#anyway “there is no future/there is no past/i live this moment as my last” is still echoing in my head all the time

[benispunk]

Safety Net

logan howlett x reader

Logan experiences a rage episode.

A/N: hello everyone!!!! am I back??? well...I guess we can kinda say that? So, life hasn't been good, like, at all, and a whileeee ago I saw a post about mental health and Logan and I saw the "rage episodes" part and I cannot find this post anymore which is killing me ughhhh but ANYWAY, this is my rendition of a rage episode. this was very therapeutic to write because of the things I went through recently and over the past few years as I have witnessed someone in my family have a rage episode like the one depicted in this fic. I really hope I do not offend anyone with this??? cause this is based on personal memory and also I've done a lot of research on it and as I said, I felt lots of different emotions while writing this....anyway...I hope you have a good time?? reading this or like...you didn't choke on your tears or whatever. my exams are ALMOST over which means....more fics soon?? see you!!

Masterlist

Logan never thought he’d make it this far.

He wasn’t the type for relationships—not real ones, not the kind that lasted. The ones he’d had before were brief, messy, and built on things that never stuck. But Y/N was different. She didn’t just put up with him; she understood him in ways that no one ever had. And somehow, despite everything, she was still here.

He didn’t say it much—not in words, anyway—but he cared about her. More than he should. More than he knew how to handle. He’d show it in other ways instead. Walking her home when she worked late. Holding her a little tighter in his sleep when he thought she wouldn’t notice. Memorizing the way she took her coffee, the songs she hummed under her breath, the way her nose scrunched up when she was thinking.

She saw through all of it.

"You’re not as grumpy as you think you are," she’d teased him once, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on his forearm.

He’d just snorted, shaking his head. "You sure about that?"

"Mhm. You just pretend to be."

And maybe she was right. Maybe, with her, he didn’t feel the need to pretend so much.

Which is why, one night, tangled up together in her apartment, she had said something that stuck with him.

"I was thinking… maybe one day, we could live together."

It wasn’t a question, not really. Just an idea, something she had tossed out so casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world. But Logan had frozen for just a second too long, and she must have noticed because she quickly added, "Not now, obviously. Just, you know… one day. If you’d want that."

He forced himself to relax, to keep his voice even. "Yeah… someday."

That had been enough for her. She had smiled, kissed him, and let it go.

But he didn’t.

It stayed with him, gnawed at him from the inside out. Someday. What did that even mean? A month? A year? What if she asked again? What if she expected something from him?

What if he said yes and fucked everything up?

At first, he managed to push the thought aside.

Days passed, and nothing changed. They still met up when they could, still spent nights tangled in each other’s arms, still fell into that easy rhythm that had become so natural.

But then, the idea started sticking.

It crept up in quiet moments—when he was alone in his apartment, staring at the ceiling. When Y/N texted him goodnight, and he imagined what it would be like if she was just… there.

And that’s when it started. The overthinking. The doubts. The realization of everything that could go wrong.

Logan had never had anything that lasted. Not a home. Not a real future. Not someone who stayed. And if he let himself believe—even for a second—that this could work, that he could have something good, then he’d just be setting himself up for the inevitable.

Because eventually, he would hurt her.

Not on purpose. Never on purpose. But he knew himself. He knew what he was.

His nightmares alone were enough proof of that.

The thought of waking up next to her after one of those nights—claws unsheathed, sheets shredded, breath ragged—made his stomach twist. What if he lashed out? What if she got caught in it?

What if one of his rage episodes got out of hand?

No.

He couldn’t let that happen.

So when months later she asked about it again—actually asked—he hesitated.

They were sitting on her couch, her legs thrown over his lap, a movie playing in the background. It was the kind of easy, quiet moment that usually put him at ease. But this time, he could feel her looking at him, like she was weighing her words before speaking.

"You never really answered me before," she said finally. "Do you actually want us to live together?"

Logan’s jaw tightened. He could hear the uncertainty in her voice, like she was scared of his answer.

He should have told her the truth. That it had been eating him alive for months. That he wanted to say yes, but his fear screamed louder than anything else.

Instead, he said, "I just need some time to think about it."

Y/N’s expression didn’t change. She just nodded slowly, studying him in that way that made his skin itch.

"Okay," she said, like she didn’t believe him.

And then she squeezed his hand. Just briefly. A small, warm reassurance.

But to Logan, it didn’t change anything.

He could only see what he thought was disappointment behind her understanding. He convinced himself she was just trying to be strong about it, pretending it didn’t hurt her when really, she was just waiting for him to figure himself out.

The guilt settled in his chest, heavy and suffocating.

That’s how it started.

The beginning is always subtle. He stayed out later, made excuses when she asked to meet up. His texts became shorter, more infrequent. He spent more time alone in his apartment, staring at the walls, trapped inside his own head.

And the longer it went on, the worse it got.

Logan convinced himself it was nothing. He was just thinking. That’s all.

But the thoughts never stopped.

Every time Y/N messaged him, guilt curled in his stomach like a sickness. He’d stare at his phone for minutes at a time, fingers hovering over the keyboard, before locking the screen and tossing it onto the couch.

He didn’t want to ignore her. But if he answered, he’d have to talk, and if he talked, she’d hear it in his voice—how torn he was, how he could barely keep himself together. And he couldn’t let that happen.

So he let the distance grow.

He told himself it was for her own good. That he was doing her a favor.

That lie worked for about a week.

Then came the restlessness.

The apartment, always too small, started feeling like a cage. Logan found himself pacing the length of it, muscles coiled so tight they ached. He tried training to burn it off—push-ups until his arms gave out, running until he couldn't feel his legs—but it didn’t help.

The frustration built like pressure under his skin, like a ticking bomb he couldn’t disarm.

And worst of all, he felt it creeping up—an old, familiar feeling, something he’d kept at bay for months.

The anger.

It started small. A twitch in his fingers. A tightness in his jaw. A heat in his chest that never fully went away.

The second week, it got worse.

His hands trembled when he wasn’t paying attention. His breathing came too fast, too shallow, like something was crawling under his skin. He felt his temper snap quicker, his patience wear thinner.

And then, one morning, he caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror and barely recognized himself.

Dark circles burned under his eyes. His face was drawn, sharp, his shoulders tense. He looked haunted.

It was getting bad. Too bad.

He needed to see Y/N.

The thought hit him like a slap. His first instinct was to shove it down, bury it under everything else, but it wouldn’t leave.

He missed her. But worse than that—he needed her.

And that terrified him more than anything.

Because what if he showed up, and she looked at him the way he looked at himself?

What if she finally saw him for what he really was?

A monster. A wreck. A lost cause.

The fear made his blood run cold.

The first punch isn’t planned.

One second, he’s gripping the sink, breath ragged, jaw locked so tight it aches. The next, his fist slams into the mirror with a force that shatters it instantly.

Glass rains down like ice. Tiny shards bite into his knuckles, but he barely feels it.

His chest heaves. His heartbeat pounds against his ribs. He stares at his own fractured reflection—his face split into a dozen broken pieces, each one warped, wrong.

It’s not enough.

The rage claws higher, burning his veins, crushing his ribs. He steps back, breathing sharp and uneven. He moves away from the bathroom, into his small living room. And then he snaps.

The lamp goes flying first. It crashes against the far wall, exploding into pieces. The chair follows. He barely registers the sound it makes as it shatters.

His claws threaten to unsheathe, but he fights it—barely.

Instead, he tears through the apartment with nothing but his hands.

The table gets overturned. Books get ripped from shelves. His dresser—too heavy, too solid—takes three violent attempts before it topples over with a thunderous crack.

Still, it’s not enough.

He needs to break something. To hurt something. To feel it.

His breathing is ragged, his vision tunneling. His hands tangle in his own hair, yanking, as if he could pull himself out of his own skin.

The storm inside him is suffocating.

It doesn’t stop until there’s nothing left standing.

And then, silence.

His shoulders tremble. His hands curl into fists at his sides, still shaking.

He looks around, blinking through the haze, and finally sees it—

The wreckage.

His apartment is destroyed.

He stares, breath coming too fast, too shallow. His head is spinning. His chest aches.

What have I done?

The thought slams into him, knocking the air from his lungs.

He wants to scream. To punch something again. To disappear.

And then—

A soft knock.

His stomach drops.

He goes rigid, pulse hammering in his ears. He barely has time to process before her voice follows—gentle, uncertain.

"Logan?"

No. No, no, no.

She can’t be here. Not now. Not when the air still vibrates with rage. Not when his body still hums with it.

He staggers back, breath shaking, trying to make sense of anything.

She knocks again. "I know you’re here."

Panic surges through him.

He grips the edge of the still standing counter, heart hammering. Think. Think.

But his mind is blank.

She can’t see this. She can’t see him.

But she’s already here.

And it’s too late.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. If he stays completely still, maybe she’ll leave. Maybe she’ll assume he’s out and walk away.

But then—

His phone rings.

The sound shatters the silence like a gunshot.

His stomach drops.

Shit.

His body jolts into motion, eyes darting wildly through the wreckage. Where the hell is it? He moves without thinking, shoving aside broken furniture, tossing clothes and debris out of the way. His hands are unsteady, frantic, as he digs through the mess.

The ringing continues.

Come on, come on—

His fingers finally close around the device, and he scrambles to turn it off, but—

The damage is done.

Outside, Y/N goes silent.

A few seconds pass, then—

"...Logan?" Her voice is softer now. Knowing.

His chest tightens.

He grips the phone so hard it creaks in his hand. His breathing is too loud, his pulse a hammer against his skull.

She knows.

"Logan, open the door."

No. No, no, she can’t.

"You can’t come in," he blurts out, his voice hoarse. He clears his throat, tries to steady himself, but it’s useless. His hands are still shaking. His entire body is.

"Please." Her voice is so gentle it cuts through him like a blade.

"Just—just go home, alright?" He forces the words out, presses his back against the door like he can physically hold her out. "I’m fine."

He knows how it sounds. Knows she doesn’t believe it.

"Logan…"

There’s something in her tone—something aching—that makes his stomach twist.

"You’re not fine," she says, quiet but firm. "Please. Just let me in."

He squeezes his eyes shut. His head is spinning.

She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t see this.

But she is.

And deep down, he knows. She’s the better option. She always has been. And with a sharp breath, his fingers fumble with the lock.

The second it clicks, the door opens.

And Y/N steps inside.

The air was thick with dust and the sharp scent of splintered wood.

The apartment—once messy in a charming, lived-in way—was destroyed. Furniture overturned, glass shattered across the floor.

In the middle of it all stood Logan. Frozen. Shaking. Like an animal cornered after ripping itself apart.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. Her heart ached so violently in her chest it almost knocked the air from her lungs, but she didn’t hesitate.

Carefully stepping over the broken glass, she made her way to him. Her hands reached out—gentle, slow—like approaching something fragile.

“Logan,” she breathed.

He flinched at her voice. His hands, bloody and trembling, curled into fists at his sides, as if trying to hold himself together. He wouldn’t look at her. Couldn’t.

But Y/N wasn't afraid. Not of him. Never of him.

She checked his hands first, ghosting her fingers over his knuckles, over shallow cuts that were already starting to heal. It didn’t matter—they could have hurt. She still touched him with the same care she would have used on something broken beyond repair.

“Come here,” she whispered, finding a chair that hadn’t been completely wrecked. She kicked aside some debris, made enough space, then turned back to him.

He didn’t move. Didn’t even seem to breathe.

So she went to him and she led him by the hand—gently, so gently—until he sat down with a heavy, defeated thud.

Y/N disappeared into the kitchen for a second, somehow finding a clean cloth and wetting it with cold water. When she came back, Logan hadn't moved. His eyes were empty, far away, like he wasn’t really there.

Kneeling in front of him, she pressed the damp cloth to his face, wiping away the blood, the dirt, the sweat.

He flinched again at first—then, slowly, surrendered to her touch. His head bowed forward, his whole body trembling under her hands. Tears fell down his cheeks. Silent. Endless. He didn’t even seem to notice them.

Y/N caught every tear with the cloth, and when that wasn’t enough, with the soft brush of her thumb against his skin. She kissed the corner of his mouth so lightly he barely felt it, her hands cradling his face like he was something precious.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, over and over again. “I’m here. You’re okay.”

Logan let out a breath that sounded like it hurt to release. His shoulders collapsed inward, and for a moment, he leaned into her, desperate and broken. But even then, even shattered, a part of him tried to pull away. He didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve her.

“You shouldn’t be,” he rasped, voice thick with guilt and misery.

Y/N’s heart twisted, but she didn’t loosen her hold. She shook her head and pressed her forehead gently to his. Her hands threaded through his hair, slow and steady, grounding him.

"I’ll always be here," she whispered.

And that—That broke him all over again.

Logan choked on a sob, rough and ugly, and Y/N gathered him close. She guided him toward the bedroom, somehow navigating the wreckage without letting go of him, like if she let go, he might fall apart completely.

They reached the bed—half wrecked but still standing—and she urged him to sit.

He obeyed, dazed and exhausted.

She climbed behind him, pulling him against her chest, holding him the way you would hold someone drowning. Her hands never stopped moving—through his hair, over his face, down his chest—silent promises written into every touch.

Logan tried to speak—tried to tell her he was sorry, that he was dangerous, that he should be alone—but the words tangled in his throat.

Instead, he cried.

For everything he was.

For everything he wasn’t.

For everything he was terrified to lose.

And she listened. Patient. Endless.

Her tears fell into his hair as she presses soft kisses there and whispered, “I’ve got you, Logan. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time in days—maybe longer—he believed her.

He stayed there, trembling in her arms, every breath a struggle. He was exhausted—but he couldn’t close his eyes. Couldn’t let himself fall into sleep, not yet. Not when every part of him screamed that he didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve her.

Y/N must have sensed it—the way he was still locked in the fight, even as his body sagged against her. Because after a long moment, she leaned back just enough to look at him, her fingers brushing through his hair again, slow and soothing.

"Logan," she said softly, "let’s go to my place, okay?"

Her voice was a balm, warm and certain, like she was offering him a lifeline he didn’t think he deserved.

"We’ll come back here when you're ready," she promised. "We'll clean up together. But right now, you need a place that feels safe."

Safe.

The word hit him like a punch.

Logan stiffened, guilt flaring so hard it made his stomach churn. He shook his head, tearing away from her touch even though it hurt to do it.

"I can’t," he rasped, his voice cracking. "I’ll... I'll just wreck that too."

Y/N’s chest squeezed painfully. Logan’s fists curled again, self-hatred bleeding out of every line of his body.

"I could—" he swallowed hard, his throat burning, "I could hurt you."

He didn’t say again. But it was there, unspoken.

He was a monster. A ticking bomb. Someone who could tear everything good apart without even meaning to.

But Y/N. She just reached for him again, steady and unwavering, like a lighthouse cutting through the storm.

"You won’t," she said, firm but gentle. "You won't because you're not alone. Because you don’t have to fight this alone anymore."

She squeezed his hand, grounding him back into her.

"And even if you still don’t believe it," she whispered, "even if you push me away, even if you try to shut me out... I’m not leaving you, Logan. Not now. Not ever."

Logan’s breathing hitched. He shook his head again, broken. "You don’t get it," he choked out. "I’m not... I'm not worth it. You should walk away. You should've walked away the second you saw—" He gestured weakly at the wreckage, at the wreck of himself.

But Y/N only moved closer. Closer until he couldn't look anywhere without seeing her. Feeling her.

"I saw you," she said, voice thick with emotion. "Not the mess. You."

That shattered something deep in him. Not in a violent way. In a way that stripped him down to the raw truth beneath all the pain: He needed her. He wanted her. He loved her more than he even knew how to say.

And she loved him right back, with a kind of love so fierce it scared him more than anything else in the world. But it also saved him.

Slowly, hesitantly, Logan reached for her again. His hand fisted in the back of her shirt like he was terrified she might vanish if he didn’t hold on tight enough. And when she leaned into him, wrapping him up in her arms again, he buried his face in her neck, letting himself finally, finally fall into her.

Maybe he didn’t deserve her. Maybe he never would.

But she was here. And for tonight, at least, that was enough.

She kept her arms around him for a long moment, just breathing with him. When she finally pulled back, it was only to cup his face in both hands, her thumb brushing gently across his cheek.

"Stay here," she whispered. "Don’t move, okay? I’ll be right back."

Logan didn’t argue. Couldn’t. He just nodded faintly, like a man barely clinging to the surface.

Y/N kissed his forehead so softly it made his chest ache, then she stood up, stepping carefully over the wreckage as she made her way back into the main room. He watched her go, guilt gnawing at him.

In the living room, Y/N moved quickly but carefully. She picked up the sharp shards of the broken mirror first, wrapping them in a towel before tossing them safely into the trash. She pushed splintered wood and broken glass out of the pathways, clearing a narrow, safe space from the bedroom to the front door. She closed the shattered shutters as best she could, dimming the room so that when Logan would come back here later, it wouldn't feel so raw. So exposed.

She worked with quiet determination, her heart breaking a little more every time she caught sight of the destruction. Not because she cared about the mess, but because she could feel how much pain Logan must've been in to cause it.

When she was satisfied that nothing dangerous remained, she made her way back to the bedroom.

Logan was still sitting exactly where she left him, on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped and hands loosely clenched in his lap.

Y/N’s heart squeezed.

She didn’t say anything at first. Instead, she moved around the room, finding a worn duffel bag tucked under the bed. She gently packed what she could: clothes that weren’t destroyed, a couple of small things she knew mattered to him.

In the bathroom, it was harder—cracked tiles, broken shelves—but she found his toothbrush, some of his toiletries, a couple of personal items, and tucked them into the bag too.

The whole time, Logan stayed silent, waiting on the edge of the bed.

It felt unreal. Like he wasn’t sure any of this was happening. Like any second now, she’d realize who he really was and walk out that door forever.

But she didn’t. She zipped the bag closed, slinging it over her shoulder and when she turned to him, her expression was still soft. Still his.

"Alright," she said gently. "Let’s go."

Logan hesitated, his body locked between guilt and the pull of her voice. But then she held out her hand to him and after a long, trembling second, Logan reached out and took it.

Her fingers wrapped tightly around his, like a promise.

She led him out of the bedroom, guiding him carefully around the worst of the wreckage she’d cleared, never letting go of his hand. Out the door. Out of the prison his fear had made.

The walk to Y/N’s apartment was quiet.

She kept a steady hand on Logan the whole time, whether it was gripping his hand, brushing his arm, or gently guiding him through doors and up steps.

Logan didn’t speak. He felt hollowed out and brittle, like if she let go of him even for a second, he might just blow away with the night wind.

When they finally reached her door, she unlocked it quickly, ushering him inside with a tenderness that made his throat ache.

The apartment smelled like her. Warm. Safe.

Home.

She kicked off her shoes by the entrance but didn’t ask him to do the same. Instead, she led him straight to the couch, easing him down carefully like he might break if she moved him too fast.

"Stay right here," she said softly, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "I'll be back in a second."

He nodded numbly, watching her flit around the small space. She pulled out a fresh blanket, fluffed a pillow behind him, checked the thermostat to make sure the place was warm enough. Every move was made with him in mind—with the kind of care he didn’t think he deserved.

And maybe he didn't. Maybe he was fooling himself to think he could have this. Have her.

As she moved into her bedroom to grab some extra clothes he could borrow, Logan’s eyes wandered without meaning to.

Her apartment was small but filled with life—books, photos, cozy little touches everywhere. He caught sight of something pinned to the fridge and frowned. He pushed himself up a little and squinted.

It was a photo. Worn and creased from being touched so often.

It was him. Him and her.

A candid photo from some random night he barely remembered, probably taken when they'd gone out for drinks with some of her friends. In it, he was looking off to the side, a rare, unguarded smile on his face. And she was laughing, leaning into him like she belonged there. Like she'd always belonged there. Someone had drawn a little heart under the picture.

Logan's chest tightened so hard it hurt. He hadn't even known she had that picture.

