#Guess I coulda leaned into that more

[cinimuffin]

[o0sleepingdead0o]

Prepared for Anything

Part 2, MasterPost

Danny stared at the ceiling, bored, as the creepy clown laughed manically at a camera. Danny hadn’t been in this dimension for two minutes, (he’d portalled directly into Joker’s hideout) before he was promptly tied to a chair. He could get out of it easily.

Thing was, there were others here, restrained more thoroughly than Danny. They wore colourful, armoured suits and were obviously the vigilantes/heroes of this. . .place—Gotham? Danny’d heard the name mentioned a few times now—This Freakshow wannabe was obviously one of their villains. 

Danny had been hoping someone would show up without having to draw attention to himself. What was this dimension’s stance on halfas? Or ghosts?

But no one had come yet, it had been an hour, and he was getting stiff from sitting here so long without being able to move his limbs.

Danny heaved a loud, exasperated sigh-groan at the ceiling. The guy, face-painted like a toddler who’d gotten into their parent’s make-up, suddenly stopped monologuing. 

Good. It was getting annoying.

“Are you done yet?” Danny complained much like the impatient teenager he was. “I’ve got crap to do, wrap it up, would you?”

Danny came here to explore. He was not exploring. He should be exploring and it was all this dude’s fault.

Danny supposed he could go all ghost on him and bounce, but he came all this way. It wasn’t much of hassle, but still. Danny was stubborn. He knew this.

The warehouse was silent. The creepo wasn’t talking, anymore, he wasn’t doing anything, and Danny deigned to lift his head from where it’d been thrown back on the chair.

The costumed people were looking at him in horror.

Danny wasn’t sure why.

The walking fashion disaster began to cackle with condescending amusement.

Yeah, okay, whatever.

Danny ignored the man’s delve into something about Danny’s impending doom, or threatening him with pain, and something, something, something. Something about broken this, burning that, yada, yada yada, when Danny got an idea.

Behind the chair where his hands were bound, knowing no one was behind him, he quietly broke the ropes on his wrists. The vigilantes—a red one with bandoliers crossing over his chest and one who wore a largely grey and black suit with an R emblem on the left side of his chest—were valiantly trying to dissuade the psycho to leave Danny alone, who now realized the said psycho was coming towards him, carrying a crowbar.

How original.

The Joker, as Danny heard someone call him at some point, he’s not sure when, leaned in close. His breath stank. 

Danny made a disgusted face. “Do you not brush your teeth at all? Gross, dude.”

“You won’t be mak—“

Danny punched him in the jaw. The guy went down pretty easily. 

Danny made an annoyed noise as he bent down to untie his ankles from the chair legs. He muttered to himself. “Stupid villains, always gotta get in the way, why can’t I just have one nice vacation, huh?”

“How did you do that?” 

Danny looked up at the red one. “Do what?” He asked, standing and stretching with satisfying pops.

“Get free.”

“Oh. . .” Danny reached into his hoodie sleeve and pulled out a small hand saw. He guessed he coulda used a knife, but it was the first thing he'd thought of.

The guy spluttered. “You just keep a saw in your sleeve?”

“Yep.” Danny popped the P. No need for them to know he can make portals. As tiny as needed. “You guys want help out of those, or what?” Danny gestured to the chains keeping the two bound on the floor.

“No, Joker’s goons outside probably has the keys, we have back-up. . . .coming. . . .where did you get that?”

Danny didn’t miss a beat as he crouched to get a grip on the chain with the large pair of bolt cutters. “Ah, ya know, never leave home without a good pair of bolt cutters.” He offered. The room they were in was pretty bare, saying he found it “lying around” wouldn’t work. It’d be pretty obvious.

“That is absurd.” The younger one said. “Where did they come from?”

Danny snapped the red one free and moved onto the angry eyebrows one. How did they still emote so well through those masks? “Just had it on hand.”

“But wh—“

“Oh look! There ya go! I gotta go, nice being held hostage with y'all.” Danny ignored their calls for him, climbing out of the nearest window and disappearing.

[cute-sucker]

your crush on rafe was helpless.

you knew you shouldn't indulge in it, as you flashed across the country club, wearing your cute outfits, and laughing with your girls. so what if you were a little of bimbo, giggling at anything said, and soft eyes wavering wherever they shouldn't?

you had been in plenty of relationships, beaming at anyone who treated you well, or perhaps not so well. rafe cameron was someone who you had always wanted to kiss. just a small peck on the mouth, or a soft embrace in his hands. somehow he was someone who wouldn't even touch you.

you had made it your mission after last year when you had tried to dance with him, only for him to promptly decline your offer, his eyes wandering someplace else, as you pouted. your friends had told you to give it up. what use was it?

after all rafe was filthy, with his dark blue eyes, and cruel worlds. all you had heard was bad things. but you were a soft princess, eyes docking at anyone, and painfully shy as well so who really cared about a harmless crush? it wasn't like anything was going to happen. you wanted for him though, harmless touches on his shoulder hoping that he'd look at you.

and suddenly it happened.

"coulda you move?" he squinted down at you, and you bit your lip beaming up at him. you had been eying him all night, pulling down your pretty pink dress hoping that he'd take a liking. instead, his eyes looked hazy, as he swung the bottle over his mouth.

then he gave you a pointed look, "what's a pretty girl like you doing all alone?"

it was so overused. it was so icky the way he looked down at you. it was so stupid, yet you found yourself flushing, playing with the strands of your bracelet, "i don't know. i felt a bit lonely."

at this he smirked looking down at you, almost as if his eyes had reajusted and he'd realised who he was looking at. you were like a shy little bunny, wearing pink platforms, glossy pink lips pursed and an attitude he'd like to fix. yet rafe's smile deepened, and he licked his lips to look back at you.

you battered your eyelashes you practiced in the mirror. his eyes seem to linger on your lips for a second more. the music continued to boom, yet you felt this distant hum go through your body. if he touched you, you would melt.

"lonely, huh?" he drawled, his voice low and rough around the edges. "you shouldn't be. not a girl like you."

you had thought about this so many nights. you'd wished, hoped that he would finally pay attention to you. you felt the heat rise to your cheeks, and could barely stop your hands from shaking as he leaned closer.

his breath was cool on your neck, he smelt like peppermint, something that made your head spin, "how about i keep you company?

that was it. you felt all of your confidence go down the drain, instead, all you could feel was the way that your heart beat faster and faster. as if he was about to catch you, and you swallowed hard. you pouted as you toyed with your tiffany bracelet.

'i'd like that," you murmured, barely able to hear your own voice over the pounding in your chest.

there was something about your soft tone that seemed to change something about you. rafe's smirk turned into something softer, almost predatory. he reached out, his fingers grazing your arm lightly, sending shivers down your spine. "good," he said. "because i've been watching you too, you know. always so cute and innocent. makes me wonder what you're really like."

at this, you felt your heart skip a beat. there was no way, but you let the delusions fill your head, charged with promise you seemed to jump up. earnestly you tilted your head, and placed your hand on his bicep.

"i guess you'll have to find out," you breathed out, voice much steadier than you had ever felt.

rafe's eyes seemed to darken with interest before he leaned in his arm travelling to the small part of your back, "yea? you'd like that?" now his arms captured your waist, as you let out a soft sigh.

"welcome to my world, baby.'"

˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚˚❀༉‧₊˚

wanna meet bunny!reader sister? pogue!bunny!reader drabble: smile for the camera

[intoxicated-chan]

𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐭

Summary ➳ Gambit lends an ear and his comfort to you. 

(A/n) ➳ I feel like I spent too much time writing this because I wanted to get his accent right. But I thank all those who gave me advice, especially @a-roguish-gambit. I also started playing RDR2 so you guys can expect content for the game soon too!

Word Count ➳ 1.1k 

Content Warnings ➳ Female Reader, swearing, violence, blood, pet names (cher), mentions/fear of abandonment, light sexual content, cock blocking??  

It wasn’t your choice to be pushed into the Void after Wade and Logan. When you watched their bodies disappear, you too were taken to the Void without putting much of a fight. And from the moment you arrived, you knew you were over your head. 

From the moment you arrived, Wade and Logan’s bickering and banter was constant, and their fights weren’t often but deadly. You stood on the sidelines whenever they fought because you knew they could easily take you out. 

Especially now.  

What was supposed to be a ride to find the Resistance members became a bloodbath, the first sign of a fight starting was your cue to leave the car and wait for them to calm down. 

You sat against the tree, watching the two grown ass men throw kicks and punches that could kill a person with ease. Logan's claws pierce Wade’s body and how Wade’s katanas and knife slice through Logan’s outfit and skin.  

“Guys, seriously?” You muttered, this fight would’ve been much entertaining if she had food with her. You were tired of it, physically and emotionally, and you weren’t surprised when you fell asleep to the sound of them battling.  

But when you awoke, you were in a different place. Some kind of hideout.  

But with three others who you learned to be Blade, Elektra and Gambit. All of them talked about getting back into Cassandra’s lair, but Wade did most of the talking as Logan did all the drinking.  

“You?!” Wade suddenly shouting in some kind of encouragement, pointing directly at you.  

They all stared at you, waiting for a response but you had no idea what they were agreeing on, going back in her lair or getting a way out.  

“It’s the same thing, kid.” Logan interrupted your thinking, as if he read your thoughts. But it seems he was tired of the fighting and wanted to a seat to drink in peace.  

“Sure, I guess.” You said, mainly to get the stares off you. 

Everyone agreed that they would set off early in the morning, giving you the chance to look around the hideout. You peeked your heads in the room as you already felt like you were trespassing, so you promised yourself that this would be the last room before you ate something. 

“Bonjour, cher.” Gambit’s voice made you jump, quickly pulling your head out to turn and look at him. “Ain’t polite to be peekin’ in on folks, now is it?” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” 

Gambit reached out to push the door open further. “Ain’t no harm done.” With a wave of his hand, he welcomed you in. “Don’t be shy, cher.” 

You walked in once you got his approval, he followed right behind you, closing the door with a click. The room was not what you expected, with mismatched furniture and some playing cards lying around, it spoke of him.  

It was Gambit’s space, and it felt like an extension of him. 

“So, how long you been stuck in dis here Void?” Gambit asked, sitting on his couch and patting the cushion beside him.  

But you shook your head, choosing to lean against the wall. “Not long. I got caught up in Wade’s mess.” 

Gambit raised an eyebrow, his expression changing to surprised. “You’ new to all dis chaos, eh? Coulda fooled me.” He grinned.  

You shrugged, trying to laugh. “More like I got dragged into it. Wade... He stopped getting in trouble for some time but this time, I wasn’t quick enough to dodge it.” 

“If dere’s somethin’ on your mind, cher, you can talk. Sometimes it’s easier t’spill your guts to a stranger.” Gambit noted. 

You looked at him, seeing sincerity in his eyes. For a moment, you hesitated, but you broke. “I’m worried. Scared.” You admitted, whispering. “That this plan won’t work. If it doesn’t, everyone in my universe... They’ll forget me. It’ll be like I never existed.” 

You didn’t mean to say much, but once you started, you couldn’t stop. “I’ve been abandoned once before, left to fend for myself. I worked so hard to make a name but now it’ll be for nothing. Everything I’ve done, everyone I’ve known... Gone. Just like that.” 

You felt embarrassed after you finished ranting. Your eyes widened as you raised your hands, stumbling over your words, a poor attempt at explaining yourself. “Shit! I-I know you said-” 

But before you could finish, Gambit was there in front of you, pulling you into a tight embrace. His arms wrapped around you like a shield, protecting you from your worries.  

“It’s alrig’t cher. You’re alrig’t.” He whispered, his voice soothing as he held you close. “You ain’t gotta apologize for feelin’ like dis. Everyone gets scared, even Remy.”  

You felt yourself slowly relax in his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calmed you a little. In that moment, you didn’t care about the fear that’s been eating you away.  

You hesitated at first, but then you wrapped your arms around him. You both stayed like that for a while, neither of you saying a word, just taking comfort in each other’s company. 

Eventually, Gambit pulled back slightly, just enough so he could look down at you. You met his faze, your breath hitching as you realized how close you were. 

And then, he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss. It was slow soft at first, a mere brush of lips, but it deepened as the seconds passed, both of you losing yourselves in the moment.  

You felt his fingers running through your hair as you reached to cup his face. You shut your eyes, your hands moving to his coat and attempt to take it off him.  

The door flew open with a loud slam. You jumped, darting away from Gambit. 

“Hey, what’s going on in here?!” Wade shouted as he strutted into Gambit’s room. His tone was annoyingly cheerful. “We don’t have the budget for intimacy coordinators! Johnny must’ve taken it all.” 

You cleared your throat, crossing your arms as you felt your face become warm. “Wade! I... Uh... Nothing, nothing’s going on.” 

You could tell by how the whites of his suit widened that he was smirking under that dammed mask. “Oh really? ‘Cause it looks like I interrupted something juicy!” 

“Jus’ havin’ a lil’ chat, mon ami. Nothin’ to get excited ‘bout.” Gambit fixed his coat, seemingly normal. 

Wade then shrugged, turning around. “Alright, but if I hear any smoochin’ sounds, I’m comin’ right back!” 

As soon as the door closed behind Wade, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your heat still racing from the near discovery. You glanced at Gambit, who was watching you with a smile, and couldn’t help but laugh. 

Gambit stepped closer to you, hooking his finger under your chin to have you look at him. “As we were, cher?”  

© Intoxicated-Chan 2024, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission. 

[nebulablakemurphy]

Haymitch Abernathy & The Dead Donner Girl (Part 2)

Summary: Haymitch is forced to mentor the niece of his former ally, aka the prequel to all things Moves & Countermoves. (Warning: Sunrise on the Reaping spoilers.)

Part 1

Haymitch knows it is bad when he’s summoned by letter to the Capitol, the week before Y/N’s victory tour. He knows it is worse when Snow wants to recap her interview following the games.

“Well I didn’t win because I was the smartest, or the strongest, or even because I deserved it the most.”

“Then how did you do it, Y/N?” Caesar leans in, “we’re all dying to know.”

“I won because someone loved me.”

“Aww.” The audience coos.

“Tyson was more than my ally, he was my friend. He protected me. He deserves to be here today, not me.”

“I don’t know how true that is,” Caesar says.

“I think if we all loved each other; everyone in the districts and everyone in the Capitol, maybe we wouldn’t need the games to remind us of the rebellion. If we all love each other, why would anyone rebel?”

“How sweet,” Caesar holds a hand to his heart. “What a sweet girl.”

The audience roars with applause.

“I have no idea what the future holds, for any of us. But I would very much like to be your friend.” Caesar tells her.

Y/N smiles and nods, extending her hand to him. “Of course.”

“She wants to end the games.” Snow tuts, “didn’t you warn her what a careless mouth could do?”

“I haven’t spoken to her,” Haymitch admits. “I’ll get her under control before the tour.”

The man hums. “I’m not sure you can.”

“All I’m asking for is a chance.”

At this the older man smirks. “If I grant you the opportunity to correct her behavior, what are you willing to give me in return?”

“Anything.” Haymitch decides.

“Does loyalty to your former ally run so deep that you would do anything to save a girl you can’t even bear the sight of, simply because she is her kin?” President Snow cocks his head to the side.

“I guess it does.” It’s all for you, sis.

Coriolanus steeples his hands on the desk before him. “A car will be sent for you this evening, I have something special in mind for your retribution. Be sure to wear something nice.”

“Nice?” You want me to dress up to be tortured?

“Suit and tie,” Snow nods.

“Fine, alright.” Haymitch agrees.

“And moving forward, do keep her contained. I know you’d hate for her to join you.”

Haymitch purses his lips, where the hell are you sending me?

————————————————————————

“Man, I wish you had to do this instead of me.” Y/N laments, arranging flowers against Tyson’s headstone.

