #cod mw2 #ghoap #tf141 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #codmw2 #mywriting #cod mw3 #cod mwiii #captain john price #priceghost #pricesoap #pricesoapghost

[fortheb0ys]

BOTTOM WEREWOLF PHILLIP GRAVES × TOP VAMPIRE MALE READER

Happy Halloween!! This has been plaguing my mind non-stop. I love me some American boy🇺🇸🦅

CW: blood kink, monster fucking, breeding kink, rough sex, master kink, puppy play, last bit has cannibalism ( sorry lol.

FEM+MINORS DNI

Your teeth were buried in the back of Graves' neck, tasting his blood as you thrust into him. Your brain all haywire from the pleasure of Graves' tight heat and as red liquid coats your tongue.

You were fucking him doggy style, perfectly fitting your puppy boy.

Graves was pushing back on your every thrust meeting you halfway. His tongue his lulled out, drooling on the bloodstained sheets below. He was panting loudly, like the dog he is. His breaths came out short and ragged.

"God, puppy, you taste heavenly." You release Graves from your bite and lick you lips clean, wiping a trickle of blood that ran down your chin.

Pulling back to rest yourself on the heals of your feet while still being buried into Graves, you admire your work. Not in just the place you had just bitten but all along his back and shoulders were littered with bites both deep and shallow. His back red with blood. Any normal mortal would be dead but not Graves. He was a good boy. A terrifying werewolf turned into your puppy cock slut.

Your hand find it's way up to the red spiked collar around his neck, pulling him back, keeping him on your cock. A gold tag engraved with 'Blood Bank' on it, jiggles with each trust.

Graves felt shameful hearing himself be reduced to such a state but everything felt too much. Too good.

Whenever Graves was overwhelmed emotionally or in the case psychically, he would lose all control of his tail. It would just mindlessly wag. Whether if he was happy or mad. He wouldn't even noice till someone would point it out or more often than not, he'd hit it off someone. But in this instance, someone. That someone being you.

The quick wags of his tail was charming at first. Proud that you had fucked him cock drunk and stupid. But now it was hitting you against your side. It wasn't painful but it was more so beginning to throw you off.

After having enough, you let go of his collar and roughly grab Graves' wayward tail and pull him back onto your cock with it. A loud, surprised yelp sounds from Graves.

Your hand doesn't slow, pulling him quickly. His moans only get louder. His pathetic noises and the loud slaps of your balls hitting his ass rang loudly in Graves' ears. His ears being more sensitive than mortals, it was almost too much to bear.

He claws at the sheet, the pain and pleasure overwhelming him more than he thinks he can handle.

He justs wants to cum. His walls squeezed tightly around you. Graves brings his hand to grab his cock but you quickly stop him. Not gently, no. But by giving him an unexpected slap against his ass.

The hard slap shook Graves to his core and a jolt to his cock.

"Heel. Be a good boy and listen to your master. Can you do that?" You gently command, giving a little pat than messaging on the now blooming red mark on his backside. The gentle gesture in contrast to your rough treatment was sending Graves brain into a haywire frenzy. He tried to think of the words to relay an answer but when he opened his mouth to speak only heavy breaths were heard.

Tried of waiting for an answer, you lay two hard smack one after.

"I asked you something. Speak." Your tone now harsh again. Graves takes in short, quick breaths in, trying to will the strength to speak. He licks lips, noting how dry his throat was, he manages to muster up a weak, 'yes.'

Your grip on his tail tightens again, pulling him back even harder. Any harder, Graves could swear you'd be able to rip it clean off of him. A whimper escapes his throat as his hand finds itself back to the ripped sheets.

He closed his eyes as the humiliation settled in, his face red. He whimpered once more and you began abusing his prostate, hitting it with every trust.

" 'M a good boy. P-please let puppy cum."

Your cock throbs inside him. Hearing him beg always made something stir in you. Just hearing a feared commander come undone at your every whim and well was something to be proud of.

"God, you whimper like a fucking puppy." You sneer, fangs beared.

You begin to slam harder into him, knocking to breath from his lungs. Your hold is still on his tail, as you pull it to meet his thrusts.

"You'd look so good bred. You wanna be fucked full, don't ya?" You tease farther.

"P-please..please." Graves crys out, tears now streaming down his face. He was sure what he was asking for. They were just all the words he could manage.

"Almost there. Your doing so good for me."

You feel your release near, your thrust begin to get sloppy. Graves cries became louder as moans and incoherent sentences fell from his tongue.

"M-master. I want to see your face." He did want to see your face but he more so he wanted your grasp off of his tail. He prayed you'd have mercy and do want he wanted. They were answered when you let go of his tail and let your cock slip out. A sense of relief washed over him but was quickly cut when you flipped him on his back. You push his legs till he was practically folded in half. With one quick, rough thrust, you bury yourself back into his ass.

You pace is set fast once agian, chasing release. Graves cries with each thrust, tears are pooling in his eyes. His legs are trembling under your palms. You sink your teeth into his thighs, the taste of blood touches your tongue. You bite than lick the blood off, moving to another spot when satisfied, repeating the cycle again.

You look up from between Graves' legs and your eyes meet, pupils blown out with lust. Behind Graves' eyes there a plea. Seeing it you know what he wants before he could get the words out. You decide you'll give what he wants and bring you hand up to jerk him off. With just a few tugs, he cums into your palm.

You aren't far behind him. With one final bite to his thigh, you cum deep inside him with one rough thrust.

You both lay with the glow of sex. The only thing that could be heard was tired, deep breath. After a few moments you sit back, releasing Graves' legs. You pull out of Graves, watching your cum spill from his ass. Graves whines at the empty feeling, now missing you filling him to the brim.

You bring your hand to his face, still dripping with cum.

"Lick."

Graves diligently opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue at your one word command. You let his cum drip into his mouth. He brings his lips to your palm, lapping like a thirsty dog.

Graves licks the cum that dripped down your arm, moaning at the taste of himself. Without thinking he gives your skin a little nip. Much like you, he was a bitter. He looked at you apologetically. Bad dogs who bite get in trouble.

"It okay, puppy. You did so good for me. Good boys deserve a treat."

Now with your permission, Graves sinks his teeth farther into your arm. You could feel your flesh and muscle tear from bone beneath the iron grip of Graves' teeth. The pain was overwhelming but god, did it feel good. The smell of iron and cum hung heavy.

He rips off a large portion of your forearm. He innocently blinks up at you waiting any further commands. You can feel your missing flesh heal, knitting back together muscle and skin.

"Go on. Swallow."

With one gulp, Graves feels it go down his throat. Your taste was overwhelming. His tail begins to wag as he smiles happily at his job well done.

"You're such a good boy, Graves." You smile back at him, giving him a pat on the head. He buries his nose in your neck, inhaling your scent.

"I'll always be your good boy, Y/N."

#call of duty mwii #call of duty x male reader #phillip graves #call of duty x reader #x reader #call of duty mw2 x male reader #phillip graves x male reader #phillip graves x reader

[heliads]

boy; girl; dragon

Hiccup only needs two things. He knows he can rely on both forever.

masterlist

There is a boy, and he has a girl. And also a dragon. 

The order matters. He had the girl first, even if he didn’t know it yet. She didn’t say a word to him about the feeling beating against the bars of her ribs like a dove in a cage, not until he did first. The dragon helped things along, surprisingly. Usually, fire-breathing reptiles can only complicate a situation, but when two young people are soaring through the sky with only the billowing light of the sun and stars around them to bear witness to the truths they have to tell, secrets end up not so secret anymore. Hiccup told you he loved you. You said the same.

The dragon watched, and listened, and waited. It, of course, had known the whole time. Almost everyone did. Tact is a rare occurrence among the Vikings, but the people of Berk could tell that interference in the story of you and him, him and you, would not bode well. You and Hiccup were something different, something special. You didn’t need anyone but each other. And the dragon.

Loving a Viking is dangerous. Loving Hiccup was so far along the line of adventure and risk that even your first kiss felt like throwing off your armor to embrace a knife in your chest. If this was pain, though, it was the loveliest anguish you had ever experienced in your entire life. Falling in love with Hiccup was brilliant, like dragonfire; exhilarating, like tumbling in freefall; unfailing, like the son of a chieftain knowing that he would send his entire village to keep you safe from harm or die trying. Staying in love with him was soft torchlight, quiet mornings, wispy clouds around your temples when he took you up to see the stars. Easy. Perfect. And yours, all yours.

The two of you are together now, sitting side by side on the edge of a cliff. Most of Berk is rocky with occasional splashes of slate blue or chestnut wood to break up the monotonous grey, but tenacious patches of grass have managed to crawl up to the top of the cliffside here, providing you with a threadbare emerald blanket on which you can rest your legs.

A cool wind whistles through the air, toying with your hair and clothes before plunging off the edge of the rock face. You watch it go, taking a few errant leaves with it, and consider the drop down to the sea below you.

“If I fell right now,” you say to Hiccup, “off the side, you would catch me.”

“I would catch you,” he affirms. “Dragon or no dragon.”

“What if I fell too fast and you couldn’t reach me in time?” You ask.

He takes your hand, voice soft and gentle in the early morning. You’ve heard him louder and more assertive when directing the villagers, but you like him best like this, when Hiccup’s peace is only ever meant for you. There is an entirely different young man who exists only when he’s alone with you, a Hiccup that no one will ever know as well as you do. It is a delight to keep the secret of this second, inner boy. It’s a treasure that will only ever be claimed by you, a sparkling spread of gold and jewels captive to one person and one person alone. Not even blood relations can claim that sort of glory.

“There is nowhere you could go that I would not follow,” Hiccup asserts. “Not off the cliff. Not into the sky. I would follow you past the sun, or a hundred thousand lengths in the sea. I would search the world to find you, if I had to, and I would bring you back with me. Always. Do you believe me?”

“I do,” you whisper. “Always.”

“Always,” he repeats, and presses a kiss to your temple.

This is loving Hiccup, then. Always. Always the guarantee of a heart beating in tandem with yours. Always the confidence that you will not be alone in this world of yours, even as it seems to stretch out forever, even as it looms to hide a hundred friends or a thousand enemies. If the odds are with you or against you, you will have Hiccup to guide you through the trials and tribulations of this life of yours. It is written in the stars, and it is sworn by the one you love. No promise could be greater.

The two of you will descend into legend, into myth, into folklore. Never in the world have any two people loved each other more, and never will they again. Every young pair thinks that they could have this, a love to last a lifetime, but you and Hiccup will do them one better and last a thousand more. You could love him in every universe, every incarnation of yourselves, and Hiccup has already promised to be by your side no matter who you two were. Gods, maybe. Heroes or villains. Ordinary lives or glorious ones. All of them will feature the two of you together. Always.

A shadow briefly blots out the sun overhead, a pair of jet-black wings soaring through the early morning skies. As it loops and wheels towards the two of you, its shade flickers across the trees, dappling them with night’s fury even as the sun climbs higher into the sky. It occurs to you that you’d like every day to start and end like this one, for each one of your hours to be filled with this sort of blissful joy. You don’t need riches, you don’t need a legacy. All you need is right here before you. A boy and a girl. And also a dragon.

disney tag list: @blondsauduun, @lovesanimals0000, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @avadakadabra93

also tagging @hope92100 bc HICCUP

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#hiccup #hiccup imagines #hiccup x reader #hiccup oneshot #hiccup haddock #hiccup haddock imagines #hiccup haddock x reader #hiccup haddock oneshot #httyd #httyd imagines #httyd x reader #httyd oneshot #httyd hiccup #httyd hiccup imagines #httyd hiccup x reader #httyd hiccup oneshot #how to train your dragon #how to train your dragon imagines #how to train your dragon x reader #how to train your dragon oneshot #disney #disney imagines #disney x reader #disney oneshot

[bloodybigwardrobe]

before, in the shadows of a life that has long ceased to be your own, war was suits and uniforms, severe men and overworked mothers. war was looming large, approaching fast. war was terror lurking in the skies, a constant fear of the open air. war was everywhere; your brother and sister forever slighted by all things turned into luxury inside your home. and sure, you only remember the before once it turns into the after, but war—no matter the where of it all, you remember war.

war: standing tall, standing straight, standing with the weight of worlds borne on youthful shoulders; war: a shadow, a streak of vivid red and vicious gold; war: a man-turned-boy-turned-man.

war: steady arms that cling with welcome desperation, a rallying cry that makes your heart burn bright; war: a stumbling boy bearing skies that turn red before they ever find their blue. war: familiar like no other, from cradle to your shaking adult hands.

before-turned-after, you hear your mother—unsweetened tea, old perfumes, and factory oils scrubbed out with rationed soap—whisper to her friends about war. you sit on wooden steps—not stone, never stone in the after—and dig your nails into your shins. war, forever burning bright, sits at your back with the skies and the sword's edge. you lean to feel the shift in his breath, to remember that with everything lost, war remains.

she let the war in, your mother says in words tinted with war-weak drink. she lets war sleep on the same floor as her children, she confesses, like a wolf amongst sheep. you dig your nails deeper. war, his forehead against your back, sighs.

you know war best, cradle to the here and now. he wipes your tears with too-soft hands until you miss the swords and bows like the air inside your lungs. he brushes your sister's hair, listens to your brother with intent. war holds it together in the cracked marble that you've all become. war, warm and familiar, holds on tight.

when you start to wear your mother's old dresses, outgrowing your own, when you start to paint your lips a new shade of red, war's reflection almost cracks the fragile glass of your composure. he watches, looming, bearing the crimson skies like a gift rather than the curse it grew to be. his eyes—blue still, too blue for england clouds and england air—carry even more, a looking glass for worlds long closed to you and him. the curve of his smile makes you ache for string and wood, makes your fingers crave the weight of pulling it all taut. his shoulders are broad, his hands calloused again.

over your shoulder, your mirror shows a sword stained beyond repair. you ache with the wish for the battlefield. you fear it as you always did, even when you called it home. war, a rag in hand and shoulders straight, hums in tune with the memory of arrows loosened from your gentle hands.

you leave before the blood can reach your polished shoes.

——susan pevensie learns of ares, of atlas, of war on a horse. she weeps for the brother she finds in them.

#narnia #chronicles of narnia #susan pevensie #peter pevensie #the pevensies #tcon #like i said yesterday: on my peter-as-war rodeo again #and as always with my peter and susan dynamic brainrot <333 #sometimes your brother is war and you are the gentle queen who will fight but hates war #hhhhhh they #atlaswriting

[catsteeth]

Sugar & Violence

Podrick Payne x reader 

+:✿ Chapter 1 ✿:+ : Lucky Boy

chapter 2

Summary: You’re a Mormont being held hostage by House Lannister.  You are acting now as the Handmaiden for Margery Tyrell, whom you’ve grown quite close with. But it seems that a squire has caught your attention as you have caught his. 

CW: afab reader, slow burn, mention violence, blood, mention of harassment, mention of NSFW themes.

A/N: I am not giving up on the leashed dog series yall I promise I have just been PINING for pod the rod recently… and tbh we need a little sweetness with everything happening in the other series okay. He is a rom com boy trapped in a medieval fantasy war and I feel so bad for him.

Word Count: 3348 

It had been many days now being held by the Lannisters. You’d no real duties on Bear Island as it was such a small house. Your Aunt was a fierce leader and needed no guidance. You had chosen to venture off of Bear Island to celebrate your coming of age. You decided to travel all over the realm, you wished to see the world and experience all of it. However at a tavern near Kings Landing a man decided to grab at you. You hated it when men did that, so you took your cup of ale and smashed the whole cup into his nose. 

It broke of course, and of course, like a child he wept. If a man had done such to another man no one would have batted an eye. But because it was a gold cloak you “assaulted”, and because you were you, a Mormont. An enemy house, you were arrested and brought to the Lannisters. They thought of killing you but instead decided to make use of you.  

And they did make good use of you. With you there, Bear Island would be swayed away from ever siding with Stannis against them with you in your custody. Not only that but you were trained in healing, and not nearly as hardened looking as the other women of Bear Island. You were made Handmaiden for Margery Tyrell while she was inhabiting the city. 

Margery had done her part in helping you fit in. She showed you how to style your hair, how to pick a dress that suited your figure, how to manipulate the men around you, keeping you out of any more unnecessary trouble. When she dressed you up, no one would be able to tell you could swing a sword just as well as any Kingsgaurd or sellsword could. 

You see Margery had to pretend in front of everyone else, but with you, you weren’t loyal to the Lannisters and she knew this. Besides you two had bonded after many nights drinking wine late at night in her bedchambers. Like two little girls who had stolen their fathers ale. You’d spend the nights talking of your lives and your wishes. 

Margery was the same again and again, to be the queen. And yours was always the same, to live life and experience all you could.

You and she also talked of men. You’d had experience, and so had she. Not many women would admit it but you two were close enough that you felt you could. 

You and she attended many festive celebrations with one another, and to anyone else it would seem you were enjoying your time there. That was good, you did not want to attract any attention. 

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Your station as a handmaiden made it easy to overhear and eavesdrop on many high born conversations. One that caught your attention the most was that Janos Slynt, the commander of the gold cloaks, the man who arrested you, was going to be dismissed from his duty.

You weren’t above pettiness. You wanted to hear him be dismissed with your own ears. You found a small room within the castle. Tyrion was hosting a small dinner with Slynt. This was going to be the dinner where he was going to be dismissed. You pressed your back against the wall beside the door listening in. The majority of the dinner was mindless small talk, until

“Damn it boy!” Slynt said loudly. 

The shout was so loud you couldn’t help but turn and peer into the room, catching a glimpse of the man who arrested you, Lord Tyrion Lannister, and a squire. You saw that the squire had spilt wine all over the hand of Slynt. It made you smile, holding in amusement. 

“My apologies my Lord.” The shorter brown haired squire said. 

“You can pour your own wine.” Tyrion said in defense of the squire.

You looked back to Slynt and saw that you had been seen, Slynt raised a brow at you. 

“You girl! You the Mormont?" Slynt said loudly, 

‘Fuck’ you thought to yourself. Knowing you’d been caught. 

“Indeed, My Lord.” You said, putting on a meek and sweet demeanor.

“Come in here,” Slynt commanded. 

“What are you doing here, My Lady?” Tyrion questioned you gently.

“Looking for my Lady Tyrell, I seem to have lost my way, My Lord.” You said bowing your head. A convincing enough lie.

“I was responsible for your arrest, do you remember that, girl.” His face was confident and irritating.

“I do, Ser.” You said still attempting to keep a sweet and calm demeanor.  

“I thought she was to be punished?” Slynt said to Tyrion.

“She is HandMaiden to Lady Margery Tyrell, and as I am told, a very skilled healer. She has proven to be quite useful.” Lord Tyrion said with a smile looking at you, you smiled back. 

“A girl assaults a member of the gold cloaks and is given a position in your Kingdom?” 

