#he takes every loss so hard especially when he was younger

[dilfssi]

I want to be great or nothing

the greatest, billie eilish // symphonia ix (my wait is for you), grimes // oh no!, MARINA // american beauty, sam mendes

[eternalbuckley]

Making Progress. — aemond targaryen

SUMMARY: Making progress with someone you used to be close with when you were younger could be hard but you put in the effort, so Aemond could trust you again. Giving him the time he needed and when you don't expect it at all, you might end up with the most vulnerable moment you've shared with him. OR When braiding his hair turns into him showing you his most vulnerable side and has some confessions.

word count: 3,819

genre: comfort | wife!reader, queer!reader, bipoc!reader and plus-size!reader friendly

warnings/tropes: it's just very very soft, one mention of health problems (readers father), arranged marriage, reader is the oldest daughter of her parents and has implied younger siblings, no use of y/n, set before the death of viserys, english is not my first language, slightly proofread — if I forgot something, please let me know!

a/n: i just need my babygirl to be happy and get the love he deeply deserves and always wanted :( it's my first time writing for him and this fandom in general, i hope you enjoy it <3 reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated and highly welcomed!

disclaimer: please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work or post this anywhere without my consent. do not translate my work and post it anywhere — i give you no permission to do that. i only post my stories here, so if you find my work anywhere else please let me know!

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Ever since you’ve been friends with Aemond in your childhood, you were fascinated with his hair and always played with it whenever you were able to. You spent most of your time with him when your family was visiting the King and Queen’s family since they were close friends to the family. You’ve always been the closest person Aemond had and were there for him. You were his best friend and always listened to his rants whenever his brother or nephews made fun of him, especially when the situation with the pig happened. You hated Aegon for how he treated Aemond sometimes, despite being his older brother. You didn’t have older siblings but you could never imagine treating your younger siblings the way Aegon treated Aemond sometimes.

The next time you saw him was at the funeral of Lady Laena Velaryon. Your parents were close friends and allies with her parents, Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys. You and your family wanted to pay your respect to their loss. Later, when you found out what happened the following night with Aemond, you were shocked. You were shocked when you found out how he lost his left eye and were angry with the whole situation but you couldn’t change anything about it. But Aemond felt somewhat happy because he finally claimed his own dragon, even if he lost his eye for it.

You tried to be there for him as much as you were able to but over the years, your father got sick and you weren’t able to see him so often anymore. Because your father wasn’t always to travel to the Red Keep and Viserys was slowly losing his strength every day as well. You thought you could bond over this with Aemond but you quickly realized it wouldn’t happen. You tried to keep in touch with him, by sending letters to him but over the time he didn’t respond to them as much as he used to. Which resulted into that you drifted apart from each other, you still cared for him but you noticed that he started to shut you out of his life. He wouldn’t let you into his thoughts anymore but the few times you were able to see him, you noticed that his demeanour had changed, especially the older you got. He acted colder and more firmly, you barely saw him laugh anymore unless he tortured his nephews. It was hurting to see how much he had changed over the years and that you couldn’t be there for him as much as you’d want to. You missed your best friend.

You always thought you’d end up being betrothed to his brother since you are your parents’ oldest child and because they mentioned it a few times to you when you were a few years younger. But it surprised you when your parents agreed with Viserys and Alicent to betroth you and Aemond instead since Aegon had been married with Helaena already. Your parents and Aemond’s parents wanted to bond both families together, knowing that you two used to be close when you were younger and wanted to use that connection between you. But if you were honest, you weren’t sure how to feel about the betrothal back then. Both of you didn’t seemingly share the same interests anymore or really knew what the other one was thinking about. You were sure, that Aemond was still angry and fed up with the Velaryon brothers and that Lucerys was the one who cut out his eye and was the reason for losing his eye. You never agreed with the way how his brother and he mocked Jacaerys, Lucerys or Joffrey for being bastards from time to time, they weren’t responsible for their mothers’ actions. But you didn’t do anything against it either. You tried not to listen to what others were saying but it was undeniable. Everyone knew the truth about the Velaryon brothers, even if some tried to deny the truth.

On the other hand, Aemond was happy that he’d marry you, something he maybe dreamed about too many times in his life. You were the one person he had a soft spot for, even if the two of you weren’t that close anymore. Aemond had different reasons for pushing you away. Ever since the accident with his eye, he didn’t want to possibly get hurt or betrayed by you, which caused him to push you away and out of his life. He focused more on his training sessions with Ser Criston or spending his time reading. Spending less and less time with you whenever you visited the Red Keep. You tried to get into his interests but whenever you tried to watch his training sessions, your mother would make you join Helaena and spend time with her instead.

You didn’t mind spending time with her because you enjoyed it and were happy to call her sister as soon as you’d marry Aemond but you wanted to get to know him again. You missed him as your friend. All you wanted was to find out what he liked and if there was anything that didn’t change about him. But in the end, both of you were glad that you wouldn’t have to marry a stranger even if it meant trying to get to know each other again. Which seemed to be harder than you thought, especially during the first months of your marriage. You would spend barely time with each other, the only interactions between you were stolen glances. Whenever you would pass him as you walked through the castle, whenever you two saw each other in the gardens or were together with his siblings and parents during feasts or in general. It didn’t happen a lot but whenever you all were together you felt his gaze on you. The longing between you two was hard to ignore, yet the only people to notice this were Alicent and Helaena. Helaena knew how much you cared for her brother, many times you’d talk about him whenever you spent time with her. Alicent hoped that Aemond and you would find your way back to each other again and that your marriage would be filled with love and trust.

On your wedding day, Aemond and you kept your formalities and consummated your marriage that night but after that, neither of you tried to push the other one to sleep with each other or keep an intimate behaviour. It happened quickly and you didn’t ever really talk about it afterwards as it didn’t seem to be necessary to do it. Everything was still the same, gazes filled with longingness.

Over time you started to talk with each other more, most of the time it would be whenever you were in the garden at the same time. In the beginning, it would only be about the smallest things but he slowly warmed up to you. You always tried to never push him too much and swore to yourself to give him the time he needed. You started joining him in the library and sat together while the two of you read. He started talking about the things he read or studied in particular and you engaged with him about it. Or listened to him talking and appreciating the progress you had made so far. You slowly got closer again and started to eat your breakfast and dinner together and had more engaging conversations and laughed together from time to time. Aemond noticed the effort you put into him and your relationship. He appreciated you and how you gave him the time he needed to open up and trust you again. He always trusted you but his fear of being abandoned by you haunted his nights and thoughts many times.

You started to notice how he would have one hand on the lower back of you whenever you walked together, the more time you spent together. It was a gentle and small touch but meant everything for both of you. Because deep down you both knew you’ve always liked each other, you just needed to feel brave enough to act on it, despite being afraid of possibly hurting yourselves. You fell in love with each other all over again. You brought out a side of him, he thought he lost. Though, he’d only show it if you were alone and felt comfortable.

For him, you were the one who made it seem worth it to have a smile on his lips and feel happier again.

He’d be the one who had the courage to kiss you first. It was a moment of peace while you sat with him on a bench in the garden of the castle. You were talking about something you recently read and wouldn’t go out of your mind when he gently took your hand into his which caused you to look at him and stop midsentence. You felt his thumb stroking over your hand when he quietly asked you if he could kiss you. You felt how your face heated up and how your heartbeat quickened. His eye lit up when you nodded your head. His breath hitched for a moment and his own heart was fiercely beating against his chest as well. You both had leaned in and the moment your lips met; it was like the world didn’t exist but the two of you.  It felt like you were shaped for each other as they moved against each other. It was a short but very soft and gentle kiss but meant everything for both of you, especially Aemond. There was a slight smile on his lips when his eye looked into yours and you smiled back at him. You two continued your conversation and he continued to gently hold your hand while his thumb brushed over the back of your hand. This step was the reason why you two continued to grow closer and he slowly started to share more of his deeper thoughts with you again.

While you grew closer again, more things started to change slowly. Sleeping segregated in your own chambers turned into sharing one. Sleeping in your own beds turned into sharing one. Not having a lot of physical touch turned into holding each other’s hands while falling asleep. And holding each other’s hand would turn into laying in each other’s arms from time to time. Everything happened slowly but this gave you the opportunity to bond a strong connection with him again and it made everything even more worth it.

Ever since you started to share a chamber, you got into a regular nightly routine. You’d already lay in bed when he came back from whatever he was doing and joined you. Giving you a small, tender kiss on your forehead as he laid down next to you after he removed his clothing and held your hand as you slowly drifted to sleep while facing each other. He would watch and admire you before he’d fall asleep after you. Some nights the moon would shine through the window and let your beauty shine even more. He’d brush his thumb over your hand he was still holding, wishing he could fully open up to you again. Wishing he could show you his vulnerable side, one he thought was long gone. But with you, this side wanted to come out again. You were always so patient with him, something he was more than grateful for. Aemond knew he could lose his temper easily but with you, in his life, it was completely different. One smile of you and he would burn the world if it meant to see it even more.

Some nights you would hold him if he had nightmares and woke up from what he dreamed about. Aemond never told you what his dreams were about but many of them included you and your death. You would hold him tightly so he could calm down and relax in your arms. He would cling to you, internally pleading you’d never let go of him, which you never did. There weren’t many words spoken during these moments but both of you knew the impact they had.

You were his safe place and always had been.

Once his breathing got steadier again, he’d mostly thank you with a soft but still shaky whisper and would drift off to sleep again. While you stayed awake and held him in your arms, continuing to trace his arms gently. These vulnerable moments between you would be the closest you’d share your nights with.

The nights were still often filled with all these moments but in the most recent days, your nightly routine started to include more softer moments between you. Instead of waiting for him in your shared bed, you would wait for him while sitting on the settee in front of the fireplace, already changed into your nightgown. You would sit next to each other and enjoy the presence of the other one after he changed into his undergarments. Reading in peace and going to bed together after a while. Sometimes you’d already fall asleep, leaned with your head on his shoulder while he continued to read for a little while. Aemond enjoyed these moments a lot since you felt comfortable enough around him to lay on his shoulder and be asleep. Once he was done with reading for the night, he’d gently pick you up, trying not to wake you up and carry you towards your bed. Placing you on it and put the blanket over your body before he’d lay down next to you and give you a tender kiss on your forehead and fall asleep afterwards.

A few nights ago, it was quite different from the nights before. You sat next to each other on the settee in front of the fireplace, your hands touching each other from time to time. Which sent you a warmth through your bodies, there was a comfortable silence in the room. Only hearing the fire that was crackling, until Aemond spoke up with a soft, quite vulnerable tone in his voice. He asked you quietly if you could play with his hair, “like in the old days when we were younger” he would say and you happily did so. Your heart filled with awe as he mentioned the piece of your past.

Since then, your nightly routine included you standing behind him while he sat on the settee in front of the fireplace and listening to the crackles of the fire. He was reading one of his books while you carefully combed through his open platinum-white hair with your fingers, making sure you wouldn’t accidentally tug too much on it and that you wouldn’t accidentally tug on his eyepatch. It was always a comforting atmosphere while you two stayed like this, no conversations were needed. You both knew that you appreciated the quietness. Each time you combed through his hair he closed his eye for a moment and enjoyed the feeling of your fingers, bringing him the beautiful memories into his mind from when you were younger. Tonight, you wanted to add a few small braids into his hair and he happily let you do it. Aemond admired how widely you smiled after he agreed to let you braid his hair.

“Your hair is so soft, that’s not fair,” you pouted as you parted a small strand of his hair into three equal strands and began braiding them. He chuckled in response and flipped through his book. You always felt this way about his hair, even when you were younger. A memory he would and could never forget.

You didn’t talk for another while as he tried to focus on reading and you tried to focus on braiding his hair. After a while, you were done and he stopped reading and put his book aside. You walked around the settee and stood in front of him with an extended hand. It would usually be the moment you two would go into bed but he gently took your hand and pulled you into his lap instead. You sat sideways on his lap, his chest against your arm and legs laying on the free space of the settee. You looked at him surprised as he wrapped his arms around you, not used to such actions from him but you liked it a lot. One of his hands drew small circles on your thigh and without any questions you snuggled into him and put your head on his shoulder. You watched the fire and enjoyed the warmth of it and Aemond’s body. His chin was on top of your head and he had his eye closed.

“This feels good,” he mumbled and let out a relaxed sigh, his arms slightly tightening around you. Which caused you to smile and hum in agreement. This night you made more progress again.

“More than good,” you replied and put your hand over his hand, which was still drawing circles on your thigh. His touch was soft on you as he pondered about something that would change so much between you. He was sure it would add a deeper level of trust, vulnerability, love and understanding between you but he was afraid that it could ruin the progress you’ve made so far.

You noticed that something was on his mind and raised your head to look at him. “Do you wish to talk about what’s on your mind, my love?” You asked him with a gentle tone in your voice and brushed a strand of his hair out of his face.

“You’ve never left my mind,” he admitted and looked into your eyes. “I always missed you each time you weren’t here over the years.”

 If it would be possible, your face softened even more with his admission. You carefully traced his cheek under his scar. Not daring to get too close to his eyepatch, knowing he never really showed any intentions to show you how his eye looked underneath. You always wondered what it looked like but you didn’t want to push him to show it to you and rather waited as long as he might need to feel ready to show you. Aemond never took the eyepatch off in your presence, he was too afraid to scare you off or that you would be disgusted by it or by him. But you would never feel these ways. During most of the nights, he’d take it off but mostly you fell asleep first and he was the first one to be awake in the mornings again. If he woke up from his nightmares you wouldn’t light up a candle, so you were never actually able to see how it looked like. Of course, you were curious but you respected his decision to keep it hidden from you.

“So did I. I always missed the little jokes we made,” you reminisced with a chuckle but there was a hint of sadness in your voice. You’ve also remembered the times where he pushed you away and kept you out of his life.

“I never wanted to push you away,” he mumbled, which made you look into his purple eye, “I… I think I was afraid that you would hate me and leave me like almost everyone else when I needed them the most. So, I pushed you away instead.”

You listened and slowly nodded, “I’d have never hated or left you, Aemond.”

He tightened his embrace and nuzzled his face into your neck. You wrapped your free arm around his neck and held him close. “I was afraid you wouldn’t feel safe in my presence anymore.” He mumbled into your neck but you heard him clearly.

“I always felt safe in your presence.”

He looked up again and you saw the love he held for you in his eye. You caressed his cheek and leaned your forehead against his. The arm you had around his neck slightly tightened for a short moment.

“I never could have hated you, even after you pushed me away. I never held any hatred towards you,” you whispered with a tender voice. “I knew we drifted apart, as we had many things happening in our lives but I don’t blame you for anything.”

“I was always afraid that you would think that I’m disgusting after I lost my eye.”

With a shake of your head, you continued to caress his cheek. He leaned into your touch. “I could never imagine myself to ever feel disgusted by you, my dear.”

You felt how Aemond’s shoulders relaxed with your words, it was like he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He exhaled with a shaky breath, closed his eye and nuzzled his head back into your neck, inhaling your scent. He continued to draw small circles on your thigh and kept his eye closed. After another while he slightly pulled away from you and slightly adjusted how he sat. You watched him how he took your hand and moved it to his eyepatch. Your eyes widened and you tried to stop him but he held your hand firmly. His purple eye looking into yours.

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” you whispered gently but he shook his head. “I want to, I wanted to show you for the longest time.”

You gulped and slowly nodded your head as you slowly removed his eyepatch. Watching the now-revealed blue sapphire where his left eye once was, your face softened again. You slowly and gently traced his scar in admiration. He held his breath; in fear, that you would change your mind and think he was disgusting but once he noticed that none of his fears would come true, he relaxed again and leaned into your touch.

“I still think you’re beautiful. What happened is horrible but it makes you, you. And I still love you regardless. No matter what,” you whispered and didn’t notice at first that you just told him for the first time that you loved him. His face softened and your eyes slightly widened and your body tensed up once you processed what you just admitted. He gently put his hand over yours, which was tracing his scar and squeezed it.

“I… I love you too,” he admitted and a smile made its way on your lips. Your body relaxing again.

The progress you two made that night caused you to get even closer and grow to be stronger together than you ever were. You shared many loving moments but it didn’t mean that everything was always going well and situations ended in very heated ways. Gladly, you were able to solve them in one way or another. After all, he would burn the world for you if it meant he would save you from any harm and keep you happy.

[jaegerbby]

➳ quid pro quo

--͙[armin arlert x female! reader]-͙-

╰┈➤ word count; 2756

╰┈➤ rundown; the last time you saw armin, you were telling him how much you liked him. it must be fate that you finally saw him again, right?

╰┈➤ caution; elements of NONCON/DUBIOUS CONSENT, manipulation, virginity loss (mentions of blood), rough sex, cream pie, unprotected sex, cervix fucking and belly bulge mentioned.

not proof read!

"you're a virgin?" you are speaking too loudly.

armin unsurely glimpses around before rubbing his nape. "yeah. is something wrong with that?"

you shake your head immediately. the last thing you want is to make him feel judged. but this is your armin. the same armin that happened to be in a relationship when you confessed. the same armin you left behind when you moved away.

the same armin that you are still pining after. you have not seen him since your confession. he chose his girlfriend over you, which was understandable.

in some fantasy world, he accepted your feelings and you lived happily every after.

that did not happen in this one.

"i'm a virgin too." you would have expected armin to have lost his somewhere along the line. he was handsome when he was younger although he was frail. but now, now he has filled out. now his shoulders are broad and his arms are carved with muscles.

"really? a pretty girl like you?" you jolt, still not use to speaking with him after the years that passed. especially hearing him call you pretty. he never called you that before.

"yeah." you swallow. "i never really thought about it." you fidget in your seat, tapping your finger on the coffee lid absentmindedly.

armin's hand reaches to cover yours, you look up and see ocean blue. but this ocean is dangerous and this ocean will draw you in and never let you out.

you would drown in it.

you have drowned in it once before.

"i think it was meant to be this way, you and me." he tilts his head with the sweetest smile, his lips are so pink, you find it hard to breathe. you cannot deny the fluttering of your heart.

you liked armin at a simpler time, when you were young and he made your cheeks ache with laughter. when he grasped your heart and made it beat.

it has to be destiny. it has to be.

like the stars aligned for you to reunite with him and have all the things you should have had before.

