#and he can hide his tail the only thing he can’t like shift away are the head wings

[10piecechickenmcnugget]

sketchbur

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

48 / 1.1k / shark mermen Ghost and Soap + lionfish mermaid reader, courtesy of @porcelainpot :)

...

The moment you and Soap lock eyes, you push yourself up off the soft sea floor. Tendrils of sand, gold in the sun, trail after your tailfin all the way back into the tangle of reef coral you’ve claimed as your home.

Soap laughs behind you.

Why is he so obsessed with this? This stupid game he plays. Ghost—who rolls over near the sunny patch where you were just lazing together—doesn’t care when you’re around. You don’t bother him; he doesn’t bother you. But Soap won’t leave you alone. He all but ignores the clear warning signs all over your body—the auburn striping your tail; your bright, fanlike fins; the enormous fuckoff venom-coated spines running the length of your dorsal line, arms, and ear fins.  

You scowl. Every time you think he won’t find you when you venture out into the reef, every time you let yourself relax after the day’s hunting is done, he turns up. Watching you the same way he’s looking at you right now: too fucking closely. His eyes flash with mischief and lock onto your fins through the sparse gaps in your coral cave.

“Think she bites?” he asks Ghost.

Ghost grunts. “Most things do.”

“Saw her lookin’ at you like she might want to take a piece home.”

“Doubt it.”

“Doubt you’d feel it if she did. Could hardly kill a minnow with those wee teeth. Don’t know how she hunts with ‘em.”

You duck down back into the entrance of your cave with a flick of your lacy tail. He’s talking loudly enough for you to hear on purpose. “You’re never getting close enough to find out,” you snap.

Soap’s smirk stretches into a grin. You took the bait. “Can’t hide in your cage forever, can ya?”

Ghost rolls back over. “She’s got more sense than the ones who swim toward you.”

“Oh, piss off. Fleein’ from a predator is what prey fish do. It’s a natural response.”

You lurk a little further outside your cave. “I’m not prey. I’m just as much a predator as you sharks.”

This time, Ghost is the one who scoffs. “Sure you are.”

Soap swims up closer to your hiding spot, eyes roaming over your form. You bristle instinctively and raise your spines in warning as he drifts closer. But it doesn’t drive him away. If anything, it seems to draw his interest even more.

“Ya’ve got an impressive display, I’ll give it that,” he says. “But you’re a scrap compared to us.”

“So? I don’t need size to defend myself.” You fan your fins up higher, emboldened as you rise with the current.

Soap grins even wider at the threat display. You’re all barbed fins, colorful scales, and angry pout. His gaze reflects the challenge you’re issuing him. “Careful sayin’ that. I’ll chase you if you tease me.”

Ghost lets out an irritated growl at Soap’s flirtation, knowing very well Soap only says these things to get a rise out of you. “Those spines aren’t just for show, Soap. You know what lionfish venom feels like. Bet hers is worse. Might kill you. You think it's worth dying just to prove a point?"

“I think spines break as easy as they sting.”

Anger surges through your chest. “Brute,” you snap.

Soap laughs. You don’t seem to notice you’ve drifted some distance away from your hiding spot, but he has. Ghost shifts, side-eying both of you more closely.

“I’m just curious, gorgeous.” His senses sharpen with the thrill of your threat display and your anger. Of course he thinks it’s sexy. The more you insult him, the more he wants to see what it takes to earn more than just that sharp tongue of yours. “Think touchin’ you might be worth the sting.”

“You’d be wrong.”

“You’re cute when you’ve got a problem with me. Gnashin’ like a miniature barracuda.”

You puff up a little more, daring to swim closer. You’re smugly satisfied when he backs away a little in response.

“Try it,” you bluff.

Soap’s eyes drop down, tracing the length of your fins, and he grins. He’s just as aware of the lethality of any lionfish's wicked barbs as he is of their beauty, but he doesn’t seem particularly deterred by the threats of this particular mer wielding them. “Bet you wouldn’t bite me too hard.”

“Soap.” Ghost’s voice is calm, but a warning lurks in his tone. “Don’t provoke her.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Soap replies without looking away from you. “Bet those spines are brittle.” He reaches forward to touch one.

You hiss and whip your tail away on instinct, darting back. Your spines are still raised in defense. But your rational mind doesn’t want to risk him getting any closer. You don’t want him to know what happens if he's stung--that your venom is a faulty mimic of a true lionfish. He needs to think you're dangerous and keep his distance. And you need to keep your pride intact.

Soap hardly notices how upset you are. He’s thrilled to provoke an interesting new reaction out of you. Before he can reach out again, though, Ghost grabs his wrist and jerks him back, forcing him out of your personal space.

“Don’t be an idiot. You’re not fast enough to avoid a sting.”

“You’re no fun, Ghost.”

“Fuck off,” you snap. Your heart is pounding. He got too close, way too close.

You retreat while Ghost has ahold of him, slipping down into your small den and out of sight. Soap calls after you, but he’s not surprised when you don’t come back out.

Soap rips his wrist out of Ghost’s claws with a muttered curse. At Ghost’s hard look, he snaps, “Like you wouldn’t do it too.”

“That’s not the problem. She’s a pincushion. You go pissing her off too much, you’re going to wind up full of poison.

“Aye.”

“And it'll probably kill you. Hurt the whole time doing it. It’s all fun and games until you’re dying because you just couldn’t help but poke a pretty fish.”

Soap scoffs. “You’re exaggerating. No sting can kill me. It'll hurt a little an’ I’ll be fine.”

Ghost gives Soap an unimpressed glance. “And if you're wrong? You think you’re strong enough to fight off a neurotoxin.” He snorts. “You want to test that hypothesis?”

Soap glances back at your den with a frown.

“Keep your bloody distance,” Ghost mutters, giving Soap a shove back toward the center of the reef. “She’s no prize.”

Soap gives in and turns back toward the reef, turning a restless corkscrew in the water. Still, the smirk reappears on his face. “Aye. Little nightmare, isn’t she?” He sighs. “All bite and no kiss.”

...

[part 1 ] / part 2 by porcelainpot here!! <3

more mer au / more Soap / masterlist

[another-lost-mc]

Thinking about his demon form horns.

Barbatos x gn!Reader

NSFW // Content: Fluff and kissing, slightly suggestive at the end. 0.6k words.

You’re fascinated by the winged horns that sprout between dark green hair when Barbatos shifts into his demon form. You’re intrigued. They look so pretty and delicate, but non-functional—or so you think.

When you get to know Barbatos better, it’s easier to read the emotions he masks with bland smiles that don’t reach the sharp glint in his eyes. Sometimes it looks like his horns twitch as the bony ends curl ever so slightly as his eyes flash with disapproval or annoyance. No one else seems to notice them but you. If he catches you staring, you shake your head and look away. He doesn’t talk about them, and you don’t ask about them either.

Maybe you were just seeing things?

Over time, you’re convinced that his little horns do move on their own at times. Your theory is proven the first time he kisses you, and you learn they can do more than twitch. He’s wearing his RAD uniform, his horns and tail nowhere to be seen. His eyes dart down to your lips as his face draws closer. His lips are a little dry, but they’re still soft and so warm when they touch yours. A small whimper escapes you, and he hums in response.

It only takes a few moments for you to notice a noise that you don’t recognize. It's just loud enough to hear over the sound of your heart beating wildly in your chest and the slick sounds of his lips gliding against yours. His gloved fingers dig into your waist to keep you from moving away when you reluctantly break the kiss and look around curiously. Your eyes widen when you realize the little wings sprouted from the crown of his head are fluttering.

A pink blush dusts his cheeks because he knows what you’re staring at; surely you must understand the significance of that little quirk of his by now.

Later on, he'll think about the implications that he was so distracted by you that he shifted forms without realizing it—have you always affected him this much? 

You suspect he’s embarrassed that he can’t seem to control their actions, but your heart beats a little faster for him too—he's so precious. You slide your hands into his hair—gently, to avoid touching the base of his horns because you know he doesn’t like that—and you curl your fingers along the back of his scalp.

There’s a soft rumble in his chest and he leans forward, kissing you more passionately than before. His tongue teases the seam of your lips, begging silently for entrance. He deepens the kiss, his tongue plundering your mouth and seeking out your exquisite taste. His little wings continue to flutter excitedly—they disperse the delicate scent of his shampoo into the air.

It feels like he unknowingly shared an intimate secret with you. You seem to like his little oddities, and even though he still finds them annoying at times, he learns to appreciate them more because you do.

If you notice his horns twitch slightly as his voice grows sharp with disapproval, you know he’s desperately trying to contain anger or frustration he normally conceals from the world—you make a note to talk to him about it later in the privacy of his bedroom.

They still flutter sometimes when you have sweet moments with him too: eating lunch together during a rare break from his duties; when you dance together at one of Diavolo’s parties, the overwhelming fondness in his gaze making his eyes shimmer like molten emeralds; or when he slides down the bed and pries your legs apart, eyes darker now with desire when he flicks out his tongue to taste you.

He hides his devilish smile when your fingers slide into his hair. You’re still careful not to disturb the base of his delicate horns—the ones tickling you as they flutter wildly between your thighs.

Read more: Barbatos Masterlist | Obey Me Masterlist

[d0llcuries]

hiii im new to your blog so idk all the rules yet but I was wondering if you could do a neteyam x navi reader ofc like when they first arrived to the reef you and tuk clicked immediately you both have a really close bond like you two spend a lot of time together weather it’s swimming together or making matching jewelry🩵 and that’s kinda how you and neteyam even started dating because of how much tuk would talk about you !!!! I hope this isn’t too much sorrrryyyy❤️ I love your work btwwww

TIDES THAT BROUGHT ME TO YOU

pairing(s): neteyam x fem!na'vi reader

summary: the sullys arrival to awal'atu causes a stir among your people, though you could care less about their presence. that is, of course, until a certain forest girl changes your mind

author's note: i fear there is an inexplicable pull within me to write yn as an absolute freakazoid in every oneshot i create. that being said, if you want yn to be normal in your request plspls specify her personality type otherwise she'll come out acting like winona rider from mermaids (1990). kinda fumbled this one too i should not be writing on my period 🧍

the first thing you notice about them is how thin they are.

their descent from the sky on their great winged beasts stirs up the sand in great, sweeping clouds, but it does nothing to hide the way their limbs, long and lean, cut through the air as they dismount. forest people. they move with a lightness, a caution that seems strange to you. the metkayina are not built like them. they are broader, bodies strong and firm, their muscles shaped by the tides and the weight of water. and their tails—their tails—eywa, they are so thin! practically useless. you wonder how they manage to balance at all.

you and tsireya emerge from the water, sliding off your ilus in one fluid motion, the cool spray of the ocean dripping from your skin as you wade through the shallows. the soft sand shifts beneath your feet, and your tail flicks lazily, trailing behind you as you approach ao’nung and rotxo, who stand together just ahead. tsireya pushes a strand of wet hair from her face, her movements graceful, her eyes immediately catching sight of the sully brothers—the skinnier of the two stares at her a little too long, his expression a mix of curiosity and something almost like awe.

you almost laugh when he nods in her direction, his voice low and far too confident. “hey.” (miles morales ahh)

tsireya’s face flushes a familiar shade of soft blue, and you cringe inwardly, the secondhand embarrassment hitting you like a wave. her reaction is painfully obvious, her wide eyes as she bends her head, a hesitant smile betraying her. you glance sideways, searching for a distraction, and rotxo is already there, as if sensing your discomfort.

“look at them,” he mutters under his breath, his voice pitched low so only you can hear. “how do they even manage with tails that thin?”

ao’nung, standing just beside him, snickers, his broad shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. it's the kind of laugh that is infectious, spreading like ripples across the surface of the sea, and even though you are not cruel—even though you know it’s wrong—you can’t help the small tug of a smile that curls at the corner of your mouth. it’s all in good fun, after all. forest people, clearly they have wandered too far from where they belong. surely they won’t be here for long.

it is not that you want to make fun of them, these strangers who have come to seek uturu, but something about them seems... wrong, somehow. misplaced.

you were still laughing when you caught neteyam’s eyes on you.

his gaze was steady, calm in a way that she didn’t expect, and she felt the weight of it like a shift in the tide. not accusing, not angry, but watching. taking her in as if she were something curious. something strange. her smile faded, the amusement leaving her as she pulled her gaze away, pretending not to care. what was he looking at?

you shift your weight slightly, your arms hanging loose at your sides as you observe the exchange between the sullys and tsireyas parents. she watches them with a quiet, thoughtful expression, her brows knitting together in concentration. there’s no judgment in her gaze, no hint of the amusement that had touched your own. she looks at them with nothing but curiosity, a flicker of compassion lighting her features. she catches your eye and raises an eyebrow, silently urging you to soften. you sigh, the weight of her gentle disapproval settling over you. of course tsireya would be the first to see beyond appearances. she always does.

you’ve known her for as long as you can remember, since you were both small and would spend your days swimming out into the open waters, daring each other to dive deeper, pushing your lungs to their very limits. she has always been the heart of your little group, the steady, guiding force that tempers ao’nung’s bravado and rotxo’s sharp-edged laughter. where they tease and taunt, she soothes, her voice like the steady rhythm of the waves, always pulling you all back to center.

it’s no surprise, then, that you find yourself drawn into spending more time with the newcomers, tsireya’s gentle insistence pulling you along as she helps guide them through the early days of their stay. you are metkayina; you know the ways of the water, the ebb and flow of the tides, the secrets that the ocean keeps. it’s your responsibility to teach them how to live in this world, even if you don’t want to.

at first, you hang back, letting tsireya do most of the talking, watching as she shows them how to breathe, how to move, how to swim like the metkayina do. it was exhausting just to look at them. lo’ak struggles to hold his breath, his frustration palpable as he tries again and again to stay underwater. kiri moves with a sort of distracted grace, her attention more focused on the creatures of the reef than the lesson itself. you observe them with detached interest, your thoughts drifting like the waves.

you don’t care about them. you don’t.

and then, tuk happens.

you hadn’t meant to pay attention to her. in fact, you had barely noticed her at all in the beginning, the youngest of the sully siblings blending into the background behind her older brothers and sister. but tuk has a way about her, a brightness that’s impossible to ignore. she’s all wide-eyed curiosity and boundless energy, so unlike the others, who carry the weight of their family’s uncertainty like a heavy cloak. while they are cautious, tuk embraces everything around her with an infectious enthusiasm that makes her impossible to overlook.

you catch her one day after a particularly long lesson, her small hands fumbling with a piece of seaweed, attempting to braid it into her hair for whatever reason. her brow is furrowed in frustration, her lower lip caught between her teeth in concentration, and something about her determination—her fierce little spirit—draws you in before you even realize what you’re doing.

