#mostly cause I’m getting restless

[crushmeeren]

❣︎ piecemeal (brother’s best friend au!)

⤷ ⋆ part one ; ft. kenma kozume

❣︎ note ; soooo my second ever mini series and it’s about kenma lmao. i think this part will be cut into a few different sections. we’re growing & following reader’s crush/relationship with kenma over the years through various scenarios.

❣︎ cw ; none, this is mostly just a big ball of fluff.

| master list | | piecemeal masterlist |

reader is six. kenma is eight. tetsurou is nine.

Moving to a new house is scary.

All your best friends live on your old street. The dinner table your family ate at, where Tetsurou told such a funny story that milk shot from your nose, has been replaced.

You don’t even want to talk about how you accidentally left your favorite stuffed bunny in the bathroom at the snack store!

Your parents swore they’d buy you a new one, but to a hysterical six year old, words mean nothing. Your bunny is the only bunny.

The last thirty minutes of the car ride you’ve spent crying, tucked into your brother’s side. A bump in the road jostles you further into Tetsurou’s arms and your next exhale is shaky.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Tetsurou soothes, hugging you tight with one arm. “I’ll help you find bunny, I promise!” Tetsurou winces when your tiny hand clutches his t-shirt and lifts it to wipe your nose.

You believe in him as much as you can believe in a nine year old who can’t remember the name of the street you live on.

Your sobs soften to hiccups, a few sniffles joining the party. “Tetsu-nii,” you whine. “What if bunny is scared? He’s all alone!”

Tetsurou grabs your shoulders and pushes you back. “Bunny’s not scared, imouto-chan!”

“Really?” You stare at him with wide, red rimmed eyes, hopeful.

Tetsurou nods with complete confidence. “Yes really! He’s the most brave bunny I know. We have to get your room ready for him when he comes home. We don’t want him to be sad, right?”

You sit up straight, releasing Tetsurou’s shirt, and square your shoulders to mimic him. “Right Tetsu-nii! We have to get Bunny’s bed ready for him! I have his favorite blanket in my backpack.”

Tetsurou continues to distract you, talking with animated hand gestures, listing all the new, exciting places you’ll be able to explore with Bunny. You eat it up, lost in reassurance only your older brother can provide.

Both your parents breathe a sigh of relief from the front seat.

↡ ↡ ↡ ↡ ↡ ↡

The car parks in your new driveway with a lurch. Your stomach twists like when you got a shot at the doctor, legs restless and dangling over the seat. Small fingers curl into fists while your family piles out of the car.

Tetsurou is tasked with unbuckling you from your booster seat. He offers his hand, which you cling to, as he helps ease you into the concrete.

To your left a door shuts loudly, drawing your attention towards the neighbor’s house. Tetsurou points and shakes your hand, grinning from ear to ear.

“Imouto-chan look! That boy lives next to us! Maybe we can be friends!” Tetsurou starts hauling you across the plush green yard while you trip over your feet to keep up. “Oi! Kid that looks like a cat, over here!” Your brother shouts, freezing the boy mid step.

Protests from your parents fall on deaf ears.

The boy’d been walking down his driveway, now shifting to face the approaching menace that is Tetsurou — who’s still dragging you like a sack of potatoes.

He’s quiet, a grimace on his face, hand lifting in an awkward wave. “Hello,” The boy replies, soft and bored. Tetsurou skids to a stop at the edge of the yard, clutching your hand to steady you as you flail.

“Hi!” Tetsurou repeats. His bright personality causes the other boy to shield his eyes. “I’m Tetsurou, this is my little sister. What’s your name?”

The boy next door spares you a glance and your cheeks burn. You move to hide behind Tetsurou’s leg. Peaking up at the strange boy you realize he does look like a cat. A really pretty cat.

Your hand is sweaty.

“Kenma,” he offers, shoving his hands in the pockets of his shorts.

“Kenma! Nice to meet you.” Tetsurou notices the video game logo on Kenma’s t-shirt and lights up. “Woah dude, I love that game! You should come over and play with me.”

Your Mother’s irritated shout to stop bothering the neighbors hits your ears, and you nervously glance over your shoulder, tugging at Tetsurou’s shorts.

“Testsu-nii,” you cut in. “Kasaan said to come back.”

“Nah,” he waves you off. Then he hears the anger in her voice and his spine stiffens. “On second thought, we gotta go, imouto-chan.” Tetsurou starts to whirl around with you in tow as you lock eyes with Kenma. You wiggle your fingers at him and the corner of his mouth lifts. In turn, the tips of your ears grow hot.

“Kenma! Don’t forget to come over and play with me!” Tetsurou calls over his shoulder. Kenma hums, non committal, and you hope he says yes because you want to see him again.

Your Mother scolds Tetsurou for being over the top, dumping a heavy box labeled “dishes” in his arms. He protests but takes it. You ignore your brother dragging his feet and steal another peak at Kenma’s house, eager to see the other boy again. You frown when you notice he’s gone.

You don’t mention Bunny again. Instead, you talk Tetsurou’s ear off about Kenma.

Kenma is over the next weekend.

Granted, it’s at the insistence of his Mother and yours, but he’s there nonetheless.

It’s summer, so the boys have what seems to be every fan in the house pointed at them while they play video games. You’ve taken to watching with undivided attention for the last hour, perched on the edge of the couch, legs swinging in the air.

Kenma’s your true focus. Staring at his dark, grown out hair. It’s super hard not to reach out and tug, to see if it’s soft. Your Mother said to keep your hands to yourself unless someone tells you it’s okay. Plus, it’s rude to pull someone’s hair. Doesn’t stop you from wanting to play with it.

Tetsurou tries to follow along with Kenma’s new game. You’re unsure what it’s about, only that your brother is terrible. He’s lost. A lot.

Kenma shares similar thoughts. “You suck, Kuroo.”

“Yeah Tetsu-nii! You’re bad at this game,” you chime in, eager for Kenma’s approval. It works. He looks over his shoulder with a smirk, forcing the fuzzy feeling in your belly to return. Your eyes snap to the strawberries on your socks.

“Hey!” Tetsurou protests. “Ugh! I’ve never played this before,” he whines. He drops the controller on the floor with a pout, flopping onto his back as he groans. He catches your gaze and shoots you a grin full of mischief. Tetsurou stretches a hand over head and tickles the bottom of your foot.

You squeal, jerking out of reach. “Nii-chan!” You complain, laughter coloring your voice.

“Hmm?” Tetsurou feigns innocence. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Did so!”

Tetsurou sits up and pushes to his feet with a contemplative hum. “Did not.” He changes the subject. “Kenma, you want a popsicle? It’s so hot I’m gonna melt!” He complains, heading to the kitchen.

“Sure,” Kenma replies, standing to follow your brother.

“I want one!” You scramble off the couch and bounce on the balls of your feet next to the fridge.

Tetsurou pops out of the freezer, presenting blue and purple popsicles. The purple one has two sticks on the bottom. “I didn’t forget you, imouto-chan.” He waves the sweet treat in the younger boys direction. “Which one do you want, Kenma?”

