#i might do translations on ao3 since it looks better there

[daizymax]

wondrous | lmh (m)

summary: pregnancy is strange and uncomfortable and even kind of gross, but your loving husband is always willing to show you just how desirable and wonderful you are.

pairing: lee know x fem reader

genre: smut

word count: 5.3k

rating: mature (18+)

warnings & features: profanity; pregnancy; some body insecurities; binary gender talk; graphic sexual content; pregnant sex; dirty talk; lactation kink; creampie

author’s note: rewritten for stray kids and reuploaded from my old blog. hope you enjoy!

( click here to read on AO3 instead )

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Slamming the car door with more force than necessary is childish, and if your husband were here, he would probably tell you so. Well, maybe not in such blatant terms. First, he would probably ask you to explain what led you to such pissy behavior, and your answer would be that you’re frustrated and out of patience.

You hate that your patience is in such short supply these days. You know you are going to need all of it and then some when the baby comes.

You rest one of your hands on the crest of your bulging stomach and sigh softly. “I’m sorry,” you say to the ever-growing baby within. “I guess you might need to be patient with me, too, if it’s not too much to ask.”

The tears well up unbidden. That happens often lately with your hormones on the fritz. Evidently something as mundane as a shopping trip to the mall is enough to upset you nowadays. Then your mind dwells on how you should be grateful to be in a position to buy the things you want and need whenever you want, and that only makes you sob harder.

You allow the silly little breakdown to run its course, knowing it will be better to sit and let it out now before you drive home.

After a few minutes, you sniffle and wipe your wet cheeks in shame. After a couple more minutes of deep breaths, when you are certain you are stable enough to drive, you start the engine.

The commute home gives you some time to decompress, and the sight of Minho’s car in the driveway lifts your spirits. He told you this morning that he might have to work late this evening — which was fine by you since it translated to having more money for the pending expenses of birthing and raising a child — but having him home is even better.

A loud clang and a muttered curse greet you as you enter the front door. It may not be a polite reaction, but you can’t help but smile at whatever your husband is struggling with in the kitchen. You sling your shopping bags onto the couch and go to rescue him.

Minho is bent over at the waist, rummaging through a bottom cabinet with his backside to you. You take a moment to ogle the fit of his jeans appreciatively before making your presence known.

“Hi honey, need some help?”

He flinches and whirls around. “Heyyy, doll! I didn’t hear you come in.” He hastily combs his fingers through his smooth brown hair as if to compose himself for you.

“That’s because you were busy tearing down the kitchen, from the sound of it,” you laugh.

He does not even dispute your joke. He just groans in frustration and kicks his foot out behind him to close the cabinet. “Where do we keep the rice cooker? I swear I’ve looked everywhere.”

“Did you look here?” You pull open the correct cabinet near your calves and squat down to retrieve it. He rushes to stop you.

“Hey, hey, let me get it.” He comes over and crouches with you only to put his hands on your hips and guide you back up with him. “You shouldn’t exert yourself. I have a bun in that oven, lady.”

You snort loudly. “Don’t I know it. My whole day was an over-exertion, though. I think I can handle stooping over to grab the rice cooker.”

“Oh?” His face becomes concerned, eyebrows wrinkling and pink lips pouting adorably. His hands begin sliding up and down along your sides. “What was wrong with your day?”

“Oh, I’ve just decided I hate shopping for maternity clothes now,” you say, sighing heavily. The statement is so frivolous it makes you cringe, but the rest of your unimportant complaints come flooding out anyway. “They’re all so unflattering, not to mention it’s so uncomfortable trying them on. Getting undressed and redressed is such a pain in the ass. It’s like a whole fucking workout now, I swear to god.”

“Ah, I bet. Poor thing,” Minho says without a trace of condescension to his tone, and you envy his patience. He pulls you in for a hug in his strong arms, and your swollen stomach bumps against his flat one.

Inspired by his understanding, you continue unburdening your rather meaningless worries into his shoulder. “It was so crowded, too. I hate how everyone stares at me all the time just because I’m pregnant. And I especially hate when other parents come up to me and give me advice or tell me stories about their own pregnancies, like I fucking asked.”

Minho laughs and massages his fingertips into the back of your head. “I think they’re just trying to be kind and helpful. They only mean well.”

“Yeah, well, it’s also super annoying.”

“Sorry. What can I do to help?”

You shake your head and step back from him. “Right now I just want to shower and change my clothes. I’m not kidding about that ‘workout.’ I’ve been sweating for hours and I feel disgusting right now. The boob sweat is strong under this sweater right now.”

“Well, we’ve got a towel right here.” He whips the dish towel off the handle of the stove with a flourish and holds it up with a cheeky grin. “Let me help you.”

You laugh. “You want to dry my boobs off with that?”

“It’s clean!”

“Don’t be silly.”

“You’ll be glad for my silliness when our baby comes,” he says, dropping the towel to start tickling you mercilessly.

Your stomach muscles heave with your fit of giggles, and the baby starts kicking to join in on the commotion.

“Ah! No t-tickling, damnit! The b-baby doesn’t like it.”

“No?” Minho stops his playful torment and cups your stomach on either side. It only takes a second for him to feel what you mean. “I think maybe she does.”

“Or he. The baby could be a boy, you know.”

The two of you have decided to keep the gender a surprise until the birth, but that does not stop your husband from speculating.

“Could be,” he says a bit dismissively. He kneels down on the tiled floor so his face is level with your belly-button, which has recently begun to protrude outwards like the rest of you.

He runs his fingers along the surface of your stretched sweater and says quietly, “I just have a hunch that it’s a girl. She’s feisty, like you.” He places a sweet kiss on the top of your belly, then speaks directly to it. “Sorry about the tickling, sweet baby girl. Daddy was just making Mommy laugh to help make her feel better. I have something else that might make her feel better, though.”

“What is it?” you ask.

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

Minho interlocks his fingers with yours and leads you up the stairs — which have become quite the strain on your knees lately — and to the baby’s room.

The moment he pushes open the door, you see exactly what he means. The crib now resembles a crib and not a scattering of wooden pieces strewn around the floor the way they had been for weeks. The inside is lined with blankets and stuffed animals, and the mobile you chose is hanging above it. It could hardly be more picturesque.

With this, the nursery is complete. The painting had been finished a couple months ago, and the other pieces of necessary and decorative furniture have been set in their places for quite some time as well.

“Wow, you actually finished it?” you say. “How did you have time to do that after work today?”

“You were gone for longer than you realize,” he says, chuckling. “I took half the day off to come home and surprise you, but you weren’t here, so I decided to surprise you with this instead.”

“Consider me surprised,” you say with a smile. You squeeze his hand before letting go and walking over to the crib. You give the rail a little shake to test the sturdiness of your husband’s handiwork, and your eyebrows raise in satisfaction at the result.

“I only had to start all over again once,” Minho says proudly, sidling up beside you and gliding a hand along the small of your back to rest on your hip. His thumb traces little circles into it.

“You did a great job,” you say, turning in his hold to wrap your arms around his waist in return, albeit with a bit of difficulty due to your belly getting in the way.

“Glad you like it.” He leans forward to plant a kiss on your forehead, then your nose, then down to your chin, then back up to your mouth. You smile and chase after his lips when he pulls away, and he laughs as he kisses you again. “Come on, let’s sit for a bit and get you off your feet. Dinner and a shower can wait a little while longer.” He moves over to the rocking chair in the corner and takes a seat, then pats his lap invitingly.

“Min, I’ll crush you,” you say with a shake of your head.

He shakes his head right back. “Oh, stop it. No you won’t. You’re not that heavy, and I’m not that fragile.”

He starts beckoning you by stretching his arms out and repeatedly opening and closing his hands. The action is irresistibly cute, so you relent. You toe off your shoes and go to sit on his proposed seat. You try not to rest too much weight on him as you sit on his knee, but he ruins your position by taking your hips and dragging you further up his muscular thigh.

“Put your legs up on me,” he says. “If it’s not too uncomfortable for you, I mean.”

You do as he says and turn sideways to hoist your legs over his other thigh. Minho holds onto your knee with one hand and wraps his other arm behind your back to keep you in place.

“There we go. Is this okay?” he asks.

You shift and wiggle until your back is relatively comfortable. “I think so. Are you okay?”

He smiles and squeezes you reassuringly. “I’ve got my beautiful wife on my lap... we’re sitting right where we’ll be rocking our baby when she — or he — is born... I’d say I’m pretty perfect.”

You take his word for it and sigh in content, leaning into him and resting your head in the crook of his neck. He lays his cheek against your head and pushes his feet off the floor to begin gently rocking the chair as it was intended.

For a few moments, the two of you sit and rock in silence until Minho begins humming softly. Something mellow and baritone. The melody is one you recognize, but the lyrics to that particular song elude you. You’ll ask him about it later. Right now, the vibrations from his throat and the steady thrum of his heartbeat are lulling you peacefully. The faint scent of his cologne and the warmth of his body seep comfortably into your skin.

You tilt your face up to kiss his throat appreciatively for the comfort he is providing. He hums out of tune at your gentle touch, and you kiss him there again. This time you take a bit of his flesh into your mouth with a delicate suck, and he hisses in a short breath. His reaction spurs you to do it again, and then again, until the honey skin is left pink from the teasing.

“Mm, that feels really good, babe,” Minho murmurs. The pet name makes your heart flutter a bit; it was used so frequently at the start of your relationship, but over the years it has become a bit more rare. It makes you feel a little sexy, even in your sweaty, bloated, and achy state.

“Yeah? Should I keep going?” you ask. Your lips ghost over his neck, and your fingers begin trailing down the center of his chest.

“Please.” There is a slight rasp to the syllable that makes you feel proud considering you have barely even done anything to him.

Your fingers find the hems of his sweater and white t-shirt and begin tugging at them. “Do you mind if I take these off?”

“Not at all.” He shrugs out of his cardigan then lifts his arms so you can have the honor of pulling up his shirt to toss it aside. The taut muscles in his chest and abdomen twitch as your fingertips graze them. Before you get to the waistband of his jeans, Minho takes your wandering fingers and stops you.

“Wait,” he says. You look at him curiously. “You said you had a rough day. I should take care of you.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well, I figured I could start by getting you out of your clothes, and then we can see where things lead.”

Sex with your husband has been infrequent over the course of your thirty-week pregnancy so far, but it has occurred. The doctor assured you there are no complication risks involved, even when this far along. Your pregnancy is perfectly healthy, and sex is not harmful to the baby, so you and Minho are free to continue your normal sex life.

The problem is you don’t always feel up for sex. Between your various aches and the increasing challenge of finding a comfortable position, you sometimes have to wonder if an orgasm is really worth the trouble. But it has been a while since your last release, and you trust Minho to be caring and attentive, so you nod in agreement.

He guides you to stand up from his lap, and you allow him to remove your shirt. The sheen of sweat that has been building for the greater part of the afternoon is made even more apparent when the open air meets it.

“Ugh, I still feel gross,” you mutter under your breath. The inkling of sexiness you felt just moments ago is already gone.

“You don’t look gross,” Minho says. He scans you from head to toe before settling his gaze on your chest. “Will you take your bra off for me, please?”

You hesitate a few seconds, then unhook the restrictive garment and shrug out of it to let it drop to the floor. The moment it is gone, Minho reaches out to grasp your hips and slide his hands up along the expanse of your stomach. His warm, tender touch sends a shiver through you, and the baby begins fidgeting again. Your husband must feel it, too, because he smiles up at you brightly.

“God, how did I get so lucky? You are so beautiful.” His tone carries real sincerity. “Especially with your body like this, carrying our child. You’re so fucking… wonderful.”

You automatically let out an unflattering snort of self-consciousness as you think of the new stretch marks striping your breasts, hips, and stomach. You can’t even bring yourself to look at them right now.

“I mean it. It’s true,” he insists. His eyes drop to your bare stomach to look at what you will not. “It’s amazing how you’re able to grow a baby inside of you, just because I came in you.”

There is laughter in your breathy exhale. “Gee, you make it sound so sexy, Min.”

“But it is sexy. You’re growing hands and feet and… eyes inside your womb right now, this very moment.”

You wrinkle your nose. “That doesn’t sound sexy at all. It sounds scientific.”

“Yeah, but it’s also kind of magical, isn’t it? And just think about it: you’ll be able to feed the baby with your body, too…” Minho folds his bottom lip between his teeth for a second as he studies your chest with great interest. “Just look at these perfect tits, getting all swollen with milk for our baby.”

He starts to squeeze, lift, and massage your breasts reverently, completely undeterred by the stickiness coated on the undersides of them from your sweat. A quiet moan rumbles up from your throat.

Even though he is being gentle, the stimulation is still enough to make your nipples begin discharging a thick fluid that is slightly yellow in color. The sight of it kind of embarrasses you, even though it is completely natural. Your doctor explained that it is the “pre milk” before your body begins producing normal breast milk after the birth.

“Min…” you fret with a nervous giggle. You peel his hands away and take a step back from him.

“It’s okay, babe,” he says. He stands up and rearranges your hands so that he is the one holding yours. “It’s just your body, don’t be ashamed. I told you, you’re beautiful. You’re wonderful. You’re amazing.”

He lifts the heavy mounds on your chest again and presses them together as if to get a better view of the wetness seeping from them. He swipes his thumbs over both of your wet nipples, then casually sticks one of his thumbs in his mouth as if he has done this many times before.

“Mm, tastes sweet,” he says.

“Does it?”

“Yeah. Can I… do you think I could...” He trails off in a puff that sounds like he is the one who’s embarrassed. Eventually, he blurts, “I want to try some more.”

“What, you want to actually… drink it?” you ask. The notion surprises you, and you want to make sure you are understanding him correctly.

“I’d like to try, if you’re comfortable with that. I just want to appreciate your body in every way.”

Minho rolls a sensitive pebble between his thumb and forefinger as he waits for your reply.

After another second, you nod your consent, and he flashes you a toothy smile before he latches his mouth directly onto your nipple. The touch of his soft lips coupled with the tip of his tongue makes you gasp in pleasure. Goosebumps break out over your skin as he suckles delicately. You have to admit the sensation of the fluid flowing from your nipple is oddly satisfying, and the wet suction sound Minho is creating is more than a little erotic. Heat starts to pool between your legs to dampen your panties.

“Is this okay?” he asks you again, peering up at your face as he switches to the other tit. When his tongue takes the nipple in between his lips, you notice it is coated with a milky sheen.

“Yeah, it… it actually feels really good,” you confess. Without consciously choosing to do it, your thighs press together to apply some pressure to your clit. Even with your stomach in the way, Minho’s smirk tells you he does not miss the action.

“Are you wet down there between your legs, too?”

“Yes.”

“Dripping?”

“Mm…”

“I want to feel.”

“Be my guest,” you invite. He goes to slip his hand past the waistband of your pants, but you quickly instruct, “Just take them off.”

He does not need to be told twice. He detaches from your breast and yanks your pants down to your ankles. You steady yourself on his shoulders as you pull your feet free.

“Panties, too,” you add, but his fingers are already hooking into them.

Once they are shed, Minho takes his time running his warm hands back up your calves to your inner thighs, spreading your legs just a little wider than hip-width apart. He wastes no more time in dipping the pads of three fingers along your slit. The slickness he finds there has both of you groaning lowly.

“You are wet. Is this all because I sucked a little milk from your tits?”

A slow smile grows across your face. “Maybe.”

“Should I suck some more?”

“I don’t think there’s much in there at a time yet, honestly,” you tell him rather seriously. “Not until after the baby is born.”

He hums in understanding. “That’s okay, babe. I’ll settle for eating your pussy, if that’s alright,” he says, sinking two knuckles inside you.

“J-Jesus, Min. Y-yeah. Please.”

He grins, drawing his fingers back a little just to shove them in forcefully. “Alright. Have a seat for me,” he says. He removes his fingers from you and slides them into his mouth for the taste of something else. He really does adore all parts of you.

The rocking chair tips backwards when you settle into it, which only improves the access Minho has to your pussy. He makes it even easier for himself, however, by kneeling down and hoisting your legs onto each of his shoulders.

“Is this good?” he asks. He brings his head between your thighs and dots soft kisses along one of them.

You scoot your butt to the very edge of the seat. “Yeah, for now. I’ll let you know if it starts to hurt.”

“Please do,” he agrees at once.

He leans forward and parts your sticky folds with two fingers before dragging his tongue from the bottom of your slit to the top in one slow, firm motion. Your breath hitches in your chest when he buries the pink muscle into your wet hole. He licks in a circle from one pulsing wall to the other and back again, then pulls back and licks his lips.

“Do you want my tongue in you and fingers on your clit, or my tongue on your clit and fingers in you?” he asks. He does not normally require such direct instructions, but he has been so concerned with you in your pregnant state. He wants to make sure he is giving you as much pleasure as possible, and he does not want any room for misunderstanding or disappointment.

“Fingers inside, please,” you say.

Minho fits one finger back inside your pussy, soon followed by a second, and your walls squeeze tightly around the digits to welcome and secure them. Then he flattens his tongue to press it back and forth, up and down over your clit. He builds a steady pace that renders your eyes closed and mouth unhinged to let flow a stream of pleasurable sighs and moans. Your pitch heightens considerably when his fingers hit pay dirt on that spot inside you that always makes your toes curl. When you rock against his face to get all the friction you can, the chair moves with you.

“Shit, this is so hot, babe,” your husband groans from below. “Should’ve eaten you out in a rocking chair a long time ago.”

You start to respond but your words pinch into a squeal from a particularly strong tap against your g-spot with his fingertips, and that seems to be all the answer he could want.

Minho becomes greedy for your unfiltered noises and closes his lips around your clit to suck it the way he sucked your nipples just moments earlier. A shiver tumbles down each rung of your spine, all the way to your clenched toes. Your muscles tense to cope with the sheer intensity of the pleasure being administered to that oh-so-sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. His fingers work tirelessly to undo you in tandem with his skillful tongue. The crest of your climax is drawing near so soon.

“Oh my god, Min,” you breathe with hardly any sound. “Fuck, you’ve got me so close already.”

He grunts his acknowledgement. “Is this how you want to come, doll? All over my fingers? All over my tongue?”

It is very tempting, but you still decline. “N-no. I want you inside me.”

“I’m already inside you.” He twists his fingers pointedly. “Can you be more specific?”

“You know what I mean,” you groan.

He has to get in a few more swipes of his tongue before he can say, “Yeah, but I want to hear you say it. You can have everything you want if you ask me.”

“I want your c-cock inside me. Now, please.”

Minho makes no move to cease his actions other than to briefly retract his tongue to speak again. “You sure you don’t want me to just keep going? You’re so close.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure. Please, fuck me already.”

The moan he lets out when he pulls away from you and gets to his feet is positively carnal. He rushes to undo his jeans, then shoves both them and his underwear to the floor in one swoop. You tilt your head to take in the view of his erect cock; the bulbous head is nearly purple from engorgement, and there is a glistening wetness at the slit from a buildup of precum.

“How do you want me?” he asks.

“Let’s try the chair.”

“Do you want to bend over it and I’ll fuck you from behind? Or do you want me to sit down and have you ride me?”

“Sit down and I’ll try riding you.”

You rock yourself up and out of the chair, and Minho takes a firm hold of each of your hands to help tug you to your feet. He kisses you quick and sloppy, giving you a quick taste of your arousal, before switching places with you and taking a seat. His cock points upwards as the perfect target for you to sit on.

You face away from him and straddle his legs to get yourself in position. One of his hands steadies your lowering hips as the other lines his dick up for entry. The tip squeezes into your warm wetness with ease. Minho spreads his legs wider and thrusts up to fit a few more inches of himself. With another shove from him and a bit of wriggling on your part, he bottoms out.

“Fuck, you always feel so fucking good,” he rumbles from behind you. Both of his hands are clenched tightly on your hips now.

You moan in agreement. “So do you.”

Bracing yourself on the arms of the chair, you raise yourself up a couple inches, then sink back down swiftly. Minho plants his feet firmly to keep the chair steady and meet you blow for blow as you start up a rhythm. The two of you grunt and pant with every stroke; the sounds are out of sync, but your movements are not.

The friction feels good, but your looming orgasm from earlier is not quite building again as you had hoped it would. Furthermore, your arms are already beginning to tremble from your efforts.

“Shit,” you swear in frustration. “Maybe this won’t work after all.”

He brings up his earlier suggestion and says, “Want to try bending over?”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s try that.”

His wet dick falls out of you to slap against his stomach when you stand up from his lap. Again, the two of you switch positions so you can lean down and prop your arms along the armrests of the chair. The seat tilts downward as you bend over and press your head against the back of it, and your breasts hang heavy below you. You vaguely notice they have begun to leak again.

Minho steps up behind you and returns his hands to your waist to lift your backside a little higher to expose yourself to him. The head of his cock briefly pokes over your asshole when he guides it into place at your pussy again. With a sigh of satisfaction, he pushes back inside and waits for an extended moment while you to readjust to the tight stretch of his girth.

When you tell him you’re ready, he recreates the rhythm you had started earlier, but at a slightly faster tempo now. Each smack of his tensed thighs against your buttocks makes your breasts bounce — another motion that does not go unnoticed by him.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he breathes. One of his hands reaches over to cup one swinging breast and then the other. His fingers toy at your wet nipples once more. “You’re already such a MILF.”

The term makes you burst into surprised laughter. “Oh my god, please do not call me that,” you say.

“Why not?” Minho laughs back. “It’s true. You’re so. Damn. Sexy.” He emphasizes each word with concise, gasp-inducing thrusts. “And motherhood is only going to enhance that.”

