#i tried to make it a companion piece so now-

[creative-frequency]

Yay! I'm glad to hear that Rook's wyvern has struck a chord with you (and others? oh, my! I'm actually so flustered and flattered right now, thank you for telling me 🥹)! Also, what do you think the of the wyvern being named 'Knight' or 'Queen' (you know, because Rook is called 'Rook')?

Anyway! How do you think that first meeting between the wyvern and Lucanis went (at least from Luncanis's perspective)? Like was he about to arrive at the Lighthouse for the first time before Rook is all, 'Oh! Hey, Lucanis, one last thing before we arrive. You don't have any wyvern poison on you, right? My wyvern companion will want to give you a quick sniff and she might mistake you for a rival if that's the first thing she smells on you.' Would Lucanis even believe it until he sees it?

This man better be ready for the good things that are about to happen to him 💚

Rook's Wyvern: First Meeting with Lucanis

The wyvern should definitely be named something royal like Queen, Marquis, or Baron.

Let’s go with Baroness for this one! She would have blue stripes across her scales.

Lucanis would be so dumbstruck at Rook’s unexpected inquiry that he would have to process the information in pieces: “What? Why would I have wyvern poison on me? And, what do you mean by ‘my wyvern companion’? Wait. You have a wyvern? Here?”

Rook is not sure if the assassin is terrified or not.

Cue three different variations of the question: “You have an actual wyvern? How?”

When he gets the confusion cleared, palpable enthusiasm quickly follows. Rook is baffled, while Lucanis is vibrating with excitement but desperately tries to rein it down.

After Lucanis is introduced to the other Veilguard members and settled down (and Spite has calmed down), Rook would suggest that they go meet the Baroness now – if Lucanis can afford the time, of course.

“Yes. Lead the way.” The man would not hesitate. If this turns out to be an elaborate joke or a misunderstanding, all his hopes and dreams will be crushed.

It’s better to be proactive rather than wait for Baroness to realise there is a new person in her territory aka the Lighthouse.

Lucanis would try to play it cool because they only just met with Rook and he wants to make a professional impression, but damn it’s hard not to geek out.

He would coolly (not really) mention that he has been really interested in wyverns ever since he was a boy.

Rook would be so relieved to hear this because normally they have to persuade people into this meeting process that is meant for their own safety.

Lucanis waits a good distance away at first.

Rook has their way of calling the Baroness and when she arrives, Lucanis is completely amazed as he stares at the real live wyvern. For a small moment, everything is worth it.

Lucanis would be floored by the way Rook handles the astonishing creature. Even Spite would be impressed at the presence and bond those two command.

Rook talks to the wyvern like one talks to an intelligent creature and introduces Lucanis with a heavy emphasis on “He is part of our team.”

Rook motions Lucanis to stay still. Baroness takes a sniff of the air, then carefully paces closer to sniff his clothes before backing away and leaving.

Lucanis is still staring.

“Curious. She likes you.”

He wants to hear everything about Baroness and what Rook knows about wyverns. Rook will promise Baroness will surely allow him to pet her if he would like to.

This is the best thing that has happened to Lucanis in his whole life.

[readwritealldayallnight]

When Gaz walks into the bases common room, his goal for making his third cup of tea of the day is diverted when he catches sight of Soap’s expression across the room.

The Scot looks absolutely befuddled, eyes wide and sitting slack-jawed across from his Lieutenant. Gaz walks over to the men, catching the very end of Ghost telling his companion to ‘piss off’.

“Alright?” He asks the lads, raising a brow in question.

“Ye oughta hear the shite LT’s tryin’ to convince me of over here!” Soap is all too eager to inform his friend. Ghost grunts, leaning further back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and rolling his eyes as far back as he can, as if to tell the Sergeant in front of him ‘this is why I don’t tell you anything’.

Because that’s almost exactly what Ghost is thinking at that moment. He’d just entered the common room when he’d spotted the back of an all too familiar head, fiddling and distracted with the microwave.

When he’d walked up behind the younger man and echoed his call sign out in greeting, his mask hid the smug smirk that appeared at the jump Soap gave, uttering a loud “Shit!” in surprise.

Soap went on to complain about how he was apparently attempting to jumpstart his heart, drawling on about how the Lieutenant was always sneaking up on people like this, moving quiet as a Ghost.

“My missus says the same thing.” The masked man had mentioned casually, as if his chest hadn’t automatically puffed out in pride, standing up a little straighter at the mention of his girl.

“She says you’re too quiet? Aye, LT, think a lot o’ couples have complaints of the sorts in bed ya see-”

“Shut it, you prick.” Ghost quickly shut him down, ending that line of thought. “She says I walk too quietly in the flat. Accidentally scaring her all the time, poor thing.”

At that, Soap’s eyebrows had shot sky high, keen to hear more about the big bad Ghost’s life of apparent domestic bliss, turning him into an absolute sap.

Ghost wouldn’t normally volunteer information about his personal life. But he just loves you so much. And now that he’s not only thinking about you because he is all the time, but also talking about you, his mouth didn’t seem to want to stop talking about you.

“She put her foot down with me recently.” He’d added with a deep chuckle.

“She did what?” Soap had asked bewildered.

“She called it ‘putting her foot down’. I walked up behind her when she was doin’ dishes. Poor bird didn’t hear me and dropped somethin’.”

“Oh, no! Simon! That’s my favourite mug!!” You’d cried out, watching your most treasured ceramic shattering on the tile floor of the kitchen, spreading every which way across the room.

“M’sorry lovie. Didn’t mean to scare ya.” He’d sheepishly responded, reaching to turn off the running faucet. He’d grabbed the dish towel and gave it to you to dry your hands, lifted you by the waist and set you on the counter with ease, not wanting you to get hurt with your bare feet. He’d turned, already in search of a broom and dust pan.

“Again. You mean I’m sorry for scaring you again.” You had corrected him, narrowing your eyes. “I can’t take it anymore Simon. You don’t need to be stealthy at home, my love, you can make noise when you walk. In fact I need you to make noise when you walk at home!”

Simon had nodded along, diligently sweeping up every piece of your ruined mug.

“I’ll try harder sweetheart. I promise.” He’d offered, dumping the remnants into the bin before he’d walked up to you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist as yours slid around his shoulders.

The very next weekend he’d taken you to a local pottery painting class to make up for the lost mug, as well as you telling him off (because yeah, that was what Simon considered you putting your foot down with him, and he never wanted it to happen again if he could help it).

Ghost finds himself grinning further under his mask at the memory however, of how cute you looked as you tried to raise your voice at him, laying down the law in your shared home.

“And so what’d ya tell her?” Soap asked, curious to know how his Lieutenant had reacted, but more so if the man would even reply or rather would tell him to fuck off.

“I didn’t tell her anythin’.” Simon had uttered. “Did as my missus asked me to do, and that was the end of the story. Well, s’pose I did I tell her I’d look into mug making classes or whatever.”

“…”

“You what?!”

[sh1-n0bu]

yall really thought i was done with monster reader? nuh uh. VAMPIRE READER WITH A SHY MONSTERFUCKER CHARACTER

a shy monsterfucker who didn’t knew they were a monsterfucker yet, who didn’t knew of the kinks they had yet to awaken in themselves, who only thought of themselves as vanilla meeting you for the first time and thinking that you feel not so human. don’t get them wrong, there was nothing about you that was out of place. you looked human but you just… didn’t really felt like it at times

maybe it was the way you sometimes yawned and your jaws opened just a little bit too wide. maybe it was the way you were able to see so damn well in the darkness, eyes sometimes nearly glowing until they shake their head and your eyes looked just fine. maybe it was the way they slowly noticed that you barely ate anything whenever you hung out together, merely ordering a black coffee with extra shots or asking for the black coffee to be made just a little bit thicker. maybe it was the way your smile stretched just a little bit too big to be normal, sharp fangs and canines glistening

either way, you didn’t feel normal. you didn’t feel entirely… human, to them. but they find themselves shrugging it off, still thinking of you as their friend and a close companion

it all gets thrown out when you go radio silent one day. no phone calls, no notifications, no messages or hell, letters. just silence. worried sick, they make their way over to your house, using the spare key you gifted them and stepping inside to a dark and messy home. blinds closed shut, home miserable and, were those claw tears in the back of the couch?

feeling their guts churning with the desire to run away, they call out your name under their breath, akin to a whisper. when receiving no response, they call out again, feeling like they want to run away as they think of their choices. only a one step deeper into your messy home and their vision was swimming, being slammed down onto the floor as something hisses above them before it trails off into a low laugh. dazed, they open their eyes to find… you. except, it wasn’t really you. glowing slitted eyes, wide smile and a sense of danger

“fresh prey, walking straight into my grasp. must be my lucky day…” even your voice sounded weird, as if two people were talking at the same time. one, your normal voice and the other more high pitched. like how some creatures’ voice becomes higher pitched to mimic others and lure prey into their grasp. like… a monster

they tried to flee, to talk sense into you, fear and desperation tugging at their heart as their words trail off into a terrified whimper when your jaws open just a little bit wider, slits appearing at the sides as a long forked tongue runs over knife like sharp fangs before closing again. this felt like a nightmare, something they never really thought of happening before. they could only look away, tears stinging in their eyes when your clawed, stretched fingers tear off a piece of their shirt’s neck area open, thinking that you will tear them apart like how you just did with their clothes just now

a shy monsterfucker who lets out a yelp when they feel a wet feeling on their neck, something long and wet slithering over the skin as if softening the flesh there. despite the fear churning their stomach, they couldn’t help but whine out as their body suddenly started to feel hot. so needy and pathetically hard and wet in their pants like a hormonal teenager as they stare at your long tongue. even as you laugh at the flushed look on their face and make some demeaning remark, all they could do was stare

and to their own horror, they let out a fucking moan when your sharp fangs bite down on the same place you just licked at, head thrown back onto the floor as a loud plea for more falls from their lips. pleas of biting their neck more, tear their flesh apart with your fangs, clench down those strong jaws, absolutely ruin them to your own pleasure. they didn’t get it, wasn’t it supposed to hurt? at least, from all the movies and books, but no, it felt good. even as their blood gets drawn out and your canines dig into their flesh, tearing the skin apart, all they could do was moan out loud like a desperate harlot. mind muddled and body twisting to weakly hump at your knee between their legs, even as your jaws let go of their neck and licked the wounds close, they could only whimper at the loss of the feeling

the next morning, they woke up in your bed, surrounded in comfort and soft beddings. was… last night a dream? were they imagining it all? a wet dream?

their confused brain stops whirring question and theory after one another as the door to the room opens, you stepping in with a cup of steaming hot tea in your hand and a plate of some fruits cut into small pieces in the other. looking just fine and normal, no fangs, no blood, no strange slits at the corner of your mouths, no long slithering tongue, just a normal [name], albeit a tiny bit worried. so it was all just a wet dream…

since that day and that strangely realistic dream that the shy monsterfucker thought they had, it became a bit hard for them to look you in the eye and hold a normal conversation. they were fucking embarrassed, hell ashamed even, by their own thoughts that conjured up such image of you in their own sleep. they always knew you gave off an eerie, not-so-very-human vibes but even then, imagining you as a goddamn vampire who saw them as your prey was... a little bit too much. they didn't even found vampires attractive, but if you were to somehow magically turn into one, maybe they wouldn't mind it much. of being your bloodbag, your sweet prey, your willing sacrificial lamb that you toy and flaunt like a trophy pet

shy monsterfucker who gets too sexually frustrated easily ever since that one specific dream, always staring into your mouth whenever you're looking away and talking or laughing, hoping to see a glimpse of an unusually sharp fangs. who think they do indeed see something and immediately lets out a quiet whimper, thighs squishing and rubbing together as that one dream plays out in their mind again. who excuses themselves from the hang out earlier so they can go home under the guise of a "not feeling very good today", when in reality they would be touching themselves again that night, humping their pillows with pathetic broken moans of your name. sometimes, when feeling bolder, they would say the same pleads they did in their dream, asking you to bite them as they throw their heads back, neck free and pristine. if they shut their eyes tight and imagined hard enough, they could remember the phantom feeling of your slithered tongue running over their skin. humping at their pillow harder with a broken sob of your name as their body shakes, soiling their pillow case with their own cum again for the nth time in the last 2 days, changing it once more

they didn't get it, they usually had just a normal amount of sex drive, who barely got horny unless they were intoxicated or something. this newfound sexual frustration was weird to them. new and scary with the ways it left their body all hot and bothered just by looking at you. staring, waiting and gulping down saliva to wet their throat as their mind goes to the gutter. imagining your clawed hands trailing over their bare skin, maybe leave a few small cuts if you feel like it, hold over their hips a bit too tightly to leave a bruise, bite at their porcelain skin. would you make them your personal bloodbag if they acted good and begged hard enough?

shy monsterfucker who gets caught, mind too fuzzy with filthy thoughts as they moaned out your name into their pillows as you invite yourself inside their home with a bag of fresh fruits that you bought for them to get better, the spare key they gifted you in your hand. who didn’t knew they were caught, thinking of it as simply one of their imaginations again as they see you standing on the doorway to their room, leaning on the doorframe with a low hum

“i knew i used too much calming saliva on you” you say out loud, only getting a broken whimper of your name as their fingers curl inside their hole, tired and confused. vampires had a special aphrodisiac like mixture in their saliva that they used to calm their prey before feasting and to their bad luck, you have accidentally used an excessive amount when you drank from them few days ago

“[n-naameee]♡︎ ahck t-touch me! touch me, please♡︎…?” they cried out, hearts swirling in their pupils, face flushed to the tips of their ears as they whined out deliriously with an open mouth. a sweet prey, right in your grasp. since you were the one to cause it, it would only be right to fix your mistakes right? cooing out words of faux comfort, you step over their sweat clung body, taking in the way they looked so out of it. all wet and hard, too dazed to even say your name properly

shy monsterfucker who immediately lets out a squeal when your fingers push into their hole, while their own fingers were inside too! please be gentle, at least let them get their own fingers out first? who only could let out a broken sob when they could feel how deep your fingers curled inside them, feeling the way your fingers stretched and fucked their pathetic hole open easily. they were nothing but just a weak sex toy for you, a meager little bunny whose legs twitched and shook every time the pads of your fingers jabbed at that bundle of nerves inside them, squeaking like the precious little thing they were

“baahn—! aangh ah haang buh-bite..?” they asked, teary eyes staring up at you with so much love and lust as their wet lashes flutter against their red cheeks. “b-bite me♡︎..? aamh haah i... i’ve been such a go-ooddd♡︎♡︎ good bloodbag for yoouu♥︎!!” they blabber on, arm wrapping around your shoulder as they try to pull you down to their neck. the bite mark of a few days earlier already gone and healed thanks to your healing saliva. you could just hear the thrumming of fresh red liquid from under their skin, heart beat loud and erratic like a war-drum, begging you to tear them apart

shy monsterfucker who lets out the loudest moan, breaking down into pathetic blabbers of gratitude and pleads for more as you gave in to the instincts to feed. back arching up from the bed so prettily, soft chest against your own, a rapid beating heart under their own skin that you could feel against your cold, still one. shy monsterfucker who lets out a filthy squeal, tightening around your fingers as they cum on your hand, soiling it as the tears that built up in their heart pupil eyes finally fall down

shy monsterfucker who begs for a kiss, asking for your lips to be against their own. who lets out a cute muffled sob when you do just as they asked, tasting the metallic taste of their own blood on your lips before something long slithers down their throat. long and wet with a thicker textured saliva coating it, being pushed into their mouth, forcing their jaws open as they choke of their own moan as you continue to torture that tender spot inside their tight hole. gagging as your tongue slithers down their throat, feeling the way their adam’s apple feels a little bit wider due to how deep you showed your tongue inside their mouth

shy monsterfucker who could only cum dry, into your hands, tired and body aching due to their constant actions to try and relieve their sexual frustration. mouth left open, swollen lips wet with your mixed salivas that connect your faces just a little bit longer as your forked tongue comes slithering back out. eyes all hazy, nearly shut close with how low lidded they were. you would have mistaken them for unconscious if it weren’t for the weak whimper of a “mmghh—! s-shoo goowd♥︎ t-tongue... wan’ your tongue inside meegh♡︎♡︎” as they weakly wiggled their hips

shy monsterfucker who watches as you seemingly easily manhandle their body so you could do as they nicely asked, their strong body meaning nothing to you. who watches with their hands on the pillows by their head, neck painted a saccharine red that you loved, lust heavy eyes staring at you as a few tears fall from them. who lets out a broken sob as they see the way your jaws open a bit too wide, slits appearing at the edges of your lips to make it easier for your long tongue to come out. like a snake, it licks at their inner thighs, bloodied fangs leaving cuts on the tender flesh there as their legs violently trembled in your grasp

shy monsterfucker who chokes on their moans, head getting thrown back as your tongue pushes past their tight walls, eagerly humping your face as much as their shaking body could allow, feeling the way your tongue reached deep inside them — more than any meager sex toys or dildos ever could, twisting their insides. wailing out “guhhckk♥︎♥︎! s-sho deEEHNGK♡︎ y-your tongue— f-fuckinnh aanh nyah♥︎!! fuckinng my guts! aah ngaah—♥︎!” as they felt the way your tongue moved back and forth inside their hole, claws digging into their legs and thighs to keep them in place, forcing them to keep their legs open. who blabbers drunkenly about their mind melting, mushing up their words as they slur your name before fucking squirting. shrill noise between a moan and a squeal falling from their swollen lips before losing consciousness

shy monsterfucker who will most definitely ask you to bite them again the next time they wake up

⇨ dan heng, yingxing, argenti, moze, bronya, firefly, gepard, robin, caelus, yukong, legolas, lindir, meludir, baizhu, charlotte, diluc, furina, ganyu, kaveh, nilou, kokomi, xiao, calcharo, jiyan, xiangli yao, rover, zhezi, shorekeeper, aerith, zack, angeal, tifa, vincent, sephiroth + anyone you think will fit, really

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GOJO SATORU x FEM READER

Gojo “my girl is mad at me I hope I die” Satoru

wc — 600

tags — fluff, companion piece to modern intimacy so you’re also married in this one, love as annoyance 

Gojo looks like he tried to drown himself in the shower. 

If you hadn’t just mopped the floor, you might be tempted to give in and beckon him over to cuddle. As it is, your annoyance is only mildly tempered by how adorable he is. You suspect this was his plan all along. 

“Go dry your hair,” you tell him coldly, hardly even giving him a glance after his first step into the room. 

He pouts, which you were expecting. He should really learn some new tricks at this point. You make a shooing gesture at him to drive home the point. 

Instead, he clambers down next to your feet, all six feet and two inches of him compressed down to fit his head into your lap. Gojo’s so lanky it gives you the impression of a Jenga tower collapsing in on itself to watch him get on his knees. 

“But you’re mad at me,” he whines. Chilly droplets are seeping into your thighs. 

“I’ll be madder if you keep getting my pants wet. Go on, you’ll catch a cold.” 

“I deserve it.” 

“Gojo.” 

You say it as if you’re short of patience, when really, you’re far from it. You’re enjoying this way too much. 

He turns his head so he can look up at you. His hair falls into his eyes, making him look like a sad, wet puppy, shivering at your feet for mercy. It’s an act, of course. 

He’s the strongest man in the world. Still, you feel your heart melting as you would for any poor abandoned creature. You brush his bangs out of his face, trying to hold onto your weakening resolve. 

He knows he’s got you. It’s just a matter of time. 

“I can’t live with myself,” he says. “If you’re going to be mad at me, you should just kill me. It would be easier-“ 

“Don’t be dramatic,” you say, but that’s when he strikes the killing blow. 

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just looks at you with eyes that are suspiciously shiny, his pretty pink lips in a soft frown. You sigh and put the book you were trying to read down. 

“Go get the hairdryer.” 

Gojo perks up immediately. You stay on the sofa. He sits on the ground between your legs as you run your hands through his hair, moving section by section. It fluffs up as hot air moves over it. 

“Are you still mad?” 

“Want to take a guess?” 

He turns around so fast he almost hits himself in the face with the hairdryer in your hand. 

“I’ll never do it again, I swear.” 

“You swear?” You’re teasing. 

Gojo places one hand over his heart and raises the other like he’s making a pledge. You’re the only nation he’d ever devote himself to, anyway. “You know my motto is happy wife, happy life.” 

“I don’t know, actually.” You laugh. “Did you just come up with that?” 

“Now you’re just being mean,” he says. 

“I’m glad you picked up on it,” you say dryly. 

You like him pathetic. It appeals to your worst nature, the one that kind of wants to pinch him just to see him cry. You don’t know when you developed such feelings, and you’re certainly not sadistic towards anyone else, but Gojo just provokes you. It’s what he does. He’s good at being annoying. 

But you love that part of him, just as much as you love the part of him that can’t live without your attention. 

“You really learned your lesson?” You ask. “You won’t do it again?” 

“And go through this again? You kidding?” 

You pinch his cheek in annoyance, but he just laughs and wraps his arms around you, ignoring the way you try to wriggle away. 

“Your hair isn’t dry yet!”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, rubbing his cheek against yours. His shampoo smells good. “Happy husband, happy wife.” 

He knows you too well for you to disagree. 