“like this,” you murmur, kneeling beside her and gently taking the seaweed from her hands. your fingers work quickly, weaving the strands together with ease. “you have to twist it more. it’s not like the vines in the forest.”

tuk’s eyes widen, her expression lighting up with awe. “wow! you’re really good at that!”

and that’s it. from that moment on, you can’t seem to shake her. tuk becomes your shadow, or maybe it’s the other way around. wherever you go, she’s there, trailing after you with an endless stream of questions, her small footsteps pattering through the sand as she tries to keep up with your longer strides. her curiosity knows no bounds, and you find yourself drawn into her orbit, unable to resist the bright spark of joy that seems to follow her everywhere.

the first time she swims with you, her movements are awkward, her limbs too quick and too stiff, and she sputters as she breaks the surface, her wide eyes filled with frustration. “it’s too hard!” she huffs, pushing wet hair from her face. “i’ll never be as good as you.”

“you will,” you say gently. “you just have to feel the water. do not fight it.”

tuk frowns, unconvinced, but she doesn’t give up. over the days, you watch as she grows bolder, more confident in the water. you teach her how to control her breathing, how to let go of her fear, and she listens, her small face set in determined concentration. she clings to your arm after each lesson, her bright laughter ringing in your ears as she pulls you back to the beach.

and with tuk, inevitably, comes neteyam.

at first, you barely notice his presence, too busy entertaining tuk. he lingers on the outskirts of your time with her, watching from a distance, never quite joining in but never too far away either. it’s easy to forget he’s there, his quiet nature blending into the background.

but neteyam has a way of making himself known, even in his silence.

it starts small. you feel his gaze on you more often, the weight of it something you try to ignore at first. he never says much, never interrupts your time with tuk, but you notice him lingering just a bit closer with each passing day, his tall frame casting a shadow over you and tuk as she chatters on about whatever has caught her attention in that moment. sometimes, you catch him smiling—those soft, fleeting smiles that seem to disappear before you can fully register them. they’re rare, but when they happen, they make your heart stutter, a strange warmth blooming in your chest that you quickly dismiss.

he’s deliberate, thoughtful, always watching, always observing. you can feel his attention like the gentle pull of the tide, steady and unyielding. it’s unsettling, but not in a way that you dislike. in fact, if you’re honest with yourself, it’s kind of... comforting.

tuk even speaks about him sometimes, her admiration for him clear in every word. “neteyam would love this,” she says one day, as you show her to repair a torn fishnet. “he’s so good at everything. you’d like him, i think.”

tuk had been telling you some story about their home in the forest, her small hands moving animatedly as she spoke, when neteyam quietly joined the two of you. he folded his legs beneath him, watching with that same gentle expression he always wore when tuk was around. you paused, hands stilling over the bracelet you were working on, and glanced at him out of the corner of your eye.

“you do not have to stop,” he said, his voice low and easy, the corners of his lips lifting in a small smile. “i am just here to watch.”

you thought about running away, getting up and leaving after making a up some excuse to remind them that you had better things to do than sit with them in the sand making bracelets. something about the way he spoke—his voice so warm and unhurried—caught you off guard. the way your heart bested faster when he was around, the way you caught yourself blushing like tsireya whenever lo'ak opened his mouth was... unusual. it unsettled you in a way you couldn’t quite put into words.

the three of you sat there in comfortable silence as you finished the bracelet, your hands working on autopilot while tuk chattered on, oblivious to the subtle shift in the air between you and her brother. you were grateful for her presence, for the way she kept things light without realizing it. by the time you tied the last knot and secured the bracelet around tuk’s wrist, you hadn’t noticed that neteyam had been watching you the whole time, with a softness that made you feel like he wasn’t just looking at you. he was seeing you.

“you are good at that,” he said quietly, his voice barely louder than the sound of the waves.

you tightened your grip on the edge of the bracelet you’d been working on for yourself, gaze dropping to the sand. “i have had practice.”

he nodded, still watching you. the weight of his gaze felt like a physical thing, pressing against your skin, exposing you in a way that made you feel uneasy. you were used to keeping your distance, keeping your indifference like a shield between you and his family. you had learned to tune it out, the presence of others—your people, the sullys—but with neteyam, it was different. you couldn’t ignore him the way you did the rest. but neteyam was quiet, his presence like the sea on a still morning, surrounding you without making a sound. you liked that.

as the sun dipped lower, casting warm golds and pinks across the sand, you tied the final knot and slid the bracelet onto your wrist. it wasn’t perfect—nothing ever was—but it felt right, the weight familiar against your skin. you held it up, inspecting your work, twisting your wrist slightly to catch the fading light.

“that one is beautiful,” neteyam said softly, his eyes on the small woven beads, the shells glinting like scattered stars. his gaze flicked to your wrist, then back to your face. “you should make me one.”

you blinked, your lips parting in surprise. “you want me to make you a bracelet?”

he smiled then, a small thing that felt like it could crack open the horizon. “well, you made one for tuk. i feel a little left out.”

you glanced at tuk, who was too busy showing off her new bracelet to the other children playing by the water to notice the exchange.

“i do not know,” you said slowly, turning the bracelet on your wrist. “i do not usually make things for people.”

neteyam tilted his head, his expression open, waiting. “you made one for tuk.”

“you do not even like it here,” you said suddenly, sharper than you intended. the words left your mouth before you could stop them, and you could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes. he opened his mouth to respond, but you continued before he could speak, your voice quieter this time. “you do not like us.”

the truth of it lingered in the space between you. you hadn’t forgotten the way they’d arrived, tense and uncertain, the way his brother had snapped at you and your people, the way his parents had worn their worry like a second skin. they didn’t belong here, and they knew it. the thought had made you laugh at first, but now, sitting here with neteyam, you didn’t know how to feel about it.

for a long moment, he was silent, his gaze turning out toward the sea, his expression unreadable. the light of the setting sun cast long shadows across the sand, and you could hear the distant calls of the other children as they played by the water. tuk’s laughter echoed somewhere nearby, but it felt distant, like the tide pulling away from the shore.

“you are right,” neteyam said finally, his voice low. “we do not belong here.”

the words were a simple acknowledgment, but they landed heavy between you, pressing down on your chest. you didn’t know why it bothered you to hear it. they didn’t belong. that was obvious. but there was something in the way he said it—something quiet, resigned—that made you realize just how heavy that truth must have felt for him, for all of them.

“but we are trying,” he added after a moment, his voice soft. “we are doing our best. even if it does not seem like it.”

your fingers tightened around the bracelet on your wrist, the edges rough against your skin. you could feel the weight of his gaze again, warm and steady, and for the first time, you met his eyes without looking away. there was something in them, something that caught you off guard. not sadness, exactly. not defeat. but acceptance. a quiet understanding that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t so different after all.

you swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. “i will make you a bracelet,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “if you still want one.”

neteyam smiled again, that small, warm curve of his lips that felt like it could light up the entire ocean. “i would like that.”

over time, it became harder to stay distant, your walls cracking under the weight of his quiet companionship. you didn’t even realize how much you’d begun to change, how your awkwardness softened, until one day you caught yourself laughing at something neteyam had said—really laughing, not the half-smile you usually gave. it wasn’t that you’d stopped being strange or different, but it didn’t matter so much anymore. neteyam had a way of making you feel like it was okay to be the way you were, that there was no need to force yourself into shapes that didn’t fit. the space between you that once felt wide now felt smaller, warmer, and for the first time in a long while, you didn’t mind the closeness.

he listened, the way he understood things without needing to say them. they spent more time together, sometimes with tuk, sometimes just the two of them, and slowly, quietly, something grew between them.

it was in the small moments—the way his hand would brush against yours when they walked, the way he’d smile at you from across the water. you didn’t fight it, didn’t push it away. you let it come, let it settle into your bones like the rhythm of the waves.

one evening, as you sat together on a small outcrop of rock, watching the sun sink into the horizon, neteyam turned to you, his expression soft and open in the fading light.

“you know,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, “tuk talks about you all the time.”

you smiled, “does she?”

he nodded, his gaze warm. “she adores you. she’s always telling me how you are the best swimmer, the best jewelry maker. she even started asking me to tell her stories about the forest, because she wants to impress you.”

her heart tightened at the thought, and she couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her. “tuk is very easy to like.”

neteyam’s smile grew, and for a moment, you sat in comfortable silence, the sound of the waves lapping gently at the shore below. then, quietly, he added, “she is not the only one who talks about you.”

you glanced at him, her heart skipping a beat. “oh?”

his gaze met yours, steady and sure, and the warmth in his eyes was enough to make you breath catch in her throat. “i do too. all the time.”

his gaze meets yours, steady and sure, and the warmth in his eyes is enough to make your breath catch in your throat. “i do too. all the time.”

you blink, caught off guard. a breeze rolls off the sea, pulling strands of your hair into your face, but you can’t bring yourself to move. his words hang in the air between you, sinking into your skin like the warm sun after a cold swim. all the time.

“why?” your voice comes out smaller than you mean for it to. you’re almost afraid to hear the answer, as if it would shift the ground beneath your feet, change the delicate balance that has settled between you both.

neteyam’s gaze softens, his lips curling into the smallest smile, and you realize, with a start, that he isn’t nervous at all. he seems sure of whatever it is that lingers in the space between you. quietly confident, like always. “i guess because... i think about you a lot.”

you open your mouth to say something, anything to fill the silence, but before you can find the words, a small voice cuts through the moment like a blade.

“hey!” tuk’s voice, sharp and high, breaks your quiet. you both turn to find her standing at the edge of the rocks, her little face pinched in frustration, her hands on her hips. “i knew it!”

your eyebrows shoot up, startled. “knew what?”

tuk stomps closer, her bare feet padding noisily across the stone. “i knew neteyam would steal you from me!” she jabs a finger in his direction, her small frame shaking with righteous indignation. “you’re my friend, not his!”

the words hit you like a slap, and you glance at neteyam, who looks equally taken aback, his mouth parting in surprise. tuk’s big eyes shimmer with unshed tears, and something in your chest squeezes painfully. you hadn’t even realized how much time you’d been spending with neteyam, how it must have felt to tuk, who had so eagerly claimed you as her own from the start.

neteyam steps forward, hands raised in surrender, his voice gentle. “hey, tuk. no one is stealing anyone.”

but tuk isn’t having it. her little fists clench, and she whirls on you, eyes wide and brimming with hurt. “you promised we’d make more jewelry! and swim with the ilus!” her bottom lip trembles, and she takes a step back, as if the distance will make the ache in your chest less sharp. “you said you were my best friend.”

guilt washes over you like a cold wave, chilling you to the bone. you kneel down, reaching for tuk’s small hand, but the little girl pulls away, hurt radiating off her in waves. “tuk, i did not mean to—”

“you don’t like me anymore.” tuk’s voice is small now, defeated, and your heart breaks at the sight of it, at the raw pain in her eyes. “you like him more.”

the words leave you stunned, speechless. you look to neteyam for help, but he stands frozen, his jaw tight, clearly torn between comforting his sister and letting her work it out. after a long pause, he crouches beside tuk, his voice soft and reassuring.

“that is not true,” he says quietly, his hand resting gently on tuk’s shoulder. “she is still your friend, tuk. i am just... lucky to be friends with her too.”

tuk sniffles, her little fists rubbing at her eyes, and your heart clenches in your chest. “but i found her first,” she mumbles.

you can’t help the soft smile that tugs at your lips at the child’s words, your heart aching in the best way. “you did find me first, tuk,” you say gently, finally managing to reach out and take her hand. tuk lets you this time, her fingers small and warm in your grasp. “and you are still my best friend. nothing is going to change that.”

tuk looks up at you with wide, watery eyes, still unsure. “promise?”

you squeeze her hand, your voice soft. “promise.”

after a moment, tuk’s shoulders relax, and she swipes at her face with the back of her hand. she glances between you and neteyam, her lip still trembling but her anger starting to fade. “okay,” she whispers, “but you have to make me another bracelet first.”

a small laugh escapes you, and you nod, relief settling into your bones. “deal.”

tuk brightens instantly, her smile returning in full force. “and you both have to swim with me tomorrow. no skipping!”

neteyam chuckles, brushing a hand through his braids. “we would not dream of it.”

satisfied, tuk gives a dramatic sigh before turning and running off toward the other children, her earlier tears forgotten. the weight of her outburst still lingers, though, and as you both stand there in the quiet aftermath, you realize just how much tuk’s words have struck something deep inside you. you like him more.

it isn’t true, is it? or maybe... maybe it is. you’re not sure anymore. the thought makes your throat tighten.

neteyam seems to sense the shift in you, his gaze turning serious as he watches you carefully. “you okay?” he asks, his voice soft, a little uncertain.

“i do not know,” you say quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper. “it feels...different.”

neteyam is silent for a long moment, his brows furrowing slightly as he steps closer, his presence a steady, comforting weight at your side. when he finally speaks, his voice is low, careful. “what does?”

you look up at him then, the words heavy on your tongue. “everything. you, me, tuk...”

neteyam's voice is quiet, almost hesitant as he asks, “is it a good different?” his eyes search yours, the question hanging in the air between you. there's an openness to him now, a vulnerability that makes you pause. you see him clearly in this moment—the forest boy with his thin tail, strong but out of place here in your world. his presence is unfamiliar yet comforting, the way his skin contrasts with the sea, the way he stands rooted even on shifting sand. the difference is undeniable, but it's not unsettling. it feels like something new, something good.

you meet his gaze, and in that instant, everything falls into place. his eyes, a deep shade that reminds you of the forest he came from, hold a quiet kind of warmth, like the steady burn of a fire. you're different, yes—he, with the wilderness in his bones, and you, with the sea in yours—but that contrast feels like a harmony rather than a divide. with a small nod, you let the truth settle between you, firm and certain. “yeah,” you murmur, a soft smile pulling at your lips. “it is.”

i'll proof read this when i get back home i have to go out now 😭

[mokokone]

Hello!

Can you do a Kusuriuri x Kitsune! Fem! Reader. Where the reader loves to tease him and prank him.

Thank you <3 ❤️

Author's preface: Kitsunes are known for their mischievous nature and love of playing tricks on humans. These mythical creatures have the ability to shape-shift into different forms, often using their powers to deceive unsuspecting individuals. Despite their playful antics, kitsunes are also seen as wise and intelligent beings in Japanese folklore. Their cunning ways make them both feared and respected in traditional stories and legends.

Word Count: 1196

Trickster [Medicine Seller/Kusuriuri x FemKitsune!Resder]

Kusuriuri stood, pondering for a moment. His piercing cerulean gaze scanned the room, taking in every detail.

Something was amiss.

His Akumabarai (exorcism) sword was missing. He could have sworn he left it sitting on the coffee table.