“Ungh, right now I just want to come,” you groan, not interested in continuing a conversation at the moment, no matter how flattering. Your body feels heavy, but the coil in you is getting close to snapping again. “Please, Min... please…”

“Oh, you will, doll. I want you to come just as badly.” He pinches your drippy nipple with one hand, maneuvers the other hand around your waist, under your stomach, between your legs to trap your throbbing clit between two fingers. “Want you to come all over this cock.”

“Keep going and I will,” you promise him.

He speeds his hips up until he is hitting your g-spot with every push. He rubs and plays with your clit just the way you like. The steady whapping sound of skin on skin fills the nursery, along with your breathless encouragements for your husband to keep groping, keep pounding, keep going.

“You’re dripping everywhere for me, aren’t you, baby?” he grunts, his breath hot and ragged. “Got your sticky little clit in one hand, and your tit is leaking in my other.”

He is not wrong. Everything is so wet, so hot, so sticky. You whimper and repeatedly push back against him to further increase the friction.

“So fucking filthy,” he goes on, nearly growling. “Makes me want to bust and fill you up with cum. There’s gonna be so fucking much of it.”

His words, combined with a few more sweeps of his fingers over your clit and stabs of his cockhead against the sweetest part of you, burst you straight through the roof of your climax. With a whiny, broken moan, your pussy clamps him tightly, and it is not more than four of five more strokes before he joins you in sheer bliss. He seizes and grunts deeply as his cum shoots out of his twitching cock to meet the resistance of your already-occupied womb. He was right — there is a lot of it. The viscous white fluid oozes out of you and down along your thighs before the spurts have even finished trickling out of him.

Both pairs of legs between the two of you are shaky as Minho pulls out of your swollen pussy with a slick squelch. He helps straighten your body and pulls you into an adoring hug as you both regain your lost breath. His sweaty chest is nearly as damp as yours as it heaves against your back. You can feel his heart racing.

“You alright, doll?” he checks while dotting sweet kisses along your shoulder. “Was that good?”

“Very good,” you pant with a blissed smile. You turn your head to the side and pucker your mouth for a kiss. Your lower belly is cramping from the intensity of your orgasm, and you massage it absently as Minho’s lips envelop yours. His fingers bump yours as he, too, goes to cradle your stomach.

“How’s our little princess?” he asks next.

“Fine,” you answer. You kiss him deeply and whisper against his mouth: “We’re both just fine, thanks to the daddy.”

---

if you enjoyed, please consider re-blogging and/or leaving me some feedback. take care! ♡

copyright © 2024 by daizymax. all rights reserved. back to masterlist

#lee know smut #minho smut #lee minho smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #lee know x reader #minho x reader #lee minho x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #wondrous #daizymax

[angelltheninth]

The Stuff of Wet Nightmares

Pairing: Male!Sleep Paralysis Demon x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, dub-con, fear play, dirty talk, cunnilingus, whimpering, dream sex, biting, clit stimulation

Word count: 1.6k

Ao3

A/N: Recently heard of a book that had a sleep paralysis demon in it. Apparently it's pretty hot but I haven't read it yet. Hopefully I will once I get through Learn My Lesson. Anyway this is, a very late, next part of my Monster Week.

The first thing you noticed when you opened your eyes was that, yes you were still in your room. It was still nighttime judging from the sliver of moonlight coming from your window. But something wasn't right. Try as you might you couldn't move a muscle.

You opened your mouth to try to curse but no sound would come out. You were completely paralyzed. In your mind you trashed and kicked, but it wasn't translating to your body at all.

"You really should stop trying that. It makes the experience worse for us both." The scratchy, deep voice sounded from somewhere in the room. Your eyes frantically searched for its source. "Up here sweet dreamer."

You manage to shift your gaze upwards to the corner of the bedroom door. There you see a pair of piercing ice blue eyes, in even darker colors of blue, staring at you. You can't make out anything else as the eyes move down the wall in unnatural way, almost gliding.

"Forgive the intrusion on my part." The entity smiles as it straightens up, towering over you even at the distance. You're able to see sharp rows of pointy teeth, it too a glowing blue color, both its eyes and its mouth seem to give out a faint blue shimmer. "Your dreams smelled so sweet, I just couldn't stay away." It crept closer, the form shrinking and shifting, almost shadow like from what you could see, "Oh, are you scared? Hm, how about I take a form more familiar to you?"

It smirked, eyes narrowing then widening as it took a male bodied shape and tone of voice. The blue eyes and teeth stayed but there was also a shadowy strand of hair falling over its left eye, almost entirely obscuring it. And while the body was muscular you could still make out little wisps of light dancing across it like firelights.

"Better now dreamer?" He tilted his head and walked close, aware of the nakedness of himself and your eyes taking him in. "What troubles you tonight. Let me take a look."

His hand, smooth, warm and almost tickling you, pressed against your cheek.

"Oh dear. That's an awful lot of stress for just one person. No wonder you've been having trouble sleeping lately. Perhaps I can do something about it. You humans are a complicated yet simple bunch, I've learned many things about your kind over the years. Such as..." In a moment he was above you, on top of you, grabbing your chin and making eye contact with you. His knee pressed between your legs, lightly massaging the aching spot, "how to best make you come."

Once again you tried to speak but to no avail. The pressure felt good, but you didn't know this... demon, you had no idea of his true goals. It scared and aroused you at the same time. His hands, a little big on your hips still, took hold and moved you against his leg.

"How long has it been since someone touched you like this?" He questioned against your skin, his long, forked tongue licking down your neck. It too was a shade of blue, a little lighter than the interior of his mouth. "Haven't you been a good girl? Haven't you earned your release?"

Heat pooled between your legs fast, building up until it crashed over you like an avalanche as you came with a soundless cry. For a moment you thought you'd closed your eyes again, when actually that was just your mind trying to come back to you.

He smiled above you, his hands smoothing under your shirt and hiking it up. He licked downward, between and around your breasts, biting the right underboob, making you shiver at the sharpness of his teeth and the knowledge that he could rip you apart if he wanted to. But he didn't, that wasn't his goal. His goal was between your legs. Your panties were slid off and left barely hanging at the foot of the bed.

"You smell even sweeter when aroused." The long tongue flicked between your lower lips, smooth and hot, sending a jolt of arousal through your still body. "Taste even better." He dove in with his mouth and tongue, licking between, around and inside you. This time you found that you could whimper, but only barely, resulting in him smiling against you, "Does it feel good? Tell me, I'll allow it."

A high and choked "Yes." left your lips before you went right back to making those lewd sounds that he seemed to thrive on.

"I'm glad." He made eye contact with you as he licked a long path from your pussyhole to your clit, tapping against it with his forked tongue. "You taste better than dreams. You might be my new sustenance. A win-win."

He lifted from between your legs, your juices dripping down his chin. His hand went between his legs and fisted around his cock. You don't know how you were able to miss it until now, it wasn't small by any means.

"I can shift it. For any shape that suits your needs. So how do you want me? Do you want me?" His eyes found yours, searching for an answer as he slid his hand up and down the hard appendage. You moaned as you saw it shift in the perfect shape and girth for your pussy. "This one?" He circled the tip on your clit, his hips barely moving.

"Yes. I want." Were all the words you were able to speak out, that he needed to hear before you felt the head of his dick on your entrance. He gave it a few experimental thrusts, pushing forward more with every roll of his hips.

"Oh yes." He moaned, deep and breathless as he bottomed out, "Much better than a dream. You take me perfectly my sweet. Your body is responding so well to me. This cock is just what you needed isn't it? Fucking you deep, filling up your empty hole like no other."

You wanted to nod, to moan, to ask him for his name, to shake your hips into his. But all you could do was lie still as he moved back and forth above you, his hips pressing against yours, his face close to yours, your breath mixing together before he kissed you.

The kiss further muffled your moans as his pace increased, his hands grabbing hold of your hips, his nails leaving pink scratch marks on your skin as he started to hammer his hard cock into your pussy. Not even you realized how much you needed this. You needed him to fuck, and mark you, and drive you to the brink and pull you back. "Harder." You were able to say against him before he dove back into another, deeper kiss, his teeth nibbling and pulling at your lip before licking over it, constantly reminding you of what he is.

"Whatever you ask." He obliged with much glee, driving with cock deep it had to be kissing your cervix. "A little more and I bet I could open you up. But even in a dream I think that'd hurt a little too much." There was a darkness in his concerning tone telling you that despite knowing that he wanted to do it. "Let me hear you my sweet dreamer. I want to hear you come undone around my cock."

"Oh fuck!" The left your mouth before you could register it, your moans no longer held back some invisible force although your body was still paralyzed, rocking only because of his thrusts. "Yeah, fuck, make me come!"

"As many times you want." He drove his cock back and forth into your twitching, sensitive cunt, each thrust accompanied by wet slapping sounds of skin against skin. "Do you want my cum too? You've been so well behaved, I think you deserve it."

You could barely even choke out your confirmation before you were flooded by huge loads of cum. He kept fucking you through his orgasm, intent on getting you there too. His cum only made his cock more slippery, the length twitching and pulsing as it dragged against your quivering walls and pushed you over the edge. His arms went around your shoulders, his teeth latching onto you neck.

For a moment your pulse quickened, wondering if he would kill you now that he got what he wanted. It wasn't until you heard and felt a deep rumble from his chest that you realized he was completely calm. It irked you a little, you were all out of breath and shaking and here he was, still completely fine.

"A mark for you. So others know you're mine." He whispered against your skin, "Until next time my sweet dreamer." His voice echoed in your ears as you felt yourself fade into unconsciousness.

It was an emptiness and ache between your legs that you woke up with. Your whole body ached in fact. "Fuck. Was that... a dream?" Considering there was no one in your room but you and no cum between your legs, something that a part of you looked forward to seeing, it had to have been a dream. You rushed into the bathroom, you had to be sure.

There it was, a bite mark on your neck. Not a dream, not reality, but something in between.

A shiver went down your spine and straight between your legs as you remembered his words: "Until next time."

"Until tonight." You smiled into the mirror. It was brief but for a moment you swore you heard his voice, his chuckle, right behind you.

#monster x reader #monster romance #monster boyfriend #monsterfucking #monster lover #sleep paralysis demon x reader #monster imagine #monster x human #monster x girl #monster smut #sleep paralysis demon smut #monster fic #terato

[missmonsters2]

Your Touch is My Shelter

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: 6 months later, Natasha returns from the dead. It's a tightly kept secret as it's unknown how she returned, but everyone claws and fights about who will keep watch over her like savages. You're far down the list of people who should protect her, but you find yourself unable to leave her be.

Warnings/Tags: hurt/comfort. undisclosed trauma. physical and mental signs of trauma. angst. somber assisted bath time. sad hair braiding. emphasis on hurt AND comfort.

Note: This takes place after endgame :-) the dates might be inaccurate idk i did my best 🥲 ha-ha enjoy 👁️👁️

Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Count: 5.2k

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

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You heard the news through Bruce. 

Well, it was through Bruce telling Pepper, and you just happened to be at the coffee machine getting shitty coffee. The quality drastically dropped since Tony was gone, and you've been putting off telling Pepper she needed to literally buy anything else. 

You didn't really know how long was the appropriate time for someone to grieve before you could ask if they could buy another brand of coffee.

Tony was gone. 

A part of you thinks you keep putting off telling Pepper because then you'd have to face—really face—he was gone. 

Steve was gone. 

What did it matter, really, in the grand scheme of things? Coffee was just coffee, and it'd probably taste fine if you just put a shitload of sugar and creamer in it. 

Vision was gone. 

Honestly, you only really noticed because it was the same brand as whatever was stocked up at the Avengers Compound. 

Natasha was gone. 

But perhaps the coffee always tasted bad at the Compound and it had nothing to do with Tony being gone. Natasha used to bring coffee into the office most days for people, and Clint filled in the other days. 

Maybe Tony Stark just liked shitty coffee, and you were only now just noticing it. 

Natasha was back. 

Your hand faltered at the coffee machine, spilling a little of it on your hand, and the burn stung immediately.

"Are you okay?" Bruce asked as he noticed you inhale a sharp breath.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You smiled awkwardly at him before looking at Pepper. "Morgan's fine. She just has the flu and her fever's gone down. Make sure she gets plenty of rest and fluids. I'm going to set up a humidifier for her and help her settle into bed with a movie and wait for her to fall asleep before I head out."

Pepper let out a heavy breath, putting her hand over her chest in relief. "Oh, perfect. Thank you so much for coming suddenly. I just—Morgan doesn't really like going to the hospital, and suddenly she started throwing up and having a fever—"

"It's fine, Pepper," you waved off her ramblings after you wiped what you spilled on the counter. "You can always call me if you need me."

"Seriously, I think I might just employ you full-time as a live-in doctor if you say that," Pepper joked, and you laughed. 

"I am already your live-in doctor, just for one of your research labs. instead."

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You don't think about Natasha—at least, you try not to. 

You heard things here and there about it through Pepper. Apparently, she's being held in a government facility similar to The Raft, detained like some criminal they needed to study instead of the war hero who sacrificed everything to save the world. 

It made you sick to your stomach. 

But you hear that Clint, Bruce, and Nick Fury have been fighting to get custody of her, so you don't think about it. There were people who knew Natasha far better than you did and were way closer to her than you were. 

She was in good hands. 

So, you continue on with your daily routine to pass your monotonous days, unaware you're waiting for some kind of update.

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The next time you heard about Natasha Romanoff, it was Clint and Bruce cornering you at your lab.

"What?" You panicked, tensing up. "Why me?"

"You're the only person Natasha ever sought out to treat her," Clint answered, and you felt even more lost at the fact he knew. "Natasha allows medical professionals onsite to help her, but there were times she left to go see you. That has to mean something."

But, of course, he knew. He was Natasha's...best friend. And Clint was an incredibly nosy person, even if Natasha didn't tell him. 

"I've only treated her a handful of times—literally only five times. I don't know her that well," you shook your head, trying to walk around them. "I didn't even know she had a sister until you told me."

"Please," Clint begged. "I'm fighting to get her out, and the doctors they have looking after her are shady and callous with her. I can only visit her with Nick's influence, but it's not enough to get her out of there."

"And what do you suppose I can do?"

"You're a renowned cellular biologist," Bruce cut in. "If they're holding her for research, we want someone on our side who will at least treat her like a human being. The faster we get answers, the faster we can get her out."

"Please," Clint begged again. "Natasha needs help. She's...different. And it's only going to get worse if she remains in there. She's not talking, and they won't let her go until they can find some answers."

It felt wrong. 

You don't want to study Natasha Romanoff like an animal. Despite being a scientist with an inquisitive mind, you don't care about how she returned.

But it sounded like Natasha would be researched whether you liked it or not. And if that was the case, you do wonder how the other doctors may be treating her.

"Fine, we're going first thing in the morning," you gritted out, unable to block out the handful of memories of times you've treated her.

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June 2012

"Oo, that looks painful," you hissed in sympathy as a redhead with a busted lip and nasty gash on her temple entered the med bay.

There was a snort that sounded like a half-grunt. "It looks worse than it feels. I hope I'm not intruding, but Tony said I should see you to be treated."

"Natasha, right?" You asked slowly, gesturing to a seat for her to take as you grabbed some medical supplies. 

"Yes," Natasha replied, equally slow with caution.

"Tony talks about you a lot," you tried to reassure her of whatever paranoia she might have. It probably didn't help that Natasha was still in her catsuit and probably would've preferred to be called by her alias.

"Well, don't believe everything he says," Natasha gives a light but somewhat tight smile. 

"Oh, so you aren't a unique woman with high intellect, sneaky, and rightfully smug?" You teased, and it was flattering that you could make a superhero laugh. 

You began treating Natasha's wound carefully. 

"You're pretty good at this, doc," Natasha commented as you blew on her brow, even if it didn't sting. "You're pretty gentle. Must be why Tony says you're his personal doctor."

You chuckled. "I'm actually a cellular biologist. Tony is funding my research and pretty much my lifestyle. With the money he's paying me, he can come crying about his boo-boos anytime. Although, he doesn't really come to me for serious stuff. It's usually if he has something ridiculous like a papercut."

"But you can treat wounds and other medical things?" 

"I was on my way to becoming a medical doctor before I decided to go into research instead."

"Huh," Natasha hummed, raising her brow at you. "Smart cookie."

"I'd like to think so," you finished cleaning Natasha's wound and putting a bandaid over it. "Feel free to come see me if you need any other basic medical aid. For a pretty redhead, it's free of charge."

"And if I come back blonde?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," you smiled, and Natasha smirked back at you.

"Smart and funny. Tony has it too good."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

April 2014

"This is the worst bandage job I've ever seen. Who did you go to see for this? A grocery clerk?"

Natasha grunted. "Hi, to you too, doc."

You looked at Natasha, noticing how different her hair is now. But it's been about two years since you have seen her. Despite your offer for her to come to you anytime she needed help, she never did. Or she rarely did, you supposed. 

You could only deduce that Natasha was used to caring for her wounds on her own. That, or she didn't trust you. 

"Alright, let's go to my office," you sighed. 

"Am I interrupting?"

"Not really, kind of hit a brick wall."

"Oh, me too."

You looked over at Natasha, who had a straight face, but you noticed the bruise on her temple outside the obvious gun wound on her shoulder.

You pursed your lips. "Will you hate me if I laugh?"

"Not at all. On the contrary, I may like you less if you don't."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

June 2015

"You know, when I told you that you could come for me for basic medical aid, I feel like you didn't understand the meaning of basic."

"Is this too complicated for you?"

"No."

"Then am I unwelcomed?"

You pursed your lips at the redhead, who stared at you with a tiny upward quirk on her lip. "No," you sighed. "Just not sure why you'd want to see me for such serious wounds. There are other more experienced doctors."

You lift Natasha's shirt up, looking at the long gash on the side of her stomach. "We're gonna need to stitch this up. I've been doing research with Dr. Cho, and we have a new machine that can help with cell tissue generation. It would be faster than me manually stitching—"

"It's fine," Natasha declined. "I'd prefer if you manually did it."

You frown lightly at the fact but relent to the redhead's wishes. Another year passes, and Natasha's hair has changed again. 

You worked silently on cleaning Natasha's wound, and she also declined the anesthetic. You focus on stitching up the wound with precision and care.

"I like to go to you for some things because your touch is gentle," Natasha said quietly, but it felt so loud in the silent room. "It makes me feel human when I can feel your touch."

You looked over at her face briefly, but Natasha wasn't looking at you. You don't take any deeper meaning into it. She's someone who's probably felt dehumanized most of her life. The machines that can heal her twice as fast would be fine for life-threatening injuries, but it probably all feels clinical. 

You looked back down at the stitch. "Well, as long as you're a redhead, it's free of charge."

"Don't kid yourself, I would look perfect blonde."

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

September 2016

"What are you doing here?" You hissed as you pulled Natasha in quickly, peering outside before shutting the door. 

"Why? Am I unwelcomed now?" Natasha's tone sounded a little hurt, and you scan her body. She didn't seem to be bleeding anywhere that required immediate attention, but you did notice crusted blood at the edge of her nostrils. 

"No, but you could get caught here," you shook your head at her. "They're looking for you and the rest of team cap everywhere."

Natasha shrugged. "I highly doubt Tony has your place under surveillance. We don't meet enough for anyone to consider looking for me through you."

You sighed, not sure what to feel about the statement. "I suppose. I don't work for Tony anymore, anyway."

Natasha's brows furrowed.

"Why?"

"I don't agree with what he's doing."

"So you're on Steve's side?"

"No, I think Steve was obstinate too. They're both stupid. Men are stupid."

Natasha laughed before wincing as she held her nose.

"What happened?" You brought her over to your couch before finding your first aid kit.

"I broke my nose," Natasha shrugged. "Can you believe breaking my nose saved millions of girls?"

"With you? Yes." You smirked as you tilted her head to look at the injury closer. "Lucky you. Looks like you don't need surgery. Do you always come here immediately after you save the world?"

"Yep."

"Couldn't even clean your nose before you did?"

"And deprive you of giving me care? I wouldn't dare."

You snorted, carefully cleaning the blood in and around her nose. It was silent again before Natasha spoke up.

"So, what happened with your research stuff now that Tony's not sponsoring your work?"

"Pepper is funding it, even though she knows I won't share anything with Stark Industries at the moment. She doesn't want me to sell my research or provide any data to other companies."

"Smart cookie."

"And a really hot blonde."

"This feels targeted. It's like you know I might dye my hair blonde soon."

"You're still a redhead; I have no idea what you mean. I like your hair, though. Braids look good on you."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

June 2018

Natasha showed up at your front step, holding her rib. There's a look of genuine relief at seeing you.

"You're still here," her voice sounds empty and hollow. "You're still here."

You pulled her inside gently. You're still in shock yourself. You were on a walk when people started disappearing left and right. The sheer panic on the streets was chaos as you were dialing Pepper frantically, almost crying when she picked up the phone. Then there were actual tears when you called other people in your life, and half of them didn't pick up...and they weren't going to. 

"I'm here," you swallowed. "What happened to your rib?"

"I don't know." Natasha looked so lost. There was the look of failure and self-blame all over her face. 

"Does it hurt?"

"I don't know."

You grasp her wrist, carefully moving her hand away from her rib before gently putting your fingertips against them. Your fingers trail up, down, and around. 

Suddenly, Natasha broke into tears. 

"Does it hurt?" You asked, panicked.

"You're still here," was all Natasha choked through her tears.

You didn't know what to do other than treat her wounds more gently than ever before while reassuring her you hadn't disappeared. You were one of the many people on this planet still here. And when she was better, she'd get the rest of them back. 

It was a long and exhausting night, and Natasha fell asleep in your bed, and you made sure she was comfortable before leaving to sleep on the couch.

