#like i thought i understood vaguely what its about and i watched the out of context vid

[natjennie]

ookay fine yes maybe I saw a yonderland out of context video and watched the first episode what about it.

[sundrlands]

‘significance’ j. sunderland x reader

minors dni

cw: light face slapping, light scent kink, sub/top j. sunderland x dom/bottom reader, oral, breath play if you squint, breeding kink, light spit play, dry humping. no depictions of specific characterizations in regards to the reader’s looks. reader has she/her pronouns.

summary: what happens when two deprived people meet by accident? a server and that odd man who’d always come to drink coffee every morning at 6am. from awkward conversation to a dinner that turned into rough, needy indulgence. it was easy, a deprived little thing like him… it was just too significant.

a/n: this is years after the events of sh— no mentioning of the events either. forgive me if this is all over the place… it’s definitely a long one. i kind of went wild while writing this one. there’s more smut than there is plot but nonetheless… i hope you enjoy my very first james sunderland fic.

there he goes again… that odd man… in the same spot he’d always sit in. the farthest table by the window with no one to accompany him besides himself.

james… that was his name. james sunderland.

he was kind enough to tell you this after the tenth time he’d come in. you didn’t have to ask or even tell him your own name… mostly because you didn’t know how to approach that level of conversation. you were just a server— giving the customers phony smiles, a ‘hi, how can i help you today?’ and the fakest kind of enthusiasm when any other would try to offer a joke out of curtesy.

yet something about him… his somber eyes— with light wash of rosy pink coloring the bags underneath them— that looked as if he was deep in thought… as if he were to be troubled by something… or someone from his past… the short stubble that grazed over his chin and upper lip, and his body language that seemed as if he never wanted to be bothered or probably never slept. his gaze always wandered around the diner, out the window or at the soft ripples within the mug he’d hold. sometimes… you found him staring at you, nervously looking away whenever your eyes connected. you never understood why though or what he could be thinking each time he looked at you, so you never asked or gave it much question.

james was just a stranger who came at the same time, almost every single day— six in the morning, as the sky still glowed its grey hues— not a minute early. not a minute late. the bell from the diner’s door ringing loud and brash with the thick of his boots stepping on every creaking, rotten floor board.

each time he’d come, you’d watch him to see if he’d do anything different. maybe he’d add in a sugar packet… two or three… or maybe he’d get a breakfast sandwich like mr.colemen always did— the trucker who you knew had a wife but still flirted with the older cook, ms.miles on tuesdays— or maybe he’d bring in someone he knew to occupy his time… he didn’t. it was the same each time. he’d arrive, ask for seating and sit— not wanting anything else but his coffee— black. no sugar. no cream, just like he liked it he said. he’d watch the steam from his cup vanish until it ran cold then take his sips that felt like a lifetime in between each one.

you couldn’t lie… you were fairly intrigued by him… it wasn’t as if you hadn’t had regulars come in just as much he does, if not more, but something about him seemed different… the expression he always wore… he always seemed so lost in thought yet… so attentive in his surroundings. something in you wanted to know who he was.

each time you gave him a cup of his favorite black coffee, you couldn’t help yourself but try to formulate conversation after he gave out his name… but he was always just so fucking vague… each sentence he spoke was watered down— that trickled slow like shallow water… simplistic and dry, running in a soothing hum.

it was pretty. the way he spoke.

you told him that too. a gentle, ‘you have a nice voice’ after he sung a sweet ‘thank you’ after setting the coffee down in front of his hands. he was awkward about it, like he hadn’t received a compliment like this one or a compliment at all. no words given other than that, having the conversation run flat and you walking away in regret thinking, ‘maybe that was too much’.

it only took one day when you had been off shift to see him sitting at a park bench, the one at the end of the town with his hands in his pockets, back slouched and those same somber eyes staring into the park’s pound to finally sit next to him and not feel the dynamic imbalance hit you like how it did in the diner.

“james!” your breath creating its soft clouds within the cold air as you softly spoke, vanishing as it rose.

“ah!” he hummed, “funny to see you here.” he looked at you… the blonde strands flowing against the wind, his attention fully on you instead of him quickly trying to look away. it was direct, like he stared from within your body… you didn’t expect a person like him to have such good eye contact… it almost made you nervous.

“no coffee today?” you replied, offering a smile.

“afraid not. im just on my lunch break… needed some fresh air.”

“may i ask where you work? hope that’s not improper of me to ask.” you laughed quietly, taking a real good look at him. he was almost like a statue… a rugged one. his lack of fashion sense…and his ability to hold so much expression all the while it being so bland and so cold.

he chuckled, shaking his head as he turned his head back towards the pond, “no… no it’s not ‘improper’. it’s just an office job. pretty boring id say.”

“fitting.” you replied, “not that you’re boring! just… seems like a occupation you’d have is all.”

“i wouldn’t say that you’re wrong even if you did say that.” giving yet another humming chuckle.

you stayed for the time he had to spare. the conversation going just as you thought it would… awkward but he was sweet nonetheless. though it was the way it was, his words flowed with every sentence he spoke, like the gentle stream of the pond in front of you both or the thick clouds that scattered in the grey sky. it took you just a few moments to notice how pretty that man was. he exuded such odd comfort… and warmth that made you want to keep talking to him. listen to anything he said even if it meant nothing or sounded humorously stupid.

“well.” he sighed, grunting as he stood, “id love to keep… talking, but i have to go back.”

you nodded, exchanging your goodbyes as you watched him walk down the park’s path until his body disappeared in the distance.

and so, from then on it had been easier to talk to him. finding any way to get to know more about the odd man who only drank black coffee and stared at you from time to time. it started just at your workplace, quick and steady back and forth talk then at the park, then offering a time to spend together on your off day for breakfast.

that was the first time he had something other than coffee. it was the first time you saw him smile more than once… not a faint one… a real one— seeing how his teeth jumbled at the bottom of his mouth or the harsh smile lines appear by the sides of his lips.

the more you looked, the more you conjured how pathetic of a man james really was. his life seemed so dull… just like the springs occasional showers and faded blue skies… but he was like the sweetness of june— the warmth within this man was little to none but still, he captivated you with his odd charm even if he tried or didn’t. you couldn’t help yourself but to think it was so easy to get him flustered, to have him smile whenever you showed interest in whatever he spoke about… like a lost puppy who finally got attention after being alone for so long.

a slip of a compliment flowed in almost every other sentence, seeing him stutter in his words, choking up a thank you whenever he could. it was amusing… like an addiction. sewing your way into his life was oh so significant. he considered you a ‘friend’ to put it lightly, one who obviously stared at you whenever you weren’t looking: like at the pier. you stood in front of him, hearing the crows sing and the water waves crash against the wood— he’d eye down your frame, seeing the way your clothes hugged your form… dissociating the world’s music around you both with an open mouth and twiddling fingers.

each time, you acted as if you hadn’t noticed and maybe you were just that good for him to not pick up on it whenever you failed to mention or question why he’d stare so goddamn much. it didn’t matter anyway, you liked it just as much as he liked staring at you.

he’d sit stiff, noting how erect his back would be whenever you placed your hand on his shoulder, a soft grip given as you both spoke about whatever. he’d clear his throat whenever you stood a little too close to him, rubbing the tapered part of his hair on the back of his head with a line of ‘uh’ and ‘ums’ in between each word he spoke.

god… this man was just so pathetic.

“why don’t we have dinner?” you smiled as you turned towards him, the bustling chatter amongst the passing people as you both walked down the same park you and him had your first real conversation.

“oh.” he chirped, a quiet laugh intertwined in his speech, “sure. where?”

“my house.” you answered confidently. through the few months of you being his ‘friend’, it only seemed right, so you told him. you wanted him in a place of vulnerability. to rule out every other being that’d pass by or surround you while in public. you just wanted it to be you and him. him and you. “if that’s fine by you. im not too bad of a cook.”

“your house?” his voice fell flat but it was nothing that worried you. the ring of his monotone voice was thick and with how he reacted to your small gestures, you knew he was more than willing to oblige. “you don’t mind me… coming to your house?”

you gave a little nod and he gave a gentle smirk. james didn’t know what could happen once the dinner would happen but he had no reason to disagree… or even want to. he grew accustomed to your company, more than any coworker he had that tried to gather him for night drinks after tough shifts… or even the women who were so abrupt in their interest in him… the thin pencil skirts and revealing blazers. he didn’t care.

a date was given. four days from then after his early ending shift. and so time flew. he hadn’t come to the diner at six in the morning like he did, he wasn’t even at the spots he’d sit during his breaks from work. a part of you had been worried if he tried to avoid you, wondering why you haven’t seen him since your request. he wasn’t good at texting— sending him a ‘hi’ would only result to him replying a ‘hey’ three days later. you almost didn’t buy the groceries you needed to prepare or an outfit that wasn’t too much but definitely would grasp his attention.

luckily you did.

it had been the day and it was five in the afternoon, the sun setting itself and the wind blowing more rapidly, flowing with the night’s usual atmosphere. james stood at your door with the address you gave him not too long after he agreed for the dinner you proposed. he just stared at it’s wood, his heart racing without his mind fully understanding why. he was a grown man but too afraid to see your face until this very moment. so he’d stay in the house longer than he needed to without going to the diner in the mornings. he’d stay in his cubicle on his lunch break, finishing any extra assignments he needed done for his boss.

moments spent with his feet planted on the ground before he gave three knocks at your door. he waited, only for a minute before you opened the door. you were dressed so nicely opposed to his work outfit still on and the light fragrance of the food fumigating in the air, hitting his nose.

“you’re here.” you spoke, relieved that he hadn’t stood you up. “come in.”

and so he did. small talk was given, complimenting your abode and trinkets you had scattered all about, admiring the personality your home gave opposed to his apartment that was just there… only the essentials, almost soulless. you thanked him of course, going on about little things as he listened before you finished all that needed to be done for dinner— it was pasta. simple and easy to not fuck up.

two plates placed with wine in crystal glasses and forks being spun. you connected over the flavor of the sauce and the warmth of the garlic bread that complimented the pasta. everything went smoothly, more than you thought it would’ve. easy conversation with the add in of knowing more about who james was… though he was his usual vague self.

you couldn’t pinpoint why he had been or what was truly on his mind. in certain instances, he’d drift off, his eyes wavering with a slow chew before ending his sentence with something mundane. your curiosity kept prodding with each question you gave— he didn’t show feeling of intrusion but he wrapped around certain topics leaving you needing more to be answered.

it felt like twenty one questions… moreso… him answering yours than you were with his but his composure and hospitality hadn’t changed from his kind and awkward demeanor he’d always give. it took awhile before you realized you had been digging in his chest like a crow on a rotting corpse before you covered your mouth with a soft, inaudible gasp.

“ive been blabbering…” you say, shyly laughing as you continued the last of what was left on your plate.

“no.” he responded, his voice trickling like soothing raindrops against a windowsill, “you’re just curious.”

“that i am.” your eyebrows raising as you sipped the bitter red liquid of your wine, “but you’ve had enough.”

he shook his head, wiping his mouth with a nearby napkin as he gulped, “i enjoy the conversation. i just have a lot in my past im not too fond of is all.” you noticed his eyes again… that troublesome look… the blank stare. whatever happened seemed to had never left him. james was like a puzzle piece… all scattered… some pieces missing so the full picture could never be seen or even admired.

“don’t we all…” pursing your lips as you set your glass down, “…but that’s the beauty of life, yes? it’s shitty… things come and go. regret… wrapped in solace. but that only means you can make happier memories.” trying to be positive to remove anything he had stored in thought.

you saw his shoulders relax from its usual tension, his eyes finding their way towards yours with a thick silence being transferred between you two. “yeah.” he spoke, breaking the silence momentarily before it fell back. the white noise… the gentle buzz cradled your eardrums, sitting like a stone in both of your seats.

the contact between your eyes spoke a million words… ones that haven’t been spoken out loud— it was of interest, undeniable lust. from his constant gaze from when you once were strangers… his usual order of coffee, to the moments you spent together in numerous places to now. those pretty light eyes shook as they bounced from each part of what your body showed at the table. they were quick… hungry… without any hesitancy. he dared not to look away, enjoying the visual of your being in a place with no one around, just you both.

as for you… the feeling of his eyes felt like fire caressing your skin… as if his wherever his pupils directed themselves, you could feel. it felt like fingertips gliding underneath the fabric of your clothes… just as when he ate… the way his lips latched onto the silver of his fork— the unintentional sensual gesture as he slid it from his mouth and chewed. the coat of spit that was left across it, and the delicate way he held onto the spine of the wine glass. you wanted to replace the flavor of your homemade sauce with the flower of your labia… to feel the latch of his lips against your breast or on the sides of your neck. the way he ate gave you an intense feeling of need… greed… swelling indulgence. not to mention his goddamn voice… the voice you were already so found over— the subtle cracks and dips between certain vowels… how deep it was… how gentle it felt amongst the silence.

“james..?” you questioned, tilting your head slightly, almost in a trance by the tone of your voice.

he gulped roughly, already sensing whatever you were going to say by the look you gave. “yes?”

“may i kiss you?” the words flowing softly within a sigh, holding your breath as you waited for his answer.

he just stared at you, eyes blinking like a cat in comfort as he continued to stare. moments past… which felt like hours before he nodded.

you stood from your seat, his attentiveness not failing to follow you in whichever way you went, slowly walking towards him with your hand sliding against the rough stubble on his face. he exhaled through his nose, his eyes shutting closed, his body melting into your touch as if he longed for such embrace. he hummed… the vibration flickering against the tips of your fingers before you felt the warm air of his exhale against your lips. slowly you leaned, shaky breaths with a soft press of the lips.

his lips were so soft yet stiff, a long press, occupying the other side of his face with yet another hand, pulling his face closer to yours as you deepened it. james let you lead, his rough calloused hand grazing against your wrist with a gentle grip, simultaneously pulling you closer to his embrace.

at the touch of his lips, you felt yourself get jolted with pleasure in between your legs, the softness rushing to a hungered one— his lips opening, allowing your tongue to push through and taste the sweetness of his of spit. his mouth was warm and the muscle of his tongue slid into yours as spit started to slide down his chin… quickening breaths and an even louder hum than he ever gave.

with the sharp sound of the chair scraping against the floorboards, he scooted back, you unconsciously sitting onto his lap just to feel the growing bulge against his work pants. you sat right on it, feeling it press against your clothed cunt with a groan that wrapped around your tongue and down your throat. he felt big, and the throb of it excited you, having your hips think on its own with a heavy yet slow rut.

the hands that held onto your wrist fell at your hips, the tightness of his fingers digging into you as if he’d never want you to leave from his touch. your bodies molded into one, your breasts pressing against his heaving chest with your hands now gripping the back of his neck.

at release, your forehead pressed against his… his deep gasps sounding pathetic and irregular, lips ajar, trying to savor the feeling of your lips that were once on his. the creek of the chair upon your slow grinds were loud and obnoxious but that didn’t stop you from adding on more friction, loving the feeling of his hardening cock against you.

“let me… do what i want to you… let me make you feel good.” you whispered against his lips, feeling your words being sucked from his quickening gasps.

“please.” he whined… a sound you’d never heard before from a man, let alone one of business. his willingness in the subtle acceptance of him submitting to you had your mind fill with haze. the glisten of his eyes pleaded for something… anything… like he had never been touched before. “please…”

his face leaned in the crook of your neck, his nose nudging against the warmth of your skin, sharp inhales, devouring the perfume that coated it. light peppering kisses lining up and down, all along the side of your jaw. a smile crept up on your lips… you knew just from the sight of him that he was just a pathetic little thing. and with the way he acted just from a kiss… how hard he got with you sitting on his lap, you knew that whatever you did he’d grant you a reaction that would be better than any man has ever gave you or will give you.

you gripped the back of his head, a drunken stare as his lips still purse from the abrupt release of his kiss. “wait.” you breathed, pressing your finger in the center of his lips. he was so tantalizing… his eyes drooped with anticipation, knowing that since he has you now… his self control was little to none.

at the side of you finger, he kissed it, holding onto your wrist as you placed another finger against his lips. you watched and he watched you— his mouth slowly opening and guiding his fingers against his tongue. with hallowed cheeks he began to suck, bobbing his cute head down to the knuckle. curling your fingers, you felt his tongue slither in between, spit messily sliding down your palm and arm.

“good boy..” you praised, your voice in sync with the sounds of his sucks— a deeper whine trembling against your fingers at the sudden pet name.

you grinned, cocking an eyebrow at his reaction. he liked that? you thought. seems fitting.

sliding your fingers from his mouth, you gripped his chin, a gentle press given, “watch me.” you whisper and with a pull at your top, he watched. his eyes directing themselves at your breasts with an even quicker and excited exhale exuding from his whining lips. eyebrows furrowing at the need to touch, his hands hesitantly removing from your hips and curling, waiting for the okay to be able to grope them upon your request. unclasping your bra, they drooped prettily in his face, letting whatever you took off hit the floor beside the chair.

