#fun fact for anyone who reads my fic i started writing nothing but teeth in line for the last hozier show i saw

[trevisos]

hozier again today who’s ready for me to shed a single tear about xarrastarion during like real people do Again

[amjustagirl]

Hogwarts AU (Haikyuu!)

feat. Tsukkishima Kei 

requested for by @animestheticz (hope you enjoy it bb!) 

Previously:

Miya Atsumu. Miya Osamu. Kita Shinsuke. Kuroo Tetsuro.

Masterlist link here

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff

Wordcount: 2k

Genre / Pairings: Fluff, Hogwarts AU, Tsukkishima / Reader

A/N: Any other characters you’d like to see? Send me an ask! 

(happy to do any characters other than Kenma / Hinata / Tendo - I don’t trust myself to do them justice!)

Oh and this is just shameless advertisement for my other fic - but I’m also writing a multi chapter fic based off Your Name / Kimi No Nawa featuring Akaashi Keiji (i.e. a bodyswap AU featuring our favourite Tokyo pretty boy). Check it out here!

——————————————————————

“P-please? Just this once?’ Yachi begs, fingers gripping your sleeve like a vice. 

You’re sorely tempted to refuse her ridiculous request, but you can’t bring yourself to. This is Yachi Hitoka, your best friend, though currently she’s a nervous wreck fretting over her first date with Yamaguchi Tadashi. The sweet, freckled Hufflepuff chaser has finally worked up the courage to act on his painfully obvious crush on Yachi - both veritable balls of sunshine, so sweet and anxious and caring that you can’t imagine a better match. 

So you don’t understand why on earth you’re being asked to tag along on a double date with one Tsukkishima Kei. 

It’s not that you dislike the guy – far from it. You’ve had a crush on him yourself ever since Yachi started hanging around Yamaguchi in your third year, sucking you and Tsukkishima have been sucked into their orbit, reluctant moons revolving around twin suns. But you’ve tucked it away since Tsukkishima doesn’t seem to have an interest in anyone at all – in fact, half the time his snarky replies and cold silences make you think he barely tolerates Yamaguchi as a friend, let alone yourself. 

Still, refusing Yachi is tantamount to kicking an injured puppy, so you swallow your reservations and agree. 

‘Thank you!’ Yachi cheers. ‘We’ll have fun, I promise!’ 

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

It’s summer, and your blouse is sticking to your back as you dash through Diagon Alley. Tsukkishima and Yamaguchi are already waiting in front of Flourish & Botts, the former barely even granting you a nod, though he does give you the courtesy of removing his headphones, while Yamaguchi bounces on the balls of his feet to greet you cheerfully. 

‘Woah there Yamaguchi – keep your enthusiasm for your date’, you joke, and he grins back at you.  And he does – stuttering and blushing as Yachi arrives. Yachi herself is no better – you swear you can hear her teeth chatter as she greets all of you, though she beams when Yamaguchi presents her with a small posy of flowers with clammy hands. 

‘They’re cute’, you remark to Tsukkishima as you walk beside him on the way to the first stop -  Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. 

‘Mm’, he responds, his face blank. 

You know he doesn’t suffer fools – worse still, talkative ones, so you fall silent until you reach the ice cream store. To your surprise, he pulls the chair out for you, and accepts your offer to share a cup of ice cream with you, a tilt to his lips when you automatically order a strawberry shortcake sundae – it’s his favourite after all. 

Yachi and Yamaguchi seem to have gotten over their initial shyness, chatting up a storm in their own little world. You’re excluded, as you expected, but you’re glad for their sakes. 

‘Excited about the last year of school?’ 

You glance up from your melting sundae, surprised that Tsukkishima is the first to break and initiate a conversation. From your interactions with him, he’s deliberate and methodical in his thoughts and words, so you take a few beats to formulate a response. 

‘Yes and no, really’, you answer honestly. 

He raises a thin blonde eyebrow, wordlessly beckoning you to elaborate. 

‘I’m excited for our classes, the syllabus seems really interesting this year’, you say, wincing at how desperately nerdy you sound – but you’re a hopeless Ravenclaw, and advanced Arithmancy and Astronomy excites you. ‘But it’s scary isn’t it – knowing that it’s our last year, and having to make all those important decisions that are going to affect us, years down the road?’ 

He hums thoughtfully. ‘I get that’, he responds, hands steepled under his chin. ‘I’m deciding between doing further studies in magical history and going pro – just for a few more years. But I know no matter what decision I end up making, I’ll probably end up second guessing myself’. 

‘Why can’t you do both?’ you find yourself saying before you can stop yourself. His brow furrows a notch. ‘You’re great at both, and I can’t see why you can’t as long as you put your mind to it’. 

You cringe at your cheesiness, expecting him to snark at you for your Hufflepuff-like optimism the way he does with Yamaguchi, but you’re surprised once again when he mutters a quiet ‘thanks’, a flush high in his cheeks, and then asks -  ‘And what about you?’ 

You wonder if he’s merely being polite, but his tone is serious, and his eyes are intently focused on you, so you tell him about your plans of taking on further studies in Arithmancy, perhaps even enroll in a Muggle university to study Mathematics for a semester or two, before working in Gringotts. The goblins may be archaic in their beliefs about the magical world, but their application of mathematics is extremely advanced. 

‘It suits you’, he comments. You want to ask him what he means by that, but Yachi pipes up from across the table.  

‘If you’re done with your ice cream, do you guys want to check out the magical menagerie? Yamaguchi’s going to get a cat!’ 

Before you can agree, Tsukkishima tells Yachi and Yamaguchi to go on ahead, drolly reminding them that they’re on a date, and they should go spend some quality time together. So they head off with wide smiles, shoulders bumping. They’re so sweet together it almost makes your teeth ache. Well, at least you’ve been dismissed as their reluctant chaperone, and you’re about to wish Tsukkishima a polite farewell when he taps your shoulder. 

‘Let’s go check out Flourish & Botts. I��m sure you have books you want to check out’. 

You blink – because you do, but you don’t expect Tsukkishima to accompany you, let alone be the one seeking out your company. He doesn’t even wait for your assent before he sets off, and you have to jog to keep up with the pace his long legs set. Thankfully, he notices you’re still lagging behind and slows down, though he teases dryly – ‘you know, at the rate you’re walking, I’m not sure we’ll get there before sundown’. 

You pointedly look up at the sun, still high in the sky, before levelling an unimpressed glare at him. He only smirks in response – and you’re so flustered by how attractive his expression is that you nearly trip over the threshold to Flourish & Botts. He catches you with a steady hand to your elbow – and now your heart is fluttering – is this how Yachi is like all the time? If so, you should really cut her some slack – the thoughts crowding your mind so distracting that you hardly hear Tsukkishima call your name in concern until he shakes your shoulder gently. 

‘Are you alright?’ Tsukkishima repeats, with a frown. 

‘Y-yes’, you reply, cursing your traitorous heart again. He doesn’t look like he believes you, insistently pushing you towards an empty couch. 

He clicks his tongue. ‘Don’t move’ he orders, before he disappears, probably to get the books he has his eyes on.  

You sink into the cushions, resisting the urge to bury your face in your hands in embarrassment. An hour spent in his presence and you’ve already turned back into a lovesick fool. You’ve told yourself countless times to just get over your silly crush on him already because it’s not going to do you any good. 

Yamaguchi’s complained to you and Yachi countless times about girls asking him if Tsukkishima is single, but you don’t see him taking an interest in anyone at all – spending all his time instead in the library and on the Quidditch pitch. 

He’s the stone faced beater from Ravenclaw. People wonder sometimes if ice flows in his veins – but they don’t see the determined set of his jaw when he’s ploughing through homework and assignments because he knows he’s going to have to spend the whole day in training the next day, the glint of satisfaction in his eyes whenever he wins a match or scores a good grade, the patience he expends tutoring Yamaguchi (along with Hinata and Kageyama) in Ancient Runes – 

Oh Merlin. You’re a hopeless case. 

 You jump when he returns and drops into a seat beside you. 

‘Oi, what’s wrong with you’, he mutters a tad scornfully, though he drops the book you were eyeing onto your lap. 

‘N-nothing. T-thanks!’ you answer, internally cursing yourself for even picking up Yachi’s speech patterns. 

Get it together. You’re not a fool. 

He hums, browsing his own book. 

It’s pleasant spending an afternoon in a nook reading books. It’s not so pleasant when your heart palpitates every single time his knee grazes yours - and if you shift just a tiny bit to the left you’re pressing against his side and - oh 

‘Are you sure you’re ok?’ he asks, frowning again, when he notices you’ve been reading the same page for the past fifteen minutes. 

‘F-fine’, you stammer, warmth flooding your cheeks when he leans his face dangerously close to yours, bringing his palm to brush against your forehead. 

‘Your temperature’s fine’, he mutters, but he doesn’t pull away – and oh gosh, you’re so close you can count every single lash on his eyes, your traitorous heart causing you to drown in the quiet concern in his eyes – and oh - 

You’re not quite sure who makes the first move because your eyes flutter close, your nose bumps against his and you feel his chapped lips against yours for a split second before he pulls away. 

You open your eyes. 

Did that truly happen? 

Judging from the blank expression on his face, the past few seconds were probably just a fever dream. But there are signs that cool, quiet Tsukkishima isn’t his usual self - a flush creeping up the back of his neck, his fingers gripping the pages of the book so tightly it starts to crinkle.  

‘What was that?’ you blurt out, confused. 

‘What was what?’ Though his voice remains calm and collected, his flush has traveled all the way to the very tips of his ears. 

‘Nothing’, you answer, dropping your eyes back to the open book on your lap, your mind in a whirl. Surely you didn’t imagine that, right? Did you just - did he just - wait, you’re confused again, what’s going on? 

Your thoughts are interrupted by elegant, long fingers slotting between your own. ‘Silly’ he mutters, but there’s a fond twist to his lips and a softness in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. 

‘I’m pretty sure I’m not the only silly one here’, you respond, in a sudden swell of confidence, though your pulse is sending tremors down your spine, your breath catching in your throat. ‘I’m pretty sure you’re the silly one too’. You curl your fingers over his and lean into his side. 

He hums diffidently. ‘I guess it might seem that way’. 

You both share a shy smile. 

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

Yachi is smug when you confess to her later that Tsukkishima - no - Kei asked you out as he walked you home that evening. 

‘I told you that we’d have fun!’, she says, grinning cheek to cheek. Then she starts rambling on and on about future double dates with her and Yamaguchi in Madame Puddifoots, where you can share couple sundaes and steaming mugs of hot chocolate - wouldn’t that be wonderful? 

You resist the urge to tell her that Kei has sworn off any future double dates - let alone at the white and pink lace bedazzled monstrosity of a cafe, and his suggestion of a quiet afternoon spent at his favourite bookshop cafe sounds far more inviting to you. 

You’ll let Yamaguchi break the news to her later, on a more appropriate date.  

Instead you just smile to yourself, thinking of the quiet affection in his voice as he wished you farewell, and the suppressed delight in his eyes when you called his name just as he was about to turn away and surprised him by pulling him down to you and pressing your lips to his cheek. 

Yachi’s right. You did have fun after all. 

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

My Liability, My Deadweight

Fandom: The Chronicles of Riddick

Collection/Series: My Liability, My Deadweight

Pairing: Richard B Riddick x Female Fat + Glasses Wearing Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: T (Swearing, Riddick is Riddick, violence)

Warnings: Swearing, violence towards deadly alien creatures, violence from deadly alien creatures towards the reader

Summary: None of this was supposed to happen. You were supposed to be on a holiday resort planet, relaxing by glistening waters and forgetting your troubles. Not traipsing through a deadly jungle on an uncharted planet with a just as deadly companion who seems torn between helping you and hating you.

Notes: So I guess this is going to be similar to Western AU Din in that i’ll probably write some stuff in the same sort of world/vein as this. I’m just interested in the idea of Riddick with a reader who is the opposite of a survivalist, who isn’t fit or strong, who is scared. The idea of Furyans having mates or soulmates that they don’t really get to choose and the idea of Riddick having to come to terms with the idea that the person he wants to protect so bad needs his protection more than most is interesting to me.

This is probably such a niche thing to write, not only because the fandom is tiny, but also because people tend to write Riddick fanfic where the reader or OC is extremely capable, but I wanted to write it. So self-indulgent fic coming up.

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Kratos is a horror show of a planet. It’s the sort of planet you’d never thought you’d end up on, the sort of planet that you saw on horror vids and read about in the tales of survivors of tragedy. You weren’t supposed to be on it. You were just on a short trip, just supposed to go to a stupid holiday planet, at the insistence of your boss that you needed a break from your desk, that you worked too hard. You were a city slicker, an urban citizen, not an outdoorsman or an adventurer, certainly not the sort of person who’d come to a planet like this. But, your pilot had needed to make a stop, said there was a problem with the fuel cells that he needed to check out. So you’d made a pit stop on a barely charted planet. Nothing good ever happens on a barely charted planet. 

Covered in dense, muggy jungle, the planet would have been beautiful had it not been trying to kill you and your, for want of a better word, companion at every turn. It was covered in vibrant green forest, tropical plants, exotic and brightly coloured flowers (many of which, it turns out, were deadly themselves). There were brightly coloured bird-like creatures and primitive mammals that scurried through the trees and across the ground. It would have been beautiful, except for the limp in your walk from the burning claw marks deep in your thick thigh, except for the blood that followed in your wake, the dead bodies of the crew you’d left behind, and the yellow eyes that seemed to follow the two of you under the dark canopy.

After a stupid decision by your group to go out into the jungle to try and find a settlement of some sort, just because it had seemed like (as if there was any real reason to leave), you’d been picked off one by one. You could only describe the beasts as fucked up panthers. Two tails with stingers at the end, sharp spindly spines along their backs, an elongated neck, venomous fangs and sharp teeth and claws. They were hard to spot, silent in the underbrush and decidedly and most definitely deadly. The only reason you were still even alive was because of Riddick, because for some unknown reason the man, the murderer, had decided to stick close to you, like glue. You weren’t complaining.

At the time of boarding the ship for your trip it had seemed horrifying, to know that you were travelling on the same transport as Richard B. Riddick, escaped convict, known murder, predator. He was the sort of man your parents whispered about, the sort of man that you never wanted to meet. He was someone from your worst nightmare. Now he is your saving grace and surprisingly not what you had expected of a notorious big bad. While he meets many of your expectations, crude at times, harsh, and physically intimidating, he defies them too. He is at times oddly gentle with you and, the mere fact he cares about someone’s survival other than his own, is in itself a surprise. A fortunate one for you. 

“Are we nearly back to the ship?” You ask because your leg is killing you, because you so desperately just want to get off this planet even if it means being stuck in a confined space with a convicted murderer. You hate this planet, you hate the constant feeling of fear and of uselessness. You hate the truth of it all, that you are weak, vulnerable, prey not the predator. It has you realising your many weaknesses, many vulnerabilities, many failings. 

“Shhh…” Riddick raises his hand out in front of you, a universal sign to stop, while the other comes to his lips in a shushing motion. If he were a dog, his ears might very well have pricked up at the slightest sound. 

To you nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There were no unusual sounds or movement in the brush. You couldn’t see anything out of place. Just as you begin to notice the silence, the lack of sound, that is the moment everything goes terribly wrong.

“Riddic-” You were cut off by your own scream. 

Things happen so fast that you don’t really have time to process them. One minute you are standing behind Riddick attempting to get his attention, the next a dark shape crashes into you and you’re on the jungle floor a heavy weight pressing on your chest and stopping your breathing. Your hands reach up instinctively, pushing against the creature in an effort to keep sharp gnashing teeth from your face, but you’re not strong and you’re not a fighter and you can feel your arms beginning to collapse already. Can hear yourself screaming for Riddick even as part of you thinks he’ll leave you there, abandon you to be eaten alive. There is a deep fear that this is it, this is the end. That it shall be painful, terrifying, lonely, and unfamiliar. 

Claws scratch at your arms, blood runs over your skin in rivulets as you scrabble in the dirt. Then as suddenly as the weight came it was gone, hefted off of you with an angry roar and the sound of a knife hitting flesh over and over again. You don’t look, can’t bring yourself to look, just lie there and breathe, in and out. You don’t want to see him do what he’s good at, don’t want to see alien blood, a dying creature, the parts of him that are less than gentle. So you stare up at the canopy and catch your breath, feeling the blood flow down your arms, the bruises that ache over your stomach, hips and legs. Feel the relief flow through you, combat the shock, as you realise you are not dead, you are alive, and he did not leave you to die. 

You’re rather numb in truth until you hear him muttering above you, “goddamn liability, deadweight…”, it shouldn’t upset you because it’s true. But it does, it upsets and angers you because you didn’t want to be here, you didn’t want any of this and you didn’t ask him to hang around, didn’t ask him to help you. You had no say in this. This was not your idea of a holiday, your idea of fun, or your fault. 

It forces you to your feet, forces you, despite the blood dripping from your wounds, to stand and face him, despite the bruises, despite the pain, despite the fear. You find yourself planting your feet even as you sway unsteadily, standing with hands on your wide hips and a scowl aimed at a man that could kill you easily. For the first time you’re too angry to overthink your actions towards the man. For a moment you stop thinking and start acting. 

“If i’m such a goddamn liability, then just leave me here! I didn’t ask for you to stay, Riddick! I didn’t ask for your help! If it’s such a fucking chore to have me along, if i’m really dead weight then leave me! Go!” You didn’t normally scream at anyone, it wasn’t your personality type. You were quiet, shy, retiring. A wallflower. You didn’t scream. You didn’t start fights. You didn’t do any of that. Anger wasn’t your natural response to anything. Fear was. But after being hunted down, time and time again by giant alien cats with venomous fangs and an uncanny ability to hide on a jungle planet, all while being called a liability, a dead weight by the one person you had to rely on, well, you were finally at your wits end. You were in pain, you were upset, frustrated and ready to just go home. 

You didn’t understand it. Why Riddick even bothered with you, practically a stranger. You knew you were a liability, that’s why it hurt so much when he said it. You were soft, emotionally and physically. You were a slow runner, a poor fighter, had terrible eyesight that required glasses, you weren’t light on your feet or graceful and you certainly didn’t know much about survival. You were overweight, unfit and unsure on your feet. You were prone to panic and tears, you were easily emotionally and physically unbalanced. Until this trip from hell you’d been content in the inner rim, working a normal job, a safe life. Your day to day had been comfortable, safe. Easy. You weren’t cut out for this, for danger and potential death and had Riddick, this known criminal, one of the most sought after murderers in the verse, not decided to stick by your side you’d have died at least ten times already. It didn’t make any sense and your frustration at yourself, the situation and at him had tears pooling in your eyes. You didn’t ask for any of this.

“I can’t.” He’s so impassive, so calm, that it pisses you off more. It pisses you off how hard it is to read him, how he hides his eyes behind black goggles that stop you understanding him. How he hides all emotion from you so easily. How is he okay with this? How is he so calm when everything around the two of you wants to kill you, when he could have left this goddamn planet already if you weren’t slowing him down at every turn? How could he stand there above the body of some hell spawn creature and just stare at you like that, like everything was just fine, just normal? Like he wasn’t covered in it’s blood. Like you weren’t dripping in your own. Like you hadn’t almost died. Again. 

“I..I don’t get it…? What do you mean you can’t? You could walk the fuck away right now. I can’t stop you! No one else is here to stop you! If you want to leave, leave! No one’s holding you back, Riddick! No one is going to stop you! I can’t bloody well can’t! Look at me!” You sound hysterical even to your own ears but you can’t help it. You are so scared, so confused, so frustrated, so panicked by all that’s happened, all that could happen. You gesture down to yourself, to the bloody coating you, the way you protectively hold yourself off of your hurt leg, the sheer stature different between the two of you. All the things that make it very abundantly clear that if he chose to simply walk away you couldn’t stop him. 

“Listen, princess, it’s not that fucking simple!” The snap is almost relieving, that he’s not as cold, not as impassive as you thought. That he could break too. That he could be angry, that he could be upset, that this wasn’t just normal. Even as his steps closer cause your back to hunch, cause you to second guess your antagonist behaviour. 

“I don’t understand!” 

With a growl he’s crowding you against a tree, thick arms caging you in. He’s imposing, large, a head taller than you and the action has him taking over every one of your senses. He never touches you in anger and while the display is intimidating, it oddly enough doesn’t scare you. It almost feels secure. Perhaps because not once has he done anything to suggest to you that he would hurt you, every move he’s made has been to keep you safe. Every time he’s touched you has been to pull you from danger or bring you back to your feet. Despite his harsh appearance, his foul language and the deadliness that he displays at every turn, he has never once given you cause to fear him. To fear how he would treat you. 

“You’re my mate, got it?! I don’t get to choose, I don’t get a choice! I can’t leave you! I just fucking can’t, so you’re a fucking liability and dead weight, but you’re my dead weight, got it? I ain’t fucking leaving you, we either both get off this motherfucking planet or we both get eaten by these fucks, princess. There’s no inbetween, understand?” Silver eyes flash at you as he tears the goggles from his eyes,  his brow furrows and the muscles in his thick neck and broad shoulders bunch and move with every piece of tension that bursts through him. You are distinctly and sharply reminded that Riddick is a predator in every sense of the word, while you are prey. You are on two separate ends of the spectrum. 

“Mate…?” Your eyes flit across the landscape behind his head, trying to process all those words and all their meanings. You don’t understand, you don’t understand any of it. But, those words soothe you in a way you can’t explain. He isn’t going to leave you. For whatever reason, for whatever this is, whatever he means, he isn’t going to leave you.  You let out a breath you didn’t even realise you’d been holding. He’s not leaving, even if you’re a liability, a deadweight. Even when things get bad, he’s not leaving. He is, at this point, your only chance at getting home, getting away from him, of surviving. The panic in you begins to soothe, calm and settle. 

“We don’t have time for this.” You’re startled by the sudden display of affection as the man cups the back of your neck and presses his forehead into your own, “Just trust me.”

“I do, Riddick, I trust you” It’s hard to explain, the trust you feel for him, the safety as you let him lead you once more through the jungle. You are bleeding, in pain and still ever so aware of the dangers around you, but you have an implicit belief that with Riddick you are as safe as you can be. That if there was ever a person to carry you through this it would be him. 

You might still be confused, might not understand what he means by you being his mate or by his obligation towards you, but you know that he isn't leaving you for dead and that is enough right now. That is more than enough.

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

                                                   All Works Taglist

@charradelange @belfry-bat  @gabile18 @beccaboo929​  @trasheater

[newswcanonprompts]

Anakin is sent to negotiate with Gardulla the Hutt bc of the success of the Jabba mission (no one in the Council knows Gardulla used to own him)

editor’s note: there is actually a fic that came from this, by the lovely @primeemeraldheiress! here is the link

this one is SUPER angsty, sorry in advance, i missed the original conversation about this prompt and when i got back online everyone was yelling about it, when i read what they did i was in *shock*. like ow. anyways have fun

After being so helpful in rescuing Jabba the Hutt's son, Anakin, Ahsoka and Obi-Wan end up being sent on a mission to help Gardulla the Hutt because Anakin hasn't told anyone about his history with her

Possible reactions from Gardulla:

"Skywalker? I owned a human like that, her brat always caused trouble. Good riddance!"

What if she decides that since he's back in her territory that means he belongs to her again

.....gardulla hears him try to call obi-wan master and tries to buy anakin from him (Gardulla asking if obi-wan is anakin's master and anakin being in such a messed up mental space that he says yes, trusting that Obi-wan won’t let her buy him)

Obi-Wan wondering why Anakin is being so specifically arsey with this Hutt. "Force you're worse with her than you were with Jabba."

"Oh yeah, she bought me and my mother. I think I have a reason to dislike her."

The council meeting afterwards where obi-wan rails on the council...

Obi-Wan suddenly getting a horrible feeling whenever Anakin calls him master because he's known the contexts were different but now it is real and in his face

Like it's a different thing for Obi-Wan to know his padawan used to be a slave compared to looking his padawan's former master in the eye and seeing her current slaves.

Anakin manages to control himself in the throne room but the whole way there and back he can't help worrying that one of the really old lash scars that curls around his shoulder will be noticed, that his identity as a former slave will be exposed

anakin not being able to call obi-wan master on tatooine like. point blank. he starts addressing him as master and just. flinches.

anakin usually wears his heart on his sleeves right?? always shows his emotions, feelings, all that. Well, the closer they get to gardulla's palace the blanker his face gets

Ahsoka calls Anakin master and Anakin just grits out a "Please don't call me that, not here."

Obi-Wan suddenly realising why Anakin comes across as arrogant as times. He's spent his entire life trying to up his value because there's safety in value.

Anakin telling them not to use the name "Skywalker" while they're in the palace

Anakin's accent shifts so entirely to the point where it almost sounds like Obi-Wan's because he's so determined to not slip into old roles

Anakin having to be physically held back from getting into a physical fight. Not even using his lightsaber, he just wants to fight

Or, alternatively, all the fight just going out of Anakin because he knows, here, it'll just make everything worse. So he's almost.... compliant and it freaks everyone out

Ex. from @youngcreativenerdgoddess: Obi-Wan is terrified. His former padawan is the most resigned he’s ever been. He looks so....defeated. A look one would never expect on the vaunted “Hero with no fear”. All the fight was gone from him, and that scared him more than anything else in this force-damned war had.

Obi-Wan actually being the one about to lose his temper and then Anakin just puts a hand on his shoulder and tells him there's no point.

