#What Do Male Cats Spray Out Of | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anjelicawrites · 3 days ago

Text

Scrapes at the borders of your life

“The giraffe has its heart far away from its thoughts. It has fallen in love yesterday and doesn’t know it yet.”

― Stefano Benni, Ballate

Paring: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x trauma surgeon!reader

Synopsis: Simon has fallen for the trauma surgeon attached to the 141 and believes he has no chances with them, resigning himself in the role of friend and guarding devil, until the truth comes out.

Warnings: angst, stalking (Simon doesn't mean to), medical talk, surgery talk, reference to depression meds, reference to weapons, reference to Simon’s abuse as a child, reference to violence, talk of scars, insecurity, someone gets slapped (reader but not from Simon), someone gets headbutted (not reader, not Simon), Johnny tries to be a wingman, Simon simps a lot, Simon’s fear of not managing a full intercourse, Simon's hit and miss libido, premature ejaculation, kissing, oral (f receiving), fail sex, good sex, P in V sex (protected and unprotected), fingering, overstimulation, cuddling.

A/N: reader is AFAB, they/them pronouns used when needed. They're referred as "ma'am" a couple of times.

Word count: 10.293

You check your phone, you’re not late but you need to be out of the locker room in ten minutes, if you want to arrive on time for your date, the one you don’t really want to go to.

You’re still rummaging through your bag as you exit the lockers, when you hear Soap’s Scottish accent and Ghost’s quiet hum of answer: those two are like black and white, yet are joined at the hip like twins.

NSFW and 18+ only please!

The locker room of the male military personnel has recently been moved next to the one used by the civilians working on base, something that most of the men had made crude jokes about; thankfully the task force you’re attached to, the 141, abstained from any remarks. You didn’t know that Simon had rained his irritation on the men who had the gall to repeat the jokes to his face, in the form of exhausting training and fatigue duties, during the next few days, it was something he kept for himself, the same way he did all his thoughts about you.

“So, Johnny, what do you think?

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, doc! Aren’t they not, Lt.?”

The behemoth of a man glances at you, without saying a word.

“If the guy doesn’t beg for a second date, he’s an idiot, doc!”

“That’s not what I need to happen.” You pout. “Mother is hellbent in finding me a partner, I have told her this is the last time I’m going out with someone. I need this date to go bad, so she will stop pestering me when I tell her that I’d rather die alone with forty cats, than with someone I’m not truly interested in.”

“Do you have everything with you?”

You stare at Simon’s masked face, his brown eyes unreadable.

“Simon, really…”

“Do you have it?”

He’s not standing in front of you, blocking your path, but he’s trying to pin you with his stare.

“You’re insufferable!” You rummage in your bag. “See? Pepper spray, teaser and the knife!”

“That’s enough stuff to make any bloke run for his life.” Soap says, eyeing the array of weapons.

“I hope so! This chap is the son of someone mum knows. I have to make sure he runs for the hills the next time he hears my name!”

You walk towards the door, blind to Soap’s grinning, and to the way Simon’s hands have curled into fists.

“See you next week, boys!”

“What?”

You turn around and look at the Scot.

“I’m on annual leave. Try not to go save the word when I am not here to patch you four up, OK?”

The door closes behind you, cutting Soap’s laughter.

“What do you say, Lt.?” He asks, showing him the pictures of what appears to be a Tuscan villa. “You, the doc, and a spring wedding?”

“Fuck you, Johnny.”

Simon keeps telling himself he isn’t truly stalking you. He doesn’t have a tracking device installed in your car, or your phone, because that would be creepy, but he’s well aware of the statistics, how high the numbers are for assaults or, worse, rape and murder, or how those figures sky rocket when it comes to dating.

Simon knows you’re bright, brighter than most, but that doesn’t protect you if one asshole decides he doesn’t like your smart mouth, and bleeding Nora you have opinions and you’re not afraid to voice them! He still remembers the first time he’s met you.

You had emerged from the OR after a five hours long emergency surgery on Gaz. You were still wearing your scrubs and one of the colorful caps you use when you’re operating (it was the pink one with the dogs, Simon would gift you one with skulls and bones after the first routine checkup you did on him).

None of them had ever seen you, you had started at the base while the 141 was deployed; when the pararescue had entrusted Gaz to Dr. Rutherford, you were just one of the medics running to the OR, you were but a scrub, a body among many others, listening to the quick handover and shouting orders as the gurney was speeding down the pale green walls of the military hospital.

“What?”

You had looked at the three of them with weary eyes and furrowed brows, surprised that the soldiers had encircled you and were staring expectantly.

The man you’ll learn to know as Captain Price had asked you about Gaz’s prognosis, the other men crowding around you.

“Hasn’t Dr. Rutherford talked to you?”

“No, ma’am.”

He had sounded tired, he looked like he had been through hell and back. Those three men hadn’t probably hit the showers yet, too worried for their friend.

“Oh bleeding hell!” You had burst out, the peak of adrenaline that had carried you through out the surgery having abated, leaving you sluggish. “OK, gather around children, mother goose is gonna tell you everything.”

You had marched to the closest row of chairs and climbed on top of one: those men were so tall and buff you felt like you couldn’t breathe, nor be heard with them standing around you.

“We’re positive he’s going to be fine.” You had smiled at the collective sigh of relief. “He’s in the recovery room, the nurses there are checking on his vitals, before he gets transferred to the ICU. He’s going to be intubated and sedated for a couple of days, to help his body deal with the pain. His wounds were pretty gnarly, and his appendix was ready to burst. Did he tell any of you if he felt abdominal pain, or nauseous?”

There was a collective shake of heads and surprised stares, even the eyes of the one with the skull mask had widened.

“All things considered, it would have been worse if the appendix had actually burst while you were out. That would have been another bag of cats to handle.”

You had elected not to say anything about the way the small organ had almost exploded as soon as you had gently poked it, or that the sergeant would have had high risks of dying of peritonitis out in the field.

“I’ll tell the nurses to give you all a shout when the sergeant is transferred. You can sit with him outside his room, if you want.”

You had expected them to visit their friend, not to find them sitting on the uncomfortably plastic chairs, still wearing their whole gear, when you had popped by the ICU.

“Doc?”

It was the one you’ll learn to know as Soap that had stared at you, one eye swollen and in dire need of ice: another battle for another day, you had mused.

“I’m not in the habit of abandoning my patients after surgery.”

You had marched to the two chairs right in front of the window into Gaz’s room, and kicked Ghost’s foot out of the way, he was manspreading so much he was occupying two seats (honest to God! Why men need to always do that?). At the time you weren’t aware of his reputation, and even if you were, you wouldn’t have cared, too tired and angry.

“You junk wouldn’t scare death away, soldier.” You had sat next to him. “And we’re not going to open another cycle on my watch tonight.”

You had pulled out your headphones and started blasting music to keep yourself awake, ignoring the surprised stares of the men.

Next to you Ghost was staring at you, wondering if you had a death wish, or if you believed that looking at the little numbers on Gaz’s monitor, as if they owed you money, was the right way to fight death. You were listening to your music with a volume so high he could hear it himself: pop songs from the early 2000s: would that be enough to scare death away, he had wondered.

None of you knew how much time had passed, the minutes bleeding into hours, weariness setting in your bones, the music not helping fight the siren’s song of sleep: you were so tired, the azure number of Gaz’s oxygen saturation, and the constant curves on the monitor were truly hypnotizing you, your eyes were growing heavy and unfocused.

You head had snapped to the right side as soon as you had seen Dr. Rutherford walking down the corridor.

“I’ll be back in a moment.”

You had popped your pink headphones on the uncomfortable chair, the men around you not clocking on the clacking sound of plastic on plastic, but the angry way you were marching towards your colleague, your hands closed in twin fists.

The conversation was carried out in hushed tones, Dr. Rutherford was standing still, his mouth a thin, white line of anger, and you were constantly in his space, a snarl on your face as you growled your words at him.

It was well known that Dr. Rutherford wasn’t liked and that he had the reputation of someone who would pull his rank to cover up his bullying, and his mistakes. He was feared, having managed to ruin other physicians’ careers over the years.

In retrospect Simon had realized this was the moment when he had started to notice you: when he was wondering about your lack of self preservation. To tell the truth, it was what you did seconds after that stole his heart, unbeknownst to him, when Dr. Rutherford had slapped you in the face.

Time could have stopped, for all you knew. You couldn’t hear the surprised shouts of the nurses, nor the scuffing of the men’s boots hitting the ground, only the roar of blood in your ears and the knot of rage exploding in your belly. Seconds, only seconds had passed when your body had decided to act on its own, your forehead crashing on the older man’s nose, Captain John Price’s burly body between yours and Rutherford’s a moment too late.

“Oh crap! I think I have broken my nose. Oh shit!”

You were too busy tenderly touching your face to mind the chaos around you.

“I’ll have you in front of the court martial!” Rutherford had screamed at you.

“I’m a civilian, you buffoon! Your loser grades mean nothing to me!”

Through the pain you had felt a bulky arm curl around your middle to stop you from attacking the other surgeon.

“That’s enough, doc.” The low thunder of Ghost’s voice had rumbled against your back. “Stand down.”

Your vision was blurry, the soldiers tasked with security were tackling Dr. Rutherford, with the help of Soap: the older man was still trying to get to you, he was hurling insults, his voice booming in the crowded corridor.

“I’m not done with you! Did you hear me well? You’ll be fired! You’ll never work in this country ever again!”

“The one who’s never going to work in this country for the rest of his life is you, Rutherford.”

Amidst the chaos, Price was calm, furious but calm, his voice was cutting through Rutherford’s threats and the security men’s shouts.

“I am a major, captain! I can have you transferred in an hour!”

“You can try, major. Hitting a civilian, in front of witnesses?”

“Leaving the OR mid surgery to do God knows what, since I had to talk to these gentlemen about their friend.” You had snarled, the arm around your middle had tensed again. “You manage to fire me? I’ll go back working with Doctors without Borders, but I’ll make sure you’ll lose your license, Rutherford.”

When Ghost’s arm had released you, you had let yourself slide against the wall, after Rutherford had been carried away, your legs having finally given up supporting you. You had needed a minute before letting the nurses do a check up.

“Are you OK over there, doc?”

It had been Soap asking.

“I have been through worse. Jesus Christ what way to present myself!” The men had looked at you puzzled. “I’m the new trauma surgeon attached to the 141. Hi! Usually I am not this violent, or chaotic, I’m sorry you had to see all of that.”

You didn’t fault the men for not knowing: they had been out in the field for months, your predecessor had decided to step down after some serious family issues right after they have left base.

“You should all go home, I’m on call, I’m going to stay with the sergeant. And I’m going to see one lieutenant Riley on Monday? For the routine check up?”

The man with the over the top mask had sighed: lieutenant Riley found!

“If anything comes up, I will contact you all, it’s a promise.”

Simon hates when he has to tail you so close to the city center, there are too many people around and his baklava would stir up too much curiosity, the surgical mask on his face, his baseball cap under the black hood of his hoodie don’t offer enough cover for his face, he feels exposed, even though he’s hiding in the shadows of an alley where he can keep an eye on you.

Your date has picked a table at the window; Simon hates that the prick thinks he can put you on display like that. If he were a different man, he’d bring you to somewhere cozier, smaller, and he wouldn’t show you around like a prize he’s won.

He knows you’re hating every minute you have to spend with the anonymous man who’s boring you with whatever topic he’s prattling about, Simon sees it in the way you are looking outside, or in how many times you grab your phone; from this distance he can’t see your eyes, yet he knows they hold that distant look he’s seen too many times when you have to deal with paperwork. He wonders how long before one of your friends will call you to save you from this dreadful date, or if you’ll suffer through it to make your mother happy; if his circumstances had been different, he wouldn’t bore you to death, you wouldn’t have to use help to finish this date earlier. But Simon knows you’re way out of his league, too much of everything he has never had the chance to be, to ever hope to be. He can only be your patient and, something akin to a friend.

He had knocked at the door of your office on the dot, hating that he had to go through this bullshit check up, but preferring to be done with it as fast as possible.

He had expected the usual flurry of nurses coming and going, making the experience ten times more unpleasant; you were alone, instead. Your cheek was still swollen from the slap and you were sporting a bump on your forehead, right where you had headbutted that prick Rutherford; he half expected you to wear a colorful T-shirt, like the one you wore after Gaz’s surgery: obnoxious pink, the Barbie inspired font composing the phrase ‘Bitch, please’, which should have told him already everything he needed to know about you.

He was almost disappointed by the white button down shirt and black trousers.

He knew he was trying to distract himself from the knot of anxiety churning his stomach: how he hated to be here!

“Lieutenant.” You had looked up at him with the more open expression you could muster. “I will need you to remove your baklava. I have to examine your face.”

“Negative, ma’am.”

He couldn’t let you look at himself and, based on his records, you understood why.

You had tried to transmit him calmness by relaxing your body as much as possible: face open to his scrutiny and slightly pulled to the side to show your neck, your hands palms up.

“Lieutenant. I know this is unpleasant and that I am a stranger to you, but I can’t sign off the paperwork, if you don’t allow me to do my job. I can’t let you out in the field.”

You knew he was observing you, those brown eyes scanning you like he would an enemy, and you let him, you were in no hurry and this man deserved to make up his mind.

The way you had addressed him, the respect you had shown him, had convinced him to unmask himself: you weren’t doing this with ill intent, the matter of fact way you had used, as if you were telling him a known fact ‘Water is wet’, ‘ The sky is blue’, ‘If I can’t do my job, you wouldn’t be able to do yours’ had convinced him: you were one of the few people who weren’t curious about his face. He has encountered too many people who wouldn’t take a no for an answer, who didn’t care about why he wished the mask was his face, instead of seeing his father’s face staring back at him in every mirror, they just wanted to solve the mystery. You were doing your job, with all the sharps edges that it entailed, just like he did his, and that was something he had to respect.