---

it was a lie. of course it was.

countless dates, countless midnight calls and loving talks. countless compliments and memories. you want to wipe it away. you trusted armin then, it was easy to trust him now.

so why are you here?

why are you here with his hands greedy all over your body, with so much experience it makes you sick?

why is he pounding into you like a man who is well versed in taking women?

he is inside you, you might not be a virgin anymore but his was long gone before tonight.

your eyes squeeze shut, turning your face away from him. you try, you really do. willing yourself to not be in this moment but it is so difficult when he is everywhere.

you can feel the heat of his spit staining your skin. his fingers squeeze every inch of your body that is left to his whim. he seems to crave memorising every inch of you.

your breasts, hips, waist, dusting your collar bones and gripping your neck. he does not leave any bit of you untouched.

how can he when he has desecrated your body and stuffed you full of his cock?

you can feel his breath and drops of his sweat as he fucks into you. you can feel the presence of his body over you. he has you beneath his shadow like a reminder of your place.

that you would have ended up like this, with him. whether you liked it or not.

you try so hard to ignore the thick heated cock that is being thrust into your leaking cunt, prodding your cervix and making your belly bulge.

your tightly shut eye lids do nothing to evade the fact that he is bare and throbbing inside of your cunt.

you are constantly reminded of how treacherous your body is with every squelch of your pussy and the liquid it is soaking him with.

your body is shaking, moving with every sharp and calculated hump of his hips against yours.

you are a muddled mess in his sheets, in his room, surrounded by his scent. your breath halts when you feel him lowering over you. his large, calloused hand tilts your head back, gripping your jaw.

"look at me." his voice is too sweet, it is what you would have thought before this but now you can hear just how crazed he is.

"open those pretty eyes and look at me." he grits his teeth, slamming his hips into yours so hard that it is painful.

your back arches with tension. tears leak from your eyes, clouding your vision of him but he is stroking them away and shushing you like he was made to be the epitome of kindness.

yet, he is fucking into you, stripping you of the virginity you prided yourself in. he is one big juxtaposition. so kind and yet so cruel.

he is goading you about the blood, about the amount of blood that is soaked over his entire cock just like the wetness dripping from you.

your face contorts in discomfort when his tongue dips into your mouth. "you're going to remember me, got me in your head and shaped to my cock." he grins.

there is blue eyes and blond hair. eyes you would stare into and finally feel safe, that shun with the most love you had ever received.

hair you would coax your fingers through to remind yourself he was there.

now, you are not quite sure where they went or if they were even real. he huffs a curse, shoving his length so harshly inside of you that you are scratching at his chest.

"it hurts." you cry, wishing he would be gentle like he had been before. wishing he would kiss away your tears and hold you close. you wish he would say sorry because you would forgive him.

but he does not.

instead he threads his large fingers in your hair, forcing your head back, it makes you hiss in pain, writhing under him with tears staining your cheeks.

"it's even, cause your pussy's squeezing me so hard it hurts." he smiles, voice completely mocking yours.

"loosen up." he crowds over you more, his tongue lapping over your swollen lips, your legs spreading more as he presses himself further against you.

"your cunt's so tight you're gna break my dick." he laughs. he laughs like this entire circumstance is some funny joke. it is a cruel one.

he is cruel but you hope and ache for him to be sweet again.

the tears you shed right now remind you of the day you told him you liked him and all he had to say was that he had a girlfriend. you were stupid then and you are stupid now.

you moan although you do not want to. you moan as his cock plunges into your sopping walls and your mind draws a blank.

"why didn't you wait for me? i was yours, i am yours. so why couldn't you give me two months, i wanted to make everything right and you left me." he grits, his mouth finding your neck to suck marks on your skin.

this is one of the happiest moments of his life. having you, being inside you. he had daydreamed about it. hearing you say 'i like you,' with teary eyes and the cutest voice was a moment he framed and kept in his heart.

he kept it at the forefront of his mind.

at that time, he wished he could have shoved those words back into your mouth. he wished he told you to wait. armin might be fucking you like he hates you but he does not. no, quite the opposite. he loves you dearly.

he could not break up with his girlfriend, he did not want to drive her to the point of no return. he was considerate of her so why were you not considerate of him?

he was going to be yours at the end of it. why did you not wait? why did you not be patient? it is all he wanted to ask of you. now years after. years without you. he has to punish you for it.

he has to. he loves you, he would never hurt you. but you hurt him.

his hands squeeze your body so hard like he needs to taint your skin in every way.

"this pussy is mine, always been mine. fuck, why would you keep her away from me?" your skin stings every time he presses back into you. your fingers knot in the sheets, gritting your teeth.

you feel it, you feel every bit of him. he sears through you and pulls your insides apart. you drip and leak and drench him although you wish you did not.

your mind is a mess.

your mind feels like it has been dismantled and put together in the wrong order.

it should not feel good. being stretched beyond your limit and having him touch you should be the last thing that feels good.

you spiral into depravity the longer he pounds into you. the longer his cock fills your aching hole and caresses your gooey walls.

his finger finds your clit and you jolt, his mouth meeting yours.

it is surprisingly gentle. it is surprisingly everything you ever wanted. he licks into your mouth, you feel too much. you feel too many things inside and have too many thoughts in your head as your body trembles and you cream on him.

as your cunt clenches and your stomach feels like it is filled with too many butterflies to contain.

"all fucking mine, fuck you're all mine. you're my baby." he breathily pants, his legs flexing as he fucks your through the overwhelming orgasm.

as your cunt grips and soaks him. all you think about is that he called you baby. he called you his.

you find yourself hoping he means it.

"so tight. how are you this tight?" his hands brutally grip your waist. "you kept it for me right? tell me you kept it for me." his cock pulses along your sensitive walls, you swear you feel him from the inside out.

"you knew i'd come and find you, you were waiting for me, weren't you?"

you are crying, the tears seem endless. they stream down your face and your sobs are watery.

why does he feel so good inside you?

why has he broken you to bits but still makes you feel whole?

some sick and twisted part of you was holding out for him, you were stupid to think he saved any bit of him for you too.

clearly he did not.

everything he does is confident, everything he does it looks like he has before.

he asks you so many questions and you do not answer a single one. even as he slams his hips to yours, even as you are dazed by the wet sounds of your pussy taking him over and over.

armin does not want to stop.

he curses.

his body lurching forward to cover you, shallowly pumping his hips. you feel it. you feel hot sticky strands pooling inside you and your teeth grit.

it makes you remember there was nothing between you and him. there was nothing stopping him from creaming your cunt and emptying his load inside you like he had been dreaming about for years.

he is covered in sweat, it drips from his blonde strands and trails down his temple. his hips stutter as he slumps onto you.

your face contorts in discomfort, you can feel your insides being sodden in unfamiliar liquid.

he lays over you, you want to clutch him to your chest and keep him close. you want to act like he never betrayed you. like this was the beautiful moment you wanted it to be.

you cannot move. you lay there, with armin weighing down your body and tears streaming from your eyes.

you feel him breathing, you feel him tilt his hips like he wants to ensure he has given you every last drop.

he presses a skin to your neck before he sits up on his knees.

you flinch as he keeps your legs spread for him to see, slowly easing his cock out of you.

all the cum that you could feel inside of you is now streaming from your slit endlessly. it us staining the sheets and your thighs and you can feel yourself getting sick.

nausea dizzies your head.

he leaves you there, sprawled out on his bed. cum on your body and a million emotions inside you.

he does not clean up himself much less you. instead he haphazardly wipes his dick with the already stained sheets and grabs a pack of cigarettes from his drawer.

"want one?" you cannot even look at him, you do not speak, you want to spend hours crying.

you wish to mourn the loss of all the things you had believed before this night.

"right, you're too good for this shit." he takes one for himself, placing it between the plush pink of his lips and lights it.

it seems there are many things he is used to doing.

"how was your first fuck?" there is no sugar coating, there is not an ounce of euphemism.

he leans against the head board, glancing over at your spent body before his free palm reaches over to you. you think he will pet your hair like he used to, dry your tears maybe even hold your hand but instead he is gripping the flesh of your breasts.

you squeeze his wrist the more he gropes you, wishing you could push him away, his touch should make you sick but it does not. it should make you hate him after everything he did but you do not.

a shaky breath escapes you. he places the cigarette to his lips.

inhale.

"i broke you in."

exhale.

"you can fuck as many guys as you want now."

you swear you stop breathing. your chest hurts and your eyes burn.

you struggle to compose yourself.

"a lot of em are talking about you." you squeeze his hand tighter. your body aches all over, you feel sticky and disgusting.

you sit up, cringing at the syrupy liquid that reminds you of it all. you practically drop your head into his lap, curling your legs closer to your chest before you start sobbing.

your shoulders shake and your sniffles are all too wrecked. as wrecked as you feel. as wrecked as he has made you.

armin's brows raise, still blowing out smoke before his hand rests on your back. trailing into your hair and petting you.

finally.

you should not want it, you should not want him to touch you, you should be pulling on your clothes and running away. you should be cussing him out but instead all you want is him close.

he stubs the cigarette before throwing it in the ashtray. his hands slip under your arms to sit you on his lap.

"who do you want to fuck?" you are crying harder, barely able to hold yourself up. your head slumps forward, hair hiding your face. but the loudness of your sobs is not something you can conceal.

"me?" you look up at him with the most miserable expression on your face. your eyes are swollen from crying and your lips are bitten raw.

yet you nod your head, you nod your head but it is not that question which you are answering, there are a million things you want to say but they do not come out.

instead they are broken cries, you have always wanted armin and for a minute he was yours but he broke you.

he betrayed you yet you cannot hate him. armin tries to dry your face but your tears are incessant.

he is so warm and he is so nice. his hair is pushed back for once and you find yourself thinking about how beautiful he looks.

he hums, pressing kisses to your face and tugging you into him.

"just you." you mumble. you only ever wanted it to be him. he squeezes you tighter.

"then, it will only ever be me." because you always get what you ask for.

his fingers lace with yours and you practically melt into him.

"just you and me."

i barely have time to write :((

[cosmicdahlias]

A Master and an Apprentice

Obi-Wan x Reader

MINORS DNI

After the death of your master, Obi-Wan Kenobi has been appointed to take her place. Between his constant criticisms and your secret crush for him, your feelings are incredibly conflicted.

tags: mild age gap, teacher/student relationship, oral, p in v, light mdom/fsub, praise kink, creampie

raaaaaah, i finally wrote an obi wan x reader fic!!! this man was my literal first crush, i wasn’t even in middle school when i realized i liked him that way. i love tpm obi and his mullet era in aotc, but rots is like his peak look. Do not argue with me on this he looked so damn FOIIIIIIIINE!!! 😩🙏

You sat crosslegged in the meditation chamber with your recently appointed master, eyes closed. You were a Jedi apprentice, a few years into adulthood. Your previous master had died before your eyes at the hands of Count Dooku. Despite the Jedi code’s strict forbidding of attachment, you took her death extremely hard, suffering in silence. You were too afraid to let anyone know you were struggling, especially the Council. To admit your grief was to forsake your way of life.

You were assigned a new master, Obi-Wan Kenobi. At your age it felt like an insult not only to you, but to the memory of your departed master. You knew you were more than ready for the trials, but the Council insisted otherwise. What made it worse was that Obi-Wan’s former padawan, Anakin Skywalker, had completed the trials and ascended to knighthood at a younger age than you were now. Granted he was the chosen one, but regardless you still felt your pride wounded.

It wasn’t solely because of this that you felt contempt for your new master, you had other reasons. You hated how he never seemed to trust your judgement, how he never gave you space to do things on your own, how he never seemed satisfied with your efforts.

As much as you hated him, there was a part of you, an aggressively loud part of you, that harbored feelings for him. He was incredibly handsome, wise beyond his years, and even if he never gave you room to breathe, the way he was protective over you felt… attractive.

Your feelings only made you more frustrated with him. You already wrestled with the unacceptable sadness over the loss of your first master, so to develop such a strong attachment to him felt like he was pulling you away from the only life you had ever known.

Tensions had been rising. It seemed more and more often that you were scolded for one thing or another. You were sick of it, if he corrected you one more time you were going to lose it on him.

Obi-Wan led you with his instructions.

“Concentrate, young one, let the will of the Force flow through you. Feel its energy, the way it guides you, how it-“

“I could if you’d stop talking.” You huffed.

“Now, there’s no need to be difficult. If you would heed my instructions you would find this to be far less arduous. Focus.”

“Are you insinuating that I don’t know what I’m doing?” You questioned, fully offended.

“I have said no such thing, you’re obviously distracted and I’m simply suggesting that you could give a little effort for once.“

You stood. You had no clue why something as small as this got to you, perhaps it was just the final drop in weeks of criticism to make your cup run over, but something in you snapped.

“You really don’t think I’m capable, do you? Everything I do, that I’ve ever done, it’s never good enough for you. I will NEVER be good enough for you!” You shouted.

Every single ounce of held back emotion came forth in the form of tears. You turned away, unsuccessfully attempting to hide that you had broken. Obi-Wan rose to his feet and put a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize how hard I’ve been pushing you. I only want what’s best for you. I see your potential and I know you have so much more to offer than you let show. You’re extraordinarily intelligent, quick witted, virtuous, and you’re incredibly beauti-“

He stopped, realizing immediately that he had said too much and gotten ahead of himself. You turned to face him.

“I’m what?”

His cheeks became dusted with a slight pink. He took a deep breath.

“There’s no sense in hiding it. I find you astonishingly attractive. Everything about you draws me in, almost as if by the will of the Force. By day my thoughts are occupied with you and by night I see you in my dreams, shameful, lust filled dreams. If the Council ever knew how I felt about you, I fear they would never let me be in your presence again. It’s so wrong, thinking of my own padawan this way. I’ve tried to bury my feelings, but cannot live this lie any longer. Not at least without telling you how I truly feel.”

You put a hand to his chest.

“Obi-Wan… I feel the same way. It’s frustrating and confusing, but I-“

He cut you off, kissing you passionately. He cupped your cheek with one hand, the other finding the small of your back and pulling you closer. You tangled your fingers in his hair. He sat on the meditation seat and pulled you onto his lap to straddle him, you felt him grow hard against you.

“You don’t know how intensely I’ve longed for you, the things I’ve done to myself at just the thought of you.” He whispered.

His hands slipped your robes off of you, exposing your breasts. He kissed you and you pulled back.

“Wait, no. What if someone comes in and sees us like this?”

“No one is to be in here for another hour. Relax, let yourself enjoy this.” He said, leaning down to pepper kisses to your breasts.

He slid your trousers off your legs. His hands moved between your thighs, stroking your clit.

“How does that feel?” He asked.

“Mmmnn, incredible.” You whimpered.

“Good girl.” He purred.

Ohhhhhh sweet Maker, you were going to savor his voice saying those words forever.

Obi-Wan laid back and pulled you up to straddle his face. His hot breath lingered on you for a moment before he took your clit in his mouth. The pleasure was indescribable, he knew exactly what he was doing.

In your teens you had a habit of sneaking out of your dormitory to meet with a boy who lived in the city. It was no more than a fling fueled by hormones and curiosity. Obi-Wan was leagues more experienced than him it seemed, which normally would make sense at his age, but given his status as a Jedi master this left you with more than a few questions.

“H- how are you so good at this when you’re supposed to be sworn to celibacy?” You moaned.

“There are things about me even the Council is not privy to.”

His tongue worked your clit at a steady rhythm.

“Your taste- oh stars- your taste is incredible.” He moaned against you.

You rocked your hips, you were edging closer to orgasm. Obi-wan could sense it.

“Getting close, are we?”

“Mhm.” You whimpered, too wrapped up in pleasure to form a single coherent word.

Your breathing became heavy and you moaned loudly, coming undone on him. You panted, shaking as your orgasm ran through you in waves. He pulled you off of him, moving you back down to his lap as he sat up. His beard was dripping with your cum. You ran your tongue along the whiskers on his chin before kissing him, tasting yourself on his tongue.

You sank to the floor in front of him, he watched you intently. You pulled out his long, thick cock from his trousers. He throbbed in your hand. You licked him from the base of his shaft to the head and he shuddered in pleasure. You took him past your lips, stroking what you couldn’t manage to take your mouth.

“In the name of- where did you ever learn to do such a thing?”

“You’re one to talk, master ‘there are things about me even the Council is not privy to’ Kenobi.”

He laughed. “Fair enough, princess.”

You moved your mouth up and down his length, running along his shaft with your warm tongue and swirling it whenever you made your way up to the head. You continually pumped his shaft through all of this. Obi-Wan kept a hand on your head, fingers in your hair.

“Ah, if you keep doing that you’ll make me-“

You moved your mouth faster, your hand matching in speed. Obi-Wan gently pulled your head back by your hair.

“N- no, stop. As much as I love this, I need to be inside of you. Please, y/n.”

“Of course, my master.” You cooed.

You rose and straddled him, positioning yourself over his cock. Obi-Wan held the back of your head, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Take it slow, don’t overwhelm yourself.” He instructed.

“Do you doubt my ability, master?” You whispered in his ear.

You sunk yourself onto him at a purposefully fast pace. You winced and failed to stifle a sharp breath as every inch of him stretched you wide.

He chuckled. “And this is what happens when you don’t follow my instructions.”

“How dare you try to lecture me right now.”

“Perhaps my cock inside you will give you the proper motivation to- nngh- listen for once.” He said as you began to lift and drop your hips.

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against him, kissing you passionately. He bucked himself up into you. He dipped his head down to your neck, sucking the soft skin and scraping it with his teeth.

“I must know, my sweet girl, have you dreamt of this as I have?”

“Y- yes, master. There were nights I spent with my hand between my thighs, cumming with your name escaping my lips.”

He kissed you.

“Stars, what I would do to witness that.”

He picked you up by your thighs, setting you on your back on the cushioned seat. He hovered over you, hooking your legs over his shoulders and pinning your wrists above your head.

“I’m sorry my young padawan, but I cannot resist. I’m going to fuck you until you see stars.”

He thrusted himself inside you and fucked you at an intense, aggressive pace. For someone as prim and proper as he, seeing this side of him almost felt strange, but incredibly arousing. You knew that he must have trusted you a great deal to reveal this part of himself to you. You had never been fucked this hard before, you loved it. You tilted your head back, moaning loudly.

“Do you like this?” He asked.

“Yes, my master. Don’t stop, don’t ever stop.” You begged.

“That’s my good girl.”

His words made you tighten around him with a whimper. He cocked an eyebrow and gave a smirk.

“Hmm, I believe I may have found a way to keep you engaged in your training. If I were to offer my praise, tell you how much of a good girl you are, would that make you finally listen to me?” He asked, still thrusting at the same speed.

