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seradyn · 5 months ago

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Yours To Bare, Mine to Cherish

Dragon!Sylus tries to push you away when old wounds flare up, causing him too much pain to trust you. You refuse to let him, and instead teach him how to ask for help, how to be vulnerable and not fear the lashes that follow. Basically: how to train your dragon to let you comfort him and give good massages.

As a chronic pain haver, I am forced to give all my blorbos chronic pain :) I’ve been working on this for SO LONG 😭 Still not over his myth so please enjoy us pampering our dragon 💕

Word count: 11,021. AO3 Link cause it's long

Important tags: gender neutral reader, no y/n, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, chronic pain!Sylus, cuddling and snuggling, massages, Dragon!Sylus, fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, present!Sylus (you’ll see), arguing, Sylus x reader, Sylus x MC, canon compliant, canon-typical violence

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Your dragon was in a foul mood.

It’d started when you decided you’d like to restore some of the old weapons Sylus had discarded haphazardly around his home. Swords, axes, spears and daggers laid in broken heaps throughout the cavern, each one a trophy plucked from his would-be assassins turned prey, he’d boasted. Impressive as they may have once been, though, they were now but piles of chipped rubbish, pushed up against the walls and out of the walkways, hardly spared more than a glance. A dragon has no use for such weaponry; their claws are daggers, their teeth swords, so the battlements remained as haughty decorations, a warning to all those who dared enter his domain, lest they meet the same fate.

One particular sword had caught your eye. Dragon’s Scourge, Sylus said the warrior had called it, sniffing derisively at the pretentiousness of such a name and the underwhelming performance of said blade. It had pierced neither scale nor flesh before the sorry sod had been strung up in the stalactites of the cave and left to rot, much like his weapon. Sylus claimed it wasn’t even worthy of straightening his bangs, dismissing the old thing, as he had with the daggers you once turned against him.

Upon further inspection, though, after returning from another successful raid, and bored beyond belief, you found the steel to be of decent quality. Being raised under the army’s instruction taught you how to recognize the mark of a good smith. Taught you to know the quality of the metalwork on your blades, how the weight felt as you gripped it, the feeling of it sliding through the air before hitting its mark. They taught you many things, as they groomed you to be their killing machine, while the lordlings sat getting drunk on their own false grandeur.

You hoped with all the blood you planned to spill with it, its steel would take up a new name, carved from crimson rivulets of the faithful. You were thinking something along the lines of Justitia’s Scourge, or maybe even Human’s Scourge, just to rub salty irony into their wounds. But that would have to wait, you thought as you scrutinized it, until it wasn’t caked in rust from centuries of disuse, and a proper whetstone had been taken to its dull edges.

It took a full day and night of work to restore it, though you now reaped the fruits of your labor, watching with a satisfied smile as you turned the blade to catch stray beams of moonlight through the porous cave ceiling. A vinegar bath overnight had peeled off the old rust, and with the tools Sylus had snagged for you from the armories you’d torched, you were able to scour and polish the sword the following day. By nightfall, the edges were properly sharp again, a few experimental swings showed it was ready for battle once more. A bolt of excitement ricocheted down your spine, tingling to your fingertips as you thought of showing the rebirthed blade to Sylus, of cleaving pious flesh from bone to earn it its new name.

It had been at least three days since you had seen your dragon, however. He left you to your devices when you began work on your little pet project, when you’d shooed him out of your chambers to prepare a ‘surprise’. He seemed less than thrilled with the idea, if the downward curl of his lips was any tell, but he’d nevertheless entertained your whims and left you be. You were grateful to have his eyes off you for a day or two, but now that you’d finished, his absence reverberated through the yawning emptiness in your chest, where his claws had carved a dragon shaped hole. Normally, he often lingered nearby, watching curiously as you tried to climb out of his cave, or polished his coins out of sheer boredom, or even while you ate your meals, made of sparse rations stolen from soldier barracks. You hated it, at first, until you realized he didn’t do so out of malice. He was but a shepherd, watching with intrigue as his sheep tried to jump the fence of its enclosure, wondering if it would ever have the strength to clear it, or if it was doomed to an early trip to the slaughterhouse, ushered there on broken legs.

But now you’d seen neither sight nor heard sound of him, and you couldn’t help but miss him. If he wasn’t nearby, you could usually still hear him deeper in the cave, the clinking of coins as he moved about, or the faint rustling of his scales gliding across stone. The gust of wind from a flap of his impressive wings as he took off. The sword was complete the previous evening, and yet the cavern remained noticeably silent. As if the mountain held its breath, anxiously waiting for his return. The mark he left on your neck throbbed, pulsed, beckoning you to him as the fisherman’s lure calls the guppies from the safety of the school.

This wasn’t like him.

Leaving the blade in your chambers; it wouldn’t do to approach an agitated dragon with such a thing; you began to make your way through the winding tunnels, deeper into the darkness. His own quarters, the ones you’d once slunk into with thoughts of dragon eyes and dripping red, were in the heart of the mountain, where the sun didn’t dare reach, and veins of buried magma spread like spiderwebs underfoot, keeping it pleasantly warm. Sylus made it clear his distaste for sunlight, and dragons ran naturally hot; all you need do was follow as the darkness stretched deeper into the earth, down the spiral staircase in the heart of his nest, as the air grew warm and charged.

You descended the last crude steps, carved by his own claws, landing with a thud in his chamber. His overflowing coffers, now teeming with the prizes from your exploits, glittered in the dull orange glow of the candles, a kaleidoscope of technicolor treasures. You felt a wave of satisfaction as you gazed upon your additions to his hoard, proof of your enacted vengeance in every pillaged gem. But less so the jewels, you were pleased with the tapestries, the blankets and pillows now strewn about his cave, after you’d bemoaned the harshness of the stone against your skin. You had no scales to protect you, after all. Sylus thought you odd for requesting things so mundane, but he acquiesced, if only to sate your growing desires.

And there you found him, sat amongst a pile of pillows on his ‘perch’, as you’d lovingly called it, a dark shape against the speckled constellations of his gold. The raised stone dais, where he often lazed about when not with you, had not escaped your demands to make his home more accommodating for a human. A puffy white blanket now laid over the old rock, stolen straight from an Oracle’s bedchamber. You’d tucked ivory pillows with gold tinsel into the corners, to rest his head or back against, you’d reasoned, but Sylus only scoffed. He made no move to stop you though, and you weren’t blind to how he snuggled into the cushions when he thought you weren’t looking, his tail flicking and eyes closed like a contented, oversized cat.

You came up short, however, when you fully took in the state of your dragon. Sitting up, his back turned to you, he was curled in on himself, a taloned hand gripping his tensed shoulders, his tail draped over the edge, twitching restlessly. He hung his head, hiding his face from view, his body heaving with faint pants that echoed in the tight space. Next to him, the once pristine and well kept bedding had been shredded, huge gashes running across the delicate fabric, a plume of feathery down decorating his bed and the cave floors where the stuffing had been ripped out.

The mark on your neck flared to life at seeing him, and you instinctively clasped a hand over it. You could feel the outline of his bite under your fingers, his reminder of your deal, a stamp and signature on your contract. You let out a stuttered breath as the ache spread underneath your skin, consuming, tearing, flaying your flesh open with phantom fire. It burned.

You’d never seen Sylus like this before, never felt the mark throb quite as sharply. It tended to hurt, when his draconic instincts expressed themselves, when you felt him crave mortal souls, but that was a feeling you’d grown familiar with. You knew it, felt it, and discarded it, the mark and his desire tampered down as quickly as it had roared to life. You’d grown accustomed to the feeling, the ache deep in your chest that cried devour, devour, consume, it’s yours, even as it filled you with a sense of wrongness. Sylus never acknowledged it, never hinted that his desire grew in twine with yours, even as you felt the reflection of it in yourself. He swallowed it down, and with it, the mark would go dormant again, like nothing had happened, his stoic expression no less tamed than before.

The pain it radiated now was so different. You felt it travel along the highways of your nerves, burning and burning and burning its way down your spine, through your limbs, all the way to your toes, where it felt like your meat was being pulled from your bones, ripped and sliced and stabbed. You shuddered, a harsh exhale pushed from your lungs as you suppressed the urge to scream, to rip into your own flesh to find the source of your pain, and carve it out. You’d felt a distant ache from the mark as you traveled deeper into the mountain, but standing in front of Sylus, it was nearly unbearable.

Was Sylus…Could he feel it too?

Carefully, on gentle padded steps, you approached him. You made no attempt to hide the sound of your footfalls, you were sure he already knew you were there, if your previous meetings were any indication. However, he was surely irritated, the jerky movements of his tail confirmed as much, and you had no desire to exacerbate it by startling him. You’d been on the receiving end of it before, when you teased him too much too often, or when you demanded he bring you something particularly ridiculous, like the fuzzy mountain cat that now roamed his domain with you. You’d not seen it in a while either though, it could likely sense the ire of its master, and decided it was better to simply stay out of sight, lest it become collateral.

“Sylus?” you broached softly, as you neared his place on the dais. Even the quiet whisper of his name felt too loud in that space, where the tension grew thick, made the air scrape across your suddenly dry throat.

His reply was a deep, rumbling growl, coursing its way out of the depths of his chest and echoing on the cave walls. You stopped in your tracks, eyes going wide as the sound made the fine hairs on your arms stand on end.

“Leave me be,” he spoke, and it sounded nothing like the smooth velvet of his voice, tinged with tender fondness and amusement that you’d grown to adore over the long months. No, this was the voice of a dragon - one filled with seething flames to scorch the earth, make his bed of ash and rubble. A fury so potent, the heavens trembled in its presence.

This wasn’t like him at all.

“Sylus, what is wrong?” You asked, your worry spreading like mold throughout your body, choking you, covering up the pain from his mark, even as it swelled, surged, pushed into your fingertips.

“I am in no mood for your games. Leave.” He hissed. Actually hissed. His tail lashed, gouging out shallow grooves in the rock below his perch, the pointed barb extending and retracting. Poised and ready, like a scorpion’s, right before the kill.

In all the time you’d known him, all the months of shared hardships, he had never spoken to you like that.

Not even when you both dreamed of tearing the other apart.

“What is going on with you?” You breathed, not bothering to hide the worry in your voice, your heart.

“It is no concern of yours,” he threw over his shoulder, and it struck like a sword in your chest.

How could he say that, after spending months with you, helping you, fighting alongside you against a world that abhorred you and him?

How could he say that, as the only person who stood by you now? And you, the only one left who stood by him?

“Of course it’s my concern,” you said, and you wondered if he could hear the hurt in your voice. “Sylus, what is-”

“Have you lost your hearing?” He snarled, cutting you off as his voice grew louder. “I thought I made myself clear. Leave. Now.”

You stared at him, stunned, as Sylus seethed vitriol at the tender place inside you, where you’d planted the seeds of affection, adoration, where they timidly poked their tender leaves out. As you felt them wither, their crumbling stalks easily pulled out, shredded in apathetic claws.

Had you made him angry, somehow? Crossed a line he forgot to draw in the sand, and now he wanted nothing to do with you? Your heart kicked, lurching at the thought. Had your dragon finally grown tired of you?

But, as you looked at him, tensed up and refusing to look at you, your intuition cracked like a whip, and you realized what he was actually doing. Your skin rippled, and you felt a steady stream of anger pump into your veins, to match his own, where once was only worry. You’d worked so hard, tending that garden, to grow something other than bloodlust and hatred inside of you. But now they came back, like weeds you could never fully eradicate, twisting around your fragile heart.

Did Sylus truly think he could scare you away so easily? Intimidate you into abandoning him, so effortlessly? Did he forget that you were not the same helpless little thing he rescued from the Abyss? He said it himself; you’d grown your own horns, when you vowed vengeance on those who damned you, and vowed your soul to him in tandem. You weren’t just going to let him destroy whatever it was you two had built together. You hated the thought so much, it filled your mouth with the acrid taste of bile.

“Sylus, I’m not going anywhere.” You said firmly, planting your feet. If he wanted you to leave, he’d have to throw you out. The gnawing worry and anger, coupled with the pain still writhing under your skin, made the thought so unpalatable you wanted to peel yourself open, let him consume your soul if only to let him feel the tender emotions that enveloped you whenever you thought of him, when you looked at him.

“Then you are a fool,” he sneered, and you felt your hopes being snuffed out. “Begone.”

“Sylus, let me help-”

“I need no help.” He spat, the final word tasting foul on his tongue. His tail flexed, muscles rippling as he drove it into the ground, a clean puncture straight through the stone, pebbles scattering across the floor.

You breathed through your nose, trying very hard to stop yourself from saying ‘yes, you do’, bluntly to his face, or it may anger him more than your continued presence already was. You knew when to hold your tongue, despite what he may think.

“Please, can you just tell me what’s wrong?” You begged, hating how desperate you sounded. It reminded you too much of when you first met, when he held your life so easily in his hands. But, strangely, you found you hated his current state even more, could stomach begging like a peasant if it meant you could get through to him.

“Do you truly wish to test my benevolence again, sorceress?” He ignored your question, saying the nickname he normally spoke with such fond amusement, filled with contempt and repulsion. Spoke it the way the Judicators did, as they condemned you, sentenced you to die. As they took you away from everything you knew and loved, and made you watch as they reduced your world to rubble, made you watch as the only people you ever knew chanted for your execution, rejoiced at your damnation.

The extent of this transgression, this intentional cruelty made your skin grow hot, your brows drawing down as nothing but rage bubbled up and shot out of your heart like lava, a volcano erupting and eating away at the worry there. How dare he? How dare he speak to you like that, after all you had been through together? After you blocked blows, fought off the wrath of the holy army that aimed for his vulnerable flank while you raided their temples, their armories, their barracks. You’d taken hits for him, gladly, if it meant sparing him pain, even if it meant feeling the wounds twice; once for when your blood spilled, and again when Sylus admonished you for being reckless, for worrying about him, even if he inevitably patched you up, told you to be more careful in that quiet way he did. After you learned to enjoy what slivers of peace you could find together, how he took you to the night markets, bought you anything your hands touched, and tried to fight the smile that curled his lips as you covered him in cheap, counterfeit jewelry, in leather pouches that he would never use, but you liked the designs of, or that set of old red keys that’d been turned into an ornament, simply because it matched his eyes.

Did all of that mean nothing to him, for him to treat you this way? Treat you worse than he did when you were nothing more than a meal to him?

Part of you was so angry and hurt, you wanted to just do as he said. Leave him to his devices, and let him suffer in solitude. Tell him to never ask for your help again, since he clearly didn’t need it.

You turned, took a step away from him, fighting back the stinging in your eyes. You stopped, your breath catching, as your heart stuttered, like your chest was caving in around it, crushing it. Your vision swam, and you clamped your eyes shut, as you tried to hold onto your anger at him for speaking so cruelly to you. At hurting you in a way you hadn’t been sure you were still capable of hurting. But all you could see were those moments when he showed you the kind of creature he really was. Those moments like when you sang to him on the cliff, and he looked at you with affectionate awe, promised to buy you an organ so you could play it properly for him. The gentle lull of his voice as he carried you away from the tavern in Tarus City, retelling the play to you when you complained you’d have nightmares if he didn’t. How he snuggled with you at night when you had them anyway, because the thought of him mutilating himself was so much worse than whatever you could’ve imagined was the reason for the end to that awful, awful play. How you two poured over maps and star charts, planning your next assault while joking and teasing each other. Smiling, laughing.

Your heart screamed, as the dragon shaped hole he’d carved hemorrhaged, filled your chest with so much blood, you felt like choking.

As much as you wanted to be enraged at him, force him to suffer for hurting you so thoroughly…you couldn’t leave him. Couldn’t bear to walk away, even if it meant your own destruction. The prospect hurt so much more than the words he used like daggers.

You straightened, hardening your resolve, tucking your anger away for later. You turned back, marched over to the dais. If Sylus refused to see reason, then you would make him understand his own foolishness.

