#he ought to snap at everything and everyone

[13atoms]

Handsome and a Genius (Spencer Reid x F!Bau!Reader)

Inspired by that one scene in x files where mulder stands like a himbo looking handsome and being the future of beauty. you know the one I mean

Summary: Spencer’s overactive brain draws more attention than it ought to on a case, and you see him in a new light. 3k words.

Contains: hostile witnesses, spencer being clueless (but an absolute babe), friends to lovers. (No offence to Florida im sure it’s very nice, reader is having a bad day, and I am far too British for that kind of heat)

The sticky Florida air had long since plastered your clothes to your skin, leaving you short of breath and with the unpleasant feeling of damp hair against your scalp. The whole team had groaned at the revelation their next case would be in the outskirts of Miami, and as soon as the plane door opened you understood why.

You were hot, and grumpy. The salty, swampy air made you feel disgusting as you approached witness after witness. There was a serial killer operating in and around mobile home parks in the area, with the two most recent murders taking place in Royal Biscayne Trailer Park, both over a week ago. While the rest the team spread out across the other crime scenes, you and your partner had been dispatched to this one.

It was a world away from Quantico: sun-bleached, dense, full of plastic and palms instead of concrete and maples. Nonetheless, the principles remained the same no matter where you were. Take everything in, speak to everyone, suspect everyone. Stepping in and out of trailers gave you very little relief from the heat, although respite from the sun pounding down on you was a welcome break.

Dr Spencer Reid stood a short distance away, shielding his eyes with his hand as he contemplated the sea of trailers around him. He’d stared around as you drove into the park, something faraway in his eyes as he memorised every detail from the safety of the SUV.

Now he stood close to you, heads inches apart as he whispered so that only you could hear. He faced one way, you the other, and you could focus on his words knowing that Spencer was watching your back.

“These things all come equipped with the same locks, at least each model does. If you recognise the trailer home, you know how to pick it. It’s fairly trivial, for someone with some basic industry knowledge.”

You hummed through pursed lips, surveying the small crowd who had gathered to gawk at a pair of FBI officers on their turf.

“And that would be true of all of the trailer parks… we know he’s got a common MO.”

“Exactly.”

“You reckon someone in the industry, then? A salesman? Maintenance guy?”

Spencer rolled his neck, stared up at the sky for a moment. His curls were long at the moment, damp at the name of his neck, a little frizzy in the humidity.

“Not necessarily.”

“It’s quite specific,” you agreed, “anyone operating as a common thief around here would have the knowledge too. We could be talking about a classic escalation – burglar to home invader to murderer?”

His eyes snapped from you to his phone.

“I’ve asked Garcia to check out any patterns in robberies, home invasions… the locks are hardly scratched. We know he wears gloves, cleans his tools. This guy knows what he’s doing.”

You nodded, surveying the street again. The sun was glinting off of white plastic, making you squint. You worried for Spencer, the heat and the light wouldn’t be doing his headaches any good.

“You want me to take that?” Spencer was saying, and you snapped your attention in the direction he was gestured.

There was middle-aged man a little way forward of the crowd, shoulders hunched, hands entwined. Nervous. He had the tan of someone who lived here year-round, not a big believer in suncream, with tanlines when he removed his hat and glasses to speak to you.

“I’ve got it,” you murmured, and Spencer nodded.

It was an unspoken part of your partnership, that Spencer liked when you started conversations with witnesses. You liked that he trusted you, trusted your skills, never questioned whether you’d done the right thing when you spoke to people.

Instead he remained a short distance away, climbing up the front steps of someone’s home for a higher vantage point to survey the place.

“Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you. You said you’re with the FBI?”

The man had a tip, and it was an interesting one. A rumour spread throughout the HOA about someone trying the locks at night, the sound of metal against the doorways, silhouettes against frosted glass. A few people even had security camera footage, though nothing identifiable. It was great. You gave him your card, told him to get the footage to you asap.

It must be terrifying, you realised, to hear that kind of noise in the night. To be so close to danger, after a neighbour had been killed. The local sheriff’s department seemed frustrated by the interest the case was garnering – frankly you were amazed the story wasn’t bigger. There was no small amount of comforting involved in the conversation you had with the witness, and soon enough a few more people stepped forwards from the crowd. All seemed middle-aged, likely transplants to the sunshine state, and equally shaken.

When everyone’s stories had finished, they stood in silence for a moment. You frowned, noticing their gazes slightly misaligned.

Spencer.

He was stood at your shoulder, sharp gaze flickering across each face of the gathered residents.

“This is my colleague, Dr Reid. A few of you have already met, I believe.”

“You know,” he began, “the socio-economic factors influencing the way we think about crime in mobile home communities are fascinating. Often trailer parks are stereotyped negatively in the media, and because they are generally cheaper to live in than traditional housing estates, and that can foster a sense of shame or isolation for residents. Transient populations can also make community policing and security difficult, and anomalies in the patterns of everyday life become more difficult for people to subconsciously spot.”

You held your breath, and tried not to look worried at the reaction of the small crowd. Instead, you focused on Spencer. He was speaking with his hands a lot today.

“But I think the assumptions we tend to make about trailer parks completely overlook the very nature of living so close to your neighbours. There is a sense of community in living so closely, as evidenced by the conversations we’ve been having today. I’m not sure whether the killer understands that, or is exploiting the former theory that places like this allow for more deviations from the way we implement traditional security in communities. An unsub might hold some sort of resentment towards trailer parks, or some specific resident in his past, or perhaps he’s simply exploiting how incredibly easy it is to simply walk up to a mobile home and slip the lock open with a humble mass-produced lock pick.”

He was greeted with a sea of blank faces, littered with the occasional frown. Finally he looked to you. You caught the furrow of his brow, the way his shoulders hunched into himself, the clutching of his elbows to his body.

Oh, Spencer.

“That’s really interesting!” you tried to say, but Spencer was already backing away.

“Anyway, I’ll, um, leave you to it.”

“Thank you, Dr Reid,” you called after him, as he fled, disappearing into the shade of a nearby trailer.

 Your heart ached for him a bit, but you pushed that aside. Instead, you had a sea of potentially offended retirees to keep on side.

“God, what I’d give for a brain like that,” your witness laughed, his linen shirt straining under the movement.

You couldn’t help smiling, a little relieved the tension had broken.

“It’s not often someone has a face like that and a good head on their shoulders,” one of the older ladies piped up.

You found yourself looking over your shoulder at Spencer, his profile sharp as he looked down the road, deep in thought.

“He’s certainly a rare breed,” you agreed fondly.

A number of the crowd were following your gaze, and someone in you wanted to snap them out of it. Stop them from staring.

“He actually has an eidetic memory. Once he’s seen or heard something, he remembers it perfectly, forever. It’s incredible.”

“Oh, my goodness! I can hardly remember my own email password!”

“I wouldn’t mind if he hung around me and talked like that all day, even if I didn’t understand a word of it. Though perhaps he could use a haircut…”

There was a chorus of agreement and various coo-ing which seemed to occupy the entire scale from grandmotherly to entirely inappropriate. You couldn’t help staring at Spencer a moment longer, wondering if he was truly oblivious, or simply pretending to be.

A rare breed.

You were certain you’d never met anyone else like him. Certain you felt like a better version of yourself in his company. That you’d trust him with your life, that you searched every room you entered until you saw him. Watched the elevator doors each time they opened, all morning, until Spencer walked in.

You were certain you’d felt giddy the first time Spencer insisted the two of you would work together, alone.

 “Imagine knowing that he’d remember everything, forever…” one of the women was saying, her eyebrows raised in a way you didn’t particularly enjoy.

You cleared your throat, and hooked one hand over the badge at your waist.

“Unless anyone has any further leads, we’d better be on our way…”

The group silenced, and watched you dutifully. You passed out a few more cards, reiterated how dedicated the team was to stopping this killer, and gave out a few promises that there would be a police presence after dark throughout the trailer park.

When the request for any further questions was met with more glances towards Spencer, you thanked your witness, and made a beeline for the car. After only a few seconds Spencer was beside you, jogging to catch up.

“All done?” he asked, and you smiled at the question.

“I think so.”

You started the engine and both waited with the doors open for the car to cool down. The department’s penchant for black SUVs was not helpful when the sun was so vicious. Feeling the heat themselves, the group of residents had dispersed into a few groups, wandering into one another’s homes to continue gossiping.

“God, I’m disgusting,” you lamented, “sorry for the sweat-smell. I might actually take a cold shower when we get to the hotel.”

Spencer was already waving you off, leaning into the car to mess with the AC. Through the open door you saw him groan at the heat, swiping a curl from his face.

“I’m afraid to raise my arms. It’s so humid, I’m not sure why anyone would retire here. High humidity aggravates a number of chronic conditions, especially respiratory ones, which are common in older people. Not to mention the skin cancer…”

“And it ruins your hair,” you teased.

Spencer faked a gasp, and reached for a damp, limp section of his hair.

“I mean, look at it!”

You laughed, and rolled your eyes at him, nothing but fondness settling warm and tight in your chest.

Surveying the road in front of you for one final time you saw a few curtain-twitchers, but no new faces. You climbed into the car, wincing at the heat. The seatbelt buckle was burning hot, and you swore as it burned your fingers.

“I always forget about that,” you grumbled, slamming the car door closed.

“You know, if you fasten your seatbelt after you get out, it stops the metal getting hot and burning you,” Reid offered, and you rolled your eyes at him again.

“Gosh, doesn’t it get exhausting being right about everything?”

Spencer went quiet, and all you heard was the click of his own belt. After a few moments the car was cool and bearable, and your lungs felt like they could finally move again. The sat-nav happily talked away, and you started stealing worried looks at your partner once you’d returned to properly-maintained roads.

“What you said out there was really good, do you mind if we go over it again once we get to the station? I think it’s worth exploring.”

“I shouldn’t have said it in front of them.”

He was right, but you didn’t have to heart to say anything. That was the thing which made your heart twinge about Spencer – he was so insecure, and yet so self-aware, it was the worst of both worlds. Being an expert in body language was a double-edged sword.

“I don’t think they minded. Did you hear those old ladies talking about your big brain?”

Spencer didn’t laugh. He turned himself towards the window, curled up with his hand beneath his jaw.

“They were very impressed. So was I, for what it’s worth. I think we’ll make some really good progress on this profile tonight.”

He hummed agreement. Watched a vista of blurred blue and green and white going past the window. The radio was turned down to a low hum, you could hardly hear it. Silence pierced its way through and sound of mumbled songs and road noise.

“Are you okay?” you asked finally.

“I’m okay.”

You sighed. Tapped the steering wheel. Sped a little to get through an intersection on amber.

 “Spencer…”

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to ruin that for you I just… sometimes I think of things and it’s like I have to tell you.

“Spencer I’m not mad at you! Not at all! I think we’re both just tired, and too warm…”

He didn’t say anything.

“Honestly, I was worried you’d heard what those ladies were saying about you and gotten upset. It was inappropriate of them…”

“I didn’t hear anything. What did they say?”

Your gaze was focused on the road, but you met Spencer’s eye in the rear-view mirror as he watched your face.

“Just that you were a handsome young man. And that they wanted you to get a haircut, which I firmly disagree with…” you teased.

Spencer touched his hair self-consciously. He was still quite curled up, leaning away from you despite his interest in the conversation.

“That’s nice of them, I suppose.”

“‘Nice’ is an interesting way of putting it, but I’m glad you’re not upset about it.”

“When I was a kid, I read a book at the library about how to tell if you’re attractive. It was for women, all about makeup and stuff, but there was a section about what made guys hot. I could never figure it out, I just always thought I looked like an alien.”

The sudden change made you sit up straight, heart in your mouth as you rolled to a stop behind a queue of traffic.

“I think everyone feels like that sometimes. Being a teenager is really hard.”

 “I… yeah. I suppose so.”

“I always felt so jealous of the people who walked around looking perfect every day, confident that they were not. It just never came naturally to me.”

“Really? I assumed you were one of those girls in school who I’d be too afraid to talk to.”

You scoffed, and for a moment were struck by how little you really knew about one another. The way Spencer looked at you, looked it everyone, it felt as though he had an x-ray into every tiny detail of your life. How could he know, though?

“Of course not,” you laughed nervously.

You weren’t sure if you’d prefer Spencer knew the truth, or kept believing whatever he’d made up ini his head. You weren’t sure what any of this conversation meant. Traffic was moving. The precinct was two turns away.

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

He was teasing you. Finally he leant back in his seat, shoulders square to it, legs stretched out in the passenger footwell.

“Either way, I’m glad you can talk to me now. I’d miss it if you didn’t.”

“You might be the only person on this planet with that opinion.”

You took a moment to glance across the car at him, and caught a flash of a smile. He was joking. You released tension from your shoulders you hadn’t realised you were holding.

“I’m sure that’s not true. You’re a handsome genius, just like Barbara said.”

“Her name was Barbara?” Reid laughed.

You shrugged, and took the final turn into the precinct parking lot.

“I’ve got no idea.”

Even with the SUV in park, the aircon no longer blasting away, neither of you moved. Not for a moment, at least. A moment of peace before the chaos all began again. Just the two of you. Wherever you were, with Spencer was your favourite place to be.

“You’re the same, you know. A genius. And handsome…”

You frowned.

“Pretty! Beautiful. You know what I mean.”

“Handsome?”

In truth, you didn’t care about the words. Not at all. Not when your heart was pounding at the realisation Spencer had his gaze fixed on your lips, his eyes soft and pupils blown wide.

“Beautiful,” Spencer repeated, “You know, in a lot of languages, handsome can be translated for men and women. The word itself doesn’t have a gender. Guapa, for example, in Spanish…”

You let him talk, on and on. You decided you wouldn’t kiss him yet, while your hair was matted in sweat and Spencer’s face was brushed with sunburn and embarrassment.

“Bella is more popular in South America, though, or bonita. My favourite is Japanese, though. Kirei. To be beautiful both inside and out…”

Only a few more moments passed before Morgan arrived and banged on the glass with a wide grin and a sweat-beaded brow, announcing a break in the case. You were sorry for the interruption.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #fluff #fic #13atoms #im so sorry if this is ooc

[merakiui]

thinking about how the tweels could have used their influence to "buy" you and your time when you were little. they're immature (floyd more so than jade) and when they want something they get it. always spoiled, those eels... their parents dote on them endlessly. birthdays are extravagant events: tables filled with presents and delicious foods alike. of course it's anxiety-inducing for those who come bearing gifts because they're signing agreements and have to hope the gift is received positively, lest they leave a poor impression and papa leech's men show up at their doorstep.

so when the twins find themselves fascinated with you, a mer from their class, they'll do anything to have you.

at first it was simple things. jade would feign crying so the teacher would politely coax ask you to play with him and floyd, as she was too nervous to get on their father's bad side. everyone is. it's a common rule in their neighborhood that no one messes with the leech family, and if you do you disappear. floyd would throw a fit, thrashing and whining, only ever ceasing if you finally agreed to draw with him or play tag with him. they're greedy brats, monopolizing your time and always circling you until, eventually, your friends start to keep their distance.

no one dares to cross the leech family.

but you do. you glare at the twins and snap at them, saying things like, "spoiled brats shouldn't whine in the first place. you already have everything you could ever want, don't you?" or "leave me alone or i'm never playing with you again!" and the twins listen. sometimes. but they like it when you yell, when you get worked up, when you threaten things that mean nothing because all it takes is a word to their father and you'll become their playmate. they plan when they choose to listen and when they don't. if they leave you alone for one day, you can expect them to return the following days, proud with the logic of "since we listened and left you alone, that means you have to do the things we want now."

it gets worse the older you get. school dances are a pain. the twins fight over you like you're food, throwing punches and biting and snarling, wanting to be the only one to take you, unwilling to share. the first time you were dragged brought to the leech residence to meet their parents was a night you'll never forget. their home is huge, a labyrinthine, rocky structure on the outskirts of town. you remember feeling lost the deeper you swam into their home, reminded of complex cave systems at every turn. there are lots of people in the leech home. servants, mostly. jade explains it away so easily, as if this is normal.

everyone greets the leech twins. servants smile, welcome them in such a friendly, polite manner. they give you similar treatment, all of them seeming to know your name. this unsettles you, but then the leech family is aware of everyone. their connections run deep.

their mother adores you, thinks you're the sweetest thing. "so this is the cute mer my boys talk about!" she pinches your cheeks and says you're much too small and that you ought to eat, but your mer species is one of prey. biologically, you'll always be smaller than an eel mer. their father, though his name is known throughout, isn't as scary as you thought. he is initially when he stares you down silently, assessing you while you bow respectfully, so low to the floor it looks like you're begging. it's quiet still and then he laughs, tells you to lift your head, and he introduces himself. he's outgoing and charismatic in a way that shocks you. but then you're not seeing the cutthroat sides of mr. leech.

that night was a whirlwind. you ate dinner and watched the leech family chat in their natural habitat, witnessing just how similar they all are. jade takes after his mother more, whimsically sharp and sly. floyd is like his old man. in fact, you thought they were rather close in body structure. floyd's definitely going to grow much bigger. so is jade, but then you suspect floyd will have more muscle. bulkier. jade, you think, will remain lean and agile, strong in a silent, less noticeable way.

they have someone come in to dress you and the twins for prom before it comes time to set off. you can't begin to imagine how expensive all of the accessories are, and you're told you can keep them. it would feel like a plot from a romance novel if it weren't forced. their parents take lots of pictures, fawning over you with happy smiles, wishing the three of you a fun, happy night.

the twins take you to every yearly dance that follows, all the way up to graduation. you've tried to say no, but it's pointless to do so. one word to their father and your parents will sit you down and gently beg you to listen. to just say yes. you can't entertain the thought of going with another mer either. the twins will hound them, force them to give you up, scare them so good they'll never swim near you again.

so when they're old enough and they propose, you have to say yes. because it's the twins and they always get what they want in the end. because they've always had you in their palms from the moment they met you. because they'll fight off every possible suitor bold enough to steal you away, gruesome and cruel, monstrously possessive.

because, most of all, no one messes with the leech family, and so your wedding will be yet another spoiled, extravagant event. the ring on your finger is more than an oath of marriage. it's a claim being staked. a little collar. a reminder that you have always been and will always be theirs.

and there's no room for arguing that truth.

#meraki mumbles #yandere twst

[baldurs-gape]

Worry Worms

A little shared fact about the party was that the worms were in communication with each other. Even with the Emperor's protection, the group were bound in a way, their worms connected to each other. Sometimes it was awkward, other times funny and sometimes frustrating. Yet the worst were the moments where flashes of the past and the pain it held flashed through the group.

The first signs of a shared existence were the pang of hunger. It wasn't obvious to start with, everyone migrated to the supply packs for snacks and ate with more gusto. Yet the hunger was left unsated. Bickering turned to annoyed disagreements and huffy sulks. Lae'zel refused to even look at Shadowheart over the simple fact that the berries they'd had stashed away were now mixed with nuts.

"Perhaps we ought to ask Astarion to feed?" Wyll muttered to Karlach quietly. "It's driving me insane."

"Urgh, yes. I can't eat another mouthful but I'm still starving. Is this what being a vampire is like?"

"Like what?" Astarion sauntered up to them, thumb rubbing at the corner of his mouth as though wiping away the last dribbles of blood after feeding.

An awkward silence held them all in suspense until Wyll cleared his throat. "This hunger. Is this your day to day experience?"

Of all the thing they expected, an honest laugh was not on the list. Astarion wasn't even mocking them, he was genuinely tickled by the question.

"Darling, this hunger isn't mine. It has been dogging me as much as you by the sounds of it."

Which just left one real suspect. The one who had been most graceful at handling the sudden affliction. That evening Gale sheepishly admitted to his affliction. Once he'd consumed a locket, the hunger faded from all their minds.

If only things could be as simple. For a while it seemed like it was. The weather was gorgeous, sun bright and hot. It burned fiercely as they wandered along their path. Armour was slowly stripped, so were clothes where possible. Any stream they crossed, most of them dipped into it with sighs of relief.

"It's hot as the hells themselves." Wyll was neck deep in a clear pool, eyes closed and head tipped back.

Looking around at the various states of undress and sweatiness, Karlach gnawed at her bottom lip.

"Literally. The old engine's been getting a bit too much. My bad."

"This is your doing?" Astarion whirled to look at her. "I haven't felt like this in two hundred years!" Despite not sweating like the others, his hair looked a little lacklustre and flat compared to its usual near-perfection.

"As I said-"

"Don't. I've missed this. Don't change."

Karlach's mouth snapped shut as she nodded and made a mental note to maybe linger closer to Astarion on nights where he looked more cold and alone.

Their adventures carried on. They bore the shared echoes of neck pain and head aches as Wyll got used to his new horns. Gale's mage hand was perfect to for those who preferred not to be touched and Karlach was more than happy to put her rather warm hands to good use too. Given her own horn, she was all too familiar with what muscles could cramp and hurt. Wyll was especially grateful for such knowledge.

Along the way they collected Halsin who was more than happy to tag along on the quest. Nobody was tactless enough to mention how he and Astarion gravitated towards each other, circling in tighter and tigther circles. They all pretended to believe Halsin's reasons were purely altruistic and maybe with a small amount of desire to learn. Nor did anyone mention that Astarion's tent had a tendency to be set up and then abandoned as he spent nights in Halsin's. It was a small comfort and they all knew they needed as much of that as they could get.

Nights tended to be rather monotonous. Once dinner had been eaten, they all drifted off to their respective tents for rest. Sleep came easy enough, so did the nightmares. Flashes of pain and terror. Revulsion and depseration. Hopelessness that hollowed out everything which was only filled by fear tamped rage. Lae'zel was the first to wake, cursing Shar and all she made her followers endure. Determined to wake Shadowheart, she left her tent. Only, Shadowheart was already by the dwindling fire, haggard and scratching at her back.

"Is this not the doing of your goddess?"

"She's much more thorough in taking the memories." The disdain in Shadowheart's voice was a blanket to hide her own discomfort. While awake, the flashes from the worm were no less distressing but the light of the fire helped a little.

"So who-"

Gale stumbled out of his tent and retched as a particularly sordid kind of pain echoed through them all. They all shivered in unison at it.

"We need to wake him." Even as he spoke, the worm allowed more memories to play out in their minds. "He wouldn't want us to know this."

"I don't want to know this," Karlach's voice joined. Next to her, Wyll looked harrowed.

As one they traipsed to the edge of camp where Halsin's tent had been set up. He was dozing, curled around Astarion with a smile on his lips.

"Hush, he's finally trancing." Warm pride made Halsin's words drip with affection. "Said he'd not done it since before being turned."

"With good reason. Wake him up." Wyll winced as new pains from relieved memories curled through him.

Resisting, Halsin watched the group and pulled Astarion into a protective embrace. The broke 'please' from Gale was what did it in the end.

It didn't take much more than a gentle brush of lips to his forehead and Astarion blinked awake. His worm silenced but not before a flash of panic could be felt by all as he stared up at the gathered group.

"I know I'm in high demand, but could we keep it to one or two at a time so I can make sure you all have a good time?"

If only it had been a joke. Before it would have been taken as one. Now though, the truth of his fawning in face of fear was all too easy to see.

"We just-" Gale seemed at a loss for words.

"They wanted to wish you a good night," Halsin helped out, even though he still wasn't quite sure what was going on. "And to make sure you're okay."

Tight blankness smoothed out Astarion's expression. He knew the others saw the memories his trance he brought to life. "Was I-" breaking off, he steeled himself, "Did I make noise to wake you all?"

"You were very peaceful, little heart." Halsin smiled at him and tucked him back against his chest. "Rest some more. I'm sure the rest of this conversation can wait until the morning."

Dismissed, the others filed out of the tent. They didn't sleep easy, kept up by the nightmare fuel of what they'd seen. At least Astarion didn't trance again so no more memories bled through into their shared connection. Come morning, nobody said anything. But if they were a little more gentle with Astarion after that, that was their own business and nobody else's.

#halstarion #astarion/halsin #astarion x halsin #astarion #bg3 astarion #halsin #bg3 halsin #gale dekarios #wyll ravengard #karlach #shadowheart #baldur's gate 3 #bg3

[yeyinde]

okay wait now we need a second version where the reader does leave with ghost and he walks her home and he's all shitty about the drunk flirting and she's like "bruh it was just flirting, if you would make a move i wouldn't need to make you jealous" 😌

ask and you shall (eventually) receive~ 🖤

i hope you enjoy this!!

"What? He's been keekin' you all night." There is a divot between his brow. When he turns his head, the fairy lights behind make his stubble look darker. "Yer aff yer heid!" Soap’s Version

It's all words. 

Thin, hollow: they're empty ones bereft of meaning. They roll over you—a gale rocking you from side to side until you're dizzy with that awful little thing that clings to your pericardium, refusing to relent.

Hope. 

Yearning (in English this time, if only just for him).

It clots there, taking root until you're a little queasy. A little unwell. The alcohol, perhaps, or—

He sits by Laswell, head angled down to murmur low in her ear about things that shouldn't matter right now when everyone is alive, and safe, and back together. But of course they do. They always do. 

You wonder if they ever rest. If they ever take a moment's reprieve from the endless death and carnage that bulldozes your life until it's in shambles. Until the only thing that remains is broken chunks that reek of smoke and petrol. 

It feels impossible. 

He hasn't looked up once, despite whatever nonsense Soap might be on about. Untouchable. A chasm. 

Ghost is a shoreless island in the distance. Rocky and steep. 

Sometimes, if you stand on the furthest point of the beach, you can almost see the land peeking out from under the sea. Hazy. Shrouded. It sits amid the crashing waves, out of reach from everyone. 

Soap pulls you back in, a few clipped words shared back and forth, and everything else melts away. This is easy. 

