#do all the pairs. fixed and unfixed. give me all of them

[cornflowershade]

gmmtv be bold give me satangpawin. as a canon pair. just once ok.

[neon-junkie]

Multitasking

Summary: Tech's job is to repair the ship. Your job is to test his focus by riding his cock.

Pairing: Tech x Reader

Reader Description: Reader is gender-neutral. This fic does not include any descriptions of their appearance.

Word count: 4.1k

Tags: Established relationship, Oral (giving), Smut, Cuming inside, Praise kink, sub!Tech, dom!Reader, Making out, Fluff.

Notes: Happy Tech Tuesdays!! I just had to write something for this specific shot in last weeks episode teehee

Being stranded on an unknown planet is one thing, but being stranded on an unknown planet with a broken down ship? Now, that's entirely another thing - a thing that the Bad Batch has been unfortunate enough to come across. Luck, nor hope, has ever been on their side, nothing ever goes to plan, but today's plan is simple: You and Tech are to stay on the ship and work on repairs, whilst everybody else heads out and searches for food, supplies, the will to live, and so on. And that's exactly where you are right now. Tech is currently suited up, helmet on, laying down on his back, working on the underside of the ships control panel. Most of your jobs are complete, and Tech urged you to have a break like the caring sweetheart that he is. You two have kept your relationship hidden from just about everybody, including the Batch, as you fear that it might cause a rift within the group. Although, you're almost certain they know. You've seen the glances Hunter and Crosshair make to each other when you and Tech are nattering away, and you've overheard Omega ask Wrecker and Echo multiple times if they're certain that you two aren't actually an item. The Batch knows, but the Batch doesn't officially know, and you both plan on keeping it that way. Alone time is a rarity. You'll be lucky to receive a kiss whenever you bring Tech a cup of caf whilst he's alone in the cockpit, or feel his hand in yours whenever you two are buddied up during a mission. You're both touch starved an unimaginable amount, and now that you two have some privacy, you want to make the most of it. Only, Tech being Tech, he needs to work. Tech wants to spend this time with you, just as much as you want to spend it with him, but the Marauder is in dire need of repairs, and only Tech has the ability to fix this ship. So, whilst on your break, you make Tech another cup of caf and bring it over, informing him of your presence as you settle down beside him. He thanks you, but his eyes remain glued to the underside of the cockpits control panel. Dare you say it - he looks inviting. Yes, he's busy working on the ship, and that's exactly why you're fighting the urge to hop on his lap right now. There's something enticing about Tech when he's literally buried in his work. Your mind has blanked out almost every single time he's attempted to explain something to you; you never understand what he's actually on about, but you always ask him to further explain, as the glisten in his eyes always makes you smile. But this? This is something else. You've seen Tech work on the ship so many times, but never in this position. He's lying on his back, hands and eyes fixated on the wires dangling above him, but the way his legs are casually spread is just so... oh. "Tech?" you question as you place a hand on his thigh, gently kneading at the fabric wrapped around him. "I know," Tech sighs. You're about to question what he apparently knows, but his sorrowful eyes meet yours, and he continues with "I want to spend this quiet time with you too." "Awhh," you sigh, giving Tech's thigh another squeeze. "I was actually going to tell you that your caf is there, and to be careful not to knock it over," you laugh, pointing to the cup beside him. Tech rolls his eyes, but from the way they're squinting, you know he's smiling beneath his helmet. He turns his attention back to his work, and you express your agreement with his comment. "But I also wish I was spending this time with you," you reply, and purr your words at the end, hoping that Tech knows what you're implying. "Stars," Tech sighs. "It's been some time, hasn't it?" "Tell me the specifics, Tech," you smile, and Tech's eyes happily meet yours. He's often silenced by his vods for 'blabbering' on about 'unimportant' details, but to you, his ability to remember so much makes your heart flutter. "Eighteen days, to be precise," Tech states as he continues working. "It's been eighteen days since we've had some time alone together, and four days since we've kissed." "I held your hand yesterday," you say with a laugh. "Yes, and I'm almost certain that Hunter saw that," Tech sighs. He stretches his hand out and makes a small grabbing motion, and you fill his palm with one of his tools. Tech shifts up onto his elbows as he looks at the tool that you've handed him, and he can't help but laugh. "I was motioning for you to place your hand in mine," he says as he places the tool down, and shuffles his way from underneath the control panel, sitting on the floor beside you. You laugh along with him, one hand still on his thigh, the other settling in his gloved palm. Tech gives you a comforting squeeze as he flicks his helmets' visor up, revealing his wide eyes, protected by his goggles. He speaks so much through his eyes alone, and you know him to a point where you two can speak without words, and right now, Tech's asking for more. Your hand slips from Tech's grasp so you can remove his helmet. His helmet remains in your grasp as you shuffle closer, and with a smug expression, you ask "do you want to change our four day count back to zero?" Tech nods his head as he softly laughs at your flirtatious remark. He shifts his goggles from his eyes, resting them on his forehead so they won't get in the way as he leans in and kisses you. Tech's kisses are always so soft and gentle, affectionate with a sprinkle of needy. One of his hands finds the back of your neck, simply holding you there as he makes up for all the lost time. Shuffling even closer to Tech, you debate asking a specific question, fearing rejection; you know that Tech wants the same, but he's busy with work, and work is always his top priority. You understand, and you understand that you two would have a lot of explaining to do if the rest of the Batch returned to find an unfixed ship, so you always allow him to prioritize his work. But Tech's kisses grow hungry, deeper and sloppier, and the whimper that he makes when you pull away confirms that he's just as eager as you are. "Do you want to reset our eighteen day count also?" you softly question against his lips, and your tone of voice makes him shudder. "I want to," he sighs, and gives you another kiss before continuing. "But I have work to do, although I estimate that it won't take me long to complete. Then, I'm all yours." "And what if the others return before then?" you pout. "They set off two hours ago. It's highly unlikely that they'd return in such a short time," Tech states. Smart, as always, but the Batch are unpredictable, and you worry that today might be one of those days. You ponder your thoughts, lazily kissing Tech as you weigh out your options. All of your work is done, and Tech doesn't have long to go, but you need him right now. He has the ability to work in an array of situations - under pressure, stressed, overwhelmed, and so on - but what about aroused? Yes, you've teased him on the odd occasion when he's been working, but that's as far as you've gone. Is it time to take things further? "Tech?" you sigh as you pull away. "Mhm?" Tech responds, half-lidded eyes meeting yours. "You still have work to do, but I don't. So, maybe I could start us off whilst you continue working?" you suggest, batting your lashes as you speak, even though you know Tech will say yes. To your surprise, Tech thinks about it, and quickly points out a negative to your idea. "I'm sure you're aware on how distracting your presence is, and... engaging with me sexually will distract me tenfold," Tech objects, moving his hands as he talks. "I've seen you work whilst distracted before. I won't be any different," you shrug. "I understand what you're referring to, but your presence can't be compared to the heat of the battlefield. They are two completely different types of distractions." "What I'm saying is..." you begin, and straddle Tech's lap as you talk, placing his helmet down on the floor beside him. One hand gently cups Tech's chin, tilting it to the side, leaving his neck open for you to begin kissing along. "You're a good worker, Tech, and you've worked through just about everything. So, you'll be fine with my presence, I'm certain of it." You can physically feel Tech shuddering in your grasp, turning into putty whilst you kiss along his neck, speaking against his skin. He lets out a groan when you nip at a sensitive spot behind his ear, and his hands find your hips, squeezing and kneading them. "What do you think?" you question, and wait patiently for Tech's answer. Tech stays silent for a while, minus his quiet mewls and moans. He's putting a lot of thought into this, possibly too much, but he eventually comes to a decision. "Alright," he gently nods. "You're welcome to engage with me whilst I work, but if you are too distracting, and I am unable to work with you around, then I will ask you to stop." "Of course, love," you reply as your kisses move up to his cheek. "I only want what's best for you." "You're what's best for me," Tech sharply exhales, and from the way his eyes turn wide, you know he wasn't meant to let that slip. "I mean... Uh, I shall return to my work, and you're welcome to... do whatever you'd like to do." Tech fumbles for his goggles, pulling them down from his forehead. You sneak in another kiss before his helmet is placed on, and just as Tech's about to lie down, he points something out. "I'd suggest that you shut and lock the door." You scramble up from his lap, shutting the cockpits' door, just to be safe. As you're about to lock it, Tech informs you of a different code to use, and explains why when you turn around and raise your brow at him. "It's a private code that I installed recently, just to be safe." "Safe from what?" you question. "Well, after the inhibitor chip situation, I wanted to install a code that only I know, so if something were to go wrong, say the Empire takes control of us and reinstalls the chip, then sends said person down to attack us, then we'd be safe from them in the ship." You're left speechless as Tech explains his bizarre, paranoid scenario. He notices your bewildered expression, and adds "hypothetically speaking, of course." As if that somehow makes things any better. "You and your paranoia, Tech," you sigh as you punch in the new code. "If it weren't for my paranoia, then we wouldn't now have this safely locked door, preventing the others from walking in on us, if they are to return early," Tech points out, motioning with his hands as he talks, before lying down and shuffling under the cockpits control panel. You roll your eyes whilst smiling, your heart fluttering over yet another reason why you've fallen for Tech. He goes back to work, leaving you to your mischief. Just like before, Tech has his legs partially spread, feet firmly on the floor with his knees slightly raised. As you settle beside him, your hand comes to rest on his thigh, fingers fiddling with the straps of his utility belt. You unhook the straps from his thighs, moving them up to his waist, giving you access to his codpiece. You know far too well how to remove his armour, and you find the hook that unlatches his codpiece, removing it entirely in one swift motion. Tech's already semi-hard, his cock straining against the tight fabric of his blacks. You palm over his erection, eyes peeking up to watch his reaction, and there is none, minus a soft sight. It's clear that he's attempting to focus on his work, and you're torn between wanting to be a massive distraction, and wanting to let him get on with his work. Sadly, repairing the ship is important, but you're certain that you can test his focus another time. For now, you're happy with slowly and lazily getting both of you off, waiting for Tech to finish so both of you can quicken the pace. Shuffling down onto your front, you free his cock from beneath his blacks, pumping it loosely whilst you find a comfortable position. Tech lets out another sigh when you swipe your tongue over the tip of his cock, swirling it around a few times, and then sinking down onto his length. You know by now exactly what makes Tech stir, and like the minx that you are, you go for those specific areas. Tech lets out a groan as you glide your tongue down the underside of his shaft, your hand lightly squeezing his tip. You spend a while between his thighs, earning weak moans, muffled through his helmet. One of his legs begins to lightly bounce, something his body subconsciously does when he's in deep though, and as of recent, something he also does when he's attempting to focus whilst distracted. With one hand around Tech's cock, you manage to slip your pants off, kicking off your boots in the process. You find the perfect balance between satisfying your partner, and preparing yourself, and although the position is slightly uncomfortable, the sound that Tech makes when he notices you prepping yourself makes it worth your while. "Copaani gaan?" you overhear Tech speak in his mother tongue. His eyes lock onto yours as he raises his head slightly, propping himself up on elbows, and Tech watches as you tilt your head in confusion. "Need a hand?" he repeats, and you mumble an 'oh' at his translation. "Shouldn't you be working on the ship?" you question. As Tech starts speaking, you slip his cock back into your mouth, completely malfunctioning his brain. "It's- I... the work- uh..." Tech stutters, and groans as he blurts out "mesh'la." A gloved hand rests on the back of your head as Tech lies back down, eyes scrunching shut, moaning softly for you. "So beautiful," he mumbles, and lets out a choked sob when the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. "What were you saying about the ship?" you innocently ask as you pull off his cock. "It's almost fixed," Tech groans, followed by a heavy sigh. "Finish your work, Tech," you order, and your tone of voice makes Tech shudder. "Elek, cyar'ika," Tech whimpers. "Anything for you." The hand on the back of your head is removed, and Tech turns as much focus as he can to his work. You decide that you're prepped enough, as is Tech, and begin shuffling into position, straddling Tech's lap. His eyes flick away for a moment, watching through his slowly steaming-up goggles as you sink down onto his length, letting out a soft sigh once you're fully seated. Despite not being able to see Tech's face, you know he's struggling to hold himself together, especially from the noise he makes when you begin slowly rising and falling on his cock, taking your time with every thrust. "Your work, Tech," you comment as you lock eyes. "Y-yes, right..." Tech's words trail off as he attempts to finish up, moving wires and tightening bolts, putting together the final parts of the ships control panel. You keep your pace slow and steady, not wanting to move Tech's body too much as he works, plus the sensation of slowly fucking yourself on your partners cock is oh-so-satisfying. And from the sounds that Tech is attempting not to make, you know that he's feeling the same way. You two spend some time like that, Tech finalizing the ship as you slowly get each other off, tensing your muscles every so often to tighten your grip on Tech's cock. Wanting to see how Tech will react, you catch him by surprise by slamming down on his cock; Tech lets out a choked moan, the air from his lungs being pushed out, and he almost drops the bolt tightener that he's holding. He perks his head up, groans at the sight of you, and then lets it fall back again. His hands pause mid-air, uncertain if he should attempt to work, or enjoy a brief break. "Tech?" you purr, and his eyes lock onto yours through the tint of his goggles. "Carry on working, love, you're almost finished." "Cyar'ika, you're making this unbelievably difficult," Tech whimpers. Tech isn't always one for praise, unless you're reminding him of how intelligent he is, but maybe he'll accept a few compliments whilst he's literally beneath you? "You're such a good worker, Tech, you can continue with a minor distraction," you praise. Tech's eyes momentarily flick away, as if to question if he really can work in these conditions. You know he's accepted your compliment the second his hands move up, returning to the control panel. "See?" you smile. "Pretend I'm not here. Pretend I'm not riding your cock right now," you tease, and your smile grows when Tech lets out a deep sigh. "I'll get you for this," he threatens in his own, soft, Tech-like way. "I can't wait," you purr, and pick up the pace, positioning your hands on his armoured chest to give your body extra support. Your eyes fall shut just as Tech returns to his work, putting your focus into riding him. Your pace isn't perfect, but it's enough to get you off, and from the sounds you're hearing from your partner, it's enough to get him off too. You're so engulfed in pleasure that you almost don't hear Tech suddenly states "I'm done." For some reason, you instantly assume he's done with you, motioning for you to stop. "Huh?!" you yelp as your eyes snap open. "I'm done with my work," Tech states, unaware of your confusion, and you let out a heavy sigh of relief. He lightly taps your thigh, signalling for you to raise your hips, and with the tip of his cock barely inside you, both of you shuffle so that Tech is no longer pinned beneath the control panel. You slam back down onto his cock just as he props himself up on his elbows, almost collapsing down again from the sensation. Tech curses under his breath, and with shaky arms, he manages to reach up and remove his helmet, placing it down beside him. His cheeks are redder than ever, almost as bright as when you two shared your first kiss, and from the light layer of sweat over his face, you assume that he'll be needing a shower later, and no doubt, you'll join him. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" you cheekily smile, and Tech has the audacity to roll his eyes at you. "You're unbelievable," Tech groans as he shifts his legs, placing his feet firmly on the floor, hips slightly raised - the perfect position to begin thrusting up into you. Tech meets your hips halfway, finding the perfect rhythm within no time. He's no longer holding back, moaning and groaning freely, and treating you to the occasional whimper. Tech's hands are snugly sitting around your hips, and his eyes are struggling to stay open, eventually scrunching shut, his mouth remaining parted as he puts all of his focus into fucking you. Your hands grip onto his chest once more, thick plastoid armour pressed against your palms, steadying your weight whilst both of you chase your orgasms. You know Tech is close when he begins stuttering, his mind becoming hazy, but Tech manages to whimper "I'm close." "Inside," you quietly state, and all Tech manages to do is nod. You beat him to it, tightening around his length as your orgasm hits. The sensation of you squeezing his cock has Tech sputtering, mewling beneath you whilst he pulls you down onto his hips and holds you there, his cock twitching heavily as he fills you up. You rock your hips back and forth gently, just enough to milk him, and Tech's grip on your hips tightens as he begins panting; his eyes slowly open, pupils blown, gawking at the sight of you. "T-too much," Tech eventually stutters, so you ease up, coming to a halt. Both of you spend a moment to gather yourselves and catch your breaths. Tech's hands move from your hips so he can prop his goggles up on his forehead, wiping his face with his palms, attempting to snap himself out of his post-orgasm haze. "Good?" you simply question, smiling when Tech nods in agreement. "Yes," he sighs, "so good. I think you'll agree that we both needed that," Tech comments as he pulls his goggles back on, and props himself up on his elbows, looking up at you, still sat on his lap with his cock slowly softening inside you. Tech takes a hold of your hips again, keeping you firmly on his lap as he sits upright. His soft eyes remain glued to yours, and a sweet smile appears on his lips when you playfully rub your nose against his. Tech wraps his hands around your waist, holding you in his lap, enjoying the sensation of your bodies being pressed together. Neither of you speak, but you don't need words to express the connection that you're feeling right now. You cup his jawline, holding his head steady whilst you enjoy some slow, sensual kisses. The taste of sweat is light on Tech's lips, but it's not enough for you to pull you away from him; if anything, you're enticed by how he tastes, parting your lips slightly so your tongue can glide across his. An unknowing amount of time passes as you two remain tied together, catching up on those lost moments; the nights where you can't be in each other's arms, the kisses you've missed due to lack of privacy, the gentle touches that are always kept private. As you move apart, you motion for Tech to tilt his head to the side, revealing your favourite place to kiss. Your hands slide over his shoulders, fiddling with the ends of his short hair, and you plant kiss after kiss on his faint scar, hidden beneath his short, buzzed hair. Tech smiles as you kiss over that area, and once you're done, he presses his forehead against yours. Finally, one of you speaks up. "Would you like to join me in the refresher?" Tech offers. "Of course," you smile, and place a kiss on his nose before shuffling off his lap. Once both of you are dressed, and Tech has tidied his equipment away, you go to make your way through the ship. As you open the locked cockpit door, you're both met with an extremely grumpy looking Hunter. He's sat with his arms crossed, tired eyes, and the only thing he asks is "are you two finally done?" "T-the ship is repaired, if that is what you're asking," Tech replies, struggling to maintain eye contact. "C'mon, you know I'm not on about that," he sighs. "You're lucky that the others wanted to stay outside and enjoy the sun!" Both of you stand there awkwardly, gawking around the ship, looking at everything but Hunter. He lets out a long, defeated sigh before saying "both of you, go and clean up, please. And leave the cockpit door open, it stinks in there." With that, Hunter rises from his chair, and makes his way off the Marauder, leaving the ships' door open to let fresh air flow through the ship. At the same time, Tech and you lock eyes, sharing an awkward expression. To your surprise, Tech states "that went rather well." "You're joking, right?" "It's been a long time coming," he shrugs. "Anyway, are you still joining me in the refresher?" You let out a laugh, but shake your head in agreement. "Lead the way!"

[beetlethebug]

alright besties time for childhood friends fig and gorgug.(this one is kinda long so read under the cut) (i forgot you could do that for the other ones wh o o p s)

 they met later than some of the other pairs. fig is freshly fourteen, three months into protruding horns and hands that no longer burn when she places them on still-hot stove tops or sticks her finger into the wax melts gilear had bought before things between him and her mom went south. she’s angry, and bitter, and so young, and sandra lynn is at her wits end. she’s trying, gods is she trying, because she sees every warning sign in fig that she neglected to see in herself. so, sandra lynn sends fig to an anger management camp and hopes for the best.

gorgug is fourteen and change, kicked out of three elementary schools and one middle school for the crime of being himself. taller than all his peers, his parents, too big for every space he’s ever been in. not a single friend to his name. a heart that was too big locked in his chest because no matter how hard he tried, it got shattered in the process. his parents told him that sometimes things break, and that when you fix it, it’s all the stronger for it. but how many times can a heart break before it’s unfixable? and now he’s having feelings he can’t explain--anger and something darker, more primal. something his gnomish parents cry about when they think he can’t hear. but it’s a small tree. and gorgug just wants to be good, wants to make these feelings go away, so when his parents talk about an anger management camp, he agrees without even considering what it means. he isn’t angry--he doesn’t think so, anyway. 

so gorgug sits in a camp full of all sorts of people. he’s in the boy’s section, led by a man who looks like he was made from the earth itself. Porter, he thinks is the name. he isn’t sure. there aren’t any other half-orcs, there. and most of the kids look older than he is. so he tries to be smaller, arms wrapped around his middle to protect everything vulnerable inside. because people are talking about wanting to hit things until they break. violent and anger and frustration that he doesn’t understand. yeah, sometimes his insides feel like they’re boiling, but that’s not--he’s not angry at anything. his body is just. he’s just.

and then there’s someone next to him. a body warmer than his hoodie, pressed against him. “Shh,” they--she whispers. “The girl’s camp sucked. i wanna see what this is about. don’t tell.” 

gorgug nods, mumbles a promise, and he spends the whole time not listening to porter, but making sure the shape behind his back is hidden from view. when the meeting ends, he turns to the sound, “Miss Faethe, there you are.” “It’s Fig!” The girl at his back hisses. She’s pretty, he thinks. Horns just starting to come through reminding him of his tusks, painful and small and intrusive. her hair is clearly done by her own unsteady hand. she looks angry in a way he understands. messy, artistic. he stands up beside her (too tall, too lanky, especially when he straightens his shoulders to take up the space just a bit more). “I asked Fig to come see me.” The lie comes out awkwardly, but it’s the first thing he’s said barring his name. The girls instructor looks at him, narrows her eyes. she’s elvish, he thinks, and he can see why Fig might have been upset about learning about anger from her. 

“Yeah. Porter knows way more about rage than you do, bitch.”

fig and gorgug being opposites of the same whole. fig is sharp, cutting; gorgug is soft, mending. they compliment each other perfectly. fig encourages gorgug to stand tall, to take these feelings he doesn’t understand and create with them. gorgug balances fig, gives her something to lean on when her whole life seems to be falling apart. doing each others nails and eyeliner before anger management meetings. fig dying gorgug’s hair for the first time. gorgug gives her a new hoodie every week.

fig asks him to start a band with her, because they’re both full of feelings that other people can relate to. she wants to create, wants to rebel, and all the greats did so through art, through music. she presses drumsticks into his hands and the first time he lets himself go wild, he understands what she means. he’s drunk on it, the feeling that comes from not caring, just feeling. hitting and hitting and never breaking, because that’s not what he wants to do with his feelings. 

fig finding out they’re going to the same high school and loosing her shit. fig making him hold her hand whenever he’s nervous. gorgug getting his first earned detention for punching a dude in the face for trying to take photos of underneath fig’s skirt. texts every hour when fig goes out to parties and gorgug stays home. midnight drives to taco bell and laughing until their ribs ache in the back of the thistlespring van. sleepovers. so many sleepovers.  affirmations and imposter syndrome and validating each other and their experiences. “we’re real people. we’re allowed to feel. i am successful and my successes are because of my own merit.” fig engaging in drugs and alcohol safely under the roof of the thistlespring tree, because gorgug isn’t curious but knows that his parents won’t mind as long as they’re being safe. fig finding ways to rebel that don’t endanger herself or others. 

just gorgug and fig finding their other half and learning to grow and create and having healthy relationships with their feelings. 

[bruhstories]

I Swear It

Summary: He didn't hate you — you just happened to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Fem!Reader Warnings & Content: language, slightly ooc!Reiner in the beginning (I think), unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex (male receiving), so much angst, slight dubcon. Word Count: 1.8 k

A/N: What’s this, two one-shots in a day? Best not get greedy lmao, but this is the saddest piece I’ve written so far. I’m gonna have to give Reiner some good things in the future.

Reiner was done. He was so sick and tired of the fighting, the war, the discrimination. He didn't want his little cousin to inherit the Armoured Titan, but he didn't want Falco to have it either. He hadn't slept in days — whenever he closed his eyes the faces of the people he'd killed popped in his mind, giving him terrifying nightmares. He could blow his brains out, the appeal of suicide enticing him like a mirage in a desert. But then there was you, the kindest woman he'd ever met and the best doctor in Marley. You treated him with so much compassion that his mind thought you were playing disgusting psychological tricks on him. You weren't an Eldian, yet you treated Eldians with respect. You were the only person, aside from his family, who anchored Reiner back into reality, and the only reason he didn't end it all was because he wanted to see your radiating smile again.

