#it's just. the concept. it's taken me by the shoulders and shaken me.

[theminecraftbee]

“Somehow, I doubt fae normally go around stealing babies by accident,” Skizz says. “Like, I know you dudes are bad news, but I feel like if you were that bad of news, we’d know more about it.” “Well, I didn’t exactly have a replacement lined up, since I didn’t mean to steal the baby,” Zedaph says. “Normally when fae steal babies, they have a replacement for them ready. Most of us Fair Folk aren’t exactly equipped for baby-raising, you know. We don’t normally do all your weird human family stuff. Nope, we leave our babies out to learn to fend for themselves, as we very well should, except there was this thing a few centuries ago where there was this whole fad where you’d swap your baby with a human baby to give it a better chance of surviving during its early years or whatever so it would be more likely to supplant your enemies and none of that helps me right now I haven’t had a baby, I just stole one by accident!” “You know, does that make fae brood parasites?” Impulse says idly. “I cannot express enough how much that isn’t important right now,” Skizz says. “Although it does make it more accurate next time I call one of your plans cuckoo,” Tango adds. “Those are lovely birds and I won’t be insulted,” Zedaph says primly. “Anyway, Skizz is right. That’s not the point. The point is that I have this thing, and we need to get rid of it, so we need to find whoever it used to belong to! That’s the point!”

or: hey remember that ficlet from the fanon swap from a bit back. well,

[salty-croissants]

Hi!!!! Can I request pre relationship hc for bullfrog. Like when you first meet and stuff? (^^)

Thank you for the request !

I wanted to try and make a bit of a prequel to the events of the series with this one by imagining the reader meeting Bullfrog in the past to then eventually see him again in the Warden’s prison , it just sounded like a cool concept :)👍

Hope this turned out okay ! 

Details : use of gender neutral reader ; 

strangers to lovers ; 

presence of mature themes , including swearing , blood and an attempted assault ( reader gets saved in the end , dw !! )

It all begun during one very rainy night …

It was late , and due to the fact that it had been a very long day at work and that you didn’t have your umbrella with you to offer some shelter from the unforgiving weather you had ended up trying to head for a shortcut passing through a more repaired alleyway …

You’ve never liked that road , but at that point you were soaking wet , freezing and just longed for the warmth and comfort of your home … 

You just had to be fast and not draw attention and everything was going to be just fine like usual . 

… or at least , that’s what you thought . 

After some more walking you were starting to see the lights outside the alleyway , which meant you were very close to leave that unsettling darkness and get closer to your apartment , but right before you could let out a sigh of relief and think about how silly you were to always worry so much about things you heard them : 

heavy footsteps behind you … and they were rapidly approaching . 

< Well hello , beautiful … out late , ay ? > 

Your heart started pounding in your chest , as four ominous looking strangers surrounded you , blocking every chance of escape … 

It seemed like things had taken a very , very bad turn . 

  < Come on babe , there’s no need to be afraid … we aren’t gonna hurt you , are we boys ? > 

< Damn , they’re even more cute up close … > 

You found yourself completely frozen in place , as the four cornered you more and more , and immediately jolted back when one of them tried to touch your shoulder …

< G-get away from me !! > 

< Aw , don’t think you got much of a choice here , sweetheart … better make things easier for yourself and just go with it . 

Wouldn’t wanna get in trouble now , would you … ? > 

You could feel your body shake , both for the cold of the rain and your sheer , paralyzing fear … 

You could only close your eyes praying to whoever might be listening that someone was going to see what was happening and get you out of that horrible mess …

… that’s when you heard the man behind you let out a scream , followed by the sound of a blade slashing through his neck .

< What - what the fuck !? > 

< Dammit - I can’t see shit , where did that bastard g - > 

Another scream , followed by a thud told you that another one of those creeps had been dealt with … 

After taking a deep breath , you slowly opened your eyes to get a clue as to what the hell was actually happening , and what you saw made your eyes widen : the two remaining men were furiously fighting against a frog with a white hoodie , without being able to land a single hit on him …

< Stay still you little - > 

He moved so quickly , your brain barely even registered the moment when his blades landed the final hits , leaving a pool of blood mixing with the puddles on the ground .

When he turned around to look at you , you couldn’t help but take one step back , still shaken by everything that had happened …

< Everything is all right now , mon ami … I’m not going to hurt you . > 

His voice was very calm and reassuring , with a bit of a French accent . 

< I , uh … I’m very sorry you had to see all of this … if you wish I could accompany you home to make sure that nobody else tries to harm you .

… actually wait , that might sound like a creepy thing to say - je suis désolé , I — > 

< Pfft … it’s okay … I’d like that . > 

You couldn’t help but chuckle in front of just how unexpectedly kind and … honestly adorable that strange frog was …

As you slowly got up , you realized just how tired you were after the scare you just experienced , but before you could lose balance and fall back down he immediately rushed to support you .

< Attention - >

< Ah … thanks … sorry about that . > 

< No need to apologize … just take it easy , I got you . > 

The journey back home didn’t encounter any more complications , and the two of you had quite a nice time just talking to each other : 

you discovered that the name of your savior was Bullfrog , and that he was an assassin … he didn’t really tell you a lot about himself other than that , but frankly that was all you needed to know . 

< Well , thanks for walking me home Bullfrog … I really appreciate it . >

< Ne le mentionne pas y/n , it was my pleasure . Though I’m afraid I will need to get going soon … there is another important task I need to get done tonight . > 

You nodded in response , while taking out the keys to your apartment from your pocket . 

< Say … I hope this isn’t a bit too forward , but you know , if you ever need a safe place to stay you can always come here . It’s the least I could do , you saved me after all … > 

< Merci , I’ll keep that in mind . > 

Bullfrog smiled at you , before disappearing in the shadows of the night like he had never been there in the first place … 

As you finally entered inside your home , promising to yourself to never enter a dark alleyway late at night ever again , part of you was hoping that one day you would see him again … 

… who knows , maybe that was going to happen … possibly in some maximum security cell … 

[wraithdance]

I’ve been stuck on this concept for write-tober and this post got my brain going about Soap back from the dead but scary (and horny) unedited wip below the cut

There’s something wrong with Johnny.

You’re in the kitchen watching him over the island, slowly stirring the cream in your tea. Johnny’s back is towards you as he stares out into the quiet morning. His fingers are twitching on the windowsill. The movement is small, nearly imperceptible, but you can hear the tap-tap-taps sound in the quiet room.

Johnny has been back home for nearly a week now. You’d cried for days when you’d gotten the call from Laswell that he’d been found alive. You’d been broken beyond repair at the news of his death, had been close to following him into the void had Simon not made it his mission to keep you above water.

You think about the last time you saw Johnny as you coax him to the breakfast table to eat. Johnny flinches and stares at you with dull, flat eyes for something longer than a minute, before sitting where you’d placed his breakfast.

6 months prior to his death- disappearance- you’d been called to the hospital with news of Johnny being gravely injured.

You’d heard him recounting the tale of his injury in his boisterous way, he’d been laughing at his own jokes. You couldn’t help the gut punch of feelings that came over you.

Yours.

Your Johnny, vibrato and braggadocio. Sun kissed skin and cadence like thunder. Smoke and endless fire. Yours. Alive.

You stood there listening to him brag about his near death and your palms burned with the sting of your nails. The quiet hum of the hospital corridor and the tick of the analog clock across the hall were the symphony accompanying the emotion you couldn’t put a name to.

Molar grinding molar, Acrylic tipped nails meeting flesh. The tension radiating through your stiff limbs felt like the only thing keeping you upright.

“Aye LT yer lucky I took that bullet for ye, I expect ye to kiss the ground I walk on fer my troubles.”

He laughed loud. You shifted.

Ghost noticed you first in that watchful way of his. You felt the brush of his assessing gaze the second he spotted your taut form half hidden in the doorway. You wondered what he saw when he looked at you. Did his ears pick up the demons that brayed in your ears. The tongues that hissed the love of your life was a man dancing with death.

You looked at the entity Ghost (not Simon the man who’d drink tea with you and make comments on the state of your garden whenever he came over) wondering if the wraith could see how close you were to ruin.

“Ouch, There’s my Bonnie lass! C’me here give me a kiss why’re ye standing in the door like that hen?”

You didn’t move from where you’d drifted when he called out for your to touch him. You’d taken up sentry at the foot of his bed, hands gripping the railing tight enough to hurt. You couldn’t move.

You’d been too focused on the bandages that wrapped his torso tight. There’d been a spot of blood on the edges.

You stared and stared, watching the spot grow larger. Your mind creating visions of crimson swallowing his torso. Swallowing you with it.

Johnny makes another joke about surviving death and you snap like a wire.

“It’s not a fucking joke!”

your voice had been half shriek, half snarl. Your heart beating too fast for you to care about the ugly twist to your lips or the crazed way your eyes bore into your husband’s.

“Do you think this shit is funny?” You hiss leaning over the end of the bed. Your shaking hand gesturing at his wound and very state.

Johnny doesn’t say anything, just stares like he was seeing you for the first time.

You ask again. “Do you think this is fucking funny, goddamn it!”

“Hen-“

“No, Johnny, shut the fuck up! Why are you fucking laughing about this!”

Price stood and put his hands on your shoulders. You’d shaken him off, curling into yourself as you cried. You’d barely heard when Ghost called for the other men to leave the room, hadn’t noticed the door close shut. You’d been drowning.

Johnny called you. Hesitant, worried. You hated it.

“You’re such a bastard you know that?” You say after awhile.

You’d cut him off when he’d tried to soothe you but you can’t hear him. There’s blood pounding in your ears like a drum.

“I can’t do this without you.” You whisper, “I’m so scared all the fucking time Johnny. I’m so scared that you’re going to walk out that door one day and I’m not going to get you back.”

“ I’m scared that I stayed alive all those terrible fucking years to find you just to lose you. I dream about Simon knocking on the door one day telling me you’re gone. I get so sick to my fucking stomach even thinking about it because-

You burst into tears and Johnny looks at if he may do the same. His blue eyes are wet and his hand shakes as he reaches out for you. You go to him, collapsing in his arms and sobbing into the juncture of his neck.

“They’re going to have to bury me with you.”

Johnny makes a sound in protest, his fingers tightening around you but you were just being honest.

“I don’t think I could do this without you and I know I shouldn’t say that and I’m sorry I know it’s not fair I know you love your job and your team.”

You looked up at him then taking in his open crying.

“I know you love saving the world baby and I’m so so proud of you. It’s why I married you, it’s why you’re going to be an amazing dad.”

“you’re a good man baby, I just, I promised you that I would love you in every lifetime and I meant it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to be careful.”

You’d wiped his tears laughing when he did the same to yours. His beard cut into your hand and the feel reminded you that he was alive. Here.

“wherever you go I’m following. I don’t care if I have to beg the devil himself to make it happen I’m going with you. Or you’re coming back to me.”

You’d meant it.

You watch Johnny now. His hulking form sitting at your table tearing into the blood sausage on his plate. His eyes meet yours, they’re black, there’s no trace of the electric blue that had stopped you in your tracks on first meeting.

He smiles, there’s blood on his lips.

“What’s wrong hen?”

You smile back, drinking your tea.

“Nothing baby, finish up your food.”

[fairy-lights-and-blobs]

Congratulations. Your comment fueled this bit :D

Things were dire.

The world wasn't ending. Earth wasn't on fire. But it might as well be.

Up until now, the Infinite Realms and the Living Realm have coexisted peacefully side by side. Sure, there were some spots where things bled into the other side of the veil, and vice-versa.

And then the disaster that was Amity Park happened. A damn permanent portal had been ripped into the veil, and in their haste to close it and secure the city against seemingly hostile ghosts, the entire Justice League Dark had shown up in force to push the Ghosts back through to where they had come from, and close the portal.

The hardest part had been Phantom. The moving corpse possessed by it's own ghost had had just enough life left in it to scream as it burned and released the spirit using it. When no one would put out the fire magically eating through the physical form of what had once been Daniel Fenton, the boy's corpse switched to instead curse them all out, in words that left even Constantine shaken at hearing them come out of the mouth of a teenage boy. Poor Zatanna had been reduced to tears by the time the ghost had been sucked through the ritual circle and tossed into the Realms.

Now, demons haunted the Earth. The first few had come through whatever remained of the Portal the Fenrons had made. A dimensional tear that opened in a permanently weakened spot in the veil between Realms.

Those were easy to chase out but it was the things they said that were worrying...

"Balance has been chased out. Rampant Chaos and tyrannical Order cannot keep us out, now that the grand unified has been driven out. We are just messengers. Give up and hand over your souls willingly when the rest of our brethren arrive, and perhaps mercy may be shown"

Fate had immediately called the other Lords of Order, trying to figure out what, exactly, had the demons mean by Balance having been chased out. If the Lord of Balance had been barred from Earth, then trouble would soon be on them.

The rest of the more magically-inclined Justice League members called an urgent meeting to discuss how they should proceed.

As the one with the most experience in dealing with demons, John Constantine took center stage to deliver the presentation.

"So, we have a big fucking problem, and I need the whole League to investigate this shit. According to our visitors, the entity that embodies the concept of Balance has been kicked out of the Realm of The Living. We need to figure out who did it, who or what Balance is, and how they were kicked out. Because otherwise, the Lords of Chaos and Order are too antagonistic to be able to truly hold the balance of this dimension in check."

Batman was the first to speak after that introduction

"And if we can't find them? What are your plans in case the worst comes to pass?"

"If that happens...well...we summon the biggest guns we can and hope they'll help us against the demons."

It was the worst scenario. Because, with a tidal wave of demons on the horizon, and most of the summoned entities choosing to stay out of it, there was only one card left that the Justice League could try to play, before having to contend with possible death and defeat:

Summon the King of Ghosts.

Last that anyone capable of magic had heard, old Pariah Dark had gotten dethroned, and the new guy in charge had taken the Throne recently, and seemed benevolent, if more willing to throw hands personally than his predecessor. For all his tyranny, Paroah had kept his throne because so many others refused to fight the Fright Knight to get to the King.

Now, faced with Phantom again, wearing a Crown of Starlight and armor fit for a conqueror, everyone involved in the Amity Park Disaster wonder if perhaps it would be kinder to face the demons.

"Ah. And so, like worms, you come crawling to me when the weight of your sins has fallen on your own shoulders. Rejoice, for you face King Phantom. Fear, for I can no longer be kind and merciful. Are you people in trouble? For what reason did you break your own spells on me? To swindle me into fighting your enemies for you?"

The King is here. And he is pissed.

"Tell me, John Constantine, Hellblazer...did you not think that sealing my kind from your world would have consequences? First, you arrest my friends to confine them to a lonely cell 'until they're better', then you chase my people out of this Realm in the most painful ways you know how. Then you burn me until there's nothing but ash...and now you're still trying to find Balance? Rejoice, for you killed him. Danny Phantom, Balance Incarnate, Son of the Infinite Realms, is no more. All that's left of him is a ghost, and a ghost does not have Duality. I can no longer help you in this."

Fuck.

"But, for the sake of whatever family I have left that still loves me and honors my memory, I will keep your Earth from being overtaken by these pests. You should thank me. I was the one who talked the Princes of Hell from invading your world themselves." And here, Phantom smiles, feral and mean. "After all, for your crimes against an Entity of Balance, and for torturing the Prince of Ghosts to death via immolation, your punishment will be dealt eventually."

Laughin as he practically sauntered forwards, the King of Ghosts rang the Horn of The Hunt, spectral armies ready to fight their invaders.

"Run little mortals, Death will always catch up!"

"Danny, you have to stop doing this." It was Jazz. She stood in the doorway, dressed in one of the long shirts she liked to wear to bed that almost covered her shorts. Her arms were crossed and she was leaning slightly against the doorframe. It was the way that she wasn't looking straight at Danny that had him on edge.

He stopped making the funny pose and floated down to touch the ground next to the small bed.

"Kennedy is starting to talk about her imaginary friend."

Danny rubbed at the back of his neck. Pale hair floating away from his hand. "Lots of kids have imaginary friends."

"Yes, just not their dead uncle."

Danny winced.

"You made a choice Danny, you have to live with that."

"Cruel choice of words there, Jazz," Danny said, baring his fangs in a soundless snarl.

"Danny..."

"No! How dare you put any of this on me— imply that I ever had a choice. That a single part of this—"

There was a distressed bubble of noise from the bed, knocking all of the fight of Danny at once.

Danny turned to the bed. He reached out and bopped Kennedy on the nose, making her giggle. "Sorry Jellybean, I didn't mean to get mad. I'll see you again soon, okay? Or— or if I don't, know that doesn't change how much I love you and that I'm look after you, okay?"

"Danny—"

Danny didn't stick around to hear the rest of what Jazz had to say. It was never anything he could stand to hear these days.