“Little girl, there’s a train rollin’ in for you.” Tyson’s mother, Cherry reminds her.

“I’m aware.” Y/N sighs, turning to face the woman.

“You be good now, ya hear? Remember who you are.”

“Yes, Mrs. Cherry.”

“That’s Ma to you.” The woman taps her chin, affectionately. Tears welling up in her eyes.

“Yes, Ma.” Y/N forces a smile. She can’t cry now or she’ll never stop.

“Wish we coulda met you different, but I’m glad to know you all the same.”

Y/N allows herself to be pulled in for a chaste hug. “Me too.”

“Make us proud.” Make our boy proud.

“I will.” Y/N takes off, out the side gate. Purposely skirting Tyson’s father, Tucker, and his siblings, in an attempt to keep her composure. Racing home to her house in Victor’s Village.

Haymitch is back. The lights in his house are on next door.

She wonders where he ran off to, but Haymitch never tells her anything. Still she pushes through the open door of his house. “Knock, knock.”

No answer. She finds her mentor passed out on the dining room table. “Haymitch, it’s tour day.” Again nothing, he doesn’t even stir. Hesitantly, she reaches for his shoulder, giving it a jostle.

“AHHHHHHH!” The man springs to his feet, knife at the ready.

“Haymitch,” Y/N holds up her hands, “it’s just me.”

“Why are you here?” He blinks rapidly, attempting to settle his nerves. He’s not in the arena, not in that house in the Capitol where he had to-

“It’s tour day.” She reminds him, before turning on her heel to leave.

“Wait.” Haymitch calls after her, “wait.”

“Yeah?”

“You need to be careful.”

“Careful how?” Y/N asks, “I’m not kissing Snow’s ass in front of the people whose kids he just killed.”

“That’s exactly what you’re gonna do.”

“You want me to sell out?”

Haymitch slams his fist against the table. “People are going to die. If you say the wrong thing, people are going to die.”

“Haymitch, they believe in what I’m saying about the games. They-”

“Aren’t going to stand between you and Snow if it comes to that. Nobody is gonna do that but me!” That’s never been more clear.

“I never asked you to!” Y/N shouts back, “I don’t want to be responsible for what happens to you.”

“And you think it was my dream to become responsible for you? Whether you live or die? You think I want that on me?”

“Then let the peacekeepers take me off your hands. A public execution ought to be enough to stop whatever I’ve started.”

“I made a promise!” Haymitch snaps. “I promised Maysilee that I would take care of her family. Bang up job I’m doing, already lost Merrilee.”

A promise like that is something Y/N understands very well. “That wasn’t your fault, what happened to her.”

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it was.” Haymitch digs the soles of his hands into his tired eyes.

The silence hangs heavy between them.

“Look, I won’t say anything reckless.” Y/N whispers, “just stop blaming yourself. You tried your best to keep your promise, Maysilee would understand.”

————————————————————————

Vanity arrives, zipping her victor into a lime green dress with feathers around the neckline and wrists. When she is deemed camera ready, Y/N is escorted to the stage in front of the justice building. Y/N bounces into view, clutching what appears to be cards in her hand.

President Snow shifts in his seat, waiting for a proper performance.

The victor finds the cameras, waving them closer with a smile.

What’s your play? Coriolanus leans toward the projection.

The shot tightens to the words scrawled on her index card. ‘I’m sorry! I lost my voice.’

Y/N taps her throat for emphasis.

You

little

shit.

———————————————————————-

President Snow sends a doctor to assess Y/N in district eleven.

“Her throat is raw and her vocal cords are inflamed, other than that she appears healthy. It’ll be at least a week before she can speak again.”

What have you done?

The tour must go on. Without a voice booming from the microphone, the fallen tributes from each district are able to speak for themselves. With no sweet words to sugarcoat and glorify their crimes, the Capitol is forced to own what they’ve done. After all, how can she say the wrong thing if she says nothing at all?

Y/N grins and waves, blowing kisses to the crowd and paying special attention to the cameras.

Haymitch says nothing about her antics, all he can do is sell the lie. But in this lie, there is some truth. Y/N cannot speak. Not in any meaningful way, not in the only way she would.

Punishment for this act will surely come, but for now she is free.

Miraculously, Y/N’s voice returns just in time for her tour to end, in the heart of the Capitol. The audience for Caesar Flickerman’s show is packed full, practically overflowing into the aisles.

“It is such a pity that you didn’t get to speak in any of the districts. I, for one, was eager to hear your speeches.”

Y/N makes a show of unwrapping her cough drop and popping it into her mouth. “Well Caesar, laryngitis is no joke. If I could have spoken, you know I would have.”

“Of course, of course.” Caesar smiles, “we are so happy that your voice has returned in time to see us all here tonight.”

“No place I’d rather be,” Y/N tells him.

————————————————————————

Two years pass and Haymitch does not speak to her, the girl whose noose hangs around his neck, in lieu of her own. Mercifully she leaves him alone.

Bam!

Bam!

Bam!

The pounding on his door alerts Haymitch to the fact that the dead Donner girl is back with a vengeance. Only she would dare to visit him on his birthday. His eyes remain cast downward, looking anywhere but at her. “Can I help you?”

“I’m hoping you can.”

She sounds different. Older.

Curiosity gets the best of him and he looks at her, for the very first time. Because she has outgrown her nickname, too old and too alive to be the ‘dead Donner girl.’

This is the girl the Capitol can’t wait to get their hands on? This is the girl men fall to their knees for? Who he’s spent the past three years in servitude to? This is Y/N? “I imagined you’d be different.”

Y/N crosses both arms over her chest, “that’s what eyes are for.”

Pain in my ass. “What do you want?”

“You, actually.” Y/N informs him, “come mentor with me.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” Haymitch can’t help but laugh.

���Because I need you.”

“Laying it on thick there.”

“And,” Y/N raises her brows, “because you’re one of the few people I can trust.”

Haymitch shifts between feet, uncomfortably.

“Allies?” The girl offers, holding out her hand.

Haymitch sighs, looking up towards the sky. For you, sis. “Don’t make me regret this.”

[misc-obeyme]

prompt: Mammon

a/n: I know, I'm late. I had... a lot going on yesterday. So you get Mammon late. I was going to do Levi today too but I can't find the notes I wrote for his anywhere. So you'll get Levi at some point, maybe tomorrow? I dunno, I might just be a day late forever now, too lol. Anyway, I'm sorry for the low quality of this, like I said there were extenuating circumstances. @om-adventcalendar

Mammon x GN!MC

Warnings: more fluff~

It was the end of a lovely night out, courtesy of Mammon winning big at the casino for once. He insisted on spending it all on a date and who were you to refuse him?

You followed him out into the parking lot after finishing a delicious meal at Ristorante Six. When you reached his Demonio, Mammon put a hand in his pocket for his keys. You watched him as he frowned and checked the other pocket. Then he looked at you in confusion as he began patting down the pockets of his jacket, clearly checking for keys that he couldn't find.

Finally, he peered into the driver's side window, his hands on either side of his face to block any glare.

"Let me guess," you said, after watching this play out. "The keys are locked inside?"

Mammon pulled his head away and looked at you forlornly. You pressed your shoulder against his so you could put your face where his had been between his hands. Sure enough, the keys sat alone and discarded on the driver's seat.

"How did you lock the car without the keys?" you asked.

"This car is top of the line, MC," Mammon said. "It locks automatically."

You moved away from the car and saw Mammon rubbing at his face beneath his sunglasses for a moment. When he looked at you again, it was with the most defeated expression you had ever seen. It was so cute, you couldn't help but laugh.

“Oi!” he protested immediately. “It ain’t funny!”

You tried to suppress your laughter, but it it was difficult. "Don't you have a spare key somewhere?"

"Nah, this is the only key," Mammon said, folding his arms and pouting at your poorly concealed amusement.

You laughed again and took his arm. "Come on, don't look like that. You have to admit it's a little funny."

“I don’t gotta admit anythin’,” he grumbled.

You pulled out your D.D.D. "All right, let's call a locksmith."

Mammon didn’t say anything as you found a number for a locksmith and called. You gave them your location and told them your predicament. You had to wait only a short time before the demon showed up.

The demon gave Mammon a slight bow, clearly recognizing him as the Avatar of Greed.

Then he saw you and smirked. “This human causing you problems, huh?” he asked. “Coulda told you humans are dumb.”

The air around Mammon began to crackle, making you suck in a breath. He took a few steps, getting real close to the demon. He looked him dead in the eyes and said, "I'm the one who locked the keys in the car. Are ya callin' me dumb?"

The demon back pedaled immediately. “N-no, of course not!”

“Good,” Mammon said. “Now apologize to my human.”

The demon looked like he was about to shit himself. “S-sorry,” he stuttered in your direction, unable to meet your eyes.

Mammon backed off, returning to your side. He grinned and it was a little bit unhinged. “Now can ya unlock the door or not?”

The demon quickly unlocked the door, handing Mammon the keys and insisting there was no charge for the service. He got into his own vehicle and drove off so fast you thought he might take flight.

You turned to Mammon. “Was that really necessary? You scared that guy half to death.”

Mammon grinned at you, escorting you to the passenger side and opening the door for you. “Nobody insults my human.”

You rolled your eyes, but got into the car. Mammon closed your door then went around and got into the driver’s seat. He leaned over the center console toward you. “Ain’t it my duty to defend your honor?”

You snorted. “Pretty sure I’m the one defending your honor all the time. But I’ll let you see how it feels, just this once.”

You met him over the console with a gentle kiss, teasing his bottom lip with your tongue before pulling away.

Mammon's eyes were glazed over for a moment before he cleared his throat and started the car. You noted how he took the quickest way back to the House of Lamentation with almost no regard for speed limits. He parked the Demonio in its usual spot in his room, but it was a long time before either of you got out.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[luvlyycy]

this was supposed to be short but i got carried away my apologies.. alsooooooo <3 @seneon I REMEMBERED TO TAG YEWWW . girly girl x dirtbag dabi (real.) [also no smut in this but its suggestive]

you don't know how you got into this fuckass college with these fuckass people— there's the honor students and then there's the people your friends tell you to stay away from. one of those people is dabi.

you have to stay away from dabi. you know there's rumors about him selling drugs, not that you believe them— but he has a terrible rep. not from girls but from guys— girls fucking love him.

"hi dabi!" you exclaim as you enter his dorm room, skipping over to his bed, the skirt of your dress bouncing as you do so. dabi's on his phone, laying on his back, "hi, princess." he yawns, "whatcha up to?" he asks.

"nothin', is tomu here?" you ask as you sit next to him, kicking off your shoes with ease before laying beside him. you admit, following rules wasn't your strong suit, so staying away from his kind of crowd was incredibly hard. plus, they all treated you like a princess— what girl wouldn't like that?

he puts his arm around you, clicking the power button on the side of his phone to put it to sleep, "he's out buying food with keigo. jus' you and me." he smiles lopsidedly as he looks at your breasts- face, he looks at your face.

"you look pretty today." he hums, as his hand runs down on your back, tickling you.

you giggle, finger running along the tattoo on his cheek, "tomura was supposed to take me to the mall today. i guess he forgot."

dabi just stares at you, "you coulda asked me."

"yeah, but you're always busy." you huff out, nuzzling into his side.

he's busy unless you ask him to do something. he frowns.

"whatever, princess."

he watches you curl further into his embrace, maybe you were just cold.

"dabi. i've been soooo lonely these past few days.. tomura keeps bailing on me. keigo doesn't wanna hang with me anymore.. you're the only one who cares." you whine into his side, breathing in the smokey smell of his ripped black tanktop.

he always smelled good to you.

"oh yeah? what do ya want me to do it about it?" he laughs at your antics. spoiled brat. you always know how to get what you want— from tomura, keigo, atsuhiro, and even jin. tomura was the easiest.

"want you tooo..." you trail off, fingers dipping underneath his shirt to rub against his abdomen, "show me how much you care.".

brat, he thinks.

"aww, spoiled little thing can't function without attention." he chuckles out, leaning upwards so his other hand can grab your jaw, "right?".

you nod with a soft 'mhm', dabi says a quick 'right' in response. he presses his lips to yours, he feels your lipgloss transfer to his lips— getting smudged all over yours as well.

he pulls away to look at your cute face, always so flustered after he kisses you. "come here, on top." you obey, sitting prettily atop his lap as he squeezes your side— his other hand caressing your face, "so pretty. i'm the only one who cares about you so much." he's feeding into your little delusion, you know that, but hearing it from him makes your brain stop functioning.

he sits up, still holding you on his lap arms wrapping around your waist to hold you impossibly close, "i'm the only one you can count on. to give you rides, buy you clothes, make you food— i'm the only one, yeah?" you nod, "nobody can treat you like i can, can they, baby?" you nod again.

"come here n' kiss me."

"okay.." you sigh, placing your lips on his— his lip ring poking your lips but you don't mind. kissing him feels so good, it's like he knows everything about your body perfectly. he knows you more than he knows himself. his hands slip underneath your dress, settling on your ass.

he pulls away to look at you, "poor baby." he smiles.

you barely notice the door opening— keigo letting out an exaggerated groan, "honey, we're hooome."

tomura sighs, "i forgot to take you shopping didn't i?" he frowns as he steps over to you, tossing a bag on dabi's bed, only for you to cling onto dabi tighter.

"no! dabi's g'nna take me out now." you huff, nuzzling your face into the crook of dabi's neck, "right, dabi?".

dabi laughs when he sees tomura's upset face and keigo holding back a laugh, but he could never say no to you.

"yeah, that's right, princess."

[abbysgolf-club]

Heey - I saw your post about wanting new requests so here we go I guess, I hope you'd like to write this :3

So I'm thinking Vi x Reader where the reader is a total softie / sweetheart who also lives in zaun. She has a crush on vi and vi knows about it but never really requited it. Or so she thought - one night the reader gets hit on by some scetchy dudes, it doesn't End well and she gets hurt (if you feel comfortable writing this of course!!). Vi sees all of this, kinda saves the reader and realizes that she has a lot more feelings for this lil softie than she thought. Maybe with heavy making out in the End <3

s3xual assault themes (it doesn't happen), pet names (cupcake, baby etc), not proof read, kinda rushed sorry if it's bad 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

MDNI

You were sat in the bar, having your usual, a dirty dr pepper; minding your own business until you felt a hand on your shoulder.

"Hey there, pretty girl. Can i sit?" a man's voice rang through your ears, sending a shiver down your spine.

"go for it.." you muttered, sipping your drink and allowing him to sit next to you. It didn't take long for his hand to slither its way onto your leg. You didn't say anything at first out of fear, he might just be doing it in a friendly way?

You shuffled uncomfortably in your seat, trying to shake his hand off you. it didn't budge. "Hey, dude. do you mind..?" you asked him, kinda hoping he'd get the hint and get the fuck off you.

"What's the matter baby? Are you being ungrateful?" he smirked, trailing his hand further up your thigh. "Tell me baby, tell me this is what you want."

You froze, unable to do anything. panicking, you chucked your drink on him, hoping he'd back up. spoiler alert, he didn't.

"Ooh, feisty. i like it." he chuckled, his voice low and sultry. "Give into me. You know you want to." his grip on your thigh tightening.

"Get off of me, please!" You tried to fight out of his grip, but failed. Tears formed in your eyes as he got closer and closer to what he wants, your protests, pleads and tears didn't stop him. If anything it pushed him to do it more.

"Dude, can't you see she doesn't want you near her!?" A familiar voice called out from a few feet away. "Get off of her." the voice continued, the person stepping closer. it was vi.

The guys hand stayed on your thigh, his grasp almost painful. "And who are you to stop me?" he challenged, allowing her to get closer and closer to the two of you.