“A decision made by the King. If you wish to disagree with his decision-” 

“Course not.” Slynt interrupted,  “Wine,” he commanded, holding up his empty cup. 

The same squire began to walk towards the man with the pitcher of wine. 

“Not you, boy, the bear girl.” Slynt said looking at you, the irritation boiled inside of you. But you did your best to keep your cool.

You took the pitcher from the squires hands, you looked at him for a moment, his worried expression changed into a smile. It was a smile of total innocence you thought to yourself. 

You took the pitcher and walked your way towards the table, as you began to pour wine into his cup he started to speak again. 

“Tell me girl, are you enjoying the city?” His tone was one of an interrogator.

“Yes, My Lord.” You said pouring, with a cherubic smile. 

“You don’t look like the women of Bear Island.” He said biting his lip, it made you feel ill.

“Indeed, My Lord.” Agree blindly, that’s what Margery taught you anyway

“Women there are beasts,” He said to Tyrion.

“Like you I assume?” Tyrion teased him, it made you smile.

“No, no, like her aunt Maege.” He said and your smile dwindled, but you kept it on. 

You didn’t respond this time, biting your tongue, you felt the anger in you rising but said nothing. You wanted to pour the wine on his balding head, but still, did nothing.

“Tell me is it true, is it true she fucked a bear?” 

“Lord Slyn-” Tyrion began

“What do you wish for me to say, my Lord?” You felt your temper slipping from between your fingertips. Your smile now gone. 

“Do you think I wish for you to lie girl?” Slynt’s tone was harsh,

You stared at him for a moment, your smile snapping back into place. 

“Whatever you’d command, my Lord.”

“Enough.” Tyrion tried to stop it.

“You’d do anything I commanded?” 

“I said enough. Lady Mormont, you may see to your lady.” Tyrion commanded, saving you from whatever was to come next.

You smiled and curtseyed as you walked back to place the pitcher back on the table. With your back turned to the men your face dropped and you made eye contact with the same squire. He looked at you with pity in his eyes. You couldn’t stand it. You spit into the pitcher and smiled at the squire, he tried hard to hold back his amusement, only giving it away with a smirk as he looked down at his feet. 

As you walked out of the room you made sure not to make the same mistake as before. You hid better, committed to hearing this man be removed from his position. And you did, and it was just as satisfying as you thought it would be. Especially when he was escorted by his own gold cloaks out of the tower, kicking and whining like a child.

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During the Battle of Blackwater you attended to many mens wounds. 

It had taken most of the night, you were not concerned with the war that waged outside the castle walls. If they won, nothing changed for you. If they lost, you’d either be set free, or once again, nothing would change. Most likely it would be the latter.

You among a few other ladies attended to wounds and dying men while the Maester did as much as he could for those who were far gone. 

Things had slowed down, beds were nearly full, but then knights rushed in holding Lord Tyrion. His face had been cut deeply. The cut had crossed his entire face. You could tell at first glance that it would scar, but he would live. It would have been extremely painful but thankfully he was unconscious. 

They were all shouting at the Maester. To halt what he was doing and to attend to their lord. As he did a tall man, Bronn, the man who replaced Slynt. Dragged a shorter man with short dark hair towards the Maester.

“Lads hand is cut deep, needs help.” Bronn said

“I can’t attend to every cut and scrape when there's a dying lord in my presence.” The old Maester said, quite dramatically you thought. Tyrion was badly wounded but he would live. “Mormont, girl, you attend to the lad!” He shouted to you.

“Is she any good?” Bronn said, the other shorter man looked at you with what looked like embarrassment, “This lad saved that Lord's life.” You huffed at his comment, it annoyed you how he didn’t ask you but the Maester.

“If I’d a cock they’d call me a Maester.” You said walking closer to him til you were inches apart, it made him take a gasp of air puffing up his chest, and his lips formed a line. “Show me,” You said, much softer this time. He relaxed a bit and as you presented your hand, palm facing him. He placed his hand in yours. “Not so bad,” you said as you examined it. 

“Hear that Podrick, not bad-” Bronn said to the shorter man. 

“Not so bad. It is still bad.” You noticed his expression change to a more worried one. You, for some reason, felt the need to let your cold and hardened attitude slip for a moment. “But you won’t lose it. I’ll clean it, stitch it, and bandage it.” You placed your other hand over his, trying to comfort him. “Sit.” 

He nodded and did so, laying his hand on the table. You began to clean it. Your eyes snapped from his wound to his face as he winced. “Is it true?” he looked at you and his eyes made your stomach feel like there were butterflies in it, so you looked back to his wound as you tended to it, “You saved him? Lord Tyrion?” 

“I- I helped him, My Lady.” He said, stammering. Though you weren’t looking at him you could tell his eyes were on your face.

“You’re quite brave, Ser.” You said as you finished cleaning his wound.

“Thank you, My Lady, but I’m not-” 

“He’s no Ser, that lads a squire.” Bronn interrupted, “I tell you what though Lass, you want a knight I’ll be happy to oblige.” He said stepping closer to you, your eyes returned to your work on the squires hand.

“Men like you amuse me, Ser. They believe they are still young, handsome, and desirable. No matter what they look like.” You said attempting to fain genuine amusement as if he’d told a joke.

As Bronn attempted to begin a retort, you heard a small laugh leave the unconscious Lord’s lips, still not fully conscious.

“See? I am a good healer.” You said as everyone looked at Tyrion's subtle laugh as you continued to work. 

The squire looked back at you with a slight grin, as if he were trying to hide his amusement.

“Much braver for a squire to do such a thing.” You said softly just so he’d hear it. 

He smiled at you in response, He was pretty you thought. Men on Bear Island were fearsome, rigid, and gruff. This one wasn’t, the opposite in fact. He’d had a natural goodness about him, a sweetness. 

That's when you realized he was the same squire from the dinner between Ser Slynt and Lord Tyrion. 

“I know you.” You said with narrow eyes and furrowed brows, finally realizing. 

“Yes, my Lady.” His smile and innocent response made you smile involuntarily, you tried to hide it to no avail. You were flattered that he’d even remembered you. The feeling of flattery didn’t come naturally to you at all either.  

“This part is going to hurt.” You said pulling the curved needle through his flesh, he winced and hissed. Your eyes went towards him, normally you never cared. A man should learn to handle pain, you always thought. But you hated to see him in any discomfort. “Bring him wine.” You called out to Bronn. Your words towards Bronn were no near as gentle and sweet sounding as they were towards Podrick. 

He began to drink it, only sipping a little at first, but you pushed the cup up making him down more. “You’ll want to be numb to this.” You explained. 

As he continued to drink you continued with your work. By the end of it you bandaged his hand, “Finished,” You said standing up, and he followed your actions. 

“I can’t thank you enough, my lady.” He said clearly a little drunk from the wine. 

“Alright,” Bronn said grabbing Podrick by the back of his neck and dragged him out of the chamber. You could hear Bronn outside say “You can fuck the she-bear later.” followed by some distant protesting by Podrick.

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A day had passed since the battle. You were in your chambers with Margery. You’d told her about all the handsome knights you’d seen that night. 

She’d teased you about how lucky you were to have gotten your hands on so many. You had begun to describe the squire you’d met. How strange it was to have met a man so pleasant in such an awful place. 

As the two of you laughed there was a knock at your door. Margery took it upon herself to answer it. 

“Lady Tyrell, apologies for the interruption. I came to thank Lady Mormont.” You heard his voice and knew who it was immediately. 

“Ah! I take it you were a knight she tended to during the battle?” Margery asked him, you wanted to laugh, but held it in.

“A squire, my Lady.” He said, his tone was somewhat sullen. As if he were embarrassed to say it.

“A squire…” Margery said with her signature smile as she turned to look at you, raising her eyebrows, then turning back to him “Well I shall leave you to express your gratitude.” She said as she left.

You stood from your chair and stepped forward.

“Lady Mormont?” He said walking towards you, as he did he pulled out a small but beautiful delicate yellow flower. It had only recently bloomed. 

“A flower?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. On Bear Island people hardly said the word thank you much less showed appreciation through gifts, especially not such sweet ones as this.

“I don’t have much, my lady. But I- I wanted to show my gratitude.” He said with his token innocent wide eyed look. You took the flower and smiled slightly, which made him smile back.

“It was my duty, you don’t need to give me flowers for it.” He looked down, as if he was disappointed in himself. You smelt the flower, to show your hidden appreciation of the gesture. “Show me your hand.” You held your hands out, he hesitated not expecting you to command such a thing, but he did it as you asked. “Hurting at all?” You asked softly examining the cut.

“No, my lady.” His voice was gentle as always.

“It’s healing well.” You said running your finger tip along the length of the stitches, the sensation made him take his hand away, rubbing it against the side of his pants. 

He grunted a little and cleared his throat, “All your doing, my Lady.” 

You looked at him with a smirk, “How long have you been squiring for Lord Tyrion?” 

“For a short time,” 

“Well, you’ll need to learn to pour wine. You spill wine on every Lord in Westeros, sooner or later you’ll spill it on the wrong one.” You said walking towards a table, you grabbed a glass and a pitcher of wine.

“Pour me wine.” You said handing him a pitcher of wine.

You stepped closer towards him, making his swallow hard. But he took the pitcher nonetheless.

“hold the pitcher like this-“ You said moving his hands position with your own, “from the handle, and the bottom” You looked up into his eyes, noticing he was looking right at you “Keep your eyes on the glass.” You said, snapping him out of whatever trance he was in and going back to the task at hand. 

“Like this?” He asked, his voice somewhat more confident.

“Mhmm.” The hum of your voice too close to him made him close his eyes for just a moment. He finished filling your cup, without spilling a drop, “Very good.” As you said it he and you looked at one another, his eyes were wide once again.

“What were you doing there, my lady?” He asked, with a genuine curiosity. “You said you were looking for your Lady, and forgive me for suspecting otherwise-” 

“Eavesdropping.” You interrupted “I had heard they were sending Slynt away, and I wanted to hear it myself.” 

“How did you hear of that?” 

“Again, eavesdropping.” You smirked

“A-and what are you doing here, in Westeros? You were arrested?” 

“It seems you were also eavesdropping.” You teased him.

“Uh well we were in the same room-” You ignored him,

“I left Bear Island to travel, during my travels a Gold cloak tried to force himself on me, so I defended myself.” You said in a matter of fact, you’d no regrets, and no pain towards the matter. However his big brown eyes looked saddened for you, pity, you couldn’t stand pity, “It’s alright, really.” You said trying to reassure him.

“Do you miss your home?” He asked, sweetly.

“I do,” You responded softly, strange how this man was able to gentle your harsh demeanor.

“What was it like?” When he asked it you were thrown off, no one had asked you anything about your home in a genuine way. No one had any interest in it beyond the same constant boring insults.

“Cold. Not just the temperature, the people. But it was beautiful there. Green, rivers, waterfalls.” You smiled softly thinking of it, and found yourself wondering about him, “What of you? You miss your home?” 

“I didn’t have much of one, my Lady.” He lowered his head,

“How’d you get here?” Your eyes narrowed wanting to know more of him. Genuinely. 

“I was the squire for a Ser Lorimer of the Westerlands army. One night he was drunk, and he stole a ham, he shared it with me. We were caught, and he was sentenced to hang for his crime but I was spared for my name.” 

“Lucky boy.” You said with a smirk. One that made his stomach flip. 

“You are different, with the men at the tables. You’re sweet and… simple- but you're not that.” He said, stammering, trying his best not to offend you. 

Your smirk faded, “Men want sweet and simple. Men don’t beat things that are sweet and simple.” 

“You’ve been beaten?” He asked as if it were a horrific discovery. 

“Most girls have.” You said calmly in contrast 

“I-I am sorry, My Lady.” 

“That’s alright. "

“No, it’s not.” 

“No, it’s not.” You smiled softly at him. “You’re a good man, for a southern man. Or just for a man.” 

“Thank you, my lady.” He said with a slight grin. 

“You don’t have to call me that. (Y/N), will do.” 

“(Y/N)” he smiled to himself “(Y/N) Mormont… it is a pretty name.” His grin grew

“You never told me yours.” 

“Ser Bronn told you-“

“But you never told me.” You interrupted. 

“Podrick Payne, my- (Y/N)” He stumbled remembering to call you by your name. 

“Well, goodnight then, my Podrick.” You said teasingly with a smirk. 

Hearing you say those words, “my” followed by his name made a heat rush his face, a visible one. He licked his lips and bowed his head as he responded “Goodnight, (Y/N)” He said as he left you. 

You smelt the flower once more before Margery barged in, 

“A squire?” 

NOTE:  There is a serious drought of Podrick Payne fan fiction series on this app so I had to.  And yes… as always my babygirls, we will be fucking. JUST HOLD ON…  I don’t know dick about Slynt so his dialogue is probably off so i apologize if you love him or smth lmao.  TAG LIST: This is a new series so if you want to be included comment or message me!

#podrick #podrick payne #podrick x reader #podrick x you #podrick x y/n #podrick payne x reader #podrick payne x you #podrick payne x y/n #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones fic #game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones #got fanfic #got fic #got #podrick headcanons

[frenchkisstheabyss]

7 Psychopaths: Lee Know

x Summary: You are X, a seasoned assassin, and your boss has just assigned you an unusual task. You have two weeks to gather six men for a top-secret mission that requires their unique brand of psychopathy. The trick is, you've got romantic history with all of them.

A detail that might make this a walk in the park or the fight of your life. Time to find out...

x Pairing: assassin!lee know x assassin!chubby!fem!reader

x Genre: angst/crime au/smut

x Word Count: 1.8k-ish

x Warnings: blood, violence, fighting, knives, guns, disposable mob goon deaths, unprotected sex, fingering, mirror sex, hair pulling, lino is a lil obsessed with you, the strongest of language

x A/N: This is #2 in a series of 6 stories featuring two members from TXT, two from ATEEZ, and two from Stray Kids. They all follow the same theme and can be read chronologically or you can jump around. I support the chaos.

Previous Psychopath: Yeonjun | Next Psychopath: Wooyoung

Downstairs in the lobby of the Hotel Artemis the Innkeeper sits behind the check-in desk face down in a pool of his own blood. If someone were to lift his head up, the mangled flesh swimming around might resemble crushed raspberries. Their daily serving of fruit courtesy of you. But no one will lift his head up. They’ll all mind their business because that’s what you do here. You step around his body and grab your fucking key before you end up just like him or worse. He’ll wake up eventually. Probably.

Stepping into the surprisingly well-kept elevator, you press the button for the top floor, adjusting the garter belt beneath your dress as the doors close on the empty lobby. This is no time to admire architecture but you can’t help yourself. The Romanesque style interior is breathtaking, much nicer than the deathtraps you’ve found yourself in trying to track down the Black Cat. Some might call it lucky that Minho’s petty streak led him to the penthouse suite of the Artemis, right down the street from where your hotel is.

Watching the numbers light up one after the other as the elevator ascends, you’re shocked when it comes to a stop at the 6th floor, 14 floors short of your destination. You step back, wedging yourself in a corner, and fish your headphones out of your purse. Your music’s on before the bell dings, doors sliding open to let half a dozen goons file in. Italian mob. Dressed in all black. Cocky. Faces still healing from their last brawl. Half of them smile at you, nodding, politely admiring the way your dress hugs your curves, gawking at your flawlessly applied makeup.

You smile back and they turn away, eliminating you as a threat. Stealthy glances around the elevator reveal the guns tucked into their waistbands. The Big One, twice your size in every way, has a set of brass knuckles on his callused hands. Gold plated. Fancy. “Excuse me, gentlemen” you sing, maneuvering through them with the grace of a proper lady. They part the sea for you, unknowingly clearing a path to the control panel. “Getting off already, beautiful?” “Mmm'' you sigh, a manicured nail hovering near the bright red EMERGENCY STOP button, “Not yet.” Your fist slams down on the button, bringing 6,000 pounds of metal to a screeching halt. 

Minho studies the 16th-century Turkish vase on display in the lavish, and utterly destroyed, penthouse of the Golden Child, a pretty boy whose mob boss daddy provides him with enough money to blow on all the cocaine, strippers, and obnoxiously expensive art he can get his hands on. “Don’t you touch it!” the Golden Child screams, spitting loose teeth and blood onto his bear skin rug. Minho pops open the glass display case that houses the vase and an assortment of other highly fragile artifacts. “Don’t touch what?” he asks, winding up the scarlet splattered golf club he used to lay ruin to the apartment and its inhabitant, “This?”

“I said no!” Minho chews at the inside of his lip, pretending to be unsure of his next move when he knows exactly what he’s about to do. The head of the club shatters the priceless vase into a thousand pieces, shards of ceramics and glass flying through the air as he dishes out swing after spiteful swing to those poor, innocent historical treasures. The Golden Child grabs onto the arm of his white leather couch, attempting to push himself up but broken ribs send him tumbling back down. “You’re out of your fucking mind!” he curses, “All because I spilled a drink on you? I said, ‘My bad!”

Winded, Minho tosses the golf club across the room, grinning to himself as he notices a leaking cut on his hand. “My bad?” he laughs, “My bad?” It disgusts him, the smugness of people who think they can run around doing anything they want to anyone they want. Poor manners, that is. His parents should’ve taught him better but that’s what Minho’s here for. Charging across the room, he grabs the Golden child by the collar of his soft cotton robe and hammers his head onto the floor. “My bad is not ‘Sorry!’”

Minho bashes his fist into the man’s jaw, the brute force of the blow knocking another molar loose, “Say sorry!” “Eat shit.” “What?” Minho snaps, positive his ears are deceiving him. The Golden Child smiles up at him, arrogant and entitled even in his battered state, “Eat shit. My dad keeps tabs on me 24/7. He’s probably sending some guys up here right now and when they get here? You're dead.” Grabbing the belt barely hanging onto the man’s robe, Minho twists it around his neck, depriving him of air.

“I guess I’ll see you on the other side then, huh?” Minho doesn’t blink, not even once, as the color drains from the Golden Child’s eyes, bone splintering, his windpipe crumbling just as easily as his precious vases. Saying sorry really couldn’t have been that hard. 

“There’s nowhere to run, little one” taunts the Big One, trying and failing not to trip over the corpses of his friends. Your chest hurts like hell. The others were easy, so shit with their aim that only one bullet in 20 clips had even managed to skim your thigh. But this one? He won’t go down. Squared up against him, the knife from your torn garter clenched in your fist, you know you can’t let him hit you again. Another blow to the chest and you’re done for. “Who’s running, big boy? Let’s get it.” Tapping the EMERGENCY STOP button again, the elevator whirls back into action.

The Big One charges at you, swinging wildly. You duck, rolling through the bodies and slicing open the back of his left leg. The bell dings on every floor like the start of a boxing match. The Big One punches one of the walls, denting the metal. So much for pristine architecture. As he reels from the hit, you jump on his back, jabbing the knife into his chest from behind. The bell dings for a final time on the 20th floor. Biting down on your arm, he flips you over his shoulder, slamming you down onto the floor, knocking the air out of you.

