#i will draw you like a sunset (threat)

[gensjunia]

she literally has stigmata :/

[peachesofteal]

MELOS

main masterlist / Azriel's masterlist

Azriel/female reader Part one of three - 8.5k words - AO3

Tags: 18+ mdni. Torture scene, asphyxiation (not the sexy kind), angst. Azriel hates himself. Feelings of despair, fear, panic, longing. Amren uses "boy/girl" so I can too. Mention of spanking. Trauma. Post ACOSF, canon-compliant. Cassian is a meddler. Azriel doesn't like surprises.

In the woods just inside the confines of the Middle, Azriel finds a puzzle.

More aptly, Azriel finds you, bathed in the glow of the sunset, iridescent snowflakes from the first snow delicately falling to your shoulders, your hair, the tip of your nose.

There’s magic on the wind carrying your scent, something different he cannot place, tang of petrichor sitting on the tip of his tongue.

Strange, beautiful creature, the shadows whisper. He’s inclined to agree.

Strange indeed.

For a moment, he thinks of Bryce. He remembers her entrance into this world, her stories of her home, things both he and Nesta have no concept of. The star on her chest.

She is of no threat to us. 

That’s not for you to decide.

He slips into the caliginous wisp curling around his shoulders, a shroud of darkness allowing him a closer look, just as a persistent huff at the edge of his mind pulls his attention.

Where are you? 

Working.

Working where? 

South. There’s a snort.

One-word answers, how sufficient. You’re not a pariah. Come home. 

Once I’m finished. 

The conversation eclipses his focus until you slip on the frozen riverbank and he tenses, gaze swinging to where you’ve caught yourself with a squeak, one hand behind your back, palm slicked with mud. 

His wall falls entirely, distracted, and Rhys' curiosity piques. 

Who is that? 

No one. I’ll report to you later. With that, the conversation ceases, Azriel’s walls of tenebrific smoke rising to block out the irritated hiss of his brother.

The edge of the Middle is considered somewhat safe, though not without risk, a perplexing fact that spurs him closer for a better look as you rise from the river, frozen blades of glass crunching under the sole of your boot. Your ears are pointed, limbs elongated, both markers of High Fae, but something unknown still lingers, a natural, earth rich sillage left in your wake. Your hips swing from the effort of pushing up the bank, backpack in hand, and the sway distracts him. It’s hard to ignore the shape of you, the weight of your breasts, the pert bow of your top lip. Gods, at full height, you barely reach his shoulders, and his body reacts in a way that’s out of his control.

Rhys’ warning is ice between his ears, a wound still fresh even though it's old. If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her.  

He’s long let her go, but the command from his brother still sits bitterly in his stomach, along with untended desire. That's all this is, misplaced salacity.

Still, even your calves draw his eye.

Lovely little female, the shadows croon. He grits his teeth and falls into step behind you, cautiously allowing inky tendrils to sprawl across bramble laced ground. One licks too close, just barely caressing the edge of your heel, and you freeze.

So does he. An unnatural stillness falls over the wood, culminating into a quiet so loud it shatters as you fix wary eyes on the space where he stands. He holds his breath, ice crystal laden cirrus clouds parting overhead, drawing back the curtain on a star filled night sky, silver light shimmering across fallen leaves. 

The night's splendor shines on you like a blessing from the Mother herself. 

You blink, lips parted, quizzical, anxious expression bringing your brows together. “Hello?”

You can’t… you can’t see him, can you?

Your reaction puzzles him. How is it you are out here, in the Middle, so brazenly, so recklessly, calling out to a place filled with such sinister, monstrous magic and monsters?

You tilt your face to the break in the clouds, downy white snowflakes sticking to your eyelashes and dotting your cheeks in such a way it’s seraphic. The shadows, his shadows, vibrate with frenetic, enchanted energy.

Beautiful, they coo as they reach for you, nearly finding the bend of your neck before he snaps them away.

You shift the backpack hung from your shoulders and take one last look around, confused, until you shake your head, spinning on your heel to head into the forest. The urge to follow you is too great, your presence here is now a riddle requiring answers, if not for his own curiosity, then for the safety of the Night Court, his family. Who knows who you are, what you are, what your business is in this place-

Shadowsinger. Nuala’s whisper halts his pursuit. The fox is here with news of Koschei.

With one more long look at your retreating back, he reluctantly steps into a pocket of a shadow, leaving the Middle and its new mystery for another time. Soon.  

Azriel does not like surprises.

In fact, he prides himself on rarely ever being surprised, at least in Velaris.

So to stumble upon you at the Palace of Bone and Salt, to see you in the midday sun, boots and muddied cloak replaced by a plum stained linen dress, hair pinned up in various places off your neck and holding a large canvas bag at your side, stops him in his tracks. He falls behind Cassian and Nesta without a single word, slowing his steps to mimic how you drift through the stalls and storefronts, nodding and smiling to others as if you belong here. As if this is your home. The wary look in your eyes from the other day has been replaced by a radiant, celestial glimmer, one drawing those around you closer, and something squeezes around his heart at the sight.

Our sweet girl. 

Stop it. 

“Az?” Nesta turns, noticing his absence, Cassian following suit almost immediately.

“Sorry,” he replies smoothly, running a hand down the buttons of his shirt. Even from paces away, the scent of your skin fills his nostrils, dampened wood from rain and freshly fallen fruit. Foolishly, his gaze lingers too long, long enough his brother notices, and breaks out a broad grin.

“See something you like?”

Cassian plants himself directly in your path, pretending to look on absentmindedly, perusing a stall piled with fresh cuts of meats. You try to move around him, but the flow of bodies stalls your momentum, and you nearly trip over your feet, giving Cassian an opportunity to reach out and steady you.

“I’m sorry!” You grip the straps of your bag, righting yourself after recovering from the stumble, and Azriel closes his eyes, resisting the urge to pinch his brow.

“That’s alright. I’m Cassian,” he grins, extending his hand. There isn't a male, female, or child in this place that does not know them, but the introduction is polite, at the bare minimum. At its depth, it's a way for his some time insufferable brother to stick his nose in a place it doesn't belong, and when you don’t reciprocate, he breezes right past, ignoring the awkwardness of your refusal. “This is Nesta, and Azriel.” Azriel inclines his head, and you look from Cassian to him, before settling on Nesta.

Most in Velaris look away from Nesta, like they’re staring at a star so bright it hurts their eyes, but not you. You meet her head on, studying curiously, and her lips quirk to the side in a barely-there smile.

“Ignore him. He’s an oaf sometimes.” She playfully nudges Cassian with an elbow, and you relax slightly. His brother doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone however, and clears his throat.

“This is the part where you tell us your name. It’s customary.” You’re taken aback for a second, a micro-expression of unease no one else tracks save for himself before recovering with a tepid smile.

Your name rings like a bell, a chime of music, strings and key perfectly played in harmony. The shadows sigh.

“Do you live around here?” Cassian pushes, and teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“Yes, I- I work at Moonflower.”

“The apothecary?”  

“That’s the one.”

“Maybe we’ll see you there sometime. Nesta’s always in need of a new elixir.” She raises a brow at her mate, who flashes Azriel a mischievous smirk.

“Oh, I work in the back.”

“You’re the apothecary.”  They're the first words he's said to you, and they're wrong. They slip off his tongue too cold, too calculated, and he doesn't miss the way you frown in confusion.

“I’m an alchemist, but… yes.” Your voice is a shade above a whisper, quiet beneath the bustle of the market, and his eyes meet yours, circling in your inescapable gaze like a spider in a web. Cassian coughs, breaking his reverie. “I uh… I should get going, I’ve got a lot of work to do. It was nice to meet you all.” He wants to disappear into the crowd of the market after you, but he dreads the weight it would carry with his brother, the unrelenting questioning and pestering it would produce. 

“You too!” Cassian hollers, and then faces him with a wide grin. “Well, she’s-�� Nesta smacks the middle of his chest, and Azriel glowers.

“Don’t.”

He finds you again in the Middle, same backpack and boots, diligently picking through a patch of chartreuse moss. He swallows his scowl. Why are you out here alone, again? It frustrates him. Why put yourself in such danger?

He's struck by a fantasy, one of you with your pants pulled down your ankles and bent over his knees, sweet cries filling the room as you take your punishment for such recklessness, his open palm raining smack after smack down onto your ass.

Madness. He shakes the vision away, coming to stand at your side.

“Hello.” You whirl, startled like a rabbit.

Nice, the shadows groan, and his wings flex.

“H-hi.” Music again, a melody on the breeze, and shadows flutter around his shoulders, scrawling across the ground to where you kneel. He orders them back, wielding a sharp-edged command that cuts, but they stray farther, stretching for you, carefully floating across your forearms.  

He’s stunned, briefly, and then gathers his wits, yanking them away. They’ve never, never behaved this way. Born for him from desolation, tamed from darkness incarnate, he’s shaped them into obedient spies, tools spread across Prythian, ethereal wisps capable of things others cannot comprehend. Always in service, always compliant.

You look up with a little bit of wonder in your eyes, pretty little smile tugging at your mouth. He should say something reassuring, something kind or friendly to ease you, but such sentiment fails him, and he scowls, snapping at you instead. “Why are you out here by yourself?” Your face falls, effectively chastised like a child who’s been caught in a cookie jar.

“I’m… I need things. Ingredients.”

“And you need to come out here to get them?”

“The plant life is more vibrant here, more uh, c-concentrated? The magic is stronger. It’s hard to explain…” 

“The Middle is a dangerous place.” He replies flatly.

“Oh, I don’t have problems here. I never travel too far from the boundary.” You glance at your bag at the edge of the clearing, eager for an escape he imagines, though he’s not willing to let you go.

“You’re quite far from Velaris.” You nod, but offer no explanation, and he raises an eyebrow.

“I winnowed.” You rock back on your heels and stand, shuffling closer to your backpack. He doesn’t move to stop you, just stands in the center of the moss patch, studying your every move. “I've got to get back,” you explain, offering him a nervous smile, one he doesn’t deserve, or return. You wilt. 

It strikes a chord in the pit of his stomach, and in a last-minute moment of weakness, he sends a shadow to ride the coattails of your winnow, issuing a stark warning to reaffirm the mission.

Observe and report to me. Do not make yourself known. 

Always.

Our sweet looks beautiful tonight, the shadows report in a whirlwind of excitement, and he pauses mid cut as the male in front of him whimpers, twisting, trying break free from the chains.

That is not worthy of a report. He blatantly ignores the possessiveness, the pet name. For now.

She’s going to Rita’s with a friend. He bites down on the inside of his cheek. Her dress is blue. Cobalt.  

Why are you reporting this? 

We’re acting as instructed. 

This is a futile information, he chastises, and the answer is resounding silence as he shakes his shoulders and turns back to his prey, the crying, bloody Fae strung up by his wrists.

“Where were we?”

Outside of Rita’s, Azriel lurks in darkness.  

His family is inside, unaware he’s in the alley, tucked away from prying eyes. He’s freshly showered, blood scrubbed out from beneath his fingernails, blackened door in his mind firmly shut and locked away, just like its twin in the dungeon.

It’s been too long since he’s gone out, always choosing to slink away just before the conversations turn to plans, separating himself from Mor, and Elain, distancing himself from scrutiny or worse, pity.

Tonight, he couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t shake the idea of you here, so close, so tangible.

He slides from the shadowed pocket, and Fae step around him, eyes going wide and inclining their heads as a sign of respect. 

Respect. A joke. The city cannot fathom what he has done in his lifetime, and if they did, respect would be the furthest thing from their mind. 

He dons his mask, cold indifference, severe gaze, and slips inside.

Cassian knows he’s here before he’s in view. A brother’s intuition, an instinct that has served them well in battle and elsewhere, since they were young.

Tonight, he greets Azriel with a wide, knowing grin, dragging his gaze to the other side of the room and Azriel has no choice but to follow, spotting the obvious immediately.

You. 

You’re perched at a table, legs crossed, smiling, laughing, holding a too full glass of wine. The dress is cobalt blue silk, delicate lace stitched on the hem, thin straps exposing your neck, your clavicle, your back. For a moment, he imagines his mouth on those places, he dreams about what you might taste like, how smooth you’d be against him, the contrast of his ruined hands and your satin skin.

His cock throbs, sense and composure momentarily slipping away before he regains control.

The shadows sigh. Our beautiful girl. 

Stop calling her that. 

Why? She is beautiful. And she is ours. 

“Az!” Feyre is delighted, trying to wave him over. He’s always had a soft spot for his High Lady, endlessly impressed by her resilience, her love and commitment to both his brother and the Night Court, her kindness. “It’s been so long,” she teases as he slides into the seat at her left, pointedly ignoring Cassian’s smug expression.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been busy with work.”

“We miss you. You haven’t been at dinner in weeks.”

“It’s true,” Mor says softly at the other side of the table, brows creased in concern. He gives her a small, reassuring smile, one he hopes conveys the truth. It’s not your fault. She visibly relaxes.

“So, Az,” Cassian stretches, too big for the booth, arm coming around Nesta and tugging her close. “What brings you out this evening?” Fucking. Hel.

“I’ve missed you all.” It’s not a lie, not exactly, even if he’s been keeping his distance, it doesn’t change how he feels about his family, how he loves them in his own way. How it’s easier sometimes, to love others from afar, how envy has infected his lungs and every time he takes a breath, he wonders why the Cauldron chose not to give him what his brothers have. A bond. Love. 

At night, when he’s alone in his bed, he accepts the truth, the reality of being unworthy, of being a bastard, of being malevolent and repulsive. It was so easy with Mor, to long for someone so beautiful, so close to his heart but still unattainable, to dream of himself as a male one could love, could be proud of, a love who would choose him, again and again, even if it wasn’t true. Even if he knew for a long time, it would never be true. A fantasy like Mor is an easy escape from the nightmare in his head.

And Elain. Elain. A vision with big doe eyes and caramel hair, a beautiful girl whose life was lost, and a new, confusing one was born in its place.

A perfect obsession.

She too, was a dream. Something to cling in the longest hours of the night when sleep wouldn’t come.

But he was a monster, and he was undeserving.

Not true. 

Feyre catches his eye and gives him a warm, knowing look. “I’m happy to see you.”

“As I am you.”

You’re drunk.

He doesn’t need the shadows to confirm it, it’s clear from across the room. You teeter on the edge of the stool, giggling, radiant in the wash of dim lighting.

He’s not the only one who notices. Around you, other males watch from the corner of their eye, letting their gazes sweep from head to toe, lingering too long on your breasts, the curve of your waist. A male brushes his hand across your shoulder, another offers to buy you a drink. Rage curls in his stomach, jealously flooding his veins with vigor.

They’re touching her. The shadows are frustrated, hissing and snapping angrily, rattling around him like a black cloud.

I know.

His teeth might shatter from the amount of pressure coming from his clenched jaw.

The male following you out the side door at the end of your evening is the straw that snaps him in half. He abandons the table, his family, slipping away into the crowd as Feyre calls his name.

“Let him go.” Cassian rumbles on the last wind of a chuckle, and he loses the parting words as he pushes the door wide, cool Velaris air stinging his cheeks.

“No need to run off.” The male’s arm is slung around your waist, your face twisted into a sour swirl of intoxication and discomfort. Incendiary anger licks up his spine, flames violent and desperate to lash out. "Let's go back inside, have another drink." 

“No,” you straighten, but both Azriel and offending male catch the liquored wobble in your voice as you hold your jacket to your chest. “No, thank you.” He tugs you closer.

“Come on, I can-“ It’s all Azriel can stand. He’s gone in one moment and by your side the next, fingers digging into the male’s arm.

“She said no.” You look up into his face, eyes wide and unfocused, but he doesn’t miss the way you relax with relief, like you’re happy he’s here. Happy, an emotion rarely felt by those who encounter the Spymaster, happy like you’re soothed by his presence. It’s unfamiliar to him, just another suprise dealt by your hand. The male’s eyes go comically wide, blood draining from his face, sputtering something Azriel is deaf to. He's too focused on the pulse rapidly fluttering beneath your jaw. “Are you alright?”

“I’m… yes.” You lurch, half stepping back, half stumbling, and he steadies you. When you don't pull away, the shadows chirp. 

“You’re drunk.”

“Yup.” You punctuate the single syllable with a hiccup, inky tendrils curling around your wrist, petting, soothing. He braces for your fear, the uptick in your heartbeat, shallow respirations, but they don’t come.

You giggle instead.

The shadows preen and purr with glee. Our girl.

His shreds of control are slowly slipping away, deteriorating in your presence, and he lets the mask fall away to reveal a small smile. You suck in a sharp breath. “Are you sure you’re okay?” You nod rapidly, but your balance is still askew. “You’re too drunk to winnow.”

“I wasn’t going to. I live a few blocks that way.” You nod to the east and then pivot to the west, unsure. “Or that way. I’ll know once I get to the street.” He frowns.

“You’ll walk?”

“Well, yes. That’s what those of us do if we don’t have those.” You point at his wings, gaze lingering before you look away sheepishly.

“I’ll walk you.” You blink, surprised, confused, just as he is. The words were not planned, they appeared, conjured from the cold air, pushed from his mouth by some unknown force.

There’s a twist beneath his ribs, a small piece of him rapidly stretching and spreading, pulling him apart to make more room.

“What? I- I can walk fine, I’m fine.”

“It’s cold.” His voice is soft, softer than he’s ever heard, and it must be enough to quiet your protests, because you purse your lips and relent with a sigh.

“Alright then.”

It’s odd, to want to know another, to want to understand another outside his family. This throbbing ache, freshly blooming in your presence, is different compared to the festering desiderium he’s held for Mor, for Elain, the pining turned fetid, foul in its taste across his tongue, infatuation, obsession, anything to avoid focusing on the darkness constantly closing in around him, the black tar filling his lungs, drowning him. He was born, molded, embraced by the bleakest parts of this realm, and there’s not enough water in it to douse the rage and disgust burning in his soul. His people are monsters, and so shall he be. 

The shame of it all, punctuated by his infatuation with Elain, the necklace debacle, is fire in his veins, but the iridescent halo shining onto your shoulders from your porch light quells it somehow, gentles the heat. “How often do you visit the Middle?”

You give him a sheepish look. “Often, lately. I’ve lost my main supplier.” 

“Why is that?” The Sidra saturates the breeze, briny and sweet, teasing your dress into a flutter at your knees, his shadows hovering over your skin, craving to cloak you in their darkness, shield you from wandering eyes.

“Most of my plants and powders come from the Spring Court, and I can’t really afford the… inflation.” Inflation is a polite way to put it. Tensions between Spring and Night have resulted in rising costs of goods, and total derailment of trade in some cases.

She’s worried her words offend you. 

“That’s understandable.” He tames his voice, and your shoulders relax by a fraction. “Still, it is a long way from home, if anything were to happen.” An understatement. The Middle holds horrors most cannot comprehend, wicked creatures that would love nothing more than to prey on and devour something as lovely as you. He still cannot wrap his head around the fact that you frequent it in the first place. Even the bravest, strongest of Prythian do not. 

“I can handle myself.”  He wants to protest, wants to ask if you truly know what lurks in there. “Mostly.” You add as an afterthought, little hiccup, little giggle, fingers fumbling for the door handle. The hair on the back of his neck stands stiff.

“Mostly?”

“It’s not like I haven’t run into trouble,” you’re vague, shrugging it off, and his gut clenches.

“What kind of trouble?” The breeze turns to wind that whips, cold with the sting of frost. 

And then you roll your eyes.

It’s so… bratty. His wings twitch, lightning rolling through membrane like a storm on the sea.

Wild one, the shadows chirp.

Too wild, maybe. “How old are you?” You lift your chin with a sniff.

“One hundred and two.” So young. 

The High Lady just turned twenty-three, the shadows remind him drily.

Fair.

“So… did you walk me all the way home to hold me hostage on my front step in the cold?” His laugh is a surprise. It comes deep from his chest, a genuine rumble in his ribs, more authentic than the half smiles and nods he’s been giving others for years.

“If I was holding you hostage, you’d know.” He murmurs, stepping into your space, tracking the dilation of your pupils, the quiver in your bottom lip. Normally, these reactions would insinuate fear, but you don’t smell of it. You smell like desire, like you’d succumb to him, bend for him, arch for him. “Are you cold?” Goosebumps erupt across your shoulders and down your arms, and he dips close, closer than he has any right to. He has no right to you. No right to such a strange, beautiful creature, a mystery by all standards. He who deals in death, who poisons all he touches, would stain you. He'd drag his scarred, marbled fingers under your silk dress and taint you. 

“Y-yes.” He catches the scent then, the damp foliage from fresh rain crushed under heel, soaked moss at the roots of an ancient tree. It jolts him back to reality, mask settling into its rightful place across his face.

“What are you?”

“What?”

“You’re High Fae… but there’s something else.” Hesitance flickers in your eyes, and you pull away, creating distance. Good. He needs it. You confuse him, cloud his judgement, sowing uncertainty he’s not used to.

And every time he looks at you, his chest aches.

“Nothing important.” He cocks his head.

“Is that so?” You shrug.

“I’m a half-breed.” He hides his disgust at the term, but it doesn’t change the rage it ignites, the disdain.

“Half what?”

She barely knows you; she has no reason to trust you, the shadows sulk, unhappy with the turn of events as you take the last stair and open your door, turning to for one last look at him. 

“I’m not a threat, Azriel.”

Truth. 

“Any news?”