Y/N came back just then, carrying some sweatpants and a soft hoodie, but paused when she saw him up, looking at the fridge.

"Logan?" she said gently, setting the clothes down.

He shook his head, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. Trying to breathe past the crushing guilt and the unbearable love that wrapped around him like chains. He sat back down on the couch.

"I..." he started hoarsely. He dragged a hand down his face, then gritted out, "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you."

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She dropped to her knees in front of him, cupping his face in her hands again, forcing him to look at her.

"Listen to me," she whispered, voice trembling but sure. "You’re not a monster. You’re not broken beyond saving. You are good, Logan. And you don’t have to do this alone anymore."

He squeezed his eyes shut, a broken sound escaping him—part sob, part plea.

"I could hurt you," he rasped. "I could—"

"You won't," she said fiercely. "I trust you. I know you."

Her thumbs brushed away the tears he didn't even realize were falling again.

For a long, trembling moment, Logan didn’t move. Didn't even breathe.

And then, like a man surrendering a battle he never wanted to fight in the first place, he leaned into her touch. Collapsed against her.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself believe he wasn't beyond saving.

Not as long as she was here. Not as long as she was holding him like this.

Logan’s body was heavy against hers, all tense lines and shuddering breaths. For a moment, he let himself rest there, forehead pressed to her shoulder, letting her hands ground him—gentle strokes along his back, soothing circles at the nape of his neck.

But then, as always, the guilt clawed its way back up his throat.

He shifted, starting to pull away.

"I—I should go," he muttered roughly, not even knowing where he thought he could go in this state. "I’ll just—I’ll sleep on the floor. Or— or the couch."

Y/N immediately tightened her hold.

"What are you talking about..." she said, firm but gentle, her hands sliding up to cradle his face again. "You're not going anywhere."

He shook his head, a pained sound escaping him, "You don’t—You shouldn't have to—" His voice cracked under the weight of it. "Look at me, Y/N."

"I am," she whispered, her thumb stroking just beneath his eye, brushing away a tear. "And all I see is the man I love."

He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing ragged.

She didn’t let him turn away. Didn’t let him fall back into that pit.

"You're staying right here," she said again, softer this time, like a promise. "With me."

For a second, he was frozen.

Then Y/N pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, lingering there.

"Come on," she murmured against his skin. "Let’s get you comfortable, alright?"

He nodded weakly, too exhausted to resist anymore.

She helped him out of his ruined jacket, guiding him with slow, careful movements like he was made of glass. He let her pull the sleeves down his arms, let her tug the hoodie over his head. Every touch was tender, every glance full of nothing but care and patience.

She handed him the fresh sweatpants and shirt she'd found earlier, giving him the dignity of changing in the bathroom if he wanted— but he just stood there, trembling, needing her near.

So she stayed. Helping him change, steadying his shaking hands when they fumbled with the fabric.

Once he was in clean clothes, Y/N led him to her bed.

The second he sat down, the mattress dipping under his weight, he seemed to lose what little strength he had left. He dropped his head into his hands, shoulders heaving with silent breaths.

Y/N knelt down again in front of him, brushing her fingers through his hair with infinite gentleness.

"You’re safe now," she whispered. "You’re safe. I’ve got you."

Logan swallowed hard, blinking back another wave of tears. He was so fucking tired. Of fighting. Of hurting.

Tired of believing he didn’t deserve this.

Slowly—so slowly—he lifted his head.

And she was there. Still there. Still looking at him like he was worth staying for.

"I’ll stay," he rasped, voice breaking.

Her smile trembled, but it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Good," she breathed, wiping another tear from his cheek. "That's all I want."

She climbed into bed beside him, pulling the blankets over them, never once letting go of his hand.

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Logan let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t have to be alone anymore.

XXX

feel free to comment if you want a part 2 or any other request!!

[pardonmydelays]

thinking about how i can watch my favourite musicals over and over again but seeing them live is something that always changes my perspective completely because suddenly i can see more and i understand more and i find more of the truth inside the art and with that being said i'm literally fucking scared of what seeing hadestown live is going to do to me

[redrook]

adopting a puppy with my husband that (besides being blind) is in otherwise perfect health and is going to grow up to be reasonably small, maybe 40 lbs

and I just got a bolt of sudden existentialism because if we keep her in good health (and we've both had long-lived dogs before) then she could last until my husband is in his mid to late forties

and when our dog finally passes we'll look back and think about how young she was and how young we were like how right now I'm thinking of the reverse

don't really know the words to say it except it feels like I'm living in a past memory and a fixed but floating future simultaneously in this moment

anyway here's the blind puppy I'm adopting with my husband @beemovieerotica

[cookierunoutofideas]

Day 2 of "Writing SMC angst until he stops breaking my heart and comes home" (welp)

*voz da Patrícia Lélis expondo Estilista Juliana* Ô, gente, voltei.

Another day, another failure. Lady Luck hates me, as suspected. Anyway, this fic is inspired by this post by @allimili , whose art I love so much QwQ No Beta and I also don't have my glasses so pardon any errors

One-Sided! Shadow Milk Cookie x ex!fem!Reader; Truthless Recluse (Pure Vanilla Cookie?) x fem!Reader

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Love is a very odd thing, Shadow Milk Cookie muses to himself. Despite being the holder of Knowledge itself, not even he can truly explain love and its intricacies. Even after feeling it himself, he still doesn't truly understand it.

Befero he abandoned the duty forced on him by the Witches, he had loved with abandon. He didn't know any better-and yes, he can notice the irnoy. But it hadn't mattered back then because he was in love and he was loved and, despite the growing pit of despair and stress in his heart due to his duties, he had been happy.

Happy to see her smile and to hear her voice. Happy to hold her hand and hug her close. Happy to kiss her lips and breath in her scent. He had been happy by her side, through thick and thin and rain and sun and sickness and health and joy and sadness. They had even dreamed of the future together, promises sealed in between bedsheets and sleepless nights.

But then he finally woke up and saw the Witches for what they were: terrible demons of cruelty, gleefully controlling cookies to their whims, a little pet project to pass the time. Right after, he understood what the other cookies truly are: useless batches of greedy ungrateful dolls, baked with every single one of the Witches' sins just to torment those who dream of a better world.

And so his rebellion started, joined by his four friends.

But she... she simply couldn't see. Or, rather, she didn't want to see. Not that he truly blames her, of course, after all, the Witches made sure no cookie would ever learn of their perversion. All his darling beloved knew was the silly cookies and their insignificant little lives.

She had rejected his changes. Gone were the smile and loving words and warm hugs and longing kisses.

The last glare she gave him when he was sealed in that damned tree was of pure hurt and anger. He swore to himself he'd get out and find her again, bring back her pretty smile and shower her in the love she deserved as he once did. He'd make sure of it, make sure she'd finally understand him and his goals. Everything would go back to happiness.

The next time he saw her, (Y/N) was smiling at Pure Vanilla Cookie the exact same smile she'd once give Shadow Milk Cookie.

For a brief moment, he believed the lie that she somehow knew that he was there, watching over her through the blonde cookie. Only for a brief moment, though, enough time for said blonde cookie to confess his feelings to her.

That was not in te script.

(Y/N) Cookie did have a knack for rewriting stories, though, so he should've expected something someone to be beyond his control. It was one of the reasons he had been so enamored with her in the past.

Still he screamed and cried when she returned Pure Vanilla's confession with one of her own.

His rage was so great even Burning Spice Cookie shut up from the root of the silver tree he was confined. Not that Shadow Milk cared, he didn't care for anything but his plans to destroy that weak little thief who stole not only hsi power but his beloved! And his plans to punish said beloved for her infidelity. Ultimately, he'd forgive her, of course, but she needed to pay before it could happen.

And what better way to do it than to corrupt her precious Pure Vanilla Cookie? Make him become just like Shadow Milk Cookie? Show her that in the end, she is meant to be his.

Except.

Except that when the time comes and he finally has Pure Vanilla Cookie Truthless Recluse drowning in the pit of deceit, (Y/N) Cookie doesn't leave him.

She is saddened, yes, and she frequently pleads that he "fights it" and "remember who he is" and "stop hurting other cookies, Milk, there must be another way", but she does. Not. Leave. She stays with him, takes care of him, gives him kisses and hugs.

And Truthless Recluse is so annoying about it too. Kissing her and hugging her and holding her hands and carrying her and smiling at her in a way he should've forgotten because he is not Pure Vanilla Cookie, Pure Vanilla Cookie never never n ever ever existed ever! Ever! everevereverever it has always been Shadow Milk Cookie ALWAYS ALWAYS SO WHY?!

WHY?

Why is that copy the one allowed to love her? How can he even love her? How can he love her when he is not Shadow Milk Cookie? How can he still keep enough of his pitiful sense of self to keep on loving (Y/N) Cookie?! IT'S ALL WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG

Shadow Milk Cookie truly doesn't understand love.

Not that he needs to to hate it.

[miifu666]

I finally drew LMK wukong... while also making him yandere because uh.. i like yanderes, we need more yan!Wukong content pls 🙏🥹 anyway Heres my rendition of what yandere lmk sun wukong would be like.. maybe ooc, ive only watched season 1...

Also not proofread— At ALL

⋆˙⟡ — Cw : Yandere, Dub-con, ooc lmk Wukong?, art is wukong x oc but writing is Wukong x reader, not proofread.

I imagine Yan!Wukong to be the type who taunts you about his past actions, how feral and rebellious he was, able to defeat the entire heavenly army and scared the Jade emperor out of his wits just for existing in flower fruit mountain. This only happens when you disobey him ofc, you left the cabin? Denied his wants to feed you himself? Maybe its time to remind you who he is

" See how i was back then? I was a Savage, untamed even if i had that stupid crown around my head. You wouldn't want me to be like that now do you, Peaches? "

He's a sweetheart, Patience and Virtue is a thing he learned the most during his years of living. Yet, unpredictability is also his nature. Especially as a monkey king. There are times when he would tolerate you acting bratty, a bit Defiant is all fun, but when the day comes where he's fought too many Yaoguais, Demons, and Alike. All he wants is your comforting touch soothing him of his worries. The last thing he needs is your uncooperative attitude.

" Peaches... im not in the mood for this. Eat the food. Now. Ive been kind to you. It's either you eat the food or ill get rough."

Wukong is canonically someone who hasnt experienced any romantic nor sexual attraction, the moment he does. He doesn't have a clue on what to do. All he can think of is being in his monkey nature, which includes being possessive, territorial, dominating, and providing you with nutrients. He doesn't trust others enough to help him with his feelings, barely have the guts to ask Bajie if you're in a bad mood. He prefers to wait for others to give him advice (not that he'll take to account).

"MK doesn't know anything, he's a kid! He doesn't understand love like i do... like us adults do. Im doing this to PROTECT you, peaches!"

There might be times where he'll be more touchy than usual, conditioning you to feel comfort and used to his physical affection. Wukong is nothing but patient, he knows how to pavlov you into feeling relaxed once you feel his hands. You'll notice his punishments ranged from letting him groom you, mark you and finally letting him eat you out.

The euphoric bliss whenever he touches you or caught a whiff of your scent is tantalizing, Due to this, he prefers to be the one to serve you rather than you serving him. A king needs his Queen to bleed his heart into, not a concubine who perfoms.

" ah, ah ah~ Remember what i said? You either let me groom your pretty head or i might change things up a little..."

Wukong who gloats about the ring around your finger, making sure everyone. Even the heavens. Know, who you belong to. Theres no such thing as divine intervention, HE willed this fate, HE knit the red threads of fate till it spells your name. Theres an endless amount of love flowing through his heart for you, it seeps through timelines and past reincarnations. Even if your current life is done in this world, he'll continue on finding you. Binding you with him, gripping your heart so close till it beats in harmony with his. He'll make sure to leave an imprint of himself in your soul, even your future consorts needs to know him in order to understand you.

While you came from another world, your own destiny is temporary in his. Wukong will fight tooth and nails to defy the stars just to have you as his permanently. He'll create his own thread. His own happy ending with you.

And if theres anyone who dares to leak the rough details about your hostage love life... hes not known as the god of trickster for nothing

" if the moon and stars are reflection of the past, would they know how many lifetimes have i been loving you before our souls reconciled in this one?

Because i couldn't possibly have just learned to love you this much, all in this single lifetime"

Artwork ©️ Miifu666

Writings ©️ Miifu666

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Pent Up 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you seek validation through online correspondence with incarcerated men, only for one to lock you down in turn.

Characters: convict/excon!Thor (silverfox)

Note: It's an addiction now.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

'I never thought I'd be writing to someone like you, but you've shown me a different side of things. I hope that my emails give you comfort and can help you through. Even on the other side, they get me through my day. I'm always excited to read when there's a ding in my inbox.

I hope you also enjoy the little bit I could put in your commissary. If I lived closer, maybe I could bring you something homemade. At the moment, bus fare is a bit too much for my pockets.

Anyway, signing off.

Yours,

Diamond'

You add a whole line of heart emojis to the email then hit send. You giggle and click on the next. You don't have the heart to copy and paste so you add a bit of variety to the next.

This one is... Thor? That's his name. He's a funny one. Considering he's in the pen, you're surprised by that. The others are so dire; pushy too.

You hit reply on his last email. Something about a fight and apologising for not replying earlier. He says he was in solitary for a whole week. That sounds miserable. The thought is enough to scare you straight. It's why you've never done anything wrong in your whole life. Until now.

It's not really wrong. It's allowed. It's legal. You're just sending messages. If anything, it's a community service. These men don't have much more contact than each other and that's a recipe for chaos.

You won't admit that other reason aloud. That tickly feeling in your stomach. When they compliment you, when they say they missed you. You can't help but smile, even giggle sometimes. It's nice to be appreciated, even if it's all a fantasy.

You'll never meet these men. That's the fun part. You don't have to worry about any of this. Maybe that helps. Maybe you think too much when you're face-to-face. That explains why every cute guy you talk to sees past you.

'I forgive you, sweetie. It must have been so hard in there. The important thing is you replied. I got so worried! I hope that after all that, my email can bring a bit of comfort. I have to be honest, I never thought I'd be chatting with someone like you. That I could find this type of connection. Please, take care and email soon.'

Another parade of emojis follows and you send it off happily. Now you just have to wait and see who gets back to you first. If it's Ernie, you're not sure you'll respond. He's been fixated on his cell mate and his emails are getting a bit scary. That's the other great part. You can always just delete and block.

The response comes an hour later. You're sleepy and ready to pass out. You read it anyway.

'You are so kind, my queen.' You giggle. Yeah, he calls you that sometimes. If only he knew you were sitting in bed with an ice cream sandwich wrapper and your cell phone. Definitely not queenly behaviour. 'I got through it by thinking of you, of dreaming of the day when we can talk face-to-face. Wouldn't that be lovely? For all my mistakes, I think they will mean something if you and me can be together.'

You make a face. He's so cheesy. You can't help but laugh again. You're not trying to be cruel, you do empathise with his situation, you can't imagine being in prison, but like anyone else, he earned his time. There's one last light.

'If it isn't too much trouble, would you kindly send a picture so I have a face to admire in my lonelier moments? I've attached my own. Forgive me as it dates a few years back.'

You're not smiling anymore. You haven't sent any of the men pictures. They haven't offered theirs but you can look up their mug shots easily. You hate to ruin the fantasy but curiosity has you tapping the attachment.

Oh. You're surprised. He's older than you in this picture and by his own confession, is more so now. But he isn't repugnant. Anything but. Tall, blond, thick! You don't know if you've ever seen a man that size.

Even in a suit, it's obvious that his arms are bulging and his chest is ripe to burst out as the jacket button clings for dear life. The photo is cropped so that whoever he took it with is out of frame. His blue eyes sparkle above a defined smile. Has prison worn down all that?

You squirm. Guilt needles in your chest. You could close out and worry about it in the morning. You shouldn't be that sympathetic. He's still a criminal. You can say no. Easily. What's he going to do about it?

What could it hurt? If he saw your face. It's not like anyone would know. That anyone would recognise you or that he could find you anywhere else. You keep your social media anonymous. You aren't like the influencers who get attention just for being pretty.

It's that that gives you pause. You aren't anything but average. It's easier to pretend you're some pretty thing as you message these faceless men. Well, maybe that's a good thing. Maybe once he sees you, you won't have to worry about all that other stuff. He'll cut you off at the pass.

The thrill of it overwhelms your reluctance. It's like gambling, it could go either way.

You start a new message. More meaningly rewording of previous sentiments. Nothing new. Then you scroll through your photo roll. You take a breath and press down on a photo you think isn't half bad. It's from market day you went to with your aunt. Not exactly cutting edge but fun. She snuck in the shot as you smiled down at your gooey cinnamon roll. The impromptu snap is better than most of your posed ones.

You send and quickly lock the phone. You shove it under your pillow and swipe up the wrapper beside you. You leave it on your night stand and sink down, your insides swimming with anxiety. You're going to regret this in the morning.

🎀

'Will you call me?'

The question makes you sweat. You don't know why you feel bad. You've said no before. To him. To all of them. You draw a thick line between your secret little hobby and your real life. You shouldn't have ever sent that photo.

Despite your regret, you smile. His response was more than you could expect. The praise! You don't know that anyone ever even called you cute but he as good as wrote you a poem about your beauty. You have to remind yourself, given his circumstance, he's starved. He'd probably think your nan is sexy.

Still, you're having a hard time typing those two letter; N-O. Thor is so nice. And he asked so sweetly. But you can't do that. What if someone found out?

This whole thing is starting to feel like a big mistake, but it's so much fun. When in your life will men ever be this into you? When have they ever?

'I could call' you type without thinking. What are you doing? 'Let me know how to do that and we can set a time maybe.'

Don't hit send. Don't hit send.

Email sent.

Shit. Oh gosh. Why did you do that?

You close your laptop and leave it on your desk. You need to get ready for work. You can't be worrying about a man you'll never meet. It's all virtual, it's not real. You'll be okay.

You get yourself together and brace yourself for work. You don't really like your job. You work the counter at a tech repair shop. Independent so it's small and slow. Your boss is a bit strange too.

The only benefit is it's close and it pays a few bucks more than the alternative. You're even allowed to work on your online courses at the service desk. Really, it's perfect. You guess you're just not happy with things being boring.

You blow over the lid of your Sailor Moon travel mug and knock on the door. Jensen lets you in with a grin and stifles a yawn in his elbow. You step past him with a sheepish smile.

"If it isn't the champion of justice," he greets smugly and locks the door. You won't open for another half hour.

"Huh?" You go to the counter and slide your bag onto the shelf underneath.

"Your cup," he crosses the shop. “I am Sailor Moon, the champion of justice. In the name of the moon, I will right wrong and triumph over evil… and that means you!”

"Oh, right," you snort at his cheesiness. "You have espresso or something?"

"Red bull," he admits guiltily.

"This early?"

"Early? I never went to sleep," he comes around and goes back to typing on his glowing gaming computer. "Couldn't let my crew down."

You could roll your eyes. All he does is play Fortnite or Halo. He looks like he does too. Yet, he's in here moping after every rare stunner that walks through the door. That's why you'er there. He gets all tongue-tied with women. Well, all of them but you.

"You should join the party," he suggests.

"Well, I don't really play anymore," you shrug. "It was only for fun. My siblings... like it."

"Oh yeah, how's the family?"

"Good, I guess. They don't really call."

Your mom's too busy rebuilding her life with your step-dad. Rather, building the perfect life she never had. You sigh and open up your laptop. You grab your coffee and sip. You're tired of being forgotten.

"Jake," you say, he winces at the use of his first name, "Jensen," you glance at him, "you're a dude."

"Yeah, I am" he answers uncertainly.

"Well, you might know more than I do. You know anyone in prison? Any guys?"

"What?" He exclaims. "Where did that come from?"

"Mm... I was watching a documentary last night," you lie. "About prison or whatever."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, and about you know," you sway and look at your laptop. You're terrible at lying. "The women who like write to them or whatever."

"Ew, like the Ted Bundy weirdos?" He scoffs.