[heirofnight]

meddling

azriel x reader drabble

word count: 2k - longest drabble ever, i'm so sorry

summary: reader just escaped a horrific past that has left her closed off and in need of isolation. she takes up residence at the house of wind, finding solace in the private library. she's content to keep to herself, but a meddling house and a stray little shadow have other plans.

a/n: i wrote this very quickly, this is more like a stream of consciousness than a well-planned piece of writing lol. also my first time posting so pls be kind 😭 i just felt like writing and then ... this happened. ok enjoy!

azriel was a silent, watchful protector of yours when you initially arrived at the night court. studying you, observing you from afar. you spend most of your time on the third level of the house of wind - shy and in need of isolation. your past was something you were desperate to forget. but, even after your relocation to velaris, your mind was murky. you'd tried sorting through thoughts and emotions that you'd pushed deep down in order to survive, but it all felt akin to wading through waist-deep mud in heavy, laced-up boots. you'd found solace in the private library on the third floor, only doors down from your own chambers. many mornings you awoke, dressed, and shuffled to the warm library that was lit with beams of light from dawn's glow. you'd curl into your favorite chair that overlooked velaris and the glistening sidra far down below, taking in a centering breath. it felt like muscle memory, and the house had learned of your routine. a warm teacup waited for you, right beside your well-loved armchair. your tea was the perfect temperature: the house had learned that too. and every morning, a sly, stray tendril of shadow wove its way through the half-opened library doors. it noted your presence, your general state of well-being, before darting away playfully to relay this information back to its master. yes, rhys had asked azriel to watch over you, but even az knew that this level of attentiveness was overkill - even for him. you'd peek up at the tiny shadow each morning, expecting it now. at first, shortly after arriving at the house, you'd blink up at it - not having the mental energy to delve into its motive. now, a couple of months later, you'd felt more settled. more relaxed. and you almost considered this lone shadow to be a sweet little companion, the only being that dared approach you this frequently. you'd give it a soft grin each morning, and it would swirl happily, lazily, before departing as quickly as it came.

you were always cold. try as you might, you often only felt true, comfortable warmth when bundled beneath the layered blankets that adorned your oversized bed. you knew you shared this hallway with azriel, but rarely ever saw him. you'd hear him arrive late at night every now and then - assuming that he'd just returned from some sort of mission. what you didn't know, however, was that azriel had tried his hardest to silence the thump of his boots against the stone floor every single time he approached the arched door of your room. before, when he only shared this hallway with cassian, he'd make noise on purpose upon arriving home. his own way of letting his brother know that he was home and safe, without having to strike up any sort of conversation. he was drained after most missions, had enough of speaking. but with you occupying the room next to his own now, he wouldn't dare disturb your well-deserved, peaceful slumber. az assumed with the past you'd endured, that you'd trained yourself to sleep light. not a sound, don't fuck this up, he'd think to himself, willing his shadows to silence his footsteps entirely. even with the suppressed steps, he still tightened every single muscle. stepping so slowly, he knew he must look ridiculous. if cassian ever saw this, saw him, he would never live it down. on several occasions, your heavy wooden door had unlatched on its own during the night, leaving just enough of a space between the frame and the door that azriel could see the beige drapes that fluttered lightly against your windows through it. your sweet shadow companion would leave az's silent side to dart through the crack, and return just as quickly to whisper cold, shivering against his master's ear. to deter the draft from chilling your bones any further, azriel would reach a scarred hand out to the doorknob, closing it as silently as possible - making sure to pull until he heard the slight click of the latch.

you'd often opted to eat your meals either in the library or in your room - the house setting out a plate and silverware for you wherever you'd decided to spend your time that evening. you didn't allow yourself to wonder what the members of rhysand's family must have thought of you - a secluded, timid female that went out of her way to avoid the members of a family that had tried so hard to give her a home, a place to heal. you'd always quickly push those thoughts to the back of your mind, wanting to focus on taking care of yourself, and not others for once.

tonight, you'd chosen the library. you'd recently begun a trio of books that you'd found on one of the overflowing shelves, and you were unable to put them down once you'd started. you didn't notice the time, didn't notice the mid-afternoon sun become dusk, making the sidra glow like wildfire. you did, however, notice the grumble of your stomach once it became evening. the light of day was gone - the library now filled with the warm glow of faelights, dim candles sitting in golden candelabras, and a crackling fire within the hearth across from you. you frowned to yourself, noticing now that the house hadn't placed dinner on the mahogany coffee table that sat in front of the fire. you glanced around, the thought of verbally speaking to the house itself feeling a bit silly. you briefly told yourself that asking the house may offend it - that was even more laughable. could you offend a house? while silently mulling over these questions, that sly, sleek little tendril of shadow slowly approached you from the door of the library. it curled and twisted its way to you, stopping at your right hand to weave its way around your wrist. you looked down at it curiously - it had never touched you before, had never gotten this close. you'd deduced at this point that it was one of az's shadows - figured that it was just curious about the new presence in the house. however, it began to twirl, trying its best to get your attention. "yes?," you whispered aloud. speaking of silly interactions, you thought briefly. it weaved through your fingers, as if it were trying to hold your hand, before darting towards the door and stopping in the doorway. it was waiting for you; wanted you to follow. you cocked a curious eyebrow, slowly closing your book to set it on the table before you. gathering your linen dress in your hands, you stood, hesitantly walking towards it. "where are we going, little one?," you whispered towards it. the shadow responded immediately by darting down the hall and to the left, towards the stairs. you quickened your steps to catch up to it, only to find it waiting on the landing of the staircase for you. once you spotted it, it darted away again, down one level. peering over the railing, you noticed it twirling towards the doorway of the dining hall. family dinner was taking place, and judging by the various muffled voices and laughter you were able to hear from the staircase, everyone was present.

you tiptoed quietly down the stairs, which you realized was probably pointless. you were sure at least one of them had already picked up on your approaching scent by now. the patient shadow still waited by the door for you, swirling and twirling happily. inviting you inside to dine with its master and his family. you took a deep breath, watching as the shadow darted back to azriel's shoulder, whispering something against the shell of his ear. immediately, az's head snapped towards the doorway, meeting your own nervous gaze before you had the chance to escape without being noticed. his presence felt grounding - it had since the first time you met him. he didn't speak much, but neither did you. he felt familiar, safe, and you wondered briefly if it was due to the affection you'd grown towards his shadow that checked on you dutifully since your arrival - an act that you assumed was azriel's doing.

your hands were clasped in front of you as you nervously played with your fingers. you surveyed the room, taking everything in: the relaxed family, the spread of delicious food on the table. azriel continued to watch you with a calm, yet indiscernible expression on his face. the corner of his lips turned up just slightly, trying to convey that it was okay, you could come in. rhysand noticed you next - he followed azriel's distracted gaze to the threshold of the door, finding your small frame standing there. "well, look who it is," rhys drawled politely, loud enough to quiet the rest of the family sitting around the table. everyone's gaze found you at once, and you swallowed thickly. your eyes darted back to azriel's in a silent plead, his hazel eyes feeling like a lifeline. az nodded once, gaze soft and kind. "why don't you sit down and join us? we were hoping you would," rhys stated sincerely, gesturing a sweeping hand out over the spread of food. “help yourself, y/n. if you don’t see something you’d like, the house will prepare a more suitable meal," he smiled warmly. as if on cue, a goblet of wine, plates, and silverware appeared in front of an empty chair - courtesy of said house itself. you smiled softly, at the high lord, at the house's display of affection towards you. "thank you," you spoke warmly, perhaps the first time most of them had ever heard you speak at all.

the empty seat that was now prepared for you was right next to azriel, and you slowly made your way towards it. you felt the prying gaze of everyone at the massive dinner table, and silence still encompassed the room. your eyes flitted around nervously, and azriel tracked the movement immediately. he cleared his throat once, a silent, stoic glare tossed to his family. they got the hint, and all fell back into comfortable conversation amongst each other - attention no longer all on you. you took your place next to him, staring down at your empty plate. your hands fell into your lap, your fingers fiddling together once more. azriel watched you from his peripheral, not wanting you to feel balked at.

he leaned over finally, speaking so only you could hear, "would you like to try the potatoes?", his tone was warm and soft - comforting. you darted your gaze over to him, only meeting his eyes for a moment. he was much more intimidating up close, and you were far too shy.

"they're my personal favorite," he continued on, the corners of his mouth curled upward. you let out a small breath of a laugh, playing with a stray thread on your gown. "yes, please," you whispered to him, eyes raking over the large elaborate plates and dishes set in the middle of the table, searching for the potatoes he spoke of. before you could reach towards the gold serving spoon that sat within the buttery dish, his hand had already grasped it, bringing a heaping serving right over to your plate.

"i've got it," he spoke softly, dishing your meal. you nodded once, cheeks heating at the action. it continued this way, azriel asking if you'd like to try each entrée and side, one by one. he'd offer his own personal opinions on each one, and you'd both laughed at the way he'd described the asparagus - "absolutely abysmal," he'd report, nose scrunching dramatically.

after your plate was adequately filled, az went back to his own food. you began to poke at yours. "thank you," you whispered over to him after a moment. he glanced over at you and replied with a friendly smile, and over his shoulder appeared a small tendril of a shadow - your meddling little companion that had also apparently conspired to bring you closer to its master. it twirled your way happily, looping through your fingers and up your arm. you laughed softly, meeting azriel's sparkling hazel eyes. he smiled fondly at his shadow, "i'm sorry, sometimes it feels like they have a mind of their own," he paused for a moment, watching the smoky tendril weave through your hair. "they like you," he whispered, meeting your eyes with a grin.

"don't apologize," you replied softly. "i like them too. i think they knew i needed company," you said pointedly, not dropping his gaze for the first time all evening. he nodded in understanding, plopping another bread roll onto your plate.

"well, welcome to the family, y/n," his words were soft, but the weight you felt in your chest was overwhelming. warmth, true warmth, spread through your limbs, snuffing out the chill that had left you constantly shivering.

[ellecdc]

HI HI i recently read “the winner takes it all” and i was wondering if you’re planning to create a part 2? if you don’t, can i request it with the plot of emmeline trying to win n the boys over, as well as to embarrass the reader, but the boys decided it was the perfect time to hard launch the reader?

BUT IF YOU ALREADY HAVVE A. PLOT IN MIND PLS DONT LISTEN TO ME I LOVE UR FICS!! 💕💕🫶🏻

You know, I actually didn't plan on making a companion piece to this but this was such a fun idea I couldn't help myself - thanks for requesting!!! 💖

*chanting* hard launch, hard launch, hard launch 👏 👏 👏

Poly!Marauders x reader (gender not specified)

The Loser Has to Fall

Companion piece to The Winner Takes It All

It felt like a giant weight had been lifted off your shoulders now that you knew exactly where you stood with the boys. You didn’t realize how deeply it had been distressing you to not know what you meant to them.

Apparently, you meant the world to them.

You spent the rest of that evening in the Gryffindor common room; James and Remus ran down to the kitchens to bring a picnic for you four and Sirius told you to enjoy the princess treatment when you insisted on going with them. You’re pretty sure that was just a ruse to keep you seated in his lap.

You were floating on cloud 9 the entire week afterwards with one of the boys by your side at any given moment. While that wasn’t necessarily new, knowing why they were there made a world of difference. 

You spent hours in the library with Remus sharing shy glances, gentle touches, and sitting far closer to one another than was strictly necessary. 

James and Sirius would show up with food or drinks for you two, but Sirius would eventually convince James to “leave the boring swots to their books, Prongsie” by promising him a race around the quidditch field on their brooms.

James made a solid (and embarrassing) effort to sit beside you everywhere. Great Hall – he sat beside you. Gryffindor common room – he sat beside you. Classes you had together – he sat beside you. Classes you didn’t have together – he tried to sit beside you before Flitwick took five points from Gryffindor and kicked him out.  

And Sirius appeared to simply enjoy your presence. One rarely ever saw Sirius Black without him speaking, smirking, or the likes; but it appeared he enjoyed your company for the solace that it was. Most of your time spent together was in companionable silence, or him asking you to tell him all about your day, your week, your life. James said he was sure this was the longest he'd ever gone without having to listen to Sirius’ voice – Sirius swatted his ass for that.  

But the way the rest of the school saw it: nothing had changed.

Which is why when you watched Emmeline approach the Gryffindor table with a look of determination painting her features, you had to hide your laugh behind your hand.

“Hello, handsome boys.” She said cheerily as she sat beside Sirius. He looked to James sat across from him before his eyes shot to you.

“Hello, Emmeline.” James said politely. 

“Where have you boys been? I feel like I never get to see you anymore.” She carried on, either unaware or undeterred by the boys’ lack of interest.

“Mm, here and there.” James said suspiciously, moving his body so he was sat straddling the bench and facing you, effectively pointing his back to Emmeline.

“Mostly with Y/N.” Sirius added pointedly.

Emmeline grimaced at the mention of your name, but quickly saved face.

“That’s nice. Well, I was wondering if you guys were going to Hogsmeade this weekend?” She asked, voice sickly sweet. 

James seemed to remember something at the mention of Hogsmeade. “Actually, yeah. Moons, you need more chocolate, right?”

Remus blushed a little but nodded in the affirmative. “We’re running low since someone stress ate most of the reserve.” He said pointedly, shooting Sirius a glare.

Apparently, Sirius had been so nervous about asking you to be official (Sirius Black: nervous? Who knew?) that he’d ransacked Rem’s stash.

Sirius – not one to be shame-faced – shrugged with all the nonchalance he could muster. “Don’t worry your pretty little mind, my moonshine – I’ll replenish your reserves and then some.” He declared.

“Great!” Emmeline said with a clap of her hands, clearly unable to manage the conversation as it steered further and further away from her. “I was thinking the four of us could go together!”

She had placed one of her hands on Sirius’ bicep and you felt your face turn red from repressing your laughter. Lily would be losing her mind right now.

Sirius looked at the hand with a look of half confused concern and half disgust before he used the forefinger and thumb of his opposite hand to peel it off of him and place it gingerly onto the table.

“Well, I know that the four of us were going to go.” James clarified as he motioned between himself, Sirius, Remus, and you. “I’m sure Lily, Pete and the others will be going as well, so you’re welcome to ask to tag along with them.” 

Undeterred, Emmeline carried on. “Come on, boys. We used to have a lot of fun together! I thought we could pick up where we left off.” She sing-songed as she sent you a devious wink.

Sirius – with his flair for dramatics – slammed both hands onto the table and stood from his place before hopping onto the table, boots knocking over glasses and plates and reached down for you. 

“What?” You whispered in a little bit of horror.

“Up you go, my love.” He said loudly as he hauled you up to join him on the Gryffindor table. 

“Mr. Black.” You heard one of the professors call from the head table. You never fully understood the phrase die of embarrassment before, but you sure as hell did now. Your gravestone would read: Y/N L/N, gone too soon, killed by dramatic public display of affection.

Sirius, completely oblivious to your horror or thriving off of it (you were sure it was the latter), wrapped one arm around your shoulders and the other around your waist - dipping you so low you were sure your hair was getting into someone’s pancakes - and kissed you in front of the entire Great Hall. 

You could hear cheering and wolf whistles as he kept you suspended for a few moments before he pulled you back up to your full height.

“I am so bloody mad about you.” He shouted out for everyone to hear. More students cheered and whistled as Professor McGonagall shouted “Mr. Black, get down this instant! 15 points from Gryffindor and detention with me tonight.” 

“Worth it.” Sirius said with a smirk as he shot a glance to Emmeline.

“In case that wasn’t clear enough, we’re very taken.” He added with finality as Remus helped you down from your place on the table and Sirius took your previously vacated seat beside James, and Emmeline stalked off.

You shoved your face into Remus’ side as he offered you refuge under his arm.

“Oh, my poor dovey. Did he embarrass you?” He cooed as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

You moaned in a way you hoped portrayed a resounding ‘yes’. 

“I’m sorry. They’re the worst sometimes.” He commiserated with you. 

Feeling slightly less flustered, you pulled your head away from his ribs, though you stayed glued safely to his side. 

“You weren’t innocent in all of that, doll face.” Sirius accused you from across the table.

“I beg your pardon?” you asked feigning innocence.

“You knew exactly what she was doing when she came over here. You didn’t feel the need to mark your territory?”

You scoffed. “First of all, I’m not a dog; I don’t ‘mark’ territory. Second, you’re not my territory, you’re my boyfriends. And thirdly… well, you seemed to have handled her fine on your own.” You said as you pointed your nose up in the air.

“Ah, I get it. You just wanted to watch your sexy man turn down a girl by stating how madly in love he is, hm?” He smirked at you.

You suddenly wished you’d stayed in Remus’ rib cage. 

[dolche-tejada]

You know, I think this ending would have been slightly less of a fucking disappointment if the heroes hadn't been so unfairly favored by Horikoshi compared to the villains. I mean, seriously

Deku destroys every bone in his body multiple times throughout the story and is warned that if he continues, he'll permanently lose the use of his limbs ? Everything's fine, his body's just got used to being reduced to a bloody pulp somehow so there's no consequences for him. In fact even when he literally loses his arms to Shigaraki, he gets them back two minutes later thanks to Eri because guess what ? Her horn still works even when cut off from her body. How convenient.

Gran Torino gets his ribcage obliterated by Shigaraki ? Don't worry guys, he'll survive that despite his old age and injuries, and this to have no particular role in the plot afterwards.

Bakugo dies heroically trying to buy time before Deku arrives ? Lmao, did you really believe it ?? No of course not, Edgeshot just uses his last-minute Deus Ex Machina to save his life at the cost of his own and- Oops nope he's fine too, my bad !

Hawks murders a criminal fleeing for his life in cold-blood ? The best Hori has to offer is him completely free and in charge of the HSPC.

And no, losing his quirk isn't a real consequence for him because not only it literally played a major part in saving the world with Vestige!Hawks raising an insurrection among AFO's quirks, but also because his quirk has always been the element through which people exploited him.

Endeavor abused his family for years and completely destroyed his eldest son ? No jail time and no media backlash for that, the only blame he received was due to the heroes' failure to stop the League during the Raid Arc.

And don't even get me started on this bs about facing hell or whatever for what he's done : He's literally free and wealthy ; he have Rei, Fuyumi, Shoto, his sidekicks and Hawks on his side ; and all the difficulties he's apparently going to suffer are off-screened.

Deku had to sacrifice OFA and his future hero career to save the world ? Guess what, Bakugo invested all his time and money to make him an Iron-Man suit and now he can still be a hero with everyone else.

There are plenty more examples of this but I think you get the idea. Now let's take a look at the villains' ending :

Toya is now a piece of charcoal kept artificially alive for the few years he has left, unable to move a finger, and whose few minutes a day during which he can stay awake will be spent talking to his father who abused him as a child.

Toga, a literal teenager, killed herself to save Ochako and because she knew it's still better than rotting at Tartarus her whole life.

And not only did she die but she did by bleding to death. Let me repeat for those who have trouble grasping what I've just said : In a manga where the heroes can survive having their heart blown to bits, being impaled Kakyoin-style or smashed against buildings like a fly on a windshield, one of the main antagonists died of a fucking hemorrhage…

As for Shigaraki, after learning that his very birth and all the tragedies of his life have been orchestrated by AFO, after all this development and narrative promises about him being saved in the end... Deku just kills him.

Because despite all his speeches about saving him, it seems like the best he could do was beating him both physically and mentally until he crumbles to dust…

Compress on his side is apparently locked up for life and kept alive by machines too.

A begging Kurogiri tried in a desperate attempt to save Shigaraki, only to be unceremoniously blown up by Bakugo and dying off-screen without anyone giving a shit, including Aizawa and Mic.

And Spinner will now spend the rest of his life struggling with the extra quirks inside him that affect his body and mind, while having to cope with the thought that his boyfriend best friend and companions have either died alone or are locked away for life in horrifying circumstances.

Clearly not the same as with the heroes...

Now don't get me wrong, even if they suffered just as much from the consequences of their actions or the plot as the League, this ending would still be a disaster in terms of writing but AT LEAST it wouldn't reek that much of hypocrisy.

[clare-875]

Despair (Sanji x Reader)

_____ Pairing: Sanji x Female Reader Summary: You start to skip meals, doubting yourself and your image. Sanji doesn't notice until it's too late. Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Body image, Comparing yourself to others, Not eating enough (TW: eating disorder), Passing Out [One Piece Masterlist] _____

You prod at the food that lies on your plate absentmindedly, telling yourself to eat. It looks delicious; of course it does. Sanji's food was to die for, and you felt your heart sink at your thoughts to not eat what he has poured heart and soul into. But then again, your thoughts haven't been nice to you recently. You have found yourself comparing your image with Nami and Robin and all the other women you come across and you feel buried insecurities rising because of it. You know it's ridiculous; that you should really just embrace yourself and just deal with it. But you can't just deal with it. It's been running your mind rampant. I'm not pretty enough. I should work out more. Why can't I look like her? I should really start watching what I eat. You know the last thought is the most ridiculous; Sanji makes his meals to cater to every necessity your body could need. But you have tried everything, and the beautiful figures of your female companions are overwhelming. What if he realizes... I can never look like them. Will his eyes wonder? Will he leave me?

"Love, is everything alright?"

Your gaze snaps upward at your boyfriend's voice and he looks to you with deep concern in his eyes. The cook eyes you questioningly before looking at your untouched plate of food. "Is the food not to your liking? I could make you something else if you-" You quickly cut off his words, not wanting him to question the meal you know he has prepared so intricately for you and the crew. "No, no, I was just thinking. Thank you Sanji, it looks lovely." You try to undo his concern and make your lips quirk upwards, but you know what you produce is a half-hearted smile. Sanji looks at you, the furrow of his brows not giving way. However, as he goes to ask you something, he is interrupted by the voices of the crew. "Sanji! Another!" Luffy has his now empty plate high in the air, craving more of the meal, Ussop and Chopper doing the same next to him with wide grins on their faces. It has the cook rolling his eyes but he stops when Nami joins the fray. "I wouldn't mind some more too Sanji-kun!" Robin nods along, a soft smile on her face. "Me too!" The cook turns hesitantly from your side then, going to fetch their plates. "R-right, straight away ladies!"

