#also thanks for continuing to follow despite the absence

[poorly-drawn-scumvillain]

Happy October :)

[daycourtofficial]

Ferocious beasts with soft bellies

Pairing: Eris x Rhys’s sister!reader | WC: 2.5k | warnings: mentions of pregnancy, some violence from dogs

Summary: Eris’s hounds know you’re pregnant before either of you do, driving the two of you wild with their newfound devotion to you.

Author’s note: hi everyone!!! Thanks for joining me this week, I hope you had a great time!! This one ends on a note I didn’t expect it to, but I do have plans to write follow-ups I kinda wanted to break this up into two. Also this is part of my gingerfucker series, but can be read as a standalone okay love ya bye 😘

Eris’s hounds were incredibly well-trained. He spent thousands of hours when they were pups instilling in them commands, tracking and hunting skills, and alerting him to intruders on the property.

At least, they used to be well-trained.

These days Clover, the leader of the pack, would not allow you out of her sight. All twelve hounds wandered through your house as they pleased, often keeping you company in Eris’s absence. They would lounge about, finding warm sunny spots throughout the house to take afternoon naps in. You’d usually have one or two lazily trail you around the house, staying in the beds you had placed in several of the rooms.

Lately their attachment and sudden devotion to you was getting out of hand. Clover was practically sewn into your side the way she followed you around - she hardly let you out of her sight, keeping an eye on you at all times, following you as you moved through the house. She was even beginning to ignore Eris’s commands, opting to stay at your feet, following you around the house, or with her head curled on your lap.

When you and Eris publicly began your mateship, you had begged him to allow the dogs into your shared bed. “Just one,” you had pouted, “I don’t like waking alone.”

Despite his grumbling, Eris had obliged your request. Things with your family were still quite rough - it had been almost a year by now since you left the Night Court, being unceremoniously abdicated from the throne. You had been in contact with most of your family by this point except for Rhysand, who was still refusing to speak with you since he forced you out of ‘his court’, as he had called it.

Despite your best efforts, Eris still felt guilty over it, the rift in your family caused by the discovery of your mateship. You usually tried to soothe him, not wanting him to feel guilt over the decisions you made. You would choose him over and over again, and problems with Rhysand or any member of your family were not going to stop that from continuing. Besides, his guilt would be better suited as ire towards Rhysand.

Sometimes you did use his guilt to get what you want.

Which is why it initially did take Clover much coaxing to jump into the bed at all, a notion she thought ridiculous at first, but once her paws melted into the mattress, she was quick to lay directly on your side of the bed, placing her head atop your pillow.

“Traitor,” Eris had muttered as you cuddled up to her, petting her soft head.

After getting her into the bed, Clover spent most nights curled up at your feet or by your side, your nights often spent squished between her long body and Eris’s. Soon enough, you were back to asking Eris for another one to sleep in your bed.

“So Clover doesn’t get lonely.”

He spent ages debating with you that no, she doesn’t need a companion in bed with her. It was ridiculous. The three of you were enough for one bed, and he hated to think of how a second hound would complicate things.

He didn’t want to admit it, but he did quite enjoy it when he’d throw an arm around you in the middle of the night and his fingers would meet Clover’s soft fur from the other side of you.

It also soothed some minor worry in him to have you protected from all sides, despite your being more than capable of defending yourself. The mating bond was a precious gift, but it was also a minor curse with the way it coursed through his veins, needing to protect you, to keep you safe, and to keep you both satiated.

“Er, our bed’s plenty big enough for more hounds.”

“Yes, but they’ll get too spoiled. You’ve already turned Clover rotten.”

“I have done no such thing,” you cross your arms, trying to look utterly appalled at his accusation. He gives you a pointed look, then turns his gaze behind you.

Your gaze turned to the hound seated behind you, her long limbs spread across your bed, her little leg kicks and soft snores bringing a small chuckle to your lips that you quickly turned into a scoff.

“That proves nothing.”

In the several months since allowing Clover and Cinnamon in your bed, they were still obedient. They left the bed without disturbing you in the mornings, they rotated who laid next to you and who slept at the foot of the bed, and they would never go to bed without either you or Eris prompting them to.

That all stopped a few weeks ago.

Eris’s hounds had always been fond of you - Eris had spoken of them for centuries before you were able to see any of them. The way he had spoken of them had helped you see he was capable of caring about something that wasn’t himself.

That was its own revelation.

Meeting the hounds was quite nerve-wracking for you - he told you they were quite cold to new fae, and they had detested Lucien’s overeagerness to befriend them - a grudge they still held many centuries later.

“I believe they smelled the desperation leaking from his pores, tainted their perception of him,” he quipped.

Despite Eris’ warnings, you were not prepared for them to warm up to you as much as they had. He brought out his most trusted hound, Clover, to meet you, and you’re not sure if it was the way Eris’ scent was forever entwined with your own, but she warmed to you immediately. She circled your legs before sitting directly next to you, placing her head beneath your hand.

“What does this mean?” you whisper to Eris, not wanting to scare her or set her off.

“She wants you to pet her.”

Your confused expression makes his eyes dance with amusement.

“Surely you understand that means to stroke her head.” He raises his hand in demonstration, petting the air with a bemused look on his face.

You huff, “she could bite me, I apologize for wanting to wait a moment before touching a creature you’ve told me is dangerous.”

“She is dangerous, but surely she’s capable of being more than one thing.”

Nowadays she was capable of such a feat - she was not only beloved by you, but she was also a constant thorn in your side.

It started with subtle things, conversations with Eris where you tried to express how odd they were behaving one night while you sat in Eris’ study, helping him sort through correspondence from his brothers about the lands they oversee.

“Clover followed me into the bathroom.”

“Perhaps I should put some cushions for her to lay down while you bathe. I’m fond of the sight, perhaps she is too.”

You roll your eyes, “I’m serious, Er. She’s behaving strangely.”

Eris set the letter from Moros down, his attention fixed on you. “You spoil her, she is merely being affectionate. You’ll get used to it.”

Eris was wrong, Clover’s behavior only getting worse as the days went on.

“Clover, stay.”

Clover’s brown eyes observed you, your finger pointing toward the floor indicating for her to stay, tone full of finality - a princess’s tone, a high lady’s tone. You were determined to get the hound to listen to you, commanding her to stay in your chambers.

You passed through the door, heading down to speak with one of your advisor’s who insisted he speak with you as soon as possible. You rolled your eyes just thinking about his current issue with one of the trade routes that flows into Spring and how last time he wanted to speak to you, you enjoyed watching the vein on his forehead throb at your reluctance to take his ill advice.

Perhaps during this meeting the vein will pop, at least then the meeting would come with entertainment.

You look down and are startled when you see Clover’s body in step with yours, her fur shimmering in the light as if she were smoke rising from the ground.

Cauldron boil me, Eris is going to kill me if I’ve ruined all of their training.

You stop, pointing in the opposite direction, whispering, “go, shoo Clover.” You don’t even want to consider how she got through the closed door.

Clover just sits in front of you, her gaze piercing, seeing something you can’t. You blow out a breath, hands running through your hair, “okay, you may come with me.”

You’d regret those words.

Clover strode into the room before you, sniffing the air as her nails clacked across the floor. Her focus shifted to the male in the room, Flint’s eyes narrowing at her. She moved her body closer to the floor as she stalked towards him, the hair along her spine raising into the shape of a fin. Her ears were pulled back, a low rumble emitting from her chest.

“Clover!”

Your voice is chastising, but Clover does not let her guard down as she slowly approaches Flint. His eyes are full of fear as she approaches, her feet circling him. He spins in a circle, not letting her eyes leave his.

“Clover!”

You whistle her stop command, but she ignores it. She circled Flint the way she circles mice and rabbits.

She always loved playing with her food.

“What is this? Control your hound.” Flint’s voice is annoyed as Clover raises her head, baring her teeth at him.

“I’m trying.”

You move forward, reaching to grab Clover’s neck, instead missing and falling forward towards Flint. His arms catch your forearms, but Clover was not a fan of his touch and her teeth swiftly sank into the leg of his trousers. Her grip was strong as she tugged at his pants, and he began stammering, shaking his leg trying to rid his pants of her. He backed away toward the door, and once he reached the threshold, Clover let go of her grip, almost causing the male to fall over.

Her growls echoed down the hall as she watched him run down the hall before scampering back towards you, confusion and shock on your face at all that just transpired.

The hound just licked your face gently before laying next to you, her head in your lap.

You sighed, certain that Eris would kill you for ruining Clover.

Later that night, Eris made hisbway to your shared chambers, a bit surprised to find you already asleep. The hour wasn’t too late, however he had caught you dozing while reading over some requests regarding equipment for some farms.

He stripped his clothes, the finery being replaced by some loose trousers before moving towards the bed to find that the hounds had placed themselves on either side of you, Cinnamon occupying his spot on the bed.

“Cinnamon, down.”

The brown hound does not listen to the command, the only response a long sigh of her breath. He stared at the hound - a seventy year old beast who was one of the easiest hounds he’d ever trained, knowing how he expected her to behave from an incredibly young age.

Cinnamon was no Clover, but she was second in their chain of command. Clover was on your other side, soft snores coming from her snout.

There was plenty of room in the bed for the two of you, the two hounds, and, truthfully, several more hounds. Your preference for larger beds from when you had your wings never left after you lost them.

Eris laid in the bed, determined he could outmaneuver his hounds. He moved a hand out to your face, stroking your hair before a soft growl cut him off.

His hand stilled, eyes wide at such a response from Cinnamon. His nostrils begin flaring, heat rising to the surface of his skin in anger. He could feel the roar of the bond in his ears, frustration boiling within him at the defiance and aggression at him touching his own mate.

He tried to swallow it down, refusing to erupt in his own bed while you slept peacefully next to him. His fuse was a short one, his temper always loosely held back by a quick tongue that allowed him to loosen the reins ever so slightly.

He watched them, their bodies curled around your own and thought about your complaints of them following you around, believing it to be a consequence of your softness towards them.

You were spoiling them rotten. You were a few weeks away from giving them table scraps, for Mother’s sake. But then his thoughts veered into Flint’s description of what occurred, Clover guarding you from Flint’s touch like a mother hen-

His heart stalls in his chest, a heavy realization settling over him as he sits up, Sierra growling softly at his abrupt movements.

You were pregnant. You had to be - it was the only logical conclusion other than all twelve of his hounds losing their minds simultaneously. They must be able to scent it on you before fae senses could pick them up.

He wonders briefly if Lucien’s magical eye could see it.

Eris lay frozen on the bed, his thoughts swirling with what to do, how he was going to handle this. He was still quite new to his tenure as high lord - the work wasn’t unexpected by any means, however his position was still quite vulnerable - new power always attracted violence attempting to see how far that power extended.

Things were still difficult in your personal lives - he and Lucien were on tenuous speaking terms, you and Rhysand were not on speaking terms. The two of you hadn’t spoken in almost a year.

It was all so damn complicated - you hadn’t had a coronation as high lady yet, wanting to wait until Rhysand would show up to have the ceremony. The logistics of a babe at such a crucial turning point politically could open Eris up to glaring vulnerabilities.

Long fingers tap at his chest, trying to keep himself somewhat grounded in reality. He had no confirmation for this - his reasoning behind such a theory were founded on the strange behavior of his hounds. He was being a ridiculous fool to get so worked up over unconfirmed theories.

Yet the image of a swaddled little thing kept gnawing at his mind - tiny toes, a tiny nose, tiny fingers wrapping around his. He had adored his brothers when they were much younger, when the world under Beron could be disguised as a good place. Perhaps he could do it.

Eris laid awake for several hours, your soft breathing calming him as he sat and thought about all the possible ways he could ruin all of this.

A tiny part of him let himself hope that, in spite of it all, he wouldn’t.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx

Eris taglist: @secret-third-thing

Thanks for reading 💕

[aklaustaleteller]

Could you make an imagine where Klaus Mikaelson is the father figure to the reader despite not being her real dad? And her birth father came back trying to take her but Klaus wouldn’t stand for it and wouldn’t let him take the reader?

Home

Klaus had just been taking a stroll through the woods when he finds himself walking towards the sounds of a beta's broken sobs. Seeing the little abandoned wolf, Klaus takes her home with him, hoping that he'd be able to become her safe place -- which he very successfully does. But what happens when Y/n's biological father returns after ages in hopes of getting her back?

Warnings - None really, other than the fact that it's quite sad (but with happy outcomes I promise <3)

Word Count - 4.0k

Masterlist | please reblog the fic if you like it!

I'm so so so sorry for my absence the past whole week but hey, this is quite literally a 4k worded fic! So hopefully that makes up for it? (Also, thank you for the request, lovely anon. Please do tell me if you like it!!)

Also! I took the idea of Y/n's wolf being a little out of control from this very very amazing fic written by the truly talented @klausysworld Please do give the fic a read, if you haven't already that is, hahah <3

Klaus had been taking a stroll through the woods, his feet carrying him just about anywhere while his mind sped through thoughts a million miles an hour. He made plans, then backed them up with another one, and then made another one, just in case. And he'd just lifted his leg to cross over a fallen tree when his body came to an unnatural halt.

He was never caught off guard, but right now, as he heard hushed sobs and a heart that was beating in a painfully broken rhythm, he couldn't help but gently continue his stroll – in a particular direction with an aim, this time.

His head tilted as he neared the source of the sound, his nose picking up on a beta scent. It had been way too long since he had come across a beta, his major interactions occurring with either other Alphas or Omegas, or Vampires. As well as some other species that rather got on his nerves, such as the witches. It intrigued him.

From quite afar, his eyes finally caught sight of a rather small frame crouched against the rough bark of a tree, a jerk shaking their body every time their back accidently met with it, followed by another painful but gritted howl.

But what made Klaus' frown deepen even further, was the sight of wolf ears growing from the person's head. He felt as though his eyes were deceiving him; he had never come across something like this and if he wasn't mistaken, he was pretty sure that this was just an untrained little wolf -- or perhaps it was the strangeness making him think that there couldn't possibly be another mythical creature that was actually all too real.

So, he walked closer, his head a little ducked and shoulders bunched up on either side of his neck as he tried not to make any sound as that would surely startle the ...child, he realised.

The little frame, sobbing into their hands with their knees bunched up against their torso, belonged to a child. A werewolf child who was beginning to lose control of their wolf, and just then Klaus noticed a tail curling up against the little one's back in order to provide comfort.

He flinched when some wood broke unde his step, alerting the little girl and his heart cracked like a drought-stricken land when she jerked and looked up at him with eyes so big, full of fear swarming them and so much sadness that he could drown in it and not be found.

She immediately backed up into the tree, hissing sharply when her back met the unruly surface but not once did her eyes move away from him. Her lips trembled, a fat tear rolling down her cheek against her will and Klaus noted that the girl could not be older than a decade.

Taking another step towards her, Klaus froze when her wolf ears went back in, and a sob broke out of her mouth.

"Please, sir! I will do whatever you ask of me, but please don't hurt me," she shouted at him, fully breaking down into heart wrenching sobs as she tried to get up on wobbly legs but fell to the ground right away due to the tremor coursing through her body.

Tears blurred his vision for a second before he took the final step toward her which brought him close enough to sit on his knees beside her and rest his hand on her head.

"It's alright, little wolf. I'm not here to harm you," Klaus whispered, feeling her body falling into shambles under his touch. But when she looked up at him with uncertainty in her eyes, he couldn't help but pass her a reassuring smile.

"You are safe with me, sweetheart," he said, now weaving his hand across her forehead to brush away the hair that stuck to it. "Yes?" He asked her with a soft nod, bringing her closer to his chest when she too, nodded. Her eyes were still uncertain but he could tell that it won't take long for her to let go.

This was a child, full of enough naivety to trust a stranger and Klaus was more than glad that he’d found her before someone else could’ve. And maybe his Alpha scent provided her with the extra comfort that she most likely needed, but Klaus wasn’t complaining.

So he rested his back against the tree this time and let her sit in his lap, his arms around her in a way that cocooned her away from whatever that had pained her so terribly, and ready to protect her from anything that came her way with poisonous intentions.

His heart clenched inside his chest when the little girl curled up against him, finally letting the sobs rake through her body and for all the sadness to cause havoc inside her little heart before it left her alone for good.

And for some reason, Klaus just knew to avoid her back. It was clear that she was hurt over there somehow, making him rub his hand up and down her arm instead, and rock the two of them side to side for a little bit. Slowly and slowly, her wails turned into softer sobs and then finally, Klaus heard her heartbeat go back to a normal pace again.

He looked down to see if she'd cried it all out, wanting her to tell him about the culprit who had hurt her like this but when he found that she had slipped into a deep, peaceful slumber, he didn't even think once before carrying her home with him, covering her up under his duvet while he sat on the sofa across the bed, looking at her and telling himself that there was no way he was going to be able to let her go.

He just felt something between them, something that brought them closer in a way he had never experienced before. He felt like he was supposed to love her, care for her, teach her all about the world and show her the wonders. He felt like taking her responsibility, giving her his last name and raising her protected from the world.

Perhaps it was because he, somewhere, saw his inner child in her. The child that so helplessly begged for just some love from his father and got the horrifying abuse instead. 

Klaus wanted to take her under his wing and be there for her while she grew up. He wanted this very clearly abandoned little wolf to call him her father, and his brothers her uncles and his sisters her aunts.

He couldn't sleep all night, fearing that she'd wake up and ask for her actual parents. And he knew he'd take her back in an instant if she wanted to, but it would tear him apart into uncountable and unrecognisable shreds.

And so, he waited all night for her to wake up and hopefully deny him when he'd ask her if she wanted to go back home. And Klaus would go to hell and back to build her a home; to become her home.  

But despite his stubborn decision to stay up and look after her, Klaus awoke to something soft and comforting touching his whatever exposed skin. And as he cracked open his eyes, the sunlight was already pouring inside his room and one of his blankets was draped over him. And he knew it hadn’t been on him for long as he had felt it sliding across his frame, and yet he couldn’t catch sight of the carer. 

That was, until he began getting up and he looked down to find the little girl, sitting beside his feet and looking up at him with doe eyes full of ...joy. He noted that the girl was happy to see that he was finally awake, her heartbeat picking up just a little as a smile slid on her mouth. 

“Thank you, Alpha,” the girl mumbled shyly, placing her hands on his knees while she began standing up. And Klaus’ arms instantly went ahead in order to prevent her from falling but she didn’t stumble once, reminding him that she probably had werewolf healing powers that performed with a slight delay due to her young age. 

Klaus opened his mouth to say something but when the girl warily wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on the very tip of her toes to do so, he found himself caught off guard, once again. But regardless, he hugged her back rather tightly, lifting her off the ground and bringing her on the sofa. 

“Are you okay now, little wolf? Does it still hurt?” Klaus asked her, one of his hands cupping her face while the other cradled her. And his heart swooned when she curled up on him just like the night prior, but this time only soft breaths passed through her mouth. 

“The wounds have healed, Alpha,” she mumbled, almost hiding her face by tucking it away in his chest. “But my heart still hurts, I think,” her voice wavered as she confessed, now clenching his henley in her fist due to the unease it brought to her.

“Oh, little wolf,” Klaus sighed, his eyebrows turned into an upside down frown as he looked upon her with pity. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” He whispered, cautious so she wouldn’t shut him off, even though she was too young to know of such a thing.

“My father, he – he kicked me out of the pack yesterday,” she told him with a quivering voice, tears beginning to pool in her eyes once again. “He told me – he said that he doesn’t love me… that – that he never has!” She cried out, a sob aching her throat and wrapping itself around it so tightly that it was almost beginning to choke her. 

“He said he doesn’t love me,” she repeated, her body now shaking in Klaus arms as his heart crumpled inside his chest as he noted just how much she cared and felt, and that she was having to relive it again right now. 

“Why did he kick you out, darling?” Klaus asked, wanting to end her misery and just a one line answer would be enough for him to go over and slaughter the entire pack.

“He wanted me to learn how to handle the pack once he wouldn’t be there anymore, how – how to be an Alpha,” she told him, tears flowing out of her eyes that had now grown bloodshot red. 

And just then, her ears popped out of her head once again, and Klaus couldn’t help but pet the welted ears in order to help her calm down. 

“But I didn’t want to! I – I don’t want to take charge after him!” She told Klaus, this time her voice changed its tone to be more convincing and desperate. She sat upright, trying to show Klaus just how much she’d rather work behind the scenes than take the lead officially.

“It’s okay, little wolf – you won’t have to anymore,” Klaus reassured the girl, weaving his fingers through her hair and pressing a kiss on her forehead. “You’ll be here with me, safe and sound, and I will love you, sweetheart,” he whispered, looking into her eys with the purest sincerity.

“I truly love you, little wolf,” Klaus said softly at recieving a questioning look from her, asking if he honestly meant what he was saying. “And I will always show you love.”

She brightened up at that, the shine of a couple stars returning to her eyes as she got up, but then saddened again. “But what about home?” She asked, her tears beginning to dry up on her cheeks as she wiped them away. 

“Do you wish to go home?”

“No,” she trailed off, looking away from his eyes as if guilty, causing Klasu to cup her cheeks and turn her back to face him. 

“Then I’ll be your home, little wolf,” he smiled at her. “Yes?” 

The girl nodded, quickly leaning in to press a kiss on his dimpled cheek. 

“What’s your name, darling?” 

“Y/n, Alpha,” she answered him, and Klaus wanted more than anything for her to call him her father or dad, but knew that he should give her some time. 

“Lovely,” he grinned, taking her in his arms and getting up to let her in the shower and then introduce her to the rest of the Mikaelsons. 

And it wasn’t long before Klaus found himself officially adopting Y/n, making her  a Mikaelson and his heart had swollen inside his ribs when she’d so shyly asked him if she could finally call him her father. 

Over the first couple months only Klaus noticed that her gentle and empathetic nature valued deep and personal connections with people over power and attention. He also learned that the reason she hid her high intelligence and outstandingness in whatever field she chose, was because that was simply ingrained in her beta personality. 