Vi rolled her eyes, throwing a hit at the guy groping you. "You heard me. leave her alone, man" she raised her voice a little, getting up close and personal in the guys face. "Get out of here" she spat, raising her fist to punch the guy again. before she got the chance to get another hit, he scrambled off, his grip on your thigh finally leaving aswell as him.

Vi watched him leave, the look of frustration and anger leaving to become more of an empathetic look along with something else you couldn't quite put your finger on.

"You okay, cupcake? he didn't hurt you did he?" Her voice was soft and calm as she held your hand cautiously.

"I'm okay, just glad he left." you smiled softly, the feeling of that guys hand still lingering on your thigh. "Thank you." you blushed, you'd had a crush on Vi for as long as you could remember. Her saving you from a pervy guy added to that crush. dramatically.

"No worries cupcake, always here to help." She smirked, pulling you up out of your seat. "How 'bout we get out of here, yeah?" she asked, her hand interlocking with yours as she guided you out of the bar and into a dimly lit alleyway.

You followed her out into the alleyway, hugging her after she leaned up against the wall. "Woah cupcake, you all good?" her voice shocked, but comforting as she wrapped her arms around your waist, embracing the hug.

"Yeah.. thank you, for stopping that guy. who knows what coulda happened" you murmured into the crook of her neck, taking in her scent as you did.

"Don't worry about it, anyone woulda done the same." she hummed, trying to act nonchalant and not being too successful. Her face was a little pink and her voice a little wobbly.

Her hand reached up to your face to look at you before she pulled you into a soft kiss, gentle and loving.

You pulled back for a second, taking a breath before smashing your lips against hers. Your tongues exploring eschothers mouths. you couldn't believe this was happening.

[five-and-dimes]

Your Eyes Slay Me Suddenly

Finally get to share my fic for the Spring Exchange! I got assigned @im-not-corrupted, and it's my first time writing a knight au, but I'm really happy with how t turned out, so I hope you like it too! <3

AO3

If you had asked Sir Robert Gadling just a few years ago, he would have told you that he had no plans of settling in any kingdom. Ever since the loss of his dear Eleanor, he had found himself most content in traveling. A sword for hire making his way through the lands, throwing himself into new adventures before inevitably moving on. He escorted nobles and adventurers, he protected priceless treasures, he fought in tournaments for gold and glory, and then he carried on. Each new place brought their own unique experiences and joys, but none so great as to convince him to stay. 

Then he entered the kingdom of the Endless.

He had heard rumors of the turmoil the kingdom had gone through in recent times. One of their main allies and trade partners had been brought low by their king’s death and near fatal wounding of the only prince, leaving the prince’s consort to struggle to hold the land together. The loss of protection and major imports left the Endless kingdom vulnerable, and they fell into a period of famine and darkness. However, a few years later saw one of the princes staging a coup, exiling the king and queen as well as a few other members of the royal family, taking the throne for himself. 

And King Morpheus brought the realm back to prosperity.

Hob found the land intriguing in a way he hadn’t experienced before. The landscape was lush and vibrant, the kingdom built within the forest as opposed to clearing it away, and even the homes of the lower class were adorned with intricate artwork carved into the door and window frames. When he made his way into a boisterous tavern, he was greeted as though he was coming home, not a newcomer. As the ale flowed, he had tried to learn more about the history of the realm, especially the years when the crown had been taken. What he learned was that, for all the drama that a grab for power like that must have been, to those outside the palace, it had all been very quiet.

“Went to bed one night the same as ever. Next day we woke up, and there was an assembly being called,” An older man explained, leaning heavily on the table, “Standing on the balcony like some angel of death, there was King Morpheus, wearing the crown.” He shook his head, lost in the memory of his astonishment, “The King and Queen have so many kids I never could keep track of ‘em. But I coulda sworn that one was dead,” he shrugged, taking another long swig of his ale, “Guess I was wrong.”

Curiosity thoroughly piqued, Hob was more eager than ever to join an upcoming tournament. As always he enjoyed buddying up with the kingdom’s knights, sharing tales of his travels, learning more about the land he was visiting, placing bets and engaging in friendly banter. He was excited to join the festivities, and to get a closer look at the mysterious king.

As he entered the arena, looking up to the stands, he understood why his drinking companion had called the king an angel. King Morpheus was a spot of darkness amongst the colors of the crowd. The royals and advisors sitting beside him wore rich, deep colored fabrics that shone in the sunlight, but the king himself was garbed all in black. His robes flowed around him, draping over his form and concealing his figure. His collar was buttoned up his neck all the way to his chin, and gloves covered his hands where they lay primly in his lap. Long black hair was braided elegantly and made his face look even paler, as though he had never seen the sun before. The gold circlet with ruby accents on his head was the only color Hob could make out on his figure.

He was beautiful. 

Hob was never one to deny his ego, and he always aimed to impress when he competed, but on this day he forgot about the crowd. There was only one person he hoped to impress with each swing of his weapon or shot of his bow. The days of the tournament passed, and he couldn’t help but glance up up up to the King after each success, hoping desperately to be noticed. And his pride clearly paid off, because when the tournament ended, as Hob collected his winnings and made his way towards the feast, he was approached by an elegant figure. Her waistcoat was perfectly tailored and a deep purple which made her dark skin seem to glow. But her poise and demeanor gave away her station far more than the richness of her clothing. Delicate spectacles sat on the bridge of her nose, and her posture was proud and sure, looking down on Hob without seeming to look down on him.

“You performed very admirably, Sir…” she stated, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Robert Gadling,” he bowed in greeting, grinning.

“You are new to these parts, yes?”

“Aye, I am a traveler.”

“Just passing through, then?”

“Unless I am given a reason to stay.”

She gave him a reason.

The King had in fact noticed him, had been pleased by his performance, and was looking to grow the order of knights protecting the castle grounds. Though a few years had passed, he was still new enough to the throne to be vulnerable to attempts to usurp him. And he wanted Hob to join. Hob had no intention of turning down an opportunity to be closer to the dark shadow of a king.

It did not occur to him until much later that he hadn’t even needed to think about it before deciding to settle here, in the Endless Kingdom. He moved onto the castle grounds, and he kneeled before King Morpheus and swore an oath, and the king looked down at him with glittering eyes. Hob felt like a madman for all the things he wanted, but he felt a little less mad when, before the season even had a chance to change, he was selected as the King’s personal guard.

“If I may ask,” Hob could not help but inquire, standing watch as the King worked in his study, “Why me? There must be knights whom you are more familiar with.” He was one of the newest in the order, and yet it was he who stood at the king’s side.

The King barely glanced at him, continuing his elegant penmanship, “I am interested.” 

“In me?” Hob felt his traitorous heart flutter.

Here, King Morpheus did look at him, something sly and mischievous in his eyes, “In your experience.” Slowly and deliberately, he put his quill down, leaning back in his seat and folding his hands in his lap, “Tell me, sir Gadling,” Hob shivered every time he heard his name on those lips, “of your travels. Tell me of your life.”

And, well. Hob would never deny a command from his king. 

Although he would not deny… editing, occasionally. Never lying, of course, he wouldn’t dare. But he saw no harm in skipping the less flattering parts- the years lost to drinking his grief away, the times he tripped over his own feet learning to charge in heavy armor- and only slightly embellishing his victories. Morpheus always listened with rapt attention, as though Hob’s tales were the most interesting things he had ever heard. Perhaps, Hob considered, they were.

“It seems you have always been a capable warrior, Sir Gadling,” Morpheus smiled as he delicately ate his breakfast, Hob leaning against the wall beside him as he finished the most recent recounting of his exploits.

“Had to learn fast,” he grinned, “Some of us have to get roughed up if we want to keep you royals so soft and pretty.”

At first, he thinks he has said something wrong, because Morpheus’ head snaps up to look at him, eyes sharp and calculating. But a moment later, his body softens, like an exhale, and there is a pleased smile on his face, and Hob knows that he has said something right.

“I do not remember that part of your oath,” he says teasingly, “a vow to keep me soft and pretty.”

“It was unspoken,” Hob replies immediately, “Took one look at you and knew a delicate thing like you needed a skilled sword and shield at your side.”

“And it seems I chose well,” he sits up a little straighter, almost preening, “I trust a knight of your strength and… stature,” Hob felt his cheeks warm as Morpheus blatantly looked him up and down, “will have no trouble protecting my integrity.”

“With my life, my lord,” he gives a half bow, and when their eyes meet he is certain that something is there.

It became a regular part of their time together, after that. Time passes with Hob telling his stories, and Morpheus fluttering his eyelashes at what a rough and adventurous life he’s led, and Hob gently teasing about the soft and cushioned life he’s led. The contrast between them was exhilarating, and each time the king leaned into it was a bolt of excitement to Hob’s bloodstream. If Hob had his way, King Morpheus would never have to lift a finger. As he accompanied him through the castle, from his chambers to the throne room to the dining hall and back again, he opened every door for him with a deep bow. He would lift the king’s fork to his lips if allowed. 

Morpheus does not seem to mind. For all that he is known as a stoic and cold king to those outside of the palace, each day Hob sees his little smiles, and the laughter in his eyes as Hob bends over backwards for him. 

On this day, Hob thinks he might be the first knight tasked to pick blackberries for his king. Morpheus sits on a stone bench in the shade of the garden as Hob diligently fills a bowl with the ripe fruit, occasionally glancing back to see Morpheus’ warm, amused smile.

“It would be a shame to stain such finary,” he had claimed, eyes crinkling slightly in restrained mirth, turning to show off the glimmer within the fabric of his clothes.

“Oh of course,” Hob teased in return, “We wouldn’t want our precious king to get his hands dirty.” He bowed, taking the king’s gloved hand to kiss his knuckles. His skin was covered by such fine leather, he could only imagine how butter soft the skin beneath it must be. 

King Morpheus smirked down at him, “You earn your keep well, my knight.”

“Anything to be kept by you,” he winked.

The only response is a silent huff of laughter, but Hob cherishes it all the same. As he stands, he holds a berry out between his fingers, “Perhaps you should test them. Make sure they are up to your standards.”

His eyelashes flutter, a coy smile on his lips as he leans forward, and Hob may have started it but he was unprepared for the feeling of his king’s mouth wrapping around his fingers, plucking the fruit from his hand before pulling back with a soft swipe of his tongue. Hob feels himself shudder as Morpheus hums in pleasure.

“Yes,” he purrs, “delightful.”

“Is that so?” Hob feels his heart beating wildly in his chest, but he feels confident and daring as he leans in closer, “Perhaps I should get a taste myself.” He thinks that no fruit on earth would compare to being able to lick the taste from Morpheus’ lips.

But he will never know if he is right. Before he has a chance, he lays his hand on Morpheus’ waist, only to have his wrist gripped tightly and torn away.

“Do not-” The hissed words are cut off so abruptly that Hob can hear the click of Morpheus’ teeth as his mouth snaps shut. His eyes are steely, stepping back to put himself out of Hob’s reach. It is so far and away from any interaction they have had before that Hob feels as though he has whiplash.

There is a moment's pause where Morpheus seems to be waiting for him to speak, and it is only then that Hob remembers their respective ranks, “I apologize, my liege,” he bows deeply, the formality feeling wrong. This is not who they are to each other. Or so he thought.

He glances up just in time to catch the way Morpheus’ throat bobs as he swallows thickly, “I have been away from my work long enough. Deliver what you have harvested to the kitchens and then rejoin me in my study.” He leaves no room for a response, turning on his heels and stalking away, heedless of the fact that they are not meant to be separated this way. Hob’s job is to watch over him. But, after watching his king’s back disappear back into the castle, he does as he is told.

His thoughts are a storm as he passes the fruit off to the kitchen staff, dragging his feet to delay his return to Morpheus’ side. King Morpheus has always been vocal about fighting tradition- about making a better realm, even if it meant going against the “old ways”- and Hob had, foolishly perhaps, assumed that meant that Morpheus would not be against marrying outside his station.

Apparently he was wrong.

Arriving outside the study door, Hob feels his heart burn. With rejection, yes, and grief, certainly, but also with anger. Anger at the king’s hypocrisy, his arrogance and conceit, to think so lowly of Hob as to toy with his feelings and then snub his touch. As though Hob’s hands would somehow taint his royal figure. 

Well, Hob refused to be ashamed. He was proud of his rank and status, he was proud of his life, and no man or king would make him feel lesser. So when he walked into the room, he held his head high, and kept his eyes cold.

Morpheus glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, but did not say anything.

The weeks following are tense. At first, Morpheus seemed to try to restart their flirtatious banter, but Hob refused to engage. He was not a toy for the king to play with as he pleased and then shove away when he got too bold. In another kingdom, Hob thinks he might have been executed for the glare he sent the lord’s way. But Morpheus only sighed and looked away, and eventually stopped trying. Their days were now filled with tense silences as they walked together.

Hob is seriously considering leaving Morpheus’ order to continue his travels on the day the assassination attempt happens. He is overseeing a trial between two nobles, something about one of them infringing on the other's land, Hob hadn’t really been paying attention. In hindsight, the two seem more amicable with each other than one would expect for a dispute to reach the point of coming before the king, but at the time Hob had just been grateful that it was a quiet day. 

“My King, I have some evidence that I believe may sway you in my favor,” one of them announced. 

Morpheus, with varying success, did try to keep from being too far above his people. As such, it was not unusual for him to stand and approach the noble when he gestured him forward, presumably to show or explain something to win his case. Hob, as usual, is only a step behind him. It is because of that that he catches the glint of metal in the noble’s hand within his robe.

With a wordless cry, Hob lunges forward, shoving Morpheus roughly to the ground to step in front of him. There is a loud clang as the noble’s dagger connects with Hob’s gauntlet. His eyes are wide at Hob’s speed, and he has no time to react before Hob’s fist makes contact with his nose, blood spraying as he collapses. Around them, the rest of the knights in the room rush into action, restraining both nobles and sweeping the room for any hidden danger. 

With the threat so swiftly taken care of, Hob is free to look down at where the king was sprawled, dark fabric pooling around him as he pushes himself up, dark hair concealing half his face. They look at each other, the adrenalin of the moment still rushing through both of them. 

“Are you alright, my liege?” Hob asks softly, holding a hand out.

Morpheus nods slowly, taking his hand and allowing Hob to pull him to his feet, “I am. Thanks to you.” 

As they stand, hands still clasped for a moment longer than necessary, Hob realizes that he has missed Morpheus. Perhaps he cannot have everything that he wants so desperately. But if this is all he can have, well. At least he can have this. 

“Of course,” he smirks, “I did swear to keep you soft and pretty, remember?” 

He means it as an olive branch, a remembered joke between them to show that they can still be more than simply knight and king, even if they cannot be more. He does not mean to make Morpheus’ eyes fill with tears.

“Yes,” his voice cracks, “Of course.” 

Hob is not given a chance to respond- not that he knows how to respond at all- before the king is turning away, calling for his advisor, Lady Lucienne, the one who had first approached Hob about his position within the court. The two convene quietly for a moment before Morpheus orders the knights present, including Hob, to take the two traitors away to be questioned and search the grounds for any other suspects. 

It feels wrong to leave the king’s side. Hob feels a desperate need to watch over him, to keep him safe and protected, to wipe away the tears that look so perilously close to falling. But he has been given his orders, and the king and lady are already moving to sequester themselves somewhere private to discuss what to do with the situation. So, with one last look back, he goes to fulfill his duty.

Hours later, when the palace is confidently secure and the traitors are under lock and key, Hob feels no less anxious to be at his king’s side. He was told to return to his own quarters, to rest for the night, and he did try at first, setting his armor aside and laying in bed to try to calm the burning in his heart. But there is no rest to be found here, and soon he finds himself walking purposefully through the halls in his casual clothing, a decision he only regrets when he finds himself faced unexpectedly with the king’s advisor.