“No.” The silence is long suffering, and after he offers nothing further, Rhys sighs.

“Azriel-“

“I have work in Dawn this coming week, leaving tomorrow. I expect to be gone for a full seven, even eight days. I’ll report back once I’m home.”

“Okay.” Azriel’s shield is wall of shadow impenetrable by most, and even though the relationship between them is strained, his brother would never force his way into his mind.

If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her.  Or maybe be would. 

He was given an order; orders are meant to be followed, something Rhys’ own father instilled in him early on, and though it's been months, it's still too bitter in the back of his throat. Rhys’ father ordered him. Often. Treated him as one would treat an object to be used, a weapon to wield. Azriel was defined by the shadows, for his usefulness, not for who he truly was. 

He had never been on the receiving end of this manner of treatment from Rhys, and he could not deny that he had trouble stomaching it. 

“Where have you been staying? Your townhouse?” He schools his features, smothering the annoyance at what he knows must be common conversation between his brothers.

They’re worried about you. Cassian misses you at the House of Wind. 

We’ve cohabited for over five hundred years; some distance is not going kill him. 

“Yes, wanted to give Cass and Nesta some space.” The lie is as flimsy as they come, because he doesn’t care. He needs space. “They’re quite loud.” That isn’t a lie, at least. Rhys studies him.

“Where are you, Az?” It's not a literal question. He and his brother share many things, but the strongest strings are knotted tight around each other’s darkness, bonds forged in agony, in rage, in revenge. There are parts, pieces of each other that match, heinous, wrathful pieces hidden away but never healed. When Rhys asks where he is, it’s to know how deep he is in the gloom that never leaves.

“I’m here.” It’s short, be he cannot give anything more. Cannot give more to the High Lord, Rhys, his brother, the one he has given everything to. The one he has been most loyal to above all. The one who would treat him now, as his father did. 

He pities Rhys, in a way, something he’s never held for him in the past, but now… now is different. Rhys is different, his stakes have never been higher. A mate, a son, a realm on his shoulders, he's struggling, in his own way, and the collected High Lord is few and far between these days, in his place a reactive, high-strung male he doesn’t always recognize. He’s not sure Rhys recognizes himself either. 

“You won’t get too far?” At the root of it, no matter how turbulent this time between them may be, the bond of brotherhood is the strongest of them all, holds them fast to one another, keeps them close, even if one strays.

And so, Azriel assures him, the words gritted through his teeth. His rage is a tangible thing, a living breathing thing but no matter how angry he may be, Rhys is still his brother, even in these iterations. The realm changes, scales tipping back and forth, but the brothers remain steadfast through times of peace and battle.  “I won’t.”

He’s to leave for Dawn this afternoon, but for some reason, he finds himself at Moonflower’s front door.

It’s early, half of Velaris still waking up, and the shop is clearly closed, though it doesn’t matter to him. He knows you’re here, sodden gorse and peeled bark drifting on the morning breeze from a large back window. For some unknown reason, it soothes him to know it, to be able to account for your whereabouts.

He pulled his shadows back from surveillance, convinced he would leave you alone, let this rest-

but he still flew here this morning.

It bothers him, this magnetism, the draw towards your presence.

You’re a mystery needing to be solved, that’s all.

“Shadowsinger,” your head cocks. “What brings you here so early?”

“I wanted to ensure you won’t be visiting the Middle this week.” Your brows knit together.

“I uh… no. I won’t need to go for another two weeks, I think.”

“I’ll accompany you next time.” His patience with this situation is wearing thin, but his agitation with himself spills out onto you. 

“That’s not-“

“It’s not a request. You’re endangering the Night Court.” You smother a flinch.

“I’m not, I swear, I’d never do anything to hurt anyone.”

“That remains to be seen.” He’s the Spymaster now, cold and unfeeling, but you’re still not scared. “Your refusal to disclose what makes up the other part of the half-breed in you is reason enough.” He uses the term as a weapon, and it hits his target, as always. Azriel never misses. You wince, glancing down at the floor, shoulders slumping a tad before you right yourself. The barb stings because like Rhys, like Mor’s mother and countless others, you’ve faced the abuse, the vitriol, the torment from those who would crush you beneath their feet if they could.

It hurts, a whip lashing across his cheek, bleeding him for the pain he’s causing you. A consequence, another mark on his soul. You lift your face again, the emotion gone, and you nod.

“Okay then.” An overwhelming urge to reach for you comes over him, to tug you into his chest and shield you with his wings, hide you away from all the ugly, terrifying things in this world-

Including himself.

He shoves it to the side, buries it where it belongs, where the light doesn't touch, and nods. “I’ll be away this week but when I return, I’ll come by.”

He doesn’t say goodbye, and smothers the urge to get one last glimpse of you, even though he wants to. 

There’s dirt beneath your fingernails.

You’ve been digging around in the same riverbed for almost an hour now, rifling through rocks and silt, bottom half of your body soaked and muddy, again. “There we are,” you murmur plucking an iridescent onyx stone from the marl and placing it in your bag. 

He has… so many questions.

And he’s afraid to admit to himself he finds you… enchanting. Clever, beautiful, kind. He wants more, wants to soak you up, dance to the harmony of your voice.

Ask, the shadows encourage. Talk to her.

He’s been standing on the bank a few paces away for some time now, leaving you to your foraging, but never letting you get too far away. You haven’t said more than ten words to him, and he hasn’t pushed you. The disgrace of the last time the two of you spoke still weighs heavily on his shoulders, another tally in a long list of transgressions. 

Try. 

“How does it work?” Your head snaps up.

“What do you mean?”

“Your work. Moonflower sells elixirs and potions, but they’re an apothecary, and you’re an alchemist.”

“Well, I am an apothecary too. Contraceptive tea doesn’t make itself,” you give him a mischievous smile before turning serious. “Magic binds better to precious metals. I transmute and mix them together, then pair them with salts or chemical compounds found in herbs and plants. One complements or enhances the other.”

“You’re putting metal in them?” You shake your head.

“No, I extract the minerals from the metal after transmutation and infuse the elixirs. I can make everything from contraceptive tea to…” You trail off, lips pressing into a thin line.

“To?”

“Poison. Faebane.” He hears your heart flutter, pulse ratcheting upward as you give him a cautious look, and every muscle in his body tenses.

“Who do you make it for?”

“I’m not sure, I received an ongoing order request signed and sealed by the High Lord years ago, and I’ve been producing it ever since.” You stand, brushing your hands off on your thighs, mud caked in the lines of your palms, head tipped back to peer at him. “It’s picked up by one of the Wraith sisters each month.”

Does she know? The shadows don’t answer.

“I like them,” you continue, making your way up the bank, “Cerridwen even gifted me a hooded shawl last Solstice. It’s beautiful. I wear it often.”

“I see.”

“I think the Faebane is for the Spymaster,” you peek at him coyly, mouth quirked to the side in a small smile. “Who is also the Shadowsinger, right?” He fights to his expression neutral. 

“You know.”

Of course she does. Our sweet is very clever. 

“I thought… maybe. I wasn’t sure.” He’s beginning to worry about your instincts. First, he discovers you’re spending time out here in the Middle, alone, and now, he learns you’ve suspected he’s the Spymaster, Rhys’ torturer, this whole time.

“It doesn’t concern you?” He blurts, incredulous. You should fear him. You should be terrified and disgusted. You should be smart enough to recognize his rotten, tainted soul.

“No. I make poison, after all.” You shrug. “I don’t make judgements of others.” Guilt twists like a knife.

“What I said the other day, about being a half-breed…” You wave your hand, trying to brush him off.

“It’s fine.”

It’s not, the shadows hiss. You hurt her.

He pulls up short, turning to face you. “It was cruel, and I am sorry for it.” He’s locked in your gaze, the rest of the woods, this place, Prythian disappearing as he loses himself in you. He hears it again, the mellifluous harmony of a grand orchestra, notes and chords playing together in an intoxicating paragon, richer, more potent than any wine, each one building upon the other, creating a song that draws him in, urges him to reach for you, cup your face and hold you there so he can memorize every refraction of light in the kaleidoscope of your eyes. “I-“

“It’s okay,” your hand brushes his, and he tenses, preparing for the recoil, the disgust, but it never comes. Your touch is gentle, fingers slipping between his, silk on scars sliding together seamlessly. He wants to push you away, wants to tell you not to touch him because you’ll dirty yourself. He’s a monster and you’re something else, something winsome and full of wonder, something not for him. “I forgive you.” You forgive him. He almost laughs at the absurdity. Forgiveness, as if that’s something he could ever earn, as if there was a way to seek and find it. As if he even wants it.

From many it would mean nothing but from you… it’s different. It's a balm, cool water over a burn, sunlight shining down on him in a dungeon. 

You don’t look away, and you don’t let go. You hold him there, in front of you, gentle and patient, but unyielding. The throbbing ache that’s become ever present beneath his ribs grows, and it drags him close, a magnetic pull he can’t fly away from leading him straight to you. It’s a power strong enough it could bring him to his knees at your feet, his entire existence whittling down to the sound of your breathing as he carefully cradles your face.

“Azriel,” your whisper is music, heartbreakingly beautiful, a hauntingly familiar melody he may have been hearing all his life and had been none the wiser to. A siren's song on the sea. Captivating. Intoxicating. He strokes his thumb across your cheek and falls away into it, pressing his mouth to yours, drinking you in. The kiss is careful at first, a delicate question posed between two with one waiting for an answer, and when it comes, it comes with a symphony, ambrosian and endless, unleashing a warmth unlike he’s ever felt through his chest.  He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be marring you like this, staining you, but he cannot stop, and when you tug him close, lips parting to allow his tongue past your teeth and find yours, you cling to him, the purr of a whimper building in your throat. 

What is he doing? He's snapped out of the spell. Your throat bobs with a swallow, and you turn your attention to your bag, mindlessly fidgeting with the collection of flora and rock in the bottom, avoiding his eyes. Embarrassed. Shamed by him, rejected by him. 

No! the shadows lament. “We should keep going, if you have more things to find?” You nod, looking past him towards the woods.

“Right, yeah.”

“Your dagger is loud, by the way.” It's the first thing you've said in thirty minutes, and it's strange, like you. 

“What?”

“The dagger,” you motion to where Truth-Teller is strapped to his thigh, “it’s magic is loud. I can’t imagine what I’d find if I-“ Something cracks in the woods to the north, far enough away to echo, close enough to raise his hackles, spread his wings, and he grabs your wrist, pulling you into his side. The forest groans, turning malicious, wicked power crawling through the brush towards the river.

Leave. He curls a wing around you as a shield.

“What-“

“We’re leaving.” There have been lesson learned here, too many times, and he’s not about to risk you. He conjures a pocket, a corner of star flecked shadow, and tugs you into it, leaving the Middle behind.

He decides to sleep at the House of Wind.

It’s a shield, a technique to combat his desire to be close you. If he’s close to Cassian, to Nesta, if he’s here, he’s not there, with you, where he dropped you off at your doorstep, where the two of you lingered before you disappeared into the house. He’s not battling his instincts, his need to sit on the roof and keep watch.

He’s here instead. Where he should be.

Cassian grins from his spot on the couch at the sight of him, Nesta casually looking up from her book. “Out with your witch again?” He pulls up short, blood turning frigid, freezing through the veins in his wings all the way to his heart. “You didn’t know?” Cassian’s head swings towards her.

“I thought we discussed waiting for proof, Nes.” Azriel shoots him a murderous glare.

“Having discussions about my life, then?” It’s a small rock in an ocean at this moment, but it adds fuel to the roaring fire of rage curdling his stomach. Nesta raises an eyebrow. 

“No,” his brother protests, “I thought- Nesta suspected something, but I didn’t want to tell you until we knew without a doubt.” He emphasizes the last few words, and she shrugs.

“She’s a witch, or at least, partially. The power is unmistakable. She has that smell, too. Old trees.” She's lost for a second, in a memory, silver fire crackling and then gone, and he knows she knows, where you've been, where he's followed. You don't just smell of old trees, you smell like the Middle.

The shadows coil around his shoulders, peeking out at Nesta like she’s personally offended them.

It’s not what you think. 

You knew? And kept this from me? 

He’s rarely, if ever, is so irascible, but this information ignites an anger so fierce his siphons hiss and glow cobalt blue, power straining against his control, desperate to be unleashed.

“What are you going to do?” Cassian shouts at his retreating back, and he caresses Truth-Teller’s hilt.

“Find out for myself.”

Your words pound in his head like a drum.

“The magic is stronger. It’s hard to explain…”

“Oh, I don’t have problems here. I never travel too far from the boundary.”

His mind spins as he flies through the night, shooting across the sky fast enough for the wind to prickle at his cheeks. A witch. 

Witches are dangerous creatures. They’re power hungry, desperate to collect as much magic as this realm will allow, and then use it as they see fit, whether it be for good deeds, or evil ones. This unpredictability combined with their thirst for young blood, a compulsion fueled by the corrupted core of their stolen magic, makes them a threat.

Makes you a threat.

Your house is small, but comfortable. A narrow townhome nestled in a row of others with wide plank wooden floors and variations of dark colored paint on the walls, cozy and calm. Bookshelves overflowing, large worn velvet couch, bundles of herbs on your living room table, in your kitchen. You have an assortment of mugs, mismatched wine glasses and china, clothes haphazardly draped over chairs. To someone who doesn’t know you, it would seem messy, but to him, it’s fitting. It makes sense.

It's the only thing that makes sense in this moment. The rest of it, his ignorance, the disobedience of the shadows, his blindness, all bear down upon him. He failed to recognize a threat to this Court, his family, he allowed himself to be distracted, again, by a female, he succumbed to an enchantment, a bewitching. The strange pull he felt towards you, the music in his head, the throbbing behind his ribs, all a spell set upon him, by you.

You’re stunning in your sleep. Wrapped in sweet dreams, lashes feathered against your skin, rolled onto your side. You’re only wearing a nightshirt and underwear, the curve of your hip visible from where your sheets are half kicked off. Lovely.

He lets you linger in a last moment of peace. If you wake before he’s ready, he doesn’t know what magic he’ll face, what creature he’ll truly encounter, and he wants to hold onto to this, to you, before it all changes.

He brushes your cheek with the backs of his fingers and that thing inside him weeps, something agonizing trying to claw its way forward, but he buries it deep.

By the time you’re awake, it’s too late.

“Azriel?” Your voice is weak, confused, and you blink blearily at your surroundings, stone wall, stone floor, small light at the roof of the chamber that’s too far away. He keeps the space lit by fae lights instead, flickering and low, illuminating the space just enough to see him, and a table in the corner.

You're trapped in Faebane cuffs and chained to the floor. Fragile, weakened by your own creation. 

When you become fully aware of your surroundings, you thrash, fear thundering in your heart. “What is this?”

“Thought you might like to see how the product of your hard work is used.” You tug at the cuffs to no avail, and then look up at him with eyes so sad, so frightened, it stops him in his tracks.

Why does this feel so wrong? 

Think, Shadowsinger. The shadows beg but he banishes them, still enraged by their betrayal.

“I don’t know what’s happening.” He shrugs. Casual indifference, cold regard. The Spymaster, the torturer.

“No?”

“I haven’t done anything, I haven’t, I swear.” He bends shadow over your eyes, marring your sight, plunging you into darkness and you gasp, twisting and turning, looking for the light you won’t find. “S-stop.”

“You’ve been keeping something from me, haven’t you, little half-breed?” He mocks you with it, drenches it in disdain, and you shake your head weakly.

“I haven’t… I swear, I ju-just wasn’t ready-“

“To tell me you’re a witch?”

“I’m not!” You cry, and he covers your mouth with insidious tendrils, cutting off your airway. You can’t see, you can’t breathe, and your panic is ripe, flooding the room, its acrid scent making him nauseous.

The gag holds for a minute or two, and when he releases, you slump over, gasping. Truth-Teller burns in his hold.

“Tell the truth, and it’s over.” Please.

“There’s n-nothing to tell.” Frustrations mounts and he cuts you off, this time for longer, long enough he registers the slowing of your heart, the lack of tone in your muscles. Shadows wrap around your throat, pressing on your windpipe so hard you’re whistling, slow leak of air turned tea kettle as you try to breathe.

He allows you a moment, and then resumes, pushing you to the edge, walking a slow, measured circle around you like a wolf stalking prey. There’s a pull deep inside him, something tugging at him, a desperate plea he does not understand.

Please. Stop this. 

He releases, you relent. Finally. “It’s my mother,” you rasp, tongue darting out to lick your lips, “she- it was her. She was a witch, and my father is Hi-gh Fae. He had an affair, and then banished her to the Middle. It’s wh-where I was born. Everyone would b-be so afraid of me if they knew, but I’m not- I’m not a witch. I’m ju-ust a half-breed." You’re sobbing now, each heave increasing the agony inside him, broken, raw sound echoing throughout the chamber. His mother’s face flashes in his mind and his stomach flips as he breaks out in a cold sweat. “I use that side of my to make things. Th-the alchemy, that’s all it’s good for. It’s not even that strong, I swear.”

Truth. 

It’s all truth. Every word. Every broken, desperate, frightened word.

He is a fool. 

He pulls the shadows from your face and you stare at the floor, small against the stone until you finally look up at him, cheeks soaked, eyes-

Something snaps.

Threads of brilliant cobalt blue spin from him, each string plucked in celestial succession to create perfect harmony, and the shadows sing. They sing for you, they sing to you, they sing the song he should have known all along. They sing of the path laid before him, the bridge that would carry him to you, the chords and notes coming together in a crescendo of souls, a blazing bond sealed by fate.

Mates. 

The threads stretch and strain, the music rising, but your side, your part, is missing. It’s dark, thickened by bramble and bracken, sharps and flats, lost to him in this moment.

This moment, where he has broken you. Tortured you.

He feels it all. Your terror, the agony. The sense of hopelessness overflowing and soaking the threads. 

“I-“ He falls to his knees, shadows twisting around the cuffs to unlock them, “I’m sorry.” You’re trembling, curling in on yourself and he wants so badly to pull you into his arms, to hold you close, wrap himself around you and beg for forgiveness. He wants to promise he’ll protect you; he’ll care for you; he’ll keep you safe. He’ll be worthy of you. He’ll fix this.

But how can he after what has been done. After what he has done. 

“I w-want to go ho-ome.” The words are covered by sobs, and his hands shake as he gently takes hold of your shoulders, pulling you out of the dungeon and back into your bedroom.

He stands there, helpless and lost as you crawl away from him into your bathroom, the handle locking with a resounding click. The bond is alive and open on his side, your distress and fear and despair radiating down into Azriel, the strength of your emotions ripping him apart.

You don’t want him here, that much is clear.

Cassian is still awake when he returns, and his brother ripples with shock at the sight of him.

He knows how he looks.

Crazed. Devastated. Possessed.

“What happened?” He lurches forward, still dressed from evening training, siphons gleaming, scanning for a threat, a fight, a reason for Azriel’s agony.

He’ll find none. Only Azriel is responsible for this horror.

As always. 

“She…” He can’t say it, can’t force the words. Can’t accept the truth, the terrible, painful truth. “She’s mine.” The blood drains from Cassian’s face. “She’s mine.”

“No. You didn’t.”

“I- I didn’t… I didn’t get very far but I still… I still-“ He chokes on it. “She was so scared, Cass. She never… she was never afraid of me; from the day we met. She always, she looked at me differently. She trusted me. She… held my hand.” Cassian’s eyes slipped close. When they reopen, they’re determined. Strong.

“You’ll fix it. I know you will.” Azriel doesn’t hear him.

“I don’t deserve her, or this bond. When she realizes, she will sever it, and she’ll be right to. I have never been worthy, and the Mother knows. That’s why this happened.”

“That is not true. You made a mistake, and you were trying to protect your family, your court. She will understand… in time.”

“How?! How could anyone understand this? Excuse it?” He yells, and a door down the hall opens, Nesta appearing in the room, sharp and assessing.

“What’s going on?”

“Go back to bed,” Cassian growls, and though she glares, she listens. “Az, listen to me. It will be alright. You can fix this, you can.”

“I don’t know how.”

“You will figure it out, and we will support you, we’ll help in any way we can. It will be okay.”

“She will never forgive me.”

“And you’ll never know that until you try.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair and then fisting it at his side. “This is Nesta’s fault.”

“Cassian,” Azriel snaps, patience shredded. “Not everything is your mate’s fault, for fucks sake. Stop projecting your guilt over your own transgressions onto Nesta. I’m sick of it.” Silence falls between the brothers, and after a long moment, Cassian nods.

“I deserved that,” he eyes him cautiously, “what do you want to do?” He needs silence. Solitude. Cassian knows, but he’ll still say it out loud, if only to make it clear. Don’t follow me. Don’t send others to check on me. 

“I need to be alone."

[suengmi]

- the ways stray kids show their love and affection

genre: fluff/romance, nonidol!au, gn!reader warnings: mentions of making out, nakedness? idk lol

anyways this is just major soft hours, one of my moots said i should do this i can't remember who it was pls lmk if it was you asljdls also unedited

♡ masterlist / pls reblog if you liked! it helps a lot ♡

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ bang chan

sweet kisses all over your face to wake you up, pressing his nose into the crook of your neck and gently nibbling you. “i’m bored wake up babe.” grunts when you ignore him. ends up pulling the sheets back so your naked body is exposed to the cold. “that’s what you get.” gets salty but then feels bad, covering you up again, then he really wakes you up. back hugs when you’re cooking for him. whining whenever you don’t pay attention to him, tugging at the edge of your shirt. sulks when you say you’re busy. doesn’t give a fuck about how clingy he is, but he knows you love it. holds your hand a little too hard when you’re walking together. kiss attacks always!!