You nodded fervently.

“I need to hear your words.” He commanded.

“Y- yes, master.” You moaned.

“Now, that’s better. It’s refreshing to see you so obedient for once, had I known all it took was fucking you like this I would’ve done so sooner.”

You bucked yourself back against him in rhythm with his thrusts.

“Such a good girl, you’re taking me so well.”

His breathing began to hitch. He released your wrists and moved his hands to your hips, his pacing increased.

“I’m close sweet girl, where do you want it?”

“I- inside me, p- please.” You begged.

“Then tell me. Tell me just how much you want me to cum inside you.”

He moved himself even faster, purposefully overwhelming you.

“I- I c-can’t, fe-els too- hhhnn- good.”

He chuckled. “Just moan louder for me then, my dear.”

Up until now you had been doing your best to control your volume to some extent, but you couldn’t refuse your master’s commands. You moaned his name obscenely loud, you didn’t care if the whole Council heard.

His grip on your hips tightened, pulling you against him, burying his full length deep inside you as he came. His cock pulsed with every rope he shot into you, you felt its warmth flood your insides.

Obi-Wan pulled out and stood over you, watching as his cum slowly dripped out of you.

“Look at you, absolutely beautiful being claimed by me like this.”

He gave you time to breathe before helping you to stand, your legs shook.

“Now, get dressed and let’s continue our meditation.”

-

After finishing the meditation Obi-Wan pulled you onto his lap once again, his lips finding yours.

“I think you could still do with further instruction. Tonight, why don’t you visit me in my quarters for a lesson of… similar nature.” He whispered between kisses.

“Yes, master.”

You heard the door suddenly slide open, quickly breaking away and attempting to scramble off of Obi-Wan as you were greeted with your master’s former padawan.

“Master, great news, General Grievous has been spo-“

He paused, the sight of you halfway on your master’s lap and both his and your disheveled hair finally registering. You slid the rest of the way off Obi-Wan.

“What uh… what were you two-“

“Meditation.” You both said, trying to act as casual as possible.

Anakin gave a knowing smirk.

“Seems like some mediation. Sorry to interrupt, my news can wait.” He said, turning to leave.

“Now hold on just a moment, Anakin. It’s not what you think.” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin laughed. “Don’t worry master, your secret is safe with me. I think this makes us even now.”

You had no idea what he meant by that last part, but at the very least it seemed like his lips were sealed.

[creampuffqueen]

i'm glad i get forever to see where you went

Yangvik Week Day 3: Angst

Summary: As Yangchen gets older, she starts to forget.

Word Count: 4092

TW: memory loss, grief, hurt with only a little comfort

(will be posted to ao3 later)

~~~~

As Yangchen gets older, she starts to forget. 

It starts slowly. So slowly that, for a while, Kavik doesn’t notice.

They’re retired now, out of the game for good. The world is at peace, a possibility neither of them could have imagined in their youth. Disputes are resolved. Treaties were written and are being followed. Yangchen has done her job as well as she possibly can, and now she and her closest companion get to delight in living out a simple, quiet life in the comfort of their home, nestled in the foothills surrounding the Eastern Air Temple.

Their days are easy, their nights are peaceful. They grow most of their food now, and so they spend hours in the garden, bringing forth life from the soil. Yangchen meditates often, Kavik reads to his heart’s content. The most excitement they get is a stray lemur or two flying down from the temple to follow the Avatar around, perching on her shoulders and chirping in her ears. 

Despite the peace they now experience, Yangchen’s struggle with her past lives is far from eased. Though at this point, it’s a struggle they are used to. When she cries out in the night Kavik pulls her closer, the rhythm of his heart soothing her back to sleep. When she speaks in a voice that is not her own Kavik doesn’t panic, instead simply talking to her, acting a new persona if needed, until she is able to return to herself. 

These are the struggles they are used to. This new struggle, however, comes as a surprise. 

Kavik watches the woman he loves as she works in the garden. She sings to herself as she digs, voice a bit scratchy and out of practice but no less beautiful because of it. A flying lemur chitters from her shoulder, digging its tiny hands into her gray hair, grooming her like it would one of its kits.

The lemur tugs especially hard at a small piece of hair, and Kavik watches Yangchen’s face tighten in discomfort. She lifts a hand, dirt beneath her fingernails, to gently bat the creature away. “Pak, that’s too hard.”

Pak? Her childhood lemurs have been dead for many years. 

The lemur darts off her shoulder, taking off flying, and Yangchen goes back to the bulbs she’s burying. She begins to sing again, resuming her tune.

Kavik brushes off the strange interaction. A small lapse in memory is nothing to worry about. He steps into the garden to join his love in the dirt. 

—

Some days later, the two of them are sitting on a bench outside of their small cottage, enjoying the sunset and each others’ company. The evening sun blazes behind the hills, painting the sky in a hundred shades of orange. Kavik is working on a small carving, whittling away at a block of wood and watching the shape begin to form. He thinks it might end up a turtle-seal. Yangchen is curled against his side, feet tucked beneath her, enjoying a steaming mug of tea. 

“The airball tournament is coming up soon, isn’t it?” She asks lightly.

“It’s tomorrow,” Kavik affirms. Though they’ve retired in the East, the pair have made a habit of trekking up to the temple whenever there’s an airball competition happening - the looks on the nuns’ faces whenever they cheer ‘East side, least side!’ are always priceless. Somehow the girls on the teams seem to get younger every year. 

“That’ll be fun to watch.” She nestles closer, and Kavik pauses his carving to wrap his arm around her. Her gray eyes stare off into the distance, the glow of the setting sun illuminating her face. 

Kavik ignores the beauty of the sunset. The scenery before him is beautiful enough. 

Yangchen has aged so gracefully. Crows feet and smile lines have wrinkled her face, signs of a life well-lived. Her hair is entirely silver, still tied in the same braid as always. He supposes he could look past the signs of aging, if he wanted. Her expressions are identical to the way he first met her. 

But why would he want to? He’s had the privilege of seeing her grow into this; from sly, conniving teenager to wise, benevolent old woman. She’s still the same Yangchen, whether she’s spry and agile or with liver-spotted hands that shake when she’s too tired. 

“You’re staring at me,” Yangchen notes. She sips at her tea, eyes sliding from the horizon and over to his face. Even all these years later, he still feels a blooming warmth in his chest whenever she looks at him. 

“Can’t help it,” Kavik replies, leaning over to nuzzle her cheek. Yangchen leans into the touch, and when he pulls away she has a soft smile on her face that makes his heart swell. 

“Hey, what day is the airball tournament happening?”

Kavik blinks. “What do you mean? It’s tomorrow; I just said that.”

A flicker of confusion crosses Yangchen’s face. “I don’t remember you saying it.”

“Well, I did.”

She sips from her mug again, brow wrinkling. “I… guess I wasn’t listening too well. Sorry.”

“You’re probably tired,” Kavik says, filling in the confusion with the most logical explanation he can think of. “Let’s go to bed.”

Years ago, she would have fought him tooth and nail if he tried to tell her to get some sleep. Now, she just nods, standing slowly from the bench. Kavik leads her inside, and they get ready in quiet familiarity. 

They crawl into the bed side-by-side, Kavik holding Yangchen close to his chest. He tucks himself against her, the space between her neck and shoulder the perfect home for his chin. 

“Goodnight,” Yangchen whispers, extinguishing the few candles in the room with a wave of her hand. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Kavik replies, feeling the weight of the words in his very soul.

Sleep comes easily to her tonight, her breathing easing and giving way to gentle snores in a matter of minutes. She really must have been tired.

But for reasons he can’t explain, Kavik finds that sleep eludes him.

—

It gets worse. 

From the gardens, Kavik looks up as a shadow passes overhead. A sky bison.

They don’t get too many visitors out here, especially not these days. So his interest is piqued as the bison lands in the field and the figures sitting in its saddle become clear.

It’s Yangchen, being escorted by a younger nun who looks like she might keel over in awe. Clearly, she’s realized this isn’t just any old lady out for a stroll.

The Avatar leaps from the bison’s saddle, cushioning her fall with an expert air bubble. Kavik walks over to meet her.

“You’re back a bit early. What happened?” She’d planned today to make her way to bison fields, armed with a basket full of homemade dumplings to feed the nuns on herding duty. It’s calving season, and the nuns in charge of caring for the giant beasts are out from dawn til dusk every day. 

(The dumplings were made by Kavik. Even all these years later, she’s still hopeless in the kitchen. He supposes this knowledge would put a hole in the ‘grandmother-of-the-world’ persona she’s got going on now.)

“I’m fine,” She assures him before he can ask, “I just got a bit turned around while heading to the fields. Luckily, Sister Tsumi and her bison Nyima were there to come to my rescue.”

She gestures the the nun, still standing in her saddle. She looks on the verge of tears of joy. She’ll remember this day forever, the day she gave Avatar Yangchen herself a ride on her bison.

Kavik bows to the young woman, giving her thanks. But a bigger concern pricks at the back of his mind. “What do you mean, ‘turned around’?” The fields aren’t too far away. They visit often. How could she have gotten lost in such a short distance?

Yangchen shrugs. “Oh, I probably just miscounted the number of hills or something. I would have found my way eventually.”

“What about the dumpling basket? Is it still in the saddle?”

“Dumpling basket?”

Kavik frowns. “The dumplings? That you were taking to the fields? What happened to the basket?”

She presses the heels of her hands against her eyes, shaking her head. “I - I don’t remember. I must have set it down somewhere along the way…”

“I’ll go search for it!” Tsumi pipes up, eager to help more. 

It really isn’t that important; it’s only a basket. But Kavik nods anyway, letting the young woman continue to assist. The bison takes off again, and Kavik leads his love back to their home, holding her close to his side. 

She isn’t herself that night. She calls him by a dozen different names in a dozen different voices, speaking of long-dead kings until the sun comes up. Kavik talks to her when he can, plays the parts when he needs. Eventually she falls into a fitful sleep, curled in his arms.

He wants to blame her earlier confusion on this. It’s been months since she’s disappeared from herself so fully; surely that must be the reason.

And yet, a small part of him won’t allow himself to. Yangchen remembers her past lives with such clarity. How is she struggling to remember her own?

—

Life continues on, though. The endless wheel of time won’t stop turning, even for the most powerful being in the world. 

Winter comes, snow falling over the hills and frosting the windows of their cottage. Kavik can feel the cold in every one of his aching joints.

Sometime in the mid-winter, Yangchen gets sick. Kavik wakes to find her burning with fever, shaking uncontrollably in his arms.

He does the best he can to heal her. He’s never quite had her raw power for it, but he’s honed his own talents rather well. Unfortunately, waterbending healing doesn’t do nearly as much for illnesses as it does for injuries. He helps reduce her fever and then sets about making some soup.

Days pass. She’s getting better; less coughing, less congestion, no more chills. They spend most of their time snuggled together on their bed, wrapped from head to toe in blankets to keep them warm as they chat, fondly recalling their adventures together. Kavik kisses her plenty, even though she tells him it’s unhygienic. If he was going to get sick he would have by now.

She was getting better. She was, Kavik swears it.

Then a crash wakes him in the middle of the night and he finds Yangchen awake, digging frantically through their small bookshelf.

“Yangchen?” He always calls her by name first, wanting to see if it’s really her speaking. Her eyes flash in acknowledgement but she still keeps searching, tossing book after book behind her.

“Kavik, where on earth did I put that ledger?”

“A ledger? We don’t have any.” They’re retired. Kavik hasn’t had to do any accounting in years.

“We do,” Yangchen insists. From his spot on the bed, he can see a faint sheen of sweat forming on her forehead. “I was just working on it last night. It has a record in it that I need to look at for my report to Feishan.”

His blood runs cold. “Yangchen, Feishan isn’t the Earth King anymore. His son is the king now. King Fihong. You’ve met him.”

She turns to look at him, confusion creasing her face. “What are you talking about?”

He stands to meet her, wincing as pain flares in his knees. He takes her gently by the arms. Her skin is on fire again.

“You’re not well, Yangchen. Come back to bed, I’ll get you a glass of water.”

“Bed?” She laughs. “Kavik, I haven’t got the time. The report needs to be sent out in the morning; I have to find that ledger.”

Kavik doesn’t know what to say to this. She knows him. She knows herself. But somehow, she doesn’t know where she is in time. 

He refuses to let himself panic. He can fix this the same way as always; he only has to play along. Shouldn’t playing himself be easier, anyway?

“The ledger can wait,” He tells her carefully. “Let’s sleep, and I’ll help you find it first thing in the morning. I promise.”

Her burning hand finds the side of his neck, feeling out his pulse. Kavik feels wrenched backwards in time.

Thankfully, she seems to decide he’s being truthful. “Alright. But you have to promise you’ll check over my numbers before I send it out. You know I make more mistakes when I’m rushing.”

He nods, bringing her over to the bed to help her in. “I will. Now let’s get some rest.”

She settles down as he holds her close. Kavik watches her every movement, a sinking feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. This has never happened to her before. 

Her fever breaks in the night, and in the morning she’s herself once more. She picks up the books from the floor one by one, replacing them carefully on the shelf. Kavik sees as her brows furrow in confusion at the mess.

She doesn’t remember anything from last night.

—

Kavik doesn’t know how to broach the subject, even as the forgetfulness grows worse. 

He knows that memory often gets worse with age. He’s certainly not as sharp as he used to be, either. 

Still, this seems to be something else. It’s almost daily, now. She loses her train of thought when speaking, trailing off until Kavik repeats her sentence and sparks her memory again. She forgets what she’s doing, leaving tasks half-finished and then wondering why they aren’t done. They hardly own any possessions but she still manages to misplace them. Kavik finds things put away where they don’t belong, and Yangchen doesn’t remember doing it.

Perhaps a part of him is just hoping they’ll adjust. She’s still Yangchen, whip-smart and compassionate and always ready with a quick remark. She’s still every bit the woman he fell in love with, just a bit more forgetful these days. They’ll get through it, surely. 

Jetsun is looming rather largely as of late. Nightmares about her sister seem to follow her constantly, and Kavik spends many nights listening to her cry, rubbing her back and whispering soothing words in her ear, doing whatever he can to ease the pain. Some mornings he jostles her awake when he gets up from the bed, and she responds with “Five more minutes, Jetsun, please.” When her eyes finally open she seems confused for a moment, as if expecting to see the inside of the Western Air Temple rather than their tiny cottage. 

Kavik doesn’t know how to help. The innermost workings of her mind have always been a mystery to him, even though he knows everything there is to know about her. 

He loves her, though. The world is always changing, and nothing is ever constant. The deepest truth that he knows in his life is this: He loves Yangchen with everything he has, for everything she is. 

He loves her. He squeezes her hand while she sleeps, finally at peace for a change, and hopes that it’s enough. 

—

Things come to a head, eventually. They always do. 

Kavik wakes up with a jolt from a dead sleep, sensing deep in his gut that something is not right. He glances beside him, feeling oddly panicked.

The bed is empty. Yangchen’s spot is cold. The front door of their cottage is wide open, wind whistling through the empty space. Her shoes lay, unworn, by the threshold. 

He heaves himself from the bed, but something in his back pinches, nearly sending him to his knees from the blossom of pain. He curses aloud, calling damnation upon the spirits and his old bones and everything else.

Kavik bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood, giving him a different source of pain to focus on while he hobbles towards the door. The night is cold, with a promise of rain in the air. He can’t leave Yangchen out in this weather with no protection. 

Snagging a thick parka from the hook by the door nearly finishes him, back screaming in agony. He can feel the pain in his very blood. He won’t get far in this condition.

Still, he’s determined (‘to a foolish degree’, Yangchen likes to say). Next to the parka is Yangchen’s glider, worn from constant use. Kavik snatches it up to give himself something to lean against and gets moving. Yangchen will kill him for using her glider as a cane, but if she’s there to kill him at least it means she’ll be safe. 

Kavik would never call himself an excellent tracker, but somehow he manages to find her trail - freshly pressed grass, the indentations of bare feet. He follows, refusing to allow himself to feel the pain in his back, even as his legs shake with it. There are more important things right now. 

He crests over a small hill, and the sight before him makes him want to cry with relief. Yangchen is standing at the bottom, barefoot and smeared with mud, hands raised to the sky like she’s calling out to the universe itself. She’s okay.

Kavik almost tumbles down the hill in his haste, the wash of relief drowning out the rest of his pain. “Yangchen! There you are!”

She turns to face him. The moon illuminates her features and the shimmer of tear tracks on cheeks. Kavik is struck by just how frail she looks; paper-thin skin stretched too tight over her bones. She looks ready to fall apart.

Yangchen doesn’t answer his call, even as he comes to stand before her. She just stares, eyes clouded with emotions that Kavik can’t name. 

“I was so worried about you,” He tells her, taking a step closer.

“Worried?” She scoffs, and Kavik’s blood turns to ice. “Worried, Kavik, really?”

Reaching up to her face with an orange and yellow sleeve, Yangchen wipes away the remnants of her tears. More still pool in her eyes, threatening to drop at moment. “Were you worried about me you when chose to betray me?”

“I -” Kavik’s tongue feels too clumsy, lost for words for one of the few times in his life. He knows exactly what she’s reliving. Will another Avatar one day speak these same words, feeling Yangchen’s grief the same way she feels so manys’?

“I trusted you,” Yangchen whispers. She’s trembling. From the cold or from her pain, Kavik doesn’t know. “I was wrong about you.”

The cut runs just as deep the second time around. The pinched nerve in Kavik’s spine flares in pain, as if in response. He grimaces, leaning over his makeshift cane. 

“I’m so sorry, Yangchen.” It’s all he has to offer her. He wants to go to her, wrap her in his arms, kiss away her tears until she forgets she ever was in pain. But he can’t. All can do is apologize and hope his own heart holds together in the meantime. 

She takes a tentative step towards him, expression guarded. “How can I be sure you’re telling the truth? I can’t tell when you’re lying, Kavik.”

“I know you can’t. And I can’t make you trust me again.” Kavik blinks and realizes he’s started crying, too. “But let me walk you back. Please.”

He carefully steps forward, holding himself up with her glider. Yangchen is in arm’s reach. She puts one shaking hand out, wrapping it cautiously around the top of the glider. Her hand settles into the worn grip.

“Alright.” Something in her eyes goes blank, just for a moment. Then she blinks. Blinks again. Looks him over, observing his hunched figure and watery eyes. “You won the staff back. I thought it was going to be Iwashi’s forever.”

She’s suddenly much calmer, stepping closer to his side. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“Nothing to worry about,” Kavik assures her. Taking the risk, he offers her the parka. “Keep your disguise on, okay? The others are waiting for us back at the safe house.”

She slides the warm clothing over her head with no complaint. “You had me going, you know. I really believed that you were going to lose.”

Kavik almost wants to laugh. Of course she still has the wherewithal to tease him. 

The hike back to the cottage somehow takes both days and seconds. Yangchen walks next to him, her hand still on the top of the glider. It makes it much harder for him to support himself with it, but he doesn’t dare push her hand off. By the time they get back she’s relaxed enough to bundle close to him once more, linking their arms together and helping him through the door. 

Kavik shuts the door behind them and collapses into the nearest chair, head spinning and back throbbing. His whole world feels upside down, and his mind is struggling to recalibrate.

Then, from the corner of the room, Yangchen speaks again. “Kavik? Are you alright? What are you doing out of bed?”

He looks over to her, his eyes blurring with pain. Somehow, some way, he can tell that it’s her again, her from the here and now. “I think I threw out my back chasing after you.”

She’s with him in a flash, glowing water already covering her hands. “Chasing after me? What are you talking about?” She pulls up his shirt to get access to his spine, spreading the water over him in the same motion. The pain begins to dissipate almost instantly, and Kavik is able to look her in the eye again.

“You weren’t in bed when I woke up. You left the house and walked out to the hills. I had to bring you back inside before you froze to death.”

She glances at the door. At herself, clothed in a parka she didn’t go to sleep in. “I - no, that’s not possible. Just now?”

“Just now.”

Her hands shake. The water stops glowing, spilling from his back and soaking his clothes. “I don’t remember.”

“It’s okay,” Kavik soothes, holding her hands in his. “Let’s go back to sleep. We can figure everything out in the morning.”

Still shaking, she doesn’t protest as Kavik, now able to walk without pain again, leads her over to the bed and helps her lay down. He kicks off his shoes and joins her, pulling her close.

“I don’t remember,” Yangchen breathes, so softly Kavik wonders if he’s meant to hear. “How can I not remember?”

He doesn’t have an answer for her.

Hands tighten in his shirt. Yangchen leans closer, voice cracking. “I’m frightened, Kavik.”

He is too. He wishes he wasn’t. He wishes he could be braver for her. 

“I know. So am I.” 

The dam breaks. Yangchen buries her face against his chest and sobs, tears soaking through the fabric of Kavik’s shirt. Kavik’s arms tighten around her as he cries too.

“I know I’m losing myself,” Yangchen chokes out between heaving breaths. “The threads in my mind are all tangled up. I can’t think straight. I can’t remember where I am. I’m terrified that one of these days I’ll forget about you, too.”

That fear has been looming in the back of Kavik’s mind as well. As much as it hurts, it almost feels good to hear it put to words.

Tears still streak down his cheeks as he cups Yangchen’s face in his hands. He lets her see him, all of him. Every fear and every worry. 

But he hopes that she can she can see the love, too.

“I’m not going to leave, Yangchen.” She sniffles, reaching up to hold her hand over his. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

She almost laughs at that; he can see the tiny quirk of her lips that proves it. Then her eyes turn misty again.

“I can’t promise that I’ll always know you.”

“So?” He strokes his thumbs over her cheekbones. “That doesn’t matter to me. What matters to me is you. That you’re safe, and well cared for.”

“Even if I don’t know who you are?”

“Even then.”

There’s nothing more to say, not right now. Yangchen asked him, many years ago, to stay by her side. Kavik won’t break his promise to her. 

He leans in, kissing away the tears that still fall from her eyes. “I love you.”

Yangchen nestles into his arms. When she speaks, Kavik knows that it’s her. “I love you too.”