Lady Lucienne is exiting the room just as he approaches the king’s chambers. Still half in the doorway, she raises an eyebrow at the clearly off-duty knight before her, and Hob freezes, feeling like a child caught stealing sweets.

“Sir Gadling,” she greets cooly, “I did not expect to see you so late. I thought you were resting,” she raised an eyebrow at him pointedly.

“Yes, m’lady,” he bows his head, but tries to continue awkwardly, “I simply could not rest, and wished to check to ensure the king was well after the attack today.”

“He is well,” she answers shortly, “so you may-“

“Lucienne,” a deep voice calls out from within the room, “he may enter.”

Frowning, Lucienne gives Hob a quick narrow-eyed look before re-entering the room, closing the door behind her and leaving the knight alone in the hallway. He waits awkwardly as a hushed conversation happens behind the door. Finally, Lucienne emerges once more, still eying him warily, but opening the door wider to allow him entry into the king’s chamber. As he enters, he is surprised when she exits, closing the door again to leave him alone in the room with Morpheus.

The room is grand, as expected for a king, and Morpheus sits primly on the edge of the large, ornate bed in the center. He is no longer wearing the extravagant, heavy garb that he dons in public. His current night robe, while as dark and elegant as all of his attire, is also thinner and more lightweight. It is also… revealing. The silky fabric contrasts sharply with his pale, nearly white skin, and for the first time, Hob is granted the sight of his king’s forearms, his neck, the jut of his collar bones, his calves. And with it, he is granted the sight of countless scars. 

Dark, rough scar tissue circles both his wrists like bracelets, a matching ring around his neck. There are some marks that Hob recognizes as blade wounds, and others that he thinks might be burns. They criss-cross over each other and dip below his robe, suggesting that what he is seeing is only a fraction of what exists. All of the marks look old. It does not make them look any less painful. 

Hob feels his mouth open, the breath rushing out of him as though he has been struck. He can tell, he knows, that the scars are old enough to have been made long before Hob ever met Morpheus. Still, he feels a strange sense of failure. As though it is his fault for not meeting Morpheus in time to protect him.

When he finally raises his gaze, he finds Morpheus looking at him, patiently waiting for Hob to finish his inspection. Hob opens his mouth, but cannot find any words that might soften whatever is happening right now.

Finally, Morpheus speaks, “Once, I was a prince. And now, I am a king.” His voice holds the gravity of an execution, and the sorrow of bowing his own neck beneath the blade, “But there was a time, in between, when I was neither.”

Hob takes another shaking step into the room. There is something dreamlike in the situation, an anticipation, a feeling of falling. “What do you mean?” he asks.

Morpheus turns his eyes forward to stare at one of the large landscape paintings he’d commissioned from a local artist, “I was sixteen when I was taken,” he states plainly, as though his words don’t gut Hob to the core, “It was… easy. For them to steal me away. Far too easy, even for an unloved spare like myself. As if it had been allowed.” He pauses, but keeps his face carefully smooth and neutral, “I still do not know for certain. Whether I was stolen or given away.” His next words are spoken more to himself than to Hob, “Perhaps it does not matter.”

Everything in Hob wants to move closer, to hold his king and shield him with his body, as though the past was an arrow aimed for his heart that Hob could stand in the way of. And yet, he feels frozen. Feet rooted to the ground by a pain so great even his strong and stoic king cannot keep it from his voice.

“When my blindfold was removed, I found myself brought before King Burgess.”

And now, Hob gasps, a too-loud inhale in the heavy tension of the room. Morpheus looks at him, his body stiff and his face still carefully empty.

Hob feels like he can’t breathe, “How…” his voice cracks desperately, “How long were you there?” He might be making a mistake by asking, by speaking at all during this tale, but he has to know. He has to.

“I was kept as a secret treasure for ten years,” Morpheus reveals bluntly. “I escaped my imprisonment roughly six years ago.”

The timeline stretches before Hob’s eyes, and he wants to weep.

“I was there,” Hob exhales in horror. Morpheus’ blinks, eyes blank and not understanding. “I… Ten years ago, I…” his throat feels like it is closing, but he forces the words out, “Burgess’ kingdom was one of the first I traveled to after I lost Eleanor. I was raised in the land neighboring it. I was there for nearly a year, drinking and fighting and participating in tournaments to distract myself from grief. I was offered a place in his court but I. Declined.” He takes half a step back, and then a full step forward when he sees the way the motion makes his king’s face fall. “I was right there,” he whispers.

“I doubt you could have done much,” Morpheus replied, turning his face to look at the wall again, “I was not flaunted before his people, or even the rest of his court. Only a select few knew of my presence beneath his castle. He…” his voice trailed off, and his eyes glimmered as tears began to well. But he stubbornly blinked them back, “It does not matter,” he says again, even softer. 

Hob wants to scream that it does matter, of course it matters. But his king looks so wounded right now, and it has nothing to do with the scars. So for now he waits, and lets Morpheus tell him no more than what he is ready to share.

“Eventually,” he continues, his voice steady once more, “the prince’s consort grew pitying. I am sure when he released me he expected me to simply run. But I had more than earned my right to vengeance.” His hands clenched into fists in his lap, “Burgess was almost too easy. He had grown old and careless. He was not so powerful as he thought himself when I was in chains. I spared his son the killing blow only out of gratitude to his consort.”

The stories of the fall of the Burgess Kingdom make much more sense now, with this information, and even the decline of the Endless kingdom who had for so long been allies with them. 

“It took me some time to return to my home kingdom. I was weak, and needed to heal and regain my strength. I also gathered allies. Lady Lucienne, Sir Matthew, among others. My family was not expecting my return, and so it was easy to claim the throne for myself. My parents I exiled, along with their supporters. My siblings I allowed the freedom to do as they wished. And what they wished was to leave.” 

A few of the king’s siblings had visited in Hob’s time at his side, but never for long. Hob ached at the pain he saw now. The pain of being abandoned so quickly after his return.

“And a few years later…” Morpheus’ gaze was heavy as he looked at Hob once more, “a traveling knight competed in a tournament, and caught my eye.”

Hob still remembers that day so vividly, the dark shadow of the king, the way he was too far for Hob to see his eyes and yet he fantasized about them looking at him. His heart swells in his chest to know that they were. And now he is here, stepping towards his king, his friend, the man he has stood beside for nearly two years now, and he cannot help but ask, “Why did you not tell me this before?”

When Morpheus sighs, it is heavy, and Hob thinks that a lesser man would have crumpled under the weight of the despair in that single breath.

“The parts of me that appeal to you…” he explains slowly, “being… soft. And pretty, and delicate, and pure…” he keeps his head high and shoulders back and it does not make him look any less ashamed, “they are all a fantasy. The reality is that I have long been. Damaged. And sullied.” Almost unconsciously, he brought one hand up to clutch at his robe, holding it closed just a little tighter, “Perhaps it was cruel of me to deceive you in such a way, but our games… brought me comfort. I could pretend, even if just for the briefest times, that it was true. That I was someone you could want.”

Eyes fluttering closed, he sighed, “I thought. If I could have nothing else. I could at least have that.”

His voice is so even, despite how soft it has grown, barely audible in the expansive room. He speaks as though reciting history- something that has already passed and cannot be altered. A tragedy that cannot be changed.

When Hob moves towards him, it is barely conscious. It is like floating down a river, like gravity, a force of nature that perhaps he could fight against if he wanted to. But he does not want to. And so he moves to his king and he kneels, and he did not know it was possible, but it feels even more right now than it has every time he has kneeled before. Morpheus looks at him, the slightest furrow in his brow, confused, surprised, strangely lost. Hob takes his hand, as he has countless times before, and for the first time feels the rough calluses on his fingers. He kisses his knuckles, and his lips brush his bare skin for the very first time. Morpheus gasps, silent, and Hob would have missed it had his eyes not been fixed on his king’s face. 

And then he continues. He brings his lips to the ring of scar tissue around his bony wrist, kissing first the outside, then the inside, leaning forward to continue kissing up his arm. There is a part of him that is appalled at his daring- this is his king, he has no right to take such liberties. But there is a much larger part that is desperate to prove him wrong. He has sworn an oath to protect this man. In this moment, he wants to protect him from his own expectations. 

And so he pushes himself up, still holding Morpheus’ hand as his lips trail over the landscape of texture across his skin. He kisses over the fabric of his robe, not pushing it aside, not asking Morpheus to reveal any more than he already has. He stands until he is, like blasphemy, looming over his king, leaning down to kiss along the rope of scarring along his neck. He feels, more than hears, the way Morpheus gasps as his lips caress his skin.

“No game could compare to the reality of you,” Hob breathes against his skin, letting his tongue lightly trace the texture of him, “You do not need to pretend that you are wanted.” Leaning back, he finds his king staring at him with wide, watery eyes, and Hob allows himself a moment to sweep his gaze down his figure in appreciation, “Look at you,” he whispers, “Look at how much you’ve survived.”

He brings his free hand up to cup Morpheus’ cheek, and his king still looks disbelieving, and so what can he do but lean in and kiss him. When their lips meet, it feels like the inevitability of dawn after a long dark night, like everything was meant to lead them here. They move their lips together slowly, softly, until the taste of salt blooms between them. Hob pulls back, and Morpheus drifts after him, tears streaming down his face. And for all that he has been through, he looks at Hob as though this, this love and wanting, is what will finally undo him.

“You’re so beautiful,” Hob kisses the tears from his cheeks, even as Morpheus shakes his head.

“I am not.” 

Hob tuts softly, “You are.” 

Feeling emboldened by his love, by a love he now understands is returned, he pushes gently at Morpheus’ shoulder, guiding him down to lay on the soft, rich fabric of his bed. Morpheus’ eyes are wide when he moves to straddle him, but he does not push him away. His hands hover over his hips hesitantly, and that is the moment Hob stops worrying about this being his king. Right now, this is just Morpheus, who has been torn apart, and pieced himself back together, and pushed Hob away because he was so certain he would not be wanted as he is. And Hob wants him, and so there is nothing more important than leaning down to kiss every inch of exposed skin.

“You are so strong,” Hob whispers, pressing his lips to the rough skin of his neck again, “but you have protected yourself for long enough. Let me, now.”

“Hob,” Morpheus’ voice is breathless, his hands finally come to clutch at his tunic, “I…”

“I have sworn an oath to you, my king,” he kisses the burns along his collar bones, “And I would swear another to you, my friend,” he kisses the raised scars on his chest, “and yet another for you, my love.” 

Slowly he kisses down to his stomach, where he feels Morpheus tense and shudder even through his robe. Morpheus is breathing heavily beneath him, gasps and sobs and moans as Hob touches him all over. He tugs at Hob’s tunic and Hob obliges, tugging it over his head and reveling in the way Morpheus stares up at him, his tears slowing and his throat bobbing as he swallows at the sight of Hob’s muscled chest, his body hair broken up by ropes of scars from his years of knighthood.

Hob takes Morpheus’ hand, calluses caressing calluses, and leans down to settle his weight on top of him. He pressed their chests together, pale and scarred against tan and scarred. “See?” Hob whispered against his ear, “We match.”

Morpheus’ breath hitches, and his hand clings tighter to Hob’s. He does not let go for the rest of the night, even after they have finished their gentle rutting and have both stained the insides of their clothes. He allows Hob to use his own shirt to clean them both, and to wipe his tears away, and to curl around him beneath the covers, but he does not let go. 

In the dark, Hob kisses each of his fingers, “Would that I could protect you from the things that have already happened,” he whispers, “But I swear to you, my beautiful Morpheus, that no new scars shall adorn your skin while I am here to prevent it.” 

He feels fresh tears fall against his skin, and he knows it will take time for Morpheus to truly believe his words. Hob will slowly reveal the parts of his past that he had edited out, and Morpheus will do the same, and eventually they will lay together with no fabric between them, and Morpheus will still cry at the kindness and the love and the want in Hob’s eyes, and that will be okay. For now, they sleep in the safety of each other's arms.

And in the morning, Hob will help Morpheus dress, kissing up his body as he buttons his robe until he is once more fully covered, kissing his lips as he fastens the last button.

[agoldengalaxy]

🥰🫂 dealers choice for the fandom 👍

emoji drabble prompts

🥰- saying ‘I love you’ without saying it

🫂- comforting hugs

—

It was early morning on the Stan o’ War II, early enough that only the beginning of a foggy dawn peeked through the ship’s windows. Stan was leaning in the doorway of the kitchen, his arms folded over his chest as he watched Ford pore over a myriad of papers spread across the counter, a half-empty mug beside him, forgotten.

“You don’t look so good, Sixer,” Stan finally said, making Ford jump, his head whipping around to look over at him. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Oh. Stan,” he breathed, “you startled me.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “And you didn’t answer the question.”

Ford’s eyes were somewhat bloodshot, his hair a wild mess, sticking out in every direction, which Stan knew was due to the way he’d run his fingers through it. “For a little while,” he replied after a much too long pause, then waved his hand dismissively into a gesture toward the pages. “But look! I think I’ve finally figured out a way for us to defeat that kraken!”

Sighing quietly, Stan stepped forward, peering over his brother’s shoulder at the mess of equations and possible machinery and weaponry ideas. “That’s good and all, but have you even looked at yourself?”

Ford faltered. “What, do I have something on my face?”

“No, you knucklehead. You’re…I dunno, all mad scientist-y. It happens when you don’t sleep.”

Dropping his gaze, Ford simply shrugged, pulling his papers all together again, gently tapping the edges on the counter so they’d be in a neat pile. “I’ll be fine. You worry too much.”

“I think I worry the right amount,” Stan huffed. “Now are you gonna tell me what’s wrong, or am I gonna haul your ass to bed myself?”

Ford worried at his bottom lip, still refusing to look Stan in the eye. “I’m…” He sighed, seemingly struggling with the words, for once. “I don’t like sleeping.”

Stan raised a brow. “Yeah, I coulda guessed that.”

“It’s…you don’t understand.”

The words hung in the air for a moment. Stan knew he could get frustrated here, and perhaps he would have done exactly that a few months ago. Instead, he nodded. “I don’t. So tell me.”

Ford seemed caught off guard by that. His brows knit together, and he fiddled with his fingers, seemingly choosing his words carefully as he always did. “Before the portal, Bill would take over my mind while I was sleeping. He’d take my body and punish it when I tried to stop him.” A shiver ran down his spine, as if he were remembering something particularly unpleasant. He continued, “And…I was alone in those dimensions for so long. I couldn’t trust anyone. I wasn’t sure where was safe and where wasn’t safe.”

Feeling his mouth go dry, Stan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Ford, you’re…you’re safe here.”

“I know.” He sighed quietly, finally displaying the weight of his exhaustion on his face. “But for half of my life, I’ve been afraid of sleeping. It’s not a habit so easily forgotten.”

Stan wasn’t sure what came over him, but the next moment, he had leaned forward, enveloping Ford in a tight hug. Ford stiffened beneath the embrace for a second before allowing himself to relax and return it.

“I’m sorry,” Stan mumbled. “Didn’t realize it was that bad.”

Ford chuckled quietly, slightly muffled into Stan’s shoulder. “Well, there’s a reason I kept it all to myself.”

Pulling back, Stan looked into his brother’s eyes; tired, red-rimmed, quietly sad. “C’mon. Up, away from the kitchen,” he insisted, practically pulling him up. “You’ve been sitting here too long. Let’s watch something.”

“But, Stan, what about the kraken -”

“The kraken can circle us for one more day. Who cares. I’ll punch it in the eye again if I have to.” He dragged Ford toward their couch, sitting him down, and grabbed the two blankets that were left folded on the side. He ignored the protests and placed one over Ford’s shoulders, the other on his lap, and then closed the curtains, making it slightly dark. He sat beside him and picked up the remote, flicking through channels until he saw a channel that looked somewhat relaxing.