“come on pretty boy… touch them.” you slurred, your voice seductive, teasing him, watching how his eyes never left, just opening at the sight of your bare breasts. “i know you want to.”

he sighed, one that was pent up and riddled with eagerness. “oh my god…” his voice shook. james was driven by the lustrous nature of your body. captivating by the sounds that fell from your lips and the commands you spewed— each word directed itself at his cock, feeling it twitch and tighten at his pants. the way you were entranced by his eyes as he was with yours, looking up at them with admiration, need and desire that festered throughout his body, making him burn at the touch.

doe and gentle with a sweet song flowing in the disguise of a moan he sung. the single free strands laying against his skin, complimenting with the reds that blossomed at his cheeks.

‘i want her… i need her… all of her… i want it. i want it. i want it. i want it.’ he chanted in his brain— feeling as if he was going to pass out at how hard he was breathing— his hot mouth curling at the warm bud of your breast, tongue flicking at it’s hardened tip, pulling back with the gentle graze of his teeth until a pop was heard, pressing a series of kisses around your breasts.

you were drunk off the man. that poor pathetic odd man. his body calling for more… groping your breasts with vigor, feeling the shortness of his nails digging and molding them to his liking… and the little broken noises he made, so soft and sweet, higher than his usual tone. a fleeting glint of mischief glistened in your eyes, letting out a chuckle.

“that’s it…” your voice trailed, lifting your hips, starting to bounce on his lap, granting a broken moan to feather against your nipple.

“god… fucking dammit..” he exhaled, gritting his teeth as his body sunk into the chair, his feet planted harsher on the floorboards, bucking his hips upward, feeling the weight of you created more friction, his swelling cock pulsating. “don’t stop… please.” he whined, eyes squinted as drool fell from the side of his trembling lips.

your hands running in his warm blonde strands, “that’s a good boy.” you tightened your gasp, pulling it with a yank. he blinked slowly with a coo, “you like it when i bounce on it?” you teased.

he nods. his poor hips already tiring out, them stuttering at every upwards thrust. “yes ma’am… fuck it feels… it feels so good.”

planting your hands at his chest, you felt the fast pace of his heart, running your palms up his body until your fingers wrapped around his slender neck— each digit falling into his skin, hearing his strain. “poor baby… you wanna feel more don’t you?” you grunted, his head tilted back with your face hovering his. with a slight cock of your hand, it collided with the softness of his cheek, a loud yelping moan bouncing along the dining room walls.

“fu… fuck…” he stuttered, his lips almost at pout.

no woman had ever treated him this way, so rough and teasing and you hadn’t even fucked him yet. his nerves was heightened as his cheek burned with the faint remnants of your palm. never did he think he’d enjoy something like this, in fact… he was left speechless. the sight of his eyes looking more pleasing than they already looked. they never looked away from you, wanting to get every expression you gave… watching your lips as they continued to taunt him, needing to see the way your breasts bounced as you continued to rut against his lap above his pants.

“oh?” you chirped, noticing the deepening submission in his glare. “you liked that didn’t you?” your hips now stopping in its place.

weakly, he laughed, “i do.” his voice still so sultry and deep.

leaning closer to his face, your lips feathered his, exchanging breaths with shared smiles, “go on your knees and take it out for me.” your other hand sliding down slow until it cupped his bulge. removing yourself from his lap, now standing.

he lifted himself off the chair, taking off his bottoms and boxers. there he sat, like an obedient little thing, on his knees— his thick dick laying and jerking at every throb as it laid so delicately against his thigh— staring up at you adoringly with gleaming eyes, as if he had been admiring a star.

it wasn’t as if you necessarily thought about what he looked like underneath his boxers, but the sight of it made your eyes sparkle— it was so thick and long, it made your mouth water.

“james…” shocked and even more turned on at how pretty his dick was. the light graze of his brown pubes looking well kept. “fuck it’s so pretty.” running your finger down its side, hearing the most pathetic moan fall from his lips— his fists balling at the sudden touch. “needy little thing you are.”

it was cute. from the little slap you gave him and the way he wanted you to have your way, it only fed into the desire to treat this boy with some excitement. that dull life he had was now changed as thoughts puddled at your brain seeing this man look so weak as you stood to look at him.

“such a pathetic… pretty man.” you cooed, tilting your head, “and look at your dick.” his eyes dropping to watch it leak and pool at the flesh of his thigh. “it’s excited for me isn’t it?”

his fingers wrapping around his shaft, needing some type of friction… it was starting to get painful with how long it hadn’t been touched bare. whenever he was turned on in the comfort of his home, he’d jerk himself off until he fell asleep. over and over again until his wrist burned and his throat dried. he had no self control and with you around, he could cum just from your voice.

“take your hand off.”

“god i just…” he whimpered.

“mmh mmh.” your head shook, as you bent down, “hands off. i tell you when you can and can’t, do you understand?” placing your finger underneath his chin to raise it, seeing gentle plea in his eyes.

“yes ma’am.”

he felt belittled, unable to control his own person. a quick shiver fell down his spine, leaning closer into your embrace… just the soft touch of your finger gave him a bolt of pleasure. knowing if he touched himself, you’d slap him in retaliation. oh how he so desperately wanted that.

you unzipped your pants, stepping out from them, alongside your panties, already dripping against the inner of your thigh. placing a palm at the top of his head, your fingers gripped tight, angling yourself in front of his face.

he gulped roughly, staring at the swelling of your clit. “lick it.” without hesitation, his face fell in between your legs, his curved nose nudging against your clit as he inhaled, lapping his tongue in between the folds of your pussy.

the scent of it drove him wild— eyes rolling back as he continued to inhale, loud enough for you to hear. he smothered himself, the muscle of his tongue thickening with his lips latching it just to get the taste of you fully.

you were taken aback at how skilled his tongue was, how his nose stimulated your clit so lovingly with each bob of his head. obnoxious sucks radiated in the air with his fingers clasping against your thighs, hard enough to hurt.

moans trickled from your throat, gasping on the thick of the air, guiding him with the hand that gripped his hair. his tongue plunged deeply into your pussy, feeling his mold his muscle inside of your fleshy walls, thrusting his head to fuck your opening.

you felt yourself already needing to cum and that has never happened before. at least not this quick. the softness of his lips sucked so roughly and his tongue flicked so fast, your knees buckled inward, unable to keep up with the pace of his mouth.

“james…” your moans heightening in volume, your chest deepening after every breath you took, “your fucking mouth…”

his hair, all tattered and messy, with his eyes reddened from it almost tearing up because of the lack of air he was given, not stopping for a second as he drank in your arousal and your moans. a tingling sensation bounced off his body, circling through each part of his limbs.

the sounds of his sucks almost overpowering your moans itself, as he felt your meaty pussy flutter in and out his mouth loving how full you made his mouth.

“i can’t stop,” he gasped against your cunt, “it’s just so good… i love it, i fucking love it. fuck… fuck…” nothing in this man’s brain could made him stop. it was like he pushed himself in between your legs like he wanted to be apart of you— keeping his strength in his neck to keep his same motion.

removing himself to breathe, he gathered spit, directing at your clit and watching it drip before catching it in his mouth, rolling his tongue along the hood of your clit before latching on with hallowing cheeks. sucking in air, your body curled forward, feeling two of his fingers slide in the opening of your pussy. they curved as they started with long strides.

that ‘odd’ man surely knew how to please a cunt. fingers picking up its pace with the loud wet sounds interweaving the moans you both sung. “yes… yes… james…” you panted, his wrist steadying, feeling you leak against and down his knuckles. your walls clamping on his fingers like a heartbeat.

“im gonna..” you announced, your body trembling more than you could even control, your legs giving out with him quickly holding you up as much as he could— his face deepening in your cunt, grunting as he felt you cum against his tongue.

“mmmhm” he hummed over and over again, feeling you shudder against his face.

falling to your knees, your face was angled with his— his mouth wet all from his nose down to his chin. the sight of you, trying to compose yourself from the orgasm you had made him feel dizzy. “feel good?” he whispered, trailing your face from where it hung low, catching your lips. you could taste yourself on his lips, running your tongue at the flesh of his bottom, sucking it in your mouth with small nips before pulling back.

forming spit in your mouth, you held onto his cock, an immediate grunt rupturing from his throat, letting the spit falling down at his tip. brushing your thumb over it, lathering your spit down to his shaft.

“tighter… please…” he mumbled, foreheads now pressing as he watched your hand wrap around his throbbing and slightly veiny shaft, rolling your wrist in circular and jagged movements. tighter you held, hearing the sound of his throaty moans.

“like this?” you breath, quickening your pace. he deserved it.

lifting the bottom of his shirt, he placed the cloth in his mouth, seeing the light spread of hair that tracked up his navel and a hollowing abdomen at every whine he let out. “yes..” he gritted through his teeth.

his precum swaying around from the vigorous speed that continued to grow. he held his breath, brows knitted, body tense at the rhythmic pattern, veins channeling on your forearm with your fingers glazing against the underside of his tip. “look at me.” you whispered, his eyes slowly traveled up your body until they locked with yours.

you spoke of lust in both your gazes, hearing the wetness of his spit coated cock at every pump, hunger radiating in you both like you desperately needed this— shameless and passionate intimacy.

your body yearned to feel him inside and the way he stared at you— the burning sensation it brought you— made it difficult for you. you wanted to feel him stretch your cunt. pushing him back by the press of your palm against your shoulder, he lay. hovering over him, wrapping your leg over his waist before angling yourself over him.

slowly you slid down on him, never feeling something as big as his. even just from the tip, you felt yourself gasp heavily as you kept lowering yourself down onto him. “fuck you’re so… big…”

james continued his whines, eyes closing tight, his body shuttered… you were so warm, your fleshy walls holding him so comfortably. bodies slowly enveloping on another as he tried to talk to your body with his hands— sliding against your thighs, up your waist and momentarily on your breasts.

“you….” he breathed, it hitching as he mindlessly held his breath, with you pushing more of him into you— textured and wet, with a heartbeat that cradled the shaft of his cock. “your pussy is sucking me in…” he groaned, his ass tensing.

all of you. the sight of it all, each movement you made. fuck, didn’t you drive him insane. at this moment, he knew he couldn’t hold back any longer.

your pussy gripped his cock, deeper it went, as if your grip was unable to let him go. each moan you let out, your pussy clammed and mimicked each word as it pulsated against him.

he couldn’t stay still, whimpering as you started to lightly bounce against him— hands planted on his chest with a slight roll of your hips. you couldn’t believe how good he felt inside of you, how full he made you. with you already cumming, it was hard to keep yourself steady, feeling yourself break down each time you lowered yourself.

pressing his hand on your back, he turned you both, now with you on your back laid against the floor, “let me pleasure you… please.” he begged, both hands placed on the sides of your head.

“fuck me like the good boy you are…”

and with that, it was as if a switch had been turned on in his brain. using one hand to grasp your thigh, “like this?” he breathed, his words as slow as his thrusts, his drowsy-like eyes running up against your face. gritting his teeth, sucking on the cool yet hot air, eyebrows knitting together. he placed his forehead against yours, your hand now sliding up to his neck— the pads of your fingers and thumb pressing down the sides of it, slowly tightening your grip. with struggling breaths, his hips continuing his rhythmic thrust yet trying to find the spot, the spot that will lead you into ecstasy.

the hand that held your thigh pressed it down further, his knees fixing itself at a better position, now his groin aiming downwards. his thrust now falling into slow, hungry pounds, his balls hitting just above your asshole. “does it feel good here…?” leaning down as he pressed wet kisses at the edge of your lips.

all you could give were responding moans, your body overstimulated by every movement he made.

each inward thrust, you could hear skin slapping against one another, your breasts mashing into each other. lips trailing down to your cheek, then to your ear, his tongue running at the side of your ear then switching to the next, groaning a series of ‘fucks’ and your name as the thrust started to increase in intensity. they were once slow, now holding more power, grunting at each inward hit. “god. your… pussy… feels… so…. soo fucking… so goood…” each word ending in a hitch.

his voice now holding a deeper, grosser tone, more animalistic as he grew pussy drunk at how you wrapped around him.

he enveloped your lips, inhaling and capturing your tongue in his mouth, sucking on its pink muscle, bobbing his head and swallowing any ounce of spit that rolled down to the back of his throat. your tongue slipped from his mouth, pressing a long kiss against his lips once more.

your mind transversed across what could possible be the gates of fucking heaven at this point. each twist and turn of his hips hitting spots your fingers could possible never do, your damp walls clamping around his girthy cock—greedily needing to paint your insides with his cum, over and over again if he could.

"it feels good, it's so good...." you trailed off, lips pressing together as you muffled a few moans of satisfaction that sounded nearly like his name—the tip of his relentless cock hitting sweet, sweet spots with each charging pound. your hands removing themselves, now dragging and scratching into his back, tugging the flesh leaving continuous marks onto his skin— causing him to wince in blissful pain.

the reverberating sounds of your name rolling off his tongue along with the desperate whines and groans of pleasure only elevated your lust "you're obsessed with my pussy," you whined, head thrown back at the intense plunges against your favored spot.

your promiscuous ways dragging him down in the mud, wanting to rut and fuck you like an untrained animal. that alluring voice of yours, cracking into a moan after you tried so desperately to tease him.

your concaving walls collapsing at his cock, walls with a flowery texture that ran against the pulsating veins of his dick. your wails rushing to his dick alongside your suction— with each inhale making its grasp tighter than before. your folds clasping at the sides of his shaft at every pull.

he place a thumb so kindly pressed at your slippery clit. circling it slow, with rougher presses at each thrust, it’s hood pushing back, feeling your wet, exposed bud nudge at the skin of his thumb. each run around, he could hear it, how your slick found it’s way all the way to your clit, making it harder for his thumb to be held in place.

his body loosened, with his hips now controlled, it’s speed rising with a longer pull and harder pound, body muggy with a thin layer of sweat, with your face buried in the inner corner of his neck.

“i don’t ever want to stop fucking you… your pussy is too good.” his voice ridged and strained.

rhythmical slaps of wet skin colliding as his balls felt a sharp sensation each time it bounced against the sweetness of your hole. your pussy’s heartbeat causing his eyes to roll, holding his breath and letting it out shakily.

“fuck me just like that james… just like that.” your eyes widening with your legs wrapping around his waist. “im close!”

“i don’t want to stop fucking you… i wish i could fuck you nonstop… i want to keep going…” his chest madly rattling against his ribcage.

shivers cascading through your arms as they gripped his hair firmly once again. your beings were joined in such an impassioned, fervid act of lustful ignited bursting flames out of your bodies. “can i..." he breathed out, voice hoarse, “can i breed you… please… please..”

the walls echoed sounds of your repeated pleasure lamentations followed by his needy words and melting into the increasing melody of skin against skin, lead you over the hill, "cum inside! do it baby…" you uttered directly into his eyes, the familiar knot forming at the pit of your abdomen, convusling cunt tightening around his sliding shaft with each thrust.

he couldn’t stop himself, feeling you cum on his cock made him bury himself further inside, hot spurts of his own cum filling you with rolling eyes and harsh gasps. glazed spit lips, bodies trembling from their high, and strained moans.

his arms snake around your body, cum oozing down his balls and thigh. “fuck….” his body not even finished with his high, slow thrust to chase after the leftover high you both breathed out.

“god james… who wouldn’t known you fucked so well…”

laid out on the floor, you both tried to catch your breaths. the contrast between every moment of you knowing one another to now, fucking each other like your life depended on it, you couldn’t help but laugh.

how significant is it to have a simple man— attractive at that— with his usual order of black coffee in your house, fucking you without a care in the world.

you knew… this wouldn’t be the last time.

[shrenvents]

My Bounty.

Warnings: Smut. Vaginal, unprotected sex, force play. Minors dni

Pairing: Clone Wars (single) Anakin Skywalker x Bounty Hunter reader

Summary: Anakin Skywalker goes above and beyond to make your life difficult, taking whatever he wants without explanation. So when reader confronts him, things don’t go exactly as planned.

Word count: 1.7k

…

The meddling nature of the Jedi was nothing compared to the nature of Anakin Skywalker. His darkness seeps its way into everything. His dark robe, gloves, boots, curls, eyes. He was the darkness enveloping me in a dizzying spiral of hate and desire. And he did it again. He stole my bounty just so he could give me that dark look.

His gaze observes the way my fists clench and how I chew my bottom lip. A wicked smirk dances on his face as clones praise and pat him on the back. He knew exactly what he was doing, watching me with an intensity, that had me shaking.

Finally, Anakin’s eyes move away from my figure, beckoned by his Master. He stalks towards Obi-Wan Kenobi and his mocking facade breaks instantly. I nearly scream at the sight. What was he hoping to achieve? Stealing my potential profits is certainly an interesting pastime, not one you would expect from “the chosen one.”