~~~~

a/n: sorry

[partycatty]

dilf!johnny cage > to heal

how it goes when reader dates older johnny following the loss of sonya

warnings: grief, age gap, mentions of sex but no smut written

notes: i want to gnaw on dilf johnny until he is nothing but bones. it is for that reason that this post is LONG. yappasaurus rex over here.

masterlist <3

•first of all mk11 was so bad at covering the grief of a man losing the mother of his child

•then again that also implicates that johnny is really, really good at hiding his emotions, especially around the people he's meant to be stoic around. i wouldn't necessarily cry in front of a thunder god or cryomancer either. and i'd try to keep it together for my kid.

•regardless, johnny falls into a deep, DEEP depression that eats away at him. he should have been there on that mission. he should've canceled that ninja mime shooting and spent one more day with his family before it was completely wrecked. and he'll tell himself this every time he looks at cassie's empty eyes. he stays sober, for her, but god does he wish he could just feel nothing sometimes.

•johnny stays smiles and jokes, but as soon as he closes the door to his sleeping quarters, all he can do is blankly stare ahead. damn him and his acting skills. he wants people to check up on him, but it's just so... hard to express his pain.

•some time passes and he considers himself recovered, but every time he sees his daughter excel in training or lips smile in the way sonya's did... god.

•imagine his surprise when his own daughter asks him to get back into the dating scene. cassie says something along the lines of "you're a sad old fart that needs a woman to get him off of the couch."

•cassie's right, unfortunately. johnny let his stubble grow in and hair grow increasingly wild. he didn't carry himself as well as he once did, which was especially worrying to those who saw him as the confident, sharp, charismatic character.

•johnny declines to his daughter, finding the conversation kind of off-putting. but, on a late tuesday, he decides "fuck it" and sets up a bumble profile while sitting on the classic leather dad recliner in the living room. the one thing he forgot to do? set an age range.

•so he's a little taken aback when a 29 year old you is the third person he swiped to. instinctively, he thought to swipe left on you, but curiosity got the better of him. he read your profile and realized you sounded incredibly mature and had the same interests as him. covering his mouth and holding his phone with the other, he swipes... right, feeling an immediate intense guilt.

•he doubted you'd match with him, but as soon as he swipes, a big "IT'S A MATCH!" covers his phone screen and he lets out an audible gasp, tightening his grip on his face. he then gets a twinge of embarrassment for himself. was he seriously flipping his shit over his first match on a mobile dating app? yes.

•johnny spends a good long while staring at the screen, wondering if you'd even message him. after all, men couldn't message first on the app. what if she thinks he's too old? what if it was an accidental swipe? what if...

•NEW MESSAGE! "hiii :)" johnny swallows, afraid to open the message. what would he say? what should he say? does bumble have read receipts? would you notice he opened your message and stared for several minutes?

•he settles on "hello, how are you?" it's been a while since he's had to genuinely flirt with interest, so he opens cordially. johnny was a charmer for sure, but this time he was playing for keeps, not just for fun. he also, unlike his younger version he met some time ago, wants to take his time.

•you two chat back and forth, and while you acknowledge to him that he is indeed a celebrity (and how hilariously stupid it was that he was on a public dating site), you express no real concern over it. you mention to him that you want to see him as a man and not a character. the deeper conversation of dealing with the spotlight could come another time, as johnny didn't want to scare you away.

•you two text for a lot longer than most matches on bumble. johnny's honestly terrified of meeting up in person. he wants to be so incredibly sure that it's you he wants to meet up with. he forgot to keep swiping, even. he was so fixated on getting to know you. he felt weird talking to multiple women on the app, since he was so used to married life.

•he can't bring himself to ask you on a real date, so you two settle on a friendly coffee chat. he shaves, gets a trim, and for the first time in a long time, stresses about wearing the right things. he even calls cassie and asks if he should wear shirt A or shirt B, but was very keen on redacting your age from the conversation. that was something he was afraid to disclose to her.

•what was this man so afraid of?? you are a SWEETHEART. you're so incredibly mature, have more "vintage" interests and asked so many questions, leaning in to listen. johnny didn't feel the need to perform, in fact, he found himself... with butterflies. he death-gripped his coffee to hide the fact that his fingers were trembling.

•one coffee chat turns into two, and then three, four, and eventually, he feels okay enough to plan a real date. his heart was swelling with excitement, a new warmth in his chest. you were so effortlessly patient and kind with him, never asking for anything of him besides his time.

•he plans a dinner date, squeezing you two into a lavish restaurant that he wouldn't have been able to get into if he wasn't a celebrity. he didn't want to overwhelm you with his money and fame, but god did he want to do this right. even though the topic of money was something you never thought to consider with him, he still wanted to show off at least a little bit. it's just in his character!

•there, he starts to come out of his shell a bit more. he starts flirting back, and you two hold hands across the table, intense eye contact as you converse freely.

•johnny takes a sip of his drink, looking down. but when he looks back up, he notices you admiring him with your sweet young eyes. and it's here that he realizes just how much you've revitalized him. he springs out of bed with a smile. you're the last thought in his mind before he falls asleep. when he is with cassie, he can't stop thinking about how much you two would get along.

•which, by the way, johnny is so incredibly sure to remind you that he has a daughter that's your age. you pause and think, trying to articulate your thoughts on the awkward circumstance.

•"i understand that it may be a little uncomfortable for her and the last thing i want is to drive a wedge between you and your daughter. you speak highly of her and i deeply admire that. i perfectly understand that she comes before me."

•johnny stops himself from tearing up. you're... just so kind. you're perfect.

•after the ninth date, he decides that he's ready to go back to your place. it's a quaint apartment, and it's there that you both make the conscious decision to have sex.

•it's slow and sweet, he's murmuring praises into your bare skin as he takes his time exploring a new body. older johnny takes his time with sex unlike his younger days. he needs to appreciate your beauty, complimenting every feature on your body. you're so divine.

•"such a pretty girl..." he whisper-groans above you, strong hands holding your hips in place with a passionate firmness.

•over the next couple months, he's still working toward officially calling you his girlfriend. a new partner in his life scares him, even if you make all of that tension disappear when you're around. it's just a lot to ask of a man to take that new step again.

•biting the bullet, he asks you at your doorstep holding a cheesily large bouquet, having to glance over it to get a proper look at you. you smile sweetly, nodding and immediately accepting in that gentle voice. you knew how much this meant to him to make things official.

•cassie eventually gets the chance to meet you, as her father brings you along to a holiday party with the family. it's... it's a little weird, she won't lie. i mean, it's just weird in general to see your dad with someone that isn't your mom. that's something that naturally needs time to adjust to. and your age isn't something she can avoid discussing.

•she doesn't hate you. she actually finds you quite enjoyable to be around! she's just a little uneasy that you're her age. but, after a long, long talk full of tears and reassuring words, cassie realizes she can learn to accept you being with her dad. i mean, she sees what you do to him.

•that sparkle in his puppy-dog brown eyes is back, and he just can't stop being engulfed by your presence. a hand is always on the small of your back, a grin always plastered on his face, and eyes are always locked onto you when you're doing the most mundane of tasks. he's chirpier, and people even joke that he seems as active as he was in his younger years. you got the old man's rusty gears turnin'!

•he loves you. he didn't realize he could do that again.

[spaceyaceface]

you are a wildflower garden growing in my head

Ominis Gaunt x f!MC/Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: None

Summary: When she learns that Ominis Gaunt is well versed in floriography, she insists on him giving her lessons to learn the language of flowers. Thankfully, he ins't too hard to convince. Requested by @applinsandoranges

A/N: I loved researching Floriography a bit (or maybe a lot) for this fic!!! I'm sure it's not perfect, but I tried my best to be as accurate as possible. Thank you thank you THANK YOU to applins for requesting, I loved writing this so much!!!

Normally, the courtyard was pretty quiet—it was what made it an ideal place to study in the early spring, when the snow had just finished melting and trees had started to bud. She and Ominis had made a habit of sitting out there in the late afternoons, when Sebastian was serving his various detentions. 

That day didn’t seem to qualify for normal. 

Everett Clopton was chasing after a weeping Adelaide Oakes, who had burst out into wailing tears mere moments ago. 

“Addie, what did I do wrong?” Everett shouted after her, the flowers he had given her left on the ground where he had thrown them. “I’m sorry! Come back!” 

The ruckus caused quite the stir in the courtyard, students looking up from their studies to watch the pair—she herself couldn’t help but stop her reading, observing them with a furrowed brow. 

“What was all that?” Ominis asked from beside her. 

“Everett Clopton just gave Adelaide Oakes some flowers, then she ran off crying,” she summarized quickly. “Pretty unexpected turn of events. I always thought she returned his feelings.” 

Ominis frowned. “What flowers did he give her?”

She took a closer look at the flowers laying on the ground, tilting her head a bit. “They’re petunias, I think.” 

The loud laugh from beside her caught her off guard—Ominis usually contained his amusement pretty well, especially in public, so his loss of composure made her brow furrow. “What on earth is so funny?” she asked, perplexed. 

Ominis sat himself back up, taking a deep breath. Small chuckles still escaped him, but he seemed to have control of himself now. “Petunias,” he began, “Mean anger and resentment. No wonder Adelaide was upset.” 

Her own lips turned up in the corners. “Seems like poor Everett didn’t have a clue,” she said. “But to be far, neither did I.” 

“I’m not surprised Adelaide caught on,” Ominis said. “Hufflepuffs are usually more inclined to plantlife, aren’t they?”

“I suppose,” she replied. “Hold on, how do you know the meaning of petunias?”

She didn’t miss the slightest blush that covered Ominis’s cheeks. “My sisters,” he answered. “It’s a form of sending messages that normally wouldn’t be allowed to be shared when properly courting. They’d receive bouquets from suitors and would sit and talk about their meanings for hours, speculating it from every angle. I grew a bit fascinated by it, and learned what I could about the subject flower meanings.” He gave a small smile. “I know much more than the meaning of petunias.”

She smiled, thinking of a young Ominis delving into such topics. She rarely heard him talk about things he was excited about, especially from when he was younger. There was a certain glow to his features when he did—one that fit beautifully with his handsome features. It was subtle; something people who’d spent less time observing Ominis would likely have missed. But she had become somewhat of an expert in the slight expressions on her friends face—likely due to the extended periods of time she found herself staring at him. It had only gotten worse as they grew closer—as her feelings for him became stronger. 

“How come you’ve never told me about any of it?” she asked. 

He shrugged. “You never asked.”

“Well, I’m asking now.” 

He chuckled, hands reaching for his textbook once more. “Fine then. I’ll give you a lesson in floriography. Just give me some time to prepare for it. We better finish our Potions homework in the meantime; Sebastian will need someone to copy off of later tonight.”

She sighed, but didn’t argue. She’d hold him to his lessons, she’d make sure of that. 

-

It took a few days of pestering him until he finally told her he’d teach her about flowers later in the afternoon. She agreed to meet him by the Black Lake—the spring had started to warm up, and being near the water seemed like a wonderful idea. 

When she trekked down to their meeting spot, her eyes widened a bit at the scene. No wonder he had wanted to take a bit of time to prepare—he’d gone out and gathered a wide variety of flora, each of them sitting around him. She couldn’t help but think that anyone who didn’t know of their intentions would have taken the scene as a romantic one. 

He heard her approach, smiling up at her and patting the ground beside where he sat. “My student has arrived.”

“You better not assign me homework,” she said, sitting down. She enjoyed the chuckle her comment drew out of him. 

“I’m sure you’re busy enough studying for N.E.W.T.S. already,” he said. 

She groaned. “God, don’t remind me. I came to escape that for a while.” 

“Well, hopefully I won’t take up too much space in your head with this useless information.”

“Hang on,” she protested. “Don’t go calling it useless. Seemed like Everett would have benefited greatly with this knowledge. Besides, who knows when I’ll have a secret message to decode?” 

He faced away from her, busying himself by grabbing a couple of the plants beside him. Was his face a bit flushed–? Surely not. It was perfectly clear when his head tilted toward her once more. 

“As you learned not long ago, not all flowers are fit for a display of love or affection.” He smiled a bit. “In fact, a lot of them have sentiments more akin to the opposite. For example…”

He reached to his side, pulling forward a cluster of small flowers, bright pink with white on the edges of the petals. “These are China Pinks, or Indian Pinks. I’ve been told they’re quite lovely. But looks can be deceiving, as the mean the giver has an aversion for the receiver.” 

She laughed a bit. “That would be a shock to receive, I’m sure.” 

He grinned. “Precisely. If one wanted to be a little less harsh in their message, one could instead give someone everflowering candytuft—”

“Candytuft?” she interrupted, giggling.

He shook his head in mock annoyance. “Yes, candytuft. Don’t be fooled by its sweet name, it means indifference.” He placed a white flower with many layers down in front of her. 

“Are all these flowers a way of telling me how you really feel about me?” 

Ominis laughed at that. “No, I just wanted to give you a sample of some of the things you can say. Those last two are just as untrue of my sentiments for you as the message this next one conveys.” He showed her a small white flower with a yellow center and red dot on each petal. 

“What’s that one mean? I’m going to burn down your house?” 

“It means ‘I die tomorrow.’”

Her jaw dropped, and she couldn’t help but let out a surprised laugh. “Do people really tell people things like that through flowers?”

Ominis shrugged, setting the flower aside. “They must, if it’s a well-known enough meaning.” 

“I’ll never look at flowers the same way again.” 

“They’re not all bad,” he promised. He continued with his lesson, bringing forth each flower he had brought. She listened to each one very attentively, thoroughly enjoying listening to him. He was right—it was a fascinating topic. She learned magnolias represented a love for nature. Mountain laurels stood for ambition. The colors mattered greatly, too—a red columbine meant anxious and trembling, while a purple one meant the giver was resolved to win.

By the time the sun came to rest on the horizon, her head was swimming with various names and meanings. They’d gone through all of the samples Ominis had brought her, and he seemed satisfied with the lesson he’d given her. 

“There better not be a test,” she said as he gathered up the flowers around them. He grinned. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not that cruel.”

The two of them stood, ready to be on their way. “I’ve got to visit Poppy about nifflers she says she spotted,” she told him, wishing she could spend the time it took to walk back to the castle with him. 

“Ah, of course. You and your beasts,” he said with a small smile. He shifted on his feet. “Before you go, I’d like you to have this.” 

He handed her a large red flower, tall and curving with strange petals sticking up all down the length of it. She took it from him, brows furrowed. “I don’t remember what this one meant. You haven’t showed it to me yet, have you?” 

“Not yet, no,” he said, voice quiet. 

“What’s it mean?” 

He smiled at her softly. “I’ll tell you soon enough.” 

And with that, he headed off toward the castle. 

-

She really tried not to think too much about the large flower occupying the vase in her dorm room over the next several days. Tried being the key word. Every time she walked into her room and saw it, she couldn’t help the slight flip of her stomach, remembering the slight blush Ominis had sported while handing it to her. 

