#i don't know if this counts as a web weave but i was watching the bear a

[sirlancenotalot]

[ahqkas]

♯ PUPPY PRINCESS ; remus lupin

PAIRING! young!remus lupin x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! every gift of yours is something remus tends to cherish, especially your love for creating from nothing (based on this req.!!)

WORD COUNT! 3.1k

WARNINGS / TAGS! pure fluff, remus is nothing but smitten and wrapped around your finger

NOTES! autumn’s coming and my obsession with the marauders is slowly defrosting ☹️ all the credits to the pretty devider below belong to @aqualogia !

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

I. A TANGLED WEB OF YARD AND ADORATION

THE LATE AFTERNOON SUNLIGHT FILTERED THROUGH THE TALL WINDOWS of the Gryffindor common room, casting a warm glow across the stone walls. You're sitting comfortably on the couch, your legs tucked beneath you, with your hands working steadily, creating a rhythm with the yarn and crochet hook. The familiar motion of looping the yarn through the hook brought a sense of calm, a quiet joy that you've always found in crafting.

Remus Lupin sat nearby with a thick textbook in his lap, but the words kept getting tangled in his mind due to his lack of attention on the subject. He was supposed to be studying — there's a Transfiguration exam tomorrow that he really should be preparing for — but he couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from you. He watched the way your hands moved, the smooth, practiced motions that seem to come so naturally to you. There was something about it that fascinated him, though he couldn't quite put it into words.

"You're staring again," you say, glancing up and meeting his dark eyes with a small, knowing smile. Your tone is light, teasing. You're used to it now — how his attention drifts from his studies to you whenever you're engrossed in one of your hobbies.

Your boyfriend looked slightly embarrassed, flushed cheeks caught in the act, but he smiled back at you. "Sorry," he replied, though it didn't sound as sincere as it should. He wasn't sorry for admiring you and your skills. "I just . . . I don't know how you do it."

"Do what?" you asked, your hands never pausing in their work. The yarn slides smoothly through your fingers.

"Make it look so easy," he said, genuinely curious. "It's like you're weaving magic with your hands."

You gave him a soft chuckle at that, shaking your head as you finish off another row. "It's not that complicated, really. It's just practice. Anyone can learn if they have the patience."

The werewolf nodded thoughtfully, though he was not entirely convinced he could manage it. The heavy textbook was set down, the revision long forgotten. "What are you making this time?" he asked you, leaning forward slightly, his curiosity piqued which charmed a smile on your lips.

"A scarf," you answer, keeping your focus on the yarn as you hold up the length of your still unfinished work that's slowly but surely taking shape. The stitches were tight and even and the colour of the fabric shined in the fire of the fireplace. "Winter's coming soon, and I figured you could use something warm."

Remus' brows lifted in surprise, eyes flickering between your face and the scarf in making. "For me?"

"Of course," you said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I wanted to make something you'd actually use. Plus, it's a good excuse to work with this colour."

He couldn't help but linger at the scarf — a deep burgundy, the color of his tie, which reminded him of autumn leaves and Gryffindor pride. It was a shade he'd always liked, and the thought that you'd chosen it specifically with him in mind made him feel a quiet sense of gratitude. 

"Thank you," he said quietly now with sincerity lacing his every word. "I really appreciate it."

You looked up then, meeting his gaze with a smile, the kind of smile that made something warm unfurl in his chest. Something unspoken passed between the two of you — an understanding, a quiet connection that didn't need words to be felt. "I enjoy making things for people I care about," you replied. "And you can't go wrong with a good scarf."

There was a comfortable silence as you returned to your work, and Remus found himself drawn once again to the way your hands moved with such practiced grace. He'd always been fascinated by the kind of magic that doesn't come from a wand — the quiet, everyday magic that you brought to life with your hobbies. He watched as the yarn twisted and turned, forming something tangible and warm, something that wasn't there just moments before.

After a while, you glanced at him again, your eyes thoughtful. "You know," you started, voice casual but inviting, "if you ever want to learn, I could show you how to crochet. It's not as difficult as it looks."

Remus hesitated, caught off guard by the offer. He'd never thought of himself as particularly crafty — his talents have always leaned more towards theoretical things, like books and spells. But the idea of sitting with you, learning something new together, was oddly appealing. "I don't know if I'd be any good at it," he admitted, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. A part of him was terrified his hands weren't stable enough for such work as your own were.

But you just shrugged lightly, focus still on the scarf as it grew longer with each stitch. "It's not about being good at it," you exclaimed. "It's just . . . something calming to do with your hands. A way to focus your mind on something simple."

The werewolf considered this, watching the way your hands moved with a steady, comforting rhythm. There was a kind of peace in it, a meditative quality that he couldn't help but find appealing. "Maybe I'll give it a try," he said finally, the corners of his mouth lifting in a small smile. "If you promise not to laugh at me."

"I would never. I think you might surprise yourself."

The hours slipped by as the common room gradually emptied, students heading off to their dormitories as the evening wore on. The fire burned low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the walls, but you and Remus remained where you were, content in each other's company. The scarf in your hands grew  longer with each passing moment, the yarn slowly transforming into something tangible, something with weight and warmth.

Eventually, you finished your work, holding up the completed scarf for Remus to see. The stitches were beautifully done, the pattern simple yet elegant, and the color — rich and deep — seemed to glow in the firelight. "What do you think?" you asked, a hint of pride in your voice at your boyfriend's speechless reaction.

Remus reached out, his fingers brushing over the soft fabric. It's perfect, he thinks, not just because of how it looked, but because of what it represented — your care, your thoughtfulness, the time and effort you put into making something just for him. "It's . . . perfect," he opened his heart to you, voice thick with emotion. "Thank you."

You gave him a sweet smile, pleased with his reaction. "I'm glad you like it."

II. THE ART OF CLAY

THE SOUND OF RAIN ECHOED SOFTLY AGAINST THE GLASS WINDOWS OF THE HOGWARTS GREENHOUSE, creating a gentle rhythm that blended with the faint rustling of leaves and the occasional drip of water from overhead plants. The air was thick with the earthy scent of wet soil and blooming herbs, an atmosphere so comforting to you that made the space feel like a world apart from the usual hustle and bustle of the castle. You were seated at a small worktable near the back, a lump of cool, gray clay before you, your hands already beginning to shape it into something more.

Remus Lupin stood quietly nearby, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed casually as he simply watched you. There was a sparkle in his gaze, the kind that comes from someone who finds fascination in the smallest details, in the quietest moments. His curiosity was piqued by the sight of you working with the clay, your hands moving with a practiced confidence that hints at countless hours spent honing your craft.

The room was otherwise empty, giving the two of you a rare moment of privacy amidst the bustling school and your friends who were constantly full of life (named James Potter and Marlene McKinnon). The greenhouse, usually a place for Herbology classes, had became your private studio, a place where you could indulge in your love for pottery — a hobby that was as grounding as it was creative.

"Do you ever get tired of making things?" Remus asked, breaking the comfortable silence. There was no hint of judgment in his tone, only genuine curiosity. He'd seen you immersed in various crafts before — crocheting, jewelry making — but each time, you seemed as passionate as ever.

You glanced up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Not really," you replied to his question, your hands still working the clay. "It's like . . . I don't know, a way to clear my mind. I like the idea of starting with something so simple, like a lump of clay, and turning it into something that wasn't there before."

Remus nodded thoughtfully, his eyes following the movement of your hands as they smoothed the surface of the clay. There was a certain grace in the way you worked, a rhythm that was almost hypnotic to him. "What are you making today?" he questioned again, this time moving closer to get a better look.

"A bowl," you explained, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Your fingers pressed gently into the clay, shaping the walls of the bowl with careful precision. "Something simple, but useful. I thought it might be nice to have one for our common room. We could use it to hold things — keys, cigarettes, chocolate frogs."

A charming smile appeared on his lips at that, the idea of something as ordinary as a bowl bringing a sense of homeliness to the often chaotic Gryffindor common room. "That sounds like a good idea," the praise left him naturally when it came to you, pulling up a stool to sit beside you. "Do you mind if I watch?"

"Not at all," you replied, glancing at him briefly before returning your focus to the clay. "But be warned, it's not as exciting as it looks."

Remus didn't agree. He'd always been intrigued by the way you found joy in creating things, in bringing something new into the world with your hands. As he watched, he noticed the subtle movements of your fingers, the way they coaxed the clay into shape, turning a shapeless lump into something with form and purpose. It was a process that seemed almost magical to him, though he knew it was nothing more than skill and practice.

The rain continued to patter against the windows, a soothing backdrop to the sound of your hands working the clay. Every so often, you dipped your fingers into a small bowl of water, smoothing out imperfections and keeping the clay pliable. Remus had never seen you look so beautiful; hands dirty, hair messy, and you clothed in one of his favorite sweaters.

"You make it look easy," he commented after a while, his voice low so as not to disturb your concentration.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "It's not always. There's a lot that can go wrong — air bubbles, cracks, the clay drying out too quickly. But that's part of the fun, I suppose. It keeps you on your toes."

He gave you a nod, understanding the appeal in a way.

After a while, you sat back slightly, examining your work with a critical eye. The bowl was nearly complete, its shape smooth and even, the walls sturdy yet delicate. "What do you think?" you asked, turning to Remus with a small smile.

He leaned in closer, studying the bowl with a thoughtful expression. "It's an excellent work," he said, his voice sincere. "You've really got a talent for this."

You blushed slightly at the compliment, but there was a pleased look in your eyes. "Thanks, love. I'm glad you think so."

III. CRAFTING CONNECTIONS THROUGH SILVER AND STONE

THE CASTLE WAS QUIET AS EVENING SETTLED OVER HOGWARTS, the usual loud of students giving way to a serene calm. The Gryffindor common room was dimly lit, with only the flickering fire casting warm shadows across the burgundy rugs and tapestries. You were seated at a small table by the window, a soft light of the moon illuminating your workspace, where an array of tiny tools, shimmering beads, and delicate chains lay spread out before you.

Remus Lupin sat nearby, his attention drawn to the intricate work you were doing. He had always been fascinated by your hobbies, each one opening a door to your soul. But there was something particularly mesmerizing about watching you make jewelry — something in the way you handled the delicate materials with such care, transforming them into beautiful, wearable art. Watching your smaller hands mend the delicate pieces stirred a feeling in his chest.

"Doesn't it get frustrating?" the werewolf asked, leaning forward slightly, his eyes following the careful movements of your fingers. "Working with such tiny pieces, I mean."

You smiled softly, not taking your eyes off the silver chain you were holding. "Sometimes," you admitted, carefully threading a small brown stone onto the chain. "But there's something satisfying about it too. It's like solving a puzzle, finding the right combination of stones and metals to make something that feels just right, y’know."

He nodded thoughtfully, his gaze shifting to the array of materials on the table. Tiny glass beads of various colors sparkled in the firelight, alongside small stones and bits of silver wire that would soon be part of some new creation of yours. "It's impressive," he said quietly, more to himself than to you. "How you can take something so small and turn it into something so . . . meaningful."

You glanced up at him, a pleased smile on your lips. "Thank you, Remus. I think that's what I love about it — how something so simple can become something special, something that can be important to someone."

He watched as you carefully threaded a few more stones onto the chain, your fingers moving with the kind of ease that came from years of practice. There was a kind of magic in it, he thought — a different kind from what they learned in class, but no less powerful. It was a magic that didn't come from wands or spells, but from the heart and soul, from the desire to create something beautiful and meaningful.

"What are you making now?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him as he leaned in a bit closer.

"A bracelet," you replied, holding up the nearly finished piece for him to see. It was simple yet elegant, made of fine silver links with small brown and black stones interspersed between them. The stones caught the light as you turned the bracelet in your hand, their colors shifting subtly in the firelight. "I thought it might make a nice gift for someone."

Remus took in the bracelet, admiring the craftsmanship, the way the silver and stones complemented each other perfectly. "It's beautiful," he said, a note of awe in his voice. "Who's it for?"

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes flicking up to meet his. There was a softness in your gaze, something almost shy. "I was thinking . . . maybe you'd like it," you said, your voice quiet, almost hesitant.

For a moment, Remus was taken aback, surprised by the offer. He hadn't expected you to be making it for him, but now that he knew, he felt a warmth spread through his chest, a feeling of gratitude and something more, something deeper. "For me?" he asked, his voice laced with surprise.

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "I wanted to make something that would remind you of our time together," you said, a hint of nervousness in your tone. "Something you could keep with you."

Remus felt his heart swell with emotion, a mixture of surprise, gratitude, and something else — something tender and profound. He looked at the bracelet again, seeing not just the beauty of the piece, but the thought and care that had gone into it, the meaning behind every detail. "I . . . I don't know what to say," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "It's . . . it's perfect. Thank you."

You smiled, the tension easing from your posture as you saw the genuine appreciation in his eyes. "I'm glad you like it," you said, your voice soft. "It's not much, but I wanted to give you something special. Something that's from the heart."

Remus reached out, his larger fingers brushing against the cool silver links as you handed the bracelet to him. The metal was smooth under his fingertips, the stones cool and solid. He could feel the weight of it, not just the physical weight, but the emotional significance it carried. "It's more than just 'something,'" he said, his voice quiet but firm. "It means a lot to me. Really."

You watched as he carefully slipped the bracelet onto his wrist, the silver and stones catching the light as they settled into place. There was something incredibly intimate about the moment, the quiet exchange of a gift that held so much meaning. It was more than just a piece of jewelry to him.

As Remus fastened the clasp, he looked at you with deep, unspoken gratitude in his eyes. The bracelet fit perfectly, resting comfortably against his skin, the cool metal and smooth stones a constant, reassuring presence. "I'll treasure it," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I promise."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, a sense of contentment that came from knowing you had given him something truly meaningful. "I'm glad," you replied softly, your eyes meeting his.

For a long moment, the two of you sat there in silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire and the occasional rustle of the curtains as a breeze drifted through the window. There was a sense of peace in the air, a quiet understanding that didn't need words to be felt. Surrounded by the warmth of the fire and the soft glow of the evening, he knew that this — these simple, heartfelt moments with you — were what he would carry with him through the darkest nights, a light to guide him through whatever lay ahead.

[shizuturnspages]

Hello, can I ask you for the headcannons of yandere Kinich and Sethos? (separately)

Of course!!!

I searched for some good pictures of them, but there aren't enough T^T

I don't know much about Sethos' character, but I tried my best to write his headcannons. Forgive me if they're inaccurate.

Anyways, here they are. Hope you enjoy <3

Yandere Kinich

❥ Kinich isn’t the loud, in-your-face type. He’s the silent, calculating motherfucker who keeps his obsession locked up tight behind that calm exterior. He’ll act all chill, but behind those eyes? He’s fucking burning with possessive desire. You won’t even know you’re trapped until it’s too late, because he’s got that smooth manipulation down to a fucking science.

❥ Kinich isn’t the type to make his presence obvious, but trust me, he’s always watching. Every move you make, every word you say—it’s all logged in his mind. He knows your habits better than you do, and he’ll use that knowledge to keep you in check. You think you’re doing something out of free will, but it’s all part of his plan. You’re playing his game, and he’s already won.

❥ Kinich is smooth as fuck with his words, always calm, always saying the right thing. He’ll comfort you, make you feel safe, but if anyone crosses him or tries to take you away? That calm turns to fucking ruthlessness. He’ll deal with threats swiftly, efficiently, and with no remorse. And the scariest part? He’ll make it seem like it was all for your benefit, like he’s protecting you from the world.

❥ This guy doesn’t need to be aggressive to control you. He’ll use that sharp mind of his to manipulate you into thinking you need him. Every conversation, every interaction is carefully crafted to pull you closer, make you more dependent on him. You’ll start to believe that he’s the only one who understands you, the only one who can keep you safe. It’s fucking terrifying how easily he’ll twist your mind without you even realizing it.

❥ Kinich won’t come off as possessive at first. No, he’s too smart for that shit. He’ll wrap his obsession in concern, in care. He’ll say he’s just looking out for you, that he wants what’s best for you. But underneath all that sweetness? He’s fucking claiming you, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left that’s yours. Your thoughts, your actions, your fucking soul—it all belongs to him. And the worst part? He’ll make you thank him for it.

Yandere Sethos

❥ Sethos is smooth as hell. He’s got that charm, that charisma that pulls you in like a moth to a flame. But underneath that charming innocent smile is a fucking storm of obsession. He’ll make you feel like the most important person in the world, but once you’re in his grasp? That charm turns into a weapon. He’ll use it to manipulate you, to keep you close, and to make sure you never, ever leave his side.

❥ Sethos doesn’t fuck around when it comes to control. He’ll make sure every aspect of your life revolves around him. You won’t even notice it at first—he’s too fucking smart for that. He’ll slowly weave himself into everything you do, until he’s the one pulling all the strings. You’ll feel like you can’t breathe without him, and that’s exactly how he wants it. Every move you make is under his watchful gaze, and good luck trying to slip away. You can’t escape the fucking web he’s spun around you.

❥ Sethos doesn’t just love—he consumes. His affection is all-encompassing, and he’ll make sure you know that you’re the center of his world. But here’s the fucking twist: his love is dangerous as hell. Anyone who gets too close to you? They’re fucking gone. He’ll smile through the bloodshed, making sure you know that no one is allowed to take his place by your side. His love comes with a body count, and he’s not afraid to add to it if anyone even thinks about touching you.

❥ You think you can run? Fucking think again. Sethos is relentless when it comes to keeping you close. He’s not just physically strong—he’s fucking brilliant. He’ll always be one step ahead, knowing your plans before you even make them. Try to leave him, and you’ll find every door closed, every path blocked. You’re not getting away, no matter how hard you try. And the worst part? He’ll make you feel like there’s no place safer than right by his side, even though he’s the danger you should be running from.

❥ To Sethos, his obsession isn’t just love—it’s fucking devotion. He’ll worship you in his own twisted way, making sure you know you’re his entire world. But that devotion comes with chains. You’ll never be free, because in his mind, you belong to him, completely. And he won’t let anyone, not even you, change that. His eyes will always be on you, filled with a fierce, terrifying love that burns hotter than anything you’ve ever experienced. You’re his, and he’ll make damn sure you never forget it.

[fangweaver2099]

𝐅 𝐀 𝐖 𝐍 𝐓 𝐄 𝐄 𝐓 𝐇 - Prologue pt 1

MINORS DNI 18+ FIC

You’ve always liked the idea of having a dominant partner - BDSM was something you’ve read about, watched videos about.

Something you made Pinterest boards and aesthetic tumblr posts about when you were 18 and curious, the idea always sounded nice, but you’ve never done it in practice, not really. Sure you bought fuzzy handcuffs at a gag gift store once, but that didn’t really count.

You’re still a virgin.

You’ve always had that chronically awkward, workaholic type of vibe that made typical dating near impossible at worst and frustrating at best. Normal dating apps have proven fruitless and agitating. So poor curious little you talked yourself into making a fetlife account. You weren’t looking for true love, but at least you could get laid.

DM Request from: 10:13 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Hello, Fawn.”

College was for new experiences after all.

CW: BDSM heavy/centric fic. Safe, Sane & Consensual. Miguel is your professor, but you both don't know that. Age Gap (Y/N is 23, Miguel is mid 30's)

PART 2

DM Request from: 10:13 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Hello, Fawn.” 

You squint at the request - you can see his icon is his torso.

You knew you had to snoop - be careful. The classic teen girl not wanting to be abducted shit. His skin was tanned - pale palms and even skintone told you he wasn’t a white guy. NYC was a melting pot - so you weren’t about to think too hard about it. You scroll through his writings. Most were boring and formal. You debate reading over the ‘contract template’ he had posted but decide against it.

His pictures are, mostly, not entirely him. A few torso shots showing off dark hair and abs - or more casual showing off a normal looking body of a dude who clearly worked out. The others are a few different women in different states of undress smothered in bondage ropes, always a bright red. The one that intrigues you the most again has the face censored by a black bar, but she’s hung upside down against the wall, diamonds of rope on her thighs as she’s suspended before red rope that was weaved into a massive spider web. He was a fan of spiders - the user name made sense.

The photos were old, from 2016 at the newest. The photos of him were new - posted just 6 months ago.

His wall was what told a touch of his story. You scroll down dozens of posts, women and men acting friendly or asking to meet up again. You wonder if he used to be a community person, the anon nature of his account was new? Could you check on the wayback machine? 

You tab back into his chat.

“hey. are you really 6’9? ” - Fawnteeth - 10:19 PM

 10:19 PM - WebRigger2099 - “You think I’d lie about that?”  

“maybe. I know a lot of guys who lie about their height, I’m tall enough to tell.” - Fawnteeth - 10:20 PM

 10:20 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Smart to ask. Yes, I am really 6’9”. Is height a big seller for you?”  

“when you’re a tall woman, it is.” - Fawnteeth - 10:20 PM

 10:21 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “You want me to make you feel small. Noted.”

“what had you messaging me? you seem popular.” - Fawnteeth - 10:21 PM

 10:22 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “I’ve been in the scene for a long time, made my way around. Your interests line up and you seem at least somewhat concerned about your own anonymity.”  

“here I thought you’d say you found me pretty.” - Fawnteeth - 10:22 PM

 10:22 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Shallow compliments hardly get us anywhere. Besides, that’s a given.”  

“well, thank you anyway. need to keep this and my personal life separate, like you I see.” - Fawnteeth - 10:23 PM

 10:24 PM - WebRigger2099 - “ “We all have our secrets and reasons to keep them.”  

“serial killer sorta secrets?” - Fawnteeth - 10:24 PM

“I’m kidding.” - Fawnteeth - 10:24 PM

 10:24 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Would you believe me if I said no?”  

“I can try. it’s not like you’re a blank profile, web.” - Fawnteeth - 10:25 PM

 10:26 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Maybe you shouldn’t. Things like that are easy to fake. You’re clearly trying to keep a secret, which means if I met up with you no one would know where you went. Would be a good tactic if  I was preying on little girls.”

You stare at his message for a moment, forcing in a quick breath you sit up as your bed creaks. Okay, time to take things a bit more seriously.

“Good thing I’m not a little girl. I do appreciate the concern, it’s attractive.” - Fawnteeth - 10:27 PM

 10:27 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Lot’s of untrustworthy people on sites like this. Ones that will lull you into a sense of security.”  

“Trust me, I’m well aware. You think I should be afraid of you?” - Fawnteeth - 10:27 PM

 10:28 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Yes. You can’t trust me right away.”

“Well, I like the honesty. I don’t think I have any plans to meet up with anyone soon - not even you.” - Fawnteeth - 10:30 PM

 10:30 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “Of course you don’t. You’re new at this.”

“Did I really give it away that quickly?” - Fawnteeth - 10:31 PM

 10:31 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “Yes.”

You stare at the screen for a long moment, eyes wide. How the hell do you reply to that? Is he ending the conversation? Did you already fuck things up? At this point, most men would be falling over themselves to impress you, not making you feel intimidated . You feel your core throb as you click back to his profile, scrolling over dozens of comments on his wall from years ago - the fact is, his profile spans back years. Longer. He’s experienced, and… he isn’t wrong, either. 

“Is that a problem? I hope it isn’t. You’re the first dude who hasn’t asked me for nudes yet.” - Fawnteeth - 10:32 PM

 10:34 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “No. You should be more careful though, me explaining that and this is something you should be suspicious of. Wanting to ‘protect’ you because you’re young and need to be taught the ropes, so to speak.”  

“Got it, Sir.” - Fawnteeth - 10:34 PM

“Wait, can I call you that?” - Fawnteeth - 10:34 PM

You cringe, placing the laptop on the bed for a moment. Shit - you’ve already messed up.

 10:35 PM - WebRigger2099 -   “That’s acceptable. If you ever call me ‘Daddy’ however I will block you.”  

 10:35 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “That’s not a joke.” 

You open your eyes, glancing over at the chat and his two messages. Raising a brow, you lean in, shifting the laptop back into your lap. 

“Understood. Not my thing.” - Fawnteeth - 10:35 PM

 10:36 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “What is your thing, Fawn?”

“Well… I like giving up control… Feeling like prey. I’ve always loved deer, something about being so fiercely defenseless as a fawn in a wolf’s maw is thrilling.” - Fawnteeth - 10:37 PM

 10:37 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “No wonder you brushed over the red flags.”

“Maybe.The whole giving up control is why most submissives are here, aren’t they?” - Fawnteeth  - 10:38 PM

 10:40 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “The illusion of giving up control. Any good dominant knows the submissive is the one with the power. Safe words, limits, contracts - it all relies on knowing they can end things whenever they want to explore it safely.”  

“Of course.” - Fawnteeth  - 10:40 PM

 10:40 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Of course? So you have those things ready for me?”  

“ Safe words and how I prefer them - yes. Limits, I think so. Contract - no. ” - Fawnteeth  - 10:40 PM

 10:42PM - WebRigger2099 -   “I need one for slow down/ease up and one for an immediate stop. I also need a physical sign if you are unable to say your safe words. Please list them.”  

 10:43 PM - WebRigger2099 -   “Send me 4 lists: Favorites, Yes, Maybe, and No not ever. Include everything you can think of. If you do not include something that I am interested in I will ask about it and we will consider it a maybe until you’ve had time to consider it and possibly research.”

 10:43 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “You will not need a premade contract. I have a basic format we can edit to our needs. If it goes that far.”  

“Is the green, yellow, red method good with you?” - Fawnteeth  - 10:44 PM

 10:44 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “Yes.”

“That’s good.” - Fawnteeth  - 10:44 PM

“...And I'll get you the other things - do you have any hard nos I should know of?” - Fawnteeth  - 10:44 PM

10:45 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “Send me yours and we’ll go from there.”  

“Okay.” - Fawnteeth  - 10:45 PM

You take your time in a Google document, carefully considering your late-night Archive Of Our Own feed. Anxiety tells you to rush, but you get the energy that Web isn’t the kind of guy who wants you to rush.

“ Will you click links? Google Docs. ” - Fawnteeth  - 10:55 PM

 10:55 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “ I applaud you if you somehow hack me from a google docs link. I have a very good firewall as a warning. ” 

You couldn’t help but grin at his reply - you’re charmed by him. Oh no.

“I’d figure as much. Here.” - Fawnteeth  - 10:57 PM

“ [Google Docs Link] “ - Fawnteeth  - 10:57 PM

 10:57 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “I’ll ask specifics soon but I want to be clear about this - I want something in person, but that is not on the table until the end of the summer. I have obligations. If that is a problem I don’t want to waste your time.” 

“That’s fine. I know we’re both in NYC. I’m kinda glad as I don’t think I’m ready to meet up soon anyway.” - Fawnteeth  - 10:57 PM

 10:58 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “Gives us time to get to know each other and learn expectations.

“Then it sounds like we’re on the same page.” - Fawnteeth  - 10:58 PM

 10:58 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “Good. Due to this being a distance-based arrangement for the time being I cannot touch you myself; Have you heard of a lovense?”

“I have. Aren’t those expensive?”   - Fawnteeth  - 10:58 PM

 10:58 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “Money isn’t a concern for me, and anything I get you is a gift. The only expectation is to use whatever I provide. Acceptable?”

“Yes. I don’t take pictures or videos with my face in them.” - Fawnteeth  - 10:58 PM

 10:58 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I noticed.”

 10:58 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “Neither do I. That isn’t a problem.” 

“Glad to hear that.” -   Fawnteeth  - 10:59 PM

“...So…”   - Fawnteeth  - 10:59 PM

 10:59 PM - WebRigger2099 -   “Your list says nothing about exhibitionism. If I were to tell you to wear your lovense during the day would that be acceptable?”

For a moment you stare at his message. Now that you’re not under your father’s roof, you have free reign to do whatever, and it’s honestly not like your roommates haven’t done weirder, less appropriate shit in far more public spaces. 

“That’s fine as long as I’m not visiting family. I live somewhere else.” - Fawnteeth  - 10:59 PM

 10:59 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “ You say you like roleplay. Are there specific scenarios you’re interested in?”

“Do you know what dead by daylight is?” -  Fawnteeth  - 10:59 PM

 11:00 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “I can’t say I do.”

“...Well. I wasn’t joking about the idea of enjoying being hunted. I guess. Kinda embarrassing to admit to a stranger.” - Fawnteeth  - 11:00 PM

 11:00 PM - WebRigger2099 -   “Does that embarrassment excite you, Fawn?”

“Maybe.” - Fawnteeth  - 11:00 PM

 11:00 PM - WebRigger2099 -   “I expect yes or no answers. If you’re not sure say so.”

“Yes, then.” - Fawnteeth  - 11:00 PM

 11:00 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “Good girl. What do you want me to do when I catch you?”

There’s no hesitation, no doubt in the message. What do you want when I catch you. Not would you want, not if I caught you. When. You can’t help but squirm. For a moment, you consider pacing your tiny, cluttered bedroom.