[kazuhasmaid]

Could you do a part two to reader getting stuck in Genshin with a device with zhongliw venti and someone else that you choose?

how they would react to an isekai'd!reader with a device 📱pt.2

zhongli, venti, ayato, x isekai'd!reader

part 1 of this series

genre: fluff/comfort

wc:

a/n: WHEW i've grown fond of writing more for this scenario, so ill keep accepting more requests for this concept ehehe~ BTW THERE'S ACTUALLY A FEW PEOPLE WHO RECOGNIZED ORV AND I GOT SO HAPPY- and no my laptop still wont let me do read cuts. :/

implied omniscient reader's viewpoint references: just the reader having their phone and having exclusive skills for being the reader who's stayed till the end.

no beta read we die like ayato's parents / lowercase intended

favoritism™ shows.

having your life taken away and suddenly waking up inside the game you treasured for so long, one might count itself as a blessing for having tevyat as the next world you get to live in, that's until you find a shock to yourself that your device is with you? perhaps this was the way the archons in tevyat tend to you, to survive in this world, having records of events that are yet to take events in this magnificent, vast world you've yet to see- not with your screen any longer but with your very own eyes. wait. wait a minute? who's that-

zhongli

finding himself on a stroll to the plains, he hears noises a few feet away from him,

and there he found someone.

this someone was layed on the side of a rock wall, squirming around in what seemed to be an uncomfortable rest as wet mud covered the body.

though he confirmed it himself to make sure this person was alive and well, he carefully approached the person, tapping them on the shoulder, clearing his throat before saying,

"excuse me,"

the former archon took many more attempts to wake up the sleeping person. they fluttered their eyes open and zhongli found himself offering a gentle smile to this stranger whom he just found.

though the stranger was bewildered.

'is this who i think this is' you thought.

all in your amazement that the former archon of liyue, zhongli was right infront of you.

"...erhm, may i help you?" you asked him.

"no no, i was simply wondering how you ended up here.."

"may i be completely honest with you?"

you chose to confide in zhongli, knowing he can be trusted as he does not indulge himself in evil matters, which you know for a fact as the time you spent into lore-diving can now come in handy.

zhongli nods to your question as you begin to tell him how you're not exactly from liyue,

"where exactly did you travel from?"

"...huh, well it was more of hm. maybe you could say that im an "outlander" of some sort" you said this, knowing that zhongli would have more an easier understanding for using this term as the twin travellers were recognized by this title.

zhongli had been open-minded about your situation and had offered you a place to stay under the name of hu tao's business ,food to eat and new clothes to wear, being an archon himself, though the difference between mortals and archon did not stop him from knowing the difficulties that humans go through, let alone someone like you who had woken up in a whole new world will feel shaken at things beforehand.

he walked you through the fields, picking up a glazed lily and handing it to you, needless to say that the gentleman was a great company who spoke interesting facts about the agriculture of liyue and its history.

as you two reached the bazaars and shops of liyue, you had recieved warm welcome and smiles of he liyueans as you were accompanied by zhongli, you felt touched that even as you were covered in mud, all messy and lost, they found theirselves offering you free snacks, free clothing as liyueans were generous towards those who may need help.

you teared up at the gestures the liyueans continued to give you, though zhongli reached his hand towards your face to wipe your tear and smiled at you, chuckling at you, "no need to worry, you're welcome in liyue and will always be."

the day was filled with tours, smiles, and opinions about everything and anything that came into view or mind, it was no doubt- one of the best days in your life.

zhongli had found himself somewhat... upset that the day was coming to an end, so what he does? he invites you to dinner! he found himself oddly warming up to you faster, as he found you as a great company.

sitting at liyue pavillion, you two feasted at what zhongli calls 'liyue's pride' dishes cooked by a number of famous chefs known throughout tevyat.

as you reached for you old clothes, you felt something in its pockets, you had only been in tevyat for less than a day which made you curious as to why or how you had some possession with you.

zhongli watches you reach for the pockets and was curious to this slick rectangular thin.. thing was.

... it's your phone? well. that's peculiar and risky.

the tevyat you know is advancing but not to the point of smartphones being made although explaining this to zhongli that its from the 'outside' world would certainly clear up any dangers.

you open your phone to see the same content as it is though the game is locked, only notes and lore of the characters and locations are imbedded on it.

you turn to zhongli who's face was filled with curiosity,

you didn't hesitate to show the former archon what it did as you knew that he was already understanding.

you showed him your camera roll in which you visit a jewelery store filled with many gems and dazzling stones that he was astounded and had grown fond of, finding himself bewildered that where you had come from, noctilous jades did not sound familiar.

as you move on to other applications, you show zhongli a game in which you must see the differences of quality on the given object in order to pass the level, and as you knew that zhongli was knowledgeful in terms of materialistic quality, he had ascended levels way more than what took you months to get,

you had even shown him the clock app and reminders app in which,

"..you can set up reminders of yourself on the time you have to do something... by clicking this button?"

he was pretty amused and impressed of what this "phone" could do,

to any stranger who crossed the road, seeing these two people interact, anybody can see that his eyes were filled of gentleness, curiosity and amusement of the outlander that he had been blessed to have fallen in his sight.

Venti

wandering around the lake near the bridges of the gate of mondstat, you found yourself washing your face as you had recently figured out that you had.. somehow made it to tevyat, where your favorite characters lived their own stories and life, with that being said, with your phone being with you- you had reviwed every single event that has yet or bound to happen, you still couldn't wrap your head around it until you hear a melodic rythm play past your ears, and to this, you follow the trail of music that lead upon a statue of seven and a ginormous tree.

the lyre player had noticed your presence and made his way down the tree, walking towards you in a friendly manner, giving you a wave.

"well.. hello!" the lyre player smiled at you,

"i dont think ive seen you around in mondstat yet, are you perhaps.. a tourist? or an outlander?"

the quick falter in your facial expression gave it away to him, in which his shoulders slouch down and his gentle expression waiting upon your response.

he, too was aware of what an outlander feels when ending up in a world entirely different from your own.

the adaptations, behaviours, gestures were certainly to be aware of when you're new, and venti knew just what to do, if.. you were up to it.

you introduced yourself briefly as you were cautious of this meeting, you knew what powers an archon holds.

venti took you within the gates of mondstat, showing you what the city of freedom has to offer and the breeze within its walls brought you comfort from the suffocating stress you faced when you just landed, truly the city of freedom lives up to its name.

venti knew everyone in the city, in which he introduced you to?

a place, but not just any place. angel's share.

you refused to enter the tavern as you had nothing to pay with, though the bard only laughed at your statement and told you to let loose as he tells you that he only goes to the tavern when drinks were free of charge, in which you responded with a laugh- letting go of your worries and stresses of being an outlander to the back of your mind and let this moment be filled with hospitality and kindness of the mischievous bard before you.

he shows off his lyre to you, stating it as his "most prized possession" and he turned to you asking you if you had any of the kind. you take out your smartphone, and showed it to him.

"a piece of glass?" he asks.

you turned your phone on and showed him the ropes of how to operate one, he was particularly fond of the rythm games you had in your phone in which arrows were meant to be pressed on the right beat to get a high score of a particular song. he asked you to tell him more about your 'prized possession' in which lead to the midnight of tevyat, letting venti show you the night sky in windrise cliff, in which he handed you a dandelion for the both of you to wish together to.

as you two hiked up, you were in awe of the countless constellations that the view had offered you tonight.

amazement filled the bard's eyes as you've shown him a genuine smile, your eyes glistening, followed by a sniffle as he rubbed your shoulder as if to say that he was there for you in this new experience you were yet to face in the world of tevyat, making your wish with the dandelions, blessed upon the many stars beside the kind bard who'd offered you his company and even his life, though he ought to tell you that some other time.

Ayato

ayato had gotten himself in quite a hassle with the caretaker of the kamisato estate where he was forced to leave his duties and take himself out for a leisurely date as a break from all the piles of paperwork and responsibilities that had been bestowed upon him at an early age after losing his dear parents.

he had yet to think of what to do as for what 'leisure' meant to him until he'd seen a stranger from afar, reaching for the sakura petals that had been fleeting for eternity knows how long,

there he stood staring at you for what seemed to be... unknown.

you had turned around to meet his eyes, a flushed pink resting on his face as you had caught him staring at what he thought to be such a beautiful, peaceful scenery painting that had been brought to life.

the young lord was in awe of you from the very start, he had not made his way in these parts of inazuma and had not known every single person who lived in it, but he was certain to make sure to befriend you.

light robes surrounded your body as you hesitantly walked up to him, never taking your eyes off him.

there, you had introduced yourself before the commissioner who had fumbled around his words before stringing them into what seemed to be a mess.

"w..who.. im.. im ayato, k-kamisato.. ayato."

to this you laughed for a second, wondering why he had reacted this way,

"nice to meet you.."

"may i.. may i accompany you today? that's! that's if i am permitted to."

"oh of course! id been looking to reach out to someone for quite a few days now.."

"really? are you a traveller?"

"no, no.. i just.. i guess you could say that i woke up here.. or.."

"woke up in inazuma? as in strayed? from a ship?"

"no.. hm, you've heard of the outlander traveller, haven't you? that's.. kind of what i am. though in my case, im not allowed to go back as this is the second world i have to live in, though i do not complain since this place is filled with stories and knowledge i have yet to grasp.."

you spent the whole day, acquainting yourself with ayato, though his advancements to be acquainted were quite a shock as he had spoiled you through every store you crossed together, ending with bags that you two can no longer hold, these bags holding clothing, snacks, accessories, and trinkets, though you refused the purchases- he couldnt help but to buy it for you anyway! you had given him company and even played a bit of the drums you two had found upon a store, in which he also bought after

though the night has come, he had asked to escort you to your home as bandits often lure around inazuma's night sky, to this you replied,

"shelter? i.. have none if im being honest."

his face falls in concern asking you what you had meant,

"being an outlander had not given me the perfect opportunity to fit in as i have no background in living here.."

"that certainly worries me."

"its alright, ayato.."

"its not and i apologize on behalf on inazuma for straying you away like that, if i had known earlier.."

"it's nobody's fault, don't worry about it ayato.."

"well, may i propose a safe shelter and even a job to keep you afloat? this is all i can offer unless you'd like me to make other proposals to any connections that may interest you."

"that would be very great, ayato. im glad to have met you today."

he offered a kind smile, his eyes filled with gentleness as he met your glistening ones, and to this, you had leaned over to him, his arms instinctively om your shoulders as he had to make sure you were alright.

"thank you for showing me inazuma today, thank you for your company and thank you for showing me great hospitality in a place where i thought id be strayed aeay if it werent for our meeting today.."

ayato had lead you to the kamisato estate in which thoma and ayaka gave you two space to figure things out, you had gotten your own room and had dressed to head off for the night, until you had heard footsteps outside your room.

you see his figure in his sleeping attire, writing up documents, you brew up tea in your room for the two of you, as you knew that this man had done nothing but work his life off to the betterment of inazuma.

you set up tea on his desk and offered your company in which his expression changed to be of relief that he wouldnt be suffering in such silence of tonight.

you had chosen to tell him of your device that had aided you in so many things in the past world you lived in.

he made his way from across the table to sit next to you, his face leaning closer to the screen of your phone, seeing how this app showed recipes of dishes he had yet to try, and needless to say he was quite fond of the game where a business of a milk tea had to grow in terms of advancements made in the shop, recipes to unlock and customers to please, you had also shown him how cameras work in your phone,

"a kamera? ...in your phone? really how many things have been replaced by this device?"

you had shown him how to take a picture, slow motioned videos, time lapses and selfies in which he asked for your permission to try it himself,

motioning his hands to be closer to him as the flash goes off, his eyes never leaving yours as you offered him a smile as you both realized that each other's company had defeated the loneliness you two had been facing all this time has finally receded.

©kazuhasmaid please do not copy, paste or repost. plagiarizing or republishing in a different language will not be tolerated.

[call-me-honkie]

Like Water

Like Water - AO3. Season of the Haunted spoilers!

The Guardian is more perturbed by the Nightmare of Uldren Sov than Crow initially thought.

You know… sometimes, if I curl my finger just so… I can feel the pressure of the trigger. Smell the gunpowder. Hear Cayde’s screams.

Uldren Sov’s ghastly voice sounded over the comms—through The Guardian’s comms.

I could’ve done it nice and quick. But… well, you know. Don’t you? The way he laid there, reached out for his Ghost and begged. Like those little shards were going to help him—

Eris interrupted, “Begone, you facile caricature! Your lies have no power here.”

The Guardian was silent on the comms. Stoic as usual. How Crow admired their ability to let words slide over them as easily as water.

*****

The H.E.L.M. was quiet after a long day of capturing Nightmares, more than Crow expected. Commander Zavala in particular had seemed like he was an inch away from fleeing the room as they discussed their next move with Eris Morn, and his blue complexion seemed ghostly. He seemed shaken. Exhausted. They all did. Well, except Eris, and—

The Guardian hadn’t uttered a word before, during, or after the mission. They were on the opposite side of the room, filling out an after-action report by hand. Their Ghost hung in the air over their shoulder, equally silent. Crow almost chuckled a little—they had gone out of their way to get a clipboard so they could remain standing, as if repelled by the concept of sitting down. A workaholic at heart, they were; yet he’d never seen Commander Zavala suggest they take a break. They had probably decided to stand so far away to give him some privacy after—

Perhaps they’ve properly learned to deal with stress, unlike you. Perhaps their performance does not cost lives the moment they are put under pressure.

Crow dared a glance over his shoulder, expecting the blood-red shadow of Uldren Sov there. But there was nothing. His thoughts, Uldren’s voice—his stomach churned, they were too similar.

He looked around frantically for a way to put himself to use. Eventually he approached The Guardian.

“Hey, Guardian.” Crow waved.

They jolted a little, as if snapped out of some kind of trance. He raised his hands. “Easy. Just me. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

That was odd. Crow didn’t think his footsteps were that quiet, and he’d approached from the front.

The Guardian didn’t offer so much as a nod. They hadn’t even taken off their helmet. They were never vocal, but, somehow, their usual quiet felt even quieter, if such a thing was possible.

Their Ghost’s eye was locked on The Guardian before he cleared his throat awkwardly and offered, “Nice to see you, Crow. We were just filling out some after-action reports while the, um,”—his shell tightened anxiously—“memory is still fresh.”

“Ah.” Crow cleared his throat. “Glint and I usually record them and send them to Zavala. If you want, I can take them to his office for you. One less trip.” He couldn’t shake the feeling he was interrupting something. A failure in every regard, it seemed, even when he was trying to help. Uldren had said as much. But he still had to try.

He glanced down at their clipboard. There was almost nothing written on it. The pencil in their hand trembled. Suddenly Crow realized that the final Nightmare of Uldren Sov didn’t belong to him.

He blushed in shame. Oh, he was so, so selfish to think that Uldren Sov was his Nightmare alone. He remembered their silence; he thought they were simply ignoring Uldren. His words were obvious lies, like Eris said. But they were too quiet, and their Ghost hadn’t said a word, either, and—Uldren’s taunts were only obviously untrue to Crow because he had his memories.

How many sleepless nights had they suffered because the ringing of Cayde’s screaming and begging were seared into their mind? Yet they had never once asked him about Uldren’s perspective. If they burned with questions about what happened to Cayde, they hid it too well behind their mask of stone. Why didn’t he think of this sooner?

“Guardian, I…” Crow swallowed. “Glint, could you put in an order for ramen?”

Glint materialized in a gentle swish of light. “Of course. What kind—”

“Just… surprise me.”

“I’ll go too,” The Guardian’s Ghost piped up, shell twirling from nerves. Crow didn’t know it was possible for Ghosts to look hurried as they transmatted out.

With eyes glued to their blank sheet of paperwork, they asked him what he wanted. Their voice cracked, heavy with exhaustion and sorrow.

Crow hated Uldren. He hated everything Uldren did. He hated how he was treated and how he treated others. He wished he could cut his memories out with a scalpel-sharp solar knife. He would rather rejoin Spider’s employ than be dragged through them again. But, maybe, for once in his Traveler-damned existence, maybe having Uldren’s memories could help someone.

“I just wanted you to know that…” He took a deep, shaking breath, dredging up Uldren’s blood-slicked memories. The scream of a hand cannon, a dark whisper in his ear, Cayde’s crackling coughs—“what Uldren said, on the Leviathan. He was lying.”

They looked up at him from their clipboard. Their expression was still concealed by their helmet, but at least they were looking at him.

What do you mean?

“Cayde never screamed. Or begged. He was… calm, not frightened.” Crow took another deep breath. “I remember, he cracked a joke at my—his—expense, I think. But Uldren—the Nightmare—was lying.” He averted his gaze and shuffled his feet. “I just… thought you should know.”

They stepped forward and he winced, expecting them to punch the Light out of him for being so presumptuous. But they threw their arms around him and sank their head into his shoulder.

They didn’t say a word, but they sighed, and he swore he heard a tremor of relief in it. He shut his eyes and squeezed them tighter. I’m here, Old Light. However many nights they spent agonizing over what happened to Cayde… he hoped they could lay those nightmares to rest now.