Surely it was something simple and lighthearted. Surely it was some sort of jab or joke, and not any sort of… confession. He had spent that whole lesson talking about what flowers meant outside of romance, hadn’t he? Why would the gift he gave her at the end be any different?

Even so, she found herself checking out a book on floriography at the library, trying to learn the secret message he’d given her. So far she’d learned nothing of it. 

It didn’t mean she didn’t learn anything, though. 

It had taken them several days to find time for another one of their little lessons, with actual studies taking the unfortunate priority. But they promised to squeeze it in on a Saturday morning just before lunch. She’d woken up early to locate one of the things she’d latched onto while reading her book—a variegated tulip. 

Beautiful eyes, the book had told her. She figured if he got to tantalize her by giving her that flower, the least she could do was try to flatter him a bit into telling her. She hoped it wasn’t too forward; she’d told him his eyes were lovely before, but to do so in a language so dear to him—well, it just felt a bit intimate. 

In any case, she found herself headed to the very same shore of the Black Lake, seeing a scene much like the first time they had met there. Ominis sat there with a group of flowers, but this time, they were all bunched together, forming a mis-match bouquet. 

She grinned as she plopped down beside him, tulip tucked away. “That looks lovely.”

Ominis chuckled. “I hope so. All I know is it smells pretty decent.” 

“Is that how you tell all of them apart?” she asked. “The scent?”

He nodded. “That and the texture of the petals. Though I’ve gotten used to using my nose first—I’ve ruined a good number of flowers by manhandling them.” 

She laughed. “It’s a bouquet this time.” 

“Very observant of you,” he teased. She gave him a gentle shove in response, making him laugh. “Don’t abuse your teacher!”

“Don’t patronize your student,” she said, grinning. 

He shook his head. “As my amazingly brilliant and very astute student pointed out, I’m holding a bouquet—” she shoved him again— “which will be the focus of our lesson today.” 

“Permission to leave class early?”

“No.”

“Fine.” 

He chuckled, his fingers beginning to gently run along the different flowers he held in the bunch. “Last time we went over some of the more specific and less used meanings. Today I’m hoping to touch on some of the more common flowers, ones you’d be more likely to come across.”

“Sounds practical.”

“Precisely. I’ve gathered them in a bouquet for you—often times you’ll receive a bouquet so the sender can express more complex feelings, allowing the combination to give a better overview of their emotions and perception of you. So let’s dive in.” 

His finger pointed out a stem holding a few small white flowers. “These are white bell flowers, an expression of gratitude.” 

She hummed. “I like those ones. They’re pretty.” 

He smiled and nodded, turning the bouquet. “Here are oak-leaved geraniums, meaning true friendship.” 

She tilted her head, scooting a bit closer to him for a better look at the pink petals. “How sweet,” she said, smiling. 

His ears went a little red. “The next one needs a bit of an explanation as to why I included it in your bouquet, but—”

“Wait, my bouquet?” she asked. 

“Yes, your bouquet,” he said, red spreading to his cheeks and across his nose. “Now let me continue.” 

“I… carry on, then.” 

His fingers ran over the flowers he’d been indicating once more. “Water willows are representative of freedom. You’re always running off to some place, despite all the rules you should follow, so… freedom.” 

She nodded beside him. “That makes sense.”

He continued on, explaining the reasoning of each flower there in her bouquet. Each one made her heart beat a little faster—he’d spent all that time, thinking of her, picking out exactly the right words to describe her and what she meant to him. It left her grinning like an idiot as she tried to remember each and every thing he said. None of the things he brought up trailed into the realm of romance, but she didn’t need it to. Not now, at least. It was perfect, just as it was. 

“And there you have it,” he said finally. “Your bouquet.” He held it out to her, tilting his head away from her a bit. 

“I… I don’t know what to say, Ominis,” she said, taking it from him and holding it gently. “This is… you’re too kind.” 

“You don’t need to say anything,” he said quickly. “I thought a… demonstration would be best, to help you learn about it. Sorry if I overstepped—”

“You didn’t overstep anything,” she said. “I’m just glad I at least have something to give you in return. I’m sorry it’s not a full bouquet, but it’ll have to do.”

She pulled out her tulip, which looked a little pitiful next to his varied display. But she pressed it into his hand. He felt up the stem gently, and then froze.

“Is… is this a tulip?” he asked quietly. “What color is it?”

She furrowed her brows at his reaction. “It is. It’s a variegated tulip.” 

He let out a breath he must have been holding, a small smile coming to his face. “Beautiful eyes,” he said softly. “Thank you.” 

She couldn’t help but think his smile had a strange tainted emotion behind it—one she couldn’t quite grasp. “You’re welcome. Sorry it isn’t much.”

He tilted his head in her direction. “It’s perfect.” 

-

She couldn’t help thinking about Ominis’s reaction to her tulip the rest of the day. Something about it bothered her—the way he froze up at first, the strange tension in his voice. 

It wasn’t until she looked back at her book on floriography she thought she understood why. 

She’d looked back at the page on the variegated tulip, trying to see if there was something she missed, when her eyes drifted up to the entry just above it. 

Tulip; Red - Declaration of Love. 

Her stomach churned. That had to be it. Ominis had no way of knowing what color tulip she had handed him. For all he knew, she’d been about to confess her feelings to him. 

But had he been full of dread or excitement?

She racked her brain, trying to recall every last detail of his words, he tones, his movements. But to no avail. She was just as clueless of his feelings for her as before

The coming days didn’t help, either. As much as she tried to observe the way he interacted with her, all she learned was… well, that she loved him. She already knew that, of course. But she kept being reminded of all the little reasons why. 

Like the way he whispered snarky jokes to her in class. The way he smiled so slightly when he was amused. The way he walked her to class, even it made him late to his own. Everything about him, really. 

She loved that he made the time to have one final lesson, right before N.E.W.T.S., too. 

Being so sure of her feelings now, she decided to take a risk. Which was why, before she left for the Black Lake, she tucked a red tulip into the pocket of her robes. 

Maybe she’d use it. It was still up for debate—but she’d have it ready if there was even a chance he might feel the same. 

When she arrived at their meeting spot, Ominis was fiddling with the flowers around him. Much like the first time, they laid sprawled out, ready to be dealt with one by one. She came and sat across from him, smiling. “Well, here I am, at my final lesson,” she said. 

He chuckled. “I hope I’ve been a sufficient teacher.”

“We’ll see if I pass the test.” 

He let the smile linger on his face for a moment before moving to one of the first flowers beside him. “I feel like I’ve done a proper job of informing you the uses of flora outside of romance—however, it doesn’t mean it’s still not a large part of it.” 

The flower he held twirled in his fingers. She felt her cheeks heat up a bit—no, she couldn’t get too excited about this. Just because they were talking about love and affection didn’t mean…

“I feel like it’s an important section to cover,” she said, still eyeing the flower he held—pink with drooping petals. 

He nodded. “Extremely. This one I’m holding is a bit… well, dramatic, I suppose. But it conveys the giver’s message pretty clearly. Justicia—the perfection of female loveliness.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Very clearly. I assume you only give it if you really mean to court someone?” 

“Precisely. Would you mind holding it for me?” 

Before she could reply, he pressed the stem into her hand, all but forcing her to take it. She grasped without much thought, as Ominis was already reaching for the next flower. He held up the cluster of small flowers, smiling. “Here we have Peruvian heliotrope. It signifies unwavering devotion.”

He held it out to her, and she took it without a word. He continued on, not missing a beat. The next thing he held was not a flower at all—but he was quick to explain. “Cedar leaf,” he said. “Perhaps not a flower like the others, but it expresses the proper messages. I… I live for thee.” 

There was a tone in his voice that had changed dramatically from when he was simply giving her explanations. A distinct shift that made it hard for her to breathe. One that made her hand feel like it was burning where his fingers brushed against his as he handed her the leaf. 

“Everlasting,” he named, holding a bright burst of yellow and orange petals, “Never-ceasing remembrance.” 

It was added to her growing bouquet. 

He picked up the final flower she saw, a lovely little pink thing, taking the shape of a ball. “Globe amaranth. It has two meanings. Immortality, for the first. But the one I’d like to emphasis is unfading love.”

She sucked in a breath. The petals shook a bit, resulting from his trembling hand. Before he handed it to her, he reached behind him, pulling out a flower that he had let lay concealed there. 

“You’ll recognize this one,” he said softly. She did. The flower he had given her on that very first lesson—the one he told her she’d learn about in due time. It seemed that the time had come. “Honey flower. Love sweet and secret.” 

He felt the same. He had this entire time. He’d sat with her, day after day of studying and laughing, all the while letting his heart beat for her. It filled with with a joy she had never known—one she was determined to never let go off. 

She looked up at his face, jaw tense, and she realized her silence at his confession must be excruciating. She reached forward, taking the flowers from his hands and adding it to her perfect collection before setting it aside. “You mean it, Ominis?” she asked, hoping she had not taken this all ridiculously out of turn. It was relief when he answered in a quiet voice. 

“Every word.” 

She grinned, taking one of his hands in her own before reaching for the pocket of her robe. The flower was still intact—a small miracle she was glad had occurred. “You’ve been an absolutely amazing teacher,” she said, guiding his hand to take the tulip. He wrapped his fingers around it, brows furrowing. “For one, I now know how important colors are when it comes to deciphering meanings.”  She leaned closer, voice coming out as almost a whisper. “I’ve brought another tulip for you. But this one is red.” 

His face lit up in an instant, lips reaching up to spread into the most beautiful smile. The flower was set aside, for his hands found something much more important to do. He placed them on either side of her face, fingers tracing over her cheeks. She held his wrists, letting him lead her closer and closer, until there was no distance left at all. 

The breeze blew softly over them, carrying the floral scent with it. She’d love that smell for the rest of her life, she was sure—because it would always remind her of the way his lips felt on hers. 

[yanderes-galore]

Maybe yandere master Ahsoka in a au where she never left the Jedi order and she gets a padawon , and she sees reader as family hcs please 🙏 🌙

Sure! I'm a bit rusty with her but I hope this alternate take based on her personality is good :)

Yandere! Platonic! Master! Ahsoka with Padawan! Darling

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Fear of loss, Slight manipulation, Violence, Isolation, Dubious companionship.

Jedi aren't meant to be close to many people...

Companionship, relationships, any sort of close bonds are frowned upon in The Order.

Suppressing such feelings is necessary for a Jedi to serve.

Ahsoka herself has learned how to do such things.

However... That doesn't mean she doesn't feel complex emotions.

The bond between Jedi and Padawan is a close one, but less distracting than most.

Many view their Padawan's like siblings, or a kid they couldn't have.

Such a bond is similar to how Ahsoka feels with you.

She herself had a close bond with her master, Anakin... before he went to the Dark Side.

While she may not agree with The Order all of the time, she's stuck with them for many missions.

Even right up until The Order fell.

Now, as a Jedi Master, it was only natural for Ahsoka to take a student of her own.

Ahsoka has always wanted to protect people.

She defends people and has given everything to the order.

She has the spirit of a Jedi... always caring and ready to solve problems.

Then The Order deemed her worthy to train you... a young Padawan to call her own.

Ahsoka doesn't expect taking care of a Padawan to be easy.

Jedi training is taxing on the mind and body, yet upon going on a few missions, you're proving to be capable.

You remind Ahsoka of how she was when she was younger.

Now she finally understands how Anakin felt when she was acting reckless and impulsive.

It's easy for Padawans to get carried away.

She'd know such a thing as she was once overly ambitious herself.

Yet she can tell you're not only brave... but loyal too.

Ahsoka had you as her Padawan before Order 66 was executed.

She may even still keep you under her wing after Order 66, wanting to keep you safe.

Ahsoka as your master seems like she'd give off either big sister vibes or mom vibes.

Either way she'd be protective of her Padawan, fully away from the dangers that the Galaxy has to offer.

She wants to teach you to follow your heart yet stay cautious.

She's kind to you yet also isn't afraid to scold you for your mistakes.

Ahsoka may actually be a good master for you.

The one issue I'm seeing?

Her fear.

Fear can poison a Jedi and their motives.

In fact, fear... love... and anger can poison a Jedi.

This is the reason Jedi aren't allowed to have personal connections.

Having a family, a relationship, or even children can be distractions.

If a Jedi can not control their emotions, they become vulnerable to the Dark Side.

Ahsoka's issue towards you would be the fear of losing you.

Especially after Order 66 in this AU.

She's lost many close to her, an unfortunate part of being a Jedi.

She's even lost her own master.

So, really, you'd be all she has as a Jedi master.

You're her student... the family she could never have....

Teaching you becomes increasingly hard due to these feelings.

Each time she sees you do something risky, she tries to be optimistic.

Yet she can't help but think of you getting hurt.

She wonders if The Order chose right...

She wonders... if she really is the right teacher for you.

But then you look at her with eager eyes.

It's such a familiar sight.

When she sees you so bright and determined, despite it all, she smiles.

Yes... Yes they must've chosen right.

They put you in her care.

So... She should take care of you the best she can.

No matter what.

I imagine this AU would also take place after Order 66.

During it, Ahsoka kept you close and defended you against every rogue clone she could.

She isn't sure what she'd do without her Padawan.

She definitely sees you as family, treating you protectively and always observing any who come close.

She is moralistic... but as she learned from Anakin...

Sometimes you have to bend the rules to do the right thing.

Killing people often happens as a Jedi, like it or not.

Ahsoka takes no joy in it... yet she'd do anything to protect you.

Speaking of which, after Order 66 she'd take you with her into hiding.

She can't really teach you when in hiding... as using the Force would get you both detected.

Ahsoka, as your master, would give you both a fake name to hide from the growing Empire.

After Order 66, Ahsoka views you even more as family.

Since she can't teach you to be a Jedi, you two really do end up adopting a familial role.

Be that siblings or mother and child... Ahsoka hates to admit it but she's attached.

She knows such a bond may poison her... yet The Order is no more.

You two may be Jedi at heart, yet nothing is stopping you from having personal connections now.

Ahsoka's biggest fear is losing you.

Be that by death or the Dark Side... both are just as bad.

Such thoughts are what make it hard for Ahsoka to let you mature.

At some points she coddles you, especially when you have to pretend to not be Jedi.

She's worried about letting you out into the world.

It's just... too dangerous right now.

One mistake and you could be hunted.

The thought makes Ahsoka worry more than she should.

In fact, it makes her isolate you.

Naturally you believe her subtle manipulation when she asks you to stay.

You trust her, you know she wouldn't let anyone harm you...

So, if pretending to be farmers is what you have to do, you'll do it.

Ahsoka cherishes the trust you hold for her.

Which is why she feels bad when she abuses it.

Ahsoka is mostly just... protective.

She wants a life where she'll always have you, and a quiet one away from the Empire happens to be on her mind.

Although, eventually, you'll want to leave her side.

Padawans naturally have to leave their masters at some point.

They deserve to be independent... and Ahsoka knows that...

But things have changed.

When you tell Ahsoka you wish to leave, to make a life of your own... she hesitates.

N-No... No, you really shouldn't.

She hates to say it, really does... but it isn't safe.

What if you get caught?

What if the Empire executes you after realizing you're a Jedi or... Force sensitive at the very least.

Or... what if they choose to use you as a weapon against her?

Ahsoka would try to convince you into staying with her.

All you need is each other... you've been through so much already...

Why don't you sit back and stay with her?

You can have a quiet life!

She understands you crave action... that you want to join the Rebellion...

She was once a similar way in her youth.

Yet, she may even Jedi mind trick you in an attempt to keep you safe.

Ahsoka keeps telling herself she's just... bending the rules.

What she's doing isn't wrong.

Keeping you in hiding at a farm isn't wrong.

Convincing forcing you to stay isn't wrong, either....

She's protecting you.

Cutting someone who knows your secrets down isn't bad either.

They were a threat to you

Tricking you is... underhanded but...

You need her.

Ahsoka looks after you because you're all she has now.

Many of her friends are gone, her master is gone, The Order is gone...

It's just you and her... alone in a galaxy that wants you dead...

However, Ahsoka will always protect you no matter the cost, you're all she has and she plans to keep you all to herself... under her protection... safe and sound.

[shadow1515]

Too Sweet

Pairing: The Ghoul | Cooper Howard/Female, Surface Reader Word Count: 5,138 Warnings: a lot, rape/non-con, older man (he’s a zombie basically)/younger woman (reader is 20), monster fucking, size kink, rough sex, gun play, blood kink, glove kink?, loss of virginity, dacryphilia, forced orgasm, orgasm denial, creampie Summary: Your father dead, brother gone in search for his killers, mother gone in search for him, you were left alone in the wilderness. You thought you knew how to take care of yourself, but that idea is challenged when a certain ghoul in a cowboy hat shows up at your dining room table. Tags: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. READ THE WARNINGS. DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ. MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY. Please, read the warnings, if any of this triggers you do not continue!!!!!!!!!! Note: first post here, but i also posted on ao3 where i have posted fics before... just... bear with me, the brain rot was real for this one. I have never written anything at this level of depravity but this yucky looking man without a nose took hold of me and I had to write this. I did most of it when I should have been studying for a quiz, but it's fineeeee. Anyway, please enjoy this 5k word piece of filth that was only read through once…… (And yes the title is based off Hozier’s song Too Sweet.)

You were born and raised on the surface with its sandy horizons and burning sun, but your life was definitely better than most others who live on the surface of this godforsaken world. Your parents had found a nice place with tons of supplies, the ability to grow plants, a water filter, and it was hidden fairly well. You weren’t entirely sure how they had found such a haven in the wasteland, but honestly you couldn’t complain too much. Alongside your older brother, you grew up knowing how to grow your own food, hunt, defend yourself, create booby traps, the normal things every kid grew up learning. You were also one of the lucky few that was taught how to read and write as your mother had been taught by her parents and passed it onto you and your brother, something you were forever grateful for. 

Books were a solace for you, one of the few you could find, especially after your brother ran off to god knows where and your mother went off in search of him just a few months ago. After your father passed away three years ago, your brother felt it necessary to be the “man of the house” and make sure you and your mother were taken care of. It wasn’t that you were ungrateful for his protection and watchful eye, but he could be a little extreme at times. Your father died just over a year ago, and it was hard on all of you. Perhaps your brother took it a bit harder since he never showed his sadness about it… only his anger. See, your father was killed by some raiders on one of his outings to get more supplies. Your brother was with him when it happened but managed to escape. You were almost one hundred percent sure that was where your brother had gone; looking for your father’s killers.

