#do not perceive the hair curling attempt

[tisinoodle]

She’s serving Contessa

So this Halloween I realized I owned or could borrow all of the things to make a passable Contessa cosplay, except the hat. Finally had an opportunity to take pictures.

[eoieopda]

insomniac | ljh (m)

there are certainly worse ways to tire yourself out.

summary: it’s 2:00 am, and you can’t turn your brain off. thankfully, your boyfriend knows just how to scramble it. pairing: lee jihoon x reader au: established relationship type: one-shot (smut) word count: 5.2k rating: 18+ cw: reader is afab but no pronouns are used; reader has insomnia (unspecified re: prof. diagnosed or self-diagnosed); there’s a sentence about reader taking “an inadvisable amount of melatonin gummies” — don’t do this! — but they’re not impaired in any way; reader’s internal monologue is kind of angsty/self-deprecating at times; blonde!woozi has his hair in a bun, which is a warning in and of itself; completely unedited because my perfectionism has killed every wip i’ve attempted for months. ✰ minors do not have my consent to interact with me and/or my work. smut warnings: big dick lee jihoon™️, nipple stim, v fingering, unprotected p in v penetration, wee bit of aftercare. there are a total of six (6) orgasms in here because i believe in going big from home, incl. nipple stim & a-spot orgasms. a/n: i haven’t written anything in forever, due in large part to the fact that i’m exhausted but can never fucking sleep. i truly hope this isn’t incoherent garbage. 😵‍💫 dedicated to my fellow woozi-simping insomniac, @sailorrhansol. may we eventually rest in peace. multi permanent taglist. seventeen permanent taglist.

You should be asleep.

With the day you’ve had, you should’ve drifted off the second your body hit the sheets; and you should’ve stayed that way — unmoving, unconscious — for several hours, at minimum.

If the week’s worth of sleep debt wasn’t exhausting enough in and of itself, every single circumstance surrounding you begs you to give into the weight of your eyelids. To let yourself be lulled, just this once. Soothed.

From the vent in the corner, the gentle hum of the aircon goads you. It does its very best to convince you to curl up under the softness of your comforter, and to some extent, you’ve listened. You’re burrowed beneath your blankets with only the upper half of your face exposed, which should be more than enough to sway you. 

It’s not, though.

With no ability to keep your eyes closed, you stare dejectedly at the wall in front of you. Laying on your side, gazing straight ahead, you watch the faint echoes of the city lights as they wash over white paint. Not much bleeds through the blinds, leaving only hints of cobalt and red to blend into some sleepy shade of lilac. Whether or not you want to be awake to perceive it in the first place, you have to admit it: it’s beautiful.

But it’s not enough.

You squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing down the groan building in your chest. With how closely he’s got you nestled against his body, Jihoon would feel it if you let that frustration manifest. You already ache from the sheer amount of time you’ve been policing your own posture; making any amount of noise now would interrupt the slow, delicate breaths he’s aiming into the back of your neck. Frankly, you’d rather die.

Taking his silence as a sign that you’ve remained off his radar, you let out a measured sigh, too worried that the full rise and fall of your chest will disturb him. 

Nothing.

But then, the arm draped over your waist shifts. 

“Fuck,” you mouth to no one.

It wouldn’t be out-of-character for Jihoon to feel the restless energy pouring out of you in waves, even in the depths of a sleep cycle. He senses every tiny change in your ecosystem long before you do. As unlikely as he is to ever admit it, it has to be exhausting to be attuned to someone so neurotic. He deserves every second of sleep he can manage to get.

You grit your teeth and demand yourself to calm down, all while refusing to acknowledge how completely your actions and commands conflict.  

Maybe, you attempt to bamboozle yourself, you can sleep vicariously through him. 

He’ll wake up rested, and when you look in the mirror later, the first thing you see won’t be the cartoonish bags under your eyes.

It’ll be fine. 

It’ll be fine.

If you go to sleep right now, you’ll get five hours and thirty —

“You haven’t unclenched a single muscle since you climbed into bed,” notes the world’s groggiest voice from over your shoulder.

Jihoon’s lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck when he speaks. Without that tickling sensation, you might’ve deluded yourself into thinking that you were simply hearing things just now. That it was merely a hallucination brought on by sleep deprivation and the inadvisable number of melatonin gummies you ate before brushing your teeth.

He shifts again. This time, there’s no mistaking his movements. The arm slung over your side pulls you closer. So close, in fact, that you can feel the contented sigh leave his body, like his isn’t separate from yours at all.

With the distance erased, his face — the cold tip of his nose and the sheet-creased warmth of his cheeks — can nuzzle properly into the crook of your neck. You swear you feel the hint of a smile there somewhere, too. If you had to guess, it matches the upward curve on your lips.

“What are we spinning our wheels over tonight?” He asks without a hint of judgment, as if your burdens are automatically his, too.

The fact that he can’t see your face doesn’t stop you from frowning. Yet again, you’ve managed to drag him into your insomnia. Jihoon may never fault you for it, but you don’t need him to. You’ll hold it against yourself — grudge by proxy. 

“I don’t even know,” you admit with a frustrated huff. “There’s nothing coherent going on up there.” You lift your hand and gesture vaguely in the dark. “Nothing articulable, just… blender brain.”

“Mmm.”

Jihoon sounds so fucking sleepy, so at peace next to you, that it makes your stomach hurt. You wish you could be like him. For as calm as his presence makes you, you’ve learned that you’re incapable of feeling fully relaxed. At least, not in the way he is when he’s got his arms around you. He deserves to have that effect on you.

A beat passes in silence, save for his soft breathing. For a minute, you’re convinced that he’s fallen back asleep; and you pray to whoever that he has. He deserves that, too.

“How do we unplug the blender?”

You have to bite back a smile for two reasons: the way his words sound slurred when delivered directly to your skin, and the distinctly Jihoon drive he has to fix a problem that isn’t his.

When the love sickness leaves you down bad, and you forget to respond with words, Jihoon prompts you softly. “Hmm?” 

He punctuates this reminder with a kiss to your shoulder, then lets his lips linger against your skin, musing, “I can think of two things that usually do the trick: getting you hotteok from that cart down the block, which is currently closed, and —”

The rest of that thought fades out. Leaving you on the edge of your seat, Jihoon continues to kiss a languid line along the perimeter of your shoulder, as if he’s conducting some meticulous, geographical survey. Like missing a single spot will have grave consequences. A perfectionist through and through, even half-asleep.

You feel yourself melting, bit by bit, into his torso; the warmth of his bare chest against your back only expedites the process. Nevertheless, you peep, “What’s the second thing?”

His answer comes with a slip of his hand, down down down along the slope of your waist to your hip, long before he verbalizes it. It’s simple, delivered in that rough, early-morning voice you love so much. It’s more than enough to make you shiver:

“Making you cum.”

But as crazy as that statement makes you, you can’t make yourself act on it.

At any other time, you’d jump on that opportunity — jump on him — in a heartbeat. All you’re able to do now is jump to the worst conclusion in a single bound. 

Somewhere, deep down, you know he wouldn’t have brought it up if he didn’t truly want it, want you; but that goddamned, sleep-deprived goblin taking up space in the far reaches of your mind is far louder than the voice of reason.

He’s only offering so you’ll stop keeping him awake.

He’s as exhausted as you are, if not more so for having to deal with your disorder again.

Burden.

Placing your hand on top of his, you slip your fingers into the spaces you find and squeeze once for emphasis. “I love you,” you start. He stills. “But, Jihoon, you’re so tired. I can hear it in your voice. Please, go back to sleep. It’s okay — I’m okay.”

Jihoon doesn’t push back. He stays within bounds, honors your shitty decision because, after all, it’s yours to make. With another kiss to your shoulder and a squeeze to your hand, he murmurs, “Love you,” before relaxing back against the pillows.

Minutes pass.

Maybe hours, for all you know. 

As the window of opportunity creaks shut, regret seeps through the gap. You know you’re wrong; you know he meant it; and you know that someone would have to be out of their fucking gourd to politely decline what he’s offering.

The unbearable heat licking up your neck is either embarrassment or the ghost of orgasms lost coming to haunt you.

Maybe you’d be better equipped to tell the difference if you could just — fucking — sleep.

Driven half mad, you try to keep from squirming.

You fail.

Maybe, since you can’t sleep, you and your wilted little brain should’ve let your perfect, empathetic boyfriend fu —

“That’s enough,” Jihoon grunts.

The hand underneath yours is suddenly above it, overtaking it and tugging carefully until your whole body moves. In the time it takes for you to roll from your side, Jihoon sits up and clears space for your frame to settle. You barely have time to blink dumbly up at him from your back before he cages you in with one hand on either side of your head, knees now on either side of your thighs.

Your breath seems to have gotten lost in the fray, but it’s not the sudden moves that shook it loose; it’s the sight of him looming over you, damn near scowling despite his lead-lidded eyes. It’s the disheveled bun of platinum hair at the crown of his head, which must’ve shifted in his sleep and spilled out the tendrils that now frame his set jaw.

The very best you can come up with is, “You’re awake.”

“So are you,” he retorts without missing a beat.

That face — god, that face — doesn’t budge. On the contrary, your stomach flips. This the most stern you’ve ever seen him. Confusingly, his tone isn’t even remotely harsh when he continues, “If those gears in your head grind any louder, the whole neighborhood will be, too.”

Grimacing, you open your mouth to apologize, but Jihoon’s eyes are searching your face with a distinct flicker of concern. You know that look. You also know that nothing you can think to say will make it disappear.

He speaks when you don’t, hard edges softening slightly. “I can fix it,” he insists, though you know him well enough to hear the plea hidden in there. 

Let me take care of you.

That little spark of desperation burns you up in a flash. You wonder if he can feel the fire spread when he lifts his right hand off the mattress just to swipe his thumb slowly over the edge of your cheekbone. Without thinking, you let go of the tension in your neck. Your head tilts automatically, seeking comfort you’ve only ever found in him, and rests against his palm.

“I have to admit it, though,” Jihoon confesses. “Yours isn’t the only mind that’s restless.”

He moves his hand away from your face but keeps his eyes trained on you. The incessant need you feel to apologize bubbles up yet again, uninvited. You swallow it. As you do, his fingertips trail down the length of your neck at a snail’s pace, effectively turning your thoughts to static.

“I’ve been holding you for hours now, and all that time —” 

He pauses just long enough to glance down at his hand, which hasn’t.

“— I’ve been wondering if I should have you channel that energy and tire yourself out on top of me —”

His touch whispers over your collarbone. It’s the only proof that you have any bones at all. Until now, you were sure that the rest of you had melted entirely, puddling uselessly on the sheets below. This time, when you bite your lips and swallow weakly, it’s not an apology that you’re keeping to yourself but a whimper.

“— or lay you back against the pillows —”

You don’t mean to directly contradict his statement the moment he makes it, but you can’t help it. The thin, cotton fabric of your top does nothing to dull the sensation of his hand on your left breast; leaves you with the unmitigated brush of his thumb tracing delicate swirls over your nipple. The breath you’ve been holding comes out shuddered, back arching off the mattress to chase his touch.

Emboldened by your reaction, Jihoon pulls his gaze off his own ministrations and directs it through his lashes back up at you. One eyebrow momentarily flexes in challenge. “— Take my time, and —”

Whatever desperate look you give him earns you some amount of mercy. He picks up where he left off in that dizzyingly deep voice of his, words molten, and drags the hem of your shirt up your torso. “Fuck you deep, until the only thing you can do is relax.”

Gobsmacked is too weak a word for the impact that suggestion has on you. The idea alone sparks a kind of relief so foreign and so sorely needed that it almost makes you cry. 

You don’t, thankfully. 

Instead, you stagger along the borderline of babbling. 

“I want that,” you announce on a shaky exhale. Then, with a shake of your head, you correct yourself, “No, it’s not even want. It’s —” Frustration over your inability to form a coherent thought drives you to scrub your hands over your face. “— need. I need you.”

You accompany that declaration by slapping your hands down at your sides, finishing off with a muted thump when your palms hit the mattress with enough force to bounce them upwards again. 

Even with your eyes screwed shut, you know Jihoon is sitting back on his knees, watching you with equal parts surprise and amusement. There’s no need to open them to confirm it, but you do anyway. His pupils have dilated widely enough to rival the moon floating over the skyline.

Though he’d be well within bounds to tell you to chill the fuck out, he doesn’t. He never has, as far as you can recall. In fact, Jihoon doesn’t say a thing. His hands speak for him, reaching for the shirt he so nearly got off your body before you lost whatever was left of your mind.

Keeping his word, as always, Jihoon takes his time. He takes care in sliding that tank top up and over your head without snagging your earrings, then he wordlessly drops it off the side of the bed to be forgotten about.

With your chest bare, it’s obvious how rapid your breathing is. Noting the quick rise and fall, he traces the curve of your waist with the side of his right index finger and softly says the quiet part out loud: “Let me take care of you.”

And you do.

You let him maneuver your body so he can settle with one knee between your thighs, rather than straddle them. You let go of your death grip on the sheets and thread your fingers through his hair when he leans back down to kiss you; and when he licks into your mouth, you let him swallow the moan that builds under the delicious weight of his body on yours.

Already, you feel every shitty, stupid thought begin to dissolve. You should’ve known this would be the case. 

He said he’d fix it, didn't he? 

And here he is, proving to you that his touch is magic. All it takes to coax the tension out of your muscles is the tender pass of his hand.

Whatever effect Jihoon has on you seems to be mutual. When he pulls back, he’s equally as breathless, likely just as starry-eyed. Awash in that lilac glow peeking in from the outside, he’s downright celestial — almost too divine to look at directly without watering eyes.

Undeterred, you stare right back at him and sigh, “You’re beautiful.”

His nose scrunches for a split second, just like it always does when you make him suffer through a compliment. Your exposure therapy is working, though. For once, Jihoon doesn’t groan or tell you to keep your praise to yourself. The corner of his mouth curves upward — just barely — and he shakes his head.

“I mean it,” you quietly insist.

Smirking slightly, he extends the index finger on his right hand and holds it to his lips. “You’re relaxing, remember?”

Though you could double-down, any fight you might’ve had in you fizzles out the second he bows his head and connects his lips to the underside of your jaw. Your head tilts further back with every centimeter he trails down the length of your neck, granting him increased access to wreck you even further. You have to keep your hands on whatever you can grip of his biceps — which ultimately isn’t much at all — to keep from floating away.

“Bold of you to call me beautiful,” he murmurs against your body, “When you just exist like this.”

You don’t argue. You can’t argue with a man who sounds so fucking reverent. Not in good faith, anyway. He says it with the kind of sincerity that underlines an undisputed fact; and you know better than to debate an expert.

With nothing to say, all you have left is to keen and melt even further into the mattress.

Like everything else he does, the way Jihoon kisses you is rhythmic. Steady and thoughtful, each feather-light graze of his lips on your skin causes your eyelids to flutter until you eventually decide to keep them shut. To cut out the visual and hone in on the physical sensation; to be truly present in the body he can’t get enough of.

As it turns out, being present earns the gift of his tongue circling one of your nipples. Soon after, you get the plush heat of his mouth enveloping the sensitive bud; the slow, deep pull of the suction he creates.

Eloquent as always, you moan, “Fuuuuck.”

The hand not holding up his weight massages your other breast, too considerate to leave half of you lonely. Whatever gentle pressure he maintains there builds inside you, further down.

It’s incredible.

No, it’s fucking perfect.

Jihoon switches sides, grazes your other nipple carefully with his teeth, and it’s over for you. You shudder beneath his body, back arching and a breathy sigh floating out of your chest.

Apparently, he’s just as surprised by this turn of events as you are. Your eyes blink open and find him hovering over you with his jaw partially dropped, still smiling somehow.

Your questions overlap.

“Did you just —”

“— make me cum from this?”

His bemusement switches in an instant to something you can only describe as bewitched. Voice gravel-lined, Jihoon groans, “Oh, shit.” Adding immediately and twice as earnestly, “Goddamn.”

A flash of conflict makes him freeze. You know he’s facing the same internal debate that you are: he needs to be inside of you in the worst way, right now, but that’s not a conclusion the pair of you can just — leap to. 

There’s simply too much of him to take if he doesn’t fuck you open with his fingers first.

Jihoon shakes his head, as if he’s telling himself no. Like he’s reminding himself of what he promised — or threatened, more like — earlier, that he’s taking his time.

As much as you want to beg otherwise, you know you shouldn’t. So, you don’t. You reach out, encircle his wrist in your hand, and bring him back within reach. 

With undivided attention and darkening eyes, Jihoon watches you take his index and middle finger into your mouth, cheeks hollowing and tongue circling. He fights to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head, all the while professing, “You’re perfect.”

Not generally, no.

However, Jihoon has a habit of ending up correct, even if you disagree. This isn’t a battle worth picking. In this moment, you’re willing to entertain the possibility that you’re perfect for him.

A soft pop underscores your choice to release him. His mouth must’ve gotten jealous; it swiftly replaces his fingers, tongue reclaiming any territory he wrongfully assumes he’s lost.

You’d be content to stay this way forever — and likely could, if it came down to it — but Jihoon has an agenda. He sticks to it, to the letter, and in dropping his hand down your body, he lets his knuckles drag softly over the trail he blazes. The little sleep shorts you wear are moved aside, and your thighs part for him, too, offering unrestricted access.

Two fingers slip inside of you easily, no doubt aided by the orgasm that snuck up on you — the one you’re still thinking about; the one he’ll secretly hang his hat on forever, having brought it on without touching you here at all.

“Listen to you,” he smirks against your lips with a curl of his fingers. 

As if you weren’t already acutely aware of the way you’ve drenched him to the base knuckles, he rolls his wrist, stroking your g-spot while the heel of his hand nudges your clit. Even the dulcet hum of the aircon isn’t enough to mute the obscenity; you hear the slick rush with every slow thrust of his fingers.

You respond with some sort of whimper. The sound barely registers without any breath behind it. If Jihoon hears it, he doesn’t let it affect his pace — just the stretch. He scissors his middle and index on the way out, then returns with his ring finger, unearthing a proper moan from the very bottom of your lungs.

His head tilts to the side. Warm breath hits the shell of your ear, prompting a contradictory shiver. “I think you’ve got another one for me, don’t you?”

Buried in you, he taps his fingers against that same, spongy spot. Every neuron you have begins to buzz.

“In fact, I think you want to cum all over my fingers,” he whispers, goading you with his rough voice dropped low. “Think you wanna soak my fucking hand, so I can fill you properly.”

You think you’ll have to apologize later for the crescent-shaped indents your nails leave on his shoulders.

When your second orgasm overtakes you, you feel it tingling all the way up at the crown of your head. Just like the first, it’s not a clap of thunder but a roll — patient. The intensity only builds, the longer it lasts. Jihoon makes sure it does — makes no adjustment to the slow, steady tempo, as it pulls you fully apart.

