#That's why the light eyes instead of going for an obvious shadow eye

[strawberrydracos]

Nyx (#2172499)

[murdrdocs]

thinking about patrick getting hired by some wealthy rich man to teach his daughter tennis. she's in her 20s and she can't help but be attracted to him and the same goes for him like ... idk

public sex; oral (f receiving); coach zweig once more; MDNI 18+ w/ PATRICK ZWEIG

for the first couple of sessions, it's blatantly obvious that you don't want to be here.

patrick sees it in the way you zone out every few seconds. the way you have absolutely no hustle when you're hitting. the way you're more focused on your chipped nail polish than on his instructions. really, if the check wasn't as big as it is, then patrick wouldn't want to be here either. but the check for one session is enough to keep him going for three months and patrick wants to keep the money flowing. so he's here, and he cares just enough, and he really would prefer it if you cared too.

he meets you on even ground in the middle of the second lesson. you're drinking from an expensive water bottle while patrick drinks from a plastic one. your skin has a light sheen of sweat from it, but not nearly enough in patrick's opinion. he's sure the sweat is from the sun and not your effort.

he kicks the front of your sneakers with his.

"what's your deal?"

you're looking up at him, squinting even though the brim of your visor shields your eyes from the sun. "my deal?"

patrick nods. "you clearly don't wanna be here. so why are you?"

it takes you a second. your jaw ticks as if you're a smoker, or maybe you're used to chewing gum. patrick usually keeps both with him, and he would've offered either to you if you weren't on a court in your backyard.

eventually, you respond. "i agreed to come home for the summer and i could either sit on the board with my father, or play tennis. anything to keep me from lounging around all day."

a small, knowing smile came to patrick's lips. he glanced behind you at the shape of your house. standing here, patrick sees you. he understands you. he, too, learned tennis to escape the future set up by his father. while yours is on a smaller scale, and something more temporary, he still understands.

he caps his water bottle and places it on the bench. "if you put in a little effort, tennis can be fun."

you snicker and place your water bottle next to his, humming noncommittally.

"i'll believe it when i see it."

it isn't long until patrick starts to see effort put into your movements during your sessions. instead of letting the ball fly past you, you're attempting to run for it, sometimes even succeeding. your skin shines with more than a light sweat. you're actually out of breath when you attempt to respond to patrick mid session.

it's nice to see you putting in work. it's attractive when you're bent over with your hands on your knees, heaving for air. it's alluring when you pout at patrick, a plea for a break already on your emphasized lips.

he doesn't know if your sudden enthusiasm is of your own doing, or from the way patrick rewards you. because no matter how much he pushed his desire down, no matter how often he tried to hide it in the name of professionalism, he still found himself drawn to you. glances up your skirt turned to his head up there. fleeting touches to your lower back turned to his rough hands gripping that very area as he took you from behind. watching the sun beat sweat down onto your skin had a completely different meaning when he fucked you on the court, both of you tucked away on the bench and barely hidden away from anyone—notably your father—who could come outside.

it's obvious that you wanted him, too, your sudden need to impress him on the courts whenever he rewarded you with kisses was a testament.

he asks you one day when he'd lightly smacked your ass with his racket when your session was over. "is tennis fun yet?" came his question, and you smiled at him, throwing a hand over your eye to shield your face from the sun. the shadows cast onto your face and your clavicle did nothing to hide the obvious hickey patrick gave you a few days ago and he found his eyes drawn there when you answered.

"dunno. maybe i need a few more sessions."

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

MDNI, Mentions of sex but no smut, violence.

Thinking about baby daddy!Miguel O’Hara who’s scow immediately returned to his face as soon as you and your daughter were out of sight. Wasting no time to march to the elevator and hit the button to your floor.

Baby daddy!Miguel who couldn’t help but let out a scoff in disgust when he turned the corner of your hall and saw Henry sitting on the floor against your door. Not noticing until he was close enough that he was passed out, head lulled to the side, and an occasional snores leaving him as Miguel glared down at him.

Baby daddy!Miguel who had to resist the urge to wake him up with a swift punch in the face, and not stop until he wasn’t conscious again.

Baby daddy!Miguel that opted to instead nudged him with the side of his foot. Wanting to see what bullshit he’s spew out first.

—

What you ever say in this guy, Miguel will never understand, what you’d see in any guy that wasn’t him he’d never understand. Although to be fair, when you were with him, he probably wasn’t as pitiful looking as this.

“Not so much of a cocky ass now huh?” He couldn’t help but mumble to himself before taking the heel end of his foot and nudged the smaller male's knee. “Wake up.”

After a few more nudges, Henry woke with a loud snore, droopy eyes looking around in confusion before he finally noticed the legs in front of him. Neck cracking up slowly until he was met with the sight of Miguel’s body hulking over him. The overhead lights casting a shadow over his face so he couldn’t read his expression, and if Henry was just a tad bit less drunk, he’d feel the death-like glare being casted on him.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” He slurred, remembering why he was outside your door in the first place.

“None of your business.” Miguel retorted, hands crossing in front of his chest. Despite his scary guard dog aura, Henry tsked in annoyance as he began to stand.

“I think knowing where my girlfriend is my business-“

“She’s not your girlfriend anymore.”

Silence filled the air as Henry was finally able to get himself up on two feet, before a scoff left his lips.

“She already told you. I’m not surprised.” Now it was Miguel’s turn to scoff.

“Of course she told me. I'm the father of her child-“

“I knew something had to still be going on with you two.” Henry’s finger jabbed into Miguel’s chest, his drunken slurring forming into a bit of a hiss. Not phasing the bored look on Miguel’s face. “I’m not fucking blind, I’ve seen the way you looked at her. You’re still in love with her.”

“Look, I’m not wanting to cause any problems,” that’s a lie, “but it’s obvious you’ve had too much to drink and are just talking nonsense. She doesn’t want to see you, alright? So how about you walk away and leave her and my daughter alone.” Miguel spoke calmly, not denying the allegations thrown his way before they both knew it was true.

Miguel’s hand found its way to Henry’s back, not-so-gently pushing him towards the elevator and away from your front door.

“I’m not stupid as you think I am, man.” Henry retorted, planting his heels into the wooden floor to stop himself, before turning around to face Miguel again. “You’re not over her, you don’t think I knew what you were doing at the barbecue when you were dancing with her? Practically fucking her in front of me.” Miguel’s jaw clenched to keep himself from acting irrationally as Henry hissed at him like a dog ready to attack. “The way you always try to one up me in front of her. I’ve seen your messages to her, the old photos, the Spanish nicknames-.”

“Alright that’s enough dude.” Miguel interrupted him. Tone returning to its harsher original one.

“I’m not surprised the minute the opportunity comes, she runs back to your ass!” Henry shoved against Miguel, causing no recoil from the larger man.

“I’m not the one who cheated on her.” Miguel snapped back.

“Yeah, but you were just waiting for the opportunity for me to fuck up. Look like some…knight in shining armor.”

“Okay, man let’s go. You’re not gonna be able to finish this fight. Go home.” That’s when he felt it, a harsh pain on the side of his face. He didn’t realize till he touched his cheekbone and hissed at the throbbing sensation that came from the area that had transpired.

Henry just punched him in the face.

“I wanted to be nice. You already put her through a lot of shit in the past few days.” He mumbled as he rubbed the stop that was sure to bruise black and blue. “But you decided to make this more difficult for yourself.”

Henry didn’t have a chance to reply before his back collided with the wall, air being knocked out from his lungs as Miguel’s hands found their way to Henry's throat.

“You wanna know what happened the night she caught your ass sleeping with another girl?” The question was rhetorical.

“…What?” Henry asked, voice meek under the weight of Miguel’s hands.

“I got her to stop crying, comforted her… got her some food… then I started fucking her till she starts to cry again.”

“You son of-“ Henry began, trying to thrash his way out from under Migue, only to have more pressure applied to his throat. He quickly stopped when he felt himself become light headed, arms that were around Miguel’s wrist drop back down to his sides, and a cough left his throat when the hands around his neck loosened slightly so he could breathe a bit more properly again.

“You’re gonna shut up and listen, and listen good.” Miguel began, his voice dropping down to just above a whisper. Allowing Henry to let out a frantic nod before continuing. “I was the one who comforted her when you fucked up and broke her heart. I was the one who was there to pick up the pieces, not you. I’m the only one who knows her better than she knows herself. I’m the father of her child, me. It was always gonna be me. You weren’t the one who changed her baby’s diapers, you weren’t the one who taught Gabi to ride a bike, you weren’t there for her like I was. You never will, because when it comes down to it, she’ll pick me over you, every. damn. time.”

Miguel didn’t know what felt better, finally getting Henry to shit his smug ass up, for being able to get all his frustrated thoughts out in words.

“She’s mine, she’s always been mine, she's always going to be mine. So don’t for another second, think that you can just walk back into her life and act like you own her. You don’t own shit, you understand?” Miguel finally ended his rant, eyes narrowed as he waited for Henry’s response. Satisfaction flowing through his veins when the smaller male looked like he had just just been face to face with the grim reaper himself.

“I-yeah, yes-I understand.” Henry finally stuttered, face paled, and eyes wide.

“Good, now I want you to walk out of this building, and walk out of her life. If I see you or hear you trying to talk to her ever again, I’m not gonna do as much talking next time.”

—

Part 8<

Not proofread.

Word count:1.2k

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[bachiras-toaster]

washing your hands at 1am meaning : ̗̀➛

SEISHIRO NAGI x gn!reader

contents. m!masturbation

Being roommates with your best friend out of convince meant that you were more exposed to the strange quirks that came with living with him. Like how he washed dishes a certain way, or how he was the type of person to like all windows in the apartment open to ‘let the cool breeze in’, even if it was already freezing. But one of the strangest things that you noticed after living with him was his odd habit of washing his hands in the middle of the night for seemingly no reason.

It was always at the same time at around 1am that you’d be awoken by the abrupt creaking noises of the floorboard as he trudged over to the bathroom, the sound of water flowing from the faucet and the pumping of the soap dispenser following soon after. Nagi didn’t have any hobbies outside of football as far as you were aware, and he didn’t have any physical projects that created a lot of mess that you saw could contribute to him constantly needing to cleanse himself in the middle of the night. Yet, the same always happened when you expected it to. At around one am, when you’re presumed to be asleep.

There was a particular night where you had stayed up extra late on your phone, but your lights were off and you were completely silent, so if Nagi were to pass by your room, he’d automatically assume that you had already gone to bed. So when your eyes met the small time in the corner of your phone that read 1:24am and you realised that your roommate hadn’t washed his hands at the usual time, you got suspicious. Maybe he just wasn’t working on his supposed project tonight? Or maybe, like you, he had stayed up later that anticipated.

Due to the bubbling noise of your curiosity building up in your brain, you steadily began to climb out of bed, making as little noise as possible to see if you would be able to check if Nagi was still even awake at this time. Maybe if he was, you’d be able to catch a glimpse at what he had been doing all this time.

When you reached his room down the hall, the dim light of what you could assume was his lamp faintly lit the inside of his room, and the warm light poured through the small gap between the open door and its frame, allowing your eye to creepily peek through. You made sure to keep your back pressed up against the other side of his door so that even your shadow couldn’t be spotted as you glimpsed inside, noting what was going on in the scene that was set.

However, when your eyes laid on Nagi, he wasn’t at his desk like you had anticipated, he was instead at his bed. He probably hadn’t realised that he had left his door slightly open, which is why he seemed to be pleasuring himself so freely. His back was pressed up against the pillows of his bed and his knees were brought up a little as his hand jerked away at his thick cock, his head lifting up to face the ceiling at the same time. Seeing him in such a state caused your eyes to widen and to clasp your hand over your mouth to suppress an upcoming gasp. Was he—? Surely not… No, he definitely was.

His palm glided so quickly and so easily along the base of his dick that it was obvious that he had been at it for quite a while. Despite feeling like your eyes must have been violating something by just remaining behind the door, you couldn’t help but continue watching as his hand sped up. He was letting out strained gasps and grunts the more desperate he became to chasing his high, and his eyes were squeezed shut as he concentrated on following that path to completion. Your eyes were fixed on how his thighs were shaking a little the faster he became, and how his groans steadily evolved into whimpers with how he reached his climax.

Eventually, you found that thick ropes of white soon erupted from his throbbing, pink tip, and that his hand movements began to slow. Nagi even went on to lazily thrust his hips upward into his own unsteady palm, trying to ride out the pleasure that he felt for as long as possible before it all washed away.

You didn’t realise how your other hand had almost instinctively travelled down to just above your crotch, feeling a warm sensation building up between your legs as your face flushed at the sight. Your breath was shaky against the palm that was still cupped over your mouth as you watched Nagi groan softly when he realised that he would, once again, be responsible for cleaning up the mess he had made. His eyes looked irritatingly down at his palm, which was stained with the sticky ribbons of white satisfaction. And soon, you saw his lips mutter curses under his breath before he turned over in the bed and plant his feet to the ground, going to walk over to the door.

When you saw that he had gotten out of bed, you were already lunging back towards your room and shutting your door quickly, diving into bed as you hid under your duvet, blinking widely at your pillows as you contemplated on if you really had seen what you had just seen.

The time was now 1:33am and the sound of the bathroom door opening was heard once again, followed by the sound of the faucet running.

[daycourtofficial]

Like he’s just your understudy

Summary: based on this request - Can Azriel tamper down his jealousy over you going on a date?

Author’s note: have some fun, level headed jealous Az. 😘

“Is your whiskey that bad brother?”

Cassian’s chipper voice grates on Azriel’s ears. He looks down, unaware of the intense grip he had on his glass. His shadows were tight around him, turning him into a ball of darkness.

“Cass, leave him alone. You know why he’s upset,” Rhys’s voice floats over to the two of them before picking up his wine glass.

Mor looks confused, looking to Cassian or Feyre to explain.

“(Y/n)’s out on a date right now,” Feyre says softly, trying not to add fuel to Azriel’s state.

Cassian chuckles, hitting his brother on the back. “Not happy for her? He was quite good looking-“

Azriel’s head whips towards him, “you saw him?”

Cassian smile falters just a tad, “uh, yeah. He came by to pick her up - even came in and talked to Rhys and I for a minute.”

Azriel’s shadows go wild at this news - searching frantically around the house for someone who wasn’t there.

“And why wasn’t I told?” His grip tightens again, fingers straining against the glass.

Rhys waves a hand, an amused smirk on his face. “You were up brooding in your room.”

Azriel’s eyes snap to Rhys, deciding then that maybe he didn’t need two brothers. “I was not brooding-“

“Then what were you doing?” Mor’s amused voice interjected.

The eyes of his family were watching him as he met her question with silence.

Azriel couldn’t take it - their knowing looks, their smirks, their laughs, as if what he felt for you was some joke.

He couldn’t stand watching you, a beacon of light, trail off to light up someone else’s night.

He scoots his chair back, slamming his glass down. He gets up, about to leave his family and their insistence on family dinners, when Amren speaks up.

“They asked about you before leaving.”

His head snaps over to the newly turned fae, unsure if he can trust anything coming from her.

“It’s likely because I wasn’t here,” Azriel dismisses.

“Feyre and Mor weren’t here - they didn’t ask about them.”

Azriel looked at Nesta, the one person who saw through everyone else. Nesta, the person you were closest to besides Azriel. Nesta, who would never lead Azriel down a path of heartbreak.

Nesta returns his gaze before saying, “they’re down at that new restaurant on Third Avenue.”

Azriel gave her a quick nod before moving past everyone, walking through the foyer, and out the door.