This, being: drunk on expensive scotch (thank you, Captain Price; and oh no, thank you, I don't don't want a cigar) as you share snapped banter in a small pub. Vacant, of course, save for the six of you, and the barkeep. A man who offers little more than a nod at you when you mutter about the washroom, and swats at Price when he comes for peanuts and pretzels. 

It's easy to pretend, you think, that the honeycomb eyes, a bashful grin, and hands that feel like the sun are what you want. 

Easy, and yet—

You wonder if he's had anything to drink. 

(You wonder if he'd keep his gloves on while he held you—)

You snap something at Soap, something you hope is witty and charming, and maybe if you play your cards right, you won't end up alone in a foreign land tonight. That, maybe, he'll let you close your eyes, and pretend—

It's ground out, raked through coals. "Soldier."

He makes you dizzy. Makes you want, yearn, makes you—

It falls into nothing, until your head is full of him: blood hell, Christ—

Never said I wasn't. 

It feels like more of a reprimand than anything else he'd tossed your way thus far. A warning, maybe. Don't get too close. You know what you're in for. 

Don't make him into the fairytale he isn't.

"And you, soldier?"

You're drunk. Too drunk. Head gummy and full of sin. 

"Should leave," you say, casting a glance toward the mosaic window. A cross hangs in the distance. An augury. "Maybe go to church." 

"Aye, lass. Think someone ought to get you home. Lt?"

You pull the last swallows in your cup before Soap has the chance to take it away from you. Liquid courage, you think, wilting under a black stare. A looming, uncharted island in the distance. 

"C'mon," he says, words a shade away from being a command. "Haven't got all night." 

You don't point out that it's nearly three in the morning—devil's hour in the company of a ghost—and wisely hold your tongue when Soap leans down, whispering: you can spend the night with me, hen.

"We're leaving." A growl, now.

It jars you. His voice is unlike anything else you've ever heard: gravel and ash; gunfire booming in the distance. It sits low, like the words are dragged up from the depths of his chest, and sounds like smouldering embers. 

Your hands shake around the glass. It knocks against the wooden counter when you set it down, a hair too hard. You're crumbling. Slipping into waters that have no bottom. Rough, frothing. The white foam clogs your throat, drenches in you until you're weighed down, and sinking fast. 

In over your head. No way out. The island is too far away.

His eyes are sharper than you've ever seen them. A yawning abyss. You wonder if something would snap at the tips of your fingers if you got too close. 

Soap brows sit arched on his forehead, mouth thinning into a small line. "Alright, bonnie?"

"Gonna go home," you smile, tired. Wobbly. "Gotta get some sleep. Maybe next time, though." 

Ghost's stare has never felt so heavy. 

You stumble out of the pub behind him, pointedly ignoring the glance Gaz sends in your direction—the phone in your pocket already buzzing with texts that will make you whimper in the morning (saw you with Lt, mate. What the fuck? I mean what the bloody fuck?). This is normal, you think. Everyday. Mundane. Saturated in the ordinary. 

Except—

Sometimes, your life doesn't make any sense. How you can go from coldly planning a man's—mens—murder to walking down the wet streets of Glasgow, head full of your Lieutenant.

The church peaks in the distance. The light spills, bathes it in yellow. The tolling bells call you an idiot. 

Your head drops, eyes skirting toward the indomitable man beside you. Idiot, indeed. You can't help yourself, though. He's a magnet. A beacon. 

A current sweeping you out to sea. 

He says nothing. Hands tucked into the pockets of his black jacket, hood pulled down low. Those haunting eyes roam the corners, surveying the alcoves: always ready, always on-guard. 

It's a stifling thing, this silence. Oppressive. Crushing. 

Your throat itches with the urge to shatter it, to break it down until there is nothing left of it. Where it can't echo inside your chest like the brutal burn of rejection, and doesn't make your mind reel, an endless spiral of why and how and—

What can you do differently to make it a reality? 

No man is untouchable. Not really. There had to be others in his life. A man like Ghost—

It's just impossible, isn't it?

Does he go to a brothel when the urge wells? A pub? Does he have dalliances with other agents he'd met in the field? Ones with battle scars, the taste of gunfire on their breath, and firm hands on their rifle? Is there someone already waiting at home for him, tucked inside a place no one else can reach them? The only inhabitant on an island in the middle of the sea.

What is his type?

And how can it be you?

Queries. Questions. They burn through you. 

What if you just went for it? Is that what he likes? Someone who looks him in the eye, and says take me, I'm yours. 

You open your mouth to ask, but are stopped in your tracks by the stare fixed on you. Breath caught in your throat. Lungs bereft of air. You splinter. 

"S—sir…?"

"What?" It's harsh when it's ground out of his teeth. A snap. 

"Are you angry?"

His eyes slide down to you, lidded and heavy. "Negative." 

You huff. "Lying to me, now?" 

"I've been called many things, Rookie, but a liar isn't one of them."

The grit in his voice makes you tremble. Makes a heat spume inside of you, not unlike the scotch from earlier. 

Or—

Maybe it is the scotch. Your head is a slurry; a mess. The world around is shrouded in a sheen, a gloss, that makes the lights smear, and the cobblestone below quake under your feet. 

"Are you—" jealous feels too strange in conjunction with Ghost. To the man who, as close as he is beside you, has never felt further away. Stupid Soap and his stupid words. 

"Am I what?"

You mull it over. Let the word sit between your incisors to gauge the fit of it. It doesn't quite fit when you roll it around. Doesn't belong together.

(Like him, you.)

You stifle it.

He makes a noise, impatience, perhaps, and the word leaks into their terse air between you before you snap your jowls shut. 

"Jealous?"

His eyes slide to you again. The whites glow under the street lamps. "Jealous?" 

You feel a little silly. A little stupid. You blame it on the scotch. On Soap, and his keekin' you—

But—

You feel the words pool on your tongue, but you can't stop them from trembling out. 

"I could have went home with Soap—"

"Why didn't you?" 

It stings. The rejection hurts something fierce, but it's swallowed down. 

(In for a penny…)

"You pulled me away. I could have been fucking him right now, and instead I'm wandering around Glasgow—"

Tonight feels as good as any to get your heart wrecked. Loose lips sink ships, after all. 

"You might be fucking him, pet," his voice is a snarl, a feathered growl. "But you'd be thinking of me."

It punches into you, and makes you gasp, aloud; the sound echoing over the wet brick surrounding you. Your feet stutter when it's ground out, left to rot in the air. You jerk your head up to look at him, eyes wide. Heart-hammering in your chest. 

He stops, too, hands now hanging by his sides, curled into loose fists. His chin is tipped down, liquid eyes boring into you. 

You—

You've never seen a sight more damning. One more ready-made for ruin. 

He makes you feel a low grade fever burning in your veins. Stupid, intoxicated. 

You don't know where to go from here. Thinking of me. He's right. Of course, he is. It feels like a fractured mess when it tugs on the corner of your lip, a slowly unease smile. Distance, you think. You're an island far away from hurt. 

Rejection. The brutality of his words—they can't reach your shores. 

"And you'd be at home, getting thought of but not fucked." It's shakier than you'd wanted it to be, words a slow tremble. Then, a whisper: "You wouldn't even know."

"I would." He takes a step, another. His stare never wavers. "Just like I knew the first time you touched your little cunt to the thought of me. Couldn't look me in the eye for a week, pet."

"That's—"

It's true. You remember the time—all of them—and the realisation that he knows (he knows, he knows, he knows) burns into you. A knot of discomfort pools in your core. 

There is embarrassment, of course there is. Shame, too. 

But you're too drunk, too blootered, to think straight. Too raw, and cracked. You're a vanishing island. Water lapping at your inlands. 

More hollow, thin words: "why did you take me out?" 

"I gave you the option," he corrects, his voice is flat. It carries at the end, and leaves no room for any argument or protests. 

It's true, after all. 

You drop your chin, hands shaking. It's a bludgeon to your gut. 

(How can it be you—?)

Stupid. 

The false bravado quivers under his stare. A step backward flattens your spine to the wall of some long-closed Tandoori shop. The bricks are still wet from the rainshower that fell earlier. The cold dampness bleeds into your flesh. Goosebumps prickle. 

More liquid courage, you think, hands balling into quivering fists by your side. 

You lift your head. In for a penny, right? 

No island is truly unreachable. No man, either. 

All of this— something —with Ghost is drawn together into this single moment. The distance. The uneasy feeling on the nape of your neck when he's behind you. The want. He's been keekin' you all night. You look over and catch his stare. Feel it on your skin like a brand. 

(Ready-made, always.)

It all has to mean something. It has to. 

"Is that why you stare at me?" 

His eyes are embers. The glow from the streetlights make him look like smouldering ash. Demonic. It thrills you. 

"No, pet." 

He leans in close, his body a shadow over yours. A tower. You can't see anything except the fill of him spreading out around you. Black. Endlessly so. Your perpetual night. The embers spark, blazing, when he bores into you. A wildfire in the distance. Atavistic fear brims. 

Stay away from the fire and the being that can hurt.

His hand presses into the concrete beside your head. There is nowhere to run. 

"I stare at you because I keep thinkin' about those little fingers trying to fuck yourself silly, and how desperate you must be knowin' it isn't enough." 

You shiver—a whole body chill that has your teeth chattering together at the punctured words that drip, tainted with your demise, from his mouth.

The air in your lungs is noxious. It spumes inside until your knees quake, threatening to drop down into that unfathomable abyss that gapes below. The yawning maw of a man who wants nothing more than to sink his teeth into you until nothing remains. Rucked into the currents, it sends you careening out to sea until your fingers cling to the side of that untouchable island, begging for respite. Salvation.

It's a plea, a whimper: "you should have asked to take me home."

He offers none of it. His hand stretches out, and in the cup of his palm, he promises only ruin.

You shouldn't take it. Don't make him out to be the fairytale he isn't.

But the look he levels you with, ravenous hunger tucked inside the tenebrose of those spiralling depths, has you reaching out. A moth to a flame. The roar of the Styx in your head. You can't resist.

(You wouldn't even try.)

"I already am."

—Gaz regrets sending the text when he wakes up the next morning to a detailed commentary on all the ways his Lt absolutely ruined you

— he refuses to look either of you in the eye for weeks after

—this is completely irrelevant and feel free to roast me for it, but! my hc of a jealous!Ghost depends on where he's at in the relationship

—in the beginning: he doesn't trust, he does his job, and he's distant; but if he feels it, he'll close down. total distance. silence. he's mean about it, too. waspish. he'll try to push you away. cold hearted bastard to a T.

—but later?? oh, boy. that's when the Looming™️ starts. the, oh hey lemme go talk to that cutie over there - oh, wait. what the fuck that is that thing behind them and why does it look like it wants to eat me alive?! he's still mean, of course, but now he has a reason to snap. a reason to stand as close you as physically possible so everyone knows just who you belong to. and if he catches you flirting, i mean. rip, b. 🥹

#simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley fanfic #simon ghost riley x you #requests #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #simon riley cod #cod mw2 #cod fanfic #lord its me again #they caught me simpin

[bts5sosempire]

the tyrant (vi); side one

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sukuna ryomen x reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4,583

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: old time period, mention of arranged marriage, polygamous marriages, slow-burn yandere, power imbalances, peer pressure, nothing major atm, mentions of infertility, etc.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:  "you were the apple of Sukuna's eyes, the one who brought him solace and everything. The only thing you were incapable of was giving him a child, an heir he wished to spoil like he did to you."

𝐚/𝐧: splitting this into two parts, leaving y’all on a cliffhanger. pls like, comment below for tagging, and reblogged. (edit: forgot there were "broken" links or something when clicking to find the chapters, those are also fixed too.)

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

In front of you were two boxes, one that was gunpowder with a bold black label written at the top of the crate, and the other was written in potassium chlorate. You notice that these two items share similar fates but different structures. "Handle with care," you instructed, snapping the fan in your hand shut. Walking off with shoulders squaring, your eyes trail around when you stop right in the center of the trading post. You finally owned a small port that allowed you to transport essential items from different countries. From using the money, the inn has accumulated over time.

All the time you've spent inside your room, stuck reading boring materials and trying to navigate into the world as a man, was brutal. You would never have the luxury and freedom as a woman, but you've become too accustomed to dressing up as a man. It doesn't mean you let yourself fall freely. This world wasn't built for women; you've always known that from the start, although that doesn't stop you from bending the rules to your will if you wish for it. The effects of reinforcing you into roles from everyone start to wear off when there isn't anyone keeping tabs.

And it feels liberating, you admit.

The first few steps you have taken for yourself without the help of anyone powerful give you a sense of clarity—something normal among the norms. You eye the small port, seeing the future play out in front of you. If you kept a steady trade of items from the small shops, you have gambled around the area for their compliance (you were hasty, something you ought to keep in check, too), then the port would grow big in no time. But quality wares is something you noted and took from the vendors you think would make it big if they produce what you're looking for. Owning important essential items or daily use objects was often sought out, and knowing what was going on in the market with the ledgers you kept, the vendors were happy to update it every week.

The smell of sea salt brushes against your nose when a spray mist of the ocean settles across your face like a thin veil. It brought you back from reality. The dark soft fur that clings around your neck tickles your jawline. It was a cape that had a lined coat inside for heat insulation. It was a gift to you from the seamstress. At first, you refuse such a gift as you weren't expecting anything in return but their devotion. The seamstress was an elderly lady named Rue with pure grey hair with specks of white, with milky pupils who ran the shop with her granddaughter, who was the age of fifteen. For someone blind, they have an impeccable sense of design, where to thread their needle, and even hand spin the silk threads with deer tail fur to tone down the bright arrogant colors.

Last but not least, you didn't bypass her as male.

You wonder how at first, Rue could tell, but you couldn't stop them from shoving their hands all over your face to see as further confirmation. It isn't until when you're alone that she sends her blushing granddaughter, who keeps gawking at you, to fetch warm jasmine tea from the kitchen. When she breathed out how the light footsteps and breathing differed from men, the soft scent of your natural smell under the musk of pinewood wasn't enough to fool her. Years of blindness hone her other senses.

To say you give a nervous smile even though Rue can't see, but she could sense it. You remember how she didn't ask questions about your true identity, but traces of understanding was written across her withering face. Rue was indeed an enigma and a master of changing the topic onto herself with woos of stories of her ambitious youth. You don't mind her rambling; as long as it's not you divulging into your life, then you're fine.

Readjusting the cape, you walk off the port onto the mainland, and before you can go any further, a woman who is a bit tad shorter than you bumps into you. They let out a yelp and seemed to trip over their heel as they braced for impact when falling back and shut their eyes. Based on reflexes, you grab their wrist to pull them upright, but all it does is wring their weight your way as they collide into your chest with a delicate sound of discontent.

"Hey! Watch where-" The words died on their lips when they opened their soft pomegranate-colored eyes. Their eyes almost remind you of someone. As if they couldn't utter a word after nearly insulting you, the shade of their face became gradually warmer, like the colors of their eyes. "I'm sorry!" They sputter out in nervousness. You only look down at her with your questioning piercing gaze that has her even weaker in your arms. Unknowingly. Ripping themself out of your hold, she set a space between you both.

"What are you sorry for? It was my fault for not seeing you." Simply reassuring her, the woman across from you became a more blubbering mess. You don't know what's going on in her head; the more you observe, it becomes a headache to decipher each passing second. Cutting her off, you notice the sky gradually getting darker and bid her farewell with a tilt of your head down.

It wasn't until that you were gone she allowed herself to bask in the memories of you. With both hands on her flaming cheeks, she gushes over her Prince Charming and starts to create scenarios in her head. "They were so cool!~" The aura around her was warm and pleasant, and even some bystanders who walked past her glanced at her—some young love.

"Lady Kiriko!" The young woman's handmaid finally reaches her as they huff and pant. They stop in front of her. Kiriko only clicked her tongue in distaste as she lost her sense of a heart-warming aura. "I finally found you! We have to go to the inn before it gets dark." The handmaid wheezes out.

Like a flip that has been switched, Kiriko activated her brat mode. "Why do you always have to ruin my fun?" She pinches the maid's arm harshly, and they cringe back. "I still have a bit more time left before sundown." Kiriko overlaps her arms, but her thoughts trail back to you, and then brat mode is switched off. She had a deluded smile on her face. Then again, it was back on instantly when she turned around to her maid. "By the way, did you see a handsome man on your way here? They walk where the way you came from."

The handmaid crinkles her brows in confusion.

Kiriko rolls her eyes, "You know about this tall?" She gestured to where your height would reach, which is a head taller. "They wore a cape in the color of brown, but it looked like gold with intricate design, and the neck had soft black fur surrounding it." Kiriko waited a few more seconds, "And they look adorable too."

The maid then snaps their eyes at the lady, "Ah yes! I saw them; they walked into a rented house near here!" Kiriko didn't waste time asking which house the handsome man rented, and the maid told her it was the Red Koi and sped away.

Eisha coughs as the weather gets colder and harsher. With the months flying by and winter coming, she tried to stifle another hack. "Where are the imported red coals?" She asked nearby maids, who gave each other a look, deciding who would break the news. They were a jittering mess and kept avoiding eye contact.

Eisha's lady-in-waiting ensured her Master was comfortable as she brought the finest furs and pillows to create a sturdy and warm nest. "Your Lady asked you a question, and you won't answer her?" The personal maid sternly made a face, and the lowly ranked servants quivered.

"The red coals that you requested were given to Lady (Name)," one spoke up, still refusing to make eye contact; they whispered the last part in a hush, "by Lord Sukuna's order."

As if what they said were whiplash to their Lady and the personal maid, Eisha's lady-in-waiting was about to blow a fuse for her Master. "All dismiss." She tried to say calmly. Although it was barely contained, all the servants could see how Eisha's handmaid eyes bled red with rage, and no one wasted a second to flee the room. If Hell existed, it would be this very castle.

Eisha's handmaid, Miyo, turns to their master. "Your Lady, even Lord Sukuna knows about your condition and that regular coals could suffocate your lungs and worsen it with the amount of smoke it emits." Miyo then curses you inside her mind; like everyone else, she couldn't understand why Lord Sukuna would put you above all else. Are you made of gold or something? Miyo was sure you were nothing; you hadn't made yourself worthy with a single childbirth. Something that everyone knew was important.

"Don't worry about it," Eisha's quiet demeanor made Miyo even more raucous, but she held it inside. "Go to the clothing department today and pick up my lined fur fleece and my daughter from her study." With the command, Miyo respectfully now to Eisha and left the room.

There was a quick and sudden announcement from Hanami about her niece visiting her from a different region of Japan in a week. So the Doom Mother (Motherzilla) had expected everything to be perfect and lavish. Even the concubines were putting on their best behavior as they discussed what to wear to welcome their mother-in-law's niece.

This was the first time the girl would make an official trip to visit Hanami alone. But that doesn't mean you haven't heard of her before; there were brief mentions of her throughout your marriage to Sukuna. Where Hanami had plotted the idea of her only son marrying a cousin with who he had no interest. Additionally, Sukuna only met her once when she was only eight. Even the age gap was a decade between them. In the faint memory of her ten years ago, Sukuna had said she was a spoilt brat to the brim and expected the world to bow down to her.

You could almost laugh at how ironic he was judging someone when he was the same way. Well, minus the spoilt parts, then it would be perfect.

"Lady (Name)," a lady you recognize was two years older than you, was part of Hanami's entourage, Ubi. Judging by her clothes, she was in the second rank, closely behind Hanami's vassal, Naiyu. This instantly made you put on an air of neutrality; you didn't know what to expect from her as you didn't know much about her. Out of all of Hanami's retainers, only Ubi and Naiyu were the ones you watch out for, as Ubi was specially trained under Naiyu, so their facade was perfect craftsmanship.

Since they both represent Hanami's strengths, they had to be fearless in what they do, and you suspect that much—being the blade for their master. Still, they have shown indifference toward you, but doubt lingers in your mind. You can be careful and wary of them, but that would invite your demise if you failed to see beyond, so you try to harden your eyes.

Ubi, who senses you putting up barriers, instantly tries to disarm it with a soft smile that is part of her service. "The Head Mother has requested your presence," and around you, the air of jealousy and envy from concubines rises through the roof and filters through the hallways. Whether it's deliberate or not, Ubi semblance never falters. She held onto that patience.

"Lead the way," you monotonously said, and she turned around for you to follow. Starting at her back, it's unsettling how you can't pick what's happening inside Ubi's head, unlike how you did with Sukuna. For them, it's a blank slate.

"Ugh, look at her acting like she's so important just because the Head Mother had called for her," Sena whispered with hidden jaundice around her little clique, and they all agreed. One rolls their eyes, and a few sniggers at the action. Her eyes trail close to where you left.

It took a few minutes to lead you to Hanami's residence.

"Head Mother, I have brought Lady (Name) as per your request," Ubi announces, and the door slides open. She side steps to the side to allow you in without looking up.

You enter the room with quiet steps and sit on the zabuton, and before you can bow as a greeting, she lifts a hand to stop you. "There's no need." Hanami tries to mask her displeasure at seeing you, and you weren't stupid to not see it. It's just you didn't bother to point it out. Since she has an important matter to discuss and it involves you, Hanami decides to make it quick so your face isn't a constant reminder of your Aunt.

Hanami: "You're going to take over on welcoming my niece."

You: "Pardon? Isn't that supposed to be Lady Eisha's role?"

"Yes, it is," Hanami spoke as a matter of fact, "due to her ailing health, this task might be arduous for her since the doctor has told her to stay warm, so Eisha is taking bed rest to recover. Thus I'm assigning this to you."

Well, this is news to you. Out of all the people she could've picked, she had chosen you for such a task. You would have thought she might select one of the lower concubines to do the job. With her blatant prejudice against you. "Wouldn't any other concubine be better for the job?"

"Are you shrinking your role as the second wife of my son?" Hanami blurts out in annoyance as her tone rises an octave high; she looks up and down at you repeatedly with quick eyes. Like, you have gone crazy for even suggesting that.

With lips service smile, you retort back politely, "Head Mother, you seem to be offended by my innocent question. I'm only asking since you seem to tolerate my presence barely, let alone we haven't spoken to one another within five years of being married to your son. The only time we spoke was, instead, very brief and short, two days after the wedding consummation." It was the first greeting for the mother as a new in-law from the wife or concubine as respect.

Hanami clenches her jaws tightly; your sharp tongue and dim-witted acting seem to prick her nerves. You and your Aunt are very much alike in some ways, unbearable and arrogant. "Are you going to refuse my order?"

"Ah no," you quickly reply, "that would bring shame if I didn't uphold my duty as the second wife of Sukuna and Lady Eisha's left hand too."

Hanami didn't know if what you said was pure mockery, but each passing second in this room with you got her blood pumping in anger. "Since you have understood, you're dismissed."

You courteously bow deliberately (on purpose) to bid farewell before standing up with grace. Hanami was sure you were playing with her; your ungenuine smile wasn't even hidden. She curses daily due to her son's favoritism of you; you're like a plague that never vacates. And have you grown uncouth that you don't even respect her?

"Lord Sukuna, Lady (Name) will be taking over Lady Eisha's task of welcoming your cousin in a few days," Uraume informed their master, who quirked a brow.

"Oh? So that brat of a cousin is visiting?" He asked no one in particular; it was more of saying it to himself out loud. "Mother has finally given her such an important task for once." The thought of his Mother warming up to you sounds so funny that he can't help but chuckle. His Mother barely tolerates the idea of you and loathes Sukuna himself for a self-evident reason sometimes. "Make sure my wife doesn't overwork herself and help her if necessary; I'll tend to her afterward."

Uraume silently left the room, and Sukuna mulled over his thought. He rests his temple against his knuckles and watches the candlelight flicker under a breeze. But in his spare hand was a familiar thick jewel; Sukuna toys around with a gold bangle with assorted gems in various sizes, colors, and labyrinth designs indented into the gold.

It was your bangle.

After the night he had spent with you, he took what's most precious to you, and it was what was given to you by your deceased parents. There were years of work on it, seeing how the inside of the jewel was fading away from constant use. Sukuna noticed how the clasps were loose, most of all when he kept twisting the bangle around to feel every rigidity and bump.

The more he looks at it, the more something seems off.

Sukuna barely saw small noticeable lines on the inside of the bracelet; it was in the shape of a square. A small hidden compartment; if his keen and trained eyes missed that tiny detail, he deserved to be killed on a battlefield for not seeing an enemy, ambush, or assassination. Still, Sukuna was curious and grabbed a small wooden toothpick to unlock the small door.

He was surprised when multiple seeds fell out of the bracelet when he shook them out onto the table. The color of the sources was rather old, seeing how raisin and dried they were. Something stirs in his chest, and he doesn't like it. Sukuna's fierce eyes were glaring at the jarring sight before him. Cold like Hell has washed over.

"Someone, go and fetch me the doctor. Right. Now." His voice was low, with his wrath was barely concealed through clenched teeth. "Now!" Sukuna repeats their voice bellows out from his room to outside when no one makes a move to move. One male servant scamps away to do what they're told out of fear.

You're crafty. He gives you credit for that; whatever you're hiding, he would sniff it out. Sukuna then set the jeweled bracelet down and ran a hand through his hair; he puffs out a shallow breath. He's barely an anxious man, but his opinions of you and your sensitive nature slowly etched their way into his mind as he started to pick them apart one by one in a logical sense.

When emotions run high, clouds of judgment obscure his views. Sukuna is a man led by ideals and a futuristic sense; scarcely emotions ever run by him. He knew deep down when he allowed himself to feel emotions, it would cause him trouble, and he was right. Few selected people could be worthy of his regard, but to him, it didn't change his output of you very much. He dislikes being blind by someone, even so, he fully lets himself be when it comes to you, but seeing differently from a different angle, Sukuna should know that you're not soft and malleable.

You're like glass, pretty in the light, but there are still sharp edges around it. You shouldn't be underestimated. When he thought he had you at the center of his palm, you find a way to slip away. The game of chase was a back-and-forth thing, with its up and down.