You had been as fast and clinical as possible, the scars didn’t horrify you; based on his paperwork, you could list off all of his injuries as you saw them on his face and, later, his body. What you couldn’t find in his file, it had been easy to infer based on all the x-rays and MRIs, some old injuries impossible for a child to have without some external causes.

“You can put your baklava back on, lieutenant.”

Simon would never be able to put into words how grateful he was that you had kept your examination of his naked face as fast as possible, and that you didn’t force him through the hell that was small talk for the whole ordeal. If you had noticed the way he was staring at you, you didn’t say a single thing, something he was also grateful for, it had helped him bearing with the whole process, than anything else ever did.

On Friday a small packet and a steaming mug of tea were waiting for you on your desk. Carefully folded in the bright paper, an OR cap, black with neon skulls and bones design. On a whim you had told the nurse working with you to hold the fort for a minute, you had forgotten you had to run a little errand.

Said errand was standing in the field, covered in head to toe in black, busy overseeing what you believed was some sort of drill with the younger recruits.

“Thank you for the cap, you didn’t have to, lieutenant.” You couldn’t hide the smile in your voice, you didn’t want to. “How did you manage to discover how I love to take my tea?”

Simon was standing next to you, massive arms crossed on his solid chest, his face slightly turned towards you.

“If I were to tell you, doc, then I would have to kill you.”

Someone else would have been petrified by his words and the deadpan expression in his eyes, you had simply chuckled and had taken a sip from the mug, your personal mug, the one you had brought to use in the kitchen for the medical staff.

“We can’t have that, can we? Now I have to discover how you prefer your tea.”

“Do you like challenges, doc?”

He had turned to look at you and you had fancied you could see amusement in the rich brown of his eyes.

“I live for those, lieutenant.” You had taken a couple of steps towards the medical buildings. “Have a nice day!”

You were already halfway through, when Soap had approached Simon.

“Spring wedding, Lt.?”

“I need a sparring partner, and you just volunteered.”

You were always catching his attention without doing so. You were always at the corner of his eyes, busy working, or chatting with the civilian personnel at the base. He’d be running drills with the new recruits and he’d know you were walking somewhere nearby, he’d be at the canteen and you’d be either leaving the premises, or entering them. You’d pop by the military rec room because “You boys get the better tasting tea!” and he’d be snickering to himself in the shadows.

Unconsciously, he had started using the route passing by your office, to go to his (that he had to enter the medical building and then exiting it was something he actively didn’t want to think about), his eyes taking quick peaks at you through the window, whenever you kept the blinds open; you’d be slaving by your desk, elbow deep in paperwork, brows furrowed in concentration, or typing away at your PC. He’s seen you, during night shift, either working or reading with your legs propped up the desk, munching on something sweet, trying to keep yourself awake, or asleep on your couch, curled under a thick blanket; he had felt something warm unfurl in his chest, you looked so small and defenseless he felt the strange urge to stop and keep guarding your door until you’d wake up.

It had been you who had watched over him after a gnarly injury. He had woken up in a hospital bed, oxygen mask on his face, drips in his arm and too many surgical drains poking him. He was still high on the anesthetic and pain killers, his eyes barely focusing on your face that he had thought he was hallucinating you.

“How are you feeling, lieutenant?”

He had needed a moment to speak, his mouth felt like cement.

“Thirsty.” He had managed to say, ashamed that you were seeing him so weak.

“We’re giving you fluids but you’re not clear for food or water, yet. Squeeze my hand if you understand.”

Your small fingers had wounded around his coarse palm, their dainty touch had grounded him: you were real.

“I managed to remove the bullets from your gut. You have a lovely spleen and gall-bladder.”

Even high as a kite, in that precise moment, Simon’s brain had catch up with his heart and had realized he was in love with you, irrevocably, and that he had zero chances with you.

It wasn’t because you were a genius and he was an idiot, Simon knew well that he had the brains to match his ruthlessness, the issue laid in the fact that you two had less to nothing in common. He had seen you read thick tomes he has never heard of and talk with Gaz about movies he didn’t know ever existed; when he had checked any of the titles out he had realized how wildly your tastes forked: what he liked, you would hate, what you loved, made him fall asleep in ten minutes, like that subtitled movie he had tried to watch during leave, he had conked out five minutes in, and awoke when the end credits were rolling.

In his head he could see how a movie date would end up: he asleep and you wondering why he had asked you to come with him to the movie theater. What did he have to say to you that would interest you in his ugly mug? He was a highly trained killer whose hands were dripping blood, he came with a baggage that would put you in danger, what good could he add to your life? Yet, he was attracted to you like a moth to a flame. Even if he wanted, he wouldn’t be able to stop looking for you at the base, or shadow you when you went home.

It wasn’t a matter of stalking you, Simon fully knew where he stood, and that the only thing he could do for you, was keeping you safe; he would hide in the shadows and follow you home, leaving only when he had seen you safe in the quiet of your apartment. He had gifted you weapons, his heart beating a tad too fast when you didn’t run for the hills when he had given you the knife for your birthday, then the pepper spray and then the teaser. He had scared away a persistent date, a guy who simply didn’t want to understand that you weren’t interested: being your guardian devil was all he could offer you.

Soap didn’t help. He kept trying to push him towards you, trying to make sure his lieutenant was alone with you. One night shift he had gone as far as buying takeout, gave it to Simon when you were passing by with a cheeky “You must be famished doc!” and left Simon standing like a log with too many bags in his hands (he was going to use Johnny for target practice, if he ever survived this ordeal). You had stared at him with a smile, so lovely on your face, that he had wanted to bolt, food and all: you scared him in a way no promise of violence ever could. “You shouldn’t have, Simon!” and he had found himself sitting awkwardly on the too small couch in your office, all the plastic dishes neatly organized on the short table in front of him; you had removed your shoes and were sitting on the armrest, a container and a fork in your hand. Of course you were wearing ridiculous eraser yellow socks with tiny bunnies sketched on the cotton.

“Are you hungry, Simon?”

The way you pronounced his name! The way your voice modulated each and every syllable sent a shiver down his spine.

“Yes.” He had lied, his stomach was a knot.

He had been through hell, he knew you could tell by the scars littering his body. He has had too many close brushes with death than what he cared to count, yet he was petrified by your vicinity, by the fact that he had never been ‘Ghost’ to you, you had progressed from ‘Lieutenant’ to ‘Simon’ effortlessly, that you seemed to be able to read him in ways no one ever could. Were you be able to tell that the silence clothing you two was too deafening to him, the man who was the Reaper for his enemies?

What was he supposed to talk about with you? Why couldn’t he find some inane topic that would make you smile? Even the youngest recruit would be able to simply chat with you, why couldn’t he?

“What’s a cycle?” He had blurted out

“What?” You had started at him, quizzically, mouth around a forkful of food.

Yes, his mind provided, way to pass off as an idiot. He couldn’t possible stay silent, he had to press on even though he could only taste bile, not the food he was trying to chew.

“With Gaz. You said you didn’t want to open another cycle.”

“Oh, that!” You had put the fork in the empty container and stared at him. “It’s one of our superstitions.”

You had gently put the container on the table and grabbed your Coke.

“We actually have many, us who work in hospital, that is. It’s all nonsensical, no actual basis but the mind’s strife to put order in the chaos of life.” You had giggled, staring at him. “Don’t make that face!”

Simon was positive he wasn’t making any face whatsoever, it was well known he was a stone and what could you see? He had lifted his mask over his nose to eat, you couldn’t observe a single thing!

“You have very expressive eyes. And I’m going to tell you, after the shift is over, I’m as superstitious as they come!”

You did tell him, when the sun was grazing the horizon and he was having a smoke, dreading that he had to go home, if his sparse apartment could have been called that.

You were standing next to him, your own cigarette between your fingers, a colorful T-shirt half hidden under your hoodie and leather jacket. He had come to realize you only wore your more professional clothes during the day; when you had to work nights, you preferred more casual stuff, that made you look younger than your years. He hated that he could notice that, and that this information made his black heart swell a little.

“There are a handful of superstitions any hospital worker will tell you are true. The first one, the golden rule, is that you never say that a shift is quiet, not while you’re working, or literal hell will break loose. Second one is the cycle: death comes in clusters of three in a ward. It makes no sense and it’s truly pareidolia at its best, but it’s true: ask anyone working at the hospital on base and they’ll tell you that three people will die in a row, perhaps in a span of a few days, but it will happen, all in the same ward.”

You had puffed a cloud of smoke, staring at the sky.

“The others?” He had heard himself ask.

“Oh, the new moon.” You had smiled at him. “Pregnant people tend to give birth more during that time span. It’s utter and complete crap, on a scientific level, but it’s all true. Also, when you’re walking a deserted ward at night and you hear your name being called? No you don’t. You keep walking and ignore the ghosts.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“It is, but we believe in it religiously or the most of us do.”

You two had finished your cigarettes in silence, then you had bid him a good day of sleep; he had wondered if he should follow you home just to see you in your apartment, drinking your tea before trying to get some shut eye.

He had done this countless times, after particularly grueling missions, after you had gave all of them a clean bill of health, scolded Gaz (“Fallen off a chopper again? Is this the Darwin Awards sergeant?”) and Soap (“I swear to God MacTavish, you have fun at getting hit in the head!”) for their bumps and scrapes and asked him if he was sure he didn’t need anything to help him sleep.

He was well aware you had clearance to read his medical files, the list of prescriptions he was under, even the stuff the psychiatrist on base had given him to help him navigate his life; he didn’t want any of that, he only needed to see you safe home, to find the strength to go back to his own, so barren compared to yours.

He hadn’t gone to his hole immediately. He had followed you and hid to watch you brew your morning tea and eat a couple of biscuits. The sky had become overcast, yet to him you were still bathed in sunlight, your cozy apartment filled him with a longing he wasn’t capable to bear: would you let him sleep on your small couch? He wouldn’t do anything else but curl there under one of your quaint blankets (he had a preference for the crochet one, but he would have taken anything, really, a rescued dog would accept any scrap of love it was given), lulled to sleep by your presence.

What a loser, right?

It’s raining by the time your date ends.

Simon can’t hear what the douchebag is telling you, but he can’t help the satisfied smile on his face when he sees the guy leave with his tail between his legs: whatever that is, it didn’t work with you and never will.

He tails you from afar, your obnoxious umbrella dotted with pink hearts is the beacon that helps him spot you amidst all the people running from the rain; he doesn’t care that he’s drenched, he’s been through worse.

He stops and ducks in the alleyway he uses to keep an eye on your apartment, waiting for the right moment to hop on to the small balcony where all your plants live.

He doesn’t usually lets himself get so close to you, tonight he can’t help himself: he’s going to listen to you get ready for bed and then go, he’s become hungrier and hungrier for your presence, looking from afar it’s not cutting it anymore. And he’s not going to see you for a whole week, he needs in his bones to absorb whatever little scrapes of your life he possibly can, until you’re back to the base.

He listens as you walk around the apartment barefoot, your clothes hitting the bathroom floor, the whisper of the clothes you wear at home, when you unfold it from its place on the dresser (once he had almost ogled you when you were changing clothes; he had managed to turn around before he could have seen more than he should have, yet the image of your bare back had hunted him for days), some inane documentary on the telly keeping you company as you remove your makeup. It’s all so familiar, so homely, a routine he knows by heart and that is never going to be his, and that relaxes him: if he were yours he would brush his teeth side by side with you, maybe poke at you with his elbow just to make you laugh, he’d carry you to bed bridal style and keep watch until you fall asleep all curled up in his arms. If he were yours, but he’s never going to belong to you.

“Simon?” Your voice comes from the French doors.

His training doesn’t make him jump in surprise, on the inside his heart is hammering like crazy against his ribs.

He stands still, he doesn’t move a single muscle as he hears you exit the warmth of your apartment to join him where the storm is raging.

You stand next to where he is, the two of you sheltered by the worse of the water by the balcony over yours. With the corner of your eyes you see how drenched he is and you have to fight the instinct to scold him from courting pneumonia.

“I have to admit it has taken me a little to notice what you were doing. I thought I was going mad but then I stumbled upon that guy who didn’t understand I wasn’t interested in him: he was petrified and had begged me not to tell ‘my big friend with the skull mask’ that I had met him by chance while queuing at Costa.”

You stare at his hood, still stubbornly covering his face.

You don’t try to uncover his head, you understand that he needs his space and this silence, broken by the rumbling of a thunder.

You’re not mad at him, puzzled yes, but not angry.

“Is it always going to be like this, Simon? You hiding where the borders of my life begin? What if I meet the right person, what then?”

Your words break the spell that keeps him rooted where he is, he scoffs and turns his head to stare at you; you see something dangle from his face, one of the straps of the surgical mask has broken and now he’s naked in front of you, the darkness of the night his only cover.

You’re so close to him he can make out the soft angles of your face, the warm light in your eyes: you should be screaming at him, call the cops on him, yet you’re staring not precisely at the mangled thing he calls his face. He’s the one who has been hiding in the shadows, yet you’re still giving him his space.

“Would you keep on doing this?” You ask.

You’re so close, closer than he’s ever let most of the people be, so close that he can smell your perfume and your face cream.

“What would you do if I told you to stop?”

“I would.”

Those words cut him like knives: it would kill him to stop hunting for the scraps you had, unintentionally, given him, but he would, for your happiness.

“What if I tell you to come inside?”

“You can’t ask me that.”