Consider: instead of anakin being angry he was sent on the mission, being resigned because of course he was, he knew Gardulla bes

Anakin comes across as an almost perfect Jedi for once in his life and in the context it is horrifying

Anakin’s report to the council is so matter of fact because he thought they knowingly sent him on the mission because of his past experience with Gardulla

Obi-Wan finds Anakin writing what he thinks is a CV then he sees the numbers next to it and it is his estimated value--"for the gardulla mission, if she finds out who I am she'll try to rebuy me"

After the mission, from @jasontoddiefor: "Failed you, we have," Yoda said, his voice full of grief, and Obi-Wan watched in horror as Anakin only titled his head, for once looking his age and not the years the war has aged him. 

"What do you mean?" Anakin asked, not understanding.

Examples of bits and pieces from this prompt:

Ex. from jasontodiefor: Anakin in the corner of her palace having a breakdown because he remembers memories he had thought gone, his mother's shouting and the tearful begging and the pain, pain, pain and he hadn't meant to break the vase, it had been an accident, please stop it hurts, Mom-

jasontodiefor: "A game of chance." 

"What?" 

Anakin doesn't look up from his hands, doesn't meet Obi-Wan's eyes. He hadn't since they'd arrived here. "I'd still be here like them if not for a game of chance. I'd be worth more than just a few credits too. Force-sensitive, young, good with mechanics, pretty-"

Ex. from Ro: Obi-Wan has never seen Anakin this silent before. There were nights before, when they were both younger, Obi-Wan himself still trying to heal from Qui-Gon's death and Anakin trying to get used to the temple. And Anakin would get quiet, but he was never this stone cold silent. Never this blank. He's so emotional, Obi-Wan's former padawan (his child), so open with his heart on his sleeve. There is none of that here, none of that bright boy. Anakin doesn't fight it, and that is the thing that worries Obi-Wan the most, because when Anakin doesn't like something he fights, he lashes out with teeth and sticks his heels in. But in this, he is resigned. (Anakin doesn't let Ashoka off the ship. She fights and argues but Anakin doesn't move, doesn't joke. He stands firm with it and Obi-Wan watches.

"Master, I—" 

Anakin flinches, "You're staying on the ship, Ahsoka, that's final." She huffs and leaves, and the only thing Obi-Wan can see is how relieved Anakin looks. There is something wrong here, but Anakin has never liked talking about Tatooine, and Obi-Wan has never pushed.) Obi-Wan has never hated a mission more.

Another ex from jasontodiefor: "But-" 

"You're young," Anakin interrupts her sharply. Ahsoka hates it when he cuts her off. It doesn't happen too often, mostly on the battlefield when he's barking orders at everyone. If anything, he lets her speak out of tune more often than he should or other Masters would, but right now his voice doesn't leave any room for agreement. "Young, underage actually, and female, that's the first 10K. Extra five if they don't sell you as inexperienced, and only stupid slavers would do that, but as a virgin."

Ahsoka pales. Anakin's voice is harsh, but there is an almost easy flow to his words, as if he had recited them in his head over and over again. "Force sensitive, that's next. Another 8K regularly, but you're a Jedi, so that's 20K. A Padawan, mind you, but you're a known face next to mine and Obi-Wan's. Obi-Wan would fetch 40 for his status as a Jedi and councilor alone. And you're a Togruta, you sell better than a human girl. I'd add another 6 for that."

You sell better. Not you would, there's nothing hypothetical about this, Ahsoka realizes. Anakin's narrowing down what would happen to her if somebody just managed to grab her lightsabers, to put a collar around her throat and cut her off from all that she had ever known. "Now, that's just your base value," Anakin continues. "You're also a pretty good mechanic and pilot, though the latter makes your flight risk much higher. Given how dangerous you are, let's say 10K. You're a strong fighter, so you could probably get another 8K in the arena, perhaps a little more depending on what planet you're sold on. Your political value also can't be overlooked. You fight at the front and know much more about the war effort as a whole and that's worth much more, probably another 15." Anakin holds up his fingers like he's counting apples and now how much people would be willing to brand her as theirs. "So we're roughly at 70. That's not bad at all. Not as much as Obi-Wan or I would get, but it's more than enough. You're not coming on this mission. End of discussion."

[grittyreadsfic]

hello my friends, one singular person asked for this weeks ago so i’m here with my most unhinged rec list yet: tk and nolan.

now, this one was hard to reign in, so i really didn’t. this pairing had maybe 230 fics in the tag when i first started reading hockey fic, and it’s now over 900, and i’ve read far too many of them, and that makes it so hard to parse it down. so i just...didn't!

so with that said, please enjoy so you want to get into tknp: a beginners guide to a classic case of idiots to lovers

i told myself that i couldn’t rec an author’s entire body of work but then i remembered this is my blog and i do what i want, so i did some consolidating. here’s a list of the quintessential authors for this pairing, you can start at any of their profiles and pick any of their fics at random, and it’ll be one of the best ones for the pairing, hands down.

therainbowsedge: i’d start with the summer camp fic, or the sex toys one, as both beautifully capture the true idiots to lovers nature of this pairing, but just top tier writing all around

manybumblebees: the wedding fic is so tender and port stanley is a classic, but literally pick any single fic and you’ll have a perfect tknp fic. i’m not kidding

jamesvanriemsdick: their tknp fics in their series are some of the hidden gems of this pairing (the tk heartbeat fic makes me LOSE it) but the delaware fic or the seattle fic…..there’s really something for every mood

catchascatchcan: start with era of gods because i could write literal essays on how it’s some of the best fantasy worldbuilding i’ve ever read, but then just read everything else on their account, including non tknp fics. you won’t regret it

hackysack: ao3 user hackysack has written one of two timeloop fics that i absolutely adore, and i thought about just calling that one out in particular, but all of their work deserves the attention

canary: nothing to prove was the first tknp fic i ever read and i was immediately hooked. all of their fics are a good starting place for the pairing, and just really give you a feeling for the pairing

and now, for the fic recs!

to be, despite it all by smudgedfreckles

summary: or, nolan patrick’s gender thesis, by travis konecny.

why i love it: there’s not a lot ofo nonbinary characters in media, even in fic, but this fic’s treatment of nolan and their path to figuring out their gender just feels so real and made me feel so seen. tk’s characterization is also just top notch, and it’s just a super sweet story about two people who love each other

last ones standing by makeit_takeit

summary: If you’re committed to finding your future spouse, reads the last line of the ad, and are ready to look at yourself and your love life in a whole new way, apply now.

At the bottom of the ad there’s a link, and Travis finds his finger hovering over the screen, lip still caught between his teeth.

“I mean,” he says very reasonably, speaking out loud to his empty apartment like some sort of possibly-crazy person, “just applying doesn’t mean anything. Maybe I just fill it out, and see what happens. It’s not like I’m really gonna get picked to be on TV, come on.”

He snorts out loud, just to show his apartment he hasn’t lost his grip on reality or anything; he fully understands how ludicrous that would be.

Then he clicks the link anyway, because yolo or whatever.

why i love it: what part of a married at first sight fic doesn’t make you want to immediately dive right in? the concept is fun, the execution is absolutely flawless, and it captures their dynamic so well while letting it develop naturally

motivation by connectknee

summary: Kevin knows when to back off, the article said. He knows just when to shut up and leave Patty alone, something Travis has never known how to do.

why i love it: the thing i love about this pairing is that tk is loud and in your face, and nolan’s more reserved, a little quieter, a little harder to read. this fic does a really great job of exploring how tk could feel like maybe he’s just a bit too much and is one of my favorites in terms of miscommunication

a tenderness grows by rusesdeguerre

summary: Nolan wouldn’t say that landing a job as the Philadelphia Flyers’ psychotic and probably clinically insane mascot was a childhood dream of his. Maybe tangentially: playing pond hockey in –30°C weather and pretending to be Sidney Crosby is practically a rite of passage when you grow up in Manitoba. That, and experiencing the distinct displeasure that is thousands of mosquitoes sucking your blood out when your father drags you on a father-son camping trip into the backwoods of the northern Canadian Prairies.

why i love it: this was the first fic i recced on this blog, and i stand by that decision. a fic where nolan is not only not a hockey player, but is in fact the person in the gritty suit? absolutely perfect, and so charming from start to finish

meet me at my window by springsteen

summary: Travis has lived in Philadelphia for a few years now, long enough to know there isn’t a major city in America where superheroes don’t destroy an entire city block trying to save humanity or whatever. He can deal with all the super-shit, but Travis did not sign up for getting woken up from a deep sleep because some fucker’s trying to break in through his window.

(5 times the super-villain known as "The Cat" breaks into Travis's apartment, plus 1 time Travis invites him in.)

why i love it: there’s a lot of things to love here, but the concept is just absolutely one of my all time favorite aus ever. it’s fun and charming and the perfect glimpse into a world where heroes and villains exist, and what it’s like just to be a run of the mill kind of guy existing in it. tk and nolan’s back and forth in this make it so engaging, and it’s such a top tier fic

body’s in trouble by cloudsandpassingevents

summary: “Oh, sorry,” someone says. “Didn’t know anyone else was here.”

Nolan freezes, then turns around very slowly. When he looks up, Nicklas fucking Backstrom is standing behind him in a hoodie and baggy sweats, holding the biggest bag of Swedish Fish Nolan’s ever seen in his life in one hand.

“Uh,” Nolan says around the pop tart between his teeth. “Yeah.”

What the fuck, his brain helpfully supplies.

why i love it: from nolan’s inner voice, to the way the author explores all the dynamics within the team, to the way they write the unexpected but actually, it kind of makes sense friendship between nolan and backstrom, is just absolutely fantastic. there’s a lot of moments that circle back and build on each other in a way that really just makes it super compelling

rhizomatic foundations by lighthousetowers

summary: Twenty days after he moves in with Kevin Hayes, twenty days – three months, five months, depending on how you look at it – after not talking to TK, TK shows up at the front door with a plant the size of a basketball in his hands.

TK grins. "Patty, meet Reginald." He lifts up the plant. "Reggie, meet Patty. He's going to be your new - caretaker."

"What the fuck," says Nolan, not moving a single muscle.

Or: That Nolan can hear the plant talk might as well just happen.

why i love it: this is probably my favorite magical realism fic just about ever. it’s fun and charming and a little weird, but in the best possible way. there’s such a wonderful narrative in it, and lighthousetowers always has such beautiful writing, and it really shines in this one. the dialogue and nolan’s characterization are also part of what set it apart for me as one of the best tknp fics

in the dark of any town by mengetpegged

summary: If the voice has an accent at all, it’s a flat prairie Canadian, with none of G’s French-Canadian softness at the edges. But mostly, the accent is just ‘pissed off,’ which TK believes is a default setting for ghosts.

“Who are you?” TK asks, and he doesn’t like how strained his voice sounds, doesn’t like the tinge of anxiety tinting the rise of his question. He tries to regulate his breaths—in through his nose, hold, out through his mouth—but it feels like he’s not getting enough oxygen, which makes him panic even more.

“Someone with a fucking migraine, dickhead,” the voice says. “So keep the lights off and shut the hell up.”

(or: Nolan Patrick, Hotel X Ghost)

why i love it: i’m usually not super into ghost fics, both the spooky kind and the nonspooky kind, but this one is a rare exception. it’s charming and fun and tender and it’s got some of, in my opinion, the best characterization of tk and nolan in any fic. the way the author writes their dynamic and their dialogue is just unmatched

lets_make_this_moment_a_crime.mp3 by honeydripping

summary: Travis meets Nolan at a Midtown show in 2002 when he punches Nolan in the face. He can’t help it, “Like A Movie” just goes off.

But he does feel guilty about it.

or

TK and Patty work at a bakery together. They go to punk shows to pass the time.

why i love it: idk if anyone asked for an early 2000s emo/punk/alt au but wow! i sure am glad it exists! really the vibes of this fic, as silly as that sounds, are absolutely unmatched. i love the structure with the music, the development of their relationship, and just everything about how the author wrote the setting (there’s this whole thing with tattoos in it that makes me feel absolutely insane)

you’re ripped at every edge by you’re a masterpiece by conformityissuicide

summary: “Ugh, look, this yoga teacher has it out for me, man. And I can’t go back there without at least having some of the basics down. I’ve got to win this battle.”

“Yoga isn’t really something you win at,” Hartsy starts.

Travis cuts him off, “You can win at anything if you try hard enough.”

+++

OR that time Nolan's a grumpy yoga teacher and Travis realizes he wants to bone him and prove him wrong about Travis' non-existent yoga abilities.

why i love it: listen, if you want tknp, at least one of them has to be an idiot, and this tk absolutely captures the obliviousness i love to see in him in fic. it’s such a great characterization of them both and such a great concept (and even better execution)

you form a terror pack (and i’m aware of that) by dalmatienne

summary: “Can I help you?” TK snarks, both eyebrows hiked up in a way that has earned her many elbow checks to the ribs.

The chick looks down her nose, long thick eyelashes fluttering. Red-bitten lips part to blow a florid pink bubble and TK can smell the chemical sweetness when it pops.

“Yeah,” she says in this monotonous voice that seems almost at odds with her bubble gum and neon skates. She jams her stopper into TK’s thigh again, literally inches away from where it’d really hurt. “Tie ‘em.”

why i love it: to be honest, i generally don’t read rule 63 within hrpf, but this one is just absolutely knocks it out of the park. the concept (i fuckin’ love roller derby), the characterization of nolan, the pacing, the rituals, the tone of the entire fic, it’s just all around a perfect read from start to finish

thrills and grills by bitter_leaf

summary: Travis can’t even begin to wonder what he did in a previous life to incur the wrath of this fucking cook. Travis thinks he’s a nice person, doesn’t conduct himself in any way that could be considered particularly dickish, and unless this guy has some sort of issue with hockey bros or people from the boonies, he’s not sure how he started shit without even knowing.

__

Patty has a vendetta. Travis just wants to eat his eggs in peace.

why i love it: honestly this is the enemies to lovers fic i’ve been waiting for. i remember seeing the reddit post when it first went viral and thinking it would make such a great fic premise, so stumbling across this one was just so wonderful. super engaging and fun and so hilarious to read!

nothing but room for you by fightingfuries

summary: When his agent tells him he’s going to be traded to the Devils, Nolan isn't sure how he feels about it. Might be easier if he was going somewhere farther away, like California or fucking Florida. Somewhere sun-soaked and foreign. Someplace so different from Philadelphia that he can forget he ever played for the Flyers, forget everything that happened there.

Or Nolan fucks up, gets traded, gets his shit together and falls in love. Not necessarily in that order.

why i love it: i cannot stress to you how much i love trade fics, and this one is one of my absolute favorites. the trade to the devils-so close to philly, still, but there’s more to distance than physical miles-was such an excellent choice and the split timeline adds so much to the narrative, and the emotions are real and messy and complicated in the best way

a couple of runaways (i’m glad you stayed) by overturnedgoal

summary: The person in the video he’s watching is super annoying. Some obnoxious holier than thou granola type who keeps talking about their environmental impact as if they aren’t driving a gas guzzler around, but the basic idea of living in a van, driving around wherever, camping all the time, just going hiking and swimming and seeing the whole country? It sounds pretty dope, honestly.

why i love it: i like to watch tours and conversions of vans/buses into tiny homes as a self soothing method, and this fic has the same impact that watching those do. it’s such a fun concept, and it’s so fuckin’ soft, and the dialouge between tk and nolan is just *chef’s kiss*

all candor and style in the crook of your smile by p3trichor

summary: It’s a photo of Nolan on his knees with someones’ fingers in his mouth, lips slick with spit. Travis flicks by it almost too fast and he’s only got seconds to decide if he wants to screenshot it, if he wants to just give up the ghost right then and there. Except Travis’s phone freezes momentarily and then the group refreshes, sidcros87, Bert59 and 14 others took a screenshot!

It’s gone before Travis even has time to process it and he already wasted his replay of the day on a stupid video of a stupid fish that Hayes caught.

Can you send me that screenshot Travis texts Bertuzzi before he can overthink it, his dick already stirring in his sweats. Tuzzi sends back the cry-laughing emoji and then the screenshot before Travis can be too annoyed at him.

Or, Nolan is being weird about Travis's break-up and TK is maybe not straight.

why i love it: i genuinely don’t think i have words for the amount i love this fic. it took me forever to actually read, but it’s absolutely one of my favorite fics, and it’s an absolutely riot to read. carter’s meddling and the presence of tyler bertuzzi both make it extra fun, in my humble opinion

[lvrexe]

Henloo shrimp! May I request for a fic/hcs (whichever you prefer) on Kisame meeting his fem s/o adopted father for the first time? I thought it will be interesting if the father is also sort of like missing-nin or Kirigakure civilian just like him.

Thankiess🦈

Sooo I added some extra details, I hope you don’t mind..! ^^’’.... but this was honestly realllll fun to write, thank you so much for the request..!!

Kisame x fem!reader Genre: Fluff Point of View: Second POV Word Count: 2.1k

You were a low-ranked criminal born outside a village, roughly on the edge of the Land of Fire. You never really knew your birth parents; you just knew when you were little and starving, a man from Kirigakure took pity on your weak and trembling state. He was supposed to be there for a week, hiding away from the ninja from his home village, but seeing as he couldn’t just leave some starving kid alone in the woods. His moral compass couldn’t allow it, no matter how fucked up it was.

And so, he taught you some of his ways. Nothing too gruesome, just theft and stealth. Things to aid you and your survival. Not like you needed to do much as a kid, the man stayed week after week until the two of you were living on the edge of the borders, tucked away and well hidden by one of several forests.

“Hey! Get back here, you damn thief!” the shopkeeper shouted, waving his fist at you.

You stumbled around the corner before bolting down the streets of Konoha. Glancing behind you, you got a good glimpse at the shinobi who had lept into action. You scoffed and began to speed up. You whipped around corners, dashing down alleyways, anything to throw the shinobi off your track. They were stubborn though, they followed you through everything you did. As you turned another corner, you immediately dipped into a dango shop, wheezing and huffing. Silencing your chakra— just as your father had taught you—, you watched as the shinobi bolted down the streets, looking for you.

Knowing how keen shinobi were, you knew they’d be circling back when they realized they had lost track of you. Unless they decided you weren’t worth their time. Either way, you weren’t risking it. You flicked your hood up and stuffed the stolen foods into your jacket pocket, ignoring how awkward it looked. You took a glance around the shop before spotting two unusual figures in cloaks. One of them seemed to notice your stare and peered his head up; under his woven hat was palesh blue skin and piercing white eyes. He cracked a grin at you, he seemed to be able to read you like a book. He murmured something to his friend whose back was turned to you and after a short wait, the other shifted to the side. Taking the sign to sit, you planted yourself at their table.

That’s how you met the man known as the Tailless Tailed Beast, Kisame Hoshigaki, and his partner, Itachi of the Sharingan. Two S-rank rogue ninjas working in the Akatsuki. It was supposed to be a simple five minute interaction and the only interaction you had with them. But after a conversation started by Kisame, the two realized how useful you could be. Intel. You weren’t that high-ranked of a criminal, a petty thief in the Land of Fire. You’d slip right into the crowds of other villages.

Kisame took an immediate liking to you and Itachi tolerated you. You never paid Itachi any mind, though he came around when you had come back from Iwagakure with specific information on the Four-Tailed Jinchuuriki Kisame was assigned to. After a while, Itachi had warmed up to you a bit.

You were supposed to leave, supposed to head back to the Land of Fire, but Kisame had insisted you continue travelling with them.

“What?” you questioned, raising your brow.

Kisame chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, well, you know, we may need intel again… For other missions,” he replied, explaining his offer.

You crossed your arms and thought back to your family. You were usually the one who got the necessary items. But you assumed your father could easily take care of himself. You looked back up at him. “Alright, sure,” you nodded.

Apparently, Kisame hadn’t even said anything to Itachi, as the Uchiha was confused upon still seeing you travel beside them. If he had any complaints, he never made them known.

You eventually learned that the reason why Kisame was so insistent on you sticking around was not because the two needed intel— in fact, you were only sent out to gather information once more after the first—, but rather Kisame ended up falling for you hard during your travels.

It took you some time to come around, but after a rather… enjoyable night, the two of you decided to try out dating. It ended up working out pretty well. Kisame, despite what his frightening appearance may imply, was a rather gentle lover. His touch was tender, his words were soft whenever he spoke to you, he never raised his voice even in heated arguments. But he’d be damned if he let anyone put their hands on you. He was highly protective, and, as you soon found out, was easily jealous of any man who dared to approach you with the intent of wooing you away with their charm.

It was a strong relationship, the two of you mixed well together, and after a year, you felt ready enough to introduce the man to your father.

“Hey Kisame, we’re headed back to the Land of Fire next month, right?” you asked one night. “Eh? Yeah, Itachi needs to head back for— eh, personal reasons,” he replied to you, shifting his body to face you.

“Do.. Do you think we’ll have time to make a quick stop?”

“Quick stop? What do you need?” he inquired.

“I… I want you to meet my dad.”

Kisame’s breathing hitched and his shoulders tensed. “Er…” he mumbled before turning his back to you in the futon. “I.. I’ll check with Itachi, we might not be able to.”

After that, Kisame avoided the topic altogether. Each time you brought it up, he’d turn his head to avoid your eyes and murmured an excuse or just changed the topic. Eventually, the month came to an end and it was time for the trip back to the Land of Fire. You were annoyed with your boyfriend, to say the least. The trip back was silent, filled with an awkward tension between you and Kisame that Itachi had to bear through.

The moment the three of you crossed the borders, Itachi came to a halt and turned around. His sharp gaze flicked between the two of you before he let out a sigh. “The unresolved issue between you two is bringing me a headache,” he stated simply. “I’m going ahead. You stay and figure out your relationship problem.”

“Eh, but Itachi—”

“I’ll be fine, Kisame,” the Uchiha snapped. He sighed and turned on his heels. “I can handle myself.”

You watched as Itachi left the two of you alone, disappearing into the woods ahead. Once his silhouette was far and out of sight, you wasted no time in turning to Kisame, hands on your hips and glaring a hole deep in the side of his head. “What is wrong?” you angrily demanded answers.

“Me? Nothing!”

“That’s a lie and you know it!” you huffed, “Everytime I bring up my father, you get all weird and it’s annoying.”

You crossed your arms and sulked as a frown grew on your face. You averted your eyes, avoiding his own. “We’ve been dating for a year now, Kisame…” you murmured, “Weren’t you the one who said you wanted something serious?”

“Yes, but…”

“So what’s the issue? You can’t just ignore my family like this,” you sighed.

Kisame grumbled and scratched the back of his neck. Fuck, he hated seeing you like this. He sighed, tempted to reach out before he dropped his hand. “I…” he uttered, “Babe, you know it’s not like that…”

“So what’s the issue, Kisame? Why don’t you want to meet my dad? You’ll have to eventually!”

He took a deep breath and a blush grew across his cheeks. “I don’t… Well, it’s embarrassing, y’know.”

You stopped for a moment, taking in his unusually timid posture. The way he averted his gaze to the ground, tilting his head from yours. Then it clicked. He’s afraid to meet your parents. Once the realization hit, you found it hard to not to laugh. You let out little giggles with attempts to silence them but as you continued on to look upon your embarrassed boyfriend, you couldn’t stop your laughter from bursting out. You clutched your stomach, hunched over and laughed to your heart’s content while Kisame watched in utter confusion and horror.

Kisame Hoshigaki; the Tailed Beast without a Tail and Monster of the Hidden Mist, afraid to meet your father.

The idea was hilarious to you. To Kisame? Not so much.

“He-Hey! Don’t you laugh!” he interrupted your laughing spree.

“Kisame, he’s my dad! He’s not going to do anything to you!”

“It’s not that!” he sighed.

“What if your dad doesn’t like me?” he eventually admitted. “I mean, look at me, y/n, I’m hardly human. I’ve got sharp teeth, gills and I’m a criminal!... Don’t even mention my gray skin…”

Now you felt horrible for laughing. You rubbed his arm and frowned, trying to get him to look at you again. You knew his appearance was an insecurity of his, Itachi being his partner likely increased that insecurity tenfold. “Hey…” you spoke in a hushed tone. Your hands reached up and cupped his cheeks. “Come on, Kisame, you don’t need to worry about any of that, I told you my family doesn’t care about appearances.”

“Yeah, for normal looking people,” he butted in.

“You’re normal, Kisame,” you insisted.

Kisame knew you weren’t going to relent, you never seemed to. He sighed and shook his head. “Alright, alright, fine… Then what about me being a criminal?”

You smiled. “Relax, Kisame… I feel like you and my dad would have a few things in common.”

-

“This… is it?” he murmured under his breath, a little taken aback.

You nodded as you pushed through some bushes. “Yup! Ever since I was a little girl, you know,” you clarified as you slipped into the front yard of the small cabin your father had built years ago.

Kisame stood in front of your home, staring upon the front doors, timid. Shit, he was nervous. His body even flinched as you placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Looks beaten down…” he commented.

You hummed. “It does… Dad’s probably been skipping out on the repairs…” you huffed.

Digging through your pockets, you pulled out your keys and unlocked the door. “Hey, Dad?” you called out the moment you swung open the front doors.

“Y/n?”

A middle-aged man poked his head through one of the rooms. His gloomy face lit up as he laid his eyes on you. “Ah! Y/n!” he called out as he walked out into the main room. “Come in, come in,” he insisted.