"Not exactly. I mean, none of them were murderers. I think," you shrug. "But... like, if you were in prison, you'd need that, right? I mean, it's just to get you through."

"I don't know. It'd be lonely, yeah, but like... what about after?" He scratches his neck. "I got a buddy who was in for a while but he's a good dude. He was only selling... stuff."

"Really?" You perk up, "he went to prison?"

"Well, he doesn't like to talk about it," Jensen says. "Why are you talking about this?"

"Making conversation. I was just thinking about the show," you sign into your laptop. "Just thinking... I mean, how do you even end up there?"

"Bad things. I learned my lesson when I was sixteen. I broke into the high school on a dare and the cops put me in cuffs for two hours. They let me go once I cried... I mean, I was a kid so..."

You nod and try not to show any judgment. That sounds about right. A notification pops up in the corner as Jensen goes back to the fluttering over his keyboard. You click on the email.

'I've been granted call-time at noon. You can call the number below and request by my inmate number...'

You quickly minimize and hide behind your cup as you slurp. Shoot. You didn't think he'd be so fast. A call at noon? You can't say no. Not now that he got approved.

Well, this is the only time it's happening.

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 21/11✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

Anonimo ha chiesto: Hi! Would Macaque kidnap Wukong again? I read your comic, the last page, where Macaque is the kidnapping expert. And I'm very curious about it. Anyway, I love your comics! You are awesome.

Haha I don't think they really need it unless they want to do a "traditional wedding courtnapping" but it would be pretty odd since they kind of already live togehter.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I know this is definitely a LONG ways away, but, imagine: Wukong and Macaque playing the newlyweds game. What questions? What answers? Who’s asking the questions? Who’s getting the most right?

I wont list all the lesson but I think Macaque would get most of them right just because Wukong never really changed a lot during the years, while Macaque went through different stages of his life, and and he has new hobbies and tastes.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Will mk have a nightmare about LBD? If yes Then we will have some angst with fluffy monkeys family moments!!!

Oh he has. He has many. Most of them he has while he is at pigsy's.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Can you please shows up a flashback backstory on how MK/Wukong discovered/found out/came out as trans?? 🙏🙏🙏 Banana sundae with chocolate sauce, rainbow sprinkles, THREE cherries, and a super-deluxe one-and-only Monkie King™️ collectible spoon???

Anonimo ha chiesto: will we see any past Shadowpeach?? I’m interested to see how you frame their dynamic back 5en.

Hahah maybe in the future, I'll see

Anonimo ha chiesto: Can we get Wukong telling dad jokes? Please, I’m begging i want to see MK laughing and Macaque just being so disappointed with Wukong yet so smitten. I want to see more Monkey family domestic blissss. 🙏🙏🙏🙏

I don't have my dad jokes book here but man give Macaque an award for the patience he has with these two children

@goofybearclown ha chiesto: Hi :3 Just wanted to say I love your shadowpeach and cotl AU!!! I didn't notice you made both at first but when I did I was like "waow :0". Tbh your works are in my top 3 series on Tumblr! @fenikzia ha chiesto: I love your LMK comic so much, I look forward to reading the new additions to it when they come out every other day,and reading your comic just makes my day better. Even if it hasn't updated a particular day, I make sure to go back and reread the newest part.Keep doing what you're doing and make sure to take breaks! @skye-minecraftyt-blog ha chiesto: You! I like you! Your Bio parents Lmk au always makes me extremely happy and I regularly reread it. ((o(^∇^)o)) Just wanted to say it @blazeandsilver ha chiesto: Hello, I just wanted to say your artwork is absolutely stunning, it makes my day whenever I see that you posted something new to the BioParents comic. Please keep up the good work and be sure to take some time for yourself, you’re important too.

AWWWWWW THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: Hihi shadowpeach au question: You mentioned in the latest comic that Mac is more lean and skinny than Wukong. Will we ever see the full extent of that?? ALSO I ADORE YOUR ART OMG ❤️❤️

A fully naked Macaque you say? Maybe.... who knows....

Anonimo ha chiesto: I come to defend Wukong acting like a man looking at a victorian lady ankles, he hasn’t seen his (ex) husband’s fur in centuries. And he probably hasn’t socialize in years either besides MK and the gang. Romantically he is stunned right? I doubt he has even looked at anyone besides Macaque anyways…

Honestly I like to think that Macaque was the only being in all the universe that was eer able to make him flustered

@mochalikesdrawing ha chiesto: So I got a question, will we ever get to see kaiju MK again?

I have a scene post AU I would like to draw. Maybe.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Ignoring all the angst because it is crushing my soul /pos, I'm lowkey convinced that Macaque knows Wukong feels some kind of way about him because he can hear his heartbeat go crazy at certain moments and isn't dumb, but just isn't calling Wukong on it because he's still trying to sort his own feelings first. BUT ONCE HE DOES OH BOY-

Hahah Macaque knows perfectly well Wukong is down for him. In the meantime Wukong is alwasy afraid he's just imagining things bc he's dense af.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Do you think Wukong and macaque would be cuddling and macaque would be watching something scary and Wukong would be trying to not pay attention to it because he hates scary stuff or would it be the other way around?

yess

@ep2nd ha chiesto: In your shadowpeach bio parents au, if MK and Wukong were created by Nuwa, with Nuwa using Macaque and Wukong as a base, has anyone wondered who created Macaque? And does Macaque himself knows?

Wait Nuwa created Wukong? If that's so I think then all the 5 monkeys were made by her, for some reason.

@boonalina ha chiesto: Sooo what exactly is the courtnapping process like? Is it just a simple "I'm gonna pick you up and carry you away" or is it an entire ceremony? Does someone have to lure the person into place? For example, Mei bringing Redson over to a secluded spot so that Mk can "courtnap" him? (Side note: I've been in this fandom for around two years now, and this comic is what made me find out about courtnapping lol)

I "think" anything that can be counted as like a sneak attack that takes them out of guard and brings them to the designated courtnapped room can be considered as courtnapping technically.

Anonimo ha chiesto: ... Hey so your shadow peach bio parent AU is better way better than season five. WOAH, WHO SAID THAT!! (no but seriously it is like a sitcom I tune on ever so often. Much love 🫶)

Haha thank you! That's a HUGE statement!

Anonimo ha chiesto: I wonder if MK has any unique attributes/abilities as a living mass of celestial material?

He's such a cocktail ofdifferent energies I wouldn't be surprised he is able to glow in the dark.

@cjtuy ha chiesto: I do have a question it's mainly about pigsy and tang when and how long have they been together as a couple and did both of them find mk are they married ?

They have been together for almost a year, but I don't think they are married, but maybe that could happen in the future??? But yeah MK found out a little after season 5 that they are together, that was also the same time he started calling Tang "Papa"

Anonimo ha chiesto: Has macaque added any personal items to the house? Like is he moved in? Have Wukong and macaque improved or changed anything else besides making the bed bigger?

Yes he did! Half of his belongins are in FFM, althought he's a little more minimalistic than Wukong. He also have been bothering Wukong to death so that he can finally organize his stuff (and they were roomates

Anonimo ha chiesto: I feel like if they were to play Minecraft or something macaque would be the base mom. He would be the only one to remember to farm food to not starve. The others would probably forget all the time that hunger is a thing in game. Wukong or Mk: oh dang does anyone have food I'm starving Macaque: (always brings extra for this reason) "sighs" yes

AH!

Anonimo ha chiesto: Remember the Minor Scale episode, from season 2? Where MK learn how to shrink himself? And there’s also the final episode of that season where MK just grow very big to try to fight LBD. I just love that part of his power and I have seen very little people showing it. Like, sometimes that power can show up when the poor boy is experiencing overwhelming emotions that can’t be contained anymore, or pure exhaustion. For example, Having many responsibility can lead to a lot of stress and exhaustion and at some point MK just can’t do more and just become tiny, not able to do more. On the opposite, maybe he experience trauma again through a nightmare (like about azure for example) and the emotional burden is to much and he just becomes big because of that. You see my vision? I love sizeshifting base on emotions :)

Aww and i love emotion-based powers, they are just so easy to play around.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Tbh the show should let macaque have a motorcycle. Wukong gets to be passenger princess

Yesss

Anonimo ha chiesto: as we get into the colder months i like to imagine MK’s first winter coat and he’s all super fluffy and warm

Cool for the monkey parents, bad for pigsy and all the hair in the restaurant from sheeding.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I think it would be so funny if MKs rock hadn't been cracked and he'd been raised on FFM by wukong. If the same thing happens in the show macaque planning to take mks powers thinking he's just Wukongs student but then while macaque and MK are training. Since macaque is so close he notices his ears. (Being raised by a monkey he gets his form sooner) suddenly putting everything on hold busting into FFM and is like WUKONG WTF

There's a fic on AO3 about it it's A Son of Two Dads

@cheese-hommo ha chiesto: Hii, fiesta I want to say I love how you draw and everything, it just looks so cool and beautiful. Now, with the last chapter of Monkey parents Au and so, with the acknowledgement of the demon etiquette and else, DBK and Wukong really misunderstand the comfort scene for a confession? Or something more? It was just so funny seeing the two of them getting so embarrassed at the end 🙂‍↕️

Ah, 2 young demons in their true forms so close to each other, blushing? Scandalous.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I've seen Mk is his Lego merch- he gots a tooth gap- so does this MK have one or did he get it filled?

Wait that was a tooth gap??? I though it was like, a detail of the smile

Anonimo ha chiesto: 🎤 what is your official (if any) opinion on Ink MK? (as a character, plot device, literary parallel, what have you)

It's ok. I personally believe "shadow" version of one character with their own fears and doubts is a clique a little bit too much used. But they give a lot of angst.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Thoughts on Macaque knowing either Japanese or Korean due to him liking anime.

I'll give you one better. Macaque always traveled to Japan pretty frequently during the centuries. Then became a weeb

Anonimo ha chiesto: Maybe it's just me but Wukong looks a bit thicker each time, is it because his fur's thickening or is he getting chubbier ??????? Anyway luv ur art

Both.

[seellove]

X Games // sukuna x female reader // Ski/Snowboard AU

Masterlist

// (3.5k words) // Explicit - 18+

\|/ AO3

You and your husband, Sukuna, visit your vacation home at your favorite ski resort for a ski and snowboarding trip. You get in an argument the first morning with Sukuna pushing your buttons like usual. However, you exact your revenge by teasing your husband throughout the day until he snaps and can't take it anymore.

Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work: Human Reader and Sukuna, established relationship - marriage, explicit smut, skiing and snowboarding AU

Note about Resort Lingo: greens - the easiest ski runs / blues - intermediate level ski runs / blacks&double blacks - expert level ski runs

AN: It’s cold af where I live and everyone keeps going up to the mountains to ski lol, thus this AU was born

“Sukuna, can you not wear your boots in the house?” you groan as you see him appear in the doorway of your bedroom. He’s all bundled up in warm pants and a coat and those godforsaken snow coated boots that have surely tracked ice all through the house just to become pools of melted water. His rosy cheeks and watery eyes hint at the frigid weather outside.

“I was bringing our stuff inside. Do you really expect me to take my shoes off with every trip I make?” he retorts, dropping the bags on the floor as if to prove a point. You had gotten in late to your vacation house at the ski resort and had only brought the bare minimum inside to get ready for bed. 

“And I very much appreciate you bringing everything inside, however, now there are puddles all over the floor that I’m going to step in with my socks,” you cross your arms and sigh. You feel like you rehash this every time you come up here. 

You know your husband is stubborn and hard headed, but also devious enough to know what gets under your skin and do it anyways. You’ve been together almost 8 years now, married for the last two. You know how he is by now, and based on your past experiences, you know he’s doing it on purpose by the way his mouth curls up into a smirk. 

“I’ll try to be better in the future sweetheart,” he flutters his lashes jokingly before turning around to go back outside. 

You roll your eyes and go back to putting both of your clothes into the sleek dressers. You loved the furniture in the house, Sukuna had bought it just before you got married two years ago and let you lead the charge with the interior designer to fill the space. It was the perfect combination of modern and rustic, well suited for a multimillion dollar house in a high end ski town. 

You hear Sukuna’s heavy footsteps coming back to the room. You tense up at the sound of his wet boots squeaking on the hardwood floor. 

“Sukuna. Take. The. Boots. Off.” you snap at him.

“I am, I’m done now,” he shrugs before sitting down on the side of the bed. 

You clench your jaw at his response, shooting daggers at him from behind. You can almost feel the smirk he’s surely sporting knowing he’s riled you up.

“I put your clothes into the dresser by the door,” you mutter at him.

Sukuna whips around and beams at you. 

“Thanks babe, what would I do without you?” he winks, slicking his pink hair back. You want to slap those face tattoos right off his cheek at the moment. You love him to death but boy he aggravates you sometimes. 

You roll your eyes and head down to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. It’s spacious and modern, opening up to the living room with floor to ceiling windows, showing off the snowy Mountain View that seems to stretch on forever.

Then it happens, the cold wet feeling of water seeping through your sock. 

You’re gonna fucking kill him.

No, a better idea, get your revenge. You’ve got some ideas up your sleeve on how you can get back at him. You put on your best happy poker face and head back to your bedroom. 

“Honey I got you a cup too,” you place a mug down on the nightstand. Sukuna is in the process of pulling a tight black shirt over his washboard abs, the tattoos that snake down his stomach disappearing as he gets it situated. He’s annoying but fuck he’s hot. He’s gonna get even hotter in a little while…

“Thank you dear,” he smiles, tugging you towards him and planting a kiss on your forehead. He could be sweet when he wanted, which honestly is most of the time with you. You never would have married him if he treated you in the same cold and cocky manner as the rest of the general population. 

You run your fingers down his abs that are visible through the tight base layer, relishing the sharp ridges that indicate how shredded he is. You keep going until you find the bulge in his boxer briefs that is half hard, delicately running your nails along his clothed length before giving it a few good squeezes. 

“Oh fuck,” Sukuna hisses, pushing himself into your hand.

You release him as soon as he indicates he wants more, much to his disappointment. Turning away from him, you walk across the room to get into your ski attire. You make sure to strip down and stay naked for as long as possible, not bothering to look his way, bending down for longer than necessary to fish your clothes out of the bottom drawer.

You hear Sukuna clear his throat behind you, and now you sport your own hidden smirk, knowing he does that when he’s getting restless and turned on. You turn back around so your bare chest is facing him, glancing up momentarily to meet his wide eyes, hand palming himself through his boxers.

“Are you gonna finish getting ready?” you say nonchalantly as you pull your sports bra on, never breaking eye contact.

You can tell his jaw clenches by the way his cheek scrunches up towards his eye. 

“Seems like you might want to finish some other way,” his voice has deepened with that familiar lusty tone. 

Good, everything is going according to plan. 

“We had sex last night, I’m good,” you respond, remembering how in the middle of the night you’d had one of those sloppy, barely awake fucks that sometimes just happen at 3AM. 

“Hmph,” he grunts.

***

You are waiting out on the slope, poles keeping you steady while Sukuna is on the ground, clipping his snowboard bindings in. Another great thing about the house was that it was ski in ski out, something you never dreamed you’d experience until your successful and wealthy husband. 

You’d met him at this very resort during your sophomore year of college. Your college was only an hour away from some of the best ski resorts in the country, so you and your girlfriends had rented a house for a long weekend while some of your frat friends had rented one next door. 

As frat trips usually do, more people show up than anticipated, including Ryomen Sukuna, well known heartthrob with bad boy energy. You knew him as the cocky loud guy that pulled way too many women and did way too many drugs, “DO NOT APPROACH” practically plastered all over him.

Come to find out, he and you were by far the best at snowsports from your large group. You’d kept up with him on a black diamond with ease, proving to him that you could ride with him that day….and that night as you both opted to stay behind when everyone got dinner in town, riding him on the leather couch as he licked and sucked at your tits in his face. You’d snuck around everyone playing this game all weekend, blowing by everyone during the day as you raced down the mountain while Sukuna was blowing his load into you every night. 

It didn’t stop that weekend, and hasn’t stopped since, you were inseparable after that weekend and here you are, eight years later, getting ready to shred your favorite mountain together for the nth time.

You do a few warm up runs, riding the blues near one of the smaller chair lifts to get loosened up. 

You reach the bottom, aiming for Sukuna’s red and black helmet, easily recognizable from afar.

“Ready to go up to the blacks?” he asks. He’s already unzipped his coat, always getting hot when he boards. 

“Yeah,” you answer, making your way together towards the large chairlift to carry you further up the mountain. 

You get settled on the lift together and begin the ascent, your skis and his snowboard clacking against each other as they sit suspended below you both. 

You’ve got about 7 minutes until you get to the top, just enough time to move into your next phase of revenge. 

You take off your helmet and gloves, the cold air biting at your bare skin. Without warning, you slip your hand into his exposed waistband, grabbing his dick which hardens almost instantly under your touch.

“What the fu-ohhhh,” he moans as you start to slowly pump his cock.

You feel the sticky pre cum beneath your skin, slicking everything up, allowing you to more easily glide along his length. His head falls against the back of the chair, making it sway lightly.

You watch his eyes close and his jaw tighten as he starts to thrust himself up into your hand, meeting each stroke of yours. 

You keep up the pace, keeping an eye on how close you were to the end of the ride. Probably another minute. He jerks under your touch, a deep groan leaving his lips. 

“I’m close, keep going,” he utters, eyes scrunching up in the familiar way when he’s about to finish.

That is if you’d let him, which you don’t as you release him and pull your hand out of his pants. 

“Wha’? No, why’d you stop?” he whines as he whips his head up to look at you, a distressed look on his face. 

“We’re almost at the top,” you say innocently.

“We still have like one more minute,” Sukuna says in that same whiny tone. 

You are loving this. 

“My hand was cold,” you lie, “we can keep going on the next ride up.”

“Fine,” your husband huffs, pulling up the lap bar as you approach the exit point. You both ride off to the side so Sukuna can strap himself in. He lays down on his back, staring at the sky.

“Ready?” you stare down at him.

“Gimme a minute, you got me all hard back there and it won’t go away.”

You giggle, waiting silently next to him. After another minute or so he speaks again in his scratchy voice.

“Can you go over there? Or somewhere else? Not here?” 

“Is my presence keeping you bricked?” you joke, giving a sultry tone to your words.

“Fuck off….yeah it is,” Sukuna scoffs, averting his gaze from your eyes. 

You turn your skis downhill, carving your way down the slope until you hit a bend in the run, losing sight of your poor husband. 

You’re sure he’s going to lose it on the next ride up…

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Sukuna ripping down the slope, kicking up powder into the air with each sharp turn he makes. He’s fucking good at this, there’s no denying it. He passes you by and you turn to follow him, both of you carving and weaving your way down the steep slope until you reach the bottom of the first run. 

“Let’s take this lift so we can get back up faster,” Sukuna tugs at your arm.

“No I wanna ride all the way back to the bottom of the mountain,” you say, standing your ground.

Sukuna sighs.

“Alright, let’s go.” 

He turns and leaves you behind, barely missing a child as he recklessly bombs down the hill.

You laugh to yourself as you follow him down, finding him already in line waiting for you at the big lift.

You go through the usual motions: Let the operator scan your pass, push yourselves out in front of the next chair, fall back into the cushion as the seat hits the back of your legs, pull down the lap bar, Sukuna pulls his cock out-

What the fuck? Not part of the routine.

“What are you doing,” you look at him as he pulls his helmet off and sets it next to him, his sweaty pink hair plastered to his forehead.. 

“Can you touch it again?” he’s almost pleading. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” you wink at him as you start on the next phase.

This time you lean down into his lap, Sukuna cursing through his teeth as he realizes what you are about to do.

You take him in your mouth, his skin warming up quickly as you take him all the way to the back of your throat. His dick is so big, even though you’ve sucked him off more times than you can count at this point, it still takes some time to adjust. 

The high altitude makes the air already thin and hard to breathe, his thick cock being down your throat doesn’t help. You bob up and down on his length, swirling your tongue around his tip each time you come up. 