His voice trembles and he’s a child again, defenseless in the snares of his father.

“Why?”

You’re fully in his space now, you can feel his warmth and he yours. The cotton of your tracksuit drenched with the raindrops falling from his leather jacket.

“Answer me, Simon.”

Your eyes are still avoiding his face, you’re still granting him this sliver of respect when you shouldn’t.

“Talk to me Simon, please.”

You’re on your tip toes now and he can smell the mint of your toothpaste.

He can’t speak, he can’t breathe.

His hands shoot out to grab your arms, his lips find yours in a kiss that’s almost a bite.

When your taste hits him, it’s like a floodgate is being ripped open by the violence of a flood.

Under his your lips part and your tongue seeks his, snuffing out his groans of pleasure, your arms escape his hold and grab his hair under his drenched hood and cap, your body pulls him forward, guiding him inside the sanctuary of your home.

You almost fall and his hands grab your hips to steady you, his tongue shyly plays with yours, as if he’s still insecure of what you’d do, he submits to you when you pull at his hair so that you have free access to his lax mouth: cigarettes and tea, that’s what you taste, his moans rumble against your chest, until you let go, desperate for air.

The darkness of your apartment is broken by the small light by the sofa, not bright enough to show you completely his face.

“Look at me.”

His gravelly voice makes you shiver, yet your eyes stubbornly land somewhere on his chest.

“Look at me.” He repeats, your name like a prayer on his lips.

You lift your gaze and he moves the two of you where you can see him: all of his scars barren to you, his eyes blazing with his own need.

You can feel his hands tremble on your arms, his teeth chatter and it’s not the cold from his drenched clothes.

“We don’t have to do anything, Simon, you know that.”

And by God you’re not lying. You’d be happy to lay on the couch and talk for the rest of the night, you don’t want him to give you something if he’s not ready.

One of his gloved hands finds your soft cheek and cups your face, his expression has softened, he’s so unguarded and scared now.

“I know.”

He’s not sure his body is up for the task, not with the medication he needs to take daily killing his libido most of the times, but that doesn’t really matter in his book, he doesn’t care if he can’t take pleasure from you, as long as he’s making you feel good.

He feels something warm in his guts stirring awake, but he’s not sure he’s going to manage to go on with it fully. Would you hate him for that?

“Simon?”

Your hand is so soft against the scarred skin of his cheek; he knows you use loads of hand cream to fight against the normal dryness that comes with having surgical gloves on every day, the soft scent hits his nostrils and his desire becomes more solid, it slithers from his belly to his cock, stirring it alive.

“Let me take care of you.”

He’ll live his life for you simply following those words: he’d shelter you from any storm, he’d kill for you, if only you asked. He’d go to hell for you, if that meant that you’d be safe and sound.

You see something shift in his eyes; there’s still insecurity there, but it’s fighting against another emotion, desire maybe?

Under another circumstances you’d tell him that you want to look after him as well, that this thing isn’t only about you, but you think that he needs this, to show you his devotion, if you hope to give him a safe space. Despite the blood on his hands, this man is a nurturer, who doesn’t know how to express himself.

“Yes.”

You’re not surprised that he knows the layout of your apartment, that he doesn’t need to turn on the lights to guide you where your bed is.

You kiss him again when you feel his fingers tremble as they hook the hem of your hoodie to lift it up your body, you murmur soft praises as he divests you and you’re standing naked in front of him.

“May I take your clothes off?”

You wouldn’t mind being the only one naked here, if that helped him feel safer; you two can discuss and explore his hard limits later, now you need to tread carefully.

“Keep the lights off?”

“Anything you need, Simon.”

Outside the storm rages, inside you keep asking him if he’s all right as you slowly peel his clothes off, until he’s barren his scarred body to your touch.

You know how he looks on the inside, what those scars left behind under layers of muscle and bones, you can probably recite all of his wounds alphabetically as you kiss them; he’s so beautiful to you, hard planes of muscles you want to caress and explore, dirty blond hairs on his chest you hope you’ll rub your face against, that thick happy trail guiding your eyes to his half hard cock; you want to caress all of him, make him feel good.

He stops you before you can follow the newest scar on his pectoral with the tip of your finger: you have stitched this one close, managed to pull together the mangled sides of the wound nicely.

“Go lay on the bed.” He tells you, his voice more secure.

He helps you with the ridiculous amount of pillows scattered on the bedding. Lovingly he chooses the ones he thinks will be the best to lift your hips up and to rest your head: he wants you comfortable, and happy with the way he’s treating you.

His eyes drink your lax body open for him. There’s a little light coming from the sky outside, enough for him to make out the soft curves of your body and the patch of hairs at your center. He likes a good bush, when he was younger and his libido not so skewed, he would get it going just because his partner wasn’t completely barren and now he feels his cock stir a little more.

“Like what you see?” You ask, arching your back to entice him.

“Yes.” His head goes up and down dumbly.

“Kiss me?”

He lays on you, his body solid on yours, his weight stealing your breath from you, his rough skin heaven against yours.

You let him take control of the kiss, his tongue less shy as it plays with yours, his moans fuller against your mouth: you have no idea how much he loves your taste.

He maps your body with his lips, in his head he takes notice of the way you keen and arch when he nibbles on your throat or sucks on your nipples. His tongue follows the fat drops of perspiration on your skin, his mouth leaves bruising kisses on your tummy when your hands wind up in his hair to push him to go faster: he’s going to savor you, commit you to his memory.

“Simon please!” You beg, but he’s not deterred. “Need… ah!”

He nibbles your trembling tights, his stubble will leave a rushes on the soft skin and a twisted part of him is proud that you will carry his mark around. His hips kick when your nails scratch his nape: please, yes, brand him as yours, even if you don’t want to keep him, leave the proof of you needing him, even if it is for one time.

You’re already wet when his fingers open your lower lips to his eyes, you’re not drenched yet and he hopes his ministration will get you there so that he can drown in your scent.

The first kiss on your clit is fleeting, shy almost, your body responds by kicking your hips up, needy for more contact and he can’t believe this is happening: he must be dead and landed in heaven, somehow.

“Need you, Simon.” You whimper under his scrutiny.

“I’m here, love.”

His voice is lower, gruff against your folds and you keen, the vibrations torture against your nerves.

Reverent he hoists your legs up his shoulders to open you up properly, his big hands splay on your tummy, your fingers finding his to anchor yourself.

He’s shy at first, exploring your folds with his tongue, playing with your clit slowly, mapping out your response and thank God he’s holding you down because you hips kick up immediately, as soon as his lips wound around your nub to suck softly, your legs clamping around his head and if he’s not dead he wishes you’d snap his neck while he’s eating you out: there’s no better death in his book.

You’re trashing under him, your body arching, feet trying to find purchase on the slick skin of his back, to move away, to gain advantage, you don’t know, your brain is fried, your body a knot of overstimulated nerves, and it’s not because you haven’t had sex in so long. It’s Simon’s mouth on your cunt, it’s his tongue playing with you until you come all over his face, again. It’s his moans of pleasure when your honey hits his taste buds, his wicked fingers exploring your depths, bullying that hidden part of yourself that makes you see stars. It’s his hushed words of praise, his grunts when his cock slaps against his belly with every instinctual kick of his hips against nothing.

You’ve lost your words a couple of orgasms ago, your lungs are too busy trying to pull air in and out to be of any use, your eyes can barely focus on his, dark with hunger, when he looks at you from between your legs.

He needs you ready, wet and loose for him, if his body can keep it up for him to have a full intercourse with you and, if he can’t, he wants you satisfied with what he can give you.

He groans against you when your fingers manage to find purchase on his short hair. He lets you pull his body up to yours, until he’s laying fully on you, your lips seeking his in a hungry kiss that has you keen when you taste yourself on him.

You hiccup his name, cunt rubbing against his erection hastily when his engorged tip slides against your clit.

“Wait!” He chokes out, lifting himself from your body.

Even full of endorphins are you are, alarm bells start ringing in your head at the preoccupation in his tone: did you do something wrong?

In his head Simon is trying to list off the entire armory back at the base, desperate to reel his orgasm in: it has been too bloody long and he feels like he’s sixteen again, popping his cherry with the cashier girl at the news stand at the end of his street.

He’s not sure his body can manage a second round, he doesn’t want to lose this one opportunity to sink inside of you.

“Simon?”

You try to keep the agitation from your voice. If, for whatever reason, he needs to stop, you need to make sure he’s not feeling like he’s leaving you unsatisfied.

Over you, Simon fists the sheets and closes his eyes, head bent so that you can’t see his labored expression. He bullies himself into breathing slowly and steadily, focusing his attention of what his senses tell him: the soft cotton of your bed sheets, your rugged breathing and the sounds of the city spilling in your shared sanctuary.

He needs to control the reactions of his body, center himself on every muscle, every nerve, the same way he does when he’s ready to snipe out an enemy.

“Love.” He groans.

“Do you need to stop?”

His head snaps up, the concern and the affection he sees on your face break him: he shouldn’t make you feel so anxious for him.

“No.” He groans, his body still trying to fight his iron will.

“Simon.” You touch his cheek. “I’m happy if you’re OK, you know that, right?”

Oh Christ he’s going to come untouched if you keep being so gentle with him: he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve you!

“Tell me you have condoms.”

His need for you is a knot of pain sitting in his lower belly, his body is reluctantly following his orders, but his cock aches for you, every breathe he takes is a stab in his gut.

“The lower drawer.”

He stops you from moving. Gritting his teeth he reaches for the knob of the bedside table and fishes in the odds and ends, a light of hope burning wild when he touches the plastic wrapper and grabs it hastily.

He gently moves your hands away when you try to help him roll the condom on his aching erection: he will come if you touch him.

You help him maneuver your legs around his hips, your hamstrings protesting at the angle he has to position you, your cunt flutters when he, slowly, rubs himself against your wetness: he’s prepared you well to take him, you’re drenching him, the wet sounds like music.

He blacks out as soon as he bottoms out, when your cunt clenches around him, stealing his pleasure from him.

The cold wakes you up. Outside the storm is still raging and the bedside lamp is out of commission, it forces you to feel around until you find Simon’s T-shirt, still discarded where you have thrown it. On trembling legs you stand up and wear it, before you paddle to the living room; you’re pleasantly sore, the kind of sweet pain you cherish because it means you’ve been loved well.

“Simon?”

The sound of a glass being deposited on the table makes you turn towards the kitchen: he’s there, his massive form blacker than the night itself.

“You’re out of power.” He rumbles.

He’s dressed back in his jeans and hoodie, the hood back up over his head.

“It’s the power grid of the entire block. Weather like this plunges us back to the Middle Ages.” You try to defuse the tension in the air with your lame joke. “Come back to bed? It’s awfully cold without you.”

You stand in front of him, his body ramrod straight in front of yours.

“You want me there?”

You hate his tone, so clipped and collected. He breaks your heart.

“Why wouldn’t I want you there?”

The way his head turns makes sure you can’t look at his expression, and you can’t have that.

The anxious way he had stared at you after his peak had made all your alarm bells ring in your head. You had hugged him, making sure his face was hidden in the curve of your neck, you had caressed his tensed back until he had relaxed in your embrace, your voice warm with praise for the way he had made you come, repeatedly, on his face.

“I didn’t…” You don’t make him finish.

Boldly you enter his space again, one hand sneaking under his hoodie to find his warm skin; you need to risk it all, if you want to keep whatever link you have with him.

“You didn’t hear me complain, let me finish. You have no idea how hot it was to see you lose control like that, for little old me. You managed what no partner hell! Even my own vibrator ever could, Simon. I lost count of how many times you made me come for you, my maximum is two times in a row, and I needed a moment in between those. It’s not what happened with you.”

His hand snatches yours in a lax hold, you know full well he could break all your bones if only he wanted.

“Don’t lie to me.”

You don’t let the low growl deter you. Slowly, you move your trapped hand, and his, up to your face; you know he’s letting you maneuver him, man his size you wouldn’t be able to otherwise. You’re not sure how much he can see, yet you telegraph your movements anyway, your teeth biting the tip of his gloved middle finger to pull the garment away: if he wants, he can stop you any time.

You let it fall on the floor and guide his scarred hand between your legs.

“Can you feel how wet I still am for you, Simon?” He hiccups on a breathe. “Answer me.”

You can feel his full body shudder at your command, and God isn’t it the hottest thing ever?

“I do.”

His fingers start to explore your folds and you have to steel yourself or you’ll lose your thread.

“Am I lying to you? Is my cunt lying to you?”

“No.”

He’s breathless and, if you’d feel for his heart, you’d hear it thumping wildly against his chest. He needs to remove his fingers from the warm cradle of your cunt, yet his brain is stubbornly refusing to send the information to his hand.

“I don’t care whether or not you rearrange my guts with your cock, Simon. Sex is great, orgasms are amazing, but all of it pales compared to all the time we spent together just talking. Tell me you understand.”

His fingers clench inside of you and you moan.

“I understand.”

“Then, explain to me like I’m stupid, why I wouldn’t want to wake up wrapped around you. Why I wouldn’t want to explore every inch of your skin until you’re too out of it to even beg. You make me come on your cock? That’s a plus. You make me laugh and chat with me during night shift? You, somehow, know how I drink my tea? That’s what I value. You make sure I am home safe? That’s the kind of dedication I have never found in anybody else.”

His free hand grabs your hip to steady you, his fingers, still deep inside of you, haven’t stopped moving, plunging into you inch by inch.

“I wouldn’t mind sitting on your face until you tap out, but I’d be as happy to lay on the sofa and watch this awful storm for the rest of the night.”

There’s another storm wrecking war inside of him, two sides pulling him in two different directions: one that’s screaming that he needs to leave, now, before he embarrasses himself even further, the other is fueling liquid fire in his guts, all his blood tumbling, again, to his cock.