So, gradually, books all about betas began to fill shelves in their library quarter of the house. 

“Father!” Came in a shrieking voice, followed by his ears picking up on a rapid heartbeat and he was out of the bed in an instant, checking her over to see if she was hurt and he only shook his head when he found that Kol had just been chasing her around the house, early in the morning to keep her interest while Freya made breakfast for her. 

“Good morning, little wolf,” Klaus grinned, picking her up off the ground and spinning with her in his hold, pressing as many kisses as he could all over her face as she pressed her palm against his face to keep his stubble away.

Loud giggles and squeaks echoed throughout the mansion as Klaus brought her back to bed with him, letting her lay on top of him.

It quite hurt him that she was too tall to curl up on him now, but it still felt good when her heart pressed up against his despite the many layers of bones and skin and clothing keeping them apart. 

“Uncle Kol was chasing me with his vampire speed! Tell him that that’s not fair!” She whined, looking pointedly at Kol who was shaking his head at the door. 

“You’re a wolf, little one,” Klaus began, pulling her attention back on him. “You can outrun anyone,” he smiled. 

Y/n contemplated that for a second before she moved to sit upright beside him with a pout on her mouth. “Anyone but you, father.”

Klaus laughed at that, tackling her back into bed. “You do not wish to outrun me, now do you, little wolf?” He asked her, getting out of bed and letting her cling to him on his chest as he went downstairs. He knew that as a wolf, she preferred to nuzzle anywhere she found warmth, and that his chest was one of her favourite places. 

Sitting her down on the chair next to him, Klaus let her eat her food by herself. Sure, the honey did drizzle down her chin once but he didn’t mind, instantly cleaning it up with his thumb before it could’ve slipped down any further. 

Elijah asked her questions about the storybook he had bought her a couple days prior, Rebekah asked her if the girl wanted to help her aunt pick out a dress, Kol warned her against it by threatening to chase her and Freya smacked all of them on the back of their heads, telling them off to let you eat.

“Father, are you free to paint with me after this?” Y/n asked, looking at him with eyes that had truly unintentionally turned similar to a little puppy’s. 

Klaus finished his food, noting another thing that her shyness had truly dissipated into thin air. And all that it had left behind was politeness and some convincing eyes that could get the devil to let go of a deal.

“Of course, Y/n,” he smiled, getting up and grinning when she trotted behind him happily with her own empty plate in her hand. He watched as she put it in the sink and washed her hands and mouth, letting her chug down her orange juice for once as he wiped his own mouth. 

Once again, she followed him back inside his studio like a lost puppy. Klaus came back out with the heavier and the majority of supplies in his hands while Y/n skipped behind him with the paints and the brushes in hers.

Walking into the front yard, Klaus set down all of their stuff and sat himself in front of her, chuckling when he noticed that she’d already begun twirling her brush around on her canvas, not a single thought in her mind as she let out anything that flashed in front of her eyes, onto the paper. 

Klaus on the other hand, decided to make a painting of colours chosen from her hair. Every colour he saw in the midst of her hair strands, he put it on his canvas, slowly and slowly morphing into a tree’s bark.

And when he checked upon her canvas to see where her painting was going, he felt his dimples dig inside his cheeks at the sight of every and any shade of green that she could find – perhaps in his eyes, Klaus realized when she raised her head to look into his eyes and went back to working. 

Almost all of his days went like this, waking up to her running into his room after having had a shower, holding her in his arms for a little then taking her down for breakfast, where she would convince him to paint with her for a little.

After that he’d let her go off with Eilajh to read and learn some other things by Freya that she probably needed to learn. He would be out of the mansion during that, out to mind his business and kill his own minions because of their brave stupidity. 

When he’d return to the mansion, Y/n would sleepily trod out of her bed and into his arms, let him pick her up and take her to bed where he’d just hold her and tell her how much he loved her, because someone had probably already read her a story or two. 

Some nights she would wake up crying from a nightmare about her biological father, and then she would find herself running into Klaus’ arms which were already open, having heard her rushed footsteps and broken sobs. 

Her wolf ears no longer popped out since Klaus had spent an insurmountable time helping her take her wolf under her control, but every once in a while, depending upon how bad the nightmare was, her tail would creep out of her shirt and curl itself either around Klaus’ arms or her own back, which Klaus didn’t object at seeing that she only did this when she was crying in his arms.

But once they’d finish painting, Y/n would run into the house with her and Klaus’ painting to show them off to her uncles and aunts, leaving Klaus behind to clean up the mess. But he didn’t mind it one bit, only laughing when she’d come back looking guilty and saying that she was sorry that she’d once again forgotten to help him clean up in her excitement. 

And that’s exactly what had happened just now. 

“It’s okay little wolf,” Klaus assured her. “You know I don’t mind it,” he said and let her hug him to show him just how bad she felt.

He rubbed her back, and got up with her hand in his, looking down at the back of her head and smiling as she led their way back inside. 

“Wait father!” She paused her walking. “Look, the weather has taken a turn,” she stated, pointing at the sky in which angry clouds had begun swirling, the fluffy white ones long gone. 

“Does that mean it’s reading time?” 

“Yes!” The girl shrieked, jumping up and down, making Klaus laugh as she ran off to meet up with Elijah. 

He caught himself grinning long after she had left his line of sight and shook his head, a smile still pasted on his mouth as he turned around to rule over the so-called supernatural adults whom even Y/n was smarter than. 

“I see you’ve taken a liking to playing her father, Niklaus,” a rough voice said from behind, and while it hadn’t caught Klaus off guard, what had was the fact that this man was brave and dumb enough to step a foot in such close proximity to him. 

Surely, he must have come with a death wish. 

“Roman,” Klaus said out loud the name of Y/n’s biological father, his voice full of venom and he could’ve spat at the man in front of him. “I see you’re feeling daring today, perhaps even like dying?” He proposed, taking a threatening step towards the man. 

Klaus had, the very next night of when he’d found Y/n, went on to slaughter Roman’s entire pack. He had let the man live since he wanted him to see and live through his own daughter's hatred towards him. So much hatred that she didn’t even look his way anymore, let alone call him her father.

“Let’s not get this messy, Niklaus,” Roman started but before he could’ve finished, Klaus had him pinned against the very door frame he was leaning so cockily on. 

“I’m not your friend, Roman,” he gritted through his teeth, knowing that he didn’t need to clarify any further as to what he meant by that. 

“Sir,” Roman started, stretching his neck. “I want my daughter back,” he said.

Red flashed in front of Klaus’ eyes as he sped towards Roman, tearing through his flesh and ribs to clench his heart in his fist. “I would’ve been a fan of such bravery had you not made the mistake of calling her your daughter when she fucking refuses to even recognise you,” Klaus finally spat at him, his grip on his heart so tight that it could burst due to the pressure. 

“I will rip your heart out and shove it down your throat if you dare once again to call my daughter, yours, or call your lame excuse of a self, her father,” he said, pulling on his heart lightly. “She is mine, and I love her and this is her home now.”

“I am her home,” he gritted his teeth so hard that they could’ve shattered. 

Roman’s frame was beginning to get blue, knocking the realisation into Klaus that his hold on his heart was so hard that it was struggling to beat. “Go to the opposite side of the world and never look back here again,” Klaus compelled him, finally taking his hand back out of his chest. 

“Now off you go,” he said, maybe shooed. “I am sure you know that a wolf bite can only be cured by my blood,” he hissed venomously, his eyes shining golden as vampire streaks drew themselves through his skin.

And once Roman had finally sped out, Klaus let out a breath and his heart to rest again, his hands trembling at the thought of what could’ve happened right now had he not been who he truly is. 

Rushing into his room to clean himself off, Klaus rushed back out to Y/n who was currently sitting in front of Elijah. 

“Little wolf!” Klaus called for her as he stood at the doorway of the room, his vision getting blurry when she came running to him with the biggest smile on her face. 

“Yes father? Missed me, didn’t you?” She giggled teasingly, wrapping her arms around him and Klaus couldn’t help but nuzzle in the nape of her neck, holding her tightly against him as he kneeled on the floor and felt a tear slip past the slit of his eyes. 

“I love you, my little wolf,” he said, whimpering. 

“Oh, I love you too, father,” she sighed, resting her head against his shoulder. “You should know that I’ll always be your little wolf.”

“Forever and always, my precious” Klaus breathed, pressing a chaste kiss on her cheek before resting his forehead against it for a moment, breathing in her scent and reminding himself that she’d also become his home now. 

[incognit0slut]

COWBOY SPENCE! COWBOY SPENCE! WE WANT COWBOY SPENCE!

Fluff. Kind of a continuation to this but not really. 1.3k. Also thank you anon for bringing back my cowboy spence agenda.

Spencer gives you a ride on his horse to watch the sunset.

-

"You're not supposed to be here," he said the moment he saw you enter the stable. And he was right, visiting his ranch on a random Tuesday evening was the last thing you should be doing.

Emily had sent you to interview someone tied to the case, and you managed to gather more information about the Unsub, which you shared with her over the phone. But on your way back to the police station, you realized Spencer's ranch was just a half-hour drive away from town. So you turned the steering wheel, hoping your boss wouldn't notice your impulsive detour.

"Well, you're supposed to reply to my text," you shot back, the sound of your boots echoing on the ground.

He offered a sheepish smile. "Sorry about that, I got caught up today, haven’t had the chance to check my phone."​

"I guess some things never change," you remarked as you approached him standing inside the horse arena, hopping up onto the fence. "Give me a kiss."

Spencer chuckled softly, gently patting Mildred's mane as he stepped around her, the beautiful white horse who seemed to acknowledge your presence with a subtle bow of her head. As he reached your side, he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, his touch sending a rush of warmth through you.

This was exactly why you had wanted to see him. The absence of his presence had left a void you hadn't realized until now and you groaned when he gently pulled away. His touch lingered as he brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face, his concern evident in his voice.

"Aren't you going to get into trouble?"

"Maybe," you admitted with a playful shrug. "But some things are worth the risk, don't you think?"

"Emily wouldn't be too happy about that," he pointed out.

"She can do just fine without me for an hour or two," you countered before your attention shifted towards Mildred. "Hey, Millie!"

He laughed. "Millie? You've only met her once and you already have a nickname for her?"

You flashed him a grin. "Well, she just looks like a Millie to me," you said, reaching out to stroke Mildred's soft mane. The horse nuzzled against your hand affectionately, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"I think she likes her new name," he remarked. "Wanna take her out on a ride?"

Your eyes widened at the suggestion. "And break my back? I don't even know how to ride a horse."

"Come on, I'll ride with you," he insisted, leading Mildred towards the arena gate. With a quick hop, you jumped off the fence and caught up with him just as he stepped out of the gate, his horse following behind.

You hesitated for a moment, uncertainty flickering in your eyes as you looked up at him from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat. "I don't think this is a good idea."

He met your gaze with a reassuring smile, his arm outstretched towards you. "You'll be fine, you trust me, right?"

His confidence was infectious, and despite your doubt, you found yourself nodding.

"Alright, let's do this," you said, placing your hand in his as he helped you onto Mildred's back. "Don't let go of me!"

"I won't," he said with a chuckle, and your foot stepped onto the stirrup as he steadied Mildred. With a deep breath, you swung your other leg over, settling onto the saddle.

"You ready?" he asked, his voice filled with excitement. But before you could answer, he smoothly mounted himself up and settled behind you, his presence comforting as Mildred began to move beneath you both.

"Holy shit," you couldn't help but mutter, feeling extremely conscious of sitting so high up on a horse. "This feels weird."

He moved his arms securely around you as he held onto the reins. "You're doing great," he said soothingly, his voice close to your ear. "Just take it easy, you'll get used to it in no time."

His words filled you with warmth, and you couldn't help but lean back against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your touch. His arms around you gave a sense of security as Mildred carried you forward, and that was when you saw it, the vast expanse of his ranch unfolding before you.

The rolling hills, the sprawling fields, and the distant mountains dotted with trees and bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun painted a picturesque scene that took your breath away.

"Spencer Reid," you mused, your eyes tracing the landscape, watching a group of cattle running around at the side of the field. "You're rich rich."

He chuckled softly, his chest vibrating against your back. "I prefer to think of it as being fortunate."

"No wonder you don't want to work with us anymore."

"Honestly, there’s a part of me that doesn't want to leave all this behind," he admitted, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "But it's not just about the ranch. Being here reminds me of the simpler things in life, the BAU can be... overwhelming at times."

You understood his sentiment, "I get that," you said softly. “I'm just glad you seem happier now."

A soft smile tugged at the corners of Spencer's lips as one of his arms circled your waist. "Thank you," he murmured. "I'm actually happier with you here."

Your giggle danced through the air and his smile widened at the sound. With a gentle squeeze around your waist, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Look at the view."

You followed his gaze, looking out in front of you just as he urged Mildred to stop. As the horse came to a halt, you found yourself gazing out at the breathtaking scenery spread out before you.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden glow over the landscape, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. The rolling hills and sprawling fields seemed to stretch on endlessly, while in the distance, the mountains stood tall against the horizon.

"It's beautiful," you whispered, the awe evident in your voice as you took in the stunning view.

Spencer's arm tightened around your waist as he leaned in. "Very beautiful.”

Your smile widened as you fished your phone out of your pocket to capture the moment, but as you faced the camera towards the scenery, the screen showed the front camera instead. You both burst out laughing, but then you took the opportunity to lean back against him and angle the camera right in front of you.

Spencer smiled as you cupped his cheek with your free hand, his stubble rough against your palm, before you snapped the moment. You then examined the result, admiring the way he was leaning close to you, his bright hazel eyes sparkling with warmth, with the soft lines of his smile at the corners of his eyes.

“I’m changing this into my wallpaper now.”

His grin widened as you showed him the picture.

"I like the sound of that," he said, his eyes lingering on the image with fondness. Just then, there was a sudden notification on your screen and you exchanged a quick glance with him before opening the message.

Boss Woman: You better not be visiting Reid

Boss Woman: Oh who am I kidding? Of course you are. Say hi to him for me

Boss Woman: But get your ass back to the station right now

His laughter echoed behind you. "It’s like she has a sixth sense."

"I haven’t even told her about us yet," you replied, shaking your head in amusement. "Let's head back before she sends out a search party."

With a nudge from him, he turned Mildred around and guided her on the way back to the ranch. And as the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the landscape in a warm golden light, you knew that this was worth the trouble. You felt the gentle sway of the horse and you couldn't help but smile, placing a hand on the arm circling your waist.

You were definitely going to visit him again.

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 9 | stanley pines x f!reader 

Summary: stanley has a restless night in April, and comes to a (not) shocking realization. a continuation of year 5, particularly concerning dreams

warnings (TW): swearing, slight-panic, some suggestive content

tags: mutual-pining, fluff, action, affection

notes: short but purposeful part pls listen to meeeee // side note so sorry everyone me is going thru v big girl problems w jobs and moving so apologies for the shortness but i did almost put just as much time into it as usual (typical im a perfectionist till i die) but ya again thanks for the love, support, the comments, like omg did i ever think id actually be kinda cool online? No i never thought that. All the follows?? The messages?? Like yall are too kind omgggg <333 much love to everyone though!!! Hope you enjoy, and again if you’d like to be tagged just comment :) 

word count: 3.8k

| masterlist | 

April, 1987

He had moved his clothes into her dresser drawers come February. 

Actually she did, while he slept in her clean sheets and tucked into her nest of blankets. He had quickly fallen ill after he turned from blue to red in their bathtub that late January day. Despite this, he did not stop shivering for a solid two days, during which his Doc’ rushed to and from his bedside with new washcloths for his burning foggy head and with soup to flush out the heat of his body. 

Well, it was actually her bedside. 

His Doc’ made quite the Doc’ though. He remembers flashes of being sick as a child, of having his mother creep in through his childhood room’s doorway to brush her long fingers across his forehead. She never crowded, but she always would linger in the hallway, waiting to be called upon, their landline propped in her hand. His wife was quite the opposite though, she rushed in through doorways, pushed into his space, and spoke in much more frantic cadences. She tried to soothe but he could tell bedside manner was a foreign thing to her, and he didn’t blame her for that. It was quite endearing, how worried she was for his wellbeing. 

He was under the fog of a fevor for several days, and bedbound for the rest of the week fighting exhaustion. It was odd to wake without her visage by his side. A book propped in her lap, her fingers twined into the sheets and worrying over the cotton fabric. She routinely cleaned the room also, moving from shadowed corner to shadowed corner, checking for god knows what. He’d wake to her sometimes, pacing the room in the dark. She was not well when he was unwell. Didn’t know how to compartmentalize him disappearing in front of her, worried about his waning sanity and lightheadedness. 

But it went away by the turn of the week, and when he woke again it was February, and his Doc’ had worn away in his absence. He quickly turned the treatment to her, worried about her hunched posture and weak wrists. Her bags were deeper than ever and her clothes wrinkled from her continued pulling at them. A stack of books by her bedside chair and his clothes in her dresser drawers. 

He took it with some unknown grace, taking care of her. Found it natural to shoo her to bed and scold her to lie under her own cotton sheets. Smiling and goofing with her as he tucked her in extra tight. He had less of a habit of lingering though, coming and going with ease, carrying her new books and magazines from the mail. She’d read until her eyes grew tired again, and he’d come by the next hour to find her reading material propped against the bedsheets and her head drooping to her chest. 

Food was harder though, he’d admit he knew a select few things to actually make. The majority of them being breakfast foods, fast and easy. He hadn’t had a stable kitchen to cook in for over a decade before all this. He would peer over her shoulder during dinner at times, helping her chop things and adding spices here and there. But he couldn’t recall anything in the face of his worry, so he fed her breakfast foods for a solid week. Something she laughed at heartily, taking her plate from his flushed embarrassed self. 

She was more herself, more present in the waking world come the second week of February. She had more pep in her step and a wider smile than he remembers. She was more quick to affection and giggling in his presence. More keen to spend nights watching movies in front of the T.V., more eager to arrange herself beside him on the couch. More frequently put her head on his shoulder, more often than not peering up at him. Periodically reached for him now with open palms. 

He had pushed off the thought. The faded memory of the tub felt like a lifetime ago. The piercing humid water, the yellow fog of the bathroom, and her head crested into his chest. The way he trembled when he reached for her, the caress of his fingers against the apple of her cheek. The way she looked then, looked at him like there was a promise of salvation in the warmth of his lips against her cheek. He remembers the depth of the declaration they shared, something no longer unspoken between them. 

Except he believed it to be a fading dream in the turn of February. 

Thought it may be one of his stuttering dreams of having her close, those dreams where he took her in the confidence of her bedroom. Dreams where he folded her body into his because it meant something. Something sickly sweet about the dreams of them across the kitchen table, of the way a gold band glinted on her ring finger when she reached for him. In those dreams, he had memories of washing her, sharing baths and kisses, and car rides with music and laughter. One’s where he leaned over the middle of the long bench and kissed her and didn't think about the swerving of the car or the heat of her gaze. In those dreams it meant something, he thought it meant something, that he was her’s. 

It aligned with many a daydream-turned-nightmare he had had. Nightmares where she left, took what little she could call her own and disappeared in the fleeting of the night. Nightmares of her crumpled body and shaking voice, a violence he didn’t understand. It’d shake him awake and have him stumbling from doorway to doorway. To make sure she was there before anything else. 

But now he didn’t have to grasp doorframes and splintered wood to see her in the dead of the night. Because they had not parted since that January day, that day he swore when he woke in February must be a twisted figment of his own imagination. Only now, awake in the dead of the night in April could he swallow the truth of it all.

Stanley was not a calculating man. He did not think in fragments and pieces, and he was not one to quantify things in small details so much he worried himself into a stupor. That was more her forte, something he’d pull her out of on the regular. He thought in long-terms and wishes and aspirations. He reached for dreams and planned his life in accordance with past grudges. There were no calculations in the assurance that he had said was he said, said she was his. A breadth of possession he only thought attainable in those dreams he searched for. 

It burned him sometimes, to catch her looking. Forsook the thought he ever believed her longing for him to be a distant relic in his subconscious mind. She looked at him now most days, a clear edge in her eyes. The ones he had seen in dreams, a heat he memorized long ago. Something he swore he saw long ago. Something familiar, her eyes reminding him of fleeting dreams turned memory, of kisses in their car over the dash. The same edging heat he remembers. Where he called her his own, the memory that he thought was a tortuous dream for a solid fifteen days. 

The only time he counts, between folded cards on a poker table and days between dreams and her. His aspirations had shifted in a mere 1,735 days. Four years and some change since he had that dream turned memory, of her crawling heat upon his lap. Her teeth sunk into the crook of his shoulder. 

A shoulder she dug into now. Her head nestled into the junction of his arm every night since February. Something unspoken about the way they lived in each other's space now. Something inconsequential and flippant about sharing their warmth. 

At times it was difficult sharing this space. He would usually find relief in their departure from each other some nights, those nights she’d make for her bedroom doorframe alone were a distant memory. She’d drag his frame to the edge of her bed now, her shirt pooled around her bare legs, a pleading look in her eye when she rolled the blankets back and invited him in. A reminder of a dream. 

Partially why he was even awake now in the dead of the Spring night. Her warmth was inviting and it had awoken something eager in him. He would usually find some sort of… physical relief in the deep dark of night when he'd lie alone in his own bed. But his new bed had an extra guest who just happened to be the possession of many of his desires. Normally he would check, crawling to the edge of his bed to peer at her silhouette across the hall, ensuring that she was asleep. It would be a weight off his lower back after he concluded in relieving his frustrations that had built up throughout the day. Usually followed by the all too typical sense of guilt. Because she had been there when he closed his eyes. The waking version of his dream, just asleep across the hall. 

