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muntitled · 2 days ago

Text

Boa

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're just a kid, caught in a gangster’s crosshairs. What happens when you don’t deliver like you should…

Warnings: Language, Dom!Seongje, Gangsterism, Bullied!Reader, Coercion, Bullying, Extortion, Mentions of Rape, Smut +18 (mdni), Dark fic, Dubious consent, Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Desperate Sex, Humiliation, Degradation

A/N: I'm not responsible for the media you consume. I wrote this for me so...

Ever since you've started working for him, you've learned to get extremely acquainted with the floor.

"I'm sorry, Sir…” your voice is brittle as you try to make yourself heard in the suffocating internet cafe, “I'm short on delivery today..."

Hardwood. Tile. Linoleum. It's become all too familiar to you. The floor is all you see in his presence.

You never looked Seongje in the eyes unless he addresses you first. He likes that, you suspect.

It's kept you alive this long so you must be doing something right.

"I got assigned a kid to tutor and..." you clear your throat, not daring to make direct eye contact, choosing instead, to keep your eyes trained on the dirty, cold floor.

The internet cafe is the very last place you'd want to be on a Friday evening. You were caught right in between two challenging essay due dates- one for English and one for AP English. Both hung gravley over your head, threatening to set off your sympathetic nervous system and have you fainting from academic stress. Seeing him was the very last thing you needed.

"That tutoring time fucked with my system and-" despite all your achievements, despite the academic prestige and the boundless knowledge… in Seongje's presence you feel insignificant.

A bug he's letting scurry around for no other reason except his enjoyment. You didn't want to get stomped on. You saw what happened to the other kids under his thumb and it kept you up at night. All that blood. All the merciless sadism.

You aren't dumb enough to hope an exception would be made for you.

"I'm sorry,” you conclude, and for a second, you get no response. He plays his game. His friends remain silent.

That's all until he pushes the bridge of his glasses up further against his nose. A calm, quiet sigh leaves his lips.

“Before you started working for me, do you know what you were?" Seongje doesn't take his eyes off the screen. His fingers run deftly over the keys as he speaks to you without ever really acknowledging you, "You were in an alleyway, about to get raped by Eunjang scum."

"Yes, Seongje, I know-"

"And in return for my kindness, what did I ask of you?"

"FUCK- COVER ME BRO!" Your eye snaps up to the source of the loud and sudden burst of energy. Your frightened and pitiful eyes find a boy seated adjacent to Seongje and his goons. He's bent over his screen, clearly not a part of the group. Clearly far too young.

Your heart sinks when you realize Seongje's eyes are trained on the boy too.

"Ya…” Seongje raises his voice a decimal above the cacophony yet it has you flinching. “Too loud,” he says to the boy, “Didn’t anyone teach you shut up when adults are talking?” he asks monotonously to the boy- a child really- still mourning the loss of his avatar on the screen. He doesn't pay Seongje any mind.

Of course he doesn't. He's a kid.

How could he have known?

He came to an internet cafe to play a game with his friends.

It's the boy's innocence that hurts the most.

He doesn't know that the monsters under his bed are very real.

They walk where he walks.

They don't hide.

They move about freely.

Your heart makes like the titanic and sinks.

"Excuse me for a second." Seongje addresses you politely, finally giving you a fleeting glance before pushing himself out of his gamer chair. You see his entire row of friends (if that's what one could even refer to them as) remain unfazed as Seongje rounds the table to stand directly behind the young boy.

He’s bigger, far bigger as he pushes the rims of his glasses up, staring directly at you

"I know you're smart so you're probably aware that your fuck-up won't be tolerated-” he says to you, despite slithering his arm around the boys neck like a boa as he squeezes. Everyone keeps their eyes trained to their computers. Your fist curls at your side. You want to look away but you can't because you're speaking to Seongje. You wouldn't want to aggravate him further by showing him his mindlessly violence bothers you. So you try not to flinch.

You try not to let the casual violence scare you. How nonchalantly he speaks while an elementary school boy flails in his arms, begging to be released from the headlock making his lips turn blue

“You knew there'd be a punishment,” Seongje is still speaking to you. You hold your breathe in solidarity with the boy choking in his arms, “-for fucking up your delivery-” crimson blossoms onto the little boys face but Seongje keeps his eyes on you, appearing unfazed by the boy flailing like an animal in arms, "And yet you came anyway. That's the kinda work ethic, I like-” he smiles, “I like it alot-"

Eventually, after what feels like forever, he lets go of the boy. You finally breathe as well, watching as the kid slumps forward ingesting the air in horrid gasps.

Seongje bends forward, patting the boy on the back.

"No more interrupting when I speak, yeah?" Whether the boy was new to this particular internet cafe, it was unclear, but you hoped to whatever divine being that he wouldn't dare come back.

"So I'll let it slide-" He turns his attention back to you and you watch, still shaken up as Seongje leaves the little boy to make his way back to his side of the table. When he breezes past you he smells like nothing. Like his eyes, everything about him is empty.

"Thank you, Seongje-"

He nods before adding, "After you get on your knees." The goon sitting nearest to you, all the way at the end of the table, his fingers hover over the keys, and just like before, the room is rid of all air.

"Excuse me?”

He pulls out his chair for you, like some mimic of a perfect gentleman he opens his arm, gesturing you in.

"I want you on your knees, under the desk.” His words hang above you all. It has tears threatening to spill. Bile rising.

“What’s with the face? Its not like I’m asking you to suck my dick,”

"Seongje, I need to get home-"

"If you can't do it yourself I'm more than happy to help."

That has your legs moving into action. In your periphery, it feels as though everyone's watching you. A thing in psychology called the imaginary audience. When you're so self-conscious you concoct this idea of being the center of attention… only this time, it's real. You know they're all watching you. You know no one will do anything about it.

"Under the desk you go," he chuckles before sitting down and pushing his chair back in. You back away, creating intense distance between you. Your back hits dirty wires and your knees press hesitantly down onto the grime just to achieve a more comfortable position. Everything you see is his legs, his friends legs and you're suddenly hit with the overwhelming urge to cry.

You want to scream at him to let you go. He's hijacked you from your endless pile of homework and yet the very thought of standing up for yourself causes a sea of nausea.

So you sit there in the dark, not knowing when this punishment would conclude. When would he let you go home? That sends you into another spiral. You've heard Seongje could game for 24 hours straight. Maybe more if he was in close vicinity to food and a bathroom. You knew this internet cafe would close eventually, that gives you the smallest sliver of hope and so you do your time.

Never once does he acknowledge you- the girl under his desk. Unbeknownst to Seongje, you catch one of his fellow gang members sneak multiple glances at you under the table. They all do. Like they enjoy seeing you under here. As time passes, and you slip further and further away from the stress, you realize that down here, on the floor, under his desk, the world is small. It's quite comforting actually and that wasn't the trauma talking.

You've always liked small spaces.

It definitely beat dealing with whatever he had going on up there half the time.

Slowly, your body begins to shut down. Your energy plummets from all the stress and all the thoughts. This is the first time you've been forced into a spot for too long doing nothing. No essays. No tutoring.

Due to tendencies from your childhood that you should've gotten rid of, you find yourself curling up against his leg. He stiffens and you snap out of the exhaustion long enough to reel back. Especially when you see his hand reach under the table. Your heart hammers in your chest, not a single word spoken as his hand searches for something. You move a bit closer until his hand catches on your hair. You wince as he drags you closer, pushing your head against his leg as you had done.

He leaves you there. You try to regulate your breathing as you feel him adjust in his seat above you.

You shift as well. Not your head. He clearly wants you there. But your legs are uncomfortable. You try to kneel and it's ridiculous because your head never leaves his leg.

No position seems comfortable enough until he stretches his leg out, right in between yours and you're made to straddle it. Above you, his fingers are still hitting the keys and you try to disassociate from the fact that his leg is pushing against your cunt. You try to sneak a peek at the surface, his glasses are trained on the screen. Not knowing whether it's your exhaustion making a reappearance but you could've sworn you hear the words, "good girl," release from him in a low drawl.

Something in his tone has you shifting over his leg. Your cunt warms against his leg and you fight the urge to buck against him. All you had to do was remember who it is that you're currently touching. That conscious reminder has you once again hellbent on doing your time with concrete resolve.

That resolve breaks.

It shatters when he eases his back against the chair, enough to once again slither his hand down towards you.

He curls his fist into your hair and tugs.

He pushes you down and lifts you up and you mindlessly follow his movements until you realize he's coaxed you into riding his leg.

He lets go of your hair, satisfied when your hips move out of their own accord.

You hate how good it feels to quite literally be beneath him. You look up and you whimper oh so quietly when you see that small smile play on his lips while his eye remains on the screen.

He's given you new instructions now and so you don't dare to stop moving your hips against him. Despite the damp spot forming on the seat of your underwear. You're not sure what it is that allows you to lose yourself so easily. Perhaps it's all the expectations that melt away when you're doing something so pitiful. You're breaking for him and he's letting you. You're not in control of anything and there's freedom in that.

“F-Fuck-” you didnt mean for the words to slip. There are still other people here but you also couldn't help the wave of pleasure that pushed up so suddenly. Your clit is moving against the fabric of his pants just right and your eyes threaten to roll to the back of your head.

The second that whimper escapes your mouth, he stiffens again.

You watch as he leans back again, this time his hand isn't reaching out for you. It's to ghost over the bulge forming in his pants. Somehow that spurs you on more.

You grind against him desperately and before he can take his hand away, this time you reach up for him.

You watch him closely. The glare from the screen reflects on his glasses. His jaw, tight.

He controls the game easily with one hand, while you bring the other into your mouth.

You're not sure where this other side of you came from. This vixen who rolls her tongue out and forces his index and ring finger into her warm mouth.

He becomes more and more restless… His breath hitching. Seongje's fingers hit the keys more aggressively, while his right hand forces his fingers further down your throat. His hips buck upwards and you can see the damp spot forming where his cock is straining against his pants. He's about to cum in his pants and you're about to cum on his leg and it's far too much for you.

You know his friends are about. You try to preserve even a sliver of dignity but it all goes out the window.

“Fuck-” he spits out, slamming his fist on the table before abandoning the game. There's a fire in his eyes as he sits back to watch you peer up at him with complete and utter desperation.

“What a fucking slut-” he snarled, cleaely audible enough for not only him but his friends too. It has your mouth snapping open. Your back arches as you try to watch him watching you cum on his leg.

You've never held his attention for this long and it sends you off the edge.

“S-Seongje-” you barely squeak out as your cunt spasms against his leg. You rut uncontrollably, spurred on by the name That fell from your lips as if your body needed a reminder of just who it was making you cum. Your tormentor.

It has you seeing stars.

For all of 11 seconds.

Until it comes crashing down on you. Your pitiful act has you reeling. Mind spinning.

You don't want to look up at him but you have nowhere else to look. Your heart sinks when you see a smile form slowly across his lips… Somehow you knew you'd never be rid of him.

#weak hero class 1 #weak hero class two #weak hero class 2 #geum seongje #geum seong je #geum seong je x reader #geum seongje x reader #seongje x reader #seongje smut #weak hero class 1 smut #weak hero class 1 x reader #weak hero class one fanfic #weak hero class one smut #weak hero class 2 x reader #lee junyoung #kdrama #kdrama fanfic

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amexizlov · 2 days ago

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TWST characters reaction when your mental state getting more worse after every Overblot Incidents (Housewardens version)

Vices Housewarden version

1st years version

2nd years (except Vice Housewarden) version

Riddle Rosehearts

At first, Riddle thought he could rationalize it — he told himself rules were meant to be upheld, order must be kept.

But when he saw ___ flinch ever so slightly at his raised voice, or how they stood stiffly during Heartslabyul meetings, he realized the damage was deeper than he wanted to admit.

Late at night, alone in his room, Riddle gripped the edge of his desk, trembling.

“I… I was supposed to be better. I promised myself I wouldn’t become like my mother… Yet I hurt them too, didn’t I?”

No matter how much he tried to follow the rules, he had already broken something far more fragile - ___’s trust.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona was never good at apologies, but the guilt gnawed at him all the same.

He saw the way ___ avoided the Savannaclaw training grounds now, or how they tensed whenever he got too close.

During one practice match, he spotted ___ sitting alone by the fence, blank-eyed, and something ugly twisted in his gut.

“Tch… All that power, all that pride — and what did I do with it? Scared the one person who actually believed in me.”

Leona would never say it out loud, but he started approaching you more carefully — voice lower, posture softer — silently begging for forgiveness he thought he didn’t deserve.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul’s guilt was poisonous.

Every time he saw ___’s weary eyes, or how they hesitated to set foot in Mostro Lounge, he felt the walls closing in.

In the mirror, he barely recognized himself — just a coward who made pacts with people desperate for help.

“I promised myself I was different from them… that I was better. But in the end, I used ___ like everyone else did.”

He started leaving quiet gifts — a favorite pastry here, a carefully written apology letter there — too afraid to face ___ directly, yet desperate to show he cared.

Kalim Al-Asim

Even though Kalim hadn’t Overblotted, the sadness weighed on him like a heavy chain.

He noticed how ___ laughed less now, how they flinched at sudden movements, how they looked haunted.

Kalim sat alone on his flying carpet one evening, watching the sunset with glassy eyes.

“I couldn’t protect them. I didn’t even realize how bad things were… And because of Scarabia’s chaos, they got hurt too.”

He swore to himself — no more reckless smiles, no more naive ignorance. He had to be there for ___ properly now — to listen, to understand, to stay.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil saw it in the mirror of your soul — the exhaustion, the deep hurt he had helped carve into you.

When he caught you hastily covering up dark circles or forcing a smile in the hallways, his heart sank.

He locked himself in his dressing room after a shoot, staring at his reflection.

“Perfection means nothing if I’ve made someone I care for feel so worthless.”

He began treating you more gently, offering genuine compliments instead of critiques, allowing your raw emotions rather than demanding polish.

A silent vow: “I will help you rebuild yourself… because I was the one who helped tear you down.”

Idia Shroud

Idia knew better than anyone how fast a mind could spiral into darkness.

When he Overblotted, he thought he was the only broken one — he never imagined he would drag ___ down too.

Now, he caught glimpses of them — standing alone, shadows swallowing their figure — and it felt like knives under his skin.

“I did this… I made them afraid of the world. Afraid of me.”

Idia retreated into his room, building small games, holograms, and gentle distractions, hoping maybe — just maybe — he could give ___ some tiny fragments of happiness back.

He left them anonymously at their door. Never brave enough to face them yet… but never abandoning them either

Malleus Draconia

Malleus felt the weight heavier than any crown.

He hadn’t meant to frighten ___. He only wanted to be understood, to be loved… but in his rage and loneliness, he had unleashed terror upon the very one he cherished most.

When he saw ___ shrink away from lightning or loud noises, his ancient heart cracked further.

“I have become the very nightmare I once vowed to protect them from.”

He began visiting only in dreams at first — appearing softly at the edge of your sleep, casting blessings of peace and safety.

Every day, awake or asleep, he prayed silently: “Let them find it in their heart to forgive me… even if I can never forgive myself.”

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prettydaisygirl · 3 days ago

Note

after reading your fratjames potter x reader work it did something for me! And it made me think of angsty idea

May I request a modern au where the reader and James are already in an established relationship ship

And because of a bad friend of James they have misunderstanding and some incident happen and reader happens to be present at the wrong time and because of that the bad friend spread misinfo and James believe that friend ....so it kinda leads to James hurting readers feelings

Pls feel free to ignore if i couldn't get my idea across ❤️

Hi, lovely! Thank you so much for your request! It also spawned another idea in my brain so there's another James fic coming soon also inspired by you! I hope this is what you were looking for, I appreciate you taking the time to send me a request. Much love <3

boyfriend!James Potter x fem!reader who disagree about Peter ✿ 927 words

cw: fem reader, Peter is the worst, misunderstanding, angst, open ended.

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

part 2

You really, really try to like Peter. He’s the only member of James’ group that you don’t consider a good friend.

It’s not that you think Peter is a bad person. But sometimes he says things about people that you think are… harsh. Sometimes even cruel. And usually these things are said behind the targeted person’s back. You don’t like that.

Every time you bring it up to James, voice whispered and hesitant so you don’t rock the boat, he tells you that he and the other boys have just learned not to listen to Peter’s cruel words.

“But how can you just… let him sit there and say things like that?” You’ll argue, though your tone is soft and your fingers will brush over his chest like they belong there. Because they do.

James will take a heavy breath and meet your eyes, barely able to see the glint of your pupils in the darkness of the bedroom. “After a while… you start to realize that the things that Peter says are true.” Silence will fill the air for just a moment and then, “He usually just says a meaner version of what everyone else is already thinking.”

So you put on a smile, and you tolerate Peter.

You sip your glass of wine, eyes moving over the restaurant’s fancy decor. The tall ceilings and shimmering chandeliers do nothing to aid the awkward silence at the dinner table.

For whatever reason, James had agreed for the two of you to go on a double date with Peter and his new girlfriend. She sits across from you, typing away on her phone without a care in the world. James had just stood up to go to the bathroom, leaving you and Peter in awkward, tense silence.

Your eyes land on Peter when he clears his throat, a smirk appearing on his lips. You hate the way it makes your skin crawl.

“Don’t you think James is a bit obnoxious?” He asks, and you’re sure anyone else would laugh out loud at the face you make.

“What?” You ask, disbelief and offense dripping in your tone, “Of course, I don’t!”

Peter’s eyebrows raise and the corner of his lip turns up even more like you said exactly what he wanted to hear. His girlfriend’s eyes raise up from her phone long enough to look between the two of you before lowering again.

“Oh, come on,” Peter encourages cruelly, “You don’t really buy that whole teddy bear, lover-boy act, do you?” His eyes roll, “I’ve known James for years, and it’s always the same. He finds a girl he really likes, absolutely fawns over her until he gets bored, and then he finds another one. Simple as that.”

Your stomach churns, your ears ring and you’re sure if looks could kill Peter would already be six feet under. “That’s not true.”

“It is, and you know it.” Peter tilts his head condescendingly and you wish you’d pretended to be sick instead of coming to this stupid dinner. “He’s going to find someone new and leave you in the dust. Like clockwork.”

“Stop.” You try not to let his words get to you but he seems to know every single soft spot in your armor. Your worst fears that you’ve never even spoken out loud to James himself.

“It’s only a matter of time,” Peter continues, swirling his own glass of wine before taking a long sip. “It could be tonight. Maybe one of the wait staff will catch his eye.”

“Listen, Peter,” You break, eyes dialed in on the man sitting across from you. If you can call him a man. More like a rat. “I have always thought you were cruel and disgusting. You invited us to dinner, and I came because James asked me to. But I won’t do this anymore. You’re an absolute weasel of a man and I hate you.”

But Peter doesn’t look upset by your words. In fact, he looks delighted, almost like a happy schoolboy. You realize why when you hear James’ voice behind you, your name stated in a cracking tone full of disbelief and hurt.

You turn in your chair to look at him, guilt taking over your features.

“James-” You try to say, the hurt look on his face making your chest physically ache.

“How can you speak to one of my friends like that?” He asks, eyes dark and voice low. He doesn’t sit back down at your table. “I know you don’t like Peter, but calling him names and saying you hate him? That’s cruel.”

You can feel your world crumbling around you, and Peter doesn’t even bother hiding his glee. In fact, it radiates off of him. His girlfriend looks like she’s enjoying the show now, phone in her lap.

“I don’t know what has gotten into you lately, why you are so hateful and full of anger.” James grabs for his jacket and you reach for it too. He shoots you a look and you pull your hand away, feeling utterly shamed and scolded. You want to tell him that this is all a misunderstanding, that if he heard the things Peter said about him, he would agree with you.

But you can’t. Because Peter is standing then, too, and so is his girlfriend. James sends you a look, and when he leans down to kiss you he only presses a chaste one to your hair, not one to your lips like usual.

“I’ll call you.” He says.

And you wonder if he ever will.

°˖✧✿✧˖°

#daisy's writings #boyfriend!james potter #james potter au #james potter #james potter angst #james potter drabble #james potter fic #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #hp marauders #james potter x you #james potter fanfiction #james potter x self insert #marauders angst

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greenwitchfromthewoods · 3 days ago

Note

Could you write something where Tess is jealous with how protective Joel is over you? Please and thank you 😊

thank you for this request. i hope you like it. have a great sunday, sweetie!

warnings: Tess is not nice to you, smuggling, talks of leaving QZ, Joel doesn't play much of a role in it

[my masterlist]

"Are you okay?"

You straightened up and adjusted the backpack that was weighing you down. "I'm fine." You mumbled.

A snort behind you made you turn around. Tess rolled her eyes. "She'll kill us eventually." she said.

"Really?" you replied. "That board would have collapsed under you too."

"I wouldn't have stepped on it."

"Right, your fucking sixth sense."

Tess opened her mouth to say something, but Joel raised a hand, silencing you both. You listened for a moment, but the building was quiet.

"We should go now." Joel finally spoke. "Let's go back. We have enough goods to trade."

You and Tess exchanged a quick glance, but neither of you said anything more. The tension between you was palpable. Tess had seemed irritated by your presence for a while now, and it was starting to tire you out. Like her and Joel, you were involved in smuggling and other work at Boston QZ. They needed someone to do a job, so you joined their team.

It wasn't immediately noticeable. It started with eye rolls, then verbal sarcasm. You felt like it happened every time you spoke to Joel or he made any kind of friendly gesture towards you.

Joel never mentioned whether there was anything more between him and Tess, and you hadn't tried anything more with him. It was just work. Yes, he was handsome, and you weren't used to anyone caring about you, even in the slightest. But that was Joel, wasn't it? He was grumpy and seemed distant from people. You could even say he didn't like people. But he tolerated you, unlike Tess.

It was late when you returned to QZ. It wasn't until the next day that you showed up at the apartment Tess and Joel shared. The woman was alone, but she watched with interest as you pulled more and more goods from your backpack. The loot had to be divided and exchanged for reasonable goods. Each of you wanted to gain something from it.

“Are you looking for a car battery?” you asked, sitting down at the table and watching Tess’s skillful hands sort through what you had brought.

She looked at you with curiosity and irritation. "Where did that idea come from?"

You shrugged. "Joel mentioned something." You replied and immediately noticed that the woman snorted. "I know someone who can help you."

She looked at you. "And you'll do it for free? Because you like me?"

You crossed your arms over your chest, ready for a verbal argument with her. “Do you want this or not? I don’t know why you’re so hard on me. I didn’t do anything to you.”

“Yes, Miss Perfect.” Tess snorted. “You don’t want anything in return because you expect him to be grateful.”

“Fuck!” you hissed. “Who would I want to please?”

“Joel, of course!”

Your mouth fell open in surprise. You were sure Tess was joking, but she was looking at you completely seriously. Your eyes went straight to the bedroom door. “He left,” Tess replied. “He had something to do.”

You leaned in towards her. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but me and Joel…”

“I know that.” Tess waved her hand. “But that doesn’t change the fact that it drives me crazy when I see the way he looks at you. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed! He’s always more caring and protective of you.”

“When it comes to you, he’s also…”

“He’s changed since he met you. He’s a hard ass, but I’ve known him for a long time.” Tess plopped down in the chair across from you and pushed her hair out of her face. “I have nothing against you, you’re strong and smart. You saved my life too, so…” she sighed. “We want to get out of QZ. Joel has a brother he wants to find. You could be useful.”

You looked at her like you didn't believe her words. Just yesterday you were ready to throw yourself at each other, and now Tess was offering you an escape from Boston. Madness.

Finally, you spoke up. "I can help you with the battery."

“I’ll go there myself. Thanks,” she said. “And you? Will you come with us? Joel will definitely ask you. He wouldn’t want to leave you here.”

"We're just friends." you assured her again, but the corners of her mouth turned up.

"For now."

You wanted to say something, but the door opened and you noticed that Joel was back. You quickly stood up from your chair. “I have to go back.”

“You don’t have to,” Joel replied, looking uncertainly at Tess, as if she was the reason you wanted to leave this place quickly.

However, you had already thrown your bag over your shoulder and passed him.

“Thanks for everything!” Tess quickly called out to you. You nodded and a second later you were gone.

Joel stared at the closed door for a moment longer, then glanced at the woman sitting at the table. “Did you say something to her again? Do you have to be so fucking mean to her?”

“Your little bird found us a battery,” Tess said, and was pleased to see the change in Joel’s face. “If we can figure this out, we can get out of here.”

Joel nodded. Tess smiled, then stood up and began clearing the table. “You should talk to her. She could be useful to us outside of Boston. She’s good.”

“I know she is.” Joel swallowed. “But is she…”

“Fuck, Joel!” Tess groaned. “You’re a grown man. Just go to her and do it.”

He nodded and glanced at the door, as if he had expected you to come in. Tess was right, she always had been. You could be useful outside of Boston, and he couldn't imagine you being left here alone. Yes, he would talk to you. You would leave this place together.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us

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at4-raxia · 3 days ago

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Mark Grayson x Ladybug!reader part3

(If you haven't read them yet I suggest you go check part 1 and part 2 to understand part 3 better)

Before you read: protective Mark, him and the reader are whipped for each other (more like obsessed to some degree), they are also really dumb, the variants want that cookie, suggestive, smut, dubious consent, dry humping, the reader is not okay, kidnapping, threatening, angst (because why not?), and lastly but not least, violence and blood. By the way, this is my first time writing smut so I really hope it came out okay at least, if not, I'm really sorry.

Synopsis: Running, escaping, evading. You do that better than anyone else. It's also the only thing you can do right now when distorted versions of Mark are trying to catch you with the goal to have you for themselves after their version of you bit the dust under different circumstances. While on the battlefield you don't only fight broken men, but yourself as you resist from crumbling under the weight of their words and acts.

("If I were that girl I would dump that guy on the spot" William scoffs while sitting on the counter.

"Did you hear what he just said to her? Like, I could not take that level of disrespect, no matter the guy" he adds before slurping his chocolate milkshake. It's late, the sun is setting and the warm orange hues make the bakery the perfect setting for a date.

Or an evening with your friends.

You're working overtime since your co-worker is sick, but you don't mind, especially when it's not rushing hour and your friends are here.

"The guy is not even that hot." Is your only remark as you rest your weight on the counter, your hand on your face being your only support as you look across the room towards the couple.

Mark—the most subtle out of the three of you—almost snaps his head around to look at the them, now suddenly interested in the conversation.

Because of this, the man notices you and whispers in the woman's ear, now both of them are laughing and you feel the embarrassment creep up.

"Great job Mark, now they think we're weirdos"

"I didn't mean to! I mean—you were also looking! And I was curious."

"Yeah, but turning your head around like an owl was not the way dude" says William, who's now savouring the chocolate cake, with chocolate cream, covered in chocolate and with chocolate sprinkles.

"But back to the topic, he is not bad looking [name], it's just his personality that's garbage"

"well he is not really my type" you answer, not really focused on Will as you clean around a bit.