The doors creak open as he raises his foot to stomp a steel toe boot down on your chest. Bang! A bullet barrels through his skull. The titan stumbles, his brain quite literally scrambled. Bang! Bang! Two more shots and he’s slumped on the ground with his friends where he belongs. Reunited at last. “Who’s your new boyfriend?” Minho teases from the hallway, tossing the gun to the ground. “You’re welcome!” you groan, flipping him off. He hops onto the elevator, pressing the button for the lobby. “Thank you,” he says, sweetly, grateful for your help and your presence.

Taking you into his arms, he props you up in the corner, checking you for injuries. “What is this?” You flinch when he brushes a tender spot on your head, “You tell me. You’re the one with the mob after you.” “No, I mean, what are you doing here?” “Oh, uh, boss sent me to get you” you stutter, the entire reason for your arrival in Rome having shifted to the back of your mind until now.

“We need you.”

“Where?”

“Berlin.”

“When?”

“Next week.”

“Okay, if…”

You whine when he caresses your thigh, checking the severity of the bullet wound. “If what?” “If you let me take care of you” he winks. “Take care of me? Why’d you say it like that?” Minho rips a long strip of material from the shirt of a nameless corpse and secures it around your thigh to stop the bleeding. He kisses your thigh, suckling softly at the tender flesh to distract you from the pain. Ding! First floor. The doors open to the lobby and he takes you by the hand, “Let me show you.” 

Taking care of you. When you say that in this line of business, it’s never a good thing but Minho had no intentions of cutting your life short. The only thing on his mind was carrying you back to your hotel, running you a nice bath, and dressing your wounds. “All better?” he asks, his breath tickling your neck as he plays with your clit. This was a part of the plan too, getting you in his lap, his naked body reunited with yours after months apart. From this position on the edge of the bed, you can see your reflection clearly. Your plush breast bounces in one of his hands while the fingers of the other spread your lips wide enough to fully expose your clit.

With your legs dangling across his, follow your cream as it trickles down the base of his cock. There’s nothing fast or rough about the way he lifts his hips to fill you. The slight curve of his cock makes you stutter each time he disappears into your pulsing warmth. “All---ah---b-b-better.” “B-b-better?” he mocks, his fingers working faster against your clit. You reach back to cup his face, scratching him the slightest bit as punishment for being a smartass. The pain only makes him want you more. His cock is as hard and smooth as polished marble, leaking precum into your needy pussy.

Minho watches you in the mirror, admiring your reflection, entranced by how the beauty of your face and the plumpness of your figure could make him put a bullet through the skull of a man who even dared to look at you wrong. “Take over for me” he whispers, guiding your hand between your legs, his fingers moving on top of yours to splash in the audible wetness of your pussy. You pick up a rhythm together, one that has your breath growing ragged and your stomach in a frenzy. With his hand now free, he brushes your hair out of your face, tilting your head to the side to kiss you.

His tongue ventures as far down your throat as it can go, devouring your moans. Bouncing you in his lap at a quicker pace, still careful not to hurt you, he caresses your body, greedy to claim you as his like you were meant to be from the start. The argument that broke you up. That stupid fucking argument. He doesn’t even remember what it was about anymore and he doesn’t care. Because you’re in his lap, your back arching against his chest, sloppily playing with your own aching bud, biting on his lip while you whimper his name. Your pulse races, your hand reaching back to grip his hair for stability.

“Mmhmm, pull my fucking hair and cum for me” he urges, “Cum for me angel.” Your tongue lashes at his, his words making you burst. “Minho! Aah, baby!” you cry, pulling his hair harder as your orgasm deepens. Minho rests his head on your shoulder. Watching you cum is like performance art. “I don’t care about anyone else. Just promise you’ll never leave me again.” Your glossy eyes meet his in the mirror, “I promise.” “You mean it?” “I mean it.”

And you do mean it. You have to. Because, with the hell that awaits you in Germany, sweet reunions like this might end up being your last.

#lee know x you #lee know x reader #lee know x y/n #lee know angst #lee know smut #stray kids au #stray kids x female reader #stray kids x chubby reader #stray kids angst #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #chubby reader #plus size reader

[morewittepain]

Toxic! Lute x fem! reader

Warnings: Semi-toxic relationship (Lute is bad at emotions), slight NSFW if you squint, LONG drabble

A/N: This one's not a request, just ramblings from my brain. I love toxic yuri and I love love love the song Casual by Chappell Roan so ofc I combined them. 💞

Being in a relationship with Lute would not be all sunshine and rainbows. Generally, Lute is a pretty blunt person and she doesn't have a good hold on her emotions, so if she managed to become interested in a person she would not be very good at dealing with that.

Once you became an Exorcist, she hadn't even realized she was staring until Adam started to point it out. She'd watch you train, watch you kill, and she'd be blushing bright gold the whole time — even worse when she got teased for it. And she would deny, deny, deny until it was too much to bear.

This would go on for months until she subconsciously starts to use her power to her advantage, barking out orders just to watch you carry them out in training, and projecting a bit too harshly when you mess up. She pushes you to do far too many push ups than humanly (angelically?) possible. She uses you as an example to all of the lower level Exorcists and berates you for making her look like a joke when you slip up or fumble with your sword skills. She spars a little too rough, knocking you on your ass over and over. She doesn't know how to cope with feeling things, so obviously the next best option is to bully you until it goes away! (Spoiler alert: it doesn't.)

And god is she PISSED about it. She's supposed to be a leader, untouchable, not some hopeless romantic too fixated on one of her trainees to focus on literally anything else. Though, when she shifts her focus to instead lashing out, she starts to fumble even more with her work.

You point it out one day in sparring, snickering about how she seems to care more about insulting you rather than watching her footing, and boy is she absolutely fuming. She literally drops everything and leaves the training center altogether.

You're not as stupid as she seems to think. You notice almost immediately how much she stares at you, and how much harder she seems to be on you than everyone else, and it's almost... cute? The way Adam taunts her every time she gives you an order, the way her wings flap aggressively, and the blush that spreads across her cheeks. So you purposely play into it. You fall when she jabs her sword into your practice armor and you make an effort to show off the arm muscles she can never seem to stop gawking over while you work. At the end of training, you pull off your shirt on occasion, ringing the dampness out all while in nothing but shorts and a sports bra, flapping your own wings only to draw more attention. While a bit more brutal than most budding relationships, it's all a game of cat and mouse. And damn if you're not winning.

It gets to be too much. You're sparring well after your designated training hours, both soaked with sweat and wearing furious expressions as you dodge the other's attacks, when you finally swipe her feet out from under her and knock her down completely. "You know," you say teasingly, "the way you're looking up at me makes me wonder if you're plotting my murder... or you're just horrible at flirting." But before you can get another word out, she's kicking her boot hard against your calf and pulling you down on top of her.

Like... literally on top of her.

She grabs you by the neck with a look of pure fury, and to your surprise she's absolutely attacking your mouth with the same aura of rage. Your lips move against each other aggressively, and she manages to flip you over and pin you to the padded floor mat with one hand gripping your shirt. She doesn't seem to quite know what she's doing, but she manages to bite your lip until you think you can taste blood — and she tastes it too. And it's the biggest rush she's ever had.

When you pull away, you grin, licking your lips. "What's wrong, lieutenant? Was it my form or my stance?"

Lute is panting hard, but she manages to spit out, "Your footing is weak," as she stands back up to grab her things. Because while she usually would choose fight, when it comes to romance her first instinct is to fly.

It goes like this for a while. You look forward to practicing one on one all day, beat the ever loving shit out of each other, and then fall into an even more aggressive make out session.

Then it blossoms into ducking into supply closets after particularly long days so she can pin you against the wall and take out all her frustrations.

It's always, always in secret though. You try to grab her hand in front of someone and she immediately drops it. You touch her shoulder and she shoves you off. You come within two feet of her and she's using her wings to nudge you to the side. Now that she's got you in private, she starts to pretend like you don't even exist in public.

When that yearly Extermination Day rolls around, she breaks off from the team of Exorcists and you quickly follow after, swishing your sword protectively.

"Leave me alone."

"I'm just doing my job."

"Yeah, well you're doing your job too fucking close to me."

"You didn't seem to mind me being close when—"

She backs you up against the side of a tall building, shrouded in the darkness of the alleyway. She uses the tip of her spear to hold you there, pointed precisely at the base of your throat, although not actually touching your skin in any way.

"I don't know what you seem to think we have going on, but let me spell it out for you," she hisses. "There is no 'this.' This is nothing, got it? We are nothing."

You swallow hard, but all you can do is nod and let her walk off, leaving you alone in the darkness. You don't kill many demons that night, but when you return to heaven to report back to Adam, you lie about your success. The praise is nice for supposedly killing a hundred demons when in reality the number was probably somewhere in the twenties, but it's quickly overshadowed when you notice Lute purposely avoiding your eyes.

Still, the next day she's pulling you back into the supply closet. She's attacking your lips while you dissociate with blank eyes, just barely kissing back, and she even manages to slide a hand beneath the waistband of your shorts.

It's not like you want the encounters to stop, because despite the realization that you're nothing more than a cheap way to blow off steam, it does feel good to feel desired in some way... it's just that... maybe things would be easier if this never started in the first place.

You never go to her place, but she shows up at your door on occasion. You let her push her way through, into your room, and you fall back onto the bed without a complaint. You let her kneel down in front of you. She doesn't ever strip for you, and she never lets you get her off, but she goes at you with little mercy like the whole thing is just another power trip to boost her ego.

It's not until you finally put a stop to it that she starts to even realize that she's hurting you in any way. She asks you to stay behind to spar one afternoon and you turn her down, telling her you're too tired and sore. She tries to drag you away from a meeting into an empty room and you shrug her off. She knocks on your door and you just turn your music up to drown out the noise.

Lute has a hard time with emotions like we've already established. She can't understand others' and she can't even pinpoint her own. She's been so shut down, so focused on being a soldier for so long that she can't recognize any feeling other than anger, fury, and... whatever she feels when she looks at you. As for what's going on in your head, she'd always assumed you were on the same page. That this was some sort of unspoken agreement that what the two of you had was just a casual... fling? She didn't know the word for it — someone you find so uncomfortably attractive, but can only bring yourself to kiss to quell the equally powerful feeling of pent up frustration.

But now you're the one shutting her out. At first she's furious. She starts leaving you out of training regiments and meetings to get back. She lets you fend for yourself. But there's just something about that look on your face... it's almost numb. The light has drained from your eyes. You look like a walking corpse. And she's slowly starting to realize that it's all her fault.

She's not really sure how to cope with that fact. She doesn't like getting personal or opening up. She shivers at the thought of a sappy conversation. And apologizing just feels so, so weak. So she asks Adam on a whim one day, keeping it as vague as possible.

They're alone, silently sitting across from each other while Adam speeds through his lunch and she simply stares at her own with no appetite. She looks up, finally mustering up the courage, and asks, "Sir... hypothetically, what would you... I don't know... Fuck." She bites her lip to keep from kicking herself. "What would you do if you hurt someone and you felt bad about it."

Surprisingly, Adam laughs so hard he nearly spits his drink all over himself. "You feel bad about something? You have a heart? Am I talking to a clone or something?" But when she doesn't answer, he just shrugs. "I don't know, get her flowers or something. Chicks love that shit."

Lute feels her lungs deflate right then and there. "How do you know it's a girl?"

"Lute, come on. You have an undercut. It's not rocket science."

And maybe she should be offended, but she doesn't really have any other option than to take his advice. So she stops by a florist and picks out a random bouquet (maybe she should pick something sappy, like flowers that remind her of your eyes, but she's still terrible at this) and knocks on your door once again. There's the tell take sign that you're ignoring her, the muffled music's volume increasing enough to make anyone go deaf, but after about five minutes of banging on the door you finally give up and open it.

You're both completely blank-faced, but she's nervously scratching the back of her neck as you start to close the door again. "Wait!" she calls, sounding pathetic to her own ears.

Your scowl only deepens in the doorway. "Look, Lute. If you think a few flowers are going to make me forget about everything just so you can get in my pants again, you're—"

"I'm sorry," she blurts out sheepishly. She wants to gag at the words and subconsciously steps on her own toes to quell the overthinking. When you don't say anything, she says again, "I'm sorry. I'm, uh... not good at feelings."

"I'll say." The door creaks just a few more inches, but she stops it from shutting completely with her hand.

"Don't make me say it again," she mumbles. "I just... I'm..." She draws in a long, deep breath. "I've never done this before — liked someone — and I don't like emotions, so I guess I hurt you on purpose, and I'm... sorry."

With an eye roll, you take the roses. "You're shitty at apologies too," you say, but then you catch a glimpse of her bashful expression and something feels almost genuine. You sigh. "Just don't drop my hand next time and we'll call it even."

Lute keeps that promise. Despite the nerves that rattle inside of her, the overwhelming feeling that everyone is watching, that she's giving into something she shouldn't, she doesn't just grab your hand the next day. She wraps a wing about you, squeezes your hand gently, and kisses you on the cheek with a dark blush spread across her face as she walks you out of the training room, out onto the busy streets.

"Maybe your swordwork isn't all that bad."

"Oh, shut up," you hiss, but there's a small smile creeping onto your lips.

#adam the lesbian ally #hazbin hotel lute #lute x reader #hazbin lute #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin #hazbin hotel fanfiction #x reader #lute smut #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x you #y/n #vivziepop

[cemeteryspider]

A Helluva Rescue

Fizzarolli x Succubus! Kingpin! Reader x Asmodeus

Summary: Inspired by season 2 episode 6, "Oops". Luckily Ozzie puts his best man/woman on the job to get Fizzie home safe

Trigger Warnings: Violence, guns, abduction, sexual themes, strong language, and general dark themes

Word Count: 1860

Being a famous Hellborn gave you some perks that so many did not have the gull to dream about. It gave you access to powerful people, and you climbed your way to the top of the Hellborn food chain. This is how you met the Sin of Lust, Asmodeus. You often provided protection for his dancers and other employees when they left the Lust Ring. Or when you personally delivered goods from other rings to the sin.

After a few years of this you met Fizzarolli, who's spunky attitude you had come to adore. You found yourself at Ozzie's nightclub more than you'd like to admit, and one night you had a red envelope with gold lettering sitting at your usual seat.

I have a different proposal for you tonight, meet me backstage after the show and we'll discuss

~Ozzie

As anyone who wanted the Sin and his imp could imagine, the rest was history.

Despite your relationship with Fizz and Ozzie you spent most of your days in Greed. Dominating the heart of Greed Ring, your empire sprawled amidst towering skyscrapers that gleamed with the opulence of wealth. The air reeked of ambition and desperation, the constant hum of financial dealings echoing through the crowded streets. You reveled in the cutthroat atmosphere and the relentless pursuit of wealth that defined this particular part of Hell. 

Still many days were spent traveling to other rings. You went to the Pride Ring a couple times a year, and looked after some business dealings there. Though you couldn't own a human soul, it didn't mean you did have proxies to deal in them for you.

The Envy Ring granted you access to different sorts of people who were willing to spend money to get things from unsavory means. You want authentic blood sapphires, you got it. You want real human teeth, it'll be x amount. You want to get your nails done by Pride's top sinner without ever stepping foot there, well you were sure it could be arranged.

Your favorite place however, was the Lust Ring. Not for the slobs who insisted that just because you were a succubus you wanted to bang, but for your loving and doting partners.

~~~

Ozzie large hands massaging your back, "Oh darling, these knots are deep, you simply must come visit more often"

Fizz's jokes at the club, "I know you're jealous, the people I bang are 1000 times hotter than you losers"

The pampering, the caring, and god the sex was amazing.

~~~

This time however, Ozzie called you while you were in a meeting with a new client who was in debt to a loan shark. Quickly you had your assistant take over the meeting and you stepped out into the hall.

"What is it Ozzie-bear"

"Hey Doll, Fizzie had some meeting in Greed today and I was wondering if you could maybe send someone to look after him, ya know, without him knowing"

"Why didn't you send people with him, Ozzie?"

"You know how he gets sugar, he gave me the puppy eyes"

With a little smirk and a roll of your eyes, you told him you would get your best and most discreet people on the job.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"No biggie Ozzie, gotta keep our boy safe and sound"

After a quick good-bye, who are you kidding with either of your boys, good-byes were never short. A long string of I love you's and see you laters was given before eventually the new client and your assistant left the meeting room.

~~~

Seated behind your lavish desk, you sifted through an imposing mountain of meticulously organized papers, each document representing a different facet of your empire. When your phone starts to buzz. 

"Boss, something bad just happened, Fizzarolli got into a fight with some imp then they were both grabbed, me and Hen are going up to find him but-" Two shots could be heard from the other end, and two thuds presumably the two hellborn you hired to protect Fizz.

You growled as you crushed the burner phone in your fist.

"Jazz, get my jacket, I gotta teach some bitches a lesson"

~~~

Fizz started thrashing on the floor of the cage they were put in, and Blitz looked as though he was about to explode. Then you waltzed in the door with your tail swinging in circles from your right hand.

"Hey Crimson, Hey Striker, long time no see boys' ' You jumped on a crate and crossed your legs. "I hear you have somethin' of value"

"Hey, Darlin', I sure missed yer face", Striker walked up to you and took your hand in his and placed a long wet kiss to your knuckles.

Internally you groaned, but you were going to get Fizz out of this no matter what. You pressed your lips together and crossed your legs a little tighter, "Mhm, Could say the same about you, Striker".

Striker chuckled a little and got back to business, discussing prices for Fizz like he was a slab of meat.

"I don't know Striker, we have a pretty lucrative contract on the books" Crimson teased.

Your brows scrunched, who could it be, and how did they get the word out so quickly. It took you less than an hour to get from your office to this dump.

"Hmm, I think I could find a quick buyer for the real deal Fizzarolli, I'll pay double what the other guy is paying" With that everyone in the room looked at you. Their eyebrows raised and a sly grin on their face.

"Double and I get to spend the night with ya, that's offers always on the table for you babe," As Striker propositioned, a flicker of irritation crossed your face – a testament to your aversion to these negotiations 

"How about I see the merchandise first?" You tapped his nose with your fingernail and gave him a smirk.

"Anything for you sug" With a quick nod the cage descended from the ceiling and you hands went to the guns on your hips.

Two goons dragged Fizz and another imp from the cage and tossed them at your feet. You almost let your emotions get the better of you when Fizz hit the floor with a groan.

"Can someone untie them? I want to see the merchandise before I buy it, and I haven't got all day" Again another nod from Striker, and the two were untied.

Fizz had his hands over his eyes and was silently crying to himself. Despite you wanting him to look at you, to give him some reassurance, you also hoped he didn't just in case he revealed your relationship with him. Unlike Fizz and Ozzie, your relationship to them was more discrete. The other imp was still shouting, and you saw a gun holster, minus the gun, on his hip as well.