“This has nothing to do with your benevolence, or lack thereof,” you snapped, proud of yourself when your voice came out even, unaffected by the anger and revitalized concern that now mixed into a potent concoction inside you. “It has everything to do with you being too afraid to admit you need help!”

What you thought before was a snarl was nothing compared to the throaty, guttural angry and inhuman sound that burst from his throat at that, echoing around the both of you like the detonating of a bomb. He twisted violently, pinning you with his eyes, the ill omen of those ominous pools of ruby rose. They crackled like a storm, his nose crinkled and lip curled in utter contempt at your accusation. His next words came out as a barely contained roar.

“I am a dragon-”

“Indeed,” you cut him off, raising your voice to match him, unflinching in the face of his utter childishness. “In which case you can surely stomach telling me why you’re so upset.”

He paused, eyes widening for a fraction of a second, almost imperceptibly, before he quickly wiped the expression off with a scowl, turning away from you as his tail continued to flick. You stared at the back of his head, crossing your arms, daring him to try to deny it again. You always did like a challenge, he knew this about you. You weren’t going to leave, if for no other reason than the fact that only he could soothe the burning of the mark, douse the fire that tore through you, even as you stood there meeting his anger head on. The truth was, though, that you still cared about him. You weren’t sure if that would ever change, now. Even when he was being insufferable.

Eventually, he let out a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“…Everything hurts,” he whispered through gritted teeth, curling in on himself further.

Your heart dropped at that, the confirmation that the fire in your muscles was also in his, the untouchability of him in your mind shattering.

Sylus always seemed so invincible; he shrugged off the blows from the army as if they were nothing, he stopped arrows with a flick of his wrist, rended battalions with a swipe of his tail. A grimace and a stare, his right eye roaring to life sending whole squadrons into madness, howling as they tore each other apart. You’d yet to see anything perforate his impenetrable scales, save for the greatsword nestled somewhere deep in your chest. Even then, when you first found him in the depths of the abyss, looking up at the sheer size of his true form, all rippling scales, muscle, and teeth, he had seemed more annoyed than anguished, while he sat ran through with the sword, with his massive scarlet wings cocooned in chains. He watched you as the lion does the mouse, waiting for the inevitable, for you to wrap your hands around the hilt, for the blade to slide smoothly out from where it was implanted in his chest, to set him free from the prison of your ancestor’s making.

He seemed so…almost boyish now, in the near fetal position, tail flicking, flicking. And what a strange sight it was. Something filled you at it, boiling and prickly thorned, wrapping around your heart and squeezing, pulsing along with the mark on your neck. It took a moment to recognize it as offense. Offense at seeing your untouchable, mighty dragon, who scoffed at attempts for his slaughter, who laughed as you tried to procure his eye, now besought by something intangible, something which you could not name, that you could not know. Something that your daggers, your swords, all the weapons in the caves could not split away from, could not heal the jagged edges that cut him, and thus cut you.

Through the fire seeping into your veins, though, the only train of thought that remained on course, reverberating through your head was why, why, why is your dragon in pain?

What could be causing your dragon such agony?

You wracked your brain, trying to think if you had missed something, if he had hidden any injuries from your last raid. But the Justitiaurs fell as easily as they always had; tearing each other apart with one look from his glowing red eye. You two were together when you stormed the resident Oracle's chamber, cut his throat with your daggers, and watched his blood paint the ivory tiles a color that matched the gem in Sylus’s chest. Non had presented more than an inconvenience to you both, more like fleas squashed between your fingers. He’d claimed his invulnerability, and proven it just as easily; what could have possibly inflicted such debilitating pain upon him?

Though, you quickly realized it didn’t matter so much the why or how of what Sylus was feeling. What mattered was that he felt it, and you didn’t want him to be feeling it, regardless of the fact his pain was reflected into you.

You gently padded to the dais, watching his twitching tail as you sat on the edge of the coarse stone, brushing aside loose feathers. Here, you caught a glimpse of his face; his nose scrunched, lip slightly curled to reveal pointed fangs, and eyes clamped shut by furrowed brows. Your heart plummeted like a stone thrown in a mirrored lake, lost in darkness’ depths, seeing the pain etched so clearly onto his marble face, disrupting the collected, bored expression he always wore.

“Where does it hurt?” Your voice came out soft, soothing. Gracing the air as a brush of fingers on his skin, a kiss of petals.

“Everywhere,” he huffed, exasperated. He shook his head violently, his claws bearing down on his delicate skin, just shy of breaking the surface and drawing blood. Your fingers flexed, wanting to pull the deadly talons away from his shoulder, away from himself, but you refrained. Patience was key, with a predator so close to snapping.

“Where does it hurt most?”

A growl reverberated out of his throat, a discontented purr. He peaked open his eyes, though he did not look at you, his gaze remained fixed on the shredded blankets, the frayed threads loosened by his rough scales and talons. You simply waited, for the waves of pain to abate, for him to find his voice again. He let out a heavy exhale, closing his eyes.

“…My tail, my shoulders, and my back.”

You nodded, though he couldn’t see it, gaze flitting to each area as he listed them off. Outwardly, you could see no damage to them, the scales glistened a burned amber shade from the sconces scattered about, his mortal flesh was smooth and unblemished, save for the marks his claws had already begun to leave from gripping his shoulder so tightly. Your curiosity burned with the desire to ask questions - had he been poisoned, perhaps? Was he sick? But again, you reminded yourself that questions could come later. Healing must come first.

“Give me your tail.” You outstretched your hand to him, palm up expectantly.

His eyes opened again, darted to you, the deep, preternatural growl rumbling in his throat. You held his stare, unwavering in his clear attempts to dissuade you.

“This is none of your concern.” He looked away, shaking his head again to try to rid himself of the nagging sensations plaguing him.

You frowned. “I know,” you said, making grabby motions with your hand. “Now stop being stubborn and let me help you.”

His growl transformed back into a hiss as he shot you a glare. When you, again, didn’t back down from his challenge, he let out a disgruntled snort. Spitefully, like a child angry about being caught stealing his mother’s pastries, he turned his back to you, letting his long, lithe tail plop gracelessly onto your lap. You let out a light ‘oof’ as the weight settled across your thighs, effectively pinning you down. It reminded you of when he effortlessly threw the dagger out of your hand and pulled you to him with the lean appendage, like you were weightless, like it required barely a thought. You couldn’t say you were surprised, as you admired it, your hands tentatively brushing along the top and sides, feeling, searching as you thought about how to help him deal with the pain.

You weren’t sure if what you had in mind would work, but you were willing to try, if it meant he had a chance at relief. You were taught some basic medicine in the Sanctuary; as was mandated by the army. Basic first aid, how to treat a wound, what was reasonable to handle on the field and what required a doctor. Nothing too sophisticated.

But most importantly; how to handle basic muscle aches and soreness.

You decided to start at the tip of his tail, the impressive spike and retracting barbs you had enviously stared at more than once. You gently took it in your hands, holding it steady as it attempted to twitch out of your grasp. Sylus let out another angry snort, but held still when you refused to let go. Observing the lithe appendage, you realized the end was forged of bone, and beyond your help, but on the underside, the scales slowly faded into a soft, leathery underbelly. You felt along it, slowly moving up, using your fingers and the heel of your palm to gently push on it until finally, you felt it; a knot of twisted flesh just below the surface.

Being as tender as possible, you held his tail firmly as you began to grind your palm into the center of the knot in tight circles, to loosen and soothe the ache there. It was definitely painful; Sylus growled, his tail jerking to wrest it from your grasp, but you simply tightened your grip, not letting him get away. He slowly relaxed, as you felt his flesh detangle, pushing bigger circles into his scales until it lost its shape, molding into the rest of his powerful, healthy muscles. Sylus let out something like hum, clearly pleased, his body starting to relax under your fingers.

When you were satisfied the knot had been thoroughly worked out, you moved on to the next section of his tail, where the pointed barbs faded into smooth ringlets of scales, rippling from half formed, stubbed spikes. You carefully coiled the finished section around you, not wanting to pull his tail by letting it dangle off the dais, and began running your fingers around the base of his spines. The ones closer to the base of his tail were thinner, sharper, little knives diving out of his scales. In contrast, these ones were wide, dull, and short, as if they hadn’t fully formed yet. You wondered if Sylus was even younger than you first thought, feeling the ache of a body that wasn’t done metamorphosing, hadn’t finished growing all the scales and spikes dragons were known for. You wondered if that was why he ached, why his muscles had tensed into knots.

You gently pushed your fingers into his scales, into the mountains and valleys of the contours of what made his draconic skin. You felt how they dipped, like city streets that snaked through clusters of buildings, made a network of highways where you could see the sky, feel the wind on your face. You felt how they rose again, like shockwaves pulsing away from the origin of an explosion, as you pressed your palm into another knot. Sylus grunted, his tail curling of its own volition, as you soothed his muscles. It was different, from the human skin you’d practiced on, but so similar, too. His scales were warm and rough to the touch, but underneath, his muscles steadily smoothed out, like you’d been taught these massages would do.

When you were done there, you had to scoot closer to him, to massage the last part of his tail. The finished parts curled around you, inviting you closer, keeping you in place. You worked around the magnificent spines that curved toward his back, the deadly weapons smooth to the touch, but unmistakably sharp, as you brushed your hand around them. The scales here were bumpy, like permanent gooseflesh pebbled his scales, though the heat radiating off him proved otherwise. You ran your hands up and down, spreading your fingers, rubbing circles and indistinguishable shapes into the peaks and valleys, the bumps and ridges that made the topography of his reptilian skin. You wrapped one arm under him, cradling him gently, so gently, as you massaged the place under the fin-like protrusions that jutted out from the sides of his tail. A deep rumble broke the stillness, and you smiled, when you realized Sylus was doing the dragon equivalent of a purr. His head lowered, relaxing, as you rubbed the leathery membrane of the frills between your fingers, smoothed over the spiked ridges where it turned back into polished scales.

You leaned back, relishing in satisfaction as his tail curled further around you, without pain, without a grunt or grimace. It quickly faded though, as you looked at him, tilting your head appraisingly. Tracing your eyes over his bejeweled back, how the red streaks flowed from it, slithered around his body and rejoined at the gem in his chest. He said his back and shoulders hurt too, didn’t he?

You weren’t quite done, then.

You angled yourself towards him, his tail still in your lap, holding you in place. You laid your hands on his back, the lower part of his shoulder blades, spreading your fingers across the smooth planes of mortal flesh. They tensed at your touch on instinct, drawing his shoulders together, before they relaxed, surrendered to you, trusted you. His tail flicked once, intrigued, before you started slowly rolling your hands, from his shoulders to his lower back, up and down, like using a rolling pin, kneading out dough with your hands. The rumbling purr grew louder, echoed through the cave, his back beginning to arch slightly to give you better access, his head tilting in bliss. You didn’t bother hiding the smirk that spread across your face. Instead, you had to suppress a shiver as you marveled at the feeling of his skin beneath your hands, so delicate and fragile and beautiful, like what you thought holding a newborn babe would feel like. You moved your hands in, towards the cord of scales that traveled down his spine, untangling the knots you found there too. You rolled your shoulders, the pain that burned and ripped through you settling, easing as you soothed Sylus’s ache.

Once his back was done, you leaned forward, chest nearly flush with it, intent on giving his shoulders proper care next, when you yelped as Sylus fell back into you in a heap, his tail sliding out beneath him. You stared at him in disbelief as he settled in your lap, purring, ever purring, his face completely relaxed as he nuzzled it into your chest. His eyes were closed, and he let out a long, tired sigh, as he made himself comfortable, reclining into you like a chair.

“More,” he mumbled, when your hands didn’t return to him, didn’t continue his massage. Against your will, a bark of laughter erupted from your chest, watching the big, scary dragon melting on top of you. His warmth soaked into you, your skin a greedy sponge, and you let yourself just relish in it, for a moment. The outer caves, where your chambers were, got so cold at night, where the lifeblood of the mountain didn’t flow. He brought you blankets, wrapped you in silk, velvet, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same as the heat that surrounded him, an aura of warmth that kept the fire in his heart, his belly burning. You held him in a tighter embrace, as you were reminded of how much you missed him, how you shivered in the plush nest of bedding you made, how unbearably cold it was, absent of his warmth for the past few days.

Sylus wriggled, grunting unhappily when you didn’t immediately comply. You snapped out of your stupor, chuckling, impatient dragon, before putting your hands on his wide, muscular shoulders, beginning to slowly roll them in your palms. His left one was much harder to work on, the scales rising up like jagged peaks, the pointed ends barely kept from your tender flesh. You did your best to work around them, pressing your fingers into the canyons where the scales parted, rolling the heel of your palm where they met his neck. He huffed, rolling his shoulders as the knots came loose, as the soreness he felt dissolved like warm fog, the reflection of it in your own shoulders draining.

When the taut string that held his shoulder blades together finally went lax, your hands traveled downward, beginning to delicately caress his arms, over the backs of his hands, before ascending again. An achingly tender touch that your caregivers at the Sanctuary used to sooth you with when you were a child, the faintest ghosting of fingers across skin, a touch so sickeningly sweet it made you want to weep. Sylus’s breath hitched, as you shared this delicate caress with him. He let out a shuddered sigh, turning his hands and opening them, so you could slide your fingers all the way over his wrists, down to his palms, and travel back again.

You both let the moment stretch, let the silence bloom between you, save for the occasional purr or sigh. You watched him, as you tended to his pain, how his back pushed against you with every breath, how his eyes were closed in sheer euphoria as he rested his cheek on your chest. You stared at him as you felt emotions build in your chest, push on your tender ribs, your heart clenching. Happiness that he was no longer in pain, anguish that he felt it at all. Joy that you were able to comfort him when he needed it most, despair that you both let him suffer for so long, by not seeking the other out.

I will always come to your aid.

You vowed it, to yourself, in the deepest recess of your soul. You promised it, to him, in the darkest echelons of your heart. And as much as you would’ve liked to let the silence last, let this feeling of your heart leaping as a blissful doe across a grassy, sun dappled knoll, with your beloved dragon in your lap, there was only one way to ensure such a promise remained intact.

You kissed his hair to smooth him, the delicate silver strands tickling your lips. “Sylus?”

“Hmm?” His eyes remained closed.

“What caused you such pain?”

His contented half smile vanished, brows furrowing. He opened his beautiful eyes, averted his gaze from you, tail swaying in renewed agitation. You worried for a moment that he may not answer you, or worse, try to part from you again.

“Before I was imprisoned in the Abyss, many sought me out. To claim glory in my slaughter, to be the one who finally killed the fiend. I was accosted by armies, whole battalions.” He paused, weighing his words carefully. “They were…harder to repel, when I was younger.”

You closed your eyes. You closed your eyes, against the sinking feeling in your chest, against the despair that crested, flooded you. You could see it. The mark pulsed, and you stared out of eyes that were not your own. You heard a dragon's roar, a familiar sound, as you watched a writhing, living ocean of gleaming steel bound down the hilltops towards you. Massive, scaled hands stretched away from you, swatting at the bright shapes as they threatened you with their polished swords, their axes, their spears. You screamed, as they dug into your arms, your flank, arrows embedded into your wings, your neck. A flash of red streaked across your vision, a sword made of blood descending on you, aimed at your heart.

You shook your head, the images swirling together in blotches of color, condensing, precipitating back into a picture of a dark, black cave. You felt steel along your limbs, pinching, pulling and locking you in place. You thrashed, snarling and snapping your jaws at the chains as your muscles ignited with pain from the wounds that never got proper care. But the chains did not yield against the thrashing of your head, the beating of your wings, your lashing tail. A sword made of blood, holding you in place.