“Fuckkkkk baby,” Sukuna groans as you feel his hand on the back of your head, not pushing down yet but insinuating he’d like it a whole lot if you did. 

Your steamy breath is clouding your vision with each deep exhale. Sukuna has his own cloud above him as he gasps with each thrust into your throat. He’s thrusting up into you again, babbling under his breath.

“Thas right baby, fuckin’ suck my cock, in fron’a all these people. Makin’ me feel so fuckin’ good, fuckin’ love you, holy shit,” he stutters as you feel him starting to harden even more. 

You keep going, knowing he’s getting close. He accidentally kicks his board against your skis as he starts to swell in your mouth. 

“Fuck fuck baby keep goin’, gonna cum ba-“

You pull off with a pop of your lips, his erection staring back at you almost as angry as your husband’s face. 

“Baby! What the fuck! No! Keep going!” Sukuna’s exasperated voice cuts through the low hum of the chair lift.

“It was getting hard to breathe, do you really want me to keep sucking your dick every time I feel like I’m going to pass out?” you use a similar phrase that he used this morning.

Sukuna’s mouth falls open as he glares at you. 

“Is this still about my boots in the house? You gotta be fuckin' kidding me!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stare at him with calm bold eyes, your poker face so on point.

“You’re such a fuckin’ bitch,” he mutters under his breath as he starts to pout. 

You are doing fucking cartwheels in your mind seeing him all hot and bothered. 

“We’re doing the trees this time,” Sukuna growls next to you. 

“Okay!” you smile.

You love riding the trees, the skill needed to anticipate three steps ahead of you to wind through the forest floor successfully is a fun challenge. 

Sukuna takes off immediately, sailing past the double black diamond sign without much of a glance. You follow him, following his path through the trees. This run is usually deserted, so challenging that it’s almost unenjoyable, so you are a little annoyed that Sukuna went this direction. 

Up ahead you see him slow down and seemingly fall onto his side.

Sukuna never crashes, so you are a little concerned at the sight. You quickly but safely make your way over to him. He’s out of his bindings now, he must have come unclipped.

“Are you ok?” you ask when you come to a stop next to him. 

He doesn’t answer you at first, instead pulling his helmet off, tossing it on the snowy ground.

“What are you-“

But you can only finish that thought with a squeak as he rips your poles out of your hands, jamming them into your ski bindings, releasing your boots from the skis.

He picks you up in one arm as if you weigh nothing, his other arm flipping his snowboard over and pressing it into the snow. 

“Had enough of your little antics on the lift back there,” Sukuna growls into your neck as he bites and sucks on the sensitive skin. You gasp at his dominant actions, clinging your body against him as he shoves his snowboard pants and boxers down to his knees. 

He doesn’t even seem to be phased by the sharp cold air, his one goal now to do the same to you. He doesn’t pull yours down as far, he knows you’re more sensitive to the cold.

“Oh my god,” you moan as he shoves two of his massive fingers through your folds and into your soaked cunt. The moans and cries coming from you slice through the still silence of the forest, no one close enough to hear the way he’s fingerfucking you in the freezing cold.  

He quickly withdraws from you, the sudden emptiness making you whimper.

“Gonna fuck you, ok?” Sukuna groans as he falls backwards onto his board, knees bent so you can lean your back against his thighs. 

The cold snow on your exposed skin shocks you as some gets kicked up from his weight hitting the board. 

“Sorry,” he says, quickly brushing it off of you.

He wastes no time lining you up with his massive cock, slamming you down on his full length until your ass hits his thighs.

“Oh my god,” you cry out at the sudden stretch as his fat tip bullies its way through your walls and slams your cervix. 

Sukuna’s eyes practically roll back as you clench around his length, fingers digging into your hips. He bites his lip as he starts to thrust slowly up into you, each drag of his cock along your walls making you shudder.

The slapping sounds of his skin against yours gets louder and louder as it echoes through the forest. The deep snow absorbs most of the sounds coming from your mouths as he fucks up into you with a punishing pace. Your whole body is at his mercy as you just let him have his way with you. 

Your eyes meet, his own softening as he gives you a smirk. You can feel the depths of his love for you, you can’t explain it, but the way he makes you feel like the most important thing in this moment says it all; the way his eyes look at you with such reverence, the way he keeps your body from touching the cold ground, instead sacrificing his own, the way he shallows up his thrusts when you grimace from the depth, he’s so attuned to you and your comfort always.

You start to feel his thrusts falter, becoming more frantic, losing the rhythm he’d set as he careens toward his release. 

“I’ll make you cum after this at the house,” he says through heavy breaths as you feel his cock harden even more inside of you.

“I’m not gonna cum anyways, too cold,” you chuckle, eliciting a knowing grin from Sukuna. 

“Figured, I’ll take care of you though,” he jokes, as he pulls you down to him, capturing your lips into a desperate kiss, devouring you from the inside as he shoves his tongue into your mouth.

You try to kiss him back, but normally it’s futile when he’s close like this. The man goes absolutely feral and loses all restraint when he’s at the brink of his orgasm, so you’ve learned to just go with it instead of attempting to assert any type of control over the situation.

He grips your hips like a vice as he pulls you down hard to meet a final deep thrust, spilling himself inside of you with hot ropes of cum. His pulsing cock throbs against your walls as he empties himself within you, groaning your name loudly. 

He finally stills, the fog thick from both your mouths as you try to catch your breaths. He peppers your face with soft kisses as he pulls you tightly against his chest.

“Holy fuck I love you. That was so hot,” Sukuna sighs, letting his arms fall to his sides, sinking into the snow.

“I love you too, I’m so cold though,” you shiver against his body. 

“Oh yes, right!” Sukuna sits up quickly, pulling himself out of you, his hot cum falling to his lower abs, the steam wafting off as it hits the cold air. He pulls your pants back up and takes off his coat, wrapping it around you.

“Better?” he asks as you fall back into the snow to face him. He’s practically sitting in the snow with his pants still pulled down to his knees.

“Yeah I’m fine, but what about you? Get your bare ass out of the snow!” you gasp at him, worried he’ll get frostbite or something.

“Babe I’m fine, I’m fucking sweating,” he chuckles as he pulls his pants up.

“Even worse! Let’s get back to the house and warm up.”

“Yes ma’am,” Sukuna jumps up and pulls you up easily with him. You both strap back in and quickly make your way back to the house. 

Stopping at the back door, you both remove your gear and lean it against the exterior wall. Sukuna unlocks and goes to open the door.

“Sukuna!!” 

“What?”

“Take your fucking boots off!” 

Masterlist

[kanmom51]

4 months to go...

Someone clearly has JM etched on their hand and on the brain.

Miss those two so damn much.

Funny how as time is closing and discharge from military etching closer I feel like it's moving so much slower than the first 14 months did. Is it only me that feels that?

But time is nearing, nevertheless, and as it is, I can't help but think what comes next. What is the day after going to look like?

Obviously, I'm not the only one thinking of that.

The two of them are clearly contemplating the day after as well.

We don't know what their hopes and wishes are for that post military future is, but I can tell you what mine are.

My hope for post military is that they will continue to be as openly inseparable as they have been going into the army and spending those 18 months of their service together.

I know they are together and their relationship is as strong as ever. With as little as we've been getting from them in the past 14 months of their service, they have shown us that ever so loud and clear.

I want them to be able to continue and be open about it.

I want us not to go back to the reality of 2023. A reality in which we KNOW they were spending their time together, but we weren't supposed to know it. A reality in which they gave us crumbs and clues and puzzles to solve but couldn't be loud and clear like this:

or this:

I do feel like there has definitley been a shift since their joint enlistment.

Obviously, them enlisting together was a HUGE part of it.

AYS and everything we were allowed to see in that show (and everything we know we weren't allowed to see as well) was just as HUGE.

But it doesn't end with that.

14 months of service and we barely got anything from them. But when we did, even more so in the last few months, it always contains a clear message of their "togetherness", take it in anyway that you will (they spend free time together, sing together, exercise together, shower together, have heart to heart conversations with each other before going to sleep - together - might not have been said but clearly implied).

To little ole' me this is not a coincidence. This is a clear pattern. A plan in place, one may think or conclude.

So yes, my hope is that when we reach the end of these 18 months we will be walking into a new reality. One in which they don't necessarily 'come out' officially (I think that is asking too much of them, and it would be a huge decision for them to make - together - one that will obviously impact not only them, but the whole of BTS), but do not shy away publicly from just how close and co-dependent they are of each other. A reality in which, dare I say, it's an obvious natural progression for them to continue to live together as "roommates" (in JK's huge mansion, of course) because "they got used to living together while in service". One in which being seen together in public isn't a big deal, it's a norm. One in which neither of them has to cower away or freeze or double take when they are caught on camera together (JK's deer caught in the headlights looks at the camera in mind). One in which when they aren't together them mentioning of the other isn't an "oh" or "ah" moment, but a natural "not a biggie" thing, because that's just something they obviously do. One in which ot7 army who love to ignore just how close those two are (because they are too close and too suspicious and acknowledging that means acknowledging there is more there and that Jikookers aren't delusional shippers that are fantasizing or fetishizing those two, but clearly seeing what they have been purposefully ignoring) cannot continue to ignore any longer.

And I wouldn't have wished for all of the above if I didn't think that was something they wanted.

Because most of all I want one thing.

Most of all I want them to be happy!!

[j2hoes]

Hopes And Fears Part Three. (Wally Clark x Reader)

Summary: Y/N’s death is traumatic. So traumatic in fact, she can’t even look at Wally without reliving what happened to her.

Word Count: 2.4k

Gif Not Mine. Requests Are Open!

Warnings: Mature Language

I’ve grown fond of the early mornings whilst stuck at Split River. The first glimpse of the sun shining over the gardens, a warm hue welcoming the day. With no students roaming the halls, all I hear is the quiet sounds of nature. On the odd occasion, I’m even able to spot a rabbit or deer, grazing gently on the acres of freshly trimmed fields surrounding the school buildings.

It’s become a habit of mine, each morning I find myself lounging besides the flowerbeds. Allowing myself to feel each blade of grass that delicately brushes my skin. For a while, I forget that I’m no longer alive. I can simply exist.

It’s not uncommon for Wally to join me. Sprawled on his back, gazing up at the clouds. Pointing out different shapes and imagining different backstories for all of the cloud animals he sees. Besides that, neither of us speak much. Only enjoying one another’s company as we relax in the morning light.

Spending this time has given me the opportunity to process everything. Wally helps me to work through my emotions and thoughts. Nothing ever being too much for him to listen to, though I’m still afraid to divulge everything. I’m sure he can sense that I’m holding back, yet he doesn’t pry. Content to just listen. In all honestly, I truly believe that these moments with Wally have helped me more so than Mr Martin’s support group has. Despite attending every session since my memorial, I consistently leave the group feeling unfulfilled. Unsatisfied. In fact, it doesn’t seem as though the teacher wants us to discuss the past, our lives and our deaths. Only wanting us to focus on the present, the state we are confined to. I find myself struggling with this a lot.

“What do you think you would be doing if you hadn’t died?”

Pushing myself up on my elbows, I look over to Wally, who is resting on his stomach, absentmindedly plucking grass from the ground.

“I was supposed to go to college, play football. Hopefully make it pro, that’s what the plan was anyway.” He tells me, full of confidence yet his tone of voice suggests that’s not the pathway he would’ve chosen for himself.

“What about like outside of a job though?” I pry, the boy has my curiosity heightened. “Like, surely you have other things that you wanted to do?”

His eyes focus in on the pieces of grass that he’s now twisting together in a makeshift sort of chain. Deep in thought, I can see the cogs working in his brain as he tries to think of an answer for me. I’m sure it’s not something he’s necessarily thought of before, following the path that his mom set out for him upon birth.

“You’re gonna laugh, but I always wanted to get married and have a family. I know that times have changed and you lot don’t really believe in marriage and stuff that much anymore but I’m a family guy. Always have been.” He admits, finally looking at me and I see the honesty written across his face. “It just sucks that I’ll never actually get to experience it.”

My heart aches for him. One fatal accident and his entire future was stripped away. Never getting to experience the things he always dreamed of. It breaks heart, knowing what he could have had.

“Wally, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s no big deal, really, I’ve spent the last few decades accepting my fate and it’s not so bad here.” He tells me, a sadness shining in the brown of his eyes, trying his best to cover it up with a soft smile. “What about you? Other than taking over the world with your best friend, what was the plan?”

Giggling slightly as he references Abby’s speech, I start to wonder what my life would’ve looked like. Truthfully, I have no idea. My life revolved around dancing and cheer, other than that I have no clue as to who I am. Up until my death, I didn’t believe I was worthy of love, the one chance I took was with Spencer and look how that turned out.

“I suppose I wanted to leave Split River, Abby wanted to go to New York so I figured I would study there.” I reply, knowing New York was never my dream. I just couldn’t bare to part with her once high school ended. “It would be quite nice to live on a farm. Out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by animals, I think that would’ve been my dream.”

“Now this makes sense.”

Crossing my legs underneath me to sit up properly, he’s unable to hide the bright smile on his face. Clearly finding some amusement in what I said.

“What makes sense?” I ask, to which he laughs quietly. Pulling a clump of grass out of the ground, I launch it in his direction. “Hey, you dickhead, I didn’t laugh at you, so you can’t laugh at me.”

“No, no. I’m not laughing at you.” Wally speaks through chuckles, rolling on to his back. “It just makes sense now why you like to sit out here.”

His arms are thrown across his face, shielding his eyes from the sun. I can’t help but stare as his muscles flex, admiring the sight in front of me. Following his body, I find myself biting the inside of my cheek as I notice his top has risen up his stomach ever so slightly. Highlighting the small trail of hair that dips below his shorts.

“Did you have a girlfriend?” I blurt out, before I even realise what I’m saying.

Slapping my hand across my mouth, embarrassment floods my body, eyes wide as Wally smiles. Eyebrows raised as he looks over to me. Sly smile making its way on to his face.

“No. No girlfriend. Why?”

“I was just wondering. I mean, star high school quarterback, you must have had girls queuing up for your attention.” I’m able to stop myself before I begin a long-winded rant. Helping to ease at least a tiny amount of my embarrassment.

Wally rolls his eyes at my comment. “Well in that case you must’ve had boys queuing up for your attention. What with being head cheerleader and all.”

“Ha ha. Okay, I know it was a stupid question.”

Fortunately for me, I’m saved from making a fool out of myself even more by the sounds of cars entering the parking lot. In unison, we both turn to face the sound. Observing the students that have started to filter into the building, chatting loudly amongst one another as they do so.

My vision locks in on Spencer and his gang of hooligans. They’re jumping all over one another without a care in the world as they make their way into the school. Trail of awestruck girls following behind in the hopes of garnering the smallest amount of attention from one of the jocks.

If only I was able to tell them what they’re really like. Perhaps they wouldn’t make the same mistake that I made. Perhaps I’d be able to save them from the same fate that I suffered.

“So I was thinking we could have a pool day. I think Charlie would be up for it, maybe not Rhonda, but it could be fun for us all just to chill out. You haven’t really spent much time with anyone else apart from in our sessions with Mr Martin.”

Wally’s words echo around my head though I’m not paying any attention. Despite, no longer being able to see the group that I was fixated on, I’m still closely watching the area that they had just previously been walking through.

Two weeks later and Spencer and his friends still evade justice. Police presence at the school has increased drastically with crime scene investigators cornering off the old toilet block. Maybe I’m impatient, but it feels like they’re getting away with it. Receiving no consequences for their heinous actions.

“Y/N, are you listening?”

Wally’s words finally drag me out of my thoughts and I meet his eyes. “Yeah, pool day, sounds good.”

“And we’re inviting Charlie and Rhonda.” He states, eyebrows raised as he knows I wasn’t truly paying attention to a word he said.

“Oh, no. They’re nice but can we just do it alone? I’m not sure I feel up to doing a whole group thing.”

Wally nods, though his eyes narrow. Sensing there’s something off with me. He’s good at noticing whenever my demeanour changes, or whenever something is bothering me. It’s part of his nature.

“Yeah of course. We should probably head to group first though.” The athlete pushes himself off the floor as he speaks, waiting for me to stand as well which I reluctantly do, not before releasing an annoyed groan. “You know, one of these days, you might actually enjoy the sessions.”

Rolling my eyes, I follow Wally towards the gym. He holds the doors open for me as we enter the building, his small act of chivalry makes me giddy. I make no effort to show this however, politely thanking the boy as I walk through.

“Ah here they are! Took you two long enough.” Charlie jokes as we enter the gym, taking our seats. I sit between Dawn and Rhonda with Wally seating himself between Charlie and Mr Martin.

“No guesses what they’ve been up to.” Rhonda comments, lollipop hanging out the side of her mouth as she does so.

“Thank you Rhonda.” Mr Martin chimes in, stopping the conversation from escalating any further. “So today, I figured we would get to know our newest member. Y/N you’ve been here for a couple of weeks now and we still don’t know too much about you.”

“I’m sure Wally could tell us all about her.” Rhonda remarks under her breath. So quiet, I almost don’t catch it.

“I’m sorry, is there something you want to say?” I snap, my tone harsh and confronting.

She laughs in response, the annoyance on my face evident as I glare at her. Her snarky and sarcastic nature hasn’t proven to be a problem for me, though I think that may be about to change.

“Y/N, tell us about your death. We’re all dying to know what happened. No pun intended.” The teacher interjects, attempting to diffuse the tense situation yet I still feel on edge.

“No thank you.”

“Oh come on Y/N, none of us are going to judge you. You know that.” Charlie tells me, offering me a reassuring smile.

“No, she’d rather just listen to all our trauma. Isn’t that right cherry pop?”

Rhonda’s words strike a chord within me. I’ll admit, the other ghosts have been very open about their deaths with me. All discussing in detail what happened to them to result in this fate. Sure, I haven’t divulged into the details of my death as of yet, but it’s for good reason. Not only am I still trying to process it myself but I don’t want them to look at me any differently nor do I want them to take pity on me when they learn the details.

“Do you have a problem with me or something Rhonda?” I ask, swinging around in my chair so that I can face her directly.

Upon doing so, I take note of how Charlie and Wally are quick to sit up straight. Feeling the anger radiating off me and awaiting any possible confrontation that may be about to occur.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” The girl retorts, crossing her arms over her chest before she continues speaking. “You waltz in here and make no effort with any of us besides Wally. Who, let’s not forget, you made to feel like a piece of shit on your first day after that unreasonable outburst. You listen to all of us recounting our deaths, the most traumatic things that could’ve happened to us and still none of us know what happened to you. It hardly seems fair.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry Rhonda. I’m sorry that i’m still processing what happened to me. I’m sorry that I’m not ready to discuss it with a group of strangers. I am so sorry that I’m not getting over everything as quick as you would like me to.”

My voice is raised as I speak, hurt that she would even think that my choice not to share what happened is a personal attack on the group. No matter how hurt I’m feeling, the anger completely outweighs it. Angry that she can’t see that I’m still struggling and angry that my murderers are still attending this school. Instead of being locked behind bars for the rest of their life, like they deserve to be. Nobody can understand what I am going through and that makes me so astonishingly angry.

“Boo hoo. You’re still processing, we’re all still processing. Not to mention the fact that we’ve barely seen Wally these past couple of weeks because he’s been trailing around after you, trying to make you feel less threatened by him. He’s even taken off that stupid football shirt that he loved so much! I hate to break it to you, but he was here first.” She argues, tears well in my eyes as she mentions Wally. I lock eyes with him and see his downcast expression. Was she right? Was he only spending this time with me to make me feel better and less scared? “You should do everybody a favour and fuck off back to the old toilet block where you came from.”

“Rhonda!” Charlie exclaims, clearly shocked by her words.

“Is that how you really feel Wally?” I ask hesitantly, the dejection evident in my voice.

He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. Nodding slightly, I understand completely. Pushing myself out of the chair, nobody speaks as I make my exit from the room.

