#despite the worms in her brain <3 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lalunanymph · 13 days ago

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SNAP AND BREAK

SYNOPSIS you piss caleb off by going on a risky mission so he makes you pay. dearly.

WARNINGS caleb x fem!reader, fights, arguments, tension, misunderstandings, secret relationship, pseudo-cest, punishment, unprotected sex, improper use of evol, gagging, cockwarming, restraints, bondage, bdsm scene, size difference, verbal humiliation, pussy job, dirty talk, multiple positions, orgasm edging, orgasm control, orgasm denial, nipple play, marking, biting, forgiveness, aftercare

DAWN SAYS another one for the cfgc <3 caleb punish me challenge mode: extremely hard. also, big thanks to bb vienna for tossing back some ideas and helping me shape up this bad boy ❤️

x / a03

It’s not often Caleb comes home for the holidays, and when he does, you want to make sure everything’s perfect for him.

Sweat dots your brow, dripping down your neck as you spring around the house like a frantic OTTO-PHO, cleaning every inch of your old home and picking up after any mess left behind. With Gran in elderly care and your childhood friend stuck in Skyhaven, the onus is on you to keep the space spick-and-span—a duty you sorely neglected due to your erratic mission schedule.

Damn it, you scowl, glancing at the clock. It’s already 9PM… Caleb could be home anytime soon…

Huffing, you bring out a box of Christmas lights, completely entangled together in a wiry mess, and you groan at the thought of spending hours trying to get one end loose from the other. Sure, Christmas Eve is a time for families to gather together and enjoy the festivities with merriment, food and one too many glasses of bourbon, but as much as you would love to spend time with Caleb on his rare days back in Linkon, there’s a lingering thought in the back of your mind, connected right to the Hunter’s watch on your wrist.

As you check through the notifs, you miss the front door clicking open, the soft scuffle of boots on the wooden floor only reaching your distracted ears when the person was a few feet from you. Despite your wicked fast reflexes, Caleb is quicker, caging you in his arms, pulling you tightly to his chest as his boyish laughter grazes your ears.

“Really, pipsqueak? Being distracted could cost you some Hunter brownie points.”

“Caleb!” you squeal, whirling around and smacking his chest, your eyes sparkling at the sight of him. “When did you get here?! I didn’t even hear your bike.”

He releases his grip on your waist, spinning you to face him, taking you in with his warm gaze. You didn’t miss the dark circles under his eyes, stress-induced from nights in a world so far above the ground, with secrets you sense he could never tell you.

“Guess someone was more distracted than I gave her credit for,” he teases, ignoring your probing gaze.

You tighten your grip on his arm, and pull him closer, scrutinizing him from head to toe. “And you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“Jeez,” he worms out of your grasp, though his cheery disposition remains unflappable. “Are you trying to steal my thunder? I’m the one that’s supposed to be the nagger, not the other way around. And you look like you’re short of a few days of sleep, too, Pips.”

It never surprises you how at ease he makes you feel. Banter and laughter flow freely between Caleb and you, and where words fall short, the silence remains warm and companionable. The scent of food is in the air, and you take a moment to inhale the fragrance of warm bread leaving the pan greedily. Caleb makes your favorite baozi, the sweet dough mingling with the succulent fattiness of the pork belly sandwiched between the two buns melting on your tongue, sending sparks of serotonin straight to the pleasure center of your brain.

He watches you eat with a twinkle in his eye. “Good?”

"Heavenly,” you practically moan, and take another bite. You miss his eyes darkening, the quick aversion of his gaze from your blissed-out face.

“Mhm. Glad you love it,” he raps the table with his knuckles and stands, focused on the tasks ahead. “We’ll pick up Gran from the care center tomorrow and return home. Can I trust you with the turkey, Pips?”

You nod, dusting your fingers free from crumbs and standing, too. “Got it. Turkey. What about the cupcakes?”

“Oh, I can get them delivered. Don’t worry,” he reassures with a grin. “Wouldn’t want Gran to worry about us stuck in Christmas traffic.”

He’s got a point. When Christmas Eve arrives, the streets of Linkon bustle with throngs of bodies hurrying down the sidewalks, a sense of urgency and excitement in the air. You’re carrying the turkey back to your bike when a familiar vibration on your wrist pulls your attention from strapping the bird tightly into your rear basket, and your heart falls when you see the fluctuation pattern.

Wanderers.

Your mind rushes with the implications of what comes next, and in your ear, the ever-present comm beeps, Nero’s voice on the other end briefing Team Alpha.

“... interrupt Christmas break… urgent deployment to Chansia City—team of explorers—Caves—”

It comes in bits and pieces. You’re struggling to listen while kicking your bike into gear, revving back home to pack for the overnight mission.

“Nero, slow down—which part is overrun?” Jenna demands, her voice crisp from the other end of the line.

“—Chapel Bay. We need reinforcements—”

Kicking up dirt in your wake, you zip back home, arriving in time for Caleb to poke his head past the door, his greeting dying on his lips when he sees the tension radiating off you in waves.

“Pipsqueak, what’s wrong—?”

There’s no time to consider softening the blow when an entire neighborhood is at risk of being wiped out by Wanderers.

“I just got a call to go to Chansia. There’s been a huge Wanderer attack.” You pry the turkey from your bike’s rear basket and hand it to him, sprinting back into the house to pack when a tight grip on your wrist stops you.

“Slow down, Pipsqueak,” Caleb urges, his eyes wide with trepidation. “Did you just say Chansia?”

You nod, and something in his expression darkens.

“You can’t go.”

“Wh—?”

Before you can protest, Caleb slams the front door closed, barricading it with his broader build. “Pips, that area is certified Wanderer territory after the Profield Fall six months ago. Going there would be signing your death sentence .”

His words ring in your mind, leaving behind a tremor of fear. But, your stubbornness and need to help takes precedence over whatever hesitation you might feel, and you shake your head.

“Caleb, it’s my job—”

“ Y/N, please.”

No Pipsqueak, Pips, or short stack …

Your eyes widen as the realization hits you square in the chest. Caleb is completely serious about this. You take a step back when he corners you against the wall, those amethyst eyes shining with a desperate plea for you to listen to him—just this once.

“Trust me when I say this—the DAA knows what’s going on there and we’ve escalated it to Zone Three status. You could die there, Y/N—”

“Caleb, I can’t just leave my team behind!”

He swallows hard, crossing his arms and in a tone brokering no argument, he utters: “Give me Captain Jenna’s number right now.”

You gape at him, wondering if he’s lost his mind. “ Are you trying to get me fired? ”

“Family code for the Hunter’s Association means family members can refuse to allow a Hunter to serve—”

“Now you’re just making things up!”

Your cheeks burn hotly with indignation, eyes narrowing at the sight of his wilful glare. Deep down, Caleb is just worried for you, his overprotective big brother tendencies leaving him resolutely firm on not allowing you to go. But, you’re not a kid anymore, and this is the duty you swore to uphold. Family or not, Caleb has no right to stop you from leaving.

“No,” you reiterate, standing your ground. “Caleb, this is unacceptable. You can’t just dictate when I can do my job just like that!”

“Oh, I can and I will.”

You feel a firm tug around your waist, and to your horror, his Evol snatches your phone from deep inside your pants pocket. “Hey—!”

He holds it above your head, no longer goofing around like he usually does when he teases you like this; expression serious and unyielding. “Tell me your phone password now.”

You seethe, wondering if he’s lost his mind. “Absolutely not!” Palm to his chest, he grunts, feeling the first stirrings of your Resonance piercing through the atoms binding his telekinesis together, goading him to explode. He grabs your wrist with the other hand, a mutinous and unfamiliar glare twisting his mouth into a sneer.

“Oh, don’t even think about using your Evol on me, little missy.” With a staggering strength you thought he would never use on you, Caleb drags you closer, pressing your thumb on the phone’s biometric sensor. It lights up and your phone unlocks, leaving him privy to your contacts.

In one swift motion, you kick him right in the bend of his knee, knocking him off balance. Caleb yelps and the turkey you so carefully transported back home goes crashing to the ground along with his knees hitting the carpet. Moving fluidly, you grab his shoulder, restraining his arm behind his back, forcing him to relinquish his grip on your phone where it clatters onto the floor.

“Pips—”

You push your knee right in between his shoulder blades, forcing him to the ground.

Caleb grunts in pain, but you’re too angry to even care about his discomfort.

“How dare you come in the way of my job?” You spit out, increasing the force of your knee into his back. “You have no right, Caleb. None.”

“I was just—”

“What’s going on?!”

You both glance up to find Gran staring at you in horror, frozen in her wheelchair. It’s been years since she saw a fight this bad between you and Caleb—the last one being when you two were angsty teenagers. At the look of dismay on her face, you hesitate and ease up, letting him go. Caleb rises with a derisive scoff, and without a second glance, tosses your phone back to you, remaining indifferent when you fumble to catch it.

“Fine. But, don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you’re going through with this, then I have nothing else to say to you.”

He walks away, his head bent, broad shoulders tense with frustration. You watch him disappear back into the kitchen and glance down at the mess of the turkey scattered on the floor—reminding you of the chaos you’ve brought to what was supposed to be a day of family and celebration. How you single-handedly ruined Christmas Eve.

“Gran, I’m—”

She raises a hand to stop your string of excuses and apologies. “Whatever you need to do, go and do it. Just come back in one piece, dear.”

You glance at the deep set lines of her face, the kindness in her eyes you didn’t deserve. “Could you tell him…?” You trail off, and flicker your gaze to the kitchen. Gran nods, imperceptibly understanding your request.

“I’ll speak to him, don’t you worry.”

Taking one last look at her, you nod and hitch the strap of your purse higher, thoughts already racing on the logistics of returning to the Association base and retrieving your hunting gear. As you straddle your bike, you steal a final glance at the kitchen window, wondering if he could see you pulling away. But, the curtains are drawn, and the lights dim.

Feeling the melancholy of separating on such awful terms with him, you kick up the bike stand and zip down the highway to your unknown fate, ready to fight Wanderers despite how much every fiber in your body was screaming at you to turn around and make things right with Caleb.

Caleb stares at the phone in his hand. It’s been three days since he last heard from you; since he last saw you.

He’s gone through the entire cycle of grief the whole time you’ve been missing from his side: denial that you had the nerve to hurt him after all he’s done for you, anger at the way you dismissed his concerns and complaints about him mother henning you when all he wants is to ensure your safety; bargaining with the voices in his mind to forgive and forget; a crippling depression at the lack of consideration you had for him by not even bothering to reach out and finally acceptance that come what may, you had to return home.

He wouldn’t rest till he sees you again—till he makes sure you’re safe and whole.

But, when the fourth day trickles by with still no sign or contact from you, anxiety gnaws him right to the bone and he can’t focus on anything else but the chirp of his phone, heart pounding wildly and breath hitching as he picks it up, hoping to see the golden notification which will indicate you’re still alive.

He’s disappointed time and time again.

Yet, he doesn’t switch off his phone or mute it. Caleb reasons if you ever did call him, he would always be on standby to berate you.

(And ask you when you’ll be coming home again so he can prepare to see you).

His heart echoes a dull thud that grows murkier and darker with each growing day of your absence. Till he can’t take it anymore and punches in the emergency number you left on the fridge, hearing the dial tone that echoes forlornly in the background of this empty kitchen soaking in the last rays of sunset.

The call doesn’t go through, and he tries the other number you left for him.

“Hello?”

Mercifully, a woman answers and his white-knuckled grip on the phone tightens.

“Hi,” he stutters and feels like a fool. “My name is Caleb. I’m… Y/N’s friend,” clearing his throat, he presses on. “I haven’t heard from her in days and I’m starting to, uh, get worried. Is she—?”

He barely gets the question out when the woman interrupts him, not unkindly.

“Caleb, isn’t it? You’re her adopted brother. My name is Jenna and I’m the captain of Team Alpha. Unfortunately, I cannot disclose any further information about our Deepspace Hunters except that they are currently on a very important mission.”

Jenna’s tone is steepled in regret, and Caleb pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know. I know, damn it.” If she finds his cursing crass, she doesn’t comment on it. “But, it’s been four days already. I just need to know—”

“Mr. Caleb, we understand your frustration, but please, do let us handle the mission on our end, and if there are any updates—”

“You’d only tell me if she returns in a body bag.”

The transparency of his resigned statement floats uneasily like a greasy film over a thick coating of lies he’s very well accustomed to in the military and law enforcement world. The reality is this: he would never know if you were alive until you came back home.

Caleb thumps his forehead against the frosty kitchen glass, watching the white snowflakes dance in front of him with listless, pained violet eyes. The necklace you gifted him hangs from his neck like a noose, threatening to choke the last of his composure. He struggles to hold onto his temper, as he swallows and nods.

“Alright. Roger that. Thank you, Captain.”

He doesn’t give Jenna a chance to reply, ending the call and, in a fit of rage, slams his phone onto the table. His sudden fit of anger doesn't go unobserved, Gran’s weary eyes watching him pace restlessly through the kitchen, not noticing her sitting in the dark corner. She wants to comfort him but doesn’t know how. After all, it was you who usually took the mantle of calming down this unnerving, determined young man during his rare, but terrifying bouts of rage.

Gran sighs quietly and stares up at the ceiling as if she could see past the layers of plaster and unease and into the graying, snowy sky.

Caleb slams the front door on his way out to god knows where. Like always, she remains reticent and disengaged, sitting in the furthest corner where his disconcerting emotions could never reach her.

You weren’t expecting anyone to wait for you back in your apartment when you finally returned home.

Light snow coats the front of your lobby stairs, and the second he sees you, the doorman waves to catch your attention.

“Oh, Miss Hunter! You have a care package waiting for you in the mail room.”

Curious and weary from your arduous mission, you trudge to the mailroom to retrieve the package under your name. Clasping it in one arm, you drag your tired and bruised body straight to your apartment and push open the door, switching on the lights and air conditioning. The space smells of stale air and an underlying current of tension, greeting you with a lingering melancholy you couldn’t quite shake off.

You carefully close the door behind you and set the package on your dining table. Glancing out at the twinkling lights of the street below, the feeling of missing out on an important holiday creeps back in, and you fight back the urge to sob.

Now’s not the time…your inner voice chimes. You need to eat something… shower and rest. Wiping your damp eyes, you take a deep breath. The time to break down and mourn over your guilt can come later.

Tearing the package open, your heart skips a beat when you see a bento box filled with dehydrated vegetables, powdered cranberry sauce, dried turkey, and a side of instant mac ‘n’ cheese. A note, written in a blocky scrawl you recognize as Caleb’s, makes the lump of guilt in your throat thicken even more.

Merry Christmas, Pipsqueak. We missed you. — C

You boil some water, microwave the food, and rehydrate the greens again, taking your sad pre-packed Christmas meal on the balcony. The food is good, and you have an inkling of Caleb freeze-drying it for you—begrudgingly making sure you could still enjoy your holiday even after the catastrophic fight you both had.

As you chew listlessly on a slice of turkey, you glance up at the sky where you imagine the outline of Skyhaven to be, snowflakes clinging onto the ends of your lashes, falling like powdered sugar onto your bare hands.

Caleb… your mind echoes forlornly. Did he return to the base? Is he still here in Linkon?

One quick look at your Moments feed, and you see he’s still here, catching up with old classmates and grinning brightly in his photos like the two of you hadn’t been at each other’s throats just a few days ago.

The temptation to call him up is at odds with your bruised ego from the smothering behavior he exhibited days earlier. A part of you wants an excuse to see him again despite the growing distance since the argument—to thank him for the meal he prepared for you.

Snowflakes melt in your hair, an unceasing chill creeping up on you. Despite the unusual distance creeping insidiously into your relationship, the chill, the reproachful silence—the meal he sent you was more than a peace offering. It was his version of an apology.

Your mind floats a million miles away, thinking about Caleb, wondering if he is still mad at you. You heave a sigh. As much as you dread it, there’s only one way to find out.

Pulling out your phone, you click on his number. The dial tone drones on and on, plucking on your nerves, and you reflexively nibble on your nails, waiting for him to pick up.

“Hello! ” You expel a rushed breath, an apology on the tip of your tongue when you’re hit with the realization that you’ve reached his voicemail box instead. “—probably busy. Please leave a message after the beep—”

Silence. You catch a staggering breath. “Caleb? It’s me. If you get this, let’s meet up, ‘kay? Talk to you soon.”

There’s a hum in the night air, a tension drawing lines around your taut figure. You wait and wait for his return call, glancing at your phone every minute, checking on your messages in case he left one when your back was turned. The warm shower you took could barely flush out the thought of Caleb, your anxiety peaking when you decide to check on Moments, seeing him post a picture of his dinner with his friends, but leaving your message on read.

Crap. You’re in deep trouble now. Sighing, you run your fingers through your hair, rubbing your face.

There isn’t a hint of doubt that he’s punishing you now with the silent treatment. Caleb is never the type to avoid confrontations—he thrives on them. He loves arguing, challenging your worldview, and trying to prove his point, just to rub it in your face that he will always be right.

The indifference is odd; this distance is not like him.

Before you can stop yourself from calling him again, you slip on your coat, tug on your scarf, and rush to your bike.