He leaves you to your thoughts again.

In his distraction, you push your plate to Luffy who sits near you. "Here Luffy, take mine, I'm not feeling that hungry." Your Captain turns to you, eyes gleaming as he ponders your words. "Really?" But he has already taken the meal outstretched to him. "Thanks [y/n]!" You find yourself standing as he devours your meal in an instant, and hope Sanji doesn't notice it wasn't you who ate it. Robin perks up at your sudden movements. "Is everything alright, [y/n]?" You freeze as you turn to her, and you are met with her kind smile, the concern in her eyes. But you also see all that you cannot be. It is insufferable: your jealousy. It makes you loathe the depths of yourself and so you force it away and nod. "Yeah, I'm just turning in." You try to ease her concern and you don't know if she believes your words, but you move before she can question you further. You leave the rowdy crew to their dinner and open the kitchen door, not seeing how Sanji turns in surprise at your sudden absence.

You breathe in the crisp evening air, not noticing how desperately you needed it until it hits your face. A single tear slips from your eye but you catch it quickly, shaking your head. What's wrong with me? You move across the ship to the bathroom, hoping that a bath might help wash away your suddenly erratic thoughts. However, when you strip yourself of your clothes, you realise it is a mistake; there are mirrors. Your lips turn downward as you look at yourself realizing how impossible it would be to look like Nami and Robin. How impossible it would be to contort yourself to that image: pretty eyes, perfect smile, lack of waists and slim figures but still with curves where you needed them to be. How do they do it? Your thoughts then turn to how Sanji's face looked as they asked for seconds of his meal. He seemed so happy to cater for the beautiful women; of course, he would be. How long until his thoughts drift away from you? You turn away quickly and continue your tasks until you're wrapped in a towel again, hating your envy and hoping sleep might control it.

However, your insecurities can't disappear that easily.

Your thoughts mingled the rest of the week, and because of it, you found yourself eating less. You found yourself pushing meals to Luffy when Sanji was distracted, desperately hoping he didn't notice. You worked out more, glad that Zoro said nothing when he saw you more frequently in the crow's nest. You slowly started to slip into the rhythm. Skip breakfast, work out, a little lunch, work out, skip dinner. It was becoming easier to ignore your hunger, you told yourself you were seeing progress. You could never hate the beautiful women around you for your sudden revelations, you saw it as your own problem. You told yourself it was for the best. However, what you failed to see was that among your suddenly obsessive thoughts, you have slowly started to neglect your health, and on top of that, you have slowly started to neglect Sanji.

The cook had barely seen you the past week, and he missed you. What hours you would usually spend by his side you now spend in the crow's nest and he wanted your presence by him again. You used to always be in the kitchen as he prepared meals; his personal taste tester always gifting him compliments that made his heart soar. You would always share stories as he chopped and mixed, and he would be blessed by the soft sound of your voice. You would dry dishes you insisted on drying as he passed them to you, and he would hear your sweet laughter at something that had happened earlier in the day; he would have to struggle not to swoon just by the sound of it. You used to hold him gently as he cooked the crew's meals and he would feel your warmth make his heart stutter, make him want to create even better dishes just as a thank you for being his; for being you. Your fleeting touches, your pretty smile, your gleaming eyes, your perfect figure that melds into his; they were all suddenly taken from him and he didn't know why.

Sanji had tried to approach you several times but you had evaded him. "Sorry, Sanji I'm too busy right now." "Sorry Sanji, maybe another time." "Sorry Sanji, I think I'm gonna go to the crow's nest again." Sanji's lips downturned at the thought. Had he done something wrong? His fingers flicked on his lighter as he pulled out another cigarette; he had been going through them like lollipops recently. His heart twisted in slight envy as he thought of you in the crow's nest again, no doubt with the stupid marimo nearby. How had Zoro of all people seen you more than he had? It took all his strength not to (for no reason) go beat up the green-haired swordsman. His thoughts then lingered on an event he had considered over and over; the night when your smile didn't shine as it should as you poked and prodded your food. Of course, Sanji noticed the unusual despair on your face; he was basically a professional at catching on women's true emotions.

Had something happened? Had someone done something?

As Sanji thought on and continued to blow on his cigarette he finally considered something he had yet to acknowledge. Now that he had thought about it, he hadn't seen you much during meal times with the crew. You would either pop your head in for a brief while, leave quickly, or barely even show up at all. Sanji raked his brain harder for answers. He had thought he'd seen you slip something to Luffy during those times, but could it be your meals? He had seen your fleeting figure and he had seen how your eyes had seemed duller, your face a bit paler, your figure a bit more littered with exhaustion. But it couldn't be, could it? Were you skipping meals? He then thought of how your eyes seemed to sadden at the last island you and the crew had gone to. They were saddened by the presence of the women on the island; known for their beauty and charm. And, of course, they were beautiful, but they weren't you. Sanji had toned down his woman-crazed ways the instant he understood what his feelings for you meant. Had he let slip? Had you misinterpreted his care for flirt? Was it all his fault?

"Sanji-kun!"

He snapped out of contemplation as he registered Nami's worried voice as she ran to him quickly. "Nami-san? What's wrong?" Sanji feels his already racing heart pick up pace as the navigator frowns before spilling the words that has her rushing to him. "[y/n]... she passed out. She's with Chopper."

......

When you finally reopen your eyes, you are lost for a moment, not knowing what happened. But then, your memories start to flood back in. That's right, you think to yourself. You had finished your workout again, but something hadn't felt right. As you descended from the crow's nest and went to rest you had suddenly felt dreadful. Cold sweat had started to seep from your skin, your vision had slowly become clouded by spots and you had felt nausea wash over you quickly. You had stumbled, luckily Nami had been walking past as you did. You had felt her arms, heard her muffled voice in the ringing of your ears - something about staying awake - before the darkness had pulled you in. You sigh looking at the tube ingrained in your arm with despondency, before registering a warmth around your hand. You instantly look down to see that it was Sanji, and he had also just realised that you were awake. Your heart beats faster, shame befalls you, but he speaks first.

"Love... what happened? Chopper said you were malnourished..."

Your heart twists as you look at the cook who has utter concern and sadness and determination in his eyes. Why? "Love, please... talk to me." Sanji's voice sounds desperate for answers already lingering from Chopper's diagnosis, but he needed to hear it all from you. You let the silence remain for a moment to try and control your emotions, but your tears let slip and Sanji's eyes widen at the sight. "I-I'm sorry Sanji. I just- I just haven't been feeling like myself and- and I just wanted to feel better. I skipped meals and I guess I trained too hard. I-" You swallow harshly as you look at the man who squeezes your hand in comfort despite your despair causing his heart to ache. "I just wanted to be good enough, I didn't want you to realise that I'm not as pretty as-" You pause as you tear your eyes away from Sanji. "I just didn't want you to leave me." Sanji can't even describe the amount of disbelief that filled him at your words. You were scared that he would leave you?

"Love... How could I ever- What made you think- It's all my fault."

Your gaze snaps upward at his remark as you shake your head about to retort but he continues on. "I'm sorry love. I should've noticed sooner." Sanji feels his heartbreak for you as his lover, but failure seeps in as the cook of the crew. How can he dream of being a renowned chef, when he can't even notice his own partner, clearly having skipped and pushed away his meals. It was his job to make sure all the crew were fed and nourished perfectly, and he had failed to do that with the one person he cared about most in the world. What's more, he hadn't even noticed your insecurities; he had let you wither and deal with your pain alone. He grits his teeth. "[y/n]." Your heart jumps slightly at the sheer will in his eyes. "Believe me. You are beautiful, perfect, you are the only woman for me. Please, let me be there for you, let me help you..." He holds your hand up in his but you eye him hesitantly and so he continues. He presses his lips to your hand and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks; missing the intimate moments you have traded because of your irrational fears.

"I could never love someone else."

Your eyes glisten with his care and you squeeze his hand gently before peering into his gaze. "I'm sorry Sanji, I didn't eat your meals. I- I've been so distracted I haven't even come to see you... I missed you." Sanji's lips quirk upward then into his kind, warm smile.

"I missed you too, love."

In the following days that passed, you made up for the lost time with Sanji. In his kitchen, you went back to your usual routines and he swooned at your presence, also back to his normal self. Almost all the crew, except for those forever oblivious, let out a collective sigh of relief at the sight of the both of you together and back to your usual ways. Nevertheless, even as insecurities may bubble and rise within you from time to time, you didn't find yourself contesting your beauty or his love for you again; more like Sanji wouldn't let you. Each time he saw your eyes wonder, he held you closer. Each time he witnessed your thoughts drift away he brought you back to him. Each time you considered your self-worth, he would be there to reassure you of your beauty, and his adoration; all almost painfully obvious in the way he basically screamed of his love for you each passing day. He never wanted that look of despair in your eyes again, and so he made sure he didn't.

You looked at your boyfriend, the loving, doting, devoted chef of the crew and you didn't doubt him; you didn't doubt his words. You accepted yourself and you accepted his love, letting despair dwindle away; relishing the brighter days that lay ahead.

[cherrydbear]

Since y'all seemed to like this I'll keep rambling on the subject, I can do this all day. Here are some of those examples where I think their friendship really shines through:

From Sanji's perspective, this guy just showed up outside his restaurant one day, dueled the legendary swordsman who slashed Don Krieg's fleet to pieces, willingly got cut almost in two, nearly bled to death, was tied up by his own crew and then captured by the Arlong pirates, still singlehandedly escaped and came back to join the fight and defeated one of Arlong's best fighters, then nearly bled to death again and woke up just in time to drink himself silly at the afterparty. I've heard people say they "match each other's freak" and that's the truth. Sanji watches this absolute wackadoodle of a man and knows he's found someone who matches his freak. From Zoro's point of view, some cook at a floating restaurant just fed all of their enemies out of principle before kicking their butts. How could he not respect that sort of unconditional adherence to a sense of honor and justice? Especially considering he himself experienced starvation not too long ago in Shells Town. Now this cook, the newest stray in Luffy's collection, immediately proves himself to be immensely capable both in the kitchen and on the battlefield, incurs injury to himself without complaint to protect these people he barely knows, and still is the only person to come sit by Zoro and check up on him. So Zoro knows that Sanji has a heart of pure gold, and I think that's a big part of why he gets frustrated when Sanji tries to cover it up with bravado and perviness.

This scene was really interesting to me because usually when someone demands that Zoro does something, he grouches and grumbles about it, so in this case it seems he just spontaneously started helping out himself. And if there was ever a man whose love language is acts of service, it's Roronoa Zoro. He seems to be more of a "companionable silence" kind of guy, while Sanji's a talker and will say anything to keep feeling connected. Now, I don't know if this is just a me thing, but I like to say my friends' names a lot, even just because the association with them brings me joy, but I rarely use the names of people I'm not close with except to refer to them in third person or to get their attention. In this scene, it seems to me that Sanji keeps repeating Zoro's name as a way to show he's thinking about him and appreciates him being there, though I might just be projecting.

Now, I know shippers go crazy over this one, but I think it's honestly really solid platonic evidence and I'll tell you why (not to dissuade shipping, I think you have to be friends before you can be more than friends so all of this can be fuel for the ship too if you want it to be). Firstly, they're comfortable enough to sleep this close together. Sanji's resting his sleepy head right on Zoro's shoulder (it should have been me, not him) and Zoro just lets him. Also note real quick, only a short distance away Luffy is using Usopp as a pillow, so they're all a cuddly cozy little family. When Zoro notices Sanji mistakenly trying to kiss him, he doesn't even move away, he just makes a face and waits for Sanji to wake up so he can make fun of him. Sanji, for his part, doesn't act embarrassed or disgusted that it turned out to be Zoro there, only playfully mad about his expression. They squabble for a few moments before Luffy pushes past them and they turn their attention to the next thing, argument forgotten, proving that neither was actually angry about anything and they were merely enjoying the opportunity to bicker.

This is from the hunting competition in Little Garden that I mentioned before. I just wanted to point out that both of them are grinning and clearly having a grand time.

(I love how Sanji's hands are just massive sometimes.) They have the entire forest clearing, and Sanji chooses to sit his little booty down right next to Zoro and toss his food at him. They're just like those kids in elementary who had beef over who has a more impressive Pokémon collection and would always sit next to each other at lunch to compare cards and play together at recess but claim they're archnemeses. And for as much as Sanji implied to Usopp (though oblivious) that the heart shaped vegetables were just for the ladies, he did choose to make it and serve it to the whole crew. Speaking of the ladies, Sanji is always adamant about protecting them, but he was perfectly fine with leaving Nami and Robin in Zoro's care, just as Zoro trusted Sanji to take care of Luffy and Usopp.

I also loved how Sanji packed Zoro a cute little lunchbox for exploring and he was NOT going to let no stupid south bird take it from him.

Alright that's all for today folks I gotta wake up in like 5 hours for work lol

Continuation from this post

[l-uminescent]

˚⁀➷｡˚ THE EYES OF A DRAGON  ━━━ DAERON TARGARYEN X FEM! READER & JACAERYS VELARYON X FEM! READER

synopsis: the dreary weather of dragonstone results in you recalling the events of the past year. your escape from your first love, daeron targaryen leaves you with a new life as a dragon keeper where you eventually learn to love again, much to jacaerys velaryon's delight. with the calling of the dragon seeds you are needed to protect the crowd against the fury of vermithor's wrath. surprisingly however, you find yourself with a new companion, one in which the green's are keen to acquire. as daeron writes requesting to talk to you again after finding out this news, your loyalty to jacaerys velaryon will evidently be tested with the return of your old lover.

request (rough translation): hello, could you please make a love triangle story between jacaerys x reader x dareon. since she is the daughter of an ancient dragon guardian (reader's mother died when she was born) she was raised by her uncle who is also a guardian of the dragons and her other uncle was a grand maester in ancient times. when she visited her uncle she met dareon, where she had a friendship and then dareon broke reader’s heart and returned to dragonstone. the war began to recover the throne of rhaenyra and jacaerys calls for the dragon seeds. reader in dragonstone was guarding the nests of dragon eggs by order of her uncle and came across the cannibal who was going to eat the eggs. not wanting that to happen, she tried to calm and control the terrifying dragon, and let her ride it. she realises that she is a dragon seed, therefore meeting jacaerys and striking up a friendship with him. after a while, in battle she meets daeron again. he tries to apologise, telling her he loved her and that he wants her to come back with him - it could be because of her, or the dragon she possesses, as she and cannibal are capable of seriously injuring vhagar and destroying the green’s. but, the reader loves jacaerys and doesn’t plan on betraying him.

notes: thank you sm @alyssa-dayne for requesting!! i kind of went off on a tangent and completely disregarded some of the requests you made, i’m so sorry😭 i hope you enjoy what i did write in its place though bc i had so much fun writing it and absolutely loved your request!! ive also seen a tiktok fan casting harry gilby as daeron and omg i am in love ?? and will be using him from now on. both daeron and Jace have been aged up to 21.

warnings: kind of dark! daeron, language, misogyny, violence, blood mentioned, angst, fluff w jace, friendship w ulf

word count: 4.9k

IT HAD BEEN ALMOST A YEAR SINCE YOU HAD STEPPED FOOT IN KING'S LANDING LAST. the pain of it all was still an open wound. still raw, still bleeding. it would take time for it to heal, time for the cut to be fully stitched up, to pick up the broken pieces. you were prepared to take all the time in the world for it to mend itself since escaping the viper's den. but it seemed like the gods were out to get you, throwing you back into the war that cut you in the first place.

it was many many moons ago that you were brought to the capital in the first place. your uncle was a maester and after the passing of your mother thought it would be best that you were to be brought to the red keep. he kept you close, keeping it a secret from the rats in the walls that he was giving you the same education the males received. so you spent many late nights with him, studying the language and histories of old instead of the usual sewing and stitching you would do during the day with your septa.

that was where you met him for the first time. daeron targaryen. you had been studying late with your uncle in the library. you uncle was an avid believer that a girl had every right to the same knowledge as a boy. a creak of a door had broken your study of the history of the seven kingdoms, revealing a slender blonde in its place. he walked over to your dimly lit table greeting your uncle, whispering something you couldn't make out. you studied him as he spoke, hazy mind too frazzled with tiredness to fully comprehend the boy that had been brought before you.  he was an angel to you, nothing like you had ever seen before. you thought the seven had blessed you with his falling from the heavens above, with hair as blonde as the snows in the north and eyes as purple as the flowers that blossomed in high garden you could not help but be enamoured. and that was the beginning of your fall.

you often reflected on that day in the library, meeting daeron for the first time as the rain patters against the walls of stone in dragonstone. being in a room with nothing but your own thoughts and defeaning silence lead you to the edge of madness. most days, it meant you reminisced on your times in the capital and now, as you lay in bed as the fire in the hearth dwindles and your candles burn low, you think of the blonde beauty. you finally understand why your uncle fought so hard to keep you away from the targaryen boys, "cynical beings" he called them as daeron left the library that night. you would never forget how his eyes graced your figure. the soft smile playing on his lips was a definite contrast to the dark hue that took hold in his eyes. you failed to pick up on this, too besotted by the man in front. panic however, was written clear across your uncle's face. he was accustomed to the targaryen's and their 'favourites'. how a being of lesser status would be that intriguing to them that they had to keep them near was a tale that was repeated constantly in the cycle of the dynasty. "they would stop at nothing to get what they desire, my dear." you remember him warning you, "and i began to fear that daeron targaryen has set his sights on you."

you had wished you heeded the look of distain and the words of warning from your uncle. yet you were so naive to the ways of the world, so young to be thrown into the den of dragons. you recount the day he began to approach you. it was subtle to begin with, he often sought you out to walk in the gardens when your uncle was meant to be teaching him. sneaking away early claiming he was needed to train in the yard, yet it was to seek you out instead. it was every so often at the start, you used to mistake it for coincidence. but it soon turned to daeron needing to see you all the time, glancing at you as he trained, the odd walk in the garden was never enough. and so it began.

daeron began to court you in every sense of the word. small trinkets and gifts would often be sent to your chambers. blushes would stain your cheeks as looks of wanting were shared across feasts and celebrations. touches, that were held a tad too long were daeron's favourites for a while.  he adored seeing the bashfulness on your face, as his slender fingers tapped your waist as he sought you out for every dance. 

you were a fool to fall for it. the targaryen's were a messy family, a mess you had no business being thrown into. but, you were drawn in just the same. the longing glances and subtle touches, turned into stolen kisses as daeron snuck his way through the passages maegor had built. you had thought you were in love with the man, and he with you.

how wrong you were. 

and you were too late to realise.

with the death of king viserys came what would be known for centuries as the 'dance of the dragons.' and you had just so happened to find yourself in the middle of it. your strong-mindedness and wilful opinions clearly saw you taking the side of the blacks. what right did anyone have to deny the heir the king had named just because she was born a girl? you often thought. you saw how unfairly women were treated by the scholars, how they were subjected to needle work with the septa's rather than the histories from the maesters. with the reign of a new queen you had hope that she would put an end to the inequality that was evident throughout the realm.

this sense of hope came crashing immediately with the entrance of daeron to your chambers. he spoke of aegon being raised as king. "it is only right." he would exclaim, "he is male. what use would my half-sister be if  she were to sit the throne, she is too weak."

you were enraged by this. the blatant disregard for rhaenyra, branding her as weak felt like a swift knife to your stomach. "you think i am weak then too daeron?" you recalled saying with a shake to your voice. "just as i am a woman, you deem me incapable. you think me stupid? hmm? you believe just because i was born this, i would not be fit to do anything other than sew, and produce heirs?"

you had always heard the people of the court say that the targaryen's were closer to god than man, something you would often brush aside. you could never picture your sweet daeron as mad as they claim the rest to be. but, you had finally awoken from whatever haze-induced state in that comes with being in love with a targaryen. the look in his lilac eyes would be one you would never forget, haunting your nightmares for moons to come. you now understood the fear of those who crumbled beneath that of the conqueror, swearing fealty. daeron's eyes conveyed the message words could not. you would learn to fear him, if you ever dared cross him.

tears, made themselves known then. spilling from your cheeks, you began to silently cry as the man you loved left you with that. daeron, would never see you equal just as he would never see rhaenyra fit to sit the iron throne. because of what you had been born. 

and thus with that you had made your decision, no amount of fear could stop you. with the news of aegon's planned crowning seeping through the walls of the red keep, and your once whole heart being left behind also, you had slipped away into the shadows, disguising as a fisherman's daughter as you and your uncle sailed to dragonstone to declare for queen rhaenyra targaryen, first of her name.

it was hard at first in dragonstone. your uncle sought audience with the queen, stating what had occurred on dragonstone and how you had managed to escape. nevertheless, the queen was wary of you. it was no secret that daeron had began to court you, how the two of you would eventually marry. they did not know you had discovered the darker side, the misogyny within. a look of sympathy was evident in the queen's eyes as she saw your heart break all over again as you recalled the story, she herself being reminded of the betrayal of alicent hightower. her good-will meant that you were allowed to stay within the castle, your uncle taking up schooling the queen's sons and you were to begin work with the dragon keepers along with your other uncle, who you barely knew. 

the many days of training with the other keeper's kept your thoughts off daeron's betrayal. you had hardened over the course of many moons, building your walls high and swearing to never give your heart to another.

that would be seen to not have lasted very long due to a certain dark-haired prince.

you had met jacaerys velaryon for the very first time when you were sent to keep guard of the smaller dragon's, vermax being one of them. you had tried your very best to make yourself scarce in his presence as you patrolled the pits. but the loud roar's of the dragon's still made you jump every so often, and in doing so you had dropped your spear. landing with a loud clatter, jacaerys' head had whipped around to see what had happened, only to find you. a chuckle had escaped his lips at your clumsiness, calling out a "new to the job?"  much to your unamusment.

