#+ let me know if there’s anything in there that shouldn’t be. I try to vet everything so nothing Weird gets in but I’m tired

[banjo15]

First of all

Canada is booing us

China is booing us

Mexico is booing us

They are our 3 biggest trade partners.

Our 3 biggest trade partners hate us. Is that good for the economy?

“Hey Max, can I buy that sandwich from you? “

“Hey fuck off I know you’re just gonna tax it again”

“What about you Catie, can I buy some wood from you?”

“Fuck you and your tariff tax”

“Can I buy stuff from you, Charlie?”

“Fuck off dude stop taxing us, I hate you capitalists”

What about intersex people? I’d argue they’re a minority. Non-binary, gender-fluid, everyone of the such. They no longer exist because of you. Trans people can’t even leave the country or get a passport.

Literally a high school student I’m 15 dude. I know I couldn’t pass an immigration test, how about you go try to pass one and just come back to me?

My philosophy about illegals is back in the day our grandparents came here peacefully. If they come here peacefully in search of a better life, who am I to deny them that? But if they’re a pedo or a rapist they deserve to get shot, regardless of place of origin, gender identity, sexuality, gender, sex, religion, race, etc.

Trump literally went to Epstein island 7 times. He was best friends with Epstein. Also, did Elon apologize for his actions? No. He made Nazi puns on the internet.

Mexico and Canada is pissed off because first of all, trump said he was gonna BUY Canada.

“Yeah I’m gonna buy your house, what’s your price?”

“Not for sale.”

“You liberal boy, I bet sleepy joe and Kamala told you not to sell it, all you do is just sit down and drink maple syrup. Give me your house.”

“No? Fuck off dude”

“I’m still gonna buy your house.”

*He went up to the next neighbor*

“Also your pool is mine now.”

“Huh?”

“It’s the pool of america”

“No, my pool. Pool of Mexico.”

And Mexico is LITERALLY sending us people to help with the LA fires.

Canada is our friend, why the hell are we trade warring with our brother?

What the fuck even is MSM? I get all my thoughts from people I agree with, and then I think about my thoughts to see if I agree with them.

Denmark said Greenland is not for sale. We are literally pissing off our allies. We are a laughing stock. China is fucking BEATING in ai. “But deep seek is censored” so are all ais. Ask google’s ai if google has ever done anything wrong. And ChatGPT is also censored a decent bit.

As I said before, if you don’t hate so much why can’t they just up and leave? They can’t get a visa.

About abortion… You do know how dangerous pregnancy is right? And I don’t consider ending a pregnancy murder, would you let a tapeworm stay in you if it would turn into a human person?

The reason why women back in the 1950s had kids is because they were lobotomized and on a shit ton of “medication.” After that, they didn’t have many rights. Women couldn’t say “no” to their husbands untill 1993. It took us a bit to give women the right to vote. They couldn’t have a credit card at one point. A driver’s liscense. Lesbians were fucked at the time, do you vote for the Indian woman or the man who and I quote…. “Grab them by the pussy.” He literally called his daughter “volomptuous” and said “if she wasn’t my daughter I’d be dating her.”

You can fact check me on that. No, seriously, fact check me. Do it. I’m begging you.

And as for many cases, abortion is necessary. I’m not gonna go praising it but… it has to exist. What if they get raped? What if it’s incest? What if the pregnant person is underage? What if the pregnancy threatens their life? Denying them abortion doesn’t seem so “pro-life to me.”

“But that’s less than 1%”

So are trans people and people similar to you have campaigned to take their rights away.

Me personally I feel like they can be a man or a woman if they want to IF they don’t hurt anybody. If I gender-swapped you I’m quite sure you would want your original gender.

My argument for/agaisnt trans children is there are Christian children. I’d argue they shouldn’t go through a life changing procedure they likely won’t be able to un-do for the rest of their lives untill they’re 18/21. If children can be trans, why can they be Christian? Why can they participate in religion they’re supposed to be devoted to untill they die?”

Even then, what about single mothers? Do you want them to suffer through it? Childbirth is a punishment from god, yes? I read the Bible. Why should we punish these women for having sex? I feel like you shouldn’t have to labor a baby just because the boy from the dinner date thought you were hot, you thought they were hot, so you fucked. Imagine if men were in a coma for 9 months after sex. And there was a chance of that happening but instead.. after a baby pops out of them. I’d argue most men would get abortions and it would be a normal thing. And if god cares so much about abortions… why does he let miscarriages happen? That’s another pro-abortion talking point. Should they have an abortion if they know damn well the baby can’t survive out of the womb? And another thing, what if they can’t financially afford to have a child? “Adoption” not all kids get adopted. I was adopted and I wouldn’t have minded getting aborted to be honest dude. I know a lot of people would, friends, family, etc. I don’t support killing out of the womb though. And even then, if you care about children so much, are you willing to make safer gun laws to stop school shootings? Are you willing to donate to homeless children in need? You’re not willing to make insulin cheaper for diabetic people (and children), you’re not willing to fund cancer research (for adults and children), what are you willing to do for children?

And we can both agree that the world is a horrible place for kids, left or right.

Another thing… why the fuck would the FBI make the protests violent? If that’s your justification for that then why didn’t the FBI make the blm protest violent? Black Lives Matter was good in concept, but people looted local businesses to make a point. I still think Black Lives Matter, I just don’t really know if I should support the organization that says so.

There are J6ers who rejected their pardon. They agree that what they did was wrong, why can’t you? Even then, what about the J6ers who… Beat up a police officer? So many others beat up police, I thought you backed the blue? The whole movement was to “fight for your country.” Trump told you to… Fight. Fight. Not protest, not speak up, fight. Fight tooth and nail for your “freedom”. And if you don’t hate minorities why don’t you support DEI? And the plane crash wasn’t because of it it’s because trump FIRED everyone. Literally.

The Nazis called themselves socialists because at the time everyone loved socialism. Do Nazis fight for workers rights? Do Nazis fight for free healthcare? Do Nazis give a fuck about equality? Hell no. Nazis didn’t support a community where they have the means of production. He was a capitalist, if he was a socialist he couldn’t afford to make the wonder weapons that he usually made. If communism is socialism capitalism is facism. I’d argue that if I was a big ceo who makes a shit ton of money, would I vote for the people who tax the rich, who give workers rights, or enslaved everyone to work under me? I would vote for the slaves because I’d be a billionaire, but I’m not so I have basic empathy for people less fortunate than me. Do you?

I’d argue I could beat you up with the American flag.

Yo, correct me if I am wrong please, but didn't Hitler rise to power because he promised to fix the German economy and people really liked that so they looked past everything else he was doing??? Like exactly what's happening in America right now???

So many people said they voted for Trump, put a truly evil person in power, because he said he'd fix the economy, and a little voice in my head is going, "Isn't that what happened with fucking Hitler??"

But I've seen no one point that out so maybe I'm miss remembering???????

[whiskis]

A/N: Hi there! For those who don’t know, first part is here. (If that link doesn't work, try suscribing for free to Patreon and check this one) Enjoy!

Orc professor (part 2): late for class

Orc x chubby fem!reader || power dynamics, dom/sub undertones, exhibitionism (kinda), oral sex, size kink, age gap, degradation, praise kink

“If you want to show me your pussy, my cum better be leaking out of it. Do you understand?”

His words still echoed in your brain when you were getting dressed the next morning. You were already wet, and you fingered yourself to the memory of his dick in your pussy last evening. You were a bit sore, but the fact that you could still feel him made everything more intense, hotter… sexier. And it made everything so much better.

You decided to wear your pencil skirt this time, and blame it on your bad luck, but you spilled your coffee all over it. Cursing yourself, you changed as fast as possible, but not fast enough that you could get to class early as you knew you should.

By the time you arrived, he was writing something on the board. “Good morning, sir,” you enunciated very slowly, looking at him for directions as you saw the other few students entering behind you.

He turned around and stared at you with such intensity you felt your whole body react. You were almost panting, biting your lip not to groan out loud. “Good morning. You can sit down while I go to my office for a second.”

The other two students nodded and he passed you on his way to the door. He looked at you in such a way that you knew what you had to do without him having to say anything. You let your stuff on your usual seat and smiled at the girl who sat next to you, mumbling about going to get some coffee before class. She nodded with a smile and you had to stop yourself from running to his office.

You arrived just in time for him to pull you inside by the waist, pressing you against the door and kissing you senseless just like he did yesterday, his tusks feeling incredible against your jaw. His hands were traveling up and down your body, groping your ass and your thighs as he grunted against your lips.

“Fuck,” he whispered against your lips, pulling back and passing his hand through his hair in a frustrated gesture. “You were late. And I thought you regretted what happened yesterday. I was freaking out, little human. And then you walked out like nothing happened looking hot enough to eat and smelling like me… Good goddess. Do you know what you do to me?” He pressed his hips against your middle and you moaned at the feel of his huge hard on.

“I- I can feel it,” you stuttered, your voice quivering when his hands squeezed your ass, parting your cheeks and letting one of his fingers rub over your lace covered asshole.

“You have no idea. And now I can’t even fuck you properly. I can’t ruin you the way I want because you were late.” He punctuated each word with a squeeze and a roll of his hips. You panted, so horny you were about to burst and he didn’t even touch you. “Goddess, you smell so fucking good…” He whispered, burying his face on your neck and inhaling deeply.

“I’m sorry… I- I spilled coffee on my skirt and had to change and then I forgot a book and have to open the door again and…” Your rambling was interrupted by his lip covering yours again, swallowing your explanation as he grunted, his hands massaging your ass-cheeks once again.

“What do you have after my class?” He asked, his breathing labored, almost desperate.

“A couple more classes,” you told him, mentally checking if you could skip any of them. But you knew you couldn’t. You knew you shouldn’t. You were a damn good student… Even if you were fucking your way through one of your subjects.

“Shit.” He passed his hand through his hair again, messing it up and making you want to whimper. “Okay, okay. I have classes after lunch, but I’ll be here around four-ish. Does that work for you?” You nodded fervently. “Okay, I expect you to show me how sorry you really are for being late and depriving me from what I was promised.”

“I can… I can give you my panties now,” you offered, feeling the lace sticking to your pussy lips like a second skin because you were that wet.

“I don’t want them. I want you to be feeling how wet I made you all day. I want you to be uncomfortable and thinking about my cock deep inside your pussy until you are so horny you are desperate to come. Until you know how slutty you really are…” You moaned, his words igniting a fire inside of you that made your brain short-circuit. “Now, compose yourself, we have a very interesting class ahead. I’m sure you are dying to know about the survival strategies of cacti,” he said with a laugh, making you let out a choked giggle. You weren’t expecting him to joke. Shit, why did that make him hotter?

The class was boring, but you didn’t even care about it. You didn’t care about anything but the feel of your wet panties against your pussy and his words resonating inside your brain. He made a point of looking directly at you a couple times, going as far as to ask you something about what he was saying, just to huff in annoyance when you didn’t answer correctly. But he smirked in your direction and that was enough to send you spiraling into a thousand of new horny thoughts.

You left his class as fast as you could, trying very hard to look normal when you passed him, but his knowing smile only made your clit pulsate harder, your core clenching around nothing and making you want to beg him to take pity on you and fuck you right then and there. But you were stronger than that, so you left his class on your way to the next one.

You didn’t take a single note the rest of the day, your brain filled with possibilities and images of his hard dick. The feel of his lips against yours, and the ideas of how would feel against your lower lips… Your brain was running a mile per minute, and you couldn’t focus on anything that wasn’t the rub of the lace against your clit. It was exhilarating and maddening at the same time, and by the time four rolled around, you were on the edge and you had to run to his office in need of release.

You knocked rapidly, and when you opened and saw him there, shirt rolled over his big green forearms and glasses pushed down on his nose you almost came right there. Fuck, he was so fucking sexy it wasn’t fair at all.

“Come on in,” he said as soon as you closed the door behind yourself.

You tried to lock it, but he shook his head… Oh shit, that made you even wetter. The idea that you could get caught. That somebody could just walk in and know how much of a slut you were, that you were fucking your professor for a good grade…

You moaned and he chuckled. “Come here, little human, I almost hear your brain short-circuiting.” You walked to him, your steps measured so you wouldn’t fall. Your knees feel like jelly, and your pussy is so wet you are sure he can hear it from the desk. “So… Did you think about what you are going to do to redeem yourself from not meeting your end of our deal this morning?” You nod. “Go ahead, tell me.”

You’d been thinking about it all day. Your whole brain occupied by thoughts of his cock inside of you, against you, spilling in and over you… But there was one thought that surpassed all others. “I- I want to suck you off, sir.”

He smirked, his tusks framing his plush lips in a way that made your clit tingle. “Is that so? But you have such a tiny human mouth, I don’t know if you’d be able to fit me…” He teased, making you blush. You gave him your panties everyday, and that’s what got you to blush, him teasing you… Incredible.

“I will. It will. It will fit, sir,” you stuttered. This orc made your brain so fuzzy you could barely process words correctly anymore. You could barely talk when he was close, especially now that you were moments away from sucking his dick down your throat.

“Prove it then, little slut.”

You dropped to your knees so fast you moaned when you hit the floor, the spark of pain focusing your brain for a second. But the second you touched his big-as-tree-trunks thighs, your brain disconnected again. Only heat and lust left behind. You pulled down his fly in a slow movement, staring up at him as he looked back at you with an indescribable look.

You took his dick out and gasped again. You already saw it, you had it inside of you, but it was nothing compared with the realization that you were about to fit that inside your mouth. Maybe he was right, and it wouldn’t fit.

His eyes were tender when he looked down at you. “Relax, you don’t have to take all of it, just whatever you are comfortable with. I like you submitting to me, but I don’t want to hurt you in any way. Do you understand?” You nodded, relief running down your body and making you even hornier.

“Okay,” you whispered.

And then you launched.

You pulled out your tongue and started mapping the veins of his huge shaft one after the other. His hands were gripping the arms of the chair with such force you could hear the leather breaking. You smiled against his dick and he grunted, one of his hands fisting your hair and urging you where he wanted you more. You complied, you wanted nothing more but to be a good girl for him, a good slutty human for him.

You took his head into your mouth, your lips so stretched it was almost uncomfortable, but you liked it. You loved the feel of his cock inside your mouth, it was exhilarating in a way you weren’t expecting. You weren’t one to like giving head in general, you preferred to go down on girls than guys, but definitely wasn’t your go to activity, but right there… You fucking loved it.

You rolled your tongue around the tip, teasing the underside where you knew he was especially sensitive. He moaned over you, his fist pulling at your hair and making you moan around him, which made him almost whimper and let out a series of curses that would make a pirate blush.

You kept going at it, you couldn’t get past a few centimeters, he was too wide for you to get him to the back of your throat, but by the glassy look in his eyes you understood it was enough. You were messy, your saliva getting everywhere as you bobbed your head up and down.

He was looking down at you reverently, and you couldn’t hold back a few more moans, who made him thrust up accidentally. You pulled back coughing, eyes teary and a few tears rolling down. He groaned at the sigh, and you felt your clit pulsating with your heartbeat. You were so close to coming, you wanted nothing more but to touch yourself. You threw your body to him again, but he stopped you with the hand tangled in your curls.

“I want to fuck your pretty face, would you let me, little slut? Would you let me use you like my personal fuck toy?” You whimpered, nodding against his thigh as he pulled your head back by the hair. “Such a good girl for me, already so needy and desperate. Look at you… You look so dirty like that. Remind me to take a pic so I can enjoy you later,” his words made you emit a guttural moan.

The idea of him taking pics of you like that, make up running and lips swollen… it made you feel hot. It made you feel so horny you could feel your juices dripping down to the floor under you, your panties so wet they couldn’t hold your gushing pussy anymore.

“You like that? You like me having pictures of how pretty you look all fucked up? Why do I even ask, of course you do, you are such a little slut for me. Now open up.” You obeyed and he directed his dick back against your welcoming mouth. “Tap my leg three times if it’s too much, okay?” You nodded again. “Words. How many times?”

“Three. I tap three times if it’s too much,” you repeat, breathless already.

“Good girl.”

And then he started a brutal pace. He used his hold on your hair to direct your movements, moving your head forward until you couldn’t take it further and then retreating. Repeating that process until something inside of you gave out and you felt him slip inside your throat. It was almost too much, you couldn’t breathe, but your eyes rolled back into your head at the sight of him in pleasure.

He pulled back to let you breathe, looking down at you with reverence. “You look so fucked out I want to ruin you. Would you let me ruin you, little human?” You nodded, unable to form words. “Such a good girl for me.” He pulled your head forward and started to fuck your mouth in earnest.

Your brain was fuzzy, your pussy so wet you could feel it dripping down, and your clit asking for attention. The weight of his cock against your tongue, his hand on your hair and his curses over you were driving you insane.

“Touch yourself for me, little human. Come around your tiny fingers. Show me how much you like sucking my orc cock,” his permission was enough, your hand traveling down your body and rubbing frantically against your clit, over the lace.

His pace became erratic, and your fingers rubbed so hard you were almost afraid to set your clit on fire. But it was so good, the combination of sensations so intense you were about to come.

“I’m about to come. Do you want it? Do you want to swallow my come or do you want it in your face, little slut?” You sucked harder, pushing your head further down, swallowing around him to indicate you wanted it. You wanted to swallow him whole.

That was all it took. He growled over you and pushed his dick as far as he could before you felt the first shot of his come in the back of your throat. He pulled back a little to avoid chocking you, the final spurs of his release filling your mouth to the brim, some of it dripping down your chin.

The second he opened his eyes and looked down at you, his dick still in your mouth, you were done. You flicked your clit one last time before you melted, pulling back and spilling the rest of his come over your boobs as you cried out your own release.

Your vision whited out, your ears ringing as you felt your body moving as he pulled you up onto his lap, his hands caressing your back as he whispered sweet nothings that your brain couldn’t process.

He took some tissues from the box on his desk and carefully cleaned your messy face. “You didn’t take the pic,” you told him.

“We didn’t talk about it beforehand. I wouldn’t risk stepping over your possible boundaries like that.” Your heart skipped a beat. “But don’t worry, we’ll have more opportunities if that’s something you’d enjoy…”

“We will?” You asked, a bit confused but a spark of hope blooming inside your chest.

“I’m not letting go of your sweet, sweet slutty pussy anytime soon,” he told you, kissing your forehead as his hand traveled down until it met your dripping panties. “I would like this panties now, thank you,” he whispered against your ear, you could sense his smirk on his tone, making you laugh so hard you snorted.

Reminder that you can find all my other stories over @monstersflashlight

[miniscapes333]

Passionate confession from your FS (18+) (sweet obsession edition) (part - 2)

PICK A PILE READING LOVES ;)

👇 [PILE - 1] 👇[PILE - 2]

👆 [PILE - 3]

Disclaimer: The images featured are not mine. All credit and rights belong to their original creators.

PILE 1

You don’t even know what you do to me, do you? The way I ache for you—it’s almost maddening. Like a fire that never burns out, just keeps consuming, deeper, hotter, more unbearable every time I think about you. And I do—I think about you constantly. I replay moments between us like an addict chasing their next high, lingering on the way your lips curve when you smirk, the way your breath hitches when I get too close. It’s a battle I lose every single night, fighting this pull you have over me, but the truth is? I don’t want to win. I want to lose. To you. Over and over again. Because you—you—are the only thing I want to surrender to.

You drive me to the edge of my control, test my patience, push me until I feel like I might just snap. And maybe I want to. Maybe I want you to see what you do to me, how deep this obsession runs. How every time I see you, my hands twitch to touch, my lips part with words I’m not sure I should say just yet—but God, do I want to. I catch myself staring when I shouldn’t, imagining things I have no business imagining, feeling this raw, unfiltered hunger that only you can stir in me. And yet, it’s not just about the way I crave you—it’s deeper than that. It’s the way my heart pounds when I hear your voice. The way I miss you even when you’re right in front of me, because I always want more.

And I wonder—do you feel it too? This tension that coils between us like an unspoken challenge, daring one of us to break first. I see it in the way your eyes flicker when I get too close, the way your body reacts before your mind catches up. Don’t deny it—I know you feel it just as much as I do. And one day, I swear, I’m going to make you admit it. I’ll have you just as undone as you leave me every single night, lost in this sweet, unbearable obsession we’ve wrapped ourselves in. And when that day comes? Oh, love, I won’t hold back. I won’t hesitate. And I will make sure you never forget what it feels like to be wanted like this.