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ lee know

stops you from crossing the street until he’s checked it. “stupid, look next time.” beats you twice in a board game but sees that you're sad that you’re not that good at it, but fails the third time just to see you smile and gloat about beating him. he loves seeing you happy, even if he has to purposely fail. leaves you notes everywhere, maybe just ‘i love yous’ mixed in with ‘i know you’ll forget this so don’t.’ text messages asking if you’ve eaten, and then getting mad and sending food to your door if you haven’t. swiftly kisses to the forehead aggressively saying you ‘deserve it’ but sounds like a threat. ‘you know i love you yeah?’ more aggressive kisses. ‘i won’t stop until you say you love me!!’

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ changbin

little wrestling matches on the couch, telling you that you’re silly for even trying. pulls you by the back of your hair if you’re not paying attention to him. “i left you the last piece of food.” always, always saves you the last piece no matter what it is. picks you up and throws you around, pretending he’s going to eat you bc apparently he’s a monster. but says you taste good so he doesn’t mind eating you. more wrestles. whenever you’re sad, he always cheers you up and never fails to make you laugh. does his trot impression of some old korean songs, full performance with your glitter jacket on that doesn’t fit him. ‘you still love me now? you better.’ knows you love being engulfed by him, so 90% of the time he is the big spoon. when he's feeling really romantic, he'll do a little picnic at the beach. always making sure it was at sunset because he knew it was your favourite time of the day.

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ jisung

midnight trips to get take out, sitting in the car until 2am with both of your feet on the dashboard. ‘remember that time!’ always reminiscing about how you first met, nearly choking on your fries when you recall. kisses in the car, kisses in the house, kisses in the shower, kisses in the dark. ‘babe but i want it.’ chucks a tanty when you don’t buy him things. pouts and folds his arms. ‘if you loved me you would!’ holds the cuff of your jumper, mostly walking behind you whenever you go somewhere because he feels safe. morning calls, but especially night calls. he doesn’t care how you look at the end of the day, he just wants to see you and tell you he loves you. hiding himself in your jumper and saying there is enough room for two (when there isn't.)

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ hyunjin

taking you to art galleries, standing behind you with his head resting on yours. ends up putting his hands into your pockets from behind, cutely leading you around from the back. with hyunjin it’s not always words, sometimes it’s just his actions. he pushes your hair out of your face or tucks it behind your hair. mostly, he does your hair for you. always making sure your hair was out of your face because it annoyed you. brings you tea and sits with you if you’re studying or drawing or even watching tv, rubs your thigh gently to let you know that he doesn’t want to distract you, just shows you he wants to be with you. rubs your belly if you feel bloated and talks to it. 'you better stop being bloated or... i'll do something. idk what.' art dates!! always drawing together, even if you're shit he encourages you to keep going

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ seungmin

gently slips his fingers into yours without saying anything but smiling to himself when he sees you blush, he kind of loves that he makes you nervous. always taking the chance to make your cheeks tint pink. showers with seungmin, always washing your body and shampooing your hair for you, wet kisses in between. sometimes he’d gently press his nose on your naked skin, enjoying your scent but never admitting it. ‘it’s comforting’ he’d say in defence, ignoring you for the rest of the night. guiding you with his hand on your lower back, making sure you were safe no matter where you were. kisses to the forehead, the back of the hand, the back of your knees. seungmin doesn’t say it much, but he does love you. he shows it through everything else, knowing those words have such a weight to them.

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ felix

‘are you gonna cook!?’ jumping up and down when you say yes, annoying you the whole time you’re cooking or baking. ‘is it done? i can’t wait to eat it!!’ eats half of the food before it’s even cooked because he says it’s ‘too good.’ little play fights that would begin from felix nibbling at your fingers and then at your thighs. ‘little gremlin’ you’d end up joking, rolling around on the floor, bodies all over each other, which would end in a heated make out session and clothes far gone. he’d send you random texts, of random things. ‘hey i saw this flower, it's cute, yeah?’ ‘this potato looks like you. it’s too cute to eat T-T’ ‘you think i could eat 11 hot dogs in two minutes? hmm maybe.’ 

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ jeongin

blowing raspberries on your tummy and holding you down. sometimes uses your foot as a telephone. ‘yes hello stinky foot line how can i stink you today?’ proceeds to try and hold your foot with his. 'shut up i can do it!!' probably be super sarcastic, mocking you when you tried to be cute with whatever you were saying. karaoke together, always singing out of pitch but though he’s laughing, encourages you to be more confident because he loves seeing you enjoy yourself. watches you sometimes, just admiring you but instantly whips his head around to pretend he wasn’t, head banging into something hanging from the wall. ‘mind your business’ he’d joke, walking away suspiciously.

♡ taglist: @blankdyean @l3visbby @daddyjoonchua @ipegchangbin @abcdefgiwsmcty ♡

[thesightstoshowyou]

Wasteland Education

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x F Reader (NSFW)

Summary: You ask a question and the Ghoul is more than happy to give you a demonstration.

Warnings: Rope play, boot play, knife play, threats, it’s all a bit dubious

Thank you to @slasher-smasher for this brilliant prompt.

Gif by @fukutomichi

“Now this one right here is called a bowline knot. If ya’ do it right,” deft fingers loop and tighten the rope, “It ain’t gonna budge.”

“Tight—it hurts, it’s too—

“Don’t interrupt a man when he’s talkin’, sugar. Pay attention, now. There’s gonna be a test.” The Ghoul stands, end of the rope in hand. Boots swish through sand as he stalks over to the rusted Chryslus. He anchors the rope to the hitch and tests its hold before returning to your struggling, supine form.

Your arms, now stretched over your head and secured to the car by your wrists, are lashed together with several feet of rope that dig into your flesh and rub it raw. Your left leg is bent at the knee, calf tethered to thigh. More rope twines around the limb, different knots punctuating each loop.

“Please, my leg is falling asleep—

“Keep it up and I’ll put one in your mouth,” he chides, crouching at your side. As you grunt and attempt to roll your ankle to work feeling back into your leg, your gaze lifts to the scarred face of the Ghoul. He watches you squirm, smug satisfaction in his expression. Behind him, the sunset blazes orange on the horizon. Wisps of cloud like pale pink fingers reach across the sky.

The heat of the day departs with the setting sun. A rapidly cooling breeze billows over dunes and blows loose grains of sand across your exposed skin. Goosebumps raise in quick succession along intricately tied limbs. You wear nothing but a tattered t-shirt and underwear, something you’d been told was “essential to the learnin’ process.”

The snide remark about your bullshit meter going haywire had landed you in your current predicament.

Eyes darkened by the brim of a hat slide over to your free leg. You suppress the urge to draw it up toward your chest and spare it the same numbing fate as its twin.

“I-I think I got it, we don’t have to do anymore,” you try, your shoulders beginning to ache with how they’re pulled taut over your head.

“You asked the question, baby. I’m just makin’ sure you get all the information you need.”

You curse your curiosity. Late afternoon had seen the Ghoul quietly organizing supplies, you lounging nearby and chomping on jerky. The meticulous way he’d looped his lasso had prompted your idiotic question: ‘Can you teach me how to tie knots like that?’ His response—the crooked smirk that pulled at the corner of his mouth—should have sent you running for the hills.

A gnarled hand grips your ankle. Calloused fingers trace the curve of your calf and slot behind your knee. Pressure forces your knee to your chest as the opposite hand reaches for another length of rope. The vulnerable position—thighs spread open, the Ghoul kneeling between them—brings heat to your cheeks and makes you swallow to lend moisture to your dry throat.

If he’s affected by your pose, he doesn’t show it. Instead, his focus is on the twine he circles around your knee. “Here, we’ll employ a slip knot. Easy to undo in a hurry.” The zip of the line reaches your ears as it’s pulled tight—too tight—just above your knee. Your hamstring protests the strain when your leg is hiked up. The Ghoul stands and strides over to the car hitch once more.

Unhurried footsteps muffled by sand herald his reappearance. The shredded duster brushes your skin as he steps over your newly strung up leg to stand between your splayed thighs.

“Hm, now look at that. Just needs a bow,” he purrs and you can’t help the nervous shifting of your shivering body. Pins and needles prick your limbs, your nerves screaming their demand for freedom. You’d beg if it wouldn’t make your situation worse.

The Ghoul lifts the toe of his boot and slides his heel forward to press the sole to your clothed cunt. You suck in a sharp inhale through your teeth and twitch, the muscles in your jaw popping to contain your indigence. However, all it takes is a swirl of his ankle to pull a pitiful little whimper from your throat. He keeps adding pressure until you’re bucking your hips and straining against your bonds, lips parted and panting, sweat chilling on your brow.

“As much as I’m enjoying the sight a’ ya’ humpin’ my boot like a cat in heat,” he announces, pulling his foot away and reaching for his knife, “All this racket yer makin’ s’gonna attract somethin’ I ain’t keen on dealin’ with.”

The blade gleams in the fading light when it slides free of its sheath. An anxious cry sticks in your throat as the Ghoul kneels near your left leg.

“Time for that final exam I promised. I’m gonna point to a knot and yer gonna tell me what it is. Every mistake’ll earn ya’—“ he raises the knife and twists it to and fro for emphasis, “—a correction.” Your chest heaves, pulse galloping, cold sweat sticking your hair to the back of your neck.

“It’ll be in yer best interest not to fuck up. There’s no shortage of critters out here who’ll come runnin’ at the scent of blood.”

[prettynice8]

My Bodyguard Pt. 2

Jungkook x male reader

this beautiful king

Stuff: fluff, smut, youre both a bit dumb with feelings, like supes fluffy, bottom reader, top Jungkook, missionary, cuddle fucking, kissing, one bed trope? kind of?

Tw: threat used to propel the romance.

Word count: 3,261

Notes: I'm sooooooooo sorry I haven't written in such a long time, i was swamped with stuff and then had no motivation, but then I got a request, and they asked if I was actually going to write it and that reminded me that I had to get off my ass and feed the public what they want, gay shit about real men I have and never will meet, and of course men who are just drawings.

Jungkook couldn't remember a time where he was more carried away in the beauty of another. He couldn't remember the last time he's felt such things for another, he can't remember because it's never happened before.

He was completely and utterly enamored by you, the way you talked, dressed, laughed, cried, yelled, even the way you ate had his full attention, and you felt no less.

You can't get your mind off of that night when he was staring at you, you knew there was something behind his dark gaze other than just a platonic view. He could have been looking at one of the most beautiful sunsets to ever exist, yet he was looking right at you, almost totally ignoring the sun set... why?

These thoughts have been plaguing your mind ever since, it was like you couldn't think of anything else but him. His dark eyes, his tattoos littered on his left hand, the way his jet-black hair looks all sweaty after a workout, his lip piercing that just looks so kissable, his bright and adorable smile, and most importantly the way he looked at you. You weren't so oblivious that you didn't realize the way he looked at you, the way his eyes were always filled with... something whenever he would gaze upon you. You noticed it every time but didn't say anything about it, not knowing yourself what exactly was, and asking your bodyguard why he looked in such ways at you sounds terribly awkward, something you don't think you have the ability to deal with.

"Hey y/n, are you ok?" Jungkook asked, pulling you out of your daze.

"Oh yeah, I'm totally fine." you replied, it wasn't exactly a lie, it was hard to feel anything negative when around Jungkook, which is so funny. When you first met him, you hated the bastard, but now you can hardly stand to be without him, which makes it convenient since he is your bodyguard after all.

Though saying that you are totally fine is a bit of a lie, since you haven't been able to get him out of your head. It's like he plagued your every thought, but you can't do anything about it. Telling your bodyguard, basically the man that works for you, that you think about him and only him in ways that aren't necessarily platonic may be quite the odd conversation to have, and one that you'd rather just not have.

But little to your knowledge, Jungkook felt the exact same way. Ever since that night he can't get you out of his thoughts, nor his dreams. He was almost dying, having to constantly be around the person that he's done many a sinful thing while he's asleep, and every time he's with you all he thinks about are these dreams, and since he's always with you it makes it quite the conundrum.

"Are you ok? you seem rather flushed." You pointed out, causing Jungkook to snap back into reality, such as you did.

"Ye-" before he can even finish what he was about to say, you see your father bash into the room in distress.

"What's wrong dad?" You asked, understandably worried about his random outburst.

"I have some terrible news. We've been sent a disgusting letter, a threat, placed on this house." He panted out, fear evident on his face.

"Can I read it?" You let out, your father's fear rubbing off on you.

"Absolutely not, it's too vial, downright evil. Though guard, you probably should." He exasperates.

Jungkook takes the note and reads its contents, his face scrunches up in disgust at the letter. It's filled with threats on the family's life, the same family whose heir is the boy he's infatuated with.

"We need to harden security, and I'll have to be around y/n at all times, be in the same room and have him in my sight constantly, even if this is fake, we have to take it with absolute certainty." Jungkook says to your father, taking swift action while also shocking you, as he's never taken his job so seriously in all the time he's been here so far.

You begin to shake in utter terror, never realizing what your title nor what your family meant until now. Jungkook notices your erratic shaking and attempts to calm you down, holding you tightly against his chest.

Though the terror of the situation still lingers in the air, it is quickly dimmed by Jungkook's touch. He holds you so tightly to his chest that you can hear and feel his heartbeat, which is beating like crazy, understandably.

This is the first time he's touched you in such a manner and it feels great. The threat is so quickly a thing of the past, after all you have gotten them before, nothing as bad as that but being so rich that you're in the public eye definitely has its drawbacks, but all of that seems so silly when you're in Jungkook's arms.

Though you've gotten the worst threat ever, you've never felt more secure in his arms. He continues to hold you tight, even after the shaking has stopped. Jungkook realizes that he's still holding you and he doesn't stop, also enjoying having you in his arms.

He lets go, leaving you disappointed, but that emotion is quickly covered up when he cups you face in his hands, forcing you to look into his eyes. Eyes that are already usually filled with adoration for you, are now filled with genuine care and worry.

"It's okay, I'm here, and I'd sooner die than let anything hurt you." He stated, leaving any worry or fear left in you to be completely squandered.

You continue to look into his eyes which can only be described as way longer than platonic. You match his determined and caring gaze with your longing one, practically getting lost into the infinity of his orbs. The view was far better than any sunset, better than anything up until this very moment. For the first time in the short time you two have known each other you finally know what's going on behind those orbs.

You finally know how he feels about you. With the way he was holding you, and now how his hands gently hold your face, it's clear that he cares about you more than any mere platonic affection, but should you confront him about your findings, or leave it be.

Jungkook, much to your dismay, pulls away from you, his touch leaving you as well, which feels like a devastating loss. You feel so much for him that a possible threat on your life is diminished just from his touch.

Jungkook noticed your gaze and had to pull away, for your father was still right there and he doesn't know what he might do if you looked at him like that any longer.

"Are you ok now?" He asked, genuinely worried about you.

"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks to you." You responded, not missing the fact that Jungkook's face erupted in blush after you said that. Jungkook is gracious yet surprised that you seem okay, though he assumed that you must have faced multiple of these. This assumption causes him to feel even more guilty about his first impression of you.

"Th-that's good." He said, before realizing that your father has left the room, Jungkook was too caught up in the wonder of you that your father's absence went completely unnoticed. Which brings him to remember all the times he forgot that people were around other than just the two of you. It's a mansion full of servants and helpers, yet he's never noticed them. He's always only noticed your over encompassing presence.

Later that night when you get ready for bed with Jungkook, he insists on getting ready with you so that no one may attack you. You realize that he chooses to sleep shirtless, opting to wear nothing but red plaid pajama pants. You try to look away, you really do, but his muscled biceps, rippling abs, and glorious pecs are just too damn attention catching, it's his fault really.

"Well, night." You said quickly, trying to just go to sleep so you don't have to ogle at him any longer. You almost make your way out of the bathroom until you're stopped by your one and only, Jungkook.

"And where do you think you're going mister?" He asked you playfully.

"Uhm... to bed." You answered, confused as to why he asked that question.

"Not without me you're not." He stated matter of factly, acting as though you should have already known this, and your face erupting in blush does not go unnoticed by him, causing him to chuckle and smirk at you with that damn charming grin.

"Wh-what?" You stuttered.

"You heard me. I can't take any chances with you so I'm going to be sleeping with you." He answered plainly, though his confident facade did shake a little after he realized his poor word choice.

"But..." You tried to deflect but the words got caught in your throat. You can't believe that the same man whom you've had many wet dreams about is actually going to be sleeping in the same room as you. This is absolutely fucking insane.

"No buts, I care far too much about you to take any risks." Jungkook said casually, done talking about it and leading you into your own room, and he of course follows closely after. 

You stop any kind of arguing, partly because you know it's useless but also because of what he said, he actually said he cared about you. Obviously, you knew this already, but to actually hear him say that is something else entirely. You were in awe at the statement, but the reality of the situation came flooding back in as you lay in your bed, and Jungkook didn't just mean sleeping in the same room, HE MEANT THE SAME BED!

The reality of the situation being that the man you're completely obsessed with is laying right next to you, half naked, this is literally the plot to one of your many wet dreams you've had of this man. It's like a dream come true, but also a nightmare.

Your nerves are off the charts, shaking erratically at the prospect of him actually sleeping next to you. You intentionally face your body away from his, since if you could see his face so close you'd probably faint. Jungkook notices your erratic shaking, since he's in the same fucking bed as you. He quickly springs into action, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling your back to his chest.

"Still scared about the note." He said, not even asking thinks that must be the answer, why else would you be shaking so much, it's not like the man of your dreams is in the same bed as you, shirtless.

"Y-yeah, the note, that's what it is." You lied, since the truth would be far too difficult to come out and speak. Now could you just tell him how you feel, probably, He almost definitely feels the same way, and you do really want to be with him, but it would all be too hard. You're a rich heiress to one of the biggest fortunes in the country, and he's your bodyguard, basically your employee, it wouldn't work between you too... right?

"It's okay, I promise not to let anything bad happen to you, I don't know what I'd do if something were to happen to you." He said, trying to calm you down, going as far as to rub his hand on your side, even pulling your shirt up and touching skin. He's just trying to calm you down, why else would he be running his hand along your bare side.

Okay, you have to tell him how you feel. Just by the way he says that is enough to make your heart melt, and you're already getting hard at his touch, you breath catching as he runs his hand along your side. Your breath shakes at the skin-on-skin contact. You know you can't keep it in any longer, you can't, you have to say how you feel now. Declare your lo-

"I love you y/n." He declared, not quite out of nowhere, but certainly not from somewhere either. He said it so casually, it practically rolled off his tongue like it was the most normal thing to say to someone, like saying hello, you still notice the tenderness in how he said it. Even though he said it so casually, it's still obvious that he meant what he said. You can feel it in your soul that he really does, well, love you.

You turn around so you can see him face to face, resting your hand on his cheek and looking into his stunning eyes, "Thank god you said it first." You said, grateful that at least one of you finally declared what was so obvious.

He chuckles at your statement and continues to rub your bare side, his other coming up to hold your chin. "Does that mean..."

"It means that of course I feel the same way as Jungkook. Fuck I've loved you for so long now, it was torture to keep it in." You finally declared your own love for him.

"Then why did you?" He asked.

"I didn't hear confessions from you either." You stated, pointing out the irony of his statement.

"Fuck, that's fair." That's all he says before finally laying his lips on yours.

The kiss is delicate, practically just being a long-lasting peck, but it finally becomes a kiss when he brings in the presence of tongue. Even after he lets his tongue in your mouth, it stays delicate, until it doesn't.

The kiss becomes passionate, his tongue swirling with your own as his hands go to grip your ass tightly, pulling you closer to him as he rubs his ever-present erection with your own. You moan into the kiss which only makes him dive his tongue deeper down your mouth, exploring every millimeter of it with said tongue.

You still can't believe that this is actually happening, but if this is a dream then it better not stop. Though he's gripping your ass so tightly that if it was a dream you would have woken up already.

The kiss is fucking great but dear god do you need more than just his tongue. He senses your restlessness and acts accordingly by dividing his finger in your ass.

His finger intrudes you so quickly you can't help but moan. In fact, you moan so much that you end up breaking the kiss. Jungkook takes no mind as he just tries to pleasure you more, pumping his finger in quickly so he can get you ready for the thing that really matters.

You moan from pleasure and take it upon yourself to return the favor, taking his big cock out of his pants and into your hand. Jungkook groans at the sudden touch and happily accepts it. You quickly match the pace of your hand pumping his cock with the pace of his finger.

Jungkook then fits another one inside you, causing you to grip his dick harder for some kind of leverage, making Jungkook let out another grunt from his lips.

Jungkook pumps his two fingers in and of you more, now being knuckles deep inside and intruding easily, which lets Jungkook know that you're probably ready for the real thing.

he takes his fingers out of your hole and quickly takes his clothes off, that bodyguard training being very useful since he did it all very speedily.

He fully takes off his own pants, opens your legs for better entrance, and then rubs his cock against your rim, letting out many a moan from your lips, but that's pussy shit to what's about to come.

"You ready?" He asked, voice lustful, but he also genuinely wants you to enjoy this just as much as he will.