"Oh, oh! Then what is your type then? What about french men?" There's a teasing tone, and a brow wiggle you don't see.

"I wouldn't know honestly." The response comes out of your mouth like water out of a pitcher, you weren't thinking about the consequences of your slip up when you said the words.

Well, at least until you turned around and saw both of your friends slightly shocked.

"What?" Your brows are furrowed, your confusion is evident.

"You were in the city of love and you didn't, I don't know, date anyone? Fuck anybody? Like girl, why did you even go to Paris at this point". You don't mean to blush, there's nothing to be embarrassed about when you have had your reasons to not make any kind of romantic experience, unlike the men in front of you.

It's meant to be a joke, but you can't help but feel a little ashamed.

"I was busy!" Is the only thing that you can come up with as you raise your voice slightly. Will just laughs as if this was the funniest thing in the world, news flash it's really not.

Especially when Mark is present and is staring at you with an expression you can't decipher.

"Well, there's nothing wrong with being a virgin".

This time Mark is the one that speaks, he is not really looking at you but William can see his half lidded eyes, his downturned eyebrows. At that he can't help but laugh even harder for your dismay. (Of course he is the one who says this, of course there's nothing wrong if you are a virgin. It's not like he deeply cares about whether or not you have had any kind of experience with other men, but the possibility of being your first makes him giddy.)

"Mark is right, the concept of virginity is misogynist anyway". With William's wheezes and Mark's unfocused gaze the conversation comes to an end.

You don't even want to know what that couple is even thinking of the three of you after this)

Your arms are tired, your body is aching. For the last few hours you have been straining yourself to try and keep up with this version of Mark, who's not exactly holding back.

"Babe really, I can't believe that you're better than half the guys I've faced. But you don't really need to do all this you know." He is floating in the air with a smirk forever plastered on his face, there are some cuts here and there and some of your blood along with his drips on the ground as he stands with his arms crossed.

"Have I told you already how hot you are in this costume? In my world you wanted to be a superhero too, a shame you didn't have these powers". You have swung him around all day with your yo-yo and you have conjured too many lucky charms to count as you've tried to lose him while on the run, but nothing, this cat and mouse game seemed neverending.

"I'm not your girlfriend or the version of me you know about, so don't call me babe", your voice is firm as you speak, it's tired too but you can't just give up now.

"Of course you're not her, she's dead. You're the upgrade."

You're horrified by the statement that's said so lightly, did this man even love your alternative version in his world?

"What—"

"Hey, hey. Before you say it, of course I loved her, that's why I love you." The words are like some sort of tautology, a statement that's always true no matter what. He says everything with so much confidence because he truly believes in his words.

"Because at the end of the day, no matter what universe, it's still you". He is quick as he reaches out to grab you, you manage to evade him but only by an inch as his hand grazes your skin.

As you conjure your lucky charm a weird device falls on your hands, but when you look at Mark you don't get how this could work against him.

It's not like he is giving you the time to think either.

"In every universe you're the kind hearted girl that sticks with a guy like me", he doesn't stop and you need to jump as he launches himself towards you. This time you're late and before your yo-yo can wrap itself around the last lamppost standing, he grabs your leg and slams you on the ground with enough force to leave you breathless.

"You're [name], you're the girl who loves to bake, the girl who is too nice for her own good". You don't have time to get up as he is immediately on top of you, you try to crawl away from him but it's useless as he just grabs your leg and pulls you back in his possessive embrace.

"The girl that in each universe falls in love with me, there's no exception out there, we're meant to be", the words are whispered in your ear and you suppress a shiver. Your hips are flush against his and you can't even move without bringing yourself closer to him, his eyes are clouded with anticipation and no more self restraints as one hand bruises your hips and the other rests besides your nearly concussed head.

He moves, slowly, tentatively, because he wants to savour this, to unravel you with care after not having you for so long. And you whimper as a jolt of pleasure hits your body, because what could you do if not that?

And he keeps doing this, content for now to just roll his hips against yours.

Your costume is barely any protection as you can feel every inch of him rub against you.

Your ponytails are undone and your hair is let loose creating a halo around you, you don't feel like an angel as you wrap your arms around his back, one of your hands clawing on the material of his suit.

The squelch of the two fibers against each other fills the empty street along with your suppressed moans and his audible ragged groans.

Late at night, in the dark of your room, in the privacy of your walls, you had imagined how Mark would sound, how he would feel as he makes his way inside you.

And this was wrong, tantalising, but wrong.

But you can't do anything about it, or maybe you don't want to do anything about it as your legs lock around his narrow waist almost on autopilot.

You feel dizzy, your cheeks warm and rosy as the hand that was gripping your hip moves to knead your butt. The thread that's keeping you together almost snaps as he keeps his rocking steady, with your little sounds, whimpers, moans and shudders as his only fuel.

He audibly swallows at your blissed out face and then he kisses you. It's messy, it's rough, it's all teeth and tongue, it's him sucking the air out of you like he'd die if he doesn't and it's you—inexperienced—trying to follow his lead. But it's loving, it's passionate, it's everything you had desired from Mark, your Mark.

Like in the romantic novels that you used to read (and that Mark bullied you for), the kiss leaves a string of saliva to connect your mouths.

"I'm so lucky that I got to you first" his breath hitches as he tries to remove your suit, not really knowing where to start since you would need to detransform to actually remove it

"Losers, all of them, fucking hate those assholes, especially your version of myself. All whiny and pathetic, a coward through and through". His inebriated gaze travels your whole body until it reaches your flushed face.

"But he's not here, the coward didn't even check on you personally". There's no one in this little evacuated area, not a civilian, not Eve, not Mark. You're just for his consumption now as he momentarily spits vitriol against your Mark, your dear Mark that is fighting tooth and nail right now.

You hadn't even texted him to reassure him you were okay.

Guilt seeps in as a few tears run down your face and your lip trembles, you don't let a sob run out of you but the face of the man in front of you changes.

(It was late, Mark's parents were already sound asleep but the both of you were still wide awake on the couch. Two blankets were wrapped around you as you're curled against your personal heater.

The movie you had chosen was tragic, not in the "oh no, doomed lovers!" sense, but more in the "I'm gonna make you cry every liquid inside of your body" type of movie.

There was only so much suffering your hormonal fifteen year old self could handle and eventually the dam broke.

"hey, are you crying?"

"Of course I'm crying, didn't you see how that little kid died? And his little friend was there, oh god" you sob as the snot fills your nostrils.

"It's just a movie...it's not even inspired by a real life event, don't cry.." he had never cried easily, probably something viltrumite.

You sniff, more like snort at his attempt to comfort you.

Before you can use your sleeve to wipe your tears, he is using his hands to remove them for you.

"I don't like seeing you cry, even if it's for a stupid movie", he almost cringes at how cliché he sounds. It's not like he can help it anyway when this is the truth, he just hates seeing you cry.

Thinking that maybe this was enough for one night, you rest your head on his chest and mutter something almost inaudible.

"Your movies are stupid".)

"Hey, don't cry, I'm here" it's awkward, it's guilty. His reaction is confused as he doesn't know what ignited your sadness.

Your arms are still wrapped around him as he kisses the tears of sorrow away, in a way that's too sweet for a merciless mass murderer.

The longer you cry, the longer you feel yourself coming back from that haze, because the guilt overpowers your desire, and suddenly you realise that you're still holding tightly your lucky charm.

And you see them, you see the possibilities.

You remember his weakness, the weakness all viltrumites had due to their constitution.

So you press the button on the little device and a sound comes out of it. Sharp, lethal, quick.

The man gasps and the sound he makes is terrifying. Blood oozes out of his nose and ears, it ends on your face and you don't care as you press the device against his ear.

He is trying to move, to choke you, to push your arm away, but he's too weak and with a deranged look that screams vengeance, he passes out on top of you.

Your head falls on the ground since the adrenaline is running out, you rest there with his body on top of you just like lovers would after a night well spent.

The sob that you were holding back before is finally free. You are relieved as you slowly use your last remaining forces to push him away from you, then with shaking legs you search for your yo-yo before making your way to your apartment.

You need to tell others you're okay, you need to tell Mark, you need to help others.

As soon as you enter inside your home through the window you collapse on the ground, your costume vanishes in a puff of pink and sparkles as Tikki gasps and flies towards you.

"[name]!" She's tired too, you've used your miraculous far more than usual. You didn't have a time limit like teenagers, but overusing it is still tiring both on the user and the kwami.

"I'm fine, I'm fine", you reassure her and yourself, "I just need to rest for a few seconds" you breathe through your mouth as your sweaty and hot body is pleased by the coldness of the floor.

"You should eat" you breathe out, "I need you to be in your best shape, or else we're not making it out alive". Tikki frowns at your answer, but gets to work as she thinks about how much time you have left before the man with the mohawk comes back for you.

Feeling a little bit better, a little less dead, you also get to work and you reach for your phone.

You answer various texts even if they're not online right now: Mark's, Eve's, William's. Even Debbie has tried to reach out to you as you look at the notifications on the phone.

Your parents have tried to call you.

Your face becomes as white as a sheet as you suddenly remember about your parents. You almost feel like puking at the possibility of them being hurt, or even worse, dead. Before you can tell Tikki to transform, you receive a call that makes your fear disappear for a second:

Mom is calling

You have never answered a phone call so fast.

"Mom! Mom.. oh my god" you choke out as tears of relief run down your face. "Are you okay? Where are you?" There's breathing at the other end of the line, your mother doesn't answer as you plead for everything to be alright.

"Mom? Mom, are you okay? Please, tell me something", your fear comes back tenfold, since once again you don't hear either of your parents' voices. Instead you're met with muffled sounds, distorted, but not too far away from the person that is holding the phone. There's rustling, a muffled cry and then finally a chuckle.

It's dark, twisted, but it's Mark's.

"[nameee]", the variant drags your name out of his tongue, almost tasting it, as if he hasn't said in a long time. "Where are you, [name]? You weren't home when I checked. But I got a little surprise for you, you can call it a little gift", he laughs as he moves the phone closer towards your parents. They are gagged, tied up on a chair and a bit roughed up, not too much, but enough to make them alert about his every move.

And they are afraid, so afraid. Because this psycho version of Invincible wants you, their little girl, and you can feel them trembling throughout the call as the both of them choke on the gag.

"See? They are fine, just peachy. But they would be even better if you just told me where you are", there's a hint of frustration in his voice, because why were you not at home waiting for him when he had arrived at your house? He had found your worried parents instead. But he doesn't need to worry, because you always give in to him, especially when it's about your parents.

(And he knows better than anyone how much you love them.)

Your teeth almost shatter, anger consumes you as the bastard on the other side of the call keeps your parents hostage, and for what? So he could have his way with you just like the other passed out viltrumite?

"You bastard!" You scream as your fist clenches tightly enough to draw blood with your nails. "I'll kill you, I swear I'll kill you when I see you".

There's silence on the other line, and then a loud boisterous laugh that makes you seethe, you bite your lip as a way to dissipate some of the rage, but it's useless and now the taste of iron feels your mouth.

"Oh come on dear, don't make me laugh, just tell me where you are right now and I'll come and get you".

"What if you just tell me where you are instead". Tikki has stopped eating, instead she is listening carefully.

"[name]", now he sounds cold, icy, like a man that wants control and demands respect, "I'm not playing around, if you don't tell me where you are right now I will murder your parents, and trust me I've been hitching to do it a second time".

Then you beg, because you need more time, more time to think about something.

"Please, just, just let me come to you, don't hurt them, please". Even if you're pissed, you can't play around with the lives of your parents. It's almost impossible to stay still after this piece of shit has just said that he would gladly kill them again.

From the other line you hear a disturbing sigh, one of pleasure, a sigh that belongs to a beast that is appeased.

"I just love when you beg, you do it so nicely too. A shame I can't see your face". Making a decision is difficult, you could tell him where you are but you're not sure after his revelation that he wouldn't kill them just to see your reaction.

"Do you remember that abandoned factory? The one we always went to when we needed some time away from everyone else?" You do remember it, but that wasn't the purpose of the building for the both of you. You and Mark had found the place after a whole day of exploring the outskirts of the city, but you rarely ever went there.

"I—I thought you were closer to where I am now" you mutter.

You can almost feel the way the expression on the other Mark's face changes, you can view the way the fabric of his mask creases due to his eyebrows furrowing from confusion.

"Where are you [name]?" You can taste the desperation rolling out of him in waves. You don't know if he will buy this, but Mark was never the sharpest tool in the shed compared to you.

"I am sorry, I just—I forgot that I'm not in the USA right now. I just panicked when you said you would kill my parents." You say everything fast, trying to fake being panicked in the best possible way.

"I'm in Paris right now" you say the address of your aunt's old apartment, now empty as she has moved out of it a while ago.

"You need to come get me..".

A beat, a shaky breath as your parents are almost screaming as they understand that you have given up your location.

"You're really lucky that I'm in a good mood today", the phrase almost feels like deja vu as you remember the Mark with the mohawk saying something similar.

"Ah, and wear something nice" he adds, before hanging up.

As soon as the call ends you're in the air suited up and running as fast as you can. You zap from building to building as you hope, no, as you pray, that by some miracle you were going to be faster than him.

Hello! This was fun to write, honestly a roller coaster since I've never written smut before but there's a first time for everything I guess. This was shorter than the other parts since my Easter break is almost over and I need to prepare for a big exam. Anyways thank you for reading and see you next time <3

#invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #invincible show #mohawk invincible #mohawk mark #mohawk mark x reader #mohawk mark x you #invincible x fem!reader #invincible fanfic #invincible comic #sinister mark #sinister mark x reader #sinister mark x you #mark grayson x you

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sirxlla · 3 days ago

Text

What Song Sounds Like Your Relationship With Him (Batboys)

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Dick:

Dick knows how lucky he is to have you, he's used to men trying to pick you up and flirt with you. Of course, you'd apologize to him, and he'll tell you he understands.

"Love, Any guy who didn't flirt with you would have to be clinically dead to not see how amazing you are."

When guys get too aggressive or won't leave you alone, he's not afraid to fight a dude for you. Of course, both you and him hope it never comes to that, but on occasion, he has had to get bailed out after fighting for you. Dick knows the value of what he's got and he's not gonna let anyone take that from him.

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Jason:

Being with Jason meant that every second felt like the future, past and present all rolled into one, it feels like truly being alive, like the wind in your hair when he'd take you for a ride on his motorcycle. He's very in the moment all the time and you often have to remind him to slow down.

Jason's very loving and reassuring to the point it feels like worship sometimes. He wants you to know how loved you are, he doesnt for a single second want you feeling that you dont matter part because he loves you but part because he never wants anyone he cares about to feel unloved the way he has before. Jason doesnt want you for a single second think that he doesnt love you. He loves you and you completely, not a single person would think otherwise and he hopes that includes you.

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Bruce:

It's in small moments like this, where everything would just fall into place, a slow moment with you, your eyes gazing into his. Where the two of you danced and the world faded away where he was reminded of why he does what he does, why he's Batman. Where everything felt safe and secure.

Bruce danced slowly with you, your right hand on his shoulder, his left hand on your waist, the other hands hand in hand. Bruce didnt often get to slow his life down and be with you which he often regrets but seeing you here like this makes his heart yearn for more time with you, for the night to never end.

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Tim:

Tim and you had been best friends for a while, it was just small glances and the accidental brush of a hand and he was done for. He fell in the love the way time passes slowly but all at once. Time slowed with you but also just ramped on like a roller coaster.

He was in love before he he knew he was in it. Holding your hand, driving you around places, volunteering to fix your car and little things like that.

"Hey, um...what are we?" You ask randomly one day while you two are hanging out.

"You're my girlfriend. Right?"

"Am I? You never asked." You laughed as the both of you never made that agreement.

"Well, I'm asking now. You wanna be my girlfriend?" He knew the answer but it wasnt gonna hurt to ask about it offically.

"Yeah." You said nonchalantly since the bith of you had essentially been dating for about six months, you had only asked just to make sure there were no mixed messages.

"Just yeah?" He laughs at your short and simple answer as he looks into your beautiful eyes.

"Just yeah." You whisper and confirm with a smile on your face, it's simple and easy between the two of you and you wouldn't have it any other way.

Damian:

You'd been warned on how "mean" and "cruel" Damian is but from the instant you saw him there was just something about him that just sucked you in like a whirlpool. You'd been warned time and time again that "he was raised an assassin" and "he's not great with people" but nothing anyone told you even remotely turned you off of the idea of Damian.

You watched him sharpen his swords from a distance. For some reason he never seemed to notice until Bruce pointed out to him how much you seemed to watch him which interest Damian because everyone kinda thought he's so mean but you seemed to think the opposite.

Once you and him started dating, you really got to see how sweet and soft he could be, how gentle. To everyone else he was this mean big bad wolf but when its just you and him, he was like a sweet adorable puppy.

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-> Masterlist

-> Send me prompts if you'd like

#batboys #batboys x reader #jason todd x reader #damian wayne x reader #jason todd #dick grayson x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #batman x reader #red hood #damian al ghul x reader #damian wayne #red robin x reader

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whitecompri · 2 days ago

Note

instead of my other request , since it seems to be already being written. Could i ask for werehog! Sonic, silver , shadow and scourge x reader? In the sense that they all got hit with some dark gaia energy and turned into werehogs.

Werehog Trouble

Pairing: Werehog!Sonic x Reader; Werehog!Shadow x Reader; Werehog!Silver x Reader; Werehog!Scourge x Reader

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comedy

Rating: T (Teen)

Warnings: Light Swearing

A/N: Thanks for the request! I've been wanting to write something with them in werehog form for a while now. So it was perfect for me to get motivated and write, thanks, I hope you like it!

Sonic

The sun was already setting on the horizon that day, and Sonic's calm footsteps echoed down the empty street, accompanied only by the sounds of birds nesting in the trees and dogs barking at nothing in particular in the distance.

The hedgehog held the last piece of his Chili Dog, which he'd been eating on the way, chewing slowly and enjoying the gentle breeze of early autumn. In his other hand, he carried the small shopping bag from the day, returning to you so he could make dinner. He began walking along the curb, balancing playfully while still casually eating his snack.

After a few seconds, he finished chewing the last bite of his Chili Dog, and that’s when his eye caught a strange glint coming from the street gutter—something silver gleaming in the last lights of twilight.

Narrowing his eyes, Sonic approached, examining the strange glow meticulously. He crouched near the gutter, finally realizing it was a kind of ring. Maybe someone had lost it.

Reaching out, he picked up the object, seeing that the ring had some strange writings on it—ones he didn’t understand but had definitely seen somewhere before.

He stood up and looked around the street, searching for anyone who might have lost the ring, but there was no one there besides him.

Without him noticing, a bluish smoky energy surrounded the ring in his hand, dissipating the moment it touched his fur.

Sonic looked back at the object, raising an eyebrow. He walked over to a bench and placed the ring on top, hoping that the person who lost it might come looking for it later.

Turning around, he resumed his walk home.

--*--

The first rays of sunlight began to shine through the window of your shared bedroom. You frowned, uninterested in waking up. You rolled over in bed, not wanting to get up so early.

That’s when you noticed something—the side of the bed where your boyfriend slept was strangely more sunken than usual. Slowly, you opened your eyes and noticed something else. A heavy breathing sound, like that of a powerful creature.

You quickly turned your body, eyes widening at the sight of the enormous, dark blue-furred creature curled up in the corner of the bed.

Raising an eyebrow, you felt confused. You knew about your boyfriend’s transformation into what they called Werehogs, but you’d never seen it in person—let alone known that he could transform like that out of nowhere.

Reaching out, you poked his shoulder.

“Sonic...? Wake up...” Your hand shook his shoulder, but all you got was a grunt.

When you insisted more, he began to stir, turning toward you in his sleep, and his huge paw wrapped around your waist, giving you no chance to escape, pulling you into a tight hug.

You let out a squeal as you were squished against the soft fur of his chest. Looking up, you saw his face—peaceful, still lost in deep dreams, his heavy breathing brushing against your forehead.

Frowning, you decided to take drastic measures to wake your sleepy boyfriend.

After a lot of effort, you freed your hand from the grip of his arm. You quickly pressed your fingers against his nose, waiting. In a few seconds, he snorted, his eyes flying open, pulling back slightly as he looked around in confusion.

Then his green eyes focused on yours, and he gave you his usual half-smile—but in this canine form, it looked terrifying with his large visible fangs.

“Good morning, babe... Was I snoring?” Sonic asked, worried. Only then did you notice how much deeper and more powerful his voice sounded, reflecting the strength of his massive wolf form.

You raised an eyebrow, waiting for his still-drowsy mind to process what was going on.

Sonic looked puzzled, raising an eyebrow back, bringing his hand up to scratch his head. When his hand came down, his eyes locked onto his fingers, seeing the long claws, and the fur much thicker and darker than usual.

Immediately, his eyes widened in shock, looking down at himself in terror, seeing his Werehog body. After taking a moment to assess himself and confirm that he had really transformed, he looked back at you.

“What happened?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing. I woke up and you were already like this.” You crossed your arms.

“That’s weird... Something like this wasn’t supposed to happen anymore...” His eyes shifted to the window and the rays of sun flooding the room. “And it’s already morning... I wasn’t supposed to still be in this form.” He looked at his outstretched hands, trying to make sense of what happened the night before.

But he couldn’t remember anything unusual. He just remembered coming home, eating dinner, watching some movies, and going to bed with you. Nothing felt different—it had seemed like a completely normal night.

“What do we do?” you asked, looking at him with concern.

“For now, I guess you’ll just have to live with your Werehog boyfriend. Trust me, I’ll go back to normal soon.” He gave you a quick wink and his usual crooked smile, showing his fangs.

“Well, at the very least, let’s avoid going outside. We don’t want anyone getting scared of you out there...” You turned, grabbing your phone. “I’m going to call Tails. Maybe he can think of something to help you change back.”

But before you could even dial, your attention snapped to your boyfriend, who was now scratching himself like a dog—his leg moving to scratch behind his ears, his head slightly tilted.

After he finished, he gave himself a good shake all over, then focused his eyes on you as if nothing had happened. Only then did his eyebrows raise, realizing what he had just done.

“That’s weird, I’ve never done that before...” He looked down at his leg, confused.

“You’re like a wolf. Didn’t that ever happen during that adventure you told me about?” you asked.

“Actually, no... Back then, I gained this same form, but I didn’t act like a wolf all the time—at least not like this...” He crossed his arms.

“Okay, must be a one-time thing. Let’s just stay calm and figure it out with time.”

“Like I said, it’ll probably pass soon. No need to even tell Tails. And I won’t get into much trouble, don’t worry.” He pointed to himself.

“Alright... so should we just sit and wait?” you asked hesitantly, watching him nod eagerly.

“It’ll be a great chance for you to enjoy the company of your handsome big bad wolf.” He chuckled, giving you a subtle wink, his paw gently holding your hand with a tenderness that didn’t match his appearance.

“You’re always so full of yourself...” You shook your head, laughing.

“That’s why you fell for me.” He leaned in, pressing his muzzle gently against the top of your head affectionately. Even in the form of such a powerful creature, he would do everything he could to treat you gently.

--*--

You had your fingers pressed against your temple as you tried to focus on some important household papers at your desk. As you analyzed the document, you began reading the first paragraph when you heard it again—the sound of four heavy paws running through the house.

Your head subtly turned toward the door, catching only a blur of your boyfriend dashing down the hallway toward another room. Sighing, you refocused on the documents. But just as you started reading again, the sound of those paws returned—this time even faster—making your eyes widen. You set your pen down on the table and stood up from your chair.

Stopping at the doorway, you crossed your arms, waiting. In less than a minute, you saw him run out of the shared bedroom. Something was in his mouth, but Sonic didn’t stop, rushing past you and heading to the living room.

Confused, you raised an eyebrow, following in the same direction, wondering what the hell he was doing.

However, when you stopped in front of the living room door, your eyes widened. The massive Werehog stood facing the couch, on top of which was a mountain of socks—both yours and his. His tail wagged nonstop from side to side.

Then, when you least expected it, he grabbed a few socks and started stuffing them under the couch, leaving your jaw hanging in confusion.

“Sonic... What do you think you’re doing?!” you asked, stepping into the living room. Your boyfriend jumped in surprise, letting out a small whimper, making you even more confused by his reaction.

Then, a few seconds later, his green eyes widened, focusing on the pile of socks on the couch. He quickly stood up on two legs again, clearing his throat.

“I-I, well, I was just counting the socks... Yeah, I needed to count them—they were such a mess...” He gave you a sheepish smile.

“Counting them and then hiding them under the couch?” you raised an eyebrow at him.

"About that..." He scratched the back of his head, averting his gaze, unsure of what to say.

Shaking your head, you extended your hand, palm up, signaling for him to stop.

"You're acting like a domesticated dog. Is that supposed to be normal?" You asked, placing a hand on your hip.

"Not exactly..." He looked down at himself. "It's instinctive... I couldn’t control it..." He sighed.

"How about you take a walk in the backyard? No one will see you, and you'll get some fresh air. It might help you clear your head, okay?" You stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder with a smile.

Sonic smiled back, leaning in to press his forehead against yours.

"Alright, babe. I'll go relax on the lawn for a bit."

"I'll make lunch in the meantime." Leaving a quick kiss on his cheek, you stepped away, heading to the kitchen.

--*--

Turning off the stove, you grabbed the handles of the pan, lifting it and placing it in the sink. You sighed in satisfaction, pleased with everything you had managed to prepare. Resting a hand on your hip, you suddenly remembered—you had sent your boyfriend to relax in the backyard. Worried about him, you turned and walked toward the back door.

Turning the doorknob, you opened the door with a creak, and the moment the backyard came into view, your eyes widened again, your jaw dropping.

In front of you was a scene that resembled more of a battlefield than your once well-kept yard. The lush, vibrant green grass was now completely dug up, and at the center, you spotted the dark blue fur of the Werehog, still busy digging more holes, his massive paws working nonstop, flinging dirt behind him, creating small mounds.

Looking around further, you noticed some of your plants had been completely uprooted from their pots, and parts of the fence were covered in deep scratch marks.

Placing a hand on your forehead, you froze, trying to process the scene. In the meantime, your boyfriend’s green eyes locked onto yours, and he gave you a goofy smile, sticking his tongue out as he panted like a dog—looking oddly proud of his work, almost like a mischievous Blue Heeler that had never been properly trained as a pup.

With quick steps, Sonic trotted over to you, something held between his teeth. He sat down right in front of you, his tail wagging excitedly. Lowering his head, he dropped the object at your feet.

Now that you were closer, you finally noticed the state of his fur—completely covered in mud.

"Hey, babe. I found some cool stuff in the yard," he said with a cheeky grin. "Oh, and I found your plumbing too..." His smile grew even wider.

That’s when you realized in horror that the object he had dropped was a piece of the house’s plumbing. Glancing at one of the holes, you saw a massive puddle of water beginning to form.