PILE 2

You have no idea how long I’ve been watching you, studying you, memorizing the way your lips move when you talk, how your laughter melts into a room, the way your presence shifts the air around you—pulling me in without effort. I should have kept my distance. Should have let this be nothing more than fleeting curiosity, but tell me… how am I supposed to ignore something that already owns me? You consume my thoughts, even in the quiet, even when I tell myself to let go. I can’t. I won’t. The more I see you, the more I need you. Even when I try to focus, even when I pretend I’m above this, my mind betrays me. I replay our conversations, I search for traces of me in your gaze, I wonder if you know—if you feel—the tension I bite back every time I’m near you.

It’s intoxicating, the way you make me lose control. The teasing, the stolen glances, the way you tilt your head just so, testing me, daring me to make a move. And God, do I want to. But I can’t just have you—I need to unravel you first. I want to know what makes you tick, what sets your skin aflame, what leaves you breathless in the dead of night. I want to see you undone under my hands, knowing it was me who got you there. You make me restless, make me second-guess my own composure, and I swear I’ve imagined a thousand different ways to finally close this unbearable distance. Slow, teasing, pushing you past your own restraint. Or maybe all at once, like the dam finally breaking, like neither of us can hold back any longer.

I think about you when I shouldn’t. Late at night, when the world is silent and my thoughts are anything but. You haunt me, linger in the spaces between my breaths, and I wonder—do I do the same to you? Do you feel the heat between us even when we’re surrounded by others? Do you catch yourself staring when you think I won’t notice? Because I notice everything, love. Every flicker of your gaze, every shift in your body when I get too close. And one day, I won’t just stand here and watch. One day, I’ll lean in, brush my fingers along your jaw, and make you admit that you’ve been craving this just as much as I have. And when that day comes? I promise, I’ll make sure you never forget what it feels like to finally be mine.

PILE 3

You don’t understand what you do to me. How your presence alone is enough to send a slow burn through my veins, a warmth that lingers long after you’ve gone. You move like you know exactly who you are—unapologetic, untouchable, and yet, I want to be the one who reaches you. The one who reminds you that you don’t have to be so strong, so guarded, because with me? You are safe. And maybe that’s what scares me the most. This need—no, this ache—to give you everything. My hands, my time, my devotion. I want to spoil you, not just with gifts, but with the way I touch you, the way I look at you like you are the only thing worth chasing. Because you are. And if I have to spend forever proving that to you, I will.

I know you feel it too. The tension, the unspoken promises in the way our fingers brush when we stand too close, the stolen glances that last just a second too long. It’s maddening, this game we play. The push, the pull. But let’s be honest, love—we both know where this is leading. One day, I won’t hold back. I’ll have you pressed against me, your breath warm against my skin, and I’ll make sure you never doubt just how much I want you. I want to worship you, learn every inch of you, taste the way your body reacts to my touch. Slow and teasing, making you beg, or deep and consuming, leaving you breathless. You deserve that. You deserve everything. And I swear to you, I’ll spend every moment proving it.

But it’s not just about the physical—it never was. It’s the way you see me, even when I don’t have the words to say what I feel. It’s the way you laugh, how it lingers in the air like a melody I never want to stop hearing. It’s the way I want to earn your love, not just claim it. So let me. Let me trace my fingers down your spine and memorize the way you shiver. Let me whisper your name against your skin and watch as you melt beneath me. Let me love you the way you were always meant to be loved—fully, entirely, without hesitation. Because, my love, you are the one thing in this world I will never stop wanting.

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[fanzou]

I Can Love You

♡ A Valentine’s Special

✗ Pairing: Law Trafalgar x Fem!Reader

✗ Summary: You insist that Nico Robin is the right one for him, but he wants to show you why you’re wrong.

✗ Total WC: 6.5K

✗ CW: SMUT! Reader is a little jeeeeelly of Robin and Law’s friendship, reader is also a Straw Hat, LAW HAS A BIG DICK, p in v sex, Law teases too much [let me know if I missed any]

✗ A/N: Enjooooooy!

“You know I was thinking,” you start, and he's ready to rolls his eyes. “Robin and you’d make a great couple.”

Even though he was facing the opposite direction of you, you can tell Law’s face was littered in a scowl.

After spending over 2 weeks with him, he was easier to read. It came with its perks and, well, Law was Law and there wasn’t much else.

“And why’s that?” He feigns interest in what you say, raising his head in your direction while throwing the blood littered gauze pads in the trash can next to the desk. “I think you both would complement each other pretty well. She’s quiet, you’re quiet, she’s pretty wise, you are too.” You pause for a moment, then continue, “She’s also very gorgeous.” You wiggle your eyebrows, with a mischievous look.

“I suggest you take care of those wounds on your body before you worry about who I should or shouldn’t be with.”

Known for your blunt and straightforward manner—he respected it, in truth—pirates weren’t known to talk so formally amongst each other anyways, but this, he would be lying straight out of his teeth had he said he wasn’t taken aback by today’s new invasive question you’d ask him. You’ve said some weird things, never anything about his love life—which was… nonexistent, in your own words.

And yes, you make that very clear to him. A lot.

He looks over to you with your finger to your chin as if deep in thought, like you Straw Hats even had anything to give thought toanyway, and you finally speak, "Yeah... she might be too good for you. Scratch the thought."

He chuckles, “You wound me.”

“But if you had to choose from any woman in your entire life to ever marry, who would you choose?” And he has to remind himself that you are completely and entirely under the influence of painkillers, otherwise he would have mistook you for a 5-year-old with the way the question was structured.

“Definitely not you.”

“Law!” You pout. He makes sure that his back is facing you again so he could sneak in a little smile. “That’s actually a good thing. I’m out of your league.”

He turns around to look at you, hand on his heart, “My heart truly cannot take anymore heartbreak.” He says in the most monotone voice you’ve ever heard from him.

For most, it was weird that you were left behind by your captain, but in this case—and with a whole lot of begging from the Straw hat himself—you were rushed to Law’s medical aid. Mindlessly running into battle to protect your friends from a life or death situation wasn’t so appealing when you had to face the consequences for the next month.

But you insisted that you didn’t regret your decision if it meant that everyone was safe; or in Law’s words, you were just careless and dumb.

Even though Luffy himself had to be pried away from your side by the swordsman and the cook while you were unconscious for the first few days, Law had explained to you that they had to get a move on (In your crews complete and utter reluctance) for the next up and coming battle when you came to. And when you found out, you were a bit upset to be parted away from them, but quickly found comfort in Law's presence while you were bed-ridden, cracking jokes about how you’d call him captain until your time was up on his submarine.

He looks over to your bandaged condition, high off your ass, and he almost wants to laugh. Even in your drugged out state, you talk about your friends in such high regard, and try playing wingman with him.

You disrupt the comfortable silence while he looks over some of the stuff on his desk, “You’re not gonna believe this, but I’m feeling much better. Y’think I can go back on my own ship yet?” You’re already stretching your arms out. He calls your name with his signature “-ya” attached to it in a scolding manner, “What did I say about moving?” Damn Straw hat.

You immediately deflate and look down, “You’re not letting me do anything. I feel fine.”

“It feels that way until you move a little too much and start to open your wounds again, give it another week and we’ll see how you’re doing.” He’s looking through some pages on his desk. “We can go on another walk tomorrow if you really wanna move that badly.”

“Thank you, Cap!” You beam at him, he feels his heart jump a little bit.

-

Another week has passed and you’re itching to go back to your found family. It’s been this way for the past three weeks, but as the month goes by, you’d just grow more and more eager.

You made him question why he was even doing this often times.

He was a little offended by your verbalized pleas to get out of here, like he wasn’t helping you. In his own little ways, he tried satiating your boredom by doing things that were almost out of character for someone such as himself. He’d even let you tell him about your fellow crew members to make you a little happier.

You’d talk about Luffy quite often, maybe because he knew him way better than anyone else.

You talked about Robin and Nami as well, about how you felt like they were the sisters you never had growing up, about how close you were to them, about how you each met, he was almost sick of how much you talked about them. But if it meant that you were doing okay then that was all that mattered.

Is that why you said that thing a couple weeks ago? About Nico-ya? There was a sincerity in your voice. Robin was a beautiful woman just as you proclaimed, she was around his age, and all the things you said about her held truth.

Maybe it was true—Nico Robin was the woman perfectly crafted for him. And he couldn’t deny her beauty.

He brushes his hand over his face--maybe out of confusion or frustration, he can't decide. But he hated the conflicting feelings that resided in his mind, they made no sense. He never had an issue with women. He didn't want to.

From the day he met you, his beating heart understood an appeal his mind couldn't, you had an annoying personality. You made dumb decisions. You said things too brutally. You never thought about yourself and it was bound to get you killed one way or another. He didn’t know if it was because he’d been spending extra time with you and getting way too familiar with you, but he’s letting himself enjoy it far too much. And he doesn’t know how he’d feel once you parted your ways. He’s never been this close to a woman before, be it the lack of female subordinates on his ship, or his lack of intimacy with just about everyone, it’s a lot for him.

When he has his arm on your hip to assist you in walking and you have yours on his shoulder, he feels his heart rate picking up a little more.

Sometimes when you get tired you beg him to carry you back to your room, he pretends that he hates it, as he leans over for you to get on his back.

And the first week was hell for him when he had to wash you, because bloodied bath and scars aside, your body was beautiful. Every inch of it. He didn't want to be a pervert. He kept chanting the words; this is a doctor and patient relationship, this is a doctor and patient relationship, this is a doctor and patient relationship in his head when his mind almost slipped to unholy places. If you weren’t in so much pain at the time you’d probably have teased him for how red he looked.

But right now you seem fine, and you and Law (sometimes Bepo) have been going on walks around the submarine every morning now to get you used to physical activity again, you fall into the routine pretty quickly and you don’t seem as depressed as the first few days you were here.

A day ago the submarine ascended out of the water and met with dry land. He was conflicted in telling you— he didn’t know how you’d react. You’re in a completely different place now, different from where you were almost a month ago, it must've be a little weird to come outside after 3 weeks.

It was something that Chopper was extremely adamant on, only because he knew your tendency to wander and extreme desire to explore anywhere you went. You were quite the adventurous one, which is why the Straw Hat himself was probably so upset over your departure.

He sits next to you in a chair from your bed, mentally preparing himself and thinking on how he’d formulate the way he would go about telling you.

Would you stay by his side? Would you immediately go someplace else, and without him?

You’re sat upright in the bed waiting for what he had to say, “We’ll be getting some stock in this new place and I want you to come with us. Just to see how you do.” Your eyes get wider with every word that comes after the next, and you’re smiling. You hadn’t smiled this hard ever since you got here.

What he doesn’t expect, is you to throw yourself onto him. “Thank you Law! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Your embrace is warm, and easy to get lost in and he refuses to let himself have that pleasure. "Do they have a carnival? Can we go out to eat?"

He rests his hand on your waist in an effort to pull you off.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, you just got your stitches off.” And he does well to hide the small smile that starts to form.

-

Law insists that you have to be with him, no questions asked.

If not him, then Bepo—the usual routine. It kinda made you mad, I mean, why not go with the other crew mates? You needed the new faces, but he insisted that he wasn’t as confident in their skills to take care of you versus his. Bepo was far more comfortable to be with given his warm and fuzzy embrace. And you envied the captain for having him be apart of the Heart pirates instead of the Straw hats.

You’re excited to finally go out and enjoy the traditions of this new place, you’re wearing a tight dress that looks almost too good on you.

You made a joke to him earlier and told him you were surprised that he didn’t make you wear one of his jumpsuits the rest of the crew worse, then you’re calling him Captain Law to egg on the joke further. All he does is tsk and roll his eyes, like all the time. But you can tell he’s gotten more comfortable with you, and you appreciated it.

Anyway, the town’s food was delectable, you grab some food to-go and eat it while taking a stroll through the busy streets, the smell of more food, presumably some fresh-baked bread met your nostrils and you sighed out of pure satisfaction.

Your partner, on the other hand, all but scowled.

Which gave you an idea.

“Law, let’s go try some bread. I bet they have it freshly baked the way it smells so good.” You hang off of his arm to try and get him to come with you. And he swears the close proximity shouldn’t make him feel weird. He’s been much closer and he’s seen you in much more vulnerable circumstances, but this was different.

He kinda regrets telling you about the bread thing.

“C’moooonnn, you’re a liar if you say you hate bread.” You’re pulling him by his arm now, insisting on getting him into the bakery to try some sweet bread. “I never said I hated it, I said I didn’t like the taste.” This is practically a push and pull game now, “People are looking at us. We’re keeping a low profile, remember?”

You pull away from him in complete and utter defeat and tuck your hands over your chest.

He doesn’t want to miss your touch, but once again, his heart betrays him. “You’re no fun.”

He doesn’t have to miss the skinship for long, almost instantly you’re body is hanging back off of his bicep, talking about the next subject of your absolute fascination, which now happened to be a huge teddy bear plushy that was on display at a ‘convenience’ store. Not only are you closer to him but he can feel your breasts pushing onto his arm. He shudders.

And he tries remaining calm and reminding himself to not be a pervert, you always did this. You always touched him, he touched you. You were doing this as a means for support to walk better (even though you’ve been walking fine for a while now). That’s it.

You interrupt the awkward silence between you two before he starts to feel the immense guilt come over him and he thanks you in his head. His very perverted head. “I feel so much better now that we’re on land again, I feel like I haven’t had fresh air my whole life.” You breathe in and breathe a heavy breath out. “You’re exaggerating, you were on deck not too long ago.”

Your next movement makes him tense, you lay your head on top of his tattooed shoulder. “Thank you so much for taking me out, Law.” And give his captured arm a little squeeze, inevitably making him feel your breasts so much more.

He wants to die.

Collecting himself, he clears his through, “You’re making it seem like this is a date. I’m just here to monitor your progress.” He looks at you then looks ahead.

“Why can’t it be a date?” You ask him, still hanging off of his arm.

If you didn’t feel him tense then, it was especially obvious now. And he was trying to mask how weird he felt when you said that, but every part of him felt really hot, and he prayed that his cheeks weren’t tomato red right now.

“Aww! Look at them, young love, huh?”

“Ooooh, they’re an attractive couple…”

“They’re so cute!”

He calls your name a little coldly, “Get off of my shoulder, you’re sending people the wrong message.” He actually didn’t mind it, but he swears he might die if he feels your breast push up on him one more time. “Sorry…” So you withdraw your body completely from his, (which he totally doesn’t regret at all) and you start your walk with him again, minus your body on his this time.

Letting your eyes wander once again and away from Law, you settle on a trinket store, and the idea of buying Usopp a little gift pops into your head immediately. Just because.

You walk into the store full of weird things galore. You settle on a super shiny thing first and when you pick it up, the salesmen is immediately by your side, “This is a one of a kind (doo-hicky) which can only be found on this here island! (you saw this thing at the convenience store as well) Usual price would be 20,000 berries, but for your pretty little self, I’ll make it 19!”

“Yeah, no.” He immediately deflates.

You continue your walk through the store and not shortly after you land on something that you immediately found more intriguing than the last.

“Law look at this! You would love this!” You turn around,

But there’s just one problem.

Law isn’t with you anymore.

Oh.

And when you wave the salesmen off empty-handed, he seems a little angered but bids his goodbye and fake come again! as well. You look towards the street and it seems like it’s gotten busier.

“Law’s going to kill me!”

You try fishing through the crowd and scanning for a white spotted hat, or fuzzy white fur, but everyone looks plain and simple. Which makes you think about how you guys kinda stick out like sore thumbs… anyway.

You search and search until you find that signature hat you’re looking for, excuse yourself in between what felt like hundreds of strangers and you catch up to him. You grab his hand in excitement, “Law!” Only for it to be quickly taken back, it was a stranger, with eyes that you’re sure could burn holes into you. You say your little sorry and resume your search.

After a long period of searching you’re drained, physically and mentally. You’re sure that if he found you he’d probably strap you down to your bed and not let you leave.

Well, that doesn’t sound too bad.

You’re defeated, extremely, entirely. Maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t been outside like this for what felt like forever, maybe it was the fact that the sun was setting now, or even maybe it was ‘cause you needed Law with you the most right now. You find a near bench and just sit.

And maybe that exhaustion finally got the better of you, because you swore you could see his big muscular tattooed figure paired with Bepo's white fur walking towards you as you dose off into a really, really nice sleep.

-

The sound of one—no, two muffled voices wake you from your slumber, your vision is blurry, and if you were right about him saving you, you could hear what you assume to be Law’s medical instruments clacking together. A sound you’ve grown all too familiar with.

“Captain, you don’t think that’s a little harsh?”

“Do you see what she pulled out there?”

Bepo is silent for a bit, then sighs, “If you think it’s best for her.” He leaves the room on his own accord, leaving just you and the very scary man alone.

“I know you’re up.” He calls you with a firmness in his tone.

Much to your unwillingness, you sit up straight, tail between your legs. He looked a bit unkempt, and you couldn't pinpoint if it was because of you or something else. In whatever way, you felt a little guilty.

“Just plain reckless and obnoxious.” He towers over you, “I have a job to complete, and that requires you being taken care of.”

He's pacing around in your room-- the room, of his ship. Not yours. You've never seen him like this. Like he was distressed. He stills and looks at you.

“You’re not coming out the rest of the week. You can wait until Straw Hat comes and picks you up.”

“What am I, a child?" You swing your legs around to meet the floor and pick yourself up.

"With the shit you just pulled, maybe."

With a scoff, "That's low, even for you, Law. It was an honest mistake and you're making it seem like I almost got us killed? You knew what you were getting into when you took me out!" you pinch your nose in a mix of frustration and some previous dizziness. "Sorry I can't be like Robin!"

Huh? Like who?

He immediately looks at you, and sees a little a tiny but of regret in your face. Like you had just got caught with a big secret.

Well maybe, that’s what it was.

“What is your deal with me and your crew mate, huh?”

Your confident demeanor is quick to fade away and if he didn’t know better, he would say that you were almost a bit embarrassed now. He really couldn’t tell what it was. You weren’t angry anymore, that was for certain. You’re not looking at him with those harsh eyes, you’ve been reduced to silence.

It makes him think a bit. He says your name in an attempt to get you to look at him and he succeeds.

“You wouldn’t happen to be…”

“Jealous?”

If there was ever a more dramatic gasp, it certainly couldn’t have topped the one that just came out your mouth. “How dare you! Not one bit!” Suddenly he has this new profound confidence to him, and his frustrations suddenly wiped clean off his mind. He looks at you with his grin all-knowing, and by God you hated when he did that. You wish you could have wiped it off and smacked it off of him.

“So explain to me, what’s the point of mentioning her again?” You don’t realize it, but he’s inching a bit closer while you’re avoiding any and all contact with him, you’re red. Red all over. Cheeks, ears, neck—everywhere. And you don’t know what to do with your hands, you can feel them collect sweat now. You don’t know why. Because his accusation was false.

He’s in front of you now.

“W-What are you doing? Law?” You scan his face because his stare down is relentless and unforgiving, and his hand finds its way up your neck and soon your chin. He’s awfully quiet. It’s unsettling. You put your hands on his chest to hopefully put a halt in the proximity. “Can you please te—”

His mouth is on yours. It’s a little shocking at first but you’re not pulling away.

And you don’t remember closing your eyes and snaking your hands around his neck, and pulling him in, but you do. His own tattooed hands found caressing your body. And the kiss was really, really passionate. He didn’t think it was gonna be this good, but he was wrong.

He was always wrong about you. Wrong about how he didn’t think you were right for him, wrong about your personality, attitude, everything. He really wanted to stay wrong until you would leave and he’d hardly have to see you again. He’s almost pissed he’s letting himself bask in your warmth and intimacy.

But now that he has it, he can’t go without it.

Few words are exchanged, but what he can do is guide you and put you back on your bed with your lips barely still connected trying to reach for each others and you think to yourself, for a man who claims to not have had so much going on in his love life he sure was skilled in whatever this was. He doesn’t want to take them off of yours. He can’t now. Your hands are under his shirt caressing every part of his torso. The feeling of his abs turned you on so much more and you felt your cunt throb a bit. You were aching for his body and he could tell, he takes his lips off yours with a whine from you that follows suit and immediately licks, sucks and kisses your neck, your audible satisfaction letting him know that he’s made you feel great.

“I need you… so bad.” You say in between huffs.