"Born ready." You cheekily answered, ready to make love with the man you love.

"If I ever go to fast or-"

"Fuck Love please fuck me!" You accidently yell out, Jungkook only responds with a chuckle and kisses your forehead.

"You asked for it." He said, putting his lips on yours again before finally plunging his cock into you.

He starts off by just putting in bit by bit, not wanting to hurt you or go too fast, since he was so big. You're not exactly complaining, though you want to get plowed by him you're also aware that it would hurt in ways that's not even worth it if he started going so fast now, so you settle with passionately making out with him while he slowly but surely fills your hole.

After what feels like forever, he finally bottoms out, he stays still for a bit, kissing you in hopes of distracting you from the gut splitting cock currently inside of you, before eventually moving.

His thrusts start off slow and waiting, as to now break you so soon into the relationship. He's a master at taking his time, which you kind of love, with every thrust you know he cares about you enough to at least let you walk a little next morning, but these thoughts are quickly beaten out of you with the beating his dick soon does on your ass.

Though you can still feel love in every thrust, you can tell he really loves you since he starts thrusting into you like crazy, totally filling your ass again and again with his cock.

Your moans fill the room and his grunts echo through the walls, the entire mansion is probably awake and listening to the two of you making sweet love, but neither of you care. You're both used to zoning others out and just focusing on each other, especially in Jungkook's case.

He lays his forehead against yours and looks into your eyes the entire time, though his cock is splitting you open, he still wants you to know that this is an act of love, which is why his arms are completely wrapped around your waist, holding you impossibly close.

The closeness of your bodies can't hold a candle to the closeness you feel emotionally with him, but it does help. You've never felt so connected with another person and probably will never feel so close. The way he deeply kisses you mixed with the way he's holding you, and of course the fact that he's literally physically inside of you is a big part of why the moment feels so special.

After a few more thrusts you moan ear splittingly loud as you cum all over his chest, finally feeling release.

"Can I?" He asked like the sweetheart he is, in which you immediately, to fuc- I mean loved out to speak. He smiles and grunts loudly as well, not at all as loud as you but who's counting, as he too reaches climax, filling your asshole with his hot cum.

He stays inside of you, not having to move much since you both are practically already cuddling.

And that's how you both stay, Jungkook buried inside of you while holding you tightly close to him, your head resting on his muscular chest.

"I love you y/n." He declared, holding you even closer.

"I love you too, Jungkook." You declared right back, "I'm beyond ecstatic that my soulmate is also my bodyguard."

THE END

final thoughts: tell me if you got the kiss is when there's tongue reference.

[tinybojeregifts]

Feel, feel, feel

notes: under the cut because it's long for a tumblr post. first fic experiment in this style and format.

Cyprus. The last day.

The last sunrise feels like a sunset, and Bojan doesn't want to see it. He doesn't, even though every sunrise during their week together has been a moment of beautiful clarity in love, finally waking up next to the man he wants by his side for the rest of his life. He knows he is missing something beautiful, but he doesn't want to see the sun climbing up, reminding him that eventually, it'll come back down too. If Bojan just keeps his eyes closed and his body pressed against the love of his life, as close as possible, maybe time can't get him.

Jere notices. Of course Jere notices.

"Bojan? Are you crying?"

"... No"

"Then why my tits get wet?"

The absurdity of the man next to him makes Bojan feel lighter, time less of a threat.

"I don't know, maybe your tits just do that."

He feels rather than hears Jere chuckle.

"See I think I'm in bed, Bojan face is on my chest and my tiddies getting wet, so I count one plus one and I think Bojan is crying on my tiddies."

Bojan can't help but smile against Jere's skin.

"Stop saying tiddies, I'm sad and you're making me laugh."

"You want be sad?" Jere sounds confused.

"A little bit, maybe. Can you pet my back?" Bojan whispers quietly.

Jere's hand instantly finds its way to Bojan's back and starts stroking his skin gently. Bojan feels himself relaxing, time slowing down.

"Why you want be sad?" Jere asks softly.

Bojan takes a deep breath and wills himself to be calm. He doesn't want to drag Jere down with him, but he desperately needs to hear it'll be okay. That they will be okay.

"It's our last day. I think it's right to be a little bit sad."

Jere's hand strokes his cheek softly, making Bojan wrap his arms around Jere's body even tighter.

"What about we enjoy last day?"

The hand finds its way to Bojan's hair.

"We can do that after I'm done being sad," Bojan mumbles, cheek still pressed against Jere's chest.

He doesn't want to move.

"So you are crying," Jere says in a softly amused voice Bojan knows is reserved only for him.

"... Yes."

"You want talk?" Jere pets his cheek again, as if to wake Bojan up from his gloom.

His voice is so soft and gentle it makes Bojan want to weep.

"I really don't know," Bojan whispers.

The hand is now drawing little hearts on his back.

"You want try? Tell me why you sad," Jere encourages.

Another deep breath, and Bojan makes himself speak the words that have been echoing in his mind all morning.

"Because our time here together is ending and we have to go back to being apart."

If his voice cracks, Jere doesn't mention it. But another hand joins the first one, just holding Bojan against the grounding body that feels like home.

"But you coming to Finland for a little bit. We still together for some days."

There's a whisper of desperation in Jere's voice, and suddenly Bojan realizes he's not the only one who has to deal with separation - only perhaps Jere had banked on being able to avoid dealing with for a few more days.

But once he has started, Bojan can't stop.

"But not like this. It's back to reality. No more just you and me, without work, without worries, just us."

Jere soldiers on.

"Maybe reality is good thing too. Every time we go back to reality after dream holiday together, we are stronger," he says, determined.

"Maybe..." Bojan manages to whisper.

"But.. maybe Bojan don't want to hear why reality is good right now."

Jere can always tell.

"Yeah... maybe not," Bojan chokes out.

Bojan feels like he could crumble into dust, right here, from the sheer force of the emotions his heart is trying to manage. The love he feels for the man holding him close, the aching caused by the loss looming ahead, the fear of the moment of separation.

"Jerč?"

"Yes?"

"Can you tell me all the things you're going to miss? About this? About me?"

This time his voice definitely cracks, and the hands and the strong arms hold him just a little bit tighter.

"Okei. Can I put hand here?"

A hand sneaks down Bojan's back, under the waistband of his boxers and rests gently on his buttock.

"Yeah, please. Feels nice," Bojan breathes and feels grounding skin against his own on almost every inch of his body.

"I'm going to miss being close, like this. I can touch you, hold you very close. I see you, and hear you, and feel you and smell you all the time," Jere says, speaking softly but confidently, no doubt or question in his mind about what they are to each other here, in their own room, their own little world.

Bojan squeezes his eyes shut tight but he doesn't cry anymore. He focuses every cell and every nerve, to feel, to hear, to smell, to absorb the reality of Jere into his existence.

Bojan doesn't know what he's looking for, but he is sure he'll know it when he hears it.

"Yeah, being like this..." Bojan agrees. "Feeling your body so.. solid, next to mine. Not just having the memory of your body, but actually having you here.. I'm going to miss that too. Anything else?"

"Talking and not talking, anytime. When we feel like talking, we talk. When we want be quiet, we are quiet. But even when we are quiet, it's not.. It's not-" Jere falls silent looking for the right words.

Bojan already knows.

"Yes that's it.

"It's not quiet because we don't have anything to talk about. It's quiet because we don't have to talk to feel connected," he says.

A beat of silence to confirm it's still there.

"... More?" Bojan whispers.

"I'm going to miss how you make me feel safe. Like.. nothing in real world can get me. I'm in foreign country but I feel like home because you are here. I know after this week I have so much work, so much stress, but I feel like you can make bad things go away. You always make me feel like that, Bojan. Since Eurovision I feel like you can make bad things go away." This time it is Jere's voice that cracks.

Bojan's heart either skips a beat or thumps an extra one, he can't tell which.

"Yeah?"

"Is like you can read my mind sometimes. You always know what I need.. When I need you distract me, when I need you take me some place where we have peace and quiet, when I need you... you save me. From everything. I don't know what I do without you, Bojan," Jere whispers into Bojan's hair before sealing the confession with a kiss.

"Oh..."

This. This is what he was looking for.

"Bojan, you squeeze my arm maybe too tight a little bit."

"Sorry.."

He wills his fingers to relax.

"That's better. I am going to miss how I can relax, when you are here, because I know you are right here and I know you take care of me. And so I try take care of you," Jere says, his fingers digging into Bojan's skin everywhere they touch him.

"And you do," Bojan breathes.

"And that doesn't stop when we are not here, together, anymore.. But it feel stronger like this," he says quietly.

He hopes Jere can feel just how much he means it, through sheer power of will and touch, because out loud he can only whisper.

Jere's voice is barely above whisper too.

Bojan has to show him. Has to let him know, let him feel.

And he has to get closer, closer still. Coexist, merge, become... Feel, feel, feel for himself

Finally, he looks up.

"Can I kiss you, Jerč?"

Jere's face lights up and Bojan doesn't care that he missed the sunrise.

"Yes, please."

Kissing Jere makes breathing easier. Bojan feels like every point of contact between them charges him with life.

Hands, legs, thighs, stomachs, lips, noses... And he feels, feels, feels.

And he wants more.

"Can we... keep going?"

A spark.

"You want..?"

He wants everything, so much that it hurts.

"Yeah.. but can we go slow?"

Can we exist as one for as long as possible?

"We still have whole day."

[darsynia]

Momentary (Bucky/f!Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | BUCKY BARNES MASTERLIST | lmk for tags!

Summary: Your paths cross, intertwine, and separate again

WC/Warnings: 1,400 | Explicit Sex

Written for Essie's 300 Follower 'Summer Lovin' Celebration! Thanks for hosting, @bigtreefest, dear, I hope you like it! Prompts used were overstimulation, a hotel, and public sex

Excerpt:

“Please,” you breathe. His actions have slowed, turning from tempestuous to tender, a honeyed slowness designed to prolong your agony. His low, sexy chuckle is a live wire connected directly to his electric fingers as they dip and swirl. 

“I want to hear you, doll,” he rumbles, lips grazing your ear in purposeful provocation. “Louder than the sunset, for me.”

You’re both still clothed, but the arch of your back and cant of his hips make clear what’s happening, visible to anyone with the fortitude to look away from the sun-painted sky. It’s exhilarating.

MOMENTARY

Your panties are puddled at your feet, and your mind is equally liquid. With your head thrown back against the balcony wall, you can only see the sunset over the water through slitted eyes, but its beauty is rivaled by the pleasure melting through your body. Yesterday you didn’t even know this man existed, but now his clever hand is moving under your white silk dress doing things that threaten your current and future stability.

He thrusts two thick fingers inside you, his thumb dancing light touches on your clit. It’s the perfect representation of his odd duality. This secretive stranger is intimately touching you in a semi-public place. He claims to be a businessman, yet he prowls around a luxury hotel with ruthless malice, clearly stalking more elusive prey than you’ve proven to be. The filthy threat you’d overheard him make to another guest had been vicious and incisive.

He is the opposite of everything you left behind at home.

“Please,” you breathe. His actions have slowed, turning from tempestuous to tender, a honeyed slowness designed to prolong your agony. His low, sexy chuckle is a live wire connected directly to his electric fingers as they dip and swirl. 

“I want to hear you, doll,” he rumbles, lips grazing your ear in purposeful provocation. “Louder than the sunset, for me.”

You’re both still clothed, but the arch of your back and cant of his hips make clear what’s happening, visible to anyone with the fortitude to look away from the sun-painted sky. It’s exhilarating.

“Make me, then,” you say, drawing on adrenaline for confidence.

Your lover’s expression sharpens, eyes glittering with anticipation. He pushes off the wall with his free hand, expertly opening his belt and shoving his clothes aside, all while maintaining the delicate devastation of his fingertips. Suddenly he stops, and you clutch at the wall behind you to maintain your balance as you watch him pull out a condom and apply it, his full attention on his task. Then he fixes his gaze on you and you practically stop breathing, your entire being focused on the slow movement of his hand as he slides it from your knee along your thigh, inch by glorious inch.

The urge to moan, to plead is intense, but you valiantly hold back.

He seems pleased by this, which is almost as sexy as this deliberate dismantling of your dignity.

When he finally touches you again, it's brief, but enough to make you dizzy, a supernova of erotic culmination for the few seconds before he lifts you up and lances into you. The resolution to hold back is obliterated by the aching cry that tears through your throat. Any other time you’d have crammed a fist in your mouth, mortified by the very idea of making your happiness audible. With every sensuous movement this man has destroyed all of that, and you’re a willing wreck.

He’d told you to keep touching to the minimum, so you limit yourself to clinging to his open collar, barely able to think against the purity of this pleasure. Eyes tightly shut, you keen through each powerful, rocking glide. You’re so distracted by the sensory overload that you don’t notice he’s only holding you up with one arm until he caresses your sleeve down your shoulder and fixes a hot, sucking kiss on your skin.

The unexpected, personal contact sends you fluttering around him, and you feel rather than see the way he’s affected by that--his free hand slams against the wall as his hips stutter the two of you impossibly closer. It’s as if the whole wall is moving with his desperate cadence, as caught up as you are in the mind-numbing pleasure.

“Your name,” you suddenly beg, clawing for coherence under the onslaught of your pending climax. You open your eyes and bite your lip, wishing you’d asked for a kiss instead. Knowing his name is far too much to ask from a man like this.

Your lover lifts his head. His blue eyes are dilated with desire, sending a heat flush across your body that pools at the place the two of you are joined. He opens his mouth, and somehow you know he wants to lie, which feels like a sin in a moment like this.

If he can break the rules, then so can you.

Before you lose your nerve, you move to caress his cheek with one hand as you nuzzle your nose against his neck, grazing your lips across the sensitive skin of his earlobe in a conscious mirroring of his own earlier action. “Please?” you whisper. His hips still.

“Jam--” he starts, then grunts when your surprise causes you to tighten around him intimately. “Bucky,” he admits, and you repeat the name in stunned triumph, more a breathy prayer than anything else. It’s a turning point, a sentence enhancer, and the the two of you follow it with fierce, frantic fucking in search of absolution.

You can hear yourself moan-gasping as you both come, the exquisite high tumbling and rising until you’re left breathlessly repeating words of gratitude interspersed with his name, your throat raw. For some reason, this causes him to slow his final thrusts, as if reluctant for the moment to pass. It’s almost shatteringly erotic, and you wonder if it’s a glimpse of the true him, or a sign that he’s donning another disguise--the picture of a wealthy, considerate lover. Certainly his groan sounds just as joy-ravaged as you feel, by the time he slides you down onto your unsteady feet.

The possessive sting on your shoulder pulsates in opposition to your body’s resonance, and you have to focus all of your attention on staying upright. Taking a few long, careful breaths, you open your eyes to see that Bucky is already perfectly put back together, his skilled fingers refastening the wrist buttons of his dress shirt from where he’d rolled it back up to touch you.

Without speaking, he respectfully tips his head in your direction and walks inside, crossing the dimly-lit suite without pausing at the bathroom to wash his hands.

It’s the realization that he could just wordlessly leave after such a defining moment that has you finally collapsing into a chair.

It’s fully dark by the time you get up to go inside.

You’d fled halfway across the world to India with the fortune your ex had tried to wrest from you, finally giving yourself the honeymoon you’d always dreamed you’d share with him. It’s hard not to feel like you’ve just fulfilled one of his ugliest insults during that sudden breakup, but at least you hadn’t been in a relationship when you’d had sex with a stranger. 

At least you won’t head to bed still sweet with the buzz of someone else’s nectar.

There’s something mournful about showering after such an experience, washing away the fleeting remnants of a connection never meant to last. You’re torn between a light touch of soap to skin and scrubbing until you’ve excised both ex and rebound, but settle on something in between. Neither will release with ease, you realize. How strange that you’ve heard both men speak in anger in the past month, but in that time only one, the wrong one, used an endearment towards you. 

“Go to sleep,” you murmur to yourself. The sound is sultry thanks to all the noises you’d made. A mix of mortification and memories sends you scurrying to the softest sheets and most heavenly mattress you’ve ever slept on.

You dream of wandering the hotel, checking doors one by one and finding a different version of Bucky in each--dashing and debonair in a vintage military uniform, cocky and confident in a leather jacket, sleek and sophisticated in a bespoke suit. For some reason, you step back from that particular door despite its familiarity, and decide to try one more. The Bucky you find there is long-haired and wild, dressed for war, but not a war any government would recognize. His black tactical jacket is missing a sleeve, showing off the metal of a mechanical arm that stretches from  shoulder to fingertip.

He turns his head and catches sight of you in the doorway, and that’s when your dream-self sees the mask covering his mouth and nose, the dark facepaint shadowing his eye sockets. This strange yet exciting version of Bucky strides toward you, metal hand reaching--

--and you wake up.

In my mind, I picture him with the used condom folded into a handkerchief in his pocket, but I could not elegantly place that in the story lol. Hotel in the pictures is the Leela Kovalam, a five star hotel in India (loook! it's soooooo pretty!!!)

[art-missy]

Overwhelmed (Gekko x Reader)

Part. 1 Part. 3

Part. 2

Sorry in advance for my terrible English. I'm actually more of an English reader and listener than an actual speaker or writer. I also apologize for the dull writing style that could seem quite childish. I just wanted to test something by posting this.

If a few months ago somebody had told you that you would be spotted by a secret organization whose job is to protect your world against the threat of agents from another dimension, you would have laughed so hard that your guts would have spitted out. If that ‘somebody’ had continued with the fact that this organization would contact you in some way to recruit you just because you maybe took down a K-SEC facility by yourself and also because your skills interested them, you would have told them to sell their idea to a filmmaker. If that ‘somebody’ had then insisted that you would spend one of your days off with a few other agents of that organization by watching Disney movies and hearing them sing their guts out, you would have told them to stop.

Well, look at you now, exchanging astounded glances with Iso as Neon reached a note so terrifying that you were pretty sure she could have won the Oscar of the best scream in a horror movie. You were slightly worried about the state of her vocal cords. 

“And she’s not even drunk.” Muttered Yoru when he saw your dumbfounded expression as he finished his can of soda. Phoenix let out a booming laugh and nudged your and Iso’s arms playfully.

What the hell were you doing here ? You were so at peace in your hideout. How did Valorant find you ? Oh yeah. Cypher. No one can hide from the Moroccan sentinel and you understood it quite quickly when he appeared in each of your hideouts everytime you tried to run away. Hard to hide from someone whose eyes are literally everywhere. It has been quite hard for him too to convince you that the intentions of Valorant were noble when he appeared each time in the middle of the night like a sleep paralysis demon. The process of convincing you had been long and hard but Cypher was patient and quite stubborn. Especially when it came to visiting each of your hideouts (even the one under the Mediterranean Sea) and finishing all your different packs of tea. Well, at least you had now Big Brother as a mentor.

You jolted a little, startled when Raze and Killjoy suddenly stood up to start a duet while waltzing around the room. The level of love and affection in their eyes made you wonder if they weren't from a Disney movie themselves. You could literally see their eyes changing form to turn into hearts as their souls were screaming ‘I love you’ in their respective languages. And you found it adorable despite your exhaustion.

Jett playfully threw some popcorn at the couple, telling them to get a room. You’re pretty sure she didn't notice the few candy and crumbs of snacks in her ponytail. 

Clove were jumping on the different bean bag chairs, singing as if their life depended on it while Wingman cheered at their antics.

And you, you let out a small sigh as you took a sip of your bubbletea. All this chaos because of Frozen.

You swore that if you heard the songs ‘Love is an open door’ or ‘Let it go’ again, you would go apeshit.

You maybe should have join Deadlock for a reading session in her quarters instead of accepting Gekko’s invitation. Or just listening to music in your room. Or maybe drawing. You were certain that it would have been more peaceful and less mentally draining than this Disney night. And when you shared another glance with Iso, you knew he thought the same thing. It was visibly way too much for your introverted asses.

“Hey,” Gekko put a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Are you okay ?”

You shot him a tired look. 

You sometimes miss your old life. You missed your different hideouts where you could see the sunset over the mountains, the sea creatures under the Mediterranean Sea, the snow in the Siberian desert or the rain falling on the trees of a random forest. Where you didn't have to interact with people every single day of the week.

You loved the Valorant protocol and you got along with the people you met there. But sometimes it was too much. You took down this K-SEC facility because you knew how shady the experimentations they were running were, not because you wanted to attract the attention of a secret organization. You sometimes resented Cypher for finding you, for stealing you from these calm moments, even though you knew that you accepted to be an agent of Valorant of your own free will and for a good cause. 

“Hey,” Repeated Gekko. “Are you okay ?”

You gently pushed his hand off your shoulder and stood up from your bean bag chair.

“Sorry.” You muttered.

And you rushed out of the room as Gekko called for you, his tone full of worry. You speed-walked towards the garden of the base, putting your headphones on your ears and slightly relaxing when the music reached your brain. You took a deep breath and the wind caressed your skin as you finally walked into the gardens. You took off your shoes and let the grass tickle your bare feet. The night sky watched over you as you finally took a seat on a bench.

Better.

You felt better. You breathed better. You lived better. The music in your ears relaxed your muscles, and the wind murmured on your skin, bringing the fragrance of the different flowers of the garden. You definitely had to compliment Sky and Sage. 

Your phone suddenly vibrated and you noticed that Iso sent you a link to a playlist. 