You opened your eyes. You opened your eyes, and looked down at the tormented creature in your lap, who trusted you enough to show you his soft underbelly (even if it required some coaxing), the tender parts that took the blade so easily. And what a monumental feat that was, for a dragon, you realized. For a being whose very existence depended on being the strongest, on having the will to fight against a world that longed for his head from the first moment he opened his eyes. Vulnerability was weakness, and weakness was death. Cruelty was a shield against the swords, bows, axes of cruelty that were wielded against him first. He’d snapped at you, before, as a wolf does when caught in a snare, baring fangs and snarling even as the kind hunter tries to free him. Tries to restore his freedom, before he could finish gnawing his leg off, because what is a leg compared to the boundless sky, a forest that stretches and stretches into a pinprick of darkness, or an ocean that reaches so far, it touches the horizon with blue gold fingers?

You rested your chin atop his head, his horns framing your face. Your hands kept moving, spreading your fingers, closing them, down the ridged scales on his arms, back again over soft skin.

“I’m sorry,” you said, because it was the only thing that felt right to say.

Sylus huffed, brushing off the heaviness that cloaked you at his admission. “You’ve no reason to be sorry.”

You squeezed him. “And yet I am, for what my kin did to you.”

He hummed, clearly still in disagreement, but letting the matter drop. He adjusted his position, getting more comfortable in your lap, snuggling against you. You watched him fondly while you bore the full brunt of his weight without protest, shielded him from the pain as best you knew.

“Maybe tomorrow we can go down to the market and get you some lotion for the soreness.” You suggested, not stopping your hands from moving across his skin.

He hummed again, thinking on it. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Why?” You tilted your head at him.

Sylus took a deep breath. “…This is enough.” He said, his voice heavy with emotions he was too prideful to share.

“…Okay,” you said, because you trusted him, now, to be honest with you about this. Trusted him not to push you away when pain made him feel weak, made him want to hide in the shadows.

Even with this newfound trust, though, you gently cupped his chin in your hand, turning his face so he’s forced to look at you. So he could not claim ignorance as his blood-red eyes took in the conviction on your face, in your words, spoken with genuine, honest devotion.

“Come to me next time you’re feeling like this.”

He stared at you. You held his gaze, holding him softly, but firmly, not letting him pull away from the words you needed him to hear from you, and what you needed to hear from him. Would grow sick with worry, if you didn’t.

He looked away, staring up at your lovely neck, his teeth marks in your skin. He nodded, once, before meeting your eyes again.

“Very well.”

You let out a tense breath, your shoulder blades easing. You let go of his face, but he was quick to grab your hand. He held it up, turned his face into your wrist, nuzzling it, his lips softer than the purest, freshest wool as they pressed into your skin.

“Only if you promise to hold me, as you have today, when I do.” He pushed your palm into his cheek, his hot breath fanning down your arm as he sighed, his eyes half-lidded and sleepy.

Your heart swelled, felt like it might burst from affection, an adoration that it felt too small to contain. You swallowed around the lump in your throat those thick emotions formed, as he asked you to be his safety, his comfort.

“Always, my dragon.”

Sylus smiled, buried his face in your palm. He placed another gentle kiss on the outside of your wrist, before returning your hand to his cheek.

“How did you know to come to me?” He asked softly.

You paused, tapped his cheek to make sure he was looking at you. Your hand moved, his gaze following it, as you brought it up to press against the imprint of his teeth marks in your neck.

“Because…I felt it, too.”

He stared at you, with those perfect rubies, traveling across your face. His eyes flicked between the mark and your face, before his nose wrinkled slightly, and he turned away from you again.

“That wasn’t my intention, when I gave it to you,” he said, some of his irritation creeping back at his displeasure.

You let out a heavy breath. You suspected as much, weren’t sure he even knew you caught traces of his own desires through it. “I know. It’s okay.”

“No.” His tail swayed unhappily. “You should be angry with me.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. You were angry at him, still. Just not for that. “I can handle the pain,” you said, instead of admitting your hidden feelings.

“But you shouldn’t have to.” He looked up at you, his rose colored eyes filled with…remorse?

“I am willing to, if it’s for you.” You leaned forward, brushing your lips over his temple to reassure him.

He scoffed, shaking his head in disdain. “Humans are foolish,” he hissed, though there was no heat in his words.

You grinned down at him. “One of our many charms.”

He snorted, and you felt how his lips quirked up in a smile. He relaxed again, closing his eyes, your reassurances a powerful balm for his soul. His tail stopped swaying, curled around your ankle instead to hold you closer.

“I am still mad at you, though.”

He stilled, his expression falling. He opened his eyes again, caught your gaze, puzzled.

“I care about you. A lot,” you said, hardening your expression, so he knew you were serious. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you speak to me like you just did without any consequences.”

Understanding colored his features. He had the decency to look slightly sheepish, hanging his head.

“I’d be disappointed if you did,” he admitted quietly. He slowly lowered your hand from his face, guiding it to his chest, to the gem embedded over his rapidly beating heart. You brushed your fingers across the smooth surface, traced the edges of each uneven, polished side. He engulfed your hand with his massive claw, closed both of them over his heart. “I will make it up to you. Anything you desire, it’s yours.”

You hummed, considering his offer, letting him open your hand again, lean down to run his nose across your palm. Watched him, as his forked tongue parted his lips, licked a soft stripe across your skin so sweetly, you may have wondered if you imagined it, were your eyes not locked on him. Not an apology, but perhaps the closest a dragon could come to the concept.

You smiled.

“You’re going to have to be an obedient little dragon for a long time to make up for it.”

Sylus stilled, his talons tightening around your open palm. Then he shifted, met your eyes with his, a toothy grin meeting your own.

“I am at your mercy, O great sorceress.”

🐉 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 🐉

Sylus is in a foul mood.

A deal had gone belly up, that he’d been working on for weeks. Weeks of dealing with the sniveling underlings of a business partner he coveted, whom nearly pissed themselves whenever he spoke, of long, boring negotiations that got dragged on for hours beyond what was necessary, of finally drafting and signing a contract for the protocores he needed, only to have a rival business, some small faction he couldn’t even bother to know the name of, made of traitors and vultures alike, had outbid him with an offer too tantalus; the promise of Onychinus on a platter, them as the new reigning monarchs of the N109 Zone.

Their hubris was their own undoing. They hadn’t tried to disguise the bombs they put in his shipment very well, assuming with the contract in place, Sylus was keen to be lax. What they didn’t know is that Sylus is nothing if not thorough, consistent with his business. Every shipment bound for his warehouses is checked, checked, and checked again, to ensure he gets exactly what he is promised, and to ensure situations - precisely like these - are foiled before even having a chance at fruition. The protocore shaped explosives had been caught on the first scans, and Sylus is offended, not at the attempt on his life, but the sloppy execution of the whole ordeal, especially from his own ex-employees.

He’d repaid the offensive slight tenfold. It was customary, after all. Crushed the insurrectionists who coveted the seat of the N109 Zone, their pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears. They’d made their bed, and Sylus is more than happy to help them lay in it, under six feet of dirt. And his new supplier, who was so for such a short amount of time, got the same treatment for consorting against him in his own territory. He stormed the building they used as a den in a hail of bullets and red-black evol, looking forward to the mushroom cloud that would erupt in a ball of fire when he blew the place off the map. He’d smirked, thumbing the detonator in his pocket, as his men scoured the building for anything valuable or useful, while his supplier hung suspended in the air by his evol.

It was when his men reported back what they’d found in the building’s basement that he took a special pleasure in the vengeance he planned to enact. The dozens of women, in cages, they’d found, emaciated and barely alive. Whom he’d had to relocate anonymously to a shelter within Linkon, because he refused to leave them buried among the rubble. He remembers the way his face twisted in outrage when his men first delivered the news of what was going on in that wretched place.

This was one business Sylus refused to dip his fingers into. That level of depravity was lower than a swine’s belly, and he refused to stoop so low as to wallow in the mud with people more monstrous than he could ever hope to be. Had he known about his new supplier’s involvement in such things, he never would’ve pursued them in the first place. But he was a weapons dealer, first and foremost, and his particular brand required top quality protocores to meet his, and his buyers, standards. And, supposedly, his newest catch sold some of the best on the market after his last, and longest lasting one, had been caught in a turf war near the outskirts of the N109 Zone, and was erased from existence completely.

Sylus prefers to keep his emotions out of business; it simply made things easier, less messy. But perhaps he was more biased than he let on, because he let that old, familiar bloodlust make his bones feel restless, let the burning fire of rage seep into his veins like molasses as he discovered the kind of pigs that tried to lay with him. As they tarnished his reputation, by even associating with them.

It was no matter, though. That contract was now neatly shredded in his bin, all copies of it eradicated, and that portly man who ran that business, well, he’d made for a fine night’s entertainment. Sylus feels a deep sense of satisfaction at having acted as his comeuppance, tearing down his fragile kingdom brick by brick, ensuring nothing but a crater would be left of it. His lips quirk up in a smile, as he remembers how the man had squealed - as all hogs do - when he peeled his skin off, slowly, and fed it to the wanderers that lurk in the nearby no-hunt zones.

But, as much fun as he’d had smearing another pest in his territory into the dirt, he is now facing the consequences of his actions, dealing with the fallout of indulging in his murderous whims. Without a proper supplier, he is pressed to find another way to fulfill the orders that had piled up over the last couple of weeks. Onychinus always fulfills its orders, Sylus prides his business on that, but now he is scrambling, trying to find a new supplier who won’t sell him fakes within the next 48 hours.

Sylus sighs, staring down at the papers on his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose. Swirls the glass of wine that’s gone warm in his hand. His head is beginning to throb.

A light rapping at the door has Sylus lifting his head. His first impulse is to be irritated, as he suspects it’s the twins, and with the drumming behind his temples, he has half a mind to tell them to leave him be. But, perhaps their reconnaissance to find a new source for the protocores he needed was fruitful. He could handle them for the few minutes it would take to be debriefed on the results, he decides.

“Enter,” the smooth baritone of his voice broke the stillness of his office. Sylus leans back, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair as he waits for them to comply.

The door handle turns, and Sylus sits up, when he sees not the twins, but your beautiful, perfect self, wearing one of the outfits he bought you, dart through his door, quickly closing it behind you.

“Sweetie,” he greets, perking up as you turn, flashing him a sweet, gentle smile as you make your way over to him. Though only an expert could see how the slight widening of his eyes, the faint relaxing of his shoulders belied his adoration for you. You, who made every deal worth slogging through, made every contract a stitch in the fabric of the tapestry of all he would do for you, offer you. You, his most precious treasure, who smiled so sweetly as you approached him, are the only one who can tell his face lit up the moment he saw you.

Your brows furrow slightly as you round his desk. “Everything okay? You look exhausted.” You ask softly. Your voice, a caress of feathers against his rough exterior, made him want to shed the armor that protects the soft, squishy parts of himself. He discards the wine on his desk, opens his arms for you, and you obediently plant yourself shamelessly in his lap, straddling him to bury your face in the crook of his neck, holding him as tightly as he holds you.

He let out another sigh, the stress he feels seeping out of him as he absorbs your warmth, his shoulders slumping. “Unpleasant business,” he answers, kissing the crown of your head, his thumbs rubbing back and forth along your lower back. He feels his heart swell, strain against the warmth that fills it, as you hum in acknowledgement, nestling deeper into him, rubbing your hands up and down his recently tense shoulders. He wonders how you are able to do it, how you are able to tamper the lingering bloodlust towards the sycophants who thought they would consort against him, by simply being there, holding him, existing.

“Do you want a massage?”

Sylus opens his eyes, tightening his grip as he tries to suppress the way his heart leaps at the offer. You do this for him so often, yet his heart is just as excited every time. He thought he would get used to it, that the greedy, yawning maw inside him that wants to swallow you whole would be soothed by your presence. But with every indulgence, every time you run your hands along his skin, he only feels his greed growing bigger and bigger, his desire for you like a cancer that grows and grows without ending.

“I might become a spoiled brat, if you keep offering so often,” he teases, calm, collected. Hiding the way he wants to say yes, please yes into your ear, beg for his desires that squirm and wiggle in the deepest parts of his heart. He would, for you. He’d bend the knee with a smile on his face, if it meant he’d get to feel more of your angelic touch.

You lean back and he lets you, despite his urge to keep you crushed against him. You smile, and he can see that mischievous twinkle in your pretty eyes.

“Who says I don’t want to spoil you?”

Sylus can’t help but laugh, shaking his head. You may make a monster of him yet, with such promises. “I could certainly get used to it.”

You nod happily. “Good,” you say, leaning in to trace your nose up his neck, pepper the underside of his jaw with kisses. He groans, tries to keep himself from devouring you, like he so desires to do. “Come on then,” you speak into his skin. “Let’s go.”

He chuckles, but dutifully stands, lifting you as he does, your legs naturally coiling around his waist. The papers, his problems from the last few days, slide off his shoulders like rain on hydrophobic feathers as he carries you out of his office, down the hall to his bedroom. The door opens, shuts behind him with a soft click and the brush of his evol, the lock sliding into place to ensure you’re not interrupted.

Sylus sits down on the edge of the bed, holding you in his lap as you begin to unbutton his dress shirt. He buries his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder, smelling you, fighting the urge to sink his teeth into your plushness. You kiss the place just above his ear, finishing the last of the buttons and pulling the shirt off him. He takes it, throws it somewhere inconsequential, then shifts you off his lap, looking at you expectantly. You waste no time getting to work, and as soon as you prop up a suitable amount of pillows against the headboard, settle yourself to lean comfortably on them, he crawls after you, letting himself fall on top of you like a giant weighted blanket, wrapping his arms underneath you. You laugh breathlessly, squirming while you complain that you can’t get to the skin oil with him on top of you. Without opening his eyes, his fingers twitch, the sound of a drawer being opened reaching his ears, the small container of oil put in your hands by inky red tendrils.

You scoff playfully at him, before popping the cap and lathering the oil into your hands. Sylus’s nostrils flare, trying to catch as much of the scent as he can. Datura flowers, a splash of vanilla, a hint of lavender. The same scent in the lotion you got for him in Tarus City, when you finally convinced him it would help the muscle soreness, despite his protests. You’d been right, of course. You usually are, Sylus had learned. Though, he is sure you don’t remember the scent, wouldn’t have reacted so lukewarm towards it if you did. Another attempt at making you remember bound for the bin.

He gives up on dwelling on it though, because he has to swallow a moan as your hands, which are so, so unbelievably soft, start to knead his supple flesh, pushing and pulling on his skin expertly. You trace every inch along the planes of his back, the contours of every muscle, down his spine, the place just below his neck. He can feel as his stress is worked out of every inch of him, your hands leaving no place ignored, forgotten. He shivers, his skin tingling with delight as he holds you closer, tries to absorb the feeling into his bones so he can never be without it. He could live here, he thinks. Would be content if this moment stretched into infinity, and he never had to leave your embrace.

He isn’t sure how long he lets you dote on him. All he knows is that sleep has begun to call for him, he feels so relaxed, so full, completed. That the oil, whose touch was cold at first, is now warmed by his body and your hands, is disappearing into his skin as you and it cradle him. He wants to accept the invitation to unconsciousness, let the world fade into nothing around him, but he knows stress has dug its greedy claws into you, as well. You tried to hide it from him, said you didn’t want to bother him; he already had so much on his plate. When would you learn you are never a bother to him? When would you learn that he would strip Onychinus down to a cadaver, if it meant you are always happy, always pleased, always at his side?

So instead of allowing himself to fall asleep, despite how tempting, he holds you more firmly, before he abruptly rolls, planting you snugly on his chest.

“Sylus!” You protest, and he can’t help but smirk; you’re so cute when you’re annoyed with him. “You could give me a little warning, at least.”

“I could,” he agrees, pinching the fabric of your clothes between his fingers. “But where’s the fun in that?”

You huff, peel yourself off him to scrutinize his form. “You want a chest rub too?” You ask, hands instinctively moving to start anew.

Sylus quickly grabs your hands, gives them a gentle squeeze. “You already pampered me. Now it’s my turn to return the favor.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” you say, shaking your head. “You don’t have to.”

“I don’t,” he concurs again, running his hands up and down your arms. “But I want to. I know you’ve been stressed lately, too.”