“How can I be so sure you deserve it?” He gets up, and takes his body off of yours, lips glossy. “How do I know that you won’t pass out on me, either?” He disguises his slight worry in a taunting statement, he’d try being as gentle as possible but he couldn’t make any promises.

“I won’t do that, and please Law. It was a mistake, honest. I need you inside. I wanted this so bad. Please!” You tug him by his shirt, urging him to come back down, he doesn’t. He thinks on your words a bit. You wanted this just as much as he did.

“Take your clothes off.”

He laughs at the very quick work you make of taking every single article of clothing, save for your bra and panties, off. There it was, the very image that kept him up for nights, shamefully touching himself to the thought of you on top of him, and him on top of you. Soon he joins, dropping his shirt and jeans and all else except his boxers, to the floor. He returns to your neck, his body on top of yours and you can feel his clothes dick pressing onto your clit ever so slightly, it draws a shaky breath out of you. “Do you know what you do to me?” He slides down your bra to continue his trail of kisses and licks on your nipples. “And you’re worrying about someone else. You’re so pathetic.” You arch impossibly closer into him and start to buck your hips into his crotch.

“Need it sooo bad, put it inside me already, pleaaaaase!” His dick is throbbing in his boxers now. He shakes his head “You’re not prepped.”

“I’m wet enough, please baby. I need you inside of me.” You claw at his chest in an attempt to get what you want.

But he refuses, he can’t. He goes down on you anyways, taking off your panties and the string of wetness that connected from your underwear to your cunt validated your statement. This was straight out of one of his wet dreams; you sprawled out and begging to be filled with his aching cock. He wanted more than anything to make you beg for him like your life depended on it to carry out the fantasy but, he was afraid he was just as desperate as you were right now. He continued and gently presses your legs up, swiping his thumb across your slit to test the waters (literally), your slick gathered onto his thumb and made a great lubricant, but he still wanted to make you feel good.

He licks his thumb clean and settles between your legs and gives your throbbing heat a few lips and sucks on your clit. He can feel you shake underneath him, and he separates your legs by your inner thighs to get a better angle.

The image in front of you made you hot, that’s all you could say about it. It made you hot and shaky and you thought you were going to die if you didn’t feel him inside of you soon, Law hears your pleas, and to temporarily compensate for it, he sticks two fingers into you while he’s practically making out with your clit. You look down with an almost drowsy expression, your moans get so much louder but you don’t even care anymore. He was sexy and he was eating you out. That would be your excuse to anyone who dared to get too close to the door.

His two fingers were pretty big enough to even cause you a bit of trouble alone, and his constant prodding and scissoring made you seethe a bit, but you didn’t care because the pain and the pleasure mixed together made you feel the growing orgasm in your stomach. You shout his name, “I’m gonna— I’m g-gonna cum… mmm~” your whines and moans are breathy.

But he pulls away, and you look to him in shock. He gets up from his position and he’s on his knees in front of you, and he’s threatening the hem of his boxers, you quickly forget about your failed orgasm, knowing the main course was yet to come.

It almost feels like when he pulls down his boxers, time is in slow motion. Maybe because you wanted him extra due to the lack of action you were getting, and your inability to masturbate for the longest time, were you so eager to get him in your pants, nothing prepared you for when he pulled down his underwear.

And now you understood why he wanted to prepare you.

When he pulled them down, his cock shot right up and bounced a little bit before it was like it was staring right at you. You gulp. Because that’s all you could do. And you didn’t even want to look at Law in the eye because you know he was gonna give you some smug and shitty smirk. Like a hypnosis, you get in position and spread your legs further.

“You ready?” He puts one arm next to your head and crouches down a little bit, you can’t even speak. You just hum. You’re expecting him to get it over with, but now he’s just stroking your slit with that absolute beast, “You sure you’re ready?” And now you’re forced to look away from the heavenly scene and into his dumb and beautiful eyes.

“W-What was I saying for like the past 10 minutes? Put it in!” He only chuckles at how you jump at him, demanding him like you have any control. So he slides it in, head only. With your hand on his bicep, digging nails as you’re squeezing him both down there and with your hand that looks for some kind of help in his arm.

He removes his hand that pushes his cock inside and rests in on your chin to bring your eyes up to him, the action was so gentle it could’ve made you forget what was just going down. “Just look at me.” It makes your heart flutter.

And while you do, you feel so much better about the monster that’s sliding into you inch by inch. You furrow your eyebrows at him and chant his name like some sort of ritual. He’s almost all the way in, and the beads of tears in the corner of your eyes make him twitch inside of you with a groan. He looks at you like you hold the answer the all of his problems, like he just wants to be here with you only, and that’s exactly what it was. Like he’d pass away peacefully if it meant he passed away in between your legs.

Once he bottoms out, he stays there a little bit. He gives your lips a quick kiss before he moves into you, elbows on each side of your head. Each thrust is more powerful than the last, and he mentally curses at himself for not removing your bra so that he could see your tits jump freely. You’re on a different planet at this point, nothing has ever felt better. You look into his eyes, then down at what’s connecting you and you swear you could cum right there.

“‘F-Feels… so… good. Hah…” his thrusts find a comfortable pace now, “I feel full and good. Thank yoooouuummmm!” This is what you had been reduced to, thanking him for fucking you.

“Such a fuckin’ slut. Maybe I should keep you all to myself. For good.” His thrusts pick up a little bit now, “Straw Hat’s gonna have to fight me for this.” You whine in response. It took pretty quick for you to start to get cock-drunk off of him. He didn’t take you for the overly sensitive type but here you were, begging him and thanking him for some dick. He would so use that against you later.

He kisses you again, and he’s settled into you a whole lot more. The position changed a little for his body to be closer to yours, and almost in an instant does your skin start slapping against each other. You were a moaning mess, the new position held so much intimacy and so much of him was on you. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Don’t stop. I’m almost there, I need it. Need it so bad. Let me have it!”

“Beg a little more.”

“Please, Law! Please! I need you to make me cum! Please, make me cum. Please please please…” and they don’t stop. It looks like his fantasies came to life after all.

He lets you have it because he needs it just as much as you do, the last few thrusts come a little more quick-paced and it’s hitting you in the exact spot you needed to let yourself unfold.

With a loud call to his name, you cum. You came so hard you saw stars. And he just kept fucking you through it.“‘Gonna fill you up.” He grunts and groans in an effort to reach his own moment of bliss and it’s quicker to hit him than he can comprehend, he cums inside of you and shivers a little bit in doing so, finding comfort in the crook of your neck in an effort to cover up how vulnerable he felt in that moment. No women could ever compare. He was a mess for it.

As for his fill inside of you, he’d just use his devil-fruit power to remove it, but right now he absolutely relished in the way it so effortlessly leaked out of you. You were his, officially.

Collecting his own self, he pushes himself off of you, “You’re not going cold on me, are you?” He gets up off of the comfortable position once again, peering down at your fucked-out state.

“Would you give me a second? I thought you fucked me into another dimension for like half a minute.” You huff. He gives you your time while you catch your breath, he’s rubbing circles on each side of your hips to help alleviate the strain—well that’s the doctor for you. He’ll fuck you into the mattress and then help your muscles de-stress. You couldn’t deny the gentleness and how kind the gesture was and you soften up a bit.

“Get on your hands and knees when you’re ready.” You’re up hilariously quick. And he’s already half hard from waiting for you. Your figure from the back was something he’d think back on for many nights, but getting to see your face was beyond compare.

You whimper, “I’m ready, c’mon!” You comedically and desperately wiggle your ass in front of him, he wants to laugh but it was really fucking sexy, the way you yearned for him, and he holds your hip with one hand, lining himself up once again. The hard part wasn’t so difficult this time around, and he pushes himself inside of you a little too eagerly, almost giving away his own very need. He starts to thrust into you again, and being inside of you was like heaven on earth. Though it wasn’t even 2 minutes that he was fucking you before, he was sensitive this time around, and he had to go slower to start.

“Fuck, that feels so good.” You hum a moan in a little more than approval. He’s sliding into you, watching how his cock disappears into you.

The best thing about this position is how you wouldn’t be able to see his face, how pussy-whipped he looked. If he went any faster he could cum, so he needed to start slow.

You were far past the sensual and slowness. You needed it fast and hard. “Law, go faster!”

“Don’t call me by my name. What do you call me in this room? On this ship?” Very bold in his proclamation. But he can feel your hesitance.

He smacks your ass, and you jump a bit, clenching around him very tightly. “I said, what do you call me?”

“C-Captain, please… please go faster.”

But he stops. And he swears he might be torturing his own self more, if it meant for how much you begged and whined for it, though, he wasn’t disappointed.

“If you want to go faster so bad, fuck me yourself.”

You almost want to cry from how brutal he sounded, but the vulgarity of his words makes you clench around him again. And so, you start to thrust back into him, fucking him while he watched you.

With the first few thrusts you’re already clutching the sheets below you, and it’s taking more power than you thought it would. You can’t bring yourself to stop, though. The way it felt, it was too good.

“How does it feel?”

“S-So good, Cap.” Your eyes rolled into your skull.

“You gonna make your captain cum?”

“Mhhmm~”

With a breathy voice he says, “Guess this is my reward for taking such good care of you, huh? All paid off. I don’t usually get this special treatment from my usual patients.”

“I’m n-not a usual… patient.” You hardly breathe out.

He grips both sides of your hips to make you stop in your movement and he shuffles a bit, not long after is he asking you, “Are you gonna be good from now on?”. You say yes, a thousand times over. He moves like he did before, only just picking up his thrusts quicker and quicker. The sound of his skin meeting yours makes its return only louder. “Yeah, guess you’re right. Couldn’t possibly be. You’re too special. Made just for me.”

“Yes *thrust* Captain! *thrust*”

His leg is raised to the side to get a better angle into your cunt and he feels a second orgasm quickly approaching. He’s so sweaty, drenched. His hair clings onto his forehead and his hands can barely take grip on your skin anymore. Fuck, he moans. He’s getting dizzy now. This is the best he’s felt in a while.

You, on the other hand, have your face pressed in the sheets with your orgasm on quick approach. You’re sensitive, too sensitive. And you cum with a loud whine, all your liquids spraying onto him like it was comical. He came not so far after you, with his head falling back and a breathy moan.

You both try to catch your breaths before he felt on top of you. He kissed your shoulder as his own little thank you and rolled over on the very much drenched mattress. You lay on top of him while your whole body shook and he quickly wraps his arm around your figure.

You both sit in a comfortable silence go try catching your breaths and try to pace yourselves so you could relax. And surprisingly, Law is the first to speak.

“Never pinned you for the jealous type.”

“Oh would you quit it already? You’re so good at ruining soft moments!” You push him lightly, you roll over on the other side of the mattress and he immediately grabs you back. He was so annoying.

If he asked you to stay with him, would you have done it? No, that was wishful thinking. He’s seen with his own very eyes how much Straw Hat loved you. This is the thing he dread the most about this, he shouldn’t have done it. He brought you into his own sick and dark fantasy of keeping you here just for him and now he regrets it completely. It was wishful thinking on his end, all of it.

“‘This a one time thing?” He asks to try and ground himself.

But you’re quick, “No, better not be!” You get up and sit on the bed, and he doesn’t understand how you’re up. He should be the one to get up. “Unless you declare me your enemy once I leave.” Your fingers are dancing on his chest, tracing the tattoos on his body, “But I’m fine with being with you like this. It can be our little secret anytime we see each other. Especially that captain thing, you freak.”

He laughs, and your words do bring him that relief. He pulls you by your arm for a tender kiss, something you were a bit surprised by.

He was fine with it, he’d take what he can get for now, as long it meant he could be with you.

[revelboo]

Queen Revel i am ON MY KNEES begging for the next part of point of extinction because HOLY SHIT DUDE HE JUST WHIPS IT OUT????

He’s just trying to help in his awkward, unsettling way. 18+

Point of Extinction Pt 13

Shockwave x Reader

• You’re averting your eyes still, face reddening. “You find my lack of experience undesirable?” He’s always been quick to pick up new skills. This will be no different. And he can’t deny some purely unscientific curiosity about it. “I would be amenable to allowing you to take the lead while I gather experience.” How would those soft hands feel on him? Tracing ridges and dipping into seams. Wants to know. This is supposed to be about you, tending to your needs, not his. Wanting this isn’t logical, but that doesn’t change that he does.

• And he just keeps making this worse somehow. Risking a look and finding him just staring at you, his one hand gripping that weapon of mass destruction between his thighs and idly touching himself. The shape’s familiar enough, if the ridges and nodes are a bit Giger-esque and pulsing with ruddy biolights that draw your eyes against your will. Forcing yourself to look anywhere but at that, he’s still doing his creepy stare, antenna back. And stroking himself. “That’s a really… flattering offer,” you manage. Stop looking at it. Stop. Dammit. “Could you not do that?” It’s too distracting.

• Letting go of his spike he approaches you and your eyes dip to his bobbing spike then pointedly back up to his single optic. “Might I suggest mutual exploration to ease Thirteen’s uncertainty?” Gently catching your hand and you allow him to guide it to his spike. And your face somehow goes even redder. Shuddering at the feel of your soft palm on him. Lifting his hand and pleased when you don’t immediately snatch yours back when he cups your cheek, servos sliding against you. Thumb sliding over your bottom lip. Another mech would kiss you, but he can’t. “You can have control of this encounter.”

• Know you should get some space between you. Definitely not stroke your fingers along the ridges of his spike, thumb sliding over the head, feeling a bead of slick there. Startling when his helm gently bumps your forehead, that optic bathing your face in red light. It’s not exactly romantic, but you’re pretty sure you’d be worried if he was trying to be romantic. He’s awkward and creepy and more than a little bit messed up. “How much control?” You ask despite yourself.

• Optic brightening, his hips rock when you slide your thumb over the tip of his spike again. It’s difficult to ease himself down without just falling, but he manages and growls when your fingers slip free of him. “Familiarize yourself as necessary. I’m open to instruction.” Holding out a hand to you and waiting while you stare down at him and for a moment that dissonance swamps him. A memory of someone else standing over him, staring down at him with cold calculation. Smiling. A stranger’s memory.

• You’re not doing this. Right? He’s just staring at you, helm tipped up and his hand outstretched. Trying your damnedest to not look at his spike. Mutual pleasure. “You’re not going to lay eggs in me or anything right?” And those antenna go back in offense. You’ll take that as a no. Maybe you’re a tiny bit tempted and he’d mentioned being inexperienced. Popping his alien cherry shouldn’t be appealing. “And you’re not going to move unless I say you can?”

• “If that’s what you require.” Head tipping he waits. And you’re so small even with him mass displaced. Maybe that’s the issue? His size? And he freezes as it sinks in how illogical this all is. That he shouldn’t actually want this. Shouldn’t care about your well being. That he’s made a series of illogical decisions since he’d first interacted with you. And those phantom memories are worse since he began interacting with you, lifting through him suddenly to leave him disoriented. The logical thing to do would be to rid himself of you, but he knows that he won’t. He can’t.

• Something’s very wrong with you for even considering this. Is this just a new experiment to him? A test to see what you’ll do? Or does he actually think he’s taking care of your needs? And you’re not actually considering it, are you? Can admit you’re a tiny bit curious, but it’s the sort of horrified curiosity you’d have for a bit of particularly awful gossip. “Why do you want to take care of me?” Resisting the urge to make air quotes as you focus on his optic since it’s safer than the intimidating jut of his spike. Unable to ask why you’d been spared ending up like the deer. And those antenna go back again.

• Staring up at you, he can’t answer, because he isn’t sure. Doesn’t know why he’d culled you from his experiments. Why the idea of harming you makes him so uncomfortable. Is it only loneliness? That you’re someone to talk to even if the conversations are stilted? Fixating on you now even when he’s working in his lab. Experiments that never bothered him before now making him hesitate simply because you wouldn’t like them. Because they’d upset you. “I’m responsible for your well-being and health,” he says, watching your expression twist. Unhappy with that answer. “And because I desire to be the one to tend to you.” He shouldn’t, but he does. Maybe your illogical, emotional humanity is rubbing off on him. Infecting him.

• There’s something perverse about even considering this. This whole time you’ve been powerless to his whims and he’s giving you permission to take control. To give him orders that he claims he’ll listen to. Yeah, there’s something very wrong with you. “Can I touch you wherever?” He’s closer to your size this way and you doubt you’re going to get another opportunity like this. Want to take advantage before your common sense and survival instincts kick back in. Not waiting for his answer as you reach to cup his head in your hands, biting your bottom lip as you toy with his bunny ears as you think of them. Watching those antenna flick at your touch. And he allows it, keeping still as you gently run your fingertips over the plating of his helm, smiling when bits lift or shift at your touch like they’re sensitive.

Previous

[warlocksoup]

LOOPED: MIYA ATSUMU

she's stuck in a loop: texting him late on a friday night, letting him into her bed, clinging to him, silently begging for him to stay, only for him to leave again.

masterlist

tags/warnings: friends with benefits, implied love triangle, angst, hooking up, unhappy ending, kinda softcore smut but no actual smut, hardly proofread, mdni

word count: 2.2k

an: thinking abt starting a gen taglist for works like this since im planning on pivoting away from writing a bunch of series and focusing more on things like this. idk. let me know what you think if you want i can't make you. also do i think this is my best writing? no but writing has been so hard lately im proud of myself for getting this out

Atsumu likes to hold her after they fuck. 

His bare leg is hooked over her hip, and his arm is thrown over her shoulder, pulling her into his chest. It’s hot under her sheets, and Astumu’s skin is coated in a thin layer of sweat. It’s humid and unbearable, but she bears it, holding onto him by his waist, because it’s the only time he’s like this with her. 

“Thank you,” he says, and he tucks her head under his chin. His eyes are closed, and he lets out a long, deep breath. “I needed that.” 

He thanks her like she did him a favor. Her arms go a bit tighter around his waist, and she presses her ear against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “Yeah,” she mumbles, her cheek pressed flat against his skin. “Anytime.” 

Atsumu runs a hand over the back of her head, smoothing down her hair. His fingers continue, dragging slowly down the center of her spine. “Do you mind if I stay for a little while?” he asks, voice dropping to a raspy whisper that makes her feel so desperate that shame boils just under his touch. 

Her eyes close. “No,” she says, her lips brushing against his bare chest as she speaks. “You can stay for as long as you want.” 

It’s like this every week. She always expects it to be different, and it never is. Every week, when it feels like it’s been dark for too long and she’s alone and can’t sleep, she texts him after she promised herself she wouldn’t. Sometimes he responds and says he’ll be right over, sometimes he replies and says he can’t. Sometimes he shows up without saying anything at all. 

It’s been like this for a while. Long enough for her to feel embarrassed that she’s letting him drag her along like this. 

He hums, and she can feel vibrations throughout his chest. “You’re so soft,” he tells her, “it makes it hard to leave.” 

Atsumu will leave, though. Before the morning comes, he’ll be out the door without saying a word to her. It doesn’t seem very difficult, when he does go. He always peels her off of him like she’s some piece of dirty laundry and slinks out of the room when he thinks she’s fallen asleep. 

His breathing steadies like he’s slipping into sleep. She tilts her chin forward, and places a soft kiss on the center of his chest. She won’t be able to sleep. She’s too wired, it’s too hot, and her neck lays uncomfortably on top of the pillow. When the morning comes she’s going to be sore and tired, and it will be a strain to get anything done. 

Her eyes close, and she’s sure that Atsumu’s knocked out when she whispers, “You don’t have to leave, y’know.” 

He doesn’t say anything. She wasn’t expecting him to. She keeps her eyes closed, and thinks of his warmth, trying her best to avoid thoughts of it disappearing when the morning comes. 

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

Atsumu stands at the edge of her bed and pulls on a pair of sweatpants. “I’m sorry to leave so soon,” he tells her, thumbs tucked under the waistband as they settle at the bottom of his hips. “I have to be at the gym so goddamn early tomorrow.” 

Her legs are crossed underneath the blanket and she sits upright, holding the pillow he usually sleeps on against her lap. “”S okay,” she tells him, watching as he grabs his hoodie off of the floor and throws it on over his head. “I’m not offended or anything.” 

“Honestly, I probably shouldn’t have come over tonight,” he confesses, and now she’s starting to feel a bit of a sting. “I just really needed to see you tonight.” 

She doesn’t know how to feel about this. She shuffles a bit, an indiscernible feeling settling uncomfortably over her skin. Atsumu doesn’t say things like that. She doesn’t know how to react. “Is something wrong?” 