"yes, well, my prince i am very much new to being this close to a dragon." you bit back in response.

a second had passed before jacaerys had beckoned you closer to him and his dragon. not wanting to anger him, you gingerly approached; still deathly afraid of dragons. 

"vermax here is a sweet dragon, here place you hand atop his snout. you will not come to any danger so long as i do not will it." he teased, but seeing your face pale he quickly announced he was only jesting.

your hand shook as it rose from your side as you slowly reached for the dragon. faltering, as vermax breathed out smoke. jacaerys noted your fear and guided your hand with his placing it on his dragon's snout. goosebumps rose across your skin at the contact and you were sure your sickly face regained some colour as your cheeks heated at the close proximity.  "see i told you, you would not get hurt."

and so it began again,except it was different this time. 

you found it almost easier to love jacaerys, or jace as he wanted you to call him. he was not as needy as daeron was, allowing you to always have your space but making sure you knew he would be with you in a heartbeat if you needed him. you adored the boy, how freckles splattered across his cheeks like stars, how his dark curls sometimes got in his eyes when he yielded as sword, and how he respected you. jace would always take the time to help you with your studies if needs be, to teach you how to wield your keeper's spear. he treated you as an equal, something daeron never did. the softness of jace was something you also never had with daeron. the kisses shared, were full of longing, full of love differing, heavily from the fierce, lustful ones of your previous lover. he was everything daeron was not.

you knew then that you wanted to marry jacaerys. there was not a second doubt in your mind. your loyalty for him was unwavering, he had made you learn to trust love again. you owed him everything, and you swore you would repay the love kindness he gave you as you still looked out at the dreary weather of dragonstone.

━━━━━━━━━━ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ━━━━━━━━━

with jace's calling of the dragonseeds, your skills as a keeper were put to the test as many poor folk streamed in from the streets of king's landing and dragonstone alike. the drone of voices woke you from your daze as you paced up and down the stony column that separated you from the dark unknown of vermithor's cave. both men and women started to appear being lead by rhaenyra herself, jace slowly behind. you were confused with the lack of dragon keeper's accompanying her, as it seemed to be only you and your uncle who accompanied the crowd. 

you stood to the side, as both rhaenyra and your uncle called for the dragon in high valyrian - a language you were still learning to speak. a slow, menacing growl greeted rhaenyra in response to her call and movement caused the crowd to stir fearfully. from what you had studied about the ways of the keepers, was that dragon's could smell the fear of the person approaching. and with a crowd this afraid you were sure vermithor would not react well. 

the rising of the copper beast saw many yelp as he beared his blood stained teeth. despite your focus on the dragon ahead, you noticed those of higher status leaving to take shelter in the stone stands above.  you willed yourself to take a few deep breathes as your eyes met jace's worried ones, he took note of how you remained still not daring to follow the other lord's footsteps. he knew how stubborn you were, you swore to protect the people from the dragon's and he knew you would not leave no matter how hard he begged.

a forced smiled adorned your lips as you stared back at jace, a nod following, telling him that you were to do the role his mother had assigned to you.  facing the beast as jace returned to safety you pointed your spear at it, forcing yourself to remain as calm as possible, you slowly approached him. it was no use. the overpowering fear of the dragonseeds had sent vermithor into a hunger induced frenzy, sending sprouts of fire into the group. chaos erupted as the fire took hold of the first seed who had tried to approach. rolling out of the way, you had began to push a group of star-struck women who seemed to be rooted to their spot. you shouted an ear-defeaning "run"as loud as you possibly could to as many people as possible, as you stayed as close to the edge of the column trying to take vermithor's attention away from the others.  adrenaline coursed through your veins as you attempted to poke the dragon with your spear. yet it was no use, vermithor moved too fast and too furiously for you to catch him sending waves of fire to whatever living thing he could see as he did so.

jace watched on in absolute terror as you moved yourself closer to the dragon, dodging at only the last second to avoid the ripple of flame. his hands gripped the ledge of the stand he looked out upon tightly, knuckles whitening as he did. he had already tried to run down the steps to pull you to him, but the queen's guard had stopped him in the process, his mother deemed him too important as heir to be killed in such a way. so all jace could do is watch, praying to all the gods he could think of to grant him this wish of keeping you alive.

a loud shout from behind you had alerted you of the oncoming flames as you tried to help another group of people to safety, rolling out of the way you had landed up against rock who seemed to also cover the man who had warned you of vermithor's next attack. returning your gratitude, you had grabbed the man's cloak and had pulled him against the wall at the back of the cave. the two of you grabbed ahold of two of the many torches that lit the dark room, and scaled the edge of the cave, holding onto the side as you weaved in and out of the connecting paths between each lair. "thank you for saving me back there." you remember saying to the man. as the two of you walked, you had learned that he was called ulf, and claimed to be the bastard son of baelon targaryen. you did seem to be weary of the claim, you had heard from many the love the man had for his wife alyssa, swearing not to take another lover for as long as he remained alive, but now wasn't the time to question it so you left it at that. 

as you continued to walk for what felt like hours, ulf roared in happiness that he seen a light at the end of the awful narrow cave you had ventured down. the two of you began to break out into a run, thanking the gods that you had managed to make it out unscathed. the feelings were short-lived though, as the alley had opened up to the largest cave you had ever seen, and an even larger eye glistened in greeting you as you stepped out. 

the sound of blood could be heard in your ears as you realised that you were now face to face with the largest dragon on dragonstone - the cannibal. your flight or fight seemed to kick in that moment, months of keeper training seemed to as well, as you shoved ulf back down the corridor you came down and spun to point your weapon at the monster ahead. 

the dragon seemed to be almost taken aback by your courage, nose flaring with smoke as you stood eyes wide with the spear facing him. the cannibal knew you were no match for him, yet it seemed he admired your courage. he studied you, as you also studied him waiting for his attack. his black scales made him blend in easily with the darkness of his lair, only the torch you had dropped when you pushed ulf seemed to mark his presence as well as his gleaming green eyes. they seemed to bore into your own, as he assessed whether you were friend or foe. you did not break the eye contact once, your hands still tightly gripping the spear as if it was your lifeline, your only hope at survival. 

it seemed however, that this hope prevailed. the cannibal had made his decision of you, bowing slightly smoke emitted from his gigantic snout almost knocking you down. it seemed somewhat friendly. you could not believe what you had done, with your courage it appeared that you had somehow managed to claim the largest dragon alive, the first person to ever do it. gods you could not wait to show jace about this. 

you remembered that day like it was almost yesterday despite many weeks having passed since. jace had almost murdered you. he thought you had perished in the flames of vermithor. as you stumbled up to the castle to tell the queen what had occured, jace had been there too. he had kissed you in front of everyone, not caring that the rumours would swirl afterwards. he was in sheer relief that you had returned to him safely and managing to tame the cannibal in the process. 

in that time also, you had taken to flying the cannibal. only a short distance at first, around dragonstone as you were still wary of his size and his cannibalistc nature having to fight him many a time to not eat the eggs laid by the other dragons on island, it took him a while to gain your trust and he you due to his unease with having a rider. it was not until you began to speak to him in high valyrian that the bond between the two of you was sealed, completely unbreakable.

and at this, you woke earlier than usual this morning to fly him to king's landing - making it known to the green's that rhaenyra had the largest dragon on her side. a smirk was plain on your face as you sawed the skies on your beloved dragon, and you were sure he held the same expression. it almost felt revengeful as you lapped around king's landing dipping as close to the castle as possible without being in reach of arrows. your intent was to prove to daeron you were stronger than he thought - you had claimed the biggest dragon after all. you had made sure that all were to see. the cannibal seemed to enjoy the screams of terror revelling at the attention, he let out a defeaning roar as he dipped and rose again, just to sweeten the revenge. 

you knew it was time to go when you heard the rustling of trees in the distance. vhagar was indeed no match to your dragon but you weren't ready to test the water's just yet with a dragon nearly the size of your own. you drew back from the capital, as the she-dragon's body became visible in the skies. "let us go home"you spoke to the cannibal. heeding your words he carried you across the waters back to the safety of dragonstone. as he settled once more in his lair and a stern "don't eat any more eggs!" from you, you began to clamber back to the castle, your ego boosted now that aemond targaryen deemed you a threat. you had only wished now to see the targaryen brothers reactions when they discover that it was you that rode the largest beast in the realm. 

━━━━━━━━━━ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ━━━━━━━━━

the rain pattered steadily against the window as you lay in bed, recounting these moments. the candle's in your room seemed to flicker as they reached the end of their wicks giving you the sign that it was time to go. the note clutched in your hand deemed that the whispers seemed to reach daeron targaryen's ears quickly enough, he was now informed that the rider of the cannibal was none other than his old lover. you pulled your robe on, reading the piece of parchment for the final time before the candle's fizzled out completely. daeron had requested to meet you, no violence, no fights. he just wanted to talk. your curiosity got the best of you sadly and you wrote back earlier in the day saying you would talk peacefully. he had agreed to meet you on your own shore, at the edge of dragonstone. it was safely out of the way of the black's, meaning that they would not be able to see the meeting but not far enough that a screech from a dragon would go unnoticed, so you deemed yourself safe enough.

even though the cannibal blended perfectly with the night sky, the sheer ferocity of his size meant that there was absolutely no way you would be able to bring him without being spotted by a guard of some sort. so you entrusted the help of ulf, the man you had protected from your dragon many moons ago. the two of you had struck up some sort of odd friendship despite the age difference being vast, you found the man quite funny and he you. he could not believe a girl as clumsy as you had managed to save him from the cannibal as well as claiming him in the process.

ulf was the perfect man to deliver you to daeron. as you snuck into the dragon cave silverwing resided, he had already mounted the dragon - a sense of excitement emitted from him for doing something so secretive, something the queen could never find out about. you however were the exact opposite. nerves ate at your stomach as you gripped onto elf's torso. you had thought you were going to be sick, you hadn't seen daeron in almost a year. you wondered if he looked different, if he sounded different, if he thought different.

you had to force these thoughts out of your mind as silverwing made her descent in the trees a few yards away from the clearing where daeron and tessarion stood. you did not want him to know that you had entrusted someone with the knowledge of this secret meeting, so you had told ulf to patrol the skies and you would wave at the sky if you needed him. he agreed to go reluctantly, only after making you promising to give him a ride on cannibal the following day. you huffed out a laugh at this, ulf always knew what to say when you felt anxious. 

as your friend and his dragon took to the skies again, you began to enclose the distance between you and the blonde prince. anxiety once again took reign of your body, you could feel your heart pounding in your ears and you hands began to shake uncontrallby. you forced them to play with the ring jace had given you in promise that he would marry you after the war had ended. your mind grounded itself at the thought of jace, even as you came face to face with daeron. you thought of jace, how you had to return home safely to him.

"you claimed the cannibal then." daeron spoke. he hadn't changed one bit since you seen him last, his lilac eyes still sparkled in endearment at you even after all this time. 

a sigh escaped your lips as you drew even closer to him, "didn't think i could do it?" you responded snarkily, head tilting to the side slightly as awaited his answer. 

all he could do was shake his head and laugh. "you have not changed one bit. i have missed you."

your eyes were slightly wide at his confession, taken aback by it. you weren't expecting that, you were prepared for daeron to beg you to join the green's, for him to tell you how you would be increasingly useful to win the war. you had not prepared for his expression of feelings. he took your look of bewilderment as a sign to continue.

"i still stand for aegon's claim, he is stronger than my half-sister, but i wish for you to come back. aegon said he will pardon you for your crimes of betrayal and treason if you return with me to king's landing. we will marry and you will become a princess of the realm."

there it was. you knew his confession was too good to be true. "oh speak plainly daeron." you spat. "you only wish for me because of my dragon." rage took hold as you moved close, tilting your head up, you began look him in the eyes. you wished to convey to him the sheer anger you felt at his words, just like the look he had given you all that time ago. except now, the blood of the dragon ran within you too. 

you were now nearly pressed to the boy, your voice dropped to a dangerously low whisper as you continued. "you see me as weak daeron. i alone, have claimed a dragon twice as powerful as yours and you still do not deem me as worthy, as an equal. i will never join the cause of a fucking usurper when the woman who i fight for deserves the throne."

he hummed in response, a wicked smile taking over his face. "you only fight for them because of that bastard." the look of shock on your face was clear as you faltered slightly at his sharp words. "didn't think i had heard? i have given you a chance to join me, my love and you have refused. i will bring fire and blood upon that bastard until you have no choice but to stand by my fucking side."

his hands came up to grip your jaw forcing you to look into his eyes as he spoke the last sentence. you knew what he was capable of and you knew what he said he meant to make true. that didn't stop you from scoffing at his words, your tongue rolling over your lips as you did so "he is more man than you will ever be daeron. bastard or not i will marry him, or i will be long cold and dead in the ground. either or, it would happen long before i would ever, ever stand by you and you betray the man i love."

at this, daeron used the hand he had on your jaw to shove you away, anger plain on his face. the heart that had once bled for him was replaced by something cold, something darker. the love for jace was the only thing in it that burned strong, you would do anything to protect him from the monster before you. you promised yourself, you would die before you let daeron touch a hair on his head. you weren't the same naive girl you had been when you first laid eyes on daeron targaryen. and you weren't the same stupid girl who coward when that  his lilac bore into yours the night you left. as that look returned to his face before he once again turned to leave, tears did not stream from your eyes as it did all that time ago. instead, you held his gaze, your own pupils mirroring that look - you now too held the eyes of a dragon.

[kentopedia]

˚₊‧꒰ა cold embrace (provenance) — fyodor dostoevsky

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎. you buy a two hundred year old house with a two hundred year old painting hanging above the mantel. it's not the only thing the previous owner left behind.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈. ghost!fyodor, f!reader, violence, angst, death, alternate / modern universe, no smut but it is suggestive, fyodor is kind of a pervy ghost so, wc: 6.1k

𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈. this one has two titles bc it was supposed to be for my kinktober... never finished it. embarrassing ! but here is a semi-revamped version for this series! i can finally check it off my wips page <3 idk how i feel about it but i hope you enjoy

part of my summerween series !

A chime from the grandfather clock brings Fyodor out of his stupor, the sound signaling another day, another meaningless hour that will only continue his eternal misery. He’s grown used to it now—evening after evening of emptiness, of reading nothing but the same books, playing the same pieces of dull sheet music, and the lifeless chess matches against himself. The house is cold with only his presence, dusty without a housekeeper and a life to make it a home.

There are a million things in Fyodor’s life that he must have done to deserve this misery, but he can’t pinpoint which one solidified his reward of a lamentable, endless cycle.

He’s certain hell is better than this. It’s something he wishes for every day, if only to have an eternal companion with the devil, a challenge to overcome.

Though, even with this boredom, Fyodor refuses to let anyone live in his home. They’ll only serve to be another pain, something that would, surely, push him past the brink of sanity.

The centuries old décor will get replaced with gaudy twenty-first century items, ones that will be nothing more than an eyesore. There are a few already scattered around his home from previous tenants, but only things that he believed useful enough for him to keep; a few books from authors he didn’t live to read, a television from the nineties, a computer that he watched one couple scroll on before he murdered them in cold blood.

Perhaps he is two hundred years dead and gone, but he refuses to be an ignorant ghost, one that is unaware of anything beyond these four walls, caught forever in the past.

Although now, it’s been a while since anyone’s tried to move in, and he’s certain the only reason the house hasn’t been torn down is because its preserved nicely, an eighteenth-century home that has withstood the test of time.

Fyodor, in his lowest moments, wishes they would tear it down. Maybe then, and only then, can he be set free. Or maybe, he’s forever trapped in this exhaustive lot, doomed to decay, even when there’s nothing left of the foundations but soil.

He pushes a pawn forward on the board, putting himself in checkmate for the millionth time in a row. It’s been so long that he’s used to his own tricks. Even the computer, which he’d come to understand quickly, is no match for him. It’s far too exhaustive to play against a machine that utilizes an algorithm he can so easily decipher.

Out of nowhere, the front door unlocks, and Fyodor glances over at the sound, dark hair falling over his eyes. Seconds later, he notices an older realtor with a clipboard leading you around, a woman he’s never seen, dressed up nicely with a darker shade of lipstick smeared across your mouth.

He’s been through this before. It’s a miracle the realtor hasn’t given up on this house yet, a mansion she is determined to sell despite the endless horrors that have been committed by his hand.

“Here it is,” she says, nervous, gesturing around the expansive hall, the crystal chandelier and staircase that immediately follows. “It was built in 1731, but one of the owners remolded it in the style of the mid-nineteenth century. The structure has been stabilized; it’s safe… enough.”

The two of you chat, but he doesn’t bother to listen in. It’s all questions of: when can I move in? can we negotiate? — things you will come to regret once he sets his sights on killing you.

Then, the realtor is sighing, wringing her hands together as she watches you spin around the house in awe. It’s clear that you’re impressed by the layout, the rich furniture and colors that have been used.

That, at least, satisfies Fyodor. Everyone else who has moved in was looking to upgrade it to a modern style, rid the place of its aged grace and charm.

“I’m truly sorry,” she says, brushing curly hair away from her cheekbones. “But I am legally obligated to tell you that every person who has lived here before has suffered a terrible, terrible fate. There have been gruesome murders that cannot be explained, done in ways that I don’t even want to tell you about.”

You laugh, eyeing her with skepticism. “Are you telling me it’s haunted?”

The realtor shrugs. “That’s what people say.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” you answer, and Fyodor rolls his eyes, scoffing as he floats to the second floor, unable to listen into the unreasonable conversation anymore. It’s been the same story for decades. No one believes in ghosts, but it is always a ghost that kills them.

He returns to the chess board, irritated, though unable to consider the game any further. Your face is stuck in his mind. For some reason, he can’t remember the last time he’s ever seen anyone with such beauty.

Fyodor stops; your ageless elegance doesn’t matter—it can’t, and it won’t. You’ll be dead by the end of the month, when you gather all your things and invade the bedroom that was once his own. Even if you are beautiful, you are a nuisance, a threat to Fyodor’s eternal torment and quiet existence.

Still, he can’t help but wonder if it would be nice to have something other than his own thoughts to distract him from the endless misery.

You move in on the thirteenth of June, nothing more than a few boxes and a decade old car to keep you company. He guesses you’ve traveled a long distance to get here, and you’ve gotten rid of half of your life in the process.

A good thing for him. That means things can be over relatively quickly, and all your belongings can be disposed of easily after he kills you.

You spend the entire first day unpacking, and Fyodor waits patiently, allows you time to get comfortable in his home. He watches as you bring a stack of thick novels into the waiting room, which once boasted large parties, and place them on a shelf below those that have his name within the covers.

You take a few calls as you hang up your autumn coats, ones that won’t be needed for a few months. The voice on the other line sounds frantic, worried. A local, most likely. You only seem annoyed by his continuous string of anxieties.

When the sun sets, and you grow tired, you rub your eyes and head to bed. The first night you will spend in this place that Fyodor likens to Hell.

It’s the time he’s been waiting for—a moment to catch you off guard. You are so unsuspecting, already so at home in the mansion, that you have no fear of anything hurting you in the middle of the night.

While you get ready for bed, Fyodor slips into your room, observing the pieces of your life that have conquered his bedroom. A soft classical piece plays from your phone, one that he recognizes from his mortal life. Clearly, you are fascinated by the period he once lived in. A shame, really, he won’t be able to tell you more about it.

You leave the bathroom, come back towards him to change into a pair of small shorts, a large shirt hanging over your frame.

He’s forgotten how long it’s been since he’s seen a woman, how long since he’s touched one.

Fyodor finds himself distracted by your body, the smoothness of your skin. His eyes travel over your legs, your hips, the fullness of your breasts and ignores how much he desires to let his thumb graze over your flesh. There is something so soft about you, so gentle and innocent.

Perhaps, that is where his fascination stems from: he has always been the opposite. Even in his human existence, Fyodor was not a kind man, and he doesn’t plan on becoming one now that he is dead.

He shakes away the vision, the thoughts that swirl within his mind. It has been far too long since he has experienced any sort of pleasure, and maybe even a man as cold as himself is not immune to the desires that course within his veins.

Though he tries to be. He ignores his arousal desperately in exchange for a renewed bloodlust.

You climb into bed, put your phone on the white cord, and shut your eyes. Thirty minutes later, you’re sleeping soundly, soft puffs of air leaving your lips as you sleep.

It’s the opportune moment. The silver knife gleams brightly in his hand, streaks of moonlight tracing over the slanted point. It’s the same blade he’s killed every other new tenant with, their screams still echo in the halls like a harmonious melody each time he bring the knife down on another unknowing victim.

He stands before you at the side of the bed, watches as your chest rises and falls, the evidence of your life undeniable. You are a lovely image like this, something to be painted and adored; more beautiful than many of the women he’d met in his time, even those who were of the finest elite in the country.

Fyodor presses the blade to your throat, contemplative. He considers how much lovelier you will look with the scarlet stain of blood seeping down your neck, spraying across the room and ruining the fresh sheets. Will you awaken, gasping as you claw at your throat, or will you drift away without even understanding what has become of you?

He pictures it, and digs the blade close to your throat, nothing more than a pinprick of blood flowering there.

You don’t awaken; but you a little sound leaves you, something between a gasp and a moan, and you shift away from the knife gripped between his pale fingers. It’s a sound that has him pausing, musing, as he regards your vulnerable state, a beautiful figure there with no clue that such a murderous man is also a resident in her home.