Surely, the small blade couldn't have flown away. Every corner and crevice was scrutinized, but the sword was nowhere to be found. Kusuriuri's mind raced with questions—who could have taken it? And for what nefarious purpose?

"(Y/n)?" He suddenly called.

 After a moment, a young female poked her head through the shoji. Her hair was a beautiful color of (h/c), falling in loose waves around her shoulders. Her eyes, a vibrant shade of (e/c), sparkled with curiosity. However, the most unique thing about her appearance was that she had fox ears and a bushy fox tail.

Her fox ears twitched slightly as she looked at her master with a sense of curiosity.

"Yes, what is it, master?" You asked.

"Have you seen my sword?" Kusuriuri asked you as you stepped into the room, watching his eyes scan the space in search of the missing weapon.

"No... Why?" you inquired, feigning innocence as you tried to suppress a mischievous grin.

In truth, you knew exactly where it was. After all, you were the one who hid it, as well as a few other items of his.

Though you didn't really have a good reason for doing so, you were just bored and thought it'd be funny to see how long it would take him to notice.

As you watched him search, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for playing this prank on him.

"Hmm, I can’t find it.” He tossed the pillow he had been looking under back down on the sofa. "I'm also missing several of my ofuda as well as some incense from my medicine box." He adds.

“Really? How strange..." You say, hiding a smirk. "Well, I'm sure it'll turn up soon, master.” you tell him before turning on your geta to leave.

“Hopefully...” You hear him murmur, unaware that he had watched you leave.

“Where? Where is it?”

. . . . .

Later that evening, you heard your master sigh in frustration. There was no doubt he was starting to lose his patience.

You poke your head in the doorway again. “What is it now?” You wondered which item he was looking for now.

But, you knew.

Not long after you hid his sword, you also took and hidden his Shunga (Japanese erotic art) picture book.

“Now, I can't find my Shunga magazine,” he answered.

You couldn't help but grimace. “Why do you even look at such gross things?” you scoffed. "It's just a book filled with gross images of women having intercourse with gross men."

Kusuriuri snorts. “Ha, it's entertaining.”

'You ought to be glad I didn't burn it instead of hiding it, you pervert,' you inwardly thought to yourself before giving a smile.

“You've been misplacing a lot of your stuff lately, master," you teased. "I never thought you'd be so irresponsible with your things."

"I am not, my dear," he protested. "I am very responsible. I need my Akumabarai sword and ofuda to fight against malevolent mononoke. I would never be so careless as to lose such important items," He huffs.

"It’s like my stuff is just...disappearing. Almost as if someone has taken them." He adds.

You almost felt a shiver run down your spine when he catches your gaze and could only hope he didn't know. Nevertheless, you shook it off and opted to tease him some more.

"Aww, poor master," you fake-sympathize, a mischievous glint in your eye as you watch him sulk his shoulders. "Perhaps your things have had enough of you and just ran away," you snicker.

"Haha, very funny," he chides. "Look, if you're not going to help, then just go away."

You pout. "Rude!" You stuck your tongue out at him before leaving.

You failed to notice the angry red mark on Kusuriuri's head as blue eyes eyed you both skeptically and intently.

. . . . .

That night, you decided to keep the prank going. Once you made sure Kusuriuri was out of sight, you snuck into his room and opened his medicine box. This time you were going to take and hide one of his Kenshutsu (scales).

You hurried down the engawa to hide it in the garden under a rock. However, before you could, you yelped upon feeling a hand grab your tail.

“Where are you off to, (Y/n)?” Kusuriuri asked.

You sweated nervously, attempting to hide the kenshutsu inside your kimono before turning to face him.

“Um...n-nowhere, master,” You stammered.

Kusuriuri eyed you suspiciously. "Was that one of my kenshutsu?" He asked. "And were you about to hide it in the garden?"

“W-what? N-no way…” You lied, giving him an innocent look.

However, Kusuriuri saw through your lie. After all, he too knows how feels to be a sly fox.

"So, it was you all along," he said, his tone accusatory.

Welp, now you’re caught red-handed! You’re toast. It was nice while it lasted. You didn’t even try to plead your innocence; you just grinned warily at him with a nervous chuckle.

“You little minx,” He quickly pulled you forward, making you shriek as he then grabbed your sides.

“K-Kusuriuri, I mean, master, wait! No, please, I can explain!” You cry out.

Kusuriuri was merciless as he started tickling you, his fingers digging into your sides, making you squeal.

"This is what you get for hiding my stuff." He smiled menacingly.

You doubled over, trying desperately to get away from him. “Ahhhaaahaa, I'm sorry! P-please, have mercy! Hahahahaha~!”

“Tell me where you put everything and I'll let up," he demanded.

“Ack! I’m sorry!”

"Sorry doesn't tell me where you hid my things,” Kusuriuri said, now switching to tickling you under your arms.

With that, you completely lost it! It was painful as you squealed and tried to push him away. You're the one who got yourself into this mess, so you had no choice but to come clean.

“Fine! Your sword is in the kitchen cabinet, and your Shunga magazine is inside the hallow of the cherry blossom tree outside." You confessed, desperate for your torture to cease.

“And?” He prompted, tickling your tummy.

Your laughter was so loud and desperate now that tears were beginning to leak from your eyes. "A-and I promise not to take your stuff without permission. I-I..AHaha..was just bored.”

Kusuriuri's expression soften. He was pleased that you finally came clean as he finally stopped tickling you, much to your absolute relief. But he still opted to tease you.

“Good girl."

Jerk.

Your face was flushed from laughing in pain as you glared daggers at him.

"I'll forgive you this time, but no more pranks, ok?"

You stuck out your tongue at him. “You suck, master Kusuriuri.”

He merely shrugged his shoulders as he walked off to retrieve his stuff. “Not my fault. You deserved it,” he said, but then stopped and glanced back at you.

"Y'know, if you ever get bored again, feel free to come to me. I'm always up for some fun.♡" He smirks devilishly while winking at you.

It took you awhile, but you quickly caught on of what it is he's implying as your face flushed red.

[star-going-supernova]

Here’s a SB prompt for ya!

Gregory realistically couldn’t have lasted the entire game without getting hurt. He got bruises from being slammed into things, his limbs aches for days cause he pushed himself too hard, and you can’t tell me any scrapes from Monty or Roxy didn’t scar.

Gregory would 100% use jokes and quips to deal with all the memories from that night whenever it gets brought up. Freddy who’s programming is insistent on lightening the mood and is joke based hates when he does it with a burning passion.

I’m still not done with the mini ficlets, lol. I went with immediate aftermath instead of further down the line.

Just a Scratch

The shift from night mode to day mode as, somewhere, a clock finally struck six was the best thing Gregory had seen all night. Lights began to turn on, STAFF bots disappeared by the dozen, and the stupid music cut out, leaving a ringing silence in its wake. 

Just visible from his hiding place, he watched Chica twitch a bit, then zombie walk away toward her room down the long hall of Rockstar Row. Mere minutes later, Monty and Roxy followed, none seemingly aware of their surroundings. They all vanished into their rooms without a peep. 

Still tense and on guard, Gregory unfolded himself from the tight corner behind the trash can he’d been tucked behind. There was no movement from the green rooms; from where he was crouched, he could see that Roxy’s was empty. Recharging in their back hallways, maybe? 

Guests would start arriving in a few hours, after all, and the show must go on.

Limping down the hall, he raised his watch and pressed the button to talk. “Freddy? You still with me?” 

“I am still here, superstar,” Freddy said, and he sounded so relieved. “I believe it is over. The barricade over the doors has risen. You are safe now.” 

Safe. It’d only been one night, but it felt like such a foreign concept. How could the pizzaplex ever feel safe again, no matter what time of day it was? 

Six hours. Not even counting that first hour before the barricade went down. Longest six hours of his life.

He was starting to feel a little woozy and unsteady on his feet by the time he and Freddy found each other. Freddy gasped at the sight of him, and the sound reflexively made him look around wildly, expecting an attack. But the quiet halls were empty but for the two of them. 

“Gregory,” Freddy said urgently. “You are far more injured than I thought! We must get you medical care immediately.” 

Gregory blinked uncomprehendingly for a moment before looking down at himself and taking stock of his body for the first time in hours. He’d kinda had other, more important things on his mind, y’know?

The first thing he noticed were the bruises. He’d hit the deck more than once, either on purpose or from tripping, and his knees reflected that. They were dark and discolored. Lower, on his left leg, a trio of long gashes slashed diagonally down the front and curved around the back. They started to sting fiercely now that he’d noticed them. Monty had grabbed him there once, he remembered faintly. 

It was all a bit of a blur, to be honest. 

The sides of his upper arms and shoulders ached too, and he thought of how many times he’d taken a corner too fast, one animatronic or another hot on his tail, and the way he’d slammed into the walls before continuing on. On his back, the burn of another couple of cuts flared up; Chica had taken him by surprise at least twice. 

Shallow puncture wounds lined the top of his lower left arm from when he’d blocked Roxy’s teeth somewhere around 2 a.m. And both his right wrist and ankle throbbed with the pain of a sprain, probably from the one time the security guard had managed to grab him and yank him around and a fumbled jump down some stairs respectively. 

A full body ache buzzed through him, too—the result of running and lifting and pulling and pushing far too much, far beyond what his ten-year-old body was used to.

And his vision was admittedly a little blurry. A headache had started after the third time he’d had his head smacked into the floor by a pouncing Moon, so maybe he had a concussion on top of all the rest. 

The room was starting to spin, and Freddy was looking mightily concerned, which wasn’t an expression Gregory would have thought a robot capable of. Thoughts all tangled up around each other, he was suddenly desperate to reassure his protector that he was okay, honest, and they would look back on this night someday and laugh. 

He giggled now, tipped alarmingly to the side, and in a concussed attempt to alleviate Freddy’s worry and lighten the mood, Gregory enthusiastically declared, “Tis but a scratch!” 

Freddy made a noise of appalled disbelief, but if he said anything in response, Gregory didn’t hear it. He was too busy collapsing on the spot, thoroughly unconscious.

[mischiefmaker615]

Purrfect

Rating: PG-14

Summary: There was something very strange and familiar with the cat you decided to take in..

Requested by: @Laer111ee

‘’I swear- every time I’m here, that cat is always starring at you..its kinda creepy’’

Your best friend turns your attention over to the couch where the black cat perched in an almost to-proper position with its striking and.. intense green eyes looking into your soul. Its tail flicked ever so slightly and even with the door open to your apartment where you both stood, he didn’t make a single move to dash out. Looking back at your friend, you merely shook your head with a light laugh and a wave of the hand.

‘’you mean every time as in aka, a week? He probably needs more time to adjust or something, he might be to scared to move much.’’

‘’well in any case, perhaps he would be a good source of comfort since ..what happened today..’’ her light demeanor changed back to concern as she grasped your hand. ‘’are you sure you don’t want me spending the night?.. I hate leaving you feeling like this.’’

You shook your head with your face doing a good job at hiding your held-back emotional state. ‘’I’ll be fine, really. My boss is just being an asshole, nothing new.’’

‘’yeah but.. he can’t possibly think you can do all that stuff by yourself.. not without going crazy with stress and-‘’

‘’I can handle it, promise’’ you reassured her, masking your irritation of the topic as she sighed and nodded, taking a step back with a small wave.

‘’okay.. I’ll see you next week then Y/N, take care of yourself..’’ she smiled before you finally closed the door.

Taking a deep breath, you rested your forehead on the door with your eyes closed, trying to keep your mind from going there; but it did. The tears began to fall as you thought of the turn of events that unfolded in such a short amount of time, you never really got a chance to process it until now. Avoiding the situation entirely was easy.. but not when your alone with your mind.

Your boss lost a lot of employees already from various reasons, so not only do you have to cover all of their shifts and work, but he decides to degrade you for not getting things done fast enough or well enough.. quit? With what other job? bills are a thing in this world and this world is an expensive place. You could handle the work if you really push yourself.. hard.. but the way he humiliated and treated you was your tipping point. It was good money though.. but at what cost now.. your mental state.

You punched at the door, pretending it was him before turning your back on it and heading to your room. Not even bothering to plop on the bed, you sat on the ground against it with your knees to your chest, burying your face as you cried.

‘’why do you cry love?”

The low, silky voice came out of no where, causing you to look up to find its source and got pierced with a familiar gaze. A man with pale skin, raven black hair and an attire containing a mix of green, black and gold gazed upon you with a concerned look on his face. His striking blue eyes dared you to lie at him and something from the stare alone seemed.. recognizable somehow.

How the hell did he get in, you didn’t know. Who the hell he was, you couldn’t tell yourself either- no matter how familiar he seemed to be. Most of these questions didn’t bother to leave your lips as they parted with silence. For some reason, you felt no danger from the strange man before you- perhaps you were trying to process his question rather than wonder why he didn’t threaten you for money or whatever.

‘’why do i.. what?’’ you stutter out, already feeling like an idiot as your fingers gripped the carpet beside you, trying to shy away from him.

‘’you weep with deep emotion darling and you seem to be in fine health so my only conclusion would be that someone out there had to have hurt you. At least, from what I pieced together from what your friend was saying.’’ He explained, his voice gentle as his eyes never left yours as he remained in his crouched position before you.

‘’my.. friend?- how could you possibly know- why do you even-‘’

‘’care?’’ he finished your sentence with a smirk and sighed as he seemed to study your features, his eyes slipping down below your neck once or twice before flicking up to your orbs again. ‘’because in my low moment about a week ago up to now, you’ve shown me kindness. Its only right if I show you the same.’’

You blinked at him as you tried to understand what he was saying. You.. helped him for a week? He over heard your friend.. that gaze looked to damn familiar- no.. he couldn’t possibly.. but his smirk seemed to show that he understood what you were thinking. ‘’your-‘’

‘’I believe you’ve called me by the name of ‘cat’, but if you wish a proper name, Loki will do just fine.’’

‘’Loki..’’ you breathed as you slowly raised a hand and wiped your cheeks, almost embarrassed at how you presented yourself while your mind tried to process that he was the very creature that you had been caring for for about a week. At least you had that much time to process since it was clear that this.. rather attractive man was not here to harm you- he probably already would have if that was his intention. ‘’being shown kindness honestly won’t help right now unless you plan on killing my boss.’’ You say with mild sarcasm but your body tensed when Loki nodded.

‘’that shouldn’t be a problem-‘’

‘’no!- I mean.. that won’t be necessary.. even if that bastard deserves a little pain..’’ you sigh and look away from him.

‘’what may I be able to do then love?’’ he said gently, a hand slowly moving to your chin to turn your face to look at him again, movements slow as to not spook you.