Your lips part slightly, eyes going wide. You always thought you hid it so well. “I’m okay, really-”

“Don’t lie to me.” He gives you a pointed look, cupping your face in one big hand, running his thumb below your eye. “I can see the bags under your eyes.”

You stiffen, avert your gaze. Sylus wraps his arms around you, pulls you further into him, so you can bury your face into his neck. He runs the tip of his nose along your own neck, kisses the place his teeth once punctured.

“Let me take care of you.”

You don’t respond, for a long moment, and Sylus worries you may try to deny your fatigue further. But then, you give the smallest nod, and he is relieved.

He doesn’t hesitate; starts working your clothes off as soon as he has your permission. His fingers run across your skin, pulling the fabric up, giving you a chaste kiss when you obediently lift your arms so he can finish removing it. You shiver as the cold air graces your form, and Sylus pulls you more tightly into him, letting you soak up as much of his warmth as you can. His evol stirs when you settle, placing the bottle of oil in his hands. He pours a generous amount onto them, the hands made for you, to love you, made for your pleasure, lathers it into them. He puts them on your shoulder blades, spreading his fingers in an attempt to be as gentle as you, before he begins to slowly roll your doughy flesh. You let out a whimper, then a happy sigh as you melt into him, get lost in the feeling of his hands on you. He allows himself to start humming the tune you taught him, the one he knows you do remember, somewhere deep in your subconscious. Your hands grip his shoulders, clutching him as he watches the oil slide across your body, sooth the deep aches where his hands can’t reach.

It doesn’t take long for your breaths to grow long and even, your body sinking further into him as drowsiness overtakes you. Sylus feels a profound sense of satisfaction that he is able to comfort you so thoroughly as to lull you to sleep, as you just had for him. That you trust him enough to let down all your defenses. He remembers, not so long ago, when you hated him, accused him of being a monster, a title more literal than you remembered. When you thought he was responsible for ripping everything you loved from your desperate fingers.

You’ve both come so far since then.

He lets his lips roam across your scalp, nibbles on the shell of your ear. You stir, shifting to secure yourself more firmly in his lap.

“I love you.” Your voice is gruff with sleep, though the words come out no less assured.

Sylus hums. “I love you,” he echos, nuzzling his face into your soft, downy hair. He presses his lips into your temple one more time before closing his own eyes, settling into the cushions. “Get some rest, my beloved.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I had so much fun with this, even though it took around 2 months and like, 20 drafts 😂😭 But I really wanted to show the progression between the past lives both Sylus and us/MC have had and how they are now, while exploring the scars Sylus definitely has from being hunted in his youth. I wanted to show this mirroring effect with past/present and how they’re the same people, but they’ve also changed over time. It was also an excuse to write more nonsexual intimacy, which I couldn’t say no to :)

Btw I hope Sylus wasn’t too mean in this. I HC that he can revert back to such a state when his instincts kick in, because of his cruel lines right before MC stabs him the second time (right before they share souls). It’s like how animals become more aggressive/hide away when they’re sick because they know they’re more valuable during that time. But I hope it wasn’t too much 🙏

I also definitely didn’t cry while rewatching his myth to get names/details right, because the song that plays when he dies plays intermittently throughout the entire myth. You do not perceive me

Disclaimer: I do not consent to my work being translated, published, used without my knowledge, reposted, or used in AI training.

#sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus x you #sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #love and deepspace #lnds #my writing #my fanfic #lads x reader #lnds x reader #lnds x you #lnds x mc

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ridiculously-over-obsessed · 5 months ago

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We need a pp4 for many gay reasons but specifically because I need a Chappell Roan mashup from the Bellas

No because hear me out, the Bellas are back together for some kind of reterospective thing for worlds, say it's been like idk 30 years since the first worlds competition and all the past winners have been invited back (so in addition to the collegiate comp there's also like an all stars thing going on) Beca hasn't seen Chloe since she moved in with Chicago and is a little salty about the whole thing tbh, but it is what it is and there's plenty of bonding and shizzle going as everyone reunites and rehearses like the old days ft. Captain Posen and her "if we don't win I'm jumping out of that specific 20 storey window" 2attitude (because get out of my face with that "I hate performing" bullshit)

ANYWAY let's not get onto the character assassination in pp3 we'll be here all day... so Aubrey is in charge as usual and tells Beca to put together a mashup setlist, y'know back to their roots and what they do best while badgering Emily for an original song to put them over the top. Beca's like bet here's my gayest mashup to date it's all Chappell Roan songs and Aubrey, who has had to put up with this pining bs for YEARS between Beca and Chloe. sees her opportunity and choreographs it so Beca and Chloe have no choice but to sing lesbian indie country pop practically right in each others mouths and when Beca goes perhaps a little too hard during good luck babe in rehearsal Chloe pulls her aside like "um... do you have something you need to say to me??"

Which of course leads to Beca exploding and word vomiting every feeling she's had for the last decade in the midst of the argument that they're having, and when she shows no sign of shutting up or pausing even in this tirade of emotions Chloe just kisses her. That works, and once Beca remembers how her brain works she manages to ask Chloe about Chicago learning they broke up ages ago which Beca would know if she hadn't have been avoiding her like an idiot

Cue a lot of teasing and "FINALLY!" from the Bellas who have been watching on, they go back to rehearsals, Aubrey making Beca and Chloe the centre of their choreography to showcase their chemistry and making them world champions for the second time, Beca and Chloe go back home together and start doing the damn thing they should've been doing this while time, maybe a flashforward or two with their wedding etc, roll credits as Ben Platt's cherry on top plays us out because we all know without Benji there wouldn't have been a franchise to begin with

Oh, and the Bellas finally win a riff off.

#pitch perfect #bechloe #did i think that would turn into a whole movie pitch??? no.#so i have any regrets about it??? also no.#see what chappell roan does to me???#all this born from listening to femininomenon and thinking the bellas would absolutely rock this as a performance i want them to do a mashu #anyway yeah you can all back to your days now thanks dkfgjlfdkjg

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mistydeyes · 2 years ago

Note

Sorry to bother and I completely understand if you dont have time or if you're busy but I saw this tiktok and was like worth a shot to ask, if you could write something kinda angst with it.

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT82P5PHR/

OKAY when i saw this tiktok it literally made my jaw drop like this idea is so good and also so angsty. this my first time ever writing something like this ahh but thank you so so much for requesting!!

behind closed doors

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summary: When all signs lead to you as the mole, the 141 demands answers and they will get it whatever way necessary.

read part ii here! and part iii!

pairing: Taskforce 141 x gn!reader (but like not even a pairing at this point lol)

okay real talk here please do not read if you are not comfortable with ANY OF THIS! it is upsetting in all aspects

warnings: torture/violence, mentions of blood, bruises, and cuts, swearing, abusive language, ANGST WITH NO HAPPY ENDING

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

"No, no, no," Ghost whispered in a sickly soft tone, "Keep your eyes open, Eclipse." He held a gloved hand to your face and sharply pulled your leaning head upright. "Please," you hoarsely coughed out, "I don't know anything." Your eyes stung with salty tears as he coldly looked back into your eyes. "We all know that's bullshit," he spat before turning from you and looking at a variety of tools at his disposal. You gritted your teeth and shut your eyes in preparation. Each member had their own method of "questioning" from Gaz's psychological mind games and sensory deprivation to the degradation and waterboarding methods from Price, you were thrown into hysterics after each session. You had long forgotten the comfort of a warm meal by now as you were fed the bare minimum and received the smallest of water droplets. While your limbs were sore from the restraints and the small burns from the cigarettes and cigars from your former team, you always feared when Ghost was in the room. The cruelty you had endured these last few days specifically from your lieutenant made you feel like you had gone to hell.

You heard a variety of tools clatter around as you tried to think of a paradise far from the one you were in. A week ago, your team was compromised on a mission with an assassination initiative. After the dust settled, the internal hard drives, records of communications, and hidden listening devices lead to you as the mole. Despite your protests, you were dragged into an all too familiar area. "Open your eyes, Eclipse," Ghost demanded but you shook your head violently. Your insolence was met with a hard punch to the nose and as blood dripped slowly onto your bruised face, you saw in your clouded vision the violent sparks of a taser. You couldn't help but sob upon seeing him tease you with the device, activating it close to your face and mocking you with it. "Just tell us where Makarov is and we'll let you go," he comforted. You shook violently in protest before you were sent teeth gritting and toes gripping into a violent shock sent to your abdomen. "I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING." you protested but the assault continued with your screams becoming enveloped into the soundproof walls. Despite being a trained soldier, there was nothing that could prepare you for this. Every time you fell out of consciousness, you would wake to his cold eyes staring back at you. "I'm getting Soap," he said with the same nauseating tone, "I think it's time you get some rest."

You shuttered and tried to hold in the tears that burned into the various cuts on your face and chest. When Soap entered the room with a bitter demeanor, you tried to scream in a fruitless attempt at ceasing this ordeal. "No one can hear you," he joked before he violently pushed your chair backward and you fell in a painful thud on the floor. "What are you going to do with me?" you whispered in fear before you felt him turn the chair back over with your face hitting the cold concrete. Before he could do anything more, there was a knock at the door. Ghost and Soap looked at one another before Ghost opened the door to reveal Price and Gaz with horrified expressions. "Yes, Captain?" Ghost asked impatiently before Price gestured for Soap to come closer to the group. While your ears rang in pain from the sudden movements, you knew you heard what your captain said. "It's not them," he uttered and you could see everyone's stained boots turn to your beaten, bruised, and broken form. Price and Gaz rushed to undo your binds, screaming apologies and promises for treatment. You couldn't help but have a tired smile on your bleeding lip as you looked at Ghost. Despite your gaze on his, he couldn't bring himself to look back at you. He only knew that the hands covered in blood, your blood, were irreversible.

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mcdonaldsnumberone · 4 months ago

Text

DEAR!

when they realize they're falling for you

gender neutral reader

feat. argenti, moze, sunday, jing yuan

content warning(s): nonsexual nudity/bathing (sunday)

✧˖°.☪︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖☁︎ ARGENTI

Argenti realizes he’s falling in love with you when he returns from a particularly grueling mission and sees you preparing dinner for him. It’s something so simple and so everyday, yet Argenti has unfortunately gotten used to depriving himself of even the small things sometimes. As a devoted Knight of Beauty, he’s grown accustomed to living in poverty and getting by with very few things in his possession. But yet you insist on fawning over him and tending to him with the attention that he doesn’t think he deserve, and even though he feels unworthy of loving you since he believes his path is meant to be taken alone, there’s still something so comforting about returning to a warm meal and your fussing rather than the empty spaceship he’s grown too used to.

“You really need to start keeping more food around,” you scold Argenti as the knight quietly takes his seat at the table. “There’s only so much I can do with bread, some cheese, and a handful of dried fruit.”

You peer over at Argenti, who offers up an apologetic smile. You wish he wasn’t so handsome and good-hearted at times. Maybe then you could be harsher about his negligence towards his health and feel less guilty about it. Knowing him, he wouldn’t even have bothered cooking and would have just eaten the bread, cheese, and fruit as they were. You sigh and shake your head before taking the pot off of the stove and placing it squarely in front of him.

“You’re lucky that I care so much about you.” You slide some more plates in his direction. One is filled with toasted baguette slices, and the other has some jam you managed to coax from rehydrating the dried fruits. “I figured I could make some fondue with the cheese and decided to make something sweet with the fruit. Go ahead, have a bite. You must be hungry from romping around all day.”

His hands tremble a little as he carefully spreads some molten cheese and sticky jam over the baguette slices, and under your scrutinizing gaze, Argenti takes a tentative bite of the meal you’ve prepared for him. Like you described, it really is nothing special, and it’s as simple of a meal as it can get. But knowing that you labored over it, putting in your time and effort so that he’d have something nice to eat, makes his heart squeeze inside of his chest as if threatening to suffocate him from the inside out.

It tastes good. Better than anything Argenti’s ever had. The brittle crust of the baguette, the salty tang of the cheese, and the sugary flavor of the fruit jam… It’s the perfect meal to fill his stomach and his soul.

“Do you like it?” You ask him, the snark in your voice melting away to reveal your true, genuine concern.

He looks towards you, eyes softening in a way only love could. “Yes, love. It’s delicious.”

✧˖°.☪︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖☁︎ MOZE

Moze realizes he’s falling in love with you when he lets you sneak up on him to surprise him with a hug. Being an assassin means that showing his back is something unthinkable. Even in the wild, animals are evolved not to show their back or their weak spots, lest they end up killed before they can kill. And yet, whenever you’re involved, Moze wonders what about you has him willing to turn the other eye to let you creep up to him. Logically, he knows what he’s doing is dangerous. What if you were to backstab him? What if someone were to take advantage of you to get to him? But above any of those doubts is the clear fact that he trusts you. Moze trusts you. And it’s from there that he can find security in his love for you.

The streets of the Luofu are loud and filled with sounds that Moze isn’t familiar with. And yet, in the short time he’s been here, he’s already grown used to it enough to pick out what are everyday noises and what are noises that might indicate danger. It’s his duty to organize and process information like this as quickly as possible—even a few seconds is enough to prove to be the decisive factor between life and death.

He supposes this second-nature part of him is why he hears you before anything else. He can hear the telltale swish of your clothes against your body and the soft inhales and exhales he’s grown to become so fond of. He has half a mind to tell you to drop the act and quit lurking around him. He knows he can pin you up against whatever wall you’re hiding behind faster than you can realize, but you’re harmless and Moze would feel bad for ruining your fun.

So he decides to play dumb for just a little bit. And you don’t let his expectations down. Only a few moments have passed before he can hear your familiar footsteps running up from behind him, and shortly after, a pair of equally familiar arms are thrown around him from behind.

“Surprise! Guess who?” Your voice reaches his ears, and despite his better judgment, Moze reaches to envelop your hands with his. He presses down against your knuckles, enraptured for a split second in the way they curve and fit against his own rough palms.

“You know these guessing games are pointless.” His words are gruff, but you can hear that faintest hint of a smile with each syllable. “You’re the only person in the world that I’d let sneak up on me.”

“Won’t you entertain me a little? It’s more fun that way.” Normally at this point, you’d unwrap your arms from behind him so you can skip up to his side, but for whatever reason, Moze’s grip on your hands today is firm. It’s as if he doesn’t want you to let go.

What a silly, soft crow he’s become. You don’t mind indulging him, even if it means reading between the lines of what he says. And you’re sure Moze’s in agreement with you.

Being soft isn’t so bad.

✧˖°.☪︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖☁︎ SUNDAY

Sunday realizes he’s falling in love with you when he asks you to join him for a bath. As the former Oak Family head, he had very little time for himself, and the few minutes he could spend emptying his mind within a tub of warm water was his equivalent of everyday bliss. During his imprisonment, bathing alone was a luxury that was barred from him—anything and everything he did was under watchful eyes. And on the Astral Express, Sunday almost fears what his mind will conjure up if left alone for too long. The bath has always been a place of vulnerability for the man, and yet, your gentleness makes him want to slowly let you into the deepest parts of his heart. This meek, scared side of him is still a part of who he is, and he’s willing to place his faith wholeheartedly in you.

A satisfied sigh leaves Sunday’s lips as he lets the tense muscles in his body relax for once. The bathwater is already warm as is, but being nestled in between your legs, with his back against your chest and your damp fingers carding through his hair, makes his skin tingle even more with heat. He doesn’t think anyone has ever touched him this sweetly and lovingly, and he hopes you attribute the flush on his cheeks to the steam culminating in the bathroom.

“Is the temperature of the water okay?” Your worried voice shakes him gently out of his swirling thoughts. He nods wordlessly before sinking a bit deeper into the tub. The edge of the water clings to the ends of his hair, and it laps greedily at the swell of his throat as if threatening to swallow him whole.