⟨Here. To relax your nerves.⟩

You internally smiled and sent a text message to the Chinese duelist to thank him. You started the playlist and relaxed even more when the first note of the first song reached your ears. Iso really did have good taste in music.

You were about to close your eyes when you suddenly felt a finger patting your shoulder. You jolted a little and turned your head to the side to see Cypher’s blue lenses staring back at you. You pulled your headphones down and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Big Brother is watching me ?” 

The sentinel let out a small chuckle and sat down beside you, a trap wire traveling on his knuckles.

“Overwhelmed ?”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“I thought I was Big Brother.”

You rolled your eyes but a small smile tugged the corners of your lips. You leaned on the backrest of the bench and let out a deep sigh.

“I’m not in the mood for a game of chess, Cypher.” 

The masked man nodded and hummed softly.

“I suspected it.”

“Then why are you here, Optimus Prime ?” You groaned, stretching your arms over your head.

Cypher’s head tilted slightly and by his body language you suspected a smirk to be present under his mask.

“To check on you, dear.”

You raised a skeptical eyebrow and your eyes squinted slightly.

“Right. And may I ask why, dear ?” You scoffed as you rolled your eyes again. “Wait. Let me guess. You saw me walking away from the common room through these cute little cameras of yours, got curious when you couldn't see me then came here.” You interrupted yourself then shook your head. “Nope. There are also cameras in the garden. Then why did you come here ?”

Cypher let out another small chuckle and patted your head with an odd but paternal affection. 

“Look who’s playing Sherlock, now.” 

You let out an annoyed groan as you tried to push his hand away from your head but Cypher’s mood stayed playful.

“What kind of mentor would I be if I didn't worry about my protégé ?”

You snorted but nodded with a sarcastic smile.“More of a stalker than a mentor.” 

“A stalker who is worried about you, then.”

You couldn't see it but you heard the soft smile in his voice. He leaned a bit more towards you, the brim of his long hat hid you from the night sky and the usual faint glow of his blue lenses looked like two little will-o’-the-wisps in the obscurity of the garden. It reminded you of the first time you met each other, a few days after you took down this K-SEC facility. It was in a dark alleyway and the first thing you saw was these blue lenses before you could make out his long and slender figure. But because of his long hat and the darkness of the alleyway, you had almost taken him for a mutated palm tree. Even today you facepalmed yourself when you remembered those thoughts as your eyes stared into his lenses.

“Who eats alone, chokes alone.” He finally whispered with a conspiratorial tone. Something was telling you that he winked under his mask.

“What ?” You facepalmed.

“It’s an Arabic proverb.” He leaned back and his head tilted again. “Loneliness is neither your ally, nor your enemy. It is impartial. In your case, you use it to recharge yourself, but it can also drain you without you noticing, making you depend on it. Use your loneliness but don’t be alone.” His voice dropped a few octaves lower and you felt his eyes sinking deeply into yours. “Use your balance.”

Something was telling you that he was speaking from experience. A slight twitch in his body language maybe. Or a tiny heaviness in his already thick accent, indication of the unusual emotions in his voice. And you realized just now how little you knew about your mentor.

Cypher nodded, as if satisfied by your visible confusion, stood up from the bench and started to walk away.

“Wait a minute, Darth Vader !” You exclaimed, pointing a frustrated finger at him. “I don't speak proverbial shit and neither does google translate. Come back here or I’ll tell Sky you put cameras in the garden !”

Cypher kept walking away, humming a soft tune.

“Speaking of balance…”

“I don’t understand the proverbial shit, you cheap Cyberpunk shit !”

“Have a good night, dear.” He turned towards you briefly. “Oh, and your strawberry teas are delicious.”

This fucker.

He kept walking away until going back inside and you suddenly heard hurried footsteps. You turned your head and saw Gekko and Wingman running in your direction before stopping in front of you. 

How did you know it was Gekko with the lack of light ? First of all, Wingman. Second of all, his hair.

Gekko was catching his breath with his hands on his knees while Wingman jumped on your lap, making a few garbling sounds. You raised an eyebrow and looked at them, confused.

“Are you dying ?” You asked Gekko and your eyes widened slightly when he started to wheeze. “Gekko ?”

“Dios !” He exclaimed as he finally caught his breath. “I looked for you throughout the whole base !”

“Did you have to run a marathon for that ?” 

Despite your dry tone, your eyes only showed concern for him. You patted the space beside you on the bench and he gladly sat down. He then looked at you and despite the obscurity, you were certain his brows furrowed in worry.

“Are you okay ?”

You shot him a deadpanned look.

“You put your legs through a nocturnal torture by running like a possessed fool throughout the whole base, found me here relaxing in the garden while the soft fragrance of flowers and the night sky kept me company, and ended up wheezing like a dying man about to spew his lungs out and you are asking me if I’m okay ?” 

You looked at his figure from head to toe as he chuckled at your small outburst. He was still a bit out of breath from his little run but he seemed quite fine.

“Damn ! Your descriptions are always so…special. Clove would definitely love you to be the Dungeon Master of their next DnD game.” His laugh calmed down and he nervously cleared his throat. “Anyway. I wanted to check on you. You didn't seem fine in the common room. Are you feeling a bit better now ?”

You shot him a bored look and let a deep sigh out of your lungs. Wingman made a few high chirped noises indicating his worry.

“You really love wasting your time, don’t you ?” Your eyes wandered on the night sky. “Aren't you missing the end of the movie ? Shouldn't you be inside with your friends ?”

Gekko frowned and looked at you funny.

“You’re my friend too.”

You let out a small snort that only deepened his frown.

“I’m serious.” He insisted. “We’re maybe not as close as you are with Cypher or Deadlock or… Iso, but I see you as my friend and I will always have your back.”

You looked back at him and even though you couldn't see him clearly because of the obscurity, you felt his eyes looking at you with a fierce determination.

“Plus,” he continued, “you always have my back on the field, fighting like a total badass against the enemies. Remember our last mission in Lotus ? I would have been dead meat if you weren't there.”

Wingman (who had gotten comfy on your lap) nodded with vehemence, agreeing with Gekko’s words.

“I’m not quite sure if you can be ‘dead meat’ when someone like Sage is around.” You said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

Gekko made a noise between an amused chuckle and a sigh of frustration. You couldn't figure out what was on his mind, which is quite surprising since he was usually so expressive. He then suddenly got closer to you on the bench, grabbed your shoulders and leaned a bit more towards you.

“My point is : you got my back and I got yours. You're my friend and I won’t leave you alone.” His fingers gently squeezed your shoulders. “And I’m sorry.”

It was now your turn to frown as you did not understand why he was apologizing for.

“I invited you to this movie night so I could have an occasion to get to know you better, so we could get to know each other and bond on something that is not mission related.” He explained. “But you clearly weren't at ease. I thought you were about to have a panic attack, back there.”

You felt his thumbs caressing your shoulders as his hands squeezed you a bit more tightly.

“I’m sorry.”

You shook your head and let out another sigh. “Don’t apologize. Your intentions were innocent and sweet.”

You couldn't see the blush on his cheeks but you noticed the slight twitch in his body language.

“Everything's fine.” You insisted. “I’m perfectly fine. Plus, with the new playlist Iso sent me, I can just relax and enjoy the quietude of the garden.”

“Oh.” He said simply.

His voice showed disappointment, sadness even. You vaguely felt his grip on your shoulder faltering a little while Wingman made a few sad garbling sounds.

“Gekko ?”

You couldn't see his face, but his body language showed a slight dispiritedness that didn't match his usual playful and confident personality.

“You and Iso are really close, huh.” He said with an uncharacteristically neutral tone.

His shoulders were now slightly slumped.

“Well, we had heard about each other before we joined Valorant. It was funny to finally meet the infamous ‘Dead Lilac’ in this secret organization.” You chuckled a little, finding the circumstances of your first meeting with the Chinese duelist quite embarrassing. You remembered knocking your head so hard against his chest that it spinned a little.

“That’s…uhm…kinda cute, I guess.”

You wondered what was on the mind of the piece of sweet-woman-heartthrob-trope that Gekko was.

“Well I don't know if it’s cute, but we’ve been exchanging playlists and book recommendations since.” You shrugged and Gekko’s hands slided down your arms at your action. “He’s cool. He has a sweet ‘older sibling’ vibe that put me at ease.”

The young initiator seemed to perk at your words and so was his radivore critter.

“‘Older sibling’ vibe ?” He repeated. “What do you mean ?”

“Well, you see how siblings sometimes banter with each other but always have each other's back ?” You started to explain and you saw his figure tilting his head. “Well that's our relationship with Iso. You probably know what I’m talking about. I noticed that you had quite the same thing with Neon.” You shrugged again.

His whole demeanor seemed to relax when he let out a laugh filled with relief. You frowned a little, not understanding this sudden outburst of joy.

“You alright ?” You raised a worried eyebrow and squinted your eyes a little. “Maybe you should get some sleep.”

It was at this moment that the moon finally decided to come out of behind the clouds, illuminating both of your faces. You both looked at each other, admiring your features. Your eyes wandered on his freckles without noticing his lovestruck gaze on you. 

“Maybe I'm a bit tired.” He whispered with a lost tone, as if he didn't understand what he just said.

“Hm.” You looked down on your lap to notice Wingman shrinking and hopping towards Gekko’s shoulder. “Wanna go back inside ?”

“You’re going back inside ?” Gekko asked.

“No.”

“Then I’ll stay with you.” He got more comfortable on the bench and you felt him lean a bit more towards you. “Unless my presence is overwhelming.”

You shook your head and leaned against the backrest of the bench. 

“No. You’re fine.”

“Cool.” He nodded and let out a small sigh of relief.

A comfortable silence settled between you, slightly disturbed by the faint music from your headphones. Your eyes wandered on the night sky, unaware of Gekko’s longing glances in your direction. You were completely oblivious to his poor heart beating so fast and so loud that he feared you could hear it. You did not notice. You never did. Ever since you set your foot into the base for the first time, his eyes were always on you. At first it was curiosity. Curious about the agent recommended by the mysterious man that was Cypher. Then it was admiration for the fierce fighter that you turned into once on the field. And finally, it bloomed to be a small crush that never ceased to grow. Your charisma hypnotized him. His feelings for you were so obvious that his friends never stopped to tease him. Even Reyna said that he looked like a lost puppy everytime you were around and Harbor often asked him to focus when you were in his field of view. And of course, he was jealous of how close Iso was with you. The duelist could talk to you without any problem, he could receive your smiles, your laughs, your friendly fist-bumps while the only times Gekko could have a proper interaction with you was during missions or briefings. Even during training you stayed in your corner, avoiding interactions.

But right now, he felt so happy. This was the longest interaction you’ve ever had with each other and he couldn't help but smile.

He turned his head in your direction and softly called you.

“Yeah ?”

“I heard that you love to draw.” He nervously rubbed his neck but kept his eyes on yours. “We could someday, you know, draw together while chilling in my room. If it’s okay with you of course.”

You shot him an indescribable glance and he suddenly felt so stupid for not using drawing as a way to bond with you sooner instead of the movie night. But he relaxed a little when you ended up shrugging.

“Why not.”

It was a start. He will not confess his feelings for now. It was way too soon. But he will certainly enjoy these moments with you. He will enjoy bonding with you and get to know you better.

Anecdote : the Arabic proverb mentioned by Cypher is something the father of a friend once told me when I was a kid. It's stuck in my mind, ever since.

I'm not proud of the ending ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ But it's fine. It is just a test, after all.

I don't know if I'll post the part. 2. I'll most probably keep it in my drafts.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. I wish you a lovely day/night.

[bignostalgias]

Hello!! Listen i have GOT TO KNOW what the White Winter Hymnal AU is about???

like??

It looks amazing?? The art is GORGEOUS and i am foaming at the mouth for more information about the story behind it!! And i LOVE the song by the Fleet Foxes!

But yeah pretty much im obsessed and i'd like to know more about what im obsessed about. Hope you're having a wonderful timezone and take care! <3<3<3

Thank you so much for the ask and interest in Hymnal!! ☺️❤️ it’s a slow burn of an au that’s mostly based on vibes and drawing/writing them has been so cozy for me. Have a wonderful day/night as well!!

Gonna take the lazy route and post of screenshot of me summarizing it from a little earlier this week:

Aaaaand here’s a little snippet of how the forest Hymnal is set in feels:

The forest bordering the sturdy little hamlet of Berk was rich with wonder. This was known. The dark, twisting vines and roots of the wild ended shy of the ring of protective runestones, and if a vein was cut open, it seeped glittering green sap. When venturing past Berk’s protections — which should never be done alone — the sun-dappled ground of the forest was laden with moss and lichen, ethereally soft to the touch. On fortunate endeavors, gatherers returned with newborn lambs bundled in their arms, harvested like fruit from the branches of trees. However, as beautiful as it was, the wild threat the forest posed was ever present in the minds of Berk’s people. At night, lights twinkled from the depths, will o’ the wisps casting their lures. Bobcat yowls startled children from their slumber, mistaken for a human scream. The blinking eyes of wolves, reflecting torchlight, lurking between tree trunks. The forest was hungry and wanting and demanded to be satiated.

Every so often, it was.

Hiccup knew he worried his father, his friends, the farther he strayed from home, the longer he dared to be absent past sunset. How was he to tell them the once unnerving black eyes of birch trees were keeping careful vigil over him, that the bracken and tangled foliage gently parted for him instead of barred his path?

It was well known that to avoid losing ones way, a warrior must wear his tunic inside out, watch where he stepped for stray sods, and never trust trails of weathered cairns.

Hiccup had trouble recalling the last time he’d been lost.

Eventually when Hiccup is out exploring with Toothless he meets Jack, and the plot gets ✨homosexual✨

Something something something, Jack gets his head popped off and this short comic is the result

But wahoo everything turns out fine in the end!

And here’s Kai’s extremely lovely post-canon drawing of them recovered and happy 🥹

❄️ the entire hymnal tag ❄️

[legendsgalore]

The Song before the Storm

Why wouldn't you rejoice at a moment to yourself, away from the nine men you are traveling with? It was hard enough knowing you were the weak link here (haha get it), but that you knew as much as you did about all these heroes, and they had no clue, it's a hard secret to keep. In fact, it's such a difficult task that if you aren't aware, you may just tip your hand. Especially if you are not as alone as you think you are...

Notes:

It adds a bit more fun if you imagine the Reader looking like Marin/Malon, though whether that be in the hair, just the facial structure, or body, that can be up to you. And also, if you don't care for that, you can just imagine it's simply the personalities that are similar. Also I did not proof-read this at all.

Cross-posted to AO3 too

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57421948

___________________________________________________________

Silence is underappreciated, you decided as you lowered yourself into the water. It was the right temperature, almost too cold to be comfortable, but once you were submerged you felt the chill melt into your bones and chase out any lingering tension. It wasn’t too dark yet, the oranges from the sunset cast your world into various shades of warm colors.

You were bathing in a pond not too far from the Chain’s campsite. It was a lucky find, fresh water so tucked away in the forest. You could see the glimmer of fairies on the other side, so clearly they felt safe in this space, hence why you were able to wander from the group by yourself.

Asking Time earlier had been an ordeal, he had fixed his one eye on you, and you felt your resolve literally crumple to dust in face of it.

Swallowing hard, you had pleaded for your case. “Please? You said it yourself, that fairies being there meant it was a safe space for the forest, so couldn’t I go bathe by myself?”

You knew why one of the Links always followed you, even if no one had outright told you, they felt you needed to be guarded. You supposed it wasn’t wrong, you could barely maintain the proper sword stances (thanks to some training from Sky), but still, no personal time in a group of nine guys? That’s rough.

Time began to respond, and you felt your heart sink. “You know why I can’t agree to this, you would be out of sight from anyone who could protect you.”

“But you would hear if anything went wrong!”

His expression did seem remorseful, as the old man rebuked, “Not every threat will be a loud one that will draw our attention, I’m sorry.”

Looking down, you had accepted your fate when Legend called out, “Aw come on old man! Just let her have this one thing!”

Both of you looked over, and though the Veteran was using the pretense of looking in his bag to not meet your or Time’s gazes, his hands weren’t moving.

“She’s right, we all have exceptional hearing too, and I am sure even a wolf could keep an ear perked up for her.”

You saw a few people stifle laughs, Four, Wild, but Time remained staring at Legend, who finally turned and met his gaze with a nervous expression.

With a sigh, Time relented, “I guess so, and I do think Malon would appreciate me letting this young lady get some space from us men.”

Legend’s expression morphed into a victorious smirk, and you felt your own face light up in joy.

“Yes! Thank you Time, and you too Legend!” You made sure to cast out a thanks to the Veteran, and a blush came over his face and he looked away.

The others laughed lightly at Legend’s sudden shyness as he muttered, “Don’t mention it.”

Time chuckled as you rushed to gather your bathing supplies, luxuriously supplied courtesy of Warriors’ homeworld.

“Please do be careful, bring your sword just in case.”

You nodded, hooking the band that held the sheath for the short blade over your head.

“I will, and I’ll call out if anything seems off.”

You were just about to the edge of the clearing the camp was in, not wanting to waste the lingering daylight, so Time had to raise his voice to respond.

“Yeah, loud enough a wolf, or a bunny could hear!”

That last bit about a bunny felt strange, but you ignored it as you headed into the woods. Because of this, you missed as Legend’s head whipped around to stare at the old man, who was casting a very pointed gaze at the Veteran.

Silence fell over the camp, a few beats passed, and then the glaring contest broke as Legend exasperatedly cried out.

“Argh fine! Rancher gimme that thing already.”

Chuckling, Twilight stepped forward, handing Legend something small from his palm. He looked between Legend and Time.

“You sure this doesn’t call for Wolfie’s help? I feel that being able to control the transformation would help in case of something.”

Legend replied as he tugged his bag over his shoulder, turning into the woods. “I have my Moon Pearl this time, it’ll be fine. Plus, I think I have to go, I think I got punished by the old man here.”

Punctuating his last sentence, Legend playfully stuck his tongue out at Time, who crossed his arms and raised one eyebrow with a smirk in response. And with that, the Veteran turned to follow you, with you none the wiser.

____________________________________________________________________________

Though the others made fun of Warriors for fussing over his appearance, you were just grateful someone not only had soap, but nice soap that had moisturizing elements, and even pressed jasmine for a floral touch.

Honestly, you wondered as you spread suds over your shoulder and upper arm, you didn’t think the Chain really understood just how pampered your life was in comparison to theirs. Or not even their own, but what would be considered a pampered life here.

For example, just scented soap in general, or the idea of having separate soaps for maximizing care of your hair, body, and skin. Though, that was due to technology being able to develop in your world. It helped to not have society get wrecked every couple of centuries you thought.

The reminder of your home made you pause. Traveling with the Chain was nice, a dream you could admit that you had lusted over late at night before, in your old life. But, real life was much more complicated than a video game, or silly daydream what-if scenarios.

As of right now, you were a burden on these heroes. Sure there were all nine of them, but Hylia would only have called upon them all if that was needed. And the elephant in the room was that you were woefully unable to do anything in a fight. Just the whole conversation earlier proved how the Chain saw you, worried to even let you out of their sights.

It was nice to be cared for, but you just felt guilty and ashamed more than anything. Hence asking Sky for help. And you could tell you were much stronger than before, lithe muscle replacing plush skin. But it wasn’t just you being a burden upon the others. You knew them.

You had daydreamed about meeting these heroes because back home, the Legend of Zelda series was one of your favorite things. But Links were definitely a secretive type and it was easy to see that no one was gonna take lightly to you knowing all their deepest secrets, or the tough parts of their journeys they would rather no one know about.

Your knowledge impeded you fully getting close with any of the heroes, though luckily you had thought quickly and gave the white lie of knowing them as legends in your time. Not untrue, and it could disguise having general knowledge about the heroes’ journeys.

But you could look at Time and just go “The moon will fall in three days,” or you could look at Sky and say “Did you check that Ghirahim was truly gone after beating Demise,” or at Legend and just say “It was not just a dream,” and literally everything you had built here would all fall apart.

You sighed deeply, realizing that you had paused your washing as you had ruminated on your situation, the pleasant coolness from before having chilled you, goosebumps visible on your arms.

You started humming to try and expel some of the anxiety that had built up, and gathered up suds between your hands to direct to your hair.

Lamenting the lack of conditioner, you could only just make sure you got your hair clean. It was satisfying feeling the grease loosen from the clumps. You kept humming, a random lighthearted tune. Though it may have been wishful thinking, you thought you could see the fairies fly a little closer to you as the sounds of your song wove into the air.

You swear, if Four hadn’t had an extra headband, and Wild hadn’t had his extra hairband, you think you may have just taken your sword and chopped your hair short yourself. You were not used to dirty hair.

Chuckling at your pampered thoughts, you finished washing and held a deep breath to dunk your head under the surface. Easy way to get all the suds out, and you figured the shock would help bring levity to your mood.

With a one, two, three, you dove beneath the surface and popped back up, laughing as the temperature somehow still was a shock, despite having been in the water for all this time.

The brightness of the fairies was more noticeable than before, though they were still mostly across the pond. You realized that the sun had almost set, the lingering colors of twilight cast over the forest pond.

You began making your way to the water’s edge, intent on making it back to camp before dark, when a voice cut through the quiet.

“How do you know that song?”

You yelped, and instinctively kicked back deeper into the pond. Your heart leapt into your chest, and you immediately panicked as you realized your sword was next to your clothes…on the ground next to the pond.