Still too stunned to react, you stood frozen in place, unable to process what was happening. Sonic wasn’t supposed to be acting literally like a wolf—or anything close to this—so this wild, instinct-driven behavior had to be another side effect of his bizarre transformation.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you finally met his gaze.

"You're taking a bath first... then I'll deal with this leak... This is getting out of control, Sonic. Try to hold back these instincts." You crossed your arms.

"I feel great, babe, no need to worry." He gave you another playful grin before turning to trot back into the yard. But before he could, you were faster, grabbing him by the ear, making him whimper softly.

"I said you're taking a bath!" You began dragging him along.

"No, no, no bath! I have holes to dig..." He resisted, trying to break free from your grip.

Grunting with effort, you pulled him toward the house as he dug his heels in, practically dragging along the floor. Of course, you knew he wasn’t using even half of his strength. If he wanted to, he could’ve easily dragged you instead.

After an exhausting struggle—along with plenty of whining from him—you finally reached the bathroom.

"Get in the tub." You pointed, and he let out another soft whimper, pouting at you.

"Sonic..." Your eyes narrowed, and the second he noticed your threatening tone, he immediately jumped into the bathtub, splashing water everywhere. The water darkened almost instantly from the sheer amount of dirt in his fur.

"I didn’t want a bath..." He crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at you.

"I don’t care... Do you even realize what you did?" You stared at him seriously.

"Of course I do! And it was really fun." He chuckled softly.

"You’re out of your mind, aren’t you..." You muttered, realizing that this transformation wasn’t just affecting his appearance—it was messing with his mind and behavior too. "I’ll be right back. I need to fix that plumbing issue." Rubbing your forehead, you left him in the bathroom, already knowing it was going to be a mess by the time you got back.

--*--

After shutting off the water supply to stop further leaks, you made your way back to the bathroom, preparing yourself for the worst—expecting a chaotic, uncontrollable disaster.

However, to your surprise, when you walked in, there was no flooded floor or broken objects. Instead...

Right in the middle of the bathtub, Sonic was staring upward with a huge grin, completely focused on the bubbles floating in the air. At one point, his smile turned mischievous, and in a swift movement, he lunged forward, snapping his jaws around one of the bubbles, catching it between his teeth.

Then, he just sat there for several long seconds, staring into the distance, his ears folded back.

These instincts were really hitting him hard.

But even so, you couldn’t help but notice just how adorable he looked—covered in soap, playing around like an oversized puppy. It warmed your heart in an inexplicable way. Maybe taking care of your Werehog boyfriend wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

--*--

Wiping the sweat from your forehead, you placed the broom back in the laundry area. Stretching a little, you looked around the house, searching for your boyfriend. But there was no sign of him inside.

Walking into the kitchen, you peered out the window and spotted the mass of dark blue fur sitting on the lawn, staring into one of the holes in the ground, his tail wagging.

Well, at least he wasn’t digging anymore. Just watching.

Not thinking much of it, you continued on your way to the bathroom, preparing to take a well-earned relaxing shower.

Before long, you finished, wrapping yourself in a clean towel as you stepped out to head to the bedroom and change. But as soon as your feet touched the floor, they met nothing but the cold surface—your slippers were gone.

Glancing around, you found nothing unusual, nor any sign of where they had disappeared to. Then, realization hit you—Sonic must have taken them. And if you didn’t hurry, he was probably going to destroy them.

Tightening your towel around yourself, you rushed through the house, searching for him, heading straight to where you’d last seen him—the backyard.

Stopping beside him, panting, you watched as his tail wagged happily, his tongue hanging out as he breathed heavily.

"Sonic... Don’t tell me you took my slippers..." You took a deep breath, regaining your composure. That’s when your eyes landed inside the hole—and what you saw made them widen in shock.

It wasn’t just your slippers in there. He had taken all the slippers in the house.

"What exactly were you planning to do with these? Were you trying to bury them?" Your voice came out irritated as you knelt down, reaching in to pull out all the slippers and a few other random shoes, setting them on the grass.

"More or less." He said proudly, crossing his arms.

"You can’t just take my shoes and try to bury them! If you keep this up, I’m gonna have to put a leash on you and keep you tied up until this whole canine phase passes." Gathering as many slippers as you could, you began to stand.

That’s when he surprised you by suddenly biting one of the slippers, snatching it from your hands, staring at you with mischievous green eyes.

"Sonic... Give me back my slipper..."

"Come get it."

And in the blink of an eye, he dashed off, paws thudding heavily against the floor.

Before you knew it, you were chasing him through the house, searching every corner. Your eyes scanned the walls—now covered in muddy paw prints. That’s when you realized—not only had he gotten himself filthy again while burying the shoes, but now he had also left your entire house a mess.

Finally, you found him—lying on your bed, tail wagging contently as he gnawed on your slipper like a chew toy.

Exhausted, you sat down beside him, sighing heavily, barely able to wait for this whole wild wolf phase to pass—so he could go back to being the hedgehog you had learned to love.

Then, you felt something pressing against your back. Turning your head a little, you saw Sonic, resting his forehead against your back. He let out a few soft whimpers, looking at you intently, then wrapped his paws around you, pulling you closer, drawing you into a hug.

It was a warm hug, the perfect cure for all the physical exhaustion you were feeling. Slowly, you wrapped your own arms around him, savoring the contact with your boyfriend, who remained gentle, even though his mind was completely taken over by instincts.

There was still a long way to go before the day ended, but you were sure you could handle anything just for him.

--*--

Finally, after solving almost all the problems, you sighed and sat in a chair at the end of the day. Your eyes focused on the hallway, seeing the huge paw prints on the floor and traces of his filthy fur on the wall.

Putting a hand to your forehead, you shook your head. You had never had such a packed day before, let alone dealing with a hyper Werehog turning the house upside down.

Your eyes locked on him, your boyfriend, sitting on the floor, resting like a domestic pup, curled up into himself. His eyes were on you, and when he noticed you watching, his tail began to wag.

"Hey babe..." He winked at you, making you chuckle. At least his personality was still the same, even if he acted like a real wolf now.

"Come eat, I made some things you like..." you said softly, watching as his ears perked forward with interest. He quickly got up, pulled the chair, and sat down awkwardly.

You started eating, only hearing the sound of his ravenous bites. When your eyes moved up, you were surprised to see his plate already empty, while he licked his muzzle, looking satisfied. "It looked like he had inhaled everything in a vacuum, without even chewing."

"I’m gonna go fix the room so we can sleep, babe, I’ll wait for you there."

He gave a small smile, leaving the chair and walking quickly to the bedroom, the sound of his claws against the floor echoing through the hallway.

You sighed, smiling. As much trouble as he gave you, he was extremely cute like this.

--*--

Stretching your arms, you yawned, walking toward the bedroom to finally rest after such a crazy day. The night would probably be calmer, and you hoped he would be too.

However, as soon as you stepped into the room, you were surprised yet again that day, startled by the mess in the room.

Your boyfriend was adjusting fabrics with his paws on the floor. He had made a pile of pillows, blankets, and sheets, forming what looked like some sort of nest to your eyes.

Looking confused, you crossed your arms, watching his determination to build that, for who knows what reason.

"Sonic... what are you up to now?" you said softly, making him turn to you with a smile.

"I’m making the perfect place for us to sleep together." He winked at you, turning back to continue his work.

"No, nope, not happening, I’m not sleeping in that thing, you're just making a mess." Getting closer, you pulled the blanket, getting even more surprised when he sank his fangs into the fabric.

"It took me a while to prepare this place..." he said, his voice muffled.

"Sonic, if you rip my best blanket, I’m going to use your fur to cover myself tonight." Hearing your threatening tone, his ears folded back, and his mouth opened, releasing the fabric. "Thank you. Now, help me put this back in place."

He slowly began picking up the pillows, placing each one in the right spot.

It had been a full day, and you could hardly wait for the next one, hoping everything would go back to normal.

--*--

When the first rays of sun hit the window, you groaned, waking up little by little, not even wanting to think about another day dealing with your stubborn Werehog boyfriend.

However, when you turned in bed to get more comfortable, you didn’t feel the mattress sinking. On the contrary, the mattress was as normal as ever, and your boyfriend’s breathing had returned to being light and almost silent.

Opening your wide eyes, you looked ahead, feeling deep relief as you saw your usual favorite blue hedgehog right in front of you, just like every day.

Sighing happily, you wrapped him in a tight hug, making him wake up too. His eyes began to open, and Sonic yawned, wrapping his arms around you.

“Hmm, good morning, babe. So much enthusiasm this early.” he said, giving a lazy smile.

“You have no idea... I’m just happy you’re back to normal...” your whispered words left him confused. Propping himself on one elbow, he looked at you.

“Back to normal? What do you mean?” he raised an eyebrow.

That’s when it hit you.

“You don’t remember anything?” you looked at him, surprised.

“Is there something I should remember?” he chuckled softly, placing a hand on your cheek.

“Well, I guess nothing too important...” a mischievous grin crept across your face. “But let’s just say you’ve got a lot of work today... scrubbing dirt off the walls and floors, fixing a pipe, washing some sheets, patching a few holes...” As you counted each thing off with your fingers, Sonic’s expression turned to one of surprise.

“What the heck happened here yesterday anyway?” he asked, eyes wide.

“I can tell you more about how you almost destroyed the house while you fix the mess.” Your finger playfully poked his nose, making him quickly shut his eyes.

Sonic kept staring at you, stunned. You laughed. Dealing with Werehog instincts had been a huge challenge, but right now, you were just grateful to have your boyfriend back to normal.

Shadow

The day was already turning into night. The heavy steps of the black hedgehog’s shoes echoed through the market as he scanned the shelves, searching for what he had come for. It was a small misfortune: he had completely forgotten to buy his coffee beans.

The hedgehog huffed, finally finding what he was looking for on the shelf. His hand reached out, grabbing his preferred brand, but as soon as he took the package off the shelf, something caught his attention.

Right underneath where the package had been, there was a small silver ring, forgotten by someone in such an unlikely place.

Raising an eyebrow, Shadow looked at the object, confused. His free hand reached out, picking up the ring and meticulously examining the object, taking in the unknown engravings that adorned it.

Sighing, he simply squeezed the object into his palm and headed to the checkout to pay for the coffee.

As he walked, he didn't notice the blue smoky energy that wrapped around his hand, disappearing as it touched the fur on his arm.

Reaching the checkout line, the hedgehog simply opened his hand over a lost-and-found box, letting the object fall inside along with some coats, wallets, and other items people tended to lose inside the market. With that, he paid for his purchase and headed home.

--*--

The first bird songs of the day began, and you let out a small grunt, snuggling deeper into the soft white fur you loved resting your head on. However, something felt off. The soft fur seemed bigger than you remembered from the night before, so you slowly opened your eyes to check.

However, your eyes didn’t meet the familiar form of your boyfriend. Instead, you found yourself lightly pressed against a wall of black fur, with the tuft of white fur on the chest looking even fluffier than you had ever seen — even fluffier than you were used to with Shadow.

You slowly pulled away, taking a better look at the new form. It was definitely Shadow, but now he had protruding claws, fangs showing on his muzzle, and looked about three times fluffier than usual, making you feel an immense urge to hug him just out of curiosity.

However, it wasn’t the time for that. What you really wanted was to understand how your boyfriend had literally turned into a monster overnight.

Your hand moved closer, poking his muzzle. He only twisted a little from the discomfort but didn’t wake up, so you poked him again, this time harder. His eyes quickly opened with a grunt, focusing on you.

He seemed irritated at first, but his expression soon softened when he noticed your confused and surprised look. Concerned, he reached out his hand to hold yours.

“What happened...” It was at that moment that he noticed, pulling his hand back before touching you. He looked at his palms, then the back of his hands, his eyes widening as he intensely focused on the changes in his body.

"Shadow... you... you turned into some kind of monster," you questioned hesitantly, only to see his large ears fall to the sides.

“No... this is... it's called a Werehog. It’s a transformation hedgehogs go through under certain circumstances, but... it has never happened to me before." Shadow crossed his arms, sighing exasperatedly.

"Do you think something last night could have triggered this?"

"Maybe, but I can't think of anything extreme. I didn’t fight anything unusual last night... and by now I should have turned back to normal." He observed his whole body, analyzing the changes from the transformation, his voice deeper than usual too.

"Alright... how about we have some breakfast first? Maybe with time, this will pass, right?" Your voice came out more worried than you expected as you got up from the bed.

However, you froze when you heard a sharp noise, a growl that quickly progressed into a constant and loud sound, eventually becoming a powerful howl. You quickly turned your head to watch the scene.

Shadow had his head raised, eyes closed, his mouth slightly open as he let out a loud and melancholic howl. A few seconds later, he stopped, lowering his head and opening his eyes, focusing his red irises on you.

Almost immediately, he caught your confused expression. His eyes widened when he realized what he had just done, feeling his face heat up as he quickly looked down.

"Sorry... I don't know what came over me..." You gave him a small smile.

"Hey, it’s okay, it happens, it’s something related to the transformation, no need to worry." Approaching him, you held his heavy and powerful paw, pulling him to go have breakfast.

--*--

You held a plate at the kitchen counter, drumming your fingers rhythmically against the surface, waiting for your toast to be ready. You shivered again hearing the same dramatic howl as before. Shadow had howled at least three times already, and each time, the high-pitched sound was enough to give you chills, especially because of how loud it was, easily causing a huge discomfort in your eardrums.

Your gaze shifted behind you, seeing him sitting on the floor, an impassive look on his face as he stared at the window, carefully watching every bird flying by.

Scratching your neck, you turned to grab the toast. Apparently, this wolf side that had come with the transformation was affecting him more than necessary. But at least he still seemed docile, at least with you, and wasn't posing a danger to the neighborhood, so there wasn’t much to worry about. If it was a normal hedgehog transformation, it should pass quickly too.

However, when you turned around again, you frowned, not seeing the huge black-furred Werehog where he had been before. Your eyes scanned the whole kitchen, searching for him, but there was no sign of Shadow anywhere.

As soon as you placed the plate on the table, though, an orange flash emanated from where he had been sitting before, revealing your boyfriend back — but this time, he had something in his mouth.

You looked, startled, seeing that it was a raccoon. The small animal squirmed frantically, trying to escape Shadow’s jaws, but he seemed to only be holding it firmly in his mouth, without any real intent to hurt it, at least for now.

"Shadow, what are you doing with that poor animal?" you asked, approaching him.

"Hunting..." he said in a muffled tone, twisting his muzzle and growling when your hand got too close to his mouth.

"The raccoon isn’t your snack, I made toast for us!" You crossed your arms, getting irritated with him. His ears pinned back, and in the blink of an eye, he teleported again, coming back a few seconds later without the raccoon in his mouth.

"I hunted it as a gift for you..." the Werehog said seriously, slowly sitting at the table.

"Raccoons are not presents!" You tried to argue simply, but Shadow just let out a small huff, reaching for a piece of toast and biting into it.

Finally, you allowed yourself to relax, eating your toast peacefully and enjoying your breakfast. That is, until you shivered again, hearing the sharp sound of the Werehog’s dramatic howl. Looking ahead, you saw him once again with his face turned upward, pouring all his motivation into that howl, and from that moment, you knew it would be a long day.

--*--

The broom you were holding slid across the floor, picking up the dust and black fur that accumulated around the house. Every now and then you found one of his quills lying around from where he scratched himself.

Picking up the dustpan, you began sweeping the dirt when a loud thud startled you, making you jump and spill the dirt all over the floor again. Frowning at the mess below, your gaze shifted to the source of the noise, spotting your boyfriend with a huge branch in his mouth, trying to get through the kitchen door.

Shadow looked irritated at the branch, probably having tried to enter but the branch didn’t fit through the doorway, making him slam into it. Growling, the Werehog began tilting his head sideways, trying to fit the branch through the doorway to get inside.

"Shadow, where are you going with that?" you stopped in front of him, crossing your arms.

"...Gift..." his voice came out muffled due to the branch in his mouth. He fixed his eyes on yours, observing you impassively.

Putting a hand to your temple, you sighed, then stretched out your hand to pull the branch, helping him get inside. If he wanted to give you gifts, no matter how strange, who were you to refuse?

Thus, making way for him, you allowed the Werehog to carry the huge branch into the living room, placing it on the floor. He wagged his tail subtly before, in a flash of orange light, he disappeared from the living room.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you went back to sweeping the house, focusing on gathering the mess again.

However, after a few minutes finishing sweeping and mopping, you stopped at the living room door. Your eyes widened immediately upon seeing Shadow sitting on the floor, in front of him, an enormous pile of junk.

Branches, leaves, flowers, newspapers, objects belonging to the neighbors — everything was piled up in one place. Shadow slowly turned to you, looking at you seriously with his red irises.

"I suppose all of this is... gifts?" you questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"...Yes," Shadow answered shortly.

"You have a strange way of showing affection, you know?" you let out a soft laugh.

He only grunted quietly in response, looking away, his ears drooping to the sides, which you found to be an extremely cute reaction from him.

"Why don't you calm down a little from bringing me things and try to get some rest? Sometimes when you wake up, you might already be back to normal," you walked over to the couch, sitting down and picking up the TV remote, your boyfriend still watching your every move carefully.

However, instead of answering this time, he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with air. Your eyes widened when you realized what he was about to do, but before you could stop him, the long and hoarse howl started, making you recoil in discomfort, feeling the pain in your eardrums return due to the loudness of the howls.

Sighing, you placed your palms over your ears, figuring he would stop soon and return to talking normally.

--*--

You tossed and turned on the couch, pressing the pillows against your ears, staring at the ceiling with a frown. At this point, things had gotten extreme; you couldn’t even watch TV anymore because your boyfriend wouldn’t stop howling constantly, staring out the living room window.

Your eyes focused beside him, seeing the pile of gifts he had brought you. You only feared that he would bring a rat, especially after remembering that he had tried to bring you a raccoon earlier, but luckily—and to your relief—that hadn't happened so far, mainly because he was too busy howling.

"Shadow... There's not even a full moon, why are you howling?" you asked with a desperate tone, starting to feel that the loudness of the howling was becoming unhealthy.

"I can't control it..." the werehog answered seriously.

"Pretty soon the neighbors are going to call the police to investigate, you know that?" Sitting up on the couch, you stared at him.

Suddenly, he stood up, taking long steps with his paws toward you.

He climbed onto the couch, pressing his forehead against yours. You smiled softly at the unexpected gesture of affection. That was, until your face was completely buried in the fur of his neck. Shadow started rubbing his neck against you.

Your hands quickly flew to his fur in front of you, grabbing and pushing it out of the way, giving you a small space to breathe.

"What’s this about now?" you questioned quietly, struggling to push him off you.

"I'm marking you with my scent..." Shadow answered briefly, summing up the rubbing session.

"Just what I needed... Shadow, you're going to suffocate me like this..." you continued struggling. Then you realized. "Actually... go on... Better you rubbing yourself all over me than nearly making me deaf with your howling..." You relaxed slightly, allowing him to continue rubbing his fur on you.

"My territory..." he murmured quietly, proud of his work.

"Alright, you silly wolf. I always knew you had a bit of possessiveness in you..." you laughed, running your hand through his fur.

And with the warm feeling of his fur against you, even if a bit much, you slowly drifted off to sleep along with your boyfriend.

--*--

The sun began to rise early in the morning, lighting up the living room where you had fallen asleep last night with your boyfriend. Grunting, you raised a hand to rub your eyes. As your consciousness began returning to your body, you noticed something—you no longer felt the same weight of the Werehog on top of you.

Slowly looking down, your expression softened. Shadow was still lying on top of you, hugging you, but he was no longer a Werehog; he had returned to normal, back to the hedgehog you loved.

Although you were relieved he had returned to his normal form, deep down you were going to miss the feeling of his fluffy fur against you.

Placing your hand on his cheek, you caressed him. He sighed contentedly, opening his red eyes to observe you, slowly waking up and tightening his hug around you.

"You finally stopped howling..." you teased, laughing. Shadow widened his eyes.

"I thought it had been a dream..." he looked away, placing a hand over his face, probably embarrassed.

"It was very real actually... Especially when you nearly suffocated me with your fur trying to rub your scent on me to mark territory."

"...I was out of my mind," he said, closing his eyes and frowning, not quite understanding how he had lost control like that. But in fact, that Werehog transformation was very powerful, enough for the creature's instincts to awaken and overpower his willpower.

"It's okay..." you pulled him closer in the hug. "At least I got to feel the softest fur I've ever seen in my life..."

You heard just a low ‘hmpf’, and you instantly knew he was subtly blushing, even if he refused to show it to you.

And in the end, what mattered was that you loved him unconditionally, no matter what form he took.

Silver

His fingers brushed through the leaves of the tomato plant, carefully analyzing each one, checking if they were healthy. The white hedgehog was always very attentive when it came to his plants; he wanted to make sure they had the best life possible.

Giving a brief smile, Silver stepped aside, kneeling on the grass in front of another tomato plant, looking for pests or leaves that indicated a sick plant.

That's when, in the dim twilight, his eyes focused on something right under the tomato plant. Raising an eyebrow, his hand reached for the shiny silver object, seeing that it was a ring.

But what was a ring doing here? And he didn’t remember you having anything like that. He held the ring in the palm of his hand, looking around, trying to figure out where it might have come from.

However, while he was distracted, a smoky blue energy began to emanate from the ring, climbing up his arm and dissipating when it touched his light fur.

The hedgehog levitated using his psychokinesis, looking for a possible owner. When he found no one nearby, he simply used his powers to guide the ring to the most likely owner—the neighbor behind his house, who was closer to where he found the ring. Placing the ring on a table over there, Silver returned to the ground, sighing. Then, he shrugged, heading back inside. After all, it was almost dinner time.

--*--

Your eyes opened subtly when the first morning lights filled the room. Grunting, you snuggled deeper into the blanket, trying to keep warm from the morning chill.

Turning over, your hand instinctively reached out for the comforting presence of your boyfriend, as well as his body heat.

Your hand landed on the mattress, failing to find him. Frowning, you moved your hand forward to search for him again, but still with no success.

Thus, your eyes quickly opened, scanning the spot beside you. It wasn’t common for Silver to leave the bed so early like this, and a wave of worry washed over you.

Throwing the blanket aside, you sat on the edge of the bed, standing up and opening the bedroom door. Your eyes focused on the lit hallway leading to the bathroom. Walking quickly, you stopped in front of the bathroom door, knocking.

"Silver? Are you okay in there?" you called for him, but there was no immediate response. "Are you feeling sick? If you want, I can get you some medicine..."

"No, it’s okay, I’m not sick..." his voice came from inside, but it sounded deeper than usual, breathless and worried.

"Can I come in?"

"I-it’s better if you wait out there..."

Gritting your teeth, you mentally apologized to him before suddenly opening the door, startling Silver and making him jump.

For a second, when you saw him, your body froze in place. Standing in front of the sink, staring at you with frightened golden eyes, was Silver. However, he had a larger form, with a powerful appearance.

"Sorry... I just wanted to come in to help you..." you said quickly.

"It’s all good, I guess... At least you didn’t run around screaming..." he looked at the mirror, staring at his own canine-like form.

"What happened to you?" approaching him, you observed the monstrous form.

"I turned into a Werehog... For some reason I don’t know," he crossed his arms, gritting his teeth and frowning.

"Werehog? Like a werewolf?" you placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah... sort of, I thought it was impossible to turn into one just like that..." he placed his huge paw over your hand. "I just don’t want to hurt you, okay? So... I want you to keep some distance until this passes..."

"Silver... I'm sure you won’t hurt me, okay? Come on, let’s go back and sleep a little more, it’s still too early..." you walked ahead, waiting for him to follow you.

Stopping at the bathroom doorway, you turned to say something else but widened your eyes at what you saw.

Silver, who had been standing still before, was now frantically running on all fours in circles in the middle of the bathroom, his eyes focused. Finally, after a few seconds, he stopped, panting, his wide eyes locked onto his small tail.

"Almost got it..." he said softly.

"Silver?" you called, confused by the situation.

He jumped a little at your voice, quickly standing back up.

"Sorry, my love... It just seemed... really tempting to bite my tail out of nowhere..." He stared at his tail for a few more seconds before shaking his head and following you. "Forget that happened, alright? I'm feeling these wolf instincts running wild..."

"Alright, I guess?" you shrugged, holding his paw and leading him to the bedroom to go back to sleep for a little while.

--*--

Yawning, you sat at the kitchen table, placing your plate of pancakes in front of you. Silver was already sitting with his own plate, eating slowly, lost in thought about the events of the day.

Sighing, you grabbed a fork, cutting a piece of the pancakes and bringing it to your mouth, chewing slowly, your eyes focused on the huge werehog sitting near you.

Wiping your mouth with a paper napkin, you crumpled it up, aiming carefully and tossing it towards the kitchen trash can. Suddenly, a white blur dashed across the kitchen, and before you knew it, sharp teeth caught the paper ball firmly.

Silver walked over to you, placing the ball on the table, his gaze now serious, focused, but his eyes gleamed with amusement.

"What are you doing, Silver?" you asked, picking the ball up again. As soon as your hand touched it, Silver's tail started wagging rapidly. Growing more confused, you decided to test something.

Aiming again, you threw the ball at the trash can, but this time, Silver didn't even move. Before the ball could land, it was enveloped in a cyan-colored aura, floating in midair, returning to the table and gently landing in front of you.

When your eyes refocused on Silver, he had a huge smile on his muzzle, proud of what he had just done.

"Yeah, congrats, that was impressive... but your pancakes are getting cold, and I still need to throw this paper away." Content with your words, Silver nodded, walking back to his chair, sitting down and focusing on his plate, eating.

--*--

Finishing washing the last plate, you placed it on the drying rack, grabbing a towel to dry your own hands, when you heard heavy footsteps approaching and stopping right behind you.

Curious, you looked back and saw your boyfriend, ears down, holding a paper ball in his mouth again, his golden eyes focusing eagerly on you.

"You want me to throw the ball?" you asked, taking it from his mouth. Silver nodded subtly.

Softening your expression, you aimed and threw the ball. Your boyfriend's eyes followed its path, and with a small whimper, he started running across the kitchen after the ball, pushing off with his hind legs and jumping up to catch it midair with his mouth. Then, he looked at you proudly, his tail wagging rapidly.

"Very good, Silver," you praised, laughing.

Then, unexpectedly, he jumped again, using his powers, wrapping himself in his cyan aura, doing a flip in the air before floating back down to the floor, looking at you proudly once again.

"Nice trick, but isn't that cheating?" you laughed, crossing your arms. He slowly trotted over to you, getting close, and your boyfriend started rubbing his side against your legs, almost knocking you off balance with the strength he didn’t realize he had in that form. Your hands grabbed his soft white fur, petting him.

You had to admit, he was actually very cute like this, and his soft fur was a pleasure to run your hands through. However, as much as you loved his fluffiness and would love him unconditionally in any form, you still wanted him to return to normal so you could hug your favorite hedgehog properly again.