He shrugs. “Purple I guess.”

You wilt. Purple is your favorite, you really wanted it. Tetsurou notices your frown and leans over to whisper in Kenma’s ear, handing him the purple one. You glance between the two, brows pinching together.

Kenma nods to whatever your brother says. Then, he rips open the popsicle wrapper, breaks it in half, and bends down, holding out one half for you.

“Here, I don’t mind sharing,” he says, expression kind and soft.

Tetsurou encourages you to grab the treat, so you do. Staring at Kenma like he’s hung the stars. “Thank you,” you mumble, cheeks blistering. Your face always gets hot around Kenma. It’s annoying.

Kenma nods, lifting his own half to take a huge bite.

The three of you finish the chilly snack in relative silence, Tetsurou teasing you for having a purple tongue. Kenma sticks his tongue out to show you’re not alone.

Sitting in the living room sees you squished between the two. Tetsurou shouts loudly when he loses again, making Kenma laugh. With as much as grace as a six year old can muster, you inch closer to Kenma until your knees touch.

If Kenma notices, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he attempts to explain which button does what on the controller. You pretend to understand, marveling at the warmth of Kenma’s attention.

time skip. reader is ten. kenma is twelve. tetsurou is thirteen.

Giggling. The entire lunch period is filled with it. Your friends speak in hushed whispers, pointing at the boys in class as they walk by.

You don’t understand the appeal. With one hand you could list the boys in class that aren’t super annoying. The other girls have tried several times to include you in the conversation, asking “which boy has the best hair?”, “which boy do you want to hold hands with?”

You picture Kenma, his hands as they smash buttons on a controller. His hair’s grown passed his ears now. Out loud, the answer is they all have awful haircuts and you’d rather deal with brain freeze than hold any of their hands.

You ate lunch in peace after that.

Balling up the wrapper to a discarded bag of chips, you finish picking up leftover trash. You pick up your lunch bag, about to leave the table and go to the playground, when one of the girls mentions having a “crush.”

“What’s a crush?” You butt in, curious over the new term.

The girl who’d mention it tilts her head to the side. “You know, a crush.” You shake your head no and she makes brief eye contact with another girl before continuing. “Like when you think someone is really cute, and you want to spend all your time with them because they’re just so freaking cool.”

Another girl pipes up. “Or when you want to give them a hug and do stuff they like to do!”

Your stomach flips, eyes widening. “Oh. Um, how do you know if you have a crush?” You ask, shifting in your seat.

“They make you blush and they give you butterflies,” the first girl answers. “I smile real big when my crush is around.”

The empty chip wrapper crunches in your fist. You don’t answer, longing to bolt from the table.

“Do you have a crush?”

Images of Kenma flood your mind. Every time you see him you wish you could hold his hand. You sit right next to him when he plays video games with Tetsurou, not an inch of space left.

When Kenma gives you his full attention you blush for an eternity. Whenever you sprint to the front door and yank it open, seeing his golden eyes and lazy smile you get…..butterflies.

Kenma does remind you of a really pretty cat. He is cute.

Your breath quickens and you nod.

“I think so.”

↡ ↡ ↡ ↡ ↡ ↡

Waiting outside the school for Tetsurou to pick you up is torture. First off, it’s boiling outside. Not to mention finding out you have a crush has overloaded your emotions. It’s been the only thing running through your head all day.

“Imouto-chan~!”

The tension in your shoulders relaxes when Tetsurou saunters up to you, alone. “Are you by yourself today Tetsu-nii?” The hopeful tone is obvious, and Tetsurou glances at you in apology.

“Well, not really —,”

“Kuroo!” The irritated voice freezes you both in place, stomach dropping to the soles of your feet.

It’s Kenma.

Tetsurou spins with a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry Kenma! You were taking forever. Besides, I knew you’d catch up.”

Kenma stops right beside you. Side stepping allows him space between you and Testsurou. His gaze slides your way. “Hey,” he greets, the wrinkle in his brow smoothing when your eyes lock.

“Hey,” you mumble, opting to stare at your shoes, white knuckling your backpack straps. The butterflies have returned.

“Next time I’m leaving you behind, Kuroo.” Kenma shoots the taller boy a look and resumes walking, hiking his backpack up.

Tetsurou laughs, keeping his place on Kenma’s left side. “I’ll make it up to you. We can play Mario Kart when we get home!”

“I’ll beat you.”

You listen to them bicker, heart skittering when Kenma’s elbow bumps yours. You pretend to fall behind, bending to fake tie your shoe. The heat in your cheeks won’t go away.

“Imouto - chan, hurry up! Mom will be mad if I lose you,” Tetsurou calls over his shoulder.

“Coming!” You squeak, using the distraction to cling to your brother’s side. Tetsurou bumps his shoulder against yours, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

Usually you’d fight him to stand by Kenma.

You shrug, eyes trained in front of you. Tetsurou, thankfully, leaves it alone. He reignites his conversation with Kenma, pestering him to start playing volleyball. Kenma protests, complaining about the athletic part of it.

You ignore them, wanting to shrivel down and disappear.

What do you even do with a crush?

↡ ↡ ↡ ↡ ↡ ↡

You rushed through the front door as soon as it was within eyesight, leaving the other two behind.

It’s out of the norm for you to hide in your room instead of join Tetsurou and Kenma for a snack. Tetsurou knocks on the door, wondering if you’re going to play Mario Kart with them. You decline, avoiding them like the plague.

After dinner, as you’re finishing a frustrating math problem, Tetsurou decides to sit in the chair across from you. He must’ve taken a shower, because the scent of his body soap is strong. Your nose wrinkles.

“Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird. You smell weird,” you huff, erasing a lopsided five to rewrite it.

He ignores the insult. “Whatever. You’re always stuck to Kenma like glue. Did he make you mad? He’s kinda mean sometimes.”

“Don’t say that! He’s not mean!” You defend, glaring daggers at Tetsurou.

He rolls his eyes. “You’re acting like you have a crush on him.”

You freeze, eyes going round with horror. You slam your pencil onto the table, face flushing red hot. “N-no I don’t!”

Tetsurou’s jaw drops. “You so have a crush on Kenma!” He teases. Then he laughs and scrunches his nose. “Ew. Why?”

“Please don’t tell him Tetsu-nii!” You beg, eyes stinging, lower lip trembling. “He’ll hate me!” Tears begin to slip down your cheeks.

Tetsurou stands in a hurry, rushing to your side. You throw your arms around his waist, face buried in his shirt. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. Kenma won’t hate you, he likes you.”

“Promise you won’t tell him!” You demand, words muffled.

“I promise.”

You pull back and stare up at him. “Pinky promise?”

“Pinky promise.” Tetsurou smiles. He holds his hand up, pinky out, waiting. You connect your fingers, relieved.

You can’t see Tetsurou’s fingers crossed behind his back.

time skip. reader is twelve. kenma is fourteen. tetsurou is fifteen.