“Heh. You remind me of Mom right now,” Ford murmured. “Remember what she used to do when we got sick?”

Stan blinked, realizing he must have done it subconsciously. “Yeah. Wrap us in blankets and watch reruns.”

After a quiet yawn, Ford smiled slightly. “Your memory really is getting better.”

Returning the smile, Stan shook his head. “Only ‘cause you helped me, Poindexter.”

For a long few minutes, the only sound in the room was the quiet dialogue on the television. When Stan looked over at Ford, he found him finally sleeping, his face relaxed, his mouth wide open. Stan smiled to himself, lowered the television’s volume, and made himself comfortable.

He wasn’t going anywhere. Ford was safe with him.

[chernabogs]

Hi Ames 👀🫶

First, giving you smooches as congrats for your 100 follower milestone :3💖

I saw your prompt list and I was like ANGST POTENTIAL with all the prompt lines, but I picked some out with a more fluff mood in mind~

May I please request a Leona Kingscholar x gn!reader fluff read where there’s a storm on Sage Island and Leona’s been helping reader with their homework at Ramshackle but he can’t go back to his dorm bc of the storm

So he has to stay in Ramshackle over night with reader ehehehe

Here are the prompt lines I picked out:

- “The storm’s getting worse”

- “You look better in my clothes than I do”

- “You snore in your sleep. It’s adorable”

- “Sorry to put you through that. I guess I owe you one now”

Take ur time and if you can’t do mine, no worries :)

TYYYYY <3 <3 I love some good Leona content... I wrote him once but I'm ready to go again LKNAJF

Lights Out

Inc: Leona x Reader (GN), Ruggie (briefly) Warning: None! Not really romantic, but like... semi vibes. Sneaky vibes. If you squint you see them. WC: 2.6k Summary: An agreement to help you study leads to an unexpected situation when the weather turns sour

The weather had been kind for the entire week, and so Leona should have assumed by default that it was all a ruse. He had agreed (under some pressure from both your dire expression and Ruggies repetitive pestering) to assist you with your ancient curse’s homework—which really means he’s going to sit there and watch you while only offering a few scraps of information. He can’t make it too easy for you, no? 

The sky had been cloud free—as blue as a robin's egg, with the softest of breezes dancing across campus as the early spring began to wake from her slumber. He had spent a good portion of the day dealing with his classes and dozing in between after having sent you a brief reassurance that he’d still come in the evening. It was beautiful—glorious, even—until 6 o’clock hit. 

Then, like hell from above, a mass of storm clouds rolled in out of nowhere. The school alert system cited it as an unprecedented phenomenon, and as Leona glares out the window at the torrential downpour beyond, he wonders just how much of it is the fault of Diasomnia’s House warden. It feels like even the slightest of moods sends the man bringing down hail and fury with little regard. His tail twitches in irritation as he lets out another low sigh. 

“What’s the curse that turned that emperor into an animal again?” Your voice causes him to glance at your reflection in the window. He can see that you’re still hunched over the ancient curse’s textbook, your brow set in a furrow as your pen taps steadily against the kitchen table’s surface. “He had to go through a whole life-lesson thing to undo it…”

“He undid it with a counter-poison.” Leona hums as another flash of lightning splits across the sky, briefly brightening the room you’re both in before dying down once more. “He coulda stayed the same and still be able to change back.”

“That defeats the purpose, no?” He hears you setting your pen down and leaning back in your chair as he continues to alternate his gaze between you and the storm above. “If there was a purpose to begin with…” 

“The purpose was his death.” He turns away from the window and finally sinks back down in the seat across from you, his eyes closing and his head tilting back. “His advisor wanted him dead, so she figured cursing him would be a way to do it. Curses like that have been around since magic was still taboo.” 

“Yikes.” Your eloquent reply causes him to scoff as he listens to the sounds of the rain hitting Ramshackle's walls. Despite renovations being done, the acoustics of your dorm are still off-kilter, making him constantly pick up sounds that he shouldn’t be able to hear. 

The scratching of your pen accompanies the rainstorm, and then soon stops as he hears you shuffling around. “... the storm’s getting worse.” 

At that, he does open his eyes again, looking to the window with a frown. It’s pitch black outside, but he can see the relentless onslaught of rain against the windows glass. He pulls out his phone and turns it on; there are two missed messages from Ruggie, a slew of them from the group he has with the other House-wardens—he admits he is curious how many others are questioning Draconia—, and then one from his brother that he deliberately swipes away. 

“Seems like it won’t be letting up tonight.” Leona’s frown deepens as he reads Ruggie's messages. It’s a system that will be hovering over the entire island until mid-morning tomorrow. All students are being advised to shelter in place until it passes. “Shit…” 

“What?” You look up at him, your eyebrows raised. He sets his phone back down and fixes you with an unimpressed look. 

“The school put out a shelter in place notice until the storm ends—no students to leave the place that they’re at right now.” At those words, the lights in the room flicker for a moment before going out entirely, leaving the both of you sitting in complete darkness. 

Leona can still see fine, and he watches (with some amusement) how your eyes go wide in surprise and your breath catches in your throat. 

“Did something hit a line?” You’re quick to rise and peer out the window. Most of the dorms rely on magic to power their electric devices, such as with Ignihyde, but Ramshackle is old enough to still run on original lines. His lips twist into a frown as he remains seated while you gawk out the window in interest. 

“If it did, then there’s no use stressin’. It’ll be restored whenever someone gets around to it—after the storm.”

He personally doesn’t mind sitting in the dark. Granted, Ramshackle still is an ominous dorm to be in—with its ghost infestation and such—but there’s also a sense of peace present that can very easily let him drift off to a nap. If he needs to be on lock down in this place, he doubt’s it’ll bother him too much. 

That is if you let him sleep in the first place.

“I mean I guess we can just light some candles and stick it out?” You look back at him as another flash of lightning breaks across the sky, illuminating your form only briefly. He can still see your eyes are wide in surprise, and your breath is quick—either from the shock of the lights going out, or a fear of the storm toiling outside. 

He checks his phone again and notes that you’ve been going at it for nearly four hours now. He’s never had to pull an all-nighter for a test—lessons come easily to him without effort, after all—and a part of him wonders if that’s what your intent is. If so, he certainly won’t be staying up alongside you. 

“You do that. I’m gonna stake out that couch over there.” He scoffs as he undoes his vest. It won’t be the most comfortable to sleep in uniform, but it’s not like he packed an overnight bag in preparation for your study session. He finishes unbuttoning the vest and stands, stretching upwards for a moment before letting out another sigh. “Try not to drive yourself nuts shoving all this information in there.” 

“Grims lucky he went to Heartslabyul tonight…” you mumble. He watches as you go to the nearby closet to pull out some candles before he maneuvers himself around to lie back on the foyer couch. He can hear you bumping into tables and chairs as you navigate in the darkness before finally the faint, flickering glow of a candle being lit tells him you’ve survived in one piece. His eyes close and he lets himself fall into a state of comfort as he listens to the sounds of papers turning and pens scratching. 

…

But he can’t fall asleep. 

This is both inconvenient and unusual for him. It becomes apparent that, with the power getting knocked out, the furnace in Ramshackle has also broken down, leaving the dorm to gradually become colder and colder with each passing moment. He opens one eye to glare at the ceiling above as he can feel goosebumps rising on his arm. 

“D’you have a spare blanket or something?” He finally asks, sitting up to peer at you from over the edge of the couch. You glance his way, your face bathed in candlelight, before you hum. 

“Mmm, not one that doesn’t smell like mold, no…” you reply slowly. Leona’s expression sours at your comment as you set your pen down and stand up. “One second... I think I have something that might work.” 

As you pick up a candle and vanish to the upper floors of the dorm, he lies back on the couch to stare at the ceiling above. The remaining candles cast odd shadows about the room, and the slow ticking of a nearby grandfather clock proves to be both soothing and anxiety-inducing as the seconds pass by. His tail twitches once more as he listens to the sounds of creaking footsteps coming back down to the foyer. 

“Here.” He feels something soft hit his stomach and he grabs it by reflex. It’s a black hoodie—almost his size. “I won it at one of the school festivals. I don’t wear it often, so it’s clean.” 

Leona stares at it for a long moment. The front has an image of the NRC mascot drawn in a cartoon form while holding the set of keys he often sees on the headmaster’s hip. It feels like something he’d expect Idia to keep stashed in a closet, not you. 

Still, it’s something warm, and with some small grumbles of protest, he pulls it on and tightens the drawstrings. He’s sitting upright on the couch and glaring at the wall when he hears you chuckle to his right. One sharp glance, and he can see you watching him with a cheeky grin from the table, your ancient curses homework still strewn about. 

“You know, you look better in that than I do. All that’s needed is some holes for your ears in the hood, and then you’re golden.” 

“Keep talking.” He threatens in a deadpanned tone, earning a laugh from you as you look back to your homework. You know that he’ll never actually do anything to you—after all, by getting him to agree to come to your dorm in the first place, you already know you’ve won him over to some extent. 

He watches you from over the edge of the couch for a moment longer. The furrow in your brow, the way you tap the pen against your paper in a rhythm, the way you occasionally bite your lip while in thought. He seriously wonders why he agreed to come and help you in the first place. It isn’t like he enjoys school, and he’s certainly never considered helping someone with their schoolwork before. He wants to say it was solely Ruggie’s off-handed comments and deliberate looks, but he can’t shake the image of your distressed expression out of his mind when you asked him. 

Pity. It’s definitely out of pity that he’s shown up tonight. Ruggie just added fuel to the fire, that’s all.

But still, he can’t shake the sense of unease that stirs in his chest as he watches you for a moment longer before lying back down, his hand coming to rest on his abdomen as he did. The hoodie smells vaguely of you, and it does little to alleviate this feeling. He watches the shadows dance across the ceiling and listens to the sound of you working for a moment longer before he finally finds his eyes closing once more. 

It takes him a while, but eventually he falls into the shadows of an uneasy slumber. 

—---

When he opens his eyes, he’s greeted to the sound of a dove cooing. At first his mind doesn’t register where he is, and he feels a sharp sense of adrenaline rushing when he doesn’t see the familiar ceiling of his dorm room above him. Then the memories of last night come back—the power going out, the candles, your off-handed comment about him wearing your clothes—and he feels himself relaxing once more. 

“You snore in your sleep, you know.” 

Leona’s attention snaps to where you sit in the chair across from him. You’re nursing a hot cup of something in your hands as you watch him with a tired smirk. You pulled an all-nighter—he can tell by the slight bloodshot tint in your eyes. “Don’t worry. It’s kind of adorable.” 

“Adorable?” His brow furrows as he sits up, stretching forward and looking towards the nearest window. The sky above is a splash of pink and orange with the coming dawn. He can see the very same dove that he heard sitting on the windowsill, peering in with its beady eyes at the oddly domestic image of you both. “Don’t go annoying me with those kinds of comments so early in the morning.” 

“Sorry. I’ll be sure to reserve my next compliment for the afternoon.” Another cheeky little grin plays on your lips, and he tries to ignore how the sight of it makes that uneasy feeling return. He averts his gaze once more as he shifts to rise from the couch. He’s still wearing your hoodie. 

It feels nice. 

“Did you sleep at all last night?” After he composes himself and becomes fully aware of reality again, he glances at you once more. You sigh and lower your mug with a frown.

“I mean, somewhat? I dozed off at the table a few times, but I was working on getting through four units of text before the afternoon class.” 

“And did you?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. “Get through the four units, I mean.” 

“Three. Best I can do.” You chuckle in turn. 

“Which unit did you miss?” 

Your expression becomes one of thought before your eyes light up again. “I couldn’t get to the unit about impacts of curses on modern law. I tried to start it, but as soon as the court transcripts started popping up, my mind just completely tapped out. Legalese is not my strong suit.” 

Leona chuckles slightly at that. He doubts legalese is anyone’s strong suit, save for Azul, who uses it in contracts, or Riddle, who just uses it in general. “And your test for this is…?” 

“This afternoon.” You sigh. “I’ll just take the loss. I’m sure Ace, Deuce, and Grim will be sinking with me, at least.” 

He ruminates on your words for a moment. There’s no denying that you worked your ass off to try and learn as much about ancient curses as possible. He saw the three notebooks of notes that you were skimming through, and the fact that you’re sitting here looking dead on the couch makes that small spark of something start up again. 

Pity. It’s pity, he tells himself. 

“You look pathetic.” He grumbles as he stretches his back. “Tell you what. Lemme get back to Savanaclaw, now that the freak storm is done, and I’ll loan you my notes for that unit. Loan.” 

He emphasizes the last word with a pointed look. Despite how hard you’ve worked so far, he can’t make it too easy for you, no? Your eyes widen again in that comically surprised expression. 

“Oh, you don’t have to—” you begin, but he silences your words with another sharp glance. A small, grateful look then replaces the one of surprise as you sink back into the seat. “... sorry to put you through that, then. I guess I owe you one now.” 

“Well, I’m not gonna hold it over you like some people might.” He sighs. “But I’ll be keeping this sweater for now. I’m not looking to freeze to death before I reach the mirror chamber from here.” 

You nod quickly. “Yeah! Please. Just give it back whenever. Or don’t, you know. I don’t mind.” 

Your words falter awkwardly, and he can’t keep his lips from curling upwards a bit in amusement. “Right. Meet me back at the mirror chamber in thirty, then—and don’t make me wait, herbivore. I have things to do today.” 

Things being spelldrive practice—but he has a feeling you already know that. You grant him a sunny smile, which makes his chest ache once more, before offering a grateful wave. “Sure! Thanks again, Leona.” 

He ignores the way you saying his name gets to him as he shrugs dismissively before moving to the front door. “Don’t mention it. Seriously.” 

[wingedjellyfishflight]

Hogtied: Part 4

You're surprised the next day to see all of the men sitting at breakfast as though nothing is wrong. You sit with them, trying not to make it obvious that you are checking their injuries, only to look directly in Ghost's eyes when you try to casually glance over.

"We're fine, Luv. Be off for a while for recovery, but we are fine." You huff at him. "You know I worry about all of you. Especially with not being able to do the work myself. Bit of a control freak, I suppose."

Soap grins, "never woulda guessed you liked being in charge, hen. Coulda fooled me." You roll your eyes and turn back to your plate, happy they are in good spirits.

You ask them their plans for the day, but they don't have any beyond relaxing in front of the telly. With a nod, you agree with that. "Lunch is on me, then. Already owe the Captain butter chicken, anyway. I will set up an order, just call in what you want and they'll deliver it." Every set of eyes near you is suddenly laser focused. "Umm... I ate his butter chicken, and he caught me with it."

"Lordy, ye dinnae?!" At your nod, the men around you all start talking at once.

"I told him I would replace it, and he let me eat. But good god, you lot need to clean out that fridge more often. I went through so many gross leftovers trying to find something edible." Ghost smirks.

"Who's leftovers were you going to try first?" Your eye twitches as you contemplate if you should lie or start running, and you see his eye zero in on it.

"Nae, ye dinnae! Ye dinnae!"

"Shut up, Soap! It was yours, Ghost. I figured you ordered the best food, so I checked yours first!" With that, you stand up and run from the hall, Ghost leaping up to chase after you. You duck into a closing door just to the right of the dining hall and sprint to the other end, barely making it around the corner before he is onto you. He wraps his arms around your waist and throws you over his shoulder. "The food was bad! I binned it! I didn't even eat your food!"

"You tried to take it, that's guilty enough for me." He carries you to the rec room with the rest of the men are waiting and tosses you gently on a couch. "As punishment for raiding our fridge, you have to sit and watch movies with us."

"Can I at least go get my book?" You knew the answer, and he knew you knew, so he ignored you. "Fine, but I deserve the option to nap if you pick something shite."

"What do you mean by that? We don't pick shite."