I huff out my frustration, deflating my tense shoulders. With his back now turned, I relax. Pivoting on my heel, I hurry away from the scene. On to the next hunt, before Skywalker gets the chance to take it from me.

Frankly, I have no clue how it started, his fixation with making me miserable. I almost feel paranoid, as if I’m making up the whole debacle. But from the way he looks at me, unspeaking, I know this truly is my reality. Anakin Skywalker hates me.

...

Now glaring at my reflection within the confines of my room, my restraint runs thin. I’m not gonna do it. I’m not gonna do it. I’m not gonna do it. I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna confront him because that sort of thing always goes well.

I head out towards the Jedi temple where Skywalker is most likely training his Padawan. While marching over, I contemplate the arguments I will bring up when face-to-face with him. How I will look into those comet-like eyes and not get distracted by his plump lips.

Moral of the story, I’m going to put an end to this one-sided game we play.

Once my vision connects with his broad back, his name escapes me without hesitation, “Anakin.” Saying it takes me by surprise, seeing as though I’ve never said it before. But clearly, it shocks him more, as when he turns around, his eyes are vaguely wider than I’ve ever seen them. “Y/n,” he says back flatly, face becoming neutral. Now I’m really taken aback by the way my name rolls off his tongue. Quickly, I collect myself and remember my well-thought-out points.

“What are you doing?” And out the window they go.

Anakin quirks his head quizzically. His silent reply to my rather stupid question ticks me off further. I’m practically vibrating with rage. “That was my mark you stole today Skywalker, you realize that?”

As if he’s finally understood my inarticulate speech, his lips part dumbly in “awe.” There he goes pushing my buttons, silently watching me unravel. “You think I wouldn’t notice?“ My face flushes red as I elaborate. “All the crooks you’ve miraculously caught are always the bounty that I’m after.”

There's a beat of silence where he inspects the way my chest heaves in exasperation. Then he speaks. “About time you did.” He states matter-of-factly. My jaw drops. “Excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ve been waiting for you to notice,” he remarks with a bored look.

“Notice what?” I spit out, scowling at him.

“Me,” he finishes plainly. Silence engulfs us again and I take note of how close we’ve become. “Why would you want that?” I question, utterly perplexed.

“What do you mean?” Anakin’s brows furrow.

“I mean you’ve never spoken to me before.”

“Neither have you.” He counters. My fists tremble.

“Why then? Why do you need me to notice you?” I demand.

“What other reason can there be?” He grumbles while giving me a once-over, and then something clicks. My face falls.

“Those looks you give me-”

“Say just how much I want you, more than words ever could.” He ends my sentence, his face remaining stoic. My heart hammers wildly. I suspect he’s now waiting for me to make a move, to say anything, maybe even reject him. Instead, I hastily circle my head around, surveilling for bystanders before frantically grasping at his robe and pushing him into a nearby room. His facade flatters once again and I see puzzlement consume his face.

After I awkwardly turn the door knob and take us into the empty room, I shove him away. Anakin staggers back, looking completely disoriented, almost regretful. “Y/n?” He trails off. My anger is radiating off my body, and I know he can feel it.

“You should’ve said something,” I assert, seething.

“I’m-“ Anakin is abruptly cut off by my lips smashing against his. With my arms reaching around his neck, I can feel his body freeze. After a short moment, I start to peel away, dejected by his stillness. But Anakin instantly chases after me, no longer shying away.

He gropes my waist, and one arm pulls around it, while the other slides up my spine to rest between my shoulder blades. A moan evades my throat and is met with a deep groan.

His palms carve out my figure and fist at my clothes. Whines rush out my mouth as his tongue mingles with mine. He vigorously makes work of me, and I have to pull away. Though his lips instinctively follow me, I’m out of reach, so he settles for my neck. Sucking fervently, one may fear the spots he’s making, but in this moment, truthfully, I couldn't care less.

“Ani,” I whimper, and he growls against my nape in response. “Fuck, I need you,” I whisper. I feel his movements lurch and he mumbles something, but I can't seem to hear it over my haggard breathing.

He tears himself away from my neck, still keeping my body pressed against his. He then shifts his gaze around the room. “There’s no furniture here, I’ll just have to fuck you standing.” An audible gasp flees my mouth as Anakin slings my body around his torso, legs straddling his hips. His hands clench around my thighs as he hoists me up, securing me in place.

Fortunately, the short gown I threw on this morning made it easy for Anakin's crotch to caress my core through his pants. I push down on him and he groans at our proximity. "I was wondering when you would snap," Anakin mutters into my ear as his grip tightens. I whimper. "Screw you."

"Be patient. You will." He soothes. Digging my front teeth into my bottom lip, I drop my forehead to his shoulder as our lower halves grind against one another.

The sounds of our moans crowd the room and I can't take it anymore. "Kriff patience, I'm done waiting, General," I command in the most sensual voice I can muster. Evidently, my attempt to provoke him works because one of his hands leaves my thigh and clutches my hair in a fist, tugging my head back so his lips can crash into mine again. His other hand shifts down to his slacks. His breath hitches when he releases his cock, and so does mine when it springs up to my clothed clit. "Oh maker," I just about scream, head falling back.

His hands make quick work moving my underwear aside, and his member brushes against my folds. I shudder and screw my eyelids shut. I feel Anakin's gaze fixate on me. "Look at me." Hearing his order, I immediately obey.

Eyes fluttering open, I look into his lust-filled ones. Getting flustered by their heat, I squirm. "Y/n." He hushes, breath blowing across my face. Glancing at his features briefly, I nod, communicating what we both desperately need.

We both hold our breaths as he brings me down on his length in a slow glide. His cock pierces my entrance, and I clamp down on my incoming yelp. He was big. I hear him distractedly repeat my name, face buried in my collar. My eyes look to the ceiling in prayer.

His movements dissipate midway, and I feel his stomach clench. "You take me so well." He mumbles almost to himself. All I can do is bob my head in response. In this short pause, the pain disperses and all I feel is him - pleasure, darkness. His arms snake around my waist while mine harden around his nape.

Suddenly, he plunges into me, filling me up completely. My cry echoes throughout the room and I instantly sink my teeth into the cartilage of his ear. The growl that leaves him is next to primal. His rhythmic pounding begins to pick up speed, and I can barely keep up with each stroke. "Kiss me," he stammers out. Reeling back, I lock eyes with him before diving my tongue into his mouth.

His hips snap into my own, over and over. His stomach clenches once more and he pants into my mouth, "I'm close." Though I feel incredible, I'm not quite close to my limit, and he senses it.

One of his palms unravels from my body, steadily hovering over my center. Thinking he's going to touch me, I arch my back away from his embrace to allow space for his digits to meet my clit. But, as I wait, an unexpected pressure attacks my core. I gasp away from his lips and I peer down, leaning my forehead on his.

His hand isn't physically touching me, yet I feel as though I'm close to climaxing. Bewildered, I shoot my eyes from his floating hand to his lewd expression. His grin is strangely smug as he watches me. Then it registers: he's using the force to make me cum. Completely stunned, I simply bore my eyes into him, mouth agape.

Our orgasms come at once and wash over us at his charge. He puffs out a loud sigh of relief and continues to hold me, pumping slower than before, til the action ceases.

"Maker," I huff, "Next time, just use your words, and I'm yours." A smile forms on his face. He sheepishly nods, "Next time."

[the-palelady]

I was wondering if you were writing your crime wife thought as a full story/longer drabble? If not may I request her meeting Ghost???? Thank you!!!

- 🪼

i have written some thoughts on this, and half of a chapter, but it's been so long since i've written a series. i'm not sure how i feel about it tbh. i'm pretty self conscious. i'll mention here and in the warnings that reader is afab and she also doesn't have a name, but she does go by a nickname. friend of mine helped me to decide on the nickname and where it came from so shoutout to them otherwise it would have ended up being something about sharks lmao

but plz feel free to send reqs for this little idea or any others! ♡

cw ; afab!reader, brief mentions of abuse, reader has severe anxiety and a stutter, brief mention of blood in a metaphor, reader does not have a name but she does go by a nickname, i tried to keep most other descriptions of reader pretty vague so everything else is up for interpretation, she and ghost are hella awkward

The breeze was a stranger to you, an unknown feeling against your skin as you stepped out into the spring sun. Your dress fluttered like the wings of the birds that flew about around you, dancing along the thralls of freedom, something you had longed to taste.

How long has it been now? How long have you been stuck here in this prison, the walls of your cell slowly closing in on you day by day? Time was hardly something you understood anymore. What was the point in keeping up?

Your husband had taken his leave earlier in the morning. You were thankful that he left you be, allowing you to stay consumed by your dreams. However, you could hardly call a void opening up underneath your feet and swallowing you whole a dream.

But nightmares were safer than the gaze and touch of your oh-so-loving husband.

You had the house to yourself, for the most part. You knew somehow, someway, your husband still had eyes on you. You were unsure how, but he always managed to know every little thing you were doing from what books you read to what time you decided to crawl into bed. Even if he was miles away from home, he knew every detail about your life. Your own personal dictator.

The thought made your temples pulsate, a headache beginning to form when you had barely stepped outside.

You wouldn’t let your husband get in the way of your one chance at solace. He wasn’t here to hound you about how disheveled your hair looked when the wind had torn through it, pushing it to and fro. He wasn’t here to decide what your dinner for the night would be. He wasn’t here to put his hands on you, shoving you back into the wall as he blamed you for every little wrong thing that happened in his life. He wasn’t here to blame you for his own mistakes.

So you put on a dress you had kept hidden in the back of your closet, a white sundress with blue lemon tree accents and puffy sleeves. The waist was cinched, revealing your curves, and the square neckline allowed the sun to kiss the exposed skin of your neck and shoulders. The dress cascaded down to the middle of your shins, pooling out around you as you sat amongst the blanket you brought with you to the garden.

You were surrounded by all of your favorite things: the sun, flowers, and butterflies that danced atop the curves of the leaves on the bushes you had spent years mothering.

This was your safe haven, your joy. The only happiness you felt you had left.

Soon your husband would return, and you’d have to retreat back into the warzone that was your own home. You’d be tucked back into your tower, unable to see the sun, unable to see the flowers you’d spent so long taking care of, flowers you’d watched bloom with your own eyes all those summers ago when love didn’t take the form of a wild bull. Its horns had ripped flesh from bone, puncturing what was left of your heart and letting you slowly bleed out.

Nausea began to settle deep in the pit of your stomach.

Your hands reached for one of the many books you had brought out, landing on The Picture of Dorian Grey, one you had already read a thousand times.

You open to the first page, your eyes gravitating to the words as if it were second nature. You read sentences, and paragraphs, ahead in your mind, the book memorized from front to back, engraved in the crevices of your mind.

And yet you still found yourself smelling the roses and lilacs of Basil Howard’s studio as he listened to Lord Henry boast about his art, and how he explained the beauty of the young lad Dorian Grey.

“You might see nothing in him. I see everything in him. He is never more present in my work than when no image of him is there. He is a suggestion, as I have said, of a new manner. I find him in the curves of certain lines, in the loveliness and subtleties of certain colours…” You read the lines aloud, word for word, your voice growing soft as you reach the end.

“...That is all.”

Snap.

Your eyes fly up to the bush that sits to your right. Over the years your ears had grown sensitive to the sounds around you, always listening for the footsteps of your husband, listening for the clack of the bulls' hooves as he charged towards your cell.

But you were met with a silence that sucked the oxygen from your lungs. You could have looked away. There was nothing there. Nothing that you could see at least. So it was safe, right?

So you blinked back the fear in your eyes, pushing it aside and turning your attention back to the book in your lap. However, it was hard to concentrate on the words now, the syllables jumbled into one chaotic mess, a tornado of letters that seemed incomprehensible. Your ears felt full of water. Your esophagus became tight, an unseen force pushing you under the waves of an ocean you’ve only ever seen in your nightmares.

You were being consumed by the fear that your husband had instilled into you, the vexed look in his eyes flashing behind your own. However, fright molded you into an ignorant woman, that very ignorance keeping you from seeing the brawn of a man standing from behind the very bush you had been wary of. He was slow, calculating, giving you plenty of time to react, and yet you didn’t.

You were lost at sea, plunged under the waves by the anxiety that had nestled its way into your life, so graciously placed there by the so-called “love of your life”.

The leaves rustled, and you blinked: once, twice, then three times.

You were intelligent. This was one of the few words of affirmation you had given yourself over the years, one of the few things you actually believed.

And yet in this moment, you couldn’t have felt any more stupid. Thinking wasn’t an option when his clouded, amber eyes locked with yours. His size was something you should have accounted for when your book fell out of your grip and you lept from the blanket. You thought you’d be fast.

But he was much faster.

His iron grip was on you before you could even take a step towards the house. His massive, gloved hand practically consumed your bicep. Out of instinct, you kept quiet. You blame your silence on your husband. The only sound you made was a quiet gasp as the stranger tugged you towards him, forcing you to face him.

Those chocolate eyes were so much brighter up close, the color reminding you of the outer wing pattern of an Atlas Moth. They shined in the afternoon sun, glowing in a way that had you enamored despite the pure horror that circulated through you. The rest of his face was obscured by a mask with a skull painted on it. The skin around his eyes was painted with black paint that seemed applied in a rushed or lazy manner, and you could see beads of sweat dripping down through the pigment.

Your eyes were wide, you were sure, a deer in headlights. Yet you didn’t resist, didn’t tug against the hold he had on you. After all, obedience was all you had ever known.

“Shh shh…husband doesn’t need t’know I’m ‘ere. Be quiet f’me, yeah?”

You simply watched the way his mask crinkled where his lips would be. His voice was a deep timbre, a sound most would find intimidating and yet you found it…charming. The way he spoke was hardly threatening, and over time his grip on your arms seemed to loosen as well.

“Well?”

Your eyes darted back up to his, lips parting to speak, but words were never your strong suit. So you instead opted to nod, bobbing your head up and down slowly, noting the way he studied your movements so closely.

And as quickly as his touch was there, it was gone, one hand falling to his side while the other reached up to rub across his face and down his chin.

“Bloody hell…” he whispered, your eyes still tracking his movements. After all, this was your home, your garden, and this complete stranger was just…standing here, speaking to you so casually, even making demands of you.

Not that you’d have told your husband anyway.

You watched his irises flick from the flowers of your garden to the windows of your house that sat behind you and then back down to you. You stood on the brink of being consumed by the stillness of the air, the situation making you fidget your fingers, index fingers intertwining with one another as your hands crossed.

It was impossible to read him, his body language relaxed and yet stiff all at once. You couldn’t tell whether he was scrutinizing you or simply just had a staring problem, maybe even both. The man simply towered over you, staring down at you with a look you couldn’t decipher even as he spoke.

“Husband did say ya were a quiet one. Although most people would scream if they were grabbed by a stranger.”

His statement was blunt, tone flat. Perhaps you had a staring problem as well, focus cast on the look in his eyes, and the way the sun made the pools of amber sparkle. You didn’t even notice the way your lips parted or the scratchy voice that came out right after.

“Just…just wasn’t expecting it was all.”

You were met with silence, the quiet air between you both making your skin crawl with an uneasy feeling, fingers wrapping around one another tighter.

“You’re one of the men from…across the street, right?” You finally blinked, his gaze becoming too much and you looked away, deciding that the ground was much more interesting now. He shifted his stance, arms crossing over his chest. His biceps bulged out a bit, the sleeves of his shirt tightening around the muscles.

“I am.”

You felt an odd sense of satisfaction knowing that someone else out there was just as bad at conversation as you were. The thought almost made your lips twitch into a smile, but you stopped it before it grew any wider.

The breeze picked up again, cutting through the stillness in the Spring air. Your hair swayed behind you, dress fanning out even as you pressed your palms down against your thighs to keep it from flying upwards. The longer you stood there in the quiet, the longer that familiar blade of anxiety cut through your sternum and dug deep into your chest. You felt sick.

His boots drug across the dirt when he uncrossed his arms, “S’pose I should ask your name?”

“It’s…um…” You stuttered out, eyes flitting from the ground, up to him, then back down. Why was talking such an impossible task, something so menial?

“Make it easier if I told ya mine first?” Your hand came up, pushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear while you nodded, looking up at him from under your lashes just the tiniest bit.

“Ghost.”

“Ghost?”

Even through the mask, you could see the way his eyebrow rose in a quizzical manner underneath.

“Got a problem with it?” You thought perhaps this was his way of sounding sarcastic. You let out a faint huff and shook your head in response.

“Good. Your turn then.”

You uttered your name to him, quiet, yet loud enough for him and the ensemble of flowers and butterflies around you to hear.

“But…most people call me Scarlet.”

There it was again—that same curious glint in his eyes from before when you questioned his own name.