But for now, you allowed yourself to just enjoy petting the huge werehog in front of you.

--*--

By the end of the afternoon, as the day began to darken, you sat on the couch, grabbing the TV remote, wanting to relax. Looking to the side, you saw your boyfriend lying on the floor, belly up, just staring at the ceiling. Despite his tricks of catching paper balls or anything else you tried to toss into the trash, and chasing his tail, he had remained silent all day, sometimes a little shy because of his form.

However, he never left your side throughout the whole day, keeping an eager eye on everything you did.

Now, he was just lying there, deep in thought. Then his golden eyes lowered, focusing on yours. He spent a few good seconds watching you until he moved, sitting up, and then walked over to where you were on the couch, whimpering softly.

"Hey, what's wrong?" you said softly to him, smoothing down his fluffy quills as he got very close.

"Can I lie down with you?" he asked quietly.

"Of course you can, you don't even have to ask," you said, patting the couch to invite him up.

He quickly climbed onto the couch, curling up to fit, resting his head on your lap. After settling down, he stretched his arms before wrapping them around your waist.

"Would it be too much to ask you to rub my belly?" he chuckled.

You smiled at his request, your hand quickly resting on his belly, starting to pet him. The werehog laughed, his leg beginning to move involuntarily, indicating how much he was enjoying the affection.

"Your fur is so fluffy..." you said out loud as your hand slid over your boyfriend’s furry belly.

"I thought you would be scared of me... not like this form..." Silver looked away.

"How could I be scared of you when you're always this cute?" you laughed. The hedgehog looked away, blushing slightly.

You smoothed down his quills, petting him and making him feel comfortable with you.

--*--

After a long day of taking care of your werehog boyfriend, you finally lay down in bed for your much-desired nap, covering yourself with the blankets, just waiting for Silver to join you.

You heard his little paws as he entered the room, approaching the bed. Then he started climbing onto the mattress, but, different from what you expected, he didn’t lie down on his side of the bed.

You only felt the pressure of his body against your back, his paws placed on each side of your head as he settled himself down, lying on top of you.

"Silver... I just think... you’re a little heavy to do this as a Werehog," you said softly, pressed against the mattress.

He murmured quietly, understanding, shifting his body a bit to the side, easing the pressure off you. Sighing in relief, you settled down again, feeling quite comfortable with his warmth so close.

And little by little, you began to fall asleep next to him.

--*--

With the first rays of sunlight, you started to wake up, yawning, stretching your arms, still feeling Silver pressed against your back while you remained lying on your stomach. Turning your head slightly, you smiled happily, seeing that he had returned to normal and was the same adorable hedgehog you had fallen in love with.

Carefully, you pulled him closer, turning around to face him. With that, he grumbled, starting to wake up. When his golden eyes locked onto yours, he gave a brief smile before his eyes widened, and he jumped up into a sitting position.

Silver looked at the palms of his hands, checked his body, and touched his head to make sure. Then, he closed his eyes and sighed in relief.

"I'm so glad I'm not a monster..." he chuckled softly, looking at you. "I don’t remember falling asleep on your back... So I guess it really all happened, right?" he hugged himself.

"Well... yes, it happened, but don't worry, you were a very polite and well-behaved werehog, my love." Your hand firmly held his, and the hedgehog gave a wide smile.

"Ah, really?" he scratched the back of his neck slowly. "I'm glad I didn’t hurt you..."

"I already told you, you would never hurt me, Silver." Your fingers intertwined with his affectionately, earning another bright smile from him. He leaned closer, pulling you into a tight hug.

You knew your boyfriend’s heart would never change, no matter what form he was in.

Scourge

Leaning his back against the post in front of the house, the green hedgehog watched the street's movement at the end of the day. Huffing lightly from boredom, he brought the energy drink can he was holding closer, using his claw to pop the tab open, bringing the can to his mouth and taking a long sip, sighing contentedly.

Lowering the can, Scourge watched the street again, seeing some people coming back from work, kids playing in the distance, but nothing interesting to do.

Finishing the drink, he crushed the can in his hand, throwing it into a nearby trash can with precision. Crossing his arms, he huffed again, pushing himself off the post.

Maybe you had already finished cleaning the house and wouldn't smack him if he tried stepping inside, so Scourge started heading back home, opening the small front gate and stepping onto the front lawn.

However, just as he took the first step, something curious caught his attention—right on the concrete path leading to the front door, a small silver object gleamed under the last rays of sunlight.

Raising an eyebrow, curious, he walked over, kneeling down and picking up the object, finally seeing that it was a silver ring with several inscriptions on it.

Smirking slightly, he slid the ring onto his finger over his glove, observing it critically to see how it looked. He let out a low chuckle, running the finger of his other hand over the ring’s inscriptions.

It was at that moment that a small bluish mist started to emerge from the ring, swirling around his hand.

Scourge's eyes widened at the sight, not understanding if the ring was magical or something. Not wanting to stick around to find out, he quickly pulled off the ring and threw it into the street.

Grumbling and cursing under his breath, he wiped his hand over the other as if cleaning it. Then, shaking his head irritably, he continued walking into the house, wanting to forget the whole thing had happened.

--*--

In the morning, you were woken up by a strange sensation, something sharp clinging to your waist. You hissed quietly, moving on the bed, trying to get rid of your boyfriend’s claws that were gripping you.

Grumbling in irritation, your hand reached for his, but the moment you touched him, your eyes shot open wide, feeling the thick, fluffy fur that was completely unlike your boyfriend’s normal texture.

Quickly pulling away, you jumped in fright upon seeing the huge form he had taken—a dark green furred creature, sleeping peacefully. However, when he flexed his claws and didn’t find you, he frowned, his ears tilting backward.

Opening his eyes slowly, Scourge looked at you, confused.

"What happened? Why ya lookin' at me like that?" He sat up on the bed, still sleepy, not noticing his own appearance.

“Maybe because you turned into a monster?” you said, in disbelief at the situation.

"C'mon, I wasn't even snorin' that loud..." He rubbed his eyes, trying to understand what was going on.

“No, Scourge... You literally turned into a monster!” you said, gesturing with your hands.

His eyes widened as he looked down at himself, and his expression changed to one of horror, realizing he had indeed turned into some kind of monster.

"What...? How'd this happen?" He narrowed his eyes, trying to understand what had triggered his transformation. “Listen, babe, don’t worry... I think this is called a Werehog, but it’s not permanent...” He moved closer to you, placing his paws on your waist.

“Okay, you still seem like yourself... I think everything will be fine if it’s just for a little while.” Scourge gave a small, brief nod, then started pulling you closer, wrapping his arms around you.

He nuzzled his muzzle into your head, letting out a muffled chuckle.

"But ya can tell me, babe... Ya kinda liked my new form, didn’t ya?" He smirked, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. You playfully punched his shoulder, making him let out a small huff.

The green hedgehog then tucked his muzzle into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent, showing you that even in that form, he didn’t want to hurt you at all.

You had started to relax in his arms when your eyes widened again from a sharp pain in your shoulder, caused by sharp fangs pressing against your sensitive skin.

In a quick movement, you pulled away from him, bringing your hand to your shoulder to check.

He hadn’t bitten hard enough to truly hurt, but it was strong enough to leave a mark—something that, whether you liked it or not, was a habit of his to mark you. However, in that form, it was much more painful.

"Sorry, babe... I dunno what came over me... I didn’t mean to bite ya, but when I realized it, I was already doin' it." He crossed his arms, seriously eyeing the bite mark on your shoulder.

“It’s okay... Let’s just get up, have breakfast, and start the day, alright?” you said, turning and getting out of bed, ready to start your day dealing with your werehog boyfriend for a day.

--*--

Placing your plate on the table, you sat down with Scourge to have breakfast. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position on the chair that was now way too small for him in that form.

Grabbing a piece of toast and taking a bite, you chewed as you watched him squirm, growling as he tried to settle into a position that didn't hurt.

When he finally managed, his paw reached up to adjust his sunglasses, which were now way too small for him too.

"This is so damn annoyin'..." he muttered, growling again before finally grabbing a toast from the plate and shoving it whole into his mouth, chewing.

“Do you have any idea how you suddenly turned into a werehog?” you asked curiously.

"I think it was some dumb ring I found yesterday out in the yard. Slipped it on my finger, and it let out this blue kinda mist..." He clenched his fists on the table.

“Was the ring familiar?” Setting your fork down, you started paying closer attention, getting interested in what had happened.

"Nah, never seen it before in my life, but I’m sure it caused this. A hedgehog don’t just turn into a werehog overnight without somethin' like that." He said irritably, staring at his hands. "If I find out who did this... I swear they’re gonna pay..." he growled through gritted teeth.

“Hey, calm down, no need to get all stressed. Just focus on keeping yourself under control until you go back to normal. I don’t want to see you getting mad in that form.” You got up from the table, grabbing your plate and heading to the sink, turning on the faucet to wash it.

But at that moment, you heard a sharp cracking noise. Jumping in fright, you quickly turned around, looking for the source of the sound.

Your eyes widened at what you saw.

Scourge was on the floor, his fangs sunk into one of the legs of your table, the wood cracking in half, scattering debris across the floor. The green werehog growled, shaking his head, causing the wood to split even more.

Suddenly, before you could react, the table collapsed to the side where Scourge was, and he tore the leg off with a strong pull, biting into the wood rapidly.

You stood there frozen, unable to believe what you were seeing. You knew he had a temper when irritated, but he had never done anything like this before.

Then, his blue eyes snapped back into consciousness, widening. He quickly opened his mouth and spat out the piece of wood, making disgusted noises.

"What the hell...?" He ran a paw over his tongue, trying to get rid of the wood splinters. Then he looked at you, confused.

“Don’t look at me like that, you’re the one who just destroyed our table,” you said, crossing your arms indignantly.

"Ugh... I’ll fix it later..." he said, getting up from the floor and walking away.

You let out an exasperated sigh. You could already tell it was going to be a long day.

--*--

After sweeping up the last pieces of what used to be your table leg, you threw everything into the nearby trash can, scratching your head.

You looked around; it had been a while since Scourge had left the kitchen, and you hadn't heard any noise from him either.

Suspecting something, you walked through the house, down the hallway, heading toward the living room.

As soon as you reached the doorway, your eyes widened again.

Your living room, once tidy and organized, was now filled with sofa stuffing scattered everywhere like snow. In the middle of that chaotic scene, you spotted some green quills moving through the mess.

Frowning in irritation, you walked over to your boyfriend, finally spotting him on top of the couch. The furniture was completely torn open as Scourge delighted himself in biting into the remaining stuffing, ripping it out and tossing it aside, his tail wagging frantically.

"Scourge! What are you doing?" You called out to him, but the werehog only looked at you with a smug little grin before returning to his destructive activities.

Irritated, you extended your hands, grabbing his thick fur and struggling to pull him away from your couch.

"Stop it, you delinquent, I don't want you vandalizing my living room!" He whimpered and squirmed, trying to stay on the couch, digging his claws into it.

"I'm serious, Scourge, you better swallow those instincts, or whatever that is, and get away from this couch before I throw you out along with it!" You yelled, and this time it seemed to work, as his ears pinned back, he let out a low growl, retracted his claws, and stepped away from the furniture.

"I dunno what’s gotten into me, I can’t control it... I think I’ll head to the bathroom, at least there ain’t much there to wreck..." He closed his eyes, accepting his fate of locking himself away from you, before dramatically turning and walking out of the living room.

You were left alone there, staring at the complete destruction of your once-comfortable couch. Sighing, you pressed your fingers against your temple, thinking about how you would fix all of this.

--*--

Finally, after an entire day of trying to clean up the mess Scourge had made, you managed to sit down on the chair at the table, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.

Throughout the day, your boyfriend had spent quite a while silently in the bathroom, lying curled up on the rug, probably trying to control himself in that form.

Now, you had gathered all the remains of your couch, only missing the task of taking the furniture itself outside, but you would wait for your boyfriend’s help with that.

That was when you clearly heard the sharp sound of porcelain shattering. Immediately, you squeezed your eyes shut, already knowing what to expect.

Standing up from the chair, you quickly walked toward the bathroom, beginning to hear the heavy, hurried footsteps running around inside the small space.

Stopping in front of the door, you slowly turned the doorknob, peeking inside, letting out a low groan when you saw the state of your bathroom.

The porcelain from what used to be your toilet and sink was scattered all over the floor, while the werehog ran frantically around, bumping into everything, and for a moment you wondered if you could put him up for adoption.

Opening the door wider, you spotted a huge hole in the wall, probably caused by him crashing into it or something similar, as well as claw marks everywhere.

Clearing your throat loudly, you caught Scourge's attention, who suddenly stopped, looking at you, startled.

"Uh, I was just testin' the bathroom’s toughness..." He looked away, not wanting to meet your gaze.

"Sure you were..." Scratching your neck, you looked around the room. "I'm going to make you clean and fix all of this when you go back to normal..."

He looked at you with his ears drooping to the sides, letting out a low growl, as if recognizing the mess he had made.

"Come on... I'm going to keep an eye on you now, maybe that'll stop you from destroying the house." You turned to leave, and Scourge promptly followed you closely.

--*--

Your hand slid through the fur on his head, feeling some of his quills occasionally prick you subtly. Scourge was lying next to you on the bed, with his muzzle buried against your side, one possessive paw holding your waist close.

You, on the other hand, were sprawled relaxed on the bed, using your free hand to scroll through your phone, checking social media updates.

He let out a long sigh, snuggling impossibly closer.

You thought he was finally calmer. That was until you felt his fangs start to press into your waist again, sending a shiver of discomfort through you.

"Hey, hey, no biting..." You tried to make him stop, but he only growled, biting a little higher up, making you jump slightly on the bed from the pain. "Scourge!"

Your hand grabbed his muzzle, trying to push him away, but it was impossible to fight against his desire to mark you. And if you didn't stop him now, he wouldn't stop until you were covered in sharp, canine bites.

That's when you had an idea.

Rubbing your finger against his nose, you made him scrunch his muzzle in discomfort, sniffing hard to try to fight off the tickle and the urge to sneeze.

Meanwhile, your hand quickly grabbed a belt you had on the nearby nightstand.

And the next thing Scourge noticed was a piece of leather tightly wrapping around his muzzle, making it impossible for him to open his mouth and use his sharp fangs for anything.

He let out a displeased growl, frowning. When his paw started to reach up to try to pull off the belt, you held him, pulling him into a hug.

Scourge looked curiously at your now more relaxed expression, and even though his heightened instincts told him to mark you as his mate, he managed to control himself, for you.

Closing his eyes slowly, he began to drift off to sleep.

--*--

Scourge gritted his teeth as the first rays of daylight invaded the bedroom window, waking him up. Opening his eyes in confusion, he noticed the belt on his muzzle and reached up to remove the object, looking to the side to see you waking up slowly as well.

"Hey, babe..." He called you, turning toward you.

"...Yeah?" You replied sleepily.

"Either I had the craziest damn dream of my life... or I got wasted yesterday... Ya remember what I did yesterday?" He asked quietly, you opened one eye to look at him, then yawned and sat up in bed.

"Actually... I do remember... You..." Your finger pressed against his chest above his scars. "You turned into a wolf monster out of nowhere, destroyed my table, destroyed my couch and my bathroom, and then left bite marks all over my waist..." You said seriously, waiting for his reaction.

His eyes widened in surprise.

"What...?" Quickly sitting up in bed too, he looked at himself, seeing his normal body. However, he did feel as if he had used some kind of powerful form; his body ached subtly and felt heavier than usual. "I didn’t hurt ya, did I?" He asked, frowning.

"Relax... you would never hurt me." You leaned closer, giving your boyfriend a small kiss on the forehead. "Now, my love... You better wake up early and get to work cleaning everything..." You gave him a sly smile. "Better not waste time, there's a lot to clean up, you know..." Giving his nose a playful tap, you lay back down again, snuggling under the covers.

"I’m gonna want a little somethin' later, babe... To make up for all this work..." He mirrored your sly smile.

"No way, you’re the one making up for destroying my house yesterday..." You frowned at him.

"Don’t worry, I’ll clean up so good you’ll feel bad and wanna give me a gift..."

"We’ll see..." Laughing, Scourge got up, stretching and getting ready for a long day.

#sonic x reader #sonic the hedgehog x reader #shadow x reader #shadow the hedgehog x reader #silver x reader #silver the hedgehog x reader #scourge x reader #scourge the hedgehog x reader

113 notes · View notes

fernslivers · 3 days ago

Note

do you have any thoughts about mizu meeting a girl in london? maybe like a nobleman’s pretty daughter who’s somewhat similar to akemi.

maybe she’s arranged to be married to some rich man who had a hand in trading with japan, and mizu needs information from him, and reader volunteers to help her on the condition that mizu gets rid of the guy for her. she’d rather not marry a man at all, but especially not him.

unlikely friendship turns to romance? mizu realizing this girl is actually tough as nails under all the satin and silk ^^

really latched onto the butchfemme realness that is all my mizu ideas lately

Ooooooh, I DO have thoughts. This is a great prompt!!

This one is a longer timeline so I did a mix of prose and bulleted headcanons, I really hope that's okay! I could see this becoming another 10K fic and I just did not have the time for that atm 😭😭

I really hope you can enjoy the mix anyway, anon!!

TW: forced marriage, implied gross male behavior, man threatening a woman with a knife, canon-typical violence/murder

Raised voices from the entrance hall catch your attention.

Before your music tutor can stop you, you slip from behind the virginals and scurry through the door, your train catching on the floor; in your haste to avoid being called back, you forgot to pick it up.

The upstairs hall opens onto a balcony that overlooks the entrance hall, which is where you can see the servants arguing loudly with someone at the door. You can hear them insisting repeatedly in English that “the lord”--your father–isn't home. A voice outside the door shouts again, louder, to be heard over them, “Routely. Where…is…Routely?”

Their English is accented, and both the name and the accent strike a chord in your chest.

Routely. Your betrothed–reluctantly on your part.

It's because of your betrothal that your father has insisted you learn Japanese, as a way to charm him, to show eagerness. Something you could have told him was worthless; Routely is clearly aware of your reluctance, and almost seems to enjoy it. It's bad enough to know you're soon going to be shackled to a man that could be your father, and even worse to know that he sees his bride’s discomfort and relishes it. You'd give almost anything to escape this wedding.

Still, you're curious; by that accent, this visitor is not from London. Your tutor, an equally disgusting fellow called Skeffington, was supplied through one of your betrothed’s networks, and he isn't Japanese, himself. You've never met anyone from there.

“Let them in,” you call down from above. The servants turn, looking startled to see you staring down from above, the picture of a haughty young Lady. They start scrambling to protest, even as they bow nervously.

“But–my Lady, your father isn't home–”

“It isn't appropriate–receiving men with no chaperone–”

“And you being betrothed–...”

“I said…” Your every syllable clinks with ice, “...Let them in.”

The servants look at each other; weighing the cost of direct disobedience to you versus the possible latter cost of getting blamed for this if it reaches your father’s ears.

Your temper is well-known. They bow again, and throw open the door.

The man that strides in takes your breath away. You reach out subtly to grasp the railing in front of you. Your face remains impassive, even as you convulsively squeeze the railing to power through the weakness in your knees. That stare, so intense… even with such a look of wary aggression in his face, suddenly you understand why any girl could possibly anticipate a wedding night with any joy.

“Welcome, sir,” you greet him in what you assume must be heavily accented Japanese. Despite that, you see his eyes widen, so he must understand. “My father is the lord here, but Sir Routely is my betrothed. Is there something I can help you with?”

At first, Mizu is just shocked to hear her mother tongue from a white face

It's pretty much the only reason she doesn't immediately get aggressive with you when she hears you're to be married to him

Of course, you invite “him” for tea, you're curious to know more about her country

And of course she accepts, she wants your information

Tea is extremely tense at first

You're so nervous that you come across as haughty and proper

Mizu reacts to this by being her usual snippy self, which, given your immediate crush, hurts your feelings a little

She sees your delicate face and all the jewels and silk, and can barely stop herself from scoffing right to your face

And you resent her obvious disdain, knowing there's more to you than the appearances you're required to keep up

Things make progress when she tries to congratulate you on your upcoming wedding

The combination of dread at the thought of it, your unhappiness about her snarking at you, and your sudden realization of feeling desire for the first time and knowing you'll never get to actually follow through, it's all too much

You burst into tears.

Mizu freezes, teacup halfway to her mouth, looking like a deer in the headlights

With Akemi, she knew exactly why the girl was crying, but why are you crying? What did she do??

You warble through your tears that you hate that man, he's horrible, you don't want to marry him, you don't want to marry any man at all, and he's the worst–

Mizu sets the cup down slowly, and then tries to figure out where that weird “handkerchief” thing went in these stupid foreign clothes.

She comes over to sit on the same couch as you (scandalizing!!) and blankly holds it out to you.

“I think we'll be more than able to help each other.”

Lo and behold, she's right.

She expected you to be upset by the idea of the murder, and is pleasantly surprised when you're onboard.

The problem is, you've really fought the whole “getting to know you” thing with Routely, so you just don't know much about where he goes or what his schedule is.

Mizu promises that if you agree to start acting more warmly with him, and try to plumb him for info, she'll definitely kill him before the wedding night.

You suggest that she replaces your old tutor, telling your father that she can teach you more flawless Japanese

Unbeknownst to Mizu, since you never mentioned his name, Skeffington slips through her fingers–for now.

(Skeffington is none too happy, as, secretly, he was using your house as a front for some of his trading, to make it harder to trace, and now he's lost access.)

You meet once a week.

Your father is elated that you’re finally taking your lessons seriously, and Mizu has to admit that drawing wages has helped her a lot with bribes and such for her work.

You give her whatever info that you have, and as a bonus, you teach her the customs she needs to blend in, along with a little more English

As it turns out, she did study the entire two-year journey, Fowler deliberately taught her bad pronunciation and incorrect etiquette just to fuck with her

Now that she has a friendly and helpful source of information and education in English, Fowler loses his bargaining chip.

BYE BYE.

The next week when she arrives, you notice a dried spot or two of blood on her doublet.

She freezes when you ask about it.

Oops

You don't scream or call for the guards, which impresses her, even if she thinks it's a little naive.

You just tell her she can't walk around like that, and insist she gives her doublet to you so you can clean the blood off it.

One thing leads to another–mayyyyybe you were a little hasty opening the door as she changed–and that's how your crush turns into Baby’s First Gay Panic

No wonder you finally felt desire for a man, if it wasn't a man!

This new level of secret-sharing just continues to deepen your friendship

Now you're kind, beautiful, clever, and you're helping her with her revenge, and you're fine with her gender?

Mizu might be swooning a little herself, but she tells herself that you’re a delicate flower, you're not meant to follow the path she does.

All the same, once a week starts to be not enough time together.

Instead of teaching you Japanese or learning English, Mizu wants to tell you about her home; about Ringo, and Sword-Father, and Madam Kaji and Akemi, even Taigen.

She even explains why the sword hanging at her waist looks so different from the sabers and other swords you're used to seeing the other men carry.

She wants you to know her, fully even if she doesn't understand why

And you open up about more than just Routely’s weekly information; your stifling upbringing, the odious behavior of your betrothed, the backstabbing, shallow friendships of upperclass female society.

Your allotted time flies by and you're not ready for her to leave.

So, she starts sneaking up the wall of the manor into your room. Sometimes during the day, sometimes in the evenings.

What else does she have to do? She only cares about getting her revenge. And seeing you.

You leave a specific statue on your windowsill wherever you're in your room and the coast is clear

This goes well for some time, and you're getting very close to a plan for Routely, when one day…

It's the day of a holiday, there's a festival going on in town. Your father is there presiding over it, many of the servants are given the day off to go to the fair. You plead off with a headache, already anticipating the luxury of a full day with Mizu.

You hear the telltale click of her tapping on the window to be let in. But just as you open the window for her, someone comes slamming through the door of your room.

Mizu ducks down quickly, out of sight, listening.

She hears you demand, “What do you think you're doing?” In your most snobbish tone of voice, and she would have smiled with amusement if she wasn't dangling perilously off the side of a building where anyone might see her.

Above, through the window, she hears: “Thought you'd put me out of a job, eh, little lady? Too good for my tutelage, with that pretty little nose in the air?”

You back away, groping behind you for the statue. “Get out, before I call my father.”

Your old tutor advances on you, his eyes glinting, a twisted smile on his face. A knife, thick and brutish, glints in his hand.

“You think old Skeffington is simple do you? Everyone is away, little girl… nobody here to save you now–”

A blur of blue whooshes past your face, and a metal clang echoes as Mizu’s sword is only barely blocked by the thick knife.

Skeffington falls back, shocked, but quickly recovers.

Mizu is extremely good, but Skeffington’s fighting style is very, very different, and she wasn't expecting a fight today.

In these damn constricting clothes, she can't maneuver like she wants to, and at an inopportune moment, she stumbles.

Skeffington tackles her, pinning her to the floor. She barely manages to grab his wrists before his knife plunges into her eye. The point dangles perilously, slowly starting to descend as his entire bodyweight gets out behind it.

She's kicking and thrashing, trying to get free, when suddenly–

THWACK

His eyes widen, then go unfocused, as he slumps, revealing you standing over them both with the bronze statue still raised for a second blow.

For a second, Mizu stares at you, beyond impressed, possibly a little turned on

…Before wasting no time, finishing the job without worrying about honor. This is her job–she only cares that they're all dead.

You watch without flinching, your mouth set in a grim line.

He deserved it.

When the deed is done, Mizu turns to you, and there's something lighter in her face, as though a heavy burden is lifting from her shoulders.

“Only one left,” she says, sounding almost in awe. She smiles at you with more peace than you've ever seen in her before. “I think the gods may have sent you to me.”

It should chill you to see her so happy after murder, but instead, you smile back. You feel the same way about her.

She stands, and despite the blood on her hands, she reaches out and grips yours. You squeeze back; the blood is shared between you now.

“We are very close to Routely, and then I'll be free,” she sighs, breathing in deeply.

But you feel a pang when her next words are “and i can go where i wish, perhaps home.”

Oh no

You try to keep your smile on your face, to be brave for her and not selfish, but you don't know what you'll do without her

But then, her grip tightens, and she tugs you a little closer.

She looks almost nervous, but determined, as your heart beats faster to feel the warmth of her body so close

“Come with me.” She says, and your eyes widen in such absolute shock and joy that you're speechless.

When you don't immediately respond, her expression crumbles ever so slightly, and she adds, very softly, “... please.”

You're kissing her before she can blink, and it's her turn to be in shock

But not for very long

The long, free day was put to good use in the end, after all.

#mizu #mizu x reader #blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #bes mizu #bes #mizu bes #bes x reader

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winxanity-ii · 23 hours ago

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⌜Godly Things | Chapter 52 Chapter 52 | the sacred and the stupidly loved⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

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Eventually, the two of you strolled along the edge of the port now, the salty breeze kicking at the hem of your cloak. The water slapped softly against the stone, sunlight winking off the waves like thrown coins.