“Is whatever you want the wrong answer?”   - Fawnteeth  - 11:01 PM

“I might be new, but I think I’m kinda open. I want to please, I suppose.” - Fawnteeth  - 11:01 PM

 11:01 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “ Not at all a wrong answer.”

 11:02 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “Have you ever been spanked before? You said it was a favorite.”

“Yes.” - Fawnteeth - 11:02 PM

You bite your lip - it technically isn’t a lie. You have been spanked - just… not sexually. It’s fine .

 11:02 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “Would you be willing to use a paddle, crop or belt in my absence if I believe you need punishment?”

“I’m not sure. I have a very high pain tolerance, but I don’t live alone, sound is a concern.”   - Fawnteeth - 11:02 PM

 11:03 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Not a problem. Making a small list for a care package if you show me potential is all.” 

“Well, what can I do to impress you, Sir?”  - Fawnteeth  - 11:03 PM

“I don’t mind homework, for lack of a better word.”   - Fawnteeth  - 11:03 PM

 11:04 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Eager, aren’t you? I’m not done.”

 11:04 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Dirty talking. What are your limits, and do you have a specific pet name you want me to use?”

“I like Fawn, obviously. Affectionate things, I think it’s better figuring it out organically. Feels more genuine.” - Fawnteeth  - 11:04 PM

 11:04 PM - WebRigger2099 - “And no humiliation.”

 11:04 PM - WebRigger2099 - “ Understood.”

 11:04 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “I have rules. It’s better that I tell you about them early. They’ve scared most people off.”

“ Well. I won’t pass judgment immediately.” - Fawnteeth - 11:05 PM

“I don’t cut my hair.” - Fawnteeth  - 11:05 PM

 11:05 PM - WebRigger2099 -   “I would be disappointed if you did. Speaking of, I only allow my submissive to trim their pubic hair for one, no shaving it.” 

“That’s fine with me. I haven’t shaved anything in a while.” - Fawnteeth  - 11:05 PM

 11:06 PM - WebRigger2099 - “ If you are going to be unavailable for more than a few hours I expect an explanation so I know you are safe. I don’t allow my partners to go to clubs or bars without me either. If this becomes serious I expect you to download a location tracking app so I know where you are at all times.”

“Okay. That’s fine. I don’t go out much.” - Fawnteeth  - 11:06 PM

 11:06 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “I am not polyamorous. If you want to be mine you are only mine, and I will hold myself to the same standard.”

“That’s fine with me. I have been talking to someone else, but about as much as you at this point. Honesty and all that stuff.”   - Fawnteeth  - 11:06 PM

 11:06 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I don’t let things I own go into disrepair; You will take care of yourself and report what you don’t complete. Punishments will be given if you do not complete these tasks.”

 11:07 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “The basic daily requirements are the following: Three meals a day, showering every day, an hour of exercise and a consistent bedtime during weekdays.”

“Okay. Did this really scare people off?” - Fawnteeth  - 11:07 PM

 11:07 PM - WebRigger2099 - “People have called me controlling. It sounds like you want to surrender your control though.” 

“Not wrong.” - Fawnteeth   - 11:07 PM

 11:07 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “ You’re not hard to read.”

“I’ll try and take it as a compliment.” - Fawnteeth  - 11:07 PM

 11:07 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “Deception and confusion are a waste of time. Own it.”  

“I’ll try my best. I’m used to being considered odd.” - Fawnteeth  - 11:08 PM

 11:08 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Are you?”

“I’m on fetlife. So, yes.” - Fawnteeth  - 11:08 PM

 11:08 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I suppose.”

 11:08 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “ We already established you’re new to this. Will I be your first dominant?”

“Yes. Not my first partner.” - Fawnteeth  - 11:08 PM

 11:09 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “ Were they not interested in this?”

“I never brought it up to them. I don’t really want romance right now.” - Fawnteeth  - 11:09 PM

 11:09 PM - WebRigger2099 -  “And if you fall for me?”

“I’d rather talk about it then, I suppose. I don’t get the vibe from you that you’re looking for romance, just a pet.” - Fawnteeth  - 11:09 PM

 11:09 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Good, and no, not right now.”

“But you think I’ll fall in love with you?” - Fawnteeth  - 11:09 PM

 11:10 PM - WebRigger2099 - “You’re young and inexperienced. Maybe you will, maybe you won’t.” 

 11:10 PM - WebRigger2099 - “ My last important rule - no drugs, limited alcohol. If you drink you must have friends with you that are reliable or myself. Drinking and doing drugs is just asking to put yourself in a vulnerable situation. It’s a precaution some have complained about.” 

With how much he spoke of other people not liking his rules it was almost like he was trying to talk you out of it.

“That’s fine. I celebrated my 21st by watching movies.”   - Fawnteeth  - 11:10 PM

 11:10 PM - WebRigger2099 - “What movies?”  

“Midsommar, it’s my favorite. Silence of the lambs too. Roomies insisted on watching Barbie after that. lol ” - Fawnteeth  - 11:10 PM

 11:10 PM - WebRigger2099 - “ You like horror.”

“Yes. I thought the ghostface poster in my 3rd photo gave it away.” - Fawnteeth  - 11:11 PM

 11:11 PM - WebRigger2099 - “And you’d like him or some other violent thing to chase you down and do whatever they wanted with you instead of killing you.”

 11:11 PM - WebRigger2099 - “It must make watching movies with a group tense if that’s what is going through your mind.” 

“I won’t say it doesn’t.” - Fawnteeth  - 11:11 PM

 11:11 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Let me guess: some part of you likes the discomfort?” 

“Honestly. I haven’t thought about it. Probably.” - Fawnteeth  - 11:11 PM

 11:11 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I think you’d like to walk around with a lovense in you, never knowing when I might turn it on or increase the settings. You enjoy suspense.”

“ It’s appealing, yeah.” - Fawnteeth  - 11:12 PM

You sit back on your bed, propping up the laptop with your pillows. Why did you love that this guy was reading you like an open book? You take in a deep breath, remember - play it cool.

 11:12 PM - WebRigger2099 - “What do you want out of all of this?” 

“My first thought is sex - but also to learn myself a bit more, I guess. Explore something with a partner I can trust… Please someone, feel better about myself. Like I said - I’m a tall woman, it doesn’t exactly make you feel pretty.”  - Fawnteeth  - 11:12 PM

 11:12 PM - WebRigger2099 - "Okay, sounds good."  

You bite your lip, reading over the message on your dimly lit phone screen over and over again. Curling up tighter into the cotton blanket on your bed, you exhale, the cheap mattress creaking underneath you. You flinch, eyes flickering towards the shut door of your bedroom. Your heart flutters in your chest for a few moments until silence rings in your ears. 

You haven’t woken up any of your roommates.Thank god. 

Sighing, you turn your attention back to your phone, looking over the message again.

 11:12 PM - WebRigger2099 - "Okay, sounds good." 

Usually men are more expressive in their text speech when it comes to you - to the extent that some even make you uncomfortable. But WebRigger2099… is very much not . You’ve dubbed him 'Web' in your head, easy enough with his username. 

Web is formal, speaks with proper punctuation and never a single spelling mistake or emote. He’s direct, not flowery or soft in any way. But… you kind of like that. Direct is easy. There’s no guessing games with instructions and meanings laid out plainly.

 11:12 PM - WebRigger2099 -“ You are very pretty, by the way. ” 

You blush.

[maskosis]

SNIPPET OF AN UPCOMING FIC: the "absentee father too busy saving the world and his needy, neglected daughter who was raised on cyber-misogyny and uses the only asset she was told she has to get her father's attention" incest fic no one asked for.

You become aware of it on the cusp of adolescence.

It's nestled in that transitory realm from a little girl, girlhood, to a bratty teenager. Marbled with the stretch marks of puberty and preadolescent angst; an incipient bloom, a budding flower, that stays. Grows roots in rotten, fetid soil. Acidic enough to corrode metal but a basin of filth where this needling sapling flourishes. 

And these feelings inside of you refuses to die through the evolution of innocent child making eyes at Kovu, Aladdin, and Shang with a stupid grin on your face as you sit in his lap (only vaguely aware of how he huffs about work, grumbles under his breath to your mother about how they don't need a separation, it'll be fine, we'll be fine, don't go makin’ any rash decisions now—i can fix this) to burgeoning adolescent shoving clumsy fingers against the gusset of your panties, scrubbing sloppy and uncertain at your flesh until something feels good.

The tether between these two worlds is him. Has always been him. 

His voice in your head as you rut your hips into the pillow shoved between your thighs, biting your fist in frustration because it just won't work—

The image in your head changes even if the content they sit you down in front of doesn't. Tarzan's dad. McCready, when your cousin lets you watch the Thing at a sleepover. Older men. Gruff men. Men who pry their thick, grizzled fingers into the soil of the earth and peel it apart with brute force and a snarl. 

(Men who pick that same world they claw apart over you—)

One's who look, who sound, just like your dad.

It just makes sense, you think, fingers twisting into the hem of your panties at night, hours after he sends you to bed with a pinched goodnight, princess. It just—is. Him. Him. Him—

Who else could it possibly be when all you can think of is stay, don't go, when his hand twitches towards the door, when he keeps his phone clenched between those bearish hands you wish would squeeze you just as tight. When he seems relieved to finally get pulled away from clumsily patching himself into some proximation of a man that isn't burdened by the weight of the world and eager to flee this tangled, knotted web of his fracturing family, splintering apart over divorce papers pinned to the refrigerator he said he'd replace four years ago, and a daughter who calls him dad in the same tone she says, hello, how are you? to strangers on the street. 

You say, I love my dad, this stranger in your home who weaves in and out of your life like a migratory bird nesting for the winter—you, this house, dad and daughter, nothing more than a pitstop, a bottleneck, on this grand journey to somewhere better—but it's wrong. Tastes of cyanide. Fills the gaps of your baby teeth like sticky, sweet mercury. 

A tale as old as time—absentee father and the needy, neglected daughter he abandons in pieces; unwilling to rip himself away like a bandaid so he hangs there, tugging on unblemished skin. A constant, bitter ache. A little sting. 

(You love him. But the word dad fits clumsily in your mouth like it doesn't belong—unpractised on your tongue because you can count the number of times you uttered this to him with just one hand.)

Of course he runs. 

And of course you try to follow the only way you know how. 

(Want love? Want affection? Crave a scrap of attention from a man that refuses to give it?

Well—

You have all the power between the meat of your thighs, darling, did you know that?)

It's huddling under the blankets at night, eyes glued to the blue-green glow of your screen as you watch big, brutish men ruin pretty girls. Shoving their thick, too big daddy too big cocks into their cunts, legs thrown over their brawny shoulders. Pov shots of a hairy, soft belly and a wisp of a thing underneath, yowling at the stretch, how good it feels.

At some point, it just becomes normal to want him.

Evolutionary.

But you're not stupid.

These feelings that bud inside your chest—girlhood crushes shaded in rose-pink, pealing giggles demanding daddy's attention, chaste kisses to the apple of your cheeks, a warm, rough hand on the crown of your head, nose tucked into his neck that smells of wet leather and smoke; to damp panties glued to your aching cunt when he brushes his thick fingers over your forehead, brows pinching together as he murmurs don't feel warm t'me, that heavy, scorching hand on your lower back when he walks you from the car to the restaurant as you babble about your day, the rough scratch of his beard when press your cheek to his, wondering how it it would feel against your cunt—are not normal. The furthest thing from it, really.

And you're too aware of it, you think. About how it should disgust you, but doesn't.

You know the word incest before you know the meaning. Read it as it pops up above the videos you like (daddy-daughter; daddy fucks his daughter and cums inside her tight pussy—)

[delusionalwritingsofagay]

Hellooo can I request for soulmates!au with targaryen male reader x oberyn?

Reader is rhaegar's twin brother, but other than the same sliver hair and dark purple eyes they don't look much alike, reader is tall and broad shouldered and on the heavy side, introverted and is not a fan of court whatsoever

Sun kissed

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Male Targaryen reader Tags: soulmate au {A touch from your soulmate will leave an imprint there}, falling in love, word count : 1179

Y/N Targaryen the twin brother of Rhaegar Targaryen was not one for grand gatherings. With his silver hair cascading down broad shoulders and dark purple eyes that often flickered with disinterest, he stood in stark contrast to his brother's ethereal beauty. Y/N preferred the solitude of the castle gardens, where whispers of nature could replace the empty chatter of the court.

Having left the festivities behind, Y/N wandered through the red keep garden. He stopped by a fountain, its waters shimmering under the light of a crescent moon. There, he let out a long, weary sigh,

Little did he know, someone was watching him from the shadows.

Oberyn Martell leaned against a pillar in the dimly lit space, his dark, serpentine eyes studying the man who was both a prince and a ghost in his own castle. The air crackled with intrigue as the prince of Dorne took a step forward, the fleeting moments of his reputation as a fierce warrior clashing against the pull of something deeper when he laid eyes on Y/N.

"Lost in thought, are we?" Oberyn's voice was smooth like honey, cutting through Y/N's musings.

Startled, Y/N turned, locking eyes with the Martell prince. "Being lost is preferable to being found," he replied with a teasing smirk, an armour against any vulnerability.

Oberyn chuckled softly, the sound invigorating the cool night air. "And yet here I am, willing to find you. Not many can say they have seen Rhaegar's brother."

"People have strange inclinations," Y/N replied dryly, "and I have made it abundantly clear that I do not belong in their games."

“Neither do I,” Oberyn said, stepping closer, the glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Court is a web of lies and politics. I'd much rather hear about your thoughts on the sea or the stars.”

Intrigued, Y/N raised an eyebrow. "You are very bold, aren't you? To approach me like this, in the dark."

“Perhaps,” Oberyn admitted candidly, his smirk shifting to sincerity. “I find something… interesting in you.”

Y/N’s pulse quickened at the charged atmosphere weaving around them. “Interesting… how so?”

Oberyn smirked, stepping even closer. For a brief moment, Y/N could almost feel the warmth radiating off the man before him. “You are fierce in your silence. An undercurrent of passion flows beneath, like a dormant volcano. You’re trapped by those who seek to define you. But I am not afraid of fire, nor am I afraid of the ashes.”

And then it happened. Oberyn reached behind his head, brushing aside the silver hair that veiled Y/N’s eyes and cupping his face momentarily in a gentle but daring touch. The world around them faded, and Y/N felt a surge of warmth wash over him, a sensation blooming vividly where Oberyn’s fingers lingered.

It felt as though a piece of himself had been uncovered—a mark left upon him, an imprint that whispered of possibilities. “You…” Y/N faltered, lost in the intensity of the moment. “You felt it too.”

“Of course.” Oberyn’s voice dropped to a seductive whisper,his gaze filled with understanding as if they shared a secret no one else could grasp. Oberyn's eyes gleamed with a mixture of mischief and sincerity, a blend of emotions that both excited and terrified him. “It means we are bound in a way that defies the chaos of our worlds, Y/N. A connection that transcends mere courtly expectations.”

Y/N felt his heart race at the sound of his name on Oberyn’s lips—a melody he hadn’t realised he longed for. They were a stark contrast, he and the Dornish prince; where Y/N was all stormy skies and shadows, Oberyn was the blazing sun, radiating life and intensity. Yet, within that contrast, there was an undeniable pull, a gravity that knew no bounds.

He took a step back, consideration forcing a separation he wasn’t sure he wanted. “You have no idea who I am, Oberyn..” The walls he had built around himself felt shaky now, as if the touch of his soulmate had begun to erode the very foundations he had relied upon for protection.

“Perhaps not,” Oberyn replied, not backing away but rather holding his ground. “But I am not afraid of getting to know you behind your reclusivity. But tell me—what do you truly desire?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Y/N had never considered what he wanted for himself beyond the confines of duty and expectation. He rubbed the spot where Oberyn’s fingers had brushed him, a soft imprint warming his skin, like a reminder that he wasn’t just a shadow of his brother.

However, a sense of wariness crept in, fueled by the walls of responsibility society shoved upon him. “I desire—” he faltered.“I desire freedom. The ability to explore the world without judgment hanging over me. Here in King’s Landing, I feel like a ghost. I wish to step away from it all—”

“Then why don’t you?” Oberyn stepped closer, an unyielding shimmer of encouragement sparkling in his piercing gaze. “Leave King’s Landing behind. Come to Dorne with me.”

The proposition came like a revelation, an escape untainted by the dark intrigues of their current lives. “You can't be serious,” Y/N responded, the idea both exhilarating and impossibly terrifying. Just the thought of leaving everything behind sent jitters of anticipate

through his body.

“I am very serious,” Oberyn said, his voice low and inviting. “Dorne is a land of sun and freedom, where the winds carry the salt of the sea and the laughter of the people. You will not have to hide there, Y/N. You could do whatever you wish. Be whoever you want to be.”

The moment was filled with anticipation , and Y/N felt the weight of Oberyn’s words stirring something deep within him. Hope. The flicker of a longing he had tried to extinguish for far too long began to simmer again.

“Your touch…” he said, hesitantly tracing the imprint where Oberyn's fingers had rested. “It leaves a mark. A reminder of our bond.”

Oberyn’s voice turned low, almost conspiratorial. “Then cherish it. Cherish the possibility of what we could create together.” His gaze, sharp as a blade, pierced through the fog of doubt.

“Are you truly unafraid?” Y/N asked, his heart pounding in his chest as he stepped closer to the Dornish prince, boldness emerging he hadn’t recognized within himself before.

“Fear has never kept me from seeking what I desire,” Oberyn replied with decisive earnestness that stoked the fire within Y/N.

“Perhaps one is foolish to court danger so closely,” Y/N mused, allowing a grin to break through his troubled countenance.

Oberyn stepped forward, the air thick with tension  perhaps so,but I can think of no greater folly than living a life devoid of passion.”

He took a breath, his heart pounding as he dared  “Then, perhaps… Perhaps I will venture with you.” he took his hand clutching it in a fierce grasp. “I will come to Dorne, my prince.”

[istoleyoursk1n]

I'm obsessed with Spider-Man so bare with me here.

Imagine the reader being a human who experiments with potions and genetics, sort of like a magic user scientist. And one day they had an accident that fused them with Spider DNA, so they have the web crawling stickiness, the advanced healing and strength, and biological web shooters like Raimi Spidey, all the Spider-Man abilities. They can't replicate the experiment, so they can't find a cure and are sort of stuck all spidery.

Whether or not the companions knew the reader, and which companions you wanna write for, before the experiment I guess is up to you? Whichever would be easier is whatever I'm okay with!

This sounds dumb- 😭 but it's perfectly alr if you don't want to do this!

- 💞 anon

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

How would they react to a Tav with spider-like abilities?

(Hello again 💞 anon <3)

.

.

: ̗̀➛ ASTARION

“Didn’t think our lovely little entourage would have an itsy bitsy spider crawling about. I’d rather not find myself webbed if we’re truly keeping you.”

He would have mixed feelings about your little situation at first. On one hand, he finds it fascinating that you possess such abilities but the other part of him finds it disgusting.

Even so, he ends up liking your spiderness anyway, there's amusement he can find in this form of yours that’ll allow him to disregard his disgust for now.

Was probably startled when he first saw you crawling across walls and ceilings. (He screamed and scolded you to cover up the fact that he nearly had a heart attack.)

He may or may not be slightly envious of the fact that you can so easily string your way across surface-to-surface without so much as breaking a sweat.

Though he would be lying if he didn't find it all the more impressive to witness. It's not every day he comes across a web shooting, ceiling crawling, possibly venomous aquantince.

Speaking of venomous, are you? If so, he'd rather never feel the sting of your bite. He’d prefer being the only one who gets the biting privileges.

Nevertheless, he’s grown to adore his spidery friend, especially when he watches you weave little cobwebs into various shapes and pictures. It's his favorite thing about your form.

: ̗̀➛ WYLL

“A… spider? Spider-human? Apologies, I’m not quite sure what you are but the pleasure is all mine. Perhaps having a rather insectoid companion of our own wouldn’t prove to be such a bad thing.”

He was definitely conflicted at first. He was somewhat of a monster slayer so did you count as one?

But then again, he was traveling with a vampire so perhaps his blade would remain sheathed and away from you for now. Besides, you prove no moral nor physical threat to him just yet.

He managed to put his own apprehensions aside in favor of learning all about you and the various abilities you possess.

He ended up getting all giddy upon seeing you demonstrate all your different abilities. It was amazing in his eyes, something he'd never quite seen before and it made him all the more compelled to befriend you properly.

You've probably been one of the few things that placed his initial beliefs about monster-like individuals aside. Not all of them are as bad as he thought now that he’s seen you.

And ever since his hellish transformation, it seems both of you have gotten yourself in some unfortunate transmutational accident. It's comforting to know that at least you understand what he's going through.

He loves fighting alongside you! Getting to see your powers put to use is an incredible sight. He feels honored to be doing so.

: ̗̀➛ GALE

“Glad to see I’m not too only one who may have dabbled in the wrong types of magic mishaps. Though, I’m sure being a tad bit more… spidery, than most has its own interesting perks.”

The most interested and confused of the bunch.

He’s off questioning how these spider-like abilities and if some sort of magic was involved in the process.

What potions did you mix together? Did you use a scroll? Perhaps you consumed something that caused the l transformation? Do you need it reversed? These are probably but a handful of questions he immediately voices out.

He truly does hope the entire transformation didn't hurt as much as suspected it would. That would be quite unfortunate wouldn't it?

Nevertheless, everything about your abilities is absolutely fascinating to him. Perhaps having a spidery companion could be quite intimidating but it does have its pros.

Both of you spin weaves in your own ways so there's that adorable little detail.

Though he has tried helping you reverse the effects of your situation, nothing he’s tried has done anything to get you back to normal. He was a little bit upset over the fact that he may have disappointed you but a little reassurance from you would put him back together.

Even so, he's already grown quite fond of your spidery self, and as long as you’re okay with it, he’d continue to adore it for days to come.

: ̗̀➛ KARLACH

“Fuck yeah! A goddman half spider?! Just when I thought this group couldn't be any less cooler. Say, how's it like being all spidery?”

Freaked the fuck out (lovingly) when she first saw your abilities. You’re the coolest thing she's seen in a while and she can't help but be utterly amazed by you.

You can climb walls too?! Heck, she’d kill to have an ability like that. She loves watching you scurry around walls and roofs like it's no big deal, she even tried to catch you at some point like a little game.

There are so many things about you she's currently fawning over that it's almost overwhelming. She’d be jumping about in delight the moment you use your web shooters to easily latch onto a nearby tree.

You two have probably gone around chasing one another for fun with the use of your own special powers, it's turned into some sort of playful little distraction when the journey gets too rough.

And to think your spidery strength nearly matches her own? You’re practically perfect in her eyes, a companion she's only dreamed of having.

She's spent lots of time wistfully staring as you weave tiny little webs for your own amusement, even making one in the shape of a star to impress your fiery friend. She loves it all the same.

: ̗̀➛ SHADOWHEART

“Well, I suppose I was never against having a spider join our strange little group. I’ll let you know if I ever need you to clamber onto a wall or two.”

As long as you use such spidery powers for the betterment of the group then she has zero qualms about you.

There's something rather amusing about watching you crawl across walls and whatnot, a strange ability she hasn't quite seen anyone but you possess.

Would remind you that there's zero shame in having powers such as yours, she’ll be the one to reassure you that you’re unique in your own interesting little way.

As long as the venom you have in your system is used against your foes, she isn't all too intimidated by your presence.

Generally only has neutral feelings about this strange form of yours, she’d even find some of your little spidery aspects adorable in her eyes.

There have been occasions when seeing you startle a friend or foe with your crawling abilities made her giggle but she has never once shamed you for it.

She could spend hours simply watching you weave tiny little webs, she encourages you to decorate the camp with them if the others don't mind the extra cobwebs of course.

: ̗̀➛ LAE’ZEL

“Chk, spider or not, just make sure your insectoid abilities are put to something more useful than weaving fragile little webs lest you find yourself being yet another pest.”

She didn't care much for your abilities, as long as they proved to be useful to her which fortunately they were.

Your little alchemical mistake seemed to prove to be advantageous in the long run as you were able to help her in a handful of battles.

Your web strings proved to be a resource for her (somehow she found a way to innovate such a thing) as she would often use them as a better bowstring.

Soon enough, her disregard for you turned into admiration, one that she didn't hesitate to tell you directly.

Though her admiration was a tad bit bold, it was something you were certainly flattered by. At least she isn't as unknowingly offensive as before.

If you were willing enough to lend your assistance, she would have used your venom as a coating for her blades by now. Using such a deadly substance to easily smite her foes.

Your increase in strength rivals her own, one that sparks a vibrant flame in her roughened heart. She favors the moments when she gets to witness you in the midst of combat.

Safe to say she enjoys your company and values your worth. Don't ever feel shame for possessing such a spidery form because it's certainly something she’s fond of.

: ̗̀➛ HALSIN

“A spider? Well isn't that quite the surprise? Of all the tiny spiders I've encountered, I’ve never quite seen one as undeniably remarkable as you.”

No matter the creature, he’d always come to value them, and that includes you!

You’ll never feel ashamed of yourself against with this man constantly praising you for what you are, spider-like abilities and all.

If you ever decide to use your powers to crawl atop him, he’d adore it. In fact, he’d laugh as you do so in the softest chuckle you've ever heard him let out. He’d allow you to stay there for as long as you please, he truly doesn't mind.

Seeing you so easily get from tree to tree is quite an impressive sight, silvanus knows he isn't quite as nimble or as graceful as you. This only gives him more of a reason to admire you more.

Was smitten the moment you showed him how you weave webs.

While he has seen little spiders do so, seeing you turn ordinary cobwebs into beautiful shapes melted his heart.

Show him a web you've made in the shape of a bear and you’d make his entire day. His only wish is for this little web of yours to forever be preserved for years to come. He simply can't get over how adorable it is.

In truth, you are a magnificent creature in his eyes, one he finds himself fawning over from afar. Words couldn't express how special you are to him.

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

[forever-rogue]

Hey babes, can you do a Mando x reader where the reader is a bounty hunter and leaves the ship to complete a mission and is only supposed to be gone a few hours but they’re gone all night and Din starts to panic and the next morning they show up slightly injured sand Din completely loses it and he was so scared then feels guilty? (fluff and angst) (sorry this is long!)

AN | This! It’s everything. Enjoy🥰

Warnings | Mention of injury [blood, bruising, cuts - nothing descriptive]

Pairing | Din x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.4k

Masterlist | Din, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"I'm going with you."

"Umm….no?" You looked up at Din and found him in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as though he had any kind of authority over you. Sitting back on your haunches, you momentarily stopped packing your bag and shook your head, "wait - are you asking me or telling me?"

"Telling you," it was a simple but assertive statement that he clearly wasn't going to expand on. With you a huff, you stood up and walked over to him, stopping just in front of him. He was slightly intimidating but you'd never admit that.

"Well, Djarin, I hate to tell you this, but you are not going with me," you reached up and patted his helmet right where his cheek would be, "I'm going solo."

"It's not safe."

"Nothing we do is safe!" You waved your hand around, gesturing vaguely, "we're bounty hunters."

"I am a bounty hunter," he insisted with a sigh as you rolled your eyes dramatically, "you are an enemy of the new republic."

"I prefer the term pirate," you couldn't help the way the corner of your mouth tugged up in a small smile at his heavy sigh. You'd learned early on that it was a common theme in his daily life, "and, in case you forgot, I'm on the up and up and my charges were cleared. So."

"So," he repeated, almost mocking but lacking any real malice, "you've still got plenty of enemies out there. The government might forget but scorned criminals rarely do."

"You don't think I'm capable of handling myself."

"No," he sighed in exasperation, "no. It's just…dangerous."

"I can handle a little danger, Din Djarin," you insisted softly, annoyed and slightly touched by his concern, "I wasn't the pirate queen for nothing!"

"I don't-" you turned on your heel before he could say anything else to go back to your packing, "why are you being so stubborn?"

"Why are you being so overbearing?" You countered, slipping the last of your supplies and your trusty blaster in your bag. He remained silent and you knew you'd caught him weaving a web he couldn't quite explain, "I'll be okay. Don't worry about me, Din."

He remained silent for a moment and you could practically hear the gears turning in his head. You zipped up the bag and tossed onto your bed. After a few tense moments of silence, he exhaled heavily and gave you one, sharp simple nod, "you'll be back soon."

"A few hours tops," you promised softly, "but you know how these things go. Hostile negotiations and all. I'll do everything in my power to keep it short and sweet."

"Good," he grunted in response, "just watch your mouth. That's always what gets you in trouble."

"It's kind of touching that you care so much," you smiled coquettishly, wishing you could see his expression under the helmet. You just knew that he was probably stammering and blushing, "one might almost think you have feelings, Mandalorian."

"I don't like you like that!" He insisted nervously and you grinned like a loth cat.

"I never said you liked me like that," you teased, "I just said you have feelings, generally speaking. But it's good to know that you definitely don't like me."