“It’s a butterfly,” and as you spoke you turned. Distantly, you could hear him take a step towards you. However, you simply bent over, grabbing a hold of a book that sat on top of a larger stack of books. When you faced him again, you were already opening it to a page that was familiar to you. Of course, you had turned to this specific page numerous times before.

There was a large picture at the top of the left page with a black butterfly sitting front and center, and a few paragraphs of information listed underneath. Closest to the body and on the edges of the hindwings were sections of scarlet. You point to the image, his attention moving from you to the book.

“They’re called Scarlet Mormons. I’ve always…liked butterflies and moths, but they’re my favorite…” Your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment as you explain your favoritism for the species. In your mind, you sound like a child, so any scrutiny he decides to throw at you, you feel you deserve. And as he opens his mouth, you prepare yourself for the worst.

“They’re beautiful.”

Your apprehension becomes a distant memory at the sound of his voice and the words that fall from his lips, a word that sounds taboo coming from a sinister-looking man like him. Is a man like Ghost allowed to say such a word? Does he even know what it means?

You don’t take him for an idiot. Of course, he knows what it means, but it doesn’t stop your heart from pounding against your chest cavity, begging to burst from the space between your ribs.

“Why are you here…Ghost?” The question comes out hesitantly as you seek a change in subject. You don’t notice the way his eyes flick to your lips when you enunciate the syllables of his callsign, the way he tracks your hands when you close the book and press it to your chest.

When you do finally look back towards him, you can see him pondering something. The gears in his mind are working double time, and you don’t think you’ll even get a proper response. There’s a hundred possibilities as to why he’s here. You think maybe he works for your husband, cozying up to you to earn your trust and tell your husband all of your whereabouts and what you do while he’s gone. Perhaps he is an enemy of your husbands and you’ve made a terrible mistake, your ignorance once again clouding your judgment. 

That same fissure begins to open up below you, threatening to pull you under. You’ll be blamed, and this time the mistake will be your fault. Your husband will take the last bits of happiness you have: your garden, books, the sunlight.

And it’s like Ghost sees this void underneath you, the foreboding tendrils of your husband dragging you into the furthest depths of Hell when he whispers out, “Think you’ve been pulled into this war enough. That’s a secret for another time.”

[plutoenjoyer]

Hii, how do you think the members would react when they realize that a friend of their crush also has a crush on her? I hope you understood me 😣

hi anon!!! thank you so much for being my first request<3 so sorry this took so long 😭 i hope you still enjoy though its so so late !!!

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

xdh — finding out about a friend's crush on you (+ confessing)

genre: fluff as always, light angst (i love to see a man in emotional turmoil) tags: drabble, ot6, female reader, jealousy/light possessiveness?, pining, starting as friends, friends to lovers, reader is shorter than them, confessions warnings: none note: reader is some sort of employee or person that works in their building or around the area for added context ... they see you often even if not directly working with them basically (vaguely gestures). and the friend is kiiiind of rude anyway so he doesnt deserve your time in the first place

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

gunil — tries to be respectful, succeeds. (and then fails)

perhaps he's very comfortable in his role as "the responsible one" as the eldest of the group. he tries to embody a role-model for his bandmates when he can, there's a very caring and deeply responsible part of him that naturally comes out. he is not known for being selfish. that being said, when he finds out one of your friends has a crush on you there is a deep urge in him to find you immediately and just confess all the feelings he's kept buried in him for months. it bothers him like mad, because he knows that he shouldn't get in the way of anything or anyone you might be vying for. what if you felt the same way about that friend? what if he made it difficult for you to choose him after confessing? what if he ruined his friendship with you when you didn't feel the same way? there were just so many uncertainties and not enough safety for his comfort, so he chose to suffer in silence, as he was used to doing.

there was a familiarity in being alone with his thoughts that he wasn't sure if he could find the courage to leave behind just yet.

he sits with this feeling for days. he tries to convince himself that he's simply content to see you at all, and wants to be happy for your happiness, though it is so clear to his bandmates that he's not his usual self lately.

it's not until he sees you with said friend that he can't help himself anymore. he hated that you were laughing with him, but he hated his lack of conviction more. he makes up his mind to tell you as soon as he gets the chance because the fear of rejection meant so much less to him than watching you get taken from him right before his eyes without doing anything about it.

and you—you're none the wiser about it all until gunil confronts you that night as you're heading home. the intense look on his face is something you've never seen before, passionate and desperate underneath the warm ambient light of the dimly lit room. it illuminates his face in a way that strikes through your heart. you always found him to be attractive, but tried not to let your feelings unfurl further since you knew that there was not a chance he'd feel the same way, not with all the projects and people he manages on a day to day basis. he was just too busy for romance. but right now in this moment, the way that his eyes are narrowed with a seriousness that you haven't seen from him before sends a shiver up your spine. and not just towards anyone, towards you.

he steps closer to you. you're basically backed up against the wall, your heart beating out of your chest. he's so close you finally get a good look at how his dark eyes are trying to find something in yours—answers. you can't help yourself from putting your hands on his chest and bicep to steady yourself.

"i... i have something to tell you." he speaks so lowly and so desperately it mixes in with the sound of his sharp breaths.

you can barely hear him because all you can focus on is the gentle curvature of his beautiful lips. he notices this, because with his hand he pulls your chin up in order to angle your face to meet his eyes, forcing you to see what sort of distress you've put him through.

for the first time in a long time he's wanted something, no, someone for himself, and you're about to find out what.

jungsu — tries to be respectful, fails immediately

jungsu is the sweetest guy ever. he's always looking out for others and wants the best for him. after finding out about your friend's crush on you, though, something takes over him. you wonder why he's suddenly being so much more attentive and sweet, way more than normal. comedically and somewhat pathetically (in a sopping wet dog with glassy eyes kinda way) offering to carry your things, buying you sweets, praising you—it was even a little much at times. you were starting to get a little annoyed, not because you didn't like it but because you were wondering why the hell he started acting like this out of nowhere.

it's not until you're out shopping with him that you start to connect the dots. you run into the friend-in-question and he sparks up a conversation with you, both of you completely unaware of the growing panic and jealousy growing in jungsu's mind.

to your surprise, the usually soft-spoken and patient guy interjects whatever you two were talking about and grabs your hand, hastily pulling you away into some other random store. at first you're worried that you did something to offend him, but then you notice the embarrassed pout on his face as you two slow down near some unassuming accessory store. he's chewing the inside of his cheek, wondering what possessed him to be so rude (he knows exactly why, he just couldn't stand watching you two get along and got swept up in his emotions). the people already in the store make some shifty glances at you two, some of the aunties even shaking their heads, going 'gosh, another lovers quarrel', but it doesn't reach your ears by how hard you're trying to figure him out right now. he has no explanation for himself, simply looking aimlessly at the assortment of necklaces on the racks and refusing to meet your eye. he doesn't let go of your hand.

"i-i'm sorry, i just ..." he's struggling so hard to find the words. he really should just come out and say it but that would mean confirming his feelings for you right here and now, and there was no way you'd accept considering what reckless thing he did just now. "you ... i just didn't want ..."

a beat of silence, and then a resounding 'oh' pops into your head as you finally realize that it was actually your friend that was the problem for him. you smile at his shaking visage. how cute.

what happens next is in your hands, the same ones that are fit so perfectly in his warm, nervous palms. you're glad the group of aunties left before you could do this.

the air feels electrifying. you pull him closer and stand on your tippy toes and he's watching you do this so adorably but it doesn't compute in his head until he finally feels the plush feeling of your lips against his, and suddenly he feels right again. this is what he's been waiting for this whole time.

gaon — gets clingy

jiseok has always been physically clingy. he shows his love and affection by quite literally hanging onto you, through hugs or wrapping his arm around yours. it is very casual and very natural for him to do that with people he loves. emotionally, however, he's a bit more withdrawn than expected. he likes his alone time. he likes you more. but, he is so painfully unaware of it. so when he finds out that your friend has a crush on you, the petty side of him that simmers at the surface of his mind really comes through without him doing it intentionally. it becomes an increasingly common occurrence for you to receive a text from him that goes along the lines of "are you busy friday? :)", or "there's a new movie i wanna see, can we hang soon?" because he thinks you'll genuinely enjoy what he had planned for you, and not because of any other reason.

this, of course, is his way of getting you away from that guy who's trying to get with you. honestly, he thinks he's boring and won't treat you right. there's really no one in your circle that he deems worthy for you.

you're more than happy to spend time with him. but it starts to get to a point where you're wondering 'what are we' when he starts to get a little more clingy, more so than his usual friendly self. his hands linger a little longer on yours, his eyes seem to follow your every move and he's smiling at you in a way that holds so much adoration that your heart starts beating faster.

when you text him that you can't hang because you feel bad you keep blowing off the friend-in-question, who had asked for your time today already, he sulks like crazy. he knows he shouldn't be so childish about it but it sucks because you're his best friend and you're wasting your time on him and he's going to confess to you and then you're gonna start dating each other and then you'll get married and go away forev—oh. oh man.

he quickly grabs his jacket and runs to your place before you can even think about leaving for your outing.

you see him show up to your front door and almost collapse to his knees, leaning an arm on the frame of your front door. "what the hell— jiseok?! are you okay?" and he's heaving so hard he can barely speak, "yeahi'mfineILOVE. YOU. ohgodmyribs. DON'T. GOTOHIM. i just. foundoutiloveyou. stay. right here". you can barely believe what he's saying, not only because he's huffing and puffing, but because you really had no idea he felt the same about you. the silence worries him because he looks up to see your confusion, or worse, hesitance, and through his labored breath and takes your hand in his. on one knee as if asking for your hand in marriage, "stay with me. please," and you can't help but laugh when it finally all clicks. this is such a dramatically jiseok way to profess feelings to someone. you're definitely gonna bring this up again.

but for now, with a bright smile, you give his hand a reassuring squeeze, "come in. let's get you some water."

o.de — kicks himself into action

finding out is a wake-up call to him. he kicks himself for getting complacent. it's not that he didn't think other guys would be into you or anything, just that he didn't think it would happen so soon. he put off his feelings for you constantly because he feared ruining things between you two, but now that there was another guy in your radar it meant that he had to be on high alert. he immediately starts thinking about the best way to confess to you, and fast because who knows if this guy is going to sweep you off your feet out of nowhere.

he's trying to plan something grand and a little cheesy because he thinks, no, knows that you deserve to be appreciated. he would yell his love for you from the rooftops if he could. he's thinking about it so much that you stop hearing from him for a couple days. his absence lingers in the air around you and you start to wonder why it feels so heavy without him around, because wasn't he just a friend?

you get your hopes up when your phone pings with a text—but it's not from seungmin. there's a dull ache in your heart when you see it's from the friend-in-question. you're disappointed but don't want to take it out on him, so you say yes to dinner. you go with him, and clearly he's trying to make a move on you by spoiling you with a nice meal and compliments, but you just can't get your mind off of seungmin and what he's doing right now. you end the date, which was more just like him talking at you, by rejecting him. you're wondering if he was just friends with you to try and get a chance with you, and it hurt a little.

then, it happens. your phone buzzes as you're about to leave the restaurant. it's seungmin. as soon as you pick up he sounds out of breath and desperate. "where are you right now?!" and you answer honestly, about the date and how it ended, and how you missed talking to him. "stay right there, i'm coming."

he picks you up from the restaurant, having drove there in a hurry. there's roses and chocolate on the dashboard as if he were going on a date himself and you know immediately who it's for by the look on his face and the slight sheen of sweat like he'd been worried sick about something.

there's not even a moment that passes while in the car before you both can't help yourselves anymore, having the first real taste of what you two felt for each other, sealed with a kiss.

junhan — withdraws himself

junhan has always been quiet, but you were starting to love getting to have late night conversations with him about life itself, your place in the the universe and who's your favorite character in dungeon meshi. he seemed to open up when he was around you and you loved getting to pick apart his mind. you felt that you both were able to keep up each other's intellectual abilities, and it was refreshing.

so when he suddenly reverts back to the shy personality he had when you first met him, you know something's wrong. you're trying to figure out how to confront him about it without making him curl back into his shell even more.

in his mind, on the other hand, he's doing you a favor. after finding out that your friend has a crush on you, the one that is so much more extroverted and good at holding up conversations, he thinks its best that he takes a step back so he wouldn't be taking up space in your life that could be reserved for your friend. he throws himself into work even more so than before, using it as an excuse to avoid you so it doesn't hurt as much when you inevitably start dating that stupid guy. but that doesn't mean he stops watching and analyzing, watching to see if that guy really, truly was good enough for you.

and of course, he wasn't. call it intuition or just plain logic, junhan noticed how he very often seemed to talk over you. it bothered him to know that there's a possibility that you'd be happier with your friend, but it bothered him more to think about you unhappy with him, because at least junhan would actually notice if you were.

that wouldn't do at all. while junhan is very rational he absolutely does not mess around when it comes to you. the friend-in-question is busy chatting away while you're forced to listen to him. you think he's a nice guy, but he was the type of person who was more used to talking at someone rather than to them. you never really felt heard when speaking to him, unlike with junhan who took every word you said into account, making sure you knew your thoughts mattered to him.

junhan, with tingling fingertips and an audacity that could only be stirred up by the thought of losing you, calmly walks up to you two. you wouldn't have guessed it took all his courage to ask "can we get drinks tonight?" and you're over the moon at the mere suggestion, "is that even a question?! of course, i haven't seen you around in ages!". your eyes light up with excitement, unable to stop yourself from excitedly rambling about how you really wanted to talk about some new manga that dropped during his absence. junhan smiles at you, half because he knows this feels right, like you both were meant to be together in this moment, and half because he loves the way that guy's stupid grin drops when he sees how happy you are to see him.

"so it's a date?" junhan says with a radiant smile, almost as if the guy standing next to you didn't exist. he was enjoying taunting this guy a little too much, he thinks to himself. your jaw drops a little at this unexpected confidence, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't want it to be. and so you shoot a quick, very obviously awkward glance at the so called 'friend', thinking about who you knew would treat you right, and turn back to say:

"it's a date."

jooyeon — makes it everyone's problem

when jooyeon finds out about your friend's crush on you he cannot stop from complaining about him to his bandmates. jiseok rolls his eyes hearing the groans from jooyeon, going for the millionth time this week that "he's just not right for her" and "he's not even good looking" and "she's way out of his league!" to lying in bed upside down with his head hanging off the edge groaning into his palms, "but what if she likes him though?! do you think she does?! is that why she hasn't been around lately? aghhhh, girls are so confusing. this sucks. wanna play league?" in which jiseok replies with a sigh, "dude, you could just text her and figure it out for yourself right now." and leaves before his head explodes from how much of a baby joo gets when he's frustrated about something.

when he's finally alone, jooyeon gets to sit alone with his thoughts. just pure and utter him, not the shining jooyeon on stage with his bass, and the thought of you, beautiful and kind, and how much he misses the sound of your pretty laugh. you're constantly on his mind. sometimes he finds himself idly smiling about some dumb text you sent him or the one time where you tried singing along to his strumming and it wasn't good but you gave it your all. it was just so you. you're his friend, yes, but he didn't realize how he felt something so much more for you until the idea of you not being around him anymore became a very real possibility.

the thought of you not being in his life wasn't even in the question for him. it breaks his heart to think of such a thing happening, that he wouldn't be the one making you happy but some other, boring, loser of a guy ... but he doesn't let the others know that part. deep down he's more insecure than he lets on. whatever exasperated complaining he lets out barely scratches the surface of the sort of emotional vortex swirling in him at this very moment thinking about you dating someone else.

when he sees you he makes it so unbelievably obvious, everyone around you two is betting on the moment that you finally realize. you're wrapping up your lunch together when he brings it up. "stoooop hanging out with him, he's boring and he only plays fps games, i mean come on," he's basically begging you like a kid.

you snort at him, "and you know almost every pokemon. he's not doing anything wrong, we all have things we really like." you're saying this to defend your point but in reality you also thought it was annoying that that was all he talked about with you and didn't seem to care about what you liked at all.

"yeah, well." jooyeon grumbles, pitifully tucking his head into the crook of his arm, leaning onto the table. he doesn't make eye contact with you, just pouting cutely. "heard he likes you, too... he's not special." the last part is almost unintelligible from the way he buries his head further into his arm as he says it.

that piques your interest. "oh? what was that? after the first part?" you know exactly what you heard but you just can't help yourself from teasing him.

"'ts nothing."

"joo." he refuses to meet your eyes but you see the tips of his ears reddening.

"i gotta get back to practice."

"joooooyeon. lee jooyeon. jooyeon of xdinary heroes. did i hear correctly? 'he's not special?'"

he's already walking off.

"joo, you know i'm going to the same place as you!" you shout after him. quickly, you shove your things into your bag and catch up to his rather hasty speed. you're giggling because you can read him like a book. that cute little pout on his face is all you need to see before you go to grab his hand mid step. he jolts a bit, not expecting your touch, before he eases into it and finally looks you in the eye.