-

The male that had asked you out at Rita’s was incredibly nice. He was tall, fit, and had the cutest dimple next to his mouth.

He was currently telling you a story about his younger sister, who was only eight years old. He seemed to care about her a lot, as he told you that he spends every Thursday night with her playing dress up.

He checks all of your boxes, he’s incredibly swoon worthy, and you two even share the same sense of humor.

But his eyes are the wrong shade of hazel, his jaw cut in just the wrong way, no wings adorn his back, no shadows skitter about him.

You knew pining over Azriel was a fruitless endeavor by this point. You were being so obvious about your feelings - it was clear he was ignoring every glaring sign you sent his way in favor of keeping you from further embarrassment.

Your date had excused himself to go to the restroom. He was gone for approximately fifteen seconds before someone else slides into his empty seat.

“Make up an excuse to leave. Let me take you out instead.”

You had no idea where he came from, or what he was saying as you look up to find Azriel, his hazel eyes molten gold in the candlelight.

“What?” You ask, noting the irriated look he was donning as he sniffed the air.

“Look, I - just end your date early, tell him you’re sick.”

Your eyes widen at him, looking around to make sure he hadn’t come back. “Az are you nuts? Why?”

He blows out a breath, leaning forward on the table.

“Because I am a selfish fool of a male who thought you didn’t feel the same way I feel about you. Now, if I’ve completely made a fool of myself, do tell me now so I can at least throw myself in the Sidra and die with dignity.”

Wide eyes peer back at him, “what do you mean ‘the way you feel about me’?”

Azriel sighs, looking in the direction your date went off to.

“Fuck it. I yearn for you. I want you in any conceivable way. I’m in love with you. And if I’m too late, I’ll just live with that for the rest of my life.”

Azril sighs in defeat as you stare blankly back at him. He looks up to see your date coming back to the table, a bit confused by the new presence.

He starts to stand, his wings drooping, all his determination gone as he says, “have a good night.”

He starts walking away when a hand gently wraps around his wrist, holding him in place.

“What’s going on?” Your date asks as he approaches the table.

You start to stand, the table clattering as you do so. “I’m so sorry,” you say, and Azriel can’t look at you, can’t watch your mouth form these next words. “There’s a bit of an emergency situation, and I have to go. It was lovely meeting you.”

Before Azriel could process that you rejected someone who wasn’t him, you were pulling your coat from your chair, tugging him out the door of the restaurant, and you didn’t lighten your grip until you were out in the street.

“So, about that date? Does now work?”

[the-kr8tor]

Talking Iron

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 5.4k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, CW blood, TW death, CW guns, CW injury, CW food mentions, CW vomit mention, CW violence. Cowboy AU, old west AU.

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

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CHAPTER 2 >>> CHAPTER 3

You haven't been this close to him in 5 years. Breath to breath, heart to heart, you watch yourself in his jade eyes like how one sees themselves for the first time.

“I've finally found you.” Eyes shining, smile brighter than the sun bearing down, you grasp his face tenderly—as if your own eyes deceive you, as if you're dreaming. “Hobie?” You call for him when he doesn't move an inch above you.

Hobie's green eyes just stare at you, or through you. Mouth agape, breath stuck in his throat. To get his attention, you place your thumb softly over the corner of his eye, rubbing gently like you always did when he needed to wake up from a daydream.

For a split second, he leans in your touch. But as fast as he leaned in, he flinched away just as quick. Hobie scrambles away on the dusty ground like you've burned him. You might as well have when he felt how cold the golden band around your middle finger is. Soil dirtying the thick leather he wears, he stands up shakily. With the sun behind him, you have a hard time seeing his face, seeing the face you've longed for. A shadow cast around him, a halo of light around his head, the shadow blanketing him, as if you're not allowed to bear witness to all his glory.

Instead of ‘I love yous’ or ‘I miss yous’ falling on his lips, harshness flows out of them. “What are you doin' ‘ere?”

Hands bound, you try to sit up but fail. “Looking for you of course!” You say cheerfully, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. It is to you, for him, it's the most confusing statement.

“Why?” Hobie's hands clenched into fists. He's not going to hurt you, he'll never hurt you—but he really wants to punch something. Just when he thought the past won't haunt him, just when he pushed the past behind him, you came to him like some miracle.

You almost scoff. “W-why? To see you, just like you wanted me to.” Finally succeeding to sit up, you huff. “Five years of no communication,” you say forlornly, “of course I'd come and see you the moment you sent word.” You smile again, and he looks away. Anywhere, anything else than the curl of your lips.

“Sent word?” He shakes his head. “I've never sent you anythin'” His words would pierce your heart but your excitement and relief triumphs over the feeling.

“A-are you sure?” You blink slowly, reaching up with your bound hands. “Can you help me up, please? I'll show you the letter.”

“Letter?”

“Can you stop asking and just help me up, Hobie? Please, the ground is hot.” With a quick nod, eyes still glancing away from you, he grabs you by the rope around your hands, avoiding touching your own; lifting you up rather quickly. The moment you're back on your feet, he yanks his hand away from you, to which you're too happy to even notice. “It's in my skirt pocket, the right.” You instruct him since you can't reach it with your hands tied. Hobie reaches to your left, hand roaming around your empty pocket, careful not to graze your thigh. “My right, Hobs.” He freezes in place, he hasn't heard that nickname in years. Without another word, he takes his hand back, then he searches for the neatly folded paper. “I've never pegged you to be a law man. Are you gonna turn me over, sheriff?”

Hobie scowls at the title, “not even close.” He sees how much it's been folded, like you've read it a thousand times. Opening the letter, scanning the contents, the pause gives you time to admire him fully. The whole ‘american cowboy’ shtick suits him, you think. You ogle him unabashedly.

Each word has his jaw tightening. It's in his writing, he remembers the exact words that's full of longing and sadness. It's full of the words you expect him to say. Yet, he wasn't the one who sent it. He's sure he didn't, especially that it was written when he was drowning in his amber filled glass. “Where'd you get this?” His eyes flick over to you, your smile faltering for only a second.

“A mail carrier?” You chuckle, “it was delivered to me.”

“I didn't send this to you.”

“Oh.” Your smile crumbles but you fix it back up almost immediately, optimism winning. “Maybe you just forgot? Remember when you forgot to put on a sock that one time and—”

“This isn't some sock, Y/N.”

“You didn't ask for me? Was it forged?” You ask quietly, heart shattering with every question.

Hobie shakes his head, sucking in his teeth, he pockets the letter. Taking the rope that hangs on your bounded hands, he tugs you back to the shop. “C’mon.” Boots thudding on the ground, he's going to do what he's good at—his job.

“W-wait! I haven't seen you in five years and you're seriously taking me to face charges? Not even a ‘hello’ or ‘how are you doing?’” You yank back, heels digging in to stop him.

“Hello, you're not goin’ to jail, I need the ten bucks. You seem fine so ‘m bringin’ you home.” Dragging you inside, the shopkeeper grins and even claps at the sight.

“That is so much worse! Hobie—” You plead, you don't remember ever pleading with him before.

“Good job, Mr…?” The moustachioed man asks, ten dollar bill in hand.

“No one.” Hobie snatches the bill, then immediately dragging you towards the front of the shop. The bells chime as he opens the door, but you're too polite to not say sorry to the man.

“I'm sorry for pointing the gun at you, but you shouldn't have shot at someone who cannot shoot back. It's rude—!” You get yanked outside, the man looks confused at your words.

“Don't apologize to him.” Hobie says, hands placed on your hips, a feeling that isn't foreign to you, but something you missed dearly.

You grin at him, expecting him to say the words you long for. Instead, you get lifted up. Yelping, connected hands flying to his wrists, he places you on his horse. Hitching your hands around the horn of his saddle.

“I think we're good, Hobie, you got his money. Can you untie me now?” You start to get nervous. The brilliant black horse looks over his shoulder, black marbles staring at you, paying you no mind. “Hi, I'm Y/N. It's a pleasure.”

“The horse doesn't talk, lov—” He stops himself before he could complete his sentence. Hobie lifts himself up, sitting behind you, legs next to yours, arms cageing you in while he holds the reins. “Thought you'd know that. Or is it because the horses back in England learned to talk after I left.” You still have no idea why he left, you're waiting for the right time to ask, for now your main concern is why your hands are tied.

“I know horses can't talk.” You roll your eyes, “I just wanted to introduce myself. I'm sure you're close to your horse, correct? You were always fond of animals.”

“His name is Buckeye.” Hobie says, with a slight kick and a click of his tongue, he holds the reins precisely, steering Buckeye towards the train station further out of town.

“Cute!” You exclaim despite the hunger, you're still happy that you found him. Or he was the one who found you. Hobie always has a knack for that it seems, whether you're hiding away or can't be bothered to be perceived by anyone but him, he always finds you. Always. “It's a cute name. Buckeye, fitting name for a horse that's as gorgeous as you, huh?” You lean down just in time for Buckeye to look back at you. He neighs like he understood you. “Yeah, you agree.” You giggle, the dark horse looks like he enjoys the attention.

Hobie is baffled by the whole interaction. “Stop cooing at my horse.”

“Why not? He seems to like it.” You touch his mane as best as you can with your hands still tied. “Right, Bucky?” The horse has an extra pep in his step with you figuring out his nickname. You continue to giggle, Hobie has no idea how Bucky warmed up to you so fast. “Where to, Hobs? Home?” You ask excitedly.

“Yes, your home.”

“Wait— What?!” You almost fell off with how fast you looked back at him.

—

All your questions were left unanswered, but you still think he's playing some sort of joke on you, a joke that is getting older with every tick of the giant clock that hangs above the railway station. A tumbleweed passes by on the train tracks, a warm breeze passes by the near empty train station. Hobie stands next to you, leaning on a pillar, eyes roaming around the barren place. He's far enough that you can't reach him and tell him all the words you wanted to say to him since he left. Yet, he's close enough that you can admire all the physical changes.

From the scruff of his growing beard, to the peeking scar around his neck—he looks like he grew up. The smoke from his cigarette curls upwards to the brim of his hat, parting ways down the middle like theater curtains that show his chiseled face. His jade eyes are as green as the grass at home, as green as the fields you used to run around with him. It reminds you of home, and at the same time, it reminds you of the years that went by without those green eyes by your side.

“You look really good.” You finally say something that isn't a question. Fingers playing with the gold band around your middle finger. “Seriously, what's your secret?” Your behind hurts from the hard wood of the bench. Travelers are sparse and far in between, you notice them staying away from you.

As predicted, he doesn't answer.

You copy his voice and demeanor just how you remembered it last. “Well, love, the secret is to bathe in cow's milk at least once a week. And to stay away from the sun.” You keep your smile despite the silence from your companion. “That's probably what you'd say.” He barely even looks at you. “Well, five years isn't that long,” you lie, it was an eternity without him. “I always thought you'd age well—”

“Five years is a long fuckin' time, Y/N.”

“Finally, a word from your mouth.” You reach towards him, impatiently showing him your tied hands. “Can you untie me now? I can't run from you, with my ankle still hurting and the fact that I'm starving and dehydrated, I won't be doing any running for a while.”

“You're starving?” There's a glimmer of worry in his eyes.

“Yes,” you almost exclaim. Hobie takes one step towards you, instead of untying your binds, he takes your bandana that hangs around your neck. You flinch in response, an act that has him questioning what happened to you in those five years he left.

Hobie kneels in front of you, more careful of any sudden movement, a vision of a younger him passes over your mind's eye. He lifts your skirt up, enough to show the wound on your ankle. Gloved hands wrap gingerly around your foot as he places it on top of his thigh.

“The bleedin' stopped,” not once has he looked in your eyes. While you stare at him affectionately, a soft smile on your tired lips. Hobie wraps your bandana around the wound, tying it with a knot that you're familiar with. You grin at the memory of him using it all the time. “There,” just as you thought, he taps your foot three times, a habit of his that you're fond of. Hobie realizes what he has done subconsciously, straightening up, he takes a wrapped biscuit from his pocket. Grabbing your hand, he places it unceremoniously on your palm like your skin burns him like a sinner to holy water. “Your people will be here any minute.”

“We've been waiting here for two hours. And who—? What people?”

“The people who want you back home.”

You almost drop the biscuit. “But I don't want to come home! I want to stay with you—!”

“Why are you really ‘ere, Y/N? Hmm? Great aunt not givin’ you enough allowance?” He flicks the cigarette butt away.

Your heart cracks, voice as small as a dormouse. “Why are you being like this?” Hobie inhales sharply. “I told you, I came to see you because of your letter where you wrote that you missed me and wanted to see me. I–I have so many of mine right here—” A train whistle rings out before Hobie could reply.

The smell of burning coal itches your nose, blackened smoke billowing out of the metal beast that creaks and shrieks on the steel tracks.

A small crowd exits the train once it fully stops. You notice Hobie standing closer to you, hand placed on the back of the bench. His eyes search for someone amidst the travelers while you take big bites of the dry biscuit, desperate to satiate the rumbling of your stomach. Damn all the etiquette lessons drilled into your brain, you're starving.

“Can I have some water?” You cough out, palm covering your mouth for some decency. “Hobie?” His head is on a swivel, eyes scanning the stranger's faces. You tug at his coat, he curses under his breath so you retract your hand quickly. “I'm sorry.” Your small voice startles him.

“What?” He looks down at you, your eyes are glued on your lap, palms up like you're waiting for punishment. His jaw tightens, knuckles shaking. What happened to you after he ran? “‘ere,” passing a canteen of water over to you, he places it on your open palms gingerly.

The cool metal of the canteen hits your skin, instead of stinging pain. “Thank you,” you take a drink, Hobie doesn't miss how your hands shake, almost spilling water all over yourself.

“Stop sayin' that.” He says it through a softer tone, “don't be so polite.” He's not trying to chastise you, but you don't know the difference.

“Sorry—I'll stop.” You close the lid to the canteen, giving it back to him without lifting your head up.

As the crowd thins, Hobie controls his breathing. It was better when you were looking at him, at least then he could see how happy you were.

“No one's here.” He finally says, the hands on his sides stretching, joints aching from the previous tightness of his knuckles.

“Because no one's looking.” You hope that was the case. Or at least it was just her looking for you, not him too.

“The reward on your head says otherwise.” Hobie wishes he didn't say everything that passes by his mind when you look at him like a heartbroken fawn. “C’mon.” He takes your arm, helping you stand up. He's ill equipped to handle emotions right now, especially if he can barely control his own.

“Where are we going?” You ask, shoes thumping across the floorboards.

“The post office, it's right around the corner.” Sure enough, the post office is connected to the railroad station. Convenient, you thought. Stopping next to Bucky on his post, he neighs at the sight of you. You smile at him, even though he can't possibly understand your expression. Hobie taps his saddle, subtly asking your permission to lift you up. You nod once, as if you could say no. With one strong lift, you're back on Bucky's saddle. “Right, stay ‘ere, scream if you're in trouble.”

“You're leaving me here?”

“No, I need to check my telegram. I can see you through the window, yeah?” He points at the foggy windows of the post office. “I'll be back in five.”

“What if someone comes?”

He's already halfway to the office. “Scream.”

An old woman with a cane and a trendy dress passes by, seeing your bound hands, she tosses Hobie a look of disapproval.

“It's fine, she's my wife and she likes to roleplay.” Once upon a time, he thought that he'd call you that for real. That was a different time. “Ain't that right, sweetheart?” He opens the door for the woman who looks at you for reassurance.