Gods his eyes were gorgeous.. ‘’nothing unless you know of a way to help me forget..’’ you sigh, your eyes threaten to tear up over the sensitive topic you tried so hard to ignore before your body froze.

His lips were soft as they suddenly and very gently pressed against yours. His hand remained on your chin while the other supported himself as he leaned forward against your knees that prevented him from getting closer, so he worked with what he could get at. The sudden action made your mind blank, focusing on only feeling as your eyes slowly closed and told yourself this had to be a dream. An emotional overload that left you exhausted and dreaming realistic scenes that couldn’t take place in real life.. which is why you kissed back. Hell, if this was a dream, then why not enjoy it. because.. come on, your cat becoming a person.. there was no way in hell..

You feel Loki’s slender hands rest against your knees as he used gentle pressure to begin spreading them, his thumbs rubbing pointless circles as he deepened the kiss by being able to lean forward more before he pulled away briefly with his forehead pressed against yours.

‘’I might not be able to help you forget entirely, but allow me to help you forget for at least a blissful moment..’’ he breathed, his eyes studying yours with a hushed tone before his lips took yours in a more passionate kiss. He kissed you, ready to stop if you wanted him to but you made no moves to stop him.

He was right, and it was working. Your arms wrapped around his neck while your legs parted for him to move closer, his arm snaking around your waist while his other ran down your side and down the side of your thigh to pull your leg against his waist. His tongue ran across your bottom lip and you were happy to oblige before he soon had his tongue massaging yours.

Moaning against his mouth, you felt your body relax against his while your hands ran down his chest, fingers studying and trying to figure out how to find an opening to his labyrinth of an outfit before you felt him smile against your lips. You resisted the urge to whine but pulled away enough to give him pleading eyes.

‘’alright darling, only because you asked so nicely..’’ he teased with his voice almost above a whisper before a bright green seemed to sparkle over the both of you. You almost felt a tickle before you looked down at the both of you once the light was gone, to find you both in your under garments and Loki’s eyes already drinking in your beautiful body with hunger.

Your eyes flicked up to his with slight nervousness but enough confidence to want this while your arms wrapped around his neck ‘’help me forget..’’ you whispered and his arms lifted you up onto the bed.

‘’as you wish darling..’’

~

Your eyes snapped open to sudden alertness, your body even flinching as if someone shook you awake.. but no one was there. You could tell you were on your stomach, in bed, with the morning sun peaking through your blinds and into your eyes. The bright light made you turn your body away only to freeze when your whole body told you you were sore.

‘holy hell what a dream..’ you thought as you winced a little and switched to laying on your back. Perhaps you were just sore from all the work you had to do- no thanks to your boss.. but at the same time, you felt well rested. Definitely not a result that would stem from your boss.

You brushed your hair more out of your face and sighed. You have never had an amazing dream like that before, it being over only made you disappointed to have to get up. If it were possible to go back to sleep and back to that dream, you’d stay in bed all day. Wait-

Your hands clutched the sheet around you out of instinct, finding yourself naked. You never slept like that.. Trying to piece things properly together and rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you turned to make a move out of bed only to squeak out of surprise when you saw the cat you rescued stayed perched on your nightstand, watching you.

‘’..hello cat..’’ you said hesitantly, keeping the sheet closer to you as you stayed put before your brow raised. Didn’t that cat have green eyes before? ..not blue..

Leaning forward, you examined the cat closer that watched you with a calm manor and didn’t move an inch as you gently ran a hand against its head. ‘’..Loki?’’ you whispered, almost feeling silly to try to ask its name but it was worth a try right? What made your hand draw back with widened eyes was when it’s eyes suddenly changed color to the familiar green..

And licked its lips.

[saulocept]

bloodstream

pairing: blade/f! reader

rating: m

summary: He'd do anything to get you back. Anything at all.

notes: sort of still getting back to writing, so forgive the mess, inconsistencies, what have you. reposted from my ao3 account so if u see this in there, hi!

tags: finger sucking, excessive use of pet names. sort of implied stalking.

When you step inside your apartment, you know all too quickly that something’s wrong. It’s an instinct, a gut feeling – something you’ve honed over the years to keep yourself safe, keep a certain predator off your tail. You straighten your shoulders, narrowing your eyes as you observe your surroundings. It’s a little dark, but you can’t spot anything out of the ordinary; either your senses have grown dull in all the years you’ve spent away from him or you’re just being paranoid again, terrified he’d found you. You aren’t sure which is which, but all you know is that you shouldn’t be rash, do something impulsive.

Hasn’t it been years since then? You haven’t heard anything about them after you escaped, and surely, that must mean they’re caught. Spending the rest of their lives in prison, where they could never do anything wrong again. Or maybe you’ve been just too complacent, believing in the lies you’ve made for yourself, trying to make excuses for the fact that you’ve grown to love this city too much to leave it all behind as quickly as you left the other ones.

But you’ve been careful to lie low, haven’t you? Hiding your identity as best as you can, using different names for different people, switching personalities as quickly as a snake sheds its skin. No one knows the real you now, and at this point, you’ve pretty much forgot. If there’s even a memory of the old you behind, he’s the only one who has it, but even then he’s not around anymore to remember, is he?

You exhale a sigh, shaking your head. You remain where you are, standing very still, keeping watch around you, trying to check for the slightest shift in your surroundings. But you still can’t spot anything out of place; everything’s where you’ve left it this morning: the papers on the couch, the books on the floor. Coffee cups littered around the table, some of them still halfway full, cold and abandoned – a mess you still haven’t had time to clean up ever since you’d started working as a waitress down the diner you frequent in.

Work. The word feels normal, ordinary. There’s a sense of belongingness in it that you haven’t quite felt before. Like you’re settling in, trying to make a home for yourself instead of fleeing, making an escape plan in case things don’t go your way.

But enough of that. You take another look at your surroundings, observing them a little longer, your eyes narrowed in suspicion, waiting for danger to come. But nothing does.

You exhale another sigh, shaking your head, tearing your eyes away. You’re probably overthinking things, being paranoid. It’s been a while since you’ve last got a proper sleep, after all, especially with your fluctuating shifts down the diner, and maybe that’s why. Maybe all you need to do is get a good sleep.

But even as you try to make sense of things, nothing seems to reassure you. There’s a dread coiling in the pit of your stomach, growing only by the second. Even your heart skips just a little, and you feel it pounding against your ribcage, loud enough to drown out every sound.

Nothing’s wrong, and yet something isn’t quite right either. You bite your lip, trying not to falter under the weight of your growing dread, and bravely press on, slowly making your way toward your bedroom. You suck in a breath, trying your best to stay quiet, daring not to make too much noise.

You stop in front of the wooden door, taking a moment to steady your nerves. You square your shoulders, take a deep breath, then slowly open the door, stepping inside the room, not quite sure what to expect.

Darkness. Everywhere you look, you can’t see anything but the dark, inky blackness spreading all throughout the room that makes it a little difficult for you to navigate. Even now, silence still follows you like a long-lost friend not quite different from the one you’d felt before, but still a little strange, eerie.

You blink a few times, trying to let your eyes adjust to the darkness as you fumble with the light switch on the wall, turning it on. Nothing happens. You raise an eyebrow, curious, then try it again, though the result is still the same.

You frown. You do it again another time, this one with more force behind it, wondering absently, if perhaps, you’ve forgot to pay the bills on time. Still, the same darkness greets you, shrouds you, cages you in.

Dread turns into fear, coils around your neck like a noose, tight and suffocating. There’s a tightness in your chest, a sudden awareness that you can’t seem to breathe. Cold wind blows at your skin, and you feel a shudder run through you, not quite knowing why.

You swallow the lump in your throat, willing yourself to turn back, leave this room once and for all, call someone, get some help. But your feet remain rooted to the ground, frozen, paralyzed to the point of immobility.

Your breath catches in your throat. You feel your heart thrumming against your chest, loud and wild against your ears, and still, you can’t move, can’t do anything even as the sound of footsteps pierces through the silence, slow and steady, certain. Growing closer and closer.

You shut your eyes, not daring to turn around, willing it away the way you would a bad dream. You’re not entirely sure what you’ll find behind you, and you’re not nearly strong enough to find out. You keep your eyes shut, counting down the seconds in your head, hoping that the footsteps aren’t real. You’d rather be mad, you think, plagued with hallucinations of your own making, than be right.

The footsteps stop. Everything grows quiet, eerily so. A second passes, and then another. A feeling nags at you, though you’re not quite sure what it is. Slowly, you open your eyes, turn your head around. What greets you is a familiar sight – a face you’ve seen countless times in your dreams. Those bright eyes, that eerie smile. That predatory look that haunts you even in your waking moments, reminds you of the truth you’ve been trying so hard to forget.

His name comes to you in a second, familiar, unforgettable. Still, you can’t bring yourself to say it, as if doing so would make everything any realer than it is. You remain quiet, lips slightly parted open in surprise, unable to look away from him.

“What’s wrong, little mouse?” he asks, tilting his head to the side, studying you closely. There’s a small smile playing on the corners of his lips, almost mocking. “You look surprised to see me.”

“Blade,” you breathe, voice soft, a little raspy. You could barely hear yourself to speak; everything feels like it’s done by someone else – someone who isn’t you. “Why are you here?”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, just runs his gaze up and down your body, his gaze intense, almost hungry. The weight of his eyes on you is a little too much to bear, and all of a sudden, you feel the need to hide, curl in on yourself. Instinctively, you take a step back, trying to maintain some distance between you, but even this is not enough, will never be enough. You know this, of course, by experience; how many times have you tried to get away from him, only for him to render all those attempts futile, fruitless?

Even now, it’s no different. His pursuit of you is relentless, dogged. He takes a step forward, follows you when you take another step back, laughing as he keeps up this game of cat and mouse, amused by your defiance.

But there’s only so much space you can move in, and all too soon, you feel your back hitting the wall, signifying the end of this little dance. Blade moves toward you with surprising quickness, pressing closer against you, caging you with his arms, cutting off any and all escape routes.

 He leans down, moves his face closer to yours, his breath hot against your cheek. He laughs, deep and raspy, and you hate how the sound of it makes you feel hot all over, yearning for something bad, something you know you shouldn’t want. He reaches out, places a cold hand against your cheek, his touch uncharacteristically tender, a delicious contrast that makes your stomach coil in wanting. “You didn’t think I’d find you, did you, little lamb?”

There it is again, that pet name – the one you hate and love with the entirety of your being. Little mouse. Little lamb. Little prey. An identity he’s created for you all those decades ago, and an identity you’ve spent years trying to outgrow, leave behind. And now it’s come back to slap you once more in the face, along with the man you’ve promised yourself you’re going to forget.

“Blade,” you say, looking up at him, shaking your head. Even now, with his body pressed against yours, it still hasn’t quite sunk in to you that he’s real, that all of this is happening. “How are you even here? Aren’t you supposed to be—?”

He presses a gloved fingers against your lips, shutting you up. Meekly, you nod your head and obey, pressing your lips shut, hating how quickly he’s reduced you into a prey.

“Surely, you didn’t think you could just get rid of me that easily,” he says, staring down at you, playing with the loose lock of your hair, twirling it around his finger.

You swallow the lump that forms in your throat, lowering your gaze, not quite meeting his eyes. You keep your lips pursed, your mouth shut. Truth be told, you’ve been complacent, blissfully ignorant. He’s a wanted criminal, isn’t he? And it’s been years since you’d last seen each other; naturally, you’d assumed that he’d been caught, locked away in prison, unable to disturb the peace you’ve made for yourself ever again.

You should’ve known that wouldn’t happen. You should’ve known the peace in your life wouldn’t last for long. When you don’t reply, he tugs at the lock of your hair, firm enough to startle, but not enough to hurt.

“Little lamb,” he says; impatience bleeds into his voice, and he tugs at your hair once more, demands for your attention. “Answer me.”

You bite your lip, remaining quiet, defiant. You keep your gaze, not looking at him still, though you could feel his eyes boring a hole into your head, watching you with an intensity that makes you want to disappear.

“Did you not hear what I said?” he asks, his words carrying a hint of annoyance. He reaches out, places a finger under your jaw, lifts your chin up so you’re looking at him. He keeps his grip firm on your jaw, not letting you look away. “Or are you being a brat again?”

You don’t respond, glaring at him instead, defiant even to the very end. He smiles, makes a sound of amusement in his throat – almost like a laugh, though not quite. “You know what happens to brats like you, don’t you?”

You remain where you are, glaring at him still, refusing to give him any sort of response. His smile widens, turns wolfish. But his eyes remain sharp, his gaze intense, cuts through you like a knife.

He traces the outline of your jaw with the tip of his finger, his touch gentle, almost feather-light, leaning closer, whispering in your ear. “Or maybe that’s what you want, hm, little lamb?”

“Maybe you want to be punished,” he continues, his lips so close to your ear. You can’t stop the shiver that runs down your spine, can’t stop the familiar heat that coils deep in your belly, spreading all throughout your body. You shut your eyes tight, exhaling a shaky breath. Your reaction doesn’t go unnoticed; you hear the sound of his laughter against your ear, soft, breathy, and you bite you lip again, trying not to shiver again.

He runs the tip of his finger down your jaw to the hollow of your throat, lets it ghost along your collarbone, the valley of your breasts, and you could barely suppress the tiny whimper that escapes your lips, weak, a little helpless. “Maybe you need me to remind you of our years together. Is that what you want, little lamb?”

You shake your head, quick to deny his claims. You’re not even sure who you’re trying to convince at this point: yourself or him, but it doesn’t matter. He laughs again, deep and loud, almost bellowing.

“No?” he echoes, sounding slightly amused. “Tell me, then, little lamb,” here, he pauses, his grip on your jaw tightening just a little, forcing you to meet his eyes once more. “What is it that you want?”

You shake your head, promptly ignoring his question, trying to keep your gaze locked on his. “But I thought you’re—”

“In prison?” he finishes, his smile wide and wolfish. You nod dumbly, not quite sure what to say. He laughs again, shakes his head, patting your cheek gently with a gloved hand. “Little lamb,” he says, shaking his head, and there’s a sweetness to his voice that seems almost mocking.

You close your eyes, breathe out a sigh, instinctively leaning into his touch before you could even stop yourself. You hate it, hate this­ – hate yourself even more for the way your skin aches for his touch, the way your body yearns to have him close.

“You really are stupid, aren’t you?” He traces gentle circles along your skin with his fingertips, and you exhale another sigh, ��unable to focus on anything but the warmth of his touch, the feel of his hands against your skin.

“You really think I’d let anyone catch me before I could take you back?” he continues, humming under his breath, watching you slowly fall apart beneath his touch. “Think again, little lamb.”