I’m going to make him talk to me if it’s the last thing I do, you think viciously, revving up the bike aggressively—kicking up snow and dirt in your wake to break this frostiness between you two.

In fifteen minutes, you find yourself in front of your childhood home, the kitchen lights glowing warmly. Gran is probably already back at the elderly care center, and since Caleb is still treating you as public enemy #1, he’s staying here to keep his distance from you. You kill the engine and march straight up to the door, unlocking it with your spare key.

Inside the house is warm and toasty, the faint smell of food drifting from the kitchen. You freeze when the sound of heavy footsteps reaches your ears, looking straight into his wide, amethyst eyes.

Caleb exhales a sharp breath, his mouth dropping open slightly. “Pipsqueak…”

You remain nailed to the spot, wondering if he would kick you out—ask you to leave for daring to show your face here again. But, he does no such thing, beckoning you to close the door and come in. Though he doesn’t outright reject you, he doesn’t welcome you with open arms, either, the usual exuberance and grins he reserves for you nowhere to be found on his unsettlingly serious expression.

Caleb goes back into the kitchen, picking up a towel to wipe down his hands. The paper plane bracelet you got for him years ago peeks past the sleeve of his gray hoodie, a reminder of happier times between you two.

You hesitate for a single second by the doorway, wondering when the thought of home left you this cold and disorientated.

Like a lost puppy, you trail after him, removing your jacket and setting it on the back of a dining chair.

“Thank you… for the meal,” your hoarse voice breaks the icy silence.

Caleb glances at you from behind the kitchen island and nods. “You’re welcome.”

He doesn’t say anything else, and the easy familiarity from years of knowing each other fades into a glacial stillness. You hear your breath leaving your lips, and sense the way he’s avoiding your eyes.

“Caleb—”

He scoffs at the sound of his name leaving your lips, and turns around, putting all his focus on the bread he’s baking. You know him well enough to understand he only bakes when he’s completely stressed out over something.

Without thinking, you touch his wrist, not anticipating the sharp way he draws his hand back from you.

“Caleb…”

He doesn’t glance at you—barely gives your pain a second glance. “What’re you doing here, Pipsqueak?” He murmurs gruffly. “Aren’t you supposed to be writing a debrief report right now?”

As much as his distance stings, his dismissal hurts even worse, feeling like a knife carving through your chest.

“It’s Christmas season,” you whisper. “The offices are closed—”

“And yet, risky missions still prevail, huh?”

His words bite straight to your core, and you wince. “Caleb, it’s not—”

“Save it,” your childhood friend cuts you off, jerking his chin towards the dining table. “Sit down there and don’t disturb me. I’m making sourdough focaccia and if something goes wrong, I will 100% blame you.”

Despite the warning in his tone, you can’t help but smile faintly.

“Okay…”

Taking a seat at the table, you watch him work. The sleeves of his hoodie stretch tautly over his bulging biceps, rolling up to expose his forearms as he works the dough into a malleable ball. The silence is something new, a phenomenon born from the supernova of your hasty mistakes, leaving gaping black holes of awkwardness surrounding the two of you. Any light coming through from your attempts to make conversation is shut down with a dismissive hum or grunt from Caleb.

You can tell he’s avoiding any attempts to talk, focusing on making the bread and ignoring your presence in the corner of his eye. The childish part of you that grew up with his undivided attention screams, tearing and twisting in your chest, needing to reclaim his interest and care again. You pout, sulk, and heave numerous heavy sighs. But, he doesn’t turn to look at you, much too busy focusing on brushing basil oil onto the bubbling surface of the dough.

So, you amp up the distractions. You circle closer and closer to him, pressing your face near his shoulder to watch him decorate the dough with slivers of cherry tomatoes. You linger when he turns to grab the container of sea salt flakes, playfully sticking your finger into the concoction to pop a bubble forming.

“Okay, that’s it—”

He grabs your wrist and tugs you back into the living room, making you sit on the couch with a scowl on his face. The look of pure wrath in his expression startles you, and you barely have time to murmur an apology when he shakes his head, glare intensifying.

“Stay out of my hair, Pipsqueak. I mean it. ”

“But—”

He whirls around, silencing you with a deep and unmistakable glint of rage in his usually gentle purple eyes. You fall into a stuttering disquiet, unable to stop the hurt from flashing across your face.

“Caleb—”

“Don’t give me that look. And stay away from the kitchen.” Stay away from me. He doesn’t say it, but the warning is implicit.

You’ve never seen him this enraged before. Your breath falls out in a huff, and you give him an incredulous look. Caleb turns around, completely ignoring you, and returns to his focaccia. A voice in your head chimes in, telling you to just own up to your mistakes and apologize to him. But, the stubborn part of your consciousness, the one who insists she’s right despite how poorly she had treated one of her oldest childhood friends, remains stubbornly set on not breaking the ice first.

Easier said than done.

It’s hard.

It’s hard for you to sit on the couch, quiet and seething when Caleb is just a few feet away. It’s absolute torture to not be in there with him, yapping off his ear with updates to your mission, or trying to sneak eat a few cherry tomatoes when his back is turned. You miss him, and you miss his shitty jokes and dopey smile. You miss him.

You find yourself sneaking glances at him, wondering if he’s making an extra batch for you—hoping he isn’t too mad to deny you from having a focaccia slice. You know you’re being selfish and immature again, thinking he will be okay with you after the stunt you pulled on him when the reality of his dejection runs deeper.

Shamelessly, you stand and venture back into the kitchen, unlike a stray kitten who could never take a hint. You stand by his side, hovering around until he pays you a morsel of attention—gifting you back his sunny smiles and easygoing laughter.

But, Caleb remains steadfast in his efforts to ignore you, and you decide it’s time to bring out the big guns. Pressing closer to him, you lean your head against his shoulder, nuzzling your cheek into the soft material of his hoodie.

“Gege… don’t be mad at me…”

He stiffens, and yet, you persist with your efforts. Playfully nipping the back of his ear, you find his weakness in an instant, hearing his breath catch in the back of his throat.

Caleb pretends you don’t exist, letting you fight for his attention, but you can tell his resolve is crumbling. You hear the hitch in his quiet groan when you lick the sensitive shell of his ear, the heat of your body seeping past the thick fabric of his hoodie.

Gran isn’t here, and you don’t have to hide your desires from her, free to mess around with Caleb as much as you can.

You stand on your tiptoes, tracing the tip of your tongue down the curve of his neck, scraping your teeth against his sensitive skin.

Caleb hisses, and you fight back the urge to grin in triumph. His hands grip the marble island’s edge with a white-knuckle hold. You feel his resolution to ignore you falling apart, piece by piece, simmering in the knowledge of you offering yourself to him as a way of apologizing for the things you said—how you hurt him both physically and emotionally before your mission.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, gege,” you murmur against the salt of his skin, feeling his body heat under your touch. “Can you ever forgive me? Can you ever forgive your mei mei? ”

He bites back a groan, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Pipsqueak…” he hisses under his breath.

The way he says it, full of anger and warning, sends a sick, dark thrill up your spine. You resist the urge to lay off him, needing him to fully crack and give in to your whims like he always does—like he always will when it comes to you because you’re nothing if not Caleb’s spoiled rotten mei mei who always gets what she wants.

“Pipsqueak—” his words cut off into a low growl when he feels your arms belting around his waist, your hands sliding further down… fingertips teasingly brushing the bulge tenting under his pants. “Watch it.”

But, his warning lacks bite, and you gnaw on your lower lip, feeling his patience slowly dissipating. Caleb is once again putty in your hands, easy to mold to your desires. You grin against his back, feeling the same revulsive knot twisting in your stomach, the stench of the impending perverseness making your nostrils flare.

“ Gege… ” you whisper again.

It’s the final nail to the coffin of his attempts to resist you. Except when he snaps, he does it in a way you never expect.

Caleb grabs your hand and spins you around, pinning you right to the counter edge. Without a second’s hesitation, he drags your pants down, baring your vulnerable backside. The stinging pain of his hit on your left cheek draws you up short, and you cry out, cursing profusely.

“My, my,” you can hear the grin in his dark tone. “Such a mouth you have on yourself, mei mei … you need to be reprimanded.”

Another sharp spank lands on your right cheek this time, and your head jerks up, a yelp slipping past your clenched teeth.

“C-Caleb—”

“Don’t you dare Caleb me,” he sneers and drags you like you’re a ragdoll to the bedroom—his bedroom. Inside, you’re faced with gege’s full wrath, as he stands before you, tall and imposing, those amethyst eyes barely wavering when he takes in your warm cheeks and the glimmer of pain simmering in your gaze.

“Strip,” Caleb commands, lifting a dark brow. “ Now .”

You want to argue, to tell him to ease up, but the look on his face remains flinty and firm.

Swallowing your trepidation, you start by pulling your shirt over your head, letting it fall to the floor. Caleb’s expression doesn’t shift, not even when his eyes rake over the lace bra you’re wearing. His jaw tightens, and he gestures at your pants, silently telling you to go all in if you want to earn his forgiveness back.

You reluctantly tuck your thumbs into the waistband of your pants and drag them down, leaving you shivering in your matching lacy panties.

He scoffs, running his eyes up and down your scantily-clad form. “You sure you weren’t thinking indecent thoughts, you shameless minx? Good girls don’t try to seduce their older brothers by looking like this.”

You flush warmly at his degrading words, feeling your bravado slipping. “I-I wasn’t—”

Your words die in the back of your throat when you feel the restrictive force of his Evol grasping your wrists, drawing them above your head. Caleb’s expression and outstretched hand don't falter, and he takes another step closer, bearing down on your helplessness.

“Be quiet,” he snaps. Flicking his fingers, he pushes you against the wall, hearing the gust of breath rushing out your lungs when your back hits the hard plaster. You grunt in surprise, struggling and failing to fight your way out of the bonds he has your wrists in.

“Scared?” He goads, approaching you, taking your chin, and tilting your face up. The look in his eyes is borderline terrifying—you’ve never seen Caleb ( your sweet, lovely, kind, and sunny Caleb )—look this angry in your life. “This is what you wanted, right?” Grabbing your wrists in one large palm, he tightens his grip on you. “Teasing me… hurting me… you have a knack for breaking your gege’s heart, huh, Pipsqueak?”

You shake your head, wanting to protest when he silences you with a punishing kiss. Caleb bites down on your lower lip, your words and coherence lost in the slurry mess of his tongue fighting yours, tasting the warmth and wetness of your mouth.

“Mhm,” you moan into the kiss, tilting your head to the side to get more—taste more of him. He runs the tip of his tongue over the hard ridges of your teeth, squeezing your cheeks in a possessive hold, forcing your mouth to remain open and giving as he continues to take what he wants without a care for your pathetic whines.

“Don’t think I’ll go nice on you, Y/N,” he warns, tipping your head back, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of your ear. “You treated me like dirt before you left. You hurt my feelings—” He growls, biting down hard on your earlobe. “You selfish, bratty little Pipsqueak… I won’t go easy on you, do you hear me? Nod if you understand.”

You can’t do anything but nod, helpless in the face of his anger. The corners of his mouth twitch at the sight of your submission, the dark monster within he tries hard to suppress rearing its jealous head, beckoning him to devour you. With a surprising show of dominance, he tangles his fingers in your hair, yanking your head back with a grunt, exposing more of your throat to his wandering lips.

He licks, nips, and sucks his marks onto the pristine column of your throat, needing to see his marks bloom on your skin. Caleb is relentless in his attempts to remind you who you belong to.

The force of his touch sends sparks of thrill up your spine, and you gasp with every hot press of his open-mouth kisses to your vulnerable jaw and neck.

Caleb’s teeth scrapes your sensitive skin, drawing guttural gasps from your kiss-swollen lips.

“Ca-leb—” you break off into a hiss when his Evol rearranges your limbs, spreading your thighs wider; your arms restrained above your head. The last time he had you in this position was a summer ago before he left for a mission to Vagrant Land. You swore after that night when he was done with you, that you had to double your Plan B dosage less your body betrayed you and you conceived his baby.

“Please—”

He doesn’t hear your begging, taking a step closer, his bigger build pressing harder into your body.

“I said: Shut. Up. ”

In one swift motion, his telekinesis holds your lips shut, your struggles and indignant squeals barely triggering a reaction from him. The look on his face sparks both terror and desire, your body responding to his unexpected dominance; proof of your arousal shining from between your thighs.

“Already wet? How pathetic…”

He smirks, coating his fingers with the proof of your desire pooling right between your folds.

“Mhmph—Cwaleb—” your desperate squeak shoots his ego straight up to the moon, and Caleb is on cloud nine.

Such a desperate, little Pipsqueak. You want this so badly, huh? Mhm hmm. That’s right. That’s fucking right. You like my fingers in you? Good girl. Such a good, little Pipsqueak. You’re doing so well—fuck.

His anger aside, Caleb can’t help but praise you. It’s his default; his DNA. You drive him insane and he wants to punish you for getting under his skin—where you’ll always belong, not if he can help it.

“Something you wanna say, Pips?” he sneers, pumping two long, lithe, and callused fingers inside of you, catching on a spot that makes your toes curl.

“S-swo…sworry,” you manage to spit past the pressure clamping your mouth shut, tears swimming in your eyes, “Cwaleb… mhm .”

He can’t say he doesn’t enjoy your struggle. The flush on your cheeks, the wetness glimmering on your lips. Caleb wants to see you completely and utterly ruined for him.

“Beg,” he commands, slipping into his Captain persona with ease. In his eyes, you were nothing but an unruly cadet in need of a stern fixing. “Beg me and I might give you what you want.”

Thumb on your clit, he’s driving you delirious with feathery, teasing circles. Your eyes roll back into your head.

Cwaleb, you groan against his Evol. Pwease—mhmph!

The pressure of his fingers gets meaner, the look in his violet eyes muffling the last of your protests. Giving up on trying to get him to relent, you submit with feeble sighs, letting him take full control. Caleb grins, feeling you succumbing to his ministrations, your squeaks and sighs growing louder and more distraught.

He loves having you like this—on the edge, overstimulated, and completely relying on him.

Years of knowing your body and what makes you tick is enough for him to push your buttons—taking your limits past the breaking point.

He’s meticulous and sure with his punishment, doing whatever it takes to hammer in the anger and shame he wants you to feel—the lesson he’s trying to impart to your desperate body and distraught mind.

As he releases the pressure on your mouth so you can moan and gasp freely, Caleb’s quick with a foot of rope, using it to bind your hands in your front, allowing you just enough give to grip a pen in your shaky hand as he makes you sit on his cock and write ‘I will always obey my gege’ over and over again until your eyes swim, and your cunt is pulsing from every slight movement.

He teases you with shallow thrusts, lips in the crook of your neck, and warm, large palms covering your heaving breasts; playing with your distended nipples till they blossom into a pretty blush shade.

Driving you further into a pleasure-filled delirium, he rubs your clit with teasing circles, smacking your thighs when they start to snap close.

“I said—keep 'em’ open unless you know what’s good for ya, princess,” he sneers, leaving another stinging mark blooming on the plush flesh.

“Please…” The plea drops from your swollen lips and he chuckles.

“Struggling already?”

Caleb peers over your shoulder at your almost illegible writing and shakes his head. “I thought you were better than this—didn’t you once win the best handwriting award in high school? Tch.”

To your mortification and horror, he picks up the sheet of paper and tears it in half, ruining your hour-long effort of completing a hundred lines.

“Again,” he orders, and grabs a blank sheet, placing it in front of you. “And make sure your writing is pretty Pipsqueak. I wanna frame this.”

A strangled whimper tumbles from your mouth, and behind you, Caleb smirks at the sheer frustration at the sound.

Good.

Now, you would understand a sliver of the anguish he felt when you went missing for days. Now, you would feel the exasperation and outrage he did—and god, does it feelgood to watch you come undone for him.

You pick up the pen, and with a teary, little huff, start to write again. He hooks his chin over your shoulder, breath warm and distracting against your neck.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, chest rumbling with deep satisfaction. “Look at’cha. Doing so well… I oughta reward you after this, hmm?”

He teasingly trails his palm up your thigh, squeezing your flesh—enjoying how your pretty, tight pussy squeezes down on him with every rasp of his palm on your skin. The sight between your thighs is lewd, a creamy mess coating the base of his cock, dribbles of arousal gathering at the lips of your entrance which ripples around his thick girth. Caleb is equal parts mesmerized and thrilled by the sight, watching how your little clit shivers when he teases her with the rough pad of his index finger; how your body shudders, and the pen in your hand shakes.

“Much better,” he compliments your penmanship, giving your clit and nipple a squeeze.

“Ah— mhm! ” You choke through your tears. This minute reaction costs you a firm smack on your thigh, his fingernails digging into the singing flesh.

“Did I say you could take your eyes off the paper?” Caleb demands, and in a low tone, barks out, “ Write .”

Tears mist your vision, your hips twitching and muscles tightening around the fleshy intrusion lodged deeply in your tender pussy. Caleb wraps his hands around your waist and gingerly lifts you up and down, fucking you on his cock as the words on the paper get blurrer and blurrer.

I will always obey gege.