You give the stranger your best smile. “Yes, my love.” His finger twitches, breath hitching. “Don’t worry about me, ma’am, it's all good.”

The older woman scoffs, muttering a ‘the youth and their weird sex fantasies.’ She enters the office first while Hobie gives you an approving nod.

“The excuse wasn't even good.”

“It worked right?” With a smug smile on his lips, he enters the office while you settle on Bucky.

“Your rider's weird.” You whisper to his horse who huffs in response.

Hobie grabs a form on a table placed near the windows. He has the perfect view of you chatting with Bucky. A smile creeps up on him, to which he tamps down immediately. Writing all the necessary information, with a fake name and address of course, he gives it to the man at the counter who wordlessly reads it and searches in the back for any letters for him.

He watches you smile at his horse, desperately trying to remember how your laughter sounded. A real one where you would almost choke at your own spit because of a joke he told you. The smile curls around his lips once again.

An envelope slides out of the slot, his fake name, Larry Smith, is written in neat writing. He rips it open immediately, eyes skimming the contents. The words ‘change of plans’, ‘moved south’ that are followed by an address that he's familiar with in the southern area has him taking his hat off, hands rubbing along his hairline from how crappy the situation is. Judging by all the detail on the letter, it would take him weeks to get you there, months if something unsavory happens on the road. He has a feeling that something would happen based on the reward increase that's listed next to the address. From five thousand to six.

Your piercing scream rings all the alarm bells in his body, bolting straight away, he sees you try to fight off a couple of men that are quickly riding off with you. They're moving three ways from Sunday, their laughter fading out. Hobie's blood boils.

Buckeye neighs loudly, waking his rider up from his blind anger. Hobie unhitches the dark horse, long leg swinging over the saddle, boots immediately placed inside the stirrups, hands tightly curled around the reins. And off he goes, leaving the railroad station in the dust, galloping incredibly fast.

He hears you yell his name just before you were abruptly cut off by a cloth shoved in your mouth. “Y/N!” Desperately calling for you, anger rolls off him like an avalanche in the winter. Taking his pistol out, with one hand he aims. But with the speed and the jostling around, he can't aim straight—especially if there's a chance of him shooting you instead.

The phantom pain around his neck aches.

Adrenaline rushes through him, he sees reason, aiming at the other man that isn't holding you. With a click, and a squeeze of the trigger—he shoots. The bullet whizzes by with a piercing sound, hitting the man's shoulder, turning his insides out, spraying warm crimson everywhere. The pained yell he let out would haunt your dreams. Moreso of the sorrow filled scream his companion let out.

With a thud, the limp body falls, his own horse running him over. You shut your eyes, mind crawling back to the one place you were happy staying forever in, Hobie's tiny flat back home. Back when afternoon tea consists of him rambling about some new invention he thought of, back when his hands would roam over your skin softly. Back when you held him close to you as he whispered promises in your ears.

Now it's all rough leather against your hand, jade eyes avoiding your own, mouth permanently etched into a frown. You know him, deep down the Hobie who would press feather light kisses on your lips is still in him. That deep down he has built a façade to survive this lawless land, and it's hard for him to break that carefully made façade in one day. You'd find his softness again, but you have to survive this first.

The horse you've been thrown on has finally stopped running. Your chest hurts from all the jostling, you were placed stomach first on the saddle—where the jagged leather uncomfortably rubbed against you and the spine of the horse hit you over and over again. The strange man yanks you away, now you're completely standing up with a gun pressing on your temple. A cry inches up to your throat, the cloth in your mouth chokes you. The man smells of cow shit and iron.

You watch as Bucky halts to a stop, dust flying around like the fireflies back home. The hat on Hobie's head hides the anger in his eyes, trigger finger itching to shoot again.

You cry, his name muffled by the cloth. You didn't mean to cry, but everything hurts. The warm barrel of the gun digs into your skull, whilst your hands grip the stranger's arm, your nails hopelessly trying to claw him away from you. The stranger smells like death.

“You killed my brother!” The man screams in your ears, breath rancid, warm air tickling your cheek. Amidst the loud rushing of your blood in your ears, you hear hurried footsteps behind you. They sound like there could be dozens of them, all pointing their guns at the man you loved. Still love, even now.

Hobie doesn't get off his horse. He sits still, frozen like a bronze statue. The only indication of him being alive was his labored breathing.

“What's happenin’?” A gruff voice asks from behind, thick southern drawl making him stand out from the rest of the gang. “Who's this, Jacky?”

“The broad, the broad from the telegram. Henry and I recognized her, thought we'd be rich. We saw her first!” Jacky acts like a child throwing a tantrum.

“Where's Henry then?” The older sounding man asks.

“With a bullet in him,” Hobie's voice is calm, cold and calculating, none of the warmth you were used to. “He's laying in a pool of his own blood a few ways from ‘ere. I bet the coyotes have him now.”

“You fucker!” Jacky presses the gun closer, you cry out in pain. Hobie's hand twitches. “I'll fucking shoot her! I swear I'd shoot!”

“Do you think that's worth it? Getting her blood all over your nice camp?” Hobie's unfeeling tone makes you weep harder. “Killin’ your mark? My mark?” He speaks commandingly, teeth gritted.

You look up to the heavens, blue sky engulfing your vision. A part of you wants to go home, a part that regrets running away in the first place. But there's a bigger part of you that's glad that you saw him again, even though you face your imminent death. It was worth it, you suppose. At least now your heart can rest after seeing him alive. You close your eyes when the pistol next to your head clicks.

“You talk big, a life for a life then.” A tear slides down your cheek. Hobie aims for your captor's head.

“Wait a damn minute!” You hear footsteps come from behind, the older man steps between them. “I know I remember ya from somewhere.” He tips his hat at Hobie, just in time for you to see him stare at you back intensely. “Yeah, I know ya. You're the one who took out Culver's men in one night, ain't ya? Thirty fuckin’ men all dead in one night.” Gasps are heard from the dozen or so people from behind. You hear whispers of the name ‘spider of the west’ behind you. “Christ, you're him.” With his hands right next to his head in surrender, he looks over his shoulder over to you, you see fear in the old man's eyes. “Let the little miss go, Jacky.”

“An eye for an eye, Arthur—!” Jacky pleads.

“Let her go or I'll be the one putting a bullet to your head, boy!” His scream has you flinching.

Jacky reluctantly lets you go, you almost crumple to your feet but you still stand, not wanting to give them the satisfaction. Your hands tremble as you take out the musty cloth inside your mouth.

Arthur walks over to you, hand ghosting over your back. “‘m sorry about that, sweetheart.”

You walk with your head held high. “Don't say sorry.” Your tear filled eyes flick over to the bearded man. “You’re not the one who hurt me.”

“Still, I'd like to say sorry on behalf of my belligerent men.” He looks up at Hobie who's still sitting on his horse passively. But the older man seems to know the deadly storm brewing behind those emerald eyes. “I apologize for the…miscommunication. If my men knew who you were, they wouldn't have tried anythin'. Jacky and his brother are too big for their breeches. ”

“The next time I see any of you on the road, I won't hesitate.” Hobie says, eyes bright, burning like greek fire.

“As is your right. You take care now.”

You silently lift yourself up on Bucky, with the help from Hobie, hand sliding away the moment you successfully tug yourself up behind him. Hobie doesn't see how vacant your stare is. You refuse to hold on to him, you're afraid of what he did, not of him. He thinks it's the other way around, it's his worst nightmare.

As you both gallop away, the last thing you heard above the hoofbeats is the unmistakable sound of a gun going off.

—

You're getting further and further away from the town you were in. The sun sets next to you as you look at the blood caked under your nails. You no longer shake or cry, just numb.

Buckeye passes by a lone graveyard, metal fences jagged and angled awkwardly. The dilapidated chapel cracks and falls under its own weight. Crows have made a home on the old tombstones, their cawing and beady black eyes raise the skin on your arms. The names of the dead are barely readable on the tombstones—rotten pots of flowers lay on the bed of graveyard soil, black petals going back to where they came from. You look away, afraid that if you don't, you'd see yourself among them.

The large rock formations loom overhead, jagged lines curved and sculpted by time. The holes dotted along its large walls act like a thousand eyes watching over you. Beady limestone eyes twitching, bleading, and crying. The sun fades away behind the horizon, cold replacing warmth, shadows replacing light.

Everything aches, your legs are still shaking from the encounter, the rustling tumbleweeds makes you jump. Eyes frantic, breath quickening, hands going numb—mind reeling back to the bloodied dead man.

“Stop.” You say too quietly. “Stop the fucking horse!”

Hobie reigns in Bucky, halting to a stop. You slid off ungracefully, knee hitting the ground as you scramble away. Bile rises in your throat, acid expelled out of your mouth because of your near empty stomach.

Familiar footsteps walk behind you, you wait for him to close the distance, to hold you close like he has always done five years ago. Yet, he stays far, stopping just a few feet away from your trembling body.

With shaky legs, you stand up, back still facing him. You wipe your mouth clean with your sleeve, Hobie's hand twitches for the handkerchief inside his pocket. He doesn't give it to you. He doesn't know why he didn't. Sniffing, you cough, eyes still stinging.

“Did they hit your head?” He finally says something, his words echoing in the vast empty space.

“No, I'm fine.” You pass by him, hands braced on Bucky's side.

“Y/N—”

You whirl around, “I said I'm fucking fine!” Heaving, chest aching, you rub your tired eyes. “I'm fine, don't worry about me, okay? Can we go?”

“We'll camp ‘ere.” With Hobie's statement, you look back at where you came from. Your captor's camp is miles away from you now, but you swear you can still feel the barrel of his gun digging into your skull, and the rotten smell of his mouth. “They won't follow us.”

“He knew you,” your eyes don't shine with the same optimism he was greeted with. “He looked scared when he remembered you. Hobie, W–what did you do to get him to fear you like that?”

“A lot of things you shouldn't worry about.” He walks past you, grabbing his pack from the saddle. “The less you know, the better.”

You nod, tears brimming in your eyes. He's not the old Hobie you remembered. He would've told you, he used to tell you everything. The gold ring in your finger feels heavy. And all the unsent letters you've hidden inside your skirt feels empty, the flowery words you've written inside are unrequited.

As day fades away to night, the moon shines bright as the stars twinkle above you. The warmth of the open fire settles into your fatigued bones, the pads of your fingers slowly regains feeling. The air is crisp, breeze blowing your lashes, cooling down the hot can of beans in front of you. The scene in front of you reminded you of the time you used to sneak out into the woods to meet with Hobie. He'd light a small fire and huddle close to you while you point out constellations. The beans are new, you wish they were bread instead, like the ones you used to nick from the kitchen.

This time, he sits across from you, far away from you as the fire cackles in between you both. The flames dance in his green eyes, a beautiful sight that you love—yet, you can't help but stay away from it.

“Cold?” He asks, hands properly warmed up from the hot can.

“No,” you answer flatly, legs tucked into you, chin placed atop your knees while you watch the embers flicker away into the dark. The cold helps, it helps numb you down.

“Alright.”

In another time he would've offered his coat, not just the shabby itchy blanket thrown over your shoulders. It all seems like a lifetime ago now.

You have no idea what caused him to leave without a goodbye, whether it was you or your unfeeling family, or for a pursuit of something better—but you know in those five years he has changed, you know he's still the Hobie you love, but you can barely recognize his heart anymore. You came to the new world for a new life with him, away from your predetermined life, because through and through you still love him. The promises he once whispered into your skin repeats in your head like a broken record. It's what's keeping you warm, sane, and in the present.

He eats silently, while you wallow into yourself. You've braved the ocean to see him, rode a dozen trains to get close to him, lost so much and gained so little just to see him alive. Was it all worth it? Worth all the calluses on your feet from all the walking? Worth all the tears you shed just to realize that maybe he doesn't love you anymore? That he fell out of love in those five grueling years?

Does he know that you still love him?

The man sitting across from you is a stranger. Not the one you promised your heart to.

“Hobie?” You call for him, heavy eyes staying on the ashes in front of you.

“Hmm?” He hums, barely audible for you. You silently wish that you don't get used to all his halfhearted replies. You need to hold on to a part of him from five years ago or you'll go crazy and run off into the barren lands of the west.

Against better judgment, against the screaming voice in your head, you finally look at him right in his eyes. “Why'd you leave?”

He quietly sighs, “I had to.” Those green eyes you love so much swirl with unsung emotion that you're not privy to. “Why'd you run away from home?”

“I had to.”

Hobie nods once.

You take your dinner in your cold hands, biting down the bitterness and the feeling. With an inhale, you smile through the pain of your realization. It's better not to dwell on it, or you might lose yourself. Instead, you take the opportunity to live in the moment with him—Relish your time with Hobie or whatever time you have left with him on the journey home.

[yanderes-galore]

Hiii I’m the person who requested the yandere catnap where the reader try’s to escape but the mini smiling critters dragged them back before the can make it to the lift .

Sure, I think I remember this! This is dubious on if this is my version of Catnap or the one closer to canon. You can see it either way. I don't really go into depth on how you met, this is a chase scene essentially.

Playtime Isn't Over

Yandere! CatNap Oneshot (FT. Mini Critters)

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Kidnapping, Blood, Stalking, Chase scene, Gassing/Drugging, Minor violence, Forced companionship.

Tons of tiny white eyes follow your form in the darkness. They know they shouldn't touch you, however. It's obvious you belong to their boss, CatNap. Touching you meant death.

The only thing you could hear in the halls of the Playhouse were giggles and squeals. They weren't from any human, you know better. The Playhouse was part of CatNap's domain. Your new prison.

The tiny critters were merely meant to watch over you like wardens.

They were guards, lesser creatures meant to make sure CatNap's new toy stayed in place. They stalked you from the darkness as your roamed the padded maze that is the Playhouse. Who knows where the exit was.

Wherever it was... you were determined to find it.

Skittering and squeaks echo in your ears as the small creatures scurry about. It was like they were rats, scavenging in order to survive. It was a tough life in these walls... which is why you're so determined to get out.

You assumed they wouldn't attack unless you left a certain radius. So far, the creatures only stared at you with slight curiosity and suspicion. You thought they'd leave you alone completely until you stepped on a weak floorboard.

When you crashed through the floor, the critters began to move closer.

Considering how they were now active, you assumed you had gotten close. The scurrying gets louder and the squeaks and squeals increase. You quickly dust yourself off and run through the halls.

It was clear that they knew of your escape attempts, the small plushies darting towards you. Some even manage to latch onto your legs before you shake them off and keep running. Both you and them are desperate.

Both you and them seem desperate to live and avoid CatNap... just in different ways.

You grunt as you shake off critters left and right. You desperately crawl through tunnels as you run, looking for any sort of exit. You just want out. You're terrified of CatNap's plans for you.

Your eyes light up when you see something that looks like a lift. There's a gap but you feel like you can make the leap. You grin, finally happy to leave this place.

Only for the critters to clamber onto your legs, knocking you down onto the padded ground.

You hiss when your body collides with the floor. The ruined living plushies squeak and hiss as they crawl over you. You fear they'll take you as food.

You try to shake the tiny feral beasts off you, but each time you tossed one another would take its place. You were stuck and pinned. You were just waiting for them to dig into your skin.

They didn't.

Instead you saw something come lurking from the shadows... something large.

"You're trying to leave, aren't you?"

The voice is deep and scratchy, making your blood run ice cold. You see the silhouette come closer, only to realize it's CatNap. The best has woken up from all the ruckus, only to stare at you covered in the smaller critters.

"You're quite clever... but not clever enough, my kitten." The large beast hisses, glaring at you with glowing white pupils. "If only you had a light, yeah? They hate the light...."