“I don’t need to tap out, I can bench press your weight.”

You don’t have the time to whine at the loss of his fingers, not when he hauls you up and against the nearest wall, knocking your breath out of your lungs.

Simon is fueled by desperation, one hand under your arse to keep you where you should be, the other fishing for his zipper, knuckles knocking against yours in your dual haste: he hasn’t felt like this in ages and, this time, he’s actually in control of his own desire.

“Please!” You beg. “Now Simon!”

“Need to make sure…”

You snap your teeth near his ear, you don’t care if you’re ready or not, the drag of his cock against your folds is driving you mad.

“I swear to God if you don’t put it in immediately I will murder you in your sleep!”

He moans when he breaches you again. Despite his need, he pushes slowly in and out, helping your body accept his intrusion, his mouth overs yours, drinking your shaky breaths.

A juicy curse slips his lips once he’s bottomed out, your cunt trapping him in your depths, warm and silky around his cock.

Your forehead knocks against his, your breaths coming out in harsh puffs as you try to relax your quivering muscles around him and God you wish you could see his face.

“So… warm, ah!” He moans.

You call his name, drunk on the feeling of fullness, of being owned, on his hands grappling the cotton of the T shirt to reach your skin, shredding it to taste you on his tongue again. He’s burning up, he feels too hot and your trembling hands on the hem of his hoodie are a blessing, trying to free him, his scarred torso now crashing against yours, his lips locking with yours as he moves, desperate in and out of you, groaning when you sheath him again in your warmth.

“I can’t! I can’t!” You scream when his rough fingers find your clit again.

He needs you to come all around him the same way he needs air, he’s teetering his own end, those warm flames licking at the edge of his consciousness but he doesn’t want to be selfish, to use you again for his own pleasure.

“Need you.” He keens, broken when the high pitched scream of his name becomes a long wail and your body tries to squirm away from his hold, his fingers grabbing your hip so tightly he knows he’s going to leave bruises on the soft skin.

“Simon! Simon!”

You push with the heels of your feet against his tailbone, desperate to evade his hold, your brutalized clit firing and firing, the pleasure burning through you, his body pulling you closer, his cock pistoning wildly in your warmth, the squelching of your shared pleasure spurring him on, your nails scratching his skin careening him into his own pleasure.

You come, your cunt wounding so tightly around him that he spills with a shout that you don’t hear: you’ve already blacked out.

It’s Wednesday and you haven’t left your apartment. You’ve barely made out of bed to try and sort out the mess the storm has left on the balcony, on Monday, when he had left only to come back with a duffel filled with black, identical clothes (you’ve lost this bet with the nurses at the hospital, indeed he owns the same outfit, go figure!).

He had taken a long look at you, marched to where you were trying to save one of the potted plants smashed on the floor, had manhandled you inside your bedroom (and you were giggling the whole time like a teenager), removed your home clothes looking at them as if they personally offended him and bullied you into one of his black T shirts; only then he had looked at you and growled “That’s better”. And now you’re laying on the bed, cuddled with your head on his shoulder, while you’re browsing on your phone, in the hope to find an online store that isn’t Amazon, to find some surgical masks with sturdier straps than the one he’s currently using.

He’s black mass on the colorful bedding, dressed head to toe in his black clothes, skull baklava to protect his face. Only his hands are free of his gloves and he makes you feel like a Victorian gentleman staring at a naked ankle, your eyes wandering from your phone to his long fingers curled around an e-book reader.

It’s domestic, and all you ever wanted from life, despite being so different from what anyone you know would deem normal.

You two have talked about his whole demeanor of the past years, he’s worshiped your body until you had to beg him to stop, that it was too much; in the dark you have made good on your promise to map out his skin until he was choking on his on breathe, too far gone to even moan.

He hasn’t let you see his body during night time and that’s OK, you don’t expect him to overcome years of life in the span of a couple of days; the fact that he’s lounging with you, that he’s accepting the amount of physical contact that comes with you hugging him and using him as your personal body pillow, it’s a miracle to you. Last night, when you were trying to watch a movie, he had let you follow the paths of his sleeve tattoo, ending up falling asleep, his big body lax in your hold.

“We should go on a date.” You say, turning your head to look at his masked face.

“We have been on dates.”

“Eating take out food Soap has bullied you into buying is not a date.”

You can see his lips break out in a smile under the baklava.

“How is he still alive?”

“He’s a fast bastard.”

“You should thank him.”

“His head would grow ten times the size, you wouldn’t like that, love.”

“We should still go.”

There’s a part of him that still can’t believe this is happening, that you haven’t cussed him out in the rain, that you want to be seen around next to him, skull mask and all. That you’re so accepting of his hit and miss libido: he’s made up in Heaven, somehow, this can’t be his life.

Using your own distraction against you, he rolls you under his body: you look so right wearing his T-shirt and nothing else, it’s a travesty to dress you up in something that doesn’t smell like him.

“And where would you bring me?”

You beam up to him, your hands caressing his sides slowly over the material of his hoodie.

“Wherever you’d like.”

Even if it’s eating out on the balcony, you’d be happy, as long as he’s living his life with you, not hunting for scraps: you want to give him all.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon riley x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon ghost riley #simon riley

105 notes · View notes

shatteredearth-if · 1 year ago

Text

SHATTERED EARTH INTRO POST

DEMO | DISCORD

Shattered Earth is an Interactive Sci-Fi/Fantasy Fiction about retreading old ground and working for your good ending. less formally, this is meant to go on my portfolio

Five years ago, you watched the world split open, bore witness to what you could only refer to as "dragons" made manifest in scale, flesh and skin. You saw cities razed to the ground, asphalt streets shattered like ice. Fleets of dragons and foreign—almost alien—aircrafts alike seared across the skies, while towers of dirt and metal tore free from the landscape. The world has inexplicably, incomprehensibly changed, but you know this to be true: Earth never really stood a chance.

With your world now overrun by dragons and dangers alike, you've lived alone, hiding from the world you once called home, scrounging for scraps and surviving by the skin of your teeth. But when a chance encounter with a mercenary ship leaves you reeling with the realization that you're not the average-joe of a human that you thought you once were, you're forced into an ultimatum: enlist with the Seekers, or live out the rest of your life in a Human compound on Therius. But your horrors extend far beyond the threat of the dragons; your monsters are at home in your head, but they might just be the key to stopping all of this madness… if they don't take you out first.

The gears turn, the worlds spin inwards like ever-onwards like painted tops. You will undergo a journey of self-discovery, of potential romances and of incredible loss. And somehow, you can't shake the sensation that this has all happened before…

A customizable protagonist: Customize your gender, your body type, your pronouns, and personality.

Five ROs to romantically pursue—some in the most conventional sense, others in… a not so conventional sense.

Engage in brief flings, one of which is... an RO's estranged divorced mother. (Your crewmates will disapprove.)

Train your body or your mind to perfection. Are you a frontline fighter, or do you prefer the aethereal arts?

Cute cat dog wolfboy…?

The female version of a himbo

There's no good way to put this: you remember things you shouldn't. The end of your story is not the end; something awaits you at the place where your endings converge. What is it? What are you?

There's an egotistical mind entity in your head, and the flags aren't just red; they're blood-crimson. Romanceable, but at a steep cost to your sanity. Or maybe…

Skippable, customizable NSFW content. My friends have advised me not to continue.

Avett Ironsturm

Role: RO

Gender: Male (he/him)

Race: Kattish

Age: 20

Specialization: Arms specialist

Appearance: Avett is a Kattish man of average height. His complexion is fair. Perched upon his head are two swivelling cat-like ears, and at the base of his spine is a prehensile tail that is about the length of his arm—both are adorned with soft, black fur. His hair is black, hangs just below the shoulders, and he keeps most of it in a messy ponytail. Most of his frontal hair frames his boyish, youthful face. His irises are copper colored, his pupils slitted.

Personality: Avett is bristly, prickly, and very easy to anger if he's not trying to get into your pants. He's a flirt through and through, and knows how and when to be charming, just… not with his coworkers. Or you. Though if you can get him to let his guard around you, you might just find him a lot more bearable.

Your impression: Once upon a time, you saw his old ID, stuffed in a cabinet along with his boxers and body spray, and you realized he was smiling in his photo. Not outwardly—they don't want you smiling on those cards, but behind those eyes was a laugh ready to bust out at any moment. That was four years ago. Now? All he does now is sulk and yell at people. Something happened in those four, long years, and those years have only been getting longer since.

Sexuality: Bisexual (woman-leaning)

Yuda Hellsbridge

Role: RO

Gender: Female (she/her)

Race: Half Gallian, Half Kattish

Age: Secret?

Specialization: Restrainer

Appearance: Yuda is a half-Gallian, half-Kattish woman of above average height. Her complexion is a pale, seafoam green—common for most Gallians. Her hair is white with blue undertones in the right lighting, and is short and choppy. If you look too closely into her metallic gray eyes, you will notice a swirling, foggy substance within her irises, as is common for all Gallians who are at least a bit adept in magic… which is to say, almost all of them. Yuda is extremely fit and exercises often, and as a result her build is stocky and muscular—very uncommon for a Gallian, though she claims that she's half Kattish.

Personality: Yuda is outwardly cheerful, loud, and brash—tact is not her forte. But behind every sunny smile is a shadow, and Yuda keeps her shadows well away from the spotlight.

Your impression: It's not trauma. It's not a blip in her personality. There is something genuinely terrifying hiding behind Yuda's eyes, and that's not including the fact that you don't know how old she is. Oh, she's nice, and she's got no ulterior motives, you'll give her that. But it's like she's wearing her own body like a shadow.

Sexuality: doesn't care for labels, but for clarity's sake she is pansexual.

Ysh'vanna O'Raal

Role: RO

Gender: Female (she/her)

Race: Draconian

Age: 26

Specialization: Captain/Pilot

Appearance: Ysh'vanna is a short girl with wispy, white hair that topples down to her waist—if she doesn't brush it out of her face, it has a tendency to smother her slight frame like an oversized scarf. Her irises are orange, with a ring of emerald green around her pupils. Trailing from her ears are two, small, green webs that resemble translucent dragon wings.

Personality: Everyone onboard the Seeker is a wreck, yes, but Ysh'vanna is always at least two crises away from a mental breakdown everyday. Sorting through admin, funds, Avett's shenanigans and the odd dragon attack has left her riddled with anxieties. She has difficulty forming bonds outside of work because of this, so her relationship with Avett isn't great. After any particularly grueling mission, she will often be found comatose in front of the navigation panels, staring off into the skyline. Otherwise, Ysh'vanna tries to be cheerful. Most of the time. Some of the time.

Your impression: She's probably by far the most average person on this ship. Every morning she takes her coffee with three sugars and a cupful of milk; every night she takes a nail-sized tablet along with a full glass of water. "For the anxiety," she says. She's incredibly open about most things... until it comes to her family. What's the deal?

Sexuality: bisexual (woman-leaning)

Auren Draksparrow

Role: Platonic Option

Gender: Male (he/him)

Race: Gallian

Age: According to Avett, "Like, a hundred or something." He looks about forty in Human years to you.

Specialization: Warder

Appearance: Auren is a Gallian man of above average height. His frame is gaunt, almost frail; his hair is platinum blond, and is secured in a low ponytail that reaches down to his waist. His complexion is seafoam green, and his eyes are a faint violet. Swimming in his irises is a fog, a trait most Gallians share. His facial features are long and soft, but his cheekbones sit high upon his face.

Personality: Auren is cold, aloof, and it can be difficult to discern what he's thinking from speech and body language alone. He is clear in mind, even during high-pressure situations, until his abilities as a caster fail him.

Your impression: Here's the deal about living past one hundred and one; you're going to mess up. You're going to mess up a lot more than the average person, and your book of guilt's going to be pushing a trilogy if you don't start forgiving yourself for some of those mess-ups. You know for a fact that Auren has never forgiven himself, not even once, because he's yet to save the Seekers. Because he's yet to, in his eyes, make himself useful. But you're his lucky break: he's the only one on the ship who can see that thing in your head for what it is, and he knows it's a threat.

Sexuality: he's not looking for a relationship right now, if ever. He's married to his tomes and the study of aether.

Liam Salazar

Role: RO

Gender: Male (he/him)

Race: Human

Age: 24

Specialization: Researcher

Appearance: Liam is tall with an athletic frame and broad shoulders. He usually keeps his dark brown hair in a nest of curls atop his head. His skin is a deep umber, and his eyes are an even deeper shade of brown. He often wears a white lab coat over a simple sweater and dress shirt.

Personality: Quiet, but goofy; aloof, but sensitive. You sense that this boy would rather bury his head in a good book or some other complicated research than look you in the eye. That's not to say he's meek, though—come any threat, and he'll lash out swinging. You had to be a special kind of tough to have survived the Migration as a Human, and Liam is no exception.

Your impression: You didn't expect to make friends at the IRC training facility—most Humans there wanted your head on a stick for the cardinal sin of having a deal with a merc ship already. The Migration wore everyone's patience thin, but not Liam's. For a hot moment at that facility, you were two renegades against the hateful world. Until your training period finished up.

Sexuality: Panromantic demisexual, though initially he believes that he's straight.

The Entity

Role: RO

Gender: Customizable/it

Race: Something intangible. A voice in your head.

Age: It laughs when you ask this. "How old is a concept? The fear of death, the love of life? How old? Are you counting? Think about that."

Appearance: A dark wisp of smoke that occasionally shifts to form parts of a person.

Personality: Loves you, like an overbearing parent. Punishes you, like a torturer gleaning for answers. It maims you and calls it affection.