An accumulation of dire frustration pooled now at the bottom of his spine. To be so close to her, so familiar with the curve of her body along his own, but to not possess her in a more intimate way was hard. Frustrating, even. He wanted possession of her on a deeper level, a proof of concept to the edging of his lips along her cheek and the declaration on his tongue. He drept of kissing her now in the waking world also. Of tangling his body closer to her own, taking her in the confidence of her bedroom. Of their bedroom. He wanted to share more spaces with her over dashboards and bathtubs now. 

But he didn’t know how. She had him fumbling in that foolish teenage boy kind of way, despite his climbing age. He’d regret the time spent fussing over the smaller details like she always does. He wasn’t used to working in fragments and fractions of thoughts.

She had already been so overcome with the memory of still water she refused to leave his side. Had spilled her guts in the porcelain of the tub in January. He didn’t know what possessed him now to stutter around the thought of her. It would come to a precipice soon, one day. The feeling would possess him and he’d declare himself something more to her, ask for the lie shared between them to become a reality. Ask her to marry him before ever having uttered what real husbands tell their wives. Big words that would stumble from his mouth, the closest he’s ever been to obsession, having her folded into his body. Her warmth made him gooey and his lips loose and in the dead of the night he thought he would say it to her there. 

That he loved her. 

September, 1987

The summer passed as it usually did. Scattered memories shared between them now of evenings on their porch and nights spent tipsy in front of the T.V.

They danced between each other now. Warm hands met in the dark of the setting sun on the back porch most days. Her head deep within the crook of his shoulder each evening when they’d converge in front of the T.V. Warmth shared between them in the dead of the night, blankets moving off the bed in the heat of the summer. He’d lean into it all now, too. Linger his lips along her forehead and laugh more readily in her presence. Their eyes would meet most days now, an amusement shared between them both in their hesitancy to break any tension. 

She was not keen to leave his presence in the slightest these days, either. She had trouble in doorways and dark hallways. Didn’t like turning over her shoulder line to look for him. Followed him into rooms and up the stairs now. She hadn’t let him disappear from her site since February, since she became so ill with her worry all she could do was skim books and wait for him to return in between consciousness.  

He did not shake her from this fear of hers. He walked away with some of his own. Remembering the cool seeping into his lungs, the choking of water in his throat. Remembering the height at which he emerged from the dark ice. The height he had fallen from the beasts’ maw had frightened him beyond reason, almost more than the dark of the water. The water was familiar to him at least, but the height at which his head cracked against the ice had him waking from falling dreams at times. He was sure if she hadn’t surged forward that day to embed the ax into the beast's neck he would have fallen from an even higher height. That he may have been dead. 

So he understood, her need for his visage to be within eyesight. Understood waking dreams and following him through doorways now. But dreams were dreams and they couldn't live in technicalities. She loved technicalities though, she thought in fragments and of far-off realities that would never be. She was imaginative in the worst way, in the worrying way. 

Which was why she looked oh so small in the passenger seat today, the looming elementary school sitting right behind her. School was starting, and she was going to be away all day. 

They had not separated in quite some time, even before the whole January turned February turned dream turned reality. They separated between walls and hallways, but usually, not even doors got between them. Doors felt like a trap to him even to this day, something she understood inherently. 

“Ya gotta go Doc’.” He hummed, reaching for her hand now. Something he didn’t hesitate to do, his palm faced up. 

She breathes, nodding. Her foot tapping away at the car floor, her bulging bag held to her front. She allowed him to reach for her, meeting him in the middle of the long bench. Her fingers cresting over and playing with his own. “I know, I know, I know.” 

She keeps nodding, her hand reaching for her chest again. Rubbing along her heart in a self-soothing way. She had been doing that all morning, since breakfast. 

He had pushed off opening the shack, wanting to drop her off that morning for her first day. She had been so eager when she found the application to be a teacher’s assistant tucked into the back of the newspaper’s classifieds late last year. She was set to help out in a crowded first-grade classroom that day. Something she had been so eager to do. Before she remembered the balm to her anxieties would be far from her reach. 

It had been hard, the thought of leaving him all day. She had laughed when she applied, thinking about how Stanley would pout at her across the kitchen table every morning during the school year. How he’d wait for her to come home, dreamed of him needing her. But in a weird twist of fate, it would be her, her watching the clock in the coming hours. Waiting for his figure to crest back over the horizon line, to greet her in the warmth of the car and joke with her all the way home. 

God, she would miss him. She hadn’t been parted from him since she burst through the shack’s front door. Since she wandered in through the doorway like a mad woman, taken by his image even then. 

It was even harder now, the thought of him disappearing in murky black water was the centerpiece of dark thoughts these days. The edge of all her anxieties since January. She didn’t want to part from him, because what if something happened to him in her absence? What if he went somewhere she could not follow?  

She knew the fear was misplaced. Knew Stanely would not disappear from her forever. He would go about his day much the same way he had all summer. He’d get dressed, put on his father’s hat, and give tours and swindle eager mothers all day. The tourists had flooded in out of town early this season, eager for the northern fall colors that would soon seep into the treeline around their home. 

Despite knowing this, her heart would not stop. Anxious about having him drive so far from her. Did he know? Know she needed his soothing presence? Know that the root of all her anxieties surrounded him most days now? 

He did of course, he read her mind in a greater capacity than ever in the last couple of years. Knew her tells from the change of her face and the grip of her hand. Knew her playing with his fingers was a distraction and her scrunched brow spoke of the restless night she had beside him. 

“Hey, look at me.” He takes her chin now, moving her head from the dash to him. His dark eyes were warm in the very early morning light. Kids would be here soon, flooding into the hallways, and she was supposed to be there to greet them. He knew she wanted this, so eager at the thought of teaching and helping. She had been planning activities and how to best introduce herself to six-year-olds for weeks now. She wanted this, but it came at the cost of splitting, splintering their shared connection for a day. 

“You can do this honey. I know you can.” He looks so sure at her, his head tilted and a smile creeping onto his face. “Do you know why I know that?” 

She hums. “Why?” 

“Because you’re smart.” He nods, continuing, despite her scoff. “And you’re good, and you’re patient, and you’re kind, and you’re warm.” 

She laughs. “Warm?” 

“Ya, warm. You got that face on ya’, kids will approach you at random I know it. Got that glow about you. You’re pretty like that.” His hand reaching now to brush some hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. 

She heats up beside him, back suddenly straight. “Pretty?” 

“You heard me.” He laughs too, like he’s known it forever, thought it forever. Like he was recounting the morning newspaper comics to her. Like it amused him that she didn’t know. That he thought she was pretty. 

She breathes. That might just get her through the day. Maybe through the month. That and the hot streak along her cheek to her ear. His hand warm as he pulls her across the middle of the long bench. He bends her into him, practiced from a dream turned reality from a time before. Drags his lips along the apple of her cheek, his scruff rubs against her. His lips warm along her, a heated path from her cheek to her ear again as he whispers between them. 

“Pretty, angel.” 

It catches her breath now when he calls her that. He does it at the most opportune times now. “Honey” made her heart beat fast and her face flush, but “angel” made heat gather below her stomach. Resurfaced a dream from long ago of his weight above her and his lips so close to her jugular it makes her gasp at the memory of it. He only says it, angel, when they are close now. When she is tucked into his shoulder on the couch or in the early birdsong of morning, their arms and chests tangled together. 

It always makes her surge, makes her more alert. Made her think of far-off dreams of wedding bands and kids she swore were her own. That’s what she wanted to remember from those nightmares, at least. What she reached for in her current reality. She wasn’t used to working in dreams and long-gone wistful thinking though. But she’d try, try to be braver in the waking world. 

So she nods, breaking from his warmth. A beginning bell broke her from the trance of his eyes and the warmth of his big warm hands. He was still in his jeans and a rumpled t-shirt, hair a mess on the crown of his head. She hoped he’d stay the same when he returned. That he’d look just like this to her. 

She sighs, reaching for her bag, shuffling papers deep into the overflowing open zipper at the top. She turns back to him, reaching for his hand now, palm warm against him as she brings his hand to her lips unthinking. Holding his hand close to her face, cupping it, cradling her face in its warmth. 

“Goodbye, Mr. Pines.” 

He laughs, but she doesn’t miss the rise of redness to the tips of his large ears.

“Goodbye, Mrs. Pines.” 

She reaches for her door, opening it herself for the first time since meeting him. He yells, “Wait!” Rushing from his seat and the idling parked car to run along the front of the car, reaching and opening her door for her. A funny flourish to his hand, and a fake bow as she folds and steps out of the car. 

He closes the door promptly, outstretching his arms to actually encase her, to actually say goodbye to her now. Her hands along the expanse of his back, fingers crooked into the collar of his shirt. He sighs again, letting go of the warmth between them. His head still tucked forward, his lips greeting the curve of her hairline. Whispering along her head, “Goodbye for now.” 

She sighs again, shoulders slumped and bag hefty along her back. “Goodbye for now.” 

It’s the hardest thing, to turn from him. But the rush of children now seeping into the school reminds her she’s at least five minutes late for her very first day. For her very first actual job since working alongside Stanford. It makes the doubt turn in her veins, only reassured by the shadow of him behind her. 

And when she turns there, searching over her shoulder line he’s still there, leaning against the car, like he had been waiting for her to turn again.  Firm and whole and handsome and hers entirely. Reminds her of a faint dream when he waves again, a glint she swore was on his finger. A golden band she remembers and a promise he swore of never leaving her again, not like that.

She thinks to say it then, entirely loud and brief between their distances. Thinks of phrases whispered close to her ears and folded into her arms. A familiarity in the sentiment, but entirely foreign on her tongue. Something unspoken between syllables she cannot voice now, standing at the entrance to the small school. Taken by his image, has words almost stumbling out of her mouth like a mad woman. 

She thinks to tell him then and there, that she loves him. 

[nomercymaster11]

In his absence

@GOKUJOUNOMAGURO

A/N: Law x you, afab!reader, R-18! NSFW This is a short, two-part story to celebrate reaching 200 followers! Thanks for all your support. My imagination goes crazy when I think about Law, so I hope you enjoy the story. (I just had to come up with a scenario to fit in the exciting bits. haha)

Law gently placed his hand atop your head, His touch feels reassuring, but also carries a strong sense of resolve.

"I'll be back before you even realize I'm gone," he murmured, the back of his hand caressing your cheek tenderly. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword as he turned away, striding purposefully towards the rail's edge.

With a swift movement, Law activated his devil fruit ability, vanishing into thin air before your eyes. The subtle hum of the submarine's engines filled the silence left in his wake, and you found yourself retreating inside. You’re already feeling the heaviness of his absence starting to sink in.

You pulled the lever to seal the metal door behind you. The familiar pang of worry gnawed at your heart, despite knowing that Law's solo missions were always executed with precision and skill. Yet, the unease lingered, a continuous reminder of the risks he may encounter outside the safety of the submarine's walls. You couldn't shake the feeling of discomfort that accompanied each departure, the uncertainty of when he would return amplifying your fears.

With a heavy sigh, you resigned yourself to the wait, knowing that no amount of fretting would hasten Law's return.

^^^

Each day began with a silent prayer for his safe return. You found yourself falling into a routine. It had become a ritual, visiting his cabin first before attending to the other rooms in the submarine. It was a small gesture, a way to keep his presence close, even when he was away on his missions.

Stepping into Law's cabin, you couldn't help but miss him. The space seemed to echo with his presence. Memories flooded your mind, each item holding a story, a connection to the man you loved. Running your fingers over the neatly arranged belongings on his desk, you smile at the thought of him. His meticulous nature was reflected in every corner of the room, from the neatly folded clothes to the orderly stack of books on his nightstand.

With a tender sigh, you set about your task, straightening the sheets on his bed with a gentle touch. It had been a few months since you started dating and sharing his bed had become a cherished ritual. The warmth of his embrace lingered in the softness of the blankets, a reminder of the intimacy you shared in the quiet moments between missions.

Sitting at the edge of Law's bed, you reached for a pillow, clutching it tightly to your chest as if it were a lifeline to the memories of him. Slowly, you allowed yourself to sink into the softness of the mattress, the pillow pressing against you like a comforting embrace.

Closing your eyes, you let the memories flood your mind, the last time you had made love with him, dancing vividly in your thoughts. You remembered the way he kissed you, his lips claiming yours with a passion that ignited every fiber of your being. Sensuality and tenderness intertwined as he explored the contours of your mouth, each touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

Your breath caught in your throat as you recalled the sensation of his lips trailing down your neck, igniting a symphony of sensations that coursed through your veins like wildfire. His movements were deliberate yet gentle, proof of how deeply he loves and wants you.

With each passing moment, the memories grew more vivid, the sensation of his touch lingering on your skin like an imprint of his love. You could almost feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, his whispered words of adoration sending shivers down your spine.

Lost in the haze of memory, you savored every moment, every touch, as if it were happening all over again. In that fleeting moment of bliss, you found solace in the knowledge that no matter the distance, the bond you shared with Law transcended time and space, a love that burned brighter with each passing day.

With a deep sigh, you let your right hand slide across your body, moving with a slow, deliberate grace. You began to massage your right breast through the fabric of your shirt, savoring the comforting warmth and the gentle pressure of your touch. The sensation brought a small, bittersweet pleasure, like a whisper of something more profound.

As your hand ventured downward, tracing a path over your stomach, a wave of longing surged through you, intensifying the ache between your legs. Just thinking about him, his touch, his presence, sent a fire through your veins, making your heart race and your body tremble with unfulfilled desire.

Yet, before you could give in to the growing temptation, a firm resolve washed over you. You remembered the promise he had extracted from you, his words echoing in your mind like a sacred vow: to abstain from self-pleasure while he was away on his missions. It was a pact made in the heat of passion, a testament to the bond you shared.

With a heavy heart, you forced yourself to stop, the ache between your legs a poignant reminder of the pleasure you denied yourself. This act of restraint, though difficult, felt like a tribute to the depth of your love and the trust that defined your relationship. For him, even your most intimate moments were reserved, a gift to be shared only in his presence.

The longing within you burned brightly, but you found a strange solace in the anticipation of his return. The promise of his touch, his embrace, held your desire in check. And so, you waited with bated breath, knowing that soon he would come back to you, ready to claim what was his, to fill the void with the ecstasy you both craved. Until then, you held on, each day bringing you closer to the moment when you would no longer have to wait.

After tidying up Law's cabin, you gathered his dirty laundry and deposited it into the basket, closing the door with a soft click. Lost in your thoughts, you turned around only to bump into Penguin, who greeted you with his usual exuberance.

"Hey!" Penguin exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise. "Wait, are you crying?" he asked, concern evident in his voice as he noticed the mistiness in your eyes.

Quickly composing yourself, you shook your head. "No, I don't. Maybe it's just the dust from cleaning his room," you offered, hoping to deflect any further inquiries about your emotional state.

"Liar," Penguin retorted with a playful grin, flicking his finger gently against your forehead. "Well, I don't blame you if you're missing him already," he added, his tone softening as he acknowledged the weight of Law's absence.

"Anyway, if you ever feel lonely, you know where to find us. Whether it's in the common area or the control room, we'll be there to keep you company," Penguin reassured you, his words a comforting reminder of the bond you shared with your fellow crewmates.

With a nod, you thanked him for his understanding, the warmth of his smile easing the ache in your heart.

"Thank you," you replied, gratitude coloring your voice as you returned his smile.

^^^ the next day ^^^

As you slowly eat your food, your gaze drifted over each member of the crew, each face telling a unique story of how they came to join the Heart Pirates. Despite Law's reputation as a notorious criminal in the eyes of the world government, to you and everyone aboard the submarine, he was so much more. He was a leader, a friend, and a beloved captain, cherished by all who sailed under his flag.

Lost in your thoughts of him, you couldn't help but smile, the memory of his presence filling you with warmth and affection. Unbeknownst to you, the trio of Penguin, Shachi, and Bepo observed you with amusement, their eyes lingering on you.

It wasn't until their gaze became too noticeable to ignore that you looked up, startled to find their attention focused squarely on you. Penguin, ever the romantic, let out a dreamy sigh as he rested his elbow on the table, his chin propped up by his hand.

"Look who's madly in love with our Captain," he teased, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Shachi, always the skeptic, chimed in with a quizzical expression.

"Does the captain treat you well?" he inquired; his tone laced with curiosity. "I still can't picture him being sweet to you," he admitted, his skepticism evident in his words as he continued to fork a vegetable from his plate.

Bepo, ever the observant one, added his own input with a wide-eyed innocence. "Oh! I saw them holding hands the other day," he exclaimed, his voice filled with excitement at the memory.

Penguin leaned in slightly, his tone turning more serious as he addressed you. "Anyway, (y/n), thank you for being patient with him," he said, his gaze softening with genuine appreciation. "You were his first lover, after all," he added, a hint of significance underlying his words.

"Really? That's news to me," you replied, taken aback by the revelation. The idea hadn't crossed your mind, and you found yourself surprised that Law hadn't shared such intimate details with you.

"I'm surprised he didn't tell you that," Penguin said, his eyebrows furrowing in perplexity. With a tinge of skepticism in your voice, you shook your head.

"It doesn't seem like the case to me, which is why I haven't asked him about it," you said. They don't realize that Law looks after you the manner you choose. Simply put, he doesn't display it while someone is present.

As the conversation took a playful turn, Shachi couldn't resist chiming in with a knowing grin. "As long as he doesn't make you cry, except in a different scenario," he teased, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Penguin quickly caught on to his friend's playful banter, joining in with a chuckle.

"STOP! Oh my god!" you exclaimed.

Your cheeks flushed at their words, a wave of love and embarrassment pouring over you. Despite their teasing, you couldn't help but feel a swell of gratitude for their acceptance and camaraderie. In the heart of the submarine, surrounded by your fellow crewmates, you found solace in the knowledge that your love for Law was not only accepted but celebrated amongst those who mattered most.

^^^ a few days later ^^^

Tonight, you’ll be sleeping in his cabin again, just like you did the previous nights when he wasn't there. You slip out of your overall suit, feeling the fabric slide off your skin, and reach for one of his unwashed polo shirts hanging nearby. As you pull it over your head, the familiar scent of him— a mix of his cologne and the lingering smell of antiseptic— envelops you, bringing a small comfort. The shirt is oversized, its hem brushing against your thighs, but it wraps around you like a warm embrace, providing a sense of security.

Though your body feels like it could melt into the mattress from exhaustion, your mind buzzes with the remnants of the day’s events. You wander over to his cluttered desk and pick up one of his medical textbooks, the cover worn from frequent use. Climbing onto the bed, you settle against the headboard, the cool metal pressing against your back. With a sigh, you bend your knees and rest the hefty book on your lap.

The cabin is cozy tonight, the gentle hum of the heater filling the silence. You grab the blanket draped at the foot of the bed and pull it over your legs, cocooning yourself in its soft folds. You nestle into the pillows, arranging them snugly at your side, creating a little nest against the cold, hard wall.

As you start reading, the words blur and your eyelids grow heavier with each passing minute. Your breathing slows, deep and steady, as if someone had pressed a button to turn off your thoughts. Stifling a yawn, you close the book and place it on the nightstand with a soft thud, the action feeling distant and automatic. You slide down into the bed, pulling the blanket up to your chin, the fabric brushing against your face. Your eyes flutter shut, and the world around you fades, as you finally surrender to sleep’s gentle pull.

^^^

Sometime past midnight, you weren't sure how long, you began to stir. You were never a light sleeper, but the gentle press of warm lips on your forehead nudged you into consciousness. Your eyes fluttered open, vision still blurry with the remnants of sleep. You could make out a silhouette beside you, moving gently in the dim light.

Slightly rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand, you tried to clear your vision. As the haze began to lift, you stretched your arms, using your arms to push yourself up into a sitting position. There, seated on the edge of the bed beside you, was Law. He had returned.

A smile tugged at your lips as you looked at him, his presence filling the room with a comforting warmth. "Sorry for waking you up," Law spoke softly, his voice tender and filled with affection.

^^^

LAW’S POV

Law returned in the middle of the night, his mind abuzz with strategies and plans for his next mission. The weight of weariness pressed heavily on his shoulders, prompting him to seek refuge in his cabin for a quick nap. As he approached the door, he noticed a faint glow emanating from beneath it, a familiar and comforting sight. With deliberate care, he opened the door, slipping inside and closing it just as quietly behind him.

The sight that greeted him made him gasp and gulp heavily. You lay sprawled across his bed, your right arm resting above your head while your left hand lay gently on your stomach. Your left leg was slightly bent, the other stretched out languidly. The shirt you wore, one of his, was haphazardly covering your body, exposing your laced undergarment, and almost revealing your breasts. The sight was both intimate and incredibly tempting.

Law removed his fur hat and placed it on his desk, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to steady his racing thoughts. His nose flared as he inhaled deeply, trying to quell the desire stirring within him. The sight of you, so vulnerable and alluring, made it a challenge to resist the temptation before him.

With a sigh, he took the blanket that had been pushed aside as you moved on the bed and carefully draped it over you. He sat beside you, his eyes lingering on your serene face, taking comfort in your presence. In the quiet of the night, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this intimate moment of stillness.

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, his fingers trembling slightly. As he gazed at you, he felt a profound sense of peace and gratitude. Despite the chaos and danger that awaited him outside, here, in this cabin, he found solace and strength in your love. With a tender smile, he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your forehead, murmuring, "Sorry for waking you up."

^^^

"You're back," you whispered.

Law nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "I couldn't stay away," he admitted, his weariness momentarily forgotten in the comfort of your presence.

^^^

Your eyes linger on him as he slowly pulls his shirt over his head, revealing those muscles that flex and tease under the soft light. He moves with a deliberate sensuality, stripping off his pants until he's left in just his boxers. The temptation to wrap your arms around him, to feel the warmth of his skin against yours, is almost overwhelming. But instead, you hold back, your hand reaching up to cup his face tenderly.

He places his right hand over yours, leaning into your touch. His lips find the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, and he gently bites, sending a shiver down your spine. Something shifts in his eyes, a spark of intensity igniting within him. With a sudden, firm grasp, he grabs the nape of your neck and pulls you closer, his forehead resting against yours.