Every muscle you tensed as you came goes limp. It’s anyone’s guess whether you have any bones left. You’re sure that the only thing keeping you from seeping like honey through the mattress, or pooling on the floor below, is Jihoon’s body caging you in.

“Don’t ask me what my name is.” Your head droops to the side, and you mumble, “I do not remember, and I do not care.”

He kisses the temple that isn’t smushed against his left forearm, which, coupled with his elbow, now holds both of your weight. “If you’re spent, I can sto—”

“Don’t you dare.”

The emphatic look you muster lacks energy, you’re sure, but the point still stands, even if your stamina doesn’t. Half-lidded, you stare at him with all the force you can find.

“I’ll stay awake for the rest of my life if you stop now. I swear to you, Lee Jihoon, I will die on this hill.”

“Easy, tiger,” he purrs. Out of the corner of your narrowed eyes, you clock the fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The whole point of this was for you to relax.”

To prove that you haven’t lost the plot entirely, you close your eyes, rather than roll them. Then, you cave completely. 

You whisper, leaving no question as to how badly you need him, “Jihoon… Please.”

“I’ve got you.” He nudges your temple with the tip of his nose. “But I can’t fuck you unless you give my arm back.”

Begrudgingly, you scoot your head several centimeters across the pillow, heaving a put-upon sigh as if he’s asked you to move a mountain instead. You give yourself a moment to mourn the loss of your headrest, then you open your eyes. As you do, any thought of pouting flies out the window.

Having crawled back to the end of your bed, Jihoon gets to his feet. Once there, he drops his hands and eyes to the loose knot cinching the waistband of his sweatpants. It’s a sight you’ve seen a thousand times — his naked chest so pale in contrast with his usual, all-black attire — yet it’s one you’ll never truly get over. Even harder to cope with is the fact that he’s never been in a hurry; not once in his goddamn life.

If you’re being honest, that’s one of the things you’ve always loved most about him. Envied, even. You fret endlessly about the process, whatever that may be; he trusts it. You scale the walls in anticipation; he’s never been caught sweating.

The best example of this comes the second he finishes addressing that knot. His sweatpants pool at his ankles; he kicks them aside; and you immediately set to wondering how in the motherfuck he managed to be so patient with you when he’s this incomprehensibly hard.

Really, you don’t deserve him.

Nevertheless, you get him anyway. 

Him pushing his flyways out of his face; him reaching out slowly to hook his fingers under the elastic band of your shorts; him cursing under his breath when he tosses those shorts over his shoulder and finds you wet and wanting.

In return, Jihoon gets you right where he wants you — trembling underneath him, with pliant legs opening wider at the request of his hands on your thighs. When his body fills the space between them, those same legs wrap around his back to keep him close, just like the arms you slink around his neck.

“Deep breath,” he reminds you as he lines himself up, only half-jokingly.

It’s good advice — something Jihoon probably should’ve heeded. 

He doesn’t. 

You keep your eyes on his when he slides inside of you, and you swear you see his mind blow in real time. Not that you have room to judge, however. In fact, that’s precisely what’s causing you to short-circuit: the perfect pressure of his length within your heat, sinking in slowly so as to not shock the system.

When he eventually bottoms out, low moan splintering from the depths of his chest, you have to blink quickly to keep tears within your waterline.

To check in, Jihoon runs his hand along the side of your thigh then back again. “Alright?”

Whatever you say in response comes out through a dreamy sigh, framed in quotation marks by fluttering lashes. Nonsense, most likely, or never better. In either case, he’ll understand; he always does.

Placing your hand on his, you slip your fingers over the top and pull him forward. He lets you, comes down carefully until the comfort of his weight against your frame makes you feel anchored. With every inch that’s erased between you, he fills you further, pushing out whatever air remains in your lungs through some needy little whine.

Among the million sensations you have to grapple with, the most hard-hitting, ironically, is comfort. Pure and unadulterated. You enveloping him, enveloping you.

To prove it to yourself that you’re not dreaming, you slip your fingers into his hair, nails scratching delicately over his scalp. In return, he rolls his hips forward, just like he promised — slow, steady, deep. You clench around him involuntarily, a reflex your body must’ve learned to keep him close.

“Love the way you grip me, but...” Jihoon exhales a sigh against your neck, head tilted to keep your face in his periphery. Pulling out further just to thrust in deeper, he warns, “You keep that up, and I’ll cum too soon.”

He’s one to talk.

Every time he grinds his hips languidly towards yours, you have to talk yourself off the ledge. 

If you let him wear you down again, you fear that there won’t be enough left of you to savor this; and you never want this moment to end. You want to live in it — to feel the delicious drag of his cock along your walls — to hear that obscene tide ebb and flow whenever he fucks himself further in you — to feel so fucking full —  for as long as he gives you. 

It was a valiant effort on your part, if you do say so yourself. Futile, though, because Jihoon pulls out all the stops. The next time he pulls himself from you just to roll back in, he swivels his hips as he thrusts, ensuring that you feel him everywhere.

“Oh.”

One syllable on a gasping breath, then you forget every single word in your vocabulary. Like warm molasses, bliss washes over you at half-speed, seeping in and sticking until the blender motor in your brain is fucked beyond repair.

At least you’re not the only one.

“Fuck, fuck —” 

Holding him as closely as you are, you feel each muscle in Jihoon’s body tense one-by-one, rippling as your third orgasm steals his first, going lax when his release floods. “— Fuck,” he groans, all the while twitching inside you.

Though he slows, he doesn’t stop. It’s not until he pants, “Kiss me,” that you realize it: Jihoon doesn’t intend to stop.

Neither, it seems, do you.

Maybe you’re greedy. Maybe you’re too obsessed with the brush of his tip against your cervix with every gentle, shallow thrust. Maybe, above all, it’s the way his cock doesn’t soften inside of you but his face does when he catches you looking at him from under a heavy curtain of lashes.

You catch him by the mouth, just like he asked. It’s indulgent — messy, echoing the other point where the two of you connect. Licking into him while he fucks himself into you, ragged breaths barely loud enough to overpower the explicit, sodden sound below.

“Can you still speak in sentences?” He pants in a rare moment when his lips break from yours.

Can feel you in my stomach, you want to say. 

“I’m — you’re gonna make me —”

You can’t choke out the words, though you suspect Jihoon gets the point. This far in, his touch reaches a detonator you didn’t even know existed; there’s no way he misses the explosion of pleasure throughout your entire goddamn body.

He’s caught in your blast radius, your walls pulsing and spasming to such an insane degree that he can barely move. Mind blown to fucking smithereens, your ears ring too loudly to hear whatever he says to you when he cums again — hard — and the arms bearing his weight buckle.

Jihoon’s flushed cheek winds up pressed to your shoulder. He stays there while your joint trembling subsides, then any muscle that could make him move is too spent to do so.

“What just happened?” He sounds as delirious as you feel. “That was… shit. What did your body just do?”

You have no idea. 

You have no capacity to form any.

All you have is the weight of his frame on yours and that of your eyelids, which flutter as you try and fail to keep them open. The best you can give is a non-responsive, utterly fucked-out sound — not enough shape to be a word, not enough breath to be a sigh.

Eventually, although you can’t imagine how, Jihoon finds enough strength to shift himself off of you. You don’t see anything that happens next, but you feel it all — the kiss to your temple; the hollowness when he pulls out and the sticky rush that chases him when he leaves.

“I’m coming back to clean you up,” he promises in a hushed tone from a million miles away. Chuckling despite his own sleepiness, he adds, “Don’t move.”

I won’t, you think but don’t say.

And you don’t move.

At least, not until the smell of hotteok reaches you eight hours later.

svt taglist: @ashonheavenscloud @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @rasparagus @bouclesdefeu @ourkivee @sourkimchi @gyuguys

multi taglist: @bahng-chrizz @jihopesjoint @notevenheretbh1 @borabitsch @bubbly-moon

also paging the cap gang: @daechwitatamic @yoongukie-ff

[death---dealer]

I SO badly need a part 2 to Customary with Noa x reader 😭 pretty please!!!

I'M ON THE WAY DEARIE. I am so sorry it's so long but pls enjoy! Reblogs/Likes always appreciated. Maybe I make part three if anyone is interested! Thanks!

Title: Gone Hunting. Fandom: ( Kingdom of the ) Planet of the Apes. Rating: T. ( Mentions of blood, hunting game animals, animal mating. ) Words: 5.9K+ Pairing: Implied - Noa x Human! Reader. Summary: A week has subsided since you told Noa about the nature of romantic love. You wanted to avoid it, avoid him, but you had previously promised to go with him on a hunting trip. Was it a rouse for him to get you alone? READ THE SERIES HERE.

** Does Contain Mild Spoilers for Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes.

-- -- --

It had been a week since your last in-depth conversation and you still found that you were unable to look him in the eye. Noa seemed to not notice, or maybe he did and just didn't care enough to do anything about it. After all, the seriousness of the conversation, the floating vibration that still cramped your fingertips when you thought about touching him, the hardness that found its way to your throat when you attempted any sort of conversation with him… It was disheartening to think, but you figured he just didn't care enough personally to pressure.

-- -- --

“Love doesn’t need to be understood,” You were talking to him in such a hushed tone of voice, something that wasn’t frequent with you and Noa turned his head to the side ever so slightly at the sound of it. Breathy, he would say it was… And very, very different from the self-assurance you often carried yourself with. Wavering around the corner of words as if you were unsure of what you were saying. You were avoiding eye contact again, Noa mused, half tempted to look over his shoulder at what you had locked your gaze on. Probably something off in the distance, a tree fluttering with the slight breeze that shuffled the fur on his body and the hair on your head. An Eagle maybe? Noa was consciously aware that his own feathery friend was sitting behind the two of you, unwavering in their loyalty to him. He wanted to be jealous of something you were looking at, but Noa found himself locked on to you, baited anticipation to hear that voice again, the way it was speaking to him. So soft, so gentle, so… so… Personal.

“Love just needs to be embraced.”

Noa had his hand up to sign but you had turned to the side already, shuffling as quietly as you could. Quiet, but it was deafening to Noa. Every fall of your foot, every breath you were taking deep into your lungs and releasing quickly, tucking your hair behind your ear, the mere friction of that… All sounds were beating down on him like the fists of another Ape. Had he… Done something wrong? Asked something wrong? It was now very obvious that you were done talking, pushed against the wall metaphorically and had nothing else to say to him.

He’d encountered this countless times in the few months that you had been here. But, your inability to go on and explain further left Noa understandably frustrated this time around. Not at you, never at you… He curled his fingers at his side and sat back on his legs, almost burning a hole into the back of your head with his eyes. You were now moving to get the horse you came on prepped for the small journey back to the village. Not that you needed to, it was just something to keep yourself occupied, away from the thought that he was perceiving your words in the way he wanted to. You left it vague enough to leave it up to interpretation, by all means.

Turning his head to the side, he looked at his Eagle and pressed a curled pointer finger to their beak. It was not too far of a trek back, you didn't need to adjust anything with the horse…But it was far enough away that you felt comfortable to talk to him openly. It wasn’t that you wouldn’t with others around, he figured that Echo’s arrogance would run wild and you would want to boast to the Apes about how things were. How things were better for Echo’s than Apes but you never did that. He also heard another concept about Echo’s and that was privacy. And out of all things, Noa knew that privacy in conversations was important. He never understood why; Apes were social creatures and most likely knew everything ( or close to everything ) about their neighbors without plight.

Maybe that was why Noa was so drawn to… He stopped his thought process there and shook his head. He was quick to rationalize. No, there was no reason to be drawn to any of this, but he didn't want it to stop. Noa was even quicker to give into selfish ideology. He was holding his hand out there in the deep dark, hoping to the highest heavens that your hand would reach his.

-- -- --

Tilting your head to the side, a deep sigh left your parted lips. That wasn’t like Noa, though… He wouldn’t adversely reach out to you unless you were willing to reach out first. That’s how it’s been since the beginning and that’s how it remained, you never wanted to change it because it made you feel wanted… Wanted by him…

Your legs felt like they were going to fall off and that derailed your train of previous melancholy. There was a nice river he knew about, about three clicks away and Noa used the excuse of going hunting to drag you with him. You didn't necessarily want to go, you feared being alone with him for prolonged periods of time but surprisingly… It was a pleasant enough ride there on the back of your loaned horse. You believed it to be Soona’s, and you were fortunate that she let you use it occasionally. Not much was spoken, a few phrases here and there spotted between actually talking and Noa signing at you one handed as he kept another hand on the reins of his horse.

The sun was high in the sky, almost midday you figured, peering up at it through the thick branches of the trees. There was a thick smell of condensation clinging to the leaves of said trees; it had rained the night before and deliciously drenched everything. Ironically though, as that thought escaped your brain, your mouth went slightly dry as you looked ahead, only a few feet away from the rider in front of you. He seemed to enjoy the wistful silence that fell around the two of you, his eyes shutting for a brief second as he enjoyed the sensation of the sun peaking through the trees, blotching his body. You noted that his fur seemingly changed color at that. From a dark brown to an almost honey brown. What you would have given in that moment to see him fully bathe in the sun.

Grasping the reins tightly, you beckoned your horse a bit faster. There was a subconscious desire to be near him despite what happened. Hell, you thought to yourself and let a small blush take over your cheeks, you’d have ridden on the back of his horse if he had asked you. Of course, if he turned to face you and noticed your expression, you had a quick response. It was chillier than most days, and that was the smoking gun. You’d blame it on the cold hitting your cheeks. Simple.

But, with yourself already tangled in the thoughts, you proceeded on. You imagined that idea… Sitting so close to him, your chest to his back, heart beating quicker than you cared to admit. Your face resting against his shoulder to look forward, almost the same perspective as Noa himself… You desperately found yourself clinging to that aspect. To see what he saw, to know what he knew, to… To feel what he felt. Now, as you had gotten closer, you could see the evident water droplets lining along his broad shoulders. He must have bumped into a low sitting tree, maybe a bush, that distributed its lovely rain water against him. You could smell in your vivid imagination, how he must smell… Deeply ingrained dirt under fingernails, the Earth below your feet, toes curling into the sand, the brisk whisk of a hazy morning standing in a field of wheat by yourself, the allotment of sun brushing against delicate skin… That prospect alone left you feeling incredibly heady.

‘Here,’ He signed quickly, simultaneously slipping off his horse as he communicated. You were jealous of his ability to multitask like that, it was never your forte. But, Noa must have been doing it his entire life. He was taught to do that, taught from those around him… Observation was a good thing, you learned that from him. You knew that he liked to fidget things in his hands, but he was seamlessly able to sign in between that and not lose track of what his hands were doing before. You swallowed softly, being snapped viciously out of your fantasy.

Giving him a slight nod, you intently watched as he rounded his own horse and glanced up at you with those soft green eyes. Your interest was raised surely, but it was haltered when you got a full glance at him. He had his usual garb on; the cross-body sack, a few empty walnut shells tied near his shoulder with twine that would tickle his cheek if he looked over that twine encasing what appeared to be a leather band, worn from frequent use. He had it just in case he found something of interest to take back to the village, the band on his arm, yellow and orange in nature with a soft accent of tan, with adjacent and colorfully complementing feathers to show his status. They were strikingly blue and vibrant against the brown fur on his bicep, tightening anytime he would move his arm.

The band alone caused you to pause. Noa was large, larger than you by far. Not necessarily taller than any other Ape, but broad and encapsulating, and you found your eyes following him if you were in the company of others. He was the leader, and that band on his arm was more than a slap in the face at times. You remembered in most Ape clans it would be considered a luxury that he was the one personally taking you to go hunt. From the throes of hierarchy itself it was a privilege.

Noa’s eyes momentarily caught the sunlight, appearing more gold around his pupil before shifting back to their regular green as he pushed himself up to stand bi-pedal. They were gorgeous, even without the light hitting them.

‘Been here many times, with Soona and Anaya.’ Noa smiled fondly at that, letting his eyes shift away from yours to take in his surroundings. Wishing to do the same, you found yourself staring at him a moment too long before catching on that you needed to dismount your horse, needed to get your things together from the sack on the back of your horse. There was an assortment of berry bushes to your side, some appearing much more ripe than others. Black berries were sorely abundant and your eyes traced the light shapes of them against the green leaves that they were almost camouflage in. It was just now the beginning of spring, it made sense that some were ready and some were not. But, by your powers of deduction, you gathered that you were not berry hunting. ‘Easy hunting for an Echo.’

His silent words made you feel a swell in your chest. He was being… You didn't dare say considerate, but that’s what it felt like. Perhaps, more accommodating than anything else. After all, you were just a human to him, and he had nothing to gain from being considerate, but had much to gain by gaining your trust so he was more accommodating by nature. At least, that’s what you told yourself as you rested your hands on the base of the horse's shoulders, giving a sharp breath in as you hiked your legs over the side. If you were paying any attention to your surroundings instead of intensely focusing on not slipping, on not looking like a fool, you would feel a set of burning eyes watching. Observing… Obsessing…

Noa tilted his head with a gruff sound, too deep in his throat for it to be caught by your ears from the distance he held himself. Specked, almost amber-like gaze caught hold of your hands, how dainty they appeared to be compared to his own, your legs, how agile you were being, surprising for an Echo, he chuffed to himself. You were usually not like this, not balanced. He had once seen you slip on ice, which replaying inside of his mind was mildly amusing. He didn't help you up that time, and simply watched as you stumbled, trying to sign in between your slips. You could have asked for help, but you didn't. He wondered why from time to time until you explained to him embarrassment. Then it made more sense.

And ever since, he tried to keep a more mindful eye on you, on your movements; Of course, to make sure you didn't fall. He heard that Echo’s were not durable, not strong like Apes and a fall in the wrong way could cause intense problems. That’s just what he told himself though. If he were being more transparent, which he was not being, he’d have to succumb to the act that he needed to keep you protected out of his selfishness.

“Need help?” He verbalized, your feet dangling for a split second before you finally landed on the ground. A grunt left your lips with the action, your knees burning ever so slightly as weight was put back on them. Brushing your fingers along the side of the horse to calm them, you glanced over your shoulder at Noa, triumphant enough to gloat that you didn't need any assistance. “Just like Ape.” His signing was languid as if he were truly unsure if he was okay to make a comment like that towards you.

You grinned to yourself as you turned back towards the horse, shuffling to the side to get to your bag which was easy enough. Trying to ignore that sufficient pride that hit you like a moving horse due to Noa’s simple words, you dallied for a second longer than you really needed to, painting your fingers along the rough sew of your bag. He was just trying to get you to feel comfortable, it was nothing more than that. I mean… You thought to yourself with a snide chuckle. Was… Was flirting even a concept he was familiar with? Surely, they had to have some sort of form. You knew that grooming had to be a heavy part, it was a personal and intimate detail that often got overlooked when human’s thought about Apes and their threshold to be incredibly social with each other. You had seen it first hand, along with those tender moments of foreheads touching one another. Brow to brow, usually hands on the heads to keep each other near as possible, eyes closing as two slowly became one and---

You tucked your shoulders into your bag, more aggressive than you needed to and allowed the added weight to anchor you as you twisted to follow whichever way Noa deemed worthy. You also knew that they were quite sarcastic when they wanted to be, and you found it endearing at times. Especially when it was Anaya. In your head, you had dubbed him as the sarcastic one, Soona as the caring one, Dar as the motherly one, and Noa… was just Noa. No immediate words came to your mind when you tried to think about it. Maybe that was a good thing! Maybe, what was happening, what had been said, was just a crush and you were finally trying to blow past it.