CatNap steps closer and the smaller critters scurry off into the shadows. CatNap then sits in front of you, tail slithering over to you to restrain you like a snake. The beast tilts his head, looking you over thoughtfully as you struggle.

"Such a troublemaker..." The monster sighs, watching as you glare back. "Troublemakers should be put to sleep."

"W-Wait, no, please-!" You try to bargain, but the cruel cat doesn't listen. Instead he leans closer with a permanent Cheshire grin and breathes out. A red mist flows out of his mouth, the scent smelling of lavender and flowers.

You hold your breath but CatNap restricts you with his tail. The tightness makes you gasp, the sudden breath just enough to make you quiver and faint. It's only when you pass out fully that CatNap lets you go.

Like a parent cat to their kitten, the beast picks you up by the back of your clothes and carries you in his mouth. The beast then makes a sound similar to that of a chuckle before dragging you back into the depths. You seemed to be getting better at these escape attempts.

But in the end, you'll always fall before CatNap...

You'll never leave Playcare under his watchful eye.

[glader13]

Saudade pt. 2

Part 1

Bi-Han’s mind was in a haze, he felt unfocused in everything. It could’ve been because of the war, Tsung’s plans and army were making incredible gains, an act of true power. He envies it. Or maybe, the haze was due to Liu Kang’s foolishness, tainting Lin Kuei’s honor by making his clan, and him, nothing more than thugs for his schemes.

“Brother,” Kuai Liang’s voice broke Bi-Han’s thoughts, “You’ve been staring at this map for minutes without a word. Do you not have a plan?”

“I’m thinking,” was all he said, still feeling his mind slip to something else.

“About the plan or something else?” His brother pressed, causing Bi-Han’s annoyance to rise, who does he think he’s questioning?

“About things that don't concern you,” Bi-Han began, “And you forget yourself, questioning your grandmaster.”

“As your brother, I am worried,” he didn’t back down from Bi-Han’s icy glare, “For the past couple of weeks, ever since you returned home from that mission, you’ve been distracted. You won’t even tell us where you were for the night.”

That’s why he’s been in a haze, still smelling your perfume in his nose from that night. He can’t shake you from his mind, that night revealing the ache for you has never left him. He walked out of the room, and even the temple feeling frustrated at himself. Why didn’t he say more? Why did he say those things that caused you to leave? He treated you and called you a responsibility. He should’ve treated you like his wife, as his equal. You have never treated him in such a way, even when you were in the same situation as him. Doing familial responsibilities, but somewhere in the responsibility came love, and he didn’t know how to handle it, how to handle your emotions for him, and his emotions for you.

It became obvious that you were too kind, too sweet, too perfect for him. He had to let you go so he wouldn’t hurt you. But he misses you terribly. Bi-Han walked without a direction in mind, or so he thought. He found himself in front of your home, looking at your window, thinking back to how you were his sanctuary, a place where he could always clear his head. He climbed up your window, peeking into your room, surprised to see that you weren’t there. He then walked to another place where he suspected of you being. He peeked through the window of the medical center, watching you care for patients with a smile. You were so kind to him, and despite the sweet sensation that it gave him, it made him scared. It made him realize his emotional inadequacies. That night, he couldn't get it out of his head, it was consuming, always in the back of his mind. Despite his abilities, he was the one burning, being consumed by the fever, by the fire that is you.

He wants to put those moments past him, you behind him. He knows that he should, but he can't. He wants to hold you, to apologize. He never meant to hurt you, he just wanted to protect you. He let out a sigh of frustration, hating himself for his lack of courage. He couldn’t talk to you, at least not now.

As you sat in your medical room, your mind instantly went to the days you spent there with Bi-Han’s mother as she taught you everything you needed to know about being the grandmaster’s wife. Of course, not all the days were spent in there, when she was feeling strong, you would have your lessons in the garden, and the sign of her sickness would be nonexistent in the sunlight.

But there would be days when she would teach you from her bed, her voice was soft and quiet. You remember one day when she had fallen asleep leaving you to read up on Lin Kuei's history. But there was a point when the words were just words and every date seemed the same, spilling into each other. You eventually gave up on studying, letting out a sigh as you rested the book on your leg. You placed yourself on the floor, staring at the light’s shadows dance on the walls and ceiling.

You began to drift away, your eyes getting heavier. Instead of Lin Kuei, you thought of Bi-Han, seeing his dark eyes behind your eyelids. You could’ve sworn that you felt his hands sneak across your body, the recent nights together giving your mind the fire for moments like this. Your face warmed as a smile graced your lips, thinking of his voice and the sweet words that he would whisper.

“Studying hard?” You saw him kneeling by your head.

You nodded, causing him to quietly laugh, as he kissed your lips, before lying down next to you. He wrapped you in his arms, your face hiding in his body, being overwhelmed by the closeness of him. You kissed his neck, before tracing his jaw, then kissing his lips.

“Has she been asleep for long?”

“Maybe for forty minutes,” you say, “We were going over some more responsibilities, but we took a break, and then I read up on some history, but,” you smiled, “It didn’t stick.”

“Oh really?” He smiled, “Why not?”

“Reading is nice, but I need a tutor,” you murmured against his lips, “Maybe, some private lessons.”

“Straighten out some history for you?” You felt his lips curl into a smirk, causing your body to feel a spark.

“Then I can test her when you’re done,” her voice caused the two of you to push each other away, as Bi-Han’s face turned red.

“You were awake?” You found it kind of cute, how his voice was slightly shaky, even though you refused to meet his mother’s face.

“A mother hears everything,” she smiled.

How you wish that you could go back to those days when everything seemed perfect. Bi-Han was so happy, and you have never felt such love. You felt your heart twist with pain, thinking of the private moments when you would hide in medical books, trying to find something to help his mother, secretly working with her doctors. When she died, she took a part of Bi-Han with her, something that you tried to foolishly replace. But nothing can replace a mother’s love.

You remember the day she died completely, you were alone with her at the temple, still studying your responsibilities. She was quiet that day, barely opening her eyes and when she did, you wanted to look away, feeling something in your stomach akin to hopelessness. She seemed to be in transition, her eyes focused on something higher, outside of the world that you were in. The longer you were in there with her, your mind cared less about responsibilities, you just wanted Bi-Han to be there.

You remember the last words that she spoke to you as she held your hand, “No matter what, he loves you. Care for him, please.” But you didn’t care for him, you left him. He made it so easy to leave.

You left early that day, seeing that your parents needed you home. As you walked, you thought of how it’s been weeks since you had last seen him, and you were running out of hope that you’d ever see him again, thinking back to the past nights and how you stayed up in bed, with your best night garments, waiting for him. You were aching for him, and one night with him seemingly ignited a fire that you thought was gone. In your haste, you didn’t see him lingering near the medical center. But he noticed you, though he let you walk by, too stuck to talk to you.

You were rushed by servants as soon as you entered the estate. Your parents still didn’t mention why they needed you, all they mentioned was that a guest was coming over. You were immediately driven to your bathing room, bathing in the rose-scented water and soap. The servants then adorned you in beautiful gold jewelry that matched your red qipao dress trimmed in gold that had a slit on the side.

You felt sick at the sight in the mirror, realizing your parents’ intentions. Suddenly, you felt the longing from that night put you in a chokehold, chaining your heart. Once the servants left, you went to your jewelry box, taking out the pendant and the ring. You held them against your chest, looking at the spot where he slept next to you. Why were you clinging to him still, why were you holding your breath on a miracle? You moved towards your bed, sitting on the side where he slept, in your hands you once again inspected the ring and the pendant, wondering why you were still holding onto a man who so easily let you go, who so easily fell out of love? A knock on your bedroom door took you out of your thoughts before you could answer your question, your guest had arrived.

He sat across from you during the dinner, his eyes were soft, matching his smile. Everything about him was soft, from the way his lips graced your hand to how his eyes would lock with yours, making you feel so guilty. You wonder who he is seeing when he looks into your eyes, does he see himself or does he see Bi-Han? He’s an up-and-coming politician, and you have heard of him, and agreeing with his ideology and ideas.

He’s perfect, well, he would be perfect.

You engaged with him in conversation, not failing to notice your parents’ reaction, you could feel their eyes mentally taking notes, and you wanted nothing more than to leave. He offered you a more intimate setting, away from your parents. It was a boat ride, the lake was lit up by water lanterns, washing his face in warm hues of gold. But as you listened to him, you felt yourself slipping, going back to when you rode this with Bi-Han.

It was early in your relationship with him, and he wasn’t quite as talkative, but him being there was enough. He held you the entire time, making up for his lack of talking. He even made you a flower from ice that night, making it even more impossible to leave him. Such a small gesture captured your heart. When you look at the man in front of you, you realize that you weren’t looking at him, for him, you were searching for Bi-Han. Chasing a love that won’t come back to you, and that saddened you. But as the two of you set the lantern in the water, you felt yourself wishing for Bi-Han.

You returned home late, going straight to your room. Your mind was a mess of thoughts, and you needed to sleep. Torn between wanting to fix the past and not having your past destroy your future. You need to let him go, just as he did with you.

“You were out late,” you stopped in your doorway hearing his voice, “Why?”

“Bi-Han,” you said, feeling thrilled that he was there, “But why do you have to know? You haven’t spoken to me in weeks since you’ve been hurt. You haven’t spoken to me since our engagement ended,” you said the last part quietly.

“I … I know,” he didn’t look at you. He felt his mouth open wanting to say the two words, but they were stuck, so he said, “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you smiled sitting next to him, your smile grew even more when he didn’t move away, “I went on a date, my parents arranged it.”

You studied his face, waiting for a reaction. But he had none, just a slight furrow on his face. You could have been imagining it, but you felt the room get a little bit colder. “Does he treat you well?”

“I only met him today,” you said, “So I don’t know, but I don’t want to talk about him. Why are you here, are you hurt again?”

“No, I was just checking in on you,” he said, “I wanted to thank you for your help.”

“No need for that,” you said, then took his arm, “It healed up nicely.”

“Only because of your hands,” Bi-Han said, his eyes drawn to your hands, how they were still holding his arm. Unbeknownst to you, your touch was a heavenly fire, keeping him alive. He has never felt such peace when you hold him.

“How have you been?” He asked, feeling himself cross a line that he swore to never do again.

“I’ve been good,” you began, letting go of his arm, “But better now.”

He nodded, moving his arm back so you could sit closer to him and you did. As you explained how you had just been in the medical center working, he felt himself thinking of your words: better now. Better now because of him, or because of the man who is courting you? He knew that you wouldn’t be single forever, that you would move on, but he still felt hurt. Suddenly, he’s in love but you’re not. Seeing your beautiful face, realizing that your soft smiles weren’t for him felt like a stab in his soul.

But as he told you about himself and the war with Tsung, he couldn’t help but open up, feeling as if he was put under a spell. He made a mistake, and it’s more clear than ever. But as he talked, looking into your eyes, he felt resolve grow in him, he won’t let any of those threats come towards you. If he can’t have you, at least he can protect you.

The conversation then changed, you asked Bi-Han if he had anyone special, and he shook his head. The answer made your heart skip a beat, filling your head with fantasies, what if he loves me still? It grew even more comfortable between the two of you as you drifted between conversations of the politics of the and between realms, to even the simplest of things such as trying to convince him that he was hungry, because who knows how long he was waiting for you? You felt yourself growing cautiously happy, watching him eat the dinner’s leftovers as you prepared for bed. Things felt normal, and it felt as if you were at home, at the Lin Kuei temple.

It seemed as if you were going to bed with your husband.

“Taking off your clothes?” You teased, “You’re just going to take control of my room like that?”

He looked at you, smirking softly. He seemed to be doing things differently, taking off each garment slowly, starting with untying the bands around his arms. You felt your face burn, but you played it off by rolling your eyes, which caused him to laugh. When the two of you did make it into your bed, the two of you didn’t sleep. Conversation about anything spilled out from your mouths, including how much you hated your friends’ updates on their lives which you were pretty sure was just to put everyone around them down. Bi-Han assured you that you were perfect, that their lives were nothing compared to yours.

And when you woke up that morning, he was there. You were up first for some reason, early sunlight shining through the room. You looked over to see Bi-Han sleeping next to you, his hair falling over his face. But what caused you to hold your breath was that his arm was draped over you. You thought that you were dreaming, but everything, the heaviness of his arm, told you that it was real. You closed your eyes, trying to make the moment last a little bit longer, a small smile on your face.

A/N: I just graduated from university, so I am super sorry for taking forever to post the second part, but there is more to come.

- @sunsethw4 @cwbylikeyou @heartsia @neadivana, hope you all enjoyed it, and sorry it took forever 😭😭

[babyangelsky]

Back in March when I was doing the BL Challenge (brought to us by the lovely @negrowhat), I mentioned in my post about Korn Theerapanyakul that it isn't often that we get an actual villain who isn't just a love rival in a BL. The presence of an antagonist in a story doesn't necessarily make them the villain and not every story calls for one either. That being said,

Jak is a villain.

I want to break down this shot because it tells us a lot about the dynamic at play and Jak's point of view.

There's a lot going on here. The first thing my eye is drawn to is the line between them (and how Mut is just slightly crossing it since he stepped into the lion's den). Once you see that, the differences between both sides of that line become more obvious.

Mahasamut is dressed in a dark cool color and he's in shadow but his face is catching the light. The flowers, fireplace, candles, and TV behind him feel warm and homey. Fitting for a cafe. On the other hand, Jak is dressed in a warm light color and he's sitting in the light but his face is in shadow. The windows behind him and his positioning makes it feel like he's sitting at a desk in a corner office in a high rise instead of a cafe.

I weirdly wish they'd shown us when they arrived at the table because I would bet you anything that Jak sat down first. He's the older one, he's relaxed, etc. It makes sense for him to have sat first which means he chose that specific seat and the only reason I mention it, and really the only reason it matters, is that it tells us how Jak sees himself in this situation.

He's sitting there in the light in his dad sweater telling Mahasamut about wanting to fulfill his role as Tongrak's father and that he's so sorry about his behavior in the past and wants to atone for it and it's all bullshit because look at this man's face.

It is completely shadowed, just like his intentions and his agenda whereas Mut's is completely in the light.

And the difference becomes even more stark once Jak tells Mut to break up with Tongrak.

Jak is spewing nothing but ill-intentioned bullshit and Mahasamut sees it for what it is and makes it clear that he isn't going to fall for it, which is why things devolve.

Now. Just so we can get it out of the way, yes, obviously Mut should not have agreed to that meeting. He shouldn't have engaged and should've put the baby in the car and driven in the opposite direction. I was screaming at my screen for him to do just that, as were many of us I'm sure. However, I have to point out that it is not inconsistent for him from a character writing standpoint to have agreed.

Lest we forget, he said this to Tongrak last week when he was explaining why he turned Prin down when she tried to buy him.

"But Leah the dad is so much worse how could he not see—!" I know. Trust me, I do.

I'm gonna put on my baseball uniform and go to bat for my man for a second though because I think part of the reason that he agreed to talk to Jak is that he vastly underestimated him. And to be completely fair to Mahasamut, I did, too.

If I had to guess, I would say that he was expecting to be dealing with someone cut from the same cloth as Prin. Maybe a little worse since he knows what Jak has done in the past but certainly nothing he couldn't handle. Mahasamut is not a reckless or a thoughtless man. I don't believe for a second he would've even walked in the building if he didn't feel confident that he could deal with Jak.

The problem is that Jak is very much not cut from the same cloth as Prin.