You open your eyes, shaking your head, staring at him with wide eyes. “Why did you come looking for me?” you ask, your voice cracking just a little, unsure if you want to pull him closer or push him away. “You must know that I don’t want to be found.” 

“Of course I know.” He leans closer, brushing his lips against your ear, taking your earlobe between his teeth and gently nibbling. You gasp, startled, and he laughs, pleased by your reaction, biting a little harder at your earlobe just to see you squirm. “But did you really think I’d let you leave just like that? Didn’t I tell you before already? You’re mine, little lamb. Always.”

Your lip trembles. Tears form in the corners of your eyes, spilling down your cheeks before you have any chance to stop them. Weakly, you push him away, placing your palms flat against his chest, trying to get him to back off. He doesn’t let you. He presses closer against you, pushes you back against the wall, obliterating the distance between you, no matter how little.

“You shouldn’t even be here,” you say, shaking your head, your voice growing higher in pitch, more desperate. “You shouldn’t—”

Your voice breaks, the words disappearing into the silence, unfinished. Blade doesn’t say anything. He stares at you, takes in your reaction, the expression on your face. Gently, he brushes away your tears, almost soothingly, hushes you in the only way he knows how.

He runs his thumb along your lower lip, and it’s instinctive, how your lips part open just for him. Welcoming the familiar intrusion, as if your body remembers.

He laughs, breathless and a little startled, staring at you with a growing hunger in his eyes. He smiles a little, then pushes his thumb in your mouth just a little more, pressing it flat against your tongue. Every movement of yours is automatic, powered by muscle memory. You take him in, wrapping your lips around his thumb and gently sucking.

Blade watches you intensely, his breath catching in his throat. He seems pleasantly surprised by your obedience, and it only urges you on, makes you bolder in your movements.

“You may have changed your name a hundred times over,” he remarks, laughing in amusement. He keeps his eyes locked on you, watching you hungrily. “But you’re still the same obedient slut as before, aren’t you, little lamb?”

He shoves his thumb further in without warning, and it startles you enough to nearly gag you. A choked-out moan suddenly escapes, and you feel tears forming in the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision, but he only laughs even more, looking pleased by your reaction. With his free hand, he reaches out, gently pats your cheek. “There, there. What a good little lamb you are.”

Drool spills down the corners of your mouth, trickles down your chin, stains his gloves in a sticky mess. It’s a little filthy; you pause, grimacing at the sight, feeling the need to apologize, but he follows your gaze, shakes his head, giving you another one of his sharp smiles, a short laugh escaping him. He pats your cheek again, his gaze growing slightly softer, tender. “Good girl.”

Somehow, you’re getting sick of the praise.

He rubs his thumb against the tip of your tongue, runs it up and down once. You taste the faint sweetness that coats the finger of his gloves, a little strange, almost cloying. Your eyebrows crease a little in confusion, though you barely have any time to discover what it is before he’s dragging his thumb out of your mouth and pulling away from you, making no move to wipe your drool off his gloves.

You stare at him, blinking, your gaze slightly hazy. Curiosity beats inside your chest like a second heart, though you can’t quite find the right words to say, the right question to ask. Instead, all you can do is stare at him, as though you’re waiting for him to explain, tell you anything.

In his usual fashion, he doesn’t. Instead, he gives you his signature sharp smile, reaching out to pat your cheek. He leans down, brushes his lips against the crown of your head, just barely enough to make you ache, yearn for more.

“Good girl,” he says again, whispers the words quietly enough that only you can hear them. A shiver runs through your spine, and he laughs, moving forward to gather you in his arms, pulling you flush against him, closer and closer until all you could feel is him.

His grip tightens when you try to wriggle free from his grip, keeping you in place and refusing to let you go. He leans down and takes your earlobe between his teeth, giving it a playful nip. Another startled gasp escapes you, and you can’t stop the way your body trembles against him, yearning for the very thing you should be running away from.

But whatever kind of dilemma runs through your head, he doesn’t seem to notice. He pulls you even closer, pressing another kiss against the top of your head, wrapping his arms even tighter around you: possessive, territorial, as if staking a claim. “My good little lamb.”

His words linger, the sound of his voice seeming to echo in the silence. It’s the last thing you remember before darkness envelopes you, pushes you under.

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐀𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐮𝐬

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: For those who are dangerously curious and greed for their appearance.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

TW // SMUT/NSFW.

|°𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬°| |°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| • {𝐀𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐮𝐬} //𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓//

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝐀𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐮𝐬

This sea creature is a rather captivating one, but doesn’t necessarily like to be seen. Only liking the areas of under water caves or thick Kelp forests to hide itself from the light, but it’s only rarely seen in those more open areas; hunting more or so. Preferring water caves to sleep in during the day like some sort of… vampire.

Even though this creature doesn’t come out often, this unexpected beauty looks like it has scales of pure diamonds, which gets most confused with its true color of snow white. It’s the shimmer and glint of the white scales making it look like diamonds. This also includes this streak of very light gold lining its spine and its underbelly. Its caudal fin is graceful and almost transparent-like with some slits in the fin to make it appear more elegant in the water; same with its pelvic fins. Though, its dorsal fins are more like white spikes on its spine and it’s best to avoid those, and It’s eyes. Looking like they are made from the deepest, blood red rubies. Only a fool would try and pursue such a creature of forbidden treasure; The Albino of The Shadows.

𝐍𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬:

This Amadeus loves to just simply bask with you. Preferably in the dark, with his tail wrapped around you and his mouth very close your neck. Thrumming at you when you shift in his hold and he nuzzles into your neck more, tightening around you. Give him a few more minutes. Then he’ll entertain your idea to move away from him, yes?

Sleep is for the weak in the nighttime for him. He’s almost like a cat at night cause he so, so active at this time. Swimming around you, swimming back and forth. When you, yourself are trying to get some sleep yourself. If you are lucky, he is usually is in the mood to hunt once he awakens, but if not? You are the object of his attention. Always poking at you, chuffing at you or teasing you with the fin of his tail. That one earns him an angry swipe from you.

When he usually goes out on hunts at dusk he usually brings a few extra for you to have when he sleeps during the day. Wanting you to be in the best health when he wakes up again. Sometimes though, he likes to wake you up during these awful times so you can hunt with him, but quickly realizes you don’t not have the best eye sight like he does. Perhaps you can decorate the nest while he’s gone then?

Decorate? That’s what you do when he is gone. Having nothing else really much to do in his nest. You’ll decorate it with some underwater gems and jewels that Amadeus gets outta nowhere, but you are not really complaining when they look so… interesting.

Ah, to escape him is possibly the hardest thing or the easiest thing. Depending on his level of sleeping habits. If he’s not too wrapped up around you. You can get a few miles without him noticing, just be wary of the rocky maze in and out of his nest. If he is wrapped up around you? He would either thrum or growl at you to stay put. He won’t like pursuing you today.

𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬:

Amadeus nearly wrapped around you with his cock going through your folds once he saw you messing with the rubies in his nest, looking very interested in them or curious in them. Oh, but he managed to go slow with you that day. Prepping you up with his fingers before the main course began.

Yes, he will curl around you and absolutely fuck the energy right out of you. All that swimming and running away from him kinda pissing him off as he would thrust into you particularly hard in your most sensitive places. He going to make you numb on him and unable to move from him for awhile.

Can’t leave out the part where he laches onto your neck; drinking from you while he thrusts inside of you. It’s one of the main things he likes to do; main or not. He loves the way you taste and feel around him, bringing him almost 2x the pleasure. Get him particularly good and he’ll moan or whine with fluttering eyes and deeper thrusts.

If you are lucky and horny yourself. You have a chance with him when he is sleeping. Your fingers teasing his cock out between his slits. Do be careful when doing this to him, you might end up with more than just a few bites into your skin and shocking numbness in all of your limbs. It’s brings him great pleasure seeing you so drunk on him however.

Would Cockwarm you at the end, liking the feeling of your skin pressed up against his scales with his cock still in wrapped around warmth. His teeth nibbling and licking at your wounded neck made from him while his webbed and clawed hands would slowly rub at your sensitive nub. Yeah, that not one you’re really sure if you want to escape or not.

[ggeveryone99]

Mutxip’s Begining: Part 6

hA/N:Well howdy, very sorry for such a logn period between chapters. prolly going to be the same but the next part(s) that I have ideas for are kinda intricit so it’ll take a bit, but enjoy this little snipbit lol. (Also i am so sorry to the people whos tags didn’t work, I dont know what happened)

         --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The only thing Jake could effectively make out is her glowing yellow eyes, always unchanging and never moving from her target (Which most of the time is him). He smiles at her curiosity, her natural camouflage hiding any true vision from him of her. Her footsteps are practiced but clumsy from her young age. Her feet lit up whenever she shifts her position. He watches her study him, and he can't help but smile fondly at her curiosity. 

She studies the man that has been coming here every night, and her tail swishes behind her showcasing her curiosity about his approach. 

His natural stripes and dark blue complexion allowed him to be camouflaged in the night to regular eyes, but her honed eyesight allowed her to see him clearly. The moss on the ground glowed where he sat, creating a halo around his legs. Every time his tail brushed back and forth gently on the ground, it was like a comet tail following his movements. His large body almost gave the moss shadow, his hair slightly covering his face and darkening his expression. But what confused her the most was the thick strands of hair coming out of his head. She subconsciously reached to touch her own dark hair, feeling the matted, stringy strands. Strange, her hair isn’t like his; why is it different. She also noted his hands, laid on his knees, and spread out, but there are extra pieces on him. One hand clenches shut, feeling all the appendages. She will have to get close to get a better look at the strange man. 

Slowly she moves from her crouched position to get a better look at him. Leaning her body this way and that to see if she could get a better angle on him. 

Eventually, her curiosity takes over, and she slowly approaches Jake, circling his body and inspecting him and their differences. Jake, on the other hand, was afraid to even breathe. Not even a twitch in his muscles was allowed in case her skittish nature returned. This is the closest he has been to her; he wants it to count and last. And now that he can see her closer, he is allowed to take in her scrabby clothes and matted hair. Take in the amount of dirt on her body and the scratch marks on her arms and legs. The urge to take her into his arms and hold her almost takes over. The urge to hide her away from the world, to be able to protect her from the harsh environment she currently lives in. She has no idea she has an entire clan waiting to welcome her with open arms and celebrations. For her to be loved and protected by those around her. All they wait for is her. Neytiri has already been scrounging for items to put onto the little girl's songcord, ready to welcome another daughter home.   

Cautiously she creeps closer to him, clutching the bracelet given to her. His ears pointed her way, tail twitching with excitement. With a tentative hand, she grabs one of the ‘strands’ of hair. Jake’s’ breath stills at the feel of her hand, but he doesn’t react. He doesn’t move an inch for fear of scaring her to leave and not come back. 

As time continued, she got more and more confident. Moves his hair this way and that, grunting and squealing softly when she sees something new. Inspecting his scalp and touching his queue very gently because she knows how sensitive hers is, so it must be the same for him. She then moved from his hair to his ears, giggling when they flicked around when she touched them. Once she finishes poking and prodding his ear, she takes a hold of his hand and brings it up to her face, surprise filling her childish features.  She tilts her head seeing the extra fingers on his hand confusedly. Jake smiles to himself and allows her to inspect the most obvious difference between them. She brings her hand up and compares the two, confused about their differences. She meets his eyes and juts his hand closer to his face. 

“Hand.” She states, shaking his hand a little to show the urgency. He nods, 

“They are different.” He tells her, her brow muscles tense together in obvious confusion. 

“Why?” A very simple question but a not-so-easy answer, so he tries his best. But he is happy she can understand him. So, as gently as possible, he closes his hand around her hand. “You see the lights?” He points up, and she cranes to look at the sky before nodding. “The shiny’s.” She answers with childlike wonder, always contemplating why they are so far away. 

Jake chuckles, “Yes, the shiny’s. I am different because I am from one of them.” She gasps and snaps her head towards him, gripping his arm with her other hand. She seems like she can barely contain her surprise and excitement. With utter awe in her eyes, she pokes his chest with a finger, “From Eywa.”

It is now his turn to be surprised. He hadn’t thought of it like that in a long time. Slowly, his face turns to a smile, and he nods. “Sure, from Eywa.” He confirms.

 She looks down when she feels his tail gently brush against her leg and decides to investigate. It moves from her grasp when she tries to grab it, and she squeals in delight. For maybe a minute, she chased after his tail while he swished it back and forth, almost taunting her. 

She hisses, then jumps onto his tail, making him laugh. She chases his tail, a common game played with her mother whenever she is feeling feisty before bed. Suddenly she stops, remembering the fruit she brought, and dashes across the small clearing and into the brush leaving Jake confused and startled. But he isn't allowed to feel like that for long as she runs back into the clearing with something wrapped in a leaf held in her mouth, and she runs back as fast as possible on all fours. Jake is slightly taken aback, but he quickly schools himself and watches her with a smile. Watched her skid to a stop and crouch right in front of him to unravel the leaves with a smile. She removes the same fruits as last time before shoving one into his face. 

“Eat,” she demands

He grabs the fruit and methodically peels it while trying to watch the little girl simultaneously. She pays him no mind and stands to eat the fruit without peeling the skin. Absentmindedly leaning on his arm with one hand and eating with the other. He notices that even though she is standing, she is still the same height as him when he sits. He feels a warmth surround him as he watches the girl eat her food messily and look at her surroundings. He feels a crawling urge to protect her. To bring her back, no matter her anger, and keep her safe where she should be. With a real family- he stops his thought. The long run is what he is playing. He already knows his end goal. Neytiri has threatened to come herself if he doesn't try quicker methods. He melts at the thought of his wife. She so desperately wants to come help this little girl in front of him and give her a mother's warmth and love. But Jake knows he has to be slow or else drastic change in her will happen, and nothing for the good. He would never force her to come with him. 

He looks back at the girl to find her staring at him unblinking, pupils blown, and tail swaying with a sense of urgency. Slowly she reaches out to him, and he braces for her to play with his hair again, but instead, he sees her gently urge an atokirina from off his head that he didn’t even realize was there. She slowly brings it to her face and closes her eyes in contentment at the feeling of the pure spirit against her cheek. Jake then watches as another flows down and tickles her ears, making her giggle before cupping that one too. He watches the exchange happen, awestruck at the sign Eywa has given him. It is almost time. 

He watches her sit on the mossy land, resting her back against his leg to allow her full attention toward the two. He freezes, not wanting the moment to end. He was finally at peace for a little bit. Watching her play with the two atokirina, they stayed like that for a while. Her head now rests on his leg, and she is becoming increasingly tired. Eventually, falling asleep, and the two atokirina caress her cheeks one last time before floating away. He watches them dance across the sky before disappearing into the trees. Redirecting his gaze back at the little girl, he smiles softly, feeling the urge to caress her hair, but he holds back. Content with the fact she felt safe enough to fall asleep on him. 