You found yourself talking—words slipping easier now, warmer.

"And then," you said, grinning a little, "this merchant—this idiot—tried to back me into a corner."

Hermes' arm tightened slightly around your shoulders, his head tilting toward you in interest.

"He got all handsy," you went on, waving your free hand for emphasis. "Grabbed my waist. So I grabbed him and slammed into the nearest wall, and held him at knife point, like I did you earlier. Even knicked him a bit."

Hermes cackled, loud and delighted, like you'd just given him the best story of the year.

"Gods, I knew there was something vicious brewing under that sweet little face," he laughed, bumping his hip against yours. "Proud of you, little musician. Very proud. Apollo's probably writing tragic songs about your deadly elbows already."

You chuckled under your breath, your body relaxing again, the easy rhythm of the walk carrying you forward.

But then, your eyes drifted to the left.

To the sea.

You weren't even trying to look.

It just... pulled you.

The water stretched out, endless and bright, sparkling under the sun like it had never swallowed a single soul. Like it didn't remember.

You did.

Your laugh trailed off.

Your steps slowed until you weren't moving at all.

You stared out over the waves.

And suddenly—

You could feel it all again.

The burn in your chest.

The way the sea pressed against your ribs like iron hands.

The thousand ghostly voices whispering and sobbing in the deep.

Eurylochus' hollow voice mourning missed time with Ctimene.

Your throat tightened.

Your fingers curled into your palms without meaning to, nails digging against your skin just to feel something solid. Something now.

You didn't even notice you'd stopped walking.

Didn't realize Hermes had kept going for two steps without you before he caught on.

He doubled back, still chuckling to himself—until he saw you.

And then he leaned down, ducking into your line of sight.

He lifted a finger and gave a light, playful tap against the side of your head.

"Knock, knock," he sing-songed, trying to break the tension. "Anyone home?"

You blinked, slow.

Pulled back into yourself like waking from a nightmare you hadn't meant to fall into.

And maybe it was the way your feet dragged. Or the way your arms stayed hugged close around yourself, like you were holding something broken inside.

Because his face faltered the second he saw you.

The grin he always wore—lopsided, too much—dimmed. His hand, still half-raised from tapping your head, dropped a little. His golden eyes scanned your face, and you knew he saw it.

The dark.

The heaviness still clinging to you like seaweed.

The part of you that hadn't really made it back to the surface.

Your throat worked around a dry swallow. You tried to smile. Failed.

Instead, your voice came out rough, smaller than you meant."Do you think..." You bit your lip, then forced the words through."Do you think my title lets me help them?"

Hermes blinked. "Help who?"

You looked out toward the sea without thinking. The waves curled lazy against the docks now — soft, gentle—nothing like the graveyard you'd floated in.

"King Odysseus' men..." you said, quieter. "The ones who never crossed. The ones just...waiting." You turned back to him, the weight thick behind your ribs. "Could I help them?" you asked. "Guide them to the other side? So they can finally get peace?"

You didn't even know what you were hoping for. A yes? A maybe? Something to make that ache less useless?

Hermes snorted through his nose, a little grin tugging at his mouth. "Help them? You?"

You stiffened.

His grin stayed sharp, but not mean. "Sweetheart," he said, tilting his head, "a title's just a prettier word for bait."

You blinked.

He shifted his weight onto one foot, tossing a coin up in the air and catching it without looking. "Makes people think you can do more than you ever promised," he said easily. "That's all it is. A trick. A song. Something that sounds good enough to soothe their fears."

He chuckled at first. That warm, lazy chuckle he always had tucked in his chest.

But then his gaze dropped to your hands.

And he saw it. The way you were twisting your fingers in the folds of your cloak. Knuckles tight.

The chuckle died in his throat.

Slowly, he straightened. His voice softened, lost the edges. "Hey," he said, quieter now. "You don't owe the sea anything."

You stared at him, breathing hard. Your hands stayed clenched at your sides.

He stepped a little closer. Close enough that the scent of him wrapped around you. "Just because someone gave you a title that sounds divine," Hermes murmured, "doesn't mean you became something you're not."

You flinched, a tiny jerk of your chin.

Hermes' mouth twisted, almost regretful. "Especially" he added, "when it was a mortal who gave it."

Your throat burned.

He didn't say Odysseus' name.

He didn't have to.

You already knew.

You shifted your weight, hands clenching at your sides, the knot behind your ribs pulling tighter. "I can heal," you said stubbornly, voice low, hoarse. "I healed that boy, back on Ithaca. I didn't imagine that."

The words came out sharper than you meant.

Maybe because you needed them to be true.

Maybe because you could still feel the cold weight of those soldiers back in the deep—their empty eyes, their forgotten hands reaching for you—and the guilt of not reaching back still sat like a stone behind your ribs.

You wanted to help them. You wanted to believe you could fix it. Anything less felt like leaving them there to rot.

Hermes only raised a brow, almost pitying. "And who do you think gave you that little trick?" he asked easily.

You froze. Your mind reeled back—

The lyre.

The golden light.

The way your hands had moved without you calling for them.

Apollo.

Not you. Not ever you.

Your mouth opened. Closed. Nothing came out.

Hermes watched the realization bleed slow across your face before he continued, voice lighter but not unkind. "Divine favor isn't the same as divine appointment. Healing? Sure. A blessing, a trick, a party favor—whatever you wanna call it. But shepherding souls?"

He shook his head, a soft, almost amused sound in the back of his throat. "That's different. That's weight. That's authority. And it doesn't get handed out because someone called you a pretty name."

You swallowed hard, the pressure thickening behind your chest.

Hermes rubbing the back of his neck lazily like he was explaining something to a stubborn apprentice. "If you wanted to guide spirits," he said, "you'd need explicit appointment." He lifted a hand, ticking names off his fingers casually. "Hades could grant it. Hypnos, maybe, if you caught him in the right mood. Me, if I was feeling generous—" He winked at that but you didn't smile. He sighed. "But you don't have that. You don't bear the weight of that law. Not yet. Maybe not ever."

You looked away, chest squeezing tighter.

"And as for those poor bastards down there..." Hermes shrugged one shoulder, careless in a way only gods could be. "That's just how it goes, little musician. Some souls get stuck. Some don't. Maybe, in a millennium or two, long after King Odysseus and his golden boy are dust, Poseidon will finally get bored of holding a grudge. But it won't be because of you. Or anything you failed to do."

You flinched at that—hard enough that Hermes caught it.

You stared at the cobblestones, your pulse pounding in your ears, the salt breeze suddenly feeling a little too sharp in your lungs. You twisted your fingers into the hem of your cloak. Pressed your teeth hard to the inside of your cheek.

You didn't trust yourself to speak.

Not yet.

Not without the grief—or the anger—slipping through.

And Hermes, to his rare credit... let you have the silence. Just for a little while.

Then, you finally let out a breath. More a scoff than anything—a crooked, tired thing that twisted up your mouth as you dragged a hand down your face.

You shook your head once, muttering under your breath. "Grudge," you repeated bitterly, tasting the word like it soured on your tongue. "Tell me about it."

Your mind drifted without permission—sliding back into the cracks you tried not to look at too long.

Aphrodite and her damn curse.

The one that clung to your bloodline like oil to skin.

The one that twisted love into something ugly, something hollow, until it wasn't love at all—just longing and loneliness sharpened into knives.

For years, it had shaped your family. Poisoned every hope. Starved every heart.

Until lately.

Until recently.

Until you finally clawed your way free of it.

But still—you knew the weight of old grudges better than most. You wore their scars, even if no one else could see them.

Hermes watched you a little longer. Long enough that the grin he normally wore thinned into something smaller.

More careful.

Then, voice quieter now—almost hesitant, like he didn't want to press too hard—he asked. "...Is it... something you want done?"

You blinked, the question sinking past your ribs before your mind could catch it.

He didn't mean the curse. He meant the soldiers. The wreckage Poseidon left you floating in. The lost voices still clawing at the back of your ears.

You turned your head slightly—enough to glance over your shoulder, back toward the harbor.

The ocean stretched out, glittering under the sun like it had never seen a corpse. Like it had never swallowed six hundred men and let their names rot at the bottom.

Your throat tightened.

Before you could even think about it, your hand lifted—moving on instinct—and pressed lightly against your chest. Right over your heart.

You remembered them.

The mourning soldiers. The way their voices wept without sound. How they crowded around you—not angry, not hateful—just... broken. How they told you their names. Their wives' names. Their children's names. Only to forget them the next breath. Only to tell you again.

You could still feel them. Still hear them.

The ghosts of their grief brushed your ribs, even now.

You swallowed hard. Your fingers curled tighter against the fabric over your heart.

But you didn't answer Hermes.

Not yet.

Because what would you even say?

Yes?

No?

I don't know?

It felt too big. Too cruel to hope for. Too cruel not to.

The words sat heavy against your ribs, pressing until you thought something might crack from the weight.

And then, barely louder than the lap of the sea against the shore, you whispered—broken, shaking, real. "If I could..." Your fingers dug slightly into your cloak, breath hitching against your teeth. "I would."

It hurt to say it. Like it cost you something. Like naming the want made it heavier, not lighter.

Hermes let the words settle—let them breathe.

And then, after a beat, he hummed low in his throat. "...Suppose," he mused, casual as if he were talking about picking fruit instead of bending fate, "I could pull a few strings."

You froze.

Your head whipped toward him so fast you nearly threw your neck out.

Your eyes were wide, stinging, your heart lurching up into your throat.

"You—what?!" you gasped, almost tripping over the words. "Are you—are you serious?"

Hermes just gave you a crooked little smirk, tilting his head in that maddening way he always did when he thought he was being clever. "When," he said, tapping two fingers lightly against your forehead, "have I ever lied to you?"

You opened your mouth—shut it again—then, before you could even think about it, you launched yourself at him. A tiny squeal escaped your mouth, embarrassing and helpless, as you threw your arms around his neck.

Hermes staggered just half a step back, but he caught you easily—laughing, real and surprised, as he wrapped his arms around your waist to steady you.

You clutched him like he was the only thing holding you to the ground. "Thank you," you gasped, your voice cracking against his shoulder. "Thank you, thank you—gods, thank you—"

You didn't even realize you were crying until your face pressed into the warm curve of his neck, your body trembling with the force of it.

You hid there, burying your face against his skin like you could tuck yourself out of sight, like maybe if you stayed small enough, stayed still enough, the hurt would slip away and leave only this—this warmth, this relief, this stupid, stupid hope.

Hermes' hands tightened a little around you—one rubbing firm, steady circles along your back, the other cradling the back of your head like he was afraid you'd fly apart if he let go.

He didn't tease. Didn't laugh. He just held you.

Letting you cry against him under the bright, endless sky.

For the ones who never got to come home.

For the ones who waited too long.

For the ones still waiting.

And for yourself.

You didn't know how long you stood there—pressed tight against him, fists curled into the loose folds of his tunic like you could anchor yourself there forever. The sea whispered somewhere behind you. The sun pressed warm into your back.

And still—you stayed.

Until finally, Hermes shifted.

Not to push you away.

But to tug you back just enough to see your face.

He tutted under his breath, shaking his head with a fake, exaggerated sigh. "Gods, you're dramatic," he teased softly, one hand sliding from your waist to cup your cheek.

His thumb brushed under your eye—catching a tear you hadn't even noticed had slipped loose.

"All this crying over some dead sailors?" he said, voice light but not cruel. "You act like I'm doing something hard." He grinned lopsidedly, tilting his head. "I'm just moving a few souls. No big deal."

You tried to scoff, but the sound wobbled pathetically in your throat.

Hermes only chuckled—lower, fonder.

And then—so gently you barely felt it—his thumb trailed downward, brushing the faint line of your scar.

The one tucked against your jaw.

The one that marked where a knife had once tried—and failed—to silence you forever.

He traced it slowly, like he was memorizing the shape of it.

Like he had every right to.

Like he already had.

Your breath caught without meaning to.

Hermes' smile faded just a little—softened into something quieter, sadder, more dangerous.

His eyes—normally all gold and sly and sharp—turned molten and warm, like honey left too long in the sun.

He looked at you like you were something sacred.

You blinked up at him, lashes damp, throat raw.

Your lip trembled slightly, and you hated it, hated how raw you felt, but Hermes didn't laugh. Didn't tease. He just held your face in his hands like he was afraid you'd vanish if he blinked.

Like maybe... maybe you were the only real thing he'd touched all day.

He leaned a little closer, grin going sly.

"Keep looking at me like that," he murmured, thumb still brushing slow over your skin, "and I swear—I'll hand you Olympus by sunrise if you asked."

You stared at him.

Wide-eyed. Disbelieving.

He said it so matter-of-fact, like he wasn't promising you something outrageous. Like it would be easy. Like it was already half-done.

Your throat bobbed, your fingers still clinging to the edge of his tunic.

And he just smiled at you—crooked and golden and too big for one god to hold.

"You want a palace?" he added, winking. "A river named after you? An entorague of nymphs to wait on you hand and foot? Say the word, darling. I'll forge a mountain in your honor before Apollo even wakes up for his morning ambrosia."

You let out a cracked, half-soggy laugh, shoving weakly at his shoulder.

Hermes only laughed again—full-bodied this time, sharp and bright as sun on seawater—and caught your wrist easily before you could pull it away.

He pressed your knuckles lightly against his chest.

Right where his heart would be.

And for one strange, quiet heartbeat—you almost thought you could feel it beating.

Steady. Warm. Real.

Another sniffle escaped you—pathetic and wet—and you scrunched your face up in annoyance at yourself.

"You're always so..." You huffed, cheeks burning. "...unserious."

Hermes just laughed.

Not the loud, teasing cackle he usually threw around like coins at a festival.

This one was low. Warm. Private. Like it was just for you.

He wiggled his brows dramatically, still cradling your cheek with one hand like you were made of spun glass. "Of course I am," he said, voice lilting with fake solemnity. "I'm the god of trickery, darling. It's practically a professional requirement."

You shook your head, pushing your palm into your eye, trying to scrub the tears away like they hadn't happened. "Of course you are," you muttered under your breath, voice hoarse but stubborn. "I forgot—gods don't really get it, huh? Stuff that's a big deal for mortals... probably means nothing to you."

Hermes tilted his head at you, his thumb still brushing faint little strokes over the curve of your scar like he hadn't realized he was doing it.

You went on anyway, not angry. Just... trying to explain. Trying to make him see it.

"You—you don't get it," you said, a small laugh slipping out, watery and sharp all at once. "For you, it's nothing. I get it. You move souls all the time. You see death every day. You can just... 'pull some strings.' Another errand to run between playing tricks and delivering prophecies. But for me—" you pressed your hand to your chest, half-punching your own ribs, "for me it's not just... paperwork!"

Your voice cracked a little, but you powered through it.

"You didn't see them," you said, almost shaking now, sadness turning into anger. "You didn't see the way they—" You broke off, grimacing. "They weren't angry. They weren't monsters. They were just... stuck. Forgotten. Whispering the same things over and over because they couldn't remember anything else... Like they didn't even know they were dead."

You breathed out a harsh sound that was half a laugh, half something sharp and broken.

Hermes blinked at you."Huh?" he said, voice small and almost stupidly confused.

You stared at him, not sure whether to laugh or scream. His face was scrunched up like you'd just started speaking another language.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot. "I mean, you're sensitive, sure," he said carefully, like he wasn't sure if he was walking into a trap, "but why are you—what, did you get too empathetic while I wasn't looking? Crying over a bunch of random spirits you didn't even know? That's a little—" He made a tiny gesture. Like "come on."

You cut him off. "No,"you said sharply. "It's not just me being emotional."

Hermes cocked his head, frowning.

You sucked in a breath, words bubbling up before you could even filter them. "I was down there," you said fiercely.

He straightened a little at that, his grin slipping a bit.

"When the storm hit—when the ship almost went under—the sailors panicked," you started, jaw tightening. "There was no offering, so they wanted to sacrifice something—someone. Lady—" your voice wobbled, and you pushed through it— "Someone tried to grab Lady. They tried to take her. Said she wasn't a real person. I stopped them. Offered myself instead."

Hermes' face blanked completely.

No teasing. No sparkle in his eye. Just a slow, cold stillness settling over his features.

"I jumped," you said. "I hit the water. Sank. And then, instead of letting me die, he showed up. Poseidon,"you laughed under your breath, the sound bitter and brittle."All glowy and smug, acting like he was doing me a favor by not crushing the ship to dust." You flung your arms out. "And—AND THEN—he just grabbed my face and—"

You gagged a little on the memory.

"And he kissed me," you burst out, appalled all over again. "Or—no! Sorry! 'It wasn't a kiss,' he said," you mimicked in a high, mocking tone. "It was just him giving me a 'gift'—air. So generous. So considerate. Like that makes it better!"

Hermes' mouth twitched like he wasn't sure if he should laugh or commit murder.

You pointed at him, still ranting, voice shrill now. "I don't care what kind of ancient, majestic 'gift' he thought it was! He could've warned me! Or—I don't know—literally anything except ambush my face like that! Then he dragged me down to the bottom of the sea and dumped me in a godsforsaken graveyard with six hundred dead Ithacan soldiers for three days."

Hermes didn't move.

Didn't even breathe.

You pushed the heel of your palm into your brow, voice dropping into something more tired than angry now.

"I... listened to them," you said. "All of them. Their regrets. Their fears. Their last memories. Over and over and over until I couldn't tell where my thoughts ended... and theirs began."

You dropped your hand limply to your side.

"And now I'm here," you finished weakly, blinking at him. "Trying not to lose my mind every time I hear waves."

Hermes just stared at you for a long second, his arms slowly crossed over his chest.

"...Poseidon kissed you," he said flatly.

"It wasn't a kiss," you snapped immediately. "He called it a 'breathing boon' or whatever godly nonsense."

Hermes' brows lifted almost to his hairline. His voice dropped dangerously soft.

"Poseidon kissed you."

You buried your face in your hands with a groan, still too mortified to look at him.

"Not on purpose!" you mumbled into your palms. "It was survival. He said it was survival. I hate everything."

Hermes made a noise—something between a strangled laugh and a sound of pure homicidal disbelief.

You peeked at him through your fingers.

His face was a study in blank fury.

Like he'd just been informed the sky was falling and it was personal.

The silence stretched, thick and strange between you. The salty breeze tugged at your clothes. Somewhere behind you, a gull cried out—a long, lonely sound.

Then, finally, low and rough, he said, "I see."

No teasing. No jokes. Just two words, heavier than they had any right to be.

And just as fast as that dark look had settled on his face—it smoothed away. Like a ripple crossing a still pond.

Hermes smiled again. Brighter this time. Lighter.

Too light.

He gave a little hop—effortless—and the next thing you knew, he was floating a few inches off the ground, his winged sandals fluttering lazily under him. The feathers stirred the dust by your boots, kicked up little whorls of gold and gray in the sunlight.

You blinked up at him, caught off guard, and before you could flinch away, he reached down and ruffled your hair.

You squawked—actually squawked—trying to duck, but he was too fast. His fingers messed up the top of your head with infuriating precision, then smoothed it down again like you were some cranky little cat.

"There," he said, grinning wide enough to show teeth. "Better."

You shot him a look of pure betrayal.

Hermes just laughed and drifted back a step in the air, hands clasped lazily behind his head.

"Guess I better get a head start on those souls, huh?" he said, his voice still bright, but something... softer hiding underneath it. "Wouldn't want my favorite mortal thinking I'm all talk and no action."

He winked.

And before you could so much as shove him for the hair thing—or maybe hug him again, you weren't even sure which anymore—he spun midair, the wings on his sandals catching the sunlight, scattering it like shards of gold around him.

He was already pulling away, soaring higher, when your mind suddenly lurched back—Nico.

The ridiculous conversation earlier.

The favor.

The promise.

Your eyes snapped wide.

"WAIT!" you screeched, pure panic punching out of you.

Without thinking—pure stupid, desperate instinct—you leapt up, both arms stretching like you could physically drag the god of speed back down.

Somehow, miraculously, your fingers managed to snag his ankle mid-flight.

You grabbed tight around the leather strap of his sandal, your palm half-smacking against the side of his foot—and the second you did, your boots lifted clean off the ground.

Your eyes widened comically, the world tilting as your toes dangled uselessly over the cobblestones.

"Hermes—Hermes!!" you yelped, kicking wildly, the marketplace blurring a little around you.

The god jolted midair, twisting around like a cat yanked by the tail. His sandals fluttered in sharp little bursts as he wobbled, tilted—then cocked his head down at you.

He raised his leg experimentally.

You dangled there—arms clinging stubbornly to his ankle like a barnacle clamped to a ship—feet kicking uselessly above the ground.

Hermes peered at you with a mixture of surprise and wild amusement, one brow arching high.

"Well," he said cheerfully, head still tilted sideways as he studied you, "this is new."

"PUT ME DOWN!" you barked, voice half-mortified, half-terrified you were about to get launched into orbit.

Hermes just grinned wider, like this was the funniest thing he'd seen all month. One hand leisurely scratched at his jaw like he was pondering something very serious.

"Hmm," he mused aloud, voice maddeningly casual. "I dunno. You did grab me without asking. Might be grounds for kidnapping."

Your growl came low and dangerous from your throat, legs flailing harder.

But the bastard only snickered—and floated higher.

You yelped again, clutching tighter as the ground slipped even further away, your cloak flapping wildly around your knees.

In the back of your mind—deep behind the pure panic—you dimly wondered why no one was screaming or gawking.

The market was still bustling. Merchants shouted prices, kids weaved through baskets, and sailors laughed over cheap wine. Nobody even glanced at the sight of a mortal girl dangling from a god's foot like a sack of pears.

You barely managed to piece it together.

Hermes.

Of course.

Probably had some god-trick pulled over the mortals' eyes. Some ripple in the air that made your flailing look like nothing more than a flutter of fabric in the breeze—or maybe they didn't see you at all.

Gods, you were going to strangle him... if you survived.

"HER-MES!!" you screeched again, voice cracking halfway through like a dying gull.

The god just laughed—an actual full, unbothered cackle—and floated in lazy loops higher into the sun-warmed air.

You clung harder to his ankle, teeth gritted, your heart doing little suicidal somersaults in your chest.

Hermes, meanwhile, just peered down at you upside down, his hair flopping wildly in the breeze as he lazily twirled in midair.

"Alright, alright," he chuckled, voice bright and merciless. "What exactly are you doing down there, barnacle?"

You spluttered—actually spluttered—trying to scramble your thoughts and your pride back into some kind of order.

"I—I needed to tell you—!" you gasped, legs still kicking helplessly.

Hermes blinked owlishly. "Tell me what?"

You twisted your hands tighter around his ankle. "About the man!" you barked, feeling your face heat from the ridiculousness of all this.

Hermes just floated there like a lazy cloud. "You'll have to be a little more specific, darling," he teased. "I know a lot of men."

You groaned, nearly biting your tongue in frustration. "The inn! Your inn! The Quicktangle—or whatever it was called!" you barked, cheeks burning.

At that, something clicked.

Hermes' face lit up with recognition—and pure mischief.

He burst out laughing, the sound bright and absolutely unrepentant. "I forgot about him!" he crowed, clutching his stomach midair like he was watching the best play of his life.

Slowly—blessedly—he began lowering you back toward the cobbled ground. You could feel the ground pulling at your boots, the dizzy heat in your head slowly cooling as your body stopped swinging like a weathervane.

Hermes floated upside down beside you now, his curls dangling wildly toward the street, sandals fluttering in lazy kicks. His chin was practically at your shoulder level, upside down grin wide enough to split his face in two.

He tilted his head—er, his whole body—sideways and smirked.

"Soooo," he drawled, spinning once like a lazy top, "what does my loyal servant want, hmm?"

You panted, legs shaking, arms still trembling from clinging to him like a mortal lifeline.

You didn't answer right away.

Mostly because you were too busy glaring at him. Trying—and failing—to gather your thoughts back into a straight line instead of the chaotic, tangled mess he'd turned them into.

Finally, you gritted your teeth and barked out:

"He—" you panted, scowling harder, "—he just wanted me to, ugh, mention him next time I saw you. Said he's been a 'faithful and selfless steward of your sacred port' or whatever nonsense."

You waved a hand vaguely at the sky, rolling your eyes so hard it almost hurt.

Hermes' upside-down grin only grew.

But then—you paused, brows knitting.

"You know," you muttered, folding your arms, still glaring half-heartedly up at him, "why the Hades do you have a barkeep down here anyway? Shouldn't your servants be, I don't know—running temples? Giving blessings? Whispering secrets? Not...selling fish stew and warm beer to sailors?"

Hermes flipped himself upright midair, hovering cross-legged now like it was the easiest thing in the world.

He leaned in close, eyes glinting with that familiar gleam.

"You ever heard of a better way," he said, voice low and conspiratorial, "to hear every single secret of an island than by running the town's drunk tank?"

You blinked.

He grinned wider.

"Mortals," he said, shrugging grandly, "spill everything after two cups of wine and one good plate of food. Births. Deaths. Murders. Gold hoards. Secret love affairs. Half of the Trojan War rumors started in taverns, you know."

You stared.

He floated a little higher, tapping his temple smugly.

"Who needs temples when you have gossip?"

You opened your mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

"...You are," you said flatly, "by far the pettiest god I have ever met."

Hermes threw his head back and roared with laughter, arms wide like he was soaking in the compliment. "And proud of it!"

You just stared at him, hands on your hips, heart still half-pounding from almost getting carried off like a very annoyed kite.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," you muttered, waving a hand through the air like clearing smoke. "Still doesn't explain why you've got Nico playing bartender. And calling you master," you added pointedly, narrowing your eyes. "What is this? Some weird god-servant thing? Is that how you get your kicks now?"

Hermes floated backward a few lazy paces, arms folded behind his head, sandals fluttering without a care. He snorted. "Gods, no," he said, rolling his eyes like you were the crazy one. "I'm no tyrant. Nico's here because he lost a bet."

You blinked once. Then again.

"A... bet," you repeated flatly.

Hermes grinned, all teeth. "A very dumb bet."

You just... stood there.

Waiting.

Hand on your hip. Brow arched so high it could've scraped the clouds.

"...Well?" you prompted dryly. "Aren't you going to tell me?"

Hermes hummed under his breath, tilting his head like he was considering it. Then he waved a lazy hand through the air, brushing the question away like smoke.

"Nah," he said airily. "Takes the fun out of his origin story."

You opened your mouth—ready to protest, demand, argue—anything—

But before you could even get a word out, "Soooo," Hermes said, voice syrupy and sweet, hands folding behind his back as he bobbed there beside you, "you want to deliver a message to dear Nico for me?"

You squinted suspiciously. "...What is it?"

Hermes hummed thoughtfully, tapping his chin like he was crafting a grand strategy.

"Tell him," Hermes said, his voice dipping into a sing-song whisper, "that as a reward for his loyal service, I'm officially granting him his freedom."