Unfortunately, that had been just over four months ago. A few days ago your mother grew sick of it and went to try and find your brother, leaving you all alone. You knew how to protect yourself and make sure the house was protected and hidden, but that didn’t mean you liked being alone or that you didn’t worry every day about your missing family. In fact, it made it worse.

You felt your patience and sanity wearing thin as the days went on and you heard nothing from your mother or brother. You were worried sick, the only things keeping you from running off by yourself were tending to the farm and the chickens, checking on the water filter, reading your books, really anything to distract you from the inevitable truth;that your family was dead. 

One day, you were out tending to the livestock and farms for most of the day. It was starting to get dark and mostly everything was done, so it was about time to head inside for the night. As soon as you opened the door, you could tell something was off. Maybe it was the slightly larger, sandy footprints through the hallway, or the way that everything around you seemed to stand still, either way you knew something was wrong. Unfortunately, you weren’t quick enough. Even with your added paranoia from being alone for a few days, your reflexes couldn’t have prepared you enough for the sight of a man… no, a ghoul, lounging at your dining table. Seat pulled back, feet on the table, fingers lazily playing with the trigger of the sawed off shotgun that was pointed directly at you. 

Part of his face was obscured by a ragged hat, but you could still tell that he was a ghoul, his face covered in scars, red and shiny from the radiation. He slowly lifted his head, dark eyes shining in the setting sun streaming through the window, the black hole where his nose should have been even more prominent as his gaze slowly trailed from your muddy boots up your bare legs (you wanted to wear shorts, it was hot out), across your curves until they finally landed on your face, lingering on your parted lips for a moment too long in your opinion. 

Your eyes, on the other hand, kept on moving between his ruined face to the gun pointed at you in quick succession, not knowing which to focus on more. Before you could think of doing anything else, he finally spoke.

“Well, sweetheart, seems you found yourself in quite the predicament here.” The words roll off his tongue easily, like they were practiced, used, normal for him to utter. That nickname too, so antagonizing and belittling with just two syllables. It made your blood boil… not like that… right?

You attempted to speak, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, your eyes still flicking between the barrel of the gun and the ruined face before you. Your very apparent lack of thoughts and speech only made the ghoul chuckle. It was a deep sound, like a rumble of the earth during a thunderstorm, the vibrations running all through your body, unyielding to the forces that surround you. 

“Cat got your tongue, darlin’?”

The question was not meant to be answered, in fact it made all semblance of words leave your mouth entirely. He stood up then, the spurs on his boots startling you as he took step after step closer to you, the gun in his hand hanging loosely at his side. At first, you didn’t move, but as he got closer, you took a fearful step back, not realizing until it was too late that he maneuvered you in such a way as he was getting closer so now your back was flush against the wall. The ghoul was close now, too close, so close you could feel his body heat, the stench of his breath from his yellowed mouth, the gunpowder and cigarettes and booze that lingered on him like a haze after a fire. He was terrifying. 

You let out a pathetic squeak as the end of his shotgun found its place underneath your chin, tilting your head up to make sure you looked him directly in the eyes. His eyes weren’t an evil yellow or filled with contempt, they were a deep brown, a soft brown, and they were filled with an emotion you really could not place. The position you were in was compromising, with his face inches from your own (his hips inches from your own). And that look in his eyes. Why couldn’t you figure it out?

The cool metal of the gun felt as if it was burning you as he tipped your head back just a bit more, his dark eyes focused on yours, “Ain’t you just a sweet little thing, all alone, no way of protectin’ yourself.” You did have a way of protecting yourself, it was called booby traps that he somehow managed to get by, but you bit your tongue. 

“What do you want with me?” You managed to speak that one question that was burning in your mind in spite of the shivers of fear that ran down your spine as your chin moved the shotgun touching it.

At that little comment from you, the ghoul smirked like the bastard he was, “Well you see, missy,” You felt a surge of relief followed quickly by terror again as the gun left your chin only to trail down your neck and land on the collar of your tank top, a collar that was already pretty low cut (again, it was hot). The barrel caught in the fabric as he continued to speak, “I have it on good information that this little abode of yours happens to also be the home of a stupid boy who crossed paths with the wrong man.”

Your heart sank. You knew exactly what he was referring to. Your fucking brother, off doing who knows what, stirring up the worst kind of trouble. He wanted to avenge your father, you knew that, but did he not think? Of course he didn’t. He thought it would be all unicorns and daisies as he tracked down a pack of murderers. Why would he think twice about the trouble that would bring onto you?

“Look, I–” You gave a dry swallow as the gun at your chest pushed further beneath your shirt, just shy away from tugging it to the side and taking a peek. “You’re looking for my brother, right? I-I don’t know where he is. He left months ago and then my mother–” You cut yourself off, you didn’t want your mother caught up as this bounty hunter’s prey as well.

The ghoul cocked his head to the side, eyes never leaving your face even as the gun moved the fabric of your tank top to the side, your cleavage very obviously there for the looking. “Don’t let me stop you, sweetheart. Please, tell me more about your dear mama.”

You felt the tears on your cheeks before you realized they even formed in the first place. Why did this have to happen? You were blessed, you knew that, with this home and your family, but that didn’t mean you had to have horrible things happen to you as well. You already lost your father, your brother and mother were gone, but you didn’t do anything. 

The ghoul’s gaze followed the tears as they trailed down your face, a twisted pleasure running through him as he watched them. You were too sweet for this world, too sweet for a man like him to find you all alone like this. 

Without much extra thought, you felt the ghoul position his leg between yours, the rough material of his pants around his thigh immediately rubbing against the cloth covering your bottom half. The movement caught you off guard and another gasp of surprise left your mouth, a fresh wave of tears trailing down your face. So that was what he wanted… Growing up you learned what it was that made babies, the simple things like that, but you were sheltered, never leaving your home or the confines of your land, much preferring to stay with your family and not venture out into the dangerous unknown. And it was made dangerous because men, of things, like him.

“Awh, what is it, darlin’?” You heard the gun click into its holster at his side, one hand moving to grip your hip with a strength that really shouldn’t have shocked you, the other moving towards your face, his gloved thumb swiping at the tears gathering there. You mewled again as his thigh moved, the rough fabric causing unwanted friction in an unwanted place. “You scared of little ol’ me?”

“Please,” The fear you felt before only grew as the realization dawned on you. He wanted information and he knew the only way of getting it out of you would be to hurt you… but that didn’t have to mean just cuts and bruises, especially for a man like him. “Please don’t do this. I- I don’t know anything else.” 

You knew it was a lie, he knew it was a lie. You just wanted to protect your mother, and maybe you could convince him of that. At least, you hoped you could. 

The ghoul moved the hand on your face down, resting on the collar of your shirt, “Sweetheart, you really don’t know how the world works out there, do ya?” His face moved closer to yours, his breath hot against the shell of your ear, “It’s eat or be eaten, darlin’, and you ain’t telling me what I wanna know.”

“But-” You hiccuped as fresh tears left your eyes, “But I don’t know anythi–”

A sharp gasp that bordered on a scream escaped you as the hand at your hip left to join the other one and a loud ripping sound invaded your senses, your tank top now ripped clean down the middle, exposing your breasts to him.

Damn, your skin was so soft. Not a scar on your body, just some dirt and scrapes from working outside. The sweat from the sun still lingered on your skin, making it glow, and that scent, it alone was enough to make a ghoul go feral. But he could stave off that feeling if he found a way to get rid of it. 

The ghoul’s eyes found yours again in spite of your breasts being right there. “Sweet thing,” God you hated how small his nicknames made you feel. “I don’t think you’re understandin’ still. I got a bounty to find, you know how to find ‘em, and, well, I know a fun way to get it outta ya.” 

At that last comment you felt the rough leather of his gloves finally touch your breast, squeezing and toying with them in a way you never thought possible. His hands were everywhere, twisting, rough, strong, it made your skin sweat and your back arch. You whimpered as he tugged at your nipples, the pain mixed with a different feeling, one that didn’t feel that bad. As your back arched, your hips unintentionally bumped against his and you felt something hard poke at you. Your eyes widened in shock, the nice feeling from before immediately dissipating as your situation dawned on you again. With that thought, a renewed vigor filled you, your hand clenching in a fist that was raised and swung at the monster’s face. 

Your punch landed with a loud thud but to your horror he didn’t even flinch, just stopped his ministrations on your breasts to glare at you, his anger radiating off of him in waves. 

A cruel smirk grew on his scarred face, “There’s that fight I was looking for.”

His sentence was punctuated with a harsh slap across your face, the force making your vision blink out for a couple of seconds as your head swung to the side. You tasted blood in your mouth and felt a strong hand grip your jaw, harshly moving your head so that it faced him again. 

“You wanna try that again, sweetheart, or are ya gonna tell me what I wanna know?”

Despite your fear and the knowledge that this man, this ghoul, could kill you in a matter of seconds, it would take more than that to get you to give up your mother and brother to him. With that thought in mind, you gathered up some of the blood in your mouth and spit at him, the red liquid splattering over his already reddened face. 

The hand at your jaw moved to grip your throat, squeezing just enough to cause discomfort and fear that he could do much worse. You watched in horror as his free hand then moved to gather up some of the blood on his face, the finger now sticky and shiny with it moving to his mouth as he licked it clean, a face of pure pleasure overcoming him as he tasted you. 

“You taste sweeter than apple pie,” Your throat was squeezed tighter as his face grew closer to yours, his missing nose making it easier to invade your space. “And that just makes me wanna taste you even more.”

His head immediately moved to your neck where you felt his hot breath on your shoulder, his hand moved to grab at your face to keep you from moving. You squirmed in his grasp as you felt a rough tongue drag against your skin, the feeling foreign to you. It seemed like he really was tasting you, licking at the sweat and grime that coated your skin, savoring the taste. Your body tried to wriggle free, a scream warbled by the grip he had on your cheeks as you felt the blunt ends of his teeth bite deep into the juncture of your shoulder and neck. The force in which he bit down was sure to leave a mark, the abused flesh turning red and irritated almost immediately. 

You wanted to pass out right then and there, your mind racing with thoughts of what he might do to you next. He lingered at your neck for a moment before giving it one last swipe of his tongue and returning to look you dead in the eyes, a wicked smile on his scarred skin. Your face was smushed together by his gloved hand and you watched as his gaze traveled back to your neck, back to the mark he left there. His hand quickly followed that gaze, trailing over the mark before gripping your throat again. You saw as the thoughts and emotions raced behind his eyes but you didn’t know where they would lead.

Without any more warning, the ghoul used the hand on your throat to swing you around, slamming your back onto the table. You tried to get out from under him, swinging your arms and legs wildly, screaming (not that anyone would hear you), trying to land a punch or a kick, anything to get away. The ghoul grabbed a hold of your wrists in one hand, pinning them to the table above your head as his free hand went to his waist, grabbing the shotgun from its holster and pointing at your face once again. 

Your struggle stopped the moment you heard the holster pop open, your terror growing tenfold as you knew at this distance, one simple slip of his finger would cause your entire head to explode off your body. The ghoul’s smirk was horrible, devilish, and it turned your blood ice cold. He moved the barrel of the gun closer to you until it brushed against your pursed lips still stained red from your blood.

You knew what he wanted you to do, but you couldn’t, the thought making you want to die on the spot. The ghoul didn’t seem to like that, though, the barrel pushing against your lips more roughly.

“Open wide, darlin’” His voice was dark, gravely, filled with irritation but also wild interest, or perhaps lust. “You really don’t wanna make me even more angry.”

You looked deep into his eyes, the flakes of red across his face from your blood making him appear even more frightening, even more like a monster only seen in children’s stories. You knew if you hesitated any longer he’d be more than happy to pull the trigger and blow your head clean off. Your vision grew blurry as more tears formed, your mouth opening just the slightest amount to allow for the gun to slide past your lips. The taste of metal and gunpowder made you want to gag, your eyes finding the dark ones above you as a slow exhale of breath left the ghoul’s mouth, his gaze transfixed on the way his gun slid deep into your mouth.

“Ain’t that a sight,” He spoke in a low tone, voice filled with fascination.

The gun moved deeper into your mouth, the taste giving way to pain as it pushed against the back of your throat, your mouth wrapping painfully around it, stretching it in uncomfortable ways. You felt it begin to leave your mouth before pushing back in, the slow fucking of your throat by a gun making your tears only increase, the gaging sensation becoming more prominent. You tried to move your arms, to get the gun out of your mouth, but his grip was too strong, his fascination with the scene he created too enticing for him to stop. You felt a hard poke against your thighs as they draped over the end of the table and were pinned by the ghoul’s strong body. You continued to gag around the gun as he fucked it faster and rougher into your face, his breaths becoming louder above you. The hard poke from before rubbed against your thigh as he continued, unprovoked, or perhaps more enticed by your tears and the pathetic sounds attempting to leave around the thick barrel of his gun.

“It’s a damn good thing you ain’t out in the real world, pretty lady. You woulda been eaten right up the moment someone laid eyes on ya.” 

His final comment was finished as the gun was shoved further down your throat, a garbled scream rising from you only to be smothered by the metal. He finally removed the weapon from your mouth, saliva making the metal glisten in the dying light from the sun outside. Your cheeks felt burning hot, covered in your tears and sweat as you were given some reprieve from his assault. 

The ghoul looked over his gun, that same bastardly smirk still prominent on his face as he placed it back in its holster, leaving your spit still on it. “Now that was fun, wasn’t it sweetheart,” You tried to glare at him, but didn’t dare speak, your mouth too sore and abused. Your small fight made the ghoul chuckle again, the hand holding your wrists dragging you up from the table with a harsh yank. His face was inches from yours again as he held you in the air, the only thing keeping you from falling was his grip on your hands and his hips digging into yours against the table. “Wanna tell me where you dear mama is now?”

So this torture was still to get information out of you. You loved your mother, you couldn’t bear the thought of giving her up so easily just to save your own skin. 

“Fuck you.” Your voice was strained, your throat throbbing in pain at each syllable. 

“I hoped you’d say that.” With a shove, he threw you to the floor, moving to stand over you. With your limbs finally free, you scrambled to get away, but he was too quick, one heeled boot slamming down on your leg with enough force to stun you. You screamed out in pain, eyes going wide as you watched him reach for his belt, foot still pressed against your leg, keeping you from moving. His hands worked slowly, the terror building up in you at each passing second. His belt came off far too quickly followed by the button of his pants. 

You closed your eyes, not wanting to see where this was going. You heard the rustle of fabric as the ghoul removed his foot from your leg and went to straddle you, strong thighs on either side of your hips, one hand slammed against the floor beside your head, the other grabbing your jaw in a vice-like grip. 

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” You hesitated before giving in as his grip strengthened to the point of pain, making you gasp and your eyes fly open. “I want you to watch as I ruin you.”

The tears never seemed to stop, his hand leaving your jaw only to rip your shorts and panties down your legs in one harsh tug, the fabric burning against your too sensitive skin. You didn’t dare look down, your gaze staying fixed on his, hoping that if you didn’t look then it wasn’t actually going to happen. 

In spite of your prayers, you felt the rough leather of a gloved finger run through your folds, a sharp intake of breath the only sound you made. Your attempts at staying quiet were soon overcome as his finger found that secret spot just at the top of your cunt, the roughness of the glove and the fear that was coursing through your blood made it even more sensitive and a small mewl of discomfort left your lips. 

The ghoul continued to rub at your clit, your thighs beginning to shake, the sounds escaping your throat enough to make your skin boil in shame. “C’mon, pretty lady, do ya really wanna make this harder on yourself?” He went to whisper in your ear again, his fingers working magic against you. “I can make this feel so good for ya, just tell me what I wanna hear.”

Your hips began to buck against his hand, your moans growing louder as his thumb remained on your clit, one finger entering your cunt and it was like you were seeing stars. You had never done anything like this before, never really had the chance to. You experimented by yourself of course, but having someone else do it to you? It was on a whole other level. 

You chased your peak like it was the only thing standing in the way of your survival, your hips shaking, mouth agape, eyes still fixed on the dark ones above you. You were so close. You could feel it building, boiling over–

A pathetic cry left you as he removed his hand, bringing it up to his face as he inspected the wetness now coating his fingers. With that same hand he gripped your cheeks, your own fluids coating your face, the scent invading your senses. 

“I said I could make ya feel good, but you haven’t given me anythin’ in return yet.” His tone was so cocky, so arrogant, and yet it sent warmth shooting down to your core, unbidden and unwelcome to your mind, but it was received with exaltation as it fueled the slowly dying fire within you. 

“Please–” It was pathetic, you knew that, and you weren’t even sure what you were saying please to, please stop, please don’t stop, please let me come mr ghoul sir?

Your desire was partially snuffed out as you felt something large and warm slap against your stomach. The suddenness of it made you forget to not look down as your gaze landed on the ghoul’s cock. It was big, the skin red and irritated, scarred from the radiation, just like the rest of his body. As much as the pleasure he was giving you before felt amazing, you couldn’t take that thing. 

“That can’t fit,” You spoke hurriedly, the fear taking hold once more. “Please, I-I don’t know anything! I can’t help you, just please don’t put that in me.” Your sobs grew hysterical, tears free flowing, incoherent mumbles leaving you. “Sweetheart, you really think I care?” 

He was cruel, he was a monster, a horrible, despicable monster.

The ghoul reached for his discarded belt, using it to tie your wrists together above your head as you tried to squirm away from him again. And you watched in terror as one of his hands guided the head of his cock to hit against your opening, the other hand roaming down your neck to grab at your breasts again. The tip of him tried to get inside of you and you already felt like you would die right there.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you are tight.” His gaze left his cock and moved to look at you again, “You never been fucked before, have ya?”

Your blabberings and the fear in your eyes was enough of an answer for him. “Damn, didn’t think I’d find a cunt as sweet as yours in this place.” He finally managed to push in, the pain was horrible, it made your insides burn, your mind going blank. “Makes me wanna stay here just a bit longer, still gotta know where your little shit of a brother is afterall.”

Your mind was gone, overcome with pain as he pushed more of his length into you, heedless of your squirming, your tears, the resistance he felt as he kept on going deeper and deeper. 

It was horrible, you were glad your brain tried to block out other thoughts, albeit in vain as he pulled out just to slam back into you, fully sheathed in your tight cunt. 

“You’re gripping me like a vice, darlin’, I dunno if I can even get out.” He gave a soft chuckle at that, punctuated with a sharp tug from your warmth only to shove it back in at a brutal pace. 