They stayed like that for a while before Jake realizes how late it is, creeping closer to morning as time passes. But there is no way he can leave her here, alone and in the cold with no protection. He would never leave this little girl alone like this. So he waits, keeping watch of his surroundings while highly aware of the weight against his leg. He would snap his eyes towards her every twitch she makes, every time she moved or mumbled. Worry makes his heart clench when he spins his head towards her before having to calm his heart. 

It wasn’t till a later that he heard the slightest movement in the foliage behind him. He doesn’t move, keeping his head forward, but he quietly sniffs the air, and his ears twitch to try and get a better angle toward the noise. Before he could covertly grab his knife, he feels a hot gust of wind against his neck that makes his hair stand on end. A low growl emanates from the creature as it rounds him and the little girl. Protective instincts take over as he swiftly angles his body to cover hers. Baring teeth and growling low to give warning, he cuts himself off at the dark figure stalking them. 

He is face-to-face with familiar cat-like features and iridescent eyes. She doesn't attack, but watches with rapt attention, imperceptibly showing aggression. 

Quickly Jake puts two and two together and realizes the thanator is the same one as before. The one who rode off with the little girl on her back. The mother is covered in scars and battle wounds. Numerous bullet wounds surrounded her chest and legs.

 Jake takes a low breath at the familiar beast and reluctantly bows his head. Strangely the palulukan bows her head in return. They stare at each other for a while before the little girl whines in her sleep, catching the attention of both the Oloeyktan and the palulukan. Jake sighs in discontent, seeing he has to let the mother take back her child. Slowly he moves his hand under her head and the other under her knees to pick her up gently. If she is anything like his boys, she would be sleeping like the dead. Cautiously he approaches the palulukan, and she willingly crouches down to let him put the child on her back. Once situated, Jake steps back and looks out at the girl longingly, toy clutched in her hand and bracelet now around her own wrist. The palulukan gives Jake one last look before returning to the jungle's depths. Jake stands there for a while, watching them walk away, feeling disconcertion before resigning himself and returning home, picking up the leftover fruits as he leaves.

My lovely tag list T^T

@heart-an0n  @sparks0918  @wheezy223  @jackierose902109  @ms5m1th

@keylimepxe  @jaymum

@brisbriskett

[cyberwhumper]

 Victory has this recurring nightmare, right.

        He’s in a classroom. Buncha kids, whatever, and there’s a test going on. And he realizes he didn’t study for the test. And he’s freaking out a little, because this test is like a big deal or whatever, and it’s science. Fuckin’ biology, or something, all about “define homo teratogens” and “how did the first shifters get born” and “what are you hiding underneath that ball cap, Montez?” And he’s sitting there, and he realizes he can’t even read the words on the paper—like, the letters are all moving around and just not right, like it looks like corrupted data or something, but all the other kids are just working around him like it’s totally normal and fine, and one by one they all get up and hand their tests in until finally it’s just him sitting there frozen, and the teacher—who looks like his mom, because of course she does—keeps saying he can leave as soon as he’s done, he just has to answer the questions, just has to write down the answer, what are you, Victory, what are you, just say it, say the truth, say what it is that you are.

        He always wakes up real fuckin’ sweaty after that one.

        Hell, watching Rex right now has perspiration prickling at the back of his neck.

        It’s not really “revulsion,” per se. Like, Roga is making exaggerated gagging noises beside him, which Vic does understand—Rex’s skin is elasticizing, pulling apart over the swells of his muscles, liquid-stretchy and pale like pizza cheese—but Vic doesn’t think it’s that gross. It kind of makes him hungry. Not literally. Well. Kind of literally. He could fuck up some pizza right now. But it’s more of a metaphorical hunger. A craving, the same low buzz in the base of his skull that tells him he’s due for another hit of whatever he’s on that day. He knows exactly how good Rex feels right now, even as his bone marrow turns inside out and ligaments groan and creak with straining. Shifting is a hell of a high.

Roga’s gotten over his fake nausea and lost interest, back to chatting shit and loading guns into Dom’s truck, but Vic ignores him. He only has eyes for the monster in front of them. Rex snarls, jaw snapping open and then gaping impossibly wide, the angles of his face lengthening and distorting, the sound deepening into a guttural subwoofer growl that Vic can feel in his bones. Fuck. A fat bead of sweat runs down his back, and he damn near jumps out of his skin as it skims over the scar at the base of his spine, making the butchered knot of nerves underneath light up like fireworks.

He really wishes it didn’t make his dick twitch.

Blades of keratin and bone rip through Rex’s fingers, forming wicked black claws that score marks into the concrete as Rex braces himself to shake like the fuckin’ dog that he is. The last of his skin melts like snow and recedes under the mass of shaggy iron-gray fur, impossibly large in both physique and presence, heavy tail lashing back and forth, sending the scent of testosterone and teratogenesis rolling off him so strongly that even on his massive dose of suppressants, Vic can smell it.

It makes his mouth water.

He hates himself for that.

He hates himself for a lot of things, but. Ain’t the kind of nightmare he can wake up from. He turns away and lights a cigarette, feeling Rex’s burning yellow eyes hot on his back, sweaty, half-hard, hungry.

Fuck it. Maybe Dom will get him pizza after the gig.

[Fic by the exceptionally talented @bxtterflystxtches , who I have the honor of collaborating with for this event. Please show him some love!]

[OC INDEX]

COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!

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[little-miss-dilf-lover]

matt and reader are really good friends and one day reader finally asks matt out and he says yes but then a case or daredeviling runs late and reader ignores him for the week because he stood her up but with a happy ending??

omg I love this sm! thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

rooftop apologies (Matt x f reader)

wc || 1.4k

warnings || don’t think there are any

masterlist + rules

taglist

You and Matt have been great friends ever since college, your friendship has always been something you valued deeply- just a fun and genuine connection.

You, Matt, Foggy and Karen were having a friend's night at Matt’s apartment, all exchanging funny stories while you shared Chinese food.

“Who wants the last spring roll? It’ll have to go in the trash if no one claims it.” Foggy said while shaking the box as if to tempt you all.

“I can’t- I’m full.” Karen sighed as she leaned back into the sofa.

“No- no, get that away.” You swatted the box, not able to manage another bite.

“Well, if no one else does.” Matt responds, digging his chopsticks into the container.

“I actually should be going… I have a meeting with Ellison early in the morning.” Karen says, sitting up straight.

“I really should too, got a big case coming up.” Foggy says with a sigh.

You all said your goodbyes, hugging each other before parting. Foggy and Karen got a taxi together, but you stayed behind to help Matt clean.

“No leave that, I’ll do it in the morning.” Matt says walking over to you in the kitchen.

“It’s okay, I’m nearly finished anyway.” Placing the clean dishes on the rack. “It’s a ‘thank you’ for paying my part of dinner.” You joke.

“I didn’t- oh.” Chuckling as he got a beer from the fridge. “Okay, yeah I can deal with that.” Uncapping the bottle, taking a sip as he rested against the worktop.

“Just messing with you, but these are finally done… need any other help?” Drying your hands as you looked around his apartment.

“No no- you’ve done more than enough, thank you.” Smiling at you as he rested his chin on the top of the glass bottle.

“Okay, I’ll get out your hair.” You say excusing yourself.

“You sure? We can sit on the roof, like old times?” He sweetly offers.

“I’d love to, but I have an early shift tomorrow.” You lied as you picked up your bag. You wanted to stay but whenever it was just you two, you felt like you were going to blurt out the thing you were trying to hide from him. Or that he’d figure out you were hiding something by listening to the way your heart pumped wildly.

“That’s okay, maybe next time.” He kindly reassures with a smile.

Putting on your shoes and coat, walking to the front door with Matt tailing close behind. Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you turn around to face him. “Hey, Matt?” You slowly start.

“Yeah.” Matching his tone with yours.

“Would you maybe like to go out sometime?” You ask with help from liquid courage.

“Like uh- like a date?” He smiles.

“Um- yeah, but it doesn’t have to be.” Feeling flustered.

“I’d love to. How about Friday at seven? I’ll pick you up.”

“Perfect. Great, okay, uh- see you soon.” Kissing his cheek goodbye as you left. 

Exiting the building, you look up to see Matt perched at the edge of the rooftop. Even though you live in the next block over, he keeps a lookout for you- always making sure you get home safely. He doesn’t know that you know about it, and you liked to keep it that way.

//

Three days had passed since you asked out Matt and it’s now finally Friday. Shrieking out of excitement while you got ready, telling yourself to calm down as you finished off the last touches. You’ve been looking forward to this day for years. You had always had a crush on Matt, but you’d dare say anything about it- hating the possibility of ruining your friendship.

Checking your phone to see that it was five past seven, it’s okay it’s only been five minutes, he’ll be here soon.

Slipping on your shoes and spritzing a few pumps of perfume, deciding to wait patiently by the front door.

What’s keeping him? You thought to yourself, taking your phone out from your bag to see that it’s now twenty past seven. He’s usually very punctual, so his lateness started to worry you.

Even more time passed and you felt your heart begin to sink. He’s not standing you up, right? Right? Slumping into your armchair as your feet began to ache, standing on them too long.

Pulling out your phone once more, noticing that it’s seven forty-eight. Deciding to call, in case he forgot or was lost. You knew deep down he couldn’t be lost, but you just told yourself that to make you feel better, not wanting to think about the possibility of him forgetting.

It went straight to voicemail, so you flung your phone into the sofa out of frustration.

Why is he so late?

Your phone dinged, immediately running over to check it, almost tripping on the rug in the process. Disappointment arose, looking at the text from Pizza Hut. Not who you wanted it to be.

Another hour had gone and it made your chest crumble. It forced you to think about the possibility that he wasn’t coming. Ringing him again, but having no success.

Whipping out your phone again, going onto contacts. Calling Pizza Hut and ordering the deal you had received earlier on. Changing into your loungewear as you waited for your food to arrive. Flicking through your tv, trying to find something good to watch- urgently wanting to distract yourself.

You ate your pizza in almost darkness sitting on your living room floor. Laying down flat against the floor mumbling to yourself. It’s nearly ten and you felt disappointed.

Deciding to call it an early night, you got ready for bed, removing the makeup that you had spent an hour doing. Climbing into bed, you couldn’t be bothered to brush your teeth, you just wanted to sleep.

Rolling over to see the alarm clock on your nightstand, obnoxiously showing you the time.

Several loud knocks come from your door, startling you awake. Sluggishly walking towards it, looking through the peephole.

Sadly smiling when you saw a disheveled-looking Matt. Reluctantly opening it, holding it closed as you spoke to him through the gap.

“Hi.” You grumbled.

“I’m sorry- I’m so so sorry! My case ran over and I had to chase after some people. I’m so sorry.”

“Why didn’t you call?” You mumbled, trying to hide your sadness.

“It was in my pocket while I was fighting, it got stood on. Please can you forgive me?” He gushed, smiling at you apologetically.

“… I don’t know. I’ll just talk to you later. Be careful.” You softly say as you closed the door.

“I’m sorry.” His saddened voice echoed through the door.

You were just hurt for now, you just wanted to sleep it off.

//

A week had passed since Matt ‘stood you up’, he had called you plenty- but you only answered a couple times, keeping the conversation light and airy.

You knew he was sorry, you just felt silly for admitting your interest in him when it didn’t feel reciprocated properly.

Your phone rang, pulling out to see Matt’s name lighting up the screen. Something inside you screamed for you to answer, and so you did. Answering and putting it to your ear.

“Hey! Angel, thank you for answering. I need you to do something for me, please. Can you go up to your rooftop?”

“Why?” You asked slowly.

“Please just do it, and bring a coat.” He said cheerfully before ending the call.

Making your way up to the roof, looking around feeling confused.

“Hey, over here.” Matt shouted. “Watch your step.”

“What’s going on?” You asked as you walked over to him.

He was sitting on a picnic blanket with your favourite flowers in his hand. A few candles lit up to display a variety of snacks spread out across the blanket. You were glad you brought a coat, the New York midnight air already chilling your bones.

“What’s this for?” You questioned, trying to hide the excitement in your voice.

“An apology and hopefully a date. I’m so sorry about last week, I really am.” He softly coos.

“I know you are, it’s okay.” Taking a seat next to him on the blanket.

“Can I tell you something?” He chirps.

“Of course.” You beam while you chewed a couple grapes.

“I’ve been in love with you since I first met you.” Grinning at you.

Your ears pulled back as your lips tugged up into a wide smile. “So have I… I’ve loved you for years.” You finally admit.

Spending the rest of the night cuddling together on the blanket, listening to all the strange and comforting sounds from the city.

[gardenofnoah]

it lives where i live

part four

tags: healing, angst, hurt/comfort, childhood friends to ????, hopeful ending

wc: 2k

note: this was a weird thing for me to finish. i feel like i’ve changed so much as a writer and this chapter reflects that. i changed the pov for this chapter because i felt like it was important to see all of touya’s growth and inner turmoil directly. idk y’all this was my baby and it’s weird to say it’s done (also claps for bea for actually finishing a chaptered fic). alright love u be good

Touya starts to get it.

He has no idea what it is–only that he feels different, and he thinks that’s a good thing, maybe. He assumes it is, because there’s been considerably more enthusiastic head nods from his therapist through his screen each week.

It’s new. The therapist, anyway–the Hero Commission sanctioned therapist’s check ins (a generous title, considering the lack of any real therapy) had fizzled out and stopped all together soon enough, and it was at the tail end of another one sided phone conversation with Natsuo that he’d heard of a shrink with a reputation for treating those who’d been harmed by heroes.

“She has a surprisingly booked schedule,” Natsuo had said, half in jest and not without a tangible weight. If nothing else, Touya was curious–and bored. With nothing better to do, he decided to try a session. Before he knew it, he’d sat through the better part of four.

He doesn’t talk much–mostly because he’d talked a whole lot on a national scale and really, what else could he possibly have to say?–but lately, he’s found himself full of questions he doesn’t know how to ask. It’s hard–he doesn’t feel particularly brave these days, and to get his mouth to shift into the shapes of the words is enough of a challenge. But he tries–he figures that has to count for something.

He wants to understand your anger. There’s a weight to it–one that smacks into him solidly every time he’s on the other end of it. He’s not unfamiliar with anger–he’s been pissing people off for years now. But yours is different. Yours is heavy–you hate him and you run your fingers through his hair when he hides his tears in the toilet bowl and heaves out everything he’s buried deep inside himself at two in the morning. It’s not so easy to wrap his head around that part.

“Your friend.”