"Time Traveler's Wife. We all cried over it, and if I find out who picked it... never getting numbing before stitches again!" Laughter spread around the room at your rant.

"Then what is your favorite one," asked Soap.

"Something with explosions, maybe some angst, oh a holiday movie! Die Hard. Die Hard is good." The whole room groaned. That was always your go-to answer.

"Doc, I know that ain't your favorite. C'mon, I know you hate personal questions, but ya gotta at least tell us your favorite movie on movie day." You shift uncomfortably on the couch and shrink into your, no König's hoodie a bit.

"I... umm... I like Gladiator. It's one of the only ones that I re-watch." The men are quiet at your answer, and Ghost squeezes your shoulder gently.

"Gladiator up first then." You rest your hand on his briefly with a small smile. Ghost and Soap flop down on either side of you, squeezing you between them. The movie starts, and you sit forward on the couch, nervous. Ghost leans forward and tugs you back, pulling you to lean against his side. "You can nap if you want to, but relax. You've been anxious since before we left."

"I could tell this mission was going to be a doozy. I hate being right." You watch the entire movie, relaxing against him with his hand rubbing your back gently.

When it ends, you sit up and stretch, glancing over and seeing Soap sleeping with his head tipped oddly. You stand carefully and readjust him, so he is sitting more comfortably. When you get back from peeing and grabbing a drink, you see that he has taken over most of the couch, leaving no room next to Ghost, who also looks like he is about to nod off.

When you edge back toward the door, Ghost wags his finger at you, so you look for an open seat. Your eyes alight on König, sprawled across a smaller couch by himself.

"Budge up a bit. Soap kicked me out of the cuddle pile." He chuckles and moves his leg to let you sit down.

"We make our own cuddle pile then." He lifts his arm so you can lay against his chest. The next movie is one you haven't seen yet. You only make it about halfway through before falling asleep. The smell of Indian food wakes you up. When you go to sit up, König's arm tightens around you, holding you against him as he sleeps. You debate pushing free, but opt to relax against him, falling back asleep. When you wake next, your body is sore from the shit couch, but you feel cocooned in warmth. Rubbing your face deeper into the warm has it moving away as König gently sits you up. As soon as he lets go, you press against him again.

"So warm... safe..." You feel his body melt against yours.

"Sorry, König. Should've warned ya that she is a level ten clingy cuddler when she falls asleep. Can't pry her off until she's actually awake."

"My back hurts," he says in response. That's all you need to wake up. You sit up, concerned.

"Has it been hurting all day or just since I came over? Can you wiggle your toes? Is there any numbness?" He just stares at your full 180 attitude while Ghost groans.

"The only thing that can get her to stop cuddling: Doctor Mode. Never mention a health issue if you want cuddles, bruv. She can't switch it off hardly at all."

"Do you have-?" König rearranges himself to lay on his back and tug you into his chest.

"Relax, Schatz. I am fine. We will watch more movies together." You relax against him again.

It only lasts a few minutes before you hear thrashing and yelling. You scramble up and see Soap fighting in his sleep. Everyone is standing well back, but Ghost looks torn. You push through the crowd and dodge Ghost's arms to carefully climb in Soap's lap, wrapping your arms around his torso to act as a stabilizer. You try to dodge his wild thrashing, feeling his fist clip your face as you move close to him. You tuck your face into the crook of his neck to keep him from hitting you again and begin singing quietly to him.

"Can ye no hush your weepin'

All the wee lambs are sleepin'

Birdies are nestlin' nestlin' together

Dream Angus is hirplin' oer the heather

Dreams to sell, fine dreams to sell

Angus is here wi' dreams to sell

Hush ye my baby and sleep without fear

Dream Angus has brought you a dream my dear.

List' to the curlew cryin'

Faintly the echos dyin'

Even the birdies and the beasties are sleepin'

But my bonny bairn is weepin' weepin'"

Slowly, Soap calms, and you are able to relax your hold. He cries silently into your shoulder as you sing the lullaby through a second time. You pull back and rest a hand on his cheek. "Are ye alright noo, laddie?" He nods, laying his hand over yours. "Good, because I need to make sure you didn't tear anything up."

He growls and doesn't let loose your hand, staring at your face. "First ye'll tell me where ye git yon blue keeker."

"Ghost skelped me. Said I was too mouthy during the film." You pull your hand back with a grin and scoot back in his lap to tug up his shirt, checking that he hasn't popped any stitches.

"Dinnae be telling me havers."

"Ah wud never tell ye havers. Ahm a saint of a Catholic." Laughter bursts around the room, many knowing you were not Catholic at all and having heard many lies come from you to protect them or convince them to do something they hate.

"Ye dinnae have it when scran was here. Ye were sleepin on yon big yin." You shrug and glance over at the food.

"Well, ye look bonnie." You stand with Ghost's help, the grumble of your tummy making him chuckle.

"Go eat, luv. We got him from here."

"Ghost, did you hit the wee doctor? I ken ye dinnae, but-"

"English, Bubbles. And if she said I did, then I must have. The doctor is a saint of a Catholic, after all." Soap sputters, unable to form any words.

Walking over to the table, you spot your food, König's and... the Captain's. He didn't come get it. You huff and carry it to his office, knocking firmly.

"Enter," Captain Price's voice floats through the door. Opening it, you see he is in a meeting with another man.

"Sir, you didn't grab your lunch, so I figured I would deliver it." He nods his thanks and gestures for you to bring it to him.

"Since when are delivery drivers allowed to bring food directly to you? And when did they start dressing so terribly?" You glance down at the hoodie draped over you and open your mouth to respond. Captain's voice cuts you off.

"Sir, this is the doctor I was speaking about. It is merely her day off." He somehow balances censure of the other man with respect in a way that has you in awe of his skill.

"Hmph. In my day, women were expected to dress up for the men around them, on duty or off." You bristle, and Captain tries to intervene again.

"We do not police what the men wear on their days off. We certainly won't with the women we work alongside. Now-"

"I'm just saying female doctors need to have a little self-respect and demand enough respect to be obeyed by the men." Price could not be fast enough to silence your barked laughter.

"Sir, with all due respect, the men don't care at all what I am wearing as long as I am fixing their injuries. This hoodie you are so dismissive of is but a sign of the respect of the men. I wonder, how would you convince a heavily muscled, 16 stone man to submit to having the mask removed that he considers part and parcel to who he is? One that less than a dozen living men have seen under since he first donned it."

He snorts and says, "Enough orderlies will force any man to submit to anything."

"And thusly you have destroyed any and all trust that man has in you or the medical profession. I have convinced that man, peacefully, to remove his mask. Built up trust over time to convince him and many others to give a full and unabridged medical history by allowing them the right to privacy. Hell, I have convinced a prisoner that came here hogtied due to how dangerous he was to not only allow me to treat him without needing restraints but to allow the removal of his mask. That man has become one of our greatest assets, in part, due to the respect afforded to him, which started in the medical bay. So, to hear you say that brute force and dressing pretty are the only two ways to gain respect around here is not just inappropriate but sets a dangerous precedent for the men we serve. Such a precedent, I will not allow to take root in my clinic." Silence fills the room after you finish speaking. The man turns to Price.

"I'm convinced. Promotion approved." He signs a piece of paper on the desk. Captain grins at your stunned and confused face.

"Agreed. That was quite a moving statement, Major. Soon to be Lieutenant Colonel, I suppose." Your eyes narrow in suspicion as you look back and forth between them.

"Sir, am I to be expected to leave and work in a different facility, then? If so, I do not want this promotion."

"You'll have to go where assigned, doc. That's above my paygrade to influence."

"Yes, and your opinion on a promotion doesn't matter. If you are promoted, you will work where assigned until the end of your contract."

"I won't leave my men. It would take many steps back. It was jokingly mentioned not long ago, and they nearly mutinied."

"They will get over it." The man seems smug, and it is ticking you off something fierce.

"That's fine then, Captain. I am sure my parents will be thrilled to hear that I no longer wish to work for the military."

He winces, "Now, doll. There's no reason to go involving your parents. I'm sure we can work something out."

"Parents? The military does not care bout the opinions of parents." He scoffs at your threat.

"They do when they have money and political favors. Captain, I will do everything in my power to stay, including sabotaging a promotion. If you force my hand, I will find a way out rather than have to start over somewhere else. Please, do not push me on this, I love working here."

You are begging at this point. Leaving your men would be devastating. You've tried to stay under the radar ever since finding out that promotions mean leaving, even to the point of refusing to record the advanced training and techniques you have taken and the ones you have pioneered.

"I understand, Major. We will discuss this further later." You know a dismissal when you hear it.

"Yes, sir."

The next thing you know, you are back in the rec room, sitting in front of your food. Ghost appears at your side and nudges you gently.

"What happened, Luv?"

"I got promoted, I think. Maybe."

"Woo-"

"Shut up. It isn't a good thing."

"Why not? You are moving from Major to Lieutenant Corporal! That is great! They've been ignoring you for too long." He starts to stand, and you drag him back down.

"If I get promoted, I have to leave. I-i won't be here anymore. That's why I've been hiding from it."

"Oh," he says as he settles back in. "You've been avoiding more money and shit to stay with us? But why?" You nod and shove a piece of food in your mouth, trying to get a bit of time to think.

"I just... I really love working with you guys. It's exactly the job I wanted since I had to be a doctor. Working with adrenaline junkies who save the world, ya know?" You sigh and lean against his shoulder. "I really like the relationships I've built here. You guys are respectful and kind. Female officers don't usually much respect."

He rubs your arm gently. "Heard and understood, luv. We will figure this out together, then. Eat up, and we can watch another movie before dinner."

You wake up later sandwiched between Ghost and Soap on the couch, each wrapped around you somehow. Your last thought before falling asleep again is the way this feels like home.

The next week, Captain Price sets a meeting with you. When you tell Ghost, he immediately wants to go with you. Despite turning him down every time and refusing to tell him when, he catches the closing door and silently stands behind your chair. The Captain stares at him for a long moment before opting to ignore him completely.

"I've arranged this meeting to discuss your upcoming promotion and what it means for you and the men."

"I understand, sir. I can have the files updated and ready for transfer in about two weeks. I will need to meet one on one with each man to ensure the transferred files meet with his approval based on the policy in effect." Captain Price looks surprised.

"You don't intend to pass on the full histories to a replacement?"

"No, I am afraid they will be accidentally dropped into a paper shredder, and there will be an incident with a small bin fire just off base. Quite unfortunate, but not preventable." You keep your gaze passive and meet the Captain's own look evenly. "I will ensure that the approved files do not meet with such an end. I will also endeavor to provide a full list of the procedures and techniques that we have pioneered under my command so that there is consistency for the men. They do so hate change."

"I hope the former will not be necessary, and I implore you to implement the latter. As an aside, in speaking further with the RAMC, we have come to an agreement for you to stay here at this post indefinitely. It was deemed necessary to current and future missions to maintain consistency in medical care. I was asked to pass on a message: All doctors are required to record their advanced training and education, and thus, it is expected that you will update your records accordingly. I believe that covers everything." His grave face suddenly breaks into a smirk, just as you begin crying with joy.

"Thank you, Captain! Thank you!" He stands and moves around his desk to wrap you in a hug.

"You did good, doll. I am so proud of the work you have done, and now it will be recognized by everyone else." He smiles down at you and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Now, please do those updates. I called in some big favors and made some promises to work this out." All you can do is nod before you are pulled from the Captain and crushed against Ghost's chest.

"Woohoo! You're staying with us, luv!" He drags you to the door with a bare minimum of respect for Captain Price, refusing to let you stop and say goodbye. "Time to go tell everyone. We will have a party!"

"I've never seen you so excited for anything, Ghost. Slow down, I'm gonna trip!" He huffs playfully but slows down.

"I wanted to get you out of there before the Captain decided he needed to address what you so casually stated, but it is exciting to keep you on. I have been trying to decide how to break into your office for those files for the last week." You stop and frown.

"Don't do that. It would be dangerous to try to steal them." He cocks an eyebrow. "Yes, dangerous. You seriously don't think all I have protecting them are a few flimsy filing cabinet locks after how long it took to get that information. There is life and death information in them. I called in a few favors to build a security system of sorts for it."

"That's... that's sexy as hell, luv. You are one loyal woman." He stares down at you for several long moments, starting when someone clears a throat a little ways away.

"Sorry to break up the party. I heard you had your meeting today. How did it go?" König asks innocently, making you glare at Ghost.

"You weren't supposed to tell anyone!" He holds his hands up in surrender, backing away.

"I was pretty sure you weren't leaving, promotion or not. We just want to celebrate with you."

"Ghost! Lech mich am Arsch! Bastardo! Schluckspecht!"

"Come, mein Schatz. It is good that we celebrate now. You are staying, and we do not have to stage a rebellion." König picks you up as though you are just a child, carrying you away from a laughing Ghost even as you yell more insults. You want to fight away from him, but you can't stop from pressing closer. You can barely stop yourself from nuzzling against his shoulder. It takes a minute then for you to realize that he has turned away from the rec room, which is where you're sure the party is supposed to be.

"König, where are you taking me?" You catch your traitorous fingers rubbing at the back of his neck under the mask. "Sorry."

"I like your hands on me, meine Prinzessin. I wanted to talk to you without prying eyes and ears..." You rub your fingers against his collarbone through his shirt. "Yes, I like that." You blush and lean forward, stopping just in front of his lips. He cups the back of your head, closing the distance and kissing you through his mask.

You feel your back pressed against a wall and hear the jingle of keys. König has brought you to his quarters. He carries you in, kicking the door shut and locking it. Laying you on the bed, he says, "Tell me what you want, Schatz. I need to know."

"I want this, König. I want you. Bitte." He quickly strips off his clothes and mask, giving you space to do the same.

"Gut. I will fuck you, then I will take you to the party as meine Prinzessin... if you can walk." He chuckles as he climbs on the bed, pushing your legs up and laying his cock against your stomach. "It will be a tight fit. Might take all night to loosen up you up." He is excited, talking fast and teasing you with his fingers already.

"Promise?" Your question is loaded, but he nods happily.

"Yes, Prinzessin. You will take the whole thing before the night is over. I will make sure of it." He leans down close to your ear, "I will make you mine forever."

[cha-melodius]

❤️ first kiss / realization for lokius if you’re still doing these! No worries if not :)

(ok so this is an idea of what the first kiss for them in the old west au fic might have gone like! thought I'd return to that for funsies this time. hope you enjoy! find the other lokius kiss ficlet here)

“You didn’t take the shot.”

Mobius turns on his heel at the voice, familiar and not. They haven’t spoken more than a couple of times, but he knows its owner well nonetheless. Knows his habits. What he can’t resist. Plus, there’s only one person Mobius pointed a pistol at today.

“Didn’t have it,” he huffs as he grinds the smoldering end of his cigarette into the dirt under his boot.

It’s a blatant lie. He knows it and, more importantly, Loki knows it. With any luck, that’s as far as it goes, though. He had Loki dead to rights. Coulda put an end to all of this. Didn’t.

He’ll probably regret it one day. Right now, he can’t bring himself to.

Loki saunters closer, a shadow clad in all black with only the shine of buckles and rivets glimmering in the moonlight. They’re the only two out here behind the saloon that Mobius left because he was desperate for fresh air. He could have never guessed that Loki would come here, of all places, after he made his escape.

“There’s a whole slew of lawmen just inside,” Mobius tells him as Loki stops in front of him, close enough that Mobius has to tip his head up to look at him. Close enough that Mobius can smell the scent him, spice and woodsmoke. “I could call ‘em out here.”

“But you won’t,” Loki says. His expression is confident. Knowing. Dangerous. Mobius feels something white hot flare in his gut.

“Why’re you here, Loki?”