“Lovely chat.” Rhonda shouts, one last attempt to get a reaction from me. Even as I shove open the doors with an obnoxious slam, I don’t look back.

The entirety of my body feels heavy as I drag myself down the hallways. Nobody comes after me, not even Wally. I feel truly alone, hurt and confused. Death was supposed to be peaceful and yet here I am. Suffering more than I ever did when alive.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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[marc-spectorr]

𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒘𝒊𝒎

pairing: duke leto atreides x fem!reader

summary: It's the night before your wedding to Duke Leto Atreides and he finds you struck by panic about your future in Caladan.

warnings: 3.1k wc. arranged marriage, panic attack, anxiety, mentions of conceiving. my limited dune-lore knowledge. soft!leto.

a/n: first leto fic ahhh!! i may or may not write more parts to this in the future. i had so many ideas but if i wrote them all in one fic, it would be a long one (not to mention it would take 1001 years to finish and post). anyway, feedback is very much appreciated! hope you enjoy :)

—

Caladan.

There is a beauty to it that you cannot deny. It's captivating from the very first glance. An indescribable sight, unparalleled to anywhere else in the universe.

Of all the worlds you could be in at this moment, a part of you is glad it's Caladan. In spite of the circumstances that brought you here, you try to be grateful for it. Surely, there are worse places to live on than this.

Here, the ocean is vast, stretching far beyond the starlit horizon. A fresh breeze carries the salty scent of the water towards you. It tickles your skin as if it were a feather, the light coolness sending goosebumps along your arms. You tug your shawl more closely around your shoulders.

It is far from the hot desert landscape you know and love. Despite its recent hardships, that planet was once home to you. It still is. You wonder how long it will be before you consider Caladan as such. It's been one week since your arrival, and you're in a period of adjustment, which in truth, has not been too easy.

The beach is empty, unsurprising as the moon has moved far past its highest point in the sky. You can't sleep. You haven't for so long. Similar to all the nights prior, you had tossed and turned endlessly under silken sheets before deciding to go for a walk. You found no comfort in your bed despite the mattress beneath you being the softest there ever was.

It could be the chambers themselves, surrounded by four dark walls that are still very much foreign to you. You must get used to it, you remind yourself. In fact, it's more than just a room that you must get used to.

Tomorrow, your life will change more than it already has when you moved to Caladan.

Tomorrow is the wedding—your wedding. Many esteemed members of the Great Houses will be in attendance, alongside your closest family and friends, who are now worlds away from you. They will all be present to witness you exchange vows with Duke Leto Atreides, a man you barely know.

You exhale a deep, long sigh and draw your knees under your chin. Gentle waves lap onto the shore, the white foam almost reaching your toes before ebbing away. You watch in comfortable silence, the hypnotic rhythm of the waves creating a sense of calm.

Unwittingly, your mind combs through recent events. You spent plenty of these last few days surrounded by those more interested in your upcoming nuptials than you are. You've grown weary of feigning smiles every second in their company, of pretending to be okay when you are far from it.

You feel alone. You are alone.

It’s a sacrifice—leaving behind the life you had to help your struggling home world. Things are changing faster than the time you have to process them. But you can't afford to wait—the sooner you marry Leto, the sooner your father and your people's burdens will go away.

You are doing the right thing. The noble thing. It's what you were raised to do. The last thing you wish is to be seen as a disappointment.

Still, it doesn't mean you have your worries and doubts. You lack experience, having never courted someone before. You question whether or not you would be fit to be a wife to the stranger who is the Duke of Caladan. You're well aware of the responsibilities you would have to uphold, the expectation that one day you will need to bear him an heir…

You shut your eyes, trying to push past the feeling of your heart starting to pick up and thud heavily against your ribs. But the pit of anxiety gnawing at your stomach grows and grows, and it's a losing battle. Not even the ocean waves that mesmerized you moments ago could distract you from the mounting panic inside.

Your thoughts batter you from within like a storm raging out of control. The pressure and expectations others have on you— that you have on yourself— can't be stopped. 

They're too loud; they refuse to be ignored this time around.

Your body trembles, your breaths are short and shallow, and it feels like you are drowning; you're helplessly caught in a dangerous current that pulls you under the water. The weight in your chest drags you down and deeper, sinking and sinking until you hit the very bottom of the depths of your own mind, deprived of any air, any light.

It's only until a voice calls out your name over and over again that you resurface. Warm, gentle hands urge you to sit right back up, and you don't have it in you to fight against them. You don't remember curling up on your side, wound in a tight little ball, nearly burrowing yourself into the sand bed as if wanting to be swallowed whole.

"Breathe, darling... Listen to my voice and just breathe, alright? One... two... three..."

You can't see him, not through the hot, stinging tears obscuring your eyes. But you can hear him. His voice's hazy, soft lull is strangely familiar, yet you cannot place whose it is.

He coaxes you repeatedly, and you focus on his words as if they are your one and only lifeline—as if they are the calming waves reaching the shoreline. 

You do as he says. You breathe.

"One... two... three... That's it, my lady. Deep breaths for me, and again— one... two... three... Good girl, and again. Breathe..."

You're unsure how long has passed by the time your heart slows, and your breathing evens out. Your blurred vision clears once your tears have settled, and your eyes widen when you recognize the face before you.

Duke Leto Atreides kneels beside you, dressed in a manner you have never seen him in. He has on a loose white shirt and dark lounge bottoms, his graying head of curls mussed by the wind blowing past.

You're uncertain why he's at the beach alone at this late hour despite being seemingly ready for bed. Perhaps concerned guards informed him of your wandering about the castle in the dead of night. Did he come all this way in search of you?

Leto’s dark eyes search your face for the reason of your distress. Embarrassment sweeps over your cheeks— you cannot imagine how much of a pitiful mess you look. God, what if you've ruined it? What if seeing you this way, so weak, and frightened, and pathetic, has Leto wishing to rescind his agreement to marry you? What if, what if—

"Hey, shh… Relax. There is no need to fret," Leto soothes. He must have seen the worry in your eyes, but instead of ridicule as you anticipated, he looks at you with concern.

You cast your gaze down, catching sight of your hand in his. He hasn't let go of it since finding you, and when he notices your muscles tense up from the anxiety that seizes your body once more, he squeezes.

Leto squeezes your hand firmly but nowhere near the point of pain. His words are a quiet murmur in your ears. "Don't go back there, darling. Stay here, on this beach. Squeeze my hand back so I know you're here with me. Can you do that for me, please?"

With his other hand, Leto places a finger under your chin to tip it upwards, meeting your eyes. Again, he holds your hand tightly and brushes his thumb over your knuckles. You concentrate on him, matching your breaths to his. The tension starts to slip away bit by bit, and when it does, you finally squeeze his hand back.

"There you go. Just breathe, you're alright," Leto murmurs with a small smile. It dawns on you how close he is when the sound of the ocean becomes second to his voice. "Better?"

You swallow, then nod following a brief pause, not trusting yourself to speak.

Moving slowly so as not to startle you, Leto picks up your shawl from the ground, dusting it clean of grains of sand before draping it over your shoulders.

You expect him to leave, seeing you have regained some semblance of composure. You much prefer that he would. You can't handle explaining to Leto what was wrong. Is wrong.

The air turns silent as you face the water, wiping the dried-up tears from your cheeks with your fingers. You don't see Leto in your peripheral vision, but he's there, watching you. You can feel it.

"Here," you hear Leto say. Glancing to the side, you find him still sitting next to you. He offers his handkerchief, gently motioning it toward you when he senses your hesitation.

With the slightest smile, you accept the piece of cloth, whispering a "thanks" and looking away. 

It occurs to you then that this is your first true moment with Leto. Before today, you had only seen glimpses of him. The most time you have spent with him was during your first encounter, and even then, it wasn't for long.

You chalked it up to Leto having no genuine interest in you. Why would he? He has duties that are much more pressing than entertaining you.

It's not much of a surprise. It would be wrong of you to expect for more. Ultimately, this marriage is not one for love but born out of necessity. A political alliance. A guarantee that your people will be well taken care of. That's the agreement.

Not to mention, you've heard them— those hushed talks amongst the servants and guards about how Caladan does not stand to gain anything from the union.

They are not wrong; many have supposedly expressed concern, including members of the Duke's inner circle. You wonder if he will come to regret his decision one day.

"You've had quite a fright there."

Leto's voice cuts through the silence between you. He shuffles from behind, sitting where he can better see you. You stop yourself from glancing down; it would be rude, and you don't want to tarnish both your image and your family's name even more than you already have.

"I-I am deeply sorry, my lord. You shouldn't have to see that," you manage to get out, catching the way Leto's brows knit together in response.

"There's no shame in such. Why apologize?" he asks you in a soft tone. "And please, there's no need for formalities. Call me Leto. After all, we are betrothed to one another."

Your throat suddenly dries at the reminder that the man before you is your soon-to-be husband. You wring your hands in your lap and give him a nod, skirting from answering his earlier question.

Leto is quick to pick up your nervousness. You can almost see his brain working to piece it all together and grasp what was happening when he stumbled upon you.

You dread what words Leto might say, fearing they will be judgments made against you. You hide from his piercing stare, picking at your nails until a pair of rough yet gentle hands gathers yours, halting you.

Leto squeezes your hands softly, very much like he did before, and it soothes the part of you that has always ached but you could never get rid of.

"You do not have to carry your burdens alone, my lady," Leto murmurs, leaning to catch your eyes once more, and he does. "Whatever it is, unload it on me. Now, tell me what's wrong."

It's almost cruel that your instinct is to doubt him. But if the sincerity bleeding into his voice wasn't enough for you to give him a chance, then it's the tenderness in his gaze. You see the understanding in them, the concern and genuine desire to ease your troubles away.

Your initial perception of Leto has been wrong. You've been wary of him. Intimidated. But this is no man holding no care for you. He could have easily walked away after finding you amidst a fit. Instead, he stayed. He's here when you were convinced he would never find the time to be.

You open up to Leto like a floodgate, admitting to him the thoughts that plagued your mind from the day you learned about this marital arrangement, your nervousness for tomorrow's wedding and your fear of solitude in Caladan in the days that would follow.

You feel selfish, guilty even, for saying all of this out loud. You have no right to complain when the locals here have treated you with only kindness. Others would dream of being in your shoes—of living in a beautiful land, gaining an honorable title, and having a husband who would make you the envy of many.

Why must a blessing cause you great grief?

Leto listens to every word with undivided attention. He lets you speak freely and honestly, never once interfering between your sobs and sentences. He clears his throat only when the whispering waves of the ocean have lingered in the space between the two for some time.

"You are right when you said some of my advisors opposed me marrying you," Leto begins softly, gauging every bit of your reaction as he speaks. "They told me it would bring no benefit to House Atreides—that all we'll do is use up precious time and resources for a dying planet already beyond saving. Their words, not mine."

There is a quiet beat. Leto glances towards the horizon, where the first faint inklings of dawn break through the skies. He continues: "I realized then that those men do not uphold the same values I believe in. Caladan has more than enough riches to go around. There is no humanity in turning a blind eye to people's suffering—especially when we have it in our power to provide aid.

"I've had plenty of disagreements with my advisors, but I couldn't allow those without hearts to remain on my council. My lack of presence is not because I had no interest in getting to know you. Rather, I was ensuring those who showed little care for my bride and her ancestral land no longer served as advisors of mine—a task that regrettably stole time I would have spent with you."

You fall silent. The breath that leaves you seemingly takes more of the load on your being. Your respect for Leto grows. You see now the kind, thoughtful, benevolent man he is. 

How could you have been so wrong about him? You'd been irrational, too assuming. So afraid he would turn out to be the complete opposite when he gave you no valid reason that he's such. You should not have been quick to judge his character when you had known nothing about him in the first place.

"I... thank you, my lor—Leto," you eventually say, turning to him. Shame and remorse cling to your tongue. "I am terribly sorry again. Had my mind been sound, I would've realized my distress is unwarranted."

"Nonsense. You're overwhelmed; your worries were reasonable. All I want is the two of us to be on the same page," Leto replies. The warm smile that adorns his lips when you correct yourself and address him by name lingers. “Let's start over, shall we then?"

You watch as he stands on his feet, reaching out his hand towards you. With Leto's help, you pull yourself up from the sandy floor, shaking off the pins and needles stinging your limbs. He holds his hand out once more, this time for a handshake.

"Hello, I am Leto and welcome to Caladan. It is a pleasure to meet you and an honor to have your presence here."

A smile blooms across your face as you shake his hand, formally introducing yourself to Leto the way he had. "I cannot thank you enough for agreeing to this. I, my father, and our people are eternally grateful for your generosity."

Leto makes a small bow of his head, capturing your hand between his own. Something inside you feels lighter now. The air around you, once thick like water, isn't anymore.

"You will no longer have to worry about your home world. I will make certain they receive all that they need—as for you, as well. I am here for you, even if it's simply as an ear to listen."

A pause. Leto's voice melts a touch softer. He looks at you with eyes deep and brown as the bark of a pine. "In a matter of hours, you and I will wed. It's merely for formality's sake. What goes on between us as husband and wife is nobody's business but ours. Please know that I ask for and expect nothing in return for agreeing to this arrangement. You will never be forced to do anything you do not wish to. Ever. Is that understood?"

You take in Leto's words, becoming aware of the unspoken ones, those hidden between the lines. Their implications settle on you, and you let out a quiet breath of relief into the air.

"I do," you assure before adding, for what could be the hundredth time since Leto has joined you, "Thank you."

“You’re welcome, my lady.”

The sun peaks over the skyline, casting bright golden rays over Caladan. Leto briefly glances in the distance, the silver strands of his mane and beard catching the light, and they glimmer before your eyes. He smiles wide, the lines on his face crinkling as he watches the sunrise.

You also find yourself smiling, spending a moment more studying Leto's profile before turning to what's ahead of you.

Caladan takes your breath away, even more so in the daylight. You can fully appreciate it now that the storms in your mind have passed, and it's as clear as the skies.

"It's a beautiful day to get married." Leto remarks as the two of you gaze out to the water. After basking in the peaceful silence, he meets your eyes again, offering you his arm like a gentleman would. "Come, let me escort you back to your room. We both should rest up a bit before the festivities start."

Nodding in agreement, you quietly say goodbye to the ocean and allow Leto to guide you away from the beach. The sand beneath your shoes eventually turns to a rocky pathway at the foot of Castle Caladan, its grandeur towering over you.

A warm hand slips into yours.

"From now on, you will never feel alone," Leto says, pressing a soft squeeze to your hand. His hold is comforting, and reassuring. “You will always have me at your side, darling. I promise you that."

You smile at Leto, feeling something tender unfold in your chest when he returns a smile of his own.

You believe him, and for once, you think you will be okay.

—

taglist: @pigeonmama

please note that i’m starting a new taglist for my fics. if you would like to be included, let me know :)

[admiringlove]

falling stars. the sixth part of @angstober is here! i really loved writing this one, ugh. anyways, happy reading <3 masterlist of the event can be found here.

being immortal was both a blessing and a curse.

zhongli had always been the god of contracts. it was the essence of his existence, a purpose etched into the very marrow of his being. he wasn’t always the composed, reserved man who carried the weight of centuries with quiet dignity, his gaze heavy with the nostalgia of eras long past. no, once, he had been sharp and unyielding—a man who lived and breathed duty. his loyalty to liyue was unshakable. liyue came first. always.

duty was his creed, his unwavering religion. the god of stone and earth, as immovable as the mountains he shaped. whenever his focus wavered, that mantra echoed in his mind: liyue comes first. duty comes first. it was an unrelenting rhythm that kept his soul in check.

but then, somehow, you happened.

you were the anomaly, the gentle rain that smoothed his jagged edges. he never quite understood how you slipped past the walls he’d spent millennia building. the god of contracts, once as steadfast as the stone he commanded, found himself softened—worn down not by time but by your presence. you were like the tide, subtle yet persistent, shaping him with a patience he didn’t know could exist. his rigid mountains melted into quiet hills, his soul drenched in the warmth of your laughter, the soft glow of fireworks, and a nostalgia he had never allowed himself to feel.

and now, for the first time, zhongli questioned where duty ended and where you began. you weren’t just a fleeting moment in his never-ending timeline. no, you were something far greater. you held his entire existence in your hands, like magic woven into your fingertips. you weren’t just his past—you were his present, his future, everything all at once.

and he hates that he’s slowly forgetting you. hates that he's still here, living, while it’s been eons since he last heard your voice, since the scent of you clung to his memory.

your scent. it was the first to fade, slipping through his grasp as the years stretched on. he remembers fragments—how you always smelled of the river, like the waters of qingce village clung to you. you loved the water, always said it felt like home. he’d once joked that you should have been born in fontaine, where the tides ruled, but you loved him long before you knew who he truly was.

you loved your god, and your devotion to rex lapis was so pure, so sacred, that it unsettled even him. most revered him with fear, with trembling awe, but you—no, you loved him as effortlessly as breathing. it's how he'd found you, standing before his statue, lighting incense in the stillness of prayer. he approached as zhongli, hands behind his back, watching as you offered your quiet supplications.

"did you know he's the eldest of the seven?" he murmured, his gaze lifting to the likeness of himself carved in stone. there was something serene in your posture, a calmness that baffled him. most would pray with reverence or dread, but you. you smiled softly as you waved the incense in the air, placing it at the statue’s base.

"everyone knows he's the eldest," you replied, casting him a sideways glance, "but most people don’t realize that barbatos is the second eldest."

zhongli blinked, a flicker of surprise playing at his lips. it was true—his old friend, the carefree anemo god, was the second oldest, though few knew this because of barbatos’ lighthearted demeanor.

"you seem well-versed in the ways of the gods," he remarked, curiosity piqued as he watched you. you chuckled, the sound light and warm. "my father’s a priest. i suppose that’s why. but i think rex lapis is different from the others."

zhongli’s interest deepened. he tilted his head. "how so?"

"you’ll laugh if i tell you," you teased, a grin tugging at your lips before you looked back at the statue, "but i think he’s a romantic. being the eldest must come with so much responsibility. i imagine he’s tired, weary from the weight of it all. from all of us."

zhongli frowned, something in your words striking a strange chord within him. "but that is his duty, is it not?" he asked, his brow furrowing, unsettled by the way your insight crawled beneath his skin.

you simply shook your head, smiling to yourself. "duty and purpose don’t always align, you know. rex lapis is a magnificent god, strong and wise. but i like to think he’s also present in the small moments, like an old friend. sometimes, i talk to him about my day."

zhongli’s gaze sharpened, a mix of amusement and suspicion in his eyes. "do you now?" he asked, voice low. "then perhaps he’s listening."

"if only," you laughed softly, the sound like wind brushing through leaves. "gods are mysterious creatures. i doubt they have the time to listen to a priest’s child ramble on about their mundane life."

if only you had known how closely he listened, how deeply your words had taken root within him, like seeds planted in the fertile soil of his heart. you were like water—gentle yet unyielding—flowing into the spaces between his thoughts, shaping him without him even realizing. after that day, you became something he could never quite shake, lingering like the soft glow of a lantern after dark—an ever-present warmth, like coming home after centuries spent wandering.

he finds you again, unexpectedly, sitting alone by the harbor in liyue city. there’s a heaviness to your expression, your brow furrowed as your eyes gaze out at the endless stretch of the sea, as if seeking solace in its waves. the wind tugs at your hair, carrying the salt of the ocean in the air, and you sigh—a quiet, resigned sound that makes something tighten in his chest. he watches you for a moment longer before making his way toward you.

"it’s you," he murmurs, his voice soft as the breeze, "from qingce village."

your head lifts slowly, and at first, your gaze holds no recognition, dulled by the weight of your troubles. but then, your eyes widen, lighting up with sudden relief. "you! by rex lapis, am i glad to see you."

his amber eyes, with their distinct diamond-shaped pupils, flicker in surprise. he hadn’t expected that reaction. you press on, your words tumbling out with a mixture of frustration and desperation. "this city is impossible. my father sent me here to assist a doctor with medicinal herbs, but i’m completely lost. and not one statue of morax inside the city! not one! where am i supposed to go every morning to pray?"

a small chuckle escapes him, low and warm, and he tilts his head slightly. "that is true. the nearest statue is just beyond the city’s borders, but it can be a dangerous journey. perhaps... you could join me for tea each morning instead. madame ping brews the finest oolong, and we often sit together in the high grounds before i start my day. you might even find your doctor there."