He was staying on his legs for you, not wanting to move onto all fours as his pace would be too fast. Another accommodation, not a consideration. There was his heavy spear splayed across his back, being held by the strap of his bag. It swayed with his movement. Subtle, his shoulders would move ever so slightly as he walked. Following suit, it felt like you were playing a game as you grasped your own spear from your horse. It was smaller than Noa’s but just as effective and hunched it over your shoulder, holding it loosely as you took pace to match his speed. Noa was only a meter or two in front of you, leading, but you wanted to be right by his side. He looked back at you and you found your feet coming to a small stop before picking back up, a silent agreement being made there at that moment. You wouldn’t use words. You would only sign as to not scare away any potential kills.

-- -- --

“I don’t understand,” You muttered to him, your shoulders fraught with confusion. Noa’s green eyes swept from his hands over to you and longed to have it reciprocated. There was nothing though, you were pretty focused on the kill. He was holding a small rabbit who had no idea their demise had come at the hands of the Ape in front of you. It was roughly tied at the feet, binding it so he could keep it stored properly for the ride back to the Village. It was ignorant bliss that the rabbit truly lived in and now it was gone. You were envious of that - the ignorant part. Swallowing softly, you shifted your gaze to the side and pretended to be amused by the fire. He had been studying you, trying to gauge what your words were going to be. Hard, mean? Assuming something you shouldn’t have? You liked to do that and Noa liked to prove you wrong just as much. But, without any eye contact, Noa could not read you. Could not see your face, and could not make any judgments towards you as you asked him, “You--- you hunt?”

Noa knew you knew the answer to that but he obliged it anyway, “Small prey. Rabbit, usually.”

Simple enough answer, and you left it at that. And deep down, Noa’s accusation was correct. You’ve eaten fish frequently enough with the Clan. And as the sun began setting and dinner time rose, you sat quietly perched between Anaya and Soona, both talking over each other about mindless chatter and watched Noa eating a fish, dissecting it almost like he were a scientist of some sort, navigating around the small bones with ease and some sickening form of elegance. He had caught eyes with you then, a piece of fish sliding between his lips as he chewed it tentatively. The beam of the firelight in front of you was able to mask the disappointed look on your face as you realized that he was only looking at you because he sat across from you. Nothing more. Looking away quickly, you put much focus on your own fish, roasted to a tender crisp. Suddenly, Noa’s eyes were watching your moves instead of sinking into your gaze.

The way your fingers swept along the length of the fish, the way you muttered under your breath trying to get a mouthful of fish instead of bone, you felt too self-conscious to eat. You sat it down on a leaf in front of you. Another set of eyes were on you and before you could open your mouth to say something to the Ape leader in front of you, Anaya was signing, asking if he could have your remaining fish. You said yes, hastily looking away from Anaya after the confirmation but Noa was not looking at you anymore, preoccupying himself in conversation with his mother.

That same night as everyone was preparing to return to their own nests, Noa had found you. If he was seeking, you often left yourself open like a book if he wanted to come see you. It was very rarely at night though, and you took it in. Eyes glazed from the sky above, littered with all its tiny self-sufficient lights, boasted tonight by the moonlight, into green eyes that were almost too dark for their own good. You could have sworn there was something mischievous there but-- You pinned it on it being almost pitch black, a trick of the eyes. Of course, his pupils were dilated, there was no denying yours weren’t as well but you weren’t sure if you could justify yours being from the lack of light. He was on all fours as he approached you, your hands setting down the soft pelt that you had dubbed your favorite to use in your make-shift nest.

Nothing to write home about, a tanglement of tightly sprung together branches, padded by a few animal pelts. Off to the side,and tucked away safely, were your clothes. Only enough sets to keep you going. Two pairs of pants, three shirts, some undergarments… You could hear Noa and Anaya in your head at that thought. The day you were caught washing your clothes in the river, the curiosity they both had at that as Noa observed you wringing out the cloth between your hands. ‘Echo weird.’ Anaya signed to Noa as they let you be, turning to go down the river and fish. If you were observant enough, you’d have seen Noa turn back towards you, only for a split second before deciding to leave you to your duty. Which, Noa still didn't understand.

It was enough of a bed that it was comfortable and didn't leave you feeling like a wilted flower the next day. You wondered for a brief time what Noa’s must have been like and felt your shoulders dip in. You were ashamed of how yours must have looked compared to what was the norm. Was Noa’s nest comfortable? Was it warm? Could he look out and see the sky when he wanted to? You knew vaguely that his nest was perched above the rest, a right of passage that was torn between his mother and himself at the moment of his fathers death, at least until he found a mate and then it would ultimately become just theirs. You didn't even realize you were clenching your fists so tightly that your knuckles were turning mildly white.

“You want to go?” He asked, not putting in any context. He must have realized that, picking the conversation apart from earlier, before dinner. “Hunting with me.” He gestured towards himself with a hand in the natural form of a ‘C’. It pressed against his chest gently. He was gesturing to himself which made sense as he continued, “Usually go with Anaya and Soona but can take you alone. The season change, rabbits are more---”

He was murmuring which came to a slow stop, deep in his chest, it faded to the sound of an animalistic growl when you finally turned fully towards him. He was coming up with some way to get you to go with him, to be alone with him, you hadn’t given him barely the light of day since your conversation only a few days ago. Some pathetic attempt it was, Noa shouted in his head and dipped his head when you looked away from him. You knew how to hunt--- You wondered if Noa knew that. There were many times, especially recently as you had gotten disconnected from your fellow group of Humans, that you were forced to hunt. It was needed but not really your favorite thing. You learned quickly though with the Apes that often Females were left to forage for berries, vegetables, seeds and roots and Males were left to hunt actual game. Fishing was done communally, including the young as it was often their introduction to the world and concepts of hunting.

‘I’d just be in the way.’ You signed to him quietly, not wanting to wake anyone up with your tone. Noa huffed at that and tilted his head upwards towards you again. He was still on all fours, it looked like an almost defensive position like he wasn’t opening up to you completely. Bringing you bottom lip in, Noa once again as he so often enjoyed doing, watched. You nibbled once, then again this time harder than before. ‘Not very good.’

‘Better than Anaya, got scared of butterflies once.’ Noa joked, shifting towards you slightly. He looked at the pelt you had so delicately placed in front of you and for less than a split second, he lost control. Pull you towards him, push you down on that pelt and absolutely---

‘Maybe,’ You finally caved, snapping Noa back into reality with your hand moving. Hard. He kept himself grounded, hands resting roughly into the dirt below him. ‘When?’

He had just been hunting today. There was no logical way for him to explain that he wanted to go again to anyone around him. ‘Few days from now.’ He signed slowly.

-- -- --

A few days ended up being closer to eight, and you were left stuck. You had already promised to go hunting, but then the dreaded conversation seven days ago left you dispelled and not as eager to go. Crouched rather uncomfortably next to Noa, you watched him idly tie a knot around his spear. You could tell it got much use and that it was his favorite, though there were many other weapons the Clan could provide. As if he were controlled by another, he raised his arm without looking up. The eagle appeared without a sound, looking at Noa with small beady eyes that you couldn’t read anything from. But, from his reaction as he nodded to himself, raising his arm once again to dispatch his eagle brethren, he must have gotten information. It never ceased to cause you amazement that he was able to do that.

‘Close.’ He signed, drawing you back out of your almost hypnotic state. ‘Den nearby. Finished mating season,’ Noa didn't look at you with that sign, but it was different than his usual language. He was mildly stiff, shoulders drawing in together. You dared to say it was rigid, like he was unsure that it was the phrase he wanted to use. ‘Now many rabbits.’

Lips parting at that, you moved your feet to sort them away from turning numb. The crouching position was more comfortable for Noa, you decided. His spine was curved to sit like this for more extended periods of time, eyes gently grazing over his posture at that moment. He was surely comfortable as could be, shoulders hunching inwards ever so gently. There was a meager temptation from your part to move so you could be face to face with him but you doubted that he wanted that. You were fine next to him, you reassured yourself and swallowed hard. It was a sound that Noa noticed but didn't turn his attention to. Unwanted attention on you, in the past, has caused you to only run or flee from him. He figured he’d bid his time, patiently waiting for you. Your knees felt like they were on fire, calves were absolutely going to cause problems for you tomorrow. from sitting in the squat position for too long. You only lingered on that for a second though as his words finally hit you. ‘Babies?’

‘No,’ He was quick to respond, somehow knowing that his answer was going to calm you down. ‘Mature now, born few months ago. Fast development. Best age to hunt for them. Good meat.’

You nodded and processed what he was telling you. He was incredibly knowledgeable about this, showing off his skills at hunting with just words. How else would he know these things without actively doing it on a habitual basis? You swelled at that thought. That Noa was indeed a provider, a show off at times, but a provider none-the-less. Whomever he ended up with was going to be lucky to have that unwavering dedication which spurred your next inquiry. ‘Mate for life?’

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him when you signed that. Last time the conversation about mating happened, you ended up not speaking to each other for seven days. He was piqued in it regardless. Were you asking just to converse with him, or did you truly not know the answer? Either way, he considered himself invested and shut his eyes in thought. Tilting his head to the side, he sat his spear in front of him quietly, only cluttering as it shifted against the rock you two were perched on. You were just making a light conversation piece, Noa decided and he wanted to provide an honest answer.

‘No, many partners over time.’ He was using both hands to sign before he dropped his green orbs to rest on you. Not just on you, but it felt like he was crawling inside of your skin with his next set of words. ‘Not like Ape or Echo.’ Obviously, he meant it in the broadened terms. All Apes and all Echo’s. Not just the two of you. Shaking that idea out of your head, you nodded your head in understanding.

‘Mating is fast for them,’ Noa went on, just desperate at this point to continue on the path of conversing. He knew it was making you nervous, he could hear your heart beating, he could smell the sweat build up on your forehead, on your palms. One part of him deceivingly liked it, the knowledge that he could get you like this, but then there was the other oblivious side of him that didn't counteract his thoughts and he found himself continuing. ‘Have seen it. Only seconds. Female…’ Noa only spared you a slight glance.

Just as quickly as his eyes met yours, they were gone and he was looking out into the dense forest. Not at anything in particular, but he was surely searching. If you didn't know Noa already, know the nature of his personality, you would almost wager that he finally picked up on the validity of the conversation and he was turning back into his usually reserved self. This was not a topic he’d have chosen to talk about with you. The mating rituals of a… rabbit. He couldn’t stop himself though. He wanted this, wanted you to know this. Maybe if he kept going, you’d ask another question and he’d give you another answer. It was rare when the conversations took a turn and Noa got to tell you about his own knowledge, he thoroughly enjoyed listening to you. But… This moment you found yourself in, you were carefully processing what he was telling you like you life depended on it. Like… You depended on him.

‘Female will sit and take it. Many times to ensure conception.’ You nodded again and felt a tingle run down your spine. You attributed it to being crouched still. ‘Male will fall off after. Anaya thinks from being tired.’

Biting your tongue to keep yourself from snorting, you found it comfortable enough to joke around a bit, ‘Male humans are the same way. One, two maybe three good thrusts then,’ You paused and weren’t sure how to conclude. ‘We don’t mate for life anymore.’

‘For what then?’

It was a legitimate question and it left you wondering if Noa would understand the reason, if he would be accepting of the reason. As a whole, he was still incredibly on the fence about humans and you knew that. You were careful in your answers when he wanted to know something, a meager fear that saying something too outlandish would cause him to go quiet without understanding the human element and he never pressed your answers when they were not something he wanted to hear. He’d sit, reflect and come back if he had any remaining questions. He deserved your honesty though, he would brashly give you the same without any hesitation. You sighed and flexed your back, trying to figure out a delicate way to put your answer.

‘Pleasure?’ Noa’s fingers moved fast. Your mouth popped open at his absolute audacity. You had to remind yourself that he had no clue that this was a very deeply private thing to talk about. You had explained to him privacy here and there, and while he accommodated it in most aspects like giving you your own small nest, giving you space to bathe, giving you space with him to talk, there were just some things that pushed the boundaries of what you wanted to tell him. And surely sex, mating like that, like he was implying, was pushing that and you were right up against it. Noa must have recognized that he fumbled asking you that, or at least, phrasing it so… so primally. He raised his hand to sign an apology, but you were faster than him.

‘Hardly,’ You signed that hastily, hands now resting on your kneecaps. You rubbed there, almost relishing in the way it felt. ‘Not many can have children. We do it out of survival.’

Noa’s face dropped at that, eyes flicking between the side of your face and your body language, trying to read the expression you had but he was having a hard time. Has he… Has he seen you make this face before? He racked his brain but nothing came immediately to mind. You looked like someone just told you terrible news. Your face was long with something Noa didn't understand. Your eyes were hooded, looking at the ground. Pressing your arms around your body, Noa recognized that as a defensive tactic. He pushed it. Foolishly. You weren’t going to talk to him anymore about it, about how it was for you before he found you, if you had… Had ever mated.

But, maybe that was for the best! Quash it before he knew the answer, before his curiosity got the best of him. It was for the best, he kept repeating inside of his head, that he didn't know. That you didn't tell him someone else laid claim to you already. Running his teeth along his sharp canines, Noa turned with thought. He had done it without care. Asking you such a stupid, pointless, meaningless question as if he himself knew pleasure like that. He didn't even know what he was talking about when he asked! He didn't…Even…. Know… Would he ever? He had to wonder. Know what he was talking about, the implications of what he suggested?

His stare rested on you, the side of your face as you were trying to process everything that just transpired. You were avoiding eye contact, a tell-tale sign to the Ape that you were done chatting. A soft breeze hit the air around you, Noa diving almost face first into the smell that wafted off you, the bouncing of the small baby hairs on the top of your head, not as long as the rest but trying to get there and the picking of your fingers at the fabric that had bunched around your knees. It was asinine to think that he would ever know with you. And he was even more so to think about asking let alone actually doing it.

What was he expecting? An answer? You so flatteringly telling him you had never been with anyone, that you opened your arms to him to lay claim? An Ape of all creatures. He chuffed at that and broadened his shoulders. But, the thought of you with another, any other, made him feel a surge of aggression, resting too uncomfortably at the back of his head like he had been crouching his head down to look at something for too long. Quicker than lightning, Noa bared his teeth and picked up his spear. With a free hand, he gave you only one command.

‘Let’s go hunting.’

[goldenempyrean]

Late-Night Revelations

〚 Notes - Wow havent done one of these in a while, hopefully this makes up for it :D let me know what you think, my reqs are still open too so I'm gonna try get some done :) 〛

〚 Pairing -Natasha Romanoff x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - Night is usually the time when you had free rein of the compound - little did you expect to be interrupted on your journey to get midnight snacks and certainly not by her. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 2655 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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The kitchen. A place of spills, messes and laughter. The home of both gourmet delicacies and microwave meals. Everyone loved the kitchen. Especially when it came to midnight snacks. 

You’d always been a night owl; it was just the way you were. Staying up gaming, reading or simply just listening to the sounds of the city during the twilight hours was how you’d spend your time, and there was no better thing to snack on then Oreos. 

And where did Oreos live? The kitchen. 

Thats why you found yourself happily humming along to the music playing in your headphones as your feet padded on the tiled floor heading towards the kitchen. The main light was turned off, giving you the privacy to do a funky sort of hip dance as you shuffled towards the cupboards in search of your biscuits. 

You found them easily, although you did have to stand up on your tippy toes to reach them. You grabbed the pack of Oreos triumphantly and twirled around on your heels, intending to head back up to the comfort of your room but something else caught your eye. 

A small, involuntary yelp left your lips as your eyes finally acclimatised to the dark room and you were able to make sight of the slim figure sitting on one of the island stools, quietly nursing a whiskey glass in one hand. 

“Jesus Romanoff.” You breathed heavily, sighing as the hot rush of adrenaline slowly died down, “The hell are you doing?” 

“Why are you awake? It’s late and you have training in the morning.” She ignored your question, but there was something off about her voice. It was different, rougher somehow. You guessed the correct word would’ve been scratchy. 

As you stood there in the dimly lit kitchen, you felt stupid squinting into the darkness, so you headed to turn the overhead light on. You’d just flicked it on when the assassin began to object, “Don’t-“ 

But it was too late. The two of you closed your eyes instinctively as the bright, white LEDs bore into your eyes. You opened yours first however, and you could now see Natasha, the enigmatic Black Widow, hunched over the counter.  

She looked awful. 

Her pale skin was sickly white in pallor, her usually composed and stoic demeanour replaced by a hint of vulnerability while her red hair hung is messy curls at her shoulders. When she finally opened her eyes, the sharpness they usually held seemed dull and void. Not to mention the faint flush sitting on her cheeks. It was clear she was not okay. 

You gulped nervously, your heart pounding in your chest. Natasha was not someone to be taken lightly, and your crush on her only made things more complicated. You were still new to the Avengers, and her intimidating presence had kept you from approaching her in the past. But sitting there, with her red nose and tired expression, she somehow looked more human and not the emotionless, assassin she was often perceived to be - she seemed almost vulnerable now. 

You watched Natasha in concern as she slowly sipped her whiskey, her slender fingers trembling ever so slightly. Her raspy cough interrupted the silence that had settled in the kitchen, and you couldn't help but wince at the harsh sound. 

“That sounds awful.” You commented, nervously fidgeting with the packet of Oreos in your hand, unsure of what to do. You wanted to help, but just didn’t know how. Your attempts at getting her to open up in the past just about as well as microwaving a tin can. Once she’d even yelled at you to mind your own buisness and well, you hadn’t tried much to engage with her after that. 

Her eyes flicked up to your own briefly before she looked away again, staring into the contents of her glass as she raspily mumbled, “It’s nothing.” You weren’t sure if she was going to say something else, but she wasn’t given the chance nonetheless as you heard the subtle hitch of her breath leading to her muffling a harsh, albeit obviously restricted, sounding sneeze into her hoodie sleeve. 

“Bless you.” You offered, turning around to look in the cupboard under the sink to find a box of tissues, “Y’know if you’d actually let yourself sneeze normally, they probably wouldn’t hurt so much.” You commented, sliding the box towards her. 

Her reaction was not what you expected. She gave you a dirty look as she pushed the box away before she snapped, her voice laced with irritation. "I don't need your sympathy. Just leave me alone." 

You sighed deeply, putting down the Oreos on the countertop with a little more force than intended - seriously, it took all you had not to shed a tear as you heard the sound of breaking biscuits.  