"I'd take the other imp, off your hands as well, he'll make a delicious snack for whoever buys Fizzarolli" Striker walked up to Crimson and started to discuss pricing on Blitz, with the right numbers Striker would give him to you because, as you learned, everything has a price.

You stalked over to Blitz, though the affiliation with guns was the only thing you knew about him, walked around him for a moment, quickly cutting the tape that still bound his hands with your sharp fingernail. Making eye contact with him you pressed a finger to your lips and shoved a gun in his hand without anyone noticing.

A smile spread across Blitz's face as you grabbed Fizz and threw him over your shoulder and started to make a run for it. You shot everyone you saw on the way down the stairs, while Blitz covered everyone behind you.

Once Fizz was safely in the car you continued to cover Blitz until he made it as well. However, before you could get in the car and signal to the driver to get away Striker pressed the hot barrel of his gun to your temple.

"Well sugar, I guess this is checkmate" But just before he could pull the trigger, Asmodeus appeared, snatching the gun from his hands and throwing it across the street.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" Ozzie growled in Striker's face. Ozzie grabbed him by the throat and squeezed. You just put a hand on his huge forearm, and he threw Striker to the ground.

With a growl the great Asmodeus shrunk and fit himself into the limousine with the two imps and succubus.

The driver peeled out of the place as soon as the door was closed and you collapsed into the nearest seat. Fizz huddled in a dark corner, his breaths coming in rapid gasps as panic gripped him. Your heart sank at the sight, a mix of worry and determination flooding your thoughts. Despite the familiar smell of wherever he was, he couldn't shake the danger of the gunfight or being held captive so quickly. Blitz stood over him leveling the gun at your forehead.