"really?" your face lights up, like the skies of liyue igniting during lantern rite, a spark of hope rekindled in your eyes. "you’d do that for me? include me in your routine, even though you barely know me?"

he smiles softly, settling onto the bench beside you. "you’re fond of rex lapis, aren’t you? so is madame ping. and so am i. i believe you’d make for good company."

"that’s... incredibly kind of you," you murmur, fingers loosening their tight grip on the straps of your bag, a hint of vulnerability slipping into your voice. "i never got your name, though."

he turns to face you, his gaze steady, the sunlight catching the red liner beneath his amber eyes, making them glow with a soft, almost ethereal light. "zhongli," he replies, watching you carefully, as though gauging your reaction.

you take in a slow breath, your eyes widening slightly as you look at him, something shifting in the air between you, fragile and significant all at once. "you know," you say, your voice a little softer now, "zhongli, you have a very familiar face."

he chuckles, the sound deep and rich, vibrating through the quiet of the harbor. "do i, now?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his tone. "i’ll take that as a compliment."

and so, the friendship between you and, unbeknownst to you, rex lapis began. you spoke of him in the way a devout follower might speak of their deity, yet with a warmth, a familiarity, that zhongli couldn’t quite grasp. it was as if, in your heart, rex lapis was not a distant god ruling from on high, but a cherished friend; someone you could confide in without fear. and that comforted him in a way nothing else had. for once, someone revered him not out of awe or terror, but out of love. someone placed rex lapis on a pedestal for reasons beyond his power, beyond his duty. simply because they cared for him, deeply, genuinely.

perhaps that was why fate had woven your paths together. to teach him that he was more than his role, more than the weight of his eternal duty. to remind him that his purpose did not need to be solely bound to protecting liyue until the end of time. there could be more—there was more.

"i don’t think i can love anyone as much as i love the god of geo," you once confessed, after finally mastering the confusing streets of liyue harbor. the two of you were descending the stone steps after your usual morning tea with auntie ping—though now, you had grown fond enough of her to call her that. zhongli’s brow raised at your words, his steps slowing to match your pace, for you were always a little slower, always taking your time. "what do you mean by that?"

"i don’t know," you sighed, your gaze flickering to the distant horizon, "i have this... strange relationship with rex lapis. i love him. i idolize him. i think of him as an old friend, someone i can share my burdens with. but i also feel that... if someone were to love me, it would be hard for me to return the same intensity. i think it would pale in comparison to the way i love him." your voice trailed off, quieter, more uncertain. "it’s strange. like i said, a strange feeling to have. i don’t even know why i’m telling you this."

zhongli’s eyes softened as he watched you, his lips curving into a gentle, knowing smile. "i believe the word you’re searching for is sacred," he said quietly.

you blinked, surprised by his response, and for a brief moment, you narrowed your eyes at him as if trying to figure something out. because that familiar feeling tugged at you again—like a jigsaw falling into place, though you couldn’t quite see the whole picture yet. the way he smiled at you, the way he seemed to understand. it made your heart skip, just a little.

and, without realizing it, you began to favor a certain funeral parlor consultant over the god you once idolized.

he made you smile wider than you ever had, more than you ever did for rex lapis. zhongli had quietly woven himself into the fabric of your life, so seamlessly that it left you baffled, wondering when it all began. your days started to revolve around him—sometimes even your nights. he would tell you stories of liyue’s ancient history as if he had witnessed every moment himself, painting vivid pictures of a time long past. it left you in awe, admiring him more with every tale, until the realization struck like a wave crashing against the shore.

you had come to love zhongli more than rex lapis.

the thought gripped you with quiet terror. the way his eyes would crinkle with a knowing smile, the way his soft chuckles echoed in the silence after you mentioned your god—it all made your heart stumble, beat after beat. he was hiding something, you knew it. and it wasn’t just you who noticed. even auntie ping, with her ageless wisdom, seemed in on the secret. zhongli had once called her an old friend, but just how old, you couldn’t quite tell.

"how did you meet auntie ping?" you asked one evening, crossing the bridge near the funeral parlor, heading towards dinner. he paused, a flicker of hesitation passing through his amber eyes. "i don’t quite remember anymore," he said quietly, "we’ve simply been friends for a very long time. there was another once, but... she’s gone now. her name was guizhong."

"was she beautiful?" the question left your lips before you could stop yourself. "was she clever?"

his soft laugh carried through the evening air. "immensely," he said, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. "we miss her, every now and then."

"did she..." your voice faltered as you stopped in your tracks. "did she pass away?"

he nodded, a touch of sadness lingering in his expression before he resumed walking. you remained rooted in place, pieces of a larger puzzle scattering through your mind. but it was as if your thoughts grew foggy whenever you were near him—like familiarity slipping through your fingers, just beyond reach. zhongli glanced back at you, tilting his head ever so slightly. "aren’t you coming?"

you murmured a soft “yes” and quickened your steps to catch up, brushing away the weight of your thoughts. "how did morax befriend cloud retainer?" you asked, steering the conversation back to familiar ground. he seemed to know so much more about your god than even your father, things lost to time.

and with every answer he gave, you found yourself more bewildered than before.

your curiosity always brought a quiet joy to zhongli, a chance for him to indulge in your questions, your wonder. at first, he thought nothing of it, simply an opportunity to share the knowledge he had gathered over centuries. but slowly, he found himself captivated, drawn to you in ways that puzzled even him. he started accompanying you outside the city, watching you in silence as you lit incense and knelt before the statue of rex lapis. but today, something was different. your expression had shifted, lips set in a thin, guilty line. like a river running cold, your posture stiffened as if weighed by an unspoken burden.

"is something troubling you?" his voice was gentle, though there was a faint edge of concern as he watched you stare up at the stone likeness of the god. you blinked, shaken from your daze, shaking your head with a quiet denial. but zhongli had known you long enough to see through the facade. "you’re different today. while you pray."

your throat tightened, words tangling within you. how could you admit that the man beside you, the one you’d come to know for mere months, had taken up more space in your heart than the god you had worshipped all your life? it was a storm within you, like water crashing through the valleys of your soul, eroding the bedrock of belief you had built.

"i can’t tell you," you murmured, turning your back to him. "this is between me and rex lapis."

"am i not your friend?" his voice was soft, almost too soft. "am i not as close to you as rex lapis is?"

he faltered then, realizing the weight of his words. what had he just revealed? he hoped the slip of his tongue wouldn’t shatter the delicate line he had walked all this time. you were clever—more clever than anyone he’d known—but perhaps your heart would refuse to see the truth.

yet why had he even said it? he was rex lapis, wasn’t he? so why did it matter that zhongli, the mortal, had become more important to you than the god? why did he feel envy, for his own self?

"you are not him," you whispered, a note of disturbance in your voice. "you are mortal. he is my god."

"he is your friend," zhongli replied quietly, searching your face, "and so am i. if something troubles you, something that disturbs your prayer, why not tell me? i don’t want to see you unhappy like this."

"i can’t," you insisted, your shoulders sagging under the weight of it all. "why don’t you understand-"

"but why not?"

"because i’m in love with you!" the words bursted from you, raw and trembling in the space between you both. your voice did not crack with tears, but the defeat in your eyes spoke of an agony deeper than tears could show. "and you’ve taken up more space in my life than my god. and that... that breaks me."

the confession hung in the air, heavy and unyielding, as if the world itself had stilled in the wake of your words.

"oh," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. "i am sorry."

he watched as your face twisted in thought, a realization settling behind your eyes, something heavy and final. "i know," you murmured, turning away, your voice distant. "we should head back into the city before it gets dark."

"wait, i must tell you-"

"no, zhongli." you shook your head, your defeat palpable. "i know you don’t feel the same. it’s alright. i shouldn’t feel this way either. i’m supposed to love him more."

"but i do feel the same," he said, his voice suddenly firm, cutting through your words with a softness that startled you. "i feel the same, so why shouldn’t you?"

your mind went blank. his words left you utterly speechless, like the world had tipped sideways. you blinked up at him, confusion written across your furrowed brows, eyes glassy as you struggled to make sense of what he had just said. it felt almost sacrilegious. zhongli stepped closer, his hand finding your shoulder with the familiarity of an old friend. "it is why i want to spend every moment of my life with you. why i want you to stay by my side until my last breath. is that not fair?"

you stared at him, blinking rapidly, fighting back tears that threatened to spill. how could this be real? how could the man who had become your constant, your guide, feel the same way you did? he spoke again, his voice steady and warm, as though wrapping you in a promise. "if you love morax so much, then let’s draw a contract between us. that you will love me with the same intensity as you love him. and in return, i’ll help you love him more. i will tell you stories about him, i will show you more of liyue harbor, i will take you to the temples, and pray alongside you until your last breath—if that is what keeps you content."

his words washed over you like a tide, a promise carved from stone and time. you felt the weight of it, the gravity of his offer. this man, this mortal, who had unknowingly become the center of your world, was offering himself wholly to you—not in opposition to the god you revered, but alongside him, like two halves of the same whole. it was a contract, a binding of hearts, one that felt as sacred as the prayers you had once whispered at the foot of the statue.

and so another chapter of zhongli’s infinitely long life began. but you were not infinite—you were fleeting, a moment in time that would fade. you aged like the finest wines of mondstadt, while he remained the same: tall, revered, handsome. your hair greyed, lines formed at the corners of your eyes, and soon, you grew older than auntie ping. and then, just like that, you were gone.

the scent of you vanished with the passing breeze, the smell of the rivers from qingce village where you grew up, the fragrance of old history books you lovingly stored, cleaned, and kept in your home. all of it—gone.

but zhongli remembers. he remembers every lantern rite spent by your side, watching the fireworks burst in the sky, but always, always watching you instead. the way your eyes lit up in awe at the colors that painted the night sky—he treasures it more than any celebration. and even after you were gone, liyue continued to bustle, unchanged. and zhongli stayed the same.

he lived on, because immortality was both a blessing and a curse. every year, he would stand on the high grounds, watching the fireworks bloom in the heavens with a weight in his chest that only grew heavier with time. and every year, he thought of you—your boundless curiosity, your devotion that never wavered.

he remembers the day he found your letter, tucked away like a relic, jagged edges and all. the curiosity that once led you to him now led him to unfold that paper with trembling hands. your words were simple, but they cut deep.

you had told him to live a long life—how ironic. as if he could do anything but. to eat well, as if you were still there, cooking for him each morning and night. to drink tea with ping, because you knew the weight of his loneliness. and you told him you loved him, as if he didn't already know, as if he couldn’t feel it in the way you breathed life into everything around you.

and then, what struck him most, what lingered in the back of his mind even after centuries passed, was how you signed it.

"thank you for everything, rex lapis. i leave you with love."

it was the last thing he had from you, and yet it was more than enough to keep your memory alive—because in the end, you had known. you had always known.

in his long life, he had done countless great things, and shall do countless more still. as they say: the waters change course, but the mountains move not.

so zhongli continues to live. carrying your love with him like an echo in his heart, as eternal as he was.

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[spooky-bunnys]

Hello! well first request and i'm nervous but anyway do you accept an omegaverse? how about bonten with an omega only he is goth like a vampire (if you want you can add something else or maybe a pregnancy if you wish :) ) thanks! (and sorry for my bad english, i'm not english speaking)

Title: Gothic Mood Swings

Fandom: Tokyo Revengers

Pairing: Bonten x Pregnant Goth Omega Male Reader

Warnings: Swearing, and mentions of punishment (not like that y'all)

The guard gulped as the phone rang. Nervous sweat sliding down his face. He knew this was a bad idea but they didn't know what else to do! Soon a click was heard. Nothing was said for a moment until deep voice was heard, "Speak." The guard nervously cleared his throat. "Sir. He closed himself in his coffin and we can't get him to come out."

There was a sigh from the other end. "What happened?" "He tried hanging upside down but got caught up in his morning sickness and got sick everywhere. He then got hungry and searched the cabinets and after not finding what he was looking for, closed himself into his coffin instead of laying in his nest." There was a humming sound and the sound of papers being shuffled.

"Alright we'll be back soon. So keep an eye on him until we get back. Understood?" The guard nodded and quickly agreed as the call ended. The guard let out a sigh of relief. Knowing he won't get too punished for calling his boss. I mean it was for the safety of their Omega and future pup. So hopefully the punishment won't be too bad.

~

Mikey ran a hand through his hair letting out a deep sigh. He had so much paperwork that needed to be done, but his Omega and pup were more important to him. Mikey carefully got up and texted the others to let them know they were needed at home.

On they're way home they made a few pitstops. One at a nesting store. Then next stop was at a store their Omega frequently visited. Finally they stopped at a restaurant their pregnant Omega has been eating so much of recently.

As they arrived at the mansion the pack lives in. Multiple guards met them outside. As they bowed the Bonten members made their way inside. When inside they took off their coats and shoes. Knowing their Omega worked hard on cleaning the mansion. They didn't want a repeat of last time.

Last time Takeomi has came in with muddy and wet shoes. Completely ruining the freshly cleaned floors. Their Omega had been so upset, he literally USED Takeomi to clean the floor. Like we're talking, used Takeomi as a mop to clean the floor. While it aroused most of the Alpha's, the others had be slightly horrified how their tiny Omega used a fully grown MAN, to mop the floors.

They didn't want a repeat of that. Especially Takeomi. After that they put away their shoes so nobody gets hurt. Mikey started up the stairs and the others quickly followed. Wanting to comfort their Omega. They know he's having a rough time with the whole pregnancy. It's been taking a huge toll on them all, but especially on him.

As they arrived to the door seperating the pack from their Omega, they could smell the annoyed pheromones coming from inside. Mikey shared a look with the ones holding bags for their Omega and motioned them forward. Kakucho, Mochi, and Rindou stepped forward.

Mikey carefully opened the door. Making sure they were all releasing calming pheromones. As they all entered there was a slient shuffle coming from the closed coffin in the middle of the room. Sanzu stepped forward and tapped a small rhythm on the lid of the coffin.

A few seconds passed beofre the coffin cracked open. A pair of (E/C) eyes peered through the crack. Sanzu bent down and chuckled. "Alright baby. Come on out. We know your upset. So we got you some stuff." He montions to the others who are holding bags.

The coffin fully opened and a gorgeous male with mid length (H/C) hair carefully sat up pouting. His (E/C) eyes sweeping past his Alpha's. He nods towards Kakucho who carefully placed the bag beside the coffin. Knowing it was warm and didn't want it hurting the Omega.

(Name) smelled the bag and hummed then carefully removed the food. He opened the box and smiled at the spicy yaskisoba inside. Then Mochi stepped forward and set and another bag by the coffin. (Name) carefully opened the bag and was welcomed with a fuzzy black blanket covered in his Alphas sents. (Name) smiles brightly and shoves his face into it taking a deep breath.

Finally Rindou reaches into his bag and held out a stuffed bat. (Name) perked up and quickly snatched it and finally started releasing happy pheromones. The others relaxed and smiled at the happy pregnant Omega. (Name) kissed Rindou's cheek and started purring happily.

Maybe they won't punish the guard for interrupting them today. Since they got to see their Omega happy and purring again. It feels like its been a while. After a few bites of food (Name) turned glaring at the now relaxed Alphas. "Now which one of you assholes has me always craving SPICY FOOD?!" They slumped. It was nice while it lasted.

[reidmoony-toast]

Angel. pt.2 - sr x reader

Reader was shot and Spencer is there when she wakes up

content: fem reader, angst w comfort/ fluff, established relationship, no use of y/n

cw: canon compliant violence, blood, guns, hospitals, talk of death

wc: 2.6k

an: Part 1 is so much better than this but just pretend this doesn't suck! Anyways ily thanks for reading and all the support for pt 2 <33

Part 1

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“Pacing isn't going to help.” JJ reminded Spencer, as he crossed the waiting room in front of her once again. He halted for a moment, shooting her a dirty look.

She held up her hands in surrender, and he shook his head, continuing his relentless pacing. JJ really wasn't to blame for anything, and he would've felt bad if he had even a single neuron that could think about anything other than her.

The artificial lights glared down at him, and the smell of ammonia radiated from every surface, making him dizzy and giving him a painful headache. He hadn't had one this bad since... Since Maeve had helped him.

Bone-chilling dread washed over him. This couldn't end like Maeve. He refused that repeating narrative. He needed this time to be better, he needed her to be okay. The other option—he couldn't accept it. Not again.

A nurse walked in, and Spencer straightened, while JJ shot from her chair. “Is she okay?” JJ blurted.

Spencer said nothing. He hadn't said a word since he held her hand in the ambulance, whispering the words ‘stay with me’ over and over again. He hadn't spoken again since her hand went limp in his own.

“She's still undergoing surgery, so I can't say for sure, but she's a fighter.” The nurse replied politely. Spencer wondered how many times she's had to say a version of those words today. How many of those others didn't pull through.

“I will make sure to update you when I have more information.” She paused, staring straight at Spencer. “I need some paperwork filled out. Are you the husband?”

“Boyfriend.” His voice cracked as he used it for the first time in two hours. “She's, uh– my girlfriend.”

The nurse nodded in understanding. “I'm guessing you're still the next of kin, so I'll get you to fill out this, if that's okay?” The nurse asked softly, holding out a clipboard and pen.

He wanted to answer with ‘no’. That he didn't want to fill out a stupid form while his girlfriend was dying in the next room, but he nodded anyway, taking the clipboard in his tired grasp.

‘Girlfriend’ was never a strong enough word. She was his life force. His everything. The soul perfectly intertwined with his own. There was no word in the English language that could ever properly describe what she was to him.

The velvet box tucked into the back of his sock drawer would have made her Spencer's fiancé—which was by far a better word—but he supposed it was too late for that. The whole future they had planned for themselves was very likely to not come to fruition.

That thought alone made his heart ache, and his lungs feel like they were on fire—an agony like no other he had ever experienced.

He finally sat down, and began the futile attempt to fill out the pages of forms in front of him. It was almost impossible to focus, and he'd only written her first and last name before he laid the pen down, unable to continue.

Spencer's breath was still uneven and rattly, and his hands started to shake.

The past two and a half gruelling hours had been a tailspin into the depths of hell, and he felt as if he couldn't catch his breath, no matter what he did. He wasn't surprised, though.

He felt the breath from his lungs completely leave him when he saw her, lying in that car park, and it never returned again—as if her not being near sucked all the oxygen from the air around him. He was now living on borrowed air, and that air would run out if he never saw her again.

Spencer swore he could already feel his organs beginning to shut down, decaying from the inside out. Like they knew—they knew he would never survive if she didn't make it.

It just wasn't in his nature to live without her.

Spencer glanced up, and came face to face with his own reflection in the glass windows lining the sterile waiting room. A pale, gaunt face stared out at him, a man he could almost not recognise—if not for the fact it resembled his past self. The one on drugs. The one in prison.

A dried and flakey red substance lightly dotted his lower cheek—a bit of her blood he must have missed when he hastily wiped his face with his jacket sleeve.

Spencer looked down at his hands, properly, and saw that they too, still had blood on them—caked around his knuckles, between his fingers, under his fingernails. Places where JJ's gentle cleaning with a hospital rag had not reached.

It was fitting, really. He had blood on his hands. Literally and figuratively. If they had stayed together instead of splitting up to cover more ground, if he had noticed her absence sooner, if he was the one who went into that carpark, she would still be right here. Happy. Healthy. Breathing.

He knew JJ would scold him, say it wasn't his fault, but the guilt consumed him, washing over him in great waves—but, unlike the tide, the feeling didn't recede. Instead, it grew, like toxic mould on a dingy bathroom wall. Festering and rotten.