And you were beaming as he stood there slowly dying on the inside. 

"Just…be careful."

"I will," you smiled softly, "I'll be back before you know it."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It turned out that you were a liar.

It turned out that Din's feelings ran even deeper than he had anticipated.

Because when you didn't return home by the end of the evening, he was starting to panic. You'd promised it would be a few hours.

A few hours had come and gone. And you weren't back. 

Din was going to wear a path into the floor if he kept pacing as he was. Grogu was on the floor, cooing in concern as he watched his father grow increasingly worried. 

"I know," Din turned to him and sighed, "I know there's no use worrying."

More babbles reached his ears. He listened to them and nodded in understanding, even if he didn't completely understand what his son was saying. He got the general gist.

"I'm sure she's fine," his hands found his hips as he nodded thoughtfully, "but then she should be back."

There were a few beats of silence before Din threw himself onto the couch. If he was going to stress and worry, he might as well be comfortable, right? Truthfully, he was anything but.

He tried to watch a few holos, skipping between channels every few seconds, his mind light-years away. 

"It wouldn't hurt to go and see if I can find her," he wasn't even sure who he was trying to rationalize with. Himself? Who knew at that point. Grogu gurgled at him before waddling over to the couch and climbing on top of it. He clambered slowly into Din's lap and made himself comfortable. He reached up and gently stroked his big green ears before exhaling slowly, "I don't know exactly where but I could just…look around and see?"

Big, inquisitive blinked at him. How was his small, young son going to be the logical one?

"Fine," Din agreed in a haughty tone, "I'll stay here. But if it's much longer I'm going out there to look. But you'll have to stay here."

Grogu's eyes widened as his ears drooped sadly.

"Fine…I'd take you with me."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

At some point with his worrying, Din managed to fall asleep. Granted, it wasn’t a very deep or comfortable sleep; he was half sprawled on the couch, startling with every sound that seemed even remotely out of place. Unfortunately, none of those noises turned out to be you. You, who had managed to worm your way into his heart despite his best efforts; you, that were the bane of his existence and one of the best things in his life. 

Eventually he sat up with a heavy sigh, trying his best not to wake Grogu. At least the little one didn’t seem to have any trouble sleeping. Din slowly stood up and started to pace around the kitchen, debating if a fresh caf would soothe his worries or ramp up his anxiety. On second thought, he decided against it, opting instead to straighten everything up. The small home the two of you shared on Nevarro was generally kept tidy but it was something to keep his worried brain occupied. 

He got so wrapped into what he was doing that he almost - almost - didn’t hear the telltale creak of the front door. Din froze for a moment before he heard your familiar footsteps start to shuffle into the house. Something was off. 

He left the kitchen so fast that he almost ran into you in the hallway, your name rolling off his lips in surprise at the same time as you said his. You laughed nervously as you felt him take you in, mentally counting down the seconds before he realized you were hurt. Not gravely so, but still…you knew DIn and you knew that he’d have a conniption.

“H-hey,” your voice was small and nervous and it was painfully obvious that you were trying to deflect him, “sorry, I’m late. It took a little longer than anticipated.”

“You’re hurt.”

It was even a question, just a simple statement. You shrugged before giving him a noncommittal shrug, “you should see the other guy.”

“I don’t care about the other guy!” his tone took a sharp edge that had your eyes widening in surprise. It was the closest he’d actually gotten to admitting his feelings for you. You blinked a few times before swallowing thickly, “kriff.”

“‘m okay,” you insisted but you could tell that he didn’t believe this for a moment. He was regarding you with intense scrutiny and it made you almost squirm, “Din…please say something.”

“You’re bleeding,” he tried to mask the worry in his voice as he took off his glove and brushed away the blood from the cut on your cheek. You froze at the feeling of his skin on your skin, his touch surprisingly gentle. You’d forgotten all about the knife cuts on your face and shoulder. You had no doubt he could see the blood that had soaked into the fabric of your. He made a small sound of concern and part of you really wanted to jump into his arms and let him hold you, “where else. Show me.”

After a moment of hesitation, you nodded and slowly lifted your top, thankful for the fact that you still had your bra on. Your shoulder was almost done bleeding, but there was a gnarly gash there with the sides already bruising. Your left wrist was sore and bruised, the color radiating into your forearm. You weren’t sure if it was broken or sprained, but you did know it was painful. 

Din sucked in his breath before shaking his head. You hated the churning feeling in your stomach; it was an odd combination of joy that he clearly held some modicum of affection for you, and the other part was upset that he was so worried. His hand rested on your cheek for a  moment before he brushed his knuckles along your jaw. 

“C’mon,” he reached for your hand without waiting for an answer as he gently pulled you to the refresher. You silently sat down on the edge of the tub and watched as he gathered the supplies that you normally used on him. Oh how the tables had turned. He reached you gently before kneeling down, the black T of his visor intently trained on you, “this might hurt a little bit.”

“Okay,” you nodded slightly before closing your eyes, finding yourself leaning into his touch, seeking it out like an animal seeking out the sun’s kiss. You couldn’t hold back the hiss that escaped your lips at the contact of the alcohol he was using to clean your wounds. 

“I know,” he cooed softly, his voice so low and gentle. You bit the inside of your cheek as he tended to your wounds, but you knew that the pain and discomfort was written all over your face, “I know, cyar’ika. You’re doing so well.”

Your heart leapt with affection at his gentle words and touch. You’d known that deep down he was a soft-hearted and kind man but having him display his affections so openly was an entirely different thing. 

It didn’t take the Mandalorian very long to take care of your wounds; years of practice on himself had taught him a thing or two. He just hated the idea that it was happening to you instead of him. He should have gone with you…he shouldn’t have taken no for  an answer. 

When he was done, he patted your knee gently and slowly straightened back up. You looked up at him with a soft smile, “thank you, Din.”

“The cuts will heal just fine,” he held out his hand to help you up. You tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, “your wrist is sprained. It’s not broken. But you’ll have to take it easy with that hand.”

“Okay,” you felt so small next to him, sheerly from his height and the bulk of his armor. You swallowed thickly, “guess I should have let you come after all.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed quietly, neither agreeing or disagreeing with you, “who did this?”

“I don’t know,” you admittedly honestly, “it was some man, I didn’t get a good look at him. He caught me when I was running out.”

“I’ll go back and find him-”

“But I got what we were looking for,” you reached into your pocket and pulled out the stolen pieces of kyber crystal you had retrieved, “now it can go back to the rightful owner.”

He nodded, taking one of the pieces and admiring it with curiosity. But, like always, his attention shifted back to you, “I’m coming with you next time.”

“I expected nothing less,” you laughed softly, the sound going straight to his heart. It was like every little thing you did had become something he loved, a small piece of his soul. 

The two of you remained silent for a few moments, a shift rifting through the air. Din’s hands found your face as he gently cradled it, studying you intently. Your face felt like it was on fire, and you wanted nothing more than to be able to kiss him. But you couldn’t - wouldn’t - do anything without his permission. 

He brushed his thumb along your bottom lip, causing every fiber of your being to hum in content. 

“Din…” you almost whispered his name and caused gooseflesh to burst all over his skin. It would be so easy for him just to lift up the helmet enough to kiss you. It would be so easy and simple, and he yearned and ached for it. 

“Cyar’ika,” his breathing was stunted and he was so close to doing it, to doing what he’d been dying to do since he realized he’d fallen in love with you. He reached up and started to push the helmet but you grabbed onto his wrist and stopped him. 

“No,” you whispered, surprising both of you. Despite how much you wanted this, you didn’t want him to do anything just because of the intimate moment, “not like this.”

He seemed to know what you meant and he dropped his hand, but nothing before lacing your fingers through his and gently squeezing it. 

Before either of you could say anything else, a soft, gentle babbling caused both of you to look towards the doorway. Grogu was there, happily looking between the two of you. You and DIn took a step apart, and he cleared his throat. 

Grogu padded his way over and plopped down in between the two of you. You’d never been more thankful - or annoyed - for his interruption. 

You met DIn’s gaze and offered him a small smile. 

You knew he was returning it under the helmet. 

It held a small promise of soon.

[thefrogdalorian]

The Best of Both Worlds: Chapter Ten

Din Djarin x Female Reader Modern!AU

❁ Series Masterlist ❁ My Masterlist ❁ Read on AO3 ❁

Word Count:  9833 Rating: MATURE (18+ MDNI) Summary: The realities of the secret he is keeping from you begin to weigh heavily on Din's mind and he seeks advice from a certain curly haired co-star on what his next move should be. Things don't go exactly according to plan, not least because of the typically awful English weather... Content Warnings: Alcohol consumption, reader passes out from drinking too much and Din lifts her up (But made clear how strong/athletic he is, I struggle to imagine it for myself anyway!). Smut (non explicit, a lot of implied action but it gets a little steamy). Author's Note: Thanks for being patient while waiting for this one! It took longer than I hoped to publish it becaus I wanted to get it juuuust right as this wis a very important chapter for Din and Sunflower. I'd love to know what you think of his decision.... 👀

10. There's A War Inside Of Me - (Din's POV)

Din Djarin was in a bind. A terrible bind. Since meeting you, he had weaved a web of half-truths. The unbelievable, ridiculous set of events that had introduced you into his life had led him to this position: ensnared in the centre of a tangle torrid of lies that formed a web of his own making. Din knew that the position was becoming untenable. But he did not have the faintest idea of where to even begin to untangle himself. All Din knew for certain was that every second that the lie continued brought fresh agony to his anguished soul. 

The misery of not being in your presence was only compounded by the knowledge that you did not truly know who he was. 

Things did not get any better when Din spent time with you. Every time Din was with you, he feared that the truth would inadvertently slip out somehow and the secret he was keeping from you would be revealed. His fears were well-founded as, throughout the short time you had been dating, there had already been several close shaves. Moments when Din had come precariously close to having his cover blown.

Like on that night in the hotel when a bottle of champagne had almost brought everything crashing down around him…

✯✯✯

Din watched in horror as you raised the bottle in his direction when he entered your suite, after briefly leaving you alone to check on Kuiil and Grogu. His astonishment was not merely because you had, somehow, gotten your hands on more alcohol. It was directed in equal measure towards the little gold envelope you were clutching in your hand. 

“Din!” You shrieked. Din was completely bemused by how your previously sober – or at least sobering-up self – had been replaced by the giddy, giggly girl from the noodle shop. 

“They knocked on my door and gave me a bottle of champagne! Me! A bottle of champagne! Can you believe that?” You giggled breathlessly. “They gave me this envelope too, addressed to some guy called Jim Freeman! How funny is that? Do I look like my name is Jim Freeman?”

Din still stood there by the door, unmoving, rooted to the spot. You had realised, he knew it. You knew exactly who the man bearing that name was. It was the final piece of the puzzle which had led to you figuring out Din’s true identity. He knew with absolute certainty you were about to confront him about the secret he had been hiding from you. He braced himself for everything to come crashing down around him. When it did not, and you took another swig from the enormous bottle, Din employed his most convincing tone and attempted to steer you away from your current train of thought. 

“That’s pretty funny, Sunflower,” Din said with a nervous, awkward chuckle.

“It is!” You giggled. “It’s really funny. Did you know that the guy who created my favourite show has the same name?” You slurred, swaying slightly. There it was. Despite your alcohol-addled brain, you still remembered who the creator of The Mandalorian was. Din briefly tensed up, waiting for that particular train of thought to continue. When it didn’t, he felt himself relax as he realised that your drunken brain was too foggy to piece together the implications. Yet, Din was not yet out of the woods. When you spoke again, his blood ran cold. 

 “Wait!” You exclaimed, eyes widening as though a lightbulb had just switched on in your mind. “Do you know him? Is Jim Freeman your boss?” 

“No, he’s not my boss. It must be a common name. Perhaps they got the wrong room,” Din said quickly, hoping you wouldn’t press it further. He looked around the room, frantic for a distraction for your inebriated mind, which shouldn’t prove too difficult, considering how far gone you were. Din noticed a door leading away from the main room of the suite, giving him the perfect opportunity to change the subject. “Have you seen the bathroom yet?”

“No!” You squealed delightedly.

“Come on, Sunflower,” Din smiled, extending his hand to you. “I’ll show you the bathroom. It’s incredible, it even has a hot tub!”

Din felt himself relax a little as you grabbed his hand and followed him into the bathroom, squealing with delight at the promise of the luxuries which lay beyond the door. He hoped that in your intoxicated state, you had put down an envelope addressed to the writer of your favourite TV show sharing a name to mere coincidence. Of course, it wasn’t a coincidence at all. Din always asked Fennec to book hotels using Jim’s name. He didn’t have much longer to fret about it, though, distracted by your drunken antics as you clambered into the hot tub, fully clothed.

When Din had finally convinced you to dress in the swimsuit you had packed and joined you in the water, he delighted in the enthusiastic way you grabbed him and kissed him as the two of you sloshed around in the hot tub. The intimate moment certainly helped to put his mind at ease, though he did not allow things to escalate much further given your vulnerable state.

During a break in your slightly sloppy make-out session, Din watched, dumbfounded, as you clapped your unsteady hands against his jaw, cradling it in your hands. 

“You know, Din. You’re sooooo nice and kind, just like my favourite character Mando!” You giggled, clearly finding yourself hilarious without any idea of just how much your words terrified the man at your side. You sighed, staring at him contemplatively, and added, after a hiccup: “You kind of remind me of him.”

Din trembled with fear, despite the temperature of the water, as the implications of your words sunk in. He fretted that somehow, you had noticed the similarities. That even underneath the armour, with a distorted voice, he had failed to conceal his mannerisms once out of it well enough to fool you. Of course he had, you loved the show passionately. He should have foreseen this moment. He should have been honest from the beginning.

Mercifully, before Din could panic any further, he watched silently – with a stunned expression on his face – as you moved your hands from his cheeks down to his shoulders.

“And LOOK! Look at these broad shoulders!” You said, stroking his shoulders with a sleepy smile on your face. “So strong! You’re so strong, Din,” you slurred, before curling yourself into Din’s side and leaning down to rest your head on one of the shoulders that you apparently so admired. Then, you promptly fell asleep there, alerting Din to the fact when you began snoring loudly.

Din sat there, utterly baffled at the events which had just unfolded. At first, he panicked that you were making some kind of profound comparison between him and the character. As he considered it further, it seemed much more likely that it was your drunken ramblings, brought about due to your crush on Mando. Despite how far gone you were due to the baijiu and champagne, you had come terrifyingly close to the truth. You would never know just how correct you were.

Once he had ascertained that you were out for the count, Din realised that he needed to move you to bed. He sighed as he disentangled himself from your embrace and climbed out of the hot tub. Din scooped you up in his strong arms and was thankful that he adhered to such a strict exercise regime, perfect for lifting the dead weight of an adult human, passed out in a drunken stupor. Din laid you on the bed and towelled you off gently, before carefully tucking you under the crisp sheets. He dropped a gentle kiss on your forehead, before standing back and gazing at you sleeping soundly, blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil that your words had provoked within him. Din’s heart contorted in pain, as he realised his predicament. Tonight, a line had been crossed. Din knew that he had finally lied to you for the first time. How could he ever look into your eyes again? Your sweet innocent eyes, which gazed at him with so much devotion and admiration. If you knew who he truly was, the secret he was hiding from you, could you ever love him?

After Din left your room, he had lain awake for hours, tossing and turning in the luxurious suite next to yours as Grogu slept soundly in a travel cot by his bed. He couldn’t help but worry about the implications of the night, of the lie. The words he had said due to the golden envelope with Jim’s name on it. Din fretted about what would happen if you ever connected the dots in a way more profound than your drunken admiration of his shoulders. Would he lose you forever?

Din tried to push those depressing thoughts far from his mind as he looked at the little boy who was sleeping soundly by his side. He hoped for both of their sakes that he hadn’t blown it with you. That Din had been able to successfully explain the name away to your tipsy self. Din loved spending time in your company. He was stunned by how natural things felt with you already. Since meeting you, he had felt freer within himself than he had for a long, long time.

If he had ruined things with you, Din Djarin knew that he would never forgive himself.

✯✯✯

The following week, however, it appeared that Din had not ruined anything. Far from it, in fact, if the fact that he was currently making out with you on your couch was any indication. Din’s lips were pressed against yours while your fingers tangled in his hair and lightly scratched his scalp as Din explored your mouth and face with his kisses. He felt himself grow hard when you panted into his ear and asked him whether he wanted to take this to your room. It was a question that only had one reply.

As Din followed you to your room, he grinned as he felt your hand in his, leading him to the place where he hoped your relationship would finally reach a new level. Finally, it seemed that Din would have the opportunity to show you how attracted he was to you, to show you how much you meant to him. His pulse rate quickened as he thought about how he would get to explore every inch of your body with his lips and convey how much he adored you with something more than his words. He thought back to how frustrated he had been that night in the hot tub, when you had been so close to him wearing so little. It had been the sweetest torture. Tonight had been torture of a different kind. Feeling your body so close to his as the two of you had been gradually getting closer to each other as you cuddled and watched a movie. Din had been patiently waiting for you to make some kind of move, some suggestion to take things up a notch. Now that you had, it seemed that he would finally have his chance to worship your body the way he had wanted to since he had first laid eyes upon you. Din couldn’t believe how beautiful you were, how right it felt when he held you in his arms. He couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to get close to you. If the man who first laid eyes upon you at the convention could see himself now, Din knew that he would scarcely believe how lucky he was. 

Now, Din was achingly close to having you all to himself as you guided him to your room. To your bed.

Din could barely contain himself when you whined into his ear, begging for him. Especially when you took the lead and pushed him up against the door, searching his mouth desperately with your tongue. The feeling as your hands snaked underneath his shirt and roamed across his skin was intoxicating, every inch of his skin was on fire.

He threw his head back against the door in ecstasy, euphoric at your gentle touch. When Din’s eyes briefly flickered open again, he glimpsed it. He knew immediately what it was. He immediately seized up in fear, hoping for one, brief moment that he had been mistaken and the two of you could continue along to where Din’s mind and body was screaming at him to take this. Unfortunately, as the endorphins left his body, Din accepted exactly what – or, rather, who – the poster depicted. He recognised the pose with an intimacy that only the man who had served as the model for the artwork would know. 

It was as though Din was staring into some kind of horrifying, twisted mirror, and seeing his own reflection. He stared in horror at the enormous figure of Mando, looming over the bed. Your bed. The image of himself towering there, omniscient, omnipresent and watching the two of you embracing almost sickened him to his stomach. It felt as though Din, as Mando, was judging himself from behind that dark visor. It was a bizarre, out of body experience. 

Din felt a sharp stab of pain, as though he had been winded in a stunt gone wrong. He was instantly transported to the time during the filming of season one, when he had been punched in the ribs after an actor had accidentally struck a gap between his plates of beskar. Just as it had been back then, all the air had been knocked out of Din’s lungs when he looked up above your bed and saw the poster you hung there. The effigy of himself, of the character he portrayed, known to millions of people around the world – including you – hanging there, right above where he wanted to take you. Din knew he couldn’t make love to you underneath a poster of himself. That would be sick and twisted. The thought of the black t-visor boring down at him, staring at him judgmentally as he took you on the bed… it was sickening.

It was then that he had pulled away and ran away, like a coward, rather than telling you the truth…

✯✯✯

Things had not gotten any easier for Din in the days that had followed since that evening in your bedroom. His soul was as anguished as ever, as he realised the precariousness of his situation. It had taken all of his strength and experience to make it to the end of another week of filming. Between takes, however, his mind wandered as he fretted about what to do, about where to even begin, were he to tell you the truth. 

Events from that night at your flat in particular had been weighing heavily on Din’s mind. It wasn’t as though Din had ever been in the dark about your love for the show that he was the star of, but seeing an image of himself in your bedroom, right above your bed, had rocked him to his core. It had made him realise what a dangerous position he had put himself in by being reckless and exploring a relationship with you. The worst thing was how much he cared for you. He was at constant war with himself, wondering how he dared to have the right to say he cared for you after the way he had purposefully hidden something from you. After he had lied to you.

Of course, when he thought of that night, Din was frustrated at how close the two of you had finally been to taking your relationship to another level, only to be stopped short by unforeseen circumstances. That frustration paled in comparison to how terrible Din felt at the thought of how personally you might have taken the interaction. 

He had tried to make it clear that his reason for backing away was not because he didn’t want you or was not attracted to you. Din knew that if you knew some of the ways he thought about you, you would never think such a thing. It broke his heart to think that you may have ever considered such a terrible thing to be true, when in reality, he wanted you more than anything.

Din ran, in part, because seeing the image of a version of himself staring back at him – a character that you loved and had passionately defended that day at the convention – freaked him out due to its looming presence over your bed. He also ran because seeing that poster was a stark reminder of the secret he was hiding from you. Din realised that he could not in good conscience take things any further without first being honest with you about who he really was. 

Lying to you was one thing, a matter he still bitterly regretted but actually falling into bed with you without having first had the guts to tell you the truth about the secret he had been keeping from you? Well, that would feel, to Din, like a betrayal of you. So, despite how much Din had ached to stay and allow himself to fall in bed with you, the pang of terror that he felt as the steely, unrelenting gaze of his own T-visor stared back at him had sent him running for the hills.

Try as he might to push it from his mind and distract himself with filming and taking care of Grogu, thoughts of that night and his near-betrayal of you continued to feature prominently in Din’s mind, even when he was on set. Between takes, he would think of how he was going to cut himself free from the tangle of lies he had weaved for himself.

Every scenario that he ran through in his mind of how to move forward seemed to have some downside. There was to be no way out of this particular predicament. A real bind, in every sense. 

Din was in an incredibly difficult position. Albeit one that he had only himself to blame for putting himself in. He knew at the time that pursuing something with you, even after he knew how big of a fan of Mando you were, was probably not the smartest idea. Yet, not having you in his life was unthinkable. You had bowled him over with your attentiveness, your intelligence and your kindness towards Grogu. Just being yourself had caused the ordinarily stoic and composed man, a trained warrior, to lose all rational thought. His Sunflower, his beautiful Sunflower, had brought so much vibrancy to his life. 

It was better to tell you the truth before you figured it out yourself. Din knew that if he left it too long and you figured out who he was before he had told you, it might hurt you. He had already had more than enough close shaves. There had been a couple of occasions when things had gotten too close for comfort for Din’s liking, especially for a man who always liked to be in control.

It wasn’t just the envelope that had brought you dangerously close to uncovering the truth that night in the hotel. There was the other moment when the two of you were splashing around in the hot tub. He remembered how you had insisted that he reminded you of Mando. It was more of a comparison to his physical attributes, rather than any concrete theories. But still, Din had panicked, frantically wondering whether the bottle of champagne that had been delivered in Jim’s name had made something click for you. He tried his best to maintain an air of calmness outwardly, while inside, Din was frantic that you hadn’t been in an entirely drunken stupor when he explained the name away. 

Mercifully, the following morning when you woke up, Din discovered that you had been so out of it that you hadn’t even remembered whether you had slept together and had been utterly convinced that you had gone to the spa. If you couldn’t remember those two things, there was no way you remembered the envelope or the comments you made to him in the hot tub. It had been too close for comfort, but you had not brought it up on subsequent dates and it seemed that it was long out of your mind.

Din wondered if these close calls, the way you had unknowingly come close to uncovering the truth, had perhaps been a sign that he needed to be honest with you. He considered how, if your hands had roamed just a little lower than merely his stomach when the two of you were kissing in your bedroom, things would have passed a point of no return. Din wanted you so badly that he was sure that even having seen the poster, he would have been left with no choice but to stay with you. To finally get close to you and feel your body against his, without any barriers. Just the two of you, finally becoming one. 

Perhaps it was for the best then, that he had spied the poster when he did. That there was possibly a hint of hesitancy in your ministrations which had bought him some time. Instead of focusing on his frustration, Din wondered whether he should be grateful that events had played out the way that they had. He would never be grateful that he had pushed you away and upset you, of course. But perhaps this was the wake up call he needed, an opportunity he should seize as now, he had no choice but to address his bizarre behaviour. 

But every time he imagined himself telling you the truth, Din felt himself trembling with nerves, in stark contrast to his usual stoic nature. He wondered how he would ever get the words out, how to even begin to tell you the truth. It was such a ridiculous, unimaginable predicament that someone as ordinarily calculating and meticulous as Din had gotten himself into. 

It didn’t help that he could not shake you from his mind, either. 

No matter how hard he tried, visions of your face would not stop flickering through his mind. Even when he was not with you, Din longed for your presence, to feel you close to him. To press more kisses against your soft lips and traverse your soft skin with his hands. He could not stop thinking about you, no matter how hard he tried. Not when he was on set, or alone at home with Grogu, or lying awake at night. You were all that was on his mind.

✯✯✯

Somehow, despite how distracted Din had been, he had successfully made it through another week of filming The Mandalorian without another disastrous day like the one he had after encountering you at the museum when he had been sent for an early lunch. Well, almost made it through. It was Friday lunchtime on set and Din found himself sitting alone in his trailer with only his racing thoughts for company. The silence gave him an opportunity to quietly contemplate his next move. It was a warm summer's day, so Iggy had taken Grogu to a local park to get some fresh air so the little boy wasn’t cooped up in the studio all day. In his absence, Din felt his emotions all the more strongly, with no one there to distract him from fretting about how he was ever going to tell you the truth. 

At the peak of his despondency, there was a knock at the door. Din placed his helmet atop his head and padded across the room, and discovered a certain eccentric, curly-haired co-star at the door. 

“Heard Grogu wasn’t around, figured you might want some company,” Peli offered as she marched across the room and took a seat on the plush sofa. 

“Thanks, Peli,” Din nodded, before taking a seat next to her. He sighed. Din was grateful for her presence, the distraction she would provide from his anguish, but he was struggling to keep his emotions in check.

“You seem a little stressed,” Peli noted.

Din shrugged. He wasn’t always the most skilled at talking about his feelings, especially not with someone who could be as abrasive as Peli.

“How are things going with your girl, Mando?” Peli asked. If Din had been able to drink the coffee that he had been sipping before Peli had entered the room in her presence instead of needing to hide his face behind a helmet after she entered, he was sure he would have spat it all over her.

“I… uh, fine,” Din stuttered.

“You don’t sound so sure,” Peli said, raising an eyebrow.

“No, things are great. She’s great. Fantastic, intelligent, beautiful. So funny and caring towards Grogu. It’s just… me,” Din sighed. 

“Why? Did something happen?” Peli asked, her voice full of sympathy.

“I haven’t told her the truth, Peli,” Din admitted. “I can’t, I’m too afraid of losing her. But I fear if I don’t soon, I might push her away.”

Din elected to omit the steamier details of just how and why he had ended up in your room, knowing that Peli would never let him live it down otherwise. He could already imagine all the ways she would tease him, so he continued with his retelling of events, minus the salacious details:

“I was at her flat last weekend. We were having a lovely evening but then I saw, in one of the rooms, that she had a poster of me, of Mando. I knew she was a fan but just seeing it, I freaked out,” Din winced at the memory. “I ran away. I feel like I can’t lie to her anymore, but I don’t know how to tell her the truth.”

“Oh, Mando,” Peli said sympathetically, squeezing Din’s arm just underneath his pauldron in an attempt to console him. “It seems as though you’re really in a tough spot.”

The fact that Peli wasn’t laughing or teasing him, somehow made Din feel even worse about the whole thing. At least if Peli had made some teasing remark or joke about it, things would have felt far more normal and less intimidating to Din. Instead, the fact that Peli actually felt bad and was comforting him, was a testament to the seriousness of the situation.

“I know. I don’t know what to do, Peli,” Din admitted. 

“Can you tell her?” Peli asked. “I mean, are you allowed to? Is there anything in your contract that would forbid you from telling other people?”

“No,” Din replied, honestly. “I can tell whoever I want, but others are forbidden from naming me. There are only a handful of people that know my identity.”

“So if you wanted to, right now, you could take your helmet off and show me your face?” Peli said, clearly stunned at the information.

“I could,” Din confirmed.

“But you’re not going to.”

“No, Peli. I’m not going to,” Din agreed, relieved that the question was hypothetical, that she was not pushing him.

“Well, that’s interesting to note,” Peli said with a smirk and Din found himself relieved that the characteristic teasing tone he was so used to was back. “No, seriously, Mando. I think you just have to come out with it and tell her the truth. Does she talk about the show a lot? I mean, does she talk about it enough that after telling her the truth, you would feel like she was only staying with you because she’s a fan of the show and not because she likes you as a person?”

“No, not at all. Our connection goes deeper than all of this,” Din said, gesticulating towards his armour. “She mentioned Mando once when she was wasted. She said that I seemed as nice and kind as him and something about how I had broad shoulders. Which I suppose are all compliments. And I didn’t realise that people paid any attention to my shoulders.”

“Oh yeah, absolutely,” Peli nodded, her eyes glazing over slightly as she agreed. “I mean the suit! The suit just makes you look broad!”