"You know I'm trying my best to hold back from fucking you right now. Have mercy on me," he murmurs, his voice a husky whisper filled with raw desire. He inhales deeply, his breath mingling with yours, before slowly pulling back to look into your eyes, dark and heavy with longing. "Sorry, I couldn't fulfill our desires for the meantime. I wanted to rest, hope you understand," he adds, his gaze softening with a mix of regret and exhaustion.

"Of course," you reply, though a hint of disappointment lingers in your voice. As you study his face, you can see the weariness etched into his features, the dark circles under his eyes, the tension in his jaw. He has so much weighing on his mind, so many burdens he carries.

You lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Rest now," you say softly, your hand still cradling his face. "We'll have our time." ^^^

You scoot to the side, making room for him on the narrow bed. Law switches off the lamp on the nightstand, plunging the cabin into darkness save for the faint glow from the moonlight filtering through the porthole. He stretches out on his stomach, his head sinking into the pillow, his back a broad expanse of muscle turned away from you.

A flicker of mischief dances in your mind, but his earlier words echo in your ears, reminding you of his resolve. His restraint, a testament to his discipline honed over years, only deepens your admiration for him. With a sigh, you lie on your back, staring blankly at the ceiling above, your thoughts swirling in the quiet darkness.

Minutes pass, each one stretching longer than the last, your sense of longing growing more intense. Unable to resist, you reach out tentatively, moving closer until your left cheek presses against the warmth of his back. Wrapping your right arm around him, you feel the rise and fall of his steady breathing.

Just as you think he might be asleep; he surprises you by reaching for your hand. His fingers trace your knuckles with a gentle caress before he grasps your hand firmly, his touch both reassuring and intimate. The gesture speaks volumes, a silent acknowledgment of the connection you share.

Moments later, you hear the soft, rhythmic sound of his snoring, a sign that sleep has finally claimed him. Holding onto him, you find a sense of peace in his presence, the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear a comforting lullaby. Slowly, the warmth of his body and the rhythmic cadence of his breathing lull you into your own peaceful slumber, the longing replaced by a deep, abiding contentment.

PART TWO

[deadboystims]

✦ ┊ dipper pines (gravity falls) stimboard with themes of nature!! also, update about this blog under read more !!

sources : 1 , 2 , 3 ┊ 4 , 5 , 6 ┊ 7 , 8 , 9

i’m back, and no, i didn’t die!!

first of all, i wanna thank everyone for the continued support despite my absence!! i’m almost to 500 followers and that’s actually insane, i expected my account to die down after my absence 😭

i’m sorry for being gone so long, i’m gonna do my best to get back on track but no promises unfortunately. i have trouble keeping up with hobbies and after awhile making boards felt like a chore 😓

that being said, i am gonna be deleting current requests (again, i’m sorry!! 😭), please be patient as i’ll get in the groove again eventually, thank you!!

[millie-multifics]

……Mamma Mia?

Evan Buckley x GN!Reader

When your friend cancels plans last minute, your sweet boyfriend steps up.

Featuring: Soft Boyfriend Buck and Mammia Mia

Masterlist

x x x

Your phone tightened in your grip and you withheld your sigh of disappointment. You had this night planned for weeks, but your friend was calling to cancel merely an hour before you were set to pick them up.

“No worries, take care.” You hid your disappointment behind a smile as you finished up the call. Your boyfriend, Buck immediately sensed something was wrong.

“Everything okay?” Even from the kitchen, he could hear the slight variations in your tone that was hiding your crushed excitement.

You sighed, kicking off your shoes. “Tonight just got cancelled.”

“But you’ve been looking forward to this for weeks? And you spent so much time getting those tickets and choosing an outfit.”

You pulled the throw pillow onto your lap as you sat on the couch, picking at a loose thread, remembering all of the nights looking through ticket websites and multiple weekends spent combing through thrift stores in L.A.

“I’ll go with you.” Buck offered, the sadness you were emitting was simply too much for your sweet boyfriend to bare. It didn’t matter to him that musicals were not his thing and he would have to sit through two, or that he had just gotten off shift and was simply exhausted. The only thing that mattered to him right now was your happiness.

“Really?”

“It’ll be fun.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself just as much as you.

“So it’s a musical about paternity?”

“It follows Sophie, she is getting married and trying to decipher which of the three men her mom had written about in her diary is her real father.”

“How does Abba fit into all this?”

“If you’re looking for the logic or correlation between Abba and the story, you won’t find any except that some of the group were the creators of the musical.”

“Does she find out who her real father is?”

“You’ll have to wait and see, babe.”

Buck continued to scroll through the Wikipedia page. “Mamma Mia: Here We Go Again?”

“The second film. It takes place a few years later, dynamics have changed and Cher is in it.”

The popcorn bucket rested on your lap, your fingers idly reaching in for the next popped kernal thoughout the film. Buck had also been indulging in the buttery goodness but it had been a moment since his fingers brushed yours in the bucket. You pull your eyes off the screen expecting to find him asleep but found the opposite, his eyes were glued to the screen as Meryl Streep sang Slipping Through My Fingers. You swore you could see his tears glistening in his eyes at the beautiful song.

The second film began and Buck quickly questioned the absence of Meryl Streep just as everyone did the first time it had been watched. He would whisper in your ear as quiet as possible for explanations on small continuity errors but you assured him none would effect the storyline much. You could feel Buck squeeze your hand just a little bit tighter as Sky returned to Kalokairi, and he was sniffling along with the rest of the Theatre during the christening scene.

“So what did you think?” You asked as the lights turned on while the credits rolled.

“I can definitely see why these are your comfort movies.”

“Thank you for coming with me, Evan.” You leaned your head on his shoulder, cuddling into him as much as possible with the chairs cupholders between you.

“Anytime.”

Buck didn’t regret volunteering at all despite how his tiredness from shift weighed on him. The theatre was packed with fans who were just as enthusiastic as you and he adored watching you glow each time you received a compliment on your well planned outfit. Maybe, just maybe he enjoyed the movies too.

You think you can definitely hear him humming S.O.S in the kitchen the next morning.

[etotruski]

König’s Obsession

(Part 1, Part 2,) Part3 (Part 4)

König x reader/f is addressed as y/n or you

Writers note: This is part 3. Thank you to everyone who read my first and second part <3

Warning: This story contains a bit smut and will contain more in the following parts.

Word count: 1,790

After your office meeting with König, the next day somehow no one looked at you disgusted or whatever anymore. So he was able to make the rumors die down somehow. You couldn’t help but wonder how and that’s when you noticed some looked scared at you. You heard others whisper.

“All the things that Ashley said were lies, König confirmed that, but he also confirmed, that…y/n was in the Navy, y/n was called Spider, because of how brutally y/n killed their enemies.”, he whispered the last part and glanced at you a few times during the conversation with his buddy.

‘Now how the fuck did König know about that?’ You thought to yourself but then your anger died down and you thought ‘Aye at least these rumors are gone. FINALLY NO SIDE EYES TO ME ANYMORE, I FELT LIKE AS IF I’M DONALD TRUMP!!!’

The rest of the week you continued your training still with way too long, lingering and unnecessary touches from König. Sometimes you want back to your barracks room and it was open, but you swore that you had it locked, but you didn’t care and thought you forgot to lock it.

König’s POV:

‘Oh how beautiful Y/N is. I wish I could just grab her by her hair, bend her over my table in my office, rip off her clothes and just fuck her so violently that she’d forget her own name and would be dick dumb. Ohhh how I wish I could just stuff my cock into her warm filthy mouth, her lips are so fucking beautiful. How I’d slide my dick between her gorgeous fucking tits and fuck em too. Oh I just want to fuck every hole. I could fuck her anal too. I just want to claim her in any way. It doesn’t matter which hole or space, like her thighs. I just want to claim her. Make her fucking mine.’ 

He breaths heavily as he jerks off for the 10th time in the day, because y/n made him have unexpected boners, despite him being not a school kid anymore.

He practically inhales her scent from the millionth used underwear he stole from her room. He snuck at least millionths of times into her room whole her being in absence. 

He fists his cock harder and imagines the way y/n would be fucked hard with his dick. It was practically a sword, it could compete with fucking drake. 

He groans loud in his room on his bed as he cums on her used underwear.

He now was satisfied and could finally go to sleep. He’s secretly obsessed with her but he hides it, bad, but thank Burger King that she’s oblivious as fuck.

‘I need to text her to come to my house tomorrow. She will are for the child and then I’ll ask her out on a date, I hope so fucking bad I can make her mine as soon as possible. But she is mine, even now, she just doesn’t know it yet. Poor y/n should’ve never come here, I grew attached the moment I saw her. I wonder if she noticed, that Ashley is gone?’  He thought to himself.

After texting her and sending the address to his home, he finally could sleep even though it was 3 in the fucking morning and he couldn’t get her off of his mind and just wanted to fuck her but had to fuck into his hand several times instead.

Y/N’s POV:

It’s officially weekend. Finally. But of course y/n has to help König. At 8 AM she already was at his house. It looks like a fucking mansion. And his car? A fucking Mercedes-Benz G-Wagon. DAMN. ‘Maybe I should try to seduce him and live a life as a happy house wife.’ You thought to yourself.

Of course you were dressed in a black baggy abibas hoodie, along with these cute baggy military cargo pants and some random white sneakers. A but underdressed but you didn’t care.

You knocked and seconds later he opened the door. He looked so fucking hot.

Why? Because even though he put his mask on, he was shirtless and sweating. Looks like he was doing his daily routine right now. The only thing you could think of though was his fucking pecs flexing and these…these…MAN BOOBS. YOU JUST WANNA SQUISH EM. (Writers note: Don’t hate on me pls, I know you guys wanna do that. *evil laugh*)

If you could you’d be licking his pecs like the damn SpongeBob meme.

After a few more seconds of staring you finally snapped out of your thoughts.

“He-…Hello, Sir.” Your fucking voice broke. BROTHA.

He just looked at you and nodded. You saw something in his eyes…but then it quickly disappeared. ‘Wowa Wewa…’ You thought.

You walked inside and that’s when you see the baby, approximately 1 and 1/2 years old. You ran to him and you couldn’t help but say.

“AWWWW. Aren’t you a cute little guy. Such a cute little baby.” 

Meanwhile König watched you babying the baby. You felt his gaze literally BURNING into your neck.

“I’m going to continue my work, look after Vladimir.”

‘Vladimir…PUTIN’ You unlocked a new nickname for the baby. You looked after it the rest of the day. You fed it, played with it, made it fall asleep, cooked food and fell asleep on the couch yourself. Later when you wake up you see König staring down at you, with something…primal in his eyes?

**to be continued**

[overtaken-stream]

Where On3 Will St4nd

King The Wildfire x F!Lunarian!Reader

100+ Followers Special!! I APPRECIATE YOU GUYS SO MUCH! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! THANK YOU GUYS FOR THE SUPPORT!! <3 (This was posted so late oml) This bad boy has been cooking in my drafts for close to a year and a half it feels like, it is very much burnt to a crisp. Thank you anon who asked me about King meeting another of his race! This would not be here without you <3

Also, sorry for the grammar mistakes, English isn't my first language.

word count: 8.9k

Warnings: incorrect cultural description(?)/practices(?), Self-harm(Burns), Imprisonment, Timeline is a mess don't come at me.

( The Land of a Demon )

Onigashima is an intimidating island; the smell of ash penetrates every corner of the scene where a battlefield will unfold. There are no flowers to add color to the brown mud and grey rocks, no snowflakes to grace the island or land on the red mist. The only thriving presence is the skull, where the fire emanates—the lair of a wrongdoer rotting and resting in this sinful place.

The skull, or rather, the rock resembling a creature much like the one on Thriller Bark—Oars, to be exact—was its name. But even he, the Junior, paled in comparison to the Skull Dome. No human could have sculpted it; giants, maybe, but even then, there are doubts.

It was formidable for you to step into the den of a beast earlier than expected, where you would be alone and defenseless. The dreadful aura the place is emitting is fitting for an Emperor of the sea. The deeper you went, the lighter you felt, the fearsome and overwhelming feeling was replaced by the intimidating, and may I say, strict walls you can find in the Wano Kuni, or the Flower Capital to be more exact, the only thing Onigashima lacks is the malnourishment that comes with Shoguns' rule, the exhausted faces of workers, the food prices and the dirtied outskirts. The separation of morals between the Wano Kuni and Onigashima shows clearly in the environment, it's like stepping into a completely different world, detached by the innocent victims who got birthed in this tangle of knotted rope, a mess, a sculptor done masterfully by manipulators of different social hierarchies. It's an art piece that took lives. A work in progress.

Their happiness depends on us. The ones who took it in the first place. The pirates.

We are the only people who bleed flames and light up the shadowed space that is Wano.

Soon.

...Soon.

After the worrying incident of the crew splitting apart yet again to get Sanji back and despite your worries for the polite cook- you were among the majority who continued traveling toward Wano. The plan was for you to become a Geisha working alongside Robin to get selected by the Shogun, but at last, the paths split and here you were in the den of beasts.

There was little chance of concealing your true identity in Wano; the absence of hair dyes posed a challenge. However, with strategic tying, the Obi belt effectively concealed the main factors that could give you away. The uncomfortable sensation is so familiar that you've learned to master not showing the everlasting pain on your face. The lightened makeup applied by the elderly further masks your skin, with red lips complementing your Obi and velvety gloves. The black hue of your flower kimono, snug tightly to your legs, hinders your pace, restraining you from keeping up with other women who, despite being more nervous, are less experienced in the field of treachery. Tonight, it will be challenging to differentiate professionals from novices, and you vow to take advantage.

The occasionally beautiful scenery inside the castle fails to comfort you amidst the fast-beating hearts; it is unsettling. The empty halls, guided by one of Kaido's puppets, make everyone dizzy with the maze-like walls—plain, hard to remember its turns.

In what way did the he turn last time?

The candles dwindle in plain sight as the floor creaks, accommodating the heavy steps of someone on the other side of the hallway. The sound becomes more vivid as it picks up pace, running past your group from the other side of the wall, capturing the attention of a soldier who turns and continues guiding with an anxious face.

It's only when the others, approximately ten pairs of feet, follow suit that you realize the commotion beside the separation. Judging by the soldier's expression, it seems to be a normal occurrence. However, you do not halt your steps; you continue to motionlessly follow, much like a sheep. It turns out the other women have the same idea.

There's an Oni free of its cage.

Debris falls from the shaking ceiling onto your shoulders. You wipe the black fabric clean, huffing as you quicken your pace, gently pushing the ladies to make way. The man, with spiky brown hair, takes another turn to the right this time.

``Sir, how far are you going to make us walk? Do you want us to be gasping for breath when we entertain our customers?`` You ask in a monotone voice, the impatience underlines your words, while your facial expression is the same as the one you entered with.

The soldier angles his neck to look up at you before his expression turns sour.

Lazy sons of bitches are too tired to answer a simple question. Tsk.

Your eye twitches as you await his answer. Not minding the spooked expressions of the ladies.

``Just above this floor.``

You only take your eyes off of him when the dark wood stairs come into view. It's been twenty years since the Beast Pirates invaded Wano Kuni and the history of Onigashima, they left a mark that will be impossible to remove. The residue of red that has maintained its place on the stairs is proof of that, who knows how many more illicit and barbaric things this place... This Country has witnessed. Who knows how many more will be lost.

Yet, people ignore it for their safety, geisha act no differently, even if they feel the warmth of a body no longer on the bottom of their okobo, they don't look down. For their security. Though you seem to be unable to look up, whoever the unfortunate victim was, you wish them a peaceful afterlife.

You hold in what anger you have, clenching your fists onto the sides of your kimono. There will come a time for you to spill it.

Soon.

...Soon.

A dreadful feeling emanates within the group, snapping you out of your daydreams. You didn't mean to get lost in your head, but the moment you let the fabric loose, the double door opens, and the women hurry their way to spots alongside every wall, unhappiness settling in their guts. They put their knees onto the soft purple cushions. Your eyes travel over the shamisen lying beside the cushion you were supposed to rest on. The three-stringed instrument you pick up seems to be brand new—unused and unprepared. However, even as you fix the strings, you feel relieved. Kyo Mai is a slow dance with complicated steps, and your confined wings always disturb your enactment. You were supposed to play the instrument and stay hidden among the performers, even with your snow-white hair and height.

The door opens right after everybody picks up their fans, you hid away in the background with the shamisen now in the proper hold.

(Away from the intimidating aura the girls seem to be spooked of. They don't break under the pressure. They repeat what was practiced.)

Here they come.

The All-Stars.

( Eyes That Follow )

From the three goliaths that were sitting and having an exchange, you've decided that Queen was the worst out of all of them. His immense and twisted pride shows even during his interactions with the women currently swarming his sides, the sadism that chokes the air out of every woman doesn't reach the beasts.

He calls it... “Flirting” it's not obvious to the naked eye but the girls feel uncomfortable, even when they smile, you can tell. It's for survival they smile. It's for survival they nod their heads as Queen throws compliments at a woman who isn't here. Komurasaki.

You feel sorry for the girl, to have Queen captivated was horrifying. You hold hope that Komurasaki will never meet him in person, even as your eyes continue to wander over Queen, for he, even if the filthiest of the All-Stars, was the most social one. A star scientist. It's when Queen starts practicing his singing talent that one of them calls.

``Oi.``

You straighten up. From on top Jack, The Drought looks down at you.

``Could you start the music already?`` His unreacting eyes only leave your face when you answer with an apology. It was obvious he was trying to silence Queen.

As you pull the shamisen closer to your body, you can hear the blond's offended complaints soon be replaced by the excitement when he realizes the Geishas' standings.

``Well, aren't you a beauty with white hair of yours, musician? Though no one will beat my Komurasaki! That bastard Shogun! Such a shame.``

You aren't sure what he pulls out of his pocket—a paper of some kind? A picture. You thought maybe some information would leak out of their mouths, yet the only conversations you hear are Queen's complaints and praises towards the women. Lost in your own mind, studies continue to mix. Is Kaido awarding his men before the festival? It seems unlikely, but unfortunately, that might be the case.

As you begin the melody of "Crane Wedding," there isn't another noise except Queen's malicious giggles interrupting you. That is until the sounds of squeaking leather picks up in the trapped room. You fix your eyes on the instrument while somebody else's eyes drill into your face, past your cosmetics and the flawless kimono. They don't move from your face; in fact, you might even think they are staring past your soul. You can feel their eyes travel to your neck, covered by the geisha's makeup. They stare, and you don't dare to look up meet meet them.

The pleasant music of yours doesn't halt as a geisha brings in the food, throwing a quick and nervous glance your way, but soon she too turns towards one of the three men who called her, leaving you alone with that crushing stare. The time stretches along with the performance; the short melody now feels like a loop of endless tactics put together. Lovely notes turn into a disgusting mess of mud inside your mind, plugging your ears and forcing you to hear the way your heart speeds up, noticing his eyes cling onto the darker color not peeking from under the makeup. You're nervous, as are the dancing geisha, whose only audience is Queen at this point. It's soon when the second, heavy pair of eyes turn towards you, but this one is much quicker to leave you be.

That must have been Jack.

King. He's the one that continues to stare.

The corner of your lips twitches after the realization. You try to keep away from falling and dissecting below his gaze. It lasts even after the dance was finished, his red eyes hold you hostage for the most part, even when you get up and do what your teacher, a sweet old lady has taught you.

It's fear, not of him, but rather afraid of him finding out what no outsider should know.

It's doubt, he is doubting you. Suspecting you, yet he asks no question. He only stares you down like a predator when you finally meet his crimson eyes. Your (E/C) eyes reflect his fully leathered top half.

You aren't afraid of him, no you can't be, you've faced many opponents in your 25 years of living, and you've gone through the suffering even the strongest men cannot withstand.

You are a Straw hat.

You are part of a future Pirate Kings crew. You cannot be intimidated by a mere second in command. You hold your head up high.

It turns out to be the right action that causes him to back down slowly, surely you are let go from the muddy waters.

( Eye to Eye )

The sunrise began as Jack got up, and soon Queen followed him. After his callouts to King, who threw an audible shut-up in his way but did not move from the spot he was standing, Queen wasn't convinced until Jack bulldozed through the door opening and intentionally dragged Queen out of the way.

The poker face you've kept up so far slips when King calls every woman out of the room except you. You can feel Haki building its way through your veins, but you don't jump to conclusions, even as he gets closer to you with a towering height difference, his latex and bands stay unmelted when the fire on his back explodes, little sparks jumping towards you, who is by now trapped between the wall and the giant. You can feel the hot sparks on your clothing land and extinguish themselves, The conclusion is slow beneath his red eyes that are staring at you so angrily, any other emotion so hard to read beneath the mask that thoroughly covers every part of his body, the folded black wings are no exception.

Besides blocking your means of escape, he has yet to do anything physically, the temperature in the room rises with how fast the heat is produced on his back. The fire is so familiar you might even get lost in it, in the old times, when fewer shit stains were roaming the planet. It makes you sweat underneath all the tight clothes you're wearing, especially on your back where the wings have started to ruffle, trying to let some air into its layers to no avail.

You wish you had talent in observation haki to determine what he was going to do next.

You flinch when his right arm raises from where it slept beside his thighs, it slowly gets closer to your frozen form, even if you try to lean away, there is no point, you realize. You are tall, but as both of you stand beside each other, He towers over you, but his intention isn't to intimidate you. The instinct is your strong suit and your weakest point.

You can feel the leather wipe away at your excessive makeup, from your cheek to your platysma his hand travels with a heavy heart on its sleeve.

If King was anyone other than King, you would have slapped it away.

If only he didn't share traits you are so familiar with.

If only you didn't share traits he is so familiar with.

You can feel the cosmetics dragging and staining his gloves, wiping away half of your disguise easily, thanks to the heat, he keeps a note of your half-disguised face with calculating... Wide eyes. The other half of your face, one that stayed untouched, must be melting.