You entered the house, ready to embrace your old man, but knitted your brows in confusion as your father stopped and stared behind you. You remembered your boyfriend and turned around. “Hey, Kisame, come on—”

Kisame and your father stared at each other in shock. You glanced between the two, watching their stare-off. “Eh, is that the Monster of the Mist?” your father piped up. “Ehh… what was your name again? Kisame…?”

“Kisame,” he replied, “Kisame Hoshigaki, sir.”

“Ah, yes! I heard about your doings while I was raising young y/n here,” your father murmured. He walked closer to Kisame and leaned into the man, eyeing him up and down, scrutinizing his every action. “But what’s a man like you doing with my daughter?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Dad, quit it. Leave my boyfriend alone,” you said, peeling your dad away from Kisame.

“Eh, he was a student of mine! Allow me to see how my student has grown!” he grumbled at you, but he reluctantly agreed as he made his way back to the table.

Slowly, you turned to your boyfriend. He stepped in and slowly shut the doors behind him. He noticed your stares and let out a short, nervous chuckle. “Heh, yeah… Your father trained me for a year when I was still in Kirigakure… He left because of his crimes…” he quietly explained.

Your father chimed in with a hum of agreement, confirming Kisame’s statement. “Now, come! Sit!” he instructed. When Kisame was taking off his shoes with timid movements, your father groaned. “Now, Hoshigaki!”

“Yes, sir!” your boyfriend blurted out as he quickened his movements, basically bolting over to the table. You sat yourself down beside Kisame and glanced over to your father, who analyzed you and Kisame with little subtly.

His eyes were more focused on Kisame, his eyes shooting daggers into him. Kisame shifted in his spot, visibly uncomfortable. This wasn’t the kind of student-teacher reunion he was expecting. You sighed and smacked the table as your other hand intertwined with Kisame’s. Upon hearing the smack, your father shook his head and quit his glares. He beamed a bright smile and sat up straight. “Now, tell me about this relationship of yours,” your father demanded.

[bloodpenned]

plz plz plz can you write m!whitney skullfucking pc

wordcount: 2.5k (can’t believe this is the first time i write an actual fic on here.) cw: noncon, detailed ero guro / gore porn, eye trauma, drugging, knives, vomit mention, needle mention, degradation, victim blaming.

or: whitney fucks your eye socket and prepares you for the act. don’t read this to upset or trigger yourself, please.

Since all of your holes have been used by others, Whitney makes one for himself.

“Look at you- You can barely keep your fucking head up, slut.”

The voice drifts to you from far away, a figure leaning over the ice you’re trapped under. Where am I?, you ask, but all your vocal cords produce is a gurgle. Your limbs are made of cement and frozen in place. Letting yourself be dragged back into the depths of unconsciousness is much easier than staying afloat. Through trembling eyelids, you barely make out the shape of the person in front of you. Their legs, to be precise. Pain shoots through your scalp and you jolt, finally present enough for the ties around your wrists and ankles to register in your mind, the cold wall you’re leaning against. That it’s Whitney, because who fucking else would it be, yanking you up by your hair. Your tongue still refuses to move. 

“Follow.” His voice feigns disinterest. Yet he keeps shuffling, leaning his weight more on one leg, then the other again. He holds his hand in front of your face, moving it from side to side. Your head is so fuzzy you see no reason to disobey. By the time you’ve caught up with him to the right, he’s already back the other way. Your eyelids droop. He laughs. “God, you’re out of it. Poor you, did I gave you a little too much? You can’t say I’ve ever underestimated you.”

As soon as his grip loosens, your head drops and black dots litter your vision. Drool spills from your mouth. Something bad is about to happen, there’s no other explanation for this. His hands will end up all over your body again. But there’s no chatter of his friends, no flashes of cameras, so different from the usual that you don’t know what to expect. The world fades out, before flickering back in the middle of a sentence.

“...pay me back. Got that? Good.” The hand is back in your hair, keeping you steady. He’s digging around in his pocket. “If you weren’t such a whore, I wouldn’t have to do this. Did you think I wouldn’t see those pictures? Wouldn’t know when my slut’s gagging around someone else? I promised I would beat some sense into you if you didn’t listen, so here we are.”

Whitney’s found what he had been looking for. There’s something in his hand, moving toward your face too quickly to make out. Everything’s so blurry that even while squinting, you can’t immediately tell what it is. You nearly go crosseyed trying to figure it out. A handle clenched in his fist, gray, reflecting surface, ending in a sharp point-

A knife.

“You’re a fucking cumbrain already, but I’ll give you one too.”

You watch the situation unfold from the back of your skull. This is happening to someone else, anyone except you. It’s a movie, and a bad one at that. You can’t pinch your arm to wake yourself up. Whitney had hurt you before, sure, with his bare hands. Never like this. He’s always made fun of Kylar for having to resort to knives, why would he use one now? Is it just a threat? It has to be. Then again, you’re so disoriented you don’t stand a sliver of a chance against him. Your heart hammers against your ribcage, so loud it makes your head throb. The furthest your abilities go is to shake your head and force a whimper from your throat, rubbing your wrists raw on the zip tie. Whitney presses cold steel against your cheek. You try to spit at him, but you can’t put any force behind it. It dribbles down your chin in a slow stream. 

Whitney barks out a laugh. “What the fuck are you, a dog?” The knife digs into your skin, a gentle push away from slicing you open. “Don’t get to get too excited yet, we haven’t even started, slut.” He slides the blade up to your bottom eyelid, leaving a shallow cut. (Your brain is fuzzy. Your cheeks are warm, burning- Are you blushing? Is the wetness rolling down your face a tear?) Your fingers twitch, your teeth grind together, every muscle pulled tight like a bowstring. 

His breathing is laboured, eyes boring into yours, expression blank for a mere moment. Whitney, as you know him from school, is all but empty. He’s of scoffing and snarling, of laughter and grins- This is nothing you recognize. Your gut twists. Every instinct in your body is screeching at the top of its lungs for you to run. At the same time, another part tells you to stay as still as possible, as if you will simply fade out of existence if you don’t move. (But it’s okay, because none of this is real, and you’re at the orphanage in bed curled up under the covers, and you’ll wake up late and rush to get your uniform to not miss the bus and you’ll be fine, you’ll be fine, you’ll be fine-) Whitney’s tongue darts out to trace his upper lip, his fingers turning white around the handle. 

The next, there is a blow of air against your eye before pure, indescribable agony accompanied by a wet squelch. You’re dying, you’re dying, you’re dying, it’s over- Half of your face has been blown off, your brain is exposed for all to see and poke and prod, your lungs collapse with every breath, your throat spasms around vomit. What’s left of your right side of vision is a red and black pulsating blur. The screams, the sole outburst you’re capable of, are mere groans in the back of your throat. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish on land. Blood, sweat, tears, pus, slime- You wouldn’t know. Something oozes down your face, thick mucus, making a mess on your lap. You’re warm, you’re cold, sweat thick underneath your clothes. Everything is wet. Everything is hot.

A hand is on your head, stroking. The sensation dissapears into and becomes one with the pain, the thing that melts everything else away. “There you go, you’re being so good! But I’m not done yet.” He speaks to you in the tone reserved purely for dogs. From the corner of your good eye, you can see him reaching his fist back and pounds it against the handle, your entire world dissolving into nothing as it hits.

When you wake up, you do so to a palpitating heart that’s skipping beats left and right, to a convulsing body, to spit frothing at your mouth and a needle in your leg. The gag in your mouth rubs against your tongue and tastes of sweat. Whitney has discorded the knife, left it at your feet. Your eyeball looks like scrambled egg white on one end, a sloppy mess, and you gag. At one point or another, you will have to come to term with the fact that you’re never going to see from it again.

“Can’t have you leaving before the party’s started.” Your head whips around, the sensation of something sloshing inside your eye socket immediately making you regret it. Wind blows straight into the wound and causes you to ear up. He’s on your right. Somewhere. What you assume to be the syringe falls to the ground with a clatter. There’s no way he isn’t standing there, in the void he created, on purpose. You would’ve preferred to be really fucking dead right now. Let him rape your corpse, at least you wouldn’t have to be there to notice it. Whatever he injected you with, it’s all so much sharper now. The lights are brighter, every little step he takes ringing in your ears, your right eye (or the slurry that’s left of it) aflame. You rock back and forth to shuffle further away from him, but you’re already backed against a wall and the movement makes the blood in your skull slosh alongside it.

“Gotta check if you’re wet enough for me. Thank me later, slut.” Whitney pulls on your eyelashes, the tip of his finger teasing the hole. Once in a while, it dips into the wound, your nerves tingling in anticipation at the near touch. Breath hitching every time, your brain can’t comprehend what’s exactly happening to you. Your heart pounds in your ears, your limbs keep twitching against your will. Now that you can, you want to struggle, but you’re so scared of that pain, terrified that he could choose to take the other one as well.

All you want is for this to be over. You just want to be home. As flawed of a home it is, it’s still the one place you can think to return to. (Robin will be there, waiting for you. They always have. Could you still keep up with them during games, now that you’re like this? Bailey’s presence, suffocating as it is, at least keeps you safe from intruders. How pissed off are they going to be, now that you're a damaged ware?)

“Can’t you sit still for one fucking second? You wanna know what it feels like when I slip so badly?” Your head jerks to the side against your will, foot hitting his ankle. “I guess you do, huh? But, fuck- You keep writhing around, maybe I should give the needy whore what they want. You’re soaked, that’s for sure.”

Whitney pulls away, his fingers coated a pale red. Using your hair as a rag, he smears the fluids in it, tugging on it once for good measure. He takes a step back, descends back outside your field of vision. There’s the rustling of fabric, unbuckling of a belt, a zipper being undone. You begin to plead through your gag, repeating muffled, incomprehensible words, because please, anything but this, not right now, not ever, hasn’t he done enough, isn’t he satisfied, he’s already ruined you enough, please, just please-

“It’s cute you think you have a choice.”

There’d been a nagging suspicion in the back of your head that it would come down to this. Every meeting with Whitney would end up leading down the same path, but this time... You choke on your breaths, chest heaving with sobs. With every shock of your shoulders, more heat leaks out of your eyes, your entire face turning into one throbbing mess. You squeeze your eyes shut. (There’s no way you can move the right eyelid, the knife has torn straight through it. All it is now is limp meat, hanging on by a thread.) His dick presses against your cheek. Fucking hell, why does he have to be so big too? There’s ringing in your ears as he leaves a trail of precum, mingling with the mess already there. His scent overpowered by the metallic smell of blood. Why can’t you just pass out again? But you’re still twitching, thoughts racing faster than you can keep track of.

“You’ve been asking for this, don’t try to deny it. I’m not stupid. Well, you’ve got my attention now. You better be grateful.” He misses the first time, the head of his dick rubbing against your eyebrow. Whitney curses underneath his breath. Trembling fingers tug your eyelids as far apart as possible and you hate it, you hate this so fucking much, you want someone to come by here to save you, you want to sink through the floor, you want to die.

He sucks in a breath through grit teeth, and hits his mark. You’re not sure how much he crammed inside your skull, but all of it was too much, too cruel. The screaming is clear through your bounds, raking your throat raw. Whichever way you move, his cock stays lodged in between the bone. The muscles snap and tear, the bones crack, the flesh, like the tight fit that it is, clings around his dick, and he groans as he pushes himself further inside. An impossible amount of more fat and mucus and slime comes free, clogging your nose. The back of your head slams against the wall with every movement, but it doesn’t hurt, doesn’t compare. 

There’s nothing else. There can be nothing else. Your mind is full and empty at the same time. He’s all you can think about, he’s fucking the memory of him into your brain, leaving his permanent mark. Is this what he wanted? You’re being dissected, pulled apart, the creases of your brain violated. He’s saying things, (tight, mess, slut, enjoying, loud.), but he’s pulling out and the scrape of the warm flesh makes the scenery blur. Your throat feels like it was pulled across sandpaper.

The pressure dissipates and you cry in pure relief. But, a moment later, he’s back in and down a slightly different path at a slightly different angle and there’s more snapping, more gushes of fluid. The only thing that will ever fit there again will be him. The perfect little cocksleeve. He’s pushing up against something and you don’t know what, but every time he twitches and brushes against it, your entire vision blacks out. Where the pain reached a crescendo before, it’s turned around to be almost numbing now. Are your nerves torn up? Are you dying?

“Open your mouth. Wait, fuck-” He’s breathless, stuttering over his words. His dick twitches and scrapes against bone. Trembling fingers remove the gag from your mouth. If this were literally any other situation, you might have been almost proud to have turned him into such a wreck. “Stick your tongue out and it’ll be over. Done.”

You latch onto those words like a lifeline. No matter how it ends, you just want it to be over. Without much more than a second of delay you do as he asks, your good eye rolling up to try and look at him. Considering how full your head is, you hardly notice the strings of cum being added to the pool, until some of it leaks through your nose and onto your tongue. He puts one hand on your head, shaking it until more follows. (Though his cum isn’t the only thing there.)

Strings of blood and slime stick to his dick like drool as he pulls out. You hate him. You hate yourself. You hate this fucking town, and you hate every piece of shit in it. Your brain is a cacophony of screaming, of visions of growing fangs and claws and tearing him to shreds, of burning this whole town down. All you do is stare up without really looking, eyes glazed over. You’re tired, so unbelievably tired. All you want to do is rest, even if it’s while bleeding out in some shitty alleyway. His voice drifts to you from far away, smile clear in his tone.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

An eye for an eye has never sounded so appealing before.

[veliseraptor]

So this is in NO WAY PRESSURING, get to this whenever you're bored and have nothing better to do, but I (have still not watched The Untamed) would love to hear any disorganized rambles around your fic 'Punitive Measures', like your thoughts while writing it, how you view Xue Yang's fight/flight/freeze instinct, and/or where you would take the plot if you ever came back to it (again, not pressuring, I'm not asking for a sequel, I'm asking for director's commentary. Also I know the mysterious flute was implying Wei Wuxian, I know that much and not much more.) It's a really fun, quick fic that I enjoy reading through while I keep circling around your longer, more intimidating stories. I aspire to write like you.

oh boy, well, I don't know that I ever have nothing to do but here I am answering this ask anyway, because I like talking about my fic even if I get self-conscious about it.

this entire fic falls solidly into the genre of fic I write that is legitimately just “I’m gonna fuck up this character I love because it’ll be fun and I love to do that” and then just kinda...went for it. actually harder than I was initially planning! my vague sense of what I was going to do with this fic didn’t have Xue Yang down an eye at the end of it.

but when inspiration strikes, what’s a girl to do, etc.

I actually thought recently about writing a sequel to this fic (or, well, continuing into the AU it started, more like) because the concept of Wei Wuxian and Xue Yang being bloodthirsty vengeance brethren is a very good one for me, personally, and at the point their paths would be intersecting in this AU a more plausible one than it would be at pretty much any other time (I would argue, at least in CQLverse). And that’s where I think this would be going. Because Xue Yang would see Wei Wuxian, in his bloodiest frame of mind, powered up with a gorgeous flute of bad vibes and go “fuck yes” even if he wasn’t in a place where he really needed the help.

The question I had was whether Wei Wuxian would be interested in accepting company, and I feel like Xue Yang on that front could be convincing. And the way that the latter would both enable and egg on all the former’s darkest fantasies and impulses...I’m just saying, Wen Chao and everyone he has ever known is in for a very bad time, possibly even worse than they already were.

I invite you to picture in this AU the part where Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji find not just darker and edgier Wei Wuxian at the end of their scavenger hunt but darker and edgier Wei Wuxian with a friend. A familiar friend! Now down an eye and practically picking his teeth with Wen Chao’s finger bones. :D

since you asked for disorganized rambling I went back to reread and I’ll give you some director’s commentary on a few things

And he’d kind of hoped Wen Ruohan would be too busy figuring out how to deal with his brewing war to dedicate much attention to looking for one absent retainer. And even if he did, Xue Yang had sort of figured that finding him would fall to Wen Chao, who’d probably struggle to find his own ass with two hands.

kicking off this director’s commentary with Xue Yang’s brutal assessment of the competency of Wen Chao.

tbh one of my favorite things about CQL’s involving Xue Yang in the whole Sunshot storyline, despite the merry hell it plays with timeline stuff later, is how obviously little regard Xue Yang has for the Wens, even when they’re at the height of their power. He shows Wen Ruohan himself very little respect, and I can’t imagine anyone else getting more (except maybe Wen Qing, because Wen Qing is competent and if nothing else Xue Yang can respect competency).

and he just like. ditches them. walks out! promises to deliver very powerful magical artifact, and then gets what he wants and is like “smell ya later, peace” and they never catch him.

that’s just a kind of gutsiness and casual disregard for very powerful people that I really both love and respect about Xue Yang. and also that he has in common with Xiao Xingchen, tbh. and Song Lan (though him I think to a slightly lesser degree, partly because he has a little more tact and sense of societal norms as something relevant to be thinking about)! they can all vibe on that.

They took Jiangzai. Well. One of the Wen disciples took Jiangzai in the stomach and Xue Yang didn’t get it back.

this isn’t an important line or anything. I just like it a lot.

Wen Chao gestured again and he went down in a hail of fists and feet. Xue Yang tucked his chin down to protect his throat, curled his hands into his chest, and drew up his knees to guard his stomach.

He knew how this worked. Sure, it’d been a while since someone had beat him like this, but the lessons stuck. It was almost boring, really. If Wen Chao was going to play torture games then he could at least do Xue Yang the favor of trying to be creative.

He checked out the part of his brain that registered pain as anything other than a thing that was happening and focused instead on opportunities. Weaknesses in his assailants. Escape routes. Getting away would be the first thing. Nice if he could take a piece of Wen Chao with him on the way out - arm, or maybe even a head - but the priority was freedom and survival.

okay, this I feel like cuts into some of what you were talking about regarding Xue Yang’s fight/flight instinct, and also a lot of what if, I was feeling pretentious, I feel like this fic is digging into on a level under “what if I just tortured Xue Yang a whole bunch,” which is something about the relationship Xue Yang has to (a) pain and (b) his own body. Specifically, the relative indifference he has toward both. Or...not indifference, exactly, because it’s not like he’s enjoying himself, it still hurts. It’s just...expected.

unremarkable.

which is a lot of what I was trying to convey with Xue Yang’s narration during the whole torture sequence, with the commentary on methodology and how things are mundane or boring, because the suffering itself is mundane! as far as Xue Yang is concerned that’s exactly what suffering is! other peoples’, for sure, which is part of why it doesn’t matter, but also his own.

the world hurts and that’s just how it is and you learn how to cope with that. pain as...a thing that [is] happening.

I also, since you mentioned the fight/flight instinct, think a lot about how Xue Yang is, while he’s very proud and very stubborn, absolutely not someone to pick fights (in general) that he knows he can’t win. Xue Yang will almost always be on the side of “run and come back another day” over “stand and fight when all is lost.” survival, first and foremost.

which feeds into the weird paradox that I kind of hint toward at the end of this fic about Xue Yang as someone who has a definite death drive, who is profoundly obsessed with his own death in a lot of ways, and simultaneously is attached to staying alive above pretty much all else.

“Snap and snarl all you want,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere. And the only part of you I need intact is your tongue, so you can tell me where you hid the Yin Metal you promised. Everything else is optional.”

A prickle of fear rolled down Xue Yang’s spine and he flicked it away, baring his teeth.

I actually do think that, even before they get around to hand-specific trauma, permanent mutilation is one of those things that still scares Xue Yang. which is a short list! there isn’t much that actually either gets to or scares him, but I think the prospect of (further) mutilation does, because I think Xue Yang is very...acutely aware of the fact that his physical capability is a major factor in what has kept him alive and what, in all likelihood, is going to keep him alive moving forward. anything that threatens that capability, that limits him in terms of strength or mobility or otherwise has a disabling effect, is consequently going to be a short road to death, and Xue Yang would much rather die painfully fighting than die as a consequence of not being able to take care of himself.

for Xue Yang, the idea of a return to the kind of helplessness that is tied to his trauma is one of the worst possible prospects to contemplate. in my head this is exacerbated further by the fact that I figure Xue Yang didn’t get much if any medical care post hand incident, meaning that the recovery period was absolutely nightmarish and a whole stretch of time beyond the event itself where Xue Yang was struggling to survive because he’d been damaged.

in some ways I think that period of time probably did more to shape Xue Yang than the moment itself.

Wen Chao grabbed one of the branding irons from a disciple’s belt and pressed it to his stomach. That hurt. More. He clamped his back teeth together so he didn’t make any sound, absorbed the burn, owned it. His. You only hurt if you were alive. And anything you survived made you stronger.

Not that this was actually going to make him stronger. It was probably just going to make him dead. But then again, the worse this went the more resentment he’d have built up. He could use that. Would.

Dead didn’t have to mean finished.

obviously this is pulled almost direct from what Wei Wuxian himself says to Wen Chao. deliberate echoes based on character parallels! we love those.

and yeah, again here about Xue Yang and his relationship to pain, but in a less mundane way this time where it’s about pain as a tool, pain as something he can use. which is another thing about coping, I think - when pain and suffering are a regular part of your life, one way to deal with that can be to convert it into having some kind of purpose or benefit.

which in this case it definitely can. Xue Yang is definitely someone who, I think, has thought a lot about trying to arrange it so he becomes a ghost after he dies. or at least has thought a lot about what he’d do after dying to the person who killed him. 

and when you’re a necromancer by trade death really isn’t the end of the line anymore, just the start of a something new. Xue Yang’s relationship to life itself: about as jacked up as his relationships in general.

He felt the snap of bone in his teeth. Pain shooting up the side of his hand, all the way to his wrist, and Xue Yang couldn’t keep himself still enough not to try to wrench himself away. He swallowed his scream and turned it into a laugh. It was funny, wasn’t it? Funny, that he was back here, again. It wasn’t as bad, though. He knew how to take pain, how to breathe it in, make it part of himself, later turn it outwards magnified tenfold. They were old friends. Practically lovers. 

two things here:

1. the thread throughout this fic of Xue Yang making things funny so he can deal with them, here brought to you by reliving trauma! because it’s funny! right? laugh about it! just fucking hilarious.

I have a thing about characters basically deciding for themselves to make very unfunny situations funny because it makes them less awful.

2. and look, now he can deal with it better this time! he’s Learned. :) :) :)

Everything splintered. Splintered like bones under a wheel, and first thing he tried to struggle to get away but that just hurt worse and then old old old instincts kicked in and he went still, limp, dead.

“Did he faint?”

Someone nudged him with their foot. One part of him roared to grab that foot and rip it off along with the leg it was attached to. Immediately the same thing that’d made him play dead told him to wait.

at an end point where fighting is impossible and running is also impossible, the only thing left to do is play dead and wait it out. this is very much, in my head, a reversion to a tactic Xue Yang hasn’t used in a very long time and does not want to be using now, because it is absolutely the recourse of the extraordinarily helpless with no way out.

which he has been! and is now, but he really really really doesn’t want to be. Xue Yang has built his life around not being that, ever again.

but here it’s not a move he makes planning to turn it around the way he does, not at first. he gets there, but when he first does it I think it is literally just instinct that goes enough is enough and shuts down.

Wen Chao, Wen Chao, Xue Yang thought. My body’s going to give out before I do.

someone should remind me at some point maybe (or not) to write something coherent about my Xue Yang vs. his own body thoughts. specifically the way that, while Xue Yang is very physical and very grounded, I think he has a somewhat antagonistic relationship with his own body, actually. not completely! he definitely respects what it can do for him! but I think he also treats it a little as a slightly separate entity that’s capable of betraying him rather than as a fully integrated part of himself.

not always! but it’s a little bit there. this idea that sometimes his body, and its capacity to be hurt or damaged, is a weakness that he’d like to be able to forgo entirely, if only it wouldn’t mean losing all the good things about having a body. and that’s present here in this line, for me, where he thinks about himself and his body as slightly separate, and his body as something weaker than its Xue Yang core.

[words-etched-in-her-skin]

Cuddling with Sal that turns from her kissing your neck to biting all over you until you beg for her touch. Please.

I.... had wayyyy too much fun writing this one, dear  😏 So, thank you 😊 It was truly honor to not only get the okay, but the approval of the incredibly talented @classyfruit to write for this soft, snarky, and insanely gorgeous creature! I can only hope that I did her justice!  ♥️ So, without further ado, my dears.. I give you my first genderbent Sal fic! (at just about 3300 words - this deserves a cut!)

****

It was in the murky undertow. In the infinite darkness that filled the waters on the humble outskirts of the village. An absolute starless night enveloping you as you made your way to the water’s edge, keeping your eyes keenly focused. It had been months since you’d seen her last. Since her sea-kissed skin last touched your own. You had ignored all the rumors and hateful words that danced across the stale air of the village. It was no secret that the Lords instilled a great fear in the sheltered minds of the townspeople, but you had learned a long time ago that most of those people didn’t know what they were talking about anyways. 

“Fuck, Sal.. Come on. Where are you?”

You were about to turn around, admit defeat and start the long trek back to the village when it hit. The unmistakable mix of fresh rain and cinnamon. It wafted over you warmly like an old friend, forcing your eyes to focus even harder. Smiling as you caught the sharp gleam of her teeth in the moonlight. A supremely smug smirk across her lips as the length of her rose from the dark water. 

“‘Ey there, love. Lookin’ for me?”

“No, I’m looking for the other gorgeous sea creature that resides in these waters.” You replied, smirking as you rolled your eyes.