“Calm down it’s just me!”

“H-huh?!” You gasped out, but followed the direction the voice had came from and was startled to see Legend standing a few paces back from the water’s edge, looking to the side and holding his hand over his eyes.

His shoulders were hunched, and you could see over his fingers his eyebrows were furrowed. He still wasn’t looking at you, and you realized that you were definitely very nude in the water and couldn’t help the squeak that escaped you.

Legend called out again, “Don’t worry, I won’t look.”

You almost called back a thanks, but? Why would you thank him in this situation? You began swimming back to shore. Thinking about it, you weren’t really surprised about someone being sent after you, it was almost expected even though Time had said you could go by yourself. You weren’t even mad, just mildly disappointed your privacy wasn’t what you thought it was.

Though you had expected “Wolfie” to be here, as the boys could get away with sending the totally-not-Twilight-pet they had. So Legend’s presence was a little confusing.

An awkward silence fell upon the pond as you pulled yourself out of the pond, bare body dripping water. Casting a quick glance at Legend to confirm he was still not looking, you dry yourself off with a spare cloth that Wild had given you.

After drying, you began pulling your clothes over your body, and finally Legend spoke into the silence.

“Sorry for startling you, but how do you know that song?”

You were kneeling next to the water, and from squeezing the water out of your hair, you look up at Legend.

“What do you mean?”

His expression pinches, as he gestures, looking like he was struggling to hold himself back from a more dramatic reaction.

“The one you were humming!”

“Humming…you mean while I was bathing?”

You looked at Legend as you said that, and he at least had the decency to blush and look away in shame there, though his emotions were still clearly running high,

“Yes! Where did you hear it?” Legend’s voice kept inching higher in octave as the conversation continued, and you felt your heart rate spike despite not knowing what was going on.

“W-why?”

“Because!” Finally Legend exploded, taking steps forward to grasp your shoulders in a tight grip.

“No one else should know that song!”

Your heartbeat was in your ears as you considered Legend’s words, no one should know the song….? Oh. Oh no.

You were humming the Ballad of the Windfish.

As your monumental mistake dawned upon you, Legend continued, his voice choking as he reigned in the volume, likely to avoid anyone from camp coming to check the commotion.

As a result, his voice dropped to a deeper tone, and with the proximity between you two, the tension rose exponentially.

“That song doesn’t exist anymore, so why were you humming it?!”

“U-uh,” You stammered, not sure what to say, still panicking over your mistake, and at the realization that the Hero of Legend was holding you incredibly close, with only about a foot of distance between your faces.

His expression was pinched, and it takes on a sorrowful look, his lips pursing together as his eyes almost glaze over as he looks through you.

“Did, did someone teach it to you? Did a girl teach you?”

Legend’s violet eyes refocus, meeting your’s, causing your heart to skip a beat. Curse him for being so pretty.

“You look so similar to her…maybe…are you…?”

And with that your heart skips some more beats, but for a much different reason. Rapidly you shake your head.

“NO no no, no Legend, no, I am not her. She’s, she’s still gone Legend.”

A spark of light you hadn’t even noticed built up, faded from Legend’s eyes as you said that, which made your heart hurt but it was necessary to stop that train of thought.

You couldn’t do that to him. You knew you looked like Marin in passing maybe, but not that the resemblance was strong enough that Legend would notice. You thought you looked like Malon more, though Time hadn’t said anything about that.

The grip on your shoulders shifting slightly, Legend choked out, “So why, why do you know her song?”

Still looking into Legend’s eyes, you knew you couldn’t lie to him here. He didn’t deserve that.

“Because,” you said, “I know it from your story, your legends.”

He looks confused at that, “But I haven’t told a soul details about…”

“Koholint Island?” You supply, anticipating the shocked expression from the Veteran.

“Yeah, I know about it. I, I don’t know when, or who, but you must tell someone in the future about that adventure, as it’s readily available for anyone to read up on in my time.”

You finally break his gaze, feeling shameful for how much you know, and the fact that still this wasn’t the full truth. You didn’t just read about the Windfish, you had experienced the journey with him, through a lighthearted lens that skimmed the traumatic emotional downfall from the conclusion.

Legend seemed at a lost for words, staring at you with some emotion on his face you weren’t sure of. Confusion? Fear? Disgust? Panic?

He stutters out, “T-that’s…”

You interrupt him, not sure if you wanted to hear the rebuke you knew was coming. “I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything before. I-I wasn’t sure how you would all react, and I also didn’t realize some of what I knew was not common knowledge until I realized that some of you were omitting details or not saying anything when I knew you knew more, such as you not saying much when Wind talks about sailing and-”

“Stop.”

You snap your jaw shut, your accidental ramble cut off at the one command from Legend, voice raw with emotion.

Neither of you are looking at each other, though you are still in the same close proximity. And you wish you could just reach out and grab the hero in a hug and tell him how much you cared and still do care and in fact care so much more than you thought you would and that you regret sullying the authenticity of his trust for sharing the deepest parts of himself because you ripped that rug right out from beneath him.

That you took away his choice and he found out because you were humming a song in what you thought was a private moment.

Unable to bear the silence any more, you burst out again, “I’m sor-!”

“So you know it all.”

You swallow, looking up at Legend, he wasn’t much taller than you-your nose at his chin level-and nod.

He hums once, his expression is guarded and more flat than before, and seems to brace himself before asking.

“Was it real?”

“Yes!” You cry out, lunging forward, catching yourself on Legend’s chest, his hands moving to grasp your upper arms.

“Yes! It was real! They, they found the bones of the Windfish centuries later, in Wild’s time!”

Taken aback by the suddenness of your response, Legend’s constructed mask fell, once more revealing the cascade of emotions he held.

“What? It’s dead?!”

“Yeah, ask Wild for pictures of the Gerudo Great Skeleton, he’ll know what that means.”

Legend is taken aback at that seemingly random statement, but you continue.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way Legend, truly. I would have told you eventually, but, it’s a hard topic to bring up in normal conversation, right?”

He smiles at that, a soft one that makes your heart light up and reminds you just how close you are to the hero.

You are reminded that though he is smaller than the likes of Time or Warriors, he is very much a strong adventurer himself, and that is reflected in the strength of his grip. You can feel the callouses on his skin through your thin shirt, loaned from Wild, and shiver despite the heat emanating from his chest on your hands.

Legend makes the same realization as you, and takes a step back, releasing you. You shiver again, this time for real, and he frowns.

“We should get back.”

Agreeing, you look up at the sky, now dappled with twinkling stars. “Yeah, Time is probably wondering where we are by now.”

The stars provided just enough light that you could gather your stuff, and Legend waits for you by the edge of the clearing to do so. The moment of silence isn’t awkward, but pensive, as the two of you ponder the things revealed between you.

You want to say something, but before you can decide what you end up calling out, “Legend?”

The Hero of Legend turns to look at you, expression hard to read in the near total darkness. The only light provided was the stars, and the twinkling of the fairies all around the two of you.

“Yeah?”

You hesitate, not having planned what you wanted to say yet, before just saying exactly what was on your mind.

“You don’t need to talk to me about everything, but know that I am here for you. And, and that I care, about you, Legend…Link, so please come to me if I can help you with anything, okay?”

Your cheeks are burning by the time you finish your small statement, and you have to force yourself to watch Legend’s reaction.

He tilts his head, and smiles softly, exhaling through his nose lightly in amusement.

“Okay sure, but you’ll probably regret getting to know me, I’m not that nice.”

You smile and run to catch up to him. “Aww no I think you are! You’re totally the softest-hearted out of the bunch here, for surrrre!”

Legend scoffs and lightly shoves you as you both head into the woods back to camp. You wouldn’t say anything, but having Legend here while you walked in the dark woods definitely made you feel safe than otherwise.

Speaking of which…

“No you totally are a softie! I mean you came after me anyways, and probably was going to be hidden except for my humming.”

Legend folds his arms and clicks his tongue, “Ah that, well, actually…yeah I know I had told the old man off for not letting you go off on your own, but it was totally me that wanted to check anyways.”

Sensing the lie in his words, you elbowed the Veteran with a smirk on your face, “It was your idea you say?”

His own lips pulling into a playful smirk that had no right being as handsome as it was, and rolled his eyes.

“Yes it was, now believe me here!”

You laugh, the sound filling the night. Though your hand had been slightly tipped to your unbidden knowledge, it was overflowing anyways, and perhaps this was going to be more helpful than harmful.

____________________________________________________________________________

“You sure you didn’t just come to peep?”

“Oh shove off!”

Notes:

Lowkey I feel like this could be another fun series for the Chain, where it would be the same scenario for each Link, that they stumble upon the reader in a moment of privacy, and it reveals that they know more than they let on, but it just brings them and that hero closer together. (I mean when I was writing this I had to refrain from some cheesy "strange sadness as dusk falls" lines so the Twilight chapter would probably write itself lol).   Also I know this may come off as OOC for Legend? But I'm kinda reworking my impression of him since the latest update, as I realized I was focusing too much on one aspect of his personality (the prickly, angry part that lashes out to the world). And that part is still very much there, but there is more to him than that. And I want to make sure that when I depict Legend, it's with all of him, the experienced and capable Veteran, the goofy too-young hero who loves pranks, and the burnt out hero who is angry at the world for it's unfairness.

[unhonestlymirror]

Aaaaand welcome back to our show

Vatņiki of the week

1._ I don't know how to feel about this. On the one hand, the idea itself that Ukraine and Belarus are russia's sisters is extremely disgusting because russians have been killing, raping and torturing us since Middle Ages. On the other hand, I would love to see my countries throwing ruzzia off the giant mountain covered in snow.

2._ The author (russian, obviously) used the lyrics from the famous song "Bound by one chain" - about the horrendous circumstances people had to suffer from under soviet occupation. Very old and very fine song - which, unfortunately, was used in this drawing in a totally vulgar and cheap way (as expected from a russian).

"The song repeatedly mentions that wages were not dependent on labor results, which is why workers did not do their direct job responsibilities (“you can do the absence of work”, “here the measure of work is fatigue”). In its original form, the last line in the first verse looked like this: “Behind the red sunrise - a brown sunset”. The song's creators interpreted it as the future of russian society, which began with communism and could end with fascism." Apollo's gift of prophecy.

By the way, Baltics are "bros" for russia as much as Poland was a "bro" for Nazi Germany.

3._ I have nothing to say except for "retarded". You can be deported to Belarus very fast as a "threat to national security" if you dare to show something like this to Lithuanians.

4._ Op should change their nickname to @/ask-the-colossal-idiot. The way they willingly choose to call my people "soviet siblings" knowing perfectly well that we are suffering from russian missiles and polizai - this is fashist behaviour. Meanwhile, real Latvians are throwing down the monuments of russian writers like Pushkin - thus, this roleplay account is totally Out Of Character. :)

[phantomwarrior12]

War Wrought Reunions (Chapter 6)

She lit up.

There is no other way to describe the straighten of her spine, the raise of her shoulders, the unclench of her fists.

All because she saw him.

Crow balances his blade on the tip of his finger, sunset flickering along her frame and then back to her helmet visor.

Over his shoulder, there is shouting and tension but she doesn't seem to pay it any mind as she stops beside him. 

"Not sure I'd go in there if I were you," he quirks a smile and she tilts her head. Her visor drifts back to the commotion and then to him like a silent question.

"You caused quite the ruckus out there, Old Light."

She shrugs and he arches a brow. She doesn't care. Guess she really takes no matter the cost to heart. That shouldn't surprise him about her but still. The alliance is so fragile. Barreling in like that, killing all those Cabal - she's usually more pragmatic, usually so much more aware of circumstances.

Perhaps Savathûn has her wound up as well.

The Witch Queen escaped after the ritual. From what Crow had heard, she dumped Osiris there and vanished. Mara was pissed. Saint, relieved. But the Young Wolf? He can't get a read on her. 

So much has happened since the last time he was in the City. Has she really changed all that much?

Come on.

She beckons wordlessly with a jerk of her head, moving toward what very well could be the scolding of a lifetime.

Still, Crow flips his blade once more before sliding it into its sheath, trailing after her. As they approach, his eyes flicker over the various parties; the irritation from Caiatl is palpable but his Hunter doesn't pay her any mind.

She's either brave or very, very foolish.

"Guardian, what fortuitous timing." Zavala straightens when his gaze settles on the Guardian. As she comes to a halt beside Saladin, Crow moves behind her, his eyes flitting from the Commander to the Empress as he settles with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Indeed," Caiatl agrees, a degree of anger in her voice.

Crow snorts softly behind them all, drawing Saladin’s gaze and a stern, reprimanding look at that. The Gunslinger doesn’t react as the Iron Lord turns back, gazing at the Young Wolf expectantly.

And yet, she seems completely at ease. Her hands hang at her sides, her helmet angled up toward the Empress as Caiatl speaks.

“I’m fresh from performing Cabal funeral rites. Care to explain?”

As expected, the Young Wolf defaults to her Ghost answering for her. But as Ghost begins to speak, her gaze shifts abruptly to him, as if surprised or…expectant?

“Our condolences, Empress. Your people fought and died with honor. But they didn’t have to.”

Crow watches the Guardian look back at Caiatl, apprehensive, perhaps, beneath that helmet. She’s always so thorough in veiling her true emotions, certainly more than Crow would like. She’s indecipherable most times when he wishes she were transparent with him. 

Now is no different.

Especially not after Savathun’s reveal.

Caiatl’s frustrated growl draws Crow’s focus back to the present, away from gazing at the hood of his - well, of the Guardian.

“We can all prevent future losses if we choose to put the incident on Mars behind us and work together.” Zavala intercedes smoothly, taking a step forward and gestures in an almost placating manner with both hands extended palm-up at his sides. His weight shifts before he draws a holoprojector from his belt. The soft click of the device reveals a visual of - a Hive Knight? But larger, bearing a shield.

Crow’s brow furrows as he leans, shifting his weight to his right hip as he stares at the projection.

Is this what you fought aboard that ship?

“What we discovered there is a threat to both humanity and the Cabal.” Zavala says, gazing up at Caiatl intently.

The Empress angles her head, intrigue flashing across golden eyes. “You want my help.” Less a question, more a statement.

“Want is a strong word.” Saladin interjects, both Hunters’ focus shifting to him and then back to the Empress.

The Guardian has begun to grow restless, her fingers tapping lightly against her holster along her right hip. Crow’s eyes are drawn to the barely detectable disturbance. She wants to leave. To get back to the fight before things worsen.

But she needs an answer. To know whether or not she can rely on Caiatl and her forces in the coming fight. To know if she will have to kill more Cabal.

Caiatl’s chin lifts, a degree of smugness in her voice as she answers the Iron Lord’s correction. “You need my help.”

The Commander speaks up before Saladin can respond, “I don’t know how the Hive came into possession of the Light. Ikora will find out. But in the meantime…” His eyes lift to Caiatl.

“Invincibility lies in the defense; the possibility of victory in the attack.” Her hand clenches into a fist on the final word.

“Sun Tzu?” Saladin’s gaze lifts in barely contained surprise.

“I’ve read your texts.” The Empress returns cooly before her eyes moves back to the projected Lucent Knight, “You want us to hit them.”

“I need us to hit them. Hard.” Zavala corrects, deactivating the projection and clenches it in his fist. Caiatl meets his gaze steadily before she chuckles softly.

The decision is made, seemingly in a single glance between leaders.

“Then hit them, we shall.” She says, gesturing to her Psions and they turn, preparing for her departure.

The Commander and Saladin move past the Young Wolf, each giving her their own form of an expectant, chiding look before heading back toward the Courtyard.

The Guardian turns to leave as well but not before Crow steps forward, uncrossing his arms so he can catch hold of her forearm. His voice lowers as her head turns toward him curiously.

"Rooftop?" He asks and she straightens, giving a firm nod.

"See you there," he squeezes her gauntlet gently before letting her pass.

—

The sound of her boots alert Crow of his Guardian's approach. He tears his eyes away from the Traveler, pivoting to face her.

"It's good to see you again," he manages softly, taking a few steps toward her.

She almost lunges forward, he can read her well enough to note the restraint in her movements. Instead of an embrace, she gives him a nod, holding a few feet short of him.

Keeping her distance. Prepared for the worst.

He's the one who closes the distance, much to her surprise. He's the one who lifts her hood off and gently removes her helmet. Traveler, she looks exhausted. There's no spark in her eyes, but there are bags beneath them.

She looks ready to drop.

"You look like you've had a hell of a day."

"You try getting thrown out of a Throne World." Her head sags forward, resting on his shoulder as Crow chuckles softly.

The fact she’s so willing to ease into whatever form of contact Crow will allow is a good sign. It means their last parting wasn’t as…damaging as Crow believed it was.

"I'm sure the scolding you got didn't help matters." He teases gently, laying his hands on her waist. It's as if all the tension drains from her frame beneath his touch. They stay there for a long moment, basking in silence and a comfort both have been denied for a long time. But she doesn’t reach for him. Her hands hang at her sides, fingers partially curled as they simply stand there. When she starts to keel forward into him, his grip tightens to steady her. Her hands snap up, curling around the front of his shirt, "Whoa, easy." He adjusts his stance, "You sure you're alright?"

"Mhm," she mumbles, pressing into the crook of his neck. She seems to have caught herself but the exhaustion must be catching up to her.

"You should probably get some sleep," he adjusts his grip, scooping the Hunter up in his arms.

"I'm fine," she protests even as he sits with her in his lap.

Stubborn. Always so damned stubborn on everything.

"Yeah, fine isn't the word I'd use. How long has it been since you've gotten any sleep?"

"...next question." Her arms loop up around his neck and she makes herself comfortable. Her breath against the side of his neck is damned distracting when he’s trying to reprimand her.

"Guardian," he scolds lowly.

She squeezes him in response, outright ignoring the tone of his voice in favor of kissing the side of his neck innocently.

To hell with it. He doesn't have the heart to argue right now anyway.

"I missed you," he manages after a few minutes of silence.

Her answer that follows isn't verbal. She presses another light kiss to the side of his neck before snuggling into him. It's confirmation that he'd been missed as well - sometimes he wishes she'd just say it. 

She’s left so much unsaid between them but then again, so has he. He needs to broach Uldren's death. Her role. The memories - but she's so warm. Solid and comfortable and soothing tucked against him. He can swear he can make out a soft snore after a while.

The Guardian fell asleep. 

His eyes drop to her, tucking a few strands of hair back away from her face before tilting her head up.

Traveler, he has missed her.

He's still angry, at least, to some degree. But his need to be near her outweighs that resentment churning in the pit of his stomach - at least right now.

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. The tension around her eyes ebbs in her sleep even as the rigidity in her shoulders falters. She almost melts against him.

His thumb traces that familiar scar over her brow, taking his time with each marred inch. How many new scars? How many sleepless nights?

How much has his Guardian changed?

—

He can’t…how could any of them be okay with this?

Lucent Hive are a threat, yes. But they don’t deserve this. To be trapped in their minds while a Psion pushes and prods and seeks the answers they require.

Perhaps it reminds him too much of Savathûn's efforts in months past. The prodding questions. The uncomfortably insightful observations. The games she played with all of their heads.

With Crow, she was fairly straightforward after her Osiris guise was dropped.

But how much had she toyed with the Queen of the Reef?

How much did she drudge from the Guardian’s past to sew discourse and stagger Earth's champion?

How much damage did she do to the Vanguard's strongest warriors?

Regardless, their efforts and essential compromise of the Vanguard's morality is not something Crow can stand for. They're better than this, why would they stoop so low?

Crow doesn't care about the answer, only that he puts an end to this.

And there's only one woman he can rely on that for. But it isn’t easy to catch the Young Wolf before she departs each time. She’s usually in and out in a matter of minutes.

Thankfully, this time she’s waiting for whatever intel the Psion pulls and Crow has a chance to talk to her.

He moves up alongside her, bumping his shoulder into hers and her head lifts. 

Traveler, you look just as tired as you did the day I returned.

“Long time, no see, Guardian.” He says warmly.

She doesn’t have a direct say in any of this but…she does have the Commander’s ear. If she agrees with Crow, she can talk to him, maybe get him to put an end to this.

It’s inhumane and…the Vanguard shouldn’t stand for this.

Her head angles toward him, her arms uncross and the Guardian rests the back of her hand against Crow’s.

He's grateful she's returned to initiating points of contact. With the way things have been between them, he feared she'd keep her distance. That he would have to approach her each time and be the first to broach that invisible barrier.

He smiles over at her, turning his wrist so he can slot his fingers between hers. Her head tilts in surprise and he smiles softly.

You're always so…sweet about things like this. Like you don't expect it.

She surprises him by curling her hand around his and pressing into him. Her head rests on his shoulder and she breathes a weighted sigh though she feels as though she relaxes. As if his touch had brought her a respite from the weight on her shoulders.

Can he really add one more thing to her list of burdens?

No. It wouldn't be right. She is fighting a war on two fronts…Crow will deal with this his way.

For now, he holds her hand tightly and he waits with her. He savors these fleeting moments alone with her while she clings to his touch and no doubt, reminds herself what humanity feels like between stints of being the only weapon Earth has that can consistently slay gods. 

Lord Saladin emerges from the chamber probably closer to a half hour later but it feels so much shorter. A matter of minutes.

The Young Wolf lifts her head, straightens up but she does not pull her hand from Crow’s. If anything, she holds it tighter while her mentor addresses her.