Loki raises one elegant hand to Mobius’ jaw and trails two fingers along the stubble there, his eyes dropping to Mobius’ lips before snapping back up. “Maybe I wanted to thank you for sparing my life.”

Mobius’ breath catches in his throat. “You don’t have to do that.”

Loki leans close to Mobius’ ear, his lips nearly brushing the shell of it, and murmurs, “I said I want to.”

The words send a tremor down Mobius’ spine, and he snaps, all that long-simmering desire finally boiling over. It’s probably a godforsaken trap but he doesn’t care anymore,  can’t resist him any longer when mere inches are all that separate them. He pulls back enough to capture Loki’s mouth in a kiss, and it’s hard because they’re hard men, but Loki yields unexpectedly under him. Goes soft and slow and sticky sweet like molasses, and it’s so overwhelming Mobius is sure he’s gonna drown in it.

“Tell me you have a room?” Loki breathes, almost unsteadily, when they finally part.

“Why? So you can fuck me and rob me in my sleep?” Mobius counters suspiciously.

“I know you don’t trust me, but I’m not here to betray you, Mobius,” Loki tells him, his eyes bright and uncannily honest in the moonlight. “Besides,” he adds, a tiny smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth, “I rather thought it might be the other way around.”

Christ, Mobius is probably going to regret this. “Yeah,” he says. “C’mon.”

[gothic-thoughts]

Who Is She?

(a/n): now as a black person... I wouldn't let this slip nor slide 🤣😂

Geto Suguru x Black GN Reader Fluff

Bimbo!Reader, Meetcute(ugly), Drabble

CW: Geto saying monkey (cuz 🙄), Suguru slowly falling for your empty headedness

While in the plaza, I feel someone bump into my back, I turn around in disgust to see a short person sitting on their butt from the force of the fall. They were wearing leather knee-high boots and a short skirt that no doubt came down mid-thigh. A black low-cut crop top hugged their chest as well as revealed a chubby stomach.

“Of course, it's a monkey.” I scoff, “Choose your next words wisely, non-sorcerer.”

They struggle to stand back up on their platform boots and then wobble before steading when they stand. I continue to coldly look down on them.

“Ohmygod, I'm so sorry.”

“Be more careful with your movements and know your place. You may only address me respectfully since I have allowed you that much.”

“You're right, cute guy.” They giggle, “Ion even know why I was running so fast in these fuckin’ heels.”

My eyebrow raises as I register their words. “What the hell did you just call me?”

“Uh, yah. Ion know your name so I just went by your face. I mean I guess I coulda said ‘tall guy’ but I'm 5'2" so...”

I try to calm myself down. “You are calling me 'cute' simply because you don't know my name? That's the most foolish excuse I have ever heard.”

“Fine then, ‘cute guy’. What's your name so I can call you that instead.”

“I am Geto Suguru, the special grade sorcerer and the leader of the Curse User Organization, monkey. And you will address me as 'Lord Geto' from now on.”

“Ooou, that sounds important. Suguru is a cute name, by the way.”

Nobody's ever found my surname cute, or even said so, so their words instantly throw me for a loop.

“What?”

“I love your name, it's fun to say. Suguru rolls off the tongue.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

“I mean, I could start. I did say you were cute. I'm (Y/n) by the way~”

It was strange, they're annoying, but I don't even think it's on purpose. It's almost cute, the way that every time those glossed lips opened it was to let out a sweet voice saying something idiotic.

“A human like you has the guts to flirt with THE Suguru?”

"Why?” They tilt their head dumbly, “You famous or something?”

“Famous? Me? Oh ho, yes.” I smirk at the naive human before me, “Not only am I world-renowned, but I am also feared by many and have quite the reputation for doing some heinous things. I don’t think you comprehend how dangerous I am.”

“Ohhhh.” They lean in and whisper under the noise of the plaza, “Are you a yakuza boss? I won't tell.”

Oh, they're adorable. I’m gonna have fun with them. A smirk spread across my face, making the decision to play along with the idiotic thing. 

“Why, yes I am. My empire is the most powerful in the entire world. And if you tell anyone about this, you will never see the light of day again.”

“I won't, I swear. I am so good at keeping secrets.”

“I bet. Something tells me your skull doesn’t quite have the capacity.” I touch the tip of their nose with his index finger, “You are quite the interesting thing, aren’t you?”

“So you like me too?”

They’re so dumb, I can’t even tell if they know I’m flirting. Or does that make them clever? This enigma alone makes me want them even more mysterious and I love it. I don’t even think they know how mysterious they are

“In fact, I think I do. And since you know about my um... secret business, I might have to make you mine.”

They gasp. “Really? That was fast.”

“I just know when I see potential in someone, and you? You have that potential.”

“A mafia boss likes me? It’s like a fanfiction.”

“Yeah, exactly; just like fanfiction. I don’t know what else it is about you but,” I grab their chin and pull them so our gazes meet, “You just keep entertaining me with that smooth brain of yours, and I think I want to own you.”

“Ooh, kinky~”

I chuckle and roll my eyes at their oblivious yet flirty reply despite it enticing me further. I lean in closer, lips just an inch away from theirs.

“Kinky, indeed.”

[brooklynbear32]

Chapter 8: Control

Pairing: Chris Evans/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Read on AO3 or see the tumblr masterlist

You and Chris were catching your breath after what was easily the most athletic sex you’ve ever had. Of course, he was the one who put in most of the work, but sex is a team sport. You’d come over for dinner after work and then he fucked you in the kitchenette of his hotel room. It was the sort of straight-forward, ecstatic sex you’d only ever dreamed of before. 

Neither of you have spoken for a while, just enjoying each other’s company as you come down. Your head is pillowed on his chest and you’re tracing the lines of his eagle tattoo, but mostly you're just replaying everything that just happened in your mind.

“Do I ever get a little rough with you in your fantasies, Sweetheart?” He asks, his eyes dark. 

“Yeah,” you manage to gasp out and he smiles.

“Good.” He says, and his hand moves to your neck, not choking you at all, just holding it gently. “I do when I fantasize about you.”

"Wait!" You say, the word out of your mouth before you even decide to say it.

He startles beside you, and when you turn to look at him, you see his eyelids flutter like he's forcing himself out of sleep.

"Sorry," you say, more softly, a hand coming up to his cheek. It had been a long day, and if you’d realized he was drifting off, you would have kept your mouth shut. "Everything's fine."

He smiles, dozily at you. "What's up, Sunshine?"

"I just – have you really fantasized about me?" You ask, a little shy.

His eyes search your face, as if unsure what response you're hoping for. 

"Yeah, Sweetheart, I really have." He replies, and he runs a hand over your head, tidying the hairs still out of place from the, uh, exercise you just shared. "These sheets smelled like you from the other night, and I couldn't help remembering everything we did together. And then I started thinking about other things that we could do together."

A thrill goes through you, settling low in your stomach, so flattered to be desired. 

"Do you, uh–" The words get stuck in your throat. You clear it, his expression teasing as he waits, and try again. "Do you want to talk about those ideas?"

He leans in to kiss you, but it's chaste compared to what you've come to expect from him.

"I would love to, baby, but I need a bit of a rest first." He looks disappointed in himself, like his incredible body is letting him down. 

"Hey, that's okay." You kiss him gently, enjoying seeing him so soft and sweet. "You've definitely earned it!"

He smiles at you. "I want you to stay, if you want that, too." He's rubbing a hand along your back, like he's trying to settle you to sleep beside him.

"I, uh, may or may not have thrown a couple things into my purse when I was getting ready, just in case you said something like that." You admit cautiously, and your heart nearly bursts when he beams at you. 

"Good. I coulda been ready to go again after a quick nap, but I'd much rather get some real sleep and do things right tomorrow." He says, closing his eyes and snuggling up against you.

"You sound like you've got a plan," you tease him.

"Guess you'll just have to stay and find out," he replies. He kisses you quickly again, his eyes still closed but finding your lips easily. You don't even feel embarrassed that you watch him for a few moments, enjoying seeing his handsome face relax into sleep. 

You force yourself to get up, go to the bathroom, and brush your teeth. Somehow, you're still wearing your dress and bra, your panties left on the kitchen floor. You're conflicted - you brought a cute pair of sleep shorts and a cami, but the idea of pairing his t-shirt with your lacy panties is also appealing. Last time, you both fell asleep totally naked, wrapped around each other, and that was a fantastic way to wake up.

You feel a little ridiculous, wondering if other girls also stand in the bathroom after amazing sex and debate what to wear (or not wear) to bed. You tell yourself that there isn't actually a wrong choice, after all, we're talking about getting in bed beside a naked Chris fucking Evans.

You decide on his shirt and your panties, remembering how much he liked "unwrapping" you earlier. His shirt, which looks too small for his bulky chest, is still big on you, and actually not that flattering, but it smells like him and there's something so sexy about the intimacy of wearing his clothes, so you leave it on.

You tiptoe around the suite, putting the leftover pizza in the fridge, making sure the door is locked, and turning out lights. It feels shockingly domestic and it warms something in your chest. You've had hookups before, some more embarrassing than others, but you've never come back for seconds. You don't have the perspective to know for sure, but you doubt most second hookups feel this cozy and familiar. 

You return to the bedroom, and you stop and stare at the man spread out on the king-size bed in front of you. He's rolled from his side to his stomach, the arm that had been around you now extended as if reaching for you. You lie down on the bed, situating yourself on your side so that you can look at him a moment longer. You slide your hand under his, and his fingers tighten around yours. It's almost definitely just a reflex, but your heart is full when you close your eyes.

_____

You wake up to sunlight streaming in through a gap in the curtains, and realize almost immediately that you're alone in the enormous bed. The door to the ensuite bathroom is closed and you can hear the faint sound of the sink being used. You close your eyes again, surrounded by bedding that is so soft and smells like Chris. You must doze off again, because the next time you open your eyes, Chris is lying beside you, looking at you.

"Creepy," you tease him with a smile, like you hadn't done the exact same thing last night.

He gives a little shrug, unapologetic and smiles back at you. "Good morning. How'd you sleep? How d'you feel?"

His voice is still sleep-rough and it warms every part of your body. You stretch, legs straightening out, toes pointing, arms extending as much as the bed's headboard allows.

"No complaints," you answer happily.

"Are you hungry?" He asks.

"For what?" You flirt with him.

His eyes crinkle. "For food."

You shake your head against the pillow. "Not yet. My stomach hasn't woken up."

"Are you hungry for anything else?" He flirts back at you, and he moves closer to you now and drapes himself over you. He’s still naked, and entirely unselfconscious about it, like this is just the way his body is meant to be. You don't disagree.

“I think I could be persuaded.” You say as his body cages you in. His arms settle on either side of your head, his knees on either side of your hips.

“Am I supposed to try to convince you now?” He asks, playfully, and – wow, what an idea that is. 

“Well, you could tell me more about that plan that you mentioned last night.” You suggest.

“Sure,” he says, moving to kneel beside you, putting a little more space between you. You pout a little, but it does make it easier for you to listen and think with your brain instead of your vagina.

“So I was thinking about you getting yourself off for me,”  Chris begins, his eyes dark but still twinkling. “And by the way, I’m pretty sure I said it at the time, but it was so fucking hot getting to watch that.”

You flush, remembering it. You’re honestly a little surprised that you’d been so bold. Fortune sure did favor you, though.

“And I was thinking about you saying that you had to think about me to come, and I realized that didn’t actually mean that the guys you’ve slept with never made you come. So I guess my question is: am I really the first guy to get you off?”

Your flush deepens somehow. You wish there was a way you could move so that you didn’t have to make eye contact.

“Not quite. There was one time – what I said yesterday was true: most of my hookups were a long time ago. But I went home with one guy more recently. He was funny and cute and I wasn’t even that drunk…” 

“Okay…” Chris encourages you. He cups your face and you look up at him. He’s nodding, coaxing the story out of you, trying to show you that he’s won't judge you for what happened. But your embarrassment wasn't about the promiscuity.

“His name was Christopher.” You admit, scrunching your face.

“Oooooh!” Chris says, and a big, goofy smile spreads across his face.

“Yeah, yeah. As if your ego needed the boost." You roll your eyes at him, but you're smiling, too.

"Oh, yeah, something is getting a boost alright." Chris teases you. "What happened? I'm guessing he didn't look like me or anything."

"He didn't," you agree, "But I couldn’t see his face during because he -- you know --"

"Was fucking you from behind?" Chris suggests, bluntly.

You scowl at him. "Yes. That. So, it's all going fine. Like, not bad for a hookup but not great or anything. But then I realized that I could think about you and not have to worry about calling the wrong name…"

Chris laughs, delighted. "Oh, Sunshine. That's incredible. You came on some other guy's dick, because you were imagining it was me and calling my name?"

"Yup. There you go." You say, breathing out a sigh. "That's the most embarrassing part of all of this. I came harder than I'd ever come before in my life. He thought it was amazing and wanted to get my number but I couldn’t look him in the eye. I left as fast as I could and never went back to that bar again."

Chris is fucking beaming at you. "That is my favorite thing I've ever heard," He declares. "This is better than any birthday present. Any award. The next time I'm feeling bad about myself, I'm going to remember this and feel ten feet tall."

"Yeah, yeah." You reply, rolling your eyes. "You're God's gift to the world, we know."

"And when was this hookup?" Chris asks.

"About a year ago."

"And since then?"

You sigh. "Just me and my hands."

"And me!" Chris reminds you, brightly, "I was there, even if it was only in your head. Or also on your TV?"

"Nuh-uh. We’re not going there. I’m not going to tell you about that part of my process." You say, firmly. Even if he'd find it hot, you still aren't going to tell him just how many times you’ve seen What’s Your Number . He pouts at you, just a little.

"Fine. But a whole year, sweetheart?" Chris says, coming back to straddle you. Then he's sliding his hands under your shirt - his shirt, actually - and running his fingers up and down your torso. Oh. Right . You'd been in the middle of something. "No one's touched you at all for a year?"

“I mean, it wasn’t exactly a sacrifice then. I hadn’t had many experiences worth missing.” You tell him, arching into his hands. You decide to try biting at one of your fingers, the way he does, and you hope it sounds sexy when you whisper: “Like you’ve said, no one ever really touched me properly before you.”

Chris growls. He pulls off your shirt in a powerful movement that lifts your head and shoulders off the bed. His mouth is on your neck, his hands on your breasts, like he’s trying to make up for all the years of touch you missed out on.

You grab his head, hands in his hair, holding him to you. He moans at your touch. 

He sucks a mark onto your collarbone and pulls back to inspect his work. He must be pleased, because he moves to kiss you, his lips rough against yours.

"So I think we've got some catching up to do, huh?" He says, and he cups your face with both hands. "I want to really take my time with you. I want to find every single spot on your body that makes you shiver. I want to explore every inch of you to see what pleasure has been trapped inside you, just waiting for me to let it out."

His eyes are so intense, his words so commanding and his hands so gentle. Everything about him makes you weak. You turn your head and kiss one of his palms, cradling it in one of your own hands.

"So what's stopping you?" You ask him, breathless with want.

The filthy, mischievous smile spreads across his face. "Well, if we're going to do all that, we really ought to eat breakfast first. You're going to need your strength."

You groan, impatient.

"But maybe we can take a few minutes for an appetizer, huh? Something quick?" Chris suggests, sliding a hand down to where you're still covered with delicate lace. "What do you want, Sunshine? My fingers? My mouth?"

You groan again, annoyed at being asked to make a decision. His fingers are teasing under the fabric of your panties to where you're aching for him and the answer comes to you in a rush.

"Your cock. I want you to fuck me."

Chris looks surprised, but only for a moment.

"O-kay," he says, "You don't have to tell me twice."

He leans over to the nightstand, grabbing a condom and deftly rolling it on. Then he pulls off your soaked panties and slowly runs his fingers through your wetness, dipping into you. He rubs deep inside you, his thick fingers touching spots that only increase your need for him.