I will always—

The words get subconsciously stuck in your head, your lips shaping and breathing them out in shaky puffs. Black strokes of your obedience begin to fill up half of the page, and soon the whole sheet is covered with the affirmation. Caleb presses his lips to your jaw, giving you a much softer kiss, catching you off guard with his gentleness.

“There you go… lookin’ good, darlin’.”

He takes the paper from you and scrutinizes each word, well aware of your body trembling; your sweet, tight cunt squeezing pitifully around his cock. You’ve made such a mess on his lap, Caleb is surprised how the powerful orgasm you’ve been holding back for the past two hours hasn’t taken you under yet. It seems like one single touch and you might blow.

He chuckles, chest vibrating against your back, and sets your work down, gripping your hip tighter.

“Good girl,” he croons in your ear. Those maliciously thick and long fingers slide up the length of your thigh, reaching to wrap around your neck.

“I did what you asked,” you pant, squeezing your eyes shut and moaning at the sensation of his lips kissing down your throat. “A-am I forgiven yet?”

Hmm, Caleb hums, his smirking mouth pressing on your pulse point. He loves how despite your lofty title as Linkon’s shining Hunter, you’re still so much smaller than him; your entire body dwarfed between his bigger build and the hard edge of the table. “... suppose I could show you some mercy.”

He traces random patterns on your thigh and a sliver of hope takes root in your heart. Maybe you’ve done enough to fully earn his trust and love back. Maybe he might be merciful and kiss you—

As if you weighed next to nothing, Caleb’s strong arms carry you back to bed, setting you down on his lap again. He buries his nose in your hair and inhales like a starved man tasting honey for the first time, his tongue darting out to trace the jut of your jaw, trailing down your throat.

“You’re so sweet… so sinful…”

His grave murmurs send sparks of desire straight to your core, and you clench your thighs, whimpering.

“Caleb…”

Your whisper is a fleeting plea of desire that disappears under his smothering kiss. Caleb devours your mouth, swirling his tongue with yours, his fingers holding your chin in place. Hungry, open-mouth kisses smear down your neck, right to your collarbone, where the ghost of his breath on your perky nipples makes you shudder.

He takes his time, playing with you while you’re all tied up and helpless. Caleb grins against your sternum, hearing your breath hitch when he parts your thighs and sinks a finger inside you with barely any prep. Your body takes him without resistance, and he nuzzles your bare breasts, relishing how soft your skin is against his cheek.

“You’re so eager… so ready for me…”

His dick throbs, but he pays it no mind, completely zeroing in on your pleasure. Caleb’s entire focus is on you—your whimpers, your sighs, how your poor, puffy pussy clenches down so nicely on his thick fingers.

You’re just ready to burst, darlin’ ... he murmurs huskily into your ear. Must be frustrating, hmm? Not being given the chance to come… I’m sure you’re aching…

His thumb circles on your greasy, little nub, hearing your soft moans and sighs in his hair. Caleb guides you to the bed, your bound body falling in a heap under him. He positions himself over you, forearms on either side of your head as he goes back to licking and sucking at your neck.

The sting of his teeth leaving another bite leaves you light-headed with lust, your body throbbing for the slightest bit of relief.

Please… you whimper again, trying your luck. Caleb… I need you…

Yeah? He murmurs huskily. Where’dya need me, princess?

You squirm, moving your hips and he feels you writhing underneath him. “Inside. All the way.”

His breathing hitches, blood growing hotter at the desperation and need in your tone.

“All the way? You know what to say to get a man going, sweetness.”

“I— ohhh .”

Your words die in the back of your throat at what he does next.

Caleb grins as he pushes your thighs apart, settling in between them. He carelessly tugs his pants down, ripping off his clothes to toss them to the floor, gifting you inches and inches of bare, tanned skin and defined muscles to gawk at. Ready, baby? Giving his cock a few good pumps, he lines the tip to your entrance, catching it on the rim of your pussy.

Teasingly, he works the flush, sticky head up and down your weeping clit, circling your opening, pushing it in past the tight ring of muscle with taunting ‘pops’. Your gasps reach his ears, and he grins, enjoying drawing out your pleasure far too much.

Like that? He licks his lips, eyes half-hooded and heated. It’s all going in you, baby… just… at my… pace.

He punctuates each languid word with a few more inches sinking inside of you, coaxing more sweet sounds from your slack jaw.

Oh, yes… yes… fuck me, Caleb. Fuck—oooh.

Your drawn-out hiss springs a wicked smile to his face. The way your eyes roll back; how your hips twitch.

Spasming wildly, your sweet pussy draws him in, and Caleb can’t get enough of you. It’s excruciating how much he’s edging himself as much as he’s torturing you. But, the moment he bottoms out inside of you, all the tension condenses right to the point where you’re connected to him.

Caleb sets a rhythm that leaves you gasping, legs wrapping instinctively around his fitted waist. His biceps and abs ripple with every thrust, those pesky lips you love too much finding the hollow of your throat, leaving behind his claim on your delicate skin for the world to see. His mouth presses to yours in a heated display of ownership, tongue delving past your lips to dominate yours.

His taste—musk, salt, man—coats your tastebuds, and you’re swimming in his heat and scent.

Caleb is everywhere and anywhere over you, all at once.

His bigger build completely dwarfs you on the bed, expert hands pushing your thighs apart and pressing your knees to your chest, leaving you flushed and completely vulnerable to him.

He laughs when your clit trembles under his scrutiny, the little bud exposed with nowhere to hide.

Zeroing in on your tender bundle of nerves, he presses his thumb to it, feeling the greasy little button twitch under his fingertip.

You look so pretty like this… all tied up and vulnerable… just for me.

“Caleb…” your moans begin to stutter, your hips beginning to spasm. You’re so close, all it takes is one misstep on his end to lead you down the biggest orgasm of your life.

Hours of teasing and drawing out your pleasure renders you an incoherent, babbling mess.

Faster, faster… oh god, please. Yesyesyes. Caleb—Caleb…

Anyone passing by the room could tell you were barely holding on by a thread. You look so beautiful under him like this: hair fanning across his pillows, cheeks warm and lips flushed. The glassy look in your eyes.

God, he’s so in love with you.

Having you here, under him where you belong, heals the fissured part inside of him that still aches from your cruel dismissal of his concerns.

His thrusts grow more punishing, the tip of his long, girthy cock hitting your cervix. Caleb tilts your pelvis, making you take him deeper.

There ya go, sweet thing, he coaxes. Can you feel me here—? He touches your womb. Feel me where ya need me. Oh, darlin’... I’m gonna make sure you feel me for days.

Picking up his pace, the bed creaks and rocks under you. Caleb makes sure to tease your clit as well with every punishing thrust, feeling your thighs tremble around his shoulders.

He’s so deep, so flushed against your body, he thinks you could suck him up and take him in your body forever.

Caleb is hard-pressed to admit he doesn’t want that—there is nothing in the world he desires more than to be one with your bones and breath. His movements get erratic, needing to bring you to the edge and back.

He can tell you’re close.

The look on your face, the warmth in your cheeks. You’re holding back and he couldn’t be any more prouder.

“What do you want, princess?” He asks, eyes soft with affection.

You struggle to put your desires into words, completely wrecked at the end of his cock.

“I… mhm— close… ”

He feels your muscles squeezing down on him, and chuckles breathlessly.

“Yeah? I can tell, princess. You want to cum—you need to cum, huh?”

You give a teary, little nod that tugs on his heartstrings. But, Caleb isn’t done with you—not by a long shot.

He grins and without warning, switches the position, putting you on top of him. When you falter and almost fall face-first into his chest, the familiar stirrings of energy hold you upright, his Evol keeping you centered and balanced on his cock.

“Ride me,” he whispers huskily. “Show me how much you want this—prove to me how badly you want to cum.”

The challenge in his tone drives you dizzy with lust. Licking your lips, you murmur a whimper which makes his grin stretch wider, and shift your hips, testing the give of his Evol.

Sturdy and sure, his grip on you doesn’t falter, and you quickly find a rhythm that makes his eyelids flutter shut. A groan slips from Caleb’s lips, his pretty purple eyes prying open to drink at the sight of you riding him feverishly.

Arduous and urgent, you move your hips like a pro. Caleb’s sure he’s never seen you this determined—the look in your eyes searing through him.

The sight of his dog tag and the apple charm you gave him years ago shining silver from his neck catches your eye, a stark contrast to his tanned and flushed skin.

God… you’re killing me…

Caleb smirks at your breathless words. I do? Glad to know, princess…

His large palm collides against your plush ass, watching the flesh jiggle with each precise spank. Your sharp inhales and whines spur him on as he takes his frustrations out on your pert ass, venting the fear and anger he felt when you left him behind for that torturous week onto your willing body.

Try to leave me again. His nostrils flare, eyes dark with promise. And I’ll make sure you’ll never have any use for your legs, you hear me, Pips

Possessive and passionate, he tangles his fingers in your hair, tugging your head back to expose the vulnerable skin of your neck. His Evol loosens its grip, and you go falling into his arms, his lips practically devouring your neck with heated kisses and nips.

You gasp when he works in another mark over one he just made a few minutes ago, the stinging bite of pain enough to get you fluttering all over his cock.

“ Mhm… ” you groan. You’re lost to the sensations, drunk off the high he’s giving you.

Caleb is no better. He’s almost cross-eyed from the pleasure, drunkenly leaving marks on your jaw and collarbone.

Sloppy. Languid. Caleb fucks you like he’s got all the time in the world.

He runs his hands down your back, over your sides, fondling your sore and stinging ass. Moving underneath you like a strong wave, he slowly rolls his hips up against you, pulling you closer onto his lap.

“You’re so good… taking everything so well… my perfect pipsqueak…”

Caleb’s moans and praises get lost in the crook of your neck. He uses his free hand to grip and squeeze your breast, drawing your turgid nipples into his mouth one by one; his other hand continues to spank and grope your ass.

It’s too much—all too soon.

You’re on the edge and he still hasn’t permitted you to come. The need to be good is at war with your primal instincts to give in to the pleasure, your gasps and moans are a desperate symphony to his heated ears.

His thrusts get more erratic, the wet sounds of your bodies joining together bouncing off the walls. The windows of his bedroom start to fog up, the bed creaking maddeningly with every thrust.

“Caleb,” you gasp, feeling the familiar tension coiling in your lower belly. “Oh… oh… ”

He hears the note of panic in your tone and chuckles gravelly. Dark hair in a disarray, amethyst eyes shining with mischief. Caleb is the picture of ravaged underneath you, and there’s little doubt you’re in a much worse state above him.

Licking his puffy lips, Caleb shakes his head, abs undulating from the release he’s also trying to hold back.

“Uh-uh-uh, princess,” he taunts, voice dropping an octave lower. “Not yet…”

You clench your jaw and squeeze your eyes shut in despair. He grins, lips moving back to your neck, murmuring against the salt of your skin.

“I love seeing you like this… hearing you gasp and whimper… feeling you writhe so desperately above me…”

Caleb… you whisper his name like a prayer, one you hope he grants.

“Yeah, princess? Say my name… I love it when you say my name.”

“Caleb… oh… Caleb… ”

He nuzzles your neck in an unexpected gesture of adoration, feeling how tense your body is.

“You’re so close, hmm?” He murmurs, unlike how a pet owner tries to soothe a fretting kitten. “I know you are, Pips. I can feel ya. So close… oh… and yet so… far .”

At the last second, before you succumb to your pleasure, Caleb’s Evol lifts you off his cock, the sudden, gaping loss ripping the earth-shattering orgasm right from under your trembling body.

No! You cry out in a thick voice, and you swear real tears spring in your eyes. No… no… please…!

Begging him shamelessly. That’s what you were reduced to.

Caleb chuckles, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He loosens his grip on you and guides you back onto his cock. You hiss from the intrusion, eyes rolling back in your head. Nothing but a puppet to her Master’s strings; Caleb is firmly in control.

He manipulates your body to his own pace, using his Evol to fuck you on top of his cock like you’re a lifeless doll, made only for his pleasure.

“Oh… oh… y-you ass—”

Caleb laughs, cutting off your tirade by gripping your hips tighter.

“Don’tcha love it, princess? Don’t lie to me—you adore it when I tease ya. Make you work for my lovin’,” he mutters hotly into your neck. “You can deny it all ya one, Pips, but I know what you want… I know what you want deep, deep down…”

As he drawls out ‘deep’, his Evol loosens, making you slide down his cock until you bottom out.

“ Ngh! ” You cry out, the tears in your eyes dripping down your cheeks. Caleb clicks his tongue and wipes the proof of your frustration away with his calloused thumb.

“No need to cry, Pips. I gotcha. Gege’s got ya, don’t he?”

You struggle to reply, the last of your coherent thoughts scrambled by his cock working you back to the edge again.

Caleb… Caleb… you cry out, his name a mantra, a chant that grounds you as his cock continues to fuck you up.

It seems like forever passes by when he brings you to the edge, abandons all motion, and does it again until you’re practically sobbing from the overstimulation. Caleb is a mastermind of your own body—he knows just how to get you trembling from the onslaught of pleasure without ever letting you fall over.

The torturous cycle starts and ends the same: with your begging and whining doing nothing to move him.

“Please…” you finally gasp, hanging your head, strands of your hair tickling his chin. “I’m sorry, Caleb. I’m so sorry…” Fighting back the lump in your throat, your shiny eyes beg him to show you some mercy. “I’m sorry I hurt you… s-sorry I— ah… mhmmm… treated you like shit… I’m so sorry—”

Caleb sweeps you into his arms, his Evol completely releasing its grip on you. “That’s all I wanted to hear… all I needed…”

He registers how you’re choking up and rubs gentle circles on your back. “Hey—ssh. Ssh. Apology accepted, Pipsqueak. Don’t cry, okay… come here…” Gripping your chin and tilting your face up to meet his, he gives you a soft smile. “You did so well… I’m so proud of you, hey? You wanna come, sweetness?”

Without a shred of stubbornness left, you eagerly nod. He chuckles, and positions you back on his cock, purple eyes glistening with the pure adoration he has for you.

“Alright—come on, baby… ride me good this time, okay? And don’t hold back—you deserve this… deserve all this for being such a good, little girl—”

It doesn't take long for you to get to the edge, hours of suppressing your release make you needy and very sensitive.

Come… come for me… he encourages you, rubbing your clit, pinching your nipples—doing everything in his power to get you to lose control.

The tension in your belly snowballs to something beyond your control, and you tilt your head back, expelling a long, drawn-out moan.

In the ropes and under his cruel yet tender ministrations, you find the courage to fall apart—his name rebounding across the room like a screamed cry of relief. Caleb feels you shuddering all around him and gives in to his baser need to fill you up, grunting low and deep into the crook of your neck as ribbons of warmth coat your walls.

Drops of white dribble to stain your inner thighs and his lap, but neither of you cares.

Undoing the rope and relinquishing his Evol’s hold on you, Caleb catches you in his arms, burying his nose into your hair, soothed by your delicate scent.

The afterglow settles like a haze, enveloping your body like a warm, fluffy blanket.

Caleb traces patterns on your bare back, pressing soft kisses to your temple and cheek. He breathes in your light scent, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

“You alive, Pips?”

Nodding, your eyes flutter close, the comfort found in the crook of his body intoxicatingly cozy. Your heartbeat starts to slow, lulled by the gentleness of his breathing. His pulse steadies under your cheek, his arms tightening around you, pressing you closer to his chest.

“You did so good, princess…” he murmurs, stroking your head. “So proud of you—I’m so proud of my little Pipsqueak…”

His praise hits your system like a shot of red wine, warming you up from the inside out. Flushed from his gentle words, you eagerly rub your face against his throat, his boyish chuckles easing the guilt still swimming in your soul.

“Caleb?” He looks down at you, taken by your small voice.

“Yes, Pips?”

“Am I… forgiven?”

He nods without a beat of hesitation. “You sure are. There’s nothing for you to be sorry about anymore, okay? Let’s put this behind us and start fresh, princess. How’s that sound?”

Relieved, you nod, and the love you feel for him intensifies, radiating brightly from deep within.

One thing you’ve learned about wounded hearts is this: with Caleb’s smile, everything can be healed.

— feedback and reblogs are much appreciated ❤️ your support means a lot to me

#🦢 writes #caleb xia yizhou #caleb love and deepspace #caleb lads #caleb x mc #caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb smut #lnds smut #lads smut #love and deepspace fic

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moonstruckme · 9 months ago

Note

hiiii sorry I feel like I request so much I just love your stories!!!! could you do an EMT poly!marauders where the reader is coming home from an injury or surgery or something and they’re just being all sweet and overprotective of her

Don't be sorry sweetheart, thank you for requesting!! <3

cw: mentions of hospital, surgery (no details), nausea

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 930 words

“Careful of the step,” Remus warns as he unlocks the front door.

James makes a disgruntled little sound as he passes over it with you in his arms, angling you sideways to get you both through the front door.

“I know where the step is,” he says. “I’ve lived here exactly as long as you.”

“I just wanted to make sure.” Remus heads straight for the bathroom. “Do you want to have some more ibuprofen, dove? It’s been long enough now.”

“Yes, please,” you call after him. James sets you down on the couch, a divot forming between his brows at the thick quality to your voice.