His briefing is succinct. 

She has her next target. Another Light-recovery op. Another fireteam that never reported in.

The Iron Lord departs and Crow looks over at her.

She looks distracted, no doubt already going through logistics and potential strategies.

He loves watching her mind work but for now…for now he has to reason out his own strategy to handle this…delicately. But he's not about to let her leave without a proper goodbye.

Crow steps closer, drawing her gaze from the floor and she summons a dazed sort of smile. Her eyes are still distant but the moment he touches her cheek, they clear.

Emerald sparks and searches his feature. Her fingers curl tight around his and her smile is warmer as she inclines her head into his touch.

"One of these days, we'll have that chat you promised me."

The promise she'd made in a note she left for him during the Dawning. A vow to talk things through, mend whatever they have in - hopefully - its entirely.

"When the Witch Queen is dead." She squeezes his hand, "When we're safe."

There will be something else that rises from her ashes. Some other hellish nightmare they must endure while she tries to find a solution.

Crow knows this and yet, he gives her a smile and a nod.

"Gonna hold you to it, Old Light."

She leans in, resting her forehead against his and he can't breathe. She's - she's rarely that close. Close enough that a simple tilt of his head would allow him to do the one thing he's ached to do since the day they met.

And yet, he holds steady. He closes his eyes and enjoys her proximity - soft, warm breaths against his skin. Her Light dancing on the edge of his senses.

"Be careful out there," he manages at last; a breathless whisper against her lips.

"I'll see you soon, my Little Light." She lifts her hand, stroking her thumb over his cheek three fleeting times before she forces herself to withdraw. Before the only point of contact is firm grip on his fingers that all too quickly falters as she moves past.

Until he can no longer hear her footsteps and his palm feels oddly cold and heavy. Until he opens his eyes and he is alone save for the soft beeps echoing from the room before him.

Crow’s eyes drift to the door before him before he turns and moves toward the Psion chamber. He knows what he must do now. What the Vanguard needs to do.

This hell ends here and now.

—

It all went so wrong.

The Psion - he hadn’t meant to–

The Guardian had arrived in the aftermath. Saladin tearing the Gunslinger a new one over his actions with sparks dancing around them. The smell of death had begun to settle over steel paneling, fluids coating the floor.

It was awful.

And when all was said and done? When Saladin left and it was just the two of them?

Crow looked to his Guardian and there was no way to tell how she reacted. She stood there, steadily holding her weapon, taking in the carnage.

She never looked at him once.

He couldn’t stomach facing her - he couldn’t stand to see that hurt in her eyes again. So, he left. He planned to face Caiatl and make whatever amends he must to pay for what he’s done.

Crow never expected Saladin to offer himself up. To take the fall and leave with the Empress.

Zavala’s anger was tangible but here and now? With his Guardian a mere few feet away? The Guardian is silent and, to some degree, an unpredictable factor. She had been close to Saladin. He was her mentor, her friend, her confidant after Cayde’s passing.

And now Crow has taken Saladin from her, too.

“You’re angry with me too, aren’t you?” Crow keeps ample distance between himself and the Guardian.

Her eyes are locked on the axe leaning on the console, her fingers tracing along the pendant so slowly that it unsettles the Hunter.

“Say something.” He pleads, taking another step closer. Her head turns slightly in his direction with an abruptness that forces him to retreat again.

“These are for you,” she says at last, her hand falling away from the pendant as she steps away. He watches her cautiously - he can’t get a read on her. Usually there’s something; a twinge in her voice, a shift in her body that tells him exactly what she’s thinking but now? Now it’s impossible to decipher.

She’s standing off to the side, allowing him a path toward the items Saladin had left him but her head is still turned toward them. He thought she and Saladin didn’t get along - or perhaps it was the sort of friendship where she could get away with the pranks her Ghost described because Saladin allowed it. He knows her Young Wolf nickname stemmed from the Iron Lord - perhaps they were closer than he thought.

His feet carry him to the axe and he tentatively reaches out, fingertips grazing the cool metal. “I don’t deserve these.”

“He thinks you do.”

“Do you?” Sunset flickers to her visor.

“It doesn’t matter what I think.” She returns calmly but he can hear the resentment sparking on the edge of her voice.

“Guardian–”

She holds up a hand to silence him and his jaw clamps shut.

“Don’t do him the dishonor of refusing him this, Crow. He made a sacrifice for you. Don’t lament over it. Don’t…waste it.” Her head tilts toward the axe again, “Be the Guardian he believes you can be.”

She moves past him and his hand snaps out before he can think better of it. He grips her forearm, halting her but she does not meet his gaze.

“You used to have that kind of faith in me.”

She doesn’t answer, her head turning away a bit more so all that he can see is her hood.

“Do you really hate me that much? Have I fallen that far out of your favor?” He takes a step closer and her shoulders square.

“I need to–”

“Guardian,” he cuts in gently and her shoulders sag. Another step and his chest is inches from her pauldron. “Talk to me.”

“You won’t like what I have to say, Little Light.” She returns stiffly, lifting her head to meet his gaze.

“Is it that cruel?”

“It’s not kind.” She pulls her arm free of his grasp, “We’ll discuss this later.” She takes a step away, “For now…make it count, Crow. Saladin would want it that way.” 

She’s gone a moment later.

---

A week later…

She won’t look at him.

The Young Wolf is at the war table, going over god knows what but when Crow took a place just off to her right, her head didn’t lift. Her helmet remained a steadfast veil of her emotion yet Crow can sense the tension from here.

He went to take a step toward her and she turned away, starting toward the vault on the other side of the room. Crow follows but he can read the warning - her shoulders drawn back, her chin lifted; don’t touch me is clear yet the Hunter follows.

She’s at the console and he stops beside her, “Guardian?”

Silence, yet her helmet angles toward him a fraction while she continues sifting through the vault contents.

“How long are you going to be angry with me?” He asks softly.

Her fingers still against the panel and his eyes dart from her visor to her hand. He has her attention, perhaps that’s a good thing. His weight shifts as he looks back to her visor, “I didn’t–”

“Think.” She interrupts, lifting her head to meet his gaze for the first time, “You didn’t think, Crow. You were impulsive. Careless,” she turns to face him squarely and Crow’s shoulders draw back. “Selfish. There were other ways, other options but you thought you could handle it yourself.” She steps closer and Crow’s eyes drop; they’re inches apart and it’s not like any other time she’s ever been this close.

Solar sparks against his senses, a dangerous flare of her temper manifesting far too close to him. But he doesn’t retreat. He doesn’t dare. Because if he does, she’ll withdraw and Traveler only knows when he’ll see her again.

“And Saladin paid the price,” her voice is low and holds an edge he’s never heard from her before. It sets his nerves on edge - for the first time, he feels something akin to fear of the Young Wolf. A flare of memories from the Citadel - the last time these emotions had surfaced and Crow reaches for her instinctively as he always does when the memories flare.

But this time, this time she doesn’t hold him. This time, the Young Wolf pushes him back against the wall beside the vault panel, holding him there with a forearm over his chest and panic wells in his throat.

“Guardian–” He whispers, a desperate plea as his hands hang uselessly at his side.

She must see the fear in his eyes because her arm withdraws and she retreats a step. Her head diverts immediately, “I need time, Crow. I’ll see you again when I’m ready.”

Her hand comes down hard on the button to retrieve a weapon and it transmats into her hands. She slings it up along her shoulders and turns to leave.

“I’m sorry,” Crow chokes out, stumbling half a step away from the wall, willing himself through the panic.

Her head turns toward him for a moment before she nods and vanishes in a transmat.

He can’t breathe.

Crow sinks to a crouched position against the wall, sucking in an unsteady inhalation as his head falls into his hands.

I’m sorry, please–

The Young Wolf won’t return to the H.E.L.M. for weeks and when she does, Crow wishes it were under better circumstances.

—

Taglists are open! Send an ask/leave a comment to be added!

Forevers: @halo-2 @reaped-winnower @forgotten-by-the-stars @sugarcoated44 @cayde-6 @aetosavros​ @niemands-bibliothek @paracausal-hunter @silverhandsamurai @orbdotexe

Crow's Guardians: @thejediassassingirl

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

ideas you wanted ideas I deliver

that heart event where Lance is like, "wanna accompany me while I work in the Badlands?" But instead of the farmer, he asks Isaac because he needs someone to "watch his back", he really doesn't, he just wants Isaac to spend a day off work but the man refuses to take any vacation

I think Lance was talking about it in Highlands, not Crimson Baldlans. On the other hand, why not describe Badlands too?

Thank you for this fluff idea and enjoy!☺️🫰

"Right behind you"

________________________________________

"Such amazing landscapes... put me in a dreamy thoughts."

Isaac didn't understand what kind of "dreamy thoughts" could be set by the crimson horizon and endless sandstorm, where monsters from the darkest depths were swarming. Maybe, for example, mighty snow-capped mountains, or a calm peaceful green meadow covered with flowers of different shapes and colors - he can see the beauty and greatness in something like this. But here? This view at the Crimson Baldlans post is just sad and depressing. But Lance apparently knew better.

"And what do you dream about? About busty women and where to get drunk?"

The scarred adventurer's comment made Lance chuckle a little. But it wasn't mostly because of Isaac's rather peculiar sense of humor, but the fact that, having been a couple for about a year now, he hadn't stopped hiding his soft spot behind a crude mask of indifference and cold-bloodedness even in front of Lance.

"My oh my," Lance hummed, turning his violet eyes straight into a pair of Isaac's dark, anthracite eyes. "I don't recall you being the jealous type."

In the past, Isaac would have furrowed his eyebrows at his pink-haired lover's attempt to tease him, but it had become such a routine for them that now Isaac just rolled his eyes. In another exchange of barbs, it was a draw for these two.

"While such a view may, and deservedly so, be repulsive, I find Crimson Baldlans mesmerising in its own way." Lance once again directed his gaze to the horizon, watching the infernal sun slowly fade into the sunset.

"I've seen enough of that already. And..." Isaac's voice became half a tone quieter and his dark eyes filled with sadness, "when I look at the Badlands, all I see are their faces..."

Lance looked at him sympathetically. Seeing Isaac so vulnerable and grief stricken was painful. The ghosts of his fallen comrades still haunted him, and he still berated himself for failing to protect them. Well, Lance can't afford for his partner to go back to being in pain, can he? And it's better to start with a change of scenery.

"Well, then I suggest you enjoy some other, equally breathtaking view. Besides, I was going to ask for your help on my patrol anyway."

"How is it that the great second-in-command of the First Slash Clan and hero of noble bloods can't handle a couple of slimes in the woods?" Anything to take his mind off the intrusive thoughts and faces of dead adventurers, anything, get him out of here, this is unbearable, anything...

"I wouldn't call them an inconsequential problem. The monsters there are quite a threat, they are stronger and more ferocious than their counterparts in the Mines. There's a one particular monster at the top of Highlands that we've called 'The Bully'. And if you're interested, you can come with me and find out why."

Both men stood silent for half a minute before Isaac finally said: "Alright. Let's go." Lance smiled softly.

"Take my hand. And no need to make that face, dear," the gallant adventurer laughed slightly as his dark-haired lover rolled his eyes again.

It was one thing to teleport yourself to the right place with a totem, and quite another to feel the threads of someone else's magic surrounding you for a moment.

Lance was right - the forest area in the Highlands was truly mesmerising and alive.

"Ah, now that's a view..." Lance took a deep breath of fresh air, enjoying the light breeze of the spring wind.

"...Yeah, really beautiful." Isaac's gaze, though, was directed at Lance himself, who was distracted by considering the terrain.

"I meant the scenery, my dear."

Or not so distracted.

Isaac immediately decided to change the subject, feeling his cheeks flush slightly at the realisation that Lance had caught his gaze. "So are we going after your 'Bully' or not?"

"This way," the pink-haired man's smile grew even bigger, and he strode forward down the familiar path while Isaac walked behind him.

Whoever this Bully is, he wouldn't dare touch Lance, Isaac thought, keeping up with his lover and occasionally grumbling at the thick bushes that were always snagging his already battered cloak.

[lostcauses-noregrets]

Lost, why do people even criticize Erwin for saying, "I don't know and I won't until it does," when Levi asks what he'll do when his dream comes true. This is the most realistic answer to a question like that, because really, how would he know? People make plans as they go, and considering how dedicated Erwin is to his dream, of course, he can't think of something else at the moment. Also, when Levi asks him about his future plans after the basement, he says he'd be eliminating threats beyond the walls, and people take this as him being clueless and blinded by his goal that he hasn't planned anything yet. It's like after he died, they actually did anything else, lol. They literally did exactly what he said he'd do; deal with the threats from outside, those who "wanted them dead," as Erwin said. I'm sorry for the little rant but I see this everywhere, and it's been annoying me to no end.

I feel your pain Anon.  This idea that Erwin cared nothing about humanity, and that he would simply have given up after reaching the basement is not only one of the most egregious misrepresentations of his character, it’s also a very bizarre conclusion to draw from the story. 

Erwin spent his entire life pursuing his dream of proving his fathers theory that the king had altered the memories of people within the walls, and that other people still existed outside the walls who had hostile intent towards them. The discovery of Grisha’s diaries confirmed that everything Erwin and his father had hypothesised was correct, not only that, they also provided the key that had the potential to free the people of Paradis from the walled world.   The idea that Erwin would have just shrugged his shoulders at that point and wandered off into the sunset is just nonsense. That knowledge would have galvanised Erwin and, as you rightly pointed out, he already had a plan - eliminate the threat posed by the people outside the walls and take it from there, which is exactly what Hanji and the others tried to do. Sheesh. 

@tsuki-no-ura has written some excellent posts (X, X) about this recently, which I can highly recommend. I particularly like these points: 

Erwin wanted more than just to know if what his father said was true. He wanted to know what the “memories of the world” that King Reiss erased from their memories were. This implies an intention not just to know about, but to understand and figure out what was out there, not just sort of know that it existed. “Eliminating threats” speaks directly of bringing the fight out to their enemies instead.

And…

It makes even less sense when one considers what actually lay outside of the walls. What’s outside fits in exactly with Erwin’s hypothesis, whereas it is a crushing of Armin’s dreams because it turns out that it wasn’t an unexplored wilderness that awaited them but a populated world. I just can’t see how Erwin’s dream would die when it would have been the equivalent of hitting the jackpot. On the other hand Armin’s dream did actually die when it turned out to be enemies beyond the sea (but is something that Erwin already knew). He can also no longer imagine and daydream now that the reality of what the world is actually like has hit.

Whether all these careful explanations of the text actually change any minds remains to be seen, but I live in hope!

[charleslee-valentine]

Be My Valentime

Ship: Franknub

Word count: ~2,900

Warnings: Implied abuse

______

A piece of printer paper, some paint, and a box of crayons. Nubbins has his supplies laid all out on the table, making a craft very different from his usual string and bone art structures.

It’s for his friend, the next door neighbor. His very bestest friend.

The paper, a little stiff from being painted red, is decorated with little drawings and words that should be special for his friend. Only for him. It’s the kind Nubbins don’t want nobody else to see.

Every time one of his pesky brothers walks past, he lays all his weight on the table, hiding it under his chest and bent elbows. Problem is, he accidentally got too involved in the color of a certain sunflower drawing, he don’t even notice when his twin comes up behind him and peers over his shoulder.

Bobby speaks suddenly loud, right there in his ear, “W-Whatcha drawin’?”

Nubbins’ heart must jump halfway to the ceiling from how spooked he gets, but he don’t give up hiding it, “Nuthin.”

That only gets his brother's interest more. Bobby leans over him more, half his weight on Nubbins’ chair now, “Lemme see!”

Nubbins gnashes his teeth, trying to bite, and argues back, jus’ as loud and echoey in the high ceilinged dining room, “N-No!”

They gets a stern warning from big brother in the next room, “You boys cut that shit out or else I’ll..“

They don’t listen to the whole threat. A single, quiet-as-a-mouse moment passes ‘tween the Sawyer twins. Nubbins looks at Bobby, and Bobby at Nubbins, both of ‘em starin’ hard. It’s the latter that lunges first.

Bobby gets only one teeny corner of the card in his grabby fist ‘fore Nubbins yanks the rest back, crumbling up what he gets and tearing it ‘til it’s nothing but ribbons of colored paper.

A bold smile sits there proudly on his face. His twin though, he looks just kinda confused after watching Nubbins kill his own art piece like that.

“What was that f-for?”

“I-I didn’t want you to see.” Is a solid answer for Nubbins. All that needs said.

Only there’s something else even more simpler running through Bobby’s head. He looks side to side, a few times, ‘fore getting right close to whisper, “W-Was it a uh.. a dirty drawing?”

Nubbins’ face must turn pink as a summer sunset. First instinct that comes is to whack Bobby upside his smug, empty head.

“No! Sh-Shut up!”

Oh but that rotten thought has done planted itself firm, no amount of denial from Nubbins could change Bobbys mind. The asshole just laughs and laughs ‘til he’s turnin’ funny colors too, “It was! I-It was!!”

Makes him so mad he just wants to-

The twins end up in a tussle on the floor. Ain’t the place for it, there in the dining room, ‘cause it’s too close to being caught by Drayton. So’s they take it to the front of the house instead, crashin’ out past the heavy curtains they got hung up to keep the elements out, hot or cold.

Some time in all the chaos, Bubba’d come in to borrow the crayon tin. Really, it belonged to them anyhow, since they was the one t’ find it at the station, when it got left behind by some other little kid.

Their picture was of themself and their pet Missy chicken, with little hearts in their favoritest colors all around. Drayton done took it to place with pride on the wall in the living room, next to all the framed old pictures of the house and family members long since passed, and Bubba’s other art pieces.

That was how the boys got caught still wrastlin’.

Later on, Nubbins is snug in his bed with a bruise on his cheek.

Normally, he’d be grumpy, at least at first while the dumb thing had to settle inta his skin and heal. Not today. Today’s special, and this bruise is kinda funny actually.

Two little fingerprints by his jaw bone, ‘cept’n they don’t look like just that, these here come together and makes a purple-ish blue heart.

Nubbins presses down on it and thinks of all the hearts he’d drawn on his special piece of paper earlier. Of the friend he’d been dedicatin’ all his loves to. He decides he don’t just wanna lay here and think so much no more.

Careful as a mouse sniffin’ poison, he crawls outta his bed and sneaks his boots back on, tryin’ to be quiet so he won’t wake his brother.

Don’t work.

Bobby ain’t need much sleep, but when he’s out, he’s out hard, so he spooks bad. He sits bolt upright, them pale and foggy eyes of his struggling to make much out in a the pitch dark room with the curtains drawn and everything.

“W-Who’s there?”

Nubbins whispers back, lettin’ the first thing that comes to mind spill out, “Ain’t nobody.”

Bobby’s sleepy, equally bruised face scrunches up, “You sure?”

Even though his twin won’t be able to see it in the dark, Nubbins nods. “Ain’t n-nobody but the.. uh.. the dream fairy. Go to b-bed.”

“O-Okay.” Bobby agrees without a care and tosses back in bed, snoring like a damn bear in a cave ‘fore Nubbins even finished the laces on his next boot.

It’s funny, messin’ with him when he’s like that. Nubbins giggles about it under his breath, all quiet so nobody’ll hear and bust his butt again for what he’s ‘bout to do.

There’s a tree close to their window. The boys knows that well, but Drayton never found it out, so they never had to switch rooms. Now that he’s real tall, it’s easy just to open the window a bit and swing a leg out to the branches.

Every time, his stomach drops a little bit, but he’s yet to fall the whole height down. He’s just never successfully climbed the full way down neither. Maybe a quarter of the way there Nubbins tumbles ass first out the tree in a mess of arms and legs all a-flailin’ about.

No way old man would’ve missed a sound like all that, with them branches snapping and such.

Knowing his ass depends on it, Nubbins runs. Like a bat outta hell he runs straight to the neighboring property, finding the back like he always does, and calling up for his friend to invite him in ‘fore it’s too late.

“Hey! Fr-Franklin!”

After just a moment, the window and the shutters swings open. Franklin's head and his pretty, curly puff of hair appears in the opening, “Nubbins? That your little ass down there?”

“Y-Yeh, ‘s me. I-I made you a..a Valentimes.” Nubbins declares it proudly.

His card was for the special day that Franklin teached him all about. A holiday all’s about love and pretty things! ‘Course the first thing he wanted to do was make his best friend a special gift for it.

Franklin can’t accept it yet from all the way up high. He explains, “You gonna have to come up t’ me. I don’t got my chair.”

That’s all the more permission Nubbins needs to grab onto the ivy and scale the house. It’s easy work, after so long of nobody taking real good care of the property. The house is gettin’ better on the inside, but the outside sure is still ugly. Easy to climb on though!

Nubbins half tumbles into Franklin’s window, while he sorts out how to unfurl himself from one last twisted vine, asking up on the state of his missing wheels, “Where’s’d they g-go?”

Franklin smiles, but it’s not one of those weird ones that makes Nubbins feel silly for asking questions. It’s a happy smile.

He points to the discarded wheelchair off to the side of the room, “It’s here. Just c’ain’t get in ‘ere all by myself. Or roll my jolly green ass down the steps, now can I?”

Nubbins’ hands get happy, giggling just at the thought, “Y-You’d look like me, then.”

If Franklin hit his face on the way down, they could match, and have identical little heart shaped bruises. Maybe next beating, it would be a cut, and then Nubbins could toss Franklin down the steps, and they could have matching scars instead.