Atsumu freezes, placing his hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt. His expression is screwed up, knotted. Something is wrong. She leans forward, like she’s expecting him to whisper it in her ear, like he’s about to profess something profound and close to his chest. But Atsumu just shakes his head, “Nah, it’s nothing,” he says. He pats the pockets of his sweatpants. “Have you seen my phone?” 

She’s disappointed, but she doesn’t know why. She leans back and reaches towards her nightstand, yanking her phone off the charger and dialing Atsumu’s number. She knows it by heart, and hopes that he doesn’t notice. It buzzes from under her sheets. 

He leaves half past midnight, forty minutes after he got there. She can’t sleep once he’s gone. She stays up, scrolling mindlessly through her phone, trying to wear down her mind, make it too tired to keep thinking of him. 

Sakusa texts her. Five minutes past one. “Was Atsumu at your place?” 

She ignores it. 

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

Atsumu lies on his side, and draws patterns on her bare stomach with the tip of his finger. She doesn’t say anything, out of fear of making him stop. She watches him instead, watching his face as he stares down at her midriff. He has this slight smile on his face, and it makes her feel pleasantly uneasy.

“I like your stomach,” he tells her. “I think it’s my favorite part of you.” 

The smile that grows on her face must give her away. She’s grateful for how occupied he is with her skin. “You have a favorite part of me?” 

“Yeah, I mean, I like all of you,” Atsumu tells her. “But I do have favorites. Your stomach, your nose, your thighs, fuck, just so much of you,” he sighs, as if overwhelmed. “I mean, a man can only take so much.” 

She doesn’t think it’s fair, that she’s expected not to fall in love with him when he says things like that. So unabashedly, completely unprompted. And there is this small part of her that kind of resents him, for things like this, saying all of that when he’s going to leave her before the morning comes. But she likes it more than she could ever hate it. So she smiles, and she says, “I don’t think I could pick my favorite part of you,” and means it more than she should. 

Atsumu’s hand stops, and he looks up at her. He grins, and it makes her stomach flip. 

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

It’s fifteen minutes to midnight, and she’s pacing in her bedroom, trying not to look at her phone. She texted him twenty minutes ago, and she thinks if she keeps herself from looking at her phone, it’ll make him respond quicker. She can’t back her logic, but she’s well past the point of reason. 

He hadn’t talked to her all week. Which, she tries to tell herself, isn’t too weird. He’s busy. He’s a professional athlete. He has better things to do than entertain her and her whims, and what is she to him, really, besides a person to sleep with? They weren’t that close when they started hooking up, and it’s not like the fucking as brought them closer together. 

But still, her stomach knots up with nerves. She feels like something’s wrong. Maybe she gave him too much of herself. Maybe he doesn’t want as much of her as she’s willing to give. 

Her phone vibrates against her nightstand, and she nearly breaks a toe rushing to answer it. On her home screen is a notification from him. 

Can’t make it tonight. Sorry. 

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

She always tries to give Atsumu what he wants. He likes it when she begs, so she begs. She gets down on her knees and begs to please him. He likes the feeling of her on top of him, thighs squeezing on either side of his hips, so she climbs on top of him, not stopping when her thighs start to burn. He likes it wet, so it’s wet. His hair tugged, his neck nibbled on, his back scratched. Whatever he likes, she gives it to him. 

And he keeps making these small little grunts of pleasure and his eyes are fluttering, but Atsumu feels far away. Unimpressed with the way her body moves against his. His hands lay lazily on her hips, not gripping tightly on her flesh. He doesn’t whisper praise in her ear. He doesn’t bite down on his lip and tell her yes, he likes it like that, keep doing that. He’s quiet, withdrawn. 

She keeps trying to give him more, and more, desperation clawing on the inside of her chest. But Atsumu gives her nothing. He takes what she offers silently, and it starts to feel like he’s keeping his eyes closed to avoid looking at her. 

After, he doesn’t hold her. Atsumu lies on his back with his hands tucked under his head, staring at her ceiling. He doesn’t say anything. 

Her body feels like it’s burning. She feels humiliated. The silence is bad but she thinks talking might be worse. She doesn’t want him to leave but she doesn’t want him to stay if it’s going to be more of this. The air is so thick she thinks she might choke on it. 

Atsumu turns his head to look at her. “Have you talked to Omi recently?” 

The question shocks her so badly she turns her head to him, face scrunched up in confusion. “What?” 

He shrugs. “He hasn’t been talking to me lately. I was just wondering if he said anything to you.” 

Her head straightens out and she looks back up at the ceiling. “He texted me the other week and asked if you were here. I didn’t know if I should tell him or not, and it didn’t really seem like any of his business, so I just didn’t respond.” 

Atsumu hums. “I think he’s jealous of you.” 

“Do you want him to be?” she asks at once, and then regrets it. 

Atsumu doesn’t say anything to this. He gets quiet, and she has to bite down on her lip to keep herself from saying something else stupid. Somehow, the air gets heavier. 

“I’m sorry,” she says after a minute of silence. 

“It’s okay,” Atsumu says, and he doesn’t mean it. He leaves a minute later, and tells her it’s because he has an early practice, but she’s not stupid. 

���˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

Atsumu presses her against her bedroom wall, and when she closes her eyes, all she can see is him and Sakusa, arm’s slung around each other’s shoulders in a post-victory celebration earlier that day. And the way Atsumu looked at him makes her feel rotten. It hurts to remember, and Atsumu pounding into her does little to distract from it. 

She’s the loser in this war, she thinks, arms around his shoulders and leg hooked over his hip, too disconnected from her body to feel anything. It doesn’t matter how many times Atsumu has crawled back into her bed and held her against his chest. It doesn’t matter how in love with him she is. It’s always Sakusa. It’ll always be Sakusa. 

He holds her tightly after, their legs tangled together and his cheek resting on the top of her head. His phone’s in his pocket and it keeps buzzing. Atumu ignores it, and she can’t stop herself from thinking that it’s him.

She swallows. Her throat feels dry. “Someone keeps texting you,” she says, because she wants him to acknowledge it. 

Atsumu inhales deeply. “Ignore it,” he says, “just lie with me.” 

She closes her eyes, and does as she’s told. 

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

Can I come over tonight? 

He texted her first. He doesn’t usually, but he did. The notification popped up over a video the MSBY Black Jackals post-match. Meian’s giving a courtside interview, but just behind him, she can see Atsumu and Sakusa, shoulders squared and tensed, keeping a strict distance from each other as they exit the court. She can feel the chill through the screen of her phone. 

She doesn’t know what it is that holds the both of them back from each other. Maybe it’s her. Maybe Sakusa doesn’t realize that Atsumu would drop her immediately if Sakusa ever asked him to. 

She’s always known that he would, though. Whatever she has to offer doesn’t seem to compare to Sakusa. She’s just a temporary fix, really. Just something to hold Atsumu over until Sakusa realizes this. 

She taps on the notification, and her conversation with Atsumu pops up. For a second, she scrolls through it. Minimal talking, mostly texts from her, with late responses from him. She can see it there, how much Atsumu doesn’t care about her. It doesn’t matter if he asks to come over or tells her he loves her stomach or how hard it is for him to leave. He just doesn’t care about her. Not the way she cares about him. 

Her thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment, paused in contemplation, before she types out a quick, yeah, sure, and hits send without thinking anymore about it.

If Sakusa hasn’t figured it out yet, then she’s not about to help him. She’ll just keep giving and giving, until there’s nothing left to give.

[ldydeath]

Let's Make This Count | Kang Dae-ho

Summary: You've entered into Squid Game to help pay off some debts, not expecting your best friend, Daeho to be there. You both will do anything to proect each other, no matter the cost.

Warnings: Typical squid game stuff.

Author's Note: This is my first time writing Dae-ho. If you'd like to be tagged in future fics of his, please let me know.

Life has been hard lately, which is why when you’d been presented a chance at fixing at least one of those things, you’d jumped at the chance. You however, hadn’t been expecting this to be a game of death. You’d heard player 456’s cries to listen to him at the start of the game, but like everyone else you had ignored him. That was until that girl moved during red light, the chaos that had ensued after that had you praying to gods you didn’t believe in to keep yourself safe. You’d been in Squid Game for a few hours now and already had the blood of your competition splattered over you. You were definitely in over your head and needed to get out. 

Thankfully, the pink suits had announced a vote and you prayed everyone would agree to send you home. You’d been standing for what felt like hours waiting for your number to be called, listening to play 456 plead with everyone to leave the games. He’d been here before so you were definitely going to take his advice. Once your number was called you made your way quickly to the front, voting to go home. You may have needed money, but you’d find another way. You weren’t going to die over some debt.

As you were putting your x badge on your jacket your eyes caught sight of a familiar, gorgeous face and your breath caught in your throat. No. He couldn’t be here. Why was he here? Daeho’s eyes met yours and his brows crinkled in confusion. You shook your head and made your way to your spot. There were too many people around to talk comfortably yet and you weren’t exactly sure it was safe to announce that you knew someone else in the games. That mother and son duo seemed to be the only exception to that rule, and you weren’t about to chance it. After play 001 voted, the pink soldiers announced that there would be another game in the morning, panic rising in your body.

Trying to act normal, you turned to head towards your bunk when you felt a hand on your arm “don’t touch-“ you let out a breath, thankful you didn’t have to fight for your life when you came face to face with your best friend. “What are you doing here?” He hissed, panic in his eyes. You shrugged out of his grip, crossing your arms defensively. “I needed money. What are you doing here?” 

His hand went to his hair, fixing the bun that sat on top of his head and nodded in the direction of some empty bunks.  “I also needed money, why else would I be here?” You raised a brow as you followed him towards the private spot. You wanted to know what he could possibly need money for, but Daeho was so private you knew you’d never get that answer. Even if you were his best friend. “You shouldn’t be here, Dae.” You sighed as you leaned against the wall. 

You couldn’t protect your best friend, not from this.  After Daeho enlisted in the Marines you had a never ending supply of worry in your body for him. Constantly fearing the worst, him being here was going to distract you from staying alive. Your heart raced at the thought of either of not making it out and your eyes found his. “I can’t lose you.” It came out as a whisper but you knew he’d heard you as he moved closer to you.

His hand moved to cup your cheek, “Come on, I’m a Marine, I’ve got this. And I’ve got you. We’re going to get out  of here. I promise.” You nodded, moving to lean your head on his chest. You knew it would be bad if anyone caught you panicking but as Daeho's hands wound around your body you allowed yourself to take a few minutes to collect yourself. Perhaps it wasn’t normal to feel so much comfort from a friend, but you weren’t ready to dive into those feelings, not yet. “We don’t die.” He murmured against your hair. “We don’t die.” You repeated. He grinned at you before walking you over to your bunk, making sure nobody messed with you as you got sleep. 

The next game was a team game, Daeho took the lead in finding you a group, being the friendlier person in your duo. You’d somehow managed to end up with player 456 and player 001. You said a nervous hello and stuck close to your best friend. After you completed your task perfectly, the team cheated, Daeho pulling you in for a quick side hug as you marched forward. For a second, with his arm wrapped protectively around you, you almost forgot that you were fighting for your life inside these games. 

After the game had ended you stood with your newly found team, waiting for the next vote. You had all agreed to vote to go home again so when it was your turn to vote, you proudly hit that x and put the badge on your jacket. Almost as if on instinct, Daeho moved to stand next to you as you awaited the rest of the votes. As the final four players made their way to the front, your hand reached out, grabbing his, he gave you a squeeze in response. Your heart raced at the touch and you looked down at your entwined hands before meeting your best friends’ eye.

So, maybe you had a crush on your best friend, maybe that was why you were so afraid to lose him. Either way, this wasn’t the time to start admitting your feelings, so when he smiled at you you smiled back and pushed those thoughts down, hoping that these votes would go in your favor and you’d be able to go home. A groan rang out amongst your peers and you looked up to see that there was only one vote left and you’d lost. Your mouth hanging open in shock as you turned back to Dae.

Another game? Why would anyone want to stay here? “Let’s Go!” someone shouted from across the room and you looked around spotting the purple haired man high fiving his friend. Of course he’d be excited to stay. “Hey, look at me.” Daeho’s hand was under your chin moving your gaze back to him, your heart racing as you locked eyes. Daeho had always been in tune with your mood, and would do anything in his power to keep you calm and safe. You were the most important person in his life and even in a game of literal life and death he was going to do whatever it took to make sure you weren’t living in constant fear. “We’ll get through this one together too, okay?” You swallowed the lump in your throat refusing to let the rest of your team see you so defeated and nodded. “Yeah.” You agreed. 

“Let’s go get some food and talk strategy for the next time.” He held his hand out for you, a reassuring grin on his face and you eagerly took his hand following him to your new found team. You weren’t sure you wanted to be close to anyone else in the game, but you also knew you couldn’t keep Dae alive without some help so you were going to do whatever it took to keep him alive, even if that meant making nice with people who all had one goal in mind. You scooted closer to Daeho, your hand resting on his leg and he grinned at you as he started eating his food. You didn't care if you made it out of here or not, so long as he did.

[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly (a lion and a wolf)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the honest

- Next part: the broken

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @butterflygxril @lordofthunderthr @mrsnms @itisjustwhatitis @urdxrling @meowmeowmothermeower @nen-nyy

The morning of his wedding arrived draped in warm light, the sun rising over the cliffs of Casterly Rock, casting long shadows through the grand halls. It was a beautiful day, the kind that should mark the beginning of something joyful. But for Jaime Lannister, there was no joy to be found.

The servants had already begun their work—preparing the Great Hall for the feast, polishing the floors until they gleamed, dressing the walls with the sigils of both Lannister and Stark. It was a grotesque display, he thought, a spectacle of unity that was built on blood and betrayal.

And soon, you would be wearing Lannister colors.

Jaime stood before the tall mirror in his chambers, staring at his own reflection as the attendants adjusted the golden clasps on his ceremonial tunic. Crimson and gold, lined with embroidery so fine it could only be Lannister work. They draped the heavy cloak over his shoulders, fastening it with a roaring lion at his collar.

He looked the part. He looked like the heir to Casterly Rock. Like the man his father always wanted him to be.

And yet, he had never felt more hollow.

Kevan entered without knocking, his presence calm but expectant. "You’re nearly ready."

Jaime gave a humorless chuckle. "Ready? Is that what we’re calling it?"

Kevan sighed, stepping forward. "I know this isn’t what you envisioned for yourself."

Jaime turned, tilting his head. "Oh? And what exactly did I envision, Uncle?" He gestured vaguely with his golden hand. "Living out my days with a sword in my grip and the taste of battle on my tongue? Sworn to a king I didn’t respect and a cause I didn’t believe in?" His voice was quiet, bitter. "Or did you mean the part where I spend a lifetime bound to a woman who despises me?"

Kevan studied him carefully. "You made your choice, Jaime."

Jaime let out a slow breath. "I did. But it has become twisted."

His uncle’s expression remained unreadable. "You picked her yourself and your father has ensured that this union secures the North. This marriage isn’t just about you, and it’s certainly not about her. It’s about legacy. Power. Stability."

Jaime exhaled sharply, turning back toward the mirror. "And what if I don’t care about any of that? What if I care only about her."

Kevan sighed. "Then you are more foolish than I thought."

Jaime clenched his jaw. He had known this conversation was coming—had known his uncle would try to reason with him, to remind him of his duty. It was the Lannister way.

But duty meant nothing when all he could think about was the look in your eyes last night. The way you had pleaded with him. The way you had broken in his arms.

"She hates me," Jaime muttered under his breath.

Kevan didn’t deny it.

"She will learn to accept it," was all his uncle said.

Jaime turned toward him, his expression cold. "Like Cersei accepted Robert?"

For the first time, Kevan faltered. His lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t speak.

Jaime scoffed. "That’s what I thought."

He dismissed the attendants with a wave of his hand, his mind still swirling. Once they were gone, he turned to Kevan again. "And what of Robb Stark?"

Kevan's brows furrowed. "Why do you ask?"

Jaime took a step forward, voice lowering. "Because she will ask about him more. Because she will never forgive me if I keep lying to her."

Kevan's gaze darkened. "Then perhaps you shouldn’t have told her anything at all."

Jaime’s hands curled into fists. "That wasn’t an option."

Kevan regarded him for a long moment before shaking his head. "You should count yourself fortunate, Jaime. Most men don’t get to choose their fate. Your father has given you a gift—a new beginning."

Jaime let out a hollow laugh. "A new beginning?" He turned away, staring out the window toward the sea. "Feels more like an ending."

Kevan watched him for a moment longer before sighing. "Get dressed. The ceremony begins soon."

Jaime didn’t reply, and his uncle left without another word.

For a long time, Jaime stood there, staring at the crashing waves below, feeling more like a prisoner in his own home than he ever had before.

He had never been afraid of battle. Never feared death. But today, as he prepared to stand before the gods and bind himself to you, he realized he was terrified.

Not of the vows. Not of the responsibilities.

But of the fact that for the first time in his life, he wanted something—someone—he could never truly have.

The hall was suffocating.

The towering golden pillars, the vast ceilings carved with Lannister pride, the flickering candlelight—it was meant to be grand, magnificent, a display of power. But to Jaime, it felt more like a tomb.

He stepped through the great doors, his crimson cloak trailing behind him, every step heavy with the weight of expectation. The gathered lords and ladies of the Westerlands stood as he entered, their murmurs dying down to a hush. His uncle was already seated at the high table, his expression unreadable, his cold eyes watching every move.

But Jaime wasn’t looking at him.

His eyes found you.

You stood at the altar, waiting, a prisoner in Lannister gold.

You were beautiful. Gods, you were beautiful. And yet, there was something tragic about the way you held yourself—rigid, unyielding, as if your entire body were resisting what was about to happen.

The gown they had put you in was elegant, finely woven with golden embroidery that shimmered in the candlelight. The delicate fabric should have made you look soft, regal, but it did the opposite. It made you look like something gilded, something owned.

Jaime hated it.

Your hands were clasped together in front of you, your jaw tight, your chin lifted in quiet defiance. Even now, even in the moment where you were supposed to be bound to him, you refused to break.

But when your eyes met his, Jaime felt his breath leave him.

Because for the briefest of moments, it wasn’t you looking at him.

It was Eddard Stark.

The same quiet fury. The same unwavering resolve. The same disappointment.

Jaime swallowed hard, his fingers flexing at his sides. He had always hated the way Ned Stark looked at him, as though Jaime were nothing but a dishonorable oathbreaker, a man without honor.

And now, standing before you, he realized he had done something even worse.

He had stolen a Stark from her pack.

His chest tightened painfully as he took another step forward, forcing himself to hold your gaze. You didn’t look away, didn’t flinch, but there was something in your eyes—something raw, something breaking—that made Jaime feel as though he had just been cleaved in two.

Bronn stood off to the side, watching, his usual smirk replaced with something unreadable. The Lannister guards flanked you, ensuring you didn’t run again, their presence an unspoken threat.

She is here against her will.

She is being forced into this.

And I am the one standing beside her.

Jaime tore his gaze from yours, looking down at the stone floor, at the way the candlelight cast shadows against it.

Jaime wished he could be someone else.

“Take your place,” came the High Septon’s voice, solemn and expectant.

Jaime forced himself to move, each step toward you heavier than the last.

When he reached your side, he saw the way your hands trembled slightly, though your expression remained cold, impassive. You looked straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge him.

Jaime exhaled slowly, so quietly only you could hear.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured under his breath.

You stiffened.

Then, ever so slightly, you turned your head, just enough to look at him out of the corner of your eye.

And when you did, Jaime saw it.

Not just your father’s gaze.

But something else.

Something broken.

Something that would never forgive him.

Jaime clenched his jaw, looking away, his heart pounding against his ribs.

The ceremony began.

And Jaime Lannister had never felt more like a villain.

The ceremony began with a weight that Jaime had never felt before.

The High Septon’s voice was solemn, echoing through the great hall of Casterly Rock, his words ancient and binding. The gathered lords and ladies of the Westerlands watched in complete silence, their eyes trained on the spectacle before them—on the Lannister heir finally taking a wife.

Jaime could feel Kevan’s gaze from his place at the high table. His uncle sat in his father’s stead, his presence a reminder that Tywin still held dominion over this marriage, even from King’s Landing. Jaime had expected some last-minute reprieve, some sign that fate would intervene, that the gods themselves would strike him down before he had to speak the words that would bind him to you forever.