“Siri has your bag,” he reminds you. “You want it, just to be safe?”

You nod, swallowing.

Sirius hustles over, crouching in front of you and holding the plastic bag under your mouth. “Oh, baby,” he coos, setting a hand on the back of your neck while you shudder and cough unproductively over the bag. “I know, I’m sorry. Better make it aspirin, Rem,” he calls down the hall. “She’s still got a fever.”

“How bad?”

“I’ll check in a bit.” He presses his lips to your hairline, murmuring softly. “She’s under duress at the moment, aren’t you, poor girl?”

You want to cry for the sweetness in his tone, not one ounce of teasing. It can be hard to tell with Sirius, sometimes, but when you’re not feeling well he goes gooey-soft and saccharine as honey, all pet names and gentle touches. His thumb strokes the baby hairs at your nape.

Remus sighs as he comes back. “I knew we shouldn’t have checked her out.”

“I didn’t want to stay there,” you say into the bag, and James splays a hand on your back, rubbing slow circles.

“We know, sweetheart.” He gives his fretful boyfriend a reassuring smile. Remus returns it wearily. “We can take care of you just fine from here, don’t worry.”

Within an hour of waking up from your surgery feeling nauseous and pathetic, you’d been begging anyone who would listen to let you go home. The hospital had wanted to monitor you for a couple more hours, but after that your boyfriends had been able to exercise some sort of paramedic privilege and take you home early despite the normal two-to-three-day inpatient protocol. Your troubles hadn’t evaporated the way you’d expected upon getting out from under all that fluorescent lighting, but you do feel much better being miserable on your own couch.

You cough into the bag a few more times before relinquishing yourself to the idea that you’re stuck with this nausea for the foreseeable future. “I don’t like this,” you decide, lowering the bag from your face.

Remus tosses a thermometer to Sirius, who catches it with a good-natured eye-roll and sets it in your ear compliantly.

“I’m sorry, my love,” James says, his hand migrating to your shoulder as you lean back against the couch cushions. “I know it’s rough right now.”

The thermometer beeps, and Sirius reads the number aloud as he takes it out. You frown.

“Oh, thank god,” Remus exhales. James chuckles at him.

“It’s okay?” you check.

“Perfectly okay.” Sirius kisses your temple. “That’s completely normal for the first twenty-four hours. You’re all good, sweetness.”

Pathetically, you feel a bit invalidated. To feel as gross as you do, surely your brain would have to be fully boiling in there. James must see some of this on your face, because he scoots closer to you on the couch, leaning you against his side.

“Sorry,” you say quietly.

You can feel Sirius gaze boring into the side of your head as he perches on the armrest. “Not sure why you would be,” he mutters, worming his cold feet underneath your thigh, “but do go on.”

“I made you all take me home and now I’m being difficult.”

You’re not quite looking at any of them, but you could swear a collective sigh goes up from your boyfriends.

“Dove,” says Remus, “look at me.”

You do, shifting ever so slightly closer to James' side for comfort. A quiet chuckle rumbles through him, his thumb sweeping back and forth over your shoulder.

Remus’ gaze is steady and kind, his usual remonstrance curbed for your sorry state. “You’re not being difficult,” he tells you. “You’re tired and not feeling well, and that’s to be expected after a procedure like this. I didn’t mean I regret us taking you home, I’m only nervous that you’d have been better taken care of in the hospital.”

“Impossible,” Sirius remarks. Remus nods in grudging acknowledgement.

“I’m glad I’m home,” you say, and despite your best intentions your voice teeters on the edge of a whimper. “I’d rather be with just you guys, you know?”

“We know,” Remus says gently. “I’m glad you’re here, too.”

James makes a soft sound, rubbing your shoulder more firmly. “Are you feeling tired, angel? We could have a nap.”

“We?” you ask.

“What, you think you’re the only one who deserves a rest?” Sirius wiggles his toes underneath your thigh. “You got to sleep just this morning. We’ve been worrying all day long.”

You smile. He looks thrilled to see it, and James stamps a kiss of approval on your cheek. “Right, my bad. A nap sounds good.”

“Perfect,” Remus agrees, standing. James needles his arms underneath you to pick you up again.

“Fairly sure they said I could walk on my own,” you say.

James only shrugs, carrying you towards the bedroom. “Not sure I heard that part. Better safe than sorry, I suppose.”

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d3arapril · 1 month ago

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00 PROLOGUE | TOO FAR GONE | P.B

pairing: paige bueckers x female!oc word count: 1k warnings/tags: allusions to cheating? i think that's it for this tbh. remember this is just a prologue - it'll get crazier, freakier and sadder!!!! ᡣ𐭩 better late than never, hey! excited to finally share the start of paige & sydney's story. as always - feedback and reblogs are always appreciated <3 SERIES MASTERLIST | PLAYLIST

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Sydney Moore had an interesting childhood– she had a mother that loved her and a father that only ever seemed to have his best interests in mind. You could argue that it was a standard childhood for most.

She was loved. She had once been loving, too. But somewhere along the way, something shifted. The craving for chaos seeped in, spreading like ink in water, staining the good parts of her.

Sydney met Paige when they were both freshmen at the University of Connecticut. She didn't think much of her, at first. Just another blonde she'd thought when they locked eyes in class for the first time, the blonde's gaze hesitating on her before reluctantly pulling away.

Paige was quick to prove her wrong. The two found comfort in each other despite their differences; Sydney was more reserved, kept her cards held close to her chest whereas Paige was outgoing, open and ambitious. As they grew closer, the athlete would invite Sydney to her practices, to parties, to small get-togethers with friends. Sydney, more often than not, would decline, using excuses like “I need to study” or “I’m not feeling well.” Paige never pushed, only smiled, nodded, and spun away, leaving a soft ache in Sydney’s chest that would never really go away.

Sydney told herself it was better this way—better to keep that distance. Yet, there were moments when she would stand rooted in the hallway, books clutched to her chest and lips curled down in a frown, watching Paige walk away and feeling a gnawing sense of loss that shouldn’t have been there.

She wanted to be around her all the time, yet couldn't bring herself to let her in. Paige was already too close, and it terrified her but she couldn't help but want more.

It remained like this for a while and whilst the girls became closer Paige still couldn't worm her way into Sydney's brain, figure out why she acted so distant.

"Can I ask you something?" Paige had asked her one evening.

They were studying in Sydney's room, orange desk lamp casting a warm glow across the small space. Sydney hesitated, lead of her pencil hovering over the page of her notebook.

"You just did."

"Don't be a smart ass. Come here."

Sydney moved from her seat by her desk to the bed, sitting beside Paige with both of their backs leaning against the wall, feet hanging off of the edge of the bed.

"Is there something going on?" Paige sounded genuinely concerned, voice quiet.

“What do you mean?” Sydney’s voice came out strained. She could feel Paige studying her from the corner of her eye, waiting for her to open up. The thought made her hairs stand on end.

Sydney’s mind raced—memories of her father’s clipped words, of being told emotions were weaknesses, of learning to suppress every raw edge and every vulnerable part of herself. She couldn’t let Paige see the truth, not when it felt like she was barely holding it together.

"I dunno," Paige sighed, fiddling with her fingers in her lap. "You're just not there recently, y'know?"

Sydney swallowed, the taste bitter. The light in the room felt like it was dimming and she felt like the walls were closing in on her.

"I'm fine."

Their relationship evolved in fragments— moments where Sydney would let her guard down, just enough for Paige to think she was making progress, only for Sydney to retreat behind her walls again. And despite it all, Paige stayed. She stayed through the disappearances, the late night calls, the way Sydney’s affection often felt like a push and pull that left her dizzy.

Sydney grew to like it this way. She found a twisted comfort in knowing that no matter what, Paige would be there. She'd sacrifice everything for her if she had to, she was sure of it.

The thought alone awoke a part of her she didn't even know existed.

two years later

"Have you spoken to Sydney recently?" Paige had asked Aubrey, fingers mindlessly running through the small knots in her ponytail. They'd just finished a late night practice and the remainder of the team had already filtered off of the court, ready to end the day.

Aubrey raised an eyebrow, eyes narrowing as she looked at the blonde. "Why would I speak to her? Have you?" she stepped forward, trainers squeaking against the hardwood of the court. An accusatory finger dug into Paige's shoulder. "Bueckers?!"

Paige brushed her off, kissing her teeth. "Nah, 'course not. Forget I asked."

Since that evening in Sydney's room two years ago, something changed. She didn't become more open with her feelings but instead she became more affectionate, much to Paige's surprise. They would spend most nights together wrapped up in each other with no conversation about what they were; where they both stood.

It became too much for Paige, the uncertainty of their situation, the way it ate away everything she did. Her grades were slipping and her performance on the court was mediocre at best.

She pulled away from Sydney, despite her iron grip.

She'd known, deep down, that it wasn't going to be easy. What she hadn't expected was the sudden lack of air in her lungs, the way her head swam, the ache in her chest. She carried on, though. Carried on with her life, got her grades back up and soon shot up to become one of UCONN's best.

"What're you guys doing out here?" a familiar voice echoed through the gymnasium- Azzi.

Paige and Azzi had met one year after she had met Sydney. They were just team mates for a long time, but as Paige started to become more worn down from Sydney, Azzi was the shoulder she cried on. Their relationship blossomed and whilst they weren't official, they were definitely something.

Azzi brought a sense of peace to Paige's life that she hadn't felt in a long time but she couldn't help but crave more.

"We were just leaving." Paige sends a half smile in Azzi's direction. She beams back, pearly whites on show.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Jus' tired."

Azzi threw an arm over her shoulder as they both strolled off the court. Paige could feel Aubrey's gaze searing through the back of her head, burning into her. She felt guilty as Azzi rubbed a hand up and down her bicep, giving it an affectionate squeeze.

She felt guilty as she pulled her phone from her gym bag, lowering the brightness subconsciously. She felt guilty as she kissed Azzi on the forehead and promised she'd be over as soon as she was done running an errand.

She felt guilty as she told Sydney she was on her way to her.

#TFG #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers angst #paige bueckers x reader #my writing #paige bueckers series #wbb x reader #wbb x oc

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xenteaart · 7 months ago

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it's not about the roses

pairing: chan x reader (i wrote it with idol!chan or producer!chan in mind, but despite a brief mention of the studio it can fit any au, really) word count: 1,1k genre/warnings: er, fluff, a hint of angst if you squint but overall just tooth rotting sweetness. reader being kinda vulnerable author's note: inspired by my and @skzms 's channie brain worms, me crying over how boyfie he is in may's dms and her coming up with this little prompt. i'm manifesting a sweet healthy relationship for y'all, never settle for less <3

you were never the one for flowers, really.

it just didn’t seem anything meaningful or special, an occasional cute little bouquet on some first date you had ages ago, meeting someone completely new after mindlessly swiping them right on a dating app. plus, it’s always such a bother to take care for it. disassemble the thing, cut the stems, change the water, maybe cut off the leaves too.

at some point, you began to think of yourself as more of a practical person, taking gift giving to the point where it completely lost symbolism. always getting your friends and family either money or something they specifically asked for.

“at least, they’re actually gonna use it and get some utility out of it. ‘s good, right?” you thought to yourself, ticking a box on one of your friend’s wishlists for their birthday. it is good. no stress of choosing and endlessly pondering whether they’ll like it or not.

or is it avoiding the vulnerability of going down a more symbolic route if they don’t happen to respond to your gift the way you’d like them to after carefully planting hidden meanings and confessions all over a seemingly useless present? yeah, maybe, that’s the one, actually.

it was a regular saturday evening, no work, no plans, no big day or anything to celebrate. so, naturally, you were just spending the time at your place, resting after successfully having done all the house chores in one go.

purposelessly lying on the bed, you wondered what chris was up to. it wasn’t something out of the ordinary for you two to leave each other hanging during the day, keeping each other’s messages unread and waiting for some free time to give a thoughtful, proper reply.

but the little “1” next to your kakaotalk message was starting to feel unfriendly because... honestly? you just missed him. you wanted to know about his day, what he ate for lunch and whether work was okay today (knowing full well the man couldn’t care less about days of the week, coming over at the studio any time he needed or pleased).

distracting yourself with scrolling tiktok for a quick dopamine hit, you end up losing track of time a little. and the thing bringing you back to reality is chan’s short message, popping up on your notifications bar.

“can you come out for a sec? i’m at the door hehe~”

it takes you three times to read to finally understand what it actually means. he doesn’t have keys to your apartment yet, and you mostly hang out at his place anyways, so him coming all the way to the opposite side of the city makes your heart skip a beat.

you rush to the door and open it almost immediately, only to see channie, your channie, standing right in front of you with a nice bouquet of red roses wrapped up in kraft paper. the next thing you notice is chan’s wide smile, so sincere and endearing it makes you wanna cry on the spot.

you were never the one for flowers, really.

red roses always seemed like something either too vulgar or “easy��. something that becomes men’s first pick because they just never care enough to look for anything else and assume every girl loves it by default.

right now, however, it doesn’t feel like either of those.

the way chris is a bit nervous and really excited all at once; his hands gripping at the crunchy paper-wrapped base as he's waiting to give the flowers to you. the way his eyes sparkle and shine with warmth and genuine adoration for you. and you read past the roses, you learn so much more from it.

you learn how he’s been quiet because he was plotting a little surprise for you, trying not to be too obvious.

you see how he thought of you during the entire process, from an idea to carefully picking out the best flowers, making sure they’re fresh and pretty and will stay this way a while.

you can hear his timid little “thank you” to the florist as they exchange their bows and polite smiles.

you imagine the slightly awkward small talk with the taxi driver asking him about the occasion — the traffic and the parking area next to your building are awful, so you’re guessing he did take the taxi. and the drivers sure love to talk on the long drives, this one you had to learn the hard way.

gosh, chan looks so warm and… so soft, his lips making a familiar heartbreaking :] shape.

snapping out of your thoughts, you look into chris’s eyes and swallow down a salty lump in your throat.

“please don’t be alarmed, but i probably will cry a little,” you warn him before your voice gives out and take the roses, holding them close to your chest where the heart is bleeding.

“so pretty,” you stare down at the gentle velvety petals and sniff quietly.

chan looks worried for a moment but quickly pulls you into his embrace, stepping into the apartment and locking the door behind him.

“hey-y, i expected a smile, not your tears, baby. i didn’t upset you, did i?” to which you shake your head to reassure him.

“no, no, ‘course not! what do you mean? they’re so nice. i’m just… really happy? and i missed you. so much,” the last words come out like a weak mouse squeak as you close your eyes and let your emotions roll down your cheeks, staining your skin wet.

chan nods and takes your face into his palms, wiping away the tears and looking at you so lovingly you think you might actually break.

“i missed you too, baby. do you mind if i stay the night? i…- uh. i bought some face masks too, so we can just relax a little before bed and cuddle?”

you squeeze out a little “yeah” in response, headbutting his forehead and putting your arm around him, with another still holding the roses carefully.

“i love you,” you say slightly louder, making sure that he hears it.

maybe, gifts don’t have to be practical all the time. maybe, it’s okay to put sentimental value into simple, useless things sometimes. make them mean something.

“i love you too, baby,” chris hums still a little confused, rubbing soothing circles into your lower back and planting a chaste kiss on the bridge of your nose.

you reach for his plump soft lips and press yours against them. and even though your tastebuds can feel the salt, it’s the sweetest kiss you two have shared so far.

#skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #my fic #bang chan x you #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #chan x you #bang chan x female reader #chan x female reader #skz bang chan #stray kids bang chan #stray kids fanfic #skz fic #my writing #my work #skz fanfic

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fanaticsnail · 8 months ago

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Grand Line Playgroup

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,200+

Synopsis: Adoptive parents have all taken the initiative to join together with their children to form: Grand Line Playgroup. This is the way it usually goes at playgroup: filled with shenanigans, support, and most importantly love for their children.

Themes: the adoptive parents of one piece, all children are all relatively aged 3 to 7, but Robin is 10, au they all live, modern au, platonic, not an “x reader” fic, parenting drabble, fluff, nonsense.

Parents: Mihawk, Rosinante (Corazon), Bellemere, Dadan, Zeff, Uncle Beckman, Shanks, Garp, and Smoker.

Children: Perona, Zoro, Law(rence), Nojiko, Nami, Uta, Ace, Sabo, Luffy, Sanji, Uta, Koby, Helmeppo, Robin, and Tashigi.

Notes: A small drabble about what it would be like if the one-piece characters were adoptive parents to an assortment of their toddler counterparts. This silly brain-worm was brought to you by several conversations with @feral-artistry & @writingmysanity, and the bestest aunties @since-im-already-here & @sordidmusings. This worm got to me and I needed to get it out. Links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Tag List: @mfreedomstuff, @gingernut1314, @vespidphoenix, @i-am-vita

Dracule Mihawk arrives at Grand Line Playgroup ten minutes early every single Tuesday. He has a personalized gothic embroidered bag for both of his children filled with snacks, changes of clothes, water bottles, first aid kits, and a book for him to read while his two children play.

He wears matching nail polish with his daughter, Perona: today, she chose pink with black accents. He has parenting down to a fine art, everything always perfectly planned for any circumstances. Zoro takes out a collection of sporting equipment and begins kicking around a soccer ball as he waits for his friends to join him.