The front door slams shut behind you in a whirlwind, bearing the unfortunate brunt of your anger. Kenma jumps, switch nearly flying from his hands as you stomp into the living room.

Kuroo was supposed to be home thirty minutes ago, leaving Kenma stuck waiting on your couch after receiving a “gonna be l8,” text. You freeze upon seeing you’re not alone, Kenma doing the same.

An awkward silence fills the living room, the soft sounds of Animal Crossing playing in the background.

“Oh,” you sniffle, voice scratchy. “I didn’t know you were here.” You scrub your eyes with the back of your sleeve.

Kenma’s head tilts, brows pinching together. It’s obvious to him that you’ve been crying, not that he would be privy as to why; and he’s unsure if he should ask. He’s quite awful at comforting people. “Um, yeah. Waiting for Kuroo. Your mom said I could hang in here,” he explains lamely. His thumb nervously traces back and forth over the x button.

“I see.”

So you don’t feel like explaining further, that’s fine. A relief, if Kenma’s honest. Still, there’s some discomfort in his chest at the sight of your tears. It’s not like he wants you to be sad. Against his better judgement, he speaks. “Are you, uh, are you okay?” Kenma clutches the edges of his switch, hard.

“Yes. I’m fine.” Your voice cracks as you stare off into the kitchen, sniffling.

“Okay.” Clearly you aren’t. Kenma’s scared you’ll cry if he asks again. He glances down at his switch, a light bulb going off. When he’s upset, playing a game makes everything ten times better. “Do you want to see my animal crossing village?”

Your head whips towards him, face lighting up. “Really?” You’re toeing off your shoes before he answers, rushing to the couch.

Seems your previous upset is forgotten.

Kenma nods, scooting over so you have space. You drop down right next to him, bouncing a little, thigh squished against his. Kenma likes how warm you are, and he catches a hint of vanilla coming from you that makes him blush.

“What were you doing?” You look at him with an adorable smile. He realizes how close you’ve gotten and his blush creeps to his hairline.

Kenma clears his throat. “I was looking for a stringfish. I haven’t been able to catch it.”

“Those are super hard to find. Oh! Have you gotten the golden trout yet?” You sound so excited. Kenma’s stomach flutters.

“Yeah,” he replies, clicking a few buttons on the switch to show you.

You press further into his side, staring at the screen in awe. “That’s so cool! You’re so good at this!” You snatch his forearm, shaking it. “Do you think you could you help me catch the golden trout? Pretty please Kenma!”

Kenma isn’t sure he could refuse if he wanted to, heart jumping to his throat. “S-sure. If you login to your account I can find it.”

You’re all but buzzing. “Okay! Hang on, I’ll be right back!” You jump off the couch and sprint to your room, returning less than a minute later with your switch. It’s controllers wear the Animal Crossing blue and green, stickers of characters littering the back.

You thrust it into his waiting hands, reclaiming the spot beside him.

“This may take a while,” he warns.

“That’s okay!” You giggle, reaching for a blanket to snuggle up under. “I really, really want that fish.”

Kenma relaxes against the cushions, smiling to himself. “I promise I’ll find it.” Kenma almost squeaks when your temple meets his shoulder, fluffy blanket tickling his forearm as you rest on him.

Forty five minutes later Kuroo shows his face. Loud as ever as he bursts through the door. Kenma had caught the golden trout, then continued on building a garden for you.

“Sorry I’m late!” Kuroo calls, not sorry whatsoever.

“In here Tetsu-nii!” You respond, lifting your head from Kenma’s shoulder. Kenma wishes you wouldn’t.

He saves the game, not wanting to lose progress. “Where were you?”

“I was talking to some guys on the volleyball team and they challenged me to a friendly game. Did you miss me?” Kuroo teases, flopping onto the other couch.

“No.”

Tetsurou gasps. “Mean Kenma! You like my little sister more than me?”

Kenma flushes red like cherries. He’s saved from answering when your Mother calls you to come help with dinner. You rise from the couch, leaving Kenma cold in your wake. You flick your brother’s forehead as you pass by, Tetsurou letting out a sound of protest.

“Thanks for catching the fish for me Kenma!”

Kenma nods. “Sure.”

It’s silent after you leave. Kenma catches his best friend’s teasing grin and narrows his eyes. “What?” He snaps.

Kuroo sits up straight, crossing his hands behind his head. “You have a crush on my sister, don’t you?”

Kuroo is met with a decorative pillow to the face.

did I make you feel anything? what do you think will happen next in their little growing love story?

a big smooch to everyone who gives my story a chance. c:

if you’d like to be added to my taglist, feel free to let me know below! (but if you’re under 18, or i can’t see your age, please don’t ask, i’m not comfortable interacting. sorry!)

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Bratty!Fem!reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: Tired of your antics regarding how cavalier you take your sexual relationship, your lieutenant cuts you off and that has you immediately plotting. You know you can get him to break and all it'll take is one purchase. How can he keep his resolve when he sees what you've bought? And how will he act when he catches you?

Word Count: 6.8 k

Warnings:

The office is silent now except for the distant sounds of movement filtering in from outside the door of people coming and going through the building. Your shirt clings in a rumpled mess to your body, sweat speckling across your limbs from that specific heat that gets shared between two bodies, euphoria still running through your veins when the man sitting beneath you speaks. “We’re not doin’ this again, so get that straight. Understand?”

You tilt your head to the side and raise a curious eyebrow, staring back into the face of your lieutenant as he gets you to your feet and grabs his shirt to throw it back over his head, covering his sweat-glistening torso. “Care to explain what you’re talking about or am I meant to just guess?” you ask with snark in your tone as you pick up the rest of your clothing off the floor.

Buttoning his pants and re-buckling his belt, he takes his time before answering as you finish and stand there impatient and agitated. “What the fuck did I say about startin’ stuff with me when I’m busy?” Lt. Riley questions back, his voice harsh. “Did ya think I was jokin’ or are ya just hell bent on gettin’ caught? Cause that’s what’s gonna fuckin’ happen if ya keep temptin’ me in the middle of the day.”

“You could turn me away,” you say with a roll of your eyes, “ever heard of self-control?”

Stepping up close to your body, the lieutenant grabs you by the chin and looks down his nose at you. “You’re too much of a distraction. And ya need to be taught a lesson, sweetheart; when I say somethin’ I fuckin’ mean it. Consider this my self-control.” 

“Oh, gonna punish me now?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest as you pull your face out of his grasp with a flick of your head. “Okay, go ahead. Let’s see what you got.”

“Ya ain’t gettin’ nothin’ from me til I can be sure you’re gonna listen. You’re cut off, sweetheart, and until ya can learn, we’re done with this.” 

You hold his gaze steadfast, not intimidated in the least. If he wants to play this game, then you’ll play it, but if he thinks this is going to end the way he wants, he is going to be sorely mistaken. “Fine.” You don’t argue, there is no sense to. “Have it your way, sir. Is that all?”

You’ll have it your way soon enough. All it’ll take is patience.