“I’m not here to give you sympathy Natasha.” Oh, you were you were 100% hand in heart sympathetic towards her. But admitting that in the moment probably wouldn’t help, “I’m just concerned that If I go back to my room and leave you down here, you’ll wither away or something and when the team find you shrivelled up in the morning, who’s gonna get the blame? Me.” You raised your eyebrows and pointed to yourself before continuing. 

“Plus, we all need you Romanoff, we can’t have the Black Widow taken out by a cold, now, can we?” Your tone softened, as you inched closer, standing at the opposite side of where she was sat before slowly sliding her almost empty glass of whiskey away. 

Natasha but she didn't respond but expression softened ever so slightly, Instead, she took a sip of her whiskey, and she turned her attention away from you, gazing out the window into the quiet night. 

You sat up on the countertop, letting silence fill the room. The pair of you sat like that for a few minutes, neither wanting to break it. But ultimately you did, and the crinkling rustle of your packet echoed through the room. 

“Oh crap-“ You swore as the crushed Oreo dust flooded out from the packet, sending a scatter of black crumbs into your lap. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Natasha look up and give a sort of half-smile at your clumsiness. Testing your luck, you looked up and asked, “What’s up Romanoff, is my Oreo disaster amusing you?” 

To your surprise, her gaze met your eyes, “Something like that.” She almost managed a smile but was interrupted as her face contorted in discomfort, giving in a harsh, chesty sounding cough. 

“Jeez, you really don’t do things by half do you?” You commented, abandoning your Oreos as you slid off the worktop and leant over to the counter to where the redhead was sitting, reaching out and pressed your hand to the back of her clammy forehead. 

She froze. If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve presumed the Widow had petrified to stone beneath your touch. You’d never seen her go so still. 

“Relax Romanoff, I’m just checking your brains aren’t going to melt.” You whispered, it coming out more softly than intended but nevertheless hearing your words Natasha seemed to be able to relax ever so slightly. Her tough exterior walls finally beginning to crack. 

As the foundation of her distrust began to crumble, that wall she’d built so high seemed to crumple snd fall. Even she couldn’t deny the comforting contrast of cooling your hand had brought against the sharp heat of her fever and you couldn’t help but smile softly as she sank into your touch a litter, bringing her own hand over your own to keep it in place. 

“You hand is cold. It’s nice.” She mumbled, as she kept it in place for another minute. After a minute you could feel your hand acclimatising to your heat and you pulled it out from beneath her hold, “No-“ 

She began to protest but stopped when you only shook your head sweetly and brought your opposite one back up to her forehead, providing her with the cooling sensation all over again. You would’ve stayed like that for as long as you could, ignoring the fluttering in your stomach in favour of her comfort. But Nat’s body objected first, she barely had time to curl in on herself as her lungs protested in a rough set of coughing that just seemed to keep coming, leaving her breathless by the end. 

Natasha somehow managed to turn redder as she shuffled in her seat, her eyes refusing to meet your own, “Sorry.”  

“God, you sound like death Natasha, you don’t need to apologise for that. Tea. That’s what you need.” You decided not leaving her the chance to refuse. 

Turning on your heels, you reached up into the cupboard taking a large mug before getting to work. A few minutes later and the kettle had boiled allowing you to quickly pour out a steaming mug of tea, making sure to add a generous spoonful of honey and a slice of lemon. 

With a small smile you handed it to her, unable to help but notice the way her hands trembled as she took it. 

“Thanks Y/N.” 

"Careful, it's hot," you cautioned, your concern evident. Natasha gave you a faint nod of acknowledgment before taking a cautious sip. She winced slightly at the heat but seemed to appreciate the gesture. 

While she sipped her tea, you decided to change the subject to something lighter. "So, what brought you to the kitchen at this ungodly hour, Natasha. By the sounds of it you should’ve really been in bed in some sort of fever-induced coma whilst your body fights off this crap. You couldn’t sleep?" 

She sighed softly, setting the tea down for a moment. "Something like that. Just... couldn't get settled, and the whiskey usually helps numb the discomfort," she admitted, her voice still hoarse, “I didn’t think anyone else would be awake.” 

“I’m always up around this time,” You shrugged but looked over to the clock hung on the other the wall as you yawned, “It is getting late though, aren’t you tired?” 

fingers brushing against her red curls as she leaned back against the counter. "Yeah, I am," she admitted, her voice a bit softer now, "But every time I try to sleep it doesn’t work, I’ll just end up tossing and turning the whole time.” 

You couldn't help but sympathize with her. Colds could be incredibly frustrating, especially when they interfered with your ability to sleep. 

 "I get it," you said with a nod. "Well, since you're up, how about we make the most of it? I can keep you company for a while." 

She raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise in her eyes. It was clear that she wasn't used to someone offering their company during moments of vulnerability. "You don't have to," she started, “You’ve got training tomorrow. You’ll be too tired-” 

“Respectfully,” You interrupted her with a playful grin. "It’s too late, Romanoff. You're stuck with me now." 

“Okay, fine.” She gave you a small, appreciative smile, and it warmed your heart to see her let her guard down just a bit. "Thanks for not making fun of me," she murmured, “I hate getting sick like this.” 

“You don’t need to thank me for that.” 

As the pair of you continued to chat in the dimly lit kitchen, you couldn't help but notice that she was slowly warming up to you. Her initial resistance and sharpness had softened, and she seemed more willing to engage in conversation. It was nice. 

But it was just as you were explaining the concept of your latest video game you’d been playing when Natasha suddenly stiffened, her breath hitching slightly as she let out a soft, "Hihh... hihh..." Her face scrunched up, and you could see the telltale signs of an impending sneeze, “Hh’iishoo!” 

“Bless you.” You couldn't help but chuckle softly. "Looks like this cold isn't letting you off the hook, huh?" 

She sniffled; her voice even huskier now. "Guess not." 

You noticed her shivering slightly and realised that the room had indeed gotten quite chilly as the night air got cooler. "You know, Natasha, if you're cold, you should really get some rest in a warm bed. It’ll do you some good. You’re not going to feel better if you get a chill.” 

She hesitated for a moment, her green eyes darting away from yours. "I don't like sleeping alone when I'm sick," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. 

You could hear the vulnerability in Natasha's admission, and it tugged at your heartstrings. You knew that her tough exterior was a mask she wore to protect herself, but right now, she was letting it slip in front of you. 

A warm smile crossed your face as you stood up from the kitchen stool. "Well, lucky for you, you're not alone tonight." You extended your hand to her. "Come on, let's get you settled on the couch. It's more comfortable than this kitchen stool, and we can keep each other warm that way. No-one has to be alone.” 

Natasha hesitated for a moment, then placed her delicate hand in yours, allowing you to help her off the stool. You led her to the living room, where there was a cosy sofa waiting, perfect for a night of shared warmth and comfort. 

As you both settled onto the sofa, you couldn't help but notice how Natasha's body seemed to relax further, her shivers subsiding as she nestled closer to you. You wrapped your arms around her, creating a cocoon of warmth before taking the large blanket that was draped over the back of the sofa and pulled it over the two of you. Her head rested on your shoulder, and your fingers lightly traced soothing patterns on her back as the two of you settled down into the soft leather. 

“Goodnight Y/N.” She murmured sleepily, as she closed her eyes and finally gave into exhaustion. 

“Goodnight Nat.” you pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, then closed your eyes, allowing exhaustion to catch up with you as well. The two of you drifted off into a deep, comfortable sleep, wrapped in each other's arms. 

Unbeknownst to you both, the rest of the Avengers had been awakened by various disturbances throughout the night. Tony Stark, ever the insomniac, had been tinkering with one of his suits when he heard hushed voices coming from the living room. Curiosity piqued, he had quietly crept closer and couldn't believe his eyes when he saw you and Natasha on the couch, wrapped in each other's arms. 

Thor had been awakened by the faint scent of tea and the clinking of a teacup in the kitchen. He had assumed it was one of his Asgardian friends, but when he entered the kitchen, he was met with the sight of crushed Oreos and an empty tea mug. Perplexed, he followed the trail of crumbs to the living room, where he too found you and Natasha peacefully sleeping together. 

Even Bruce, who was often a sound sleeper, had been stirred from his slumber by the unusual activity in the Avengers' common area. His initial concern turned to fond amusement when he discovered the unlikely duo of you and her snuggled together like this. It was adorable  

The hazy morning light began to filter into the room, casting a soft orange glow on your intertwined forms. It was then that the rest of the Avengers gathered in the living room, their astonishment evident on their faces as they took in the sight before them. 

Steve quirked his eyebrow and wearing a bemused smile, leaned down to whisper to Tony, "Looks like we've got our own little love story unfolding right here." 

The engineer couldn’t quite resist a teasing grin. "Who would've thought? Our resident spy and the midnight snacker." 

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[moonstruckme]

Hi darling I hope you’re well! I have this really noticeable scar on my forehead (much like Harry Potter’s) from me being clumsy as a kid and it’s really been bothering me lately and making me self conscious along with other things and I was wondering if you’d just do something where Sirius is being comforting after a rough week of insecurities. No worries if not😊 Thanks love!

Hi sweetheart, I'm good thanks! Thank you for requesting <3

modern au

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 845 words

You’re washing your face, and every pass of your fingers over the divot in your forehead feels like a physical pain. Which is silly, because the scar hasn’t hurt for years. 

It’s been a part of your face for so long that usually you hardly remember it. You look past it, the same way your eyes don’t see your nose because it’s always there. Lately, though, you can’t stop yourself from perceiving it constantly. You find yourself trying to cover it with makeup, tilting your head in conversation in attempt to hide it with your hair, staring into the mirror with a freakish intensity. It’s inescapable. 

You force yourself to tear your gaze from the blemish now, turning from the mirror towards where Sirius is waiting for you in bed. 

He sets down his phone at your approach, spreading his arms extravagantly. “Come here, my darling.” 

You go to them with a sharp ache in your chest, curling up against his side. 

There’s a pause and then Sirius hums, confusion teetering on the edge of concern. “What, not even a little laugh?” 

“You’re not very funny,” you tease halfheartedly. 

“You’re not usually a very particular audience.” 

He slides his palm on top of yours where it rests on the mattress. You intertwine your fingers with his. “Sorry,” you sigh. “Long week. I’m glad tomorrow’s Saturday.” 

You want to languish in your pajamas for the entire weekend. Tune into some mindless show and leave this prickling discomfort behind until you have to go back to work on Monday. 

Sirius brings your joined hands to your stomach, sliding them under your top familiarly. You try not to shiver. Sirius’ hands are always cold. You’d asked once if he thought he might be anemic, but he’d only given you a dry look and a jab from one of his insanely sharp elbows. 

He kisses the soft skin below your ear. “You gonna tell me about it, or do you enjoy keeping me in suspense?” 

“I do,” you say, grinning when he nips at your earlobe admonishingly. You do want to tell him, you find. “No, it’s just my scar. It’s been bothering me lately.” 

Sirius' thumb strokes over your navel, already warmer from your skin. “Bothering you how?” 

“Just bothering me.” You’re glad you’re facing away from him. You’re not sure you could take the intensity of his stare as you divulge your insecurities. “I don’t know, for some reason I all of a sudden feel kind of self-conscious about it. It’s not like it’s tiny or inconspicuous or anything.” 

He hums in silent understanding. For few moments the only sound is his thumb sighing over your skin. “Whenever I notice your scar,” he says, “it makes me think of how you told me you got it.” 

You make a quiet scoffing sound. You’d fallen after climbing too high in an old tree by your house when you were little. The branch had broken right out from under you, and you’d fallen all the way into the road, tearing a big gash in your head on the way down. Luckily there’d been no cars coming towards you, but your mom had nearly had a heart attack and it had made for a late night in A&E. 

Sirius’ hand moves up to your shoulder, pushing down so that you’re lying on your back. You try not to squirm under his gaze, knowing your scar has to be stark and shining in the moonlight coming in from your window. He traces the line with a slender finger. 

“It’s a cute story,” he says, and you can find no teasing spark in his watercolor eyes. “It’s fun to imagine little you, trying to get as high up as you could.”

“Before I took a dive onto a roadway,” you add dryly. He mirrors your grin.

“Technicalities. The scar’s adorable, because you were being adorable while you got it.” 

You feel your smile fade. “I think you’re the only one who thinks that, babe,” you say, trying to maintain some lightness in your tone. You’re not sure if you quite manage it. “I’m pretty sure to everyone else it’s just ugly.” 

“Whoa, excuse me.” Sirius frowns, taking your face firmly in hand. “Nothing about you could ever be ugly. That’s scientifically impossible. It defies the laws of nature. What goes up must come down, beer is homophobic, and you,” he kisses you, warm and pillowy soft, “are a fucking stunner. Every bit of you.” 

You kiss him back, smiling. “You’re such a flirt.” 

“Do you want me to prove it?” He quirks a brow. “Give me a minute to look at you, sweet thing, and I’ll get hard right now.” 

You gag, to his delight, and Sirius rolls on top of you, pinning your hips with his. “Fucking,” he plants a kiss on your jaw, “talk about my girlfriend like that,” he lands one on your lips, “one more time.” 

He works his way up your face, smooching your flushed skin until you’re spit-slick and cackling. He does your scar last. 

[noemilivv]

Heyy! I loved the request you wrote about reader finding Hazbin Hotel characters crying and then comforting them, I was thinking, could you write a pt. 2 adding some other characters? maybe Charlie, Husk, Sir Pentious and Adam, or anyone else you’d like 💓💕💞💖

OMG TYSM!! honestly, that is one of my works that i am EXTREMELY proud of and hearing people enjoying that one is just 😭😭

but yes i can certainly do that haha hope you enjoy!!

also side note, since i got two requests that are pretty similar, i’m doing a two-in-one sorta thing!! so i hope this makes it to the anon who requested it :)

Warnings: Swear Words, S1 Spoilers, Mentions of Battles/War, Mentions of Possible Death, Mentions of Deals, Mentions of Degradation, Not Proofread

Adam, Charlie, Husk, Sir Pentious x Reader

Reader finds them crying HCs

Adam

Adam was never one for tears, he was a man, the first one at that! His pride would never let himslef ever be perceived as weak.

But once he got sent to Hell, after his death during the extermination, while that damn snake was in his place — the only feeling he felt was weakness.

Adam had stayed in his room in the hotel ever since he came, begrudgingly that is, he didn’t want to be here. He shouldn’t be here.

But somehow, Charlie somehow let him come, much to his surprise, as well as dismay, but let’s be real here, he’d he pissed either way.

He curled up against the pillow, sighing, shakily, as hot tears slipped down his cheeks. “Damnit.”

Unbeknownst to him, a knock came from the other side of the door, Charlie made you drop off Adam’s ‘Welcome Package’ — When you didn’t get a response you creaked open the door.

“Adam?” You called from the other side of the room. He didn’t look at you, he couldn’t look at you.

“Leave.” He said, his voice cracking, despite the fact that he was attempted to hold back his sobs.

You set down his basket from Charlie on his nightstand. He felt his bed dip as you sat next to him. “It’s cause you’re here right?”

“The fuck are you talking about?” Adam sniffled. “Why you’re upset. It’s cause your here, right?” You elaborate.

He doesn’t say anything. You rub his knee, in attempts to comfort him. “I promise, it’s not as bad here as you think.”

You sigh. “I didn’t think it’d be great here when I first came here either, but this became my home - my family. You’ll get used to it, with time.”

Adam didn’t say anything. But deep down, his heart felt just a tad bit warmer from your words.

Charlie

Due to the upcoming extermination, Charlie was more stressed than ever, she was upset with herself. Upset that her and Heaven couldn’t band together. Upset that it had to end in this way.

Apart of herself grew to worry that maybe if she had been different, more normally, less singy-songy, Adam would’ve agreed.

Then no second meeting would’ve been necessary, no war would be needed.

The night before the battle was a tough one for Charlie, she loved and appreciated everyone she had met throughout her time, and within the blink of an eye, there was a 50/50 chance it’ll all be gone this time tomorrow.

“Charlie?” You called out to your girlfriend, who was crying infront of Angel’s door, “Sorry…” She mumbled, “I’m just so scared…” Her voice cracked, you’ve never seen her so… out of sorts, before.

“What if we lose?” She asked, rhetorically. “You’ve already done so much, Charlie.” You start, pulling her close, cupping her face.

“You’ve touched the hearts every soul here… Regardless of whether or not they admit it.” You run you fingers through her hair, you were scared to, scared shitless, but you put on a brave face. A brave face for her.

“So if it turns out that we don’t make it, there’s something that I’ve been dying to say.” You pull her into a hug, before mumbling in her ear, “You need to know I love you more than anything.”

Husk

You had caught Husk in his vulnerability at a private time. You knew about his deal with Alastor, but never knew the extent of it.

“Good talk, my good man, always nice to catch up!” Alastor said, leaving Husker defenseless, shaking on the floor, as you hid on the other side of the hall.

Husk got up, slowly, and then leaned against the wall, muttering a small ‘Damnit…’

You approached him, “Are you okay?” You ask, very hesitantly, you know Husk is more of a listener then someone to vent, but there was no harm in trying.

Husk sighs, low and gruff, but so hurt, it hurt you. “Made a shitty deal I regret, and I can’t take it back, y’know.” Husk answered, using his claw to wipe a few tears from under his eyes.

You’re unsure of what to do, you’ve never seen him like this, you smile at him softly, and open your arms for him, “Hug?”

Husk chuckles at your innocent antics, “Seriously?” He asks with a smirk, “Totally seriously!”

He sighs jokingly, clambering over to you, accepting your embrace. “This is so stupid.”

“You know you love it!” And you’re right, he did.

Sir Pentious

It was no secret that Pentious wanted to be an equal to the Vee’s, at least, before he officially started staying at the hotel.

And when Vox called him a ‘miserable failure’, it hit hard.

When Sir Pentious entered his room for the night, he shooed his eggs away, left with a sour taste in his mouth from Vox’s words.

A knock comes from Pentious’ door, he goes to answer it, trying to sniffle away his tears, he opened the door to see you.

“I just wanted to say you did a good thing, you’re willing to change even after you fucked up, and honestly I admire tha— Pentious, are you okay?” You rambled on, before getting a good look at his face.

He sniffled. “Y-Yes, I just.. don’t appreciate what Vox said about me.” He said, holding back his sobs, although not very well.

Your heart ached for the poor snake, you pulled him into a hug and patted him on the back, “If he can’t see the amazing Pentious I see, then he’s not worth it, we only met today, but I can already see what a wonderful person you are.”

[moontyun]

XdH: The type....