The next to arrive is Donquixote Rosinante. He always attempts to get there early: set up his variety of bags to ensure his son, Lawrence, has everything he needs to enjoy his time at playgroup. His hair is a blonde, fluffy mess of mopped curls, his clothes disheveled and askew, but his smile is always cheerful despite his constant exhausted exasperated state.

Law is a quiet child, not really engaging with Perona as she sets up a mock tea-party, nor Zoro as he kicks the ball against the wall. He, instead, opts to sit quietly alone and read a picture book in comfortable silence.

Mihawk offers Rosinante a moist towelette, gesturing wordlessly to his lips, cheeks and right eye where Law graffitied art with permanent marker on his face as he slept. Rosinante gives him a gratuitous smile, huffing his laughter as he scrubs at his face with the towelette.

The next to arrive is Rosinante’s old work colleague, Bellemere, with her two daughters in tow. Nami and Nojiko were walking arm in arm before rushing off to join Perona in her tea party. Bellemere gives Rosinante a clap on his shoulder, nodding her acknowledgement to Mihawk before taking her elected seat.

As the clock ticks over to 10am: a small bundle of nervous, chaotic energy bounces inside the door and over the walls. This flash of black hair was followed immediately by a small blonde child that stares, unblinkingly, at Law. Dadan is exasperated as she carries an older and asleep Ace in her arms, attempting to catch up with Luffy to rein him in and set up.

Rosinante springs into action, offering to ferry Luffy towards his regular playmate, Zoro. As Luffy nearly joins Zoro, he is instead drawn to the sticker book Law is holding containing bugs, beetles and arachnids. Luffy becomes entranced by the stickers: and he and Law begin cataloging them by shape, size and type over pages of lined paper.

Dadan sighs, already exhausted although her day has barely begun. Rosinante smiles and fawns over the two dark-haired boys before resuming his seat beside Bellemere, talking about the latest gossip at his old workplace and the shenanigans his colleagues' love lives.

As if on queue, Ace wakes up and immediately springs out of Dadan’s arms, hurrying over to Zoro and joining him by kicking the ball against the wall. Sabo backs into the corner of the room and glares with his pale, blue eyes at Perona’s tea-party with intrigue.

After Dadan, in comes Benn Beckman with his niece, Uta. Uta bounces on her heels as she runs over to Sabo, doing all in her power to make the small blonde smile instead of glare. She has a cheery disposition, guaranteed to always get a smile out of the quiet boy the longer she sings and pulls faces at him.

Zeff is the next, his young son, Sanji, sprinting towards the soccer ball and easily stealing it away from Zoro. They immediately get into a heated fistfight: legs and limbs flying as they butt heads as to who's turn it is to kick the ball next. Mihawk sighs, immediately rising to his feet to play referee to the match as Beckman places Uta's bag beside Perona's.

Arriving late, and with his two adoptive sons Koby and Helmeppo, strolls Garp. Dadan glares at him, up turning her lip in a snarl as Garp shepherds his boys into the room. The tension is thick between these two due to Garp's history of dropping off children at Dadan's and not returning to raise them himself. She refuses to help with the latest two additions to his family, although she cares for them greatly. Sabo nods at Koby, Helmeppo scoffs at Uta.

Another late arrival is a larger gentleman with his quiet and older daughter, Robin. Sir Crocodile is dripping in luxury brands, gold rings and smells of expensive colognes. Robin immediately humors Perona, Nami and Nojiko by playing mother in their tea party adventure.

“Mihawk,” the larger man gruffy nods in acknowledgement.

“Crocodile,” Mihawk mirrors his tone, gesturing with his chin to take a seat beside him. Sir Crocodile takes his seat before unrolling the newspaper tucked beneath his arm and beginning to read.

As the children interact together, the more talkative parents swap parenting advice amongst one another.

Rosinante asks for support with Law's current food aversion. How does he get this child to eat grained carbohydrates without him gagging about the fact it's bread? Dadan is a seasoned expert in parenting at this stage, still ignoring Garp as Garp speaks to Mihawk about his blonde son’s latest interest in kendo.

Bellemere joins in the conversation, Mihawk leaving as the topic changes to work and joining beside Beckman who is silently brooding on the chair beside Crocodile.

“No Shanks today?” Mihawk quips at the larger man.

“No Shanks today,” Beckman parrotted in return with a disgruntled and gruff growl.

As if the mere mention of his name summoned his presence, in comes the red-haired Shanks in a lazy and cheerful stupor. His socks are raised to his knees, tucked into some comfortable sandals on his feet. His cargo shorts are tied loosely on his hips by a brown belt, and his patterned shirt is open to expose his bare chest.

Glasses are lying lazily on his head as he extends an enthusiastic smile at the children before acknowledging the adults. An enthusiastic chorus of “Uncle Shanks!” echoes throughout the playspace, a flash of small bodies immediately moving to tackle and engulf the redhead in a warm embrace.

Shanks falls on his ass, holding high his coffee cup as he laughs at Luffy, Uta, Ace and Sabo as they enthusiastically clutch at him with grabby hands. Their faces all shine with the utmost adoration at the redhead, who shoots Beckman and Dadan a wink while mouthing: “I'm still the favorite.”

Beckman sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as Dadan rolls her eyes at him.

The adults are finally all gathered for their children’s weekly playgroup, the kids settle into playing amongst themselves once again. Shanks offers Beckman a smile before offering him the half-drunk coffee cup. The taller man takes a sip, choking on the liquid as the surprising burn of warmed alcohol scorches his throat so early in the morning.

As their meeting draws to a soft close, a knock at the door interrupts their close knit conversation.

“I heard there was a playgroup in here?” a gruff voice rumbled at the door. White hair and the scent of tobacco immediately sprung through the hallway. In arrived a large gentleman, another common associate of Garp, Bellemere and Rosinante who immediately sprung up to greet him.

Smoker presented ushered a quiet child into the room, her uncertainty was one the children knew well. Immediately, Luffy sprang up from his arachnid archiving with Law and went to introduce himself to the girl. Smoker smiled at the interaction, nodding to Tashigi as an indicator for her to go ahead and play, before joining Bellemere and Rosinante.

“Finally decided to foster, Smoker?” Bellemere smiled, embracing him into her warm and welcoming arms. Smoker returns her gesture, tapping her on the shoulder and releasing her from the embrace.

“Foster? Not a chance,” he smirked, pulling away and smiling at the purple-haired woman, “Adopting.”

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dellalyra · 2 years ago

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Family Formation

Summary: Satoru shows up with unexpected young companions.

CW: fluff, mentions of childhood neglect, talks of parenthood and motherhood, the TINIEST suggestive mention of a daddy kink at the end but like SO SMALL

A/N: LORD I’ve not written in 3 years but this was like worming away at my brain and I had to get it down, the dynamic of gojo and reader and the fushiguro kids is just like *chefs kiss* to me and tugs at all the right heartstrings. I have a part 2 idea in mind or maybe a mini series of mothering the fushiguros idk idk maybe, this is like Gojo x reader but also these kids NEED LOVE

Part Two

Your boyfriend of 2 years shows up at the doorstep of your shared apartment one day, looking exhausted and sheepish. Behind him - two children, neither older than 8 but looking tired and slightly rough around the edges. The elder, a girl, sags under the weight of whatever invisible burden she carries as she hides slightly behind her younger brother (siblings, you presume). Without saying a word, to the children or Satoru, you user them all inside.

You introduce yourself and find out their names (from the sister, the boy seems shy and on edge) that their names are Tsumiki and Megumi Fushiguro.

You try to not falter at the surname. You take a quick glance up at Satoru, a wordless understanding that these - these two children, young, hurting and innocent and the kids of the man who not only killed your boyfriend in front of you, but who was subsequently killed by him.

Satoru, the embodiment of charisma and a boy who naturally oozes apparent self assurance looks at you with a look you can only describe as uncertainty.

With a smile, you ask the kids if they’d like some juice and a cookie or a snack. You’d grown up with kids, and always dreamed of the day that you and Satoru might welcome your own. Your maternal streak had gotten yourself, Shoko, Geto, Satoru, Nanami and Haibara into a place where Jujutsu High felt less intimidating, with Shoko often laughing you were born ready for motherhood. Satoru had always known this about you, but in this moment - he saw it in the wordless acceptance of these two unsure, unsettled, unnerved children.

You lead the kids to the kitchen and sit them at the table and serve up two small cups of apple juice and come homemade shortcake you had made for Satoru. Telling the kids to enjoy, and make themselves comfy you walk into the hall, grabbing the arm of your boyfriend.

“Satoru, what the fuck is going on? Why are Toji Fushigoru’s children eating cookies in our kitchen?” You shook his shoulders as if trying to get him to understand the gravity of the situation.

“Well, they were in the hall, then you offered them juice and cooki-“ Satoru was cut of by your stern eyes pointing at him, and the cheeky smirk as he tried to avoid the hard conversation was swiped off his face as if you’d washed it with a cloth.

“The boy, Megumi, he’s a Zenin. A Ten Shadows Zenin, Toji sold him to the Zenin Clan.” He knew you’d understand what he was insinuating even with the short version of the story.

You look up into his glacial eyes, the ones that always held joy and mischief, the eyes of the man you fell in love with by the second year of Jujutsu Tech, the eyes that held the power of a god, and all you saw was determination and honesty.

So, you stood tall, and nodded.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. They can’t go to the Zenin’s. So, let’s get them comfortable.” And with that, you walk into the kitchen and sit at the table.

“So, do you guys know anything about what’s going on?” You asked the kids, trying to gauge what they understood about the situation, despite being 5 minutes involved in it yourself.

They both nodded, the boys eyes flitted between Gojo and you, steely in their suspicion.

“Okay! So, what do you guys have with you? Clothes, toys, toothbrushes, pyjamas?” You asked, with Satoru smiling at your ever present practicality.

“Uhm, I packed us both a spare set of clothes and a toothbrush that we share and we usually just sleep in our clothes, it’s helped save on laundry for me to do.” Tsumiki replied, serious as a 40 year old.

“Have you been doing your laundry and housework, Tsumiki?” You ask, reaching tentatively for the girls small hand. You see her consider whether or not to tell you the truth of how no adult had been caring for them for some time now, and she had been raising them both. Your gentle smile, coaxed her into realising you were a safe space.

“Kinda, I’m sorry we don’t have many things. I had to use our money for the water bills and new shoes for Megumi because he grew out of his last ones.” When she said this, Megumi blushed, as if he was guilty of the sin of growing and costing money.

“Okay, it’s only 2pm so, Satoru, kids, you can leave your backpacks here so go sit in the car, I’m going to get my purse and jacket. We need to shop.” You stood up, orders given like a drill sergeant.

You glance over at your boyfriend, seeing nothing but pure love reflected in his eyes. As Tsumiki took her brother by the hand, and led him to the car. You walked to Satoru.

“Are we doing this?” You asked.

“What? Shopping?” He teased, tiny small on his perfect lips.

“I mean it, ‘toru. This is serious. Are we doing this?” Placing both hands on either side of his face and lifting his glasses to look at him in his eyes.

“This, Toji’s kids, I can’t let them go to the Zenin’s, I know this isn’t what you signed up for - I mean we’re 19 but I have told these kids I’ll look out for them now. I just - they didn’t ask for any of this.” He finishes with a breath, placing his forehead on yours. Tilting your head, you softly slot your lips against his.

“Not you, Satoru. We. We will look out for these kids. If you are doing this, so am I. I’m with you. Through all of it.” As you say this, you kiss the tip of his pretty nose and forehead. You feel him pull you closer in tight embrace into his chest, no more words were necessary between you both. You were his ride or die, his forever. And he was yours, you could ask for the moon and he’d say okay, I’ll be back with the moon in a pretty box for you. Two puzzle pieces perfectly aligned together. Nothing to be shouldered or dealt with alone, but by each others side.

“Thank you. I love you.” Was whispered, in a moment of pure sincerity and vulnerability from the ivory haired owner of your heart.

“Okay, let’s not keep them waiting, we’ve got lots to get. These kids have nothing, so it’s starting from scratch.” You grab his hand and drag him toward the door. As you slip your shoes on, he leans against the doorframe looking between the kids in the car and you.

“So… I guess you won’t be the only one calling me Daddy now - eh” He wiggles his eyebrows at you, as you roll your eyes and huff at him, walking with car keys in hand, but not without a quick smirk and smack on the ass for the menace you call your love.

#gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo fluff #saturo gojo fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #dad!gojo #jujutsu kaisen megumi #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro tsumiki

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distractedvoid · 4 days ago

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remember those sonamy for sonic 4 ideas? here they are i couldnt wait

So, now that Amy is definitely confirmed, based on the after credits scene in Sonic 3, I have some silly thoughts about how Sonic and Amy's relationship could unfold in Sonic 4.

So, first, I think their general dynamic would definitely change. In pretty much every other form of Sonic media, while it has changed a bit recently, Amy is shown as constantly chasing after Sonic despite him avoiding most of her advances anyway.

Now, movie Sonic is definitely not as mature as the Sonics in other medias. A huge part of his continuous character arc is that he's still a kid, a kid that doesn't really know what he's doing.

And here, we have Amy, which, from the very small amount of her character that we've seen, at least seems like less of a damsel in distress. (It reminds me of how they changed Princess Peach's character in the Mario Movie.) In contrast to the story of Sonic CD, we see Amy saving Sonic from the many copies of Metal Sonic.

Now how exactly does this make their dynamic different? Well, if you take an immature Sonic, and put him in the same room as an Amy that needs less saving than the usual, the firsthand difference is undeniable. Thus why I think their dynamic would be reversed in a way, at least, that's what I want to happen.

I have a feeling Sonic would be "chasing" after Amy, but more so in the way that he's constantly trying to impress her. He'd probably get into some unsavory situations due to his most likely failed attempts at this, prompting Amy to have to make sure he doesn't keep doing stupid things.

Amy herself wouldn't understand why Sonic kept getting himself into trouble like that, much less that he did it for her, until she sought out some third-party information.

Speaking of (I never really mentioned anything related but just go with it), I haven't talked much about Amy's own feelings yet.

So we know about a possible tiny fraction of her character, and while that's not a lot to go off of, I don't see any harm in forming early ideas based off it.

When Amy, presumably, met Sonic by saving him from the Metal Sonic copies, I don't think she would really think too much of him at first. As soon as he actually started talking, though, she'd find interest- I wouldn't wanna take away the part of her that probably falls in love way too easily.

Unlike the usual Amy we're probably all used to, she wouldn't show her feelings that much. She'd have the occasional giggle at Sonic's attempts at impressing her, even if she didn't know that was why he did it. For all she knows, that's just what he's usually like! Until she inquires with Tails- she learns that she's somewhat special to the blue blur.

I might just be projecting, with the weird way my own feelings work, but I think Amy's little crush on Sonic would skyrocket at that information. Sonic, the guy she only really had a small crush on, was trying that hard to win her over? Admittedly, that was pretty cute in her eyes.

After that Amy would definitely be more forward with Sonic, causing the latter to be a little confused and wonder if a certain two-tailed fox said anything...Guess you can't even trust your best friend with secret crushes anymore, sigh.

If they ended up together, if we were to ever get so lucky, I don't think either would really change how they act around each other, other than holding hands occasionally and maybe a few kisses here and there. Sonic is still adventure focused, though how much he likes Amy is sometimes painfully obvious. He'd gain a little confidence boost if they became official, but overall, if they went on any dates, they'd be dates to kick Eggman's ass for the thousandth time.

That's all I have for now, I'm gonna let the brain worms rest LOL. Thanks to anyone who actually went and read my yapping session

#distracted shadow rambles #sonic the hedgehog #amy rose #sonamy #sonic movie #sonic movie 3 #sonic movie 3 spoilers

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c0la-queen · 7 months ago

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Whispered Words | Red Leader x Reader | MDNI

Uhh, so I got the brain worms for this at midnight last night and finished it this morning when I woke up! I love soft Red Leader <3 I'm gonna try to go through my inbox later today, after I hang out with my sister this morning! Thank you all so much for your patience with me!

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: Soft spice, P in V, not super descriptive, wife!Reader, soft Red Leader, MDNI!!!!!

The cries of a baby pulled you out of the deep sleep you were in. Despite it being muffled by the wall, those instinctual parental feelings had you waking up anyway. You groaned softly as you stretched your legs out against the mattress, the expensive sheets smooth under your skin. The coldness of the bed made you sigh, eyes fluttering open to take in the empty side of the bed.

Red Leader had been away on a mission all weekend. It wasn't a normal occurrence, most of the time he left the field work to his trusted soldiers. But there were the rare occasions where something came up that was important enough for him to be directly involved.

You understood that it was his duty, but you couldn't help but miss him. It was easier before, earlier in your relationship. When you could hang out with other soldiers throughout the day, fulfill various duties around the base to keep your mind off him. But now that you were married and had a baby? You couldn't run away from the anxiety that plagued you. Rubbing the heel of your hand over your eye to dismiss the last ropes of sleep, you silently wished to the universe for his safety.