I noted in my expressions post that it looked like the only time Jak was actually feeling something was when he accepted Prin's offer to destroy Tongrak but that's not entirely accurate. Having gone back to watch his scenes, there's a second instance where genuine emotion peeks through.

There's such a cold rage in his expression when he reproaches Tongrak for choosing his mother and cutting ties with him. And make no mistake, he's not angry because he loves his son. We already know that he doesn't. He's angry because in his eyes, he lost to a woman he felt nothing but disdain for.

If Tongrak and Kwan had chosen Jak over their mother, do you think Jak would be out here causing problems? No, he would've flat out ignored them. He wouldn't bother keeping such close tabs on Rak and his relationships because he would've already won and if he's doing it now, it's because he wants to win.

This is a game to him. This is fun for him.

His son is terrified and begging him not to hurt an innocent little girl and a young man and Jak's response is, "Don't be greedy."

He tries to force his son to choose which one of the people he loves most in this world gets to be safe but the choice isn't really a choice. He says he'll choose for Rak and he already has. Jak had already had Mahasamut beaten by the time he comes to see Tongrak and we know that because Mut's injuries have been treated when Rak gets home and Vivi is already there.

Matter of fact, the only reason Jak is even here talking to his son is because his attempt to convince Mut to leave has failed and he knows that going to Rak won't fail. He knows his son is afraid of him and he knows he can use that fear to get what he wants, which is why he brings up the uncle doctor.

Although we've gotten little of Jak so far, it's safe to assume that he is not a man who makes empty threats. Tongrak knows this, too, which is why he becomes so panicked when the doctor is brought up. We as the audience don't know who this doctor is but we can surmise from Tongrak's expression that he's important enough to be used as a weapon by Jak.

Until this point I don't think Tongrak realized that his father had anything to do with whatever happened to this doctor, he looks genuinely surprised. But all Jak had to do to prove how serious he is about his threat is mention the man. That's all he does. Rak puts the pieces together himself.

And here is where I bring up next week.

If you can look at this man's face as he rips the contract and think for a moment that he's going to try to push Mahasamut away for some flimsy petty reason, I am here to tell you that you are dead wrong. If I so much as SEE the words 'noble idiocy' I'm going to kick off.

Because we know that by the time Tongrak picks up this contract to rip it, Mahasamut has already been beaten twice and that Jak made a barely veiled threat to have him killed. Rak is rightfully terrified of his father and afraid for his boyfriend's life and wanting to keep Mut safe and ALIVE is not noble idiocy.

Now is it going to work? Smart money says no, wild horses couldn't drag Mahasamut away. He loves Rak too much to take any threats lying down. But as much as I understand why Mut talked to Jak, I understand why Rak wants to keep him safe even more.

Jak didn't accept Prin's offer because he wanted to help her. He doesn't give a single shit about her agenda except to mock her for it. He agreed to destroy his son because he wants to, because doing so will allow him to win and get back at his ex-wife. The money is just a bonus.

Jak is a Villain.

[simpstantruther]

Hungry Heart ch. 2 | (Mullet) Stanley Pines x Reader

Summary: Stan needs to go to Oregon. You need to get to California. Stan has a car. You have a cunt. (Can I make it any more obvious~)

(TW: Dated Language and ideas of sex and consent)

Tags: 80s Americana Roadtrip Partners-in-Crime Stan x Reader fic. Smut. You can fix him, but you're worse.

Preview:

Lee watches you with amusement over his coffee. He looks different when he’s well lit. Older. More worn. Especially with his hair slicked out of his face, so you can see how deep the bags under his eyes are. You prefer it messy.

He's a good time. Funny, but stupid. You didn’t know it was possible to fit a sausage link up one’s nose. It shouldn’t be, it was fucking gross. You stick your tongue out in playful disgust when he eats it anyways. He laughs like a boy.

Read on AO3.

The street light buzzing is so loud you can’t hear yourself think.

You can feel it between your shoulder blades, tense as the dry night air hits the sweat pooling down your back. The light casts a dark shadow beneath your feet as you stroll through the middle of the street trying to keep your feet on the faded yellow divider lines. You don’t. 

You’re still in Dallas. You think. 

You had a bed to sleep in tonight. Or maybe a couch, with the guy passed out across the covers like he did. You had already cleared out his pockets, peeked through a few drawers. 

You found a tiny gun. Fit right in the palm of your hand. Like it was left in that drawer just for you.

Then the poor fucker’s wife came home. 

When you heard the shotgun cock into place, you started running and didn’t stop, pockets considerably heavier. In the chaos, you forgot you nabbed the gun.

You’re glad you nabbed the gun. 

Now you don’t know where you are. As if you ever really knew anymore. Back streets like this all kind of blended together, no matter where in the U.S. you were dragging your sorry ass around. 

Empty dirt lot with a single bench, a sun shade and a bus stop to the left. Shit-hole liquor store, piss stained parking lot to the right. Food. Shelter. Pisser.  All one could ever need.

If only you had actual cash instead of valuables you needed to pawn.

You have a small gun now.

Stupid looking little revolver. Three in the chamber. Poor fucker couldn’t be assed to fill the thing? No wonder his wife wanted to kill him.

Your stomach growls. It wants to kill you.

Do you have it in you to stick up a place just to get something to eat?

You stop. 

Under the brilliant neon Open sign of the liquor store, in bright yellow, peeled-paint glory stands a pay phone. Handset intact. You suppress a cry of joy. You would fall to your knees in praise if you didn’t think you’d catch a disease on the rusted bolts holding it to the cracked concrete. One of the bolts is loose. It wants to leave too.

You feel in the change slot for a spare quarter, sticking your tongue out through the side of your mouth. Your fingertips brush against the ridged edge.

Holy shit.

If you’re not careful, you’ll use all your luck up in one night.

The miraculous quarter slips into the slot. You wait for the dial tone to buzz into your ear, white-knuckle-gripping the handset. 

Shit.

Who the fuck are you supposed to call in Dallas? A taxi? They don’t take gold chains. A shelter? They’re all closed. Did you want to get robbed?

You still couldn’t get to one even if you wanted to.

You hit the return button. Clink. At least you can pocket the quarter. 

As you slip it into your rear pocket, you feel the fuzzy, frayed edge of a business card. Why would you keep a business—

The Loveshack it says.

Why did you have a business card for The Loveshack? What even is The Loveshack?

You don’t know what possesses you, but you sniff the card. It smells unholy. Like beer, and sweat, and man-stink and— you need to sniff it again.

Why are you thinking of a mullet? 

It smells so familiar. Why does it smell familiar? And you feel like gagging, you hate tequila. 

Oh.

You slip the coin into the slot again, bouncing your heel as you wait for the other line to pick up.

“Front desk.” Crackles through the shitty speaker in the handset.

“Hi! G-Good evening—” Your old hostess voice possesses you. High and clipped and waiting to be reprimanded. An old reflex. You haven’t had a regular job in at least a year. You remember no greasy, stinking manager is breathing down your neck to sound pretty when you pick up the phone, so it returns to it’s deep natural state. 

“Hello?” The voice on the speaker croaks again.

“Patch me through to a room, please?”

“Which room?”

Shit. Which fucking room? You turn the card over. Nothing written anywhere. You don’t even remember the guy’s name. Maybe he didn’t know how to write. Honestly, all you remember is Bruce Springsteen and a mullet and thinking that his beefy hands might fit nice around your—

“Hello? Miss? Which room?”

“Uhhhh— don’t remember. He’s a guy, you know?” Of course they know, are you stupid? “Tall, big shoulders, shitty mullet—“ You motion to the top of your head as if the operator can see you.

“Patching you through.” 

The line goes quiet. You’re too anxious to bounce your heel anymore so you stand frozen, hunched over the pay phone box.

You hear heavy breathing on the line. Then a woman’s name, in a vaguely familiar, gruff Jersey accent.

“Who?” You question, confused.

“That’s your name, isn’t it?” 

Oh. You gave him a fake name, you remember.

“It’s Lee.”

“I know! Lee!” You draw out his name overly-affectionately. “How the hell are ya?”

“You called.” 

“I did!” 

“...I didn’t think you would call.”

“I said I would call, didn’t I?” You shrug your shoulders, tucking the phone beneath your chin and leaning back against the phone box. 

You hear him scoff. “I don’t think you did.”

He’s probably right, it doesn’t sound like you to promise something like that.

“ 'S fine. I wanted you to call. I’m glad you did.”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s quiet on the line too, drowned out by the white noise. The plastic static of the handset against your ear makes you shiver even though it’s pushing 85.

“Look, Lee… I’m sorry to call you like this, but I’m in a bit of a bad way—“

“What’s wrong?” He asks quickly. His concern is cute. He doesn’t know you. If he knew you he’d know something’s always wrong. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” You aren’t. There’s a pit growing in your stomach because you remember the last time you said those words to a semi-concerned party over the phone. About a year ago. You weren’t fine then, either. “You don’t have a car by chance, do ya? Or maybe just cab fare?”

“Where are you?” 

“Uh—“ You look around. The sign on the liquor store is missing letters. It's in a language you don't recognize. You aren't as worldly as you think.

“I got wheels. I’ll pick you up right now, sweetheart. Where are you?”

You silently cheer. You crane your neck and narrow your eyes to read a street sign, murmuring it into the receiver. You cross your fingers, bite your lip raw, and pray he heard you right. You can barely understand him through the crackling line.

“Give me twenty minutes, toots. An hour, tops. Don’t go nowhere.”

“I’ll be here!” You have nowhere else to go.

The line goes dead.

The hook is broken. You leave the handset on top of the box, swallow back your false cheerfulness and sit on the curb.

The street light buzzes above you, a spotlight on your failed state. You cannot hear yourself think. You are grateful.

You don’t have a watch. Giant, tacky bracelets hide your wrists well enough. So who knows how long it’s been once cars start pulling over and hollering at you to hop in. 

Cutting your jeans into daisy dukes seemed like a good idea once you got south of Memphis and the nights regularly cracked 90. It felt less so now, while rough concrete and gravel dug into your seat, sticking to your skin from sweat. 

You ready an empty glass bottle, aiming to launch it at the dark red convertible that slows beside you next.

“Easy there, sweetheart. Watch where you throw that thing. Can’t afford to replace the window again.”

You stand up so you can see past the half-rolled window.

“Lee?” You peer inside. 

It is Lee. He greets you with a wide smile, sliding out his door and moving in to hug you until he sees you flinch back. He blinks and freezes before nodding his head to himself and crossing behind the car. 

“After you, Angelface.” He cracks open the passenger door for you.

“What a gentleman.” You wheedle for him, grateful for the cushioned seat. You keep your eyes on him as he slams your door shut and gets back inside. A bit of caution was healthy. You shouldn’t trust him. He definitely shouldn’t trust you.

The front seat is clean. Vaguely. There’s a couple full trash bags sitting in the back seat. And a few beat up boxes of some bright blue towel thing, dye seeping everywhere it touches, and other assorted brand new junk headed straight for a landfill. It was like he raided the world’s shittiest truck load of useless crap. Why was he lugging around all this stuff?

It still reeks like cheap cigarettes. But at least it didn’t smell like tequila. You crack open your window anyways. 

“Where to?” Lee asks, smiling nervously as he shifts the car into gear, hand staying on the shifter knob between you. 

God, his arms. He’s punishing the thread around the sleeves, rolling them up like that. He put on a clean shirt for the occasion. And gas-station cologne. How sweet.

He shaved, too. You’re a little disappointed, though his jaw is nothing to be ashamed of. You wanna run your hand over his skin, mourn his five o’clock shadow. For the love of god, the man has dimples. Is he Catholic? Would he smack you if you use the lord’s name in vain? You kind of hope he does. Maybe you'll let him borrow one of the rings you 'found'.

You know you look like shit. You can see the outline of your tangled, frizzed hair in the dark in passenger side mirror. You’re never teasing your hair again.

If you pass by a street light, you know you’ll see the rest of yourself in the dirty yellow glow, looking haunting as ever. You angle the mirror away. No need for another reason to bum yourself out before your— whatever this is— with Lee.

You sigh and relax back into the seat, closing your eyes with relief as the rough road jostles you. Almost rocks you to sleep, right there in the passenger seat. 

He says your fake name again as you’re drifting off. 

“Sorry.” You yawn and smack your lips.

He waits for your answer. He can't go nowhere, after all.

You sigh.

“I’m gonna be honest, Lee. I got no idea where to go.”

He nods as he drives with his eyes forward. You already caught him glancing down at your chest after a particularly bad pot hole. He was on his best behavior now. You get to study his silhouette.

“Ain’t you stayin’ anywhere?”

“Nah. Got kicked out of my room this morning. Had a place lined up, but it fell through.” 

You hope he doesn’t ask more. He doesn’t. Good man.

Your stomach grumbles and you hunch over, desperate to subdue the sound. You were used to that by now.

“How about we get you somethin’ to eat, huh? That sound alright?”

“You sure?” You look up at him, your hand cradling your empty stomach.

“Hell yeah. Been dyin’ to take you out since you first glared at me. Dressed up for the occasion—thanks for noticin’.”

“Is that so?” You huff out a laugh. “Color me flattered. You clean up nice. But you’re full of it. I wasn’t glarin’ at nothin’.”

“Oh yeah? ‘Cos I liked it, you know. I thought you were makin’ eyes at me. I like when pretty girls make eyes at me.”

“You’re blind, bud.”

“Nahhh. ” He grins wider. “You like me. Think I’m handsome.” 

You neither confirm nor deny, but you smile as he turns away. You see him blinking and narrowing his eyes at the road signs as he drives. He’s probably blinder than you are. Maybe he regrets telling you to call him, now with your mess close enough to see.

“Pretty girls must be in short supply if you’re settling for me.” You mutter under your breath and lay back again. If he heard you, he doesn’t reply.

He pulls into a 24-hour diner. 

It’s like he read your mind. You could kill a breakfast combo right now. And however many coffees you can drink before they kick you out for not paying, unless Lee is more liquid than he looks.

You doubt it.

You spin around on your plastic-y little dinner stool, your busted heels hanging off your toes as you kick your feet around. The coffee is good . You would have preferred a booth for privacy, but this is fun too. 

Lee watches you with amusement over his coffee. He looks different when he’s well lit. Older. More worn. Especially with his hair slicked out of his face, so you can see how deep the bags under his eyes are. You prefer it messy.

He's a good time. Funny, but stupid. You didn’t know it was possible to fit a sausage link up one’s nose. It shouldn’t be, it was fucking gross. You stick your tongue out in playful disgust when he eats it anyways. He laughs like a boy.

He’s got nice teeth. Mom would be happy, if that kind of thing mattered now. You wonder if he’s Catholic. You don’t think you are anymore.

He makes you laugh ugly. It makes your cheeks hurt, the kind where you have to massage them for a while after. It feels good to laugh ugly.

He doesn’t ask about anything that matters. You like that.

You both check out the same waitress. You ask her for sugar free sugar, the real kind (whatever that means), and you both watch as she stands on a stool to look at the top shelf, her teeny uniform not covering much of anything. She’s probably eighteen. Doesn’t know any better.

Now you’ve been on both sides. It’s a rite of passage.

He tells you you’re prettier than her, but you pretend not to hear, flicking a folded up napkin towards the trash can behind the counter. Daddy always said you were a pretty girl. You used to hear that a lot more often. You’d believe Lee if it were a couple days ago, when you were within twelve hours of a hot shower. 

The napkin misses the trash can. You meet his eyes. He smirks.

You have an unspoken agreement with Lee.