Sukuna took another breath and exhaled deeply, pushing away the negative introspections.

You were busy interacting and directing where everything should go the next few days. It almost felt like a routine when you were dressed up as your alibi, Seijuro Hajime. Your breath fogs up in front of you, and your nose itches when cold air brushes against it; turning your head to the side, you sneeze.

"You should dress up warmer for the occasion," a voice snuck up behind you, and you froze for a quick second when a heavy cape was draped around your shoulders. Sukuna had made his presence known, and the servants around you suddenly worked harder than before. You were about to shrug off his cape, but his hands were on your shoulders, "Keep it on."

Another moment of pregnant silence passed through; no servants bothered to be in your and Sukuna's line of sight. They make sure to steer clear away from the invisible bubble that was presented around their Lord of the House. Sukuna presses his broad front against your back; you can feel his heat seeping through, then he slides his hands down your shoulders until it reaches your cold hands. His callous palms envelopes your own, and there was a minor battle of you struggling to tug it away.

"Could you please let me do my job," you patronize Sukuna, who only takes it as amusement and doesn't move an inch.

"No, I came here to spend time with my lovely wife." He tunes out, and his voice is much lighter, much chirpy to your liking. "Do you want to know what I discovered today?"

"No," flatly refusing him, one of Sukuna's hands retracted for a second, and you felt something cold and heard a slight click on your wrist. You look down to see your bracelet that has gone missing adorned your wrist. Toring yourself away, you whirl around to meet his eyes; you accuse him with a quiet, burning, seething look, "So it was you who took it."

The corners of his lips quirk up. You have spent days looking for your precious bangle, even flipping your room upside down. You didn't think it was this menacing man in front of you swiping it right under your nose during that day he had forcefully bedded you. You even thought that you lost it during your outing to the castle and that anyone could pick it up and pawn it to set themselves up for life.

"It was a pretty little thing; I know it was a special gift to you from your parents. So I took it as an inspiration to see your taste, as you never wore what I gifted. " Sukuna explains while lazily giving you a nonchalant expression without losing his carefree nature. He lops his head to the side, "And here's the fun part, I fixed your little bracelet problems for you."

You clench your jaws and roll your eyes again with a deep breath, "There's nothing wrong with it."

"No, no, no," Sukuna tuts out as if he's dealing with a lying child, "There is a problem with it. You, my lovely wife here, have been plotting something bigger against me this whole time." The light in his eyes darkened and was replaced with something entirely devious. Mentally preparing yourself, Sukuna brushes his knuckles against your cold, bitten, ample red cheeks. "There are many things I've been tolerating from you," Sukuna's tone reeks of hurt and betrayal, despite failing to mask it, "but not this."

The hand caressing your cheek was suddenly behind your nape; Sukuna grips, and for once, he didn't care how he made you look in front of his servants, who were surprised at his treatment. Many hold their breath and further avoid the personal bubble as they could see trouble brewing between you both. All we're opting the long way to complete their task.

"You know I always wanted a child with you, but seriously, basil seeds?" Sukuna let out a haughty laugh when he saw your expression crumble a bit from fear of realization that he knew. "Yes, I now know what has caused your infertility."

The smile he wore never seemed so big and scary in front of you. Your mind was repeatedly reeling that Sukuna knew. He. Knew. Now you're not safe, and you can no longer avoid his advances.

Sukuna could see the vulnerability displayed before him; this was what he was waiting for. You're so open for him to take and relish. "I admire the length you're willing to go, and honestly, I genuinely do." You don't know what will come out of his mouth anymore. "No one can save you from me now. Not even your precious bracelet."

[Days Ago]

Sukuna patiently waited for the physician to arrive at his headquarters while drumming his fingers against the dark red oak table. His eyes trail to your bracelet that sticks out like a sore thumb, along with the seeds. The doors to his room snap open as the physician enters. "Finally," Sukuna said out loud; he has patience, but not today.

The doctor stopped in front of Sukuna and greeted him with a bow. "Lord Sukuna, w-what seems to be the problem?"

The man smirked, "You always seem to tremble whenever you meet me, but never mind that," Sukuna motioned with his head where the bracelet and seeds lay, "Tell me what is on the table." The physician saw and quickly took action.

They took a seed and examined it before sniffing it, and a faint scent emitted. "My Lord, this is basil seed."

Sukuna: "Basil?"

"Yes, basil." They confirmed it.

"What's so special about it?" Sukuna asks with interest.

"Lord Sukuna, basil seeds are used for many things, and especially if consuming it, doing it in small quantities once in a while not to cause side effects. Too much may cause bloating and abdominal pain. This is also used to help... " The medic explains in tangent detail.

"Then explain why it was inside the bracelet." Sukuna cuts to the chase when asking about something the doctor does and tends to run their mouth sometimes.

"A-Ah, yes." He took the bracelet from the table, "May I ask who the bracelet belongs to?"

Sukuna: "(Name)."

The doctor should not be surprised it was you. They took a moment to examine the bracelet and saw the open compartment door and sniffed the inside of the bangle, and found traces of it. "My Lord, how long has Lady (Name) worn this bracelet?"

The sound of urgency in his voice caught Sukuna's interest. "For as long as I married her. It was from her parents. What's the problem?"

Since there was no time stamp on how long, the doctor could only conclude one thing, "If Lady (Name) has worn this for a long time, then the cause of her infertility could be this all along." The words are like a cold wake-up call from the doctor; Sukuna's eyelids droop low with fury. The thought of you, 'How dare you (Name).' The doctor nervously continues, "Long exposure to basil seeds entering the bloodstream could thin out the blood, affect her hormones, and even her menstrual cycles. This could also explain—"

Sukuna raised a hand for the medic to shut their mouth as he was complimented on how he should deal with you and what he had just learned today. At first, he took your bracelet to understand your personal preferences, then return it to you later, and now he doesn't regret stumbling onto your long secret by chance. The amount of time he had bed you and you failed to conceive a child was out.

"You're dismissed, and keep your mouth shut." Then he looks at the corner where Uraume resides, "Take the bracelet to get it modified from a nearby jeweler. Fix the clasps and seal the door."

•

Taglist: @sukunasobject @lilliansstuff @lucyrocks86 @ladywolf44005 @watyousayin @sandronebabyy​ @pinkrose1422 @skepticalleo @please-help-therapy-needed @whatsonthemirror @krispsprite @loser-alert @saturnknows @samdric @littlemochi @akigoat @mxghostbee @rose4958 @shadowywizardarcade @huicitawrites @baji-keisukes-wife @choso-wifey @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @sanderaen @peonnnny @tiredlattes @waytomanyhusbands @whatamidoing89 @utena-akashiya @outrofenty @welcometodemonschoolfan @im-a-killer-queen @loverisa @bubera974 @sashaphantomhive @chaoticstrawberryland @onetwo123three

#fan fiction #jujutsu kaisen #masterlist #jjk sukuna #jjk x reader #anime #sukuna ryomen #jjk fanfic #sukuna x reader #yandere imagines #yandere fanfiction #yandere fic #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere sukuna x reader #yandere sukuna #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere sukuna ryomen

[clangenrising]

Month 12 - Leafbare

Sagetooth’s ear twitched irritably as she listened to Smokyrose’s proposal. “This is nonsense!” she huffed. “You want to try and make peace with these rogues?! You’d sooner teach a fox to fly!” Smokyrose tried to hide her scowl, focusing her attention back on Goldenstar. 

“I think we have to try,” she said. “And we ought to try as soon as possible. If we can put an end to the fighting before anyone else gets hurt, we should do that, right?” 

“I see what you’re saying,” Goldenstar said and Sagetooth waited eagerly for the ‘but’, “but these city cats don’t seem interested in any outcome besides getting what they want. I’m not sure there is a peaceful solution.” 

Smokyrose frowned and said, “We should do our due diligence. If we don’t, the ‘what ifs’ will weigh on our minds for the rest of our lives.” 

“Maybe for you,” Sagetooth growled, lashing her tail. “I will sleep soundly knowing we refused to negotiate with these barbarians.” 

“That kind of talk isn’t helpful,” Smokyrose pouted. “We need to empathize with our enemy, not demonize them.” Some things never changed. Smokyrose was still as self righteous as ever and accustomed to using her pretty face to win arguments. It made Sagetooth simmer with rage.

“I beg to differ,” she retorted. “There’s a reason the Code expects us to refrain from making friendships within other Clans. Too much empathy loses battles.” 

Goldenstar chirped to get the two older cats’ attention then sighed. “Look. I would love to be able to agree with you Smokyrose but I’m worried about your safety. Maybe we can find a compromise, yes?” 

“I’m listening,” Smokyrose smiled and Sagetooth rolled her eyes.

“It’s been a while since we actually ran into any rogues,” Goldenstar said. “Next time we do, we’ll ask them for a meeting and then we’ll arrange a time and location that I can feel confident you’ll be safe in. How does that sound?” 

“I guess…” said Smokyrose. Sagetooth huffed.

Goldenstar looked at her and asked, “Sagetooth, do you have any objections?” 

“No, I suppose not,” said the old healer. Aside from the fact that this clearly won’t work. She was just going to have to let Goldenstar learn the hard way. 

“Good,” Goldenstar sighed tiredly. “I’m glad we could come to an agreement.” Sagetooth and Smokyrose both frowned and shifted their weight but they didn’t protest. 

Neither of us are happy, Sagetooth thought sarcastically, the sign of a perfect compromise. 

“Thank you for hearing me out,” Smokyrose nodded, standing. 

“Always,” said Goldenstar, smiling despite her weariness. Sagetooth frowned deeper. The war seemed to be taking a heavy toll on the young cat and she didn’t like it. 

“Did you want me to bring you those sleeping herbs like we discussed?” she asked, knowing Goldenstar had been against them from the start. 

“I guess…” Goldenstar shrugged. “I… trust your judgment.” 

“Good,” Sagetooth said, standing as well. “Trust me, a night of deep sleep will do you some good.” She headed for the exit to the leader’s den but nearly collided with Smokyrose in the tunnel. She bristled, baring her teeth, and Smokyrose pulled back to let her go first. With a satisfied ‘humph’, she hobbled out of the den and back into her own. By the time she got there, a rant was starting to spill from her lips. 

“She’s got no sense,” she grumbled, “She wants to talk with them? Hah! That will go well. I’m sure everyone will toss a moss ball around and share tongues too!” 

Movement drew her attention and she snapped her gaze up to glare at the perpetrator. Sitting side by side, Aldertail and Oddstripe were refreshing the sick beds. Aldertail had fallen over, tail tucked and ears pressed back, as if instinctively apologizing for being in her way. Oddstripe winced sympathetically and smiled at Sagetooth.

“Evening, Sagetooth,” he said. “Everything alright?” 

“It’s Smokyrose,” she grouched, disregarding them as she stomped back to the herb stores. “She’s insisting we try to ‘make peace’ with the rogues. Ridiculous! She seems to think every problem can be solved if you talk about your feelings enough.” 

“Well, that is her job, isn’t it?” Oddstripe offered with a bashful laugh. “You know, as a mediator.” 

“Pah!” Sagetooth lashed her tail to toss the remark away. “Mediators! We went plenty of generations without them just fine!” She scowled in focus. She had to portion out the herbs without making a mess and her temper was not making it any easier for her achy paws to manage.

“Oh, really?” Oddstripe asked. “I just assumed mediators had been around as long as every other position.”

“Nope,” Sagetooth said. “Time was, we knew how to settle our disputes like warriors. These days all anyone wants to do is talk.” Finally, she managed to fold Goldenstar’s herbs into a little leaf for easy carrying.

“Isn’t that better?” he ventured carefully. “I mean- don’t less cats get hurt?” 

Sagetooth scoffed and turned around, the bundle of herbs in her teeth. “Youngins!” she hissed. “Too afraid of pain.” Her eyes briefly landed on Aldertail and the warrior impulsively went to lick at her paws. Sagetooth’s tail lashed again. 

“Stop that!” she ordered. 

“Sorry!” Aldertail squeaked, slamming her paw back down. 

“Stars, girl!” Sagetooth groaned, “I ought to put garlic on your legs!” 

“I-it’s alright,” Oddstripe tried, laying his tail around Aldertail’s shoulders. “She just wants you to be kind to yourself.” Sagetooth’s fur prickled. 

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” she spat. “We’re not doing her any service by coddling her. She’s a full grown cat, she should be able to take control of herself and stop tearing up her own skin any time someone looks at her sideways!” 

“I’m sorry,” Aldertail said again. “I’ll stop, I promise!” 

“You’d better,” Sagetooth growled. 

Oddstripe’s big ears turned backwards. “Sagetooth! She can’t help it!” 

“Excuses, excuses,” scoffed Sagetooth. 

Deep down, she knew she was being harsh. As much as she disliked it, Aldertail’s condition wasn’t something she had too much control over, but Sagetooth was angry and her hips hurt and it seemed like everyone had forgotten what it really meant to be a warrior and she wasn’t in the mood to keep her thoughts to herself! She also wasn’t in the mood to put up with Oddstripe’s bleeding heart at the moment and she stalked out of the den, tail arched at the base as it lashed side to side. 

“It’s okay, Oddstripe, really,” she heard Aldertail say as she left. “I know I should be better about it.” 

“Oh, you’re fine,” Oddstripe said firmly. “Why don’t you finish these nests? I’m going to have a word with Sagetooth real quick.” 

Sagetooth growled, low and long, as the sound of pawsteps quickly caught up to her. The sun was starting to set, casting the camp in a soft purple. On any other day it would have been beautiful but, today, for some reason, it was very annoying.

“Sagetooth!” Oddstripe hissed, easily keeping stride with her. “That was entirely inappropriate! I- I know you have your own way of doing things, but I-” 

“You what?” Sagetooth stopped to glare at him and his stupid, giant bat ears. 

“I-” Oddstripe recoiled under her gaze. She huffed in satisfaction which only made him more upset. “I won’t let you talk to her like that.” 

“Oh, really?” she growled, setting down the herbs. “What will you do to stop me?” 

Oddstripe squirmed but kept that annoyingly determined look on his face. “I- I don’t-” 

“Sagetooth!” a voice called out from the eastern hill. Sighing, she turned to face the patrol returning to camp with a grimace. 

“What now?” she said before she saw them and all thoughts seemed to fly from her head. 

Pantherhaze was in the lead, with Yarrowshade, Barleypaw, and Stormwhisper in tow. Each of them carried a kit about four weeks old in their jaws. Sagetooth’s eyes snapped onto Stormwhisper and he immediately wilted under her gaze. 

“There you are!” she shouted. “Where in the Dark Forest have you been?!” She stormed towards them, the herbs and her argument with Oddstripe completely forgotten. Cats started emerging from their dens to see what was going on.

Stormwhisper set the kitten down between his paws and said, “StarClan led me out past the territories where I found a pregnant queen. I helped her deliver the kits and she asked me to take them back to be raised in EarthClan so I did. I’m still not sure why StarClan set me on this path, but I assume the kits must be important somehow.” Sagetooth narrowed her eyes. His response seemed rehearsed to her and far too vague for her liking.

As he spoke, the others set the kits they were carrying next to the first and one of them, a little white and ginger tom, started to squeal hungrily. The others joined in, becoming a pitiful, sickly sounding chorus. 

“Oh, the poor things!” Oddstripe said, moving over to inspect the kittens. “They’re half starved!” 

“I’ve been trying to feed them,” Stormwhisper said, “but it’s been hard since they’re still getting the hang of food.” 

Sagetooth was still glaring. “They’re not even weaned yet and their mother sent them away with you?” 

Stormwhisper frowned and shifted his weight uneasily. “Yeah. I tried to convince her to come with me but she wanted nothing to do with them. B-besides, I figured I’d been gone long enough already-”

“You sure have!” Sagetooth hissed, tail bristling. “Oddstripe and I have been covering for your absence! There’s a war on! And you just went off for three moons, completely neglecting your duties and oaths?!” 

“A war?!” Stormwhisper reeled. “Between whom?” 

“Everyone and a bunch of bloodthirsty rogues,” Sagetooth snapped. “You’d know that if you’d stuck around.”

“Easy, Sagetooth,” Yarrowshade said, stepping forward a little. 

“He said StarClan was guiding him,” Pantherhaze added, eyes wide. “Maybe these kits are going to save the Clans some day!” 

Oddstripe whispered, “Barleypaw, would you grab me some drinking water and a bird of some kind?” Barleypaw nodded and bounded off towards the nearest stream.

“I’ll go grab the ones we cached earlier,” Yarrowshade offered.

“Thank you,” Oddstripe purred. “Stormwhisper, why don’t you help me get them to the healers’ den?” Sagetooth’s jaw hurt from the ferocity with which she was clenching it. It seemed no one there cared at all about Stormwhisper’s transgressions. She wished that she could set him on fire with her glare alone. She couldn’t, of course, and he eventually broke her gaze to smile at Oddstripe.

“Of course,” he said. Stooping down, he started nosing the kits towards the healers’ den and said, “Come on, little ones. Food is this way.” Sagetooth watched the fondness on his face, the way he gently picked up the smallest one and helped him along, and her expression darkened. The kits were skinny and weak, that much was clear, but if their mother had abandoned them at birth they would have died within the week. The situation wasn’t adding up right and it didn’t sit well with her.

That night, she watched from the back of the den as Oddstripe and Stormwhisper fawned over the kittens and tried to help them eat. They laughed together. Oddstripe shared stories about their own litter. Stormwhisper shared his names for the litter. 

They were all toms. The biggest and strongest of them, the ginger and white one, he named Bluffkit. The blue tabby he named Finchkit. The little grey-brown one with the white tail he named Erminekit. The white and grey speckled one he called Rainkit.

“You know,” he admitted to Oddstripe after he’d said it, “I always wanted a kit named Rainkit.” Sagetooth’s eyes narrowed. 

“Really?” Oddstripe purred. 

“Yeah,” said Stormwhisper. “You know, Stormwhisper. Rainkit. I thought it was cute.” 

“Oh, it is!” Oddstripe said, waving a paw around for the kittens to bat at. “I’m glad you were able to use the name, even if the kits aren’t yours.” 

“Yeah,” Stormwhisper said, falling quiet, a strange smile on his face. 

That was enough for Sagetooth. She didn’t know why or how but she was certain these kits were Stormwhisper’s. It made her sick. Still, it wasn’t a surprise. Stormwhisper had never been very committed to his duties as a healer, especially not the spiritual ones. As she saw it, a part of him had remained stuck in his time as a warrior and no amount of lectures ever seemed to get him to behave. And now he had used StarClan as an excuse to cover for his blasphemous actions. What a disgrace. What a betrayal.

“StarClan are the ones who betrayed us, Sagetooth. Wake up already.” Redleaf’s words reared their ugly heads, as they often did at the most inopportune times. Sagetooth shook her head. At least she had managed to keep Stormwhisper away from-

Her eyes widened in shock and her entire pelt bristled with unease. 

No… Surely not.

She studied the kits as they settled down against Stormwhisper’s belly to sleep. A ginger kitten was a guarantee that their mother was a tortoiseshell. The more she looked, the more she saw her old apprentice in their features, in the shapes of their faces or the pattern of their stripes.

She shook her head again, shutting her eyes. She was imagining things. There was no way to find such a strong resemblance, not when they were this young, not when they were all toms. Still, the fear lingered with her. She wondered what had become of Redleaf. What reason would she have had to stay so close to the Clan? How would Stormwhisper have even known?

Sighing, she settled herself down for sleep. She had more important things to worry about. That didn’t stop her from worrying about this for at least another hour before she fell into a fitful sleep.

UPDATES: - Stormwhisper returns from his mysterious absence with four kits, Bluffkit, Finchkit, Erminekit, and Rainkit. They stay the night in RisingClan before returning to EarthClan.

#clan gen #clangen #warrior cats #warriors #warrior cats oc #warriors oc #clangen oc #clan gen oc #Sagetooth #Smokyrose #Goldenstar #Oddstripe #Aldertail #Stormwhisper #Pantherhaze #Yarrowshade #Redleaf #Bluffkit #Rainkit #Erminekit #Finchkit #Leafbare #clangenrising

[mytheoristavenue]

ATSV Bully!Hobie Brown x Reader - I Hate You

Summary: Ever since you joined the team a few months back, you've had an indescribable distain for Hobie, and the feeling seems mutal, if all his bullying is anything to go by- or so you thought.

Warnings: spider!reader, dangerous situations, angst, fluff, romantic tension, inspired by 'I HATE YOU' by 2NE1

You couldn't stand him, the way he lounged about, aloof and uncaring about the goings on around him. Currently, he layed on a lobby couch, Mayday in his lap with her tiny hands in his, baby talking one another. The sight mad you gag. How could a guy like Hobie possibly be good with kids? Same level of maturity, you guessed.

"(Y/N), are you even listening to me? Do you think this is a joke?" Your boss's harsh tone snapped your attention back to what it ought to be on. Your cheeks burned as Miguel's starer bored into you, waiting for a response, which he'd undeniably cut short just to assert dominance over you. To add insult to injury, you could make out a fit of childish giggling that could only belong to a small red headed girl, fueled by snarky comments from her seemingly adopted older brother.

"I-I'm sorry, I-" you sputtered, feeling frustrated tears prick your eyes. "I just got-"

"Distracted, I'm aware." There it was. And just like that, he was laying into you again, with belittlements so hurtful you had no choice but to tune him out for your own mental health. Finally, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, letting you know he was done yelling, which was never a good sign. Everyone knows Miguel's quiet anger is so much worse than his loud anger. "Look, you can't keep making these mistakes, they're costing us more and more." he admitted. "I need to know that I can trust you to fix this or..." he trailed, swiping his hair back, not wanting to finish a difficult sentence. "Or I'm gonna have to send you home, perminately."

"Miguel," you instantly protested, swallowing hard to fight back tears. "No please, you know I have nobody to go back to!"

"Then prove to me you can be useful." he replied sternly. "Because right now you're not and you knwo I can't keep anyone around that I can't use. Am I understood?"

You hung your head, tears finally slipping down your cheeks, though you refused to give him a good look at your wet cheeks. "Yes sir, I'll clean it up."

"Good," he nodded, releived to be done with the conversation. "But just in case something goes wrong, take Hobie with you."

-----

Hobie trailed through the headquarters behind you, glancing around awkwardly with his hands shoved in his pockets. This was his fault, really, and he knew it. You knew it, and he knew that you knew, but 'sorry' never had been in his vocabulary. "Look bird-"

"Shut it, you sleezy, incompetent, diabolical little shitstain!" You shoted right there in the hallway, not caring who saw or heard. Hobie threw out his palms in defense with an embarrassed grin.

"Diabolical? I don't think I'm exactly diabolical." he chuckled nervously, only to be silenced once again by your accusing finger.

"You are! You sabbotaged me!" you insisted, seething.

Irritation for your attitude wore down his guilt as he dropped one hand and brought the other to rest on his hip, sassily popping it out. "I did no such thing," he lied. "Not my fault you can't take a joke."

"A joke?!" you shrieked, balling your fists to restrain yourself. "You picked on me before I went on that mission purposefully, just to make sure I screwed up!"

"Oh whatever," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I just like gettin' ya all riled up, you're cute when your mad, luv." he cooed sinisterly, leaning his lanky form closer to yours. Color rushed to your face as you began to shake.

"Why can't you just take anything seriously?!"

"Why do you have to treat everything so serious? Not everything is liife or death, (Y/N)." he dismissed, crossing his arms and turning his nose up at you.

"Because this is!"you cried, tears once again begining to fall down your cheeks. Damnit, he never was able to watch you cry. "I have nothing left in my demention ahnd you know it. If I get sent home I-!" you haulted, not knowing what to say, genuinely at a loss. "I-I don't know what I'd do..."

"Bird," he called, sympathy softening him exponetially. "I-"

"Please just save it, Hobie." you finally spat, fidgeting with your watch. "You've said enough."

-----

Standing on a rooftop, you surveiled the area the device had brought you to, scanning for any sign of the anomaly you'd accidnetally released into this univense against the dreary drizzing sky. Looking around and finding yourself alone, you'd asumed Hobie hadn't followed you in, not unlike him to dodge jobs he wasn't in the mood for, and even better for you. If you took care of this on your own, you'd be back in Miguel's good graces for sure.

Before you had any time to begin your search, however, you found yourself knocked off your feet, breathless and went sailing into the nearest horrizontal surface: one of the many windows of a towering office building. Eyes blown in panic and shock, you heave against the scratchy carpet floor, not littlered with broken glass as chaos arose around you. The employees of the office began to jump just from their seats, a few running to your aid or suspciously interogating you, though most chose to flea. Screams, shattering glass, and stomping overwelmed youas you began to become overstimulated, only interupted by dark c huckling uttered in a thick Russian accent.

"Is nice to see you again," the deformed figure before you said, sstepping towards you. "Will be last time, I pomise." With that, the man charged at you headfirst, an offense you narrowly avoided.

"Listen to me, Rhino!" you tried, crawling up to the ceiling and hanging there as you spoke. "I know you've endured pain in your life, every instance of you has, but you don't belong here!"

The behemoth seemed to only take your words as fueled, growling in responce. "You do not know me, spider." he snarled. "Youi know nothing of me!" Raging, he thrashed, thorwing a termper tantrum and hurling an office desk towards you, which thankfully missed you thanks to your vantage point.

"I know a lot more than youy might think!" you plead, begging to chip away down to what little humanity remained of him. "I know your name is Aleksi, and I know you'd had a rough life," you explained cautously, lowering yourself via a strand of silk once you felt he was calming down. Holding your hands out defensively, you continued. "You're a criminal- a theif, but you didn't have a choice, did you, Aleksi?"

"Niet." he answered abashedly, eyes furrowing at you suspiciously.

"I also know that you've been hurt by people you trusted. Doctors and scientists who had other plans for you than what they told you, right?"