Natasha's hair has changed again.

"You look good blonde."

That was the last time you saw her. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Natasha's hair has changed again. She's gone back to being a redhead with blonde tips. Her hair was a mess, barely brushed, and looked knotted. 

The room was big and had padded walls, a singular bed in one corner, and a toilet and sink in another. There were lights in parts of the cell but also areas of darkness. It looked like a fucking prison cell. 

You were looking through an unbreakable glass window, the middle holding up a microphone you assumed was linked to the speaker in the room.

Natasha stood in the middle of the room under the light in a hospital gown falling off her shoulder. Her hands were covered in scars, and her lips were so chapped, you were sure they'd split even if Natasha breathed the wrong way. 

Natasha was only a few feet away from you, but it felt like she was a million miles away.

They let you see her alone under the guise of privacy as you saw her.

You felt you weren't supposed to see this—see her like this. 

A sense of dread filled you at the blank expression on Natasha's face at what she'd gone through—what she was still going through. 

She was a hero, and this was how they were treating her? This was someone who had fought wars repeatedly for this stupid country and the rest of the world, and they had her locked up like a mental ward patient from the 1600s.

You thought the government had gotten better. There were reforms and peace after people came back from the snap. This wasn't how they were supposed to treat someone who'd given up their life to ensure everyone got theirs. 

It shouldn't matter that she came back; she had still given it up in the first place for them. 

Natasha didn't even seem to recognize you through the glass as you stepped closer to the microphone. She looked past you as if she could tell the exit was somewhere behind you. 

"Natasha?" You said into the mic, and it bellowed into the room.

Nothing. 

"Nat?" 

Natasha's eyes were listless. She was a broken, empty shell that seemed more like an animated corpse than actually being alive.

You swallowed, trying one more time. "You're still a redhead. Looks like it's still free of charge."

Natasha's eyes flickered this time, her head tilts towards you as she blinked with focus. It was just a spark, but it was something, and relief spreads through you. 

"Not completely." You could barely hear her voice, but it was coarse. Cold.

There should've been a joke about some kind of discount, but Natasha didn't make it. You were speechless.

You didn't know what to say. Don't worry, you're trapped in here, but I'm going to help with the research, and hopefully, we'll get you out soon?

It was like prolonging a death sentence. You were horrified.

"Just—wait for me," the words flew out of your mouth so fast but you meant them with every ounce of your being. "You're gonna go home with me today."

Natasha's eyes sparked at the words but just as quick as you saw it, they died out, falling back into listlessness. She turned, stepping into a darkened corner away from your view and prying eyes of the cameras as she said, "No, I'm not."

You realized she's probably spent weeks watching Clint, Bruce, and Fury try to get her out unsuccessfully.

The resignation made something lurch in your throat and eyes sting with desperation and rage. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"So, we can send you a contract—"

"You're going to release her to my custody," you cut off some government official. He was old, wearing some kind of toupee that was slicked back to hide his balding head. 

He looked at you in disbelief, almost laughing like you were some stupid, naive young girl. 

He looks at Clint and Bruce, who are also just looking at you in shock.

"As I've told your friends and Nick Fury, this is out of their hands. The Accords are still intact as of right now, therefore—"

"I don't care about the Accords. You will release her into my care. I'm more than qualified and I have the resources to find the inane answers you're looking for while rehabilitating Agent Romanoff," you cut him off again, able to tell that it was irking him. 

"That won't be necessary as you can see we have the resources here," the government official raised his brow at you.

"Your resources can't compete with Stark's resources."

It was no secret that Tony had left a very sizable fortune to you in his will, outside of everything he gave to Pepper and Morgan. And it was also no secret how close you were with the surviving Starks. 

"Doctor," the government official sighed, obviously making it sound like you were a nuisance. "If you're not here to join our research team, I suggest you go on your way and remember the NDA you signed."

You glared at him even more. "I'm not leaving without Agent Romanoff. You will hand her over to me, or you will regret it."

"And exactly how will I regret it?" The government official looked smug, and you smirked back at him.

"I'm still in talks with the government regarding my research, and I will pull out and sell that information outside of this country as I'm free to do so. I know Dr. Cho is in talks between the US and South Korea about her nano-technology. One word from me, and America can fall behind on those advancements as well." You pulled out your cell phone in a threatening manner. "Pepper and I will pull out all of our money from the very same banks and company investments that you're supporting and make you watch as they collapse one after another."

"You'd ruin our entire economy—our country by doing so!" The official was red in the face. "You'd put your entire country into chaos?" He sneered at you.

"I will if you don't give me Agent Romanoff!" You sneered back at him. "It's not like you won't eventually get your research and answers if she's in my custody. It works in both our favor."

The official is staring at you, glaring and seething.

"I imagine your colleagues and superiors will pin the blame on you if this entire economy and country goes into ruin because if I have to do that, I will say that it's the government's fault. The NDA said I can't specifically talk about Natasha and this place, which I won't. But I'm sure some journalist will discover the truth and plaster all over the news what you're doing to a war hero," your voice was so vindictive; you're not sure if you've ever been so cold before. 

"So," your voice was flat, devoid of emotion now. "What will it be?"

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It was agreed that Natasha would stay in a cabin that Pepper owned out in the countryside. You were to provide monthly updates on your research and rehabilitation progress. And while this was in headway, neither you nor Natasha was free to leave the country or this planet. 

Clint initially wanted you and Natasha to stay with him and his family, but you declined. You pointed out that it would be hard for him and his family—his children, especially—to see Natasha like this. 

Pepper had everything prepared while you gingerly collected Natasha.

"We're going home, Natasha," you said softly, shrugging off your jacket to wrap around her shoulders. But Natasha still didn't react, even if she let you take her hand and drag her out of the facility. 

During the car ride, you mentally planned what you needed to do. Natasha needed to eat, take a bath, and rest. 

"Have you eaten yet?" You asked the redhead, sitting stoically in the car, straight as a rod. 

There was no answer. Natasha was peering out the windshield, her hands perfectly on both thighs. Clint looked worried as he looked at you.

"Natasha?" You gently placed her hand over hers. You could feel the bumps of the white scars over her hand. A part of you is too frightened to ask where she got these from. 

Natasha looked down at your hand over hers before looking at you. Her eyes were so empty. Such a dull green like dying grass.

"Did you eat?" 

Natasha nodded once before looking back outside the windshield. 

You looked at Clint, trying to give him a reassuring smile, but deep down, you were afraid you had no idea what the fuck you were doing. 

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"Pepper says you've been here before, but let me know if you need help finding anything," you brought her into the house where Natasha just stood, looking at nothing in particular. 

"Um," you took a shaky breath. "How about a bath? I'm sure it'll be good to get the grime and stale air off of you." 

Natasha didn't move on her own, so you began to lead her up the stairs to the bathroom. 

It was a detached tub near the high window to get plenty of sunlight without anyone being able to peer in. 

"I'll just get this started for you," you offered. Turning on the tap and pouring in a liquid that formed into bubbles. "Just make sure to check the temperature and adjust. Pepper says that sometimes that faucet can be a little finicky."

You turned to Natasha, who stood there, staring at the wall. She was unmoving, making no gesture if she was waiting for you to get out or to start undressing.

"Do you, um, need help?" You asked, but there was no answer. 

Maybe it would wake her up a little once she was in the water. 

"I'm—" you took a long breath in. "I'm gonna help you undress and get into the tub. If you get uncomfortable at any point, let me know and I can stop or do something else."

It wasn't like you've never seen a naked body before. You've seen plenty both in your sex life and field of work. You've even seen parts of Natasha's body when you've treated her. You just never thought you'd see Natasha fully naked. 

You slid your jacket off her shoulders, letting out a puff of breath. You looked past her as you undid the string of her hospital gown. You looked up when you slid down her underwear before guiding her towards the tub. Your gentle guiding seemed to spark Natasha into mechanically climbing into it herself the rest of the way. 

"Okay, cool. Um," you stuttered. "I'm sure you've been through a lot. Once you're done, we can get you into bed and if you're hungry later, I can make you something."

You were getting used to the lack of answers, but it didn't make your stomach drop any less. "Just let me know if you need anything."

You don't wait for a response this time, leaving without shutting the door fully. Down the hall, you leaned against the wall, swallowing harshly. 

It feels like you brought a lifeless shell home. A part of you wonders if Natasha really did return or if this was just some lifeless doll. 

You didn't want to think about it anymore, so you pushed yourself off the wall and into a bedroom with a suitcase and unzipped it open to grab some clothes.

When you were heading back, you heard the water still running and frowned. 

"Natasha?" You called as you opened the door. The tub was overfilling, and you rushed to turn off the faucet, trying to not slip.

Natasha was sitting how you left her, staring ahead at the running water but not really looking at it.

You sighed, relieved that the bathroom floor was designed with wood and curved so that any water would naturally run towards a drain in the floor. 

You go to check the temperature of the water and find that while it was initially fine when you turned it on, Natasha hadn't attempted to adjust it, and the finicky faucet ran nearly scalding water. 

"Jesus, Natasha, you're going to hurt yourself," you yelped. You braced through it and stuck your hand in to drain the tub halfway.

You inwardly sighed, knowing you would have to help Natasha through the entire process. You began to refill the tub, monitoring the temperature and shut it off when it was filled adequately. 

"I'm going to help wash you if that's okay," you muttered. "Just let me know if you prefer to do it yourself at any point."

You grabbed a nearby stool and sat on it before grabbing the loofa. You began with Natasha's shoulders and arms, trying to wash parts of her that were easy to access.

Natasha tensed as you washed her, so you tried to be more slow and careful. 

"It's just me," you said softly, trying to reassure the redhead. "I've always taken care of you."

Natasha said nothing, but her shoulders relaxed slightly as you continued. There wasn't much dirt on her, but the stale air that was surrounding her began to fade away. 

Her knees were propped up, folded to her chest, and you washed down her thighs and legs, trying to not think of anything too much as you did it. You tried not to think about the scars on her hands and feet. 

Readjusting your stool, you went to sit behind her. You used a cup to wet Natasha's hair, trying to detangle some of it gently first. It was then you discovered a shaven spot in the back of her head, where there was a large scar. You realized that was where Natasha's head hit the ground when she—

You swallowed, trying to suppress the anger that they shaved her head to get a look at something so private. 

You squeezed a considerable amount of shampoo in your hands and gently rubbed it into her scalp. Natasha tensed at first before your fingers massaging her scalp made her relax, her body leaning back against the tub and her head into your hands. 

It was quiet as you did this. You shampooed her hair twice before slathering it up in conditioner and finally getting out the rest of the knots. You drained the tub, grabbing the shower head to rinse her down once more before you grabbed a towel and helped her out. 

You helped put a bathrobe around her to help dry her as you didn't think you had the gall to fully dry every part of her by hand. Grabbing her clothes, you led her to her bedroom, setting her down on the bed. 

Natasha sat silently as you towel-dried her hair with gentle hands. Her eyes fell closed as you began to blow dry it. Your soft fingers tousling her hair. 

So delicate. 

When it was dry, you set the blow dryer aside. 

"Hm, your hair is pretty sensitive and might be for the next week. It might be better to braid it so it doesn't tangle and break when you're sleeping," you commented, mostly to yourself. 

You took sections of her hair, delicately beginning to put her hair into a french braid. 

"You've always had beautiful hair, red or blonde," you complimented Natasha as you finished. You moved to sit in front of her to check if you did okay from the front. There wasn't a response, but Natasha opened her eyes. They focused on you, looking at you as they traced over the features of your face. She was studying you apprehensively. 

Natasha lifted a hand, slowly reaching up as her fingers brushed the side of your face. It felt bumpy from the scars, but it made the back of your throat burn. 

"Am I really here?" Natasha mumbled as she then traced your cheek before your lips. "Am I really here with you?"

Your eyes were burning now. You couldn't even answer right away because you were afraid your lips would start trembling. 

You lifted your hand, hesitating at first, before you held her hand against your face. "Yeah, you're really here."

The edges of Natasha's eyes began to brim with tears. 

"When I jumped, I didn't die right away," Natasha whispered. "There was a feeling that something bad was going to happen. It didn't get me yet, but it was going to."

You couldn't help the tears that began to fall over the edge of your eyes when they overfilled. 

"Something bad happened to me," Natasha's lip trembled. "It's still happening to me."

You gripped her hand tighter unintentionally, but it was like it grounded Natasha. 

"I was scared," Natasha admitted. "I was scared that even if you came to me, it wouldn't go away."

Then, Natasha grabbed your hand and placed it against her cheek. It was still warm from the bath and blow dryer. 

"But I can feel your touch," Natasha sighed like it was a relief. "It's gentle and I feel human. I'm scared I'm not really here."

"You are."

Your throat felt clogged with raw emotions, and you didn't know what to do with it. You've only seen Natasha a handful of times, and maybe it's because the more you do, the more emotionally charged you both feel. 

"You're really here," you told Natasha, using your thumb to caress her cheek. You didn't know what else to say. 

All you can do is offer her shelter under your touch.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff fluff #black widow x reader #black widow imagine #natasha romanov imagine #natasha romanov x reader #avengers imagine #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff oneshot #natasha x you #mm: my fics

[puddle-nerd]

His Paysyul, His Skxawng

Summary: Miscommunications when attempting to start courting… well, at least Tonowari is so good natured about it.

Prompt #12 for my submission for #𝐂𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬𝟏𝟒𝐃𝐎𝐋𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

Story Tags: No use of Y/N, Female Reader, Human Reader, Metkayina | Reef People Clan, Na’vi, Na’vi Culture, Na’vi Language, Na’vi & Human Interactions, Miscommunication, Not Actually Unrequited Love

Na’vi Translation: Muntxatu – spouse | gender neutral Oeyä – my (possessive) Paysyul – water lily | inrigo lilliam Skxawng – moron | idiot Tawtute – human | Sky Person

AO3 Link

You hadn’t realized what Tonowari was doing at first since you and all of the other humans in the class you had taken back on Earth weren’t as informed on the details of Metkayinan courting. Or the Omatikayan courting either. But you and your fellow scientists were learning to adapt to the Sea People’s way of life so the Forest People were more of an afterthought most of the time, though they had more coverage on the news feeds back on Earth since they had more invested in that part of the moon.

But that was beside the point…

The point was… that no one had told you about the finer details of the courting rituals of the Metkayina People at the human compound built a thousand meters away from the village of Awa’atlu. You had started to just assume the young Na’vi male liked your company, wanted you to learn the intricacies of his ways to appreciate his way of life better, and he also wanted to introduce you to all the different kinds of foods his People made. You didn’t realize this was actually his way of courting you until he ventured to the human compound and finally saw you out of your Avatar form, in your natural human state – it had taken a minute or two or closer to fifteen to convince him it was really you, but he had come around, and you had introduced him to the wonders of chocolate chip cookies.

From past experience with the Omatikayan, the Na’vi could consume chocolate in small doses before having a negative reaction (upset stomach, nausea, etc.) so you gave him two human sized cookies, hoping it wasn’t too much for him.

His blue eyes had lit up as soon as the sweet confection had touched his tongue and the turquoise skinned male had released a sinful moan. You gulped, eyes riveted to him as he savored the treat before turning his freshly tattooed face your way, saying, “I had hoped you would return my courting gestures eventually. This is a superb gift. May I have more, please, paysyul?”

You blinked.

Your mind whirled, trying to make sense of his words.

Then you blinked again.

“Courting?” You squawked, mouth hanging open as you demanded more information. “Wh – I… I don’t… Wari, I don’t understand.”

Tomowari’s face fell the second your words left your lips. “Do tawtutes do it differently?” He asked softly, tentatively, the hurt at your perceived rejection clear in his tone and the way his broad shoulders slumped away from you like you might see upon a wounded canine puppy or ilu calf. “Do tawtutes not exchange gifts of food and tokens and other things and spend as much time with you can with the one you hope to perhaps one day take as a muntxatu?”

Your eyes widened further.

A spouse?!

Looking up at Tonowari now, leaning your head back as far as it could go and straining your neck to meet his downcast blue gaze, you took in the young Na’vi male with a discerning eye and realized you wanted this. Not just because he was very, very handsome to you and something very delicious to look at with all those hardened muscles and that attractive face of his, but also because he treated you better than any male human ever had. Tonowari treated you with the respect he treated everyone with – well, almost, but that was a different story. He actually listened to you whenever you spoke. He answered questions that might have been considered stupid if you had asked another human as you tried to learn the intricacies of his culture. He comforted you when your emotions took a downward turn. He praised you for your successes without taking the credit. He never made you feel worthless. You felt… really and truly SEEN for the first time in your life. “I… uh… I mean, yeah, of course we do, Wari,” you finally assured him after an awkward pause, reaching out tentatively and touching the back of his nearest wrist to you, your hand appearing so strange and so little upon his beautifully striped fin-like arm, a shiver racing down your spine. “But usually, we try to make sure we're on the same page, too. Like, with verbal communication to confirm we’re… courting.” It was his turn to blink as he tried to make sense of your words. You summed it down for him so he could understand it better. “I didn’t realize, I didn’t understand what these gestures meant… that you were actively courting me. I also didn’t know you were waiting for me to offer you food in return. Or other gifts to reveal my affection because… I assumed you were just being nice as you are to Kora or to Tsya or to Ronal.” Listing off three of the females who you knew had interest in him for one reason or another made you want to wince because they would have reveled in his offerings because they understood their meaning, leaving you feeling slow and stupid. You shook your head, adding, “If I had known… I'm sorry, Wari. I wouldn’t have made you wait. But clearly, we need to talk about things a little more so we can understand each other and each other’s ways a little better. And hey, now Ronal’s not entirely wrong when she calls me a skxawng. But at least I’m your skxawng?” Tonowari snorted, though you could see the relief in his blue eyes that you returned his feels and he reached for your much smaller body, scooping you up into his arms. “Yes, paysyul… You are oeyä skxawng,” he agreed softly and leaned his face down, rubbing his cheek against yours and purring quietly in contentment.

𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · 𖥸

Originally Posted: 12 February 2024 Word Count: 963

@crybabies-heart, @cryingwhilereading, @ikeyniofthetayrangi, @erenjaegerwifee, @bambithewriter, @lloreya

AO3 Link

#𝐂𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬𝟏𝟒𝐃𝐎𝐋𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 #avatar #atwow #avatar the way of water #human reader #tonowari #tonowari x reader

[crystalfic]

Yesterday's Legacy, Chapter 1

You asked, I provide! The next part of We're Off to Punch the Wizard, otherwise known as Yesterday's Legacy.

AO3 link

Prologue is here

(I have endeavoured to be as accurate and respectful as possible to the Islamic faith, but if I've made any horrible errors, please let me know.)

Valla's hand slipped from Emma's grip as her feet hit the ground. Sunglasses. She should have brought sunglasses. It might be cloudy back home, but she had walked through a solid glass window and now it was bright and idyllic and beautiful and had she mentioned bright yet? Ow. Valla squinted in automatic protest against the sunlight assaulting her eyeballs.

Beside her, Emma had grabbed Andy's chin and was looking closely into his eyes. A moment later, Emma released her husband and stepped back with a sigh of relief. "All clear. No glow," she said, and both Andy and Mukhtar visibly relaxed.

"No glow?" Valla echoed.

Mukhtar glanced at Valla, his dark eyes softening. "No glow means that the side-effects of his use of magic have stopped. For now, at least."

"Magic. Okay. I'm in a world where magic works, how else would I have got here in the first place?" Valla wanted to pace, wanted to let her jitters out through her feet, but she held herself still.

"You are not mad," Mukhtar said firmly, understanding what she had not said. "Or drugged. Or dreaming. In this world, magic is real. I am not one of those who could ever use it, but these two can."

While Valla was processing this, Mukhtar stepped over to Emma and Andy to exchange a few murmured words. With little more than a few nods, the three of them separated – Mukhtar and Emma to the trees at the side of the clearing, Andy to sit on a convenient rock. Something small, something that glittered in the bright daylight, passed from Mukhtar to Emma, and she put it in her pocket without a word before they disappeared into the forest.

Had that tree politely lifted its branches out of Emma's way? No. No, it must have been the wind.

Lost, Valla seated herself on the suspiciously ergonomically-shaped rock next to Andy and drank in the landscape. Before them, a circle of stones on mostly-bare earth, and lush ground cover beyond that. Circling them, trees of more kinds than Valla could name pushed against each other in their competition for good soil and light and air. Above, a cloudless blue sky of a shade she'd rarely seen except at the height of summer.

"You okay?" Valla ventured.

"I will be," Andy said, leaning back on his hands as his eyes fixed on that astonishing sky. "It's been a few decades since I've used – well, any magic at all, to be honest. Took more out of me than I expected."

"The joys of closing in on your forties," Valla said dryly before changing the subject. "Um, Mukhtar said that you and Emma had magic?"

"We do, but it only works here. I'm a sorcerer, which means I channel magic directly through my body and invoke it by will. That kind of use has side effects, which is why Emma was worried about the glowing eyes. Emma, she's a plant-witch, although a better translation is probably plant-sibling. Plants speak to her, and they usually do what she wants them to. Except goatweed. Very stubborn stuff, goatweed."

"Should I have brought weedkiller?" Valla asked, biting her lip thoughtfully.

Andy half-twisted towards her and eyed the heavy-duty hiking backpack slung over her shoulders. "I think you're carrying enough already. Wait, is that a frying pan?"

"If it's good enough for Sam Gamgee, it's good enough for me," Valla said firmly, even as the smile that pulled at the corners of her mouth ruined the attempt at seriousness. "Lord of the Rings is one of Jamie's favourite books."