☆ xdinary heroes masterlist ☆ ...when you fall asleep on them ☆ warning(s): mentions of urination, drooling, long/short haired you ☆ word count: 768 ☆ genre: attempted humor, fluff ☆ requested: Hey! I Hope you’re good. I have see that your request are open, and I wanted to know if it is possible to make a reaction of xdinary heroes members when you fall asleep on their lap or shoulders? - @la-grenouilles-posts

៚Gunil

semi-prideful when you do because you trust him that much

adores your cute snoring noises

The very first time you had fallen asleep on his lap, he was so happy and a bit prideful when you did. You were being vulnerable with him and he appreciated it. When you had woken up, he was there beaming at you, like a puppy. You had been taken aback with, what you perceived as, a mischievous smile on his face. "What did you do? Did you draw something on my face?" You asked, whipping out your phone and looking at your camera to be sure. "No, you were just adorable and I'm just smitten with you, that's all." he laughed a little as you continued to accuse him of causing trouble, playfully.

៚Jungsu

absolutely adores it when you accidently do it one time

internally squealing at how cute you were

This week had been particularly hard for you. You had pulled 4 all night-ers in a row. Balancing work, school, and everything in between was proving to be more difficult than you anticipated. Today, you had made plans to spend some time with Jungsu before you had to head into work. However, your body had different plans. Jungsu knew you had been over working yourself lately, so, when you inevitably fell asleep on his shoulder while watching a movie, he let you and couldn't help but coo at how cute you looked dribbling drool on his shoulder as you slept. When you had woken up, you were so confused as to where you were but once you had oriented yourself, you wiped your face and profusely apologized for drooling on him, your face burning from embarrassment.

៚Gaon

most of the time it's him falling asleep on you

loves it when you do it though

He dared not move, you were too at peace for him to even want to move but the problem was that he needed to pee. Really badly, he had been sitting like this with you for about an hour. He was practically ripping at the seams to go. But you were too cute for him to want to move! He didn't want to wake you up! But he absolutely has to...he taps you on the shoulder, "[name]...[name]...!" you slowly woke up, "sorry to wake you, but I really have to pee. You can go back to sleep on my lap when I come back." you nodded and he took off to do what he needed to, following through with his promise afterward.

៚O.de

thinks its cute when you talk in your sleep

protects you from being woken up

You were at the studio, enjoying your time with the whole group. But your social battery was running low. So, naturally, you wound up crashing out as the boys started to filter out, leaving you and Seungmin alone. you were fast asleep on his shoulder. "Forgot my chapstick." Jooyeon said as he slammed the door open. Seungmin pressed a finger to his mouth shushing the younger with an angry expression on his face. "Sorry." The younger answered, slowly leaving and closing the door softly.

៚Junhan

doesn't mind it, barely notices it

absent mindedly plays with your hair

The gentleness in which he was playing with your hair as you curled up on his lap, was heaven to you. It was just so calming and relaxing, often times, you fell asleep on him. He didn't mind it, it was just something you guys did regularly without even thinking about it. No, he wasn't one for physical affection but this wasn't something that bothered him all that much. He liked it, in fact. He got to put cute hair styles in your hair without waking you up. You had woken up a number of times with a whole different look than what you had fallen asleep with. Today was no different, when he had cute little pigtails.

៚Jooyeon

absolutely lives for it when you do

teases you when you wake up for making his shoulder sore

He would scorch the whole earth for you. He would do absolutely anything for you and was proven time and time again every time you laid your cute head on his shoulder nearly everyday when you needed your post lunch nap. His shoulders killed every time afterward but he let it happen. "You have a heavy head." He'd tell you. "And you love it, suck it up." you replied in a half awake state. He'd ruffle your hair and give you a forehead kiss before starting something in the house that needed to be done.

[anika-ann]

made-up fic title: ever so softly

Hello dear 🥰 Thank you so much for participating in the game 😍

Since my brain does refuse to acknolwdge the concept so far, you too get a little drabble-ish thing 🥹 This time only with 600 words, Bucky, and a flavour of angst with hurt/comfort 😇

ever so softly

warnings: mentions of blood and violence, anxiety, sensory issues and hypersensitivity and PTSD A/N: divider by @firefly-graphics

Sometimes, your hands shake.

You’ve got a tender heart, people would say; a codename for those who get overwhelmed with the world, with people, with the noise and smells and strange textures and tastes, with emotions; with anxiety.

Your own body, your own damn brain was often your worst enemy. You were your worst enemy and you hated it with passion, especially on days when you somehow had no energy left but for that and spiralling down the void of terror made of your own synapses.

On days like these, like on every other, Bucky holds you, whispering soft words of solace and encouragement into your hair, tender lips and gentle voice, creating a protective bubble of silence and peace, tucked safe and far away from the world.

On days like these, he embraces you closely – unless you cannot bear his love for the moment, despising yourself for it all the more – and helps you put together the pieces of your tender soul you feel have imploded inside of you and suffocate you with every attempt of breath.

He sooths you and promises – begs, in truth – to keep you. Loving you,

ever so softly,

reminding you that you can choose and do the same and until you do, he will. For both of you.

And on some days, you do too.

Sometimes, Bucky’s hands shake.

It is a funny little glitch, he supposes, once he has the capacity to be sardonic with himself, which is always; his metal hand, science perfected, precious chunk of vibranium crafted to faultless functionality on engineerism, and it trembles as much as his flesh hand.

Bucky Barnes is an old man; a reborn man, haunted by an army of ghosts and undead. Doctors in his old days called it shellshock; the fancy modern name for it is PTSD.

Some days, images of blood, violence and death run on the silver screen of his mind like the most messed-up horror flick, following him through day and seeping into his nights, sleepless; or worst, consumed by nightmares than never end, because they are memories of his own actions.

His soul weighs too much to bear, drenched with blood and guilt that no penance can wash away.

Sometimes, you help with the cleanse despite it.

You take his shaking hands – sometimes his very own, sometimes the glorified invention attached to his body – and lead him to the living room where on the shelves stand his little treasures; one supposedly beautiful thing next to another, small wooden statues he had carved himself, rough around the edges but otherwise delicate, a reflection of his gentle torn soul. You do not speak a word, you do no point, letting him see what you see. To make him see that what he only perceives as a pair of hands soaked in blood and wrongdoings, had made good and beautiful too.

And even in the dead of night, you walk him to the most special room of the house, of your home, his steps hesitant, but his heart too weak to resist. Helpless and already yearning, he can never say no.

In those no longer trembling hands, you gently place the most precious thing he has had a generous hand in creating, with utmost love.

Tears burning in his eyes, he cradles your baby, his baby, to his chest with one arm, his other curling around you, pressing you to his side, lips attached to your temple. You linger in your embrace until his tears of grief and guilt turn into ones of acceptance and happiness.

Because he loves and he is loved,

ever so softly

and every beat of his heart, your heart and his child’s, promise him that despite all the pain, everything will be okay.

I hope you enjoyed the little angst but with a sweet note in the end for a change🥰

Thank you for reading and @murdock-and-the-sea for sending 💕

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Death

Yandere!Kidnapper x f!Reader

warnings: fanatic behaviour, kidnapping, unreliable narrator—split perspectives—contradictions, mentions of self-harm, suicidal tendencies, mentions of sexual topics, touching without consent, heavy religious themes, yandere has taken somewhat the role of a caretaker, forced infantilization

Note: Read at your own risk tbh, I perceive this story as pretty disturbing, however if you can handle heavy topics, then enjoy. :)

©Copyright -2024-thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

He was righteous, has been all his life, or well, had been until he met you.

There just wasn't a way to stop himself, no, to stop the demons haunting him from taking you in his grasp, imprisoning you in his humble home.

Perhaps he was doing you a favour? Chaining you to the bed placed in his basement just for you, white ruffles decorating the sides of the countless pillows and the duvet cover. Everything pristinely white—linen, handpicked for you.

He even dusted it and cleaned it, installed an old-school TV and even got you coloured pencils and endless amounts of paper of all kind!

And it all was just for you. How romantic, don't you think?

Your captor was nice—he was soft, even his edges didn't hurt you. He never raised his voice, couldn't even imagine hurting you, even if it was just a hair on your precious head.

You were his entire life. His gift from God himself.

However he quickly realised that you didn't quite share his opinion. You weren't horribly hostile, tried to appease him in fear of his sometimes rash and almost fanatic behaviour, fearing one day he might just flip the switch and obsess over breaking a bone in your body, yet you never were overly soft. There was this wall between you two that bugged him greatly, but he just didn't know how to destroy it.

To top it off, you feared death at his hands, at first. However as days faded into weeks and then into months—and before you knew it a year had passed with no one succeeding in rescuing you from the obsessive stalker clinging to you—you started fearing a life with this man.

It started off with small things, like you eating less, your leftovers slowly increasing in size or you would leave the paper completely blank instead of scribbling something onto it.

Until it started affecting other areas of your very limited life like you starting to lose interest in watching TV, the only luxury that connected you to the outer world. Until that penetrating dark cloud hanging over your head affected you more severely, so much so, that it worried him.

You his sacred bride losing your excitement for life was terrifying. He couldn't imagine a life without you—he refused to even think about it, the sheer thought was too painful.

You refused to eat, laid around all day, didn't even fidget when he would not so subtly try to seduce you. Well he was a kidnapper, but he would never force you to spread your legs for him! So he was still waiting for your heart to warm up to him, however instead of warming up, you started fading away from his grasp.

It was so petrifying, so much so that he started asking his pastor for help, then his colleagues—he even searched through the internet at the computer of his local library!

Depression.

in big bold letters was what popped up first, a page dedicated to mental health. He was mortified reading through everything, the symptoms and what it could possibly lead to. Death. The word daunted him and haunted him.

He rushed home, your captor breaking out in a cold sweat, only experiencing sweet relief seeing you curled up beneath the covers, pale in the face as always.

Days have passed and now he clung to you like glue. “Sweetheart—Sweetheart you have to eat!” he whined, the spoon once more missing your mouth as you twisted your head away. He bound you to the chair to keep you still and yet you kept on avoiding his attempts at feeding you.

“Say Ahh love! C’mon for me! Be good? Please, sweetheart!” he pleaded and begged to no avail, you gazed at him empty-eyed and shook your head. That was when he finally caught sight of the red streaks down your neck and collarbone.

At first he thought it was an allergic reaction, then he remembered you hadn't consumed anything but water in the last few days. Then with a glance down at your shaking fingers, feeling over the broken and bloodied nails he realised.

Your own nails. You hurt yourself with your own nails.

He lost it. The bowl of boiling hot soup landed on the ground, porcelain shattering as he lunged forward, grasping your hair and tilting your head back to gauge the damage to your holy skin.

“How could you?—” he spat in revulsion, face mirroring the rage that was consuming him inside, yet he never could be mad at you for long.

“Sweetie—Sweetheart—” your kidnapper's voice faltered, face pulled into a grimace, he let go of your hair, easing the sting of your scalp, sinking to his knees in front of you, pleading with his eyes.

“Please talk to me baby, please tell me what's wrong. Is it the TV? I can buy you a new one. Do you want new pencils? Do you want crayons? Maybe watercolour? I can get you new clothes if that is the problem!— Sweetheart please, please talk to me.” he broke down, fat tears running down his cheeks, pathetically clinging to one of your calves, licking a strip up your knee.

“Baby—baby.” he whimpered, crying into your two knees, fingers now grasping your lap in such desperation that if it wasn't the man that kept you captive you might have felt more sympathy for him. It wasn't as if you hadn't considered just carving in by now and accepting him as the person that would be beside you till death, yet the thought hurt. It dug a hole in your heart and left you wanting to pluck each individual hair follicle out of your scalp.

You just couldn't bear stand his constant whining and begging, humping you dry from behind like a dog when he thought you were deep asleep, preaching that he was a devoted believer to god, when he had kidnapped you, forced you down here, kept you still chained up, with only limited times when you could use the restroom and then always with the door a split open to ensure you didn't flee from the narrow window placed over the toilet. Showering was even worse, he would insist on staying, waiting behind the shower curtain, eyeing your shadow. When you would step out he would be bright red, averting his eyes and adjusting himself before finally draping a towel over you that always managed to smell like his musk. It was disgusting.

Even though he claimed that he would never hurt you, he had overly violent episodes, where he would just throw things around, rip up the extensive pages upon pages of your emotional rant, threaten you with a broken glass bottle, before always falling to his knees, crawling on the floor begging and pleading for forgiveness.

All in all he was a walking contradiction and never could be trusted. So wasn't it clear why you would prefer death over being stuck with the constant fear of what's to come?

“Baby” he whined incessantly, clinging to you like a lifeline. Bastard. You kept on ignoring him. It wasn't just this day, but all the following days, opting to just leave yourself to rot away.

However it seems you didn't calculate that he was so transfixed with you, that he would protect you from anything and anyone, even if that someone was yourself.

“Sweetie” he whispered oh-so sweetly into the shell of your ear, still weary from your restlessness the night prior, you didn't even want to turn in your bed to face him. Big mistake.

Before you could see it, you felt it. Fingers grasped your jaw, some sort of fabric draped over the lower half of your face, a strong scent engulfing you all while he rocked your head back and forth, stroking your hair lovingly.

When you woke up, unbeknownst to you, you succeeded in losing all your privileges.

“Sweetheart! How are you feeling?” he chirped, the basement now completely padded, decorated in pink, filled with toys and plushies. That wasn't all—because you regretted looking down.

A diaper. You were wearing a diaper. You breath staggered, horror written across your features.

He snickered, stepping closer to you, kneeling down to your level on the floor. “Sorry Sweetheart, but— you just wouldn't listen to me. You were starving yourself! It was obvious that no one ever taught you properly. You didn't receive proper parental care—they didn't care for you enough, they didn't love you as I do. So I am just going to start from zero and reteach you everything! How does that sound? Good right? You will love it!” he cupped your wet cheeks, the real nightmare starting just now, with the prospect of being saved already having slipped from your mind, understanding that this hell was your new reality.

He leaned forward, lips brushing against your scalp as he whispered something so gut-wrenching you hoped that he would swallow his own tongue and choke on it.

“Cuz’ Sweetheart I gotta teach you real good, so when we get our own baby you will be a good mother, yeah? A great mother! The best mother!”

he laughed.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Piece of Cake

Luke Hemmings x reader x Calum Hood

Summary Luke doesn’t think you like him, but oh does Calum know you do, and so he decides to interfere for both of your sakes

warnings = MDNI! includes smut, use of weed, blowjob, facial, slight angst, clitoral stimulation, exhibitionism

The last thing that you had ever expected whilst opening for 5sos during their post covid tour was for anything romantic or sexual to happen between you and one of the five members, of course that hadn't stopped you from dreaming lustful images, but never had you thought the opportunity would arise. That was until one evening when you were sat on the tour bus, Michael and Ashton had ventured off to spend time with their significant others, leaving you with the bassist and lead singer. You were sat on your bed, Luke and Calum were in the living space, you were rolling a blunt, licking the paper so that the contents would remain inside without quarrel without spilling out.

They were talking about music and other nonsense, whilse you were planning to get high, and you were rather glad that you hadn't even lit the blunt or taken the puff from it when you became the topic of their converse. Perhaps it was rude to listen in on their private conversation, especially when they had gifted you with a ride along on their tour to expand your own fan base, but it was impossible to help yourself. You were curious, that was all, and very intrigued.

“So about y/n?” There wasn’t much to the question that Calum was asking Luke, you could only imagine that the blond’s head perked up in as much confusion as your own was. “Are you going to make a move man, every time she’s up on that stage or she simply walks through the room you’re drooling more than your dog does.” Your head tilted in pivoted hope, however you weren’t going to make assumptions without a word being directly said to you… right? That would be absurd, especially considering within the spotlight that your career granted it was easy for rumours to be misinterpreted or spread throughout the media. However, this was the source that you were listening in on, and subjectively you chewed your own bottom lip as you awaited the response of the man whom was undergoing a friendly interrogation.

A long and drawn out sigh elevated from Luke’s lungs as he leant his curl rooted hair back, burning his eyes as he stared up at the ceiling lights that were built into the tour bus. “It’s not that I don’t want to man,” at least that was a comforting statement to feed your awaiting nerves, “but I feel like I have to remain professional. Not to mention, she probably isn’t interested in me anyways, have you seen how well her and Ash get along? If she were to want one of us, it definitely wouldn’t be me…” There was a seasoning of self sympathy behind his subjective words, of which formed a crack within your heart from hearing them. His undirected accusations were a harm to his own mind, inflicting his own doubts, and you could see how he could perceive your friendship with his band mate that way.

You and Ashton got along insanely well, he was the first one that calmed your nerves the first time that you were scheduled to perform before them. But the two of you were just friends and that was all. The entire conversation that you were intruding on with your hearing distracted you from the task that you were currently attempting to perform, and thus the joint that you had just glued together with the stick of your saliva escaped your grip as you fumbled and tumbled out of your bunk and onto the floor between the set of stacked beds. “Shit.” The curse spewed from your mouth as you instinctively reacted to the accidental slip of your fingers, and then your heart froze. You hadn’t wanted to make a noise, however now it was too late, and all you could do was hope that Calum and Luke had been oblivious to the sound of your voice.

“Y/n?” Calum cautiously enquired on your presence, the sound of his foot falls nearing closer and closer to your solitary destination, and instinctively you held your breath, not wanting to give your accidental agenda away to the bassist or the lead singer that had been discussing you and your status quo with each member. Softly the doll grey curtain of your bunk was pulled aside to reveal your embarrassed expression, Calum inquisitively staring down at you from the height of which he stood. A rosey warmth bruised the high points of your face as there was no doubt that your deposited hearing had been noticed, and so had the joint that you had configured. Cal plucked it up off the carpeted ground as he smirked at the circumstances that you were under, and thus with his sweet brown eyes he convinced you to crawl out of your bed, his large and tanned hand guiding you from the placement of your lower back.

He lead you into the entrance living space of the bus, where Luke was nervously planted, rubbing his painted fingernails gently along his bottom lip and diffusing his instinct to chew on them. With his cobalt eyes he sent harmless daggers towards you, his long legs taking up a length of space on the floor, the opposing limb folded over the knee of his other, his ankle tapping the air as he awaited for the tension to break. “Oh Luke, calm down mate, y/n overheard everything but don’t worry, I could see when she slipped down from her bed ho wet her pretty pink panties were. Isn’t that right sweetie?” Cal squeezed your ass which was facing him, the flirtatious notion making you jump in the oversized shirt you wore; he was embarrassing you in front of Luke, but the other man seemed shy to the appeal that was ongoing before his eyes. “Come on girl, tell Lukey that it was all for him. Tell him that he made you all wet, you could even show him how soaking your pussy is underneath that layer of cotton.”

A whine slithered out from your submissive throat, you felt vulnerable and the butt of the joke that Calum was telling, without the intention of a pun, but admittedly you were loving every second of it. But it wasn’t just Luke that had caused a sweet and slick river to flow between your legs, which was strange considering that he was the one that you liked. The way in which Calum degraded you before him though had you riled up, needy and desperate for someone to touch you, and it didn’t matter which one of them did it. “Y/n…” Luke spoke your name so delicately, there being a a quiet innocence behind his tone. Immediately your head snapped up to ogle at the man, an alert and doe eyed detriment reflecting in your hungry expression. You were all too focused on the blond so that you were late to notice how Cal veered closer to your sexually appealing form, his hand slipping upwards on the back of your thigh, rising up to the centre of all of your desires over the thin cotton that protected your vulnerability from seething eyes that intended to pry at your most intimate parts.