It comes through the speaker as a statement and not a question, and he scowls. Is that what you are to him? He’d been so sure that he’d never had a friend. But that can’t be right, can it? When everyone had moved on and away from him, but you had not—was that your friendship? The word tastes bitter and unsatisfactory on his tongue, but he doesn’t have a better one. He nods.

“Is that so surprising, Touya?”

He says nothing, only glaring into the camera. She sighs, wholly unimpressed.

“Think about it. You’ve mourned someone and then they show up out of nowhere, and they’re not that person you’ve been keeping in your heart all of this time. It’s like…a second death.” She says, tapping a finger to her chin as if to summon the words. “Another cycle of grief on top of the first. That’s a lot to feel, no?”

And he…knows that. You’d made it pretty clear, of course, but he feels it, now–like a rash. Your grief sits on his skin and festers in a way that his did not. His burned hot and fast and left him empty, and he woke up without a thought of what the consequences of that fire would be. Yours hit him like a brick wall the second he stepped foot through your door. That brick wall only gave way to cement–unending, uncomfortable.

It feels wrong to interfere with it–like for all he took away from you, this is the least he could give you. He can handle the anger, of course–he can sit in your white-knuckled fury and let it close in on him. That’s fine.

The crying is another thing entirely.

It’s not as if Touya is a stranger to tears, either–he saw his fair share of them wet the faces of those he cut down. Just like the anger, it never particularly bothered him. Not like yours do.

And maybe it’s because he doesn’t see them. The only indication that there are tears comes when he lays completely still at night, and he can just barely hear your sniffles through the wall. Something about it feels bad–unfair, maybe, the way you wait until you think he’s sleeping to let out what you’ve been holding on to. He almost wants to laugh at you–he’s already put you through this much. He would deserve to have all of the aftermath be aimed right at him.

But to lie to himself is evidently not off limits, because it does affect him. Every once in a while he’ll hear a whimper that twists his gut into a tight knot. He thinks of the promise he made you, all of those years ago. He tries not to, but your crying fishes it back to the surface–his stupid, idiot promises to protect you no matter what. Only to become the knife that keeps your hands pinned to the table. He doesn’t know how to protect you from himself. He finds himself still taking from you.

“Alright,” he mutters, coming back to himself. “M’hanging up.”

His therapist only laughs. “We made it 20 minutes this time!”

.

..

He starts eating dinner with you. You’ve been dropping little half-invitations for the last few weeks, and he’s been readily avoiding them. To sit across from you at your table feels too much like a confrontation–and the cowardice that he’s become accustomed to shuts it down before he’s even had time to really consider it.

But tonight you’re eating on the couch in front of the TV, and that feels better. In the dark and with a distraction, he doesn’t have to fully face you. He can think of you and you’ll be none the wiser.

He sneaks glances at you from the other side of the couch and finds himself struck–not for the first time–at how for all of the ways you are different now, you are still the same as you were when he was 13. He knows it’s nothing to do with how you look and everything to do with the way that you are–an anchor that both terrifies and comforts him. He woke up in that hospital bed and knew you were there on the other side of the glass before he opened his eyes.

Is that what friendship is?

He shakes himself out of his head when he feels you squirming next to him. From the corner of his eye he watches you fight with the blanket you’ve swaddled yourself in, somewhere between amused and endeared. It’s an unfamiliar feeling and yet, it feels like he’s felt it toward you all his life. He gives you another second to sort it out yourself before he feels bad. He forgets where he is, he forgets himself–he doesn’t think at all when he wraps his fingers around your foot to free it from the fabric tangling it.

Both of you freeze. For an aching moment, neither one of you blinks. And then you wrench your leg away from him like he’s burned you.

“Sorry,” you mumble, already standing, already shaking. “Sorry, I just–”

But you’re already halfway down the hall–voice tapered off in an explanation he doesn’t need to hear you finish because he already knows. Your door shuts quietly behind you, but creates such a divide between you that you may as well have broken it off its hinges. He doesn’t have to be still to know what’s happening on the other side of it.

He can’t listen to you cry again. His body makes the decision before his mind does, and when it finally catches up he’s standing in the middle of your room.

You’ve gone completely silent–he’s not even sure you’re breathing. Rigid and curled into yourself, you look pitiful. Something about it is hard to look at. His stomach twists and before he can stop himself, he’s reaching for the covers and sliding into the bed next to you. He closes his eyes and his body forms to yours on a memory he doesn’t have but feels he must. You make a wounded sound like he’s just punched you.

“Touya,” it’s barely a whisper and wholly a warning. There’s so much pain in your voice it makes him nauseous. He ignores it, snaking his arm around your waist to pull you to him. “Touya–”

“Just let it out,” he murmurs, resting his forehead between your shoulder blades. “Please. Let it go.”

He feels you freeze–and then the breath leaves you so violently it startles him. He’s almost relieved when he hears the accompanying cry.

He keeps his head pressed to the curve of your back in some strange hope that he might absorb your grief into himself. If he could just carry this, it’d be better. For you, anyway–he’s certain that what you’ve been carrying around would be enough to put him down, but he’d drop dead at your feet if it meant you could be free of what he’s done to you.

His arm tightens around you when he feels you start to fight his grip. “The hell are you doing–”

“Please,” you whimper–only half audible through a tight throat–and it renders him silent. “I just need to see you.”

He can do nothing but let you twist around, and he immediately wishes he’d have fought you on it, because to see your face right now is too much.

Even in the dark your eyes find his and for the first time he can easily name the sadness that permeates into his bones. Sudden and tender like a wound, it’s only a second before he’s pulling you closer for his sake–anything to not have to see. He’d burn the whole world down to not have to see what he’s done.

It's odd, knowing that it’s not necessarily guilt he feels–instead it is a mountain of what can only be his grief, looming and jagged with no perceivable path up it. He looks at you and you reflect back at him a version of yourselves he’d left behind. He takes in your gap toothed smiles and grubby fingers interlocked and tastes iron.

“I was afraid you were really gone.” Your chest shudders harshly against his own. It’s awful–the whole thing. He’s certain he’s never felt like this.

“Yeah,” he can’t get his voice above a whisper. “Me too.”

It’s painful—the child in him that he believed to be destroyed. Looking him in the face now, you stand next to him, but a step behind. That hurts more than anything—the outstretched hand that he never reached for. How different things would have been if he’d have just turned around. He understands now—he’d left you both back there.

He holds you to his chest and feels, for the first time since back then, when something is knocked loose in his chest. He’s not afraid that he’ll bleed all over your bed, because he knows he already is. Something about the certainty of the way you are there, and he is right here next to you, shakes him. There are no tears left in him to shed, so instead he tries to steady shuddering gasps tucked into the crook of your neck.

And then it’s his turn to be held, and that’s painful too, because his skin is still so sensitive and his heart is breaking and god, does he wish he would’ve turned around.

He opens his mouth to say something and can only let loose a tiny, choked sound into the silence, and you understand. But that’s not enough—he needs to try. He needs you to know—to hear him and see that he tried.

“I wanted to find you.”

It shatters the quiet that’s been settled around the two of you. He wonders if it’s a cruel thing to say. He doesn’t know how to gauge your silence. He settles on filling it.

“Didn’t know how,” he whispers to the ceiling, “Was too late—I was too late—“

“Touya.” You stop his spiral and you sound tired. You lay shoulder to shoulder now, and when your fingertips drag up his palm and weave between his own, it feels like you’ve touched down to bone marrow.

“It’s not too late,” you tell him, turning your head to look him in the eye, “it’s not.”

There in the dark of your room, he thinks he could believe you.

[howlinchickhowl]

Couple of days late because I keep falling asleep while writing, but here is my little contribution for day 9 of @gallavichthings a.u.gust fiesta.

Got me stuck on your face and your body nine - college

There’s an alarm clock blaring, it’s been blaring for what feels like hours, and it’s not his. He doesn’t even have an alarm clock. This day and age who even owns a real fucking clock anymore? Doesn’t everyone just use their phone?

The noise stops, and Mickey cracks an eye open. Through his minimal aperture he can see a a light green colored towel, a pair of legs dusted with light ginger hair. Ian.

“Sorry about the alarm, I woke up early and jumped in the shower, forgot it was even set.”

He sounds so awake already, alive with energy at whatever ghastly hour of the morning someone like Ian chooses to rise in the morning. It’s as much as Mickey can do to roll over onto his back, and even that feels like too much of an effort. He slings one arm over his face to block out the obnoxious sunlight streaming through Ian’s cheap dorm-room curtains, and sucks in a deep yawn of a breath.

“It’s all good man,” He says, on the tail end of the yawn, “didn’t mean to fall asleep. Shoulda woken me.”

“I didn’t mind you staying.” The weight on the bed shifts like Ian has just sat down, and when Mickey drags his arm from his eyes to look he’s right there, chest bare, soft hairs on his pecs glistening with large droplets of water because the guy apparently doesn’t know how towels work and clambers every day from the shower dripping like an umbrella after a rainstorm.

He watches a single rivulet wind its way down towards a nipple, take a detour around a particularly thick hair and drop into the valley that marks the centre of Ian’s well defined chest.

He drags his gaze away and meets Ian’s eyes, warm and open, and it sinks in to Mickey what Ian had said. That he didn’t mind Mickey staying over. It’s crazy to Mickey how easily shit like that just rolls off Ian’s tongue, like he just says exactly what he’s thinking or feeling, in the moment when he’s thinking or feeling it. Mickey wonders what that must be like. To be just completely at ease all the damn time. It couldn’t be him.

“Well, didn’t mean to, so.”

Case in point. The words that roll off Mickey’s tongue are always awkward and stilted, and only ever half of what he really wants to be saying, and almost always succeeds in making whomever he is talking to smaller and less happy and less bright than they were before he spoke.

Something in Ian shuts down, his openness, that light inside him that Mickey is so obsessed with, can’t get enough of, dims, just a little, and just like every time he opens his mouth, Mickey regrets his words.

“What you got your alarm set for anyway?” He asks, dropping his hand onto Ian’s bent knee where he’s sat sideways on the bed. “You don’t got class today.”

One thing that’s great about Ian is that Mickey kind of thinks he gets it. Mickey’s words can hurt him but if he can get a hand on him, quickly, he recovers. Like he understands what it means when Mickey uses his touch to try and soothe the lashes his tongue doles out.

Like now, green eyes glance down at where Mickey’s hand is resting on a towel clad knee, and a little smile forms on his lips

“You know my schedule Mickey?”

Smug bastard. And he does, is the problem. They’ve been fucking basically since class began in September, since Mickey had wandered into a frat house kitchen at a party Mandy had dragged him to and shared a shot with the giant red-head hiding from the party by ‘manning the bar’. He was the least likely frat dude you could imagine, sweet and kind of shy, not interested in keg stands or embarrassing pledges. They’d ended up back in Ian’s room that night and Mickey’s been freefalling ever since. He’s into him so deep it’s embarrassing.

Yeah, he knows his fucking schedule. Knows when his classes are and his preferred times to go to the gym, knows he treats himself to lunch outside the cafeteria once a week, on Wednesdays, on a rotating schedule of alternative campus eateries. Knows he calls his big sister on Fridays, facetimes his big brother most mornings on his way to class. Knows what day and time he goes to his book club that’s not a book club, but that he won’t actually tell Mickey what it is. He knows, and he feels like a fucking pussy for knowing, and he knows that if he replies right now he’ll say something even more hurtful than he already has because his stupid fucking brain thinks it will make it less embarrassing to be obsessed with Ian if there’s no way Ian could ever possibly know.

“Got a frat thing early, philanthropy requirement, that’s why the alarm.”

There’s a blush spreading across Ian’s cheeks, the same that always does whenever he talks about fraternity stuff, he’s the only frat guy Mickey ever met who doesn’t like to let on he’s in a frat. Mickey’d asked him once, why he’d joined if he found it so embarrassing to be a Greek. He’d said that when he’d come to college he’d been lonely, had missed the noise and the company of being at home with all his siblings, the frat had seemed like a way to have that again, on campus.

“Gotta go be a good boy, huh?” Ian quirks a suggestive eyebrow at that and the shadow of a shiver rushes up Mickey’s spine. It is way too easy to get him going where Ian’s concerned. “Guess I’ll let you get to it then, I’m gonna head out.”

He rolls himself to the other side of the bed and pushes himself up to standing, starting to find where his clothes had ended up. He finds them in a neat pile on the chair by the window, shirt and pants and boxers folded, fucking boy scout.

“You don’t have to go.” Ian tells him while he’s pulling up his pants, rooting in his underwear drawer for some clean boxers and dropping his towel to pull them on.

“I got a paper due.”

“Well, are you busy later? I’m supposed to go to this open mic thing at Java John’s…”

Mickey winces at the thought of an ‘open mic thing’ and Ian trails off, finishes buttoning his shirt, smart clothes for philanthropy hours. Mickey tries not to let his gaze linger too long, but the fact is, Ian looks good all dressed up.

“But I could skip it? If you wanted to…” He trails off again, shrugging at Mickey like he doesn’t really know what he’s suggesting.

He’s suggesting spending time together, really, that’s what he’s always suggesting. All the time he’s inviting Mickey along to some event or telling him about some party, just trying to spend time with him, and every time he does Mickey blows him off, turns it into some innuendo, or manufactures the scenario so that instead of hanging out like normal people, like Ian so clearly wants to do, they end up just fucking.

It’s not like Mickey doesn’t want to hang out with Ian, properly. Without fucking. He does. He would. But the thing is, they’re good at fucking. They’ve got great chemistry and he knows he can make Ian feel good, that he can hold his interest for that, that he won’t disappoint the guy.

But without that, if they’re just spending time together and talking and not distracted by the overwhelming pleasure of an impending orgasm, Ian might figure out that in the long run, Mickey’s not smart or interesting or worth spending time with at all. And he can’t have that.

He finishes shoving his feet inside his boots and looks up, finding Ian still looking over at him, hopefully. And he wants to say yes. He wants to say sure, and sounds fun. Wants to meet Ian at the stupid fucking Java John’s and listen to some emo loser singing acoustic covers of eighties pop hits and drink an overpriced cup of coffee and just, sit next to the guy, smile at him, make him laugh. Feel the warmth of his body radiate against Mickey’s own. He wants it so badly he can hardly breathe from the wanting.

And what if he did it? What if he said yes? What if, actually, Ian didn’t find him boring or stupid or only good for fucking? What if, actually, they had a great fucking time and great sex? Looking into Ian’s imploring eyes, for the first time he believes it might be possible.

He takes a deep breath, takes a massive fucking leap, and says.

“They got beer at the Java John’s?”

The smile on Ian’s face makes his heart almost beat out of his chest, and he hopes, hopes he’s made the right choice.

[wellthebardsdead]

Clockwork heart pt34

Part 33 here

———

Nerevar: *looking down from his horse at Wyrm as the younger elf happily walks along side the horses with their newest companion* Wyrm youre going to get worn out. Riftens a full days travel from here.