Your impression: When you're not talking to it, it's rummaging through your memories. Why? For fun. It knows about that time you did this and that in the locker room and almost got caught for it. It knows about that time you stopped someone from leaving after class just so you could hit on them, unsuccessfully, for ten minutes before they had to beg you to leave. It knows everything about you, all the bad, all the good—and it loves you anyway. That's the purest kind of love, isn't it?

Sexuality: Wouldn't you like to know.

With that all said, thank you for checking out this post, and DOUBLE thank you if you decide to try out Shattered Earth. 🙇🙇

413 notes · View notes

theodorequartz · 8 months ago

Text

[ His Companion] Hazbin Hotel Various x Male Reader

Part 6: The Red Demon

______________________

Once upon a time... Where there was nothing but darkness

______________________

You smile as he turns around to face you with a bright smile on his face. One that can light up the world.

Warmth engulfed your body as he ran up to you and gifted you an embrace.

__________

You blinked back to reality as you hear the sound of knocking at the hotel's front door. You have been sitting in the lobby in the sofa beside Angel dust who threw himself in you as you absentmindedly combed his hair between your fingers.

As Vaggie ran to follow her girlfriend to the entrance hallway of the establishment, you held Angel's waist softly and sat him up steadily. Angel pouted at this.

" Aw toots, come on! It's probably nothin'."

You sigh as you fixed Angel's ruffled clothes and brushing off any dust from his body.

" I still have to see it, Hearts. I'm part of the staff now after all. "

Angel dust grumbled and sighed as he let you go. His heart warming just a tad bit from the nickname you gave him. You started calling him that after seeing the heart marks on his body when you were working for Val as his make-up artist.

You volunteered to be one temporarily as the current make-up artist at the time was killed off. You did so as to calm Val down from his angry tantrum.

You were assigned to be Angel's personal make-up artist since then.

You could've just stop being his make-up artist after a new one came but with his connections with a mafia family and Husk. You were bound to get use of him. Every little pawn is of use to get your lord's desire.

Speaking of the charming devil..

" - My, I haven't been that entertained since the stock market crash of 1989! Hahahaha!! Ohh... So many orphans.."

Your lips twitched to a small smile before disappearing. You walked towards where the commotion is.

" Charlie? Vaggie? What's with the commotion? "

You asked your new companions as you neared them, visibly tensing up as Alastor caught your sight. Your hand immediately grabbed the dagger in your hip and rushed to pull Charlie behind you, Vaggie following you and taking her stance beside you.

You glared at the demon in red, guard visibly up.

" My my! No need to be on guard pretty fellow!"

The staticy voice was filled with amusement as he pushed away the spear Vaggie pointed to his throat. His gaze looking straight at yours.

You gave a look at Vaggie and being a bright little angle she is, she new to keep Charlie in her protection as you slowly took your hand away from the hilt of your dagger.

Though not so bright enough to see your facade

You took a step forward and held your hand out, initiating the radio demon to do the same.

" My name is M/n, no need to introduce yourself to me. I know who you are.."

His grin grew more amused than ever.

" Won't it be rude, though?"

He, Alastor, said as he held your hand to shake.

" It won't, as I've already insisted."

You said, taking your hand off his hold as you gave him a look of distrust. He merely grind in return.

He then proceeded to speak of why he is here as Vaggie took a hand sanitizer out of nowhere and sprayed a lot to your hands and scrubbed it with tissue which was immediately thrown away to the fireplace.

This and that happened... And now there's a drunken gruffy angry old cat behind the newly made bar stand.

Which Angel was totally simpling for, of course.

And a little ball of bouncing scurrying cleaning crazy roach catching lady.

Everyone just seem to accept her existence.

Whilst Alastor started to sing, the cat looked at you meaningfully and you stared back at him reassuringly, promising him to tell everything later.

Not really everything...

A loud crash startled all of you as the music stopped and the wall bursted open, you gasped as Nifty was hit with a large peice of the wall.

You immediately came to help her as the rest went outside to look. You lifted the rubble off her and she just smiled and thanked you before following the rest outside, seemingly fine as if she was not hit in the fist place.

What an invincible little lady...

You stood up and followed to go outside too.

You saw all of them huddled in the opening of the wall that was broken.

...

You walked right outside to the front door, where the hole in the wall was next to.

You followed their trail of sight to see a snake in a battle airship of some sorts

Both of you made eye contact and the snake immediately froze. You held a finger against your lips whilst looking at him in the eye.

He gave an unnoticeable nod in response, letting out a shaky breath.

He's face was slightly flushed.

He was immediately attacked by large black tentacles from the ground, destroy his aircraft.

You looked at your lord.

Alastor has a sadistic look on his face as he finished off destroying every part of the machine, making sure to grind extra hard with each hit.

My... how jealous...

" Well I'm starved! Who wants some jambalaya?"

______________

_________________

An entity was born to rule the empty land

________________

You laughed as he pulled and twirled you in joy.

" Did you like my present?"

You asked as you took hold of his hand gently.

" Yes! "

He replied brightly.

Oh... How far would you go to protect that light.

#hazbin hotel #male reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x male reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x male reader

71 notes · View notes

velvetvexations · 2 months ago

Note

it’s driving me up the wall that the statement “trans women, notably those in the public eye, are frequently the target of transphobic harassment campaigns, so perhaps take a moment to check the source before you spread any callouts or accusations to make sure you’re not falling for TERF or kiwifarms misinformation” is now being misused by some to mean “if you ever see a trans woman with a big platform say something loaded/bigoted/openly hateful of her own free volition to her whole audience with her full chest, you’re not ever allowed to confront her about this or you’re personally responsible for every hate comment or harassment she receives ever” like it’s SO insidious to tell marginalised people they should shut up and take it. full offence, that musician is a grown woman who willingly puts her opinions on a public blog with her name attached, nobody was holding a gun to her head demanding she made those dumbass comments, and acting like she’s too frail to take accountability for what she does or shouldn’t be expected to learn that actions have consequences is laughable. yes people are now taking it too far but this happens every time, bc some people are just as immature AND bc bad faith parties love taking advantage of situations like this to instigate even more shit. again, insisting marginalised groups should let some big name individual be bigoted to them to protect her from harassment or else be blamed for it is so unbelievably entitled. the same thing goes for that “people just use accusations of racism against trans women to be transmisogynistic” post, these people need a reality check and realise they’re not the only victims in existence.

none of the following anger is directed at you, anons

I wanna be clear that I have no idea what's going on with Patricia Taxxon. She blocked me awhile ago and aside from seeing her post about transandrophobia and knowing someone made a parody comic about her that I didn't like primarily for the phrase "born female,"* I don't really know about the situation around her as it stands because I don't keep track of random radfems.

As this first anon said, a popular musician using their platform to be horrible to another marginalized group should get sprayed with water like a cat and the fact that she's a bigot be on the record. Weaponizing old nudes or dragging up old accusations of things, however, is bad and should not be done. It's just not a thing you should be doing to someone, no matter how much you think they deserve it.

There are a lot of White women saying things like "trans women get accused of racism to deflect accusations of transmisogyny." It's annoying that people acting in bad faith are giving fuel to the fire that any criticism of trans women is inherently transmisogyny. She's never going to connect the dots between "people are upset with the things I said" and "I said extremely harmful and hurtful things" if her victim complex is being validated. It's also going to encourage them to continue harassing and spreading shit about me, and possibly escalate to digging up past stuff to call me out on, because I guarantee you eventually one of them is going to say something like "so karmic of this to happen to Velvet after she reblogged all those posts accusing Emily Programmersocks of sacrificing children to Satan" as though that's a thing that's ever happened.

Stop harassing her, if that is indeed what's happening, because, again, I do not keep track of the latest events in TRF World.

*yes, in spite of me personally calling myself male, I still think that's a bad thing! wow!

#transandro phobia #discourse

40 notes · View notes

15-lizards · 9 months ago

Text

Friend was making me watch dance moms and I was relieving my ballerina days so here’s an ASOIAF dance studio AU for the soul

-Sansa is definitely one of the best at her studio she is the Lyrical queeennnn. One of the few competition dance girls who trains in ballet and is actually good at it. She doesn’t have insane flexibility but her technique is peak and she’s great at turn sequences. Always very consistent and stable. Gets mad when they have hip hop pieces cause she’s not good at it. Likes recitals more than competitions because she can do ballet more, tends to like the French style. Hair always sprayed and smoothed into a perfect bun even if she’s just going to class, not a single flyaway to be seen. Keeps a neat dance bag that she keeps her entire life in.

-Arya is only in there because Cat thought it would be cute to have the girls dance together. Immediately got proven wrong but she already paid for the full year so. DESPISES the slow ballet and contemporary pieces. Is a fucking prodigal jumper she can do switch leaps, ariels, toe touches, literally anything. Which means she likes the upbeat jazz and hip hop numbers wayyy more. Never has a neat bun it’s a miracle it can be tamed when she goes on stage. All of her tights have runs and rips up the sides. Stains on her leotard. Brings a Gatorade to class instead of a water and gets yelled at for it. Hides in the bathroom during ballet class.

-Dany has pretty good technique, nothing standout, but makes up for everything with her energy and facials. She’s got definite potential, but is unrefined. Pretty muscular and short because she used to do gymnastics. Really likes to try anything. Ballet, lyrical, jazz, contemporary, acro, hip hop, truly everything. Consistently places third in competitions, which pisses everyone else off because they think her technique isn’t very strong, and pisses her off because she wants to place first for once. Is currently working her ass off at the barre to focus on her basic technique, is improving at a rapid pace. Dance bag smells like actual ass, you can find probably anything in there though. Doesn’t wear any padding in her pointe shoes bc she’s kind of a psychopath.

-Marg is the top girl 100% she’s the teachers favorite. Every lead role and center position is hers. Sansa’s biggest competition but they’re such good friends and so nice to each other neither of them really cares. Focuses mostly on a slower Russian style of ballet, perfect for her long legs and arms. Every move is just so intentional and perfectly placed, she flows so well from step to step. Definitely is getting countless offers from academies, professional companies, and summer programs. Alwaysss has the cutest most expensive leotards and skirts. Makes sure to pull some of her curls out of her bun to frame her face. Makeup on during class that she somehow never sweats off. Usually super sweet but tends to be passive aggressive to other studios at competitions.

-Cersei who runs the rival studio, used to be a famous competition dancer, excelled at lyrical and contemporary. Makes all of her dancers take rigorous ballet, even if they’re just competition dancers, super adamant ab ballet as the basis for everything else. Notoriously insane with a hair trigger temper, but parents keep paying out the ass for her to train their kids because she produces results. Probably throws things if you fall out of a turn. Makes kids do pushups if they miss a step. Coddles Joff, Myrcella, and Tommen though, makes sure they always get good spots and roles. Jamie’s there to teach partnering sometimes but he always looks miserable and smells like cigarettes.

-Joffery is one of those insufferable tweens who gets special attention bc he’s a guy, a rare species in the dance world. But what’s even more infuriating is that he’s really good. Great flexibility, and focuses on big jumps and turns like most male ballet dancers do. Genuinely an enrapturing performer but never has any patience for his pas de deux partners, blames it on her if she gets dropped. A mean gay but no one’s really sure if he’s gay or not. Has a posse of tween girls that make fun of everyone not in their clique. Makes snide comments at the barre. Ridiculously cocky even when he falls out of his turns. Barges into the girls dressing room without asking. Demon child.

Bonus: Robb who has to take it because the football team needs to work on their balance or whatever. Really enjoys it actually and will defend it when Theon calls it gay. But don’t ask Theon why he kept staring every time Robb started stretching at the barre

#asoiaf #asoiaf shitposting #these are all just based off me and people I used to dance with #projecting hard this evening

86 notes · View notes

bloofinntoona · 2 years ago

Text

A Whisker Away

Word Count: 4.4 k

Themes: major fluff, a lot of friendship, sebastian sallow x f!reader x ominis gaunt

Summary: your transfiguration spell had gone wrong - you were stuck as a cat for the day. it wasn't bad, after all you get to spend time with your friends in a new perspective - even you get to confess to the boys that you had been harboring feelings for.

So bright.

You blinked a few times, adjusting to the blinding sunlight shining through the trees in the courtyard. Everything was brighter and clearer. Your body felt significantly lighter and nimbler. The grounds felt rough and hot. The spell works! You tried to yell, but what came out from your mouth was a loud "Meow!"

"It's not a difficult spell, Y/N." Professor Weasley smiled, her motherly aura was always comforting. She was very patient in teaching you some basic spells that were already taught in the first four years of the Wizarding School. But alas, you only had a couple of years to catch up before your N.E.W.Ts.

A year passed after the Ranrok incident, you've aced your O.W.Ls, and you've made great friends along the way - especially your unbreakable bond with two infamous Slytherin boys. The three of you were inseparable, and the school knows that. However, on that specific day, Professor Weasley asked you to study the Transfiguration spell by yourself. Conveniently, Sebastian and Ominis also had to do their assignments.

You found yourself in the middle of an empty courtyard, wand ready in your grasp. You imagined a black feline cat, similar to a cat that your family had back home in London. With a gentle swish of your wand, a blue light sparked, surrounding you as you quickly shrank down, and soft black fur covered your whole body.

At least it works, you thought, Now I just need to get back to my human form. To your horror, your head blanked - no memory of how to do so. You eyed your wand, raking your brain as to how to actually hold the stick and cast the Untransfiguration spell. You started to panic, especially after hearing a hoard of footsteps approaching the courtyard. You hesitantly bit the wand, strutting to a hidden spot just behind the bushes, and set your wand there. Hopeful that it would stay hidden until you transform back into a human.