Din smirked behind the helmet and shook his head at the kooky woman before him. Peli could be ridiculous sometimes. Din always felt as though she was an older relative, always keen to look out for him. Until sometimes, when she would make comments which led Din to believe that she possibly had a crush on him. Theirs was a confusing dynamic, but ultimately Din knew how deeply they both cared for each other. 

“Anyway, Mando. I think you have to tell her before things get any more serious between the two of you. If you wait, she might feel as though you lied to her. Maybe she’d even resent you, after finding out the truth. I don’t think there’s any way around it. Being The Mandalorian is such a big part of your life, I can’t imagine you hiding that from anyone. I mean, have you considered the fact that you will probably leave the country soon, after filming finishes?”

“No. I hadn’t even thought of us leaving. Um, I was considering sticking around since Grogu seems to love it here so much. It’s quiet and peaceful. I was thinking Grogu and I could build a life together here, with her.”

“Awwww, Mando. Look at you, settling down, putting down roots!” Peli teased.

Din huffed a laugh from underneath his helmet, but truthfully Peli’s words terrified him. Could he ever truly stay in one place and allow anyone to occupy his heart entirely? Din knew that if anyone was going to convince him to finally make a home somewhere, it was going to be you.

That thought should have excited him, thrilled him as he imagined your future together. But as he went about the rest of his day and finished filming, all he could think about was the terror of losing you forever when he finally told you the truth. Lying about the name on the envelope, deflecting questions about his job, while you ranted about yours. Would you ever forgive him?

Seeing Grogu after he arrived home did not even help his anguished soul, either. Even as he played with his son that night, visions of your face contorting in pain and rage as you discovered the truth about his identity played in his mind, over and over.

Despite understanding that telling you the truth was the best course of action, Din was still absolutely terrified. After putting Grogu to bed, he sat on the couch and texted you, laughing at the humour that shone through in your every word as you caught him up on your week. With each string of letters and message received, your words unknowingly only added to Din’s anguish. The feeling that he continued to live a lie was never far from his mind. His guilt for starting something with you when he knew that he was hiding a secret that would surely change everything loomed over him. 

Din knew that he had to tell you the truth about who he was. Telling the truth was the right thing to do. A man as honourable as Din valued the truth above all else. He knew that it might cost him everything, but he couldn’t stand to see you hurt if he waited any longer to tell you the truth. Din knew that coming clean could change everything between the two of you. He was aware that you might even hate him after discovering that he had not been entirely transparent with you, but it was a risk he had to take if he was going to secure any kind of future with you. Din knew that healthy relationships could not be built upon lies and deception. At least not without them crumbling eventually.

It wasn’t going to be easy, though.

As he went to bed that night, Din fretted that the next time he laid his head upon his pillow, he would have lost you forever. He feared that you would never speak to him again after he finally came clean and revealed the truth…

✯✯✯

Ding dong.

Din bounded to the door enthusiastically after hearing the doorbell ring, leaving Grogu momentarily unattended in the kitchen. Despite the part of him that was dreading the news that he knew he would have to impart on you, he couldn’t wait to see you. Din had been practically giddy all morning, the thought of finally having you in his house was an electrifying prospect. 

Din hoped that telling you the truth wouldn’t change your relationship in the long run. He supposed that you would probably take some time to process his revelation, and he wouldn’t be able to blame you for that. Din imagined that discovering that the guy you had been dating for a couple of months was secretly the actor from your favourite show would take some time to wrap your head around. For a man usually so meticulous and deliberate with his actions, surprisingly, Din hadn’t thought precisely about how he would tell you. He just hoped that he would slip it into conversation perhaps gradually with some hints that would lead you to hopefully connect the dots without too much intervention from him. 

The first sight of you, after Din opened the door, caused all thoughts of telling you to flee far from his mind. You looked so beautiful, even though you were not dressed for anything more formal than a casual afternoon with Din and his boy. He stood there for a second, transfixed at the way you wore your hair and how your clothes complimented your features perfectly.

“Earth to Din!” You giggled, waving a hand.

“Oh!” Din shook his head, finally realising that he had been standing there wordlessly admiring you. “Come on in, Sunflower.”

Din’s heart swelled as you smiled and stepped over the threshold, gracing his cottage with your presence for the very first time. It only expanded further when you wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned in for a kiss. When you finally broke away for air, you leaned your forehead against Din’s and smiled shyly.

“Hi,” you whispered. “Been wanting to do that all week.”

“Me too,” Din smiled, enjoying the intimacy of the moment. “Come on, I’ll show you where we’re having lunch.” 

Din stepped back from your embrace and began walking through the corridor which led to the kitchen, eager to see his son.

“Grogu can’t wait to see you, I made us–” but Din trailed off when he realised he did not hear your footsteps behind him. 

Din smiled at the way you had stopped in the corridor, a look of awe on your face as you glanced out of the old paned window towards the rolling lush green hills that lay just beyond the window. When he had first moved here, Din had found himself just as awestruck as you were. Somewhere along the way, he had forgotten just how beautiful the view was. Life had gotten busier, his schedule more hectic... but thankfully you were here to bring some peace back.

“In under an hour I’ve gone from the sprawl of the city to something as peaceful and scenic as this,” you whispered in amazement. “It’s beautiful.” 

“Not as beautiful as you,” Din breathed as he walked up behind you and placed his strong arms around your waist. He nuzzled into your hair, enjoying your scent and delicately kissed the top of your head.

Din was happy to hold you in that embrace for a few minutes, holding you closely and tightly as if he were scared that you were going to slip away from him somehow. He felt as though you might, given the enormity of what he had yet to tell you. Plus, he wanted to make up for the way he had pushed you away the previous week and underline how attracted he was to you. Din probably could have stayed there all afternoon, holding you close and feeling the calmness and warmth that spread throughout his body whenever you were in his arms. But it seemed that his son had other ideas. Grogu let out a loud babble from the kitchen and Din released your waist, not without one final kiss. 

“I’m afraid that my cooking skills are not quite as good as yours,” Din admitted as the pair of you walked to the kitchen, hand in hand. “So I just made us some sandwiches.”

“Sounds wonderful,” you smiled as you entered the kitchen. “Hi Grogu!” You said cheerfully to the little boy who was sitting patiently in his high chair at the table, clearly eager to commence with the lunch that his father had lovingly made for him.

Din loved the way you greeted Grogu, you spoke to him as though he was a person and not just a cute child. Din knew that somehow, Grogu sensed the world around him on a deeper level than most children of his age did, due to his past. It was something that both broke his heart but made him incredibly proud to be this little boy’s guardian. 

“Those sandwiches look like they were made by someone who loves you very much,” you said, nodding towards Grogu’s plate before smiling at Din.

Din found himself blushing as he realised that you had noticed the way he had prepared Grogu’s food. He had painstakingly cut the crusts off Grogu’s sandwiches and chopped them into triangles. It was just how Grogu preferred them, he couldn’t resist spoiling the little boy and giving him pretty much everything that he wanted. If there was something that made Grogu happy, Din would not hesitate to accommodate him.

✯✯✯

After lunch had been eaten, Din was about to suggest going for a walk. He thought that he could perhaps use the stunning scenery to his advantage, to distract you from the wrath that you would no doubt wish to reign down upon him after you discovered the information that he had been hiding from you. But you were first to speak, and your words struck terror into Din’s heart.

“You know, it’s funny because I thought I recognised the name of this village for some reason, and when we drove over here, the driver was telling me that there are some film studios here,” you babbled excitedly. “He told me that this is where they made the original Star Wars movies. I didn’t realise how close it was to where you live, Din!” 

Din was frozen by your comment, utterly blindsided by your words. Was that a hint, a question? Was it wrong that he desperately hoped it was? At least he wouldn’t have to begin the conversation himself, then. Plus, Peli had suggested that he take a run-up to the reveal by perhaps first telling you that he worked on the show and then eventually saying that he was in fact The Mandalorian. Din knew that this would be the perfect chance to slip it in, tell you that yes, he did work at the studios and what was more, he worked on your favourite show. Instead, Din felt himself frozen, paralysed by fear. Despite the moment which had fallen into his lip, he could not seize the opportunity.

“Oh, sorry,” you mumbled, looking down in embarrassment. “I forgot you don’t like Star Wars.”

Din breathed a tremendous sigh of relief, the moment had passed, without him even needing to intervene.

“It’s fine, Sunflower,” Din smiled. “I never realised just how close it was,” Din shrugged, busying himself with clearing the plates.

It was another lie. They were almost becoming too easy now, too habitual. If you weren’t currently speaking to Grogu and making the little boy roar with laughter, perhaps Din’s mind would have been spiralling and berating himself for his lies. Instead, he was smiling back at the interaction as he tidied the mess from your lunch away and thinking just how perfectly you had already fitted into life in his cottage…

✯✯✯

Din felt the comforting weight of Grogu in his baby carrier, nestled against his chest as the three of you strolled through the stunning countryside. It was a presence that Din attempted to ground himself with, to draw strength from as he thought about beginning to tell you the truth. The words ran through his mind, over and over. But he could not bring himself to vocalise them, to begin telling you the truth. Din peered down at Grogu’s curly hair, feeling his heart constrict when he thought of all his son had been through in his young life. The child had seemed happiest here, in this location, out of the numerous places they had lived together. Not only that, but Grogu had seemed at his happiest with you. How could Din ever bring that crashing down for him?

As you strolled up a hill towards a particularly stunning view that Din enjoyed hiking up to whenever he had a day off, Din considered that now would be the perfect opportunity to just come clean to you and inform you that he was in fact, the man behind your favourite TV show. Something was stopping him each time. It was the way you looked, your complexion glowing against the landscape. It was the way you felt, your soft hand in his, fingers laced tightly together. It was how you made him feel, the warm presence in his chest whenever you were near. No matter how hard Din tried to visualise him saying those words and finally vocalising the rough script that had been turning over in his mind over and over… Din just could not do it. He was utterly terrified of losing you, of ruining this thing that had become so precious and had been just what you both needed. To ruin that, to potentially cause himself and Grogu to lose you, it was unthinkable.

So he stayed quiet. Din realised he was doing something he utterly despised: being a coward. But he rationalised his decision as he looked down at his son, realising how calm and serene Grogu was at this moment. There was no way Din could contemplate sacrificing his son’s happiness.

Din’s silence caused his heart to flutter with anxiety when the two of you approached the crest of the hill and the grey buildings came into view. Once again, he had inadvertently put himself in a position where Din and Mando’s worlds were coming dangerously close to colliding.

Din regretted his decision to suggest this particular route almost as soon as the three of you made it to the crest of a fairly sizable hill about half a mile from his house. His regret did not come due to the grey clouds that had suddenly rolled in across the horizon. It came because he realised, far too late, that his place of work was on full display from up here. The grey buildings that comprised The Volume were visible, even behind the tall ferns that had been planted to try and obstruct the views. Din knew that since you were such a big fan of the show, you likely knew full well that it was not only the original Star Wars movies which had been shot here, but The Mandalorian too. Inviting you to his home had been a risk for numerous reasons, but this walk had been downright reckless. 

Din glanced over at you, wondering if you had connected the dots. He found your expression impossible to read, but probably one of awe due to your surroundings rather than realising the significance of the buildings. If you had realised their significance, however, you had not vocalised it to him. Din hoped, as you stood there appreciating the view that you were too busy focusing on the rolling hills and lush greenery to realise the importance of the buildings before you.

Mercifully, the climate of Din’s temporary home country was here to bail him out. It was early August, but that did not stop the typical English weather from being as unpredictable as ever. The grey clouds that had rolled in suddenly looked more ominous than they had when the three of you had first reached the crest of the hill. Din noticed that the air was suddenly incredibly peaceful and still. 

But not for long. 

The heavens opened, and thick raindrops were suddenly pelting the three of you. Grogu let out a squeal as his father moved to place a hood over his unruly curly hair. Din looked around, fearful that you would be cold and upset that your walk had been ruined. But instead of finding you despondent or enraged, Din was relieved to see the enormous grin that had swept over your features. As the pair of you began to take in your predicament – stranded on top of a hill with a toddler in tow as a storm swept in – Din found that he could not do anything except laugh. He was almost bent double, hands on his knees as he dissolved into fits of giggles. Din had not been this carefree, he had not laughed this much for a long time. But, here, with you… in this stupid situation that would have probably completely freaked him out if he was here with anyone else on earth… he could do nothing more than laugh. It was a freeing, welcome experience and he soon found that his cheeks ached after all the laughter.

“There’s a tree over there, should we shelter underneath it?” Your suggestion finally snapped him out of his glee. The idea of waiting out the storm underneath a tree seemed palatable at first, but Din soon realised that this might be a storm of such veracity to include lightning. After all, the rumbles of thunder had been the last sounds before the heavens had opened.

“What if there’s a bolt of lightning?” Din replied, having to shout slightly over the noise of the rain. He suddenly realised that despite the time he had spent outdoors in his life, he did not comprehend storms as well as he should have. The English countryside was rather unfamiliar terrain to him, after all. 

“Good point,” you agreed. 

Din looked at you quizzically as you reached out to take his hand in yours. Although the two of you had walked up the hill, hand in hand, he had dropped it in all the commotion of putting the hood on Grogu and making sure his son was okay. The rain was pelting down with a vengeance now, hard enough that Din was momentarily concerned that it was going to leave bruises. He was just about to open his mouth to ask you why you had taken his hand, when, without warning… you started running down the hill. Din almost found himself knocked off his feet, fortunately, his reflexes meant that your actions did not send Din and Grogu tumbling down in a muddy heap.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline of running hand in hand with you, or the distinct giddiness that rain has a unique ability to cause, but Din could not stop laughing the entire way home. Even as your pace slowed once you did not have the slope of the hill to assist your journey home, he was still breathless with laughter. The rain slowed somewhat as the three of you made it to the village, and had almost stopped when Din’s cottage finally came into view. Din was soaked to the bone and fretted as your teeth began chattering as you walked up the path.

“The heating should be on,” Din offered as he pushed the old wooden door open.

“Excellent!” You squealed, making a beeline for the radiator. “I’m staying right here!” You sighed, clinging to the radiator for dear life.

“Alright, I’m just going to bathe Grogu and then put him down for a nap,” Din explained.

“Okay, see you later Grogu,” you smiled. “And well done for being so brave.”

Din grinned as he ascended the stairs, his heart soaring at your words. Some people may not have even picked up on how scary a storm could be for a child as sensitive to Grogu… but you were different. You stunned Din with the depths of your capacity for love with every interaction.

✯✯✯

When Grogu was bathed, dried and settled for his nap, Din descended the stairs. A smirk appeared over his features when he realised that you were still in the same position. His smirk dropped as soon as he realised that you were wearing significantly fewer clothes than he remembered.

“Sorry, I had to take my shirt and jeans off,” you shrugged. “Couldn’t bear the feeling of wet clothes.

“It’s fine, Sunflower,” Din nodded, but his brain was struggling to comprehend the sight before him. Of you, topless, in his house.

“Din?!” You exclaimed, Din snapped his head to look at you, not realising that he had been ignoring you. “I said, is it okay if I take a shower?”

“Oh! Right, sorry of course you can. I’ll get you a spare pair of pyjamas.” Din said, mouth slightly ajar as he regarded you in just your underwear. He had seen you in only a swimsuit that night in the hotel, of course, but that had been a few weeks ago. And you had been wasted. Ogling you then had felt like he was taking advantage of you… but now you seemed to know full well what you were doing. Your shy smile indicated exactly that you knew the impact you were having on his body. 

That night in the flat, when you had been about to finally fall into bed together until the poster that hung above your bed had stopped him in his tracks, was a distant memory. Din had cursed that poster endlessly since that fateful day, now perhaps he would curse it no more. Every day since then, he yearned to touch you, to taste you. Every time he had gotten himself off quickly in the shower when his thoughts had become too much to bear any longer, it was you who he imagined as he pumped his length with his fist. Your mouth around his throbbing cock, so soft, so warm…

“Hello! Din!” You said, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Uh, shit. I’m sorry.” Din said, absolutely mortified that you had caught his mind wandering again.

“I was just asking you to show me where the bathroom is, so I can take a shower. My eyes are up here, mister,” you added, with a flirtatious smirk.

“Sorry, yes, of course,” Din quickly recovered and moved in the direction of the stairs.

As he ascended them with you following closely behind, Din took a deep breath in an attempt to steady his racing pulse. He had invited you here to tell you the truth about who he was. Now, thanks to the weather, things had taken a risque turn that he had certainly never intended.

When he reached the bathroom, he pushed the door open and switched the light on. You stepped inside and murmured your thanks.

“Enjoy your shower,” Din breathed and then turned around to leave.

Din jumped as he felt your fingers close around his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. You pulled him back towards you and placed your fingers into his curly hair. For a moment, Din wondered if he was going to pass out as you played with the damp dark brown hairs at the nape of his neck. He sighed and gazed at you adoringly. Then, Din groaned as you tilted your head to the side to kiss him, firstly on his mouth and then along his jaw. 

“I didn’t say you couldn’t come with me,” you purred, your hot breath washing over the shell of his ear. Din shuddered with want.

Din nodded and took you by the hand. There was no going back now. No Mandalorian posters to stop you, no revealing secrets to halt this moment in its tracks. Din was already hard, throbbing with the weeks of pent-up desire that being close to you without having the opportunity to act upon it had produced.

Din wanted you, badly. 

As the two of you stood there in the bathroom, Din was vaguely aware that he didn’t want the first time he had you to be in the shower. He wanted to take you to bed, worship you with his lips and tongue, show you how special you were to him, how much you had changed his life. Din wasn’t sure that pushing you up against the tiles of his bathroom as the hot jets of his shower cascaded over your naked bodies was quite what he had envisioned for your first time together. Then again, there were many ways that you had taken Din by surprise throughout your relationship. The more he considered it, the more desperate your moans got as he continued the steamy makeout session in his bathroom with you, the more Din was certainly coming around to the idea.

When you reached around your back to peel your wet bra off your body, all protestations had left Din’s mind. You were so perfect, so beautiful, you clearly wanted him so badly given how your cheeks were flushed, your lips parted and your eyes darkened in desire as you gazed at him through your eyelashes. How could he deny you what you wanted?

“You’re beautiful,” Din rasped as he gathered you in his strong arms, bringing his lips to your neck and kissing a trail down towards your chest.

“Let’s get in the shower,” you panted. Din was pleased that you had somehow maintained enough brain cells to remind him of why you were in here in the first place. Neither of you particularly needed any warming up anymore, but there was a feeling of griminess that lingered after being caught in the rain like that.

As Din stripped out of his remaining clothes, discarding them alongside your soaked underwear in a heap on the floor that he would deal with later, he almost tripped in his haste to climb in the shower alongside you. Knowing that you were waiting for him, naked, and how badly you wanted him was enough to almost make him lose coordination in his desperation. Din could hardly believe this was happening, this was real. Although at the time he had cursed the English weather for being so unpredictable, it seemed now that it would be a blessing in disguise. You had ended up exactly where he had fantasised about you. Except this time, Din wouldn’t be stroking himself as he moaned your name desperately into an empty bathroom. This time, you would be moaning his name as you finally came together as one.

Din entered the shower and practically moaned at the sight of your naked form under the water. He grinned at the sight of you waiting for him, a perfect vision…

✯✯✯

Din’s breath hitched in his throat as he walked into Grogu’s bedroom and saw the sight before him. After the shower the two of you shared – which had devoted far more time to pleasure than actually cleaning off, but it had suitably achieved its initial goal of warming both of you up – Din had given you a pair of his pyjamas to change into while he went to make a hot drink. The sight of you wearing his old maroon flannel pyjamas had sent a bolt of desire coursing through him that almost sent him stripping you straight back out of them.  A task he would have relished, were it not for Grogu’s mewling over the baby monitor. Din had looked at you apologetically, but you had waved away his concerns and instantly gone to assist his son.

When he returned holding the steaming mugs, he saw you sprawled out on your stomach on the floor of Grogu’s bedroom, playing dinosaurs with him. It was a scene so shockingly domestic that it set every single one of Din’s nerve endings alight. You were being so attentive to Grogu, playing with him as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Grogu was giggling and clapping his chubby hands together. Din knew that he had had every intention of telling the truth, but it seemed as though the threat of missing out on moments like this was too great a risk to contemplate. Din set the mugs down and stood back to continue observing the scene before him.

“Thanks,” you smiled, before returning your attention to the boy.

“Come on Grogu, let’s play with this,” you said, leading Grogu to the corner of the room where a small wooden train set lay once he had become uninterested in the dinosaurs.

Observing you there with Grogu, Din felt as though the pieces of his life had finally fallen into place. Everything was too perfect. The hours Din had lay awake, worrying whether he was doing the right thing for Grogu by introducing you into their lives seemed like a distant memory now. Now, in you, Grogu had finally found someone he was comfortable with and happy with.

Din loved watching the two of you play together, swallowing a lump in his throat each time little giggles filled the room. That boy had been through too much in his life. To see him so happy was a miracle. Din knew that he couldn’t do anything to jeopardise that. If he told you the truth, he would potentially lose you and the love you had for Grogu, leaving their lives all the poorer for it. He would lose the love he hoped you already had, or would one day have for him, too. 

Din had lost his nerve. He should have been disgusted by himself, for cowardice was not the Mandalorian way. Family was, however, an integral part of being Mandalorian. Din knew that he had taken this decision for the good of his family, so he reasoned that he should not be too harsh on himself. The time for processing the decision he had made could come later, for now, it was time to appreciate your presence.

Din grabbed a brightly coloured wooden carriage and sat cross-legged on the fluffy carpet, smiling at the way the two of you seemed so thrilled he had joined in the game you were playing. The way you had fitted in with his home, as though you had always been here, it was difficult to believe that it had just been him and Grogu for so long.

As he pushed the wooden trains around with you and Grogu, Din almost dared to dream that the three of you were becoming a family.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @toxic-seduction @survivingandenduring @readingiskeepingmegoing

[the-kr8tor]

Hello love I got a request for you can you please do a yandere Hobie x techno spider woman reader

Where reader is a techno spider hero but she's also the daughter of Miguel and here's the twist Miguel and Hobie don't know that she's techno spider and when she's fighting spots, Hobie and Miguel finds out 🥰🥺🤗.

So about readers power she was bit by a techno spider so she's more like a techno DJ spider and she can release giant sound waves from a giant techno DJ set that comes when she uses her powers and her webs are like bluish and glitchy 🥰🤗😍😘

@/queenuchiha28- sup boo got another request for you yandere Hobie x Miguel's daughter reader

Reader is the daughter of Miguel and she's a spider woman known as hybrid spider and she has emo looks but she has a cool, nonchalant personality but her father Miguel and Hobie doesn't know that she's a spider woman and they find out

Love you boo

Hi hun! I combined your two requests since its premise is similar, hope you don't mind.

Pairing: Yandere! Hobie Brown x Spider-woman! Reader/ Yandere! Spider-Punk x Spider-woman! Reader.

Word count: 1.3k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, TW violence, possessive behaviour. ANGST

A/N: I made Miguel an asshole here, sorry, I actually love him, contrary to popular belief.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

"So I just shrugged, and left" you finish your story, while Hobie's casually playing with your hands. He laces your fingers, tangling them with his.

"I'm sure Miguel appreciated that," he says sarcastically.

"Oh you should've seen his face, he–" the loud beeping of Hobie's bracelet rings out, stopping you in your tracks.

You quickly let go of Hobie's hand, he misses your warmth immediately.

Lyla's bright hologram appears, a cheeky smile on her lips "hey lovebirds, aren't you glad it's not Miguel calling?" She bats her eyelashes, "anyway, there's trouble in Earth- 616, you're in Hobie" 

Lyla disappears back into the watch, you sigh, annoyed that your alone time gets cut off by spider duties. 

"Be right back" he leans towards you, holding on to your chin lovingly, Hobie leaves a small kiss on your lips, enough for you to want more, but you control yourself, stopping before you ask for a proper one. 

"Be careful" you softly say.

Hobie brings your hand to his lips, kissing your fingertips tenderly, eyes glued to yours. Your breath hitches in your throat. He teases you, smirking at your flustered face. Hobie pulls away, leaving you wanting more. 

He types in the coordinates, the sudden bright portal appearing in your dark room makes you squint. He looks back at you, winking. You smile lopsidedly.

Hobie enters the portal, making you alone again. You slump back on your sofa, wishing you could go with him, but alas you can't tell anyone that you're also a spider person, or else your father would get worried for your safety, and become more overprotective of you. You don't even know what Hobie's reaction will be.

Your thoughts get interrupted by your phone ringing, Miguel's caller ID pops up on the screen. You answer it almost immediately, thinking something might've gone wrong.

"Mija, where are you?" Miguel's familiar voice sounds out on the speakers.

"Home, why? Did something happen?" You're ready to jump into action especially if it involves Hobie. 

"Spiderbyte needs your help here, team alpha's asking for backup" 

You perk up, Hobie's a part of team alpha, shit is he okay? You stop your thoughts from getting worse, instead, you quickly make your way out of your dorm, making sure you grab the device you invented, your spider suit hidden in it.

"I'm on my way" you run towards the command center. 

You weave through the crowd of spider people, giving some of them a quick 'hello'.

Finally you make it to your destination, Miguel's already half way through a portal. 

Spiderbyte looks towards you, beckoning you over. You do your job, monitoring how the mission's going. You tap your hands restlessly on the table, your eyes trained on Miguel's form, at the same time looking for Hobie. 

Hobie's familiar back appears on screen, you can finally breathe again.

You watch as Spot makes more holes appear, throwing your loved ones further away. You grip the table tighter, seeing them lay still on the concrete floor. 

You press a button, alerting the available team for backup, trying to hide the shakiness of your voice, your usual calmness thrown out the window. "Attention team gamma, alpha needs backup, head to Earth- 616 immediately" 

Margo places a comforting hand on your shoulder, calming you a bit, you nod your head, telling her you're okay.

You turn your attention back towards the screens, watching as your father gets thrown like a rag doll. Spot makes a hole in the back of his head before Hobie's hand collides, Hobie gets punched in the face by his own knuckle, knocking him back.

The Spot is making a mockery of team alpha, while team gamma's nowhere to be found. Your feet move before you could think. Margo yells out your name, you press the button on your device, nanobots scatter around you, turning your dark civilian clothes into your suit. 

The jet black suit molds itself to your form, since the suit is still a prototype, it glitches out, different bright colors fade in and out in various parts of it. You'll worry about that later, right now, you need to save your loved ones. You quickly grab a bracelet from one of the work benches, strapping it on to your arm, you punch in the coordinates. 

You aim a bright web towards it, catapulting you. Bracing for impact, you land harshly on a roof. 

The Spot doesn't realize you're there, using the element of surprise, you manipulate your nanobots, turning them into a turntable, you play it sending shockwaves over the battlefield.

You miscalculated, the sheer force of it sends everyone else flying, except for the one you actually targeted. Spot finds himself free from being surrounded by spider people, he finds you standing, flabbergasted by what happened, you shouldn't have underestimated him. 

Spot mockingly waves at you, free to finally get away to another universe.

"No!" You shoot a web at him, trying to stop him, but he's already gone, already on his way to terrorize another dimension "shit" you land on the other side, feet skidding to a halt. 

Miguel lands loudly behind you, anger radiating off him "What did you do?!" He doesn't recognize you in your suit, mask still on your face.

Miguel harshly turns you towards him, "We almost had him! Who the hell are you?" He bares his fangs, you gulp for air, you shouldn't have come, you should've trained more, you should've– 

Hobie suddenly lands right next to you, mask torn on its side "go easy on her, she didn't mean to" 

Miguel ignores Hobie, leaning closer to you, his large shadow blanketing over you, "Who. are. you?" He growls out, causing you to move back, you stop when your back hits something sturdy. 

You can see Hobie from your peripheral, his chest stabilizing you. He nods knowing it's you under your mask.

"I didn't mean to" you reach for a button, opening your mask "I was trying to help, I'm sorry" you say meekly. 

Miguel's eyes widen when he sees your face, but it quickly morphs into anger "you could've been killed! I would've lost you!" He screams out, you swear you can see veins popping out on his forehead.

"She was just trying to help, bossman" Hobie counters, a tiny smirk on his lips, realizing he could use this opportunity.

"Stay out of this" Miguel points at Hobie "you're done," he grabs the web shooters from your wrists "I don't know when you got your powers, but you'll never use it again" Miguel takes your device from your hip, immediately shutting off your suit, leaving you in your regular clothes "You'll never be spiderwoman, I won't allow it" his words dripping in venom.

Your eyes water, you don't let the tears fall,  you stand tall, your knuckles shake, leaving half moons on your palms "you don't mean that, you won't lose me like–"

"Enough!" His voice booming out, he exhales out, massaging his temples "go home, you're banned from HQ and any spider business"

"Papa, please, I can do better" 

He doesn't answer, opening a portal back to spider society. Miguel doesn't even look back at you.