“That right?” Her sharp teeth elongating in the moonlight as her smile grew even wider. “What? One gorgeous sea creature ain’t enough fer yeh?” 

“Cute, Sal.”

“Mhm.”

You heard the soft whisper of a chuckle skip across the cool night air as Sal began to close the distance between you. The exposed parts of her skin shimmering as her body seemed to glide seamlessly towards the water’s edge. One who didn’t know any better, would think she controlled the tides, that they bent to her every will. But you knew how strong the tentacles that propelled her towards you were, and you knew it well - so well, in fact, that the thought alone brought a swift blush to your cheeks. 

“Blushin’ already, love?”  

She gave you a full toothed smile, wrapping you in a warm embrace before her feet even had a chance to meet the wet earth. Her strong pheromones, supremely intoxicating as they rolled over you. 

“Shush.” 

Her breath was cool against your skin as she chuckled. 

“Nah.”

“Heh.. little ol’ me?” 

Burying your face into her shoulder, you allowed yourself a moment to linger in her scent - to relish in her very being. She was comfortable in a way that no other person had ever been - she felt like home and adventure, all wrapped up into one delicious package,

“Fuck.. I missed you, Sal.” You murmured into her, pulling a low chuckle from her throat.

She ran the tips of her nails softly through your hair, pulling you closer.

“Yes, Sal. Little ol’ wonderful you.”

You leaned up, to place a soft kiss directly under her chin, forcing a prompt shiver to shoot across her body. The pale moonlight above you, just luminous enough to allow the pink hue that splashed across Sal’s cheeks to shine brilliantly. It was a sight that you would never grow tired of - one that you would always strive for. You could make Sal Moreau blush a million times over, and forever be one short. 

“Aye, flatterer.” 

“It isn’t flattery if it’s true, Sal.” 

“Mh.. ‘spose not.”

She chuckled again, her breath warm against your neck - causing you to shudder against her. Not even aware of the cold setting into your bones as a dense fog rolled in. Sal’s presence never failing to envelope you completely. You shuddered again, this time involuntary, compelling her to wrap her arms around you even tighter. 

“Cuppa tea, love? Warm yeh up a bit?”

“Mmh.. you read my mind.” 

She rubbed her hands affectionately down your arms, attempting to warm you before taking your hand in hers. Leading you both away from the water’s edge and closer inland towards her humble home - a subtle swirl of smoke from the fireplace told you that she had likely recently baked something. A splattering of flat rocks in the foreground that were perfect for stargazing - or so Sal had assured you many times. And you couldn’t help but smirk when you passed them by. 

“Too bad there’s no stars out tonight.” 

“Mh.. ’cept fer the ones in yer eyes, o’ course.”

You blushed as she looked over her shoulder at you, deep crimson across your cheeks.

“Smooth, Sal.”

“Mhm.”

She chuckled again, opening the small wooden door as she led you into the small home. The comfortable scent of fresh baked goods and Sal swiftly enveloping you as you stepped inside. Warm undertones of chocolate still lingering in the air as you made your way into the kitchen. There wasn’t a single thing about Sal’s home that didn’t give you comfort - that didn’t make you feel inherently safe. Every part of it overflowing with her essence.  It was warm, and inviting, and every bit of who Sal was. You wondered how anyone who’d met her could ever call her a monster. 

“Hava seat on the sofa, sweetheart. I’ll put the kettle on.” 

You watched how Sal’s body moved fluidly throughout the small room. How her muscles flexed with each subtle movement that she made. She dropped her coat from her bare skin effortlessly, allowing the landscape of it to be truly appreciated. A small smirk to her lips as she caught your eyes on her, fully aware of the effect she was having on you. There wasn’t a single part of her that wasn’t toned, that didn’t look absolutely delicious in the low lighting of the room. The warm hue from the fireplace dancing exquisitely across each and every exposed inch of her, like rogue embers upon a driftless sea. 

“Heh… see sumthin’ yeh like, love?”

“Perhaps,” You replied, blushing slightly as you bit your bottom lip. 

She chuckled softly as she took down a small box from her pantry, placing it next to the two cups on the table. 

“New kind of tea? I haven’t tried that one before;.”

“Aye, not so much new. Jus’ special..” She paused, giving you a wink. “.. like you.” 

You averted your eyes for a moment, blushing as Sal chuckled - never failing to disarm you. 

“Always the charmer, Sal.”

“Mhm.”

She laughed as she shook her head, swirls of steam encasing her face as she filled both mugs to the rim. An earthy but delicious scent immediately rolling over you. The name on the box was unfamiliar - and honestly, seemed a little fancier than Sal’s normal tastes, which only left you wondering.

“So.. do tell, Sal… what makes this tea so special?”

“Yeh mean other than the fact that I’m drinkin’ it with you?” A keen smirk across her face as she stirred what looked like honey into each cup. She was on her game that night, and she knew it. You bit your bottom lip, clearing your throat before replying. 

“Ahem… yes, other than that.”

“Heh.. jus’ so happens to be my favorite kind.. but it’s only found in a small shop o’ the other side of the village. So Donna brings me a box whenever she visits.” 

You felt a sharp pang in your heart as your eyes fell to the almost empty box on the table - immediately wondering how long ago that had been.

“Oh.. does she not visit you very often, then?”

“Ey?” 

Sal looked confused as she caught the melancholic look upon your face, a large and husky laugh ripping from her body as her eyes followed your gaze. 

“Aye, no.. she visits me once a week, hon.. I just really like tea.” 

She laughed again, filling the small home with so much warmth that it was all you could do to chuckle along with her. A bright gleam to her eyes as she gave you a fond smile. 

“Yer cute, love.” 

“Hush, Sal.” You blushed.

“Nah… yeh’d think after so many months, youd’ve gotten used to me by now.”

You slowly stood from the sofa, meeting Sal as she came over to the quaint living area. A teasing grin across her lips as she stopped in front of you  - raising an eyebrow as you smirked.

“Oh? So you think it’d only take a few months for someone to be used to an incredible, warm, charming, sweet, funny, smooth, insanely attractive goddess, such as yourself?” 

You smirked proudly as you watched the fierce blush spill swiftly over her cheeks, a slight bite to her bottom lip as she did her best not to drop the two mugs in her hands. 

“Aye… now who’s the charmer?” 

“You deserve nothing less, Sal Moreau.” 

Sal moved suddenly and without much warning. Placing the two cups on the coffee table before effortlessly pulling you both down onto the sofa. Her strong arms wrapped firmly around you as you settled onto her lap. 

“Fancy a cuddle?” She asked with a wide grin, forcing you to laugh.

“You’re cute, Sal.”

“Mhm.”

You laughed again before snuggling into her, the gentle feeling of her fingers in your hair as nestled into the crook of her neck - humming with content as she placed a small kiss to your forehead. You wondered how many had been in your spot before, how many had been lucky enough to bask in the warm affections of this gorgeous sea creature - and if any of them had appreciated it as much as you did. 

“Sal?” You asked softly, the tips of your fingers tracing gently over the muscles of her forearm. 

“Mh?” 

“Have... you ever been in love?”

You almost expected the question to catch her off guard, perhaps cause her to pull back a bit - but she only tightened her hold on you even further.

“Aye.. a few times, yah.”

“And?”

“Eh..  with some, time jus’ gottaway from us.. others jus’ lost interest.”  

“Ah... And the rest of the Lords?” 

She placed a small kiss to the top of your head before answering. 

“Heh.. Alcina has had several who’ve caught her eye.. Her current handservant and companion bein’ my favorite, tho. And Donna… why she could ‘ave any maid or maiden she wanted, tho she’ll never see it.” 

“And Heisenberg?” 

A deep and boisterous laugh rose from Sal’s body, the rich tones of it dancing melodically throughout the air as she almost doubled over into you.

“Karl loves himself enuf on his own, love.” She replied, continuing to laugh.

You chuckled softly before placing a small kiss at the base of her neck, a slight hitch to her breath as your lips placed another. Her indulgent pheromones sweeping over you with each deep breath that she took. They were sea-kissed and spiced and everything that reminded you of Sal. You placed another kiss against her bare skin before snuggling back in.

‘Hey Sal?”

“Mh?”

“Those others that lost interest.. they were fools, you know?”

“That so?”

You could feel the low chuckle that radiated throughout her throat.

“Mhm.” You replied as you began to reposition yourself, eventually straddling her thigh. A light pink hue already splattering itself across her cheeks as you settled in. The feeling of her incredible body pressed firmly against yours swiftly igniting a fire deep within your core. “You’re fucking perfect, Sal.”

You felt her flinch slightly beneath you, her hands moving quickly to rest on your hips as you moved in a little closer.

“And so gorgeous.. and kind.” 

A slight whimper upon her lips - a deep crimson on her cheeks - the exposed skin of her chest growing steadily more flushed as you leaned in further, wrapping your arms around Sal’s neck. 

“So sexy.. and wonderful.”

The stunning blush that spilled so beautifully across the murky undertones of her skin, the slight bite to her lip. There was nothing that could rile you up faster - nothing that could make you wetter. - than the absolute fluster of Sal Moreau.

A deep hitch within her throat, a breathy whisper across her ear. 

“And so delicious.” 

You felt several parts of her move at once. Her arms wrapped securely around your waist - pulling you closer. Her thigh pressed firmly against your core - forcing a lightning bolt of pleasure straight across your body. The sharpness of her teeth - nipping at your supple flesh - ripping a prompt whimper from your lips.  

“Speak fer yerself, love.”  She replied, allowing the length of her tongue to lick over your freshly bitten skin.

“Mmph.. fuck, Sal.” 

She nipped at you again, this time sucking over it. The soft rhythm of her thigh against you, making you all too grateful for the thin fabric of your stockings. Warm juices quickly gathering in your core as your wetness for her grew with each slow rock of your hips. 

“I was trying to fluster you here, babe.”

“Heh… how’s that going fer yeh, sweetheart?” 

She pressed her thigh into you even further, compelling a deep moan from your body. Another indulgent bite to your neck - the heated sting of it swiftly spilling over you.

“Ah-! It was going good for a minute there.” 

“Mh.. it was.” 

The exquisite shiver that ran across your body as she placed a kiss to the soft curve of your collar bone. Fingers wrapped firmly in her hair as you eagerly pulled her closer - a desperate and silent plea for more. 

“Don’ wanna leave too many marks on yeh, love. What’ll the villagers think?” 

“Fuck the villagers.”

“Nah..  rather fuck you.” 

She chuckled as her thigh pressed firmly into your core, moaning slightly as she felt the heartbeat of it against her. Your warm juices dripping down - seeping into the soft scales of her skin. An immediate and absolutely desperate moan forcing past your lips as you ground your hips down into her. Her warm breath against the flushed skin of your neck as she tangled her fingers deep into your hair, tugging on it as she gently pulled it back. A trail of heated kisses up the length of your neck, nipping at your jawline before her lips crashed into your own.  

You whimpered as you melted into her - into nothing more than the feeling of her - the utter and all encompassing sensation of her tongue dancing exquisitely with yours. And oh, how the world spun - how it rotated intoxicatingly around you - lifting you onto one axis with only Sal to hold you up. It was almost more than you could handle. With your core deliciously grinding against her. A deep heat building steadily within you as your hips slowly quickened their pace. 

“I want to touch you, Sal.. I need to-!”

She moaned deeply as her mouth eagerly met with yours again, pulling you back in. A swift movement of her hand, taking your own as she brought it down exactly to where you both wanted it most. Moaning in return at the feeling of just how utterly wet she was - at just how badly she desired you. Juices immediately coating your fingers as you slid them over her clit, teasing her entrance before sliding three in. An exquisite hitch to Sal’s breath as you curled them deep inside of her.

“Mmh.. Fuck, love..”

She lifted her thigh up a little more, resting her food on the coffee table.  Her hands firmly on your hips as she perfectly matched their pace to the steady rhythm of your fingers. A deep heat spilling over you - a desperate need for more. Rolling your hips down onto her as your wet folds slid deliciously around the defined muscles of her thigh. Every inch of her taut - firm beneath you as she pulled you closer still. Her hands moving - roaming over your body as if it were a handwritten map of the stars. The tips of her fingernails grazing over the soft skin of your ribcage.. ghosting over your nipples and down your sides. Crying out for her as the sharpness of them found your back, slightly digging in as you increased the speed of your fingers. 

“Mh.. you feel so good, love.”

“You are so good, Sal.”

Her hips jerked, whimpering at your praise. A shot of pleasure shooting straight through you as your bodies connected - as they desperately crashed into each other - clawing at the other’s flesh like it was all that you had. Like you may lose each other at any moment. 

“And so sweet.” 

You placed the softest kiss to her lips, thrusting your fingers deep inside of her. Your own pleasure building with each masterful swirl of your hips - the firmness of Sal’s thigh delicious against your core - juices soaking straight through your stockings, dripping down the sides of it.

“Fuck, love.. I’m..”

The great Sal Moreau, the smoothest creature in existence - not even able to finish a sentence - to mutter a quip. Completely and utterly flustered beneath you.  Her normally strong breath hitched, her cheeks a deeper crimson than you’d ever seen before. Slitted embers as her eyes grew increasingly half lidded. You had never seen her look more beautiful - and you felt bad for anyone who wasn’t there to witness it. 

“You’re what, Sal? Hm? Stunning? Amazing? Perfect?”

You punctuated each praise with an indulgent thrust of your fingers. Her nails in your back, muffled moans against your skin as she sunk her teeth back into your soft flesh. An unrelenting heat sweeping over you with each delicious sting that marked it’s way across your body. Her hands back on your hips as she sped up their pace to match your own. Fingers strong , merciless inside her - forcing the sweetest juices to gush from her core. Body flushed, writhing against her as you moved as one. 

“Come with me, love.”

The words lept from her tongue like a prayer - like an order that had been rolled up in nothing more than a desperate plea. 

“Mmph-! Fuck, Sal.”

The heat between you was electric - charged in a way that you had never felt before. Beads of sweat dripping deliciously from your bodies as your pleasures continued to build.. as your fingers curled.. as she took your hips into her hands and forced your aching core down against her. Compelling a cry to rip itself from your lungs. Bodies jerking as a hot white pleasure spilt relentlessly over the both of you. Breathless, shuddering into each other as a tidal wave of it crashed over you…  as utter bliss seeped into every cell that you had to offer… as you screamed her name out into the starless night - willing her to scream out yours in turn. Juices gushing - slicking over thighs, and dripping down fingers. And you held each other closely, riding out the infinite stars behind your eyes until neither could move..  until your hearts were beating as one. Your forehead resting gently against hers as you placed soft kisses to her dew stricken skin. 

‘Fuck, Sal.. I missed this. I missed you.”

“Heh.. jus’ havta come back sooner next time, yah?” 

“Touche’.” You chuckled, placing a sweet kiss to her lips. Her eyes closed as she tried to steady her breath. “So does that mean you won’t mind if I spend the night?” 

“Bold o’ you to assume I planned on lettin’ go anytime soon, love.” 

As though to prove a point, she wrapped her arms securely around you. The strength of her embrace holding you close as you settled back onto her lap, snuggling into her. The nightly sounds of the reservoir soothing as they swam throughout the late night air - calming as they softly drifted over you. Allowing the two of you to linger in the solace of the moment - in the feeling of nothing but each other - before Sal safely carried your slumbered body to the bed.

Xx

[blooeyedtroll]

Home on the Range

Rated PG-13ish Lolz. For occasional cussing and maybe innuendos(?). Lolz. This can also be read on Ao3. Feel free to read it there if you prefer.

More art scattered though out this fic, hope you like it!

Hello friend! Welcome!  

This is a One shot fic that takes place in mine & @messybitch802 ​‘s : 

Efflorescence AU. 

This is the beginning of our tale, I hope you enjoy.

This is in Hickory���s POV. I thought this would be a fun way to introduce Bloo and Messy. It also seemed fitting since Hickory will play a larger part as our tale unfolds.

However, I’d like to think this could be enjoyed as a fun one-shot Hickory & Dickory fic as well. This fandom needs more Yodel Brothers content!

Big thanks to @jade-green-butterfly ​ and her random ask that kicked my butt in gear, giving me the inspiration to finally start writing:

Anyway, let’s get to it. Enjoy!:

HOME ON THE RANGE

"Rock Trolls... no doubt about that.”

The rugged, orange haired Troll put down his hammer and stepped away from the task at hand. Fence work could wait. This needed his immediate attention.  Around this time of day he'd expect to see, at most, a tumbleweed passing by the entrance to the Ranch. Maybe. Nobody ever came out this way. Not since he'd been here anyway. At a good clip, it was about an hour trek away from Lonesome Flats. Which suited his needs perfectly.

The perfect place to lay low and still blend in.

"Bist du sicher?" whispered a muffled voice behind him.

"Of course I am. Now hush, I'm gonna check it out. Stay in character. An’ be ready, just in case."

The orange haired Troll patted the front of his jeans, freeing them of a satisfying amount of dust from the day’s hard work and checked his reflection in a nearby trough. Grinning as he placed a straw of wheat that was kept in the brim of his hat; between his teeth.

Perfection.

Who would guess otherwise, that the reflection in that water, was anything but a genuine Country Troll?

It took a lot of work shopping, trial and error, but he did it.

Well, they did it. The four legged, rugged, handsome, Country Troll was in actuality...two Trolls.

Two brothers to be precise.

Yodel Trolls by the names of Hickory and Dickory. 

The last Yodel Trolls by their accounts, and they happened to be the best damn team of Bounty Hunters and Mercenaries in all of Trolldom.

For good reason.

The best tool to their disposal was their ability to blend in. So much so, it was only until it was “too late” for their marks, by the time their true colors were revealed. And this disguise has been their best yet.

Hickory, though the youngest brother, was the much taller of the two. So he was the face to this particular get-up. Making Dickory to be left with the tail end. Literally. Understandably, this was not ideal for him. 

And he definitely made it well known on many occasions how he felt about having to play a literal “horse’s ass”.

But by gum, was he the best ass you could ask for.

At this point, Dickory had mastered the art of synchronizing with Hickory's movements, in such a way, it was now practically impossible to spot anything amiss. It was as if they shared one mind while under the guise of this centaur-esk being.

And while Dickory was fairly sour about the whole situation, Hickory found himself more and more, fond of living day to day as a Country Troll. Very much so to his brother’s shagrin. The look, the music, the lifestyle...everything.

It had been two months now since the brothers found themselves here, in Country Music territory. However, last anyone on the outside had heard about them, was that they had "yodelled so hard, an avalanche fell on them"...or something? Which was just what they wanted. For the time being anyway.

The brothers had struck a deal with their last mark. 

For his freedom, he was to spread said rumor, so the Yodelers could lay low for a while.

Queen Barb, of the Hard Rock Trolls, was no stranger to the two brothers. As a matter of fact, she was one of their most frequent clients for the past few years. Which suited them just fine. Well, almost. The last few jobs they did for the young Queen, left a bitter taste in Hickory's mouth. Not so much for the tasks she asked of them, but because of something she said and what he saw on their last few visits to Volcano Rock City. Maps. Marked up. Plans of some sort. Hanging everywhere. The young ruler, looking the most tired he'd ever seen her, yet looking as if ready to burst from being too tightly wound, at any moment.

"Hopefully next time I see you dudes, one way or another, we'll all be singing to a different tune. It's gonna be so Rad."

Whatever was going on, both Yodelers agreed that it was definitely not worth getting caught up in. They could just feel it. Deep down. They were hired to track Trolls down and do what needed to do, to get by.

Both of them could be shady characters at times, but they had decent moral compasses to live by. So they told themselves.

That's why the presence of Rock Trolls at this moment made Hickory's blood run cold. Could it be possible somehow, some way, they had been found out? That whatever Queen Barb was up to, she was looking for them? What is it that she’d need them for anyway?

No. Their plan worked perfectly. Blend in as a Country Troll, lay low for a while, only do the occasional "job" when the opportunity presented itself, just until the Queen of Rock cooled her head or went through with... whatever she is planning.

Not a soul knew about Hickory and Dickory being here.

Well.

Unless you counted, July.

Miss July, the owner of the Ranch. A rather interesting Troll.

A Pop-Country Troll. The only mixed genre Troll around these parts. Unlike her four legged, centaur, Country loving neighbors; she walked on two legs... well, hooves. Her appearance could be compared to a more "Satyr" like build, with a perfect blend of both genres in her appearance. The bright colors of a Pop Troll, but the sturdy build of that of a Country Troll.

A Tough, stern older lady-Troll, with a heart of gold.

Running this place all on her own, while tending to her extremely elderly parents.

That's one of the reasons he never expected any visitors here. Nobody in town wanted anything to do with Miss July or her family. Didn't much like associating with “their kind” if they could help it. Though you'd never hear them say it in polite conversation. But that suited Miss July just fine. That's how she liked it. Ever since Miss July and her folks suffered a terrible loss to their family, decades ago, she rarely went into town if she could help it.

Which on one such occasion, is when she stumbled upon the Yodelers, in their first attempts at putting together their  “Country Persona”.

They had been camping not too far from her Ranch and the Town, when she found them both, struggling to even walk in time together, in a pair of poorly made four legged pants.

July took their word as Gospel. That they were just fulfilling a lifelong dream of wanting to, in some way, be a Country Troll. So she offered them a place to stay and to show them the ropes on what it meant to be a Country Troll. If they agreed to work for her at her family’s Ranch.

"Until you feel you can stand on yer own four hooves!' She teased.

It could be easily wagered that July being an outcast in her own community, could be a factor of sympathy she felt towards them, making her wanting to help any way she could, and possibly what made her not judgmental in the least. That, and as tough as she put herself on as, she was sweet as apple pie, through and through.

Which did make Hickory especially, feel guilty about not being more upfront with her. As much as he could be anyhow.

Especially so, when the occasional “job opportunity" presented itself around Lonesome Flats during the Yodelers free time. Turns out, there were plenty of Trolls who had a bone to pick with others, or needed matters settled around these parts. Not to mention, crooks-a-plenty to turn in.

But both brothers always repented.  By being very diligent working for Miss July on the Ranch. Anything she needed done, got done. It was the least they could do for what she had done for them for these last two months. So the last thing needed was for anything to get ugly around here.

As Hickory approached closer and closer, he could feel his brother tensing up.

"Easy.” He whispered under his breath, smirking, patting behind him in attempts to calm his hotheaded companion. While still maintaining a nonchalant and calm demeanor.

Having spent a fair amount of time in Volcano Rock City for past jobs, and even on several occasions for other clients; needing to spend time incognito as Rock Trolls, it was fairly easy to recognize them from afar.

Upon closer inspection, it did come across as rather curious to see them wearing Country attire. They couldn't be trying to blend in, could they?

No. Not by the way these two held themselves.  

One Troll in various shades of blue in appearance, the other in peculiar shades of green from toe to tip. Both faces, still covered by wide brimmed hats. The blue Troll's demeanor was nervous right from the jump. Their green companion, holding them by the hand, grounding them. As if to keep them from sprinting away at a moment's notice. Both looking tired from the trek they must have taken from town to get to the Ranch property and from the sun's unforgiving afternoon rays.

Nothing but what seemed to be electric guitars and simple backpacks on their backs. However, these were definitely the most impressive guitars Hickory had seen in all his life.

The blue Troll’s, from what he could make out, was sage in color and looked as if it was made of some large critter's battered wing. Almost bat or reptilian in nature. The green Troll’s guitar, an imposing, venomous violet, crafted by what could only could be guessed as being once the claw and stinger of some scorpion-type critter. One he certainly wouldn't want to tango with. 

Lackeys of Queen Barb’s? No... couldn't be.

"Nobody knows we're here"

"We've been so careful."

He repeated over and over to himself. Almost mantra-like. He really had no reason to be this paranoid he kept reminding himself.

“Who are the most feared Bounty Hunters and Mercenaries in all Trolldom?”

“The Yodel brothers. That's who.” He smirked at that last thought. Puffing his broad chest a bit more, in response to his inner pep-talk.

And no Troll, no matter now--

"H--Howdy!" The blue Troll, clearing their voice, shakily called out.

"Right fine day, isn't it?"

The traveler seemed to ease into the drawl like putting on an old pair of comfy shoes, and with each word, their confidence seemed to boost. Stepping forward from their green companion, they removed their wide brim hat and gandered up at Hickory, with a small smile that damn near made his heart leap through his throat. In a good way?

That was...unexpected.

His usual quick witted mind and tongue, on the spot turned into a train that just left the station.

Those eyes. Absolutely pierced him right through. Large, inquisitive, pale, cerulean eyes. Staring right at him under dark lashes, and surrounded by a cascade of cobalt freckles.

The closest shade of color he could compare those eyes to were a color he hadn't thought of in ages. Snow. Snow that as a Trolling he played in. Usually when you found yourself making forts or laying in heeps that came up so high, you would look, and you'd catch the glimmering sunlight, shining through it. A shade of blue that just melted you to the core and drew out a smile, without you being the wiser.

"Right fine.”  he responded. Recovering from his wandering mind.

No time to be side tracked by an adorable, freckled, blue-eyed Troll. With sweet, curvy features, who has solid looking muscles that look they could easily crush--

"How can I help you? You folks seem a bit far away from home. Don't get a lot of Rock Trolls around these parts.”

Thank goodness his voice seemed to be the one on track; at the task at hand.

“Oi! What’s that supposed to mean?”