The experience wasn't as bad as you thought, you received a lot of compliments and pats from the students. You finished your class schedule for the day anyways, so no Professors would be worried about your whereabouts.

In the corner of your eyes, you spotted a small girl, hunched by herself. Zenobia Noke! You thought. It was the girl that you helped finding gobstones all over the school. You felt bad, really, even though she was a bit odd, she didn't deserve to be ostracized for a mere game. You made your way to the girl, earning a sincere smile.

"Oh, hi kitty!" she beamed, patting your head. "Want to play with me?"

You meowed in response. It's not like anyone is looking for you at the moment.

"Great!" Zenobia chuckled before going on about the game rules. You were slightly bewildered why this girl would go that far for a cat, but you shrug it off. You knew the rules obviously, being coerced to play by none other than Sebastian a while back. Somehow Zenobia wasn't suspicious that a cat was pretty deft playing the game, even winning once against her, spraying a God-awful stench towards the poor Ravenclaw.

"I've never had this much fun in a while," she giggled, even though she smelled horrendous, "I must say goodbye though, good cat. I need a shower."

As she left you, she shouted, "I'll see you again, Gobby!"

You were amused by the name, Zenobia was an odd girl after all, but she wasn't as bad as you thought. I guess I'm Gobby now. You chuckled to yourself.

As you were walking past the hallway, your nose picked up an interesting smell - a mix of marshmallows, grass, and burning rubber. Not long after, you heard a loud BANG!, followed by a massive purple smoke coming out from the male's lavatory. A few first-year students ran out of the premises, shouting as their bodies were covered in what seemed like purple dust. You shook your head, surely it was the fault of a certain Gryffindor boy.

You marched into the bathroom, finding Garreth Weasley leaning against the bathroom wall, coughing his lungs out. You dimwit, what did you do this time? You wanted to say it out loud, but all you could do was utter another Meow. "Hello?!" he jumped, "Oh, it's just a cat." He laughed at himself, crouching down to pat your back, which was now littered with purple dust.

"You see, I'm in a predicament here." The redhead looked at what seemed like a destroyed toilet stall - or whatever was left of it. A cauldron filled with a sorry excuse of a potion was placed on top of the toilet, different rare ingredients (not sure where he got them from) scattered all over the floor. "I was testing my greatest invention. But you know what they say, there is no success without failure."

If you were in your human form, you most likely already had your face buried in your palms. You don't even remember the day when Garreth succeeded in his "inventions". As you were looking around for the cleaning supplies, the door bursted open, revealing another redhead - Leander Prewett stomped into the room, face red filled with anger.

His voice was calm in comparison to his visible veins popped on his temples, "I knew it was you again when I saw those poor first-years covered in purple dust!" he crossed his arms, "Do you know how many points had been taken out of Gryffindor because of you?!"

Garreth put his hand up and smiled apologetically, "I'm sorry?" He sighed loudly, "I'll clean it up before anyone else noticed. Really. Plus, this little cat here will help." Garreth winked at you.

You groaned internally, the sheer audacity of this man. "Oh, I didn't see you there." Leander flashed you a smile, also giving you a gentle pat on your head, "Sorry you had to see this, cat, but we need your help in saving Gryffindor's house points." He gave Garreth a vicious side-eye, "Would you help us sneak into Professor Sharp's storage room so I can steal a jar of Blatta Pulvereus?"

You nodded, forgetting that you should've acted like a normal cat: not understanding human gestures. The two Gryffindor students just shrugged, probably too deep into their plan of cleaning the mess before anyone else noticed. Garreth decided to stay and tidy up as best as he could, while Leander took you in his arms, striding towards the Potions class. "The plan is simple. I'll sneak you in through a small opening on the wall, and I shall tell Professor Sharp that my pet cat wandered into the room. He'll give me permission to go in," he grins mischievously, "Unlike Weasley, my records are squeaky clean."

Leander paused for a bit, the silence was a little awkward if you had to be honest. You never had the chance to talk to Leander a lot, your Slytherin friends often made unsavory remarks towards Prewett, and you weren't surprised since there was an unspoken tension between the two houses. "Since you're a cat, I'll be truly honest," his voice was low, almost inaudible, "I appreciate my friendship with Weasley. He's a menace and a serial troublemaker, but he always makes me laugh. He was the first person to say hi to me during our first year - and guess what? They thought I was a Weasley too!" he ended his confession with a laugh.

Leander and you arrived at the potions class in no time. He let you down, pointing towards a small hole leading into the storage room, perfectly fitting your nimble body. You gave him a meow and sneaked into the room. You overheard the brief conversation between Leander and Professor Sharp, the man was definitely too tired that he approved the request right away. In no time, the door clicked, and Leander winked at you. He grabbed the Blatta Pulvereus jar in a jiffy, stuffing it in his pocket, and scooped you up again in his arms. Leander thanked the Professor, who replied with an obviously annoyed grunt.

“Nice job, cat!” Leander grinned widely, “I think you deserve a name - Ginger!” He laughed at his own joke, “You might have black fur, but you can be the third member in our redhead trio.”

You meowed loudly in response, it’s definitely a better name that whatever Zenobia came up with earlier. The two of you practically ran back to the lavatory. “Just the people I wanted to see!” Garreth greeted with a toothy smile, “You took your sweet time… I had to pretend I had a terrible bowel sickness to make sure people stay away from the bathroom.”

Leander was visibly disgusted. “Whatever, here, work your magic.” He handed Garreth the ingredient. The Gryffindor boys quickly spray it all over the purple residue, promptly diminishing any proof of Weasley’s “failed” experiment. The boys high-fived each other, and they both gave you pats, “Welcome to the redhead trio, Ginger,” Leander and Garreth laughed, “You are more than welcome to join our, more legit, adventures next time.”

“Oh, I bet Ginger is hungry!” Garreth pulled out a black-ish jello from his satchel, “I made this super food that makes you not hungry for days- Wait!”

You walked away quickly from the two Gryffindor boys, I will definitely die if I eat that, you thought, shivering.

Garreth’s remark about food did make you realize you haven’t had anything since breakfast. Your stomach started to rumble, signaling that you need some substance if you have to continue your journey. You were busy thinking about how to find some sort of human food that you didn’t realize you’d bumped into a pair of legs. You looked up, Poppy Sweeting and Natty Onai! You were relieved to see your closest female friends.

“Such an adorable creature!” Natty mused, picking you up and hugging you close. You purred, Natty always gave the best hugs.

“Poor kitty,” Poppy added, patting your head, “I can hear your stomach grumbling! You must be hungry. I have some animal treats in my satchel if you want!”

You meowed loudly in protest, hissing at the Hufflepuff girl. She was taken aback. You felt sorry, but you were sure your good friend would understand if she knew the situation.

“Looks like our little friend wants something heartier and fancier,” Natty smiled,” We are planning to visit Hogsmeade for a little shopping spree. But looks like one of our friend forgot.”

You blinked, Merlin’s balls! You totally forgot that you promised the girls for a little trip to Hogsmeade. You felt bad, truly, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t tell them that you were stuck in the body of a cat. You were sure Natty and Poppy would understand, but-

“I knew Y/N forgets about us!” Imelda barged in, face visibly grumpy. Oh no, Imelda will skin me alive for this.

Poppy held her hands up, “Calm down, Imelda, I’m sure Y/N is just busy with her schoolwork. We’ll ask her why tomorrow.”

“I’m sure she’s busy with Sallow and Gaunt!” Imelda huffed, “It’s hard enough to get us together these days… I just wanted to spend time with my girls.” Now you felt worse. You had a lot of schoolwork, but you did spend more time with Sebastian and Ominis these days. The two boys were pretty much hogging your time. You made a mental note to hang out with your girlfriends more - after all, they were always there to listen to your worries and gave more compassionate advices compared to the boys.

“I agree with Poppy,” Natty smiled, “I’m sure Y/N has her reasons. Let’s go to Honeydukes anyways. Plus, we have a stand-in over here.” The Gryffindor girl held you up to Imelda, who greeted you with a head scratch.

“Fine. Let’s go!”

With you in Natty arms, the three girls grabbed a handful of floo powder and set their destination to Hogsmeade. A green flame enveloped the students as they immediately transported to the middle of the small town. The courtyard was bustling with vendors, students, and shoppers. They hurried off to Honeydukes, with Imelda leading the charge. She rushed to a quaint table next to the window, the group’s favorite spot.

“A pumpkin pasty for me, raspberry cake for Natty, blueberry muffin for Imelda, and a meat pie for our new friend.” Poppy brought their orders to the table, setting the meat pie on the ground for you to eat. You gobbled up the pastry in no time, you knew you can depend on your girls.

Imelda poured tea for the three girls, while she set a cup of milk on the ground. “Well,” she cleared her throat, “There is a specific reason why I asked you all to meet me today.”

The other two girls looked at her intently. You jumped onto Poppy’s lap, I’m not missing this! You thought. To your dismay, Imelda’s face was blushing red. She leaned in as the other girls did the same, “Everett Clompton asked me to be his girlfriend!” Her voice gradually went higher as she finished her sentence.

There was a short pause as everyone processed the information. Your jaw hung low in shock. “Oh dear, I’m sorry- Ouch!” Poppy yelped as Natty pinched her side.

“...And I assume from your giddy reaction, you said yes?” Natty smiled widely.

Imelda slowly nodded, “Yes, I did.” she whispered.

The group erupted in cheer, as they got glares from other customers. The girls laughed. “Congratulations, Imelda, you’re the first one in our group to be in a relationship!” said Natty.

“Ha! And you don’t count whatever Y/N have with Sallow and Gaunt as a relationship?” Imelda laughed, sipping her tea. What do you mean?! You meowed, frustrated that you were the topic of the conversation, even though you can’t say anything to defend yourself. “They are inseparable these days. I tried to ask her for Quidditch tryouts, but Sallow was all up in her space.” Imelda added.

“It’s pretty amusing to see how she is so oblivious,” Natty giggled, “I swear I saw Gaunt’s smile disappeared completely whenever Y/N talks to other boys, except for Sallow, of course.”

You were flabbergasted. Were you that daft? Sure, you harbored special feelings towards your closest friends, but you were too scared to speak up. The friendship that you shared together was like a treasure that you held close to your heart. You would rather bury your romantic feelings deep in your heart to not spoil your friendship.

“Our dear cat is tense,” Poppy hummed while she stroked your back, “Hush now, it will be alright.” You purred and leaned back against her hands. You really wished you could vent your frustrations to them right now.

“So, Poppy, Natty,” Imelda eyed her friends, “Any gossips from your ends?”

The other girls and you looked at each other. Natty took the lead and shook her head, “Not for me,” she laughed, “My mother will skin me alive if she even thinks that I’m in a relationship while I’m still in my studies. Plus, I’m not rushing anything.”

“Cheers to that.” Imelda held out her tea cup, clinking it against the others’ cups.

“I..” Poppy paused, blush crept up her face, “Samantha Dale was being really nice to me.”

Natty and Imelda grinned, and you meowed loudly, “Go on.” Imelda wiggled her eyebrows.

“She’s probably nice to everyone!” Poppy quickly added, voice louder than before, “Plus, she’s so focused on her studies, I don’t think she even thinks about these things…”

“I think she’s just a nerd.” Imelda joked, earning a kick on her shin from Natty, “I’m sorry! I was just joking!” she sighed, “You should go for it, Poppy, if you don’t stay true to your feelings now, you will regret it. I am very sure of that.”

You took Imelda’s words. Their conversation seemed to drawned out by the thoughts in your head. Maybe Imelda was right, you should have stayed true to your own feelings and confess to Sebastian and Ominis. Will they think it’s weird for you to have a crush on two people at the same time? You raked your brains, not realizing that it was time for the group to head back to Hogwarts.

They returned to Hogwarts with another handful of floo powder. The girls bid their goodbyes as they took turn patting your head. “You’re a part of the coolest group in Hogwarts now,” Imelda laughed, “We’ll call you… Chamomile. Just like the delicious tea we had earlier.”

“I still wished Y/N was here.” Natty and Poppy sighed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give her a good smack when she’s back!” Imelda nodded her head, smiling mischievously.

You laid down on your back at the astronomy tower, looking at the array of stars decorating the night. The tower was the place that you often went if you wanted to find an empty spot to think. It was always cold, but you had never gotten tired of the beautiful night sky. The conversations you had with the girls were echoing in your head. You barely saw Sebastian and Ominis that day. Are they worried that you’re not around? Do they not care about you anymore? The two Slytherin boys plagued your mind. Maybe it was better for you to stay as a cat so you didn’t have to deal with your urge to be more than friends with them.

Suddenly, a pain from your tail shot up throughout your body. You let out a loud shriek, your body instinctively jumped back, fur stood up, and you hissed at the boy who accidentally stepped on your tail.

“Merlin’s beard! I’m so very sorry!” Amit dropped his scrolls, repeatedly apologizing for stepping on you.

Apology accepted, you meowed. You purred against his leg to show him that it was fine, and you understood that it was a mistake. He sighed and crouched down, patting your back.

“I’m sorry, kitty, I’m usually alone here.” Amit gathered his belongings and set down his books and scrolls on the table with a loud Thud!

You looked at him in awe. Amit was a diligent student, but you had never thought that he would stay up late to study. You jumped on the table, sitting down next to him as you scanned the books - all of them related to astrology.

“You don’t mind if I study here, don’t you?” Amit laughed, scratching your chin. You meowed in response, as if you were trying to say it’s alright.

“Well, even if you don’t understand, It’s nice to have a study mate.” He smiled, pointing at a cluster of star in the sky, “That’s Ursa Major, and that one is Draco… wait no, that is a Leo minor! And that one on the far right is Pollux.”