Hobie rubs your arms, comforting you. You break down in front of him, hugging him tightly, you try to stop the flow of tears, but you can't.

Hobie doesn't like it when you cry, but he finds himself smiling, Miguel was the only person that divides your attention from him, finally he has you all to himself. He wraps his arms around you tighter, rubbing a comforting hand over your back.

This wasn't his plan originally but he still got the same result he wanted, he knows not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He's all you have now, and he'll gladly have you, even if it means he has to take you away from your only family.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed it ❤️

[melodygatesauthor]

The Webs We Weave

Peter B. Parker X Miguel O'Hara

Not Beta Read

I MIGHT write more for this, but as of right now I don't plan for it to be a series.

Summary

Miguel is babysitting May one night while Mary Jane and Peter are on a date. When they come home and Peter is drunk, things take a turn that Miguel wasn't expecting.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, smut, top!Peter, bottom!Miguel, anal sex, we're ignoring anal prep in this one folks, anal creampie, cheating (Peter cheating on MJ), porn with some plot, gay sex, dirty talk, drunk sex, unprotected anal sex.

Word Count: 2k

“Thanks for watching May,” MJ whispered as she walked by Miguel who was sprawled out lazily on the couch.

“Yeah,” Miguel murmured, the fatigue of a long afternoon with the toddler weighing on him.

“I hate to ask this but, Peter is–”

“HEY MIG!” Miguel groaned upon hearing Peter’s voice outdoors, understanding perfectly well what Mary Jane was going to ask of him.

“On it,” Miguel grumbled, making his way to the door.

A drunken Peter was still sitting in the car, playing music far too loud for the neighborhood he lived in, and far too loud for one o’clock in the morning. Not to mention it had been a bit of a struggle to get May to sleep, and Miguel didn’t like the idea of listening to a screaming child all night. He practically ripped the car door off its hinges, turning the radio off before promptly grabbing Peter and pulling him out of the car.

“Will you shut the hell up? Your kid is sleeping.” Miguel hissed through clenched teeth, dragging Peter by the collar of his shirt into the house.

“I’m sorry!” He slurred. “Just trying to have fun with my wife, you know, that’s what I was trying to do!”

“Peter!” MJ whispered harshly, aiding Miguel to the bedroom with her intoxicated husband. “Put him on the bed. You getting drunk every time we have a date night isn’t fun for your wife.”

It was tough to see them like that. Miguel knew how much MJ meant to Peter, and vice versa, but he knew they weren’t happy. They hadn’t been happy for a long time. They’d invite Miguel over for dinner, or sometimes host parties and it would always end in one, or both, of them crying about how miserable they were. 

“Gotta stay together for the kid. I know it might not make sense to you since…”

Peter didn’t say shit like that on purpose, but it always made Miguel wanna knock the guy’s lights out whenever he did. The man’s a fucking idiot, Miguel reminded himself.

“Are you staying?” Mary Jane asked, eyes nearly pleading with Miguel.