But no such salvation came.

You stood beside him, silent and rigid, your fingers still clenched together in front of you, as if keeping your hands occupied was the only way to keep yourself from striking him, from clawing at the walls and running. Your face was unreadable, but your eyes—gods, your eyes—held a storm within them, a fury restrained only by the knowledge that escape was impossible.

She is looking at you like a man about to carry out her execution.

Jaime swallowed hard, forcing himself to stand taller, to keep the façade of the composed lord he was expected to be.

The High Septon gestured for you both to extend your hands, and Jaime hesitated for only a fraction of a second before reaching out. His golden hand remained at his side—useless, mocking—while his left hand extended, waiting.

You didn’t move at first.

The pause was long enough for the gathered nobility to murmur amongst themselves, for Kevan to shift in his seat, for Bronn—who was standing off to the side—to smirk faintly, as if amused by the hesitation.

Then, with slow, deliberate movements, you placed your hand in Jaime’s.

He tried not to react to how cold your fingers were.

The High Septon took a long strip of embroidered silk, wrapping it around your joined hands in slow, ceremonial movements. The fabric was heavy, embroidered with gold, with the sigils of House Lannister and House Stark entwined together in unnatural harmony.

As the binding continued, the words of the old vows filled the hall.

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one, for all eternity…"

Jaime barely heard them.

He was too focused on the way your fingers tensed beneath his touch, on the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed back whatever words you truly wanted to say.

"From this day, you are one flesh, one heart, one soul. Cursed be he who would tear them asunder."

You flinched at that, just barely, but Jaime noticed.

He wanted to say something. He wanted to tell you that this didn’t have to be a prison, that he wasn’t going to chain you down, that he understood—perhaps more than you knew.

But words felt meaningless now.

And then, the High Septon turned to him.

Jaime felt a heavy weight settle on his chest.

"Do you, Ser Jaime of House Lannister, take this woman to be your lawful wife, to love, honor, and cherish her, from this day until your last?"

The words sounded like a death sentence.

Jaime looked at you, and for the first time, he saw something flicker across your face. Not anger. Not defiance.

Resignation.

You expected him to say yes.

Because that was what Lannisters did. They took what they wanted, regardless of who suffered for it.

Jaime’s throat felt tight, but he forced himself to speak.

"I do."

The words barely left his lips before the High Septon turned to you.

"And do you, Lady Y/N of House Stark, take this man to be your lawful husband, to love, honor, and cherish him, from this day until your last?"

Silence.

A tense, deafening silence.

The entire hall held its breath, every eye on you, waiting, expecting.

Jaime’s fingers tightened around yours instinctively.

He felt the smallest tremor run through you, your breathing shallow.

Then, finally, after what felt like a lifetime—

"I do."

Your voice was steady. Cold.

A perfect lie.

The High Septon smiled as if something holy had just occurred, raising his hands in blessing.

"Then, in the eyes of gods and men, I declare you husband and wife. Let it be known that the bond between House Stark and House Lannister is now sealed."

The silk was unwrapped from your hands, and Jaime let go of you, not because he wanted to, but because he knew you wanted him to.

There was only one thing left.

The final act.

"You may kiss the bride."

Jaime heard Kevan clear his throat from the high table. He knew the expectation. He knew the eyes on him.

He turned toward you, waiting, searching for some sign that this wouldn’t be an even greater mistake than it already was.

Your face was blank, your gaze unreadable.

Jaime inhaled slowly, then took a step forward.

You didn’t move.

Carefully, cautiously, he reached for your chin, tilting it up just slightly before leaning in.

The kiss was barely a brush of lips—quick, fleeting, meant only for show.

But he felt you tense the moment it happened.

When he pulled away, you were already looking past him, your body still rigid, your hands now clenched at your sides.

Jaime turned back to the hall, offering a tight smile as the room erupted into polite applause.

It was done.

You were his.

But as he glanced at you one final time, Jaime realized something.

He may have won the hand of a Stark in an attempt to save you from Roose.

But he had lost something far greater.

And perhaps, he had never truly had it to begin with.

The feast was a grand affair, as expected of the Lannisters. Gold-lined goblets overflowed with Arbor wine, the tables were weighed down with lavish dishes—roast boar with honeyed glaze, river trout stuffed with herbs, spiced duck, and bread so soft it practically melted on the tongue. Minstrels played lively tunes in the background, their melodies lost amidst the constant hum of conversation, laughter, and the clinking of goblets.

Jaime sat beside you at the high table, adorned in ceremonial red and gold, looking every bit the heir to Casterly Rock that his father had always wanted him to be. His golden hand rested on the table, unmoving, while his other clutched a goblet he had yet to drink from. He wasn’t thirsty—nor was he in the mood to celebrate.

You were seated beside him, dressed in Lannister colors, the weight of the marriage still heavy upon you. You barely touched your plate, only picking at the food with little appetite, your gaze distant despite the raucous festivities surrounding you. It was clear to anyone paying attention that you were present only in body, not in spirit.

Jaime leaned toward you slightly, his voice low so only you could hear. “You should eat.”

You barely reacted, only shifting your fork slightly on the plate. “I’m not hungry.”

Jaime sighed, setting his goblet down. “It’s going to be a long night. You’ll need your strength.”

You exhaled slowly, tilting your head slightly toward him. “For what, exactly?”

Jaime knew what you were implying, and a part of him winced. He was painfully aware of what people expected of them tonight. The bedding ceremony. The consummation. The final act that would solidify this marriage in the eyes of gods and men.

But Jaime had no intention of forcing you into anything.

“For enduring the rest of this wretched feast,” he answered instead, offering a half-smirk.

You turned your head toward him at that, your expression unreadable. “Is that all?”

Jaime studied you for a moment before leaning in closer. “If you think I intend to drag you to bed like some brute, you insult me.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, your lips pressing together as you searched his face. Jaime wasn’t sure what you were looking for, but after a long moment, your shoulders eased—just barely.

He continued, his voice softer now. “I know this isn’t what you wanted, Y/N. But I swear to you, I will not make it worse than it already is.”

You blinked, surprised by the honesty in his tone.

Before you could say anything, a drunken noble raised his goblet, his voice booming over the crowd. “To House Lannister and House Stark!”

The hall erupted in a chorus of cheers, though some were more reluctant than others. Jaime caught Kevan watching him from across the room, his uncle’s expression calm but expectant. Bronn, further down the table, smirked at him knowingly before tossing back another gulp of wine.

Jaime turned back to you. Your fingers were curled tightly around your goblet, your knuckles white, but you lifted it nonetheless, playing the part of the obedient bride.

He hated it.

Before the moment could stretch too long, he leaned toward you again, lowering his voice just enough for only you to hear.

“This doesn’t have to be war, Y/N.”

You turned to him fully at that, your expression unreadable. “Then what would you have it be?”

Jaime met your gaze, his throat tight. “Something better.”

You studied him for a long moment before looking away, exhaling softly.

The feast continued, the minstrels played, the guests laughed and drank. But Jaime only had eyes for you.

He wondered in silence if there would ever be a way for you to look at him without seeing your enemy.

The night stretched long, the feast becoming more of a drunken revelry as time dragged on. The halls of Casterly Rock pulsed with the sound of laughter, goblets clashing, and the occasional bawdy song that filled the air with drunken cheer. The wine flowed freely, and the golden light of the torches flickered against the stone walls, casting long, swaying shadows.

Jaime sat stiffly beside you, his goblet untouched. He had lost count of how many men had stumbled past the high table, offering slurred congratulations and crude jests about how lucky he was to have a Stark warming his bed. He had smiled through gritted teeth, offering half-hearted smirks, but his patience was running thin.

You, however, had remained eerily silent.

Your expression had not wavered once throughout the night, your goblet lifted only when required, your voice never raised in conversation unless absolutely necessary. But Jaime could see it—the way your fingers curled tightly around the stem of your cup, the way your shoulders remained taut, the way your breath came just a fraction too slow, as if you were bracing yourself for what was coming.

And it was coming.

The moment was inevitable.

Jaime knew it the second one of the drunken lords of the Westerlands stood up from his seat, his face flushed red with wine, his tunic slightly askew. He swayed on his feet before throwing an arm around the nearest man, raising his goblet with a lopsided grin.

“Well, now, it’s been a fine evening, hasn’t it?” he bellowed, his voice carrying over the laughter and music. “A mighty fine evening for a mighty fine wedding! And what’s a wedding feast without a proper conclusion?”

The crowd chuckled in anticipation. Jaime felt your body stiffen beside him.

“Come now, Lord Jaime,” the drunken lord continued, slurring his words slightly. “Surely, you wouldn’t deny us a bedding ceremony?”

The room erupted into cheers, laughter spilling from the lips of men too drunk to care about anything other than tradition and spectacle. Some of the ladies tittered behind their goblets, their eyes gleaming with amusement. A few of the men slammed their hands against the table in encouragement, eager for the show to begin.

Jaime clenched his jaw.

And then—Kevan turned to him.

His uncle’s expression was calm, but there was a quiet expectation in his eyes. He didn’t have to say anything. The Lannisters upheld tradition. It would be seen as an insult if Jaime refused.

Jaime exhaled slowly, setting his goblet down with deliberate care. He could feel the weight of the entire room pressing in on him, waiting, watching.

And beside him, you sat still as stone.

Jaime turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at you, to see the barely concealed tension in your features. Your hands were hidden beneath the table, but he could guess they were clenched into fists. Your breath was slow, measured, controlled.

He knew what you were waiting for.

You were waiting for him to say yes.

You were waiting for him to be like every other Lannister before him—to drag you from this hall, to let these men tear you from your clothes, to parade you like a trophy into a bed you did not want.

And gods, Jaime hated that you thought him capable of that.

The room was still waiting.

Kevan was still waiting.

Jaime let out a slow breath, then pushed his chair back slightly, rising to his feet.

The crowd leaned in.

He lifted his goblet.

“To tradition,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying just enough authority to silence the room.

A few men cheered, raising their goblets in agreement.

Jaime waited for them to quiet.

Then he turned to face them fully, his expression unreadable.

“But as my lady wife has endured much already, I think we can all agree that she need not endure more tonight.”

The laughter faltered. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, confused and surprised. The drunken lord who had started the jest blinked at him, his wine-addled mind struggling to process the words.

Kevan’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Jaime smirked faintly. “You are all welcome to drink until your bellies burst and your legs give out, but the bedding is over.”

Silence.

A long, stretching silence.

Then—Bronn laughed.

A loud, sharp, amused laugh.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the sellsword drawled, leaning back in his seat. “Jaime Lannister refusing a bedding ceremony. I never thought I’d see the day.”

A few chuckles rippled through the room, though most were uncertain. Kevan sighed through his nose but said nothing.

Jaime turned back to you, finding you watching him carefully, searching his face.

“Shall we?” he murmured, extending his hand.

You hesitated for only a second before nodding, rising from your seat without a word.

The crowd parted as Jaime led you from the hall, the weight of a hundred eyes on his back. But he didn’t care.

Because for the first time that night, he saw something flicker across your face.

Not gratitude. Not warmth.

But something close.

And it was enough.

The corridors of Casterly Rock were quiet as Jaime led you through them, away from the feast, away from the prying eyes of the nobility. The warmth and noise of the great hall faded behind you, replaced by the distant crash of waves against the cliffs and the flickering of torches that cast elongated shadows on the cold stone walls.

Your hand was still in his, though neither of you spoke of it.

Jaime could feel the rigid set of your shoulders, the way your steps were measured and purposeful, as if you were trying to remind yourself you still had control over something. He wanted to say something to ease it, to reassure you, but words felt clumsy, inadequate.

When they reached the heavy doors of the chambers that had been prepared for them, Jaime hesitated before pushing them open.

Inside, the room was exactly as expected—lavish, warm, filled with rich reds and golds, the colors of his house drowning everything. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting an orange glow over the thick furs draped over the grand bed, over the fine silks that adorned the room. It was meant to be inviting, meant to be the place where a newly wedded couple would consummate their marriage.

Jaime hated the sight of it.

Because he knew what you saw—a prison dressed in gold.

You stood in the doorway, unmoving. He could feel the way your breath slowed, controlled, as if bracing for something inevitable.

Jaime exhaled softly, then turned to face you. “You can breathe now, you know.”

You glanced at him sharply.

He smirked, tilting his head. “I imagine you’ve been holding it in all night.”

Your lips parted slightly, but you said nothing. Instead, you stepped inside slowly, surveying the room like a wolf scanning unfamiliar terrain, your posture tense.

Jaime closed the door behind you both, then turned toward you fully. “You’re safe,” he said simply.

You scoffed. “Safe,” you repeated, voice hollow. “That’s an interesting word for this.”

Jaime sighed, running a hand through his hair before stepping closer. “I meant what I said,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Nothing will happen tonight unless you wish it.”

You turned to face him at that, studying him carefully, as if trying to find the lie in his words. “And tomorrow?”

Jaime hesitated, then exhaled slowly. “Tomorrow, and every night after, that remains the same.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the quiet sincerity in his tone. For a moment, the firelight cast something softer across your face, something unsure.

Jaime took another step closer, reaching for your hand once more, his touch light, careful. “I know you still hate me,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over the back of your knuckles. “I don’t expect that to change overnight.”

Your fingers twitched in his hold. “Then why are you doing this?”

Jaime studied you, his throat tightening. He wanted to tell you that he didn’t know, that there was something about you that unmade him, that had made him question everything. He wanted to tell you that the thought of you crying in his arms the night before still haunted him. That he hated seeing you afraid. That you were different from everything he had ever known.

But instead, he smirked faintly, tilting his head. “Because it’s the one thing I can do for you.”

You exhaled, looking away for a moment before finally, finally, allowing yourself to relax. Just a fraction.

Jaime stepped even closer now, his free hand rising slowly, hesitating before brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. His touch was warm, his fingers lingering just slightly as he tucked the strand behind your ear.

You let him.

For the second time since you had been brought to Casterly Rock, you didn’t recoil from him.

Jaime swallowed, his gaze flickering between your eyes, your lips, the curve of your jawline. He had kissed you today, at the ceremony, but that had been for show. This… this was different. The pull from the night before.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice lower now, softer.

You inhaled, your breath ghosting against his lips, but you didn’t pull away.

His left hand held onto yours as if grounding himself. “Say the word,” he whispered.

You hesitated. Just for a moment. Then—

“Goodnight, Jaime,” you whispered instead.

Jaime let out a slow breath, his lips curving into something wry. “Goodnight, wife.”

Then, with great effort, he let you go.

He turned toward the fire, grabbing the nearest chair and settling into it without another word. You watched him for a moment longer before moving toward the bed, slipping beneath the furs with careful movements.

Jaime didn’t turn to look, but he listened.

Listened to your breath slow, listened to the shift of fabric as you settled.

And as he sat there, staring into the flames, he realized something.

Jaime Lannister did not long for battle anymore.

He longed for something much more dangerous.

And it was sleeping only a few feet away from him.

The morning light seeped through the heavy crimson drapes of Casterly Rock, casting an amber hue over the grand chambers. The fire in the hearth had burned low, leaving only embers glowing faintly beneath the blackened logs. The scent of wax and cold stone lingered in the air, mingling with the faintest traces of perfumed oils used the night before.

Jaime stirred first, blinking against the soft morning light, his body stiff from having spent the night in the chair. His muscles ached slightly, a dull reminder that he was not as young as he once was, nor as invincible. He let out a quiet exhale, rubbing his face before turning his head toward the bed.

You were still asleep.

Curled beneath the thick furs, your form was relaxed, your breathing even. A few strands of hair had fallen across your face, and for the first time since he had met you, there was no tension in your features, no guarded expression, no silent fury burning beneath the surface.

Jaime watched you for a moment longer before forcing himself to look away.

A knock at the chamber doors shattered the quiet.

Jaime straightened as the heavy doors creaked open, and a line of Lannister servants entered, their movements swift and efficient. They carried trays of breakfast—warm bread, honeyed fruits, and roasted meats, along with fresh jugs of milk and wine. Others carried linens, their purpose clear.

Your eyes fluttered open at the noise, blinking against the morning light before focusing on the movement around the room. Jaime watched as you slowly sat up, your expression shifting as you took in the sight of the servants preparing the room, the way some moved toward the bed with practiced ease.

The bed linens.

Jaime saw it before you did—the way one of the older chambermaids stepped forward, ready to strip the furs and assess the sheets beneath.

His jaw tightened.

There was an expectation here. A tradition as old as Westeros itself.

The bedding had to be checked.

Had to be proven.

Jaime felt your body stiffen beneath the covers as you realized it, too.

The chambermaid reached for the sheets—then hesitated.

Because the linens were clean.

Jaime could see the pause in the servants' movements, the quick, darting glances between them. It was subtle, but it was there.

There was no proof of consummation.

No blood to stain the white linen.

The chambermaid, to her credit, said nothing. She only folded the sheets neatly, placing them aside without reaction. The other servants followed her lead, their expressions carefully neutral.

But the silence in the room had shifted.

Jaime glanced toward you, noting the rigid way you sat, the way your fingers curled into the furs, your jaw tight. He exhaled slowly before turning back to the servants.

"That will be all," he said smoothly, his voice calm but firm.

The chambermaid bowed her head slightly before gesturing for the others to finish their tasks quickly.

Jaime stood, stretching slightly before crossing the room. He poured himself a goblet of wine, more out of habit than need, before glancing over his shoulder at you.

"You should eat," he murmured. "It’s going to be another long day."

You didn’t move at first, still staring at the clean linens, still processing the unspoken weight of it.

Then, finally, you looked up at him. Your expression was unreadable, but there was something in your eyes—something uncertain.

Jaime met your gaze, tilting his head slightly. "Did you expect me to force you?"

You swallowed, glancing away. "I didn’t know what to expect."

Jaime sighed, setting his goblet down. "I told you last night, didn’t I?" His voice was quiet, lacking its usual sharp edge. "Nothing will happen unless you want it to."

You exhaled slowly, nodding just slightly before shifting to the edge of the bed, reaching for the plate of bread and fruit. Jaime watched as you took a slow bite, your hands steady, but your shoulders still stiff.

He smirked faintly. "See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

You shot him a look, but there was no real heat in it.

The animosity in the room softened, just a fraction.

Jaime took his goblet again, leaning against the table as he sipped.

The servants moved efficiently, pretending not to notice the silence between you, pretending not to acknowledge what they had noticed.

And Jaime, for once, was grateful for the discretion.

[inu1gf]

you bloom inside my heart

now playing: blooming day by exo-cbx

who: isagi yoichi

what: childhood friends to lovers, slight ooc (tag just in case but i know deep down in my heart that isagi is a yearning man when it comes to love)

the seed of you took root in isagi’s heart when you were both 4 years old.

meeting the new next door neighbors was something his mom wanted for everyone in the household to do. with him in between his parents, holding a tray of cookies, they waited patiently for someone to open the door.

“i’m coming! just a second!” a women’s muffled voice rang through the door slowly getting closer.

“hello! welcome to the neighborhood! we’re the isagi’s, your nextdoor neighbors. we wanted to come by and say hi and get acquainted. this is our child yoichi, if you do have a kid around their age we would love for them to be friends if that is alright with you?” isagi’s mom seemed to be beaming at the idea of having new neighbors and friends.

“hi we’re the [last name] and yes we do have a kid. let me call them over. [reader]! get over here! there’s someone who wants to meet you!” echoing through the home, the cute sound of pitter pattering foot steps seemed to get closer and closer, stopping behind the woman at the door.

peeking out from behind her legs, a small child with wide doe eyes that didn’t seem to stray away from isagi’s.

“isagi don’t you have something to say?” a little nudge at the boys shoulder, he moves forward and stretches out the plate full of cookies.

“welcome to the neighborhood. do you wanna be friends?” pink cheeks and wobbly hands, he wouldn’t have expected the next words to come out of your mouth.