When Marley took Fort Slava, you were there, patching up soldiers, good as new, your Y/H/C clipped back, dirt, sweat and blood on your beautiful face. When the army returned to Marley, you were there, carrying soldiers with other nurses, managing the hospital and taking care of the injured. Reiner took lives, like an angel of death, while you fixed the unfixable, like an angel of life. But you happened to walk in on the titan shifter at the worst possible time, gun in his mouth, tears on his cheeks, dishevelled and broken. Instead of your usual smile, he was greeted by shock and anxiety and he dropped the gun, arms hanging by his sides, eyes exhausted. You closed the door behind you and brought a chair from the corner of the room, no words spoken until you sat down in front of him.

"Give me the gun, Reiner." You urged him, voice meek but demanding.

"No." Traces of anger in his voice, you extended your hand, palm facing upwards.

"Please, just give me the gun and we can talk-"

"Talk?" The man mocked you, fingers tracing the barrel. "When did that ever help?"

"It does help if you give it a chance." You tried but he wouldn't listen. Head tilted slightly to his left side, he pointed the gun at you.

"They don't have guns on Paradis."

"R-really?" You stuttered, eyes glued to the gun, heart almost beating out of your chest. "What do they have there?"

"Families. Children. Loved ones." Reiner scoffed. "And lots of corpses. All because of me."

"It's not because of you-"

"Are you sure, Y/N?" He lunged at you, pressing the gun into your temple. "You weren't there to see it, to hear their screams of terror." The man walked behind you and you heard the key click in the door, the hairs at the back of your head standing up.

"That's why you need to talk about it." You tried again, too afraid to turn around.

"Why, so you can tell your superiors?" Reiner propped the gun at the back of your head. Panic instilled in you and you let the tears you've been holding back to roll down your face.

"So you can let it all out." You told him between sobs.

"Let it out, huh? No, Y/N, talking's not gonna help." And then you heard it — the zipper of his beige uniform trousers coming undone. "Take your shirt off."

"Reiner..." But the gun pressed harder.

"I said take your fucking shirt off."

You didn't have much of a choice and your trembling hands moved to the first button of your white shirt. Reiner walked back to the chair, gun still pointed at you.

"You don't have to do this-"

"Why did you have to be a Marleyan?" He cut you off and your eyes found his, confused at the question. "Better yet, why did I have to fall in love with the wrong person?" The second question caught you severely off guard, but you saw an opportunity when he lowered the gun, his grip around the handle loosening. You propped your hands on the chair and with all your gathered strength, you kicked the gun out of his hand, the weapon sliding under the hospital bed. You both stared at each other in confusion for a good second before you both dashed to grab the gun, your thinner arm reaching the weapon quicker.

"One missed shot and every man you saved dies." Reiner threatened as you aimed the gun at his head, your shirt unbuttoned, allowing him to see your exposed bra.

"Take your shirt off, Reiner."

"What?"

"You heard me." You lowered the weapon, pointing it at his chest. "You were right." You watched him like a hawk, brow quirked at his perfectly sculpted torso. "Talking isn't going to help." You threw the gun on the bed and leaped into his arms, pulling him into a ravaging kiss, careful not to draw any blood from the way you bit his lower lip.

"Why?" Reiner asked, pushing you onto the bed, fingers digging into your shoulders.

"Why what?" You asked back, fumbling with the belt.

"Why didn't you just leave? You had the upper hand." He sank his head into the curve of your neck, hungry kisses tingling your skin.

"Because," two fingers gently pushed his chin upwards and you looked him in the eye, "I also fell in love with the wrong person."

"Y/N, I'm so sorry... I don't know what's gotten into me."

"Hey, hey, it's alright." You looped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a comforting embrace. "You're a warrior, Reiner. I've seen exactly what this war is doing to people, good people." Your chin rested on his shoulder, your hand gently caressing his back. "But please, promise me you'll never point a gun at yourself. Promise you'll talk to me."

"I swear it." He pulled back from your arms and kissed your forehead. Your hands moved from his shoulders, down his abdomen and stopped at his bulge. "Can I... can I make love to you?"

"Yes."

Reiner's hand tugged at your bra, pulling it down slightly, enough for your breasts to bounce out of it. He took one of your nipples in his mouth and you threw your head back, your fingers trying desperately to unclasp the stupid belt. He laughed at your struggle, the sounds vibrating against your skin, and undid it himself, his trousers and underwear pooling at his knees. You lifted your skirt up and spread your legs, offering Reiner the view he'd so strongly desired. His eyes darted at the wet spot on your white panties and hunger filled his gaze. You pulled the undergarments off of you as he pressed gentle kisses on your knees.

"You're so beautiful, Y/N. I'll never understand why you chose to fall in love with me." The man's hand snaked around your thigh, his other palming your wet folds.

"I can't choose who to fall in love with, Reiner, but if I could, it would still be you." You smiled, your lips quickly turning into an O as he gently pushed one finger into your cunt. You didn't know how much your words meant to him, how they fought with his desire to die. Another finger and you flexed your muscles, hands gripping the sheets on the bed.

"Fuck, you're so wet." Reiner marvelled your spasms. You were definitely not his first woman, you'd sometimes spot him at brothels as sorrow filled your soul, but you were definitely the first woman he loved.

"Please..." You whimpered and he shot up, worried he'd hurt you. "Please make love to me, Reiner..." You begged him, eyelids drooping and thirst in your voice. His cheeks flushed crimson, albeit being used to prostitutes asking him to fuck them, but they weren't you. They never were. He positioned himself between your supple thighs, cock hard and eager to thrust into you. Reiner looked at you, as if waiting for approval, and you nodded, your hands gripping his muscular arms. He pushed the tip first and stopped as your walls stretched and adjusted to the girth, then thrusted some more. The expression plastered on your face encouraged him not to stop and he found a pace comfortable for both of you. His hands were propped onto the bed, your head between them and you looked him in his amber eyes. They didn't do a good job at hiding the pain and trauma he's been through, but it showed to you that he was only human. Not the spear and shield of Marley, not the Armoured Titan, but Reiner Braun, the man whose wounds you treated, the man you grew close to, the man you missed, the man you loved.

"Shit, you're so tight." He whispered in your ear and you wrapped your legs around his waist, telling him to go faster. You weren't a virgin by any means. In fact, you tried being in a relationship with a Marleyan while he was gone to Paradis Island, but you couldn't keep up with the charade and broke it off in less than two months. His thrusts made you realise who you truly belonged to, and it was none other than him.

"Reiner, I–"

"Love you." The man admitted as you came undone all over his cock, your fingers digging deeper into his arms. He stopped thrusting, instead he held you close to his chest. You felt his beating heart and tears formed at the corners of your eyes, knowing that your love was meant to be kept a secret.

"I love you, too." You told him, your forehead resting on his collarbone. None of you dared to move, afraid that the only moment of peace you both had in a very long time might end. Your head pushed harder into his chest, forcing Reiner to lean on his back as you removed yourself from his cock. You moved backwards on all fours, hovering over his member, tears falling on his naked body.

"What are you doing, Y/N?"

"I wish we could have a family together." You told him before taking him into your mouth. His head tilted to the side, realising that you made a smart choice by finishing him off with your mouth. Had he spilled his seed into you, you'd both be dead. Reiner's breath hitched as your head bobbed up and down faster, faster. The hot liquid tickled your throat and you swallowed every last drop, not wanting to risk anything.

"This isn't going to end well..." The man sighed.

"I know."

He leaned forward and embraced you, his touch needy yet grateful. You returned the embrace, quietly sobbing into his arms.

"I want you to know that I'll always love you." Reiner stated, and it felt like a promise.

"Please, come back to me. Whatever happens, come back to me, Reiner Braun."

"I swear it."

[royalbluehues]

Healing

Title: Healing

Author: royalbluehues

Warnings:  PTSD. Nothing graphic, though. 

Pairings: William Schofield x Reader

Request:  Thanks! May I request a story where Schofield is another man after the war and reader wants her hubby back? He has nightmares, he never wants to go out, he barely talks to the reader. She understands that he will never be the same man after what he went through, but she wants at least a bit of her husband back. She doesn't know what to do to help him, but she will fight for their marriage.

Author’s Note: The story treks off the path of the request just a tad. I always end up making my stories fluffy without intending to. (Image found on Pinterest)

You had known it the minute he stepped off the train’s platform.

His shoulders were slumped and his eyes had a far away look to them. When he had brought you close to embrace you tightly, he had nuzzled his face within the crook of your neck and stayed there. 

His body was taught and stiff. 

Deep down within you, a small feeling poked at you, Something’s wrong. 

But you pushed that thought to the side, rather selfishly relishing the fact you finally, after nearly three years apart from him, you finally had your husband in your arms once more. 

And God willing he will stay there, you prayed silently. 

You raised one of your hands to tangle his locks around your fingers, squeezing your eyes tightly, “William,” you breathed out, savoring the way his name tasted on your tongue, then peppering whatever visible part of his face that was not tucked away into your neck.

Your heart was blooming with a mixture of gratitude, relief, happiness, and bereavement to the time that was pitilessly ripped from you and your daughters. 

He was filthy, despite his obvious attempts at a decorum of cleanliness. But his hair was matted, his uniform tattered, ripped, and stained with dark splotches in several places. 

You sided with your better judgment and not allow your mind to wander to what those splotches were. 

He finally lifted his head from his embrace, moving to lean back and look at you. His lips pulled upward into a lopsided smile. 

But you see it there: his large eyes betray his effort of solidity. Quickly as it comes, it goes. And before your mind could analyze it, he pulls you into a kiss. 

His lips feel soft, despite the skin being cracked. The calloused fingers grasping either side of your face are cold to the touch, his grip tight yet tender. You melt effortlessly into him, feeling the tension you’ve held in your shoulders, amounting since the moment he received his notice of deployment, give ease. 

When he releases you, you notice the tears that have swarmed in not only your eyes but in his as well. 

“I’ve missed you.” 

Once again, you’re flooded with a thousand emotions. Those three words have left you winded. They’re drowning you, pulling you so far beneath its current you’re left with the largest knot in your throat, threatening to release the moment you open your mouth to reply to him. 

It’s his words that have compacted so many meanings unspoken. 

Your tongue has turned leaden, your mouth is clenched shut, and the knot in your throat is only forming and growing every second that is passed. 

All you can do is stare up at him pathetically, eyes wide and brimming with tears that wait to fall.  

I love you. I’m so sorry. I want you. I feared for you. I feared for myself. I’ve missed you. I love you, I love you, I love you. 

Your heart feels full and empty all at once, and you tremble as his hands softly stroke away the wisps of hair that have fallen from your coiffed hair. 

When you open your mouth to breath, to finally repay the sentiment, your lungs betray you as they rack in a sob. 

He pulls you back into an embrace, only this time it’s you that is being hid away from the onlooking world, gasping for breath as your tears wet the lapels of his uniform. 

You feel him press his lips to the crown of your head.

“I know,” He tells you thickly.

---

It’s early morning as Will sits by the window of this home. He hadn’t been able to sleep, and rather than thrashing about in your shared bed, he figured it wise to detach himself lest he wake you for the third consecutive night that week. 

The heat emitting from the teacup clasped in his hands scalded his skin, but he chose to ignore it. The burning grounded him. Reminded him of where he was and where he wasn’t. 

He tiredly exhales a deep sigh, leaning his head against the crown molding of the window. He feels almost guilty for not staying in bed, remembering the constant visualizations of a warm bed- of your body warmly pressed into his side, the welcoming sound of a pair of bare feet that patter softly against the floor- all of which he painted to keep him sane in the trenches. 

But now that he had it after wanting it for so long, he always returned back to France, even when he tried to suppress it. 

It would be small things that would set off the memories: The sound of the leaves billowing from the wind, the clanging of a fork against a tin can, the smell of upturned soil, just to name a few. 

It was silly, he thought more often than not, of how different he was now. 

Though he was still William Schofeild, he really wasn’t. It was a notion he had to accept the first week he returned home to you and the girls. 

But he tried, by God, did he try. 

Whenever it would be set for judgement day to come, William Schofeild knew that he would be judged for what he did not do and what he did. But one thing that would serve him with certainty, was that he tried. 

He tries to uphold the station that he situated before he left. The role of a good father and a good husband. Not showing the cracks that were undoubtedly unfixable. Attempting to get back into the swing of things. 

Though he knew that his false bravado hardly went unnoticed by you. He would feel your suspecting gaze when he was teetering on reliving events as he stared off blankly into the space ahead of him, when he would leave his food untouched or his tea forgotten. He knew you had a hunch of what was happening when his daughters sat on his lap as they begged him to tell stories. 

“Girls,” you would scold them, emerging from the kitchen as you wiped your hands on your apron, “you know better than to be asking your father such things he wishes not to discuss.”

He would give a tight smile in response, “Nothing to worry about, Darling,” he’d say as he pressed a kiss on either girl’s head, “Perhaps I’ll do you one better, girls: I’ll read you a story with princesses and about great castles. Far better than hearing about daddy’s stories. I’ve no fairies or knights in mine.”

They would beam up at him, slipping off his lap as they ran back to their nursery to play with their dolls. 

He knew you knew when he would simply pick his book up once more, staring at the page he attempted to read for the nearly two hours- how you would hover by the entryway of the kitchen and observe him before disappearing to finish up the roast. 

He knew you knew because as he sat there, sitting and observing the outside world through the window, the heat prickling his skin, he could feel your presence in the room. 

He watched as a bird flew by, situating itself on the small tree only feet away from the gate.

You moved quietly, settling into the parlor chair by his.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” he tells you quietly as he turns to face you. You have a shawl over your shoulders, and sleep still evident in your eyes, and one hand atop your rounded belly.

You don’t meet his eyes, rather fixing your gaze on the same bird fluttering about. 

“You didn’t wake me.” You reply just as quietly, pulling the shawl tighter around you with your left hand, “The baby was kicking again.”

Will gives you a small smile, eyes glancing down at your bump,  “A rowdy one, he’ll be.”

He outstretches his arm to pass you his tea, and you accept, bringing it to your lips as you take a sip to fight away the chill lingering in the early morning. 

You hand it back to him, and the two of you so, passing the tea cup back and forth for the next minutes in comfortable silence. 

Finally, you speak. 

“William, I’m worried for you.”

It hangs in the air, and causes Will to shift uncomfortably in his chair as his right pointer finger plays with the handle of the tea cup. 

You fill the silence once more, turning to him now. “There’s something that’s wrong.”

His eyebrows furrow and his lips pull into a frown. Instead of replying he gulps down the remainder of the tea and sets it atop the window sill. 

“I know you do not wish to speak on it. And I apologize for bringing it up so early in the morning, but I’d rather it not be in front of the girls,” you spoke slowly, your right hand still grazing your stomach as a nervous habit. 

Will sighs deeply once more. This conversation was bound to be brought up eventually. 

He hangs his head, crossing his arms, trying to think of the correct words to say. 

“I can hardly imagine what you saw or what you went through, and I’m grateful for the ignorance that permits me to do so. But seeing you in these states,” you trail off, feeling the familiar knot take place within your throat, “it pains me because I do not know how to help you.”

You take in a shuddering breath, biting your tongue as you cast your gaze on the floor. “I wished so many times to take you away from there. To bring you back home where nothing could harm you. I would have given anything to ensure you were safe.”

William shakes his head, lifts it and turns to look at you. “You already help me. Just by being here, by my side.”

You wipe away at a tear that had escaped, knowing fully it was a pretty fib to make you feel better. “Don’t lie to me, William. I see it in your eyes.”

He gives you a small smile again that doesn’t reach his eyes, “Of course you do. I suppose that’s the price of marrying an observant woman.”

“And as an observant wife, it’s my duty to point upon when I think something’s wrong,” you murmur quickly, quietly. You're terrified to find him angered, so you shift your gaze to avoid his eyes. “I made a vow to you four years ago: to be by your side for better, for worse, for richer or for poorer,” you pause before finally mustering up the courage to face your husband, “and in sickness and in health.”

William’s gaze is on the teacup that he set aside, his large eyes saddened and reserved. He frowns, slowly rises from his chair, kneels before you and claps your hand in his. He moves to press his lips on the knuckle of your thumb, “I’m sorry I do not speak to you about it. About what happened.” He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes tightly, voice cracking. 

“I haven’t been fair to you,” He admits to you, “and I’m deeply sorry for that.”

You shake your head, a bit exasperated at how you jumbled your own words, in turn making him feel he was at fault, “No, my Darling. No, please do not take it that way. What I meant is that though it’s not my place to pry personal information you do not wish to tell, it is my place to point something that I see taking a toll on you.” You lift his hand so you can kiss them, “I-I just want you to feel better.” You sigh, “I’m rambling again. I’m afraid I can’t speak properly this morning.”

“I know what you are attempting to get across.” he mumbles to you, bowing his head to rest it upon your bump. “But I should make more of an effort to…” He furrows his brows, carefully selecting the correct word, “be open. But it’s difficult. How can I ask you to help me when I do not even know how to help myself?”

His words break your heart. 

You frown, letting go of his hand to stroke his head. “We will figure it out, and I will be there every step of the way with you, no matter what.”

“And if you grow tired of me?”

You stiffen. This time it’s his words that hang in the air. As he utters them, a cloud seems to block the early sunlight emitting through your window, casting a blueish-gray hue in your small home. 

“William never utter such mindless things again,” You scold him sharply. “I will never tire of you.” You allow your form to relax once more as your face softens, lightening your tone, “Is not carrying your child enough evidence?”

You hear him exhale a breathy chuckle and then feel him place a kiss on your womb. 

After a while, with you stroking his hair and him kneeling before you, you speak softly once more reassuring, “I love you. For the man that you were and for the man that you’ve become. I will be here for you. And though your healing may take time, it’s a step in the right direction. Never doubt that.”

The sun’s rays make an appearance once more, flooding the small room in a golden, promising light. 

.

.

.

Masterlist

[alittlebitgoofy]

if i had my way i would be yours chapter five (taywhora)

fuck ME this chapter kicked my ass but i’m gonna go insane if i go over it any longer so here it is, the long awaited chapter with some smut. it’s the last scene if you want to skip it, the rest is clean

ao3 link

Tayce felt like she was floating on air when A’whora got close to her. Her heart couldn’t handle the cuteness of her roommate in their affectionate moments. She had no idea what she did, innocently cuddling into her as friends did. 

Because they were just friends. Only friends and nothing more. And it totally wasn’t eating Tayce up inside with every moment she realised that. Not at all. 

A’whora herself was just glad to have her friend back, living without Tayce in close proximity was so strange, she loved the way the brunette always kept things interesting in their flat. There was always something going on with her and even when there wasn’t she made something happen. Somehow trying to relax and watch a movie turned into a gossip session, rife with giggles and stories of stupid things no one else would find as funny. But it made them laugh until their faces hurt. Because they were together. 

A’whora took Tayce’s coming out as a chance to bond over something different. She introduced Tayce to small bits of queer culture at a time, though she’d absorbed a lot through being best friends with a lesbian for years and having their whole circle of friends being part of the LGBT. 

“How do I know this will scream I like women?” she’d questioned while A’whora helped her with outfits for a night out. The pair were determined to make sure Tayce had a good first experience at a gay bar while out. She was wearing a pair of black skinny jeans, a similarly dark flannel shirt, and a leather jacket. She could not have looked more gay if she tried, though the way the jeans clung to her ass made A’whora rethink agreeing to help her with everything. How was she so hot? She would look so good under her clothes, what A’whora could give to rip that flannel off her and- 

She needed to sort herself out before they left. Her feelings, how hot Tayce was and alcohol was a dangerous combination. She could hold herself together if only Tayce would stop looking so good. 

---

They were late to get there, they always were with Tayce’s lack of time management and A’whora having to spend hours getting ready for anything. It was a bad combination but that didn’t motivate them to fix it, plus people were used to Tayce being late, including A’whora because they were attached at the hip.

They joined Bimini and Asttina once they got inside, Lawrence and Ellie joining soon after. 

“So what actually happened? She was fuming, you were having communication issues and now it’s all fine? You two never cease to amaze me.” Asttina got right to the point, an eyebrow raised as A’whora gave a nervous smile 

-

Tayce felt relaxed by the alcohol in her system, though neither her nor A’whora were particularly drunk; they were a fun level of tipsy, giggling amongst themselves much to their friends' chagrin. A’whora was joking about something, Tayce found it hard to focus on her speech with how cute she was. Her dimples showed as she smiled, laughing at her own joke. 

“Tayce? Are you even listening! That was really funny!” She whined, poking Tayce in the shoulder to get her attention, pouting as she got an eye roll in response. 

“Maybe if it was that funny I would have listened.” Tayce quipped back, holding back a laugh as A’whora whined even more. 

“You’re such a bitch, why are we even friends?”

“Because, someone has to put up with you. Figured I'd give the world a favour.” Tayce smirked, delighting in the huff that the blonde let out before taking another sip of her drink.

“Tayce!” 

“I’m kidding, you’re sweet if not a bit annoying sometimes, it’s what I love about you, you know that, dumbass”

“Yeah, I am pretty loveable.” A’whora bounced back quickly from her annoyance, her chest warming at the compliment. She tried to play it off, flicking her hair in an overdramatic show of confidence. 

“Your ego isn’t” Tayce deadpanned, erupting into laughter as A’whora gasped, hand on her chest in exaggerated shock. 

“You’re cute, don’t let it get to your head though.” Tayce wondered if it was the alcohol giving her the confidence to say what she thought. A’whora could react in any kind of way but she didn’t care. 

“You’re not so bad looking yourself, still a bit of an ass though.”

“You say that like you’re not the biggest cunt I've ever met.” 

“Well, you are what you eat.” The blonde grinned as Tayce shook her head at the comment. She delighted in shocking her and causing reactions, 

“You’re disgusting oh my god.”

“What? You’ll discover how good it is soon enough. I know it’s been a minute but you’ll find a girl to show you soon.”

“Aurora please stop talking about my lack of a sex life.” Tayce shook her head, for all that she loved about her A’whora did not have a way with words. She was open to a fault and found it hilarious how squeamish Tayce would get when she got explicit. She could handle most of it after a while but the way she would switch mid-conversation was something too unpredictable to deal with. 

Despite all that, she was still adorable in the way she burst into giggles at Tayce’s plea, agreeing while trying to compose herself. 

“What are you two laughing about, it must be something hilarious to have her laughing like a diseased seal.” Lawrence interrupted them, though Tayce was thankful that A’hwora couldn’t go further with her comments. She wasn’t drunk enough to deal with it yet. 

“Wouldn’t you lovebirds like to know? You two been shagging in the toilets or something? Haven’t seen you since you came in here.” Tayce looked them up and down, noticing the lipstick slightly smudged. They’d been getting up to something, it was obvious by the way Lawrence stammered trying to respond with a quip and failing. Ellie stood silent, shaken by how perceptive Tayce could be.

A’whora had no such reaction, laughing harder as they stood slack-jawed and hanging onto Tayce in a feeble attempt to calm herself. 

“At least they’re finally doing something about it, watching them fumble around their feelings while ignoring any possibility of mutual feelings was just painful.'' A'whora shook her head, delighting in the way Tayce snickered, nodding emphatically in agreement. She internally sighed in relief that Lawrence was still in shock and didn’t notice the way she looked at Tayce when she laughed. 

She didn’t need them pulling attention to her feelings. 

Not when she could barely hold them in.

“What is it with everyone tonight? Bim and Asttina are all over each other, have a bit of class you hounds!” Tayce exclaimed, shaking her head in mock judgement at the couples. Part of her still didn’t love seeing people in a situation she found almost impossible but it was easier now, as if the weight had finally been lifted when she came out to A’whora. It felt good to be understood, to have someone so attuned to you they knew what was happening and exactly what she needed. Tayce shifted, perhaps it was the alcohol but she couldn’t help but think she didn’t deserve how lovely A’whora was. Though no one did, she was perfect, too good for the world she lived in.

She ached to verbalise it, pull the blonde close, and whisper how much she adored her, though Lawrence and Ellie were still there and they were in public. She just wanted to give affection but it didn’t come easy. Maybe with some time? 

The scots seemed more interested in each other than whatever light conversation had happened between the four of them, something must have been in the air to explain the way their companions split off into pairs, interested in no one else than their partners. 

Tayce wished she could be one of them, hold A’whora close and press soft kisses to her as the alcohol broke down her barriers, leaving her a melted putty in A’whora’s hands. 