It's the shaky puffs of air released from his mask that gives him away, the sudden rise in temperature in an already hot room, it must almost be 40°C, yet he does not budge.

Is he relieved...? Enthusiastic much...?

Not a word is said when he takes his arm away, now covered in white. You can see the way the pupils shake, you are sure he can see yours too, the furrowed brows and slightly parted lips of yours must be a giveaway.

The wings.

The eternal inferno.

A laugh escapes in the room-turned-oven, a nervous laugh of a feminine voice. You must be in shock to have fallen so low. Not even trying are you?

In a world that ought to hunt your kind down, to exterminate the past, the world that succeeded in destroying your kind, you don't feel alone. Or... You will no longer.

In the fervor, the mask comes off, leaving his sweat-covered face uncovered for you to see.

(``What tells that you are the only survivor?`` King used to ask himself back in his younger years before he made it clear how erroneous that question was, not to mention unlikely. It a proof of his childish innocence and the improvement. If more of his kind existed, they would be in the hands of the Government, doing god knows what to them. It always made the locked space of memories in his subconscious bubble up and boil over in quiet rages and liquor-companied nights. As he looks at your somewhat clean face, he is comforted by the pitiless thought that, by some luck, someone else managed to survive the hell he also went through. He wishes he could feel at ease, but he has to be sure. He has to eliminate every doubt in his mind.)

It's not out of intimacy and lust that he asks an inappropriate question to your calmed self about stripping. The surprised look in your eyes indicates a misunderstanding of his intentions. It's only mutual trust that guides him to do what he does next. Slowly but surely, he tries to pull his mask off, letting the tight piece tug at his scalp as he sets his hair free. Only when the temperature doesn't change, even when his skin feels the air, does he let the fire return to its original size.

King The Wildfire, only looks down at your complicated emotions. Even if he does not remember the company of his people, he would truly be a fool not to recognize his own biology. Though he doesn't hold onto hope, suspicion still lingers in his red eyes. It differs from your beaming laugh full of shallow happiness, representing more of a nervous tick than anything. It's been so long since he has heard a laugh not accompanied by sadistic undertones—exploiter gifters who dared to approach him—and the liquor Kaido keeps so close during his episodes.

``... I apologize for the heat."

You smile with somewhat shocked eyes looking up at him. ``...You know, it's been a while since I've felt the excitement of my kind.`` a nervous sigh you let out lead the conversation.

`` you don't have to apologize.``

``Yes... I-`` He has forgotten many unique reflexes with time. For this instance, it doesn't pains him. Every day he forgets what distinguishes the instincts of Lunarians, for he feels less of his kind.

He counts it as a sin, a shameful part of adulting, a side effect of having to live among the likes of Kaido's men, therefore his choice.

You acknowledge his position with his back turned to the door, sitting down cross-legged as he mentions for you to do the same. You obey, his wings hovering over you and hiding your figure from the outside world.

He asks once more to turn your back to him. You try to find any joke to fit in the thick air of nervous glances, but you find none. The unconscious mutual loyalty the both of you have towards one another is born by the shared traits, of family. Of shared pain.

You take the Obi belt in your hands and off of your waist.

He has many questions he cannot get out of his mouth, but for now, he keeps quiet. He is sure you have no intention of reliving the hell on earth that is the past.

You turn your back to a beast with the pattern of a face on its back.

As you take the black fabric of your kimono off, layer by layer the cold bites at your wet body, and the salty smell lets out into the heated air, though none of you care for the odor. You drop the kimono just below your belly button and let the relief that comes with letting your wings flex and take hold.

With a fast-beating heart, King watches.

It's in a haze that he reaches out to your back, his fingers connecting to the shoulders where the wings come from, sending a shiver down your sweat-covered spine, they're smaller he thinks, more fragile than him, though there is no difference in the power of flame and healing when it comes to genders. She could make them bigger when required. They aren't fragile, they are as powerful as his, but the size difference makes it easy to tickle his instincts, long forgotten and left in the past, starving for attention. His hands run over your coracoid, trying to find the place where the feathers meet the skin, attempting to find the evidence that you are real.

He barely hears your name, caught in the view of the wings turning from black to dark blue at different angles. Though he doesn't answer, he has already shown you enough of himself, it is no longer essential. King will do just fine.

The wings are erogenous, however, even if you shiver under the sensitive touches, no lust taints the special moment between the survivors.

``(Y/N).`` you spell out your name.

By instinct, his fire becomes ablaze when his hand sneaks up your humerus, lingering touches ruffling your feathers as the fire licks at your ungroomed wing. It lights the reflective white strands of hair that escaped from Geiko Shimada. The warmth on your back is comforting to the point where you lean your wings into it. Finally, you light the eternal flame, his hand engulfed in your flames goes undamaged. It extracts and attracts the fire from his hand into the center of your spine, causing the fire to grow and spread onto your wing feathers.

Looking back you're met with what you would call, a confused face of King whose features have been caught in the yellow glow of a fire that you are able to control.

King only stares at your almost nude form with a wrinkle of thought between his eyebrows.

( Guard )

In the way King shelters you, with him beside you and you hidden in the massive wing as he walks into his chambers, you would be wrong if you said you aren't anxious. Happy but skeptical. You doubt he'll hurt you, but the mask locking away his facial structures works as an intimidation factor.

The click of a lock on his door is the only sound that disturbs the silence. Now you are in his territory, his nest.

``King?`` you turn around to look at him.

``Where did you come from.`` It's scary how quickly and unnoticeably he changes his mood. But it is probably because the enthusiasm has passed and questions have started to surface, what you thought to be a nice welcome, turns into icy bars locking you out of your getaway, just like earlier. His red eyes leave a permanent mark on your (E/C) ones.

Where did you come from. that's not a question. Questions don't make you feel as if the warmth has left your body and sent shivers down your spine. They don't drag you down the lone caves and lock up your respiratory system.

Questions aren't meant to stop time. But the way both of you aren't moving, they might as well.

You have to be careful with every word and syllable you mutter. ``I've come fro-``

``How are you alive.``

``I-``

You barely have time to finish your answers before he's asking another one, slowly he steps toward you. In the dark, his leather shines, but as you take another step back you cannot help but glance at his wings. How the moonlight seems to bend with each curve of his feathers, sinking into the crevices and lightening them up in a blue hue, similar to you, but unlike the yellow glow, King's replaced by the white. You can't help but be deprived.

There is only one sentence that is louder than the rumble coming from within him. The declaration you acknowledge within all the noise clogging your ears.

You don't feel the suffocation of this situation, nor do you hear King's voice anymore. The pressure (Despite the windows being open) comes from the claustrophobic chamber. Your wings stay close to your back. The masked face looks down on your kimono, his pupils have seemed to freeze on your form, and the angry aura that he emits is all but a facade of defense. His jaw is moving but all you can hear is a rumble that pours out deep from his chest, it's incredibly loud yet deaf to the ears of normal humans, the volume that should shake walls only quiver your brain.

The moonlight seems to cage you in, showing your footsteps to a starved predator, it's the devil's eye that replaces the moon, with red pupils that stare you down. He overshadows your form, sending warnings throughout your system-

The possessiveness only sends shivers down your spine.

(Fight or flight?)

From somewhere far away, a boy with a straw hat on his face lifts his head from where it's laying in a hammock, letting the yellow straws that are incapable of being split slowly drop onto his bandaged chest. The rough feel of the same material wraps around his forehead trapping a few black strands of hair with it.

He grumbles, the ache in his limbs starting to become much more obvious, with half-lidded eyes Luffy looks up from the opening of the hammock, letting his head peek over at the sleeping skeleton currently knocked out in the same way Luffy was supposed to be.

Something's happening.

He is sure of it, but with grogginess biting away his consciousness, he has no energy left to chase after that feeling, he turns his stiff body the other way, peeking from the left he comes face to face with the man who is a family member in all but blood, who he got back just a few hours ago.

He smiles and lies back down, from the position he is in, a window the size of his head stays open, it shows the moon and the stars twinkling their way into existence.

He wonders what others must be up to, are they watching the moon with him? Basking in its glow like a tiger?

He hates that he has to keep them waiting, but it was necessary.

Soon.

...Soon he'll be there.

Wait for him... A little more!-

( Domain )

There's something cataclysmic lurking in the walls of his chambers, causing your ears to bleed. The shackles rattle loudly next to your helix as you scratch at your ear, only making the headache worse. The heavy pull of sea stone brings down your mood. Rough exterior already leaving its mark on your hands

The mirror rests across the bed, compelling the disheveled mess of yourself to face the view. Hair strands fall on the sides of your face, greasy with gel, and your face—oh God, your face—appears smudged, as if the color is melting away. The swollen eyes that signal a newly awakened person squint to see your reflection.

The clothes are still on your body despite being passed out on the enormous bed of a murderer, a killer, and a tyrant's sidekick last night. Another ridiculous error to add to the imaginary board.

Back when King unleashed the color of the Supreme King on your cornered self you didn't dare fight back, and the shackles were here in the form of consequence to your conclusion.

The room was dark, with the only source of light being the window next to the mirror. The bars on the outside really make you feel at home. The decor set a scene suggesting no man had ever lived there. Occasional scratches marked the floor, and the specially modified bed, along with what you could only guess was a closet, were all tailored to fit his taste. Gothic undertones and a taste reminiscent of some old king's private quarters defined his preferences. You could barely discern the detailing on the bed and the strangely designed closet colored in black and gold. The dominating dark blue swallowed any light that entered the room, and there was a door to your left, likely leading to the bathroom.

The quiet morning was disturbed by the entrance of King, he stands in front of the same door you remember entering last night.

You feel quite disgusted.

``I didn't expect you to be awake.`` For a moment before you passed out, you didn't either.

The uneasy eyes meet kings' as time stills. Dragging out the undesirable connection. It only serves to tug your heart down to your gut. The happy moment, the relief and sorrow for the past nothing but a distant memory in the dark shadows of a realm not your own.

He moves closer to your bed, hands dropping what seems to be extra clothes near your feet. The man doesn't flinch as you push your legs closer to your torso and away from him. The rejection is disregarded.

``You should change.`` Carefully you nod your head.

``The bathroom is over there.``His stern voice shakes the weak walls of your mind as he turns his back on you before walking over to the entrance.

You can't help but let out a shaky breath as the door is locked and you're left alone with thoughts you can not connect no matter how hard you try, it only serves to make tremors run up your spine and into your fingertips, it's a dread invading a carefully maintained flesh you tried to protect with the hands of a child once. The deep noise your restraints produce was nothing but a ghost of your past just a couple of days ago. The weight on your wrists burns. The crackle is deafening and bone-shaking. There's no one else to hear you.

``... I need...`` Time to think, to process. Your lips shiver.

The soft white walls are nothing but an illusion. You wonder if the blue-colored room of a beast is a delusion.

The eyes and the goggles flash before you, white coats accompanied by bloodlust run over your thoughts.

Breathe.

You push your knees off of the bed, sweat traveling down your face, the cold is in no way a comfort.

The warm water is what tempts you to tread the wooden floor.

( Lone Wolf )

The water is hot against your skin as the shower head lets the boiling droplets escape freely from the metal, and steam coats the world in the lightest tints. King brings the ache you've long forgotten existed ever since the smile of a boy with the straw hat lit your life full of shadow. You wish you could be happy in the burning downpour, you deserve it, however, the inferno on your back heals the drawbacks, leaving no trace of your accomplishments which took more than a couple of burns to earn.

And you wonder what have you done to earn this.

The happiness of no longer carrying the guilt was relieving, even if it lasted for a couple of minutes.

As a little lady you would wish for a knight to come and take you away to the land of dreams, make the walls just a bit more colorful and alive in the world that burns dreams. The warm hands would he have, the soft look and the shine in his eyes, the wings on his back, and the fire that would put the sun to shame with its flames. The honey on his lips and the daisies in your hair.

The desires were harmless, they gave you hope, something a human would have.

(You can still taste the metal. You can feel the debris fall and you hear their landing making the ground of pure white shake.

Your instincts would only let you run. Would only make you avoid the black broken bricks covered in glitter. Shining green from the light and smoke.

You have no idea what exploded. You won't want to know.

That night, the girl left that place and its guards to be doomed into oblivion.

That night, a knight was left without his princess.)

The sizzling sound you feel is draining you of the energy you might need, it's a waste yet the fire on your back regenerates the lost skin again, again and again. Until you give in and stop the shower, only for the shackles to be felt around your hands. Your wings are open, fully on display.

Sensing the burns in your bones, you wonder what would have happened if you were more close to the explosion of the past, wonder if it would have been better as the water droplets fall from your wet face.

It's fairer than facing the reality that complicates the fragile string of truths once again.

Hands clenched into fists and fire growing ever hotter on your back, you wonder if you are patient enough for this, no longer does a little girl await for saving. She doesn't need to anymore. Someone else might.

It brings up a question. Can you be the light needed for one's darkest times?

You walk out of the shower with a hot back and bloody palms, the fire burns brightly above the feathers. You can only hope to fuel it forever. You keep the wings close, your captor closer.

No longer will you be truly alone.

( Purity )

If there's one thing you've learned as a child, it's that they aim for the stars, with no plan in mind and ambition in their belly, only a brave few truly make it into the sky and those who could not are left with clipped wings and broken dreams. Fragile to the point they crash onto the soil and shatter, never to be put together again.

It makes you proud that your captain never crashed down, that his wings were never clipped, you're sure that the thoughtlessness was enough to boost him to reach beyond the stars.

Before, you wondered if you were able to grab onto the lights that looked down on you during the night. Now you live to see it come true.

However, where you succeeded some failed.

And so King came crashing down with the one who put his wings back together, feather by feather, vigorous and more dreadful than ever.

He split the skies until it cried.

You refuse to allow him to recite Kaidou's doing to you. Day after day in the dark and cold chamber, your fire brightens the dark and continuously burns on your back, never once diminishing.

Nobody is allowed that pleasure.

( Prison )

Getting used to a closed environment comes naturally, as much as you hate to admit it. The dim walls are a new addition to your view, which is no longer full of white coats and a bright enclosure. The heavy shackles are much harder to familiarize with.

In a cold chamber time moves fast.

Your only interaction with the outside world is King, dark and broody, full of confidence and gentleness, he treats you as if you're fragility itself. You won't beg for a way out, you never did, humiliation over naught is an intense feeling to swallow. He's careful with his words, careful in the way he acts and reconnects with his instincts right by your side.

Day after day his visits keep a consistent schedule, with two plates of food and loneliness in his belly he strives to spend breakfast, lunch, and dinner together with you, speaking only a few words of insight. There's fire on your back yet, it does nothing to protect you from the coldness he brings. Wings stay close to your back, never truly opening in the cage. The words he says don't carry the weight of a man born for death.

One wants to lower your walls while shackling you with his, to the point that the invisible distance strains you, he is full of drought and he craves to end the famine.

Time passes and the longer you ignore the elephant in the room, the heavier its weight on your shoulders grows. You destruct yourself for a question you're not ready to hear the answer to. The pressure leads to an opening to form.

It's said in an outlandish way, heart swelling with numbness and hate tingling your fingers. Your eyes stare onward, beyond the figure meeting them.

``What are you achieving?`` Why have you caged me? Weren't you in my position once upon a time?

It stops him dead in the tracks. His eyes don't widen yet his mouth does in a way that seems robotic. The air stills, only the noise of crackling fire could be heard, heavy and rich with the enigma the man was created to be.

Why did you choose kaidou?

You want to ask.

``...Nothing. I achieve nothing.`` you ignore the strict undertone and drink the tea he brought not too long ago. It conceals the wary gulp.

``I would never have taken you for a liar.`` An intense sound is created as he slices the distance between you two with his flight, black wings ajar. a sharp feather rests near your throat. You have to be attentive. Careful to not snap the thick rope that holds his pieces together.

Blood seeps out of the cut.

``Why do you wish for death?``

``You could have murdered me the night we met.`` It's too late for your soul to perish. His reasoning for keeping you alive is clear to you.

His hand, clenching the root of a dangerously pointed feather shakes with the conflicted emotion.

Your back lights and the cut is healed.

He cannot do it, not to his kind. With a quiet grunt, King backs off to leave the chamber, his feather crumbled and abandoned on the cold wood.

Every night is spent alone on a bed made for your kind, it's just that this night feels full of plain dismay and sorrow.

The past does not visit tonight.

( The Other Side )

Your words penetrate him, though he doesn't indicate. The conversation is buried in the depths of ash, fire blooms inside of him, it rages and burns, and wherever he steps the smoke trails after him.

``Haven't you walked the same path?``

His subordinates are seated around a large table, smiles and crevices on their face.

``Do you not know darkness?``

He does. He is intimate with it.

``The hopelessness of being someones plaything?``

He can feel the heat of the past catching up to him, engulfing him in the ball of flame and strapping him on a table. He knows how it feels to be burned to oblivion, the only peace he has known. Words of madness leave his lips, everyone, including himself knows that it's empty threats, for he stands on the other side of the glass. Nothing but a guinea pig

``I know that you know it too. We walked the same path.``

He would have grabbed anyone's hand if only they reached out. It just so happened that he grabbed someone who could change the world, for the better or for worse.

He looks at the barren wasteland of Onigashima.

Was it truly a choice when your options were between freedom and its absence?

He finds that time flies swiftly when sailing. It halts when on the land.

(He has never belonged to either.)

``Why do you recite history?``

He comes to a conclusion, one of selfishness and fear. Clenched fist heats up, he does not pay attention to the rising temperature.

He craves his kind. The hopelessness is the reason he captured you.

His teeth grind against one another. He isn't on the level of humans, his superior biology won't let him stoop that low, but he finds that mentally, he and them are cut from the same cloth. Other's consequences directed him to repeat what he feared.

The thought has long since passed.

King finds it hard to care about them.

But you are entirely foreign. He can taste the smoke of Punk Hazard.

You try again and again. Lightly scratching at the metaphorical walls of him until your hands grab his heart softly, ripping the veins and staining your hands with his blood.

Your mouth only forages for the food King fetches. He wonders about you and the possibilities of it all until the voice he has gotten used to brings him back to earth, you do nothing to cushion his fall, only stalling his drop with words he feels entirely uncomfortable to understand. For the reason that he had no one to share it with.

``There's a saying about them`` You say, looking oblivious with the plate resting on your knees, mouth cooling down the food.

``A man is wolf to man.`` He gets it, King is sure he will hear your voice saying it whenever the existence of The Celestials get brought up.

``I'm glad you aren't one.``

For a moment King thinks about the blood he spilled, the curses his shoulders withstand and the beginning of it all, the things he has seen himself do, and replies.

``I could say the same.``

You can see his face, swatted with shadows even without the mask, crack, and the hidden comfort dawns on his face.

The soup in your hands is warm like the sunlight, the mask he gripped whenever entering the room rests on the bed, no longer present in his claws.

A path reveals itself to the two of you.

(There's a flower that blooms only in cold surroundings, It feeds from the ground and awaits the warmth of the sun, from the grey clouds and falling snow, the light peeks through.)

( No Regrets )

Through the window, you can smell the madness in the air, it's evident in the way King comes in while the walls around you shake with the rhythms of Queen's performance.

Your heart follows along with the melody without your consent. After all, there is not much to do with the man that you have come to accept. The walls are nothing against the booming voice of a man too loud and apathetic. But within the confines of the castle, the tense atmosphere can be felt with the help of King. Every step he takes and grunt that follows brings forth his thoughts and instincts, there's something in the air. Teetering on the edges of your mind.

The Lunarian gets closer to you, finally reaching down to your level. For minutes he stares at you, taking in your features as if you'd disappear. The leather flexes as his left-hand holds your wrist.

The red eyes don't move away. Neither do yours.

The metal spikes on his mask gleam. His eyes tell a story as his head drops down, gloved fingers sliding over the rough material of your cuffs.

Time is ticking, and you are waiting for him to succumb to temptation and finally make a move for both's sake.

King's face tilts up with a heavy sigh in tow to look at you, only for a soft smile to greet him. The cuffs are warm around your skin and cold to the room.

After all, the sun speaks of your captain's arrival.

It doesn't take many days for King to return with the key in between his fingers and no fire on his back. Your smile greets his eyes, and the knowing grin settles on your dark skin, yet the maliciousness is nowhere to be found between your lips.

Ever since his release, King has never felt at peace, perhaps he can only close the distance.

(A glimpse of sunlight was all the flower needed to rise from the frozen land.)

The heavy cuffs harshly meet the floor.

( Reunion )

The smoke is filling your lungs, the familiarity making your heart clench and bring forth a cough. The walls are stained with blood, but you don't dwell on it. Instead, you let the sounds of battle lead your wings; feeling the air make way for you is a sensation missed. The chunks of limbs and lifeless bodies are nothing but a blur in your vision. The battle has long begun, and your release from the King's chamber is far too late.

A cunning smile flashes in your mind, long black hair, and rosy cheeks decorate the memory.

``Better late than never.`` Her composed voice would say, accompanied by her icy and all-knowing stare.

Suddenly, a blue light shines through the castle wall ahead, accompanied by the noise of a gigantic object impacting from the other side. With a single flap of your wings, you pick up speed, aiming to breach the barrier. Your tough feathers shield your body as you slam into and shatter the wall's material. Unscathed, your eyes adjust to the bright figure standing on your left, emanating a stunning light that brings life to its surroundings, leaving your eyes wide. You notice a trail of smoke to your right.

You get a better look at him as the surroundings clear up.

``S-Sanji?!`` You feel quite happy to know that his issue has been resolved, judging from the way his face brightens and stands on the ground of Wano's borders. Although he always lights up near the opposite sex.

``(Y/N)-Chan?!`` His matted blond hair is a detail you only notice with the advanced eyesight your kind seems to possess. The bloody lip and his bruised forehead made him quite a sight. Although the swelling is nowhere to be seen.

You can try to make the words of delight resurface in your mouth, it's always nice to let others know of your feelings, though sometimes it sure gets hard to pull them out from the bottom of your heart.