"Does ANYONE want to tell me what the FUCK just happened"

~~~

The screeching tires signaled your escape, but the tension lingered in the air, still adrenaline was high in all parties involved. 

You explained the situation to Blitz while pulling Fizzarolli in between you and Oz who smiled up at the both of you.

"Ah Fizz you could've just told me you were fucking them", Ozzie, sensing Fizz's discomfort, shot Blitz a stern glance, causing him to back off immediately.

Blitz was waiting for the car to stop where he could get out and call someone who's name was Loona.

Once that happened you, Fizz, and Ozzie snuggled up in the backseat with both Fizz and Ozzie tearing up.

"I'm so sorry that happened Froggie, you will be getting a full escort the next time you even leave the mansion" Ozzie coddled Fizz all the way to bed and you tucked him in and told him that you and Ozzie had to talk business for a minute.

"Thanks for the save back there Ozzie, I would've been done for, if it wasn't for you" The slight burn on your head pulsed, a persistent reminder of the close call, but you dismissed it, not wanting Ozzie to worry unnecessarily.

"Sweetheart, you didn't tell me you were hurt" He grabbed your right shoulder and inspected the bullet wound that must've just grazed you, and the small burn on your temple you tried to hide with your fingers.

"I didn't even notice it Ozzie" Still he sat you down on his desk and bandaged you up.

"There, Doll, all better" You smiled as he kissed the white bandages, and picked you up to take you to bed. "By the way, Doll, you did all the heavy lifting".

You snuggled in a little closer to his chest and breathed out content with the moment.

"Breakfast tomorrow?" You mumbled already falling asleep.

"Always, pancakes with extra whipped cream" He set you between him and Fizz where you usually slept.

Your boys tangled their limbs with your and scooched as close as they could to snuggle up with you.

#helluva boss #helluva blitzo #helluva loona #helluvaboss #helluva boss oc #helluverse #helluva boss x reader #helluvaboss x reader #helluva boss x you #helluva boss x y/n #fizzarolli x reader #fizzaroli helluva boss #fizzarolli x asmodeus #asmodeus x reader #fizzarozzie #fizzarolli

[moltengoldveins]

*vibrating out of my skin* b-bbphhh….. beeduo. But its. It’s the Minotaur. and Theseus. Has someone done this? Please tell me someone has done this. 

Tubbo as a boy trapped in the most technologically advanced maze ever made, learning engineering from the walls meant to contain him, his selfish father (Schlatt) so shamed by his ‘mutations’ he spreads rumors that the boy is a monster, throwing sacrifices to the maze every seven years. Tubbo’s never been able to save them in time. Something savage is in the walls, hunting, and while the maze is built specifically to keep Tubbo alive, it is not so for the foreign prisoners. 

Meanwhile, Ranboo is the prince of an oppressed kingdom, forced to give blood sacrifice every seven years. His father (Phil, not the most common dynamic but roll with it it becomes relevant later) tells stories of the kingdom’s former glory, the glory lost when their most famed general fell to the war, taken and by all accounts killed by Tubbo’s father. Ranboo decides to go on a quest to slay the monster his people are being fed to, and further, to live up to the memory of that lost general and kill the enemy king, freeing his people. He promises to lift white sails if he returns alive, and that his men will lift black ones if he dies. (There’s some Lady of Death symbolism happening here, work with me) Importantly, his father gives him an old token of a ‘lost friend’ before he goes, an emerald on a chain. He says it’s for good luck, and guidance. He seems… really sad about it tho. Hm. Surely that’s not important. 

Niki is the vassal/adopted daughter/ healer?? Of Schlatt, who sneaks out now and then to give Tubbo snacks. The maze likes her, and she is the only one the old warden told its secrets to before he escaped with his son. She cannot navigate the twisted paths like Tubbo, who has spent his entire life walking those halls, but she is protected from whatever is in the walls. She could get Tubbo out, but they’d have nowhere to go, so she waits. Every year, she prays she will find a way to get them out. Every seven, she prays Tubbo will not have to watch any of the prisoners die. 

Ranboo arrives and threatens Schlatt, who only laughs at the boys boldness and throws him into the maze first. (Oddly, while he took every stitch of gold from Ranboo’s neck and hands, he left the earring. He said something about it being ‘fitting. It’ll finally die with its partner’) 

just when Ranboo is about to be thrown in, Niki, who couldn’t bear the thought of such a kind looking kid dying so horribly, sneaks him a sword and a ball of golden thread. “It will guide you when you need it. Sam made it as a last resort.” She whispers, right before the gates close. 

Tubbo, furious at his failure seven years ago to save any of the hostages (he was twelve. There was nothing he could have done.) manages to get to Ranboo just in time to keep the monster away from them both. The maze closes around them and for a moment, it looks as if they’ll fight. Then Tubbo smiles, and Ranboo lowers his sword, and the two of them are friends in seconds. Tubbo takes Ranboo back to the little room he’s set up shop in, boasting about his inventions but clearly Very unaccustomed to speaking with Actual People. Unfortunately for everyone involved, Ranboo is the physical child of two polymorphed dragons and the adopted child of an angel and a goddess. He isn’t accustomed to speaking with Actual People either. They get along smashingly. 

Tubbo and Niki have made a plan of escape, but never had chance to use it. Now that Ranboo can offer sanctuary, it’s just a matter of getting out and running, but Ranboo refuses. He can’t leave whatever monster is really in the walls for anyone to find and either die to or take advantage of, even if he does destroy Schlatt’s regime. Tubbo insists it’s impossible to even find the thing, its lair is in the fabled ‘center of the maze’, which even he has never been able to find. And even if he could find it, it wouldn’t matter. He’d be killed in an instant. Whatever the thing is, it’s a better fighter than anything else in the nation: that’s why it was locked away. Ranboo offers Tubbo his signet ring (kinda a proposal gesture, we’re Not Acknowledging That RN Tho, We’re Both Traumatized and Trying Not To Die) and tells him to flee to the Antarctic Empire after Niki’s plan to kill Schlatt succeeds. That way Phil can help them, even if Ranboo doesn’t make it. 

Unspooling the golden thread, Ranboo follows it to the center of a maze, where he finds… a study. It looks like it was torn through by a hurricane, then carefully rebuilt, and half of it is filled with untouched and unfinished mechanical structures. He other half is filled with notebooks, maps of the maze, and frantic scribbling. “Another hunt today” one says “I only knew because my claws were scraped.” “I woke with blood in my teeth” another page says. “I think it was a person. I think I was a person, before. I don’t think I am anymore.” 

He doesn’t have the time to piece things together though, because a hulking figure twice his size emerges from a side door and slams into him. He barely manages to knock the blow of a massive axe away, and squinting in the low light, he sees a long-haired, red-eyed man in a tattered uniform and a cape, face twisted and malformed with scars and massive fangs. The uniform is that of Ranboo’s home country. The cape is eerily similar to the one on Phil’s old portraits, before the war. 

‘Oh.’ Ranboo realizes, right as he gets kicked through a wall of foliage. ‘You’re the reason my dad is so sad all the time.’ 

it really seems like all is lost. The man is clearly rabid, insane and muttering to himself, eyes glowing crimson. But right as he’s about to kill Ranboo, he sees the earring, and he stops. He turns to a drawer in one of the desks and pulls out a matching earring, and the light fades from his eyes. 

‘im sorry’ he says, ‘I’m not a man anymore. They took that from me. It was some kind of curse. They made me kill my own people. They made me a creature.’ 

‘well, that’s nothing new’ Ranboo shrugs. ‘Curses can be broken, and I’m rather good friends with a few creatures at this point. What’s one more?’ 

so they escape, the earrings doing something?? To help keep the man calm. Niki burns the tree in the center of the castle and Techno (because we all knew it was Techno) triggers the self destruct system he’d found in the maze during those few moments of sanity between all the hunting. Niki also remembers a rant or an offhand comment Schlatt made at some point early in her apprenticeship about how to break some curse in the maze, something he was gloating about that she only really gets once she sees the massive fellow being led out of the maze by a very excited Ranboo. 

everyone escapes and there’s more Plot but the important bit is: Ranboo forgets about the sails. As they near the harbor, they see a cloud of ravens flying in from every direction, and Techno Loses His Mind. Turns out that only happens when Phil is Really In Danger, Dying, or, hypothetically, dead of grief from the loss of what he believes to be his last living family member. (Yes we have the option here of perms-killing Phil right in the final stretch but I Choose No, because No) There’s a very dramatic reunion where Techno is midway to War Mode while Phil is definitely post-giving-his-soul-up-to-Lady-Death-now-that-everyone-I-love-is-dead, Just-Back-From-Being-Dead-And-Not-Sure-Why-His-Wife-Didn’t-Keep-Him-This-Time??? before Ranboo Explains Everything. Tubbo and Ranboo end up platonically married like Ranboo’s father and Tubbo’s weird uncle in the walls before them and ruling the country as King and General. Niki gets a bakery and a chance to use her alchemy powers for yummy purposes instead of poison. Everyone lives and is happy. The end.

#molten rambles #technoblade #mcyt #philza #tubbo #ranboo #beeduo #emerald duo #fanfic ideas #mcyt fanfiction #DO YOU SEE MY VISION #DO YOU COMPREHEND #It’s a syndicate fic technically

[monstersandmaw]

Changing Tides - human prince 'cursed' into merfolk body (sfw)

Hello! This has been up on my Patreon for my $3 and $5 tiers to read for a week now. If you want to get early access to stuff, and to access my entire back catalogue, here's a link.

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Anon sent me this message and I responded with almost 8000 words:

"human prince who got cursed and turned into a merman, and while his family and the royal court struggle to find a way to break the curse he finds he's actually happier as a merman"

It's 3rd person, sfw, and features an orca clan who adopts our frightened prince, and there's a hint of mlm romance for one of the orcas with a human in the future... Anyway, I hope you like something a little different. 

Content: some mild elements of body horror during the curse/turning scene, brief but not gory/too explicit mention of marine animal death, some implied trauma resulting from a transformation against his will/separation from family and previous existence at a young age, brief description of blood/injury from a harpoon to another character

Wordcount: 7965

Dusk gathered over the gentle swells of the open ocean, gilding the new yardarms and painting the perfectly crisp, white sails of the Royal Navy’s flagship with a pink and orange watercolour glow. The ship’s guests drank and laughed, and celebrated The Sea Rose’s maiden voyage, utterly unaware that they were enjoying their final few moments of life as they knew it.

Unremarkable in almost every way, a small porpoise had been playing in the bow wave, its small, dark body darting mere inches from the stem each time it plunged in and out of the spray and waves.

It didn’t hear the warning from the sea witch racing to catch up with it, and when the young porpoise’s concentration slipped and the black-painted stem of ‘The Sea Rose’ collided with its solid little body, no one on board noticed the tragedy of its passing. Even if the guests hadn’t been half drunk on the heady mix of wine and their own self-importance, there was no one on lookout in the crow’s nest that day; the new ship was flanked for her safety by two frigates a little way off, both crewed with the Navy’s finest and bristling to the gunwales with cannon and ammunition. There was no need to keep a watch this time.

There was, after all, no danger.

And yet, the animal’s accidental death would not go unmarked, unmourned, or unpunished.

Heedless of the vengeful danger rising swiftly from beneath the ship, the king himself strode along the main deck in his white and gold finery, leaving his guests for a moment as he spotted his thirteen year old son standing at the taffrail on the afterdeck and staring out at the ship’s trailing wake.

He slapped the skinny boy on his shoulders by way of a greeting, and nearly sent him toppling over into the sea from the force of his jovial blow. Hauling him upright again with a meaty fist at the scruff of his velvet doublet, the king laughed, cheeks red with drink and the bracing sea air, and he grinned down at his second eldest son.

“What’s got into you, lad?” he asked, his words a little thick and his green eyes a little glassy. “You’ve begged me for years to be allowed to go to sea, and now you’re here, you look like you’d rather be anywhere else! You’re not seasick, are you, lad? You’re going to be Admiral of the Fleet when your brother ascends the throne — can’t have you turning green at the slightest bit of swell!”

“It’s not that, father,” he said, mustering a smile for the king. “I’m sorry. I was just… thinking.”

Down below on the deck, the little prince’s older brother was talking with a few of the captains and admirals, and the boy felt suddenly every bit as young as he was. ‘King’ Eolan was a title that would suit his brother one day, with his regal bearing and his noble features, while the younger boy was gangly and too skinny to fill out the doublet he wore or the fine leather boots on his small feet.

He didn’t get the chance to observe the Crown Prince in action for much longer though, because a shudder ran the length of the new ship, and conversation sputtered and died.

The sails quivered and the rigging shook like spiderwebs before a coming storm. All the hands looked to their stations while the royal guests shifted uneasily and someone dropped a wine flute into the silence of the swelling sea. The Crown Prince scuttled up the stairs to the afterdeck and joined his father, tense and alert, though not before laying a hand on his little brother’s shoulder and offering a reassuring smile.

While the ship sailed past the stricken porpoise in a foaming, heedless rush, the creature bobbed past with its back broken, dead on impact, and the sea darkened around it and then began to boil and churn along the sides of the ship.

Finally, a shout went up and someone standing by the rail on the port side pointed and then reeled back in alarm. They were joined by more guests and sailors until half the ship’s company was hanging off the side and staring into the water that had turned an inky black around the corpse of the sea creature.

The thirteen year old prince followed his father to the railing of the high afterdeck and peered over in time to see a humanoid figure rise from the water. Her long, wet hair hung around her shoulders like a veil of moonlight, and her eyes flashed the colour of the ocean on a summer’s day. Her skin was freckled and oddly iridescent and the air around her seemed to shimmer like the road on a summer’s day. In her right hand she held a staff that was the silvery brown of old driftwood, wrapped around with seaweed like the leather on the grip of a quarterstaff, and her lower body appeared to be that of a leopard seal.

The prince’s breath caught and he stared, slack jawed down at her, forgetting to be afraid.

At the sight of her though, the guests recoiled and grabbed at the charms and holy pendants they wore around their necks, but it would do them no good. The witch raised her staff and let out a wordless scream of grief. As if whisked by a winter squall, the sea rose up around her at her call and a huge wave sloshed against the side of the ship, rocking it and sending a wall of spray and foam across the main deck.

Wherever the droplets of water touched, a flurry of white feathers appeared, and from the afterdeck, the king and the two princes watched a flock of startled seabirds flounder upwards into the sky. In their wake, the main deck lay completely deserted.

The king swore and unsheathed the steel sword at his hip but the young prince simply clung to the wooden railing and continued to stare down at the sea witch.

All his life, he’d heard tales of merfolk and of the magic they wielded, but he’d never dared dream they might be real. He’d spent hours begging the merchants who came to the castle for stories from the fish markets, since every sailor claimed to have fallen in love with a selkie or kissed a mermaid on one of their voyages, but he’d never truly believed that merfolk really did exist.

“What is the meaning of this?” the king bellowed down at her over the sound of the settling sea. “Return this ship’s crew and my guests to me at once, witch!”

“Never!” she snarled. “They’ve flown far away now, oh great king,” she added sarcastically, still sneering, “Your pretty birds won’t return to you now!”

“Why? What prompted such an act?” he barked. To his younger son, he suddenly gestured and added, “Come away from there!” With a desperate look over his shoulder, he hissed at the Crown Prince, “Eolan, protect your brother!”

The witch smiled and the younger prince saw tears tracking down around the corners of her smile as it turned from malice to grief. “Father…” he breathed, wanting to warn the king, but not knowing quite why or of what.

“Quiet!” the king hissed with a sharp motion of his hand. “Eolan, fetch a harpoon. I will have her hide on my wall!”

The Crown Prince snuck away down the stairs, out of sight of the sea witch, and then disappeared below decks. As he left, the younger boy finally let go of the railings and came to stand behind his father.

“Your ship,” the witch called above the wash of water against the sides of the vessel, “Is an abomination! You toss your refuse into the sea to choke the life from those who live there, tangle us in your nets, capture us… skin us!”

She paused and choked something raw and visceral and far beyond articulation. Drawing energy into the staff in a swirl of mist, she came to the real crux of her grievance.

“Your ship took my familiar from me and you didn’t even care to notice!”

“Your what?”

“Shadow!” she wailed, and that sorrow finally crystallised into rage. She pointed as the body of the dead porpoise floated over towards her and then with another heartbroken shriek, she raised the staff not at the king, but at his son. “I curse you!” she spat at him. “I curse you! May your son’s frail human legs fail him and may he know the plight of our people first hand! May the air choke him and the water you disdain be his only solace!”

A bolt of lightning seared down out of a clear sky and struck the deck of The Sea Rose behind the king in a spray of splinters. Ozone and singed wood filled the air as he turned around at the wheezing gulp that left his son’s throat. At the sight that greeted him, the gilt steel sword dropped from his fingers to clatter across the deck at his feet.

The boy’s legs had gone completely limp and he hit the deck hard, eyes wide with terror.

“Father,” he tried to choke in panic, but the sound lodged in his throat.

He brought one hand up instinctively to claw at his neck as he failed to breathe, suffocating in the ordinary sea air, and a moment later his fingers found the three slits of gills in his skin that had not been there before the lightning of the witch’s curse had struck him.

Before the true terror of his discovery could sink in, however, a blinding pain erupted in his chest and his hips, and his legs began to spasm.

The boy tore at the trousers which were suddenly constricting and strangling him, cutting into his legs, and he rolled on the deck as he ripped them off to reveal the distinctive opal-green and black pattern of a mackerel’s skin beginning at his hips. He clawed wildly at his skin in horror trying to halt the change, and his father dragged the fabric away just as the transformation ran its course, and his son arched his back and writhed on the deck like a landed catch, unable to breathe and blind with terror.

Footsteps on the stairs announced Eolan’s return and when he saw his brother lying on the deck with the barbed tail of a mackerel, he crashed to his knees beside them, the harpoon forgotten.

Not knowing what to do, the king knelt at his son’s side and stroked his curly, black hair out of his eyes which were bulging as he failed to breathe.

“Father,” he mouthed, chest spasming.

The skin of his remaining human body turned a grayish silver, like tarnished pewter, and between his fingers as they scrabbled at the deck the king could see a thin webbing stretching and flexing. Black, wickedly sharp claws raked the wood of the deck to splintered furrows as the boy twisted and panicked.

“What do we do?” Eolan whispered, tears filling his eyes. “Father? He’s dying… He can’t breathe!”

Acting on the most fragile of hopes, the king picked his son up in his arms and held him briefly, kissing his forehead. “I love you,” he said. “I will find a way to reverse this.”

Before the cursed prince could work out what was happening, he had been flung over the side of the ship and hit the water with a heavy smack.

The rush of cold seawater across his new gills was a relief beyond anything he’d ever felt. Instinctively, he drew in water through them and let his body start to sink.

Above, the shadow of a second ship, the frigate ‘Persistence’, announced itself with a volley of musket fire, and the sea witch dived out of sight, dragging the body of her slain familiar with her into the depths, the young prince forgotten entirely.

In all the commotion, the prince disappeared into the depths of the coastal waters, alone and afraid for the first time in his life.

__

The clan of orca-folk cautiously breached the surface and paused to watch the selkie on the shore light the driftwood pyre with the tip of her staff, and dipped their heads as one in respect. The creature at the heart of the kindling blaze was most likely her familiar, and they decided not to trouble the witch in her grief.

Leaving her, they swam in silence out of the cove and moved along the rocky shore, casting uneasy glances at each other. Magic was rare among the merfolk, but those who changed their shape at will, like the selkie folk and their distant, inland relatives, the kelpies, had it more strongly. There had been turmoil on the sea that day, and even now that the stars had blinked to life in the sky above, the waters still churned with unease.

A younger member of the clan swam on ahead, not quite understanding the wary reverence her relatives had for the sea witch, and, distracted by the passing of a very ordinary but still very quick seal, she raced off in a stream of bubbles to play with it. Yes, her kind hunted seals, but when they were being that obvious about their pursuit, the seal was in no danger.

She blasted around the rocky promontory but splayed her wide flippers to bring herself to an abrupt halt when she spotted a boy about her own age lying curled on the sandy bed of the next cove’s floor. He was hunched in on himself and seemed to be in some kind of distress, so she swam slowly over to him. He had the dizzying markings of a mackerel — black lines and opal shimmers like summer sunlight on the sea’s surface — and she wondered if perhaps he’d been left behind on the annual migration.

As she approached, he raised his head and his mouth opened in a soft ‘o’ of surprise, gills flaring.

“Hi,” she grinned. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said. “You alright?”

He shook his head.

“Pearl?” Her older brother’s voice sounded from close behind her, wary and warning, and she glanced back over her bare shoulder at him. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I just found him.”

Hook swam past her, pushing her roughly to one side, and he loomed over the terrified stranger and bared all his sharp teeth at him. Hook was only a year older than Pearl, but he liked to play the grown up with her, and it irritated her no end. She grabbed the wide flat of his tail as it wafted past and yanked him sharply backwards. It wasn’t enough to move him much, but it brought his long, black and white hair drifting into his face and undermined his attempt at a tough persona a little.

The strange boy cringed away, hands above his head, and Hook relented when he saw he was no threat, and clearly terrified.

“You hurt?” he asked, though he could taste no blood in the water. “Where’s your shoal?”

In no time, they were joined by the whole orca-folk clan, and it was decided that the stranded boy would swim with them for the winter until his people returned to these waters to claim him. The boy didn’t speak, but he seemed able to understand them, and something told Pearl he’d been through something more awful even than being abandoned by his shoal.

Over the next few weeks, she first coaxed some tentative smiles from him, and then, when they had stopped to rest one night in another rocky cove further to the south, he laughed.

It happened when Hook got his finger clamped by a massive lobster and he swore and flung the thing away before washing it further from him with a great sweep of his tail, scowling. He was growing into his body and would one day outgrow even their father, and the motion sent the offending crustacean spiralling away on the temporary current.

When the wash of water in their ears had settled, they heard a quiet giggling and looked around to see him sitting near a bed of kelp, one hand over his mouth, and laughing softly. His eyes were the most beautiful brown, like a seal’s, and when Hook saw who was laughing, his indignation at the incident melted away like the ice in the spring, and his whole body softened.

Pearl watched as Hook swam over to the strange boy, the one they’d taken to calling Mackerel for the beautiful patterns on his tail, but the boy stopped laughing almost immediately. Hook’s shoulders dropped and he looked mortified when he saw unease and uncertainty in the boy’s eyes.

“It’s alright,” Hook said with a half-smile. “I deserved to get pinched the way I picked her up,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking. You want to see if we can find another one and I’ll show you the right way to do it?”