"Da."

You sighed, stepping a bit closer, relaxing slightly. "But they people who did that to you aren't here. They're not even in this dimention and you can't go around hruting innocent people looking or them." For a moment, it seemed what you'd said had really gotten to him as he stepped back, staring down at his hands symbollically. "You can't stay here, Aleksi, you have to go home."

Sudddenly his eyes flickered back up to you, filled with rage as he breathing became labored. "Neit!" he hollered, hands curling into clenched fists as he let out a betrayed roar. "I have nothing to go back to! Not going back to prison, I will not be captive!"

Before you knew it, you were falling. Air filled your ears as it rushed by you and your surroundings had long since faded to a watercolor blur. Straight ahead, you could see Rhino standing in the gape of the shattered window of the office building, huffing as he watched you desend. Had he not thrown you off the ledge so quickly, you might have thought to sling a web to break your fall, but you couldn't find it within yourself as you watch his form disappear. This was it, you'd failed thr mission and now you were going home. Sudenly, it dawned on you.

You weren't going to be sent home. You were going to die.

Deadweighted, you closed your eyes, anticipating the crippling hit to the concrete, not that you'd feel it anyways. Suddenly, your decent ended as you fell heavy into a sturdy pair of arms, terribly tired from the race your mind had ran, and talking solice in the warm heartbeat of this angel whoi would carry you on.

The smell of leather and rust hit your nose as you began to come to your senses. "C'mon, luv, gotta wake up." a concerned voice urged as paitently as possibly. Eyes fluttering open, you saw him. Hobie was bathed in daylight, masked face turned from you in effort to give attention to his surroundings as he carried you. Then he skiddfed to a haulted, cursing under his breath has he'd sudddenly stopped giving chase to the interloper. He peer down at you, pulling off his hood with a barely free hand. "Ya still with us?" he asked, nervousness pooling out from under a wall of coolness. You nodded hesitently as he gently set you down.

"Hobie..." you wondered allowed, a bit awestuck from the emotional turmoiled you'd gone through. "You came..."

He cocked a brow, wicks falling to the side with his head. "'Course I didn, what'd you expect of me?"

You couldn't help but feel ashamed, not only of the things you'd said to him earlier in the day, but of your low expectations of him. You'd always known Hobie to have his own agenda, but he was loyal to a fault at the end of the day.

"I thought you'd leave me to clean up my own mess...I'm sorry." you admitted, hanging your head low. Your ears became hot at the sound of his hearty laughter befor his gloved hand slapped down onto your shoulder, probably a bit harded that you would've liked. "W-What's so funny?"

"Nothing, bird," he chuckled, dramatically hunched and wiping an imaginary tear form his eye. "Just that, if you're the one that made the mess, how are you meant to clean it up on your own?"

I hope this lived up to the hype of the snippet. 😖Also, not proffread, mb!

#hobie brown x reader #atsv #spider punk #spiderpunk x reader #spider!reader #hobie x you #hobie x reader #hobie brown #hobie spiderverse #across the spider verse spoilers #hobie brown x y/n

[dsudis]

(Everything Looks Worse) In Black and White

(IDK guys "Kodachrome" was in my commuting playlist yesterday and then this happened.)

Hob was not, by nature, particularly introspective. Still, he did know that one of the things that had kept him sane for six hundred years was the way that he had been able to adapt, not again and again but continuously. He changed with the times as they changed around him, not just in mimicry of everyone around him but truly.

Cell phones had been an exciting new gadget to him, and then a useful tool, and then, in time, as deeply embedded in his life as they were for anyone else who was a busy adult in London in the third decade of the twenty-first century.

All this was to say that it did, of course, occur to him to try to take selfies with Dream when things advanced between them to the point where he ought to have couple photos in his phone. The first picture he dared to actually take, though, was the first morning he woke up to find Dream lying in his bed looking rumpled and sweet.

Hob hadn't even really thought about it, just reached over for his phone and swiped up the camera, snapping a few shots before he looked directly at his phone. He was too busy looking at the way the early morning light made Dream look soft and warm, raising red-brown highlights in his black hair and warming the cool paleness of his skin. There was just enough light to reveal the blue of one half-open eye as Dream squinted and then glared at him.

Hob only looked at his phone when it made a strange mournful noise he'd never heard from it before; he had a bare glimpse of something weird and pixelated before the screen went black.

He frowned down at it, and Dream murmured in his lowest, sexiest rumble, "Is that infernal device of more interest than your lover naked in your bed, Hob Gadling?"

Hob tossed the phone over his shoulder and rolled toward Dream to kiss him and then climb on top of him. Hob didn't think about his phone for a while after that.

It was only after Dream had gone back to the Dreaming and Hob was trying to get on with his day that he hunted down where his phone had landed. It was physically unharmed—he'd long since learned the benefits of a sturdy case—but wouldn't turn back on for love or money. When Hob opened it up he found that some of its insides had melted.

The next time Dream stopped by, Hob showed it to him. "What did you do to my phone? Were you that annoyed to have your picture taken?"

Dream frowned—Hob hastily checked to be sure his new phone was nowhere in range—but he looked honestly confused. "I... did not intend to, my love. I apologize."

"No, no, my own fault," Hob said. "But now I'm curious."

He went and dug up an old phone. He kept meaning to trade them in or recycle them or donate them somewhere, but somehow he always had an old one or two floating around and never remembered it was there when he actually needed a replacement. Now he plugged it in under Dream's curious gaze, and waited until he could power it on.

He checked that the phone seemed basically functional, and then swiped open the camera and pointed it at Dream.

He clicked once, under Dream's baffled but benign gaze, and then looked down at the screen.

What should have been a photo of his otherworldly gorgeous beloved was just a smear of black and white.

"Huh," Hob said.

He showed it to Dream, who tilted his head in interest. "I suppose the device is trying to capture what it cannot. My appearance, to any living being, is mediated by expectations. Dreamers see me in a way that fits their own perceptions, but," Dream gestured at himself. "This is not a body like yours, as much as it looks and feels like one to you."

"Huh," Hob said, staring at the photo again, an objective glimpse at the unknowable vastness of Dream.

Then he clicked another photo, and another, and another, until the phone made a mournful noise and died. Since he didn't have to fling it away at once, he tapped a finger experimentally at the back until he found where it felt burning-hot; a sniff gave up a distinct smell of fried components and liquefied silicon.

"Are you quite satisfied?" Dream asked. There was a tiny smile on his face when Hob looked up.

Hob grinned back. "Oh, no," he said. "I'm just getting started."

Clearly anything with electronics was out, so Hob went shopping in various storage units and online. Proper film cameras captured different kinds of black-and-white blurs; Hob took up developing his own film to experiment with processes. He managed to pull weird iridescence in the blackest black and brightest white sometimes. He captured slight variations of shape.

He read the darkness and brightness like tea leaves, like omens. It was fun for a while, and then fascinating, trying to discern some truth of Dream's nature, some hint of his real form.

As time went on, and Dream told him less and less of what was going on in the Dreaming when they weren't together, Hob started to feel differently about it. It started to feel like it mattered. Like he had to catch an image of Dream.

Like he wasn't going to be able to keep him, and was going to need something to remember him by.

There was a day when Dream came to him quiet, withdrawn. There were no tear tracks on his face, but he smelled of salt, and he wouldn't meet Hob's eyes.

It was habit, by then, to set up the camera, to snap a few pictures. Dream didn't seem to notice. Hob hardly noticed himself.

It was only later that Hob developed the images and discovered two streaks of lurid, bloody red about where Dream's hands had been.

Hob didn't see him after that for a long time.

Dream turned up on a rainy night that felt weirdly like that night in 1889 even before Hob opened his door and found Dream standing there.

Dream actually asked for a drink, for the first time Hob could remember. He didn't say what was wrong, barely spoke about anything at all, but Hob could feel it radiating off him.

This felt like goodbye. It felt like sitting beside a deathbed.

Hob didn't know how to make Dream stay, didn't know how to stop whatever was happening to him.

The only thing he could think of was to crawl into Dream's lap and kiss him—and after he'd taken that as far as he could, he grabbed the camera and snapped a shot of the two of them together. The first selfie he'd ever tried with Dream.

He didn't develop the film. He didn't want to know how it looked. He didn't want to know that his last attempt to keep some little piece of Dream had been another hopeless failure.

On a sunny Sunday morning, Hob woke up and Dream was lying in his bed. For a moment he couldn't breathe; for a moment the ache in his heart was enough to pin him in place. It had to be a dream, a hopeless memory of the way things had been a year ago, when Hob had imagined there was a future for them.

Dream made a disgruntled noise and turned his face into the pillow, pulling his arm up over his head, and—

There was hair under his arm. There was, in fact, a distinct whiff of body odor.

"Dream?" Hob whispered.

"If you are going to send me away," Dream said, his voice velvety and deep but lacking some impossible edge it used to have. "Kind—" he cleared his throat, "please, lend me some clothes. My siblings were optimistic about how this would end."

"Your siblings," Hob said, shuffling through the little Dream had ever told him about his family. Had Death done something?

Had... Destiny? Despair? Desire? The missing one whose name Dream never spoke to Hob?

Delirium?

Hob sat up and pinched himself, hard, but Dream was still lying naked in his bed, and now Hob could see that he was breathing. As Hob watched he turned his face out of the pillow, like he was experiencing the discomfort of not breathing freely when he hid his face in it.

"Dream," Hob repeated. "What..."

Dream turned over, slinging an arm over his face. "I am... just what you see, now. I have abandoned my realm. I am your Dream as you have known me, but no longer Dream of the Endless."

For a second there his voice almost had that elusive something, but—he only sounded like a human being trying to sound uncanny.

Dream was... here. And alive, despite the way things had seemed to be going.

"My Dream," Hob whispered.

Dream just barely peeked out from behind his arm, and Hob lunged sideways to grab his phone. He fumbled a few times trying to pull up the camera and snap a pic, his hands shaking badly, but after a few tries he dared to look down at the screen.

Dream was there, just as he looked to Hob, if on a strange angle and poorly framed. His pale skin was given a golden cast by the sunlight, his black hair showed highlights that looked almost red where the light was brightest, and one visible blue eye was narrowed in a glare.

"Is that infernal device," Dream murmured, a faint thread of amusement in his voice, "of more interest than—"

Hob threw the phone over his shoulder and silenced Dream with a kiss. When they both had to stop to breathe, he came up laughing; the second time they stopped Dream was laughing too.

Later—much later—Hob printed that first shaky picture and framed it.

[Also on Ao3!]

#dreamling #the sandman #tumblr fic #fic #fluff #photographs #angsty bits #retired dream

[wheels-of-despair]

Live A Little | A Worth It AU | Ralph Penbury x You | Masterlist

In This Edition: The unsinkable ship sinks! Words: 3.2k

You're recovering from a particularly passionate round of love-making when someone knocks at Ralph's door.

You draw the sheets up to cover your exposed chest with wide eyes. Were you too loud? Has someone reported you? Are you going to be carted away for having premarital sex on an ocean liner? Is it Aunt Molly, here to tell you that she was only joking about not coming back to your room tonight? Is it Victoria, coming to ruin your night?

As your mind goes wild with worry, Ralph reaches for the pocket watch beside his bed.

"It's after midnight," he grumbles, but stands and pulls on his robe. He notices your fear, and his grumpy face softens. "Stay there, love, I'm sure it's nothing. I'll take care of it."

You slink further beneath the covers and close your eyes, hoping whoever it is has no idea you're in here.

"Yes?"

"Sorry to wake you, sir, but the captain has ordered everyone to put on their life belts and come to the boat deck. Be sure to dress warmly, it's quite cold out."

"What's happened?" Ralph asks, but there's no answer.

You come out of hiding when the door closes.

"They want us to put on life belts and warm clothes," Ralph recaps, scratching his head. "But he wouldn't say why. Suppose we ought to?"

You clamber out of bed silently and get dressed as quickly as you can, with the assistance of Ralph. Disturbing first-class passengers in the middle of the night? That decision was not made lightly. Something is wrong.

"I should go check in with my aunt," you say quietly, shaking with fear. Ralph notices, and envelops you in a warm hug.

"And get your coat," he reminds you with a kiss to your forehead. "Let me finish getting dressed, and I'll escort you to her."

"Thank you," you whisper.

Ralph finishes dressing and pulls two life belts from the wardrobe. He drapes the life belts and his coat over his arm, and guides you from the room.

The hallway is bustling with confused passengers.

"One second," he says gently, stopping to knock on Victoria's door. "Victoria!"

"What?!" she snaps from within.

"Did the steward tell you to put on a life belt and come above deck?"

"It makes me look like a damned cow!"

"Are you coming?"

"Do not rush me, Ralph!"

"Let's go," he sighs.

You hold tightly to Ralph's hand as he leads you through the crowded hallways. You open the door of your cabin to find Aunt Molly, already dressed for the cold and wearing her life belt, rifling through the wardrobe.

"There you are honey, I was getting ready to come find you! Here, put this on."

She holds out your coat, and you let her help you into it.

"Are you alright?" she asks. Are you? Your hands are shaking, and your heart is beating much faster than it should be. You can't seem to find your words.

"It's a little hectic out there in the halls, she'll be alright once things calm down," Ralph answers for you. He slips your life belt over your coat and ties the laces while you stand there, shaking uselessly.

"You better suit up too too, darlin', don't want you catching pneumonia out there."

Molly's concern for Ralph brings a smile to your face, and kicks your body back into gear. He shrugs into his coat, and you step forward to help him into his life belt. He smiles in thanks.

"Alright, are we ready? It's probably just some kind of drill, we'll be back to bed in an hour. But it's better safe than sorry!"

Your aunt's calm and positive demeanor makes you relax enough to nod in agreement. Ralph wraps an arm around your back and leads you out of the room. You look back to make sure Molly is following.

"I'm right here, honey," she says.

A crowd has gathered at the end of the hallway. You and Ralph stop, rather than force your way through them. This feels wrong. Everything about this feels wrong.

"The man said to the deck, people!" your aunt reminds them. She steps around you and starts walking. After a few bumps, people begin to move aside. You and Ralph follow in her wake. There's not enough room to walk side by side, so his fingers intertwine with yours, and you follow closely behind. You hold on to him gratefully; you're never letting him go.

You step out onto the deck, and the frigid air bites at your exposed skin immediately. You hold Ralph's hand tighter and follow him through the crowd. The deck is packed with bodies. Crewmen shout orders all around and struggle with ropes holding up the lifeboats, the crowd buzzes with questions, and something mechanical is making a horrible racket. It's overwhelming. When Ralph finally stops, he turns to you.

"Are you alright, love?" You don't respond, but he pulls you close.

The unsinkable ship is sinking. They're evacuating passengers. They're sending tiny toy boats out into the massive sea, where humans will be separated from the darkness and creatures below by a single strip of wood and a prayer.

The thought makes your knees give out, and Ralph grabs you and holds you to him.

"It's alright," he says into your ear. "It's going to be alright."

You cling to him, trying to focus on his calming presence and warmth, rather than the chaos and cold around you… until a familiar voice sends a chill down your spine.

"There you are, Ralph!" Victoria huffs, shoving her way through the crowd to get to him. "I can't believe you abandoned me in my time of crisis!"

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, although he doesn't need to. She hadn't sounded like she needed any help. She and her girlfriends have opted out of the unflattering life belts, donning fur coats and hats instead.

"Honestly, running off with some trollop instead of looking after your own sister. What's gotten into you?!"

Before Ralph can reply, one of the officers yells something you can't hear, and the line lurches forward. You hold tightly to him, for fear of falling and being trampled. He gives you a squeeze and keeps you right next to him.

"WOMEN AND CHILDREN ONLY!" the officer bellows.

Before you can start panicking about what this means for Ralph, Victoria and her girlfriends rush forward. They knock into the pair of you as they pass, eager to get closer to the front of the line.

"Victoria?" he asks in a small voice. It's a wonder she even heard him.

"You heard the man, Ralph!" she snaps. He stands there, frozen, watching his sister push her way to the boat.

"Oh! Ralph!" she says, turning. Has she realized that she's leaving her brother to his death? Is she at least going to say goodbye? "Do you have any money on you? Geraldine cleaned me out at dominoes after dinner, and that worthless maid of mine said the purser's office was closed," she pouts.

That's when you see Ralph's heart break for the third time during this short trip.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" You've been struggling to find your words all night, but your rage unsticks your tongue.

"It's not like he's going to need it," Victoria shrugs. Your jaw drops. You'd very much like to push her over the edge of the ship, but that would require leaving Ralph's side.

"You're next, miss!" a crew member announces. Victoria pushes one of her alleged friends out of the way and steps to the front of the line, and a man lifts her down into the boat and out of sight. Ralph's face crumples, and you pull him to you. The line lurches forward again, but you don't care. The only thing you care about is Ralph.

"Come on," your aunt shouts a moment later, waving you toward her from her place at the front of the line she's reclaimed, now that Victoria and her friends have been seated. You can't let Ralph go. You watch an officer help Aunt Molly in, and she turns her attention to you as soon as she's inside.

"Get in the boat," she orders, firmer now. You shake your head.

"Girl, get over here!"

"No," you whisper, knowing she can't hear you. She fixes you with a fiery glare. "I love you, Aunt Molly," you say a bit louder. "Tell my parents I love them, too." Ralph lifts his head to look at you, not quite comprehending what's happening in his heartbroken state. One look at his tear-streaked face is all it takes to know you're doing the right thing.

It's the only thing.

"Don't you dare!" Molly gets up from her seat to come get you, and nearly knocks over the woman climbing in.

You take Ralph's hand and begin backing away. He doesn't put up a fight; he follows blindly, tears still streaming down his face.

"I'm not done living yet!" you yell to Aunt Molly before disappearing into the crowd. You and Ralph keep stumbling backwards until you hit a wall. While it's mostly women at the front, the men stand here in a cloud of cigar smoke, probably hoping the officer will soften or call for a volunteer oarsman.

You focus on Ralph, who's still in shock over being abandoned by the person he entered this world with. Sobs rack through his body, their volume lessened by sound of the chatter and machinery nearby.

"Come on, sweetheart." You wrap an arm around his waist, made bulkier by the life belt and coat, and begin walking away from the crowd. By the time you reach the other side of the deck - less crowded, but more tilted - Ralph has started coming to his senses.

"You should've gotten on the boat. I should have made you."

"Do I look like the kind of person who can be made to do anything?" you ask, looking up at him with a playful smile. He does not return it.

"We're going to die here," he trembles.

"Ralph, we're all going to die sometime," you say gently, reaching out to wipe away a tear. You don't know how or why you're being so calm about this, but a sense of peace has washed over you since dragging Ralph away from the crowd. His face crumples again. You wrap your arms around him and hold him tight, letting him sob on your shoulder until a thought occurs to you.

"Ralph?" you place a hand on each of his shoulders and push him back so you can look at him. Tears stream from his eyes and into the corners of his mouth. You reach up to wipe them away. "I've got a story for you." Holding his face in your hands and staring into his bloodshot eyes, you smile. "It's about a girl who decided she'd rather spend the next ten minutes with the boy she loves… than a lifetime with one she doesn't." His chin quivers. "How's that for romantic?" you laugh, wiping away a tear of your own.

"You're mad," he says in disbelief.

"You're not the first person to tell me that," you chuckle.

"I can't believe you missed your chance because of me," he shakes his head, "You shouldn't have--" You silence him with a warm embrace.

"You're worth it," you whisper into his ear. "I love you, Ralph."

"I love you too," he mumbles into your neck. "Would you really have married me some day?"

"Absolutely," you answer with sincerity.

Ralph pulls back and chuckles darkly, wiping his eyes. "Finally find someone who actually loves me, and now we're both going to die."

"But at least we get to do it together." You share a smile and lean your foreheads together, closing your eyes and savoring each other's warmth on this cold night.

There are worse ways to die, you suppose.

"Miss!"

Your heads snap up and turn in the direction of the shout.

"Come along, miss, there's still room," an older gentleman with a mustache holds an inviting hand out. Behind him, a small gathering of men part to reveal an impatient officer and a half-full life boat.

"Not without him," you say firmly.

"Don't be stupid," Ralph mutters. You don't move.

The mustached man turns to the officer, who waves you forward. "Come on, then." You grab Ralph's hand and rush toward the boat before the officer can change his mind.

"Are you sure?" Ralph asks as you approach. You mentally shush him.

"Can't fill a boat with women when there are none," the officer shrugs. "In you get." Two men help you climb into the boat, but you don't sit until Ralph is halfway over the railing behind you. Once he's in place beside you, you survey the crowd. There really are no more women here. It seems they've all gathered on the side where it seems safer.

The officer waves more men forward. You and Ralph cling to each other for dear life as they clamber aboard, rocking the little boat with each step.

"Right then, that's enough. Lower away!" The officer orders, before a great drop makes your heart rise into your throat. Ralph holds you tighter, and you bury your face in his shoulder. You're probably only dropping a few inches at a time, but you're sure that with each drop, the boat is going to tip over and you're going to fall into the ocean. You close your eyes tight and cling to the man you love, feeling sicker with each drop, until you hit the water.

Only then do you open your eyes. You're in the ocean. One tiny little boat on that great wide sea. You look up at the officer, smaller in the distance now. The sky lights up behind him with a flare, signaling for help. The men in your boat remove the ropes and reach for oars.

You want desperately to shut your eyes and block it all out as you leave Titanic behind, but you can't look away. You can't even blink. Are your eyes frozen? You don't know how you were able to stand upright on that tilting ship; her front is considerably closer to the sea than her back. Everyone still on board looks crooked.

You thought the sight of the ship's tilt was terrifying, but nothing could have prepared you for what came next.

You and Ralph hold each other and watch the next several minutes unfold in absolute horror. You can't move. You can't speak. You can't even cry as you watch the sea snap the unsinkable ship in half with an ungodly roar and pull her beneath the surface to claim her.

But you can hear the people she left behind.

The only thing louder than the screams is the silence that follows.

You and Ralph sit together, huddled as close as you can get on the dark and tiny boat, for what feels like days. It's pitch black. You've never been so cold in your life. Your only comfort is knowing that Ralph is beside you.

When the sun begins to rise, you close your eyes for what you imagine is the first time in hours. You feel the rays warming your frozen face, and breathe out a shaky sigh. It's a comfort, despite the choppy sea and the biting wind that had arrived with the dawn.

"Look!" someone shouts. You don't have the strength to turn, but gather from the excited shouts that a ship has been spotted. You stay tucked into Ralph's side as the men with the oars begin rowing faster, with renewed purpose, toward the ship that's come to your rescue.

The Titanic's lifeboats reunite beside the ship. Carpathia, her bow reads. You watch from below as a rope ladder is thrown down, and survivors begin climbing it one by one and disappearing into a hole in the side of the ship. The children, and others too weak to climb on their own, are hoisted up in a canvas sack.

You wait patiently, close to your Ralph, until your boat arrives at the ladder. He begins rubbing your hands between his, trying to get some feeling back into them before you have use them to climb. You'll die before you let them hoist you up like a child.

The men insist the ladies go first. You insist on being the last. The men encourage you when it's your turn, like you've been holding back because you're afraid. You're not afraid. You just don't want to leave Ralph behind. You look at him when it's your turn.

"Go on, love, I'll be right behind you," he croaks out. You squeeze his hand and take hold of the ladder, looking up at your seemingly impossible task. You can do this. This is nothing. You begin your climb, counting each rung as you ascend, until you're pulled into the ship by two pairs of strong hands. You collapse on the floor behind them, summoning the last bit of your strength to crawl to the wall and get out of the way.

A moment later, Ralph joins you on the floor. Your names and necessary information are recorded in a logbook as the hallway fills with people from your boat.

When everyone is out, a steward asks you all to follow him. You and Ralph haul yourselves off the floor and weave through a labyrinth of hallways and stairs, into a lounge of some sort with plush carpets and chairs everywhere. You're each given a blanket, instructed where to find tea and coffee and hot soup, and left to your own devices. You look around helplessly for a moment, not sure what to do or where to go. At least it's warm. Other passengers are curled up in chairs, or shakily drinking tea, or frantically searching for loved ones.

Spotting a quiet corner behind a table and chairs, you pull Ralph toward it. His feet drag as he follows. Neither of you has the energy to hunt for food. Sleep seems like the best option. You begin to untie your life belt, but hesitate with a look at Ralph.

"Why does it feel like we should leave them on?" you ask, your voice hoarse.

"Because nothing will ever feel safe again," he responds, with no emotion in his voice. You give his hand a quick squeeze and begin untying yours.

"I think I'll take body heat over a slab of cork today."

Ralph unties his as well, and you set them aside. You use your coats to create a makeshift bed on the floor, and lie down with your back to the wall. Ralph joins you without hesitation.

He snuggles close in your little nook behind the chairs, and you combine your blankets and pull one up over your heads. After being exposed to the cold wind on the frozen sea for so long, this warm little cocoon with Ralph is the only place you want to be.

"Love you," he whispers, eyes already beginning to drift closed.

"Love you, too," you whisper back, using your last bit of strength to lean forward a few inches and kiss the tip of his frozen nose.

And then, you both pass out in your quiet little hiding place, completely oblivious to the hundreds of people flowing in and out of this room.

Note: The order was "women and children first." Officer Lightoller, on the port side, interpreted this as "women and children only". Officer Murdoch, on the starboard side, interpreted this as "women and children first… then men, if there's room." There were boats with men-folk, from all classes - and several working men, too - and they did not have to bribe their way on. They just had to be in the right place at the right time.

And thanks to our love for Ralph, that's exactly where he was.

This is where you and Ralph spent the night.