Wyrm: *smiles up at him* I’ll be fine ata neht! I don’t want Lucien to be left behind.

Lucien: *the newest addition to the group after befriending Wyrm in the dead man’s drink* Oh it’s no trouble really! I can just- jog along side.

Inigo: no offence julien but you look like the sort to get winded tying your shoes.

Lucien: and you look like the sort to carry fleas. Indigo.

Inigo: hehehehehe~ I like you!

Lucien: the feelings much the same for me. But seriously my friend don’t- AWWW A PUPPY!!!

Wyrm: huh- *turns in time to see a large dog running directly for him, his entire body freezing in utter fear watching the strangely red eyed creature bound towards him* n-no-

Taliesin: *suddenly yanks Wyrm up by his robes and onto naomis saddle with him only for the dog to reach up putting his paws on the horse* DOWN! BAD DOG! GET AWAY FROM HI-

The dog: *ignores Taliesin and bites onto Wyrms boot tugging at it* you are just what I’ve been looking f-… Sotha Sil?

Taliesin: did… did this mutt just talk?

Kaidan: never focking mind that how does it know his name?!

Nerevar: *gets off his horse, hand on his blade as he stares down the hound* Hello, Barbas.

Barbas: … *slowly turns his head to face the Gahmerdohn and Hortator* Oh… Boy, you sure look different.

Wyrm: *simply faints, his crippling fear of dogs getting the better of him*

Taliesin: WYRM?!

Voryn: HLA KHES!? (Little gem)

*several hours later*

Wyrm: *staring at the pile of cheese he’d turned a vampire into as he reluctantly helps Barbas find his master* whew this things got all sorts of weird features- Noooo get away! *whimpers backing up against the icy wall of the cave as barbas approaches sniffing at him*

Barbas: *sniffs his robes and skin ignoring the wabbajack in the dunmers hands* So if you’re not sotha sil, then you’re his reincarnation? Huh he must’ve really been running low on power when he put you together.

Wyrm: I-I don’t know why he made m-me o-or why he made me like this n-now get back! I mean it! I-I’ll turn you into a chicken!

Barbas: Does this form really scare you that badly? Aren’t you supposed to be the dragonborn?

Wyrm: I-I can’t help my fear of- *goes quiet watching the daedra shift and warp his appearance before suddenly looming over him as a red eyed, antlered high elf* dogs-

Barbas: *leans down smirking* How can you defeat the dragons when you’re afraid of a little puppy do- GAHH-

Nerevar: *grabs him roughly by his ear yanking him back and holding his head close to his so only he can hear* I’m being lenient with you because your master and lady Mephala are still on good terms but know this now. I do not care what transpired between you and sotha sil, if you keep frightening Wyrm when he’s so generously agreed to help you. I will hand feed you to Boethia myself.

Barbas: *looking visibly intimidated and failing miserably at hiding it* okay okay I’m sorry! I’ll behave.

Nerevar: *lets him go* good.

Taliesin: *walks in followed by inigo & kaidan* all clear, the last of the vampires have been killed- who in oblivion are you?

Nerevar: Barbas.

Barbas: Nerevar?

Taliesin: Barbas?

Barbas: Taliesin?

Taliesin: Wyrm?

Wyrm: Taliesin-

Inigo: INIGO!

Kaidan: *face palms*

???: “Wyrm? What an odd name… hm. Fitting I suppose if the power I sense from him is what I think it is.”

Wyrm: *blinks and walks to taliesins side, gripping onto him nervously for a moment before following the voice into the main chamber, the others tailing close behind*

Voryn: *standing before a large statue of clavicus vile, staring up at him with an indifferent expression* You harbour no ill will to him then?…

Clavicus Vile: Why would I? He’s not Sotha Sil. And he helped me fulfil my followers last wish~

Voryn: he did? How?

Clavicus Vile: They begged me for a cure for their vampirism. And you came through and killed them all! I couldn’t have planned it better myself!

Wyrm: how awful…

Voryn: *looks up at the stairs leading down to him* Wyrm, to me. *holds out his hand reassuringly, showing no fear before the daedra*

Wyrm: *steps forward hesitating still despite voryns comforting presence*

Barbas: *walks by him patting his shoulder* don’t worry just let me handle this, you helped me, now I help you.

Wyrm: *looks up at him before looking back as Taliesin takes him around the waist, cooing softly to him to let him know it’s okay* teacup…

Taliesin: shhh, You’re safe, I’m here… *smiles reassuringly, masking the concern and uncertainty behind his eyes*

Wyrm: *shakily grips onto his robes and nods, walking down the ramp with him and standing beside voryn at the statue* u-um- hello? C-can you take your- friend? Back now please?

Clavicus Vile: Hmph! That insufferable pup?! No way! No deal-

Wyrm: p-please?

Nerevar: *steps forward to intervene* Wyrm you shouldnt say that it’ll sound like you’re beg-

Voryn: shhh. *looks back at nerevar then at wyrm with a reassuring smile*

Clavicus Vile: *silent for a moment, the air around his statue still for a brief second before suddenly shifting and warping into an explosion of fire and sparks as the stone gives way to the prince himself, staring down at them in all his glory* Hm… *reaches down slowly, offering his hand to the dunmer*

Wyrm: *climbs on without a hint of fear, ignoring how everyone steps forward with panic evident on their faces as the prince of wishes lifts him up to be eye level with him*

Clavicus Vile: After the court of bedlam incident, Id expected old sil to have transferred his hatred of the daedra into you. His caution at least but- you are a strange little thing aren’t you?…

Wyrm: you know about sotha sil? Can you tell me what he was like?

Clavicus Vile: *grins suddenly seeing a bargain to be made* Of course, but you have to do something for me in return~ just tell me your wish and I’ll make it happen.

Wyrm: okay.

Nerevar: Wyrm don’t!!

Voryn: *now showing visible concern* little scrib hold on a moment-

Wyrm: I wish to know why I was made.

Clavicus Vile: *smirks thinking he’s got him where he wants him* of course~ just let me- *reaches his other hand up to touch his head, to see into his mind and grasp his soul and find the tethers that made him. Only to be met with an agony only paralleled by that of umbra as the force of the clockwork god pushes him back out, nearly splitting him in two a second time* UGHHHH!!! *staggers back, dropping wyrm as he grabs his head in pain*

Wyrm: *screams and flails in a panic as he plummets to the ground*

Taliesin: *dives and catches him, shielding his fall with his body as he hits the ground with a thud* Oof! Ughh- *sighs holding wyrm tight* shhh I’ve got you-

Clavicus Vile: AARGHHH YOU HORRIBLE LITTLE-

Taliesin: *gets up holding Wyrm tight* Watch your tongue!! Don’t you dare insult him you horrid beast!

Clavicus Vile: Him? *pauses realising he thinks he’s talking about wyrm* no not him… Sotha Sil, he- stopped me?… but how?

Barbas: Master?

Clavicus Vile: *looks at him perplexed, the two seemingly sharing a conversation only they can hear* … *turns his gaze back to Wyrm* I- can’t grant you your wish. Perhaps there’s something else you might want?…

Wyrm: *feeling unsettled at the princes bewildered expression* c-can you make me bigger? Stronger?… I’m supposed to be the dragonborn but… Im useless on my own…

Nerevar: Wy-wyrm I don’t think that’s a good idea-

Voryn: *gently takes nerevars hand, his concern giving way to intrigue and confusion* shhh, I don’t think… I don’t think he can actually do anything to him.

Clavicus Vile: *no longer appearing confident or cocky with his powers, now just a mix of confusion and mild fear as he tries again* Okay- let’s see if this will work-

Wyrm: *gently pushes away from taliesins arms and stands pretty, waiting for the prince to work his magic*

Clavicus Vile: *holds his hand over him, suddenly surrounding Wyrm in a sphere of energy, his magic pulling at his body, his skin, his bones, his muscles, trying to make him bigger, to grow, to change in any way he can, only to release him as he ultimately fails, leaving him there staring at the unchanged mer, horrified at how untouchable he is* I… I don’t know what he made you with or how but- I-I don’t even think Boethia could change you!

Wyrm: *standing there looking crestfallen, simply just drops down to the floor and hugs his knees to his chest* okay… can you take your friend back now at least?…

Clavicus Vile: *visibly rattled trying to figure out just what exactly Wyrm is, why he feels so familiar in a way beyond just that of the clockwork god* y-Yeah, b-barbas come here.

Barbas: *smiles looking up at him then at Wyrm* Thank you, don’t worry I won’t let you leave here empty handed! *hurries to his masters side, both of them turning into stone statues once more as he reaches him, only now the mask once in Viles hand, now seated in front of Wyrm*

Wyrm: *picks the mask up quietly* thank you…

Clavicus Vile: I don’t know how it’s possible, I’ve never encountered a mortal like you, but I can’t help you change yourself… If you ever need a wish though involving, anything else, you have my boon. It’s the least I can do seeing as you’ve restored me back to my full power! You forget what that’s like when you’ve been stuck in a cave for 3 years!!

Voryn: *opens his third eye scanning the statue as silence fills the space once again* they’re gone.

Taliesin: *leans down gently helping Wyrm up to his feet* are you okay?…

Wyrm: *staring at the mask* … I don’t know anymore…

Lucien: …Okay so I knew things were already beyond interesting given who you guys are- *gestures to the whole group* But he just crippled a daedric prince by doing nothing and you’re all just- not freaking out over it?!

Inigo: oh yes it’s quite normal for us at this point.

Caryalind: my first day with this group I travelled through the sewers beneath solitude to find it had been merged with the shivering isles all because Wyrm went sleep walking after a sword and a chunk of amber that we handed over to the captain of sheogoraths guard.

Taliesin: I met him after he absorbed the soul of lorkhan and our second day together he imploded a dragon just by looking at it.

Kaidan: he nearly levelled all of winterhold and almost murdered a bunch of psijic monks.

Inigo: he shares sugar cookies and gossip with a floating mass of energy called the augur of Dunlain.

Nerevar: he’s the reincarnation of sotha sil, at least, we think he is, we’re not sure anymore.

Voryn: He is and he isn’t. He witnessed the birth of creation and achieved chim in his own right.

Lucien: And you were just going to keep this hidden from me?! I have so many questions!

Wyrm: so do I… and no answers to show for them… *sighs hiding his face in taliesins robes* how am I going to defeat alduin?… what if Esbern can’t help?…

Taliesin: … *picks him up holding him close as he rests his head on his shoulder* shhh, you will, we’ll find a way. If he’s of no help then I’ll do everything I can to find you your answers… *kisses his cheek softly* I promise…

*that evening*

Wyrm: *sitting in his and taliesins tent, braiding his hair as he stares at the pages of his book, watching the patterns swirl* what are you hiding from me?… why am I not allowed to know?… *scowls* this is my life, why do you keep trying to ruin it?… *blinks watching as a monarch butterfly suddenly lands on the page, flitting its wings open and closed slowly, revealing a different colour each time* … *looks down to the wabbajack & sword of jyggalag by his bed roll* …You want… to talk to me?… *looks back at the butterfly*

The butterfly: *flits it’s wings and flies up, landing on his forehead, knocking him out cold with a feathery touch*

Taliesin: *peers into the tent to see no butterfly, only Wyrm sleeping. Seemingly haven fallen asleep trying to read his book* oh love… *picks up the book and stares at it for a moment before scowling as he closes it and tosses it aside* Blasted thing… *huffs and leans down pressing his lips to Wyrms forehead* sleep tight love… I’ll try my best to help you… even if it’s not enough… *sighs and climbs back out of the tent to join the others in keeping watch. All of them unaware of the two masked groups, eyeing both them, and each other up from beyond the treeline*

[innocentlymacabre]

NOW THEY CALL ME THE PLAGUE⤳ five snippets

little collation of the excerpts I've been sharing off late for my wonderful taglist :)

“Get back out, Trance. We don’t need to hide, it’s not going to hurt us,” Eda said, her voice dripping with despair and disappointment. “It’s already taken everyone it wanted to.”

I would be remiss to say my entire time here has been coloured with pain. I was dejected at first, yes, unable to make much sense of the human world. The single sun in the sky confused me, and the constant rhythm with which it alternated places with the single moon was a routine that took some getting used to. In the Dreaming, day and night is a looser concept, the landscape shifting according to its mood rather than its position in space. Our land might not be able to talk, but to say it isn’t alive would be a gross miscalculation. One can always feel its heart beating and its blood coursing through its veins, connected to us just as much as we are connected to each other.

While Trance had no intention of ever permanently changing his shift schedule, he did have to admit that the people who filtered through the tavern’s doors during Eda’s shift were far more, for lack of better word, interesting. He only got your usual group of mops that no one but their posse really wants anything to do with. But, as the night wore on on their rare use of the Arrangement, their numbers began to dwindle, and were replaced with a far more scintillating assortment. It also made him feel a smidge more useful than he did during his usual day shifts – which wasn’t something Trance particularly cared for, if he was honest. Resurrectionists quite literally working the graveyard shift (which was a profession Trance was thoroughly fascinated by), apothecaries either on their way back from or on their way to scouring for ingredients from who-knows-where, cooks from inns and taverns that closed early, captains floating through looking for a new crew – as one of the only places open into the early hours of the morning, Smokey’s brought in everyone and more.

Trance tried to pull her back. He tried to grab her and bring her away from the ledge, away from the ship, but his hand passed through a ghost. The rules were back in play and he was once again forced into his role as a spectator, doomed to watch as his best friend in the world – someone he would do so much more than simply kill for – was subsumed by the things of her very nightmares. Eda was going in to face the worst night of her life alone, and there was nothing he could do to help her.

Trance gulped and readjusted his grip on the sword. He nervously side-eyed Eda, wondering what the play was. He’d accepted that the ship itself wasn’t somehow going to hurt him, but he couldn’t ignore the growing feeling in his gut that was warning him to turn tail and run as far away from the rooftop ledge as possible. He’d lived in Thredfrost for a long, long time, so he was no stranger to trouble. He knew how to stare it down, and, most importantly, when not to. He’d developed a sort of warning system. This ship had grabbed the system by the throat and burnt it with a vengeance. And then everything cut off. It was all still there, of course, but Trance couldn’t feel anything any longer. There was no hatred or hunger from the flames, there was no heat fanning his face, there was just nothing. A heavy sort of nothing, one that hung in the air and made you aware of its presence, but wasn’t really there all the time. The kind of feeling you get when you know you’re meant to be doing something, but can’t, for the life of you, figure out what. It was like the wool had been pulled over his eyes so unmovingly that he'd been forced to come up with a world of his own for fear of going insane in the nothingness.

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