He sighed, “yeah, yeah I guess I can. I had plans to go home and get a good night’s rest but yeah I can babysit your husband too. Why the hell not.”

~~~~

Miguel stayed. Of course he stayed. What else was he going to do? Leave his closest friend’s wife to deal with his bullshit? She was choosing to put up with his nonsense as much as Miguel was, but Miguel had a soft spot for Peter and his antics, even if he sported an irritated face ninety-percent of the time. Beneath that tough exterior, he cared deeply for the guy.

Miguel was curled up in the guest room when Peter sauntered down the hallway to the door.

“Mig,” Peter slurred, jumping Miguel in his bed.

“Jesus, Peter. You scared the shit out of–”

“Sh,” Peter shushed, sitting on the bed next to Miguel. “Don’t wanna wake up MJ.”

Miguel could see Peter’s features through the moonlight coming through the large window on the other side of the room. His eyes were underlined with dark circles and hair sticking out in every direction. Miguel’s eyes traced the outline of Peter’s body, white teeshirt sitting loosely over his frame.

“So you thought it was a good idea to wake me up? Peter–”

“I want a divorce, but I don’t want to do that to May.”

Miguel groaned. This wasn’t the first time he’d heard Peter talk like that, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“You’re drunk. Go to bed.” Miguel grumbled, laying back down and rolling over so his back was to Peter.

“Miguel,” Peter whispered, putting his hand on Miguel’s shoulder.

He tried to shrug Peter’s hand away but the man was persistent. He moved in, curling up behind Miguel and pressing his chest against the larger man’s spine. His arm snaked under Miguel’s arm and around his waist.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m just getting comfy, just relax will ya?” Peter sniffed out a laugh as he cozied up closer behind his friend.

Miguel could feel it, the hard press of Peter's dick against his ass cheek. He tried to ignore it, thinking that drawing attention to it might be more awkward than just letting it go. What Miguel couldn’t ignore, was Peter’s fingers grabbing at the waistband of his boxer-briefs and tugging them down before reaching for Miguel’s to do the same.

“Peter, what the fuck are you doing? Are you stupid?”

“Yeah, but also, really fucking horny, Mig,” he slurred drunkenly. “Be a good friend for me okay? Please?”

Miguel wanted to tell him to stop…didn’t he? This was weird, and it was wrong. MJ was right in the other room, and Peter was his best friend. They’d always been just friends…that’s it.

Miguel heard Peter spit and felt him jerk himself once, and then twice, before sliding his cock between Miguel’s cheeks. Peter couldn’t see the way Miguel was gripping the sheets, nor the way his jaw was clenched so tight he thought his teeth might break.

“I’ve never done anything like this before so do I like…do I just…”

He moved his hips forward, the fat tip of his cock rested against Miguel’s tight ring of muscle. Miguel exhaled sharply, cock springing to life almost immediately with the prod of Peter’s thick head. He tried to relax, making himself more pliant. Peter pushed forward, his wide girth slipping into Miguel’s hole like it belonged there.

“Holy shit,” Peter breathed, feeling his cock throb inside Miguel’s tight ass. “You’re so tight, Mig.”

Miguel couldn’t respond, the feeling of Peter’s cock stretching him out made his brain short-circuit. He huffed out through his nostrils, fingers digging into the sheets as Peter started rocking himself back and forth. The bed creaked, forcing him to slow just a tad, fearful that Mary Jane would find out what they were doing.

Peter’s dick twitched inside of Miguel again, forcing him to choke back a moan. He still didn’t want to tell Peter he liked it. Part of him, despite his friend already being balls deep in his guts, still wanted to pretend that they weren’t doing what they were doing. Miguel’s cock ached, the glossy tip leaking precum all over the bedding. He rutted forward, the delicious friction of the sheets forcing a soft exhale from his lips.

“God, Mig, you like that hm?” Peter asked, his pace still a slow roll into Miguel, body shuddering every time he bottomed out. “I can hear you whining, it’s cute,” Peter laughed.

“Cállate,” Miguel grumbled, trying to ignore how good it felt to have Peter stretching him out like that.

“Oh come on Mig, you…fuck…you like it,” Peter teased.

Miguel didn’t say a word, not wanting to give Peter the satisfaction of thinking he’d won Miguel over. He was still trying to process the fact that his best friend of the last couple years was buried deep in his ass with the man’s wife sleeping just two doors down. Miguel’s talons extended outward, digging into the extra pillow by his head. He pulled it down to his cock, shuddering at the feeling of his slick length brushing against the fabric.

“Y’know if you roll that thing up just right I bet it would feel amazing,” Peter slurred in Miguel’s ear. “Try it.”

Miguel grumbled but eventually conceded to Peter’s idea, rolling the pillow so it had a hole in the middle and stuffing his dick inside. The fucker was right. It did feel good. He breathed out, bucking his hips forward into the makeshift fleshlight.

“You thinking about me, Mig?” Peter’s hips rolled behind Miguel even faster. “You thinking about how good it would feel to fuck my ass? F-fuck, maybe I’ll l-let you try me out next t-time.”

Peter started struggling to speak, breaths coming out in sharp gasps the closer he got to spilling everything he had into Miguel’s tight hole. Miguel felt Peter’s hands digging into the meat of his narrow hips. His thrusts were getting more ragged and sloppy, and Miguel couldn’t shake the delicious feeling of his own cock throbbing and leaking into the pillow the more he fucked into it.

God he felt depraved, happily letting his drunken friend fuck him dumb while he rutted desperately into a damn pillow. Of all the times Miguel had felt self-loathing, this was near the top of his list. Every time Peter’s cock stuffed him to the brim though, he forgot all about it, mind going numb with nothing but the feeling of his asshole getting railed.

“Peter, this is so f-fucking dumb,” Miguel said, still holding on to the smallest bit of dignity he had left, the part of him that felt bad for Mary Jane.

“Sh,” Peter whispered, nails digging harder into Miguel, “I’m so close Mig, please.”

Peter whined in Miguel’s ear, and how could he possibly say no to that?

Giving in, Miguel started moving along with Peter’s rhythm, fucking the hole he made in the pillow like it belonged to a living, breathing human. Miguel’s mind went blank, filled with nothing but the feeling of his aching cock against the fabric while he rolled his hips faster.

“Oh god Mig, do you want me to come in your ass? I can pull out if you want I…oh shit I’m…” Peter didn’t wait for an answer before he felt his cock twitching and shooting hot ropes deep into Miguel’s tight hole.

“Fuck, Parker, for fuck’s sake…”

Miguel lost it, cum spilling out into the stark white pillow while his asshole contracted around Peter’s dick. He’d never had such a strong orgasm before that night, the feeling forcing his entire body to stiffen and shake with every throb of his cock. They laid there for a while, the room filled with nothing but their combined heavy breaths before Peter finally pulled out, leaving Miguel feeling empty.

“Fuck, Miguel,” he whispered, kissing Miguel’s neck once before pulling his sweats back up around his hips.

Miguel didn’t turn around. He didn’t know what he’d do even if he had. It didn’t feel like the right time for post-sex cuddling and a soft makeout session, so Miguel just kept his body turned away from Peter as the man got up and left the room silently. If not for the cum still dripping out of Miguel’s spent asshole, it would be like Peter was never there in the first place.

When morning came, Miguel wasn’t sure what would happen. Would Peter even remember stealing into Miguel’s room the night before? Would he go on as if nothing ever happened? As far as Miguel was concerned, it would be best if they let it go. How could they possibly continue running the Spider Society as partners if they were…doing things in secret behind the scenes? It didn’t make sense. Not to mention…Mary Jane.

She was smiling when Miguel made his way into the kitchen in the morning, the red headed toddler hanging off her shoulders while she made coffee. Miguel and MJ exchanged pleasantries, but Miguel’s aching rear amplified his guilt tenfold. He felt like he should tell the blissfully ignorant wife that her husband had cheated on her the night before.

Then again…Miguel didn’t exactly do anything to stop it.

“Morning!” Peter exclaimed, coming out of his bedroom with a wide stretch and a loud yawn.

“Morning, Peter,” both Miguel and Mary Jane said in unison, turning to face him.

“I’m so sorry if I caused too much trouble last night, I was deeerunk,” he said nonchalantly, walking up behind MJ at the counter and kissing her on the cheek.

While she was turned away, Peter and Miguel shared a glance where Peter looked Miguel up and down.

“I don’t remember much so, I hope I wasn’t a…pain in the ass…”

Miguel gulped. Peter clearly didn’t intend on ignoring what had happened between them the night before, and Miguel couldn’t shake the new feelings he felt stirring inside.

Miguel O'Hara Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[kyberphilosopher]

Tenebrous

Tenebrous/Tenebroum : shut off from the light : dark, murky. tenebrous depths... hard to understand : obscure. Word Count: 2362 NO WARNINGS Shadowhearts' mind is a weathering storm, but a storm is no match for one simple flower. A/N: Will be slowly returning to writing. I've been out of it for at least a year so my quality may not be what it used to, but I don't think it's that bad really. It's sorta proof read this time (not really)! Yayyyy.

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

There are many changes in life that could be considered… unwelcome. Life in itself has a tendency to be such a complicated journey, weaving and webbing and entrapping all that it can; much like Lolth’s loyal, spindling spiders. Such arachnids, for example, shed their skin to allow for their growth. Flowers bloom up and down, all around, before they die. Even a body of water might change its height, day by day. None of these things, of course, possess a conscience. Only a human might possess that, and humans, miserably, are more often ticking time bombs than not. 

Shadowhearts' change was difficult to pinpoint. She’d shed her skin and dawned a better, holier mantle, and yet she did not shine anew. Her skin did not glimmer or reflect- only absorbed and denied. Her hair was black like loneliness, her eyes mossy shadows. The young woman, though previously punished and whipped, now rewarded with understanding. She understood how she’d come to choose the name Shadowheart for herself, and now she understood how she’d finally earned it. She was a living weapon. An envoy for The Dark Lady’s will. A Dark Justiciar. Shadowheart should’ve felt on top of the world for such a feat. 

You… well, all of you could still very clearly remember the look on Nightsong’s face when she was slain. Shock. Shock, surprise, fear. Shadowhearts' arm was heavy with muscle and willpower. There was no hesitation in her sage orbs as she brought down her Spear of Night. Then the Nightsong sang no more. 

“I did what had to be done,” the half elf had spoken about it after. “No point in fretting over it, is there?”

You watched her. Not always- not while she slept like a creep. A sneaking glance or two was all you needed. Shadowheart was a (somewhat) kind hearted, devout, and intimate woman who displayed a deep interest in bleeding something to dry as well as tenderly curing it. Few things seemed to matter as much to her as her faith- when there was a sky full of stars and constellations, an open emerald field dappled with lavender, a lost temple- she was always there, praying. Praying to her mother, who she did not know. Who she had no memory of. Who rarely answered her when Shadowheart thought up a question. Praying to the Lady of Loss. That never changed. 

You watched her. The morning light rose over the horizon, then the deep maroon leaves circling overtop the camp. Although Shadowheart had prayed this morning- early- she had not stopped. The young halfbreed sat with bent knees and clasped hands since before the sun had risen. Her peach-y pink lips muttered repeatedly to herself again and again, only pausing when she looked… pained? Or perhaps deep in thought?

She opens them. 

Your gaze turns to the gauntlets you fit around your arms. They are heavy, though not as heavy as Shadowhearts' eyes. When you glance over upon her once more, she pushes herself to her feet and then locks eyes with the ground for a long time. 

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

There was much of Faerun that you had neglected to see, as you came to find out. There were lands covered in blankets of deep shadow and physical fear, bogs that would take the appearance of groves simply to trick all those who enter. There were tears in the sky that melted every night, according to Lae’zel. Astarion had described the many gothic manors and mansions that he had visited and admired. Gale of Waterdeep took no joy in restraining himself from speaking of his many accomplishments- most of which involved seeing something so beautiful, so rare- that he risked the Gods smite. 

Your boots were from Baldurs Gate, and they were not necessarily made for the mud that you trekked through. They were scratchy and tight, but the laces were coming loose. If you ever saw the city again, you swore you’d get a new pair. What an ‘if’ that was. But you were no complainer. You swallowed dryly, shouldered your bow and sword and continued onward silently. 

“Need something, friend?” a voice called from beside you. A smile creeps over your lips at the voice. 

“Do you, Astarion?” you look at the elf now walking close on your left. He’s taller than yourself- mostly due to his long and prodding neck. You supposed he used such a feature for snooping and being nosey. 

Astarion scoffs out a chuckle, before his tone turns to defeat. “Oh, you caught me. I must admit, friend, I’ve grown quite bored.”

“Look at my shoes,” you sigh. “I’d rather be bored than inadequately dressed.”

“Mmm. Yes, how unfortunate. You know, I must say I would’ve thought you smart enough to get your own well fitting shoes by now. This little adventure hasn’t exactly been…”

“I know,” you tell him. “Say, what did we do with those boots from the Underdark? The red ones, with the little black and silver designs.”

Astarion is briefly silent in thought, though it’s not him that breaks it. 

“I’ve them.”

You and your elven companion turn your heads over your shoulders. Shadowhearts' face is solemn and gaunt- nothing out of the ordinary. Still, a certain regret lingered in her deep, dark eyes. Her beauty was matched only by the background behind her, which was nothing but darkness. Hair, long and inky, fell over her shoulder lazily. 

“Ah,” Astarion smiled wide, showing off his pointy canines. “I was just wondering when you would join our conversation. So tell us, what is it you’ve done with the things?”

Shadowheart stayed silent. Her pace quickened, her own greaves and boots were metal and solid in the mud- built for it. On your right, she materialized like a dream, though she did not turn to look at you. 

“I took the boots,” Shadowheart explains matter-of-factly. “They grant the wearer intense bouts of speed and pursuit- hardly a trophy to simply leave behind. I might loan them to you… should you require them.”

You blink, trying to find your words. “Might?” you settle on. 

One step, two step, three and four. The upward hill you battle to hike reaches its peak, slanting downwards once more. From up here, you can see only a bit more than you might’ve thought. The lands your party currently crossed through were completely devoid of light and life, and so although you could confirm the sight of a large lake, you (nor any other member of the party) was able to register the important details of the environment before you. You all continued walking downhill without skipping a beat, unbothered at the thought of imminent death. 

It happens in an instant. Your armored knuckles brush against the metal of Shadowhearts' own hand. No, not a brush- a touch. It reverberates up your fingers and straight to your brain, where it’s stored deep in your memory without you even realizing it. It even produces a soft, but undeniable noise. 

Your eyes snap to hers, wide and alert. “Apologies, my lady,” you urge quickly. “I did not mean-”

Shadowheart stops suddenly. She stands in front of you, Astarion and Wyll wandering onward seemingly unaware- or perhaps simply uncaring. Now shorter than you at the incline, the young woman looks up at you with her piercing orbs. 

“You need not worry on it,” Shadowheart tells you, and for some reason it seems, at this moment, that she is only ever talking to you. Your lips part, looking back at her. The Justiciar’s own light green gaze is flitting between your own eyes, and you can’t help but feel yourself growing distracted off her face alone. 

The woman’s face was porcelain pale, delicate but well put together. Her cheekbones were high and soft, dappled with freckles that Shadowheart hoped no one would notice. Her lashes were generous and thick- just the same with her eyebrows. Her lips were shaped like a heart. Gods, her lips. They were tantalizing, even chapped and chewed on like now. Not even the scar cutting across her cheek and nose was enough to deter from her otherworldly beauty. How were you supposed to resist such a temptation so close by?

You cared too much for the young woman to trample in on her faith. You had traveled with Shadowheart long enough to see it was one of the few things that she cared for. Shar this and Shar that… You were no Shar. What pain could you possibly alleviate of Shadowhearts’? What void could you introduce her to? The answer was simple: none. You were no match for the Dark Justiciar, and even if you were, she would not allow you to be. 

“I apologize again, my lady,” you tell her, a firm whisper. 

Shadowhearts' eyes shift between your own for another moment longer, brief and fleeting. “You might wish for some healing, if it is to be a while before we see those boots again.” She slips a glove from her lithe hand- you catch a glimpse of the plum wound buried in the center- and says, “May I?”

You swallow dryly again. Water, your brain wishes. Instantly, your prayers are answered as saliva flushes your mouth. 

Shadowheart presses the palm of her hand to the base of your neck, where your armor leaves a sliver of your skin exposed. Her hand is cold, colder than anything you’ve ever felt. Yet, your body warms as her lips begin to chant.

You can feel the blood rush to your feet. Blisters that have lined your heels and toes and soles for weeks diminish in seconds, leaving your feet to settle more comfortably in your wear. The two sore heaps previously referred to as your legs alleviate themselves instantaneously. Even the sweat, stinking and insidious, brewing beneath your armpits slips away silently to the wind. 

Eyes could not be torn from the half elf in front of you if they were taken straight from your head. Your gaze is locked and fixed on Shadowheart, though you cannot find the words. Shall you thank her? Ask for her hand? Attempt to engage in a heart to heart conversation? No, control yourself. You bite down on your lip, hard, but with Shadowhearts’ healing hand lingering over your sternum, the blood does not stay for long. You watch her finish her prayer. 

“There,” Shadowheart looks up at you once more through her dark lashes. “You just seemed a little… parched.”

The Dark Justiciar holds your eye for a few seconds longer. Then she steps away. 

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

Before Selune blessed the Earth with the light of the sun, there was nothing. Faerun, and everywhere else, was well a part of Shar’s domain of darkness. When her ethereal twin betrayed her by inventing life sustaining fire, the change was instant and could not be ignored. 

Shadowhearts story seemed the opposite. She had been close to the light once, she supposed- closer. She’d resented herself for it at the time; so, Shadowheart chose to bring herself closer to the dark. She chose to be as close as she could. She wanted to sit side by side with her mother, spear in hand, and quench her thirst on the blood of moonmaidens. Though, no such feat had come to pass. Shadowheart was not foolish. She understood it was a change that would take time to see such accomplishment. But had she not made it clear that there was no doubt? Shadowheart would slaughter a thousand nightsongs if it meant being Shar’s chosen. 

And yet, she felt more unhappy with herself than she had before. She resented herself. 

In the mornings when she’d wake early, Shar’s voice might whisper instructions in Shadowhearts’ pointed ear. 

“You are to suffer,” the low voice would guide. “To hate until you are released to loss, child.”

Shadowheart obeyed. 

In the nights when Shar’s power rose strong, her Justiciar would feel Shar’s thoughts as if her own. 

“You are to breathe in the darkness,” the low voice would guide. “To ponder on your wrongdoings until you might see clearly.”

Shadowheart obeyed. 

It was what she had wanted. But now that she was alone, Shadowheart was lonely, and not even herself was reliable for comfort any longer. 

Luckily, there is always you. 

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

“Shadowheart!” you cry, lurching forward. “Wait!”

Alarmed, the cleric whips her head to yours. Shadowheart had not sensed anything more out there besides vague harm- certainly nothing close enough to warrant such urgency out of you. You need to catch up with the two boys, lest you end up hunting monster and monster hunter simultaneously. But your face shows no such concern for those things. Your eyes lower slowly from Shadowheart to the ground by her feet. 

Yes, there, beneath the greaves spattered in blood and leather soles reeking of death, was a flower. 

The thing was light, almost glowing, and a beautiful wisteria shade. It grew somewhat tall, with sharp leaves and petals like bells that only grew more midnight and lilac colored the deeper they went. Shadowheart let a small gasp slip from her lips. 

Slowly, as if you were dealing with a skittish, stray cat, you bend down into the dirt. As you pluck the flower from its stem, the smell of vanilla and musk swells the air. You stand eye level with the young woman in front of you, whose stare flits between the flower to your armor. 

“A night orchid,” you say. Shadowhearts’ favorite. “May I?”

The holy warrior looks at you sharply. 

You press it, holding her gaze with a soft and warming smile, to her palm. You can feel her heartbeat through her skin, excitedly in time with your own. Finally. 

“I…” she begins, but you turn your head to the side, waving her off. 

“It’s nothing,” you insist as you step away. “Wouldn’t want you to step on your favorite flower. I’m sure your Goddess would understand.”

Shadowhearts’ green eyes dance, though not with any emotion you’ve seen before within her. 

You smile again. “Let’s get you to Baldurs Gate.”

The young woman watches intently as you continue down the hill, clutching the purple flower tight in her hand. 

[noowayybroo]

Vampire Man Drabble (NSFW)

I've been rewatching Young Dracula, a BBC show from my "childhood".

I'm kinda obsessed with Count Dracula. I know it's a kid's show but he's so pathetic and whiny and throws so many tantrums, but being such an old man he's so sexy and posh and UGHAAGAH HE HAS MY HEART!!

Also , the guy who plays him (Keith-Lee Castle) Lowkey fits the role so well!!?!?! He looks like SUCH A VAMPIRE!! (I wouldnt look him up idk if hes the best guy)

SO I WANTED TO PROVIDE YOU WITH SOME IDEAS, and i know most of my following is admittedly looking for Leon content, so if you squint really hard, or maybe read this with one hand if you catch my drift (nyeh heh heh) maybe you can imagine it's about vampire Leon HEhehehehe

Warnings: Guy is vampire, reader may be human or vampire. NO SEX BUT VIOLENCE. GN!Reader, mentions of scenting, old age, violence, age difference, vampirism, blood, biting, seduction, mentions of death and killing and blood driking. Secretly soft vampire man etc basically all your vampirey shit, STOP READING THEN IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT BRO, I'll try keep it short k ily bye.

THIS IS A GUIDE:

Stuff about the vampire man

Stuff about the reader being a vampire

Stuff about the reader being a human

THIS IS A RARE TREAT FOR ANYONE READING THIS CUZ I USUALLY LIKE TO WEAR THE FANGS IN THE RELATIONSHIP!! JUST SAYING!! BUT THIS MF HAS MY HEART!

Vampire who was turned at a young age or born into vampirism and has lived with it for oh so long. He's just so old, alone in that castle of his. He's moved to live near humans, but they seldom get a chance to converse, not before his fangs wind up in their necks.

Vampire who watches them go about their short little lives, knowing with confidence that he has and will live many more. Aware that he'll be the end to many more, deadly prowess easily eliminating each hunter or slayer who dares come his way.

Vampire of whom nobody has seen the true colours - only the pristine white of his fangs before they are soiled with the blood of his victims. They only know his rage and strength, and the power and force at which his claws slash at their flesh, at which his fangs sink into their necks.

Vampire who prefers to seduce his victims before plunging them towards their inevitable demise. He will sing them such a sweet lullaby; allure them with gentle praise and affirmation as he draws close, weaving such a sticky web, leaving them entranced. And entranced he is too, as his victim perhaps gazes from a window, or into space itself, but his only captive is the soft melody of his victim's heartbeat. The gentle rhythm, the pulse of their neck drawing him to them like a moth to flame.

Vampire Who almost feels like the victim himself. He was not a monster. He was no villain. No, he was simply wired this way - a victim of his own nature. It was his prey, the cruel, heartless beast who tempted him so dearly with the promise of 8 pints of warm, thick red (accounting for clumsy, desperate spillage.) Oh how he delighted in the feel of it coating the expanse of his hungry throat.

Vampire Whose second favourite method of the hunt is to toy with his prey, for it is no fun if they are not fearful. His cold, undead heart remains unliving for the thrill of the chase. He'll stalk them through the night, he'll become one with the shadows, and only when he feels they are worthy of feeling true fear will he present himself. Springing from the darkness, his soul's only twin, he reveals himself at last like a god unto its disciples.

He will forever delight in the screams - in the sight of each harrowed soul in that moment.

Vampire who is humiliatingly theatrical and old fashioned. When he bears himself to his prey, he must give them a show. It's the least he could do, as it will be their last living moment. He'll either expand his cape, or brandish sharp claws, but either way, his eyes will be dark as night, and piercing fangs will ward off any hope of survival each sacrifice may have had.

Vampire who takes great excitement in tormenting his prey. He is old fashioned, cunning and sly. He'll chase you around an abandoned building and use his supernatural speed to appear right behind the door you thought would bring you victory. He'll mock you with a skeleton, only to refer to it as a future you. If you're fortunate, and he's not too hungry, he might even show you his vast collection of stored blood. Again, he promises that one day, you have this to look up to.

Vampire Surprisingly, he is not as violent or as cruel as it may seem. Sure he kills, and he kills for fun. For the mere thrill of it. But he will not let you die slowly, or painfully at all. He prides himself in how... happy, his victims really can be. His torture follows suit. Scratch you? Harm you? Him? Never. He could never. He wouldn't waste a drop, after all. (Intentionally, that is.) He'd much rather promise you a terrible demise, or chase you towards your doom, having you believe begging or running could really help. His many years have taught him that each effort you make is futile. He will always win. He will always consume. You are not special.

Vampire who sometimes, well after sunset, will stare out of his lonely, dusted window at the town below. He will wonder if it could be possible that there is a chance at love out there for him still. A chance at redemption. A chance to, perhaps, not be so devilish.

On rare occasions, too, say once every 20 years, he thinks this as he stares into the eyes of one of his captives. He'll wonder, sometimes as he hypnotises their free will and thought away, whether he really needs to kill them. But then it's that look on their face. One of fear, or one of braindead submission. It's again, the sound of their heart, of their breath, something he hadn't done in forever, something he yearned to be so close to, to be so near to, and before he knows it, they're limp in his arms, and cold, just as he.

Vampire who throws tantrums on the rare occasion that his prey, or more likely another undead creature or demon, is able to overpower or trick him. He'll slam his fist like a child and bare his fangs. Wailing and wallowing in his own pathetic defeat as black curtains obscure his face. Thunder and lightning will crackle outside, heeding his call, and otherwise, the world will resume. It was sad for him, really, to have so much power, and at the same time to be so insignificant.

Vampire who, despite being immortal, is getting old. He doesn't care for sports, nor for going outside and exercising as a human would. When he chases at a speed, he more floats rather than runs, and so, he's getting rusty, physically and mentally. Perhaps that explains the demise of his fearsome reputation and outlook. Perhaps it is why he is going soft. Laughlines rarely show, but small crowsfeet grace his pale skin as he smiles or bares his fangs. His joints begin to creak. He can no longer do some of the things he could when he was a younger biter without being heard, and he grumbles at simple tasks such as tidying or standing up. He ages with the walls around him.

Vampire Reader Insert:

Vampire who catches a fleeting glance of you at a traditional vampire ball. Really, the two of you are too old for these pathetic customs, him more so, but how else was he to catch up on all the latest fanged gossip, and perhaps find an evil someone to accompany him as he grew older?

Vampire who afterwards goes out of his way to make eye contact with you. When he thinks you're not looking, he combs his nimble fingers through his long hair, preening himself, cursed to never be able to see himself in the many mirrors that surround him. He curses himself, adjusting his over the top attire, wiping any blood from his face. He wants to catch your gaze, just as you have his.

Vampire who can (respectfully) smell it on you. He can tell that you're strong, and that you're dominant. He never thought he was looking for someone, really, especially with his strength and title. It had only really occurred to him that anybody interested would be there to use him. And then, he saw you. Something about you was so devilishly evil. So charming. So alluring and strange. He didn't care if you used him. He wanted you to, suddenly he wanted you to take all he had.

Vampire who anxiously makes conversation with you. He is respectful, despite being well above your status. He can't keep his eyes from your body and face, nor his tongue from his lips as it darts to keep them moist. Quietly, he hopes you're taking note. His hands fiddle and preen. He needs you to enjoy what you see, for it is so rare for him to do so.

Vampire who eventually you begin to court. He practically begs you to move in with him, forming his castle as a home for the two of you. No longer is he alone. Even if you were to betray him now and take all he had, he kept some satisfaction in knowing he wouldn't die alone. Perhaps one day, too, an heir would come from all of this.

Vampire who shares with you some of his powers and wisdom. Who accompanies you on hunts and who works with you to lure prey. You enjoy romantic, playful flights together (as bats, of course) and he, without admitting it, enjoys your dark humour and evil presence in his home. You bring a smile to his face, and a blush to his dead cheeks. You're oh so beautiful and precious in his life, and as more and more time passes, he can imagine giving everything to you.

But what if you're evil, and planned to take everything all along? Well, that would be a fitting demise for him, he thinks as he slowly closes the lid to his coffin beside yours just before the sun rises. And it'd make you all the more evil and devious of a sinner, and that's what he loved about you. Your company, even if not genuine, for love was so twisted and warped for creatures such as yourselves, meant more than words could ever express. If he were human. If he were pumping blood, you would warm him.

Human reader here!!

Vampire who'd never have thought any other humans would be foolish enough to simply let themselves into his castle, at least not this decade! You were the third one this century and it was really getting old. He'd think with all the rumours going around about people never returning alive, or the danger of the castle's crumbling structure that nobody would come back, at least not alone, but here you were.

Vampire who can hear you from rooms away as you walk in. You're human and you're alone. That's all he needs to know to identify that he's safe, and so, he creeps towards you. He balances with both hands and feet on ledges above your head, blending perfectly with the shadows as he stalks you like some huge, predatory cat. And he does this until he can see you. You look divine. You smell divine. And really, he questions the work of some divine intervention, as he was just craving fresh blood the moment you walked in: A lamb to the slaughter.

Vampire who identifies that the blatantly open castle door was how you got in. He didn't really feel the cold, and the wind howling was a permanent sound with how high in the castle he tended to reside, so silly him had left the door open. You must have really thought this place was abandoned. He almost pities you as you walk around, shining your phone's flashlight about. He just about ducks away in time to avoid being spotted as you point your phone at him, blissfully unaware of the danger that lurked just above you, ready to pounce.

Vampire who held off, though. He was excited by your presence, and he was oh so hungry, but he was always one to play with his food. He continues to follow you through the shadows, practically salivating and his bustling ideas of how to torment and devour 'this one.' Because, initially, that's all you were to him, food.

Vampire who daydreamt (although it was night) about chasing you through his crypt, hearing your screams for mercy and salvation. He could sit there and munch dead carcasses in front of you just to watch you squirm in horror. He mused to himself about how warm your neck would feel to his lips, and how your blood might taste. He considered how your voice may sound, begging to be freed as he holds you there, firm hands on your shoulders, claws pricking at your soft flesh. He imagines you there, before him, ripe for the taking. The last moment, he opens his eyes and you're gone-

You're gone.

What?

Vampire who looks around desperately, realising that he'd so easily been swept away by his fantasies. And so, he follows your scent and the sound of your soft heartbeat to his room, where, he could swear he hears you murmur "I knew it."

Vampire who catches you gawking at his closed coffin, regal and fancy. You run your small hands over it in awe as if there isn't a blood thirsty creature of the night ready to pounce out and devour you. You seem.. in awe. You look fascinated. Of course, there's a twinge of terror in your face, but for some reason, you haven't run... yet.

Vampire who figures the game is up, and tries to salvage a dramatic entry. He can't appear in the coffin and reveal himself like that, incase you're a slayer and it leaves him vulnerable, and so, from behind you you hear:

"And what brings you to my humble abode?" The question is long, and drawn out, in a posh voice that almost makes you giddy. You can hear the bloodlust dripping from his fangs, and you don't need to turn to see the man who's so close he should be gracing you with his breath. None comes. you know what he is.

Vampire who grins sadistically as you turn on your heels, slowly. He is amused to see the fear finally registering in your features. Oh, and how soft and delicate those features were. He could just reach a hand out and brush his cold digits over them. But he won't. This isn't a time to console you. It's time to instil fear in your soon to be dead heart.

Vampire who gawks when you finally respond to his question. Something absurd about knowing there was a vampire living here. Something ludicrous about actually having visited a few times but never seeing him. Something utterly offensive about whether he lived alone or had a family. The man's jaw clenched. It seemed he had never encountered a victim as chatty or simply curious as you, and he didn't quite know how to feel.

Did you WANT to die or something?

Vampire who towers over you, with eyes wider than your own as he listens to you rattle off about something or other. He doesn't register what you're saying, though. Instead, his mind wonders off to somewhere it never has before. Perhaps, he'll hypnotise you to make you scared, and then he'll have his fun with you. Yes, that should work, because right now, he found you far too distracting.

Vampire who realises, once you've shut up, that actually, there's a more nagging matter:

"Are you here... to kill me?" he asks, looking down at you, shoulders slightly deflated as though you've sucked the prowl out of him.

"Like a slayer?"

"Exactly-" he raises a finger that could really do with a manicure, but you cut him off

"No, not at all, it's just when I heard people went missing... well I just thought this place would be perfect to see a vampire." In all honesty, you kept yapping away in hopes that tears would not prick your eyes and that somehow it'd save you from imminent collapse. You were terrified. He seemed very much real.

Whilst you were in admiration of the pale beast before you, you did not intend to die.

Vampire who fortunately for him isn't letting on just how well you crept under his skin and made a small home there. His senses were conflicted, as a result of your mixed signals, and he wasn't sure how to react. You were scared, he could smell it. He could hear it in the heavy fast thump of your heart. But something else had brought you here. You were curious. Intrigued. You wanted to learn about him, and in a way, he related. He wanted to learn about himself.

Vampire who, whilst he is still very much appealed by the idea of biting into your throat, is starting to enjoy how your hushed voice echoes off the walls of his home. You sounded sweet and pure, unlike any vampire he'd encountered recently. You had a passion. You had a reason to live, and it almost sickened him with jealousy.

Vampire who can no longer fight his newfound impatience as he lets out an animalistic growl, clenching his fist before you with means to silence you, and to his relief, it works. Your mouth slams shut and you stare up into his eyes. He recognises that this, if any, is his perfect time to hypnotise you, and to fix things. That's right. You'd forget everything you've seen and heard, because your words made you slippery, and he feared for his own existence if you escaped, and then, you'd be scared of him. He'd toy with you, kill you, and it'd be over with. Then, he'd be happy once more, and could return to his coffin, without any linger questions of "what if?".

Vampire who waves two fingers before your eyes, ensnaring them and guiding them up to fall onto his. You watch as his dark, brooding eyes become a more perplexing, strange and beautiful colour. A look of mischief tugs at his sharp, dark lips. He has won. Now, he'll hypnotise you, and it'll be over with. Why did he keep telling himself this? It was starting to become tiresome- just do it.

Vampire who freezes up when he hears you enquire about whether he know the science behind his eyes changing colour like that. You swear a vein in his forehead is about to pop. His mouth hangs ajar, defeated. "Look, you, just look into my eyes" he commands, almost pleading in that sultry, dark voice. "Just look and obey..."

Vampire who stares at you for a while, staring into those pretty, captivating eyes of yours. He finds himself lost in the possibility of what to command you, and once he's finally ready to will the words, they disobey him. His mouth moves, but no commands grace your ears. Eventually, you blink, the spell is broken and he clasps his fists shut, growling low in his throat.

Why can't he do it?

Vampire who gives in, providing you with a tour of the castle and all of his ancient belongings. The understanding is that once he's done, you leave, and never tell anybody anything. He wasn't sure if he trusted in you, but hypnosis was out of the question. And since his ordeal of failing to control you, he'd felt quite humiliated. His hunger had been somewhat satiated for now.

Vampire who hides his scarce smile each time you make certain remarks about how gothic, deadly or edgy everything looked. Your modern lingo was beyond him. "Cringe", "Edgy", "Rad", "Babygirl", what did it all mean? At one point, whilst you're analysing a particularly old suit of armour, he stands behind you, arms folded and lips pursed, trying to conclude the meaning behind the umbrella term "Daddy issues" and why you felt the need to mention it to him on now an astounding three separate occasions. When you turned to face him though, he'd stiffen his gate and fix you a menacing glare as if he despised of your company.

Vampire who walks alongside you with perfect posture, his arms are often crossed or still by his side. Occasionally he glances at your neck as he concludes a whole half hour of walking his dinner around his rather shameful home. And then, you both find yourselves at the door. You look up at him, he looks down at you, and then you do something neither of you'd expected.

"Can I stay?"

Vampire who freezes up yet again at your question, but after some stumbling and stuttering, and getting his tongue tied up in his fangs, he reluctantly spits out a 'yes.' All the while, his face contorts, unable to form the words. It's so peculiar speaking at all, let alone to a human. And, he can't say he's ever spoken to one willing to continue risking their lives. You weren't sure why you did it. You just did.

Vampire who stands with you, watching over the town beneath his window, for once, with someone beside him. He seems stiff, and tense, and he cannot ignore your scent, nor the sound of each gentle breath and pulse of your veins. It was only natural: He was your predator, you were his prey. He was meant to kill you now, merely driven by instinct, and yet, he felt content to wait. I mean, it wasn't as if you'd run off in a hurry, was it? For once, a breather like you actually wanted to stay and speak to him. He was almost enamoured.

Vampire who swore to himself in this moment to never admit to another soul, dead or alive, light or dark, how your warmth touched him. He refused to allow himself to snuggle right into you from behind, wrapping his strong arms around you and nestling his face into your neck, not to bite or mark this time, but to kiss, and indulge- softly, sweetly. He groaned at the thought, startling you. And then his face hardened, snapping you another glare as if you were the one who had been having such pathetic fantasies.

Vampire who understands that, as a human, you grow weary in the night. He'd forgotten all this time that putting you to sleep would be a great way to shut you up, but there was a reason for his forgetfulness. It was, of course, convenient, because he no longer wanted to silence you. He wanted to bask in your words and warmth; in your conversation and curiosity. You made him feel important, and interesting, and slightly more alive. But the sun would be up soon, and if it caught him, well. He'd be the furthest from alive he's ever been.

