#i just made wild shapes and hoped for the best

[suburbanbonfire]

omg could you draw tye kartye?? he's my little guy 💕💕

an approximation

[ateliersss]

Bandaids and Kisses

Pairing: Yautja x Fem!Reader Summary: One part of motherhood seemed to be patching up your reckless pup after another adventure in the wild against his parents’ wishes. Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: English isn't my first language Word Count: 2.885 Before the Blooming Family series

⇨ Hello, you Yautja lovers. With this, we are going back in time, before the happenings of the "Blooming Family" series. I hope you enjoy it! Comments are always appreciated!

⇨ You want to know something hilarious? A Yautja in their early twenties is the equivalent of a human in its 50's/60's, so Akail as a ten-year-old Yautja would be a minus something human baby.

“Oh my God, Akail! Again?”

You were taken to Yautja Prime about fifty years ago, Life-mated to Mi’ytiar for forty years, and an accepted and established member of his clan for ten years now. Ten years, the same amount of time your son had walked, talked, and breathed. Ruling alongside your mate and hunting for food weren’t enough to make your contribution. Giving Mi’ytiar a pup had apparently been the only thing that changed your role among them; from an outsider (and even a simple plaything for their leader to some) to what you were now — the female counterpart of a clan leader, the Matriarch.

You had heard of several Matriarchs on Yautja Prime. Like you, they were mated to the clan leader, but unlike you, they were the superior one in their dynamic, and even above an Elder or Ancient. You wouldn’t dare to assume the same form of authority for yourself and kept to the secondary leading role just as a queen consort on Earth would. You had much more freedom and control than you could ask for, completely content in the position you were holding right now, and you never felt the need to claim the power of a true Matriarch. The fact that the Females of the Yautja race were viewed much higher in leading roles than the Males was satisfying enough.

Nonetheless, you still had particular obligations and a certain appearance to maintain. You would take part in organizing the journey of the Un-Blooded to become Blooded, ensured the civilized coexistence within the clan by taking on the role of a judge in court on Earth, approved of every newborn pup that is presented to you and deem them worthy, listened to their requests and suggestions and tried to contribute as best as you could, and even had become a beacon of generosity and kindness to the clan for advice and consolation. The list went on and on, but instead of feeling crushed by the huge amount of responsibility, you relished in it. It was an honor, truly.

Another thing that was expected of you was joining the elder Females in their den and listening to their wisdom with other younger Females. Rather than a bothersome duty you had to force yourself to attend, you absolutely loved their company.

And the den was a beautiful place you loved to spend your time in, a flawless merge between ancient architecture and the futuristic Yautja influence, round in shape and with a high dome-ish roof that was held together by a construct of pillars and beams into which hieroglyphs were carved. Fire was burning in the hollow beams and illuminated the room above the heads of everyone present.

A week of adjusting to your new life had gone by without leaving Mi’ytiar’s home — your home the second you had crossed the threshold — before he decided it was time to introduce you to his people. And the place he had brought you to first was the den of the Elders. It had been a tough start, but they were surprisingly objective. Instead of seeing you for what you were, they saw you for who you were. Even if you were among giants, you had felt welcomed.

On this day and decades later, you had joined them as well, taking your place at the fire pit and opposite the entrance on the only chair in the round room. The Matriarch had her very own seat in the den, a throne-like construction made of something that felt like a mix of stone and metal. Meanwhile, the other Females sat on white stepstones on the mossy ground around the pit.

Matheih, the Female that held the unofficially highest rank among the Elders and had been the first you felt comfortable with, was just about to discuss the matter of a Bad Blood who had come too close to the clan's borders when you noticed movement from the corner of your eye. You snapped your head to the entrance and gasped.

Your shocked exclamation had cut Matheih off, causing her to startle. The rest of the Elders either looked at you, or your son who seemed to shrink under the intense eyes of the Females.

You immediately rose from your seat, the others following you swiftly, and you raced around them to Akail who anxiously fiddled with the charm attached to his loin cloth.

One day, you had noticed the longing gaze of your pup fixed to his father’s loin cloth and the trinkets and trophies swinging on his hips. Without further ado, you tailored him something new and decorated it with a thread on which various square stones and animal teeth were strung, the thread sewn into the front of the self-made cloth to the right hip. His eyes had been so bright when you presented it to him.

“Akail, my little warrior.” You sighed when you reached your son, kneeling in front of him to be on the same level as him.

You cupped his cheeks and examined his face. There were several cuts across his face — two on his forehead, one under his right eye, and one above his left eye — and fluorescent green blood was smeared around his wounds and coated his mandibles. When you checked his dreads, running your fingers through the short tendrils, he winced.

“My sweetling, what happened?” You asked when you grabbed his hands and scanned his arms up and down.

“I follow a tochi.” He mumbled and instantly avoided your stern glare.

A lie.

Placing your pointer and middle finger under his chin, you tilted his head up so he was looking into your eyes again.

“Were you near the borders again?” You pressed on and raised an eyebrow.

Akail pulled a grimace. “Yeah.”

Another lie.

“How many times do I have to tell you that it’s dangerous?”

Akail looked down like a kicked puppy. “Sorry, Mama.”

No. No, you were not allowed to melt right now. You needed to be strong and determined to be angry at him for disobeying one of your and his father’s rules. You needed him to understand that running after an animal for the nth time and moving too far away from the clan’s land was risky without someone by his side.

But those damn puppy eyes of his, the same look his father sometimes used on you, they made you weak and yielding.

“Come on.” You softly smiled at him and stretched out a hand to him.

When you stood upright again, Akail wasted no time to grab your hand while his other arm wrapped around your leg, clinging to you. You turned to the Females, excused yourself, and apologized to Matheih for interrupting her before you and Akail left the den.

Hand in hand, you walked the short route to your home.

“Does it hurt, my sweetling?” You asked him when you entered the grounds of your home.

You whistled at Be'jaa who had started barking at the intruders, as well as the two other Hell Hounds Mi’ytiar owned, Vohtu and Gihn’tha, and signaled them that it was just you and to stand down.

“Not anymore, Mama.” Akail vehemently shook his head, putting on a brave face.

You smiled down at him and led him inside, lifted him into your arms, and carried him to the long table that stood in the center of the main room of your home. Behind it and opposite the entrance door, three other doors lead deeper into your home to adjoining rooms like your bedroom. Just like the den of the elders, this room was round with a dome roof made out of orange and light grey glass, but there was at least a meter of additional ceiling going sideways from where the dome ended and from which a ring of rock was hanging down, like a huge ring-shaped lamp circling the whole room.

Just like a routine, you placed him down on the surface, kissed the little space between his nonexistent eyebrows, immediately eliciting a merry purr from him, and got the Medicomp that was stored in one of the box-drawers under the long shelves where your mate displayed his trophies.

You placed the Medicomp next to Akail on the table, sat down, and quickly got to work crushing the plaster and melting it with the burner, adding the blue solvent and mixing it until you got a gel.

“You know the drill, baby. It’s going to hurt.” You warned him, taking one of his hands into your free one before you started applying the gel to the thin cuts on his face.

Immediately, Akail let out a sharp hiss and squeezed your hand as hard as he could. But he remained still, not wanting to ruin your already careful treatment. His eyes danced across your face, admired the color of your eyes that was so different from his, studied your smooth skin that wasn’t as rough or beige and green as his, scanned your mouth that wasn’t hidden behind tusks.

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off before he could even utter the first syllable of his question.

“Be honest with me, Akail. What happened? You don’t just get wounds like that because you followed a tochi.” You questioned him and placed the spatula to the side before you grabbed the cloth that you had added to the Medicomp and dabbed the blood away from his already healing cuts and his mandibles.

“Stumbled over a stone.” He answered in a huff.

Another lie.

“I roll down a slope in a bush.”

Lie, lie, lie.

You hummed. “The bad ones near the stonehenge? I told you to stay away from there. Those statues are unstable and you aren’t yet strong enough to withstand their weight should one fall down on you.”

“Sorry, Mama.” Akail muttered and pulled his head in as if it would help him to escape the shame your words caused him.

You were melting once again at the sincerity in his words and reassurance washed over you. You may have had no idea how to raise a child as you never had the opportunity of doing it before, but you must be doing something right when he was capable of realizing his mistakes and showing remorse. But it wasn’t the kind of remorse you were thinking of.

“It’s alright, my sweetling. And you did so well in keeping still for me. You were very brave.” You cooed and kissed first the healing cuts on his forehead before you turned to the ones at his eyes.

But he wasn’t. If he was as brave as you claimed, he would tell you that it wasn’t the thorns of the bushes overgrowing the stonehenge but the still-developing claws of the older Younglings making fun of you that had caused the wounds. Akail had tried very, very hard to ignore their teasing and provoking snides, but when one of them — the tallest of all people — started talking about how glad he was that his mother was a respectable Female of the tribe and not some foreign, lowly pet that warmed the nest of the clan leader and probably pleased any other Male on the side, little Akail saw only red.

He had jumped the older Youngling and bit down on his neck while his claws inflicted as much damage as they were capable of. But due to his smaller size and frail strength, this advantage was turned against him in the next second when he felt his face being scratched open and his back colliding with the ground when he was pushed off by the older boy.

Luckily, before the situation could escalate even more, two Blooded Yautja neared the small group and Akail used the opportunity to quickly stand up and hurry to the den of the Elders where he knew his mother was.

It hadn’t been the first time and it will probably not be the last time, but he had promised himself to always protect you from anything that could crush your beautiful heart and kind soul that had showed him unconditional love from the moment he had opened his eyes to take his first ever look at his mother. It had been blurry and unfocused, but he remembered your smile. That smile.

“Mama?” Akail asked as he watched you packing up the Medicomp.

“Mhm?” You hummed and lowered yourself on one of the chairs around the table, right in front of him.

Instantly, Akail reached for your shiny hair and started fiddling with it, feeling how soft and silky it was. When he was a toddler, he would often play with it while purring, not being able to speak yet but his sweet chatter combined with his wide eyes was enough for you to be reminded how much he was his father’s son. Both were enamored, maybe even slightly obsessed with your human features.

Akail huffed. “Why you not look like me?”

“Hm?” You raised your eyebrows in surprise at the topic of his sudden question.

“Why you look like this? Why not like me or Papa?” He pushed further and curled a lock of your hair around his pointer finger.

“My sweetling.” You cooed, lifted him up by his waist, and settled him down on your lap, his legs dangling from each side of your thighs. He wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled his face into your chest close to your throat. “Do you remember the bedtime stories I sometimes tell you?”

You only felt vibrations against your skin and you took that as an answer, a cue to continue, “When I was little like you, your grandmama sat next to my bed and told me the same ones.”

Akail pulled his face from your chest and lifted his head to look up at you. “Grandmama?”

I nod. “Yeah. Mama’s mama.” You cupped his little face and peppered it with kisses. “Those stories are from the place I was born. Earth.”

“Are there more looking like you?”

“Yes. Many like me. Earth is similar to home. There are villages all over the planet and they speak different tongues, too. They have a clan leader called a major or a president and they have warriors, but also normal people who work jobs or go to school.”

“What is job?” Akail asked curiously and cocked his head to the side.

“A job is something oomans do to earn a living, to build a life. It is a little different here. For example, with a job you can earn money and buy food, but here, you just go into the forest and hunt. With a job, you can also build a house, but here, you just do it yourself with resources this planet has to offer.” You explained with a soft smile.

“What a ooman?”

“It’s what I am, my little warrior. Mama is ooman,��a human. That’s why I look so different than you or your Papa.”

“But why I don’t look more like you?” Akail asked and his adorable face got even more precious when he pulled it into a frown.

You hummed as if you were in thought before you put on a bright grin and started to tickle his sides. “Because I wanted someone unique and extraordinary, and I hoped for someone who is as handsome and strong and chivalrous as your Papa. And speaking of your Papa, he was determined to have a pup like you, my sweetling.”

Mi’ytiar had been very determined indeed that his DNA took root inside you. It also hadn’t been the only thing that had completely dominated you.

“I know I’m not as big and strong and pretty as the other mothers-“

“You more pretty!”

“What?” You asked with raised eyebrows at his offended tone.

“You more pretty! More pretty than other mothers, more pretty than other Females! Say you more pretty!” Akail protested, immediately standing up for you even against your own words.

You had to swallow your emotions during his short rant. This boy had your heart, so precious and pure, and your emotional intelligence, already developed so far for his young age. You had no idea you were able to create something so beautiful and special.

“I’m more pretty.” You repeated his words with a smile, petting the top of his head, and kissed his forehead one, two, three times. “Why don’t you go and look for Papa, hm? I bet he loves to teach you a little something about leadership.”

Akail climbed down from your lap with a click of his mandibles and was already running out of your home. You had followed him, a little slower than the hazardous speed of his, and leaned with your shoulder against the entrance as you watched him in amusement.

You had hated the thought of becoming a mother. You had hated the thought of how children would affect your health and body. You had hated the thought of giving up your freedom for them. You had hated the thought of limiting your own life to adapt to theirs. You had hated the thought of abandoning every hope you had felt, every plan you had made, and every dream you had envisioned to tend to each of their needs.

God, never had you been happier to be wrong.

Masterlist: here

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[allurilove]

If y/n gets pregnant with a yandere, what will their reaction be when they find out

(good luck with your math score)

lol tysm!

Yandere boyfriend:

“…but…” He comically gulped. Your boyfriend stood there unsure on what to do and say next. You saw a flash of confusion on his face as he tried to figure out the last time you two were close in an intimate way. He was silent for a while, his eyes slowly traveling down to his groin, and he swore he always used a condom.

“We live in a tiny apartment near campus, it’s always noisy because of the frat parties, and you still have school to finish.” He scratched his head. “How would we take care of the baby?”

“What would your parents think too?” Your boyfriend groaned, his head now in his hands and he gripped his hair. “Fuck, I don’t want them to hate me.”

Yandere stalker:

“Do you know who the father is?” He asked first and foremost. When you give him a look and put your hands on your hips, he scoffed. “Oh don’t act like you haven’t slept with your ex. I know what I saw.”

“Listen, you don’t have the best track record.” Your stalker rolled his eyes and his hand is now placed on your shoulder. “Regardless… I’ll help you out.”

He pulled you in for a hug, his arms wrapped around you gently, and he slightly swayed you back and forth. “Only if I can name the baby.”

Yandere husband:

He wasn’t surprised when you came clean that you’ve been pregnant for about two months. “Hm.” He pretended to be deep in thought, and his fingers stroke his chin. “I knew it. You were acting strange…asking me for cuddles and stealing my lounge shirts.”

“Do you want to keep the baby…?” Your husband asked you gently, and he took your hands into his. “I know three kids can be a lot… let’s just think about this alright?”

Yandere knight:

Yandere knights heart dropped and he sighed deeply. He knew he shouldn’t have given into his desires and take you that night. Gosh, if your parents found out… he would be executed immediately. Your knight touched his neck, his fingers felt his wild pulse, and he thought about how much he would miss having his head attached to his body.

He could imagine it now. A public execution in front of everyone, the people booing him and throwing rotten food at his body, while one of the guards leads him to the guillotine. Your knight gulped and he reluctantly nodded. “Thats… quite unfortunate.”

Yandere classmate:

He immediately looked displeased and he crossed his arms. “I hope you’re joking.” Your classmate took the pregnancy test from you, and his scrutinizing gaze was now on the plastic. “Can we pretend that two lines means that you aren’t pregnant?”

Yandere neighbor:

“Really?” He brightened up by your words and his hand is now pressed against your stomach. You weren’t showing, but he was excited at the thought of starting a family with you.

“You know… I’ve always wanted to have a family of my own and celebrate the holidays together! Awww, c’mere love.” He opened his arms.

Yandere best friend:

“Oh. OH!” He loudly gasped and he slapped the sandwich out of your hands. “That has deli meat! You can’t have that, right?”

He then sadly looked at the disassembled food on the ground, and he sheepishly chuckled when you glared at him. “Sorry, I was just trying to save my friend and the little one… please don’t hurt me.” Your friend joked and he started to run off when you took a step towards him.

Yandere blood bag:

That wasn’t much of a surprise to him considering how active you two were in the relationship. It was bound to happen anyways. He shoved his face with healthy foods, worked out extra hard, and made sure his body was in tip top shape. He exposed his neck to you, and he felt your fangs sink and break into his skin. You drank hungrily, and he had to keep his mouth shut. He didn’t want to complain, especially to someone that was pregnant, and he just took it.

“Ah- baby be careful.” He whined and he rubbed your waist. “I feel light headed…”

Yandere chaebol:

“About time.” He huffed and he got up from his chair. “I’ll start designing the baby’s room, hiring a night nurse, and all that. Just keep yourself healthy, and walk often.”

Yandere chaebol started to dial his mother on his cell phone. He referred to her as eomma, and he talked to her in his native language. He actually sounded like he was being respectful and polite, he then wrote down recipes that were perfect for pregnant women. For example, the seaweed soup was given to the woman after birth. He got up, walked past you, and he handed the list to his private chef.

[lashoog394]

@worldsbeyondpod The Wizard, The Witch, and the Wild One Arc 2 Mug is finally done (just in time to start on Arc 3's!!!!). I had so much fun fitting in every wizard-y thing I could think of, so I hope I made @quiddie proud!

The shape of the mug is the Citadel, topped with the Sky.

"The sky holds all things. Let it be known that vastness is yours." -Archmage Silence (Ep. 17)

"Don't drink the juice." -The Fox (Ep. 18)

"And the reason I dye my hair is because I played in one of these once..." -Suvi (Ep. 18)

The white streak inside the mug is hard to see, but it's there.

"I've had a list for two years of the books that I'm calling up, and I'm going to say 40% of them are spite to friends." -Suvi (Ep. 18)

"So you're also now going to have a little guy?" -Eursulon (Ep. 18)

"If you get good at making a little latte for me, I will let you put your poetry places that I will not immediately claim. And I will start prestidigitating this one off my favorite rug." -Suvi (Ep. 18)

Also, I'm really proud of the texture of these leaves!

As always, thank you so much to the entire Worlds Beyond Number crew for creating the most beautiful, heart-wrenching heartfelt, magical stories. I wake up every Tuesday morning excited for the next episode/fireside.

Shoutout to @whimsiclay for being the best, most incredible and supportive friend and pottery-enabler!

[aerynwrites]

Thoughts on Gale and/or Halsin's reaction to Tav using a pheromone perfume?

Ooo this is such a fun little idea! I hope you’re okay with me doing some quick little headcanons for these? I wanted to do both of them so I figured that would work best!

Gale

He’d probably react almost immediately but not really know why lmao

He’d notice you smell a little different but it’s so subtle he just chalks it up to a new perfume (he’s close) or maybe a new soap you started using.

What he doesn’t actively notice is how much more he starts to seek you out - despite being together already, he’s constantly seeking to be close to you.

And when he is close, whether it be reading together or sitting by the fire or getting ready for bed, he’s constantly reaching out to touch you.

A hand on your waist, fingers brushing your cheek, a hand on your thigh.

Mostly he just finds himself wanting to kiss you tbh.

Cheek kisses, kisses to the palms of your hands, but mostly he leaves them to the exposed skin of your shoulder, his arms wrapping around you from behind as he nuzzles into the space between your head and shoulder.

TLDR: Gale gets handsy haha

Halsin

Okay

Halsin is very similar to Gale except for the fact that he KNOWS what’s up.

This man knows pheromones when he smells them I mean - come on he spends a lot of his time as a bear.

I could honestly see him being slightly teasing about it, pretending not to know at first before finally revealing his knowledge.

He already loves touching you but like - with this stuff??? Yeah it’s even worse (or better??)

This man cannot keep his hands to himself and he doesn’t care who sees lmao.

Gathered around the fire, he has you tugged closed to his side, hand splayed wide against your hip/waists as his fingers toy with the hem of your shirt, seeking the skin beneath.

And when you are away from prying eyes…let’s just say he leans even more into his natural desires than usual.

He’d take pretty much any chance or excuse to sleep with you.

I could even see him eventually telling you he knows about the perfume/cologne and is like -

“I know what you’re seeking to do, my heart, but believe me when I say I do not need man made mixes to make me crave you.”

You just chuckle and are like “well it worked didn’t it?”

Overall he’s just more…Halsin. Maybe his wild shape is a little harder to control 👀

[gladiatorcunt]

　 　╰ • ❀ - ❛happy birthday, mr. emperor!❜ ✦

cw: afab reader, daddy kink, pretend it’s april 19th, implied painal sorry for writing an anakin that would love jane eyre too much, bondage mention, dark themes, implied age gap, blowjob

“I wish you could see how the stars I made shine for you, angel.”

Last night Anakin had tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, silently chuckling when it sprung back to smack you in the face. Your nose scrunched in that bunny-esque way he loves, and he whispered against your cheek that he loved you before departing your home. As soon as you heard the door swoosh shut behind him, a bright smile beamed across your face as you sprung out of bed and began preparing. You’d gotten better at pretending to be asleep, or maybe he’s just humoring you.