"Hope you're not expecting second breakfast," Andy teased back.

Valla laughed, which released Andy's own snicker, and the two of them let their laughter fill the air for a moment. It wasn't that funny, but it was a release from tension that they both needed.

"I was born here," Andy said abruptly, cutting off Valla's lingering giggles. "By the time I opened the portal to Emma's world, I was eighteen, and the magic I used was destroying my body. I expected her and Mukhtar to go. I didn't expect them to refuse to leave me." There was an odd, wondering smile on his face. "They hauled me through anyway. It was stolen magic, magic that I barely knew how to use, and I messed up the temporal anchors. I set it to the world that they remembered, and forgot to account for their seven years here. I sent us back to nearly the moment they'd left. In payment, the magic took those seven years from us. I was eleven again. More or less healed, but I'm not sure that having to go through puberty again was worth it."

That. That was. Valla was aware her mouth was hanging open, and she snapped it shut as quickly as she could. "I need a few minutes to process that," she said faintly.

Andy nodded, and turned back to his contemplation of the sky.

"More or less healed?" Valla said after a while.

"Eh, I still had some of the scars I earned as a teenager. That said, it was easier growing up the second time around. Fewer people were trying to kill me. Much less stressful."

Valla shook her head and packed away that casual admission for later. "You said you were born here. Does – does this realm have a name?"

Andy shrugged. "Maybe? If it does, I never learned it. Emma calls it Deathworld."

The peaceful glade took on sinister overtones in Valla's mind. "So all this pretty is just the sweet topping over poison?"

"Mostly. This is a campsite, one that's been used recently by the look of the ashes, so it's reasonably safe. Otherwise? Yeah. It took a long time for us to figure that out as kids." His eyes closed, fingertips digging into the stone of his seat. "Too long."

Valla was certain of two things. One, that at least one of the kids that he'd been travelling with had died, and two, that she did not want to know about it. (They'd been children, he'd been eleven and Emma would have been even younger, good grief was this Wizard mad?)

The sound of good, solid, Earth-made hiking boots on packed earth interrupted them, and Valla turned gratefully to see Emma padding back out of the treeline.

"I've talked to Mukhtar," Emma said without preamble once she was close enough to speak normally. "He thinks we're somewhere in Galgarn's Forest. I agree; the plants say someone very large is wandering around here, and this place feels familiar." She spread her hands. "Wish I could remember it better, but we travelled through a lot of places back then."

"Is he still back there?" Andy asked.

"Yeah, he took a few minutes to pray. He brought his qiblah talisman, it lit up right on time."

At Valla's bewildered look, Emma pulled the shiny thing she'd seen earlier out of her pocket. It was shaped like a bookmark with a rounded point on one end, made of metal engraved with what looked to Valla's untrained eye like Arabic text.

"It's still functioning?" Andy asked in surprise. "I was worried it might have drained out while we were on Earth."

"You do good work, love," Emma said fondly. To Valla, she explained, "It glows and hums when it's time for his prayers – we didn't have watches, back then, and you can't always see the sun. It also points the way to Mecca for him. He's not sure if it counts as an amulet and he can't really ask an imam about it, so one of us hangs onto it for him."  

"And it is very useful," Mukhtar said from behind them. Valla squeaked, achieving a levitation of at least two inches without benefit of magic.

Andy snorted. "Still sneaking up on people?"

Mukhtar grinned unrepentantly. "You too could be quiet, if you practiced."

Emma rolled her eyes, also smiling. Valla might not be in on this particular in-joke, but she could tell it was there.

"Any sign of the children?" Andy asked, bringing them all back around to their first and most important task.

"None. However, I would have been surprised to find anything – we followed our children quickly, but there is no guarantee that the Portal dropped us in the same place as them."

"It's unlikely we were, Andy admitted. "It was taking everything I had just to hold it open. Trying to maintain the exact destination was a losing fight."

Mukhtar clapped a hand on Andy's shoulder. "I'm grateful that you did hold it open. We will find our children, Andy. I have faith that Allaah is with us."

"Good," Emma said, with a nod of thanks to Mukhtar. "So, if we're in Galgarn's Forest, let's go straight to the source."

"Talk to Galgarn?" Andy shivered. "Are you sure?" "We're not kids anymore," Emma said with a dangerous glint in her eyes. "I'd like to see him try that kind of intimidation now."

#yesterday's legacy #we're off to punch the wizard #my writing #chapter 1

[foxgloveprincess]

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Female Reader, Lance Tucker x Female Reader [Second Person Narrator]

Summary: After your night with Ransom, you’re moving on—really.  

Word Count: 2,818

Attic Wives Anonymous Masterlist

Warnings: UnBeta’d, Dark, Stalking, Fear/Paranoia, Unreliable Narrator, Yandere Vibes, BDSM (Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Rope Bondage, Suspension, Aftercare), brief Smut (Vaginal Penetration, Unsatisfying), Pet Names (baby, pidge, etc). Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: Here’s some more Ransom, being patient as he can be. Let me know what you think!

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. However, I give no permission to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work on any third party website or app. Seeing my work posted anywhere beside my blog, my library blog, or my AO3 account (FoxglovePrincess) means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

I don’t do tag lists, so follow @foxglovefics to sign up for notifications on my fics. 

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!

Breathe. In. Out. Your body relaxes into the cradle of ropes. You catch a glimpse of Chase, his smile shining for his audience. You keep your thoughts on him, too scared to let them drift. 

Though, another eye catches yours from the crowd. Your lips twitch and your teeth worry over them. Hunger, deep and dark, glinting. Pride radiating in waves. The eyes of a man who looks at you as though you’re a pristinely polished trophy. And you’re happy to be that for Lance Tucker. Just for him. God, what you’d let that man do to you. Never imagining the man who might do it better—never. 

You try to blink away thoughts of that rich asshole and let your eyes drift closed. A hand binding your wrists, around your throat. That smug smirk of his as he took you apart piece by piece. 

No. There’s no room for Ransom. He didn’t write you a check, but a week later you’d gotten a direct deposit—more than he’d promised. And you hadn’t heard from him since. Good riddance. 

You find Lance in the crowd again and let his proud smile satisfy you. You don’t need some pompous, entitled, egotistical brat hanging around being a creep. You’re glad Ransom got you out of his system. Really. You are. 

You breathe a moment, centering yourself back in the present. There’s no need to think about Ransom Drysdale. None at all. 

“Are you alright?” Chase asks in a quiet tone. His hand reaches out to steady you, grounding you to the conversation with him. 

“I’m fine,” you reply before assessing the state of your body. “But a little sore? Maybe? I think I might need to come down soonish.” 

“Alright,” Chase says. He turns back to the crowd announcing the end of his presentation, explaining the aftercare and begins to lower the rig. 

Your belly finds the mats, hands still wrapped behind your back. You turn your head and rest it on the cushion while you wait. Chase approaches and kneels by your waist. 

A laugh huffs from your chest when you look up at him. “I could have stayed up longer.” 

Chase quirks a brow. “I’m sure you could have. But I didn’t think you should.” 

You make an accepting sound in your throat and let him do his work. A minute passes before your limbs are all free. Chase wraps the rope from his palm to his elbow, winding it to put away. 

Slowly, you begin to move. First legs, stretching into the air and bending, then arms. When you finally push up from the mat, Chase stands ready to help guide you back to your room. 

“You did good today,” you remark as you both walk down the hallway. “They were eating up every word. Saw a bunch heading toward your photography table.” He smiles at you. “I think they really like the pose, too.” 

The door opens to your room and you find your futon. Chase hands you your snack and drink. 

“What do you think about going vertical next week?” he asks, brushing his fingers over your forehead while you lay comfortably on your bed. 

“As long as I’m not upside down,” you reply with closed eyes and a yawn. 

“I’ll let Lance know you’re ready for him.” Chase leaves you drifting off to sleep to get your boyfriend—the newest addition to your aftercare routine. 

The door opens and you feel the tender touch of Lance’s hand. He leans down to kiss your lips. 

“Hey, baby,” you murmur, half asleep. But when you turn over and open your eyes, no one’s there. You sit up and glance around. 

The door sits in its frame, shut and undisturbed, just like the rest of your room. Must have been your imagination, but you could’ve sworn…

The door opens and Lance struts in. You catch his eye and his smile beams. 

“God, you were fantastic!” he enthuses. Taking his hands from his track pants pockets, he cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours. They taste of cherry chapstick, how could you have forgotten that—the lips that kissed yours before him didn’t. 

“You waiting up for me?” 

You nod without a word, unsure as to what to say. Part of you wants to mention that moment before he came in. But why would he want to hear about your dream? Instead, you pull back your blanket, inviting him to warm you up. 

“As soon as we get back to your place, I’ll get your epsom salt bath going,” he starts, liking the sound of his own voice as much as you do. It grounds you, especially after a strange encounter with a figment of your imagination. “Gotta make sure you aren’t sore in the morning. Then we can get you in your…”

He keeps talking and it lulls you to sleep. Knowing that when you wake up, he’ll take you back to your place and sleep over. And everything will go like it always does. 

Which is why you’re unsurprised when Saturday morning dawns and Lance has slotted himself between your thighs. 

His hips curve into yours, his cock stretching you wide. Your fingers dig into his spine, clutching him close. Moans spill from your lips. His heavy breaths brush across your cheeks. Sweat beads on his brow as he readjusts you, stretching one of your legs closer to your chest while keeping the other wrapped around his hips. 

Your lips press together. It all feels good—always has. Even when you were finding your groove together, with his athleticism and your need for intimacy. 

He makes noises of pleasure. His hips accelerating in a signal of his imminent release. Your eyes close, focusing on your own. Lance’s hips stutter. He paints your insides with his cum and sighs. 

A sunny smile spreads his lips. How his hair remains coiffed after all the sweat and exertion, you don’t know, but it’s endearing. A quirk you quite adore. 

He flops to the side, running his hand along his abdomen, tickling the tattoo of the gold ribbon he has leading down his pelvis. Another uniquely Lance thing. So proud of his accomplishments, and you don’t blame him. He’s incredible. 

But your pulse thrums with the dissipating arousal of your unsatisfied lust. Your arms reach over your head, stretching sore muscles. Without meaning to, you let your mind wander. How Ransom made you sore in the best way. How he fit inside you. How he made you cum until you ached for nothing but pleasure. 

Your boyfriend’s hand reaches over, smoothing over your tummy and flicking at one of your nipples.

“Where’re you going?” he asks. 

You look over and smile. Eyes trace over his pouty lips and bright blue eyes. You tilt your head and brush your lips to his. 

“I’m right here,” you reply. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind?” Harlan asks. He leans back in his chair and you lift your head from your research. 

“The toxicology of plant-based poisons,” you reply, immersed in your work. Though, you know it won’t satisfy your boss. 

He says nothing more for a moment. Letting you turn your full attention back to the research at hand. He probably didn’t need much help in the subject with how long he’s been writing murder mysteries. Still, he always likes to be accurate. As few creative liberties as possible—at least where it counts. 

“Alright,” he says with as little enthusiasm as he can bestow on such an acceptance. “You will tell me eventually, mind.” 

“Will I?” you mumble distractedly. 

“You’re not a very good liar.” 

You snort and turn the page, picking up a highlighter and sticky note to jot down a thought on a passage about cyanide. 

“It isn’t something Walt did, is it?” he prods, the weight of his observant gaze heavy on your shoulders. 

“No, Harlan,” you reply, recapping the pen in your hand. 

“What about Ransom? He gave you some trouble a little while ago.”

You swallow and push aside the embarrassment and panic that spikes through you, replying, “No, Harlan.” 

“Huh,” he says. 

“Shouldn’t you be working?” you ask with a huff of mild frustration. 

“I’m quite stuck on what should happen next,” he says with a flick to the corner of the page. 

“Right,” you drone with the skeptical quirk of your eyebrow sent in his direction. 

He smiles that enigmatic smile of his and reaches up a hand to cup his chin. “You know I’m just concerned.” 

With a sigh, you give up on your work. Your boss won’t let you focus on it anyway. Folding your arms over your chest, you lean back and contemplate how best to word your explanation. One tiny slip and the jig is up. How could you possibly tell him his grandson paid to fuck you better than anyone ever has?

“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you admit, pursing your lips around the word. “Don’t need to tell you all the gory details, though.”

“That’s the best part of a story,” he refutes with a twinkle in his eye. His full attention remains on you, waiting for the final crack before the flood. 

“Let’s just say,” you pause for the right wording. “My boyfriend is amazing, but doesn’t always…” You trail off with a hand gesture to imply the rest.

“You mean in the boudoir?” Harlan twines his fingers and tilts his head in interest. 

You snort and nod. “Yeah.” You lean back in your chair until your eyes meet the ceiling. “Got me thinking about the last prick. He was an asshole, but he...” You trail off, uncertain as to how you might finish the thought.

Harlan looks at you a long while. When your head turns to meet his gaze, he says, “May I offer advice in the form of an old adage?”

You sit upright and nod. “Lay it on me.” Complete with a grabbing motion of your hands. 

“Comparison is the thief of joy.” 

It sits in the air, letting you soak it in. Harlan returns to his manuscript in silence. Yet you’re stuck on the words. He’s right. Ransom is your past—a blip, if anything—and Lance is your future—a real, solid one at that.

You turn back to your research with determination. Refusing to let Ransom occupy a second more of your thoughts. You start back on your note about cyanide. 

“I know that’s not all, by the by,” your boss intones right as your pen meets paper. “But it’s enough for now.”

You swallow and glance over your shoulder to him. “Thanks.” 

Harlan nods with a hum and places his glasses on his nose. 

The sounds of the typewriter fill the empty space of the room and the two of you continue your work. You lose yourself to the facts and let the hours tick by. Thoughts wavering on your future. 

“Seriously, this tastes like shit.” 

You hear his voice before you see him. Your heart drops to your stomach. All you can think is ‘Oh, God, no.’ Your feet find the final step and you freeze. Unsure of the best course of action. 

You might be able to completely skirt by unnoticed through the front door. Or the back patio. As long as Ransom stays in the kitchen. 

It was coming back inside that posed the problem. Harlan sending you on an errand to the local public library to pick up a book he placed on hold. If Ransom were still here, how could you avoid him without knowing his position in the mansion? 

“It’s a good thing I didn’t make it for you, Hugh,” Fran replies. 

You blink out of your momentary panic. As if Ransom ever stayed so long with his grandfather. He’d be long gone by the time you got back. You scurry out the door, closing it with the softest click.

The breeze bites through the air. It stings your face with its crisp coolness. You wrap your scarf tighter around your neck and bundle your hands deeper into your sleeves. On the threshold of winter, you dread the thought of the first snow. 

You wait a moment for your car to warm before driving down the road to town. Thoughts mull in your mind, but music tunes them out. The radio already blasting holiday songs on repeat, prompting another train of thought to occupy you. Your first holiday not alone. Gifts for Lance. Holiday plans and the small, hopeful feeling warm in your chest.

You find a parking spot at the library and exit your car. The cold wind bustles you inside and you walk to the front counter. Used to your face, the librarians move quickly to check-out Harlan’s book to you. You smile and thank them, and then you’re on your way back, with little time to get your head on straight when thoughts of Ransom resurface. 

Parking the car, you linger a moment in the quickly dissipating heat. The car door slams behind you. A few quick strides take you back up the steps and into the house. You shiver as you undress your outerwear, hanging each piece up on your hook—coat, hat, scarf, mittens. 

You pause to listen. Straining to see if you can hear Ransom’s voice anywhere in the house. Knowing how much he likes to hear himself speak. Nothing. A sigh of relief blows past your lips. 

The stairs creak on your ascent. Marta greets you on her way down, a furrow between her brow. You almost ask her about it, but she slips away in a quick descent. 

You make it to the second landing and stop. He’s standing right there. Staring at a painting on the wall—one you’d admired before, reminiscent of Artemisia Gentileschi. One you pass multiple times a day on your way up to Harlan’s study. One of your favorite pieces in the house, really. 

Wishing to turn invisible just for a moment, you clutch the book close to your chest and close your eyes. With determination, you open them and march past Ransom, ignoring his presence. Yet, in your periphery, his head turns. 

“Oh,” he says—is there a tinge of affection in his tone? He cocks his head to the side and takes a long perusal of your body. His eyes narrow. “Where have you been?” Any question of tenderness vanishes with the question. Replaced by his usual derision.

You hold up the book in explanation. He squints at the cover and his lips part, but he doesn’t say anything. He seems to think better of a comment and looks back to the painting. 

“If you’ll excuse me then, Mr. Drysdale.” 

His jaw ticks in irritation. Eyes flashing toward you, he grits, “Call me Ransom, pidge.” 

You step sideways toward the stairs up to Harlan’s personal study. “Right,” you mutter under your breath. “I just thought—” You shake your head. A buzz in your pocket catches your attention. You pull the screen halfway out to check. The preview of a text from Lance shines up at you. Your lips twitch toward a smile as you tuck it away. “Nevermind.” You make it up two steps before you hear his voice again. 

“Is Lance treating you right?”

You might have thought the question just a figment of your imagination—prone as you are to those. But turning around, he watches you curiously. Your lips part, stunned.

“How did you know about him?” you ask with a glance over your shoulder to the upstairs door, drawn but not closed. Praying that Harlan won’t be privy to this unexpected conversation. 

“Friend of a friend,” Ransom replies with a shrug. But his eyes do not leave yours. It unsettles you, the steadiness of his focus. 

You swallow down your unease. “Why do you care?” you prod. Your face scrunches in an expression of dubiousness. 

Ransom blinks and looks away to the painting again. “I don’t.” The words rasp between his teeth.

“Right,” you mutter under your breath. “Well, Ransom.” Your fingers tap on the book cover. “I, uh, hope you have a nice rest of your day.” 

You retreat up the rest of the stairs and enter Harlan’s study. With a great huff of air releasing your nerves and pent-up frustration, you glance at your boss. A curious expression adorns his features. Your stomach flips, but you ignore it and hand over his book, ready to get back to work. You’re sure he’ll ask his questions later. 

As for you, you’ve got some answered. Like the fantasy of whether Ransom would really be such a horrible option. The answer is yes. No matter how well he fucked you or how he sent you reeling in your throes of passion, he is not the man for you. Of that, you’re now absolutely certain. 

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drydale x you #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale fanfic #dark #dark fic #lance tucker fanfic #lance tucker fanfiction #lance tucker x reader #smut #yandere vibes #tw stalking #stalking #18+ #minors dni

[rosieblogstuff]

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

44 😲 in my main AO3 account. 2 others in my older account = 46!

I didn't realize I had that many things!

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

270,883

3. What fandoms do you write for?

All 44 of those works in my main AO3 are MacGyver 2016. One is a crossover with The Rookie. The other two at Star Trek TOS and Star Wars fics.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Table + Flashlight + IEDs

Mac + (Wilderness + Training + Survival) + Jack

Lost Causes

Lake + Stick + Fever

4 Times the LAPD Didn’t Pull Jack Over + 1 Time They Did 

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to! I often respond to a chapter's comments when I post the next chapter of a longfic. And sometimes I just space on it and respond a year later when I notice I failed to respond.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh definitely my X-ray + Penny flashfic, Bad Penny. Most of the comments are variations on HOW DARE YOU!!!

There are a couple other flashfics with pretty ambiguous endings, too.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

That's a hard one. Most of my fics have a happy or at least comforty ending. Maybe... uhh.... Electricity + Combustion ? which I literally labeled "whump with a fluffy ending". I also have two Jack Lives fics so that's always a happy situation at the end...

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I haven't. A few weird comments but I mostly scratch my head and ignore them. Anybody who hates on my fics will be getting a very long and nasty reply, followed by their comment being deleted.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope, no smutty fanfics here. I did have a romance I posted for another fandom awhile back (and never finished), and I've written fade-to-black stuff in my orig fic novels.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Just one! My Macgyver 2016+The Rookie cops-vs-spies crossover, in which some LAPD officers keep coming across a black GTO involved in shenangains around LA: 4 Times the LAPD Didn’t Pull Jack Over + 1 Time They Did

It's probably the funniest thing I've ever written, and the ending is one of my very favorites. Also possibly the only gen fic ever posted in The Rookie fandom, although I don't look over there much.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes. Somebody stole all my completed fics from FF.net last year. There was a big Tumblr post about some site full of stolen fics, and sure enough, there mine were. I asked to have them remove, got not reply. I haven't posted anything to FF.net since then.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I'm aware of.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, but not for a long time. I used to frequently co-write fics in my first fandom.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

I'm going to go with Washington State Ferry M/V Wenatchee. Who doesn't love a good ferry boat? It's an irconic style, fun if you're walking on, handy if you need to drive on, saves you hours of driving around Puget Sound by land. Also just a very nice-looking ship.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Ugh, wow. I have a couple dozen things I kinda like but might never finish. My favorite, and least likely because I've made the least progress on it, is a MacGyver fic about Patti having plotted out her revenge better, and tring to fuck over the team by having listed Jack as her replacement... which of course gives him access to high-level secrets like Oversight's identity. Much drama ensues.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Ramping a story up. Characters. Make a story fully story-shaped.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Endings. 😫

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Hmmm I don't think I've ever needed to. Like most things in writing, I'm not against it in theory, but it can be done well or badly.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Anne McCaffrey's Pern, back in the paper fanzine days. Prior to joining AO3 in like 2019, I had 0 fanfics posted on the internet but a few in zines listed on Ebay. 😂

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

This is IMPOSSIBLE to answer. I could answer it differently every day for the next couple weeks. Anything I already mentions plus a couple more!

#ask games #asks answered #fanfiction #macgyver 2016

[whochromatic]

I must not read chapter 109 and wait for the chapters to pile up.. I must not read chapter 109 and wait for the chapters to pile up.. I must...