You chew your soggy, jellied toast silently and without alarm while he pockets another customer’s tip.

He shovels scrambled eggs into his mouth and doesn’t mention anything as your fingers slip into the lady beside you’s pocket book. 

God bless 24-hour diners.

Combined, you probably have enough to pay for your food. You’re still a little short, not that the waitress would notice until you left, if she could count at all. But why leave it to chance? 

You both stand up at the same time, offering compliments to the chef, the lovely waitress—

“Where do you think you two are going?” A grimy hand wraps around your arm. It’s the cook. Or else he just smells like bacon grease. You feel less satisfied with how the food sits in your stomach, suddenly. “You ain’t paid yet.”

“Alright, keep your paws to yourself, pal—“ Lee knots his hand in the cook’s greasy shirt. Meaty fucking hand. God, the size of those fingers.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey—“ You hold your hands up in surrender. “We’re cool. No need to freak out. We’re cool, aren’t we?” 

“Still gotta pay for your fuckin’ food.” 

You have a small gun now. Your fingers itch to hold it again, to squeeze the grip made for your small hand.

You glance at the laminated menu another customer ducks their head behind. Quickly you stand beside Lee, pressing your chest against his side with your hand on his sternum. He’s warm. Solid, beneath the softness. It’s nice when he’s not damp with beer sweat. You try not to think about it. 

“Are you serious ? You—you think Mr. Denny pays at his own restaurants?” You motion to Lee with your hand. 

The cook balks at both of you, and Lee puffs out his chest. You try not to laugh.

“Bullshit you’re Mr. Denny. He’s gotta be like eighty or something.”

“J-Junior! Mr. Denny junior, obviously!” You take Lee’s jaw between your thumb and forefinger and aim his face at the cook. You’re suddenly grateful Lee combed his hair back. And that he knows when to keep his mouth shut. “See this? Spitting image!”

The cook glances at a blown up photograph hanging on the wall. White hair, beady eyes, the kind of jaw that recedes back into a neck. About the only thing similar to Lee was that they were both human. Maybe. 

Damn. You almost made it, too.

A giggle bubbles out of Lee’s throat as he catches sight of the photograph and the cook’s face goes red, burn-calloused hand reaching for Lee’s throat. A busboy with a tray full of dishes passes by at the wrong moment and you swing your hand up and knock the entire tray back against the cook. 

You leave behind a calamity of broken porcelain and gasps in your wake as you pull Lee by his hand out of the diner. He throws down a few chairs on his way to muddle the path to follow you both as you run. 

Even in busted heels, you’re faster than Lee. 

His huffing, red face would be entertaining if he wasn’t the one with the keys. 

“Drive, drive, drive!” You hollar, grin plastered to your cheeks as you smoosh your face and hands against the passenger window, watching in amusement as the cook and the waitress scramble outside and look around for you.

Lee’s braying laugh fills your ears as his car pulls out of the parking lot. You’re laughing too, content with wherever he sees fit to take you. You feel safe. You shouldn’t, but you do.

You have a small gun now.

Previous chapter.

Next chapter.

[xetlynn]

Twilight- Youngest Shadow: Chapter Four, Field Trips

(Alice X Reader X Jasper)

[three] [four] [five]

Bella and I stood next to each other, we had just gotten to our science field trip. I observed Bella’s eyes that went to the Cullens as usual. I then hear foot steps behind and before I can warn Bella, Mike pretends to be Dr. Frankenstein.

“Look! You’re moving. You’re alive!” He shouts, both Bella and I cringe. “Yeah false alarm.”

“Actually, I’m glad you’re not dead cause- well, that would suck, plus I wanted to ask you even though it’s like a month away…” He continued to talk, not even paying attention to the fact that she wasn’t facing his direction.

I watch Edward look up and over at our direction. Bella finally snaps out of it and looks over at Mike. It was a little late.

“So, what do you think?” He notices her blank expression. “You want to go? To prom. With me.”

I cover my mouth, looking away after seeing her horrified look. I try my best to refrain from laughing.

“Prom, as in dance. I uh- have to go somewhere. To Jacksonville. Yeah.” She sprouts out her lie.

“You can’t go another weekend?”

“Non-refundable ticket. Maybe you should ask Jessica.” We all glance over to across the lawn where Jessica stood. Mike then looks at me and my eyes widen.

“Don’t think about it. You’re not my type.” I sternly tell him.

He presses his lips together, sighing then going over to Jessica.

Both Bella and I make eye contact, laughing from that horrible ordeal.

Throughout the day I kept seeing two specific Cullens looking my way. And as that happened, each time I would look behind me as if there was something more interesting there.

Of course I would sneak some looks at them too but I’m hoping they didn’t notice or I wasn’t as obvious as they were.

We were now walking through the greenhouse and I saw Bella try to go up to Edward so instead of staying in between that I decide to walk ahead. Moving passed Edward and accidentally bumping into non other than Alice who seemed to have gripped tighter to Jasper.

Her grip loosened after seeing me. “I’m so sorry.” I bowed my head down a tiny bit to not look them in the eyes. She smiled motioning with her hand. “It’s quite alright.” Her voice was angelic, my face warmed up a bit and I start to feel embarrassed at how I was acting.

“I won’t be a bother, sorry again.” I stammered, going to walk away but she gently takes my hand for a second. I gasp at how cold she was.

“You can hang with us if you’d like.” My eyes wander over to Jasper who does a small nod, agreeing with his partner.

I shrug as a why not, finally straightening my posture and looking them in the eyes for only seconds at a time before looking somewhere else.

“Did those hurt?” She points to my piercings, since I flinch for a moment she instantly takes her hand back. “Oh, not really. I guess my tongue did but only the healing part.” I stick my tongue out, showing her. She stares at it.

I smile, closing my mouth, her nose scrunches in response. “I couldn’t imagine the feeling of metal in my mouth all the time.” She mumbles, almost inaudible.

“It doesn’t bother you after awhile. It kinda becomes you.” I say, purposefully adding a little dramatics at the end. I notice Jasper watching me intently. I smile and him and I didn’t even know his eyes could get wider but they did.

“Here, walk in between us.” Alice takes my sleeved arm, nod even between the fabric it still feels cold. I wonder if it bothers her.

I do as suggested, Jasper doesn’t seem so tense anymore either.

“You play Volleyball, I heard?” She asks, I grin just by the fact that she knew. “Yes! Our last game is coming up.”

“Really?” Alice looks up at me, I nod about to say something but Jasper beats me.

“We should go to it.”

My eyes light up but quickly I shot it down going back to a neutral expression.

“Yeah that would be awesome.” I agree.

For the rest of the trip I stood next to the two, it felt different but fresh as it wasn’t the same people I’ve been talking to for so long.

Someone other than Bella, Charlie, Jacob and Angela that enjoyed talking to me without using me to talk to my sister.

The buses arrived and we made our way over there, I saw Bella and Edward talking and it seemed to be upsetting my sister. I begin to walk over, picking up the pace and Alice joins.

“Hi, will you be riding with us?” She asks Bella but before my sister can say anything Edward interrupts. “No our bus is full.” He turns to go on the bus.

“Here’s my number, we should be-“

“Alice, come on.” Edward grabs her, stopping her from giving me the tiny paper. Jasper joins them, he gives me a sympathetic look and I give a small smile in return.

What just happened..?

“Your mother called, again.” Charlie calls after Bella who just stormed into the house trying to go upstairs to her room.

“Your fault for telling her about the accident.” Bella shrugs.

“She always did know how to worry.” His voice sounded sad. “But she’s changed, too. She seems happy. Phil sounds all right.”

“He is.” Bella goes up the stairs, I watch her spit the wedding photo Charlie still hasn’t seemed to take down.

The next day at lunch I stared at the Cullen table, unaware that I was doing it as I was thinking. Looking right at Alice and Jasper, infatuated with their relationship. Wondering what it was like behind closed doors. What kind of people they truly were. Why were they so nice to me at the field trip.

“La Push, baby. You in?” Eric and both my sister and I.

“Should I know what that means?” Bella raises an eyebrow.

“La Push beach, down on the Quileute rez. We’re all going after school. Big waves coming in.” Mike further explains. I already knew as Jacob had told me about the waves.

“And I don’t just surf the internet.” Eric makes a horrible joke.

“Eric, you stood up once. On a foam board.” Jessica called him out and even though I’m not fond of her. That was pretty funny.

“There’s whale watching too. You both should come with.” Angela chimes in and I smile at her.

“I’ll only go if you are.” I nudge her since she was right next to me. Her eyes widen at first but then she grins back.

“La Push baby.”

“I’ll go you stop saying that.” Bella says.

I knew Jake would be there with the others.

So of course I’m going to go. Plus, Angela is pretty cool. I love hanging out with her.

As Bella gets up to get food from the salad bar, I stand up as well but to go to the bathroom. “Where you going? Lunch isn’t over.” Eric questions me, they all look at me and I roll my eyes before turning to look at them. “I can’t piss anymore?”

Only reason I truly sit with them is for Bella and now Angela.

“Gosh you can’t ask questions anymore.” Jessica mutters, thinking I wouldn’t have heard. I raise my eyebrows, giving her a look. She presses her lips together and I head to the bathroom like I was going to do.

I enter the restroom, I actually wasn’t going to use it but to take a minute to myself before classes and everything. I normally am not overwhelmed so easily but something came over me like whiplash.

I heard the door open. “Sorry.” I whisper, going to get out of the persons way. “Hey, you alright?” The voice was small, gentle and I knew exactly who it was

“Oh, hey Alice. Yeah, I’m fine.” I force a smile, she stares at my face for a few seconds as if she was noticing me for the first time. Her expression was blank. Now it looks like she is staring off into space. I wave my hand for a minute, wondering if she’s okay.

Suddenly a smile appears upon her face. “If you say so, sweetheart.” She acts as if nothing happened. Going towards the mirror to fix her hair even though it laid perfectly. I watched every movement.

“So, you ready for that big game tomorrow?” She asks, I let out a shaky breath, laughing a bit at myself for being so nervous.

“Big time. Everyone will be there. We’ll make the paper if we win.” I tell her and she turns to face me once again.

“Really? That’s huge!” She squeals like it was actually important to her. “Yeah um, and I was thinking there’s this thing today. You should come, bring Jasper too.” I start,

Her head turns to the side. “We’re going to the beach if you’re interested.”

“Which one?”

I perk up to her answer, not expecting her to actually be interested.

“La Push.” I watch her expression falter the tiniest bit.

“Oh, how many people?”

“Uh, quite a bit.” I frown.

“I would love to. Really but Jasper has pretty bad social anxiety.” She sadly tells.

“I totally get it. Don’t worry. I’ll see you both at my game tomorrow though, right?” She seemed relieved by my response.

“Of course.”

“I keep thinking Eric’s going to ask me to prom, then he just doesn’t.” Angela tells Bella and I as we walk by the driftwood of the beach.

“You should ask him.” I tell her, Bella nods agreeing. “Take control. You’re a strong independent woman.” Bella exclaims like a motivational speaker.

“I am?”

“Totally.”

“Bella!? [Name]!” We three look up to see Jacob, Sam and Embry.

“Yes, you are.” I tell Angela before we acknowledge Jacob and end this conversation with her thinking to herself.

“Guys, this is Jacob.” I say.

“Are you stalking us?” Bella jokes.

“You’re on my rez remember?” He reminds her, “also you surfing? [Name] I’m surprised you’re not suited up too.” I just flip him off. “Definitely not.” Bella says.

“Keep her company, her date bailed.” Jessica teases and this is where I’m glad I’m not close with these people and they didn’t join me to the bathroom and heard my conversation.

Also I don’t think they would be cool with the idea of girls finding other girls attractive… sexually.

“What date?” Eric butts in.

“She invited Edward.”

“To be polite.” Bella argues, obviously embarrassed. “I think it’s nice she invited him. No one ever does.” Angela inquires, I think she is so sweet.

“Because Cullens a freak.” Mike sharply tells. “You got that right.” Sam speaks up and i grimace, not expecting that from him.

“You know them?” Bella questions.

“The Cullens don’t come here.”

I notice Jacob give Sam a look.

Everyone kind of stands there awkwardly and Bella ends up pulling Jacob aside, and she seems different. Like she’s trying to be flirtatious with him. And Jacob still having that puppy love crush is absolutely falling for it. I shake my head, sighing hoping he doesn’t get hurt. But I have a feeling Bella’s going to accidentally do so.

I go over to Sam and Embry as Angela decides to hand around Eric. “You got a little hot-headed out there.” I poke Sam who huffs in response. “Cullens are that bad?” I turn to Embry who looks down.

“You’ve heard the story before at the campfire, [Name]” Sam says, basically telling me I should remember one of these stories that I was told years ago. I press my lips together, shrugging my shoulders. “The Cullens were supposedly descended from an enemy clan. Does that ring a bell?”

I shake my head, “not really.”

“They claimed to be different than the normal enemy. So we made a treaty with them. If they promised to stay off Quileute lands we wouldn’t expose what they really were to humans.” Sam explains further, cutting it short than what Billy would have said.

“What are they-“

A scream emits from further down near the water, it was Angela being chased by Eric who holds a dead crustacean.

I end up not repeating my question as it seems to upset Sam. Going to join Jake and my sister who sat together.

Chapter four😨

Edited

[mintmatcha]

A singular light is on. The apartment is dim with diffused shadows, cast across the entryway from doorway to the dining room. As you take off your shoes, you're aware of a slow drumming-- tap, tap, tap, tap: fingers against the hardwood of the table. As you wander in, dropping your coat on the couch next to your husband's, you see the man in question. He's sitting there, expression more dour than usual.

"Sit down." Aizawa jerks his chin to the chair opposing him. For once he's still in his work clothes, his all black garb dusted at the knees and elbows. The sweats he usually changed into at still draped over the back of his chair, waiting for him.

"What is this?" You gesture to the scene before you, "Are you interrogating me or something?"

"Sit," he repeats, face flat. He's still wearing his boots, prosthetic still on. You're going to make him vacuum later. "We have to talk."

You slide into your seat, brow raised. Aizawa stares at you for a long moment before he leans back and grabs something from the floor. He tosses the item onto the table and taps his finger against it.

"What is this?" he asks. You pause for a second, expecting something scandalous, but then you process it and realize:

"It's the pack of boxer briefs you asked me to buy," you laugh a bit and Aizawa scowls deeper. His eye twitches at your amusement, "What?"

"You know what's wrong with this."

You look at the package again. It's the right size, the right material, the right cut-- you genuinely don't know what the issue is.

"It's... underwear."

"Look at it. Look." Aizawa taps the package, as if the answer is obvious.

"Honey-"

"You bought me." His voice cracks with really annoyance. "All Might underwear."

You shrug with a shake of your head, the breath of a laugh in your voice. "So? It was on sale."

Aizawa leans forward, taking the package in both hands and pointing to the designs. Most are just boldly colored, with bright blues and yellows, but the front most pair of briefs are spotted with All Might's face and name. It's gaudy, sure, but you're the only one seeing his underwear, so why should it matter?

"So?" Aizawa repeats back, "I work with the man, I can't wear his face on my fucking penis."

You lean forward to match him, shoulders bouncing with a laugh you're trying to swallow. "How would he know?"

"It doesn't matter if he knows, I'd know." Over dramatically, he tosses the package to the side and to the floor, face still scrunched with annoyance, "You have to return them."

"Again. They were on sale. I can't return them." You reach across the table for his hand, but he doesn't react, still staring at you with a curled lip. "I'll just wear them instead."