You couldn't take it, couldn’t comprehend how this was happening to you. Distantly, you heard as his gloves came off, the rough skin of his fingers grabbing your hip with enough strength to form bruises while the other other arm braced against the floor beside your head, using it as leverage to rut into you. Your legs were splayed around his, your back scraping against the wooden floor, digging sharp lines into your skin. 

You could faintly hear quiet sounds escape the man above you as he fucked you, his arms moving to grab your legs, bending them until your knees were beside your head, allowing him to reach even deeper into you. The head of his cock felt like a nail was being hammered into your cervix with each thrust. Your glazed eyes wandered down to see where you were joined and a jolt of horror ran through you. Each time he rammed into you, your belly bulged up a bit, it was like he was rearranging your insides to make more room for him. 

The ghoul’s gaze followed yours and a louder grunt left him, one hand leaving your leg to press against the bulge on your belly. “Darlin’, you’re just too good for this fucked up world.”

The house was filled with the noises of flesh meeting flesh, your eyes were blank, staring up at the ceiling his thrusts continued. You didn’t want to think, to feel, to exist anymore. But the ghoul has other plans. Your face scrunched up as you felt a textured finger find your clit once more, rubbing it in all the right ways to make your mind snap back into focus. The pleasure was building again, each snap of his hips mixed with the bundle of nerves at your center being played with and you were reaching that peak again. Your moans intermingling with the slapping of flesh on flesh, you didn’t want to reach that crest and fall over it, you didn’t want this encounter to feel good for you too, but by god it did.

Your voice was raw as it screamed out, your pleasure pushed over the edge as you came, your thighs coating with your fluids, the noises becoming even more obscene as he continued to fuck you harder and faster.

“Goddamn, you are just too fucking good.”

His hands gripped your hips as his pace quickened but lost its rhythm. You knew he was getting close and the overstimulation of being fucked through and beyond your orgasm was making it hard to think of anything other than him. His hips finally stopped pistoning into you, giving one last, rough thrust as something hot and sticky filled you up, leaking out around his cock that remained in you. 

The ghoul braced his hands on either side of your head, his eyes zeroed in on yours, breath heavy, sweat on his brow. “You gonna help me out now, sweetheart?”

Your head lolled to the side, eyes closing as you passed out. 

[paladin--strait]

Congratulations on 100 followers! Can you do prompt 3 and 4 with Timo Meier please?

crying in his arms + him crying in your arms

-

when the final buzzer rang out across the arena, the boys shook hands with the opposing team, waving at the disappointed, sad, and frustrated fans and then skating off the ice with their heads hung low. the devils final chance of making playoffs was over.

i shake my head, the boys played well, just not well enough to beat the other team in overtime. i sigh, timo is gonna be so upset with himself. he missed a lot of chances to score tonight. either he didn't take the chance or the goalie prevented the puck from making it into the net.

my steps ring out in my head, even over the loud chatter of the upset devils fans and the happy fans of the other team. i make my way to the locker room, leaving the rest of the wags behind me, attempting to catch up.

i could care less about them, timo is my only priority right now. my foot taps against the tiled floor while we wait for the reporters to make their way out of the locker room. after they were all gone, the wags were let in or the players met them in the hallway.

i wait for timo to come out, he is always one of the first ones to leave. i give sad smiles and hugs to some of the guys, especially the younger ones. they take the losses really hard since they put all the pressure on themselves. sometimes they choke mid-game, but that's okay since everyone has done it and sometimes it's okay to put pressure on yourself.

eventually, all the boys have filed out of the locker room, leaving me standing out there alone. i finally decide to go into the locker room and check on timo. i clear my throat before i turn the doorknob. when the door creaks open, i notice how dark it is in there. all the lights are off, except the led lights that show off the logo that rests on the ceiling.

"timo? are you in here?" i say, looking around, trying to get my eyes to adjust to the darkness. i hear a sniff to my right and my head snaps in that direction. "timo? is that you?" i walk towards the body that's shielded by darkness.

the closer i get, the clearer it is to see who is sitting on the bench. my heart breaks at the sight of timo, elbows resting on his knees with his face in his hands. "oh baby..." i can hear my voice tremble, my eyes welling with tears.

i kneel down, placing my hands on his skates. i notice that he hasn't changed, every single piece of hockey gear still on his body. i reach over and begin to pull off the clear tape, before a hand touches mine. "don't." i look up at timo, who is looking down at me with red eyes. "i don't want it to be over yet..."

my lip wobbles and i stand up, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. "i'm sorry, honey. we can stay as long as you need to." i rake my fingers through his short hair, "i don't mind at all."

i feel his arms wrap around my waist, pulling my body closer to his. "i could have done more. made more shots...maybe with a miracle one would have gone in or something..." timo rants off about all the things he could've done, and i just sit and listen while he talks.

i sniffle when he stops his words to try and choke back a sob. "hey...you did what you thought was best in the moment. i'm sure all the boys have regrets, too. you can make up for these things during the next season." i pull back, cupping his wet face in my hands. "i can help you practice during the off season."

timo smiles down at me, "thank you, baby. and i'm sorry..." he says, eyes moving down to his lap.

"sorry for what?" i ask, my head tilting to the side in confusion.

"sorry for letting you down." he says. locking eyes with mine. the sight of his trembling body and his eyes that are brimming with tears makes the tears i've been holding back run down my face.

"baby...you never ever let me down. i'll always be proud of you." i say, wiping my face. "even if you did let me down, i'd still be here for you, supporting you through everything."

he smiles and pulls me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me, and putting his face in my shoulder. he mumbles some kind of thank you and sniffs. i rub his back with my hand, his hockey gear getting in the way slightly.

when he pulls back a few minutes later, he smiles at me softly and presses a soft kiss to my lips. he then removes me from his lap and begins taking off his gear. while he pulls everything off, i look around at the locker room. the usually full cubbies are partially cleaned out of the players personal belongings.

the sight makes me sad, the ending of the devils hockey season once again makes my heart feel heavy. i sigh, walking up to jack hughes' locker. i look around at his things, my lips pursed into a line. i think about all the things he went to this season. people were so disappointed in him just because he made a few mistakes. but, all players make mistakes. because of his rising popularity and his reputation he had to uphold, the mistakes disappointed fans and reporters.

i'm pulled out of my deep thoughts by a hand on my shoulder. i snap my head around and see timo. "ready?" he asks, his accent suddenly very evident, something that usually happens right after he cries or is upset.

i smile at him and nod, "ready to go? yes. ready for the season to end? no." i explain, leaning my head on his shoulder blade, looking around at the locker room full of gear and items that belong to players one last time before locker clean out day. i sniffle once more, the thought of the season ending is heavy on my shoulders and i can't even imagine how the players feel right now.

i feel timo's hand on my shoulder, pulling me into him so he can kiss the top of my head. after the quick kiss, he leans his head on mine and lets out a deep breath, looking around with me. "even though i know i'm coming back, it still hurts to leave." i nod my head in agreement.

"it'll be back before we know it." i wipe my eyes and look back up at him with a smile. "i promise."

[xxlady-lunaxx]

platonic uzusane :3 i love these two so much — btw very spoiler-y

Over the years, Tengen and Sanemi had developed some sort of relationship. A sort of brotherly relationship, maybe. Often, Tengen found himself feeling like an older brother to the Hashira, which were almost all younger than him. But this feeling became more mutual with Sanemi throughout their time as Hashira together. They confided in each other, in some ways. Really, to anyone else, it would seem like very minimal ‘confiding’. But to the Hashira, it was a great step, letting trust and attachment build between two people prone to die at any moment. They spoke little, however, depending on the atmosphere to write their emotions in the air for them. It wasn’t hard for them to find connection after they got comfortable, especially since they held a mutual hate to their fathers (though only Sanemi’s was deceased).

When Tengen retired, Sanemi found himself almost alone for a while, staring uncomfortably at the empty spot in the Ubuyashiki’s garden during one of the biannual meetings. It didn’t necessarily impact him greatly because he rarely saw the Hashira at regular intervals anyway. But the days when it was hardest on him were the days he felt like absolute shit yet had no company to keep him from the thoughts, nobody he felt would ask no questions and continue a steady conversation away from anything sensitive. He really did not know what to do.

After the war, it was endlessly easier. Of course, the toll of it all and the amount of losses was so great, often Sanemi slipped back into his drinking habits. But Tengen was always there by his side, gently prying the bottle from his shaking hands and embracing him, soothing the worst of the pain until Sanemi was passed out in his arms. This became their routine for a while, nearly a year, until the grief became an endless, yet dull bruise in the back of Sanemi’s mind, though resurfacing easily if prodded. Nevertheless, his wounds scabbed over, making life more bearable. He would help out at the Uzui household often to keep himself busy, especially when there was a child on it’s way. He found the work and chores comforting, really, reminding him of the normal life he used to have before demons stepped into it.

The years droned on with a sense of tranquility that he made sure never to take for granted, clinging on to every bit of genuine happiness he felt. Two, three, four, years passed. They had lost Giyuu, but Sanemi refused to let himself spiral in the last months he had left. Tengen made sure to give him the best he could, though keeping a careful, parental watch on him. Summer came and went. Autumn crept fast on them but disappeared quickly into November. As Winter approached, so did Sanemi’s birthday. He fell ill, as Giyuu had before his death date.

It was a dreary birthday, in any normal circumstance, with rain pouring ceaselessly and a cold chill entering the house. But it wasn’t a normal circumstance, not with a certain death awaiting him just around the corner. Yet the birthday was possibly one of the best in the last few years—save for the one where one of Tengen’s children were born the same day, giving Sanemi a birthday twin with the baby’s cheerful laughter filling the air (it seemed to never cry, really).

Sanemi’s last birthday was by far one of his favorites, despite the weather and the ache in his lungs as he struggled to breathe through mouthfuls of blood. He was practically clinging onto Tengen as Suma helped him swallow the last bites of ohagi that had been homemade by the Kamado’s. Blankets engulfed him in warmth as the Uzui’s surrounded him, the children kept out of the room by Hinatsuru. As he gasped for his last breaths, he met Tengen’s eyes, the eyes of the man who had held him through possibly everything since his time as a Hashira. He had spent most of the last few days being nurtured by Tengen, but it made him feel safe and that alone was the most wonderful feeling. He smiled, and it came easily, even when he was barely forcing himself to suck in the final blissful moments of air. He sank down into the covers, his hand still holding Tengen’s as it fell limp.

To say this hurt, would be an understatement. But Tengen held himself together, despite watching one of the last friends he’d grown so close to die, practically in his arms. He stayed together when his wives helped him get the body to its burial sight. He kept strong through the funeral. But when night fell on the marking end of the first week of Sanemi’s death, he breathed in slowly and let out the breath with a shaky sob, bringing the stump of his severed arm up to meet the hand of his intact one, covering his face and shaking in his futon, unable to hold on any longer.

He had always been the stronger child, it seemed. Keeping everyone sane. With the Hashira, with his teasing banter that, despite other claims, made them feel almost regular, worrying about hearing another of his stupid jokes instead of the amount deaths they had seen in the last week. At home, training to be a Shinobi and lasting longest (save for his final living brother), pulling himself back together as quickly as he could and save face in front of his wives. He had been there for every Hashira’s death, from Kanae’s to Sanemi’s. He had been there. He had stayed true to his word to being loyal to the Corps, even when he had retired, continuing to do his best to help the Ubuyashiki’s.

But now? He felt meek, alone, and utterly helpless. In the dead of night, he heard shifting and the change of breath in Hinatsuru, meaning only that she had awoken. He wasn’t quick enough to stop his crying, still gasping for air when she slipped into his futon next to him, embracing Tengen in her gentle arms.

She spoke quietly, knowing that asking if he was alright would do nothing. She pressed her lips gently to his forehead, whispering small words of comfort and love. He barely registered the actual words, simply leaning into her motherly care. She cradled him in her arms, holding him as if he was a child, allowing himself to break down for the first time in his life. He let the grief and sorrow overtake him, burrowing in her hug as he drifted slowly off to sleep.

[mousetoe-wc]

New Squirrelwhisker family tree!!

Ok so now what I’ve changed is that Sandstorm + Featherkit and Cricketkit are now the kits of Runningbreeze (Runningwind) and a Rouge/Bloodclan cat Tess (she’s a character in Ravenpaw’s Path), they were both young at the time, it was a very non serious relationship and ended when she got pregnant. Tess asked Runningbreeze to take them back to his clan as Tess didn’t have the means to take care of them, nor did she want kits, and Runningbreeze had a community of cats to raise them, he agreed and before they were born he asked Dapplecloud (Dappletail) to take them.

More Character backstory below

Dapplecloud had wanted kits for a very long time, she was mates with Stormtail for a time when she was a younger warrior but she couldn’t have kits, which was definitely hard on her. At some point she’d broken up with Stormtail realising their relationship was not healthy and tried to focus on spending more time on her family, she absolutely loved her niece and nephew, she and her brother were very close with Mouseburr and Runningbreeze, they were Auntie Dapplecloud and Uncle Thrushpelt and great warriors the two of them looked up to.

So when Runningbreeze came to her asking for her help, Dapplecloud agreed, no warrior would turn down kits in need, especially family. Sometime in the future a part of Dapplecloud would regret this decision.

In the first two months every thing was fine, the kits were little angels, Rodinwing’s litter was taking a liking to the three new little kits and Willowpelt was settling into the nursery. Rosetail, the caretaker of the nursery was going to have her paws full.

But as the months of winter went on, the prey became increasingly more scarce then others, so many cats died that winter. Her brother, Leopardfoot, two of Robinwing’s kits along with her mate and herself… and so many more….

Cricketkit and then Featherkit included… Cricketkit early on and Featherkit so close to being apprenticed, he was born deaf but that never stopped him, he and his family had developed their own language built on clan cats own limited sign language used in patrols and other clan activities. Featherkit was a determined and kind kit. But the harsh winter does not care about the lives of mortals.

The loss affected her deeply… But Sandkit and the rest of the clan continued on.

One of the things that brings Sandstorm and Fireheart together is Cloudkit, in my rewrite Cloudtail and Snowkit are the same character. When Fireheart brings Cloudkit and asks Bluestar to let him stay in the clan, amongst the many voices saying not to let another “weak” kittypet in, Sandstorm surprises Fireheart by advocating for Cloudkit (the little white kit reminds her of her brother) and when Cloudkit is discovered to be hard of hearing Sandstorm and Dapplecloud help Fireheart and Brindleface with different signs and signals.

Cloudtail goes on to help Brightheart when she becomes hard of hearing after the dog attack and their daughter Whitewing, while not hard of hearing is a fantastic sign language teacher and goes on to teach many young cats in Thunderclan and even some cats in other clans the more developed sign language.

Other family tree’s that relate to this one:

SandFire // Mumblefoot

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Kanae Reader x RoR

For @lalavender-sama

-You were such a beautiful person, inside and out, stunning looks paired with a heart of gold, always smiling and wanting others to get along.

-You were definitely a little odd, at least to others, but to those who knew you, like your younger sisters and your fellow Hashira, that is how you were as a person.

-Shinobu was annoyed by your easy-going nature, constantly scolding you for not taking things more seriously, while you wanted to enjoy yourself and take your time, but you would always laugh off her anger, much to her annoyance.

-You adored your little sister, being fiercely protective of them both, and despite not liking causing harm to others, you wouldn’t hesitate to defend them with every ounce of strength in your body.

-Your fellow Hashira respected you, despite your laid-back nature, you were very strong and a hard worker, and Ubuyashiki could tell that you were very observant and caring to all you met, much like a bit sister to everyone you met.

-This was true for gods and humans alike, you would always greet everyone with such gentle smiles and warmth, even if they didn’t return it to you.

-You longed for humanity and gods to live in harmony, just as it was meant to be, learning from others who had been in Valhalla fall longer than you have, but the gods shirked their responsibility and allowed humanity to get out of hand and not protecting those who needed gods more than anything.

-Then when Ragnarok was announced, rather than owning up to their mistakes, the gods just wanted to get rid of humanity all together and be done with it, which horrified you.

-You weren’t a fighter, as there were other warriors who were much stronger than you, but you supported them, cheering for them, celebrating their wins and mourning their losses, until humanity proved themselves, earning salvation and in return, all those who had fallen, gods and humans alike, were returned to life, much to your joy and the joy of everyone around you.

-With the gods now doing what they were supposed to, there was less suffering, people were happier all over on both sides, and you could only stare in happy awe, seeing your dream coming true, gods and humans living side by side in harmony.

-This also made the man sitting beside you, the man you loved and he you, happy, seeing you so happy over something so simple, at least in his eyes.

-Adores you, you were beauty personified because you were beautiful inside and out, treating others with kindness and being so warm and friendly. He loved to bask in your affections, soaking up everything, all for himself. He knew you were strong, as he had seen you in combat, but it was your drive, your reasons for fighting, that impressed him more, you didn’t fight for fun, you only fought to protect others, to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves, which he admired. He enjoyed your easy-going nature, finding it amusing, especially when you were getting scolded by Shinobu for it. He’s happy just being by your side and you by his.

            -Hercules, Hermes, Nikola, and Jack

-Was enamored with you, even if he didn’t say it often, at least out loud, but you knew that he loved you and he couldn’t help but smile whenever you would smother him in affection, sitting on his lap and covering his face with kisses. Your affection was only behind closed doors, as he was a little shy with public displays of affection, and you respected that, as you would always get kisses in return, as his affection for you was for his eyes only. Knew that you were not to be underestimated, despite your easy-going nature, he knew that you were strong, and he knew that you only fought for others, something he had to respect.

            -Poseidon, Thor, Hades, Beelzebub, and Lu Bu

-YOUR BIGGEST FAN!!! Adored everything about you and wouldn’t hesitate to tease others who also liked you, teasing that he got to you first, which you would always scold him for, telling him not to be mean to others. That’s something he loved about you- how kind you were to others, even if they wouldn’t be kind in return, which would always earn them not only a glare, but the occasional threat. Adores your easy-going nature as you always appreciated the little things in life, something you helped him enjoy more as well. Would always watch with unwavering eyes if you were fighting, finding your skills and abilities absolutely beautiful and impressive and will always shower you with praise afterwards, as well as kisses- but he wants them in return! It’s only fair!

-Loki, Buddha, and Qin Shi Huang

[necros-writing-stuff]

Read this fic. Went feral. Decided I needed to write this dynamic in my own way so here we fucking go.

Younger AU (Eden is 19, reader is 18, they're both orphans getting ready to run away into the forest soon).