You blinked, stunned.

Hermes grinned wider, sharp and delighted.

"But—" he added, lifting a finger like a magician revealing the final trick, "if he wants the title of official Messenger's Assistant—with all the travel perks, godly favor, and free drinks at all Hermes-blessed inns—he has to accept. Immediately. No take-backs."

"And... if he refuses?"

Hermes shrugged, almost too casual. "Then he remains exactly what he is now—my servant. Just... without the perks."

You blinked again.

Still processing.

Your mouth dropped open. "That's not freedom," you said, baffled.

"Sure it is," Hermes said cheerfully, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves. Your jaw dropped further when he added—oh so casually—"Freedom to pick which leash he wants."

Hermes floated down until he was level with you—still upside down—grinning like a cat about to push a vase off a windowsill.

He reached out lightly with one finger—and gently booped your chin to close your mouth.

"There," he said smugly. "That's better."

You stumbled back half a step, still trying to wrap your mind around the sheer pettiness of what you were being asked to deliver.

"Thank you, cutie~" he teased, voice lilting with laughter.

And before you could grab his tunic and demand more answers—or throttle him—Hermes gave a cheeky little salute with two fingers

Then he blew you a kiss—actually blew you a kiss, the gust of divine breeze sending your hair flying straight back.

And in the next blink, he was gone.

Up, up, up—vanishing into the blue sky like a mischievous star shooting itself home.

Leaving you there.

Alone.

Basket on your arm.

Hair a mess.

Brain completely fried.

And one very, very unfortunate message to deliver.

You stood there for a beat longer. "...I'm going to kill him," you finally muttered under your breath.

But you were smiling.

Gods help you, you were smiling.

You let out a long, slow exhale and bent down to start gathering the things you'd dropped—your basket, a few bruised figs, the little carved boat for Eben now slightly scuffed along the hull.

You brushed the dust off as best you could, cradling everything awkwardly in your arms.

The market buzzed on around you, oblivious. Voices floated on the breeze. Sunlight dappled across the crooked stones. Somewhere nearby, someone plucked a lyre, a slow, wandering melody curling through the air.

You shifted the basket onto your hip with a soft grunt, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. Your fingers smelled faintly like figs and salt and the wax of a hundred sun-warmed stalls.

It was... peaceful, in a way.

The kind of peace that didn't scream. Didn't demand. It just was.

Maybe today hadn't gone the way you'd planned.

Maybe it never would.

But for now, at least—

You were here.

Alive.

Carrying a ridiculous god's message, sure, but also carrying pieces of a day that felt a little too golden to lose.

Small things. Simple things. A handful of bright feathers. A few polished stones. A bolt of blue cloth that caught the light like water.

Gifts for the people who felt like home.

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing over each one.

And for the first time in a long while, the thought that flickered through your mind wasn't what if it all falls apart?

It was I can't wait to see their faces.

You smiled to yourself, small and crooked, and turned back toward the inn.

A/N: lolol not me being psychic, just got calle din for a shift 💔💔 since imma be doign night shift and will clonk out when i get home, here's the double update ❤️ also i love nico so much! you all are gonna love him too~ and its obvious my type are funny people that hide pains/joke alot cuz i swear i love making ocs like that hahaha don't worry i swear i have more personalities in stock the funny-in-pain type just hits fr 😔 btw forgot to mention, a lot of 'characters' you've seen me spend time describing etc, yet not see them again... it's mostly cuz those will be reccuring characters in the isekai book 👀 like i'm so excited y'all i'm already plotting things out, got the first few chappies in skeleton form/blurbs and pulling bits and stuff from here, so imma be rereading godly things to take notes on what i may include in the iseaki. is there any characters/places you guys would like seen in it??? lemme know, y'all know i gotta short attention span/janky ahh memory and need reminders sometimes 😭😭😩 #overlyconfidentwritertrynajugglemulitplethingswhensheknowsshessettingherselfupforfailure💔

Tag List: nerds4life246 ace-spades-1 uniquetravelerone alassal thesimppotato11 jackintheboxs-world kahlan170 akiqvq matchaabread danishland uselessmoonlight apad-ravya suckerforblondies jolixtreesunn dreamtheatre woncloudie byzantiumhollow kisskisskys b4ts1e sarcasticbitchsblog trashcannotbealive idkanyonealrr

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lost-in-fandoms · 2 days ago

Text

Something from the post-apocalypse (part 1). About 1.7k.

GP knocks on the infirmary door and doesn't wait for an answer before pushing it open, motioning for Max to get in ahead of him.

The infirmary is not really a medical room, just a room they have converted into a makeshift doctor office, with a couple of cots, a desk, and several cabinets full of supplies. They don't even have doctors, not really, but they make do. In the past few years, more or less anyone has learned how to suture small wounds and determine if someone is worth dragging back to safety or if it's better to leave them for dead.

Still, they do have some people who are more expert than others, mostly because of previous knowledge, and Rupert and Brad are two of them.

He tells Max to sit down on the cot, watching as the boy lifts himself on it with a wince, and then goes to knock on a different door, hoping someone is on the other side and he doesn't have to leave Max in here to go look for them.

It must be his lucky day though, because the door opens, Brad nodding at him.

"What's up?"

GP motions towards Max, then subtly shakes his head when he sees Brad's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, mouth already open to ask questions.

"He needs a check up," he tells him, moving back next to Max. He could leave at this point, Max is unharmed and Brad is more than capable of defending himself, but he leans against the cot instead, watching as Brad drags a chair closer.

Max is sitting with his arms crossed, his expression a mix of suspicion and confusion, shoulders tense. He looks like a scared boy and it makes GP feel softer than he has in forever.

"Who are you, then?" Brad asks, motioning for Max to take his top off. It must have been a hoodie once, but it's now destroyed, covered in blood and dust.

Max doesn't move.

"I'm Max," he says, arms still crossed, "and I'm not stripping."

Brad throws GP a look, eyebrows raised again, but then brings his attention back to Max.

"If you want me to check your injuries, I gotta see them, mate."

"I don't want anything," Max snaps back, tilting his chin towards GP. "He brought me here. I already know what are my injuries you don't need to see them."

"Max," GP cuts in before Brad can reply, "let Brad do his job. I'll get you another shirt when he's done."

Max glares at him, pouting, and doesn't move.

"I am not taking my clothes off in a room with two strangers, one of which is armed. And if that means you'll throw me out, then throw me out."

This time GP is pretty sure his eyebrows are just as high on his forehead as Brad's are. He doesn't even want to start dissecting the reasoning behind Max's decision, but it's clear he won't be moved.

"Fine," Brad finally sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. "How old are you?"

"Old enough."

GP huffs and exasperated breath and clenches his teeth, trying to find patience. In some twisted way, it's almost comforting to know teenagers haven't changed in the apocalypse either.

"I'm eighteen."

Max's voice is much quieter, and when GP snaps his attention back at him, he notices his whole demeanor has shifted, shoulders curled inwards and eyes low. It's only when he sees his gaze jump between GP's hands and the gun on his side that he realises that Max is scared.

GP is an armed stranger, who was clearly annoyed at him, and Max is scared. Fuck.

GP works to relax his face, crossing his arms so his hands are away from his weapons.

"Thank you, Max," he says, as gently as possible. It seems to surprise Max, but the boy still relaxes a little, so GP will count it as a win.

"Since you don't want to show me, can you tell me where you're hurt?" Brad asks, bringing them back on track. When GP looks at him he's already looking back, a million questions in his eyes. GP is glad he can't ask them at the moment, because he doesn't think he has any answers.

"I have some cuts, most of them from glass. The worst one is here," Max points at his side, almost on his hip, "which I stitched up, but I don't know if I did a good job. My ribs hurt, don't know what's with them, and I think I have a sprained ankle. Left one."

If the list fazes Brad, he doesn't show it, nodding along Max's words.

"Alright. If your ribs hurt, it would help me to touch them, and see if they're broken, same with your ankle. And for the stitches, I would really need to see them. Do you think there's glass in the cuts?"

Max shrugs, apparently uncaring.

"Not sure. I think not."

Brad nods again.

"Okay. What can I do to make you comfortable enough to get your shirt off so I can check?"

For a long moment, Max doesn't answer, looking at Brad appraisingly, then uncrosses his arms, pointing towards GP.

"He goes. And you show me you have no needles on you."

GP tries his best not to show a reaction, despite unease curling in his gut.

"I'll go get you some clean clothes and some soap. I'll be back."

Brad does something complicated with his face that GP doesn't bother trying to interpret as he heads towards the door. The last things he sees before shutting it behind him, it's Brad emptying his pockets on the table next to the cot.

When GP comes back, a change of clothes and some other things tucked into a satchel in his hands, Max is still sitting on the cot, but he's now shirtless and shoeless, sharp eyes following Brad's movements as he grabs some supplies from the drawers.

"Oh, perfect timing!" Brad says when GP knocks, turning around with a smile. "I want him to shower before I put some bandages on him."

Max doesn't seem too thrilled about the idea, or about GP being back in the room, but he jumps off the cot anyway, ignoring Brad's surprised exclamation, extending his hand for the things GP is carrying.

"This way," GP tells him, refusing to give them to him as he guides him to the closest showers, noticing the way Max's steps drag a little. He would offer him help, but he doesn't think Max would do well with feeling weak, so he marches on, pulling a door open and ushering Max inside.

The showers are near the infirmary for a good reason, and he's been often happy about it. When he sees the pallor of Max's face and the way he holds onto the wall as he waits for instructions, he feels glad about it all over again.

"Water turns off automatically after 7 minutes, but if you need more to get clean just yell and I will sort it out," GP tells him, pulling the shower curtain from one of the stalls to the side and placing the soap on the floor.

"I'll leave this," he adds, raising the satchel, "right here. There's a towel and a change of clothes, hopefully they fit. If they don't, yell and I'll sort it out. I'll be right outside."

Max nods, but doesn't move, eyes fixed somewhere on GP's left.

"Max," GP calls, waiting until the boy finally looks at him, "I won't come in and nobody else will come in, unless you yell or I have reasonable belief you have passed out. Okay?"

"Loud and clear," Max mumbles, but GP sees his shoulders relax just a tad. He really needs to talk to Jonathan and figure out where the hell he's been to become this wary.

He knows the world isn't a kind place right now, hell, he's lived in worse places than this since the apocalypse started, but he doesn't like the idea of a kid being this tense about something easy as a shower.

He opens his mouth, wanting to ask Max, wanting to say anything that could reassure him at all, but then he thinks better of it, simply turning around and exiting the bathroom, firmly closing the door behind him.

For a while, he doesn't hear anything.

There's the usual sounds of The Garage, the mechanical whirr of the fans, the buzzing of the lights, the echo of someone's step walking down the corridors somewhere on his right, far away enough he can't point out who it might be. But nothing from the bathroom.

After five minutes he's almost tempted to open the door, check that Max is still alive, when he finally hears the groaning of the pipes that signal the water being turned on.

After seven minutes he holds his breath, waiting for Max to call for more water, but there's nothing but silence. He waits, listening tensely, but the next thing he hears is the sound of the handle being pulled down and the door opening.

He steps away from the wall he'd been resting against, and meets Max's eyes. He looks...different. The layer of blood and grime is gone, leaving his skin pink, like he scrubbed hard to clean it. Now that his face is clean it's clear that there's no trace of a stubble on his cheeks, just some acne on his neck, and on his forehead, where his hair is flopping wetly. The hoodie GP had brought him is too big, sleeves dropping down to the tip of his fingers.

He looks young. He looks like a kid. A skinny kid with bags under his eyes and scrapes all over.

GP's heart clenches.

"All done?" he asks, more softly than he intended to.

Max nods, looking down at where he's holding the wet towel and his ruined clothes.

"Where..." he starts, hesitantly.

"Unless you're particularly attached to those clothes I'd say we can throw them away, and I'll take care of the towel," GP interrupts him, extending his hand to take them.

Max doesn't flinch at the movement, but it's close enough, muscles stiffening until he visibly forces himself to relax, handing everything over.

"You can throw them," he tells him, looking even more lost now that he doesn't have anything to hold.

GP nods, throwing everything back into the satchel and turning around, worried about what expression might be on his face.

"Come on, let's get back to Brad, and then I'll find you some food."

"Thank you," Max murmurs, so low GP can barely hear him.

"Of course, kid. Come on."

#my writing #am not sure about this but oh well #did i even have a tag for this au? dont think so #do i have any direction for where this is going? nope #anyway typos arent real please be nice im just a baby #omg almost committed the crime of not putting a read more

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in-my-loki-feels · 2 days ago

Note

Lokius 😱 (H/C #13) for the bed sharing prompts? (Whichever flavor of Lokius variants strikes your fancy is just fine with me 😉)

Thank you for the prompt and for letting me pick the flavor! I got bit by the cowboy Lokius bug and, in my usual fashion, went way overboard. Sorry to dump 3k on you instead of a nice short fill, but I hope you enjoy it! (Feel free to add it to your TBR list 🤣)

Happy Yee Haw Sunday, everyone!

😱 Can't fall asleep (danger)

CW blood, mild injury description

The gunshots came first. Then the shouts for help.

Mobius wheeled his horse around, one hand dropping to his revolver, and saw a man almost falling over himself as he ran towards them. Mobius had accompanied the stagecoach along its full route, worried about recent robberies, but it seemed trouble had found him in the next town over instead of on the road. This wasn’t his town to protect, but that wouldn’t stop him wantin’ to help.

“Shoot out!” the newcomer gasped. He wore an apron so it wasn’t much of a surprise when his next words were, “Saloon!”

There were gasps from those inside the stagecoach and the crowd that’d come to meet them.

Mobius swung down, hastily wound Brandy’s reins around the nearby hitching post, and pulled his rifle free of the saddle holster. The bartender came to a stumbling halt and Mobius grabbed his arm to keep him upright.

“What happened?”

“S-shoot out. Dunno why. Jus’ had one customer, then some men came in—mean lookin’ fellas—and next thing I knew, they all started shooting!”

“Where’s your sheriff?”

The bartender shrugged helplessly. With Mobius’ luck, whoever looked after this town was sleeping off a long night of drinking somewhere.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, but he headed in the direction the bartender had come. The street had emptied, though not everyone had retreated inside. Gawkers pressed against buildings, watching him pass with wide eyes. Some people had no sense.

Mobius flinched as another gunshot sounded, but it was just the one. It was a reminder for him to get his own damn self out of the street. He went left, hurrying along the building fronts. A few people still lingering to watch ducked out of his way. The general store sat on a corner, with the saloon around the bend, so Mobius paused there to peer around the building.

A man in dusty black clothes stood out front, two pistols in hand. Mobius’ heart stopped, until he looked closer and saw the man’s profile was all wrong. Another figure in black lay crumpled in a heap on the saloon steps.

“How much longer you gonna hide in there?” the man called to whoever was still in the saloon. “I got more men comin’ than you got bullets.”

Well, wasn’t this a real bag o’ nails. The man could be bluffing, but if he was tellin’ the truth, whoever was trapped was in real trouble. Mobius didn’t know what their argument was—and frankly didn’t care. He only wanted to keep the town from being shot up any more than it already was.

“How ‘bout we—” The rest of what Mobius planned to say was lost when he ducked back ’round the corner to dodge a bullet. The onlookers nearby finally went inside. Thank the Lord. Mobius stayed where he was and raised his voice. “Look, fellas, I got no quarrel with ya, but you need to take this outta town.”

There was a brief pause, followed by a man—he assumed the man in black—yelling, “Who the fuck are you?”

“Nobody,” Mobius answered. “I’m just lookin’ out for the townsfolk.” Naming himself might get even more bullets sent his way.

“Mind yer own business!”

Mobius chanced a look around the corner and saw the man had split his attention between the door of the saloon and Mobius’ hiding spot. There had been no movement from inside the building.

“You sure anyone’s even alive in there?” Mobius said. “Your business might be finished already.”

Another silence, during which Mobius took another look. The man was watching the saloon doors, considering Mobius’ words.

Mobius said, “Let me come out and we can go have a look together. How’s that sound?”

A shorter pause before the response came.

“Alright, come on out, but keep yer hands up.”

He didn’t say anything about weapons so Mobius took a chance. He raised both hands, one still holding his rifle, and began to slide around the corner. At this distance, he couldn’t see the man’s face clearly, but he caught the sudden narrowing of his eyes.

“A sheri—”

The first shot caught the man in the shoulder, spinning him around. The second dropped him like a stone. Mobius crouched, heart pounding, and waited for follow-up shots. The man had stood out there so long, Mobius really had thought the person inside must be dead or out of bullets.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered again. Now he had to hope whoever was left had more sense than the dead men.

He slid around the corner and hurried to the side of the saloon building. The man in the street had been in plain sight, but Mobius had the advantage of cover.

“Alright,” he called, “if that man was tellin’ the truth, you ain’t got long before company shows up. Your best bet is lettin’ me in, so I can see about helpin’ you out of town.”

Silence was his answer. Were they finally out of ammo? Succumbed to their wounds? Mobius hunched over—wincing as his back protested—and tried to stay below the windows as he crept towards the doorway. He paused there, but there was still no response.

“I’m comin’ in.” He took a deep breath and then stood, raised his hands, and pushed through the doors.

The saloon was a mess. Tables and chairs overturned, bottles behind the bar shot out. There were two more bodies, dressed much like the ones outside. So far, it seemed to match the bartender’s story of a gang ambushing one person. No sign of who that was, though.

“Anyone alive in here?”

“Unfortunately,” came the strained response. Mobius’ stomach dropped. The voice had come from behind the bar and was worryingly familiar. He pushed his way through the mess and came around the edge of the counter to see Loki Laufeyson sprawled on the floor, half-propped up against the bar, his gun steady on Mobius.

“Goddamn it.”

Loki wore his usual all black getup, but he had one hand pressed to his thigh and the palm was stained dark red. Mobius almost swore again, for all the good it would do.

“What the hell’re you doin’ here?”

“Enjoying a whiskey,” Loki said, feigning calm; his voice gave away the pain he must’ve in. “At least until this lot showed up.”

“And what did they want with you?”

Loki shrugged. “I have made a great many enemies over the years.”

“Yeah, well, I ain’t exactly been making friends either.” A lawman never did. Mobius glanced at the door. “Any idea if he was telling the truth about more comin’?”

Loki finally lowered his revolver. “It’s possible. There are more of them than I shot here.”

Mobius smoothed down his mustache and tried to keep a cool head. Last he’d seen of Loki, the outlaw had been slippin’ out of Mobius’ house before the sun had come up. That was how most of their encounters went these days and as grateful as Mobius was to see him, he coulda asked for better circumstances.

He set the rifle on the bar and knelt beside Loki; he didn’t miss the way Loki’s gun hand twitched.

“Where’s your horse?” Mobius asked as he pulled off his neck kerchief. He eyed Loki’s leg, wondering if one kerchief was enough—and tried not to think about how he oughtta know with as often as he’d had his hands on Loki—then reached for Loki’s kerchief. This brought the gun back up, Loki’s eyes wide and panicked, like a cornered animal. Mobius froze, then moved more slowly, turning Loki’s kerchief around so he could untie it.

Then he tied the two together and tapped the hand Loki had pressed to his wound.

“I need to bind this before you bleed out,” he said as calmly as he could; his stomach was churning at the thought. Loki’s chest was rising and falling too quickly for the composed facade he was clinging to, but he lowered the gun and moved his hand, looking away.

Mobius wrapped the makeshift bandage around Loki’s thigh, wincing when Loki hissed in pain. He didn’t even know if the bullet was still in there—something he’d have to figure out once he got Loki out of here. If he could do that, if Loki didn’t die on the way.

He shut that thought right down, rising to peer over the bar. Still no sign of anyone outside. He looked down at Loki, who watched him warily.

“Where’s your horse?”

“Out back.”

And Mobius’ was with the stagecoach. His mind spun with possible plans. Did the townsfolk know who Loki was? The bartender hadn’t said Laufeyson was cornered, so they might not. Mobius could claim he was taking Loki to safety, but what would happen if word got out that the man he helped was the infamous bandit? Should he reveal who it was and say he was takin’ him in? Mobius didn’t see Loki going along with that one.

“Can you ride?” Mobius asked, and couldn’t help the dubious note in his voice. It sparked annoyance in Loki’s eyes. He grit his teeth and dragged himself to his feet, leaning his weight heavily on the uninjured leg.

“Of course I can.”

Stubborn son of a bitch.

“Two bucks says you collapse a mile outta town.” Loki’s glare bounced off him. “Look, here’s what we’re gonna do.”

—

Loki refused at first—too uppity for such an undignified plan, Mobius guessed—but he must’ve been hurtin’ more than he let on because he didn’t push past Mobius to take his chances on his own. Mobius just hoped he didn’t bleed out before they got out of town.

Mobius went through the doors of the saloon first to stand on the porch.

“Everything’s alright now.” He spotted the bartender—along with several others—peering around the corner he’d used for cover. “Any sign of your sheriff?”

The man shook his head, then cautiously came out of hiding. “They all dead?”

“’Fraid so, and your bar’s a mess.”

The man looked dismayed but not surprised.

“Your customer was a wanted man, so I’m takin’ the body with me to report it. I don’t recognize the rest of ‘em.” He gestured to the bodies on the steps and in the dirt. “Maybe your sheriff will have some idea.”

“O’course. T-thank you, sir,” the bartender stammered, and came closer to give him a clammy handshake. More people were starting to gather, but Mobius needed to get movin’.

“I didn’t do nothin’,” Mobius said, and he really hadn’t. Unless you counted him distracting the bandit so Loki could take the shot. “Can someone fetch my horse while I get the body?”

Every time he referred to Loki as a body, his chest tightened, but he tried not to show it. He went back inside, crossing to the bar quickly, before anyone followed him in. Loki was sitting out of sight, still conscious.

“You ready?” Mobius asked.

Loki grit his teeth. “As much as I can be, I suppose.” He holstered his pistol, but tension radiated from him.

“This’ll probably hurt,” Mobius said apologetically. “Jus’ try to keep quiet.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed—as if he could look any more mad than he already was—but he said nothing as Mobius knelt down and pulled him closer. For a second, it was like they were about to embrace and Mobius’ breath caught at the thought. Then he bent and dragged Loki’s weight across one shoulder.

Loki made a noise through gritted teeth, his whole body tense, as Mobius staggered to his feet. Before Mobius could remind him, Loki went limp, his arms hanging down Mobius’ back. Mobius put a hand on Loki’s thigh, half-covering the kerchief bandage. He was glad the redness in his face could be attributed to the strain of carrying a grown man. Then he went out back.

This was the hard part: transferring Loki to his horse. Mobius did it as carefully as he could, draping Loki sideways over the saddle. He knew it wasn’t painless but Loki stayed quiet. Seeing him like that reminded Mobius too much of when he’d taken Loki’s man back to bury him. He had to reach out and put a hand on Loki’s back to feel his breaths, shallow they might be.

Loki’s mount nudged Mobius with his nose. Good thing all those apple bribes had brought the horse around, or this plan wouldn’t have worked.

“Go easy now,” Mobius murmured as he gathered the reins, then slowly led the horse around to the front of the saloon.

There were far more people gathered now, but someone had fetched Brandy, who whickered when she caught sight of him. Or maybe she was greetin’ the black stallion followin’ him.

“Thank ya kindly,” Mobius said, bringing Loki’s horse close enough to tie the reins to Brandy’s saddle. He looked around, catchin’ eyes with the bartender. “If anyone comes along, you tell ’em exactly what happened: there was a shootout and then Sheriff Mobius took the wanted man’s body with him when he left.”

That’d put trouble on their tail, but Mobius didn’t want these innocent people getting tangled up in somethin’ that wasn’t their business. He swung up into the saddle and turned Brandy towards home, nudging her into as gentle a walk as he could. With Loki’s mount in toe, he headed out of town.

Loki wouldn’t make it the whole way back in the condition he was in, so Mobius’ plan was to find a place to hole up and let the outlaw recover enough to ride on his own. On the way into town, he’d seen a spot that could work: a rocky hill with enough trees to obscure them. It would be an obvious place for anyone chasin’ them to look, but they weren’t exactly spoiled for choices.

Once in cover, Mobius slid off his horse and hurried over to Loki, who had remained still and silent the whole ride.

“Loki?” He put a hand on Loki’s back and felt his heartbeat, weak as it was.

“Mobius…” Loki attempted to lift himself up and started to slide off the saddle feet-first. Mobius caught him with both arms around his waist, before Loki’s weight could land on his injured leg. Loki groaned at the sudden stop.

“I gotcha,” Mobius murmured and flushed at the intimacy of the hold. Not the time or place, he reminded himself. He dragged Loki over to the most shaded spot and lowered him down. Then he went to move the horses out of sight.

He couldn’t help looking over at Loki again and again, watching for signs he was getting worse. Loki was propped up against a rock, eyes closed and lips pressed together tightly. He was awake, for now.

One eye cracked open as Mobius came back to his side with a water bag, but he wouldn’t let Mobius help, taking it from him and raising it to his lips. Mobius chose not to comment on how Loki’s hand shook, instead looking at the wound. The kerchiefs were stained but with all the jostling, it weren’t a surprise to see it had bled more.

“Is the bullet in there?”

Loki shook his head. “Passed through.” He glanced down, then away. “Or so I believe.”

Mobius chewed his lip. “Can I check?”

Loki eyed him, pale, drenched in sweat, and still looking dangerous as hell. Then he looked away again. “If you must.”

Mobius placed a hand lightly on Loki’s thigh, feeling him twitch, then slid it around to the underside. It felt intimate, even under these circumstances. He probed with his fingers cautiously along the edge of the kerchief, then pulled back when Loki suddenly hissed. A knot in Mobius’ stomach loosened.

An exit wound meant Loki wouldn’t have to suffer Mobius diggin’ around in his leg. Didn’t mean they were out of danger yet.

“We should wash it,” Mobius said. The outlaw pressed his lips together, then took a shaky breath and said, tersely, “Fine.”

Aware they might be on borrowed time, Mobius worked as quickly as he could. He used one of Loki’s knives to cut his pant leg open so he could rinse the wound with water before following with liberal splashes of whiskey. Loki paled even further but stayed conscious. Mobius dug through his saddlebags for a clean shirt and tore it into strips to rebind Loki’s wound.

He half-expected a dry comment about how often Mobius ruined his own clothing for Loki, but the outlaw seemed too focused on staying awake. Once done, Mobius checked the path they’d taken but saw no signs of pursuit yet.

“Sun’s goin’ down,” he said, unnecessarily, but it got Loki’s attention. “You get some rest and we might be able to leave in the mornin’. I’ll keep watch til then.”

Loki was looking a mite bit cornered again, which made Mobius sigh.

“You went along with all that—” he waved towards the horses “—but can’t trust me to guard you while you sleep?” He could’ve pointed out the number of times Loki had seen fit to sleep in Mobius’ presence, but maybe the sex made that different.