You make another one of those pretty noises in your throat, and Fyodor, against two centuries of murderous intent, pulls the knife away. He watches as you roll on your stomach, your shirt scrunching, moving up your body to reveal the undersides of your breasts. Your hand shifts towards him on the bed, reaching in his direction, before you still. Then, your breathing is back to normal, evened out completely.

Your lips part blissfully as you sigh in your sleep.

He can’t stop looking at you, can’t stop wondering what his name would sound like leaving the perfect swell of your mouth, if you’d sound just as pretty when you orgasm as you do when you’re asleep.

Surely, he can find a better use for you—it would be a shame for such a pretty thing to go out so early.

As he draws back, Fyodor notices the chess board on the side table, the pieces arranged nicely, each on the correct square. He can’t tell if you play. You could just have it for decoration, or perhaps it was a gift given to you from a lover that he hasn’t seen pictures of, the one that he’s certain someone as lovely as you must have.

The board is aged; not as old as the one in the drawing room, but a nice set, nonetheless. Fyodor glances back at your sleeping form once more, smiles coolly to himself, and shifts a pawn forward.

The chess piece is the first thing you notice in the morning.

It’s almost ridiculous how easily it catches your eye, a tiny little movement within the chaos that was your brand-new room. A pawn is on a different square, leering at you from the other wall, as if smiling, a flashing sign above its head, calling to you, hoping you’ll pay attention.

You almost think nothing of it; things can move, can’t they? Perhaps there was a shift in the earth overnight… Though, that makes little sense when you think about it rationally.

It’s strange, that much is certain. You remember the realtor telling you about the ghosts, and though you aren’t inclined to believe in haunted houses and scary stories, you find a part of yourself questioning the logic of the chess piece.

You are certain it was on the correct square before you slept.

It’s the only thing on your mind as you get ready, suffer through a tasteless breakfast, and throw on a rain jacket to combat the dreary weather. You’re meeting a friend for lunch—the only friend you have in this town. Sigma is the sole reason you decided to move here, instead of the other arbitrary cities that you’d been desperate to escape to.

Still, the board won’t leave your mind. You take one last glance at it before, on a whim, pushing the opposite color pawn forward as well.

Then you leave, hoping that a conversation with your friend will take your mind off the strangeness of that happenstance, the anxiety you feel about moving to a new place, a new job where no one knows you, a home that stays cold, despite the heat that reigns with long summers.

The walk to the cafe is short, but with the wind and the drizzling rain, you are miserable, your hands wrinkling from the dampness, even within your pockets.

Sigma is waiting for you, his lavender and white hair loose over his shoulders as he peruses the menu, eyes darting across it like he’s never read it before.

You sit, offer him a greeting, and though your conversation is cordial, the two of you catching up on your day, you eventually ask the question you’ve been dying to know.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Sigma stops, puts the utensil back down on his plate, and regards you with a thin frown. “Did something happen?”

You think of the chess piece, wonder if another will be moved when you get home. “No, but—”

“I told you not to move into that house,” he says, eyes narrowing. Sigma refuses to step into that mansion, grows anxious every time you mention it. “Over ten people have died there. Do you want to get murdered?”

“No particularly,” you say, staring at him flatly, your mouth pulling into a line. “But I’ve made it one night already. I’ll be fine.”

A hard laugh leaves him, as he shakes his head, unamused by your cheekiness. “That’s what they all say, isn’t it? Then they all die.”

“Very dramatic.” You take a long sip of your water. Sigma’s features don’t crack in the slightest as he stares at you, waiting for you to continue. “I’m not scared. I just want to know if you believe in ghosts or not… Because I don’t.”

Sigma’s eyes flit across your face, searching for any hint of a lie, for any signs of fear. When he finds none, his hands stretch across the table, lacing them together as he glares. “Whether you believe in ghosts or not doesn’t matter. There’s something evil about that house, and you’re putting yourself in danger by living there.”

The conversation with Sigma weighs on your mind for hours after, when you return home, still thinking about the chess board. It was just as you’d left it, two pawns moved forward, staring each other down menacingly. Nothing out of the ordinary.

You sigh and finally put it out of your mind. It was just a coincidence, that’s all. The piece was probably on the wrong square all along, and you’d been too tired last night to notice it.

Instead, you focus your sights on unpacking, and contemplate what to do with the portrait hanging above the mantel.

It’s a dusty old thing, one that the previous owners had, for some reason, never taken down. It had hung over the mantel for centuries, the corners faded from the sun, but the sinister grin of the subject never losing its effect.

You tilt your head, stare at it from a different angle. Looking at it that way, you could, perhaps, see why the painting appealed to them. It’s old, with a style from a different century, and the man composed of deep shadows and pale colors is undeniably handsome. He seems out of place in the portrait, trapped there, too otherworldly to be captured on such a canvas. His features are sharp, molded out of something tougher than diamonds, something more beautiful than this plane is able to comprehend. His deep eyes seem to know all as they stare at you, trace you across the room.

For minutes, you are hypnotized, before a wave of disgust washes over you, and you turn away, unable to look at it any longer. You’ll sell it, you decide. Maybe it will be worth a pretty penny.

That evening, you decide to look into it, but the search into a local art dealer doesn’t get far. When you sit down at your laptop, beginning to type your question into the browser, the lid shuts on your fingertips.

It takes a moment for you to register what had happened. A faint sting dances along the back of your hands, your knuckles tender as you lift the lid back up. Lines bounce along the screen, as if the imprint of your hand had made its way into the pixels, matching the pulse of your nerves.

You curse lowly, hoping that a reset will fix the issue.

The lid had just fallen, nothing serious. It was a newer model, but those things could happen. Issues with the manufacturing, with the way it was assembled. Technology fails you all the time.

You hold the power button, irritated, and upset, when a horrible, screeching noise echoes from the computer. Nothing but a shrill scream, the speakers begging you for help. You slam it shut once more, and the noise stops, but your heartbeat doesn’t slow down.

Shit.

Tomorrow, you’ll have to take it in, and see if anyone can discern the issues. It’s not ideal, but there’s so many things to still need to do, and a broken laptop makes those things very difficult.

You sigh, pushing the chair back into the table. The portrait looms above you as you retreat back to your room, hands shaking. It’s irrational, you know it is, but you swear his eyes follow you all the way up the stairs.

It doesn’t take long for you to start believing in the ghost that is haunting your manor, the one who has let you live for a week and who plays a new game of chess every time your back is turned. Whoever it is, they are much better than you; so far, you’ve lost twice—haven’t even gotten close to winning.

He hides things from you, items that you are needing for the next day, papers that you can’t submit to work on time because the important files have been stashed away.

You find your books opened to paragraphs the ghost seemingly finds interesting, your sheet music scattered in a mess when you return. The candles get blown out unexpectedly, and doors slam when you’re not suspecting it.

If he’s trying to scare you—it isn’t working. You remain in the house, sometimes talking to him like he’s a friend, whispering amongst the walls that know all of the secrets in your home.

You stop at the library on your free weekend, flipping through a dusty copy of the local legends, only stopping when you find your home. There’s a copy of the painting there—your painting, the one that still hangs above your mantel, despite your better judgment.

Beside it, there’s a painting of your home, done when the house was first built. The outside of it is a differently color entirely, the garden in front blooming with pink and yellow flowers. It looks cheerful; the home of a warm and loving family, inviting and kind to each of the neighborhood children. Nothing like the dark manor it is today, with a dead garden in the front and shutters that keep even an ounce of light out.

You read the pages proceeding the painting. The first owner had been a kind man, but the next were not such. After the original owner lost his wealth, he sold the house, passed it to a line of greedy men, ones that were focused only on their money. For a century, it went on this way—until a man named Fyodor Dostoevsky purchased the home for twice as much as it once was.

He was the one who changed it, renovated it, upgraded it to his own personal style, ensuring that it fit in with the times and his own opinions of luxury. Fyodor was charming, but ruthless, deadly with his own intelligence, owning half the town as they lost their money to his schemes.

Fyodor’s rein came to an end when he was poisoned by his closest friend, perhaps the one man he had trusted. It was the first murder in a string of ones to follow within the house.

You close the book, unsure if you regret the knowledge you’d gained or not.

The house feels colder now that you know the history of it. As if you can see the cruelty etched into every wall. Colors of the home bleed into each other, a pastel yellow of warmth and light, and the next room empty, almost uninhabitable, with its royal purples.

You stare at the portrait as you make dinner, feeling like you can never escape the gaze of those oil painted eyes. He has a name now—Fyodor. It feels even more disarming now that you know more about him than he’ll ever know about you.

And though Fyodor watches you, every night, from every angle, you convince yourself it’s just the way that the painting is situated. It would be foolish to think that he’s really watching every move you make, irises pinned on your form, unblinking.

The oven heats up behind you as you cut up your food, humming a soft tune to yourself. It’s getting hotter outside – you’d almost forgotten how miserable the summers could be. You forget every year, even though you’ve lived many.

Just as you’re getting lost in your thoughts, going through a list of things that need to get done in your fixer-upper home, you hear a scratch behind you.

It’s a quick sound, so quick that you almost think it was only your imagination. It’s enough to give you pause, your humming fading out into the night as your eyes dart around your house. Although you’ve tried not to let urban legends get the best of you, you’re paranoid in this aged mansion now.

A few seconds pass. You listen to the sound of your own heartrate, feel it pounding in your chest as you will it to calm down. It’s just enough time for you to convince yourself that it was nothing, that you’re far too nervous about silly ghosts to think rationally.

Though as you turn, a knife flies from the counter, just grazing your cheek, but enough to cause a scratch to open up against the skin. Your finger draws away scarlet as you press it to the wound, staring at the painted crevices of your fingertip.

You can’t move. Despite every cell in your body begging, screaming at you to move, you’re frozen, trapped in the four walls of that kitchen as you stare at your bloodied hand.

It’s all a dream, you repeat to yourself. A dream.

One that you don’t wake up from.

Time passes strangely, when every muscle in your body is on edge, your head pounding from the anxiety that spikes throughout your nervous system. A bead of sweat drips from your temple, and though you aren’t sure how long you stand there, nothing else happens. The knife remains lodged in the wall behind you, and the ghost makes no other attempt to lodge one into your stomach.

It’s quiet. There’s no noise, save for the music that plays softly from your phone.

After you regain control of your racing heartrate, you realize that the song playing isn’t what you’d put on originally. It had switched to a gentle, classical piece. Tchaikovsky, you think… or something similar. Something that a man from a different era would be familiar with.

“Who’s there?” You find yourself saying, perhaps stupidly. “What do you want?”

There’s no response – of course there isn’t. You’re talking to the air. To a ghost. No one had gotten inside the house. You’d checked more than enough times, just as you always did.

“I live here now,” you offer, thinking that, perhaps anger is not the best course of action. Neither is fear, though, if the scary movies you’d watched as a teenager had been any indication. “But I’ll leave, if you want me to.”

There’s no answer to that either.

You sigh, and deflate once more, trying to make yourself believe that there was a logical explanation to knives flying and playlists changing. Just as you’d made yourself believe that everything the “ghost” had done before was just a game, innocently played.

Perhaps, there was never a ghost at all. It could be that stress is driving you to insanity.

With a glass of wine in your hand, you finish up dinner, feeling like you are at your wit’s end. How is it that only a few weeks in this house has already singed your mind, turned you into a believer of things that you are not?

The portrait feels like an omen, staring at you with violet eyes, as you wonder where Fyodor is now. Does he watch you when your home, cooking, as you shower, a vicious gaze tracing over each curve of your body, with a sickening thought of all the things he wishes to do to you?

You shiver. It’ s been a while since anyone’s looked at you with a hint of desire. The feeling has become foreign, now, but you can still recall the gratification that comes with being wanted, how it makes you feel, if only for a moment, comfortable in your own skin.

That thought alone quickly snaps you out of your irrational behavior. Thinking of a ghost wanting you? A man that had been buried in the earth for so long that his body would be nothing more than bones?

This house was making you sick, you concluded, wrapping your leftovers up in plastic and tinfoil, placing them in the fridge. Your nervous friend was right – you never should’ve moved into this house, and you never should have stayed this long.

Your hands shook along the banister, heart racing around every corner. You expected that, maybe, you would see a dark-haired spirit there, his body translucent, but still corporeal. Though, there was no spirit hiding within the depths of the shadows, lurking in the places where he still belonged. No sounds startled you, caused you to jump as you brushed your teeth, completed the one last routine of your day.

The bed was colder than usual as you climbed into it, like a flush of a cold spot had settled within the sheets. You remembered what they said about temperatures and ghosts—how they changed, nothing able to survive in the places that they haunted, as they were not of this world, but something in between, something unnatural.

Your lamp flickers as you turn it on, and it’s just one more red flag you choose to ignore. In houses as old as this one, there are issues like that. The wiring is faulty, the electric needs to be monitored, a laundry list of items you will probably never resolve.

There are a thousand rational conclusions, though, and only one irrational one, which puts your mind at ease. Things like flickering lamps and cold spots can be explained simply, even if knives flying at your face cannot.

Still, you settle into bed, deciding that you will talk to the realtor again soon. You’ll move in with Sigma if he’ll have you. Anything to put your mind at ease for good.

That night, you dream of Fyodor, as if he is there right in the room with you, looming above you with those deep, violent eyes. His fingers, long and pale, trace across your cheekbones, as your eyes flutter open, consciousness coming back to you.

He says your name – it’s no surprise he knows it, after living with you for so long. It’s spoken softly, with a hint of possession behind it, like you belong to him. And yet, you’ve never said a word to him, even if all this time, he’s gotten to know you better than anyone else ever has.

You expect a scream to leave your throat, some hint of surprise, of fear, even, to see a stranger in your bedroom. To see him watching you with those familiar eyes, hair falling over his pale forehead as he gazes down at you from the edge of the bed.

No sound emerges.

Your mind feels a little fuzzy, hazy at the edges as you blink at him, closer to a state of intoxication, than you are alertness. Despite that awareness, you can’t seem to snap out of it; maybe you don’t want to. Instead, you sink deeper into the warmth, the honeyed feeling that comes with turning off your rationality. Everything feels as if it’s coming through in blurred, rosy glasses.

“Fyodor,” you mouth, instead of the scream that you’d anticipated, his name coming out in two wistful syllables.

You should hate him – there’s something in your instincts pushing back at you. A flash of a knife, the days of chaos and uncertainty, where you were sure you were losing your mind, come back at you.

But none of that seems to matter now, as you trace your finger across his cheek, feeling the sharp indent below the high bone. His eyelashes are a shade lighter than his hair, soft as they flutter over his forehead. The portrait of him didn’t do him justice… or perhaps, it is in death that he has found his purest form.

“I’m too tired.”

You’re not sure where those words even come from. Calm, like this is nothing but routine, and waking up with Fyodor beside you is the closest thing to normalcy.

He smiles at you, leaning over you again on the bed, lips pulled tightly together in a morbid grin. It does little to sour your mood, to scare you into action, even if you can’t quite understand why.

“I know,” he replies.

It’s the first time you’ve heard him speak, a deep, accented sound smoothing against your ears as he traces his gaze against each of your features; musical, almost. His voice calms you, lulls you back into a meditative state.

You reach for him, in a trance, and twirl a strand of his hair between your finger, just to see if he’d let you. After the hell you’d been through the past week, well – was it really that miserable? He seems content to watch over you, observe the gentle movements of his dark hair coiled up around your pointer finger.

“Why are you here?” you ask, your voice softer than a whisper, carried away by the wind until it never existed at all.

Fyodor never disappears from your line of sight, even when you try to blink, to close your eyes. He’s there, gazing at you with a lustful fondness, one that’s dangerous, perhaps even malicious. If it’s a dream, it sure feels like a vivid one.

“You wanted to leave,” he says, taking your finger away from his face, before bringing it to his lips. The kiss is barely there, and his mouth is cold, chapped, from the brutality of the afterlife. “I couldn’t let you do that.”

“Hm?” You try to sit up. It takes more effort than it should’ve – you’re so relaxed, so weak, that you fall back down, letting yourself sink into the plushness of the pillow. “Why?”

Fyodor releases your hand, before touching his own finger to your mouth. It’s slender, like a piece of ice, gently parting your lips before grazing your chin, hovering over your neck. Then, he drops his touch to your collarbone. He stakes a claim on every inch of your skin, pausing as he reaches your chest, still covered by the blankets.

Your clothing is thin – it wouldn’t take much effort to get his cool hands on your bare skin. But he refrains, still smiling before answering your question, tucking his hands together onto his lap. “It’s been so long.”

It doesn’t make sense, but you can’t muster up the effort to question him, not when he’s contemplating every word, like he’s hesitant to scare you away. You let him think, watch him ponder, as you stare, too exhausted to move a muscle.

“I thought you’d be like all the rest,” he says, taking a seat next to you on the bed, nearly touching your hip. “They were nothing but filth, stains in these halls. It’s a crime for them to ever think that they belonged here. In my home.”

You blink. “It’s my home, too,” you say, suddenly filled with an immense amount of dread. It crawls up your neck, chokes you, and nothing leaves you but garbled sounds, as you panic.

Fyodor doesn’t move – there is no twitch in his features, as he watches you with disguised adoration, a kind you didn’t think a ghost capable of revealing. “Of course it is, darling,” he says, so softly, it could’ve been mistaken for kindness. Fyodor leans down, presses his cold, dead lips to your cheek, a kiss of death. “That’s why I couldn’t let you leave. It’s your home. You belong here.”

“Right,” you breath, steadying yourself, before nodding. “My home.” Once more, you gaze around the room, your eyes flicking over every surface. Things are exactly as you’d left them, nothing out of place. “With you?”

The ghost smiles, and reaches out to you, finally helping you into a seated position. Your neck is so stiff, in pain, and you roll it around, feeling nothing there when you expect shifting bones. “With me,” Fyodor confirms, running his icy fingertips across your throat, tangling them with your hair.

He leans into you, pressing a lingering kiss to your mouth, one that catches you off balance, before you accept it with an eagerness that surprises you further. It doesn’t feel unfamiliar, instead, it’s as if you’re coming home, like the man you’ve never seen until now was always meant to find you.

A thought that should’ve scared you, even though it doesn’t.

Fyodor pulls away, right as you begin to shift forward, maneuver yourself onto his lap. “You should rest,” he replies, keeping you at a distance. “It might take some time to adjust.”

“Hm? What do you mean?” you blink, holding onto his wrist as your gaze shifts from his impossibly dark eyes to the mirror across the room.

There, in the darkness of the evening, shrouded in moonlight, you can see your reflection staring back at you, eyes vacant, lifeless. You expect to see yourself as nothing but exhausted, but when you draw your gaze across the image of yourself, there is blood seeping from your neck, a stream of scarlet. There is thick gash across your throat, slashed so deep that it would’ve killed you instantly.

The expression on your face shifts from one of calm to horror, as you scrape at your neck, trying to clear off the blood that isn’t really there, the permanent wound that will follow you even into your death.

“What did you do?” you scream, tears rolling down your cheeks, even though you can’t feel them, can only see them in the mirror. “What did you do to me?”

Fyodor smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. Though you fight against him, he takes you into his arms, and you are too weak to fight him off. “I told you,” Fyodor says, shushing you, running his palm over your head as you scream. “I couldn’t let you leave.”

thank you for reading !

[bullet-prooflove]

For Rip Wheeler

“Oh, if all I got is your hand in my hand Baby, I could die a happy man”

Tagging: @1-fuzzy-squirrels @nerdypinupcrystal @babygirl8900 @domquixotedospobresblog @buckysteveloki-me

Companion piece to Thrill of the Chase (NSFW) - Rip has always loved the thrill of the chase.

Rip doesn’t have a heart, at least that’s what they say about him. They see his hard edges, his gruff exterior, the aura of violence and they think there’s a barbed wire where one should be.

For a while even he thinks it’s true. The world has battered him, bruised him, broken him, he doesn’t have the capacity for softness anymore. He tells you that after you fuck him for the second time.

“Don’t expect anything from me. I don’t have anything to give you.”

His relationships have aways been physical, raw, primal. It’s about stress relief, not connection. He assumes it’s going to be the same with you until it isn’t.

There are so many ways you’re different to the women he’s been with before. There’s a softness in you he doesn’t anticipate. You aren’t rough with him like the others, you’re teasing, gentle. When he’s camping out alone, he thinks about the light caress of your fingertips across the scars that line his left shoulder, the tender brush of your lips as you explore every inch of him.

He might fuck but you, you make love.

He tries to fight the fall, really he does but it’s a constant war deep inside of him. He forces himself to leave your bed when he’s finished with you, he redresses in the dark as you sleep, ignoring the urge to climb back into your sheets, to hold you, to love you.

He’s tired, sore and pissed off when he comes across you in the barn. He’s been pulling up hemlock all day in one of the pastures and you’re finishing a check up on John Dutton’s horse Starbuck. The old girl is getting up there these days, she’s starting to have more health problems. There’s going to come a day soon where you make the recommendation to put her down and the thought of that…

It devastates him because the two of them, they sort of grew up together. She was the first foal he birthed back in the day.

You must see the exhaustion in him, the toll of the day has taken. He thinks that’s why you reach for him, why you catch his hand when he walks by. The gesture surprises him because the women he’s been with, they’ve steered clear of his moods, they didn’t walk head first into them.

“Come home with me tonight.” You say as he turns to face you, and he sees the sincerity in your features as you draw him close. “Let me look after you a little.”

It’s the first time that anyone has ever offered him that, that they’ve cared enough to consider his wants, his needs. He’s tired of this war he’s been waging with himself, he’s tired of resisting you. All he wants right now is to curl up in bed, with the woman he’s falling in love with.