He doesn’t say anything, opting to sit back in the chair behind his desk without uttering another word. It is a gross miscalculation on Lt. Riley’s part not to immediately take your acceptance if his reprimand as a giant red flag, but if he isn’t willing to put his knowledge of your competitive temperament to use then that is fully on him; he is a big boy and since he wants to talk about consequences, then he should be ready to receive his own.

You double check yourself in silence before you leave his office with a smug sense of satisfaction, though a plan isn’t in mind just yet. It doesn’t matter really, the bigger they are the harder they fall and you are confident that you can make him fold with very little effort because despite being a man of mostly mystery, you know the intimate details of what makes that 6’4” military officer weak. 

The day isn’t even over before you already have a plan in mind and it all involves one very specific item. It’s a shame you have to order it, but the time it’ll take to come in the post will work in your favor. Lt. Riley needs time to cool off, to miss his pretty thing, to let his appetite for you get ravenous again.

Patience was never your virtue unless it came to getting something you wanted, so you bore your restlessness in silence as you waited for your order to come in. You give the lieutenant his space without a fuss, letting him believe his little delusion that at any moment you’ll come crawling back ready to obey him just as he wants.

A week passes and then nearly another when finally you are gifted with your prize that comes in the evening mail that Friday. You can taste the sweetness of your retribution already as you rip into the package and pull out the smallest, tightest pair of jet black hot pants with white trim. No more keeping this body for his eyes only; if he doesn’t want to give you the attention you desire then someone else will. 

You rush to your barracks the second the day comes to a close with your package in hand; you have only a short window of time to pull your entire plan together or you’ll be forced to wait till after the weekend and you are tired of waiting. Tonight is the night that you make your lieutenant come crawling back to you and stop with this nonsense.   

The tiny swath of fabric covering your ass barely hides a damned thing from view, hugging around your hips like they are painted on and resting at the very top of your thighs so that the underside of your butt peeks out from below the hem. There is a slit that goes up the side and it is doing its job in making your legs look extra long while also showing as much skin as possible. It leaves almost nothing to the imagination for anyone who happens to look your way… and boy do you want as many eyes on you as you can get.

Let’s see him be steadfast in his resolve to teach you a lesson now.

With a head full of devious thoughts, you leave your room and head out onto base and into the oncoming night. Shoulders back and head held high you walk past the buildings with confidence on the way to your first stop of the night: the officers building. You had checked the clock just before you left, it’s nearly time now. He’ll be leaving his office soon and you need him to catch sight of you on the way to your second destination: the rec center.

How lucky it is that the lieutenant is a man of routine and so giving it another minute or two you step out in front of the building and start heading directly for the rec, though at a slower pace than usual. And sure enough, when you’re still within eyeshot, you hear the front door to the building open. 

Stepping out into the cooler evening air, Lt. Riley looks up and his sight is captured by a figure moving just up ahead in the distance. People coming and going isn’t abnormal on a military base, but what really catches his attention is the familiarity of the body and the way that body is dressed. He is stunned in his tracks because you are barely wearing anything at all with shorts that look like they’ve been painted on. Paired with the tight black tank top you’ve chosen and you might as well be naked for all the covering it does. After a good almost two weeks of no action, the man is starved…but also curious as to where the fuck you are going dressed like this. 

The best thing would have been for the lieutenant to turn tail and walk away, leave it and you alone, but as smart as Lt. Riley is when it comes to temptation the man is a goddamn fool that cannot help himself.

You are a good bit ahead by the time he takes action and decides to follow you, but he keeps the pace as heat floods his body from staring at the back of you walking away, desperately wanting to take a bite out of all that juicy meat tempting his gaze as it bounces with each sure-footed step you take. Fuck, he is a sucker for all the plump, tender parts of your body and having them on display like this is a regular buffet that he can’t help but soak up even with his nosiness into what exactly has you looking so killer. 

Those auburn eyes of his continue to follow you as you come to the front of a building and enter. Now that you are out of view, he can think more clearly and he realizes that it’s the rec center that you’ve just entered. The closer the lieutenant gets, the more he catches raucous sounds of many voices braying like a pack of crazed hounds, making him quicken his steps that match his rising blood pressure until he stands just outside the doors to peer in without being detected yet.

Through the glass doors he can see towards the back of the main room that a group of privates surrounding the single government bought pool table with cues in hand are now circling you like wolves circling a wounded deer, practically begging you to join them for a few games while he knows that its only to get you to stay longer so that they can enjoy the view. It makes his blood boil to watch them ogle you like that, getting far too close to what isn’t theirs. 

…to what belongs to him.

Standing in silence, now cloaked in darkness as night has fallen, he watches angrily as a private gets bold enough to place his hand at the small of your back just as you lean over the table to make your first shot and suddenly he is seeing red. He can barely comprehend anything through the angry haze clouding his vision, but he can feel the cold steel of the door handle in his hand as he wrenches it open and stalks inside as if he is ready to kill.   

All eyes immediately drift towards the source of the sound. You look up through a giggle to see the form of the lieutenant standing there, sharp gaze boring straight into you specifically and the man who still has his hand on you. 

“What’s goin’ on ‘ere,” that deep voice booms through the small space to quiet the rowdy bunch.

“Is there a problem, sir?” one of the more brave privates speaks up.

His sight doesn’t leave you. “Seems we need to have a chat about propriety,” he growls. “This is a military base, not a fuckin’ strip club.” 

You smirk. “I don’t know what kind of strip clubs you frequent, sir, but I can assure you that this is more clothing than most will allow.”

A few of the privates snicker behind you, impressed with your audacity to backtalk someone as imposing as the skull-masked officer and that does nothing but add fuel to the fire.

“Come with me- now.” His voice is firm. 

A collective “ooooh” passes around the bunch that is quickly quelled with one harsh glare. “If I were ya I would get back to my fuckin’ game,” Lt. Riley barks. “Or would you lot rather be placed on permanent fire guard to drive the goddamn point home, since ya want to meddle in an officer’s business?”

His command is absolute and none of the privates have the balls enough to question it. Quickly they scramble back to their game, keeping their heads down and eyes locked to the table. Whatever trouble you are about to get in is none of their concern, not when being reprimanded by the imposing lieutenant is on the line.

Satisfied, those amber eyes snap right back to you. “Move, now,” he demands and points towards an area of the rec that is blocked off by a wall, essentially cutting the room in two and will give enough privacy that the others inside won’t be able to witness what is about to transpire. 

“Of course, sir,” you say in agreement without a syllable of dissention. 

Turning on your heels you take off in the direction pointed out to you, walking ahead of the masked officer eagerly. He’s mad; there is no need to turn around, you can feel his glare on you the entire walk over and it makes you smile. You’ve hit the nerve you had hoped to. Now to bring it all home and get your lover back the way you want. 

As soon as you make it behind the cover of the corner his hand is on your waist as he shoves you into the wall with brute force. Your back hits it and you let out a surprised gasp. He stands towering over top of you, a powerfully intimidating figure with a massive presence to match as he glares you down with fire in his gaze. 