Tentatively, the boy nodded, and Pearl watched as the boy swam off at Hook’s side. He didn’t swim like normal merfolk, but more like a newborn still getting used to his tail. Sometimes he started to sink and panicked, and the first few times it had happened, Hook had actually had to lift him up to keep him from sinking completely. Unlike them, he was a piscine merfolk, meaning he could breathe water and not air, while they were mammalian and needed to surface. When Hook went up to gulp fresh air those first few times, Pearl would watch the boy and make sure he didn’t sink until Hook returned.

He seemed to grow in confidence though over the winter, and by the time of that first laugh, he was just a bit awkward in the water. He couldn’t hope to keep up with Hook, but her brother had a kind streak to him for all his brash bravado, and he kept pace with Mackerel. Slowly, the boy began to talk with them, but he never spoke of what had happened to him, and any time they asked him where his shoal was or where he’d grown up, he shut up tighter than a clam and refused to talk. Eventually, they stopped asking.

He did till them his name though, and they were surprised to learn it was a human name. Pearl had been named for the lightness of her irises — such a pale blue it was almost silver — and Hook had been named because the patch of white under his tall dorsal fin looked like one of the barbed devices that humans used to catch fish. Mackerel, however, turned out to be named Theo, and when asked why he had that name, he just shrugged and said his parents must have liked it. They stuck to calling him Mackerel, or Macks, and he didn’t object in the slightest, only smiling shyly the first time Hook used his new name.  

When spring came to the waters where Pearl’s clan hunted, no piscine merfolk came looking for Mackerel, so he simply stayed with the orca folk.

One year became two, became three, became five.

Hook grew into a monster of a merman, with muscles rippling over his body and a reputation for taking on anything he deemed a threat to his clan, from great white sharks to fishing boats. Mackerel grew as well. Gone was that awkward, faltering motion as he swam — he could out pace any of them in a race and he was lithe and graceful and elegant when he moved. He laughed a lot too.

Pearl noticed how he would watch her swim past and then look away, and when Hook caught him staring at her like that, he washed him playfully away with a wave of his massive tail and sent him spiralling off into the murky depths with a laugh and told him to come back when he could win against Pearl in arm-wrestling.

Then, one summer evening, Mackerel disappeared.

They’d been swimming nearer to the shore than was wise in the warmer months, when humans often gathered on the shore with their fires to dance and sing and make a strange music of their own. Hook and Pearl’s mother called the clan back from the shallows and led them away when they heard the strange notes of human song and saw the orange lights dancing on the shore like strange, swirling blooms of plankton that spat sparks into the sky, but when Hook turned to Pearl to ask her something, he tensed and looked around.

“What?”

“Where’s Macks?” he asked, his hold tightening on the driftwood spear he usually carried in his right hand. Its ghostly-white blade was made of honed whalebone, and it had gutted a great white from nose to tail only the week before. The colour had drained from Hook’s usually tanned face, and he looked around frantically in the gloom that night had cast on the sea.

“Maybe he didn’t hear mother calling?” Pearl whispered.

“Stay here. I’ll go back for him.”

“Careful!” Pearl hissed, but he was already sliding away like a shadow, consumed by the growing darkness.

Hook searched the cove where they’d been intending to rest until they’d discovered the humans too close for comfort, but found nothing. Panic began to rise as he looked further along the dark, jagged rocks of the shoreline.

Eventually he started to run out of air, and surfaced carefully, mindful of the massive dorsal fin that stuck up like a sail behind him now that he was full-grown. If the humans spotted it glinting in the dark, they’d hurl harpoons at him or try to snatch him for a trophy. Merfolk — both saltwater and freshwater — didn’t last long in captivity, and he had no intention of being taken.

Then, at the far end of the sweeping cove, he spotted the opalescent glimmer of Mackerel’s scales and saw his greyish body draped over a rock. He was leaning on it, staring at the humans. His black hair, which, in the water, was flat, had started to curl, and Hook couldn’t believe he was out of the water at all. He was going to asphyxiate if he stayed up there too long, but the orca kept watching him a little longer. He liked Mackerel’s body; how it was different from the powerful orca folk. He was built for speed and agility where Hook was built for a combination of wild bursts of power and slower endurance. He might have begun courting him, bringing him gifts of carved whalebone and rare trinkets from the seabed, if Mackerel hadn’t clearly been attracted only to his sister or her female friends. So, he’d kept his affection for him chaste, and now as he watched, he realised with a jolt that Mackerel was crying.

Slowly, he swam over to him, keeping in Mackerel’s line of sight, and when his best friend turned to look at him, Hook’s heart cracked and sheared apart at the look on his face.

“What?” Hook asked, pausing and bringing his hands up to speak in the Hunter’s Tongue they used with each other when they needed to be silent in the water. He’d taught Mackerel himself, and he’d soon picked it up like he’d been speaking it all his life.

Mackerel only shook his head though and then dipped his neck below the waterline to breathe before rising up and staring again at the humans.

Hook turned to watch, but didn’t he understand. Humans were fascinating, sure, but they weren’t beautiful enough to make grown merfolk cry, surely?

Strange structures had been erected on the soft, pale sand, which looked like they were made of the same material that humans used to catch the wind and drive their boats and ships. These though were coloured the same shade as the urchins and starfish that hunkered down in rock pools at high tide, and whatever they were made of glittered occasionally like the sun on the water. The humans were laughing and moving around in odd patterns around their fires.

“What is it?” Hook whispered when he was close enough to Mackerel that their bodies touched all along one side.

“I miss them,” Mackerel rasped back. His voice didn’t work very well above the water, needing the cool caress of the waves to make it audible.

“Miss who?”

“My family.”

Hook went still. Macks had never talked about his family in all the years he’d lived with Hook’s clan. He looked from Mackerel to the humans and back again. “What do you mean?”

Mackerel bit his lip. “These people…” he said. “I know them. Hook, I was —”

A shout went up and something lanced down out of the dark, piercing the water and glancing off Hook’s large, rounded flipper. He cried out in shock at the sting of it as blood blossomed in the dark water, and he yanked Mackerel down into the waves just as another spear flew into the waves like a diving bird.

This one landed in Hook’s flat tail, and it wasn’t a spear. It was a harpoon.

Thick and barbed, the weapon lodged itself in his tail and he found himself hauled up the beach by a small party of humans before he could even flounder or lash out. His own spear had been dropped when he’d reached for Mackerel and he only prayed that his friend had the sense to swim for the depths. Not that he was about to go down without a fight, he thought as he readied himself to lash out with his fists, and even his teeth if he had to.

Of course, Mackerel had the self-preservation instincts of a piece of seaweed in a Spring Tide, however, and he breached the water a second later with a screech of distress that made even Hook’s eardrums hurt. For an instant, the tearing pressure on his tail was relaxed and he heaved his body with all his might, knocking the shadowed figures aside and sending them tumbling into the sand.

Then he saw Mackerel hauling himself up the beach, and the men started to run for him too.

Panic set in to Hook until he heard Mackerel yelling at them. He was yelling a name. A human name.

The figure at the front of the group skidded to a halt in the wet sand and stood there in shock while a wave washed up the shore to him and sloshed over his boots. “Theo?”

“Eolan…” Mackerel wheezed. “Please… Let him go…”

The figure crashed to his knees in front of Mackerel and tilted his face up to look him in the eye.

Hook seized the opportunity and swung his tail again, scattering the last of the humans tugging fruitlessly on his line now that there were too few of them. The barb of the harpoon was right through the meat of his tail and it was bleeding everywhere, turning the sand a nasty dark hue.

“Let… him go… Eolan. For me.”

“Brother? Little brother?” the human choked, bowing over him.

“Yes. It’s me. Let. Him. Go.”

The human turned his face to look at Hook then, and Hook recoiled. He looked like Mackerel, just… older. And harder too.

“Get back into the water,” Hook growled at Mackerel. “You’ll choke up here.”

That made the human — his brother? — look sharply back at him, and when Mackerel nodded and his lungs started to seize, the human dragged him unceremoniously into the water himself by the tail.

Hook meanwhile clawed his own way back down the beach, dragging the harpoon with him. If it ripped out of his tail, he’d bleed to death, but if he didn’t get away from these humans, they’d hang him up like the sharks and the tuna they took great pride in catching, and they’d wait til he bled out or died from the stress of it.

He yanked at Mackerel’s tail and dragged him the last way into the water too, then half-swam and half-sank down into the safety of deeper water. Pearl was waiting for them with Hook’s spear in her hand and swam at him, crying out when she saw the harpoon in his tail.

“It’s bad, Hook. We have to take you to the sea witch,” she said. “Mackerel, what in the name of the Deep were you thinking?”

“I…” he croaked. Like a piece of flotsam caught in the grip of the tide, he didn’t know whether to return to the beach or follow them into the sea. Hook didn’t have time to wait though, and he let his clan bear him away, looking back over his shoulder at Mackerel in disbelief and confusion.

Pearl drew Mackerel after them, and he followed in mute shock.

The sea witch’s lair was somewhere most merfolk avoided, mostly because magic was as unnerving to them as human fire, and the sea witch was powerful. She had never been known to turn away anyone in distress however, and when she scented blood in the water and saw Hook being borne into the protective ring of rocks around her home by two of his kind, weak from blood-loss and pain, she darted over immediately and hissed a curse.

“Humans,” she said through gritted teeth as she instructed the orca folk where to leave Hook. He found himself drifting in and out of consciousness on a soft bed of woven kelp, and when he looked up she smiled at him. “Easy, sweetheart. We’ll get you taken care of. I’ll need you to be brave, and you might need to hold onto someone while I take it out. There’s no easy way to do it, but my magic will patch you up afterwards. It’ll scar, but at least you’ll have your tail, eh?”

He nodded. “M… Mack…” he moaned, but Mackerel didn’t appear. When he cracked his eyes open again, he saw Mackerel staring at the witch with abject terror in his big brown eyes.

“It’s alright, lad,” she laughed, waving him over. “Come. Your friend needs you now.”

But Mackerel didn’t move.

When he remained, drifting on the currents like a mindless jellyfish, the witch tutted and gestured more impatiently, until she went still and really looked at him. “You’re… You can’t be… By the Deep, you’re him, aren’t you?”

Slowly, he nodded.

When Hook let out a groan as the water drifted over his injury and moved the harpoon, the witch focused again and said, “No time for that now. Someone hold him while I heal him up.”

Mackerel did move then, and he swam right around her and came to hold Hook’s hand in a firm grip. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Not your fault. Humans are awful. I hate them,” Hook spat. “I hate them all, I —” He cut off as the witch yanked the harpoon out and immediately began to heal it. Hook’s eyes rolled and he lost consciousness at last.

When he came to, he found Pearl at his side, curled up asleep the way she had done when they were really young. He stroked his hand over her hair and she stirred, blinking and rolling over.

“You’re alright?” she asked and he nodded.

Moving his tail experimentally up and down, he found that the pain had gone, and the wound had been mended to leave a silvery scar in the top and a pink one in the white of the flesh underneath. “Where’s Macks?” he asked and she swallowed and looked away. “Pearl?”

“He’s gone.”

“Gone?” Hook jerked upright and glared at her. “Gone where?”

“He talked with the sea witch for ages and she gave him something, and then… he just left.”

“Without saying where he was going?”

“He swam to the surface like he was one of us running out of air. I don’t know what happened.”

“Where is she? Where’s the witch? I want to ask —”

“I’m here,” came the witch’s harsh voice from nearby. “Don’t get your flippers in a flap,” she added, rolling her eyes. “And something tells me your boy will be back…”

“He’s not my boy,” Hook growled.

The witch just rolled her eyes. “Maybe not in the way you wish, but he’s not for you anyway. Your blood told me an interesting story when I drank half of it in by accident earlier. How are you feeling?”

She moved her seal’s lower body from side to side in a sinuous sweep and lifted up his enormous fluke, nodding with a satisfied grunt when she inspected the scar.

“I’m fine. Tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s not really my story to tell, if he’s not told you already,” she said carefully, “But I lashed out a long time ago when humans took my familiar from me, and I took it out on the wrong person. I wanted the humans to know what it was like to suffer at the hands of someone you feared, so I gave one of them a tail and gills in a fit of pique to make his father pay. I was so wrapped up in my grief at Shadow’s death that I clean forgot about the lad when the humans opened fire on me, and I’ve not thought about him from that day to this.”

“Mackerel…” Hook exhaled, his blue eyes wide. “He… He was human, once, wasn’t he?”

The witch nodded. “Pampered little princeling out on his father’s brand new ship. Shadow got too close and the ship hit my familiar. The shock of it broke something inside me that day, but I never should have taken it out on an innocent child.”

“Where is he now?”

“I gave him the means to return to his people. If he stays on land for longer than a single cycle of the sun and moon, he’ll stay there and never return. If he returns to the sea within that time, he’ll never be able to return to his human form again.”

“Why would you make him choose like that?” Hook demanded, face like a thunderhead.

“My magic isn’t infinite, boy,” she scoffed. “I can’t give him a shifters gift. He must choose, his family in the water or his family on land. By all accounts, the humans have scoured the land looking for a way to get their cursed prince back, but no witch has been willing or able to help them.”

Pearl shook her head. “Probably no one wanted to go against the Sea Witch…”

The witch blew a stream of bubbles from her mouth and shrugged. “If they had, I might have heard about the situation and remembered the poor boy I tossed into the ocean like a piece of discarded bait. Your clan shamed me with your honour in taking in the boy as your own.”

Hook swam out of the witch’s lair not long after that and made straight for the cove where the humans had been frolicking on the shore like spinner dolphins in the surf before they’d spotted him and Mackerel.

There, sitting close together on the beach by the dying embers of the fire, he saw his best friend and the human who’d called him ‘little brother’.

For a long time, he watched, transfixed.

Mackerel was wrapped in a piece of fabric that looked like a small, patterned sail, only it fell softly around him, and from under it, Hook could just see a pair of feet. His gaze snagged on them, and he wasn’t sure how long he stared. He wondered what it was like to have two limbs instead of one — perhaps it was like controlling his flippers and his tail separately…?

Suddenly, on the rocks above him and to his right, a male voice cleared his throat, and Hook jumped, lurching away with a snarl.

“Sorry,” the man said with an earthy chuckle. “Didn’t want to spook you, but I figured you should know I was here, and that you’d better not try anything either,” he warned.

Hook’s upper lip peeled back to show his row of sharp teeth. “If he wants to be there, I won’t stop him,” he growled. “Who are you?”

“Crown Prince’s bodyguard. You?”

“His friend.”

Hook eyed the man up and down and found he didn’t dislike him, physically. Like Hook, he was clearly a warrior, since he had what the humans called a ‘sword’ belted to his hip, and he carried a long spear in his right hand. His clothes looked like they’d been made of fish scales though, and Hook immediately wanted to touch. The fabric shimmered in the torch light and clinked softly, almost musically.

When he saw where Hook was staring, the man chuckled. “Yeah, mail’s a bit like fish skin, I suppose.”

“Mail?”

“This,” he said, plucking at the shirt that ended halfway down his thighs.

He crouched down, leaning on the spear for balance, and at the sight of the dark, soft fabric underneath the mail and covering his legs, Hook’s curiosity surged and he swam a little closer.

“Fuck,” the man breathed when he saw the way Hook moved.

“What?”

“Never been this close to one of your kind.”

“Without hurling a harpoon at us, you mean?” Hook growled, gripping the rock at the man’s boots and raising himself up out of the water enough to reveal his entire torso. Then, with one hand, he grabbed at the man’s mail shirt near his neck and hauled him close.

The spear dropped from his hand and clattered onto the rocks, but the human didn’t resist him.

“Holy shit,” he exhaled instead.

Hook snarled, lip rising again on one side, and he heard a shout of alarm from the beach.

Flinging the man aside so that he toppled and landed hard on his backside on the rock behind him, Hook looked over to find Mackerel standing shakily and staggering on the sand. The ‘sail cloth that wasn’t sail cloth’ fell to his waist and he grabbed at it, just as his brother lurched to his feet and helped to steady him.

Together they walked shakily around the cove and over to the rocks that jutted out into the sea like a dock, but the shore was too jagged for Mackerel’s bare, human feet, and besides, he was too unsteady on his unfamiliar legs.

He beckoned Hook over though, and Hook glanced back at the Crown Prince’s bodyguard, then sloshed into the water and drove himself at the shore with a few powerful sweeps of his tail. There, he half-beached himself, looking up at Macks.

Mackerel crouched, keeping the soft fabric around himself and half hiding his strange limbs from Hook’s view for some reason, and the older man stepped back when Mackerel nodded at him. “You’re human?” Hook croaked, looking up at him.

Mackerel made a little sideways motion with his head. “For now. I’m sorry I never told you what happened. I… I was afraid you’d… that you wouldn’t want me in your family anymore if you knew the truth. I know how you talk about humans…”

Shame twisted in his gut and he looked back at the man on the rocks who was standing up at the approach of Mackerel’s brother.

“You going to stay with them?” Hook asked.

“I’m not sure. I want to talk with my brother a bit longer. While I can. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

Hook nodded. “I understand.”

“Hook…?”

He met Hook’s blue eyes with his brown and reached for him. His skin was warm and soft in the firelight, and Hook found he missed the stony grey it had been before. Being human didn’t suit him, but he didn’t feel it was his place to say that, so he just swallowed and nodded. “Take your time. You know where we’ll be.”

“Hook, whatever I decide, you're family too. All of you. Pearl and you and the whole clan. You took me in and cared for me in a way my family on land never really did. They sheltered me and they loved me, but… not the way you did. I’ll always love you all for that. You know that, right?”

Hook nodded once and shoved his weight backwards in the sand, awkwardly carving a channel in the wet shoreline with his massive body. He glared as Mackerel’s older brother strode back across to join them, and he helped Mackerel to stand. His legs trembled and wobbled, and he laughed and leaned into his brother, and the two retreated up the beach to talk some more.

At the whispering of metal rings sliding like scales across one another, Hook glanced to his right and saw the guardsman approaching along the sand. He set down his spear and held up his hands, laughing softly. It was a warm, chuffing sound, and it stirred something in Hook’s gut that he’d thought only awakened for Mackerel.

“What do you want?” he asked, though it came out more petulant than threatening, and it only made the human warrior snort another little laugh. “You sound like a seal with a cold, making that noise.”

That made the man’s laughter grow and he shook his head. Hook saw that his hair was wavy and dark brown, and it looked impossibly soft. A shiver ran down his whole body and he felt a spark of arousal thrum through him. He was glad he was lying on his front, for one.

The two princes talked long into the night, and Hook stayed with the guardsman.

Slowly, he got over his hostility and started to ask questions about the humans’ world, and once he’d started, he couldn’t stop. The guardsman had plenty of his own questions too, and by the time the sun was well up into the sky and hammering down on them, Hook’s deep voice was hoarse and his golden-brown skin was dry and prickling.

“I should…” he rasped, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at the water behind him. “I’m going to turn into one of your baked fish soon.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” the guardsman said. His name was Kit, it turned out, which Hook thought was a very funny sounding name. “You need a hand getting back in the water?”

He didn’t, but the thought of having this human’s hands on him sounded suddenly and bizarrely appealing, so he shrugged. “You strong enough to actually help me, or are you just looking for an excuse to get your hands on a merman?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Again, Kit laughed. It seemed so easy, so natural for him to laugh, but Hook felt a little flicker of pride all the same at having made him do it.

“With all that muscle you’re packing? Probably not,” Kit admitted. “Seemed polite to ask though.”

Hook snorted too, and shook his head. His hair had dried while they’d been talking and it was tickling his face. The guard surprised him by reaching out and tucking it behind his ear with a smile. “I’m glad I met you, Hook,” Kit said. “Maybe… no matter what His Highness decides, you’ll meet me here again some time?”

“His… Highness?”

“The one you call Mackerel. He’s a prince, you know?”

“He’s just… Macks,” Hook scowled.

“Yeah.”

Kit straightened with a grunt and dusted the sand off his legs, and Hook used his forearms to back himself back out into the surf, tail lifted so it didn’t drag like an anchor.

His back was burned, and the saltwater was agony to start with, but it had been worth it to spend so long in the company of the strange human. He ducked beneath the water without a word and vanished, deciding to wait out the rest of the time until Macks’ spell conditions were met in the solitude of a nearby kelp bed.

Occasionally he surfaced, but he didn’t go back to the shore, and finally, when the moon was starting to rise again, he breached the water one last time and looked to the beach. There was no sign of Macks this time, and he realised he’d probably made his choice.

Grief struck him a worse blow than even the harpoon, and he curled inwards with a grunt as saltwater leaked from his eyes and he realised he was crying. He doubled over and turned towards the open ocean. His scarred tail gave a throb of pain as he pushed himself to the limit and blew past his clan who had been waiting nervously out in the open water all day.

Pearl yelled after him but he ignored her. He wasn’t sure how far along the coast he swam but eventually he doubled back to familiar waters and located his clan.

And there, in the middle of all of them, was Mackerel.

Hook halted and stared, and the motion of his black and white tail attracted his best friend’s attention enough that he stopped mid-sentence and darted away from the girls, his body flashing like a minnow between the figures of orca merfolk. He shot out and blasted over to him at a pace even Hook hadn’t known he was capable of, and collided with him with the speed of a racing tuna fish. He gave a soft ‘oof’, a cloud of bubbles rising up to the surface in a foam as the air was knocked from his lungs and he started to cough. Mackerel tugged him up to the surface and made sure he got a good gulp of air before hugging him again.

“I know you don’t see me as your brother,” he said, “And I’m sorry I can’t give you what you wanted, but… I hope you’ll accept me back into the clan all the same.”

“I love you,” Hook said, “No matter what, or how. I can’t believe you stayed though. I thought… I thought…” He squeezed him tightly, using his flippers as well as his arms, and Mackerel laughed.

“Turns out I actually prefer being a merman,” Mackerel laughed. “I was always out of place on dry land, but here… I think I’m meant to be here.” He waited a beat and then said, “My brother’s guardsman seemed quite taken with you. Maybe you can keep flirting with him when I go and visit my brother?”

Hook shoved him away and then used his trademark tail-wipe to wash him even further away, and the two of them laughed.

“Race you?” Macks asked.

Mackerel did an easy back-flip in the water, rolling gracefully and then twisting like a strand of kelp in the current. When Hook thought back to how he’d been in those first few weeks — when, he now knew, he’d only just acquired a tail instead of legs — he realised how Mackerel had really grown into that pretty tail of his.

As pretty as it was though, it somehow wasn’t as appealing as Kit’s legs anymore, and Hook hid a secret smile as he let his slippery friend scoot away from him before setting the muscle of his tail to good use and powering after him like an incoming breaker.