``I'm glad to see you here!`` it lets the burden on your shoulders lighten.

Sanji responds the way you except him to.

``(Y/N)-Chwaaan!!~♡ It's been so long since I last saw you!`` No longer able to contain the love in his body, the hearts burst from his very soul. Happiness fuels his wiggly movements. ``Oh, how I missed you!~``

A large smile stretches your lips, dry as a desert. ``It's nice to have you back!-``

You could have said more, but the time has already run out.

There's water leaking from the floor above, a loud shriek is heard and your back is met with a cold, menacing look from who seems to be Sanji's opponent.

The reflexes kick in, sinking into your veins, moving you out of the threat of a mechanism falling on top of you.

You'r gaze falls on the Beast. His eyes meet yours.

There's a glimmer of familiarity in his eye.

``Out of the way!`` Sanji's yell warns before the foe swings his oversized arms once more.

The amount of force needed for your wings to fly backward is more than necessary, though the opponent's swings seem to be getting swift at every dodge, the heat produced on your back strengthens your arms and then fists, and you look for an opening to get one hit in, but for a second you can see the furious blue eyes tell you his whole story, the desperation of a man becoming more clear to recognize...

You decide that this is not your battle... The heat is diminished.

( A Change )

The short encounter with the cook was not for naught, his instructions led you directed to a stadium full of warriors ready to risk their lives for a nation that has only its history to live for.

Within enemies, there are familiar faces mixed in, who are also fighting alongside you. With Kaido fighting Luffy and Sanji taking on Queen, it's only logical to assume that the first mate would go for the top of the food chain.

There's so much to do, yet the responsibility does not intimidate your kind.

You're left to protect the survivors of a war already won.

The aftermath was nothing more than a reunion for your crew.

( Hello )

The victory comes and brings midnight with it, cheers and smiles bloom on the warriors' faces as you breathe heavily, and everyone starts to tend to their wounds, burns and deep slashes are nothing compared to what they've achieved. Pirate crews are no exception, they rest and gain the energy they'll need for the morning, until then it seems that you're the only one with stamina left.

The fire on your back grows small until it vanishes completely.

Of course, after Kiado's defeat, warriors took advantage of the weakened Beast Pirates and imprisoned those who could still stand, albeit their dreams were and still are drowning in pieces far too small to see or collect. It's evident that they hold no hope for the future.

But there's a link connecting you to one of them.

You walk near the exit door, watching as men talk among each other and discuss their next step, whatever that may be. Your semblance to that man does not get mentioned by anyone after all, they have not seen his face, but the single glance from Zoro as he stayed awake for 5 seconds is enough for you to tense up, you wonder when it will be brought up. Zoro might have fallen asleep but your heart stayed heavy next to him.

It's a dangerous idea you have, suspicious even, though they must understand, Luffy's intelligence, Nami's smile, Robins's knowledge, Usopp's understanding nature, Chopper's innocent outlook, Franky's family ties, Brook's dedication, Sanji's acceptance, and Zoro's strict attitude. If a word got out, you'd have to face your friends, have to rip a bandaid off of an old wound and hold in a cry. You just have to wonder when?

Yet you still head towards the Udon Prison, consequences last in your mind, the night sky looks down upon you, the stars begging you to go back, however the dark clouds hide them away.

The night air feels nice on your skin, even as you stand above the walls keeping in the Beasts. You can tell that no one is awake, exhaustion haunts the air as you leap down on the dry ground. Mad Scientist Queen is lying face down, covered in bandages that soil the dirt underneath him red, you're glad that his snores are loud enough to hide your wings' shuffling.

The sudden chill runs up your spine and alerts your senses, face tilting sideways, you look at a disheveled man standing over you from behind.

``Hello again, King.`` He thinks of your eyes and how beautiful they look under the moonlight. Your beauty would put Luna to shame.

Your greeting is dismissed.

``Why are you here?`` His dry mouth can barely open to question you.

``To see you of course.`` This time he keeps his mouth shut. Yet his eyes observe your appearance, the dirt, and blood that soaks your Kimono.

To see him after a loss, in a state such as this is a crime that would be punished by death. You're the only exception to the rule that didn't exist yesterday.

``Let's take a seat.`` He hasn't even noticed you move into the center of the prison, too busy trying to keep all the blood inside his body to not flat-line. The bandages are not doing much, and the fire he used in his battle has extinguished itself. All his strength was used up and you wish to see him in this state? There are no words left for him to speak, so he takes the seat next to you. His knee touches yours, the intimacy is foreign.

``This calls for a celebration, don't you think? I grabbed us some booze.``

The liquor bottle nudges him and he takes it with no complaints. The reasoning for others' celebration is obvious, dethroning an emperor is a big feat for anybody.

``After all, a God has awakened.`` King knows.

His eyelids are closed yet he can see the vague silhouette of JoyBoy, the godly form only brings bitterness to his tongue, so he tries to drown it with the smoky taste of beer, which accomplishes little.

``I was mistaken.`` with Kaidou. Regret fills him.

He isn't angry at his loss as much as he is irritated.

``You were.`` The moonlight shines down on both of you. The silence is deafening, nothing but your heartbeats are heard.

``I was saved by that man.`` His head looks up at you, and each of his limbs freezes at the implication. The misery and hopelessness engulf the surroundings. He thinks about nothing except the straw hat with a red ribbon.

``I see... So you're apart of his family?``

``I am.`` the soft look in your eyes makes him envy you.

``...Are you happy?`` He doesn't know what he will do if you respond negatively. King already imprisoned you, took your independence, and chained you to him, yet you didn't burn out, How will he treat you?

``I am, were you not?`` with Kaidou? He doesn't have a straight answer, so he only responds with silence. This was a question he thinks you know the answer to.

It isn't until your hand grabs his cheeks that he opens his eyes in surprise, also realizing he closed them.

``What is that look?`` The strict tone in your voice is nostalgic. He tries to direct the conversation elsewhere, however his mind is flooded with the feeling of your warm hand on his face.

``The marines will come.``

``They'll come for you too, you know.`` You respond with the warning, the Navy isn't known for mercy after all, they'll go after the cause too.

``I don't want that... I don't... I don't want to be alone.`` You add, sheepish of your request, is it too much to ask? You have friends who you consider as family, but King is... Different.

King also does not want to be the sole survivor of his race, he has carried that burden for long enough and now that he had a taste of his people, he wishes to not go back.

``You won't be.`` It's the only promise he'll keep, for your sake and his.

For this, he will have to leave the prison.

``Stay alive for me.`` You beg and he complies.

It all starts with your wing enveloping his form, the soft heat from your contact, and the gentle touch of your fingers over his cheek.

( See You Later )

It ends with a promise and an escape into the night.

With you in the company of your friends on the Thousand Sunny.

And with him on top of a waterfall, watching with curious and intrigued eyes as he holds the leftover newspaper, the ship descends down the mountain and leaps into the ocean next to the koi fish.

He finds your smile now meters away, he gazes with a newfound meaning to his life.

[joelsgoldrush]

MASTERLIST

here, you'll find all of my works. as always, don't forget to check the warnings on each post. thank you for taking the time to read them :)

© joelsgoldrush. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. i only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

logan howlett:

one shots

➥ give me all of that ultraviolence | logan howlett x f!reader | 2k

you give logan head for the first time.

➥ never is a promise | old man!logan x f!reader | 12.4k

you are everything logan isn’t: sweet, trouble-free, much younger—and, to top it off, charles' caregiver.

➥ epiphany | worst!logan howlett x f!reader | 21k

superheroes and mutants weren’t enough. no—the universe had to throw in soulmates who share scars. fantastic, right? except yours had vanished, only to mysteriously reappear with the arrival of a new face: the “worst” logan howlett, fresh from another earth.

OR what happens when a hopeless romantic crosses paths with the ultimate soulmate skeptic?

➥ blessed are the forgetful | logan howlett x f!reader | 12.4k

to love is to cherish, to endure, to fight. but to love is also to forget—at least, for you and logan. despite countless attempts to erase the part of yourselves that yearns to find completion in each other, you always end up back where it all began: the moment your eyes first met his—the moment everything changed.

series

➠ you can use my skin to bury secrets in | old man!logan x f!reader | 6.8k

saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. gracefully angelic, and yet— “i know what i’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his brain. then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. you repeat your question: “can i help you?”

OR logan had always known your generosity would get him in trouble.

➠ crawl home to her | old man!logan x f!reader | 7.5k

will he be able to control himself once he's near you? in this moment, he feels more animal than human. creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you.

OR like a sinner seeking absolution, he finds his way back to you after every absence, as if you're the only salvation he's ever known.

➠ guilty pleasure | worst!logan howlett x f!reader | 8.6k

after saving earth-10005 from impending disaster, wade convinces logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. he’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

➠ give me the first taste | worst!logan howlett x f!reader | 10k

from the moment you first laid eyes on logan, you knew he was a tough nut to crack. but if there’s one thing you love, it’s a challenge. as your relationship grows, you’re determined to show him that, in this universe, he can also be loved.

joel miller:

one shots

➥ swore i heard you whisper that you preferred us like that | joel miller x f!reader | 5.8k

you ask joel –the quiet, distant joel– to teach you how to ride a horse. they say the eyes are the window to the soul, and it must be true, because when he really sees you, it´s like he finally understands what you feel for him.

➥ lovers once a year | dbf!joel miller x f!reader | 9.4k

one always craves what is out of reach. like the forbidden fruit that lingers just beyond grasp, tempting with its sweetness. joel became the town’s greatest sinner, and you, his best friend’s daughter, are the tantalizing temptation he knows he should never indulge in. your very existence marks the path to his ruin. he can't help but follow it.

series

➠ come back same time and place the next night | dad’s coworker!joel miller x f!reader | ongoing

your chances of hooking up with your dad’s soon-to-be coworker are low, but never zero. turns out the two of you have a lot more in common than you thought, especially when you find out he’s going to be staying at your house for a while. you know what they say: if you can’t beat them, fuck them.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[putschki1969]

Hi Puts, thank you for answering my ask on the reaction from Japanese fans. It's understandable that all of us are left with mixed emotions. I do wonder if you're going to post the link (if you manage to get it) of YKL21? It pains me that Keiko isn't there but a part of me also wants to see how the arrangements are done to accommodate her absence. I want to see if YKL will be able to create those magical harmonies now that their backbone to those sounds is no longer there. I admit to being a little resentful in this regard, and it's probably because I've been listening to her music for years, and have come to admire YK that I truly feel disappointed with her decision. I hope she realises sooner than later how vital Keiko is to the YKL sound and that Keiko is a human and vocalist who has her own sets of aspirations to fulfill. Her desire to be part of YKL does not negate her desire to be part of Kalafina or embark on other goals. Anyway, thank you always Puts and for being patient in answering all the asks~

Hello there!! Before I get to your ask, I'd like to make a general announcement, don't worry, it's not specifically related to you or your message but rather to the entire issue at hand.

A quick heads-up to all of my followers and lurkers:

First of all I'd like to apologise to everyone who has sent an ask on this matter and still hasn't received a reply. I decided to take a break from all of this during the weekend since it was getting mentally draining and I started to seriously neglect some of my real-life responsibilities. Also, if at this point I've not posted a response to your question/message regarding the current situation, then it is likely I never will. Throughout the course of last week, I got way too many repetitive inquiries, I'm sorry to say that I just do not have the time or patience to answer every single one of them. I strongly urge people to just go through my relevant tags (#kalafina reunion, #space craft, #yuki kajiura) and thoroughly inform yourself before you send anything. Trust me, I covered the topic quite extensively and I don't believe you will be left with many (if any) unanswered questions once you have browsed through everything! Then I received a bunch of messages from people who clearly just want to argue with me and I am honestly so tired of them. I've made my stance perfectly clear and I think I have been fair in my assessment. On top of that, I've invested a lot of time clarifying my arguments and discussing the matter in the reply section of my posts. At some point, it's just enough. You don't need to agree with me, it's your prerogative to have a different opinion but there's no point in trying to sway my opinion, you are really just barking up the wrong tree. There are more than enough spaces in this fandom where your thoughts and arguments will be very much appreciated, you do not need to waste your time on my blog. To make a long story short, if you insist on painting Space Craft (and by extension Wakana, Keiko, Hikaru) as the ultimate and sole villain in this shit-show of a situation while simultaneously pretending as if Team Yuki isn't equally at fault for perpetuating all the petty hostilities and stupid rules of this everlasting feud, then I'm sorry to tell you, this is not the right place for you. Over and out.

Re: Anon's Message

Now that all the above stuff is out of the way, I can focus on your message, dear anon. First, let me clarify something. It's 100% okay to be invested in Yuki's activities and to be curious about her future projects. Despite my arguably controversial thoughts on Yuki's role in this feud, I certainly don't want anyone to "cancel" her or to "boycott" her lives in any way. Please continue to love and support her, especially if you've been her loyal fan from the get-go! No one has to ever feel the need to justify their interest in Yuki to me, your devotion is completely valid.

As for me, I stand by what I've always said, I am first and foremost a Kalafina fan, therefore, this blog only covers stuff that is at least somehow related to them. If none of the girls are involved in a project, I am not really motivated to invest my resources into it. People reading my live reports should know that Wakana's absence has already taken away a huge chunk of my enjoyment of YKL, with Keiko gone too now, I just don't see the appeal anymore. Both of them were such an integral part of these live performances, at least for me. There are songs of course that work without them (and those will continue to sound amazing) but I've always enjoyed a majority of music in Yuki's lives BECAUSE of Wakana and Keiko. Their renditions are not the be-all-end-all in this world (often not even the original) but they are the definitive versions engraved in my mind so everything else just doesn't feel right to me.

In short, I will likely not be covering any of the YKL Vol#21 news or provide content related to it. Unless of course there are some surprise changes to the lineup but that's very unlikely. If they end up covering Kalafina songs (Yuki is saying something about having different suites in her lives so the inclusion of a Kalafina-suite is certainly possible), I might consider posting about it but I'll cross that bridge if/when I come to it.

You don't need to worry though, I think there are lots of very passionate YK stans in this fandom who will surely provide everything you are looking for! And it's not like I will be gate-keeping any good sources, if I happen to come across a recording or something, I will definitely let you know. I'll just not go out of my way to invest any money, time or effort into any of it.

Last but not least, I completely agree with your thoughts about Keiko. All we can do is hope that this feud will someday be resolved, otherwise there will always be hostilities and conflicts of interest. As long as there are these two opposing sides and any allegiance to one side will get you shunned from the other side, we'll never know peace.

[cephei-ea]

The Constant (Geto)

CHAPTER ONE

Warnings: angst, derogatory slang (ball gargler), suggestive themes, yandere

Genre: Comfort, Angst

Word count: 2.7k

╭─────────────────.★..─╮

Suguru was different than the rest. At least that’s what you thought, having known him for so many years now. He’d always stood out. While others threw tantrums, he remained stoic, while others ogled, he respected, while others lied, he remained honest, while others judged, he remained understanding.

Suguru was always a safe space for you. That’s what you thought, having spent so many months and so many years by his side after his defect. The defect hardly mattered, nor did his tendency to lash out at the followers, or his distaste for “monkeys” or his switch to psychotic behavior.

You loved Suguru through and through. He was your home, your person, your moral compass, despite his lack thereof, and your ambition.

Now, as you both stood atop a rooftop, gazing out over the city below, his hair brushing past his shoulder and blustering out behind him. For the first time in weeks, and something that really only happened in front of you, he wore clothes that you thought suited him a bit better than those robes he constantly brandished. Something cleaner and more simple, a black t shirt a size too small and a pair of sweatpants with their usual sag near his ankles.

You would never admit it to Suguru, in fear of how he would react, but you’d spent the better part of your afternoon at Jujutsu High, speaking with Satoru. If Suguru found about your meeting behind his back, well… you were sure he wouldn’t take it well. At all. But it wasn’t any attempt to betray him, or break his trust. Rather, Satoru asked to meet, as he did every now and then; maybe once or twice every few months. Because whether Suguru realized it or not, his best friend still cared about him enough to contact his… lover(?) in hopes that you would catch up and tell him how everything’s going. If Geto was okay, if he still held bags under his eyes and if he still walked about brooding and the seeming epitome of depression.

So that’s what he did. Every couple of months, you’d receive a call from “DNI” on your phone, asking you to meet either at his house, the high school you once attended and taught at or at a park in order to simply catch up. It was nice, really. Not just to be able to catch a break from the responsibilities of being Geto Sugurus right hand and… lover(? [Or whatever you were to him]), but also speaking with Gojo calmly, without any qualms after so many years apart.

<<<

“Thanks for coming.” Satoru was always smiling, noting the absence of a smile on your face, and the way your expression had drastically changed. “I know it was a bit of a stretch, asking you to meet up.” He continues. The depressive look that had finally vanished from Sugurus eyes was replaced, perhaps stolen, by the same look you once bore, of brightness and certainty. You’d taken on new burdens and Suguru had released them. Heavy bags ran evento your eyelids, your cheeks carved in tighter and the clothes you once wore confidently becoming a size too big.

If seeing Suguru los himself in the same way only to defect hadn’t hurt Satoru, this surely had. Perhaps because the blame for his other friend losing herself could be placed entirely on Suguru or perhaps because the person you’d become was the plain opposite of who he knew you were. Or maybe because he wish he could help more, because the new version of you was more of a stretch from your true self than it was for Suguru or because he simply couldn’t watch it happen again.

“Satoru.” You try a smile, though it’s a shell of what it once was. The sight sends a chill through Gojo. It was as if you and Geto had entirely traded demeanors. A shame, and almost sickening to see, consider in the way you’d stuck by him following his defect. “It’s been a while.” The words are genuine but speaking alone is like spice on your tongue, a sharp reminder of your sore throat. There were so many potential causes, all being some direct or indirect result of accompanying Suguru. Sickness, his crudity the night prior, or the laughable amount of sobbing you still did every night. Whatever it was, you still held no regrets and told yourself you’d follow him to defect in every timeline and in every universe.

You loved Suguru.

“You look like shit.” Gojo said, the second thing he’d really said to you since the last time you saw him, so many months ago. You huffed a breath of humor. But suddenly, the playful lilt in his voice was gone and so was your attempt at a smile, your eye bags weighing you down. “What’s he done to you?” You didn’t answer when he asked, because really, he hadn’t done anything. You shook your head.

“Satoru. You have to understand how difficult this decision was for me.” You explained, finally able to explain your side. “The way I look now is no one’s fault but mine.” Satoru opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off. “It was my decision to follow him and lead this life. The consequences are just…” you tried to explain but your throat closed up. “We’re more different than I thought we were.” Your tone was guilty, your voice shaking. Gojo shot you a look that was all but pitiful, his fists enclosing at his sides and the air filling with tension. “Don’t look at me like that.” you whispered, sighing. “I’ve second guessed myself enough, I can’t start regretting things now.”

He stepped forward and his hand was in yours, pulling you along to the desk chair. “I don’t pity you.” He explained, though his expression doesn’t waver and you grit your teeth. “You made the decision a lot of us were too scared to make.”

>>>

So every two months, you and Satoru would catch up, him bragging about his new students and you expressing your deepening love for Suguru, despite your differences. It had been nearly 2 years of this trend before you made a mistake. You’d spent just a little too long at Satorus house gaming and playing card games. It came out of no where, one night on the rooftop when Suguru turned to you after a few moments of silence.

A big smile split his face so you reached for his hand, offering a small one in return. “Sugu~ Should we make plans for a date this weekend? We still have a couple of days.” He intertwined your fingers before leaning forward to press a kiss onto your lips, consuming your mind whole like always.

It wasn’t long before his thin eyes were staring you down, a change in mood so sudden you almost flinched, his smile faded. The darkened bags under your eyes had not subsided, only deepened.

“Where have you been?” He asked, the night air chilly and the goosebumps on your skin evident beneath his touch against your neck. He all but ignored your suggestion, his grip tightening and his eyes boring into yours. It was clear to you, though maybe not to anyone else, Suguru was angry. “All day, while I was working with those monkeys to achieve our goals?” His voice deepened as he spoke, still the smooth and entrancing melody it always had been. There was a falling of his features, a darkening in his eyes and a pinch between his eyes.

“W…” you began, voice small and fearful. You’d always been a bit on edge around Suguru. After all he was Geto Suguru, the second most powerful sorcerer and a man who had time and time again shown how far he was willing to go, how much he was capable of changing and how ready he was to abandon everything he once claimed as his, in order to reach his goals and regardless of how unreasonable they seemed. “What?”

Of course while Satoru held the title of the strongest, he was the epitome of bubbles and sunshine.

Suguru was different in that regard, brandishing an aura that told all those around him that he was a dangerous man with a willpower and ability to detach that rivaled even the most stoic of warriors.

So when Sugurus body turned to yours and he stepped forward, you stepped back. Of course this only alerted him more.

“You reek of Satoru.” It was expected that Geto would be angry. His voice filling with a tone of betrayal and distaste. Still, the man was calm in lifting a his nose to a lock of your hair and inhaling the scent of his former best friend. Questions berated at his mind: Why had you done this? How did you hide it from him until now? When did you find the time to visit Gojo? Where had it even happened? But Geto remained silent, a silent expectance between you to know what he was thinking.

“Suguru it’s not-“ you tried for an explanation. No matter what you could say, it was all incriminating and nothing was good enough of an excuse to go behind his back. “I.. I didn’t do it to hurt you.” Suguru wrapped his lithe fingers around your upper arm and yanked you toward him, nearing his face to your neck and pushing your hair away to brush his nose against your skin. His voice was in your ear, a chill reminder of his uncanny control over you. His hand ran from your neck down your sternum and to your waist.

“I’ll kill both of you.” He hushed against your ear, a warning. You knew Satoru was stronger, but you also knew Suguru was being honest, and would die trying. It was that known sense of determination and unfiltered anger that scared you. The threat reverberated in your ear, making your chest pound with nerves. Then, you knew he had the wrong idea because of the way he pulled you against his body and looked down at you.