*reads it anyways*

Why did I do that. Damnit, I should've known that reading that chapter would have re-activated my need for more. I was way better off ignoring anything related to Yohaji and just went about my day, not thinking about Yohaji every minute of the hour of the day of the week. But the damage has been done. Now I have to read the whole manga all over again just to satisfy myself once again. But no. That's not enough. I searched every corner to hunt every single content of Yohaji. Tumblr. Twitter. Youtube. Tiktok. Ao3. Our lord and savior Canada's account. The giver of reason in life, one who resurrects the dead, the sailor uniform to my life, Tanamai-sensei's account. I know that the Yohaji content in this world is not enough and will NEVER be. The moment I discovered this manga, I knew that it would be my life. The fact that it had only reached me last year, ber month is unforgivable. Why did it not have content as many as the amount of numbers there are to exist so that it could reach me at the start of it's existence? It should have been Yohaji. Not BNHA! Nothing against that anime by the way. Well, I am grateful that I stumbled upon Yohaji while it had 100+ chapters though. And the fandom being small enough to only have nice and cool people in it. But those fics in ao3 though? Why- I mean, I don't really care or pay attention to them but the fact that the amount of nsfw fanfics is probably (I'm saying probably because they might just be more) equal to the amount of sfw fanfics in there is- I swear, WHY ARE THERE SO LITTLE FANFICS OF YOHAJI?! 3 PAGES?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!? There might be more in other places but I only read in ao3 and Tumblr if I find some there. I'm so thankful for the translators though!!! I love y'all. I love the fandom. I love the characters. I love Yohaji. I love the creator. God- sorry I forgot I can't use sensei's name in vain. I'm telling y'all, Tanamai is the GOAT. A GENIUS!! Your brain is beautiful. What goes on in head yours? Tell and everyone might gain more braincells. What's with you? What's with your humor?? What's with your lore?! WHAT'S WITH YOUR ART??? WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!?! SENSEI WHEN I CATCH YOU OHH WHEN I CATCH YOU. But of course, it's not your fault that I'm starving for more Yohaji chapters. One month is nothing to me- IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!!! WHY DID YOU HAVE TO CREATE THIS WONDERFUL AND HEAVENLY HOOK THAT CAUGHT ME EVEN ONLY WITH IT'S TITLE AND ART?? HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO MEEEE?!?! Senseiiiiii*sob* waaaaaahh... Still, I'm sooo happy this is getting an anime this year!! I've been waiting for this ever since I found out it existed along with other Yohaji fans. I knew it would happen soon enough because it's the law. It's a crime to not make an adaption of amazing yet weird yet amazing manga like no other. Death row. DEATH ROW!! It's fine even if it's low quality. As long as it exists, I can finally pass on peacefully- when it airs it better be as good as the manga and look immaculate, I'm telling you. Haha, just kidding. Or am I..? I cannot wait until April or whatever how long it takes for the anime to air just please. Please even the trailer only. But I'm sure everyone is already working hard to make the anime for it. Do your best!! You're doing the right thing! And.... uhm.. 24 episodes... please..? AHHH HARUAKI'S SMILEEE!!! IT'S INVADING MY MIND!! GET OUT! PLEASE GET OUT!!! THIS LOWLY UNGRATEFUL UNDESERVING WORSE THAN DUST BUZZ BUZZ KILLABLE STUPID MORTAL ABOMINATION CAN'T HANDLE OR DESERVE SOMETHING LIKE THAT!! AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!! I can't do this. More. More. More Yohaji. I NEED IT. IF AIR AND SAILOR UNIFORM IS LIFE THEN SO IS YOHAJI!! RAAAAAAAHHH

Also I accidentally deleted a longer version of this and rewrote it with my memory. Thanks for wasting your time on this like I did.

#yohaji #youkai gakkou no sensei hajimemashita #terrified teacher at ghoul school #I'm fine #But not finer than YOHAJI SENSEI AND THE FANDOM-

[metalnecklace]

There Was Heaven In Your Eyes

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (plus size)

Word Count: 647

Warnings: none in this chapter

Notes: Welcome to my new fic! This is my first time writing for Javi, I hope I can do him justice. I’ve been wanting to write a Pedro character for a while and absolutely loved him in Narcos, so I figured why not! I do have Spanish in here (with translations right after when I feel they’re needed), but I am just learning how to speak it. So if there’s anything that needs to be retranslated or adjusted please let me know! I will also be posting this on my AO3 under the same username.

Summary: Reader has left her home country suddenly, finding herself teaching in Bogotá. When she ends up becoming a nanny for the Escobar family she isn’t sure if it’s any better than her life before. A certain Agent seems determined to help her, but will she let him?

Javier Peña is in the thick of finding Pablo Escobar, but ends up finding someone else. Will he let her be the one to break down his walls?

Masterlist

Prologue

The night was sticky. There was no other way to describe it. It was the type of night where Javier’s skin was on fire as it came in contact with the rolling condensation on his glass of whiskey. The drink is his usual, taken dry unlike the air he took into his lungs as he reminded himself to just keep breathing.

Things had been getting tougher when it came to catching Escobar. Javi’s nights stretched longer until they were no longer moments laying wide awake and restless in bed, but were instead short breaks of sipping alcohol to soothe his nerves until he went back to it.

Steve still tried to go home, even if it meant he was just waiting by the phone in the hopes that Connie would show him grace. Even when Javi didn’t feel he deserved it. He had seen firsthand the way Steve had started to slip into the habits that Javi lived day to day. Hidden flasks, reaching for his gun instead of his reason. But at the end of the day Javi had to admit that Steve was still the better person, the bigger man.

Javi downed the last of his drink, no longer feeling the burn that he used to. He longed for it some days, wishing that he had something to ground him.

He scrubbed a hand down his face and let out a sigh from deep within his lungs. His finger itched for his pack of smokes when he felt the stretch in his lungs. With his back aching he leaned down and grabbed what he needed out of his jacket pocket and placed a cigarette between his lips, feeling more comfort as he brought the lighter to its destination than he had since his last smoke.

“You really gotta lay off those things,” Steve’s voice rumbled from behind Javi. “Gonna slow you down even more.”

Javi had jumped after hearing Steve, not expecting anybody in the office at that hour.

“Fuck you,” he retaliated, twisting to face the taller man who waltzed to the opposite desk. “What’re you doing here? Thought you went home?”

Steve sighed and buried his face in his hands once he sat down. “Connie called, told me to hurry up and do my job so I can come home.” He raised his head, causing Javi to notice the dark circles contouring his bloodshot eyes. Since when did Steve look so burnt out? Javi shuddered to think of how he looked these days. “I figured I might as well get back to it.”

Javi puffed on his cigarette and exhaled, following the smoke up to the lights before looking back at his partner.

“There’s not much going on here,” Javi started, “if you did wanna get back home.”

Steve shook his head and reached for some of the files on the brunettes desk. “Nah, not like I need to do much there, anyway.”

The two men worked in silence together. It was comfortable, with a certain tether of understanding that not many others in the DEA respected. Javi loved to push Steve’s buttons, but at the end of the day he had really come to love working with him.

Silence was broken when Steve suddenly stood and moved to Javi’s side in three strides. He put a folder down over top of the one Javi had been sorting through and pointed his finger at a name with a snap of skin against paper. The folder was containing names of people Pablo had helped get fake passports. Most had already been done away with, almost all Javi had heard of. All except for the name Steve’s finger pointed at.

“Javi, we found it! Someone we’ve overlooked.”

Javi narrowed his eyes before looking up at Steve. “Well? Who is it?”

Steve lowered his finger on the page to where it showed their occupation.

“The nanny.”

#javier pena #javier pena fic #javier pena x reader #narcos #plus size reader #Javier pena x plus size reader

[mneiai]

Omg saw a post saying that AO3 is anti-capitalism.

An organization that relies on unpaid labor when it has the funds to pay people is not anti-capitalism, that's like the definition of capitalism.

ETA since some weirdos sucking OTW dick on this casual previously two sentence post clearly labeled "anti ao3" can't seem to understand: OTW has had disturbing amounts of surplus funds for multiple years they weren't spending on anything, including on, say, hiring a machine learning engineer to design a better moderation system, or a consultant to offer advice on diminishing the rampant racism issues on AO3, or even a web developer with experience in localization to improve translated versions of the sites.

Their legal fund might as well be pennies in a piggybank, if there were ever a real legal issue they'd have to...you guessed it, rely on unpaid labor (in fact, that's what their "legal partners" are). That money could be put towards lobbying or other preparations for an eventual legal challenge, but they keep it in a useless fund so people can continue pretending like it would totally cover the actual costs of such a battle.

There are a variety of labor experts, of course, who would be more than willing to assist them in getting setup to hire/pay some people, probably regardless of what country those people are in (international non-profits with far smaller profiles do this regularly, people are lying when they say this is some hugely complicated thing a non-profit could never ever do). I literally volunteered for a much smaller one that had exactly one paid employee who was from another country, even, this is not an unusual thing, people who claim it is are blatantly lying to you.

OTW is not run like a normal non-profit. It gets away with doing things that the average well-meaning person would not be okay with from another non-profit (assuming they knew anything about non-profits), because it's something people like, so they're looking the other way.

If you can't criticize it, what does that become? If you don't allow people to point out its flaws, how can you claim to have any moral high ground? You're like weird fanfic extremists or something, attacking anyone who points out something you take personal offense to like they kicked your baby with a bunch of shady arguments designed to obscure the fact that unpaid labor when an organization can afford to pay some people is 100% capitalism.

#anti ao3

[mslanna]

All Is Fair In - Well, War

Chapter 8 of Be My Guest now up on AO3

In which I went overboard with poetry (apologies), Haarlep learns that hugs are necessary for human health, and Raphael learns nothing at all

An uneven rhythm settles over the House of Hope. The war has begun in earnest and Raphael's forces move to corner Zariel in her flying fortress. With the number of fiends coming and going undisturbed time with Raphael or Haarlep is rare. And since devils have no need for sleep, the bustling is all around the clock. Tav's mind starts to simmer in anxiety and hyper-vigilance.

"Most of them don't care if I'm around," they complain to Haarlep. "They strut through this place all wings and armoured boots. I may need a sphere of invulnerability. Or my own wings, preferably armoured."

"That opposes the whole point of wings, but do go on." Haarlep lounges on their side, fingers tracing invisible patterns on the silken sheets.

"They make excellent cocoons," Tav insists. "Throw some armour on and they are good protection. Here, a little like that." Tav scoots closer and pulls one of Haarlep's wings over them like a fleshy tent.

"Ah, we don't do that." The incubus retracts their wing and folds it out of reach.

"You don't?"

"No. Whatever gave you that idea."

"Raphael?" Tav ventures.

"What?" The incubus sits up. "As if he wrapped a wing around you to keep you out of reach from one his underlings?"

When Tav turns red instead of answering, Haarlep claps their hand in delight and croons:. "Oooh, he is smitten!"

"Well, if he is, he has a strange way of showing it," Tav grumbles.

"My dear, you may have a rather distorted idea about how devils go about something that may resemble affection. We are creatures of pain and suffering. We strive only to better our own positions. Everything that falls outside of those parameters is affection."

For a moment Tav imitates a surprised fish. In the end they close their mouth and look down at their hands. "Translation to other species is lousy, just saying. And you are not helping."

"Or course not. We are all grown adults here. Not to mention the show is absolutely entertaining and has so many benefits."

"Well, at least one person in this house benefits from it," Tav huffs.

"I am torn, my dear, I truly am. As much as I love to see our poor master suffer like that, I also hate to see you this dejected." Haarlep puts a finger under Tav's chin and raises their head. "Maybe I can find a truly delicious way to give you want without involving him."

Tav snorts. "You can always start with a hug."

"Oh, but for certain." Haarlep opens their arms. "I am all yours."

Tav climbs into the embrace, rests their face against the incubus' shoulder and for a moment, all is well. But soon sneaky fingers slither over Tav's shoulders, writing fiery lines over their clothes.

"No, none of that," Tav mumbles. They squirm but Haarlep takes their job of holding them very seriously.

"But why not," they whisper into Tav's ear. "That is where all the fun is."

"I'm not here for fun, Haarps." Tav manages to push a way a little. "At least not that kind of fun."

"What is in it for you then?" The incubus tilts their head. "And for me?"

"Well. Humans need contact; we're very social. We become unhappy and languish when we are isolated. And I am rather isolated here as you might have noticed." Tav leans back against the incubus. "Hugs are healthy."

"Is that so." Haarlep adjusts a careful grip around the human in their arms. "And what do I get?"

"Another thing to rub Raphael's nose in should he ever notice," Tav mumbles. "Plus, excellent new data on how to seduce a human extended edition - hugs can last for days."

"Never lost for words," Haarlep chuckles. "I see why he likes you. Now you just have to speak the same language."

Tav doesn't point out that learning infernal is very difficult when all you have is books and random fiends that don't slow down and also use vocabulary not listed in the beginner editions.

"That's why you're doing the song and dance thing with me, too, isn't?" They ask instead. "Because Raphael likes those and I am sharing them with you."

"Of course," the incubus agrees readily. "He has a love for words and musics, he has. Raphael frequents the opera houses of many planes, a true patron of the arts."

"And I am sharing this with you."

"Delicious and true." Haarlep tightens their hold. "But nobody forces Raphael to stay away. You are a guest in his very own house, ready to give him anything he asks for."

"He doesn't strike me as the asking type," Tav grumbles.

"He is certainly not. Which makes this all so very delicious." A wing closes around Tav. "Such a naughty little mousling. And since you are hells bent on being bad, so shall I. How is your health?"

"Much improved," Tav mumbles. It's not even a lie. They feel safe and for once, actually welcome and wanted in this house. "Give me five minutes and I should be ready for rehearsal."

# # #

Five minutes stretch out until Haarlep shakes Tav awake because their services are required. The paladin stumbles out of the boudoir, rubbing their eyes. They are just getting their bearings back when Raphael crosses their path.

"On time, I see." He gestures towards the balcony overseeing the Feast Hall.

Tav smiles despite the small desperation forming in their stomach. They slept longer than they thought and now it was too late to get some dinner into their belly before the wine-doused bickering session with Raphael. But the hells will fall before they let this part of their day slip.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." Tav leads the way and slips into their comfortable chair. They pour the prepared wine, a blanc de noire that smells like soaked cherries and gooseberries. It will be difficult not to indulge. Raphael is getting their taste in wines down pat.

They watch the devil over the rim of their glass. The straight line of his thin lips curving gently upwards when Raphael catches them stare. Tav returns the smile, unable to rip their eyes away. The candlelight softens the harsh planes of Raphael's face. The hint of a five-o'clock shadow hugs his jaw. Tav wonders how it would feel to put the tip of their index finger into the shallow dent in the devil's chin.

"Anything in particular you want to discus ere we begin?" The words run smoothly from his lips.

There are many things Tav has on their mind but none seem wise to disclose. So they shake their head and reach for one of the books. "I am sure your questionable choices in literature will be enough to fill the evening."

"My choices are questionable?" Raphael stretches his legs and leans back. "I cannot remember losing a single argument against your rather poor interpretations."

"Because your memory sucks," Tav murmurs under their breath.

"I heard that but I will choose to ignore it."

Tav looks up. "No stomach for a fight this early?"

"I prefer your ramblings slightly intoxicated," Raphael agrees. "They are much more unhinged and entertaining that way. Not to mention, easier to lay waste."

"Doesn't make your old-fart traditionalist approach any more palatable."

"I pick my battles," the smile is deceptively gently. "And I pick the ones I will win."

Tav takes a provocative sip of their wine. If Raphael wants unhinged and intoxicated, he can get it. He can get a lot actually, too bad he doesn't want any. They grab the closest book and open a random page.

Time and wine do their job and flush Tav's face and belly with cosy warmth. Raphael watches as those eyes soften and let go of whatever fight it is Tav continuously carries with them. Less conscious of the world and themself, Tav's motions are far flung and slightly clunky. As if the tight control over their limbs left them unsure of what to do without it.

Now and then Tav bounces some body part against the table top or leg and frowns as if the piece of furniture hadn't been there the whole time. And while their words are less polished and the sentences janky, it is easier to see the vast mind behind them, working overdrive to connect to the world on the other side of Tav's head.

If Tav knows, they don't show. The change is slow like a sunrise: the single shades easy to miss, but unmistakable in its entirety. As Tav takes another sip of the carefully chosen wine, Raphael picks his next fight.

"It is cowardice in the end. The narrator doesn't take responsibility for their meandering and self-inflicted misery."

"Still caution," Tav counters and prods the open page with a finger. "They value their friendship and are not willing to give it up, not even for their own happiness."

"And where exactly-"

"Here: O ay, my friend, I watch you still, afar to silence sworn. I wish to say, I stopped myself, but I am much too torn to leave or speak or even seek a glance falling my way and yet I'm bound and cannot run and cannot even stay-" Tav recites.

"Self-made torment," Raphael repeats. "People are excellent at creating unnecessary hells for themselves. Why swear yourself to silence when words can easily resolve the problem?"

"Because friendship." Tav shakes their head. "Worst thing to lose. All the trust and care and commitment. Poof, gone."

"So the narrator is justified in pushing their decision onto the object of their affection?" The devil raises an inquiring brow.

"Did you even read the sonnet?" Tav huffs. "Says here

Please stay a while, my favourite smile, now I have come so far just take my hand in foreign land and tell me who we are.

The narrator made their choice. They're all-in deep in love. They leave it to their friend to set the frame of their interactions. Friendship or love. Both are options."

"It is still cowardice."

"Maybe, but to lose what you have for something that can never be hurts. And it is avoidable."

"Self-styled martyrdom. Withholding information on the grounds the other will know if they care and look close enough."

"Do you really think you can be around somebody so desperately in love and not notice?" Tav snorts.

"You forget yourself." The words cut cold thought the warmth cocooning Tav.

"Maybe I do." Tav drains their glass desperate to change the subject. "Do you ever write poetry yourself?"

"Why do you ask?" The words are warmer than the last but wary.

"Because as critics we have it easy, don’t we? There is no danger in taking apart and judging what others have created. But the writers, the poets, they put parts of themselves out in every piece."

"You want to dissect a part of me? Bold."

"That is not-", Tav stops. In a way, that is exactly what they ask. "Point taken."

"So let me ask you," the devil's voice drops, betraying his curiosity, "do you ever write poetry?"

Tav hopes their flaming blush isn't that visible in the dim light. "Everybody does, don't they? I sure did when I was a teenager." The grimace when Tav remembers those attempts is painful.

"And now?" The words are velvet and whisky. He is tempting them.

"Wanna have yourself enshrined in words?" Tav teases.

"No need for something so fancy, which also, I already have."

Spite flickers in Tav. Unwise and born from wine and embarrassment that makes it even less smart. But they already offended their devil. And tomorrow was the final assault on Zariel's flying fortress. They might not see him again. They might find themself waking up in the clutches of Mephistopheles. Was are a few reckless words in comparison?

"There once was a cambion in hell who thought that he was truly swell but if you get close a shortcoming shows as his incubus will surely tell."

Tav leans back and stares a challenge at the devil on the other side of the table.

But Raphael doesn't take offence. He leans back, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest. "Low hanging Fruit. The best you can do?" He doesn't wait for Tav's answer.

"There is a loudmouth from Baldur's Gate who was way too eager and could not wait their turn for a deal their soul now a steal and them bound to a devil they hate."

"Oh, now it's on," Tav huffs. "I was never and in no way eager to deal with any devil."

Raphael raises his glass and sips expectantly. "A notion obviously too complex to fit the chosen form."

For a moment Tav grinds their teeth. But the self-satisfied smile on Raphael’s face eggs them on.

"There is a paladin, oath-bound and pure who had to deal with devils for sure but back-doors rule they are no fool it is the devils that are caught by their allure."

Tav takes a triumphant sip from their own wine. It glows warm in their belly, suffusing their whole body and the surrounding air with a gentle glow.

While they still imagine how Raphael will take their bait and what confession the next limerick may extract from him, the door is opened carefully.

A devil pokes their head in, eyes wide with fear at disturbing the Master of the House even on his own orders. "The last scouts have returned. We are ready."

A vicious smile spreads over Raphael's face, supplanting the indulgent ease. "As you were." He waves the devil away and stands.

"Alas, as much as I enjoyed our little skirmish, my war cannot wait." His hand makes an unresolved gesture in Tav's direction. "And let me know how it goes for your allure to other devils."

His eyes rake over Tav, stripping them for goods worthy of a deal. What the devil sees, seems to satisfy him and he leaves the human shivering in their chair.

Tav stares at the closed door for along time. What in the nine hells was that? And what had been in the wine to loosen their tongue into such a reckless foray? With nobody to see, Tav's face starts to burn. They reach for the almost empty bottle. Something to drown their thoughts with. They head to bed, intending to sleep of the worst of the embarrassment and intoxication.

# # #

Tav wakes and squirms under the blanket, wondering what pulled them from sleep, when they notice the feeling of a ghostly hand that wanders restlessly over their clit. They inhale sharply.

So much for the devil's promises. Worth nothing. The other ghost hand clasps around their shin and Tav can only imagine where Haarlep's leg goes with the insistent friction inside them raking over their every nerve.

Getting up takes concentration. But the more awake they are, the easier the feelings are to push aside. Tav stumbles queasily into the corridor and makes their way haltingly to the boudoir. They will find out who is allowed to break contract like this and then Tav will confront their sleazy devil with his own lies. What good that will do is uncertain. But with the tension rising in their body, so does Tav's determination not to let this slide.