"Chrissssss," you complain.

"Shhhh, baby," he soothes you, "Just making sure you're ready for my cock. I love how wet you get for me."

He puts his fingers in his mouth and moans, just a little, smiling at you the whole time. "Love tasting you, too." You'd find it sweet if you weren't so fucking desperate to have him in you.

Except then his huge body is moving over you, his gentle but determined hands pushing your legs apart so that he can move in between them, then pinning your hands above your head.

It knocks the breath out of you, feeling the absolute power of his body paired with the certainty that he'll only use it to make your body sing.

He bumps his forehead against yours, checking in. "You tell me if you need anything, okay, Sunshine?"

You nod quickly, gasping out a quiet "yes" and that's all the confirmation he needs. One hand holds your wrists above your head and the other guides his dick inside of you. You don't know how he has the control to move into you so leisurely, and it is impressive, but you don't want that. You don't want slow and controlled.

You bring your knees up around his hips, your feet settling against his ass, and then you drive your feet into him as hard as you can. He's clearly not expecting it, because he crashes into you, his cock sliding home, as deep as it can go. You gasp, not regretting it, but your vagina is aching, overwhelmed by the intrusion.

"What the fuck, Sunshine?" He asks, his eyes wide as he pulls away, luckily not pulling out. He sees the smirk on your face and a shit-eating grin crosses his own. "Oh yeah? Couldn't wait for me, sweetheart? You got a greedy pussy or something?"

You shrug, unashamed. "You were going too slow."

He blows out a breath, like he doesn't know quite what to do with you. He's deep inside you, not pulling out, but not moving, either. You try swirling your hips to get some stimulation but the hand not pinning your wrists presses low on your stomach, just firmly enough that you can't grind against him anymore.

"I think you ought to be a little more grateful." Chris says, and the mischievous smile is back, the indecision gone. "I'm the only guy in the world that can make you come, and you think you can just shove me around?"

"See, I knew your ego -" you start to argue, but then his hands tighten on you and he's leaning in close. A shred of uncertainty twists in your stomach.

"You're going to take what I give you, and you're going to thank me for it." Chris says firmly, but then he whispers, "Tell me 'stop' or 'red' any time if you don't like what I'm doing."

Fuck. Realization slams into you: he's giving you a safe word which means he's about to do something that needs one.

"Green," you gasp, eagerly. He grins, understanding your consent, presses the quickest kiss to your lips, and then leans back again. The grin disappears, his playfulness replaced with purpose as, finally, he starts moving inside you. God, he's huge. You'd mostly relaxed around him while he was immobile, but the slow drag of him has you clenching.

"See, I think you got greedy." Chris says, his voice, his hands, his cock, all of it overpowering you. "You started thinking I was some kind of fucking machine, just for you–"

You open your mouth to argue, a little worried he actually thinks that, but then he winks at you. You take a breath, trying to prepare yourself for whatever he's building up to. His thrusts have sped up a little, and those vibrant spots in your cunt are starting to throb.

"But what you've forgotten is – I'm the one in charge here, baby." His hands, still pinning you against the bed, shift just enough to remind you of his physical control over you, but the motion feels more like a caress than a trap.

"I'm the one with the dick that can split you open. I'm the one that figured out how to lick your perfect pussy. I'm the one that can make you come with just my fingers. I'm the whole reason your body can orgasm at all, and you'd better remember that. Sure, I can make you come, but I can take your orgasms away just as easily."

And then he stops moving in you, only the head of his cock inside you. You whine, trying to move your hips so that you can get more stimulation where you need it. But you can't, because he’s holding you still. Because he's in charge.

"See?" He says, grinning down at you, dark and dirty. 

"Chrisssssss," you complain, clenching on the entirely insufficient length inside of you.

"Ask me nicely." He tells you.

"Chris, pleeeeease," you whine. He kisses you, open-mouthed and filthy. Then he whispers against your lips.

"Please what, sweetheart?" He asks, as if he doesn't know.

"Fuck me! Please! Fuck me, Chris!" you yell, too desperate to feel any shame at all.

"That's better," he says, and finally he's moving in you again. You moan, relieved, your cunt grateful for his return. He groans as you tighten around him, pulling him back into you. He doesn't speak for a minute or two, just moving perfectly inside you. The moment you start to really lose yourself to it, he slows down slightly, and speaks.

"So tell me, Sunshine. That time that you screamed my name while getting fucked by another man–" you groan, the embarrassment of the memory somehow making you hotter. "--did one of you rub your little clit, or did you only need his cock to make you come?"

You squeeze your eyes shut, not wanting to see his face when you admit it. "Just his cock."

He growls so you open your eyes so you can see his face. He looks – actually you're not sure. Not quite angry. Jealous, maybe? Ravenous?

"Then that's how you're going to come this time." Chris tells you, and his thrusts speed up again. "You're going to come on my cock, with me fucking you, just like you imagined that time. No touching yourself.  No closing your eyes. I want you to look me in the eye when my cock fucks your orgasm out of you."

You nod your head, pleasure and desire rushing through you and making you dizzy.

"Don't move your hands," he commands, and then his hands leave where they were holding you down. He grabs your hips, tilting your pelvis just like he did that first time he fucked you. And again, the movement changes the way he rubs both inside you and against you, and you wail. He smirks.

"Good girl," he croons and, yep, now you're shaking. His hands leave your hips and he crowds you, resting with his weight on his forearms, one on each side of your head. A thumb strokes your hair, and the contrast of domination and gentleness is overwhelming.

"Isn't this better?" He asks you, but you're starting to have trouble processing his words. Your blood is rushing through your body, pounding in your ears and making your swollen clit throb. "Doesn't it feel good to let me take control?"

You nod again, not enough air in your lungs to agree with words. You feel tears forming in your eyes. 

"I gotta say, Sunshine, it feels pretty good for me, too." Chris whispers, his lips ghosting along your cheekbone. "Can't tell you how fucking hot it is to know that I'm the only one that can do this to you. Your body is perfect, reacting to me so well. You're so eager for it, for anything I want to do to you. And I bet that people used to call you a prude!"

They have, and it hurts to hear him say it. You know it's so fucking stupid that the word still hurts, when you're literally having earth-shattering, kinky sex, but your scars and shame run deep. The tears, which had been gathering due to the overwhelming pleasure besieging you, fall in earnest now, caused by the humiliation burning in your chest. Chris kisses the tears as they roll towards your hair.

"Awww, baby," Chris says, "Don't you get it? Those people are the biggest morons in the whole world. Because you're not a prude at all. You, Sunshine, are a total fucking slut for me." He pauses, so deep inside you and then times his next thrusts to push into you with each possessive word. "You're mine to play with, mine to tease, mine to make explode with pleasure. It's all for me . And now you're going to come on my cock , looking in my eyes and screaming my name ."

You whimper, because you are close but you're not quite there yet. You shake your head back and forth, tears still falling, because as much as you want it, as much as you want to be good for him, you don't know if you can. 

"Shhh, baby, it's okay." Chris whispers, "Whatever you're thinking about, whatever you're worrying about, just let it go. Don't think, just feel. Take a big breath for me."

It takes you a second but you manage, inhaling and exhaling a noisy, shaky breath.

"Good girl," Chris murmurs, giving you a gentle kiss as a reward. "See? You can do this. Keep breathing like that for me. Feel the air moving through you. Get out of your head and into your body."

The hand playing with your hair starts to trail down your neck, your shoulder, your breasts.

"Focus on me, babe. My hand on your tit, my lips breathing on yours, my dick stretching you open, pushing into the most secret parts of you. Feel everywhere I'm touching you, everywhere your body is rushing to meet mine. Feels good, right?"

You whine, because of course it does, it feels so fucking good. You're so close and your clit is throbbing. Your nipple is being pinched just hard enough to make you gasp. Your skin is tingling. Your toes are curling.

"Okay. You know the way you clench when you come for me? The way you squeeze me so tight, pulling me deeper into you? Do that for me now."

You do. You'd do anything, anything to come.

"Fuck, sweetheart. That's perfect. Do it again. And again. And again. Keep doing that for me. Good girl, you're being so good for me."

And later, you won't be sure what did it: the intentional muscle contractions, the praise, or the way Chris is looking at you like he could never get enough of you, but you’re breathing harder, and your legs are starting to shake. You can hear a noise, a whining groan, but Chris is talking to you so it can’t be him making it. 

“Come on, Sweetheart, that’s it. You’re right there; right there, just for me. Feels so fucking good to have you squeezing my cock.” His thrusts are so powerful that he’s pushed the both of you up the bed. Your hands are still exactly where he put them, and they’re stopping your head from knocking against the headboard. He must notice this, moving his forearm so that he can put a hand between yours and the headboard, cupping your head. 

“We’re going to come now, together. Can you do that for me? I’m ready for it, ready to push my come into you. D’you want it? Wanna come with me, baby?”

“Chris!” You cry, desperate for it, shaking apart in his arms, pleasure radiating in waves from where he’s pounding into you. You’re squirming, flailing underneath him. Gasping, yelling, moaning.

“Come for me, Sunshine!” He commands you, and you obey. You see his eyes widen as your orgasm overtakes you, feel the way he moves impossibly faster into you. 

“FUCK!” He yells, and for the first time, his unrelenting thrusts lose their rhythm. His hips move erratically as he presses into you in all the right places to make you scream. He’s groaning and you – yeah, you’re still screaming. He stops thrusting, his hip bones digging into your ass as he grinds against you. Your muscles are tired, so tired, but still tightening around him in time with the throbbing of your clit. 

Your hands fly up from where they’d been resting, as if an invisible chain holding them down broke, and you grab at his shoulders, pulling him to you. He responds in kind, sliding his arms under your back to pull you to him until your chests are flush. You hold each other and moan and shake and stare and breathe until you both sag down onto the bed.

He kisses you, clumsy and sweet, and rolls you so that you’re side-by-side. Your head is empty – nothing left in it whatsoever. You just look at him, rubbing your fingers over his face like you need proof that he’s real. He smiles at you and the warmth of it spreads through your still-trembling body.

“Wow,” he finally says, breaking the silence. “That was–” and you’re curious to hear how he’ll describe it, because God knows, you don’t have any words. But he doesn’t finish the sentence, shaking his head, the words escaping him, too.

"Uh-huh," you agree, nodding a little. "Sure was."

He chuckles, and the vibrations rumble through your chest. He kisses you, and you kiss back, but your body is too relaxed to do anything more than press your lazy mouth against his. He's not much better, and you love it. Your brain is starting to work again, and you remember something.

"You lied to me." You tell Chris. He flinches, jaw dropping, instantly worried and confused. "You said you were going to be quick. You told me we were going to have an appetizer, but that was a whole fucking meal!"

He laughs, his relief palpable, and pulls you close to him once more.

Tag list: @whiskeytangofoxtrot555

[vanillablankcanvas]

Sable's Secret

Even with his eyes closed he could feel Sable freaking out.

Sable's voice shook. "Promise me you won't freak out."

"Sable, baby I promise."

He heard Sable try to control her breathing as she exhaled slowly and she placed something weighty in his hands.

"Okay, you can open your eyes now."

...

..

.

John Dory blinked in confusion at the object in his hand.

"Oh" he said softly as he recognised it.

Sable's heart dropped and her shoulders sagged.

"Is this pine?"

.......what?

"Eh?" Sable replied with the most elegance she could muster.

"You shouldn't be using pine that's just silly. Gets all bent all out of shape and cracks at the slightest breeze. Willow wood is where it's at! It more flexible."

Sable was utterly baffled by his reaction.

"It... you don't think it's weird?"

"That you have a wooden leg? Pffft noooo."

Sable's eyes darted around the room in confusion. Surely he's bluffing?

"Is this a joke?"

John Dory looked up from the leg to find Sable starting to visibly shake. He quickly placed the leg down on the table and held her hands.

"Sabe, I'm not joking...why would you think I'm joking?"

She couldn't look at him.

"You were really scared to tell me, weren't ya?"

She could only nod a little bit.

"What happened?"

She brought her gaze up to meet his but didn't reply.

"We were in the tunnels...."

***

Flashback to teenage Sable running through the tunnels with her parents. The Bergens had already discovered they'd escaped and were trying to dig them out.

Sable was running alongside her parents. The shaking from the Bergens footsteps and shovels cause the tunnel to rumble and Sable loses her footing and falls.

Just as a Bergen shovels through the dirt above her.

Right through her leg....

Flashforward a a year or two later

Sable is in a makeshift hospital in the forest. The Pop Trolls are trying to rebuild their society but she can't do much to help.

Only her parents visit her.

Not Summer

Not Sage

Not Sonnet

Not Scout

She fell into a dark place.

She was grey for a short time.

After that, the only thing she found herself being able to do was read. She found comfort in the books. She found an escape. This was her beginning towards her extensive education and her acting career.

***

"So when you didn't wanna go swimming?..."

"Yes"

"The long ass skirts?..."

"Yes"

"The 'always turnin up to stuff too early' thing?"

"I prefer not to have an audience if I am forced to use stairs."

"....No dancing?"

She turned to him sadly. Her ears drooped.

"That one hurt the most."

"So the reunion rumours...?"

"I did not refuse the reunion because I am, as they said, 'too good for my pop star past'. I physically cannot do the dances anymore!"

"Do the other Sugar Girls know?"

"No. You are now one of the very few who knows."

"I'm honoured."

Sable tried to smile but she really couldn't.

John noticed she had gone quiet in her thoughts.

"Babe, I've met Trolls with lost legs before. Heck, I've met Trolls with eyes made of glass, some with more scars than skin, one guy had half his stupid face missing, trust me it was an improvement! A wooden leg isn't scary."

"This-" she gestured to the leg "-Is an everlasting reminder of the most horrible time of my life. I was alone and afraid and-"

"-and you survived!"

Sable gasped. Tears began to formed.

"And you're here! You coulda thrown yourself in hole and never come out but you said 'not today' and look at you now! You're a smokeshow who kicks the ass of everything thrown her way. " He playfully punched her arm "Myself included!"

She wiped the tears before they had a chance to fall and leaned against his shoulder.

"Will you tell me what happened to your hand?"

John looked down to his glove. He sighed and slowly took it off.

"Well I guess you showed me yours, I gotta show you mine now huh?"

"Jonathan Dor-" she stopped short when she saw his exposed hand.

The hand did not look good at all. She felt like a hypocrite having thought that. At least her stump had been cared for and healed properly. John's hand looked like it had been crushed and had no care given to it at all.

"How?"

"For a while, folks from all over thought I was the last Pop Troll. They hadn't taken a liking to Pop yet so I had a bounty put on my head. They thought they could get ridda Pop for good. Some Yodeler was on my tail, got me with an ice pick."

Sable was shocked and blinked at him almost not believing him.

He tried to flex his hand, but not much happened. "This thing kinda reminds me of when I was alone too but-"

"-but you survived. Just like I did. And look at us now."

He used his now ungloved hand to grab hold of hers and bring it to his lips for a gentlemanly peck.

"So you really don't care about my leg?"

"Nah, makes me love you more."

"John?"

"Yah babe?"

"You realise that is the first time you've said that to me?"

"What?"

She looked at him waiting for him to connect the dots.

"........I said the L word?"

"You did."

"...No I didn't"

"I heard you"

"...I take it back"

"John Dory-"

"-Nononoono, nope it didn't happen." he covered his ears.

"John!"

"Nopenopenope, didn't happen!"

"I love you too, you moron!"

He stopped and uncovered his ears.

He smirked as he ran over and scooped her up bridal style.

"Leg, shmleg! What is so wrong with you that you somehow love me back?"

Sable could only laugh as he pulled her close.

Yeah

Leg shmleg

There is also an NSFW reason she was hesitant to tell him if anyone wants to know 😏