“Can I fucking help you?” you ask as you quickly regain your composure.

Christ, when you want to get his attention you sure know how to do it. “What the fuck do ya think you’re doin’, hmm?” he questions back heatedly. “Puttin’ on a fuckin’ show for all the privates? Do ya fuckin’ think this appropriate, what ya got on?”

Something about having this conversation with the barrier of his balaclava covering his face infuriates you as if this was any other time he would have already had it off his face. “You think you can just treat me like everyone else after all we’ve done? Fuck you; take off the mask when you’re talking to me.”

His eyes narrow as he shakes his head side to side. “You don’t get to make demands a me anymore, princess.”

“Oh yeah?” you challenge back. “That what you think?”

Leaning in a bit closer, you can feel the heat of his breath even as it filters through the fabric. “That’s what I know. Now answer the question. Do ya think this is appropriate?”

Your shrug is nonchalant. “For field work? Well, it depends on the climate I suppose. That doesn’t really apply here does it, since we are still on base. Why? Do you have a problem with it?”

A sharp hiss of air exits rapidly out of his nose. “Like hell I do,” he says and suddenly you can make out the feel of his fingertips as they toy around with the fabric at the edge of your shorts. He lets them brush against your outer thigh as he follows the line of the hem up the slit that goes higher towards your hip. There is electricity in his touch and it makes your pulse start to race. “You're distracting my men. An outfit like this is askin’ for attention. Whose fuckin’ attention ya tryin’ to get, hmm?”

“Who said anything about attention?” you question him back as if you can’t possibly understand what all the fuss is about. “I just wanted to be comfortable. You know, unwind and all that after a long week.”

“Comfortable,” he scoffs as he rolls the fabric in between his fingers. “Ya barely have a god damned thing on.”

“Maybe that’s how I feel most comfortable,” you push, your reply a little more breathy. “You of all people should know that.” 

Oh you are walking on thin ice, lying to him like this. He is not that innocent that he can’t tell what you’re doing and you are not that naive to think that he won’t immediately figure it out. Harshly grabbing your chin, he holds your face firm in his grasp as his dark eyes shadowed within the confines of his mask stare back into your own. 

“Don’t ya lie to me, sweetheart,” he says, that gruff voice metered and unyielding in its severity. “The way ya were just eatin’ up how those boys reacted, I know ya didn’t fuckin’ dress like a slag for nothin’.”

“Are they not allowed to look, Simon?” you ask without missing a beat and using his name as if it’s a curse.

The question hangs in that air as Simon shifts in his stance while not saying a word, eyes narrowing as he realizes that there is no right way for him to answer that without giving himself away that he has dug himself into trouble.

A smug grin crosses your lips before you try to lick it away. “Ah, so that’s the problem right? That they were looking at me? Strange, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were… jealous. But that can’t be right, can it Simon? Because I thought I was cut off and that you were done, so it’s all fair game yeah? Unless there is something you want to fess up to?”

Simon’s chiseled jaw twitches under his mask as his eyes shimmer; you are pushing it, though why is he even surprised. “Ya better watch it, luv,” he warns under his breath as his grip along your chin tightens. “You are playin’ with fire and if ya ain’t careful, your pretty little fingers are gonna fuckin’ burn.” 

And before you are even made conscious of it, your mind immediately knows what to say in response. You hold his gaze steadfast in your own. “Make me.”

Those two little words and their variations are Simon’s kryptonite and you know it; that’s what got you on his cock in the first place. Nothing else can make that man go feral than a threat from a bratty bitch that puts him in the position to show them the consequences of what their cocky attitudes get them.  

You smirk, satisfied with how you seem to have the upper hand in this little confrontation. Simon is now in a place where he will either have to admit he still wants you and that his threat meant nothing or he will have to let you go… and you know by the rapid increase in the rise and fall of his chest the longer you stand between him and the wall that the latter is looking less and less likely. 

“Still waiting on your answer,” you say with a smug, satisfied grin spread across your lips, “or is it that if you say anything, it’ll make it clear that you are now regretting a certain… decision… you so hastily made?”

God, you know just how to rile him up in the exact way that both infuriates and entices him. His devil with a pretty face, his sin that feels like heaven; he is drawn to your stubbornness like a moth is drawn to a flame.

“Ya vicious little bitch,” he says, the words sharp. 

Gotcha, you think to yourself. You have that serious military officer right where you want him. Now all you have to do is go in for the kill. You take a step into him even with your chin still secure in his grasp. “Oh yeah,” you respond, your voice husky. “As if you don’t fucking love it.”

You are met with only silence as a shiver runs straight through him. He’s barely able to react in time to hide its presence, but grits his teeth hard and stifles any movement other than the rapid breaths he continues to take. 

“Cat got your tongue?” you ask and wait for a response that doesn’t come; you don’t expect it to. “That’s what I thought. So, here’s how it’s going to work: I’m gonna wear what I want, when I want, and if you don’t like how others react to my wardrobe then that’s on you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I got a game to return to.” 

Pulling your head back forcefully out of his grip, his strong, rough fingers release your chin and he watches as you make your move to step past him, but he can’t let this go like he had originally planned. This is the game you both play and he just can’t quit you. You are his, his, and he isn’t going to just let you forget that. You barely take the first few steps around him headed back the way you came when you hear Simon mutter under his breath. 

“Fuck,” the sigh hits your ears before his arm jettisons out and grabs you by the wrist. 

Your body is spun around and pulled into him, your back flush against his warm chest as he leans himself back against the wall. His hand shoots up to cover over your mouth, cupping across your cheeks to stifle any sound that may come from the shock of his action. Sure enough you gasp into his palm as he straps you to his chest by locking you in place with his other arm. 

“You’re not goin’ anywhere, princess,” he grunts lowly into your ear. 

Stoic and silent he pushes a knee up through the gap in your legs to widen them before his hand slinks down your abdomen, over your pants, and comes to rest against your sex. That large palm now nestled in between your thighs presses up into you and it only takes a few seconds for Simon to realize that he can feel the lips of your pussy straight through the thin fabric of your pants without any barrier. No panties, really?

You fucking witch. You planned this, didn’t you?

There are still soldiers hanging about, out of sight for the moment, but still not something that is conducive for such an encounter. He wouldn’t risk something like this…would he? What you think is going to be a quick touch and pull back turns into his hand locking to your pussy as he begins to massage it through your pants. He pushes his fingers up through the cloth until he can feel the outline of your clit on his fingertips.

A quiet chuckle falls from your lips behind his handmade muzzle as his fingers make contact with the crotch of your shorts and you feel his chest jerk as he struggles to catch his breath. Feel something you like, lieutenant? you think as the corners of your mouth upturn against his skin. 

A moan barely squeaks out from around his hand before he presses it harder against your lips. “Don’t need someone catchin’ us, do we? Not til I’m finished with ya.”

Those heated words cause your heart to race violently, thudding strong against your ribcage to match a certain throbbing growing in strength between your thighs. 

“You gonna keep quiet?” he asks and you nod in his hand. “Don’t make me regret it or else, princess.”