“Alright darlin.” He concedes, his thumb chasing over the blush of your cheek. “If you want me, you can have me.”

Love Rip? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[moonselune]

Mayhaps, if you'd like to do one with all the companions, (if not just the ladies are fine^^):

Comforting Tav over something seemingly insignificant, a small inconvenience (dropped food, easy to repair broken item, a shop not having the one thing they're looking for, ECT), but it's just the thing that broke the camel's back, and all the stress and worry and hardship catches up to Tav

this one took a while to do but I hope its okay ! Added Rolan to it but not Raphael as I genuinely think he would simply just magic you away because he would just not want to deal with that - not very order and decorum of you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

You and Karlach had been on the road for weeks, dealing with countless threats and challenges. Today, you had looked forward to a simple pleasure: a meal cooked over the campfire, a small respite from the chaos. But as you carried the pot of stew to the table, you tripped over a root and spilled it all over the ground.

Karlach saw the accident and rushed over, her eyes wide with concern.

"Easy soldier, you got mouths here, to feed not the ants," she said, trying to sound upbeat but she noticed you were very much not sharing the same vibe as her. "Hey, it's okay! We can make more,"

But something inside you snapped. The spilled stew was the final straw. You dropped to your knees, staring at the mess, and felt tears welling up in your eyes. All the stress, the exhaustion, and the constant battle against the odds suddenly came crashing down on you. Karlach immediately knelt beside you, her large, warm hand on your shoulder. "Hey, hey, it's alright. It's just stew. We'll figure it out," she said softly.

You shook your head, unable to hold back the sobs. "It's not just the stew, Karlach. It's everything. I'm so tired. I'm so stressed. I can't keep doing this."

Karlach's eyes widened in panic. She wasn't used to seeing you like this. She wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

"Shh, ssh, it's okay. Let it out," she whispered, stroking your back awkwardly but tenderly. "Shhh,"

You clung to her, the warmth of her embrace grounding you as you let the tears flow. Karlach continued to hold you, her voice a soothing murmur in your ear.

"We're in this together, okay? You don't have to carry it all by yourself. I'm here. We'll get through this."

Her words, combined with her reassuring hold on you, slowly began to calm you down. As your sobs subsided, you leaned back and looked at her, seeing the worry and care in her eyes.

"I'm do sorry," you mumbled, wiping your eyes. "I didn't mean to break down like that. I-"

"-Don't apologize. You're allowed to feel overwhelmed." Karlach shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "You're allowed to need a break. We'll take it one step at a time, okay?"

You nodded, feeling a little lighter, and Karlach pressed a kiss to your forehead. The two of you sat there for a little while longer, basking in each other's warmth and slowly you began to feel all of those broken pieces start to mend together.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

You were in a bustling market, searching for a specific ingredient for a potion. After hours of looking and dealing with the noise and chaos, you finally found the stall that supposedly had it. But as you reached the front, the vendor shook his head. "Sorry, sold out."

That was it. The final straw. You felt a surge of frustration and helplessness. "What do you mean sold out, we need that-"

Before you knew it, tears were streaming down your face. You tried to hold them back, embarrassed by your reaction, hiding your head in your hands, hoping nobody would notice but it was too late. Minthara, who had been silently watching your back, noticed your distress immediately. She stepped forward, her eyes narrowing at the vendor before turning to you. You were now shaking, unable to move, stuck in a cycle of crying, trying not to show yourself crying and crying more. Minthara put a hand on your shoulder, glaring at the vendor before you both.

"Excuse us," she said coldly to the vendor. Without another word, she scooped you up effortlessly and slung you over her shoulder. You were too overwhelmed to protest, your emotions a tangled mess. She carried you to a quieter, more secluded alley away from the bustling crowd. Once there, she set you down gently and knelt before you, her eyes searching yours.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice demanding but surprisingly soft.

You tried to speak, but the words came out in a choked sob. "It's… it's just too much. Everything is going wrong. I'm so tired, Minthara. I can't keep doing this."

Minthara's expression softened, and she reached out, gently cupping your face in her hands.

"You are strong, but even the strongest need a moment to breathe," she said, her voice steady and calm. "You don't have to carry this burden alone."

You leaned into her touch, feeling a mixture of shame and relief. "I'm sorry. It's such a small thing to get upset over. It's shameful."

"It is not." `Minthara shook her head and as you tried to bow your head, trying to hide from her gaze, but Minthara was relentless, jerking your head up and back to her. " And it's not just the small thing. It's everything that led up to it. You are allowed to feel overwhelmed."

She pulled you into an embrace, her strong arms holding you close. "Rest here for a moment. Take your time," she murmured. "We'll face this together."

Her words and presence brought a sense of calm over you. You clung to her, letting the tears flow as she held you. In that moment, you felt safe and understood. Minthara's quiet strength and unwavering support were exactly what you needed.

After a while, you pulled back, feeling a bit more composed. Minthara looked at you, a hint of a smile on her lips. "Feeling better?"

You smiled, wiping your eyes. "Yes. Thank you, Minthara."

"Good. Though my only request is that next time you share your worries with me." You nodded and she stood up, offering you her hand. Now, let's find another way to get what we need. We won't let this defeat us."

"Minthara?" You call out to her quietly and she looks at you, her eyes wide, waiting on your every word.

"Yes, my love?"

You didn't answer her, just leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her lips, pulling away with a smile. "I love you, entirely."

"I love you too."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

The day had been a long string of battles and challenges, leaving you exhausted. When you finally made it back to camp, you realised your weapons had grown dull. Pulling out your dagger you began to sharpen it, but either from the strength of your frustration that had built over the past few days, or the excessive use of it, it snapped.

You stared at the mess, the broken pieces of dagger on the floor, glinting back at you almost mockingly in the evening sun. You felt the weight of all your stress and fatigue crash down on you. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you dropped to your knees.

Lae'zel, who had been sharpening her own blade nearby, looked up at the sound of the dagger breaking. She saw you kneeling by the broken pieces, tears streaming down your face. With a determined stride, she approached you and knelt down beside you.

"This is but a minor setback, a weak dagger clearly" she said firmly, her voice calm and pragmatic. "I have many, have one of mine. The battle is not lost."

You shook your head, unable to hold back the sobs. "It's not just the dagger, Lae'zel. It's everything. I'm so tired. I can't keep doing this."

Lae'zel's eyes softened slightly, and she placed a hand on your shoulder, her grip firm and reassuring. "You are stronger than this, and we will face these challenges together. Allow yourself a moment of weakness, but do not let it consume you."

For once her practical approach, and slight criticism, began to ground you. You took a deep breath, trying to regain your composure.

"We will rise above this," she continued, her voice steady as she awkwardly pat you on the shoulder. "Together, we will face whatever comes our way. You are not alone in this, I am here, place your burdens upon me."

''I don't want to do that though-'

"-Do you not think me strong enough? You think your burdens above me?" Lae'zel asked in slight outrage and you couldn't help but laugh at her sincerity.

"No, of course not, my love." You smiled as you rested your head on your shoulder, feeling a bit more in control. She helped you to your feet, her grip never faltering.

"We will clean this up and get you a new blade, one worthy of your strength" she said, her tone decisive. "And we will succeed."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

The branch whacks you across the face, a stinging reminder of the day's endless frustrations. It's the final straw. Rage bubbles up, hot and uncontrollable. You raise your hand, the words of a fireball spell forming on your lips. This stupid, unyielding piece of nature is about to feel your wrath.

"Stop!" Shadowheart's voice cuts through your fury, sharp and commanding.

You freeze, your breath coming in ragged gasps. She steps between you and the offending tree, her dark eyes filled with concern. She places a hand on your arm, gently but firmly.

"Calm down," she says, her voice softer now, soothing and she raises her brows at you. "Starting a forest fire isn't going to help us on our travels and it's just going to annoy the two druids."

The fireball dissipates in your hand, and the anger that fueled it ebbs away, leaving behind a hollow emptiness. The tears come then, hot and bitter. You collapse to your knees, the weight of everything crashing down on you. Shadowheart kneels beside you, her arms encircling you, holding you close.

"It's alright," she whispers, her voice a balm to your wounded soul. "I'm here."

You sob into her shoulder, the days of pent-up frustration and exhaustion pouring out in a torrent. She holds you tight, her presence a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions.

"I'm so tired," you manage to say between sobs. "So tired of everything."

"I know," she says, her hand gently rubbing your back. "I know. But attacking nature won't help. You can always come to me. Let me share your burden."

Her words are like a lifeline, pulling you back from the brink. You cling to her, the warmth of her body grounding you. Slowly, your sobs subside, and you lift your head to look at her. Her face is filled with such tender concern that it makes your heart ache.

"Thank you," you say, your voice hoarse but sincere.

She smiles, a small, gentle curve of her lips. "Anytime, my love."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira

The past few days had been a relentless series of challenges, and your nerves were already frayed when you entered a small shop in Baldur's Gate. You were searching for a particular herb that Jaheira needed for her potions, a task that should have been simple. When the shopkeeper informed you that they were out of stock, it felt like the final straw. Your composure shattered, and you felt tears welling up in your eyes.

You tried to hold them back, but the weight of stress, exhaustion, and frustration was too much. You turned away from the shopkeeper, not wanting to make a scene, but the tears started to fall. Jaheira, who had been examining a display of potions nearby, noticed your distress immediately. She approached you with a quiet urgency, her eyes filled with concern.

"What's wrong, my heart?" she asked gently, her voice steady and soothing. You shook your head, unable to speak as the tears continued to flow.

"I… I can't do this anymore," you finally managed to say, your voice trembling. "Everything's just… too much."

Without another word, Jaheira wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a firm, comforting embrace. She didn't offer empty platitudes or try to tell you that everything would be fine. Instead, she simply held you, letting you cry against her shoulder. Her presence was solid and reassuring, a rock in the storm of your emotions.

"It's okay to let it out," she murmured, her hand gently stroking your hair. "You've been carrying a heavy burden. Let me share it with you."

You clung to her, feeling the warmth of her body and the strength of her support. Gradually, the tension in your muscles began to ease, and your sobs turned into quiet sniffles. Jaheira continued to hold you, her calm and steady presence providing a safe space for you to release your pent-up emotions.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice still shaky but filled with gratitude. "I needed that."

Jaheira pulled back slightly, cupping your face in her hands and wiping away your tears with her thumbs. "We all have moments like this," she said softly. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. We'll get through this together."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The day had been a whirlwind of tasks and responsibilities, leaving you mentally and physically drained. When you finally returned to camp, you decided to prepare a simple meal for everyone. However, as you were carrying the pot of stew to the fire, you tripped over a loose stone and spilled the entire pot onto the ground. It was a small accident, but it was enough to push you over the edge.

You stood there, staring at the ruined meal, feeling a surge of frustration and despair. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you began to shake, overwhelmed by the stress and exhaustion that had been building up for days.

Gale, who had been organizing his spell components nearby, noticed your distress immediately. He rushed over, concern etched on his face.

"Hey, what's wrong, my beloved?" he asked gently, his voice filled with worry.

"It's just… everything," you said, your voice breaking as tears started to fall as you gestured to everything around you. "I can't handle it anymore. I'm so tired, and now this…"

Gale's expression softened, and he reached out to take your hand. "Come here," he said softly, guiding you to a nearby log to sit down. He knelt in front of you, still holding your hand, and looked into your eyes with a calm and steady gaze.

"Let's do some breathing exercises," he suggested. "It might help you feel a bit better. Just follow my lead."

You nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. Gale began to breathe slowly and deeply, and you mimicked his actions. Inhale… exhale… inhale… exhale. The rhythmic pattern of his breathing, combined with his presence, his love, it started to soothe your frayed nerves.

"Focus on your breath," Gale said gently. "Let the tension flow out with each exhale."

As you continued to breathe with him, you felt your body gradually begin to relax. The tears slowed, and the tight knot of anxiety in your chest started to loosen. Gale's hand remained steady in yours, a grounding force that helped you find your center.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice still shaky but calmer than before. "I love you."

"I love you too," Gale smiled, a warm and understanding expression on his face. "We all have moments when things become too much. It's okay to feel overwhelmed. But please, my love, do not suffer alone. It breaks my heart to see you shed tears like this."

"I'm sorry I-"

"-I do not need you to apologise," Gale whispered as he pressed his forehead against yours. "I just need you, no matter how you feel, okay?"

"Okay" You weakly smile and bury your head into his shoulder, your tears staining his robes but he couldn't care. He just held you and slowly everything seemed to be alright.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

The day had been long and grueling, filled with minor inconveniences and stressful encounters that had worn down your patience. You found yourself in the middle of camp, trying to prepare a simple meal. As you were chopping vegetables, your knife slipped, and the entire bowl of carefully prepared ingredients tipped over, spilling onto the ground.

It was a minor accident, but it was the final straw. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you felt a wave of frustration and hopelessness wash over you. Your hands trembled as you stared at the mess on the ground, unable to hold back the sobs that were threatening to escape.

Astarion, who had been lounging nearby, noticed your distress immediately. He stood up and approached you, his eyes narrowing in concern. "What's wrong with you now?" he asked, his voice a mix of irritation and worry.

"I can't… I just can't do this anymore," you choked out between sobs. "Everything's going wrong, and I can't handle it."

Astarion's expression softened, but his way of comforting was unorthodox. He got you to your feet and held you by your shoulders and looked at you straight on.

"Get it together!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with urgency. He had never seen you like this and he was panicking as it was stirring unexpected emotions in him."If you keep crying like this, I might start crying too, and that would be a disaster, because I am not a pretty crier!"

Despite his harsh words, there was a hint of genuine concern in his eyes. You couldn't help but let out a weak laugh through your tears. His attempt at tough love was oddly endearing.

"Look, darling" Astarion said a bit less panicked now, "Life is a series of unfortunate events, especially for us. But you can't let every little thing break you. You're stronger than this."

He reached out and gently lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "And if you need to cry, fine. But don't think for a second that you're alone in this. We've all had our moments of weakness, even I - though it may be hard to believe"

You giggle and sniffled, wiping your tears away. Astarion's seemingly tough exterior was still present, but there was a warmth in his eyes that reassured you. "Thanks, my love."

He stood up and offered you his hand, pulling you to your feet. "Now, let's clean this up and make something edible. And try not to spill anything this time, alright?"

His playful tone lightened the mood, and you couldn't help but smile. He pulled you into a quick embrace and gave you a reassuring squeeze and kiss on the head before sending you on your way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

It had been one of those days where nothing seemed to go right. The constant stress and pressure had been building up, and when you finally returned to camp, you just wanted a moment of peace. As you unpacked your belongings, a small, cherished trinket slipped from your hands and shattered on the ground.

It was a minor inconvenience, but it was the last straw. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you felt a wave of despair wash over you. Your vision blurred as you tried to gather the broken pieces, your hands shaking uncontrollably.

Wyll, who had been tending to the campfire, noticed your distress immediately. He stood up and walked over to you, his expression filled with concern.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked softly, kneeling beside you.

"I can't… I just can't do this anymore," you choked out, your voice trembling. "Everything's going wrong, and I can't handle it."

Wyll's heart ached at the sight of your tears. He reached out and gently took your hands in his, his touch warm and reassuring.

"Shh, it's alright," he murmured, his voice soothing. "You're not alone. I'm here."

He pulled you into a gentle embrace, holding you close as you cried against his shoulder. His strong arms wrapped around you, providing a sense of safety and comfort that you desperately needed. He didn't say anything for a while, simply letting you release your pent-up emotions.

After a few moments, Wyll pulled back slightly and cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away your tears. "Sometimes, it's the small things that push us over the edge," he said softly. "But you don't have to carry this burden alone. Let me help you."

His words and his unwavering support helped you find your footing again. You took a deep breath, feeling a sense of calm wash over you. "Thank you, Wyll," you whispered, your voice still shaky but filled with gratitude.

Wyll smiled warmly, his eyes filled with compassion. "Always," he replied. "Now, let's see if we can fix this, shall we?"

Together, you carefully gathered the broken pieces of your trinket. With Wyll's help, you managed to repair it, and the simple act of working together helped you regain your composure.

"See? Good as new!" Wyll smiled as he presented it to you, you took it with a small smile, nodding your head in thanks as you held it to you chest, the trinket becoming even more cherished now.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

The potion fizzles and pops, releasing a pungent, acrid smoke. Your heart sinks as the mixture turns an unnatural shade of green, clearly ruined. It's a small thing, a simple potion gone wrong, but after days of pent-up frustration and exhaustion, it's the final straw. Your shoulders slump, and the tears you've been holding back for days finally spill over.

You drop the vial, not caring as it shatters on the floor. Halsin, who has been quietly reading in the corner, looks up, concern etching deep lines into his kind face. He rises and crosses the room in a few swift strides, his presence warm and comforting.

"Hey," he says softly, wrapping his strong arms around you. "It's okay. It's just a potion."

But it's not just a potion. It's everything. The endless challenges, the constant sense of impending doom, the weight of the world pressing down on you. You bury your face in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. He holds you tighter, his hand gently stroking your hair.

"It's alright," he murmurs. "Let it out. I'm here."

You feel the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart, and slowly, the storm inside you begins to calm. You pull back slightly to look at him, and to your surprise, you see tears glistening in his eyes. His lips tremble as he tries to hold them back, but he fails. He begins to cry, his tears mingling with yours.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice breaking. "I just hate seeing you like this."

The sight of Halsin, this strong, stoic druid, crying because you are crying, tugs at something deep inside you. A laugh bubbles up, surprising you. It's absurd and adorable, and somehow it breaks through the lingering sadness.

"You big softie," you say, wiping away his tears with your thumb.

He laughs too, a shaky, relieved sound, and pulls you into another hug. "I can't help it," he says. "I love you too much to see you in pain."

You cling to him, finding comfort in his warmth and his tears. The moment, though born from frustration and exhaustion, becomes tender and you can breathe easier now. Halsin kissed the top of your head and the two of you stay there for a while, basking in each other's presence.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Rolan:

The day had been a series of small misfortunes, and the final blow came when you discovered that the shop you had been counting on didn't have the one item you desperately needed. It seemed like such a trivial thing, but in that moment, it felt like the weight of the world was crashing down on you. Tears pricked at your eyes, and you felt the overwhelming urge to scream in frustration.

Rolan, who had been browsing a nearby shelf, noticed your distress. His usual confident demeanor faltered as he saw the tears welling up in your eyes.

"Hey, what's going on?" he asked, his voice tinged with worry.

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, a sob escaped, and you quickly covered your mouth, embarrassed by your outburst. Rolan's eyes widened, clearly panicked. He wasn't used to dealing with such emotional meltdowns. Bickering nd arguing he could deal with, this he was a lot less prepared for.

"Uh, okay, let's… let's figure this out," he stammered, awkwardly placing a hand on your shoulder.

The small gesture was enough to break the dam. You began to cry in earnest, the stress and worry of the past days pouring out in a torrent of tears. Rolan looked around, unsure of what to do, but his concern for you was evident.

"Hey, it's okay, beloved" he said, trying to sound reassuring despite his own uncertainty. "We'll figure this out. Just… let it out."

His awkward but sincere attempt to comfort you made you feel a bit better. You took a few deep breaths, trying to steady yourself. "I'm sorry," you managed to say between sobs. "It's just been so much, and this… this was the last straw."

Rolan's expression softened, and he squeezed your shoulder gently. "No need to apologize, dearest. We all have those days," he said, his voice a bit steadier now. "How about we take a break and sit down for a bit? We can figure things out from there."

He led you to a quieter corner of the shop, and you both sat down. Rolan fumbled for a moment before pulling out a handkerchief and offering it to you. "Here, use this," he said, his tone gentle.

You took the handkerchief and wiped your tears, feeling a bit more composed. "Thank you, Rolan. I just… I couldn't hold it in anymore."

Rolan nodded, his expression understanding. "It's okay. Sometimes, we just need to let it out. And I'm here for you, even if I'm not the best at this."

You couldn't help but smile at his honesty. "You're doing just fine," you said, grateful for his support.

Rolan relaxed a bit, relieved that he was able to help in some way. "Alright, then. Let's take a few more minutes, and when you're ready, we'll go find that item together."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Hope you all enjoyed it! - Seluney xoxo

[aylish91]

New chapter incoming!!

Sea Of Hope Chapter 8

Previous Next SOH Master Grandmaster

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While Axe checked you over, Edge grabbed Red by the back of the neck and stormed down the main hatch, loudly yelling at the rest of the crew to mind their own business as they scurried out of his way. For the most part, Red's protests went unheard as he was dragged down the steep steps. Blue, on the other hand, had hesitantly approached Papyrus, whispering something before they too turned and headed past the hatch, disappearing through a pair of doors into the upper levels of the ship. 

The clearing of a throat had you tensing and pressing closer to Axe. Black had once again gotten closer than you were comfortable with, standing only a couple paces away. “AS HEARTWARMING AS THIS IS, IT IS QUICKLY BECOMING LATE AND THE LADY STILL NEEDS ADEQUATE DRESS. MY BROTHER’S COAT IS HARDLY A FITTING SUBSTITUTE.”  

Rus chuckled beside him. However, when he made to comment, a look from Black had him looking down instead. 

Axe narrowed his sockets. “Don’t know where you’re planning on get’n somethin. Ain’t exactly swimmin in extras and you’ve refused to mend mine so I could give it to her.”  

Black scoffed. “YOU FAILED TO MENTION IT WAS FOR YOUR MARKED. YOU HAVE ALSO YET TO COMPLETE THE TASK I ASKED OF YOU. I DID NOT SEE THE POINT IN TURNING IN YOUR FAVOR WHEN MY OWN HAD BEEN UNMET.” 