The green Troll stepped forward, hotly, removing their own hat, as to glare directly at him. Sizing him up. Only a tad taller, but much more lithe in figure to their companion. Definitely much more fierce. Not just in attitude, but in appearance. Their eyes, deep as sapphires. Teeth, the bottom row protruding two large tusk-like lower canines. Ears, pointed back and just as sharp as their claws, which he found himself one the other end of, being pointed at. Just as he felt his hair prickle, preparing himself for what was bound to happen next, the tension was immediately neutralized.

"It's okay Mess” The blue Troll cooed, calming the green one.

"Sorry to just come on over uninvited, but uh, does a Troll named July still live here?"

"You mean Miss July? Sure does. Why, if You don't mind my askin’?"

"Well you see, she's my... can--can I please talk to her? If she's around here today?”

A good long pause washed over the three.

Hickory could feel the trepidation radiating from Dickory behind him as he swished "their tail' in annoyance. Normally, if this was any other situation, it'd be too bad for these two. He'd send them right on their way, or worse if it came to it. They seemed capable. They had guitars, they were Rock Trolls. Random Rock Trolls, showing up, asking for not himself or his brother, but Miss July. Out of all the Country Trolls in Lonesome Flats.

But the waves of anxiety radiating from this freckled Troll were massive; and when their friend wasn't staring daggers at his direction, they were gazing so tenderly and sympathetically at them. These weren't agents of Queen Barbs. These seemed like folks on a sad mission of delivering news, or something of the like. They looked as though this was the last place they would ever want to be.

Dickory always insisted that Hickory was too quick to let his heart think first before his head when it came to their line of work. He didn't see it that way though. Hickory thought himself a good judge of character. Hell, that's why they found themselves in this situation now. Tipping his hat in a friendly manner, he smiled at the two.

"Well, why dontcha follow me then. I'm sure Miss July is making lunch right about now. You folks are just in time. Name's Hickory"

"Messy." replied the green.

The blue Troll remained silent.

"Adorabull got yer tongue cutie?" he teased

Those freckled cheeks lit up in seconds, a flushed lavender. Too cute.

"Somethin' like that' They smiled sheepishly.

All the while, as Hickory walked with the two up to the main building on the property, they stuck to idle chit-chat. About the weather or the nearby town. They passed by many of the fences that housed just some of Miss July's critters. As well as a few stables, paddocks, a decent sized workshed, and the small house the Yodelers had been staying in since they arrived here. It was once they passed that particular building, the blue Rocker stopped in their tracks momentarily. Just staring. Almost trance-like. They only moved again once Messy had firmly grabbed their hand and they followed.

Finally, they reached the main building's porch. The family home. Without any prompting, the two travelers waited at the bottom steps of the porch. Hickory nodded, thinking that might be best. He walked up to the open door. The wafting aroma of today's lunch filling his nostrils. Chili with sweet rolls? If he wasn't mistaken, he could smell fresh squeezed lemonade too. Knowing better to barge in while she was in the Kitchen...

"Pardon me, Miss July?" he called out.

"Dammit Hic, I told ya once, I'll tell ya again. Lunch is on when I ring the damn bell, that's when it’s good and ready!"

Hickory couldn't help but chuckle. That July was a firecracker.

"It's got nothin' to do with that Miss. You see, You've got yourself some visitors."

"For the last time Hic, just call me Jul--"

July emerged from the doorway, holding in each hand a glass of lemonade with mint garnish. No doubt as something to appease the Yodelers until lunch was done. As soon as her eyes met the two travelers, she stopped dead in her tracks. Glaring at them something fierce.

"These two are the visitors I was talkin' about."

"Rock Trolls, huh? Here? Whaddya want?"

The blue traveler, clearing their throat, voice cracking; they smiled, eyes glazed and sparkling with unshed tears. Staring at July as if a secret wish had been granted.

"Aunty Ju-Ju? It's m-me. It's Bloo. I'm home."

Bloo? That Bloo? Could it really be? Hickory didn't need to dwell on that too long though. July suddenly yelped out loud, in such a way that it startled absolutely everyone. Including herself apparently because those glasses in her hands dropped and shattered to bits.

"You couldn't be-- w-what kind of game are ya playin’ at?!"

July at a loss for words. This was serious. There she stood, knees buckling, lip quivering, tail thrashing. Unable to look away from the Troll in front of them at the end of her porch. A look of torment across their face.

Slowly, the freckled Troll smiled sadly, and reached behind their back for their instrument. Hickory acted quickly, putting himself between the two. Staring intently at the Rocker. They stared back, as they slowly brought the instrument forward.

"Please. Let me play?"

Hickory's nostrils flared, biting down hard on the straw in his mouth. How was he so stupid? Well, he wouldn't be fooled this time.

*~strum~*

Though the guitar was imposing and electric, with a stroke of their hand, it played a long, twangy, unmistakable, Country cord.

Silence.

Laying a hand on Hickory's shower, July gently moved him aside, her attention almost trance-like on the player. Waiting.

As if they understood, they shifted and picked up their guitar in earnest. Strumming again, but to a much more upbeat melody. Much more upbeat than most Country music Hickory had heard around town that he grew to enjoy. This sounded more... Pop? Much more like something he'd hear July singing on a day she was in a particularly good mood. Or something July’s elderly mother, the Pop Troll of the family might hum.

That's when they began to sing along, starting off slowly and gaining strength with each note. A large smile on their face as tears cascaded down their round cheeks. As if putting on the show of their lives. It was raw, and beautiful.

"She loves rock ‘n’ roll,

they said it's demons’ tongue,

She thinks they're too old.

They think she's too young,

And the battle lines are clearly drawn.”

“She's a wild one,

with an angel's face,

She's a lovely Troll in a state of grace,

When she was three years old on her daddy's knee,

He said you can be anythin’ you wanna be.

She's a wild one.

Runnin' free."

“She has future plans,

and dreams at night,

they tell her life is hard,

she smiles, sayin’ “that’s alright”, yeah!”

“She’s a wild one,

With an angel’s face,

She’s a lovely Troll in a state of grace,

When she was three years old on her daddy’s knee,

He said you can be anythin’ you wanna be.

She’s a wild one.

Runnin’ free.”

"She's a wild one”~~

"~~Runnin' free.”  July finished and sobbed the last line.

"That was the song I wrote for your Mama... all them years ago..My Bloo. My little ‘Bloo-Jay’ came home!"

Hickory stood fully aside now, allowing the two to embrace, for what he now had realized had been the first time in more than two decades. An embrace that both warmed and broke your heart, all at the same time. This was July's pride and joy. Her niece. Bloo, the only child of July's older sister June.

June and July were extremely close sisters. Best friends even.

June was a very free spirited Troll who fancied herself a part-time singer at one of the local bars in town. On one of these trips to town, she met a traveling Rock Troll by the name of Ziggy. Busking for food and drink. Let's just say, it didn't take long at all until wedding bells were ringing and Ziggy was part of the happy family here on the Ranch. The couple waited a while before having a Trolling. The two were busy enjoying married life, Ziggy took June traveling, fulfilling her dreams of seeing life outside Lonesome Flats. And wherever they went, they were singing up a storm. When they returned home to settle down, at any bar or club, or bingo hall that would have them, they continued singing their hearts out. Occasionally even dragging July along. The three of them became inseparable. Especially after Bloo was born. The townsfolk even seemed to warm up to the entire, oddball family. It was all turning up roses for the family finally, after what felt like ages of trying to live in harmony. But it all came to a crushing end. 

Shortly after Bloo turned five years old, a serious, contagious illness spread throughout Lonesome Flats. Most folks who caught it, eventually recovered, but there were eight fatalities in the end. June was one of them. The family was torn to pieces by June’s passing. Ziggy just wasn't the same Troll after. A year passed and just as they thought things might slowly start looking up, Ziggy and Bloo were gone.

Apparently he had packed himself and Bloo up one night, and just left without a word. July knew he had family back home in Volcano Rock City, and figured that is where he would take Bloo to raise them. But July dared not go there. For good reason. A Pop-Country Troll, travel to Volcano Rock City?  Demand her niece back from a heartbroken father? While leaving her extremely elderly parents to fend for themselves? No. July would be turned away or torn to pieces. King Thrash at the time was feared for good reason in those days and most Trolls feared Rock Trolls the most out of all the other Tribes.

July and her folks basically moved on by learning to mourn the loss of June, Bloo, and Ziggy. They never expected to ever see Bloo or Ziggy again. Yet here Bloo was. Embracing their aunt, while Hickory and Messy looked on fondly. His smile grew wider as he realized how overjoyed July's folks: Clay and May, would be to see their grand-baby again. Something they thought they'd never live to see.

He could see it now that he got a better look at Bloo, as they were bombarded with kisses and hugs, that they did share a little resemblance to their Pop-Country Aunt. Though without a doubt, they took after their father Ziggy the most. No wonder Bloo wasn't easily recognizable at first glance, they looked so different in comparison to how they looked back then as a Trolling.

Who would have thought that he'd meet the Troll who's childhood pictures adorned the home he and his brother were staying in? Which happened to be Bloo's Old family home on the Ranch. The same house they had stopped to stare at on their way to the main house.

"Small world we live in!” He barked with laughter.

"Welcome home Miss Bloo, glad to meetcha." And he meant it, whole heartedly.

"Glad to be home again.”

END.

(Song used was Faith Hill’s ‘Wild One’. Tweaked for this story)

[shyneanon]

Heyyyy so y’all know how I usually like to write HT!Sans but today I kinda wanted to write him creepy the way some people like to write him. I thought it’d be kind of fun to do that. Yandere, mwahaha. So I guess this is sort of an x reader fic but the feeling is not mutual.

That said, before reading: We know yandere-type characters are preeeeetty out of touch with reality and are obviously supposed to be unsettling. Meaning in this, Sans isn’t exactly paying attention to MC when she says “no.” It doesn’t get really sexual, but still, it’s non-con. So if that bothers you, maaaaybe don’t read this. Just felt it was fair to warn you guys, I don’t want to upset anyone.

---

How long had you been down here?

You weren’t sure anymore.

As of late you had been engaged in an inner debate regarding whether you would rather be dead. You weren’t sure. At least if you were alive there was… a chance?... you could get home and eventually die there, happy.

But that was seeming farther and farther away. The memories of home were already fading. Amazing how the human mind becomes accustomed to its current surroundings, yeah? How quickly things become “normal.”

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if it was just you and Papyrus in this house, where you were currently chained up in the living room. He wasn’t so bad. Scary to look at, sure, but friendly, and relatively normal when it came to holding conversation.

It was Sans who made things so unpleasant.

He hadn’t done anything to you, it wasn’t like he hurt you. He was just… creepy. The way that his one red eye would just lock onto you and just… stare, unblinking…. It scared you. The look was intense. Too intense. You just wished you knew what he was thinking. At first, you’d told yourself he probably didn’t mean to be creepy. He had a big injury in his head, maybe it had screwed up his understanding of social norms. Stuff like not staring. And it only freaked you out so much because of the way he looked and how he didn’t need to blink.

But he freaked you out for other reasons too.

A couple of times he had approached you, and you’d thought that maybe he was going to strike up a conversation. You’d witnessed him have conversations with Paps before. That was when he seemed the least creepy. When he was just acting normal around his brother. He made some pretty messed up jokes but that didn’t really bother you too much. It just seemed like whenever he took notice of you he got really really weird. He’d sat down next to you, and you’d been a little nervous, but you had decided to try and start a conversation. Which had… kind of worked. Sans seemed fine with, uh… indulging you? Like he thought you just wanted to talk and was happy to listen. He made some comments, but mostly just listened. That wasn’t weird.

It was the touching that had been weird.

Again, he didn’t do anything to you, as far as you were aware he wasn’t some sort of sick pervert. But he’d just… started touching your hair, and even your face, the whole time his eye just locked on whatever it was his fingers were preoccupied with. He’d only seemed to be half paying attention to what you were saying.

You were pretty sure he’d even sniffed you a couple of times.

So from then on you’d just tried to pretend like he wasn’t there. He’d sat next to you a couple of times, probably expecting a conversation, but you’d just smiled politely at him and he’d gotten up and left, looking disappointed and even a little annoyed. He didn’t seem to mind when you spoke to his brother, though, so you didn’t think he was like… yandere, for lack of a more succinct term. So that was at least a relief.

Still, you did your best to ignore the sounds coming from the kitchen, of cooking. The times when you least wanted to talk to Sans were when Papyrus was out. Times like now. Sans was making a meal, and you could smell it, but you refused to say anything. He could take it as an invitation for more hair-sniffing.

Eventually the sounds of cooking stopped and you could hear him eating. Your own stomach felt kind of empty. But usually Papyrus was the one to cook meals for you. Thank God.

When Sans left the kitchen with a plate in his hand, you tried to ignore him… until he stopped in front of you.

“Hey,” he said.

Um.

“Hi,” you said.

He held up the plate. “I have food for you.”

“Oh, OK. Cool.”

He sat down next to you. Dude, take a hint. You could see that on the plate were medium-sized pieces of cooked meat. Instead of handing you the plate, though, he grabbed a singular piece of meat and then held it out to you. When you reached out to try to take it he pulled back.

What the… Is he mocking me?

You almost had to hold back a wounded response, but he then held the piece up to your lips and moved closer to you.

… O… oh.

“Um,” you said. “This is really nice but you can just hand me the plate—“

“Just eat.”

… OK. You opened your mouth and he slipped the food into it; once he withdrew you started chewing, not looking at him. But you could feel his red eye locked onto you.

Then you felt his fingers running along your neck, and you flinched.

“It’s OK,” he said. “I won’t hurt you.”

You said nothing, just turned when you were done with your first piece of meat. As you did he leaned in, breaching your personal bubble.

“I would never hurt you,” he said.

“Thanks, Sans,” was your only reply, and he smiled.

“Y… You’re welcome.”

He fed you the next piece of meat, sliding it in farther this time. Your lips closed around it, and… was his breathing picking up?

“You’re… pretty when you eat.”

The hell does that mean? Still, you smiled, albeit awkwardly. “Thanks.”

He got closer to you. Dude did not know how to read the room. You did not like him touching you and stuff. Still, one of his fingers started to twirl itself in your hair, like a fork twirling around in spaghetti to get it to wrap around itself.

Another piece of food. Yep… his breathing was heavier, fanning against your cheek. As if you didn’t feel uncomfortable enough, he leaned close to your ear.

“I like being alone with you.”

You didn’t like where this was going. “That’s nice,” you replied, doing your best to keep your responses curt.

Still oblivious to the fact that you didn’t like what was happening (or did he just not care?) he fed you more. You looked at the plate. There were only two pieces left. Once he was finished he’d probably get up and go. Hopefully.

He kept talking: “You make me think of a deer.”

You looked at him, despite your better judgment. Was… he talking food-wise? Did… did he want to eat you?

“So graceful, and gentle, and shy....”

One of his hands cupped your cheek.

“Like a little doe.”

His teeth a hair’s width away from your ear, he hummed.

“Can I call you that?”

You said nothing, not sure what to—

“My little doe?”

After forcing yourself to swallow your meat, you said, “Your little doe?”

That seemed to excite him. His pupil dilated. “Yes…. You’re my little doe.”

You leaned away, debating on whether to talk back. Sans carried a giant axe with him everywhere. Would he get violent if you protested?

He set the plate of food aside. Shit.

“Sans,” you began, and his pupil dilated more. His breathing got heavy.

“Yes… Say my name….”

Before you could say anything his arms wrapped around you and pulled you close. You started to shake. His brother wasn’t here to stop him. How far would he go without supervision? He wouldn’t… He wouldn’t go… that far, right?

Deciding you didn’t want to take your chances, you started to squirm, but it did no good. His grip was like that of a bear trap.

“Don’t be scared,” he said. “I would never hurt you. Never.”

He leaned in closer and you kept struggling. It wasn’t helping but you wanted him to know you were not on board.

Either he didn’t notice or he didn’t care, because his teeth pressed against your lips. He immediately started to pant, his pupil so big his whole eye almost looked black. He just stared at you as his teeth moved against your lips. When his eyes lidded in an expression that looked like he was getting high, you weren’t sure if this was better or worse.

“Mm-mmh,” he murmured, leaning into you more. “Mmh….”

OK, this was it. You were done. You started to push back. “Sans, st—“

“My little doe,” he breathed. “(Y/n)... my little doe….”

“Stop touching me, Sans.”

“I won’t hurt you. I won’t hurt you.”

He kept saying that like it was going to make you feel better. “I don’t care. I don’t like it when you touch me. I said stop.”

“It’s OK,” he said, although it sounded almost like it was to himself more than you. “It’s OK. You’ll like it soon. Just let me keep going.”

He pressed his teeth to your lips again. You started to worry. Again, he wouldn’t… go all the way, right? You began to realize that if he did, you didn’t have an ounce of the strength needed to stop him. Not to mention that you were chained to the wall. You kept pushing but he didn’t stop. He really seemed to think that if he just kept at it you’d suddenly decide you were fine with it.

“Mmh… Mine…. Just think about me….”

You tried to pull away but it didn’t work. Well, you certainly weren’t paying attention to anything but him, but not in the way he wanted.

“I love you… my doe….”

His teeth moved to your neck. You whimpered, but despite the obvious fear in it he seemed encouraged.

“I’ve been in love with you… since we met…. I’ve wanted this for so long….”

A purr.

“Isn’t that romantic…?”

A tongue you hadn’t known he had ran up your neck, and you swallowed, not sure if he was trying to turn you on or if this was a taste test.

“So good,” he muttered. Oh fuck, it was the latter.

He gave you another taste, moaning.

“I said I would control myself…”

You could see his large eye locked onto you again, wide.

“But I can’t control myself around you. Not now… that I have you all to myself. Not anymore.”

With that he bit down and you yelled. The bite was so hard it drew blood, and his tongue ran over the wound. Another moan escaped him.

He’s going to eat me. He’s going to eat me alive and he’s going to be getting off to it the whole time.

Now concerned for your life, you started to push his face away. “Get off!” you managed.

“It’s OK, my doe… I won’t eat you…. Not you….”

He moved your arms aside like it was nothing and nibbled your ear.

“I love you too much to eat you. I can’t imagine my life without you. I would die.” He leaned in, his red eye staring hard. “See how much I love you? I would die without you. I love you. I love you so much.”

He kissed your cheek, and you grimaced.

“If anyone tried to take you away… I would tear them apart.”

You realized just how much you were trembling. His words didn’t make you feel safe at all.

“Isn’t that so romantic, my little doe? That I’m so devoted? That I would kill for you?”

Getting sick of this, you hissed, “I’m not your little doe. I’m not your anything. Fuck you.”

He flushed blue, his eyes lidding again. “So… feisty….”

He kissed you again, his teeth gently trying to pry your lips apart. When you resisted he bit down, and took advantage of your small cry of pain to slide his tongue into your mouth. He groaned, his eye looking up and his movements slowing as he explored your mouth.

“Nngh….” He sighed, flushing blue and closing his eyes. His tongue found yours and he moaned again. “Mmh…~”

You remembered the large, jagged hole in his skull, and you reached up with one hand and hooked your fingers into it, tugging hard to the side. You weren’t sure if it would hurt but apparently it did, because he released your lips with a hiss of pain. You squirmed to get out of his grip but it wasn’t any looser.

“Why did you do that?” he asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“Because I want you to stop!” you yelled.

“But I love you. Can’t you see that?”

“I don’t fucking care! I don’t love you back!”

He didn’t take much notice. “Little doe... we’re all alone. It’s so quiet. It’s just us. Paps is busy and won’t be back for a while.” He leaned in. “This is the romantic moment that I’ve been waiting for. To confess to you. To tell you how I feel.”

He breathed against your lips.

“While Paps is gone, we can do anything. Anything you want. Let me prove how much I love you…. Let me make you moan for me. You don’t even have to love me back, I don’t care, just enjoy what I do to you. Just enjoy the feeling of me deep insi--”

You screamed.

This seemed to finally snap him out of it, because his look grew panicked and he clamped his hand over your mouth. “What the hell are you doing?! Don’t scream! If anyone finds you they’ll kill you!”

You pried his hand away from your mouth. “Stop touching me or I’ll keep screaming until someone finds me and kills me!”

He immediately put you back down, moving away from you. You made a point of wiping your lips and neck of all the unwanted affection, and you glared at him, moving as far away as you could. At least he seemed to want you alive. That was an advantage— perhaps your only advantage— against him.

“If you touch me ever again I’ll scream,” you told him.

He looked hurt, though that meant nothing to you after what he’d just done. He seemed to remember the pieces of meat that were left and, thankfully, slid the plate over to you.

“I understand,” he said, standing up. “You’re not in the mood right now. You’ve had a bad day. That’s OK. That’s OK. It’s OK. We can do this another time, when you’re feeling better. When you’re not upset. You’ll like it then.”

After one last glance at you, he left, muttering “She’ll like it then” to himself over and over. Once he was finally out of sight you curled up into yourself, resisting the urge to vomit. Creep! Sick creep!

All those times he had stared at you or touched your hair… Had he been planning this all that time?

You would tell Papyrus about this when he came back. You had the bite mark as proof.

At least you had Papyrus. But your inner debate was over.

You would rather be dead than here.

[blitzturtles]

Title: Night Off

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: DC Comics

Pairing(s): JayDick

Summary: “If you’re not here to kill me, then get out!” Dick calls without moving. He should probably double check as to who his intruder is, but the idea of moving is somehow more unappealing than the idea of one of his enemies actually managing to break into his apartment. He’ll take the risk of potential kidnapping if it means that they’ll do most of the bodily lifting for him.

Notes: I was having a chronic pain flare, asked my wife who I should inflict it on, and her answer was, “Jotaro and/or Dick Grayson”. So here’s the Dick Grayson version. Btw, I’m doing a writing / fic giveaway! Check out this post to see how to enter. Goes until 8.25.21!

-

It’s extremely rare for Dick to pull out of a planned patrol, but there are nights when he can’t handle the thought, much less actually suit up and venture out into Gotham. Tonight is one of those nights. Old injuries are rearing their ugly head, making themselves too known to be ignored, and he knows that going out will be a mistake. He’s more likely to cause trouble than he is to prevent it, and he’s not about to cut into someone else’s patrol just to have someone come to his rescue. That’s time that could be better spent, and he hates the idea of anyone knowing the degree of pain he’s dealing with. To know that it cripples him to the point where walking is a slow, agonizing process. It feels like a weakness that he’s not prepared to share.

Bruce has chronic pain. That’s something Dick’s known for years. Possibly since he was a child, but the man never seems to be stopped or even slowed down by it. He’s never missed a patrol. Never needed someone to fish him out of a bad situation brought on by his knee completely giving out on him (not that Dick admitted to that being the problem; he’d lied and claimed it had been freshly injured.) It’s frustrating to watch, and it sets a precedent that Dick can’t keep up with. It makes him feel pathetic on nights like these, and it’s all he can do to try to distract himself with crappy television. Up until the moment when something crashes into his apartment through his-- previously locked-- window.

“If you’re not here to kill me, then get out!” Dick calls without moving. He should probably double check as to who his intruder is, but the idea of moving is somehow more unappealing than the idea of one of his enemies actually managing to break into his apartment. He’ll take the risk of potential kidnapping if it means that they’ll do most of the bodily lifting for him.

Sure enough, Jason shows up in the doorway of his living room a moment later with his helmet at his side, but his cowl still fixed in place. “You’re not dressed,” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth, and it makes Dick’s eyebrows climb up toward his hairline.

“Are you my babysitter now?”

“No,” Jason snarls, “I’m not fucking Bruce.”

“Alright then,” Dick shrugs and tries to leave it at that. The keyword being ‘try’, because Jason never could leave well enough alone.

“Why aren’t you out?”

“Changed my mind. Am I not allowed to do that?” Shit. He sounds unnecessarily snappish. More so aloud than he does in his own head, which he knows is the pain getting the better of him, but that doesn’t mean he wants it to reflect in his tone. He heaves a sigh, “Sorry, just wasn’t up for it tonight, you know? Think I twisted my ankle a little last night, and I thought I would take a night. See if the swelling goes down.”

Jason frowns as he mulls over those words, but he doesn’t outright reject them. “Okay,” he starts, and Dick almost sighs in relief, if only internally, “So that was bullshit.”

Fuck.

“Jason-”

“We can do this all night, so you can keep lying to me, or you can just tell me what’s going on,” Jason’s gaze shifts from Dick to the rest of his apartment, undoubtedly looking for some kind of clue. Or possibly some sort of trouble. Neither of which he finds, because Dick’s too stubborn to ice his joints, and the compression wraps he has on are hidden by his clothes.

“I’m not kidding about my ankle,” Dick says after a moment of contemplating his word choice.

“You’re just lying about the cause,” Jason concludes after a moment. His head is cocked to the side, but it’s apparent that he’s fixated on the offending joint, “And it’s not the only thing bothering you.”

The problem with Jason is that he’s far more observant than most people give him credit for. And intelligent, for that matter. It’s easy to forget that Jason thinks Shakespeare is a fun read, and that he’ll spend hours debating the topic with Alfred, if given the chance (and Alfred is always willing). There’s also the fact that Jason tends to pick and choose when he’s going to press an issue; often because he intends to come back around to it, but only when the situation turns in his favor. But the favor here has always been Jason’s. Dick’s stuck on the couch of his apartment, unwilling to move unless absolutely necessary, because his knee will feel like it’s being torn in half if he does, and that’s to say nothing about either ankle.