“What’s got you thinking so hard? Is everyone pairing off making you have an existential crisis or something?” A’whora jabbed lightly, Tayce letting out a laugh at the comment. She didn’t know how to respond, it wasn’t easy to communicate your feelings to your roommate, the fear it would make things unfixable between them heavy on her heart after their previous spat. It wasn’t worth the risk, not to lose her. 

“I just think it’s funny how they paired up. Lawrence and Ellie used to mope with us about being single while Bims was the only one with any balls to say something to someone they liked. Now it’s just us two.” Tayce mused, feeling a hand take her own and give it a slight squeeze. A’whora stared at her, smiling softly. IT was an innocent gesture that sent her reeling further. She really had no idea the power she had in making Tayce feel like she was floating at any sign of affection. 

“It’ll happen to us eventually, you’ve only just come out there’s no need to rush things, no matter who you date.”

“Thanks, Rory. You’ve been really helpful with all of this.” Tayce’s softer tone told the blonde everything she needed to know. Her words were tender, heartfelt. It was a rarity for Tayce to be so open, it felt good. 

No words had to be exchanged. Maybe something was different, they stayed close, Tayce’s hand stayed held by A’whora’s own. Tayce felt a warmth envelop her body that couldn’t have been the alcohol. The way A’whora looked at her just added to it, something playful in her eyes as she smiled at Tayce as if she’d done anything more than sitting there and melt over her pretty roommate. 

“Shit, I think everyone is going to do their own thing, Tayce, maybe we should go?”

“Yeah, I was getting kind of bored of watching them almost fuck in a bar. Takeaway?” Tayce asked, smirking as A’whora’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. 

“You read my mind.”

---

“You good there, Rory?” Tayce watched her roommate distractedly attempting to put some chips in her mouth and failing, blinking in surprise at Tayce calling her attention. She shrugged, the alcohol had mostly faded and she was too busy trying to distract herself with anything that wasn’t Tayce’s current state of dress. She’d complained of being too hot, stripping into a bra, and still in her jeans. It drove a’whora insane to look at. She couldn’t hold herself in if she looked for too long. Though she turned to Tayce as she spoke, soon coming to regret her decision. 

“You like what you’re seeing?” Tayce felt A’whora’s eyes on her, mouth agape. She wanted to mess with her, winking. Internally she was delighting in the way she blushed at the comment. Was she always this easy to rile up? It was probably the alcohol but they both felt pretty sober now. Something about having the blonde unable to take her eyes off her was enchanting. It made her heart speed up, something fluttering in her chest but something else she wasn’t so used to. Something churning below, a desire for a certain someone she was finding harder to contain by the minute. 

“You should put a shirt on,” A’whora muttered out meekly, unable to verbalise much of anything above a pitiful whine. She couldn’t do this, not with Tayce being so hot and her being so pent up. It had been too long, she just wanted to hold someone and make them scream in pleasure. She wanted to know what Tayce would sound like mid climax, would she squeal? Breathe heavily? A’whora pegged her as a quieter person, letting out low moans and grunts as she was pleasured. She wanted to test it, see what would make her squirm and-

Fuck. 

She was too horny to be dealing with this.

“What if I didn’t? Would it drive you insane if I took this shirt off? You wanna see my tits, don’t you, you absolute hound.” Tayce eyed her up like a predator staring at its prey. The way she licked her lips while maintaining eye contact sent A’whora. She couldn’t handle it anymore. She crawled over, placing Tayce’s box of chips on the side before unhooking her bra. Tayce let out a hum of curiosity, nodding to signal A’whora to keep going. 

This was far too interesting not to watch. The way A’whora’s eyes stayed trained on her chest, flickering up to gauge Tayce’s reaction every time she did something. With another nod she went further, hands cupping Tayce’s breasts, thumb running over her nipples, and delighting in the way Tayce’s breath hitched. She kept at it, Tayce letting out small noises at the action. Something was about to happen, they both knew it. It was the last chance to bail out before they ended up doing it and Tayce just nodded once more, eyes serious as she smiled at the blonde. 

A’whora took the go-ahead, pulling her into a searing kiss. Tayce could feel her lust in the way she grabbed at her hair, lightly pulling it to steer her into where she wanted. Tayce followed her instincts, letting her lips trail down A’whora’s cheek and feeling herself wetten at the noises she let out. 

A’whora was loud, she knew that already but to be causing those noises and seeing her squirm was doing something to Tayce. She couldn’t hold herself back. She had to close the distance between their lips as A’whora let out a soft moan. 

“We should take this to the bedroom,” A’whora spoke quietly, not sure how much she could get out without Tayce getting more noise out of her. 

Tayce nodded, following A’whora as she pulled her into her room and lightly pushed her down onto the bed. She couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow as she got on top of her, hovering about her body as she pulled her into another lustful kiss. 

Tayce tried to get the same rise out of A’whora, running her hands all over her body. Grasping at her tits as A’whora had before. Something had shifted in her the second they hit that mattress. Her eyes sparkled with something that sent a shiver down Tayce’s spine. She knew exactly what she wanted and wouldn’t focus on anything else. 

She wanted Tayce, and she was going to get her. 

A’whora took the lead, her hands exploring the body beneath her as Tayce groaned in pleasure. The sound encouraged her more, snaking her hands down to where her jeans were still on, unzipping them, and helping Tayce out of them. A few fingers fell to her underwear, rubbing through it to see where she was and delighting in the soft whine Tayce let out. 

A thought crossed her mind about making her beg for it, drawing something out of Tayce that she’d never seen but it wasn’t the right time for that. She just wanted to make her feel good, they could play around next time.

Tayce didn’t know how to deal with the pleasure erupting through her body. She muffled a moan into her hand at how well A’whora seemed to know what she was doing. Every flex of her fingers sent ripples through Tayce. She was helpless against her touch and could only let out low moans begging for more. 

A’whora blessed her, speeding up her fingers. Tayce threw her head back, shamelessly letting out a loud groan at how good it felt. She couldn’t help but melt against her roommate's touch. Something about her was so good, it was better than anything Tayce had ever felt. 

If this was what sex was like, she’d never want to go to anyone else. 

She wanted to pull A’whora into another kiss but her body had made another decision, her mind clouded only able to focus on the building feeling of irrepressible pleasure.

A’whora felt her building up, speeding herself up and pressing kisses to Tayce’s thighs, suppressing a smirk at how she gasped at the feeling. She removed her fingers slowly, pressing her mouth to her slick cunt. Tayce let out an uncharacteristically high whine as her tongue hit all the right spots. She squirmed against 

Tayce let out the sound again, lasting longer as she climaxed, A’whora moved back to her fingers to lull her out of it before crawling up to cuddle Tayce as she laid back, recovering from it all. 

“What about you?” Tayce hummed, her tone thick with tiredness. A’whora wanted to laugh at how easily she was wiped out but thought better of it. She was too cute like this, a dopey grin playing on her features as she was still running off the high from her orgasm.

“I’m alright, I just wanted to make you feel good. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that.” A’whora shrugged, her chest warming as Tayce scooted closer to curl into her arms. 

“Me too.” The dopey smile returned, Tayce’s words warm with affection in a way that made the blonde’s heart soar. 

Tayce didn’t say much more, passing out with her head on A’whora’s chest, held close by her arms. This was it, all she wanted. A’whora savoured the moment before succumbing to her fatigue, smiling as she heard a muffled “gnight Rory” on the brink of consciousness. 

[bungou-stray-dingus]

Please Stay

Pairing : Dazai Osamu x fem!Reader

A/N : This is Pure Angst, please enjoy

Angstember Day 1

The note was laid neatly on the coffee table in the middle of the living room, your ticket had been bought weeks in advance, your luggage had been packed and hidden under the bed for days. Is it bad that you didn't cry? You weren't emotionless, not entirely, you had just become numb. The relationship wasn't what it used to be, and it's not that you had expected the honeymoon phase to last forever, but it had gone from a two way street to a dead end. What was deemed to be a perfect relationship by clueless outsiders had long since fallen apart behind closed doors. You had tried to fix it, but like a picture frame being held together with school glue, it only worked for a little while, and it didn't take much for it to fall apart again. The glue had run out, the frame was irreparable, and sometimes it was better to chalk things up as a loss than to sit around trying to think of impossible ways to fix things that were better off unfixed.

You still held memories, pink lemonade sunsets on the beach as the waves lapped at your feet, the sea breeze blowing the ribbons of your sun hat as the camera flashed, captured in a state of pure bliss, unaware of what the future held. Late nights spent covering each other in kisses, bodies entangled under silk sheets, whispers of "I love you" hung in the air like a spiders web, left to break apart until it's nothing but a few strands hanging in the corner, waiting to be brushed away. Early mornings, basking in the sun that peaked through the half opened blinds, sleepy smiles and lazy kisses, light brushes of fingertips against bare skin, the phantom feeling still stuck with you, but now it felt like your skin was crawling.

Times change, and it changes people too. What had once made you happy felt like nothing more than a dream, the memories becoming hazy around the edges. Soon they would completely disappear, just like you planned on doing. Doors were meant to be opened and closed continuously, your relationship with Dazai was just that, a door that you had walked through believing that the room inside would be gorgeous, but over time it had become dusty, the lights were slowly burning out, the paint was peeling, and there was only so much you could do by yourself to try to restore the room before it became overbearing. So you were doing what anyone else would do, you were leaving, you were walking out of that door to find another door with a room that you would be able to keep up on by yourself.

An alert sounded on your phone, but you already knew. It was time to go, to turn your back on everything that you had become to accustomed to, to say goodbye to the life that you had come to love. You needed it though, you needed the change, you couldn't spend the rest of your life stranded against a brick wall, and that's exactly what your relationship was at this point. There was no moving forward, and trying to backtrack would be a waste of time.

The airport was crowded, the wheels on your suitcase squeaked as you dragged it across the linoleum floors. Years of not being used, collecting dust in the dark corner of the closet hadn't been good for the luggage, but it would get used to the sudden change of pace, just as you would. Weeks of planning had gone into your unexpected departure, you had a job lined up in the states for when you arrived, a small studio apartment was ready for you to move into when you landed. Being alone wasn't such a big problem, you had gotten used to the feeling of being by yourself already, it wouldn't be much different from how things already were.

Tangerine and magenta clouds lined the sky outside the wall of windows, the last sunset you would see in Yokohama. He would be returning back to his home soon, but you would already be on your plane, there was no turning back now. You would flip the page to the next chapter in your life with dry eyes and a smile, embracing whatever comes next with open arms.

Your flight was called and you held your ticket between steady fingers, the squealing wheels of your luggage was drowned out by the multitudes of people as you walked to the gate. There were no jitters, no second thoughts as you walked down the long hall to the plane. You needed to do this, it was the only way to move forward with your own life, you had to do this for yourself. You couldn't be held back any longer by silly dreams and wishes, all of them fruitless and unreachable. Nothing would ever come of your relationship with Dazai, there was no clear future for the two of you, not together at least.

You took your final steps down the aisle, lifting your luggage into the overhead compartment with ease, a newfound sense of liberation giving you the strength to keep walking forward. There would be no looking back for you, there was only a straight path ahead, a path that you would walk alone with your head held high, nothing and no one would hold you back.

The chatter of people around you filled your ears, an aura of excitement filled the plane, everyone was on their own path to reach their goals, to fulfill their wants, to follow their dreams. You were no different from these people.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket, you knew who it would be, there was no doubt in your mind that it would be him. You wouldn't keep him waiting, he had found the note, but it wasn't enough, he needed answers, he needed reasons, and you would have to explain it to him. He had done nothing wrong, not exactly, and not on purpose. He at least deserved an explanation.

"Hey! What's this note about? Where are you at?" His rambling began as soon as you answered the phone, you knew it would be this way. You closed your eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh as he continued. "Are you at the grocery store? The mall? I hear people. I'll pick you up. Just let me know where you are."

"Dazai..." His name whispered out on a breath of air, he heard the tone of your voice, the lack of emotion, the love was long gone.

"Don't say my name like that. Please don't say my name like that. Please just... just tell me where you are." The sound of the flight attendant speaking over the intercom made him freeze. You knew he heard it. There was nothing you could do to ease the pain of him finding out this way, you hadn't been able to tell him specifically, but he heard, and he knew. "Y/N... what are you doing?" The pain in his voice would have made you turn around, it would have made you walk off that plane before, but not now. You cared about him, of course you did, but you needed to be selfish, you had to worry about yourself for once.

"I have to go, Dazai. You need to understand that."

"I don't want to understand it. You could've... you could've stayed! Tell me what I have to do. Let me fix things. You don't have to leave."

"Don't make this harder for us. There's nothing to fix, it just didn't work."

"Y/N..." Your name was choked out, his breathing becoming more labored as he struggled to hold back his tears. He didn't understand it, he hadn't seen this coming, he couldn't figure out what went wrong.

"Dazai, I have to hang up now. Goodbye."

"Please... I love you... Please stay...."

You hung up, letting your phone slip from your hand down to your lap. You hadn't heard him say those words in so long, it was like you had been slapped and you were finally waking up. He loved you, that was all you needed to hear, that was all you needed to know. If those words had been spoken sooner you would have stayed, it would have shown you that there was hope for the two of you.

It was too late now, the plane jerked forward, carrying you out to the runway. Soon you would be up in the air, leaving behind the only home you had ever known, and the only man you had ever loved.

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[jjkpls]

crayons ‘set’ (PG)

> genre : fluffy fluff, light angst, comedy

> pairing : kim namjoon x reader

> words : 3.8k

> warnings : none (except a rusty quill)

>Y/N, a primary school teacher, is way too soft for the quiet, timid new child in her class. Little did she know, the adult version, who engendered this cutie, is even more charming.

> prior

> next

The principle of balance. 

It’s a curious concept. Like most of the things that turn people into different versions of themselves, just from an unconscious force brought to light by the sheer inner sense of competition that inhabits every single person. It’s quieter in some people. Feel non-existent sometimes. But it’s here, dormant, just waiting on the right trigger to awaken. 

You didn't think you would see it in Jimmy. The little boy lacks completely self-confidence and affirmation. But a voice and a stance, easily remarkable, end up fitting him.

It turns out that you witness it quite quickly after the Progress has started. And it manifests in the most adorable and comical of ways. 

It’s been a few weeks since you've met his dad. There wasn’t much to talk about with him yet. Every day, longer lingerings of the gaze, less tucking away in the far back of the rest of the group, more definite wordless participations during class -nodding and clapping along. The progress you've been wholly satisfied with but nothing so drastically different that you thought necessary to call his father in for. 

Nothing absolutely astonishing. Therefore you didn’t call and what a surprise this one Thursday afternoon turns out to be when he appears at your class’s doorway.

He’s wearing very casual clothes, a simple light linen shirt and some distended jeans to pair, sneakers and his hair -you've only seen neatly tucked to the side- is floating about his forehead, freshly washed and devoid of any wax. It’s a pleasant surprise, especially with the evident appearance of calm and quiet tranquillity he’s carrying. 

This man looks rather handsome when he’s on vacation, stressless and well-rested and seemingly content, you note.

“Mr Kim?”

He looks up from his son he is holding the hand of, eyes wide and bewildered as he stares a little. You chuckle, confused but amused. He’s the one paying you a surprise visit but he’s shocked when you do talk to him?

“Is it bad timing? I can come back another day...” From the look he’s giving you, or more accurately, barely sparing you, body already aiming for the corridor, you wonder if you should return the question. It'd be cruel though, to tease, therefore you choose to simply shake your head and insist on him walking in. And then it happens, the man can’t take a step inside, for some reason. He’s just paralysed, looking like a million contradicting thoughts are fighting inside his brain and he simply cannot make out the best option, if he would or not step in; and it’s Jimmy who takes the decision for him. Puffing his cheeks out in annoyance, he pushes against his father's leg, small hands pulling the bigger one towards him. It’s like watching a tiny mouse trying to drag along a giraffe. It has little to no physical effect until there’s an aggravated tiny whine of “appa”. He moves, at last, letting himself stood in front of me before Jimmy lets go of his hand. 

He gives you a look you're not sure you interpret well. Dark eyes all serious, attention loud, he seems to be intrusting his father to you. A gentle smile, hiding your teeth biting back a hilarious grin, sends him away towards the very back of the room. Taking a seat next to the bookshelf, it takes Jimmy a few minutes only after you've diverted your attention from him to grab an image book and start going through it patiently.

He's so comfortable. Almost too comfortable. He looks strange, like that. Strange because different from usual but still, oddly, it fits him well. It's like a projection, a little vision of a future little boy, easygoing, at peace with himself and his environment, that won't take too long to be born again.

And it's now the dad who's acting weird. He's standing on his two never-ending legs, the tip of his fingers toying nervously with the button of his vest, his mouth keeps teasing, opening slightly, as if about to spill a word, only to shut itself right up, a lightly aggravated sigh following soon after. It happens quite a couple of times until you get tired of waiting. Tired of the eyes avoiding you, the tension heavy for no particular reason that you could decipher, you ring him awake with an abrupt overexaggerated clearing of your throat.

"Mr Kim?" He's confounded again, caught off guard somehow. "Did you mean to discuss something with me?" It's hard to make an adult talk, you realise. Sometimes children can be difficult. Put aside Jimmy's case, sometimes children are like that. Making them want to share, especially when they are at that age where they can't express themselves and their ideas as well as they wish they could, frustration, laziness at times can get the better of them and having a fairly constructed conversation with them is like pulling teeth out of a very adamant, unwilling person. But you manage. Adults, on the other hand, have never been too much of your cup of tea. There's a reason why you chose to spend the better part of your weeks with children instead of adults. You're not that terrible at getting along with them, you do it pretty well, honestly. But the reason is probably the fact that you're not difficult. You're convenient as a person, always willing to help, always trying to be positive, you do not get in people's way and most of the times, it's enough to make it through.

You don't deal with adults the way you deal with children. With great pleasure and passion, you insert yourself into your pupils' existence, try to leave a mark and help them have the better, feel the better, be the better. Adults, you don't get too involved. They sound complicated, complexed, too many compromises, too many facets. You know because you are one too.

And Mr Kim, looking all nervous and troubled seem the very embodiment of this bias you have. He looks some sort of troubles. Probably nothing that terrible. He appears too childish for it to be that grave. But he's serious about it, about the anxiety, the struggle, the uneasiness he's feeling, you can tell, just from the way he hasn't been able to look at you in the eyes since he appeared in your class. Still, whatever it is, will cost some of your time, and with that, might clog up some very much needed space you require in this busy head of yours.

It's happened before. A new neighbour trying to get closer to you, maybe because they've just moved in the city, didn't know anyone, and you looked friendly enough and they needed someone to listen to the exhaustive list of all the things that made them leave their hometown -even though, you don't necessarily care for any of it. Or a colleague, trying to get you involved in their office dramas, simply because people need the attention, the feeling of importance and support.

Quite frankly, you've never been interested in any of them. Adults sound like too much work, especially given the fact that, as filled with flaws as they are, they are a pain, and often impossible, to fix. And they say things they don't mean. And they want things that they don't need. Their words and their acts hardly ever match. They're for the most part unrecoverable and unfixable, and you don't want any of it.

But Mr Kim and his dimples -invisible to the eye at the moment, but that you realise marked your brain so strongly you can picture them exactly where they should be winking- are piquing your interest. You're ninety-nine per cent sure it is not about Jimmy but you'd like to know. Never mind that curiosity killed the cat.

“Yes, uh-“ Clearing of the throat, scratching of the neck and more clearing of the throat. “about last time...”

You're lost. For a second, your body freezes to give your brain its full capacity to wreck through the whole place and retrieve a memory that seems to have been lost somehow, somewhere. You have no idea what time he is referring to. 

He seems so invested, so intensely experiencing his emotions you're left shocked and deeply embarrassed to not remember something that had that effect on him yet didn’t leave a single trace on you. 

He insists then, having to face your transparent confusion. The more you stand in pure oblivion, the more awkward he gets. Stuttering more, an accent, very deep, adding rough edges to his voice, colouring his words with new shades that you've never heard before.

“Mr Kim-“

“Namjoon.”

“I’m sorry?” 

“No, it’s me, I am, I’m-“ You will, later, feel terrible for it. It’s undeniable. But right now, facing this grown-ass man, usually so collected now decomposing in the most adorable red-cheeked boyish thing, you can only start laughing. It renders him speechless which in a way is almost an improvement and when you finally can restrain the giggles from bubbling straight from your belly, you start again,

“Maybe take a deep breath, take your time.” You bite your lip down to the blood, poorly concealing your grin when he actually does it. “What did you mean by ‘last time’?” You're mortified to ask, honestly, persuaded that you should know but at this point, it’s pretty mean but you don’t think you can embarrass yourself that much in front of him, not when he’s been such a mess himself. 

“When we met. When I came to talk about my son.” Calmly, diligently he answers. Like a good boy answering his teacher’s question, a shadow of worry covering his usually sharp gaze. 

“Oh, what about it?” Curiosity melts with confusion as you refrain yourself from pressing him further into elaborating faster, eager as you are to understand. You were sure he was not going to talk about him. 

“I’d been a bit much and I wanted to apologise personally to you.”

Been a bit much? 

“In what sense? I’m not sure I understand.”

“It’s just- I poured myself and our luggage on you when you’re- I know you care about my son but I shouldn’t have, I don’t know, I shouldn’t have-“

You hate cutting people off. It’s a terrible habit you are constantly trying to teach your students to drop. But here he is, struggling to express an idea that irks you strongly. Is he able to put the words he needs? Does he even know them in his own mother tongue or do they even exist? Maybe what he's trying to express are pure emotions. Unease coming from a heart shameful for having shown itself vulnerable to a stranger. You'd know about this feeling. You've experienced it plenty of times, throughout all your life. Even if it wasn’t in the form of you stripping your heart off to someone, like he did, simply showing that you cared gave you the same sense of vulnerability, of terrifying exposure you've always had a hard time dealing with. 

You hate the idea that he regrets it, especially with you. At that time, you could tell he had words to pour out. You were glad, you were even enchanted to be the one helping out no matter how small you just assumed your impact to have been. And now, he's trying to say that he regrets it?

“You said you were thankful to have someone to talk to.”

“I did say that.” He mumbles, pressing the pad of his fingers against his closed eyes. 

“Then don’t regret it. I don’t want you to be embarrassed about this, seriously. I had parents do way more, actually embarrassing, things in my career. Don’t even worry about it.” He’s thinking it over. You can tell your words have little to no impact on his bruised ego. “I’m not sure how appropriate it is for me to say that but if you need it, whenever in the future, don’t hesitate. I’m not a psychologist, but I’m just- I’m willing to listen if it can help. I mean me or anyone else, really, you should in general just share. It’s important. You don’t want Jimmy to mimic such bad habits like so, holding in and all.” You may be talking too much. The man just looks so eager to hear those words and it spurs you on. “You really shouldn’t feel embarrassed. I can understand the feeling, where it comes from, but it’s pointless with me.”

“You’re really kind.” You give a smile, only. It’s not much but you're pretty sure it’s the genuineness tinting it that renders it enough. Again, he seems surprised. As bewildered as last time but undoubtedly convinced. “I’m glad he has you as his teacher.”

Your cheeks burn intensely. You don’t know how conscious he is of his words. If he realises that he perfected the art of flattery and of slipping people in his pocket. He really did. Especially when he’s leaning slightly towards you, gaze intense and on you now that the embarrassment has vanished for the most part and he can bear looking at you, seemingly hanging out for any other words you may have in stock.

There’s nothing left for you to say though. It takes you quite a few attempts to skim over your brain, trying to formulate a sentence, any word, but you come out completely empty. You can’t even stutter a thank you from how utterly flustered you're feeling. 

Therefore you choose the easy way out. Waltzing on your heels to give him your back, your hands reaching to the barely messy top of your desk to pretend they’re busy. You believe yourself to have been sleek enough but apparently not so -maybe it’s the fact that you're just picking up stuff to put them exactly where they belong, at the exact same place. 

“Was I inappropriate? I’m really sorry, Mrs ___. Sometimes I just talk too much and I don’t realise that maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Please stop apologising. It’s fine, you’re fine. You’re just- You saying nice things that you mean,” You stumble upon the last words as if maybe you're getting over your own head to just assume and claim so loud that he must mean the sweet things he said to you but that bashful yet adorable expression he's wearing, with the eyes a bit wide and the bottom lip munched, fill you with a regain of confidence, “can’t be an issue. It’s just unexpected and- I mean you’re fine you can say whatever you want. I mean I’m not asking for more compliments, I’m just saying-“

It’s terribly unnerving. You don’t know what impression you're giving off as a teacher. Lacking so much elocution, scrambling to form sentences and turning into a messy, overwhelmed emotional mess. 