“Been busy.” 

“AS WE’VE ALL.” 

Something shifted in the air, both of their eyelights brightening. Rus glared, moving closer to his brother. It took Crooks placing a hand on Axe’s shoulder for the two to back down. 

“Petty bastard.” 

“WHEN IT SUITS ME.” With a flourish of a hand and a half step back, he indicated the direction of the doors, continuing to meet Axe’s gaze. “NOW, I BELIEVE WE SHOULD ATTEMPT TO FIND SOMETHING MORE SUITABLE UNTIL NEXT WE MAKE PORT. SURELY YOU CAN AGREE IT WOULD BE IN EVERYONE’S BEST INTEREST.”  

“Fine, but we’re not leadin’.” You could hear the creak of Axe’s teeth. 

“OF COURSE.” With a tight turn, Black nodded, marching forward with Rus trailing behind with a wink. "AS YOU WISH." 

Axe refused to move at first, tugging his empty socket and prompting a sighing Crooks to nudge you both. "I Know You Don’t Like Him, But He Is Fair.” 

“Bastard never does anything fer free.” 

“And Yet, He Has A Point.”  

Neither you nor Axe was reassured but allowed him to guide you forward regardless. Crewmen brave enough to linger eyed your group with various degrees of emotion. When a dog monster growled, another was quick to slap the back of their head, nervously hunching at a glare from both of your skeleton friends. You tried not to show your fear or your growing limp as you passed, hoping Rus' long coat hid what you couldn’t. It didn't seem like a good idea to show weakness around others. The watchful eyes and aggressive postures spoke volumes to your already heightened nerves. Entering the ship did nothing to ease your discomfort.  

It felt cramped and pressing despite having more than enough space and light. Unlike the previous ship, several lanterns lit the expanse leaving no ominous shadows or darkened areas. You could easily see all the doors lining the walls as well as the beautifully carved and decorated windowed doors marking the end of the hall. Rus waited near the last door on the left.  

It was calm and warm, but you couldn’t shake off the feelings of danger. 

“Ya c’n go inside Darlin. Milord’s wait’n.” Rus stood to the side, motioning you inside the now open door. 

You looked to your companions. While Axe kept his eyelight on Rus, Crooks’ soft smile and nod gave you enough of a boost to cautiously cross the threshold. It smelled of lavender tinted with something you couldn’t quite place, the overall size relatively small. What looked like a narrow modified canopy bed connected to the wall was on your right. In front of you, under a single window, was a rather lovely desk intricately carved with polished knobs. To your immediate left was an open decorative chest shoved in the corner. Everything was of exquisite taste and quality, from the bedding and carvings on the furniture to the upholstery on the chair at the desk. The few trinkets left out were of fine gold or silver with glistening jewels. 

You jumped when the door closed behind you. Axe nor Crooks had made it inside. It had your stomach rolling with nerves. You did not anticipate having the others closed out. Having Black now between you and the only exit made it worse. His eyelights were too bright. 

Didn’t Rus call him a lord...? 

Your chest tightened at his approach, making sure to lower your gaze. 

“TRUE TO MY WORD, THAT HORROR’S GARMENT HAS BEEN MENDED. HAD I KNOWN IT WAS FOR SOMETHING LIKE THIS, I NEVER WOULD HAVE HELD ONTO IT.” In his hands was a large linen shirt, neatly folded and dark in color. Holding it out, he offered it to you. “PUT IT ON. I WILL ADJUST IT AS NEEDED AFTER.” 

You froze, intently focusing on the simple article of cloth. Was he expecting you to do it here and now? In front of him? Wasn’t it bad enough you were laid bare in front of all those on the deck, or stars, when you pressed yourself against Blue? At least Axe had good reason to see you. Multiple! To willingly undress now in the presence of a man other than your husband...  

By the angel, what would Axe think of all this? 

Black must have noticed your silent panicked uncertainty when you didn’t immediately take it. Clearing his throat, something in his tone changed. “I SHALL, OF COURSE, REFRAIN FROM LOOKING WHILE YOU DO SO. YOU MAY LEAVE MY BROTHER’S COAT ON THE CHAIR WHEN YOU ARE READY.” 

It was hard not to squirm. While that was greatly appreciated, it still felt uncomfortable. Could you trust his word? You hardly knew the man. Perhaps things may have felt different if the room wasn’t quite so stifling or the door hadn’t been shut so suddenly. 

Luckily, heavy thumps in the hall distracted Black enough for him to hand you the garment himself, squinting at the door behind him. He was just about to speak again when another set of thumps sounded, this time shaking the door. Growling, he finally turned when the muffled voices following the noise got angrier. 

You really didn’t want to do this right now. Not here. Not with all the uncertainties surrounding you.  

Taking a slow breath in, you let it out. The sooner you changed, the sooner you could be rid of these unsettling feelings. With unsteady fingers twitching against the fabric as you took one last glance at Black’s back. 

One more breath. 

The sound of your rattling bones was louder without the security of the coat. Placing it on the chair, you did your best to quickly dress.  

The feeling of fabric against your bones was surprisingly comforting as you pulled it over your head. True to Axe’s size, the shirt almost went to your knees. It was so large the fabric pooled on your much smaller frame and reminded you of the nightgowns you used to wear back at the manor. 

If only it wasn’t so short. 

Though your more private areas were covered, it was not good for a lady to show so much… leg. You tugged at the hem, the sleeves threatening to engulf your hands.  

“I’m dressed, my lord.” 

A calculated breath was your only answer before his eyelights found you, fuzzy with a slight warble. You had to second guess if you had seen them correctly, for the next moment they were back to their bright and sharp orbs. Getting closer, they traveled over you as he hummed, the heel of his boots clicking as he circled. If you had hair, it would have stood on end at the subtle brush of his hand against your back. 

“AS I EXPECTED.” 

You startled, yelping when he came around to lightly grip your hips. Instinctively, your hands came to your chest from the forwardness, sockets wide. He paid no mind, eyelights intent on the bunched fabric. He only let go to pull a satin rope from his pocket. 

You squeaked again when he reached around you to wrap it around your waist. 

“MUCH BETTER. HOWEVER," His gloved hands touched your elbows, slowly moving up your arms to grasp your hands for inspection. “YOUR MAGIC. IT IS MUCH TOO THIN…” He turned them over. “Hmmmmm. Knowing Him…” 

Your chest clenched. He was close enough you could feel his ambient heat and wisps of breath. 

Before Black could say or do anything else, his door nearly burst off its hinges, a very aggravated Axe forcing it open. Black pulled you into him with a snarl, eyelights vanishing with the click of his teeth. Stuck in a headlock was a disgruntled Rus, resigned to the hold around his neck. 

You didn’t know if you could physically handle any more stress.  

“BY THE ANGEL, YOU WILL REPLACE THAT LOCK IF YOU HAVE BROKEN IT!” 

Axe’s voice was low, grin tight as he took in the scene. “Don’t appreciate the closed door, Black. Hell ya think yer doin’ in here?” 

Black placed you behind him, grumbling a growl. “AS I STATED EARLIER, I HAVE GIVEN HER SOMETHING TO ADEQUATELY COVER HERSELF UNTIL WE CAN PROCURE SOMETHING MORE FITTING.”  

Axe narrowed his sockets at Black’s squared shoulders. For a split second, you could see the red orb of his eyelight flick over the man in front of you before it focused on you.  

“Sure that's all ya were doin’?” 

The fabric of Black’s gloves creaked. “IF YOU MUST KNOW, I WAS INSPECTING HER MAGIC FLOW. I’M NO EXPERT, BUT EVEN I CAN TELL IT’S RUNNING LOW. A MORE IMPORTANT QUESTION WOULD BE, WHY HAVEN’T YOU—” 

“I’ve been doin’ exactly what I need ta be. Don’t need ta explain myself either.” Rus stumbled into the room when Axe unceremoniously released him to motion to you. “Now, if yer done?” 

With a snarl, Black pointed a finger. “NOW SEE HERE YOU–” 

Instinctually, you reached out, stopping just before Black’s arm. “My lord, I!” You faltered at his abrupt attention, pulling back to dip your head in respect. “I thank you for your kindness, but I should return to my lord husband before any more misunderstandings occur.” 

His eyelights stuttered. “I, I BEG YOUR PARDON?” 

There was a beat of awkward silence before Axe broke into heavy laughter, the loudest and deepest you’ve heard from him. It was enough to warm your cheeks as he beckoned you out and away from the room. Black gaped, slack-jawed and sputtering as you passed. You were already being guided onto the deck by the time he was able to call out one last time from his doorway. 

“AXE! YOU WILL… THAT… YOU WILL EXPLAIN YOURSELF!” 

Axe only laughed harder, closing the doors behind you. 

The sun had mostly set by the time you stepped out into the humid sea air. You would have done anything in the past to be able to look up, out, and around but Axe was swift in guiding you down the main hatch. You didn’t want to linger longer than necessary anyway. 

You didn’t have Rus’s coat to hide under. 

You were grateful for the darkness once you were under. The lanterns were farther spread, some empty of light altogether. It helped ease your mind against the wandering eyes. Most gathered under the brightest lamps, playing cards at makeshift tables, drinking, and socializing while others lounged in hammocks hanging interspersed between the canons. While some watched you pass, Axe was surprisingly good at slipping through the darkest areas to avoid the unwanted attention.  

The closer you got to the front of the ship, the fewer people there were until you came upon barrels and crates stacked near and around an area quartered off by familiar heavy sheets. You could even recognize the stack you and Blue had hidden next to, the sheet on that side still halfway pulled down. Axe was kind enough to hold the flap for you to enter. 

Finally, you were able to relax the tension out of your shoulders and pained joints. You wanted to climb back into the hammock and rest your aching pelvis, maybe snuggle against Axe and his warmth. The way he moved about though had you gingerly sitting on his stool, setting it upright from where it had been knocked over. 

You wondered when that had occurred. What happened after you had been taken? 

... 

A quiet curse had you looking back at Axe as he re-fastened the makeshift wall. There were a few more rips in it than you remembered. If he had any sewing supplies, you would have to mend them. It was the least you could do as thanks. 

You let out a slow breath, peering down at your clenched fists. They were cold and stiff on your lap. Black had been interested in them. The lot of them had been interested in general, but he had seemed so focused. 

Your voice was soft, hesitant as you summoned the courage to speak. “Axe? I have so many questions, but I’m afraid… I don’t know if I’m allowed to ask.” 

Axe chuckled. “Don’t gotta be afraid with me, Dove. It’s good ta ask questions around here. The more ya know the better, good or bad. Don’t let anyone tell ya otherwise.” 

You picked at the hem of the shirt, smoothing it down as much as you could. “Is that true?" Axe simply grunted. Collecting yourself, you forced yourself to ask the questions burning your mind. "What is a Banthos? What does it mean to be one? And what did Black mean when he said my magic was too thin? I don’t have magic. I’m not… I’m not even a monster.” 

It was hard not to flinch when, from your peripherals, you saw him stop. His voice had become more serious but thankfully still soft.  

“The hell yer not. Listen, I don’t know what you’ve been told, where ya come from, or what ya been through. But you’re as much of a monster as the rest of us. You’re made of magic and hope just like me.” He came over to place your hand in his scarred one, taking a knee to look directly into your sockets. “We’re the same. Dust and all. It don’t matter about anything else. As fer your magic,” he rubbed his face with a frustrated sigh, “let me worry about that. Just know ya got it and I’m gonna make damn sure ta get it where it needs ta be.” 

You didn’t know what to say to that, but it sent a comforting feeling to your chest. He was always so warm. It reminded you of your mother.  

Nodding, you were about to ask about your first question when footsteps interrupted you. Axe stood, moving between you and the flap.  

“AXE, IT IS GETTING LATE. I HAVE TAKEN THE LIBERTY OF PREPARING SANS’ ROOM FOR THE LITTLE MISS. I HOPE YOU HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN.”  

Axe only slightly relaxed at the sound of Papyrus’ voice, not moving but calling out to the other skeleton. “I can take her when we’re ready. Just got a few–” he bristled when Papyrus entered and smiled down at you, hand twitching at his side –“more things ta take care of.” 

“AND WHAT MIGHT THAT BE SO I MAY HELP?” When Axe only grumbled, Papyrus took it upon himself to continue. “WELL, WHILE YOU FIGURE THINGS OUT, I SHALL MAKE SURE TO GET HER SAFELY TO HER NEW LODGINGS.” 

You both tensed. “Papyrus. Paps. At least let things settle before ya drag er away. You saw Sans. I don’t trust him.” 

Papyrus looked a little sheepish at the accusation. “I UNDERSTAND YOUR CONCERN, BUT I HAVE FAITH THAT THIS WILL WORK. I MYSELF WILL KEEP AN EYE ON THINGS IF I MUST. He Means Well. NOT THAT, THAT IS AN EXCUSE FOR HIS TERRIBLE BEHAVIOR.” He came forward to place a hand on Axe’s shoulder, humble and pleading. “WON’T YOU AT LEAST TRUST ME?” 

You couldn’t place the look that crossed Axe’s face from the question, the red orb of his eyelight quaking until his free hand brushed the edges of his empty socket. “That’s cheat’n…” There was a heaviness to the silence.  

When Axe’s shoulders sagged, Papyrus gave him back his space. “All WILL BE WELL. I’M SURE OF IT.” 

You were uncertain as to what you needed to do, but before you could stand, Axe nudged you back down. With the reluctance of a stubborn cat, he then went about gathering items he had deemed yours, going so far as draping his favored blanket over your shoulders. When all was said and done, you were left with a surprisingly intricate box full of puzzles, Axe’s blanket, and an affectionate nuzzle to your neck.  

It was with a heavy heart and a glowing face that you eventually followed Papyrus back out into the darkness. 

You did your best to keep up with his long strides, missing Axe’s purposely slowed gait. You could feel the grinding strain on your pelvis and lower joints with each step. You focused on the clack of your feet to keep your mind off the aching. Papyrus was already several steps ahead of you when he got to the steps.  

Blessedly, he turned to wait for you. 

It was embarrassing how out of breath you had become from such a short distance, especially when you knew you didn’t technically need to breathe. You were even more so when Papyrus cocked his head to look you over with a contemplative hum. 

His smile was kind. “MY APOLOGIES MISS. I KNEW YOU WERE IN ROUGH SHAPE, BUT I HADN’T REALIZED…” He glanced up the steps. “PERHAPS IT WOULD BE BETTER FOR ME TO HELP.” 

Without so much as a warning, he picked you up and draped you across both of his arms. You almost dropped your box, squeaking in surprise as he ascended to the deck. Your mind and tongue had stopped working from the suddenness. Though Axe had carried you once before and had moved you a few times, you didn’t quite know what to think of this stranger picking you up so nonchalantly. It was as if it was the most normal thing in the world for him, smile just as polite and kind as before. 

With him carrying you, it took little time to cross the rest of the way back through the double doors and down to the end of the hall. Standing in front of the windowed doors, you were only jostled a little when he turned the knob. He used his boot to kick it open the rest of the way with a bang, making you flinch when the glass shook precariously. 

You thought you saw a flash of blue, but when you looked, there was nothing there but a railed raised platform with an extravagant-looking bed, windows lining the entirety of the back wall. 

You shuddered. It smelled overwhelmingly of snow and cold rain. 

Scrunching his nasal ridge, Papyrus walked around a heavy round table with a scattering of papers and a lantern. Stepping onto the platform, he carefully set you down, turning to furiously rip the blankets off the bed to ball and fling them across the room with a fwump. 

“FORGIVE MY IDIOT OF A BROTHER. I WILL BE HAVING A TALK WITH HIM ABOUT APPROPRIATE BEHAVIOR LATER. FOR NOW, I’M AFRAID THIS WILL HAVE TO DO. AT LEAST THE BED IS EXCEPTIONALLY COMFORTABLE.” He put his hand down to pat the mattress. “IT IS A GIMBAL BED, MADE WITH LARGER MONSTERS IN MIND SO YOU WILL HAVE PLENTY OF SPACE AND WON’T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT THE TIPPING OF THE SHIP.” 

When you didn’t move, he gently ushered you to sit before making his way to the windows. It was so dark now that the light from the lamp effectively turned them into mirrors. You were grateful, too afraid to look through them. To your relief, Papyrus closed the many curtains for each once. Once done, he gently took your box and stood at the end of the bed, bowing slightly from the waist. 

“I WOULD STAY TO HELP YOU SETTLE, BUT I UNFORTUNATELY HAVE OTHER DUTIES I NEED TO TAKE CARE OF AT THIS TIME. BUT DO NOT FEAR, I WILL MAKE SURE SOMEONE WILL BE BY IN THE MORNING TO BRING YOU SOME TEA AND BREAKFAST AND TO WELCOME YOU.” Walking away, he stopped to place your box on the table and extinguish the lantern. “SLEEP WELL MISS.”  

With a wave, he picked up the bundle of discarded blankets and walked out the door, closing it behind him. 

… 

It was frightening, alone in the dark.

Previous Next SOH Master Grandmaster

[creamhoodie]

Hunted

synopsis: You're walking home late from work one evening and encounter a stranger..

Tags: yandere, smut, kinda dubcon, non canon characterization, afab reader, satoru gojo

You felt it again, that unmistakable feeling of the fine hair rising behind your neck. 

That feeling had been your loyal companion for the last few months, coming on and off. It came just often enough for you to not forget about it, but not enough to warrant true concern. You chalked it up to getting accustomed to this climate, you had recently moved to the area around the same time you first noticed it. Oh how naive you had been.

As you walked home from work after staying late to put in overtime, that feeling was accompanied by the rustling of footsteps. Soon enough the racing of your heart joined in, creating a daming trio. It was nearly midnight and though the office you worked at was only a few blocks away from your small town home, the route was dimly lit. 

Again the rustling permeated the air.

Pausing now, you turned around.. no one. 

It was only when you turned the corner that you peered over your shoulder and saw a tall male figure walking towards you. 

Instinctively, you picked up the pace but his long stride made it difficult to out pace him. 

“Hey are you okay? You seem shaken,” the male called out. His voice was smooth and confident and when he stepped into the light pole’s beam you understood why. 

This man wasn’t like anyone you had seen before. His skin radiant, free of blemishes, and his hair was a snowy white. Most striking were his eyes, a celeste hue that made it seem as though pieces of the sky fell into his lids. 

“You okay?” He asked again, laughing slightly. You figured he was used to the ogling. Who would suspect that someone who looked like they could be on the runway would live in the shadows? 

“I think so.. I was just walking home from work,” you voice said, still timid. 

“Me too, mind if I walk with you?” He asked. 

“Guess not,” you shrugged. 

He fell into a stride next to you, matching your slower pace. 

“So you’re a workaholic,” he teased. 

“I suppose. It’s only temporary, I need the money to pay my rent. I moved here not that long ago,” you said. 

He let out a tsk.

“You don’t have family to hold you over?” He questioned.

“No, I moved for my career.” 

Silence settled as the townhomes came into view. Why were you letting him walk with you? Why were you telling him personal things? It went against every survival instinct you knew. 

“Well this is me, I'm going to head home now,” you said as the two of you entered the neighborhood. 

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he said. 

“Oh you don’t have to-“

“I insist,” he said with enough permanence you knew it wasn’t up for debate. Perhaps he had been raised a gentleman and insisted on making sure you got home safe. 

When you were at your door you turned to thank him and saw he was watching you intently. 

“Thank you,” you said a little dismissively, hoping he’d leave now. 

“You’re welcome,” he said, with no sign of leaving. It was then you noticed how empty handed he was, a detail you had missed earlier due to his striking appearance.

“You don’t have any work equipment with you,” you stated suddenly your laptop bag on your shoulder felt much more heavy.

“Left my stuff at the office,” he replied coolly. 

Your heart began to thud.

The thud reminded you of the trio: the hair rising, the rustling, heart racing.

At the current moment they were all present except one.

One had stopped once this stranger had appeared and only silence had ensued in his presence besides his questions.

“I think I’ll be going inside now,” you said, quickly fumbling with the lock. 

As you opened the door and bolted in, his strong hand stopped it from closing. 

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” He asked, smiling, his brilliant white canines like daggers. 

You tried to force the door close but his strength allowed him to open it just enough so he could side step inside. 

You backed away and he closed the door behind you, locking it ominously. 

Even more frightening, your laptop bag fell off your shoulder and onto the floor with a thud so loud it rivaled that of your heart.

“Now we can be alone,” he laughed as if it were an inside joke only he knew. 

“Please leave. Please don’t hurt me,” you began to plead.

He raised a brow.

“Hurt you? I’d never hurt you, unless you ask me to,” he teased. 

His demeanor was a combination of playful and menacing. 

Bridging the space between the two of you, his lips came down roughly on yours before you could even process it. 

Moaning into his mouth from the shock, your head spun as he devoured your tongue with his own. He was a good kisser, his lips moving skillfully. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he whispered once the kiss broke apart. 

“What?” you asked. 

By way of response, his lips moved to your neck, and your body betrayed you by responding, a jolt of heat formulating between your thighs. 

“Mine. All mine,” he said between kisses on your neck. 

“I don’t even know your name,” you stammered. 

He laughed against your skin.

“Satoru,” he replied before continuing to lay kisses on your neck with his soft lips. 

“Satoru…” you repeated more to yourself than to him but you felt his lips curl up in a smile. 

“That’s right, it sounds so much nicer coming from you,” he said. 

His lips came down on yours again, more passionate and hungry than before. Your head began to spin when suddenly he broke away.

“Take me to your bedroom,” he demanded. 

“What?” you asked, voice shaky. 