Aizawa groans.

"Absolutely not." He puts his head in his hands, hair falling over his eyes, "How could I ever look him in the eyes ever again? His face on your body."

"I guess you're not going to like my Dynamite thong then."

"Please tell me you're joking." Aizawa rubs his palms into his eyes, eyepatch moving back and forth, "He is my student, that's not funny."

"He was your student ten years ago," you remind him, "He's a grown man with merch now."

"Tell me you're joking. Tell me."

You stand, hands on your button fly, "Why don't you go check for yourself?"

"No." Aizawa finally looks up at you, expression almost pained, "We might never have sex again actually."

[hobiebrownismygod]

"Sorry, Dove" Hobie Brown x Fem!Reader - Part 2/2

Summary: Hobie Brown's canon event, or in which basically you were the Gwen Stacy to Hobie Brown's Spider-Punk

TW: Blood, Mention of murder, Reader death, Angst, Hobie crying

WC: ~1.8k

A/N: You and Hobie are young, around 14 to 15 in this. It's supposed to be sort of his origin story. Btw, Hobie's dialogue are bolded. I recommend reading the first part before moving onto this part, its linked below.

Taglist: @therealloopylupin2099 @spiderrinn @l0starl @daydreaming-en-pointe @itsparis-07 @vileviale @puff-hugs @lauryn2558 @sunasslut69

Taglist link & Masterlist

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Hobie was completely unaware of what was happening to you when he swung down to the city, stumbling as he fell onto the ground. The bomb had started multiple fires in the surrounding buildings, and he quickly went around, webbing open the fire hydrants in the streets and eventually calming the fires down enough for him to go and save the civilians trapped beneath the rubble.

He was doing really well too, pushing the rubble up, grabbing the people one by one and swinging them to safer places before sending them home. The only problem was, the person who set the bomb off was nowhere in sight.

That was, until he heard that quiet chuckle he hated so much. His spider-sense immediately flared and he crouched back, ready to pounce on the first glimpse of the Goblin he saw. "Goblin! Show yourself!" He said, seething with anger as he waited for the masked man to show up.

And then, his expression dropped when instead of the Goblin appearing in front of him, you did. You were shaking your head, eyes silently begging him not to approach you as you walked out from behind the rubble. Of course, he didn't listen, immediately rushing over to you. "What happen-"

He was cut off as his spider-sense flared once again and he leapt up, just barely dodging one of the Goblin's many trick knives. His eyes narrowed as he finally caught sight of the Goblin, who rushed right past Hobie on his hoverboard, grabbing you in the process before heading towards the building that'd exploded, half of it turned to rubble.

Hobie followed as quickly as he could. "Let her go!" He exclaimed, shooting a web towards the Goblin, which the man promptly dodged. "Make me."

Once Hobie got to the top, he lost sight of you and the Green Goblin once again. "Y/N!" He called out desperately, furiously turning his head around as he scanned his surroundings for any sight of you. "Goblin, where are you?!"

"I see you've made yourself a friend. A sidekick, even." Hobie watched as the Goblin appeared from the shadows, slowly walking with a knife in his hand, that same wide smile on his face. "Congratulations, Spider-punk."

"What did you do with her?" He asked angrily, holding his arms up threateningly at the Goblin, ready to shoot his webs at any moment. "Where is she?!"

The Goblin simply chuckled in response, taking a deep, obvious breath. "It's quite a nice night, isn't it?"

"Cut the crap and tell me where she is!"

"Oh?" The Goblin raised an eyebrow. "Have you run out of jokes already? What happened to the little quips I love so much?"

"Give me back my friend." Hobie said coldly. He shot a web towards the Goblin but the man simply swat it out of the way with his knife, cutting through the web like it was nothing and standing up straight. "No."

Hobie's expression drooped slightly. "Please. I'll do anything." He pleaded, eyes widening. "Just let her go. Please."

"Anything?" The Goblin chuckled, bringing his knife up to his face and tapping it on his lips. "Then why don't you show me your face, Spider-punk?" He suggested, his smile widening.

Hobie hesitated for a moment. "Bring her out first." The Goblin tilted his head to the side slightly. "Fine."

A whirring sound caught Hobie's attention and he watched in horror as you were brought into the light, tied back to the hoverboard while you struggled. You were shaking your head furiously, eyes wide as you let out muffled grunts, your mouth covered by rope. "Y/N-"

"Get close to her, and I'll set off the bombs."

Hobie backed away slightly, the bombs on the hoverboard catching his attention. If he tried anything, the Goblin would set them off, and you'd be killed. You had tears in your eyes as you continued to struggle and the sight made Hobie's heart twist. 

"It's gonna be okay." He said quietly, looking back towards the Goblin. "You want me to take my mask off? I'll take it off. But you have to promise to let her go."

The Goblin nodded, putting his hands behind his back as he watched curiously, to see what Hobie would do. Hobie slowly reached towards his mask, and pulled it off. You let out a gasp of protest, but he ignored you. He dropped the mask on the floor and looked up at the Goblin.

The Goblin stared back at Hobie for a moment, processing the sight. He probably hadn't been expecting his enemy to be so...young. "Let her go." Hobie said quietly. He felt extremely vulnerable at the moment and was itching to pull his mask back up.

The Goblin obliged and the ropes untied themselves, causing you to collapse to the floor. "Spider-man!" you exclaimed, getting up so you could approach him, but the Goblin stopped you, pointing his knife in your direction. "Not a single step."

"You said you'd let her go. So let her go!" Hobie was exasperated and he pointed his fist towards the Goblin. "I let her go. But we're not done." The Goblin replied, the smile slowly returning to his face. "I don't care that you're a kid. You're going to fight me." He said coldly.

"Fine." Hobie huffed out, putting his fists up. You couldn't do anything but helplessly watch as a fight ensued, with Hobie dodging the knives and bombs being thrown at him while shooting his own webs towards the Goblin. The scuffle was causing the building to shake and rubble kept falling.

"Just surrender!" The Goblin screamed out, lunging towards Hobie who barely dodged, covered in blood and scratches at this point. "NO." He leapt up, guitar in hand as he brought it smashing down onto the Goblin, causing him to be flung back. The Goblin cursed under his breath, looking up at the winning vigilante who was approaching him again.

And then, he decided to use his last hope.

The Goblin pounced towards you, using his gadgets to tie you up once again. "No!" You exclaimed, struggling and extremely annoyed at this point. This was the second time he'd caught you, but it wasn't like you could fight back. You kicked at the Goblin as he grabbed onto your throat, holding you up.

"You little-" He muttered. Hobie stood back slightly, eyes wide as he tried to calm the Goblin down. "Wait-wait you said you'd let her go. Please. Please let her go!"

The Goblin tightened his grip around your throat, effectively choking you as he held you above the edge of the building, a dangerous glint to his eyes. "You've ruined everything I've worked for, Spider-man. So I'm going to ruin you."

"Please." Hobie begged, putting his hands up. "Please, don't do this. Let her go." He whispered.

The Goblin looked back with a smile. "Gladly."

A blur of events followed. You felt yourself being flung off the building, your heart and stomach dropping as gravity did its job, pulling you towards the far-away ground. Hobie lunged after you, arms outstretched in an attempt to grab you before you reached the ground. Your hand reached out towards him and he shot a web towards you.

But before you could grab it, he was knocked out of the way by the Goblin's hoverboard. The last thing you remembered was dread creeping up your stomach and through your body as you accepted your fate, realizing he wasn't going to be able to catch you. You fell.

"NO!" Hobie yelled out, fighting to get back to his feet. He leapt towards the Goblin, tackling him in a fit of fury. He got on top of the dazed Goblin who was struggling to catch his breath, trying to push Hobie off of him. Hobie pulled his guitar off his back, holding it above his head.

And then, he slammed it down. But once wasn't enough. He brought the guitar down again, and again, and again. He wasn't even thinking at this point, he was simply acting on instinct, stabbing the Goblin long after he was already dead. 

Eventually, his movements slowed down, and Hobie dropped the guitar, looking down at the mangled mess that had used to be the face of the man he hated most in the world. His chest was rising up and down rapidly, his heart rate faster than it'd ever been before.

Hobie slowly got up, looking around as he tried to collect his senses. He stumbled towards the edge of the building, looking down to where you fell, a flicker of hope flashing across his face.

Maybe, just maybe...

He jumped down to the ground, letting out a groan as his foot slipped and he fell onto his side. "Y/N? Y/N?!" He called out, silently begging for you to respond. "Come on, where are you!? You're here, you have to be..."

A slight shine caught his eye. He felt his heart drop as his eyes adjusted to the dark and he caught sight of a body. It was lying there, head tilted slightly back, completely unmoving. He slowly approached the body, feeling the hot tears begin to build up in his eyes. "Y/N?" He whispered softly.

His gaze dropped to the figure's hand, where the shine he'd caught a glimpse of had come from. The person's wrist had a small slab of metal encircling it, connecting back to their palm. Web-shooters. 

"No..." He whispered, falling to his knees and turning the body over slightly. "No, no, no, no..."

It was you.

And you were dead.

The tears began to fall as he looked down at you, lifeless with your eyes closed. "No, please, no-" He whispered, swallowing back a hot lump in his throat as he pulled you into his arms, shaking gently. "Wake up, come on, dove, wake up-"

He caressed your face as gently as he could, running his fingers over your skin and slowly feeling the warmth disappear under his cold touch. "Please. Please don't go." he choked out, quiet sobs escaping his lips as he held you close, burying his face in your neck while he cried.

"Dove..." he whispered, looking back down at your body. His tears had fallen onto your face, making it seem as though you were crying too, the drops slipping down your cheeks and onto the hard, cold floor. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He looked down at you, shaking his head and sniffling. "This is all my fault. I'm so sorry, dove." His voice broke. His hand rubbed against your cheek gently, wiping the droplets away. 

"I love you." he whispered. The words simply fell out of his mouth and he was unable to stop himself at this point. "I love you so much." His sobs were sounding more like gasps as he ran his fingers through your hair, shaking his head. "I love you, please come back. Dove? Dove, please."

But his pleading was useless. You weren't coming back. You were gone and there was nothing he could do about it. "I love you." He whispered again. "I should've told you. I'm sorry." The sound of sirens were approaching in the distance, causing Hobie to flinch slightly. He couldn't stay any longer. He had to go.

But before he left, he had one last thing to do. One final gesture.

He slowly leaned down, and pressed his lips to your cold ones, just for a moment, before pulling back and crying into your neck. "I'm sorry."

After a moment of silence, he gently laid you back down, the tears still streaming down his face, before he finally stood up. "Goodbye."

He shot his web towards the closest building and swung away right as the ambulances arrived, along with the police cars and officers. He wiped his tears with the back of his gloved hand before he pulled his mask back on and disappeared into the distance, not leaving behind a single trace, besides one last whisper that left his lips.

"Bye, dove."

[ghostofnoir]

WIP Snip

Thank you for the tag @faiell *I’m still thinking about yours. What a gift you are 🥹

An excerpt from the slowest writer on earth. Who is grinding out this long WIP one overwritten paragraph at a time 💪🏻 Sharing is so vulnerable!

———

Draco turned to face Harry. Harry did the same.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Draco whispered, a hint of vulnerability seeping through. Harry could feel it ache in his chest.

He didn’t know what the look on his own face betrayed; maybe Draco thought it was pity. But Harry thought it might be closer to the look of a man who knew with absolute certainty in that moment that he was fucked. He couldn’t help but let his eyes roam over Draco’s face as he took him in fully, standing face to face. The flickering picture lights bounced the saturated colours from the painting Draco stood next to onto his pale skin, highlighting his sharp angles and dipping into his hollow, concave shadows.

“You know, I’ve never seen you outside of London,” Harry mussed as his eyes roamed, as if Draco himself were a newly unearthed classical portrait to be appreciated for the first time.

“You haven’t seen me in almost a decade.” Draco unfolded his sleek black coat from his arm and pulled it on. The collar stood high and stiff on his neck, elegant and impenetrable, softened only by the plaid cashmere scarf he layered. The scarf’s varying shades of grey brought out his silver, midnight-misty eyes and made them more poignant. Harry realised then that they were a singular colour that he had never witnessed on anyone else. “Do you find I’m easier to tolerate on foreign soil?”

“Draco, I think I can help you–”

“Help me?” Draco scoffed. “There’s a reason people go untraceable, Potter. You shouldn’t have even been able to find me in the first place.”

“I also shouldn’t have been able to defeat Voldemort,” Harry responded calmly without missing a beat. Draco didn’t flinch at the name, which was at least refreshing. “Or be one of the few known Wizards in history to have resisted a powerful Imperius Curse before I even finished puberty. Or mastered the complex nature of wandless magic by eighteen. Or have an eight-year-long seamless Curse Breaking record, never once having broken my hold over volatile dark magic, but here we are.”

Something flashed in Draco’s eyes. He opened his mouth to say something. Harry had no doubt that he was about to be on the receiving end of a scathing retort to what Draco had probably perceived as Harry’s inflated ego, in need of being brought down a few notches. He had just simply stated the facts though, and that had been the shortlist.

Instead, Draco frowned, put his head down, and withdrew a pair of black leather gloves from his coat pocket. Harry watched, transfixed by Draco’s refined hands gripping the supple material. Even Draco’s veined knuckles somehow managed to be attractive. A single onyx-stoned gold ring was the only thing that disrupted the slender lines of his fingers, catching Harry’s attention like an alarm and bringing him back to the moment.

“Why did you go untraceable, Draco?”

“To be left alone.” His voice was flat as he carefully pulled on his gloves. “I thought that should have been pretty obvious, even to you. But if it wasn’t, it is now. And it might be a hard concept for you to grasp, but you need to respect that.” He dropped his hands by his side and turned to walk away.

“Go back to London, Potter,” he added without turning back; his long strides had already taken him halfway down the corridor, his voice echoing in the cavernous room behind him.

“But I’ve already booked my stay,” Harry called after him.

Harry stood and watched Draco’s tall, stark figure disappear like a phantom through the museum’s back doors into the frigid January afternoon.

———

Tagging to share if you like @dracoandthehounds @romaine2424 @greattemptation @roseharpermaxwell @drarrymyheart @starquestingfordrarry @fluxweeed @garagepaperback @apricitydays-lazynights @hoko-onchi-writes @elskanellis @gotoemopunk @annanother-thing -and anyone else who would like to join 🤍🤍

[classpecting-the-hoyoverse]

Veritas Ratio: The Rogue of Light

Rogue: The passive stealing class

One who steals aspect for others

Alternatively, one who shares or one who redistributes aspect with others

Light

Abstract: Knowledge, Awareness, Attention, Relevance, Fortune, Luck

Literal: Actual Light (Brightness), Vision, Eyes, the Sun, Stars

This is gonna become a series isn't it?

It is. Now let's get going on discussing everyone's favorite interstellar scholar: Dr. Veritas Ratio!!

Let's get the obvious out of the way: His aspect.

Light is more commonly known as the aspect of knowledge. But instead of talking about he’s light-bound personality wise, why don’t we shake things up a bit? We know that he's a smart and knowledgeable man, but what more can his aspect offer for us aside from that?

To fit with Ratio's Greco-Roman theming, I'll briefly discuss the World of Ideas in Plato's allegory of the Cave.

Forgive me to if I do get the allegory wrong and please feel free to correct me!

The gist of this is that ordinary people are like prisoners chained to a cave, only able to perceive reality through shadow puppets and the distorted noises that bounce off the cave walls. These prisoners were born in the cave and had been raised in the cave, not knowing anything else outside of it; ignorance. It's only when they break out of their chains do these prisoners start their path to enlightenment and they achieve it so once they see the bright sun outside of their cave; the World of Ideas.