He couldn't help but feel that he was partly to blame. Everything he touched usually broke, so this didn't feel like an unrelated incident. It was always his fault.

A hand was placed gently on his shoulder, and he glanced up from where his head was hung to see JJ, sympathetic look on face, twisted with grief of her own.

He didn't reject the comfort, instead he brought his own hand to hers, squeezing it where it rested on his shoulder. He might not have shown it, but he was glad she was here. He probably wouldn't have been able to keep it together this well if he was alone.

Her company brought him a sense of comfort—knowing someone else cared for her, and for him, as well, made it substantially more bearable.

After a millennia, footsteps echoed eerily in the empty hall towards the waiting room, and they both snapped their gazes towards the door. The nurse hurried into the room, and they both sat, with bated breath, for the news that would either heal or break their whole world.

At least, Spencer's whole world. JJ had Will, Henry and Michael, and the rest of the team had their own families. They would be upset, but they would have a shoulder to cry on when they ventured home. He wouldn't. If he lost her, he had nothing left. Nowhere to call home—because she was his only home.

“It was touch-and-go for a while there, but she's out of surgery and in recovery. I can take you to see her, if you would like.” The nurse gave them a warm smile.

Spencer's heart felt like it finally started beating again after three hours, eight minutes and forty one seconds, like he wasn't fully alive in that time when her life was on the line. His entire body warmed, from head to toe, with all-encompassing relief. She was okay. She was alive.

It all felt too good to be true, like his brain was wired to always assume the absolute worst outcome possible. He had been living like she was already dead.

A breath escaped him, but his lungs still couldn't take in air properly. They wouldn't, not until he saw her with his own eyes.

“Yes. Please.” Spencer quickly added on the end, finally remembering the meaning of the word ‘manners’. The nurse nodded, turning on her heel to lead them to her.

“She's stable, but she'll be unconscious for at least a few hours.” She informed, stopping in front of a frosted glass sliding door that led to a private room. To her.

“Thank you.” He said quietly, and the nurse nodded in acknowledgement, setting off down the quiet corridor. Spencer’s heart raced, and he carefully peeled open the door, stepping into the room.

It was small, walls painted white, linoleum floor worn from foot traffic. A continuous beeping sounded around the room from the many machines monitoring the motionless figure laying on the hospital bed, covered by paper-thin sheets.

It was her. She was really here. Really alive.

He fell heavily into the rickety chair beside her bed, gaze not leaving her peaceful face. Even on the brink of death, she was the most gorgeous being he’d ever laid his eyes on.

He sucked in a deep breath, filling his lungs completely. They were working fine now, because hers were. He could see the slow rising and falling of her chest, and it brought him the most comfort of anything in the entire world.

Spencer reached up, cradling her hand in his own, brushing his thumb over her cold skin. That made him disproportionately heartbroken—her hands were usually like little hot water bottles, and Spencer often remarked about how inhumanly warm they were. Now, his hands warmed hers instead, and it felt wrong.

“I'm going to go and debrief with the rest of the team.” JJ spoke up from her position near the door. He had almost forgotten about her presence, and he nodded in acknowledgement, thankful for her obvious move to give him some time alone.

“Thanks, JJ.” Spencer said simply. She gave him a small smile, and left quickly. He didn't need to explain himself, because she knew what he meant. Thank you for staying with me, thank you for caring, thank you for giving me space, thank you for everything. She understood it all.

The door slid shut, and his attention was back on her. All that was important. His whole life was lying, unconscious, on the bed in front of him. But she was there, and that was more than he could ever ask for.

He brought her limp hand to his lips, kissing the smooth skin softly, eyes closing, as the first lone tear made a path down his cheek—the first of many. He cried for the first time today, silently, her hand still clutched tightly in his own.

~☆~

The first thing I felt when I faded into consciousness was pain. A deep throbbing sounded from my side, albeit less than my last memory.

The approaching sirens, and disjointed flashes from inside the ambulance. And in all of it, there was Spencer. Every moment I could remember, he was there. Always. Never leaving my side.

I cracked my eyes open, taking in the bare walls and bright lights of the hospital room. My vision swam in and out of focus, eyelids heavy.

I felt a weight on my arm, and looked down to see a mop of brown curls splayed over the scratchy linen sheets, head bowed and my hand clasped in both of his. Spencer was here. By my side. Forever and always.

He was bent over awkwardly in the little plastic chair beside my bed, and I couldn't help but think how uncomfortable he must be.

“Spencer.” I rasped out, limbs too heavy to reach out and run my fingers through his hair, like I so desperately wanted to do.

His head shot up quickly, seemingly not as inert as I thought he was. He squeezed my hand gently, lips lifting in a tiny smile of relief, expression unbelievably soft.

“Angel.” He breathed in awe, like he couldn't quite believe his eyes. “You're awake.”

“Hi.” I whisper, gazes never untangling from the snare they both found themselves trapped in.

“Hi.” Spencer echoed, taking one of his hands from mine to reach up and oh so gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. He moved it to carefully cradle my jaw and cheek, breathing my name like it was divine. I melted into his touch.

“My girl.” He murmured with reverence, studying my face intently, like I was something to be treasured. Like I was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. I could disagree completely—I almost died, so I was most definitely not looking my best. “How do you feel?”

“Like I just got shot.” I said dryly, voice hoarse. “I must look it, too.”

“You look perfect.”

“Liar.” I rasped, snorting. He narrowed his eyes, like he was about to fight me on the issue, but I interrupted.

“How long was I asleep?” I asked quietly, vocal cords upset from disuse. Or from the blood in my throat. I could still feel myself choking, airways blocked with my own blood.

I remembered the light-headedness from losing too much blood from my body. I remembered the warm blood pooling around me, soaking my clothes. I remembered, as clear as day, what dying felt like.

Spencer’s answer snapped me out of my dark thoughts.

“From when you exited the ambulance, it's been five hours and fifty-four minutes.” He recited immediately. I was impressed, but not surprised. It was Spencer, after all.

I hummed in acknowledgement, before silence fell. Spencer's bottom lip quivered slightly, and I wouldn't have noticed, if not for my constant staring. I frowned deeply, chest tightening. Seeing Spencer upset was incredibly hard.

He was a stoic man, rarely showing his sadness. When he did, it was only in the worst of situations. And now, seeing his palpable misery was beyond heartbreaking.

“I thought I'd lost you.” The almost unintelligible confession sounded after a beat. I wouldn't have heard if I hadn't been anticipating his response.

Spencer ducked his head, avoiding eye contact, and no doubt hiding his emotion. His whole body shuddered when I laid my free hand in his hair, smoothing his curls soothingly.

“Spence, hey.” I tried to coax him into looking back up at me, not wanting him to repress his emotions. I knew why. He was most definitely thinking that he was the one supposed to be comforting me, not the other way around. Which, was completely false.

“I'm here. I'm okay.” I reassured. He finally lifted his head again, and a pang was sent straight to my heart when I saw tears pooling in his eyes.

“You don't have to hide, okay?” I brushed away a tear that broke from his lashes and rolled down his cheek. “It's understandable that you're a mess.” He let out a huff, and I gave him a knowing smile.

“I've been asleep the whole time, and you've been here for five hours and fifty-four minutes.” I repeated back his numbers, and it pulled a tiny smile from his lips.

“Don’t downplay it, you were the one dying.” Spencer scolded, but without any heat.

“I would be a puddle on the floor by now, if it had been you.” Instead of giving him comfort, my words made his face fall again.

He screwed his eyes up, like he was in physical pain, hanging his head once again.

“It should have been me.”

“No.” I answered immediately, tone sharp. I grasp his face in both hands, ignoring the burning in my side. “Don’t say that.”

He didn't reply.

“It was not your fault, you hear me?” I voiced firmly, gaze flicking over his face. “Don’t.” A trembling breath followed.

After a long pause, he finally conceded.

“Okay.” He said shakily, eyes not leaving mine. My stare softened, satisfied with his answer.

“Good.” I pushed back the hair that had flopped into his eyes, moving my hands further into his curls. He sighed at the movement, lids fluttering shut as I dragged my fingers across his scalp. I hummed contentedly.

Bringing his face to mine, I kissed him gingerly. He lifted his hands up to cradle my own cheeks, pulling away only to press his lips to my forehead in a prolonged kiss, seeming to just breathe me in.

“I love you.” I whispered into the air between us.

“I love you too, angel girl.”

· · ──────────── ·𖥸· ──────────── · ·

Thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated x

Tags: @reidology13 @reidmania @navs-bhat - comment to be added!

Masterlist ౨ৎ

[finalgtrl]

To Love a Dragon’s Shadow (Chapter One)

Fandom: House of the Dragon / A Song of Ice and Fire

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen × Original Female Character

Genre: Slow burn, angst, forbidden love, political tension, family drama, coming of age

Warnings: Canon divergence, emotional themes, mature content later

“They say Targaryens are born to rule — so why was I made to watch?”

Living in someone else’s shadow isn’t always the best way to go through life — especially when you’re a Targaryen. But I had no choice. I was born with hair as black as coal and, to make things worse, three minutes after my brother, the future king.

Not that I believe being born first would’ve made any difference to my sweet mother — the future queen. It’s her I mean when I speak of living in someone’s shadow.

Lucerys and Jace never matched the power or beauty I possess, and still, I love them. Especially my dear brother Jacaerys. I hold no resentment over him being chosen by our mother to be king. It was obvious. I know it wouldn’t have been fair, and I never had any desire to be queen anyway.

The truth is, I believe two queens in a row would be too much for the Seven Kingdoms to accept.

My dragon hatched the same day I turned four.

She was small — fragile even — with scales that shimmered like onyx in the sunlight. They said she wouldn’t last a moon’s turn. They were wrong. I named her Vhaelyx, after a lost Valyrian tale my mother used to tell us before bed. No one thought I’d bond with a dragon at all, not with hair like mine and blood that some dared to question. But Vhaelyx chose me.

And with her, I found a piece of myself no one could take away.

While my brothers trained with wooden swords and dreamed of glory, I spent hours with Vhaelyx near the cliffs, feeling the sea wind in my face and the fire in her breath. I wasn’t like them. I didn’t want to be.

Still, I watched. I listened. I learned.

That’s what shadows do. They observe — and they remember.

I was turning eleven — though technically, Jace turned eleven three minutes before me, and he never let me forget it.

The Great Hall at Dragonstone was filled with laughter, music, and the scent of spiced wine and roasted meats. But I wasn’t really paying attention to any of it. My eyes kept drifting to the corner of the room, where Aemond stood like a misplaced shadow, arms crossed, eyes sharp. He hadn’t spoken to anyone all evening, not even to his mother.

He always looked at me like that — like he wanted to say something but didn’t trust the words to come out right. And maybe I looked at him the same way.

There was something in him I recognized. A stillness. A hunger to be seen, but a fear of what being seen truly meant.

So I slipped away from the crowd, past the tables and servants and the prying eyes of the court, and ducked behind one of the stone pillars near the back — where the platters of lemon cakes and sweet tarts had been placed, mostly forgotten.

“Are you coming or not?” I called softly, not looking back.

I heard the shuffle of boots against stone. Then silence. And then, slowly, Aemond appeared beside me.

“We’ll get in trouble,” he muttered, though his hand was already reaching for a cake.

“Only if we get caught.” I smirked, handing him the softest one.

He took it without meeting my gaze, but I caught the faintest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Just barely there — but enough.

We sat there in silence, the music of the hall muffled by stone and distance. I didn’t ask why he came. He didn’t ask why I invited him.

But I knew. And I think… so did he.

We didn’t speak again after that day.

It was strange — how easily silence settled between us. We looked at each other one last time, then turned and walked in opposite directions, as if the moment had never happened. But I remembered it. I remembered the warmth of the stolen cakes, the flicker of a smile, and how, for a brief second, I didn’t feel like a shadow.

Then came Joffrey.

Our mother, Rhaenyra, gave birth in the early morning, and by midday, the halls of Dragonstone were thick with whispers. The birth of a prince always stirred talk — but this time, it felt heavier, sharper. We knew what people were saying. Even at our age, we understood the looks.

Jace, Luke, and I walked together to our mother’s chambers. I remember the weight of the silence between us, broken only by the soft shuffle of our steps. Jace kept close to me, our shoulders brushing, and even though he tried to act brave, I could feel his hand twitch slightly, like he wanted to hold mine but wasn’t sure he should.

When we entered, the room was warm and dim. The scent of blood and lavender clung to the air. Mother was lying in bed, pale but radiant, cradling the newborn against her chest. Laenor stood nearby, a proud yet distant smile on his lips. He looked like a man doing his best to play the role expected of him.

And then there was Harwin.

He was at the edge of the room, arms crossed, eyes soft — the only man who ever looked at me like I was made of something more than duty or bloodlines.

“There she is,” he said when he saw me, his voice quiet but warm. “My little flame.”

I never asked why he called me that. I just liked the way it sounded — like I was something bright. Like I was his.

I hurried to Mother’s side, climbing onto the bed as gently as I could. She smiled at me, tired but glowing, and reached out with her free arm to pull me close. I leaned against her, careful not to disturb the baby. He was so small — red-faced and wrinkled, like a bundle of fire wrapped in soft cloth.

“Meet your brother,” she whispered to us, and I remember thinking he looked like a secret. One the realm would try to tear apart before he even had a name.

But in that moment, none of it mattered.

Back then, I still believed Mother could protect us from anything. That as long as we stayed close, no one could touch us.

The afternoon sun spilled through the stone windows, warming the cold floor of the smaller hall in Dragonstone. Jace, Luke, and I were sitting on the ground, surrounded by cushions, bits of bread, and fruits we had “borrowed” from the kitchens.

“You should’ve seen his face!” Jace was laughing so hard he could barely get the words out. “He looked like a soaked little mouse!”

“I did not!” Luke snapped, cheeks flushing red. “The dragon only sneezed in my direction, that’s all!”

“You were covered in goo, Luke,” I said, trying to keep a straight face — and failing miserably. “It looked like someone dumped an entire soup on you.”

Jace fell back from laughing, nearly knocking over one of the bowls. Luke crossed his arms and tried to look angry, but with his hair still messy from the morning’s dragon training, it was hard to take him seriously.

“One day my dragon will breathe real fire,” he muttered, trying to sound dignified. “And then you’ll see.”

“Of course, of course,” Jace said, rolling his eyes. “First it spits slime, then fire. It’s in the growth phase.”

“You’re both insufferable,” Luke grumbled, though a smile was already tugging at the corner of his lips.

I laid down between them, staring up at the tall stone ceiling. Sometimes I forgot how good it felt to just be with my brothers like this — away from the judging eyes, from the whispers about blood and names, away even from the shadow of a war we didn’t yet know was coming.

In those moments, it was just us. Children laughing, teasing, and sharing stolen fruit as if the world outside didn’t exist.

After Jace and Luke had fallen asleep in the hall, tangled in cushions and crooked blankets, I slipped away in silence. I wandered through the stone corridors, guided only by the torches flickering on the walls. It was late, but I knew where he’d be.

Harwin always stayed a little longer, watching, guarding — as if protecting us was something that came naturally to him.

I found him in the courtyard, sitting on the stone steps with his sword resting at his side and his elbows on his knees. He turned his head the moment he heard my footsteps. He didn’t look surprised. Somehow, I think he always knew when I needed him.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked.

I shook my head and sat beside him, hugging my knees to my chest. We stayed quiet for a while, listening to the sea crashing against the rocks below the castle.

“Do you think I’m different?” I asked suddenly, not looking at him. “Different from Jace and Luke.”

He took a moment to answer.

“You’re all different,” he said finally, his voice soft. “But not in the way you think.”

I turned to him, and Harwin was looking at me with that calm, steady gaze — the same one he used when teaching me to ride or when breaking up fights between the boys.

“There’s a fire in you that you don’t understand yet,” he continued. “And that’s alright. You’ll understand when it’s time. But don’t ever think that makes you less. Never.”

My eyes stung, and for a second, I thought I might cry. But then he wrapped a strong arm around my shoulders and pulled me close, just like he used to when I was smaller. I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes.

Lying in my bed, I stared at the ceiling for a long time, thinking about the “fire” Harwin spoke of. Sometimes I feel like he sees something in me that even I can’t understand. I feel comfortable around him. Safe. Something I never felt with Laenor.

Officially, he’s my father. But I’m not stupid. I’ve always known the truth.

I remember the day I caught my mother kissing Harwin. I was young, but I knew exactly what was happening. After that, she told me I wasn’t allowed to enter her chambers without knocking — “for decorum,” she said. But I knew better. From then on, I never needed further confirmation.

I like Harwin — he’s kind, warm, fun… but sometimes I wonder: didn’t my mother have other options? Someone, I don’t know, with white hair like hers? Not that hair defines everything, but with all the filthy things Aegon keeps saying, the city seems full of pale-haired bastards. If she wanted to hide something, she could’ve at least tried harder.

Like it or not, we’re marked. Everyone knows what we are. Aegon’s mocking looks, Aemond’s twisted little smirks, and most of all, Alicent’s cold gaze… they say it all.

She doesn’t like me. And believe me — the feeling is mutual.

She was the one who forbade me from training with the boys.

I remember the conversation well. I must’ve been nine.

“Princess,” she said, without even looking at me, her hands folded as she stood by the window offering a quiet prayer to the Mother. “Your place is not among swords and armor. A lady, especially one born a princess, must carry herself with grace. You should spend more time with Helaena. I’m sure she would enjoy sharing her readings with you.”

“But I don’t like just reading…” I dared to mumble.

That’s when she looked at me. Truly looked at me. Her eyes were sharp, as if every word that left my mouth offended her sensibilities.

“Whether you like it or not is irrelevant. You have duties. And your duty is to represent your mother with dignity. Imagine what they’d say, seeing you covered in dirt and bruises like some ordinary boy…” She paused, her voice sharper than ever. “There are already too many whispers surrounding you.”

She didn’t have to say anything else. I understood perfectly.

I even tried asking the king. I wanted so badly to train… But of course, Alicent spoke first and said he was far too fragile to waste time on “childish nonsense.” Nonsense. That’s what she thinks of anything that comes from me.

I had already asked my mother too, though deep down, I knew she would never allow it. “My daughter, my sweet and pure little girl, so beautiful…” I roll my eyes just remembering her voice, sweet and fake. As if she hadn’t gone through similar things when she was younger.

When I once questioned her about it, she simply said, “I wanted to be queen, not a warrior.”

But I am not her.

I wanted to be like Visenya. A true warrior — strong, feared, respected.

Why is it that everything I want always seems to be wrong?

I want to fly far away with my dragoness, protect her, defend my family, fight if I must. But my mother’s plans for me are quite different. She wants to turn me into a proper lady, a breeder of half a dozen children for some nobleman she’ll choose.

That’s what’s expected of me — to smile, wave, get married, and fade into the shadow of a name that won’t even be mine.

But I’m a Targaryen. And I was made for more.

Every morning, before the sun has fully risen, I walk toward the caves behind the Keep. That’s where Vhaelyx waits for me. Even though I’m now allowed to fly, I’ve never forgotten the first time.

It wasn’t long ago that we flew together for the first time. Vhaelyx grew quickly — much faster than Aegon’s or even Jace’s dragons. Even as a youngling, she was larger than the others her age. Wild. Powerful.

That day, no one knew. I felt it — every part of me knew it was time.

She looked at me.

It wasn’t just a look — it was like she called to me without a single word. Her eyes met mine, and suddenly, I knew. I knew Vhaelyx was born to be mine. And I was hers. The sky was waiting for us.

I climbed onto her back, my heart pounding so loud I could barely hear my own thoughts. When she spread her wings and took off, the world vanished beneath me. The wind on my face, the endless sky around us, her roar tearing through the clouds… I had never felt so alive.

I ran away that day. Left everyone in a panic, searching for me as if I had vanished. And in a way, I had — vanished from everything that held me down. In that flight, I found who I truly was.

Now, with everyone’s permission, I can fly. But I still dream of feeling that again — that absolute freedom. That joy that only exists far from the walls of the kingdom, far from judgment, far from the roles they try to force on me.