Uldren’s memories always seemed magnified when he closed his eyes. The scream of a hand cannon, a dark whisper in his ear, Cayde’s crackling coughs… But now they seemed a little more distant, a little more blurred, as if submerged. They did not slide past him as easily as water yet, but they slid past.

At least one thing went right for both of them today.

[assortedvillainvault]

So I CANNOT BELIEVE I didn't know you had this blog until recently; *clearly* I have been out of the loop. But it's okay, because now I get to read and enjoy the hell out of all your headcanons!

I am already getting such a kick out of your Hades, he's fantastic. :)

I was... *cough*... wondering if you might have any reader x Tarn headcanons? (No rush!)

DCCCCCC you're gonna make me blush dammit XD It's ok, I feel awkward bringing this blog up (despite the fact I never touch my main anymore, oops-)

Sorry it's taken a while to get to this - :) I can absolutely do some Tarn~

Giant homicidal murder robot is GO:

Tarn x Reader Headcannons:

As a human, you're of little consequence initially.

Tarn is...not dealing well, to put it lightly, with Megatron's change of tune. Perhaps he thought Megatron's opinion of organics had done a 180, just like the rest of his beliefs, and yoinked you from earth to use as bargaining bait for...something.

You're not sure if even he knows what, anymore.

The rest of the DJD give you a wide berth when not treating you like a bug caught in an upturned glass. You're pretty glad for that, but prefer Kaon's crackling fingertips to the pure venom pouring off Nickel any day of the week.

Tarn himself is reticient, preffering not to engage with you at all except to monologue to drunkenly when the 'woe is me/the cause/the faction/the species' gets a bit too maudlin for the rest of his team to handle.

He probably didn't expect you to respond, much less ask questions.

Look you're trapped in space with giant robots who have no concept of time in the decades instead of millions of years - you're BORED and need to take your mind off legitimately everything.

The last thing you expect is a copy of Towards Peace in English for you.

The last thing he expects is for you to not only have read it, but read it again with bookmarks and annotations for further context, queries and sections that seem completely wack even for a civil war that lasted for 4 million years.

You debate late into the recharge hours, your fresh persepctive cross-referencing a belief already shaken by the about turn of the author. Somewhere as you do this refreshments appear. Then blankets. Then music.

By the time the conversation has moved onto cultural differences and concepts of appearance it's almost a goddamn sleepover.

You get to sit on his shoulder after that.

Tarn hums regularly when deep in thought and honestly? You like the sound of the tunes he sings. The bass vibrates through your bones almost pleasantly.

Eventually you realise that sometimes the rest of the DJD will shudder, flinch or groan as he hums. He doesn't seem to do it deliberately, and a throat clearing from Vos or Kaon will jolt him out of it.

You don't leave the ship. Especially not on missions.

The only time a target was taken down near the ship, you couldn't move for the screaming.

It would be madness to ask to hear his talent properly. Lunacy. Insanity. You've definitely been cooped up too long...

...but humans don't have sparks to break and you're so curious it burns.

The sonata to treats you to is comperable to a supernova in your skull. When you ask to hear it again from your puddled position on the floor, he laughs.

You're not going back to Earth any time soon.

[zinzinina]

16 for dialogue and 6 for the prompts with Hunter pretty please?

Hi, love! Thank you for your prompt. I’ve played with the cockwarming concept a tiny bit; I hope you like it! x

Pairing: Hunter x F!Reader Word Count: 1.3k Rating: Explicit 18+ C/W: Cockwarming, use of a sex toy, edging, overstimulation, finger sucking.

You try to hush his low groan, pressing your fingers to his lips. He surprises you when he takes them into his mouth, his lips closing hot around your knuckles. Watching through your eyelashes, the tattoo-shadowed side of his face looks even darker than usual beneath the curtain of his loose hair.

“Have you had enough?” you whisper. “Tell me if you have.” His cock twitches deep inside you.

His eyes open to meet yours. The darkness of his gaze has a hard edge of severity, but the way he looks at you is all him; searching, needing, asking. Biting down gently on your fingertips, he shakes his head. You give him a little smile.

“Then I guess I’ll take my time.”

You shift on his lap, lifting back the tiniest bit and making him groan again. He’s usually so quiet; watching everything around him with a level of alertness bordering on caution. But not in moments like this. Not when he’s yours. Only yours. Which reminds you; you owe Cid a massive favour for assigning the crew two jobs at once. You’d nearly launched yourself across the desk to kiss her when she’d told you that you and Hunter were on crate pickup-duty while the rest of the crew headed off-world.

So there’s no need to be quiet. A novelty for you both. You wonder if you can get him to be any louder. The pale gold toy hums low between your fingers as you bring it back to your clit, and you let your head drop forward against his shoulder with a sigh. You’ve lost count; this might be the fourth, maybe fifth orgasm you’re chasing. But with every one you’d taken care not to move too much, even as your cunt had fluttered and clenched around his cock. Your thighs ache with the effort of holding still, straddling him in his seat.

It’s taken a lot of practise to get to this point. The first few times you’d been together, he’d been so overly sensitive to every light touch of you that he had barely lasted long enough to get out of his blacks. It didn’t help that he seemed unable to keep himself still when sucking at your pussy, rutting helplessly into the bunk.

“I can smell you all the time, mesh’la,” he’d gritted, frustrated at yet another incident wherein he’d spilled across your thigh. “Can smell every time you touch yourself from the other end of the ship.”

“It’s okay,” you’d murmured, wrapped around his side, face against his chest. “You take such good care of me.” And it’s true. With his hands and his tongue, he’d never left you unsatisfied.

He’d shaken his head. “I want to feel you around my cock when you cum. And… to stay buried inside you as long as I can.”

Since then, very slowly, you’ve worked your way up to longer and longer stints. Your current exercise is proving to be a new record.

Now, warming his cock as your thighs tremble with the effort of holding still, he looks like he won’t make it much longer. His brows are furrowed with concentration as he breathes slowly through his nose. He’s soaked with you, the thick, dark hair at the apex of his thighs glistening with the wetness from your cunt. You know from admissions he’s made to you previously that he could shower twenty times tonight and still not get the scent of you off himself; permanently soaked into his skin and hair. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a motivator in your current efforts. Marking him like this, in a way that’s invisible to everyone but him.

The thought makes you more determined than ever to draw this out even longer. To give him precisely what he asked for; to try to suspend his release for as long as possible. Making him suffer in the best way.

Angling the toy slightly against your clit, liquid heat rolls up into your stomach. You rock on his length, just barely letting his cock drag inside you. The movement is only slight, but it’s enough that his low groan is roughened into a veritable growl vibrating around your fingers.

Your cunt squeezes him as the beginning of your orgasm fingers its way upward, your toy finding the exact spot you need. “I’m- going to- cum again,” you breathe to him, hitching and hot. “Is this okay? Can- you take another one for me?”

Those dark, intense eyes are desperate. You can only imagine how close to the edge he is; drenched in you, your scent and your taste and the feeling of you against his skin. Your fingers are still stuffed in his mouth, his tongue laving between them. Trying so hard to hold out. Shaking with tension. Gods, he’s beautiful.

“Poor thing,” you murmur. “You look so good like this.” He’s not going to make it, you realise in the next moment. Sweat is glossing his brow, his formerly steady breathing reduced to panting.

In answer, he lifts his hips underneath you and you gasp at the sharpness as his cock sinks deeper. Rolling your weight down to follow his motion, you chase the fullness. You don’t want him to thrust exactly, just to keep you stuffed and pinioned from below.

“Come on,” you breathe to him. “I’m close, just- let me- oh,” and you feel the moment he senses your orgasm as it trembles outward. Slowly, minutely, he shifts his hips in time with the muscled ripples in your cunt. Coasting with you, so that his cock strokes out each pulse of your climax, magnifying your pleasure tenfold and making you dizzy. The toy drops forgotten to the floor below his feet. You imagine that you can feel this the way that he does; drunk on the hot spice of his smell, the taste of his salted skin on your tongue.

You gently pull your fingers from his lips, cupping his tattooed cheek instead. It might be relief, or admiration, or even pride painted across his features. Intense, searching eyes sweep your face as he leans his head into your palm. But you don’t think it’s quite any of those things. It’s something else; something he isn’t able to verbalise. You don’t mind. He’s never been much of a talker.

So he tells you with his body. Hands cupped around your waist, he snaps up into you and you nearly choke at the feeling. No longer required to couch himself, he lets go entirely. He lets his head tip back, dark hair falling into his face without his bandana to keep it out. Using every ounce of his unbound strength, he pounds up into you, fast and hard and sharp. His brows are furrowed, and you can hear his deepened hiss under your own squeaked gasps.

He cums hard. Hard enough that you feel it deep inside your core; blunt, filling bursts of his thick heat as he empties himself into you. He keeps thrusting even after his cock stops throbbing; slower and slower until he finally stills. Panting, ragged and sweaty, after hours of torture: he looks ruined.

“You did so well for me,” you murmur to him, kissing the shadows at his jaw. He raises his head slowly.

“Yeah? S’that alright, cyare?” Your heart squeezes at the earnestness in his voice as he blinks dazedly down at you.

“Better than alright. Perfect.”

When he kisses you, it tastes like thanks.

Taglist: @bvcketfvcker @tibbietibbs @mandaloriandin @thiccumz @latenightsthoughtsnstuff @rexsjaigeyes @sgtdogmastyle @phoenixhalliwell @just-fics-i-read @chromia7567 @herb-welch @sithwitch-crosshairs-toothpick @cannedsoupsucks @clanoffetts @delusionsxfgrandeur @bobas-missing-codpiece @ladyopress @writeforfandoms @pinkiemme @justanothersadperson93 @just-fics-i-read @fuckyeahbeskar @hyperfixation-archives @bedky @whatanoof

[riddikulus-writings]

Take A Nap

A/N: So yeah. I have a long, in depth fic for these two that's chock full of secrets and fluff and Actual Backstory but for some reason all I can write is smut. This is part two to Escapades and takes place just after the police van rolled down that hill. Also, can someone let me know if that link I tried doesn’t work? I’m still new to writing on this blue hellsite

Word Count: 1734

Pairing: Rick Flag x Female Reader [Codename Nyx, after the Greek Goddess]

Warnings: Still not really any plot, sorry guys. The plot for this is hidden elsewhere. Vaginal fingering. Semi-public sex. Dirty talk. Rick still won't shut up but he really should, though, people are trying to sleep. Choking. Uh, nothing makes sense, really? Movie innacuracies due to the fact this is now a bigger vehicle than the hippie van they were cruising around in, but the same concept still applies. 

Apparently, the van was on fire. One by one they stepped from the wreckage, walking out into the road, weapons in hand. Nyx wished she could’ve taken a picture, because she was positive they probably looked pretty cool.

Disoriented. Possibly concust. But cool.

And suddenly, rolling to a stop, was the small dusty van they'd rode to town in. Abner was in the open slider door, waving them in. DuBois puffed out his chest, "Alright. To Jotunheim."

"Not yet," Rick stopped him, "There's something else we need to do first."

"Stop standing like you have an American Flag waving behind you and get in the fucking mini bus, Flag."

Nyx's voice shook him out of his reverie; he was the last one outside. He jogged to catch the bus before it began moving faster, piling in the door and sliding it shut behind him. His eyes immediately found Nyx, seated in the very back. Rick beelined for her through the others and took up the space on her right. Peacemaker called to him from a seat up, "So, where are we going, now?"

"The Mayor's mansion in town," Rick told him, "We need to get Harley."

"Oh, I miss her," Nyx mused quietly.

Oh yeah. Rick cringed to himself, remembering the three missions he, Nyx and Harley had been on before he’d requested to Waller that Harley be benched more often than not. The first had gone by fine, minimal issues. The second was better. No deaths, no infighting amongst the Squad. Nyx had loosened up around other people by then and banter even happened. And the third--

Ain’t it normally the gal makin’ heart eyes at the guy and not the other way around, Ricky?

He’d shaken his head and given Harley a stern glare for assuming things. Harley had simply given him her smuggest million dollar grin and continued about her own business and not his.

“Suicide Squad to Mr. Flag,” a hand was waving in his eyes, slowly coming into focus. It was Nyx’s hand, but Cleo’s heavily accented voice, “What’s the plan?”

Rick cleared his throat, looking among his teammates, “Peacemaker high up, across the street. Sniper for any possible danger. Cleo,” he pointed at her, “Abner and, uh… Sebastian… are around back. Take out any guards back there. DuBois scales the wall to the top, Nyx and I keep watch.”

“Question,” Nyx raised her hand up, “Why can’t we just walk in the front door?”

"That would give us away," Peacemaker told her blatantly, "Instant capture. Dumb idea."

"You're a dumb idea," she retorted, "Actually, a bad idea was bringing you along."

Whoa. Everyone's eyebrows shot up, "Nyx, what the fuck? No infighting. Knock it off," Rick's voice was low but firm with authority.

"He's-- he's got bad vibes about him," Nyx's words slurred, "I-I just don't like him."

"No one does," DuBois told her, patting the very quiet Peacemaker on the shoulder, "Everyone try to get some rest before we get to town. It's going to be a while."

The rest of the team hunkered down in their seats, leaning against their respective windows or leaning forward with their heads against the seat ahead of them. Cleo snuggled into Nanaue's side, and Peacemaker went as far as laying completely flat on his back, his thick splayed legs hanging in the aisle.

Rick reached over and tugged Nyx across the bench seat they were seated on, sliding her into his side, "What’s up between you and Peacemaker?" His voice was quiet, muffled against the hair at her temple.

She ducked away from him a little, tucking her head under his chin, "I've been with him a bit longer than you have. I just… can't explain it but I don't like him. He makes me uneasy."

Rick's thumb started rubbing circles in her hip, "So many trust issues."

"I have my reasonings," she yawned up at him, "Secret reasonings."

"Oh, I'm sure you do," he whispered, grabbing her chin with his free hand so he could look her in the eye. The dim moonlight through the window made her eyes seem almost black, "Extra secret reasonings, huh?"

Nyx leaned closer, staring at his mouth instead of his eyes, "Top secret."

Rick hummed in agreement and closed the gap, sealing his mouth over hers. He wasted no time dipping his tongue into her mouth, drinking in her moans before they could get too loud. He gently pushed on her, laying her down across the length of the seat. Rick followed her down, nestling himself between her legs. Nyx planted a foot on the seat beside Rick’s thigh as he hitched the other into the crook of his elbow, “Gonna be quiet?” he asked quietly, lightly peppering kisses down her neck. Sucking on her now-exposed collarbone.

She whined, a breathless whisper as she nodded desperately, trying to grind her hips against something. Rick moved back up, his free hand moving around her neck, “Quiet.”

He slowly lowered her leg, her boot softly hitting the floor. Rick sent a sidelong glance through the rest of the dark bus, and so far no one had moved from their previous positions. Thank God for that. What a sight they’d wake up to; Nyx spread over the only bench seat here, Rick looming over her, a hand around her throat. They’d either think he was trying to kill her, or get very uncomfortable very fast and ask him to stop.

Which, he wasn’t about to do whether someone woke up or not.

He turned his attention back to the panting woman beneath him, raising an eyebrow at the grin spread over her face. The more pressure he applied to her throat, the wider her lips spread. His right hand worked at the buttons of her black pants, “Filthy little thing,” he muttered, “There’s other people on this bus.” Rick snaked his hand down the front of her pants, stroking down her dripping sex, “All for me?”

“That is you,” she panted out, grabbing the back of his head to pull him down for another searing kiss. When he scooped his cum back up with two fingers and pushed them inside, Nyx bit his bottom lip so hard he was sure she’d drawn blood. He leaned into it, pushing his tongue on her mouth again as he worked his fingers and scissored her open.

“Quiet,” he admonished, again, pressing his free hand against her throat once more. He pinned her to the seat, squeezing his hand as tight as he’d let himself, “Gonna wake everyone up,” he breathed out, his nose brushing against hers.

Again, Nyx’s grin grew, her pearly teeth glowing in the shards of moonlight passing through the windows, “Good.”

Rick almost growled but couldn’t without fear of waking someone up. Instead he buried his face in her shoulder, “Fuckin’ filthy little thing,” he repeated, curling his fingers against that certain spongy spot he’d found that made her grind hard into the palm of his hand, “Gonna be a good girl and keep me in there?” She whined out a high pitched yes but otherwise stayed breathless, quiet pants crawling up her throat and Rick wanted nothing more than to shove his cock in her open mouth. He pulled up from her neck, almost sneering with the strain of trying to stay quiet as he worked his thumb up to the peak of her cunt, “Want you to cum all over my hand, sweetheart. Gonna do that for me? See if you can stay quiet.”

“Bastard,” was the whimper he got.

“That’s not very nice,” he told her, pressing his thumb hard on her clit. Her arm suddenly flew up to cover her face, Nyx burying her face in the crook of her elbow as Rick buried a third finger deep in her cunt, his thumb rubbing fast circles. He moved his hand from her throat, sliding it instead to her hip to hold her down as she bucked into his hand, “C’mon, almost there. I got you,” he muttered.