“I don’t mind giving you more compliments, Mrs ___.” Here comes that curious principle of balance again. You're half-dying of mortification and he seems to be having fun, smiling kindly, with a hint of something else -amusement, maybe even smudginess. 

Is he flirting with me? There’s no way he’s flirting. I think I’m losing my mind. 

“It’s Miss, actually.” You swear to yourself, silently, that you're not flirting back -assuming he is, in fact, doing just that- and you just mean to be called by an accurate name. 

“Oh.” He almost gasps. Looking shocked and you don’t understand what’s going on anymore. Was he really not flirting? Why does he look so shaken as if you misinterpreted his intentions and now he’s misinterpreting yours and think you're getting over your head -because you're not, you were not flirting!

“I’m not flirting with you, I’m just clarifying!” 

You hate this whole conversation. You hate yourself, your life and anything and everything that may or may not have led you to this tragic instant.

You're positive you screamed a little. You get confirmation of just that from the tiny mop of hair bouncing up in your peripheral vision, as Jimmy gives you two a slightly concerned, curious look. 

The tension is blatant. It's a mixture of irritation, of anxiety, of embarrassment. You couldn't have messed up any worse than you did and you positively want to simply die, right about now.

The mere thought that you'll have to live with this humiliation not only for the whole day ahead, blatantly hanging out at the back of your head, sometimes probably too close to your consciousness for any sense of comfort to ever inhabit you again, but for your entire life makes you want to throw yourself out the window. You decide not to indulge in the pressing pulsion only because you're on the ground floor, therefore, it would be pointless if not even more humiliating.

Mr Kim, somehow, helps a little. By not wearing a mask of pure revolt, revulsion or aggravation. He stares soundly, expression not giving off much to work with. Just enough to understand he is not mad, simply lost in his own thoughts he doesn't seem too keen on sharing.

A spark of sensibility blooms suddenly in your brain. You're so thankful for it, you jump right on it, grab it with your two hands and start again, as if nothing happened, as if you haven't just humiliated yourself in front of this man (and his son), "Jimmy has made a lot of progress, I've noted."

Mr Kim blinks a few times, unnaturally so. "Yeah? I mean, yes, I've noticed too, actually." He keeps staring with the same obnoxiously loud thoughts running in his mind. His brain is on full activity mode. It's obvious. And he doesn't care too much about talking about his son right this second (even though he doesn't seem to care much about sharing what's going through that private head of his either).

How disappointing. You sincerely thought the one subject that matters the most to him would successfully tear the attention away from you but you're a fool. Apparently, even the cute little bean of a son he has can't divert the attention from the humiliation you've just submitted yourself to.

"Anyway, I won't hold any more of your time, you must have work to attend to."

"Actually I'm not working today. I have the day off." Your lip now too sensitive, you attack the inner part of your cheek with your teeth -thankfully you've turned your back to him again, feigning observing with great attention something through the windows- to stop yourself from screeching. It takes him so long, so fucking long for him to decide, finally, that maybe he should leave. The longest dozens of seconds of your life. Staring outside, picturing him behind you, probably watching you wondering to himself how you can be so lame and how he could have thought you a good fit to be his precious son's teacher. "Ah, I should leave anyway. Your class is about to start?"

"Ah, yes. Well, thanks for passing by. I hope you rest well." It's the least genuine you've been with this man, and anyone for the matter, in so long. Your heart and mind are in such a shamble you don't actually remember the reason for his coming and if, really, anything positive came out of this conversation.

It's ridiculous how you feel, all bothered and nervous, aggravated with him for making you feel so flustered. You give him the most convincing fake smile you own, not taking the time to check if he buys it as you don't dare lingering your attention on him for any longer than the blink of the eye takes.

When he leaves, only after having scattered a bunch of smooches on Jimmy's face, you find yourself breathing again. It's like you've been holding in for so long, you're getting dizzy at the taste of oxygen again, heart beating furiously in your chest, sweating all over.

Fuck, that was painful.

You're such an idiot sometimes. Why do you have to be such a fucking idiot? It's not like you're asking much in this life, honestly. You're not aiming at any groundbreaking, universe shaking novelties. You're staying in your line, trying to be good and do good in your own little world. Not asking much, not taking without beforehand being offered. Is it really that much to ask to not be absolutely humiliated in front of one of your kids' parent, who happens to be a stupidly handsome man? (Yes, he is. You can admit that -to yourself. It's probably the reason why your brain stopped working properly, by the way.) You're cursed. I'm cursed, I'm cursed, I'm cur-

"Mish?" The quietest little call comes from the quietest little boy. Standing a secure meter away from you, his peculiar big black eyes staring with a silent demand in them, Jimmy waits patiently for your attention to be given to him. You offer it to him with great enthusiasm. Because between self-pitying your dumb ass and celebrating the first-ever-self-willingly-uttered word to you by this boy, the choice is not even to be pondered over.

"Yes, Jimmy?" He's holding in one hand your crayons he slowly tends your way, careful not to spill them all from his tiny fist. In the other one, there's a paper he's drawn on. Your eyes instinctively are driven to it, curious to see what he decided to draw when he felt comfortable enough to do it. He catches the line of your attention, evidently, and it takes him a second but then, finally, he decides you're allowed to see it. It's a too accurate copy of the ugly cat you made for him the other day. The colours are different, the traits a bit shakier yet, completely unbiasedly, you have to admit that he somehow made it look better. "That's a very pretty cat, Jimmy."

He looks at it, ruminates your words, trying to make sense of them, verify their accuracy. Suddenly he seems to decide that you're right and giving you another candid look, he returns to his table where he proceeds to carefully slip the drawing in his bag.

You realise your eyes are filled up with prickling tears while you sniff. You're not sure how much is due to this, how much the terrible, terrible encounter with his dad worked your emotions so intensely you're so sensitive now. In any case, it turns out for the better. It's this cute little cat that ends up making you and your day ahead feel better. You're so thankful for it.

Again, you know you're too involved but how are you supposed to do any different with them? Maybe it wasn't a punishment earlier. Maybe it was the storm before the ray of sunshine. It's probably the case. You're less aggravated, suddenly. Less vexed and probably more lenient on talking to this man again given, not the ray of sunshine, but actually rainbow that he may have helped cause to colour your day.

A/N: thanks for reading 💜

[currentfandomkick]

Marinette did not sign up for this part 7

So i kind of live, and this continues on. 

first part here   previous part here      ao3 here 

             Stephanie twitched when she finished comparing financial resources needed to handle a covert operation, butterfly garden underground, AND manage to keep it secret from the rest of Paris. Cass checked her numbers and it became very apparent that only—and she stressed the only—someone insanely wealthy and is a recluse could be Hawkmoth. And in Paris, that meant one man—Gabriel Agreste.

             Cass was the one to narrow it down to him, and Steph argued with her about it being impossible as “He’s been akumatized!” Honestly, Cass was acting like the Ladyblogger who published one of her early ‘could be Hawkmoth’ theories with Gabriel Agreste as a option with “probably had Mayura as Hawkmoth in her place” argument. It was retracted, and there was a apology put up for it that included: this list was not intended to be serious guys—I put multiple known akuma victims here and ways they could have been Hawkmoth no matter how public the akumatazation was. Did not expect this one to be taken so seriously, my sincerest apologies to M. Agreste and Mm. Sancoeur.”

             Steph could smell the ‘I was forced to do this’ off the apology, and did her best not to agree with Cass that it was forced as then Cass would argue it was a serious accusation put in mixed with less serious ones to get people thinking. To get Ladyblog followers to take notes and pass it to Ladybug and Chat Noir for further investigation. Which, would be a good way to contact the heroes. Except…

             “She interviews the Miraculous team on a bi-weekly basis Cass, she’d have plenty of opportunities to tell them her theories.”

             Cass crossed her arms. While they might heavily disagree on this aspect of who Hawkmoth and Mayura are, there is another aspect that is held in contention between the two of them…

             “Plus, Hawkmoth and Mayura are totally a couple, and everyone knows Gabriel Agreste is too hung up on his wife’s disappearance to consider moving on, let alone do it.”

             “Professionals.”

             Stephanie rolled her eyes. Cass is good at body language. There is no doubt about her being better than most. However—Hawkmoth is an egomaniac. Egomaniacs don’t give up when their goal is in reach for a henchman getting ill or injured. Not unless said hench is, well, romantically involved with them. She knew from watching Gotham’s underbelly for years—their romantic relationship had to be rock solid for it to even be considered. Married or may-as-well-be.

             “He’s ended how many battles early for her? Totally bordering on, if not actually, married.”

             Stephanie paused when two girls joined them, the ladyblogger herself with a too big grin, and soup girl if Cass wasn’t mistaken.

             “Hawkmoth and Mayura relationship debate?” The blogger grinned.

             Stephanie nodded, as yes, and this is serious. “Cass is convinced they’re just professionals with standards.”

             Soup girl groaned. “Not this again!”

             “Girl, I told you, I’m not the only one who thinks they’re a couple, and serious.”

             Stephanie grinned as Cass huffed. A vote for Team Hawkyura!

             “I told you, Hawkmoth is too obsessed with the miraculous to be capable of human emotions, and Mayura is too smart to fall for him. He’s probably paying her a lot or cancelling out a debt for her to work for him how she is,” Soup girl reasoned.

             Stephanie shook her head while Cass rose victoriously, scooting a bit closer to her fellow ‘stop shipping the villains’ teammate. Which is ridiculous—it isn’t shipping if it isn’t even subtext at this point.

             “No, no,” the blogger leaned forward, settled into their table on Stephanie’s side. “That means the relationship would have to be healthy, and its perfect possible for it to extremely unhealthy and for Mayura to be in a bad relationship with someone who isn’t wroth her time. Why else would she keep using a broken miraculous that’s making her sick?”

             Stephanie nodded at the blogger’s side. “And abusive relationships can happen to anyone. Back in our home city,” Steph gestured between herself and Cass. “A top psychologist went villain because she was manipulated into thinking the guy just needed her love to fix him and fell into a life of crime and wanted to stay by the guy’s side regardless of how many times he hurt her.”

             Cass nodded at that, frowning at that. She wasn’t there for Harley Quinn, henchman of Joker. Stephanie was. She did see the aftermath and bits of Harley’s (ongoing) recovery.

             Soup girl shook her head. “Its not that, everyone knows the Peacock is emotions so she would know he’s toying with her. She would know she deserves better. She’s staying because of finances or blackmail or maybe even being able to fix something that’s unfixable.”

             Cass hummed in agreement. “Needs to survive.”

             Soup girl nodded. “There’s no motivator more powerful than that.”

             “Um, love,” Stephanie supplied. She may not be the best at all its forms, but loving gotham’s citizens enough to want to save them was part of what drove her to become Spoiler in the first place. Spite too, but that didn’t seem like the best thing to mention at the time.

             “Exactly,” the blogger passed Stephanie one of her cookies. “Love makes people do crazy things, or did you forget Hercules.”

             Soup girl looked exhausted at that, pinching her brow. “We agreed never to bring Disney logic into these arguments.”          

             “The quote is true—People do crazy things when they’re in love. And Mayura is in love with Hawkmoth, and he’s in love with her.”

             Soup girl rolled her eyes. “Then you’d have to give up the Gabriel and Natalie theory for good. He’s still in love with his wife, and he treats Natalie more like a tablet than a person. No way that’s how he’d treat someone he’s in love with.”

             “Are we forgetting how he treats you and Adrien?”

             Stephanie and Cass exchanged a look. Stephanie focused on soup girl then. Really looked at her. Tired, twitchy, all signs of needing and not getting a good night’s rest.

             “Okay, he goes way overboard with supervising and has control issues, I’m not saying he doesn’t, ever. But he doesn’t let me take commissions unless my grades are up there, hires tutors for me and Adrien regularly, and he’s let up on controlling who Adrien can be safely friendly with to avoid crazy fans ever since I joined.”

             “You joined, therefore are something he can control, and are therefore not going to endanger Adrien or Gabriel since it would hurt your career,” the blogger explained.

             “Sounds like Hawkmoth,” Stephanie added absently, then froze as Cass grinned at her. back track time, ASAP. “But it can’t be since the guy was akumatized.”

             Soup girl looked relieved at what Stephanie said. Though, thinks weren’t looking up much on that front. She might have Batgirl pay the man a visit… after hacking the girl’s schedule and Adrien’s and seeing how much this man really was trying to control them both.

             Cass raised an eyebrow at her.

             “Thank you—can you get Alya off that train too?”

             The blogger leveled Stephanie a look that reminded her too much of Lois Lane that time she tried to interview the Batfam on Gotham crime rates and the effectiveness of vigilantes in a city that was entrenched in corruption and if it was better to just gut the Gotham justice system and start anew with different training and such, to prevent villain strength and intensity escalation. In short—she scared Stephanie. Just a little.

             “I think maybe Lois Lane could, but I doubt it.”

             “Lois Lane is the hero the world is not good enough for and her word is worth more than all of Metropolis.”

             “Not that hard to achieve,” Stephanie said without thinking. There is a lot of property damage there after all, they just have a more white collar-exclusive criminal element. Plus, Lex keeps his bigger projects in other places that are harder for Superman to find.

             Soup girl snorted at that.

             The blogger took offense.

             Stephanie would say all-in-all, not her worst time out on a mission doing detective work in broad daylight.

--

             Marinette was quick to transform into Multimouse and meet up with Rena in the Lourve. It wasn’t the first time either—Alix’s dad took to helping her translate Gaurdian since she hadn’t learned it all before Fu died. Besides her, he was the only one who could read the spell book… though that reduced the miraculous grimoire to nothing but the potions. It held the history of the kwami, how to summon and bind them, and even how to craft weapons for them. It included instructions on how to become a Guardian and what was required of her the sole guardian, and how the Order operated with mentions of ways it could be reformed should it ever vanish.

             It was the closest thing Marinette had to a mentor on how to re-build the Order and choose members, and how to make the best choices as Guardian. It even listed allied organizations and how much stock should be put into trusting them.

             But right now, she wasn’t there as Ladybug to go over another passage or talk about possible meaning and philosophies (did they really mean her job is to kill to protect the miraculous, or like, be that ready to ensure they remained safe?) or the whole “is the soul splitting a metaphor or actual magic” (magic). No, she was there as Multimouse, with Rena Rouge, as representatives of the Miraculous Team to meet up with the Amazonian Historian sent by The Former Ladybug, Hippolyta.

             “Greetings Alwphekion,” the woman nodded at Rena. “Muidion,” she acknowledged Multimouse. “I am Vupyte of Themyscira, and our leading historian on the miraculous. How may I be of assistance, young Champions?”

             Multimouse stepped forward, forgetting she wasn’t Ladybug at the moment. This question had been burning in her mind since she was told of the missing pair. “Could you tell us how the ladybug and black cat miraculous would interact with the main five if it wasn’t for Hawkmoth?”

             Rena glanced at Multimouse, knowing that something was off. It was possible Marinette may be more involved intellectually than she’d been letting on… though given her unofficial spy-work, it was possible that Marinette was Ladybug’s first choice in help… which lead to questions Rena had to keep silent… until Hawkmoth was defeated.

             “Ah, that is both simple and complex. If you wouldn’t mind,” Vupyte gestured for the pair to sit with her. “I was expecting something like that to come from Alwphekion, not you Muidion.”

             Multimouse would have been flustered a few years ago. Hell, even a few month ago, before Fu was compromised, she would have panicked a bit. But right now?

             “Ladybug tasked me to get any information to help her rebuild the Order. I won’t fail her.” She couldn’t fail the kwami. Especially Tikki who never gave up on her, even when Marinette was ready to throw in the towel a hundred times over and give her miraculous to Alya—the brave one she once had to mimic to handle being Ladybug.

             “Ah.” Vupyte leaned back. “No wonder there’s such a storm in your eyes.”

             Multimouse didn’t know how to handle that, so she brushed it aside.

             Rena put a hand on her knee and squeezed.

             Multimouse was glad she wasn’t alone in this.

             “That story goes back far beyond when my people interacted with the miraculous. Perhaps I could have a figure you trust help me digitize my research on the history in full for your Ladybug?”

             Multimouse nodded. That… “Director Kubdel was vetted by Ladybug previously for his discretion and understanding of how sensitive the miraculous and miraculous matters are.”

             Vupyte agreed to use the man at a later date. “For now, I can give you an overview of how the work together.”

             “That would be sufficient.” Multimouse did her best to copy M. Agreste’s professional affect. To hide how out of her depths she was at the moment.

             Vupyte grinned. “First off, The Savior, your Ladybug, has the role of creation. Her role in the group is to guide them to growth, to safety. She is your strategist in battle and the team’s healer. You know this already. She is the only one able to undo the Destroyer—your Chat Noir’s—abilities. However, she can only undo his damage so long as she believes it needs her intervention. Should she find his judgement—and his punishments for those violating the contract between those under the Miraculous’ protection, the Order, Champion and Kwami—be just, she cannot undo what he did.”

             Multimouse felt her heart seize. Plagg mentioned the Atlantians tried to convince a Fox into destroying a rival kingdom, a kingdom that was not doing as the Atlantians’ claimed. When the Fox refused… Plagg never said what happened after that.

             She knew only a third of the Atlantian’s survived the sinking from what they’d released to the public about their history.

             “A ladybug is given all the creative force that exists between her and her black cat, while the cat is given all the ability to detect danger. Half of each of their souls are swapped to ensure this ability switch remains, and that their bond is unbreakable so long as they are called on as Champions. The cat protects her from harm, and she supplies him with what is needed. They are only ever called on in times of absolute crisis—when the Contract is violated, or when the world’s balance is nearing a breaking point.”

             Rena was too still by Multimouse, piecing things together. Multimouse hoped she didn’t pass this on to the others… not until Marinette was certain they were safe to remain in the Order and that they want to be in it—that they don’t feel obligated to out of duty but truly want to protect the kwami. Even if it means never being a hero again.

             “The turtle shields them both—the Cat in battle and the ladybug when healing. They can even bring forth another weapon, though what it is, there is no record that we have found reliable.”

             Multimouse raised an eyebrow.

             “Shelter?”

             The Amazonian shook her head. “No Muidion, something else entirely… the incomplete records I found mentioned people being pulled to the turtle, feeling absolute safety and complete trust in them no matter what happened around them. What causes this, is unknown.”

             Multimouse felt the need to roll her eyes. she was fairly certain it was a cross between ‘must parent them all’ and the turtle’s capacity to ensure nothing broke Shelter. Possibly making it opaque, or something else. She’d ask Wayzz when Nino was asleep.

“Often the turtle focuses on getting civilians out of the area to safety. They are often aided by the Peacock, who creates a creature from a single emotion and ties it to an object, to direct its actions. The turtle protects those in danger with their shelter while the peacock’s creation and the peacock keep enemy combatants busy.

             “The butterfly may check for spies among their ranks, potential traitors too by their emotions but that is often another’s role. They often connect members across distances with those outside of their ranks, acting as a diplomat and choosing new members. At times, they might even make use of their full ability and create a champion of their own, granting them the power to make an army to help the cat while following the ladybug’s plan, or to test a possible candidate’s worth by seeing what they do when given power, and how it is used while having the failsafe of taking it away again.

             “The bee tends to fight beside the Cat, at times ordering the butterfly’s champion should their connection fail, and is ready to take down said champion should they betray the group with a single sting. The bee answers to the ladybug and cat alone—following the pair’s vision and ensuring it is executed whenever one or both of the pair is absent.

             “Then there is the fox, like you Alwphekion. I assume you have grown fond of your ally,” Vupyte gestured to Rena’s flute. “They let you craft any illusion you want. But I doubt you were told of the true power of the fox.”

             Multimouse shifted at that. “The Gaurdian was young when their temple was destroyed. I doubt they hid it intentionally.”

             Vupyte paused at that. “I did not mean it like that Muidion, simply that the Fox is given little emphansis by the Order to the point it was given a dishonorable title for their champions to inherit, the Deceiver,” Vupyte spat the title like sour milk. “Alwphekion is the one who sees all in their truth, through every lie one has spoken or believed. A fox is not a crafter of fallacy, merely presenting what one feels or desires. Their greatest gift is in their true voice, the one that none can lie or withhold information upon being addressed by it.”

             Rena leaned forward, focusing on Vupyte. “How?”

             Vupyte sighed. “The records of that were destroyed in Alexandria’s flames. It is a power a fox can only use with great conviction and motivation. Until then, they can only sense deceptions in shades while the truth rings of their own melody according to legend.”

             Rena stared at her lap.

             Multimouse put a hand on her arm. “We’ll figure it out.”

             Rena leaned into the touch then, sighing. “I have a question of my own, if you don’t mind.”

             “Certainly I do not,” Vupyte assured. “I am here to help the Miraculous Champions however I am allowed by you. I owe your predecessors more than I could ever repay.”

             Rena nodded at that. “What are the chances a butterfly user could make themself a champion?”

             Vupyte opened and closed her mouth, lips pressing and pursing until she found words to her liking. “It is not impossible for them to do so. They would have to drop their transformation to do so, which would prevent proper guidance, and would need to give themself a very limited power.”

             Rena took a deep breath.

             Multimouse took a sharp intake. That changed the rules. A lot.

             “So, hypotethetically, if one’s power could only affect a specified amount of things at a time, say, put into a given space and then whatever new thing was put in was then ejected from said space,” Rena continued, “would that be a feasible power for a butterfly’s champion to use without a butterfly guiding them?”

             Multimouse felt her stomach drop at Vupyte’s hesitance.

             “That is… rather specific.” Vupyte pondered it for a moment more. “While I can’t be certain of the logisitics, it is one of the safest abilities to give in those circumstances. Tight limitations, a weak ability that lacks army-growing capacity, so no need to use the butterfly champion to connect their chosen champion to their subjects, and it is straight forward so no need for an explanation, or perhaps the lack of one would make their reaction to discovering this limit more genuine.”

             Multimouse felt sick.

             Things aligned quickly in her head. Finances. Schedules. Timing. Targets of preference—teens at Dupont where Adrien goes and is able to talk about his day to either Natalie or Gorilla, who would report it back to him. Even Adrien’s concerns for them—weaknesses, insecurities, fears…

             It made too much sense.

             Multimouse stood up. “I have to go, excuse me.”

             Rena gawked at her. “Wait, Mul—”

             Multimouse ran out quickly, running to an alley to detransform and get Tikki to get her head on straight as Marinette spiraled.

             Gabriel Agreste couldn’t be Hawkmoth.

             He couldn’t be.

--

             Outside the alley, Tim, Cass and Stephanie froze as the girl Tim was convinced was Ladybug appeared. She was in a grey suit before.

--

             Rena looked back at Vupyte, hoping her girl got the air she needed. She knew Marinette would come around eventually, but for now…

             “One moment.”

             Alya sent off a quick text to Aurore. The girl was good at keeping Marinette distracted, out of a spiral, and helping her process.

             Aurore confirmed she found Marinette in an alley bordering on a panic attack and was taking her home.

             Rena sighed in relief.

             “Okay, now that that’s settled, there’s something you didn’t spill.”

             Vupyte smiled at Rena. “You are a clever Alwphekion.”

             Rena raised an eyebrow.

             Vupyte sighed. “A ladybug and black cat take the longest to mature in their team. It is no fault of their own; a side effect of half of their being being doubled and the other being taken. Of the two, Ladybug requires the longest time to come into her own as a strategist and healer.”

             Rena snorted at that. “Have you seen Ladybug?”

             Vupyte sucked in her breath through her teeth. “I have.”

             Rena watched her more intensely then.

             “She is not even out of her training suit, while the rest of yours have become personalized, implying that you are not being overtaken by your role. That you have blended with your kwami and role, rather than be consumed by it.”

             Rena froze at that.

             “What do you mean be consumed by it.” it didn’t come out like a question, it fell out like doubt defending fear.

             “Ladybugs fill in any holes in their group. Right now you are missing two, and one is injured,” Vupyte noted.

             Rena filled in the blanks. “Until we get a Butterfly and fix the Peacock, Ladybug isn’t really Ladybug, is she?”