“you have a bean sprout on your head.” isagi didn’t make the first move just to be insulted. he couldn’t help but lower the plate and loudly cry in front of the new neighbors. with snot and tears running down his face, he didn’t hear the scolding your mom gave you, nor did he hear reassurances from his parents. both not being able to take the situation seriously because it was one of isagi’s most prominent features.

and all that could be heard next was your cries and apologies. “m’ sorry. i didn’t mean it in a mean way. i promise. please forgive meeee.” oh if it weren’t for the eardrum shattering wailing from both youngsters, it would’ve made such a cute sight of a new friendship blooming.

but it didn’t stop the the small emotions that started to bud in yoichi’s heart.

from the seed started to sprout at the age of 8.

elementary was not for the weak. it took guts to survive everything everyday. sure isagi knew that at the end of the day, he got to walk home with you right next to him, but that didn’t stop the craziness around him to influence you and your whims. no matter how crazy they were or how ridiculous they sounded.

but nothing could have prepared him for your next thought process at hand.

with talks of kissing and hand holding going around, it didn’t bother the bean sprout at all. not when soccer was all he could think about… and you but that wasn’t anything special when you were always attached at the hip.

“do you ever want to know what kissing feels like?” the soccer ball that was in isagi’s hold was now on the ground rolling away for him.

“no, why would i want to know about that? that’s something you do when you’re older?” he sputters out as if the thought of kissing anyone disturbs him. if only you knew the red tinge that started to creep onto the boy's cheeks, just the thought of your face being so close to his face had his heart beating wildly faster than it normally does.

“every girl in class is kissing boys to see what it feels like. maybe i’ll try it out and see what they’re talking about. do you think if i ask who they kissed and ask them if they could kiss me, they would do it? shouldn’t be too much to ask for, right?” oh it was as if pins and needles were being used to squeeze poor isagi’s heart. he didn’t know why the thought of your face being close to another boys face made his heart squeeze out in pain, but if he could do anything to stop that from happening, then he’ll do it.

“i’ll do it!” red faced full of determination. he wasn’t going to let anyone else take this moment away from him.

“but you just sa-“ now you were confused. first he said he doesn’t care to know but now he does?

“i said i’ll kiss you!” why did you have to keep asking questions?! he thought this is what you wanted?!

even if it meant awkwardly placing his lips on yours….

that had you both reeling back because he accidentally put too much force that had you both knocking teeth together.

the full flurry of questions being launched at you both by your parents wasn’t something either of you wanted to happen right now (isagi’s embarrassment intensifying because he didn’t want to explain what happened and your nonchalant behavior toward this was not letting you admit that even though the kiss hurt it meant more to you that isagi was willing to do it for you cause your stomach to flutter).

leaves and petals didn’t start to grow out until the age of 16.

man was the second year of high school a whirlwind of emotions for isagi.

sure now he knew more about his feelings for you better than what he was questioning after almost making both your lips bleed after that failed first kiss (it still counted for him), but it didn’t make him feel any more secure when he heard all the locker room talk about girls. boys left and right asking him if he could ask you to meet them after school so that they could ask you out. all isagi did was nod, but he never did tell you.

not that you needed to know anyways. or when he noticed admirers slipping letters into your locker, he’d take them out and keep them in his bag. you didn’t need them and he especially didn’t need more competition. all you had to do was enjoy school life without any of these stupid guys trying to take his place (not like they had a chance when all you could think about was the new random last minute plans that isagi made for y’all to visit the burger joint after school).

that didn’t stop the whispers of rumors to linger around.

rumors of you being heartless.

rumors of you not caring for others feelings.

rumors of you leaving people standing alone.

sure they knew that you didn’t have to accept their feelings, but the least you could do was show up to reject them…

until they see the scene in front of them.

walking down the halls to your class, you didn’t pay any mind to the whispers and such that was going around, all you were focused on was giving isagi the attention and encouragement he needed for his most anticipated match this season. the prefectural finals.

ichinan vs matsukaze

you’ve told him time and time again. no matter what happens he’ll always be a winner in your heart, but you know that’s not what he needed right now. he just needed to know that you believed in him and that you know he can win.

and that’s what you did, ignoring the stares and giving your whole attention to him. nothing else mattered more.

and everyone could see that. that’s why no one bothered to confront you when they saw the scene of a blushing boy and his over enthusiastic friend throwing compliment after compliment at him. if they didn’t know any better, they’d think you two were already dating, just trying to keep it private.

and after the long awaited match and the devastating defeat, it was the walk back home that showed just how much he cared for you.

the silence was deafening, and you knew nothing you could say would make him feel better.

but to him, he couldn’t help but feel like he let you down. you believed in him but he couldn’t believe in himself to take the last shot on his own.

the only thing that brought you both out of this silence was the sound of him yelling out in agony, and boy was it soul shattering. here was the boy that worked hard no matter what, only to be stopped by his own what-ifs and uncertainties.

“i wanted to win…” all you could do was pat his back to soothe his pain.

it only lasted for a couple of hours until he got back home.

with the opportunity of a lifetime prompted itself, in the form of a letter, ensuring him that there’s more chances in soccer for him out there.

man he couldn’t wait to tell you about this (so much so that he ran to your house next door to share the news).

the flower of his love bloomed not too long after at the age of 16.

being invited to watch isagi play against the u-20 team with his parents warmed your heart.

you haven’t been able to keep in contact with him during his time in the blue lock program, but that didn’t stop you from continuing to support him with all your might from the outside.

seeing him zoom across the field, make plays you never got to fully see when he would play with his old team, and the all in all happiness that showed itself when he made the winning goal. you couldn’t have been more proud. watching him be interviewed and proclaiming to the world that he will bring home the u-20 world cup.

and it seemed that feelings were still running high because once he saw you he couldn’t help but run to you and press a deep heart filled kiss flat on your lips. with the whole world to see but not giving it a second to stop him from giving him a retry at a first kiss with you.

it meant a lot more when he could feel you pull him closer by his jersey.

letting everyone know just who you belonged to this whole time.

[jackiepackiee]

Telemachus x Apollo Blessed! Reader

Chapter six

Masterlist

Yall know the vibe by now… this one’s a bit shorter, sorry :p

Two weeks later…

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Telemachus was sitting in bed, dog curled up near his feet and slowly snoring into the late night.

Body resting against the backboard of his bed as he strummed the practice lyre that you had gifted it. Having bought it with him in the town marketplace before one of your lessons, which you’ve had multiple of by now.

He was trying to pluck the strings the way you told him to, and not too harshly like he did instinctively. But he couldn’t help but pull too hard like it was a fight. Music was meant to be handled with care, not brutality.

It was hours after sunset, and the entire palace was asleep. Yet he hadn’t even considered joining the resting world.

Right before the prince could get the notes to hit at the correct time, a familiar figure showed up in his window and stood tall. Blocking the moon light and making him sit up straighter, putting the instrument into his lap.

“Athena?” He asked, squinting his face and scrunching his nose to make out a silhouette from the moonlight. Petting his dog to not disrupt him from his rest at his feet.

Her tall figure and metal helmet gave an obvious and imposing impression in the room. Even though she had visited him many times, all the same divine entrance, he couldn’t help but let out surprise at her presence.

She simply stood still for a few seconds before moving towards his bed and gesturing her chin to the lyre in his lap. “You’re still practicing on that instrument?” Shoulders staying broad, she didn’t make any expressions or particular inflections in her observation.

Hearing this, he nodded sheepishly and moved the blanket over his legs to make room for him to cross his legs and hold the instrument more comfortably. “Well… yeah.” He admitted, letting out a single strum on the strings. Smiling when the song didn’t come out completely botched.

Looking on at his playing, the goddess let her shoulders relax down and arms rest at her sides instead of on her hips. “You shouldn’t spend so much time on one thing.” She began, sounding almost tired or bored. “And every time I visit it’s the same song.” Her voice was gentle, trying not to come off harsh or scolding despite her obvious lack of enthusiasm for his continuous songs.

Ignoring, or simply not noticing her distaste for his music, he looked at the lyre as it was something to be praised. The way he looks excitedly at papers of stories told of beasts and myths that heros wrote. “It’s the song she’s teaching me.” He told her, looking back up at her from the strings in his lap and smiling like a puppy. Cheeks getting plusher from the squish as a toothy grin took up part of his face. Eyes closed from the smile.

She looked at him, unable to ignore the feeling of nostalgia in her heart. Did he know he looked so much like his father?

Clearing her head and throat, she looked back out the window from which she came into the late night sky. “I know, you’ve mentioned.” She quipped, not liking to acknowledge the similarities he held so closely with a young Odysseus. She was just happy it was dark so he couldn’t read her face as well as he usually did.

He looked back down at his lap, not fiddling with anything but just looking and thinking.

Eventually, he spoke up with the same fiery determination Athena appreciated him for. “I need to practice so I can get better. She’s my teacher, I wanna impress her.” He claimed, gripping the sides of the instrument tightly while holding it out in his outstretched arms. Enjoying the way the moonlight bounced off the strings like raindrops.

She watched her student with the same knowing expression she had when Odysseus was beginning to fall for Penelope.

However, she never knew anything about romance. Only able to recognize it due to Telemachus’ resemblance to his father’s behavior. So, she decided to use her more knowledgeable skills to try and help a little bit.

“You can also impress her with your strength and cunning. With what I know you’re talented at.” She offered, speaking in a stiff way at the awkwardness she felt speaking of love. She wasn’t Aphrodite, but it didn’t take the goddess of love to see the boy begin to grow feelings.

The prince put the lyre back onto his lap, looking at Athena as she spoke. His face lit up, as if he was talking about his favorite topic. “Yeah… but you should see the way she lights up when she talks about music!” He beamed, smiling at the memory of your passion. Continuing, he trailed off slightly as he looked past Athena and out the window to the calm night. “That light in her eyes…” He whispered, smiling to himself while biting the inside of his cheek in thought.

Silence took over the duo, both thinking with their eyes out the window.

Athena facing her back to Telemachus, unable to shake the feeling of nostalgia that seemed inescapable when it came to the prince. He had no idea how much he was like his father, or how every new thing was a carbon copy of what happened some 20 years ago with Odysseus.

You and Penelope even had the same relationship with the boys, as if history was replaying before her eyes. Watching her student become a man she knew well, and who he longed to be.

Telemachus was not thinking of the past, but instead of the future. Planning in his head the next meeting you two would have. How he planned to impress you with his quick skills, even if half the time you didn’t actually play the instrument. Instead traveling around the island or talking about a random topic.

He wanted to show you he cared about your passion, and could be involved in that section of your life.

Quietly, he spoke again. Letting his voice travel through the night in a small question. “Athena?”

“Yes?” She hummed, turning around and looking back at the boy before her. Both appreciating the quiet nature of the night, soft and gentle.

“Do you think you could help me learn faster? You have wisdom, so can you give me some?” He asked, despite the question being undeniably childish. He couldn’t help but ask, wanting to do all he could for you. A girl he barely knew besides the fact that every moment spent with you feels perfect,

She crossed her arms, but spoke gently. Nevertheless, her wise words come off as half lecture, half advice. “I have wisdom, but not in music. All I can wisely say is that this practice is ruining your sleep by keeping you awake at night.” She gestured to the late night, and the absolute silence of the surrounding dark.

He however wasn’t disheartened by this, continuing to try and convince his way into gaining some kind of help, “I need to get better. You said it yourself that practice is necessary.” He reasoned, picking up the lyre and holding it out to her.

She shook her head, putting down the instrument with a gentle push by her fingers. Letting her get a clear view of his face. “Not for something like this. Music is okay, but it’s consuming your life.”

He looked at the strings and spoke in a dejected tone. “I’m bad at it, and I need to get better for her.”

She huffed, not appreciating how she couldn’t offer her help. So she did all she could, be honest.

“You’re a good kid Telemachus. If you want to impress her, just be yourself and she’ll like you.” Sighing at his obvious obliviousness, she gave one last quip before turning towards the window and night. “She already does.”

His eyes widened, as he put the lyre down and his face whipped in the direction of the goddess.

“She does?!” He called, but before he could get an answer Athena transformed into her typical owl form and flew out into the night. Wings spanning and creating a shadow from blocking the moon.

Leaving Telemachus in a temporary darkness. “Wait, don’t go… bye Athena.”

Taglist - @dog-and-cat-person230 @m-carriaga2021 @blessedbyahuntress @cleawritesstuff @b4ts1e @permanently-nothere

@kaguraaaa @rockyeatrock @keikeiluvyou @hijinkxy @doodle-with-rhy @barrythestrawberry041 @dazedemery @sunshinewhosketches @bafb1tch @lethby

@pjopinkk @nishayuro @moonlitenvyillust @emmy6999 @theyumeeighth @plushiesssforcrying @mh4r-squared @sofiafantasies @reapersan @starstarmoon-not-anon @woo-verse

[loveharlow]

SEVEN Blurb

The Pogues Realize You're Missing

set during s2:005, swearing

“POPE, SIT THE HELL DOWN, MAN…” John B groaned from where he was sat on the patio sofa, feet kicked up with his hands clasped over his stomach as Pope paced the length of the outdoor deck and JJ’s blue eyes trailed the boy’s every step, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What’s wrong with you?”

Pope just gave the brunette a side-glance, his thumb going in between his teeth quickly as he gnawed on the limb. He didn’t want to say anything — he wanted to let you handle it. You told him you’d be fine. But you also told him that you’d pick up his calls and answer his texts…and you didn’t. You still weren’t.

3 Missed Calls. 7 Unread Messages...

You okay? I called you twice. At least react to the message or something… Dude. Say something or I’m calling again. That’s three calls. Hello??? You said you’d respond. I’m getting worried. Y/N I’m shitting bricks here, so if you’re joking it’s not funny. This is the last text.

Pulling his phone from his back pocket, he quickly jammed his thumb against your contact and put the device to his ear, still pacing the balcony. “I shouldn’t have let you go by yourself…” The boy mumbled to himself.

“Dude, who do you keep calling?” JJ asked from his place in the lounge chair, combat boots kicked up on the coffee table. Pope simply ignored him, whether it was for JJ’s sanity or his own safety, he didn’t know.

The line rang until it didn’t.

“252-414-0313 is not available. At the tone, please leave your message…” The automated female voice directed the stressed boy once again, but he angrily hung up before the beep could even sound — groaning and tugging dangerously at the roots of his hair. 

“Okay, seriously,” The blonde started, sitting up straight in his seat. “Hell’s wrong with you, dude? You’re freakin’ me out…”

Pope simply sighed, letting out a large gust of air as his hands fell limply to his sides before turning around to look at his two friends, both of their eyes on him — wide and waiting. “...It’s Y/N.” He gave up, tossing his arms out carelessly as he spoke, defeat in his tone.

The blue-eyed blonde boy immediately perked up at the mention of you, shoulders once relaxed now square and tense. “What about her?” He asked, mildly confused as John B sat up slowly, the same look of confusion etched onto his face.

“I…” Pope stuttered, shifting on his feet. “She didn’t want me to say anything and I was trying to let her handle it on her own-”

“Pope, what’re you talking about?” JJ pressed, standing from his seat — John B looking up at his two friends from where he sat on the sofa, wondering what exactly you had done to have Pope losing his mind on the patio of The Chateau.

“...She left.” Pope blurted, rising and dropping his shoulders awkwardly.

JJ’s eyes went wide, his neck lurching as his lips contorted, a sentence forming itself. “Left? What do you mean she left?” He asked, incredulously. “Left and went where? I thought she was inside.”

“She went to get Marley, or try to-”

“The fuck?” JJ reacted. “And you didn’t stop her?”

“I offered to go with her but she wouldn’t let me-”

“Why didn’t you say something?” JJ countered — eyes squinted, cheeks flushing an angry shade of red.

“She told me not to!”

“Why would you listen to her?!”

“Okay!” John B finally stepped in, standing up and in between the boys who’d grown dangerously close to each other — a hand on each of their chests. “Yelling at each other isn’t going to fix anything. So, chill out…” John B directed, slowly lowering his hands and angling his body more towards Pope. “You said she went to get Marley back, right? So why are you freaking out?”

Pope swallowed harshly, rubbing a hand over the top of his head as he spoke. “She thinks Barry has her at his trailer and you know how that part of town is…” Pope alluded, referring to the countless criminals and dealers who lived under the radar and in that exact trailer park. “I offered to go,” He reiterated, eyes on JJ. “But she said it was too dangerous for me and that she’d dealt with them before. But we agreed that if I didn’t hear from her then I’d tell you guys.”

“Stupid fuckin’ agreement…” JJ scoffed, turning and taking a few steps away from his friends — running his fingers through his hair. “Is she fucking crazy? Why would she….” He trailed off angrily, balling and un-balling his fists trying to quell his anger, to no avail. “Dammit!” He screamed, kicking the coffee table causing the objects on top of it to shake and fall.

“Calm down-” John B tried.

“Don’t tell me to calm down-” JJ warned, swiping the boy’s hand off of his shoulder and stepping closer.

“Why can I hear you idiots from all the way outside?” Kiara appeared, the screen door closing behind her — a look on her face between annoyance and confusion.

“Pope let Y/N go to Barry’s alone and now no one can get a hold of her-”

“I didn’t have a choice!” The distressed boy defended.

“Yeah fuckin’ right…” JJ dismissed.

“Screw you-”

“Shut up!” Kie screamed, hands in front of her. The boys went silent, eyes going to the brown-haired girl closest to the door. “She went to Barry’s? Alone?”

“Yup.” JJ said, drawing his lips into a thin line before scoffing unbelievably. “And you just let her leave without saying shit to anyone…” He threw out at Pope once again.

“It’s not his fault, JJ.” John B defended. “We all know how she is, none of us could’ve stopped her from going. And let’s not jump the gun here, alright?” JB tried, locking eyes with each of his friends. “It’s just Barry, right? Rafe’s in jail and Barry wouldn’t do any-”

“No, he’s not.” Kiara added, all heads whipping in her direction — the girl standing with a hand clasped over her mouth, her eyes pointed aimlessly at the ground as she came to several realizations at once. 

“...What?” Pope blurted, brown eyes going astronomically wide.

“The hell do you mean he’s not?” JJ questioned aggressively. 

“They…” Kie stuttered, trying to think and speak all at once — her hands waving wildly in front of her as she struggled to get her words out. “They let him out like, an hour ago.” She said, voice and hands shaking.

“You don’t know that.” John B immediately dismissed, fear and anger coursing through his veins at the new world of possibilities of things that could happen, could’ve happened, or could be happening to you. “...How do you know that?”

That’s when Kiara took a single step to her left, revealing a mourning Sarah standing by herself outside — arms wrapped around herself like a child as she made eye contact with everyone on the patio. No one had expected to see her so soon after what happened.

Seeing someone die. Seeing someone you love die…It sticks with you. For a long time.

“...Because she told me.”

The environment fell into a tense silence, everyone’s eyes trained ahead of them or at the floor or at nothing at all. Until they all heard the familiar pattering of paws approaching — everyone’s heads whipping towards the sound to find Marley running towards The Chateau. 

“What the hell…” JJ mumbled under his breath, running to let the animal in as she ran up the steps and jumped onto the sofa. Everyone looked at each other — confused, angry, worried…

Suddenly, John B’s jaw was clenching, the boy swiping his car keys up from the coffee table with no hesitation. “..The van. Now.”

©loveharlow.

[muovipalikka]

Headcanons in fic form #4

Gideon must have been the unluckiest humanoid on Avantris. He had thought he left it all behind him the day he escaped the train, but here he was in his new life getting plagued by old wounds.

"When we get back to camp I can give you some ointment for under the manacles. Ain't nothing that can't fix, or so I've heard." Kremy told Gid trying to sound casual as if he had just heard it somewhere. And hadn’t consulted an apothecary.

That had been the first time Kremy had tried to get his manacles off. It was a couple months back, and he still wouldn't shut up about it.

"Gid, I can see the rashes from way over here!"

Gideon was quiet. He was unsure about letting Kremy’s claws so close. What would Kremy do after seeing his weak spots? Would he abandon Gideon, thinking he wasn’t capable enough for the job or would he use the knowledge as bargaining chips?

"Please just let me put a bit of grease under there. I promise no funny business." As a sign of peace, Kremy even left his cane where he had been sitting opposite Gideon, on the other side of the campfire. Gideon let him get closer, and Kremy approached him as if he were a scared animal. After sitting beside him, Kremy carefully laid a hand on his manacle.

"You already did your time, no reason to stay locked up." In retrospect, Kremy shouldn’t have said that. Gid hadn’t been a prisoner. He hadn’t done anything deserving of time spent on the train. But the words had soothed Gid back then. No matter how incorrect Kremy’s assumptions had been. Or how much he had beat himself up for what he’d implied.

"Now Gid, tell me. Can you get these off?"

Gid nodded slightly and looked at Kremy suspiciously, but he started opening the mechanism. Kremy just sat next to him, waiting patiently. He could see the torn skin, dry, angry, and inflamed. He winced theatrically, hiding the tears and genuine care.