He sighed, “Do you know why I like stars, kitty?” he leaned back against his chair, setting his telescope down, “They are always in groups. Even if in reality they are far apart from each other, from our perspective, they look like they are never alone.”

The Ravenclaw student smiled bitterly, “I missed my family,” he whispered, “It was hard for me to move here alone. My parents and siblings are currently living in India, so it’s so difficult to see them during breaks.”

“I tried to make friends, but they are hard to come by,” He sighed, but his smile came back again, looking at you, “But you are a good company and listener.”

You are my friend, Amit! You screamed out, resulting in a series of loud meows. He chuckled, “You are a smart one, aren’t you?” he tapped his chin, “I’ll call you Taara - it means ‘Star’ in Hindi.”

You meowed gleefuly, it was the prettiest name anyone in the school had given you so far. “I bet not a lot of students will understand that,” Amit chuckled, “It’ll be our little secret!��

Before he could continue, the doors opened. “I think it’s Professor Shah,” Amit said as he picked you up, striding down the tower and put you down in front of the classroom, “Sorry, Taara, Professor Shah isn’t too fond of animals in the Astronomy tower,” he frowned, “I’ll see you again soon!”

Amit waved his hand as he retreated back to the tower.

Gobby, Ginger, Chamomile, and Taara.

Today was beyond eventful. It was almost time for the night curfew, and you were still stuck as a cat. Your limbs were tired from walking around the castle. A big part of you were grateful of this mishap, as you were able to get to know your schoolmates better. Although you spent your day with other students, you haven’t met the two people you were looking for.

“Ah, such a pretty cat.” You were startled at the sudden complement. You jumped back, eyes wide as you stared at a boy clad in shirt and long pants, a green Slytherin tie adorned on his chest. His auburn hair kept tousled. A huge smile formed on his freckled face. Sebastian! It’s me! You yelled on top of your lungs, still resulting in meows.

“A loud one, for sure.” A chuckle left another boy behind Sebastian. His eyes were light grey, as they were reflecting a cloudy storm. His hair was still neatly combed. The tip of his wand glowed, casting a beautiful red light against your black fur.

Sebastian gently picked you up, holding you close in his arms. You hoped that he couldn’t hear how fast your heart was thumping. Surely, they don’t know about your situation, right? You inhaled his scent - cinnamon, musk, and a tinge of burning wood. You shamelessly curled up to him, purring as you did so. You felt Sebastian’s chuckled, “Looks like this cat is tired.” He gently stroked your back.

“Let’s bring it back to the common room,” Ominous replied, closing in to Sebastian as he slowly moved his hand, tracing your soft fur, “We have cozy fireplace and warm milk for our little friend.”

You heard the sound of fire crackling and warmth against your skin. You contorted your body as you found a comfortable position the pillow. As you blinked your eyes open, you were laying down on a pillow on top of Ominis’ lap. The two Slytherin boys were sitting on the sofa next to the fireplace. Sebastian was lounging with a book on his hand. Suddenly you were washed with sadness. You never felt safer than this moment, just with Sebastian and Ominis, the two boys that you cared for the most. You closed your eyes again, too cozy to wake up.

“You know, I haven’t seen Y/N today,” Sebastian muttered, eyes still glued to the book. Your ears perked up as they started to mention your name.

Ominis sighed, “I know, I’ve been worried sick. I hope nothing happened to her.” You found it hard to rest as your heart was beating faster. They were worried about me! you thought.

“I think she will be fine,” Sebastian hummed, “Y/N is smart, and strong to boot. I know she’ll be alright no matter what opponents or tasks she’s facing.”

“I agree. That’s why I find her so… beautiful.” Ominis added. With that sentence, you jolted up. Your heart and mind were in a jumble.

Ominis’ fingers caressed your head, “Sebastian, the cat is awake.”

Sebastian sighed in content as he closed his book, tossing it to the side. He walked closer to you, scratching your chin, “Did you have a good rest?”

You instinctively purred. Sebastian and Ominis chuckled at your reaction, “So adorable.” said the auburn haired boy.

“You know, Sebastian,” Ominis added, still stroking your back, “Since this cat wil probably stay with us for a while, should we name her?”

Sebastian nodded, smirking, “I have a name in mind…” He crouched down to meet your gaze, “How does Y/N sound?”

You stood up, meowing loudly. They knew?! Your emotions were mixed up; panic, embarrassment, and a bit of anger for not helping you earlier.

“Hold on now,” Sebastian laughed, “I’ll help you.” He took out his wand and gently tapped your head. The same blue light reappeared around you as you turned back into human in a split second. You examined your fur-less fingers and grabbed onto your uniform, “I’m back!!” you shouted, pumpking your fist as if you’ve won a match. Realization sinked in as you heard the boys snickered. Your face immediately went tomato red as you felt Ominis squirmed underneath you. You scrambled away from his lap, curling in the corner of the sofa and hiding your face behind a pillow.

“...Just let me disappear.” Your voice was muffled behind the pillow.

Ominis was the one who stopped laughing first, “I’m so sorry, Y/N, I genuinely thought it was too adorable to see you as a feline.”

Sebastian rubbed the tears from his eyes, “Oh, I agree, as much as I felt bad, I was enjoying it.”

You tossed the pillow at Sebastian, “you could’ve helped me earlier!”

Sebastian caught the pillow, setting it aside, “I’m sorry! Truly. But I did get you back, didn’t I?” he winked.

“How did you both know it was me?” You asked, still hitting Sebastian and Ominis with whatever pillow you could find.

“Y/N…” Ominis impressively dodged the hits, “We’ve spent everyday together, how could I not feel your aura even if you’re not human?”

“Oh, and here you go.” Sebastian handed your wand back, “Did the professor not tell you to keep it safe?”

You huffed as you calmed down, “Thank you. I mean it. I was scared I was going to cough up hairballs at some point.” You twiddled your thumb, blush spreading your cheeks, “Were you both… Looking for me?”

Ominis let out another laugh, “We were panicking around the castle,” he coughed, “Well, Sebastian panicked around the castle. He almost asked the Headmaster for a search party if I didn’t hold on to his collars. On the other hand, I am searching for you calm and collected.”

“Lies. He almost cried.”

Ominis’ face turned sour as you laughed at their antics. You held out your arms and hugged the two close, “Thank you, again, you both are always there for me.”

“It’s because we love you, Y/N.” Sebastian sighed in content as he stroked your hair.

Ominis placed his hand on your back gently, “You are the most important person in our lives.” A gentle smile plastered on his face.

You looked up at them. Their confessions were stern and confident, but your heart leapt as you saw how red their faces are - sincerity evident in their expressions. You hugged them even tighter, “I love you both so much.”

#self induldgement baybeeeee #sebastian sallow #sebastian #sebastian sallow x f!reader #ominis gaunt #ominis #ominis gaunt x f!reader #sebastian sallow fanfic #ominis gaunt fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy #hl

441 notes · View notes

nebulastarss · 4 months ago

Text

The story for the catbatfam au: Part 1

The Waynes:

Martha and Thomas Wayne, newly married and excited for the future, bought a cat from Europe. Specifically a Savannah Cat from Britian. (Look them up please they're so cute and BIG) The cat was slightly distrustful at first, but warmed up over time. He had battle scars, tears in his ears for example. They named him Alfred, and thought of him as a friend. He was their emotional support. Now, it's been years, they're out of college, they're settled.

They also don't want kids. Martha grew up as a celebrity and has no idea what to give a kid but is pretty sure that whatever she would say would be wrong. Thomas is not home enough to fully support a kid without his wives help, and neither of them have the time to go to parenting classes, not to mention the paparazzi. (thank you Lady Gaga for teaching me how to spell paparazzi)

So they look at their older cat Alfred and they say (to their cat. They've been in the habit of talking to him like he's a person for years) "would you like to co-parent with us."

So they buy a kitten. A Maine Coon kitten that they name Bruce. Bruce is a well behaved boy, and Alfred quickly gets into the habit of following around the kitten to unsure he doesn't accidently cause any trouble.

(Hey how old is Alfred here? Cats don't live that long blah blah- shush. Age isn't real and cats are immortal. Screw logic)

Bruce grows up happy and loved, and without his owners dying because human!Bruce was the one to drag them to the theater in the first place. He never gets neutered but he never like. Does things that unneutered male cats do. He doesn't even spray??? Like they fully expected him to do that but he just doesn't. So they forget.

Bruce grows into a well-loved cat, and starts breaking out. At first they don't notice, but then he has mud under his claws, bits of leaves on his back. And no one knows how he's doing it. Alfred isn't spilling, that old man just leaves the room if questioned. Bruce doesn't seem to be getting into fights, no scratch marks or bitten ears, but they can't figure out how to keep him in.

One day, they hear scratching at the door, open it up.

Why is Bruce holding an American Shorthair kitten in his mouth. Where did you get that.

So they bring the baby to the vet, find a microchip. He belongs to 2 people who died today. Oh no. What do you mean there's dried human blood on the babies paws. Oh NO.

They bring the kitten home. The name Richard is on his microchip. He does not answer to Richard. One of the performers get in touch, asking if "Little Dickie" is doing ok. The kitten only answers to Dick. Thomas loves it, Martha is fondly exasperated for at least a week.

Bruce has gone full father. Dick is his kitten, 100%. The same way Alfred was clearly co-parenting, Bruce has labeled Alfred as a grandfather along with Martha and Thomas. They're overjoyed. They're grandparents to their kitty baby. He grew up so fast.

(The house keepers have a running joke, pretending Bruce is human and saying stuff like "Oh he didn't even finish college before settling down" "took an orphan off the streets, so selfless, just like his parents". All of the butlers and maids love their weird, eccentric family)

Dick keeps following Bruce on his ventures. (they've installed a large doggie door. If he's gonna get out, they can at least monitor it.) Online comes a video from the police Commissioner's private account, apparently Dick befriended his cat, Babs. Since the Wayne's are a public family, everyone knows who the Wayne cats are. And Bruce is pretty goddamn identifiable. (How many black and white Maine Coons are there in Gotham? Most likely: 1)

Dick gets fixed. They figure that Bruce being unfixed is what caused him to pick up Dick, a kitten in need. Like a weird, cat version of asexuality. They don't fix Bruce.

It's been a few months when Bruce picks up another one, a scruffy Cymric kitten with matted fur and a ripped color, faded tag reading Jason. His vet visit is actually pretty urgent, since he's clearly not doing great and has multiple infections. He was clearly not treated well by the people on the streets, having been kicked about at least once (by the Joker, which is where Bruce found him) They call the number on the back of the collar, and discover the Todd family.

A dead goon husband and struggling addict wife, who is not fit to look after herself let alone a cat. Faced with charges of animal neglect and abuse, Catherine goes to rehab. Once clean, she doesn't ask for him back as she feels she isn't responsible enough, and needs to work on herself more first. She does visit sometimes though.

Dick tries to play too roughly with Jason at first, but after some baps to the ears from Alfred, he calms down and lets Jason recover. Cuddles are mandatory tho. The kitten will be groomed and he is not getting out of it.

#batman au #catbatfam series #so i posted this on accident and genuinely thought i lost it #so its part of a series now #batman #alfred pennyworth #martha wayne #thomas wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #bruce wayne

16 notes · View notes

schmooplesboop · 1 year ago

Text

Toffee Apple

Pairing: Alex X Male farmer/player

Rating: Teen

For the past couple of years Alex had skipped out on Spirit’s Eve. It had gotten pretty stale. Fake plastic hedge maze, shitty plastic scares, and even shittier food that might as well have been plastic. Just bad all around.

This year, though… on top of keeping his farm afloat Colton had volunteered to grow a huge corn maze on his land for the town’s Spirit’s Eve celebrations. And the rumors had been buzzing around Pelican Town since: Colton had recruited the weird wizard dude who lived in the woods to provide spooks for the haunted corn maze, Gus had been inspired by Colton’s enthusiasm and dug up new recipes for Spirit’s Eve treats, Marnie wanted to set up a hayride for those who wanted a calmer vibe. Everyone was excited to see this year’s festival, Alex included. Even if he hadn’t cared about the event, he had a personal reason to be excited this year. Colton had straight up asked him on a date.

“I may not look it, but I’m a giant scaredy cat. I need a big, strong date to guide me through the maze. You up for it, dude?”

Haley had been staring at him so intensely that Alex could practically hear her brain screaming at him to “Just say yes, you big dope!” For once, he didn’t need her intervening, he’d said yes almost immediately. Colton’s smile and faint blush was worth the awkwardness of Haley standing there looking like she wanted to scream with delight.

Now the big night was here and he was nervous as hell. This was his first real date in a while and his first date with another dude, period.

Alex looked himself over in the full-length mirror in the hall outside his room. He’d chosen to wear a grey hoodie under his old letterman jacket and his cleanest jeans. Hair perfectly coiffed then perfectly re-coiffed, his usual hour-long hair care routine had lengthened into two. He anxiously looked over the cologne Haley had forced into his hand that morning.

“Spiced Orange. Seasonal and sexy!”

He sniffed it warily. It did smell nice… ah, what the hell. He sprayed himself then tossed the bottle through the doorway onto his bed.

Alex wished he had someone other than his grandparents to give their opinion of the end result.

His grandmother was terribly biased, “You always look handsome, dear!”

And his grandfather was not biased enough, “Hair is hair. You look like always do.”

Out of desperation, he’d asked Dusty’s opinion too. “What do you think, boy?” He gently scratched his old dog behind the ears. “How do I look? Underdressed?”

Dusty huffed a quiet doggy noise of reassurance and licked Alex’s fingers.

Alex set his jaw, chiding himself. (It’s a haunted corn maze, not the fucking opera. Just chill.)