The house is silent. The quiet before the storm. Tav wonders how long they slept. A last meeting and then battle. Was everybody gone already? Tav doesn't meet a soul on their way to the boudoir, even the voyeur debtor is nowhere to be seen. Tav spies a red figure on the bed with Haarlep, wings spread and working. But the fence breaks up all details.

Despite the fiend on the boudoir being obviously deeply engaged, Tav walks slow and quietly. The gurgle of water from the fountains covers their hitching breath. When a moan slips from their lips at an especially spot-on thrust, Tav stops. They shake, but only partly from the fear of being detected and caught.

The fiend has not noticed their presence though, and moves over Haarlep with viscous need. Tav slinks up to the curtain bound back against the wall to peer at the bed. For a moment, their heart freezes. Haarlep writhes on it in Tav's shape with their back arched. Ecstasy is written over their body in sweat and gasping moans. Their hands reach for the fiend working himself hard, one of Haarlep's legs propped up against his chest.

He leans down to capture Haarlep's borrowed mouth with an angry kiss and Tav finally can make out his face.

Raphael.

Tav jerks back behind the curtain. Trapped in place they cannot make their trembling legs move and slowly, their knees give in. With the pressure building inside them, Tav risks a quick scrabble out of sight and curls up behind one of the opulent beds around the pool. They hug themself tightly as Haarlep comes after taking the devil's ferocious climax.

As soon as the waves of second-hand release start to abate, Tav forces themself up into a shuffling run back to their room. Once out of the boudoir they drop all secrecy and sprint as fast as their trembling body allows.

Locking the door won't hold stop Master of the House, but it gives Tav enough security to curl up on their bed and cry unashamed. A tangle of emotions rolls over them suffused with shame of all flavours. Shame at what they witnessed, shame about the relief that is is Raphael himself, shame at the anger that it is Haarlep, shame at the angry knot in their stomach and the yearning wetness between their legs.

A halting hand moves down and shaking fingers slip into hot and empty folds. Tav tries to relieve their unsatisfied body with their own means but the image of Raphael fucking Haarlep in their shape, the utter greed of it, makes fingers a useless substitute. Tav howls their frustration into their pillow and pulls the blanket over their head.

It settles with unusual weight and the ghost of something hard slips up between their thighs. Tav groans, angry and grateful. The devil cannot get enough and this time, this time Tav will make sure they find their own release. Their fingers burrow back between their legs and Tav raises their hips unconsciously when the after-image of a ridged cock presses down.

#bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #bg3 fanfiction #be my guest #chapter 8 #mel writes fanfic

[girlintotv]

20 questions for fic writers

Thank you to for tagging me, @mamadoc. This means a lot to me.

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

101! It feels like such a dream to be over 100 fics.

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

1,434,829 total since mid 2022 and 387,124 just in 2024!

Word count means a lot to me.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Written and posted for: Chenford (The Rookie) 80 fics, Stris (SWAT) 15 fics, Buddie (911) 3 fics, Nace (Nancy Drew) 2 fics, Dramione (Harry Potter) 1 fic and it was a birthday gift. I don’t even go there, and Two&Three (Dark Matteter) 1 fic.

I’ve written for other fandoms (that’s a longer list), but I haven’t posted those old little pieces of drabble, and I never intend to.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Sorry, friends, I don’t check kudos. I appreciate them, but I don’t look at hits, or kudos, or subscriptions, or bookmarks as units of measure. Ever. I can’t control how many and who likes my work, and so I don’t want to think about my work based on those numbers. I look at my word count, and that’s what I’m proud of. That tells me I’ve found a certain amount of time to do what I love, so I’ll go with Top 5 Fics by Word Count:

Limelight Love Story (Chenford)

Let’s Get Together (Chenford)

A Full Moon Curse (Chenford)

For Fake and For Real (Chenford)

King of My Heart (Chenford)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Absolutely! Anyone who takes the time to leave a (positive) comment is someone I really appreciate. It means SO much to me, since that’s the only way I gauge engagement (as I mentioned before, I do not check kudos, etc.). It does take me a while to reply to comments, which I do apologize about. When I have a few minutes, I can either reply to comments or keep writing, and I tend to pick to keep writing, hence the delay in replying, but I will. I promise.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Written and posted so far: All Dogs Go To Heaven. I will truly NEVER live that story down. Sorry!!!

Second place is: You’re Losing Me (Pt. II).

I love angst. So much. Angst at the beginning of a story, angst in the middle, angst at the end…all of it! I do *tend* to write happily ever afters that are hard won, but nothing hurts like a super sad ending that will make you enjoy a good cry. I’m damaged. Leave me alone.

Also, I have my own angst scale to assess the pain of my stories (attached to this post for reference and in my profile on AO3). My love of pain is very serious. I already mentioned I’m damaged. Leave me alone.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of my multichapters have a sugary sweet happy ending including a fluffy epilogue, because after the rollercoaster of angst, I feel like the beloved ship I’m writing for deserves it (also anyone who reads my fics and rides the rollercoasters deserves some happiness…usually) I think I Pretend You’re Mine might be the happiest, or The Story Of Us, or Let’s Get Together? Someone else might be a better judge.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

ALL.THE.TIME! Since I started actively posting very regularly at the beginning of 2023 to now, I haven’t gone a month without receiving hate on a fic. It’s exhausting at times and, admittedly, has slowed my writing down a bit as of late.

Fun fact: I got some smut hate and quickly wrote and dedicated a smut fic to “my hater” called: A Great Way to Start the Day

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I write mostly E and some gentler M smut. Nothing too kinky (posted thus far). It’s all been for Chenford as of now, and I have fun with it.

Smuttiest fic I’ve written: Lucy Chen and the Deadly Pixies

Second place: Out With A Bang

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I’ve got half of an outline for a Caskett x Chenford crossover somewhere on my list. I hope I get to actually write it someday.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Who would steal MY insanity? No, I haven’t (to my knowledge).

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I’ve been approached a few times. I would be open to someone translating one of my fics into another language. Feel free to reach out!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

It’s been a privilege to co-write Even If Saving You Sends Me To Heaven with heartofrookie and Somebody Save Me and Our Secretly Perfect Holidays with thatfandomwriter.

Always open to a collab!

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

I could NEVER pick, but Chenford has my heart right now by a LANDSLIDE.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I really believe I will finish all of them. If I start posting, I will finish the story. I hope I have the inspiration and time to write everything I have an idea for.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Being passionate and outlining. I think the passion of a writer will ALWAYS come through in their work. It’s so clear when someone is having fun with their story, and I always ALWAYS do, or I won’t write the fic. Also, I really thoroughly outline my stories before I ever write a word. It’s really important to me to have everything planned out to execute a story that has all of the aspects, plot, arcs, and development I want to include. Also, angst just won’t hit the same unless it’s outlined and well thought out. Otherwise, it can feel unnecessary, but all my angst has a reason.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Pretty much everything especially fluff. I’ll never say I’m a great writer. I know that I’m not. I will say, I always enjoy myself and make myself happy with my work (or a friend on their birthday if I write them a birthday fic). That’s all that matters to me. I don’t need to be good or be a strong writer. I’m okay with being meh.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I’ve thrown in some Spanish for Chris in a Stris fic, but otherwise, haven’t done it yet. If someone else is comfortable speaking another language that a character speaks, I say go for it!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Technically, I wrote a story when I was REALLY young about Zack and Cody’s parents getting a divorce. I wrote it on my phone, and never posted it, and have long since deleted it (I am so embarrassed that I am sharing this right now). First fandom I posted for was MacRiley (MacGyver). My friend and I were obsessed with the show, it got canceled before the ship went canon, and so I wrote what I would have written for the final season. I posted it on WattPad. It’s not very good, but I did it and posted it per a friend’s request. Don’t judge me.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

There are a few.

Favorite MCD: Back to December (Chenford) This is the only story of mine that I’ve reread for pleasure.

Favorite vulnerable Tim: I Just Want You To Know Who I Am (Chenford)

Favorite I’ve written when I was in a dark place but still made something I think is beautiful: You Can’t Spell “Time” Without “Tim” (Chenford)

Favorite because someone told me they refused to take their own life until the story ended and sought help before I finished posting, so it’s the reason they’re still alive: King of My Heart (Chenford)

Favorite guilty pleasure story I’m glad I wrote: Let’s Get Together (Chenford)

Favorite because it was my first real multichapter Chenford fic: For Fake and For Real (Chenford)

Favorite breakup fic with a happy ending: You’re Missing From Me (Chenford)

Favorite Stris fic I *will* finish eventually: STRIS Season 6+ (Stris)

Appreciate being tagged and asked to talk about my fics. It’s been a pleasure to answer these questions.

Alright, time to go back to writing.

#chenford fic #chenford #chenford fanfic #fanfic #fanfic writer #fanfic writing

[quitealotofsodapop]

una vez leí que en viaje al oeste SWK tiene problemas de vista por el horno de tiagramas por las cenizas que le entraron en los ojos, como que necesita lentes como Tang ¿Que piensas de eso?

translated via Google:

"I once read that on a trip to the west SWK has vision problems due to the tiagram furnace due to the ashes that got into his eyes, he needs glasses like Tang. What do you think about that?"

It's a really cool concept!

One of my favorite au fics is called "Molten Iris" on ao3 (link here!), and it deals with SWK sight being permanently damaged by the Furnace, and how he might interact with the world around him because of it.

One of the aspects of Sun Wukong in the book is how "true" fire damages him; in the Furnace, by Red Boy, and briefly in Chapter 75 when he's trapped in the "Yin-Yang Twin-Energy Vase" by the Roc King/Peng. The last instance made him panic so badly that he pulled out a lifeline (magic hairs) Guanyin gave him at the start of the journey in order to escape.

Theres also a scene in "Journey to the West" where Monkey is blinded by the smoke made by Red Boy.

I like the idea of Wukong being fairly short-sighted, and the Gold Vision helps him find things without squinting too badly. I feel like his pride is the main obstacle for him to get glasses, makes him feel "damaged/mortal".

In the AU; since Wukong is living as a mortal, he actually gets a pair of glasses to help him read better (and cus of Mac's nagging). He was just goofing around one day with Tang and tried on the scholar's glasses, only to notice;

SWK, trying on Tang's glasses: "Uh... How am I seeing better with these? Pigsy made it sound like you were using a fish eye lens." Tang, realising: "...I'll give you the number of my optemertrist." SWK: "Is that some kinda wizard?"

Macaque ends up laughing the first time he sees Wukong wearing glasses, joking that his sight has started failing cus of age. Later he admits that he honestly didn't know Wukong's sight was truly that damaged from the Furnace. Wukong says no big deal, and makes a comment about being able to look at Mac more clearly now. Both monkeys are blushing messes by the end of the conversation.

Macaque makes a point of kissing Wukong's eyelids as a gesture of affection.

It also adds to Wukong's look as a "normal monkey demon dad" compared to the buff juggernaut he once was.

Compare: How the legends make Sun Wukong the Monkey King sound (Smite SWK) VS What he looks like to MK in the au (Hank Hill).

In the extended "Wukongverse"; the other SWKs likely have similar eyesight problems. The only ones who don't are Cherry/Netflix!SWK, and Shihou/Meihouwang!SWK since they were never trapped in the Furnace - though it would be funny if they still needed reading glasses.

Fun Monkey Fact! The imagery of SWK having "Fiery Eyes and Golden Pupils" comes from real life macaque monkeys, where during mating season; the skin around their eyes becomes red making their irises appear golden.

#sun wukong #eye trauma tw #lego monkie kid #lmk #lmk theories #lmk character hcs #lmk tang #monkey facts #the monkey king and the infant #the monkey king and the infant au #shadowpeach #lmk shadowpeach au #six eared macaque #liu er mihou

[darsynia]

Repeat After Me | Oneshot

(Tony Stark/Reader, Soulmate AU Canon Divergence 'Mob AU')

Summary: You're thriving in Loki's Empire as the most respected smuggler out there. You earned that reputation by remaining neutral, traveling between the city-states run by powerful Magnates like Loki's thrall Tony Stark in NYC or the relocated Wilson Fisk in Miami. It's lucrative business, but the real reason you have to stay moving is written on your arm.

Length | Rating: 3,635 | T (for language)

Notes: Set ten years after Loki successfully mind controlled Tony Stark and took over the world in 2012. My tongue-in-cheek take on a mobster-style AU, series potential if folks are interested.

THIS IS MY VOTE FOR 'SOULMATES' IN ROUND 1 OF TROPE MADNESS 2023 which is run by @thestanceyg! (note: also posted on AO3, same title tho!)

Also written for @caplanbuckybarnes's Three Words Challenge, using 'Don't look back.'

Tags: @ronearoundblindly @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @starksbf @tiny-anne @starryeyes2000 @my-soulmate-is-mycroft

Repeat After Me

You might be the only person who has both soulmate Words written on your body.

Repeat after me: don’t look back.

At first, you’d found them comforting. After all, they’re predictable in a way almost no one else’s Words are: if you’re right about them, it means you can choose whether to speak those fateful Words aloud. Then Loki came with his Chitauri army, and everything changed.

It’s been ten years since Lord Loki became the ruler of the world; ten years of societal restructure and bleak acquiescence. It turns out that humans are well adapted to be ruled, just as he’d said-- but perhaps not quite in the way he’d intended. Everyone has figured out their own way to survive, whether it’s in one of the densely populated city-states, the agricultural backwaters, or the uneasy suburban sprawl that straddles both extremes.

You’re one of the few who can travel easily through all three, and you pride yourself on that. Pre-Empire, you’d been a top exec at a shipping company, and your talent for managing large egos, ability to memorize maps, and knowledge of machinery was easily translated to a life as a smuggler. Your top rule? You do not take sides. Ever. It’s what made you successful, what kept you alive.

And no one knows the real reason.

“Zephyr, how long before you head out?”

You’re half-in, half-out of your truck, the open door heavy on your ass thanks to all the armor plating. “Weather looks like it’s gonna hold for another hour and a half, I was thinking forty-five minutes?” you guess, squinting up through the tint on the upper part of the windshield.

“Got time to meet with a potential?” Karl laughs at your obvious groan, adding, “Fancy suit says D.C., maybe New York. Probably shouldn’t risk skipping.” You trust your second in command, even if you don’t want to take his advice. Karl Mordo is pragmatic, honest, and a baronic pain in your ass sometimes.

“Fuck. Okay. But I’m going right now, before I de-grease for the trip.” You hop down and hold up your dirty hands, wiggling your fingers.

“What if they’re from Stark?”

You clench your jaw. “His people should know better, even after two years. We just did Fisk a favor, maybe he’ll remind Loki’s strongman that there’s a reason he relocated to Miami.” 

Karl nods and heads back to the house, and as soon as he’s gone, you hold still and count to ten to calm your breathing. Tony Stark rules the northeast with a literal iron fist, and no one’s sure whether the mind control has turned him cruel or he’d been released years ago and just likes it. Only people Stark trusts have been close enough to know for sure. 

Despite your reputation for neutrality, a few years back he’d sent his clever and ruthless ex-turned-CFO Pepper Potts to ask you to spy on some of the biggest players on the Eastern Seaboard.

It had been the first time you’d gotten close enough to see the electric blue of Loki’s mind control first-hand. Her threats had been articulate and terrifying, but your response ended up having a lasting effect on the way Lord Loki does his business. Word is that the emperor includes additional spells and enchantments to prevent a simple blow to the head from releasing a thrall and undoing years of work. 

You still get messages from Potts, filtered heavily by word of mouth, through the Resistance.

When you get up onto the porch, you note with approval that someone’s already gotten the burly, suited visitor some sweet tea. He turns around, and your heart sinks as you recognize him from news articles. Tony Stark’s sweet-faced associate, Happy Hogan. 

“Zephyr, is it?” he says warmly, reaching out a hand to shake. You offer him your left hand, and he immediately grins. You wear a binding on your right forearm, and it’s basically an open secret that your Words are there. Words you’ve made very clear you intend to remain a secret, on pain of death. “We have a job for you.”

“That’s truly unfortunate,” you say with a smile. “Your boss burned that bridge years ago. All I have is my integrity, I’m sure you understand.” Leaning up against one of the porch pillars, you send all of your anxiety to your legs, to hold you up and maintain the illusion that you’re not distressed. “Since you’ve come all this way, I can offer to connect you to one of the reputable smaller orgs.”

“Interesting you mention integrity. Did you know your right hand man is a known member of the Resistance?” Hogan’s tone is light, almost teasing.

You do your very best not to react, but on its face, you doubt the accusation. Karl had come to you deeply disillusioned by the Resistance, after working with them openly for a year, spending double that in prison, and being released with an interdict that prevented any employment but fieldwork. By the time you brought him in, he was full of quiet fury and determination to survive. The money you spent to clear his interdict was some of the easiest you’ve ever spent.

“I assume you have newer information than 2013?”

Hogan pulls an envelope from his lapel pocket and hands it over. Inside is a set of pictures showing Mordo speaking with and shaking the hand of Steve Rogers, the most wanted man on the continent. Karl’s hair has only been in that particular style for a few months.

You hand them back, keeping your hand steady. “If you can point and shoot pictures, why not point and shoot that particular problem?” The question is important to your public front, but you also want to know what kind of answer you get, whether it’ll be something you want to pass along.

“One step at a time,” Hogan says, walking over to you. He stops only inches away, a physical power play that masks the psychological threat.

“Which step are you on?”

“The one where you come with me to speak to Stark in person, or we reveal how thin your claims of neutrality really are.”

You nod as though you’re considering it, then say, “What if I dismantled everything and moved to Arizona? Started over.” It’ll sound like a joke, but you’ve considered it. You want nothing to do with Stark.

“You’re welcome to make that decision after the meeting.” The guy’s so confident he slides his hands into his pockets, fully relaxed except for the way his pulse is jumping in his neck. There’s zero chance that Hogan’s anxious because of you, so that means it’s important to his future that you leave with him today. If you have to, you’ll use that.

“You act like meeting with Stark won’t destroy my reputation just as much as your false accusations would,” you point out. 

Happy Hogan shrugs. “Stark is prepared to offer you one alternative. Meet with him or give us a credible way to contact Pepper Potts.”

You want to swear under your breath, but instead, you channel all your frustration into a single act of defiance. Lifting your grease-stained right hand, you press it right in the center of his chest, fingers spread so you get his white button-down and both lapels.

Then you shove, letting your hand slip against the resistance he immediately puts up to avoid moving backwards and show weakness. You would have expected anger, maybe even to be thrown to the ground, but Hogan just chuckles. It’s dismissive, diminishing, and does nothing to lower your level of fury. Especially not since he’s got you over a barrel.

You push past him toward the house. “I’m sending Mordo with my load. Your guys fuck with him and I’ll tear down every fucking thing you’ve built or die trying.” Given the clout you’ve accumulated in the last decade, which one depends on whether the emperor is in town to shield his pet Avenger or not.

You hadn’t told Hogan you’re coming with. You both know you have to.

The flight to New York City is stressful, but most of that is because you know how much effort and care it takes to maintain a fleet of airplanes. Now that flights are nearly all restricted to just the Magnates, you doubt the due diligence of their maintenance teams. This is reinforced when you land and walk down a presidential-style rolling staircase instead of into the abandoned airport. It’s hard not to think of what air travel could do for your business. One flight would take so much food from one place to another-- but the safety margins are horrifying.

“What’s with the face?” Happy Hogan asks, after the two of you get into the waiting limo.

“Just imagining how much work it would be to get an orange to Maine nowadays.”

“You don’t have to live in Georgia, you know. The offer’s always open.”

“Fuck your offer, and fuck you,” you say coolly, crossing your arms and looking out the window. There’s a non-zero chance he’ll kill you, but you’ve got a trick up your sleeve that might just carry the kind of irony that would make even a man as powerful as Tony Stark cry. It’s the reason why Hogan wants Potts back, the reason she won’t go, not while he’s in Loki’s thrall.

Midgard hadn’t been interesting enough for the trickster god. No, he’d grown bored by the way most of his new subjects had responded to his rule. Too many of you had accepted that you weren’t strong enough to resist him, and so, with the power granted to him by the staff he always carried, Lord Loki had bestowed each soulmate pair on the planet a random power set.

Pepper Potts and Happy Hogan’s version had been the ability to detect lies.

Tony Stark’s inability to find his soulmate had been newsworthy before the attack on New York, but now that he’s the de facto ruler of the place, his search has become an obsession.

It’s the reason you live in Georgia, the reason you wear the distinctive binding around your right forearm, the reason you’d balanced yourself on the knife-edge of neutrality instead of choosing a side that’s not Stark’s and then leaving yourself vulnerable to being discovered.

Stark’s Words are well known: ‘Don’t look back.’

Ironically, you don’t think he has connected your well-known quirk about protecting your forearm with his soulmate search. He wants you because Lord Loki wants Pepper Potts’ lie detecting powers, and Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff’s soulmate bond is keeping her hidden. Karl Mordo has forsworn his connection to the Mystic Arts, but a man will do many things to prevent his own death, including oathbreaking, so instead of putting pressure on him, they’ll put pressure on you.

And somehow, you’re going to have to resist without speaking a word.

The car is underground when it stops. You nod at Hogan in thanks for his hand as you exit the vehicle, and he cocks his head to the side and looks at you.

“Passive resistance, eh? Good luck.” He leads you through a warren of hallways, stairwells, and locked doors. This display of strength is clearly designed to intimidate and/or give you time to think and fear what comes next, but you wonder whether it’s annoying to Hogan. Undoubtedly he’d be taking the short way if it weren’t for this task, and that kind of time-wasting adds up.