Her hips stuttered, low whines coming muffled by her elbow. She was choking his fingers and he had to remove one so he could keep them moving, working her through her orgasm. Rick’s hand got soaked suddenly and she went limp, her only movement coming from her chest that moved with rapid breaths, “Bitch.”

Rick tugged her arm from her face as he slid his hand from her pants, “What’s the matter, Nyx?”

“I--” she panted out, “hate being-- quiet.”

He flashed her a bright grin and tugged her pants back into place, giving her stomach a gentle pat, “You didn’t have to,” a quick peck on the lips, “But it would’ve been a bit awkward for the others. Especially when I wouldn’t stop.” Another whimper, and he raised an eyebrow at her, but simply stuck his fingers in his mouth.

“I’m going to sleep,” she whispered, dropping her hand off the side of the seat. Her knuckles brushed the floor. The other arm folded behind her head.

“I sure fuckin’ hope so,” DuBois grumbled from somewhere up front. “You two are disgusting.”

"No one told you to listen," Rick shot back, his whisper loud enough for DuBois to hear over Nyx's stifled giggles. Rick was grinning, though; thankfully Bloodsport couldn't see it.

"Someone needs to nap," Nyx murmured, a small smirk plastered over her mouth, "He sounds cranky."

“You ain't laying down there,” Rick suddenly tugged her back up to snuggle into his side, his arm draped over her shoulders as he scooted them both to the end of the seat, “Leanin’ or layin’?”

“Lay,” she yawned.

He turned and pressed his back to the window, head lolling to the side to lean on the seat. After some shuffling, she was between his legs, back to his chest. HIs arms wrapped around her, one leg from each of them on the seat and the other leg on the floor. They looked like they had the same boots on. Nyx nuzzled her head into his shoulder, “Y’smell nice…”

“I smell like jungle and sweat,” he chuckled, his laugh vibrating through her, “And blood. Go to sleep.”

And they both dozed off like that, just as they had several times before on Nyx’s couch. Their breathing evened, Nyx drooling a little onto Rick’s bicep. Rick shifted in his sleep and snugged her closer to his chest.

[ushidoux]

What We Inherit  - Ushijima x Reader

Summary: Ushijima’s childhood has a greater effect on him than he lets on and you only just start to realize once you meet his parents. (~2.6k words)

Warnings: divorce discussion, angst with a soft ending, character study of a sort?, sfw

A/N: Ushijima needs more background so here’s me trying to grasp at straws for an understanding of his character.

---

Ushijima favors his mother, you realize suddenly.

Not favor in a preference sort of way - while you can tell he’s an attentive son (to the point that you are worried he is too much so, stiffer than usual and mildly anxious), you realize the reason why your gaze lingers a little too much on the details of her face and the way she walks when she rises out of her seat is because she is so much like him. Or rather, he is like her.

For some reason, this sudden recognition is groundbreaking.

After all, it’s odd to compare this small, unassuming woman to your boyfriend who frankly embodies strength, but the links of blood are there, and obviously so. You can see him in the same hazel eyes that seem to pierce through you, the smile that is soft and polite but restricted, and even the way she walks, back straight and shoulders squared in confidence but touched with a feminine grace.

When your eyes blink and reopen, he looks almost exactly like her.

“You took a long time to visit,” she admonishes him once he returns from storing away the fresh fruit he’d brought as gifts to sit beside you in the living room. Her tone is not exactly harsh but it’s not exactly teasing, and she doesn’t look at him while she speaks - she’s too focused on you. Before you can take the time to further dissect her sentence and decide if the tension you’re feeling in the air is imagined or not, she shifts gears.

“Is he good to you?” She asks you suddenly, her eyes that are his not leaving yours as she brings a cup of perfectly tepid tea to her lips.

It’s such a direct statement that you’re startled by it. It gets to the crux of your meeting without need for pleasantries; in fact, she hasn’t asked you anything past your name, and you wonder if it’s because she doesn’t care, if she plans to ask later or if Wakatoshi has told her all she needed to know about you. 

You immediately eke out a “Yes, of course,” however, because it’s true. He is good to you. He’s been nothing but good to you for the past couple of years, and even though you’ve only been dating officially for the past year, he’s promised you he will continue to be this way for as long as he lives. It’s almost irresponsible that he says something so definitively, but you trust him with all your heart.

She seems satisfied with this answer because she smiles and sets her teacup on the table with barely a sound. “I’m glad.”

Her smile is like his too, you take note. When you turn to glance at Wakatoshi, he too is smiling down at you, filled to the brim with pride and affection. 

---

The Ushijima family home had started off intimidating but had become warm, much like him, as time passed. That ease began with his mother relaxing out of a kneeling position into a seating position and finally asking you about yourself. 

It turns out Wakatoshi had spoken to her about you, although some of her details were incorrect, and for with every clarification you ended up making, you could see his ears grow pinker and pinker by the second.

His mother, of course, didn’t notice, her eyes growing wide and nodding intently as you gave her more and more details about your life as though she were hearing things for the first time. 

“I told you all these things, Mother,” he finally intercepted when he’d felt that the constant barrage of questions had started to overwhelm you, although it seemed he was the one being overwhelmed by the exchange between you two. 

You gave him a glance in surprise, as did she, and then she nodded, folding her hands together, the stiffness and extreme formality returning slightly to her demeanor. It made you a little upset, the way she seemed to retreat back into her shell, and you pouted ever so slightly at him.

Picking up on your pout, his mother finally teased, “Wakatoshi-kun’s always been serious like that, ever since he was a child.”

It was a bit ironic to see this very poised woman also call her son ‘serious’, but you smiled weakly in response, reaching over to hold his hand. 

There you noticed again that he was stiff even if his face was unreadable as always. For a split second, you wondered if there was a flash of resentment you saw in his features, but you decided that that too, you had imagined.

“I suppose I can show you some childhood photos. That’s what’s normally done at meetings like this, is that not so?” 

Without waiting for an answer, she rose and whisked out of the room, leaving you and Toshi to each other. 

Once she was out of earshot, you squeezed his hand tightly. 

“She’s very nice, Toshi, you should have brought me sooner,” you whispered with a soft playful pat on his shoulder. He didn’t offer much but a soft hmph in response, so instead you scanned the room, taking in the sparse decorations in the living room.

Most of the decor was traditional and minimalistic and separating from Wakatoshi, you gravitated towards a display case in the corner. As expected, trophies and ribbons from his matches were proudly shown here along with other trinkets and knick-knacks.

What surprised you was a picture slightly tucked away in the corner of Wakatoshi, much smaller, smiling and clearly as carefree as any well-affirmed child would be, resting comfortably on the shoulders of a then-young man with a matching grin. Next to them was his mother, also younger, her hair loose and flowing, unlike the semi-neat bun she wore today, and just as genuinely happy as they were. Her arms wrapped affectionately around the man you presumed to be Ushijima’s father, and her eyes were almost closed, squinting cheerfully in the bright sun.

They looked so happy, you remarked. Even if it was in the past, it was a nice memory to be brought to the forefront, not something to be stashed away.

Unconsciously you reached for it for a closer look, not realizing your boyfriend was behind you, peering over your shoulder.

“I found the album,” His mother announced, peeling your attention away from the snapshot in time. You still had the picture in your hands when you quickly went back to sit, and jokingly, you pointed out:

“I think I found a good one already!”

His mother took one glance and for a split second, you could see her placid demeanor break, but then she let out a soft chuckle without further comment, instead opening the heavy photo album to gush about her perfect son.

---

The short-lived shaken expression on once-Mrs. Ushijima’s face haunted you longer than you expected, and you found that you were still thinking about it long after you had left the home and were back home with your lover.

“Toshi,” you finally ventured to ask, now under the cover of night as you lay in bed together just moments before sleeping. He moved ever so slightly, his heavy arm shifting from draped over your shoulder to over your midsection to make it easier for you to turn to face him, which you did promptly in the dark. “Did your mother ever consider getting remarried?”

“I don’t think so.”

You paused, carefully choosing your next words. You wanted to ask him if what you’re sensing, he’s sensed, this very small bit of remorse that you picked up. Maybe it was too much to assume, so instead you end up saying nothing. 

He picked up on your need to say more and interlaced his fingers with yours, pulling your arm up so that he could press the back of your hand to his lips.

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m not upset about them, not at all. Besides, step-siblings might have made things complicated.”

What you wanted to ask was, does your mother regret it? 

---

A year and a half later, in sunny California, you’re seated side-by-side with your Toshi and before you is a smiling man who looks every bit as cheerful as the man who carried his son on his shoulders in that single image burned in your memory.

Again, you realize Ushijima favors his father.

Admittedly, not as much as his mother, but you still see him in the broadness of his hands, the animated and focused way in which he talks about work, in the way he listens intently to your every word, although his eyes aren’t as sharp as Ushijima and his mother’s - they’re soft, round and brown and they’re surrounded by the beginnings of crow’s feet. 

Ushijima is noticeably more relaxed around his father, you note, but the same bit of tension fills the warm air when Mr. Utsui asks you when the wedding is.

“We haven’t decided yet,” he cuts in, speaking for you now even though you had reached a steady pattern of conversation with his father. You’re a little bit annoyed at the curt way he interjects, but especially at the fact that he does this, when you’ve been not so subtly talking about marriage for a couple months now.

In fact, it’s when you shift from talking about your future together in grand terms (let’s buy a house, let’s have three kids, maybe a dog) and instead specifically bringing up when to be wed that you realize he cares more about his parents’ failed marriage then he lets on.

A ring didn’t stop them from separating, he insists. To you, it sounds initially like I don’t know if I want to marry you, but you know in the depth of your heart that he would choose you over himself any day. 

But the concept of marriage itself bothers him and while you sympathize with him, it’s hard for you to let go of the idea of a ring, a pretty white dress, and taking his name. 

It’s with that same premise that he’s visibly irritated by his father’s abrupt joke, and you and Mr. Utsui are both taken aback when you see the visibly irritated expression on his face, but his dad laughs loudly to defuse the situation.

“Jumping the gun there, aren’t I?” he says, reaching across the table to affectionately pat his son’s shoulder. “You just look so comfortable together! In fact, it reminds me of your mother and I back in the day.” 

The statement meant to palliate him makes the situation all the more precarious.

Really, it’s careless the way his father says it so easily, and you can see the comment has hit something deep inside your Toshi by the very slight tension you see in his jaw and the way his eyes narrow. It’s as though, in a single sentence, his father has both denied his childhood pains and plainly uttered a curse onto your relationship, and Wakatoshi won’t allow it.

“Please refrain from comparing us to the two of you in any way from now on.”

His words are controlled, precise and seething, and you wince reflexively. The sugary sweet, half-eaten stack of pancakes in front of you no longer seems appetizing, but you pick off a blueberry with your fork and eat it to give you something to do while your heart pounds.

What will his father say in his defense?

“You’re right,” Takashi says - he wants you to call him by his first name because you are important to his son - with an understanding nod, his eyes still kind despite the fact that his son’s look is almost menacing, even if he doesn’t intend to be.

“You’re not at all like us.”

---

In the quiet aftermath of the tense brunch date, you finally decided to give up on the idea of a wedding. 

You could argue that there was always therapy, but you weren’t sure to what extent the old wounds inflicted so early and so neatly tucked away could be healed with talk and introspection. No longer were they simply wounds but reminders of the following:

Marriages fail. Love doesn’t always last.

You inched a little closer to him as you walked together on the beach through the night, unsure if your increased need for closeness was related to the chill of the small breeze picking up from the waves or because you were starting to wonder if Ushijima’s father was wrong. 

What if you were the same? What if you did end up like them? Thousands of miles apart, with uncomfortable painful memories of each other and a son who repressed his resentment… There was no way to know, was there?

You stopped suddenly, your heels digging into the sand as you broke the pregnant silence between you two.

“Toshi,” you murmured softly. Still holding your hand, he turned to face you, his eyebrows just slightly raised as he watched you in the moonlight. 

“I won’t talk about marriage anymore. I get it now,” you finally decided, your voice wavering ever so slightly unlike your steadfast resolve.

He looked into your eyes, again trying to parse out what you were feeling from the slight knit in your eyebrows and the very slight tremor in your hands.

“It’s cold,” he replied simply, taking off his hoodie and putting it around you. “Here.”

You frowned as you pushed your arms through the sleeves, your hands curling into tight fists. If you were going to bend like this, he should at least acknowledge you!

“It’s still important to me, and I think we would be different, but I understand your feelings,” you insisted, staying in place.

He had to give you something, anything. It wasn’t selfish to ask for a little bit of credit, was it?

You saw him flash a small smile, then lean over to give you a kiss on the cheek. Before pulling back, he let out a small laugh, the first since hours earlier.

“You don’t want to get married anymore, sweetheart?” He teased, his arms rubbing up and down your shoulders, and your frown grew deeper. This was an odd time for one of his jokes.

“I’m being serious!” Your voice came out whinier than expected, to the point that you were almost embarrassed, but it only made his smile grow wider.

His hands moved from your shoulders to cup your face, making sure that all you could see was him, speaking sincerely to you under the night sky.

“That’s too bad because I bought a ring.”

Your heart stopped.

But then it restarted, and instead of shivers, a new warmth seemed to run throughout your entire body with every new beat in your chest.

“W-what?”

“I want to marry you.”

I want to marry you. The words seemed to bounce around your now empty head, making a ruckus you couldn’t exactly think through.

“But you said…?”

“I don’t need a ring to prove that I’ll love you forever, but if it’s important to you, I’ll work hard and buy you a ring for every single year we are together.”

He must have picked up the habit of saying careless and deliberate statements from his father because you were now choked up with tears that you couldn’t wipe away because your hands were too busy resting on his that held your emotional visage.

“T-Toshi…”

“We’ll be different from my parents, ____,  I swear.”

You felt as though your heart would burst, so all you could do was nod. It didn’t help that his eyes seemed to shine far too much tonight as well. Was it just a trick of the moon or was he trying to convince himself too that he wouldn’t do you wrong?

“It’s true that I don’t have the ring on me, but I want to formally ask you today before I dare put a ring on your finger,

Will you marry me?”

Again you nodded, tears finally rolling down your cheeks in relief, because the answer had always been yes.

And you knew for sure, that the two of you would fight like hell to be happily married after.

[jessiebanethedragon]

White Sands Warm the Cold Sea (pt 9)

Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.

Chapter one

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers' dad and betrothed are asses.

Chapter Nine: The Night at Sea

The second you attempt to reach behind to untie your corset, your arm spasms. The collision with the hull of the ship has left you shaken and battered and in no position to twist your body to undo the double knotted ties Seil, your handmaiden, would have tied. And your heart aches when you think of her.

You know that you shouldn’t sleep in the dirty clothes and the corset, but with the secure double knots there is no way to undo the ties yourself. And so you pull yourself into the hammock, landing face first, when your back muscles give out, into the netting tied to the wall. With a groan, you don’t even bother trying to move, and you pass out on the ship - having been through the ringer for what feels like a million times in one day.

☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠

“Where is she?” Hunter grumbles when Tech returns to the group, looking up at the stars Hunter was using to calculate their ETA.

“Probably asleep in Echo’s hammock I'd guess.” Tech says plainly, and he watches as his sergeant’s face hardens.

“You need to learn how to follow orders.” He snaps, before going back to the map.

“Sarge,” Tech starts, “you’re displaying worrying symptoms.” He decides on. And under the hat he sees his eye twitch.

The barrage never ended, and the cannons never ceased. How much ammunition either side had left was impossible to guess. This creeping barrage was working. But only just. All they had to do was keep the separatists busy, the regs should be able to manage that at least. And rescue missions were the best kind of mission out there these days…

In the medical bay, Hunter shakes, the wookie child is long gone, and his vod have returned to keep their sergeant company while he heals. They’re angry, and resent him for the return-to-ship order from before. But the carnage that was left of Kashyyyk proved how right he was in securing the safety of Clone Force 99.

“Hunter, your hand.” Tech says looking at the cuts and mangled tissue.

“Kriffing door wouldn’t open.” He explains through drugged eyes. Thinking that the war is over. It has to be over. If not now, it has to be over soon. They can’t continue like this, there can’t be more missions like this. The war has got to be over soon.

Outside, the artillery starts firing again.

Hunter looks at Tech, watching the goggles reflect moonlight, and realises something that, in the chaos of the day, went unnoticed.

“Did Wrecker even lock the cell door?” He interrogates the shorter man in front of him.

“I don’t know.” Tech answers honestly with a shrug. “But even if he didn’t. You know he made the right call.” Hunter grunts in response.

“She’s a Aaray. A danger to us all” He says.

“We’ve been in worse predicaments.” Tech states. Watching as Hunter walks away from yet another conversation of theirs, and he wonders to himself, how long it will take for his captain to start screaming because of nightmares on this clear, calm, night at sea.

☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠

Everything on your left side hurts. The hit from the ship has battered your skin, muscles, and bones. Sleep evades you because the only thing you can focus on is the pain. And when even laying down becomes too much, Gonk moves herself out of where she was curled on your back as you clumsy step out of the hammock, and begin to tread outside.

The three boys are asleep, and part of you chides yourself for being vulnerable in front of them. They could have thrown you in the birg - or worse. But a bigger part of yourself says that you can trust them. Probably more so than you’ve trusted anyone in your life. It’s a naive thought - and perhaps it’s built off of never having someone you can trust before, but a part deep inside of you jumps onto and clings to the idea of putting your faith in these men.

Maybe Crosshair was rough around the edges, and from what you can see, his glare stays with him while he sleeps. It makes you smile a little. And Wreckers exposed scars, they scare you, but the eye patch was so typical of the pirate stories you heard as a child, it’s like living in a fairy tale.

Someone clears their voice behind you.

It’s the Captain, or rather Hunter. Now only in his pants, and tunic, that's been bunched around his forearms in his sleep.

“Plotting something else perhaps?” He asks, crossing his arms in front of him.

“N-no,” you say, annoyed at how easily he makes you nervous. “I couldn’t sleep, I wanted fresh air, and they…” You pause, looking back at the crew. “They’re more manageable when they’re asleep.” The captain lets out a puff of air that's not in annoyance, and you take that as a small victory. And he watches when you crane your neck to look at the stars. He knows it’s because you feel awkward, but in another life, he would’ve found your curious eyes endearing.

“Am I missing something?” Crosshair asks, having woken on his own, and deciding to investigate the scuffle outside.

“Didn’t want the Aaray skulking around the ship.” Hunter answers, “nightmares?” he asks his brother, watching him shake his head no, and with that, one tension is lifted from the sergeants shoulders.

“Are you in pain?” Your voice comes out softly, and they both stare at you unabashedly. “I only mean, i just,” You go to explain. “From earlier the side of the…”

“Hull.” Hunter corrects on instinct, before chiding himself for doing so.

“The Hull, when you caught me…” You motion randomly with your hands as if that helps communicate to Crosshair what you mean, and he stares at you looking tired and vaguely annoyed.

“You’re in pain.” He tells you. And you’re a tad taken back because it hadn't shown on his face that he knew what you meant, let alone made the connection as to why you were awake and hence asked if he too, was hurting.

“I’m okay, I just wanted to…” you try to brush it off

“There’s no point in lying.” Crosshair interrupts, watching at Hunter’s features soften when he also takes in your appearance, leaning against the door, tense and radiating anxiety. He wonders if you’ve ever felt pain like this in your life. Living on a velvet cushion of upper class coruscant would call for little more than flimsiplast cuts. He watches you shrug off Crosshair's comment, intent on being the smallest problem you can possibly be. The man that Hunter was before would be reaching out for you, your messy hair, soft features, and innocence that he knows lesser men are itching to take advantage of.

“You should take that off.” Crosshair nods towards your dress and you gape at him.

“Crosshair!” Hunter barks on instinct, and not standing for the disrespect. He sees your face flush and your arms go around your waist protectively.

“Have I missed something?” A forth voice joins them outside of the bunks and Hunter inwardly groans. Now Tech is awake, what he hoped would’ve been a private nightly stroll has turned into some kind of situation report.

“Shockingly the Aaray is being uptight.” Crosshair moves to the opposite side of the doorway you’re leaning on.

“I don’t think it is fundamentally uptight to want to preserve my own modesty.” You say incredulously, and Hunter notes that you resort to your training as a lady when you become nervous. Just like his men resort to being soldiers when faced with problems.

“Crosshair!” Tech exclaims, glaring at his brother - he really needed lessons in things that are appropriate to say, and things that are not.

“I’m only asking you to take the corset off.” Crosshair says smirking, enjoying how flustered everyone is. And Hunter sees something flash in your eyes.

“Do you think you’re funny?” You snap, and the sniper stops smiling. “Is this a game to you? Clearly you have no concept of the ramifications on a woman should she ever do something like that. Or you have no concept of how dresses and corsets work - which wouldn't surprise me given your temperament.”

Hunter catches a small grin on his face, you’re alive tonight and he hates to admit that he likes it. The inference that Crosshair is too unintelligent to understand womens garments or that no women has let him close enough to understand them is both funny and potentially accurate.

“He does have a point.” Tech chimes in.

“Tech!” Hunter shouts, expecting better from him.

“I mean it might be adding pressure to areas already in pain.” He says quickly, his face as red as a zarrabak. And no one is surprised that he’s caught himself up in the conversation.

Behind all of you - Wrecker snores.

“I-I… can’t.” Your voice is small, and you’re looking at the floor, embarrassment pings in everyone's hearts when they realise that this is an important issue to you, and they’re talking about it like you’re not even present.

“We can give you private space if that's what you require.” Tech speaks up. And when you pause you can hear the waves crash in the night.

“Thank you.” You stammer out. This whole ordeal has become very embarrassing and as much as you want to deny the pain and tell the clones it’s nothing, you know both Crosshair and Tech will see right through whatever lie you construct.

“It’s, it’s just that…” You pause again. Maker if you tell them you can’t do it yourself you’re going to look as pathetic as you feel. “I would need assistance with the ties…” You mumble the last part to your bare feet that poke out under your dress. When you have the courage to look up again, all eyes are looking at Tech. The latter of the three simultaneously having decided he was most equipped for the job.

“Have at it, loverboy.” Crosshair jeers at his brother, and now both you and Tech are blushing madly.

“I’m surprised you're not jumping to the occasion.” Tech cracks back at him. And if you weren’t so self conscious in this moment you’d roll your eyes at how much they argue. Hunter remains deathly quiet.

“Unless she wants it cut off as i’m usually-” “Alright! Alright!” Tech cuts him off, and moves towards you while Crosshair snickers.

“Turn ‘round.” Hunter barks, and while you might think he’s telling you, he’s actually giving an order to Crosshair, as the trooper made no move to divert his eyes. And as Tech undoes just enough buttons to start loosening the corset he sees how taught the ties have become and yanks it towards him for leverage.

“Tech!” You squeal and gasp, trying to get away from him and he accidentally constricts you more. Sending pain shooting all over you as your injured body is put under more stress.

Hunter turns around at the sound of pain and sees both of you shaking, he knows you must be beyond embarrassed and Tech even more so. Your moss coloured dress is unbuttoned and the back pushed aside to reveal the cream corset. Hunter sighs, and pushes his brother aside.

You hear an ‘ow’ from Tech as well as what you suspect is Crosshair's hand connecting with the back of his shorter brother's head. As they walk away you shiver as you realize the captain is standing behind you.

“You’re fine.” He says plainly. Nimble fingers working at the knots quickly, you shake in the absurdity of it all, and the feeling of Hunter exhaling into your hair and neck as he works.

“This is so unbecoming.” You mumble to yourself in shame, jerking when you feel the tips of his hair brush against your skin.

“I recall you saying ‘fuck’ earlier.” Hunter scoffs at you, “I think you’re past unbecoming.” silently praising himself when one knot becomes free, whoever tied them must have known what they were doing because it feels more complicated than half the sail ties on the Muraduer. Then again, your activities of the day probably didn't help the situation.

“Captain, you’re basically undressing me.” You tell him, looking over your shoulder just in time to watch him still at your words. The part of his face you can see in this position is covered by the tattoo, but what the moon and stars manage to light up is stunning nevertheless.

“If you’re worried about modesty, I can’t see any more of your skin than I could before.” He reassures you, and you’re beginning to wonder what kind of man he really is. Hunter is so tender at this moment, so gentle. And yet you know what lies underneath.

Technically what he just told you is a lie, he can see the expanse of your back, and parts of your shoulders. But the way your brows creased in concern as you look back at him makes lying worth it as you relax a little bit. Trying to be annoyed at you for causing him grief, he goes back to the knots.

You gasp and clutch your chest as you feel him loosening the string as the last knot comes free. And you see the shock in Hunter's face when you whip around so he barely catches a glimpse of the slip that sits underneath the corset.

Maker, he thinks to himself, you’re so disheveled and scared by a simple act. He grits his teeth at the thought of how Nython would treat you, someone like you needed soft and gentle touches, words of affirmation. Hunter’s grinding his teeth together as he realizes the pride Nython would have in hurting someone as defenceless as yourself.

But then he thinks about how you held your own against his own crew today. And the captain of the Havoc Marauder thinks you’re not as defenceless as you look.

Tags: @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @peacefulwizardfox @rex-meshla @s1st37 @and-claudia @kamino-mermaid @thelambandthewolffe @starwarsmeninhelmets

@bronvin @myeternalsin @sweetsunflowerkisses @loverofclones @beizm @gunsmoke-blu

@logina6 @wondergal2001 @lafy-taffy @lafy-taffy @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

@starskenobiwan @lordellbell @kaetavlos @violetjedisylveon @​​vergol @Lackofhonor

[pascalpanic]

Caffeine Rush: Chapter Six / Frappe

W/C: 2.9k

Warnings: language, kissing, pining lol. this is pretty fluffy before things become... decidedly unfluffy! oh Javi’s got dirty thoughts here too

A/N: HI! Thank you thank you @sanchosammy for the idea for this date :) and thank you to my pals for editing and reading for me!!

previous chapter || next chapter || masterlist

iced beverage that has been shaken, blended or beaten. It is served cold, often with whipped cream and toppings.

Javier is not a man extremely accustomed to cold temperatures. Most of his life has been spent in Laredo, Texas, or Colombia, both places known for their heat. Snow is a luxury, something to get excited about. Meanwhile, in D.C., the slushy cold is all too common and annoying.

The falling snow enchants Javier. You’ve noticed this, watched the way his eyes glimmer as the dense flakes drift from the clouds to land on your head or jacket or his own hands. He brings his dark jacket sleeve close to his face to admire the unique little crystals, only to melt it with his warm breath seconds later. Javier is a stoic man, generally stone-faced and tense. The little wonder behind his eyes melts your heart.

You told him you loved him two days ago, when you sped away from that fancy bar Javier would never return to again. You meant it, you think. You look at the man and it makes your heart race, makes you melt just like a snowflake under his warmth. You love him.

You’ve always been quick to fall in love. It’s never taken long, but it’s never happened so quickly. You suppose the process was helped along by the many hours of close proximity. It reminds you of one term you’d studied so hard in Psych 101- the mere exposure effect. It’s a simple concept, one you’ve seen mirrored many times in your life and are now living: the more one is exposed to a certain stimulus (in this case, Javier), the more you like it. It’s that easy. Human beings love familiarity, and something about Javi simply feels like you’ve known him your whole life.

Javier leans against your windowsill, staring through the frosted glass. Your plants look shrunken, the cold radiating from the glass into their roots. You’ll have to change that pretty soon, but now you just admire him.

As always, his mustache is neatly trimmed. His hair is a little messy, slept in and wavy. He wears a t-shirt and jeans, slung low over his hips without a belt. You sit on your couch, curled into the corner with a blanket draped across your lap. Your head rests on the arm of the sofa as you watch him, watching the snow.

He turns and looks at you after a few moments. You smile and close your eyes, enjoying the warmth of your radiator and the blanket. He takes his turn to admire you, the way you watch him with such adoration. Between the snow and your love, he never wants to go back to Colombia. He doesn’t want to go back to the loneliness, to the endless beat downs his health and brain take from hours upon hours of work. He wants this, but this isn’t him. This isn’t who Javier Peña is, is it?

He’s a new man. He’s starting over, new job, new love life, he reminds himself. He comes and sits next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and kissing your temple. He can be whoever he wants, and what he wants most to become is the man you see in him. He wants to be something you love, something for you to be proud of. He wants to be better for you.

You lean against him, and he wraps both arms around you. His chest is warm and steady beneath your head, and you sigh and cuddle in closer. “Do you like the weather up here?” You ask him quietly, knowing the answer.

“I’m always hot,” he admits. “It’s nice to feel cooled down for once.”

Smiling at that, you pull your knees into your chest and fully relax against him. “I don’t want you to leave, Javi. I don’t want you to leave me.”

“We’ve got plenty of time, abejita,” he murmurs and nuzzles his face into your hair. “Three weeks or so left. Enjoy what we have now, right?”

You sigh. You’ve always been a planner, laying out the foreseeable future so that you can have something in mind, goals. Javier certainly threw a wrench in them- you didn’t expect to have someone to spend your time with, someone to be completely infatuated by. And you can’t plan what will happen when he goes back to Colombia. Will he want to put up with a long distance relationship? He’s told you about his past; he rarely went a week or less without fucking a prostitute or informant. He certainly wouldn’t want another problem on his schedule, making time for long-distance dates. And it’s a permanent job, isn’t it? He’s not coming back on a schedule. There’s too much in your head, too much fear, and it makes you bury your face into his chest. “What’s wrong?” He asks, stroking your back.

“I just… want you in my life.” You murmur, nudging your nose into his neck. “Whatever it’ll take.”

“We have time to figure that out,” he reminds you, and you sigh and give a soft nod. You just snuggle in closer and hope that his warmth and affection will take away your worries. “I do like the weather here,” he muses as he looks out at the frosty glass. “I never got snow growing up. Never in Colombia either. It’s a special thing.”

Lifting your head to look out the window, you pull the blanket tighter and rest your head on Javier’s shoulder. “I have an idea for what we can do tonight, since you like the cold.”

“Hit me.”

-

Balance is not an essential skill as a DEA agent, and therefore, Javier doesn’t have much of it. He wobbles nervously as he steps along, the blades of the ice skates holding up his feet.

“You got it,” you laugh, walking along as the blade covers press into the ground. “It’s just like wearing heels.”

“I don’t do that,” he reminds you with a frown, trying to make his way to the ice rink a few feet away.

Giggling at the way he stumbles along, you remove the guards and step onto the ice. The glide beneath your feet is familiar. You’re good on the ice, somewhat skilled at it. You do a little spin in a circle, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself. “Come on. You’ll be- no, stop,” you laugh as he tries to step on the ice with the guards on his skates. “Take those off.”

Javier balances against the edge of the rink as he removes them, leaving them on a pile of them nearby. He wobbles through the entrance of the rink, finally standing on the ice. His long legs knock together and quiver at the balance. “Good,” you smile at him. “Come skate to me.”

You’re a few yards away from him, and he continues to frown, trying to take a step forward- a rookie mistake- and slipping as he puts his skate down. He catches himself on the guard rail, cursing loudly.

It’s late at night; you’re the only ones on the outdoor rink. You’re not ashamed as your laugh rings out into the dark, the floodlights illuminating the sheet of ice. “Oh my God, you really are a beginner,” you laugh, pushing off and into a peaceful glide around the oblong shape.

“No shit,” he calls out to you, standing up straight again with both hands on the edge of the rink. “This isn’t exactly my wheelhouse.”

When you stop next to him, a cascade of snow flying out from beneath your blades, you take his hand in his. “Alright. One hand on me, one hand on the rink,” you tell him, daring to push forward just slowly enough for him to have time to react.

He pushes off, mimicking what he saw you do earlier, and the two of you glide along for a moment. “There we go, now push again, a little harder,” you tell him, and you both push along in sync, sending you floating across the ice. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m concentrating,” Javier grumbles. How the hell did you rope him into this? When you’d suggested something outdoors for tonight, he’d wholeheartedly agreed, eager to spend some time in the cold. This, however, a physical activity that doesn’t end with a gunshot or an orgasm, is not something he’s used to.

You kiss his cheek and his frown lightens, instead falling into a neutral expression of focus. His eyes stay on the ice, and you cup his chin in your hand to lift his head. “Look ahead, not down. You’ll keep tripping if you keep looking down.”

He nods at your orders, trying to focus on the boards around the rink as they approach. His legs remain shaky, but he’s doing well. “There you go,” you grin at him, letting go of his hand. With the other on the boards, he does a good job, and in hardly any time, you’ve made a full lap of the rink. You stop and he does his best to do so, though he nearly flies over. Smiling, you take his face in your hands and kiss him gently. “If you don’t like this, we can be done,” you remind him as you break away, keeping your face close to his.

Javier smiles softly at you, just enough to show the little dimple in his cheek. “I’m going to figure out how to do this if it kills me.”

“It might,” you tease, patting the ass he’s already fallen on several times. “That’s gonna hurt tomorrow,” you laugh and Javier kisses you again, one hand steadying himself on the wooden boards.

Breaking away, he kisses the tip of your freezing nose before leaning back. “I learn best by watching. Why don’t you just… do a couple of laps?” He asks.

You nod and skate backwards away from him. “Sure.” You hug your jacket tight around your body as you glide across the ice, doing a few little twirls and loops. The breeze is cold, even on your legging-covered shins.

You’re graceful on the ice, the opposite of Javier. He gives a half-smile as he watches you, admiring your grace. Those damn leggings cup your ass, showing the curve and the way it moves. God, he’s always noticed you for your beauty, but this is something else.