It was definitely going to be a cold and spooky night. Alex’s breath misted in the air as he headed out of town toward Gullwing Farm, hands shoved in his jacket pockets for warmth. Fog swirled around his ankles.

Alex’s jaw dropped as Colton’s farm came into view. He’d really gone all out. Orange and purple fairy lights were strung everywhere. Ghost and witch decorations hung from the trees. Menacing scarecrows leered in the fields. Dozens of jack-o-lanterns lined the lane that led into the farm.

Right at the main gate to Gullwing there were two signs, both decorated with childish drawings of different townsfolk being scared by different monsters. Alex recognized Vincent and Jas’s handiwork straight away. One sign said that entry was free, but there was a suggested donation of five dollars. The second sign was slightly ominous, simply stating that the “Ghost Show” was at midnight… whatever that meant. Alex put fifty bucks in the slotted box nailed under the first sign and went through the gate.

Gus had a canopy set up under which he and Emily were busy doling out food and drinks. Trays of toffee apples, buckets of popcorn in three different flavors, ‘devil hot’ potato chips, pumpkin cookies, ‘mini brain’ cake pops, ‘graveyard’ cupcakes, apple punch, and hot cider. It must’ve taken them all day to get things ready.

Haley was hanging out with her sister, looking vaguely bored and eating a cake pop. When she spotted Alex, she gave him a quick once over and a round of brief silent applause. Feeling slightly better having his friend’s approval, Alex waved at her as he went by. The food looked delicious, but Alex was still mostly nerves. He didn’t think he could eat anything right now.

Pierre had set up his stand too, of course, selling Spirit’s Eve t-shirts and decorations. Alex bought a little plastic bobble ghost for his gran. She liked these weird, cheap little things for some reason. She had so many that she’d had to buy an enormous bookcase to display them.

The corn maze loomed in the distance, looking intimidating and surprisingly eerie in the fog and dim, colored light. It really was huge, it would probably take a couple of hours to get through, maybe even more. Alex was impressed by the enthusiasm and effort that not just Colton, but everyone had put into this. The whole town had really pulled together to make things better than before. Colton seemed to have that effect on people, Alex included.

Jodi was standing outside the maze with a tearful Vincent, telling him that it was too scary for him and trying to convince him to check out the more laidback hayride Marnie had going not far away. Sam, Abigail, and Sebastian stood nearby, pushing each other around and laughing.

Sebastian caught his eye and waved. Alex waved back. This is what he’d meant by Colton having an effect on him too. Old Alex dismissed Sebastian as “that weird guy” without a second thought. But when the weather had gotten colder and their morning beach runs had evolved into morning hikes in the mountains, Colton had invited Sebastian to join them sometimes and Alex had been surprised to learn that not only could Seb keep up with them even though he was 95% skinny legs, but he also knew a lot about wildlife (frogs mostly). He’d also discovered that they actually had things in common. They were both really into an old adventure-fantasy comic series that had been all the rage before either of them was born. Sebastian had even lent Alex two of the comics he was missing from his own collection. New Alex had learned not be so fucking judgy. He was liking New Alex way more than Old Alex.

Abigail linked arms with Sam and marched him into the maze. Seb pointed to a little picnic area where people were milling about eating treats, waiting for their turn on the hayride, or just enjoying the atmosphere. Alex could see Colton waiting there, munching enthusiastically on a toffee apple. Willing himself not to blush, Alex nodded his thanks to Sebastian and made his way over.

Colton towered over literally everyone around him and Alex was relieved to see that they had similar outfits on. He was wearing a fleece lined black-and-teal plaid jacket over a dark sweater and faded jeans. Now that it was too cold to surf every day, his tan skin had lost its golden luster and his hair had faded from bleached back to sandy blonde, but Colton was still super hot, to use Haley’s words.

Colton spotted him and quickly swallowed a bite of his apple, “Hi, Alex!” Like Haley, the farmer gave him a once over and Alex felt his chest tighten with anxiety. “Looking very spruce tonight, dude.”

Oh, thank fuck. “Thanks. You’re looking good yourself.” Alex was impressed with how chill he sounded, despite feeling very unchill. “Did you do all this yourself? It looks awesome, I barely recognize the farm.”

“Thanks! But nah, I had a lot of help. Demetrius helped me design the maze, but I did all the planting and watering and maintaining. Vincent and Jas helped with decorating and Marnie’s handling the hayride. Gus and Emily are in charge of the food and drink, of course. Rasmodius also said he’d provide scares for the maze and something called a ‘ghost show’. Not sure what that means, I’m kinda nervous about it to be honest—"

A scream came from the maze, startling Alex and sending a ripple of murmurs through the picnic area.

“I think that’s Maru, poor woman’s been in there for a long time. Even Harvey made it through the maze before she did. We should rescue her if we find her.” Colton finished off his apple and tossed the stick into the trash. “You ready to guide my wussy ass through this maze or would you like some food first?”

“Let’s get our maze on.” Ugh. New Alex still sometimes said mortifying shit.

Colton seemed charmed by it, thankfully, and they entered the maze. Alex didn’t scare easily, but he had to admit it was pretty creepy in here. The corn was so thick you couldn’t see through it, and it rose high over even Colton’s head. The only light in the maze came from the full moon and the fairy lights that occasionally criss-crossed overhead and it was like outside noises were muffled somehow. The ankle-deep fog outside the maze became knee-map inside. Somewhere ahead they could hear Sam whimpering and Abigail calling him a baby.

The first scare that Rasmodius conjured up, maybe literally, came running at them from out of the corn. A skeleton that glowed a sickly green sprinted right for them with arms outstretched. Alex jumped as Colton screamed. The skeleton blew right by them, bony fingers scratching at the farmer’s arm before disappearing into the corn again. Alex’s stomach flipping had nothing to do with the scare and everything to do with Colton grabbing hold of his hand.

“Sorry for making you jump, Alex. Did warn you I was a big ol’ scaredy cat.” Colton sounded self-conscious.

Alex hated to hear it. Didn’t feel right, that someone as awesome as Colton was feeling bad about himself. He gave the farmer’s hand a reassuring squeeze and smiled. “Nothing to be sorry about, dude. Happy to be bodyguard and date tonight.” Or any night.

And Alex played his part well. The wizard’s scares definitely weren’t of the plastic variety. Giant spiders, weird noises in the corn, invisible hands that brushed at their ankles and arms, figures in the fog, drooling red-eyed hounds, big swooping bats, footsteps that ran up behind them with nothing there when they turned. Colton didn’t scream every time, but there was always someone else screaming just out of sight.

By the time they reached the middle of the maze, Alex had one arm wrapped tight around Colton’s waist. The farmer looked around nervously. There was nothing here in the center of the maze except a creepy statue of what looked like a guy with an octopus for a head. Poor Maru screeched again, but it sounded distant. It seemed she might actually get out sometime before dawn.

Colton looked at the faintly glowing display on his watch, “The ‘ghost show’ starts soon. Wanna see what that is before we try making our way out?”

Alex nodded, even he needed a break. “Sounds good.”

The wizard’s ‘ghost show’ started at exactly midnight. Vaguely human-shaped figures, glowing pale blue, drifted up through the corn and started swirling over the maze. Fast, slow, they zipped and twirled overhead. There were a few surprised squawks from the maze dwellers, then a murmur of amazement. Considering what they’d been through already tonight, this was actually kind of… soothing.

(And romantic?) Alex’s brain supplied oh-so-innocently.

No! Don’t be stupi—Alex swallowed thickly. Apparently, Colton agreed with Alex’s brain. He’d turned to face Alex, leaning in slightly. The anxiety in his deep brown eyes had melted into something very close to desire.

(Okay. The hottest man in the valley wants to kiss you, don’t fuck it up. Shit. I can do this. Okay. Fuck. C’mon, Alex, you’re not afraid of ghouls and shit, but you’re afraid of a kiss? Just--)

He blinked. Colton was suddenly angling away, looking a little embarrassed. Belatedly, Alex realized that the other man had been politely waiting for him to lean in too and had taken his getting momentarily lost in his own panicked brain as disinterest. Great. Fucked it up instantly.

“Then unfuck it, doofus!” He heard Haley’s voice so clearly in his mind it was like she was swirling overhead with the wizard’s ghosts. Hoping this didn’t make things even more awkward, Alex slid his arms around Colton’s neck and leaned in. The embarrassment faded instantly. Colton leaned down… and holy shit, they were kissing, the farmer’s body very warm and very firm as it pressed against Alex’s. Colton tasted like toffee apple and he smelled like rain in the woods with a hint of the sea underneath. Then his fingers hooked into Alex’s belt loops to draw him closer and who knew that such a small thing could be so fucking sexy?

They parted, both slightly breathless, as the ghosts above faded out so that near darkness settled over the maze once again.

“That was nice.” Colton murmured.

Alex agreed wholeheartedly. “Yeah, it was.”

He shivered as Colton’s lips brushed against his ear and his fingers tightened in his belt loops. “You smell amazing, by the way…”

Score one for Haley, she’d be pleased to hear it. Alex was trying to form some kind of reply that wouldn’t want to make him shrivel up and die when somewhere to their left they heard the sound of Abigail screaming and Sam laughing long and loud and very donkey-like. Their little romantic moment was over, but not ruined.

Colton’s lips were at his ear once more. “Get me out of this maze alive and I’ll kiss you again.”

If it wouldn’t have ruined the experience for everyone else, Alex would’ve bulled a straight line through the corn and made his own exit.

Oddly, kissing Alex seemed to have bolstered the farmer. He was much less jumpy as they navigated their way out and only screamed twice. Alex felt his ego puff up. Just a bit.

Someplace ahead of them they heard Maru shriek again, but this one was different. It was a scream of triumph, “Heck yeah, I survived! Emily, two cupcakes, please!”

Colton laughed, “Guess she found her way out.”

A few more twists and turns and they found their way out as well, Colton breathing a sigh of relief in the cold night air.

“Thanks, Alex. My hero.”

True to his word, Colton was moving in close again. Alex moved as well, perhaps a bit too eagerly as their noses bumped lightly. Colton only chuckled, tilting his head just a touch more so their mouths slotted together perfectly. Goddamn he tasted and smelled and felt so good. Alex could get used to this…

Afterward they bought some snacks and cider and went to join Maru and a few others in the picnic area. Haley had disappeared, probably went home a while ago. Spirit’s Eve wasn’t really her thing. She’d likely just come to give her sister and Alex some support. With the kids in bed and the last few stragglers exiting the maze, Marnie was dismantling the hayride and loading her ponies into the trailer behind her truck. Alex took a bite of the toffee apple he’d bought, a sheepish grin on his face. He knew it was kinda goofy, but he wanted to relive the taste of Colton’s lips a few more times.

They were halfway through their snack feast when Sam, Abby, and Sebastian emerged from the maze, taunting each other about who was the biggest baby.

“Didn’t hear Seb once so he’s obviously the champ among you three.” Colton called out with a teasing smirk.

Abigail laughed as the trio came to a stop beside their table. “You and Maru had a chorus going.” She teased back.

“Oh dude, yeah, I definitely would’ve dropped dead five feet into the maze without Alex to protect me.”

Alex’s cheeks flushed as he felt Colton’s hand slide over his wrist. Abby and Sam’s eyebrows raised in surprised, Sebastian just looked smug that he’d known something his friends hadn’t. Old Alex would’ve cared, probably too much. New Alex didn’t give a fuck.

He just smiled and gave Colton a nudge with his elbow. “Don’t sell yourself short, you didn’t shit yourself on the way out.”

The five of them laughed together. It felt nice.

“Walk me home?” Colton asked as they threw their trash in the bin, gesturing to the farmhouse in the distance.

“Yeah, of course.”

Alex felt more sets of curious eyes on them as they walked off hand-in-hand. He still didn’t give a fuck.

As soon as they entered the farmyard Finn, Colton’s dog, came barrelling out of his doggy door and jumped all over Alex, barking excitedly trying to lick his face.

“Oh, I see who his favorite is.” The farmer smirked.

Alex laughed and scratched Finn around the neck, trying and failing to keep all four of the dog’s paws on the ground. “Hey, buddy!”

“Thank-you, Alex.” Colton said as they ascended the stairs onto the porch, Finn racing in circles around both of them. “I had a lot of fun with you tonight.”

A pleasant little knot of warmth formed in Alex’s stomach. “Me too.”

“No hike tomorrow. Gotta take all this stuff down.”

“Not by yourself, I hope?” Finn impatiently butted his head against Alex’s leg and he reached down to pat him.

“Nah. Wizard dude is taking care of the spooky stuff tonight. Marnie, Gus, and Pierre are taking care of their areas tonight too. Tomorrow morning Marnie, Shane, Seb, Sam, and Abby are coming to help with the rest.”

“I’ll help too. What time?”

“Yeah? I thought it’d be kinda tacky to ask my date to help me clean up.” Finn was harassing Colton for pets now, and he ruffled the dog about the ears.

“Nah, I want to help. Just tell me when to show up.”

A fond little smile curved Colton’s lips, “Why don’t you come by a bit earlier than the others? I’ll make pancakes.”

Alex felt his cheeks go red, “…I’d like that.”

“Seven, then?”

“I’ll be here.”

His affection quota satisfied, Finn slipped back through his doggy door into the house. Colton’s affection quota not quite satisfied, he placed a soft kiss on Alex’s jaw. “Goodnight, Alex.”

“See you tomorrow, Colton.”

#stardew valley #stardew valley alex #supportive bestie haley #supportive bestie sebastian #supportive doggo dusty #alex x male farmer #alex x male player #schmooples fic #farmer colton #colton x alex

89 notes · View notes