Vampire who quickly brushes off and tucks you into the softest bed he can find from memory, and taps you on the nose gently as he leans over you, casting ominous shadows which block out any hopeful rays. He laughs menacingly, brandishing his fangs as his deep gravelly voice reverberates through you "Goodnight, don't let the vampire bite, now, will you?" he teases as he slowly sinks into the shadows, leaving you alone. His low chuckle follows him into the dark.

Vampire who leaves you alone to rest peacefully, or not, depending on whether a) you COULD sleep, and b) he became hungry during the night.

Vampire who spends the rest of his waking moments wondering just what to do with you, until the sun rises, and he returns to his cold, depressing coffin.

Hi guys I really hope whoever of you saw that liked it. I had the idea at about midnight and it's now 2 27 am. I wish I were this productive with literally anything else but due to a series of unfortunate events I crave old, posh, dominant men with soft spots, and this fits the bill.

I'd also like to write more about vampy men, and about maybe teachers or just other older men heheh but also subby men!! and the reader being a vampire!! so please lmk what you think and don't be afraid to ask (just a warning your rq might take me 24747 years to address, it's not personal i just suck)

THANKS GUYS I LOVE U ALL

[oldsargasso]

4 minutes ep 4 thoughts

4 minutes ep 4 let's goooo

I thought the cop was pulled off the case? ANSWERS ALREADY? wow okay (genuinely my only thought right now is Zeke from bob's burgers saying "what a tangled-ass web we weave") how far will the cop sink I wonder

great's face when he said hospital lmaoooo

wait you can just go to the operating room? anyway I love that Great isn't sitting around he is Getting Answers!! okay you can't go into the operating room I was about to say! his little jumps 🥺

huge fan of Tyme attempting to ignore Great. the little huff like he's annoyed Great showed up. like really my guy what did you expect

yep Tyme's parents. we love a tragic backstory

god that was a cool effect. that was more than four minutes for suuuuure also we haven't seen a clock yet this episode

I hope Tonkla is being manipulative. "oh I'm all by myself…" did he wear a sheer shirt to his brother's memorial?

I started skipping the scene but uh GUESS NOT. show us Korn's neck….okay bandage hmmm. HMMM. perhaps instead of parallel timelines it's more like. timelines interweaving at certain points.

learn to read the room Korn omg. this is the most I've ever cared about Tonkla. you love to see him standing up for himself!

I skipped again - any characters notes let me know lol

so he been hallucinated his dead cat in ep1. someone killed his cat??? and he knows who? and Tonkla and Korn have known each other in uni. ngl as someone who's watching this show for Great and Tyme I'm a little bored rn. let me know if I missed anything major by skipping through the flashbacks lol

I hope Lukwa and Den hook up they're so cute smiling at each other all the time. and she is soooo gorgeous.

oh it's not a gallery at all hmmm. I guess the lights made me think that? wait they saw each other there HMMM. I wonder if this 'room' is out of time so to speak. when you're dead (heart not beating) you're outside of time?

I love being right 🤠

well that is not obeying the "don't hurt her" command Korn gave is it. korn playing good cop lmao. spit in his face too Nan I love you

something about the angle of this shot of Korn (and then Great) drinking feels like a video game (coming back to note it's control. ashtray maze.)

Great's 21 right? this feels like a 21 year old came up with the plan lmao "just get him super drunk"

this is why I only have a passcode on my phone smh

…my entire computer just shut down. okay. I'm back! let me restart this little bit. they really are brothers cause matching white pants.

Great wearing all white to go sneaking around in the dark. he's lucky he's pretty. and the guard apparently has terrible night vision. and terrible hearing.

nooooooo Nan!! great better be going back in time to stop that

omg the lights going like that was so cool. I wonder if that's the first time Great has intentionally gone back?

Tyme launching himself in as saviour you love to see ittt. the other guys with guns just watching this go down I guess? not the standoff. should've shot them smh

THUNDERSTORM. stopped on a bridge is not the time for an adrenaline rush. Great's little jog back to the car…adorable.

were we supposed to see something in that shot off to the side? no moon. no storm?

only one bed huh 👀

cuuuuute!!

whewwww WHAT a kiss. the room and Great all in white/pale colours and Tyme all in black? perfect.

whoever directed this GETS it. they understand. the chemistry. the little back and forth. the SMILES. I'm a little feral about it all. THIGH TATTOOS. hands.

black socks with white shoes :/ maybe Dome deserved it.

I love being right x2 🤠

we saw Korn's watch once and I think could read the time. we saw the time when Great had Korn's phone. we saw blurry watch faces on Great and Tyme in bed. no other clocks? not counting the projected 4.00 on the wall in lukwa's vision. innnnteresting.

[toomanytookas]

comfort movies + pinterest vibe game

Tagged by the ever so lovely @schnarfer and @undercoverpena. 💕

Instructions: Go to Pinterest and select the first character, real person, quote, and outfit to get your vibe. Then add your 7 comfort films.

I don't have pinterest, but I pulled these from my camera roll & my non-PPCU tumblrs (I specifically saved that screenshot from the Sound of Music for Maria's dress so I'm counting it lol)!

The Yuri on Ice GIF is from this post. The quote is by Heather O'Neill, featured in this web weave.

Comfort Films (Chronological Order)

My Fair Lady (1964)

Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (1984)

Moulin Rouge (2001)

Serenity (2005)

Pride and Prejudice (2005) - look, I know, but we said comfort, right?

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (2007) - idk why but I watch this a lot

Bo Burnham: Inside (2021)

I think a lot of folks I know have been tagged already, but some very no pressure @'s: @chronically-ghosted @rebel-held @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

[xticklemeemox]

The Love You Want: III, Part Sixteen

yall aint ready

okay so i tried my damdest to make sure i didnt leave any unfinished sentences or paragraphs but i struggled with this one so much, i was going back and forth working on different sections Constantly and in so many places. Sorry in advance and if yall would be so kind as to point weird spots out ;-;

Word count: 15,219

Ao3

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

II had nearly screamed when III showed all three of them Kiwi before bed, face paling dangerously. Vessel hadn't fallen asleep like he desperately needed to, so tired from the long day. He knows its because Nick set his nerves on edge, and Sleep would not claim him. They were all sitting in some form or another on the hotel bed the vessels had claimed as theirs.

"She- She's cute, Three." II had said, clearly afraid.

Vessel had been expecting tears, but was pleasantly surprised to see that III's endeavor to acclimate II with spiders using their own spindly limbs was bearing some fruit.

"Kiwi says she's sorry for scaring you." III offers, and Vessel thinks that they mean it, that they can understand the spider.

It wouldn't be a stretch to assume so, given their other divine gifts. "It's okay." II manages to choke out, hand shaking as he offers it up, "Can I... hold her?"

II looks physically pained to be asking, but doesn't rescind his request. III lights up, pride surging through the bond like a tidal wave. Vessel is proud, too, and doesn't let the cold look in Nick's eyes as he regards Kiwi ruin that for him.

Kiwi crawls from III's palm to the tips of his fingers, transferring over to II's hand. She stays there, moving no closer, the only movement she makes is to wave.

"Adorable." Vessel murmurs, leaning in closer, ignoring the way his throat begins to tighten with every word.

Nick's words from earlier have begun to steal his voice, something he knew was coming regardless of the other man's jabs.

"She's very... sweet, too. As long as I don't stare too long and get freaked out." II says, smiling weakly at III, before turning his attention to the spider still on the tip of his finger.

"Nice to meet you, Kiwi. I'm Two."

Kiwi waves again, with multiple arms, and II's smile becomes a little more strong, though no less nervous, no less genuine.

"Okay, this is all I can manage, please take her back." Tears are beading at the corners of II's eyes, but he doesn't let them fall.

"Want to hold her, Nick?" III asks, smile wide as he takes Kiwi back from II.

II turns to lean into Vessel, hand coming to rest on Vessel's thigh. It is an easy decision (Not much of a decision, more an instinct) for Vessel to clasp their fingers together.

"No, I don't really care for bugs. Sorry." Nick refuses, smile nervous.

It's the truth, Vessel knows, or some version of it. Nick doesn't care for animals at all. He saw the cold, heartless look in those brown eyes while III was handing II Kiwi. He wouldn't trust the other man with anything living. There's a reason Elvira hates him.

He's glad Nick refused. He would trust Nick with Kiwi about as much as he'd trust him with Elvira, which is to say, not at all. Ever.

"That's alright, II is afraid of spiders. Ves?" III reassures, then questions Vessel next, who is already reaching a hand out.

II pats Vessel's hand after he unclasps them, not moving away even though he stiffens at Vessel's side once Kiwi is passed over. Body stiff, and yet II still trembles, taking comfort in the reassurance III and Vessel are both layering over their shared bond.

Vessel curls his fingers very gently after Kiwi climbs onto his palm, waving up at him. "Hello again, little Kiwi." He murmurs, a very tentative finger coming to barely pet her head.

Kiwi waves, and then begins weaving a string of webbing around his ring finger. Vessel lets her, watching carefully to make sure she doesn't fall, his other hand spread below the one holding her to catch her if needed.

When she is finished, Vessel has three thin strings, one around each joint. The sight causes sparks of familiarity in him, but he can't seem to grasp at the feeling enough to remember where it comes from.

"Thank you?" He whispers quietly, confused, glancing up at III in question.

III shrugs, showing his own webbed ring finger, discreetly glancing over at Nick to show it's something they can't talk about right now. Vessel nods, and he and III continue cooing over Kiwi. II is content to watch, slowly snuggling further and further into Vessel's side to the point the smaller man was nearly in Vessel's lap. II keeps to Vessel's rule, as he is coming to learn is something they will always strive to do. Everyone decided to go to bed around midnight, tired from the day's events. Vessel was mildly curious as to what Nick got up to, for the sake of trying to be friendly, but doesn't dare ask.

It had taken far too long to find III's socks, so II decided they would just stay one more night. Vessel didn't mind waiting to leave, especially when III was so quick to wrap around Vessel from over the covers, breath warm against Vessel's nape as he slept. II pressed close as well, after making sure III was covered with a blanket from the car. Kiwi had slept on some folded up tissues in place of a web for the night, III apologizing profusely for her being unable to make any webs. It was cute, and no surprise as to how endeared Vessel and II felt watching III carefully care for the little spider, no matter how II's fear of her kept him from even glancing her way most of the time.

They'd all piled into the car early in the morning, well before their required check-out time. II had insisted, to Nick's mild but well hidden, annoyance. Vessel found himself having difficulty rising that next day, body heavy as his magic thrummed under his skin. Perhaps if his necklace was off, his eyes would be glowing. Dropping Nick off at his apartment is a quick, easy affair, parting with pleasantries and promises of coming over for their usual practice days. Vessel isn't excited, especially not when Nick pats Vessel's thigh. It's somehow intimate, in the worst way, the touch making him cringe back. Nick's grin had gotten wider as he shut the door, clearly pleased with the reactions he gets out of Vessel.

Once Nick is gone, Vessel is finally able to relax for the first time since they'd started their long trip back, the tension draining from his stiff muscles. His drowsy peace doesn't last long as they grow nearer to Sleep's earthly realm, the God's presence beginning to be felt. It weighs down on his chest, filling up the empty cavity. Vessel can almost hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Blood begins to rush in his ears, the forest calling him back, louder and louder the closer they get.

"Ves?" III asks, turning around in their seat as best as they can.

With Nick gone, Vessel has little negative emotions to hide from them, and so they feel how his bond begins to swarm with uneasiness.

"The forest knows I am returning. I can feel us nearing the boundary. Do not worry, I am fine." Vessel responds, his voice beginning to break, and III reluctantly turns back around in their seat properly, stretching their arm out awkwardly to try and hold Vessel's knee.

Fog has settled over the forest, the trees parting for their car to pass through, low hanging branches clawing at the windows. Vessel's leg bounces as they cross the boundary line, claws scraping across his forearms as he holds himself, leaving light welts as he keeps from breaking skin only barely.

If II hadn't been going so slow, he would have hit the stag standing in the middle of the road, hidden in the fog. II slams the breaks anyway, causing the car to lurch forward, the only thing keeping them in their seats being their seatbelts. III scrambles to try and keep Kiwi safe and not squish her in their hands at the same time.

"Sorry..." II mutters as Vessel unbuckles his seatbelt, climbing out of the car, worry in the bond.

"Has something happened?" He questions, voice hoarse as he forces himself to speak loud enough to be heard, moving towards the stag.

Behind him, II and III are exiting the car, too. II is the first to notice all of the forest creatures around them, just on the edge of the road, hidden away in the fog.

The stag shakes its head, red vines swinging with the motion. Though it has no eyes, Vessel feels as if he is being observed. A crow flies somewhere overhead, it's caws reverberating in the quiet forest. Vessel's tired mind is suddenly reminded of his necklace, and how he is hidden under a glamor. He rips it off quickly, stuffing the coined chain into his pocket.

Vessel moves closer, slow, as if the stag will startle and run away (or impale him. II and III don't need to see such a gruesome sight.) if he gets too close, too fast.

"Did it not recognize him?" III murmurs, leaning in close to II.

"Maybe not? The magic in our necklaces is strong." II replies, watching Vessel carefully.

Walking forward on steady legs of bared bones, the stag reaches out with its snout, the bleach white of the skull coming in contact with Vessel's chest. He flinches backwards harshly, fear flashing down the bond before it calms, but does not fall to the ground or move away. II narrows his eyes in thought.

Vessel only ever lets Elvira lay on his chest, and now the stag can touch freely despite Vessel's dubiety. Animals, II supposes, aren't what Vessel is truly afraid of touching him there. It makes II wonder, and worry.

He wants to ask, but he knows, he knows Vessel will not answer. He'll just look at him with those beautiful, sad eyes, guilt flooding the bond, and he'll apologize for his fear, for his guilt, as if everything that has happened to him, everything that has made him this way is his fault.

After a moment of the stag's snout on Vessel's chest, nothing seems to be happening.

Then, Vessel sways forward, the veins on his hands beginning to glow gold. There is the faintest bit of light from under his clothes as II and III rush forward, hands coming to hold Vessel steady on either side.

Silently, it moves away, a crow flying down to land on the branch of an antler. It's head tilts, another quiet caw releasing. The grotesque stag bows it's head low, knees bending as it's front kneels. The squawks, flapping its wings desperately to stay upright. It is only for a moment, and then the stag rises again, turning to II and III to dip it's head in greeting before it turns to walk off into the fog that swallows it within seconds. The animals follow, and the silent forest regains its life.

"What was that, Ves?" III asks, when II decides to remain silent.

Six crimson eyes slide up to meet III's, tiredness seeping from every pore. He holds out his hand, and without question, III takes it, pulling Vessel a little closer.

"I believe I have grown in power since the ritual. Sleep left my body, but the magic did not completely diminish with Him. I can still feel it within me, settling into my bones. I have been... very tired since the festival. It's been manageable, but my body still aches and my mind is frayed."

"The stag... it settled my magic for me. Terzo had mentioned it, too, that all the magic from the ritual was struggling to settle in my mortal body." Vessel explains, throat struggling to work.

"Let's get you back in the car sweetheart, you look like you're about to fall over." II murmurs, gentle as he and III lead Vessel back to the car.

He stumbles, knees giving out, and wonders why his body is failing him now, and not the day before. Regardless of his confusion, he is glad for it. Yesterday was one of his favorite days he's ever lived, Before or After. He loves his partners so much, and he felt at home, even if he couldn't find it in himself to voice it. He knows, now, what they are to him. What the manor has become to him. It's funny what a bit of distance, what remembering past experiences will do to someone.

The word still scares him, he is afraid of what it means, of what it will do to him when it is taken away inevitably. Regardless of his feelings on it, it does not change what the manor has become to him. What II and III are to him. They're his home, and the house they live in is his home. Voicing it will take some time yet, but the knowledge soothes some part of his soul. Vessel never thought he would have a home...

II and III don't let him hit the ground, and when II asks if he needs carried, Vessel shakes his head in vehement refusal. III almost gets into the backseat with Vessel, but Vessel waves him off back to the front seat.

"'M fine, beloved." Vessel reassures, but his attempts clearly don't assuage any worries by the look on III's face as they reluctantly climb into the front passenger seat.

Once everyone is settled in their seats again, seatbelts strapped on out of habit, II continues. The air feels more somber now, as Vessel's eyes slip closed a few times in his exhaustion. Sleep grows nearer, but it is nothing like when the manor is finally within his sights. Then, the God is happily surrounding him, presence pressing close to his body though Sleep doesn't speak.

Vessel is given no time to reacclimate to feeling his God's full presence so close, for Sleep has taken his mind from his body. It slumps over, head hitting the window as six eyes close, still shining faintly under his eyelids.

II nearly crashes the car in his surprise, slamming the brakes again as III panics, struggling to unbuckle their seat belt. He tumbles over the seat, nearly falling onto Vessel as he clambers over it.

They take Vessel's face in hand, frantic, fearing the worst, and yet Vessel's body merely sleeps.

"Vessel, love? Shit, Sleep took him."

II grips the stirring wheel tightly, knuckles turning a pale grey, "Couldn't even wait until we got home? Fucking- Ugh."

"He's really pale, Two." III says quietly, "He didn't look like this yesterday, did he?"

"No." II grits out, struggling to keep his anger in check, "He seemed tired, but otherwise fine. He..."

"Was hiding his pain from us again." III finishes, settling into the backseat to pull Vessel's sleeping form down into his lap.

"Vessel had looked so happy yesterday, despite the hiccups. I've never seen him that excited over something. Do you think... Do you think he'd ever looked like that Before Sleep?" III has to force the words out, hushed, stroking Vessel's cheeks reverently as the other sleeps.

"No. I don't think so, Three." II replies, equally as hushed and no less devastated by the knowledge.

"Is your mate hurt?" Kiwi asks, crawling over the front passenger seat to stare III down.

"He's not injured. Our God has taken his mind from his body, so he sleeps."

Content with the answer, Kiwi settles close to the headrest, and II finds the curiosity despite the situation to ask, "Can you really hear what Kiwi says?"

"Yeah, I can. It's probably part of my gift from Sleep, with my ah- spider limbs." III drops their voice down lower, as if saying the word 'spider' too loud will set II off into a fit of fear, though its yet to ever do so.

"What do-" II clears his throat as he parks in their usual spot a little ways from the house, nervous but knowing how happy it'll make III for him to ask, "What sorts of things does she say?"

III's reacts as intended, face lighting up as their frown lifts into a soft smile in the rearview mirror, "Kiwi calls you and Ves my mates! She won't explain to me why, but I guess it has something to do with the threads she keeps wrapping around our ring fingers? Maybe she thinks we're married or something."

"Well, we kind of are, aren't we?" II teases, but there's a glint of seriousness in his eyes.

"Married?" III whispers, searching II's face for any hint of it being all in jest, barely noticing Kiwi climbing up his arm to their shoulder.

They glance down at Vessel, sleeping soundly as they lift him out of the car. He's slender, thin, deadweight in III's arms, cradled to his body a little awkwardly to keep their chests from touching.

III has never had any intention of leaving... He fully intended from the moment he chose to become a vessel to stay with II and Vessel for the rest of his afterlife. He couldn't fathom a different reality. This is where he was meant to be, with them. A piece was still missing, but III knows it's only a matter of time. Then they'll be whole.

The vines over the front door part without command, the ones on the porch's small roof brushing along III's arms in greeting as he passes.

"After our Fourth." III says, as II opens the door for him to enter, "After our Fourth is here and thing's settle. When we're finally complete, let's talk about this again."

"It's a promise, sweetheart." II states seriously, stopping III to seek out a kiss.

Vessel sleeps in III's arms between them, both vessels misty eyed as they share a tender kiss, not an ounce of roughness, but still full of passion.

Maybe if II brought up marriage with Vessel, the other would stop being so afraid that they'd leave him. For all the hope that lies in that thought, II isn't sure. Whatever secret Vessel is keeping is what stops any of their attempts to make him believe that II and III are never going to leave him. Whatever secret he is keeping is a barrier between them, keeping Vessel's heart locked up somewhere they can't reach, no matter how the love between them only grows.

II wants to be given everything. All of Vessel's darkest impulses that he hides from them for fear of their reactions. He wants the good, the bad, the ugly, every inch of Vessel's mind, body. He wants to know what wounds Vessel bears on his soul, every single one.

He wants Vessel to give in. Give in. Give in. Please. He's here to stay, he'd tear fiber from the filament if it meant he'd get to merely exist in the same universe.

II will keep reaching out on faith alone. He hopes that one day, Vessel's locked up heart will open to them fully, if only Vessel would fearfully stop swallowing the keys.

Vessel opens his eyes to seaweed stretching out above him, swaying gently in the ocean's current. Water presses in on him from all sides, a familiar pressure, though he'd only experienced it once. Beside him, laid out over the sandy floor is Sleep, the eyes on His arms tilted up to watch Vessel, while all the others observe the sea life swimming above. His form is outlined by a shimmering gold aura, transparent, a splotch of ink against pale sand. His form shifts, too, fading in and out like fog. Vessel fears the god will be swept away by a stray current, but knows the thought to be baseless.

Tentatively, Vessel reaches out, hand moving slowly to the side. A pinkie brushes against Sleep's hand, and sinks right through.

Vessel finds himself disappointed that they still cannot touch.

"I did not realize just how much you enjoyed the ocean, my First." Sleep says, voices carefully controlled, as though afraid to say something wrong.

It is not something Vessel ever really hears in the God's voices, something oddly human for an ancient being.

'Yes. It was my home before you found me. I had tried to die many times as a human, and the only time I ever felt peace was when I was drowning but surrounded by oceanwater. Just one moment... stretching to infinity as my body struggled for oxygen.' Vessel explains with a soft smile, brushing a gentle hand along the sandy floor below him.

The smile falls, 'Then I woke up in the hospital, perfectly alive when all I wanted was to be dead and gone. After the first attempt at killing myself, I tried other ways. Ended up back in the ocean once more after so many failures, just to see if I could finally do it right and die where I wanted to. Of course, that didn't work. The last time, I made damn sure I bled enough that nothing could bring me back, and then you found me.'

The moon is bright, so far above him it is a mere speck of light, the ocean currents causing the water and Vessel's body to sway. It's comforting, familiar. Vessel is home, here. At peace in ways his waking mind will not allow him. There is no anxiety festering in his chest cavity, no fear, only serenity.

Sleep does not say anything in response to Vessel's admissions, but he wasn't expecting one.

'I still cannot touch you.' Vessel dares to mention, trying again only to be met with failure.

"No, my Vessel, we cannot." Sleep replies, finally turning his head to look at Vessel properly with as many of His eyes as he can manage.

'Do you know what it feels like to be touched? With a kind hand or a cruel one?' Vessel asks, curious, some part of him already suspecting the answer.

"No. It has been a long, long time since I felt anything you mortals would consider touch."

'No wonder you pulled away from Three.' Vessel murmurs, shoving the thought towards Sleep almost shyly.

"It felt strange. Not quite physical, and yet I could... feel it still." Sleep admits, like pulling teeth, seemingly embarrassed by His own lack of knowledge. "I do not know how to explain the sensation."

'It must feel different, since it is still my body and not yours, but... You're not used to it. I wasn't either, before Two arrived. I only knew hands that hurt. Without him, I would never have known what a gentle touch was like, would never have... grown used to them. I adore him. And Three, of course.' Vessel gushes, though his voice is quiet, light and airy.

Jealously swirls within Sleep, a bitter feeling that He hates but does not know how to rid himself of.

'At our next ritual, while I try to find a balance between you and me within my body, take the time to feel what it is like to have a physical form. Do not shy away from III's touches.' Vessel's request is said lightly, without an ounce of judgment. 'Feel II's drumming reverberate through the floor. Just... feel.'

"As you wish, my Vessel." Sleep agrees, voices monotone, as though hiding some deeper emotion from Vessel.

They fall into silence, Vessel basking in his peace and Sleep basking in the presence of his First. Silvery fish swim by in their schools, God-made, leaving trails of stardust through the water. Vessel reaches up to touch one, a look of awe on his face, and Sleep looks away, overcome with something He has no name for.

Somewhere within, Sleep had wanted Vessel to ask. To ask about that silly human he is visiting in his dreams.

Sleep supposes his magic worked, then, if Vessel wasn't questioning him. There should have been no doubt of it, but Vessel has long surpassed Sleep's expectations of a vessel, He gave so much of himself away...

It is raining when Vessel wakes up, two days after they had returned from their festival trip. Beside him, his plushies, new and old, are laid close. Elvira purrs on his chest, kneading into his shirt gently while her tail flicks back and forth.

Glad to see her, Vessel pets down her back, all the way down to her tail. She lets out an adorable sound, lifting up her behind to push into his hand every time he passes along her spine. Vessel wishes he could force his voice to work so he could tell Ellie just how much he missed seeing her.

The sound of rain against his window keeps him in bed for only a moment while he enjoys the sound, then he is rising. He takes great care in tucking his plushies under his covers, laid with their heads against the pillows, picking up a disgruntled Elvira to take with him when he is done.

Soft, silent footsteps tread down the staircase, the sound of III's humming reaching his ears from the kitchen. Vessel wonders if II knows III is in there, or is all of a sudden perfectly fine risking the manors safety. Vessel sets Elvira down beside her full bowls, smiling apologetically when she meows in irritation.

III pokes his head out of the kitchen door, a wide grin on his face when he sees Vessel. "Sugar! You're awa- where are you going? Its raining outside!"

Vessel pauses at the front door to slip off his socks and roll up his pajama pants, before heading out onto the porch.

Bare feet squish in the mud at the bottom of the steps as III lingers at the threshold of their front door.

"Ves! Wait a minute! Let me get Two, we'll go with you. And please, change into something warmer." III calls, turning around on their heel to hurry back into the house.

It wasn't an unusual sight to see Vessel heading out into the rain whenever the skies opened up in Sleep's earthly realm. It happened often enough, never anything too heavy, though occasional storms occurred that left them all house ridden. Not for Vessel's lack of want to go outside and bask in the rain, but for his lack of willingness to leave III alone (with II, but Vessel hates to leave either of them when he know they're suffering under the weight of negative emotions) when storms made him uncomfortable, borderline afraid.

III does not fancy a stroll through mud in the rain, but he'd give anything to spend some time with Vessel right now, and he knows II feels the same. Waking II up is done not without guilt, exhaustion palpable even in his sleep. Deep bags are under his eyes from the stress he always undergoes whenever Sleep takes Vessel's mind from his body. II hates it, III knows. They also know that II doesn't trust Sleep with any of them, not after watching how Vessel has continued to suffer time and time again, not after what Sleep did to III himself.

"Ves is awake." III says softly, smoothing out II's bedhead as best as they can before moving to cup his cheek.

Affection swims through his veins as II leans into his touch, "Wants to go out on a walk in the rain. I managed to stop him, made him wait for us."

II's eyes go wide as III's words set in, the sleepiness wiped away in an instant. He's up and out of his bed before III knows it, tossing on proper clothes and trying in vain to smooth his own hair out. He manages about as well as III did, which is not much at all.

III leaves him to it, and exits II's room to go get changed themselves. Slipping his mask and phone into their pockets, III leaves his own room. Vessel has clearly been to his own room and back already, in a pair of jeans and a non descript black hoodie, cleaning up some mud from where he walked through the house. III isn't surprised Vessel is ready to go already, he loves the rain.

"Thank you for waiting." III says softly, brushing his hand over Vessel's hair, petting him lightly.

Vessel lets out a faint noise of acknowledgement, but doesn't speak, lifting his head to shove against III's hand more insistently, quite like a cat.

"Missed you, Sugar." III murmurs, crouching down to be at Vessel's level, "Can I have a kiss?"

III barely gets their question out before Vessel is dropping the muddy rag, wiping his hands on his jeans, and reaching out for III. Surprising III, Vessel kisses over his jaw, then his cheekbone, right over a question mark freckle, before finally kissing him on the lips.

III falls back, startled, and Vessel follows, holding III's face ever so gently in clawed hands. The ache in his asscheeks is well worth the tender kiss Vessel is giving them, cold hands sending shivers down III's spine.

This feels like some sort of huge leap has been made in Vessel's progress towards healing. It feels otherworldly. It's only a kiss, and yet...

"I love you." III breathes when Vessel pulls away, feeling like they're floating on air when Vessel nuzzles his nose into III's cheek, six eyes fluttering closed.

Vessel wants to say it back, opens his mouth to do so, but his voice fails him, throat tight. Unable to reciprocate vocally, Vessel presses three small kisses onto the tip of III's nose, and then lets their foreheads touch for but a moment. His eyes try to memorize every miniscule detail of III's face, so glad to see their unique freckles on display again.

II clears his throat lightly, III and Vessel looking up to see him standing at his doorway, looking over at them fondly. Vessel's startled expression seems to brighten at the sight of him, and II wonders how that's even possible, considering the adoring look he'd been giving III mere seconds before.

"Hello, beautiful. I'm glad to see you awake." II says, moving towards them.

He was going to anyways, but Vessel reaching a hand out for him to take hurried II along. II joins them on the floor, bringing Vessel's hand up for a kiss to his knuckles. Vessel surprises II by pulling his hand from II's grip and placing it on his cheek, leaning in to kiss II all on his own, hesitant as it is. Eyes wide in surprise, II glances over at III in shock, only to find III grinning widely, just as elated as II is.

It is with reluctance that when they part, II pulls Vessel up off the floor with him, reaching to cup his cheeks and pull him down into a chaste kiss. "It's been raining for all morning, it will probably stop soon. We should get going if you want a few minutes to enjoy it sweetheart."

"It's been pretty light, my plants should be fine." III comments, standing, too.

There's a pretty flush on his face, still feeling the effects of Vessel kissing them. II completely understands, feeling like he's going to explode from how deeply his affection runs.

Vessel forgoes shoes, bare feet padding silently along the floor as he opens the front door to stare out at the rain while II and III put their shoes on, sharing a kiss of their own. Impatient, but in a surprisingly good mood, Vessel hums lightly as he steps onto the porch, making his way just outside of the overhang, rain dripping down his bare face, hands held out to capture rain in his cupped palms.

He turns when II and III shut the door to the manor behind them, lips pulling up further into a grin. Letting the water fall from his hands and then wiping them on his pants, Vessel reaches a hand out each for II and III to take, expression open and warm. He tries his best to ignore his ever present anxiety, wanting the other vessels close without being afraid, for once. The past couple days... has made Vessel consider some things.

Their leaving of him is inevitable. Vessel has never been enough for anyone to stay, to love him eternally. But that's fine. II and III love him right now, and when the times comes for that love to wither, Vessel can die happy knowing that these wonderful people loved him at all. That they stayed longer than any before them and have yet to hurt him. Accepted him as he is, or what he has allowed them to see.

Vessel has always been a selfish man. Always wanting things he doesn't deserve, and yet clawing desperately to keep them, with his beating heart in hand and eyes that never stopped leaking tears.

Vessel has only ever wanted to love and be loved.

III talks enough for Vessel as they walk under an umbrella too small for all of them, telling him all the little things he missed since they got home. How Elvira had practically attacked them not long after they'd set foot through the front door, weaving through II's feet and nipping at his ankles between meows, her tail swaying back and forth. III's started growing some new varieties of flowers, little sprouts that they hope will soon bloom into red camellias and scotch brooms. Still tired, II leans heavily on III, an arm around the other's waist, listening fondly and adding in his own words on occasion.

Vessel walks a little ahead to feel the rain on his body, trailing a hand along damp tree trunks and growing clusters of shelf mushrooms as he goes. There is not as much mud as III thought there would be, much of the moss littering the ground and the thick canopy of trees overhead, leaving the ground damp in places and muddy in others. Most of the mud seemed to congregate around the house or in other areas where the trees weren't quite so tightly packed. The umbrella wasn't really needed, but III is glad for it anyway, their arm around II's shoulder pulling the smaller man closer.

The rain begins to let up not more than twenty minutes into their walk. Vessel's disappointment is clear, and III hates to see the happiness dimming from his multiple eyes.

"How about we play a game?" III blurts, bouncing on the balls of their feet.

Vessel tilts his head as II asks for the both of them, "A game?"

"Uh, yeah! How about tag? Have you ever played it, Ves?" III asks, trying not to show just how sad it makes him when Vessel only stares in confusion, head tilted to the side cutely.

"It's easy." III promises, "Whoever is 'it' has to chase someone around until they can tap them, and then that person will be it. You can't just re-tap the same one who tagged you immediately, though. It's... a little silly, I know. We're not children anymore."

II speaks up to save III from the embarrassment they can all feel in the bond, "No, it's not silly. It'll be good for Ves, actually. Something fun that he missed out on as a child."

"It'll be good for you, too. You need to loosen up." III tries for a joke, feeling a bit better about his suggestion.

II laughs lightly, reaching out to shove III. It almost sends them toppling over with II's strength, their own laughter loud and boisterous. Vessel observes, brushing off the instinctual worry that III would be hurt. II would never.

Vessel bends down to pick up a stray red leaf, gentle hold still managing to crunch it in place between his fingers, holding it up for II and III deliberately. He points towards the section of the forest being consumed by blood red, shaking his head to try and communicate what he means.

"I know, Ves, don't go into the crimson part. It's not safe." II nods, and Vessel relaxes.

Then he smiles, wobbly, unsure, but willing to participate. III's grin grows impossibly wider, a fond smile pulling at II's lips too.

"Tag, you're it!" III exclaims, tapping II on the cheek and booking it in the other direction.

Vessel flounders, looking between II, who is still next to him, and III as they run off, with different sets of eyes. His hands twist together at his waist, unsure of what to do.

"Go on, Ves. Off you go." II smirks, urging Vessel on with a shooing motion.

Vessel hesitates, before turning and following after III at more of a jog, long legs carrying him across the terrain quickly. His movements are stilted, as though running was not something he was familiar with. As he goes, Vessel's tense, nervous form loosens up, instinctually knowing he will not face judgement from his lovers. III's grin is infectious as he takes Vessel's hand so they can keep pace with each other.

II is so terribly fond of them.

"Come on, Two! Hurry up!" III calls, having stopped a good way's away, Vessel at his side.

Running a hand through his hair, II sighs, amused, "Tag the short one first. Of course. That little shit."

II takes off after them, knowing there's no way he'll tag someone unless they let him. He's right when Vessel slows down, easily keeping pace with II, and offers up a hand to be tapped.

"Oh, fine." II rolls his eyes good naturedly, flipping III off as they laugh in the distance and clapping Vessel's hand.

Vessel grins wide, lopsided and baring fangs, wrapping his hand around II's to keep hold of it. A split tongue peeks out to wet dry, cracked lips, and II wants to kiss him, so he does. Pulling Vessel down by a shoulder and getting up on his toes to reach. II keeps it short, contentment swirling in his chest. Vessel is the one that follows II back down for another, nipping very gently at II's lower lip when he parts from the smaller man.

"Tag Three for me, would you?" II asks, mischief making a home in the ice of his eyes, pulling at the corner of his lip and settling into the dimple that appears with his smile.

Vessel nods, leaning down again just to nuzzle his cheek into II's hair, and then he's off, hand slipping from II's. It's a sight to see, watching Vessel chase III around. III's laughter echoes through the forest, becoming part of the symphony created by nature itself.

III is having the time of their life, carefully tucking away the arousal sending blood straight down to his dick as Vessel chases them through the forest. III's breaths come out heavy as he clutches at tree bark, using momentum to swing around the tree to just barely escape Vessel's outstretched hand.

Vessel huffs out air, meant to resemble an exasperated laugh, feeling something like freedom singing in his empty chest. They find themselves on either side of a tree, its trunk separating them. III leans over to one side, smiling widely, playfully. "Gonna come get me, Ves?" 

Feeling... playful too, Vessel allows a pout to form, appearing to think over his options before turning to go around one side of the tree. III isn't expecting Vessel to feint, surprised when the other reaches out to tag him on the hip. 

Instead of getting angry with him, III grins, turning around to pull Vessel in by the beltloops for a kiss. "Where do you think II got off to?" It's more rhetorical than an actual question, but Vessel shrugs his response anyways, letting III lead them back in the direction they last saw their Second. 

II is sitting on the ground against a tree, stretching out his legs. When he sees them, he grins sheepishly, "Got tired. I guess being a vessel doesn't mean my limbs become automatically accustomed to running. I worked an office job Before, and now the most strenuous activities I do are sex and drumming." 

III is openly laughing, plopping down to wrap an arm around II's shoulders. "Sounds to me like you should start working out more. Though, I don't think your biceps or thighs could get anymore... scrumptious. It wouldn't be good for my health."

"Can you even spell that?" II muses, leaning into them as Vessel sits on his other side, their asses cushioned by soft, damp moss.

"Sure I can! S-c-r-u-m, um... another m? S-h...?"

"Valiant effort, sweetheart, but not quite." II laughs, Vessel nodding along with his own amused smile.

They sit by stay II for a bit, eventually standing and letting the other rest while they go about  playing tag in close quarters. They weave in between trees, III never once tripping or stumbling unless its over their own two feet, while Vessel does his best to dodge the roots and rocks littering the ground.

At some point, Vessel trips, knees hitting the ground with a startling ache. His smile remains as he gets back up quickly, nearly falling on his face again as his foot slips in the mud while he stands. III has paused, watching Vessel with caution, beginning to backtrack towards Vessel. Seeing an opening, Vessel boldly moves forward to tap III on the arm. He flits away before III has time to do more than drop their mouth open in feigned shock, turning to stare back at II off in the distance with a gasp, "Did you see that, Doll? He used his pretty face against me!"

"Didn't look like he did much of anything, from here." II calls back, "You're just weak to his beauty! Now, go on! Ves is leaving you in the dust."

"Oh, man, what the fuck- He's so far away already!" III runs off, following Vessel as the other expertly weaves between trees in a zig zag pattern, clever mind trying to confuse III.

It's fun, and that's why Vessel knows he should have been more alert. Nothing good lasts forever.