             Vupyte sighed. “She is a child trying to run a home alone until they are both present as allies.”

             Rena frowned at that. “Then why isn’t Chat affected?”

             Vupyte looked far older then. “Have you not noticed that he can only extend and shorten his staff?”

             Rena opened her mouth, only for no words to come out.

             “He should be able to turn his weapon into whatever hand-held weapon he desires at that moment to protect your team. He cannot fulfill his role as Judge and Protector proper. He may be his own person within his transformation and within the team, but he lack his full range. Ladybug has her full range of abilities, but lacks her individuality as a Ladybug proper. Her team is incomplete, so she must continue to cover and cover and cover until it is complete with all five of her strongest allies at her side. Until then, whoever is under the mask will give and give and give until there is nothing left.”

             Rena swallowed thickly. “How do I stop that?”

             Vupyte leveled Rena with a few words. “Find Hawkmoth and Mayura, take their miraculous, and once the miraculous is fixed, hand them to worthy champions—ones who are strong judges of others for the butterfly, and of who is in need for the peacock.”

             Rena felt her mind waver to Rose for the peacock—the girl who fought for everyone. She was blanking on a butterfly though—a strong judge of character was hard to think of as a core characteristic of someone she knew she could trust.

             “You have one in mind,” Vupyte said quietly. “Good. You will have to find another for the other, or an ally of yours must find candidates. The sooner this is determined, the sooner your Ladybug will come into her own. The only other way… would be dangerous.”

             Rena nodded. She texted Chat and Carapace to meet her to talk about what she learned. They’d protect Ladybug. Their Leader. Paris’ Savior. And their friend.

--

             Aurore is many things. Miss Sting is a necessity to keep Paris safe. Aurore of the weather girl duo on KIDZ+. Miss Mandeliev’s favorite to call on for environmental studies and among Bustier’s favorite to read a well researched report. She is also one of poor Marinette’s longest standing friends, and one of the only people who can catch her mid attack and get her to pull out of and process her spiral without setting off a different bout of anxiety.

              Which is why she captured the akuma in a jar, hid it in her backpack until Chat or LAdybug could handle it, and nabbed her friend in the first place when Alya messaged her. She is not on the best of terms with the reporter (she might be holding a grudge over Lady Wifi calling her a hack and may have gone on a spree fact checking the Ladyblog in the early days and found holes on a Certain Person who has been since excommunicated by the students of Dupont and left the school in disgrace within a less than a week of attending). Especially since she insisted on being Mairnette’s best friend when Marinette has her already. honestly, the other never has been the best at seeing the obvious…

             Like the fact that Marinette’s anxiety up ticked with Ladybug’s issues. Or that around the time Chat Noir took on being Mr. Bug, Marinette was injured. OR that Chat hangs around Marinette a lot when Marinette is around an attack, even covering for her.

             Aurore dealth in meteorology and environmental sciences. She dealth with public appearances, PR, and being a child star. It is not her place to point out that Marinette is clearly (a) Chat and Ladybug’s confidant somehow, (b) a member of the team (c) Ladybug or some combination thereof. She didn’t want to make a call, she didn’t have evidence to back it up, and she didn’t run on intuition like Alya.

             Aurore is a Bee, and they operate best within rules.

             Ladybug made not looking into identities a rule. One she’s certain Rena has been ignoring… but Miss Sting follows Ladybug’s word to the letter. She has not looked into anyone’s identity and actively ignored any possible relveations in favor of working on her civilian life and focusing on capturing akuma before someone becomes akumatized, and bringing her catches to Ladybug or Chat for purification or destruction respectfully. Depending on how schedules lined up for patrols.

             Now, Aurore is content listening to Marinette ramble about baking soda and baking powder with buttermilk on her latest recipe and how that connects to their chemistry homework (as they were both smart enough to dodge the math that goes into physics, unlike Adrien or Nino and Rose who were naïve enough to take music theory).

             That doesn’t stop her from seeing faint movement on their school roof in reflections.

             Ladybug may not have made it a rule to protect Marinette. Chat may not have stated such either, but his actions told her it was a priority. And her duties as Marinette’s longest unstrained friendship demanded she monitor the situation.

             Once Marinette went down for snacks, aurore snuck into her friend’s bathroom and transformed to send a single message” I think Chat’s princess has a stalker now. Keep an eye on repeats in her environment.”

--

             Pegasus was furious when he saw the message. Cowboy was hacking camera in the area as they spoke with the other members of the team.

             Rena paled and Carapace looked oddly dangerous in that moment.

             Chat Noir and Ryuuko were the most deadly of the group… Chat’s suit almost… moving, but it had to be a trick of the light. Ryuuko had the same look Rena did when Carapace did something particularly dangerous—like refuse to flee before his time ran out and somehow stayed transformed beyond the standard five minutes after using shelter through sheer force of will alone.

             Ryuuko turned to Chat with a most Peculiar shade of anger. “I will be shadowing her.”

             It was not a question, but a demand.

             “Shouldn’t we check with Ladybug?” Pegasus asked while continuing to check camera. Nothing. Nothing at all.

             This must have been what was setting his friend on edge these last few days. Someone stalking her, but just out of a camera’s reach. Professional…

             Pegasus desperately hoped it was some paparazzi after Marinette the Designer’s secret identity, or even MDC. Anything but someone going after her for something… something he wouldn’t let cross his mind.

             Chat shot him one look that obliterated the option entirely. Pegasus may not know who his comrades are outside of the mask, but he’d be a fool not to remember that Marinette was a spy on Gabriel Agreste. That she was in constant danger as a civilian.

             Was it Hawkmoth?

             Mayura?

             Someone they hired?

             He didn’t know, and he needed to. Needed to protect his friend.

             She believed in him when he wasn’t sure of himself. She argued against his worst insecurities (nuisance, annoyance, best left forgotten) and proved she likes Max for Max. For his rambles, for his excitement and passion and his own brand of sass to their friends.

             King Monkey appeared with a rare serious expression. He didn’t know of Marinette’s involvement at all—only Chat, Ladybug, Alya and himself did—but King must know Marinette. Because that look on his face reminded Max of a friend he’d seen punch someone a little too hard for their hand to keep Max safe from a pair ready to hurt him for his mumbling as a child.

             “Whoever is doing this,” King Monkey stated with an eerily calm. “I’m calling the right to make their life a bit too chaotic.”

             “Get in line,” Rena growled, her flute ready at a moment’s notice.

--

             Elsewhere three gothamites were passed out in the same room. They decided to take a break and watch a movie together.

             They had no idea the Very Displeased eldest of the batchildren had entered the room and forced them each in a separate bed, or that he allowed a certain “demon spawn” to add a variety of traps that, while they all knew how to escape at this point, were still ass to get out of and made it clear they were in hot water.

--

             Jason hoped things worked out for the best… after his screw up, he figured Dickie and Demon Spawn should at least have a fighting chance. Or at least Nightwing would have a better chance at convincing the Justice League and the Miraculous Team they meant no harm.

             He hopes.

--- 

hope you enjoyed!

BTW we have fanart by @thegreysman!!! here which tumblr is rudely not letting me show off. 

@heldtogetherbysafetypins @laurcad123 @raisuke06 @chaosace@jeminiikrystal @toodaloo-kangaroo @kris-pines04 @bisha43rbs @izang

[atths--twice]

Soulmates

Soulmate: a person to whom you feel an immediate connection. A connection so strong and powerful, you are drawn to them in a way you will never experience again. They are your perfect other, the missing half of you, and no love will ever compare. No matter the distance, soulmates will find their way back where they belong. ________________________________________

The long believed alien invasion of 2012 never occurred. Since that fated night, Mulder has searched for answers to questions, but has come up empty handed. Scully has been standing by watching brokenheartedly, as his obsession has begun to tear them apart.

A heart can only stretch so far before it shatters and the pieces left behind must be put back together. Sometimes a shattered heart (or two) needs extra care, love, time, and help.

Sometimes it needs guidance from someone who understands grief and pain. Someone who will not give up or back down. Someone who will see a broken heart and not declare it unfixable, but grab the tape, glue, or whatever it takes, to fix it and make it whole again.

________________________________________________________

Okay.... I have posted about this before, but as I’m a bit, just a small bit mind you, more savvy with Tumblr, I am going to post it again. Before I only posted the link to AO3 and not chapter by chapter, as I had no idea how to do that at all. I have figured it out and all I can say is... get ready...

I have recently had the pleasure of meeting two incredibly wonderful and supportive fellow Philes, @prichan7​ and @scullybuck​, and their encouragement and love for this story has filled me with such a sense of pride and happiness, I am so thankful to have met them. Ladies... your kindness means so much to me, you truly don’t know.

I am going to post the first three chapters today and then one, or sometimes a couple, the next day.. and so on.

This is my baby and the one I am the most proud of... I hope you like it.

Chapter One 

The Origin of Maggie Scully

Maggie had been a romantic all her life. When she was younger, around 10, she began to read from the “grown up” section of the library, the young adults area. She was always an advanced reader and devoured books. She discovered Anne, the orphan girl adopted by a brother and sister. She learned new, big descriptive words reading about Anne.

Maggie fell in love with Gilbert, a sweet, romantic, caring boy who was “fathoms deep” in love with Anne upon first meeting. She yearned, despaired, and was elated when Anne and Gilbert were finally joined together in marriage. She read of Anne and Gilbert’s children. Of Rilla, their youngest who was in love with a family friend. He went off to war and her heart was broken. She cried and mourned along with all her beloved characters. When she finished the books, she began again. She became obsessed with the love the characters had for one another.

The words she read were poetry to her young soul. She needed more. The librarian observed how often Maggie was borrowing the same books. On one of her trips to the library, when she was 12, the librarian, a “kindred spirit,” showed Maggie to the literature section. She suggested a few new books she may find interesting and Maggie’s eyes lit up. She borrowed Emm a and Sense and Sensibility.

Oh … being lost in the stories of yearning love, hardships, misunderstandings, broken engagements, and true love realized, made her heart soar. She wished that she could live in her books, to know these characters, to attend balls and dance through the night.

She felt a thrill when she discovered the word ‘soulmate.’ A soulmate. It was a word she fell in love with immediately. She rolled it around and around in her mind. To think that there was someone out there destined for her, her other half, made her stomach do flip flops. She read when true soulmates had found each other, there was an unspoken understanding between them. They would feel unified to have finally found the one they had, wittingly or not, been searching for. They would be together in unity and no other happiness or joy could ever compare. Oh, how those words and thoughts had thrilled her, down to her very soul.

Reality came calling, however, no matter how a person may romanticize the world around her. Her father felt reading, especially books far beyond her age, was a waste of time. He found it “foolish for a girl to be doing, especially the books she was reading. Stories about love and romance filing her head full of frivolous unattainable things. A handsome man racing up on a horse to save her, or dying for one's true love.

Try as she might, there was no reasoning with her father. Her mother was a meek woman and she complied with her husband. Maggie’s trips to the library became obsolete. She was told to focus her attention on other things.

Her parents were devout Catholics and her time for confirmation was approaching. She was to attend the classes and study what her faith would prepare her for in her future- a life devoted to her faith, husband, and a family.

Although she obeyed, she felt that a part of her was gone without the chance to read her books and become lost in their stories. But after her confirmation, she began going to parties and meeting people. New girlfriends to gossip with, share lipsticks (of which none of them were allowed to even possess), even try out smoking, and laugh about which boys they would like to kiss.

She loved the thrill she felt being in a group of boys and girls, seeing if she might feel a spark with of them. She had not given up that she had a soulmate out there somewhere looking for her. There were boys she felt an attraction to, but it was not the same as that deep desire for a soulmate.

Then when Maggie was 20, her mother passed away. She was left with an empty hole in her life. Her father took her mother’s death extremely hard. He began to drink heavily. He was moody and depressed. But at times he was kind and emotional. During those times, he spoke of his love for his wife. How beautiful she had been, how she could light the room with her smile, how much he missed her, how lost he was without her, how he loved her from the moment he saw her, how he wished he told her more.

Maggie sat in shock. Of course she knew her parents loved each other, she was not stupid. But this ... especially from her father, left her speechless. He was tough, quiet, closed off. She had no idea he was capable of feeling that way. How naive she was, how childish in her thinking.

She was an adult, but she was still much like a child, believing love was something a person longs for, pines after, or has to suffer a huge loss to find. She saw and learned of true love, of actual soulmates that day. Not the silly little girl version she had imagined with music sounding and “happily ever after.” This was a love that ran deep and true and real.

She was emboldened by this revelation. She made a firm decision. She would not let her father drink the rest of his life away. Her mother’s memory did not deserve that disrespect. His love for her needed to be stronger than the ease at which he grabbed the bottle for comfort.

It was not an easy task, but she got him to quit. She learned things about herself during this time. Patience, understanding, and extreme empathy. Her grief was raw, but her father’s was devastating. Spending time with each other, expressing their grief, had brought them closer together. She always felt a disconnect from him, as though he did not care for her as her mother had. As they learned from each other, her heart warmed with the discovery that his love was simply quiet. He was proud of her, loved her, and wanted the very best for her. He did not say it with words too often, but his eyes and his smile told her every day.

When Maggie met Bill, she knew right away he was a good man. He was somewhat like her father-quiet, serious, stoic. Under his outward presentation, though, he was sweet, funny, romantic. He was rational and cool headed. He would be a good husband, provider, father.

She loved him, immensely, but it was not until she had Bill Jr. that she realized how much she needed and relied on him.

She was sick throughout her pregnancy, never truly gaining much weight. She could not get the baby to feed very well once they were home. She was not sleeping, had not showered, the house was a mess, and she could not stop crying. She felt like a failure as a wife and a mother.

One day, a knock sounded at the front door. Bill Jr. had just spit up all over her last clean shirt and also managed to soil his last clean diaper. Maggie felt like lying down and giving up. She did not care about the person at the door, she just wanted to sleep, cry, or scream. Maybe even all three.

The knock sounded again and a muffled voice called out, “Mrs. Scully? My name is Evelyn McCreary. Your husband works with my husband. He asked if I could look in on you. He wanted to be sure that you were okay and didn’t want you to be alone.”

Maggie began to cry. From exhaustion, embarrassment, but mostly from the caring her husband showed by asking for help for her. She would never have asked on her own. She was a navy wife now and needed to keep that stiff upper lip. As she cried, she caught a whiff of both herself and the baby. It was not a good combination.

Her pride worn down, she walked to the door. She did not look at her reflection in the mirror by the door. She knew she looked like death warmed over. If this woman was truly here to help, she was going to see how big her job would be.

Opening the door, she found not a young woman, but an older one. White hair set in a fetching style, clothes and makeup perfect. She even had a pair of gloves in one hand and her purse in the other. This woman? She was going to help?

Maggie almost closed the door in her face. Close the door before she ruined the clothes of this poor well meaning woman. She had probably thought that Maggie was simply bored and was looking for someone to gossip with and drink some tea, maybe something stronger. Well, Maggie thought, that sure ain’t the case. She stared at this immaculately dressed stranger with a look of defiance.  

The eyes looking back at her were soft and understanding. She took in Maggie’s spit up covered shirt and could smell the baby’s soiled diaper. She smiled kindly at Maggie and put her gloves in her purse with a snap as it closed.

“Well,” she said with a square set to her shoulders. “It looks like we have our work cut out for us. How about you invite me in and we can get started?”

Maggie was completely floored. She expected this woman to be aghast and walk away. When she did neither, she could not do anything but allow her in the house. Evelyn set her purse down on the crowded dining room table and turned to Maggie.

“First things first,” she said with determination in her voice. “You need to get cleaned up and I will take care of this adorable baby.”

“No,” Maggie said with more force than she actually felt. “First things first. You tell me who you are and why exactly you are here.” Evelyn smiled at her, just as kindly as before, and clasped her hands together.

“My husband and your husband have become friends. They have recently worked together and have taken a liking to one another. Your husband mentioned that you had recently had a child. My husband, Philip, had asked how you were doing. Bill was honest with him and said it had been hard. My Philip told me, and I knew I had to come right over. You see, Mrs. Scully,” she said with a brief pause as she took a breath. “I know how hard it can be. How you can feel ... alone and no one understands. I have had six children and I was unprepared for each one of them.” Maggie balked at her. Six children? God. That sounded exhausting.

“My husband and I married young,” she continued. “My mother had passed when I was a girl and I never learned about ... well many aspects of marriage.” She laughed and her cheeks flushed. “When I discovered I was with child, I was terrified. I had no idea what I would do.” She smiled at Maggie kindly and reached out to touch the baby’s foot.

“My husband was wonderful to me the entire time. He was tickled that we would be having a baby. He boasted to everyone how happy he was to be a father. How he loved that I would be giving him that honor. But then the babies came ...” she became quiet for a second, lost in her memories. Maggie shifted uncomfortably, aware once again how terrible she smelled.

Evelyn gave a little shake of her head and then smiled at Maggie. “Mrs. Scully,” she said kindly. “I would love to tell you my story when you have had a chance to clean up a little. I can imagine you don’t feel so wonderful at this moment.”

Maggie’s eyes filled with tears at the kindness in her voice. “I can’t get cleaned up,” Maggie said with a sob. “There is so much laundry to be done, and I don’t have any more clean shirts.”

Evelyn reached for the baby, and this time Maggie let her take him. She brought her hands to her face as her tears began to fall faster. Evelyn tucked Bill Jr. into her side and drew Maggie to her with an arm around her shoulder.

“My dear,” Evelyn said softly. “Please lead me to the bedroom and we will get you sorted out.”

Maggie tearfully led Evelyn toward the bedroom. She set the baby down in the bassinet that sat in the room. Evelyn walked into the bathroom and started the shower. When it was a comfortable temperature, she turned to Maggie and told her to take her time and get cleaned up. Maggie sobbed and began to unbutton her shirt. Evelyn walked out and closed the door behind her.

Maggie left all her clothes in a disgusting heap on the floor and stepped into the warm steamy shower. She let the water wash over her and cleanse her body and soul. She was so bone tired and this shower was the best experience she had in days. She stayed under the spray and felt her muscles relax. She cried and cried. Let all her anxiety out in that shower. Felt it wash away down the drain.

She washed her hair and body twice, exhilarated by the feeling of being clean. Erasing the stench of milky baby vomit and soiled diapers. She stayed in the warm cocoon until the water began to cool. Finally she had to turn the water off and return to real life.

A towel had been placed out for her and her disgusting clothes were gone. She had not even noticed Evelyn return to the bathroom. She grabbed the towel and wrapped herself in the fluffiness. God, she felt like a new person. She dried her hair with an extra towel until it was just slightly damp.

Maggie walked into her bedroom and found that Evelyn had put some clothes on the bed for her. A button down shirt of Bill’s was laid out beside a pair of pajama pants. She slipped them on, no underwear available to be worn. She did not care and she doubted Evelyn would either.

Once she was dressed, she walked out to find Evelyn in the dining room. She had cleaned up the clutter on the table and changed the baby. He was laying in the bassinet that she had moved from the bedroom.

She looked up and smiled as Maggie came in the room. She walked toward her and put her arm around her shoulder, leading her to the table. Maggie sat and Evelyn disappeared into the kitchen. She came back with a two cups of tea and set them down.

“Do you take cream and sugar?” Evelyn asked kindly. Maggie shook her head. “I was able to find one last diaper for the baby, but he will be needing more. I placed a call to a friend of mine and she will be dropping off some items for you as soon as she can,” Evelyn said as she sat and drank her tea. “I have also started washing some clothes in your washing machine. Such a wonderful invention. Things took longer in my day. Once those clothes are done, I will hang them for you and start more clothes.”

Maggie was silently crying, looking down at her teacup. She was overwhelmed by everything, but especially by the kindness this woman was showing her. She did not know her, but she was here and she was helping. She had already done so much in the short amount of time she had been here.

She lifted her eyes to Evelyn. She could not talk around the lump in her throat. She shook her head, trying to fight back her tears. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak.

“Before you say anything,” Evelyn said softly, setting down her cup and taking Maggie’s hand. “Let me tell you my story. Drink your tea and just listen.”

Maggie took another deep shuddering breath and nodded. She did not know what she was going to say anyway. That she was fine? She clearly was not. She did not need any help? It was obvious that she did. She just needed to say something. Instead she took a sip of tea and waited for Evelyn to speak.

Evelyn placed her hands on the table and folded them together. She told Maggie of her hardships with her babies. How she had been wholly unprepared for caring for them. She did not know anything about children and she felt like a failure every day. She cried more in that time than any other time in her life. When the babies cried, when they spit up, when dinner was burnt, when her husband’s shirts were not ironed, or worse, when they too were burnt.

But through it all, her husband had been there for her. He was always encouraging, always positive. He ate the burnt dinner, smiling through every bite. He hid his scorched shirts beneath jackets, kissing her goodbye and thanking her for seeing that he looked respectable and loved. He was her champion, her cheering squad and she loved him immensely for it.

They moved to a new base when she was pregnant with their fourth child. Two of the children were in school during the day at that time, so she was home with only the youngest child. She was thankful for that because the fourth pregnancy had been her worst. She was sick almost throughout. She could barely eat, she was not sleeping and the housework began to suffer.

There were not scorched shirts anymore, there were simply none ready at all. Dinners were late as they had to wait for her husband to cook them and he worked late shifts. She would cry as she sat holding the youngest one and her husband served the older children soup and toast, grilled cheese, eggs. Whatever was on hand and easy to make. He would make them laugh with silly voices and songs he made up. Then they would help him clean up and head to bed.

He would come to her and wipe her tears. Tell her he loved her, she was the only person he would ever love in this lifetime and the next. He would take the little one and bathe her, put her to bed, and come find Evelyn still on the sofa, crying. He would take her to their room, help her get her night clothes on, and brush her hair. He would sing to her as he did, telling her how beautiful she was. How her hair was like spun gold and it shined brighter than the sun. He would hold her as she cried when they went to bed.

It had been two weeks and this had become their routine, until she heard a knock at the door. She opened it to find a dark skinned woman with the biggest smile she had ever seen. She told Evelyn that her husband had run into her, literally, and helped her pick up the items she spilled.

He struck up a conversation with her and found she was looking for work, but no one wanted to hire her. He said that was ridiculous and he hired her on the spot. Said he needed someone to help his wife because he loved her so much and seeing her breaking down the way she was, was breaking his heart. He cried for his wife, cried for her suffering, and asked, begged, for her help.

Her name was Tanzie and she was a godsend. She helped with anything and everything. She washed, cleaned, cooked, ironed, and cared for the children. But most important, she became the friend that Evelyn needed. She cared for her. Cooking bland foods that she could hold down, offered up advice her mama had for pregnancy, remedies that were a wonder for Evelyn.

Tanzie helped her get back to herself and her family. She was the best friend Evelyn ever had. They shared secrets, dreams, and their lives.

“Mrs. Scully, without the love of my husband, and the care of others, I would have crumbled. I would have given up. I am a lot older than Tanzie was when she showed up that day, but I would like to be here to help you as she did for me.” Evelyn said kindly, looking into Maggie’s eyes.

Maggie sat in rapt attention, tears running down her face, through the whole story. Listening to Evelyn’s story of love filled Maggie with hope, with happiness and such immense love. She read of soulmates, saw it through her father’s eyes, knew she found it in Bill, but Evelyn’s story ... it was pure love and devotion.

And now Evelyn sat there, in a dirty house, with clutter and laundry piling up, offering her help because Philip heard about her need from Bill. A loving heart reached out to another loving heart. As a result, without hesitation, Evelyn came to help Maggie. To offer what she could, however she could.

Through her tears, Maggie smiled and nodded. “Please, call me Maggie,” she said as she grasped Evelyn’s hand, reaching out for the lifeline that had been sent to her.

I had posted all of this story here, chapter by chapter, but now… I’m not sure how to find it. So, I am posting the link to it on AO3. Happy reading… with perhaps some tears along the way. 💕

[sunca]

Hey congrats on starting your writing blog !! Could I request Narancia with 2 and 87 from the yandere prompts? Maybe in like a school setting of sorts? Thank you in advance!! 💕

"𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓎"

Yandere Narancia x reader(Yandere Prompts)

2. "Please pay attention to me."