Male Eden x AFAB reader (they/them and you pronouns).

Warnings: Eden is the victim, its his POV. Dubcon and bad communication. Creampies/breeding. Mentions of past child abuse and the trauma from it. Hurt and only one of you is getting comfort (it's not Eden lmfao). Loss of virginity. My ass did not proofread. Oh, and Bailey mentions.

Every ounce of his body aches as he practically crawls up the main staircase of the orphanage. A twelve hour shift at the scrap yard will do that to you - especially when you're the young grunt everyone knows is desperate for money. Especially when half of them know that if they break him, if he quits and can't placate the caretaker with cash, they could be buying his ass for a few quid.

Eden's a risk to client health. Couldn't be charging much for him unless broken bones were the desired outcome. And the young man had heard enough rumours of illegal fighting rings to be wary of the possibility that he could be heading to one of them, instead.

Eden tries to shake the fears from his mind while cracking his aching neck. Not anymore. He can't be hurt anymore, not now that he's grown so big. The rat that runs the orphanage hasn't beat him in years because of it and any threats are pretty much empty. Toward Eden, at least.

He reaches his room and stumbles through the threshold yawning, almost missing the shape distorting his bedsheets in the dark. His heart doesn't speed up seeing it, the dark haired man barely even flinches. He already knows what it is, can already hear the sniffling whines coming from below.

Carefully, he pushes the door closed, the click of the lock what finally gets them to scramble out from the cheap polyester-blend sheets with wettened wide eyes that scream for mercy even though no harm has come to them.

Your name is soft on his lips as he holds his arms out, letting his friend fall against him as he steps closer. Pride building within himself as those wide eyes sparkle with relief even if the tears don't stop.

"They- they took Emma a-again," you hyperventilate, struggling to describe what had worked you up so badly. Little words were needed anyway.

Emma was situated in the room beside you. A good friend, a kind friend who shared whatever food she could, when she could. A friend who had barely lived through the last time she was sold.

Eden's large hand comes to the back of your head, cradling it delicately, urging it to rest against his chest as he hushes his dear friend, his sweaty work t-shirt absorbing your tears as they fell. Usually he'd rock you side-to-side, but with your legs still kneeling on the bed he instead kept up with his calming mantras, the assurances he must have muttered a thousand times.

He wasn't good with words, but he'd said these ones enough that they came naturally.

A thousand more times he'd repeat them if he had to. At least until he could get you out of here. He'd been searching for the right place out in that forest, searching hard for somewhere safe. Anywhere safe.

"They're going to take me soon," you whimper, voice cracking as your fingers claw at Eden's clothed back.

"Hey - hey, no. No they won't, I'm not going to let that happen. Me and Bailey both, yeah?"

Your pitiful eyes stare up into his, his reflection in them showing the concerned frown etched into his features. Still, the corners of your lips quiver as you continue.

"I just turned eighteen. He'll come for me soon; he'll come for me like he did everyone else."

It had always been the three of you. Him, Bailey, you. Two older brothers with their sweet little sibling they did their best to hide behind them. It had worked, so far.

You were one of the quiet ones. One of the kids who could fly under the radar, one who didn't inspire hatred from the old toad behind the desk. Unlike Eden and Bailey. The threat of being sold had been over their heads for a year - but the beatings had started way before then. Made them much less scared than the others who were moved to this wing. They were already numb to it.

Corraling you to lay back down doesn't take much effort, not when Eden kicks off his steel-toe boots and joins you on the lumpy mattress. Your head immediately rests on top of his chest, face nuzzling against his neck as he continues to let you treat him as your lifeline.

"We won't be here long enough for him to hurt you, alright? I'm going to keep you safe." He whispers it against the crown of your head, your little secret shared just between the two of you in that moment.

There's a non-committal hum from you, the sound making your lips brush softly against the column of his throat. It tickles, and the dark haired man ignores the shiver it sent down his spine. Just an accidental brush.

A silence creeps in while he holds you, your sobs calming until your breaths are mostly even though still a bit shaky. Each puff blows against his skin, tugging on his nerves and threatening another shiver to come forth. It makes his stomach heavy, knowing that you're here, you're upset, yet he's having this horrible involuntary response to the affection shared.

His mind being so lost is what makes him miss your hand inching down his chest until its cupping his half-hard cock through his pants.

Deathly silence. Silence that prickles his skin worse than your little breaths had.

"... I don't want someone taking my first time from me," your small voice strains.

It's clumsy, how your hand palms him. Clumsy how it rubs against him, the friction of his rough clothes unpleasant against his sensitive flesh. It should be unpleasant how its you doing it, yet another shiver stutters Eden's lungs and forces him to gasp for the missing air.

Those soft, sweet lips meet his throat again, playing ignorant to the scratchy stubble that has to irritate the thin skin - Eden's involuntary gasp seemingly being taken as encouragement.

The young man isn't good with words. He knows to curse out abusers. Knows to fight back, to snarl and kick and punch. You aren't an abuser. You're just scared.

"You love me, right Eden?" Reedy is how you sound as your head lifts, peering down into his green eyes you had once said you thought were a pretty shade. He hadn't believed you then.

Something should be coming out of his throat. Something like 'Yes, I love you. But not like this.' What comes out instead is a clicking noise when your palm presses down once more, the dark haired man's eyes blinking shut as an ounce of pre-cum wets his boxers.

Clothes shuffling calls for his attention, it opens his eyes enough to see your hand sliding below his waistband and into his underwear. All he needs to do is gently grab your wrist. Carefully pull it away and just cuddle you so you know he cares, but he doesn't want this. Eden can't really feel his arms right now.

Your pink little tongue wets your lips again before you lean over him, kissing his slightly chapped ones as your hand finds its mark.

Another gasp from him, another misread response you take as permission to keep going and to flick your tongue against his own while your fingers wrap about his now pitifully hard cock. It's not a shiver this time, it's a jolt that makes the muscles in his left thigh seize for a brief moment.

It's hard to say if you're doing good. He hasn't exactly had any positive experiences in this department, regardless of if he was sold or not. It feels good. The heaviness in his stomach deepens, a sense of guilt and nausea rising in tandem.

Slick noises register in his ears. For a second Eden thinks its himself, or perhaps the kiss he isn't really participating in. It isn't, though, not if your weak moans are anything to go by. It's you, your free hand having disappeared beneath your own pants to... to prepare yourself for him.

"You're so big, Eden." Irreverent, whispered, praised.

Tightness pulls on his balls, licks of pleasure making his toes curl in their socks and making it harder to breathe. His mouth is so dry now, without you kissing him. He shouldn't want your mouth back on his own.

'Please be bored,' Eden pleads to himself when you pull yourself fully away from him. 'Please change your mind - I don't care about still being hard. I can't say no to you, please.'

Instead, your pants are shucked off, thrown and discarded on the old hardwood floor along with your shirt as you get to work pulling his clothes off.

Every action has to be involuntary. It has to be, when Eden doesn't even feel like he's here. He can't be leaning up to help you in your quest to make his chest bare. But he is. He can't be raising his hips to free his legs of the clothing. But he is.

Unsteadily, your body shaking, you climb atop Eden, the plush of your thighs pressing down onto his lower abdomen and hips. So soft, so precious. Just like the smile you're aiming down at him, that love you spoke of shining so clearly through your expression.

He can see the wetness of your cunt from here, the slick liquid having spread to your thighs and dampening the hair down there. Most people shave now, when they're expecting things like this. A small comfort, that you didn't plan this. It didn't stop self hatred banging around his skull at how his cock jumped when your fingers spread your lower lips apart.

It feels as soft as it looked when you slowly sink down. Eden was still paralysed, despite the intensity of your heat and how it suctioned him in. He still couldn't move. Until you whined in pain and rose from his lap an inch or two.

That's the trigger that gave him his strength back. You, in pain. You, needing comfort.

Shooting up from his laying position, Eden's arms were around your waist in a second, his voice back to hushing and comforting. Your face back to his neck as you hummed along to his words, relaxing once more as you tried again.

He should stop you. He could have stopped you, this time. He shouldn't have pushed his hips up, shouldn't have let his eye twitch at how fucking good you felt wrapped around his shaft as some part of his brain screamed at him to fuck up into the heaven he found himself in.

The guilt stayed his movements. It stayed them until you cautiously began to bounce, used to the stretch of him now and eager to feel good. Then, Eden's arms almost crushed you against his chest, halting your hips as his own began a bucking rhythm.

'Let it feel right,' part of him insisted, raising the pit in his stomach to a calm plateau.

Pretty is what your voice sounds like in his ear. Pretty as you babble on about how nice it is, how he fills you just right and how you won't let anyone else ever touch you again. How you're his, you promise.

It's not a bad thing, right? It just means you'll always need him, just as you have before. You'll be a constant even as things change. And Eden hates change. But this isn't really change, is it?

It feels too damn good to last long. Too great, too much suction pulling his head further and further away from any semblance of reason.

Wanton noises spill from you, high pitched keening as you take every inch of him you can while your body quivers in his embrace.

What finally pushes Eden over the edge is the predictable, suffocating ever tightening walls of your cunt spasming around him - massaging his length and milking him dry of his seed. Too late now to realise you hadn't used a condom. Too late now to consider that a third might be coming to the forest with them that isn't Bailey.

Exhaustion hits him like a truck, not just his body, but a deep haze over his mind that pushes him back down to his pillow with your sweat glistening body falling on top of his own. The ceiling is so bare. Most ceilings are, he realises, just white voids to stare up at unless they've got that horrible popcorn shit on them. You haven't pulled him out of you.

You don't pull him out of you. You keep him there, even as you snuggle close and almost sing your love to him despite the fact that you're whispering still.

He has work again in the morning. Eden can't sleep. You snore softly, resting on top of him. He tries to reason that it's because his socks are still on, and that's just not comfortable. He tries to keep his breathing calm, even when it's trying it's best to run away from him.

[blacklegsanjiii]

can we have more fluff or hurt/comfort with shirohige!sanjis relationships with the whitebeard ctew? whether its during sanjis childhood or maybe after he becomes a strawhat but i adore the potential here

Alright, this is going to be a list style type of thing lets go!!!!!

Marco: He is the most protective and loving brother Sanji has. He was the only one who could hold Sanji for a long time due to his injuries and with Marco being both a doctor and having been a brat under White Beard for as long as he was he knows all the nooks and crannies that the Moby Dick has to hide brats. He can find Sanji whenever and where ever. He taught Sanji the constellations on nights where the trauma or anxiety kept him awake or when Sanji would wake up screaming in the medical bay from nightmares. He also took Sanji out for his first escapade against the Marines causing Sanji to get his bounty of 100 million Beri at sixteen. Marco is proud because his was similar at fifteen when he stole his fruit from the Marines.

He absolutely keeps Sanji's poster in his medical file. When the one he got for joining the Strawhat crew come out he laughs so hard he cries. Who the fuck is that? That's not Shirohige Sanji?(White Leg Sanji?) For a while that's the only thing keeping them sane, especially when they lose track of Ace. And then when they lose track of Sanji while he's fighting Akainu, Sengoku, and Kizaru?? Fuck. Fuck that's his baby brother. He's so proud of Sanji that if he died fighting it was against those fucks but his baby brother might be dead and he's so fucking upset. He claims first rights to Teach.

Thatch: Sanji's funniest brother and Sanji doesn't claim favorites(It's Marco, anyway) but Thatch teaches him so much. He provides Sanji with cookbooks and nutrition books and explains a lot of the science behind food and taste. It's just that he keeps saying he's married to Ace before they're even dating. Unfortunately Thatch dies so he doesn't get to see Sanji join the Strawhat crew or anything and it hits Sanji so hard when he knows Thatch won't see the actual wedding or anything.

Vista: Taught Sanji to use swords until he decided to just focus on more physical forms of combat. The proudest brother Sanji has. He has shown Sanji off at every possible turn. Claims his cooking was better than Thatch's when Thatch was alive. When Sanji was older and started setting himself on fire he once brandished Sanji's leg as a sword as a joke. Had Sanji in his grip and was just like "USE YOUR CORE" as he jokingly fended off Jozu.

Jozu: The hardest on Sanji. He taught Sanji all about haki and trained his observation and armament and he and Marco have a running theory that Sanji can feel the friction of his blood and use that to set himself on fire. Genuinely thinks Ace and Sanji will be the death of him, Sanji especially because he doesn't have a fruit, can kick a man thirty yards off ship and is the best swimmer. Has told Marco and Pops on numerous occasions that they need to keep a very close eye in case anything else develops. And when he sees Sanji can sky walk he points at Sanji and says to Marco "That sorta shit, that shit right there was what I meant." Marco is losing it.

Izou: Helps Sanji with his gender expression from a young age. Carried Sanji around when he was younger since Oden and Toki took Hiyori and Momonosuke to Wano after leaving with Roger. Tells Sanji all about the title of 'Monster' and how the Government bestows it upon people. He explains that it's up the individual to live up to the title. Izou is the first person to hear Sanji explain he wants to be a monster. To make those who hurt him fear him. Izou smiles and assures him he will do that. In Wano Sanji, Ace and Marco are crying at the loss of another brother. Especially one who smiled so brightly and expressed himself so freely.

White Beard: Best dad Sanji ever had. Would let little Sanji fall asleep on him after particularly long days and will not let anyone take Sanji from him because "he's my last, dammit! Can't exactly hold the rest of you shits!"

Spoils the fuck out of Sanji as he knows everyone else is doing the hard work of discipline on the baby. When he saw Sanji light his legs on fire and Teach was done with he took Sanji to his office and wrapped him in several blankets and then is like "Alright come here brat" and then just holds him and tells him about people gifted without fruits. Sanji suddenly realizes that his dad is dying and White Beard comforts him and says he has some years left.

Ace: Husband. Fell in love with this brash 18 year old boy who tried to kill his dad. Decided to say fuck it and fuck him. And succeeded on both aspects. Sanji absolutely spoils Ace with food and Ace spoils back by keeping the cook warm. Everyone finds them gross. Showers Sanji is kisses and drives everyone mad with how touchy he is. Not that Sanji would have him any other way. It's just how the Shirohige are.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Howdy Mr. Dapper! Your ideas for zhuzhing up different gods are always so cool, I was wondering if you had any for Grummsh? Either keeping him as a patron of orcs but losing the evilness, or making him believably evil but not relegating him to one people?

Deity: Gruumsh, God of Grudges

The soldiers let me and my boy through the wall because they thought we’d be useful. Making leather’s foul work but someone’s got to mend their armour and boots. A few years go past and my boy gets bigger, starts looking like he might be a problem, so they start looking for excuses, and they keep finding excuses until they have him on the ground and are beating him to death with the boots I made them. 

Ruiner, they have taken my son so let me have this instead: Help me live long enough to slip my knife under their skin, Help me flay every last one of the bastards , Help me give back this pain they’ve given me. I do not want it. 

-Grimma, orcish tanner and resistance leader

As much as the kindhearted would like to deny it, there are some hatreds that are holy, some transgressions that can not be forgiven, some hurts that will not ease until they are avenged. These are the province of Gruumsh, the Ruiner, Father of the wronged. Gruumsh is a god to curse by, a god to get you through bitter times, and he lends his strength and fathomless anger to those who have been hard done by. Gruumsh is defined by his symbol of the gouged eye, a wound that will not close forced upon him by enemies yet to be brought to justice. 

That justice however does not resemble anything that could be codified in law. Gruumsh is known as the Ruiner because often the ultimate culmination of his worship is just that: the violent obliteration of both his worshipper and those that wronged them, a closed circle of bloodshed and loss that balances the scales through pain. 

Adventure Hooks

A storm has driven the party and several other travellers to take shelter in a roadhouse, delaying their days long journey to the next settlement but giving them a chance to get cozy by the fire, maybe trade some gossip with the others. Storytime is however interrupted when a deadman begins hammering at the door, demanding for someone to let him in so that he can wreak vengeance on those that murdered him. Interrogating the dead man through the door reveals that he was making his way towards the inn when set upon by masked figures who robbed him of his possessions and left him dead in a ditch with a prayer to the Ruiner on his lips. Its up to the party to piece together which of their dinner companions might’ve done the deed, or else the revnant is likely to break in, kill them all, and let Gruumsh sort it out. 

An orcish noblewoman needs the party’s help in recovering a number of important items stolen from her family’s chapel. She was on the eve of brokering a peace with a rival noble house and putting an end to generations of bloodfued when someone broke in, defaced their altar, and stole several mementos that are not only important to her family but also empowered with a dangerous magic. Most of her people blame thieves,  the rival faction, or the disfavour of Gruumsh himself, though if the party search hard enough the evidence may just point them in the direction of her hot blooded younger brother who feels as if he’s yet to prove himself in the family’s ongoing conflict. 

An enterprising land baron attempted to oust the local hermit from his land and ended up getting some divine wrath for his trouble, the old crank’s curse bringing down a celestially empowered chimera to harry the baron and rampage across his holdings. Landlords are parasites, and while the party might be tempted to let the beast despite the generous reward he offers, there is also the matter of the other people live on his various tenant farms who’ve been caught in the literal crossfire. Perhaps there’s a more equitable way to end this, especially since killing the beast ( or the hermit, as the landlord subtly entreats) may bring Gruumsh’s wrath down on them. 

As with gods like the Allhammer or the Archheart, Gruumsh can be worshipped by any but is most often depicted as an orc, with some myths claiming that the first orcs rose up in legion from the drops of blood spilled from the Ruiner when his eye was first taken. Some of his priests, known as grudgekeepers like to joke that the famed orcish resilience in the face of grievous harm  is one of Gruumsh’s favourite gifts, the chance to strike back against your murderer one last time before death comes to claim you. 

There are few temples dedicated to the Ruiner, and those do exist often serve as monuments to wrongs so great that could not be avenged. Likewise those devotees who extend their faith into public practice tend to preach to others seeking to memorialize, or to ferment public agitation against some great personal or social injustice that must be corrected. Some societies try to suppress worship of the ruiner, fearing that he incites the same pain he claims to avenge, but in these austere cultures where the mighty may do as they please Gruumsh has little need of temples: his shrines are the bloodstains that can’t be cleaned off the street, his prayers are made in defaced edifices and vulgar words shared between those who suffer.

Signs: Fresh blood remembering old violence, rage so pure it distorts reality, physical cracks in symbols of authority

Symbols: A lone bleeding eye, nails driven into a resilient surface over and over and over again.

Titles: The Ruiner, The Unblinking, He who never sleeps

Art