Vessel freezes, halting midstep. The forest has gone silent,

"Got you- Ves?" III exclaims as he taps Vessel's shoulder gently, pausing when the bond goes taut with alertness.

Urgently, Vessel brings one hand up to his lips in a shushing motion, head tilting as he listens for something. Three sets of eyes roam around the area individually, searchingly, as Vessel reaches back to take III's hand.

He opens his mouth to speak, face twisting into fearful frustration as no words come out. Vessel holds two fingers up instead, trying to get a feel for II's location through the bond. How close is he? Is he nearer to them or the danger Vessel feels trembling within the trees?

He tugs on the bond, feeling it go stiff with II tugging back, the forest whispering to him the way to go. Vessel pulls III along with him, wincing at every sound the others' feet makes as they go. Vessel hates to be so bold, but he needs to teach them how to be silent if danger is to be a norm for them.

II grows closer as III and Vessel walk, hope beginning to blossom in Vessel's empty chest. That fragile hope is crushed underfoot when vines of ivy wrap around his legs, pulling them out from under him. III yelps as Vessel lets out a soft 'oof!', the Third scrambling after Vessel when the vines begin to drag him off.

Back in the direction of the manor.

"Two. Find... Two." Vessel manages to spit out, choking on his words.

He hopes with everything he is that III heard him, that III understood. That hope in his chest, withered and crushed, slowly unfurls into anger, into rage. He understands intimately what is happening.

His body slams into the sides of trees, scraping over roots and rocks as the vines drag him across the forest floor. All the while, he struggles, flailing his arms and legs as terror burrows its way into his very soul, entwining with his anger. Every silent command to be released is ignored, and soon enough, he is being pulled up the porch steps and into the house. The vines release him as the front door slams shut, vines covering the entire thing so he can't leave. Vessel stands on shaky legs, body aching in places he hasn't in a long time, scrapes stinging and blood oozing from minor cuts on his face. The back of his head aches, too, where he'd hit it multiple times going up the steps. It leaves him dizzy, and it takes a moment to regain his bearings.

Vessel finds the foyer and living room a mess, books tossed carelessly to the ground, blankets and cushions strewn about. II's plants that usually sit on the thin windowsills on either side of the front door have been knocked to the ground, contents spilling over the floor messily. Vessel touches each one, ensuring they will not wilt.

Movement in the kitchen catches Vessel's attention, moving towards it silently. A yowl reaches his ears, angry hissing and mewls of distress. The cautious expression on Vessel's face turns thunderous, anger spurring him on.

There are three... things taking up space in the kitchen, one holding Elvira in it's arms. They're vaguely humanoid in shape only, seemingly made of black blood, iron invading Vessel's nose so strongly it would make him gag if he wasn't so used to the stench of his own blood. Their forms bubble, shifting as though in constant threat of boiling over. It's an odd sight, one Vessel isn't sure how to describe properly. He finds he doesn't care, fingers twitching at his side. With nary a thought, the knives in their wooden block lift, shooting through the air and impaling three of the intruders. Blood gurgles over each of their lips, a knife through the throat, and one in the chest. Their forms shift, black blood frothing up where their mouths are and then they explode, blood the color of ink splattering over the walls. Steam rises, the blood boiling.

Elvira jumps out of the arms of the one holding her, hissing as she bounds off, blood droplets blending into her dark, singed fur, bloody prints being left where her paws meet the floor. When Vessel has the chance, he'll make sure she isn't injured. Turning in the direction of the living room, Vessel faces a multitude of those creatures, all seeming in search of something. Vessel knows what for.

The knives hover in the air at his command, the creatures before him turning as one to stare at his unmoving form. Then, one launches itself directly at him. Heat turns his skin pink before blood splatters over his face, and it burns as a knife goes clean through the thing's throat.

Vessel ignores the pain, wiping off the blood with a sleeve. He's glad he didn't wear his Alpha Wolf hoodie today. The death of one causes the others to grow restless, surging towards him and dripping blood as they go. Where Vessel takes out one creature of black blood, another reforms in its place, bubbling up over itself until something humanoid sways in it's predecessors place.

Is this to tire him out? Are II and III undergoing the same thing? Neither are as used to pain as he is, Vessel knows it is not so easy to set aside the ache of injuries. As that thought enters his mind, Vessel feels pain light up II's bond like an explosion, and III's more faintly as though their injury was less severe.

It leaves him gasping, cold fury flooding his veins like an avalanche, and the vines around the manor shudder, writhe, thorns making scratches on the walls. With new resolve, Vessel takes out another creature, brutal with every movement, little care being shown to how much blood splatters on his clothes. He has lovers to get back to.

II wiggles, flailing his arms and one free leg as best as he can, struggling to escape from the hand holding him up in the air. A God looms over him, holding II up by the ankle as if he were nothing more than a pesky insect, gazing at him with two crimson eyes that remind the Second so much of his boyfriend it hurts.

"Second vessel of Sleep, least favored. So close to being incompatible with the God, you were almost looked over entirely. Sleep will not care for that tiny flicker of love you have for them, not with how much hate you harbor. They will toss you aside without a thought, just a broken vessel lost in the void, soulless. There is no greater suffering... but if you join me, lend me your soul and your gifts, I would never toss you aside. Sink into your hate, let it froth, boil over..."

"Are you done? I don't have all day, y'know. Who even are you?" II interrupts, sneering, impatient.

"What nerve you have, Second Vessel of Sleep. I am the God of Hate-"

"Nice to meet you, now fuck off. I won't join you or any other God. Not now, not ever. Sleep is my God, no matter my feelings for Him. I chose this, chose him and nothing you say will change that."

"You are not even devoted to him! Do not lie to me, Second vessel, I feel your hate!" Hate spits, heat crawling up (or is it down?) his leg where the God still holds his ankle in a bruising grip.

"You want the truth? Fine, the truth is I do hate Sleep. Some part of me does, at least. I am devoted to Vessel, First vessel of Sleep. He is where my devotion lies, he is who I worship. Vessel is my God, and who my God follows, so too, do I. But I will not be swayed from Sleep, no matter how I hate the way he treats us vessels. Now I suggest you leave this fucking forest and never return. None of us will bow to your will."

Hate roars, flinging II to the side, and II flails, trying to grab anything he can. His hands catch on a tree whose thick, leaf-covered branches bend down to catch him. He is deposited safely to the forest floor, the trees righting their positions as if they never moved at all.

Blinking, II takes the strange situation in stride, attention falling back to Hate and the goopy things writhing around him, not quite human shaped.

II sneers, widening his stance and summoning his axes. He adjusts his grip on them nervously, blue eyes trying to keep track of all of the figures beginning to circle him. Black blood drips to the forest floor, leaves catching alight and burning away. What use is his strength if the thing he is fighting is too hot for him to touch?

"Foolish Second vessel. Do you think you can fight me? That you will win?"

"I do not do anything I think to be impossible." II snaps, launching one axe directly at Hate's head.

It soars through the air, very nearly hitting its mark. Hate leans to the side casually, goopy form drifting closer as it laughs, and II backs up, knowing it's imperative he keeps distance between them.

Hate begins to laugh, finding II's attempts at fighting back amusing, and it makes II angry. God's and their fucking arrogance. II doesn't care how otherworldly they are, he will never see the God's as above him, simply for their lack of understanding of humanity and their unwillingness to learn-

There's movement coming towards him, something aiming for his chest at alarming speed and II panics, bringing his axe down at the same time he moves backwards. For the briefest of seconds, II thinks he did it. Thinks he managed to dodge, to save his heart from being run right through.

Then, he feels something in his stomach, a warm pressure just below his ribs. Something is there, a confused noise leaving him as his mind struggles to catch up with the events. He looks down, one axe falling to the forest floor and shattering into golden sparks.

Bubbling, scorching black blood, solidified at one end, sticks out of his stomach, his own red blood leaking out of the wound. Blisters are forming around the entry, his skin turning pink with the heat.

"It... seems I've been impaled." II mumbles, brain lagging behind.

II suddenly registers the pain at the same time the memories hit. He's gasping in breath after breath, caught between a concrete jungle and the silent forest he lives within. There's a knife- no, it's blood- no, he can't- where is he?

A creature is coming at him from his right, and II swings the axe he frantically re-summoned, black blood splattering across the forest floor, sizzling where it lands as another enemy is taken out. He gasps, the movement having sent searing pain up his side, originating from his injury. Hate creeps forward, closer and closer as II struggles to keep the bloody creatures from touching, well aware now that it will hurt. That he will burn.

A hand reaches out, steaming, sizzling, bubbling up and boiling over, wrapping around his throat. II claws at it with one hand, lifted up so that his feet dangle uselessly. The other tries in vain to catch his axe on any part of it's body, but Hate keeps itself too far away for II to reach. He's being played with, just a toy in the grasp of a God. The skin of his throat burns, droplets splashing down onto his collarbones and searing his flesh. It hurts. It hurts so much, but II grits his teeth, refusing to let this motherfucker hear any more of his pained sounds. He won't give it the satisfaction.

His breath starts coming in shorter and shorter pants, oxygen being cut off as Hate squeezes the life out of him. II wishes he would just end it, just to make the agony finally cease.

II doesn't want to die, though. Not again.

Vision beginning to fade, II prays to Sleep that He will keep the others safe in his stead. The prayer is bitter, fear underlying it.

Then, II is gasping for air, slamming down into the ground, foliage digging into his knees and shins, his palms, as he coughs. Looking up through blurred but clearing vision, II finds a large, large spider, a black widow, using its pedipalps to tear into Hate's body. It's easily the size of Vessel's car, bigger perhaps, with a large red question mark over its behind, where an hourglass shape would usually sit.

He freezes, limbs stiffening in his fear as his mind seems to blank. Trembling, II crawls backwards, swinging his axe in front of him wildly to keep the bloody creatures from getting too close.

II catches sight of the spider's eyes, all eight of them as Hate shoves a boiling hand up towards its head, causing its neck to twist unnaturally, barely registering through his fear that he knows those eyes. So blue, like the sky, surrounded by pitch black sclera.

"Three, watch out!" II's warning gives III time to launch himself back and away from the spray of blood Hate spits out.

He groans, trying to hold a hand around the wound in his side. Trickles of crimson blood drip through the cracks of his fingers as III moves to stand over him, Hate getting up, too.

"I am quite through playing with you-" Hate hisses before reeling back as though struck, an angry hiss emitting from the boiling blood bubbles of its mouth.

It turns in the direction of the manor, dripping black as it crawls over the muddy ground.

"All of them have been taken out? If only I had gone to the First myself..." Hate mumbles, blisters along it's body popping black blood.

"Insignificant little pests. I should kill you where you stand, but that would take time I do not care to waste now. When I get my hands on the First, your lives will be snuffed out without myself having to lift another finger."

Panic seizes II, struggling to stand up, fearing for Vessel's safety. Pain lights up his nerves, keeping him half-sprawled on the ground, gritting his teeth. III stays leaned over him, a sound between a snarl and a distinctly spider-like chitter being emitted lowly. A bloody hand sweeps across the air, knocking III aside with a screech. II shouts his name, turning his head to stare after him, shoving aside the pain to try and move to his knees at least.

"Stay down, boy. Your end is near. Wait for it to claim you." Hate hisses, and between one blink and the next, it is leaning over II, pressing into the solid blood sticking out of his stomach.

The coagulated blood sinks in further, pinning II to the ground as he sobs, legs kicking out, blood-slick fingers trying to force the God's hand away from the thing protruding out of II's body. Out of the corner of his eye, II registers III running back at them, but right before his large body would collide with Hate's, the God's form dissolves, slipping into the ground and disappearing. The creatures hovering behind the God, collapse like puppets with their strings cut, leaving black blood to spread along the moss and leaves.

III pauses, unsure now, afraid to get closer. He is well, well aware of II's fear, and he knows what he has  become.

"Not- Not a monster." II whimpers, eyes squeezing shut as he cries, one hand flopping over to beckon III closer.

It is with great reluctance that III draws nearer, eight spindly legs closing the distance easily. "It hurts Three, please don't stay so far away from me." II begs, making an effort to sit up. 

Whining in pain, II is glad when III finally comes to him, their large body settling above him as though to protect him from potential danger. III freezes in place, and he realizes exactly what position he has II in, just how severe his injury looks, the blood- Pinned to the ground under his monstrous form, black blood splattering on II's face as it drips from III's own bloody pedipalps.

III chitters, shuffling nervously as their fear tries to muddle his mind. He can't allow it to, there is no time to be afraid. It isn't safe.

"Not a monster. Not a monster." II repeats through his barely contained sobs, lifting a shaking hand to grip what little of one of III's legs he can.

Blood seeps through II's shirt steadily from the wound on his side, slipping through the fingers trying to put pressure on the wound.

III opens their mouth to speak, to apologize, to scream, cry, beg for forgiveness for being unable to protect him, but no words come out. Only a garbled whine, a pitiful moan, the agonized cry of a despaired creature whose throat cannot mimic human speech.

III has to find Vessel, but he can't leave II here. The bonds are prominent, the threads connecting them to the other vessels like a beacon of hope in his own chest. III finds Vessel's thread, something as second nature as breathing, and pulls harder than ever before.

Vessel gasps, lurching forward on unsteady feet. Vessel grips the fabric of his hoodie over where his heart should lay beneath. His panicked thoughts consume him. It is only with Sleep's sudden arrival, sudden warning, processed only as a shout of reprimand, that Vessel looks up to see black blood seeping under the front door of the manor. It coagulates into a large form, taking over the whole foyer and leaving splotches of its matter everywhere.

"First Vessel of Sleep, you are filled with hate. Hate for yourself, for who you were before your pathetic God took you from Death's arms. You can't let go, it will consume you, and you will doom not only yourself but your God, your lovers."

'Sleep saved me.' Vessel projects, not sure if Hate will even hear him.

"Sleep stole you." Hate scoffs, boiling more violently, bubbles popping with a hiss of steam, "You were meant to stay dead. Not become the abomination you are now, no matter how perfect of a vessel."

'I should have.' Vessel agrees, brows drawn close, 'I do not understand why Sleep chose me.'

"You seek death, then, First Vessel? I can grant it to you, Death had waited a long time for you two to meet properly, after all. If you give me your soul, show me where your heart lies, I will crush your head and heart in one simple move. You will be free, your pain gone. Your suffering will end. You will be free, First Vessel of Sleep."

Vessel does not do more than stare, quietly contemplative. He has no plans of actually doing as asked, but curiosity creeps up on him. This God seems to know things Vessel doesn't, things he has never thought to question or even contemplate.

'What do you gain from all of this?' Vessel questions, idly letting the knives held by his power line up in a half circle around his head.

Cold rage burns within him, sharp eyes watching Hate closely. He really should get this over with. Fucking God is keeping him from leaving, and he has far more important things to attend to.

"I seek power, and your body is perfect for my needs. Kept on the cusp of death, an open cavity for me to inhabit. A body that will not rot with the barest amounts of my divinity within." Hate explains with a flourish, more forthcoming than Vessel thought it would be.

Is it cockiness that lets it spill its intentions so nonchalantly? Or stupidity?

"Banish Hate's words from your mind. A god has no power over one who does not believe." Sleep commands, voices startling Vessel

A single knife dips down as though it will clatter onto the floor, but Vessel has it floating upright, blade pointed towards Hate again in no time. Anger fester for Sleep, too, for not helping them even now.

'I have no intention of joining you.' Vessel refuses, sending forth two of his knives to pierce Hate's body, one through the head and another through the chest.

"That is not enough to kill me, foolish First. You, at least, have more bite than the Second, though. All bark, that one." Hate gripes, one red eyeball drooping down it's face, nearly slipping down where it's neck should be. "Too small to be more than a minor nuisance."

Rage stiffens Vessel's muscles, hands curling into tight fists, claws digging deep into his palms. A sound escapes Vessel, then. Something feral, baring teeth and fang. An enraged hiss that sends the tip of his split tongue skittering over his lips afterwards, wetting the dry surface. Blood wells to the surface of Vessel's palms, but he barely notices. The weight of his scythe appearing in his hand is familiar, and the sound it makes swinging through the air is like music to Vessel's ears.

Hate is in the middle of saying something else, something blasphemous in Vessel's mind, but its cut short when the blade tip of Vessel's scythe tears from open maw through goopy cheek. Hate's jaw slackens, the God silenced, blood immediately trying to solidify enough to draw the mockery of skin and muscle back together.

Vessel doesn't give it any time to recuperate, adjusting his grip on his scythe and swinging it in a wide arch right through Hate's neck. It shatters into golden sparks as he let the momentum take it out of his hands. Eyes glowing, Vessel commands all of the knives still circling his head to shoot at the God, two embedding themselves in its head as it begins to separate from the body. Four more slide right through where the heart should be, black blood flying as the knives hit.

It feels almost too easy, so for good measure, his fingers twitch. Vines begin to circle around the limbs, Hate beginning to rise. The plants pull taut, stretching the goopy mess of Hate's wiggling form, blood bubbles popping like blisters. Fingers twitching still, the vines pull, and pull, until the arms and legs of Hate's humanoid form separate from the body. He crouches over the writhing torso, ignoring how Hate's mouth has reformed and is spewing threats against the First, against the other vessels, removing thr knives after twisting them around. Shoving claws into the boiling mockery of skin, digging around with ruthless claws, Vessel searches, hands burning hot.

Finding what he was looking for, Vessel grits his teeth through the agony, and pulls.

A beating heart, black as night and littered with traces of gold, pulses between his fingers, claws scraping at the organ as he tears it out. It's easier to do than it was when it was his own heart he was offering. His hands shake, nerves clearly damaged. He hopes he will still be able to play his instruments but his fury is limitless and his patience thin.

Sinking his claws in further, Vessel makes sure he has a good grip and starts shredding the heart, using claws to tear into the organ without a care.

Hate's grating threats are silenced, and with a glance, Vessel finds the mouth parted in a silent scream, red eyes wide. The knives still dug into its skull sink in deeper.

Vessel doesn't stop unti the heart lays in a mangled mess at his feet, resembling a pile of gore more than any sort of organ. Satisfaction curls in his gut, but he doesn't pay any mind to it. Black blood sizzles, before beginning to dry up rapidly. With little fanfare, the God's body is gone. Vessel doesn't take any time to revel in a useless victory. He doesn't care that he just felled a God, something that felt too easy of a feat, that was a God.

"Hate will reform in time. The emotion Gods are not beings that ever truly die, emotions are not something merely to be believed in. They are far more tangible than mere belief. Regardless, some of his power is now yours, my First, as the one to slay them."

Vessel stumbles towards the front door, clawing at the vines around the house. When one is torn away, two more appear to replace it.

Let him out. Let him out. He has to get to the others.

Vessel sobs, lips pulling up to bare his teeth viciously. He turns, stalking through the house, up the staircase and directly to the altar room.

"My Vessel?" Sleep questions, curiously concerned, watching as Vessel lifts a loose floorboard to pick up a golden bladed ritual knife.

Sleep knows the blade is never far from the altar room for long, the magic of the house keeping it near the heart it helped pry out of the First's chest.

Vessel boldly ignores his God, a single minded focus having consumed his every thought, angry, silent steps making their way back towards the dripping sigil on the wall. Vessel's heart beats in his ears, the vines all along the walls beginning to shudder in anticipation. The tip of a golden blade is pressed into the arch of Sleep's symbol, Vessel's body trembling at the uncomfortable feeling.

'Let me out, Sleep, the danger has passed, and if you ever-' Vessel hisses again, baring his fangs, mouth opened wide, his following words rife with his fury, 'If you ever keep me in this fucking house again while my lovers are in danger, if they end up dead because of something like this... I'll shove this blade into my heart and make sure my fucking brain is next. I will not live in a world without them.'

"You would not dare." Sleep says, assured in His own words.

'Have you forgotten how I came to be with you in the first place? I would dare. The only thing that kept me from doing as I just threatened, all that time ago in the beginning, was my hope that you'd keep your promise to me. You have given me love, and now you threaten it.'

There is silence for a brief moment, as Sleep takes in His Vessel's words, choosing to move past them after understanding the truth of it. His presence grows heavier with pained indignation, "You knew it was me who dragged you here, my Vessel?"

'This house would never put my safety first. Time and time again it has shown the others favor where I have been gifted nothing, exactly as I deserve, as I desire.' Vessel spits, pressing the blade in a little further, pressure building in his chest that leaves him gasping.

"Remove the knife from your heart, First Vessel." Sleep demands, voices tinged with His own discomfort.

This pressure He is feeling... what is it?

'Not until you let me out.' Vessel argues, crimson eyes glowing with his fury. 'You... you tried to play this off like it wasn't you who pulled me here. Whatever has happened to Two, I could have prevented it- why? Why didn't you help us?'

"God's cannot directly interfere with the intentions of other Gods. It is why we have employed humans to fight our wars for us, humans to become our vessels." Sleep explains, human relief filling Him when Vessel slowly lowers the knife.

'That is why you gave us weapons, to fight for you if needed.' Vessel says slowly, with mounting horror

"To protect yourselves." Sleep corrects, gentler now, and desperate to be believed, "I want you to live, my First, and that want has spread to the other vessels. You are all mine."

Vessel clutches at his chest where he can still feel III pulling on the bond, their desperation like a stain upon his mind, insistent, splitting his attention drastically. II's bond collapses into static, not disappearing exactly, but fuzzing up as though asleep. It feels distinctly different, more sudden, jarring. Vessel wants to throw up, shoving the sleeves of his hoodie up to drag his nails across his arms, needing the pain, knowing it is deserved.

'I need to go to them. Please let me.' Vessel's voice is smaller now, weaker even in his own mind.

The fight has slipped from him, the bone deep terror he feels sapping any strength to stand up to Sleep further. He doesn't think it is needed anymore, anyways.

"Go." Is all Sleep says, and that's all Vessel needs to hear.

He books it out of the altar room, taking the staircase steps two at a time. Vines move out of his way, clearing a path for him to tread the house quickly. Nothing blocks the front door, and he barely remembers to close it behind him as he leaves, running off into the forest, following the thread of his soul that leads to III, still pulled taut. Trees branches part, roots receding, the forest silent as a grave as Vessel faces no impediment. The bond grows tighter with every passing foot, reassuring Vessel of his closeness to the others. A large creature crouches over II's body when Vessel nears enough to see the small man under its hulking frame. At first, Vessel thinks it was something left by Hate, or another creature from Sleep's realm, but he would know his lovers anywhere, in any form.

The large black widow spider, bigger than their car, moves aside, eight wide blue eyes watching Vessel grow near as if he was some sort of savior. Vessel feels sick with that look cast upon him.

Vessel falls to his knees at II's side, forward momentum helping him slide the last few inches between them. Hands hover unsurely over II's unmoving body, and Vessel's mind immediately supplies that II is dead. He's dead and Vessel is too late  and he'll never forgive himself- How is he supposed to go on-

II's chest rises with a slow breath, and Vessel sobs with sudden, all consuming relief.

III moves closer again, spider limbs slowly becoming covered in a gold sheen, large form shrinking as human features reappear. Vessel turns to cup his face, blood swiping across III's cheeks, checking III over for any injuries, turning their face side to side. One pair undergoes that task while the middle set scans III's body, the lowest pair of eyes never straying from II's chest, keeping a careful eye on his breathing.

"Couldn't... I couldn't turn back... not until I knew you were safe, too. Not until I knew we were safe." III says, the first words he's spoken since they were all separated, tears slipping down his face and into the creases left by Vessel's gentle fingers, "It was so easy, just like changing my hair, or hiding my inhumanity entirely... but... Two is really going to hate me now. He won't be able to even look at me..."

III cries, unsure if he is really speaking to Vessel or only to himself. With all the tender love and care in Vessel's body, he pulls III's forehead to meet his own, intending to comfort. Wiping their tears, Vessel pulls away just enough to press a few small kisses to III's forehead. With every one, he tries to convey what he cannot say.

Nothing would ever be able to make Vessel's love for III wither. He is going to love him for the rest of his life as a vessel, and that love will stretch beyond this life, and the next, and every life after. Vessel's soul will allow for nothing less. He knows II likely feels the same, sees it in every soft look, every fond insult and their playful banter they share. II loves III just the same.

III cries harder, clutching at Vessel's hoodie desperately, as if he will crumble away if his grip slips even a little. It's a familiar scenario, only reversed.

"Thank you, thank you-" III sobs out, a soft smile trying to pull at lips tilted downwards with fear.

As easy as breathing, Vessel pressed another soft kiss to III's forehead. Assured that III is safe, Vessel's attention focuses back on II, careful hands wrapping around II's knees. When an arm tries to go underneath his back to lift II by the shoulders, resistance makes Vessel pause, along with the sound II lets out.

II jerks, crying out in his unconscious state, akin to a wounded animal. III shakes next to him, unsure what to do with their hands and settling on hugging themselves, tightly.

Vessel needs to lift the object enough to free II's body, just enough-

Wildly, Vessel pulls at III's hands, motioning for him to get behind II's head. III's confusion is evident, but he does his best to comply as he wipes his tears. He mimes a lifting motion, only stopping when III murmurs some word of understanding.

Words will not leave his mouth, but he sends them down the bond, hoping beyond hope that his frantic apology will come across as he intends, golden tears slipping down to drip onto II's clothes as Vessel wraps his hands around the protruding object. Then, with a nod of joint agreement, Vessel pulls at the thing pinning his lover to the ground while III lifts II up so they can both be sure he's no longer stuck to the floor.

II howls, waking up with the shock of the pain, but Vessel doesn't stop pulling up, sobbing silently, chest hitching as the empty cavity seems to widen with his agony. II's bond goes staticky again quickly, head lolling against III's arm, one hand clutched to their bicep tightly enough to turn his knuckles grey. That slips away with his mind, falling limply beside his still form.

When II is free, Vessel pulls him to his chest, uncaring in that one moment about his secret. II's life matters far more than the inevitability of his departure when Vessel's secret is out. He's careful of the thing sticking out of II, trying to hug him close without aggravating it. A pointed ear presses to his chest, listening for his heartbeat. It's steady, for the most part, Vessel pulling away once a minute or two has passed. II is alive. He's alive, and so is III, and things will be okay, won't they? They will, things have to be okay. II will be okay. Sleep can help him.

Vessel keeps his hold on II, tightening until his knuckles go grey, as if that action alone will keep II alive. A fuzzy, floaty feeling starts to enter Vessel's limbs, creeping along the edges of his mind.

"Ves, Ves we gotta get him home. We can try and treat him there, please, we need to go." III pulls at Vessel's shoulders, trying to urge him up.

He can barely think past his own terror but III knows that they'll be safer at home. The vines will keep them safe, and they'll be sheltered. Sleep is there, too, and they can try and treat II's wound. Somehow.

Vessel lifts his head, and III's crumbling heart shatters at the lack of light in his eyes, the vacancy beginning to slip into the cracks.

"Please don't float away from here. I need you to stay with me, just this once." III asks, voice small, breaking on a sob.

The sound of III's voice sends clarity slamming through Vessel, lightning lighting up his nerves, forcing some of the floaty feeling to recede. Reaching to his other arm, Vessel pushes his hoodie sleeve up enough to dig his claws in and drag.

Blood wells up immediately, the pain bringing him that much further away from the edge. He has to stay. He can't float away, not when II needs him, not when III is also crumbling to pieces.

Yanking his sleeve back down, Vessel stands, II's deadweight making another sob tear from his throat. III clutches at Vessel's sleeve, standing too, pressing in close as they wipe their tears with their available hand. As with the path before, the way back to the manor is done without any obstructions to the path. Vessel is grateful that the forest is doing as asked and keeping his partners safe in this regard.

The front door swings open as Vessel climbs the steps, careful not to knock any part of II's body into the doorframe. The couch is closest, Vessel expertly traversing the mess the creatures had made to set II down gently, as though he were made of glass. II barely even stirs, mumbling incoherently, face scrunched up in pain. Vessel hates it, hates that he cannot take his beloved's agony unto himself.

III, having split off to get the nearby first aid kit off their bookshelf, comes back with the box already torn open, rifling through for bandages and alcohol wipes. They keep their first aid well stocked because of Vessel's pathetic habit, and the man himself finds that fact to be a blessing.

It makes him sad, though, because it was II's idea. II who is prone before them, barely moving even when Vessel starts dabbing at the outside of his injury with the alcohol wipes to clean it of any grime. They sit in silence as Vessel does his best to clean II's wound of blood and dirt. III works on getting II's own blood from between the lines in II's palms, tears dripping off their chin. When they deem the task done, unable or unwilling to remove II's shirt in fear of aggravating the wound, III finally speaks, taking Vessel's arm and pushing the sleeve up.

"I should never have asked to play that game. I just wanted to spend more time with you both. It was silly... if we had just went home..." Crimson and black blood has smeared across Vessel's scarred arms, the harsh line where his claws dug in having stopped bleeding. 

III starts cleaning the blood off, shaking at the sight of the blood. Vessel trembles beside him, clutching II's limp hand with his available one like the smaller man will slip right between his fingers if he lets go. 

"N-not your fault." Vessel chokes out, weak and straining his vocal chords in a way III knows must hurt.

Wordlessly, III hands Vessel his phone, already pulled up to the notes app for the other to type freely. He goes back to his task, slathering anitbiotic ointment over Vessel's injury. His typing is slower with one hand, but III doesn't mind.

'We would have been attacked anyway.'

Wrapping up Vessel's arm and then taping it so the gauze will stay, III kisses over a wrist gently.

"Probably, but we would have been here, safe in the manor." III refutes, wanting to lean against Vessel's shoulder but scared the other will brush them off.

'There were creatures in the house when Sleep dragged me back. Looking for something.' Vessel reaches out with his unoccupied hand to pull III into his side, an arm around his shoulder.

"Will Two be okay?" III asks instead of accepting Vessel's attempts to console them.

'I don't know. The bond feels stable, and from what I know, so does his heart. It would have been worse if he'd lost more blood.' Vessel replies, sullen, knowing the amount of blood one can lose before passing out or death, intimately.

"We need to remove that thing, don't we?" III asks, unsure.

'I think so, but... I wouldn't know what to do afterwards.'

"I don't want to lose him, Vessel. I don't want to lose him." III sobs, and Vessel doesn't know what to do, what can he do?

II is better at comforting, he always seems to know what they need to hear, how they need to be cared for. Vessel doesn't know what to do, not without II. The absence of his calm presence is like missing a limb, and Vessel is left struggling.

Reaching out, Vessel pulls III into him, letting III cry into his shoulder. Tears wet the hood bunched up around his neck, III's hands fisting the material at his back, clenching and unclenching. Vessel does his best not to float away, not to think, desperate to not even feel. He wants to die, he wants to punish himself for letting this happen. He wants II to wake up, for III to be happy again.

If Vessel had never asked to be loved, his wouldn't have happened to them. They would have passed on, been reborn, they could have lived happy lives, safer than they are now that he's chained them to him, body and soul.

When they leave, it will be a deserved pain for Vessel to undergo.

Their fragile hope, shared between them, withers and dies before their very eyes when II's wound only grows worse to look at as day crawls into night. Black blood begins to fester within, skin pink around the wound, hot to the touch. II is running a fever, body hot as he sweats, and yet a chill keeps him shaking. Laid on his side, every glimpse of the solidified blood peeking out from his back makes Vessel sick. III had finally fallen asleep, their exhaustion building and building in the bond until he finally succumbed to it.

Vessel sits with his phone in his hand for a long while, going between staring at II's wound that just won't stop dripping blood, and his phone screen pulled up to Terzo Emeritus' contact. III sleeps with his head in Vessel's lap, clutching at Vessel's hoodie like he's going to disappear.

"I cannot heal the Second's wounds, my First. God-made wounds cannot be healed by any other God. I would only kill him in my attempts as our magic works against each other." Sleep explains, something like regret coloring the soothing timbre of His voices. "It... does not help that the Second was nearly incompatible with my divinity."

'Incompatible?' Vessel asks, quiet even in his own mind.

"Yes... I am unsure how to explain this. You, my First, are a being suitable for divinity. Your body will not rot, will not be broken down by my divinity, nor any other Gods. I have not seen a mortal so compatible with the divine in... I cannot even remember. The Second, his body, his soul, has a harder time holding my magic within and not breaking down. Think of it as humans susceptibility to sickness. Some never get sick, others get sick sometimes, and there are those whose bodies are prone to sickness at every turn. The Third was the perfect balance between the two, an easy choice. I nearly passed the Second if it weren't for how his soul called to me."

Vessel... could not have ever had his wonderful II if he'd been less compatible? He couldn't imagine the spot of Second vessel of Sleep being filled by anyone other than II, and Third by anyone but III. Vessel's soul has always called to them, and he's sure if they had met before Sleep, it would have been the same.

What does this knowledge mean in regards to their Four?

Vessel knows that man in his dreams is their Fourth. Has Sleep looked over him because he isn't compatible with the God's magic?

'I think you're referring more to human allergies, my God. Not sickness, exactly.' Vessel scrounges up an answer, trying to hide how this information has opened up new doors of thought in his mind.

"Yes, yes, human allergies. You mortals can become afflicted with so many different things." Sleep sighs, the different timbres and tones disorienting.

' What can we do for  Two,  then? I refuse to lose him. '

"That Emeritus boy you have contact with, he will help you. Those quintessance ghouls of his may be able to heal the Second."

'Why would he help me? We met the once, and he only offered to answer any questions.' Vessel says, taking in II's injury and slackened expression, 'This is far more than mere questions.'

"He will help you. He has a kind heart. All of the Emeritus boys do. I have seen them before, heard talk between other Gods. Lucifer's favored line of humans, made less so by that favor."

Vessel wants to think unconditional kindness exists in the world. It is what II and III have spent great care showing him. Sam, too, has been kinder than Vessel deserves, than he is used to from strangers. Terzo had helped Vessel after their first ritual, under no obligation to do so...

'I'll need to wake Three unless you can speak for me. I... I won't be able to speak to him.' Vessel admits, utterly ashamed, feeling useless, pathetic.

II's life is on the line, and Vessel will not lose him, but he can't fucking force any words out of his mouth. His throat aches, just as the rest of his body does. Speaking, when his voicebox has thorns wrapped around it like a hangman's noose, is always so painful, so difficult. Before Sleep, it was easier to speak even when his throat shut, because he would be screamed at, hit, treated like the worthless trash he knows he is... Vessel has new lovers who do none of that, who are always so patient and willing to find other ways to communicate. It is harder, now, to force himself to speak when II and III have worked hard to make him aware he doesn't have to, if its difficult.

"No one but my vessels can hear my voice, unless I have a physical form." Sleep sounds apologetic, but oddly detached.

It hurts, to know Sleep doesn't understand why Vessel is the way that he is. It hurts to know his hunanity sets them apart in so many ways.

With reluctance, Vessel shakes III's shoulder. They make a small noise in their sleep, the sensitive skin around their eyes reddened from crying. Vessel doesn't want to wake them, but... II needs help. II needs help that the vessels cannot provide, and he will die if they don't do something.

Vessel shakes III again, more desperately this time, holding in an unnecessary breath when it takes longer than usual. Exhaustion pulls at III's eyelids, groggy as roaming eyes take in his surroundings, and then panic is making him shoot up, frantic in his movements.

"Is Two- Oh. He's still..." III's voice trails off, sounding on the verge of tears again.

Vessel doesn't blame them, feeling much the same.

"My First needs you to call Terzo Emeritus for him. His voice fails him." Sleep explains, voices booming through the room.

It makes both III and Vessel wince, knowing it is less of a suggestion and more of a command. It makes Vessel feel so guilty, especially when III agrees without any further prompting.

"The Second will die if he doesn't get some sort of treatment. Tell Emeritus this, request his help, and he will do as asked." III lets out a whine at the blase way in which Sleep drops the news on him, holding back the immediate welling of tears.

Biting his lip hard enough to draw blood with a sharp fang, Vessel presses the call button, handing it over to III. The phone rings for only a few seconds, before Terzo answers.

"Hello, first Vessel of Sleep. What is it I can do for you?" An odd sense of relief fills Vessel at the sound of the older man's voice.

He answered. Vessel called, and he answered. That alone means more to Vessel than he can ever put into words.

"Terzo Emeritus?" III asks, filled with a bone deep weariness, looking between his lovers and terrified of losing them.

"Speaking. Who is this?" Terzo responds, alert.

"This is Three. One of Sleep's other vessels. We met briefly, at the festival." III explains, struck with how far away that day seemed, recent events having overshadowed it.

Maybe its the fragility in III's voice, the way it breaks under the anxiety and the terror he is feeling, but Terzo's voice is softer, firm still. It helps to ground Vessel as his mind wants to float right out of his own head, even if he wasn't speaking to him. Vessel wishes II were awake, that he was okay. Without his rock, Vessel feels... lost. He clutches at III, pulling the other man a little closer, burying his head into their shoulder, taking comfort in the rise and fall of their breaths.

"What is it, my boy?"

The nickname brings tears to III's eyes, a sob forcing its way out of his chest. He holds tighter to Vessel, hands shaking as they hold the phone.

II is motionless in front of them, breathing growing labored, skin paling with every passing second.

"We need your help. Please..."