The bulky winter coat covers your torso, but your expression is so peaceful and free as you move, your momentum pushing your hair back as wind seems to curl around you. You look astonishing. Javier wishes he brought his camera with to capture this.

“Did you tell me to do this just to stare at my ass?” You tease from across the rink, skating forwards and looking over your shoulder at him.

“Would you be mad if I said yes?”

You laugh and cut across the rink, no longer circling the perimeter but taking the quickest route to him. “Not in the slightest,” you laugh and kiss him again. His lips are addictive, making you crave his kisses more and more the longer you go in between them. “Okay, come on, hot-shot,” you say and take his hands, pulling him out onto the ice.

Dropping your hands, Javier’s arms stick out parallel to the ground, wobbling and trying to balance. He pushes a little, remembering your advice and looking up, and sighs as he lets himself slide across the ice, his feet unintentionally pointing in then out then in again. “Look at you!” You laugh proudly, skating next to his side.

When you’re next to him, Javier takes your hand and chuckles a little in amazement at the movement. It’s like riding in a car with the windows down, the air rushing past. Your hand feels warm, even despite the cold air, and it anchors him as he picks up speed and the two of you fall into a steady rhythm.

He even dares to try skating backwards at one point. He succeeds for a moment, earning an astonished laugh from you, but it ends as one would expect: on his ass. You help him up and kiss his cheek. “Want me to kiss it better?” you flirt, smiling jokingly at him.

“Mm, I’ll pass,” he shakes his head then kisses you on the lips, his hands finding your waist. The two of you stop in the middle of the rink, kissing slowly under the bright lights of the rink.

Javier leans in a little, desperate for more, but he rocks too far forward on his skates. “Fuck, fuck!” he shouts as he loses his balance and falls forward, taking you down with him as he falls onto his knees.

“Javi!” you squeal as you fall backwards, landing on your ass this time. “Goddamnit,” you laugh as you look at him, his palms pressed to the ice on either side of you in an attempt to break his fall but not to land on you. He hovers over your body, and you can’t stop giggling with the adrenaline of the moment.

Javier’s laughing too, a genuine laugh that puts lines in his face. Such genuine laughter is rare for such a serious man, and you feel warm inside with the honor that comes along with bringing that joy to him. “You know, I do, I think so.” He looks at you in confusion. “I really do love you, Javi,” you have no choice but to admit.

He doesn’t respond. He can’t. He can’t bring himself to say it back, even if he knows deep in his heart that he would mean it if he said it. He does love you, but there’s a lump in his throat that refuses to budge.

Just a second before the silence would become awkward, he brings his face to yours and kisses you, slowly. It’s sweet and longing and he forces his emotions through it, transmits them through his lips and into yours. I love you too, abejita. Really. I just… can’t say it.

It’s alright. You can tell from the way that he kisses you that this is his way of saying it back, that he feels the same flutter in his heart when your fingers lace through each others’, when he wraps his arms around you and his arms flex tight to pull you as close as he physically can.

You stay like that for a moment, kissing, Javier hovering over you on the ice. It doesn’t last too long before you break away. “Not to ruin the moment, but this is deep-freezing my ass,” you admit with a chuckle. You get up and help him up, and the two of you take one more lap around the rink before getting off the ice.

The drive home is filled with comfortable silence, Javier driving with one hand on your thigh. He knows his way to your place by now. You don’t even have to direct him. You park on the street then walk into your apartment with him, appreciating the warmth of the building.

The little nightly routine you’ve assumed works itself out. You both get into your pajamas, readying yourself for sleep. Javier’s spent two nights on the couch and he’s fully prepared for a third when you stop him in the doorway to the bathroom, a hand flat against his chest. “Sleep with me tonight, Javi. Please.”

He’s spent the entire night admiring your ass. If you sleep in the same bed, he won’t be able to take it any longer. He shakes his head. “It’s for the best that I sleep on the couch, bee.”

The words make you frown, but the nickname makes your heart tingle. He translates it from abejita to little bee when he’s lazy, and shortens it from little bee to just bee when he’s tired. Well, you suppose you’ve worn him out tonight with the ice skating. “Please,” you beg of him, fingers finding their way to the muscle protecting his heart. “Can we at least snuggle?”

Javier sighs but gives you a tired little smile. “How can I say no to that?”

You find your way to the couch together. It starts with you both sitting up, your head resting against Javier’s shoulder as you watch the late show on the TV. As you both grow more tired, Javier begins to slump to the side, and you follow him down, fully leaning against him. Then more and more until Javier lies down on his back and pulls you on top of him.

“Mm. You’re comfy,” you hum as you lie on him, head in the curve of his neck. His skin radiates warmth, and he pulls the blanket over the two of you, too sleepy to comment back. He just kisses your temple and watches the TV with half-open eyes.

A few minutes later, his breathing slows, and you can feel his breathing switch from his nose to his mouth, his warm breath on the top of your head. He’s fallen asleep. You smile as you nuzzle in closer. The couch isn’t ideal, but you’ll take any chance you can get to fall asleep with Javier.

The late show drones on in the background, then changes to infomercials that run the course of the night. Neither of you are awake to see it, too deep in a perfect sleep, nestled in each other’s arms, Javier using you as his blanket and you using him as your pillow.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @yooforia @oceanablue @sara-alonso @pedrosmustache @feelingmadclever @hnt-escape @radiowallet @obsessivelysearching @sugarontherims @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @linnie0119 @1800-fight-me @autumnleaves1991-blog @toilet-keeper @evelynseventyr @metalarmsandmanbuns @shannababyy @sambucky21 @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @theorganasolo @jagi-yaaa @mrsparknuts @tacticalsparkles

[comehomeducklings]

Present [Part 1] (Obsession)

A/N: Please don't copy, redistribute, and/or post my work on this site or any others. This has taken my time and creativity to come up with the story's characters and plot.

Also, I swear my writing gets better. It's a little rough right now but I'm planning on rewriting them.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Tom Riddle's Moodboard

Main Character's Moodboard

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

1943 ~ 6th year

No sound above whispers could be heard throughout the great hall. The food on the table hasn't been touched by a single hand. The very thought of eating churning all our stomachs. Not during these times. Our heads turn every now and then, afraid of what might sneak up behind us. The death of Myrtle and others has shaken the entire school. A murderer is among us, trust is such a foreign concept now.

Dark purple eye-bags lay beneath every single student's eyes. No one is allowed to go home for the holidays. They aren't allowing us to leave, we are stuck in this cloud of darkness and uncertainty. No owls are supposed to be sent out. As the head girl, I'm responsible for every student's life and responsibilities. I have to know where everyone is at all times. It gets tiring at times, but necessary nonetheless.

A nightly routine consisted of all my dormmates huddling around each other. No sleep would come to us all night. We wouldn't move from the same spot until light shown from the windows. Our beds are all pressed together in the farthest corner of the room from the door. Our wands never leaving our hands in case of danger. Every little sound made from the outside provoking us. Even to the point of going mad. Potions used to stay awake, slowly wearing off as the morning arose. No sleep, we can't afford that luxury anymore.

I would leave the dorm to wait at the portrait for our assigned house professor to come. They would tell me it was safe for everyone to head to the great hall to get breakfast. As soon as they were done I quickly went to everyone's dormitory to wake them up, if they even slept at all. I would then inform them that it was safe to step out of their dorms. After everyone got situated I would have the students form a line and lead them towards the great hall. 1st-3rd years would occasionally hold the folds of my robes. Fearing that when they blink I would be gone. Leaving them alone to deal with the dangers that lurk in the school.

Not once have I lied about how they are going to be all right. That would be cruel. These students don't seek pathetic nurturing words, they want a protective force watching over them. So many clubs and activities have been canceled. Hogsmede and quidditch proving as a prime example. No one complained though, quidditch players too afraid to even step out of the castle's walls even if they were allowed.

Back to the present, I hold my good friend's hand as she slightly shakes from anxiety. I can see it in her eyes, the doubt of making it alive eating away at her brain. The spark once present in her shiny green eyes being blown out. Amelia, her name being. She's been biting her nails again, to the point where it had bled. This can be backed by the dried-up blood that is present at the tip of her finger's nail.

A booming voice can be heard, "You are now being dismissed to head to class, your houses head girl and boy will be assigning the group you'll be heading off with."

First period has been removed from every perfect and head's schedule. During this time we search the whole castle for any wanders. We make sure everyone is where they are supposed to be. If someone got lost or went to the wrong class we escort them to where they need to be.

After every class, students have a limited amount of time to get to their next lesson. Although, perfects and heads get more time to make sure everyone is where they are needed quickly. Then we hurry to our class after scanning the halls swiftly.

The once safest school of the wizarding world giving birth to the dark ages. More bodies have been found littering the schools. Most of them not found until their ghosts appear before us. Every single one not knowing how they died. Like the murderer is invisible upon meeting the victim. I originally suggested it could have been done by poison. When the bodies were checked, no traces of poison had been traced.

Professors have been waiting for the person who is responsible to slip up, to give us a clue. I don't think that will happen though. The process of these killings has been too thought out and well planned. I wouldn't be surprised if these mass killings have been planned months before, even maybe years. I've been talking to the ghosts to try and gather all details, even the potentially useless ones. When our headmaster made us heads keep tabs on everyone, the killings stopped for a short amount of time. It was like the mastermind was creating a way to best us, to get past the "little inconvenience." It didn't take long for them to find the weak parts in the plan.

What we have got though, is that every single student killed has been a muggle-born. A classic case of an unfair stigma around the poor wizards and witches. They never were able to catch a break. Amelia, one of my close friends in the friend group. She's a muggle-born, hence the shaking of her hands. I've been keeping a closer eye on her, she doesn't leave my side. She comes on my patrols so I can keep her in my sights, with of course the permission of the teachers. There are only two times that I can not watch over her. Those two times are covered by my other friend Devyn, a pure-blood. She also helps keep her safe, not letting her go anywhere by herself. The two times are because she's in two different classes than I am. One of them being a study hall.

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

"Professor, how will this class help us now? Reading teacups for predictions should be the least of our worries right now," a student at the back of the room exclaims.

"The said predictions could lead us to the future before it happens. Our worries lay exactly what will happen in the future. If anything, this is one of the most important classes we'll take this year," I say, continuing to read the teacup.

"Precisely, thank you. Now go back to studying, I'll be coming around to view your interpretations."

My tea leaves look more like a blob with a cross going through them. A weirdly shaped blob. I already know there is a cross, but what about the blob? I tried shaking it a little, looking at the leaves from different angles. I already crossed off a club, falcon, and the sun. It could be an acorn, but I see a slight hole in the blob.

Could it be...

"A skull that is." I jump at the sudden voice near my ear. My teacup almost falling from my grasp.

"Pardon, a what?"

She points towards two holes in the blob, one of them I just mentioned, "I saw you already found one hole, there's the other. How it's shaped could be a little difficult to see since the cross is through it, but it's there."

The professor takes the cup from my hand and lays it on her desk. Some of my classmates look at me in curiosity, but they soon lose interest and go back to their own tea leaves.

A cross and a skull, that sounds about right to how my school year is going so far. I scan my book to see exactly what they mean.

A skull, danger in your path.

A cross, trials and suffering.

"What d-did you find?" A Hufflepuff boy to my right asks.

I don't want to scare the poor boy, he's already frightened enough as it is. If my future got around to the school, everyone would start being concerned about me. I'll barely get any of my duties done if I didn't already get it taken away for my safety. Last thing I need right now is even more panic.

"Nothing much, the future is still a little foggy."

"That's, um, good. I couldn't really read mine either," he chuckles lightly, almost seemingly forced.

Our professor claps her hands together, "Class is dismissed, read up about your predictions if you haven't already. No homework today."

I gather my books and push in my chair. Right before I could reach the door where other students are waiting, the teacher stops me.

"I'll have to tell the headmaster about this, I shouldn't keep it a secret."

"No, please don't. If you must, only tell Albus. I can't have this messing anything up, I'll become vulnerable."

The professor looks around the room, her eyes wandering franticly. I'm sure I am asking a lot from her. I really need her to keep this a secret.

"Oh alright, you're my best student. I just would hate to see anything happen to you. I'm informing only Albus to see if he can keep an eye on you."

"Thank you so much, I swear I'll be careful." A huge weight is lifted off my shoulders. I can't be worrying about my future when I have to worry about everyone else's.

I leave the classroom and start heading to my next class. Potions have always been one of my favorite classes. Mixing a bunch of toxins into a pot is a specialty of mine. I'm quickly scanning the halls for any wanderers, making sure everyone is at class. My feet take me to Potions in a hurry. I don't want to miss much, trying to make the class as informational as possible.

"You shouldn't be running, you still have 3 minutes of checking the school."

It's always him, I even tried changing routes to avoid him. His idiotic smirk, thinking he actually did something. All he did is waste my time and train of thought.

"I'm allowed to run Riddle, it's not a rule. I already checked the halls I was assigned, did you?" I really have no energy for this.

Tom peers down at me, somehow still wearing that infamous smile. Eyes bright, filled with mischief and knowledge.

"I have, double-checked as well. I'm sure you only checked once. Such irresponsible actions, I still wonder how you nabbed the head-girl spot."

I choose not to answer, not giving in to his baiting. Does he think I'm that stupid? That easily bothered by a simple test of my patience.

"You could have just said you wanted to walk me to class Riddle. No need to be shy with me."

"Shy, a concept I would not know of. Might as well bring you to class, since I'm heading there myself. Wouldn't want you to be in danger, since you consistently prove you can't handle a simple check of the hallways."

"I told you Tom-"

"Once is not enough, you should know that by now," he interrupts me, feigning a sudden serious facade on.

We start heading towards Slughorn's room. I'm a little behind his figure. Mostly looking down to make sure I don't step over his feet and fall. He sometimes walks with me, very confusing if I may say. Hating my skills, probably still hates me. You can often find us arguing if we are ever partners in class together. The usual game we play, how many questions can we get right by the end of class. Last time he won by one point, my sour mood not helping the atmosphere.

"You look rested, more than me at least," I smile tiredly. My whole body slightly sagging forward from exhaustion. He looks as proper as someone could be. His skin is a little pale though, brighter than usual. Almost like he was sick, his eyes look darker too. More sunken in, the shape of his skull more prominent. His looks still annoyingly well presented.

"Yes, you do look rather tired. I see other things have prioritized above your looks."

This man, the audacity of this man. The only reason I'm not at the top of every class. Our number 1 student count being evenly split. I have to bite down on my tongue forcefully to not say anything back. I'm too tired to truly come back with anything witty, so I choose to save myself from the embarrassment. Instead, I slightly step on his robe on the ground causing him to trip up a little.

He quickly sends a warning glare my way and then continues walking. I smile slightly, knowing even if it was petty, it was worth it.

Riddle doesn't even hold the door for me when we walk in. Causing it to slam dangerously close to my face.

"There you two are, I was afraid you weren't going to make it," Slughorn exclaims excitedly. "Turn your textbooks to page 246, we are going to learn how to make a Polyjuice potion!"

I glance at Tom, his eyes only focus on the words before him not realizing my gaze is on him. I wonder if he'll make this a competition as well. Knowing him, as well as me, anything but competition is out of our character. He looks up catching my eyes, I tilt my head. Trying to silently communicate from afar.

His head turns to Slughorn, then back to me. He nods his head and that's all it takes for both of us to come to an understanding. Whoever can answer the most questions, and create the best potion gets bragging rights.

I don't intend to lose.

[hatterstan-shameblog]

Okay so Aguni is sound asleep, just enjoying the few hours of peace he has, when there's a knock on the door. He ignores it, but the person just keeps knocking and knocking.

"Morizono, open the goddamn door!" he hears Takeru call, "This is an emergency!"

He groans to himself before standing up and opening the door.

"What?"

"So, remember that weird chonky cat Niragi found?"

"Yeah... what about it?"

"It's not fat... and is not a cat."

Where Hatter and apparently every other idiot at the Beach mistake a domesticated pregnant genet for a fat exotic cat. And it just gave birth on Hatter's bed.

I have no idea in what direction this is supposed to go lol but hopefully something chaotic.

alright I had to look up what a genet is and DAMN they are CUTE AS HELL and I’m love them v much

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Terminator

Rating: PG-13 for dialogue and like one drug reference

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Aguni Morizono is a simple man who enjoys simple pleasures.

He enjoys a healthy slathering of grape jelly on his toast. He enjoys watching the sunset reflect over the ocean. He enjoys watering his garden and reading the newspaper and taking naps on the sofa on Sunday afternoons after he’s finished his grocery shopping for the week.

What he does not particularly enjoy is being shaken awake by a borderline-frantic Takeru in the middle of the night.

Takeru insists that he has a good reason; that this is an emergency. Aguni reminds him that running out of marijuana does not qualify as an emergency, and pulls the blanket over his head in an attempt to shut the very exuberant man out.