Or being wounded and vulnerable.

Mobius blew out a breath and went back to the horses. He’d left the saddles on, in case they needed a hasty getaway, but he could brush around them.

“Not like I’m stickin’ my neck out enough as is,” he grumbled to himself. Brandy flicked her tail in agreement, or so he told himself. Loki’s mount had nothing to add on the subject.

He half-expected Loki to have passed out when he came back, but the outlaw was still awake…barely.

Keepin’ himself conscious out of pure spite, Mobius thought grumpily.

He began gathering up the remains of his shirt and damn near jumped outta his skin when Loki grabbed his wrist. He looked up into green eyes set in a face tense with pain.

“Thank you, Mobius,” Loki said quietly. Mobius’ traitorous heart flipped in his chest. He laid a hand over Loki’s.

“’Course. Get some rest. I’ll wake ya if I hear anythin’.”

Loki stared at him a moment more, then gave a small nod. He closed his eyes, head tipped back against the rock, and was out like a light. Mobius watched him—the frighteningly pale skin, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the slightly parted lips he knew too well—and went to shove the scraps of his shirt in his saddle bags. When he came back, he leaned against the rocks opposite Loki where he’d have a view of the road, rested his rifle in the crook of his arm, and prepared for the long night ahead.

From this prompt list. Other fills will be under this tag.

#wanderingflame fic #cowboy lokius #outlaw loki #sheriff mobius #loki laufeyson #mobius m mobius #wf bed game #ask game answers #lokius fic #cowboy au #yee haw Sunday

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mrs-barnes-rogers-writes · 22 hours ago

Text

The Future

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes (a hint of Stucky x reader)

Summary: Follow on from The Dream and The Return. 513 got home. 616 completed her mission but what about our reader? And why is it their children?

Warnings: Multiverse travel (if that's a warning???), fertility issues, magic.

Trope: Friends to lovers, idiots in love, brooding and not sharing how they really feel.

"They'll be another threat. Bigger than Thanos, bigger than anything any of us have faced."

"But it won't be us that faces it will it?" Wanda asked knowingly.

"Who then?" Steve asked.

"Our children."

"Hang on, so you're saying it's our kids?" Asked Steve.

"It looks that way." Tony said pouring himself another drink.

"You're saying OUR children, some of us here can't do that." Bruce replied, as him and Nat reached for each other.

"Do you mean all of us?" Wanda asked, her voice inquisitive. Neither Stark or Strange answered. You watched as Vision squeezed her shoulder softly, as she looked up at him full of hope. Nat and Bruce were tearful. Sam frowned and ran his hand down his face. You glanced at Steve and Bucky to find their jaws set hard.

"Well?" You asked. Stephen and Tony exchanged a look but said nothing, Tony took poured another drink. At that point the calm Y/N disappeared and the one hostiles met on the battlefield made an appearance. You stormed over to Tony grabbed his drink from his hand and smashed it against the wall. You swiped the top of the drinks cabinet, sending the bottles and glasses that sat on top of it to the floor. The cabinet itself soon following it. You turned to Tony who held his hands up in surrender, Stephen Strange on the other hand, had other ideas and opened a portal straight back to Bleecker Street.

"That's my cue to leave."

You acted quickly and used your powers to push the energy from the portal into Strange, closing it and sending him across the kitchen. He landed in a heap.

"I didn't know you could do that." He muttered.

"There's a lot you don't know about me Strange." You replied as you strode over. "And just like the big guy, you wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

You were about to pick him up again when Wanda appeared at your side. She squeezed your hand and gave you a knowing smirk. She raised her hands and started to use her powers as you mimicked her actions. Her red mist began to mix with your blue energy and you slowly sent it towards Stephen, like a snake seeking out his prey. The colour seemed to drain from his face and he held his hands up.

"No more riddles Doctor." Wanda told him, her accent thick. "You know of our future, of what will happen to our children. That doesn't seem fair. Talk or we'll make you."

"And if they don't, I will." Came Natasha's voice as she appeared at your other side. "And it'll hurt just as much, just in a different way."

"You know some people would call this bullying." Tony quipped.

"Man, shut the hell up and drink some coffee." Sam replied.

"Fine, but this on you. If the TVA turn up again...." Strange told you.

"If the TVA turn up again I'll speak to them myself. I have plenty to say about them making Y/N think I'd sleep with Sharon." Steve answered, as he moved around you to pull Stephen to his feet. He pulled him up but gripped him harshly and whispered through gritted teeth. "Don't think I'm gonna let you leave here without fully explaining what's happening to our kids. You lie so much as once and I'll let those three at you, got it?"

Stephen nodded.

"Perhaps we should go down to a meeting room." Vision suggested.

"No." Steve ordered. "We'll do it here, less chance of anyone trying to slip away."

"I didn't try to leave." Tony pointed out.

"No but you're a drunk again. Well done." Nat quipped knocking him into the couch.

"I'll make coffees." Sam said.

A few minutes later you were all sitting on the couch, steaming coffees on the table that the large u-shaped sectional surrounded. Bucky had thrown a blanket over your legs and placed his hand in yours. Steve, who sat forward at your other side, spoke first.

"Let's try this again. I want the full story. No riddles, no half-assed tales."

"Maybe they should recap first, make sure it's the truth." Bucky added, squeezing your hand.

"What Tony said is true. I did connect Y/N consciousness to that of 513 and 616. To her it would seem like a dream within a dream. There was a slight side issue in that the two of you were also connected."

"How did that even happen?" Asked Bruce.

"The three of them share a deep connection, something that they haven't explored yet, but it is there, deep routed in their conscious and subconscious state."

Steve glanced back at you and Bucky. The latter looked straight back at him, and then down at your hands entwined, the spot were your eyes were fixed to. You let out a shuddered breath and looked up at Stephen.

"So 513 finds her way back?"

"Hopefully, yes."

"She was missing in action. 616, the team she was with didn't think 513 was there, why?"

"The snippets of the universe they saw, well, you weren't there. They didn't see you."

"But I told them to stop, well, 616 she told them to stop. Why? What were they doing?"

"They were looking at other options."

"Other options?" Steve asked.

"The TVA, well, their agent made mistakes and 513 Y/N shouldn't have been missing as long as she had. It caused a branch and the team was slowly starting to fall apart, and their universe wouldn't have been far behind. Their version of Tony and I discovered the multiverse, and saw that you aren't together here, and in 616, so they thought they'd fill the gap with another version of you."

"They were going to take her?" Steve asks. Stephen nodded.

"The TVA were tracking what was going on as they tried to get a handle on what their Agent had done. They thought the best thing to do was to tell us and 616, sending the other you in."

"Why her and not me?" You asked.

"They have a better working relationship with Hank Pym."

Tony scoffed. The team nodded in understanding.

"Well, that explains it." Steve answered sarcastically, before running his hand down his face and sitting back further on the couch.

"But why didn't they just go themselves? Why didn't the TVA just go there and tell them off themselves." You asked. Stephen didn't answer immediately.

"They already did, didn't they." Wanda replied. "But you are the same in every universe, you don't listen."

"So they sent our girl because it'd shake 'em?" Sam asked.

"Well if someone's missing in action, presumed dead and they suddenly show up, or you think they do, it's gonna leave anyone rattled." Nat added.

"So, 513 finds her way back or they find her. What about 616?" You asked.

"Their branch seems to have been snipped." Strange responded.

"So, she told them then? How she felt? After Steve, well me there, had told her too." Steve asked.

"I can't say exactly, but on the device they gave us, everything seems to be on track."

"Device?" Steve asked. Bucky huffed.

"You're still keeping things from us." He mumbled.

You stood abruptly and wandered over to one of the windows. Bucky went to follow but Steve but out his arm to stop him.

"Give her a second."

"Why us?" You asked. "Why me? Why's it so damn important?"

"Have I not been clear?" Stephen replied.

"Not particularly." Nat pointed out, as she sipped at her coffee.

"You're saying it's me, but why me? Why not Sharon or another agent or someone else enhanced even? Why me? I don't see why I'm so important, because I'm not. Not in the grand scheme of things."

Steve and Bucky both went to interject but were stopped by Tony's quiet words.

"You went for the head."

"What? What do you mean?" Steve asked.

"Thanos." Vision replied. "That's the second time you've mentioned them going for the head."

"It was Y/N that shouted it right?" Sam asked. "I remember hearing it on the comms."

"And those that didn't?" Bucky asked.

"Their universes take a different path, some which they may never recover from." Stephen told you.

"Y/N." Wanda said softly. "How did you know to take his head?"

"Something about the energy from the gauntlet. He had the Time Stone. If we didn't stop him he could just try over and over again. If we took his arm he could use the other or get one of his minions to do it. It was best to just kill the bastard." You paused momentarily. "When I see energy, when I feel it, I can tell who's good or bad. What's dark and what's light. That day, the day of the battle in Wakanda, I only knew Natasha, but I could see how you cared for one another, how fierce and determined you all were, how much you loved each other. With him it was nothing but darkness, nothing but anger and hatred for everything and everyone. Each one of us carries something dark, whether we want to admit it or not, but he was nothing but pure evil. The Mad Titan is too kind a title, even the devil himself doesn't have a space for someone like that. It was better that we killed him." You paused briefly again. "Why us? Why do we get to know all this? Why not tell the other universes? Why our children?"

"There is something in every universe that makes us different." Vision told you all. "But there are also elements that make us the same. From what Stephen and Tony are saying, the relationships are the common and connecting factor. Our behaviours differ, our actions, or the other versions of us. It's why some didn't fair well against Thanos and we did. It's not just OUR children is it?"

Stephen shook his head.

"It's our children in every universe. The relationships are important in this because of the children born from them. The TVA's visit proves that. We have to be together in every universe, because there are multiple to protect. Multiple universes. Multiple options." Vision continued.

"Multiple teams." Steve said quietly.

"And the best to lead them is the strongest in the multiverse." Stephen said.

"And that's us, well our kids, why? Because we beat Thanos?" Steve asked.

"Because we'll prepare them. That's it isn't it? It's not just Thanos. You're telling us to prep them, because in the dream the others didn't know. The other me was just telling them to stop messing around with the multiverse." You said.

"I don't want my kids turning into killing machines. I don't want them going through what I did." Bucky told you.

"Well, we have no choice." Tony said.

"I don't want them turning into that!!" Bucky snapped.

"Bucky. This is much more real for Tony then it is for any of us right now." You told him.

"What do you mean?" Steve asked. Still at the window, you glanced back at Tony, who turned to return your gaze.

"You know?"

"I do."

"Who else?"

"I do." Wanda added.

"So do I." Nat added. "And it wasn't from Pepper before you go complaining Stark. These two can tell with their powers. I held her hair back last week when she threw up."

"Pepper's pregnant?" Bruce asked.

Tony nodded.

"Then the process has begun." Stephen said.

"This isn't a war plan Strange! It's not a strategy!! This is our lives! Our children's lives. So what? We pump out a dozen kids between us and send them into battle in twenty or thirty years? Where are we in this? What the fuck are we doing? Making them lunch? Cutting up oranges for half time? Throwing out water bottles?" You snapped.

"It's unlikely in this line of work that any kids, that any of us had, however we have them, wouldn't just walk around untrained though right?" Bruce pointed out.

"How so?" Steve asked.

"Well, I know for a fact that if Nat and I were somehow to have them, or if she was godparent to any of your kids, she'd be training them in self defence, and Bucky I know you don't like the idea of this but you'd do the same. If they've got powers, they have the girls. They want to fly with robot wings? Uncle Sam. Make an iron suit? Uncle Tony." Bruce continued.

"But where are we in all of this? I couldn't just let them go like that." You started to rant. "What, we just standby and watch them go and fight? Where are we? What are we doing in all this? Sure we'll be older but...."

"Y/N." Wanda interrupted, sensing you were starting to spiral, she stood and took a step towards you. The two of you had spoken about the chance of children. If it would be possible for her and Vision. How your children would be changed by your enhancements. How deep your feelings for Steve and Bucky run. If any of you would get a happy ending. She took another step but stopped abruptly and swayed. She grabbed at her head and let out a gasp, dropping to her knees. Vision was at her side in an instant. You and Nat moved towards her. She gasped again and grabbed for your hand.

A vision flashed before your eyes. Whatever Wanda could see, you could now see it too. You'd practiced combining your powers before but nothing like this.

Whatever you were seeing and wherever you were, it was dark. Like you were standing in the middle of a galaxy with very few stars. You were stood in front of a row of portals, similar to those Strange and Wong could create but also somehow different. On the other side of the portals were lines and lines of troops. Steve stood talking to them pointing at the portals and giving orders. Catching sight of their uniforms you see they are mix of international Special Forces. They nod in understanding and stand weapons drawn, ready for a fight. Steve turns towards you and steps through the portal. He's older, and his hair is scattered with grey. His beard has returned and also shows his signs of aging, along with the lines around his eyes that still sparkle blue. You turn and look for Bucky but instead spot Wanda a few metres away. She's talking to someone.

A young man, no more than his mid-twenties, with dark hair and Wanda's eyes. Wanda's cupping his face with her hands and he hugs her tightly.

"This is our fight Mom, you have to let us do this."

She speaks to him in Sokovian, telling him to remember everything he's learnt and to come back to her. There are other people milling around some you recognise as your friends and found family, and some you don't, but they somehow feel familiar. Bruce is talking to someone who's a younger and smaller version of the green side of him. Nat's talking to two women, one blonde and one brunette. They are not as young as the others but they are younger than you, and it feels oddly like you know them. Sam is talking to a young woman with his smile. There's a woman in a suit that's a more updated version of Tony's. She's hundred percent his daughter, but there's no sign of Tony.

When Steve reaches you he slips an arm around your waist and kisses you head as you lean into him.

"Buck still prepping the kids?"

You follow his line of sight and look over your shoulder and further into the darkness and see Bucky. His hair is longer again and flicked with grey, as is his beard. You watch as he talks firmly to the group in front of him. They nod in return. They're a mix of four young men and a young woman. They look close in age and two of the boys and the girl looking like a combination of you and Steve, with the remaining very much you and Bucky. They look towards you then and one who you'd guess is the oldest, and the image of a younger Steve Rogers looks right at you.

"Stay there ma, and listen to the old man." He says nodding at Steve.

Steve scoffs and mutters something to you about kicking his ass. There's an explosion in the distance and those near you rush to take their positions. Bucky and Steve usher you to cover the portals as you look back at your children and the children of your friends as they run towards the fight. Some run and some fly, and you feel the pull of anxiety in your chest. You catch sight of the other versions of yourself, the others and their children as they take their positions.

Once in position Steve's voice rings out.

"Hold the line!!!"

You look up and see who you now know as Wanda's son, looking back at you he nods and mouths.

"You hold the line."

Then you hear your son's voice.

"Avengers!!!"

At that moment you're thrown backwards out of the vision and back to the others, where you find you and Wanda are still holding hands, heaped together on the floor.

"What the hell happened?" Steve asks, his arms around you.

"My son." Wanda replied, voice wrecked with emotion. Vision held her tightly.

"Sweetheart?" "Doll?" Steve and Bucky said simultaneously.

"We hold the line." You said in a whisper, that only Bucky and Steve could hear.

"What did she say?" Nat asked, concerned by what she'd just witnessed.

Steve pulled you into his lap, as you and Wanda finally released hands. Bucky moved quickly, grabbing the blanket you'd left on the couch and wrapping you in it.

"We hold the line, that's what we do, we hold the line."

Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #avengers #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #avengers au #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #steve x reader x bucky #stucky x reader

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dioslesbianwife · 2 days ago

Note

You know what time it is chaos time.

The jofoes partner saying the as so beautiful she wishes she could get them pregnant.

Like they helped her with something important and her saying thank you beautiful man I wish I could get you pregnant.

LMAO i would def say this to them (cause it's true) anyway totally, hope you enjoy and ty for the laugh and requesting

Dio

He literally freezes for a second like his brain blue screens.

"…You…wish you could… get me pregnant?" He repeats it slowly, like he can’t quite believe his ears.

Then he bursts out laughing- the smug, delighted kind.

"Of course you do. I am a vision of perfection, after all."

He leans down and cups your chin, purring: "Tell me again, my dear... Tell me all the absurd little things you would do to worship me."

He's SO into it. He thinks it's hilarious and adorable and he feeds off the worship like it's oxygen.

Kars

Kars just raises an eyebrow at you at first.

"That is biologically impossible."

(Thanks, Captain Obvious.)

But when he sees your very earnest, starry-eyed expression, he actually smiles, a rare genuine one.

"You would wish to give me life? Hm... A fascinating sentiment."

Secretly? He’s absolutely preening inside. His ego is stroked SO perfectly.

He’ll teasingly remind you later, too: "Careful. Admiration like that may compel me to keep you at my side forever."

Yoshikage Kira

Kira chokes a little bit.

He's trying to help you reach something off a high shelf when you say it- and he just stops moving entirely.

"…You…you think I'm...pretty?" he says very quietly, almost stunned.

You nod seriously, and he blushes faintly, smoothing his hair back.

"That’s… very flattering."

(Internally he's screaming.)

For the rest of the day, he’s lowkey dazed and keeps sneaking glances at you like you hung the damn moon.

Diavolo

Diavolo immediately glares at you - but it’s very obvious he’s flustered.

"Tch. Foolishness."

But also... the corners of his mouth twitch like he’s fighting a smile.

You can practically hear him replaying it in his head on loop later, brooding in his dark throne room like,

"She wishes she could impregnate me...because I am beautiful..."

He’s smug about it for DAYS.

If you bring it up again, he’ll growl, "Say it again." (But softer. And he won't meet your eyes.)

Doppio

Doppio turns BEET RED.

"H-Huh?!! You want to- get me- pregnant? What the hell does that even mean?"

He covers his face with his hands and crouches down like he's about to explode from secondhand embarrassment.

"You think I'm that pretty...?"

You reassure him and he just lets out a tiny whimper.

For like a week straight after, whenever you compliment him, he’ll get shy and mutter "She wants to get me pregnant..." like it’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to him.

Enrico Pucci

Pucci stares at you silently for a long moment.

"That… is not how biology works." He says it with a totally straight face.

But his ears are turning pink.

He tries to turn it into a theological discussion about life and creation and destiny-

but you can tell he’s secretly flattered to hell and back.

He’s a little extra affectionate after that: lingering touches, softer voice, glancing at you when he thinks you’re not looking.

Funny Valentine

Valentine chuckles immediately.

"Such patriotic devotion to your president, my dear."

He tilts your chin up and gives you a sly, knowing smile.

"If I could be blessed with such a thing... it would be a child as beautiful and strong as its parents."

Plays along smoothly because God, he loves how much you adore him.

Will absolutely offer to get you pregnant instead.

Diego Brando

Diego does a double take like he MISHEARD YOU.

"You wanna WHAT- ??"

He’s caught somewhere between being insulted (he's not some weak thing!!) and SO smug because you think he's beautiful.

He smirks, ruffles your hair, and says, "Yeah, you’re obsessed with me. Can’t blame you."

Teases you about it nonstop after:

"Bet you'd knock me up if you could, huh? Make me your cute little trophy husband?"

(He's secretly kinda into the idea, not that he'd ever admit it.)

Tooru

Tooru grins like an idiot.

"Aww, Y/N-chan- you think I'm that pretty, huh?"

He immediately jumps on you, pretending to faint dramatically into your arms: "Impregnate me, my goddess!!"

He plays it up so bad you’re both laughing, but then later he just looks at you, all soft and earnest:

"You're seriously too cute."

Starts using it as blackmail when he wants attention: "You SAID you wanna get me pregnant. C’mon, cuddle me."

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assassins-and-hidden-blades · 3 days ago

Text

Reunion (Apocalypse!AU) -- Jacob Frye x F!Reader

26/05/2025: Hey! I did it! I've had this unedited for ages now (dw I proofread it lightly) and I just want to post it to share this with you all! Take it as a separate AU standalone than as part of the ongoing story. Also, take this offering as an apology for my unreliability with writing T_T. Shit's been happening but I miss writing! I have a few bits half written that I'm gonna finish as well -- here's hoping it gets me in a groove.

Tagging: @marshmallow--3 // @rahdaleigh // @sofia-t-g /// @iceboundstar // @mythandmagik // @itseivwhore // @pink-polarfox // @missbenzayb // @alleycatbookstore // @timbreavery // @dacian-assassin // @thepalaceofmelanie // @asilverraven // @danzalladaggers // @eclectic--assassin // @thehistorynut19 // @ta-ka-shi-ma // @roki3chocoa // @fandomsfanman // @le-nottibianche // @bandit-brunsmeier // @starmoji1 // @spocktheestallion // @salty-thembo // @missingfrye // @xdeimos // @connorsleftbicep // @timeless-tende // @b3k1720 // @falconfeather23435 // @sciencethot

Enjoy! Reblog, comment, all that good stuff!

----------

Rubbing his eyes, Jacob crossed off another town on his map, leaning over the wooden table in his room. They were kind enough to give him a three bedroom house to reside in, despite having two and a half beds neatly made but untouched. On two of them sat a few different stuffed animals; some new, some familiar. Lily would always share her stuffed animals with Emmett, despite the older brother acting as if he didn’t need the comfort.

He stood up straight and took a sip of his now cold coffee. The mug was sat down amongst a handful of others, showing the true extent of his exhaustion. His return from an overnight supply run with Edward and Arno barely reaped any useful resources, save for some vehicle parts. No sign of anyone camping around. No sign of his family.

A knock at his front door pulled him out of his thoughts. “It’s open!” he called, sniffing to compose himself.

“Jacob?” Evie’s voice rang throughout the hallway, a thread of worry lacing her tone.

“Upstairs!” He chose to quickly knock back the rest of his coffee.

“Jacob, when was the last time you cleaned? Your living room looks like a minefield.”

“I haven’t had the time.”

Evie leaned against the doorway, concern on her features. “You’re exhausted. You need to rest.”

“I’ll rest after we… after…” He sighed. “Later. I’ll rest later.”

The older Frye twin glanced at the table -- at the map decorated with countless crosses, the coffee mugs with their corresponding ring stains. She began to gather them.

“You don’t have to--” Jacob began.

“I was talking to Altair and Kassandra. You’re going on another supply run?” She was quick to cut him off, leaving him momentarily stunned.

“Yeah, this afternoon. And you’re going on an overnight patrol.” Evie raised a brow at his words. “I checked the rota.”

“You’re not going on the run.”

Jacob scoffed. “Says who?”

“Says everyone. You’re wearing yourself out -- killing yourself. And for what?”

“For them, Evie!” He was shockeed at how quickly his temper flared. “Sorry.” His voice calmed immediately, returning to its original, tired state. “This is all my fault.” Carding his fingers through his hair, he sighed. “I should have protected them.”

Evie’s heart stung at her brother’s demeanour. She glanced at the wedding band on Jacob’s finger, a sole reminder of their shared family. “Altair and Kassandra won’t go with you. They can handle being a man down while said man rests.” She put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it reassuringly. “There’s no point in lamenting the past; It wasn’t your fault, Jacob. We’ll get them back. Go to bed.”

“But--”

Evie gave him a look, shutting him up instantly. “Bed. Now.” She followed his gaze towards the front door. “I’ll lock it when I leave.”

Jacob watched her leave his room, leaving his door slightly ajar. Standing up, he almost tripped over his chair. He moved to his bed, where a T shirt and pyjama bottoms sat. He has been working nonstop for days, and only now realised that he barely had time to look after himself. He never changed out of his overnight patrol gear, mud-encrusted and uncomfortable. A shower would be a smart option, and one he forced himself to take.

Evie was still downstairs as Jacob emerged from the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel. His movements were less than lacklustre, as if on the verge of giving up.

Perhaps a few hours of rest would do him some good.

He climbed into his bed for the first time in half a week, and listened to the ambient kitchen noises Evie made. Closing his eyes, Jacob tried to imagine someone else making that noise, but the movements were never quite the same. He pulled his pillow tight against him, closing his eyes. A tear still managed to escape, but Jacob had passed out before it had time to hit the pillow.

Altair and Kassandra dove for cover behind a car. “How are there so many raiders?!” She yelled.

“I don’t know! Just keep shooting!”

“Kill all three of them!” The leader of the group — standing at least ten raiders strong — commanded from across the street.

Altair and Kassandra exchanged glances, confused at the instructions. “Who else is here…?” Altair questioned, and was swiftly answered when gunshots rang out in front of them. Altair flinched against the car, ducking further behind the metal as he worked out what was going on. The third person had fled toward an abandoned house, a hand pressed against her stomach. She dove inside and slammed the door shut.

“I suppose we found our answer,” Kassandra said.

“We should kill them all. We cannot let them get to that house.”

“Do you know her?” Kassandra asked, concern beginning to grow for whoever she was.

Altair stood up and fired five shots before ducking again. “No, but she looks… very familiar.”

That seemed to be enough for Kassandra, and she began to eliminate the remaining five targets with a striking accuracy. A few moments later and they were all down.

“We should check if she’s alright. She looked injured,” Altair said, holstering his gun before jogging up to the door and knocking firmly. “Hello?! Are you alright? We want to help you! Are you hurt?”

No response.

He knocked again. “My name is Altair! This is Kassandra! We live in a settlement not too far from here. We have first aid and supplies! We can help you!”

Again, nothing.

“I’m kicking down the door! Please don’t shoot me…” and with that, Altair broke the lock on the door by booting it open. It was clear to see immediately that she had hidden upstairs, shown by the concerning trail of blood she left in her wake.

“Hello?” Altair became nervous; no response after an injury usually didn’t bode well for the injured. They followed the trail, Altair climbing each step purposely but with caution, eyes observing everything from the cracked yellow paint along the wall to the bloodstained bannister.

At the top of the stairs, the trail led into a closed door. He tested the handle; locked. He knocked politely. “Miss? We just want to help you. I’m coming in, alright?”

There were murmurings on the other side of the door, and Altair, without any lockpicks, did the only thing he could think of.

He kicked down the door.

Splinters flew, startled screams sounded out, and his hands automatically came up in surrender as he stood at gunpoint. The woman in question was crumpled against the wall, one hand around her crimson-stained stomach, the other holding a shaking gun. “Don’t move.” Her tone was fierce, strong.

“We can get you help.” He persuaded calmly. “I can help you; I’m a medic.”

“What faction are you with?”

Kassandra mirrored Altair’s movements. “Factions?” She asked. “I don’t... we didn’t know there were any.”

“You don’t dress like cultists… who are you?” The woman squinted in suspicion.

“We’re just survivors. Same as you.” Altair looked around, surprised to see two small figures crouching beside each other in the corner. “You’re protecting your children, we understand, but let us take you to our settlement. We have better medical equipment than here, and it’s safe there.”

“Survivors…” you let your arm with the firearm drop, hitting the wood with a thud. “Why are you out here?”

“We’re searching for supplies.” Altair furrowed his brows in thought. That wasn’t the only reason they were out here. He glanced at the two children; one boy and one girl. “Where’s the father?”