87. "What do I need to make you love me back?"

~~~~~~

Scenario.

Warning : Death, blood, gore, physical violence, curse words, kidnapping, mentioned of stalking, yandere stuff, a bit of lust.

Count : 4030

Thank you. I appreciate it. (•-•)\💖

Sorry for the wait. I've been busy these days but as soon as I finished those stuffs, I went straight down to writing and fixing this.

Please accept this art as my apology. Long hair, fancy Narancia is a must and reader as a small chibi.

Requests still open. Thank you and I hope this brings satisfaction to you.

Sadly, I couldn't post this with read more. ;-; Forgive me.

I almost forgot. Recommended song for this.

Anson Seabra - Stay with me

~~~~~~

Sleepless nights and those stares which hunted you in the darkness. You tried to sleep soundly as much as you could but those nightmares picked you like a marionette and made you dance as they willed. Traces of fingers on your skin offered the ecstasy of waking up. Only to have chills rushing on you. Sweats and tears tainted on the mattress. The warmth of another person, the breeze would steal every night. The welcomed window with a broken lock in your view. An orange wrist band disappearing into the leaves of a nearby tree.

You hid your yawn with your book from your teacher. She shot a glance at you but you just tried to hide between your shoulders. Dark circles lingering around your eyes as you tried to wipe your tears away. You once again looked down at your book to greet with an x and its long lost number. y and z waiting for their soulmates. Numbers running around on your page playground. A discontented sign falling down along with your tense shoulders.

Slender fingers rested on his cheek. His chin stood gracefully on his palm. His captivating purple eyes sojourned on your back. You who couldn't concentrate won't be able to detect his enthusiasm for you. He planned to open his heart for you today. He could only wish it would go well. He can only wish. The echo of the bell rolling into the class directed his attention to turn to his dear friend.

Fugo closed his book and let it rest for a period. His hand reaching for the lemon coloured lunchbox and water bottle. Narancia then get attracted to your magnet but blocked by a girl who stood between you two. Narancia looked up to see her lunch box held tight to her chest. She then build up her courage to ask him to spend his precious time with her. He leaned back. Creating more space between him and her. Showing uninterested body language. A single worded rejection. His feet walking on your yellow path. You getting up to get some space from people, stopped in your tracks when he came into your view.

"Hey, (Y/N)! Nothing to do at lunch. Right? Come join us! You've been busy with that club and activities. I missed you," he whined with puppy eyes. You being your dithering self because of restlessness. "Sure," You replied with a small puff and smile, blinking your fuzzy vision away. His gleaming smile blinding you so easily. "Great! Let me grab my lunch box fast! Wait here!" He gleefully replied and headed back to his seat. A soft smile staplered on his cheeks.

The three of you sitting under the unfixed clouds. A baby tomato rolling under your fork. You listened to the back and front between Fugo and Narancia. This bickering was bringing out more headache for you. Then suddenly, Narancia wrapped his arms around your torso and faked a cry. "(Y/N)! See? Fugo is making fun of me! I just don't understand math and he's calling me 'stupid' again!" You let out a tired sigh and patted his head. "I'm calling you stupid because you are! 33×12 is 36? Oh. What a genius! How many times do I have to teach you that?!" Fugo looked as if a strawberry now. His face all red because of rage.

"Oh, Fugo. By the way, did you heard-," Narancia looked up at you. His hands not retreating back from you but holding more tightly. You were focused on Fugo and letting him know about the new series he caught upon. The two of you would buy the book together or inform each other about the news related to that series. You and Fugo having interest in a same subject once in a while. Narancia was not getting any of it. His eyebrows fusing.

"(Y/N)! I burned my hand the other day!" He put his hand in between you and Fugo's eye contact. You just nodded and patted him again but didn't stop communicating with Fugo. Narancia's hand slowly drafted back to your shoulder. Tears welding on his eyes. His cheeks swelling. He then slowly fell onto your lap. His hands closest to his heart which was aching for you. Both Fugo and you stopped in track. You looked upon a teenage boy in tears, sulking like a baby and resting on your lap.

"Please pay attention to me, (Y/N)."

His voice shaking. You felt bad for not giving him the attention he deserved and run your fingers through his hair gently. Narancia has always been like this whenever you ignored him a bit. You didn't want to speak it out loud but it slipped through. "Aww~ my baby," you wiped his tears away. Narancia started sniffing and sobbing. You picked him up by his shoulder and he sat up. "Don't cry. Don't cry~," Mischief in your sugary voice. "Aww~ There. There," you comforted him with a hug and caressed his head. Fugo scoffed and focused on eating again. Turning his gaze away from the two of you.

After a minute or two, the door to the rooftop swung. A pair of canary preying you in. Burgundy hair combed back neatly. His sharp jaw ready to slice anyone in two. His flawless face shining like silver. Turtleneck white sweater revealing his ravishing physique. Black jeans hugging his slender and long legs. The papers in his grip rustled as the breeze flowed in.

Once he saw you, he stormed up to you. You looked up at Kevin, your club's president. Narancia, on the other hand, didn't want Kevin to come and destroy his paradise, and he knew Kevin would be a bad new for him. As soon as he saw Kevin, Narancia glanced to you. Narancia didn't expect and want this to happen but here you are, looking at a boy other than him.

"Oh, Kev! What brought you here?" You greeted him and drew back your hands. Narancia didn't bother to move from your side. Fugo twisted his neck to look up from his lunch to your target. Fugo repositioned himself since he saw who was it and listened to hear whatever Kevin had to say. "(Y/N), Mrs. Smith said you made some mistakes in the paper sheets for the club. You better get there now and I have things to do," Kevin stood beside Fugo and waited for you.

"I will go there once I finish my lunch," you glared up at Kevin. Narancia was also glaring at Kevin. "She didn't look like she was busy which is unusual," Kevin insisted. Kevin's demand irked you and you rolled your eyes. "Fine," you groaned as you packed your lunch back up. Narancia complained as he clasped your arm. "(Y/N), you don't have to go." Narancia's puppy eyes striking your week spot but you couldn't say no to the class president. "I'm sorry, Narancia but I have to. I will see you back in class when this is over. Ok? No worries," you gave Narancia a reassuring smile and stood up. Narancia's eyes were narrowing at Kevin. Fugo noticed this and observed him carefully. So then, he could step in if Narancia was to burst out.

You headed to the teachers' office and prepared yourself. Kevin was walking on the corridor of the old, abandoned school building. He just needed to grab some stuffs from there. He was on his way until he saw a group of people in a class. He pulled the door open and shouted, "Students are prohibited to come here withou-," he saw an adult looking like a street rat handing a bag wrapped in tape to a student. "YOU! Outsiders are prohibited here too and state your busines -" Before his sentence ended, —wham!— his unconscious body fell onto the dusty floor with a thud.

Narancia tried his best to keep his serenity but something clicked in him. He threw his orange juice and stood up. "That motherf*cker!! $&j#fc;h-e)g£sv%y!!!" He cursed as the bottom of his shoe stamped upon the poor lunchbox. Noodles flat under, the sauce splashed across the concreted floor, the plastic scattered into pieces and his shoe fouled by the mess. Fugo noticed the buzz in his pants pocket and reached for it. Checking the ID, he then picked it up. "Pronto."

"Damn it!" Narancia exclaimed as he rubbed his shoe on the clean surface of the floor. "They're always trying to steal my (Y/N) away. A*sh*les!" Narancia kicked the air and his feet yeeted his shoe. Narancia was too furious to pay attention to Fugo or his talk. He then let out a frustrated sigh and hopped. "Yes. We'll take care of it. Arrivederci," Fugo hung up and shoved the phone back into his pants. He then reversed his direction back to Narancia who was putting on his shoe again.

"Narancia," he calmly called him to see his fumming face almost as if a tomato. "They're making a move now. Gior- Boss want us to take action. Bruno said he will send the info in 5 minutes," Fugo's sentences were short but held engrossing mystery in them. Narancia's face was dark and occupied with a wide grin which would inject a chilling trepidation to everyone sane but Fugo wasn't bothered. The thought of finishing an order perfectly enraptured Fugo as he couldn't wait to spend more time with his beloved who was in a cage. "Go fetch (Y/N) after this," Fugo shot a smirk and encouraged Narancia. The two boys communicating with their eye contact. You who thought Fugo and Narancia were normal teenagers and not knowing anything about their past, didn't even notice the foreboding gift future has in store for you.

When you entered the club room, you couldn't find Kevin anywhere. "MuMu, have you seen Kev anywhere? I need him to check these sheets," you asked a girl who was filling in forms. "Ah! He went to that old building in the west. He said he needed some files from class B," she answered and you smiled at her. "Thank you!" You replied and headed to there. Looking over the papers in your fingers again. "This will be fine. I guess...," you spoke to yourself.

Narancia and Fugo were checking out the rooms at the ground level. They entered the 5th room when you entered the hall. You then zigzagged and stepped on the first step of the stairs. 'Class B. Huh. That would be third floor.' You thought to yourself and rubbed your temple. "Wait. This building has three stairs. Right? What if I miss Kevin? I can't let it happen! I must hand in these today," you talked to yourself and hurried your steps. "Nothing's here too," Fugo looked up to Narancia. He was squatting and checking for footprints or any sign of their target were here or the packs since the info showed they stored some in here. "Let's move on," Narancia replied as he head to the stairs.

You arrived on the third floor and everything was a mess. There were plastic bags, dry leaves and dusts. You looked up to the sign on top of an entrance. It read 'E' and you moved on to get where you wanted to be. When you passed through class D, you heard something. You stopped in track and paid attention to it. It was as if something was being beaten. You backed to the wall and approached the back door of the third room. You sneakily opened the door a bit and peeked in. A strange scent hitting your nostrils.

There was a group of students and some people in normal attire. Smokes surrounding their heads. Cigarettes in between of their fingers. Some were staring down at the centre. You followed their gaze. A fist rose and fell like a tsunami. You couldn't see who was the victim since the desks and some males blocked it. You keeled for a better view and in between legs, you saw a familiar male with burgundy hair. Blood rivering down on his lips and chin. His nose all red. His face swollen.

You questioned why he didn't fight back and you covered your mouth. His fingers bending back in. Blood stained on his white sweater. Two knives attached to his belly. You started to tremble and your breath hitched. You wanted to step in and help Kevin but it would be around 15 against 1. You don't even stand a chance.

You gotta get out of there fast and affirm the teachers. When you raised your head back, the door swung open with a creek. You looked up like a cornered prey under the gaze of a predator. To meet with a pair of eyes staring down at you. A grin sent chills down your spine. You didn't waste any time and sprang for the escape. The shadow behind you chased you down. You were pulled back by a hand wrapping by your waist. "HELP-!" Your mouth covered by a hand.

"Did you hear that?" Narancia glanced at his friend who didn't turn away from his staring towards the ceiling. "Hear what?" Narancia had a confused expression. Fugo then looked at Narancia. "Narancia, call out Aerosmith. They might still be in this building," Fugo commended him. "Okay?" Narancia raised an eyebrow and spread his arms horizontally. "Aerosmith!"

You were struggling against two males. The others were staring or laughing at your inadequate struggles. You kicked, wiggled your body out, punched and did everything you could but nothing seemed to work until you remembered a method. You kicked the male in front of you where the sun don't shine and curved in your spine to smash that nose with the back of your head. The grip around you loosened. Your feet trying to be your life saviour, betrayed by a hand grabbing on one. Your face came in to kiss the floor. A crack rang in your ears and a light flashed before you. You tried to get back up but restrained by a pull.

You rolled around and punched anyone who was in sight. Your hand captured in a grip but you used all of your force and took your hand back. Your other hand reached something and you grabbed it. Panic swung your hand and —Shluk!— crimson liquid spattered. A glass shard deep in the throat of a student. Blood trailing down from his mouth and nose. He choked out and a daub of red landed on your cheek, soon to roll slowly to side. Your eyes went wide. You brought up your hand to wipe the burning sensation on your nose and hide that glup. You were stunned. Your brain tried to reload what you just did but errors delayed it.

Tap, tab, tap, dab, dap, dab, dap, swissh, dab, swissh, dab, dap, zwish, dab, dap, zwish, Dap, zwish, Dab, Dap, zwish, Dab, BAM!

The door swung open, brining you back to reality with a flinch. Your head spun and you saw a ray of hope along with two boys. Narancia's scanning fell upon you as soon as you goggled him. Your nose red. Blood smeared on your philtrum, upper lateral subunit and upper lip. Your obscured tears failed on you. The look in your eyes begged him to save you. Your lips quivering. Your quietened sobs emerging. "What the f*ck!?" A wrongdoer swore out loud and they prepared themselves by picking up some chair, wood stick, spiked bat, and pocket knives.

"Na-Narancia...," You ran towards him but your legs gave out and you crawled. Clinging on his leg. He crouched towards you. Holding your trembling hand in his. Your poor body shaking like a leaf. Tears streaming down on your exquisite cheeks. Your state in this situation and a murmur of your voice turned on the insanity inside him. "Fugo, I will leave (Y/N) to you," Fugo took over his role and supported you to stand up. Narancia's face was hard to read when you glanced at him. Narancia stood tall.

Your back leaned on the dirty wall. Your breath hitching and you hugged onto Fugo tightly. Burying your face in his chest. Snivelling all your emotions out. Screaming were heard in the distance. Fugo patted your back and separated you by your shoulders. "(Y/N)?" He called your name and you looked up at him. "I need you to stay here and not going anywhere. Ok?" he waited for your answer. You nodded while sobbing. He set up a reassuring smile and left you there. You sat there and wiped your tears away. When you glanced at Fugo, you saw him walking into that room.

"YOU BASTARD! YOU WORTHLESS LITTLE S*HT!! YOU SHOULD GO DIE IN A S*HT HOLE, YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING B*TCH!!" The dead hooligan lied flat under Narancia's shoe. Narancia's breathes were hitching, and veins were popping out on his forearm and the back of his hand. Blood painted the wall and floor red. The pool under his shoe sticky and thick. They deserved it. No one and by means that, not even a single soul is allowed to hurt his perfection whom he worship daily. Anyone who left a scratch on (Y/N)'s body will be left with a missing limb but made her bleed more than a drop? Haha. Ya gotta be kidding about it.

Fugo stopped him in track. "(Y/N) need you now. Go. I will take care of them," Fugo's hand on his shoulder, giving Narancia a proud smile. Narancia stepped back and cooled himself down. Fugo took out a glass bottle and a handkerchief. He opened the cap and enclosed the lid with the handkerchief. He then turned them upside down. Soon to be back in their position. He handed the handkerchief to Narancia. "Here. Take this just in case." Narancia took it and in a split second, there was a wide, merry grin on his cheeks. He put it in the skirt pocket. "Yea! Thanks, Fugo!" He exclaimed gleefully and ran out of the class with a jolly behaviour. Fugo chuckled at Narancia's usual behaviour and put the covering back on.

Of course. You must be waiting for him all this time. You need him like he needs you. You sinning his thoughts and nights. You who was defenceless. He who was resistless to you or your beguiling body. His hands not wanting to depart from your skin. His lips brushing softly on your throat. He was addicted to you. You who spellbound him, lured him in, ensnared him, planted a seed called possessiveness in him, seized his obsession only to yourself and inveiged him to come swoop your fragile soul from this heartless world. He's your knight in shinning armour after all.

"(Y/N)!" You heard a familiar voice. Your sugary name cloying him more and more. He was drunk upon the bewitching splendour of your beauty. Your voice ripping his stability bit by bit. His body towered you. Trapped you between his torso and the wall. You were in a daze. His tranquil smile avenging your cruel actions towards him. His loving gaze hypnotising the poor prey.

You turned your head to the source. A breeze revealing a dazzling boy to you. "Narancia!" You called your friend's name as you eyed him up. He who bathed in his enemies' blood. You wiped your tears again as you stood up. Observing the boy before you in terror. "I killed them for you~ (Y/N)♡," his voice sickeningly sweet. His usual cute smile inverted into a nightmare with blood staining on it. "Thi-This is wrong. So wrong...," you choked out. His eyebrows raised with disbelief. "What are you talking about, (Y/N)? This is the right thing to do! They hurt you! You are a perfection and I'm your guardian! If anyone try to corrupt you, they are devils and it's my duty to get rid of them! Hehe," he chuckled lightly. As if taking out the fire of life was nothing more than a joke to him.

"Naranci-" you were cut off. "I love you~" The grin not dropping from his face. "W-Wha-What?" You asked again not because you didn't quite catch it but because you didn't get what he meant by that. "I love you♡" An adorable giggle rumbled down his chest. "Wha- N-No! Liste-" you tried to speak again. "No? You don't love me?" The wretched look gushed down your throat like a blazing lava. Guilt's hands tightening around you throat. "No. No. That's not-" Your panic dragged and chucked you down the cliff.

"Then what do I need to do to make you love me back, (Y/N)?"

You stopped. You legitimately stopped. He wasn't trying to hear out what you had to spill. He wasn't even trying. It seemed as if he won't give up or drop that subject. No. He wouldn't and you have had it. You took a sharp breath in. Your legs spun and took a step farther away from him. Your back getting smaller and alarm bells rang loudly in his head. Your direction fixed on the stair. He pulled you back by your wrist and made you face him. His hand sneaking around your waist.

"Let me g-" your lips sealed with his. Your heart jumped like a rabbit and your mind reset itself. If you were just an innocent civilian, he wouldn't do anything to you but remember that time you helped him with that winsome smile? Remember that time when you let him rest on your lap? Remember that time you held him tight in your sleep? You have given him those blushes, those smiles, those giggles, those restless nights with only you in his head, those hushed moans and those vivid dreams. You have stolen his only heart and tried to flee with it. Did you think he was that stupid to let you go after everything he went through for you?

A white silk between the two teenagers sparkled under the orangy ray. The sun slowly dying on the horizon, letting his lover breathe and shine in the darkness with her small sparkling fairies. Your breathing uneven. Unable to leave his dusky purple soul. He fed upon your candy as his right hand flew up to cup your cheek. His thumb swinging left and right. Your cheek dough under his fingers. Your life like a droplet of rain in his palm.

His touches varied into needy ones. His desire asking for more as his lips once again sucked the life out of you. His tongue burrowing into you. Your hands constraining him away from you. Your head trying to break away from his grasp. Your brain sending red flags in your view. Your anxiety lining tears on your lower eyelashes. Your lung shrieking for the oxygen you needed. Him devouring on your sobs.

Your leg swung back to aim whichever part of his leg you can reach. —Wham!— he groaned and reached for his luckless shin. You didn't waste any time and hurtled wherever you can but far from this pitiful boy. Your legs wanting to give out under you but your brain forcing them not to. Your heart ringing in your ears. The stairs blurred in your vision.

You set your foot upon the second floor and aimed to make a U turn to descend more. Coincided with a yelp, your flimsy body was tugged back by a hand wrapping around your chest. Your nose and mouth were covered by a hand, linked with a cloth. Due to the intense exercise you had, you respired a small amount of chemical with a gasp. The sharp smell made you press harder into his chest, gratifying him more.

Your fists hitting his hands, pulling them away. Your body twisting in order to be freed. Your tears messy on your cheeks. Your limbs faltered. Your muscles relaxed. Your soul doors pulling the curtains. Your head rested on his shoulder. Your consciousness fell into the dark abyss. Pulling you along with it. A word echoed in the void.

"𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙮."

[doctordiscord123]

Mad with Love

The Host may have lost his mind, but he still loves Dr. Iplier dearly. He just has an interesting way of showing it nowadays.

I’M SORRY I HAVE TO WRITE MORE MAD HOST I JUST LOVE HIM

Part 1 of this strange series here

Tags: @demon-dark-666 @devon-rever-860 @smash-ash26 @bender-of-life @verse2wo @vociferous-chaos

Warnings: Blood Characters: The Host, Dr. Iplier Pairings: The Host/Dr. Iplier Word Count: 1569 words

The Host was broken.

Only a few months after the Actor’s defeat, and it was clear there was no reversing what had been done to his mind. He had, in short, completely lost it, comparable to Wilford in his madness. His abilities were haywire, he was constantly muttering, but not in the way he’d mumbled his narrations. This was fervent, feverish, and when anyone got close to actually hear what he was saying, they found it was utter nonsense: garbled sentences and words he didn’t finish before moving onto the next entirely different thought. They were still narrations, but...they were broken. 

Like him.

A few things remained constant about him. Where if one focused on just those aspects, they could almost fool themselves as to thinking that nothing was amiss. The Host’s sockets still bled -- with no stop to the flow and black ink mixed in now, but they bled. He still always wore his coat. He still hated to go into public. He still enjoyed going on walks through the forest, though now King always tailed him, in fear he’d get lost or hurt himself.

And -- most of all -- he still loved Dr. Iplier so dearly.

He just...had an odd way of showing it now.

Before, the Host had been prone to writing poetry and praising Dr. Iplier with flowy words. Now, nothing he wrote made sense. Hardly anything he spoke made sense, especially now that he blended third and first person so seamlessly and disorientingly now. But he still spoke to Dr. Iplier. Ink dripping down his face, drooling from his mouth, tongue and teeth tinted black, he sat in Dr. Iplier’s office and rambled as Dr. Iplier changed his bandages, gave him the blood transfusion he now needed nearly hourly.

Dr. Iplier didn’t mind. The Host may be broken, but he was still the Host. Still the man who proposed. Still the man he married. And when he rambled to Dr. Iplier, his sentences were at least whole. They didn’t make a whole lot of sense, praising aspects of Dr. Iplier that weren’t true, or just straight up weren’t possible. Dr. Iplier knew the Host had lost all grip on which reality was which. He didn’t know where he stood in the many, many universes anymore. And one he apparently frequently found was one where all the egos had wings. Praising how soft and beautiful Dr. Iplier’s feathers were, reaching out a hand as if he were petting a wing, shoulders shifting as he were moving his own.

Fundamentally, the Host was the same man he always was. Dr. Iplier wasn’t going to stop loving him just because he was a little...cracked, upstairs. Dark loved Wilford, and Wilford was much the same as the Host was now. Dr. Iplier had no excuse to give up on the Host. And he wasn’t going to.

The Host still tried his best. All throughout their relationship, before the Actor, there had been a white rose as a running theme between them. A white rose was the first gift the Host had ever give Dr. Iplier, before they’d even entertained the idea of being together, before they’d even had feelings for each other, back when the Author was still becoming the Host. The Host had used one to ask Dr. Iplier out for the first time. The Host gave him one every Valentine’s Day. And a white rose of dozens of tiny diamonds had decorated the ring the Host had proposed with. It had always been there.

But now...Dr. Iplier got several different flowers, nearly every day. Various tulips, daffodils, irises, lilies, and of course, roses. All in a variety of colors. Each handed to him with the same shy, flustered, ink-stained smile. Dr. Iplier kept and dried and pressed every single one, keeping them in a scrap book in his desk. 

He glanced up from his desk when he heard his office door open. He smiled when he saw the Host walk in -- no flower in sight, though his hands were held behind his back. Everything was covered in blood and ink, and he left a trail of bloody droplets from the heavy flow. “Hello, my dear!” He stood from his desk, heading for the mini-fridge where he kept the Host’s transfusions, placing the bag on the cart that already held bandages, cotton balls, and disinfectant, and wheeling both it and the IV stand over to the bed. “How’re you feeling?”

The Host tilted his head, a little smile on his face, and obviously blanking on Dr. Iplier’s question as he sat on the bed. “The Host likes Dr. Iplier’s eyes. They look gold in the light.”

Dr. Iplier’s hands faltered for a moment as he set up the IV, but he smiled all the same, combing on hand through the Host’s long, shaggy hair once the IV was set up. “Thank you. Arm please?”

The Host obediently held out his arm, and Dr. Iplier pushed up his coat sleeve, inserting the IV and taping it in place. The Host still kept one hand behind his back, tilting his head the other way as ink slowly began to pool in the corner of his mouth. “Does Dr. Iplier know that I know that he knows that he loves him? Wait, that’s not right...” The Host’s brow furrowed, looking seriously troubled as he stared at Dr. Iplier, ink now rolling down his chin. “...You love me, right? The Host -- I -- sometimes -- there are realities where --” The blood flow from his sockets increased, bandages slipping down his nose. “You said that the Host was unfixable. That he wasn’t worth the effort. Is that...true?”

Dr. Iplier’s heart broke, and he cupped the Host’s face in both hands, uncaring of the blood and ink. “No, of course not! I don’t know what reality you got that from, but in this one, right here, right now...I love you. More than anything. And you are always worth the effort of fixing.”