“You don’t like that idea?” he asked. For a moment his face seemed extremely vulnerable but then it was replaced by a stern look. 

“No it’s not that, it’s just- I don’t know you,” you stammered, hoping he wouldn’t grow angry. On the contrary, your words made him playful again. 

“You don’t need to. I know you, I’ve been studying you,” he said, his hands going to rest at your hips now, “I know you’re lonely, so let me take care of you.” 

You couldn’t even feign offense. You were so deeply lonely. Moving here for your career away from everyone you knew was no easy feat. You had the same routine work, home, and occasionally the store for errands. His hands traveled lower resting right on your thighs, one hand gripped the flesh lightly. You let out a whimper at that. 

“That’s a good girl, I can tell you want me. So it looks like I’m just gonna have to take us to your bed myself.” 

The next thing you knew, he lifted you up with extreme ease, throwing you  over his shoulder with your rear end a little too close to his face. 

“Satoru!” you exclaimed. 

He seemed to move through your small home a little too comfortably, a little too familiar. 

Finding your bedroom at the end of the hall, he threw you down on the bed. 

Your face flushed with embarrassment at all your trinkets on shelves and your plushies on the bed, by all accounts you have never had a man over before. 

Satoru only seemed to have eyes for you, however.

He bent down on his knees before you, parting your legs open. He jeered at the sight of your white panties, easily accessible due to your wearing a skirt. 

You gasped and clamped your legs shut again. 

His eyes narrowed at that. 

“Don’t be rude, let me look,” he said. 

A part of you felt violated while another part of you felt excitement. 

“Satoru, this is all so fast,” you said. 

He raised a brow. 

“Actually it is not going fast enough for me. I’ve waited months for this moment,” he replied. 

It had been several times now he made comments of the sort implying he had been watching you, and it shifted things into perspective. 

The hair rising that had been your one and only companion in this stage of your life was due to him. 

“How long have you been watching me?” you asked. 

“Since you first moved in,” he replied simply as if it were the most normal thing in the world. He inched forward until he was hovering over you on the bed, his hands resting along on the mattress. He kissed you again and you fell further into the cot. You hated how your body seemed to love his touch so much, you were so responsive to him. You even felt your panties begin to dampen with arousal. 

When the kiss broke apart, he rubbed the tip of his nose against yours, an act of unwarranted intimacy for two strangers. 

“I want you and I intend to have you. I won’t take no for an answer,” he said directly. His striking eyes were serious.

“Satoru you’re handsome and I’m not saying no but this is just so sudden,” you said trying to hold on to some shred of dignity. 

“I want you and I know you want me, what more is there that needs to happen?” He asked. 

He slipped back into his prior position in front you before speaking again: “If I have to prove how good I can make you feel, I will do so gladly.” 

His hands effortlessly parted your legs again and when you tried to clamp them shut again he held them in place.

“Stop denying yourself pleasure,” he said. He smiled upon seeing the wet stain on your panties, “look at you all eager for me.” 

His voice grew husky and his eyes were lustful. His fingers intruded their way into your underwear, pushing them aside slightly so he had access to your folds. 

Your breathing hitched as you felt him find your clit, the mere touch inducing a pulsing sensation that was impossible to ignore.

“Satoru.. please..” you said but you didn’t know what you were pleading for anymore. 

Was it for him to stop? Was it for him to keep going? 

“Hmm?” He teased as his fingers gently rubbed little circles on your clit. 

Eyes rolling back in pleasure, you felt your resolve to resist him begin to fade away. 

“That’s a good girl. See you don’t know what you want, you have to be shown,” he said. Suddenly he stopped rubbing. Your expression like you just had cold water thrown on you made him laugh. “Don’t worry, I have something better.” 

He removed your heels, tossing them to the floor, soon afterward your underwear followed as he rolled them over your knees and discarded them. Your skirt remained, but it was thrown over your plush thighs, no longer offering coverage.

“Fuck, so this is your pretty little bud,” he whispered as he parted your legs again. 

You were still pulsating, it grew more fierce as he had stopped before you could reach your climax. 

He leaned forward smirking and suddenly you felt his tongue at your folds. He began to slurp at your arousal causing guttural moans to slip out of your mouth and your back to arch slightly. 

Your hands went to his soft hair as you searched for something to anchor you when every part of you felt like it was setting afloat. 

He was ravenous, his mouth greedily tasting every part of you, and he was nearly abusive to your clit with his rough laps. 

“That’s it… that’s a good girl,” he coaxed as he felt your sweet release coming on. He talked you through it, telling you sweet nothings of how good you looked right now and how he had fantasized about this for so long. 

Three. 

Two. 

One. 

And your breasts raised and fell like setting suns as you caught your breath. 

“Now I want you to do something for me too,” he said as he began to unbuckle his pants. 

“Satoru, wait,” you began to protest again. 

“I told you I won’t take no for an answer. I proved myself and made you feel good,” he said. He took his pants off so he was in his boxers, his shirt soon following after. Calloused hands pulled your skirt off. Your blazer and blouse were soon discarded roughly. 

He hovered over you again going to kiss your lips, salvia intermingling with yours so when he pulled away again a translucent string connected the two of you. Leaning back, he pulled down his boxers revealing his big cock, some slight precum on the angry pink tip. 

“Satoru.. I’m not on anything,” you began. 

He had been right, you were so dreadfully lonely it had been a long time since you had been touched like this.

He smiled as if he suspected no different.

“It’s fine. I’d look after you and the baby,” he said. 

You whine at this.

“Please, be serious,” you chastised. 

“Fine, I’ll pull out. I’ll take care of everything but for now,” he paused as he lined himself up with you, he placed his dick on top of your labia rubbing up and down before he continued, “just let yourself enjoy it.” 

Your body was on fire, every nerve seemed to make itself known and you were embarrassed by just how aroused you really were. 

He was so dreadfully attractive, the perfect predator. Even his scent was intoxicating as it wafted into your nostrils from having him so close.

The truth was you were doomed to lose from the moment he set his sights on you. He was the hunter and you had been the naive and ignorant prey. Everything about him was inviting. In truth that’s why you had let him walk with you, why you had told him personal details. In the end you had been responsible for your own demise but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it.

Now you were going to have sex with your stalker, how fucked up was that? 

“You’re so fucking soaked,” he whispered as you felt him move his cock down and between your folds now. “Ahh.. fuck.. you’re so goddamn tight. How many guys have you let in here? Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t want to get mad.” 

You moaned as you felt yourself stretch to accommodate his impressive and imposing girth. He pushed himself deeper in, using his hands to wrap your legs around his waist so he could go even deeper still, until at last he was bottomed out inside you. 

He seemed delirious now, completely pussy drunk as he began to set a rhythmic pace of fast thrusts. 

“So big,” you whispered, but he heard you all the same, groaning at that. 

“Fuck.. I've wanted this since the moment I saw you.. Had to stop myself from taking you then and there-“ 

Your bed frame had begun to hit the wall with each thrust and you blushed to think of any neighbors who may hear. 

You could feel his pulse beating inside you as if it were your own and the lewd sound of wet skin slapping against skin only aroused you more. 

“Moan my name,” he commanded.

“Satoru..” you moaned. 

He groaned at that and his hands went to grope at your breasts, sensitive nipples spilling over onto his fingers as he continued to thrust into your mercilessly. 

“Such a little minx, you know that? I loved watching you.. following you.. coming into your place at night while you were sleeping.” 

Your eyes widened in fear at that, mortified.

No wonder he had been so familiar with your place. 

“Shh.. did that scare you baby? Don’t worry. I’d just watch you sleep is all. Sometimes I’d stroke myself off when you’d moan in your sleep. Believe me it took everything in me not to ram myself down your throat when you’d do that.. but even I have morals,” he laughed. 

You felt your heart racing in panic now, in fear of the invasion of your privacy but he took the opportunity to fuck you even harder than before. 

“‘Toru.. so rough,” you moaned as your hands went to his muscled back in an effort to stabilize yourself. 

“Fuck- your pussy is gripping me so much tighter. Thought you were scared, but maybe you like the attention.. hm?” 

His strokes became slower now, more deliberate. And for a moment his rough fucking turned into intimate love making as he kissed you, his tongue chasing after yours.

You felt yourself nearly close to your peak, and he felt it too, his lips moving to your neck biting as he returned to his fast speed.

He found your sweet gummy spot and his cock nicked it over and over, practically abusing it to the point of overstimulation that you felt tears of pleasure roll down your cheeks. 

“Satoru… it feels so good,” you moaned. 

“Yeah, I bet it does,” he teased, his own eyes half lied and full of lust.

He himself was enjoying this as well, enjoying how incredibly tight and warm you felt it was like nothing he had ever experienced before and well worth the months of waiting and meticulous studying of you. 

God, how he had enjoyed watching you, had enjoyed following you home from work every night. 

Tonight has been his breaking point, he couldn’t stay away any longer and when you didn’t resist him didn’t tell him to go away and that he could walk home with you.. well you had practically invited him to fuck you, or at least that’s how he saw it. 

“I’m.. I’m so close,” you whimpered underneath him. 

“Shh I know baby me too,” he cooed. 

“Satoru.. remember not inside-“ you tried to remind him, but your face was so flushed, makeup smeared, and voice so breathy, you couldn’t possibly mean that could you? 

Your words didn’t seem to have any effect on him as he continued to thrust into you. 

In truth he was imagining you pregnant, it would be a true testament that you were claimed by him, belonged to him. 

Because as far as he was concerned you did belong to him, he hadn’t invested all this time into you for nothing. 

“Fuck…” he groaned as he felt you gripping him even tighter still. 

Close so close.. 

Then the two of you finished and you screamed out in panic as his hot fluid rushed into you. 

“Shhh… it’s okay, baby,” he coaxed, shutting up your panicked babbles with a tongue filled kiss. You relaxed a little at that, he did have a way of calming you down with his touch, with his out of place intimacy which was far too familiar for what the two of you were to each other. 

He reluctantly pulled out of you and cradled you against his chest, stroking your hair and kissing your forehead. 

In this moment it was easy for you to close your eyes and pretend the two of you were lovers. 

Too bad the truth was much darker.

[bountydroid]

Darlin' pt 5

pt 1 / pt 2 / pt 3 / pt 4 / pt6

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x f!reader (Slowburn romance)

Description: Cooper starts to soften up.

Notes: This one is a bit longer! I might be a little slower between parts from now on as it is finals season and I'll be graduating with my bachelor's degree (yay!) plus I work full time. As always, any critiques are welcome!

The air between us after the hug attempt was thick with tension. We walked in silence as we made our way into the wasteland, clear tracks in the sand making the target easy to follow. I was sure that the look on my face was pathetic, like a kicked puppy. I tried to hide my hurt at first, but it didn't seem like he cared much since he had hardly even glanced at me since we left Ma June's shop anyway. At least I had Whilzig's dog. I knew he was just there to help us track his master, but his presence felt comforting. Without him, I think the tension between Cooper and I would be too much to handle. 

I glanced over at the ghoul every so often. I was hoping I would catch him glancing back, a sign that he did in fact, give a damn about me. I felt deflated. Any hope I had about his feelings for me had vanished. 

I let a quiet sigh escape my lips as I looked down at my feet. 

This seemed to get his attention as he stopped in his tracks and whipped around to face me. "Stop it." He said sternly, a look of annoyance on his face.

I was sure that my face did little to hide the horror I felt at his reaction. "I am just tired." I tried to lie.

"Sure." He said back, crossing his arms. He clearly knew I was lying.

I felt anger prickle up inside me. "Why are you looking at me like I did something wrong? I didn't." I exclaimed. "I hugged my friend. At least I thought I did."

He didn't respond to this, instead opting to look out into the never-ending sand.

"Let's just keep going," I mumbled as I stomped past him.

Growing up I loved the sun. I loved to feel its warm rays on my skin as it shined through the window. Now? Now I hated it. We had barely been in the Wasteland that long, and I already felt like the heat was suffocating me. It didn't seem to bother Cooper though. He showed no sign of tiring or discomfort. "One of the perks of being a ghoul I guess." I thought to myself bitterly.

After what felt like ages, our furry companion barked and started running towards a large piece of metal. Cooper and I exchanged looks before picking up our pace to catch up to him. 

"What the hell?" I mumbled as I pinched my nose and looked away from the headless body.

Cooper crouched down next to Whilzig, a look of mild confusion on his face before looking out into the wasteland. One of his coughing fits started as he took his pack off of his shoulder and put it on the ground, rummaging through it. He found what he was looking for quickly, a metal tin with a couple of vials of Jet inside. Despite being angry with him, I looked down at him, concern evident on my face. Almost like he could sense it, he looked up at me as he put the vial into his inhaler. His eyes closed and a look of relief washed over his face as he breathed it in. He let out one more soft wheeze as he collected himself. 

"Cooper?" I asked softly. 

"Yeah, Darlin'?" He replied while getting up from the ground.

"I'm sorry." I started. "I am sorry for huggin' you. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

His eyes bore into me while he contemplated his response. "You're okay Darlin'." He said quietly. "I am just an ill-tempered old man."

I let out a small giggle. "I would've said cranky, but ill-tempered is a nicer way to put it."

He let out a loud bark of a laugh in response. "Come on let's go find the rest of im'." He said as he patted my shoulder.

As we started to walk away from the body, Cooper let out a clicking noise, getting the dog's attention. The dog barked in response as he chased after us.

"How old are you anyway?" I ask curiously.

He hummed in response, "Old."

I decided not to press it further, his short response suggesting it wasn't something he wanted to discuss. This time, our silent march was much more pleasant. The tension from earlier was gone. I was exceeding grateful for this change. As the sun started to set, I felt relieved. The heat didn't feel quite as terrible as the sun started to fade behind the horizon.

"Good a spot as any," Cooper said as he peaked inside a half-crumbled building. 

I sighed in relief. "God my feet are killing me. I think I've done more walkin' with you than I have in my entire life."

He let out a breathy laugh, "And you are gonna do a lot more, sugar."

It didn't take long for me to fall asleep in the sand curled up next to Whilzig's dog.

-

I slowly peeled my eyes open as I felt someone gently shaking me. My bleary eyes peered up to see the face of my traveling companion.

"Mornin' Darlin'." He smirked at my dazed and exhausted face. "Sleep well?"

I just grumbled in response. I slowly raised to my feet, wincing as the pressure on them began to build. I felt his eyes on me as he raised his bag to his shoulder. I sighed as I reached down to pick up my bag as well. 

"When we get this bounty, I am gonna sleep for a week." I say with a soft groan.

"Gimme that." He said as he ripped my bag from my hands and threw it over his empty shoulder. He chuckled at the surprised look on my face. "Can't have your pretty ass slowin' me down."

I stood there for a moment and replayed our exchange in my head before finally running after him. "He keeps calling me pretty." I think to myself while a blush creeps over my cheeks.

"You know," I started, feeling bold. "I think we are a great team."

He glanced over at me, an amused look on his face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I hummed happily. "I am really glad I met you." 

An unrecognizable look washed over his face. Hesitation? Confusion? Fear? It looked like all of those emotions, all at once.

I gave him a weary smile, "Even if you won't let me hug you." I admit.

He hesitated, almost looking like he was going to say something before he stopped himself. 

"Hey, Dog Meat!" He yelled up at the dog, "Don't go far."

"Dog Meat?" I mused, "Really?"

"That's what he is, ain't he?" he replied, smirking.

I knew he was trying to change the subject. He was uncomfortable again. So, I decided to let him as I let out a small giggle. "Sure, Cooper."

We continued along, getting closer and closer to the derelict city. The silence was only interrupted by the occasional bark from Dog Meat. We happened upon an oasis, the water inviting, almost trying to trick me into taking a dip. I knew better than that. We could hear a commotion in front of us as we started to slow down, quieting our footsteps. Cooper turned to me and put a finger to his lips, silently shushing me. Someone else was there. The bounty?

 No, it was the vaultie. I stayed behind as Cooper snuck up behind her. She only noticed his presence once she heard the cock of his gun.

"Hello again." She said, her eyes filled with fear.

He greeted her by hitting her over the head with the butt of his gun. I grimaced as she fell to the ground. 

"Where is it?" He snarled. "The head."

She whimpered on the ground quietly while Cooper picked up her bag and emptied the contents into the dirt.

Cooper got angry as he realized the head wasn't there. He cocked his gun again, ready to shoot her. 

"Okay, okay, I don't know where it is. Okay? I lost it." The vaultie begged. "I lost it."

Cooper let out a soft hum as he looked around, it seemed like he already knew what he was looking for when he put his boot in a pile of dung. I made a disgusted face.

"Did you seriously have to do that?" I mumbled. This brought the vaultie's attention to me. She was so caught up in her fear of Cooper she didn't even realize I was there.

"A gulper got it, huh?" He said as he turned back to the vaultie before grabbing her by the hair. 

She cried as she begged for mercy as he dragged her to the dock. Once there, he tied a rope with an anchor on the end around her body as well as bound her feet. I just watched from afar, feeling slightly bad for the girl. Dog Meat was barking so loudly I could hardly hear them.

"Stop! Please!" She begged as she wiggled, trying to break free. "My dad, he's an overseer. He got taken by Raiders and I need that head to get him back. If you help me find him, he'll do whatever you want!"

Instead of responding, Cooper just pushed her into the water. The rope she was bound with was connected to a piece of metal I did not recognize, but it kept her from sinking to the bottom. She splashed around as she panicked. 

"Stop! Stop! Torture is wrong!" She cried out when he brought her back up out of the water.

Cooper let out a scoff. "You know, they used to do these things called studies. Why, you couldn't open a newspaper without reading about one study or another. Anyways, one particular study came out and it said torturing a person, don't do shit." He replied as he dropped her back into the water briefly before bringing her up again. "It made sense. I mean a man hurts me? I wouldn't want to do him any favors. And yet the practice of torture failed to vanish from this earth. In fact, as time marches on, I've personally noticed a decided uptick in the amount of torture being doled out across the board." He continued as he picked off a small creature from her back and fed it to Dog Meat.

"Sir, please. I need the head. It's the only way I can get my father back." The vaultie begged again. I admired her spirit. I debated asking Cooper to stop, but I bit my tongue instead.

"My point is," Cooper replied, ignoring her pleas. "If you ask me, them studies, they were right. Torturing a person don't do shit."

"Then why are you doing this?" She asked, exasperated. 

"Well, I ain't torturing you, sweetheart. I'm using you as bait." He explained before dunking her in the water again. I hated to admit it, but I felt a tiny bit of jealousy in my chest at the nickname. I knew I shouldn't be jealous, he obviously held little love for her.

Cooper started to whistle as he got closer to the edge of the dock like he was beckoning something near. It was at this point that I realized I had been slowly inching closer to them this whole time as my feet finally met the dock.

"What is a gulper?" I asked Cooper curiously.

"A monster, darlin'. Careful." He said, realizing how close I was getting to the water. He grabbed his knife off the wooden box he put it on earlier and tied a rope around it. He clearly had a plan.

The vaultie started crying out in the water and flailing around even more than usual. This caused Cooper to try and lift her out of the water again, but the machine he was using was stuck. 

"Cooper!" I cried out, realizing she was going to drown.

He sprang into action as he grabbed a hook, moving the entire machine to pull her out. As she was pulled onto the dock, a giant pink creature followed her. He was right. That was a monster. I ran up to the vaultie and grabbed her shoulders as I tried to pull her away, but the anchor tied around her was stuck in the gulper's mouth. She kicked at the creature violently as Cooper stuck it with his knife. The gulper got ahold of her leg and swung her around, pushing me into the water. I thrashed around as I tried to find something to hold onto. 

"Cooper!" I yelled before I finally was able to grasp ahold of the dock. I could hear the tussle above me and the gulper finally cry out and fall back into the water. 

I could hear Cooper gasping for air as he crawled over to me. "Give me your hand, sugar."

I quickly did as I was told. He pulled me out of the water and onto the dock with ease. He got up and looked out into the water, wincing as he realized the head was gone once again.

"Cooper," I said softly. "Your bag."

He moved swiftly, going straight for his tin of Jet. At the realization that it was completely crushed he pointed his gun back at the vaultie.

"Motherfucker!" He shouted angrily.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I should've just let you use me as bait in a poison river!" The vaultie yelled back.

Cooper lowered his gun before turning back around to the water. "Fuck!" He screamed.

I finally stood up and waddled my way over to him. My clothes were soaked, uncomfortably sticking to my skin. This caught his attention, he put his hand on my cheek as he briefly scanned my body, looking for injuries. "I am fine." I hummed, my heart squeezing in my chest at his show of affection. It wasn't much, but it showed how much he cared.

"You can't treat people like this!" The vaultie interrupted.

"Yeah, why's that?" Cooper asked, his mind obviously elsewhere. 

"Because of the golden rule." She said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Do unto others as you would have done unto you."

I gave her an amused look as I let out a small laugh. "The golden rule, huh? I don't think he follows that."

"Those gulpers digest real slow. You got time." Cooper said to himself.

I put the hand on his shoulder reassuringly, pulling him from his thoughts. He looked at me for a second before hurrying over to pick up our bags. "We gotta go." He pulled out his lasso and made his way to the vaultie.

"No. no, no, no, no." She begged as he put it around her neck. "Where are we going? What about the head? I need the head to get my dad back."

"Yeah, well, the wasteland's got its own golden rule," Cooper replied, dragging her along.

"Yeah, what's that?" She asked.

"Thou shalt get sidetracked by bullshit every goddamn time." Cooper sighed.

"What about the dog?" I asked, scurrying after him.

"He ain't ours." He responded curtly.

I frowned at him. I had gotten attached to Dog Meat, but the determined expression on Cooper's face kept me quiet. Wherever we were going, it was important.

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