Simon removes his palm and wraps his arms around your waist; you’re not going anywhere. “We could still get caught, you know,” you say softly, stumbling over your words as his fingers continue to play.

“Ya should've thought of that before ya tempted me with this fuckin’ skin, luv,” he murmurs against the side of your head. There is no way in hell you are getting out of these shorts without him fucking you out of them, he will stop only when he can feel a wet spot soaking through the crotch. “ ‘Sides, maybe I want that prick that had his fuckin’ hands on ya ta see that he doesn’t stand a chance.” 

He won’t, he has never been the type to share but the threat serves its purpose. The boys at the pool table continue to distract themselves, but who knows how long that will last. If they come creeping over, there is no way they won’t instantly know what is happening. And yet over and over his large fingers grind against your clit until it begins to ache. 

“Gimme your hand,” he searches for the appendage, only to be met with resistance once he locates it. 

“I said give,” he reiterates the point in that more authoritative tone he is used to using with his men.

You shake your head that still rests in his grasp; you don’t want to make this easy for him. If he wants something he is going to have to work for it. Encapsulating your wrist in his hand, the muscles along his forearm strain as he drags your arm up from your side. He takes your hand firmly in his, fingers lacing themselves over the top of your own as he descends them both down the front of your body and slips them into the waistband of your shorts. No time is wasted in bringing them directly between your legs, parting through your warm, soft lips, and nestling both sets of fingers inside. 

“Gonna need ya ta participate in this part,” he says, low and bassey at the side of your face. “You’re fuckin’ achin’ bad, aren’t ya? Christ luv, I can already feel how swollen your clit is.”

Simon keeps your conjoined fingers resting up against that tiny bundle of nerves. There is a tension-filled pause as he takes a deep, labored breath as the end of his thought hangs anxiously in the air, waiting for him to finish it. His lips are right at the threshold of your earlobe, you can feel their presence as they ghost near the tender flesh, the skin tingling as his warm breath wafts over the area.

You suddenly realize the lack of oxygen filling your lungs as he finally speaks. “Let’s make it worse,” he growls. 

A shiver snakes through your spine as he forces your fingers to work in tandem with his in rolling circles over your sensitive clit, stroking again and again in a steady rhythm that he has set. 

“Best hope they decide to leave soon, sweetheart,” he breathes the words into your ear as he rests his forehead against your temple. “Cause if ya want me to let ya fuckin’ come, they’re gonna have to be gone. Until then we’re just gonna have to keep ya wet and fuckin’ ready.”

His phallus pulses against your ass through his pants, bobbing with his racing heartbeat as it prods into the cheek of your ass. A struggled, shaky breath escapes your lips as he moves his hips to press it into you; your sanity is hanging on by a thread. All you want is for him to bend you over, rip your shorts down, and thrust inside, but no matter how much you rub against it he does not take the bait.

Time passes so much slower as you stay strapped to him, his hand and yours shoved down the front of your shorts keeping you wet. Your sanity is beginning to wane; no one should be expected to keep it together when a lover who knows your body like the back of his hand is using everything to his advantage to keep you aching.

Pressure gathering in the pit of your stomach only to dissipate before it can ever come to fruition, over and over Simon brings you to the brink only to back off once you get close enough. It feels like eternity in the haze of his capable fingers working your body before the men finally decide that they have had enough with standing around the quiet center when the local bar is just a short drive down the road and head out, completely forgetting that they haven’t seen either you or the lieutenant for quite some time, but they also haven’t seen either of you leave. 

The moment the door shuts and the last sounds of talking can be heard drifting off into the distance, you are released and again turned only to be shoved back against the wall. Simon is immediately pressed against you, one knee collapsing into the wall between your legs as your hands greedily claw at the cloth gathered at base of his neck, fingers pulling up the bottom of his mask without hindrance so that they can get underneath it and push it up to expose his hungry mouth. A devilish, toothy grin waits to meet you as the fabric is removed; he’s proud of the desperation he has left you in. 

“They’re gone,” you say with a heavy bit of neediness. “I did what you said.” 

“Ya want me ta give it to ya now, that it?” he asks with a smug sense of self satisfaction. 

“You promised,” you shoot back, the agony of waiting becoming unbearable the longer he takes. 

His face inches in closer to yours, hot breath meeting and wafting over the skin on your lips as he exhales. “Ya think this is gonna be some sorta reward?” he asks, his voice lowering into the deeper part of his register, that gravely vibrato that turns your legs into jelly just from the sound.  

Those full lips of his ghost over your own, making the skin quiver from the proximity. Your mouth parts open as suddenly you feel like you can’t get enough air while waiting in misery for him to break and crash on you with all of his desire. A breathy gasp escapes through the gap as that thick thigh of his presses up into your pussy. He has you right where he wants you now.  

“Ya still got a fuckin’ lesson ta learn, princess,” he says. “So, I’m gonna have ta fuck the attitude til it comes drippin’ right out of ya.” 

And with that he leans down and forcefully connects your lips together so that your head hits the wall behind you. Fiery and aggressive he embraces your mouth again and again, lips fighting for dominance with each new connection. Breath and spit are shared as the wet smacking sounds of skin on skin hits the air and fills up the quiet of the place. 

You haven’t gotten your fill yet, but suddenly you find your body being lifted into the air and carelessly flung over one of his broad shoulders as he drags you back into the middle of the room. He eyes his destination the moment it comes into view from around the wall and quickly makes his way over to it; somewhere he can put you so he can get to work.

Your backside makes contact with the smooth felt of the pool table as Simon sets you down on top of it. The cool surface of the rails raises goosebumps on the back of your thighs as he situates you right at the edge. No longer pressed together, a spot of cold radiates from his thigh and he looks down to see a present you have left for him right on the fabric.

“Look what ya did,” he growls, pointing to the obviously darker patch on the inner thigh of his jeans. “Made a fuckin’ mess.”

“Whose…ng…fucking fault is that?” you whimper, adjusting yourself as every little movement puts pressure on your aching clit. 

“And I’d do it again ta keep my brat in line,” he smirks as his irises sparkle like a predator locking on to its prey. “Now, open your fuckin’ legs.”

You widen the gap between your thighs more, but he still has to use his hips to shove them open enough that he can fit in until he is right up against you. The sharp edge of his teeth cuts into the plump flesh of your bottom lip as he sucks it into his mouth to give it a hard nip. He swallows down the harsh groan you produce at his delicious brand of roughness like it’s honey. Every single sound you make in response to his actions is music to his ears. 

“Need ya ta know this type a shit isn’t gonna fly with me.”

Fingertips play around the perimeter of your cunt until he hooks them through the cool, damp crotch of your pants and wrenches them to the side to expose your entrance. “Let’s ruin these fuckin’ things,” he smugly says as he works with one hand to undo his pants and slide both that and his boxers down his thighs until his cock pops out of the waistband and stands hard and throbbing for you. “Don’t ever wanna see these goddamn things again after tonight.”