Sure enough, the last leg of the trip is an elevator ride. The doors open out into the wide expanse of the penthouse, a rich space with wall-to-wall windows looking out over the city. A man in a well-fitting white suit walks out from behind a bar area, and you recognize him to be Tony Stark himself. Instead of a tie, the signature blue of his arc reactor glows against the buttons of his shirt, and as he approaches you, you see that it’s matched by the blue tint of mind control in his eyes.

That knowledge is dangerous; already, this man’s leverage over you has doubled. You wonder what you’ll have to promise to get out of here alive. 

Tony Stark stops a foot away and looks you over. His brown-blue eyes linger on your right arm, and as you’d planned during your pseudo perp-walk, you shift into a challenging pose, popping your hip out and lifting your chin. Stark’s lips curve into an appreciative smile. It’s attractive, he’s attractive, and you’re annoyed that you’ve even noticed. Everything about him exudes the confidence of a man who is never challenged, and that’s always been your catnip, your kryptonite. You love to bust egos, it could even be said that you live for popping that bubble. This man might be the first one you’ve ever met whose arrogance is well-deserved, though, and that could be a problem.

He gestures, and behind you, Hogan answers.“No weapons that we found, multiple scans.”

Ah, so the many doorways and long hallways had more than one purpose, you think to yourself. Well played. You stay still and expressionless as Stark looks you up and down, eyes lingering on your chest and your arm. He lifts his glass in an appreciative salute before finishing off his drink. Something about the way his throat works makes you feel the burn of the alcohol in your own chest.

“What’s under the armguard?”

“A nasty burn. Sunlight makes it worse.” It’s the truth-- you’d tried to burn off the words as soon as you’d heard about Tony Stark’s search for his soulmate. The magic of the mark protects it, so all you’d managed to do was destroy the skin around it, causing a wound that never fully healed. The vambrace you wear is for concealment, yes, but it’s also there to keep the damaged skin protected and dry. You turn your head and direct a grumpy look at Hogan. “To be honest, this whole meeting could have been an email. What is it that you two want?”

Before you can stop him, Stark steps forward and slides his hand into the hair at the nape of your neck, forcing you to meet his eyes.  With a fierce, determined expression, he says, “Repeat after me: don’t look back.”

You can feel the strength in every single aspect of the man, voice, personality, grip, but that just fuels your need to fight back. With all your might, you manage to shake your head just enough to convey your refusal.

Tony Stark’s expression lights up. You realize your mistake immediately: if it didn’t mean something, if the words weren't important, you would have had no trouble repeating them. A million impossible escape routes spill out like marbles in your mind, scattering every other thought.

“Go on, Hap. Keep this to yourself for now,” Stark says. The triumph in his voice is as frightening as it is sexy. 

“You got it, boss.”

You fight back a strong feeling of desperate inevitability. Really, your only hope now is to wrench free and follow your contingency plan: to say the words and play them off, avoiding the physical contact that reinforces the bond. If you can convince this man that you planned to trick him into thinking you’re his soulmate, you might still get out of here with your free will intact.

That’ll be easier to do without Hogan there, so you force yourself to remain still. Stark sweeps a broad, warm caress along your neck with his thumb, and god, it’s been so, so long since anyone’s touched you like that. There’s something insidious about it, like some part of you is already lost to him if you enjoy it even a little bit. All you can do is close your eyes, clench your fists, and wait.

The elevator doors close, and Stark starts pulling his hand away, stroking your neck possessively on the way. You do your very best not to like it. In truth, Tony Stark the billionaire, Tony Stark the Avenger was absolutely your type. You imagine that after ten years of mind control and cruelty, there’s probably little of that man left. 

“You might as well say it,” he tells you with a smug little quirk in his voice. You open your eyes to see that Stark’s headed back to the bar. “Got a favorite drink?” You shake your head. “You strike me as a Tequila Sunrise type. Fun to look at, goes down easy.”

You cross your arms and glare at him, but it was a cute line for such a tense situation. Wrong, but cute.

Stark gestures to you with the Tequila bottle. “So, what, did you think you’d just stay quiet and run back home to Georgia? Happy says it didn’t take much persuading.”

You smile at him, but not warmly. One thing you hadn’t considered was that Stark might be pleased, might be looking forward to the other… perks of having a soulmate. That might make him more inclined to be kind to you, at least until you try to bluff him. You can use that.

“Don’t think I can’t see how furious you are, little one,” Stark purrs. “I’m still figuring you out, but I’ve had a file on you for years. You want to know what people say about you?” 

He rests a large hand on a folder you hadn’t noticed before, pushes it across the bar in invitation. You shrug and turn your head to look out the window, the picture of indifference. You hope it pisses him the fuck off.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s all trash now anyway, now that you’ve met with me.” Stark holds it up. “They’ll never trust you again.” He tosses it behind him. When it strikes the wall, the many single pages that made up the bulk of the file fly out around him like some kind of monstrous confetti, to the accompaniment of breaking glass. You wonder how many bottles he just wasted, whether they’re even replaceable in this brave new world you’re all trapped in.

You nod, feeling the weight of the coming moment. Mentally you gird yourself, but physically you try to adopt an attitude of casual discourtesy. You want Stark to hate his soulmark, to hate you, enough to send you away or destroy you.

Anything, anything but touch you again.

Letting out a sigh, you spread your hands in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture and say, “Don’t look back.”

The words strike him, so much so that he chuckles ruefully on an indrawn breath. A bitter disappointment sweeps across his face before it hardens into anger. You're grateful; you'd expected something-- a thunderclap, a rush of adrenaline, a gust of magical wind, but there’s nothing to indicate that you’ve both said the Words. Maybe, maybe, you can get out of this, if you’re careful. If you’re just the right level of heinous bitch.

“Did you practice that?” Stark finally says. He walks out from around the bar, and you take the opportunity to make your way over to the window, the picture of unconcerned, unattached, unbothered.

“What do you want, Mr. Stark?” Shit, your voice is shaking.

“I want a challenge,” he snaps, his voice closer than you expected. He’s just a foot away, and you can’t hide your shock fast enough. “You think that file was just for show? I read the whole thing.”

“Then you know I don’t want to be here. I have a business to run, a business you’ve fucked over with--” you back away in the guise of making a dismissive, furious gesture; “--whatever this is. What do you want, so I can get the fuck out of here?”

“What’s wrong, pet? Foot caught in a trap?” he asks, tone suddenly gentle, soothing. You scoff, turning on your heel to stalk away from him--but Stark reaches out swiftly and catches your hand in his.

A jolt of pleasure-fueled electricity floods you with an almost overwhelming need for closeness, companionship-- to be known. It's as if until this exact moment, you’d been empty, and you gasp, screaming against the sudden, insidious desires that have cropped up in your mind.

Oh god, no, this is too much, this is--

What you don’t expect is for Stark to answer.

Oh FUCK yes, telepathy. My second favorite superpower, right after flight.

You snatch your hand away and fall back onto the window, eyes wide. Stark shakes his head almost imperceptibly, then throws both hands in the air as if in disgust.

“You really had me, but there’s just… nothing. I should toss you off of the roof, you know that, right? Faking soulmark words? Ballsy.” He twitches his lips as though he can’t decide whether to be angry or not, and steps closer. “Hold out your hand?”

There’s vulnerability in his expression, something you hadn’t at all expected to see, but you are still reeling from what had passed between the two of you. Tony Stark is one of the smartest men on the planet, and certainly one of the most ruthless. He’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants-- and it’s well known that every inch of his penthouse is under surveillance, not to mention whatever Lord Loki has monitoring his most powerful thrall.

Just like the words written on both of you, neither of you can look back.

Sullenly, you lift your hand, and immediately, Stark engulfs it in an angry grip.

Okay here’s how this is going to go: Do as I say, and we can keep this our little secret. Resist me and I’ll tell Loki I’ve finally found my soulmate. Believe me, you do not want anything to do with what he has in store for us.

Possibly TBC if there's interest...

#threewordsforcaplan #trope madness 2023 #tony stark x reader #tony stark x you #tony stark imagine #tm2023 #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #tony stark fic #tony stark fanfiction #soulmate au #canon divergence #mob au #but only if you squint #tony stark x f!reader

[faroreskiss]

The Power of Understanding / Part 10

Wobble of the Head / Part 4

THERE WE GO! LONG CHAPTER!!

Part 9

Read on Ao3 / Cheat Sheet

Summary: Now you will finally find out what they were talking about when you woke up in the morning, since you didn't understand a lick of what they said. And more importantly, why.

A/N: I gave each Link a different English accent (inspired from the regional dialects/accents in the UK), so that you could get a sense of what I meant when I say "they can communicate anyway, BUT"

As always, post first/proof read later applies.

Once again, I'm here to make you feel uncomfortable. You can find the details in the end notes, and with that said, enjoy!

Rulie did notice something was odd about you, the moment he was near you at that village that this other Link (they were pretty sure at that point that it was another Link) took them to. Since it was right before a portal appearance, he initially thought it was just the air feeling wrong again. It felt different each time, so he didn’t pay much attention to it, and didn’t immediately connect the dots.

Each time they dropped down or went through a portal, there would be some residue for a limited amount of time, since it most likely took an enormous amount of magic. It would also interfere with his own fae aura sometimes, making him spill his guts out. After he collected himself, and saw you once again, he noticed you also do have some type of an aura around you. He initially thought maybe you were part fae yourself, as you reeked of a Great Fairy to his senses. The Old Man seemed to have noticed it too, as well as the Vet. But there was also a hint, such a tiny drop of it that probably anybody but him noticed it. It was something he helped collect piece by piece. 

There was a miniscule amount of Triforce of Wisdom involved, in whatever aura you had. How strange. 

As the Rancher got up and started speaking to you, Rulie noticed the aura interacting with the magic residue in the air. It was not like he could see it, he was just able to feel it. Something merging, something expanding, becoming more complex. Was it… leeching energy from it? He was carefully watching you interact with the Rancher, then he noticed the Old Man and the Vet were doing the same, though he really wasn’t focusing on the conversation. He heard you speak an odd language with this new Link. Then he started to pay attention, as he felt something shift in the air once again, expanding towards him. 

“No but for some reason, you speak better now?” the Rancher was saying to the Captain. His ears perked up, the Rancher sounded as if he perfectly spoke his variety of Hylian (not that it was THAT different), he sounded much more modern.

Vet finally gave in as he exasperated, “Yeah, okay, what the fuck?” 

As Rulie made eye contact with the Old Man, he noticed he wasn’t the only one that noticed the shift. They nodded to each other. It must be some type of translation magic… Right? Though not that anybody ever heard of something like that, maybe except the Smith swallowing jabber nuts. 

“Huh… didn’t think translation magic actually existed, just like that,” he said towards the Old Man, but also to no one in particular. Well, he wasn’t that old, but sometimes he spoke like a geezer, so might as well. Then this ‘new’ Link spoke (and by the Gods, he looked like he already had a lot of scars on his face), and it just sounded like… like nothing he has ever heard before, to him. He was also noticing that you were in some type of distress, but he also attributed it to the ‘portal sickness’ for now. 

Then the Sailor pointed towards this new Link with a confused expression, “Uh, that guy is BARELY understandable.” It was still so weird for everyone to hear the others speak so clearly . There was always some type of struggle before, especially when they first met. It was better now of course, but there were times where they repeatedly asked each other to repeat things where some phrases sounded downright funny. 

During the introduction round, he kept glancing at you. You kept rubbing your temples every now then, but you didn’t seem to notice it yourself. It felt so refreshing to the 8 travelers that now they could speak a bit easier with each other. When it was the new Link’s turn, you spoke instead of him and translated between them. He was the Champion of Hyrule, apparently. But as the time passed, Rulie noticed that the ‘quirky accents’ as he dubbed them, were making a comeback. But at least this new Link sounded more understandable somehow. And subtly, yet steadily, the aura Rulie first felt, was now… dissipating, it was like a silent earthquake only he could feel. 

And then there was blood. Blood on your blouse, coming from your nose. It happened so fast.

“Oi, catch her!” the Rancher spoke, and luckily this new Link, the Champion, caught you right on time. In his arms, your eyes were open, your body was limp but you were unresponsive. This Link was downright frantic. The scene was horrifying on its own, but it seemed like he cared about you in a specific way. 

“(Y/N), (Y/N)!” 

“Hey, calm down, good that you caught her. Can you lay her down?” Rulie said calmly. Even with the nose bleeding, it seemed like a case of simple fainting. He wasn’t sure.

He didn’t seem to understand every single word Rulie said. This new Link was a bit protective, as the Captain came near to offer help to lay you down, he protectively wrapped his arms tighter around you. One could almost hear the hiss, even though nothing came out of his mouth. But the Sailor helped, gesturing a laying down motion. Then, he allowed the Captain to at least hold you for a bit, as he took out something from his belt, pressed on its… surface and a bedroll materialized, much to the surprise of others. Normally they would ask, but for now they laid you down slowly onto the bedroll. 

Rulie carefully moved towards the bedroll you have been on, taking pieces of cotton from his bag. He made sure this Link saw what he was doing. Just pointed towards your nose and the material. He just wanted to stop the bleeding. The Champion just nodded. Rulie elevated your head a little bit, by rolling the bedroll and gently stuck the pieces of cotton to your nose. Your eyes were now closed, your breathing even. He checked you a bit, and overall, it didn’t feel like something was amiss physically at least. 

“Just let her rest for now, okay? Rest? Do you understand?”

The Champion just nodded, he seemed to have understood this time. He leaned to a tree trunk nearby. 

“Any idear wots the matter wi' 'er?" Sky started talking, as the rest of them gathered around the fire that Four lit while they were dealing with you. 

“Don’t know, but I sense a lot of Great Fairy magic around her, some type of an enhancement that interacted with the residual magic of the portal,” Rulie replied. Time nodded as he spoke, "So, that be wha' felt so familiar. Fayrie magick. But I don't be feelin' it as much no more.” 

At the mention of the word “fairy”, the Champion’s ears perked up, "Ni a gemmeris hi dhe'n peswar Great Fairies yn Hyrule." 

“What?” was the collective response from the rest of the Links. This one seemed to have kind of understood them now, but they weren’t able to completely understand him yet. He just sighed and stayed silent.

The Vet spoke up, “It’s still there, but I think it’s fading… The last residue of the portal magic is also almost gone.”

"I knaa translation magic was too good ter be true anyways. I thought she had some kind of a jabber nut or summat.", the Smith said as he kindled the fire a bit more.

The Traveler sighed. It was much better when they all understood each other so clearly. Well, not like it was that bad now. Slowly, everyone went to sleep, except the new Link and the Traveler. He offered to be the first, as he wanted to check on you again. There was still one red potion in his bag, it wouldn't hurt to give it to you when you woke up. He showed it to Link, who was still by the tree, near where you were laying down. 

“Know the red potion?” he asked, hoping he understood him. 

“Yea,” he replied, “An potion ma a vydh kosel dhe heal 'er, right? " 

The traveler blinked. This guy now sounded a bit more understandable. And the aura around you has decreased significantly. 

“Great,” he smiled back at him. There was an awkward pause before Rulie decided to ask, to figure out what happened to you. He still didn’t understand much from what this guy was saying, but he could try.

“So she has… fairy enhancements, right?” he asked. The Champion nodded. Until you started shifting again, they tried to communicate somehow (more like tried to). What the traveler understood was that you were from “another place that is not Hyrule” and was able to confirm you were taken to four different Great Fairies. Well, whatever the place you are from, he could feel that you were different. Your ears were weird too, why were they round? He noticed it when he came to check on you. It was said that the ears of Hylians were long, so they could hear the messages from the heavens above. 

Noticing you are awake, the Champion started talking with you, seeing you shift in the bedroll. The traveler had no idea what you were talking about, but he politely offered the red potion to you. He tried keeping his distance, to test something. He noticed that whenever he was near enough, whatever that Link or you spoke became complete gibberish again.

Huh.

When he moved a bit further, Link was understandable to an extent, but whatever you were saying was… something completely foreign. How were you even able to understand each other with him?! Meanwhile, he saw you drink and react to the potion, your face twisting like a LikeLike, it was hilarious. He couldn’t help himself but snicker. He came closer again, both to check on you, you seemed to be doing alright physically. I guess you thanked him, he supposed, nodded  and just waved a hand, trying to say ‘It’s nothing’. He didn’t want to speak, because if this happened because of a fairy enchantment combined with the portal residual magic, there was a good chance that your brain simply… overloaded. He almost opened his mouth and closed it again, and pointed towards his bedroll, and made the gesture for sleep. You said something else to him, but it didn’t only sound gibberish, it sounded otherworldly. He just smiled back at you, at least he was glad you looked fine.

It was time to wake the Rancher anyway, he really wanted to get back to sleep. He moved towards where he was sleeping and woke him up. The ranch hand grunted, but he ended up getting up and Rulie went back to sleep, getting all cozy in his bedroll. 

Twilight took a deep breath and leaned against a tree trunk, as he waited for everyone to fall asleep. Sure, strange things kept happening to them all the time, they met other versions of themselves, for Ordona’s sake , but the fact that they were able to understand each other so clearly for a moment, and then the effect disappearing, was a new thing. A new Link… He wasn’t sure how to feel. To him, he wasn’t very new . He wasn’t able to reveal his Hylian form as he was sent to his Hyrule some years ago, and then he was suddenly pulled back as his adventure ended. What a wild young man he was. Would he even remember him, recognize him? He seemed also very protective of the woman he came with. Maybe they were lovers? He wasn’t sure. He saw them snuggling to each other on a single bed roll after some type of bickering, but that wasn’t enough proof for him anymore, especially after seeing how the hero of the Skies didn’t think much of stuff like that. ‘Beds are for sleeping, and we slept in them, so what?’ he would say. Ah, the rancher sighed. 

After making sure everybody went to sleep, he shifted.

___

Wild was able to fall asleep so quickly, habits he supposed. That didn’t stop him from being a light sleeper though. He woke up to you shifting in the bedroll. He was still half asleep, as the haze of the sleep was still heavy on his eyelids. As you said something , he didn’t understand you at all. Was it too silent? No, he actually didn’t understand.

“What?” he said, as he saw your eyes were darting around, scanning the camp. Then you said something else. He raised an eyebrow, and repeated his question once again, with his sleepy hoarse voice. He was so tired. Maybe the lack of energy was just getting to him, or maybe you were also so tired you didn’t realize what you were saying. He asked if you were okay, that you sounded odd. He only heard you sigh and the stretch again, and then pulled you back to the bedroll. By Hylia’s name, he wasn’t able to get the scenes out of his head, scenes from only a night before. A red flush creeped into his cheeks as he pulled you back to himself once again, to the crook of his neck, and let the sleep embrace you both.

___

As the sunlight hit his eyes, Wild woke up. It was a challenge peeling you off of him, as you grasped him like how a little baby would grasp an adult’s pinkie. After he escaped your grip, he took his slate out once again, seeing he still had some ingredients left. Cooking was always a good outlet to not think about things for now, as they would probably drive him crazy as easily. As he lost himself in the holy act of cooking, the others also started to wake up, including you.

The teenager looked extremely energetic, as he was shouting “Guid mornin'” to everyone. Oh? That actually didn't sound so bad to his ears. The others also started to greet him back in mumbles.

“Gude mornin,” Wild said, not particularly caring whether or not they understood at this point.

“Goo' mornin” came from multiple Links.

The teenager put his hands to his waist as he looked quite surprised, he pointed at Wild.

“He disnae speak oor Hylian, how?!”

Wild was taken aback. Sure, he sounded funny but understood what he meant perfectly fine. It wasn’t the case last night.

“Hey, I do understan' 'ee!" he replied to the Sailor. With the rest of the group and the newfound realization, they started the chitter chatter right away. Apparently, it was the Rancher’s Hyrule. 

Meanwhile, you also woke up, they noticed. You looked quite distressed, Wild started to worry a bit. You said something once again towards the Rancher, in a language Wild didn’t understand. Nobody understood it really. There was an awkward, stunning pause. You looked quite lost. The guy with one eye open pointed towards you as he spoke.

"An' 'er? She spoke when we fust met?" 

“Ai dunt knaa, aa didn't understand her at nait either." replied the Healer. Traveler, they called him, Wild remarked to himself.

"Woht? But she cle'arly spoke when we met,” the Rancher said, pointing the question more towards him. Damn, all of these people spoke so funny. But then he stopped stirring the stew he was preparing, as he looked at you. You got up, and started slowly moving towards him, your steps unsure, your eyes filled with desperation. 

“Link?” was the only word he understood from your inquisitive sentence. Wild had absolutely no idea what you just said. He gulped. He tried to open his mouth, but the only two words that came out were ‘what’ and ‘how’. 

The Vet, just cursed under his breath. Honestly, he didn’t hear him not-curse so far, even though for some reason it was always the teenager that got scolded for it.

Then Wild looked at you once again. He saw the blood drain from your face, the slow descent into panic. It was subtle, anybody else would have thought you were just a little bit surprised. Your breathing was quick. Even the rancher could feel from a distance that your heart beat was off the charts.

Suddenly, you stumbled a little bit, trying to hold onto something, but he got you.

He always got you. 

He held your hands as he made you sit on the floor again, he sat in front of you, he held your hands in his and gestured you to take deep breaths.

“Hey, I’m here,” he softly spoke. He counted together with you till you calmed down. Just like how you did it with him, whenever a memory came to haunt him. 

He was just returning the favor.

_______

“We're gonna gan t'my place,” the ranch hand said decisively, as the group kept following his lead, he was just idly chatting with the Captain since he didn’t understand much from the magic stuff either. Meanwhile, Wild never left your side, even for a bit, even as he spoke to the others.