When we landed on the warm rocks near the Keep, one of my mother’s handmaids was already waiting, breathless.

“Princess, your mother wishes to see you in her chambers.”

I tried to hide my smile. I still felt the wind on my skin. My feet barely touched the ground.

I rushed toward Rhaenyra’s quarters. She was seated by the window, as if she already knew I’d come in smiling.

“Mother?”

She turned to me with that familiar look — equal parts tired and loving.

“I asked them to fetch you because… well, the king has granted permission for you to watch the boys’ training,” she said, pausing to watch my reaction.

“Really?!” I couldn’t hold back the joy. I ran to her and hugged her tightly. “Thank you!”

She brushed her hand through my hair and sighed.

“It was your grandfather’s request. The king believes it will be good for you… even if only as an observer. No swords, for now.”

I nodded, still holding her, my heart warm.

It wasn’t much — but it was a beginning.

The training yard echoed with the sound of clashing swords, shouts of encouragement, and the clink of armor. I sat in the shade of a stone gallery, hands folded in my lap, trying not to show how fast my heart was beating. It was my first time officially watching the training, with permission — and even if I couldn’t participate, just being there felt special.

Jace and Luke were sparring with wooden swords, laughing as if it were all a game. Aegon, a little farther off, showed off against another squire, overdoing his movements like he had an invisible audience to impress.

And then I saw Aemond.

He wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t seeking attention. His strikes were precise, focused — he moved with purpose, like each training session was a real battle. His silver hair fell over his eyes as he twisted his sword with practiced ease. It was impossible not to notice him.

Our eyes met for a brief moment. I couldn’t tell if he was looking for me, or if it just happened by chance — but his gaze locked onto mine. And for a second, the world around us went completely still.

He didn’t smile. Neither did I.

But something was there.

It wasn’t like the day with the hidden cakes. Now there was distance between us. A certain hesitation. Or maybe just too many unspoken memories of that innocent moment we never talked about again.

Still, he looked at me. And I looked back.

But then he turned away, returned to his training, pretending like nothing had happened.

And I did the same.

A few days before, Luke had told me what happened between the boys. About that so-called “gift” — a pig with paper wings tied to its back. A “dragon” for Aemond.

I thought it was awful.

Cruel.

Since I learned about it, I’d started seeing Aemond differently. Not with pity — he would never allow that. But with… respect. He had no dragon, yet still trained harder than any of them, fought with more determination.

Maybe that’s why I couldn’t look away.

The sun was already high when the mood of the training began to shift. What had once been laughter and light sparring turned into something… cruel.

Criston Cole walked among the boys like a king in his own court, his voice sharp, his gaze full of judgment. But not toward everyone. With Aegon, his words carried a sense of pride. With Aemond, encouragement. But when he addressed Jace and Luke, there was disdain. Subtle, almost invisible — but clear to anyone truly watching.

Like me.

“Advance with more strength, Prince Aegon,” Criston said with a smirk. “Show your cousin how to wield a sword properly.”

I looked at Jace, struggling to hold his stance as Aegon came at him with strikes far too harsh for a mere practice. I saw Luke tense beside me, his fists clenched, wanting to step in but unsure if he should.

And no one did anything.

“This isn’t training,” I muttered, turning to the king beside me. “They’re mocking him. They’re trying to hurt Jace.”

Viserys sighed, as if too tired to face any of it.

“They’re just boys playing,” he said weakly, the way he always did when avoiding ghosts of his own making.

I clenched my fists, my stomach twisting with anger.

Playing? This?

I felt the heat rise through me like fire in my veins. Jace stumbled from one of Aegon’s blows, and Criston didn’t even try to hide the satisfied look on his face. My brother got up quickly, trying not to show how embarrassed he was.

That’s when Harwin stepped forward.

“This has gone too far,” he said, voice firm, eyes blazing.

“Too far… why?” Criston asked, his tone dripping with mockery. “Because you’re concerned for the Prince? Or for your son?”

Silence sliced through the yard like a blade.

I held my breath. Everyone froze. All eyes turned to Harwin, who stood still for a second.

And then, he exploded.

The sound of the punch was sharp and brutal. Criston staggered, but struck back just as hard. Chaos erupted — guards rushing to separate them, the boys watching wide-eyed.

But me… I only looked at Jace. And at Luke.

They stood there, in the middle of it all, like they were to blame for something they never chose to be.

And in that moment, I made a silent promise: no one would ever hurt my brothers again. Not while I was around.

And then, almost without meaning to, my eyes drifted toward Aemond.

He hadn’t joined the laughter. He hadn’t mocked anyone. He stood still, watching the chaos, jaw clenched, a storm in his eyes.

And I wondered — what did he see when he looked at me?

[aevellewritessometimes]

One Step Closer

Vere x Reader: Reincarnation AU Part 2! I really need to come up with an official name for this, shouldn't I? Anyway, this ended up being much longer than I was planning, so it looks like there will be a part 3 before I start getting to the endings. I currently do not have access to my laptop, so I had to depend on someone else's playthrough for dialogue, so if the MC in this one feels catered towards the Hound origin, that's why and I apologize in advance.

Content Warnings: Vere-typical swearing, innuendos, and death threats. Also, there's a brief mention of a dead body.

Other: Yet another brief Undertale reference, but it only pops up once. Vere might be OOC. Hopefully better usage of italics and semicolons (English is my first language, but I am a victim of the American Education System). Trying to avoid using a name for MC/Reader during two scenes where the use of their name was very deliberate and important to the game (because I forgot that "y/n" is a thing). Word Count: 3k words.

This work may be edited in the future if I discover any previously missed typos or content warnings. This work will not be cross-posted anywhere and I will make a direct announcement if that ever changes. Likes and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

The memory of your face was both a blessing and a curse to him.

Sometimes it was a bittersweet sight from his sweetest of dreams; a reason for him to get through the motions every day just so he could see you again once sleep came for him.

Other times it haunted his worst nightmares: the look of fear, pain, and betrayal being the last thing he saw in your eyes before the life vanished from them completely.

He tried to forget that face, but he clung to any memory of your other faces the way a web clung to a spider's prey.

Many of the pages in his sketchbook were dedicated to those faces of yours. Many lives were taken from poor fools foolish enough to be curious about them.

None of your faces---or bodies, for that matter---were exactly the same; there was always some small difference.

Eye color. Hair length. Freckles. Height.

There was always something different. But despite that, it was always you.

So imagine his surprise when it was you---or at least, a particularly familiar stranger---he spotted strolling out of the Wet Wick and through the streets of the Amaryllis district as he waited for the Senobium cleric given the unfortunate task of having to deal with him today to finish her business.

Whatever was left of his heart froze for a moment and his lungs felt as if they were filled with dread instead of air.

Surely it wasn't you.

It couldn't have been you.

He easily could've just ignored them; let them walk past without any knowledge he was there.

But he had to know. He had to be sure.

He needed them closer---needed them to turn and look him in the eyes so he could get a proper read on their soul; it would put any and every question to rest.

Besides; if it wasn't you, then they'd make a good distraction for the night before he inevitably killed them by the next morning.

But if it was…

As he pondered on what exactly he would do if it really was you, the stranger strolled further down the street. He had to act quickly.

It wasn't much of a hassle; just a little trick with the shadows which loomed from the walls of the surrounding buildings.

The stranger froze, the smell of their fear permeating the air as he nabbed a key from their cloak's pocket.

They reeked of blood, death, sweat, and cheap booze. The latter two scents weren't unexpected; they did just leave the Wick, though he did let out a brief, rumbling snarl when he smelled that damned hound on them. The former, however? Neither of the two scents were uncommon in this shithole; just earlier today he watched as a few locals stepped over a partly rotted corpse that had been left in a walkway because nobody could be bothered to clean it up.

But the scent clinging to the stranger was a bit different---as if it was the stench of their own death and blood clinging to them instead of someone else's.

How curious…

He retracted the beastly shadow once he noticed they were going to turn around; finally allowing him to see their face.

It looked startlingly similar to the face you the day of the incident. The only immediate difference he could spot was that their hair was off a shade.

They surveyed the area, panicked and confused, before finally spotting him, sitting on a stoop and lounged against a wall.

While he was able to see their eyes now that they were looking at him, he wasn't able to get a good view of their soul just yet.

He needed them closer.

He baited them with their key---claiming that they had dropped it, but he didn't want to toss it to them, just in case some urchin ran by and stole it while it was still in the air.

They didn't trust it. If it weren't an inconvenience to him, he would've laughed at how they were smart enough to be cautious of him right off the bat despite getting all close and personal with Leander.

But with some teasing and flirting, he eventually managed to urge them closer---even if it was just to snatch up their key and move away from him as quick as they could.

Unfortunately for them, he was faster.

As they made to grab their key from his palm, he snatched their wrist and pulled them closer; finally giving him the chance and view that he needed… as well as a good whiff of the smell of that fucking doctor.

His suspicions on that note were proven to be correct, but there was something else…

Something not quite Human, but also not quite Monster… How inter---

"VERE!"

And of course the fucking cleric chose right then stop taking her sweet time. Gods-fucking-dammit.

He managed to trick the woman into believing he was just chatting with a friend and sent the stranger off with some free advice before the cleric dragged him off on his leash.

As he listed to the sound of their footsteps as they walked away---at an insultingly yet understandably brisk pace---he made a mental note to go visit the Wick once he was let off his leash for the night.

He'd get another chance there.

-=-=-=-=-

The Wick was suficatingly filled with the usual regulars; the stench of sweating, unwashed bodies watered-down booze clouding the humid air.

Vere sat by Ais---who had only just showed up less than an hour ago---towards the end of the bar, watching the crowd.

He still hasn't spotted the stranger yet. At this point, he was starting to wonder if he was wrong about their lodgings. He was close to just leaving---the mixture of annoyance at his incorrect guess and at Leander's joyful chitchat making a truly dangerous combination.

"Pardon me."

No human being would've been able to hear the soft-spoken request from where he was sitting, but Vere could hear the doctor perfectly well as he parted his way through the crowd.

His exasperation at his appearance was just enough for him to almost get up and leave---until he spied two heads trailing behind Kuras's towering form:

Mhin, who apparently formed a habit of following Kuras around like a lost kitten whenever they needed something to do with their time…

And the stranger from before.

About damn time.

He watched as the trio approached Leander, who was just putting the finishing touches on whatever abomination of a drink he was trying to kill Ais with this time. He was momentarily distracted at the glowing green liquid in the glasses that Leander slid down to them, which was followed by Ais downing it in one go.

"It's chewy."

"Chewy? Wait, let me try again…"

"I told you this place was a nest of degenerates."

Vere's attention was drawn back towards the three at the sound of Mhin's grumbling. As Mhin and Kuras quietly spoke to each other, the stranger observed the bar; seeming surprised to see him and Ais there.

He noticed that their gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than it did for Ais before they returned their attention back to their companions.

"Ah, if it isn't Kuras and Mhin!" Leander exclaimed, finally taking notice of them.

Either he didn't see the stranger, or they haven't been introduced yet.

"Good evening, Leander. Ais. Another drinking competition?" Kuras said, approaching the bar and ignoring him entirely.

Good. He didn't need another annoyance on top of everything else already.

Vere just turned to Mhin. "I almost didn't see you there, Mhin. Looking for your booster seat?"

It was petty and entirely unprovoked, but he needed to take the edge off somehow.

The white-haired mercenary pushed back their hood. "I though Ais wasn't allowed to bring his pets in here."

Oh this little---

As Vere's ears flattened against his head and his tail twitched angrily, Leander vaulted over the bar, slotting himself in between Ais and Kuras, snaking an arm around the latter's shoulders and offering him one of his horrible drinks---effectively preventing a fight.

"I'm afraid not. We were merely escorting them back to their lodgings." He responded, gesturing to the stranger, who reluctantly stepped out of the shadows at their acknowledgment.

Leander's face brightened---indicating that the two of them had, in fact, been acquainted. He immediately waved them over and introduced them to him and Ais.

(The name was different than the last one he remembered you bearing, but that didn't mean much of anything. They were almost always different---except for that one time, but even then, the spelling was different.)

Once again, they were still too far for him to get a good look at their soul. At this point, he almost believed they were doing it to be spiteful.

Leander starts talking again, and Vere tunes him out as he orders a flute of champagne---the only drink that doesn't taste too much like rat's piss.

Everyone's attention turned towards him when the bartender popped the bottle.

"They serve champagne here? Since when?"

"You don't mind, do you?"

"No, be my guest. I know you've got expensive taste…"

Vere sipped from his glass as Leander shot the bartender a frantic look and Ais offered to buy a drink for the stranger---calling them "Sparrow" as he did so.

Leander interjected and offered to buy them a drink instead.

It's their first night here and they've already got these two in a dick measuring contest over them. He was almost impressed.

Either way, they get their drink and Leander holds a toast to their arrival---much to their own dismay. Vere was finding himself more and more peeved by the minute, but still, he lingered.

They'd move towards him eventually; he was sure of it.

The conversation moved---Vere learned that the outsider apparently already managed to find themself on death's door twice today. Clearly, they had not taken his oh-so generously offered advice earlier.

Vere just turns to speak to Ais for a moment. Once he tunes back into what the rest of them are doing, he notices that Kuras, Leander, and Mhin have all disappeared somewhere; leaving the poor outsider all on their own.

"Lost your tour guide?"

They turn to him and Ais, their expression going from indifferent to mildly irritated.

Guess Ais left a bad impression on them as well. Or he was just particularly successful in his earlier ploy to annoy them.

He tried to offer them the seat next to Ais, but they were still hesitant.

Ah. The song and dance continues.

"How about we start fresh, hm? Begin with proper introductions, get off on the right foot and whatnot. I'll start…" He readjusted himself on the counter, resting his chin on the back of his hand, "The name's Vere. Hunter extraordinaire."

They were quiet for a moment. "I'm sure you already know my name…"

"Hard not to when Leander's shouting it every other second. It's a pleasure to formally meet you…"

His tone when he spoke their name was slow and deliberate, savoring every syllable; earning him yet another flustered reaction.

They were far too easy. If they weren't who he thought they were, they'd be fun to toy with for the night.

They glance over Ais's shoulder, then they start heading towards the entrance. "I'll be back."

He just hummed and waved his fingers at them. As they stepped away, he considered ordering another drink, but chose not to. It would be easier to plan a way to get them closer if he were at least somewhat sober.

Then he heard a grunt behind him. "Out of my way, shitstain."

Turning, he saw that the outsider had apparently bumped into some drunken roughneck. Or maybe it was the other way around.

"You watch it!"

Probably the other way around, then.

That was enough to piss off the roughneck, who shoved a bloodhound out of the way as he angrily stalked towards the outsider. Once he makes it over, he shoves them down to the floor.

Well, that's certainly an issue for his plans.

Fortunately, before he can start throwing punches, a few bloodhounds circle the two of them; sizing him up as the outsider was still stuck on the floor.

Ultimately, the roughneck was smart enough to back off at that point. He spat at them, barely missing their cheek, and started to walk away…

Only to find himself face to face with Ais.

Ais smiled. "You'll do."

Then he punches him square in the jaw. Chaos follows in the form of shouting and cheering as the outsider scrambles to their feet.

It doesn't take long for Leander to yell at the two of them to take it outside and distract the rest of the bar-goers with a free drink; immediately followed by the bartender throwing him an annoyed glance as everyone else started cheering.

Ais left out a back exit, dragging his quarry out with him.

Kuras lingers near the door, surveying the bar for any wounded people before departing.

Mhin drew up their hood and slipped through a side door, apparently separated from Kuras during the brief fight.

Leander made his way to the bar opposite of where Vere sat, frantically apologizing to the bartender.

Vere just leaned over and grabbed a glass of wine from behind the bar, watching the outsider through his peripheral vision.

They stand still for a moment, surveying the bar. Then, they move towards him; their steps hesitant. Eventually, they slide into the seat beside him as he sips from the wine glass.

Finally.

He didn't turn to them just yet; souls were easier to read when their bearer was vulnerable. He wanted them to let their guard down, first.

"I didn't think you planned on sticking around."

"A free drink's a free drink, even if it tastes like rat piss."

"Didn't you say you wouldn't be caught dead slumming in this shithole?"

He sips from his glass, tail thrashing below the bar. "You've caught me red handed." He peered at them over the rim of his glass, "How ever will you punish me?"

"I figured my company's punishment enough for you."

Vere felt a small smile form on his lips. "So, you survived the night. Are you here for praise or would a headpat do?"

"About that. Turns out you were right; I did run into trouble---"

He knows. He could smell the Seaspring's lingering odor on them, as well as the stench of a Soulless.

"---Now I don't know if you're and oracle, a threat, or just completely full of shit."

He scoffed. "Most people would buy me a drink before insulting me."

"After the way you jerked me around? If anyone's owed a drink, it's me."

He didn't dignify that statement with an immediate response. Then, he propped his chin on his wrist. "I don't think you understand how things work around here. Information is a luxury; one you flung so carelessly aside."

"I'm not following."

"If you valued my words, you'd have taken them seriously. I gave you free advice---warned you of the danger you were in, and still you went parading off to the Seaspring. Small wonder the Soulless didn't tear you to ribbons."

"How did you know---"

"I have a very sensitive nose, remember?"

They glared at him. "Right how could I forget. Do you normally greet people by shoving your nose into their laps like an overeager Labrador?"

Vere glared at them for a heartbeat; a warning. Then, he laughed under his breath.

He'd let them get away with that one. After all, they only just got here. It's not like they knew…

"Only the ones I like." He sets aside his now empty wine glass and reaches for a long-abandoned tumbler of whiskey. "But the truth is, I despise most people."

His eyes flickered over their shoulder as Leander's boisterous laughter erupted from the other side of the bar, as if proving his point.

"What about me? Now that we've started off on the right foot…"

At last, he turned to face them fully. His gaze slowly glided over them as he sized them up, before finally ending on their eyes.

He could see the faint flickering of an agonizingly thick layer of suffering. An enticing sight, but still an inconvenient one. The suffering that one has gone through during their life always clouded the true nature of their soul; especially if it was left untreated.

"I haven't made up my mind about you, yet."

He turned back to the bar. Neither of them said anything for a moment.

"Have I done something to piss you off."

He let out a short sigh. "No. I'm just disappointed. People like us can't help but attract danger. Yet you seek it out, and for what? Cheap thrills?"

"I wasn't trying to get eaten by Soulless! There's something I'm looking for…"

"And you think Mhin can help you? Leander!? Are you really willing to risk your life with those dipshits?"

"What life? You've got no idea what I've gone through--- Oh, forget it."

They made to get up from their seat, but Vere stopped them by softly placing his hand on their shoulder; little more than a brush, but apparently enough to get their attention.

He said nothing, for a moment---simply searching their eyes; trying to glean whatever information he could from the suffering which marred their soul.

Now that he actually had a moment to read it, the answer was clear as day: betrayal.

Yet there was something… different, about it. There were many forms of betrayal, and each one left its own distinct mark, but whatever form this outsider faced was new.

No, not new. Not quite. Instead, there appeared to be two different type of betrayal there: one dealt recently, and one that seemed more… ancient.

The outsider simply continued to become more and more interesting by the hour.

"They couldn't even begin to understand you. But I could. I could help you, if only you'd listen."

"…How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't. But I'm slightly less inclined to waste your time with empty flattery and insults than those two."

They didn't respond to that.

"Is what you desire truly worth risking your life for?"

"If you knew what kind of life I've live, you wouldn't be asking."

Vere considered their response for a long moment before speaking again. "Will you trust me?"

"…For now."

Vere ignored the oddly familiar pinprick of satisfaction in his chest. "Good enough for me." He raised the tumbler to them, then he snapped back the dregs. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand once he finished. "Let's talk. Outside. If I have to smell Leander's skunky aftershave for much longer, I'll hurl."

He slipped away from the bar, leaving the outsider to trail after him, out a side door and into and alleyway.

< Part One | Part Three >