The Host smiled again, and Dr. Iplier could practically see the remaining pieces of the Host’s mind sliding around, slotting where they shouldn’t, and he began his usual ramblings. This time it was about Dr. Iplier’s hair, how pretty it looked dyed navy blue, as Dr. Iplier changed his bandages as best he could with the constant blood flow. “You can hardly notice it without the light. It’s such a pretty color. So iridescent. Shiny. The Host is surprised Bim isn’t jealous. Dr. Iplier did steal his style after all. Bim so loves his purple hair...”

Dr. Iplier snorted, but didn’t say anything. Bim has never dyed his hair. As far as Dr. Iplier knew, he was adamantly against the idea, lamenting how badly bleach ruined hair. But the Host didn’t notice, just continued to talk and talk. “Frankly, I’m a little offended Dr. Iplier didn’t tell the Host. He could’ve made your life so much easier. Why go to a salon when the Host can just say a few words, and poof! Your hair is blue!”

...Dr. Iplier made a mental note to check in a mirror when the Host was relatively cleaned up.

“I’m sorry, Host.” Dr. Iplier kissed his forehead. He knew by now it was best to just play along with the minor differences. “You know I would’ve told you. But maybe I wanted to keep it a secret. I knew how much you’d like it.”

A blush spread across the Host’s face. “...Oh.” His smile brightened. He was moving his shoulders again, like he was flapping wings. “I have something for Dr. Iplier!”

Dr. Iplier raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Is it what you’ve been hiding behind your back this whole time?”

The Host snorted, and he drew his other hand around to the front. “No. The Host has more tact than that. It’s on your desk.”

Dr. Iplier tilted his head, finishing tying off the Host’s bandages, and wandered back over to his desk. He gasped softly. It was...a white rose, lying across his messy paperwork. Mostly white, at least. Black dots speckled it. Dr. Iplier had a feeling it was ink. “Oh Host...it’s beautiful. Thank you.”

The Host positively beamed at him, bouncing where he sat like a child. “The Host made it himself! A bit tricky, but he did! The Host wanted to do something special. It’s Valentine’s Day, after all.”

Valentine’s Day wasn’t for another two weeks. But Dr. Iplier just moved back to the Host, carding his fingers through the Host’s long hair again. He pulled off his head mirror to check -- yep, navy blue, just like the Host said. It did look kind of nice, though. “We should go out for dinner tonight then. A date.”

The Host immediately recoiled, jerking away from Dr. Iplier’s touch. “No! Don’t leave, can’t leave, too many bad things outside, home is safe, please don’t leave!”

His voice was so desperate and broken, gripping onto Dr. Iplier’s sleeve so tightly, Dr. Iplier’s heart broke. “No, hey, it’s okay! It’s alright, we don’t have to go anywhere, we can stay right here, at home, sound good?”

The Host relaxed, resting his forehead against Dr. Iplier’s chest. “...I love you. I -- no, the Host -- the Author -- no, I -- yes, I love you.”

Dr. Iplier hummed softly, petting the Host’s hair, holding him close. “I love you, too.”

And he did. 

They did. 

No matter how broken the Host was.

[kneel-begyourpardon]

Fear

Pairing: Loki x reader

Summary: You suffer from sleepless nights but nobody seems to notice, except Loki.

Warning: ANGST, nightmares, PTSD, anxiety, (if I missed any please let me know but it is literally filled with angst.)

A/n: Well, we can all thank my chemistry teacher and my nights for this one. School is not destroying my mental health at all. 

It’s not like they say. You don’t wake up in sweat or in screams. You don’t jerk up in your bed, breathing heavily or in tears. You don’t wake up at night. You’re just stuck in your nightmares. Stuck in your head. 

Maybe it would be better if you did wake up. Maybe the mornings wouldn’t be so hard. When you open your eyes and the feelings of your nightmares come crashing down on you. And there something heavy settling on your heart. Maybe it would be better if you cried, screamed or fought. But there’s nothing. No reaction. You’re numb. You’re used to it and you tell yourself  “it comes with a job.” but the nightmares feel real. When they choke you.  when they kill you. when they kill others. It feels all too real and you don’t know how much you can take. How many more of this your heart can take. 

Others don’t understand it. They’re used to sitting up in their bed and screaming in the night but not your reaction. They think you don’t have nightmares. They think you don’t suffer from it. 

They don’t realize how afraid you are of going to sleep. That every night, you stay up as long as you can, in the hope of passing out. And finally sleeping without having the power to dream. But they always come. 

There are better days when they stop but they’re usually there. You wake up every morning, completely drained of any energy. And you have to force yourself to get up and drink that disgusting black liquid, which makes the days a little bearable. You look at yourself every day. Forced to put on some makeup, to disguise that horrifying dark circles under your eyes and smile at your friends as if nothing is happening. And they buy it. 

They buy it as if they’re not well-trained assassins. As if they can’t tell right through others. As if they don’t know you. But maybe they just don’t care. Maybe they do notice and leave you be thinking you’ll help yourself. But you can’t.

Then Loki came. He has his fair share of screaming nights but he still sees right through you. 

Every day when you walk past him and smile with the pain in your eyes he realizes you had a nightmare. 

Every night you stay up just a little bit late he realizes you are afraid to sleep. Trying yourself out to get one night without scars permanently engraved in your brain. And he understands. He doesn’t tease or judge. He wants to help. 

It pains him, seeing your beautiful eyes filled with so much sorrow. And when you’re deep in your thoughts and your bottom lip wobbles all he wants to do is hug you and let you cry all out of your system. He wants to help but he can’t force you to do anything. You need to ask for help.

But you’re scared. You scared of being laughed at. You’re scared of not being taken seriously. And you make yourself believe that it’s not that big of a deal. You’re just too sensitive and weak to handle it. 

You have always thought you would be open about your trauma. Doing everything to get rid of it. To help yourself. That you would never be ashamed of asking for help but here you were, trapped inside your brain. Continuing to build the walls that are already too thick to get through, and too high to crawl over. But you can see some crack and as much as you want someone to break through them and help you, your fear continues to pass you the blocks. And you hang your head, putting the block at the place, securing it, knowing you’re doing this to yourself but you can’t stop.

And you suddenly, the realization that you have no space left, hits you like a truck.. You have built a tight box around you and it’s suffocating you. You try to open your arms and your legs but it doesn’t let you move. You try to breathe but there no air left. You try to break thought it but you have done a good job building it. You know it only can be broken from outside and you scream. Yelling and begging for someone to come and help you. But walls are too thick for someone to hear you and your fear is looking down at you outside of the box smiling. You want to hide from it but there’s nowhere to go. It always follows you and you can’t seem to get rid of it. 

You sob and another scream escapes from your lips. Hitting the walls, both of your hands get numb as blood runs down your forearms. Your bones break but the walls don’t even crack. 

So you give up and start crying. You cry and you hope someone can hear you. Anyone. Anyone! And the names leave your lips like a prayer. But you settle on one name and you hope saying his name over and over again will give him a hint to help you. To pull you out of this. 

Suddenly cold washes over you and for a minute you think that this is your end. This is how you go. That your fear has fully taken over you and you’re about to disappear when you’re pulled back to reality.

You wake up with a slight moan and feeling of the cold hands against your forehead. It makes you sign out in comfort. You lazily open your eyes and you see beautiful ones, filled with worry, looking down at you. The light of the room blinds you for a minute until you adjust to it and sit up. 

What happened? Did you fall asleep on the couch?

And the near thought of somebody seeing you asleep makes your heart stop for a minute. You panic. Looking around you don’t see anyone but Loki and his gentle smile which tells you, he knows what’s going on. You hang your head from the embarrassment, not being able to look him in the eyes. 

How could you let this happen? How could you let someone else see you this weak?  

You get angry at yourself but can’t even find the power to express it, so you bury it in your heart as you do with any other emotion and you know it’s roots will grow, poisoning your blood but that’s all you know. Burying your problems is all you have done.

“Why didn’t you tell anybody?” Loki whispers as he kneels down in front of you. 

You shrug and look away trying to hide your face from him but he just grabs your chin, gently tagging your head in his direction and you let him. You let him because part of you is screaming in joy that you’re finally getting help, but another part is still there telling you he will laugh and leave you.

“It’s fine. You’ll be fine. We all go through it,” he says and your heart breaks as the voice in your head laughs at you, saying how they warned you about it. “Just because yours isn’t visible doesn’t mean it’s not there. Doesn’t mean you don’t suffer from it. It’s not normal to feel this way. That’s a problem we must fix. But you need to understand that you’re not weak. that 

 You’re strong but strong people also need someone on their side, to help them. You just need to ask for it.”

You looked at him and for the first time in forever the tears pull in your eyes. And it hurts but that pain also brings satisfaction. The satisfaction of feeling. The satisfaction of not being numb. It feels amazing but the pain that it brings makes tears stream down your cheeks as the first sob wrecks your body. 

You closed your eyes and nod. Nod again and again until your whole body repeats the action. You don’t want to open your eyes. You don’t want to see his reaction. As much as he says he understands you can’t get rid of your thoughts. When you feel him moving you break down more thinking he is leaving but all he does is sit next to you. Pulling you in his lap he rubs your back over and over again. 

It scares you. It scares you so much. But you want this fear to finally leave. You want it gone. It isn’t easy and you are afraid, but you are ready to finally try it. It still is yelling and screaming how he will leave the moment he sees how broken you are. How unfixable and how fragile you have become. But his sweet whispers and soft kisses on your head is pulling you back from your thoughts. Pushing them away and Maybe it is time to let someone in. Let someone see you. Let someone share your pain. Maybe they’ll help. Maybe they’ll break you. Is this you or fear talking? You have no idea but you’re willing to find it out and you’ll do it with Loki.

Tags: @simam12​ @percyjackson886​

[warsofasoiaf]

Worldbuilding - Improving Dark Sun’s Sorcerer-Kings

Thanks to the whole quarantine, I’ve decided that I’m going to do some worldbuilding, either building something in an established setting as I’m doing now, or writing about something that you can build on your own settings. Since this is the first iteration, I’ve decided that I’m going to revisit one of the first settings that got me into loving worldbuilding.

One of the first settings I’ve ever played in tabletop role-playing was the blighted world of Athas, in the Dark Sun setting. There was so much of the setting to like, the grim morality, the preserver/defiler take on arcane magic, the unique take on dragons, the different historical cultures developed for the different city-states of the Tyr region being far from the traditional European fantasy model. The Sorcerer-Kings were phenomenal villains, but according to the rules of 2nd edition D&D, they were dual-classed psionicist-defilers (save Oronis), relatively bland in comparison mechanically to their drastically divergent lore and societies. In that light, I had always worked on establishing differences between the Socerer-Kings in their paths to power as opposed to just draconic metamorphosis. Simultaneously, I wanted to ensure I could devise a point in the setting’s history where the Sorcerer-Kings have halted their draconic transformation in favor of experiment and discovery, giving these villains more of a reason to spend their time out of their studies and involving themselves in the world. So here we go, the various philosophies and explorations of the Dragon-Kings

The ascension of Borys of Ebe into the Dragon of Tyr filled the remaining sorcerer-kings with unbelievable dread. Borys’s absolute frenzied devastation nearly destroyed Athas, a second would certainly obliterate the Tablelands if not crack the planet itself. The various sorcerer-kings, in secret, developed their own working theories for why Borys went mad during his ascension, and are engaged deeply with theorizing, experimenting, and exploring ways to avoid this dreaded fate. 

Abalach-Re of Raam: Abalach-Re believes that the mind inherently recognizes what it is and what it is not, an assertion of the ego that finds itself utterly in conflict with the idea of draconic ascension. Yet the ego is not a fixed, inflexible thing. From something as simple as a haircut to the most powerful of transformation magics, the mind is capable of change if it can appropriately understand, rationalize, and recognize the transformation being done. Arcane transmutation magic is the clear starting point, but creatures with morphic, unfixed forms such as shapechangers and oozes, or even the genetic passdown of information to offspring are other methods of discovery and transformation. To this end, Abalch-Re has extensively experimented with developing shapechanging abilities in human beings. Her offspring, created with her understanding of transmutation magic, often have psionic abilities that mold their shape like clay. Abalch-Re catalogs the success and failures of her offspring, often for long periods of time, before devouring the creations body and mind to integrate their experiences and transformations into herself. She has often let her offspring out into the world to infiltrate the notorious cauldron of discontent that is Raam, sometimes even psionically blanking her offspring so that they might attempt to live their own lives for generations, before dominating and recalling them in pursuit of her ultimate ambition. 

Andropinis of Balic: Many living beings of Athas possess some small amount of psionic wilder talents. Even unknowing, small mental talents find their way into the people’s lives, often pairing with their activity and beliefs to strengthen them. To any other, this might be a mere fact of existence, yet Andropinis believes that there is something wholly more to it than that. Unconscious belief is shaped by the living beings of Athas, and that is shaped through years of existence that in summation dwarfs any other element of existence, even the very world itself. Borys’s unconscious belief had successes, but it also had failures, he was known as the “Butcher of Dwarves,” his greatest work ended in failure. That worries Andropinis, the “Slayer of Elves,” to have an equal failure to define him. The Cleansing was long over, even if he went to slay all the elves that existed in Athas, it would not change what it wrought upon his mind and the minds of his fellows. Andropinis needed to build something greater than the cleansing, and in his mind, it is Balic itself. Andropinis strengthens and builds Balic in a way that no other Sorcerer-King can match, not even Hamanu. The belief of Balic as an order in the face of the chaos that is Athas forms concrete magic, to Andropinis’s mind, something that will be reflected into himself as his citizens think of him as something stable and substantial that will guide him on his way to ascension.

Hamanu of Urik: All things are physical beings and all minds are housed in bodies. The ascension is where everything is magnified. You become stronger, you become faster, you become smarter as you ascend through the draconic process. Yet the body is a crucible that is only as strong as its weakest point, and as the strengths of the body are weakened, so are the flaws. Borys of Ebe was truly a remarkable individual, but Hamanu knows that he was ultimately an imperfect being. The sheer scope of the transformation meant that flaws even too small and imperceptible to be noticed by any save his peers became so overwhelming that the conflict became irresolvable, and fury naturally emerged as the perfection of the dragon met with the imperfection of the mortal. On taking the step to dragon-hood, the body no longer aged, and that should have been the clearest sign to all that the time granted is the time to correct all of the flaws. Hamanu has thus taken to devoting himself to the study of physical perfection, attempting to establish perfect control of himself both with physical exercise, psionic talent, and unrelenting training. Hamanu constantly evaluates himself, dividing his attention among tasks and pushing himself to be perfect at all of them. It is not uncommon for Hamanu to engage in games of mental skill while sparring with twenty of his elite guard, all in pursuit of ensuring that he achieves physical and mental perfection before his next step on the path to transformation.

Kalak of Tyr: Borys of Ebe was many things, but one thing he was possessed of was a limited vision. Defiling magic was the siphoning of life to power the arcane, this was as immutable as anything that existed. The simple killings that Borys used in his defilings to further his ascension were small, mere thousands of people. A flurry of small stones is a mere inconvenience, a gigantic boulder has an effect upon the world. Borys’s frenzy was due to no other reason than his magics lacked the power needed to push him into the final, complete state. This is why he went on his defiling frenzy, in a mad attempt to gain more power the way a choking man gasps for air. Living creatures snuffed out through defiling magic is the true path of power, and more creatures means more power. It is this understanding that Kalak builds his ziggurat, it is this understanding that causes him to throw lavish games wherein there is food and drink. His plan is as simple as it is heartrendingly cruel, the sacrifice of the entire 40,000 large population of Tyr in a single dramatic ritual, to provide all the power he needs to ascend not only into a sane state as the second Dragon of Tyr, but one far more powerful than even Borys could have dreamed of. Not only does he require many lives, but lives of tremendous power, hence why Kalak lures gladiators of repute to participate in his arena, why he often calls matches and spares the lives of great fighters to ensure that they live within Tyr, owing their lives to the Sorcerer-King that presents an obligation to never leave. To cause his ritual to cover the whole of the city of Tyr, Kalak has taken to gruesomely sacrificing people at key points within the city, drawing arcane sigils with their viscera and channeling the power to his ziggurat. Soon, he will launch the greatest games of its kind, and the world shall be forever changed.

Lalali-Puy of Gulg: Draconic metamorphosis is a complex interweaving of psionic and arcane powers, and Lalali-Puy has devoted much in the way of study to these two powers, yet these powers are not the only powers that exist in the world. There are elemental powers, natural powers within the forests not yet killed by defiling magics that exist on Athas as well. To Lalali-Puy, the failure of the ascension ritual was the absence of natural power within the ritual, the way a table absent a leg was not as secure or sturdy as one with all of them in place. Living creatures are a part of the world, and possess natural energies that are separate from psionic talents or arcane magic. Her studies have taken to her summoning nature spirits throughout the Ivory Triangle, forcing them to do her bidding by striking against the timber industry of Nibenay and by intimidation through the threat of defiling magics. Her studies of natural magic and natural cycles have taken her to studying much of the Elemental Planes and their complex interactivity with the world of Athas. Her palace has rifts of varying size wherein Lalali-Puy can pull material and elementals from the planes to experiment on their reactivity to arcane spells. Knowing that even if the Elemental Planes are infinite, her resources are not, she sticks to preserving whenever possible during these experiments, lest the people worry why ashen marks begin to surround the Oba’s palace. Her goal is to include a natural component into the draconic ritual, creating a three-part spell that should strengthen her transformation and make her complete.

Nibenay of Nibenay: Arcane magic is, and has always been, the province of the breaking natural laws. Others may contend themselves with other paths, but Nibenay understands that arcane magic is what powers the draconic transformation and indeed, the ebbs and flows of power itself. Reality is shaped from a font of this power, and magic is what molds and shapes this reality in a way that others cannot even begin to attempt. The various schools of magic express the power in their ways, but while magic can break these laws, there are older, more-established truths that magic touches upon. These ancient truths are foundational truths of existence that have their own laws, and these laws are what enforces stability and uniformity in existence itself. Nibenay believes this so utterly that his goal is to master all schools of magic and all spells, out of the belief that understanding this will give him all the information he needs to deduce the laws of power back to their source and divine their function. Nibenay believes that psionics are in their own way related to these fundamental laws of power, and will study them as he studies the other schools of magic, but ultimately, he believes that this true source goes beyond psionics (a purview merely of living things) and are merely an expression viewed through the context of organic beings. Nibenay experiments deeply with magic, flying to remote portions of the world or into the sky to experiment free from disturbance, ultimately looking for that next truth that will lead him finally to the ultimate secrets of existence.

Tectuktitlay of Draj: While other Sorcerer-Kings may flatter themselves with grandiose theories that speak to a secret wisdom that they believe only they can uniquely comprehend, Tectuktitlay bases his understanding upon a simple truth: Borys went insane and his rampage progressed until he became sane. This in itself means that the fury that was seen was not an inherent part of the draconic ascension, but rather a defect of the mind that should have been addressed before Borys ascended. Since sanity is based within the mind, it is there that Tectuktitlay must perfect his mind lest he lose himself the same as Borys did. Thus, Tectuktitlay devotes himself to the study of psionics with a fervor that none can match, focusing particular on the disciplines of mental fortitude to place bulwarks against insanity within his own mind. The Sorcerer-King does not neglect the study of psionic attack, as the ways by which attacks can creep into the mind form a valuable understanding for strengthening his defense. He often worms himself into the minds of the psionic students at his academies, discovering what they have found and learned to compare it with his own experiences, so that he might achieve a perfect understanding of all mental shortcomings that minds endure. His goal is to craft a defense of the mind so complete that no raging torrent of external power or tiny burrowing insecurity can worm its way in, thus creating a mind that will weather the ascension, that will in turn exert perfect control over the new body of the dragon.

Alright, that’s the whole thing, let me know what you think, and if you have suggestions for something I should do next.

-SLAL

[phantom-of-decadence]

God Forbid & the Devil Fears // Chapter One \\

Fandom: Hannibal (TV series)

Characters: Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter, Will’s Dogs, Mischa (mentioned) - more to be added

Pairing(s): Will Graham x Hannibal Lecter

Summary of Entire Works: Moving from town to town is exhausting work to keep your face hidden and your hobbies going, but it's worth it to find that crushing high

Hannibal drags himself all over the country, following specific people to kill and following a strict set of rules he laid for himself, struggling to keep his blood lust under wraps.

He soon finds himself in dreary town called Oak Creek and coming face to face with a local who is too curious for his own good.

Albeit, he intrigues Hannibal too, but he is left to wonder if he wants to kill the local or treat him like a delicate rose, blooming in winter's chrysalis...

Warnings: Blood, gore, description of death, murderous thoughts, hunting, pretentious language

Wordcount: 5,514

Tags: AU!No cannibalism, AU!Bookshop Will, AU!Righteous Hannibal, other tags to be added, Will is autistic, pining, angst, gay panic, subtle flirting, eventual smut, fluff, fluff/comfort, pet names, gay thoughts, hunting, hannibal is the scruffy one, so is will but he has standards for fuckssake, hannibal tries to be polite, he is still a murderer though,

A/N: Because we all fucking love putting religion where it doesn’t belong. Also I tentatively made Will on the autistic spectrum ((I will be doing my best to portray autism correctly and read up on it, please let me know if things need to be fixed. I want to do this right))

The POV is not set in stone, I just wanted to open it with something different, going between first person and second was very interesting and I hope it gives insight on characters. So I will likely switch it to third if the next chapter gets written, or keep it like this. IDK, its a toss up

The title will become so relevant later

~

Towns all look the same, especially when they were all small and in the middle of nowhere.

I move between them often, just stay long enough to admire my handiwork and then I move on for my next target. Leaving what I had done behind me, before they could figure out who had done it.

Where was the fun in being found?

I try not to show my face in the towns I grace, I play a guise that I am visiting friends, family, relations or on my way to see them.

So I stop in a place to rest, a sleepy village that hides a monster. It’s only for a few days at most, I hardly ever eat in a restaurant unless I am stalking, or I get something quick to sate my hunger. And even then, my stomach will not settle for it.

In all the towns I visit, I find nothing to delight in besides the people that they hold within them, those who have not properly answered for their crimes. They walk among the others with their shoulders unburdened and their minds dark, on the prowl for their next victim, warily searching.

Their faces and names, dragged through the mud and branded traitors to mankind and humanity. Some were even locked up and away from the humanity they tried to destroy. Those creatures were the sloppy and messy, only focused chasing the high.

Others I knew, were more careful, calculated and didn’t get caught, didn’t get their due even though they left carnage in the wake of their high.

I knew that high, I craved it. Like all of them.

The high was something that I couldn’t live without. 

Was it an addiction?

Maybe.

I never really thought about calling it an addiction, it was a desire to me. Something I could control, something that I had strength over.

An addiction is an urge that had power over its victim.

I would not let the blood lust that curled in my chest to control me, it tried to. Often times when I looked upon a face too soft for this world, too soft for this time.

I did not often give those rushing thoughts too much consideration in the long run, I knew that I should. When I have the time.

But I didn’t have the time, not now.

I was in a new place, looking for a new face, and finding a new desire.

All these towns looked the same.

They were all sleepy, with aimless people wandering the streets. Disguised in neutral colors, abandoned effects, cobblestones and dirt roads.

Diners, mom&pop shops, locals and hardly hints of modern urbanization. Everyone knew everyone, and they didn’t take kindly to an unkind face they have never seen before.

So you have to smile, blend in, pretend you’re one of them - normal, at least; but on the inside you are screaming endlessly and desperately craving for a rushing, dizzy high. A desperation to see red dripping from a wound you made on their exposed throat as their tongue wagged with senseless words, and to the look of shock and stunned silence on the faces of those that surrounded you, the face in front of you.

The thought of it made my mouth water, my hands shake with anticipation on the steering wheel, and my chest crushed with a weight, like I had been sunk deep in the dark depths and been made to stay there, the pressure choking excited gasps from my lungs until I was drowned by the waves of the ocean.

These are the moments where I was powerless, the crescendo of my high - when euphoria rolled through me in waves, and I lost all sense of control.

It hardly ever reached that point, outside of the smooth slide of my knife against uneven skin.

This town was different. I could feel it the moment I drove past the sign that welcomed me into Oak Creek, or perhaps it was just the sinking unease that trickled through me like an impeded stream when I saw the deteriorating sign of that godforsaken fast food restaurant that so many people fattened themselves at.

It’s yellows and reds well faded over time in this dusty little village that didn’t see fit to continuously update it.