The Traveler, the Old Man along with the Veteran and the Smith, were discussing what they could do about your situation. Since now they could all communicate somehow, except you, Wild was able to explain to them what happened. How you were found, how you were taken to the four Great Fairies so you could learn the language faster. 

"Wor did the fairies actually say they would dee?" asked Rulie once again, to clarify.

“They sez so she could slowly unnerstan' and graps and commun'cate, make it all unnerstood,” Wild replied. It was now becoming more clear to Rulie. There was no way you were from any of their worlds. He shared his theory with the rest of them.

"Wot do yer mean? I ain't technically from Hyrule either, y'know." said Sky. 

Rulie explained that he thought you would most likely be coming from another dimension. Legend agreed, having been to different places during his time. 

"The only toime Ah felt that kind of diff'rence from a person was when Ah was in Lorule... an' even then, it wasn't this strong."

Time was simply nodding, as he didn’t think he had much to add to the discussion. He had been to Termina, but at least it was still similar enough to Hyrule. 

Wild couldn’t deny any of the statements they made. He felt like something was tugging at his chest.

"So wha', wha' happened to 'er, will she ever unnerstan' us again?" He was slightly frantic. 

Rulie explained his theory that the Great Fairy magic most likely affected you fundamentally, since how you were simply another being , your brain wasn’t able to comprehend the voices produced by them, just as they were not able to understand anything you said when you spoke your language, whatever it was. 

Of course, this was met with a question from both Four and Wild, then how was it fine until now?

“Simple,” the Traveler explained. "Until then, she only 'ad t' deal wi' one Hylian. Everybody spoke the same thing, an' prob'ly in 'er heed, it was a language she was fam'liar wi' that was just warped. Now... wi' all of us 'ere... An' wi' the portal..."

Right. They also had to explain to Wild that the magic from the portals that take them, might sometimes affect the environment, and the auras they have. Making them… feel worse. Interfering with their magical items. This time, it decided to interfere with her aura. And with everything combined… 

"So you'm sayin' she short circuited?" Wild said. Well, nobody knew what short circuiting meant. He sighed. At least it seemed like Rulie and the Legend understood him, or what he meant.

"If ye mean she owerloaded, aye. An' now the enchantment's gannin'.” Rulie said. The Vet continued his sentence for him. “ Though at least, since she spent quite some time with ye, absorbing the land’s magic, she kan at least learn the language mannally,” a pause. “...probably."

"I'd rec'ommend a jabber nut, but not sure if it'd work. It's only for the minish..." the Smithy added. Wild felt really frustrated, but tried not to show it. The discussion went on. They decided to possibly consult the spirit the Rancher mentioned, when they made it to their destination. Wild was quite reluctant about it, but hey…

Seeing that the “big boys” were having a serious discussion he absolutely eavesdropped on, Wind decided to try something. He looked at you, and noticed how tall you are compared to most of them. Combined with the complicated discussion he just listened to, he just decided to try to make conversation with you, in his own way. Just then, he noticed a cloud between the sea of clouds. There was a specific one that really looked like his ship with Tetra. 

“Woah, mad…” he said out loud. 

Why not?

He took your hand to get your attention, and pointed towards it. “Cloud!” he shouted.

As you replied to him with words he cannot comprehend, you made the shape of the cloud with your hands, drawing it into the air. 

“Yes! Cloud!” he repeated again.

Four and Wild were watching the exchange from behind as the rest of them continued their chatter. If you weren’t able to say a simple word, if you weren’t able to comprehend their lexicon now, it was going to get much more complicated. 

“Cl-oud, clo-ud,” you said, a bit awkwardly, but you were able to say it. That’s what mattered. Unbeknownst to you, a lot of the Links sighed internally. 

“Aye, noo say it a few mair times," Wind said smugly, and made you repeat the word at least five more times. Sadly, they weren’t able to play it in reverse. You weren’t able to teach the language you spoke to them for now, it seemed. 

After a while, Four also joined your little game of teaching you little words, there was yet hope after all, in this sea of confusion.

Maybe it was your power of understanding what they said, would help them figure out why you got involved with them in the first place.

Sky: Kentish Time & Twilight: Suffolk Wild: Cornish, and then English with Cornish accent Four: Norfolk Wind: Scottish Legend & Hyrule: Geordie (Newcastle) (Except at the start) As always, happy to answer your questions (or in case you didn't understand a thing they said) :3

#the power of understanding #linked universe au #zelda fanfiction #linked universe #hylian language #fictional language #translation #linguistics #linked universe x reader #fluff #link x reader #legend of zelda #zelda fandom #languages #reader insert #isekai reader #isekai #i simp for any linguistic details

[ewritesfanfics]

MerMay: Fishy Business

Here's my singular contribution to MerMay, inspired by @mdoodlerfandomart's piece featuring Douxie and Mer!Jim!

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47167396

Jim comes home to Douxie doing some magic, which ends with him a little fishier than before. --- He opened the front door and kicked his shoes off, and heard from the kitchen, “Are you sure about this, Douxie?” And then, the infamous words: “It’ll be fine, Arch.” That should’ve been his first clue to turn right around and leave.

To say this day has not gone as expected would be an understatement.

And it all started with three words that unfailingly spell unmitigated disaster.

“It’ll be fine.”

That’s what Jim came home to after a long school day, tired and ready to vegetate on his couch for however long Blinky would allow.

He opened the front door and kicked his shoes off, and heard from the kitchen, “Are you sure about this, Douxie?”

And then, the infamous words: “It’ll be fine, Arch.”

That should’ve been his first clue to turn right around and leave.

But he didn’t.

No, instead, he walked into the living room, calling out, “What’re you up to?” like a dumbass.

He got his answer all too quickly.

As soon as the words left his mouth, a spell left Douxie’s, and the kitchen, dining room, and living room became bathed in the blue light of his sigil. Only, the sigil shattered. With a yelp, Douxie was blasted to the floor from the force of the shattering, and a streak of light loosed by the breaking first bounced off a wall, then the floor, through the opening between the kitchen and dining, off a light fixture, and then, because of course it would with his luck, struck Jim right in the chest and dissipated.

He should’ve just gone straight to Trollmarket.

“Jim!” Douxie scrambled onto his feet and into the dining room, face pale, eyes wide, a panicked note to his voice.

Before he could even ask what that was, he got this weird tingling feeling in his hips that quickly shot down both legs. Tingling turned into total numbness and with all feeling below the waist gone, he faceplanted with a startled yelp, which is accompanied by the sound of ripping denim.

When he looked down, to see what was up with his legs, to say he screamed would be an understatement.

Instead of legs, there was a long fucking fish tail sprouting from his torso, skin blending seamlessly into iridescent blue scales that led to a pair of long, flared fins, underneath which were the shredded remains of his favorite jeans, his socks, and his boxers that he had been wearing but moments prior.

And that’s how he finds himself where he is right now.

“What the hell were you even trying to do???”

“I was trying to help you,” Douxie grunts as he hauls Jim up another step, arms hooked under Jim’s armpits, the motion bookended by the thud of his hips and the wet slap of Jim’s tail against the wooden stairs. “Why are you so much heavier with a tail?”

“How were you trying to help me?” Jim asks.

“I saw your meal plan,” Douxie, huffing as they thunk up another step, and Jim has to bite back a yelp at his tailbone hitting the harsh corner of a stair – thud, slap. “And I saw you hadn’t bought enough fish for one of this week’s dinners, so I thought I might transfigure some of the extra chicken I’ve had frozen into some fish for you to use because I am kind and thoughtful like that.”

“And how does that translate to you fish-ifying me?”

“Well, it’s been a hot minute since I did any transfiguration,” Douxie says, and up another step – thud, slap. “So, I guess I misremembered or misspelled something in the stabilization runes.”

“I’m a fish because you made a typo???” Jim asks incredulously.

“You’re a partial fish because I made a typo,” Douxie says. Another step – thud, slap.

“And that’s better?” Jim asks.

“For you,” Douxie says. Thud, slap. “Much less physically taxing than a full transfiguration. Beginning to question whether it’s better for me or not, though.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Jim asks.

“Well, I figure hauling a full fish upstairs would be easier than a fish boy, I wouldn’t have to worry about your dignity or your whining then,” Douxie says – thud, slap – and Jim doesn’t need to see his face to know he’s wearing that cheeky grin.

“Asshole.” Jim tries to smack Douxie, but apparently, Douxie’s grip isn’t as good as he’d thought. As soon as his arm is past a 90-degree angle, Douxie’s hold breaks.

The noises he makes as he thuds down the stairs are about as undignified as they come, both the vocal noises and the physical noises of his tail wetly slapping against the stairs, railing, and wall. Once he’s finally back on the ground floor, he’s pretty sure he’s bruised in places that he’s never been bruised in before, in places that hadn’t existed before he came home.

“You alright?” Douxie calls down.

“Peachy.”

“Well, since you’re alright,” Douxie says, once he’s joined Jim, “that was your own fault.”

“Shut up and get me to the bathtub.”

///

A half-hour later finds them finally in the bathroom after several attempts at getting Jim up the stairs.

Once Jim’s set up in the tub, Douxie turns the water on and goes back downstairs to retrieve his spell book. Jim wrestles his jacket and shirt off to keep them dry and then realizes that he doesn’t know if he can reach the bathtub knobs with his tail in the way. Luckily, Douxie times it well, returning with the book and with Archie just as the tub is about full, turning the water off with a flick of his fingers.

And then, with a shit-eating grin, Douxie plops a rubber ducky into the bath.

“Do you think this is funny?” Jim asks.

“No, no, of course not,” Douxie obviously lies as he starts to flick through his book.

“It’s not funny! I’m a fucking fish!”

“You know, believe it or not, this isn’t the worst outcome of a spell gone haywire I’ve ever seen,” Douxie then says, flicking through more pages.

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Jim asks. “Come on, dude! You did this, now undo it!”

“For the love of– hold on, I’m looking!” Douxie says. Then adds under his breath, “I’m still out of breath from hauling your fish ass up those stairs …”

Jim takes the stupid rubber ducky and pelts him with it, nailing the wizard in the forehead with a high-pitched squeak and making him drop the book with an “Ow!”. The ducky bounces back in a perfect arc and flies into the bath with a plunk.

“Dude!”

“I’ll do it again,” Jim threatens, finding the ducky and priming it to be pitched once more.

“I’m the one getting you out of this mess!”

“You’re the one who got me into this mess!”

“And I’m the one who can leave you in this mess– ow!” This time Jim makes sure the ducky hits him in the eye, with enough force for an even higher-pitched squeak.

“You know what, you’ve lost your ducky privileges!” Douxie says, clamping one hand over his eye and picking up the ducky from where it fell with the other to stick it in the cabinet behind the mirror.

“Boys,” Archie chides from his perch on the toilet seat, “squabbling isn’t going to get this fixed any faster.”

They both grumble, but they know he’s right. Douxie goes back to flipping through his book and Jim sinks further into the bath until all that’s sticking out is his head and the end of his tail draped over the side of the tub. Looking at his tail he can’t help but actually stop and think about it for a moment. As long as it can be fixed, being a merman for a little while could actually be kinda cool. And his tail is quite pretty, the shades of blue shifting and glimmering even in the shitty bathroom lighting, so he’s sure it would be even more brilliant in daylight. He’d almost like to find out – if it didn’t involve getting back down those godforsaken stairs.

As each silent second ticks by, his curiosity grows until he finally allows him to very slowly and carefully try to move. To his surprise, his tail responds instantly and easily, a movement as natural as walking. The powerful muscles beneath the scales flex and stretch to slowly raise his fins up, bringing them closer and allowing him a better look at them. They’re of a lighter shade than the rest of his tail, though they fade to a much darker shade at the tips. Running a hand over them, he’s surprised at how sturdy they feel. He supposes they must be sturdy to propel something his size around, but still, he’d been expecting something a little more delicate. He is also shocked by how sensitive they are to touch, perfectly registering every motion and twitch of his fingers.

“Hmm … I think I’ve found something,” Douxie says after what feels like forever.

“Finally,” Jim says, allowing his tail to flop back down. “What is it?”

“Well, normally it’d just be a simple spell, but since we’re dealing with a spell gone wrong and a living being here, it’s a bit more complicated,” Douxie says. “I’m thinking our safest bet would be this potion.”

Jim can feel himself pale at that, his pruned hands growing clammy and sweat breaking out on the back of his neck, his heartbeat suddenly a hundred times louder in his ears.

Potion.

Douxie obviously sees the shift and quickly adds, “It’s one you drink! And it looks like this!” He turns the book around to show Jim an illustration of a corked bottle filled with a light pinkish-purple liquid.

That does help calm him down – the color is about as far from the inky black that haunts his nightmares to this very day as one can get, and there’s a relief in the fact that he’ll be the one consuming it rather than the other way around, but that doesn’t totally stop the nerves jittering in his stomach and crawling under his skin.

“Are you alright with trying this?” Douxie asks, his tone careful.

Jim swallows thickly, trying and failing to find words, so he just nods. If Douxie says this is the safest bet, then he’ll do it.

“Alright … ok, I’m going to send the list of ingredients to Blinky, and he can let me know if I need to personally gather any of it.”

While Douxie does that, movement catches Jim’s eyes, and he looks to see Archie padding over to him. He jumps up onto the edge of the tub and sniffs at Jim’s tail, which only makes Jim confused.

“Arch, what’re you doing?” he asks.

He gets no response, the cat-dragon just staring at his tail with blown pupils, this weird low sound rumbling in his chest that Jim does not like.

…

 Cat-dragon.

“Uh, Douxie, could you get Archie?” Jim asks. He looks over when he gets no response and sees that Douxie is totally engrossed in typing out the ingredients, eyes flicking between his phone and the book as he types furiously.

Not even a full five seconds later–

“FUCK!”

He wrenches his tail away from the pointy teeth now sunk into his fins. The jerk sprays water across the room and flings Archie away, sending him tumbling through the open bathroom door with a yowl.

“What the fuck?” Douxie splutters, now soaked.

“Get your fucking familiar, man!”

It takes Douxie a second to realize what just happened, but once he fully registers, he curses, puts his stuff aside, and goes to close the bathroom door firmly.

“Sorry about that,” Douxie sighs. “I should’ve anticipated that, he loves fish.”

“You don’t say,” Jim says. That story Douxie and Claire had told him about Nimuë and Archie’s heart’s desire being smoked salmon comes to mind.

Not long after, Douxie hears word from Blinky, confirming that Team Trollhunter’s got it all handled and they should have everything within the next couple of hours.

“So … do I just sit here and wait?” Jim asks incredulously.

“Unless you have a means of transport to a different body of water, pretty much, ‘cause I am not carrying you back down those stairs,” Douxie says.

Actually …

“Text Claire.”

What can he say, he’s curious, not to mention in need of a distraction from the whole ‘potion’ thing.

///

A few miles outside of Arcadia, the small stream those river trolls live in turns into a proper river, wide and deep, not to mention remote. Here the trees grow tall and thick, ancient giants looking over the land, with their boughs arcing gracefully over the water to paint it pink with fallen petals in the spring, dust it regal red and gold in the autumn, allow the cold light to skip across the surface in winter, and filter the hot sun through rich green in the summer. Here the water runs clean and cool, untainted and untampered, oddly clear of the pollution you might expect. In the sun, the birds trill and the water sparkles. In the rain, the frogs sing and mist sits heavy on the water’s surface. During the day, you’ll hear the buzzing of bees and see a rainbow of butterflies. During the night, you’ll hear the chorus of crickets and see the glow of the fireflies blinking in perfect time. The animals that gather at the river know it to be a haven, and the river welcomes all of them with open arms. Those who stumble upon this place might call it magic. Those who know how to find it know that it is.

Which makes it the perfect spot.

Jim clutches tightly onto Douxie, arms wrapped around his shoulders and neck, tail wrapped around so that Douxie’s carrying it in his arms. Neither is very happy with the arrangement.

“I swear to god if you drop me–”

“The more you complain, the more I’m tempted!”

Claire laughs from beside the two, though she hasn’t truly stopped since she was briefed on the situation.

“It’s not funny!” Jim finds himself once more protesting.

“Oh, it definitely is,” Claire says. “Although I won’t lie, I’m kinda into the merman thing.”

“Really?” Jim asks.

“Can you wait to flirt until I’m not carrying the Not-So-Little Mermaid here?” Douxie asks.

“Then just put me in the water already!”

Douxie walks over to the very edge of the river, though not without considerable strain (“Jesus Christ, why the fuck do you weigh so much more with a tail!?!”). He then turns around and drops Jim’s tail. With that sudden weight pulling him down, Jim loses his grip on Douxie and falls backward into the river.

The first thing he notes is that as soon as his head breeches the surface, there’s a crawly sensation across the sides of his neck that makes him shiver uncomfortably until he realizes that he’s breathing properly – it appears he got gills as well as a tail. It’s an odd sensation, breathing underwater, a totally alien one that he has to nearly force himself to do, every instinct yelling at him not to breathe in. He finds it’s easier when he doesn’t think about it, though, so he does his best to focus elsewhere.

As such, the second thing is that he can see perfectly underwater, the sensation no different than seeing on land. There’s no sting of water in his eyes or distortion of what he’s seeing, it feels exactly the same. Looking up at the surface, there’s a weird moment where he could swear that he’s looking up at the surface of a river rushing over him and looking from outside of it, rather than looking up at the surface of a river he’s within. Once he gets over the weirdness, though, he finds himself fascinated with the new world he finds himself in. Turns out that seeing things from below the surface is much, much different from seeing from above it. Even the colors seem different, brighter, deeper, richer.

Which leads him to the third thing – he was right, in sunlight, his scales practically sparkle, light bouncing off them like it does the very water. The shades of blue shift and dance along his tail in a new vibrance, and even his fins seem to glow, the sunlight shining through the translucent material and exposing every shift in the gradient, casting a shifting blue shimmer on the bottom of the river.

He cuts gracefully through the flowing water, marveling at how powerful his tail actually is, propelling smoothly through the water much faster than he anticipated for how leisurely he feels like he’s swimming. The native fish – rainbow trout, minnows, coho salmon, all in a truly remarkable abundance – dart and float around him with little care, going about their business like there wasn’t a freaking merman swimming around with them.

And the fourth, well …

The fourth is that this is the perfect opportunity.

Douxie and Claire stand at the edge of a nearby bank, both looking into the river, trying and failing to spot Jim – he bets the way his tail reflects light nearly identically to how water does helps this – which allows him to approach undetected.

The shriek Douxie lets out when Jim bursts from the water and grabs his ankles to pull him in is one that Jim will forever carry close to his heart.

Ah, revenge is sweet.

///

Back at home, he finds himself set up once again in the tub, though now Claire’s sitting with him while Douxie finishes mixing up the potion in the kitchen.

“You know, maybe you could take it easy on Douxie,” Claire says.

“What? He turned me into a fish!”

“Yeah, but it was intended to help you,” Claire says. “And even though his small gesture turned into a mess, I rather think you just might have enjoyed yourself at the river.”

He crosses his arms and sighs. “Maybe just a bit …”

A thrill shoots up his spine at the sudden sensation of Claire's fingers brushing across the exposed scales of his lower tail.

“Maybe I should have him turn me into a mermaid for an afternoon,” Claire muses. “I wonder what my tail would look like.”

“Probably purple,” Jim says. “Although I would suggest you already be in water – it was a bitch getting up here and now my favorite pants are gone.”

“You know, you could’ve called me sooner and had me portal you up here in the first place,” she says and Jim stops short. He then facepalms, the smack of his palm against his forehead loud enough to bounce back a couple of times. Why didn’t they think of that!?

“Because you’re both idiots,” Claire says.

“Hey!”

“But you’re my idiot, and I love you very much,” she says, leaning over to give him a placating kiss.

“Alright, got it!” Douxie says, booting the bathroom door open with his foot, holding an overfull glass carefully in both hands. Inside, that light pinkish-purple liquid seems to glow, almost like there’s glitter floating around in it.

“And I just drink it?” Jim asks.

“Yep,” Douxie confirms holding it out for Jim to gingerly take. “And you gotta drink it all, or else you might end up with scaly feet or leftover gills.”

“I mean, gills could be handy,” Jim says.

“Drink,” Douxie says, unimpressed. But then he adds, “I will warn you, though, this could hurt. I would recommend drinking as fast as possible so that it’s not slow and agonizing.”

Jim takes a tentative sip and finds he doesn’t quite know what to make of the taste. It’s this weird mixture of citrus, metal, fresh soil, and something almost like grass but a little sweeter. Then he downs the glass as best he can, having to stop two or three times to take a gulp of air.

Once it’s all gone, he hands the glass back to Douxie, who sets it by the sink. At first, he feels nothing. It goes on long enough that he’s wondering if it worked or not, but then his stomach cramps harshly, makes a horrific gurgling noise, and pain arcs down his spine and concentrates in his hips. It’s enough to white out his vision, but it’s there and gone faster than he can let out a scream.

Looking down, he sighs in great relief at the sight of his legs.

Thank fuck.

And that’s when it registers that he’s totally naked.

He yanks his knees up to his chest with an embarrassed yelp, his face burning a bright scarlet.

“Oh, come on,” Douxie says, “it’s nothing neither of us hasn’t seen before.”

“Excuse me?” Jim squeaks.

“I have all the same parts as you and have lived through several eras of communal bathing,” Douxie says. “And if you’re trying to tell me you and Claire haven’t fooled around at least a little, I’m going to call you a dirty liar.”

“He has a point,” Claire says, stifling an amused giggle.

“Will one of you just get me some fucking pants!?”

#mermay #mermay 2023 #tales of arcadia #jim lake jr #hisirdoux casperan