An ambient silence falls over the two of you, and the only sound Sunday can make out is the quiet trickle of water sloshing back and forth between your connected bodies and the exquisitely crafted sound of your breaths. Sunday tries to match your breathing cadence, and something deep in his chest stirs at the thought that doing so might match his heartbeat to yours.

“...Thank you for joining me,” he murmurs. His eyelids feel heavy, and when he leans his head back, you peer at him from above. The glow of the bathroom lights illuminates the back of your head and around your face, and he can’t help but think that the thought of a halo suits you far more than it would him. “It feels nice to have you here with me.”

“Of course.” Your lips curl upwards into the same smile that made him fall for you to begin with. “Thank you for inviting me, Sunday. You must have had a long day. Why don’t you rest here, in my arms?”

It’s his turn to smile slightly. It’s weak but enough for you to notice, and when Sunday lets his tired eyes shut, he can’t help but think that his instant must be his equivalent of true paradise.

✧˖°.☪︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖☁︎ JING YUAN

Jing Yuan realizes he’s falling in love with you when he finds himself comfortable enough with you to complain. It’s not an easy job to be the general and manage such a big and chaotic place as the Luofu, and he’s learned very quickly that even the slightest twitch of his mouth is enough to send the delicate politics of the Xianzhou Alliance up in arms. And as much of an optimist as he is, even he has limits to how much he can bottle up and carry out in the name of peacekeeping. It’s a big leap of faith for him to confide so many secrets in you, but at the same time, you’re the only one who can truly empathize with him. Besides, when you welcome him home with a big hug and rub your hands over his sore shoulders, how can he resist the temptation of sharing every part of him with you?

“I’ve been thinking,” Jing Yuan remarks out loud, “I’m quite lucky to have fallen in love with someone like you.”

You pause momentarily, your hands ghosting over Jing Yuan’s broad shoulders. You’re no professional masseuse by any means, but there’s something so satisfying about feeling his knotted muscles come undone bit by bit under your careful touch. Besides, maybe this is your selfishness speaking, you like having the knowledge that the esteemed general of the Luofu melts like a cat into your fingertips as if he can’t get enough of your body on his.

“What makes you say that?” You raise an eyebrow. Did he get himself in trouble? And was he cozying up to you in hopes that you’d help bail him out or something?

Instead, the white-haired man shrugs, and a couple strands of his loose moonlight-colored hair tumbles over his shoulders and hangs above his chest. “You’re always so understanding with me. You always listen to everything I say as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. I doubt anyone else could endure my complaints about how grueling administrative work can be. And what’s more, you don’t tell a living soul about it!”

“Who knows? Maybe I have spilled the Luofu's deepest darkest secrets to someone already. And I’m just that good at hiding it from you.” You grin at him with a mischievous gleam in your eyes. The general stares up at you momentarily before throwing his back and rewarding you with a genuine, hearty laugh.

“See? This is what I mean. Nobody else would have the audacity to say something so outwardly false and yet so daring to my face!” He reaches over to grab your hand, and he guides it over to the edge of his face. Your palm molds into the curve of his jaw, and you let your thumb roll over the soft flesh of his cheek.

Your grin morphs into something much more mild, lovestruck as he nuzzles his face into your hand, sighing happily against your knuckles and the creases in your palm. “That’s on you then, my dear Jing Yuan, for falling for someone like me.”

#honkai star rail #hsr #argenti #moze #sunday #jing yuan #hsr argenti #hsr moze #hsr sunday #hsr jing yuan #x reader #my writing #picked some of my friends faves for this set of hcs <3 gonna try to branch out more in the next few fics

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rollinouttahere-writes · 2 years ago

Text

I was thinking about the Little Lucky AU and found myself wondering how Ace’s reaction would have changed if he’d seen Lucky before she had a chance to heal, so here's that

Smile For Me

4.1k words

Not an experience in the world could top the feeling of the salty sea breeze whipping past him as he cut through the ocean in Striker. Ace was positive he would never grow weary of the sensation. The intoxicating views and endless freedom of it was enviable to say the least.

An unimposing wave headed straight for him, Ace only grinned and increased the speed. His prized boat ramped over the wave, temporarily becoming airborne before crashing back into the sea. Water shot up and coated him in a fine mist, enough to feel refreshing but not so much as to weaken the devil fruit user.

The figure of a ship on the horizon caught his eye. It was too far away for him to be able to identify whose it could be, but he changed course anyway. Might as well approach and ask if they know anything about that backstabbing bastard Teach.

Plus, if they turn out to be marines, he’ll get a much needed opportunity to blow off some steam.

As soon as the jolly roger was identifiable, a grin broke out across his face. It hadn’t been long since he’d last seen Luffy and his crew, but who was he to pass up such an opportunity? Besides, for all he knows they’ve heard or seen something related to Blackbeard. Though, admittedly, he’d prefer if that traitorous piece of shit never so much as made eye contact with any of them.

Especially not his niece.

For most of his life, Ace would have never considered himself to be a family oriented man. Between the loathing for his father and complicated feelings regarding his late mother, the word ‘family’ left a bitter taste in his mouth. Sure, he eventually opened himself up enough to let his brothers in, but that felt different.

It wasn’t until his introduction to the Whitebeard pirates that he started to come around. At first, all he felt was a gnawing envy for the close knit family bond displayed by them, but as time went on and he grew closer the feeling subsided. Then he was properly assimilated into the crew- no, the family- and accepted Whitebeard’s offer to become one of his many sons. He’d never realized how badly he needed the unconditional love and support of a family until he was thrust into it. He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Then there was you, his darling little niece.

Granted, calling you his niece wasn’t necessarily accurate. Luffy was distinctly not your father (Sanji would absolutely never let that mix up take place), but the term just felt right. Who cares if it wasn’t technically correct? Luffy isn’t technically his brother, and Whitebeard isn’t technically his father. Technicalities didn’t matter with them, so why should they apply with you?

Ace would be lying through his teeth if he said you weren’t the person he was most excited about seeing again. Despite not having known you for long, you’d wormed your way into his heart more than anyone ever could hope to. He’d even temporarily put his mission on hold to stay with you while in Alabasta. As much as he knew he needed to be hot on Blackbeard’s trail, he couldn’t bring himself to just leave you while in such a high risk situation. Luffy had barely set foot in the Grand Line and he’d already managed to pick a fight with a warlord.

While that wasn’t necessarily surprising knowing his brother, what was shocking was that he was doing all this with a four year old in tow. Ace didn’t doubt Luffy’s strength by any means, but he was more unsure of his ability to multitask fighting a warlord and his army of assassins while also keeping you safe.

That’s why he volunteered to hang back and keep an eye on you while Luffy proved himself, something he was relieved he did after seeing how banged up everyone got during the final battle. He can’t imagine you would have gotten out of that unscathed, and you were far too young to be getting caught in the crosshairs of fights of that magnitude. Just the idea of you scraping your knee made him feel sick.

He doesn’t know what he’d do if you ever got seriously injured. Or worse. He doesn’t want to even think about it.

As he closed in on the Going Merry, a familiar figure in a straw hat hopped onto the figurehead and waved his arms wildly.

Ace waved back while raking his eyes over the rest of the ship. He hoped to see your familiar head of hair peeking over the railings, but had no such luck. That’s fine, he supposes. You could be napping or simply hadn’t realized he was here yet.

The Striker slowed to a stop next to the much larger ship, and Ace barely managed to tie the rope attaching the two before he was yanked up into the rubbery arms of his brother. They both tumbled backwards on the deck with Luffy laughing boisterously.

“Ace! What are you doing here? Did you catch that guy you were looking for?” Luffy rolled off of Ace and pulled him up onto his feet.

Ace readjusted his hat, “Not yet. I was just passing by and thought I’d check in on you.” He snatched the hat off Luffy’s head with one hand and ruffled his hair with the other.

Luffy whined and swatted Ace’s hand away while trying to get his hat back. It’s then that he notices the massive burn on one of Luffy’s arms. It starts at his elbow and goes all the way down to his finger tips.

Grabbing him by the bicep, Ace pulls the arm closer to look at it, “The hell happened there?”

“Oh, that? I fought this guy with weird earlobes and he melted some gold onto my arm. I punched him with it though, you should have seen it!” Luffy grinned and puffed out his chest with pride.

“Only you would somehow neglect to mention that that psycho had lightning powers from a devil fruit,” Nami called out. She was leaning against the mast with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. Small burns were littered across her arms.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that,” Luffy chuckled. It makes sense that he wouldn’t care as much about that part. Since Luffy is made of rubber from his own fruit, those powers would be essentially irrelevant to him.

Ace dropped the straw hat back onto his brother’s head and playfully shoved him back, “I’ll ask more about that later. Where’s my niece at?”

Nami tensed, then shifted her weight from foot to foot, “She’s napping right now, I doubt she’ll wake up before you have to leave.” The words were spoken sharply.

“I’m sure she won’t mind being woken up when she sees her favorite uncle here. Plus, I’ve got a little present for her,” Ace replied. The last island he stopped at was known for a chewy candy made from a fruit that exclusively grew there. It was all the rage with the kids, so naturally he grabbed a couple boxes of it for you.

He made for where your room was, but Nami leapt in the way and pushed him back. “She needs her sleep, you can just leave the gift with me!” The navigator snapped at him.

Ace’s eye twitched in annoyance. He was well aware that she wasn’t his biggest fan, but this was ridiculous. “It’s not that big of a deal. I’ll get her back to sleep myself if it matters that much to you,” he ground out.

She opened her mouth to respond, only for Luffy to interrupt her, “Is she still napping? I thought Lucky was in the kitchen with Sanji.”

Nami hissed at Luffy to shut up, but Ace didn’t care enough to stick around for whatever disagreement was about to break out between the two. He shoved past the redhead and bolted for the kitchen. His eyes rolled, of course she tried lying to him. He tries to smuggle his niece off the ship one time and she has to go and make a whole song and dance out of it. It was just a joke!

The door to the kitchen was thrown open with what was probably more force than necessary. The doorknob loudly collided with the wall, something that Thatch would scold him for doing if he was here.

The crack of the collision wasn’t the only thing he heard. It was immediately drowned out by a shrill scream. Yours.

He hadn’t even gotten a good look at you yet, all he’d seen was a blur as you leapt from the counter you were sitting on and clung onto Sanji like your life depended on it. Ace’s heart was in his throat from the sight. The last thing he ever wanted to do was scare you. He didn’t remember you being this jumpy last time he’d seen you.

The guilt was piled on more when a small sob could be heard, too.

Sanji cradled you to his chest, whispering soft words of assurance before whipping around with the coldest look on his face. Surprise momentarily flashed across his face before being replaced with an even angrier expression. A hand came up to push your head further into his chest.

“Don’t slam the damn door! What is wrong with you?!” He whisper yelled.

Ace held up his hands in defense, “I’m sorry, I didn’t think I would scare her.” He took cautious, quiet steps towards you and Sanji, “Hey, Lucky. I’m sorry about that, I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

Your hands were clamped over your ears, but his voice appeared to have still gotten through. Gingerly, you lowered your hands and whispered a tearful, “Uncle Ace?”

Ace, however, was too shocked to hear it. Actually, shocked wasn’t a strong enough word to describe how he was feeling. Horrified was more fitting. Your arms were covered in scabbed over burns. That was bad enough, but what really got to him was the bruising around your neck.

Someone had strangled his niece.

What happened to you? Who did this? And where are they right now? Ace needed to know so he could personally finish them off.

You’d finally turned to face him, and the tears and busted lip did nothing to calm him. The fire that made up his very being crackled dangerously beneath his skin, and it took every bit of self control he had to keep himself from torching the kitchen.

It wasn’t until you held out your burnt arms to him that he snapped out of the rage he was in and rushed forward to snatch you out of Sanji’s arms and into his own. Despite the cook’s protest, you eagerly clambered onto Ace. Your much smaller limbs locked onto him and you buried your face into his neck while sniffling pitifully.

Ace bounced you gently, but refrained from speaking. His anger still had a hold on him, and he wasn’t sure he trusted himself to not let it show quite yet.

Nami entered the kitchen, appearing visibly uncomfortable and tense.

The control Ace had regarding holding his tongue went out the damn window. He all but snarled at her, “Is this why you didn’t want me to see her?”

“Don’t pick a fight with her, Ace,” Sanji put himself in between them.

Ace scoffed at the warning, but he had no intention of starting a fight. You’d already been subjected to more fighting than you ever should have been. What you needed right now was some fresh air, and honestly he needed to step away from this situation for a bit before he exploded. Going for a ride on Striker should do the trick.

He shouldered past them, tightly clutching you to him. Nami and Sanji were hot on his heels as he headed straight for where his boat was tied off.

“Where do you think you’re going?!” Nami demanded. Her hand shot out and latched onto Ace’s backpack, successfully bringing him to a halt. This was not well received by Ace, who then whipped around to shove her away.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Luffy came bounding over, looking thoroughly confused about the altercation. “What happened?”

“I should be asking all of you that!” Ace raised his voice, though immediately regretted it when he felt you flinch. He spoke in a lower tone next, “I’m taking her for a ride on Striker, she looks like she could stand to have some fun for once. You’re all going to tell me what happened when we come back.”

“Absolutely not! Are you insane, why would we let you run off with her?!” Nami made a move to come closer and grab you, but Luffy blocked her. If looks could kill, Luffy would be dead several times over.

Luffy ignored Nami’s venomous gaze and stepped close enough to rest a hand on your back, “Do you wanna go with Ace?” His tone was more soothing and gentle than Ace had previously thought it was capable of being.

You turned your head just enough to be able to look at him over your shoulder. For a moment you mulled over what to say. Your voice was hushed, like you were afraid to make too much noise. Or maybe because your throat ached too much to speak up. Both possibilities made Ace’s blood boil.

“Y-Yeah… It sounds fun, I guess.”

Luffy grinned warmly, patting your back before stepping away, “Alright! Have fun, Lucky!”

Nami and Sanji both started to protest, but Ace didn’t care enough to stick around and hear it. After muttering a quick ‘thanks’ to Luffy for being the most reasonable person here (something he never thought would ever be the case), Ace finished the rest of the short walk to where Striker was. He dropped down onto it and made quick work of untying the boat.

Just like that, you two were off. As much as he wanted to take off at max speed, he kept the pace leisurely. There was no rush, and he did not want to startle you again.

Your face was back to being firmly planted in his neck, and you haven’t said anything since answering Luffy. You haven’t smiled at all since he’s seen you.

Ace didn’t know what to do. Comforting people has never been his strong suit. Luffy had learned to roll with the punches of his toughlove growing up, but you weren’t Luffy. And Ace wasn’t the same kid with a shitty attitude that he used to be, either. For now, he’ll wait for you to come around on your own. He’s sure you will, you did agree to come with him after all.

Eventually, he felt your head move, followed by the sensation of you propping your chin up on his shoulder. At least you were finally taking in the sights. Feeling like he was making progress, Ace takes his chance and tries to start a conversation with you.

“It’s a nice view, right?”

“Mmhm.”

A silence fell over you two again. That was… something? At least he got a response, however brief. It was odd for you to be this quiet. Back when you all were in Alabasta you were a little chatterbox.

The question of what exactly happened loomed over him. Who could do this to a child? What kind of a monster does someone need to be to do this? The idea that anyone could so much as think of hurting his niece made him feel sick. Learning who was responsible would have to wait until later, though. He wasn’t about to risk making you more upset by asking you about it.

This whole situation was extremely frustrating. You deserved nothing but good things in his humble opinion, not this horrible abuse and suffering.

A realization hit him. The candy! He’d completely forgotten about it after seeing you. Maybe that’ll be enough to put a smile on your face.

You’d traveled far enough that the Going Merry was barely visible, so he should be able to take a break and sit down with you for a moment. He might even be able to get you talking. Though honestly, just seeing you look happy would be more than enough for him.

The Striker slowed to a stop until it was doing nothing more than drifting with the current of the ocean. He felt you perk up and look around.

“Why did we stop? Is your boat broken?” The stress in your voice was palpable.