“We got separated about three months back. I don’t know if…” she paused. “If he’s still alive.”

“What’s his name?”

“Jacob.”

“Jacob… Frye?”

Your eyes lit up through the prevalent exhaustion, tears of relief forming. “He’s alive? And Evie?”

Altair rushed to your side, snapped out of his frozen state. “He has not stopped looking for you. It must’ve been fated that the one time we told him to rest was the when we found you.” He cradled the back of your head. “Lie back. Evie’s fine; she’s on an overnight patrol and won’t be back until morning.”

You relaxed slightly, distracted by Kassandra introducing herself to your children. “You both look so much like your parents; I’m your pater’s friend. What are your names?”

“I’m Emmett!” Despite the situation, word about his father’s whereabouts must have excited him. “This is my little sister, Lily.” He wrapped his arms around her shoulders behind her in a comforting hug. Lily held onto Emmett’s arms, looking away from Kassandra. “Is it true?!” he cried excitedly. “You know our father?”

Altair took some gauze and medical tape out of his backpack, beginning to pack and dress the wound. You bit your cheek to try and hide the pain from your children. “I can’t do much here without a needle and thread, but we have what we need at the settlement.,” he said, wiping his hands on his shirt. “We need to go, now.” He wrapped your arm over his shoulders and heaved you to your feet. “Kassandra, get them to the horses.” She nodded, and took the children by the hands, leaving the room first. You and Altair stumbling after.

Your knees kept buckling every few steps on the way to the front door, causing Altair to adjust accordingly. “Jacob will not be happy with us when we return with you in this state.”

You chuckled, a weariness to your tone. “I can imagine. That man has a tendency to overreact.”

“We’ll just have to beg for forgiveness this time around.”

As you and Altair limped out of the front door, Kassandra had rushed to bring the horses closer, the children both mounted on one of them already. “Okay, ready?” Altair asked, before hoisting you as best he could onto his horse, mounting behind you. Kassandra held both children in front of her, holding them tightly.

“Will Mama be okay?”

“She’ll be fine, little ones,” Kassandra comforted, though an uneasy smile rested on her face as she assessed the blood staining her friend’s hands.

“Stay as still as you can,” you told them, slumping heavily against Altair’s chest.

He urged his horse to turn back the way they came, kicking her into a gallop — sprinting as fast as she could go. Kassandra wasn’t far behind.

——

Throughout the ride, your pulse had slowed down tremendously. Your bandage (and Altair’s shirt) was almost drenched in blood, and you had been slipping in and out of consciousness for a while. Altair skidded his horse to a stop and slid off, taking you with him. He adjusted you up in his arms and carried you hurriedly into the infirmary. “Help! I need help!” A few doctors came out, and upon seeing the amount of blood, dove into action, taking you out of his arms. He looked down at himself, at the crimson soaking the cotton of his shirt, at the dried blood on his skin. A wave of nausea threatened to overcome him. It was too much.

Gathering himself, he turned to move into the porch of the infirmary building, where Kassandra and the children were waiting, confused and distressed. “I’m getting Jacob,” he told her, sprinting towards the bar. It was the only place the group usually frequented; no doubt the familiarity would be his coping mechanism. The sun had dipped low under the horizon, chilling the air. Altair didn’t feel the cold.

He slammed the door open with his shoulder, slamming it against the wall. The entire room fell into silence, eyes shooting to the scene. Jacob sat on a barstool, a glass of whiskey in front of him. He also snapped his gaze to Altair while pocketing his wallet.

The look on his friend’s face told him everything.

But the blood saturating his shirt told him something far worse, and his blood crystallised to ice. “Oh, Christ.” Jacob flew off of his stool, sprinting behind Altair.

Who was hurt? How bad is it? Are they…?

They ran down the street in what can only be described as the longest ten seconds of his life. Altair let Jacob overtake him as he threw open the porch door to the infirmary.

He fell to his knees when he saw his children again. “Oh…”

There they were, dishevelled and thinner than when he lost them, but alive.

They fell into his arms, and he embraced them tightly, heart swelling and breaking like the tide. “Are you both alright? Are you hurt?” Pulling away, his voice cracked with concern and relief, despite trying to hide it.

“No.” Emmett said, tears in his eyes. He flung his arms around his father’s neck, nestling his face in its crook.

Lily’s tears had already stained her cheeks. “I was so scared,” she whispered, clinging to his other side.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now. You’re alright. My gorgeous girl.” He wiped her tears and kissed her forehead, bringing her back into him. “My beautiful boy.” Emmett held him tighter as Jacob cradled the back of his head. He never thought he would savour this moment again — holding his children in his arms. His eyes scanned the room. They were in the infirmary, and two of them were unharmed. That left one more reason behind Altair’s shirt. He sniffed, barely composing himself.

He pulled away after a few more moments. “I need to check on Mum. You two stay out here, alright? Stay with Kassandra and Altair while I go inside. They’re very kind people. I’ll be back in a minute.” He could tell that they didn’t want him to disappear so quickly, but they nodded anyway. Kassandra took them to a small play area in the corner. Altair stood over them all, watching intently.

Jacob moved to knock harshly on the door. “Hey! Open up! I need to see my wife!” The door unlocked quickly, the doctor perhaps intimidated by Jacob’s tone. He barged in, freezing at the sight before him.

You, with your sickened face, barely conscious in a hospital bed. Doctors had just finished treating you, checking your pulse rate as they tidied the area. Two trolleys sat beside them; one of clean bandages and medical equipment, and the other held bloodstained fabric.

So much red. Too much.

Jacob’s stomach dropped, filling with lead. “No…”

Rushing to your bedside, he caressed your head with one hand, and grasped your own with the other. “Y/n, God…” he choked out. His composure crumbled, tears spilling down his cheeks in both worry and relief. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, sosorry.”

Semi-lucid, you turned and feebly squeezed his hand. “I found you.”

He laughed, tears brimming in his eyes. “You did.” The light mood was quickly dissipated by the way you were blinking. Slow, fatigued eyes staring slightly out of focus. “Who did this to you?” Anger bled through his gritted teeth.

“They’re dead, Jacob. Don’t chase headless chickens.”

He sighed. Emotions overwhelmed him, constantly switching between anger, devastation, and relief. He looked up to one of the doctors. “Is she going to be okay?” His thumb caressed your cheekbone.

The doctor kept looking between you and Jacob. “We’ll take care of her.” He walked away quickly, as if fetching something.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He began to sit up, worried, but you tugged on his hand weakly.

“Don’t, Jacob. Let him go.” Frowning, he paused before pulling up a chair to sit beside your bed.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t find you sooner.” His elbows rested on the mattress, his hands enveloping yours, pressed against his forehead. “I never should have stopped.”

You brushed the tousled hair out of his eyes, smiling at his loving gaze. Concerned and guilty, but loving.

“From what I heard, you were working yourself to death. I’m glad you weren’t there; you would have panicked.”

“But I could have prevented… this.” His lips pressed against your knuckles; a constant kiss.

“You don’t know that. I’ll be fine here… but our children need somewhere to sleep. And bathe.” You studied his features, keeping to yourself concerns about his own health. His eyes looked exhausted, and if it wasn’t for Evie’s presence you would have been certain that he wouldn’t have been eating either.

“I can’t just leave you here.” He breathed a tone of fatigued defiance.

You scoffed. “I’m in the safest place in the world right now.”

“But what if—“

“Stop.” You rubbed your thumb over his knuckles soothingly. “Nothing will happen. It won’t happen.”

He geared himself to leave, but paused at the last moment. Turning to you again, he opened his mouth to say something, but a tearful huff came out instead. “I thought… I thought I’d never see my family again.” He grasped your hand tighter. “I can’t leave you again.”

You wiped a tear from his cheek. “We’re not going anywhere. I promise.” A wall of fatigue overcame you, and you found your eyes fluttering closed.

“Y/n?” You hummed, feeling your husband’s hand on your cheek.

“I’m resting, Jacob. I’m okay.”

He sighed, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Sleep well, my love.”

——

“Hey, have any of you seen Jacob?”

Evie found her way into the bar in the morning, having just returned from her overnight patrol. The entire squad had bagged the biggest booth that morning, conversing in relieved and content murmurs. She eyed them suspiciously. “What’s going on?”

Altair regarded her with the most emotion she’d ever seen him wear. “Go find out. He’s in the infirmary.”

“What?!” She turned on her heel and ran. What did he do this time?

She opened the infirmary door, expecting Jacob to be bandaged up and drugged on morphine (which has happened more often than she would like). “Oh my God.”

Jacob was sat in a chair at your bedside, chuckling quietly at one of Emmett’s stories, his actions and facial expressions entrancing Jacob fully as the boy sat cross legged on the bed. Lily was playing with her father’s hair, tucked safely in his lap. He held her tightly in one arm and held your hand. The children snapped up at the sound of her voice.

“Aunt Evie!”

She dropped to her knees as they bolted towards her. Laughing, she kissed their heads multiple times as they collided into her arms. “Oh my God; you’re here! I missed you both so much!” She couldn’t help tears of joy breaking through. “Don’t cry, Aunt Evie,” Emmett said sadly, wiping her tears.

“They’re tears of joy, darling. I’m so happy you’re safe.”

“They’re tears of pain, really; you naughty rascals are going to drive her up the wall.”

They groaned at their father’s jokes. “No, we drive her down the wall; you’re the one who drives her up it.” Jacob was stunned at Lily’s comeback, while you and Evie laughed. Suddenly, you winced, shifting uncomfortably on the bed.

Jacob’s attention was on you in an instant. “You alright? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m okay. I laughed too hard.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Jacob raised a suspicious brow.

“I promise I’m okay.”

Momentarily satisfied, Jacob smiled softly before leaning down to kiss you ever so gently, as if you were made of porcelain. You couldn’t help but smile back; it was impossible to ignore the love in this moment.

Emmett groaned at your and Jacob’s act. “Aunt Evie, get us out of here!”

#x reader #assassin's creed x reader #assassin's creed #apocalypse!au #jacob frye x reader #jacob frye #assassin's creed x f!reader #jacob frye x f!reader

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perseephoneee · 21 hours ago

Text

you always did like clint eastwood [kol mikaelson x f!reader]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange information ↳ taglist

synopsis: you and kol get stuck in 1800's western america

cw: era typical violence, surface level wild west research

authors note: this fic is for my friend (who wishes to remain anonymous) as a delayed birthday gift hehe. love you darling.

Understanding Kol Mikaelson was like a rainbow; sometimes it happened, but rarely ever. And when you really saw him, you found a sort of beauty people would never see. Today was not a rainbow day. Today was actually a really, really bad day.

You're tired of being the Mikaelson's go-to witch. All it does is ruin your day and cause you too many bumps and bruises. And then there's Kol…Kol, who enjoys teasing you but will never let you get close enough to see what's going on beneath. It makes it hard to trust him. But you really need to trust him, especially right now. Because the latest spell in Klaus' hair-brained schemes has caused both you and Kol to end up in 1800s western America. Right in cowboy country.

You really could kill him.

If he hadn't distracted you, this portal spell wouldn't have sent you here. Instead, it would've brought something useful to you. But now you're stuck in an era where they really hate women, and they really hate witches.

"I'm going to kill you," you hiss out. You're blinking back at the sun shining high above you. You're standing under the entrance of 'Willowbrooks'– a western town from Kol's understanding. The dust swirls around your feet and gets in your throat, not helping your sour mood. It didn't help that the name sounded familiar; you were trying to think about why.

"It could be worse," Kol laughed. He put a hand over his eyes as he observed a vulture flying overhead. "I never had the chance to be a proper cowboy."

"Probably for the best. You'd be a nightmare."

"I take offense to that," Kol smirked. "C'mon."

"To where?"

"This sign might be here, but that town is still a while away. We should get there before nightfall," Kol started walking without you, and you groaned as you ran to keep up. He would occasionally whistle, which would only aggravate your mood. Sometimes, he shared a joke that would make you wish for a quick death from wherever you were heading. Your walk took the rest of the day into the evening until you eventually entered an old western town. You both stuck out like sore thumbs. Kol, ever the lover of breaking the rules, immediately went toward a clothesline at the back of a building. He tossed you some articles of clothing haphazardly, with you barely catching them.

"What are you doing?" you whisper, afraid to raise your voice. Kol starts undressing before you, and you quickly avert your gaze.

"Blending in," he replies. You catch a glance at his body, abdomen toned in a way that wasn't entirely fair. Your cheeks burn as you look away. Standing around waiting for him to be done seemed foolish, so you find another place to hide as you quickly dress. The clothes didn't exactly fit, but you made it work. It was just a simple blue blouse with a long tiered skirt. You kept your combat boots, hoping that no one would notice. You didn't want to worry about locating your shoe size as well. By the time you went back to Kol, he was also clothed. Between the dark blue tunic and the black vest, he looked like the kinda devilish character that you'd want to avoid in one of these old Western movies. But to you, he was the safest thing around.

"If anyone asks, darling," he gives you a look. "You're my wife, and we're visiting on our way to see family."

"If I'm your wife, don't expect me to be too nice about it," you smile. He just grins, fangs flashing.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Going to a saloon seemed stupid and cliche, but the only inn in Willowbrooks happened to be a saloon. You followed behind Kol, and despite his cavalier attitude about your adventure, he kept close to you and seemed to be observing everything that moved. He didn't feel safe here either.

Unlike the movies, the saloon didn't come to a grinding halt when you both entered. A few stares were thrown your way, but fortunately, it wasn't as dramatic. You forgot that Kol lived in this time, which you guess was helpful because you probably would've gotten yourself killed if you were alone. He sidled up to the bar with no problem and requested a room, slipping into a western drawl that you didn't realize he had in him. You tried to observe your surroundings without being suspicious. Above the bar, a piece of paper advertised the special as a drink called "coffin varnish," which sounded as appetizing as one could imagine. The smell of the establishment left a lot to be desired and made you miss the glory of modern plumbing. But the thing that caught your eye was the glittering sheriff badge on a man sitting at the other end of the counter. He was in hushed conversation with another, maybe a deputy or just a friend, but you still managed to overhear some of it.

"That damn Foley coven is getting on my nerves," the sheriff sighed, taking a swig of dark liquid. "Especially Elizabeth. It's bad for business."

"Lincoln already freed the damn slaves; what else do they want from us?" the other man shook his head, looking at his cup.

"Easy. They want our heads," the sheriff chuckled, but it was an empty laugh of a tired man.

"Whatcha going to do?"

"What I always do," the sheriff finished off his drink. "Take care of it."

You jolted as Kol wrapped an arm around your waist, distracting you from your eavesdropping. He raised a brow but didn't say anything, and you gave him a look that you'd tell him later. He took the hint and nodded towards the stairs that led to the rooms, with you following behind. The floor creaked beneath your feet as you ascended to your room, a tiny thing at the end of the hall with a washroom across from it. You sighed as you saw the one bed, but didn't have the mental capacity to deal with it.

"This must be like one of your romance novels," Kol snorts as he takes in your tiny room. You sat down at the edge, undoing your shoes and ignoring him. "What, no witty comeback?"

"What if we're here for a reason?" you question, the thought circling your brain since leaving the bar.

"What reason, this was a spell gone wrong," Kol leaned against the wall, looking at you inquisitively.

"The sheriff down there wants to take out a coven of witches in the area, the Foley coven," you sat forward, hands on your knees. "I thought the name of this town sounded familiar, and now I remember why. The Foleys wanted to free the rest of the slaves on the western frontier, in addition to giving women more opportunities to work. But the town of Willowbrooks didn't want that. They ended up burning the head of the coven and set the two parties into a civil war. No one knew what happened to the Foley witches, and even today, if you visit the town, it's a ghost town. Literally."

"And this concerns us…?"

"What if we're here to stop the fight from happening, to save a witch?" you looked at him, hope and fury in your eyes. "What if that's how we get home? By righting a past wrong?"

"You read too many stories," Kol sighed, running a hand over his face.

"I don't know if we can save the witch that burns, maybe we aren't meant to. But I can't shake the feeling that we're here for a reason, and my witch's sense hasn't led me wrong yet." Kol continues to look at you with hesitation and tiredness. As you know, it wasn't in his nature to help. You were going to make him do it anyway. "Please?"

The internal battle waging war in Kol's mind made his eyes cloudy as he thought about what you said. He swore under his breath and ran a hand through his hair.

"We can…talk to the witches tomorrow," Kol said. "But we might not be able to change anything. Okay, darling?"

"Okay," you smiled, without malice for once since landing in this shitty town. "And Kol?" He looked at you. "Don't get handsy in the bed, or I'll cut them off."

He grinned.

Kol didn't touch you during the night, although he snored, which was fairly annoying. You woke up to the sight of him curled into a tight ball on the other side as if he was stopping himself from intruding on your personal space. It was the most respectful thing you've ever seen him do.

By the time he woke, you had gotten dressed in some clothes you had stolen from another room (sorry, unsuspecting patron) and used the wash basin across the hall. You still felt dirty, and the heat from outside wasn't helpful, but it was better than nothing. You wish you could have a toothbrush, though. You also ventured downstairs to the main saloon. You tried to be inconspicuous when asking where the closest food place was. Fortunately, they had a kitchen right in the establishment, and you were able to eat some eggs, beef, and beans. You even had coffee, even if it tasted like dirt water. You debated saving something for Kol but remembered he wouldn't want any.

You came back up the stairs to him, still lounging in bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Planning to stay here all day?" you inquired, leaning against the doorframe. He smiled at you, not as flirtatious as usual. "What's wrong?" you narrowed your eyes. Kol wasn't usually this silent.

"It's…strange," he shrugged as best he could while lying down.

"Strange?"

"Being in the past," Kol sat up a little bit. He had taken the vest off before bed, and the blue shirt underneath was crumpled with sleep. "I've forgotten so much of it."

You take pause at that statement. "Do you remember much of your life?"

"Bits and pieces, like anyone looking back on childhood, I suppose," Kol played with the bedsheets between his fingers. "I… don't think I was very nice during this era."

He sounds so sad about it, and the feeling leaves an uncomfortable ache in your chest. Was it regret in his voice? Or just commentary about who he was. Sometimes, you couldn't understand whether Kol was warning you away from him or explaining his actions. His statement also came with the startling realization that of the Mikaelsons, he was the one you feared the least. Strange considering his reputation, but it was knowledge you tucked deep inside for later.

"I think you're nice," you shrugged. Kol looked at you with barely veiled surprise. "I mean, you kept to yourself while we were sleeping. That was pretty nice."

Kol grinned at that, and it made you smile. There was the devilish vampire you remember.

You departed quickly after that, making your way to the outskirts of town. Relying on your own sixth sense, you allowed yourself to be drawn to the magic farther past the confines of Willowbrooks. Kol made up for his somber morning mood by singing 'Cotton-Eyed Joe.' It was the first time on the trip you wished for a white oak stake so you could stab him.

You stopped atop a hill and narrowed your eyes at a dilapidated building below.

"That's where the witches are," you pointed. Kol put his hands on his hips.

"Well, darling," he sighed. "Let's meet your brethren."

You walked up to the building, the sun beating against you. You felt sweat beading on your forehead, rolling down your cheeks and not helping your already disgusting appearance. When you approached the door, you did what any sensible person would do– you knocked.

"Very polite," Kol murmured.

"Shut up."

The door opened, but no one stood behind it. You cautiously entered, taking in the darkness. You gasped as all at once, hundreds of candles flickered to life. A small group of women huddled in the corner, their faces illuminated by the flames. The one closest to the door, an older woman with braided long white hair and eyes the color of storms, stepped forward

"We've been expecting you," she smiled.

The woman was revealed to be Elizabeth Foley, the one the sheriff (who you learned to be named Sheriff Dunn) had complained about the day before. Apparently, one of the witches foretold the two of you showing up that day. You should really be less surprised.

"There has to be a way to stop this before too many innocent lives are lost," you said, sitting at a wooden table with Elizabeth. She ground a mix of herbs with a mortar and pestle.

"Innocent lives will always be lost as long as men are involved," Elizabeth said, glancing at Kol. He stood by the wall, watching the other witches work around him. He seemed uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry for bringing a vampire into your home," you apologized. Elizabeth grabbed your hand, squeezing lightly.

"I do not fear him, neither should you."

You didn't know how to respond to that.

"I will go into the town tomorrow and talk with the Sheriff," Elizabeth returned to grinding her herbs.

"He'll kill you."

"Perhaps," Elizabeth shrugged. You found her to be rather calm despite the circumstances. "But this town isn't lost yet. Perhaps it will take someone like you and your friend to convince them of that."

You went back to the inn by nightfall, finding yourself staring up at the ceiling instead of Kol this time. Maybe you both had issues with dissociating. Kol flopped on the bed next to you a second later.

"What do you think she meant by 'convincing the town?'" you turned to look at him. His hands were tucked behind his head, causing his shirt to slide up a bit. You ignored the sight.

"Get them to stop the sheriff? Who knows" Kol quirked a brow.

"But it might not stop a witch from dying."

Kol had nothing to say to that, and you didn't expect him to. You chewed your lip in thought. Eventually, you turned on your side to face him.

"Thank you," you murmured. He glanced at you.

"For what?"

"For helping me."

"I just want to get home," Kol snorted.

"I don't believe that," you replied, shaking your head. Kol looked at you, warmth in his otherwise dark gaze.

"You always see the best in people, don't you?"

"I have to," you glanced away. "Otherwise, no one else will."

Kol turned to face you, brows furrowed in thought. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair that had fallen across your face, tucking it delicately behind your ear. The warmth from his fingers made you close your eyes. His hand went to your neck, grazing the collarbone before dancing over your shoulder. You tried to keep your breathing even as he lightly touched you.

"Do you see any good in me?" he whispered as if afraid to ask the question. You opened your eyes, looking at the furrow of his brow to heavy lashes as he refused to make eye contact.

"I do," you hummed. "When you let me."

That seemed to settle something within Kol, who leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. It was barely anything, but you leaned into it, and that was enough to let him get rid of his reservations. His hand cupped your face, disrupting the hair he had been so gentle to tuck away. Your hand went to his waist, feeling the skin you had pretended not to eye earlier. You let out a gasp as his teeth nipped your lower lip, deepening what was already becoming something you knew you wouldn't want to run away from. Kissing Kol felt like a slow fire burning within you, growing in size until the only thing you could feel was his touch and his tongue on your body. His lips traveled along your jaw, kissing the delicate skin of your neck. Your mouth parted as blunt fangs dragged along the skin, nipping at your collarbone. You wished he would leave a mark.

Kol couldn't stay away from your lips for long and returned to them with a fervor that insinuated that he'd been waiting to do this for some time. You let yourself be pulled on top of him as he rolled onto his back, his lips never leaving yours. You parted to breathe, nose nudging his and safety flooding your body as his arms wrapped securely around you.

"Kol," you whispered. He hummed thoughtfully. Your hands brushed through his hair. "I've always seen you."

He grinned, kissing your cheek. "I know, darling. I know."

Unlike the night before, you let Kol hold you that night. You woke in warmth and a sense of belonging you'd been hoping for for a while. You didn't know what to expect today about the town of Willowbrooks, but you knew you wouldn't be alone through its trials.

When you stepped outside, the town was already waiting with bated breath. Elizabeth stood facing down Sheriff Dunn, her skirt billowing around her ankles and her gaze steely. Sheriff Dunn glared.

"Let this go, William," Elizabeth said. She seemed unhurried in her approach. "This town has suffered enough."

"Suffered because of creatures like you."

"No," she smiled, a faint thing. "Because of people like you."

The town shuffled uncomfortably on their feet, unsure what to do. You and Kol circled closer.

"Elizabeth Foley, I charge you with crimes of disrupting the peace, and punishment must be served," Dunn announced, reverberating across the desert. Elizabeth didn't look shocked by this at all. You watched as Dunn removed his belt, wrapping it around his hands. Elizabeth got down on her knees, and you started forward. Kol grabbed your arm, yanking you back.

"What are you doing?" you hissed, his grip a vice.

"You can't stop this, not by running forward."

"She's going to be tortured."

"It'll be worse if you intervene," Kol looked around at the people around you. You looked as well and took in the faces of horror and fear flickering across everyone's expressions. A half-baked idea started to form in your head just as the first whip sounded. Elizabeth didn't scream, even as the blood started to show on her shirt. Not even as Sheriff Dunn hit a second and third time. You watched the townspeople flinch, people of different backgrounds and colors watching with a tension that only came with disagreement. You wrenched your arm out of Kol's grip and approached the citizens.

"Are you really going to stand by and watch as this man continues to hold your freedom hostage?" you exclaimed, voice loud. People looked at you in shock, Kol included. "When this woman is fighting for all men and women, regardless of circumstance, to have the same rights as the white man?"

"She is ready to take the belt if it means protecting people like you, people who never protected her," Kol yelled, joining you in your protest. He sent you a wink as he faced the other side of the town.

"You have the power to do something! You have the power to put your foot down!" You walked closer, making a point to look at each person individually. You saw a few nods, and you let your voice get louder. Each exclamation between you and Kol drowned out the held-in whimpers of Elizabeth and the sound of the cracking skin. You watched the light ignite within more and more people and, for once, started feeling actual hope.

It wasn't until Elizabeth was a heap on the ground, barely holding herself up, that the sound of a rifle being cocked reverberated throughout the courtyard. One of the men was aiming at the sheriff, who looked at him in shock.

"That's enough, William. Let her go."

"Let us go," another man said, his own belt off and wrapped in his hands. More people kept joining in, saying similar sentiments. Sheriff Dunn hissed, stepping away from the approaching mob. He reached for his own gun, but the sound of several others being pointed his way was enough to set him running instead. As dozens of townspeople chased after him, you watched in satisfaction as metaphorical pitchforks arose. You spent only a second in that feeling before rushing towards Elizabeth. You slumped on the ground, pulling her into your arms.

"Elizabeth," you gasped, your hands covered in the blood seeping through her clothes. She looked up at you with dazed eyes, her hand coming up to cup your cheek.

"You did it, sweet girl."

"I-I didn't do anything," you stammered.

"You brought hope," she coughed. "The most precious gift of them all."

Kol ran up next to you, biting into his wrist as he skidded to a stop next to Elizabeth.

"Drink," he demanded. "Let us help you."

"I don't need your blood, Mikaelson," she chuckled. You don't remember telling her his name. "My coven can heal me just fine. It's time for you two to go."

"Go? How?" you inquired, looking at Kol. He shrugged.

"Take care of her," Elizabeth said to Kol, nodding.

You couldn't get another word in as you felt your body dissipate into sparkling atoms. By the time you re-materialized, you were back in the Mikaelson compound. Rebekah startled from her place on the couch, glancing at the two of you, hand-in-hand on the ground. She took in both of your outfits and snorted.

"Well, Kol," she drawled. "You always did like Clint Eastwood."

#kol mikaelson #kol mikaelson x reader #kol mikaelson imagine #the vampire diaries #tvdu #the originals #my writing

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