Ratio seeks to break everyone from the chains of ignorance and guide them towards enlightenment through spreading his knowledge throughout the universe.

Ratio is the man who would forcefully break the prisoners' chains and nudge them towards the light, as much as he could anyways.

And for one specific character, he hopes it is enough.

We'll get back to him later! Next I want to talk about is Ratio and his connection to Christian Gnosticism, which likely had served as inspiration for the concept of the Light aspect in Homestuck. I will be borrowing ideas from one of optimisticDualist's essays so I highly recommend giving it a quick read before continuing onward.

According to Gnostic myth, the world was created through the desires of an aeon named Sophia, an Emanator of light. I should also note that the Greek word for wisdom is Σοφία.

Sophia longed to understand God in His entirety, but in doing so she committed treason and was thus cast out of heaven. Her desire gave birth to Yaldabaoth: a blind, violent, and ignorant god who knew nothing but himself. He created the material world that you and I perceive, shielded from the light of Sophia that birthed him. Because a blind god made the world in his image, the denizens of his earth are also blind to Sophia.

So what do banished gods have to do with the purple guy?

Well, just like Archimedes and screws, things come back around. In order to save yourself from Yaldabaoth’s world, one must be delivered a certain knowledge that is delivered by a “messenger of light” and thus gain the ability to perceive Sophia and her World of Ideas.

In other words, salvation can be sought in what Gnosticism calls a gnosis.

However, one cannot just simply be gifted a gnosis. Those who seek Sophia’s salvation must be driven to reach it, reach beyond the Demiurge’s dark and imprisoning world and into the intangible, bright world above.

Doesn’t that sound familiar?

By Gnostic definition, Ratio should be an Emanator of wisdom, helping curing others of ignorance and helping them on their way towards enlightenment. Hell, you can even say that he's a sylph with all the constant allusions to healing and helping, especially since that Ratio's a Doctor.

However, we all know that this isn't true. Within Ratio's character stories, it can be inferred that his one goal in life is to become an Emanator of the Erudition. His arduous pursuit of knowledge was likely all in hopes in attracting Nous' gaze.

Yet, despite all his efforts, Ratio was never spared a glance

Dr. Ratio is a model Emanator of wisdom by Gnostic standards, yet within his own universe his Aeon of Erudition does not acknowledge him. No matter how hard he tries, he will never reach the status of a member of the Genius society, almost as if he wasn't destined to be a part of it.

Let’s talk about his class: The rogue.

Rogues in Homestuck are the outcasts of their societies. They're loners, isolated, unable to fit in with the groups they want to identify in.

Rogue of Heart Nepeta Leijon lives alone in Alternia's wilderness far from troll society with her lusus as her only companion that is physically close to her.

She's been explicitly described as lonely, creating comics and ships of herself and her friends in order to mitigate her feelings of isolation from other trolls:

Then there's Rogue of Void Roxy Lalonde, who for her first 16 years of life was the only human within her town of carapaces, whom she provides food for. The only other human in her post-apocalyptic world is more than 1700 miles away.

Being a Void-Bound, her isolation is very much apparent, but her loneliness reaches its apex during her bad end in her Pesterquest route. Drinking herself to a stupor as the undeserving consequences of seeing her mother just once consumes her.

And then Rogue of Breath Rufioh Nitram, who was seen as a mutant for his wings and thus was avoided by his fellow trolls, which took a blow on his self-esteem.

Rogues also struggle with a surplus of their aspect and trying to cope up with that extra while it consumes them. Nepeta taking on the personas of other people through roleplaying, as well as her cave walls being covered in shipping grids. Rufioh living a literally directionless grubhood as travels with a nomadic group called the Lost Weaboos, not to mention his wings, a symbol of freedom, being the cause of why he views himself so lowly. And then there's Roxy, who feels so alone in the carapacian bastion that she fills that void with insobriety, befuddling her mind.

So what does this have to say about Dr. Ratio? All three rogues here have exhibited some type of self-worth issues and a desire to connect with others, but due to being so engulfed by their aspect, it hinders them from reaching that goal...

What if tiny Ratio exhibited such intellect at such a young age that throughout his childhood, he was told that he would be a great scholar growing up? Maybe his genius would earn him a spot within the Genius Society. He was even admitted into a university during his adolescent years.

As that is impressive as that sounds, can you imagine how isolating that can be for a child? Ratio, the only kid in class with his classmates years above him, talking about things outside of academia that he's too young to understand. Meanwhile Ratio likely doesn't interact with those his age as they couldn't provide anything to stimulate his brain. It could also be vice-versa too: Ratio trying to talk to them about topics far beyond their comprehension and they just start to distance themselves from him, unable to understand him, making an outcast out of him.

His intelligence and genius isolates him from making any genuine friendships during his formal years of life. At least, any that we know of before 2.1.

This loneliness does seem to follow him well into his adulthood as well: Becoming a celebrity comes with its own flavor of isolation: being surrounded by the limelight yet no one will truly understand you.

And let's not forget about his ambitions to become an Emanator of the Erudition, to become a member of the Genius Society, which he fell short of...

...something that he holds quite close to his chest, a betrayal of his self-perceived character. He became yet, once again, an outcast.

Another thing, I want you guys to got to Ratio's wiki real quick and see how many characters mention him.

How many people do you think were close to Ratio?

Within the team selection menu of Star Rail, Ratio has lines for when he's added to a team with Ruan Mei and Herta, yet the reverse isn't true. Both Genius scholars say nothing when added to a team with Ratio already in it, almost as if they don't acknowledge him.

There is, however, only one character who says something when added to a team with the Mundanite already in it.

Can you guess who it is?

But, as for all classes, their lives aren't meant to be miserable forever. A Rogue must find a way to overcome this loneliness; piecing through the walls of their confines made of their aspect. Instead of just keeping all their aspect for themselves like their Thief counterpart, Rogues find fulfillment through sharing their aspect, often by taking it from one source and distributing it to others. Or in some cases, exchanging something else in order to hand out.

And after all this, I dare say that Ratio joining the Genius Society would be the worst mistake he'd ever make. Stay with me, I have my reasons:

Though we never got to see much of Nepeta in action, we know that she distributes Heart through her shipping chart, arranging couples, distributing aspects of their personalities to see who would go together the best.

The amount of thought that she puts into her ships puts a Sylph of the same aspect like me to shame!

I digress.

In exchange of bringing attention to the Watterbitch that's about to destroy their game, Roxy was able to obscure the progression of her session from prying eyes, covering it in a blanket of blankness in order to keep Batterwitch from knowing what they're up to.

And then for Rufioh, his Alternian counterpart The Summoner lead a rebellion against the Condecse, using his wings to guide his fellow trolls towards freedom.

And even after his defeat, his tale lives on as Pupa Pan. While the tale of his rebellious predecessor the Signless is silenced and therefore lost to obscurity, the Summoner's story lives on, allowing the idea of freedom to flow into the mind of young trolls.

Dr. Ratio's entire character is dedicated to making education accessible for all. Though some of this does end up into his desire to cure people of idiocy, Ratio does truly believe that everyone should get a chance to attain knowledge. I'd even say that his ambition is the reason why he became a professor!

Ratio would dedicate his life towards his goal towards sharing knowledge, even if it meant forsaking Nous' attention in exchange.

His path also affirms this drive. One would expect that someone as knowledgeable as him would be following the path of Erudition, but instead Ratio follows the Hunt.

Ratio's determination to educate, his determination to spread light across the universe manifested into the path he follows. Even if he's never accepted by the Genius Society, he won't let that hinder him or dampen his drive. Ratio just simply strides forward.

The people who make up Nous' faction are described as researchers that rarely interact with each other, and even rarer are the people who are willing to share their research. Ratio would have never found fulfillment in being a member of the Genius Society, I'm almost certain that by joining it he would just be seeking out more and more knowledge, more and more light, becoming more and more isolated.

And one more thing: Rogues are fond of those who manage to get close to them. They appreciate their company and are incredibly dear to them.

For Nepeta, she has Equius.

For Roxy, she has Calliope.

Rufioh had Damara and the Summoner had the Marquise.

So who does Ratio have?

Even outside of a shipping lens, Aventurine is a very important person to Ratio. The 2.1 Penacony story quest demonstrated how much in tandem these two can be together; how much they trusted each other to pull off this huge gamble and draw attention to the death happening in the Planet of Dreams and Festivites. Luck and Knowledge, they both work in perfect harmony.

Aventurine calls him his equal during his episode in “Keeping Up with Star Rail”, claiming that Ratio’s the only one who can understand him.

Ratio and Aventurine must have something closer than just mutual respect however. Before Aventurine goes off into his grandiose self-annihilation, he checks up on him. He risks breaking their façade of disgruntled-coworkers-at-best just to make sure Aventurine can continue on.

Ratio does care for the Stoneheart. So much so that he imparts luck to quite literally the luckiest man alive in hopes that his advice will carry him out of the darkness that he’s in and back into the light. Bringing him out of the blinding Nihility and back into the World of Ideas, back into reality.

And it makes this note all the more important when Aventurine accepts Ratio’s advice, accepting his light when most would brush it off.

Ratio is a bright person, yet most cannot see past his luminosity and at the same time, he can’t shine bright enough to attract those he aspires to be. To remedy this, the Rogue of Light distributes his lights to others who needs it. He wants to cure those inflicted with ignorance and guide them towards enlightenment.

Knowledge for knowledge’s sake is not his Ratio rolls. His altruism may go against what the Genius Society believes in, but he wouldn’t change his ideals for anyone, steadfast in his determination to cure idiocy.

[nonexistent-introvert]

One Kick

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Content: One-bed trope, pure fluff. Based on the prompts: "You pushed me off the bed!"-"I'm sorry?" "I'm sitting in the dark. I like it."

A/N: For @pedrostories celebration! Congrats on 1k! I'm swamped with exams but I really wanted to participate in this, hence the inactivity. Just a drabble and it was kinda rushed.

   “Joel.” You called out into the dark, rubbing at your eyes. Exhaustion and sleepiness were practically dripping off of you. He let out an annoyed grunt in response, his figure barely illuminated by the scarce moonlight that was lighting up the room. Joel’s eyes stared at your shadow that was dancing on the walls, ignoring the urge to go to you. “You’re injured,” he stated sternly. You could hear the silent scolding in those two words, he wanted you to rest and not move around. “I’m not dead.” You assured him. With how silent the night was, you heard the huff he let out at your words. 

   “What are you doing?” You asked as you fell limply onto the chair next to him. You flinched slightly at the creak that resounded within the walls. He looked over at you, folding his arms over his chest. “Sitting in the dark.” He deadpanned, then with a small smile he added “I like it.” You let out a chuckle at his words. In an apocalypse, night was the scariest part, you’re alone in the darkness, unsure of what lurks beyond the next corner. However, most of the survivors who had made it so far had learnt to enjoy the serenity that night brought, a huge contrast to daytime where everyone fought hard for supplies to survive. 

  “Why aren’t you sleeping?” You asked with a curious tilt of your head. “Someone has to keep watch.” Joel replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. You scoffed at his response, “The door is barred and the windows are nailed shut. It’s perfectly safe, there is no reason to keep watch.” You argued. “You’re injured, you can have the bed to yourself. I’ll just sit here until I eventually fall asleep.” Joel said, insistent on doing it his way. You stared at his unmoving figure, he was as stubborn as a mule. “I don’t need a king-size bed to myself, I barely utilize all the space of a single bed.” You told him while looking at the chair that Joel was sitting on. Joel’s head was leaning against the top of the chair, his whole body too big for the chair. He was using his legs to support himself up, you just knew that it was a matter of time before his legs go numb and he falls from the chair. From the months you spent with Joel, you knew better than to argue with him. You sat up on the chair, folding your arms across your chest as well. “Then I’ll accompany you.” You said, stifling a yawn right after. Joel frowned as he looked at you, his eyes drifting toward the bloodied bandage on your calf. “You're going to make your injury worse.” You closed your eyes, ignoring his words. “Have you never shared a bed before?” You teased instead, ignoring the stern tone of his. “I was married.” Joel deadpanned. “Then why won’t you just share the bed with me? I know you’re tired too Joel.” You shifted your chair to sit in front of him. “So why stick to the small chair that is definitely uncomfortable when there is a king-size bed?” Joel stared into your eyes, his eyes studying your every feature and yet he kept that poker face of his. It used to intimidate you but now with every passing second, your confidence only grew. 

   You threw a fist into the air in victory when Joel relented. He pressed on his knees for support, letting out a huff as he stood up. The moment Joel laid his back against the mattress, he felt all his muscles relaxing, thanking him. Joel was practically on the edge of the bed, he would fall if he decided to inch any closer to the edge. You simply sighed as you got into the bed, a considerable gap between the both of you.

   It didn’t take long for the both of you to fall asleep. 

   Joel had an inkling that something bad was going to happen. He was still exhausted but his guts were telling him that something is wrong. Before he could truly pinpoint what was wrong, Joel felt a force against his stomach and he dropped to the cold hard ground. He let out a guttural groan, as his tired mind tried to put the pieces together. 

   His jaw drops slightly. Did you just kick him off the bed? He brushes himself off, standing up with a grunt. Joel towers over you, his discerning eyes trying to figure out if it was on purpose. You seemed totally oblivious as you turned to your side, sleeping soundly. A few soft snores escaping you.

==== 

   “Do you hate me that much?” Joel turns to you at the sound of your voice. The morning sun now letting in some light through into the small apartment the both of you were seeking shelter in. “I know you still slept on the couch last night.” You stated, there’s a disappointed look on your face. He huffs, rolling his shoulder back as he massages his sore muscles. The blankets on the couch only served to prove your point. 

   “You kicked me off the bed!” He defended. His impatience caused by the bad sleep he had last night on the couch. “I’m sorry?” Your eyes widened in shock. “I woke up when I fell to the ground and decided at least I wouldn’t be kicked to the floor if I slept on the couch.” He responded sarcastically. “You’re lying.” You laughed, it was rather comedic. Joel was a stoned survivor and yet he was simply kicked off the bed by you. “It’s not funny.” He frowned, “Even with your injured calf you’re still pretty strong. You should be fine for the trek then.” He said. You chuckled, moving your leg around. “I told you I was fine, was a kick all it took to assure you?” You said, a playful tone in your voice. He narrowed his gaze at you, he remained silent as he packed his bag. “Maybe I should kick you more, to reassure you.” 

   He let out a small amused breath. “Don’t worry, I will not be sharing a bed with you anytime anymore.” He replied, a playful twinkle in his eye. You beamed, it was rare when Joel would allow himself moments where he seemed human. That he wasn’t void of positive emotions. “Joel! Come on, I know you find it funny too. Just smile! Like this!” You pushed your cheeks up, giving him an exaggerated smile. Joel chuckled lightly at your face, unable to resist the humor in this situation. 

“A chuckle! That’s more than I’ll ever ask!” You celebrated. He shook his head in amusement, letting the grin on his face shine. 

   “Maybe sometimes you do need a kick, to knock that grumpiness away.” You suggested. “Don’t you dare.” He warned but there was still amusement in his voice. 

  It was moments like this when you treasured your time with Joel. Times of normalcy between the both of you. He gave you a sense of home when everywhere else was not. 

   Home was a person, not a place. 

  Even if Joel wouldn’t admit it, you were his home too. You’re the only person who can make him smile despite everything the apocalypse has put him through.