He continued his sly yet indiscreet movements until the pads of his thick fingers were callously prompting across your lightly clothed bundle of nerves, causing staggered breaths from leaving your mouth. It was difficult to focus on only the pleasurable feeling that Calum was making you feel, as Luke’s wide eyes were ogling at your glowing form, his pupils flickering from between your blushing face and where Calum was attending to tease the both of you. He was provoking his band mate, luring him into finally make a move, however he had yet to grow the courage to do so. Luke was in a conflict with his own mind and what his pants desired, he chewed stagnantly on his lip awaiting for the impulse to do something kick in. “Aw Y/N, did you hear him say your name sweetie?” The bassist teased you, withdrawing his hand from toying with you which made you whine from the extraction. He leant his mouth right by your ear, and whispered into it, “wouldn’t it sound better if he moaned it?” And you believed it, and you were even wetter from simply imagining it.

It was as though Calum were hypnotising you, and without your own will to do so, your feet fell in footsteps closer to where Luke was seated, and you succumbed to the cushions of your knees, staring up at the man that you lusted after as Calum stood as your shadow and brushed his fingers through your hair. The notion was a gentle one, until he gave it a harsh tug which hitched your throat back so that you were looking into his dark eyes. “I’ve made you feel good Y/N/N, now why don’t you do the same for our friend?” He was pushing you, convincing you to pleasure the god like adonis whose knees were resting against your collarbones, and you were easily sold. And thus you unbuckled his belt and loosened the tightness until you could slip the leather material out from the loops, feeding the teeth of his flyer to your hands. Without any haste you pulled the zip down, and tugged the tight denim from his upper legs, only to discover that he had opted to go commando that morning.

And by gosh you were enamoured with the sight that was in your face; he was erect and wantonly weeping from his tip for attention, and you weren’t going to deny his famine. And thus you engulfed the head of Luke’s large and veined cock into your mouth, greedily humming from the warmth of skin that filled your mouth. “Oh fuck Y/N!” Luke gasped, his mouth gaping open as he tried to ground his pleasure, and he tousled your hair in his hand. “Fuck, your mouth feels so good.” Each word that he spoke only gaged you to attempt to bring more of his length into your mouth, choking from your efforts. And you only choked more as you felt another pressure again on the back of your head, enforcing you to take more down your throat even though your survival instincts tried to reject the intrusion. “Such a good girl, making our Luke feel good. And you can always make him feel good now you know how he feels about you Y/N/N. This cock is yours to suck, this big fat cock that’s making your eyes water.”

Luke moaned simultaneously alongside you from Calum’s dirty words, the sound of your gagging and Luke’s light and vocalised moans being the distinct sound that filled the room in the tour bus. There was a tight feeling that was pulling from the insides of Luke’s balls, he was getting extremely close and he shocked the both of you when you unexpectedly pulled your lips away from his cock to get air, as ropes and ropes of his white seed decorated your face, the warmth of the liquid bringing you a sense of fulfilment and gratified euphoria. For a moment it felt like it was only you and Luke, taking turns to exhale heavily as you came to grips that this wasn’t just a dream, it was a reality. A hot, dirty and sweaty reality. However everything hit you when Calum released his hand from your head, his voice filling your ears intermittently. “Looking good Y/N. And my work here is done…’ Calum joked, metaphorically dusting off his hands from the gruel that he had to cause to finally bring both you an Luke together.

He slowly vacated the room with little words more to say, leaving you and Luke in your own comforting isolation. “So…?” Luke laughed with the emission from his lungs, stroking your hair away from his cum that still covered your face. “So…” He repeated back to you, a content and calm smile endorsing his features. “Do you want to maybe be my girlfriend? I’ve liked you for a long time, and I never had the guts to say something until, well, this.” You reciprocated his smile, tentatively nodding and forgetting all about the joint that you had been rolling, maybe you wouldn’t need it to feel at peace tonight, because Calum with his sexual interference had helped you come to it. “Okay, we can discuss the details of our first date after we get cleaned up. Fancy a shower?” He teased yet endorsed your interest, and soon the pair of you were off to the small and confined bathroom to get ‘cleaned up’ as boyfriend and girlfriend.

[holy-puckslibrary]

sid to a furry friend's rescue!

florist!reader gets flustered during sid's calendar shoot

parents mentors for the day

chief crosby's got a date... and its not with florist!reader

... was in a bit of a silly goofy mood, forgive me (and be sure to read the endnotes!)

gif from @littlemessyjessi

This is the last thing Sidney Crosby imagined he'd come home to: another man settled in his chair.

His cat is curled in the intruder's lap, and said intruder's hand is curled over your knee. And Sidney's soup—homemade and hand-delivered—split in bowls between you.

"Thought you didn't need a babysitter?"

Sidney watches the gleeful expression wilt on your pretty face—color drained like his bank account succeeding the egregious bid he matched to make bail—with equal measures of self-satisfaction and self-contempt.

"I-I didn't, I just—"

"Settle down, Chief," the ranger laughs. "I knew our little lady here was feeling under the weather, so I thought I'd stop by after my patrol shift and keep her company while you were indisposed."

Sidney glares into the bright cerulean eyes of one Anthony Beauvillier, a park ranger in the Atlantic Coast Uplands region.

If memory serves, he was recently transferred from Waverley to Blue Mountain but resides in Peggy's Cove. This is a 50-minute detour.

In the opposite direction.

The Fire Chief's jaw is painfully tight, his blood scalding. If it were't for his, albeit dwindling, sense of self preservation, Sidney would've marched up those two steps—recently refurbished at his hand, might he add—to forcefully remove the park narc's grubby paw from your body.

Mercifully—for all involved parties, you do so shortly and of your own volition before joining Sid in your driveway.

Guilt smeared over your sickly features, your mouth parts, an explanation hot on your tongue, but all that comes is a grizzly cough that stings Sid's chest just hearing it. Despite his vexation, he's patient with you; he owes it to you both to wait it out. He hopes this is just one big misunderstanding somehow.

But, before you're able, the absolute last person Sidney wants to hear from pipes up.

"Resting, ma biche. You're meant to be resting," Tito attempts to coax you back onto the porch—back to his side—with an outstretched, up-turned hand.

(my doe / my darling — reminder: see end for important notes!)

Not as quick with his French as he'd like to be, he growls at the perceived insult. However, rather than running his fist through the opposition's teeth in your honor, Sidney defiles it.

The park ranger, and everyone else who happens to be out and about tonight, are treated to an unexpected eyeful of their Fire Chief's innermost feelings rushing to the surface. They pour into your mouth with reckless abandon, unconcerned with his public image or the utter lack of privacy; this kiss could be broadcast on the Nightly News for all he cares.

All that matters to Sidney Crosby is making his intentions known, and crystal fucking clear. Staking his claim is just a bonus.

"Well, it looks like my work here is done."

At your dazed expression and Sid's bewilderment, Tito stands from the rocking chair with a genuine smile fixed on his face. As he deposits evergreen Stetson atop his wind-swept hair, he pauses.

"Y'all have a nice night," he winks with a tip of the brim, bidding you farewell before slipping into his government-issued Ram.

As gravel crunches under the vehicle's wheels, gears click into place behind Sidney's burnt umber eyes, now gleaming with clarity.

"Nate and Emmy." — Statement, not a question.

"Please, don't be angry. They just wanted to help because... because I didn't believe that... y'know." You gesture to the sliver of space that still separates you, a bashful little smile pushing up your feverish cheeks.

He couldn't find it in himself to be ticked off about your best friends' not-so-harebrained scheme—which, honestly, deserved more credit than he would ever be willing to give it—if he wanted to. Not while standing so close he can smell the PEI tulips you've been elbow-deep in all month, and definitely not having tasted the whisper of herbal tea lingering on your tongue.

Smirking, he closes the gap with a gentle tug.

"Oh, I know." Voice dropping to a thick hush, his lips hovering a lick above your skin, "D'you believe it now?"

The pinkish skin crinkles around his warm eyes as you pretend to think.

"I could do with a little more... convincing," you ultimately quip. "But, only if you're up for the t—"

The remainder of your cajoling is overtaken by a fit of giggles as he corrals you up and across the porch. The front door slams shut with a satisfying air of finality. Though, not before little Ember slips in with you.

Chief Crosby was thorough by nature, and he'd be damned if he didn't dedicate the evening to dispelling any and all doubts threatening to take root. Feigned, or not.

—

gotcha! teehee 😋 sid really said sick germs?? no match for my LOVE!!! ALSO! tito anon, this ones for you bbyyyyy 💓💓💓💓

***** 'ma biche' was chosen because its typically humorous and rarely intended seriously, + can be considered majorly outdated (even by 60s sitcom standards)—and its not always romantic! ... it also sounds a lot like an english insult, hence sid's reaction lol (at least, according to my french-canadian grandmother who remains very confused by my random call for a french lesson on infrequently used terms of endearment lol) *****

as always, i would really appreciate if you reblogged my work, left a comment or dropped by my inbox w some feedback :) fandom runs on engagement, and so do writers!! thx a mil in advance!

[edutainer2022]

To amuse myself amidst the bleak bombings I did a little fun(ish) thing within the general context of Timey-Wimey, the Future!Tracies crossover, but it could be perceived independently. It may be not the best idea to hack family video archives, while situated in a time paradox.

For more references of the Tracy future ever after in this continuity, see Piano Lessons and Worries. Indefinite thanks go to @janetm74 for inspiration and support.

WIBLY-WOBLY

The holovideo was shaky at first, someone with the camera was, probably, adjusting the hold. There was also a bit of a squabble going on in the background. The holocam tilted, recording a familiar side hallway in the villa. The walls were decorated anew, though, with pictures and paintings they never saw. There was also soft carpeting where previously they were used to hardwood. The frame was finally rectified and an unseen hand pushed the touchpanel of a door. A voice off screen, too jovial to be serious, declared:

"Tracy TV! Would you be amenable to take part in a poll?"

The brothers let out a collective gasp as a tall slim figure turned around to face the camera. Grinning at them against the backdrop of a summer afternoon was Scott. A twenty years old Scott. Upon closer look they could see the shade of meticulously styled hair was darker, so was the blue of the gaze. But the dimples were there, the posture, the bone structure, and the fond smile that could power a sun.

"Shoot, Squidletts!"

There were appalled noises from behind the camera, but a voice pressed on. A girl's, that time.

"Do you believe in love?"

"Oh... that's a good question! I believe..."

The young man stretched and squeezed his eyes dreamily. When they opened back up, the deep blue was brimming with mischief.

"I believe... I'd LOOOOVE a sandwich right about now!"

The young man burst into a hearty laugh and the Tracies hitched a breath in unison again. The resemblance was striking.

The holofeed shimmered in and out of focus some more through the turns and passages of the upper level of the villa. At some point it paused in view of a lanky freckled teen, curled up in a window niche, engrossed in some diagrams on a tablet. Despite the tropical heat, the boy was clad in layers of oversized sweatshirt and a truly hideous cardigan. The attempt of the "Tracy TV crew" to engage him in their poll resulted in a well-aimed trainer gliding their way at an alarming speed. The kid barely even got distracted from reading and the hapless reporters made a hasty retreat, before the canon shoe landed with a thud.

That brought them sprinting to the balcony, overlooking the lounge. The video on screen skipped up and down in time with the running. First only the sound was audible, then the holopicture stabilized. The spacious area was filled with viscous rue of Puccini's "O mio babbino caro" in a velvet female voice, swirling all the way up to the glass ceiling. The pianist concealed by the raised top, but for a streak of red and black flanel, the camera focused on the singer. Thick black curls in a French braid, soft brown eyes, full forms, a green sundress. The girl looked remarkably the way Virgil did when he lost a bet to Gordon that one time. Or rather, if Thunderbird Two were a girl come alive. The voice seemed to reach through the gossamer veil of the holovid and envelope them all in their current strange surroundings. Nobody dared speak, lost for breath with awe.

When the aria ended there was a low whistle off screen. Then followed enthusiastic applause and a resounding "Bravo!", in a voice they knew all too well that time. The camera jumped again and recorded a startled shriek:

"Uncle Scott!!!"

The Tracies exchanged anxious looks. The frame shifted to accomodate a newcomer - too tall to fit he bent slightly to be eyelevel with the 'reporters'. Slim figure as fit as ever, the grey suit made the blue of the eyes stand out. The right shade, this time. But the hair was all steel and silver, much like Dad's. The smile was also different. The brothers hadn't seen that one since when Mom was still alive.

"Now, what are you two up to?"

There were more dimensions of levity in the grin and the lines that flanked bright blue eyes.

"Solemnly up to no good, sir!"

The twin chorus off screen declared eagerly, with audible delight. That was obviously a well practiced routine between them. The Double Trouble scrambled to remember the purpose of their noble endeavor.

"Uncle Scott, do you believe in love?"

The smile deepened the dimples on the man's face, he reached one arm to hug someone, the other lifted up to ruffle some hair, eliciting a universally recognizable sqauck.

"Of course I do! I love your parents and all you lot. More than anything in the world! I love the way your cousin Lucy sings. I love how you're always up to mischief. I love to see how smart and talented you all are. I love to see you grow up happy. And I'd love to make the world safer and kinder for you all!"

The camera dropped the frame again in favor of a brief fierce hug, before the transmission skedaddled to the elevator and down to the hangars.

It was hard to discern the details as the camera was facing the concrete floor for some time. Much as the brothers wouldn't mind a peek into the inevitable changes of the Thunderbirds' roost, the cracks and bumps remained as they remembered. They managed to see a red sign "Restricted Area", usually deployed by Brains, when experiment muse struck. But it definitely didn't deter the intrepid investigators. The video picked up a young ginger woman in lab coveralls, manipulating screenfuls of holodata.

"Hey, Sisi! Do you believe in love?"

Green eyes looked up from shifting datastreams, as the girl seemed to give the question some actual thought.

"Belief presupposes reliance on unverified and uncorroborated data points. Since I am aware of sufficient amount of proof that my synthetic biometrical makeup is not designed to produce chemicals usually associated with emotional affection in mammals, then no, I do not BELIEVE in love. But the complex neural connections I have elaborated over time allow me to experience strong cognitive affinity and preference for the select members of the Tracy family over all other representatives of the same species. And don't call me "Sisi", I am the Dawn!"

The sniggers off screen were drowned in a gasp their side of the holofeed, just as it was shut down forcefully. John was frozen in place, mesmerizing the same red-headed girl, looking not a day older, now frowning at them. Alan  jumped to his feet, indignant.

"You're not Dawn! You're Eos!!!!"

"That is an optimal deduction, yes."

Gordon snorted. John's brow furrowed in return. From behind Eos, the twins, Grant and Sally, were entering back into the room.

"Yo, you hacked our old reels! Neat! Tracy TV was a hoot! Ouch! Hey!"

A cuff up the head stopped the trip down the memory lane, as Kip caught up with the duo.

"You weren't supposed to get exposed to background data. That complicates the time loop, makes it harder to break without consequence."

"Well, duh, Carpenter! No kidding! What do we do now?"

It was time for another dramatic baited breath, as several pairs of eyes trained on the young man, shocked for a different reason their unexpected hosts might have assumed.

[soulessjourney]

Ashes of Panem

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Paring: (young) Coriolanus x Reader

Word count: 2.9k

Summary: Coriolanus Snow and Y/N Ashcroft had trained together since their entry into the academy. However, when their names were drawn, they found themselves pitted against each other and twenty other children in these games. As Y/N became a symbol of rebellion akin to her great grandmother, who vanished shortly after Panem's liberation, the looming threats of war and the approaching games forced Coriolanus and Y/N to forge an alliance. Amidst these challenges, they had to learn to trust and support one another in order to break free from Coin's oppressive regime.

Warnings: None

A/N: Eat up kids, this is girl dinner and my best friend helped me deicde what course of action to take at the end. She's a long one but I hope this feeds you until I can plot how the next couple of drafts will go.

Selection day—the one day of the year that turned into everyone’s personal hell. With the recent changes, you found yourself wearing a knee-length red velvet dress that stopped just below your knees, its collar reaching midway up your neck. One perk was that it had pockets, one of the best inventions for a dress. Your hair cascaded in soft curls, its length falling over your shoulders, stopping just below your shoulder blades.

Navigating through the dense crowd, you moved towards the outskirts, finding solace just off to the side. The conversations with the various district representatives had grown tiresome, feeling more like you were selling yourself rather than seeking aid to stay alive. It left you feeling sick, as if you were begging these people to save you, a sensation that made you feel as pathetic as you appeared.

Startled, you jumped when a glass came into view right in front of your face. Following the hand holding it, you relaxed at the sight of Coriolanus. Despite your indifference for him, you were relieved it was him and not another district official. “You look like you’re about to pass out, drink some water,” he urged, offering the glass again, smiling as you took it. “You look beautiful, by the way. I haven’t had the chance to tell you that tonight.”

“You ditched me the moment we walked in here, Snow. Also, you’re not one for giving out compliments, so what do you want?” you questioned, raising a brow. It was a fact—he didn't usually dole out compliments unless there was something he wanted or someone he wanted to involve in some scheme, and you suspected it wasn’t the latter.

“I don’t want anything. I just enjoy being right. Red is definitely your color, Snowflake. It brings out those eyes of yours,” he shrugged, taking a sip from his glass. “I saw how you were earlier, looking as if you wanted to tear their heads off their shoulders when they tried to touch you,” he continued, drawing your attention back to him. “I won’t let them hurt you, Snowflake. They’d be foolish to even try,” he said, smiling down at you. A blush dusted your cheeks, prompting you to awkwardly turn away from him in an attempt to hide it.

Before you could respond, the Capital anthem started playing through the speakers, signaling the arrival of Cassius Coin, President Coin’s grandson. He walked forward, reaching the end of the balcony that overlooked the room. Soft claps welcomed him, though your classmates appeared mildly annoyed, preferring to be fighting in the arena than standing here in that moment. Raising his hands, Cassius silenced the room, commencing the same speech he gave every year.

“Good evening, students and representatives from the districts. I hope you've been enjoying your evening thus far. As we all know, this is an important evening marking the seventieth year of the Capital Games. Selection night holds historical significance. Many may perceive it as a punishment when, in fact, it is quite the opposite. This is an opportunity for all of you to display your loyalty to New Panem by entering the arena, striving to emerge victorious. In this new world, we've learned that only the strong can survive,” Cassius declared.

Beside you, Coriolanus scoffed. “This has to be the most morbid thing I've ever heard,” he muttered, keeping his gaze forward. Sensing your confusion, he continued, “Saying we should be happy to meet our deaths, I mean. We’ve proven our loyalty throughout our time in this academy, so why do only the games matter?” he grumbled, shifting his gaze down to you. “Some of us don’t deserve this fate,” he whispered, his eyes fixed on yours.