“No, no, no! Everything’s fine! I just remembered that I had a present for you, that’s all!” Ace hastily reassured you, feeling bad that he’d made you worry for even a second. He shifted you to one side and sat down. He attempted to put you down across from him, but the instant panic in your eyes and you clinging to his arms put a stop to that.

So now you were perched on his lap while he rummaged through his rucksack. While you did appear to be mildly interested in what he was doing, your eyes were lacking any real excitement. You were more invested in clinging to him and taking in your surroundings.

Ace was beginning to think he’d lost the candy when his fingers grazed the ribbon bound box hiding at the bottom of his bag. “Here it is!” The package was pulled out and the bag discarded to the side while he held it out to you.

There was a bit of hesitation on your part, but then you slowly took it from him with a small ‘thank you’. You carefully examined the box while lightly picking at the ribbon, “What is it?”

“You’ll know if you open it,” he jostled you a little while trying to encourage you.

Slowly, you tugged at the ribbon, watching with a blank expression as it came undone. Ace took it from you once it was off so you could keep your hands free. The lid was pried off next, revealing the candies inside. Sunlight reflected off the sugar coating the light pink treats, making them appear even more enticing.

Ace watched with trepidation as you eyed them, and almost sighed in relief when you picked up a piece. You scrutinized the candy, sniffed it, then finally popped it into your mouth.

Your face remained neutral briefly as you first bit into it. Then, finally, your eyes widened, and the faintest hint of a smile began to tug at the corner of your lips. You chewed more vigorously and dug two more pieces out of the box.

“That good, huh? I’m glad you like them, Lucky,” Ace moved your hair out of your face as the ocean’s breeze blew the strands about.

An idea occurred to him at that moment. Moving the ribbon he’d been holding to his mouth, he gathered up your hair and pulled it back. After a messy attempt to finger comb it, he took the ribbon and wrapped it around your hair. He tried his best to tie it into a nice looking bow but… it was bad. One loop was noticeably bigger than the other and the way the knot was tied made it look extremely lopsided.

Good thing you couldn’t see it.

Suddenly, you turned around in his lap and held up a piece of candy to him. Ace smiled at the gesture, “I got those for you, kid. You enjoy them.”

“I wanna share it,” your tone and serious expression left little room for argument, especially when you started persistently pushing the sugary treat against his mouth. Taking it into his mouth, the first thing he registered about it was how sweet it was. His face scrunched up involuntarily, this was much sweeter than he liked his food to be. Ace could only hope you would be content with this and wouldn’t insist on sharing any more with him.

A soft giggle cut through the air, surprising him so much that he almost choked on the candy. He looked down at you, and sure enough, you were actually smiling.

“Your face was funny,” you mumbled, averting your eyes back to the half empty box in your hands.

“Was it?” Ace laughed. He swore he could feel a weight being lifted from his shoulders thanks to seeing you in better spirits. He swallowed the candy, glad to be rid of it. Hazarding another glance at you, he noticed you were starting to absentmindedly pick at one of your scabs. His hand shot out and pulled the offending hand away, “Don’t do that, it’s not gonna heal if you pick at it.”

You flinched and whined from the contact, making him let go in a panic. In his rush to grab your wrist, he’d unknowingly squeezed one of your many burns. Well then. Now he felt like a piece of shit.

“I’m sorry, I should have been paying more attention to where I was grabbing,” Ace very gently brought you in for a hug, hoping that he didn’t accidentally touch any other injuries.

“It’s okay,” you sniffled.

“All these must hurt a lot, huh?”

You nodded, “Yeah… It always hurts.”

Ace frowned. It wasn’t right that you had to be in agony around the clock because his brother’s crew dropped the ball when it came to protecting you. He might not know what happened yet, but he knows they’re all feeling guilty for it based on how shifty and defensive Nami got.

Wait.

Now that he’s thinking about it, there is a way to make all your pain go away.

“You know… One of my brothers could heal you right up.”

You cocked your head to the side, eyebrows knitted together, “Is he a doctor? Chopper is already doing that.”

“He is a doctor, but he’s a doctor with a devil fruit that can heal any injury. On himself and on others,” he leaned in closer to explain this, as if he was sharing a secret. “Not only that, but he can do it in seconds.”

“Really? That’s so cool!” Your eyes were wide and rapt with interest.

“Really! We can go see him right now, how does that sound?”

Uncertainty pulled at your face, and you shifted in his lap, “Now? But what about everyone else? They’ll be all worried if we don’t come back.”

“It’ll be fine! Besides, once they see you healed up they’ll be happy about it!” Ace knew they were going to be pissed about him leaving with you, but he didn’t want you thinking about that. He needs you to focus on how nice it’ll be when you aren’t constantly hurting, “Don’t you want to feel better sooner?”

“I do… Are you sure they won’t be mad?”

“Of course! Seeing you happy and healthy will make your being gone for a little bit all worth it, I promise!” Okay, realistically some of them will still be mad, but only at him. He knows that Luffy will appreciate it at the very least, and his opinion is the only one that matters to Ace.

“Plus, if we go to Whitebeard’s ship now, you’ll be able to meet Kotatsu. You still want to see him, right?” If the medical treatment couldn’t get you over the barrel, he’s sure the promise of a cat will.

“The kitty?! Yeah, I wanna see him! Let’s go!”

Bingo. Convincing you was easier than he thought it was going to be.

Ace tossed your box of candy back into his bag and scooped your excited self into his arms. You were downright giddy and it was relieving to say the least. It would be even better when those nasty burns and bruises were nothing more than an awful memory.

Now that you were in a better mood, he fully utilized how fast his boat could go. Small but delighted giggles came from you as the Striker effortlessly cut through the water.

Everyone was going to be more than a little surprised to see Ace come home with a kid given that he hasn’t gotten the chance to tell them about you yet, but he knows they’ll love you just as much as he does. If they could welcome him into their crew despite how hostile he was when they first met, you’ll be adored by them in a matter of seconds.

Ace won’t even need to ask Marco to treat you, he’ll be all over you the second he lays eyes on your battered form. And Pops isn’t exactly the type to turn away a little kid, especially one that’s family.

Honestly, they might not even want to let you go after they get a chance to know you.

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #yandere one piece #yandere #platonic yandere #portgas d ace #monkey d luffy #nami #cat burglar nami #one piece nami #sanji #black leg sanji #luffy #lucky break #little lucky au #fire fist ace #one piece ace

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ilikekidsshows · 2 months ago

Note

Hi again, lololol. This is ask number 3

Was rewatching the Paris Special, forgot that alt!Marinette straight-up tried to use the wish to take our Marinette's place. She didn't hesitate, stole Claw Noir's miraculous as soon as she read about the wish in Marinette's diary (note: she also learned there's always a price to pay). The only reason it didn't work was because the Supreme interfered.

Obviously she's a "villain" version of our protag, so I'm not trying to necessarily say this reflects 1:1 on what our Marinette would do, but I still find it...compelling evidence. She's still the same person, the main difference between her and our Marinette is that she doesn't have a support network (as per her words: no kind mother, no best friend, no girlfriends, no supportive partner). So...put Marinette in a crappy enough situation, and precedent shows she'll go for it, potential consequences be damned (remember: she knows about the balance required by the wish/price to pay).

As for alt!Adrien...he's definitely on board with the idea of making the wish once he learns about it (though whether he knows about the price at this point is unclear). However, he gives up pretty quickly once our Adrien tells him someone else would have to lose their mother instead. Sure, Claw Noir doesn't really seem the type to care about collateral damage, as cataclysm-happy as he is. But the fact that he changes his mind after learning this? Gives up "the only thing [he wants]"? I can only conclude that even a villain!Adrien ultimately stops when he realizes the wish would cause another person pain (even if it meant he could alleviate his own). Baring complete character assassination, you cannot convince me Adrien would ever go all Hawk Moth

As it stands, alt!Marinette attempted the wish despite being aware of the consequences and only was stopped by a greater power. She later changes her mind because Marinette tells her to love herself and the world. Alt!Adrien changes his mind when he is given full context and learns the wish would harm someone else (and was encouraged to go out and make friends).

Ultimately Adrien and Marinette are both heroes/narratively the good guys, so I believe neither would actually go through with the wish. But if I had to chose, based on their respective personalities and precedent, my money's on Marinette.

(Also wasn't sure where to put this, but to clarify why immortality came up in someone else's ask, I did mention it briefly in my original ask, as a new flavor of the "Adrien can't live without Marinette/he'd use the wish" rhetoric. I didn't go into it at the time, but I was reacting to a poll I came across that was asking who would handle immortality without the other better. More people voted for Marinette, so I was feeling salty lololol. The true answer IMO is a secret third option, that both would heal. Immortality is...a long time)

---

Oh, I must have tunnel visioned over the immortality part of the ask. Tends to happen sometimes. But yeah, it's pretty much expected that the fandom thinks Marinette is the more resilient one between herself and Adrien because the writers are trying to get you to think like that despite all evidence to the contrary. Marinette can't make it past a single season without going through multiple emotional crises, while Adrien can just deal with anything done to him outside of literal mind control. In addition, not viewing Marinette as unforgivable for the gaslighting requires you to at least somewhat buy into the idea that Marinette's “good intentions” are an acceptance excuse, that shielding Adrien's supposed fragile mental state is important.

And, yeah, while I do think Marinette would have a harder time coping, she also has a well-established ability to get new members into her support network with ease. Marinette would find new people to lean on as she lost the previous ones, easily. It's what happened with the transition from Socquoline to Alya. Over half the cast is catering to her comfort. She’d be fine eventually, she’d just have a harder time getting there than Adrien.

The thing about the wish is, the writers are once again inconsistent and make the wish’s morality unclear. It was wrong for Shadybug and Claw Noir to want to make it, but Gabriel making a wish led to a happy utopian ending for season 5, and, like, I don't think the writers mean to undo it because our protagonist in the protagonist-centered morality show is happy as a clam. And, because of Marinette's Keeping Secrets Arc, the characters aren't discussing why Gabriel gets a free pass ro make a wish. Is it because he ultimately made a selfless wish to sacrifice himself instead of anyone else? But neither the characters nor the audience know what he wished for, probably to use the wish to handwave future retcons and inconsistencies away, so we can't actually know it was selfless. So, if making the wish isn't inherently bad, it must have been that Shadybug’s specific wish was wrong, which was to steal main Marinette's happy life, or the nature of the sacrifice. I’m pretty sure the writers wouldn't go so far in their morally confused writing as to make Marinette sacrifice someone else to get Adrien back. If she could sidestep that cost, though, she’d be all for it, because apparently rebooting the world is an okay thing to do as long as you don't (seemingly) hurt anyone doing it.

I think that's also the reason it's seen as a valid thing to question which of our characters would go to such extreme extents for the other; the show completely trivialized the wish because the writers thought the Gabriel arc absolutely had to end with us seeing how it works (even as they then failed to actually show us how it works because they want to keep Gabriel's exact wish in their utility belt or for the sake of pointless mystique). I think the question people thinking about this were actually thinking was: “which of these two would do a dangerous thing and rewrite reality to get the other back?” and not “which of these two would sacrifice an actual person to get the other back?” In that scenario, Marinette wouldn't even hesitate. But, with an actual exchange involved, I think Marinette wouldn't ultimately go through with it, but would go further than Adrien before coming to her senses, like what happened with Shadybug and Claw Noir. Like, if we're not meant to see Marinette as someone who’d go to extreme extents to stop her unhappiness, they shouldn't have made two Marinette parallels almost do it.

#ml salt #ml critical #dats chats

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ivan-ry-ross · 1 month ago

Text

Ivan

(MOD IS A MINOR, NO NSFW CONTENT PLEASE) this character is mainly MCU based

GENERAL INFO

Name: Ivan O.(Onyx) Ry-Ross

Also known as: Emily O.(Otto) Kosh, Irinaovna Romanov, Black wolf, Winter wolf, Sharky, Bloodhound, Terrifier, Subject 06195

Birthday: October 27th, 1915

Age: 27(when taken and experimented on), 34(when given to HYDRA), 117(current)

Sex: female Gender: demigirl+neos Pronouns: she/her/hers, they/them/theirs, ol/oly/olier, vy/vir/virs

Sexual orientation: pansexual/panromantic, nebularomantic

Nationality: German/British

Zodiac sign: Scorpio

Place of birth: Germany

Current home: US

Occupation: Writer Former: assassin/bounty hunter

Languages:1st. German 2nd. Russian 3rd. English 4th. Scottish 5th. Sokovian 6th. Latin 7th. French 8th. Polish 9th. learning Korean

Strengths: loyal, honesty, leadership, attention to detail, creativity, adaptability, critical thinking, determination, flexible, dedicated, fast learner, resourceful, time management skills, calm, efficient, experienced, focused, independent, neat/organized, persuasive, practical, reliable, thorough, discipline, responsible, effective, research-oriented,

Weaknesses: inpatient, public speaking, honest to a fault, difficulty saying no, difficulty asking for help, perfectionism, too focused on details, perfectionism, taking risks 24/7, insecure, lack of communication, aggressive, bottles up emotions, too straight forward, anger issues, easily bored, impulsive, moody, doesn't take criticism well, perfectionism, pushy, rude, self critic, very mistrustful, take on too much, takes the blame for others, trouble with others, overworks, overly neat/organized, Insensitive, prone to burnout, judgmental

PHYSICAL INFO

Eyes: one is sage green with a hazel tint, one is a gray-ish blue color/ glow an indigo when using powers

Hair color+style: naturally brunette, has black under hair and sage green front hair+wolfcut that is curled to perfection and messy(ish)

Height: 5'9

Basic physical description: soft facial features, down turned eyes, serious neutral expression 24/7, soft tan skin, pear shaped body, scars all over body from experimentation, HYDRA, and battle, a medal leg(left), a medal hand(right), and perpetual black headphone with red accents

FACE CLAIM: my oc that I made on picrew

PERSONALITY

Moral alignment: Neutral good

Myers brigg: ISTJ-T

Likes: the quiet, being alone, cats, nature, small friend groups, thrift shopping, fashion, food, most animals, baking, cooking, horror, space, stars, action, gaming, tea, coffee, matcha, Dr. Pepper, sweets, sour, salty, things changing slowly

Dislikes: HYDRA, the people who experimented on her, yelling, big groups, loud noises, haters, crowded places, parties, pollution, big friend groups, new people, things moving too fast, liars

Fear: the unknown, yelling, angry people

Personality: rude, quiet, stubborn, down to earth, serious, tramatized, introvert, observant, judgy, playful, flirty(rare-ish)

RELATIONSHIPS

Mother: Alina E.(Elke) Kosh(deceased at 43) Father: Felix O.(Otto) Kosh(deceased at 43) Sister: Irma H.(Hedwing) Kosh(deceased at 23) Brother: Elias L.(Leon) Kosh(missing, presumed deceased at 27)

POWERS

MIND BASED

can induce emotions/feelings

pathokineseis

can induce nightmares/dreams

super speed

super strength

enhanced senses

artistic creation(temporary)

painless damage

seismic earthquake generator(this is mainly due to the super strength)

cogitokenesis

consciousness separation

calm state

oneiric slaying(through an adrenaline rush)

temporary hive mind

emotional detection(can detect any emotions/feelings they want to)

temporal messaging(weak and temporary)

life perception(strong)

sensory scrying

memory recall

speech prediction

mental reset

censorship manipulation

oneirokenesis

gnostic touch

memory walking

mind exchange

precognition of specific people(they have to be in their line of sight, very weak)

locality tracking(limited and weak)

astral projection

panmnesia

omnilingualism

UNKNOWN POWERS

reality warping

syncognition

hallucikinesis

temporal erasure

telepathic broadcast(limited)

ghost physiology

psionic blast(very weak and barely used)

gravity control(weak)

SIDE NOTE

Hey! this is mod here, there most likely will be sensitive content ahead with fanfics I make and role-plays I do due to my oc having disorders(like PTSD, bipolar, ect.) there could also be violence in them and other sensitive content, there will also be a shit ton of cussing. (this is my mod text just so y'all know) (the set up of the info is mainly based off of @hailmetals 's oc info post)