"you ..."

shifting your hand so your fingers interlock, you smile at him, looking him in the eyes with earnest, "i like you, too."

in a few moments he's trying to stay cool and ends up failing miserably by how the corners of his mouth refuse to stay still. he can't help himself from breaking into a grin at those words. he would get to it later, be able to grandly profess his love to you like how he had imagined it going in his head, but for now he was content with this. simple and happy with your hand enveloped in his larger one.

it's by no means a scene out of a drama, but it was perfectly enough for the two of you.

(later that night jooyeon is so completely over the moon about being chosen. it feeds his ego BAD. you have to take him down a peg by telling him how he hasn't really properly confessed to you yet, and you are very entertained by how he stutters and struggles to say it to you directly after such a grand display of confidence. oh, joo ...)

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

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thank you for reading! <3

[traumxrei-archive]

【 iv. the taste of flowers 】

summary: yuu was sick. okay, so maybe they overworked themself a little while preparing for the debutante, but that didn’t mean they needed to be on bed arrest ! what’s the worst that could happen if they snuck into the kitchen for a snack anyway ?

word count: 1.4k

author’s note: every time i write ruggie i’m like “wow i love this guy sm” and it was the same this time. i hope you like my rendition of him, ruggie likers ^^

[ the perfect debutante series | or read on ao3 (coming soon) ]

Being sick was most definitely not on Yuu's list of things to do for the Debutante. But they were. Sick. It seemed that they had over-exhausted themself after shopping all day with Floyd.

They vaguely remembered Floyd's guilty expression as he brought tea to their bedside. They had told him not to worry, but he seemed to be in low spirits for the rest of the day, according to Azul's report.

And now, well...

Yuu was sneaking into the kitchen.

After being cooped up in the room for so long, they needed some alone time. Alone time that didn't entail Riddle watching their every move like a hawk, or Silver insisting on doing everything for them. Their maids were diligent to a fault really, and Yuu was starting to feel a bit suffocated.

What they weren't expecting was that there would be someone in the kitchen. They stood behind the door. There was a soft humming and the smell of something that had their mouth-watering. Yuu cracked the door open a little. Through the gap, they spotted a pair of fluffy ears.

Ah. So it was Ruggie in the kitchen. Yuu calmed down a bit. The chance that they would be severely scolded for escaping the room had decreased. Still, they knew that someone would check their room soon, and they would get caught, so...

"Master?"

Holy crap. Their soul felt like it almost left their body.

They looked up to see Ruggie tilting his head, "I thought I heard someone, but I didn't expect it to be you, Master."

They got up from their crouched position, "Hi, uh... What are you cooking?"

"A little something for myself," Ruggie suddenly smirked, folding his arms. "What are you doing out of your room, Master? Riddle and Azul are going to freak out if they figure out you're gone."

Yuu stared at Ruggie with what they hoped was a pitiful look, "Please, I need 30 minutes of peace before they coddle me to death again."

"It's because they're worried about you. We all are," Ruggie said, going back to stirring the pot. "But I'm no snitch, shishishi~ Have a seat." There was a stool a little away from the stove, and from this close, they could finally see what Ruggie was cooking. It was...soup. A hearty-looking, vegetable soup, that was currently appealing to them with its scent.

"Are you here for some tea? Or are you hungry?" Ruggie sprinkled some more spices into his soup. "I could make you some soup?"

"What about that soup?" They blurted out. Dammit, they were trying to resist, and yet...

"This soup? It isn't worthy of Master's palette," Ruggie said before putting a lid on the small pot. "Plus, are you sure you wanna eat that?"

"What is it then?" The soup had looked normal enough to them, though they couldn't be sure. Ruggie was famed for using unconventional ingredients in his cooking before. They had heard many stories from Jamil, who found his experimentation interesting enough to talk about. (The other maid rarely talked too extensively, so Yuu had noted it in their mind when he did.)

"Erm," Ruggie's ears twitched, and he looked...almost bashful. "I used dandelions. I saw a few in the gardens and they needed to be weeded out anyway."

"Dandelions?" They cracked a smile. "So you can even cook with flowers?"

"You're not...?" Ruggie shook his head, before leaning his head back into his hands. "It's something my Bi— my grandmother taught me. There are many uses for dandelions, and she used to cook it for us in a soup."

Yuu understood it now. It had been a while since Ruggie had taken a break to go home. He tended to bulldoze through leave days that they set up by taking up other jobs. They ended up having him be their designated maid when the others went on leave. Ruggie was pleased with the setup, especially after they doubled his pay.

Money wasn't a worry to them, given that they were the heir of the Dukedom. But it had once been, back before Duke Crowley had adopted them. So they understood Ruggie's determination, especially with how fiercely he loved his family.

"Why don't you eat some?" Yuu leaned their face into their palm. "You spent all that time cooking it after all."

Ruggie's expression turned complicated for a moment. He hesitantly grabbed a bowl, ladling in a spoonful. His ears drooped for a moment before straightening. Yuu couldn't help but find the subconscious action adorable. 

He finally sighed, sliding the bowl in front of them, "Here. Your puppy eyes really are unfair, Master."

"Puppy eyes?" They mumbled, but they couldn't focus on anything other than the soup that was in front of them. Ruggie pushed a spoon into their hands, and they couldn't help but immediately try it.

"Well?" Ruggie asked, ladling his own bowl. It was...amazing. The soup was salty, but rich, and all the vegetables were perfectly cooked— not too soft with a nice crunch.

And that was when Yuu abandoned two things: their etiquette training and their pride. It didn't matter that it was hot, they kept shoveling spoonfuls of soup into their mouth.

Ruggie laughed as he ate his own bowl, "Slow down there, Master. If the chefs see you they'll throw a tantrum because you're guzzling that down so fast."

"But," They sputtered, gesturing at their half finished bowl. "It's so good! I can't even tell which part the dandelion is!"

"The green leafy bits," Ruggie looked proud, if the way his grin kept growing was any indication. "I save the flowers to make tea with." The maid spun around, turning to a cupboard and grabbing what looked like a jar. In it were many dried dandelion buds. "Ah, I also have dandelion syrup," Ruggie gestured to another jar on the shelf. "Jamil taught me how to make them. They don't taste bad if I do say so myself, shishishi~"

Yuu couldn't help but laugh slightly. Ruggie's excitement about dandelion cuisine was very...adorable, if they wanted to put a word to it. "You seem very passionate about this," They said as they took the dandelion tea jar in their own hands. "Would it be okay if you put a few servings of this in my tea cabinet?"

"Huh?” Ruggie's ear flicked in surprise.

"Ah, I don't mean to take it away from you!" Yuu said, suddenly very aware that Ruggie was doing this because he was homesick. How stupid of them to ask for something so selfish. Did they forget everything after spending a few years in luxury? "I know that you're—"

"Forgive me for interrupting you, but it's not that," Grey eyes looked between the tea and their face. "It's... Thank you." There was something more behind the simple word of thanks. Yuu couldn't even begin to digest why Ruggie would say thank you at their selfish request, but seeing the smile on Ruggie's face reassured them that it wasn't anything negative.

That was when the door to the kitchen slid open, "Ruggie, would you happen to know where—"

Yuu looked up just in time to make eye contact with a surprised-looking Jade.

Oh. They were caught. Shit.

Jade smiled, ever the picture of politeness even as his aura turned more menacing, "How serendipitous. I was just looking for you, Master."  

"They were just about to leave, right Master?" Ruggie said with a devilish grin. Gone was the sweet expression that just graced his face seconds before, instead replaced by this mischievous look— because he was clearly ratting them out! Yuu just hung their head. They would be scolded less if they left with Jade right away.

Jade kept an iron grip on them with just his gaze as they gave Ruggie a long hard look, "You're going on vacation after the debutante is over. With everyone else. That is a promise."

"But Master—"

"No buts! I'll give you paid leave!" Yuu said as Jade opened the door. "Just make sure to tell your family how much you miss them!" They relished the surprised look on Ruggie's face for a moment before following Jade out into the hallway. Yuu wasn't about to give Ruggie time to retaliate this time.

"Now that you've had your fun, you should return to the room before Azul and Riddle return," Jade chuckled. "They aren't back yet, but I am not above telling them of your...mm, adventures, if it came to it. Even if it's you, Master."

Their previous excitement waned at the thought of being bound to the bed again, "Let's just go now." And that was how Yuu's adventures to the kitchen ended, with surprises, some new cuisine, and a promise.

thank you for reading ^^ if you’d like to read more, check out my masterlist ! like the art ? look at more of dumple's works on insta !

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[amethystpath-writes]

Challenge Me

Hello! I had this idea around Halloween time when all the scary movies were playing about, so excuse the morbidity!

Warning for numerous mentions of death and vague depictions of a dead body

******

Villain should have looked more unsettling. Pale, maybe, or even blue. Perhaps it was simply too good to be true. Not that Hero necessarily wished him dead, but the alternative was...her stomach churned and she reluctantly touched her own neck. If she thought about it too long, she'd feel the cold of that knife again.

This wasn't what she wanted, yet she was ashamed to admit her relief at the sight.

"You're debating who the real villain is."

She froze, staring at the body, wondering if she truly watched its still lips actually move.

I'm hallucinating, I must be. Hero stepped closer. Suddenly, the walls of the cell felt much closer. It was just her and Villain's body in this confined space. Leader had stepped away. 'So you can process without influence,' he said. She didn't mind or even acknowledge that he had shut the door until now.

Her hand waivered as she reached down, down, down until her second and third finger rested against the artery of Villain's neck. No beat.

If his heart wasn't beating, surely there was no breath. But that voice. It was so distinctly Villain's. Hero leaned down and held her own breath. Villain, too, held his, as all dead bodies did. That was until-

"Should I watch you convince yourself you've lost your mind?"

Hero was halfway across the cell before the body uttered its third word.

"Are you alive?" It came out as a desperate whisper, one so rushed she barely understood her own words.

"Depends on who you're asking." This time, the voice came from the cell door. Hero released a breath, relieved at the sight of Leader. It wasn't until she'd walked close enough to the bars of the cell door that she cocked her head. Shouldn't he have already opened it by now? Come to think of it, why had he closed it at all? It must have been her. She shut it subconsciously, right?

"I'm glad you're back. I didn't realize I closed the door behind me and you're the only one with a set of keys." She chuckled awkwardly, and tucked a strand of hair back, hoping it might also push away the thoughts of the body behind her, of it moving and speaking.

Leader smiled with closed lips and Hero noticed that, for once, his lips were chapped. He made no move to open the door, just stood there with his fingers tucked in his front pockets.

"Did you step outside while you were gone?" she ventured. Why wouldn't he open the door?

"Can't."

She wrapped her fingers around one of the bars, hoping to signal Leader to the door again. "You said he was dead, right? Surely, it's not HR's rules keeping you prisoner to the body."

The body. She was still in the room with Villain's body.

"Not Villain's. Look again."

Her brows drew together and she tilted her head. It was as if Leader read her mind, but she'd known him for at least three years now; he didn't have that ability.

"Sorry?"

"Look again," he repeated. His voice verged on amused, like he was waiting on someone's reaction to a sweet surprise.

"I'm okay," Hero said. Sweat was forming on the back of her next, against her palms, now squeezing the bars. "I've seen enough. I'm just- I'm ready to go home now, Leader. You have the keys."

"Look."

"Leader-"

He took his hands out of his pockets, and if Hero weren't so anxious, she wouldn't have noticed that it was his left hand which held the key to the cell door.

"I didn't know you were ambidextrous." Leader used his right hand, right leg, right everything for all tasks. Hero would know. They used to play games between missions; Inverted Hangman was the game. They would write phrases in reverse order, start drawing from the feet, and use their less-dominant hand. Hero and Leader were both right-handed.

"I'm left-handed," he said simply as he turned the key. Hero stepped back as the door swung open, but Leader gave her no time to step through. Instead, he blocked the way out. "When I tell you to look, I expect you'll do as I say."

His hand shot out in the next moment and grasped Hero's right wrist before twisting it. Her shoulder twisted with and she yelped as Leader grabbed her once again, this time by the shoulder. He pulled her until he was able to capture both shoulders.

Hero slammed her eyes shut and held her breath as her back was spun, held against Leader's chest. Not Leader. This wasn't Leader, and she knew what sight would be before her if she opened her eyes. A confirmation she didn't want.

Leader was dead, and the body on the table wasn't Villain's.

"You're a stubborn one, aren't you?" There it was- Villain's voice, but this time it came from behind her. The body in front of her was as silent as before, only this time, she knew it would be pale, blue, cold, and unmoving. Dead. "I thought you would have figured it out sooner. This was supposed to be fun! Entertaining!"

Leader is dead. He was more than the leader of the team. He was a friend, and he was kind and fun and...and he didn't deserve this. Hero opened her eyes. "No." Leader wasn't just dead. He was...A whine rose in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut again.

"He was entertaining, kept bargaining. Leave her out of this. She has nothing to do with this anymore. Please. She doesn't deserve this. Kind of like what you thought, huh? Come to think of it, he was a little predictable. Everyone is."

Villain's voice made her sick. She could feel the bile rise, taste it in the back of her throat. "Is that all you want? Someone to surprise you, say something you haven't heard before?" What could she say or do that would rid him? Was it even worth it? Leader was already gone, and if he were gone, so were the others.

"Probably. Haven't figured it out yet." She felt that smile of his creep against the back of her head, felt the slight pulling of her hair as his lips lifted. "The chase was exciting." Hero hated the way he spoke to her like an old friend having small talk one year after graduating from high school. "They hid you well. I just outsmarted them. It's crazy," he said, "I've had this type of...of access to the mind for years, and yet I still learn new things to do with it." The smile fell, and he whispered, "Can you feel that, Hero?"

The cold. The thin, sharp cold she was too familiar with. A blade. Hero didn't dare swallow, no matter how much saliva instinctively gathered on her tongue.

"What's even crazier," he ventured, "is that there's no knife at all. I just found it in that hazy corner of your mind which you try to keep hidden. You can't forget me, Hero, but I like to watch you try. I like to prove to you in every new way that you can't."

Why me?

"You were the first." He said it so sweetly, as if a body didn't lay in front of them, and a body they both knew to be alive at once. "You were confident. Told me to explore the ability. Told me it could do so much and I was wasting it by hiding. Aren't you just so happy I discovered I wasn't the monster I told myself I was?"

"There are other ways"- she gasped as the imaginary knife dug deeper- "to use your abilities. I didn't mean for you to-"

"Become this?"

She nodded.

"Predictable." He sighed, and the sting of the blade evaporated. "I'm going to let you go, and you're going to run as far away from me as you can, okay?"

"How can I run when you know my every move?" Still, she kept her eyes closed, unable to face Leader, and her arms were stiff as she was held back. She ached to run, but how could she?

"Challenge me, Hero. Prove to me that I'm not the monster I told you I was all those years ago, the monster you tried to convince yourself didn't exist. Prove it." He released her. "Run."

[the-whispers-of-death]

can you do Keegan x male reader who is just a tad bit dumb. Like he is terrible at math, dense, silly, easily distracted. OH and gets lost a lot bcs he likes to wander?

I'll admit that I've never watched a play through of Call of Duty: Ghosts (I say watch because I'm not a gamer but have watched the reboot versions of Modern Warfare 1 & 2), but I have read through the Wiki pages of Keegan P. Russ, just for this. That being said, he's probably OOC (but I mean, I write all of them as softies so let's just chalk this up to that).

Another thing of note is that this civilian male reader. Also, I think I made him to be a little on the autism spectrum with the way he doesn't understand certain idioms and phrases.

I hope you enjoy!

**

Keegan loved you, in his own quiet way. He wasn't much of a talker, preferred to let you lead the conversation as you talked on and on about anything and everything. He mostly spoke to ask you something about what you were speaking on, a subtle indication that he was listening.

He loved you in the way he so patiently waited for you to solve a simple math problem, like how much difference a 10% off sale would make if the original price was fifteen dollars. He knew math wasn't your strong suit, but he didn't care. You'd arrive to the answer eventually, he knew that.

He loved you in the way he had to explain certain idioms and phrases to you, uncaring how you didn't even know that being offered to go to someone's place for a cup of coffee in the middle of night was an offer of sex. You didn't understand things sometimes and he understood that. They were intentionally vague, he'd tell you when you got flustered at being corrected about your misassumptions.

He loved you in the way you kept wandering off when walking around anywhere with him, whether it was you two walking in the park or out in a shopping center. Your attention was easily caught and it made you wander over to a plant or animal or piece of merchandise. He'd simply trail after you, smiling as you pointed out to him whatever you were looking at.

"Look, Keegan! A butterfly," you murmured, pointing at a nearby butterfly which was perched onto a flower. Its wings were so breathtaking, you just had to have stopped to look at the beautiful creature.