“I don’t really want to talk about this, Jason,” Dick uses the name for emphasis this time. With a short, clipped tone that he hopes conveys just how badly he would like Jason to leave, but Jason’s also nothing if not obstinate.

“Have you tried ice yet? Or heat?”

The words startle Dick, and he looks to Jason with far too many emotions readable on his face. Jason merely raises an eyebrow in return, and Dick sighs, “No. I don’t think I can get up.”

“Oh,” Jason breathes the word, like he hadn’t expected the answer. And he probably hadn’t. He’d probably expected Dick to continue to deny reality. To lie through his teeth until Jason gave up (which wasn’t going to happen, but that’s beyond the point now.) “Okay. Got any ice in the freezer?”

“Yes- what?”

Jason’s gone in an instant, heading for the kitchen with little concern for Dick’s desire to be left alone. He comes back a minute later with several bags full of freshly scooped ice. He passes them to Dick, one at a time, while Dick slowly places them on various offending limbs.

There’s a dumbstruck expression on Dick’s face, as if he can’t fully process what’s happening, which might have to do with why he doesn’t stop it either. Jason disappears again, this time into the bathroom, and Dick just- let’s him. He’s not sure what else to do now that Jason’s set his mind to- whatever it is he’s set his mind to.

“Here,” Jason says when he comes back with a paper cup of water and a handful of pills. It takes Dick a moment to remember that, a. His first aid kit is in the bathroom just like most peoples’, and the leap for Jason figuring that out isn’t really a leap and b. That Jason’s come here for a (very rough) patch up job more than once, which means he already knows exactly where he can find said kit.

Dick swallows the painkillers with little prompting and passes the cup back to Jason, who must dispose of it in the trash, given that he disappears into the kitchen again. When he comes back, he looks at Dick with that sort of halfcocked, curious expression he gets.

“Anything else I can do?”

“Uh- no. I think you’ve done plenty,” and Dick means that. Jason’s done more for him than Dick would have done for himself, and the ice actually feels kind of nice on the throbbing joints. Combined with the compression, it’s the best relief he’s gotten all day. Maybe the medication will actually do something for a change.

“Good,” Jason says, and Dick assumes that’s the end of that. That he’ll go right back out the window that he came in, but, instead, Jason flops on the couch cushion nearest to him and nods at the long forgotten TV. “What’re we watching?”

“We?”

“Yeah,” Jason says without missing a beat, “I got nothing better to do, and distractions can help with pain. Trust me.”

And two things occur to Dick right then. The first being that Jason isn’t just doing this out of some obligation. He wants to help. Wants to make Dick feel better, and Dick doesn’t know what to do with that information. And the second is that Jason knows, on a very personal level, what it’s like to be in so much pain that his body doesn’t cooperate with him, and of course he does. Jason’s death had been far from pleasant, and he still wears the scars of it. There’s no doubt he feels it in his bones and damaged cartilage. Never mind all the other injuries since then, and there’s a long, long list that Dick’s personally seen the fallout of several times.

“I don’t know,” Dick says once his brain starts processing in the right direction again, “CSI?”

Jason snorts, “What, want to spend all night yelling at the screen?”

“Maybe,” Dick says with a shrug, “You got something better?”

“Hell yeah,” Jason reaches for the remote, and Dick passes it to him without question, “We’re gonna watch some good ole-fashioned zombies.”

And there goes Dick’s eyebrows again, “Really?”

“Sometimes a man just needs something a little autobiographical, quit judging,” and Jason says it with such a severe tone that Dick can’t help but laugh.

Truthfully, it’s the best he’s felt all night, and that doesn’t change once the movie-- however bad it may be-- starts. He catches Jason with a small, half-smile tugging at the corner of one side of his lips, and it helps Dick to relax a bit, to know that he isn’t being judged.

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Once upon a time in NYU- MGG AU

Fandom: MGG, Criminal Minds

Pairing: College!Matthew X College!Reader

Summary: you couldn't stand Matthew, and he couldn't stand you. But you couldn't say the same when you were in his bed

Warnings: alternative universe, enemies to lovers relationship, cursing duh, hair pulling, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, bad writing basically

WC: 6.1k 

A/N: so I saw I think it was @eideticmemory​ write an enemies to lovers college fic and like a light just went on in my head, and I really wanted to that because I've always wanted to, but also give it my own twist and touch of course, so I guess this my attempt at writing a multi-chapter Matthew fic. Will I succeed? Probably not. But it's a good excuse to write smut after a year so we'll see. ALSO HUGE TW I understand posting this now might be a bit of a bad timing. So if you think that reading this will trigger you in any way, just go ahead and skip this one. I dont want to trigger anyone in any way, I just want to entertain you guys and myself in the process so yeah, read at your own risk and please please stay safe. And this is going to be a bit long so strap in yall and enjoy the poorly written sin. 

Andddd huge huge thanks to my friend Kara (idk if shes reading this but yeah) for helping me edit this, she helped me make this so much better for you guys and she literally so amazing for actually spending the time to help me. So yeah, 

You know when something bad happens, you’re always told to see the bright side of things? That maybe that unfortunate event isn’t as bad as you feel it is? Yeah, well, that doesn’t always apply, and it certainly didn’t when I found out I was partnered with the one person I was hoping I wouldn’t get paired with for my end of the semester film project. 

Seriously, out of the nearly hundred students that were enrolled in my film class, I had to get paired up with him, him out of all people, literally the one person I was praying wouldn't get paired up with. Not only because I was forced to work with someone, because honestly all I wanted was to work alone, I had to get paired with Matthew fucking Gubler.

You know when people say God has his favourites? Yeah, well I certainly wasn't one of them.

Now, I didn’t necessarily hate Matthew Gubler. I didn't hate him for no reason, I didn't just wake up one day and decided I was just going to hate Matthew. There was a time where I actually liked him, I liked him more than I'd like to admit, deep down I still did. And I knew he liked me too, he did then at least. And we were good together, it was fun, we had a fun first couple of dates. To this day, they were the nicest dates I ever had, because he knew just how to make them special. I mean, when a guy takes you to the Neue Galerie here in New York and have nice long walk through Central Park, a walk filled with laughter and bliss, it has to be special, and in a weird way, he was special too. 

And as much as I wanted more than just two or three dates, I would've been perfectly fine if he had told me what he wanted from the start. If he had suddenly changed his mind about me, I would've accepted it, and I would've been able to live a happy life as his friend if that's what he wanted.

But he didn't, and instead I found out he had other interests. And I didn't hear it from him, I heard it from my friend. She didn't even need to tell me who it was, because the minute she told me where he took her, I knew. He took her to the same place he took me not even two weeks later and then acted like I was nothing the next time he saw me. And my god did that fucking hurt. It hurt me in a way I had never been hurt before, because I thought he was different, I was hoping he was. And convincing myself that I hated him was much easier than facing the fact that it hurt. And I never addressed it ever again, not that Matthew cared enough to actually talk about us, or, whatever we were. So instead we just made each other's existence miserable.

No, what I felt for Matthew wasn't hate, it was just the strong need to stay ten feet away from him so I wouldn't shove a five foot pole up his ass. That's how I felt about Matthew Gubler.

And now, here I was, aggressively shoving my laptop and notebook into my bag so I could leave the auditorium as quickly as possible, or at least quick enough to avoid Matthew, because knowing how he was, he would come straight to me to rub our partnership in my face. And I was right, because the minute we were dismissed, I spotted his lanky frame starting to come down from the top rows where he usually sat, and he was headed my way.

Screaming a big nope in my head, I strapped my bag over my shoulder and headed straight for the exit. I knew I couldn't avoid him forever, especially now but, I just needed a minute to mentally prepare myself to deal with him, a minute and probably a bottle of booze. But I didn't get either because the minute I was out those doors, I heard the unmistakable sound of his voice calling my name. 

Great.

"Y/N! Y/N wait!" I heard Matthew call out, followed my rushed footsteps coming from behind me.

"Hey, partner, I'm glad I caught you before you left. You weren't trying to run away from me were you?" He teased, throwing one of his particularly long arms over my shoulder.

If I had rolled my eyes any harder they probably would've gotten stuck there. I groaned, grabbing a hold of his arm and unwrapping it not so subtly before dropping it beside him, "first of all, I'd really appreciate it if you didn't touch me,  and second of all, just please go away, Matthew. I have a class I have to get to." I muttered, walking slightly faster and keeping my gaze forward, refusing to even look at him.

If there was something I've learned about Matthew in the two long years I've known him is that he usually goes away on his own if I don't give him the attention he wanted. I was hoping this was one of those times, because I was not in the mood to deal with him right now.

But alas, he didn't, he walked faster, staying beside me the whole time. "But I wasn't even doing anything. I was just saying hi." He defended, and I could just hear the smile on his face even when I wasn't even looking at him. 

I rolled my eyes harder, letting out a small breath through my lips, "what do you want Matthew?"

"When can we meet up? I already have an idea for our project and I think you're going to love it."

I chuckled sarcastically, finding his words actually hilarious, "If you came up with it I seriously doubt it." I sighed heavily, digging my teeth into my bottom lip before speaking, "tonight after I finish my shift, I guess. The quicker we can start, the quicker we can get it over with, soo..."

"Great. It's a date then, see you tonight, sweetheart." He hummed, ghosting his lips over my ear, his lips smacking loudly as he pretended to kiss it before he quickly took off in the other direction before I could even say anything.

This fucking guy.

~~~~~~~~~~

"I seriously do not understand how you fucking dated this guy, he's so obnoxious and annoying, how could anyone want to date someone like that." I complained to my friend and roommate Liz. I met her for a quick lunch break before my afternoon class and I just had to let her know how unhappy I was about my partnership with Matthew. She was amused to say the least.

"You make it sound like we dated for years, we dated for a few months, but he's not even that bad." she argued.

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest and leaned back into my seat with an unamused expression, just waiting for Liz to bury herself further up Matthew's ass. I always had the feeling she still had feelings for him, as much as she insisted it was just a meaningless relationship. And as much as they were just friends now, I just knew she wanted more with him. But it wasn't really my place to question that, not that it mattered to me anyway.

"He's a pretty cool and fun guy to be around, you just never gave him a chance. You've hated him ever since you met him for absolutely no reason, you never gave yourself the chance to get to know him better." Liz insisted, she always did. She always insisted Matthew was such a great guy I never gave the change to get to know. 

I had let out a heavy sigh in annoyance of her defense of Matthew before responding, "yeah well, it doesn't really matter since I'm being forced to anyway. And he's coming over tonight to start our project. Can't fucking wait."

I could've sworn I saw Liz's expression change into a mixture of surprise and something I could've easily confused with jealousy. She pursed her lips together and her eyes darted everywhere, like she was avoiding making any kind of eye contact with me.

But, it couldn't be jealousy? What even is there to be jealous of? Her and the whole world knew how I felt about Matthew, her out of all people knew it better than anyone.

"Oh, he is? Well, I'm not really going to be home tonight, I would've given you company so it wouldn't be so awkward with him." She frowned, she sounded disappointed, angry even. She looked uncomfortable, like she was deeply bothered by something, by something I said.

It was weird, I wasn't exactly sure what to say, I wasn't really sure why my news seemed to bother her as much as it did. It's not like I was going to sleep with Matthew while she was away or something. It didn't really matter though, I didn't have time to answer. Thank God.

"I'm sorry Liz but I have to go, I have class in like ten minutes." I excused myself, eating whatever was left on my plate in a matter of seconds before I stood up from my seat and gathered my belongings, "I'll see you later and wish me luck." I said quickly before taking off, not giving her the chance to respond.

~~~~~~~~~~

Usually, I pray for shifts to be over as soon as possible, for it to be slow so I can go home early. Today though, today I prayed for just the opposite. I was hoping the end of my shift wouldn't come, and when it did, that it would be too late and I would be able to cancel my meet up with Matthew.

But like I said, I wasn't one of God's favourites. And today out of all days, it was the slowest it has ever been and my shift ended rather quickly, quicker than I had hoped.

Groaning loudly at the evening that awaited me, I walked down the long halls of my floor, standing outside of my dorm room, dreading my evening already.

Figuring I should just get it over with, I went to get the key on the lock of my door, but noticed it was already unlocked. Liz probably forgot to lock the door, again. I rolled my eyes, shaking my head at my stupid roommate before turning the knob, opening the door. And my jaw dropped the minute I stepped into the room, not believing what my eyes saw.

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

"Matthew, what the fuck are you doing in my dorm and in my bed!? How did you even get in here?" I nearly screamed at the tall brunette that was carelessly laying on my bed with what I figured was one of my books in his hand.

Matthew turned his head towards me, a carefree and calm look plastered all over his face before his eyes went back to the pages in front of him., "oh, well, Liz let me in before she went to work. I hope you don't mind." He responded nonchalantly, continuing to flick through the pages of the book he had in his hand.

I stared at him with absolute disbelief and a loud scoff left my lips as I slightly pitched the bridge of my nose, trying not to throw the nearest object at his face, "yes, I do mind, in fact. You can't just come into somebody's dorm, lie on their bed and go through their stuff. Seriously dude, what is wrong with you?"

I just couldn't believe this guy. He just knew how to get on my nerves without even doing anything. 

Matthew, of course, couldn't have cared any less about whatever I was saying. And it wasn't that he wasn't listening, because he was, he had that stupid smile on his face that proved he was in fact listening to every word I was saying. He just didn't care, or he did, but he just liked getting on my nerves. He loved pushing every single one of my buttons until I snapped. And I had no idea why. I had no idea why he liked annoying me so much.

I exhaled heavily through my nose, closing my eyes slightly as I ran a hand through my hair exasperatedly, "I just can't fucking deal with you. I can't." I huffed, dropping my bag from my shoulder and walked to the opposite side of my room, facing away from him, not even wanting to look at his face.

"Tell me something, sweetheart," Matthew spoke, curiosity and a slight bit of amusement lingering on his words.

"What."

"Why do you hate me so much? You've hated me ever since I dated Liz back in our first year of college and I never truly understood why," he questioned with genuine curiosity, but there was also a certain playfulness in his voice. I opened my mouth to answer, still not facing him, and I was so ready to tell him off, god knows I've been wanting to but he cut me off. "Is it because I never slept with you?"

My eyes instantly widened at his words, a clearly offended scoff leaving my lips as I turned around to face him, "what? No, of course not, I—" my words got caught in my throat when I saw his tall frame towering over me, my eyes getting stuck on his chest before they traveled up to his face, and he was close. Extremely close. I swallowed thickly, feeling slightly cornered by his significantly taller frame so I stepped back, trying to create some kind of distance between us, but he simply followed me. "I, uhm, that's not why I don't like you, Matthew. I don't like you because you're an insensitive asshole and—"

"Oh, I know why you hate me," he cut me off again, slowly running his tongue to wet his perfectly pink lips. "You hate me because I dated Liz and not you."

His proclamation made my eyes grow even wider and my mouth hung open as I stammered for words. I wanted to disagree, I truly wanted to tell him that he was wrong. But honestly, he wasn't altogether wrong. I couldn't say some of my resentment didn't come from a deep rooted feeling of rejection. Because while most of that resentment came from that place of genuine hurt, my resentment was fueled by frustration and a shameless sense of envy.

But it was just easier to convince myself that I hated him than to admit that I still liked him and that it hurt me that he chose my friend over me.

But of course, I would never admit to that, especially not to him.

Avoiding eye contact, I looked down and shook my head, running my tongue to wet my suddenly dry lips, "of-of course not. Why—why would I care about your dating life? You can fuck whoever you want, I don't care." I wish I sounded more confident when I said that. But my stuttering words and my unsteady legs gave him exactly what he wanted.

And the bastard actually chuckled. He fucking chuckled.

"But you do, you do care. You care because you haven't stopped thinking about us and me since our first year." He grinned, digging his teeth into his perfect lips as he brought a hand to cup my face, lifting it so I had no other choice but to look at him.

And I was fucking gone.

It was like, all of that anger, frustration and hatred just vanished and instead turned into longing want. Want for him to just take me and do whatever he pleases with me. I was practically nothing in his hands, and I was nothing waiting for him to make me something. Waiting for him to make me his.

And that absolutely delighted the bastard. He found amusement in having the power I never allowed him to have. But right now, I just couldn't fight it.

I always knew that if I ever found myself alone and in this situation with Matthew Gubler, I would lose, no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise.

And he knew that too.

"That's it, isn't? You want me to fuck you like I fucked your friend." He smirked, almost like he was proud to say it. And he stared, his usually soft amber eyes now brown and darkened with want.

Who the fuck was this guy and where did Matthew go? Matthew Gubler was the most awkward and disgraceful guy when it came to women. The poor guy couldn't even flirt his way out of a wet paper bag. And yet, somehow, here he was, with this new found confidence and the ability to turn me into a shaking and stuttering mess. Who fucking knew.

Once again, I stammered for words, I truly wanted to tell him otherwise. I wanted to scream in his face and push him away, but I couldn't. Not that I wanted to.

He took my lack of response as the answer he was looking for and brought his other hand to my waist, backing me up against the nearest wall, caging me between the hard surface behind me and his body, which right now, seemed so much bigger than mine.

My breathing instantly skyrocketed as I felt the same hand that was on my waist sneak its way past the ends of my dress and up my bare thighs, ones that shook like an earthquake as the pads of his fingers slowly rubbed the tense skin. Like he was testing the waters. Testing how well my body reacted to his touch.

And it wasn't subtle. At all.

"W-what—what are you doing?" I almost squealed, my voice practically betraying me.

"Oh? Well, I'm just giving you what you wanted. I'm giving you what you've been wanting for years." He stated so casually, like he had no idea what he was doing to me. And just as casually, he slowly ran a finger over the thin cotton fabric of my underwear, touching me, but definitely not in the way I needed to be touched.

I wished my body didn't betray me like it did though. I couldn't even hold back the breathy moan that escaped my lips when his fingers made contact with the thin material. But Matthew certainly loved the response I gave him.

"Because this is what you've been wanting, isn't it? You've been thinking about how my fingers would feel buried inside your little cunt. Or how good you would feel around my cock." He taunted, it was almost cynical just how easily those filthy words rolled off his usually reserved tongue. "I'm not gonna lie, I've thought about it too, you have no idea how many times I've thought about having your filthy mouth wrapped around me. Or how pretty you would look begging me for more." 

I opened my mouth to speak but my words instantly got caught in my throat when the sneaky bastard pulled the fabric to the side and dipped his fingers into the soaking mess that was my core.

And if there were any rational thoughts still hanging in my head, all of those just went straight out the window when another moan erupted from my throat and my head fell back into the wall behind me.

"See just how much easier things are when you just shut the fuck up and stop fighting so much?" He almost whispered, his lips ghosting over the skin on my neck as a lithe finger gathered my wetness and spread it over my clit.

Despite being a complete whimpering mess at that point, I managed to spit out a surprisingly harsh, "fuck you." 

It was a pretty convincing retort. One that didn't exactly have the effect I hoped for though.

I could feel him smirk into my neck as his lips left wet and sloppy kisses into the skin before he pulled back, just so he could see the look of utter want and frustration on my face.

"Hm, sorry sweetheart, I can't do that. I'm too busy trying to fuck you instead."

I swear to god, he was the biggest asshole I have ever met in my entire fucking life. But he was an asshole who immediately slipped two of his sinfully long fingers into my dripping core. I instantly choked on my own breath as he began working his fingers around the muscles, stroking the digits inside me at an agonizingly slow pace.

"Because that's what you want don't you sweetheart? You want to me to fuck you into that mattress until you can't keep your eyes open?" He continued, his filthy words making me pant like I ran for fucking miles. "I do too, trust me I do. And I will, I promise. But I want to make up for all of the lost time. Don't you?"

I wasn't even paying attention to whatever filthy proclamations were coming out of Matthew's mouth, with my eyes nearly closed, my mouth slightly open and my mind only focusing on his fingers working diligently inside me, how could I?

But Matthew was expecting an answer this time. Because I could feel his darkened eyes glare into my face and his fingers immediately stilled inside me. Earning a loud whine from me.

"I asked you a question, answer me."

It took me a minute to remember his question before I quickly nodded, "yes! Yes! Is that what you wanted to hear?" I nearly screamed at his face, my hands coming to clutch his shirt, needing something to relieve some tension.

"I want to hear you say it. Say it, tell me you want me." He demanded, his eyes locking with mine as he waited for what he wanted to hear.

He wanted me to beg, he wanted me to give up that control I never allowed him to have. And was I going to?

Absolutely.

I needed to.

"I want you, Matthew, I want you to take me and fuck me into that mattress until I can't walk straight. Please."

I guess that was the answer Matthew had been looking for because his fingers immediately began to work diligently inside me again, stroking the digits until he had me whimpering and begging for release.

It wasn't long before my head started to spin and stars began to blur my vision. Words were no longer an option at that point, nothing would come out, not even Matthew's name. All I could manage to let out were pathetic, strangled moans. But he could tell I was close, or I figured that much because his fingers only worked faster around my tightening walls, determined to finish me.

"C'mon sweetheart, come for me." he encouraged through gritted teeth as his fingers were anything but still inside me and his palm applied a crushing pressure into my front. And even when my eyes were half closed and my mind had turned into dust, I could see the look of utter determination on his face, his eyebrows were furrowed as his teeth dug into his perfectly plump lips. It was like his only focus was on driving me over the edge. And he succeeded.

The second his fingers curled, I was fucking gone. My orgasm hit me like a tidal wave. My eyes rolled into the back of my head as I cried out his name like a praise, my body nearly spasming against the wall. But his fingers didn't stop until my whole body shook to the point where my legs no longer supported my weight and I practically slid into the wall as I tried to catch my breath.

It was almost dizzying just how quickly Matthew withdrew his fingers from me and hoisted me up on his slim torso. He wasted absolutely no time in striding over to my bed across the room. My whole body collided with my bed so quickly and forcefully it knocked the air out of my chest.

Matthew was practically ripping away his clothes before I could even sit up or catch my breath. Like he had this urgency to do what I've been avoiding for the past two years. Like he needed to do it, right now, like something would happen before he got the chance to.

"Matthew—"

"Shut up, I've heard enough shit from you for the past two years, and I'm fucking tired of it." He almost growled, his usually soft voice coming out so low and dark it actually stroked fear in my heart. It was scary just how quickly his demeanor changed.

Matthew didn't really waste much time in discarding his clothes, he was down to only his boxers and was on top of me before I could even blink. He brought a hand to my chest and he pushed me down until my back was flat on the bed, but his hand stayed there, pinning me there as he hovered over me, trapping my significantly smaller body under his own.

He wasted no time in grabbing a hold of my dress and pulling it over my head. And I could've sworn I saw pure awe and infatuation flash through his eyes as they shamelessly eyed over my newly exposed skin. Come to think of it though, this was the first time I was this naked in front of him, and even then, I wasn't fully naked. Not yet anyway.

After a good minute, his eyes flickered back up to meet with mine, his previous look of awe quickly replaced by this feral look of want and pure desire. And I couldn't say it didn't excite me to see it.

He brought a hand to my face, running his smooth fingers over my face with a surprising amount of delicacy before he deep rooted them into my hair and slightly tilted my head back before he brought his face into mine, our lips crashing into a deep fervent kiss. I didn't realize we have never actually kissed. No wonder there was so much desperation and hunger within that kiss. We've been wanting this ever since we met, and ironically, I wanted it more.

His mouth was harsh and fervent against mine, his tongue wasting no time before it quickly slipped between my lips without much of a warning. His tongue explored every inch of my mouth and took as much control as he wanted to as he brought one of his hands to discard my brassiere, he struggled a bit at first but he managed to unhook it and discarded the flimsy material along with the rest of forgotten clothes. He pulled back to capture the image of my newly exposed skin. And he wasn't subtle, at all.

I almost felt intimidated under his deep and penetrating gaze as he shamelessly ogled my exposed body. I was completely exposed to him, completely vulnerable and right now, he could do whatever the fuck he wanted with me. And that scared me, it scared me just how quickly he took control over me after years of fighting against it.

With a hard swallow and a bob of his Adam's apple, Matthew slowly licked his lips, scraping his teeth against his slightly swollen bottom lip in a way that almost made me roll my eyes back into my head. But I didn't, instead I just locked eyes with him as he brought his face down and wrapped his lips around one of my breasts and his tongue swirled around the sensitive bud almost expertly, using one of his hands to toy with the other.

"O-oh fuck." I couldn't help but helplessly moan into the air as my hands found their way into his mop of brown curls. This reaction certainly delighted the bastard above me because I could feel his eyes burning into my face and his lips curving into a smirk around me before he slowly pulled back, latching on to my nipple as he pulled off it.

"You have a very filthy mouth, jeez." He tisked, slightly shaking his head disaprovingly but still had that fucking smirk of his.

Clearly, I wasn't amused, in the slightest, so his stupid comment earned him a nice and concise, "fuck you." 

But then again, it didn't have the effect I hoped for.

"Mhm, yeah, you're about to." He retorted one last time before bringing his face back up to mine, capturing me in a heated and messy kiss that only worked as distraction from the journey Matthew's hands took down south. I was only brought back to reality when I felt my underwear being ripped away and the cool air hitting me. And he was quick to pull down his own boxers and allowed his length to spring free. And I couldn't even play off the fact that I had to stare, my mouth slightly hanging open at the sight of him.

"You're so cute when you stare." He taunted, his words being fairly tame in contrast to his very dark and not innocent tone. The sound of his voice made me flicker my eyes to meet his face. Big mistake, because the borderline devious smirk on his face didn't help, at all. And it certainly didn't help when he positioned himself between my legs, rubbing himself on my already dripping heat.