*boo!* this if for actions with the oc

()whoever is speaking, this will be the font and color of whether it's me the mod and Ivan, my oc

//boo!// is mod taking

"boo!" is oc talking

"boo!" this is for others unless they are a reoccurring character in the fanfics or RPs

boo! //this for is the narrator.//

boo! this is for "@"ing people other than the mod

*boo!* this is for actions with the mod

*boo!* //this is for actions with the narrator.//

MUTUALS

@avastarr-official - Ava Starr @official-redguardian - Alexie @the1-and-only-peggycarter - Peggy Carter @officialmakingthechimichangas - Bre @proud-owner-0f-americas-ass - Steve Rogers @hailmetals - Lorna Maximoff @m0n5t3r-3n3rg7 - Rory/Rowan @over-usedlittlespoon - Spoon @officalpotato - Potato @mutlifandomfreak - (I can't find their name) @official-natasha-barnes - Natasha @crashingout2point0 - Azalea @bob-official - Bob :> @itzzkaylaaa - Kayla @talankii - Talanki @beneathleaf - Worm @cookiesunny - Alice/Cookie @1kazul - Kazul @mouthfuloffilth - Vina @vanilly-jr - pure vanilla cookie(idk what they want to be called) @queerjarreadyforwar - Tsuki @jalapenojelly - my goober of a bff >X3 @mars-paws - Mars @cokrouch - Micheal/Max @itsapollothething - Apollo @depressedquetzal - Arin

CANON MARVEL RP ACCOUNTS

@that-punk-from-brooklyn @americas-favourite-fossil @proud-owner-0f-americas-ass - Steve Rogers/OG captain america @notmsmarvell - Kamala Khan/ Ms. Marvel(I think they RP) @d-adpool @dancepooool - Wade Wilson/Deadpool @antonia-not-taskmaster - Antonia @buckystrutssogood @white-wolf-winter-soldier @justawhitewolf @official-james-b @officialwinterssoldier @official-buckybarnes @revolt-against-control - Bucky/James Barnes @totallyspiderman - Spider-Man/Peter Parker @valentina-de-fontaine - Val @agent-maria-hill - Maria Hill @worthy-brother @thir-0dinson - Thor @the1-and-only-peggycarter @capt-carter-mostly-official - Peggy Carter @the-real-sentry - Sentry/Bob but as a golden boy >:3 @its-ya-boii-hawkeye @clintbarton-thearrowguy - Clint Barton @official-john-walker @us-agent-atyourservice @even-better-john-walker @johnwalker-usagent - John Walker/Walter(nickname) @tony-stark-official @theironcan - Tony Stark @itwasagatha - Agatha @the-w0lverine - Logan/Wolverine @the-official-star-lord - Peter Quill/Star Lord @avastarr-official - Ava Starr/Ghost @bob-official @bobreynoldsreal - just Bob @ravonna-lexus-renslayer - Ravonna @the-best-black-widow @itsmeyelena @your-fav-russian-assassin @itsyelena-thenotposer - Yelena Belova @im-not-a-pirate - Nick Fury @natt-romanoff-barnes @official-natasha-barnes - Natasha @yoursokoviandelight - Baron Zemo @strangeofficial - Doctor Strange @whatarethooseshuri - Shuri @official-pietro-maximoff - Pietro Maximoff @the-colonel-rhodes - James/Rhodey Rhodes @we-love-redwing - Sam Wilson @its-like-a-void - Void/Bob but more depressed @official-redguardian - Alexei Shostakov @laura-barton-shield - Laura Barton @king-ofwakanda - Black Panther/ T'Challa @loki-laufeychild - Loki @hawkeyes-favorite - Lila Barton

PETS

@officalpotato - Potato @official-alpinebarnes - Alpine

#mcu fandom #mcu #mcu oc #oc info dump #pinned post #MOD IS A MINOR #marvel cinimatic universe #silly :p #oc info #oc

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thethirdtriplet · 2 years ago

Text

Title: Mentor Tim

It was meant to be a simple mission.

Is what Red Robin was told, when he was summoned to the watchtower, and asked to intervene on a mission gone wrong, a mission that was meant to be handled by a bunch of teenagers, and while Tim wasn’t much of a fan of the justice league (maybe he was still salty about the whole not believing Bruce was alive thing, which was years ago, but his therapist said it was healthy to admit how you feel about things and people, so yeah he was still salty) and preferred taking on missions assigned from the Titans, he couldn’t not agree to the mission when he heard of the team that was assigned.

Young Justice.

Tim wasn’t aware there was even a Young Justice team still operational, as the hero community kept growing so has the number of sidekicks, he assumed all teens and sidekicks became teen titans, but then why would anyone dump their kids in Young Justice? With the team’s… eccentric reputation, Tim doubted it would ever be operational again.

That was until he read their files himself.

Name: Leonard.

Age: 15

Hero name: Iron knight.

Nationality: Irish.

Skin colour: Pale white.

Hair colour: Red.

Eye colour: Brown.

The ability to harden his body into a metallic texture.

—————————

Name: Keith.

Age: 16

Hero name: Ronin.

Nationality: Japanese, American.

Skin colour: White.

Hair colour: Black.

Eye colour: Black

Trained samurai from birth.

—————————

Name: Peter.

Age: 14

Hero name: Void.

Nationality: British.

Skin colour: White.

Hair colour: Blonde.

Eye colour: Blue.

The ability to create portals.

—————————

Name: Nickolas.

Age: 16

Hero name: Magus.

Nationality: French, American.

Skin colour: White.

Hair colour: Brown.

Eye colour: Green.

Magic user.

—————————

Name: Mateo.

Age: 15

Hero name: Surge.

Nationality: Mexican, American.

Skin colour: Tan skin.

Hair colour: Black.

Eye colour: Brown.

The ability to absorb high amounts of energy, and redirect it.

—————————

Name: Sofia.

Age: 15

Hero name: Ghost.

Nationality: Italian.

Skin colour: Pale White.

Hair colour: Brown.

Eye colour: Hazel.

The ability to turn invisible, and walk through walls.

—————————

Name: Amara.

Age: 13

Hero name: Whisper.

Nationality: Russian.

Skin colour: Pale White.

Hair colour: Blonde.

Eye colour: Grey.

Trained assassin from birth.

—————————

Name: Amber.

Age: 15

Hero name: Blaze.

Nationality: American.

Skin colour: White

Hair colour: Brown. (Dyed orange at the ends)

Eye colour: Brown.

The ability to create flames.

—————————

Those were probably the driest files Tim’s ever read, he knows supervillains with files less vague than these, so he had to do more research himself, reading into more personal details about each member it wasn’t hard to realise that each kid had their own issues, issues apparently no one was interested in dealing with, because the kids had no official mentor, they had been trained for some time from different leaguers, but that’s it.

Black canary has been working with them for some time now, for hand to hand combat, and as a licensed therapist, but there’s only so much she can do for those kids, seeing as most of them had been mistreated their whole lives, mostly by adults, it wouldn’t be surprising for them to be mistrustful.

That’s how Tim found himself, on a jet (that may or may not be the batjet, just don’t tell Bruce), headed to help those kids with their mission.

Once he arrived at the warehouse, he observed the situation from above, through a skylight, and watched as disaster unfolded right before his eyes. The kids were incredibly uncoordinated, some were arguing amongst themselves, while others seemed as though they had no understanding of the word teamwork, just when the goons they were meant to be fighting began to get the upper hand, did Tim join the fight.

His appearance halted most, if not all movement from both sides of the fight, he used that to his advantage and struck the men, taking them down one by one, as he shouted commands for the young teens to follow. Once the young heroes realised he wasn’t a threat, they took action almost immediately, following through on his instructions religiously.

As the last goon was zip-tied, Red Robin was approached by one of the teens, Surge (Mateo).

“Uhh.. Red Robin, ..sir?” Asked the boy

“Yes, Surge?”

“W-what are you doing here?”

“I was asked by the justice league to intervene on your mission, seeing as you weren’t able to complete it yourselves.” Red Robin replied Non-condescendingly.

Blaze (Amber) scoffed and said “As if the Justice League cared.”

Red Robin’s attention was turned to her as he spoke “What do you mean by that?”

As if opening a can of soda that’s been shaken too much, she spoke with relentless fury “Well if they cared, really cared they’d show it, wouldn’t they!? They’re not even pretending to care at this point! Heck the only leaguer we talk to regularly is Black Canary, but that’s for hand to hand and therapy, other than that no one comes around unless they have to, and even when they do, they don’t even bother hiding the fact that they’d rather be anywhere else if it meant they wouldn’t have to deal with us!” By the end of her tirade, she was trembling, with hatred, anger and…hurt..

“You’re right” the words left his mouth before his mind even registered he was speaking, not that his words weren’t true.

( The scene before him, of a group of children that felt abandoned, neglected and lonely, came from a very familiar play )

The atmosphere shifted as all eyes landed on Red Robin, as he spoke, he knew they were listening to his words ( it wasn’t everyday that someone actually understood you, as a teenager, let alone an adult ), “You’re right, the Justice League, has wronged, mistreated and neglected you, in more ways than just training, they’ve failed to acknowledge your presence, despite your need of proper guidance” no one spoke so he continued, “That is a mistake on their end, no yours, and so, it shouldn’t be you who suffers in the end. That wouldn’t be fair to you” silence still echoed as no one dared interrupt him, “I will bring this up with the league as soon as I return to the Watchtower.” (Is it just him or did he sound a little bit ‘adulty’? His therapist would be so proud).

His eyes soften and so did his voice as he took in the sight of the tired worn out teenagers, before him, “But for now I should take you all back to your headquarters, you seem like you need you need a nice hot meal, a warm shower and a good nights sleep, you’ve sure as hell earned it”. The kids seemed taken aback by his suggestion, as if they hadn’t expected him to suggest what he did, but none of them objected. Void (peter), spoke, “The Justice League sent us an automated jet, to get us here”, he was rubbing the back of his neck with his hands, “We don’t really know how to get back...?" He added awkwardly. “No worries, my jet is big enough to fit all of you just fine” said Tim, smugly. “Is that so? Is your jet that big?” Ronin (Keith), asked curious. “That depends, have any of you seen a Bat-jet before?”, Tim swore he could see stars in their -masked- eyes.

———————————

Mount Justice -apparently their base of operations- is in mint condition, thankfully (he was going to have words with the league if it wasn’t), looking around it’s obvious the kids haven’t been comfortable enough to mess around with the place (he’ll have to change that).

In a way it’s quite nostalgic, to walk around in his old h.q., though there’s still a few differences compared to back then, Like the brood of ducklings kids that are currently staring at him. “So.. are you guys gonna order something, or does one of you know how to cook?” Asked Tim, “Some of us can cook just fine, but we’re too tired to do so, sir” Magus (Nickolas) spoke, evidently wary in the presence of an adult, but still attempting to be polite.

“Y’know I could just order something for you guys.”, suggested Tim, “No, no need we can order for ourselves just fine.” replied Iron knight (Leonard), “I insist. Tell me what you’re in the mood for, pastas, burgers, pizza?” Once he noticed them perk up at the mention of pizza, he began to scroll through the numbers on his phone, searching for that one pizza place he liked as a teen (the one he used to order from, for the team, man he missed those idiots, he should reach out to them soon).

“Are you sure, sir? There’s no need for you to order for us.” Questioned Ghost (Sofia), “Yes, I’m sure, what toppings do you guys want?”, they suggested he order only one pizza with no toppings, which he immediately shut down, and even threatened to choose the toppings himself (“Do you want me to put pineapples on your pizza’s? Don’t test me, now choose.”), once almost everyone chose the topping for their own pizza, he turned to the only occupant of the room that hadn’t spoken, “And what about you, Whisper, what do you want?”, the girl in question -who had been observing him, silently for quite some time now, is she assessing whether or not he’s a threat?- Peter spoke for her “Uhh.. She can’t talk, she’s mute..”, “Black Canary’s brought her a few teachers for a while, but she didn’t like them much, so she stopped showing up to lessons after a while.” Mateo added.

The hesitant-comfortable atmosphere they’ve had for some time now almost broke, as all the teens looked to him, as if gaging his reaction, all in defensive stances (Tim had to hand it to them, for being willing to defend their teammate, against someone who was probably way out of their league), calmly, he spoke “No worries, I know a bit of sign myself”, “Though, I am a bit rusty” he added, bashfully.

Hesitantly, Amara lifted her hand to finger spell ‘C h e s e’, “Oh, just cheese, sure.” said Tim, the once tense atmosphere returned to it’s semi-calmness, as the teens sighed in relief, (seriously, what did they expect him to do, judge her?).

———————————

Tim stayed with the team, up until the food arrived, they were all lounging in the ‘living room’ (it was just a big circular area, that connected all the rooms together, that you had to pass to enter a bedroom, it had couches and sofas), Tim observed the teens, as they helped themselves, with their pizzas, some even opted to shed a few items of clothing, while others, changed out of their costumes completely, politely they began a bit of small talk to pass the time as they waited the foods arrival, at some point the topic of hero’s came up, which then somehow led to a very heated discussion as to which hero could take down who.

Tim -Red Robin at the moment- who had spent an ungodly amount of time analysing various hero’s, old and new, their fighting styles, their abilities, strengths and weaknesses, and has written contingencies for most, if not all of them, was more than happy to share his findings. Especially since they seemed so interested in the topic, and whatever Tim -Red Robin- had to say about the heroes? Well, Who was he to deny their curiosity.

He knew he made the right call, when it got the kids comfortable in his presence.

(Was he gossiping with a bunch of teens over heroes who are basically his coworkers? Yes. Yes, he was.)

“No way, Wonder Woman, is the best superhero, period” said Peter.

“Really? You think she’d win against Superman?” Asked Leonard, curiously.

“The Superman?” Questioned Sofia.

“What say you, Red?” Asked Keith.

Red Robin, or “Red” as they’ve taken to calling him, answered, “I’m with Void on this one.” Tim didn’t miss the way he basically preened at his words, “I’m pretty sure she can kick any leaguers ass, any day.”

“Even Batman..?” Asked Mateo, in a hushed tone, as if just speaking his name would summon him (it was amusing, but understandable).

“What do you think his contingencies are for?” Replied Red, with a Smirk.

“Isn’t he.. I don’t know, your boss or something” Asked Nickolas, confused.

“I like to think I’m my own boss, thanks” replied Tim. (He may, or may not get bullied into visiting the manor, regularly, by various members of the Batfamily, no one needs to know that, though.)

“What?” Asked Tim, when he noticed the sudden silence.

“Huh.” Said Amber, as if a realization had just dawned on her “You’re actually way cooler than I thought you’d be.”.

“Gee, thanks.” Deadpanned Tim.

“She is not wrong.” At Tim’s raised eyebrow, Keith elaborated, “All the leaguers we have met so far were not interested in our wellbeing.”

“Yeah, they’d just complete whatever task they have, with us, and just leave.” Nickolas added.

“I don’t remember if any of them ever asked if we were tired or hungry. Unlike you.” Sofia continued.

“None of them ever stayed long enough to even speak to us.” said Leonard.

“And when they did, we couldn’t have normal conversations like this one, all we did was have a mission debriefing.” spoke Peter.

“Or we wouldn’t say anything at all, incase we say something.. offensive in any way.” Finished Amber.

Amara simply nodded.

Tim felt his blood boil (is that a thing? Whatever, it didn’t matter as long as it described just how furious he was) “Is that so..?”

Tim kept processing their words, even as they transgressed onto another subject, though, he knew he couldn’t stay long, so he bid them farewell, to head back to the Watchtower -via zeta tube- and tried not to let their disappointment affect him (with what he has in mind, for them, their dissatisfaction with his departure won’t last long), he had a few senior league members to speak with about an adoption a mentorship request.

And he couldn’t wait a second longer.