The sudden quiet made you pause. The baby had stopped crying. Why had she stopped crying? A spike of panic split your chest, making your heart hammer against your ribcage. Had someone broken in? Was there any way that one of the Red Army's enemies had managed to slip past the many security systems installed in your bedroom door alone?

Your hand creeped under the pile of pillows, finding the handle of the combat knife hidden there. For emergencies, Red had insisted. Seems like he was right.

Slowly, silently, you crept to the open doorway leading to the nursery. You hid the knife behind your thigh, tightening your grip on the handle. You held your breath as you approached the doorway, slowly peeking in.

A figure was standing in front of the cradle.

You raised the knife, prepared to protect your baby. Your muscles tensed as you got ready to lunge forward....

...only to freeze when you heard the whispered Norwegian words that slipped from the figures lips.

It was your husband standing there. Still dressed in his mission uniform.

All the tension poured out of your body at the sight. There was no intruder. You leaned against the doorway as the adrenaline faded away.

"Darling?”

Red Leader swiveled in surprise. He blinked at the sight of you, half asleep and disheveled in your maroon silk nightgown. His expression softened.

"I was hoping not to wake you."

You sighed and set the combat knife aside on the bookshelf next to the door. Red's eyebrows raised at the sight of it, sending you a questioning look.

"I got worried when Hilde stopped crying. I didn't realize you were home."

Red smiled softly, holding your daughter against his shoulder, patting her back gently to soothe her.

"Clever girl. I got back not too long ago. We decided to push the debriefing back until the morning."

As Red continued to coo in his native language to the fussy baby, you walked closer, wrapping your arms around him from behind. The sight was so sweet to you, seeing the big, strong army leader cradle his little daughter in his arms. You laid your head against his back.

"Are you hurt?"

That was almost always the first question you asked him when he got back from missions.

"I'm fine, min dronning."

You hummed, enjoying having him there in your arms. A smile slipped onto your face when you noticed Hilde falling back asleep, eyelids fluttering closed. Since she was up on her father's shoulder, you had to stand up on your toes to reach her, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

"Goodnight, Hilde."

Red Leader chuckled softly, setting her back in her cradle. Once she was settled, he stepped away, turning back to you. His silver eyes drifted over you, taking in the full state of you. Despite the amusement glimmering in his silver eyes, you could see that he was tired. Dark circles sat under his eyes, and his shoulders hunched.

"You should change out of that uniform."

"I couldn't agree more, love."

Once back in the bedroom, you climbed back into the bed, settling back into your spot. Red kicked off his boots, tossing his jacket and belt onto the work desk pressed against the wall. He sat down on the edge of the bed before peeling the turtleneck off his torso.

Your breath hitched at the sight of his torso. Fresh, dark bruises littered his abdomen, splotches of burst blood vessels standing out from his beautifully pale skin.

"Who did this to you..?"

Red 'tsk'd, tossing the shirt into the hamper nearby.

"Just a little disagreement during the mission. I was hoping to hide it from you a little longer."

You crawled closer, a frown forming on your lips as you looked over the bruises. Tentatively, you reached forward, brushing your fingers feather light across the darkened skin. Red groaned softly.

"Poor thing..."

He chuckled breathlessly, setting his hands on your thighs as he pulled you to sit in his lap.

"I've had worse, min dronning. There is nothing to be concerned about, I assure you."

He leaned down, pressing his lips softly against yours. You sighed, mumbling against his lips.

"I still don't like it..."

Red's shoulders shook with laughter. He mumbled back, matching your low tone.

"I know how to take care of myself."

You deepened the kiss to shut him up, which he happily accepted. Your fingers slid into the back of his hair, fingernails gently scratching his scalp to soothe him. His fingers splayed over the skin of your thighs where the nightgown rode up, one warm flesh and the other chilled metal. Teeth nipped your bottom lip, wanting more of you, of your existence, of your warmth and softness.

You rolled your hips against his, causing him to pull his lips away from yours. A groan sounded from his throat, his silver eyes clouded with desire.

Gently, being careful of his bruises, you pushed him back, coaxing the Leader to lay on his back. He did so eagerly, looking up at you with what you could only describe as utter adoration. It made your heart skip a beat.

"Let me help you relax, min konge."

You leaned down, pressing your lips to his chest, tracing the various scars that you found. Red smiled, carefully squeezing your thighs.

"After a mission like that? I need it. Plus, how could I say no to my sweet girl~?"

A giggle bubbled out of your lips, sitting up to pull his trousers and boxers away. Too lazy (and too cold) to take your nightgown off, you simply slid your panties off and tossed them aside. Red's eyes glimmered as he took you in - though, they quickly fluttered shut at the feeling of your hips rolling, sliding your wetness along the length of him. He sighed, sliding his fingers up and down your thighs lovingly.

You reached down, slipping your hands underneath his and intertwining your fingers together. A soft whine escaped you as you moved, taking him inside of you slowly and leisurely, no rush whatsoever. The whine mixed with Red's hissed exhale, which turned into a groan from the feeling of your wet heat. His back arched off the bed slightly, comforted by the familiar feeling of you tight around him. This was safety. This was peace. This was home.

"Ffuck... min kjærlighet..."

Soft pants fell from your lips as you found an easy, sensual pace as you bounced your hips. The moonlight filtering in through the windows is your only light, bathing you both in the silvery blue glow of the Norwegian winters.

Red leaned his head back, giving soft, shaky groans. Not once did his eyes leave you, drinking in the sight before him. In his mind, he was going through a list of every deity he could think of, silently thanking them for the gift of his wife, so ethereal in the light of the moon. His hips rocked gently to meet yours, causing soft whimpers to spill from you.

"Du er så vakker min kjære...Min perfekte manglende brikke..."

It wasn't long before your pace began to falter. Three days of being apart was built up inside you both. Three days of waking up alone, three days of longing for each other, three days of yearning. A light sheen of sweat covered your skin from the effort of riding him, cooled by the cold air in your bedroom. The fire had long faded out in the fireplace, nothing but glowing embers and charred remains.

Red's breathing was ragged, body quivering from the mounting tension that was building up within his body. His hips continued to meet yours, making warmth pool below your stomach. Red's back arched again, gently squeezing your hands between his.

"Come on, min kjærlighet... come on, baby..."

Soon, that tension snapped within you both. Your hips stuttered to a stop, soft moans muffled into your intertwined hands as waves of pleasure flowed through you. Red hissed at the way you clenched around him, finding his own release.

When you collapsed against his chest, tired and panting, Red immediately wrapped his arms around you. His fingers slid soothingly along your spine. He peppered kisses all across your face, his heart filled with nothing but love and adoration.

Praises were whispered into the quiet night air, breaths mixing together as you both came down. You dragged your lips against his lips lightly.

"Feeling relaxed?

Red's shoulders shook in laughter. He pressed his lips against your forehead, smoothing the damp strands of hair away from your skin.

"Consider me completely boneless."

You both laughed softly, enjoying each other's presence. After a few minutes, you sat up, humming in content as you carefully slid off him. Red's eyes fluttered, but he remained where he was.

He hummed softly as he watched you fish your panties off the floor. His eyes traced over every curve, admiring and memorizing every acne scar, stretch mark, and sun spot.

"Vakker..."

You pursed your lips at him, tossing a pair of fresh boxers over his face.

"You need to sleep."

Red chuckled, pulling the black fabric off his face. He sat up with a groan, pulling the boxers on.

"Probably."

He moved, laying back against his pillows, before extending his arms to you like a lazy cat. You smiled, climbing into bed and cuddling up to him, allowing him to wrap his arms around you.

"Hi."

Red ran his fingers through your hair, brushing out any knots.

"Hi yourself."

"Sweet dreams, min dronning."

He rolled you both into a more comfortable position. Your back to his chest, one of his arms over your shoulder with the other underneath your pillow. His hand splayed over your stomach - a habit he developed when you were still pregnant. His legs curled up, tucked underneath yours, almost like you were sitting on his lap while laying down.

His voice was soft, lowered to a whisper.

"Sweet dreams, darling."

#eddsworld #eddsworld x reader #eddsworld tord #eddsworld tord x reader #eddsworld red leader #eddsworld red leader x reader

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berryhobii · 6 months ago

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Nerd Hunter (teaser)

Pairing: nerd!Jeon Wonwoo x black!female!reader

Word Count: 596(teaser) 5.3K(full fic)

Warnings: Pining, kind of a slow burn, strangers to lovers, feelings, Smut(18+ but I don’t control what you consume), corruption kink, slight dom/sub undertones, a little girl on girl action, rough s*x, manhandling, fingering(f receiving), oral(m and f receiving), protected(do this) and unprotected s*x(don’t do this unless you’re sure), BACKSHOTS, mating press, dumbification, spit kink, creampies

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂: he was supposed to be just another conquest—another notch in your studded belt, another victory to mount on your wall but when that bespectacled nerd with the cutest smile worms his way into your heart, your gun jams and now you’re caught in a stampede of feelings that you weren’t sure how to escape….did you even want to?

Release Date: TBD

Your hazel eyes wandered over the packed crowd of drunk college students, glossed lips leaving a sticky film on your straw as you sipped on whatever fruity concoction Kyla had poured into your cup.

The party was in full swing—drinks were flowing, the music was bumping with the greatest hits of the early 2000s, and there was no doubt there were about 7 people having sex upstairs. If you were lucky, you and another person would make 9 but that was proving to be more difficult than you thought. Despite all the friends that surrounded you, you were still so incredibly bored.

You needed something to do. You needed someone to do.

“Daddy’s home!” Mingyu bellowed once he reached your group, holding two cases of Twisted Tea in the air with his beefy arms. Cheers erupted at the sight of your group’s sunshine, Kyla jumping up from her seat next to you to run into his chest and whisk him into a kiss that got heated quicker than a Chick Fil A worker could say my pleasure.

Hoshi threw a cup at the pair, groaning loudly in disgust. “Get a room! I’d like to stay innocent, thank you.”

Seungcheol scoffed. “Innocent? You and Jasmine fuck so much, you could get a condom sponsorship. You do it at least 6 times a day.”

A chorus of laughter rang out at the expense of an embarrassed Jasmine, her hands flying up to cover her face whereas her boyfriend was smugly grinning, not at all ashamed of his sexual attraction to his girlfriend.

“Hey! We stopped using condoms a little while ago.” He revealed and Jasmine wanted nothing more than to fade into obscurity right now. “Besides, we only did it twice today, it would have been three if we didn’t get disrupted in the car on the way here-oof.” His words cut off when Jasmine hit him in the chest, her eyes screaming at him to shut the hell up but the damage was already done.

Seungcheol’s face dropped, the gears in his brain turning before he said, “wait but…..I drove us here.”

A pause of awkward silence followed as the realization washed over everyone; Kyla popped her lips as Mingyu coughed, Jihoon lifted his glass to look at the bottom of it for some reason, and your eyes went to that spot in the corner which became increasingly interesting at the moment.

Hoshi cleared his throat, checking the imaginary watch on his wrist. “Well would you look at the time? Come on, baby. We have to go volunteer at that otter daycare. Stay blessed, my brothers and sisters.” He rushed, ushering Jasmine off his lap and leading her away from the group.

“KWON SOONYOUNG! If I find nut in my car, you’re dead!” Seungcheol threatened lividly, closely following behind the scampering couple.

The remainder of you looked at one another before breaking out in laughter once again.

“Those 3 are ridiculous.” Mingyu commented with a shake of his head.

“For real.” Kyla agreed. “Anyway, baby. Do you want a drink?”

“Let me go put these in the kitchen first.” He motioned to the drinks he had brought. Then, his eyes lit up as he remembered something. “Oh yeah! I want to introduce you guys to my friend, Wonwoo.”

Moving to the side, Mingyu revealed a person standing right behind him who none of you noticed until now and suddenly your previous boredom hoped on a flight with Spirit Airlines because it just got drop kicked.

Dark jeans. Oversized hoodie. Glasses. Kind of slouched posture. Eyes shifting around nervously.

Target acquired.

#seventeen x black reader #seventeen smut #seventeen fic #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo smut #wonwoo x reader

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gladosisstillalesbian · 4 months ago

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have another old fic - I think this one is from 2020? chelldos, cute tenderness, maybe an omious sign of things to come <3

GLaDOS can’t help probing.

Like now, as Chell rolls her eyes and flinches away from her inquisitive claw as it interrogates the raw, angry skin around the gash on her forearm. It’s GLaDOS’s way of understanding something new - go in, poke around, assess the damage. Repair, if possible; like with a few quick sutures that leave Chell stinging and pouting but healed. Put contingency plans in place if not; antiseptic to ward off infection, prep treatments to minimize scarring.

If there’s one thing GLaDOS hates it’s the thought of yet another mark marring Chell’s beautiful skin. As far as she’s concerned, there are already more than enough of those.

Chell likes to joke that GLaDOS wants them to match: her all bright and gleaming, flat sterile surfaces and the composed hum of fine-tuned machinery and her bright, gleaming, sterile human. Chell likes to lean over and make rolls out of her stomach and ask GLaDOS if they make her mad. Chell likes to go exploring and get scrapes and mark up her body in ways that make GLaDOS’s wires twist with anxiety.

Chell likes to go exploring and along the way, sometimes she finds some of GLaDOS’s scrapes.

As much as Chell might like to pretend Aperture is perfect in its uniformity, she and GLaDOS both know there are places where nature had other ideas. Where knotted ivy and thick underbrush and trees in their infancy have laid claim to a room, or a test chamber, or even an entire wing of the facility; where they’ve dug their heels in and laid roots so deep and grown so tall that even GLaDOS’s most aggressive tactics can’t drive them out. Their branches itch at her sensors like the edges of a wound might; the humidity produced by the metabolic processes in their leaves worms its way into her machinery and make her ache with the searing heat of infection. They creep ever further, extending their tendrils and progeny further and further out from their strongholds with each passing year despite her best efforts to beat them back with fire and herbicide and saws.

Chell loves them.

GLaDOS accepted early on that Chell made an immediate effort to seek out her blind spots. The human need for privacy was something Chell made explicitly clear. And these miniature jungles are exactly that - GLaDOS’s cameras and microphones are either obstructed or destroyed entirely, leaving entire swathes of the facility effectively out of her control. She can’t count the amount of times Chell has come back from one of her little field trips relaxed, a little sweaty, smelling of a terrarium, tracking dirt under her shoes and with twigs in her hair.

When GLaDOS thinks about it, these organic infestations would never have gotten the chance to grow if Chell hadn’t killed her in the first place. So of course it would make sense that she liked to poke around in them - Chell was always so proud of the ways she could undo her. So she flips Aperture over and exposes its soft, green underbelly. She uses those terrifying, gentle hands to open Aperture up and look inside; she barrels headlong into the deep because it’s where she wants to be. Her way of understanding, of seeing.

Chell likes to joke that GLaDOS doesn’t like these places because they’re the one part of Aperture she can’t control. The one part she can’t remake in her image, shiny and sleek.

GLaDOS forgives her for this. The human brain is not equipped to compute numbers on the time scale at which these infections are killing her.

She doesn’t see how the vines grow, inch by inch, year by year, and like the shifting of tectonic plates they rend GLaDOS’s facility along its seams, battling back wires and machinery and bursting it from the inside like a cell does when it’s boiled by fever. Chell simply can’t comprehend these things; she can’t watch decades roll by like minutes in backlogged security footage and feel the fibrous, hungry things as they poke their way through her innards and spill blood in the form of air, of oil, of time.

The human mind interprets these thickets of green as life; GLaDOS knows them to be death.

But still, Chell loves them.

#pa system #archives #chelldos #chell #glados

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howlingday · 2 months ago

Note

Witcher 3 is giving me brain worms so how about a RWBY AU where Jaune is possessed by a Hym after killing Penny.

Possessed

'Uncle Qrow, can you help us look for Weiss?'

The request was simple, but dire. His niece's partner had disappeared some time ago, gone without a trace, and Qrow Branwen had taken it upon himself to help search for her. When he told Winter, Weiss Schnee's elder sister, she'd admitted that she'd already known and said that the one person who might know where she went was Jaune Arc, the leader of Team RWBY's sister team, JNPR. The two men weren't usually on the best of terms, and he doubted the sudden vanishing act would make their friendship, or lack thereof, grow any further from this.

Stepping into Team JNPR's home was unsettling. The sun was high in the sky, yet the common area was as dark as midnight, save for the fire blazing in the hearth. Lie Ren, a thin, young man from mistral in a green tunic looked to Qrow, waving him to the side.

"We'll be done soon."

As Qrow leaned against the wall, he glanced at Jaune and noticed how miserable he'd become since arriving in Shade. Dark bags hung beneath his eyes, proof that he'd not been sleeping well. Worse yet, he had bandages running up and down his arms and legs. As he spoke, there was a quake in his voice, like he'd seen a Grimm for the first time.

"She came to me again." Jaune said as he shook. "Came and ripped my arm off with her bare hands." He blinked, wiping and rubbing his eyes clear of any tears. "She's demanding a sacrifice."

"Or it could just be a nightmare, Jaune."

"No, no, no." Jaune shook his head. "She's wanting a sacrifice. There's no other meaning. I have to do this."