Keegan looked over your shoulder to the butterfly you were pointing at, chuckling in gentle amusement. "It's beautiful," he said before wrapping his arms around your waist from behind you. "But it's not as beautiful as my boyfriend."

Oh, how he relished the way you laughed and lit up in response. You loved when he called you his boyfriend, which you were. You had thought a military man—a Marine—like him would shy away from being out and proud about having a boyfriend, but he quickly proved you wrong.

His squad, the Ghosts, knew all about you. Keegan very happily told them about you, how your little quirks were so endearing. How you were the home he was fighting to go back to when he was on deployments. Oh they knew so well how much he loved you, how you were the sun and the moon and the stars of his universe.

You were everything to him and while he didn't say it often, he showed his love to you in so many ways.

How his hand reached for yours whenever you two were in a crowd so he didn't lose you if you wandered off. How he gave you the answers to a difficult math problem when you were clearly struggling to answer it. How he tried his best to word his sentences in a way that wasn't so vague so you didn't feel embarrassed about misinterpreting his words. How he drank in every word you said, relishing in the way your voice washed over him like a soothing balm to his soul.

Keegan loved you, though you were eccentric and loud where he was quiet and withdrawn. He never regretted being your boyfriend, not one single bit.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

[tenderleavesbob]

Flowers and Deities continue!

"Yeah," Warriors admitted freely. He shifted on the ground and saw Twilight twitch toward him. Hyrule confirmed that the moblin's club had fractured bone, and even sitting on his blanket was painful. If Twilight wasn't so busy hovering over Time, Warriors knew without a doubt that he would be hovering over him. Instead, Wind frowned at him and started digging through Warriors's bag for who knew what. "The Fierce Deity made me nervous as hell. Mask hid the mask from me for weeks after the first time I saw him put him on. I was ready to break it in two."

"Because that sounds smart," Legend said, but he wasn't looking at Warriors. He was looking at Time's bag. Warriors had no doubt that the vet was itching to investigate such a magical item.

"I didn't care if it was smart," Warriors said with a shrug. "I was terrified that Mask was going to put on the mask one day and the Deity would refuse to let him go. Or it would grow bored of the enemies on the battlefield and turn on my soldiers instead."

The only thing scarier than the Fierce Deity turning its sword on Warriors's soldiers was the possibility of Warriors needing to raise his own blade in turn. He couldn't imagine it. He had tried, and he failed every time.

"Wind braiding some flowers into its hair helped. It made it harder to be afraid of it when it would show up with purple flowers in its hair."

Wind scoffed at him, but Warriors saw him preening. He offered Warriors another pillow and didn't stop shoving it at him until Sky helped Warriors better adjust his position.

Time was still sleeping off wearing the mask, not as young as he used to be. Warriors wouldn't mind staying at their new camp for another day. Trying to resume walking in the morning sounded like a nightmare.

"Is that why you called Time 'Mask'?" Sky asked. He took one of the blankets Wind had pulled out and tucked it around Warriors's shoulders. Warriors had lost more blood than he had thought, and it left him chilled. Since Twilight couldn't fuss over him, Warriors thought wryly, he supposed the duty fell to Sky.

"Part of it," Warriors agreed. He accepted the bowl of soup Wild offered him with a smile. He had watched the younger man make it, frowning heavily and making a thick broth from fresh bones. While Warriors hadn't had a chance to see his wounds and the resulting mess, the rest of the chain had. Based on the stains on his clothes, there had been a definite pool of blood.

Wild carried a bowl of soup in each hand and sat beside Twilight. Twilight paused from where he was checking on Time to gratefully accept a bowl. Wild grinned at him and then turned to the group. "I found a mask like that during my adventure. It had power to it, but nothing like..." He held his bowl with one hand and waved vaguely with the other. Twilight watched the soup splash in the bowl with clear trepidation.

"I'm used to powerful spirits," Twilight said, reaching up and steadying Wild's bowl, "but I never want to see that again."

Fear lingered in his eyes. Warriors smiled in sympathy at him. He understood.

It wasn't just the flowers and braid, but Warriors never felt comfortable talking about the war. No one would judge him. Everyone kept their own tales tucked behind their tongues. Remembering his own trauma was bad enough, but remembering Mask's and Tune's? How they had barely recovered from their latest adventures before they were dumped in a war?

Warriors remembered the battle, the moment, which had been the turning point with Fierce Deity. It was certainly not a story he ever planned to share, no matter how much he loved and trusted his brothers.

The battle had been awful. It had been late in the war, and whatever sanity remained in Cia's corrupted heart was falling apart. Ganondorf wasn't completely freed from his prisons, but he was free enough. Warriors remembered desperately loving his boys and just as desperately wishing the Goddesses would return them to their own times. They had seen enough, suffered enough.

Warriors didn't remember the blow which dropped him. He just remembered that it didn't hurt. He just remembered how Tune had seen him and screamed.

Things blurred after that. The shock of the wound and the blood loss, Impa told him later. Warriors never forgot the important things, though, like how gently the Fierce Deity had carried him off the battlefield, how Warriors's blood had stained them both, how the Fierce Deity had cradled him to its chest like Warriors was a child.

How the Fierce Deity had walked so carefully, letting Tune's short legs keep pace with them.

That was the moment when Warriors decided to trust him, and the Fierce Deity had never let him down.

That was certainly not a tale Warriors ever planned on sharing, though. "You should have seen the Deity sit while Wind braided his hair," he said. "It was weirdly adorable."

Wind preened while the rest of the chain stared at Warriors like he was insane. He only smiled back and started sipping his soup.

Warriors would also never share how he still had some of Tune's unused violets tucked in his journal. Some things were for him alone.

[drmaddict]

Want to be messed up together?

Summary: Some traumas are smaller, but they are still there. Simon learns more about his girlfriend's childhood. They are so different and yet so alike.

Wordcount: 577

Author's note: No this is not based on me. I don't know where you got that from. It's a character on its own and has nothing to do with the author.

"I mean my mum was also the 'stop crying or I'll give you a reason to cry' type, but-"

Simon looked up in surprise. He had heard them both talking on the phone. They seemed familiar. Although she seemed more cautious with her mum. Not drastic, but more diplomatic in nature.

"Did she hit you?", he blurted out immediately.

She shook her head quickly. "No! I mean, there was the odd slap on the back of the head or on the bum, but she didn't hurt me... Although she often took me aside, when I was... well, when I was too annoying. I can only vaguely remember. I remember that it happened, but... well, not exactly what happened." Her eyes looked into the past. Looked at scenes that Simon couldn't see. "She never hurt me."

Simon got all stiff. "You know she still shouldn't have done that."

She nodded again. "No, she shouldn't have." She ran her finger over her coffee-to-go cup and pressed her lips together. "Well, she had a lot of stress back then, was probably in a permanent pre-burn-out, and didn't know how to do it better. She did her best... and failed." She smiled with sad eyes and looked at Simon. "She's trying, so I'm trying to forgive her."

Simon looked into her eyes. Understood her a little more. Her shyness. Her fear of doing something wrong. How nervous she got, when she thought, she was annoying someone. Her desire to get through everyday life as peacefully as possible. Why she never cried in front of him, no matter how obvious it was, why she ran to the bathroom.

He carefully placed a hand on hers. He saw her eyes gleam wetly, but she blinked rapidly and breathed in and out once hard.

"Your father?"

"Oh, he was just there watching his animal documentaries.", she waved him off. "When I was in tenth grade, he took one look at me at dinner once and asked me how much longer I was going to go to school... There was one incident, because I was too annoying again, but that was it. Although he was always strangely proud of the day."

"I'm sure my therapist would have her fun with you.", he mumbled. He hadn't expected the laughter that followed.

"I'm sure she would." She smiled sadly again. "I went to one once", she explained. "When I told her that I was already aware, where all of my problems came from and that I would rather know how to break out of my behavioural patterns, she just said that she couldn't just tell me what to do. 'You need to reflect and make a connection. If you understand, you'll act differently." She rolled her eyes. "I've been waiting a good ten years to find and get a place. Doesn't she think I've ever had the idea to think my life apart like this? And yet I'm still stuck. If yours is more solution-orientated, I'm happy to give it a chance."

Simon had to grin slightly. "No. Sounds just like mine. 'You need to feel your feelings Mr. Riley'. I thought I did.", he mimicked her.

She laughed. "I thought I was the only one who didn't understand. 'I can't tell you how to do it. You just have to know.' Yes, but unfortunately I don't know."

Simon laughed. She looked happier at his face again. "Want to be messed up together?"

Simon smiled and nodded.

[ghostingaces]

We Need To Talk About Glass | 141 x Reader/Oc

Synopsis; There’s something not right about the rookie

Warnings; vague horror themes and foul language

Notes; Glass is technically an oc but I don’t mention a name or physical description in this, even though she has one, is because this is kind of like a screen test for her. The only description so far is she's tall, Irish, and has plale eyes. This au is also inspired by this and this which I absolutely adore. This is my first piece of writing on this site so I hope you enjoy.

Its also only Price and Ghost for now. It’s a bit rough. Part Two here.

▄︻̷̿┻̿═━ 一

Most of the file before him was blacked out.

Rows upon rows of dark lines stared back at him as he flickered through the manilla folder, crime scene like photos of bloodshed tacked to pages after pages of mission reports. Occasionally the repetitive drivel would be interrupted by a disciplinary report, but those were drowned out with commendations.

“No picture?” Prime hummed as he flipped back to the first page.

“No Sir” The Irish Ranger in front of him answers. He's a tall man, bald with keen green eyes, and the rookies former CO. Lieutenant Byrne. A respectable and very capable man. A man who’s knuckles had been bone white on the file when he handed it over, green gaze refusing to flicker over the pictures he had probably seen dozens of times already. He had probably lived through several.

Price cast his gaze back down to the first page of the rookies file. Her name was simple and easy to remember, but distinct enough to suit her stature. He read it twice again just to make sure that it stuck though.

 He rubbed his eyes as an uncomfortable itch overtook them.

“Infiltration, demolitions, interrogation, guerrilla warfare..., Jack of all trades aren't you...” He read over the callsign inscribed on the page “Glass”

The figure in the corner nodded. A scratchy voice echoed from behind the balaclava “Yes sir”

He had barley noticed the woman when she had walked into the briefing room behind Lieutenant Byrne. Draped in all black and of a similar stature to the man, she had seemed more of a shadow then person. By the time Price had realised she wasn't just an apparition, she had retreated into the dark like she belonged there. 

“Before you're cleared for active duty you'll run some sims with the team” He explained. He settled his gaze on where he thought her eyes would be but could only see the shimmer of something staring back at him.

“Yes Sir”

“Even after that you won't be let out on the field for a while, not until you sim scores are perfect. Any objections?”

“No Sir”

“I expect perfection for my team, no room for mistakes.” Price stood from his desk and circled it slowly so he could sit closer to Glass (what was her name again?) and stare into the depths of the shadows that covered her “Understood”

There was what he perceived as a nod “Yes Sir”

“Good.” He grunted before reaching out to the other ranger for a grateful handshake “Lieutenant Byrne, thank you for the introduction but I can take it from here”

“Of course Sir” The irishman smiled aloofly has he shook the captains hand, grip firm, before stepping back closer to the woman “I’ll be out of you hair by the morning.”

Captain Price nodded with an amicable smile and watched as Byrne stepped closer to the woman who had moved to face him. They spoke in hushed voices, a flush of cold sweat gathering across the mans bald head, and what sounds like him snapping out a small ‘behave’ bounced around the room before he moved briskly to the door.  It open with a scream of rusted hinges.

“Good luck Sir” Lieutenant Byrne smile tightly and shut the door behind him.

Good luck?

Price watched him go, head turned towards the door, before looking back to Glass.

She was closer than before.

A lot closer.

He could make out the structure of sharp bones under the black balaclava, high cheeks and an almost roman nose, as well as tired pale eyes that seemed to look perpetually glassy. He looked away when the itch returned. John huffed, callused hands rubbing his eyes softly, and watched in his peripheral is Glass continued to stare.

When the ache subsided, he offered a hand to shake “Welcome to the 141″

The corners of her eye crinkled every so slightly and he caught what looked like a smile in her dead eyes “Happy to be here Sir”

He could feel the ice of her skin through her gloves when they shook hands. Something distinctly wrong settled in his chest as he stared into her almost fake looking eyes. (Iris too glass like, pupils to much like a void)

What was her name again?

▄︻̷̿┻̿═━ 一

There was something wrong with Glass.

Something almost artificial, something uneven in the way she walked. Something doll like in the way she turned her head.

Ghost, the paranoid man that he was, noticed it first.

Noticed the lights that flickered when she walked into the room, a figure that wasn't her appearing in the shadow, before the bulbs would return to their usual florescent glow. The woman didn't seem to notice (or she didn't care) and was content to to carry on with her day. Ghosts eyes would follow her though, catching her gaze in the mirror she walked past. (He knew for a fact all the mirrors in her room were covered)

Her reflection would linger a moment while her body walked on.

Every instance of wrongness was so quick.

Too quick, like she was teasing him. 

Daring him to say something.

He never told anyone he saw it happen

She made attempts to be normal. Well versed on most topics, she held up conversation easily (if you could ignore you own voice echoing back at you occasionally) but her gaze seemed to pierce through you. Glassy. Fake. Eyes more lifeless than the taxidermy deer head his father hung above the mantle.

He’d watch her for the rest of the day. 

He'd watch as she stalked from room to room, lingering in the back, ghoulishly pale eyes fixated on the people that milled about, as if waiting on one to walk off alone so she could follow. Stalking like a predator, like something hungry. 

People had been going MIA recently 

He’d never seen her eat, never drink, never seen a sliver of skin that wasn't the greasepaint covered flesh around her eyes. Hands constantly bound in leather gloves, tall body locked away in layers of black fabric and body armour. However, in spite of the heavy boots she wore, her steps were basically soundless. She moved like smoke.

“Keep sneaking up on me and I might shoot you” He had snapped one day, tone playful but a genuine threat thinly veiled in his words. He wasn't comfortable with her at his back, not with the knife always on her belt.

Glass has simply laughed, the sound as grating as nails on a chalk board, before she slinked off to to bother Soap or linger in Prices shadow, knife hilt glittering like polished gold.

A Celtic cross was carved into the handle.

A similar gold one hung from a thin chain around her neck, weathered with age and handling, but meticulously cared for.

Soap had asked is she believed in God when he first saw it dangling around her throat, polished gold blindingly vibrant against the blood and black of her tac vest. The chain was short which made the sigil sit right on her breastbone, right above rows of magazines waiting to be used.

Glass had chuckled hoarsely, like she thought having faith in something was more of a desperate joke more than anything else, before spinning a painful vague story about a grandmother and family heirlooms.

Ghost new many people in the service who believed in one god or another, he knew how important it was in a job like this to have something to hold onto to ground yourself when the bullets started flying and bodies dropped around you. Knew it was better to have anything than to let horror of the job eat you alive.

But Glass?

He knew no god could help that creature.

[ladylucksrogue]

Hi! Could I pretty please ask for Rexsoka with 32 - A kiss while someone watches!

Thank you for this one!

Set post order 66, at some point while they are on the run...

Ahsoka paused at the stand, her eyes scanning the items on display. They needed clothing, and this stall seemed promising. She reached out to touch a cloak, inspecting the fabric and weave. The color reminded her of the 501st blue on Rex’s armor. She wondered if it might be too obvious a choice. Before she could decide, a voice interrupted her thoughts.

“That color would go great with your eyes,” a human man said, stepping closer. Ahsoka blinked, pulled from her reverie. The man might have been handsome once, but now he had the weary look common on the Outer Rim. His hair, streaked with gray and a bit greasy, hung to his shoulders, and his smile made her uneasy. Something about him set off her instincts.

She took a step back almost unconsciously, offering a polite smile. “Oh, it’s not for me,” she said.

“A pretty girl like you should treat herself,” he pushed, launching into a sales pitch. He began showing her various items, most of which Ahsoka had no interest in, and many far beyond her budget.

She tried to steer the conversation toward what she was actually looking for, but he paid her no attention.

“Don’t see many Togruta out here. What brings you to these parts?” he asked, moving closer again. The scent of stale sweat mixed with cheap cologne made her resist the urge to wrinkle her nose.

“Oh, this and that,” she said vaguely. What was she supposed to say?  She was on the run?  Not that he was even interested in her words, especially when he was eyeing her with all the subtlety of a gundark sizing up its prey.

“Look, thanks, but I’m going to look elsewhere. Have a nice day,” she said, forcing a strained smile. She turned to leave, but the vendor’s hand closed around her wrist. Her first instinct was to use a close combat move that probably wasn’t appropriate to use on a civilian, but she restrained herself. Still, as she tried to pull away, the urge grew stronger.

Just then, she felt the warmth of a familiar presence seconds before an arm wrapped around her shoulders from behind, a very familiar arm.