"Now, it is time to announce our selected students for this year's games," Cassius announced loudly. "I would like to start by unveiling a new change. As of this year, we will not be drawing names," he declared, as the screens on either side of him illuminated with a list of twenty-two names. Your heart skipped a beat, and Coriolanus drew in a deep breath. Somewhere off to the side, a cry echoed through the room. It was your class rankings, precisely in the order displayed after your evaluations. "Congratulations to those of you who fought for these spots and demonstrated your loyalty to the Capital!" Cassius shouted enthusiastically.

The glass you held slipped from your grasp and crashed to the ground, the shards pooling around your feet and cutting into your ankles. Stumbling back, the world began to spin, and bile surged up your throat. Coriolanus reached out, but you brushed him off, staggering out of the room and down the hall. Flinging the doors open at the hall's entrance, you fell to your knees, retching into the nearby bushes. Footsteps hurried toward you, but you ignored them. Your breathing became rapid, struggling to draw air into your lungs. It felt like you were suffocating, an inability to fill your lungs.

Someone attempted to speak to you, but the words sounded muffled, lost amidst the ringing in your ears. Clutching at your chest, you felt your heart racing. Tears streamed down your face, unnoticed in your frenzy. Cool hands cupped your cheeks, forcing your gaze upward to meet Coriolanus's blue eyes, ones you usually avoided. His lips moved, but the words eluded you, drowned out by ringing in your head. Covering your mouth, you retched again, feeling his hands soothingly pat your back and brush your hair away.

Sitting up, you found Coriolanus gently holding your face, his touch a stark contrast to his usual impatience. "Focus on me, Y/N. Just focus on me," he urged softly, locking eyes with yours.

Coriolanus was hardly known for his patience, but his demeanor now surprised you. In the academy, he exhibited a short temper, particularly when things didn't align with his desires. But this was different. He wasn't berating you for crying or falling apart. Seeking answers in his gaze, he enveloped you in a tight embrace, anchoring you in his arms. "You're going to be okay, Snowflake. Everything's going to be okay," he whispered. As your sobs gradually eased, he pulled away and peered at you, a faint smile gracing his lips. "There you are."

Wiping away your tears and streaked eyeliner, he cupped your cheeks. "Here's the plan, Snowflake. We'll go back in there and present ourselves to the districts," he said, anticipating your disagreement. "No, listen. We'll act as they expect us to—like the puppets they want us to be. We'll interact with the representatives together and aim for District One or Two. They have more resources. Fix your makeup, and meet me back in the hall. Understood?" He pressed, his thumb tracing your jawline, awaiting your response. When you hesitated, he shook you gently and repeated, "Understood?"

Unable to trust your voice, you nodded in agreement, observing the relieved smile that graced his face. "Good, that's good. Freshen up, and I'll be waiting inside for you," Coriolanus said before making his way back into the building, leaving you sitting there, feeling the cool air nip at your nose and cheeks.

---

It took you less than twenty minutes to freshen up your appearance before returning to the hall. Students conversed among themselves, their attention fixed on the screens displaying your class ranks. The sight itself made you queasy. In the frenzy of those destined for the games fighting for representatives' attention, the crowd parted, in a way that reminded you of those novels you read when you were younger, revealing Coriolanus making his way toward you, his gaze unwaveringly locked on you.

Coriolanus halted in front of you, his blue eyes briefly scanning the area behind you. Extending his arm, he looked at you, pressing his lips into a thin line. "Follow my lead, Snowflake. You'll need to act that little heart out," he said, wearing a broad smile as he approached two figures. "Mr. Larue, this is my girlfriend Y/N, whom I mentioned earlier," he announced. Girlfriend? You weren't sure if he was joking, delusional, or both, because clearly, you missed something between the time he left you outside and your return to the hall.

"Ah, Y/N, you're just as beautiful as he described. What are the odds that you're both paired together for this year's games?" the older gentleman remarked, appearing no older than 70. His frail skin and patchy white hair gave him a delicate appearance. "Mr. Snow mentioned your admiration for District One, and I must say, it's refreshing to hear someone who knows her stuff," he continued, flashing overly white teeth.

Chewing on your lip, you glanced up at Coriolanus, who waited for you to falter in the act he had imposed on you. "Well, Mr. Larue, I didn’t know my boyfriend decided to boast about my interests, but he's right. I do admire what your district stands for. It would be an honor to have your sponsorship, demonstrating not only my loyalty to the capital but also my appreciation for your work," you responded, eliciting a proud smile from Mr. Larue.

He let out a laugh and gently patted Coriolanus' arm. "You have quite the charmer here, Mr. Snow. She's a keeper. It's almost a shame that I have to watch such a lovely couple fight in the arena," he said, frowning, just as Coriolanus chuckled, a sound you'd do anything to hear again.

"I suppose we'll have to show you just how powerful our alliance is," Coriolanus said, reaching over with his free hand to squeeze your hand resting on his arm. He looked down at you, his gaze soft along with his smile. Anyone who didn't know him would think that he was in love with you, and honestly? He almost had you convinced. "I'll give you time to think it over, Mr. Larue. Meanwhile, how about a dance, Y/N? Why not enjoy what time we may have left together with something so intimate?" he asked.

You felt your brow twitch at his words. He was overdoing it with that final phrase, but it seemed like the older gentleman was utterly captivated by Coriolanus' words. "A dance sounds amazing. If you'll excuse us," you said, turning to give Mr. Larue a respectful nod before walking off with Coriolanus in tow. "Out of all the things to make me do, you went for the idea of having me be your girlfriend?" you snapped your head to look at him.

Coriolanus shrugged, a smug smile on his face. "I want to do the most if we're going to our deaths," he said simply, causing your jaw to drop. Pulling you onto the dance floor, he placed a hand on the small of your back and gently held your hand. "Close your mouth, Snowflake. It's unbecoming for a lady to stand with her mouth open," he teased, earning him a scoff in response. Placing your hand on his shoulder, the two of you began to move around the dance floor with the other pairs.

"I won't let you die in there, Y/N. I will do everything in my power to make sure that we make it out alive. I heard rumors that they'll let two of us live as long as it's two individuals of the same pair," he murmured, lowering his head to speak near your ear. "I won't be letting you out of my sight for a second anymore."

Rolling your eyes, you caught sight of other district officials watching both of you. Now you knew why he wanted you to wear red so badly. You two stuck out like a sore thumb against the other students who wore black or white. Coriolanus knew how to play the game, and he would ensure that both of you won.

---

After what felt like hours, the gala came to an end, leaving you utterly exhausted. You and Coriolanus managed to secure a sponsor from District One after winning over Mr. Larue with your act. Rolling back your shoulders, you turned your head to gaze out the window. Snow had begun to fall, lining the sidewalks in a soft sheet of flakes. You turned when the material of a jacket rested on your shoulders, and Coriolanus looked down at you with tired eyes.

"Coryo, it's cold out, you need your jacket." You hadn't even noticed the nickname that slipped from your lips, but he did. He was well aware of what you called him, and he loved it.

"You're going to need it more, that dress will do nothing to protect you from the cold," he remarked, moving to lean against the wall next to you, watching the snow fall outside. "Things are going to be hard from here on out. We have to learn how to trust one another, especially if we're paired to keep one another alive for as long as possible."

"You haven't necessarily given me a reason to trust you, Snow. You don't exactly make it easy," you said, tensing when he looked at you, his gaze piercing your soul. He raised his brows in question, prompting you to continue. "You're not exactly the talkative type, and if you are, it's only because you want something from me. So, how can I trust someone who only sees me when they want something from me?" You pulled his coat tighter around you, seeking some solace from his penetrating stare.

"I've always seen you, Y/N. Don't think for a second that I haven't seen you because I have. In fact, it's almost annoying how much I see you," he replied. It was your turn to raise your brows. "It doesn't matter. Why don't we head back? It's getting late, and I doubt that your parents want you out too late. Come on, I'll walk you home."

The both of you walked out of the building, with you trailing slightly behind him. Coriolanus Snow was a mystery to you. From his words to his actions, you couldn't make sense of him. You wanted to demand that he make up his mind about how he treated you, but you knew it wouldn't lead anywhere.

Quickening your pace, you moved to catch up with him. "If you want me to learn how to trust you, then tell me about you. What makes you Coriolanus Snow?" you asked. You could see his jaw clench as he contemplated how to respond. Coriolanus was always one to talk, except when it was about himself. He often reminded you of a captivating but complex book that was hard to read. You refused to put down his book; you wanted to learn about him, to understand his character, and establishing trust was the first step. "In return, I'll tell you my deepest, darkest secret," you teased, nudging his shoulder in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Is there something that defines who I am?" he asked, though it sounded more like a question directed at himself. "Sometimes, I find myself pretending to be someone I'm not," he began. "At the academy and even when I'm with you, I feel compelled to embody this controlled and calculated persona. I refrain from revealing my true self because I fear you might flee. This facade I wear keeps me in good standing at the academy and in proximity to you. It keeps me close enough so that I never have to worry." His words sent a chill through you. They carried an air of possession.

"Snow, you won't scare me away. It takes more than a facade to scare me off. We're being trained to fight to the death against twenty other children; I believe I can handle occasional outbursts from you." You attempted a reassuring smile, but he abruptly halted, turning to gaze at you.

"You don't get it, Snowflake. I don't wish to share you with anyone else. You kept yourself distant from others out of fear of loss. Knowing that made me content, content in the knowledge that no one else stood by your side to snatch you away," he whispered, leaning in until his breath nearly met yours. "I want to shield you from the world, from the games where no one can have you." His confession widened your eyes, prompting a step back as you struggled to comprehend his words.

Clearing your throat, you shook your head, observing your breath forming mist in the cold air. "That's not what you want, Snow. Trust me. You won't find happiness with me. In fact, if you knew the concealed parts of me, you'd be the one fleeing." You noticed a spark in his eyes, perhaps a reflection of the shared darkness within both of you, fighting to break free.

Just as you near the gate leading to your home, Coriolanus seized your wrist, halting your movement. "Why do you hide from me, Snowflake? You want me to see you, so why keep yourself hidden? I can't see you if you won't let me." He drew you closer, his hand caressing your cheek, the warmth contrasting with his cold touch. He exuded warmth, emitting a scent of roses that intoxicated. Interpreting your silence as an answer, he leaned down, lightly brushing his lips against your forehead before retracting, his thumb grazing your lips.

Stepping away, you retreated and closed the gate behind you. Turning to glance at him from the other side, you noticed how he stood taller, his curls framing his eyes. Snowflakes fell on his eyelashes, accentuating the rosy hue on his cheeks due to the wintry air. "I hide because I'm nothing but poison, Coriolanus. Poison you shouldn't get entangled with. I'd do more harm than good, so don't be greedy and try a taste. You'll only end up hurting yourself in the end," you stated, casting one final glance before pivoting on your heel and entering your home.

Tags:@notyourwildestdream

[esther-dot]

I’ve always found it odd that in s8 Sansa started wearing her hair more like d@ny. Like that bun braid she’s got going on in the promos & those two little braids that frame her face at the dragon pit. I can head-canon that she chose to wear her hair like that in king’s landing for the sake of the unsullied. Perception is everything & their leader wore her hair that way—a strong woman capable of commanding an army; an intimidating woman. Sansa likely felt she needed to project an intimidating level of strength if she had any hope of securing Jon’s release & the braids could’ve been a way to subtly influence their perception of her. Meant to recall images of their leader & paint her as someone to be feared.

As far as wearing her hair the way she did at the start of the season…the best I could come up with is that she was doing it for Jon. And while it’s an answer I can accept (be still my jonsa-heart!) it doesn’t feel quite satisfactory. I’m wondering if you’ve put down any thoughts on this & might have something more for us to consider? Or perhaps a head-canon you’d like to share?

I remember this debate and there’s even an article about it,

(link)

But the idea that Sansa was copying Dany never made much sense to me because Sansa starts wearing the hairstyle before she’s met Dany? I think that Sansa's hair was meant to be a Northern style, and worked with the association of Sansa & Lyanna the show created (link).

Here’s a pic and another post about it:

(link)

And then in s8, looking at the hairstyles, even though there are braids in both, it looks to me as if they attempted to keep them distinct. Look how soft and loose Dany's is in contrast to Sansa's. Also, Sansa has a bun while Dany's braid is like a crown sliding off her head (ba-dum-ch!)

Even when I look at “Sansa’s war braids” at the dragonpit,

It doesn’t make me see Dany at all. She susually had two curls down by her face, but that was to soften her look, whereas Sansa's braids have the opposite intention. My main thought is that it’s weird the girl who wasn’t fighting got the armor-ish dresses while the two who were out there with the army of the dead did not! This may have been an effort to give her a totally unique hairstyle from the Northern cast, in prep for Queen Sansa?

I think the Jonsa implications would be in the Lyanna connection and the NedCat cosplay from s6-7. The fact that the finale rested on Jon’s (Targ) love for Sansa (Stark girl) makes me think there was some story-related reasoning back in s5-7 that carried through to the end even if they didn't really wanna follow-through on the implication. Making Jon appear as Ned and Sansa as Cat (the hairstyles are similar, not exactly the same but the script referenced the Cat thing at one point so it was intentional) also feels like something that was still present in s8 storywise. They were a unit, they did trust each other, but there was a lot of anxiety about that trust and pain about a perceived betrayal.

And in-world reasoning, I’d say that when in the South Sansa was trying to fit in at court so mimicking to greater or lesser extent the fashion made sense, and when she returned home, it made sense for her to start wearing styles she’d worn or seen as a girl.

(link)

[punkassfrance]

Sierra Nevada - Chapter VII - Ellie/Abby

Chapter VII: Bite Back (Work length ~2.7k) This work is rated M for canon-typical violence and gore. Please look here for a full list of warnings for the series, specific warnings will be provided at the start of each chapter. This chapter contains: heated argument, discussions of violence in Part II, and perceived bigotry. Previous Chapter - Full Series - Next Chapter

Ellie

The snow falls before the end of the week.

Oddly, the temperature outside doesn’t drop all that much. If anything, it’s more bearable than the frigid cold leaning up to snowfall. Inside the house is a different story. Abby and Lev can huddle up for warmth at least—Ellie is alone in her bedroom down the hall, with nothing but a space heater to keep her company. The chill always gets to her as she goes outside to clear off the solar panels, keeping the house running even as the winter conspires against them. At least Abby is there to share the burden. Sometimes.

It’s almost ten when Ellie rolls out of bed, later than she typically would. She shuffles downstairs in her fleece pajamas, coaxes the fire back to life, and rubs her face as the wood crackles. The house is still silent. Not that she expected any different—Abby isn’t brave enough to poke around uninvited, and Lev is still too injured to move. He seems to be healing well, but there’s still plenty of time for things to go south. Their stay would have to be extended if that happened. Not the worst-case scenario, but still one Ellie would prefer to avoid. Abby’s presence in the house itches at her, demanding to be corrected every time she remembers who’s down the hallway. She’s become the gristle in Ellie’s teeth, something to worry at until it drives her mad.

She can almost forget about everything when she and Abby interact. For a second or two, she’s just a girl, just another member of the house she expects to see. Ellie can even let herself notice details, freckles, cracks in her lips, healed scars, strands of hair pulled free. The intimidation isn’t there. For a short while, she’s just a person.

Then she remembers.

Seattle returns to her, so suddenly. Or the aquarium. The theater. The blood across Abby’s face—her knife up to Dina’s neck, like she’s preparing to mercy kill a deer. The shake of her hands, the curl in her lip as she stares Ellie down. Ellie wonders if she always looks like that when she takes a life.

But she’d be a hypocrite to judge Abby for being a killer.

She shakes her head and stands, pushing her fingers up through her hair in a half-hearted attempt to settle it. It’s getting longer than she’d prefer it, but she hasn’t cared much for vanity in the last year and a half.

Absently, she eyes the scissors in the kitchen before huffing and making her way upstairs.

-

“…Ellie?” Lev starts hesitantly, shifting as Ellie puts the last wraps over his bandages. “Can I ask you something…?”

She pauses and looks up from her work, nodding. “Shoot.”

“What happened to the girl in the theater? Are her and the baby alright?”

Abby opens her mouth as if to stop him before she reconsiders, glancing at Ellie and pressing her lips together. Ellie looks down again, swallowing. If she lingers on the thought for too long, she’ll do something she regrets. Nothing she’s had to resist yet. Tears.

Cleaning her throat, Ellie stands and nods. “They’re fine. He just turned two. I haven’t seen them in a while.”

Lev tilts his head, but doesn’t ask. “I’m glad they’re okay.”

Abby’s looked up at her too. She’s in even less of a position to ask, but she clearly wonders. Ellie shrugs.

“We’re not, uh—together anymore.”

Lev looks down and nods, sullen at the confession. Abby, however, looks perplexed. Her brow is furrowed, lips parted as she stares at Ellie. She opens her mouth like she has something to say, but nothing comes out.

“…what?” Ellie asks, searching Abby’s face for any tell she can find.

“Nothing.” She shakes her head.

“No, you obviously have something to say.” Ellie can feel herself tensing, more aggressive than the situation calls for. She’s tried so hard to avoid escalating, to not start a fight that’ll end bloody.

“No, I just—I didn’t realize you were together.” She looks vaguely uncomfortable, pressing her lips together and looking back down to Lev.

Ellie reels, forcing herself to suppress any knee-jerk reaction. She didn’t think Abby would be a bigot—but she’d surprised Ellie before. Ellie’s experiences with homophobia have been admittedly limited, but the way she avoids eye contact is telling.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter. The kid matters.

She makes for the door, grip tightening on the bag of medical supplies. “…we’re running low on bandages. There’s more in the garage, I’m gonna need help finding them.”

Abby nods, still looking down at Lev’s wound. “Be there in a few.”

Ellie huffs and walks out, shutting the door behind her a little harder than she should.

-

“Are you sure there’s more down here? I can check some other houses…” Abby grunts as she lifts another storage tub, setting it aside on the growing pile.

“No, there’s more, I’m sure. Should probably catalog this shit at some point…” Ellie eyes the bins they’ve dug out, ominously unlabelled. Another project to add to the list. “…but not fucking today.”

Abby twists her mouth up as she finishes searching the bin, frustrated as she sifts through cans and expired MREs. As many bins as they’ve searched, they’ve barely made a dent in the garage full of storage, let alone the shop it extends into. She tosses around bins full of books and food like they’re nothing—Ellie’s no weakling, but Abby’s another specimen entirely. She doesn’t even break a sweat as she works, flexing and gritting her teeth as she hauls things around. The way her waist twists, the way her arms tense as she pulls off the lid of a bin…Ellie grimaces at the thought that she’s showing off.

With how hard she’s glowering at Abby, Ellie doesn’t notice when she pauses, half bent over a box to look behind it.

“Oh, shit—” she reaches for something, lifting it out from the spot where it rested. It’s a guitar. Acoustic, visibly intact, strings loose over time. “…look.”