I would’ve considered this place abandoned with its looming and dark buildings that were worn with the years of neglect; but Oak Creek’s residents seemed none too concerned about the gloomy haze and bitter cold that rolled over the sky, holding a threat of snow over them.

They didn’t care. They continued to roam the streets, all bundled in fleece coats. It was almost admiral how people in this dreary town continued their aimless patterns in the cold.

The drive past the buildings and to the motel was a short one, on a winding road that dodged small, nestled grey shacks that remained under maintained.

When I came upon the motel, I took note of how well it fit in well with the rest of Oak Creek with a tilt of my head; sleepy and cold and deteriorated, like the rest of the town. 

The roof and grounds covered in a fresh blanket of snow, the dark wooden structure was sparse from decoration, save for a sign that read the name of the motel which I barely registered in the back of my mind.

It was the only lodgings in town, after all.

I slowed my car to a stop in front of the motel, turning it off and slowly resting back against the leather seat as I watched the dreary outside in order to collect my thoughts in a neat line.

I began to wonder why those I stalked, kept to themselves in small towns that were underpopulated. Where people are unlikely to speak about the acts they witness or the people that pass through, because they knew better than to talk about other people’s business.

If my prey wanted a chance, then why not find a populated city?

They would be more likely to be found by someone that wasn’t me, perhaps it was the assumption that small towns like Oak Creek didn’t care. And they didn’t, they kept their nose out of private matters unless it concerned the community directly.

But, I like to think my prey enjoyed the hunt, the thrill of the chase.

Mutual respect, perhaps?

Make it easy to dispose of putrid waste?

Kind of them.

Why do towns exist, little places like these, without much foot traffic or tourism? How do they make their income, how do they willingly feed off of one another and fight their neighbor for profits?

How do they justify it?

Do they?

Or is it something unspoken, untold and unfixed?

No tourist attraction, no myths, legends or killers.

That they knew of.

Towns like this surely had no discourse to them, they were a still lake who never had its surface disturbed by wind, leaf or rock. Intentional or not.

Where was the vibration of enjoyment?

 These thoughts careened in my head as I left the warmth of my car and made a hasty entrance into the motel, I feigned a smile as I stepped up to the desk to obtain my key from them, “I’m just passing through, on my way for a baby shower.”

I answered the desk clerk’s invasive questions in a polite manner as they tried to get to know me, a brief guest in a drizzle of visitors.

What was behind the urge to know everyone in these dwellings?

Could I consider it all basic politeness that was due to every human?

They couldn’t possibly know what I was by a singular glance. They were simply ordinary.

I would only be here for only three days at the most, that’s how long it would take. To find him, his pattern and then drag him out of his dwellings and gut him like the senseless and cowardly pig he was.

I almost felt guilty for comparing him to a pig; pigs had more character than this man.

Though, I suppose he wasn’t entirely senseless, he moved often from his crimes, never got caught and made his killings few and far between.

This time, he made an error, he slipped up. Stayed for too long to revile in the chaos that was created, he got a little sloppy. He still retained more intelligence than half of the detectives and pawns for the FBI hunting him, because he crawled away, right under their noses.

He couldn’t crawl away from me, I found him and he didn’t even know.

Yet.

My routine began when I was handed my key and directed to my room.

Once I entered the ‘cozy dwellings’ as described by the advertising, I put the “do-not disturb” sign on the doorknob. Some previously have considered it peculiar how much I value the privacy and discretion in my life.

If they were inside of my skin, shared my experiences, they would understand. A man who soaked their hands in red does not leave hand prints on others uninvolved in their crimes.

I scoured the room, began to measure and map it in my mind. I sat my travel bag down by the bed before I eased myself onto the creaking mattress, listening for how thin the walls were, how much sound would enter and escape.

I could hear the sounds from the road outside of these lodgings; it was mostly silent, no cars rumbling by. Everything was within walking distance, so I understood that people didn’t use gas unless it was completely unavoidable.

No sounds on the road, not many people milling around. No cacophony of noise to cover up the wails of a dying man, questions would be raised.

It couldn’t be here.

I knew the home address of the man I was hunting, I knew a lot about him.

I made that my job to know him, all of his names that changed from town to town and crime to crime; his given name was Peter Martin, not a name that stuck out in a long list of names that the devil keeps.

I wondered why he never kept his name as it was given, too mundane perhaps? Did he want to strike terror into the hearts of others with a frightening name?

Peter Martin would not be giving me that answer, that wouldn’t be the question I was asking him.

I needed to go to his home and watch him, establish his pattern the way a bee would every single day, a drone existing to serve a queen. Existing to serve the chance that a high would be waiting for him around the corner.

Despite having just arrived to my room, I was ready to venture out into the frigid ghost town.

The prospect of a hunt, of a chase - the temptation and soft promise that I would get that depth crushing high in a manner of three days time, was enough for me to rise from my bed and leave the warmth of my lodgings behind.

The sooner I was able to map out Oak Creek, the sooner my hunt could begin and I could move on to the next deserved high.

I stood, staring down my own reflection in the mirror that sat above the desk, trying to assure myself that I looked like one of them.

With the plaid scarf tucked tightly around my neck, leather gloves on my hands, and knit cap pulled down over my ears, I looked less of a killer than what I actually was.

You cannot help feeling what you are in your soul; but for a brief moment of peace, your mind can let you forget what you actually are.

In the end, when it truly matters most, you will always know what you are in the darkest parts of yourself.

I closed the door behind me, taking care to ensure that the “do-not-disturb” sign was on before I left the premise; though left nothing incriminating in my room. I kept that with me, at all times.

Then again, I was a fond of using whatever was within reach of my hands when it came to achieving my high.

Some considered it resourceful, when I used a “Live~Laugh~Love” wooden poster to nearly sever the head of an escaped child rapist. He had struggled too much, knocked the knife from my grip. That was the closest thing I could reach.

The snow crunched under my boots as I trudged along the slate sidewalk that led from the motel and into a graying Oak Creek, it was mostly empty save for a couple dressed in brown and tan winter clothing, too wrapped up in each other to notice that they had passed me.

I didn’t have the desire to quirk the corners of my mouth up when our eyes met for a singular second, I knew my gaze was emotionless and empty even if they didn’t register it, I did.

I found difficulty to fit warmth in my features unless I had reason to do so, a reason that would hopefully benefit me in the end, and people in love is not a reason to show warmth.

We passed each other and that was the end of it.

I passed several stores in the area, none of which I took too much note of. Save for a diner, I would need to eat, after all.

The sky was still as grey and callous, if not more so, from the time I arrived.

Dark skies settled over the horizon, assuring to bring fresh snow and harsh winds that burned my nose and cast tears in my eyes trying to see past the frigid breeze.

I never particularly cared for winter, it was too bitter and gloomy. 

Only one aspect of winter was appeasing to me, it was the whiteness of the snow. How undisturbed it fell, the way it gently kissed the earth and how it looked when red spattered over it.

I enjoyed writing my love notes to the earth on pure white.

I continued down the sidewalk for a few minutes longer to take everything in, but I soon found myself looking up at a wooden sign above a shop that read, “Pages and Pawprints, a collection of books and friendly faces to keep you company”.

I don’t exactly remember what called me towards the cobblestone store that was more window than it was building, but I turned my attention to it fully. It looked almost completely desolate, but I approached it all the same as curiosity drove me more than logic.

I knew I shouldn’t be showing my face too much in Oak Creek, thankfully satisfaction brought the curious cat, back from the dead.

I opened the glass door, trying not to notice how the handle was shaped in a dog’s paw; I was instantly greeted by the sound of a bell ringing and a couple of subdued barks from dogs laying down, near a couple of tables and chairs.

My eyes were drawn to the six dogs lying on multiple beds that had been provided for them, they were all of different size and color and all eyes were locked onto me.

Subtly, I wondered what I had been expecting? The owner of this store was clearly infatuated with canines and their hair, whereas, I was not. I considered turning around and leaving, though something kept me there.

Perhaps it was the warmth in contrast to the outside, I paused to loosen my scarf and unzip my jacket. I left the knit cap on, however.

The door closed behind me, ringing out the chime of a bell once more just to announce that I was still there, deciding against the thought to leave.

My gaze remained on the dogs for a second more, but none moved to greet me. I allowed my eyes to wander until I found a man sitting behind a mahogany desk. The only one who wasn’t looking at me, but at the computer in front of him.

I moved in his direction, searching for a conversation, these trips got lonely. Save for the people I gutted; I still valued conversation I could have with people who wouldn’t remember me.

“Hello.” The smile on my lips was immediate as I got close enough to study you.

Your hair was dark and unkempt, tousled, forgotten about. Designed by the way you slept, heavy and slicked in sweat from what I can only assume was nightmares, if Oak Creek was always this cold.

Your head tilted up to acknowledge me, the slightest quirking of your pink lips in response to my spoken word, yet you made no move to respond to me.

Your face was almost the same as your hair, unkempt stubble and a sheen of dampness on your forehead, dark circles under your eyes. Which refused to look up at me.

Your blue eyes didn’t settle, they looked everywhere but at me, darting around in that pretty little skull of yours. Trying to lock on something in your shop that would ground you.

I could smell a lot coming off of you. Most notably, that stink of an aftershave that made me want to wrinkle my nose in disgust. I resisted the urge because I smelled another thing rolling off of you, blatant apprehension of my person.

It would’ve strung my chest with hurt, if I cared in that way.

A quick glance to your hands, in your lap now, were shaking and fidgeting in a looped pattern, told me this is what you were always like with new people.

You got sensory overload quickly, when it came to humans, and their noises, and their energy... you liked your dogs though. That much I could see when your gaze rested on them for once.

I wanted to push you a little bit, I wanted to stare at you and make you squirm with the weight of my gaze until your heart was racing, make you talk to me and answer my buggering questions...

 At least I thought I wanted to do that. To test you, see how far you would go.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t find it within myself to do any of that.

I turned my body, my dark and unnerving gaze away from you, and looked into your store to try and figure out the purpose of it really was; dark bookshelves, assortments of books that were organized by color, it looked like.

The walls were a deep maroon and had pictures of people and their dogs  hanging from it, small plaques here and there.

I found myself smiling at the ensemble, despite the disdain I held for animal hair - it seemed to complete the look. The shop was neatly kept, it was something you were proud of, something you were deeply passionate about.

I could feel your eyes on my when I turned my back to you, curiously studying the way I held myself and what I wore, too many layers for a local.

Turning my back to people wasn’t something I would consistently do to strangers, but I knew you had no reason to hurt me, that was the last thing you were capable of.

“What are you here for?” You asked me, finally speaking. Your voice was raspy and soft but baritone in your chest, you sounded hesitant to speak because you didn’t know who I was, and I wanted to keep it like that.

To protect you, to protect myself more.

I knew that you were used to the people in your town, you were used to a pattern that repeated itself and I disrupted it. So you were cautious and tiptoeing around me, as if you could sense what I was.

I had to assure myself that you didn’t.

I parted my lips to answer you, politely as my mind turned back to the thought of small town people wanting to know everything, “Nothing in particular, I was exploring town-”

“You’re not from around here.” You stated sharply, prompting me to incline my head over my shoulder to look at you with a brow raised. I was smiling even if you weren’t.

You looked away, apprehensive again.

I didn’t have the time to wonder why I smiled at you, what the reason was that benefited me but it brought a blossoming warmth to my chest.

“No, I’m just passing through. I thought I should find a couple of places to entertain me on my short visit.” I affirmed your suspicion of my ‘wayfaring stranger’ position.

“Oh,” You took a second to try and collect your thoughts before you spoke again, and something stutter in my beating chest as I faced you once more and saw the creases on your forehead, lips pulled into a taunt line as you considered how best to showcase the things you were passionate about.

Your blue plaid shirt was ruffled, coated in a layer of dog hair; pushed up past your forearms, revealing pale skin and faded scarring. You had left your thick jacket and scarf somewhere else, out of reach.

My fingers twitched by my side, not wanting to make you uncomfortable by my staring, but I wanted to touch your skin and inquire how your arms earned those stripes. I remained silent until you spoke.

“I have owned this shop for three years now and I have books imported from different countries and states, I don’t really put labels on what this space is... but you can buy the books, a-and take them home.

“Or you can read them here and put them back, s-sometimes I open it for crafts on certain day.” You explained to me, your eyes still darting around, a smile and a blush decorated your face. For a moment, you met my gaze before you were focusing on your dogs again, “My dogs are friendly as they can be, they like people and it functions as a safe space if anyone needs it.”

As I listened to you speak about your shop, I reflected a bit internally. I concluded that the safe space you spoke of was for you, mostly. You almost looked like you were refraining from telling me every last detail detail of your beloved dogs, you instead turned the topic elsewhere.

My mind turned towards myself after a beat, I wondered what this stuttering in my chest was; it wasn’t the weight that shackled me when a potential high presented it’s face to my keen eyes.

This was something else entirely, like my bones were made of air instead of tension. Hyper fixation sat heavy on my chest, the same way as when the blood lust dripped down my teeth, accompanying the urge hunt, the desire to know you, your soul, and everything under your skin. All of you.

My claws would flex with the want to sink into you and hold you still, only stare into your eyes, your entirety. I wanted to look you in the eyes and see who you really were, but I didn’t meet your gaze.

I followed it to the books, to the dogs.

This feeling was wrong. It wasn’t how I felt when the perfect prey was within the grasp of my talons; perhaps it was the desire of someone innocent, to see them bleeding.

I had not set my sights on innocence for the longest time.

I promised Mischa that I wouldn’t dig for innocent breath or blood, ever again; but these desires made feel stuck and powerless, rooted in one spot as your words tumbled through me.

I only ever knew one way of getting that power back, to take it away from someone else. I didn’t feel the need to take it back from you, I simply let you keep it... whatever made you feel comfortable with me.

I smiled, the corners of my eyes crinkling as you told me about the genres that you carried, several of which, I didn’t even care for.

You looked so enthused, a twinkle in your eye that mesmerized me, so I could only stand there and thank you, telling you that I would go get the books you recommended would entertain me for a spell.

I kept my eyes on you, watching as your face lit up, you smiled and laughed softly, fingers clasping together as if you were shy or astonished that someone would listen to you.

I found that absurd, everyone would listen to your voice if given the chance. I forced myself to look away from your face, I didn’t desire to make you crawl in your skin because of my piercing gaze; somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered why that though struck my skull.

I thanked you again and left my place at the desk, carefully stepping around the many dogs that you owned, they simply thumped their tail on the ground and I feigned a smile to them. If only for your sake.

I disappeared behind on of the shelves so you could no longer see me, and the stutter in my chest slowed down, if only just a bit while I scoured the sections to find ‘drama’, ‘mystery’ and ‘historical fiction’, neatly bunched together.

I could consider these few genres the absolute last thing I wanted to read, but... I was going to grab the books and bring them to you anyway.

I wish my mind would give me a rational answer to why this trembling like a newborn fawn, and sudden airiness of a bird made of feathers came to me.

I should’ve left the store when I had the chance.

This wasn’t the blood lust that coiled within me when hunting my perfect prey, the urge then was unfiltered rage, animistic and primal. The desire to maim as best I could while, keeping my identity restricted at the same time.

This fawn is something else that I don’t know how to care for, a different breed of blood lust that sat on my chest. I knew I would have to do a dissection on myself. I could feel it in the back of my mind, the terror of not being in control of my own emotions.

Mischa in the back of my mind, repeating the words I had said to her, the promise I made to my sister so long ago.

I sighed, defeated, as my hands pulled the four books you recommended, off the shelf and held them in my hands, close to my chest before making my way back to you.

The Hound of the Baskervilles, The Murder on the Oriental Express, The Song of Achilles and of course, Othello. Excellent choices if I were another creature.

You glanced up at me as I came back, your eyes like a lamb’s, wide and curious.

You took a second to look me over as I walked, taking me in as a whole and not a part; I was like a Victorian schoolgirl for a beat, embarrassed I had been caught bathing by the boys as they glanced in awe at me.

I wanted to clothe myself in white satin to hide prying eyes; but in a second beat, I was aware that I was fully clothed and dressed for winter in this dreary town of Oak Creek, standing in front of you.

Nowhere close to what my mind’s eye provided me.

It was jarring to say the least, I almost faltered in my movements under your vision.

Your scrutiny lasted for less than five seconds, eyes finally returning to your computer screen, waiting for me to set the books down on the desk so you could ring up the price.

I didn’t even want these books in the first place, yet you looked joyous that they were in my arms, “I recommend, if you read anything, read The Song of  Achilles first, before you leave town...”

You seemed to hesitate on what you wanted to say next, twitchy fingers collecting the books and stacking them neatly, “No-one ever wants to discuss the meaning of it, both within the book or the actual myth.”

You left it open ended, for me. My eyes locked on your wrist, skin pale and almost ashen, and your long fingers stimming below it.

I knew what you wanted, what I was made you curious the same way I had been when I first slunk into your shop. You wanted to find out more about the stranger in your building, like everyone else in Oak Creek.

But you were more forward about it.

“I can come in the day after tomorrow.” My lips parted and my mouth spoke before my mind could finally catch up and remind myself... what rules I was breaking by even offering such an absurd thing.

I blinked, my first solution was to stay away from you, to fight this stutter in my chest and whatever craving I had for an innocent’s blood. If this even was a craving.

I answered your unspoken question and you were a deer in headlights because I gave you exactly what you wanted, you slowly looked up at me, your curls brushed loosely over your forehead and your fingers twitched in uncertainty.

“If you want to talk about the book,” I continued, knowing there was no way I could step back now with my dignity and your feelings intact.

My voice was strained like something was strangling me when I spoke - something invisible to you, but completely seen to me, “I enjoy a lively discussion from time to time.” I offer so it wouldn’t be worse than it was, but I don’t believe it helped the situation.

You stared at me, mouth agape while my chest sunk to the depths against my wishes; then your lips twitched into a smile, “Okay... it’s nice to speak to new people.” Your voice was soft as you accepted my invitation that you prodded from me.

My throat tighten in response, I wanted to verbally agree with you even if I didn’t believe it, I nodded instead to you. I offered to speak with you even though I knew I shouldn’t, I had prey to stalk, catch and gore.

I had to dissect this stumbling fawn inside of me.

Where would I find the delicate time to speak to you?

And why did the thought of not getting the chance, fill my lungs with inescapable breath?

The sooner I left this village and claimed my prize, the sooner I would feel normal again.

I always hated the winter, things were always different and difficult, the ground refused to let things rot no matter how long they had been there.

The amount I owed you for the books I didn’t even want, tumbled from your mouth to distract my thoughts, and I hastily dug into my pockets, pulling out a wad of cash and thrusting it over to you. I hadn’t been listening to you at this point, I just wanted out of this store to cool my buzzing mind. 

I needed to retreat from the public and your eyes.

“It’s only twenty-one ninety,” your voice broke through my fog, confusion an undertone in your soft voice.

I blinked in an attempt to get my head right, before I took the money you offered back to me, wanting the right amount because you were a small store who couldn’t cash a hundred dollar bill.

“Oh, my apologies.” I ran through the notes, finding as close as it could get to the total, giving thirty dollars back to you, “Keep the rest.” I struggled out while I gathered my books in my arms and turned for the door.

My pathetic attempt to get away in a haste as if a hunter was on my bleeding trail, though your voice cut me short like a gunshot in a silent forest, “I’m Will, by the way.”

I stopped, my gloved hand on the handle to the door.

I took one moment to look back at you, your cheeks blushing pink and lips turned upward in the smallest smile as you forced yourself to watch me for my reaction.

I let out a shaky breath, preparing myself to break yet another a rule that I set many years previous to keep myself and innocents safe... did it even matter now?

“I’m Hannibal, it’s nice to meet you, Will.”

“Likewise.” You responded immediately, leaving me with your parting smile and I quickly took my leave of Pages and Pawprints, heading back the way I came from, back to my motel where I could brood over the interaction that just passed. Dissect this new, tumbling fawn

I furiously growled under my breath as I walked through the cold, books pressed tightly to my chest and the lingering scent of that horrible aftershave from you, following me all the way to the supposed comfort of my room.

I needed a kill to get you off of my mind.

[westanabadguy]

Kiss Me Better, KakuHidaDei

Summary: Deidara gets his arms fixed by Kakuzu and gets shown a different side of the zombie combo.

Pairing: Kakuzu/Hidan/Deidara Yes, all three.

Warning: Slight body horror and gore. Nothing major tho. Also, extremely OOC and self indulgent, ngl. This is purely fluff, albeit very strange fluff.

The scent of blood and decay hung heavy in the air, mixing with the barely muffled sounds of whimpers and groans.

Deidara looked down at what was left of his arms, a bloody, ruined stump on the left, still oozing despite it being at least two nights since he’d lost them. On his right, thick, black stitches carved their way into his skin, slowly repairing the otherwise unfixable damage.

Despite how hard he tried, he couldn’t fully stop the pained sounds from leaving his mouth. The pain of repairing them was far more painful than losing them had been. Barely healed muscles and tendons were ripped apart and stitched to new ones, skin stretched and pulled unnaturally thin. 

It was agony.

Still, he did his best to keep quiet. Biting his lip, a trickle a blood dropped down his chin to join the pool of it gathering on the ground around him.

Lost in pain, he felt it wash over him, felt himself choke on the air around him as he attempted to just breathe, but it was far too much, too fast-

The warmth of a body behind him snapped him out of it. With glazed over eyes, he looked behind him. Hair clumped to his face and eyes blurry with unshed tears, he could still make out the distinct silver hair of his fellow Akatsuki. He’d actually kept to himself for the most part, the mocking jabs he was so well known for suspiciously absent. 

For once, it had been easy to forget that the Jashinist was there.

A dangerous mistake, Deidara acknowledged even in his pain drenched mind.

“What are you-” it took far too long for his words to come stumbling out, sticking in his throat like honey. His voice uncharacteristically dry and raspy.

He was interrupted when hands, warm and surprisingly soft, came up to hold his shoulders. He flinched in preparation of an attack, but none came. The hands instead busied themselves with rubbing smooth, soothing circles into his tense, sweat soaked shoulders. 

“The hell are you doing, un?”

“Calming you down, what’s it look like sugartits?”

A growl left the bomber, although it was quieter than it normally would be, his grumbles plagued with exhaustion. Before he could retort, strangely talented hands dug deep into a knotted muscle and he groaned. Basking in the pleasure, well welcomed in the ocean of pain, for a moment. 

Every instinct in him was telling him to tell Hidan to stop, to get who he knew was a dangerous predator from behind his back. He knew it was dangerous... but at the same time, this small, uncharacteristically gentle massage- albeit extremely strange- was helping with the unbearable pain he’d been feeling before.

Too weak to resist anymore, he hung his head and let the Jashinist do as he pleased. 

A red hue was forming on his cheeks, painting clammy white a rose red. 

Ignoring the heat on his cheeks, he glanced up at the other immortal in the room. He hadn’t said a word this entire time. As he glanced up at the miser, he saw the man’s distinct red-green eyes peering at him, sans his characteristic scowl. The older man was simply watching, curious gaze turned onto the two younger men. He seemed... relaxed almost, a word Deidara would have never thought to attribute to the temperamental man.

He held his gaze for a moment, trying to get any hint from the elder about what exactly was happening, but it proved too much for him. Holding his gaze while his threads worked over him, etched their way inside of him, and his partner rubbed at his back felt far too intimate for him to handle. Something else in the miser’s eyes that he wouldn’t dare assume made him feel helpless.

He averted his eyes to the floor, lost in his thoughts.

So lost in his thoughts was he, that he didn’t even notice when Kakuzu finished up with his right arm.

“One down, one to go.”

The voice of the Jashinist behind him snapped him back into reality. 

Looking at his arm, he saw Kakuzu’s stitches embedded in his skin, holding his flesh together. He tried to flex his arm but to no avail.

“It will take awhile for you to regain feeling in your arms. Be patient.” the older man spoke for the first time since he’d sat down to begin stitching.

Deidara clicked his tongue, disappointment rising in his chest. 

Warm, soft lips touched his head, and for a second he thought he imagined it. Wide, sky blue eyes gazed up at Kakuzu. His lips parted as if to say something, but nothing left them.

“Patience.”

Deidara, feeling heat rise to his cheeks again, hung his head, casting his eyes down. 

He reasoned with himself that he would raise hell about them babying him later, but for now... he was simply too exhausted to do anything. He’d surely give them a piece of his mind later, but for right now...

He’d let it slide.