“Sorry I’m late,” Rex said, his voice low beside her montral as he moved in front of her, his lips brushing hers. Ahsoka almost flinched in surprise but quickly understood what Rex was doing. To the vendor, they would just look like an affectionate couple, much less dangerous than causing a scene. She felt the man’s grip loosen and disappear as she instinctively leaned into the kiss. She felt the stubble on Rex’s face, tasted the hint of jogan fruit ice they’d shared earlier, smelled the clean scent of his soap. 

All too soon, it was over. When Ahsoka opened her eyes, she found Rex watching her with an unreadable expression. The move had defused the situation, safer for everyone involved, except maybe her heart. It pounded so hard she was sure Rex could hear it.

“Ready to go?” Rex asked.

Ahsoka nodded, sparing only a brief glance at the vendor, who had retreated behind his counter, pretending to busy himself with his wares. She didn’t miss the glare he sent Rex’s way.

As they moved through the crowd, Ahsoka’s thoughts spun. She was grateful for Rex’s quick thinking, but was that all it had been? She couldn’t shake the look he’d given her. Should she ask him about it or pretend it never happened? As they walked, she felt his hand brush against hers. She thought it was an accident until it happened again, only this time, his hand enveloped hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. She glanced over at him, catching his bashful smile.

And she couldn’t help but smile back.

[dawneternal]

The Benevolent | Eleven

☁︎ Eris x Healer OC

☁︎ notes: we will see Eris again next chapter I promise lol

Definitely pictured Nuan's workshop like Tinkerbell's workshop in the old pixie hollow books. (pic here)

Also the clock Nuan gave Aya is inspired by the Egyptian myth about the beetle that pushes the sun across the sky every day.

warnings: none for this one, just a little angst and Aya being hard on herself again.

☁︎ a drawing of Nuan to go with this chapter

☁︎ word count: 3.5k

☁︎ AO3 Link / Masterlist

☁︎ taglist (as always lmk if you want on or off): @cauldronblssd @teddyhoneybear @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @imma-too-many-fandoms @allyjoe755 @milswrites @shadowdaddies @zenkindoflove @landofpetrichor @secret-third-thing @bookwormysblog @mal-adaptive-dreams @daycourtofficial @roseodelle @sbgal @adventure-awaits13

After Aya's visit to the Night Court, something within her began to settle in a way that she had never hoped for. Something ever moving finally stilled, tamed by the knowledge that what she was had a name.

But as lovely as it was, the quiet was unnerving. As much as she had hoped and prayed for it, now it served as a wide open space for other thoughts to invade.

Welcome or not, the stillness did not last long anyways, because where one ceaseless search had miraculously ended, another began. Before the battle of Hybern, Eris had occupied Aya's thoughts more than she'd like to admit. But now he was like a permanent fixture in her mind - a certain shade of red tinting every facet of her world. It was as if her heart had adopted a new beat, reaching for her mate with every thump,

Find Me Find Me Find Me

There was no call from the Forest House, for which Aya was grateful. There was no telling what impulsive decisions her heart may have made for her. What would it be like to bear her soul to him and tell him what she had learned about herself? Would he be frightened of her power? Or maybe even threatened?

To stave off the incessant pestering of the bond, she spent every spare moment pouring over the stacks of books Rhysand had lent her. So far, they did not offer any new information. But each one was carefully read, notes and references copied into a notebook dedicated to the cause. Each finished book was sent back with a snap, and once or twice over the days a new one was sent back with pages bookmarked with notes in Nesta's neat script.

Videmati Videmati Videmati

The other rhythm of her heart, competing for Eris's attention in her mind, filling every vein with the desire for more knowledge. If she could bottle the feeling of hearing that word for the first time, she would drink it one drop at a time, drawing it out for the entirety of her immortal life.

Perhaps this desire would not be quite so voracious if there were not an underlying feeling that there may be answers closer than she once suspected. This inkling began halfway through her tour of Velaris, in a tinker's shop somewhere in the rainbow. Vague whispers of memories and ideas pulled for her attention, but refused to reveal themselves fully.

One night, as Aya studied another book of magical history under the full moon, she finally understood. The grandfather clock beside her desk struck midnight, the mechanism clicking and whirring as a door below the shining clock face popped open. She watched the little mechanical beetle roll its sunstone orb across a painted pastel sky, so lovingly and painstakingly crafted. Miniature clouds drifted across the scene, fading to nothing as the minute passed, enchanted to return again in another twelve hours. One of her most treasured gifts.

As she thought of the hands that had created such an incredible thing, the book fell from her grasp and clattered to the floor. Nuan. The one who had made this clock. A clock whose mechanical song sounded just Lucien's eye, like a signature of her work. An eye that had abilities nearly identical to Aya's powers.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Aya crossed the bridge to Nuan’s workshop as slowly as she could manage. Each level of the tower was comprised of open arches, obscured only by creeping vines and drooping flowers. In the upper levels, an enchantment turned the exposed arches into a mirror, reflecting an image of the sky instead of letting anyone see inside.

From the level that connected to the bridge, the clanking of metal and snap of magic was a quick giveaway that Nuan was home and hard at work. Each tall arch was also enchanted to keep out the weather, but it apparently did not keep any sound inside. The inventor did not care much if the outside world could hear the sound of her tinkering.

Aya had visited the workshop a few times, and admittedly held great admiration for it. But there was an uneasiness that crept up on her in Nuan's presence that caused her to avoid her when possible. Aya did not care to examine the source of that uneasiness. Any time she got too close, it began to look something like jealousy.

To Aya, and many others, Nuan was the embodiment of the Dawn Court. Beautiful, clever, and a force to be reckoned with. There was plenty to be jealous of. Face to face with the curtain of ivy that veiled the entrance, the healer chewed her lip. It would be worth any awkwardness, she reminded herself. She could survive this visit.

Nuan found her before she could get any further in her pep talk.

“Aya,” She called, pushing the leaves aside to reveal her smiling face. She had pushed her work goggles back, strands of dark hair sticking up beside them and framing her sweaty brow. Even with smudges of grease across her slender nose and round cheeks, she still looked beautiful.

“Hello,” Aya banished anything but warmth from her expression, “I hope I'm not interrupting you.”

Nuan waved a hand and tilted her head in invitation.

“I was just taking a break actually. Please come in, I haven't seen you in so long.”

Aya stepped through the doorway into the magic of Nuan's workshop. The space was utter chaos - workbenches lined every wall of the tower, each one covered in half finished projects. Cabinets and shelves overflowed with materials and scraps, a few dedicated just to salvaged parts from old clocks and machines. A miniature forge filled the room with heat and smoke, and an apothecary cabinet of enchantment components gave the air an herbal scent. Against the far wall, a set of stairs spiraled up to the second floor, covered in dishes from meals eaten in haste and set aside to be forgotten.

Nuan had a reputation of precision, elegance, and cleanliness. Which is why not just any visitor was allowed in this tower. The inventor insisted that this chaos was the secret to her success. But it may still come as a shock to those who had a certain image in mind.

Aya loved it. The space thrummed with hidden colors and the buzz of magic coming alive with the help of her power.

“I was happy when Thesan told me you wanted to see me,” Nuan began, filling a beat up kettle in the sink. Aya pushed down the pang of guilt that rose in her stomach. She should see Nuan more often, not just when she needed a favor.

“Yes, I had a question for you,” Aya said shyly, choosing an empty stool near the sink.

“Do tell,” Nuan sang, a note in her voice suggesting that perhaps Thesan or Zoren had hinted at some of the recent events in Aya's life. She set the kettle on the hot plate and then leaned forward on the counter, chin propped up in her hands.

Heat crept over the tips of Aya's ears and for a moment she considered indulging and confessing about the bond, but she feared that if she began talking about it, she wouldn't be able to stop herself. So she said instead,

“I learned something about my powers recently.” It was strange to say it out loud. She knew Nuan was aware of her powers, but Aya had never talked much about her magic outside of her family and her mentor. Though it had been Nuan who had delivered her daily dose of faebane to keep her powers hidden from Amarantha.

Her eyes stayed glued on the table, running her finger over a nick in the wood to hide its trembling.

“And?” The excitement in Nuan's voice hit Aya with another twinge of guilt. Nuan genuinely cared for her.

“I'm a videmati,” Aya raised her eyes, watching the inventor carefully. The word still tasted strange on her tongue, though just as delicious as the first time.

“A videmati,” Nuan breathed with heavy reverence, her eyes widening. “That's amazing.”

Aya’s finger stilled on the table as she stared at Nuan, an ache in her chest easing. So she did know what the videmati were. And she was not afraid. How was this the first time Aya was realizing that Nuan always spoke to her as an equal?

The inventor watched her with her chin propped in one hand, waiting with eager eyes for Aya to go on. Nothing in her posture to indicate that she was only humoring the girl before her.

“Please, tell me everything you know,” Aya blurted, spurred by this realization. Her fingers began to tremble again, this time in anticipation.

“I'm sad to say that I don't know much,” Her smile turned to a grimace, “Everything I know came from one chapter in a book.”

“And that was the inspiration for Lucien's eye?”

“It was,” Nuan's dark eyes sparkled, “Very clever of you to figure that out.”

“How did you learn about it?”

She turned and began rifling through collections of books and papers lining the shelves above the worktables behind her. Her long, glossy hair swayed as she moved, and loose papers fluttered to the floor as she carelessly shuffled the stacks around.

“It was a long time ago” Nuan answered, “During a visit to the Day Court, and I bought a copy of the book to bring home.”

She paused, and Aya felt her chest tighten with the hope that it was not a book that Aya had checked already. She had already returned over a dozen back to Rhysand, to be declared as dead ends. Even after checking the extensive references and footnotes of each one.

“It may be worth a visit there, if you haven't tried already.” Nuan went on.

Aya pursed her lips. It definitely would be. An expert could be invaluable. But Thesan was too busy to go with her, and she did not like the idea of visiting on her own. Helion had a way of working gossip out of the most unwilling of victims. He often proved to be a particularly difficult challenge for Aya's social anxiety.

“This may take me a minute,” Nuan moved to a different cabinet, a stack of spare parts clattering to the floor as she opened the glass door that had been holding them in place, “Feel free to look around. Window shop a little.”

Aya had already been skimming, eyes drifting over wooden crates of raw gemstones, jars of marbles, and spools of thick wire in every color. Finished suncatchers, wind chimes, and drying flowers and herbs hung from the rafters. Fae lights bobbed among them, painting the room in their pale glow. A canopy of beautiful things.

“How's the clock holding up?” Nuan's voice drifted over from behind some shelf.

The healer had slid from her stool and begun to move through the room, wings tucked in tight to avoid upsetting any of the precarious piles. The anticipation thrumming in her body would not allow her to sit still while she waited.

“Lovely as ever,” Aya smiled to herself, stopping beside a row of jars, each filled with colorful liquids and half-submerged sticks with crystals growing on them. That clock was one of her most treasured belongings.

“Has it slowed down at all?” Her voice was a bit muffled this time.

“Not at all,” Aya ran her finger over the edge of a small watercolor painting taped to the wall. “It's still very smooth-”

Her voice guttered out as her gaze moved to the next little painting above it. A sparrow sitting on a branch, enchanted to blink at the viewer, an invisible wind ruffling its feathers.

“This is beautiful,” She murmured. Nuan's head appeared again as she scoffed. “Will you paint me one like this? I'll trade you some tonics.”

“You can take that one,” Nuan waved her hand irreverently, “No tonics needed. Sit tight, I'm going to look upstairs.”

Aya was still staring at the painting as Nuan bounded up the stairs. Her boots rattled the ceiling above with each footstep, making a few of them wind chimes sway and sing.

Gingerly, she pulled the paper from its place on the wall and held it in her hands. As the little bird blinked at her, alarmingly life-like, Eris’s voice echoed in her mind. The moment he found her after the battle. Her skin burned as if it was only a moment ago that he had held her face in his hands. Seemingly the last simple moment between them before everything grew so complicated.

Would Eris react as Nuan had, if she told him what she was? What would he think, having a mate with such strange and rare powers? Her fingers tightened on the paper as she wondered - would Eris know anything about the videmati?

It felt like only a minute that she stood there, reveling in the memory of that moment, all of her wonderings whirling through her mind like snowflakes. But the next thing she knew, Nuan had appeared beside her again.

“I didn't know you liked birds so much,” She said softly.

“Oh,” Aya blushed, finally setting the painting aside, “It's a newer interest, I suppose.”

That twinkle returned to Nuan's eyes, like she knew a little more than she let on, but she said nothing more about it.

“Here,” She held out a leather-bound book, “This is it.”

Aya read the title hungrily, and her heart sank to the ground. A lump formed in her throat as hopes she'd forgotten were dashed.

“What's wrong?” Nuan's brows drew together and she tilted her head, trying to catch Aya's eye.

“I already have this one,” Aya swallowed hard and met Nuan's gaze, plastering on a smile, “I'm very grateful for your help.”

“Oh no,” Nuan frowned, “I'm sorry I don't have any more.”

“It's alright,” Aya mustered a small smile.

A moment passed and then Nuan asked, “Do you need someone to go to the Day Court with you? I imagine Thesan is too busy to go. Unless you'd want to ask Zoren instead.”

Aya looked up, throat sore from swallowing tears and the shame of her childish disappointment.

“Why would you do that?” She croaked, “I've never been a very good friend to you. I don't deserve your kindness.”

“What do you mean?” Nuan asked, bewildered. She frowned again and shook her head. “You've been a perfectly good friend to me, Aya. You're always so hard on yourself.”

Aya was quiet, looking down at the book in her hands. A single tear dropped from the tip of her nose and landed on the worn leather.

“You have nothing to punish yourself for, Aya,” Nuan said softly. Her hand landed gently on the girl’s shoulder, “You push people away because you think you didn't deserve them. But the truth is, that just deprives us, too.”

Aya shut her eyes tight, tears falling onto the leather cover with a soft patter. Aya knew she was hard on herself. Those feelings were a slog she walked through daily - a weight that was not as easy to shed as people made it sound. ‘Be easier on yourself,’ She heard many times. A command, as though her problem was obedience.

But the way that Nuan said it made Aya feel as though the inventor knew. It was not commanded, not even a chide. She was reaching through the fog in Aya's mind and placing the words there like seeds in a bed of soil. To grow and bloom.

Aya had not realized that Nuan had drifted away to give her a moment alone. Until she let out a frustrated groan, making Aya jump.

“Oh, Mother,” Nuan stood by the hot plate, frowning at the silent kettle. “No wonder the kettle never boiled. I never turned the hot plate on.”

Aya could not suppress her giggle, her already bubbling emotions promptly turning it into roaring laughter that would not make sense to anyone else if she tried to explain it. Nuan laughed with her just as uncontrollably, cheeks pink from embarrassment.

Their laughter faded into soft conversation, Nuan apologizing a few more times for not being able to help more. She recalled everything she knew about videmati powers just in case, and promised help in every way she could think of.

Aya determined to find some way to show her appreciation. For her efforts to help and also her friendship. Despite the aching disappointment, Aya was happy to simply bask in the presence of someone who cared for her as she was.

A long, comfortable silence settled between them. Aya cradled her tea cup in her hands, drinking in the warmth of it, trying not to let it remind her of certain fiery autumnal powers. Every once in a while, Nuan would hum to herself, eyebrows drawn close together as she was lost deep in the thought. Eventually, she returned to the present moment and drew the quiet to a close.

“I like your sash,” Nuan tilted her head, gazing at the beaded waistband of Aya's skirt. A pattern of lotus flowers was embroidered into the pink fabric. “Lotuses are often a symbol of new beginnings.”

She took a sip of her tea and murmured through the steam dancing above her cup, “And power.”

The words echoed, resonating with something in Aya's heart that she had not yet named, but had been making its way to the surface. And with that, she realized how tired she'd become. The sky surrounding Nuan's tower was slowly sinking into a gentle crimson as the sunset approached. She was ready to go home, to lay down and let her mind sort through everything she'd learned as she slept. Tiredness seemed to hit her so much faster these days.

Even still, Aya said farewell with a lighter heart. Even the disappointments of her visit could not weigh her down. Not with a new friend and so many possibilities on the horizon. Nuan's words continued to wind through her thoughts, both thrilling and foreboding.

As she passed back under the curtain of ivy, a sweet and almost spicy scent caught her attention. Something vaguely autumnal.

A pot of calendula flowers sat just outside the archway, surrounded by several other planters to adorn the main entry.

With that scent overwhelming her senses, Aya remembered something she had not thought about in a very long time. Perhaps it was fate, or the mother, or a mind preoccupied by new beginnings. She was not sure what exactly placed the thought at the forefront of her attention. But she decided to indulge it, wherever it had come from.

Peeking back into the workshop, she caught no glimpse of the inventor. She’d probably retired to her room upstairs. But anyways, Nuan was always so generous, she likely wouldn't mind one borrowed flower.