#writings of despair #ralphtanic #ralph penbury #ralph penbury x you #ralph penbury x reader #ralph timewasters

[imarvelatthestars]

A Little More Alive

Pairings: Tai x werewolf!Reader (gender neutral)

Warnings: sfw - mentions of animal hunting for sustenance (not pleasure), brief depictions of brief body horror (human to wolf transformation) but nothing explicit, Tai and reader are both "outsiders" and receive some poor treatment because of it, mention of side character's death (again, not explicit), happy ending

Notes: this is not a part of the Tai Saga, but is its own and entirely separate story made specifically for Halloween/autumn time. However, I did add a few nods to the story here and there. (I'll probably be writing lots of little Tai stories from here on out that aren't connected to the saga, just fyi.)

Recommended Listening: Beyond the Forest by Howard Shore (or Feast of Starlight).

The people in this town are a fearful lot - superstitious, suspicious of everything and everyone around them. They fear the woods more than anything. There is some sense in this fear, after all there are things that lurk in the shadows there that no human ought to comprehend. But the woods are not evil. They bring life to everything they touch, shelter for those in need, food for all, and the forest floor is often dappled with puddles, creeks, and ponds.

To you, it's home. Cool in the summers, pleasant and abundant in the spring and autumn, but the winters are hard. You tend to spend your winters in town instead because here there are fires, hearths decorated with cast iron pots that overflow with stews and warm, hearty meals that fill your belly and leave you satisfied. It's not so bad here. But it is lonely.

There is no family to stay with, no parent to hold you on chilly nights and now siblings to offer their comfort when you fall to your lowest, and there is no one to tell your secrets to. The townsfolk are wary of you, but friendly enough when they need to be, when they want something from you.

"Stranger, I need a hare for my family." "I need a deer for the equinox feast." "Get me the best fowl you can find, hunter, and I'll make it worth your while."

Not all of them are greedy, but most of them are. Not him, though. He's not like the others. The chill of the autumn and winter months lingers in their eyes year round, but his eyes are warm. They remind you of the undergrowth in the forest. The frogs and their tadpoles bathing in the mud, the squirrels and birds that build their homes in the tree trunks, the color of the leaves as they turn and fall. The hearth in midwinter, when the fire is sparking and the wood turns to embers, and the bread bakes in the oven and cracks and steams in your hands. He's kind, this man who sits in the dirt everyday and asks for the things he cannot afford.

You wonder if a man like him, with kindness in his bones, would still be so if he knew your secret. If he knew who it was that left him scraps in the dark of the night. You hope he isn't like the others in this regard, but you're too afraid to ever try and find out. For now, your secret is safe and your friend is, too.

This night is the first that's been properly cold. The weather has been fickle this week, hot one day and cool the next, but never dipping too low. Tonight, however, it's caught everyone by surprise. Some families haven't gathered enough firewood yet, so their chimneys aren't smoking. The few stragglers still out after dark are shivering in their boots, too cold to notice the shadow darting by or the coat of wolf fur around your shoulders.

You make into the forest and strip off your clothes, fold them neatly and tuck them into a hollow in a fallen trunk, then you lay out the fur on the moss and curl up on top of it, waiting. It takes a moment for you to relax, but once you do, you feel something stir deep in your stomach. You've waited too long to transform, put it off for too many days. It's going to be painful this time.

And it is. Your bones creak and snap before reknitting themselves into a wolf's skeleton, this is how it always is, but it hurts so much more than it has in ages. Your joints are sore and your gums hurt where your teeth have transformed into canines, your spine aches right where your tail sprouts out, and your muscles are on fire. But finally, it's over and you feel like yourself again.

The moon is only half full and doesn't illuminate the earth enough for human eyes, but for your eyes it's perfect. You can hear everything, every twitch of a whisker, every twig snapped underfoot, every heartbeat going pitter patter, and you can see the glassy, frightened eyes of little critters hiding beneath overgrown ferns.

You hunt. There is an old hare whose mate died earlier this month. HIs sorrow is so strong that you can smell it and it makes him slow. It's better to take his life than the life of the mother around the bend; she guards five tiny little hearts going pitter patter and that is a line you cannot, will not cross. You thank the old hare for his life and the life he will now be able to give to others, and then you move on. His body rests by the tree trunk that holds your clothes. Soon he's joined by a pair of chipmunks, a squirrel, another hare, and a bird whose wing never healed right. Most of your finds will go to those in town - the single mother making stew for her children, the angry old grandfather who lives in the smithy and yells at everyone, the young widower and his baby girl - but you always save something.

The chipmunks and bird are dropped off first, then the squirrel, then one of the hares.

"There you are," he rumbles, the tiny fire he's built illuminating the dimples in his cheeks when he turns to look at you. "Was wondering where you'd gone off to."

Your paws pad lightly on freshly fallen leaves, and the hare falls at the man's feet. You nudge it lightly with your nose before sitting back on your hind legs.

"For me, hm?"

You pant. It's your way of saying "yes, of course".

"That's very generous for an old veteran."

If you were human, you'd roll your eyes. As a wolf, you settle for a moody huff and leave it at that. He often says things like this when you come visit him, that he's old and not worth your time, that a handsome young wolf like yourself ought to be spending time with its pack instead of visiting him. He speaks sometimes of days long past when he was younger and stronger, a soldier in the Emperor's legion, but never enough for you to grasp what happened to him or why he's now a pauper who can only beg for scraps.

But you can sense things in this form that your human form can't. All your senses are more finely attuned, sharper, clearer. You can smell the pain he hides. It's stronger when it's cold. Perhaps the weather makes it worse. Whatever it is, it's in his leg. It seems to radiate from his ankle, up his shin, and into his thigh.

"You must be hungry after all that hunting," he says as he pokes at the fire. The tray he uses to collect coins and food from the locals is balanced above it. He then pats the space beside him. "Stay. We'll share."

A wolf's face cannot flush with heat or embarrassment the way that a human's can, but the quickened beating of the heart is the same, the rush of hormones in the blood. Do you panic, do you stay, do you go? You want to stay. You like him. He's the safest thing you have beyond the forest. But he's no fool. He must know you're no ordinary wolf. Wild wolves aren't like you, they aren't nearly as friendly and nowhere near as considerate. And he speaks to you like you understand him, like he can hear the very human thoughts running through your head.

"Stay, wuruhi. I won't bite." His tone is soft and his mouth is smiling. He probably thinks he's funny.

"I shouldn't be seen with you," you say, but it comes out more like "rrrrrgh oooowa". It could be dangerous for him if you linger. But then you pause, trace your eyes over his profile as the fire illuminates it, you see the creases by his eyes and the gray in his beard. You wonder if he's as lonely as you are here. You wonder if it wouldn't be so bad to stay for a bit, just this once.

You huff again, somewhere between irritated and resigned, and walk around the edge of the fire to come to his other side. You have to be gentle, you don't want to jostle him too much and make him hurt more, but finally you find a comfortable position and rest your chin on his thigh. The pain still radiates through his sinew and bone, but you sense his body react to your warmth almost immediately. Hopefully this will help.

The night is soon filled with the smell of cooked rabbit. He feeds you for the first time since this unofficial partnership began. He's hesitant at first, and wisely so, but he doesn't need to be afraid of you. You'd never do a thing to hurt him.

It's easy to drift to sleep then with your belly mostly full and the fire warming your paws and nose. His body is soft and comfortable, like something you've been longing for all this time but never even knew was possible to have. His hand is broad and warm when it settles atop your head just between your ears, and you find yourself thinking that this is... nice. Better than the forest and better than the tavern full of raucous drunkards.

Everything is warm when you wake up, almost stiflingly so. Your entire torso is nearly overheated, although your limbs and nose are a little cooler than that. Your first thought is that you added too many layers when you went to bed last night, but then you properly open your eyes and see that you're outside. It's startling for a moment, but not entirely unexpected. You've fallen asleep outside after more arduous transformations before. But that doesn't seem right. You don't remember falling asleep in the forest, and you realize now that you're not even in the forest, you're...

The weary veteran is snoring behind you. The sun has crested above the trees and hilltops and distant mountains. It's daytime and the moon is gone, and you're still a wolf, but you're out in the open. Exposed. Visible. Vulnerable. His little camp is just on the edge of town by the main path that leads to other towns and kingdoms beyond this one. Anyone could see, anyone could ask.

You wriggle up and out of his arms in an instant, tail tucked between your legs as you start to panic. You're so disoriented from your heavy sleep that for a moment, you can't remember where your things are. Your clothes, your shoes. The things that make you human. Where are they? What if someone sees you? What if they know, somehow, just what you are? What if, what if, what if-?

The leaves and dirt scrape and shift behind you, and you turn on your heels, teeth bared and ears pinned back, ready to fight, only to see him. The veteran. His bark brown eyes and ember sparked freckles. His hands are raised and he's withdrawn into the little fence he'd fallen asleep against.

"Easy, wuruhi, easy. 's just me."

Your mouth snaps shut and your ears prick forward a bit. You'd never hurt him. Never. It hurts to think that you've scared him, but you don't have time for this, you have to get out of there before someone sees.

He tilts his head to the side just slightly, likely eyeing the fur that's raised along the ridge of your spine and tail. "What's got you worked up? Hm?"

A rooster crows just inside town. A sharp breeze whistles between the houses and barns. The nearest house creaks when its front door opens. You turn to run and you don't look back.

You make it back to the tavern and you don't leave until hours later, not until your heartbeat has evened out and the adrenaline has stopped pumping through your veins and you stop hearing voices clamoring to chase you out of town.

That was too close. You let your guard down. You can't afford to do that again. As much as you don't like some of the people here, this town gives you a purpose to focus your time on, people to interact with and casual friendships to make, the money you need for clothes and finer, pretty things that you aren't able to craft.

You sigh as you press your forehead to the door of your room.

You can't let yourself close to him like that again. It's not safe for you and you can only imagine what might happen to him if he were seen interacting with a creature like you...

Monsters. Beasts. Demons. These are the words the folk in the tavern use when they tell stories late into the evening and the days grow shorter. "Beware the wolf that roams these woods" is the warning bestowed to travelers. "He'll tear your throat from your chest and feast on your heart." They laugh and shiver and drink from their tankards, and then one will nudge another and say, "and avoid that old beggar on the road."

Those stories hurt more than the ones they tell about your kind. You know the truth of living a life half between wolf and human. You were never cursed by a witch, never damned by the devil, nor abandoned by your mother for being the foul offspring she never wanted. You were simply born like this and your family was lost long ago to hunters and soldiers, fearful townsfolk like these who start at every shadow. But the things they say about the man with the gentle eyes and tired smile makes your blood boil.

They don't know what they're saying, who they're speaking in the presence of. They don't know that he's yours to protect, or even that he's worth protecting. All they know is their simple, pathetic existences and crass jokes made into beer foam and hissed between moldy teeth. They're fools.

But some good still comes from their mockery. It reminds you that the "old" beggar is still alone, probably wondering what happened to the wolf who fell asleep warming his injured leg. And he's probably hungry. It's been several days since you brought him something.

You eye the credits you've most recently earned and count them up, then catch a glimpse out the window. Sunset isn't for a few more hours; you still have time and opposable thumbs.

Hardly an hour later, you've purchased a bundle of potatoes, turnips, apples, and old bread, and are marching out to the edge of town. It's nerve-wracking, this decision to finally interact with him as a human, and you're half convinced he'll see right through you. He won't, of course, he has no reason to even suspect you, but you're nervous all the same. Your stomach's all knotted up and your heart's in your throat. So many "what-ifs", so many worries and anxieties, so many unknowns, and it's stupid really because he's always been kind and gentle, never been a threat to you. Why do you even care so much about how he might react?

"Hello," you say when you finally see him. It's about all you can say, but it's embarrassing that it's all you can muster for your very first conversation.

He doesn't start - must have heard you coming - but he does look curiously at you. As if he can't figure you out. Or maybe he thinks you look familiar. You really, really hope that isn't it.

His response is halting and unsure. He nods at you. "Hello."

Your arm shoots out of its own accord and the bundle swings wildly in the air. "I thought you might be hungry."

His eyes flicker, sizing up the bundle, sizing up you, curious, searching, questioning, but... grateful. It's not easy to miss the way his shoulders relax and slope just a bit. "Thank you. That's very kind."

Your body switches to moving on instinct and you soon find yourself on a knee, just across from the spot where you'd fallen asleep with him before. The bundle is handed over and the new rabbit skin gloves that cover his knuckles catch your eye. Roughly sewn, some fur missing in spots where his knife or your teeth must have caught, but clearly made by his own hands. It strikes you as oddly sentimental despite being the smartest, most logical thing he could have done. He didn't make them because the hare came from you, he made them because he was cold and winter is coming, you know this, but still. He preserved your little tooth marks. He keeps them close to him. It may mean nothing to him, but you find that it means everything to you.

So you return to him once night falls and the moon is out, against your better judgement. You can't help it. You want to see him again, you want to see if he enjoyed the food, if your human presence is something he wouldn't mind sitting with again.

"How is it?" you ask when you come trotting out of the woods, but it's muffled by the critter in your jaws and comes out something like, "ghghghgh ooofgh".

He smiles when he sees you. "There you are, little one." He scratches you behind the ears before you've even dropped it for him and it's so embarrassing, but your tail starts wagging. Like any number of the stray dogs that enjoy attention from the townsfolk, even from you. "'s good t' see you again," he chuckles.

Your nose nudges the sack of food from earlier, played off to look as if you're curious or seeking out an interesting smell.

"You smell that, huh? It's from a friend."

I know. But it makes you feel good to hear it.

"It'll make a good meal for us, eh?"

And it's then that you wonder when you went so soft for a man you hardly know. He cooks for you and tells you stories while you lounge at his feet. He tells you about his big brother, Appo, and his commander, Rex. He tells you about the blade he took to his shin and the cannon explosion that sent shrapnel into his knee. Most importantly, he tells you his name and it's something you immediately tuck inside your heart.

It suits him, this single syllable.

"It means 'the coast' or 'the tide'. It was my father's tongue." He seems distant when he explains this, like he's no longer here with you. "He was from a land far, far away from here. An island kingdom. Full of warriors and great chiefs."

You rest your head on his knee and exhale softly through your nose. "Tell me more," you whine. It's a tricky translation.

He doesn't seem to understand you because he shifts and runs his palm over the scruff at your neck. "I know several tongues, but I don't know yours. Don't even know your name." He smiles, Tai smiles, and scratches your shoulder. "Don't suppose you'd ever tell me, would you?"

"I'm a wolf," you grumble, something like "ooowa woogh", which only makes him laugh.

"Perhaps one day, wuruhi iti."

He does eventually learn your name, though he doesn't know it belongs to the wolf that visits him most nights. There are moments when it seems he might, when he looks at you for a little too long in either form and you think your cover is blown, but it never is. He remains steadfast long into winter and you remain his, loathe to admit it though you are.

And then the worst happens. The shadows become too dark and too long, and the townsfolk become too afraid tucked away in their timber and stone homes, huddled around their hearths. Maybe you became too at home in the warmth of Tai's fire and you let yourself get lazy when it came to covering your tracks. But one day the people present arms and they come for the wolf they've heard tale of on the darkest nights.

You don't realize what's happening at first. You think maybe you've missed out on another festival with all your distractions of late, so you follow the crowd to the fence at the edge of town.

"Find the wolf!" someone shouts, and your blood runs cold. Several silver blades are brandished in the air.

"Get up, old man!" "Tell us where the wolf is!" "Give up the monster!"

Tai. Oh God, they know. How could they know? You were so careful. Had you really become so careless?

He struggles to his feet with a grunt and leans heavy on the fence. His eyes are tired in the light of their torches, weary and unsure. "What is this?"

The mayor steps forward. "Where is the wolf, old man?"

This the moment you've been dreading. He's sure to give you up, any human would. To them, you're just another monster that stalks their dreams and lingers at the forest's edge. You were foolish to ever think otherwise, even for him.

But when you turn to leave, he speaks. "What wolf?"

You pause, back still turned, too afraid to see his face, too afraid to hope.

"The werewolf. Your hellhound."

Tai scoffs. "I have no such thing." You turn.

"Liar!" One of the local women scrambles through the crowd then, her torch burning brightly as she brandishes a pitchfork in her other hand. "I saw you! You were talking to it, casting spells into the fire!"

"I am no witch, nor am I warlock or any other caster of spells. I'm simply a man."

"Are you lying to cover for the creature?" asks the mayor, now getting so close that his spittle catches on Tai's beard. "Or are you one of them? A demon sent to damn us?"

How can they say such things? How can they even dare to think them? Do they not see? Can they not comprehend? Have they no fear? If he were really the wolf, shouldn't they be afraid of his wrath? Or has their stupidity outweighed their senses?

To his credit, Tai doesn't rise to his bait. "You'd like that. Wouldn't you?" He smiles, but his dimples lack their usual depth and his eyes are cold for the first time. Cold like freshly dug earth over a grave. "I'm as human as you are, Lord Mayor. And even if I knew where your so-called beast was, I wouldn't say."

He's a better man than you are. Because you are seconds away from ripping this town apart.

"You'll tell us."

He just blinks. It's not a verbal refusal, but it's as clear as day. Their search ends with him.

But stories like this never end there, do they? You've heard of them from other wolves, ones less fortunate than you. Humans, when pushed to the limits of their wildest fears, are more monstruous than any wolf you've ever known. You know bloodlust when you see it, you know it because you feel it now, bubbling and broiling inside you as you fight with everything you have not to let it consume you. You know this town is dying of thirst and they will see red tonight, whether it's your blood or someone else's.

You run. You're not even out of sight, you're simply tucked under the roofing of the nearest dwelling. You pull your clothes off with enough force to tear them and you don't even bother with your undergarments, you just throw the wolf fur onto the ground and curl up on top. You gaze up at the sky where it begins to turn from pale blue to midnight black, and you summon yourself. It's all a rush of adrenaline and blood in your ears and fur melding with skin, senses coming into focus, limbs shortening, growing, folding, until you are one with yourself again, and then you howl.

There's no need to translate it, they all know what it means: death. You skirt around the edge of the crowd with your teeth bared, snarling, snapping at anyone who dares to step too close, and you barrel right into the mayor, knock him down so that he tumbles into the fence and takes it with him. The torch goes flying, the silver blade in his hand drops, and he screams.

You never liked him anyway. Too greedy and conniving to care much for the people of this town. His life won't be missed by many.

When you've had your fill, you saunter off of his body and begin to pace the gap between Tai and the others. Most of them are horrified, too shocked to even move, let alone try and fight you. Good. There are a few here that you've come to like during your stay and you'd hate to kill them. But you will. As a wolf, your life centers around your pack. The pack is yours to protect with your life, and this is the promise you have sealed with the blood of a human. There is no going back.

"Let him go." They don't understand you exactly, but they get the idea. Tai is off limits.

It takes a while for them to back down. They could perhaps overpower you, but you think the sight of their leader bleeding out has put them off attempting anything more without him. The torches become distant dots of light as the people retreat to their homes. Doors and shutters slam shut, the whole town goes quiet, and the sun falls below the horizon. The only light left is that of the stars and the embers of Tai's fire.

You pounce on him the moment you deem it safe. He yelps a little at first, startled and very probably afraid of you, but you don't care. Better afraid than dead. All that matters is seeing if he's safe. Your tongue is darting out across his skin, your nose sniffing under his tunic and his beard. Is he safe, is he safe, is he hurt. It's all you can think. Even if he hates you now. Even if this was all for nothing because you took a life for him and by human standards, that should disgust him. Even if you never see him again after this night, all you need to know is if he will survive.

He starts saying words. They sound so foreign to you that you think at first he's saying his father's tongue, the language he sometimes mumbles in or uses to call to you. But no, it's your name. Your real name. The one you gave him as a human. The one he isn't supposed to know is yours.

His hands come to gently cup your cheeks. You're still a wolf, yet he holds you now as if you were as human as he is.

"Is that you, wuruhi iti?"

What do you do? What do you say? "I killed someone for you. I'd die for you. You're mine, do you understand?"

Tai says your name again and the entire world stops. You whine. This is so much more painful than you thought it would be, this not knowing.

"It is, isn't it?"

Your tongue lolls out a bit when you whimper. "Yes, yes! It's me!" You want to howl it from the mountaintops, but you settle for licking his nose and panting.

He smiles. His cheeks dimple, and his eyes are the same type of warmth you find in the fires he's been lighting for you for the last few months, sparking the kind of embers you didn't even know you were capable of. He's warm again, not cold like the steel of a wolf killer's blade, but cozy like the forest floor after a day in the sun, soft like the hide of a hare. Home like the forest has always been.

"How did you know?" you ask later under the light of the full moon, your wolf fur laid across the back of the stolen cart and your head tucked under his arm.

The town is long gone, so far behind you that it is little more than a bad memory, though you hope none of them gets a wild hair and decides to come after you. As far as you're concerned, this cart and the goods you stole from the mayor's house are yours and Tai's now. The horse, too. If anyone is foolish enough to try and steal from you, then their fate is on their own head.

He grunts. He keeps falling asleep on you, even though he's trying hard to stay awake. "Know what?"

You butt him in the cheek with your nose. "That it was me."

"Oh." Tai laughs. "It was your eyes. I'd know them anywhere."

Now that you're human, you can feel it when your entire body flushes. What a silly reaction to such a simple statement, but you can't help it. He's been so gentle with you since you transformed, never touching anywhere that might be inappropriate or too presumptuous, never lingering for too long, but always comforting, always there.

"Really?"

"You're different, ipo. Special."

A lifetime of hearing otherwise from other humans has you feeling utterly speechless and a little breathless at his admittance. "How so?"

He hums as he tilts his head back to watch the stars. "You took care of me. Still not sure why you did, but I'm grateful all the same." His arm tightens around your shoulders. "And then you came to me as a human and you looked at me, and I just knew. Couldn't bear to lose you after that."

Your throat is threatening to close on you, your eyes are misty. "Tai..."

"Something about you made me feel a little more alive and far less alone. Thank you."

There's something growing in your throat now, something beyond the tears or the awkward tightness they cause, something you've been hesitant to name but never hesitant to act on. Something you've known for some time but never dared to voice.

"Tai, I don't regret what I did." He looks as if he wants to say something when you pause, but he holds it for a moment, waits for you to continue first. "For those like me, other wolves..." And he doesn't cringe, doesn't shy away from the word. He stays. "It's a promise that you're part of my pack. I, I know that this is not exactly normal for you, and I wouldn't want you to stay with me if you didn't wish to, if perhaps you were afraid of me-"

"I'm not."

Your belly feels warm with this knowledge.

You may as well say it. With the stars in his eyes and the moon highlighting the swell of his nose like some majestic carving in a noble family's manor, he doesn't look like the haggard veteran you've always known him as. You see something beautiful. But then, he's always been sort of beautiful to you.

"I care about you. I'd kill for you, I'd do it all again, I swear, just to keep you safe. And if you don't feel the same, I would understand, but Tai." Why is it so hard to say? Just spit it out! "I think that I love you. And I would like to stay with you, however you'll have me."

You wonder momentarily if that sheen in his eyes is just the reflection of the moon.

"Wuruhi iti." His fingers are shaking when they trace your browline. "I'm an old man trying to make his way in this wide world. Why would you stay with me?"

You smile. "I happen to like you, old man. And you're not so old as you seem."

"Perhaps not, but there are others you might spend your time on. Younger humans, less damaged. Other wolves."

"I will go if you ask me to."

But please don't. Such a request would break your heart.

Finally, he shakes his head and your lungs surge with relief. "I could never. I'm too selfish." He slips something into your palm then, and presses your fist to his lips before settling it on your breastbone.

"What's this?"

He rumbles a bit while he tries to find the words. Is he suddenly feeling bashful? "Token of my gratitude."

The moonlight reveals a small piece of wood, sanded and carved so intricately that you can only make out all the details through touch. There are all sorts of whirling spirals and delicate lines latticing the wood, so many that at first you don't realize there's something more to the design. Then you raise it a little higher and squint, and you see the shape of a wolf's head come into focus.

"It's beautiful."

"Whakairo. Another piece of my father and the land he came from. These carvings were the ways which our ancestors would tell stories. This one is ours." He brushes his thumb over one section of the wood. "Our fire." Then to another section. "The hares and the turnips. And you."

Every inch of your body is about to burst from beneath your skin. How are you so fortunate to have met this strange, wonderful man? But - "Where are you?"

His hands closes around the wood. "I'm here." Then he reaches, slowly, waiting until you nod to move any further, and taps his fingers on your collarbone. "And here. If you'll have me."

You will always have him, and he will always have you.

māori translations:

wuruhi - wolf

wuruhi iti - little wolf

ipo - beloved, sweetheart

whakairo - carving (the wh- is pronounced like f-)

my submission for @anxiouspineapple99 's big clone halloween party

prompts: werewolf + "something about you made me feel a little more alive and far less alone"

& "i saw it happen" (reworded into "i saw you") from the @clonexreaderbingo event

tai taglist: @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @multi-fan-dom-madness @deejadabbles @moodymisty @rain-on-kamino @temple-elder @wanderer-six @jambolska-grozdova @bambambunny @andrakass2 @wings-and-beskar @arandomnerdsblog578 @roadara23 @wizardofrozz @kakashibabe02

please let me know if you would like to be added to or taken from this list!

#clone trooper tai x reader #tai x reader #tai x you #clone trooper x reader #clone trooper tai #tai #star wars #werewolf au #x reader #also i know the picture shows a skirt but there is no gendered language or descriptions of reader. so it's gender neutral! #wow!!! the first time i've written something completely chronologically with no later additions. and the first time in a LONG time where #...there was no actual kissing despite there being romance #i am so proud of this one and i love it so much #it's beenr attling around inside my head for several days now and i'm glad i got it out and finished

[separatist-apologist]

Still A Sunbeam

Summary: As a child, Elain Archeron is pushed into a pond by the heir to the Day Courts throne, Lucien Spell-Cleaver, and vows she'll never forgive him for it. But as an adult, Elain finds that if she wants out of an arranged marriage to a Spring Court prince, she will need Day Court's help. More is at stake than a decades-old rivalry, and when their home is threatened, Elain and Lucien will have to set aside old differences and work together

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Marry me, Elain.