“Sugur, it wasn’t like that-“ he was quick to interrupt you, pressing his fingers into your back. Instead of coming off as a threat, it only spurred your reeling mind on, his touch a sharp contradiction to his cruel words.

“Going to another man’s house behind my back ‘wasn’t like that’?” You had no explanation really, only guilt and a heart that was easily swayed by your feelings for him. “I mean if you were gonna get with another man, you should have at least done a better job at hiding it-“ he plucked a white strand of hair from your shirt, eyeing it as it floated to the ground.

“-No!! No, Suguru, I promise you it’s not what you’re thinking!” You grabbed his hands in yours and watched as the pinch between his eyes dispersed, bringing up his palms to your face and holding him close. “I wouldn’t do that to you.” He still held a look of suspicion, his fingertips then coming to brush against your skin.

“How is he?” Geto briefly changed the subject, gripping and tilting your head to the sides and pulling your shirt down just past each of your shoulders and then your collarbone to view your chest. Checking for any bruises or marks or… lovebites. The thought made him sick. The situation you two were in made him sick.

Your breath hitched in your throat, his touch like fire against your skin and leaving flames of desire in their wake.

“He’s good. He asked about you.” You smiled, his finger releasing your shirt only to grip your elbows and run up to the side of your head, haphazardly pushing away any hairs that followed the wind to obstruct his view of your face. “He misses you so much, so does Shoko.” Your face molded with sentiment, meeting his purple eyes, mulberry coated and sweet as such. “You know that, right?” You reached for his hand and pressed closer, not daring to mention his suspicion of you.

Suguru didn’t answer. Instead, he reached to get your hand in his and looked back into your eyes. “I don’t really want to hear it.” You sighed, but there was hint of emotion in his face you knew he kept well guarded.

Hurt?

A squinting in his eyes, the raise of his brows and pinches at the corners of his lips. “Especially when you went to visit Satoru.” His voice is dangerously low, offering you no comfort or inkling of a moment to explain any further. “At his apartment.” In all fairness, it was hard to question why Geto cared so much, seeing as he’d made it a point to ignore all your desires for a genuine relationship with him for the longest time. Rather than blatantly ignoring you, he’d strung you along for years until indirectly offering you something more.

At some level, it was more than you could hope for that he even allowed you to stick around. Much less that he allowed you in his bed every night. Then at some level, you thought it was the least you deserved to receive a proper relationship from him.

You loved each other, didn’t you?

“Suguru I told you it wasn’t like that-“

“Does it really matter what it was ‘like’ when you went to his apartment alone, to do God knows what?” He paused, the scowl on his features was not leaving room for another word from you, so you glued your lips shut. “What have you been doing all day that you smell like him???” The anger in his face was only growing with every moment. What could you really say? You knew it was wrong to go behind his back. And if it wasn’t, it gnawed at your heart every two months, as though you were doing Suguru a disservice, if not disrespecting him. “Did you fuck him?” He asked with a lilt in his voice that told you he was jumping to conclusions.

“God Suguru do you have to be so crude?” You scoffed and ripped away from his hold. “Of course I didn’t fuck him; we spoke.” Suguru looked out on the city below, and you knew he was not listening, only hearing your words. “Because when I decided to stick by your side for years and when I joined you back then, I left behind everything.” Your throat was closing up and the sting behind your eyes told you it was time to end the conversation. “And everyone I cared for.” The bump in your lovers throat bobbed and he still couldn’t meet your eye. “For you. Because you were worth losing everything for.” And you took a step back because the proximity was making you want to cave in on yourself. “They were my friends, too, Suguru. Except, I wasn’t caught up in my own feelings and I still lived them when we left.” Suguru’s facial muscles relaxed, only to tighten and tense.

“I gave you the option to stay behind. I made sure you knew that you didn’t have to stay. If you’re saying you’re regretting that now, then I guess Satoru is having more of an affect on you than I thought.” Where you stood now, there was no chance to indulge in the cool night air to calm your heated nerves. What you knew was that you needed to be away from Suguru.

You sat at the edge of a nearby dam, the concrete beneath chilling and the view far below just a slight switch from what was normal, a bit of thrill in the otherwise boring maze of a life you’d trapped yourself in. Ever since the night that Suguru cornered you, or maybe before that, things were different. At least for you, the once heavy weight that rested on your shoulders while being at Sugurus side now felt as though it doubled. This wasn’t you, never had been. And when you thought about it, Suguru must have known as well, because when he looked at you, his gaze held a sense of familiarity and recognition he’d not seen in you until recently. That warm sympathy in his eyes that he dared not mention, partially because of his increased workload but also because he recognized it would take you more time to forgive him. Suguru was willing to wait, he knew it’s always lead to him, he hnew you were coming back.

╰─..★.─────────────────╯

[muiitoloko]

Hi! I loved your Slope stories, so could we get a follow-up? Perhaps some drama (something to do with jealousy?) and also smut? 😍

Title: The Bewitched Chaplain.

Summary: Consumed by jealousy, Obadiah Slope confronts his feelings for a gypsy woman, leading to a passionate encounter that changes them both.

Pairing: Mr. Obadiah Slope × Fem! Reader

Warning: Smut, Jealousy.

Author's Notes: Thank you for your request. 🫶

First, Second, Third, Fourth and Fifth part here.

Also read on Ao3

Mr. Slope disappeared for a week after that fateful day in your shop. He vanished without a trace, and despite the lingering curiosity and questions, you didn’t worry too much about it. You knew he would return eventually, drawn back by the forbidden allure that had ensnared him. In the meantime, you relished the peace his absence brought, a welcome respite from his incessant attention.

Your shop began to flourish again, free from the shadow of Mr. Slope’s presence. Customers trickled back in, seeking your herbal remedies and tinctures. You focused on your craft, creating potions and balms to cure ailments and soothe troubled minds. Each day was filled with the comforting routine of mixing herbs and bottling elixirs, the familiar scents of lavender, chamomile, and rosemary filling the air.

Today, you decided to venture into the city to restock your supplies. The morning was crisp, the sky a clear, bright blue as you made your way through the bustling streets of Barchester. The market was alive with activity, vendors calling out their wares and townsfolk haggling over prices. You wove through the crowd with practiced ease, your eyes scanning the stalls for the ingredients you needed.

Your first stop was the apothecary, where you purchased dried chamomile flowers and valerian root. The shopkeeper, an elderly man with a kind smile, greeted you warmly. “Ah, Miss, back for more supplies? Business must be good.”

You nodded, smiling in return. “Yes, it’s been quite busy. People always need remedies for their troubles.”

He chuckled, handing you a neatly wrapped parcel. “Indeed. Take care, Miss. Until next time.”

You continued through the market, stopping at various stalls to buy fresh lavender, peppermint leaves, and a bundle of sage. As you moved from vendor to vendor, you noticed a few familiar faces, regular customers who nodded in greeting. You exchanged pleasantries with them, your spirits lifted by the sense of community.

Your final stop was the grocery stall, where you picked up fresh vegetables, fruits, and a loaf of bread. The grocer, a plump woman with rosy cheeks, chatted with you as she weighed your purchases. “I heard Mr. Slope hasn’t been seen in a while. Good riddance, I say. That man gave me the creeps.”

You laughed softly, agreeing inwardly. “Yes, it has been peaceful without him around.”

With a full suitcase and a light heart, you decided to pamper yourself a little. Not resisting the temptation, you bought some trinkets for yourself too. Like a true gypsy, you were vain, enjoying looking pretty. Your next stop was one of the tents belonging to a gypsy friend who loved flirting with you. As a woman and a gypsy, you knew you were breaking traditions by not being married yet, especially at your age, but you didn't care. You enjoyed being unique, and so you flirted back, laughing and teasing with an ease that came naturally to you.

You didn't notice Mr. Slope watching from afar, hidden beneath a broad-brimmed hat that shielded him from the strong sun. Silently seething with jealousy at the sight of you with another man, he felt a bitter taste in his mouth. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you, moaning and writhing beneath him. He could almost taste you on his tongue. Now, seeing you smile at another man left him distraught.

He decided to get closer, his expression darkening as he approached. "Well, well, if it isn't the wandering temptress and her fellow gypsy miscreants," he mocked, his baritone voice dripping with disdain.

Your gypsy friend straightened up, his easygoing demeanor replaced by a wary look. "Mr. Slope," he greeted with forced politeness. "What brings you here?"

Slope's hooked nose flared slightly as he sneered. "I was just passing by and couldn't help but notice the... spectacle." His eyes shifted to you, their intensity unnerving. "Don't you have more respectable business to attend to, or do you enjoy cavorting with these vagabonds?"

You bristled at his words, feeling the anger rise within you. "I am conducting my business, Mr. Slope," you replied coolly. "And I enjoy the company of my friends."

Slope’s eyes darkened, his jealousy barely concealed. "Friends?" he echoed, his voice a dangerous whisper. "Is that what you call these... men who fawn over you?"

Your gypsy friend stepped forward, his posture protective. "She is free to choose her company, Mr. Slope. And we gypsies take care of our own."

Slope's eyes narrowed, his hands clenching at his sides. "Take care of your own, indeed," he said, his tone mocking. "You gypsies think you can charm your way out of anything with your herbs and trinkets."

You stepped between them, your gaze locked onto Slope's. "My herbal remedies have helped many people in this town, Mr. Slope," you said, your voice steady. "Including those who come to me in desperation when conventional medicine fails them."

Slope's eyes flicked to you, a mix of anger and longing in his gaze. "You have bewitched them all," he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "Just as you bewitched me."

Your gypsy friend glanced between you and Slope, sensing the tension. "Perhaps it is best if you leave, Mr. Slope," he said, his voice firm. "This is not a place for your accusations and insults."

Slope's jaw tightened, but he took a step back, his eyes never leaving yours. "Beware, temptress," he hissed, his voice low and menacing. "Your charms will not save you forever."

With that, he turned on his heel and stalked away, his coat billowing behind him. You watched him go, a mix of anger and pity in your heart. Slope was a man tormented by his own desires, unable to reconcile his faith with the forbidden passions you had awakened in him.

Your gypsy friend placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asked softly.

You nodded, forcing a smile. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you."

But as you resumed your shopping, the encounter with Slope lingered in your mind. His jealousy, his anger, and the longing in his eyes had left a mark on you. You couldn't help but wonder what would happen the next time you crossed paths with Mr. Obadiah Slope.

Having bought everything you needed, you headed back to your store, which also served as your home upstairs. The journey back was filled with thoughts of Mr. Slope and the encounter in the market. His jealousy and anger had left a mark on you, and you couldn't shake the feeling of anticipation mixed with unease.

As soon as you opened the door and set your shopping basket aside, you began to organize your new supplies. You were so absorbed in your task that you didn't notice the door opening behind you. It wasn't until you felt an arm snake around your waist and pull you into a lean, firm chest that you realized someone had entered. You cried out slightly in surprise but relaxed when you heard Mr. Slope's baritone voice whispering in your ear.

"Do you bewitch all men like you do with me?" he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. "Do all men have their dicks sucked by you?"

You laughed lightly, amused and a little surprised by his vulgar vocabulary. It seemed he had learned some dirty lines during his week of absence. "Mr. Slope, you surprise me," you said, turning slightly in his grasp to look up at him. "But no, you are the only one who has had the opportunity to have his dick sucked by me."

Slope's eyes darkened with a mixture of desire and jealousy. "I find that hard to believe," he said, his voice a low growl. "I saw how you flirted with that gypsy today."

You sighed, reaching up to gently touch his face. "He is just a friend," you reassured him. "You have nothing to worry about."

He seemed to relax a little, but the tension in his body remained. You caressed his chest, feeling the fabric of his chaplain's robes. "Are you jealous, Mr. Slope?" you asked softly, a teasing smile playing on your lips.

Slope let go of you, stepping back with a harsh laugh. "Jealous? Why would I be jealous of a gypsy?" he scoffed, his baritone voice laced with disdain. "I am the town's respected chaplain. What could a gypsy offer that I couldn't do better?"

You smiled to yourself, knowing that he was obviously jealous. It was a little cute and funny, to tell you the truth, the dramatic gestures he was making. "If you're so sure, then why are you here?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. "Why did you follow me back to my shop?"

Slope's eyes narrowed, his posture stiffening. "I came to... ensure your safety," he said, though even he didn't sound convinced by his own words.

You stepped closer, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "You came because you can't stay away," you whispered, your voice a seductive murmur. "Because you want me as much as I want you."

Slope's breath hitched, his brown eyes darkening with desire. He opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. Instead, he swallowed hard, his gaze flicking to the stairs that led to the upstairs of your shop, where your living quarters were.

"Would you like to go upstairs?" you asked, your voice gentle but filled with promise. "We would have more privacy there."

Slope stayed quiet, his internal struggle evident in his expression. Being alone with you always ended in sex, which a part of him was looking forward to, while another part was wracked with guilt. Sex before marriage was a sin, and he wasn't married to you. He didn't even know if you would marry him.

You reached out, taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Come with me," you urged softly. "We can talk, or we can do more if you wish. But let's not stand here."

After a moment's hesitation, Slope nodded, allowing you to lead him up the stairs. The familiar surroundings of your home brought a sense of comfort, and as you entered your living space, you released his hand and turned to face him.

"Sit down," you said, gesturing to a comfortable armchair near the window. "I'll make us some tea."

Slope sat down, his body still tense, his eyes following your every move. You busied yourself in the small kitchen area, boiling water and preparing the tea. The silence between you was thick with unspoken words and simmering desire.

When the tea was ready, you brought the cups over and handed one to Slope. He took it with a muttered thank you, his eyes never leaving yours. You sat down opposite him, sipping your tea and watching him over the rim of your cup.

"Tell me," you said after a few moments of silence. "What is it that you truly want, Mr. Slope? Why do you torment yourself so?"

Slope sighed, setting his cup down and running a hand through his dark blond hair. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice filled with frustration. "I am a man of God. I have taken vows, and I am bound by the laws of the church. Yet, when I am with you, all of that seems to fade away. I am torn between my duty and my desire."

You reached out, placing a hand on his knee. "You don't have to choose," you said gently. "You can be both. You can serve your God and still be with me. There is no shame in love and desire, Mr. Slope. They are natural, human emotions."

Slope looked at you, his eyes filled with longing and confusion. "But sex before marriage is a sin," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I am not married to you. I don't even know if you would marry me."

You smiled softly, your heart aching for the torment he was going through. "We can take things one step at a time," you said. "Let's just be together, here and now. We can talk about the future later."

Slope nodded, his resolve crumbling as he reached out to take your hand. "I don't know what the future holds," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "But for now, I want to be with you. I can't deny my feelings any longer."

You squeezed his hand, your heart swelling with a mix of hope and desire. "Then let's be together," you said softly. "Here and now."

With that, you leaned in, your lips meeting his in a tender, passionate kiss. Slope's arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as he surrendered to the desire that had been tormenting him for so long. The guilt and the fear melted away, leaving only the intense connection between you.

As you made your way to the bed, your hands exploring each other with a newfound sense of freedom, you knew that this was only the beginning. There would be challenges ahead, but for now, all that mattered was the love and desire that burned between you, binding you together in a way that no vow or law could ever sever.

Slope looked almost desperate as he fumbled to get out of his robe, kicking off his shoes in a rush. You couldn't help but laugh softly to yourself, amused by his eagerness. With a calm demeanor, you moved closer, gently taking hold of his trembling hands to help him undress. Slope watched you intently, his dark brown eyes filled with a mix of desire and vulnerability.

As you undid his robes, your fingers deftly working the buttons, Slope leaned his forehead against yours, his nose brushing against yours. His breath was hot and heavy, mingling with yours in the intimate space between you.

"Say you'll marry me," he demanded, his baritone voice low and insistent. His eyes bore into yours, searching for the reassurance he desperately needed.

You smiled, a hint of sadness in your eyes as you shook your head. "No," you whispered, your voice gentle but firm.

Slope's expression shifted to one of confusion and hurt. "Why not?" he asked, his voice tinged with desperation. "Would you rather marry another damn gypsy?"

Jealousy flared in his eyes, but you reached up to cup his cheek, your touch soothing. "No, Slope," you said softly. "It's not that. I don't want to marry you because you hate gypsies. You've made that very clear to the entire town. It would be quite contradictory if you appeared married to one."

Slope's brow furrowed, his expression darkening with frustration. "It wouldn't be contradictory," he argued, his voice rising slightly. "People would just think you learned your place."

You sighed, your fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw. "Slope, that's exactly the problem," you said, your voice filled with a mix of sadness and determination. "I don't want to marry someone who sees me as beneath them. I want to be loved for who I am, not for who you think I should be."

Slope's eyes softened, his jealousy and frustration giving way to a deep, aching longing. "I do love you," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "I can't stop thinking about you, dreaming about you. I want you, body and soul."

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a tender kiss. "Then show me," you murmured against his mouth. "Show me how much you want me."

With a growl of desire, Slope's hands moved to your clothes, his fingers trembling with eagerness as he undressed you. His touch was rough but filled with a raw, unrestrained passion that sent shivers down your spine.

As he pulled you close, his hands roaming over your body, you could feel the intensity of his need. "You're mine," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Say it."

You arched your back, pressing yourself against him as you whispered, "I'm yours, Slope. All yours."

Slope's eyes darkened with lust as you whispered your affirmation, but he shook his head, his breath hot against your skin. "No, call me by my name," he demanded, his voice a low growl. "Call me Obadiah."

You could see the intensity in his eyes, the need to hear his name on your lips, and you smiled, savoring the power you held over him. "Obadiah," you purred, tasting his name on your tongue like a forbidden delicacy. The effect it had on him was immediate and profound. His breath hitched, his grip on you tightening as a shiver ran through his body.

Slope didn't understand why hearing his name from your lips did things to him that he couldn't quite comprehend. He tried to recall the books he had read secretly in the days he had avoided you, books that talked about sex in scientific terms, explaining the mechanics and the biological functions, but offering little in the way of guidance on how to please a woman. Why did he have to be so inexperienced in these matters?

You could see the confusion and frustration in his eyes, and you took his hand, guiding it to the swell of your breast. "Don't think so much, Obadiah," you whispered, your voice a sultry murmur. "Just feel."

His hand trembled against your skin, but he obeyed, his touch growing bolder as he explored your body. You arched into him, encouraging him with soft moans and sighs. "Yes, just like that," you murmured, your breath hitching as his fingers brushed against your sensitive nipple. "Touch me, Obadiah. Make me feel good."

He watched you with a mixture of awe and desire, his eyes dark with lust as he continued to explore your body. "You feel so good," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel."

You guided his hand lower, between your thighs, showing him how to touch you, how to tease and please you. "Here," you breathed, your voice a soft moan. "Touch me here, Obadiah. Just like this."

His fingers moved tentatively at first, but he quickly found a rhythm that made you gasp with pleasure. "Yes, just like that," you panted, your hips rocking against his hand. "Don't stop, Obadiah. Please, don't stop."

He watched you intently, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he obeyed your every command. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice filled with wonder. "I want to taste you again."

You nodded, your body trembling with anticipation as he lowered himself between your thighs. His tongue flicked out to taste you, and you cried out, your fingers tangling in his dark blond hair. "Oh, Obadiah," you moaned, your voice filled with need. "Yes, just like that."

He licked and sucked, his movements growing more confident as he learned what made you moan, what made your body shudder with pleasure. "You taste so sweet," he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with desire. "I can't get enough of you."

You guided him with your hands, showing him how to please you, how to drive you wild with desire. "Don't stop," you gasped, your body trembling with need. "I'm so close, Obadiah. Please, don't stop."

But when you were close, Slope pulled away, leaving you on the edge of climax. He worked on his pants, hurriedly undoing the buttons as he stood between your legs, his eyes dark with desire. "No, don't stop now," you gasped, your body trembling with need.

Slope's eyes met yours, his breath hot against your lips as he leaned in, teasing you with his proximity. "I want to be inside you," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive growl. "But first, I need to hear you say it."

You moaned in frustration, your hands gripping his shoulders as you tried to pull him closer. "Say what?" you whispered, your voice trembling with desire.

"Say you'll marry me," he demanded, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. "Say you'll be mine, forever."

You hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in. But the need in his eyes, the raw hunger in his voice, was impossible to resist. "Obadiah, please," you begged, your voice a desperate plea. "Don't make me wait."

Slope's grip tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he held you in place. "Say it," he insisted, his voice rough with need. "Say yes, please. Tell me you'll marry me."

"Yes," you gasped, your body arching towards him. "I'll marry you, Obadiah. Please, just don't stop."

A triumphant smile curled at the corners of his lips as he positioned himself between your legs, his cock hard and ready. "That's my girl," he murmured, his voice a husky purr. "You're mine now, forever."

With that, he thrust into you, filling you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and relief as he finally gave you what you craved. "Oh, Obadiah," you moaned, your fingers digging into his back as you clung to him. "Yes, just like that."

Slope's movements were rough and desperate, his need driving him to take you with a fervor that left you breathless. "You're mine," he growled, his breath hot against your ear. "Say it."

"I'm yours," you gasped, your body trembling with the intensity of your climax. "All yours, Obadiah. Forever."

Slope's rough thrusts calmed as he breathed into your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. His voice, a low baritone whisper, was filled with a mix of desire and determination. "I vow to love you, to honor you, and to cherish you," he murmured, his words a heady mixture of wedding vows and lustful declarations. "In sickness and in health, in joy and in sorrow, until death do us part."

Your heart raced, the thrill of his words and the intensity of his movements overwhelming you. You had never experienced anything like this before. It wasn't just sex; it was something deeper, something more profound. It was making love, and it stirred something within you that you had never felt before.

"Yes, Obadiah," you gasped, your fingers digging into his back as you clung to him. "Yes, I am yours."