Aya plucked one of the lovely golden flowers from its stem and scurried away, heart pounding with anticipation.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Chamomile for clarity

Chrysanthemum for hope

Calendula for the mother

The old wives tale had been nearly lost in Aya's memory. Her cheeks flushed as she stirred honey into her cup of tea, feeling a little embarrassed over what she was about to do.

But she'd heard others swear by it, that the little spell worked. A cup of chamomile tea before bed, a smear of chrysanthemum oil over the heart, and a calendula placed under the pillow as an offering to the mother. The combination would allow one to dream of the bond. And if one used the spell before a mating bond had snapped, whatever dream that followed would contain hints of their future match.

If it did not work, and all Aya woke up to was wasted oil and a crushed flower under her pillow, she would feel incredibly foolish. But no one would ever know, and the components were easy enough to gather.

And how was she supposed to make any sort of decision when she had no idea how Eris felt at all?

The healer breathed deep and downed the last of the tea before crawling into bed. The stolen flower was placed carefully under her pillow, and a dot of sweet-smelling oil applied above her heart.

Aya pulled her blankets tightly around herself, closed her eyes, and sent one last desperate plea to the mother.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Sleep carried her away faster than it had in weeks now, pulling her away to a world dappled in golden sunshine. Billowing clouds filled the sky, tinted lovely colors by an iridescent dawn. Aya stood on a bridge carved of sunstone, the structure seemingly inspired by the intricate architecture of the Autumn Court. Torches lit the bridge at intervals, filling the half-translucent stone with light, as if it was lit from within by embers and flames.

Aya could have sworn she felt the cool, smooth stone beneath her feet, too real to be just a dream. She remembered her ritual, but nothing of the time it had taken to fall asleep. Unusual, since that state of in-between was lately occupied with dark and painful memories.

But the spell worked. She was here, seeing the bond with her own eyes. And it was beautiful.

Drawing in a deep breath, she began the journey across the bridge before her, toward the tall, foreboding

[thevesuvianchronicles]

Burnt Amber

I was reading something the other night about the fact that in the dark the cones in our eyes legit can't respond to light like, at all. considering my recent bg3 binge that obviously got me thinking abt a certain sassy vampire and thus... this piece. (I've also been told there's a scene that could go along with this but I legit just got to act 3) enjoy!

spoilers for vague bg3 things

If he had to explain it - which he never would- the world lost its color. Many people looked back upon childhood so happily, everything had been brighter, the world bigger, love was so easy and quickly fleeting. A babe’s eyes opened to blurry yet vivid shades, pastels, and tints. Yet the first thing Astarion’s crimson eyes had seen was only the darkness of his own coffin. Color meant nothing to a vampire who’s first vivid memories consisted of clawing his way through six feet of funerary dirt.

Though his vampiric vision allowed him to make out the different threads on a rich man’s lapel, he only ever saw it in moonlight. Only a reflection, a fraction of the beauty the sun would give the fabric. Where there had been pastels there was now muted tones, tinted colors became gray, and shades became nothing but more inky darkness.

Centuries of this and he slowly began to forget the true colors the world had to offer. Was purple always so deep that one couldn’t discern where a sleeve ended and the night air began? Had yellow always seemed so dull? And red… had red always been so greedy? Soaking up and glaring back the same sick color he saw in Cazador’s eyes.

That’s all his vampiric life had been, that was all it ever would be.

Yet there he stood, watching the last of the sun’s rays dip below the horizon

Despite his suave demeanor and sweetened words, he knew how to woo someone, lure them into his bed with his body and honeyed words, and later back to his master. Yet no words could describe the sun now. It burned his irises, his eyes ached for him to blink, turn away, and do anything but stare into the sun. He simply couldn’t stop; it would take away his breath if he needed to breathe.

His first realization that color was far better within the sun was, rather unfortunately, Gale. Upon falling on his ass, Gale had done the wizardly thing and began rambling. However, Astarion wasn’t paying attention at all. His eyes were on Gale’s robe. He couldn’t remember a purple ever being so vibrant, so cocky almost, as if requiring you to look at it. It fit Gale as Astarion would come to learn. Then he saw purple everywhere. Balsam blooms carried but seemed a warmer tint of Gale’s robe. Shadowheart’s armor was even darker, matching that which Astarion saw late at night in the alleys of Bauldur’s Gate. He hadn’t really thought about it but he rather thought purple and red clashed. Leave it to that wizard from Waterdeep to be a walking fashion faux pas.

Yet despite the fashion error, Astarion couldn’t stop thinking about purple, the many different shades he had seen in a matter of days. The sun making the slightest variations more obvious to his crimson eyes.

He first realized that light is what made the colors so polluted, as if the colors were waiting to leach into his eyes when he couldn’t help but stare at the color yellow. It was, by far, not his favorite color, drawing too much attention of a rouge like himself.

Yet the golden glow of the divine seemed to suit Shadowheart. The brilliance of a guiding bolt whizzing past his ear, bathing a goblin in light, setting it ablaze. The disgusting color had saved his skin to many times to count by now. All thanks to the devotee’s hands.

The vampire couldn’t say he understood Shadowheart’s devotion. But the sheer power her belief brought the color yellow, made him quirk a brow. Such polluting brillance made him wonder if light was able to redeem every color.

The color followed him after that battle. Yellow licked at Karlach’s flames, light reflected off the golden threads of Halsin’s armor, it even sparked every time Lae’zel sharpened her sword.

Yet there was nothing that could redeem the color red. No amount of light or dark could make crimson look any better. In darkness it looked like a cesspool of all things evil, an open maw waiting to swallow whatever it could. In the light of day, it reminded him of nothing but lost souls, glowing red eyes, and a sickly grin.

It was the color Cazador liked most on him, both his clothes and his skin. It was the color his life had been reduced to. Living off such crimson ichor, so much so that it stained him, stained even his eyes from what he had gathered about vampiric looks. It was the only color that he would be happy to forget, but never could.

“You know if you stare at the sun long enough… you could go blind.” The voice came from behind him, his pointed ears finally picking up on the crunch of gravel beneath feet. His eyes did feel a bit dry as he blinked, black and swirling colors hindering his vision as he looked back over his shoulder.

The leader of their little group was… interesting to say the least. So focused on the tadpole and their companion's journeys that Astarion hadn’t learned much about their own personal goals, if any. He should work on that.

“I always love to look at beautiful things, not unlike yourself darling.” Astarion let the words lilt off his tongue, but didn’t turn away from the setting sun.

He heard a small hum from you as you settled beside him, standing close enough for him to tell that you had refreshed yourself from today’s adventuring.

Neither said anything for a while, the gentle rustle of trees and soft calls of animals in the underbrush the only noise. He had been so lost in his musings that he hadn’t realized how far the sun had set, a barely visible sliver of yellow still visible surrounded by orange and red.

“Well… now that the lovely colors are gone I do believe I’ll turn in for the night. A book and a glass of red do seem to be calling my name.” Astarion sighs, as if it would be a hassle to get up and walk the few steps to his tent. It is a hassle, to leave the presence of their leader has become more and more of a hassle on his heart than he’s willing to accept.

“Don’t go now, it’s just started to change.” Your voice was soft, softer than he has ever heard it and a glance tells him that your eyes are still on the setting sun.

“No thank you darling, I do think I’ve seen enough shades of red for a thousand lifetimes.” There is a twist of pain in his voice, one that makes him wrinkle his nose. He was getting too easy, a slip like that with Cazador and he would have been reminded how much he hates red.

“But the sky is beautiful-“

He cuts you off with a flippant wave of his hand and a scoff. A change of subject was all they needed, easier territory. “It’s just red. You know they say a red sky at night means-“

“It’s not just red Astarion.” You cut him short this time, tone sharp. He didn’t understand why you would defend such a color. Of all things to fight for, a color. They saw red spilled every day, every day their leader fought, for teiflings, for druids, for their companions. Each day that color ruined everything it touched.

“Oh? Do tell darling, what is oh so special about that distasteful mix of colors. A muddled mess of all things awful-“

“I rather think red is beautiful.” Astarion snaps his eyes up, disgust curling his lips, a flaunting jab just ready on the tip of his tongue when your eyes stop him.

At some point, he wasn’t sure when, you had turned to look at him. Eyes just as soft as your voice had been. There is a sweet tilt to your lips as he turns, as if finally seeing what they had been after.

He sees the minute shift of you eyes, as if darting back and forth. He can hear the uptick in your heartbeat, the tension releasing from your shoulders. As if the sight of him was what you were after, as if waiting to catch his eye.

Then he remembered. Remembered exactly what color his eyes now were.

“I happen to like that color.” You grinned, eyes steady on his. His mind was blank, no haughty taunt or seductive words. He could do nothing but blink as a grin spread wide on your lips and you turned back towards the sun.

“When the sun hits just right… it’s beautiful, a burst of burnt amber. I think it’s the prettiest color I’ve ever seen.” Astarion knew they were definitely not talking about the sunset anymore. He couldn’t help but stare at you. The curve of your nose, the way your smile seemed so giddy, the way the sun reflected in your own eyes.

Red was the color of the flowers Karlach had tried to pick for all of them. It was the color the jewels in Lae’zel’s armor, the color the hem of Gale’s awful robe. And it was the color of the blood you so willingly gave him. Had offered as soon as he had explained himself that night, without asking for anything in return. You were so different than what he expected.

He tutted, realizing he had been staring and turns back towards the sunset, listening closely as you go to sit on the ground. The bright yellow of the sun diffused into a russet orange that slowly eased into a vibrant, dazzled red. He sighed, slowly settling himself beside you, far closer than before.

“Yes darling, perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I could grow to love it.”

[ask-sibverse]

Can We Have More Cooking Time With ShatteredxReader?

Yes. Absolutely. Domestic fluffiness go!

Shattered was pretty handy in the kitchen, if you'd say so yourself. He was always pretty vague about where and how he learned to cook, but he was an ancient immortal it was probably long ago and he probably didn't remember the details anymore.

You were having another bad "episode." One where nothing felt real, even yourself. You were too out of it to feel stressed about it this time, but it was annoying that again, nothing was working. So you sought out Shattered.

"Bad day?"

"You can tell?"

"Given that your emotions are slowly becoming a black void of emptiness, I would assume so. Guessing nothing is working again?"

You nodded.

"Come on then. I wanted to try making pumpkin bread anyways. Its autumn, after all."

"It is? Already?"

"Already? You've been here almost five months."

"Oh yeah. I have, haven't I?" You followed him into the kitchen, watching as he got out everything you guys would need.

"Im putting chocolate chips in this, so just factor that into your insulin okay? The recipe doesn't have any, but I wanted chocolate."

"Fair enough." He set the recipe on the counter for you both to look over while you worked. It was quiet for a while, Shattered was unusually silent, he seemed lost in thought.

"...Do you think I need to be "saved?""

You blinked. "... No? I mean Im here to watch your back, but you're pretty capable of handling most anything on your own, I'd think. I don't know of anything you'd need saving from."

He snorted. "Ah right, you don't know about that still."

"Don't know about what? Is it important?"

He put the pumpkin bread in the oven to bake and made some tea for you both to sit down with while he told his story to you finally, from his side at least. You were quiet for a while after he finished talking, thinking.

"... I still don't think you need to be saved," you finally said. "You were suffering, in your own way. And the person who could have possibly understood you refused to open up, even though you'd learned what *they had been through." You looked at him. "It wasn't very long ago, was it? In immortal terms I'd guess."

He startled. "How could you tell?"

"Well for one thing, I'd assume the Blue helping Ink is the same one who worked with you before. But also because using your tentacles seems as new to you as my flames are to me."

He laughed. "Fair enough. I guess you're more observant than I give you credit for. You're right, its only been about a decade or so."

For humans that was a long time, but it was probably only a blink to immortals like Shattered. "Are you... Happy? Like this? Or satisfied?"

"Well, it was pretty lonely, being so isolated with everyone against me. But if I went back in time, I don't think I would do anything differently."

You nodded. You silently promised to protect him and stay by his side as long as your mortal life lasted.

[yuseirra]

***Onk spoilers***

Vague spoilers alert but I have no idea what actually happens myself yet either. I have little idea of what happens in the last chapter but uh. I'm just getting the idea that nothing really happened. Why am I unamused...

I mean... The clues have been already there in the songs. AND within their OWN story. They should use it. I'm actually worried. Oh but there is no way huh? But why were those things there then??? What was this story trying to accomplish and say through its writings?

I'm really going to believe in my theory in an earnest sense, this story DOES NOT WORK unless that's how it is. There must be a reason why the anime team announced a third season because it WILL NOT SELL if nothing gets resolved. Who'd.. Watch and buy knowing the ending is like this? Anime prodctions are COSTLY and it takes a lot of effort. Aren't they the studio which animated gekkan shoujo nozaki kun and it STILL didn't get another season(I never watched it but I heard it was really good-) then this piece must have a point, right? Some insight to give out?

I can still manage to draw things if things are a status quo because it's NOT the worst scenario for me(aka: if it's still AMBIGUOUS that Kamiki's the one that's harmed Ai if that's still going to be how it is BECAUSE, I DON'T THINK HE'S THE ONE WHO TRIED TO HURT HER! I'M GOING TO BELIEVE HIM HAVING SAID WHAT HE SAID ABOUT AI!! THAT HE NEVER WANTED TO HURT ANYONE BUT JUST WANTED TO SEND A BOUQUET!) but they SHOULDN'T KEEP IT THAT WAY TILL THE VERY END. or do they? Is Kamiki sooo evil? What the heck??

This piece doesn't deserve an underwhelming finale. I genuinely wanted it to be good, so that's why I feel so baffled and startled.. And really sad over it,

I'm going to believe in what I think it is. How isn't THAT it? I think that's really what's been going on;

Like...it hasn't been refuted once hasn't it? How CAN Hikaru do all these stuff? That guy is the black star god. It does all add up. Where do these stars come from, what are they doing in people's eyes. Why was his company's name EYES. He be goin around collecting pieces of his girlfriend THAT'S WHAT, they gave two songs to this guy. Do something about it omygod. I see it actually being a pretty decent story, if it is but they still'd need to bring Aqua back.

I'm just going to...believe in this. Then I can understand and figure out just what this piece was supposed to make out. But if they really just.. Define the dad as the serial killer and blame him for every single bad thing that's happened in this piece as the mastermind(even if it's so, he's NOT WRITTEN WELL TO BE LIKE THAT) then this piece doesn't deserve to have a place to talk about the nature of the industry!!

Oh 154 was my favorite chapter!! I wish it had some kind of meaning to it. I really liked it. Because it had me open my eyes and realize that they can't build a character like Kamiki and make him into a flat-out monster. I was ready to take him as one if they were going to before that but the more I thought of it, I understood it's so rude. It's hazardous to the message. I recognized of it that point or so I thought, so I had an idea that this piece was going to be turn out to be really clever and pretty meaningful.

I can draw a better ending, I'll do it before I move on if I have my love left upon reading the final chapter because this piece had its charms. If.. I'm too lost or lose my passion then.. That's such a shame. It's not something I can control. I never want my love to dissipate myself so let's see how it goes.

Also, Kana does not deserve any of what's been happening to her after the helfway mark of the story, I feel so bad about how they used her character because I find her really precious. As much as the other girls of this series. Since Aqua and her feelings were mutual, it'd have been great if they could be happy with each other.

I really care for Kamiki...ugh.. At this point, can I say I've ACTUALLY been writing him more carefully than the authors themselves(but the songs were so good???? Weren't THOSE intentional? Written with intent~~???) I just...I'm going to give him justice as a character. I refuse to have him take all the blame and I'm really not convinced(unless the last chapter somehow does it for me) BUT AQUA COULD'VE JUST DUNKED THE DAD AND WENT TO JAIL. Just stay a few years there and reunite with everyone right?? The reason why I think he COULDN'T have done that's because Kamiki's something that cannot be constricted with human laws. It really seems like it. How else would this guy "ruin Ruby's future". He really doesn't do ANYTHING. Just him standing there could bring havoc because he's a broken god, I swear that has to be it and why Aqua had felt the need to give his life because!! They say Aqua wanted to live right!!I SAY THIS OVER AND OVER BUT HIS DAD HE TRYIN TO KILL TOLD HIM TO LIVE TOO but he had to go through with it because the man's too broken and became a walking disaster!

Aqua had a "mission" assigned from the gods!! He kept talking about it you know?? So gods ARE involved. They have to explain what that is about-

Okay.

I'm.. Really sure what I made out earlier should be... Right. If they do end up making things vague?? Then this might as well really be it. It holds everything together but why do I have to do the work without the piece telling me about it?

If all things remain pretty much status quo in the last ep, I'm sure I'm..just right. Or this piece is beyond saving, I don't mean it in a sarcastic way at all. I just won't understand what it is.