"That sounds like an extreme." Ren reasoned. "Maybe you should talk to someone-"

"I don't need to talk to anyone." Jaune nearly snarled at his teammate. He stood from his seat, addressing Qrow at last. The veteran huntsman approached, wasting no time for pleasantries.

"I'm looking for the little Ice Queen. You seen her?"

"Weiss? Yeah, the other day."

"Where is she now?"

Jaune was quiet for a moment, then looked to the side. "Hm? What?"

"Weiss. Where is Weiss?"

"I... I dunno..." He shook his head, waving his hand. "I don't have time for this." He then walked past Qrow, climbing the stairs and out of sight. Qrow looked to the remaining huntsman.

"I say somethin' wrong?"

"He's..." Ren pursed his lips, trying to think of the best way to explain the situation. "He's been through a lot recently, and I think this whole thing is starting to get to him."

"You don't say? He did seem kinda distant at the war meeting. Think it-"

"AAARGH!" Jaune shouted from upstairs.

"Excuse me, I need to check on him." Ren stepped away.

"Wait, what about Weiss? I need to find her!"

"I don't know. Try asking around." Ren said, halfway up the steps. "Maybe Nora or Oscar have seen her." Then he was gone.

"Great..."

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

As Qrow walked around town, he noticed a lot of people steering clear of the JNPR home. It made sense; that scream wasn't one of joy, or anything positive. He'd heard stories of lonely villagers being ostracized to the outskirts, if only to keep them from drawing the Grimm closer with their negativity. Unfortunately, Vacuo took those stories as history and embraced the tactic.

Asking around, a girl mentioned seeing Weiss going to the top of a nearby cliff, carrying something wrapped in cloth. Following directions was simple, but walking through the cave to get there was unnerving, despite not seeing a single Grimm as he passed through. At the mouth of the cave, lying unconscious, was Weiss.

"Weiss!" Carrying her out of the cave, he checked her neck for a pulse. She stirred, confirming his suspicions of her vitality.

"What... What happened?" She winced. "Oogh... My head..."

"Looks like something hit you on the head. Knocked you out."

"Qrow...?" She blinked slowly. "Why are you here?"

"I came looking for you. Your team and half of Shade is worried about you." He stood up. "We're heading back-"

"Not yet!" She stood, but stumbled into Qrow, who caught her. "Not until I help Jaune." She patted herself. "The doll! Where's the doll?! I need to-"

"What you need to do is rest." Qrow scowled. "You were half-dead when I found you."

"But I-"

"-need to tell me what's going on." Qrow helped her back to the ground. "Why were you out here?"

"I'm helping Jaune."

"By wandering off into a cave in the middle of nowhere? How will that help?"

"If I had the doll, it would."

"What doll?"

"It's a Penny doll." Weiss explained. "I was coming to make an offering to Penny's grave."

"An offering?"

"It's a long story." Weiss took a deep breath and used the wall outside of the cave entrance to help her to her feet. "Jaune told me that his family are Ancestrians, believing that the spirits of the dead friends and family help us become stronger. The best way to make those bonds stronger is to make offerings. Offerings like a doll made in the likeness of the deceased."

"Ain't there a grave for her in the middle of Shade?"

"A shrine, but not to her, but to everyone else who didn't make it from Atlas. The grave has to be individual, personal."

"So why here?"

Weiss stepped away from the wall and stopped halfway to the grave. "From here, you can see the entire town. Ruby, Jaune, and I thought this would be the best place for her to look over the people she died to protect."

"I remember Winter saying that Jaune killed Penny himself."

"To stop Cinder from taking the Winter Maiden's power, yes." She turned to Qrow. "I choose to believe Jaune when he says she told him to."

"Even though you weren't close enough to hear her tell him?"

"The only people who know for certain are Jaune and Penny." Her fists clenched a bit, with her lips pursed to match. "And I've already told you my thoughts on Jaune's words. Regardless, it's affecting him now as we speak. And I think the doll offering will help him."

"By leaving a doll at Penny's grave. Alone."

"Ruby is busy with her own thing and Jaune... Well, you've seen Jaune. What his guilt is doing to him."

"You mean the scars?" Qrow quirked a brow. "Thought he got that from his time in the Ever After."

"Hardly!" Weiss balked. "The only scars he took from any Grimm is have completely healed by now! No, this is much deeper scarring than any Grimm could do. I asked him about it, and he said that Penny AND Pyrrha are demanding he inflict pain on himself- to make things right. But I'd never think it could be either of them. No, this is all Jaune. That's why I need that doll-"

"What you need is to rest." Qrow jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll go look for the doll. You stay here and recover."

She gave a harrumph and sat down by the cave. The sun began its descent from the sky, casting shadows along the cave wall. In the newly brightened cavern, he could see the doll, or what remains of it, shattered inside the cloth on the ground. Qrow hummed as he picked it up. To the side, caught in the sunlight, he saw a dark figure with horns, and it snarled as it stared at him.

"What the-?!" As fast as Harbinger came out, the shade had disappeared. Checking around him, he couldn't see the Grimm, or whatever it was, and cautiously scooped up the remains of the broken doll. Something strange was going on, and Qrow had a feeling Jaune was more deeply involved in this than he'd originally thought.

"Do you have the doll?" Weiss asked as Qrow returned.

"What's left of it."

"What's left of- Agh!" Weiss slapped her forehead. "Of course it would be broken when I passed out. Nothing can ever go my way..."

"You're complaining to the wrong guy about that." He hummed. "So what now?"

"Well, now I have to go back and buy a new one." She sighed. "So much hard work undone by bad luck."

"Again, not the right guy complain to about that."

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

"Where is my sister by the way?" Weiss asked as she and Qrow walked towards JNPR's dwelling.

"Now? No idea." Qrow answered. "Why?"

"Oh, I just wondered why she let you look for me on your own."

"What do you mean 'let me'?" Qrow's voice had a dangerous tone to him.

"Oh, nothing." Weiss turned away. "I just thought she didn't like having you out of her sight. Oh, there's Jaune and Ruby!"

Correct in her statement, Jaune and Ruby were standing on the balcony of the home. As they approached, going through the inside of the building, they found Ruby rubbing Jaune's back while he rubbed his eyes with one hand. The other hand was wrapped about a hundred times over with a bright red spot from the center.

"It's too bright." Jaune groused. "My eyes are stinging."

"The fresh air is good, Jaune." Ruby comforted.

"Penny won't like this, Ruby..."

"Ahem!" Qrow announced himself.

"Uncle Qrow!" Ruby gasped. "AND WEISS~!"

"What's with the hand, kid?" Qrow pointed at Jaune's injury. "Penny tell you to do that?"

"Penny needed an sacrifice."

"I tried to explain it to him, Jaune." Weiss spoke before Qrow could. "He didn't know about your belief until I told him just a while ago. But what I failed to mention is that some older offering methods is the pain of the living. It brings you closer to the spirits, helps build strength inside of you."

"It's more than an offering," Jaune gave Qrow a dead serious look, "it's a sacrifice."

"Right." The veteran nodded. "So, about these voices in your head-"

"Penny's voice." Jaune snarled. "HER voice."

"Penny's definitely related to this alright."

Jaune had a flash of anger in his eyes. He stood up, his wounded hand moving to his sword. Weiss stepped between, holding her hands up. "I told him about the grave! I showed him and-"

"Penny's grave could be the key to solving this. That's why I think you need to apologize to her, there, in person."

"I..." Jaune shook, his voice breaking. "I didn't want to..." Tears began to well in his eyes as raised his bandaged hand to his face. "She asked me... Begged me, even, but I... She's so angry."

Qrow could keep pushing the issue, explaining his doubts that this is really Penny's ghost talking in his head. However, he doubted both Ruby and Weiss could calm him down together if Jaune got angry. So, he pulled out an ol' trick he learned in his younger years. A little thing called empathy.

"Let me help you." Qrow offered. "I promise to do everything I can to keep Penny from being angry."

"Listen to Uncle Qrow, Jaune." Ruby said, trying to be as soothing as possible. "I don't think Penny is angry with you, and even if she is, she's not the kind of person to say no to someone saying, 'I'm sorry'."

Jaune looked down the balcony to his team. They had just come back from grocery shopping, and Nora was playing with a cheese knife set, still in box, while Ren and Oscar expressed their concern, annoyed more so at Emerald's goading Nora. He smiled, then took a deep breath. "What do I need to do?"

"You know how to get to the grave, right?"

Jaune was quiet. "I do, but..." He shook his head. "My team won't let me leave. Not until my wounds are all healed."

"Even with Jaune's healing semblance," Ruby further explained, "he cut deep and nicked a really bad spot. Ren said he shouldn't be moving around too much."

"Well, we don't have much choice, do we?" Qrow shrugged. "I'm sure we can get a wagon to haul ya, if need be."

Jaune looked to the grave and winced. "No. No, I can't. Penny... She'll be angry. I can feel it!"

"She won't, though!" Ruby tried to calm him. "Uncle Qrow knows what he's doing, and Penny would want you to go with him!" Despite these words, though, Jaune refused to look away from the grave, even as the sun began to sting his eyes.

"Well, if you won't go, is there anything I can say on your behalf?" Qrow was getting tired of this charity case, moreso dealing with a fanatic like Jaune than his actual beliefs.

"Yeah... Tell her..." Jaune swallowed. "Tell her that I wish she was here instead of me."

"...Alright then."

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

The doll costed a hefty amount of lien, but that only made sense when you considered two facts. The first was that this was a figure made in the homage and likeness of a hero, a hero who died protecting Remnant. The second was that he was in Vacuo, which wasn't exactly known for thrifty prices, especially with how much they already pay for supplies, or "pay" by other means, either with coercion or intimidation. Or just plain stealing.

As he made his way up, he caught a few huntsmen walking in the opposite direction of the JNPR house. This normally wouldn't bother him, since huntsmen and huntresses make house call visits all the time. But what bothered him was what was on their shoulder patches; green wings, meaning these were triage huntsmen.

"Dammit..." Qrow began moving faster, almost sprinting as he could hear yelling from inside. He doubted they were Penny's voice this time.

"WHY?! WHY'D YOU DO THAT?!" Ruby screamed.

"I... I had to..." Qrow rounded the corner, finding Jaune in the middle of a crowd of his friends. Some, like his nieces and Ren, were angry. Others, like, well, the others, were concerned to varying degrees, ranging from face-holding like Yang or almost bawling like Nora. All the while, Jaune spoke with a shaking voice. "Pyrrha... Pyrrha and Penny demanded it..."

"Neither of them would tell you to do anything like this!" Weiss wailed.

"What the hell's going on?" Qrow asked, getting everyone's attention.

"Jaune... He-" Ruby started, only for Nora to shove her out of the way.

"HE ALMOST STABBED HIMSELF IN THE EYE~!"

"What?!" Qrow flinched. Looking to Jaune, he had a bandage on the side of his face. Though it was likely stitched and cleaned, he could still see blood oozing from the wound. "Why'd you do it?"

"Because..." And with the coldest, most distant stare Qrow had ever seen from a huntsman so young, answered. "Penny and Pyrrha demanded a sacrifice..."

With a glare, Qrow barked to the room. "Everyone out except Jaune, Ruby, and Weiss!" There was slow movement at first. "NOW!" The movement became much quicker. Taking a deep breath, Qrow began to calm down.

This had gone far enough. One voice was strange enough, but two asking for the same thing? Too strange to be a coincidence. And the shadow in the cave leading to the grave could be the key. But he couldn't rely on a hunch. He needed facts.

"What did Penny and Pyrrha say? Exactly. Do you remember? What did they tell you?"

Jaune was quiet, shivering despite being so close to the alight firepit. "They were angry. Penny said, 'You coward, you could kill me but you can't face me yourself?' and Pyrrha said after, 'You haven't changed since your failure at Beacon.' and together they said, 'Cut out your eye and suffer and regret the failure you are!'."

If this were a romance, this would be the point where the hero shouts that 'They would never say that!' but life is way more complicated. Especially since Qrow was the hero of this story, he thought, and he didn't know Pyrrha or Penny well enough to say this. Still, even with so many people arguing that this isn't true only doesn't proves how untrue it is when he was there at their final moments. But everyone is so focused on who said it that no one thought to ask WHY it was said.

"When did Penny and Pyrrha talk to you? Was it after I left?"

Jaune numbly nodded. "A bit after. I felt tired, so I thought I'd take a nap." He lifted his hand. "Heal my wounds with a bit of rest. But instead, they came to me in my attempts to dream."

"They always talk when you're asleep?"

"A-Always."

"What do you see then? Where do they talk to you in your dream?"

"Penny's grave." Jaune answered. "They tell me to make a light, then talk to me from the shadows."

Things started to click in Qrow's head. It explained why the JNPR house was dark, even in midday, and why Jaune screamed shortly after he left earlier that day. Combine that with the location they talk from, the shadow on the cave wall, and what Jaune was being told, everything lined up almost perfectly with the exact Grimm he was thinking of. Just one thing left to ask...

"Did they ever appear in front of you? Did you ever see them for yourself?"

"Once," Jaune swallowed, "I decided to be brave and speak to them, face-to-face, bringing the light around. I saw a hazy figure, shaped like a person, covered in shadows."

Qrow nodded. He looked to Ruby and Weiss, then stepped away. As he did, though, he noticed the shadow coming from Jaune looked different. Almost wavy. Not human.

"Everybody back in!" Without hesitation, or not much if there was any, the people he told to leave shuffled back in. He pointed at them, barking different orders; change Jaune's bandages, clean his wounds, keep him calm. The only ones he didn't bark orders to was Ruby and Weiss. He walked upstairs, to the balcony, with Ruby and Weiss following close behind.

"Uncle Qrow, what's going on?"

"The doll isn't going to do anything." Qrow said, setting the gift on the balcony.

"What's wrong with him?" Weiss asked.

"It's a Zimora." Qrow answered. "Old Grimm. Never seen one outside of a fairy tale. It latches onto huntsmen overcome with guilt for their crimes. It drains them of their aura, using the person by fueling their guilty conscience. In the end, they force their victims to mutilate themselves."

Weiss gasped and covered her mouth.

Ruby tightened her hands into balled fists. "So what do we do?"

"If I remember right, there's two ways to kill it," he raised his hand up into two fingers, "in theory." He flicked one finger. "The first option is the huntsman way; we bring Jaune out to Penny's grave and wait for it to show up. The fairy tales say that if you spend a night with the victim in the Grimm's lair, it'll show up."

"So we just need to wait with Jaune by Penny's grave?" Weiss asked. "Shouldn't be too difficult."

"Afraid it is." Qrow shook his head. "Not only will the Grimm be fighting for all its worth, but it'll heal its wounds using the victim, eventually to the point of their exhaustion and-"

"What's the other way?" Ruby asked, not wanting to hear more of this clearly worse option.

"It's a Grimm from the old age, back when Salem had rules for them." Qrow explained. "And this one's rule, supposedly, is that it needs a host. Without one, it'll be weak and easy to kill." Before Ruby could ask for clarification, Qrow held up a finger. "The host has to be one with incredible guilt. Fresh guilt. If we can trick it into believing there's a new host when there isn't one, it'll panic and suddenly become weaker."

"Then let's do that!" Ruby said with a smile.

"This is just a theory I came up with, Squirt. Haven't heard or read of anyone pulling this off."

"Well, then that just means no one's thought of a trick that good yet!"

"It seems impossible, but it's something we should at least try." Weiss added.

"Tricks are never simple, though. Even then, neither method is perfect. A Zimora only attacks those with a guilty conscience, someone who truly believes they've committed a great sin. The Zimora strengthens this regret and feeds off it. In other words, if the new host doesn't feel true agony and sorrow, the Zimora will sense that."

"Then... in order for this to work..." Weiss tapped her lip. "If anyone comes up with a plan, the other can't know about it."

"Exactly."

"Both are dangerous, but..." Ruby nodded. "I think we should try to trick it!"

"Sorry if I don't sound convinced."

"What, do you need my sister to think for you~?" Weiss teased, earning a scowl from Qrow. "If all else fails, we'll try the huntsman's way."

"Still, why'd you keep bringing her up? You jealous of her?"

"No, but... I've just noticed you're a bit... distracted around my sister."

"What, saying I'm hen-pecked?"

"Hen pecs?" Ruby asked, imagining a chicken with a buff chest.

"No, just of one mind about her. Like all men are." Weiss waved her hand. "Take an Atlas Specialist, a Mistral wizard, or a Vale Huntsman- you all end up wrapped around someone's finger."

"Sure," Qrow rolled his eyes, "I guess you've seen it all before, huh?"

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

The hike to the cave late at night was its own trial. Some Grimm and wildlife in Vacuo don't care for the heat, so they hunt at night. There's even a saying in Vacuo about soft men last longer on cool nights, though the context for the statement may vary between survival advice and inappropriate tavern jokes.

Passing through the cave, Qrow saw a woman in a familiar white cloak on the ground ahead. "Summer!" He ran up to her, kneeling next to the unmoving body. "No, it... It can't be..." At these words, 'Summer' faded away into the shadows. Qrow growled into the darkness. "Trying to make me run?" He chuckled. "Good. Means you're scared."