Lucien’s words hung between them, thicker with each passing second she said nothing at all. Her fingers curled into fists, the engagement ring tucked against one finger. Lucien blinked at her, true fear sliding over his expression.

“Yes,” she said, heart thudding. “Of course, Lucien, I—”

He crushed his mouth to hers before she could utter another word. That was preferable to having to say actual words that were likely to destroy what still felt very fragile between them. It wasn’t lost on Elain that until very recently, she and Lucien had not been friends. In fact, they’d only just begun building a shaky sort of truce a mere day before the bond snapped.

And now everything was happening impossibly fast, backdropped by war. Lucien had gone from loathing her very existence to needing her like the air he breathed and if Elain was honest, she wondered if he’d still want her like he did without the bond. 

He’d grown up with parents who loved each other more than life itself, and their mating bond was part of that. Of course he’d romanticize it. Of course Lucien would cherish it. Of course he’d want her above everything else and Elain…well, Elain wanted him too.

But maybe she ought to go to Spring without him. Now that she was thinking about it, and about her mother…Lucien wouldn’t understand. He’d be all smiles, the courtly prince of Day who was beloved by everyone. And her mother was difficult. She wouldn’t be impressed by his good looks, his nice manners, or whatever feelings he had for her.

In fact, Elain suspected her mother would respect him less for all those things. She’d think he should have chosen duty over the mating bond and married someone who furthered his own court rather than someone he was in love with. She needed to think it over—maybe talk to him about what his presence in Spring might mean for them both. Try and get him to understand. 

“No,” Elain gasped when his fingers found the laces of her dress. “Lucien I can’t.”

“You can’t?” he breathed, dragging his mouth down her neck. 

“Aren’t you a little sore?” she asked him, thinking of the persistent ache between her legs. She was struggling to adjust given the sheer size of him, and the fact that the bond pulled on her need so she couldn’t take a break. Tonight, though, she thought if she could get uninterrupted sleep, she’d feel clearer when she woke. Less tangled up in knots.

“No.”

“I am,” she said and all at once Lucien had released her. Running a hand through his hair, he apologized.

“Elain, I’m so sorry, I—”

“It’s fine,” she assured him. “Get in bed with me and tell me something no one else knows about you, Lucien Spell-Cleaver.”

Lucien’s smile was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Genuine, too. Bright as the sun and warm enough to bask in, Lucien very quickly changed into nothing before turning off the fae lights and climbing into bed with her. For a moment, she thought he’d abandon her plan to just talk given he was half erect.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, angling his hips away from her body. “The mating bond…I can be civilized.”

“I know you can,” Elain replied, pressing a kiss against his palm. Lucien drew her against his chest, toying with strands of her hair.

“Something about me no one knows?” he murmured, lips against her scalp. Lucien was so, so bad at being platonic. Elain, too, given her body was responding to his nearness. Elain’s plan to lie to him suddenly felt weighty—he was trying, and she was about to go around him. “I’m afraid of bees.”

Elain turned to look at him. “Bees?”

“Yeah. Mother has a garden of them—and sometimes when you’re out there, I can see them forming a halo around your head and I just watch from afar.”

“The worst they could do is sting you, Lucien.”

He chuckled. “Yes. And I’d prefer to avoid that if I can.”

“I would never have guessed a future High Lord was afraid of a couple harmless bees.”

“Hardly harmless,” Lucien grumbled. 

“Tell me something that matters,” Elain murmured, twisting again so she was on her stomach, chin on his chest. Lucien brushed a piece of hair from her face. 

“You know that Eris was always after me, trying to figure out if I had the High Lord's magic?” Lucien began, his eyes only on her mouth. It made her giggle, even as Elain nodded her head.

“Yes. I remember quite well how those arguments went.”

Lucien sighed. “Imagine, if I’d never pushed you in the Cauldron, I could have begun courting you the moment you stopped putting ribbons in your hair.”

“What are you talking about? I still use ribbons—”

“You know what I mean,” Lucien said, fingers finding her ribs. Elain exploded with laughter, writhing away from him in an attempt to catch her breath. Lucien didn’t let her get far before pulling her back, his mouth finding hers. It was tempting to melt into him, but Elain wasn’t done with their conversation, even if she knew her attempt to have one quiet night was dangerously close to failure. 

“Tell me,” she breathed, raking her fingers through his long, beautiful hair. 

Lucien panted, chest rising and falling from the effort it clearly took to keep himself contained. Elain wondered if that sight would ever cease to thrill her. Maybe one day, when the mating bond had settled, Elain would simply laugh the whole thing off. 

Maybe not, though.

“I think he wanted to know how much of mothers magic I’d inherited. If I was a threat to him,” Lucien said, flat on his back. He raised a palm and there, as quickly as it took her to draw breath, was warm, licking flame. 

“Lucien,” she breathed, mesmerized by the shimmering heat, the sheer Autumn-ness of the magic. He curled his fingers into his hand, leaving a trail of smoke in his wake. 

“If Beron ever thought she’d given me anything, I think he would have had us both killed. Father knows, and I’m sure he told mother, but no one else. It’s always been a secret.”

“I won’t tell,” Elain promised. 

A smile spread over his face. “I know you won’t. I trust you with my life.”

Words spoken so casually, with an easiness that made Elain’s whole body go loose. “You barely know me.”

“I feel like I’ve known you centuries,” Lucien said earnestly. “And it used to infuriate me. Why can’t I get you out of my head, my blood, my mind?”

“Because we’re mates—”

“Because I recognized you on sight,” he breathed, turning to his side so they were nose to nose. His lips brushed her own. “And I’m so incredibly stupid, thinking I could outrun myself. I wanted you long before the mating bond ever snapped between us and my only regret is not giving in sooner. I know what you’re thinking, Elain…and you’re wrong.”

“I’m wrong?” she asked, sliding her hand over his neck. Lucien shuddered.

“Just this one time, you’re wrong. You think I want you because of the bond, but I wanted you before it. Elain, I wanted you so badly it was all I thought about.”

“Because—”

“Because it’s you,” he interrupted softly, kissing her as if that could somehow make her see the truth of things. “Do you think my father only wants my mother because of their shared bond?”

“No,” she admitted.

“If you were awful for me—if I still hated you when it snapped—maybe I’d still want you physically. I’m sure I would. But not like this. Not in my bones, my very soul. And I’d marry you without it. I’d still be in this bed without it.”

“Who knew the Day Court prince was such a romantic,” she teased, blinking away the urge to sob ugly tears into his chest.

“Only you,” Lucien replied with that heart stopping grin. “And if you spread the rumor around, I will viciously deny it.”

“It’s too late. I tell the ladies every morning at breakfast until they’re weeping into their juice.”

“I’m going to kiss you, now,” Lucien informed her, reaching for her face. “And I won’t be held responsible for whatever happens next.”

Elain was still smiling when he made good on his promise, the languid kiss setting her ablaze. So much for a good night's sleep, she told herself. He knew what he was doing with his mouth, tongue sliding into her mouth for a taste. Lucien moaned softly, fingers curling in her hair to hold her still. His other hand found her hip, pulling her closer before laying her flat, his thigh pressed between her legs. It was instinct to grind up into him, dress ruching up so he could see she wasn’t wearing anything beneath.

He moaned again, louder this time. 

Something was crowding the edge of her vision, pressing against the back of her eyes. Elain gasped, pulling away without telling Lucien what was coming on. He didn’t understand, licking the column of her throat as his fingers became frantic, tugging at the laces of her gown so she, too, would be naked. 

“Lucien—” Elain tried to warn him. 

But the vision washed over her and Elain lost herself for a moment.

“Look at me, look at me,” Killain whispered, reaching for Elain’s face. Holding it with a gentleness that could have broken her heart, he added, “Kiss me right now.”

“Killian, I—” Elain was crying. Crying so hard she couldn’t breathe, her heart breaking in her chest. It was a tangible thing, cracking her ribs and bending her spine until Elain had practically melted to the floor.

“Right now,” he ordered, though only desperation tinged his words. Elain looked up into pine green eyes and brought her face nearer until his mouth was mashed against her own. It wasn’t a true kiss—she wasn’t moving, though her eyes closed of their own accord. Even as her body rebelled, her mind obeyed.

Behind her, a voice she didn’t recognize, disembodied in the blackness around her, asked, “What is this?”

“Elain Archeron has agreed to be my wife,” Killian said, pressing his forehead to her own. No one could see her red rimmed eyes, and her heaving shoulders might have been joy. Killian smiled, though there was no happiness to be found standing so close. 

“How very fortunate for Spring.”

Elain gasped, shoving at Lucien so hard he tumbled to his back. Scrambling up the headboard, Elain tried to get her bearings. Elain Archeron has agreed to be my wife. My wife. My wife.

“What’s wrong?” Lucien asked, eyes wild, fingers fisted in the blankets. He was crouched, his cock jutting from between his legs. Elain blinked away the urge to scream. She couldn’t tell Lucien what she’d seen.

She needed to simply change it. The future wasn’t written in stone—it was merely a collection of possibilities that could come to pass. She could fix it. Whatever her and Lucien had done wrong to bring that about, Elain could set it right again.

“Lucien,” she said, watching the muscles in his shoulders and back bunch and shift as he crawled up the bed toward her. “Let’s get married right now.”

He frowned. “Now? You don’t want to wait?”

“No,” she breathed, taking his face in her hands. That pain in her chest, her breaking heart—had that been a broken bond? What had happened? How had things gone so terribly wrong? “No, I want to right now. Right now.”

Lucien’s eyes searched her own for a long second. “Get dressed. I’ll have someone wake a priestess.”

And that was that.

Elain scrambled out of bed while Lucien tucked away his erection and began barking orders at servants in the hall.

She would fix whatever went wrong. 

Everything was going to be fine.

LUCIEN: 

When Lucien imagined his wedding, he’d assumed it would be under a burning Day Court sun. Surrounded by his family, his friends, his people seemed like a given. He’d certainly never imagined walking through the city in the dead of night, clutching his mates hand as he took her to a temple. Part of him wondered if Elain wasn’t pregnant and panicking. 

He didn’t dare ask her what had made her want to do things now. In truth, Lucien was relieved. Marriage was far less binding than a mating bond, but still not easily dissolved. There was no way he’d lose her, not when she inked her name on the marriage contract and spoke the words before the Mother, an ordained priestess, and the Prince of Day Court. 

Lucien took a breath to steal his nerves, leading her up the marble stairs. Elain didn’t seem nervous at all—in fact, Elain seemed calmer than he’d ever seen her. Certain, which settled Lucien’s fear that something had happened.

And so what if she was pregnant? Sure, he was young and not quite ready to be a father. If it was her, Lucien would raise any number of offspring gladly. He’d do whatever it took, so long as she kept that ring on her finger and announced to Prythian and beyond that he was her husband, her mate—the only person she’d ever loved.

“Ready?” she asked, turning those pretty brown eyes fully on him.

“Born ready,” Lucien lied. He was pretty sure he’d come late, squalling angrily against the bright sun. His father told his birth story that way, at any rate. Grinning, pleased to have been given a son. Lucien wished he was there, offering up advice Lucien swore he didn’t want or need. Had his father, the High Lord, been terrified too? 

It wasn’t that he thought it was wrong—nothing had ever felt more right in his life. This was between them. There was no spectacle, just two people in love, and Lucien could appreciate taking this for themselves. Still, he wanted to know how his father had felt when his mother had agreed to marry him. When everything seemed to finally be working out, locking into place. Happiness felt achievable. 

And even when the dark haired priestess led them to the very front of the temple, standing them at an altar where stained glass windows depicted the benevolent Mother Goddess tipping over her Cauldron to create the world, he expected something to go wrong. Someone to burst in and stop them, to convince Elain she was making a mistake.

A roaring in Lucien’s ears turned him into a disaster. This was a dream—he was convinced of it. A beaming, glowing Elain watched him with love filled eyes and Lucien kept waiting for him to wake up alone in bed, having dreamt the entire thing. He did managed to wrap that gold ribbon around their wrists, binding them together in the old tradition. And somehow he managed to get his tongue to work, too—Lucien promised to honor and obey and cherish, sliding to his knees the way he was supposed to, hands laid flat in supplication. 

Elain did the same, right up until it came time to kneel. Only then did Lucien’s sense return to him. He caught her by the elbows, shaking his head back and forth. Kneeling was nearly exclusively done by females—males might, if they wanted their partners to know their marriage was equal, but it wasn’t required. But for Lucien, who needed Elain to understand that what he felt for her bordered on worship, he would not allow his wife or mate to kneel before him.

Unless, of course, she was putting his cock in her mouth. 

“Not you,” he whispered, well aware that one day his father would die and his people would kneel before him. “Never you.”

And that was that. No one could tell him no—certainly not the frowning priestess, who merely continued on, likely thinking there was something wrong with him. Elain was declared Princess of Day, Elain Spell-Cleaver of Rhodes. His wife. Lucien took his time kissing her, not caring they had a witness, not caring that the scent of him was likely to linger for the rest of the day. 

“Come on,” Elain whispered, gathering the skirts of her white and gold dress. Lucien couldn’t help but trail after her, eyes locked on the cascade of curls falling to her waist. Mine. You are mine and I am yours. 

She grasped his fingers, leading him through the city that now belonged to her by blood and law. Could she feel it? Could Elain feel the hum the same way Lucien could, like a buzz against his skin? A hyper awareness of it, this place, the very land itself? She seemed warmer, a faint glow emanating from her beautiful, tanned skin that he didn’t think had existed before. 

The palace was silent when they returned. Lucien, too sentimental for his own good, swept her up with a laugh as she squealed, clinging to his neck like he might drop her. 

“This is how things are done,” he lied, though he’d seen it happen in Winter, once. Maybe he’d bring the tradition here, though there was no reason for it other than Lucien wanted to bury his face in her neck. “Are you still tired?”

“Yes,” she said, his pretty little liar. Lucien could smell the arousal coming off her in waves. “I think I’d like to go to sleep before the sun is fully up.”

Lucien made his way to their shared bedchamber, intending to have the rest of her things brought in later that day.

He wanted a crown made for her, too. Something special that belonged solely to Elain—something pretty she could wear when they went back to Winter and Summer…and that he could show off in Spring. 

Look at how pretty my wife looks in gold. 

Maybe he’d put her in his lap, too, head on his shoulder while he stared Killain down. Elain would kill him for it, but oh. What a way to go. 

Lucien closed their bedroom door, locking it loudly. A sly smile fluttered over Elain’s lips, smothered by the time she turned to face him. “If you’re so tired, we should get you out of your dress,” he said. 

Elain stepped back for every step forward he took until he had her all but pinned against the footboard. “Let me help,” he murmured, gesturing for her to turn around.

“You can’t control yourself.”

“Sure I can,” he lied, already stiff beneath his ceremonial dress. His mother was going to murder him when some busybody servant told her he’d asked to have it laundered. “I told you, though—no clothes in my bed.”

“Your bed? Dear husband—” 

Lucien’s control shredded the moment those words left her mouth. He just needed to touch her, needed to kiss her. 

“There he is,” she whispered, tangling her fingers in his carefully braided hair. Elain had them undone almost as quickly as Lucien had her dress at her feet, lifting her by the ass so her legs were wrapped around him.

He was beginning to think there would never be an end to wanting her, needing her. He couldn’t stop himself from pushing her to the bed or climbing on top of her. He didn’t care to do anything but kick off his shoes and clothes, throwing them to the floor as the sun began to climb in the sky, drenching the room in bright, sunny gold. 

Elain’s nails dug down his back, drawing a sharp moan of pleasure from him even as Lucien thrust into her body. He felt like he was running out of time, even as it stretched ahead of him for an eternity. 

Fuck, she was so tight—clamped around him until Lucien could scarcely breathe. He tried, but her tongue was in his mouth, her fingers sliding up his spine to pull at his hair. This was his fantasy, wasn’t it? His mate, so desperate for him she couldn’t think of anything but him? Lucien sometimes thought it was just him so mindlessly needy while Elain blithely went about her day, forgetting he existed until he stepped back into her awareness.

“I love you,” he whispered against her jaw. He just needed to hear her say it. 

Marriage wasn’t enough. Mating bonds weren’t, either. He needed her to say it back.

“Lucien,” she breathed, eyes locked on his own. “Of course I love—” her words broke off in a moan as his fingers found the little nub apexed at her thighs and began to rub. He was, as always, his own worst enemy. She would have said it had he not wanted to also feel her come, too.

“You’re mine,” Lucien growled, daring to give voice to the words he was so often thinking. Elain arched, tightening around him before he devoured her cry of pleasure. He was just behind her, pulled so deep he couldn’t remember anything about himself. Not his name, his home, or any thought outside of the writhing female beneath him. When Lucien came, his thoughts were merely a chant of her name— Elain, Elain, Elain. 

“Let me cancel my plans,” Lucien breathed, still twitching as his come slid between them, staining the sheets. “Stay here with me today.”

“Yes,” she agreed, canting her hips again. Insatiable was what she was. That was lucky for him, given Lucien couldn’t help the shuddering groan that ripped out of him. “Yes, I—”

“Prince?” a muffled voice at the door sounded more nervous than anything.

“Not now—”

“It’s the…princess?” that same voice continued, uncertain what Elain’s exact title was. “Her sister is here for her.”

Elain scrambled from beneath him before Lucien had a chance to catch his breath. One moment, his cock was warm, the next it was jammed against the sheets.

“Which sister?” Elain asked hurriedly, pulling a dress from the trunk at the end of their bed. Lucien lamented the loss of her bare, flawless skin. At least he’d managed to consummate his marriage, he told himself. Small mercies from the Cauldron, if nothing else. 

“Nesta Archeron?” 

“Oh, gods,” Elain whispered, sweeping her hair to one shoulder. “Lucien, button me.”

He did as he was told, grumbling all the same. “Make her wait.”

“You don’t know Nesta,” Elain replied, skirting away when he tried to draw her close. “She wouldn’t come if it wasn’t important.”

Elain went to the door, halting as if she’d just thought of something. “When I return, let's finish this. I’ll make dinner. You eat it.”

Lucien’s heart leapt in his throat. “What about the ceremony?”

“We’ll do that, too. But this is just for us.”

He could only nod for fear he might start weeping if he tried to speak. Her expression softened. “I love you, Lucien. So much.”

And then she was gone.

Taking his heart with her.

#elucien #eye know everyone is worried about the upcoming plot but i think theyre gonna be fine #lmao

[hell-drabbles]

...

Asexual!reader who doesn't enjoy indulging in any physical sexual activity, let alone with somebody.

Asexual!reader who's unfortunate enough to be the descendant of someone who's dearly close and hated by both side.

Asexual!reader who had a hell of a time in their life when they ought to break a contract that wasn't even theirs just because they're the descendant of a long-lost person.

Asexual!reader who's done playing nice when the creatures of light continue to get on their way back home, cursing them that they will get the revenge they rightfully deserved.

Asexual! reader whose hatred burns even more harsher when the devils start making advances towards them, in hope to feel the forgotten caress of Solomon.

Asexual!reader who keep everyone at arm length as much as possible, not even letting their guard down.

Asexual!reader who can feel something snap inside them when they received the news that creatures of the light, who torment, mess and almost destroy their life, finally caught.

Asexual!reader who didn't waste time going to the assigned place where to the creatures of the light was currently residing, every possible nerves of them moving like marathon.

Asexual!reader who's eyes filled nothing but a cold rage and emptiness as they draw closer towards their prey, not caring about the cheers coming from the crowd as they witness the descendant of Solomon, taking the lead.

Asexual!reader whose face remains motionless as they begin to have their way to the 'supposed' holy being.

Asexual!reader who continue to play with their 'toy(s)' while mocking the creatures of the light for bring pathetic enough to get caught by the hands of a small human.

Asexual!reader who disregard the plea for mercy from the creatures of the light even as his eyes started to flood in crystal tears, body going rigid for any bits of satisfaction.

Asexual!reader who continue their assault, makinang sure that everything they do will damage the creature of light in any possible way. breaking him slowly with humiliation.

Asexual!reader who's pride shows in their cold eye when the creature of light slowly stop resisting, his halo that usually shows off his grace and devotion towards god, has longed dusted into nothing but a bland decortication on it's head.

Asexual!reader whose, at last, finally let of him, watching how he slowly dissolves into a hollowed puppet, No more resistance nor complaints.

Asexual!reader who leave the place with a sadistic satisfaction, knowing that their once enemy, are now nothing, empty shell who's once thought was all about god, now owned by the reader.

Asexual!reader who often of hear a whine or whimper in the other room when they come back after their previous visit.

...Thinking about Asexual!reader in Christmas event...

🐶anon

(Oh the delicious sadism of it all! I enjoyed this very veeery much. I really love it when people send me their little writings. I'm sorry that I'm so slow to get to them but I promise you that I do read them again and again! Gives me so much joy.)

(Also, only wrote about Satan, Leviathan and Mammon because I know next to nothing about Beelzebub and the others.)

And before you know it, your visage is now associated with the angels that have been captured and broken by your hand. Rare is it to see you without at least one angel on a chain, as though they're nothing more than decorative dogs for you. You pull at them, forcing them to walk on all fours as you tote them around with minimal clothing, wrapped from head to toe in chains and piercings.

It left creatures such as Satan seething. Your anger was always delectable, delicious, and desirable. From the moment you were told of your duty, of the debt left behind by Solomon that you must fulfill because of the lives at stake, you were but a growing heated crater.

If you had just released that anger on him, if you just let yourself be free and let him close, then perhaps Satan wouldn't be watching you from a distance as you give the one thing he wanted above all else to the angels. Your anger, they don't deserve it, but Satan is a devil of his word and won't say a thing about who and who doesn't get to experience that rage of yours.

All he can do is grit his teeth as your anger gave way to sadistic joy at making these angels writhe in pain and pleasure. He wanted you to be his, and he yours, but you never let anyone in close. Truly, none of them ever understood humans.

Leviathan. Oh Leviathan, a being of pure and utter envy, convinced of his own perfection and beauty. Once you were such a hated thing, one that he couldn't stand that he held these once dormant desires towards you. He hated that you ignite these desires just by existing, by breathing, and he hated you even more when you ignore him at every turn no matter how much he demands of you.

He even made himself vulnerable for you to take advantage of, but none of it works.

And yet, somehow, those angels were the one that grasp all of your attention. Like they deserve it. Like Leviathan was worth less than the angels you were breaking.

Envious. He was well and truly envious of the angels, of you, of the devils that caught them.

No amount of wealth and riches can ever hope to bring you joy. Mammon spoils you every chance he could get, but there was nothing he could do to even pull your interest onto him. But this was fine. It was okay, because he willingly gave his being to you. And if he isn't obedient to your desires, then he truly never gave himself to you in the first place.

But, as with all things owned, they're bound to be discarded in one form or another. But, that implies that you even held them in the first place. If you want to throw something away, you'd have to hold them first.

Instead, you just left Mammon to gather dust. The first ones for you to lay your hands on was the angels, the very beings that Mammon could never own. What you wanted most was what Mammon could not give.

Was his existence really worth nothing? If that's your view, then as your discarded thing, you must be right.

#puppy.anon #admin #whb #what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad #reader insert #writer: puppy.anon #drabble

[impossiblesongs]

and hanging on by the skin of our teeth (the master/reader) 2/6

Summary: The Master found himself unnervingly entertained by a human psychology student volunteering at UNIT. Embarrassingly, it endures through more than one of his faces. || ✍️✍️✍️fic masterlist ||

Disclaimer: Not my characters. This is a disclaimer.

Title from “Daffodil” by Florence and the Machine

AN: This is my first ever reader fic and I’m not terribly sorry. It’s been ages since I’ve written anything and I’m indulging myself. It’s not my fault the Master is my babygirl, and it’s not your fault they’re the love of your life either. Enjoy! 😉

AN#2: this is somewhere in the series 10 Simm!Master era, but before 10x11 specifically 

ii. consensual kidnapping (simm!master)    

Technically, for what appears to be medieval times on a distant planet, you should both stick out like sore thumbs. The Master is dressed head to toe in a meticulous black suit, last night’s eyeliner smeared beneath his right eye and his peroxide hair streaking with grey. You adorn a worn dark brown leather jacket, and a neon blue minidress, paired with tights and combat boots. You think you both look Earth Chic, but you don’t tell him that. He’d sulk.

 Right about now, you have other priorities, like needling him for his advice as to what possible gifts you could pick up for your date on such an odd planet, given you are missing the actual date itself to gallivant through the cosmos.

 “Do they have chocolates here? I could feed them to him when I get back, smooth over my apology,” you chatter. “Or maybe, do they have clothing stores? Maybe a foreign jumper would do. Does everyone have six arms here? Surely there are tourism options?”

 The Master made a face, as he always did when you mentioned any ties to your home life or family, your studies. They all incurred his ire. Well, it would do him good to deal with yours. This was the first date you had managed to secure your entire last two years of uni, and that was only because he happened to be the only other person you really saw as you both volunteered at UNIT. The Master knew you were looking forward to it. This date. And yet, here you were, not on said date. Because he was the Master. Because from everything you know about him, he’s not the type to do this. To take a pet. Because you never knew if this time was the last time. Because if UNIT even had an inkling, you were done for. But you wouldn't miss it for the world.

 “Aww,” the Master mockingly pouted his lips at you. “You’ve pulled, and now you’re making your human problem everyone’s problem.”

 You opened your mouth to respond but the Master placed his palm over your lips, halting your words.

 “Ah, tat, tat, tat. Procreate on your own time,” he motioned to the current play at power he was far too excited to show you tonight. “Pay attention.”