Relations with the humans changed after that. The old king died some years later, though not before he got to see his lost son one last time, and over the course of the next year, trade and new laws governing fishing rights and shipping lanes were established for the safety and benefit of the merfolk.

And if Hook disappeared from the clan for extended periods of time, and if those periods happened to overlap with Kit’s time off duty, well, it was only a sign of better things for both worlds, surely?

__

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#merman #merfolk #cursed prince #curse #orca merfolk #3rd person #exophilia #fairy tale

[queerofthedagger]

red like rust

[Steddie | T+ | no warnings]

It doesn’t happen in the hospital. Hell, it doesn’t happen before then, because before then, Steve has Eddie’s blood all over his hands, crimson-hot and sticky, has his fingers half inside of him to keep him together, has to—

Point is, before the hospital, there isn’t any time to have a breakdown. Steve has never been much of a crier, really, dislikes the entire act of it, but that moment when he had to forcibly drag Dustin away from Eddie’s body so that Steve could save him, damn his stupid, stubborn, hero-complex-ridden nerd-self, he’d thought this time, surely, this entire nightmare of a week, well. He thought it would warrant an A-class breakdown, honestly.

He feels like one, too, like he is nothing but breakdown-to-happen. Feels like his skin is scrubbed raw and his sanity is dangling by a thread worn so thin, it’s only held together by Dustin’s red-rimmed eyes, by Lucas’ silence when they bring in Max, by Robin’s white-knuckled hand in his. In those hours that are nothing but a long, agonizing wait in the fluorescent hospital, both Max and Eddie in surgery while Hawkins’ injured and dead won’t stop coming in around them, Steve feels like crumbling marble, like he’s becoming a ruin with no one bearing witness.

At the end of the night, the kids have been picked up by their parents no matter their protests, Nancy has found a bathroom to have her breakdown in private while Robin is having hers right against Steve’s shoulder, and Steve—

Steve swears he can feel it rip the inside of his chest to shreds, but the tears won’t come, his hands won’t shake, and he wonders how long you can go on like this before it mutilates something irreparable inside of you. --- It doesn’t happen after that either. Not when they stitch his sides back together, and not when the doctors tell them that both Eddie and Max will live, the relief of it almost bringing him to his knees.

It doesn’t happen when he sees Eddie for the first time, skin pallid and stitches angry-red on his face and throat. When Eddie’s hands shake, fingers unsteady against Steve’s wrist as he says, “I didn’t think I’d make it.”

Not when Steve hisses, more venom in his voice than in years, “You promised. You promised you wouldn’t play the fucking hero.”

His teeth rattle with the fury of it, and he’s shaking, too, everything in him itching to shatter into a hundred pieces, but he doesn’t. He can’t.

Eddie merely keeps looking at him, wide brown eyes and matted hair, and he doesn’t apologize, but then, Steve doesn’t think that he could take it. That it wouldn’t be what will make him get into his car and drive until he forgets about Hawkins and dying kids and boys with lie-soaked tongues and hearts of gold. ---

If he hoped it would get better once the shock wears off, this would be a let-down, but really, Steve’s been at this a little too long to still be disappointed in his various shortcomings; this might as well just join the parade.

Emotionally constipated, as Nancy would say. Your bastard of a father to blame, Robin would mutter, fire in her eyes whenever the topic comes up—more so, recently, since his parents came back in the wake of the supposed earthquake.

Which is an entire thing Steve doesn’t touch. Generally speaking, he’s not unhappy to see his mom, but currently, it’s one of the last things he needs.

He still cannot get the tears past his throat, cannot let go of the fear and the anger and the grief—so much godforsaken, blood-soaked grief—that draws tighter around his chest with each passing day.

He wakes from nightmares more often than not, of course, heaving and sweat-soaked and shaking. He jumps at the noises from other people sharing the house with him, flinches away from his window because they always turn on the lights of the pool, and almost bites through his tongue when, for the hundredth time, they try to convince him to move to LA with them.

He meets his father’s judgmental eyes blankly and brushes his mother’s concerns off, and he feels closer to splintering apart with each passing day, and still.

And still, nothing ever fucking gives. --- He tries not to think about it, and the vise only draws tighter. The more he thinks about it, the farther away he feels from being capable of anything but tearing something outside of him apart.

It is lucky, perhaps, that his friends are too stubborn to let him get away with his shit. Robin gives back tenfold whenever he snaps at her, and the kids have stopped taking him seriously years ago. Nancy has to do little more than raise a brow for him to get a grip.

Eddie’s the wild card, and the circularity of that makes Steve clench his hands until his nails draw blood.

The pain’s still not enough. Maybe that’s the goddamn issue, he thinks some nights, staring up at his ceiling with his heart a war drum inside his chest. Perhaps he’s so fucked up, emotionally constipated, whatever the fuck everyone’s theory is, that even Eddie jumping off Death’s scythe just so, that even Max, weeks later, still lying in the hospital, isn’t enough to get to him. --- If he’s honest, he knows it’s not that. He doesn’t know what it is, sure, but he knows that he loves them all so much that it makes his bones shake with the ruby-coloured terror of it.

It’s okay, though, it’s all worth it, even as the days march on and he feels stretched thin and raw and like it’ll take little to make him crumble for good.

It’s okay, through movie nights and drives to the arcade, through DnD sessions he only watches and volunteering with Robin. Through late nights with Eddie on the roof of the Beemer, and through calls that last until the sun climbs into the sky, dawn red-pink and mocking.

It’s all okay, good even, all the old-familiar and the new. The way he sometimes looks at Eddie and aches with want, these days, the pain and the rage almost buried beneath it. Almost, almost, almost. --- It happens, as these things are wont to do, when Steve least expects it.

It’s a tepid June day and they’re down at the quarry, just the two of them—Steve and Eddie, Eddie and Steve, the way their names are constantly mashed together these days a running joke amongst everyone.

They’re not even doing anything, just smoking and wandering around, when the sky opens up above them, the downpour so sudden and harsh that they’re soaked within seconds.

After prolonged moments of simply staring at each other in disbelief, Steve starts laughing—helpless, really, there is no way that he can’t. Eddie looks like a drowned poodle, the joint in his hand sagging, wet, and sad, and after everything, it just feels absurd.

Eddie shoves him and Steve shoves back, and then they’re running, both laughing and stumbling every other step.

“Fuck,” Steve gets out, empathetic and out of breath as he collapses against the side of the van. The rain’s already letting up again, and he looks at Eddie, smiling wide and bright-eyed, just a few steps away from him. “Fuck, I’m so glad you’re still alive.”

It’s such a stupid thing to say. But it tastes like a confession, like something sacrosanct. It tastes a lot like forgiveness, is the thing, and Eddie stills as if he understands it, too.

Around them, the rain slows down to a drizzle, and everything smells like early summer and second chances.

“Jesus, I hope you’ll still think that in a second,” Eddie mutters, and it doesn’t make sense, not an ounce, until he crosses the three feet between them, cups Steve’s face between his hands, and presses their mouths together.

It’s hot, slick with rain and a little clumsy, their noses bumping and Eddie’s rings catching in his hair. It’s also everything Steve has wanted for weeks now, and he pulls Eddie closer, fingers clenching into skin and bone where the bats had almost taken him.

Perhaps it’s that. Perhaps it’s the little noise Eddie makes, as if, despite being the one to finally take the plunge, he is still surprised that this is happening. Or, perhaps, Eddie just has that effect on Steve.

When Steve finally breaks, it is with Eddie Munson kissing him for the first time.

The tears mix hot with the remaining drizzle, and it’s so unexpected that the shock briefly outshines the grief. He staggers, a sob clawing its way out of his throat, and he wants to shove it back down, wants to keep kissing Eddie, clichéd and perfect in the summer rain.

“You’re such a bastard,” he chokes instead, and when Eddie pulls back, eyes wide, Steve sees just enough through the tears to make out the shock on his face, the fear working its way in. “Not about that, you—Jesus.”

He doesn’t get any more words out after that, throat constricting and everything shaking, shaking, shaking. He gets his point across by digging his fingers into Eddie’s hips, refusing to let go when he’s still half the reason this is even happening in the first place. By pressing his forehead to Eddie’s collarbone, and he hates crying, always has, but sheltered between Eddie’s van and Eddie’s body, it’s maybe as alright as it can get.

Eventually, Eddie seems to get the message or at least some part of it. He hums softly, and tugs and pushes at Steve until his face is in the crook of Eddie’s neck, Eddie’s arms around him, and it all just comes out in one inevitable, disastrous wave of pent-up grief.

Steve cries and cries and cries, for the kids and for himself, for Robin and Nancy and Eddie, and for the absolute abundance of shit they all had to go through. For all the futures they won’t have, and how when he closes his eyes, all he ever sees these days is red.

“Because you’re weird and I’m weird, I’m going to assume that you are weeping in awe of my kissing skills,” Eddie says, minutes or hours later when Steve can somewhat breathe again. “As such, I’m taking this as a declaration that you’re just as stupidly in love with me as I am with you.”

Steve laughs, and then he’s crying again, and Eddie presses his smile against his temple as if it is the easiest thing in the world.

So, thirteen weeks after they killed Vecna for the final time, Steve finally breaks.

That’s okay, though, because apparently, Eddie’s ready to pick up the pieces, too. Because somehow, Steve’s ready to let him.

#st #stranger things #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #mona's writing #honestly this is 1k longer than 'just something quick to finally break the goddamn writer's block' was supposed to be #but at this point i'd have taken anything so really I'm not complaining

[aphroditesbaby1616]

The Bear & His Honey Chapter 4

Inspo: Quote- “ Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me- I should know. I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door.”  Dedication: @daysofyellowroses - bestie thank you for inspiring and encouraging me to write. I haven’t felt more alive and inspired then I have in the past few days writing again. Thank you!! This is for you loveyyyy.  Summary: Winnie & Carmy get closer. Have a marg over a mini therapy session, Winnie fixes up Carm’s panic injury. They find out there may just have been a single thread of gold tying them together the entire time.  W/C: 5,484 A/N: Oh my lanta y’all!! 2 chapters in one day?! I promise- PROMISEEE tonight I am figuring a master list out, because I (myself) have been struggling to keep things canon to the story by having to scroll and scroll through my page to find each part to see what I said for Winnie, LOL! So get hype for that, I love this chapter even more then the last bc it has more Carmy, but Richie is so fun to write and I can’t wait for he&Winnies friendship to bloom!!! For my canon Carmy continues going to therapy once or so a week / a support group type talk therapy so that is why he shares more than he would in the show. It’s on his one day off so that’s why he is able to continue making it, and he thrives on routine so going once a week keeps him regulated.  Warnings for BTC: A little bit of smut, angst, mentions of suicide, mentions of vehicular accidents ending in death, mentions of self-harm, mentions of severe injury, negative self-talk, feminine yearning (ofc), fluffy fluff (enough for your teeth to rot out of ur face), panic disorder, mentions of a panic attack, heavy petting, alcohol, mentions of smoking cigarettes, mental health issues, exhausted Carmy LOL

𝒞𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀 𝒪𝓊𝓉 𝑀𝓎 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉!

Read Chapter 3

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The door flings open and before I could even get a good look at him his arms were wrapped tightly around my waist, his large hands resting on my rib cage, and thumbs gently rubbing soothing strokes. I gasped a bit in surprise at the contact, his muscular chest pressed to mine. Pulling me tighter and he nuzzles his face in my neck, his hot breath causing goosebumps to appear all over my skin. I inhaled his scent, a bit of his musky spicy cologne still left over after the long day, cigarette smoke, and a day of working, but he didn’t smell bad at all. I would buy a fucking candle of it if I could, and never burn it so it lasts forever. 

He needed this hug. 

“Thank you f’ comin’, Winnie. I really need a drink, like now” he said quietly and I bit my lip, my hands rubbing soothing circles in the middle of his back. “Course, you think I’d turn down a free drinky-drink from the sexiest little Chef boy in Chicago?” He chuckled into my neck, feeling a small smile press into my skin. “I’m sorry” he pulls away and I finally am able to look at him. 

His hair is a mess, cheeks are stained red, his eyes are bloodshot and glazed over like he’d been crying, he rubs the back of his neck and I see a bit of smeared blood over his forearm. “It’s- it’s okay, hard day?” I asked, twiddling my fingers anxiously, worried he was going to ask me to leave and tell me that it wasn’t a good time anymore. “Ye’” he replied in a sigh and I swallowed hard. 

“D-did you- sorry,” my voice coming out small and meek. I clear my throat “Was it- not a good time for you? It’s fine, totally, totally fine…should have given my number I guess - but I can-“ I motion my thumb to the door down the hall. 

“No! No, please, stay. It’s - it’ll be nice. To like- to see you. I meant sorry about,” he squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head “sorry for like- flinging myself on you?” He says and I giggle, causing him to look at me.

 “I love hugs! You give great hugs, is that why your sister calls you Bear? Oh my god!! Wait. This is your- that’s so cool, Carmen! You’re so cool!” I motioned to the restaurant, alluding to the name. “That’s so fuckin cool dude!” He smiled, shoving his hands in his pockets shyly and looking at his feet. 

“Thank you, but- uh. No. I’m not…usually a hugger which is why I’m also surprised I did that, guess I needed it. They call me bear cause - well. Don’t poke the bear kinda thing” he said and I took a few steps forward, our toes almost touching and his eyes met mine again. I raise my hand, and gently poke the flower tattoo adorning his left arm with my forefinger and smile. “Gonna bite me?” I quip, lifting my hands and poking short pokes all over his chest and he laughs a bit. 

“Y’re cute” he said and I put a final poke on his nose, blush rising to my cheeks at the statement. “And very thirsty. Pour me a drink will you, bartender?” I turned around on the ball of my foot swiftly, walking with pep back into the kitchen and I look back at him, to find his eyes practically undressing me from where I’d left him moments ago. I grin, putting my hands on my hips “You staring at my ass isn’t making me any less thirsty over here, bartender!” I said and he blushes “sorry…sorry”

He comes out and places a hand at the small of my back leading me to the main part of the restaurant and towards the bar “you just - uh…you look really good. I’m sorry, I didn’t have time to get home, I wanted to but - shit just got outta control, Syd forgot about this huge cannoli order and we forgot to get the powdered sugar with the last resupply so I had to make powdered sugar - it was just-” I rub my hand up his arm gently, stopping him and grabbing his attention. 

“It’s fine Carmen. You look fine. I’ll admit, a little bit tired. But you worked all day, I’ve been there” I shrug and he nods a bit, “thanks” he said softly walking behind the bar. I get up on one of the bar stools, crossing my legs and resting my chin in my palm looking over the restaurant and tapping my nails on the table. “This place is super nice, Carm, you should be so proud of yourself. It feels fancy but inviting too.” I hum admiring the lights and artwork on the walls. 

“Why thank you, we all worked really hard. I’m surprised it came together every day, but super grateful.” He said, taking Patron off of the middle shelf and scooping ice into the mixer, counting to himself as he pours it. “Doesn’t show, you run a tight ship it sounds, Chef” I smiled. He snorts “how would you know? Or is it just the pans from earlier” he said and threw a few slices of jalapeño, lime, and mint in to the cup before closing it tightly and shaking. 

“Yes and no, Richie told me, said that you were a good boy today though, and your sister was the one causing trouble” blush creeps into his cheeks. “Ye’ and see what happens when I’m ‘good’ as you told me to do? Shit got fucked” he pours in some club soda and mixes it with a bar spoon before pouring us both a glass. “Mmmm. Was that because you weren’t barking orders, or because something happened out of your control, and you’re blaming yourself?” I asked honestly and he set my glass down in front of me, biting his lip for a moment. 

“Everything is out of my fucking control” he muttered and shook his head, as if it was a quiet, painful reminder to himself. “Most things, in most people’s lives, are out of our control” I gently rest my hand over his and he meets my eyes. “The only things you can control is if, and when you fall apart, and how well you glue yourself back together.” I said earnestly and he swallows thickly, nodding. 

“I like that..thank you” he said and I nod. “Don’t worry, I won’t charge you- this time. But d’ya think I can get a fancy umbrella or somethin’ for this drink?” I smiled and nudged it toward him, he chuckled, shaking his head “you are somethin’ else, Winnie” he crouches down behind the bar with a grunt. 

“Fuck. I’m 26 but my back feels 90” he said and I laughed a bit. “It’s all the cookin’! And being on your feet too damn much, My mom is a massage therapist, you should let me give you a massage sometime.” I said and he got back up, groaning dramatically which made me giggle. “For you, dear.” He drops a little pink umbrella into my cup. 

“Oh my goodness you poor thing. Come sit down” I pat the spot next to me and plucked my bag off the seat, hanging it off the back of my chair. He comes around the bar, plopping down in the chair next to me with a sigh of relief. “I will absolutely take you up on your massage offer sometime.” He said, rubbing over his face tiredly and running his hands through his muss of curls before taking a sip of his own drink. 

“Please do, I’ll pull out all the stops for ya’, but just so you know- a happy ending comes with a pretty cost” I said flirtatiously and nudged his leg with my boot playfully. He chuckled and looked over at me “yea? Thanks for the heads up I’ll be sure to budget accordingly for my trip to Winnie’s Massage Parlor” he teased and I laughed a bit. 

“Yess!! Please do! There’s also Winnie’s salon, Winnie's hospital, and Winnie’s library!! Come by for all your daily needs I’ma’ Jane of all trades” I shrug and take another sip of my drink. “Speaking of” I take his left arm, looking at the inner part near the crook, where 4 large scratches were, done so violently that the skin beneath was turning into a speckled bruise meaning by morning it would be a dark purple. 

“What happened?” I ask softly, my finger tip gently brushing over the untouched skin over the smeared, dried out blood below the wound. “Ahh-“ he shakes his head “it’s stupid. It’s not even bad don’t worry about it” he said and I looked at him, concerned. “Did- did Sug-“ he cuts me off quickly “Sugar, would never hurt me.” He said, his tone was deadly serious. 

I nodded quickly, swallowing hard. “Okay, Carm, I believe you” I said softly and squeezed his wrist gently. “Will you…let me take care of you- please?” I ask quietly, looking into his eyes, my gaze pleading for a yes. 

“So Winnie’s hospital is mobile?” He said with a small teasing smile. I roll my eyes playfully. “Yes, let’s go find the first aid kit, and honestly it’s pretty but like - empty in here and… I dunno” I bit my lip, hoping he got the hint and he nods “sure we - we can uh. Yeah. Let’s go sit in Sugars office. She has a couch” I nodded and hopped off the seat, gasping when the corner of it hooks onto the hem of my skirt as I get down and pulls it up, exposing my backside clad in a lacy red thong through the sheer bum part of my fleeced nylons. 

“Oh my god!” I blurt as I quickly pulled it back down, my cheeks on fire, and my heart pounding in embarrassment. I hear Carmen burst out in laughter behind me making my embarrassment grow and I turned around, crossing my arms over my chest, my eyebrows becoming furrowed. “Hey!” I snip “what’s so funny!! Why were you looking peeping tom!” I whine and he covers his mouth to stifle the laughter. 

“To make sure your munchkin self didn’t trip off of the stool in those clunky ass boots!! Being a gentleman really paid off for me there” he said and I went over slapping his arm gently with a smile growing on my face. “I guess it’s a good thing I wore panties or I would’ve mooned you” I grab my drink and turn around, a surprised chuckle coming from him. 

“Holy shit, you go commando?” He asks, holding the kitchen door open for me “sometimes, she needs to breathe!!” I said with a shrug and pushed my bag up on my shoulder as I followed him back to Sugars office. “But what if you get horny?” He asked and I laughed, nudging him with my elbow. “Dude!! Richie said you were not forward with girls, that’s pretty forward” I set my bag down on sugars desk and he plops down on the big comfy sofa pulling out a recliner on his side and he sighs, closing his eyes. 

“Gimme a sec’ this is the first time my feet are up since 1” he said and I sat down next to him, “you haven’t sat down since I left?!” I asked and he shook his head, opening his eyes and head falling to the side on the cushion to look at me. “Mm-mm” he hummed in response. “Where’s the first aid kit? I’ll find it” I said and he rubs his face, thinking. 

“Uhhh. Oh there’s one in here actually, go over to the other side of Sug’s desk, it should be tucked there next to the wall” he said and took a sip of his drink. I got up, going where he said and I leaned over, completely forgetting the rules of skirts by mistake. “You’re a fucking tease” he said lowly and my heart pounds, my stomach fluttering wildly, and my core beginning to twitch and throb in excitement. 

“What’s not nice about helping a new friend clean up their boo-boo’s?” I asked innocently, a small smile on my lips as I turned and sat down on the couch on the cushion next to him. He smirks “you…are gonna make me crazy” he said softly and closed his eyes, resting his head on the back of the sofa. I opened the kit, taking out hand sanitizer, saline wipes, gauze, and triple antibiotic. 

“Wait-“ he said his eyes flickering open “you- you met Richie?” He asks as if I hadn’t been mentioning him since I walked in the door, my eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “It’s like- the first thing I said when I got here.” I said and he sighs softly. “I’m…sorry.” He finally said, like he was contemplating whether to say more. “That’s ok, you had a hard day” I took his arm gently, laying it across my lap. “What did he say? How bad did he embarrass me?” He questions and I giggle a bit, sanitizing my hands before opening a saline wipe. 

“Not at all! He said you’re shy with girls, that he’s surprised you asked me out cause he thinks I’m pretty, and apparently, doesn’t think you are very funny- but I on the other hand, seemed to make him laugh a lot so- got you beat” I teased with a smile as I ever gently wipe over the wounds. 

He snorts “well, you are pretty, he’s an asshole but right.” He said and I looked up at him “not many people make me laugh anymore, you seem to, though.” I said honestly, and he tugs his lip between his teeth to catch a grin from taking over his features. “Yea?” He asks quietly with a blush going across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. “Mmhmm” I hum in reply, putting the ointment on and carefully rubbing it in. 

It was quiet for a moment before he says “I’m sorry.” Causing me to look up at him, but his gaze was stuck on the ceiling. “This wasn’t - I wanted to do something nice for you and… I’m sorry.” I stop working on his arm “sorry for what, Carm? This is so nice. The drink is really good, thank you for making it, I’m glad to be here.” I said honestly and placed my hand on top his. 

His icy blue eyes meet mine, looking over my face slowly and locking on my lips. His eyes flick back to mine when he responds “you just look so pretty, like you should be on a real date. Not here fuckin-“ he sighs, looking down at his arm then back at me. “Dealing with my stupid mistake.” I shook my head and wrapped up his arm with a bandage to keep it clean and dry while he slept and it could scab over. 

“This is a real date. You own a restaurant. Carmen. Look at me.” I order and he looks into my eyes. “You, just you, asking me to come see you, to be together, to get to know each other? You are enough. This is a date. An awesome date. I’m having fun, are you having fun?” I asked and he smiled a bit. 

“No, but….” He trails off, looking at his lap and I felt my heart physically ache, my face drooping “peace” he finally said “I feel…at peace, with you around. I noticed it when we were outside earlier, I came out for a smoke cause I was about to absolutely loose it on Syd, and I don’t- I- I can’t do that to her. So I went out and I totally forgot my light and then..you were there and I forgot about everything.” He said. 