It took you hours to set up your husband’s surprise stay at home birthday celebration. His job as the Emperor of the Galaxy drains the life out of him even on his good days, so you do what you can to ease the tension however possible. Today is the day in which you put your heart and soul into adoring the love of your life. It wasn’t hard to decide on this kind of party. You’re more of the long distance vacation person in the relationship, and Anakin would gently scold you about how it wouldn’t be safe to even leave the palace most of the time.

You hum a catchy tune, looking in the mirror to make sure that the bow in your hair is tied perfectly. You picked a satin fabric that matches the color of Ani’s eyes, and a part of you can’t deny that the decision was motivated by the desire to see his jaw clench in possessiveness. The little thrills you manage to witness get you through the days inside. You do some last minute twirls, glancing over your outfit and ignoring the slight discomfort of the silk ropes underneath.

Your slippers slap against the floor all the way to the dining room. The servants had already been dismissed for the day as soon as your husband had left, something else that you wouldn’t mind getting a ‘thorough scolding’ for. You know Anakin just doesn’t like for you to ever feel the need to lift a single finger if he can help it, but it’s only fair that you be the best spouse you can be on his special day.

All the food lining the long rectangle shaped table is Ani’s favorite, painstakingly put together and placed in an arrangement by your own hands. You haven’t slept in what feels like forever, but it’ll all be worth it to see how happy this will make him. Like always, you don’t care to delve into how slick your pussy gets at the thought of his approval. Even a small grunt of acknowledgement when he’s distracted drives you wild.

After making sure that absolutely everything is in the proper place, cheesy decorations strung up all over the place included, you smooth your clothes down with your palms flat and wait in the bedroom. You hope he appreciates how restrained you’ve been since he’s been gone, the tempatation to hump your puffy folds against the pillow he lays his head on is still on your mind. Anakin usually wakes you up by licking a flat stripe up your cunt under the covers and hooking his fingers in your hole to stretch it enough for him to spit in, always already naked from the night before. Like a cat kneading the surface it’s walking on, you could cry at being deprived of grounding yourself by burying your shaking hands in his soft hair.

Your excitement must bleed into the Force somehow, because you hear the heavy stomps of boots sooner than you thought. You scramble to meet your husband at the door, remembering how he once admitted that he likes to hear how happy you are to see him when he gets back. The cat never fails to return to check on the canary, and when it eats the stubbornly cheerful thing it doesn’t have to. It knows exactly where the bird is, and always will be.

You don’t even wait for him to get out of his armor and into his more casual attire that he likes to lounge around in at home. As soon as you see your favorite crow’s feet wrinkles revealed by the silver door, you pounce.

With very little effort, you reach up and push the top of your outfit off your shoulders. Anakin’s darkened gaze follows the truthfully skimpy garment as it falls to pool around your ankles. Your cheeks burn and you pray that he’ll take his time admiring you but no such luck, his eyes quickly flick up to see the start of a series of clumsily tied loose silk knots. The holonet tutorial you followed was sort of confusing, but you thought you managed to pull it off in the end!

“Fuck, look at you, bunny.” He groans, prowling around you in a slow circle. “All this for some boring old man?”

“Hey, ‘s not nice…” You wring your hands together, wiggling your plump ass for him as he makes his rounds. “You’re MY boring old man, Ani.”

“Watch it.”

“Or what?” You giggle despite the warning look he’s giving you.

The heat in his gaze feels like flames licking at your spine, but you don’t push him any further. You would never want him to have a stressed induced heart attack. Your unspoken jab makes you giggle again until you realize that Anakin could peek into your mind whenever he pleases.

The sudden slap to your rear doesn’t surprise you, nor do the frenzied squeezes. He loves to watch the skin bulge out between his thick fingers, he loves your fat ass period. The blush pink ribbons were tied together in a way that you knew would enhance your curves, putting enough pressure on your plush ass and tits in particular to really make them pop. Your thighs were nothing to forget about, though, you know better than to assume that Ani doesn’t love every bit of his baby equally.

He circles back around to face you and grins. He adjusts his cock in his pants, not taking his eyes off fof you for even a second, “So fuckin’ gorgeous, honey. And here I was about to say that the best thing I could receive is waking up to you every day.”

“Thank you, Daddy, Happy Birthday.” You purr, sinking to your knees and winding your arm around his thigh, nuzzling into the seam of his pants like you were searching for something.

He ‘tsk’s above you but he sighs and waves his hand in the air, summoning an emerald green cushion to slide under your knees before you hit the floor. That pillow didn’t exist in the beginning of your relationship, but you’ve ended up loving being like this so much that it became a necessity.

Anakin groans as you mouth at his bulge over his slacks, wetting the fabric with your kitten licks to his tip. He settles a heavy palm on top of your head and gives you a couple pats. Neither of you are in any rush, both enjoying your dynamic in a more sensual way. Ani loves how cock drunk you already seem to be, the tension in his body just melts away when he can see how much you’re salivating over your mind going blank.

“You can’t go dumb on me, Angel, I haven’t even got my present yet.” He teases you and grins when you mewl distractedly.

You’re trying really hard to pay attention, promise, but you couldn’t ignore your husband’s natural musk if you tried. “ ‘ngh- hah… ‘Sorry, Daddy.”

Then you remember that you can’t spend the rest of your life on your knees (you wish), so you sheepishly wipe the drool from your mouth. You have trouble getting hold of the zipper, your fingers being too wet to properly pull it. Your embarrassment is short lived, because Anakin is using the Force to undo it and slide his pants down far enough to free his throbbing length.

You pout in disappointment when it doesn’t flop out to smack you across the face. In no time at all you’re slobbering all over his cock.

You flutter your eyelashes up at your husband, hollowing out your cheeks and humming periodically. You can’t help the satisfied grin that comes over you whenever you get a deep groan or grunt in response. Your mouth makes ‘slurp!’ sounds as you suck him off, a sharp ‘pop!’ going off when you pull the suction away to trace the veins on the underside of his curved cock. Precum beads to the surface but they’re swiftly licked away, you outright make out with the thick tip of his dick for a good minute.

Anakin would tease you for how much of a bitch in heat you’re being, but he’s no better when he wriggles his tongue fucking either of your holes. He’d call you that with love though, he’ll never forget how grateful he is to still have you after everything.

“My consort loves their dick, huh? Should I even ask if you’ve prepped your ass?” He asks and you smother your smile in his balls as you lavish them in your saliva.

“Good bunny.” Anakin sighs, balling his fist up in your hair. “Daddy knows you like it when it hurts, angel.”

And you do, even with the dried cum around the corners of your mouth and the tears spilling over. You’re smiling in between gasps of breath with every heavy thrust, you send a thought into the Force of concern over the state of Ani’s joints and you squeal when he speeds up. He hadn’t even bottomed out yet, your puffy rim was already red enough from his bullying the blunt head past your entrance.

You sob and let your mouth hang open, staring off into space as you feel his length cleave your insides in two. The kisses dotted all over your face help soothe you, but you still pant and dig your nails into his wrist on the side of your head caging you in. Anakin’s other hand kneads one of your ass cheeks, giving you more quick pats when he think you’re getting too worked up.

Some of the ribbons wrapped around your body have been destroyed, either by Anakin’s irritation when he wanted more access or by how amateurish your knot tying skills were. The ones around your ass are still intact, and you do your best to shake your ass against the remaining inches sinking inside your puckered hole, wondering if Ani can pick up on the shimmer of the ropes in the dim light.

He’s a good man, your Ani, he only lets it hurt on special occasions. If you rub up on him really nicely, ruining your ass goes outside of those occasions. It’s his birthday, why not let him play with his favorite toy how he wishes? You take pride in the leash you have around his every waking and slumbering desire, he has the same hold on you.

At the end, the universe will only know the carnage Darth Vader left in his wake. Long dead twin suns will singe the memory of Anakin Skywalker and his lover into the fabric of reality.

[syndrossi]

Restoration AU Concept #1: Bran

One little post-Halloween treat: the first 1Kish words of Restoration AU, aka the "what if Resonant Daemon, Jon, and Rhaegar wake up with their dragons in Jon's universe, just after the Stark kids get their direwolves?"

I decided to go with Jon and Rhaegar being together at Winterfell, separated from Daemon (who is suddenly in the Vale), rather than splitting all three of them up. The last thing any of them remember before getting reverse summerhalled (aka winterfelled) is visiting...Winterfell. The twins are around ten-years-old here, and the hatchlings are roughly horse-sized--technically rideable, but they'd fatigue quickly.

x~x~x

It was Bran who spotted the strange light to the southeast, from atop the towers he was constantly scolded for climbing. It was mid-morning, the sun bright and glinting off the late summer snow, but this light outshone even that, forcing him to squint, his eyes tearing up. It winked a few times, dimmer each time, like a candle sputtering out, and then faded.

Bran continued staring in that direction, hoping to catch a glimpse of what might have caused the glint. Magic, he thought to himself with a mix of dread and delight, before frowning. Magic existed only in stories, Father was always reminding him, like the ones Old Nan would tell.

Bran’s focus was rewarded after a minute when he saw several dark shapes moving at the edge of the wolfswood, two large and two small. Men with horses, he thought at first, but the larger shapes started to rise, form elongating, until they looked like distant ravens.

But they are too big, Bran thought, puzzled. They disappeared into the forest, but the other shapes remained, small dots in the vast expanse of snow. Someone needed to be told, and he struggled to decide who. Father would think it his imagination, as would Jory.

Jon, he decided finally. Jon and Robb.

His brothers might tease him, especially if the distant forms turned out to be wild animals, but they would be curious enough to go looking. They might even let him come along. Bran was just as good on his pony now as Arya on her horse, and he had seen a man beheaded under the king’s justice. He stole one last look at the edge of the wolfswood, just to be sure the two men—it must be men, he decided, perhaps even wildlings—were still there.

They were.

Bran made one stop along the way to seek out his brothers, visiting his direwolf pup in his bedchamber. He had put on weight in the week since the direwolves had been brought back to Winterfell, the six littermates having been accepted at the teats of Rodrik’s red bitch. His eyes had not yet opened, but Bran eagerly checked each day, secretly hoping that they were red, like Ghost’s.

Bran carried the sleepy pup to the kennels, where he crawled over to suckle at one of the open teats of his canine wetnurse. He stroked the top of the pup’s head, watching him wriggle happily in response, and then bounded out of the kennels. On his way to his bedchamber, he had spotted Robb and Jon in the yard, doing trick shots with their bows.

Bran waited until they had exhausted their arrows and gone to retrieve them, then moved to help. Jon gave him a small smile as Bran handed him one of his arrows, his brother’s silent way of thanking him.

“I saw something by the wolfswood,” he said to him, voice hushed. “While I was up on the tower. I think—” He hesitated. If he said that it was wildlings, then his brothers might not let him come, but he did not want to lie to Jon, either. Only he didn’t know for sure what it was, Bran reminded himself. “It might have been elk, or a boar.”

He had heard Father talking about the king’s upcoming visit, and that the king liked to hunt, and that they would need to select the best hunting grounds.

Jon studied him quietly, the way Father sometimes did when he thought he might be lying, but Robb had overheard and nudged their brother. “If we scout worthy game for the king’s hunt, Father will thank us.”

“Is that so?” Jon asked, lifting a skeptical brow. “Admit it, Stark, you’re bored.”

“I am bored,” Robb agreed, his smile unabashed. “And I could do with some air.”

“I want to go with you,” Bran said, squaring his shoulders. “I saw it. I can show you where.” As they continued to hesitate, he added, “It is not very far!”

“I see no harm in it,” Robb said finally. “So long as you do exactly as we tell you.”

Bran gave an earnest nod. “I will!”

Jory was informed of their planned excursion, and the captain gave his blessing—so long as he accompanied them. It was better than being denied, Bran decided eventually, swallowing his disappointment at not getting to do something adventurous with just his brothers. The last summer snow had melted enough that they were able to venture out on horses, and Bran settled eagerly onto his pony, directing the group toward where he had last seen the strange figures.

About half a mile from the edge of the wolfswood, Bran caught sight of the figures again, pointing them out to Jon, who nodded and did the same to Robb and Jory. They were men, Bran thought now, and he wondered if they were wildlings too, from beyond the Wall. Bran found himself ushered to the back of the horses as they proceeded slowly for another minute or two.

“Children,” Jory said, sounding startled. “Two of them.”

Bran tried to peer around Robb’s horse, but it was difficult. Their pace quickened again, and after another minute, they had reached the wolfswood, finally close enough to the children for Jory to call out a greeting, which was returned warily.

Bran was allowed to pull his pony alongside Jon’s to look at them. They weren’t wildling children, he was somewhat disappointed to find, their clothing fine—though not well suited to the cold north. The other children were huddled together, shivering, and Bran felt sorry for them.

They were older than Bran, and maybe older than Arya too, but not by much. They were both staring at Jon, who was staring back at them, and Bran realized why after he looked closer at them. One had dark hair like Jon’s, though worn longer, and he looked like he could be his brother—one of their brothers. The other had hair so light it almost blended into the snow, pulled back into a long braid. Bran had thought he might be a girl at first, but he wore a knife sheath at his belt, which meant he couldn’t be.

Jory had dismounted to approach, while Robb whispered quietly to Jon, “Siblings of yours, Snow?”

Bran studied them with even more interest, uncertain what Robb meant. Robb dismounted as well, following after Jory, who had removed his cloak to offer it to the other children. “Who might you be, lads?”

“Jon,” said the boy who looked like Jon, which made things even more confusing. He scooted closer to the other boy, wrapping the cloak around them both. “And this is my twin brother, Raymar.”

[acciotaitlynn]

mc using the boys as a rebound…I like angst plsplspls

I love u and hate u sm ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ srsly hurt myself so bad w this. not gonna feel better til i can hug zayne. i wasn't sure if u were requesting for all 4 guys at once, but i'm not the best at those yet, so i just drew 2 names for torture. i really hope it's angsty enoughh i tried ♡︎

જ⁀➴₊⊹ sylus‣you⌇zayne‣you

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 18+ sexual content. unprotected sex. p in da v. it sad i hate it

› 3,083 words

・・・・・​​⟢

When you walked in on Sylus kissing a woman who was definitely not you, you genuinely couldn’t believe it. His hand hovered suggestively over her lower back as she pulled him down to meet her height, their lips entwined in a moment that felt impossibly intimate. You stood frozen in the doorway, blinking rapidly, desperate to clear the shocking image from your mind. “What the fuck,” you murmured, your disbelief barely a whisper. But Sylus heard you. His head jerked up, shock and anger flaring across his face as he pushed the woman away, his words cutting through the air like ice. “Get out of my sight.”

She scurried from the room, but not before flicking you a smirk over her shoulder—a look that felt like a dagger to your heart. Sylus, for a brief moment, considered chasing after her to make her pay for her audacity. She had approached him under the pretense of discussing business at the party, but the shocking kiss had caught him off guard.

In that moment, he realized how it all appeared to you. He could see the betrayal, the hurt, in your wide eyes, and it stopped his breath. “Sylus…” you began, and he reached for you, desperation etched in his features. But you recoiled instinctively, pulling back from his outstretched hand. “Stay away from me,” you managed to say, your voice trembling with raw emotion, small yet powerful. You were surprised the words even made it out, given the pain that enveloped you like a storm. “I never want to see you again. And don’t send that damn bird to look after me either.” With that, you turned on your heel and fled, leaving him standing there—stunned and helpless, watching the door swing shut behind you.

Sylus watched you go, confusion swirling inside him. He had no idea why he didn’t chase after you. Part of him felt a simmering frustration—you always seemed so ready to expect the worst from him. “Why can’t you just trust me?” he muttered under his breath. But he let you leave.

He wouldn’t, however, heed your warning about keeping Mephisto away. The black crow, perched high above, fixed it’s red-eyed gaze on your retreating figure, a silent witness to your pain. As you raced toward Linkon City, you didn’t even have a destination in mind—just a frantic need to escape.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, blurring the world outside. The landscape whipped by, a wild mix of colors and shapes as your mind tried to process what had just unfolded. But then, a familiar sight broke through the fog of your thoughts: the bright sign of Akso Hospital loomed in the distance. You didn’t consciously remember the drive there; your feet seemed to know the way, driven by an instinctual pull. As you made your way through the halls, everything still felt like a blur. The world faded into a haze as you followed the path to Zayne’s office, moving quickly. You needed comfort, a sanctuary, from the only person in this world—besides Sylus—who could understand the storm inside you.

You barged into the office, your eyes wide and tears streaming down your cheeks. The moment Zayne saw you, he knew it had to do with Sylus—the man you chose over him just shy of a year ago.

Moving on from that breakup had been the hardest thing Zayne had ever faced. For what felt like forever, he struggled to be near you, consumed by the hurt you had caused. Desperately, you tried to console him, yearning to salvage your friendship. But Zayne was resolute. He wanted nothing to do with you or the criminal you had decided to build a life with.

Yet, you kept coming back, and little by little, the ice in Zayne’s heart began to thaw. He found himself aching for you again in a way that felt unbearable, and the days stretched endlessly without you. He longed for the days when anger was all he felt at the sight of you. That feeling was now a distant memory, easily overshadowed by the painful image of your heartbroken form before him.

In an instant, he reached for you, arms wrapping around your trembling figure. “It’s okay now, I’m here,” he murmured softly into your hair. The warmth in his voice only made you cry harder, gripping him as if he were your lifeline, burying your face in his neck. He held you close, offering a comforting embrace while you fought through the agony tearing your heart apart. His hand traced soothing circles on your back, gradually calming the storm of tears until you could speak and explain what happened.

“I know it was just a kiss, but… I really trusted him. Even when I knew I shouldn’t.” You leaned back, searching Zayne’s gaze, the weight of your words heavy between you. “I should have listened to you. I’m sorry.” At that moment, you couldn’t explain why you rose up to kiss him—was it to dull the pain or out of a desperate need to erase the hurt in his eyes? Maybe it was a mix of both, an overwhelming impulse that surged through you as you pulled him closer.

His body locked up, every part of him screaming to pull away. “The only way this ends is with your heart broken again,” echoed in his mind. Yet, he couldn’t resist the magnetic pull, pulling you closer instead, his tongue boldly exploring your mouth with a deep sigh.

He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he locked the office door. With a gentle thud, he settled onto the couch, you straddling his lap, his hands tenderly cradling your face. His kisses were soft yet fervent, wiping away the tears on your cheeks, and then trailing down the length of your neck. You closed your eyes, letting your hands roam over the familiar expanse of Zayne’s body. But then, a wave of disgust washed over you as you realized your thoughts were drifting elsewhere.

You couldn’t help but picture another pair of arms, the warmth of another skin beneath your fingers that felt more intoxicating than anything you’d ever known. “No,” you thought, pushing Sylus from your mind. The anger you directed at yourself was palpable. Here you were with Zayne, the one whose heart you shattered when you chose Sylus, and now you were using him to mend the wounds Sylus left behind. You were a horrible person. The absolute worst kind.

But as you fought to dispel the image of Sylus, you began to embrace Zayne’s touch. His warm lips and soft sighs were like a comforting aphrodisiac, enveloping you in a gentle familiarity. Slowly, you melted against him, surrendering to the sensations that began to overwhelm you. Your heartache slipped into the background, momentarily drowned out by the rush of desire ignited by Zayne’s touch.

Your fingers danced toward the hem of his shirt, your gaze locking onto his with a silent question. With a subtle nod, he allowed you to lift the fabric over his head. As your fingers traced the scars that adorned his skin, every touch, every kiss, every flick of your tongue, exorcised pieces of Zayne’s pain. But doubt gnawed at the edges of his mind. How could this possibly end well? Wouldn’t it inevitably lead to him being hurt? Deep down, he knew that if the choice came down to him or Sylus again, you would always choose the other man. A flicker of concern about Sylus crossed his mind—wouldn’t he object to Zayne’s hands on what he deemed ��his?" But that only fueled Zayne’s desperation; you were his first, and he had every right to touch you if it was what you wanted.

His hand fisted in your hair, tilting your head to the side as he kissed you, nipped at your skin, trailing his mouth down your neck. Giggling and breathless, you ground against him, completely lost in the moment. Zayne could see from the look in your eyes that Sylus had vanished from your thoughts. In that intoxicating instant, there was only Zayne again, and he reveled in it. His mouth found the low neckline of your dress, his lips working to leave a mark on your soft skin. But the moment you realized his intent, your body tensed. You pushed him away with a gasp, whispering, “No.”

A low, rumbling chuckle filled the air, sending shivers down your spine. A familiar, oppressive energy seeped into the atmosphere, tendrils of red and black mist swirling around you, pulling you away from Zayne.

Zayne remained still, a calm, yet calculated expression on his face as he braced for what was about to unfold. The glare you shot Sylus burned with malice as the mist drew you closer to him, eventually dropping you unceremoniously at his feet. Sylus met your furious gaze, surprised by the intensity; it was as if the look alone could singe his skin.

He had been watching you from the moment you left him at the party, tracking every little thing through Mephisto’s camera feed—the touches, the sighs, the pieces of yourself you had offered back to the doctor without a second thought. Unprecedented anger simmered within him as he witnessed it all. He had only shared a simple, unwanted kiss with someone. And now you were out trying to rekindle something with your ex lover? That crossed a line, even for you.

As he watched you lean into Zayne’s caress, embracing the connection meant solely for him, Sylus felt the primal urge rise within him. The moment you banished him from your mind, losing yourself in the electrifying kisses Zayne placed on your tender neck, he snapped.

“I think you’ve had enough fun for one night, sweetie,” he declared, his voice sharp and devoid of its usual warmth. It dripped with an icy detachment that sent a chill spiraling down your spine, warning you that he was not to be trifled with. Sylus reserved that tone for moments when he was truly angry, and right now, he was seething. He turned that frigid voice on Zayne, head tilted, a sharp glint sparkling in his eyes. “Do you know why she wouldn’t allow you to mark her skin?” Zayne narrowed his gaze, the answer hovering on the edge of his consciousness—a truth he couldn’t escape since that gut-wrenching ‘no’ had slipped from your lips, tangled with the fear that etched across your face.

Sylus leaned in, his words dripping with venom, his power swelling in the room once more. This time, there was no mist, no visible signs of his evol, but it was palpable, wrapping around everyone in the room. “She knows she doesn’t belong to you. Even when she hates me, even when she seeks comfort in your arms—she will always be mine.” Remember this: there won’t be a next time."

With that, you were tossed over Sylus's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. As you punched at his back, tears sprang to your eyes, fueled by the look of torment on Zayne’s face as the door to his office shut behind you. You should never have come here.

“Put me down, Sylus!” you demanded, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and desperation. He let out a sarcastic laugh, the chill of his tone cutting deeper. “It would be in your best interest to keep quiet, kitten.” Despite the icy facade, a hint of hurt laced his voice, squeezing your heart like a vice. This had all spiraled so far out of control. You shouldn’t have put him or Zayne through this turmoil.

Yet, guilt paled in comparison to the anger festering within you, the memory of him with that woman playing in vivid detail, stoking the fire of your rage. Sylus seemed to revel in your fury. He tossed you into the passenger seat and buckled you in with more force than necessary, a hint of satisfaction in his demeanor.

The car ride home was silent, tension crackling in the air. Sylus’s knuckles whitened around the steering wheel as he fought to maintain his composure. You remained quiet, the weight of your thoughts pressing down on you. Stupid, arrogant prick, you thought, dragging you out Zayne’s office like you were nothing. The anger swirled within you, refusing to let go. You threw yourself back against the seat with an irritated huff, drawing an amused glance from Sylus. “You have nothing to be angry about,” he said, his tone teasing yet laced with a dark undertone. “You'll wish you’d know that before you ran off to your precious doctor.” His words sent a shiver down your spine. “Are you forgetting that I walked in on you with her tongue down your throat?” you shot back, voice low and fierce.

Sylus just chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled into the driveway, clearly unfazed. Your anger spiked when his evol took control again. The infuriating mist wrapped around you, dragging you up the stairs and tossing you onto the bed. Cold chains locked around your wrists—chains that typically thrilled you now only filled you with dread. This was bad. You’d never seen Sylus this furious. With each passing second, anxiety gnawed at you, and by the time the door swung open, you were near trembling.

Sylus stepped in, his gaze sweeping over you with a slow, deliberate smirk. “What’s this? Do I detect a hint of remorse in you, sweetie?” he teased, voice dripping with mockery. “I’m sure it’s only because you’re worried about what I might do to you.” Your heart raced as his crimson eyes bore into yours, holding an intensity that made it hard to breathe. You swallowed hard, your wide eyes searching his for any hint of his true intentions. But before you could speak, his lips crashed against yours, and his large hands gripped your face possessively, pulling you firmly against him.

The air was charged between you, a tension that felt almost palpable. Sylus’s lips traced a path down your neck, leaving your mouth to explore the delicate skin with an intensity that made your heart race.

He paused just above the faint mark Zayne had left, his warm breath brushing against it before his lips and teeth took over. Each kiss left a deeper bruise, a testament to his need to overwrite the other man's attempted claim.  When he finally pulled back for air, his expression had shifted. Gone was the anger; instead, his eyes mirrored a heartache that cut deeper than any physical wound. “She lured me into that room under the guise of discussing business for an upcoming auction,” Sylus confessed, his voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t kiss her back, nor did I want her disgusting hands on me. You have to believe me; I'd never do that to you, kitten.”

Tears filled your eyes, stinging as you absorbed the weight of his words and the raw sincerity behind them. The realization hit hard—this turmoil had all stemmed from your insecurities. “You could have let me explain myself, you know,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that made your heart ache. “I should have,” you replied, your tone gentle and full of regret. Before you could reach out for him, the chains binding you rattled loudly. In a swift motion, Sylus flicked his wrist, and they fell to the floor.

You wasted no time, cupping his face in your hands, desperate to soothe the hurt that marred his features. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pulled him close. “That really hurt, kitten,” he admitted, his eyes squeezing shut as if the truth pained him more than any physical wound could. He buried his face against you, the weight of his confession hanging in the air between you. Opening up didn’t come easily to Sylus, but he needed you to understand the depth of his hurt—he wasn’t as heartless as you might have thought.

Everything inside you surged with the desire to ease his suffering, even if you couldn’t erase the hurt you’d inflicted on both him and Zayne. You guided him under you, straddling his lap, your lips finding his again. As your fingers wove through his hair, you poured all your remorse and affection into that kiss.

It was never difficult to show Sylus how much you loved him; your affection radiated from your very being. But tonight, you were determined to pour every ounce of your love into the moment. You gently guided his neck to kiss and lick every inch of him, leaving delicate marks along the way. Sylus melted under the weight of your adoration, his body going pliant as he let you head him wherever you desired.

His hands eventually found your hips, the gentle pressure of him grinding you against him setting a slow, intoxicating rhythm. You lost yourself in the softness of his beautiful lips, kissing him until they were swollen and slick, leaving him with a blissed-out expression reflected in his enchanting eyes. As he lifted his hips to let you free his length, you felt a spark of need ignite within you, the urgency to have him inside you overwhelming. Without hesitation, you aligned his thick tip with your entrance, slowly lowering yourself onto him, inch by inch. Sylus gasped, a small, breathless noise escaping him as he watched the two of you become one.

His gaze was half lidded with lust, searching yours with an intensity that left you breathless. “I love you, Sy,” was a soft murmur in his ear as you felt him crush you against him with a deep groan. It was almost impossible to keep up with his movements now; pleasure consumed you as he thrust up into you without abandon. “I love you,” you whispered, again and again, your teeth grazing the shell of his ear gently.

Sylus’s response was primal—he crushed you to him, letting out a hoarse shout as hot ropes of his essence filled you, triggering an orgasm so intense it left your body quaking and trembling as waves of bliss washed over you, leaving you both breathless and whole.

As you both came down, wrapped in each other’s arms, soft whispers of love floated between you, binding you closer together.

In the distance, the flickering light of a hospital office turned off, and a doctor began his lonely walk home, painfully aware of the passion igniting in the world beyond.

​​・・・・・​​⟢

[justporo]

Hello! Very sorry if your post was rhetorical, but you asked for Astarion fluff and I had an idea. Since he's a canonical cay person, I like to think that a druid Tav would enjoy wildshifting into a cat and lounging in his lap, either acting as a heat source or letting him run his fingers through their fur when he's nervous or upset.

Anon, thank you so much. I immediately had a scene in my head and this was a true delight to write.

So now that I'm already crying from replying to that other Anon message (not their fault ofc), let's return to our regularly scheduled fluff, eh?

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav (You, Druid this time) Wordcount: 1,8k

Cats with Benefits

Sometimes it got all too much. Those were usually the moments you used your wild-shape abilities to shift into a cat and strolled off into the forest to have some moments of peace and quiet.

Today had been an especially exhausting day – the party had been fighting and bickering trying to figure out how to get through the Mountain Pass. The way was always steep and only loosely fixed, so you only made very slow progress and all of you were already completely exhausted came noon. So, you had decided that you’d take an additional rest midday when the sun was high and hot, adding to your already physically demanding hike.

You had put down your pack, went a few yards into the nearby patch of trees you had stopped at today to use their generous shade, and shifted into your usual form of a fluffy black cat and started to stroll around the small patch of forest. For some time you just wandered over fallen trees or through the underbrush, enjoying how differently it was to experience nature from the perspective of a feline creature. You loved it – it was almost like meditation for you.

The others didn’t know you wandered off like this sometimes. Or at least they hadn’t mentioned it. They wouldn’t leave without you and so far, you’d always gotten back to them in time. And as of late tension was high enough that everyone was pretty much occupied with just themselves, so they didn’t miss you.

After some time, you found a nice big rock in the sun on a clearing in the woods. Perfect for a cat to lounge on and take a nap. You jumped up, allowed yourself a long full body stretch and a big yawn and then rolled up into a ball of fur to enjoy the sun and some time alone.

As you laid there, your thoughts started to wander. You thought about your companions. You liked them, each and every one of them. Naturally, some more than others but you respected them all. But the path through the Mountain Pass had been a strain on all of you. And it really hadn’t helped that today everyone had just seemed on edge from the very first step on out.

Specifically, Astarion had been incredibly annoying today. Not being able to stop complaining about everything. Always replying with a sarcastic remark. To be honest, your relationship with him was probably the hardest and most formal of all thus far.

You had already realised that his flirty and sassy behaviour obviously were his coping mechanism for something deeply troubling, but by the Gods, it seemed he could never shut up. He was hand full at the best of times. Your furry ears started to twitch and the tip of your tail zig-zagged just thinking about it.

You tried to clear your mind then after your thoughts kept spiraling, hoping to relax enough that you could actually sleep a little.

But only shortly after your peace was broken.

“Well hello, who are you my beauty? A descendant of a mighty mountain lion? Rawr.”

No, it couldn’t be… The damned vampire had found you.

Of course he didn’t know it was you, but…

You opened one eye lazily and saw Astarion lean down to you, reaching out one hand to stroke you. Your jaws opened and you could already feel the hiss inside you rising to the top, but oh.

His touch was so gentle. His fingers softly stroked from the top of your head down your feline neck and back and you couldn’t resist leaning into his hand when he started again from the top.

“Someone likes that, hmm?”, Astarion said softly while petting what he received only as a wild but friendly cat.

Shifting into an animal also meant adapting some of their unique abilities and habits, so you couldn’t help when your feline body responded to the gentle touches by purring.

The vampire was positively intrigued when he heard that. As you opened your other eye you could see his big smile – a genuine one. You had never seen him smile like that. “Seems like someone’s just as touch-starved and desperate for some comfort as me”, he whispered while continuing his pets. That made your ears perk up and you immediately felt for the pale elf. Questions filled your mind about his unknowing revelation.

But you had barely any time to ponder them because suddenly the vampire scooped you up into his arms and sat down in front of the boulder you had laid down on. You yelped – or rather meowed at the sudden change of position.

Astarion moved carefully with your cat self in his arms until he was laying in the grass, legs angled, and you snuggled up against his chest. Since he had donned his armour and was only in his camp clothes you could feel his body, beneath your own.

This was incredibly weird and would probably end up with an awkward revelation but – you couldn’t deny that it was also very delightful.

“We can be cuddle buddies, my beauty, at least for an afternoon. So we can both get some much needed affection, hm?”, Astarion whispered to you. His red eyes looked so sad saying that. Whatever you had started to think about to get out of this situation evaporated. Suddenly, you only wanted to keep him company – it seemed he desperately needed it.

And the way he unknowingly had started opening up to you: it was a good albeit saddening look on him. You wanted to provide some comfort it that was what he seeked.

Also, it felt incredibly good to lay there on your new vampiric stone, soaking up the sun together while Astarion carefully continued petting you: scratching behind your ears, stroking down your back with both hands, even when he tickled one of your paws with a single finger. And you couldn’t stop purring. That bastard knew exactly what to do to keep the purrs coming.

Then after a while he just laid there with you, hands on your soft and shiny fur. He sighed: “I wish I could take you with me. You seem to like me. At least more than my other companions.”

Your ears perked up again, you looked at him but he had his eyes closed, head lolled back to enjoy the warming sunlight.

“Especially, Tav”, Astarion continued with another sigh “I wish I knew a way how to change that.”

That was it. You couldn’t in good faith continue to lay there with him as he offered up his innermost feelings. You got up and jumped off the vampire’s chest who got up on his elbows looking sad by your departure. You sat there and shortly pondered if you should just leave, keeping your secret. But you couldn’t, you needed him to know – and also have some words with him.

You changed back into your humanoid form, making Astarion scurry back from you, eyes wide with shock.

“Hi Astarion”, you whispered as you knelt beside him.

“You – what? How? Oh, I knew your eyes looked familiar!” His voice rose several octaves and you kept silent as his mood changed from shock to anger – but he stayed where he was.

“What the fuck was that about? Trying to spy on me?”, he hissed at you. Excuse him? He invaded your privacy. “I was here first, you bastard!”, you spat back and crossed your arms over your chest.

“And you didn’t think to reveal yourself before I proceeded to make you fucking purr?” “How when you didn’t leave me anytime in between petting me and lifting me up? I only wanted to be alone!”, you screamed back.

That made Astarion’s shoulders slump a little, some of his softer side returned. “I’m sorry”, he said quietly.

“No, I’m sorry”, you replied and looked down at your knees while pressing the balls of your head against your forehead “I should have said something way earlier.”

You looked up at him: “But then you sounded so sad and I… didn’t want you to be sad so I let it happen and it was kinda nice... I’m sorry, I invaded your privacy like this, Astarion. I’ll just leave and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

You saw the surprise on the vampire’s face who remained silent. So, you moved to get up, but Astarion quickly grabbed your wrist. “No, please. Stay… It was nice”, he confessed and looked into your eyes. The look he gave you was almost pleading.

The urge to move in and hug him overcame you, so you acted upon it – you had already laid on his chest, hadn’t you? How much worse could this make it?

You moved in and wrapped your arms around him – surprising the yelping vampire so much that he fell onto his back again. You were scared that you had crossed yet another line but to your own surprise you felt his arms wrap around you in return slowly.

And so you hugged him long and tightly. He was tense at first, but you felt him relax after some time. He even started to stroke your back again. You squeezed him and held onto him trying to offer him as much comfort and affection you could muster.

“For the record, I do like you, Astarion. You’re just annoying sometimes. But so can the others be, and I too”, you spoke into his chest, squeezing him yet harder. “And if… if you need someone to maybe talk to or hug you or just, you know, lounge in the sun… I can also change back into a cat, if you want me to. I could be your cat with benefits so to speak”, you brabbled into his shirt before you got too shy to make the offer. Your words were muffled but you hoped he heard you.

He did and the vampire chuckled softly. “That sounds… nice. Thank you. I may take you up on that if you promise you will keep this our little secret”, he answered hesitantly. You lifted your head from his shirt but not letting him go. “Would you like me to change back into a cat?”, you asked him and blushed as you realised what kind of weird deal you had just made with the vampire.

“No, Tav, not this time. This… this is very nice too”, Astarion replied and gave you another – the second this afternoon! – genuine smile. And this time it felt even better, knowing it was actually meant for you. You smiled back and placed your head on his chest again. Astarion’s hands kept softly wandering over your back as you kept holding him.

This is where you comfortably remained until it was time to get back to camp. But you were both sure it wouldn’t be the last opportunity to enjoy a nice cuddle in the afternoon sun.

[miragemurder]

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

Spotlight

Pairing: Veneer x GN Reader

Genre: Fluff

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A Oneshot/short story for all the Veneer lovers out there, since there are a few fanfics. ★ ★ ★

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Lights, Camera, Action. Mount Rageous was a bustling city with many young and talented people alike. The city was mainly known for their famous singers as every road had a sign showing off the different types of music the place was made of. Bright colors everywhere as the overall vibe gave off an 80’s and 90’s type aesthetic. It honestly was overstimulating but most people didn’t mind.

You were out partying with one of your friends when you first heard about these overnight stars. They were the talk of the town, everyone knew them, besides you.

“Who?..”

“You’re telling me that you don’t know who the Velvet and Veneer are?”

“Let me guess, artists?” You sighed. Honestly you didn’t really care to keep track of the next upcoming popstars of the week. You just wanted to enjoy the music. Everyone here was so involved in everything it seemed almost tiring, and boring.

“Only the best artists ever! Have you heard their new single Watch Me Work? It’s absolutely amazing!” Your friend shrieked, obsessed with the new stars.

You shrugged and continued on with the rest of the party, joining in and dancing along to whatever was playing. You were having a good time until eventually it became tiring. You tapped on your friend’s shoulder signifying that you were gonna head to the bathroom but in all honesty, you just needed a break.

You headed to the left side of the club, back to where the bathrooms were. There were barely any people here surprisingly. You thought there would be more since, well it’s a club there’s probably some sort of shady shit happening. It was quite calm and you quietly thanked the lord. All the music and lights could be overstimulating. You were just about to head into the bathroom when you saw a hallway with a ramp a little far right to the bathrooms.

‘Hmm… wonder where that can lead to.” You thought. You shrugged it off and turned back around to go into the bathroom. You were just about to enter as you felt someone knock into your shoulder. You turned around confused, staring at who just bumped into you.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry! Did I hurt you? These shoulder pads can be a bit… much.” The stranger stared at you, frantically apologizing and waving his hands around. You looked back with a wild expression. His hair was green and styled into a pompadour like mullet. He wore black pants that were oddly shaped and light pink shoes. His top was very extraordinarily as he had huge shoulder pads with a purple diamond on each side, and a smaller one on his chest.

“Oh no, you’re fine. I’m just surprised I didn’t see you there.” You laughed softly, watching his facial expression. He had a quizzical look on his face, like if you didn’t just realize who you were talking to.

“Heh.. yeah well honestly I don’t know why my sister picked this outfit, not my thing. Anyways, I got to get backstage, hope you’re enjoying the show.” He smiled and turned around, confidently strutting back out and heading up that weird hallway you were questioning earlier.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, questioning what just happened and why that guy was wearing such an outfit. You splashed your face with some water and closed your eyes, taking some time to relax before you went back out there. After a couple of minutes, you heard your phone buzz and quickly picked it up. It was a message from your friend.

“OMG! OMG! You have to hurry! Velvet and Veneer are gonna perform!” It read. You sighed, rolled your eyes, and put your phone back into your pocket.

You walked out of the bathroom and unwillingly went into the crowd of people. It was like the crowd got ten times louder, everyone excited to see the next performance. You groaned and continued to slide into the crowd, pushing around trying to get back to your friend.

“Hey I’m back, what’s going on?” You tapped your friends shoulder, making them aware of your presence.

“You made it just in time! Velvet and Veneer are gonna perform!” She squealed, holding onto your arm and jumping up and down. You pulled your arm back and nodded your head, not really caring about what your friend was talking about. Even if you didn’t care that much, you were still happy that she was happy.

The crowd quieted a little as the announcement over the speaker came on.

“Ladies and gentleman! Please welcome your stars of the show, Velvet and Veneer!”

Everyone started jumping up and down, dancing and overall going crazy. You watched as the two stars came out onto the stage when suddenly your stomach dropped. You recognized one of them.

Did you just accidentally meet Veneer?

You stood dazed and shocked while your friend was bouncing and cheering. They gave you a quick glance before they noticed your expression. Quickly, they stopped bouncing and came closer to your awkward self.

“Hey, are you alright?” They asked, putting a hand on your shoulder. They tried to comfort you but it was a little hard since the crowd of people were being pushed into you two.

“Yeah I just… remember when I went to the bathroom?” You glanced down then you turned your head to look up at them.

“Yeah of course, that was like fifteen minutes ago.” They laughed a little.

“Well, when I was waking in I kind of accidentally pumped into someone, and that someone may or may not have been.. Veneer.” You gave your friend an awkward smile, hoping that they would believe you accidentally just met a famous singer.

“Are you being serious? Like are you sure it was him?” Your friend questioned. They wanted to believe you but it sounded crazy. It’s very unlikely to accidentally walk into a celebrity.

“The guy had huge shoulder pads and green hair, I’m pretty sure it was him.” You tilted your head in a “duh” like manor. They gave you an amused look and then smiled.

“Well, what are we doing over here? We gotta get up close to see if he recognizes you!” They grabbed your hand and swiftly started pushing past people to get to the front of the stage. You were left shocked as you tried to pull your hand away from your friend’s monstrous grip.

“Wait I don’t think that’s a good idea-“ you yelled out, trying to get them to hear you.

“Of course it is! Come on!” They continued to push past the crowd of people until you guys got to the very front of the stage. You were terrified, your body was in a state of shock and panic as you watched the stars right above you. You watched as they performed their many songs, looking out into the crowd and waving at the audience.

You watched as Veneer looked down into the crowd, waving to people until he stopped and looked at you. His face faltered for a second before he got back into character. He smiled, waving at you until he did something a little unexpected.

He winked.

You felt like you just got set on fire, your face burning up to what felt like a thousand degrees. You gave him a shocked reaction, jaw dropped while you stood there motionless. He laughed and went back to looking at the rest of the crowd. You felt like you were gonna pass out.

——————————————————————————

A while after the whole party died down, you were in a corner of the club with your friend chilling and talking about random crap from your younger years. Most of the people left while some stayed with friends to drink and chat. It was almost time for the club to close before you saw someone walk out from backstage.

“Oh hey! It’s you!” Veneer walked up to you and your friend, a huge smile across his face.

“Oh my gosh we are such huge fans, can I have a picture!” Your friend cheered, bouncing up and down with their phone in hand.

“Why of course!” He laughed. Your friend brought up their phone and took what felt like five thousand photos.

“Thank you so much!” Your friend squealed. You tried to calm her down until you saw Veneer staring at you.

“So did you like the show? Was it worth it? Did I look good” He said that last part smugly, shrugging his shoulders with a smirk on his face. You giggled and nodded your head.

“It was really good! You guys did fantastic.” You smiled. You meet this guy a couple hours ago but it felt like love at first sight, as cringe as that may be.

“Well… I know I’m technically not allowed to do this but…” he held out a piece of paper with his name and number, you stared at it in shock.

“Here’s my number, if you ever wanna talk.” He looked up at you and gave you a kind-hearted smile. You nodded and thanked him.

“Well, would you look at the time! I must get going before Velvet kills me!” He laughed, slightly worried.

“No literally, she might actually kill me. Anyways it was nice meeting you…?” He paused, giving you a questioning look.

“[______]” you said, giving him a small smile.

“Ah [_____], it was nice meeting you!” He smiled as he walked off giving you a ‘call me’ sign with his fingers. You laughed and turned back to your friend.

“I cannot believe that just happened! Oh my god congrats!” They yelled while squishing you in a huge bear hug. You hugged them back, laughing and spinning around with them like you just won the lottery.

You’ll definitely be calling him later.

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Hey guys! Hope you enjoyed this oneshot/short story I made. It was barely revised and I don’t really have a lot of experience so I hope it was decent lol (He’s a little out of character.) It was quite fun and I hope to write more in the future! Leave requests in the comments!

Part 2: Secret

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[cookiealchemieart]

Voices and the Hero I DID IT I FUCKING FINISHED THIS PIECE YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! I have Thoughts about my designs for these guys so uh Design Notes under the cut!

I'm bad at drawing actual birds (if the narrator on the hero's shoulder is any indication) so I went with the next best thing that I'm better at: plague doctors! Plus plague masks are just fun to draw. I tried making each of the voices match the princess they correspond to, but it got tricky with a couple of them. In no particular order, here we go! The Hero is a bird guy with a bird mask. Perhaps the mask is meant to keep his identity locked away? Either way, the outfit is more shapes than actual fabric, similar to the Princess' gown. Simple enough to register as clothes, but vague enough to change and be recognizable as the loops splinter. Also the cape is hims wings! The Broken is made to be the wettest, most pathetic little guy, but also ever so slightly like a priest. This is to reference the Tower (mommy- I mean mommy- I mean-) saying that the hero's place by her side is "that of a priest, or a pet". So I made him look like a depressed little priest. The Skeptic is the voice that joins you on the route of the Prisoner, so what would be more fitting than a warden? Or maybe an escaped convict? Either way I love his little ponytail poking out of his hood. The Hunted looks like a feral wild child. Feather-hair out and messy, cloak made of scraps of fabric. I figured the most wild looking of the voices would be the one that corresponds to the Beast. The Smitten is all puffy and soft shapes to match the Damsel's rufflier dress and softer appearance. Also my friends recommended the hat and I agree 11/10 would hat again. Gave him a bowtie AND a cravat because the Smitten strikes me as just that extra! The Opportunist's beak is meant to resemble a parrot's, as he just parrots the ideas of whomever he considers to be "winning". This is also why he's dressed like a businessman. He kinda looks like a villain version of the Smitten, but I haven't played the Thorn's route yet, so idk if that's relevant. Also isn't this guy the only voice that doesn't show up in the Chapter 2 routes or am I forgetting one? The Stubborn has demon horns to match the Adversary (and the Eye of the Needle HOOGH MAMA). He's also got battle damage, and his mask is fashioned to look like he has a wounded and scarred eye. Fun fact! Stubborn was supposed to get the ponytail, but I decided while lining that a half cut looked better. The Cold looks the most similar to the Hero, but he's just a bit less put together. While I was drawing his hair I was thinking of L from Deathnote for some reason? Probably the cadence the Cold has. The Cheated is supposed to look like a gambler, given his title and speaking patterns. There...wasn't a good way to pair him with the Razor, but I suppose the spade on his cheek could be seen as a nod to the razor's blades? I dunno, I'm reaching here. The Paranoid suffers from my lack of impulse control when it comes to giving characters goggles. I fucking love steampunk goggles. Much like the Cold, he looks like a less-put-together Hero, but this one is a mess, actively having a panic attack, but is pushing through it because NEITHER THE HERO OR THE NARRATOR IS FUCKING HELPING. Also the stitches on his mask are meant to mirror the cracks on the Nightmare's mask. The Contrarian has a mask with three beaks as a mirror to the Stranger's three heads, but also because the two on his head make him look like a little jester and I felt that was fitting for this smartass. His cape is asymmetrical to spite the status quo.

I hope you enjoyed my art + rambles about these designs. I love doing this!

[luimagines]

*Your requests are open, its 2:30am and I'm craving First content.*

You know that scene in HTTYD2 with Stoick and Valka

"Go on! Shout! Scream! Say something!"

"You're as beautiful as the day I lost you"

Either First as Stoick or as Valka would be interesting (or if First refuses to cooperate, Warriors or Twilight or Time would be fun)

*not me saying to myself I hope I'm bulletproof cause this is about to hurt*

Insanity, I'm going to run wild with this, thank you.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

First wasn't about to let anyone get close to him. Not again.

He knew that he was still young enough to find someone to settle down with, but ever since you left, he couldn't find it in his heart to seek another.

There's a hole in his heart in your shape that was never to be filled again.

Then he was arrested. For a crime he didn't commit.

That was enough for him to give up. If he was to spend the rest of his days here, then so be it. The people have made their choice. He was a hollow man anyway.

The days crept by slowly. There was very little he could do the past the time except for daydream about a time where he was younger nd more carefree. A time when you were still by his side.

He had hoped to have a family. To be a father and raise children.

Dashed to pieces and scattered by the wind, his dreams failed to bring up happy memories and left him with dreamless and futile sleep.

Years go by and eventually he's set free at last. He's not as strong as he used to be but the people need him to fight. He's not sure how he's going to do that at this point, but if he is to die; then he would rather go down a hero.

It's not like you'll be there to patch him up at the end of the day anyway.

Instead, as he opens his eyes after the fight, there's another bandaging his wounds. He's vaguely aware that he won the fight and that he's lost a lot of blood but that's about it.

The rest of his life is lived in a haze.

He's sent to go find a special item for the people now that he's proven himself again but there's little that'll prove to Link that it exists.

Instead he finds a cave that he's been explored before and enters it with little thought. He's not expecting much. If there's monsters in here then he can dispose of them and call it a day before he goes back to town and tells the people that there was no such item.

"S-stay back!"

He freezes and raises his lantern. Link's greeted by massive crystals covering the walls of the rock, mirroring the light from his lantern and lighting up the small space as it is.

There's a cloth on the floor and a few supplies.

But that's not what has his attention.

"....It's you..." You breathe and panic seems to fill your system.

Link can only stare. It's as if you're here to haunt him, only you don't seem happy to see him. He can't find it in himself to complain though. He's wanted to see you at least one last time all these years. He wonders if he's actually dying a second time and this was a gift bestowed on him for doing his duty.

"I... I know what you're going to say, Link." You wince and try to stand. You're hurt... Or rather, you have been hurt. It must be difficult to move. "I know that you'd ask why I left. Why I stayed away all these years... and why I didn't come back to you..."

Link takes a step forward and you scramble the best you can to your feet despite the obvious pain. His heart clenches. The questions you throw at him are already answered for him. It would have been difficult to come back to him even if you wanted to.

You being to tear up. "I'm sure you'd want to know everything. A-and I know that I was wrong. I knew from the start. But I couldn't-"

He steps closer, gently putting his lantern on the floor so that it still lights up the place.

Your voice only seem to grow higher and more frantic. "I couldn't! Link, please. Not like this. I couldn't. Please believe me!"

He does and steps closer.

"Link! Answer me. Shout! Scream! I don't care if you start throwing things! Just say something!"

He stops in front of you, trapping you against the wall of the cave. He reaches out and hesitates before tucking a piece of your overgrown hair behind your ear.

"You're just as beautiful as the day I lost you."

Your tears fall as he leans to kiss you, to solidify this dream, to prove to himself that he's not hallucinating.

You don't kiss him back, but that's ok. You're real and you're here and you're alive.

This is far better than any item he was sent to find.

[ttjisung]

back 2 u 𝜗𝜚

p. jisung x fem!reader smau - exes to lovers

in which jisung does his best to avoid you, his ex, until he realizes his mistake far too late cw: suggestive themes, bad angst, cheating, swearing

i'm not going back, back, back, back, back

masterlist

previous next

chapter viii. (wc: 1.6k)

Your nails dug crescent shaped figures into your palms as you waited for Jaemin impatiently. For some reason, you were incredibly nervous and it wasn’t because you barely talked to the man. 

The nerves formed more-so due to the fact that this was, in your eyes, your last chance to get your point across to Jisung. Obviously, even if he did understand and apologized, your relationship would be stunted yet fixing it was better than leaving it to rot considering you truly loved the man, so you had devised a plan. It was simple really - Jaemin would apologize (even if it wasn’t heartfelt) to get Jisung on his good side, and then he’d show screenshots that Yangyang and Dejun failed to realize proved your innocence until the night before your cafe meetup. 

According to Jisung’s words, you had snuck out the night before he broke up with you and got with other men, yet the crucial fact that you were with your best friends at the time was proven true by a dumb Instagram story that Yangyang had posted on his account, making fun of your movie taste. Being forgetful, he hadn’t remembered he posted it until Dejun was stalking his highlights like most people sneakily do and checked the dates, immediately messaging your group chat with the screenshots.

For the first time in a while, the constant weight you felt on your back was lifted slightly, and was replaced by a blossoming hope in your chest. You had even unblocked Jisung in case he messaged you after to talk.

Deep into your own thoughts, you hadn’t realized Jaemin had arrived until he called out your name, wearing a friendly smile which he always did. You waved your hand timidly, responding with a small hi before nodding at the seat in front of you. 

“I’m glad you asked to talk, Y/n. I hadn’t realized until you messaged me that this is the first time we’ve hung out one-on-one properly which is kind of wild, you know, since we’ve known each other for a while.” Jaemin ranted, scooting closer over the small table. “That’s true, but we haven’t ever really been close. I don’t think it’s too odd.” You tried to shut down his words with a kind tone, not agreeing. “Maybe we can be?” “Yeah… Maybe. So, Yang found some screenshots that are pretty much undeniable, and I was hoping you could maybe show them to Jisung?” Your hands shot down towards your pocket to get your phone, quickly unlocking it.

“I really would love to, but actually I have something to show you too.” Jaemin paralleled your actions, getting his phone as well and opening up a chain of messages. He cringed, re-reading them before sliding the device across the table. “I was checking their texts in our group chat with all the guys and Hyuck was sort of dissing you last night, and Jisung said some messed up shit.” His face could only be described as pitying as he saw you take in the words being shared.

I honestly wish we never dated. 

She was always so anxious about everything.

I missed her and all but it made me think and maybe it’s for the best.

I don’t want to be with someone like her.

You hadn’t even realized tears were falling down your cheeks until you felt a hand grip your chin, Jaemin’s hand to be specific. His other held a napkin which he used to dab your tears. The touch was intimate, yet you were too upset to take notice or say anything. You just let them fall, shutting your eyes and sliding his phone back to him. 

“I… I don’t get it. He was always so happy with me. He seemed happy with me.” “I’m sorry, Y/n. You deserve better, you really do. They’re all jerks - that’s why I stopped texting in there.” Jaemin’s words came out in a comforting whisper, finally releasing your face yet quickly replacing it with your hands that were shaking on the small table. “Would you like me to send the screenshots still?” “I guess… it’d be nice to clear my name, but obviously they won’t have the same effect anymore…” Your face was sunken, your lips wobbly as you responded. For the first time since your break up, you didn’t only feel sadness towards Jisung. You felt anger. Your whole pursuit for proof ended up useless, as he claimed to be unhappy regardless of your supposed cheating. It was truly as if his personality had switched completely, being rude and insulting instead of his usual lovesick self. 

“It’s up to you,” Jaemin stated, rubbing his thumb over yours affectionately, “I’ll do it, but I still think you could do better.” You nodded, although you felt yourself dissociating and not truly grasping his words. What you hadn’t realized through your teary, squinted eyes was the fact that he seemed concerningly happy at the news that you didn’t want to talk to Jisung anymore. In fact, his eyes quickly widened in pleasure and returned to normal when he heard resentment in your voice. 

You honestly made it too easy. Any other person would show clear suspicion as soon as they’d receive a text from a friend of their ex ‘siding’ with them. Yet you were too nice, not believing Jaemin was capable of lying. 

The first time you two had met was the definition of love at first sight, in his eyes. You didn’t even know Jisung back then - only Renjun, who unknowingly led Jaemin to you. You had visited your friend’s house, being invited to a small get together at his pool. It was only a handful of you, including Mark and Donghyuck as well as Kim Minjeong and Ning Yizhuo, who accompanied said friends. 

You had excused yourself to Renjun’s bathroom, going to change into your bathing suit, and as you walked out you accidentally crashed into Jaemin, causing him to spill the lemonade he was carrying outside all over you. In an embarrassed rush, he dragged you back into the bathroom and grabbed the nearest towel, wiping down the top of your two-piece bikini. The red on his face grew as he realized he was touching you too intimately, making him apologize and finally look up at you. 

Jaemin felt entranced, never having seen a face quite like yours. You shared the same blush as him, which he mistook as mutual attraction. Unknowingly to him, you simply blushed because you were shy and had never met him before. Sure, he was attractive and he seemed nice enough to help you clean up, yet your type was someone who resembled your personality much more, and his flamboyant actions proved to you he wasn’t the kind to. 

You quickly accepted his rambled apologies, telling him you’d just dip into the pool and it would come right off. He led you towards the backyard of the house, walking towards Mark and Donghyuck yet throughout the evening, he couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering to you. At the end of the night, he searched for you to ask for your number, feeling encouraged by the couple of shots he took with Donghyuck while the girls swam, yet to his misfortune, you had already gone home.

Not wanting to embarrass himself and ask Renjun for your contact information, he simply hoped a day would come where he’d meet you again at an event, giving him the chance to finally ask you out. 

The day came months later, when Jaemin was invited to a party by Mark. Seeing your familiar figure sitting on a couch, his mood shot up and a smile grew on his face, yet it was quickly wiped off as he saw your hand interlocked with a hand belonging to none other than Park Jisung, his own friend. 

It felt like betrayal, although Jisung wasn’t aware of his crush, that you had been swept off your feet by someone so close to him. You looked so happy, blushing and giggling alongside him, and Jaemin swore somehow he would end up being the one to make you laugh. He hadn’t expected you both to take your relationship so seriously though, going on several years, and he started to get impatient. 

Convincing Donghyuck to help him, although not purposeful, was easy. It wasn’t that he disliked you, in fact he really enjoyed your company, seeing you as a very close friend, yet all Jaemin had to do was take a blurry photo of someone who resembled you kissing a man in a club the two were at. Jaemin was aware of the protective nature he had over the younger boy, so as soon as he showed it to Donghyuck, the man did all the work himself, calling Jisung and telling him about the situation. 

It all worked in Jaemin’s favor, especially when you messaged him to meet up. It was as if all the years of waiting finally paid off, now presenting him with the perfect opportunity to sweep you off your feet, all the meanwhile convincing Jisung he wasn’t missing out on dating you. Of course, he’d probably lose his friendship once he got to his last part of his plan which was properly asking you out, yet he was willing to take that risk, considering he met you before Jisung did, and it truly was only right that he’d get you instead. 

After half an hour of comforting you while you cried to him at the cafe, he offered to drop you off, grinning ear to ear once he saw you enter your apartment. Pulling out his phone, he quickly deleted the screenshots you had sent him proving your innocence, knowing Jisung would never be seeing those since the second you brought it up. 

Jaemin wouldn’t let his plan go to waste, and he wasn’t ready to allow anyone to ruin it for the both of you.

a/n: omg! I'm so shocked! jp i knew he was going to be the villain all along. (it's not like i'm the author or anything >U<) hehe

Na Jaemin, i sincerely apologize... i love you... you are perf... my man truly. but someone had to be the bad guy and unfortunately i chose you... it was originally gonna be haechan having a sad pathetic one-sided crush instead but he was chosen to be jaemin's little pawn bc it makes him look more evil muehehe

things are gonna get messier soon but we finally got the backstory >:3 jisung redemption arc coming in the next chapters? NOPE! cause i love angst sorryyy... but eventually we'll get there. i think. maybe.

[sserajeans]

just for a moment

hanni pham x fem! reader

synopsis: you and your co-star are tasked to make a song for your web drama's soundtrack. your co-star happens to be a childhood friend whom you've had history with.

genre + others: lsrfm! reader, idol au, childhood friends to lovers, friends to lovers, fluff, second chance ish?

notes: not requested, PLS READ THE LYRICS IT'LL MATTER!!!!, how i look delaying yail update 😂😂, also yes another hsmtmts inspired oneshot, pics from @/wiotas

"what do we even fucking write about?"

"y/n..."

"sorry..."

how did you get here? glad you asked!

it's the year 2025, and a team of producers at hybe are on the works for a minor project: a web drama promoting support for the lgbtq+.

you've talked about how odd it was to your best friend, and groupmate, yunjin.

"probably good for publicity, girl. like 'make everyone know we're not homophobic!' kinda thing." was all she had to say about it, which was likely true anyways.

you were convinced the casting was done at random honestly, but it was obvious they wanted a mix of groups to garner more attention. and that landed you the lead role with, you guessed it, ms. hanni pham!

why you two when you each had members who fit the actress role better? well, that's where you thought the random part came to play.

filming wasn't much of an issue. you were comfortable with hanni, and you two worked well on and off screen, just as expected considering your history. the director even pointed out your "remarkable chemistry", but she didn't have to know why it was that way.

as a matter of fact, you guys were about to wrap up in a few days. it was a wild past couple of weeks, but it was nice to get to spend more time with hanni again.

i mean, don't get me wrong, it's not like you two cut each other off when you moved to korea, but the talking definitely decreased, and the filming made up for lost time!

now, on one of the last days of filming, your respective managers sat you two in a conference room together, and dropped the news that you'd have to compose a new song just for the web drama's soundtrack.

the task in itself didn't bother you at all, and you were sure it didn't bother hanni too. you two were experienced in songwriting and composing, your names on a couple of song credits to count, so this was actually much easier than acting.

the issue was that you had enough going on for certain... feelings to resurface.

you see, the plot of the web drama hit a little too close to home for you. i mean seriously, childhood friends with feelings for each other, but couldn't take things further due to complications, then having to work together acting in some play.

it sounded a lot like your story.

hell, they even had your character do swimming! the same sport you excelled in back in australia.

the only reason nothing has gotten too awkward on that note yet, was because of your other labelmates being there like boynextdoor's leehan, minji and danielle, even your fellow members kazuha and yunjin.

with them around, you got to reconnect with hanni, but with a couple safe boundaries! now that you two were tasked to work on something alone though? you were scared things were going to be different.

so that's what brought you two here, together, in the music room. hanni seated facing the table with a pen and paper, you on the floor with your guitar in hand.

you were strumming to any chord shape that could come to mind in hopes of finding a melody that you could build off of, and hanni was tapping the end of her pencil on her forehead for any word, lyric, or rhyme that could work.

nothing came.

so engrossed in your respective tasks, the two of you didn't notice a shadow behind the translucent door, so when a knock came, you levitated off the floor for a millisecond, and hanni let out a soft yelp.

"hey you two~"

huh yunjin.

"how are my besties doing!" she came in doing a little dance, first walking over to check on what hanni was writing before landing on the floor beside you.

"we're stuck." you muttered, head against the wall behind you.

"oh... i see." yunjin shrugged her eyebrows in confusion, because she had just came from peeking over at hanni's notebook and was 100% sure she had lines written down.

"well, let's see... you got the genre down that suits the two of you so there's that. romance obviously sells, so there's that too. maybe you guys should try... writing while in character?" yunjin did her best to help the two of you, as the mutual best friend and seasoned singer-songwriter. "or if there's an experience you guys have had before, that would definitely help. real raw emotion ya know?"

"anyways," the eldest huffed and got up from the floor, messing up your hair and hanni's before heading for the door to leave the room. "i gotta get going. you two don't come home too late okay?"

you and hanni nodded before resuming. after a couple minutes, you realized that maybe you two will have to be communicating more if it meant writing a song together.

"hey han, do you have anything written?" hanni froze for a second before turning around on her chair.

truth was she did. she wrote them down specifically as yunjin started telling you two to write based on experiences.

"i... uh... kind of? just a couple lines, i don't know how i feel about them though."

"can i take a look? might help a bit."

"oh yeah... sure..."

there was a hint of hesitance in her voice, but it'd look awfully suspicious if she scratched out lines right before you'd check.

"ah..." the initial reaction was surprise for you, and a million thoughts came racing through your head.

"yeah! it's nothing much... but i figured it was better than nothing...."

"no yeah! for sure! i'm kinda getting the vibe, wait here." you turned around and picked up your guitar from the floor and took a seat beside hanni. "uhm... okay let's try... this?"

you freestyled a riff on your guitar, allowing your fingers to move on its own to play what felt right. it resulted in one of the most simple yet enchanting melodies that seemed perfect for your song's intro.

"hey that sounds perfect! i love it!" hanni cheered and gave you a thumbs up. "okay so... since you're doing your little guitar intro, perhaps we have the first line written in your character's point of view?"

"sure... okay... uhm..." it took you a couple seconds to think of something, or to get in character on the spot. but then you remembered yunjin's advice.

an experience you guys have had before.

"uh... how's this..." you fiddled with your hands as hanni nodded along, telling you to go on with your suggestion. after about half a minute, you had a two-liner with some sort of melody that matched your guitar intro. "i fell in love with the only girl who knows what i'm about."

hanni froze for a second, which didn't go unnoticed by you, but continued nodding along as she wrote down the lines. "i like your voice in this genre."

"oh..." you looked up from your guitar and faced her side profile as she was still facing her notebook. you felt your face warm a little, but not too much for it to gain color. "that's a lot coming from you. i have your lee mujin service episode on loop."

hanni smiled, a sight you'd never get tired of seeing. "a fan, huh? which part's your favorite?" she turned to look at you, a smirk on her face to mask the flustered and proud version of herself having received praise for her work from you of all people.

she continued writing a line underneath yours, a sudden burst of inspiration coming over her.

"probably lucky."

of course it's the song about being in love with your best friend.

she chuckled at your answer. hanni wasn't dense, and she knew you weren't either.

okay maybe you were, just slightly, but you pick up on context clues.

but point is, she knew what that implied, and what everything that came between the two of you the past few weeks could've felt like for you.

but just as she was getting somewhere, her train of thought was interrupted by your "burst of epiphany", as one would call it.

"oh hey, hear this out. i think it sounds like chorus material." you tapped her shoulder and positioned your hands across the frets of your guitar. you sounded a lot happier, more energy than you did earlier in the day as you finally got a feel of what to write and play.

when we're underneath the lights, my heart's no longer broken, for a moment, just for a moment

in that moment, hanni's mind rushed with too many emotions. objectively, the melody was beautiful. your voice made it better, the guitar felt like it had a voice of its own, and the lyrics. god, the lyrics.

she knew for sure you felt what she felt.

the two of you stayed in that music room a couple more hours, discovering a new type of comfort in a person the other has always known. like reading a book you've had forever, and feeling a newfound joy in a character that has always been there.

by the end of the day, you and hanni seemed to have switched roles, your guitar in her hands, and her notebook in yours.

you were finishing up a final copy of the first half of the song along with chords in case you'd forget the sound. there was also a copy of the both of you singing on your respective voice note apps. (which, unbeknownst to you, would be on repeat for hanni later that night.)

"here we go." you sighed, it took a lot of effort trying to make handwriting like yours legible. you've always hated it. teachers back in elementary all throughout high school would always mark your papers low despite almost flawless answers, just for your handwriting.

"i've always liked your handwriting..." hanni muttered as she admired your written work, unknowingly smiling to herself.

"oh.. thanks. i've always hated it."

"i know." hanni looked up at you, observing the sheepish smile on your face. she knew all about why you hated it, and she understood, but to her, it was an art. a part of you. she thought, "that's why i like it."

there was partial truth into that. besides it being a funny add-on to hanni's compliment, it's always been her thing to love stuff about you that you hated, even if it was something as small as handwriting.

back when you two were together (or whatever that was you had back in australia before you left, neither of you stuck a label on it), she'd always talk long speeches about how your handwriting was an art. something so significantly you that you shouldn't change, and that even if you hated it, she'd love it twice as much in place of you.

as you two shared a couple more laughs, a notification popped up on both of your phones. yours first, then hanni's a second later.

a snort accidentally escaped your system as you read the texts. "sorry.. is it yunjin?"

hanni let out the loudest laugh before nodding and exchanging phones with you to read what the older sent to the other. it was the same message in different forms, panicking to get you home before chaewon freaked out and took it out on yunjin, then proceeding to fear minji and her "wrath".

despite laughing at your member's worry, the two of you stood up to pack up, which really didn't take much anyways. you slid your guitar in its case, hanni hid her notebook in her bag.

walking out of the room to the lobby together side by side was probably the most stomach-churning activity of the day. and you literally had to write a love song about each other with each other. but there was something in the way it felt when your hands touched.

as you reached the part of the building where you finally had to part ways, the two of you faced each other. both expecting something, but not quite sure with what they were expecting.

"i.. uh... it was nice to reconnect today." she started off, awfully awkward at it too.

"yeah... it was..." you smiled, hand reaching for the back of your neck to scratch. a nervous habit. "i'll let you know if i think of anything tonight."

"yeah, same here." hanni nodded back, though a pinch of disappointment evident on her face. maybe she was expecting more, or maybe it was too soon. "see you tomorrow?"

"yeah... see ya." you slowly turned around, head racing.

should you say something? should you save it for another time? would it make things awkward tomorrow?

screw it. live in the present, right?

"han... for the record, my heart does still stop when i see you."

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hi!

I just wanted to say that I absolutely love all of your COD fics! Your Price fics made me fall in love with him (I saw a recommendation for See No Evil on TikTok and just went down the rabbit hole from there (it’s also my comfort fic)) and Laughing Poets made me buy Ghosts for Keegan. Your writing is so beautiful and poetic and has inspired me to start writing again after a really bad writing’s block!

I also did want to put in a request for Ghost (because I love him so much) but given his hype, I understand if you don’t want to write for him or if it may be hard. But I was hoping that this hasn’t been done before (much) and that I could read it in your words since you are so amazing!

I was thinking of the reader being a CIA agent that was working undercover to get classified information and 141 was sent in to extract her after she was compromised. And her and Ghost don’t really get along at first, like they don’t hate each other but they could just care less about one another. But then they get separated and one of them is injured and the other fights tooth and nail to get to them, realizing how much they care. I was thinking that her callsign could be ‘Reaper’ but it can be anything else if it fits better. It can be angsty (because that’s the absolute best genre), fluffy, nsfw, whatever you want to do with it.

I know this is asking a bit much and I’m sorry for that. Feel free to change it as you see fit and do whatever you want with it, if you want to do it. I really appreciate and love your work!! Thank you!!

'Til it Hurts

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: This duology will be 18+ and contain the following: intense gore, blood, violence, vulgar language, angst, fluff, suggestive content, (smut, p in v sex, virgin!reader (relevant to plot) all in part 2), abuse of power in the past, toxic working environment in the past, copious flashbacks, soft!simon because I love him like that (I guess considered ooc), banter, etc...

A/N: Part 2 will be posted tomorrow after I edit it and the link will be added to this part as well for ease of access. But, anna, that's wild that people post about my work on tiktok, lmfao. I'm so glad I helped you out of that writer's block, though! Enjoy part 1, Love (I did change it around a bit)!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You often think of the friends you had when you were six. The neighborhood you grew up in was full of other kids your age, and there was practically a horde of young boys and girls outside at any given moment. Early mornings were ripe for adventures – ears perking up from your pillows at the sound of bird songs and lawnmowers like an instinctual call to cause mischief. Days would run long and nights would end late with games of tag. 

It was inevitable, at this point in your life, to not think about where your friends would be now. Were they happy? Starting families and getting married on island resorts; white sand underfoot and a gentle lapping of ocean water? You’d lost contact a long, long, time ago – never bothered to get back in touch, though you know things might be better if you had. 

God, you’d never have friends like that again. 

Selfless. Genuine. Without competition or a need to stab each other in the back. Friendships built on a childlike innocence that was never meant to stay or grow with the brutal stretch of years. People mature. They harden, sharpen. 

They break themselves to fit a mold of what they want to be without even realizing…Or maybe that was just how you grew up. 

Your feet pound against the cobblestone streets of Bergamo, Italy, as you make your way through the packed road of the Upper Old District. Under your chin, your fingers go up to grasp the scarf around your neck and pull the thick navy fabric up farther. Fast eyes flicker over faces as a fake plastered smile splays over your lips, and your jaw holds a tension that seeps into your shoulders.

Keep the act up, you have to remind yourself, fingers heavy at your hips, don’t let the facade slip, or else it’s over before it begins.

At your sides, past the unending sea of loudly speaking humans and loyal animals alike, the broad expanse of ancient architecture calls to the history of this city; red-terracotta roofing, extravagant greenery, and pillars as tall as the buildings themselves. A picturesque land filled with mysteries lost to time, stories never told beyond the scratch of a pen and moth-eaten parchment. 

A city now filled with killers. 

“Sitrep,” you grunt into the open channel, the earpiece fizzling as it sits in the clutch of your canal. No one answers and, slipping past a family of tourists, you glare at the ground; heart going so fast you feel like it could jump-start a car. “Damnit!”

The seconds draw on and as you pick up the pace, now shoving your way through the crowd, you feel eyes on you. Slithering over your skin like oil. 

Not good. 

Shit. Karver, where did you go!? 

Karver ‘Rigs’ Massarini was an informant – someone who’d been giving you everything that you needed to know about the cell in this area; along with a grouping of eyewitnesses to a stash of ICBMs. A stash that could do some serious damage if they stayed here with the wrong people. Intel suggests that those very missiles were going to be shipped off to Mexico in only a few days, smuggled across the border into United States territory with the intent of doing some pretty awful stuff and framing the US. 

If you and Rigs weren’t quick with this, so many innocents would suffer.

You’d already gotten into contact with Mexican Special Forces yourself, warning Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo Parra of a possible breach and to watch for any unregistered shipments on the docks or coming in from the air. 

But now Rigs was missing, and you had a funny feeling you were being trailed. 

Back alley. You take a quick right, boots slamming to the ground and heart hammering. Get away from the civvies in case someone decides to go trigger-happy. 

This cell was known for being deadly, Mr. Massarini had sent the file over to CIA headquarters before you were shipped out; Laswell had set you on it right away without even taking the time to read it entirely.

“Extremely high Kinetic; I’m giving you full Execute Authority on this, Reaper. We’re running out of time. Find those missiles.” 

Torture, kidnappings, mutilations, the list went on for this group and how far they would go to keep secrets. No one had gotten any clear insight as to what their motives were – just that they needed to be put down in exactly the ways they had been doing to others. Ruthlessly, before they grew bigger or spread their influence beyond borders, and created a group that could rival what Al-Qatala had been. 

So that was where you came in. 

God, you wished Farah and Alex were here with you – at the very least you could rely on them to help, even if you sectioned yourself off from others more than a dying cat. There was a reason you preferred being sent in alone with only your wits.  

Mostly because of situations like this.

“Rigs, sitrep. Where are you,” you try again, the close walls shrouding in your shadows. Throwing looks over your shoulders, you take down deep breaths, a growl gradually digging itself a hole in your esophagus. Desperately, you say, “I’m heading back to the safe house ASAP. Wait for me there.” 

Your right hand gravitates to your pocket, slipping through the fabric and pushing aside the ripped seam at the bottom. The sheath at your thigh pinches you with every step, but you’ve endured it for years, calluses breeding where the leather had chaffed the flesh to toughness. To an ingrained perfection. Flinching when your fingers bump against the handle, the metal adornments feel cool to the touch despite the sweat dripping down your spine; temperature and nerves leaving your palms sweaty. 

None of this was going to plan.

You caress the small Dirk blade strapped to you, and when the first footsteps enter the alleyway behind you, your hand clenched into a loose fist around it. Your eyebrows pull tight with annoyance.

Taking a slow breath as the trailing stranger begins to move faster, you take a corner, halting the second you were out of sight. You nonchalantly turn on your heel and lean into the wall, feeling your body conform to the building and the stone dig into your back. 

The material is cold, and as you raise your Dirk up, you flip the blade parallel to your forearm, wrist lax, and fingers still. A slow breath flows from your barely-parted lips. 

3 seconds. You don’t blink, only gazing out across the space and noticing the dark shadow gaining ground. 2…1…

Your body jerks forward, free hand snapping out and grasping the fabric of a shirt. Twisting your hips, you plant your feet and wrench the stranger around the corner, breath coming out in a loud snarl. Without a shout, you have the person’s back shoved to the building in an instant, blade held above an Adam’s Apple. 

A man, then.

“I’m going to give you one full minute.” Your Italian was only surface level – far better at understanding others than speaking full sentences. But you think whoever this man is comes to a conclusion well enough. “Before I cut you open and watch the life spill from your eyes.”

You don’t recognize this person, his sharp face or dark, sly, eyes, and with a quick assessment of his large stature you figure out he’s the basic definition of a man sent to complete a job. One that would have left you dead if you were anything less than a contracted CIA Agent on a job. You had been trained among the best from your time in the Marines – years on Special Ops forces; taking point. Even if they were the worst times of your life, you still learned a great deal from them, particularly, how to know when to cut your losses. 

With one look into his smug face, you know that this stranger would tell you nothing. 

Your lips formed a grimace, teeth flashing under flesh at the rod-straight form of the man under you. He was smirking with eyes seeming to be laughing at you. Arrogant. Self-assured. 

“You’ll get nothing out of me, Reaper. We are already on your trail.” Your head tilts, a numb huff escaping your throat and pushing the individual's hair back as a breeze would. There was a small pause; tiny shiftings of your feet as your blade digs ever deeper. 

A thin trail of blood falls from the placement, and your muscles writhe under the epidermis. There’s no thought behind the laugh that enters the air, that cold, dark, thing that’s more of a bark from a hellhound. It was just a realization that no matter where you went, there could never be anything unique anymore. Everyone was always the same. 

“You’ll never get it out of me-”

“Break my bones; rip my flesh, you will never make me talk-”

“If you want to see me beg, you’ll be disappointed-”

There were countless memories you could bring to the precipice of your mind and re-live; moments ingrained into your psyche like a tattoo is to skin. So you can only smile and nod, scarf swishing around your neck. The man looks confused now, if not slightly nervous. That self-assured attitude leaking to the ground. Eyes as dark as obsidian beginning to snap back and forth – looking for a saving grace in the make-up of ancient stone that wasn’t going to come. 

You wondered how many people had died in this city throughout history. The stories lost to time. Have these alleys seen war? Famine?

Have they seen murder? 

But you are a woman of your word. A minute passes in tense silence, your eyes never leaving his own and ears carefully in tune, twitching like an antenna, to the joyous shouts and laughter just a street over. Here you wait like a rat in a trap, though you like to believe yourself more of the metal Hammer than the unknowing participant in a dance of death and wits.

You tighten your grip on your Dirk, shrugging up at the man. Your face is nonchalant as an understanding smile grows. As simple as a server at a restaurant.

“I believe you.” And you run the knife’s edge across his flesh like a match to a striker before he can scream.

Stepping back, you’re suddenly thankful for the scarf over your sweat-slick neck because as the spray of blood splatters over your nose bridge and forehead, you swipe it away with one of the ends of the thick fabric. You let the body drop, watching large hands snap to the gushing wound like that alone would stop the cold grip of death. 

Your mark has been met. 

The External Carotid Artery was easy enough to cut, though you had to dig deep for it, and it seemed the man had moved mid-slice. Frowning while the man gasps and gurgles; flails as a fish would, you study your work as you flick the blade clear of blood. Your brows furrow. 

“Nicked the Thyroid Cartilage, hm.” Sighing and shaking your head, you sheathe the Dirk and twist on your feet, still intent on making your way back to the hotel safe house and trying to find a lead on Rigs. The slumping of a body reverberates a moment later, a grandiose death rattle, and still, only a street over you hear animated conversations – the bustle of traveling feet, and the sound of the breeze. 

You often think about the friends you had when you were six. But, now, instead of being the one who fought off the monsters at the ends of the beds, you had become it. The monster. The boogeyman. 

The Reaper. 

Oh, what would they think of you now? 

You swipe at the blood along your fingertips, seeing the red bleed under your nails with such a numb feeling that it scares you more than anything. Taking down a gathering of saliva that feels more like a slug in your throat, you wonder when you lost the ability to value human life. Of course, the answer was slated in those early years in Special Ops, but you don’t dwell on those times. 

In fact, it was better if you never thought of them at all. 

Taking a left, you hum a tune under your breath and listen to the birds sing as the blood dries. 

—

The meeting room wasn’t even a room, just a vacant air-craft hangar that had been fitted out with two rows of metal fold-out chairs and a projector. Shadows danced over the floor, long streaks of darkness over concrete. 

“...I’ll be giving you full Execute Authority – but this mission is completely Black. Host weapons only. No Evac team.” Laswell’s voice echoes off the ceiling, and Ghost’s eyes flow over the projected intel, memorizing the faces and locations with nothing more than a blink of his blue eyes. Fluttering eyelashes caress the hard material of his mask before settling. 

Task Force 141 was being sent off on another deployment again, deep into Belarus and near the Russian border.

“Time frame?” The Captain asks, standing a small distance away and leaning against a crate of ammunition. His arms are crossed; jaw is loosely set. 

Kate looks at him, above the heads of Gaz and Soap, and nods her head before she comments, “one week.”

Gaz huffs from ahead of the hulking form of Ghost, and the silent man shifts his attention back to the group. 

“One week, Kate? No offense, but we don’t even know if the bastard’s in Belarus.”

“‘fraid to get dirty there, Garrick? Ah, we’re good enough for it.” Soap elbows the male at his side, and the masked man releases a puff of breath one row back. The Scot twists in his seat, mohawk tendrils falling over his forehead, and smirks. “C’mon Lt. back me up here. We’ve got this in the bag already.”

“Bit confident, Johnny?” Ghost grunts out, accented voice low and muffled from under the black fabric over his lips. His hips shift over the chair, legs splayed and arms crossed as he reclines back; letting the bulk of his gear weigh heavy. “Just wait until you’ve got us sitting on a pile of dry leads and rotting corpses.”

“Eh, nothin’ we haven’t dealt with before.”

“Focus, you three.” Kate interrupts as Gaz rolls his eyes to himself, fixing his ball cap over his head with a fast flick of his wrist at the antics of the other two. “You’re going to be shipped out at 2000–”

An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play. 

Blinking in surprise, Laswell takes a glance at the table that had been long forgotten and spies her phone buzzing over the metal. Her light brown hair, kept securely tied back, swished at the nape of her neck. She wastes no time.

Briskly walking over, the rest of the men in the room watched intently, heads perked up. Ghost couldn’t stop the pique of interest at the strange behavior, though his form remains still, only making a noise under his breath in contemplation. In the hold of his crossed arms, his fingers tighten.

“Not the person I’d imagine keeps her phone on for just anyone…” Gaz makes a slow comment, and John slides up beside him, hands hooking onto the sides of his combat vest. Watching. 

“Hm,” their command affirms.  

 Kate picks up her phone and immediately answers, brows furrowed. She shifts her weight as an inhalation reverberates. The conversation on the other side was too muffled, a small droaning the only signal that someone was on the opposite.

Unconsciously, Ghost straightens in his chair as the rolled-back sleeves of his undershirt leave his black ink tattoos on display. A deep intrigue spilled in his chest but otherwise, he was still focused on the previous instructions for the next Op. This was just another cog in the wheel, perhaps a location change for their safe house, or an accelerated timeline. No matter, they would get it done regardless–

“Reaper?” Laswell speaks, and blue eyes slide to stare at the Captain, whose legs had tensed. “What’s happened–” 

The Lieutenant knows something was wrong just by the simple fact that he’d never seen their Station Chief talk on her personal phone with that look on her face before – he’d seen it mirrored on the Captain and he’d clocked it from her just as simply. The wrinkled skin at the side of her eyes, and stiff-set lips peeled back in a frown. She’d always been serious, but the air was different. 

Reaper? He runs through the database of his mind and ignores Gaz’s and Johnny’s muttered words and glances. 

“Now who do you think that is, then?” Soap grunts out. Ghost doesn’t answer.

Brows furrow. 

Sounds familiar, the man can’t help but admit. 

“Patch me through. Now.” Kate slips to the computer a few steps away and opens a fresh tab, sorting through files and months of intel as if it mattered just as much as a bug under her heel.

“Kate?” Price prompts. The woman only holds up a finger and keeps the phone in between her shoulder and cheek, hands fast across the keys. 

Soon enough, a feed pops up on the projector, and the three previously sitting all rise to their feet in an instant. 

An open wound is in the process of being stitched and displays itself over the entire available space, violent red internal flesh puckering over the edges of…Ghost narrows his eyes, unphased.

Was that a fabric needle and thread being used for sutures? Resourceful, he admits.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” The manchester man levels thought the blandness of the tone contradicts itself. “Where’s this feed from, Laswell?”

“What the fuck…?” Soap growls out, and the Scot blinks at the screen in shock as the Brit beside him lets off a sound of disgust akin to a sick cat. 

“Reaper, sitrep.” Kate doesn’t flinch, rushing off into procedure as steady hands delve back into flesh, blood falling from their fingers like water to splatter to a rundown wooden table. The world-away computer was most likely getting a rain of crimson all over the keys at this rate. 

Price grunts under his breath. 

“Shit,” a distinctly feminine voice wafts out, a harsh sigh held back, though the annoyed tone was noticed immediately, “can’t a girl stitch herself up in peace? Besides, Watcher-1 answer me this, huh?” The computer is jerked, its screen going staticky as Ghost watches with roving eyes to take in the background when the visibility returns. A bed, nightstand, and sitting by the floor of the front door, copious amounts of weapons. The man takes stock – an M13 assault rifle, X12 handgun, and Arctic .50 sniper rifle. Ammunition lines the floor in a way that leaves Ghost’s lips thinning under the mask. 

Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?

“…what goddamn hotel doesn’t have mirrors in it?” Kate’s sigh can be heard a mile away. “No, I’m being serious here, Watcher – how the hell does that happen?” 

Watching you take a step back, Ghost as well as the other three all blink in surprise when you come into view. Your top was off, only a sports bra covering your flesh, as your focus stays on the digging needle you send into yourself over and over. 

Yet again a feeling of intense familiarity strikes the Brit in the chest. Your soft face, your hair, your voice. It was infuriating.

Who are you? The inability to call forth a memory leaves the fists at his sides gradually clenching under his gloves. 

“Reaper.” Seriousness grows in the Agent’s voice, and Price lets out a slow chuckle that leaves Gaz turning to him in confusion. 

“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.

“Still as stubborn as ever, then, Reap?” Everyone sees your hurried stitches stop, head snapping up as they clock a veiled panic behind the iris’. 

Your eyes tell all the story they need, and Ghost’s body freezes as the color evokes a physical twitching of his hand. 

“Holy hell,” he utters under his breath so silently no one even realizes he spoke; eyelids pulling back before settling like nothing had even happened.

“You know, you're the first person who’s been nice to me out here.”

“...Then I’d tell you to get better friends, Sergeant. I’m not sticking around.”

“I never said they were my friends, Ghost, and I never expected you to stay, anyways. That’s not how this works.”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

“Bravo-06?” You ask, voice sometimes cutting out over the line. A laugh breaks out, and a small smirk twitches the corners of your lips, “Hey, Old Man, how’s it going over there? Been a while.”

“What have you got yourself into now?” Price asks, chuckling under his breath with a groaned continuation, “and how do you need me to get you out of it?”

The spectral man now watches with a newfound fervency, blue eyes boiling so violently that if anyone had seen, they would have thought he was about to attack. Like a split second of eye contact with a wolf before it rushes. The build of his shoulders was still loose, however, and the only indication of shock was his optics; the mask shrouded all. 

But there was a subtle movement of his hips, feet transferring over the floor to stand shoulder-length apart.

“Oh, this,” you point to your injury with a free finger, tying off a knot on the last line of sutures. “Nah, it’s nothing. A couple of assholes tried to get the jump on me a block back, one had a knife on ‘em.” Your hand tosses the needle and thread to the table, a muttered, thunk, sounding off. Looking down at your work with a raised brow, everyone watches. “Took care of it – they gave me a name, too, but with the trail of bodies I left today, I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t pan out.” 

A pause before you turn your head back up, face now completely serious as you focus on Laswell. 

“But we have a bigger problem, Watcher. Rigs is gone; I think my position’s compromised. I’m going black.” Your form leans to the side, and a wrinkled t-shirt is thrown over your head. From your mouth, a stifled groan releases. Ghost blinks in surprise.

The Captain’s lips thin, and he looks at a tight-wound Kate. 

“I have a contact in the lower levels, Reaper, meet up with her and she can have you out of the city by tonight. I’ll send over her info.”

“No can do, Watcher.” You sigh, and Ghost simply stares, following your figure as you back up, heading to the X12 and shimmying it into the back of your pants before looking over your shoulder. Kate hums under her breath. “If they’ve got Rigs,” Walking quickly back over to the computer, one of your hands grasps the top of the frame, thumb poking out from the corner. You tilt your head. “I ain't leaving without him right behind me. I’ll be in contact in a month – if I’m not, then I’m dead already.” 

Your chuckle strikes a cord through the room and Soap snorts in answer. 

“Glass-half-empty kind of person, then?” 

“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.

Continuing, you’re about to say something else – lips already partially parted and breath sucked in  – before your eyes lock onto Ghost. The atmosphere of the room flips like the page of a book. 

You stare at him with what seems to be a million emotions flying past the glossiness of your optics; lids already peeled back and whites showing in a display that showed more than told. The man could only begin to imagine what you were thinking – how long had it been since he’d seen you last? You’d obviously gotten out of your Marines Special Ops unit. 

Not quite how I remember you. It wasn’t hard to recall that small branch of the MRR – Marine Raider Regiment – and how they treated you. But that wasn’t any of his business. He’d been there to do a job, and he’d accomplished it. Quite thoroughly, if anyone would have checked the file after it was all over. 

Ghost’s life was counted in the sands of an hourglass, small, molecular, bits hitting the bottom one after the other; rarely was that time wasted on pointless squabbles and words but at that moment, he was conflicted. 

The Brit had never expected to see you again, and the sand briefly halted when you spoke. Hm. 

Yes, he remembered that voice… he’d just never heard you this confident before. 

“Ghost.” He watches the emotions on your face settle, and he was thankful for the mask covering his visage because he knows he would have left at least a small twitch of his lips slip. “Long time no see.”

“Mutt.” The Lieutenant nods in a monotone greeting but notices a slight jerk of your shoulders at the name. His eyebrows furrow, but mentions nothing as his pulse slows. 

Your neck moves as you swallow, looking to the side as a dark curiosity fills the space in Ghost’s lungs; head nanoscopically tilting to the side like a vulture. 

“Nice seeing you, Bravo-06,” You tilt your head toward the Captain before clearing your throat and addressing Laswell. “I’ll be around.” 

It wasn’t hard to tell that the title had made you freak, a kind of bad cloud suddenly springing to life above your head. 

Seems to bother her more than being in a Hot Zone, Ghost tells himself, the deep well of dark water in his gut still. That didn’t make any sense. He watches your hand slaps over the computer and the feed goes dark in an instant. 

The room is more silent than Ghost is. 

“Kate, she’ll need our help.” Price shakes his head from side to side; body moving to the front of the room. “I’m not asking.” 

The two talk it over as Ghost’s mind trails, head tilting down more towards his chest as his eyelids narrow. 

“Hm,” He grunts, arms tensing as his grip shifts. Soap turns around as Gaz goes to join the conversation between the Captain and the agent.

“What? Know ‘er or something, Lt?” The Scot asks, slapping a hand on the taller man’s arm. Ghost eyes lock on the grip before he blinks, looking back up and leveling the Sergeant with a dead stare. Johnny laughs awkwardly and moves his limb back to his side. “Just…didn’t peg you for the type to start relationships.”

The Lieutenant turns down the aisle of chairs and lets out a bland, “negative. Leave it, Sergeant.” 

Why did you react badly to the namesake you’d gone by for the entire time you’d been in Special Ops? Mutt was when everyone had called you when he had been around for that short time. 

He felt no great concern for you – no hatred or care – you were just another Agent that would probably end up dead like everyone else. Another time, maybe, he’d have gone in a heartbeat, and if the team decided to go after you, he’d follow. A mission was a mission, it wasn’t like it largely mattered. 

But there was something in the back of his mind. Intrigue? Yes, perhaps. The blue-eyed Lieutenant wasn’t one to dwell on these types of things, but a colleague was still a colleague. 

Whatever the outcome, he’d do his job with all the ruthlessness and tact he always did.

Ghost’s hand goes up to fix the position of his mask and glances at the blank projector stream, eyes boring into it as they darken. A moment later, he was leaning against the ammunition crate that Price had previously been on, arms crossed and ears twitching at the ongoing battle of wills; isolated to himself as his intimidating form towers ever upwards. Spine straight. Bones stiff. Eyes grim. 

You’d been nice to him – a person that, for the limited time he’d interacted with, had left an impression that was only just starting to come back full force. Smart and resourceful; not too bad on the eyes. 

He takes down a sigh. Stubborn…but undoubtedly loyal. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, and you look up at him as if he wasn’t the one in a mask – as if his entire being was laid bare before you. He swipes away the trail of blood with one firm press. The gentleness of your skin is known even through his glove.

“You’ll live, Sergeant.” He utters, teasing in his monotone voice, “now, where the hell are we goin’? Gun’s itchin’ to lay a few out.” 

Ghost would have smirked at the way your eyes dilated if he had the ability, but in the end, he brushes past. Because if he hadn’t, you would have seen his own do the same.

‘Reaper,’ he frowns, feeling the ammunition crate dig further into his hip, they never called you that one.

Perhaps the real battle of wills was happening inside of him – not five feet away between his Captain and his Station Chief.

—

You remember every interaction like it was yesterday, and although he might not, you can’t help the memories from flooding as you gather your gear. Stuffing guns into duffel bags and intel into crossbody sacks that weigh you down like boulders. 

Fuck, you open the back window and shimmy out into the back streets, knowing that your position is compromised and not waiting any longer to test your luck. Your side burns something awful; horrible stitches peeling back skin as you groan in pain. What the fuck was Ghost doing with Price? I didn’t know they knew each other. And the two other men in the room…eh. Not the problem right now! 

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” you pant, swinging your legs out of the window frame and sharply inhaling when a suture tears. “I’m never in the loop.” 

In all honesty, you don’t want to be – too complicated. It’s better to just stick around and be told what to do. 

Glaring down at the ground with glazed eyes, you only take a breath of hesitation and let off a curse before dropping. 

Your knees take the brunt of the force, and the ricochets of landing on cobblestones travel up your ankles and leave your legs shaking. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you would have come up with a dirty joke to mutter to yourself. 

The discomfort can only last so long, you tell yourself, and ignore the spreading liquid on your side, only thinking of Rigs and the mission. 

And Ghost. 

Gritting your teeth, eyes vulnerable, you turn down the backroad and stay away from others, drowning in memories more deadly than blood. It had been a while since you had thought of it – the lockbox in the back of your mind keeping all under tight watch; guard dogs with metal teeth and chained necks. 

But that title; that namesake you’d scrubbed your skin raw over. Mutt and all the others said in cruel breaths. Oh…but Mutt. 

Mutt was the worst of them.

Your hands were vibrating, the tremors traveling up your wrists and arms – past elbows and bruised flesh under skin; bloodied nose and quivering lips. Why did they always yell at you? But worse, why did they always make you do the dirty work? 

The Captain, everyone just called him Alke, was standing in front of you, berating your accuracy on the last round of target practice. Fortunately, this deep into the Unit itself, you’d found a way to let it go in one ear and out the next, eyes as blank as a starless sky. 

You could see the spittle flying from the man’s lips and some even splashes across your cheeks like acid, but there was something artful to the way you didn't react. A culmination of crafted numbness that bleeds like trauma. It was a constant, everlasting, void.  

What they were making you into was not what you wanted, but what possible other option was there? Resign? No, this was nearly an unimaginable position to be in at such an age. You deserve to be here. Should you report the blatant unprofessionalism and favoritism in the ranks? And be blacklisted by these people's friends so that you never ascend the line?

Your ears twitch. 

“...You’re not sleeping until your marks are perfect – else we’re overthinking your position in this Unit. Can’t have a Mutt in our ranks, can we?” The last sentence is punctuated with a ruffling of your hair almost like a brother would; teasing, but you know that isn’t what it symbolizes. Harsh laughs and mocking remarks from the bystanders. “Least of all one that’s gonna get us killed. Tch.” When you don’t answer, staring off in a daze at his nose in a perfect image of formation, the Captain raises an eyebrow. “Affirmative,” he smirks, “Mutt?”

“Sir!” Your mouth shouts, though the action is more instinctual as your back straightens.  He frowns at that, perhaps wanting to torment you more, but huffs and files out, ordering the rest to follow with one last call.

“I expect you to be up for morning drills an hour early. I’ll be checking your shots myself.” 

“Sir!” 

After everyone’s gone, you blink back to reality. There’s a second of confusion, creases forming in your forehead at the sound of birds and blowing glass. Head turning side to side, your lips thin at the absence of others as if only realizing how spaced out you’d actually been. 

Flashing teeth and heated eyes flash through your mind before you blink them away. Signing away the tense nature of your chest, you clear your throat and relax your legs. Your vision slides to the corners of the concrete dugout, snapping past sectioned-off areas for privacy to search if there was someone who might have stayed back. 

Not finding anyone, your hands, clenched behind your back, loosen and fall limp to your sides like bags of rock. One weakly goes to swipe at the trail of blood from your nose, wrecking your already wrinkled sleeve with crimson; but soon an identical trail drips off your chin regardless. Licking your lips and tasting copper, you take a shaky breath and nod to yourself. 

You knew what shooting all night would bring on – lesions under the firing pad covering your shoulder; deep-rooted pain leading to nerve damage later on. Blisters that leak puss and blood onto your bedsheets. Not to mention the mental strain, the bags under your eyes burn from lack of rest. 

Gritting your teeth, you walk over the tossed rifle on the floor and pick it up with shaky fingers, the tips flinching back from the cool metal before encompassing it tightly. 

Silently, you get on your stomach and set the weapon in the crook of your already pain-laced shoulder. Your blood splatters the stock.

—

It had been two weeks with no luck in finding Rigs, and you were starting to get paranoid.

Staring at the dead body tied to the wooden chair, you growl and tear your Dirk from the woman’s chest angrily. 

There had been increased police patrols from all the corpses you were leaving, so you’d compromised and limited the chance of being caught at the same time. 

Bergamo, Italy, was an ancient place, and the underground was what you were now both metaphorically, and physically, exploiting. Sewer systems. Catacombs. You’d lost track of the paths you’d taken a million times over, and had started to hate the constant darkness only kept back by the small hand lamp you’d stolen. 

But there were ups to this constant downward slope. 

It made interrogations increasingly easier to pull off with multiple feet of stone all around you. The screams don’t meet the surface.

“Catello Tullio,” you mutter, caressing your sensitive side with your free hand and placing your blade on a turned-over piece of rock. The area reeks of blood and gore, a stack of bodies chucked carelessly in the corner beginning to reek something awful; even as you have another to add to the count. It wouldn’t be long before the rats came in droves.

Another given name, another score. But this one was new. Apparently, the title of the one that took Rigs while he was out getting more rations in the market. 

You point a finger at the slumped body, “you better hope I don’t find you in hell if you gave me the wrong damn name.” 

Grabbing your light, you stalk off down one side of the tunnel back to your camp, dodging drag lines that strike your eyes with their crimson streaks. 

The raggedy blanket and gun-sack you’d been using for a pillow take form in the dark, and somewhere in the corridor a rat squeals; feet pitter-pattering until it disappears altogether. You didn’t even want to think of the spiders living down here. Files and notes are strewn along the floor, perfect hiding places for eight-legged monsters. 

You couldn’t do anything until nightfall. It was just too risky. 

Massaging your side as you bend down, you grimace at the partially healed wound and scoop up your pistol before plopping to the ground with a grunt. With the deadly object held in your lap, you take a moment to breathe and try to push away a growing headache in the back of your skull. 

“This has to be one of the worst Ops on record, huh?” your small voice speaks back to you in bouncing waves of echoes as you begin to fiddle over the gun's small grooves and dents. “How did you manage this, Reap?”

Smiling blandly, the overwhelming quiet and nothingness all around you is like a curse. And in those pockets of a void, your mind always trails to him – or at least it had been for your time on the run. Ghost. That dark and brooding mass of horribly bleak humor and…well…you couldn’t call him mean. 

Your eyebrows furrow.

He was never mean to me. 

There were soft instances where you would question yourself as to if the Brit had possibly had some affection for you. It wasn’t a long shared history of course, but you had sworn that there was something about the way he looked at you…something that you remember so vividly…

You shake your head and stand after a small while, stretching your feet. Placing your pistol in the back of your belt, the weight brings you dull comfort.

 Shining your light on the hand-held radio on the ground in passing, you rove back to it after you scan the perimeter. Its black metal mocks you.

No one’s coming to help ‘cept you. One voice says, and another grunts out, get it together, Mutt. 

You turn on your heel to go and take a breather to disperse your dark thoughts but only make it three steps before your eyes widen, lips parting in awe. Nearly falling flat over yourself, you whirl around in an instant. 

A static enters the air as if the gods above were laughing at you - toying with your fate like it was a rock tossed to the sky. The familiar British drawl causes your chest to tighten, though the sentence is broken and barely understandable.

Someone’s here for me! A smile slashes your face – fierce hope lighting your eyes. You hadn’t wanted anyone to explicitly come for you, but this was a welcome discovery. Someone to talk to!

“--eper…Copy?” Darting like a cat, you move so fast that you stumble over rocks on the way there. “Lead…cafe…red cloth…Out.”

By the time you snatch the small black object, the garbled and firm tone has already shut itself up. Your mouth parts.

“Shit!” You yell, shaking the thing in your hand with an iron grip, hissing like a snake. You look above you at the cracked ceiling of stone and a growled accusation.“I’m too deep…Fuck. Gotta get up there if I want to be able to respond.”

But it hadn’t all been fruitless. Lead. Cafe. Red cloth. You clip the radio to your belt and make sure your shirt covers your weapon; pat your thigh and tell yourself to stop forgetting your Dirk everywhere before setting off in a jog. The light flashes over dead eyes and stiff bodies.

You snatch the blade off of the stone as you pass it, slipping it into your cut pocket and hearing the satisfying clink of it sheathing.

“Let’s just hope I don’t smell too bad…” You say aloud, chuckling, and listening as the sound echoes off the stone. If no other company, you still had the sound of your own voice. 

You couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. But, you were getting side-tracked. 

A Cafe with red cloth, then. Not exactly the place you’d go for an intel swap, but if someone had been trying to contact you for more than a week, you’d imagine they were getting desperate at this point. 

If I had known…you frown. 

Thinking over the multiple blueprints and pictures of the city in your files, you go through your internal cabinet of knowledge for color schemes - not what you’d have thought you’d be using it for, but, oh well. A lead was a lead.

“Golositá!” You laugh, sudden glee on your face as you dodge a pile of large stones; lips peeling back as you take a fast corner. “Gluttony! Of course, that’s the place.” 

The bustling business on the upper side of Bergamo with red table cloths as well as red awnings extending into the street. Anyone would be a fool to miss it. 

Like blood lining the street. 

You force yourself to run faster.

—

You met him last, despite being a Sergeant. The Captain had you up late last night yet again – running the forest trail this time rather than shooting. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it surprised him when you were still up early with the others; from the looks that he was giving you, you just decided that, yes, he was. Or he was just pissed he didn’t have an excuse to get rid of you. 

Blinking away fatigue, you keep your stance relaxed as a gargantuan shadow comes to loom ahead of you. 

The man everyone had whispered about called himself ‘Ghost’ and, if nothing more, was certainly intimidating. Shoulders wider than a bench, arms as rounded and as strong as boulders; not to mention the tattoos that made him look like he took cross-country motorcycle rides in his spare time. Tan tactical gear and dark patches for the SAS, the red and white British flag. Gloves covered his large hands, straps carried knives on his biceps and thigh. Something akin to a tan cape that was loose around his hidden neck.

But the mask was what really caught your attention; your head tilting with an innocence that no longer lives in you.

Skeletal. Half a visage of a dead and gone intimidation of humanity. Sewn into a hood of black cloth from which only the eye sockets were open…But the eyes there were no different than if the holes had been empty in the first place; as if the person inside was as dead as sun-bleached bone. Was a corpse piloting this suit?

Ice blue. Freezing blue. Harsh. Colder than a grip of a phantom, you thought as you blinked up at him, colder than the nights you would stay awake working yourself to death. You watched this Ghost’s chest move in a steady inhalation and you stuck out a busted-knuckle hand. Foolish, maybe, but there were worse things to be afraid of than a mask. Then of those eyes that made your spine shiver. 

But you didn’t look away.

“Pleasure, Sir.” There was a moment of tense silence where your Captain, at Ghost’s side, was frowning at you silently. The man could say nothing as long as this SAS member was here to assist in your next Op overseas. At your sides, your colleagues on the tarmac shuffle on their feet like nervous penguins. 

Ghost glances at your hand, and you try not to show how fast your pulse is running when his eyes leave a cold trail as they grace your split knuckles and torn nails. He ends with a slow look at your name patch. 

“Sergeant.” He says and slips past without another word. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you inhale smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. Snickers bounce off air particles, striking your ears as an embarrassed heat rises to your cheeks, but that scent stays in your nostrils for days. 

Your Captain scurries after. 

“Erm, forgive, Mutt. She’s a helluva strange woman, that one.” You keep your sneer hidden, a hiss lodged in your throat and a twitching finger. But your anger isn’t directed at the masked beast that stalks away. That yapping bully of a Captain would hold all of it as long as you were here.

At that point, you were sure you’d seen the last of Ghost until the Op – not really getting the feeling he’s a people person so much as a ‘give orders and follow them’ type. 

But that was fine by you, it didn’t change anything. You’d been told to go back to the firing range tonight for opening your mouth and ‘making an embarrassment of the Unit’....whatever that meant. All you did was welcome the guy with the barest hint of a good attitude. 

You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.

The world ahead of you was blurring, red circles in your eyes that gloss over with water every minute you force yourself to stay awake. The stars were out, sky dark, and the area was only lit by large lights situated around the base. In some sort of strange way, you enjoyed the sound of crickets and the cold breeze over your bare arms as if the only sense of peace you got was when you were half-passed out, nailing shots from a rifle. 

The stock was where it always is, your cheek pressed to the side; staring down the scope at the multiple holes in the paper targets. Dots surrounded by multiple other dots like a slice of cheese. You suppose that made you the hungry mouse in that case. 

‘A mouse with a fucking day before she drops.’ You frown, blink, and pull the trigger as the trees rustle. The force lands directly on your shoulder – the kickback is usually not one to bother you, but seeing as your appendage was one bad day away from being dislocated and forever damaged – you took it with a grit of your teeth. 

And you took it because you knew you could. Just as you knew that you felt a pair of eyes on the back of your neck. Freezing, you remove your finger from the trigger and loosen your grip. Turning your head to the side, a free hand goes up and shifts the ear mufflers from your head to your neck in a single movement. 

You swear your heart jumps to your throat when you see a skeleton’s icy blues numbly watching you; arms crossed while a nice-looking SA-B 50 Marksman Rifle sits against the wall at his side. How…long had he been there? Watching?

“What’re you doing, Sergeant?” Ghost asks sternly, that Manchester accent making him sound harsh. Grating like a rock being run against concrete. “I’m sure your Captain wouldn’t be thrilled at a scene like this, eh?” 

Blinking, you remind yourself to breathe before answering – voice tough and hoarse.

“I have my orders, Sir. You’re free to join me.” 

You turn back as a grunted huff falls from behind muted cloth. Ghost walks up to your laying form, standing on your left side and picking up the binoculars from the hanging hook in your station. As you look back through your scope you don’t know why, but you hold your breath; waiting for something.

“...Not a bad shot. You’re prone to firing more to the right, judging from the grouping. I’d fix that, less you miss a moving target runnin’ the opposite.” He lowers the object - staring from the side of his eye. From your position, your neck cranes to see his fingers twitch. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” For someone you’d expected to be quite harsh – though you had no doubt he still was – Ghost was more sarcastic in his mannerisms. 

Backhanded comments that wound sting if you got on the other end of them.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sir.” Shifting your grip, you move the stock farther up your shoulder, feeling an immediate release of tension, though the expansive trauma still leaves needles in your tissue.

“Hm, pay attention and you just might learn something.” You feel yourself quirk a lip for the first time in months; your mouth doesn’t stop to think.

“You mentor a lot of people in the middle of the night, then?” 

“Only the ones stupid enough to be awake.” He takes a step back, going to grab his own rifle as his footsteps don’t even make a sound.

‘Quiet for a guy with thighs that could choke me out.’ 

Your brows furrow at the heated thought, taking a slow breath and flexing your hands as the shadow disappears from over you. Why were your hands sweaty?

Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.

“You’re up too, you know, Sir. Bit hypocritical.” This was the first time you’d had a full conversation with someone since you’d gotten in with this Unit. A mildly pleasant one, at least…you wouldn't really call this bonding.

“I can always leave ya’ to it, Sergeant.” Deadpanning the words, you clear your throat and fall silent at the threat. 

‘No,’ you wanted to comment, ‘no, I want the company so badly it hurts.’ 

You swallow saliva and reposition your ear mufflers back over your head, heart bruising your ribs, as you bring down a calming breath of air to still your nerves. 

The two of you don’t speak again, and you don’t ask why he takes the shooting cubby right next to yours, the nose of his rifle peeking out from the concrete wall. You certainly don’t ask why he’s up, either.

And in return, he doesn’t ask you the same.

—

When you find Golositá you’ve managed to sneak through the city unseen, taking every backroad and alley you could as the heat of the day increases to near sweltering. Panting, you stick to the thin shadows of the path across the street, eyes dancing over red cloth and flicking to faces; studying visages as one would a medical report. 

Your chest hurts, and you run a hand over your side, feeling the raised skin under your shirt before digging into the aching ribs. All this running around and little food to help keep your normal strength was troublesome, and it would only get worse if this Op from hell continued. 

I need new intel. Badly.

About to retreat, not finding anyone you recognize off the bat, a black-shrouded figure kisses the side of your vision as if a phantom. 

On the outside table, the farthest removed, a man sits stiffly with an untouched teacup in front of him. Smirking, you can’t help but scoff at the thought of Ghost using the thing – you’d think his thumb and forefinger would break the delicate porcelain in an instant. Like a spine over his thigh.

Your cheeks heat. 

He looked almost identical to what you remember – minus the gear, obviously – and your stomach twisted at the thought. Was a simple look enough to bring you to the breaking point? Why were your lungs tight?

As if feeling your stuck eyes, those icy blues shift from people-watching to lock onto yours immediately. As hollow as they always were, it seemed. He blinks and the blonde eyebrows on his sliver of visible forehead move.

Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.

Loose shoulders under a rugged buttoned-down and painted balaclava make your breath go thin, not able to resist sneaking a glance at those tattoos you remember so vividly. Yes, that was still Ghost.

Jesus, is this how it felt to see someone you barely even remembered suddenly appear? Was it elation or caution that was making your heart race? 

Ghost doesn’t look surprised. His eyes don’t widen; don’t soften or light up. They blankly watch you as you shake away the shock and raise a brow in return. A sarcastic finger goes to your head, and you mock salute. 

What are you doing? You seem to ask, a mischievous expression growing as you start forward when he dismissively narrows his eyes. You look ridiculous. Are you asking to be spotted? 

The man leans into the too-small chair he sits in, one hand going to hang off the back and the other resting on the tabletop. Gloved fingers tapping morse in slow measures.

Clear. Come here. He follows you with his gaze, head stationary, as you enter the flow of traffic, smiling at people at your sides and letting off polite greetings when you could. Steadily striding, you weave through groups and individuals like water, legs steady even as your ears pick up every little sound. 

A comfortable middle point of visible excitement and strict business. Why were you so…happy?

When you approach Ghost’s table, you slip up beside him with a sly chuckle, pulling out the chair to his right. You, softy, lower yourself down into it, not turning to him but instead simply making sure no one had followed you with a quick scan. His heat only adds to the warmth of the day like a walk through damnation.

“Well, well, well,” you smile, addressing the SAS member with his shadow hanging over you once more; such a heavy thing, though you don’t mind. Your expression mellows to have it above you again. There was a safety to it, you had to admit. The cold comfort of death. “Trip to Italy, Sir? Take a little vacation?”

“Came to bail out a bird from my past,” You smell that scent again – smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. “And if I ever went on a vacation, I sure as hell wouldn’t pick this place. ‘Bout to burst into flames; traumatize a few kids and their mums.” 

Hadn’t he changed even a little bit? 

“Now that’s dark.” 

“Never said it wasn’t.”

Of course he hasn’t, you answer your own question, feet shifting and skin pliable, why would he? He isn’t like me – didn’t have to reinvent himself based on atoms and in the wake of silent nights. 

There was a piece of you that believed that Ghost had always been this way, though you knew it was false. Nobody in this profession was just born like this, they were led to it. Whoever it was under the mask or balaclava didn’t matter anymore. 

They had died a long time ago.

“Not a fan of the history, Brit?” You tease, bringing up a hand to itch at your undereye, finally taking a peak at the form that nearly swallows you. 

Your lids try not to peel back, but you didn’t realize how close you’d sat next to Ghost – any closer and you would be in the crook of his arm; the relaxed spread of his knee bumping into yours and arm over the back of your seat. Trying to act nonchalant, you ignore the strange swirling in your gut with a hum and a twitching of your leg.

Stop that.

“Don’t care a smidge, just not a fan of the damn heat.” The gruff man responds with his inked arm on the table flexing, as though he was tenser than he showed. Ghost clears his throat, “needs a good downpour, eh?” 

“Try living underground for two weeks. Literally. Sun’ll feel like a blessing.”

“Fuckin’ hell…That’s why the radio wasn’t working, then.” While this was all cute – re-learning each other like a shaken puzzle – there were dangers to being this open. The Brit would be fine, but if you got spotted, well, there would be worse things to worry about than an achy side and a pile of bodies in a tunnel.

“You got something for me, or are we here just to stand out like bullet holes in a forehead?” Feeling his head tilt to you, snaking down your form, your body leans forward, palms sweaty as they lock on the table. “Price with you? The other two I saw on the feed?”

“Negative. Op in Belarus. Sent me in alone.” Your knees brush, delicately; like a touch of down feathers. You refrain from taking in a shallow breath, knowing he’s analyzing every movement with a hidden mouth and gentle huffs of air that rises his sculpted chest. Through a grunted sigh, Ghost tells, “The Old Man insisted. Laswell thought you’d be alright by yourself, regardless,” and falls silent.

What was he doing? Why was he talking with that rasp in his tone? Your heart swells at the comment about Kate, but a confusing feeling settles in your lower body. Why did the air feel thick?

The warmth of the sun was making your skin perspire, leaving a sheen of sweat over your arms. But the thought of heat stroke fled as you became hyper-aware of the man beside you, keeping careful not to touch you, though his gaze still bore into the side of your face like prodding fingers anyways.

He can’t quite figure you out, he admits to himself. So much of you was different – and he couldn’t tell how. 

She’s lighter, he tightens his face, not the same as when I left. 

But there had been an utter satisfaction when he’d seen you in that alleyway, even if you were different in a million ways, that would never change. Ghost’s body had loosened, his clenched jaw let go, and snappy answers to servers stopped entirely. 

Because those were still the same colored eyes that he remembered. He takes a long breath. 

Through the haze under your creased skin, a red alarm starts to sound off. Not because of the confusing way you felt the chilled form of Ghost on a near internal level, but because of the hooded individual across the street.

When your eyes lock, they back up three paces and bolt down the adjacent street, vanishing into the crowd. Your expression darkens, and Ghost shifts his attention from your face to the streets. 

His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.

“Come on,” you get to your feet, hand snatching at the SAS member's sleeve, dragging him with you as a mother would a toddler. It was ironic – if he resisted, you wouldn’t be able to force him to move, not in a million years, but he slid off his chair with fluid muscles. 

He doesn’t question you when he’s brought into an offshoot of the road, vacant of tourists or locals besides a stray cat and a few scavenger birds. Flies jump off garbage cans, buzzing through the air above your heads as you level Ghost with a serious stare. 

You nearly stumble over your words when you get to look at those long blonde eyelashes that you remember heatedly, but push through as they move to half-lid his blank eyes. Your heart skips beats as you spare looks up and down the space.

What the fuck is going on with me? Focus. This is serious. 

But, Jesus, he should really stop looking at you like that.

“You said you had a lead over the radio – anything on someone called Catello Tullio by chance?” You ask, voice like stone.

“Tullio?” Ghost hums in the back of his throat, all business, hips moving under him as he goes to glance at the street. His balaclava moves as he speaks. “Someone made a mention of it. ‘Fore I put a knife in ‘em, ‘o course.” Nodding, he huffs out, “On me.” 

Turning on long legs, he starts to walk farther down the path, and you follow at his side, peering up and eager to gain more intel. “You’ve caused quite a panic around here, Sunshine. Cell’s terrified of the ‘Reaper.’ I’m nearly impressed.”

He briefly flashes an optic to you, heart betraying him as he remains locked on your lips. Rotating his jaw, he turns back forward.

“Oh, my,” smirking slowly, you roll your eyes, “whatever will I do without your approval, great Ghost.”

“Dunno – kick the bucket probably.” Shaking your head in false annoyance, the slow, mocking, stain in the man’s tone leaks into your very DNA; coating it with honey. Like a warm sunrise, you clock a small hitch in his chest and equate it to muted chuckles when you laugh. 

“Don’t go placing bets, now. I’m not so easily broken.”

“Oh, wouldn’t think of it, Sweetheart. Wouldn’t be my handiwork if it happened,” his tone goes light, “don’t wanna take credit away from you.”

“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.

“American.” He grumbles back, but you clock the small spark in his iris, cold blue bouncing silver light like snow. 

He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way. 

Your mouth rises in a stupid, dopey, grin as you stare from the side of your vision, chest jumping in easy comedy. What a strange pair you two were, but you find you liked his company even more, this time around. 

Or maybe he had changed slightly. Or maybe it was just you.

At the end of the day, you were relieved that it was easy to talk to him. Conversations with corpses are a bit one sided, after all.

Ghost’s lips had to be at least quirked under that dark fabric to achieve mischief like what he was spitting out, you leveled with yourself. At the minimum, the man wasn’t annoyed he’d been forced out of his own primary mission because of you. 

You remember he wasn’t averse to cracking jokes – particularly dark ones – but it had…it had never felt like his before.

Strange, you admit with a raised brow and a cocked head, cheeks burning for no apparent reason. You’d gotten him to chuckle? Holy hell, you deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for that. I’d think he would be pretty pissed about being sent here. He’s never been one to fuck around. 

You both continue in easy silence until you decide to speak once more, intent on asking where you were being led. 

Ghost’s head had perked up in what you assumed to be soldier-like attention, but then his head had whipped behind the two of you. Oblivious to his shift in mood, like a dark cloud, you open your mouth.

“Well, where are we–” 

“--Get down!” Hands slap on the back of your arm and jerk you to the opposite wall as a loud echo rings out. Whizzing over your head so close that you feel the breeze of it. 

Gasping, the air is expelled from your lungs in one fell swoop; your spine grating over the rough stone as your legs scramble to keep upright. Wiping away the shock quicker than an eraser over a whiteboard, your neck snaps to the problem; brain already hardwired to get over being shot at and the adrenaline that floods your veins immediately after. 

Across the way, Ghost’s fast hand was reaching to the back of his outfit – without a doubt going to grab a concealed weapon. Eyes fiery and arms tight. And as though you were seeing it happen in slow motion, you lock onto the hostile in the middle of the alley back the way you both came. And then onto the hooded silhouette ahead of you. 

Boxed in. 

Hyperfocused, all of it happens in only three seconds, two trained professionals protecting each other without even realizing it. 

One, you realize how this will have to play out if you don’t act immediately. You don’t know how you can trust Ghost to take the other hostile while you focus on the one ahead, but you don’t question it. Two, your gun lays heavy in your hand as your legs pivot. Three, you fire double shots with a loose finger and hear mirrored gunfire from the man beside you. 

You don’t bother watching him drop.

Snapping your head backward with a rageful expression to see Ghost’s corpse hit the floor with a cracking of a skull, shouts start to ring over the city. When you lower your weapon, you turn to notice the Birt examining your own downed hostile with a satisfied stare. If you hadn’t had his back, he would have been shot in it. 

But what you didn’t know was that he was thinking the same thing about you. 

Turning to stare at each other, your widened eyes lock; fingers twitching along the cool X12’s metal as those stormy iris’ only seem to darken further when they dart to your lips. Like staring into a wild animal’s gaze and pretending you’re not in a trance because of it – stuck in that moment of infinity and nothingness with not a single muscle moving. Waiting for either a mouthful of fangs around your supple neck or for the beast to turn away with grace and practiced steps. 

You swore Ghost’s mouth parted under that damned balaclava, but whatever he was going to say was lost when the world came back in a violent storm of screams. Panicking, you gape at the entrance – seeing multiple shadows shoving through the crowd to get to you.

“On me!” Keeping your pistol in one hand, you bolt, hearing heavy footsteps pounding behind you as your mind begins to run.

Ghost trails without a single doubt in his mind as to why he’s following you, and it makes him cautious. 

Catacombs, you decide, get under the city and backtrack to the outskirts. Survey and have Ghost tell me his intel before making a move…yeah! 

“Where are we headin'?!” Ghost shouts, keeping right your heels as you turn corners. Gunshots ring over your heads as you jump up small groupings of tile steps, blood pounding in your ears. You try to remember the maps you had stored in your files underground. Left…no, two rights. Shit! I need to be higher – see the streets like a bird would! “Reaper?!”

“Do you trust me?!” You call over your shoulder, and though it seems deranged, a smile forms over your lips. “I’ll need an answer in the next few minutes, yeah? I’m on a time crunch!” 

“What are you on, Girl?” The adrenaline speaks to you, propelling your legs faster and faster. You vault over a fallen trash bin and take the shock to your ankles as it travels to your thighs. Snickering, you feel the brooding man’s presence like you always could – just beside you like a loyal hound. His focus excites you as you put your gun away in the small of your back. “Bloody hell! Not giving me a choice?”

“Not if you don’t want to get shot in the ass!” Taking one more right, you find yourself rapidly approaching a dead end, tall walls, a balcony, and a large dumpster – the flap already closed overtop. Not answering the man as he barks out a comment, you throw yourself atop it with a puff of breath and spasming lungs. 

Laughing, your hands don’t falter. Reaching up with eager fingers, you grab at the black metal front of the balcony a small distance above and suck down a hot breath. Your arms strain, sickly sweet sweat on the top of your lip, and eyes wide with glee despite the gaining footfalls rising like a battlefield cry. Jerking your body up with only your upper-body strength, you slide your abdomen over the railing with barely a second passing. Once your feet are firmly on someone's property, you twist around and slap your hands to the metal with a twinkle in your vision; face wrinkled with all the animated amusement. 

A wide grin is stuck on you.

Ghost stares up with slightly widened eyes from the ground, arms poised on the garbage bin.

Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…

“But I can’t judge, can I?” Teasing, you extend a helping grip with a smirk. “Everyone has their fetishes, hm, Ghost? Maybe yours is just having a gun pointed at you.” 

He blinks at that, but knowing the urgency in the back of your throat, he pushes himself up with a grunt. You try not to watch his muscles strain, but spy the way the veins in his forearms grow larger as his alluring hips flex. They situate themselves under him as he crunches before straightening in an instant. 

Fuck, don’t drool, you scold, lips lightly parted like seven devils were flying in the back of your mind. Jesus, imagine the weight those things can carry…shit. Wouldn’t mind losing my virginity to that. 

A leather-coated hand slaps into your awaiting one. You snap back to a screaming reality and stare down into hypnotic sheens of ice and…wait…did Ghost have fucking green flecks near his pupils?

“You sure it isn’t yours, Sunshine?” He harshly comments, and his balaclava moves with a rising of his eyebrow. 

Clearing your throat, you murmur a weak reply as your face begins to feel like a blazing fire, squeezing his limb before pulling. He chuffs. Grunting violently, you know he does most of the work in helping himself up, though the Brit still slaps your shoulder in comradery when he’s stable. Kneeling down, he forces himself into the wall behind the two of you, fingers weaving to create a cuff over his knee. 

Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.  

“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”

Catching one foot in the basin of his clutch, you force down your illicit thoughts about Ghost and jump, pushing off with your opposite leg on his shoulder and his added boost. Scaling the wall, you arch and scramble - with a growing bite in your side – to the terracotta-shingle roof.

Following after and checking your six, the beast of a man joins just in time. 

Shadows dart around the corner far on the ground, and the both of you are speeding animals over the rooftops in the meantime. Against better judgment, boots pounding the tiles, you release loud bouts of genuine laughter. 

How long had it been since you’d had such fun? Enjoyed someone else's company like this? Running across homes, you look at your side, only to find Ghost’s eyes already digging into you. Unrelenting. Unmovable. Panting, you smile brightly, giggles making your sides hurt something awful but your pace doesn't slow for an instant. 

All it took was a glance at the streets – you know where you are now. 

“Enjoying yourself, Reaper?” He asks, arms pumping and barely winded, and you wonder for a moment how he breathes under that covering of his – it had to smell horrible by the end of the day.

“For…the first time in ages, Ghost.” He chuckles at that, and it is a betrayal of his nature. How could someone so violent, so cloaked in oceans of blood, produce such a soft sound? A genuine sound that makes your stomach flip? 

His bewitched eyes rove back in front of him, and he can’t deny the simplicity of speaking to you. It wasn’t a chore, just a conversation with a person who he wouldn’t mind having on 141 at his side. 

There were few people worthy of that.

You swallow thickly and take point, leading the shadow of death to your home underground so you can re-evaluate. 

You can only wonder why you don’t feel nervous as he watches over you, skin marked with horrors but his hand had fit so well in your own. And you also wonder how you can come to care for someone you haven’t seen in ages so quickly, as if you’d both been around each other for years. 

Had you really ever forgotten him? Or just tried to push the affection, both emotional and physical, for him out? But that was the problem, you tell yourself with a clenched jaw, that physical attraction. All of that was just…tied into a million knots. Complicated. 

You’d never had sex before.

And, Ghost questioned himself as he watched your legs move, did he forget you out of necessity? Because those eyes of yours won’t leave him alone, and he so very much enjoyed looming over you.

He sighs heavily and follows in silence.

—

When you first joined them, they all created rumors. This was long before you were permitted solo Ops, long before half of your file was filled and bleeding with black ink that would shame a warlord. When everyone just thought you were signed up because you were some unhinged kid, brimming with unchecked problems and willing to throw everything away just for the chance to prove yourself. Who got into it for kicks. 

They would say you enjoyed it, killing. Reveled in it, really. That it got you off when you were covered in blood and crimson guts as they pooled at your feet. 

You suppose that was what turned you away from sex in general – those heavy comments said with no remorse that stuck with you. It was fear almost, a genuine twisting of your mind to make it your fault. It wasn’t your fault, you knew that; you could sleep with anyone you wanted and the comments weren’t a brand on your skin.

You could forget about it. You should. 

But the words were so mean. Just cruel for the sense of being cruel. And it stuck with you.

If that was all anyone would see, why try and force them to look away? You kept to yourself, never spoke unless spoken to, and shoved all of it down like a kill switch. No sex, no relationships. Nothing to make you think about the rumors. 

Getting off on death? You were horrified at the concept, horrified that people would play around like that with you – with your life!

You just ended up telling yourself you wouldn’t feel it until it hurt too bad. In a way, you were right…but you can only force emotions down for a while until they break forward like a fist to the mouth. 

Besides Mutt, they had many names for you – titles and backhanded monikers. Rabid. Demon. Devil. Monster. Sometimes, beast.

But they all had the same meaning. Inhuman. Wrong. 

It shouldn’t have bothered you that much. It…It shouldn’t have made you stay up at night still thinking about the way they would laugh and pinch your arms as you were left shaking; drowning in gore not your own because they sent you into the heart of the Hot Zone for a few jokes. Teasing you about how you probably touched yourself because of it.

But it was just an excuse to make you too scared to leave. Your reputation…

“There’s that Devil for ya’, always ready to slit some more throats for us. You think you could do the next few, Mutt? You’ll love it, I know you will. I’ll give you a good report if you do it without alerting the guards – see there… ‘Course you will. Fucking freak.”

Your eyes stare forward blankly, Dirk leaving a dotted fluid trail over the dusty ground.

Why did they do this to you? 

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[szynkaaa]

03. In Which a Stinky Monkey Needs a Bath

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... And one time, while traveling through the New West, you were not in the greatest mood. 

You were walking couple of paces ahead of me, gripping your staff tightly, and I was trying my best to keep up with you. It wasn’t easy, with the snow reaching my knees. Least with you wading through it at the front, all I had to do was walking into the trail you left behind. 

Normally, you’d walk next to me. It’s mostly to make sure that nothing was attacking me from behind when you were walking too far ahead, but then at some point I think you started to enjoy my company. It was also easier for you to shove me aside into safety in case we got ambushed. Better have bruises from the impact than a massive gnarly gash across the back.  

Another tell-sign that you were miffed: You walked with you shoulder all tensed up, and your tail was poised up higher than usual moving slowly left and right.  

If I had to take a wild guess, I’d say it might have something to do with the really weird looking monkey (that looked like it hasn’t bathed in decades and could use a full bottle of body lotion), wearing read loose pants and a mask as a necklace around his neck. We first spotted him sitting on a roof top of an abandoned building surrounded by frozen corpses.  

He was eating a fruit before he heard us coming. It didn’t seem like that monkey appreciated us interrupting his meal time – he looked fairly annoyed. His black soulless eyes swept over me, looking more and more annoyed, but then the mood instantly shifted when his eyes landed on you. Black orbs widened up in surprise, something akin to fear flashed across his face and finally settled what seems to be smugness? The monkey let out a hiss before casually dropping his fruit from the roof down onto one of the frozen corpses and hey what do you know, one of my worst nightmares came true: it came alive.  

Loud cracking sound echoed through the howling wind, the frozen corpse moving its limbs that have not been used in a long time, and grabbed for the weapon close to it, before coming swinging at us with a loud roar.  

Thankfully, you already dashed ahead to beat the living (or un-living?) crap out of the frozen corpse before it could even hit any of us.  

All I could think in that moment while watching the other monkey running away on his four was ‘Damn. There are more frozen corpses ahead of us and I haven’t had any coffee for a long time to deal with this crap’ and ‘fuck me sideways, this is like every horror scenario coming true and I did not fucking sign up for this’, and ‘dear god please just let this day end a warm hot spring would be really nice right now’.  

And I was right. I warm hot spring would be really fucking nice right now because someone had to chase after the crusty looking monkey – while beating up all the frozen corpses on the chase. Very nice of you to make sure I didn’t have to deal with them, it still would have been nice if you could have waited for me, was what I was thinking while running through the snow and against the wind to catch up with you.  

By the time I caught up with you, I broke up in sweat, and was panting slightly. I don’t really consider myself badly out of shape – I think I’m pretty fit for my age. But running through knee high snow, with the wind blowing against you and also wearing thick winter clothes that I bartered from a village we passed by, it made the jog up a bit more challenging than usual.  

And now I’m sweating and really hoping that the sweat won’t cool off too fast on my body and hopefully I won’t catch a cold in this miserable weather-  

The wind blew into my direction, carrying a hefty stank with it; rotten egg sewers system stank mixed with a lactose intolerant person who forgot to take their lactose pills and decided to go for that boba tea anyway because you only live once (could not be me).  

I immediately clamped my gloved hand over the lower half of my face, squinting through the howling wind to see where the fuck that smell came from.  

Pop quiz time!  

Question 1: Where did the stank come from 

Your monkey (not the crusty looking one) somehow managed to find a hot spring. The stronger the sulfur rotten egg smell, the better the mineral in the water is for your skin. 

One of the frozen corpses he beat up turned out to be a hollow shell, and upon breaking it releases a horrible gas that smells like rotten eggs.  

The very crusty looking monkey that looks like he should be buried 20 feet deep you are fighting right now keeps flashing you his behind and farting on your monkey. 

Question 2: What do you do in this situation.  

Take cover, stay out of this fight, do not get involved.  

One up the crust monkey. His farts are smelly? Well guess what maybe the Destined One’s even worse with his vegetarian diet. 

Throw a well-aimed snowball to help out your comrade. 

Question 3: When was the last time you told your loved ones ‘I love you’ before you got spirited away? 

Very recently, you always say ‘I love you’ to them at the end of a conversation like it’s the last one. Life is short and you never know what will happen. 

You don’t remember. You barely talk to your ‘loved’ ones anymore, life keeping you busy. Your last conversations were shallow catch up, and you realize that you have slowly pushed all the people in your life away and now you regret not playing a more active part in their lives anymore. 

This is all just a bad dream. Soon you will wake up, surrounded by your loved ones and that is when you tell them that you love them and you are glad to be able to see their faces again.  

And BOY did I wish the answer to question three was c, and I bet you, the Destined One, wished the same thing because you looked like you were fighting for your life (and fresh oxygen) against the monkey.  

He truly had the audacity to be flashing his thankfully covered butt at you several times and let out stinky farts, and I was wondering why the hell were you not dodging it. Or at least it looked like you were trying to, but failing miserably.  

Part of me had to respect the crusty monkey for being able to let out farts on command.  

If it wasn’t for the frequent fart attacks, I’d say you were holding up pretty well in the fight. But I can also see that with each fart-attack, you were getting more and more agitated, your attacks and moves becoming more frantic an un-coordinated. Who could blame you, if it was me, I’d also getting pissed and just want to whack everything wildly around me.  

I was lucky that the crusty monkey has not decided to attack me, and decided mayhap I should help you out a bit lest you die of being stank up, and I don’t think anyone would want that written on their grave.  

The Destined One, died by fart. You were loved and you will be missed.  

Spotting a small rock at my feet, I crouched down and started to roll it around in the snow, until it was fully covered and then getting bigger and bigger. Then I picked up the freshly made snowball, threw it in the air and caught it with my hand to test the weight. Not too light, but also not too heavy. Good enough to give someone a good smack.  

I looked back up again to see how you were faring in the battle – crusty monkey stuck his sword to the ground and was using it as a pole to swing around in a circle, kicking you back in the process. You tumbled back a few times, fell into the snow. 

As you got up to shake off the snow, and the crusty monkey laughing at you, I took this chance to aim and throw the snowball as hard as I can at the farting monkey. The snowball breezed through the air, hitting the crusty monkey square on the side of his face as he was busy laughing at you. It didn’t really do any damage enough, but it was enough to distract him. He turned his head into the direction of where the snowball came from, while his hand moving to grip his sword. That was enough time for you to adjust your grip on your staff and charge at him with a battle yell. One jump, you moved your free hand to grip your stuff, lift it up above your head and then went to smack the other monkey.  

He stumbled back couple of paces, before growling at you, and then decided that this was a fight he cannot win and disappeared in a wind of black dust.  

Coward.  

I came out of my hiding place, standing next to you, watching after the black dust wind flying off into the distance. 

And then another waft of wind blew into my direction. 

“Oh God, you need a bath, Kiwi.”, I groaned out, covering my nose and again and waving my free hand in front of my face in hopes to make the bad smell disappear.  

And I suppose you did not appreciate that comment.  

So not were you only pissed because of getting constantly farted, your travel companion – me – made a not-so-nice-remark about your current predicament, after you made sure you killed all the frozen corpses and fought the crusty monkey off.  

Seeing you walking in front of me with your tail showing that you were angry... I really was a shitty companion sometimes, was I?  

Just I was about to open my mouth to apologize to you, you suddenly stopped walking and I almost walked into you. Puzzled, I wanted to ask what happened and if there was something dangerous in front of us, but then I saw you turning your head up, your nose started sniffling something in the air. I copied you, but I couldn’t really smell anything out of the ordinary beside the cold winter air.  

You followed your nose, and seeing as I have nowhere better to go, I followed wherever your nose was taking you. It soon led us to an abandoned run-down shack. Not the first time we have come across during our travel, and we have used countless of those as a temporary shelter. The closer we got to the shelter, the more I can smell it in the air: rotten egg. 

Please don’t tell me this is the shelter of the crusty monkey and you are here for a round two-  

Instead of going inside the shelter, you walked around it. You briefly paused, and turned around to see if I was still following you. And then you nodded your head forward, in a follow-me gesture. So that probably means you were not going into another stinky fight.  

Curious now, I followed you. The rotten egg smell hung stronger in the air, followed by some steam, and I felt how the temperature in the air was getting warmer too, until you I saw what it was that caught your nose. 

A hot spring.  

I couldn’t believe our luck, this god-forsaken cold place really had a hot spring! Steam was rising from the water, fogging up the area. The giant rock pieces places around the spring indicates that the placement was deliberate – perhaps someone used to live here and made good use of the spring?  

“Alright game plan,” I announced, clapping my hands together and then pointed at you “You. Strip off your clothes-” your eyebrows raised up high “and just leave them in the corner over there. I’ll wash them for you while you’re washing up yourself in the hot spring.” My type A personality is coming out. Having something that vaguely resembles a plan made me feel good, it gave me the illusion that I was in control in a situation outside my control. 

As I was giving you instructions, I fumbled in my bag for the bar of soap I purchased in our last village and threw it at you, which you caught with just one hand. You moved it up to your nose to smell it.  

“And after you’re done, it’s my turn to wash up. See if you can find anything to eat while I’m cleaning myself up. Don’t give me that look, he farted on your clothes. You can’t wash yourself up and then put the smelly clothes back on! We can set up a fire and let them dry overnight.”  

I looked at you expectantly with my hands on my hips. You let out a sigh, realizing that this is not a fight you want to fight and I was right (for once), so you started to unstrap the leg and arm and shoulder armor pieces off first.  

I nodded, a triumphant grin on my face. ��Alright, I’ll see if there is anything inside this shelter and then come back for your dirty clothes.” 

After accidentally walking on you in your birth suit for the fourth time, I have gotten used to seeing you butt-naked. I didn’t have much problem with nudity in general. When you live in a city with few nudist beaches, and pedal past by it on a bike in summer, you get used to see all kinds of different body shapes and forms and at some point, they all just blur together. Plus... not that I will ever admit it to your face, but you were kind of nice to look at? 

I also don’t think that you had a big problem with me seeing you naked. If anything, I think after the third time I walked in on you, a wide smug grin spread across the face, your eyes twinkling. I would even say, you enjoyed that I was admiring the view. I still decided to give you the courtesy of some privacy while you were taking off your clothes for your well-deserved bath.  

The funny thing though was that you get flustered seeing me naked. That one time, I wasn’t even fully naked, I was walking around topless with a bra on, trying to look for an ointment Xu Dog oh-so-nicely made for me to put it on my wounds. When you looked up to see what I was doing, and I turned around to ask if you had seen it somewhere, your eyes where wide open and your face red, staring at the amount of skin I was showing. When I was about to ask you if you have seen the ointment somewhere, you got up without a word and left the cave. Your ears were also burning red, and for the rest of the day you couldn’t look me in the eyes.  

And the next time, because the freaking desert was freaking hot and at that point I didn’t care if I’ll get badly sunburnt, I was about to take off my hanfu overcoat. You turned around to see what the rustling was about, and as you saw me slipping my arm off the sleeves, ready to walk around in my bra. My actions made you stop in your track, and your face started to burn up again. You grabbed the collars of my hanfu, pushed my arm back into the sleeves and then made sure that my hanfu coat was neatly tucked and properly worn.  

Since then, I have been more conscious about my nudity around you. It never felt like you were shaming me for it though. If anything, I think you were just flustered? Your tail would be hanging low but waggling back and forth – a sign that you were happy or excited. Or maybe both. 

Your tail told a different story than your actions.  

I shed off my own heavy coat and took off my gloves to make it easier to search for some things in my bag. There was one last mandarin fruit sitting at the bottom of my bag – frozen by now due to the freezing temperature, but if I let it sit close to the hot spring, maybe the steam will thaw it up again. 

I peeked outside and saw the pile of clothes neatly folded up in the spot I pointed at, your armor pieces also neatly laid out next to them. You were already sitting in the hot spring, arms spread out and along with your head, resting on a rock. The tension in your shoulders were gone, finally relaxed after wandering for the whole day and fighting countless of enemies. You were sitting with your back towards me. 

The back of your head really looked like a kiwi fruit. 

Your ears perked up when I started to move towards you, but you didn’t move your head to look at me.  

Placing the mandarin on the ground, I then took off my boots, followed by the socks. The socks I stuffed into my boots, and then I proceeded to roll up my pants until they reached mid-thigh. You finally turned your head around to see what I was doing, and then whipped around to stare at my oh-so-naked legs with wide-saucer eyes, your face flushing red again. Could be the steam, could be my legs, who knows. 

And it’s not like my legs were in their best shape. The skin around it looked like cracked desert surface, desperately in need of a good moisturizer. Shaving my legs was also a luxury I could not afford here – not that it should matter to you anyway. You are fully covered in fur, so that makes you to be the last person on earth allowed to judge the hairy state of my legs.  

Like on clockwork, I noticed the water surface beginning to move faster – probably caused by your tail underwater waggling.  

“Scooch over.” I said, this time not caring that you were flustered from seeing some skin, and then moved to sit on the rock close to where you were, carefully dipping one toe in to test the temperature.  

Heaven, it was heaven. 

I then sunk my whole leg into the water, soon followed by my second leg, just sitting at the edge enjoying the heat. I cannot wait for you to be done with your bath so I could clean myself too.  

You’ve turned your head away to look the over way, the tips of your ear bright red, but your body remained close to where I was sitting. 

It was kind of endearing how the sight of my skin made you flustered liked this. 

Remembering I had a mandarin to thaw and snack on, I reached for it on the ground and then placed it on top of your head.  

“There, now you look like a capybara taking a bath in a hot spring.” I said, grinning.  

Your hand grabbed for the mandarin I placed on the top of your head, and you turned around to look at my quizzically.  

I suppose you wouldn’t know what a capybara is, since they originally come from South America. I tried my best to explain to you what a capybara looks like, using my hands gesturing to the shape of the animal. 

To this date, you still didn’t know what a capybara looks like (but you appreciated me trying to explain it to you).  

“Can you put the mandarin in the hot spring for a few seconds so it thaws?” I asked, and you nodded, doing as I asked you to.  

After a minute or so, the mandarin was warm, and you poked a hole with your long thumb nail at the top of the fruit, and then started peeling it. You started to peel one side from the top to the bottom, then moved to the next section, until you were left with a flower shaped mandarin peel. Plucking it off and putting it aside, you then split the fruit in half, reaching it towards me. 

I flashed you a thankful smile, and just as I was about to grab for it, you quickly moved your hand back, enough that I couldn’t reach for the piece anymore. My hand, mid frozen at the spot where my half of the fruit was before. You were looking at my stony faced, but your brown eyes were glittering with mischief.  

Look who decided to be a piece of shit now. 

Pursing my lips and looking at you, I slowly reached out my hand again for the fruit, not breaking eye contact.  

I thought I was fast by swiping down to grab it, but you anticipated it and moved your hand even further back again. This time, your face broke into a grin, mirth written all over it.  

I wanted to be annoyed at you, but your smile was infectious and I felt my own lips turning up. Fine, this is how you want to play it huh? I leaned forward, determined to get my well-deserved dose of vitamin C, and you moved your arm further back, out of my reach.  

I rested my hand on one of the rocks, stretching out my own arm. Unluckily, the rock my hand was one came loose and slipped under me, and I lost my balance. I was not able to find ahold of something else to grab on, and felt how my entire body was falling forward.  

At the same time, the grin dropped from your face and you started to panic too. You were also moving, your arms now reaching out to catch me, but it was too late: In a desperate attempt to grab onto something, anything, my two arms wrapped around your neck and your arms around my torso.  

And then I dragged us both underwater. 

Let it be known to the entire New West that the last thing I shouted before going underwater was “My mandarin!” 

The smell of sulfur was the last thing I smelt before water filled up my nose, the burning sensation sitting up high. A pair of strong arms that were already wrapped around my torso then pulled me up, I gasped for air. My hair was clinging to my face now, my clothes soaked. Using my wet sleeves to wipe my eyes, I then opened them, only to be staring at your worried gaze, still holding me around my torso. 

I coughed again, rasped my throat. “I’m- I’m okay.”  

Your shoulders sacked in relief, your tail swinging left and right, splashing the water around it.  

You... were always looking out for me, and making sure that I was okay. Remembering how earlier today I hurt your feelings with that bath comment, I realized that now might be the best time to apologize.  

“I’m sorry what I said about you needing a bath.” I started, and your tail stopped moving, you looked at me intensely. “It was a shitty thing of me to say after you fought against him. If it wasn’t for you, I would not be standing here.”  

Your eyebrows softened, and you moved your right hand up to my shoulder, squeezing it three times reassuringly - ‘we are good, everything is ok’. 

A heavy weight fell off my shoulders and I smiled. Running a hand through my wet hair, I spotted the soap bar sitting on a rock. 

“Well, since I’m inside the hot spring, might as well take a bath now.” I reached my hand into the water to untie my belt, which got me the desired reaction out of you – a little payback was in order. 

You let go of me, as if I was burning your hands, and then turned around and waded as fast as you could towards the edge, and pulled yourself up, stalking away.  

I watched your retreating form, your tails waggling left and right. I didn’t want you to have the last ‘word’ though, so I bit my cheeks before shouting after your retreating form: “You have a really nice ass!” 

You slammed the door to the run-down shelter shut and I threw my head back, laughing.  

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦ ✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

My apartment came with a separate shower and a bathtub. I never used the bathtub for its intended use (it was an over glorified laundry basket for the longest time), until now. Now I take weekly baths in it, sometimes also three times a week.  

You loved taking baths together. You would claim that a king needs a pair of hands to help him clean the fur – and plenty other monkeys would kill to be in that position. The pout on your lips never stopped not being cute whenever I would shoot back with a ‘well, then why don’t you get the other monkeys to help you wash up then’. But you also knew that I would always give in in the end and help you wash up and then dry and comb your fur. In return, you did the same thing for me: scrubbing the spots in the back that were hard for me to reach, washing my hair, and then make me sit between your legs while you combed through them.  

Now I take my baths alone.