But the aforementioned exuberant man refuses to be shut out, and he references the aforementioned emergency again—this time insisting that it is an actual real emergency and requires immediate attention. Aguni sincerely doubts this and tries his damnedest to fall back to sleep—a truly Herculean task, given Takeru’s incessant talking and the way he’s bouncing on the other side of the mattress like some kind of weird large puppy. Aguni is just about to enter the first misty moments of dozing off as Takeru says words like ‘Niragi’ and ‘cat’ and ‘bed’ and it’s all somewhat possible to ignore until he utters one word that makes Aguni sit straight up.

‘Babies.’

Now, ‘babies’ as a concept does not bother Aguni. He’s actually somewhat fond of them, the way they unabashedly stare at him on the train or in the park, eyes wide and fat little hands waving a clumsy ‘hello’ in his general direction. And if he waves back sometimes, well...that’s his business. (It’s only polite, after all.)

No, the issue here is that ‘babies’ and ‘the Borderlands’ sounds like a terrible, terrible mix. What’s worse is that said babies have, for some reason, been left in Takeru’s care. And, judging from Takeru’s presence in his room, the babies have been left alone.

It takes no time at all for Aguni to throw on a pair of pants and slip into his boots. It takes even less time for him to grab Takeru by the collar of his robe and physically drag him down the hall, the other man switching between heartfelt thank-you’s and desperate pleas for Aguni to be gentle when handling the raw silk of his ensemble.

Now, to those of us on the outside of Aguni’s brain, it may seem like he hasn’t thought this through; that he has tunnel-vision’d his way through the last two paragraphs without a logical thought as to how and why ‘babies’ may be present. That is simply not true. Aguni has considered that ‘babies’ could actually mean a number of things aside from ‘human infants’ and has thus compiled a short list of the three most likely candidates:

The spider plant he had placed on Takeru’s windowsill has propagated—or, as some would call it, ‘had babies.’ This is Aguni’s favorite option of the bunch. It is also the least likely.

Something about the cards. Although Aguni has never Takeru refer to them as ‘his babies,’ it is no secret that he is very protective of his prized collection. Seeing as this may or may not affect the entire Beach, it’s important for him to be aware of the situation.

Takeru is high as a goddamn kite and hallucinating. This is, unfortunately, the most likely scenario.

It is also important to mention that Aguni has taken a good look at his life and his choices throughout this ordeal, particularly when Takeru commented on the state of his biceps and made an off-color insinuation about the right one looking slightly more defined than the left—and then asked if he would like to discuss his love life, with an exaggerated raise of his eyebrows. Aguni chose not to comment. He also chose to push Takeru into the doorframe on the way into his suite, and took a smidge of pleasure when his head collided with the wood with a satisfying clunk-ing sound.

“Look,” Takeru says proudly, pointing a finger at the bed, “babies!”

Nestled in what a bulging nest of fluffy white blankets are...things. Fuzzy things. One big fuzzy thing, with sleepy eyes and what looks to be a long spotted tail wrapped around one, two, three tiny fuzzy things. When Aguni leans in to get a closer look, the big one quirks a corn-chip-shaped ear and gives him a wary glare.

“What,” Aguni asks, “in the goddamn—“

But before Aguni is able to finish his sentence, Takeru is giving him a stinging slap on the arm.

“Aguni Morizono,” he hisses, hands balled into fists and perched on his hips like a mother hen, “I will not have my children exposed to that kind of language.”

There are plenty of things wrong with what Takeru just said, but Aguni is having trouble getting past the idea that these...creatures have somehow been claimed by his very silly friend.

“Think about it,” Takeru continues, swanning his way past a very confused (and tired) Aguni to sit on the edge of the bed just behind the brood of fluffy individuals, “This lovely lady could have given birth on anyone’s bed...but she chose mine.  Why do you think that is?”

“Because you leave the sheets all balled up in the middle and it’s the perfect place for an animal to make a nest?”

“Wrong, but I like how confident you sounded when you said it!”

With his hands pressed together and held in front of his lips, Takeru looks almost prayerful as he very seriously explains his theory.

“A woman alone-- heavily pregnant, scared, and lost in these cold and cruel Borderlands.  Her thoughts shift to her young.  Who will keep them safe?  Who will help take care of them?  That’s when her instincts took over,” Takeru opens his arms, the silken cuffs of his robe pooling around his elbows, “and, using her superior sense of smell, followed her nose to the den of the nearest alpha male for protection.”

Aguni wishes he could say that this is the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. He also wishes he had a cup of coffee (with a healthy glug of Bailey’s in there for good measure) before this whole event took place.

Takeru has since busied himself with the tiny new mother and her young, watching with gentle fascination as the newborns snuffle and snooze against her with unopened eyes and clumsy paws. When he reaches out a ring-bedecked hand to stroke along the bigger one’s head, she gives him a small growl and a pointed glare—to which he laughs and withdraws his touch, saying something cheeky about “the last time she let a man get too close” and quickly following it up with a promise to talk about it “after the kids are asleep.”

Takeru has just held up his hand for a high-five (which Aguni has decided to not reciprocate) when they hear a crash and then a bang and then the thundering thumpthumpthump of angry booted footsteps rapidly approaching their position in the bedroom. For some reason—a reason he’s not very keen to dwell upon at the current moment—Aguni instantly snaps into defense mode, hands curling into fists and shoulders squaring themselves in anticipation of a coming attack.

“WHERE. IS. TERMINATOR!?”

Niragi bursts into the room like a firework, all noise and flash and fire in his eyes. His knuckles strain around the dark of his rifle, ready to shoot at a moment’s notice. Of course, Aguni knows (hopes) he won’t actually resort to filling Takeru full of bullets, but he keeps a close eye on his trigger finger, anyways.

“Ah! There’s my co-parent,” Hatter says with a measure of glee, gesturing with a flourish of his hand towards the cute, hairy pile on his bed, “As you can see, our lovely Terminator is doing very well and—“

“Our? She’s not fucking ours, she’s fucking mine,” Niragi snaps, “and I’m gonna fucking kill you for stealing my cat.”

“Not a cat,” a calm voice says, and Aguni turns to see Last Boss lurking in the doorway, katana sheathed and arms crossed, “She’s a common genet, native to the savanna’s of Africa.”

“Ooh, does that mean the babies have dual citizenship? No, wait,” Hatter claps his hands together with glee, “triple citizenship? Africa, Japan, and the Borderlands?!”

“Africa’s not a country, it’s a continent, dumbass,” Niragi retorts, “and I think we have bigger problems than what’s going to be on their fucking passports.”

It’s probably not the best thing in the world for Aguni to let Takeru and Niragi descend into heated bickering—a back-and-forth of ‘you stole her’ versus ‘no, she chose me’—but Aguni is simply not interested in breaking up their squabbling. Instead he goes to stand by Last Boss, who’s watching the two long-haired men argue like it’s a mildly interesting tennis match.

“So,” Aguni says, “you, uh, seem to know a lot about those things.”

“I did my research when Niragi first brought her back,” Last Boss says calmly, “He’s good with her, but I wanted to make sure we were taking care of her correctly.”

“Did you know she was pregnant?”

“I had my suspicions. Niragi wouldn’t listen, though. Kept telling me she was just fat.”

“Yeah, I thought she was ‘just fat,’” Niragi interjects, his gun no longer pointed at Takeru but a murderous gleam still in his eye, “because this fucking asshole kept feeding her potato chips!”

“Because she loves them,” Takeru shouts back, throwing his arms up in the air, “So shoot me for being a nice guy and sharing my snacks with your weird cat!”

“Don’t,” both Last Boss and Aguni say in unison—which is very uncomfortable for the both of them, but at least it has the desired effect of keeping Niragi from blasting a few dozen holes through Takeru’s person.

With the two of them quickly getting back into their heated back-and-forth, Aguni turns his attention to the creatures on the bed. Somehow, despite all of the noise and excitement, the mother and her babies have curled up and fallen asleep, the rhythmic rise and fall of their bellies a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding around them. Aguni feels jealous, but also, feels bad about feeling jealous because this...Terminator thing has undoubtedly had a rough night, too.

“Luckily,” Last Boss says, “genets are pretty independent creatures. She’ll be fine to take care of the kits on her own, provided that she has access to food and water.”

“So we should just...leave her alone?”

Last Boss shrugs.

“More or less.”

Aguni sighs internally. He sighs externally, too, but the internal sigh is the one that really sums up his thoughts on the whole situation. Just getting one of those hot-headed men to leave those poor animals alone is challenging enough, but both of them? That’s bordering on ‘damn near impossible.’

But, for the sake of those weird fuzzy babies, he has to try.

Takeru jumps when he feels Aguni’s hand on his elbow. He also manages to shut up for a moment, which is a nice bonus. Last Boss has also sprung into action and seems to be talking to Niragi in hushed tones, a hesitant but friendly hand on his shoulder.

“C’mon,” Aguni says, gentle-firm as he guides Takeru into a standing position—much to the other man’s confusion.

“Mori, what—?”

“You’ve had a big night. I’ve had a big night. But do you know whose had the biggest night of us all?” Aguni gestures to the snoozing creatures in front of them, “Terminator. She’s exhausted, and the last thing she needs is the four of us keeping her up. You can stay with me tonight, and we’ll figure the rest out tomorrow.”

“But,” Takeru protests—an iota quieter, now that he’s realized that the pipe on the bed is now a sleeping pile, “we can’t just leave them alone, can we?”

“You’re right. Which is why,” Aguni says, “Last Boss is going to stay with her and keep an eye on things. If he’s okay with that, of course?”

Last Boss offers a solemn nod. Aguni makes a mental note to thank him for this later—maybe he’ll let him pick the music on their next supply run (provided it’s from Aguni’s list of pre-approved artists, of course...)

“You know what? Fucking fine,” Niragi spits, flicking his hair back with a quick jerk of his hand, “it’s too goddamn late to deal with you fucking losers, anyways. I’ll come back to collect my cat and her kittens in the morning.”

Aguni does not risk correcting Niragi on his incorrect terminology regarding his pets—frankly, he’s a little too busy being amazed at how suspiciously easy it was to get him to leave. With a sharp pivot, Niragi is exiting the room in what could be called a ‘brisk saunter,’ no doubt wanting to put as much distance between himself and whatever-the-hell just happened in this room as possible.

Aguni, for once, can relate to Niragi quite well.

With Last Boss keeping vigil over the new little family, Aguni is able to wrangle Takeru away from his room with minimal fuss. It’s probably because the man is very tired—despite multiple claims that he ‘isn’t sleepy yet’ and ‘can stay up for hours.’ This theory is proven when, within a grand total of seven seconds of Takeru flopping face-first onto the middle of Aguni’s bed, he’s managed to slip into what only can be described as a ‘light coma.’

Aguni manages to wrestle a stray pillow away from his sleeping friend’s grasp (he’s a notoriously cuddly sleeper, which has led to some...interesting situations over the course of their friendship) and settles his weary self onto the couch. It’s not quite long enough to accommodate his height, but it’s good enough for what will most likely end up being an extended nap before the sun comes up and he needs to solve whatever other issues have popped up at the Beach overnight.

...But, at least those problems won’t involve babies.

Probably.

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Also here is a common genet and DAMN SIS U CUTE AS HELL

[lalainajanes]

For the square “water park” on my Klarosummerbingo card! Might be my worst title ever but it’s actually better than the original one so  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Slip and Slide

Caroline speedwalks through the lobby, weaving around people who seem to think it’s the appropriate place for an early morning stroll. “Hold the elevator!” she calls, ignoring the few disgruntled looks she receives.

She hadn’t been that loud, and she’s nearly late for a critical meeting. It’s the first one with a new client, and she’d hate to make a bad first impression.

She’d had to head to the dry cleaners before work, had gotten caught in a traffic snarl in an area she wasn’t that familiar with, and it had taken her way too long to figure out the detour. She should have left her place earlier.

She gets to the security gates, juggling a garment bag, her briefcase, and a portfolio. Her ID seems to be just out of reach, and she jams her hand further into her purse. Albert, her favorite guard, murmurs, “Take a breath, Ms. Forbes.”

She blows one out, frustrated. Rolls her shoulders in an attempt to relax. “Sorry. I’m just…”

“Stressed? I can tell.”

Yikes. Caroline hopes that doesn’t mean her hair has exploded.

She smiles weakly, “Big day today.”

A brand new project, after the last one had been a disaster. Caroline’s comfortable with stress, thrives on high stakes, but she could totally use a win.

Her fingers touch the familiar edge of her badge, and she pulls it out triumphantly. She taps it on the sensor, walks through the revolving gate. “Good luck, Ms. Forbes,” Alfred murmurs as she passes.

It’s a little thing, but Caroline feels a little better knowing someone’s rooting for her.

She’s relieved to spot that one of the elevators is open, a man holding the door, his eyes on her. She doesn’t recognize him, but that doesn’t mean anything. The building has 55 floors, offices for more than two dozen companies within it. He’s dressed in a suit, like the vast majority of the men she sees in the building. His is nicer than most, charcoal grey, perfectly fitted, with a very subtle pinstripe that she only notices when she gets closer. Caroline hurries into the car gratefully. She leans forward, punches 32. “Thank you so much,” she says to him, turning so they’re shoulder to shoulder. “You’re a lifesaver.”

The man on her other side makes a noise, a tiny scoff. Caroline glances at him quizzically. He’s stoic, eyes forward, but she’s sure there’s a hint of amusement on his face.

An arm brushes against hers, drawing her attention. “Feel free to ignore him,” the man who’d held the elevator says. His voice is low, smooth and she’d be charmed by the accent if they’d met in a social situation.

Or any situation, if she’s honest.

“My brother would probably describe me as more of a troublemaker.”

Huh. She hadn’t have figured brothers. They’ve both got attractive and well-dressed going for them but little other familial resemblance. Caroline’s head swings back, “Are you a trouble maker?”

His amusement is plain. His full lips curl, and deep dimples appear in his cheeks.

Oh yeah. Definitely a trouble maker.

“I’m about twenty minutes early for my meeting today; how much of a trouble maker can I be?” His tone is playful, a touch too innocent to be believed.

Damn it. Caroline does not have time for an attractive man this morning. At least she hadn’t changed into the frumpier outfit in the garment bag. Hopefully, she’ll run into this guy again.

“I think I need more info. Could be a one-time thing. I’m almost late for my meeting, which is wildly out of character.”

“Not the trusting sort, are you?”

Caroline shrugs, raising her brows expectantly.

He laughs briefly, “Well, I did send an email ahead to inquire about the coffee preferences of the team I’m meeting. I’m stopping at one of the cafes to pick it up now. Would a troublemaker do that?”

“Hmm, maybe. Could be an underhanded tactic to get on a good side before the trouble starts.”

Dimples’ brother chimes in again, dry this time. “I believe your assistant sent that email. And that she learned the practice from my assistant.”  

Dimples glowers, and Caroline must admit this is a delightful distraction from her anxiety. She glances up at the panel above the door and is disappointed to find they’re almost on her floor. “If you’re going to the café on 36, I recommend the oatmeal raisin cookies. Most people go chocolate chip. Trust me, that’s a mistake.”

The elevator pings, the doors sliding open. Caroline smiles, hitches her briefcase higher on her shoulder. “This is me. Thanks again.”

The receptionist spots Caroline, stands up, a sheaf of papers in her hands, and Caroline’s reminded about how much she has to do. She hurries out, her heels clicking across the shiny tiles of the lobby.

She still glances back at the elevator, can’t help smiling, pleased, when she finds her new friend from the elevator watching her as the doors close.

Even if she never sees him again, he’d made her morning a little brighter.

Now, though, it’s time to work.

* * * * *

Fifteen minutes later, Caroline’s pacing in her office. She’s pinned her hair back and changed into the purple pantsuit she’d picked up at the dry cleaners. It’s a great color but not the most flattering fit. The pants are fine, but the jacket’s boxy, and she’s wearing a plain pink blouse underneath, buttoned to her throat, a thick silver necklace threaded through the collar. There’s a pair of glasses perched on her nose, and she’d changed into sensible flats.

She’d learned her lesson last time, at the first meeting where she’d been the project lead. She’d been called ‘Honey’ and other more annoying pet names and asked to serve coffee and fetch snacks. She’d received skepticism when she’d introduced herself. By the end of that first meeting, Caroline had wanted to scream her credentials – a B.A. and a Master’s in Civil Engineering, a whole pile of certifications, several prestigious internships, and stellar work references, thank you very much – at most of the people in the room.

Ultimately, the project had been successful, but Caroline had experienced frequent bursts of frustration that bordered on rage. Her suggestions were met with questions that made it clear her intelligence was doubted, her corrections with condescension, even though she’d usually been the only one in the room with any significant scientific expertise.

Expertise that’s kind of crucial in designing a water park. It wouldn’t have been a good look, or a sound investment, if guests were to end up injured or dead after paying exorbitant ticket prices and expecting a fun day.