Once at the grave, Jaune was already there. He was kneeling before the makeshift headstone, a rock painted bright green with a Penny doll sitting above it. The huntsman wept as he mumbled apologies and pleas for Penny and Pyrrha to forgive him. Qrow looked around for any signs of Ruby or Weiss, but only saw Jaune.

Looking at Jaune, Qrow felt something in his chest. Pity? Some form of rapport? After Summer disappeared, Qrow was a lot like Jaune, kneeling in front of the grave of someone you can't help but feel like you played a part in killing. He didn't think he'd have something in common with this guy when they first met, but here they were now.

Footsteps ran up behind him. Qrow turned and saw Weiss and Ruby coming from within the cavern. Better late than never, he guessed. The three looked between each other and shared a nod.

"You girls got a plan?"

"Yup!" Ruby beamed.

"Kind of?" Weiss shrugged.

Neither answer filled him with confidence.

"Jaune!" Ruby ran out to him, distracting the boy enough to look her way. "Jaune, over here!"

"So, what's the plan?" Qrow asked. The answer surprised him.

"He's a lost cause. We have to kill him."

"What- But-"

"Trust me. It's for the best." Weiss answered.

So this was the plan, huh? Make Qrow feel guilty enough for the Zimora to cling to him? It didn't feel right, but Weiss did have a point. Even if it's the death of one, dozens if not hundreds of lives would be saved from attracting more Grimm. So Qrow level Harbinger, hoping this would be some kind of trick Weiss planned that wouldn't actually kill him, but it did... He'd understand.

"KILL HIM NOW!" Weiss screeched as she turned away.

"WHAT?!" Ruby stopped, looking back to Qrow. He squeezed the trigger and Ruby pushed Jaune out of the way, getting shot in his place.

"NO!" Qrow ran out, tripping over himself as he tried to reach out for his niece as she fell from the cliff. "No, no, no, no, no!" Qrow looked over the side, straining to see her in the darkness. "RUBY!"

"Ruby..." Jaune fell to his knees, looking down over the cliff. He dropped his light down the cliff, hoping to find her.

And there she laid, her blood soaking the sands of the Vacuo desert. Qrow began to feel hot tears pouring down his face, his hand futilely reaching for his red-caped protege. Suddenly, the world was deaf all around him as he could only feel pain in his chest. Pain... and guilt.

From behind the two huntsmen, emerging from the shadows, was the Zimora. It stood almost eight feet tall, its humanoid body covered in black all over, save for the white rings acting as tunnels through the monster's head. Its real eyes were the fiery red orbs dotting around the white, all while its long black horns and talons remained as pure dark as the rest of its body.

Plucking its dark digits from Jaune, it began to sink its claws into Qrow, hissing in delight of its new prey. The former victim looked to his side to ask Qrow why he shot his own niece, only to reel in horror at the beast gripping the veteran huntsman. He was about to scream when a gunshot sounded from the cave.

Everyone turned to the familiar sound, finding Ruby Rose, alive and well, standing next to Weiss Schnee and Emerald Sustrai. With a grin, Ruby and the rest of her team, along with Team JNPR, emerged from the cave, all armed and ready to fight. "Gotcha~!" Ruby giggled.

"What..." Then everything started to click. Qrow was completely tricked into thinking he killed his own niece. The guilt would have attracted the Zimora, relieving Jaune of his burden, and the reveal would free Qrow of any guilt he may have. He'd be proud if he wasn't so angry at being tricked. Not as angry, though, at the Grimm he was about to carve up, which writhed in agony as its power waned.

"ATTACK~!" Ruby called, as the Grimm was overwhelmed by the power of Team RWBY and JNPR combined.

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

"It's over." Qrow said, looking back to the grave as they left the cave for what he hoped would be the last time.

"Over?" Jaune repeated, carried by Yang and Ren.

"You're free, Jaune." Ruby added, giving a soft smile to her fellow team leader.

"Free?"

"The Zimora's dead, kid. Hopefully it'll be the last one." Jaune didn't say anything in response this time. He was just so tired. It wasn't until they got back to the house that Jaune spoke, left to stand on his own two feet.

"What... What happened..." He put a hand to his head. "My head is spinning..."

"Uncle Qrow, what's going on?" Ruby asked. "I thought we killed the Zumba?"

"Zimora." Weiss corrected. "And yes, I agree. Why is he still... drained?"

"It's fatigue." Qrow answered. "His body just needs time to get back to normal."

"What... What do I do now?"

"My advice?" Qrow offered. "Lay off the self-pity. Grimm or no Grimm, it doesn't do you any good."

"It..." He stumbled, catching himself before anyone else could, though they all tried. "I feel like I'm missing something from inside me."

"That's normal. Zimora's are parasite Grimm. Bonds between parasite and hosts can be strong, and their removal makes you feel empty." Jaune opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. "Give it a few days and you'll be fine."

"Th... Thank you... I think." Jaune stumbled his way to the stairs. "Good night." As he climbed the stairs, Oscar, Ren, and Nora helped him all the way up.

"I should stay with him." Ruby said. "He seems really out of it."

"Good idea, Squirt. Good night."

"G'night, Uncle Qrow. G'night, Weiss." Ruby left Qrow and Weiss alone at the door.

"Well, I can't do much worse here." Qrow shrugged, turning to leave. "G'night."

"Yes, I'm sure my sister is getting impatient with you by now." Weiss teased.

"I thought we already talked enough about that." Qrow groused, making Weiss giggle.

"We did." She nodded. "Good night, Qrow."

Qrow nodded. "So long."

#rwby #the witcher #the witcher 3 #the wild hunt #jaune arc #ruby rose #qrow branwen #the witcher iii #The Witcher III: The Wild Hunt #lie ren #weiss schnee #nora valkyrie #emerald sustrai #oscar pine

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tasha-writes · 5 months ago

Text

A stitch in time

Just a little brain worm about Alicent slipping back in time instead of, well, dying. let me know if I should keep this going.

Word count: 2400

The last thing Alicent remembered was feeling absolutely frigid. Despite what the Maesters said about a raging fever, her teeth chattered, and her body was wrecked with violent shivers under 4 layers of blankets. It had been 3 days of this madness, the sickness had set in quickly, as Winter Fever tended to do. As the sun faded behind the walls of Kings Landing, Alicent gave into the exhaustion plaguing her mind and body, hoping the blackness brought with it the embrace of the Stranger.

Of course, she could not be so lucky, the Gods, it seemed, would have her suffer as long as possible for her past misdeeds. She awoke feeling more physically refreshed than she had felt in ages, bar the bone deep exhaustion that had settled into her after the war. The Dance of Dragon the smallfolk had taken to calling it. Such a graceful name for such a violent thing.

Knowing no more sleep would come to her, although judging by the darkness it must be the early hours of morning, Alicent slowly peeled herself from her bed. Gently she picked the brush up from her vanity and lowered herself into the seat and began the lengthy process of brushing out her hair. Alicent spent the better part of an hour and a half in front of the mirror, brushing, twisting, braiding, reflecting, never once looking into the reflective surface.

Long ago this ritual of reflecting on her mistakes had replaced her morning prayer. Her faith withering away with her sanity and beauty. Alicent gripped the handle of the brush harder and resisted the urge to throw it, to break, and rage, and bring guards running to her chambers who's only job was to keep her alive and suffering. Even winter fever could not take her, she was cursed to a long life that had been stolen from her children.

A sharp knock startled Alicent enough that she dropped the brush in her hand. She shouldn't have been, most days she was left to her isolation, but the last couple days had seen Maesters in and out of her rooms. When no one entered Alicent trudged over to heavy doors and cracked them open. Outside stood a grouchy looking white cloak, and a rather harried looking wetnurse with a crying white haired baby. The former queen felt the phantom sensation of milk swelling in her breasts.

"Apologies my queen, but the prince is refusing to latch, and it is bothering the princess so. I thought you might have better luck with him. I must hurry back to the nursery and see to the girl," the wetnurse shoved the crying babe into Alicents arms and scurried away.

The guard made no move to take the young prince from Alicent, so unsure what else to do she retreated into her room to sit at the foot of her bed. It had been a long time since she had held a babe, perhaps not since she had ordered a newly born Joffrey to be brought to her chambers. When Helaena's children had been born Alicent had been more concerned with politicking than her grandchildren.

Alicent scowled as the child in her arms made grabby hands at her chest and held it a bit farther away. This must be the offspring of Aegon and Daenaera. A child of zero relation to her thrust into her care for whatever reason. The child returned to cacophonous cried and the former queen wondered at the physical similarities to her own Aegon at this age. Targaryen genes were strong she supposed, such a shame it hadn't worked in Rhaenyra’s favor.

Finally the babe exhausted himself and quieted down, falling asleep in her arms. Alicent still wasn't sure what to do with him. She wasn't permitted to leave her rooms, but she doubted she was supposed to have one of the heirs to the iron throne in here with her either. It was then Alicent finally looked up and made eye contact with herself in the mirror - and nearly dropped the babe on the floor.

It was like looking at her royal portrait, herself, but not. Impossibly young, haunted with responsibilities and experiences she shouldn't have had to endure. She had officially lost it, there was no possible way she had shed decades. There was no way the wet nurse had addressed her as queen in any other way than a slip of the tongue. There was no possibility that the babe in her arms did not belong to Aegon III but in fact was her own eldest child.

Alicent screamed.

Alicent wasn't entirely sure of she blacked out or went into shock, but but but the time her brain was properly processing information again she was sat at a large dinner table a very alive, if sick, Viserys to her left at the head. Across from her sat Rhaenyra, diligently avoiding looked at her. Laenor was sat next to Rhaenyra. On Alicents other side was two-year old Aegon, and on her lap a very tiny Helaena. Perhaps not even six-months old. Viserys was taking to Rhaenyra, something about Daemon, and Alicent squeezed her little girl tighter to her, the horror of seeing her body impaled on the spikes still a fresh wound after all these years.

Unless… unless it had all been a dream? Or was this the dream? Had the gods blessed her with foresight, or was this her life flashing before her eyes before death finally claimed her? Alicent lifted her glass of wine with a shaking hand and didn't remove the glass from her lips until it was empty. She caught a strange look from Set Strong, hovering behind Rhaenyra, but otherwise was ignored.

“What is your opinion on the matter, my dear?” Alicents hand halted half way towards waving the cupbearer over.

“Sorry, opinion about what?”

“Daemon and his engagement to the Velaryon girl, we received news of the upcoming nuptials this afternoon if you recall,” Viserys reminded her. Did they? Alicent couldn't remember. She did recall Laena eventually died in labor with their third child. Died in Vaghar’s fire by the lady’s own command.

Alicent spoke without thinking, “I suppose I feel for the poor girl. I wouldn't want to be married to the brute.” Across the table Laenor began hacking, spitting out the wine that he had been sipping on. Rhaenyra immediately began rubbing his back, a look of genuine concern passing over her face. Perfect at the role of diligent wife.

A frowned marred Visery’s face, “That is my brother you speak of.”

Alicent started mashing a small potato off her plate, “And so dear husband, you must know his temperament as well as I do, better even. Of the two, you have received all gentleness.” having said her piece Alicent began cooing at the baby in her lap

“You are in rare form tonight, My Queen,” Laenor complemented, voice strained from choking on the wine. Out of the corner of her eye, Alicent saw Rhaenyra purse her lips, eyes darting between her husband, step-mother, and father, attempting to get a read on the situation. Silence filled between them, broken only by Helaena’s babbling.

“I fear my humors are disturbed by the strangest of dreams I had last night,” Alicent allowed. She fidgeted with her fingers, staring down at her daughter’s head. The men moved on rather quickly after that, discussing matters of hunting and state, but Alicent could feel Rhaenyra’s eyes remained on her. The princess and queen remained silent for the rest of the meal, the princess studying the queen, and the queen picking at her finger nails and debating which life was reality and which was dream. And if this life was reality then what was she going to do about saving her children? Would repairing her relationship with her step-daughter be the answer? Or would truly exiling her father beyond the domain of the Iron throne be the answer? Would anything she could think to do make any difference if the Gods were determined for the dance to occur? But why would the God’s wish destruction on house Targeryean? Was she to be forced once again to lie with, to care for Viserys? Would she again be forced to reckon with her father’s scheming? Was this again? Was this for the first time or the second? Was this the only time? Had she ever truly lived past this evening as she was in it now? Had the God’s shown her the future or had her own brain manifested the worst conclusion in response to her father’s warnings? Or was she delirious and dying of white fever in that moment?

“Alicent,” Rhaenyra’s quiet voice cut like a knife through the deafening noise in Alicent’s head. “Breathe, Alicent.” Alicent’s gaze shot up, wild with fear to meet the princess’s discerning gaze. “Are you alright?” Was she alright? No, absolutely no. She had lived a whole and terrible life and didn’t know if it was real or not. But either way, it haunted her. And she simply could not stomach sitting at a table of ghosts one moment longer.

“Alas,” Alicent choked out, “I am not feeling my best. Quite queasy, in fact. I must excuse myself. Aegon, come” Alicent stood sharply and stalked out of the hall. Between the sharp steps of her heels, she could hear the uneasy footsteps of a toddler and the more sure ones of his maid behind her. As well as a third pair of gliding steps. Rhaenyra, no doubt, had excused herself front dinner as well and made to follow her. Alicent refused to look back or acknowledge that she was there.

Alicent waved the wetnurse away as she came to claim Helaena from the queen’s arms, opting to tuck the babe into the cradle herself. It was strange, Alicent couldn’t remember ever doing this before with any of her children. She had lacked general attachment to her children until they were old enough to have personalities. Perhaps that was part of what led her boys to be so … unhinged. If, of course, her dream was another reality, or a future. Once Aegon was tucked in and mumbling nonsense in his sleep and Alicent had somewhat pulled together the pieces of her mental break, she deemed it safe to address Rhaenyra.

“Are you just going to hover there, or is there something that I can do for you?” Alicent asked, voice coming out cold in her attempt to keep it even. “I can’t imagine this is you finally showing some interest in your siblings.” Rhaenyra sat on the chair next to Aegon’s bed and Alicent had to fight the terror slowly rising at the proximity of the half-siblings.

“You seemed disturbed at dinner, and,” Rhaenyra took a breath and combed her hand through Aegon's silky baby hair, “despite everything, I still hold some affection for you.” Rhaenyra stood, “It is you who ultimately cut of our friendship, Alicent. Were you to accept peace I would gladly have it.”

Alicent considered for a moment, but images of a burnt Aegon, a one-eyed Aemond, and a dead Helaena held her back from fully embracing the idea of peace between her and Rhaenyra. No matter what, no matter if she and her children bent the knee to Rhaenyra, there would always be lords of the realm that called for the first born son to sit the Iron Throne after Viserys. Rhaenyra would have no choice but to kill or exile Alicent’s children. She would either have to fully convince Visery’s to name Aegon his heir, or war it seemed, would be inevitable. How awful.

“Rhaenyra, you should leave.” Alicent could almost hear the small hope Rhaenyra fostered within her heart cracking like glass. In truth she missed her friend, but she feared the arbitrator of her family’s deaths more. As Rhaenyra stood to leave, a strong wave of anxiety flooded Alicent, overcoming any of her good sense. “What will you do to my children, Rhaenyra,” Alicent wished she had drank more wine at dinner, “when your father can no longer back your claim, and the lords call for a king rather than a queen?”

The silence that followed Alicent’s question was nerve wracking, and she wished nothing more than to bit at her nailbeds until they bled, but a show of weakness in this moment was unthinkable. “Where does this question come from, Alicent?”

The queen resisted the urge to grate her teeth, a nonanswer at best. “My father, he has warned me that once you become queen my children’s lives might be forfeit to ensure your claim. I simply want to know what your intentions are.” Alicent’s eyes burned. Too many times she had come to Rhaenyra, for peace, friendship, and had been turned away.

The princess sat back down and placed her hand on the queens knee. Alicent resisted the urge to jerk away, it felt like any sudden movements would destroy the fragile atmosphere of understanding. “I do not wish to hurt my brother and sister, and what other siblings may come. Given that my siblings bend the knee, you have my word their safety is guaranteed.” Rhaenyra cleared her throat and continued, “I would have them as part of my court in some capacity. One of my siblings might be hand one day, or commander of the Kings Guard. It depends what they wish for themselves, what they show capacity for.”

The two girls sat in silence. Alicent wasn’t exactly sure how to respond, processing what the princess had told her, putting it up against her father’s paranoid warnings. Warnings she had originally dismissed, believing herself to know Rhaenyra’s character better. Warnings she had let poison her own feelings towards her former friend. That had poisoned her children towards their sister and nephews. That had planted the seeds of the war. Perhaps, perhaps it was not unavoidable after all. Perhaps, her mission to protect her children was one and the same repairing a relationship with Rhaenyra. Her father was wrong. She had known that once and lost her way.

“You are so close with Syrax,” Alicent began, “Aegon could use such guidance with Sunfyre, I am sure. Your father is far to busy to teach him the ways of a dragon rider, and I am no expert myself. An older sister is the perfect guide.”

Rhaenyra gifted Alicent’s outreach with a genuine smile, “I would be honored.” Perhaps, the friendship was not so unsalvageable after all.

#hotd #alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #Time travel #fix it fic

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