All of it makes him giggle and shake his hands about it.

But Franklin’s distinct smile has left his features behind. Now he looks concerned, “Damn it critter, who kicked your ass this time?”

“Oh, m-my brothers.” Nubbins explains, not seeing the issue, even less so when Franklin’s expression turns surprised. It’s not new that big brother gets mean. He never understands why Franklin don’t just get that it’s no big deal. So he explains again, “Well it was.. i-it was Bobby first, ‘n then I gots in trouble f-fer the noise a-and Drayton got me good too. S-So I wouldn’t do it again.”

“That’s no good, Nubbins… I wish they wouldn’t hurt ya like that.” Franklin argues anyways.

It’s not even that bad though. Ripping his heart out and stomping on it on Valentime’s is what hurts. Nubbins pouts a little, arms crossed and voice higher, “B-Bobby didn’t mean t’!”

A moment.

“And Drayton?”

Nubbins doesn’t wanna think about dumb old Drayton right now. He refuses to, even.

Silence. He won’t even look at his Franklin. His thoughts gets frantic trying to think of just somethin’ other than what Franklin wants to talk about, anythin’ but that. Then he remembers why he came over.

A tiny burst of happy comes back into Nubbins’ heart, as he shares, “Oh! I r..remembered! I g-got your Valentime!!”

“Let’s see it then- oh.” Franklin watches as the sprinkles of colorful paper are dumped into his open hand in a little pile.

His expression is unclear, so Nubbins feels compelled to explain, feels little tingles of nervous nipping at his spine.

“I-It used ta be one piece, but..but I had to rip it up c-cause Bobby was g-gonna look!”

Franklin looks down at the mess of a gift in his hands. Nubbins gets twitchy and anxious, shifting closer, tapping his fingers, craving a good answer so, so badly.

His best friend looks him in the eye, “Thank you, Nubbins. Really. It’s a good card.”

Nubbins can’t help that he gets excited. He raises his arms up and shakes them, letting out the tension that was building up in his bones. He points to the once-Valentime mess, “It said uh.. well I-I don’t really remember what it said but.. y-you like it?”

“Well sure!” Franklin agrees again, wearing something like pride in his face, mixed with happy.

Nubbins’ movements accidentally bump some of the paper scraps out of Franklin’s hands and onto the floor. He almost freezes, making messes is bad, liable to get his butt beat. But Franklin doesn’t get mad. He laughs, and warns, with nothing but playful in his tone, “Ope, ope, careful now!”

It’s all a lot to feel at once.

Nubbins gets as close as he can to Franklin like this, and lays his head on him, hidin’ from the big emotions behind a soft denim shirt and his own hair. Franklin doesn’t do anything but let him, which is fine and all, but Nubbins wants more. Impatient, he pulls for a second to pick up Franklin’s hand, dumping more paper pieces, and he guides it to his hair. He wants touches.

Franklin gets the hint eventually and pets his hair like Nubbins would pet a sad little roadside critter. Slowly, he eases back down and just lays all on his best friend. Part of him wants to bite the fabric of Franklin’s shirt, but last time he tried that he got a scolding. Instead, he chews on his own hair, focusing on doin’ something instead of feelin’ all the feelings.

It’s eventually Franklin who speaks up, never sermon’ to like the silence too much. “I like it when you visit me.”

That gives Nubbins an idea. Excitedly, he declares, “Y-You could l-live with me, a-and we could be visiting a-all the time!”

“I’m sorry, Nubbins but-“ That’s enough. His spirits already extinguished, his idea squashed. He cuts Franklin off.

Nubbins wouldn’t say he’s poutin’, but he ain’t smiling no more either. “D-Don’t be mean.”

“I won’t… I just… You know how it is. With your big brother.. I don’t really think I’d fit in there is all.” Franklin explains his side soft and quiet, trying not to poke the upset bear maybe.

Too bad. This bear is fully frustrated and ready to pounce, “Stop it. I-I don’t like you sayin’ that.”

That’s the end of it. Franklin does stop just like he asked. “Alright.”

Nubbins squeezes him tighter. He doesn’t like where that left off. Bad, bad thoughts start to replace the happy ones.

His Franklin, his bestest friend in the whole wide world of Texas, wouldn’t never hurt him the way big brother does. ‘Cept’n the worries is still there anyway.

Nubbins doesn’t lift his head, but he asks, “Is you m-mad at me?”

“Nope.” Franklin denies automatically.

Just in case that isn’t the end of it, Nubbins asks to clarify, knowing better than to assume anythin’ his stupid brain can’t comprehend. “Bu..But?”

Not even raisin’ his voice, Franklin just clarifies, “But nothin’, Nubbins. I ain’t mad. Not at you, not ever.”

That there is almost enough to lift his spirits. Nubbins at least is encouraged to switch the subject, “I-It’s still Valentimes, right?”

Franklin sort of shrugs, as much as he can with Nubbins’ weight on him, “I’m pretty sure, yeah.”

When the big feelings come this time, Nubbins don’t extinguish them all out, he puts it into one big action instead of the little ones in his body. Not for the first time, but maybe for the first where it meant something this special, Nubbins kisses Franklin.

It’s just quick, one tiny press of the lips more than anything else. He probably mostly misses Franklin’s too. Don't make it feel any less nice in his heart.

“That your real gift, huh?” Is what Franklin asks, pink in the face and soundin’ a little breathless. Nubbins doesn’t have words just yet. He nods, so Franklin shows his thanks with another kiss, though this one is to Nubbins’ cheek, “Well, thank you.”

Nubbins waits, for just a minute, but gets frustrated quick. Franklin isn’t doing what he’s supposed to.

“Where.. W-Where’s my present?”

“Go get that little box over there.”

Franklin points to the desk he’s got pushed up to the wall on the far side of the room. There’s a little white box no bigger than the palm of his hand with a burlap ribbon around it sits there.

Sneaky as a fox, even though he already got his permissions, Nubbins goes and snatches it up, givin’ it a little shake. It don’t make much noise, so he looks to Franklin, guessing with the limited number of clues what it could be in his head.

Understanding the silent conversation, Franklin allows him, “Go on. Open it up.”

Nubbins pulls the ribbon and sends it falling undone to the floor before either can blink. Maybe from excitement, or nerves, or just from the way he is, his hands shake so much it takes a few tries to retrieve the thin cord of a present from inside.

His face turns sort of blank instead of happy, showing his confusion, “Wha-What is it?”

“A new necklace. It’s some kind of leather so it won’t bust like your old one. Figured you could add your little charms and stuff.” Franklin explains it, but instead of the joy of clarity crossing Nubbins’ face, he only gets grumpier.

He crosses his legs and just sits, right there in the middle of the floor. Poutin’.

Franklin tries really, really hard not to let out a little laugh. This is serious business, even if Nubbins looks adorable like that, “What’s the matter?”

“My dumb old present was br-broke.” Nubbins huffs.

So he thinks a handwritten card don’t compare to a store bought gift just cause it was all ripped up. But he was so bouncy when he got here. Franklin don’t care none, expecting it to not be torn up would’ve honestly been the only thing more unfair’n Nubbins’ current self-depreciation.

“Hey now, it’s alright.” Franklin assures, and seeing Nubbins about to shake his head, only doubles down, “You could always make another!”

That grabs his interest again. “And th-then you’ll have two!!”

Franklin looks at the pile of scrap in his hands. There’s a piece with two little sunflowers on it still intact. He takes it and puts it in his shirt pocket, presses it down, then gives Nubbins his biggest, most loving smile.

“One for hangin’ up, and one for keepin’ close to my heart.”

Nubbins just bursts with big emotions, and good ones at that. His hands flutter like hummingbirds over sweetwater, and he wiggles side to side.

“This is my f-favorite Valentimes e-ever!”

It’s also his first, but that’s not really the point, so Franklin don’t say a word.

His heart’s gone soft for that boy. If he knew it weren't too much to feel at once, he’d tell him he loved him right then and there. Instead, he settles on agreeing about the holiday.

“Yeh. S’my favorite too.”

[littlebitsalt]

The Tale of Catfish

Yandere mysterious creature? × (female) reader

Summary: you fall for a mysterious creature.

drawing(the one at the top)

She had interest for non-human creatures rather than humans. Being a daughter of a adventurer's daughter, she herself loved to observe creatures from nature. Her favorite species was eleves, who even her father haven't met still. When she went out playing in the wods she would always search for elves.

Her father often told her stories about creatures he met throughout his journey. He told tales about dwarfs, fairies and other mythical creatures. He sometimes told her a old tale about so called 'demons'. How demons pry people's attention and desires, thoroughly make plans to trick humans, and try their hardest to make someone miserable. Stories about demons made her worried that she might get tricked by one of those wicked demons, but her father comforted her by saying only people with neverending thirst gets fooled.

Years passed, and the adventurer's daughter started working as a herbalist in town. She got to meet creatures she heard as tales while searching for herbs. She befriended all creatures she met and enjoyed their presence.

One day, she asked one of her goblin friends,

"Have you ever seen an elf?"

Her friend shook his head.

"I wish to meet an elf before I die. I have only seen them in books. I want to know about them so bad."

"If you're desperate, I recommend going to the deepest part of this forest when fall comes. Some elves tend to come here to appreciate the colorful scenery."

"Won't they run away if a human comes near?"

"They would, if they think of you as a threat. So I don't recommend rushing at them without any indication. You know how elves react, right?"

She nodded.

She waited patiently for the green leaves to get stained red and brown. When time came, she got ready to travel into the woods. She packed a some snacks just in case she's hungry, and a few papers to writed down any information of elves.

After walking for some time, she arrived at the center of the forest. There weren't as many trees as other areas, and sunlight came through and touched her skin. She hided herself in bushes, waiting for elves to come. She waited until the sunlight soothing her skin got weak. However, she couldn't she any elves enjoying the forest.

It was almost dark, and she decided to try again tomorrow and packed her bags.

She came again for days. She waited until the sun set, and went back home when it got dark.

One day, she packed more than snacks and papers to the forest. She had a lamp, a small tent, and dinner packed in her huge bag. After sunset, she took out her tent and placed it close to the bush she was lurking in. Then she started a fire and cooked food she prepared earlier.

"Hey."

She looked around, slightly frightened because of the sound. She quickly got back to making dinner when she found nothing around.

The smell of her food spread all around. It was sure that she was making some kind of stew. It smelled really good, like she put some of her special herbs.

She ate her food quickly and got into her tent. It was a shame not seeing her more, but she's better in her cozy sleeping bed.

Morning came quickly, and she got out of her tent with her hair bushy.

She looked around to find someone outside her tent.

"Who.. who are you?"

She asked.

I turned around, to show my face. She looked shocked.

"Are... are you an elf?"

I nodded.

"Really..? You look so.. wonderful."

She couldn't take her eyes off me. She asked if I'm the only elf around, how elves live together, what elves do in a daily basis, and if I come here regularly.

"Will you come tomorrow?"

She looked into my eyes.

"Of course. Are you going to stay today?"

She nodded.

She talked how she's always wanted to meet an elf. She was fascinated with long ears and perfect blonde hair. She talked about how it was her life long dream to see a elf and how she cherishes every kind of creatures.

"What about demons? Do you think they are a threat?"

"Um.. From the stories I've heard, they seem dangerous. But I won't be tricked by demons. I doubt demons will ever get interest in me. I've never stolen or lied just for my greed. I've never done anything that could attract a demon."

--

She came to visit her friend at the center of the forest when she had no work to do. She described how her life was in the village, peaceful but quiet, nothing much to do in a small town. Although she loved her friends and family, there was something whispering in her to go and adventure the world.

Her elf friend, Garrett, always listened to her attentively even though the things she say would be so typical compared to an elf like him.

Garrett rarely talked about his personal life. When she question him how he spends his time, he would often tell her how normal elves do in such situation.

She met Garrett at the forest again. She prepared some herbs and fruits for him to enjoy.

"Has anything been bothering you lately?"

Garrett asked.

"Actually.. I want to leave town for a bit. Not like escaping from reality, more like um.. traveling. I've been struggling to tell my family and friends that."

"I thought your father was a traveler."

"He was. But now he prefers his loved ones living close to him. Apparently, he's now 'done' with adventuring. And I assume that he'll never let me go alone on a trip outside of town. He'll faint if I ever ask him that."

"Then will he allow you to go if there's someone traveling with you?"

Garrett moved closer. She could feel the tip of his fingers touching her hand.

"Depends. If my dad trusts whoever's coming with me."

"What about me? I can go with you."

"Really? You'll do that?"

"Why not? I have nothing to do anyways, and traveling with you seems like a good idea."

Surprisingly, her father allowed her adventure. He wasn't curious about the man who will be with her for some time. He didn't question a thing about the person her daughter trusted.

She packed her bags and got ready for her trip. She said goodbye to her friends and told them she would be gone for a few months maybe years. She thanked her goblin friend for telling her how to meet an elf. Her friends encouraged her to travel lighthearted, and made sure she's at her best condition until the trip.

She met Garrett outside of town. His blonde hair was brown, and his sharp ears was changed into a human one.

"Can elves disguise themselves? I didn't know that at all."

She said.

Garrett explained that elves tend to disguise themselves as humans or other creatures because they do not want people hunting or staring at them.

"Have you thought of any places to go?"

Garrett asked.

She shook her head. She didn't have any exact plans ahead, she only thought of meeting new people, new culture and fascinating nature.

"Then can I lead the way? I have a place I have in mind. It's a remains of a city. I heard that there are remains of things used by elves."

She nodded. Garrett was someone to trust. She could acknowledge that he was very discreet, careful and clever even though he never bragged about it. He knew so much; from ancient cities to evolution of creatures, which is hard to learn unless you're born in a venerable family.

She followed Garrett for hours, walking through the forest and high hills. The sun was slowly setting and her legs were shaking. Garrett encouraged her to keep on walking a little longer since there was a small village nearby.

"We can sleep in an inn close by. It's close. We just have to walk for a few more minutes."

Even though Garrett's words gave her some kind of encouragement to walk more, she couldn't help but get slower every minute. She haven't walked a long distance in a long time. The only time she wandered around was when she walked through the forest to meet Garrett. Noticing her fall behind, Garrett held her hand and led her to the village.

The sun was no longer in sight when she and Garrett reached the inn, but the light was shining bright inside the inn. Cheerful music was playing in the background, and people were drinking and dancing with each other.

Garrett booked two rooms and gave on of the keys to her.

"Are you going straight to your room?"

She asked. She was still holding his hand.

"Those people might do something dangerous. We'll never know. It's better to stay inside, both of us. And weren't you extremely exhausted?"

Garrett tried to drag her to their room, but she resisted.

"I'll hang out for a bit and go to my room."

"Then I'll stay too."

"No, it's okay. You should rest. I won't be here much, I just want to find out what music they are playing."

"Alright then. Let's meet tomorrow."

She wandered around watching people dance and sing along to the joyful music. She was just sitting there when a man approached her.

"You're not from here, aren't you?"

You nodded.

"I'm Alfred. Are you here alone?"

"No, I'm exploring this country with my friend. My friend went straight to bed."

"Oh. Do you want to dance with me? You won't be having much fun alone."

"I want to, but I promised my friend I'll go to my room as soon as possible."

"Your friend won't know if they are asleep. You won't be experiencing this kind of music and festival anywhere else, so.. you should give it a chance."

She accepted his offer after some considering.

She didn't regret taking Alfred's offer. He was a nice guy with wit. Very different from Garrett. Alfred wasn't the smart type but he really had talent to make people laugh.

Alfred eventually told her the best places to go in an adventure. Turns out, he was also an adventurer. He was living in this village for some time to make money for his next trip.

She said farewell to Alfred and went to her room. She fell asleep in a few seconds.

Next day, she told Garrett about Alfred. She told that Alfred was a really nice guy to talk with. Garrett didn't say much about that, which was surprising to her. She thought Garrett liked new friends.

"Let's leave as soon as we're done having breakfast."

Garrett said while eating his bowl of breakfast.

"Why the rush? You said we had plenty of time yesterday."

"I had a change plans. We can reach the remains faster if we take the boat going across the river."

She was not feeling good because of leaving the inn without a single word to Alfred. But Garrett seemed to be perfectly fine, even acting more energetic.

She followed Garrett along the road and before lunch time, she was able to see boats on the river.

There was time left before their had to get on the boat, so she and Garrett went to explore the town.

Shopkeepers were selling goods they got from other cities and counties sailing along the river. She was amazed to see such fascinating things.

A vibrant colored accessory caught her eye. A flower she seemed to not recognize was embroidered neatly at the top and pink strings were made into a ribbon. She bought two, and gave one to Garrett.

"Here. It's a present. It's not much compared to the things you did for me, but I hope you like this accessory."

She noticed Garrett's cheek getting color as he was smiling. She smiled also as she was relieved.

--

The boat ride was uneventful, and most of the time, Garrett and her spent time talking to each other. Talking to Garrett made her feel like there was nothing but him in the moment. He had this aura that keeps her eye on him.

Garrett still did not talk much of his past. It was a little skeptical that he wasn't telling anything about his past. But what can she do? She had no idea how to prevail his past and she trusted him anyways.

However, such behavior was causing her a great deal of problem.

This man, who looks like an elf, was nothing like an elf. He was full of lies in every way possible, and his words were full of sweet lies.

If only she realized that.

Garrett sent her back to her room(somewhere in the boat), and he waited her to get asleep. After he was certain that she was deeply in sleep, he opened the door to her room.

Garrett looked around the room to see if she had something from 'Alfred'. Alfred caused Garrett distress in the morning. When Garrett found out he was having fun with her, he couldn't bear to stay in the inn more.

Garrett liked her attention. Her way of treating others(especially animals) challenged him to get her to treat him nice like she did to others. He did not want any man stealing her attention away from him.

Garrett paced around the room. It was his first time making someone desire for something other than money or honor. Greed was easy. There were plenty of people ready to take action to fulfill their greed when he said something that would encourage them.

She already desired to meet an elf. Actually, as Garrett thought of it, it all started with her wanting to meet an elf. Garrett noticed her in the wood in search for an elf, and decided to trick her by disguising himself as one. But after time, Garrett wanted more desires from her. He wanted her to desire him not an elf.

Spliting her from her loving village was easy. Humans only needed some lies to let her go on an adventure. Even her father couldn't stand against Garrett's powers.

Garrett sat beside her. She was sleeping quietly.

When they reach the 'remains' all of this would be over. He wouldn't have to care about other things interrupting them. His final lie would be over.

Night was long. Garrett watched her sleep for some time and went back to his room.

She shivered as he sat beside her. What was he doing, entering her room in the middle of the night?

She slowly opened her eyes without moving her body. She could see the silhouette of a man pacing back and forth. She remained still until he went out of her room.

The next day, Garrett knocked on her door.

"Breakfast is ready. Change your clothes and come out to eat."

She changed her clothes and went out to find Garrett getting breakfast the sailors brought.

She say down with Garrett on the corner of the boat.

"Hey, did you come into my room last night?"

She asked without hesitation.

"You.. you weren't asleep? I'm sorry if you were uncomfortable, but I only wanted to surprise you with a jewel."

"A jewel?"

"I got it from my hometown, and I decided it would suit you since you're my most precious being."

"That's.. sweet, I guess.."

She was still suspicious, but she felt a little bad for doubting him. After all, he only did the best things someone can do for you. It would be a shame to doubt someone like him.

A couple of days went by fast. Garrett lead the way, and she followed. In the 10th day, she began to see structures peeping through bushes.

Garrett set up a camp while she prepared dinner. Like before, nothing much happened and small talk went by.

Garrett insisted she should sleep beside him. He said it was too dangerous for someone like her to sleep far away from him. There were too many threatening creatures was what he thought.

She couldn't sleep that night. Her heart couldn't stop beating.

She stayed still when she felt something moving beside her. To her surprise, it was Garrett. Garrett wasn't sleeping. In fact, he wasn't asleep in he first place.

She remained still while Garrett was moving around.

She shivered when Garrett got close to her. He was creepying her out. Again.

She could feel him getting closer to the point she could feel his breath.

She did not know what to think. Garrett was definitely acting strange.

She closed her eyes and prayed that he would go to sleep.

--

Garrett assumed she knew by now. He knew she's dull, but the things he had done was definitely enough for her to notice.

It didn't matter though.

Today was the day.

Everything about him that she knew was made up. He was never an elf. Actually he was the very opposite.

Garrett held her hand. She seemed surprised, but he didn't care.

Garrett took her to the remains. Garrett held her hand harder.

"Garrett, is this the place you told me..? I don't think this is where elves lived."

"It's not."

She seemed surprised of Garrett's words.

"Can you let go? You are holding my hand too hard.."

"No."

Garrett started dragging her to a what seems like a temple.

"Garrett, what are you doing?"

Instead of answering, Garrett dragged her harder into the temple. She tried to resist, but his grip was too strong.

"Let me go!"

She shouted.

"It's too late. Give up."

"Where are you dragging me to?"

She was now scared.

"Somewhere far from here."

"No..! I don't want to leave.."

She tried hard to resist. She tried to kick him and hit him, but nothing worked.

"You are too dull for this world. What did you expect, an elf to magically appear in front of you? Follow me, and I'll take care of you."

Garrett held her hand and took her somewhere no other creature can find.

Note: i think my fics are getting repetitive. I'll dig into more yandere stuff in my next fic😔 thanks for reading this