His vice-like grip on the crotch of your shorts causes a few of the overly taut threads to snap as he holds the fabric out of his way to align the swollen head of his cock with that dripping, aching hole he’s been working so that it’s already ready to take him in. You can feel the tip of his hard girth push against the moist skin before he bucks his hips and it strains through the barrier. His grip moves to your waist to force your body further down on him as you whine, the stretch overwhelming, but divine. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it, princess? Why you wore these tight fuckin’ things, yeah? Ya tryin’ ta make me take ya like an animal?” he grunts, the feel of your tight, silky walls fluttering around his cock as he fills you full threatening to send him straight to hell. 

“The moment I saw ya in ‘em I thought I was gonna lose control. Been a while since I had ya. That on purpose too?”   

You fall backward against the table, your back arching up off it and your eyes roll back into your head as he pulls you down while slamming the length of his phallus up into you until he reaches the base. He doesn’t give you a moment to gather your sanity and instead snaps his hips into you, the intensity in each stroke causing your body to jolt over the felted surface. 

“Look at me,” he grunts as he reaches out to grab at your chin and pull you back up to him, “look - at - me.”

You’re unable to deny him when he’s thrusting so deep and your eyes open to meet his gaze again. “You’re mine, ya hear?” he breathes the words desperate and firm. “Nobody else can look at ya like this, got it? Nobody.”

His breath hitches a moment as a shudder runs through his cock from the way you tighten around it. “Those boys out there mighta gotten a show tonight, but that’s the last they’ll ever get,” he growls more intensely. “Don’t even want ‘em to think they have a fuckin’ chance wit ya cause you belong ta me. You were made for me, princess. Only me.”

Harder and harder he pounds into your pussy with a need that feels like it cannot be quenched no matter how deep he goes. “And nobody else - nobody else- ya don’t need anyone else ‘sides me. Say it.” 

A pathetic whimper is all he gets in response as his cock digs in deep, but that isn’t good enough. You’re gonna do exactly as he says and repeat it - out loud. His grip around your face tightens.

“Say it,” he demands again. 

“Don’t… need a-anyone…else…” you stammer out as it is a struggle now to speak. 

Then you hear it, the distinct sound of fabric beginning to rip. The seam along the crotch has had too much strain put on it and it is starting to give, threads ripping more steadily the harder Simon thrusts. God, that sound is the catalyst to you suddenly feeling wild, like all you want him to do is shred the fucking things off of you by screwing you out of them. It’s at that moment that familiar warmth begins to gather in your belly. It won’t be long now and you’ll be spilling.

“Say: you’re the only one I fuckin’ want,” he insists as he clenches to make his cock pulse inside of you.

Simon’s wide hand slides down from your chin to just at the base of your throat where he wraps it around and gives it a light squeeze for emphasis. The pressure feels like heaven amongst all the stimulation and trying to keep your eyes on him and speak at the same time is nearly impossible, but find your words soon enough.

You lick your parched lips. “You’re the only one I want, Simon,” you moan.

“Again.”

“You’re the only one I will ever want, Simon.”

Another couple of desperately strong thrusts. “And you’re gonna listen from now on, yeah?”

“Yes!” you blurt out.

He pulls you by the throat so that you meet him in a kiss as his hips never stop snapping into you. “Such a fuckin’ obedient girl for me,” he groans against your mouth as he breaks free from it. “Now, let’s make ya come so ya never fuckin’ forget who it is that ya belong to.”

Releasing your neck, Simon brings his hand down, parting through your dripping lips to find your clit so that he can rub over it as he thrusts. There is not much more you can take now; all his work before has done its job to perfection and your body is falling apart so rapidly it feels like the nosedive off that first ddrop of a rollercoaster. 

“G-gonna… gonna come, baby,” you stammer out. You bring your lips in closer to his, desperate to kiss him again, but the pleasure is just too much to handle that you devolve into simply panting instead. 

He inhales in ragged breaths the sweet air from your mouth, his teeth grinding together the harder he thrusts. All those days without you have been frustrating as he waited for you to come crawling back. He missed the feeling of you wrapped around him and right now he needs you to come on his cock. 

But this isn’t going to teach you what he wants. Pulling out amidst your whined protests, he pulls you off the table onto your feet and spins you around before pushing your upper body down while guiding you to spread your stance wider and ripping the crotch of your pants aside again, this time he doesn’t hesitate to enter you.

From this angle the penetration is even deeper and as his finger finds that tiny bud of nerve endings again, you are right back where you want to be - a mess ready to explode.   

“Come for me.” He is demanding while trying to hold it all together. “Now.”

Harder and harder he pushes, thrusting and stroking, and like the flick of a switch all that heat and all that pressure culminates in an explosion that has you crying out loudly as you come with force, your back arching to pull you away from his grasp. Waves wash through your body as the intensity of your orgasm shakes through you until your legs are vibrating around his hips. 

The moment you cry out he allows himself to let go, finally finished with his task, and fucking you through your orgasm he comes so hard that he has to grab the sides of the pool table to keep himself upright. Grunting like an animal he coats your walls and thrusts his cum continuously back up into you until he is spent and cannot go another second. 

Simon stays inside as you both come back down from that exhilarating high, two glistening bodies conjoined at the forehead with eyes closed until he has enough strength to pull his sensitive cock carefully out of you. Both of your mixed juices follow his cock out, dribbling out of your entrance to collect in the crotch of your pants as they snap back into place now that there is nothing keeping them pushed aside. 

You flip yourself back over and lean against the edge of the table to look down at what’s left of your shorts. They are completely soaked, drenched in so much of your juices that they look wet. The ruined fabric clings to your body as if it’s glued on and you are left feeling cold down there as Simon pulls away.

“That’s better,” he says with satisfaction as he studies his handiwork of the ripped, saturated fabric. “And so is this.”

A more gentle kiss is placed on your lips this time, one in praise of you doing so well for him. You reciprocate the feeling by cupping his face in your hands.

“And we’re not gonna have any more a this, right?” he asks as he pulls from your mouth.

Looking into his eyes, a subtle smirk contours your lips. “We’ll see,” you say as Simon shakes his head.

He wouldn’t expect anything less.

“So,” you continue, “I’m just wondering if you thought about how I’m going to leave here, now that I look like this. Gonna need something so I don’t have to cross base.” 

Across the way he spots a random jacket hanging off the back of a chair, left by one of the privates no doubt. Looks big enough and he returns with it in hand. Carefully he circles the sleeves around your body and ties them in front to cover you until you can get back to your room and change. Don’t need anyone seeing anything they shouldn’t.

“I did really like these by the way,” you pick as Simon pulls you by the knot in the sleeves wrapped around your waist back into him to catch your lips one last time with his.  

“Don’t ya worry, sweetheart, I’m gonna be gettin’ you a new pair, ones that I chose,” he says. “Cause I’m gonna be the only one that gets to enjoy this fuckin’ view from now on. And it’s a view you’re gonna give me ‘gain and again, darlin’.”