Goosebumps arise on my skin at the admission, the warmth in my chest returning at full force. “And - I thought about you…all day- all-all day. Not like- god I sound like a creep” he takes his arm, rubbing his face in embarrassment. “I thought about you too.” I reply softly. “I thought about you…a lot. Actually.” I bit my lip and his eyes met mine, searching for truth and it was all he found in my locked gaze. 

“Not like- I just couldn’t understand how I felt. But the more I think… I do this thing.” He rubs his chin as he thinks. “Learned it in therapy, they said when you can’t figure out how a person or a situation made you feel, you can like think of people and situations that you do know how you feel about, and keep comparing them until you find a match. S-so when I thought of you.” He swallows thickly and I sit up, completely entrenched in listening to him. 

“I found that things that gave me the same feelings w-were like…my one day off a week that I don’t have to be here. I think of…the fucking morning I went to Central Park and watched the sunrise and it was so..so quiet. I think- I think” he presses his lips together. “O-of-of Mikey. Of my brother. He’s dead. But. H-he. He protected me a lot, growin’ up. Helped me out. A lot. I felt like when Mikey was around, it was alright. And that’s how I felt earlier. I’m sorry-“ he shakes his head, putting the recliner down and finishing off his drink. 

“Why?” I ask and squeeze his hand “that’s…so, so sweet. You make me feel at peace too, unless you’re angry- but I was worried for you and what happened. I’m so happy I make you feel like that, Carmen. Thank you for sharing, may I hug you?” I ask gently and he looks at me a bit surprised. “Y-yea ‘fcourse c’mere” he opened his arms and I wrapped him in a warm embrace. “The way you make me laugh makes me feel the way my brother did when he made me laugh, we were twins. He died.” I said just above a whisper. 

He rests his cheek on the top of my head, rubbing soothing circles in my back as I did for him earlier. “I’m so sorry, what was his name?” He asked, equally as quiet. “Chris, Christopher” I felt my lip quiver, that never dulling ache in my chest throbbing at the memory of him. 

“Oh, wow” he whispered “Winnie and Christopher” I felt him smiling on my hair “your parents knew what they were doin’ with names, that’s adorable.” He said and I smiled a bit. “Thank you, can you guess what our nursery was?” I look up at him and he raises his eyebrows. 

“Hmm.. let me think. Oh! I know, Dumbo?” He says sarcastically and I laugh, closing my eyes and nuzzling my face in his neck “Silly. Winnie the Pooh, I always said it was my room, because they had a big wall sticker of Winnie and all his animal friends, but not one of Christopher since they couldn’t find one. He hated that” I said and his fingers gently rubbed over the spot of bare skin between my skirt and my top. I feel him chuckle a bit “that’s cute” he said. 

“How did Mikey…” I trail off, his fingers stilling. “Shot ‘emself” he said plainly and my hug around his torso tightens “I’m so sorry” I whisper in to his skin. “What about Chris?” He asked and I swallowed thickly. “We got in a motorcycle accident. I still can’t talk about it.” I said as evenly and emotionlessly as I could, if I opened that flood gate there was no shutting it. 

“Oh- my god. Wow. I’m so sorry, I’m so glad you’re….” He trails off, realizing the other victim was very much not ok in any sense of the word. I sit up, taking my half full drink off the table and drinking it down in 3 big gulps. “Want another?” He asks and I shake my head, “work tomorrow” I said and he nods, “yeah me too” he muttered rubbing over his face. 

“Can I…get your number?” I asked and he nodded sitting up “course you can” he said and took his phone out of his pocket, logged in and opened up a new contact screen, offering it to me. “Only if I can have yours” he said with a small smile. “Of course!!” I took it from him. 

Winnie 🍯  

I put as the contact name, and type in my number, hitting save before handing it back. I do the same for him on my phone and hand it to him, when it’s returned, I see 

Carm🐻 

I smile, deleting the emoji and switching it for a 🧸 instead. I show him with a tilt of my wrist “cause your awesome hugs.” I said and smiled, saving it again. He blushes, smiling and shaking his head “I think you’re the one who gives good hugs, you smell like honey and you’re all soft.” He said and I giggle. “I’m glad you like my perfume” I said and pushed my hair behind my shoulders. 

“I do, it’s very nice. You live around here?” He asks and I nod “2 blocks that-a-way” I point behind us and he raises his eyebrows. “Really, what street?” He asked “Kensington Ave. The brownstones” I said and he chuckled “No shit. I live in the high rise across the way” he said and my mouth drops. “Wow. Work neighbors, and building neighbors, we’ve never met?” I giggle “you've been avoiding me?” I ask and he chuckles “never, uhh. I’m like never home. I go there to sleep for a few hours, and my days off I…sleep…the whole day usually, I usually get home around 1am and leave at like 4ish, sometimes 5 if I sleep in” I raise my eyebrows in disbelief. 

“3 hours of sleep and you wonder why you feel 90? You need to sleep Carmen. You’re gonna have a heart attack.” I said and he chuckled. “If I would only be that lucky'' he joked, taking our empty glasses to the kitchen and I followed him “no- i'm serious, like you’re gonna drive yourself nuts.” I said, leaning on the counter watching him wash the glasses. 

“I am already there sweetheart don’t worry, been there- ahh let’s see, 20? Maybe 19. So 7 years of insanity give or take.” He said and I giggled, shaking my head. “You are not nuts. A crazy person couldn’t run a restaurant.” I said and he snorted “that speaking is the mind of someone who doesn’t work in a restaurant. No, you have to be a psycho to do this shit. Especially at the level I do it.” He shuts off the sink, putting the cups on the drying rack and leaning on his elbows on the table mirroring me from across. 

“I think you’re very, very passionate.” I brush his curls from his eyes “and that you sometimes get in your own way by not allowing people to help you.. which can make things harder” I said and he smiled, amusedly. “How do you already know so much about me, have you been stalking and avoiding me so I don’t find out?” He teases and I laugh. “Shut up, no. I have not. I dunno… like our souls know each other. That’s how I feel.” I shrug, crossing my hands under my chin and looking at him. 

“Hmm” he says. “Do you believe in past lives?” He asks and I nod “for sure. And future ones. I don’t think we can learn everything in one go that our souls need” I shrug and he nods a bit. “We need to talk more about this when I don’t have a pounding headache from being so overtired” he said softly and I pout, “c'mon let’s walk home.” I said and headed back to the office to grab my things. 

“I just have to go to the back and get my stuff gimme a few” he said from the kitchen. I waited by the island, shawl back on and bag on my shoulder. When he comes back out, my breath gets caught in my throat. Hes wearing delicious light grey sweatpants, blue Nike sneakers, and a plain white champion hoodie. As he lifted his arms to put his backpack on, the hoodie rode up, revealing his tight, toned stomach, and deep, deep V line. I lick my lips, imagining myself on my knees worshiping his god-like figure and he clears his throat. 

I looked up again, realizing he completely caught me red handed checking him out like the hottest new library book and I felt my cheeks heat, giving a shy smile. “Ready?” He asked and I nod “ready” I said meekly, mentally face palming for my lack of discretion. “Y’know it’s not a bad thing to check me out, right? I guess for earlier you can call us even” He asked as we walked down the hallway and I nearly tripped over my own feet at the boldness. “Fuck you” I roll my eyes playfully and he opens the door for me. 

“I’m a little tired right now, but for you? Anything. Your place or mine?” He asked and I laughed, slapping his chest playfully “you are a naughty, naughty little boy” I teased, wrapping my arms around his bicep as we walked. “Just letting you know allll the ways this glorious date could end” he said, a smug smirk on his face and I shook my head, looking at the sidewalk. 

This was so nice. I usually am needing to check behind me every couple steps, am tensing at every noise or stranger I pass, but with Carmen I feel protected. Secure. 

“I’ve never actually been able to enjoy this at night, I’m always looking over my shoulder wondering if I need to get my switchblade out” I chuckle shaking my head. “Switchblade? Damn. Can I see it?” He asks and I nod, digging in my purse and pulling out the pink knife attached with a MyMelody keychain to a can of mace. 

I pulled away from him, hopping a few steps ahead.  “Everybody watch out! I’m a woman that’s armed and dangerous!!” I giggle, clicking the little button and the hello kitty blade swings out with a click. He laughs, and I faced him, waving it around the air in front of me lightly “what’s so funny huh? I’m menacing Carmen, imagine I mugged you right now with a hello kitty knife” I said, causing him to laugh harder, clutching his stomach. 

“Oh my god - please” he snorts in laughter causing me to laugh. “Awww little piggy!!” I teased and he gasps pretending to be offended. “okay! Rude! You better not snort ever or you’ll be the piggy miss” he said making me start laughing again “you are at my mercy right now, sir, have you so easily forgotten?” I gently wave the pewny knife in front of his face. 

“Oh you sweet thing. I know you wouldn’t hurt a fly.” He plucks it from my fingers easily, closing it. “Only because I have the strongest little chef in all of Chicago to protect me. My knight in sexy gray sweatpants and a white sweatshirt” I mused, a playful smile dancing on my lips. “Mmm ok we’re getting there. I don’t like the little part, but- we’ll get there” he joked, dropping the knife back in my purse. 

“Oh, yeah?” I said, grabbing his arm again as we continued, our buildings come in to view. One of my hands trains down his arm, slinking my fingers to wrap between his. “Mmhmm” he hummed. 

I stopped again, standing in front of him and wrapping my arms around his neck loosely, standing on my tip-toes even in my heels to reach his ear. “I think that you know, that I know, you’re the sexiest, most hard working, passionate, gentleman - that I’ve ever had the pleasure of having a chance with. And I also think that you know, I have bratty tendencies, and love pulling your chain because I know it gets you going. You wanna know what I’m 100% sure of, though?” My sultry hot breath caused goosebumps to come up on his neck, his hands wrapping around my waist and squeezing gently. “Was’ that baby” he said softly, his voice laced with desire. I lace my fingers in his hair, gently tugging at his frizzy curls from the day. 

“I’m sure that you need a brat. Because what you need, Carmy.” I nibbled at his ear gently. His breath hitches in his throat, biting his lip to silence a soft moan. I wasn’t quite sure where all of this raw confidence and honesty was coming from, likely from the strong drink Carmy had made and my being a lightweight.

 “Is to be able to force someone in their place, and have full unrelinquished control over the entire situation. For someone to give themselves to you, be fully yours. To use. To love. To worship. Whatever you desire. Cause you’re a control freak. But that’s sexy, that’s soo sexy. I love a man who knows what he needs” I place a soft, lingering kiss on his racing pulse point. 

His hands trail down, cupping my ass before squeezing roughly and I moan softly at the contact. His hands were so strong, so large, but somehow the touch was still lacking confidence. “C-can I” he says softly, “can I kiss you, please?” He whispers. I lift my face to meet his, our noses brushing as I rest my forehead on his, looking into his eyes. His pupils were blown wide from both the dark and lust, the only peak of blue being a tiny sliver. 

“That depends,” I said with a smirk adorning my lips, I nuzzle my nose against his gently. “Will you kiss me how you want, Carm? Or how you think I want?” I ask and he licks his lips. “I want to make you happy” he whispers, I twirl a curl at the base of his neck around my finger. “It will make me happy, if you take what you want from me” I whispered. 

Before I could blink, his lips were on mine, kissing me hungrily- a war of tongue and lips, my fingers tightening around his hair and tugging smiling proudly when he moaned into my mouth. His hands trail my skirt, lifting it slightly to massage my backside in his hands wantingly. I let him take me, dominate me, own me in that moment, matching his hot feverish kisses as well as the sweet, gentle ones. We only broke apart to breathe, our chests rising and falling at an equal rapid pace. His lips were slick from our kiss, swollen from the rough encounter. He was beautiful. 

The only sound was the infrequent car passing, or the sound of the crickets that had made their homes in the small patches of grass on the side of the sidewalk that housed the trees. 

“I want you to come to family”

Read Chapter 5 Here!

 

#carmy berzatto smut #carmy x sydney #carmen berzatto x you #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #readteamomas #carmen berzatto #carmy #the bear carmen #carmen berzatto the bear fanfiction #carmen berzatto the bear #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto x oc #the bear hulu fanfiction #the bear fics #the bear fanfiction #the bear 🐻 #the bear fx #the bear fandom #the bear hulu #the bear fic #the bear #jeremy allen white fanfiction #jeremy allen white #carmy berzatto x oc

[eruherdiriel]

Something I've been thinking a lot about lately is how Jon knows what it's like to be burned. With his hand, he doesn't feel it in the moment but that's probably adrenaline more than anything else.

"You do not look well. How is your hand?" "Healing." Jon flexed his bandaged fingers to show him. He had burned himself more badly than he knew throwing the flaming drapes, and his right hand was swathed in silk halfway to the elbow. At the time he'd felt nothing; the agony had come after. His cracked red skin oozed fluid, and fearsome blood blisters rose between his fingers, big as roaches. "The maester says I'll have scars, but otherwise the hand should be as good as it was before." "A scarred hand is nothing. On the Wall, you'll be wearing gloves often as not." It was not the thought of scars that troubled Jon; it was the rest of it. Maester Aemon had given him milk of the poppy, yet even so, the pain had been hideous. At first it had felt as if his hand were still aflame, burning day and night. Only plunging it into basins of snow and shaved ice gave any relief at all. Jon thanked the gods that no one but Ghost saw him writhing on his bed, whimpering from the pain.

-AGOT, Jon VIII

And then there's the scene of his wound getting cauterized. Which, yeah, he's otherwise injured and just escaped the wildlings, experiencing a lot of physical pain and internal turmoil, etc., etc. Still:

Maester Aemon sniffed Jon's wound again. Then he put the bloody cloth back in the basin and said, "Donal, the hot knife, if you please. I shall need you to hold him still." I will not scream, Jon told himself when he saw the blade glowing red hot. But he broke that vow as well. Donal Noye held him down, while Clydas helped guide the maester's hand. Jon did not move, except to pound his fist against the table, again and again and again. The pain was so huge he felt small and weak and helpless inside it, a child whimpering in the dark. Ygritte, he thought, when the stench of burning flesh was in his nose and his own shriek echoing in her ears. Ygritte, I had to. For half a heartbeat the agony started to ebb. But then the iron touched him once again, and he fainted.

-ASOS, Jon VI

This doesn't even touch on how he feels about the R'hollor crew and stories of people intentionally being burned. Whether he's there when King's Landing burns or hears about it, he will be able to empathize with the people of the city. There will be survivors, some with burns like on his hand and some with way worse. There won't be enough milk of the poppy for everyone. There will be men, women, children, soldiers, civilians, and old people burned and screaming in pain. Before KL burns, Jon will have heard about the other places DT has been as well. They're not gonna be pals.

But there will be conflict in his interactions with DT. Jon fiddles with his hands when he's conflicted or distressed:

Jon's breath misted the air. If I lie to him, he'll know. He looked Mance Rayder in the eyes, opened and closed his burned hand. "I wear the cloak you gave me, Your Grace."

-ASOS, Jon II

Lots of examples from AGOT, when his hand is still freshly burned and in more pain:

"Grief and noise," Mormont grumbled. "That's all they're good for, ravens. Why I put up with that pestilential bird … if there was news of Lord Eddard, don't you think I would have sent for you? Bastard or no, you're still his blood. The message concerned Ser Barristan Selmy. It seems he's been removed from the Kingsguard. They gave his place to that black dog Clegane, and now Selmy's wanted for treason. The fools sent some watchmen to seize him, but he slew two of them and escaped." Mormont snorted, leaving no doubt of his view of men who'd send gold cloaks against a knight as renowed as Barristan the Bold. "We have white shadows in the woods and unquiet dead stalking our halls, and a boy sits the Iron Throne," he said in disgust. The raven laughed shrilly. "Boy, boy, boy, boy." Ser Barristan had been the Old Bear's best hope, Jon remembered; if he had fallen, what chance was there that Mormont's letter would be heeded? He curled his hand into a fist. Pain shot through his burned fingers. "What of my sisters?"

-AGOT, Jon VIII

When Jon had been Bran's age, he had dreamed of doing great deeds, as boys always did. The details of his feats changed with every dreaming, but quite often he imagined saving his father's life. Afterward Lord Eddard would declare that Jon had proved himself a true Stark, and place Ice in his hand. Even then he had known it was only a child's folly; no bastard could ever hope to wield a father's sword. Even the memory shamed him. What kind of man stole his own brother's birthright? I have no right to this, he thought, no more than to Ice. He twitched his burned fingers, feeling a throb of pain deep under the skin. "My lord, you honor me, but—"

-AGOT, Jon VIII

Jon raised the hood of his heavy cloak and gave the horse her head. Castle Black was silent and still as he rode out, with Ghost racing at his side. Men watched from the Wall behind him, he knew, but their eyes were turned north, not south. No one would see him go, no one but Sam Tarly, struggling back to his feet in the dust of the old stables. He hoped Sam hadn't hurt himself, falling like that. He was so heavy and so ungainly, it would be just like him to break a wrist or twist his ankle getting out of the way. "I warned him," Jon said aloud. "It was nothing to do with him, anyway." He flexed his burned hand as he rode, opening and closing the scarred fingers. They still pained him, but it felt good to have the wrappings off.

-AGOT, Jon IX

Not until he was well beyond the village did Jon slow again. By then both he and the mare were damp with sweat. He dismounted, shivering, his burned hand aching. A bank of melting snow lay under the trees, bright in the moonlight, water trickling off to form small shallow pools. Jon squatted and brought his hands together, cupping the runoff between his fingers. The snowmelt was icy cold. He drank, and splashed some on his face, until his cheeks tingled. His fingers were throbbing worse than they had in days, and his head was pounding too. I am doing the right thing, he told himself, so why do I feel so bad?

-AGOT, Jon IX

#jon snow #tw burns #idk how to trigger tag this #nor do i know what this is or what i'm doing

[stiltonbasket]

for whenever you feel like: wrh raises wwx au continuation?❤️ i already love it!!

"You cannot send your son to war."

It is the first time Lan Wangji has spoken in days. He retreated from the Wei-fu's main compound nearly a fortnight previously, filled with mingled dread and fury when he heard that Wei Ying's son would be riding to battle—and in all that time, Wei Ying did not once attempt to have the conscription order rescinded.

Perhaps he knew the effort would be fruitless. Wen Ruohan valued Wei Ying above his own sons, before he was wounded—for otherwise, he would have never carved those wretched compulsion sigils into Wei Ying's skin—but Wen Yuan was worth nothing more to him than the guest cultivators who were sent out to perish by the hundreds during the second year of the war, because he did not share Wei Ying's blood.

His father's training went only so far, Xiao Liuzi had said, when Lan Wangji first came to the Wei-fu as a concubine. Young Master Yuan has no rival for talent among the other boys of his age, and Lady Wen says that he is the very picture of Xinhua-jiangjun as a youth—but there is something about the lord's cultivation that came from his mother, the one who came down from Baoshan Sanren's mountain, and the little master does not have it. That is the power Wen Ruohan most desires in a right-hand, and so the little master is useless to him.

Wei Ying was as useful as a flesh-and-blood right hand to Wen Ruohan, even injured, but not useful enough to be kept truly happy. He had been showered in riches for the past two decades, denied no treasure that could be obtained by gold or human toil; but he had few dear ones that Wen Ruohan could not touch, let alone any assurance that his family in the Nightless City would be kept safe if he were to fail his master—and if the sigils on his back had not prevented him from doing so, he would have taken his own life in misery long before he came of age, hoping that his death would permit the infant Wen Yuan to pass out of Wen Ruohan's notice for ever.

I wish he had not told me that, Lan Wangji thinks painfully, recalling the night his beloved drank himself sick on spoiled wine and confessed the truth of his long years of service to the tyrant who lived in the Sun Palace. I can do nothing for him, and now there is nothing left but empty hope for the both of us.

For his part, Lan Wangji suffers no delusions about Wen Sizhui's ability in war. While night-hunting, he could rival Xichen at his strongest, in the years before he commenced work on the great warding seals that protect Gusu and the Unclean Realm; but A-Yuan cannot bear to stand helpless in the face of pain, whether his disciple siblings' or the pain of some little creature that crossed his path on his travels, and bearing witness to the unending agony of war will dull A-Yuan's wits and strength to the point where they might well abandon him entirely.

"You cannot send him," Lan Wangji repeats now, folding one hand over Wei Ying's shoulder. "Let him ride out with the others, if you must. But surely he can leave his regiment under cover of night and escape, long before he reaches Qinghe. He is your son—he could easily find a way to depart without being noticed, and then—"

"Where would he go, Lan Zhan?" Wei Ying asks, turning around to face him. "If he deserts his regiment, the way home will be barred to him forever. If he ever dared to come back, he would be executed as a traitor after Wen Ruohan came to hear of it, and perhaps tortured for days before that. If I must lose him, I would rather he meet a quick end in battle than a terrible one in the torturing chambers."

Lan Wangji says nothing.

"You came out of the xingtang yourself," Wei Ying says dully. "You know Yuan'er would never survive it."

His gaze flickers down towards Lan Wangji's legs, as if he could look right through the thick silk of his trousers and down upon the knotted scars beneath them; and then he turns his face up to the ceiling and stands without moving for a long, long while.

"How dear is he to you?" he says at last. "A-Yuan, I mean."

"Dearer than life."

The confession falls from his lips easily. When Lan Wangji first entered the Wei-fu, he was prepared to kill his way out of it with the stone splinter he tore from the dungeon walls, if necessary—but on the wedding night, A-Yuan stole into the bridal chamber while Wei Ying slept, carrying ointment and bandages for Lan Wangji's shattered legs, and treated his injuries as skillfully as his aunt Wen Qing might have done.

"I doubt Wen Ruohan will be pleased to hear of this," Lan Wangji had rasped, stunned almost speechless by the small, deft hands flying over the deep gouges in his ankles. "Go back to bed, xiao-gongzi. Wen Ruohan ordered me here to humiliate your father, not to serve as a companion to him. What do you think he will do if he finds that someone from Xinhua-jiangjun's household dressed my wounds?"

"You're here to serve as a reminder to my Uncle Yu, actually," A-Yuan muttered. "He's Fuqin's favorite concubine, and Wen-zongzhu sent you here to punish him. He thinks Yu-shushu should have died in battle before he allowed any harm to come to my A-Die."

With that, A-Yuan finished tying off the bandages and departed; and brief though the treatment had been, it permitted Lan Wangji to ignore the fire in his bones for long enough to have a full night's rest.

The wounds are nothing more than scars now, and the full function of Lan Wangji's legs has long since been restored. He could take A-Yuan and flee from the Nightless City this very night, if he tried—but Wei Ying would be forced to stop them, no matter how desperately he wished to let them go, and then...

"Forgive me," Lan Wangji murmurs. "Good night, Wei Ying."

He spends the night tossing and turning in his bed, his thoughts lingering over the bed in the next room where Wei Ying is asleep with A-Yuan in his arms; and then, almost before he knows it, the hour of Wen Yuan's departure is upon them.

The day dawns much like any other, in a riotous storm of red and gold that falls over the Wei-fu like a blanket. Wei Ying rises early and sends the servants away, insisting that no one aside from himself should serve A-Yuan on his leaving-day; and when Lan Wangji sees the boy next, he is riding at the head of Wei Ying's old regiment, three paces behind the general who replaced his father after Lan Wangji was taken captive.

Lan Wangji reaches out and takes Wei Ying's hand.

"He will return," he vows. "Your brothers in arms love him as their own. With them close by, A-Yuan will come to no harm."

But Wei Ying's fingers do not squeeze Lan Wangji's hands in turn; and when he meets his husband's empty eyes, he knows that some part of Wei Ying's spirit has given up all hope of seeing Wen Yuan again.

#wangxian #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #wrh raises wwx au #my fic #reblog for more prompts because I currently have none for this au D: