#i often get bored and find it more work than it's worth

[beastsovrevelation]

Captured Angel

Michael Langdon x F!Angel!Reader

Contains: vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, elements of coercion, implied loss of virginity, blasphemy, hierophilia

“Good, you’re awake.”

A chill ran down your spine. You had awakened in an unfamiliar room. Your head ached, your wings hung limp, and your limbs were heavy. The air was soaked to the last thread in malice. It made you nauseous. Gritting your teeth, you dragged yourself up, your mind aflame with a single thought – you had to get out. You looked around, but before you could spot a way of escape, you felt a presence. Dark... Darker than the blackest night. Your heart froze in your chest, a taste of iron suddenly coating your tongue. Though you had not seen his face, you could recognize him anywhere. Seven heads. Ten horns. His honeyed voice left a cold, oily trace on your very soul as he spoke. You drew a deep breath, and spun around, to meet a pair of piercing blue eyes.

His lips crooked into a smirk. Holding your gaze, he moved towards you. You drew back.   

“Get away from me, filthy Beast...” you snarled.

Deep down, you loathed yourself for the instinctive reaction. You were a soldier. You had a duty to stand your ground, and instead, you cowered. He promptly crossed the gap between you two.

“Ah-ah!” he scolded, clasping your chin “That’s not very nice, now, is it?..”

You grimaced. Michael Langdon. How ironic, for Satan’s son to bear your General’s name. The one who cast him out... You hoped it hurt the Evil One greatly. Michael caressed your cheek. You winced, and pushed his hand away. Sneering, he grabbed you by the throat.  

“Why am I here?” you hissed through gritted teeth.

He glanced down at your heaving chest.

“You’re my captive” he purred “Isn’t it obvious?”

You swallowed. Struggling would only worsen your chances, you knew as much. His gaze darkened with hunger as he watched you – like a wolf, salivating at a wounded deer. Your guts had coiled into a tight knot, a sickly sweet taste coating your mouth.

“Why didn’t your bootlickers kill me?” you asked, not quite certain if you wished to know the answer.

A chuckle escaped his lips. The Antichrist’s lecherous expression made your blood boil. How dare the abomination touch an angel of the Lord, you thought. A strange sensation was budding between your legs, but you pointedly ignored it, just as you ignored the feeling of unease clawing at the back of your skull.   

“That would’ve been a waste...” Michael tilted his head “They thought a gift would please me. They weren’t wrong...”

You snarled, attempting to pull away.

“Get your putrid hands off me!”

He tightened his grip on your neck.

“Hush” he coaxed in a mockingly gentle voice “I’m not going to hurt you, angel.”

“Vile creature...” you spat.

He pulled you closer. You bared your teeth, as your face almost crashed into his. Though you did not need air, the pressure on your throat was beginning to make you dizzy. Every nerve in your body screamed to fight - your muscles   had tensed, prepared for combat. You might have broken away. Escaped this unholy place. You should have at least tried... But, perhaps because of the mist gathering over your mind, your legs trembled underneath you. You found yourself staring at his mouth. His breath brushed against your skin, warm and silken. Your pulse leapt into a frenzy.

Michael snuck his other hand under your clothes. The captors had stripped you of your armour, and taken away your sword, leaving only your linen tunic to cover you. His fingertips caressed your thigh, slowly creeping upwards. You held your breath as you felt him part the soft folds of your skin.

You had never been fondled like this before. Carnal pleasure was forbidden for your kind. You should be disgusted, you understood as much. Still, the electric-like impulse roused by his touch paralyzed you, preventing you from breaking his arm.

He stroked your entrance. You stifled a gasp, your intimate muscles tightened in anticipation. Your hole was beginning to well with slick. Taking your lack of resistance for a welcome, he slipped two fingers inside you. The feeling of his skin against your sensitive membrane made your head spin, and you barely held back from bucking your hips into his hand.

He let go of your neck, only to wrap his arm around your waist. Keeping you steady, he spread his fingers wider, straining you until it hurt. You shuddered. He massaged the velvety walls of your flesh, driving you to the edge of madness. Aware of how much satisfaction hearing your cries would give him, you clenched your jaw. His skin grazed against a certain knot of nerves, and you nearly sunk to the ground as your legs buckled from the bolt of stimulation. Still, somehow, you did not make a sound.

It only made Michael more determined. He fixated on your sweet spot, leaving you to desperately clutch the lapels of his jacket. His mouth lingered but a thread away from yours - you felt his heartbeat echo against your rib cage. He narrowed his eyes, and pressed his thumb to your clit. Overwhelmed, you drew a sharp breath.

“Enjoying yourself, aren’t you?..” he teased “What is it, my dear? What do you want, hm?”

He pushed a third finger into your dripping slit. You whined in pleasure muddled with despair.

“Speak up, angel” he demanded.

Virtue be damned. Something tameless had infected you. Caught in the furor of sin, you eagerly cast your innocence aflame.

“I...” you stammered “I want... I need you to ravish me...”

Michael threw you onto the bed, and climbed on top of you. Laying flat on your back, your wings sprawled open, you looked up at him, your eyes sweetly half-lidded. His knee shoved between your thighs, he ripped the front of your tunic open. You sighed as cold air brushed against your nipples. He placed his hands on your breasts, savouring the softness of your bare skin. His eyes aflame with lust, he took a moment to admire your flushed, helpless body. Biting your bottom lip, you pushed your chest into his touch. He grabbed you by the throat again.

“You’re mine” he snarled “Mine alone...”

Against your better judgement, you nodded. Your gaze wandered down to his crotch, causing your mouth to immediately water. Michael’s lips crooked into a sleazy smirk. He unbuckled his pants, and slipped his underwear down. Your eyes widened as his hard cock sprung free. Large, but not obscenely so. You pulled the skirt of your tunic up, leaving your aching cunt at his mercy.

He pinned you down under his full weight. You wrapped your arms around him, savouring the feel of luxurious fabric under your fingers. Like an animal in heat, you craved to feel him inside. His eyes locked with yours, Michael clasped your leg, and positioned himself more comfortably. You blindly caught hold of his member, helping guide it into your hole.

Your heart skipped a beat – you let out a moan as your membranes clamped around him. Hardly giving you a moment to adjust, he began to move. The sudden strain roused a twinge, but it soon was obscured by shattering pleasure. No longer holding back your mewls and whimpers, you sank your nails into his back. Should the expensive suit get ruined, it will be his fault.

Michael groaned, his teeth bared in primal satisfaction. Your response only encouraged him, and he quickly picked up the pace. Each thrust sent a shattering wave of pleasure through your fevered nerves. You wrapped your legs around his waist, welcoming them. He traced the tip of his tongue over your neck. You hissed as his long hair tickled you, overwhelming your senses even more. He purred, and nipped at your jaw.

“Kiss me” you demanded.

He obeyed, leaning down to press his mouth against yours. You parted your lips for him, and allowed your tongues to battle for dominance.

“Say my name” he ordered, upon pulling away.

“I can’t...” you gasped in horror.

“Your general isn’t here...” he growled “It’s just you and me...” he pressed his face to your temple “Say my name, sweetheart. Show the Beast how much you’re enjoying your downfall.”

He pulled his cock almost all the was out, then slammed it back in, roughly grazing your sweet spot. Your cried out, and sank your fingers into his hair. You didn’t want to think about her. You loathed to imagine her disappointment in you. But his presence eclipsed her face. Drowned it in the storm of ecstasy ravaging you.

“Michael!”

“Good girl” he praised with a grin.

Shock after shock of ecstasy tore through your body, setting every cell of it aflame. Your forehead was laced in sweat. Your muscles quivered from the tension. You were close. Very close. Turned feral by the pleasure, he grabbed you by the wrists, thrusting into you with merciless force.

“Michael...” you moaned.

You couldn’t stand it anymore. You arched your back, trembling and convulsing as a scream escaped your throat. Michael threw his head back with a snarl. You had grown painfully tight around him, prompting him to reach his own release. You felt him spill inside you – it was the strangest, most pleasant sensation  you had ever experienced.

You collapsed into the pillows, limp and gasping for breath. He slumped down on top of you. For a moment, you allowed yourself to soak in the glowing haze of bliss. But, just when he had crept off of you, and was about to pull you into his arms, you leapt up. Using his surprise for your advantage, you climbed onto him – this time, you were the one to pin him down. You caught his gaze, and drew a dagger from underneath your ruined tunic. Afraid to molest their master’s gift, the devil worshippers had missed it.

“You will find the men who captured me, crucify them, and bleed them like pigs” you growled, pressing the blade against his throat “Do you understand me, Antichrist?”

A drop of blood sept from under the metal, glowing against his milky skin in a warning.

“Yes” he murmured, as his eyes blazed with adoration.

[woodenela]

Don't you ever let anyone tell you that it is too late to switch jobs/careers. Not ever.

Found a job at 18 & stuck with it? Cool.

Wanna change things up every 5 years? Do it.

Wanna start in a new field after devoting 20+ years to a single company? It's never too late!

We only have one dang life on this planet, if you wanna go wild and test all kinds of jobs out & find something your passionate about at 28,39,52? DO IT!

[marsprincess889]

Ketu in the houses

Doing smaller(in this case not so much, but it's still more elementary and formulaic) posts before dropping the big ones. I know you all are going to love this (my blog has become a ketu information hub for a lot of you 😅🙃)

As always, keep in mind: ketu is very internal and personal. I can give you basic descriptions and observations but to connect with your ketu, due to its essence and nature, I think you'll have to shut out a lot of the noise and just listen to yourself. That concerns everything. So, if your truth is telling you that I or someone's description is incorrect, then trust it. Be careful while examining that.

Ketu in the 1st house:

Automatic and natural possession of the physical body. Comfortable in their own skin, sometimes too comfortable. Have an appearance that suits natural adornment. Quality pieces look extra good on them, but even they wear/carry something "cheap", it still somehow works. They don't have to really think about their appearance, but if they do start to, it might have enormous impact on others. They're not really fans of trendy looks of the moment as I've observed, they have the power to set the trends themselves but I'd say most of them are not aware of that. Might be loud while talking and have a sort of unrestrained/unfazed demeanor. On ther hand, they might also be really quiet.

When all else fails, just focus on yourself. Keep coming back to yourself in times of crisis. You have good health but don't ignore it, this placement might not even give you the permission to. You have enormous privilege of having amazing power, don't waste it.

Ketu in the 2nd house:

Hoarders, collectors, but not intentionally. Possessions have meanings attached to them. Intuitively have a knowing of what should go into their body and follow it, even if others disagree. Good at measuring the worth of things or people. Relaxed face. Sort of disconnected from their family or lineage, or seem that way. Family support was convenient in childhood but might have been taken for granted. Deeper voice(?), slightly intimidating way of speaking. Great singers(?).

You can always ground yourself, no matter how strongly it seems otherwise. The support and the family can be all around you if you find it inside yourself first.

Ketu in the 3rd house:

This is my placement, so it's gonna be longer(cause I have more info, not cause I'm arrogant😭) so bear with me.

Aware and alert but ironically might not be aware of this at first. Great instincts, naturally skilled. The information field is constantly on their radar. A lot of what they observe is boring to them, and they absorb everything. Movements are natural/effortless. Might look clumsy or careless with movements or speaking sometimes but they have it together, more than others and more than it shows. Have the ability to skillfully get out of sticky situations. Survivors. They have creative ways of managing tasks. Great with details but confused with too much data, they consider it pointless. Can get to the bottom of things. Can play devil's advocate but they often don't want to. Can argue but it's mainly to increase a sense of self-possession. Their "trivial" words have more meaning than they or others assume at first. Don't say a lot of what they know. Might be surprised that things that are obvious to them elude others. More shrewd than they look, but they themselves consider a lot of "shrewd" and "cunning" strategies dumb and superficial. WILL NOT trust others before analyzing them in their head. Quick, kind of messy minds but still somehow organized and sensible. Love to dig and investigate. Trust themselves before anyone else. Know that they know stuff but can't show the whole truth of it easily. Use confusion as a weapon. Relationships with siblings, cousins and childhood friends are nuanced, interesting and kind of cimplicated. Town/neighborhood black sheep but still fit there the best.

Ehh, what can I say, you're doing amazing keep going. 😭 The truth will come, don't worry, boredom is not forever and sometimes it's better than anything. Anxiety is a warning, get that b*tch out of your system, connect to what makes you calm. Look around you and get rooted to your life, like you know how to do.

Ketu in the 4th house:

Strongly tied to their home/family, whether they want/like it or not. Private about family life. Need their space a lot. Sort of clingy to their family and home but at the same time want to break out of it. Get defensive if you get too close or vulnerable. Have a natural ability to nurture but always nurture themselves first. Familial responsibility is embedded in them. May have been spoiled with attention, especially in childhood but have hated it, or have come to hate it. On the other hand, might have felt very ignored by their family memebers. Might have a very traditional family that values culture, upholding to moralities, and appearance.

Family is not the worst thing in the world and I know the ties might hurt, but there is truth and stability there for you. Find peace there and the rest will fall in place.

Ketu in the 5th house:

Fun, creativity, art has deep meaning to them. Life is built on entertainment for them. Their life is a soap opera. Dramatic and expressive. Art is their religion. Can be ignorant of other's preferences and naturally assert dominance when the situation concerns creativity, entertainment and art, even remotely. Only know what they like and don't seek to be trendy in their preferences, it's very personal to these natives. Can be selfish and get lost in hedonism. Don't discriminate between pop and indie, or discriminate harshly. Not easily infulenced in general but easily persuaded if you know their "weak points"/preferences. Generous with their attention if others can pay even more attention to them.

Yeah, life is art, but it's not for profit and not always for show. Learn to be humble when life demands it. It IS your life, but before you get lost in the art, make sure you're rooted in the truth of it.

Ketu in the 6th house:

Resilient, distrustful but relaxed. Healthy and helpful, very practical and balanced. Might have had health struggles that have shaped them and made them stronger. Natural medicine>chemicals. Will take chemicals if they consider it correct and see no other way. Expert at making the best out of the worst situations. Not confrontational but can put people in their place. On the other hand, might not hesitate one bit and be direct in times of tension. Know how to look after themselves and hate it when others interfere. Won't take advice even from close people, have a very unique and personalised way of looking after themselves, as well as a unique/personalised routine. Obstacles might persist but they can't to much to these people. Skillful and quietly cunning but it's not much work.

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade, and squeeze them in other people's eyes if needed. You gotta be selfish sometimes, what can you do. Every day is a gift and the routine is a privilge. Don't be mean about it.

Ketu in the 7th house:

Lovers and supporters. Recognize other people easily and connect to them deeply and effortlessly. Charming and genuine. Recogize the truth behind connections and human behavior, sensitive to one-on-one dynamics. Good listeners, excellent company, giving and humble but know how they gain from relationships and connections. Value harmony and conflict resolution. Naturally attune to others and find their sense of self through them. Know how and what to sacrifice for others but have strong and specific boundaries. Love has a deep meaning to them, any kind of love. Important relationships are full of intricacy and are laced with destiny.

We are parts of something bigger than us, and we all have stories to tell. Keep finding yourself through other people and keep helping others find themselves. "Karmic" ties are not punishment, they're the simple truth.

Ketu in the 8th house:

Complicted internally, don't make much of it. Each crisis is an opportunity to gain. Survival IS life. Never reveal too much of themselves and easily read others, but can be stubborn about seeings things in only their way. Incorrect judgement costs them a lot, correct judgement gives them enormous power. Struggle anyways. Casually intense. Se×ual and private. Privacy is a must. Go through a lot of pain and become savage if their privacy is invaded. Know that selfishness is very selfless. Quietly independent, confidently dependant, carefully engaging. Adaptible but out of necessity. Hide their intensity, along with other things, very well.

The complications are alright, don't be afraid of the unknown, or fear itself. It's okay to go deep, it's okay to not, it's ok to survive however it is possible for you.

Ketu in the 9th house:

Philosophy is natural. They find truth everywhere if only they detach. They seem "higher" than others, and seem to be enjoying it. Truth is simple and exhilirating for them. They need their freedom. They exude a sense of wander and assuredness. Don't really care about conventional morals as most people see them and have a hightly personal sense of right and wrong. Religion is very familiar to them, whatever it has been. Talk to "god" and "the divine" to feel comfort, might not realize it fully. Their faith has been tested and strengthened, and they themselves might have tested their own others' faith. Might feel like nobody will understand their exact beliefs, but understand others' beliefs. Even if they feel lonely sometimes, places of worship feel weirdly reasuring. Can become a little arrogant.

Your ideals are not too high and mighty. You know what you know, and you should know that you do. Not everyone can ground themselves in a grand and utopian place. Don't let possible arrogance blur or exaggerate it.

Ketu in the 10th house:

Legacy is inherited. The world can feel like their oyster. Even if not much is going well, they might feel supported by people in power, and usually, they are, even though they never really asked for it. Older people and those with more experience bring out their natural competence and maturity. Might come from a line of influence, usually from father's side. Easily gain aqcuaintances but feel like they have to work hard to gain and keep friends. Might feel like they have much to lose but don't worry about it. Family prince/princess, or people's prince/princess, but in a quiet way. Naturally self-possessed. Might feel chained by obligations.

There are those who will stand by you as you pull back and detach. When you go into the world, people see you, and you know how to act. You don't really care about your reputation, but it cares about you. Don't lose a good thing, embrace and enjoy it, because in that, you will find your truth and your power. That stability that is too familiar to you, it's a huge privilege.

Ketu in the 11th house:

Everyone's friend, everyone's confidante, one of the girls/boys. The gang is what they trust, but they don't look for the gang. The gang is just there. Friends flock to them and they welcome all, but friendships are private and their business. The kind of people that don't have to do anything for friends to find them. Might feel like they act like a constant chameleon to everyone but feel comfortable in that place. Can be too neutral to strangers, but become proud activists for causes that are close to their heart. Strongly unbiased and multi-faceted. Others feel relieved when they're around at gatherings. Can be very uncaring and dismissive, unless you are one of their people.

You're lucky with support. Even if friends have dissapointed you, you have gotten something valuable and worthy out if it. There are those that are your people, and those that aren't. Don't lose sight of that, but be honest with discerning who is who.

Ketu in the 12th house:

What really lights them is hidden and reserved only for them. Selfless like it's nothing. Deep and understanding, floating through life like a fish following their own current. They can gently hold your hand through harshest times but it's so subtle you'll barely realize you've been affected by them by the time it's almost done. When they get lost, they really get lost, and that's when and where find themselves. Hate to force things and know how to be humble. Private like no one else. If life gets too hollow they become a recluse. Nobody sees what depths they carry within at first, but some might suspect, by their restrained behavior, or by an innocent yet wise look in their eyes. They're not mad when they go into themselves, and no matter how much you try to get to them, if they can't, they won't hear you. But it does not matter. In their own way, they hear and see everyone, and through them, they see and hear themselves.

Oh, yes, confusion is huge and it seems overwhelming. You know how to find comfort in that. So many sides to life, so many truths. If others tell you you're deluded, do not forget that everyone is. When your sacrifice and martyrdom becomes too much, stay only with yourself once more.

[ctrl-alt-bucky]

♡ Release ♡

Simon Riley x Female Reader [Requested prompt!]

The team finally has time to rest after months of hard work. Pent up, you and Ghost find a good outlet for release— each other.

Heed the warning below! There isn't much kink to this one tbh, just a mild hint of public play. If you want a spicier fic, check out the last one I wrote in this mini series. Ao3 and everything is in the notes at the end.

Enjoy! ;)

Word count: 3,479 | Chapters: 1 | Tags: Fempov, missionary, slow build, risky

Long, sleepless nights weren't an uncommon occurrence for you. It wasn't often you got respite during times of high tensions and potential war. Echoes of gunfire tarnished your dreams; stains of blood penetrating your body bone-deep, even when it's scrubbed clean of any signs; a reminder that you were forever marked by death.

As for Simon, he knew the experience all too well.

Words were hardly exchanged, just knowing looks and observations. You tightly wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the edge of a couch in the common room, the digital clock mocking you with the ungodly hour. Simon, his tired eyes and partially masked face, standing by the counter waiting for the coffee pot to start bubbling.

It started a few months after you got assigned to taskforce 141. You piece together from Ghost's slow acceptance of your presence that he's done this a while now— snuck out of the barracks in the middle of the night to make coffee or simply sit in the silent, empty room. But it wasn't empty for long. You'd make it to the room after him, often times. At first, you wouldn't acknowledge him, assuming Simon wanted it that way. But then that turned into small nods of greeting, then to sharing a pot of coffee while you two leaned with your backs to the counter, and then, somewhere in the mix, a bond grew.

It wasn't an every night occurrence. While deployed, your relationship with him was business as usual, and when you weren't shipped off to God knows where— well, it took days to recover. Days spent alone and half-asleep in a dark room with stashed weapons for all of the ‘what ifs’ your mind could conjure.

Dark circles sag under your eyes, matching Simon's. The team had been stationed here for a week now, and it was only just tonight that you decided it wasn't worth tossing and turning until daybreak.

A steaming mug of weak coffee sits on the counter. You greet Simon with a barely-there smile of appreciation and wrap your hand around the ceramic curve, your fingers curling over the handle. It has a marines logo on the front, faded and stained from time. Amusing, to say the least.

Simon is sitting down at the small fold-up table with his own mug, the liquid half gone. Something about him seems… off. He's more jittery than usual, and that's not the caffeine speaking. His eyes bore into the tabletop, his eyebrows pulling together; tense. The lower half of his face is covered by a black mask, missing its iconic skull design. It makes it hard to tell what he's thinking or feeling. You suppose that's the point.

“Price mentioned an intel mission earlier. Looks pretty secure, if we can get it in time.” You murmur quietly, breaking the tense silence.

Ghost nods his head, but doesn't look up from the table. He makes a small “mmn” noise in agreement and you figure he's not talkative tonight. No big deal. He usually isn't one for talking during these late nights anyway. You usually aren't either, but you're worried. You can't help it.

Sipping from your mug, you approach the small couch facing away from the table. There's a small, old tv in front of it, balanced on top of four crates with a board laid across them. There isn't enough funding distribution for a tv stand or good mattresses, but there's an endless shipment of coffee to keep your team functioning. Go figures. You're not one to complain though; You're lucky you even get entertainment in this place.

The tv is set to low, playing a random movie from the 80’s. You spot a VHS tape in one of the crates and wonder who the hell brought that along for a set up like this. While the intro to a murder mystery plays, you hear footsteps behind you, and Simon appears in the corner of your eye.

His gaze is on the tv, reading the title screen that flashes in bright colors and a font that’s distinctly from that era. You shuffle over to provide more room, and he hesitates before taking a seat, one arm staying propped on a small couch cushion wedged into the corner. He's man-spreading, but you don't mention it. The way your knees just barely brush against each other— it's the closest you've gotten to him outside of the occasional encouraging pat on the shoulder before a mission.

It's been ages since you've last felt someone's touch.

You curl your legs in so that they're tucked underneath you, your cold hands keeping the mug steady. Simon’s watching you from the corner of his eyes. It makes your heartbeat quicken.

Fifteen minutes go by. When you next bring the mug to your lips, you realize it's empty, having disappeared while you idly drank and stared in the general direction of the tv. You couldn't bother paying attention right now.

"Do you need help?" You ask quietly.

Ghost looks at you. He blinks.

“You look jittery.”

“I’m not jittery.” Ghost grumbles.

You raise a brow and he lets out a defeated sigh and looks up at the ceiling. After a few moments of silence, he puffs out a soft breath, calm and controlled, and shakes his head like he’s shaking himself free of the endless turmoil bubbling inside his head.

“Whaddya have in mind?”

✩⋆---⭑✧⭑---⋆��

It starts out with cards.

Poker; Cribbage; Go Fish. Ghost has an unfair advantage with poker because of the mask, but he refuses to take it off when you point it out to him, so he ends up switching the game before you two even start.

Holding your set of cards like a fan, you peer over them as Ghost stares at the tabletop with an intense look of concentration.

Slowly, he reaches for a card in his own little pile (you expected him to be neat with his own cards, but he’s not. It’s chaotic. Nevertheless, it suits him)— and he glances up at you, his voice gruff when he asks, “Any queens?”

You pretend to study your deck. You know you have none, but you still take your time. Something in you doesn’t want this to end; To go back to your bunks, exhausted and alone, and wait until the next time the universe grants you both a respite.

Sighing, you can’t help but smile as you finally answer, “Go fish.”

Ghost draws from the deck, but you reach your hand out before it’s fully across the table. The touch is electric, and it causes Ghost’s eyes to flick up to meet yours. You realize just how brown they are. A deep brown, with hints of hazel. They stand out amongst the black of his mask— even more so when he’s got black paint smudged around his sockets out on the battlefield. You never really noticed it until now. Goosebumps rise on your arms, hidden beneath the sleeves of your sweater.

You were meant to say something, anything, but you can’t find the words.

Ghost finds them for you.

“You’re bored.” He says it like a statement, not a question.

You nod, slowly.

Ghost makes a humming noise of agreement and nods too. Then he brushes his thumb over the back of your hand, his gaze idly watching your fingers slightly twitch. The air feels charged and heavy and tinged with uncertainty. You find it difficult to properly breathe, your chest tight and body tense; your mind a race of he’s touching me, he’s touching me and I can’t handle it, he’s touching me and I can’t remember the last time I felt this— have I ever felt this?— would it even matter?—

You haven’t a clue what’s going through Ghost’s head, but you can see that something is affecting him. His chest rises and falls faster, those broad shoulders taught with a newfound tension you hardly recognize. Preparing himself. Ghost isn’t like this unless he’s looking down the sights of his rifle. All poise and concentration, he tightens his grasp like he’s pulling a trigger and he’s dragging you out of nowhere, guiding your upper half across the short table under you’re leaned over and inches away from his face.

You say nothing. Hell, what could you say? Stop? Don’t?

You want this.

Fuck, you need this.

You use your free hand to tug his mask under his chin and you kiss him.

It’s firm yet hesitant, and your mind races with all the ways this could backfire. But Ghost is warm and his stubble is rough, scratching against your chin and lips as he leans into it, pressing into you as though he’s giving himself permission to allow this.

The kiss breaks when you run out of breath. You pant as you try to catch up, your eyes blinking open to find Ghost’s half-lidded gaze searching your face with a sense of desperation. Realization has set in: the floodgates have opened, and there’s no going back now.

You lead this time around, scooting yourself out of the shitty metal chair and rounding the table to him. Ghost stands, his eyes never leaving you once, and he’s tall and broad, towering over you, even as he bends his head down to meet your lips with a feverish kiss. You taste the coffee on his breath and the warmth from his tongue as it glides against yours clumsily. His hands grip your hips and suddenly you’re pulled upward like you weigh nothing and set down onto the tabletop with your legs spread. Ghost fits himself between your knees, his hands trailing down to grip your thighs, squeezing the flesh.

A rush of heat fills your body. You can feel a blush on your cheeks, heat prickling the back of your neck. The space between you and his chest is hot as well, practically radiating off of his body— the body that keeps you trapped against it with your legs locked and hands scrabbling at its shoulders; the body that’s firm and muscular and alive under your touch, reacting to each grind of your hips as you desperately rock against him.

“Fuck.” Ghost murmurs against your lips, low and breathy.

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes. You’re giddy with the feelings knotted inside your chest. This is happening. Holy shit. And you can’t come to terms with this, that’s it’s taken so long to happen. The tension wasn’t not there. Subtle glances and lingering looks were just the start, not to mention the jokes Soap, Gaz, and even Price made about you two— about how similar you were; quiet and brutal and deadly, two lone wolves watching their pack’s back.

Even so, Ghost has more resilience than this. You thought you had more— hell, if your self control was hanging by a thread during the last mission, then it’s practically been snapped now, and by your own two hands.

You’re tired of feeling tired. And Ghost is more than eager to quell the chaotic energy inside of you both.

His teeth catch your bottom lip as you tilt your head and grasp for the back of his neck. You flinch, the pain incredibly brief, and he makes a low groaning noise that sends a bolt of heat straight between your legs. Your thighs clench around him, and he soothes the nip with his tongue as an apology, but all it does is make you whine with need.

Lips tingling, you break the kiss to the sound of a zipper. Ghost bites his bottom lip and follows your eyes down to where your hips lay flush together. His boxers are exposed, belt flayed open, and he’s hard and he’s big too. Bigger than you anticipated— and you haven’t even properly seen it yet.

You slide a hand down his chest and palm the bulge with deft fingers. Ghost groans again, and it’s right then that you decide you want to hear more of that noise.

It takes some maneuvering, but your cargos find the floor in no time. The tabletop is cold against the backs of your thighs, but Ghost's hands are burning hot against your skin. His eyes remain between you, looking down at the (frankly embarrassing) pink panties you're wearing. There's a hint of amusement in Ghost's gaze, like he's tempted to make a comment on it, but instead he just presses his thumb to the front of the fabric and rubs, slow and precise.

For all of the training you've had— the long night's waiting hours in the cold for the perfect moment to strike; the torture that you stayed resilient through; the second-hand nature of your brain thinking logically over what you actually wanted— seemed to be all in vain in this one moment.

Whether it was a long time coming or not, you struggle to even stay still as Ghost’s thumb presses harder, seeking out the shaky breaths leaving your parted lips. It sinks even lower, to a forming wet patch on the thin fabric, and Ghost practically rumbles when he sees the evidence of your desperation.

He wastes no time in pulling the fabric to the side and adjusting your position, pulling your thighs up until you're resting on your lower back with your legs bent and bowed out. Ghost murmurs something that sounds like praise, but you're too caught up in the sound of your heartbeat thumping away in your ears.

First, it's just a finger that enters you. Ghost’s hand trembles so slightly you almost miss it, and he pumps the digit in and out a few times before eagerly adding another. You aren't quite prepared for it. The burn of a stretch would otherwise deter you, but now— now, all it does is drive you up the fucking wall.

“Ghost.” You whine, voice warbly.

Ghost curls his fingers and your head tips back, eyes squeezing shut.

“Simon—”

Now that causes Ghost to falter.

You open your eyes and glance down your body to see his reaction, afraid you might've crossed a line. If his eyes were any indicator, you have a feeling you just skirted the line. You also realize he shed his own cargos at some point and pulled down the hem of his briefs to his mid-thigh, exposing the long, hard curve of his cock. It reaches his navel, the tip wet and catching the dim sterile light of the room.

“Simon.” You repeat carefully.

Ghost pulls his fingers out, grabs under your hips, and drags you even closer to the edge of the table. You yelp, but it's no deterrent. He's feral in a way you've never seen— desperation and nerves and frustration all coiled into his determined expression, truly like a wild animal. It isn't often you get to see under the mask. What doesn't make sense is why he's letting you while he's vulnerable like this.

Your eyes meet as he lines up and rubs the tip against you, hot and slick.

And then he pushes in, and your eyes close once more as every feeling in your body narrows down to just this. This stretch, this heat— everything. The way Ghost’s chest vibrates as he groans, how he feels inside, thick and real; it's so much to handle, all you can do is lay back and try to catch your breath until he reaches the hilt.

Buried deep inside, Ghost grinds his hips and grunts when you whimper in response. His hands are gripping under your thighs, right below the bend of your knees, and he's using the contact as an anchor to drive himself in and out like he has no time to waste. And with how you've been treated lately, there really is no time to waste. God knows how late into the night it's gotten, but the thrill of what if—

And oh god. What if.

*What if someone comes in?*

The windows are foggy with condensation, the frames coated with dust and grime and who knows what; But you can see the beginnings of a washed yellow peeking through the thick trees outside, right past Ghost's shoulder. You catch a subtle reflection from the overhead light bouncing off the glass pane, transfixed by his rippling muscles as they bunch and strain while he practically pounds into you with all his might.

Arching your back, you dig your heels into his lower back and shudder when the angle changes, his cock brushing past the sensitive bundle of nerves buried inside of you. Ghost notices that you're distracted, but it's clear he doesn't know why. You can't tell if he's irritated by it or curious, but the worry doesn't stick around very long— he presses his thumb to your clit before you have the chance to regroup yourself, and that's all the stimulation it takes to stoke the fire burning in your gut. It's all you need to stop caring about the risk of you two getting caught. You both deserve this— surely, the team would understand.

You feel yourself pulse around Ghost's cock, an orgasm so treacherously close you can feel your thighs shaking with the force of its foundation.

They'd better understand.

You might die from this feeling. Forget the trenches, there's nothing that makes you shake, cry, and beg so easily.

“That's it,” Ghost grunts. The words, among the first he's spoken almost all night, prod at a part of your brain you thought was long shut down by now. And he keeps doing it, encouraging you with low, growly breaths and strained words; a mixture that makes your head spin— beyond the fact that you're nearly upside down with how high your back is arched, your temple nearly pressed to the tabletop.

Ghost bends over you to get a better hold, and then he's rapidly thrusting like a fucking rabbit, and oh God, you can feel it— it's too much, too quick and too overstimulating, but he doesn't stop, he doesn't slow down, and suddenly Ghost's hand is covering your mouth as you practically wail your release. It crashes over you like a tidal wave, all-encompassing and fueled by years of restraint.

Your pussy spasms around him, walls uncontrollably rippling, even fighting to push him back out. But Ghost only drives in deeper, and in one, two, three thrusts, he seats himself fully to the hilt and groans against the sweat-slick skin of your neck as a warm, dirty feeling floods your insides.

✩⋆---⭑✧⭑---⋆✩

It takes you a while to catch your breath. Ghost is right with you, propping himself up on his palms, hands on either side of your trembling body, as his cock pulses the last ropes of cum inside. He slowly pulls his hips back until there's a rush of hot liquid gushing out onto the tabletop.

Your thighs are a mess— hell, your whole body looks more run through than some of the exercise regimes you and the team are forced to do every couple of weeks. You definitely feel a lot sweatier, though the lack of mud, blood, and grime in general is a plus.

Your face burns with a sense of embarrassment as you look between your legs and notice the mess he left behind. Ghost's cock is still half-hard, but he carefully smears the tip along your inner thigh (and holy shit that imagery will never leave your mind from now on) and stuffs it back into his briefs, then zips up his jeans before adjusting the belt, each movement precise.

You half expect him to just leave you there, but Ghost's hands are gentle when they grab ahold of your arms and pull you up into a seated position. Knees bent, your legs hang off the table, feet a foot or so from the cold floor. Ghost says nothing as he quickly snags the blanket you dragged in from off the back of the couch and wraps it around your shoulders. He helps you shuffle side to side so you can adjust your panties until they're properly on again, and he even goes the full mile to help guide your feet into the pant legs of your cargos until they're on as well. Not like you can wear these again, considering how stained they'll be in the next few minutes.

“Feel better?”

It's the only thing you manage to come up with to break this weird, tense silence. Your voice is hoarse, but with a little more coffee, it'll repair itself in no time.

Ghost's eyes crinkle slightly, and something tells you that he's far more amused than the faux annoyed huff he gives to your little question. It eases the knot in your chest, and you can't help but smile as you help him adjust his face mask.

“Yes,” Ghost admits anyway, his fingers brushing yours gently, “Feelin’ better. Now come on, up you get. We've got some work to do.”

I'm so down bad chat. As soon as I finished writing this, I thought of a follow-up shower scene I might write next if y'all want it 🫣 Ao3 link is here! (I crosspost over there) Requests/prompts are currently: open! Thanks for reading :] And thank you Jax for the prompt!! ♡♡♡

[planethibiscus]

Hiii !! I was wondering if you could do some jealous Yandere hcs (similar to the ones you did for until dawn) but with mouthwashing? Ty!!

JEALOUSY 🌸 MW

Jimmy is a vengeful and miserable man. He envies reader as they are, for who and what they are, no matter their situation. He's never satisfied, always wanting what he doesn't have. If he doesn't have you then it's all he can think about. When he finally does get you though, it still won't be enough. He'll adapt his victim complex to begin envying you instead of fully appreciating you. Oh how "good" you have it with him. You're so fucking lucky and yet you have no idea. Woe is Jimmy, the unwilling slave to your love.

Swansea is a tired and cynical soul. He envies readers likeness. Similarly to how he is jealous of Daisuke, he is jealous of your lot in life. He wants to feel nearly as important as you are to all who you bless with your glimmering presence. He has a wife, kids, a job, he's stable. But he's miserable. Even if you're also miserable, or you don't have nearly as many accomplishments as him, there's just this special spark about you that makes you worth so much more than he could ever be.

Anya is exhausted and unlucky. She envies readers security. There's this way about you that comforts her and she loves it, but it's this underlying sense of safety that she assumes can only come from someone who has their shit together. Things seem to work out for you, and they should, because you're so lovely that life must give you special treatment or else it's being cruel and unjust. She just can't help but think that maybe if things in her life went half as well as they do in yours, then she'd be a better, happier person. One you'd like to be with.

Curly feels stuck. He envies readers freedom. So badly does he want to wrap you up in his arms and squeeze the knots out of your back with one powerful hug. He's just so worried that he'll scare you off and it keeps him paralysed. He wonders if you'd be terrified of your mismatched power dynamic or comforted by it. He wants you so terribly but he has a responsibility that you don't, as your captain, to make sure that you feel safe. If pushing advances on you might make you uncomfortable then he wouldn't dare. Even if it's all he can think about.

Daisuke is enthralled by the sensations of love but insecure. He holds no true jealousy towards reader, yet often finds himself wishing that he was half as cool as them. He adores being around you. Not a moment spent in your presence is a waste of time. He desperately hopes that you might feel the same, and that you don't think spending time with him is a chore. He doesn't want to bore you or annoy you at all. Your opinion of him holds him in a death grip, but he loves how it chokes him. It reminds him just how lucky he is to be perceived by you at all.

[drabblesandimagines]

Chocobo

Cloud Strife x female reader, primarily fluff, mentions of blood, cat-calling behaviour, unwanted attention (No Rebirth spoilers!)

You hated Thursdays – extended opening hours as well as a two-for-one special at the sleazy bar where you worked in Wall Market.

It was always a busy, rushed off your feet shift – Shinra middle managers coming down from the plate to take advantage of the deal and, of course, your boss offset the cost by scheduling only two of you on the bar. The more the drinks flowed, the ruder and more demanding the patrons would become, and you always ended the night damp with sweat and beer. Every Thursday, when you trudged back to Sector 7 in the early hours in the morning, was a reminder of how you needed to get a different job, but that’s easier said than done.

Your colleague heads off at 11 with a sympathetic wave – there’s a half hour until final call, but of course everyone gets another round of drinks in before then, so you’re scheduled till just after midnight, slowly but surely clearing the decks and pointing any patrons not ready to give up on their night out towards the Honey Bee Inn.

After completing the reset of the bar a little later than you’d hoped, you finally lock the doors and begin the walk back to Sector 7 at a brisk pace. It’s not a bad walk, really, all things considered – there’s a direct enough route to the main gate – but it doesn’t mean you in any way look forward to it.

There’s a shrill wolf-whistle from behind you and your shoulders tense.

“Hey, good-looking.”

You tuck your chin down and keep on walking. Working in Wall Market, whatever time of day, meant there were catcalls more often that not. You’d learnt that if you don’t reward them with attention, they’ll get bored and leave you alone soon enough – there’s always someone else.

“Oh, too good for me, are you?” This one seems a little more persistent – probably aided by the alcohol running around his veins by the slur in his words.

He jogs around to in front of you and begins walking backwards with a chuckle. You glance up briefly to find he looks absolutely idiotic - sunglasses in the middle of the night, an open denim vest, mohawk, cocky smirk and low leather pants. Your stomach sinks as you recognize him - one of Corneo’s men.

You tuck you chin back down. He’ll find someone else to bother, maybe he’ll even find someone else who’s into his advances? Just don’t engage.

Mohawk doesn’t take kindly to you ignoring him and he moves to your side, matching your pace and absolutely reeking of alcohol. You’re surprised he can even see straight, a little bit impressed he pulled off the walking backwards stunt earlier, or maybe it was just dumb luck.

“Why are you in such a hurry, sweetheart?” Mohawk doesn’t give you time to respond, grabbing you with one arm, pulling you close into his chest and wrapping his arm around your neck in a loose headlock.

“There we go.” His breath tickles your ear. “Walk with me, baby. We can get to know one another a little better.”

You think of screaming, maybe if you drew attention he’d decide you’re not worth the effort… but if you’ve recognized him as one of Corneo’s men, others would’ve too and would be unlikely to step in. Don Corneo knows everyone’s secrets around here, too powerful a man to make an enemy of.

“Sorry, I…” You try and duck out of his hold, but he squeezes you tight around the shoulders. “I really need to get home.”

“Oh, got someone waiting?” He forces you left, out of the main thoroughfare towards the gate and home, sending you down a side alley. You know Wall Market well enough that this will loop you back down towards Corneo’s mansion if you kept on the same route.

You also know people who tend to go into Corneo’s mansion don’t come out.

“I’m… I’m really sorry, I’m tired.” The panic is unmistakable in your voice and he laughs, continuing to force you along. “How about some other time? Another night? I need to get some sleep – it was a really long shift.”

“Yeah, I saw you at work earlier, sweetheart.” He grins. “I liked your friend, but when I came back she was already gone. You’re pretty too, though. We’re gonna have a lot of fun.”

You stomp on his foot then in a moment of pure adrenaline, digging all your weight through your heel and onto his toes. He yells, arm dropping around from your shoulders and you waste no time in sprinting back the alleyway. If you ducked under some of the air vents, maybe you could make it across the way to the Honey Bee Inn - you’re on first name terms with some of the girls, maybe there’s enough Gil in your pocket to buy a drink and find a quiet booth…

A hand grabs your hair and yanks you back so hard you’re surprised a clump isn’t pulled out, your arm twisted behind, before you are swung face first into the wall, spots of black dancing in your vision and a pain exploding in your head at the contact. Tangy blood dribbles down into your mouth and all you can do is whimper as he twists your arm again.

“Oh, you like pain, huh?” He smirks as he yanks your head back further, forcing you to look up at him. You swear you can feel the bones creak in your arm as he continues twisting. “I’ll show you pain, sweetheart. We’ve got all night to spend together after all.”

“No, you don’t.”

There’s a loud metallic clang against the wall further up and Mohawk turns to look, one hand still fisted in your hair. A blonde spikey haired man, dressed in black stands a few metres behind. His eyes are telltale Mako blue, holding an oversized sword with ease aloft, his muscular forearms not even tensing with the weight as he glares at the assailant over your head.

“Piss off, blondie. I saw her first.” He twists your arm again, making you yelp.

The blonde swings the sword around his head a few times, effortlessly, before holding in front of him in a battle-ready stance.

“You lay a hand on her again and I’ll take it clean off of you.”

Mohawk laughs, cockily. “Sure, you w-”

The blonde lunges forward and swipes it cleanly over your captor’s head, slicing off a good chunk of his hair with millimeter precision. Mohawk’s grip on your hair and arm immediately falter and he steps back, now holding his hands aloft as your legs completely give out beneath you, collapsing down on the ground, breathless and heart pounding.

“Okay, o-okay, man! No n-need for v-violence! S-s-she’s all yours.” Mohawk turns on his heel and sprints off in a panic, quickly swallowed up by the darkness of the alley ahead.

“Are you okay?” The stranger sheathes the sword onto his back and steps forward, his face unreadable. You can’t help but flinch as he approaches, unconsciously scooting backwards until your back hits the wall.

“Please – I just…” Your heart is pounding in your ears. “I won’t say anything, I promise.”

The mako-infused eyes widen and he steps back, holding his hands up in an attempt at a friendly gesture. “Easy – I’m not going to hurt you.”

He fiddles with the cuff of his glove for a moment, removing a small green orb, before crouching down in front of you.

“That was a real nasty blow you took. Let me just…” He holds his palm out - a healing materia, allowing him to perform cure, sits in the centre – and he closes his eyes in concentration for a moment before green whisps of light emit and sink into your skin, soothing the throbbing pain in your nose and skull till no ache remains at all. You rub your nose on your arm, tentatively, trying to remove some of the blood but you know it’ll be a job for the bathroom mirror later on.

“Thank you. I, erm…” You hesitate before dipping a hand in your jacket pocket at the same time he replaces the materia in his glove. “I-I don’t have a lot of money on me, but-”

“You think I only did that to earn Gil?” He seems offended.

You flinch at his tone. “N-no. Sorry, just it’s Wall Market, people don’t help each other for nothing. Everyone has an agenda.”

“What do you think mine is?”

 You swallow. “A SOLDIER…”

“Ex-SOLDIER.” He corrects. “Have Shinra troops taken your money before?”

“There… was some rowdy drunks once. Started smashing things in the bar. Some off-duty troopers said they’d remove them, but I had to give them my night’s wages.”

“Shitheads.” He mutters, getting to his feet. “I don’t want your money. I just don’t like entitled assholes.”

“Thank you.” You get up to your feet, a palm on the wall to steady you, before offering your hand and name.

He takes it in a firm grip, shaking it lightly. “Cloud Strife.”

“I’d say pleasure to meet you, but maybe not in these circumstances.” You force a laugh, but it’s too breathy, but you don’t want to cry. You know he felt your hand trembling when he’d accepted the handshake, adrenaline still coursing its way through your veins - that was the worst encounter you’d ever had in Wall Market. “Thank you again.”

“Don’t mention it.” Cloud pauses for a moment, considering his next sentence. “You were on your way home?”

“I was trying, yeah.”

“Do you live far?”

“Sector 7 slums.”  

“I’m heading that way too - live in Stargazer Heights.” He grabs one arm with the other, looking a little awkward. “Marle’s the landlady.” You know Marle – she’s often sat on her porch outside the apartment block in the day, saying hello to all that pass. “We could walk together.”

“That…” You stick your trembling hands in your jacket pockets, hoping that might get them to stop. “That would be nice, actually. If you don’t mind.”

“Nah.” He shrugs. “Lead the way,”

You nod, taking a cautious step forward, then another. Cloud keeps a respectable distance as you walk out of the alley in silence. The street is completely dead now as you head towards the main gate, but you’re grateful to have the mercenary to your side.

“What brought you to Wall Market tonight, then?” He doesn’t seem drunk, which is the usual draw.

“Colosseum - making some Gil on the fights. You were working?”

“Mm. Thursdays are tough.”

“Money too good to quit?”

“Probably don’t need to tell you how difficult it is to get a job at the moment, so it’s hard to let it go. It’s work there or risk being evicted.” You pause, pre-empting what he might say. “I know I should quit, then I wouldn’t have to deal with creeps like that guy…”

“That creep should’ve taken no for an answer.” Cloud replies, deadpan.

“In an ideal world, sure.” Your stupid hands are still shaking, but it’s travelled up your arms now, making your shoulders shudder.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” He takes a step ahead of you to get a better look, still mindful to keep a respectful distance.

“Yeah.” You don’t even sound convincing to your own ears.

“You don’t have to pretend - probably still processing what happened. Why don’t you sit for a moment?” You haven’t even made it that far outside of Wall Market – just outside Sam’s Delivery Service – the proprietor is nowhere to be seen but a chocobo kwehs softly in its paddock and there’s a few benches dotted around outside, intended to be used by patrons.

“Erm… Okay. Just for a minute.” The tremble has made it to your legs, almost like pins and needles. You sit down heavily on the bench and exhale, slowly, digging your nails into your palms. Cloud remains standing to the side, awkwardly. “You can sit too.”

“You sure?” He quirks an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Please.” It would feel better if he sat down rather than hovering over you. He slides the sword off his back and leans it against the side of the bench, before taking a seat. His legs brushes against yours ever so slightly as he sits and you flinch back at the same time as he does.

“Sorry.” The two of you chorus.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“Neither do you.”

“True.” He murmurs.

You sit in silence for five minutes, your legs gradually getting more and more jittery, your heels starting to bounce against the dirt under your feet and an unwanted burning sensation at your eyes as you reflect upon the evening’s events, what would’ve happened if Cloud hadn’t have…

You swallow around the lump that has developed in your throat. For Shiva’s sake, you admonish yourself, don’t cry now in front of this random man. You’re safe, you’re fine, you’re not even injured anym-

“Hey, do you think my hair looks like a chocobo?” The question comes so far out of left-field your mind stops at once from its spiral.

“What?” You look over at him, convinced you haven’t heard him right.

“My hair – does it remind you of a chocobo? Whenever this guy wants to annoy me, he calls me chocobo head.” He’s patting his locks, the blonde spikes flattening under his touch. The way he’s sitting, you can see the real-life chocobo just over his shoulder and seeing them side-by-side makes you smile, poorly concealing a laugh as the two tilt their heads perfectly in sync.

“You agree?”

“No…” You bite your lip.

“You’re not a great liar.”

“I’m sorry, just…” You point to over his shoulder and the merc turns his head. “I would’ve said no and meant it, but I can see a little bit of a comparison when you’re next to one another.”

“Huh.” He turns back, crossing his arms. “Suppose there’s worst things to be compared too.”

“Mm,” you nod. “Like, a cactaur, for example.”

“You haven’t seen me dance.”

You laugh then – a proper belly laugh at the idea of this stoic ex-SOLDIER pulling out the same moves as a cactaur. Your emotions have been on a rollercoaster for the last hour or so and it’s not surprising when a few tears fall.

Cloud looks awkward, reaching out for you with a hand before retreating it just as fast. “Sorry, I-”

“No, no, it’s okay.” You sniff, wiping the stray tears from your cheeks. “Happy tears – the image is great. Thank you – I needed that.”

He smiles for fleeting moment before it drops with a shrug of the shoulders. “Don’t mention it.”

You dry your hands off on your thighs before getting up to your feet – conscious of the time. “I think I’m good to go now.”

“Cool.” Cloud stands up, placing his hands on his hips. “Let’s mosey.”

You laugh again and a hint of a smile graces the blonde’s face once more.

The walk back is non-eventful, thankfully, accomplished in both bouts of companionable silence as well as idle chitchat. Cloud had offered you the choice to part ways at the gate of the slums, but you’d shyly asked if he could walk you all the way to your door.

"Thank you for everything,” you say, mindful of your volume given the late hour, “I’m really glad you were at the colosseum tonight.”

“Speaking of…” Cloud raises his arm to rub the back of his head, focusing his gaze on the gutter running above your door like it's the most interesting thing on the planet. “I, er, might do some more fights at the colosseum on other nights, you know? I could walk you back after. If you want.”

Your stomach flips at the offer. “That’s really sweet of you, but I only work the closing shift on a Thursday. I do afternoon shifts the rest of the week – gets me out of Wall Market before it gets too rowdy.”

“Oh.” His eyes meet yours for a brief moment before they return to the gutter. “Well, Thursdays I always do - pay-out's higher.”

“If you're sure. I mean, I don't want you going out of your way or anything.”

“I wouldn’t be,” Cloud lies. “I’d be walking that way anyhow, so we might as well walk together.”

“Okay. How about if you do find yourself nearby next Thursday around midnight, you’ll know where I’ll be and we’ll take it from there?”

“Deal.” He steps back and lifts his arm to give an awkward wave. “Night.”

You smile and give a small wave back. “Goodnight, Cloud.”

--

Thursday rolls around both slowly in the hope of seeing Cloud again – and you’d be a lying if you denied not having walked past Stargazer Heights throughout the past week in the hopes of bumping into him - but too fast in the way of having to deal with another night of rowdy patrons.

You’ve just locked the doors and turned to head home when you see the blonde merc the other side of the street, arms crossed, leaning up against a wall. When your eyes meet, he gives the same awkward wave he’d bid you goodbye with a week ago and walks over.

“You came.” You sound a bit more surprised than you intended.

He shrugs before he crosses his arms. “Well, I was in the area, so…”

“Lucky me. How’d the fights go?”

“Fights?” He raises his eyebrow and you bite back a smile at his slip-up. Gotcha.

“You know, at the colosseum...?”

“Oh. Yeah. Fine.” You swear you see a hint of pink across Cloud’s cheeks as he mumbles his response. “Won ‘em all.”

“Congratulations. Never had any doubt.” You turn away from him briefly to kick on the bottom of the door and push the handle down for good measure. “Okay. I’m ready to go, if you are.”

“Er, what was that?”

“It’s just a little thing to help me remember that I’ve locked the door. Nothing like getting halfway home and turning back in a panic…”

“Don’t tell me you’ve really done that.”

“I told you, I really need this job – won’t have it if I leave the bar unlocked.”

“You…” He shakes off a retort. “Forget it. Shall we?” He jerks his chin in the direction of the gate and you nod, the two of you setting off at an easy pace. “How was your night anyway? Any dickheads?”

“Not tonight.”

“Good.”

You turn out of Wall Market and walk again in silence as you pass Sam’s Delivery’s Service, one of the ranch-hands settling down a chocobo in their paddock.

“You know,” you start, scuffing your foot on the ground, “I thought I might bump into you earlier this week. The slums aren’t that big.”

“Oh. Been busy – picking up odd jobs.” He keeps his gaze ahead as he walks, scanning the path ahead for any signs of danger. “Takes me all over Midgar, really.”

“Do you like it?”

He shrugs. “Earns me gil.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Depends on the job, I guess. Some more than others.”

“Okay, well, what would you do if you could do anything you wanted?”

“Dunno.”

“Come on,” you hurry a few steps in front of him to catch his eye, walking backwards, “that’s no fun. You said you left Shinra, so that must’ve been for a reason.”

He quickens his pace to walk alongside you, taking your arm and gently coaxing you back around. “Stop it - you’ll hurt yourself.” “Don’t use my safety as an excuse to ignore my question.” You chide, but take advantage by slipping your arm through the crook of his elbow.

“Just didn’t want to be under their thumb any longer. What do you want to do?”

“Get out from under the plate, see the world.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Costs too much gil. Have you seen the prices they’re advertising for a bus ride to Kalm when the expressway is finished?”

“Not just walk?”

You shake your head. “I can’t even walk home on my own without getting in trouble anymore, how am I going to walk to Kalm with all those fiends about? Plus, even if I got there in one piece, there’s all the other logistics – like where would I stay, how would I make a living?”

“Hm.”

“I don’t know – perhaps the world might just be too big for a slum-dweller like me.”

He frowns. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re much more than that.”

“How can you be so sure?”

There’s the shrug he’s so fond of. “Call it a SOLDIER’s intuition.”  

You keep your arm linked in his the whole way home until he’s escorted you back to your door once again and you reluctantly part.

“So, fighting again on Thursday?”

“I plan to. Working?”

“I plan to.” You tease back. “Thank you again, Cloud.”

You step forward and press a kiss on his cheek, then hurry inside before he can reply or even react. As you peek through a gap in the curtains, you see the merc stood still – a gloved hand hovering over the spot where you kissed.

--

“Ma’am?” You tense at the unfamiliar voice as you twist the key in the lock, preparing yourself to dash back into the bar and barricade the door behind you until morning, but it’s only one of the Sam’s ranch-hands – you’d seen him a few times when you passed - and your shoulders relax. Sam’s proud and ferociously protective of his business - he doesn’t want any trouble at his door so he’s scrupulous with those he hires.

“Hi.”

“Howdy,” the ranch-hand tips his hat, full of country charm. “I’ve been tasked with the delivery of a note for you.” He holds it out – folded over – and you take it, murmuring a thank you.

I’m sorry that I can’t walk you home tonight – something came up. A real chocobo should make quite a suitable replacement for me. Cloud.

“Chocobo?” You look up at the ranch-hand for confirmation.

“Ride’s already paid for, ma’am. Ready to go when you are.”

“Oh, no, I… I couldn’t accept this.”

“Mr Strife thought that might be the case. He stressed that I tell you that we offer no refunds, and he’s already tipped us to come pick you up from here and escort you back to the chocobo stop. He’d be mighty obliged if you’d accept.” You don’t picture Cloud saying that last part exactly, so it must be the ranch-hand adding in his own flavour.

“No refunds, huh?”

“No refunds.” He nods in confirmation.

“I guess I can’t argue with that.” You turn back to the bar door, twist the keys in the lock, kick the bottom of the door and tug on the handle. “Let’s go.”

--

“Afternoon, Marle.” You smile brightly at the landlady of Stargazer Heights the next day, bouncing up and down on your heels in an attempt to conceal your nerves. You’d never been home as early as you had last night, the chocobo ride almost over before you knew it at the speed the carriage had gone down the path. The ranch-hand had accompanied you to your door, again at Mr Strife’s instructions. You’d wondered if the giant sword Cloud had strapped to his back might’ve contributed to how determined he was to follow them to the letter.

“Afternoon. Do you come bearing gifts?”

“Mm, depends,” you move the wicker basket from one hand to another, the contents hidden by a scrap of cloth. “I was wondering, do you have a Cloud Strife in the building?”

“Oh…” She smiles, knowingly, leaning forward over the banister. “Are you the one that keeps him out all hours?”

Your cheeks burn at her comment. “N-no! I mean, he walks me home on a Thursday, but that’s it.”

“That’s what I mean. I saw him hurrying off last Thursday shy of 11. Yesterday he was in a right flap, wouldn’t stop to talk – said he had to get to Wall Market and back before going out again.”

Your scalp tingles and you can’t help the dopey smile at the thought of him rushing to book the chocobo ride for you the day before. “So, he does live here?”

“Mm.” She nods. “Room 2. And he’s in.”

You head up the flight of stairs to the side of the building and walk along to the room in question, pausing a moment before mustering up the courage to knock on the door, your heart now beginning to pound. This had seemed a good idea last night but now it’s come to the execution…

The door opens, revealing a yawning Cloud, hair more mussed up than usual but dressed in his usual attire, sans his gloves and the sword on his back. The mako-blue eyes widen at the sight of you, an unconscious hand coming up to pat down his locks.

“Hi.”

“Hi. I’m so sorry to wake you-”

“No, I was just about to get up anyway - late night. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you smile at his concern. “The chocobo ride was really sweet, but you really didn’t need to do that.”

“I know. I wanted to.”

“I can’t afford to pay you back-”

“I don’t want you to.” He cuts across. “It was… selfish, really, I just wanted to know you’d get home okay. Did they take you the whole way back?”

“He did – properly earned however much you paid extra.”

“Good.” He nods. “A… job came up, I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten about you.”

“I wouldn’t have thought that,” you fib. “But it was still very sweet, so I wanted to repay you somehow, and I came up with two things.”

“I told you, you don’t have to-”

You stand up on your tip-toes and kiss him square on the lips, short and sweet, before stepping back, grinning at the dumbstruck look on the blonde’s face.

“That was the first.” You hold the basket aloft, “Take a look under the cloth for the second.”

Cloud’s cheeks are flushed, his mind trying to catch up with what had just happened, but he lifts the cloth as instructed to reveal a solitary gysahl green.

“Thought my favourite chocobo deserved their favourite snack too.” You can’t help the tease and Cloud shakes his head with a lovesick grin, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you forward against him, the basket dropping from your grip in surprise. He cups your cheek with a hand before he crashes his lips into yours again with enthusiasm, only pulling back when he was sure he’d stolen enough of your breath.

“Think I preferred the first.”

--

Comments, likes and reblogs make my whole day x

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

PS - I just could not resist this nod to the OG:

[strawbqq]

―⟡𝘽𝙎𝘿 𝙢𝙚𝙣 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙖𝙣𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙘 𝙨/𝙤

[Warnings: none.ᐟ✰] [Word count: 631 || 𝓮𝓷𝓳𝓸𝔂.ᐟ]🍓

°ᡣ𐭩ft. chuuya, ranpo, jouno

sfw. hcs

ℂ𝕙𝕦𝕦𝕪𝕒

literally gets SO worried every single time

as soon as he notices you're feeling dizzy, he'll immediately stop whatever he's doing to focus on u

rushes over and demand what's wrong

constantly checking on u even when it's smt minor 😔

offers to call the doctor over, which of course u refuse because this happens quite often

legitly the BEST bf for this ever

holds ur hand in public even tho he's not a big fan of pda

may occasionally whip out his gravity ability so u wont fall on ur ass <3

leaves the house immediately to go buy u iron pills or some shit

forces u to eat them as well yuck

i headcanon that he for some reason gets angry every time this happens???

not at u tho, bro's just concerned

100% overreacts

lets u cuddle w/ him while he finishes his paperwork

gets so worked up every single time but its totally worth it

cuz that means he *might offer to carry u around for the day 😏

9/10,, i need myself a chuuya right tf now :,>

ℝ𝕒𝕟𝕡𝕠

well dang he'll prob make fun of u at first

does get a lil worried if u keep just..,crashing out the second floor window tf

makes u sit down and then jumps on ur lap

proceeds to offer u a snack, because in ranpo's mind sugar = instant recovery

^invents some nonsense that would supposedly make ur dizziness go away and acts completely serious abt it .ᐟ.ᐟ

one time, u got really dizzy in the middle of shopping w/ ranpo and unfortunately it's much worse than usual :,(

u can't even hide it lmao, ranpo's way too observant dang it

guides u to a nearby bench and tells u to wait????

obviously u refuse, the last time he wandered out of ur sight he went missing for 3 days until the ADA managed to track him down again 😭

usually u just wait for the dizziness to pass while ranpo's just kinda...there

even w/ detailed instructions to him in what medicine to buy & where to go, he somehow always manages to get lost 😑

get atsushi to go with him or smt lmao

6/10,, tries to help while causing more harm 😭 im sorry ranpo ily

𝕁𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕠

MWAH MY HUSBAND.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ

uhm. another one who would prob make fun of u at first

let's not forget bro's a sadist eheheheh..forgotten

literally finds out ur a anemic the FIRST day y'all started dating???🤨

keeps an eye out for u since

secretly likes it cause that just gives him a reason to hold ur hand <3

isnt overly sweet like chuuya but y'all???? literally the most helpful

actually gets u the stuff u need

doesn't let u overexert urself but doesn't overreact either

more tactical than the others...prob hides the yucky medicine in food so u wont complain

its scary how he knows exactly when ur gonna get dizzy

like bro will randomly come over and make u sit down while ur like ??????

lowkey on top of ur iron intake

isnt a big fan of physical touch but

would let u cuddle w/ him for a lil bit or play w/ his hair until u feel better

bro im an anemic and im so humbled by him like hes literally blind and he isn't falling all over the place

8/10.ᐟ my fav guys,, but I'm biased🤭

a/n: dejkdhs totally not me kicking my legs & being in love with my own writing.// im just bored and missing my bf, so here's some fluff hcs I made.ᐟ.ᐟ im prob gonna make a pt 2 of this but finals are coming up and uni isnt nice sooo...w'ell see .ᐟ.ᐟ

𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾.ᐟ ʚ🍓ɞ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs + ʟɪᴋᴇs ʜɪɢʜʟʏ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ

o(≧▽≦)o

[moodymisty]

Author's Note: hi

Relationships: Perturabo/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Sex machines, Overstim, I guess you could consider dubcon if you squinted, Oral (male receiving), Cum on face, brief mention of squirting

Unlike Perturabo, who at some point will tire, or more realistically grow bored, this accursed creation of his is unyielding.

It's will is truly iron clad, because it has no will at all; Only circuits and wires.

Perturabo watches of course, evaluating.

This is all just some sort of analysis for him. The newest of his torture devices- you've insisted on calling them that despite the fact that for all intents and purposes, they've provided enough sexual satisfaction for days on end at the cost of your sanity- must live up to the impossibly lofty exceptions he has set for himself. Even if it's not a machine of war, not a tank or an anti-air gun, he still treats his work with an unfathomable amount of rigor and discipline. He accepts no less than perfection.

He's not going to slack and make something subpar, even if it is just something to make his wife lose control of herself and soak his spare workbench.

He's jerked himself off in his desk chair a few times already, though he swiftly realized it was inconvenient to get up over and over again to cum on your face; He wasn't going to just waste it. He's fucked your mouth, silencing your cries and pleas and making your throat burn more. The vibrating sound of your sobbing teased the thick head of his cock and threatened to make his head loll back as he stood in front of you.

You feel like a sloppy mess. Not that you have any control over it. You're done when he says you're done. Or you pass out. Right now it seems the ladder is the more possible option, though you've passed out before during evaluations of his machines, and oftentimes he lets them continue until you return to consciousness.

The wood of the table is harsh against your knees; It was against your forearms as well, but you've since fallen resting on your cheek. The metal digs into your wrists and ankles, biting your skin. Your body is too tired to do much more than just lie there pliantly as tears stream down your face.

You've lost count of the amount of climaxes, both from your brain turning to mush between your ears and the fact that they've by and large stopped- now it's just a nonstop string of near painful sensation that overwhelms you at the precipice of too much. Your cunt clenches around nothing, hips twitching uncontrollably, clit bullied and quivering. Each vibration feels like it's going up your spine and directly into your brain. You swear there's stars in your eyes.

It presses against your cunt just hard enough that you can't wiggle away from it no matter how much you move, your hips gyrating around trying to find a spot of reprieve even if for just a moment.

You found one briefly for a moment awhile ago, and once Perturabo realized he stood up, cock still in hand, and adjusted it to take your solace away. You'd caterwauled at the sudden return of the overwhelming sensation directly on your clit, and you're sure every Iron Warrior on this side of the base could hear your profuse sobbing.

You already have trouble looking them in the eye.

He's turned down the power a bit since, though the amount of time you've spent tied up like this makes even the softest sensation feel like a punch to your aching gut the jolts down to your groin. Sometimes he briefly turns it back up for a moment, if only to briefly listen to you squeal and thrash, the metal of the restraints clanging.

The pleasure he gets from this is clearly worth the hours he spends building these contraptions. He has so many, each torments you a different way and he's more than receptive to tinkering with them if they fail to impress on the first go around.

Sometimes you wonder if watching you get fucked by his creations is more pleasurable to him than fucking you himself.

Perhaps so, though you also know it's not often he gets to build things that are outside of his legion's usage, and you suppose he enjoys the deviation. Even if it's at your expense.

The room filled with nothing but the sound of your sopping wet and puffy cunt getting vibrated to oblivion and the hapless defeated groans you let out, Perturabo finally gets up and walks towards you.

He turns the accursed thing off, unlocking your wrists before gently grabbing your jaw and tilting your head sharply up to look at him in the eyes. His grip is gentle, but forceful.

"Now go get dressed up. Some of the other primarchs will be at dinner."

Spit dribbles down your chin, your hair a mess from writhing. You're still shaking and your heart hammers in your rib cage, body aching from hours of tensing. Your thighs are sticky and wet from your own release and sweat. You look up at him agape and stupid, eyes struggling to focus, your forearms and knees sticking to the table, and all you can let out with your raspy, scream scarred voice is a dumb sounding:

"...What?"

[byoldervine]

Why No Writing Advice Seems To Work

There’s millions of tips out there for writers, but so much of it just doesn’t apply, and it often feels like nothing ever works because you have to wade through a million failures before you find a success. But why is that, exactly?

1. Implicit phasing. Seeking advice while in the drafting phase of your writing can be difficult when many popular tips are more important during the editing phase. It can build on perfectionism struggles that a lot of writers have, but a lot of people genuinely don’t realise that this advice will suit them better for editing rather than drafting. If it’s about improving what you’ve already got, or just improvements in general, don’t touch it until you’re editing; you can’t improve on something that doesn’t exist, so you’ll just be going over the same draft a gazillion times without making progress. What you need to look for are tips for brainstorming, getting out of a funk, etc

2. Concept to blueprint. For me, literal thinking has kept me from understanding a lot of writing advice and, even when I’ve got the gist of it, I struggle to figure out how to take it from a general phrase (e.g. “Show don’t tell”, “Make it a habit”) to something actionable that tells me what I need to do. If you’re misunderstanding what the advice is saying, or you don’t know what actions it’s implying that you take, of course it’s not going to be helpful. Sitting down and dedicating a minute or two to considering it can really help, and if you’re still unsure then always feel free to ask other writers; there’s bound to be others who were in the same boat that can share their own interpretations and the actions they took that helped them

3. Hobbyist approach. If you’re only writing for fun, and especially if you don’t consider yourself a ‘real writer’, it’s easy to think that some of the advice doesn’t apply to you. For me, I always thought that the whole “Write every day, make writing a habit” thing was just for people who were super serious about it or on a schedule, not for people who were just writing for fun and didn’t mind it taking forever. But after trying out NaNoWriMo, I realised I actually quite enjoy having a set routine that allows me to see consistent improvement, and even after NaNoWriMo I experimented to see how often I could write without it feeling more like a chore than a fun activity. It’s definitely worth it to at least try out tips that you think may not apply to a hobbyist just working for fun; sometimes you might learn something else about your writing style, even if the tip doesn’t work for you

4. Unique takes. Ultimately, we’re all different people with different experiences, habits, interests, styles, physical abilities and neurotypes; not everything will work for everyone. And that’s a good thing! Yes, it’s frustrating when we try a popular tip and it just doesn’t work for us like it does others, but that’s one more thing we know about ourselves and how we work, and maybe it’ll lead us to a new discovery that makes it easier going forward. If everyone was the same, all our writing would be the same, and that would be boring. You’ll stand out as a writer by working differently to achieve unique results. And if you find something that works for you, make sure you share it in case others benefit, too!

5. Customise. Finding your own tips and sharing them can lead others to you, and it all starts with experimentation; try new things, mix and match existing tips you’ve tried and figure out what can be adjusted to make your writing process better. I can’t keep to NaNoWriMo’s 1667 words per day demands, it’s too much work in too little time, but I can do 1000 words every week and be much more consistent than I used to be. Or maybe watching your word count all the time demotivates you? Try changing your measurement from X words to writing for Y amount of time - or you could even try both and say you’ll write for a max of Y minutes unless you can reach X amount of words beforehand. Even if it’s not something that was originally intended by the tip, can you find a way to customise it to work better for you?

[aagneauu]

High value habits to elevate yourself 🥂✨

When the term "high value" is mentioned, we often think of things related exclusively to economic wealth, but being a high-value person is an attitude, an attribute founded on habits and a wealthy mentality. So today I wanted to mention a few habits that I personally perceive as something a person with strong standards apply on their lives. ✨

Sorry if there's any grammar mistakes, English isn't my first language :b

1. Long-term mentality ✦

Enjoying yourself is very important, but when we only think about the things that give us temporary pleasure, is often very likely that we forget to take care about our future stability. For example, if you want to travel, the smart thing to do would be to save the money in order to be able to afford it, but how many times we just feel the urge to waste money on unnecessary stuff just to get that brief satisfaction, that bad habit will take us far from our goals. This rule can be applied on almost every aspect, and if you're able to stick to your goals and take decisions according to them, trust me, you'll get very far.

2. Invest ✦

Stop wasting and start investing; your money, your time and your energy. In terms of money, you obviously can spend some of it on pretty stuff, but instead of wasting your whole salary on things you want, a smarter move would be to use part of that money to invest it on something that potentially can give us another income, maybe there's a valuable peace of jewelry or clothing that not only we could use, but to sell and trade in the future, or even if you have enough money saved, you can invest in a property, to not only live in it, but to rent it. Our time and energy works in the same way, we could be wasting our time and energy with people that don't give us nothing we can learn from, and you're worth way more than that. Find people and habits that not only make you feel good and appreciated, but that will leave you something interesting for your personal growth, and remember, better alone than in a bad company.

3. Details matter ✦

How we talk, how we decide to present ourselves to the world, our values, the effort we put on what we make. Every little detail says something about us. For example, something as simple as spraying perfume before we go out makes a difference, or if you study, the amount of time and effort you decide to put on certain classes. Socially, what you decide to say, and to develop the hability to stay quiet when necessary. Maybe you think that those little things don't make a huge difference at the long-term, but when you see how your life can change drastically with every little step you take, you learn to pay attention to it.

4. Patience ✦

It is a strong word, it is even harder to apply to our lives sometimes. Being patient not only with people, but with our circumstances. Sometimes things that we don't like happens, and we don't even understand why because we thought that we did everything right, but everything happens for a reason, it's like a fruit, you could take it out of the tree earlier because you're hungry, but it isn't that mature and tasty, but if you just wait, resist the hunger, the fruit will be way better. That applies to money, emotional growth and life changes. Learn to understand that sometimes, pain will be the sign to something better than your current situation.

5. Stop following the crowd ✦

Set standards and learn what is good for you, if you just rely on others to decide what is best for you, or even worse; you know something is bad for you and still do it for others, then expect low quality experiences. People time to time will call you boring or even extreme just because you decide to be loyal to your values. If something that everyone is doing seems beneficial, do it, but because it gives you something valuable, not because of the crowd. You can apply this rule to everything; friends, money, and other experiences. The amount ot peace and comfort that you can get with this transformation is a huge life upgrade.

This were some topics that come to mind when the "high value" term is mentioned. And remember, no one is perfect and every little thing makes us unique. Life is a long journey that you can decide to upgrade with every little move.

Hope u enjoyed! ♡

[crownmemes]

Mean Sentences, Vol. 8

(Mean sentences from various sources. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"Do you really think you can win?"

"You really are creepy, you know that?"

"If I kill you right now, no one will remember you! No one will miss you!"

"Oh, you really love yourself, don't you?"

"You know this doesn't make us friends, right?"

"Unless you have an IQ higher than mine, I'm not interested in what you think."

"Wow, you might be the least perceptive person I've ever met."

"Oh, you're really not as smart as I thought you were. I guess I gave you too much credit."

"I still don't think there's anything impressive or romantic about this."

"We are not the same. We are never going to be the same."

"You know, your arrogance is one of the big reasons why you're not further ahead with your career."

"Your ruse is pathetic."

"You must have been a very boring child."

"How do you live like this?"

"Everyone has their button. Push it and they go blind. Yours, obviously, is ego."

"I used to look up to you, but now? Now, you're pathetic."

"Can you just leave me alone? Every time you get near me, something bad happens."

"Now I know how weak you are."

"You know, maybe I'm not the problem? Maybe it's you!"

"You're not someone I really want to work with."

"You've got loose wiring. Probably a sociopath."

"You run around trying to fix everything, but you're the one who is broken."

"Have you deceived and betrayed anyone yet today? It is almost lunchtime, after all."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think about you all too often."

"Nothing interests me less than impressing you."

"Wow. I really got to you, didn't I?"

"Maybe you should do what you do best - run and hide."

"You never did lose well."

"I picked that up reading books. You should try it sometime."

"Was it worth it? Compromising yourself for money?"

"Everything they say about you is true!"

"When was it that you lost your imagination?"

"I'm sure some people find you charming, but I don't."

"You don't even feel, do you?"

"You are like a wad of chewing gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe that I just can't scrape off, you know that?"

"Let's get this straight; I don't like you any more than you like me."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Old Scars, New Blood 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, manipulation, borderline bullying, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader has accepted that she'll never be wanted, not only by the man she's crushed on for years, but by anyone. That is until a new player enters the game. (f!, short!reader)

Character: Lloyd Hansen, Thor Odinson

Note: I could blame yall for talking me into it but we know it's all my fault.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The sharp zip cuts through the air. Lloyd hauls the long black bag up and checks his watch. He struts over to you and shoves the heavy luggage at you, letting it go before you can wrap your arms around it. You nearly topple from the weight.

You grunt and hug it tightly, the long duffle isn't exactly a vacation's worth Hawaiian shirts and cargo shorts. You can feel the long metal barrels as cases of ammo dig into your arms. You manage to get a hand on the handle and swing it after several tries onto your shoulder.

He's already halfway out the door. You trail after him, nearly stumbling to keep up. He's so tall you often find yourself running after him like a stray dog. So tall and handsome and--

Shut up! That's not what you should be thinking about.

Your phone vibrates and you struggle to pull it out of your pocket. You sigh as Lloyd continues along without notice, whistling casually as he approaches the stairs. Shit.

As he begins down the stairs, you stop at the top, leaning with the pull of the bag. You try to reply to the text as he makes quick progress to the bottom. 

He whistles up at you and snaps his fingers. You pop your head up and amble down the steps, barely catching yourself against the railing as you slip. When you get to the bottom, he's standing at the door, huffing impatiently.

"What's goin' on, kid?"

Kid. That's what he's always called you. Even though you're not that much younger than him. It's never sweetheart or honey like the pretty ones. Just kid.

"Plane's delayed. There's headwinds--"

"Christ's sake," he snarls.

"Sorry, sir, the pilot's trying--"

"Boring," he chops his hand through the air to silence you, "let's go."

He stands by the closed doors. You try not to let his impatience bother you. You can't blame him. He has an important mission. There's no time to be waiting on a cloud cover.

You open the right door and he steps through, tramping down the stone stairs to the mosaic walkway. Once more you're on your toes as you scurry after him. You watch how his jacket stretches between his shoulder blades. His sleeves hug his arm tightly, showing off his hard work and muscle. You shake your head, stop. Ten years. You know better.

You're out of breath as you get the idling car. Jackson, the driver nods but is similarly ignored as he opens the door for Lloyd. You go to the trunk as it pops and you put the gun bag inside.

You get in the other side as Lloyd splays his legs out and unlocks his phone with his thumb. You keep your cell clutched tight and tap it nervously. He doesn't handle roadblocks well, he's the type to demand and get. Something he hired you to make sure of.

"Well, extra time, I guess," he mutters as he swipes across the screen.

The car rolls up the long drive as you check your messages again. Still no updates. You cross one leg over the other as Lloyd's loafer nearly touches your oxford shoe.

"Hmmmm, can't decide on this one," he grumbles and tilts his screen toward you, "what do you think, kid?" He wiggles it at you as you look at the woman on the screen, "tits are nice but the tattoo screams Hep C."

You nearly gasp but just raise your eyebrows instead. He's always looking for a reaction. Your cheeks set alight and you twiddle your fingers around your own phone.

"Well, sir, I… she's pretty."

"Relax, you won't be invited to threesome," he scoffs and leans back, swiping left, "that's what this is for. Variety."

You don't say a word as you bring your hand to the side of your neck, feeling the heat of your skin. It's not just that it's him saying it, it's that gnawing feeling of inadequacy. The mystery of the unknown makes you self-conscious and wary of saying the wrong thing. The same way when you talk to your sister and she tells you about her husband. Well, you don't hear from her much these days.

"I'll send you their info. You can make a few calls before we get back," he snickers, "get everything ready for me."

"Uh, sure, sir, but uh… like I said before, that's not exactly part of my job."

"Don't tell me what your job is," he barks as he blacks his phone, "goddamn, you're always such a tight ass. Usually I'm all for a tight hole but you really know how to squeeze a man by his balls."

"I'm sorry, sir–"

"Another fucking 'sorry, sir' and I'm gonna snap. I can't do eight hours on a flight with you pouting like that."

"Understood, won't happen again," you dip your head down, "sorry, s–"

You clap your hand over your mouth. The words are so habitual they start to fall out before you realise, and yet another urge to say them. Just stop talking. You peek at Lloyd with wide eyes and drop your hand.

"You're a fucking downer, kid," he sits forward, "Jackie, pull the fuck over."

"Yes, sir," the driver replies from the little speaker under the barrier between the front and back seat. "You, get the fuck out."

You're surprised by his sudden flare of anger. There's not much about him that truly shocks you anymore but as irritable as he can be, this is unusual. His agitation has boiled to molten hot in a matter of minutes.

"Sir?"

"You can walk back and start getting shit ready. I mean, we'll see if you can since you can't get the goddamn plane on the ground," he growls as the car pulls onto the gravel wing of the road. "You're getting fucking soft, kid."

"Sir, I didn't–"

"You did. You fucking killed my boner so get out," he shoos you with his finger and unlocks his phone again, "buh bye."

You hesitate. You slowly move to the door and let yourself out. You're buzzing in disbelief. He can be a jerk, you're used to that, but this all seems so abrupt. You can only assume there's something else bothering him.

You shut the door as you stand on the side of the road. You hear Lloyd's deep timbre muffled inside the car before it pulls away. You stare after it, crossing your arms as you sniff and the sun glares along the edge of your vision.

You slowly turn and face the horizon. You're not that far. Maybe twenty minutes. Well, the single silver lining. You can't help your disappointment. You look forward to missions. It's an excuse to be with Lloyd. A reason for him to put up with you.

You set off, trodding along without urgency. There's nothing at the compound for you. It's not like you go on every mission but it's the unexpected change that gets you. More so, his temper. You see it aimed at others more than yourself.

Your phone buzzes again. The plane's landed. That's good news. As you continue your trek, you dial out to Lloyd's phone and put the speaker to your ear. No answer. Several more tries have a similar result, the last call clicking dead right away.

You send a text and it bounces back as undeliverable. You don't get it, your signal is strong. It's a military grade phone. You slide your phone away and try not to let your anxiety get the best of you.

He wouldn't block your number, would he? 

You're not special, that much is clear, but you've stuck around so long that you just can't see it ending over one slip-up. Sure, Lloyd has screamed agents out of the compound, he's even stranded them in hostile grounds, but they weren't there as long as you've been.

You drag your feet as you approach the gate. You let yourself in with the code and ignore the gazes of agents as you cross the yard and go back inside.

All this and for what?

If Lloyd fires you, you've spent ten years pent up in places like this, doing his grunt work. The tail end of your twenties and much of your thirties traded for imagined cues and empty hopes. You accepted long ago that Lloyd would never see you, just the woman he called 'kid', but the thought of losing even that makes you want to cry. You can accept that you're not as good as the models he fucks around with, but you can't accept not being there at all.

You're overreacting. You always do this. It's always the end of the world.

Lloyd will come back and everything will go back to normal. You're the only one who gets his coffee right and knows that he hates mushrooms but loves Salisbury steak. He needs you, just not like you want him to.

❤️‍🩹

Radio silence. You don't hear from him and any message you try to send is unanswered. He's on a mission, he's in blackout mode, yet you can't help but be paranoid.

Without him to order you around, you're not quite sure what to do with yourself. It's sad but that's just who you are. You're not the one doing, you're the one listening to those who do. 

The first day is the worst of it. On the second, you're not as addled and a bit relieved not to be hidden in some safe house waiting for a signal or listening to Lloyd make sick jokes. Still, you'd rather be with him.

The second night, you expect some sort of word from him. Still nothing. 

You lay in bed, restless. You don't dream about him anymore, you don't close your eyes and think about what it'd be like to be beautiful or interesting, you know it will never happen. But you worry about him. That you'll never be rid of.

The third morning, a Saturday, you go down to make your coffee. Other agents mill about as the tech crew speak into their headsets and type furiously. Something’s going on.

You near the doorway and listen in, trying to discern the chaos. There's cams to switch cameras and directions given, coordinates read out and warnings about oncoming targets. It's the usual, the same chatter you listen to over the comms when Lloyd's out in the field. Now you can only hear one side.

As the tempo builds, there's another furor. The chime that signals the censor at the front gate. Rico storms out of comms central as you flatten yourself to the wall and wait to trail him until he's past the stairs.

"What the fuck is going on?" He waves an agent in black close, "who the fuck is here?"

The agent puts his fingers to his earpiece, "we have sights."

"I asked who it was, not if you can make a shot," Rico shoves the man and stomps to the front doors, shoving them open before him. "Tell them to go the fuck away."

An agent runs up the driveway, puffing as he holds his gun securely in front of him. He stops as Rico gets to the bottom of the stairs 

"Sir, sir, it's… it's Valhalla."

"Val-what?" Rico snips.

"Valhalla!" The man repeats louder.

"Shit. Fuck." Rico continues in a rampant flurry of Spanish, "they're early."

"Sir," the agent bows his head as another appears before him.

You frown and watch from the doorway, trying to stay out of sight as you eavesdrop. 

Hm. Valhalla. You know the name, rather well, but only through correspondence. A code name. For a faceless man and his deep pockets. You hadn't heard it recently though. You thought that whole thing fizzled out.

"Fuck, Hansen, take your fucking time," Rico mutters between his Spanish diatribes, "let them in. Full search." You hear him clop back up the stairs before he blusters inside, "I need men. Now!"

He turns and sees you cradling your coffee with a dumb look. He sneers and rolls his eyes, "perfect. You'll do. We need rooms. We have guests."

"What?" You squint. 

"You're a woman, you should know how to make them at home."

"You're not my boss," you grimace and drink your coffee.

"Don't get smart with me just because that idiot keeps sniffing at his heels. Go and do something useful for once," he claps at you.

You don't move. You take orders from one person. Otherwise, you stay out of the way.

"Fuck!" He hollers and twists on his heel again.

He marches into the next room and you slowly near the front doors, still ajar as they gape out at the golden day. You come outside and descend the steps, standing just by the plinthed flower vase at the bottom. You watch the gates roll apart, letting in the convoy lined outside.

There are four cars in total. All ivory and gleaming. They hardly seem like military vehicles.

You don't get it. You pull out your phone and scroll through your emails. The last message you got from Valhalla was months ago and it left you at a stalemate between them and your indomitable boss.

The first car pulls up and stops, the other fanning out behind it. Agents circle, keeping a broad perimeter as they watch with similar intrigue. Rico appears again, muttering to himself as he holsters a gun.

You look back to the grated bumper of the luxury SUV. The engine rolls over as you find yourself holding your breath. This is it, the vaunted Valhalla. You keep your mug close to your chest as the car door opens and your jaw nearly hits the floor.

It's a man more gorgeous than anyone you've ever seen before. Well, maybe not everyone but damn close. His golden hair is braided down his back and a few wavy strands hang loose around his face. His sky blue eyes shine in the sunlight as he smiles, the expression lining his face immaculately. You gulp and force your mouth shut.

There's a brief lull before anyone reacts. Rico is the first to snap into action. He clamours down and offers a hand, "Valhalla, hello, Rico. Hansen is in the field but I will be your host."

"Ah, Rico," Valhalla repeats with a keen lilt, "you'll do for the time being."

His blue eyes scan the facade of the compound. It appears nothing more than a remote and overpriced mansion. The man takes a deep breath as if tasting the air and pauses as his gaze falls upon you. His brows twitch but he does not react otherwise.

He turns back to Rico and claps his back, "well, we traveled far, we require food and sleep and if you can spare it, lots of alcohol."

[bump1nthen1ght]

Silver and Gold (M!Siren!Reader x M!Pirate Captain)

Pairing: Male!Flirty!Siren!Reader x Male!Pirate Captain

Genre: Pirates, Flirting, First Meetings

Word Count: 2570 words

Warnings: N/A

Summary: For living a life in a sailor’s death trap, you think you’d be used to handsome pirate captains, rushing headlong into adventure. But something about today’s quarry seems different.

Request May I request a flirty male! siren! reader with a male gruff pirate captain? I'll leave the details up to you! Love your works by the way, take all the dang time you need. :3

A/N: Alright now THIS one should be accurate to the request lolol. You guys get a two for one special!

Life in the Dragon’s Teeth was shockingly boring.

Its reputation is infamous, the majority of sailors being sensible enough to leave it well enough alone. Of the people who dared to enter most were young and braggadocious sailors looking to prove their worth, who often made for quite boring sport. They always thought they were somehow better than siren magic, that pure belief could beat an enchantment powerful enough to literally make men wantonly fall to their deaths.

Bo-ring.

You think, watching one such ship entering into the gorge, men lined up the sides like pigs ready for slaughter. Your ravenous siblings all leap for the chances, hiding behind treacherous rocks or laying alluringly on outcrops, all ready for a taste. Despite the ship you all sank just one week ago, their bellies never seem to fill.

You however, have grown tired of this. Too easy, too monotonous. Maybe it’s time you finally spread your fins and leave the gorge, head into open water and explore the seas. Would be much more interesting than this, that's for sure.

You roll back over on your fins as the siren’s begin to sing, a haunting chorus bouncing off the chasm as the ship deftly avoids the rocks. Rolling your eyes, you daydream about the Great Barrier Reef, wondering if it’s as magnificent as they say.

But then-

“Ugh, come on!” A particularly voracious sister of yours hum to a tune of discontent, harshing her usually sweet melody. “I’m hungry! Why is this taking so long?”

“I don’t know.” A more rational brother of yours whispers, just loud enough for you to hear from your outcrop. “They should be overboard by now.”

That’s enough to have you turning over, eyes lazily sweeping over the ship, now deep in the Dragon’s Teeth. To your surprise, every sailor still seems hard at work, keeping mindful of the edges of the ships, but fulfilling their duties. Even the watchman at the crow’s nest, isolated as they are, stays perched and at the ready, looking over at your beckoning family with nervous yet un-enchanted eyes.

Now this is new.

You slide down a mossy outcrop, slipping in between the confused masses of your siblings, whose songs grow more and more discordant. Some have even swam up to the sides, clawing at the bows and preening like young pups. Still, the sailors ignore them, not paying any mind.

For a whole ship to be free of a whole horde of siren’s is a shocking thing, a terrifying thing, a wonderful new thing. You have to know more, so you crawl along the rocks, exploring the entire hull with watching eyes. 

Is there some boon they’ve brought with them? Did they find a witch and ask for safe passage? Has Poseidon himself blessed their voyage?

You wander from man to man, trying to find a hint of any wills breaking. But while curious eyes occasionally steal a glance at your siblings, curiosity is its reason, not compulsion. Any who dare get a sharp retort from the man at the helm, though they hardly deem to notice.

It’s then you realize, all these men are deadly silent. Not a peep between them, not even shouting orders. Except the helmsman, all the others silently following a preapproved pattern, a routine.

Oh, and what a helmsman he is.

It's easy to see how much better dressed he is than his men, a crimson coat that falls to his knees, closed by several belts and buckles over a ruffle white shirt. Gold studs decorate up and down his ears yet he is sparsely decorated elsewhere. Long black hair peppered with gray is tied in a low ponytail, healthy and silky despite a life at sea. His beard is less maintained, more scraggly, split apart by the occasional scar across his jaw. His boots are polished leath, not a scratch or stain on them, and his trousers are well fitted. Especially across his buttocks, which you take the time to appreciate.

The other thing that catches your eyes are his hands. Hands which swiftly attend to the wheel, in fact are tied to the rudders. His breathing is labored slightly, his cheeks darkened from focused exertion. Still, he keeps his eyes straight, shouting loudly to a young third mate who dares to ean over the side of the ship. The man ignores him, up until the captain kicks at a nearby can into the man's leg, shocking him to attention.

Oh, I see.

Seems you’ve found yourself an interesting prey.

—

Royce felt like a fool.

All his life he’s been a pragmatic man. Where other Captains gambled, brawled, and squandered their lives in stupid feats of bravado, he had always kept a level head. Sure, he’s a pirate and knew to have some fun, but he always did so with care.

He had weighed his options heavily before deciding on the Dragon’s Keep. It wasn’t easy, nor without risk, but the quickness of the route and the assurances of his men had convinced him. His plan would allow them to reach their next port in half the time, beating out any other rival crews to what was rumored to be an excellent bounty. He had even concocted a plan to ensure casualties would be at a minimum, scrounging for texts and stories about the fabled place to be best prepared.

But he had just been so goddamned curious.

“Cotton in the ears, huh?” 

A melodic voice knocks Royce out of his focus, thanking the gods for his resilience and not flinching at the site of the siren, now hoisted up the side of his ship. He thanks his foresight in tying his hands to the wheel, knowing that even without a song, the siren could easily lure him to his death.

“It’s a good plan, surprised you’re the first to think of it. There’s always a risk of course, that we’d be louder, but it seems they’ve packed those eardrums full.” The siren drags a clawed hand across the railing. The siren has a more human disguise, fins and teeth and scales all out to show. It does not make him any less alluring. 

Glowing yellow-green eyes dance up and down the captain’s form, a black tongue wetting the siren’s lips.

“So why not you, Captain?” The title drips out of the siren’s mouth like honey, his beck arching as he relaxes along the railing, precariously balancing his weight yet not a care in the world. “Is it supposed to be a challenge, a test of your willpower?” Sharp eyes dart to his tied hands “Or just plain ego?”

Royce takes a deep breath, meeting the beast’s gaze. He is a proud man, maybe too proud, but he’s not stupid.

“I am an example for my men, siren. I cannot be bested by a simple song.”

“Hmm, a likely story.” The siren sits upright, tail now swung over and onto the ship. He leans forward, a gleeful look in his eyes. “You are doing rather well. Most men would have torn their arms clean off by now.” A heat lingers over Royce’s arms, the siren’s gaze covetous. “It would’ve been a shame, they seem like very nice arms indeed.”

Royce tries not to feel flattered. These are games, that is all.

“I have faced many challenges in my life. None of them have claimed me yet.”

Royce keeps the details to a minimum. He’s content that he’s able to keep his composure this much, the siren testing his strength.

The siren’s laugh is as frightening as it is charming.

“Ah, so ego it is. Though you seem smarter than other idiots who have tried it before.” The siren goes back to his tied hands, to his tense posture. “And far more handsome. Awfully bold, coming into a territory like this looking like that.”

Royce scoffs. 

“Are you here only to play with you food, beast? Or do you find joy in plying me with compliments instead of singing?”

“Ooh, some sass! Good to know your words are as sharp as your sword, Captain.” The siren licks his lips. “And that jawline. My, my, I think you put even my kind to shame.”

Royce rolls his eyes, only making the siren laugh more. It seems that this Siren is less interested in eating him and more in entertaining himself.

“I have to ask, most others who pass through here are looking for a fight. A chance to prove themselves. You seem rather content on passing through, your men as well. Why come through this place?”

Royce stays quiet, thinking over any potential danger in revealing his plans to siren. If anything, nothing could be more dangerous than the position he is in now.

“It’s the quickest route. My men seemed up to the challenge, and so was I. We’re pirates, it’d be unbefitting for us to cower away from the riskier route.”

The siren nods. “True, true. Still, quite a risk indeed.” The siren flashes a smile full of glittering fangs.

The ship rocks, several of his men thrown to their knees as a stray rock scrapes against its side. The siren rocks with the waves, easily keeping his balance.

Royce grits his teeth. Is that what this was? A distraction? But the siren seems disquieted, slightly annoyed.

“Gah, fucking ridiculous that lot. So gluttonous.” The siren leans over, hissing an angry song. Royce almost wishes for the cotton, but finds no compulsing rhythm.

The ship stops rocking, the sound of rushing water as sirens fall to the wayside. The cacophonous songs fall to the side, though some still linger, waiting for a fortunate accident to occur.

“This place you're going to, will it have adventure?”

Royce raises his eyebrow.

“One would hope. Treasure too.”

The Siren’s smile is giddy, almost like a child.

“Then it’d be a shame if you got stuck here, then.”

The siren leans over the side, raising his hand, pointing to the portside.

“You’ll want to turn 20 degrees. There's a hidden outcrop that will cut through your hull.”

Royce grits his teeth, but follows the siren’s instructions. The ship sails smoothly, barely rocking.

“Now 10 degrees.”

  Royce turns again, just missing another jagged set of rocks. Sirens hiss in the water, Royce’s companion hissing back.

“Seems dangerous, betraying your own kind like this.”

“Bah, they’ll survive. They’re not even hungry, just peckish.”

The siren eyes him up and down again.

“Though you have me absolutely ravenous, Captain.”

Royce focuses on the wheel, hoping the siren doesn’t see his ears tips turn red.

—

This is definitely the most fun you’ve had in the while.

The Captains is as cunning as he is handsome, deft hands talented with the wheel. He peppers in anecdotes from his times at sea, a casual tone for such riveting stories.

In between instructions you take the time to eye him up more, those thick thighs and that strong back. You weren’t lying, he does put some sirens to shame.

“You’ll want to avoid those.” You point toward a deceptive spot of calm water. “The area alone sank an entire Navy Ship once. We feasted for weeks, though the meat was less than exemplary.”

“With only military rations, I’d imagine they aren’t very tasty.”

“Exactly! Gods, you’d think I’d be the only siren with taste around here.”

You see the faintest of a smirk from The Captain, which he quickly stomps away. He shares your dark sense of humor, quite fitting. You’ll get a laugh out of him yet. “15 degrees, starboard-side.”

The Captain follows with ease, your directions trustworthy by now. The crew still seem wary, unaware of the conversation due to the cotton in their ears, but they continue their work. Either their trust in their captain is strong, or they're too terrified to disobey in such treacherous waters.

The sun has begun to peak through, the end of the gorge insight. Your mind is slightly conflicted. A sadness, that the most interesting person you’ve met will soon be on his way. A glee, that this might be your best chance to leave the Teeth and explore the world.

The Captain clears his throat.

“It’s got its ups and downs, pirate life. Plenty of boring days, plenty of dangerous ones, plenty in betweens.” The Captain’s eyes stay on the horizon, safety so close for him and his crew. You smile.

“Would this be one of the ups, or one of the downs?” You wave to the jagged rocks, to the hungry eyes that linger from the water.

“I’m still undecided.”

You and your arm on the railing, watching the tides front the gorge clash with the ones outside.

“Still, it’s better than the same thing everyday. I think that's why most men go to sea, for the adventure, the undiscovered.”

Your eyes must be sparkling, minds filled with whales, sea turtles, with sunken ships and glorious battles.

The sun now speckles the hull of the ship, men visibly relaxing as the bow breaches the Dragon’s Teeth and splashes into safe waters. No one removes the cotton from their ears, however, still aware of your presence.

“I must thank you for your service, siren. I do not think we would’ve made it through unscathed if not for you.”

“____, It’s ____.” You say, eyes still on the wide ocean, on all the possibilities.

The Captain smiles, a familiar longing in your eyes.

“And it’s no problem. I think you’ve helped me more than you know.”

You whisper, heart thrumming. 

“You could join us, you know.” That has you whipping around, eyes wide. “I think you’ve proven yourself more than trustworthy. Besides, it would be helpful to have someone as powerful as you aboard.”

Your heart rises, bubbling up with excitement. But the fearful gaze of the rest of the crew still stings on your back, hackles raised.

“I think I’m gonna go out on my own for a while.” You hum, tapping your claws against wood. “See the world, really prove myself.”

The Captain keeps the quiet, nodding along silently. 

You sigh. Just a couple of hours with this man and you’re already melancholy to leave. For shame, ___, don’t you know better?

“Well, it’s a big ocean, Captain. But I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” You ready yourself on the rail, sitting upright and pivoting your tail to the outside of the ship. “Who knows, maybe I’ll be especially hungry next time.”

The Captain smirks, clicking his teeth.

“I’ll put up a hell of a fight, ___.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will-”

“Royce, the name’s Royce. Captain Royce.”

You smile, scaly cheeks glittering like diamonds in the sun.

“Until we meet again, Captain Royce.”

You give him a wink, eyeing up that gorgeous body of his one last time, and jump tail first into the ocean.

His ship fades into the sun as you swim away, hopeful that you’ll bump into it again one day. A day when you’re more worldly, have more adventurous stories to share.

You eye up the reef, several sirens slinking away, discontent with their food stolen. Whatever, they’ll get over it.

Your older sister might be a little upset about your abrupt departure, but she’ll get over that too. After all, she often leaves to visit that pirate paramour of hers, so what's the big difference?

Hell, maybe next time, you’ll come back with one of your own.

[akutasoda]

* ☆ my heart's wish, a lover's gift

╰➜ wriothesley x reader

synopsis - it was, a humble wish. but sometimes they mean the world when they come true

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, small teensy bits of angst, maybe a tad ooc, probably the most cliche thing i'll ever write, wc - 2.5k

a/n: this is my secret santa fic dedicated to the one and only, super amazing sunni @scribs-dibs which i totally didn't rewrite completely with 5 days before the deadline... ahem- hope you enjoy this sunni!! im wishing you the absolute best and more, happy holidays :)

it was always a commonly known fact that wriothesley was always quite the busy man.

he spent most of his time down in the fortress. it was his job after all. although ever since you came into his life, wriothesley did try and spend more time away from the damp depths of the fortress - but when that wasn't entirely possible you could always count on letters back to you or even taking the initiative and visiting him yourself.

even during the holidays wriothesley was still required to be at the fortress, to nobody's surprise. he didn't exactly have the most flexible schedule and definitely didn't have defined holidays or even days off. so you weren't that disappointed to find out that he wouldn't have the winter holidays off as you expected that to be the case.

although that still didn't take the sting of realisation away. even a simple walk down the streets of fontaine could be a painful reminder of how little you saw the man you cherished so. seeing most people smiling and interlocking arms with their spouses or even simply being with their friends was a reminder painful enough to bubble that bitter feeling of loneliness back to the front of your mind.

even being home didn't help very much - opening the door to you and wriothesley's shared abode just to be greeted with silence was always a cold reminder as to where your lover was most of the time, at least the fortress was livelier than the lone rooms of the abode.

you often found solace in the fact that you knew that wriothesley would rather be spending his time with you. but the simple truth was that you loved him and he loved you, so you bore the cold isolation until he returned once more as you knew it would be worth the wait.

but was it really so much of an absurd wish for him to be home a bit more?

it was christmas eve.

the final chills of winter were more evident than ever, promising a few more days of sheer cold. but your day had been its same monotonous routine. a couple of errands had been run and companions of yours had been met - namely as most would be busy the following day.

but you were running out of things to do, ways to distract yourself. a part of you wondered if you could ever get someone to give wriothesley time off, although you had simply no clue on who would even be responsible for something like that

the streets of fontaine had never looked prettier. at least it was a pleasant sight while you wallowed in your own thoughts and dejection.

“may i ask what's weighing on your mind?” the calm, rather distant, voice served to startle you and scurry your thoughts away.

you looked to find neuvillette walking closer to you until he stood beside you, a quizzical yet composed look on his face.

your gaze became slightly downcast and you shook your head in an attempt to send a silent, unspoken, signal of “don't worry about me” before you looked up at him to finally verbalise something, something unrelated to his previous question

"what brings you out here at this time? surely you're quite busy?” and your assumption would be correct, it was barely the evening and so from what you remembered, neuvillette would most likely still be occupied with some kind of work

he let a small reassuring smile grace his face before briefly explaining something about having a break and taking a moment for himself

before he stopped briefly before continuing on a rather different train of thought, “apologies i digress from my true intentions, i'm here specifically to give you a message”

now it was your turn to be confused, “me? from who and what about?”

“i'm afraid it isn't that kind of message, as they only asked for me to ask you to meet them here” neuvillette hummed as he handed you a rather scruffy note

you read it's contents and something was itching at the back of your brain, you knew that handwriting. it looked so familiar yet you couldn't place exactly who it would've belonged to - perhaps your mind was too occupied to think clearly.

a brief thank you and a bid farewell was exchanged between the both of you as you began to make your way to the location. a million and one thoughts raced through your mind as to who would've wanted to see you right now, or even simply who.

it didn't take long at all for the named destination to be reached, neither did it take long for you to start thinking it was some kind of joke as it appeared nobody was there. maybe you were early? neuvillette wasn't exactly the kind to get himself caught up in jokes or pranks.. in your eyes anyway.

you looked down to the piece of paper again, rereading those same words, the handwriting still so painfully familiar yet completely lost on you as to who the owner was.

you flipped it over to see if you missed anything but the blank space led to that idea being quickly shut down. looking up again, you scouted the area to see if anyone was in the distance at least but yet again being greeted by the streets being bathed in an eerie silence, devoid of life.

a few minutes had passed since you arrived, it was cold and the evening certainly wasn't getting any earlier, so you decided that if this person didn't show up in the next couple of minutes you would just go home and confront neuvillette tomorrow. hopefully getting him to tell you who gave him the note and told him to deliver it.

just as you sighed to yourself, you heard footsteps approaching. looking around yet again, you managed to quickly deduce just where they were coming from - mainly by the distant shadow shrouded figure that was heading in your direction.

your eyes narrowed, attempting to try and deduce who it was and you swore from the figures stature and outline that you knew who it was immediately. but it couldn't be no? he would've told you if he had finally been granted time off.

your train of thought, and even slight bewilderment, was very quickly cut off when the figure got close enough for you to start distinguishing features.

features that undoubtedly belonged to your lover, the very same who you were not expecting to see anytime soon.

it took all your strength not to practically run and throw yourself at him - and judging from the way he stopped briefly before picking up the pace, nearly breaking out into a jog, wriothesley was fighting a similar battle.

although, he was losing his. as soon as wriothesley was in a reasonable range of you, he virtually tackled you into a hug. knocking you off balance to the point you would've fallen over should he have not been holding you.

wriothesley quickly had one arm around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest as his over arm worked its way up to allow him to place it over your shoulder, holding the base of your neck. at this point he was practically squishing you, but for now you couldn't care less.

you began to relax into his grip, slowly beginning to attempt to wrap your arms around his frame. it was almost as if the bitter cold of winter was long forgotten and the evening could slip away freely as for right now, all that mattered was that wriothesley was here. in your arms, embracing you after so long.

although it was only a matter of time before you started questioning why he was here. it wasnt that you didn't want him here, if anything it was the exact opposite but

it was simply the fact that you kind of expected him to not have the time to be with you anytime soon.

he pulled away first, it wasn't as if you had the option to anyway with his bear grip making it near impossible, but he brought your hands into each of his as he did so, holding them low. almost as if he couldn't believe himself that he was actually with you.

wriothesley could see your slightly confused expression and he could take quite the accurate guess as to what was the cause of your confusion. so he soon broke the air of silence between you

“you didn't really think i'd let you spend the season alone, did you?” his expression was one that was somewhere between a smug smile and genuine slight amusement that stemmed partly from his curiosity.

the obvious answer was yes.

you knew he wouldn't have done so intentionally, but it was pretty much expected that wriothesley was always more likely to be stuck deep in the depths of the fortress rather than in the comfort of your shared abode. so you hadn't expected him to be around, and even the mere thought of him having the holiday off seemed like wishful thinking on your end.

and he hadn't exactly told you otherwise at any point prior.

slowly, and slightly embarrassingly, you shook your head no and he let out a small awkward laugh

he smiled, “i don't blame you, even i only knew a couple of hours ago after i managed to fight my way into gaining these next couple days due to-”

his reasoning was soon lost to you.

rather admittedly, you couldn't actually care less about how or why he was granted a holiday and you definitely wouldn't question it in risk of jinxing him, somehow causing him to lose it and then he would end up going back to the fortress.

wriothesley quickly clocked your lack of interest in his reasoning and shook his head subtly, stopping his explanation which was losing its point by the second in honesty.

“nevermind, all that matters is that i'm here now and able to spend my time with you”

and with that, wriothesley gave you a smile, “so, how about we head home now yeah? it certainly isn't getting lighter”

you nodded.

wriothesley let go of both your hands, walking away in the direction of your shared home with you by his side. but it barely took a minute before he interlocked his fingers with yours on the side that was between you both.

he raised your hand in his slightly, “how about we stay like this for the journey? wouldn't want your hands to get cold now would we?” he smirked slightly at seeing you practically stare at him in disbelief.

all of sudden, the streets of fontaine seemed all the more brighter and livelier - despite actually having less people in them.

the lights twinkled brighter, illuminating a soft glow onto wriothesley's features as he talked to you about whatever was on his mind, namely what you both could do tomorrow with his day off.

you couldn't help but stare shamelessly at the joy evident on his face - something that was caused by the fact that he was thrilled to be able to simply spend time with you.

the walk home felt unreasonably quick, perhaps you were simply longing for more small moments like that wishing that they never ended - even if the end goal was back at home, with wriothesley by your side which only meant more time with him in retrospect.

upon opening the door, your shared abode feeling warmer and happier despite nothing actually physically being changed.

wriothesley stayed glued to your hip at all times. barely sparing you a minute to yourself but it wasn't as if you minded that much. he followed you like a lost puppy as you went about whatever you had to do, occasionally, and very regretfully, he would part from you to do his own thing before sprinting back to you.

and before you both started getting ready to turn in for the night, he turned to you, smiling softly as he brought you in for a kiss - one that held many apologies from his end but still carried the same warm feeling of affection, almost as if it was a promise.

a silent vow to you - one that pledged that no matter what, he would always hold an unmatched love for you and how he would always return to your embrace wherever it may be as that was his home.

you awoke the next morning, in your grogginess you could swear last night was a dream. some kind of wishful thinking to keep your mind occupied from a bitter reality. fortunately, it wasn't.

it would be hard to believe it was when you could feel wriothesley clinging onto you like some overgrown puppy, almost as if he was too scared to let go of you for his own fear of it being a dream as well.

but it was in fact a welcome reality, as opposed to the one you were more acquainted with of waking up to a usual half empty bed that was always stone cold to the touch.

he stirred when you did, pulling you even closer toward him, a silent plea for you to allow him to indulge in the gentle warmth that was provided by the air of laziness that was still very much present in the morning air. and who were you to reject him?

and to sweeten the deal, wriothesley began peppering your face in gentle kisses. opening his eyes ever so slightly and giving you a syrupy warm smile that was infectious - his messy bed hair making him all the more charming, evidence that this was one of the best rests he'd had in a long time.

it was this domesticity that you both craved.

the snugness of having small moments like this to give the reminder of what kept you two together. love so much more present in these times. just the two of you, in your shared house, not even doing anything, but it was more than enough.

you both could bare those bitter droughts of being away from one another if it meant that this was always what you two could return too and treasure.

truly all you could ever wish for was wriothesley back home in your arms - and he would do anything to fulfil that wish.

[alexthetrashyracoon]

CW// None, a bit cursing (tiny bit, don’t even know why I’m telling you this :>) Mistakes are now adoptable, find one, take one for free.

Likes/Shares/Comment are all free and happily received <3 I’m still not sure how Tumblr actually works, so I’m just pushing stuff out until one of you tells me to stop <3

Simon is your new neighbor, you saw him, together with what you assumed some of his friends, move a couch and some boxes up the stairs of the building. You even exchanged some nice words with one of them in the elevator.

But you haven’t really talked with Simon personally, despite being his neighbor for almost three weeks now.

So one evening you decide enough is enough and prepare some of your famous Spaghetti.

Everybody loves Spaghetti, right?

You quickly change into something more appropriate than your joggers and some loose shirt and march over to Simon’s apartment.

He opens the door, after letting you wait for almost two whole minutes. His hair is wet, he must have been in the shower. “Yeah?” He asks gruffly, wiping a short strand of blonde hair from his handsome, gruffly face.

Maybe you blush, but that’s not important right now.

“Hey!” You grin, introducing yourself and holding out the bowl with spaghetti and tomato sauce. “I brought food as a welcome gift.”

“Yeah, that make… do you want to come inside?” Simon chuckles, a bit overwhelmed by your enthusiasm.

You grin and slip inside.

The apartment is almost naked. The couch in the middle of the room, a potted plant in the corner. Otherwise not much else. But there are boxes. “You moved her three weeks ago and you still haven’t unpacked? I would turn insane if I had to live out of boxes.”

Simon snorts in reply and shows you to the kitchen, which looks more lived in, fresh fruits, paper bags, dishes in the sink.

You two settle at the small dining table, both of you a plate filled with heated up spaghetti.

“Please, you have to explain to me, what made you think ‘I will now go over to my new neighbor and introduce myself with a bowl of spaghetti?” Simon asks and picks up his fork.

“I could have brought muffins or cookies or something equally boring. Bringing something like Spaghetti will make sure I’ll be on your mind.” You grin and Simon laughs deeply at that. He nods and you two start eating in silence.

After that you talk, he offers you a beer and you agree, you move onto the couch, one beer turns into two and two into three. Talking to Simon was easy, mostly because he listened most of the time, he asked questions and answered yours, not with too many words but with enough that you got the idea.

He was a soldier, had retired earlier this year and was now trying to figure out what to do with his life. You like listening to him, his voice is gravely and deep, you hope you can listen to him talk much more often.

One hour turned into two and soon the sun rose through the big windows of the place which makes you go wide eyes.

“What time is it?” You ask when he was talking about some bar misbehavior that happened with some of his teammates.

“Eight I think?” Simon answers when he catches himself since you surprised call had startled him.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I have to go. Now. I had to be at work an hour ago! Call me if you want to repeat this meeting!” You grin and hurry out of Simon’s apartment.

Of course you’ll get reprimanded when you show up almost two hours too late to work, but the meeting with Simon was worth it. And when your phone vibrate minutes after you started, you glance down on the screen and see Simon’s name.

‘I’ll make some mean burger. Come by after your shift. And when you’re up for it, we unpack my stuff so I don’t live out of boxes any longer, you little pest.’

[quinnkdev]

i wrote a short thing about OFF, and my relationship to it as its translator; thoughts ive wanted to put into words for a while.

you can read it here as well, under the cut.

wait! wait... there is more to be said about OFF than, at the time of my previous review, i had the bandwidth for. i had, temporarily, reached a point of saturation with it - you only regurgitate a game's text again and again so many times until you start getting a bit weary of it, after all - but now that the bomb has burst and the remake is public knowledge (i kept that stuff secret for 2+ years!), i have the peace of mind to really unpack this. OFF was my companion for the late end of my teen years and more or less the whole of my current adulthood. the better - maybe even the best parts of my life - were (at least in part) shaped by adoration for and dedication to this game and its story. OFF survived the beginning and end of several friendships and relationships (romantic or otherwise) throughout my life, and i project it will survive many more - if not me, as a living human being. and i hope you understand that this is a lot to put into writing. can you imagine? something you did at 16 years old, because you were bored and liked a video game; a text someone else made, passed through you like a pamphlet - outgrowing you like that, becoming larger than you may ever be? i wrestle with that feeling frequently. some would grow resentful of the object of this kind of ruminating, especially as a writer and gamedev themselves- but i can't find it in me to ever hate OFF, no matter how often i hear about it; there simply is nothing like it. OFF has created several core memories that i can flash back to. i remember the knot in my stomach at its ending. i remember that it was time to sleep, and i remember staring at the ceiling, closing my eyes, and seeing void behind them, with white bedsheet ghosts floating there. i remember the resolve to translate it. i remember: "i have to show this to decon" (a friend that i've long since stopped speaking to). i remember isaiah (friend i lost touch with, number 2) asking me to keep working on the translation because he loved the game and wanted to know what happens in zone 2. i remember a vacation in france i mostly spent on a shoddy laptop my grandmother owned, on slow (maybe dial-up) internet, tinkering in RPG maker 2003, trying to make more headway in a language i only barely knew better than the one i was translating from. i remember this more than the majority of the relationship that introduced me to the game. that's sad to consider, isn't it? can a story be more significant than a person? i was very unwell for large parts of the time i spent working on this translation. i had dark thoughts; i feared impossible and possible things both. i was depressed, and i made very real attempts to turn the world in the only window i know - my eyes - off. permanently. and maybe- that is why OFF is larger than me. because in the negative space of its conclusion, in the turning of the final switch from ON to OFF, there lies a question: "is all this despair, all this hurt, all this misery and all of this unsolvable injustice of this world worth it?" and OFF, in my opinion, says: yes. or at least, for me it did. i'm not letting go of these memories, or of these stories, or of my adoration for this game. i love it more by the day. i owe a lot to it. this isn't a funeral, it's a celebration. thank you, OFF, and thank you, mortis ghost. i would not be here, i would not be this, and i would not be me without you.