Ellie stares, face null. She’d found it some time ago, maybe a week after she moved in, only to quickly shove it back where she’d pulled it from. She has no use for those memories anymore, no need to drag up the emotions of having it around. Several times now, the thought of destroying it has crossed her mind, a pyre to the hands that taught her to play. Maybe she’d been saving it, somewhere in the back of her mind. The perfect end to a long night of tears and moonshine, a special occasion. Maybe her birthday. Maybe his.

Abby looks over it, brushing dust off the surface and running her thick fingers over the strings. “This yours?”

Ellie shakes her head, crossing her arms. “No. I saw it, but didn’t bother with it.”

“You play?”

“Used to.”

Abby opens her mouth to ask, but thinks better of it. It’s too late—Ellie is glowering at her, raising her left hand to wriggle the remains of her fingers. Before she can resist, she folds two of her remaining fingers down, leaving one standing tall.

Abby lowers the guitar, tilting her head down to give Ellie an admonishing glare. “…a guilt trip isn’t gonna help anything,” she mutters before looking back down at the guitar. Ellie lets the comment go without argument—she’s not wrong, after all. Ellie could probably stand to be a little more mature about the situation, but she doesn’t want to. Even if Lev stops her from being outwardly violent, she still has her favorite weapon. Being petty.

“…always wanted to learn,” Abby muses aloud, fingers tracing over the dusty frets. “Used to like Tracy Chapman.”

Ellie can’t help the scoff when she hears that. Abby looks up at her and raises an eyebrow, glancing around the room. “…what?”

“Nothing.”

“No, what?” Her tone is firm as she sets the guitar down, crossing her brawny arms. “You obviously have something to say.”

Ellie sneers at having her own words thrown back at her, straightening her posture as she looks down at the boxes in front of her. “Nothing. Guess you’re just fine with lesbians if they can sing.”

Abby reels back, lips parting as her eyes widen. She scoffs, readjusting her posture. “Excuse me? The fuck does that mean?”

“Fucking—I saw your face when Lev asked about my ex. You’re not subtle.” She can’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. For whatever reason, she expected better of Abby. She certainly has no reason to expect better from her. Just because one kid likes her doesn’t mean she’s a good person.

Abby seems almost bewildered, taking a few steps forward and narrowing her eyes. “I didn’t fucking say anything.”

“You didn’t fucking need to.”

They stare each other down for a moment before Abby reaches up to rub at her eyes, free hand resting on her hip. “No, I didn’t—I don’t care about that. I just didn’t realize…I thought she was just your friend.” She grimaces, looking down to the concrete.

“Why does it matter?” Ellie snaps.

“It doesn’t! I just didn’t—” Abby cuts herself off, turning to face the wall and raising a hand to dismiss the conversation. “…it doesn’t matter.”

Ellie looks back down to her beaten Converse, tension stubborn in her chest. Abby’s denied her too many times now, diffused fights Ellie doesn’t even know she’s trying to start. It’s probably for the best, but she can feel herself starting to boil over.

“…I’m glad she’s okay.” Abby mutters after a long silence, shuffling uncomfortably as her fingers trail over the tuning keys.

“Oh, I’m sure.”

Abby narrows her eyes, looking back up at Ellie with a poisonous stare.

“Fucking excuse me?”

Bingo.

Abby crosses the room until she’s less than two feet from Ellie. As terrifying as she is, Ellie doesn’t back down, unconsciously trying to make herself look bigger. Abby’s got maybe four inches on her, but it’s four inches too many.

“I’m sure you’re happy she’s okay. You seemed real concerned about her last time you met.” Ellie can hear her voice raising, but she doesn’t bother to rein herself in—taking her anger out on Abby sounds like exactly what she needs. The memory of Dina was going to devastate her anyway, drive her to drink, have her falling asleep to whatever cassette she fumbled into her walkman. That’s all still on the table, but she won’t pass up the chance to make Abby hurt. “Or maybe you forgot about what you said when I told you she was pregnant.” Abby shakes her head, going to open her mouth before Ellie takes a step closer. “Remember? Cause I fucking remember. You said good.”

“Shut up, Ellie.”

“Why? I’m just reminding you of shit you did.”

Abby’s nearly baring her teeth as she closes the distance between them yet again. “You’re one to fucking talk though, right?”

Ellie narrows her eyes—as hard as she’s tried to forget, she knows where Abby’s going with this. She’s gone down this same road at least a dozen times, beating herself up for blood that can’t be unspilled. There’s nothing Abby could say that Ellie hasn’t already told herself.

“Because If I remember right, you crossed that line first.”

Ellie shakes her head and turns away, retreating through the kitchen door. Heavy footsteps follow close behind.

“No, come on, you started this. We can talk about it all fucking day, I bet you love remembering this just as much as I do.”

Ellie grits her teeth and whips back around, less than a foot between them. “Fuck off, Abby!”

“You ripped her fucking throat out, Ellie. Didn’t even give her a fucking chance.”

Ellie’s hands tremble at her sides, barely resisting the urge to take a swing at her. Abby’s all but snarling down at her, flushed and huffing. She’s even more intimidating when she’s using her height to her advantage, shoulders squared back as she towers over Ellie. She looks so broad like this, solid and unyielding.

“I wasn’t fucking happy about it, Abby. I didn’t kill her out of spite. I just wanted you.”

“And fuck everyone who was in your way, right?”

“You’re the last fucking person who can give me shit for wanting revenge. You started that whole fucking mess.”

“I started-” Abby cuts herself off, raising her hands like she’s about to abandon the argument before she clenches her fists. They could go in circles blaming each other for hours, blaming Joel, blaming Marlene, blaming God. It wouldn’t help anything, they wouldn’t get anywhere, Ellie knows. She’s played this game with herself too many times.

“He was minding his own business, living his fucking life, when you decided to come fuck everything up.”

“Jesus, you’re such a fucking cunt.” Abby turns away, one hand settling on her hip as she rubs her face. It’s like she’s not even talking to Ellie, absently venting frustration to herself as she tries to cool off.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was so fucking hard for you.”

Abby turns back around and raises her hands, eyes closed. “I’m done with this conversation.”

“Oh yeah, take the high ground. Be the bigger man like you’re not a fucking killer. Go to hell.”

Hand on the railing, before she ascends the stairs, Abby looks back with gritted teeth. “I’ll see you there.”

Abby

Abby slams the door shut as she storms into the room, immediately covering her face with her hands. If Lev wasn’t right in front of her, she’d probably scream, say things she’d regret, break something she wouldn’t miss. How else is she expected to cope with this? It would be bad enough if Ellie was only acting like a child, only picking fights for the hell of it. It’s worse that Abby knows she’s at least partially right.

There’s no denying Abby was…a different person, three years ago. Someone she’s come to regret being. She wasn’t “Issac’s Top Scar Killer” for nothing—titles like that are earned. And Abby spent years earning it. Regret is one of her most frequent emotions these days, even if she can’t quite pinpoint exactly what she regrets. Threatening the pregnant girl? Maybe—but it’s hard to say it wasn’t justified just hours after finding Mel’s body. Kicking Ellie’s ass in the theater? Absolutely not. Biting her fingers off? She’s come to regret it more in the last few weeks.

Killing Joel?

She draws out a frustrated ugh before lifting her head from her hands, pacing to the other side of the room to look out the window. Snow is falling in big, fluffy flakes, hard enough that she can’t see past the house across the street. Frost creeps at the edges of the window panes, the glass fogging up as she huffs and tries to calm down.

“…what was that about?”

Lev sounds hesitant. She’s never yelled at him, and she never intends to, but he likely knows something about the state she’s in. He’s not stupid by any means. He’s lived through so much, survived a cult, survived their travels, killed to protect them both. Even if he’s an adult by most measures, Abby knows better than to dump their argument on his shoulders. When she can, she’ll do him the favor of treating him like any other kid. He deserves that much.

“…it’s not something you have to worry about.” She turns around and tries to give him a reassuring smile, but she knows she’s likely too stressed for it to land as intended. “Just a dumb fight, I won’t let it become your problem.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he nods. He’s smart enough to at least partially see through her attempt at comfort. Still, there’s something in his eyes that she can’t identify.

“It’s fine. I promise.” She walks over to his bedside and takes a seat at the foot of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

Lev gives her that look for another moment before shrugging. “Okay. It’s warm in here.”

“I know—the heater still works really well. We’re lucky.”

Lev nods. “I know. How are you feeling?”

Abby looks away, staring absently at the ground. She doesn’t know how she’s going to pull through the next few months, but she doesn’t have a choice. She can’t let her problems come before Lev. He deserves a guardian who’s going to put him first.

“I’ll be fine.”

I know it's been a second- I promise I'm still fired up about this project, just burned myself out a bit and got a little discouraged. Thank you everyone who's stuck around, I'm determined to see this story through one way or another!

I wonder if anyone caught the foreshadowing...

Thank you to @plum98 for the forest divider! Feel free to say hi or drop your thoughts in my askbox, check out my AO3 or my about me if you're interested!

Series Taglist: @a-little-bit-of-everybody

[mellyssageverse]

Noble Hearts - Prologue

ZoSan Royal AU

I’m still working on the title, but I wanted to start sharing some of what I have written before I post anything on AO3.

Summary: The threat of famine looms over the Kuraigana Kingdom as resources dwindle. Suspicion grips the royal Mihawk family when the prosperous Germa Kingdom offers aid by means of a transactional alliance. As tensions rise, the unforeseen connection between two princes may decide the fate of their kingdoms.

Warning: Violence and Angst

The midday sun bathed the tranquil gardens of the Vinsmoke Castle in a warm glow. Sanji, disheveled and bruised, was held in the familiar arms of his mother, Queen Sora. Tears streamed down his cheeks, dripping off his chin like soft raindrops.

"I'm so sick and tired of training," Sanji sobbed, his voice muffled against his mother's shoulder. "Dad is always comparing me to the others."

Sanji closed his eyes as his mother's gentle fingers combed the tangles from his hair. Moments like these soothed the sadness within him. In her embrace, there were no harsh demands to push his body to its breaking point and there was no relentless torment inflicted by his brothers.

"He just wants you to be the best you can be." Sora's words offered a feeble attempt at comfort, even Sanji could detect the hint of doubt in her voice.

“Why can’t I be like them?!” Sanji grit his teeth. His shoulders tensed and he curled into himself. “Not just the training. I hate that I have to care so much, and dad hates that I’m always crying.”

“Don’t dwell too deeply on such matters,” she urged, her hand cradling his tear-stained cheek. “Embracing your emotions can never be a flaw.”

“But mom…”

“Listen to me,” Sora insisted, her voice firm yet gentle. “Retaining your kind and empathetic nature is a strength, not a weakness. Though emotions may cause pain, they also grant you strength. You may not see it now, but our people will come to admire you for your sincerity and compassion.”

Sanji averted his gaze, unable to meet his mother's eyes. Despite her earnest plea for him to embrace his emotions, he found little solace in her words. He understood that her attempt to comfort him stemmed from her own need for reassurance. He couldn't shake the memories of his parents' frequent arguments, his father's harsh words directed at Sora for her gentle spirit and her inclination to help others. Those heated exchanges often ended with his father blaming her for what he perceived as Sanji's 'defective' personality.

Sora fell silent, as if searching for more words of solace to offer Sanji.

"How about we skip the rest of your training for the day?"

Sanji blinked away his tears, his gaze meeting hers shyly.

"Won't I get in trouble?" he questioned softly.

"Don’t worry about that. I’ll deal with your father." Sora said, firmly placing her hands on his shoulders. Sanji smiled, surprised by how much his mother’s reassurance temporarily eased the knot of anxiety in his chest. "Now, what would you like to do? We can spend some time in the kitchens if you like. Zeff tells me you are quite the little chef."

Sora playfully pulled at his cheek and Sanji couldn't help but swat her hand away with a giggle.

"I want to walk to the beach!" Sanji exclaimed eagerly.

"That’s a pretty far walk. Are you sure you wouldn’t want to take the carriage there?" Sora questioned with a raised brow, her concern tinged with a hint of amusement.

"I want to spend as much time with you as possible." Sanji replied with unwavering resolve. Although he longed for quality time with his mother, a deeper desire lingered within him; the long walk to the beach would provide more time away from his father’s overbearing nature, granting him a precious moment of freedom he desperately craved.

"My Sanji, you are too sweet," Sora reached for Sanji’s hand, offering it a gentle squeeze. Her smile radiating warmth. "If we leave now then we can be back in time for dinner."

The two left the garden to embark on their short journey. The sky stretched bright and blue above them, adorned with wisps of delicate clouds. The sun cast its warm rays upon them, a gentle breeze danced through the air, caressing their faces with its comforting touch. Tall grass swayed rhythmically, brushing against Sanji's knees as they strolled hand in hand toward the beach, Sanji's eyes sparkled with excitement as he shared his newfound interest with his mother.

"What nonsense is he filling in your head now?" Sora chuckled fondly.

"It’s not nonsense. It’s called the All Blue, and Zeff said that fish from all four seas reside there." Sanji insisted with a pout.

Sora’s eyes crinkled with amusement. Another bell-like laugh escaped her lips, the sound music to Sanji's ears.

“Sanji dear, I’m sure he meant it as a fairytale,” his mother attempted to reason gently. “Fish from one Sea can’t swim in another.”

“They can!” Sanji persisted, his determination unwavering. “Zeff said there is a current near Germa that pushes the fish from the East Sea into our Northern one. That’s how he is able to prepare us fish from the East! If fish from other seas can mix then that means it’s possible for the All Blue to be real.”

Sora looked thoughtful over this, actually considering if Sanji’s fantastical ramblings were possible. Then a small smile spread across her face, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief.

“Maybe we should sail on the course of the current together. See if it leads us to your All Blue.” Sora suggested, her voice filled with playful curiosity.

Sanji’s heart leapt gleefully in his chest at the prospect of embarking on such an adventure with his mother by his side.

“Really?!” he exclaimed, his eyes wide with excitement. Before his mother could answer, her smile suddenly dropped.

Sora stilled, her grip on Sanji’s hand tightening painfully, causing her knuckles to turn white. Her eyes widened with fear, and Sanji's heart skipped a beat, a sense of apprehension prickling at the edges of his consciousness as he followed his mother's gaze. Then, he saw it; a dark shape lurking amidst the tall grass that was unmistakably predatory in nature. A faint glint of its coppery scales caught the light.

A wave of fear washed over Sanji, threatening to paralyze him where he stood, his breath caught in his throat as he watched the creature feasting upon its prey of deer meat. With bated breath, they watched as the creature continued its grisly meal, each rip and tear echoing through the stillness of the field, oblivious to their presence for the moment. Sanji's mind raced, scrambling for a plan of action, but his thoughts were a chaotic whirlwind of fear and uncertainty.

"We must go," Sora whispered urgently, her voice barely audible above the rustling of the wind through the grass. "Slowly, and without drawing its attention."

Sanji nodded, his heart pounding in his chest as they began to edge backward, step by agonizing step, their eyes never leaving the creature's form. Every movement was measured, every breath a silent prayer for escape as they retreated from the scene of impending danger.

They finally broke free from the oppressive grip of the tall grass, when Sanji’s heel inadvertently stepped down on a twig from a fallen tree branch, the sharp SNAP slicing through the tense silence like a knife.

The creature’s gaze flickered in their direction, its bloodshot eyes locking onto Sora and Sanji with an unsettling intensity. Crimson blood dripped from its mouth, curling into a predatory grin. Sanji’s eyes widened as he beheld the creature’s face, a grotesque fusion of man and beast, its eyes gleaming with feral intelligence, its long horns arcing like gnarled branches.

With a feral roar, the creature lunged at them, its claws slashing through the air with deadly precision as it sought to claim its next prey.

Queen Sora grabbed hold of the fallen branch, wielding it like a makeshift weapon as she desperately sought to fend off the relentless assault. With a cry of defiance, she swung the branch with a might Sanji had never witnessed his mother wield before. The branch connected with the creature’s snarling face, momentarily driving it back with a fierce blow.

The Queen then stumbled and cried out in agony. Blood welled from a deep gash on her leg left by the creature’s razor-sharp claws, staining the floor crimson.

“Run, Sanji!” she gasped, her voice strained with pain. Sora pushed her son away, her gaze, which remained on the creature, was filled with fierce determination.

“I won’t leave you!” Sanji cried, his heart wrenching at the sight of his mother’s suffering.

“You have to! You’re faster than me. You have to run ahead for help!” Sora’s voice cracked with urgency, her grip on the branch faltering as the creature rose once more, its menacing presence looming over them like a dark shadow.

Sanji’s mind raced with conflicting emotions. If only he were stronger, he wouldn’t have to flee. He could stand his ground and fight alongside his mother, face the creature head-on. But as the creature turned its gaze towards him, its eyes gleaming with malice, his mother’s voice pierced through the chaos.

“SANJI! Do as I say and get help!” Sora’s voice desperately demanded obedience, commanding him to act.

With a heavy heart, Sanji nodded, swallowing his fear and steeling himself for what lay ahead. Sanji took one last look at his mother the turned and ran, his feet carrying him away from the danger and towards the hope of rescue.

Choking back tears, Sanji ran faster than he had in his entire life. His lungs felt as if they had caught fire, and his heart was thrumming at the base of his throat. Each step felt like a struggle against the weight of his fear, but he pushed himself onward, driven by the desperate need to save his mother.

Finally reaching the castle grounds, Sanji’s frantic pace did not falter. He continued to sprint, feeling the jolt in his knees, the wind dragging through his hair. He could see guards in the distance.

“HELP!” Sanji’s scream ripped through his throat. The distance began to wane between them, and he pushed herself to run faster, faster, until it felt like his bones might melt from the exertion. He could see their faces clearly now. Their brows furrowed in confusion. Sanji collided into them, his hands desperately clawing at their clothes to keep from falling to his knees. His voice strained as he tried to explain through his panting breaths, “The Queen… by the beach… something is chasing her!”

Several guards began running toward the direction Sanji had fled while one stayed with him, attempting to provide comfort. The wait was agony, each passing second stretching out into an eternity of uncertainty and fear.

After what felt like ages, Sanji's heart leaped with hope when he finally caught sight of the guards returning in the distance. His eyes scanned the group frantically, searching for any sign of his mother's presence among them. Then, his gaze landed on a sight that turned his veins to ice.

Sanji felt the world around him begin to tilt, his breath catching in his throat as he beheld the remnants of his mother's cloak being carried back by the guards. The fabric was smeared with grime and blood, a haunting testament to the horrors that had unfolded in his absence.

In that moment, a weight of despair settled heavily upon Sanji's shoulders, engulfing him in a sea of grief and anguish. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he struggled to come to terms with the devastating truth of his mother's fate, his heart breaking into a million shattered pieces at the loss of the one person who had always been his guiding light in the darkness. Sanji knew that his life would never be the same again.

Chapter 1 can be found here.