Slope continued making love to you, each thrust deepening the connection between you. Though he was inexperienced, he sensed that he was pleasing you through your moans and the way your body responded to his touch. He marveled at the way your skin flushed, the way your breath hitched with each movement. Your pleasure was a guiding force for him, encouraging him to explore further, to learn what made you cry out in ecstasy.

His hands roamed your body, tracing the curves and lines that had driven him to the brink of madness. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice a low, reverent murmur. "I can't believe you're mine."

You smiled up at him, your eyes half-lidded with pleasure. "I'm yours, Obadiah," you gasped, your fingers threading through his dark blond hair. "All yours."

The sound of his name on your lips sent a shiver down his spine, fueling his desire. He moved with more confidence now, his hips rocking against yours with a rhythm that made you moan. Each sound you made was a testament to the pleasure he was giving you, a reassurance that he was doing something right.

"Yes, just like that," you breathed, your body arching towards him. "Don't stop, Obadiah. Please, don't stop."

Slope's eyes darkened with lust as he watched you, the sight of you writhing beneath him igniting a primal need within him. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that matched the intensity of his movements.

He could feel the pressure building, the tightness in his core signaling that he was close. But he wanted to make sure you found your release first, to see you come undone beneath him. "I want to see you come," he murmured against your lips, his voice a husky growl. "I want to feel you tighten around me."

You moaned in response, your body trembling with the intensity of your impending climax. "I'm so close," you gasped, your nails digging into his back. "Please, Obadiah, don't stop."

With a final, powerful thrust, Slope felt you shudder beneath him, your body convulsing as you cried out his name. The sight and sound of your release pushed him over the edge, and he followed you into bliss, his body trembling with the force of his own climax.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the only sounds the ragged breaths and the rapid beating of your hearts. Slope collapsed beside you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He looked over at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and gratitude.

"You were amazing," he whispered, his voice still thick with emotion. "I can't believe I was able to make you feel that way."

You smiled, reaching out to stroke his cheek. "You did more than just make me feel good," you said softly. "You made me feel loved, Obadiah."

Slope's eyes softened, a tender smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I do love you," he admitted, his voice a gentle whisper. "More than I ever thought possible."

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "And I love you," you replied, your voice filled with sincerity. "We'll find a way to make this work, Obadiah. Together."

As you lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, the weight of your vows and the challenges ahead seemed to fade away. In that moment, all that mattered was the love and desire that bound you together, a bond that no force on earth could ever sever.

[kaizsche]

in my dreams, you love me back

a starlight/homelander fic set during s3e06, a missing scene (kind of) inspired by red velvet's in my dreams.

warning: delusions. angst. more delusions and more angst.

note: thank you thank you thank you so much to DelightfullySad and @finnismyoriginalsin for being the numero uno numba one enabler. if it weren't for them i wouldn't be here writing for starlander. i owe them my life. period.

crossposted on ao3

He felt the absence of her presence like a phantom limb. 

They have been inseparable the past few weeks. Ashley had coordinated their schedules to accommodate their PR relationship stunt. Where he went, Starlight naturally followed. Silly interviews about their relationship and public appearances were staged. 

He even began to enjoy her company despite her corpse-like enthusiasm. The moment he realized this, he began seeking more of her. His lips lingered long after their perfunctory kisses and his hands, he found, if not at the small of her back, were either wrapped around her waist or intertwined with the softness of her hands.

There was an odd moment of embarrassment but also smug satisfaction when a reporter wrote an article about them. How sweet! Homelander can’t keep his hands off his girl!

John supposed his recent business venture as the new CEO of Vought made him forget about everything else. He was lost in the technicalities and in turn had lost sight of what was important. 

Starlight. Annie.

To make matters worse, Soldier Boy rose from the dead, his appearance a cause for immediate concern. Nobody at this moment would be able to make the connection that Soldier Boy was behind all the explosions but the instant someone did would be ruining everything he worked hard for. 

Before that could happen, he needed to kill Soldier Boy. Fast. 

That was when he remembered. 

“Don’t you think that maybe the best way to handle this is to find him?”

If there was anyone who had information about Soldier Boy, it was Annie. Though, if it had been a day since she hadn’t reported back to him on the matter, maybe she wasn’t better off.

Her apartment was empty, much to his confusion. He was under the impression that she was scheduled to shoot an advertisement for a skincare company and yet her costume sat idling inside her walk-in-closet. 

For a moment, his traitorous mind entertained her connection to Soldier Boy’s reemergence. 

What did you expect, you fucking idiot! A distant voice in his mind screamed for attention. You killed her ex, you think she wouldn’t retaliate?

John whimpered, But she did it first. 

Just shut the fuck up and let me think.

He spied his gleaming reflection off a white telephone and dialed Ashley’s office.

She answered on the first ring. “Starlight? Where the fuck are you—”

“Where’s Starlight?” He questioned, ignoring the sudden spike of her heartbeat at the sound of his voice echoing from Starlight’s telephone. In Starlight’s room.

Ashley answered with a long suffering sigh, “I don’t know, Sir. She just took off without informing anybody.”

He drummed his fingers in silent contemplation, his eyes taken to examining every intimate detail of her room and stopped, glaring lasers at the offending image positioned right next to her bed.

“Alright. Call me when she comes in.”

He left the comfort of her room not before accidentally bumping into her framed picture with Hughie.

You’re acting like a spoiled brat. 

John dismissed the voice as he retreated to his quarters. It continued to whisper nasty things in his ear that Annie was likely an accomplice. He knew how much Butcher and his skinny side-kick Hughie (who happened to be her boyfriend) detested him. John wouldn’t put it past them to summon Soldier Boy in an attempt to level the playing field.

The voice grew louder, snapping insults in his ear about his weakness—that he had too much humanity in him. That it was disgusting and he was absolutely embarrassed to be him. 

He grabbed for the remote blindly in an effort to distract himself. 

“...he children had all signed a letter thanking Starlight and Homelander for their generous donation to the hospital. Starlight met with patients with kidney failure whose lives were dependent on machines. They are on dialysis three times a week for four hours — until they can have a transplant. The process, however, takes years because of a shortage of donors.”

Annie sat cross legged, surrounded by children. She held a children’s book in her hand, reading to them in silly voices. Different camera shots of children bursting into laughter at her antics flashed through the screen, some of it even catching teary-eyed parents. 

The scene changed. Annie was speaking to a kid with sunshine locks and blue eyes. 

“Dominic for instance has been…”

A lump formed in his throat at the sight of her arms around the boy. The screen transitioned to another shot of Annie cradling him in her arms like a babe as she spoke with a doctor. 

What the fuck? Get your shit together, man!

He closed his eyes, lost in the image of Annie and the boy.

John you fucking halfwit! Get back here! I’m not done with you yet! JOHN! YOU MOTHERFUCKER—

He stirred to the faint sensation of being rocked to consciousness. 

“Dad!” The voice screamed. “Wake up! I’m going to be late for my recital!”

John stuffed his head deeper in the sinking softness of his pillows. A hand snatched it out of his chin, his forehead making contact with the headboard in a loud bang.

“Wha…” A woman mumbled beside him. 

“The fuck?!” He exclaimed.

“Mooooommm! Dad said a swear word!” Before he could recover from the damage upon his forehead, there was another blow to his head—too soft to ever bruise him but a hit that took him off guard.

He rose to meet the attacker, the heat of his lasers igniting the low rage simmering within him. 

And stopped at the peculiar yet welcome sight of Annie’s bed head and her legs tangled in cream sheets. A smaller figure dressed in pajamas blocked his figure, meeting his rage with a smug smirk so reminiscent of his own. 

“Pay up!”

He blinked. His throat was so dry he was simply unable to respond. Bewildered, he sought Annie’s help. 

She frowned, but complied nonetheless. Annie laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder, her voice raspy in the quiet morning. 

He was unable to follow their conversation for he had been occupied with the room he seemed to have been sleeping in. It was a modest bedroom, he noted, filled with mementos. There was a compilation of images of his unlived life with Annie.

His temple throbbed with the effort of remembering. A continuous ringing occupied his hearing the more he examined each picture. Memories flickered in his mind like sifting sand through a screen.

What is reality and what is not?

At the center of the images was a baby girl swaddled in his colors. 

Something itched at the back of his head, a memory long forgotten.

“Wendy?” He tested.

His daughter faced him with a beaming smile, her lips thinly pursed like his own but she had her mother’s nose. 

“Are you—”

John tackled the two of them in a tight hug, dotting kisses to whatever part of their faces he could reach. Twin echoes of shrill laughter brightened the morning as they struggled against his sudden display of affection.

“Dad, stop! It tickles!” His daughter cried, short of breath. 

He pulled away, reluctant to not be within her presence but remembered the urgency of the situation. “Chop chop, ladies! We don’t want to be late for the recital!” 

Annie smiled at him with a question in her eyes once Wendy left to go prepare for the big day. 

“What was that all about?” 

He leaned to press a gentle kiss against her lips but moved to her cheek at the last second. Somehow he knew she didn’t like to kiss with morning breath. 

“It was nothing.”

Her soft fingers gripped his wrist, “Are you sure?”

John chewed on the inside of his cheek in contemplation. Should he tell her the truth? That he wasn’t the man she married but a fraud? A momentary lapse of insanity to give peace to his troubled mind? But doing so would be akin to ruining the dream. 

John wasn’t quite sure he was ready to face the world just yet.

And so, he said, “I love you.”

“I love you t—”

His consciousness spoke to him in loud banging noises. Like what he did as a child when he begged for any scrap of attention. 

Welcome back, you fucking pussy. I’ve taken the liberty of actually getting our shit together. This’ll be the last time you do this to me. Do you hear me, you absolute piece of—

John heard her before he saw her. He had locked on to the gentle cadence of her heartbeat drowning all but the sound of her.

Annie sat down, sighed, and cleared her throat.

He moved without knowing, driven by the remains of his dreams, seeking her touch. The comfort, the soothing balm she alone could provide. 

“I’m really glad you’re here.” 

When all he wanted to say was, “I love you.”

He continued, driven by the questioning look in her eyes so reminiscent of the wife in his dreams. 

“I missed you.”

When he wanted to tell her, “In my dreams, you love me back.”

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #55 – The Vanished Birds by Simon Jimenez

Introduction

The Spear Cuts Through Water was one of my favorite reads of last year, and I’ve been meaning to get around to Jimenez’ other work basically since I finished it. Months and months later, my TBR pile and the library’s hold queue cooperated and I finally got around to it. Of the two, you can definitely tell Birds is the debut novel, but despite the roughness I can’t help feeling like it's also the one I prefer. I do have complaints (of which, more below), and the story certainly has issues with structure and allocation of wordcount, but this really is the rare book where I feel no compunctions whatsoever giving five stars.

Knowing myself, this isn’t entirely unrelated to how fucking heartbreaking it is at points.

Synopsis

To brutally over-summarize, the book follows Nia, a starship captain hauling crops on a freight route from a ‘resource world’ to Pelican Station, one of the great centers of human civilization and Allied Space. Due to the peculiarities of faster than light travel, the round trip that is for her and her crew experienced as a span of months is for the people at both endpoints an absence of fifteen years – a convenient way for her to keep making the same mistakes as far as personal connections and relationships go. On the last loop of the route before her contract is completed, she finds herself taking care of a mute, deeply traumatized young boy discovered miraculously unharmed by the locals in what seemed like a fiery wreck. The boy – at first nonverbal, inexplicably a musical savant, deeply traumatized and mysterious in a hundred different ways – finds his way into her heart to the point that even after they return to Pelican and he’s been turned over to the security services, she can’t stop trying to find out what happened to him and making sure he’s alright.

It’s at this point that the two of them come to the attention of Fumiko Nakajima, the Millennium Woman – designer of the five great stations at the heart of Allied Space, and (thanks to the magic of cryo-sleep and FTL time differentials) one of the last survivors of long-dead Earth. She sees in the boy the possibility of something miraculous – truly instant interstellar travel – and so hires Nia and a few reliable agents to take him into Fringe Space, safely out of view of any of her ‘friends and colleagues’ who might take a similar interest in him. For fifteen years. The story then reveals itself to be one of, basically, child-rearing and coming of age – at least until the moment where the child’s miraculous abilities really do reveal themselves, and all at once things get much, much deadlier.

Structure

The book is – not quite incoherent (the thesis is very clear), but certainly unfocused. At first I thought that was rather the point – the first three chapters are each incredibly effective, melancholic short stories in their own rights'; each leapfrogging into the perspective of a character whose actions or legacy shaped the previous, but with dramatically different casts, setting and plots. These are almost certainly the most aesthetically successful and artistically disciplined sections of the book, and as I read them I assumed it would continue in the same vein for the entire book.

It does not – the book settles very firmly into being the story of Nia and the boy who is later named Ahro. The middle of the book is an almost light-hearted coming of age story, spread across the years Ahro spends growing up in the Galactic fringe with his ragtag accidental family. The final act then dramatically shifts tone again, becoming largely about recovering from betrayal and the destruction of your life, and of striving in defiance of all sense and reason to reconnect with someone you love.

There are, then, three very different vibes here, and I can’t say the shifts between them are handled with the most grace in the world. The book absolutely never stops experimenting with style either, shifting voice, perspective, level of detail, and even format (several chapters are relayed as diary entries) basically whenever the mood strikes it. It absolutely feels like an incredibly talented author showing off a bit beyond their limits – you can see the seams, the allocation of effort between the parts is...questionable, and there are a couple vital characters/subplots who just needed another chapter or two of focus – but it’s the sort of messiness that leaves me incredibly endeared.

Love, and its Discontents

Those first three chapters are essentially short stories connected by setting and a character or two – but most of all they’re connected by theme. Each is, one way or another, the story of the protagonist falling in love – the sort of love that defines a life, that cuts you to the core whenever you remember it – and then having that love fail, leaving the lover damaged or lessened in a way that never quite heals.

Things do not stay quite so melancholic, but for a story whose whole climax is centered around the quite literally metaphysical and reality-shaking power of pure love this book has a bracingly tragic sensibility of it. Love is hopelessly one-sided, or turns rancid with resentment for just long enough to make sure it can never be restored again. Romances end in betrayal and murder, bonds both sororial and paternal in half-thoughtless abandonment, soul-deep friendships in vicious arguments and a severing of ties. Love, the book says, is deeply contingent and often more transitory than it seems – and if it isn’t, that can do far more harm than good.

Nia as a protagonist has plenty of baggage about this. She’s introduced as a woman with deep abandonment issues – that is, she keeps abandoning people and then feeling bad about it (her ship is the Debby, after the kid sister who lived and died seeing her for a few days every fifteen years due to the time lag of interstellar shipping). She latches onto protecting and caring for Ahro almost more as an attempt at redemption for herself as anything about the boy himself, it’s only over time she really grows to love him as more than a talisman.

I can’t say it was particularly well-spent time, but the book does something I love at least the idea of. Nia’s crew is introduced in the second chapter with a fair amount of detail and personality, each of them having little idiosyncrasies and distinguishing habits and virtues; one is a best friend she found stranded on a wrecked hulk and nursed back to health. The whole dynamic is that of the grumbling and bickering but affectionate found family crew you’ve seen in a thousand other stories. So when she commits to spend up to fifteen years of her life taking care of Ahro on the galactic fringe in exchange for truly unbelievable amounts of money, she sits down with them, tells them the score, and asks them if they trust her enough to come with her.

And all but one of them say no, and never show up in the story again. Which is possibly the first time I have ever seen that kind of scene not end with re-commitment and affirmations of trust from at least most of the real characters that were asked.

This makes the whole found family situation with Nia, Ahro and (most of) the second crew that do spend years in the outskirts of ‘civilized’ space with them works for me far, far better than these things usually do. Because, unlike functionally every piece of fiction I can think of that’s ever been promoted as being about found families, this one really does sell it as something precious and exceptional, rare and worth fighting to preserve.

It also gets all but three of the people involved killed, of course, and of those three one’s permanently crippled and death would probably have been kinder for the second. The book’s really big on stretching ‘better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’ to the absolute breaking point – right up to someone choosing not to die despite an existence of nothing but torture and pain just for the infinitesimal bit of hope and connection of a loved one singing through the prison bars.

The Banality of Evil

The villain of the piece is, without question, the monolithic and monopolistic Umbai Corporation, something between a neocolonialist conglomerate and a sovereign, expansionist empire in the classic sense with a few affectations from its earthborn roots (the specifics of the politics of Allied Space are vague and in any case more impressionistic than anything like a detailed speculative political economy). Which is kind of fascinating, in that it is specifically the Corporation as a corporate body that is the villain – agency and responsibility are spread across whole bodies of Allied nobility and corporate Judiciary officials, armored Yellowjacket thugs and career-minded techs and surgeons. There’s no CEO or President, no Board of Directors who set the agenda and bear ultimate responsibility – there’s no face to it at all, really. I’m fairly sure no agent of the company ever even appears twice. Which is just interesting on its own terms, given Umbai as an entity defines both the setting and the plot to dramatic degrees.

The world of the Vanished Birds is a horrifying dystopia in a hundred different ways, but until the very end of the book this just isn’t really something any of the characters particularly care about. It’s in the incidental details and the little asides in the exposition – that there is a great apparatus of censorship on every Allied world dedicated to controlling and slowing the rate of linguistic drift to ease the flow of time-shifted commerce, that the culture and economy of Umbai ‘Resource Worlds’ are societies deliberately starved of information and culturally engineered to be easily managed and quiescent single-commodity resource exporters. Even in the distant past, Umbai and institutions like it used their control over the Ark Ships escaping earth to filter the species – denying berths to (among a great many other things) anyone of ‘problematic’ politics or who seemed likely to be an economic burden.

It’s a universe where this system seems to spread inevitably and irresistibly, everything valuable bought up and parceled out for the benefit of the system’s functionaries diligent enough to save for occasional vacations, and the nobles and officials in the vaunted heights of far-off stations and City-Planets (the allegorical applicability is left as an exercise for the reader, a bit of restraint I did appreciate).

It is, again, not a system that’s worth analyzing as a speculative political economy or technical exploration of neocolonialism either present or future – but it’s not trying to be, either. And it works very well at seeming like a real, functioning world that the characters are just trying to live in.

The Anthropocene

Going off where most of its wordcount is spent, I’m not sure you could really call Birds climate fiction. But if someone was making that argument, I’m not sure you have too much ground to stand on arguing you shouldn’t either.

Fumiko’s first chapter, read as a stand-alone short story, absolutely is – the story of a love affair between genius savant designing the great orbital habitats which will sustain a lucky slice of humanity in the stars, and a talented but less world-shaping scientist doing what she can to lighten the burden of the remaining four fifths of the species being left behind upon the increasingly uninhabitable earth. This is where the book’s title comes from – the gradual disappearance of the birds Fumiko loved as a child, even from the sanctuary trying so ferociously to preserve them.

The world presented in that chapter feels just barely familiar enough to be unsettling, a scarred and fortified world that’s still on a clear and irreversible decline – which might be either chicken or egg to the fact that the commanding heights of government and industry have given up trying to save it entirely to focus on an escape to the stars.

For the rest of the book, environmental collapse isn’t really a topic that much comes up – though the human shaping of and impact on the environment certainly does. It’s just largely a matter of deliberate engineering.

There is, however, a very easy allegorical reading of the fact that on discovery of a way to travel instantaneously between stars, Umbai ruthlessly exploits and monopolizes it to attain unprecedented degrees of power and wealth as they reshape the entire galactic economy – all of galactic civilization, really – around the new technology. All without the slightest thought or care that this new technology is based on harvesting a specific and finite resource and their brave new world will collapse entirely without it. Omelas-child instead of oil but still – not exactly subtle, but I do appreciate the book restraining itself from directly and explicitly pointing it out.

Fumiko

The ‘millennium woman’ is probably the most interesting single character in the book, and also almost certainly the biggest structural weakness in the whole thing. Which is annoying to me, personally. She simultaneously has some of the best chapters of the book and also ends up feeling like a ball being tossed around as the plot requires.

Her Methuselah existence is only vaguely justified and explained, and it’s entirely unclear just how exceptional she is (beyond the fact she isn’t unique, anyway) – the story never even gestures to the existence of any of her peers beyond vague mentions of the Umbai executive class or Allied nobility. She’s an oligarch-savant with nigh-infinite resources and cadres of loyalists installed in every institution worth owning – until a single mistake is made and the powers that be unite in a perfectly coordinated strike to kill them all and leave her stranded in the torn up ruins of her private research colonies among the corpses of two thousand executed minions.

A character being ruthlessly crushed without warning or chance of contesting it by the powers that be rings more true when the character isn’t one of them, I suppose? As it was, it felt like being dropped into the climax of a story without any of the rising action.

The effect is, I think, at least mostly intentional. The entire chapter is about Fumiko being so distracted with the failures of her memory and a complete preoccupation with her latest project (Ahro) that she cannot even pretend to remember or care about this whole vast infrastructure she has built up for her own advancement and curiosity, or the hundreds of followers who treat her as a living saint (to the point of not even remembering her friend, confidant and second in command until the moment before he’s executed for, in essence, her failing to consider the consequences of breaking a minion’s heart). The fact that there’s a battlecruiser en route to bury everything she’s built in napalm and she just forgot to do anything to prepare is actually very plausible. In which case, I just wish it had been ore dwelt upon and made a point of. Or just – it felt like she really needed another chapter or two from her POV before things go horribly wrong, I suppose?

Her chapters are very well-done and affecting, to be clear. And her mirrored character arc with Nia – both women who get a certain pleasure out of other people caring about and being more invested in them than they are in return, both dealing cosmically poorly with rejection, both forever decorating their life in half-conscious memory of someone they left behind – is both well done and compelling (Nia gets better, Fumiko’s story in an elaborate murder-suicide/terrorist attack).

Too Long; Didn’t Read

Beautiful, emotionally affecting book. Very much a debut work from a talented author – experimenting and showing off a bit more than be supported, some fundamental structural weaknesses – but nothing I found detracted from the experience. Actually one of the quite rare books where sitting down and writing out a review has made me like it more rather than less.