"You do have condoms here, right?" He asked, but I wasn't paying attention, with him rubbing himself on my slick, I couldn't really pay much attention to anything. "I could just fuck you bareback, I'm clean, so I don't care. But it's up to you." He spoke again, slightly teasing my entrance with the tip of his length, hoping to actually get my attention, and I actually listened this time.

Biting my lip, I mentally cursed at my lack of sexual activity because it just so happened that I had no condoms. Matthew gave me an expectant look, not to pressure me, but just waiting impatiently. I knew if I told him to stop he would without a second thought, but he would just leave. I wasn't going to make that mistake twice.

"I'm clean too, just," I chewed on my bottom lip, already shuddering with anticipation as I hooked my legs around his slim torso, pulling him closer, "just take me, please just fucking take me already."

I didn't have to say it twice.

Without a second thought, he propped himself up on his arms and pressed his face against mine as he slammed into me in one swift motion. A strangled moan erupted from my throat as he buried himself to the hilt, stretching me open at once. And fuck, the feeling of him inside me was intoxicating, addicting even, I don't think I've ever felt like this before.

This was so fucking wrong. So wrong, so wrong to be fucking the guy my friend dated, so wrong to be fucking the guy I swore to everyone I hated. It was just wrong. So why the hell did it feel so right? It was so perfectly right the way our bodies felt together, like they simply belonged there, buried deeply within one another. I never wanted to stop feeling like this.

It was almost dizzying just how good he felt. And with the quick and fervent pace he set for himself right from the start, I knew I probably wouldn't last long. With my eyes rolled into my head, my open mouth and my body sprawled out on the bed as I tried to find something to hold on to, he probably had one hell of a view. And he enjoyed it too, because his thrusts only became harsher.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you're so fucking beautiful," he cursed through gritted teeth, his hands holding my hips down with a vice like grip, making sure I couldn't move. And it wasn't for lack of trying. My body shook and shuddered like a fucking earthquake around him but he simply held me down as he continued.

"You feel so good too. I can't believe you made me wait two fucking years for this. Fuck." He nearly shouted, slamming into me with an insane amount of force and clenched his eyes shut, almost as if the thought made him angry, "two fucking years to take what was mine."

His. He called me his.

Fuck, I wish those filthy words didn't have such a strong effect on me, but boy did they make a number on me. I couldn't even hold back the guttural cry that erupted from my chest as I nodded feverishly, not really realizing what I was nodding to. 

"Yes! Fuck yes, Matthew, I'm yours!" I almost screamed, saying whatever incoherent thoughts flashed through my mind, letting the whole floor know just how much fun I was having and with whom. And with my mind and thoughts being too clouded by the feeling of him, I didn't even think about what those words entailed.

But it didn't matter because they served their purpose regardless. I wasn't expecting just how much the words actually affected him, because his hips began to falter, his thrusts becoming longer but impossibly deeper. And I could see how concentrated he was, with sweat forming on his forehead, his teeth digging into his bottom lip and his breath was hard and short, like this was a task he was determined to finish. He was determined to ruin me.

Letting out a guttural and nearly animalistic groan, Matthew grabbed a hold of my hips and raised them so that each thrust would make him bottom out inside of me, knowing just how close we both were to our release. "Yeah, that's right, sweetheart, let the whole floor know who's making you feel this good," he growled as he gave one last final but brutal thrust, digging his fingers into my hips so tight I just knew I would have bruises tomorrow as he held me down on him, "let the whole floor know you're mine."

And just like that, my orgasm crashed into me, Matthew's harsh words of ownership sending me into a euphoric state of pleasure, my lips chanting his name like a mantra and my walls tightening around him as he came deeply into me, my own name rolling off his tongue in a quiet praise. And the utter and absolute look of ecstasy on his face made up for the bruises I would have to hide for the next few days and for the two years we've made each other's life a living hell. Because right now, seeing that look of being completely fucked, I just wanted nothing more than to just stay like this.

The second we were no longer blinded by our highs, he fell forward, nearly crushing me under his weight as he struggled to get himself up. Yeah he looked fucked alright. Despite knowing damn well he could've easily rolled off me, he didn't, he simply rested his head on my chest and closed his eyes like he was just going to sleep there. A small smile made its way to my lips at the sight of his tousled brown curls on my chest, ignoring all logic, I ran my fingers through the messy locks, and they were in fact as soft as they always looked. 

Realizing just how bad this was for me, and just how vulnerable I actually looked, I smacked his forehead, successfully earning a glare from him once he lifted his head, looking dead at me with his now soft amber eyes.

"You're crushing me, you ass, get off." I breathed out and rolled my eyes, being too exhausted to try and get him off myself. And knowing just how easily he corrupted me, I didn't need another thing to make this harder.

"Okay, okay, jeez." Matthew rolled his eyes, letting his head back into my chest exhaustively and groaned tiredly into my chest before he gathered just enough strength to roll off me and collapsed beside me, his reddened and sweaty chest still rising and falling unevenly as he was still trying to steady his breathing. And I was trying, too. And we just stared, we stared at each other, saying nothing. There was nothing to be said. It was better that way.

After a long long while of silently staring at each other, he brought a hand to my face and rested it there, his thumb mindlessly rubbing over the warm skin of my cheek and he smiled, he simply smiled. And it felt good, it felt comforting, sweet even, it was a funny contrast after what he just did to me.

"So.. About our project.."

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

Tag list:

Matthew Gray Gubler

All- @aberrant-annie @marauder-exe @vquezada84 @boiled-onionrings @writeronkeyboard @l0ve-0f-my-life @mariaramz @soederberg

OUaT in NYU-

So I'm starting a tag list for this fic because it will be a mini series so let me know if you'd like to be added to the once upon in NYU tag list

[btsmosphere]

When You Know | KSJ x MYG

~summary: Seokjin and Yoongi aren’t just neighbours. They are enemies. Well, either that or they were destined to be in each other’s arms, but Yoongi can’t see that happening (nor can his cat). Let their friends try all they want, but they’d have to weather storms together and stand back to back in battle before Yoongi would look twice at Jin... Jin x Yoongi ~word count: 3.3k ~enemies to lovers, soulmate au (you have the name of your enemy AND your soulmate tattooed, without knowing which is which), neighbour au, crack, humour, fluff, angst if you squint? Rating: pg13 Warnings: swearing, that’s it :) ~a/n: welcome to my first mxm fic! This is for a special occasion as it is the wonderful @eternalseokjin​‘s birthday!! To celebrate Dean’s birthday over at @thebtswritersclub​ we were sent a bingo card and a challenge to include everything on it in one fic. Our regular mxr content will resume soon, but this has been super fun to write, even if the outcome is -ahem- quite chaotic. So, enjoy, but don’t ask me what’s going on here. I don’t know, and the characters certainly don’t either...

At the end of the fic, I will include what was on my bingo square, in case anyone wants to know, and some basics about d&d for those who (like me a few weeks ago) know nothing about it, but I promise you don’t need to know this to read the fic!

“You’re not serious.”

“I am totally serious.”

Namjoon’s straight-faced response matched Yoongi’s exactly, leaving the two in a sort of staring contest. Seeing no change in the other, Namjoon cracked first, slumping back into the sofa with a sigh.

“Yoongi, come on. It’s not that big of a deal-“

“Why would I want to do it?” Yoongi grumbled.

“it’s just a bit of fun-“

“Then go and do it with Seokjin. I’m sure you’ll have a great time playing wizards, or whatever the fuck-“

“That’s the entire point!” Namjoon threw his hands up in frustration, “we will all be playing, you and Jin included, and we will have a great time.”

Yoongi wasn’t sure if he had ever been threatened with having fun before. Staring back at his friend, his expression remained guarded. Eventually, he sucked at his teeth, turning his eyes away from the younger man.

“Fine,” he bit out.

“Thank you,” Namjoon huffed, pushing on his knees to stand up, “we’ll start at 5 on Sunday, but I’ll get here earlier. Jin will bring food to make up for the trouble.”

Following Joon out to see him off, Yoongi’s brows furrowed.

“Wait- what trouble? And what do you mean you’ll get here-“

“You’ll be hosting. Okay, bye!”

The door was shut in his face before he could protest any further. Cursing Namjoon for knowing him so damn well, Yoongi stomped to the kitchen and soon began scrubbing the teacups to within an inch of their life.

He’d heard of dungeons and dragons before. Well, vaguely. It hadn’t occurred to him before to pay attention to Namjoon whenever he spoke about it, because surprisingly enough, he hadn’t expected his friend to suddenly whip it out as a method of forcing him and Seokjin – his mortal enemy – to bond.

The whole mortal enemy thing wasn’t even an exaggeration.

What else were you supposed to think when the new neighbour, whose name happens to be printed on your wrist, tries to turn your cat over to the authorities on their first day after it launched a ‘targeted attack’ on their pet sugar gliders.

Yoongi was yet to meet the mysterious V that graced his other wrist, but he knew for sure that Kim Seokjin was his enemy. He could not be soulmates with someone who thinks it’s okay to leave a pair of sugar gliders by an open window and not expect a cat to see them as a tasty meal.

When they had learned each other’s names, and of course connected them with their tattoos, an icy silence fell between the neighbours.

Every now and then, Yoongi would get a reminder of the fact his mortal enemy lived next door. Like this morning, when Seokjin’s wheely bin had blown over and spilled rubbish onto his lawn.

Yes, that man’s evil knew no limits.

And if Yoongi would have to endure his friends’ attempts at reconciling the two of them, in his own house, then he was sure of one thing. He was not going to eat Seokjin’s cooking. It was probably awful, anyway.

That Sunday, at precisely five minutes to five, Namjoon arrived. Yoongi’s eyes widened in alarm at the bulging folder held under his arm. He really had come prepared. Yoongi had barely spent twenty minutes scribbling down some things about his character. Well, except when he had to read all about the different class choices… and then when he needed to select the perfect traits… and picking his spells was quite tough too…

“Are you excited?” Namjoon grinned as he set his stuff down, but then he faltered, “…I did tell you Jin would bring food, didn’t I?”

“Can’t remember,” Yoongi muttered.

He slouched over to the sofa while Namjoon shrugged, grabbing a bite from the nearest bowl of snacks. The table was littered with them, and Yoongi would never admit just how early he had got up that morning to start cooking.

Jungkook turned up next, and of course the brat would instantly wolf down the tub of popcorn rather than the bites Yoongi had been slaving over.

Seokjin’s was the last knock on the door, and a timid one at that. Although it may have had something to do with the food his arms were laden with.

As Yoongi opened the door (Namjoon had shoved him towards it before anyone else had the chance to respond), he couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit guilty. It seemed his neighbour had worked just as hard as him on preparing it all.

But still, more of a grimace than a smile showed on his face.

“This way,” he spoke through gritted teeth.

His guilt was short-lived, irritation setting back in as Seokjin invited himself into the kitchen to put down his things. Jungkook bounded after him almost instantly, the pair’s loud greeting audible from the next room.

Turning away bitterly, Yoongi sat in the empty seat between Namjoon and Taehyung, determined to keep his distance from Seokjin.

In time, however, he came to regret this decision, if only because it put Seokjin in full view of the eyes Yoongi so desperately wanted to roll when he announced he wanted to attempt to charm his way to free dinner at the first inn they got to. His reason? His stupid elf claimed to be ‘worldwide handsome’.

The infuriating smirk on his face as he declared this (and then proceeded to pass his roll, because of course) left Yoongi with little doubt this arrogance was nothing but a projection.

After introducing themselves, Yoongi slumping back in his chair the whole time, he let the others take the lead as they set off to find monsters, or something. A pointed look from Namjoon prompted him to pay more attention.

In fairness, he had been a bit creeped out when Taehyung announced he had named his character ‘V’, but he tried his best to listen to the adventure as Namjoon described it. And so they went along, the supply of snacks steadily dwindling as they made their way through some ruins.

The scene was quite vivid, until-

“That’s cat food, Jungkook!”

“Urgh, gross,” Jimin groaned as Jin pried the bowl away from the sheepish-faced younger.

If it had been anyone else, Yoongi would have returned the fond-but-exasperated look they were all well practised in, given the nature of their younger friends. As it was, he ducked his head, scribbling nonsense on his notepad.

It would be a lie if Yoongi said he wasn’t quite proud of himself for solving a riddle to get them into the final room, and getting the final hit on the hellhound inside. And maybe, just maybe, he was a little excited for their next game.

Shutting the door at long last, Yoongi paused for a moment.

Screw Namjoon and his good ideas.

Clearing away the dishes, Yoongi couldn’t help a glance out the window to watch as Seokjin let himself in to his own place, his own stack of plates in his arms. Not that he would ever admit it, Yoongi hadn’t been able to resist just one bite…

Well, it turned into a lot more than that. Maybe Seokjin was a good cook after all.

But that was just one redeeming quality. Best not get ahead of himself.

Yoongi was in trouble.

It had only been a couple more weeks, but he knew that much. As they sat around his table, he caught himself laughing along to Jin’s jokes. And look, he was already calling him Jin! No, he had to stick to Seokjin, the evil neighbour, his enemy.

If he got fond, he would only be sorry later when Jin – Seokjin – did something to remind Yoongi of what a terrible person he was.

Shame all of this seemed to slip his mind the moment Jin came around again.

“The slope is steep, with rocks falling where you move your feet. You can still hear the song, though, and you are certain it’s coming from inside the dark opening you can see at the bottom of the path.”

“No. Absolutely not,” Yoongi was the first to speak.

“Are you kidding? We just spent like an hour trekking over here specifically because of that music,” Taehyung was next to chip in, jabbing his finger into the table.

“It wasn’t an hour,” Yoongi rolled his eyes, “Joon told us it was hour, it was what? One minute?”

A high pitched giggle from Jin was overtaken next by Jimin.

“No, I can feel the weariness in my bones! It won’t be complete until we hear the song!”

“We’ve been hearing it all this time! Aren’t you guys sick of it by now?” Jin retorted.

“No! Joon specifically said it’s the most beautiful music we’ve ever heard,” Tae insisted.

“I don’t give a shit if there’s a chorus of angels in there, my dexterity is not gonna let me get down that cliff,” Yoongi folded his arms to punctuate his argument.

“Ugh, fine, well I want to go down with V,” Jimin said.

The two factions that had emerged looked expectantly towards Namjoon.

“Okay, so V and Christian want to go down and Genie and Suga want to stay here. Anyone else?”

“Yeah, I’ll go down,” Kook shrugged.

All heads turned now to Hobi. Unease written all over his features, he glanced between the two groups.

“Come one, don’t be boring, hyung!” Jimin elbowed him.

“Yeah, come with us!” Kook bounced in his seat as Taehyung switched on the puppy eyes with a string of ‘pleeeease’s.

Cracking under the force of the youngers’ begging, Hoseok laughed and agreed.

Folding his arms, Yoongi leant back in his chair, more than ready to be a bystander to whatever the hell the others were about to get themselves into.

The others of course had an irritating success rate, somehow making it down the cliff without plummeting to their deaths. Not that Yoongi would ever wish death upon his own party members. Of course not.

It would have been funny, though.

Anyway, despite his aversion to following them, Yoongi admittedly was a little curious about the mysterious music they had followed here.

“Stepping inside the cave, the party hears the music louder than ever, ringing in their ears as it bounces off the rocks, making its source unclear. However, it doesn’t offend your ears. The cave extends further into the cliff, and you follow the sound further in. But as you take a step, a great groaning drowns out the music. Behind you, the mouth of the cave shifts, everything around you going black.

“Those of you at the top of the cliff stumble back from the edge as they see the path crumble away into the sea from the shaking of the earth.”

Namjoon sniggered softly at the silence that followed.

Staring at him with comically large eyes, Hobi and Tae looked terrified. As Yoongi watched, Tae slowly turned his head, a smirk turning the edges of his mouth underneath puppy eyes.

“Come rescue us?” he asked sheepishly.

Before Yoongi could respond, Jin was cutting him off.

“Well, that was a fun detour! Where was it we were heading again, Yoongi?”

Yoongi had been preparing to be mad at Seokjin, but his glare dissolved quickly into a snort.

“Yeah, that demon up the road needs seeing to,” he agreed, creating instant uproar from the others.

“You can’t leave us!”

“Justin’s scared of the dark!”

“Traitors!”

However, Jin’s squeaky laugh as he revelled in the others’ pain was all Yoongi could hear. Then Jin leaned closer.

It was all Yoongi could do not jump from his seat when Seokjin’s voice spoke in his ear.

“Shall we leave them?” he was barely containing his mirth.

Feeling rather like he was plotting a prank in the back of the classroom, Yoongi grinned and agreed with a nod. He didn’t quite trust his voice to function as Jin’s breath tickled his cheek.

“We’re leaving!” Jin declared, sitting back in his chair, satisfied.

Before any more chaos could erupt, Namjoon continued with a smirk.

“Okay, so Suga and Genie carry on their previous path, away from their friends and the cliff…”

This was officially getting out of hand.

First of all, Yoongi couldn’t believe how eagerly he was anticipating the weekend, when Seokjin and the others would come around.

Particularly worrying, however, was the way Yoongi had to restrain himself from going to see Jin before Sunday rolled around. It was as if that writing on his wrist was staring at him. The more he tried to look away, the later he would find himself sat up at night, glancing between his wrists and what was written there.

Surely, if Kim Seokjin was his enemy, he wouldn’t be dying to ask how he makes his ramen taste so good. Or how his day was, or any trivial thing, just to be able to have Jin’s eyes on him and his voice in his ears.

Second of all, he had no idea how their campaign had devolved into such utter chaos.

Since the party split, the others made friends with the sirens they found in the cave, and ended up at a drinking party with some demons while Yoongi and Jin were nearly killed by one some miles away on the surface. The demons had apparently taken a particular shining to V, as a tiefling, which resulted in the group they abandoned somehow siding with the very demons they were trying to kill at the start.

Last Sunday had seen Yoongi and Jin going out of their way to find random things to beat to death in the forest, trying to get as many points as possible to face off against four members and goodness knows how many demons.

Yes, this had got rather out of hand.

Two old foes stand face to face on a precipice. Around them, fire blazes. This battle has ravaged the very land they stand upon, whipped the air into a frenzy.

Admittedly, they can barely remember what started this feud. Rumour has it these two great powers were friends, once. If that was so, it was a long time ago.

V stands, battle-worn, waiting for his adversary to make a move.

Suga looks at the body of his fallen companion.

“I’ve only got one spell slot left.”

“Use it,” a whisper returned.

“Aren’t you dead?! Stop talking to each other!” Jimin exclaimed, finger pointing accusingly towards Jin.

“Okay,” Yoongi cut in before they could start arguing, “if this hits, I can take him down. But there’s a fat chance of that, with his AC…“

Trepidation filled him as he looked across the table to Taehyung, a small but unmistakeably victorious smile already on his lips.

A dry chuckle came from one side.

“It’s been a good run,” Jin clapped him on the shoulder.

“Are you accepting defeat?” Joon prompted.

“No…” a hand ran down Yoongi’s face, “I’ll give it a go…”

“There’s no way! If you succeed…” Jin laughed, “if you succeed, I’ll kiss you.”

A quiet round of laughter went around the others, too focussed on the dice in Yoongi’s hand to pay it any mind. But Yoongi could no longer concentrate on that. What did Jin just say?

He couldn’t mean that.

There was no way he would kiss Yoongi. Was there?

All he could hear was the slow drumming of his heart rushing in his ears. The breath caught in his throat as he reminded himself to raise his hand, dice cupped inside.

It wasn’t just the defeat of V he hoped for as it rolled off his fingers, dropping onto the tabletop.

The faces flipped over, every eye trained on it. Around the table, there was no sound. Even Jungkook had stopped munching his popcorn, mouth hanging open.

Round, round, round…

Yoongi caught a glimpse of 20, the magic number, right within reach.

A small thud, the dice settling. A number glared up at him.

3.

All the air left his lungs, deflating as he stared at the number. For a second, the table remained silent as everyone came to terms with the roll, the only sound the tapping of his cat’s paws-

Wait.

When Yoongi turned to find his cat leaping onto the table, it was already to late to grab her as she dashed across the surface. As she went, her paws caught a bowl of snacks, Joon’s notepaper, the dice. Hobi exclaimed with shock, several yells going up as everyone snatched their own stuff out of her way. Jungkook had dived after the snacks.

“Hey!” Yoongi shooed her as he stood up, watching her dart out into the hall.

“Oh my god…”

The small mutter from Jimin caught his attention. Looking around, Yoongi found him staring at the table and followed his gaze to the crime scene. In the centre of which, the dice still lay.

But now, a different number was displayed.

Yoongi’s jaw dropped. It was 20.

“That’s not fair!” Taehyung cried.

“Shush Tae, Jin has to do what he promised,” Hoseok teased, nudging a very red-eared Jin.

“Yah! Hey, I-I, that’s-” Jin spluttered, mouth seemingly fixed open as his cheeks warmed, growing defensive.

As Yoongi watched, Jin only stuttered more under the teasing cries erupting from the other boys as they egged him on with an array of ‘go on’s and ‘you said you would!’

“I-I-“ his eyes flickered over to Yoongi’s.

And despite the jeering and laughter in the background, neither of them looked away. Jin’s lips remained parted, ears pink with embarrassment, protests lodged in his throat.

Yoongi stepped forwards and kissed him.

The distance between them closed in the blink of an eye, Yoongi’s hand flying to Jin’s jaw as he pulled him in, turning his back to the gasps and cheers of their friends.

But they didn’t hear it. Not when their lips were pressed together like this, lighting fireworks in Yoongi’s stomach until he felt like sparks might fly out of his fingertips, the ones he was trailing down Jin’s neck, the ones pulling at the small of his back to bring him closer.

The others had gone quiet.

By the time he groggily pulled away, Yoongi seemed to have forgotten what the world looked like. Were his feet even on the ground?

In what was probably a mirror image of his own face, Jin stared back at him, eyes wide and those perfect lips round with shock. Jin’s fingers trembled as he brought them to his mouth.

“Holy fuck.”

“U-uh, guys,” a small voice from behind them did little to snap them from their trance.

“That was-“ Yoongi breathed, words escaping him.

“It’s you, you idiot!” a grin broke onto Jin’s face.

A laugh left Yoongi’s throat, taking him by surprise.

“It- really?”

“Did you not feel that too?”

Eyes still not leaving the beautiful man in front of him, Yoongi realised. Jin was completely right. Everyone had always told him how it would feel, when he kissed his soulmate. Like butterflies, or a flame, or like the world turned golden.

But through all the different feelings people described, there was one common thread. When you know, you know.

“You’re my soulmate.”

It wasn’t something he had to question, the words leaving him as easily as air.

“You’re my soulmate!”

And then he was wrapped up in Jin’s arms, his lips captured once again, euphoric feeling surging through his body once more.

“Come on, guys…” Namjoon’s groans were completely ignored.

Taehyung was still a bit put out that V had been slain at the last hurdle, but it hardly seemed fitting to be angry about it anymore, what with his two friends falling in love in front of him.

Everyone left together after the revelation, and pretty swiftly at that, deciding to leave them to it. And for once, Jin wouldn’t be leaving with them, even if he would only be one house away.

Smile never once leaving his face, Jin turned to Yoongi after shutting the door.

“So, what are we going to do about my sugar gliders?”

Thanks everyone for reading!! Reblog if you liked it xx

Taglist: @aianloveseven​ @preciouschimine​ @kb-bangtanenthusiast​

Okay, for anyone interested, my bingo card contained: dungeons & dragons, neighbours, enemies to lovers, namjoon, yoonjin, cats, fluff, music, soulmates And here are some dnd basics for those who want them: you have a dungeon master or dm (Namjoon here) who tells a story. The others play as a character and choose what they want to do in the given situation. There are scores that dictate how good your character is at certain traits, and you roll the dice to see whether you succeed in your choices. That’s really all you need to know for the purposes of this fic, but you can ask me any questions too!

Lastly, I have to give another HUGE happy birthday to the amazing writer and friend and person @eternalseokjin​!! I hope you have the best day, you really deserve it! I’m so glad to have met you and of course played dnd together in the net! Lots of love xx

[wallwriterstuff]

Am I allowed to place in a request for Mr svelte tracker boi Demetri? I need my greek boi fix. 😅😂 My stimming (due to my slight autism and anxiety) has been kinda bad lately and I was wondering if you could do some headcanons on how he would be with a reader who has that going on? (For example, some of my stimming signs are restless, uncontrollable finger twitches sometimes, and sudden limb movements and facial twitches I can't control 😅) Thanks! Also, sorry if this is too touchy a subject!🙈

You most certainly are allowed and I cannot express how hard I fangirled when I realised it was you in my ask box. I played it very cool but just know I was dying inside from the moment I saw your username come up XD 

TW: Mentions of anxiety and sensory overload. If that’s a little personal to you please be cautious about reading this one!

I’m incapable of writing short things it seems so it’s another long one.

Self-stimulating behaviour, known more commonly as stimming, usually involves repetitive movements and/or sounds. Though it is most often associated with autism (I know when I first saw the word stimming that was where my mind immediately went to) everybody stims in some way, shape or form to relieve stress, tension, anxiety, boredom etc. Some ways are less noticeable than others such as nail biting or finger tapping, while others can be more obvious and disruptive to your social/daily life like licking certain objects or scratching at skin.