 He pulled his hand away and you bit your lip to keep from smiling, hoping beyond hope that the fondness in your expression didn’t give you away. You pushed your shoulder into his, jostling his artfully cool posture. He turned an unimpressed look your way, sternly raising a brow. You turn your eyes back to the processions of your surroundings.  

 “You know, it’s not like you couldn’t have sped along to the following day, after my date, if you planned to kidnap me,” you pointed out, as he stewed in his indifference. “You have a time machine.”

 “You’d like that,” the Master snapped, regretting the decision of letting you have free reign as he did. He ought to just destroy Earth’s civilization for good and be done with it. There would be no choice in the matter then. “I’d just as well drop you off and forget about you.”

 You hummed in agreement, “You probably should. No use, me.”

 The Master turned to glare at you. You met his eye, watching as the malice swam alive and true, then, subtly, a between, shifting his entire mood and intent.  

 “Or, perhaps…”  he moved to stand in front of you, barring you between his arms and the wall of the building you were leaning against.

 The noise and bustle of the crowd dull compared to the roar of your heart in your ears.

 “I’ve been giving you too much leeway,” the Master said. “Pretending, for your sake, that you make good decisions.”

 “How rude of me,” you agreed sarcastically.

 “Quite,” the Master removed his arms from either side of you, his eyes wandering down your figure. His fingertip skirted the fabric hugging your hip. “Earth dresses really do just get shorter by the year, don’t they.”

 “This dress is adorable,” you said, a matter of fact, ignoring the shiver brought on by the barest of touches. “You might just be old.”

 The Master’s grin grew wolfish, crowding closer all the while. His brown eyes were fixed upon your mouth, and you could feel his breath puff against your lip.

 Your palm went up to his chest, settling between his hearts. You inhaled a breath, hoping to gain some sense of greater perception. Falling to his whims would be devastating.

 “Your eyes are dilated. One could even say they look heated. Skin’s… all a flush.” He tucks a curl behind your ear. “Not to mention… all those thoughts.” He grinned wickedly. “You know, if you keep thinking loud enough, those pesky things will always give you away.”

 “One, I’m human, and you, despite it all, look human. Our silly little human bodies aren’t advanced enough to not react to stimulus,” you said. The Master shut his eyes and frowned theatrically, nodding his head as if you were speaking the gospel.

 “Two, we both know you don’t really want me.” Slowly, with a firmness that was all too delicate, that would shatter in an instance if pressed, you pushed him away. Inch by terrible inch he went, distance granted, but not enough to gain a sure footing. Still hovering, towering over you, smirk in place. Reveling in your reactions. The terrible want of him pulsed inside of you.

 “We both know, you’re just playing.”

 “It is such a fun game,” he said, smiling beatifically. He turned to survey the room and immediately scowled. “Oh, blast! We’re missing the beheading!”

 You gasped, “You said we were coming to court, not to a beheading?!”

 The Master took firm hold of your hand and began pulling you through the crowd, lightly chastising, “Come along now, listen to your Master!”

#the master x reader #simm!master x reader #wyrwtd

[gobbochune]

Gale wasn’t entirely sure when the traveling party returned from their business in the city, as he had spent most of the day sulking in his tent. He had a distinct impression that he and his comrades were meant to do something while their leader went about the important work, but as he had always been apart of that work Gale found himself quite out of sorts. Nevertheless at some point the sky had darkened considerably, and by the murmur of talk outside it seemed as though Ciaran had returned. 

…And still wasn’t talking to him. 

SPOILERS FOR ACT III

Aftermath of the reveal of (@malewife-mansplain-magus) Ciaran's past. Durge/Gale

Gale wasn’t entirely sure when the traveling party returned from their business in the city, as he had spent most of the day sulking in his tent. He had a distinct impression that he and his comrades were meant to do something while their leader went about the important work, but as he had always been apart of that work Gale found himself quite out of sorts. Nevertheless at some point the sky had darkened considerably, and by the murmur of talk outside it seemed as though Ciaran had returned. 

…And still wasn’t talking to him. 

Gale hissed irritably through his teeth. It wasn’t as if, even if they were to speak, there be much to say. No, Gale had made his stance perfectly clear, he thought, and had been punished for it by wasting away in the camp. Both he and Karlach had been exiled from active participation, some nonsense they’d come up with months ago about keeping track of everyone, but somehow seemed utterly ridiculous now it was him on the proverbial bench. 

It wasn’t right. It felt like being placed in a box, told not to make a fuss. It felt like Mystra, which was a pit in his mind that Gale was keen to avoid. And it was partially this feeling that kept Gale from being the one to seek him out. It wasn’t as if he’d been the one to do anything wrong, anything so catastrophically, morally, and cosmically wrong that it doomed the entire coastline. 

And yet it had become dark again, as it seemed to every day now that he was no longer by his side. And just like every night before, he could see the silhouettes of Ciaran from his tent, accompanied by Jahira’s soothing whispers. Gale wasn’t so pathetic as to eavesdrop, but he knew from experience what was likely being said. That had once been him standing there, whispering those same empty comforts. And it was because of this that he found himself glaring rather petulantly through the entrance of his tent. 

Not because he wanted to join, as it was not correct for him to be the one to break the silence. Not because he was jealous, because not even he was so unhinged as to mistake that motherly sort of friendship for something deeper. But simply because Jahira was standing in a place by Ciaran’s side, a place was his, and Gale of Waterdeep was not one to share. 

‘So go back.’ A voice fiendishly similar to a certain Tressim’s whispered in the back of his conscience, ‘If it's your place, you ought to be there.’ 

Grunting, Gale snapped the entrance to his tent shut. He was still angry, he had a right to be angry. Everything they’d done, all the suffering, all the hardship, it was just him all along. Bhaal’s special little chosen, Gortash’s… something or other that Gale cared not to think too deeply on, and they’d been letting him play hero fixing a crisis of his own design. 

Gale told himself that this could all have been a trick. Between world domination and the horrors of the cult, what was a little game of playing amnesiac? His dearest sister certainly had no qualms against shifting into whatever role could twist the knife the firecest. There was always the chance that there was no Ciaran Finch in the first place. 

Somewhere far away, a city dog howled. There was some feeble chorus in answer, before the night stilled into silence once again. 

Upright and whitefaced, Gale had to contend with the realization that his initial fear was that the sound meant someone, somehow, had been privy to his thoughts, and had been foolish enough to think they held any merit. 

Gale settled with a groan. If he believed any of that, even a little, then he wouldn’t have spent hours seething over someone else standing in his place. It wouldn’t still be his place in his heart, just as it had been that horrible night in moonrise towers, or the evening spent together in the weave. He was only angry because he wasn’t angry, or at least wouldn’t be forever. 

Rolling over onto his side, Gale finally concluded that he wouldn’t do any sleeping again. And the thought that his probable inactivity the next day did nothing to ease his frustrations as to the fact. He and Ciaran needed to have… a chat. Some things were said, or rather, Gale had said some things, and Ciaran had simply dismissed him. At the time he stewed in outrage at being told what to do by the architect of their combined doom, but now he just felt himself aching to take it all back. It wouldn’t be fair to wake Ciaran up just to reconcile, so it seemed a proper penance for Gale to wait, alone, for the sun to rise. 

Sheepishly, he rolled back to the tent flap just a crack, curious if his musings had done anything to pass the hours by. 

Outside was still, a frigid painting of a cool summer night. It would be first light soon, the fire smoking and anyone beside it had long since retired to their tents. Or rather, those that had tents. 

Somewhere Ciaran was sleeping alone. He always did, ever since that night Bhaal had nearly taken him. Somewhere far away from the rest of them so they might have a chance to escape if his urge took over again. Every single precaution taken to ensure that whoever he had once been wouldn’t hurt the people he cared for. 

Gale scrunched his eyes shut. Courtesy or no, they needed to talk now. 

Assuming that there weren’t any other horrific urges stewing in Ciaran’s mind, now would be the best time. Explanations and apologies needed to be made. There simply wasn’t enough time for them to waste on petty infighting. After a cursory attempt to look less like he’d been tossing and turning by himself for hours, he pushed the flap aside and went about searching. 

It wasn’t as if Ciaran was hiding every night. That would be almost childish, and whatever else his condition had done to him, he wasn’t a coward. But some nights Gale found him camping a bit further out than others, as seemed to be the case now. As the dawn threatened to brighten with every moment that passed, Gale searched further and further than the outskirts. 

But just as he was about to turn back, wondering if Ciaran had been so unsettled by their spat that he’d actually joined Jahira in her tent, there he was sitting on a raised bit of grass overlooking Wyrm’s Rock. 

Wide awake and fully dressed, Ciaran looked no different than he did any morning. If not for the dim lighting, Gale might have thought it was simply him who had overslept. 

“You’re… awake?” He asked, and then winced at being the one to break the silence. 

Slowly Ciaran swung his head to face Gale, only making his nerves spike further. He didn’t know what he expected to see, pain, anger, even a crumb of the haunting dread that had been torturing him all night? On the contrary, Ciaran looked almost… peaceful. 

“Ah,” He rumbled, “As are you.”

There was an awkward silence, Gale had the distinct impression they both felt as though they’d been caught red handed by the other. He slid his tongue awkwardly over his teeth

“...I had hoped to have a moment to speak to you.” began Gale awkwardly. 

A warm smile spread across Ciaran’s face, and for a moment it was as though things could go back to normal. 

“There’s no need.” 

The moment passed quickly. 

“What?” Gale asked, “I… highly disagree.”

Ciaran looked at him for a long time with that faraway smile on his face, before heaving a deep sigh. He released it quickly, with finality, before leaping off the rock to face Gale fully. 

“You were right,” He said simply, “How many horrors have we witnessed on this little adventure of ours? From the cruelty of the goblins to Yenna’s abandonment, all of this is my fault.”

Gale felt a pit sinking in his stomach, too vast to speak for a moment. It was in that silence that he allowed his gaze to drop, and subsequently see the packed satchel sitting at Ciaran’s feet. 

“Ciaran…”

“Don’t give me that look, it’s not as though this is anything new. We always knew I was something horrible. If anything, it's a long time coming…” 

Ciaran chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head as though this were a conversation about anything more lighthearted. 

The words caught behind Gale’s tongue, wanting to say that whatever he’d done in his past life was over now, the very same affirmations he’d been repeating for weeks. But those affirmations had meant nothing in the face of Ciaran’s true origins, weeks of trying to convince him of his value were undone in an instant. 

With nothing else he could say, Gale repeated hopelessly: “Ciaran…”

The smile twitched. A slight crack in Ciaran’s mask of self assurance. 

“Don’t,” he said, “I don’t want to go back and forth with this. I felt the world… crumble beneath me when I learned the truth. And when I reached out to steady myself, I realized not even you could justify what I’ve done.”

The smile was back on his face again, but there was a distinct desperation in his eyes. 

“I can’t be around you all anymore, I can’t look at you knowing it was me who caused all of this. I don’t presume to ask anything from any of you, but if you have any sympathy left for me you’d let me go.”

A kernel of doubt rotted in the base of Gale’s gut, but beneath the despair it didn’t register. He dropped his jaw to croak a retort, before snapping it shut again. 

A long silence followed, before he sighed and looked away. He couldn’t force himself to give his blessing, but there was merit to the request. He’d said something horrible to someone who must have been reeling himself. What right did Gale have to stop him?

Agonized moments slid away, Gale unable to look at Ciaran, unable to know what expression he was making. Stupidly, he was unable to look up. An archmage who had once fancied himself a god in the making, too afraid to say a single word. 

“So you’ll let me go?” Came Ciaran’s familiar low voice, but with a slightly more musical cadence then usual. 

The dissonance was enough to make Gale finally snap his head up. 

A smirk was playing on Ciaran’s lips as he looked at Gale with outraged astonishment. 

“After all that, I really matter so little do you?” He chirped a high and terrible thing that might have been a laugh, “Poor, poor, older brother…”

KRRRACCK… KRRAACK… SCRAAPE….

Gale wasn’t sure what was more horrifying, the sight of Ciarian’s head pulling and twisting to one side, or the sounds of bones snapping, skin sliding, and the rustle of worm-like hairs slithering through pores. White, milky, pigment flooded across his skin like a blight, his features dissolved into cinders, and through it all that awful high giggle that had mocked them since arriving at the gate. 

Gale took a shaking step back, suddenly aware of just how far from the camp he had wandered. It was a foregone conclusion, even before the sickly-sweet scent of carrion stepped from a pool of gore. 

“Look at it…”

#baldurs gate 3 #durge/gale #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #friendfiction!

[yacinthemorning]

Tailored to Your Liking

Chapter 7

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Summary: Tumble Town attracts all sorts of misfits looking for a fresh start on the frontier, but everyone still needs clothes. Be it extra limbs or high temperatures, Jimmy caters to every hybrid's needs.

Ships: Jimmy/Tango (slow burn romantic), Grian/Mumbo/Scar (romantic), Joel/Lizzie (romantic)

Warnings: Implied traumatic events, awkward flirting, verbal fight, anxiety attack

Jimmy tapped at his desk, staring down at the skeins before him. A weepweave was laid out across the table behind him, waiting to be drawn into shapes. He’d worked out the patterns weeks ago. And adjusted for the weight Tango had gained since. If he could just get himself to work it could be done in no time.

But there in lied the problem.

He pulled from his breast pocket the little brass bird. A canary, like the ones they’d used in the mines Tango worked much of his life in since coming to this continent. The ornament was truly lovely, something Jimmy would cherish, but he knew the poor thing carried much more weight than that. It carried a culture Jimmy wasn’t especially familiar with. The weight of its material and its palm sized stature. Tango had given it to him, but he’d avoided looking at it since.

It hurt, just a bit. Irrationally. If it was a symbol of his intentions then what did it say to be so ashamed of it? Jimmy knew better than that, of course, but it didn’t help emotions. Especially not when Tango had begun to treat Jimmy much the same.

A glance informed him it was nearly five o’clock. Ten hours since he last saw Tango. Where was he? What job had he found that took up so much of his time? They better be paying him more than a few copper if they’re going to-

Jimmy took a deep breath. He pushed out of his seat, grabbed his hat, and abandoned his shop for the day. There was no point in driving himself mad indoors if he wasn’t going to be productive for it. There was something else he ought to do anyways.

He made it to the end of Main Street, where a large, white building lay quiet. Few people approached the town hall most days, not unless there was a holiday. Besides Lizzie’s family, in fact, only its two employees could be found in its vicinity. Their presence was part of the reason it remained so silent.

Taking unsure hops, it seems he was ever so lucky enough to catch them both reclining at the front desk. Two sets of glowing, cyan eyes immediately snapped to Jimmy the moment his talons brushed the wood floor. Cub was the first to offer a welcoming smile, though Jimmy always found it rather unnerving. Not so much due to the skulk that draped him, but the knowledge that Scar thought quite highly of him. A “retired” doctor beloved by a snake oil salesman was no one Jimmy had a desire to trust.

Luckily Pixl was the one to motion for Jimmy, greeting him with a silent nod. “Welcome, Mister Solidarity. How may we be of service?” He voice was soft, not even an echo forming in the grand hall.

“I was actually interested in accessing the library, though I don’t imagine I’ll find what I’m searching for.” Jimmy admitted.

Curiosity raised Pixl’s eyebrow. He nodded to Cub, their teal antlers vibrating. Nothing Jimmy could understand, but he was sure others felt similarly to how the avians in town flared and flattened their feathers. “Of course, follow me. Perhaps I can help in your search.” Pixl suggested as they made their way down the hall, leaving Cub behind. “If it’s a matter of history, I could be of great service.”

The pickings were slim. What wasn’t bookkeeping or dictionaries were the few documents and books brought in with arriving citizens. The worldliness of the collection could be attributed to the variety of folks that wandered their way into Tumble Town more than interest in the topics. It made the collection particularly eclectic despite its size, everything from children’s books to family trees and obscure novels in languages Jimmy had never seen before.

An album of miscellaneous photographs found its way in front of him. Some were from events, others collected upon deaths, many donated by Mumbo. Jimmy was nearly through the entire album before he spotted it. The photos were in horrid condition, even a bit burnt at the edges. Each portrayed one of two women, one elderly and the other a bit older than Jimmy’s age, both alike to one another. Their hair flowed like fire and their sharp ears were adorned with jewellery. Though the young woman wore a skirt similar in style to what Jimmy often made, the elderly woman dressed entirely differently. Thin layers of cloth draped her body, with some sort of shaping going on underneath. The shoulders sat loose under the clutches of gold ornaments, with a particularly intricate necklace. A favour. Jimmy absentmindedly rested his hand over his pocket.

There were a few others, including a photo of the younger in a similar garb, though the decor seemed to be of a different material and less intricate. It seemed to be some sort of celebration. There were short notes on the backs but they were all written in Pigling. Even in the black and white photos the gowns were gorgeous. He continued to flip through the dozen photos, trying to figure out their make. The waist pulled in but there was no seams visible anywhere on the outer layer. Not at the visible angles. Their trousers, too, were tailored into anklets. There was no embroidery or decorative stitchwork in the cloth itself, and no patterns. Were the layers different colours? Knowing the material they were likely made of they were most certainly vibrant...

So entranced was Jimmy that he didn’t notice Pixl approaching until a loud thud made him jump up out of his seat. A stack of three books had been placed on the table. Pixl shrugged in apology. “These are all we have that mention in any capacity the Nether or Netherborn, I’m afraid.”

“Thank you.” Jimmy muttered in a daze. As he flipped open the first few pages, it occurred that he had never told the sculkling what he was looking for. He whipped his head up to give some type of indignant remark he had yet to think of, but Pixl was already gone. In a huff, he gathered up the books. It was getting late, and whether Tango came home or not, Jimmy needed to make dinner for at least himself.

To his surprise when he reached home, Tango’s shoes and jacket were there at the entrance. More surprisingly, there was a smell wafting out from the kitchen. Jimmy poked his head past the door. Seeing Tango at the stove momentarily brought out a moment of panic, but there were thankfully no metallic smells, only the scent of spices and chicken.

A curious tweet slipped out of the avian. Tango jumped so high Jimmy worried he might hit his head on the ceiling. He spun around, spilling whatever had been in the ladle in his hand across the floor. And his foot. He jumped a second time, curses spilling out of his mouth, until his knee hit the back of a chair and they both went down. In a panicked flurry Jimmy went to the poor man’s aid, himself almost slipping on the spilled substance in the process.

“My goodness, are you alright?” Jimmy squeaked.

Tango was still dazed, though his face had contorted in guilt or pain, likely both. “Just peachy. Ah!” His neck cracked as he rolled it. It seemed unsatisfying, but he left it to return tending the large pot on the stove. “At least I didn’t knock anything important over.”

“What are you doing?”

Instantly Tango shrunk in on himself, held himself like a scolded dog. Was Jimmy’s tone so accusatory? He couldn’t deny being more than a bit frustrated with the man’s indecisiveness. “Well, I’m making dinner.”

“Yes, I can see that. But why?” Though Tango often helped in the kitchen he’d never taken the initiative to cook himself. It was never clear whether it was out of the delusion that what he chose to make would be poorly received, the nonsense idea he had no right to use the ingredients Jimmy bought, or the only reasonable explanation that he simply didn’t enjoy cooking.

Tango didn’t look up from the pot. “You weren’t here when I got back, so I thought I should.”

Jimmy hadn’t been there because Tango hadn’t either. There was nothing stewing because Jimmy had been too distracted thinking of the party. Tango always picked up more chores when he was feeling useless. There were many things Jimmy could say, but, perhaps for the best, they were all stuck on one another in his throat. “What are you making?” He asked instead, approaching the pot.

“You like curry? It’s sort of like curried chicken. Except not. They call it Nether peppered chicken here I think, but there’s no Nether peppers in it. It’s...”

“Tasty?” Jimmy offered an out, which Tango graciously took with a nod. “I’m guessing a Nether dish?”

The tuft of Tango’s tail swept against jimmy’s leg in absentminded agitation. “Sorta. It’s actually something I learned from a workmate after I first arrived here. It’s...” He tilted his head back, brows knit. “Like, it’s hard to get certain spices and vegetables here, so people make due, and it sorta turned into its own thing. I guess I did, too. I had this friend for a while, Brody, he couldn’t handle the spiciness, so I started making it differently, less spicy more bitter.” He paused to pour a mixture of ground spices and greens into the pot. “It’s why I like making it, probably.”

Because you can’t say you made it wrong, Jimmy managed to not say aloud. Was it reasonable to be envious of a man’s relationship to his dinner? Most likely not, but that was the only way Jimmy could describe the melancholic lump in his chest as he watched Tango stir the pot without tension in his shoulders.

“It looks delicious.” He murmured. Tango hummed in reply. While he continued to stir Jimmy placed the cutlery and plates and sat down. Something dropped into the pot with a pop. “... You know, you can make it as spicy as you please.” Jimmy’s voice pitched up, “I don’t mind, it doesn’t bother avians.”

“The peppers in the market aren’t very spicy, it’s better this way with what w-you have.”

“Oh, okay.” Jimmy adjusted his wings around the back of his chair. Feather wrapped over his arms. The ladle scraped against the side of the pot. “How was work?”

Tango paused for a moment, tail twitching with anxious energy. “Fine. Just helped Etho and Pause with some barn repairs at Beef’s ranch. Was done by noon so I helped Impulse with bottling his beer. Then Chef let me help load the coal wagons going to the station for a couple gold.”

“That’s nice of him...”

“It is. Way more than I ever got paid as one of Fwhip’s guys for the same job. Funny that.”

“Funny that.” Jimmy repeated mindlessly, talon tracing the pattern of the table cloth. Why did it always have to go back to money lately? He knew why. “Have you made anything recently?” He asked, hoping there was some odd little redstone scheme boiling in Tango’s mind ready to spill out into hours long explanations Jimmy could barely wrap his head around.

But there was none. “Not really. Been busy.” Tango shrugged.

“The shop’s closed tomorrow, we could go down to Joe’s and see what he’s selling?”

“I don’t wanna waste money-”

Both jumped as the silverware crashed down against plates. It took Jimmy a heartbeat to realize it was his own fist against the table that had caused it. He mumbled out an apology, not daring to return the blazeborn’s gaze.

“Jim-”

“It’s nothing. I’m sorry.”

Tango had abandoned dinner, now leaning against the chair beside Jimmy. “Jimmy.”

Why did talking have to be so difficult all of a sudden? “You don’t have to take so many jobs in one day.” He managed to choke out.

“Well... I had the energy, I guess.”

“You didn’t want to come back.”

Tango’s tail wrapped around his leg, frown twisting with guilt as he was now the one who couldn’t look at the other.

Jimmy felt his stomach sink. “I’m not... I understand, but I don’t get it.”

“Why I work?”

“Why you won’t let yourself be good enough.” Jimmy reached out, hesitating when Tango leaned away. “And I don’t know what you need to help you.”

“Then I got bad news for what it’s like being stuck with me.”

“Tango...” He was right. Jimmy couldn’t do anything to help Tango if Tango wasn’t willing to be helped. Perhaps he couldn’t help even if he wanted to. This wasn’t something Jimmy could bull-headedly push through like usual.

Tango approached the table, plating their food. As he placed the ladle back down, Jimmy reached out for his hands. He stared at the avian. Surprise, confusion, then concern. “You know you’re a wonderful man, right?” Jimmy asked. It was returned with a dumbfounded shake of Tango’s head. Jimmy almost laughed. Almost. He clutched Tango’s hand closer. “You’re the most intelligent person I’ve ever met, with your strange machines and inventions. And you’re too kind. You’re always helping other folks, I swear there isn’t a single person in this town that hasn’t something sweet to say about you-”

“What are you doing?” Tango asked, tugging weakly against Jimmy’s hold.

Jimmy gave him a sad smile. “You need to know, even if you don’t listen to me right now.”

Quiet fell over them, Tango not replying. Trapped somewhere between peace and tension, they ate dinner in silence.

-

Weepweave splayed out across Jimmy’s work station, its natural matte crimson colour darkened ever so slightly. It would suit Tango, easy to see long before Jimmy carved it into clothing. There were a few other materials, hoglin leather and twist, but the dark crimson weepweave was what he had the most to work with.

Tango hesitated at first, but his hand ran with fascination over the material. “This is nice.” He said with genuine surprise.

Jimmy shrugged, “Well, when it take this long to import we can’t have it falling apart on you after a few weeks. Otherwise you’ll be right back where you started!” He adjusted the fabric, giving one more once over. “There’s more than enough for three outfits. Four if we pushed our luck but I think it’s best to save some for future repairs.”

A gesture was enough for Tango to fetch the chalk while Jimmy turned the fabric over. Slowly the shapes of an outfit began to appear across the various pieces. Tango remained to help where he could while Jimmy worked.

It continued on through the morning, until the afternoon sun beat down through the windows. Jimmy could feel himself beginning to overheat. In a brief lull, he began to remove his vest, piling the tools that had begun to accumulate in its pocket down beside the cloth. By the time he’d placed the vest aside Tango had also frozen up, staring at the ground. Among the piled treasures was the metal bird.

Jimmy bit his tongue, picking it back up carefully while he sat down in his stool. Silence stretched out. “You know,” Jimmy tentatively broke it. “Avians are also known for their favours.”

“Oh?” Tango murmured back.

“Yes, a feather.”

This captured his attention. “A feather?”

Jimmy nodded, thumb rubbing over the canary’s wings. “Our own. Usually from along the spine, those aren’t quite as large.” He looked up to his companion, who was staring with knit brows at Jimmy’s yellow wings, befuddlement clear. “False will tell you there’s ceremonies and words to go with it but Grian simply handed them over one day to Scar and Mumbo. I suppose it’s one of those flock to flock things. Still, feathers are special to an avian. There’s many traditions involving our feathers, but I suppose you could call it the biggest one.”

“But…” Tango stumbled, seemingly unsure of his next words.