When the manacle was finally off Kremy took his arm and held it like a tiny fragile thing. Gideon didn't know what to do with himself. He just looked at Kremy's golden eyes pleadingly. Hoping that he won't use this to hurt him.

Kremy took out an unopened tube of hand cream still in the box. It was clearly meant for humanoids with higher body temperatures. But Gideon didn’t think to question it. He was trying to pick a favorite between the cool cream appeasing his skin and Kremy's hands. Kremy was careful of his claws. Not letting them hurt Gideon’s fragile skin.

Gideon was glad he had trusted Kremy. After a few weeks, they didn’ hurt no more. Kremy even put some fabric between the skin and the manacles to lessen the irritation.

Kremy knew Gid was a stubborn bastard, but he also knew that the genasi undervalued himself. And this was undoubtedly the latter. Gid would never just ask for the ointment. He would even try to hide the skin inflaming and getting worse. Until Kremy ultimately caught him again. Which is why they had a little ritual. Each time Gid woke him for his watch Kremy would sit with him by the campfire. Early on he had made up excuses “Gid I’m so tired. You need to sit with me so I can wake up properly!” “I need you to light my cigarette Gid.” Little excuses to make way for “Well, since we now have a little time. I can check your wrists now,”

Now they just quietly sneak back to the campfire. Kremy would take care of him. Soothe his aches and hold him gently without a need for excuses. And Gideon knew he was the luckiest humanoid in all of Avantris.

Headcanons in fic form #1 #2 #3

[kirby-derb]

Te...teehee? I dunno what I would name this so I'm going to call it

Grinding Gears

Summary thingy: As a mechanic in the undercity you had often found yourself with some rather odd jobs, fixing up a bomb, and bio-weapons, though you were never quite ready to ask for an arm. Though you did love a challenge. Now years after you still find yourself looking for parts.

Pairings Ig? Reader x Sevika, Jinx is in here but she's like 14 so she and reader got a fun little friend/mentor dynamic

“How good are you at artificial limbs?” 

   That…wasn’t a new question per say, though it was an odd situation. 

   One moment you were sitting in your shop fixing up what remained of someone’s prized gun and the next you wake up and you’re in some dingy room, eye’s not yet adjusted to the lack of light or the burning sensation in the back of your head. As you try to get your bearings you hear the question asked again, this time you see someone step from the darkness that surrounds you. 

     You knew this one, somewhat. “Silco? You’re one of Silco’s men. Holy fucking-” You try to sit up in the chair only to find your hands were tied behind you, so you yell into the darkness, “SILCO WHAT THE FUCK MAN? I am just your number one supplier and this is the thank you I get? Well fuck you too!” 

    As if on cue the man you were screaming for came out from the darkness, his steps slow as he looked at you, the same unreadable expression across his face. However, what caught your attention was the little girl that trailed behind her, so you stare at the little thing for a moment, and he must have caught on to your staring because he spoke again. “Answer the question.” 

  Your eyes flicker up to him and then back to the little girl, who stood behind him as if he was some shield, better than the man you knew him to be. “Since when-nevermind. Limbs? Uh,” You tilt your head back, eyes staring at the ceiling, only looking forward when a droplet of water snapped you out of the trance and you look back to him, “I don’t know.” 

   “What do you mean you don’t know?” 

“I mean I don’t know until I’m staring at what I’m supposed to fix, how much is left? Nerves, muscle, bone, I don’t know what to fix if I can’t see the fuck up.” You grumble out, eyes pretty much on the little girl alone, the bright blue hair in a neat french braid and clothes a bit too big for her- but they were new. Poor thing looked terrified. The silence crept in and you look back to Silco, “Does this have to do with the explosion on-” 

   “We are not talking about that.” He interpreted, leaning over to one of the men, whispering something you couldn’t quite catch. 

   “Copy that, fuckface.” You smile when he shoots you a glare, and you adjust in the chair again, “Gonna let me go? Cause ya know, I do need my hands to actually do my job.” 

   Maybe to your surprise, or dismay, he nudged the little girl forward, her trembling hands holding a set of keys. Her steps tripping over the other, eyes set on you as if you would pounce on her the second she looked away, you wanted to say something, anything- maybe because you knew what it felt like to be scared and alone, to be forced to trust a person she would grow up and realize she shouldn’t have. But you keep your mouth shut, hearing the cuffs unlock and you wait for the little girl to retreat back to her safe inner circle before you look at Silco again. The look in your eyes saying a thousand words, and he seemed to catch on, as he only looked at you for a moment before looking away. 

    You and Silco had been partners since before he became….Silco, you were younger than the rest of the group back then, taken under the wing. Yet since the rebellion and the deaths of the innocent, you had drifted from friends to mildly cordial business partners. As your talents included fixing just about anything that needed to be fixed and an inordinate ability to talk your way out of any situation, that and a few Higher up on topside seemed to be hung up on you, so it made shipments easy. You clear your throat as you slowly move to stand, “Tell me about the job.” 

   “It’s a prosthetic, it needs to be fully functional. Arm, there’s nothing till the shoulder.”

   “We have a doctor monitoring her condition, she’s stable.” Silco slowly sits down in a chair, the little girl that seemed to follow him sitting down by his feet. “How much do you want?” 

If your jaw wasn’t on the floor the pure shock and distaste in your eyes was obvious, you blink a few times, “I can make a prosthetic, easy peasey; but a fully functional one? Do you realize the writing and the time and the-shit man, that fucker would be heavy-”  

  “She can handle it.”

The next words on your lips fade and you suddenly realize what was missing from this whole picture, the huge lack of the person you probably would’ve noticed first. With a small tilt of your head you whisper, “Where is she?” 

    Your breathing was slow, your eyes watching him move but nothing else in your body would move, “I-...” The words were in your throat but nothing else would speak, “I…Let me see her.”  

  “I can’t do that.” 

You spin on your heel and look at him, words coming out as venom, “Let me see her or I am going to charge so high your fucking daughter will still be paying your fucking debt after I kill you.”

“Which. Room?”

   “It is not a good-”

“Which room?”

  “She’s drugged up-” 

   “Second on the left.” 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

  You considered yourself to be a very controlled and easy going woman, you didn’t do things on a spur of the moment emotion and you had a tendency to do the wrong thing simply because the right thing would mean you would have to acknowledge some emotion you were trying to ignore. However, as you sat in that uncomfortable chair staring at that infuriating, stubborn, cocky and just overall horrible woman, all you could do is act on the emotions in your chest. The nail bed on your left hand picked raw and your eyes so focused on the rise and fall of her chest, words harsh whenever someone would get too close. 

    “You’re a doctor?” 

The poor man looked even more scared than the little girl, his hands and legs shackled together, eyes holding that lovely topsider gleam. Though it was slowly fading, as Zaun would probably do that to a person. The scrubs he wore were dirty from probably being forced down here for days on end, and his family was probably already grieving. Awful that you couldn’t bring yourself to care. “Emergency medicine.” 

   The harsh gaze was then fixed on him, “How is she?” 

“The blast cartigized the wound, so I am not worried about any blood loss, I am just making sure it doesn’t get infected…as this or the supplies I’m given are exactly sterile-” he looked back to you and then cleared his throat, “You undercity people are very scary, you are aware of this?” 

  “You think I’m scary? Wait till Sev wakes up.” You scoff out a laugh, leaning back in the chair and then you tilt your head with a small sniffle that would never admit to be your attempt to keep the tears from your eyes. “Vitals though…stable?” 

   The man nodded to your words, “Heart Rate is a little slow, but I gave her meds for the pain and they can cause that, BP is good, she’s on room air…like I said, I’m just wanting to make sure it doesn’t get infected.” He cleared his throat after a moment, going to grab another bag of saline, “And you are to the Patient? I mean, HIPPA doesn’t exist here but I still-” 

   “Fuck-buddy.” You snip out, giving him a look, after all- that was just about all you could summarize your relationship. “Really friendly fuck-buddies.”  He looked utterly flabbergasted by your reply so you continued, “You don’t have those in topside? You Piltie’s too good for a ol fashioned good time?” You giggle to his stammering reply brushing off the words, “Anyway, when will she wake up?” 

     As if on cue the voice of the woman that had swallowed up your entire reality came through the someone silence of the room, “Hard to sleep with your yapping.” 

 To say you were on your feet within a second would be the understatement of the century, and you slowly approach the bed, trying to laugh the worry across your expression away, though that was a febrile attempt. “My bad, my bad, I’ll keep my trap shut.” You had seen Sevika hurt more times than you care to admit, and you were used to the grimacing look of pain she very often had on her face- though nothing quite compared to the look that was currently cursing your eyes. 

   She probably could probably see the way your eyes took in her state, the way your eyes never focused on one spot for too long and how your breathing was faster than her own, how you held your hands to your chest. “It doesn’t hurt.” She tried to comfort, though the grunt she gave as she tried to sit up did nothing but the opposite. 

 On instinct your hand carefully moves to her shoulders, touch ghostly against the bandaged one, “Let-lets not sit up, huh. Gotta get that fixed up so I can get ya a new arm, mm?” 

    Sevika stared at you for a moment, maybe the drugs were messing with her impulse control, “Smart and pretty. Gonna get me a new arm and then what, marry me?” 

   You blink and then look to the doctor, “What the fuck did you give her?” 

The doctor looked like he might just drop dead from a heart attack, “Just basic painkillers.” 

   “So she’s…high?” 

   She stared up at you for a long moment, sure, drugs could mess with her perception of things but she was still very much in control of what she said- somewhat, that’s what she liked to tell herself, plus- right now? She could say just about anything and face no repercussions for it, as- after all- she was just ‘high’. “You called me pretty.” 

 Sevika interjected in the conversation, “No, I’m not.”  

  You look back down at her, your frown ever so evident on your face, “You are, pretty girl. Very very high.” 

   “I did, didn’t I?” You say quietly, vision growing a bit blurry the longer you looked at her, carefully brushing your fingers across her face, taking in every last cut or burn that wasn’t there the last time you saw her, “I’m afraid I just happen to care about you enough to think you’re pretty.” 

  “Don’t cry,” her words were hushed, her hand coming to cover yours, “It’s not bad enough for you to cry, sunshine.”  

You sniffled up what you considered to be something unrelated to tears and you scrunched up your face in distaste, “You quite literally lost your arm, as-as your-...” You falter, “As someone who cares about you, I think I have a right to be a little worried.” 

   “You don’t have a title.” 

   “You’re right,” She said in reply, her eyes met yours as she moved her hand to the nape of your neck.  

“I….am?” That was first, normally once Sevika found a hill she liked she would die on it, figuratively and quite literally. After all she just lost her arm for a hill that was bound to crumble and swallow her whole eventually, though everyone else but her could see that. 

Huh? Oh. 

   Oh

“Yeah, I don’t and…and that’s okay, that-that's how you like it, baby,” You were trying to remind her, before she said something that not…high out of her mind version of Sevika would resent you later for, “That’s how you like it.”

   She grunts, “No it’s not.” 

“It is. You just can’t remember.” 

   “I remember just fine,” She said harshly, her eyes meeting yours, she almost seemed disgusted with your attempts to deny whatever affection she was trying to show, “And you’re my girl, you know that.” 

  “I do know that.” 

“And I-” 

   “And you’re my pretty lady, toughest one in all of the undercity- now cmon, you should rest, yeah? I got that…gotta get your arm ready for you.” You look to the doctor, “If I hear you so much as as poke her wrong-” 

   “My life is over, I will…I’ll die.” He interjected, eyes wide. 

“Atta boy.” 

⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓⌓

“I don’t understand why it won’t go off.” Powder- or Jinx? Had grumbled from her spot beside your workbench. You weren’t sure which was the girl's name, so you had referred to calling her ‘kiddo’ seemed like an appropriate name, even though the girl was closer to fourteen. The girl was good with machines, as you noticed from your inordinate amount of time spent with Silco. 

    A moment passes before you stabilize the hextech core, a relatively new technology that you were still trying to grasp, and you pull away, lifting up your visor so look at the small device she was working on. With a small hum you motion for her to sit beside you and she did, setting the device in front of you, bright colors painted along it. Carefully you pick it up, spinning the circular device around and then you look at the girl, who had her head in her hands, watching you. 

    “Well, um, kiddo- what is it supposed to do?” 

“Go boom.” When she saw your unamused expression she spoke again, “Explode.” 

   “Ah.” You set the device down a bit further away from you, “What type of explosion are we talkin about? Cause i’ve seen the color bombs you put on Sev-” 

   Powder grins broadly at the mention, “I remember. Heard it scared the shit out of you.” 

“It wasn’t exactly fun to have bright neon pink all over the room-” You stop your words and clear your throat, “Wasn’t fun, kiddo. If you wanna play a prank gotta cue me in on it. Gonna give me a heart attack, kay?” 

   “Mmkay.” She chirps and then nudges the device back to you, “Fix it?”

 You frown as you take the device back, the thick gloves not doing you any favors, so you take one of them out and take off one of the shells of it, looking inside- it took about a millionth of a second to see what was wrong- but you had also been doing this for a while. So you hum, “Ya know I-” You were cut from your train of thought when you heard the door open, and you only gave a quick glance behind you before you knew who it was. “Actually, kiddo, it’s all you, you’re smart. Find what’s wrong and then tell me, and I’ll show you how to fix it.” 

   The girl groaned dramatically as you swung around on the bench, bending to where she saw everything upside down to see you walk towards Sevika, “Oh gross, I think this is much more interesting than your cripple girlfriend-uck!”

 You turned Sevika away from the girl before she had the chance to make some snip back, practically dragging her over to the other workbench. Once you thought you were a safe distance from Powder, at the very least where the girl wouldn’t have an easy time eavesdropping, you spoke. Crossing your arms over your chest as you look up at her, “I figure this isn’t a social call.” 

  Your words were  confirmed when she reached over to the prosthetic, which till that point was covered by a hood, the model that took you two months to build, and set it down on the counter. To that your eyes go between her and the now ruined piece of machinery, your mouth slightly agape. 

   “Ooooh Sevika broke your arrrrm, is she in the dog house? She’s so in the dog house.” Powder chipped from the banister above the workbench, how she got there, neither of you knew. 

   Sevika, for once, ignored the girl and looked back to you, “Have I mentioned I like the-whatever you changed about your hair? I like it.” 

   Your eyes slowly go to her, “I didn’t change my hair.” 

“You didn’t? Fuck.” 

    “It’s just down.” 

“It’s pretty down, very…pretty.” 

   “Uh-huh.” 

“It just stopped working.” 

    “Before or after you chose to beat someone’s skull in, like I told you not to do because I didn’t place the titanium there yet because the shipment wasn’t in? Did it stop working after you didn’t listen to me, Sevika? Cause yeah, I wouldn’t doubt it, because maybe- as the mechanic, the designer and everything else for this revolutionary piece of machinery, I know what I’m talking about.” 

   There was a silence as you looked at what you consider to be your girlfriend, though titles were never really discussed- hell you fought like an old married couple but everything else was like a newlywed. You cross your arms over your chest as she looks down at you, as if daring her to explain herself. 

   “Yeah it happened after that. Just fix it, sunshine.” She said after a moment, quickly pressing a kiss to the top of your head before she turned, “Come on, Jinx. Silco wants you.” 

   Powder dropped down onto the desk in front of you, looking up at you as if she was about to ask to stay but she then slid off of the metal and walked to catch up to Sevika, grabbing her satchel and running off into the darkness. 

    With a huff of a laugh you look back to the prosthetic, quickly taking out the load of shimmer that was perfectly placed in the chamber that took you longer than it should to place there and you carefully set it down. The shimmer was unfortunately a needed aspect for the functionality for the device, as without it the connection port and the device would be pressing against the remaining muscle, the nerves, and it would be…agonizing. As you had quickly realized after trying the first prototype. As the shimmer seemed to give the body the last level of adrenaline and…and it numbed it just enough so the pain wouldn’t be overwhelming. 

   It seemed that the shimmer was the only thing intact from the original prosthetic. And you weren’t sure how to feel about that. 

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

“You what?” Sevika almost laughed out when she heard you speaking, trying to take off her boots as she sat on your bed. Her small laugh died as she saw the seriousness in your stare and you adjusted the corset like top. 

    You look in your reflection, your skin lacking the liveliness it would gain from being in the sun, yet everything else looked just about right. In the right light and with the proper voice and accent you would go for an average citizen of Piltover.

“I am going up to Topside and I am going to get my supplies so I can fix your prosthetic.” You said as you slipped on the heels, listening to the small clicking noise as you took a few steps away to look at your overall outfit. A skirt that fell to your knees and the light green monochrome with the white accents. Your hair pinned up to a more….Topsider-esk style. 

    “Give me ten minutes.” 

  Once you were content you turned to face her, “Do I look like a Piltie? Do you wanna punch me?” You say with a small smile on your perfectly painted lips.  

Her eyes shamelessly undressed you mentally, and she grunts as she stands up, her hand delicately going to your cheek, “I have a better idea.”

  “I walked straight into that one-um no, I gotta go.” You stand on the tips of your toes to press a chaste kiss to her lips and then turn around to grab your bag, currently it was empty so it was remarkably light. 

“What?” You turn around to her. 

   “You’re not going alone.” 

“Uh, yes. I am.” 

   Sevika frowned at your snipped reply, “What if you get caught? The supplies you need aren’t legal. They’ll throw you in stillwater or…”

    “It’s not safe.”

“And Zaun is?” 

   You give a small laugh and move your hands to her cheeks, “Baby enforcers. They are dumb and they’re probably too scared to look at anyone wrong. 

   You frown, “I’ll be fine. I’ve done it a million times before- And…” a sigh escaped your lips as you slowly walked over to her, setting the bag back down, “You are the toughest lady in Zaun…and you look like it. Plus the Bootcamp enforcer whatever just finished so all new Enforcers on the ground, they don’t know a Zaunite from their ass.”  

Sevika looked flabbergasted by your words she blinked, “You just told me there are  more enforcers up there and you expect me to be comforted?” 

  She frowned as she looked down at you, “I’m still going with you.” 

“You will not. Because If i am not here and you are not here who is going to make sure Powder won’t blow up half of the lanes? She’s getting better at it, so….I wouldn’t put it past her.” When you tried to move away again you felt the charmed necklace that adorned your neck grow tighter, turning around and looking up at your girlfriend, “You’re gonna choke me.”  

“Normally you like it.”

You narrow your gaze, “Mm, are either of us naked? No? Then right now I don’t.” Your hands go to hers, trying to pry her grip from the gold chain, a silly prized possession- something you had stolen when you were little, but it was yours. “Oh my god you’re like a baby- let go.” 

   “One of-” 

    “You can’t make me.”

“What will it take then?” 

“Anything sexual and I will hit you.” 

   She faltered, a frown appearing on her lips, “A kiss.” 

Your expression softened, a small laugh coming from your lips to the somewhat muttered and disgruntled sounding request. You had to admit, sometimes she just had a kicked puppy look about her, something that when you first saw it you thought she was dying- turns out you are one of the only people to see it, “I can do that.” 

   It was silly how you had to adjust to reach her, because by no means were you a small person, you were well built and of average height. But there was always something that made you feel…small. Part of you hated it, the other adored it. Like most kisses shared, it was some level of perverted want and a dance between it and the actual affection trying to be shown. Her hand on the back of your head trying to keep you in place while you attempted to find the good breaking point. Failing at doing so. 

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

 With a small gasp you break the kiss, “You still,” A kiss interrupted your words but you pulled away again, eyes dilating at the sight of the dark red lipstick now smeared on her lips, “Can’t come with me.”

“Shut up.” She hissed back, pulled your hair just enough to make your mouth open from the stretcher before leaning over and devouring your lips. 

“You are a very pretty young lady.” You say with a small smile to the enforcer, who was probably only eleven years younger than yourself, handing over the forged identification. 

   “You are…” 

“Missus Mari Korvik.” You replied with the fake name, smiling with the lips that you had just replied the lipstick too as the last coat got aptly smeared away, and you hold Sevika’s arm, “This is my wife, Alexia- I apologize, she’s deaf, you know how that turf war in the southern sides are- oh, my girl fought for so long they finally discharged her after well-” You vaguely motion to her, who looked somewhat normal when you did her makeup and took off the prosthetic port; and you would not be lying if you said you very much enjoyed getting her dressed. 