———————————

It took some getting used to, Tim will have to admit, for him and the team (his team now), to get used to their new relationship, as mentor and mentees.

The sudden announcement of his now mentorship over the teens, was made only a week after his hangout stay with the team, (it would have taken longer, had he not urged the senior league members to officiate it, and if he made a few, mild, harmless threats, to insure the job was done properly, Batman would be blamed for teaching him how to in-list fear), it did surprise the teens a bit, still, they took the news with stride (whether that was because they’ve never had an official mentor before, and were eager, or that they genuinely liked Red Robin, Tim isn’t sure).

Tim would like to point out, that they’ve made significant progress, in the last two months they’ve been working together.

They’re actually brilliant students, fast learners, always ready to try out a new training program, any chance they get, they soak up any knowledge he offers, like little sponges. They try to follow his teachings without fail, and even trust him when on missions, enough to let him lead them. They look to him for guidance when they need him, and he tries to always be there, to help (and maybe that’s what strengthened their new bond, the fact that he tries to be there, especially when they need him).

It wasn’t always as easy, not in the beginning, no. They liked him, Tim was sure of that, but liking someone doesn’t necessarily mean you trust them. Trust was something meant to be earned, not given. Tim had earned the right, to be trusted.

They trust him enough to act themselves around him. And just as they had gotten comfortable with him, did he realize why they were placed in YJ. He knew deep down, the reason stemmed from their traumatic backstories, strange powers, and ‘behavioral issues’ (talking back, is not a behavioral issue, fuck whoever wrote that in Amber’s file), Seeing as the team’s former members were regarded as “nutcases” by the media, it was a no wonder they would be placed there in the first place. Not that the kids tried proving anyone wrong (“Why waste time trying to show someone who you are, when they have already made up their mind, about you?” Those were the wise words of Keith, a young boy forced to mature faster than most teenagers, Tim could relate).

They were skilled, skilled boys and girls, using their gifts for good, to do good, and be good. They shouldn’t be criticized for being good. Just because they were.. creative with their skills, did he mention that? They’re incredibly creative with their skills, the stunts they pull would bring his old teams shenanigans to shame:

“How did you guys manage to burn and flood a building at the same time?!-”

Sometimes, he couldn’t help but wonder, why?

“-Is- is the building crumbling?! How did you do that?-”

Other times, he can’t help but wonder, how?

“Why in the world did you guys think this was a good idea, Surge?”

“Do you remember that one mission we did last week, when we discovered a secret lab, full of animals that were being experimented on?” Questioned, the boy.

“Yes, I do. But, what does that have to do with this?”

“We found out who owned that lab.”

The building -A Lexcorp building, mind you- blows up, promptly, after his admission.

“Void! I thought we told you to be careful with those!” admonishes, Blaze.

“My Bad!” apologized, Void.

“Ahh, I see, carry on.” Dismissed, Red Robin.

What? Yeah, so maybe he isn’t any better than they are, and he is might be the adult that’s in charge of them, But, who is he to stop them from doing their jobs, as hero’s?

And they’re applying what he taught them, in the field?

He couldn’t be any prouder.

“What’s going on here?” A new voice, interrupted his and Surge’s conversation. A new but familiar voice, actually. One that belongs to a certain Kryptonian.

Red Robin, and his students, that came up to him, not long after the building Burst to flames, turned around to witness Superboy (Conner Kent) descent from the skies, along with Wondergirl (Cassandra Sandmark), followed by Impulse (Bartholomew Allen) on land.

“Hey Rob!” Bart waved his hand so quickly, it fazed.

“Really, Rob, we leave you alone, to go on a mission off-planet, only to find out you’ve become a teacher?” Chides Cassie, fondly. Then, she states “And here I thought we were friends” putting a hand on her chest, were her heart is, feigning hurt.

“And look, he’s already causing trouble with them.” Conner points out, Bart adds “It’s like we don’t even know you anymore.” while wiping away a fake tear.

“Haha, very funny, you guys.” Deadpans Tim, though secretly amused.

“If you’re done with the theatrics.” He sends them a pointed look, before gesturing to the.. starstruck kids next to him (?), “Allow me to introduce to you, the newest Young Justice members.”

This was probably going to be the beginning of something beautiful, or incredibly disastrous… meh, he’ll let the universe decide, and just go with the flow.

#tim drake #mentorship #tim is so done #tim is a mentor

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izzabela · 11 months ago

Note

Hear me out:

Bi-han and a reader who can turn into a polar bear similar to Halsain in BG3, and they have twins who are now turning into bear cubs themselves already. Now is a good time to teach the kids how to bear.

Lesson Number One - shifter!Bi Han x shifter!GN!reader

in which you and Bi Han have kids, and their powers are just now shining through

a/n: hear me out- yes. although, i have never played BG3, so the shifting thing is gonna be more fiction and... nonBG3 canon?

ship[s]: shifter!bi han x shifter!gn!reader

warning(s): none, reader is called "mama", bi han is chill with family

When you and Bi Han agreed to have kids, you should have known his little sack-swimmers were powerful.

Your twin children, a beautiful girl and darling boy, were the spitting image of him- the only defining feature of you in your kid's genomes was your chin and lips. Everything else about your kids just screamed Bi Han.

You were expecting ease when raising them, but why would you considering the man you married and his generational job?

The Lin Kuei were ninja assassins, also capable of shifting into a multitude of different animals.

You were able to shift into an arctic wolf. Strong legs, a good sense of smell, and agile, you were a great asset on the field.

Bi Han's animal counterpart was a polar bear (do I need to explain why?). It fit him well, as the raw strength in the animal aided him in missions where death was a risk.

Another risk you should have thought about was the possibility your kids would inherit zero, zilch, and nada about you.

Including the animal they could shift to.

It was that time in a young shifter's life, around ten years old, where their body begins to tweak out on them and involuntarily shift between human and animal form.

It all started with a scream and cry into yours and Bi Han's shared bedroom. You two had woken up, but decided to stay in bed to just talk about things.

Clearly, you guys should have gotten out of bed.

"Papa!" you daughter sobbed. Her little feet pitter-patter against the cold floor as she covers her ears. In matching pajamas, her twin is right behind her.

Bi Han is frantic at the yelps of his kids. Despite being the grandmaster of a formidable clan, one that demanded a sort of cold to remain in power, he would never do what his father did to him and his own siblings.

"Papa help us!" your son wailed. He's cradling his hands in his chest, but in front of both of you he shows what was being hidden. He's got paws where his hands were supposed to be.

Although frazzled, Bi Han assessed the situation with careful eyes and caring hands. He remained level-headed, and you were by his side as he softly pet his son's paws.

By his side, you took your daughter in your chest and pat her head softly, her hands not leaving the sides of her head.

He took in account his kids' fear, the fact that they wake up without their human body parts can definitely shake someone up- no less a child.

Your daughter looked at you, fat globs of salty tears rolling down as she nuzzled into your tummy for warmth. You hugged her, of course, but you felt something wet prod your belly.

You slowly peeled your daughter off you, and see her cute nose was replaced with a wet black one. You try to hide it, but your face has subtitles, and there clearly wasn't mistranslation when your daughter saw your face.

She gasps, touches her nose, and begins to cry even more. She's wailing, asking why her nose was black, why it was flat, and why she couldn't change it back.

You also realize why she held her head at its sides- her human ears were gone. Your eyes shift up and see her bear ears, flat on her head in fear.

It tore yours and Bi Han's hearts in half. Although, it was a hilarious predicament. No, you were not laughing at your children's torment, just laughing at the situation.

"Bi Han?" you nudge him. "Shall we take this to the courtyard?"

He nods, "Of course, àirén." He takes his kids up in each of his arms, your son on the left and your daughter in his right.

You accompany Bi Han's left side, comforting your quietly sobbing son. He was more feely, and was in touch with his emotions just like his Uncle Tomas.

When you four got to the courtyard, you find Kuai Liang and Tomas training initiates already. Their agile ears pick up on your footsteps, and they turn to greet the Grandmaster and his family.

"Brother!" Tomas beams, and Kuai Liang bows. When going to greet their niece and nephew, they're shocked to see their faces turned away.

"We woke up to a bit of a problem," you chuckle, taking your son out of Bi Han's arms and placing him down.

Both men take a look at their niece and nephew, eyes scanning over the parts of them that changed. They chuckle, and Kuai Liang kneels to pat your daughter's head.

"You have the same reaction your papa had when he first turned," Kuai Liang recalls the memory.

Bi Han is flustered, huffing as his head is turned away and arms crossed over his chest. You giggle and calm him down, arm slipping through his and rubbing up and down his muscles.

"Have you two nothing better to do?" Bi Han grunts.

"He jests, brother," Tomas says. "However, if you so wish, we will take our leave."

They bow and move their trainees to another part of the palace. Bi Han finally lets his guard down, kneeling to his kids as he begins instruction.

"This is nothing but normal," he starts, "But we must work together on this." You children nod and get in position, separating themselves with enough room to shift.

"It comes from here," you point to your own head. "Just like your brain decides what it wants for dinner, your brain also decides what it wants to change into."

Bi Han nods in agreement, "Your mama is correct. You must command your body with your mind."

Bi Han takes a couple deep breaths, clearing his mind of any thoughts that aren't related to the task at hand. He grunts, and in a blink of an eye, he's become a polar bear.

Your kids smile in wonder and excitement. I mean, if their papa can do that, who's to say they can't?

Bi Han walks to your side and sits next to you. In his bear form, he is still quite large. You pet his fur, coarse to other but soft to you. He grumbles and purrs, leaning into your affection. You both watch your children's attempts like this.

Your son is the first to go. Like Bi Han, he takes deep breaths to empty unnecessary thoughts. He keeps his breathing steady, also changing forms, but he can only manage so much.

It's incomplete, but it's a good start. Your son's human ears are replaced with the bear ones, and his arms and legs have become hairy with the white fur of the bear. It is his human torso and head that remain, and your son is incredibly disappointed.

He is downed by the uneven weight of the polar bear arms. His bum lands on the slated floor roughly, and more tears come through as he begins to wail in pain and embarrassment. Your face wrinkles into a frown with sad eyes, and you shift into your foxy form to calm your son down. His eyes are brightened slightly as he watches your form circle him, your head nuzzling into his side as you try to help him up.

Your daughter watched this all in front of her, and she becomes determined to do better than her twin. Focusing her breath and energy, she tries to shift her body into a bear like her papa. Unfortunately, it is no better for her.

Your daughter's ears and nose remained with the polar bear features. However, she could feel a noticeable itchiness at her legs under her pajama pants. With eyes open, she's panicking as her hands have also become paws. Just like her brother, she begins to cry at the unfamiliarity of her powers and body.

Despite her disappointment, you and Bi Han are proud at your children's attempts. As you are busy with your son, Bi Han comes up to his daughter still in his bear form. His mouth carefully grips onto his daughter's shirt, and he lifts her up effortlessly back to her feet to try again. Bi Han's bear tongue licks the new tears that fall from his daughter.

While they are occupied, you and your son keep working on his transformations. However, it is evident he is tired. The fur that is present, on his body has become matte and flat, and your son's tired eyes are even more proof. Shifting out of your fox form, you take your son into your arms and carry him.

It seemed Bi Han had the idea, your daughter cradled in his arms as she rests. You chuckle at the sight, taking this opportunity to plant a quick kiss on Bi Han's lips. It surprises him, but he gives you another in return. The lovely display of affection is a good look on Bi Han, and it swells your heart full with love and peace.

"We should have had breakfast before such practices," you sigh, walking together with Bi Han and your children in hand. Bi Han agrees, and it seems someone has beat him to his plans on feeding his family.

Overtaking the tasks of the kitchen, Kuai Liang and Tomas are cooking up a heavy breakfast for you guys. Congee, baozi, jianbing, youtiao, plus an assortment of fruits and veggies to fulfill the other parts of a healthy plate.

"We figured you all might be starved," Kuai Liang mentions, spatula in hand as he plates the last of the baozi.

Tomas nods, "I mean, you guys just woke up. I was honestly surprised you went ahead like that, brother."

Bi Han finally takes note of his clothes. He's still in his sleeping hanfu, and it's slightly disheveled due to his shifting.

"Ah," he simply notes. However he doesn't go to change, he just sits at the table with his daughter asleep.

At the smell of food though, she's up and wide awake. She yawns and takes a good look of her surroundings, and once her eyes land on the food, she's grabbing at it like a starving animal (literally).

The dining table, the personal one at least, is a huge circular table. It has six seats encircling it, one for each member of the immediate family. You took a seat next to your husband, while Tomas and Kuai Liang sit opposite to both of you. As casual chatter begins, your sleepyhead son is up too, rubbing his eyes to rid him the temporary blindness.

"Mama, are we eating?" he asks you quietly, and you nod with a baozi in your hand to feed him. He simply takes the bun, thanking you quietly, and situates himself on your lap facing everyone else at the table. He waves to his uncles, and his head is ruffled by his dad as he continues to eat.

Not even an hour later, almost all the food is gone. You can attest that to Kuai Liang and your daughter, both of them having large stomachs that could probably fit a whole boat if they tried. The only thing that remained on the table was a singular baozi, and your twins were eyeing it like a hawk does a mouse.

At the same time, your kids lunge at the plate, your daughter laying hands on it first. She wriggles out of Bi Han's lap, running away from her brother to feast on her victory food. Alas, the steamed bun was knocked out of her hands by a tackle, and you and Bi Han are out of your seats when you hear an "oof" from your child.

On top of your daughter was a polar bear, albeit a polar bear in between its cub and subadult form, but no less a polar bear. You and Bi Han are shocked at the fact your son managed to turn into a bear, but the worry isn't over yet.

"Come now, children," Bi Han gently coaxes. You copy him as well, trying to get your kids out of a fight. Tomas and Kuai Liang are at the ready, in case something happens.

And something does.

In a flash, your daughter had changed into a polar bear as well. At this point, your kids had forgotten about the steamed bun they were fighting over, and they began to fight in the dining room.

You try and split them up, but it's futile against the pitchy groans and animalistic growls that come from your kids. Bi Han takes matters into his own hands when your kids growl against your attempts.

Bi Han lets a ferocious roar out, shifting into his bear form to get in between the feuding siblings. Finally, they concede, but it isn't without consequences or excuses.

"It is one thing to talk back to your parents, it is another to growl at them!" He yells as he shifts back into human form. Your kids' heads dip and hide under their paws, and Bi Han just sighs as he kneels to his kids.

"However, you two have done well in your lessons with us," he says softly, "Haven't you looked at yourselves, children?"

You laugh as your kids are examining themselves. Perfectly, they had transformed into their bear forms. They run around excitedly, now playing with one another as they celebrate the passage of their shifting lessons.

You join them in their celebration as well, shifting into your fox form as running around both of them happily. They swat at your tail, even chase you around the dining room, their dad, and their uncles. You're smiling as you shift out of your form, head leaning on Bi Han's arm as you watch with pride at your kid's talents.

"They are naturals," Kuai Liang praises. "Similar to someone I know." He gives Bi Han a knowing look, to which he shrugs and smirks.

"They are my kin, of course they excel in everything."

You four follow them as they exit the dining room and make it to the courtyard. Bits of snow are on some patches, and the revel in the element as they roll around in it.

Your joy is cut short with an important question from Tomas.

"Did you show them how to shift out of their forms?"

You and Bi Han groan in unison, and Kuai Liang shakes his head with a bit of laughter.

Guess your lessons aren't over yet.

=====================

is BG3 fun? i don't have anything to play it with, but i only know it because you can have intercourse with a bear

also i hope you liked this fic, anon! i did add my own creative liberty to it if you don't mind

anyways, i've got my queue lined up with more finished fics, so i hop you guys enjoyed this and i'll see you in the next fic!

#mortal kombat #mk1 #mk1 2023 #x reader #bi han #bi han x reader #bi han x you #sub zero x you #sub zero x reader #mortal kombat 1 2023 #mortal kombat x reader #shifters #sub zero

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