“It’s important it’s your own feather, that it’s a lovely one any damage to can be seen. I think it’s quite lovely, trusting a part of yourself to someone, and being trusted the same.”

“… I suppose.”

He was once more turned away. Jimmy worried his bottom lip. Had he come across as condescending? It was not his intention.

A great sigh escaped the blazeborn as he reclined onto the bench. “Not everyone has feathers to give, though.”

Jimmy’s heart sank. “No, I suppose they don’t. But the purpose is-”

“Gold’s quite common in the Nether, you know.” He continued, as if Jimmy hadn’t spoken. “In very small bits, but it’s everywhere. It’s more of a time investment. If you spend the time, you’ll have enough, eventually.” His gaze downcast. “But time is money, as they say.”

The little metal bird thunked against the table, muffled by the weepweave between them. Tango’s chest heaved as he tried to keep himself calm, and Jimmy wanted nothing more than to get up and go to his side to comfort him.

When Tango’s breath had evened out again he continued. “There was a moment, back with Brody, when we went out to the market together. We’d had nothing but stale bread and stolen eggs for a whole week. But we finally had thirty-four copper between us. That was the first time I was able to purchase everything on my own without messing up my words. At least, not bad enough that I was looked at funny or told to repeat myself. I thought, ‘This is it. I worked hard, I can speak the language, I can finally get a real job here.’ I was a real stupid kid.” His face twisted as his fists clenched the hem of his shirt, tail waving wildly beside him. “Guess I’m still stupid, cause I kept telling myself that until there was nowhere else to go. Doesn’t matter what words I say, or what continent I’m on, I’m still just some netherborn in rags. I can’t find a way to be more than that.”

Tango threw his hands out wide. “This is literally the peak of my life. I can’t-”

The blazeborn choked. Jimmy jumped out of his chair to Tango’s side in an instant, tucking the bird back into his breast pocket to free his hands to hold his companion. “Oh, Tango.” He tried desperately to soothe.

“I could see it, y’know. Last time you opened that vault, it looked like less.” Smoke billowed out like breath on a cold day, small sparks living for a fraction of a second within them. “And you’re here, working with the nicest material I’ve ever owned, and I shouldn’t own it. You shouldn’t have bought it. You shouldn’t be working on this instead of Katherine’s tea dress, or Mumbo’s coat. And I-” His hand shot out with desperation, ripping the bird out of Jimmy’s pocket and shoving it in both their faces. “-I shouldn’t be making prototypes for something I’m. Never. Going to get to make! I let myself get stupid ideas again, and dragged you down with me.”

Blazeborn couldn’t cry. Perhaps that was why they produced smoke, so that those around them could cry for them. Jimmy certainly was, clutching tightly to Tango for dear life as he tried to put together anything he could say. Minutes past, however long Tango needed to pull himself back together.

“Sorry.” He sniffled, to which Jimmy shook his head. Because he understood. Everyone in Tumble Town did. Not for taking the same road, but for winding up in the same place. Somewhere where problems didn’t go away, but they didn’t seem as big.

Jimmy glanced back over at the fabrics, all the shapes perfectly traced out for another well-fitted suit. He buried his cheek into Tango’s warmed hair, cooing comfortingly. Whatever bit of help Tango was willing to take, he’d make the most of it.

-

“How does it feel?”

Tango stepped back, turning in the mirror as he examined the vest. The last piece of his first outfit. He did a spin, tail training after him hotter than usual. No cloth caught aflame. He smiled bashfully over to Jimmy. “Feels good. Feels fancy. I’m scared people might start mistaking me for Scar’s assistant.”

Jimmy muffled his laugh against his sleeve, though the bell drowned it out for him in the end. “Why, what would scare you about that! It’d be a great compliment to be my assistant!” The man of the hour declared, clacking his cane against the floor for emphasis. A strange little noise escaped Tango in response.

“Good afternoon, Scar.” Jimmy greeted, unable to hide his amusement. “We were just finishing up, doesn’t Tango look handsome?”

Scar hummed and pulled his top hat down to his chest. “Why I’d say he is absolutely dashing! You’ll have every little canary in town swooning.”

Both men turned pink. Jimmy took advantage of his closer proximity to their menace to smack him across the shoulder. “Hush!”

“I’m terribly sorry, Timothy, but I’m afraid I cannot!” Scar announced dramatically, producing papers from within his coat. There was a paused in his theatrics, during which he sent Jimmy a wink that straightened the avian’s spine. “I, in fact, came to speak to you Tango. There’s a job I need your assistance with.”

Tango’s tail twitched, “Oh yeah? What’s the job?”

“A bit of work we’re doing with the Luxo Company. Fwhip informs me you were quite the handyman in the mines, and there are some drafts for the new rail line and station that need an extra hand in drawing up.”

“Uh, sure, but,” Tango glanced awkwardly between Jimmy and Scar. “I mean I’ll be glad to help but I would have thought you’d ask Mumbo.”

Scar waved dismissively. “Oh, Mumbo is off on one of his cycling trips right now, he won’t be back for a few months at least! And this needs to be done now. It’ll be a couple weeks’ work once the materials are delivered.”

Anxiousness vibrated through Tango’s tail, “No offense Scar, but it is you. What’s the catch?”

“No catch! Just some honest work that needs doing, and not a lot of qualified individuals in this one-horse town. Good pay, too.”

Tango finally threw his hands up in surrender. “I mean if you’re okay with it. I’m not exactly qualificated myself, I learned this stuff hands on, on the job.”

“That just means you have experience!”

“Alright, Scar. You got a deal.”

“Great, great!” The papers were placed down on Jimmy’s desk. “I’ll come by and grab you in a few days if Jimmy’ll be willing to let go.”

Jimmy scoffed. “Excuse you.”

“Excusing myself!” He agreed, rushing out the door. “Have a good day, fellas!”

“That man, honestly.” Huffed Jimmy, shaking his feathers flat. Tango didn’t reply, scanning the papers with his nose scrunched up. He peered over the shorter man’s shoulder. “Do you need help?”

Tango jumped. “Huh? Oh, no, it’s just. My name’s on here?”

“Pardon?”

“My name’s in the contract.” He repeated, holding up the page. Indeed, among the many printed letters instead of something neutral it specified ‘Mr. Tek’.

It took everything Jimmy had not to audibly groan. “I suppose he had faith in you.”

“Yeah…” Muttered Tango distractedly. He shrugged and put down the papers.

-

Tango spent much of the next two weeks off somewhere with Scar for most of the afternoon. Scar couldn’t work very long but they did the best they could with what time they had. Before and afterwards Tango would take other jobs, no matter how much Jimmy told him he didn’t have to. Catalogues were easy to find and he’d calculated what he owed Jimmy on his own. Some questionably true assurances convinced him to lower it at least a bit, to about half of what Jimmy might normally price his work at. Still, he was determined to pay.

At least Scar’s job took a good bit of the burden off. It was paid for by the Luxo Company who’d trusted Scar’s scouting. They didn’t need to be informed the details of the individual he scouted, so long as the plans were good. And Jimmy had all the trust in the world that Tango would make good plans.

More importantly, when he returned home in the evening he didn’t look like walking misery. Dead on his feet, sure, falling asleep in his dinner, but not defeated like he had the previous few weeks, which a horrified Jimmy had only realized after how familiar he’d become with it.

He was nearly done paying for the second set of clothes when they were done. The silhouette was looser, perhaps not as fashionable, but Jimmy could tell Tango was more comfortable. It was more like what he enjoyed wearing.

Tango had his hands shoved into the pockets, swaying back and forth in the mirror with a wide grin. “My gods, he’s done it again.” He declared, tilting his head to look at Jimmy.

“Stop it.” murmured the avian, swatting at the man with his wing. A raspy giggle was his response.

“Have you ever made this many clothes for one person in such a short time?”

Jimmy smiled, reaching out to adjust Tango’s skewed collar. “Can’t say I have… Tango?”

“Hm?”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask about your last outfit.”

This got a curious glance. Flexing his wings nervously, Jimmy ushered them over to his desk. Ensuring Tango was paying attention first he pulled out a pattern, one he’d only finished piecing together the night before. He rolled it out. Tango’s eyes went wide. “This…”

“I wanted- is it too much?” He worried. “Or, wrong, maybe. I had to make some choices. I can use another pattern if you’d prefer. I’d understand.”

Tango’s hand was pressed the pattern. He looked back up to Jimmy, eyes round and disbelieving, before they softened. “No, this is good.” He said, almost too quiet for Jimmy to hear. “Jim… This is good.”

Warmth fluttered in Jimmy’s chest as relief washed over him. “I’m glad.”

But Tango sighed. “Jimmy, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Jimmy knew. It was something he was waiting to happen for the last few days. So, he sat down at his desk, took a deep breath, and said, “Okay. What is it?”

“Scar’s job will be done this week. I’ll get my last pay the day after.”

“Yes.”

Tango looked away. “It’ll be more than enough with my other jobs to finish paying for this before it’s done.”

“And you’ve been saving some for yourself?” Jimmy asked, though he already knew. Some part of him wanted Tango to say it just so he was sure.

Tango did just that. “Yeah, just a bit. Enough.”

Enough. “For what?”

A bristled tuft wrapped around Jimmy’s leg. Jimmy reached out to lay his hand over Tango’s, nudging him to continue. “Scar says they’re looking to build some new infrastructure for the railway. New engines, new machines to build those engines. That sorta thing. They got a lot of new jobs opening up ‘cause of it. He thinks with my work for them so far I got a shot above the rest. At the very least they can put in a good word for me somewhere else. But-”

“But none of that work is here.” Jimmy concluded, willing his heart not to give. He tried to smile.

Tango winced back, “Yeah.”

He took a deep breath. “I understand.” His voice cracked anyways.

Arms wrapped around his shoulders, and as he choked back the first sob, he couldn’t help think about how ridiculous this all was. It’d not even been four months since they first met, not five before they would part ways. He’d patently refused Tango at several points just to avoid being like his thoughtless brother, yet here he was anyways. There was a blooming of relief through his chest that contradicted everything else, from the thought that this could possibly be it for Tango. Jimmy couldn’t help him, but someone else could, and more importantly would.

He’d only received news he already knew was coming, yet it all seemed too much.

“Sorry.” He hiccuped, wiping his wrist over his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m happy for you, I promise.”

Tango’s arms tightened around his shoulders, a soft hum vibrating through Jimmy as his head rested into Tango’s throat. Somewhere he’d heard that cats purred when they were hurt as well as happy, to do with comfort instead of contentment, and he wondered in that moment if blazeborn were the same. “I know.” Tango said, his own voice breaking. “I know.”

-

The last outfit took Jimmy the longest, long enough for confirmations to happen and Tango to finish preparations to leave. It wasn’t that Jimmy was putting it off, if anything he’d worked so diligently. Others in town were accommodating, happy to accept that their orders would be put off for a while. The pattern and even some techniques were completely new to Jimmy, things he’d never tried. He was no grand artist making the next biggest trend or a high end dressmaker creating something everyone would talk about for weeks to come. He was a simple tailor for a small town in the middle of the frontier, who specialized in accommodating those that did not fit the mould. Maybe, by that description, there was something he could have been doing that he completely overlooked.

A very particular feeling overwhelmed the avian as Tango stepped out of the changing curtain. Like seeing the world’s most beautiful painting jump to life, filled with colours and textures and shadows that seemed too rich for reality. In a sense that was exactly what happened. Loose crimsons and warm grays draped down the man’s form, shaped as Jimmy had only seen in photos until now, no need for modifications for any part of the man.

It looked good on Tango. It looked really good. It was perfect for him, more than just the right colours could ever be. He’d never worn clothes so comfortably before or seemed so assured that he was wearing something unquestionably his. There were alterations, from where Jimmy could not figure out the way to recreate certain things, or where decorations had to be compromised for material’s sake, or where Tango had given input for his own preferences and insights. In front of Jimmy was a netherborn, and the most beautiful man Jimmy had the pleasure to meet.

“How’s it look?” Tango asked, though Jimmy didn’t think he needed to say anything from the smug grin on his face.

Jimmy was still too stunned to come up with something clever. “You’re perfect.” He said a bit breathlessly.

That seemed to knock the man out of his element a bit, smirk shrinking to something a bit shy that matched his reddening cheeks. His tail curled around his ankle before twisting back out. “Then, maybe I should wear it out today.”

“I thought you’d already planned your outfit for today?” Jimmy laughed while Tango bounced up to his side.

“I’ll wear it tomorrow.” He snickered, running a hand over the weepweave. “Can’t not show off my little birdy’s gorgeous work, now, can I?”

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Tango, all your clothes are my work.”

“True. Maybe I should wear them all every day.”

“You’re going to have to do a lot more laundry if you try.”

“True, true.” He sighed, but continued to smile.

Jimmy smiled right back. “Oh,” He suddenly realized, looking around his workshop. “There was, um, there’s one more thing.”

Tango watched him curiously as he ran over to one of his drawers, one he knew Tango never used himself. There it was. Nervous energy ran through his wings. He approached Tango slowly, hands behind his back. “If you would, I was hoping I could trust you with this.” Gathering his nerves, he held out his hands, delicately folded fingers unwrapping from around a bright yellow feather, as perfectly preened as he could manage. Wrapped around the base was nothing as nice as the bird Tango had made, a simple gold chain attached to a series of metal beads which held the feather in place. Tango stared down in wonder, carefully accepting the feather into his own hands while anxiety prickled down Jimmy’s wings.

Clawed finger rose up to Jimmy’s cheek. He leaned into it as they ran themselves through the feathers around his ear. For a moment Jimmy closed his eyes and basked in the warmth radiating from the man. “You’ll come visit now and then, won’t you?” He asked. Pleaded.

When he opened his eyes Tango eyes were warmer than he’d ever seen. “I’ll come back.” He promised instead, far more than Jimmy cared hope for in the days leading up to his departure. Tango’s hand fell away, instead resting over Jimmy’s breast pocket, the metal bird tucked within pressing into his palm and Jimmy’s heart. “Could you… Would you hold onto that? Until I do? Until I come back with a proper one?”

“This is the proper one.” He chuckled, placing his own hand over Tango’s. “But, if you insist, then of course.”

“Then I’ll take good care of your feather, and the clothes you made me.” Tango said, a determined spark flying from his tail. Jimmy grinned.

“Please do.”

#team rancher #solidaritek #rancher duo #trafficshipping #hermitshipping #tangotek #jimmy solidarity #goodtimeswithscar #traffic series #mcyt #fanfiction #fanfic #western fantasy #alternate universe #hurt/comfort #sharing a slice of cake

[strawbxrryanime]

silver fangs - possessive!bonten mikey sano/manjiro sano x male!reader

All eyes were on you at that party tonight. Everyone surrounds you and it's irritating your beloved. Bonten Mikey looked at you secretly with his dark scaled eyes, eyes all over you with a dark stare. How dare these people try to talk to his beloved, only he can, only he should. How dare they take such eyes on your beauty.

You were such a pretty boy to Bonten Mikey, the way he caresses your hair so caring and loving. "I swear I'll protect you." Mikey vowed. "I won't let anyone take you..." Bonten Mikey's reassuring words was accompanied by headpats. Bonten Mikey was always so cold now to those whom he talks, but with you, you lit up his whole world, as he promises to not let you go away for any sort.

Bonten Mikey had always cuddled you and kept you for himself, muttering sweet nothings towards you. As you recall your relationship's past, your friendship blossomed into a sweet loving boyfriend/boyfriend couple, being the talk of the Bonten gang. Everyone was talking about how you were Mikey's boy, Mikey's one and only. But there you were, taking eyes off people who barely met you, that made Bonten Mikey's blood boil.

Bonten Mikey broke through the crowd as he grabbed your wrist tightly. "Come with me.." Bonten Mikey said gently to your ear as he kissed you softly to make sure that nobody would take you and he dragged you down, leaving the others talking to you to look away from you, knowing that you're Bonten Mikey's and Bonten Mikey's alone. Bonten Mikey then leads you to the hallway in which he'd pin you down to the ground, look at you with a cold stare and ask, "What was that?" Bonten Mikey said.

"What happened? Nothing.." Shocked, you can barely describe a word. Mikey still gave you that cold blank stare, almost like he'd eat you alive right as you said that sentence. "Did you know that all these people want you?" Bonten Mikey said, as he clenches his fist and grits his teeth, "I ought to teach them a lesson for looking at you.." You look at Bonten Mikey and hesitate. "Oh no no! Don't worry Mikey they're not going to do any-"

"Well then what are they going to do?!" Bonten Mikey prowled back, he then sighs and responds, "I'm sorry.. I guess I'm just jealous over people staring at you," Bonten Mikey said. "Seeing them with those smiles and those eyes staring at you and only your beauty.." Bonten Mikey said. "It only makes my anger worse.." Now, Bonten Mikey has to prove that you were his now, and it's no damn competition. He'll make you feel like you're his and his only, that everything belongs to him, everything about you belongs to him. From every last detail.

"Look at me.." Bonten Mikey growled, hands clasped around your neck as he turns your head around to look back at his cold stare. "My life was miserable, until you came 'round.." Bonten Mikey commented. "I can't just let these little fuckers claim you like you're their pet," Bonten Mikey clenched his fist tighter. "Like you belong to them and only them which you truly belong to me, and me only!" You tried your best to calm Mikey down, but that doubt and jealousy just keeps fueling until he finally snaps.

"This is my fucking house.. my fucking party," Bonten Mikey gritted his teeth more. "And I'm going to make them see how much of a fucking party you'll endure when they find out that you're mine!" You slowly back up but Bonten Mikey grabs your wrists and clasps them together. "Y/N, oh my darling.. my sweet boy. Please, come with me to my bedroom.. and I'll show you where the true party is at." Bonten Mikey said, as he drags you down to his bedroom fit for a king.

His bedroom consisted of a king-style throne, a king-sized bed, and a royal theme to it. Bonten Mikey wasn't going to play around with his food. Bonten Mikey wants to break you, break you hard enough to make you physically unable to feel any senses whatsoever. Bonten Mikey rips off your clothes with his arms as you try to back up, but he pins your wrists to the bedframe. "You're mine and mine only." Bonten Mikey said coldly, as he kisses you deeply, taking off all his clothes as he revealed his girthy length whilst kissing you deeply.

Bonten Mikey starts to take your sweet ass to poundtown, gripping your cock with his hands but thrusting his cock inside your tight ass as he groans. "Fuck!~ Y/N!~" Bonten Mikey groaned as you yelped at his huge length. "I'm going to show you who you belong to today~" Bonten Mikey said near your ear, thrusting hard into your ass, gripping your cock tightly squeezing it as he fucks you senseless. Thrusting every inch inside your tight wet walls, making sure you feel every inch, painful and pleasurable.

"I'll fuck you so fucking hard!~" Bonten Mikey speeds up, as you moan out his name more and more. "Louder baby~" Bonten Mikey snarls and bites at your neck, fucking you, ramming all of his digits into you, like a bull ready to charge at its target. Bonten Mikey's cock is submerged and sandwiched with wetness and your tight walls. "Oh Y/N!~ DON'T STOP CLENCHING!~" Bonten Mikey yelled out as you screamed, his thrusts were getting more fast, like thunderous claps in the pitch black of nighttime.

Bonten Mikey is ramming all of him into you, his ballsack is so busy shoving itself deep into you as his dick squelches inside of you, fucking your ass so damn good as he grips your cock even tighter, as you cum first. "YES Y/N!~ COME ON!~ CLENCH ALL YOUR STRENGTH AGAINST ME!~" Bonten Mikey grunted out as you squeezed all of your strength into him, Bonten Mikey thrusting faster and faster as he practically bites your neck softly, devouring all of you at once.

"Gonna cum... GONNA CUM!~" Bonten Mikey screamed out as his toes curl at the intensity and heat of the moment, he wants to savor this moment with you forever, he wants to see your eyes roll back as he fills you up with his hot syrup. By then, Bonten Mikey flips you over, holding your legs up now, fucking you into a mating press as he crawls on top. "NOT YET!~ NOT YET!~" Bonten Mikey tries his best to hold it all in, but he just couldn't, and he cums a whole river of his hot sticky cum right into you, seeing your eyes roll back just makes him so satisfied, but he's not over yet.

"Fuck... Y/N~" Bonten Mikey cursed out under his breath, as he now thrusts into you more deeper into the Mating Press as he fucks you again and again, his ballsack is practically bouncing into you as Bonten Mikey groans and grunts, his eyes also roll too but not as much as you do. You were already broken, by the second he put his digits in, it reached your insides, and it made you twitch so bad. "CLENCH!~ GO ON Y/N! GOOD BOY!~" Bonten Mikey yelled out, spanking your ass as he goes faster and faster.

"Look at you, taking all of my cock~ You're such a naughty sweet boy~" Bonten Mikey grunted out, going faster and faster as he speeds up. "FUCK FUCK FUCK!~" Bonten Mikey would yell out after each thrust, you were clenching hard on him. All you can focus on was his six-pack abs towering above you, with his short white hair all sweaty as his face looked at you smirking, his eyes focused on yours.

"YOU'RE FUCKING MINE!~" Bonten Mikey said in between thrusts, going faster and faster and faster and... everything was slamming into you, everything is colliding, Bonten Mikey's like an asteroid, impacting your ass with his rough thrusts, it was enough to make you go mad. "FUCK Y/N!~ FUCKKKKKK!~ GONNA CUM!~ GONNA...~" Bonten Mikey thrusts a whole lot more, slapping your ass as he fucks you harder and harder, his shaft travelling all the way up your favorite spots as you groan harder and harder, moaning and cumming and being an absolute mess. "YOU'RE MY BOY!~ AHHHN!~" Bonten Mikey screams as he releases his load yet again into your ass, adding more to the hot thick river of cum spewing out your ass.

You were broken, degraded, as you were riding Bonten Mikey now, like a bouncy castle, you just kept bouncing on his ballsack, crushing his ballsack and clenching all you can as Bonten MIkey grunts and groans. "LOOK AT YOU~ TAKING MY COCK LIKE A REAL PRO~ YOU REALLY ARE SUCH A NAUGHTY BOY~" Bonten Mikey yelled out, toes curling as you bounced faster on his cock, your ass being impaled more and more faster one by one. Fucking yourself on him, and grinding against his pelvis. You clenched even more on his cock.

You just kept bouncing on euphoria, riding his cock so hard, you could barely even think, what was the time? What was the party? No, you were riding all of his digits, and that's all that mattered. You belong to Bonten Mikey. Bonten Mikey only. You just kept bouncing as Bonten Mikey kept grunting. Clenching in on his cock and bouncing more and more and more, tightly wrapping all of his shaft and tip, taking him all in, riding him up and down like a carousel, carelessly in the moment. Bonten Mikey pulls you in for a full nelson now, holding up your legs as he thrusts faster and faster inside you, his arms trembling a little due to the intensity.

Bonten Mikey's full nelson was incredibly rough, your legs are shaking and shivering as Bonten Mikey growls trying to hold it in place as he kisses your neck planting marks on it, thrusting deep and hard, reaching your spots inside you, ballsack colliding into your sweet ass, squelching and squishing inside of you, making your eyes roll back, it's so fucking fast and was so fucking hard. You can feel Mikey swell up as his groans turn into growls.

"I'M ABOUT TO- GAH!~ FUCK YOU'RE JUST SO!~" Mikey yelped as he cums. "Who do you belong to?!~" Bonten Mikey said, still cumming a whole river inside your ass. "Y-You, M-Mikey~" You say. Bonten Mikey smirked and patted your head. "Good Y/N~ Good good boy~ Now suck it clean like the good Y/N you are~" Bonten Mikey said with a cold stare.

You try your best to tease him, starting off with his scrotum, his ballsack, sucking it good as you teased him by only swirling your tongue on his tip, making Bonten Mikey lean forward on you. "Y/N~ You're not fooling anybody~" Bonten Mikey said, he grabbed your head and clasped his veiny hands around your cheek as he shoved your whole head down his cock. "FUCK!~" Bonten Mikey groaned, he thrusts and thrusts making you gag on his cock more and more.

Bonten Mikey's thrusts was like a thunder, a mix of a sloppy mess, fucking your throat so hard, now you can barely swallow nor taste anything but Bonten Mikey's precum. The sweet taste enveloping your mouth lasting a lifetime as Bonten Mikey fucks every inch of your vocal chords, as you gag and gag. "TAKE IT LIKE A GOOD BOY!~" Bonten Mikey grips your hair, as he degrades you for all your worth as he thrusts more down your throat. Faster and faster he goes, and the more quick you choke and gawk from him. The sweet scent of sex filling the air. "YOU BETTER SUCK IT CLEAN!~" Bonten Mikey yelled out as he finally fills your whole throat with his rivers of cum, as Bonten MIkey groaned and moaned, twitching onto your throat, cock latching deep inside your throat that you have no choice but to keep swallowing. You deepthroat once more. "FUCKKKK!~" Bonten Mikey kept going, cumming his all inside of you. "YOU'RE MINE!~ YOU'RE MINE!~" He yelled out. The noises were so loud, perhaps the people in the party could hear.

As you lay there unconscious, unable to walk or talk for a whole week, Bonten Mikey smiled at the hidden camera that was livestreaming all of this at the party. "Guess you're not taking him anymore~ He's mine and he belongs to me~" Bonten Mikey said, smirking as his sweaty body pats down at your head, unconscious. Bonten Mikey switches the cameras off as the people from the party were shocked from what they had just witnessed, the people trying to make a move on you scurried out of the building.

Bonten Mikey then came to cuddle you. "I'm such a greedy man~" Bonten Mikey said, "But who can I blame? You're such a mesmerizing beauty to me, cute boy~"

#smut #hardcore smut #anime smut #anime #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tr smut #bonten #bonten mikey smut #bonten mikey #mikey smut #manjiro sano smut #manjiro smut #possessive #bonten smut