I learned all this from doing a bit of reading before taking on this request and if you want to know more then the link to the article I read is right -----> HERE <------ ! It’s informed my ideas for this headcanon request and though I’m open to discussions about the topic to help educate myself and anyone else who wishes to learn more, what I will not tolerate is any sort of hate or discrimination based on the links to developmental disorders and mental illness that stimming has. This blog has and always will be a safe space for anyone and everyone and a little respect for one another will help keep it that way. Be kind folks!

So without further ado, how would Demetri react to you stimming I wonder?

Part 1: Headcanons below the Keep Reading Line Part 2: Teeth (fic) Part 3: Control (fic) 

·         He honestly wouldn’t really notice for a while because, well, humans aren’t exactly designed to be as flawless as vampires

·         Impromptu nosebleeds, migraines, sneezes…they’re just glitches in a faulty system so why is the way your leg just bounced up off of the floor while your sitting any different to those other equally as involuntary things

·         He’s struggling right now to, after all he just met his very human mate and it’s quite overwhelming for him to have to adapt to all these new feelings and situations he finds himself in, but he deals because he can

·         Some days, you just…can’t

·         Getting attacked by a man with some bizarre fascination with your neck is bad enough but being whisked away by strangers is somehow even worse. At least in the first scenario once it’s over it’s over, now you’re just living an anxious person’s nightmare in a new place full of new people

·         Volterra was beautiful, but it wasn’t home. No cosy apartment, no neighbours cat to feed, no monotonous shifts at work…

·         Actually, most of the time you’re left utterly alone to navigate an unfamiliar castle, and the times you aren’t alone is when there’s a man claiming to be your eternal lover in front of you

·         Try to convince me this man doesn’t rip the band aid off and profess his love for you with dramatic flair just TRY

·         Your days are filled with endless boredom where you’re doing nothing at all until someone checks on you, and then fight or flight kicks in because oh HELLO Mr Vampire guard are you here to give me lunch or kill me?

 ·         Demetri had thought that perhaps you were okay with that, since you hadn’t really outwardly reacted beyond the way your cheek twitched up into a smirk once or twice as he spoke. Hell, you’d even winked at him…right?

·         You did that a lot so he really genuinely thought that maybe you were just trying to flirt with him, build a relationship with him. Your constant little winks and the way your fingers twitched when he was nearby, like you so desperately wanted to reach out to him…

·         It took a few weeks before he realised how wrong he was

·         You’d reached for a sip of water and your arm had just whipped outward from your body

          + You’d absolutely drenched him with your entire glass of water and could only stare in abject horror wondering what the supposed vampire would do next, since you’d interrupted him rather smugly detailing his plans for your first date

·         Silence

·         There was just silence

·         It only made your anxiety worse and the muscles in your face just spasmed without your permission and - god did you just smirk at him again, oh no        

         + “I’m glad one of us finds this amusing. If you did not like the idea there were other ways to tell me so.”

 ·         You almost want to cry from sheer embarrassment at this point because the date really had sounded like it could be fun and now you’d just straight up thrown water in his face like he’d insulted you in the worst way imaginable

·         So you come clean and tell him about your stimming

·         He’s really worried at first because autism? Anxiety he’s heard of but autism sounds very dangerous, are you dying? You’re probably dying. He’s going to lose his mate –

·         Another involuntary finger twitch from you forces him to calm down because your anxious enough without his worrying on top, so he kind of brushes it off and makes no big deal out of it

·         Squeezes your hand and kisses your forehead to try and reassure you all is forgiven, even if he does have to go change a very expensive looking designer shirt and god you’re so sorry

·         Of course, that kind of makes it worse for you because anxiety brain is activated and your 99.9999% sure he’s actually furious with you still and has only pretended to forget it while he’s plotting his revenge

·         You see him late at night when you struggle to fall and stay asleep, reading in the low lamplight at his desk across the room, his laptop propped open and a notebook before him but you’re too scared still to ask what it is he’s reading so intently (probably good suggestions on places to bury your body welp)

·         It’s a complete surprise to you therefore when he does take you out on that date he promised you not two weeks later

 ·         He’s chosen a nice overcast day so he’s in the least conspicuous clothing he owns

            + Demetri’s least conspicuous clothes still consist of the most chic and expensive brands you know of and he sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the quaint little market stalls he’s brought you to see

·         Despite the gloomy weather the people of Volterra are out in full force though, swarming the market stalls and chattering and laughing as flashes of gold and silver from jewelry hit your eyes, bright coloured fabrics following

·         It’s all just too much

·         There’s people everywhere and so much noise, so many colours and lights and people brushing past you…

·         Your fingers clench tight around his, his hand immersed in a glove to keep his freezing skin from chilling you too much

·         He squeezes back lightly, eyes shifting to glance down at you with the kindest smile on his lips

         + “Keep squeezing my hand whilst we find somewhere quieter to stand.”

·         Your fingers seemed to take turns pressing into his rock solid skin, an odd sort of comfort coming from the fact you know you can press down hard and he won’t so much as register the sensation, and Demetri squeezes back, just firm enough he knows you can feel the pressure of his palm on yours

·         He takes you to a quiet little side road where the noise is much more faded and there is so much free space around you you feel like you can finally breathe again

·         He still hasn’t stopped squeezing your hand, taking turns with you as you take some steady breaths and try to focus your senses a bit, one thing you can feel, two things you can see, three you can smell...

 ·         “I hope you can forgive me, I did not expect the market to be so busy today with the weather like this.”

·         His apology takes you completely by surprise because how would he even know you struggled with crowds? You barely know each other?

·         Seeing your surprise Demetri rather sheepishly admits as to what exactly he’s been reading all those nights you’ve seen him at his desk, and you’re a little overwhelmed to realise he’s been reading about you

·         Medical journals, mummyblogs, charity websites and more, if it had any information about autism and stimming he’s browsed through it and taken copious amounts of notes, observing you religiously to see what might be relevant to you and how he can help ·         +  “I read somewhere you self-stimulate to calm yourself when you are anxious or your senses feel overwhelmed, is that what happened?”                                    “Well, yes, actually, I…I…”

            “And did it help? Taking you away from the source of stress and letting you squeeze my hand like that?”

·         It had actually, you felt much calmer and Demetri’s obvious acceptance and willingness to help you manage your stimming and anxiety today were one of the first little moments you fell in love with him, looking back on it 

·         He didn’t stop there either. Together you sat down and made a list of all the things that you found most often triggered your stimming, and all of the things that brought you joy so he could figure out things to avoid and things you might like for your future dates

·         Within hours of arriving home you’d gotten a whole new daily routine set up so you weren’t left to languish and wonder what was going to happen next

·         Three days later an express shipment of your favourite smelling scented candles arrived alongside a Bluetooth speaker, supplies Demetri insisted were necessary for nice calming baths on the days your anxiety was playing up

·         He started doing mindfulness practices with you in the evenings

·         He never touched the volume controls for his laptop, speaker or TV, leaving it to you to control the volume so you could set it to a level you were comfortable with, and he religiously policed the noise on his floor to           + “Where are you going? The movie just started…”                                                    “To tell Felix to turn his music down.”               “You’re vampiring again Metri, I can’t even hear that.”

·         When he signed you up for Yoga and meditation classes at a centre in town you drew the line and told him he was going overboard, but bless him he had tried

·         Overall he’s a solid 15/10 for effort, even if some ideas are still experimental - you’re enjoying the deep pressure massages a lot though – and he sometimes goes a bit mother-hen trying to get you out of situations he thinks you’ll struggle with, when actually you’re coping just fine today

·         You love him dearly for it

[justletmeplayminecraft]

so @martuzzio‘s space outlaws au gave me another idea for a fic. this is the result. zedaph’s sheep part being afraid of ren which somehow turned into a wider exploration of zed being new to the ship & a not-quite human disaster! is it wider au compliant? who knows! but i had fun writing it. hope you have fun reading. 

featuring: it’s harder than expected adapting to being on the same ship as a werewolf when you are, in fact, part sheep. also with copious team zit bullying friendship, stress being stress, and self discovery.

It's only been two weeks on the Hermit Craft when Zedaph realises he has a problem. He meets Ren in the corridor by complete accident. One of the few times he leaves Tango or Impulse's side, and he gets lost. The ship is bigger than anything he's been on before but he doesn't want the embarrassment of asking for help over the communicators. He probably wanders for around an hour before Ren finds him. Ren with his ears and his teeth- oh they're pretty sharp aren't they?

"Hey, Zedaph, right?" Ren holds a hand out. His smile is friendly, but the dark eyes make Zedaph swallow. He puts on a similar smile, reaching out to shake Ren's hand.

"Um, yeah," he replies, "And you're Ren?" He says like he isn't innately aware of the werewolf on the ship.

"That's me!" Ren's ears twitch. "Tango sent me to find you. Thought you might've gotten lost." Zedaph laughs, reaching to rub the back of his neck. He looks down the corridor that looks the same as every other one he's been down today.

"Um, a bit," he admits. He keeps Ren in his vision, shifting his weight from foot to foot. If Ren notices his anxiety (Zedaph's not sure how he couldn't), he doesn't comment on it.

"Good job I've got the super senses to find you!" Ren stands up straight, looking proud of himself as if he didn't just deliver one of the most terrifying things Zed's heard. "I'll take you back to Tango."

Zedaph nods, "I'd appreciate that." As he follows behind Ren, he decides he's going to rip Tango a new one. Well and truly.

-

See, the thing is: Zedaph isn't human. Not completely. Maybe 85% human if he threw an estimate out there. He doesn't hide this on purpose. In fact, he announces it right there when he introduces himself. Hi, my name's Zedaph, and I'm part sheep! But he doesn't make an effort to correct people when they assume it's a joke. That part is a little more on him. Compared to the other non-humans on board, he's pretty tame. The hair is easy to pass off with a bit of effort. His face is... his face. It's no surprise that the other Hermits assume he's human, nothing more.

It's not a problem, except for Ren.

It's not Ren's fault, of course. Ren's a perfectly nice guy! Probably! He's got a friendly demeanour, often bouncing around the Hermits with bright enthusiasm. Zed even has a list of evidence why Ren is perfectly nice, including: Xisuma lets him on the ship, Tango and Impulse like him, Jellie likes him too! None of these things change the undeniable problem, however, that Ren is a werewolf. Ren is a werewolf and Zedaph is very much part sheep! It is everything Zedaph has been taught to avoid. Now he's living on a ship with it. He's not prepared.

-

"You sent Ren to get me!" Zedaph whines, pacing the edges of the engine room. Tango twists to look at him.

"Well, he was going to find you fastest. Unless you wanted me to bother Xisuma." Zedaph groans, throwing his arms out.

"I felt like I was going to faint!" He protests, flinging his hand in Tango's direction like it in any way proves his point. Tango turns to face him, crossing his arms.

"Ren's perfectly fine. He's probably one of the least intimidating Hermits." Zedaph shuts his eyes, breathing in deeply.

"I get that. I very much get that. But look at me, Tango."

Tango tilts his head, "I'm looking." Zedaph gives him an unimpressed glare.

"I'm part sheep! He's a werewolf!"

"Ah." Tango's face softens, his tone turning genuine. "This is really bothering you, isn't it?"

"Yes!" Zedaph gathers the strands of hair that have fallen into his face. He twists them back into the rest. "I can't just avoid him forever!" Tango hums, tapping his foot.

"I'm sure we can figure something out," he says, sounding far calmer than Zed feels.

"We're going to have to." He needs to get over himself. He only just got here, he can't go disrupting things and getting kicked out. No, he's not losing Tango and Impulse again so soon. No way. "When does he next transform, anyway?" Tango squints his eyes to think.

"I'm not sure," he admits, "a week or two? He had one a few days before you arrived." Thankfully, Zedaph's world ending sigh remains internal. How is he supposed to cope with a transformed werewolf on the ship? He drags his hands down his face.

"Tango, I'm going to die." Tango rolls his eyes. Zedaph ducks the wrench that is thrown at him.

"We only just got you back! We're not losing you again because you're afraid of a lovable, fluffy were-Ren."

Zed feels some of the pressure leave his chest as the tone lightens. "Now you're bullying me. Impulse wouldn't bully me."

"Once you get over this fear," Tango tells him, "We're both going to bully you."

"Oh! You come here where I can fight you!"

"What, you can't handle this heat?"

"Get over here!"

-

The topic comes back up again in the evening. Impulse is in the middle of complaining that Zedaph needs his own clothes. He's started doing that this last week. Zedaph agrees. He does want his own wardrobe - two somewhat tattered robes and his precious shawl are nowhere near enough - but he wants to annoy Impulse even more. It's only Impulse's clothes he steals. Tango's are all too well fitted, hold too much heat, or are literally on fire. Never mind how hot his room is.

"I don't mind it," Impulse amends, despite the evidence contrary, "But those are literally singed. I can't wear them." Okay, maybe he should’ve been more careful in the engine room.

"It's Tango's fault!" He interjects. "He provoked me!"

"We'll find a way to repair them-" Tango waves him off, "-Get Zed some clothes whilst we do." Zedaph rolls onto his back, sticking his feet on Impulse's lap.

"I want to look cute," he decides. Impulse pats his feet, rolling his eyes.

"We still need to get you a proper suit." Zedaph looks at Tango, dressed in his. He smiles to himself, settling down again and getting comfortable. His own suit, with all the labels. He'd be a proper Hermit then. They want him to be one.

"We'll get there," Tango drops into the armchair, kicking his legs over the arm. "But, you want to know what tasty news I learnt today?" Zedaph pokes his head up to glare at him.

"Don't you-"

"Zedaph here is afraid of Ren!" Zedaph groans. Impulse frowns, allowing Tango to steal the bowl of popcorn from his lap.

"Ren? Why's that?" Zedaph sighs, closing his eyes.

"He's a werewolf and I'm like, part sheep. Very distantly, yes, but I just- it's hard! I know he's probably a nice person-"

"He is. He's a nice person."

"He is a nice person, but I feel nervous around him. He's got those eyes and the ears and the teeth."

"Okay. And that makes you nervous?" Impulse sounds genuinely concerned. Zedaph opens his eyes to see his sympathetic expression.

"I guess? I feel kind of stupid about it. I mean, I'm okay with Tango and he's literally on fire."

"Hell yeah I am," Tango murmurs, shoving popcorn into his mouth.

"We can figure things out," Impulse reassures him. "Explain the situation, give you some space whilst you get used to him." Zedaph hums, his eyes slipping shut again.

"I don't want to be afraid of him," he admits. He pulls the pillow behind him into his arms, pressing it against his chest. "I don't wanna upset him and get kicked out." He hears a sharp inhale.

"You're not going to be kicked anywhere," Impulse tells him, voice confident. "We won't let you."

"Besides, you think we get along all the time?" Tango adds. "We have fights and whatever. But we're adults. We figure that out."

"You'll be fine, Zed. We've gotten over bigger hurdles." Zedaph rolls onto his side, letting the words wash over him like a blanket.

"Yeah-" He yawns "-I don't think I'm gonna stay awake for movie night." Impulse rubs his leg.

"You get some sleep, buddy. We'll be right here."

"Yep. Can't get rid of us that easily."

"I'd hope not," Zedaph replies. This can wait until the morning.

-

Just because it can wait doesn't mean anything changes. Zedaph finds himself growing more anxious when he learns about Ren's calendar marked Transformation Day. He stops looking at the calendars altogether. He's sworn Tango and Impulse to secrecy for now. Out of embarrassment, more than anything. This is a uniquely him problem, after all. The other two can't solve it for him.

They do help, though. He thinks they're having fun with it, telling him where Ren is in the ship, eating meals with him, acting as a buffer when needed. It can't last forever, though. Zedaph thinks the others are noticing them always skirting out of rooms if Ren is there. Or sitting all the way on the other side. Just... It's going to raise questions eventually.

And, eventually, he's going to get caught out.

As much as the three stick together (they have a lot of time to make up for) Zedaph ends up on his own occasionally. He's trying to reach out to the other Hermits. He can't live on this ship and not know anyone. So it's only natural, that whilst he's on his own, Ren approaches him. It's a near thing, but Zedaph's relieved he doesn't faint after turning to him.

"Hey, um, Zedaph?" Ren's shoulders are dipped, his hands twisting together in front of him. Zedaph stumbles back a step, waving before slamming his hand by his side.

"Ren! Hello!" He shuffles his hands before clutching them together to hide any shaking. "Can I help you?" Ren shakes his head, his ears strangely flat.

"No, I just- Have I done anything to upset you, man?" Zedaph presses his lips together, trying to put together his phrasing.

"No, no, you're absolutely fine. Nothing's wrong with you." He digs his fingers into his hand, resisting the urge to wave them around like an absolute fool. "I'm the problem. Oh now it sounds like we're breaking up. No- just- I'm the problem. Not you. You're fine. Lovely, even."

"Oh." Ren smiles, a hint of canines showing behind his lips. Zed feels his stomach drop.

"That being said I, uh, really need to be somewhere I'm really sorry I need to go-" Ren's eyes widen and he steps back.

"Oh, that's fine, yeah-" Zedaph glances down the hallway, backing away from Ren.

"That's great, I'll, um, see you around some time!" He continues quickly down the corridor, not turning away from Ren until he rounds the corner.

So, yeah. That could've gone better.

-

"You've been upsetting Ren." Zedaph startles at the appearance of Stress in front of him. Her arms are crossed tight across her chest and hair shadows her eyes. He winces.

"I have?" His voice squeaks and he can feel heat rising to his cheeks.

"Yes." Her expression betrays nothing. "You've been avoiding him and I want to know why." Zedaph's mouth hangs open, searching for words.

"I'm part sheep."

She blinks, "You what?" The confusion is far preferable to that glare.

"Well, like, not technically a sheep? It's a species that's distantly related to a sheep. It's kind of complicated and involves a history of gene splicing and experimentation. But I'm not entirely human and being around Ren makes me nervous."

"Okay." Stress puts her hand on Zedaph's arm, pulling him into the med-bay.

"Wha- Stress?" She sits him on one of the beds, pulling up a chair and opening a file. Zedaph tries to peer around and read the reversed text. "Is that my record?" She gives no suggestion she heard him.

"Alright." She looks up at him, hand poised to type. "You're going to explain all that to me properly."

"All what?"

"Your species, dummy!" She rolls her eyes with a flair of dramatic. "I'm pretty much your doctor! I gotta know what I'm treating."

"Oh." That makes more sense.

"Yeah, oh! Medically negligent you are. We'll come back to the Ren issue, this is more important."

"I'm not planning to get injured anytime soon." She laughs, high and carefree, shaking her head.

"You've been on this ship for like a month!" She replies. Her entire demeanour has changed with her smile. Her shoulders have dropped, legs kicking as she types. Her accent is stronger too. "Everyone's a danger magnet. So come on. Give me the deets."

It's easy to talk to Stress once he gets past the Ren issue. He's not talked to any of the Hermits about his family yet. Stress listens, noting things down and saying she'll do more research on any differences she needs to know. When she asks to touch his hair, he agrees and enjoys the delighted look on her face as she plays with it. It leaves them in a much better place to talk about Ren when she next brings it up.

"So," she says, in that tone where you know something bad will follow it. "Ren being a werewolf makes you nervous."

"Yeah." He leans back on the bed. "It's not his fault. It's just my prey instinct. I don't know how to get over it." Stress hums, drumming her hands against her thighs.

"What about exposure therapy?"

"Exposure therapy?"

"You know, where you like, do stuff with the thing that scares you-"

Zedaph holds his hands up, "No, no, no. I know what it is." He shoves his hands between his legs. "Last time I spoke to Ren I saw his teeth and had to flee."

Stress frowns, "Yeah, he may've mentioned that." Zedaph feels all his dignity draining away. "We can figure this out though. I know he transforms in-" She holds the word as she checks her calendar, "Four days now. He wouldn't want to spook you accidentally. Not more than he already has. He thinks he's done something awful to you without realising."

"No! Of course not."

"Exactly. I mean, look." She slides her phone into her hand. "Maybe I can show you pictures of him? That might help." Zedaph sighs, offering a tired nod.

"We've not got any better ideas." He leans across as Stress adjusts herself so he can see the pictures. She shuffles as she flicks through them faster than Zedaph can take them in. She backtracks a few.

"Okay, here we go!" Zedaph looks at the picture, of the ball of fluff taking up half of the picture. For a werewolf he is... Remarkably fluffy looking. He can just about make out a face in the darkness, eyes shut and a tongue sticking out.

"That's Ren?" Zedaph asks, glancing to her. She nods and flicks through a couple.

"He's a bit loud, but he's a right softie, really." She plays a video of Ren chasing after a ball, tail wagging. Zedaph raises a hand to hide his smile. "He doesn't know I have these, don't tell him."

"Is he always this... Dog like?" Zedaph asks, leaning onto his hands.

Stress nods, "He is! A proper cutie." She flicks to the next one, Ren smiling wide. Zedaph cringes away, pulling his arms up for protection. She looks at him, rubbing his arm encouragingly. "It's okay! It's only a picture." Zedaph bounces, breathing slowly until he gets the courage to look again. Ren's not in a scary pose. Still a massive fluffball, lying on his back. Zedaph still finds it hard to breathe if he focuses on those teeth.

"He's... He's cute looking?" Zedaph can't even force himself to sound sure. Stress laughs, bumping his shoulder.

"We can work on it! We'll get you warmed up to him."

"Yeah. Yeah, I think that would be nice."

-

"You managed to eat with him in the same room." Impulse sounds so proud for such a simple statement. Both him and Tango have been busy today, so Zedaph ended up spending it with Stress, acting as an assistant when Hermits came through the med-bay. It was interesting. He still needs to find a role on this ship. Somewhere where he fits. He can't be Impulse and Tango's shadow forever.

"Yeah," he replies, feeling a bit proud of himself too. Sure Ren was on the other side of the room, but he still sat there! He only got a little nervous when Ren laughed!

"See, we told you it would get better." Tango is leaning on the wall outside his room. It's nice having this moment before they part ways for the night. Or at least, when they’ve decided to sleep.

"It's a start," Zedaph corrects. He has work to do until he's completely comfortable with Ren. He doesn't want to cause problems with the already stressful transformation.

"Look at you." Impulse rubs Zedaph's hair, pressing it against his head. "Being grown up and stuff."

"I've been grown up for awhile," Zedaph reminds him. "And I still act older than Tango."

"Hey."

"That's not hard."

"Hey." Zedaph laughs, resting his hands on his hips. Tango scoffs at both of them. "I get no respect."

"Well," Impulse smiles pleasantly, "Maybe if you did something for us to respect you."

"Oh I am so going to burn the rest of your clothes."

"No you are not!" Zedaph snorts, standing out of the way. He's missed this. He's really missed this.

-

"Hey, Zedaph?" He doesn't jump this time when Ren calls to him. He turns and smiles, offering a wave.

"Hi, Ren! It's nice to see you." Ren offers a small smile in return, keeping his lips together. Zedaph focuses on his eyes instead. He's figuring this out. He's doing it.

"I just wanted to let you know I'm transforming tomorrow. You gonna be okay? Know what part of the ship to stay away from?" Zedaph nods, a soft feeling in his chest.

"Yeah, Stress gave me the brief." A very thorough brief. He had to take notes. "I'll be fine. You've got to take care of yourself!" Ren laughs, hiding his mouth with his hand.

"I've got Stress to look after me, don't you worry. We're practised."

"Good! I'm sorry for making all this awkward for you. I'm figuring it out, promise."

Ren shakes his head, "No, I get it. It's not fun having instincts you can't turn off. We'll muddle through this, yeah?"

"Yeah! You seem like a cool guy."

"So do you. See you on the other side?" Zedaph nods in agreement.

"See you on the other side."

-

"Remember when Zed was afraid of Ren?" Zedaph blinks his eyes open, poking his head up from Ren's fur. He can see Ren's eyes glinting in the darkness as he stretches out beneath him.

"Remember when you two didn't bully me?" Zedaph whines, yawning as he stretches into an upright position.

"Nope, definitely not." Tango is stood in the doorway, Impulse poking his head around. Zedaph moves to pet through Ren's fur. It's always so soft and silky.

"We came to check if you two wanted anything, ignore him." Impulse pulls Tango back as he speaks. Zedaph smiles, looking down to Ren.

"You need anything?" Ren blinks, shaking his head. He sets it back down again, obviously stifling a yawn. Zedaph just makes sure to avoid looking at the teeth. "We're good."

"Okay. Don't be afraid to contact us if you do, alright?"

"Will do," Zed assures them. He's not afraid of reaching out anymore. The Hermits are like a family. He doesn't know where he'd be without them.

"We'll see you in the morning!" Tango calls.

"Have a good night."

"You too," Zedaph replies. He settles back onto Ren as the door closes, resting his cheek against the warm fur. "I missed them, you know?" He whispers, running his fingers through Ren's fur. He can see Ren's eyes watching him, deep and focused. He smiles. "They're like my brothers. It was hard with them gone." He laughs, throwing his other arm across Ren. "But now I've got all of you. I think that's an improvement, right?"

Ren makes a tiny bark, something he apparently practised just for Zed.

"Yeah. I agree," he smiles, before breaking into a giggle. "Thanks for tonight. You're a comfy pillow." Ren's tail beats gently against the ground. "I'm glad we've figured things out." He lets his eyes slip closed, breathing out. "Right-" he yawns, "-I'm going back to sleep." Ren exhales beneath him, leaving Zedaph to sink into his fur.

Yeah, he could get used to this.