  The enforcer clears her throat, the dark that probably should’ve been pulled back falling in front of her face, “And what was the cause for your visit to the undercity?” 

   You keep your smile and then you clear your throat, “Oh well, you know…spicing up the marriage. Been together for oh gosh, coming up fifteen years now? Things get dull and day time prices are so much better than-” 

   “Alright Missus and Missus Korvik, you are all signed in, have a wonderful day.” The girl aptly said, handing the small booklets back. 

  Works like a charm. 

After a polite goodbye you walk into the city, steps lively as you look at some of the vendors, eyes going to the jewelry stores and the high fashion. The crowd grew lively as you reached the heart of Piltover. Once there were no enforcers nearby Sevika leaned over to your ear, her words low, “You couldn’t have thought of any other cover?” 

  You hum as you walk to a vendor taking one of the baked goods and tossing him a fake coin in return, though he would never know it was. You break it in half and hold her a portion, “If you won’t marry me then Alexia will be married to Mari. Let a girl dream, Sev.” When she refuses to take the other side you hum and take a bite, looking around. 

    She grunts at that reply, and when you again offer the piece of bread to her, she takes it this next time, as she had a sneaking supposition that you wouldn't stop till she did,  “Where is this guy you’re suppose to meet?” 

   “Mm, the academy.” 

“What.” 

     You look at her and then give a small smile, “He’s a student or something. Super nice guy. I trade some of my blueprints for new hextech gadgets and stuff, the latest thing he unveiled is the small stabilizer thingy? He had his own version but ya know…perspective helps. So he gives me parts and stuff and I give him blueprints.” You shrug off the look she was giving you and you look back to her, “My meeting is at 4. So we have some time.”

      “Oh…lovely.” She grumbles.

Annnnd that is all i have thus far, I am unsure if it will be a series though if even one person asks for another part the chances are very high I will write it. And yeah! I would love some feedback! BYEEEE

[sophiashifts]

first time shifting to resident evil storytime ٠ ⭑ ݁ .🕷️ ࣪ ✮₊ ˚

‼️disclaimer‼️

shifting to games like resident evil, silent hill, last of us, etc.. can be very intense most of the time and are not for everyone. this does not mean you shouldn’t be shifting to here just because it’s a lot to handle, i just recommend scripting safety hazards and making sure your mental health can handle realities like this. happy shifting 🤍

٠ ⭑ ݁ .♟️ִ ࣪ ✮₊ ˚.🕷️٠ ⭑ ݁ .♟️ִ ࣪ ✮

unfortunately, i forgot the date but i know for sure it was sometime in mid to late november— and i think it was a sunday as i had school the day after (whatever it’s not important tbh💀)

i had recently been in a great mindset at that time and i had reprogrammed my mind. i hadn’t used a method that night, i just meditated, said affirmations, then set the intention to wake up in my resident evil dr. this reality takes place in the events of raccoon city. it’s kind of like a mix of resident evil 2 and resident evil 3

i was woken up with loud banging on my door, i was confused because i didn’t have school that morning and didn’t have to be up for anything, as i opened my eyes i realized i had shifted. i was inside my apartment which was so much more cozy than i had expected. my room had so much decor and ugh i could go on forever about it ANYWAYS.. i had to take a few deep breaths because i knew if i didn’t i would probably just freak out.

btw, the banging was NOT scripted so obviously i expected the worse (a zombie😭) so i grabbed the gun on the kitchen counter as i opened the door, to see it was only leon. (as he lives in the same apartment complex as me) he was telling me how the zombie outbreak was getting worse by the second and we need to find out what’s going on and leave the city and i’m like dude i can’t go i have a lot of work to do for my job (im a journalist for the fbi, and at this time there was a LOT of things to do💀) but he convinces me i need to be safe blah blah blah okay whatever i go with him (but i make leon wait a minute bc no way i was going out in my pajamas…)

so we make our way out of the apartment and surprisingly only see one zombie which i literally shot?? hello that was so crazy to do 😭?? our main mission atp was to get somewhere safe where zombies couldn’t reach us and leon had already made a plan to go to the subway as he had found a map and said he knows the way, and then to the police station.

also, i wanna mention as we were getting to the subway mf nemesis appears?? and i wonder why the hell i didn’t script him out😭😭 we luckily got away but rest assured i scripted him out for my next shift🧍

so as we make our way to the subway, we run into carlos out of nowhere?? so we tell him we’re trying to get out to the subway and he should come with us and he decides to help us because leon got the directions wrong 🤦‍♀️

so me, leon, and carlos, got to the subway and went to raccoon city police department for answers, leon decided to split up from us as he went looking for survivors (dumbass could’ve died) while me and carlos stayed at the police station to search for anything. i had learned a lot about carlos that night and we came close

i had then shifted back because i had school the next day and already so much had happened. soooooo that was my first shift to resident evil if you read this whole thing i love you

let me know if you have any questions i’d be happy to answer 💗💗

[inkyrainstorms]

The Martian Stan AU - The Apology - Excerpt

Ford was working as he always was nowadays, half listening to the radio behind him and trying to stop his heart from jumping in his throat every time that Stan stopped speaking for more than 10 minutes and nothing but static filled the room again. Ford wasn’t sure what exactly his brother was talking about anymore, as he welded a set of support bolts into place, but he nearly dropped the welding gun on his foot when Stan suddenly spoke after a long stretch of silence.

“Ford?”

Ford fumbled for a moment before shoving a stack of loose paper aside and  setting the welding gun down on the table beside him. He put his hands on either side of the radio on the same cluttered table and took a deep breath to calm his pounding heart.

“Yes, Stanley?” He asked softly.

Stan, of course, didn’t hear him, but had paused as if waiting for a response before continuing anyway.

“I know, I know damn well you’re probably never gonna hear this, but I need to say it anyway before… Well. I don’t need to eat as often and shit and I know you’d love to figure out why but… I’m not sure how long I’m gonna last out here either way.”

Ford didn’t say anything, staring down at the wooden grain of the table like he could burn a hole clean through it with his thoughts alone. His palms ached from where he’d dug in his fingernails, and his shoulders mangled to hunch even further.

Stan laughed. It was a bitter, ugly sound.

“Ah, damnit. This isn’t about me. Can’t even do this right, you idiot” His brother took a deep breath. “ But Ford… I think I need to apologize.”

Some old, fossilized hurt in Ford’s heart snarked ‘you think?’, but Ford nearly gagged as he suffocated the thought before it could take root anew. He felt sick.

Oblivious to Ford’s turmoil —and of course he was, because he didn’t know Ford was right here, that Ford wasn’t going to let one of the last things he ever said to Stan be that he thought Stan was worthless— Stan continued.

“I don’t think I ever got to, back when… you know. What I said that night is a bit of a blur to me to be honest, but I know I was spouting nonsense and saying all the wrong shit and… Moses, Ford. I know it’s too late now but I’m sorry. I really am.”

Something in Ford simultaneously healed and broke in his chest at Stan’s words, but he didn’t get the chance to process it because Stan wasn’t quite done yet.

“And I need you to know it wasn’t on purpose. I’d never do that to you. Never. Why would I ever want to hurt you like that, poindexter? I just… I was scared and I didn’t want to be alone in Glass Shard Beach scraping barnacles off the Taffy shop for the rest of my miserable life and I wasn’t. Thinking.” Stanley’s voice had been rising in a steady crescendo, but suddenly got so quiet that Ford had to strain to catch the words in the buzzing static. “I’d… I shouldn’t have gone into the gym. I shouldn’t have even gone near your friggin project. I didn’t go there to break it, I would never—“ his voice broke. “I thought you knew that. I’m your brother, you dingbat, why would I ever want to hurt you?When did I ever not support you, man?”

“Then why did you do it?” Ford whispered back, just as quiet. That old anger he’d tried to push down rose up again, simmering. Stan knew he’d poured months of his life into the perpetual motion machine, that he’s shed more than a few tears and more than a little blood and sweat over it. And then he’d thrown it all away?

“I’d only hit the table, ya know. Didn’t think the grate’d pop off or anything like that. I tried to fix it. I know I should’ve told you, I know and I’m sorry, just…” I was scared, goes unspoken. Ford’s legs were shaking, and he tried to steadily himself by leaning further on the table. “I know I should’ve told you. I know. I messed up fuckin’ good, Sixer.” Ford flinched.

“I’m. I know you’re never gonna get the apology you deserve cause I was too much of a coward to actually call you and say something.” Stan’s voice was shaking. And I’m sorry for that too. And I’m sorry for not listening to you about your stupid book, and I’m sorry— ugh. We’ll be here all day trying to name my fuckups. That’s the last sorry you’ll ever hear from me you nerdy, uh, nerd.”

Stan sighed loud enough for the radio to crackle and screech. “Good going, Stan,” he muttered, his voice getting quieter as he evidently walked away, done.

And all that was left was static.

Ford pushed himself away from the table and sank into the rolling chair nearby, putting his face in his hands and trying to breathe as the chair was pushed back several feet from his momentum.

“He’s lying,” Ford tried to say, but it tasted like ash in his mouth. “He’s trying to make it so… so.” He faltered. “He’s obviously trying to deceive me.”

Trust no one.

But he had trusted Stan. And Stan got hurled into a Dimension of Nightmares for it.

Stan has no reason to lie, Fords mind whispered, because it was always against him no matter what stance he took. He doesn’t think you’re coming to save him. Why wouldn’t he try to explain the worst mistake of his life in a fit of guilt and complete loss of hope?

“Shut up,” Ford said intelligently, and he didn’t dare pry his face away from his hands, heels of his palms digging into his eye sockets and pushing up his glasses to his hairline

Stan had no reason to lie.

Stan came to help him at the drop of a hat after ten years of being too afraid to even call him. 

Stan… Stan didn’t mean to break his project. It was a stupid accident, done by a stupid teenager too afraid to admit his own failings. Stan didn’t betray Ford. Not like he thought his twin had, for all these years.

Ford was wrong. About everything. He was wrong about Stan and Bill and Fiddleford and, Moses, had he ever done anything right in his entire, miserable life? Ford didn’t know. 

The empty bunk bed beneath his own  for those last few fateful months before Backupsmore, the tears and screaming at a boat that never even left the shore, the years of resentment and refusing to believe he missed his own twin, what was it all for? Because Ford suddenly felt the sharp sting of grief all over again, throbbing with a ferocity he’d refused to acknowledge for the past few weeks. Years. 

It was like he was 17 years old again, mourning for all the wrong reasons and all the right ones too. For his brother. For his chance to become someone worthy of recognition, of love. For pushing away the ones who’d already loved him.

For the first time since the day Stan fell into the portal all those weeks ago, Ford pulled his knees up to his chest on the seat and, in the safety of his own arms, he wept.

The static crackled on, steady and unchanging. Unforgiving.

———————

@aroace-get-out-of-my-face @littlelilliana15 (if anyone else wants to be tagged pls let me know! I’m going to probably be posting more for this au sometime this week)

I have ideas for a mini comic and a whole animatic using Space Oddity so I’ll just have to see how far I get, really

[veritas-scribblings]

4. home | words: 1945 | [out of control <- previous part | next part -> mirror]

(December, 1975)

Regulus is fourteen when Sirius leaves home. He wants to say it he didn’t see it coming, but he did. Sirius has been rebelling for years. Not folding in on himself, but projecting out into the world around. Sirius, with his loud music and his muggle posters. Sirius, who sasses their parents and hides away in his room. Sirius, who came home one day with a tattoo and a piercing.

Regulus has seen this coming for years, so he doesn’t know why it takes him off guard. Why it upsets him. Why it enrages him.

And why it makes him afraid.

When James Potter finds Regulus, Regulus is pulling his trunk off the train. Almost ten minutes has passed since the train arrived at the platform and he has already waved off Barty, Evan and Pandora. And now he’s just waiting: impatient, annoyed, and very much ready to ditch his brother and leave for home alone.

James barricades the train door nervously, awkwardly, his glasses on the end of his nose and his hair more ruffled and windswept than usual. Like he’s been running his fingers through it.

Regulus doesn’t have anything against James. He never has, because honestly, he’s never had that much to do with James. James is a typical quidditch player: bold and cocky, performative and aggressive in the way that boys are typically aggressive. He’s clever, Regulus knows. Things come easily to James. He’s never had to try.. And yet, there’s something really stupid and simple about the boy, because of course James has to be an enigma.

He has a whole lot of intelligence and yet missed out on the basic common sense.

James shifts in front Regulus, gives him a smile that is not very convincing. “Can we talk?” he asks. The butterflies in Regulus’s stomach are drunk, battering and tumbling inside him. And Regulus is weak.

“Where’s your shadow?” Regulus says sceptically. “Tell him he’s late and we have to go. I don’t care what shag-of-the-week he’s saying farewell to.”

James pauses, bites his lip, and says so earnestly, in a single, hurried, tangled breath, “You can come too. You should come too.”

And that’s when Regulus knows. He doesn’t need to hear anything else. Because Sirius has been talking about it for years. He’s been threatening it for years. That he’ll leave. That he’s “out of here as soon as he can”. Saying, “this place is fucked”. Saying that they’re fucked. Telling Regulus, “they can only hurt you if you let them,” disdainfully. Like he’s better than that.

Like he’s more than that, and Regulus isn’t. For letting it hurt him. For letting it happen. For caring.

James has been speaking, but Regulus hasn’t heard him. The world in his head is silence, and the world outside silent. “I mean it,” James says. “Come home with me. My parents, they’ll love to have you too.” And he does mean it, Regulus knows. James is so sincere, on the outside and the inside. All performative facades of his quidditch player-ness have been dropped.

“You’re taking him home with you, then,” Regulus says flatly.

“Well, yes. You’ll come home with me. Sirius is…”

That’s when the silence disappears and all Regulus hears is noise and rage. And if James finishes the sentence, Regulus doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know. Because he knows Sirius is gone. He’s left. He didn’t wait. And he will not ask. “And why would I do that?”

“Reg…”

“It’s Regulus.”

“Regulus, I know how things are. No—no, really. I do. I know. And, well, it doesn’t have to be that way. You shouldn’t have to live that way. Come home with me. Us. Me and Sirius.”

Regulus sneers. He twirls his wand which is tethered to his trunk and pulls his trunk fully off the train. “I’m not Sirius. I’ve never given our parents a reason to hate me.” He says this coldly. Icily. Into the silence and the rage and the noise of the world around them.

“You shouldn’t have to earn your parents love. They should love because you’re you. In spite of you being you. Just because, you know, they’re your parents.”

Regulus leaves James standing at the mouth of the train and makes his way across the platform, through the crowd that has started to disperse. What world does James live in in? Love is always conditional. And Regulus isn’t fool enough to believe he has his parents love. But he knows he doesn’t have their contempt. Their hostility. Not the way that Sirius does.

He’s made sure of that.

Sirius is sixteen when he leaves Grimmauld Place. He feels sick: nauseated and dizzy. His stomach has been flip-flopping. He wants to throw up. He wants to scream. He wants to run circles through the streets around the Potters house. He wants to do cartwheels. He wants to do backflips.

He doesn’t want to ring the doorbell or enter the house. Because what if they turn him away? What if they hate him, or what if they come to hate him? If they decide he’s no longer welcome. That he’s bothersome. That he is a burden.

Because he won’t be able to bear that. He’ll die a sad and lonely little death.

Rationally, Sirius knows that this isn’t true. James has reassured him that he’s welcome. That they’ll love to have him. They’ll be thrilled to have a new son. That he can stay as long as he wishes. That they actually won’t want him to leave. Ever.

But there’s a niggling little voice in his head, bitter and hateful and sinister. Telling him that this is not true. That it is a lie. That he’s not enough. He’ll never be enough.

Sirius paces the doorstep of the Potter house. Back and forth. Back and forth. Hands wringing. He kicks his trunk angrily, swears angrily when he stubs his toe. Kicks the trunk again in revenge. Curses. Wonders if he hexes it, will the ministry know now he’s no longer at Grimmauld Place?

Maybe his parents will come for him. Maybe they’ll drag him back kicking and screaming and cursing. Or maybe they won’t, because maybe they’re glad his gone. That the Black family disappointment is no longer their problem. Farewell. Sayonara. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

And then the door swings open. James stands before him, a vision of smiles and messy hair and smudged glasses. He grabs Sirius’s trunk and lugs it inside as Sirius stands rooted to the spot. Unable to move. Just staring, mouth open. Does he come inside? Does he wait outside? Does he help James with the trunk? Is it rude not to?

“Dad thinks I should leave you out here. He wants to see how long it takes you to decide to come inside,” James says with a grunt, hefting the trunk along the carpet. “Mum thought that was mean, said to bring you inside, you’re going to catch your death, apparently. I told her you’re invincible. She doesn’t believe me.”

Sirius’s anxiety is like a thousand little snitches racing through his blood. James grabs his arm and pulls him inside so suddenly, Sirius almost trips on the doorframe and falls flat on his face. James has abandoned Sirius’s trunk by the wall. It’s askew, blocking the hallway. For the briefest of moments, Sirius panics, because his parents would have a fit. 

And then he remembers: he’s no longer at Grimmauld Place. James’s parents are different. Normal. They don’t yell. They don’t get mad the way his parents get mad at things like leaving trunks in the middle of the hallway. They won’t call James useless, lacking in common sense.

And maybe James will fall over it later. Honestly, he probably will. He falls over things in their dormitory all the time. 

Will James’s parents complain? Perhaps. Sirius doesn’t know, he just knows his parents don’t act the way normal parents act.

Suddenly, James wraps Sirius in a hug and Sirius almost jumps out of his skin. But the warmth of James makes something inside Sirius uncoil and Sirius finds himself melting into James arms. It feels like home.

The Potter house smells sweet like honey with undertones of incense. Effie and Fleamont are sitting in the kitchen, Fleamont with books open strewn across the dinner table, Effie with a pot of tea and the more recent edition of the Daily Prophet.

“Mum made…well, these little pancake things, they’re stuffed with…sugar,” James says. “They’re really good.”

Fleamont and Effie smile at Sirius, who can’t help but feel like an intruder, for all the warmth and welcome in their smiles. They don’t look at all surprised that he’s here, so maybe James warned them. Or they’re the kind of people to just take things in their stead. 

“Would you like some tea?” Fleamont says. His voice is gentle, like he doesn’t want to startle Sirius, who already feels rather like a horse primed to bolt.

“No thank you, sir.”

Fleamont chuckles. “It’s just Flea,” he says.

Effie stands and crosses the room to wrap him in a hug that feels like a James-hug. Because apparently the Potters hug. It’s their thing, James says, like this is perfectly normal for a family. And it very well could be, but Sirius wouldn’t know anything about that.

“We’re very glad you’re here with us,” Effie whispers by his ear, a secret just for him. And then louder, “You must be tired then. James, take him upstairs. Make a room for him.”

James grabs Sirius’s hand and tugs him out of the kitchen, up the staircase, Effie’s yell of, “There’s fresh linen in the cupboard!” following after them. He deposits Sirius in a room nearby his own. The room is smaller than the one Sirius had back at Grimmauld Place and significantly less elaborate. There is a double bed in the middle of the room, an old free-standing wardrobe, shelves lined with old books.

“This is going to be great,” James says with a grin. He’s watching Sirius cautiously as though he’s worried that Sirius will break. 

It’s a valid concern, because Sirius is sure he’s already broken beyond repair. And there it is, the tiny voice inside his head, all sinister and hateful, whispering that they’ll find this out about him. 

Something doesn’t feel right. His stomach churns, a sensation of guilt. He’s unsure whether he feels guilty that he’s burdening them or he feels guilty that he’s left his parents or if he feels guilty that…

“I asked him,” James says. “To come.”

There it is. The whisper is a roaring in his head. “And I asked you not to,” Sirius says. He can’t help how dark and angry it comes out. “I take it he said no. I told you he’d say no.”

Of course Regulus would say no. Why would he agree to come? They’ve never been close. If anything, they’ve always been combative. Competitive. Resentful of one another. There are times when Sirius regrets this; wants more for them. There are times when he knows that this is through no fault of their own.

That their parents have been pitting them against each other since they were old enough to acknowledge each other’s presence.

But these times are far and few between.

There is no way that Regulus would come. Because their parents don’t hate him they way they hate Sirius, and Sirius knows that this is in part his fault. Perhaps mostly his fault. Or all his fault.

They do not have any reason to hate Regulus the way they hate him.

So of course Regulus would not come.

He has no reason to.