Her skin has thickened considerably, but Caroline hopes that’s less necessary this time. Her boss had assured her that this job would be easier, and Caroline’s choosing to believe her. It’s even potentially exciting – these clients own several international resorts, the park she’s pitching on will be built in Spain.

Being project leader, she’d traveled to oversee construction on the nightmare build, but Tennessee doesn’t carry quite the same appeal as the Spanish coast, at least from the photos Caroline’s seen.

At the very least, it can’t be a worse experience. She hopes.

She hears Katherine coming her way, takes a final deep breath before Kat breezes into her office. “What are you wearing?” Kat asks, sounding both mystified and vaguely disgusted. She pauses in front of Caroline, fingers pinching her lapel and tugging. “Is this polyester?”

“Maybe. I thrifted it.”

Katherine’s face twists in the sort of revulsion one would expect if Caroline confessed to grave robbing the ensemble.

“Ew, why?”

“Figured I needed a costume. To make sure that this time, no one in there thinks to call me ‘sweet cheeks.’”

She’d been paired with another designer last time, Matt Donovan, who was a nice enough guy but had been pretty useless in the having her back department. Caroline likely wouldn’t have cried into her Ben and Jerry’s quite so often had Katherine been her partner. Kat has the unique and impressive ability to make demands and issue orders and have people thank her for it.

Kat snorts, “Elijah Mikaelson would never. He’s aggressively polite. I haven’t spoken to him yet, but I doubt Niklaus would either. I assume he has the same hot accent.”

That’s a new name. Caroline doesn’t like surprises. “And who is Niklaus?”

“A brother. And a business partner. He wasn’t originally scheduled to be here but is unexpectedly in town. What do you think the British equivalent to sweet cheeks is?”

Caroline’s eyes go wide, a few puzzle pieces clicking together. British brothers, twenty minutes early for a meeting. What are the odds?

Crap. Had she been flirting with a client? In front of another client?

There’s a tap at the door, her boss’ assistant’s head poking in, “They’re ready for you in the conference room.”

Ugh. Maybe she’s cursed.

* * * * * 

The presentation goes fantastically.

Katherine had been correct – the Mikaelsons don’t seem to labor under the misapprehension that a conventionally attractive blonde woman can’t grasp complex concepts. They’d shaken her hand when she’d arrived; Niklaus (or Klaus, as he apparently prefers) had looked a bit puzzled when they’d been introduced, Caroline had chalked that up to the outfit. He’d said it was nice to see her again. Explaining her mad dash to the elevator, and Klaus’ assistance, to the room had broken the ice nicely.

Kat kicks them off, and her design is gorgeous; Elijah and Klaus appear suitably impressed. When it’s Caroline’s turn, her nerves fall away by her second PowerPoint slide. She knows her stuff backward and forward, and she’s incredibly pleased with her innovation.

She also begins to feel less bad about the flirting once she sees that Kat throws Elijah a few looks that are borderline inappropriate for the office (that he seems pretty pleased with).

They ask questions, pour over the mock-ups and technical drawings Caroline and Katherine had prepared. Their ideas are actually good, which is a nice contrast for the last project. She’d done far too much lying and finessing to attempt to steer the previous park into a less terrible direction. The Mikaelsons have far fewer notes than Caroline had anticipated, and she promises to put together an update ASAP. They schedule another meeting.

She thinks Klaus’ handshake lingers when they say goodbye, but maybe she’s just riding high on adrenaline and imagining things.

She kind of hopes she isn’t. It’s probably too messy to date a client, but a girl can fantasize, can’t she?

Caroline helps herself to the cookie tray, pleased by the generous helping of oatmeal raisin she finds. Kat’s disappeared, but she knows their boss will want to debrief. Caroline collapses into one of the conference chairs, pulls out her phone to check her messages.

She replies to a few emails before she notices one that’s just arrived.

 Hello Caroline,

I enjoyed your presentation today. I look forward to the next.

Warmly,

Klaus

 She grins to herself, slumps lower in her chair. Clearly, she hadn’t imagined anything if Klaus is emailing her when he’s barely out of the building. She takes a risk and sends a slightly more casual reply than she’d usually attempt at this point.

If he reacts badly, she can up the formality later on. If he doesn’t, well… she’s only fostering a good working relationship. That’ll be essential if they land this contract.

And she’s like 90% sure it’s in the bag.

 Hi Klaus,

Thank you!

The photos your team sent over of the location were gorgeous; both Kat and I were inspired. I think this is some of our best work to date. I’m excited to dive into the updates and meet again next week.

Best,

Caroline

P.S. Thanks for the cookies.

His reply comes minutes later.

Caroline,

I believe it. Your work is impressive, as I’m sure your new ideas will be. Have you ever been to Spain? The pictures hardly do it justice.

Warmly,

Klaus

P.S. You’re welcome. Which coffee order was yours?

 Well, that’s the opposite of a bad reaction.

Caroline sets her phone aside, tells herself she has to be smart here. She’s reasonably sure she’s not doing anything that’s prohibited. The emails will speak for themselves, and they live on the company server. Neither she nor Klaus are offering anything untoward for the contract. If things go well, she may just have to fill out an HR disclosure form. She’ll double-check the firm’s code of conduct.

Just in case.

[yan-twst]

Hello! You write scenario with vampire Vil, so... can I ask for vampire Rook this time?

rouge

warnings: mentions of death, blood, general yandere themes

word count: 2,588

a/n: the asker didn’t specify yandere here but, the vamp vil scenario they are talking about here was yan so uh, i’m making this a yan rook scenario.

----------

It’d been a while since any human dared walk into his home. It was akin to a mouse walking right into a trap, a bear stepping in a beartrap; surely by now all the villagers knew that those who entered a vampire’s lair were bound to never return. Killed, devoured, drained of their blood by the creatures who stalked the night- from time to time they’d find corpses, pale, cold and stiff, their blood drained to the last drop and expressions morphed into horrifying screams of terror for eternity.

And yet, he could see them as they nervously walked the darkened mansion with nothing but a candle on their hand, hot wax occasionally dripping into their hand and making them hiss in pain. He’d noticed them walk in; he could’ve leapt the second they stepped inside, he could’ve killed them at any moment, but he’d chosen to let them wander inside. Perhaps it was the sheer oddity of the situation, or maybe the hunter’s desire to observe his prey; whatever it was, Rook silently stalked the shaken human throughout his own mansion, watching as they cautiously looked around.

They were tired, clothes wet from the rain and dirtied with splotches of mud- they’d taken off their shoes, perhaps not wanting to leave footprints or dirty the carpets, but the rest of their clothes were soaked in rainwater. The heat from the measley candle they’d taken from a candleholder was clearly not nearly enough to warm them up- Rook rarely set up fireplaces, his undead body not needing the warmth mortals did- but now he wondered if they’d run towards one like a moth to a flame, in their current state. 

They were disheveled and exhausted, visibly scared- if he had to take a guess, he’d say they were a young villager who got lost and tried to find shelter in his adobe assuming it was abandoned due to its darkness and solitude. They very clearly had no clue they’d walked into the vampire’s den, judging by the fact that they were venturing in deeper; they had no weapons and no protection, they weren’t a vampire hunter or a soldier in any way, just a lost civilian who wandered into the worst place possible.

He watched for longer than he thought he would. There wasn’t anything interesting about this human, there shouldn’t have been, they were no different to the countless people he’d killed for sustenance before- they were prey and he was predator, easy as that, and yet he found himself almost fascinated. The way the moonlight filtering through the windows would illuminate them as they passed a window, their heavy breathing that combined with the chattering of their teeth as their body kept on growing colder and colder; there was something about them that kept Rook’s interest, far more than any other human had.

They were beautiful.

He’d lived a long life- he’d seen his fair share of lovers of all genders and backgrounds, met nobles and common folk alike who boasted appearances that went on to be legend- Rook had always chased for beauty, always seeking that ethereal concept; he’d turned more than one human into a vampire just because he believed their beauty had to be preserved, he’d collect decorations and paintings for his home to surround himself in art. And despite his current subject of interest clearly being a frightened commoner, dirty and shivering, he could sense it- by their quiet footfalls, their hushed breathing, the panic in their eyes, they were beautiful. How had such a human been living in proximity to his mansion without him realizing? He’d hate to think of the possibility that, had they not gotten lost today, he could have never met them and they’d have simply kept living their life until their time came to join their fellow humans in death; he was perhaps lucky fate had other plans for them, as they’d waltzed right into his grasp.

“Good evening, lapin.” Stepping out of the shadows, Rook finally spoke up- the terrified squeal that left the poor human echoed in the hall, almost dropping their candle in fright. They’d probably assumed the house was empty, and to suddenly come face to face with someone in the dark had almost been enough to frighten them to death. 

“A-aah, oh dear lord, are you the owner of this house...? I truly- I didn’t mean to intrude, I just- I went out to forage for some food for my family, but then it began to rain and night fell, and I couldn’t find my way back, and-” their panicked ramblings made Rook chuckle, as he waved a hand in the air as if to dismiss their justifications.

“Oh, no need to worry, I understand your plight. The forest can be so tricky once night falls, non?” he said, and he watched as relief melted into the human’s face, as they perhaps thought they’d managed to find an eccentric but kind nobleman’s home. “Besides, it’s dangerous for a weak thing like you to be out there at these times- the beasts that lurk the night would certainly make a feast out of you.”

“... Y-yes, I guess so.” they seemed shaken by his comment, perhaps their mind wandering to wolves or bears, or perhaps by the even grimmer image of their fellow villagers being found dead with two fang wounds in their neck, attacked by creatures of the night. It seemed to be the later case, as Rook instinctively licked his lips as he watched them bring a hand to their neck, perhaps remembering the images of carnage they’d seen on corpses left behind. “The village priest says it’s dangerous to walk around at night because of the vampires... He told me to wear my rosary and to carry holy water with me, just in case, but- lord, have you seen the state of the victims? I don’t think anything could protect the poor people who run into those beasts.”

Oh, it was so ironic- perhaps like the tragic comedies that sometimes ran in theatres in larger towns that he so adored. Watching the human talk about how scary and rough vampires were, thanking him for saving them, completely unaware he was biding his time until he’d sink his fangs into their flesh. He wouldn’t kill them yet, no, not yet; he had to consider if they should join his immortal ranks- after all, his sudden attraction to them had to mean they had the potential to shine bright. Perhaps he could turn them and keep them as a companion; bring them over to Vil so he could fix them up, or-

“... my betrothed was insistent I didn’t go out tonight, but there was no food left and nobody’s getting paid until next week, so I simply had to go see if there were any eggs or berries in the forest...” Rook’s eyes snapped open at the human’s words- a betrothed. It shouldn’t have been weird, not at all. Humans live so shortly, they marry fast and try to form families before their time runs out; in a small village, someone as beautiful as this human would certainly already be preparing to marry.

It made sense, and yet he felt a wave of jealousy permeate through him. For a vampire, Rook had never been one to particularly demean humans- he’d kill them, sure, but he wouldn’t go as far as to terrorize them for fun, or act as some other vampires did and consider them worms beneath him, inferior to immortals. But the flash of rage that coursed through him was undeniable. Usually he was content to hold beautiful things at arm’s length, to gaze at them, to keep around; he’d never been bothered if an ex-lover moved on, not if any of the humans he turned found other vampire lovers of their own. And yet this human, who he didn’t even know the name of, who he’d just met, was somehow bringing forth emotions foreign to him.

“Oh? Lapin, are you to marry soon?” he asked, trying to keep himself sounding friendly. The question seemed to make them cheer up a bit- despite the fact they were clearly shivering, too shy to ask if he could perhaps direct them to a fireplace.

“Ah, yes! I got engaged some weeks ago to someone close to me...” they blushed as they spoke, and despite the fact their face was adorable like that, the fact that someone else was causing it brought an acrid taste to Rook’s mouth. “... we’re going to get married next month, in the local church, and-”

“... Well, what a careless lover you have, then. Don’t they know that if they let their precious roam lose, they might be stolen by someone else?” Rook chuckled, a bit more darkly than usual. His words made them stop in their talking, as if confused. He went on. “If a rabbit runs lose on the forest, nobody should be surprised when the crow snatches it for itself.”

“... That’s, um-” the fear was back in their face now, eyes panickedly looking around; good. He much preferred that look on them, rather than the lovesick expression when talking about their betrothed. Perhaps this was bloodlust; maybe it’d been too long since he’d drank- it made no sense for him to find himself infatuated with a human like this, and yet the sight of their neck and their terrified gaze made him feel more alive than he’d ever been.

Without much of a thought, he pinned them to the wall- their scream was piercing. Perhaps they thought he was a creep, or maybe they’d finally connected the dots about his pale skin and the empty manor and realized he was a vampire; whatever it was, they didn’t vocalize it, instead choosing to scream for help. Even their scared screams were melodious, somehow; he didn’t know if he could truly blame hunger for the way he rejoiced in their squirming and crying.

“Now, now, lapin, you can’t blame me for this. If you’d kept on walking past my humble abode, I wouldn’t have seen you- I didn’t plan on hunting tonight. But what can one do when the prey saunters right into one’s grasp, hm?” he said breath ghosting over the juncture of their neck and shoulder. They struggled; but the coldness had numbed their body, hours of walking leaving them weak. Even at their peak, no human could overpower a vampire easily, not one as strong as Rook. “I’m afraid you can’t get away with no consequences just because you’re beautiful, lapin.”

Their blood was delicious. It had been too long since he’d gotten to indulge like this- to pin his prey down, to drink their blood leisurely without having to think about being caught, from the comfort of his own home. It’d been too long since he’d found prey he enjoyed so much- usually the human’s panicked cries and sobbing and begging were nothing but background noise, and yet, for once, he found himself spurred to bite down again and again by the helpless whimpering of his victim. His blond hair tickled their neck, the elegant fabric of his attire becoming damp upon coming into contact with their rain soaked clothes, but he paid it little mind.

“S-stop, please...! I don’t- please, no, don’t... kill me...!” they were hiccuping as they cried, feebly trying to fight back- by now, the natural numbing of his saliva had to have taken away the pain, but nothing could soothe their fear. Rook had never been bitten, having been born a vampire; but he’d been told the bite hurt, and then it went numb, only to then become pleasurable. If his little human was feeling any pleasure from the bite, they didn’t show it- their whines and cries could have very well been born from sheer fear or from an unknown pleasure.

“Ah, mon lapin, your words tempt me so,” he lifted his mouth, lips stained red with warm blood. Usually, villagers around him were malnourished or sickly- but this particular human’s blood was rich, comparable to the best he’d had. Rook never had qualms on turning a human; the value of human life, the importance of mortality, the essence of being human, those were things he cared little for; but he didn’t want to stop drinking this blood. And yet, the thought of them laying dead in the ground didn’t please him either; there was no proper way to preserve a corpse, not without the aid of magic he didn’t currently have in hand- and despite the nights being cold, the days were becoming increasingly hot; if he killed them, their beauty would fade so fast... “Say, lapin... Do you truly wish to live?”

Teary eyes stared right into green eyes with slit pupils. He could see himself in the reflection of their eyes- pale skin, red coating his mouth and chin, piercing green eyes almost glowing in the dark, his blond hair framing his face. They were shaking, only held up by his hands that pinned them to the wall- at his question they sobbed and nodded, begging, please spare them, their family needs them, please-

Before they could mention their betrothed and sour his mood again, Rook quickly bit down on his own tongue. His fangs drew blood easily- it tasted coppery and rather gross, but he wasn’t that unused to the taste of his own blood. Vampire blood was not tasty, at least not to other vampires, and it didn’t serve to quench their thirst; he almost lamented covering up the taste of the divine blood he’d just ingested with his own lackluster blood, but there was at least an use for his immortal blood.

When he lowered his head again to go at the wounds he’d created, the human writhed under him, probably assuming he’d changed his mind and decided to kill them. Rook hummed pleasantly as the taste of their blood coated his wounded tongue- and at the same time his own blood coated their injuries. He licked at the two puncture holes, making sure his wound kept on bleeding into them; he had to make sure it got into their bloodstream, after all. He knew it’d worked when the skin around his mouth grew hot, and a piercing scream fell from the human’s lips. Vil had told him once that being turned into a vampire was the most painful thing he’d ever felt- the burning, the cold, the feeling of their body dying and yet continuing to live; it almost pained him when he reluctantly lifted his mouth from their neck and watched their painstriken face as they shook and screamed in sheer pain at the feeling of their body turning.

“Shh, shh, it’s ok, it’s ok...” he said, letting go off their wrists and caressing their hair. Perhaps out of fear or pain, or maybe deep in a delusion brought on by the excruciating pain, they hugged him weakly. Oh, he could get used to this; perhaps it truly was time he got a companion for himself. Sure, it was lamentable he hadn’t even caught their name as a living human; but there’d be plenty of time for them to get acquainted with him.

After all, this wasn’t just his way to preserve their beauty- he had selfish purposes for his actions. For once, perhaps, he’d keep them by his side; if he’d gifted them immortal life, it’d only be fair they spent said time with him, right?