[signanothername]

@meloveanimeforreal7604 your ask glitched so I’m answering with a screenshot chchch

I actually have my own thoughts on their stats and how they changed under Nightmare

Killer is actually canonically shown to have 99999 LV, but later, Rahaf stated people can choose whichever LV they wanted for him, so it’s basically up for interpretation

Murder is canonically mostly at 19 LV, in some timelines, he reaches 20 LV

Horror has never been given a canon LV as far as I know (correct me if I’m wrong)

That being said, in my lil version of Nightmare, he has a “no killing unless necessary” rule, but generally, Nightmare can be a bit lenient if MTT resort to killing as long as it does not affect the negativity in a bad way

As in, if killing someone results in the negativity decreasing, than Nightmare would be pissed, but say if a monster was part of a family and their death resulted in a negativity increase due to their family’s grief, then Nightmare lets it slide

Nightmare only orders MTT not to go overboard with killing, his orders are usually within “Kill as many as necessary to generate a sufficient amount of negativity, otherwise, torture or terrorize”

Murder never ever kills anyone, nor does he tortures anyone, he usually hopes Nightmare would simply assign him a supply run job (which doesn’t always happen) and so if he were to do anything to help with negativity, he resorts to terrorizing only, as in just scaring people by blasting his gaster blaster in random directions, etc, but he never kills or tortures, these people are not part of his own AU, he has no business here, it causes him a lot of problems with Nightmare, but Murder prefers to deal with Nightmare’s abuse than live with more blood on his hands than necessary (I think you can already guess that Murder would deal with forced killing at some point no? >:) )

His stats are very Undertale like, they still follow the same formula and are pretty much uncorrupted, whenever anyone checks him, they get the exact same stats as you’d see in game, his LV stays on 19

Horror would simply follow Nightmare’s orders usually, sometimes during a bad mood swing he might end up killing people, but still stays within the limits of Nightmare’s rules, Horror is generally more responsible for torturing than killing, he’s sadistic af and finds joy in the screams of mercy when people plead for their lives (he might or might not cope with the rage brewing inside him from having to deal with Nightmare and his abuse by turning that rage to sadistic joy when torturing innocents)

His stats are semi-corrupted, his HP doesn’t show up at all, that is because Horror is technically already dead, from his head injury, therefore, his HP can no longer reflect him, his stats simply finds difficulty to assign a number to him, I like to think his LV is somewhere in the middle, not as high as Murder’s but not low either, but it definitely increased a few points after he started working under Nightmare

Killer doesn’t kill unless ordered to, he just tortures and terrorizes, he’s generally apathetic to people’s screams for mercy, only doing his job like the good killing machine he is, at stage 2, he does find his job “fun” but in a way that’s more thrilling to his restless dissociative mind and body then any actual joy, he’s curious and fascinated, not happy, he can’t latch onto his emotions at stage 2 anyway, but I think it’s clear that he carries so much guilt for it that’s only apparent when at stage 1

Killer’s stats are extremely messed up, they no longer truly reflect him at all, his stats are like a corrupted file, it isn’t working as it should be, his HP, AT and DF keep glitching and changing constantly, unable to truly settle on one single number, his 99999 LV would be the closest thing to “consistent” in reflection to him, but even then, it’s corrupted, glitching like the rest but still stays at 99999 LV

His LV doesn’t truly reflect his level of violence, but rather, his soul’s unnatural state, his Determination is way too excessive and his code is way too messed up

An HP can show you that it’s at 1, but no matter how much he’s hit he doesn’t die, or it could show you that it’s at 99 and he dies from one hit

In short, his stats aren’t to be taken on face value as they no longer truly reflect him beyond showing how messed up his state is

Nightmare doesn’t kill unless necessary or when he deems it in his interest, or in some cases, when anger takes the better of him, he finds sadistic joy in the misery of others and a sense of power that he just loves feeling, it makes him feel untouchable, unreachable, undeniably invincible, and by extension, it eases the constant fear of everything and everyone around him (something he’s in denial of)

Nightmare simply put, has no stats, he can be checked, but his stats are never going to be shown, he’s too much of an outcode for his stats to truly show anymore, not to mention, his state of being a semi-god, but the further someone is disconnected from their home, the more likely their stats aren’t going to show or be corrupted when shown, Nightmare falls under the “not shown” category (Killer’s stats’ corruption is also enhanced by his disconnection from his world)

[luiluvr]

I want to request where reader has a horrible nightmare. Maybe something bad happening to Luigi. He comforts and protects her the best way possible. She ends up falling asleep in his arms :((.

ya’aburnee — luigi mangione

tysm for ur request </3 if it’s is related to this one from a little bit ago genuinely im soso sorry.. i’m behind on requests and i’ve had writers block but!!! here u guys go💞

WARNINGS: car accident, panic attack, death (not real), ends with fluff i promise 💔 kinda proofread

SUMMARY: You have a bad dream about Luigi getting hurt in an accident losing him, he wakes up hearing about your restless sleep and calms you down. He also makes a cheesy promise that when you go, he goes. ((:

WC: 1.7k

Luigi was everything any girl would have wanted — and more. He had the charm of a prince and the soul of a lover. You'd never met anyone quite like him and you were always so astonished to remember that he was your man. He never hurt you, he held your heart in the palm of his hand and he would give or do anything to make sure no harm was caused to it. He'd block a million shots before they'd ever graze you.

You were always so worried about losing him, another girl getting his attention that would outshine you. Even though he promised that would never happen, his life was yours, it was always an aching worry in the back of your mind. If not another woman, then something else, anything bad that could ever occur to the male. He was the sun to your moon, the constellations in your night skies, and the sunset painted behind your oceans.

He was too sweet, too good to be true. The girls in your friend group always joked about it: "how did you get so lucky?" "Where did you find a guy like him anyway?" He was such a good guy that no one could ever find a genuine reason to hate him. You never saw anything bad in him; and even when he made mistakes, they just made you love him more.

The life before Luigi was so bland, before meeting him — that loving bundle of joy, all embodied in this man. He reminded you of your younger years, when life was easy, life was free.

There were dreams of such a sweet and domestic life. Simple company by the man you love, tender and everlasting love. Nothing more needed than one another, or anything fancy, or incredibly unique. You’ve pondered the possibility of ever losing such an important thing in your life. Swearing you would love this man until your final, dying breath, living without him would be the most terrifying thing you'd ever experience and you worried that if something came between you both, separating you for life — you'd never truly live again.

All those thoughts were just doubts of demons in your heart, trying to encourage the idea that someday you’ll end up all alone — like you assumed you were destined to be when you were younger.

With Luigi it felt as though he bundled all your insecurities and worries and made you feel alive.

Your gaze lingers on the ceiling for a minute too long as you await the tiredness to overcome your body and mind; and the sound of Luigi’s snores serenades you now more than they bothered you. You grew more fond of each other’s flaws rather than be upset or annoyed, someday it won’t be there anymore.

When sleep comes, it crashes you down. Your eyes flutter shut and your body finds some peace. Peace.

Peace is debatable with the dream you have.

It’s normal-ish.

Off the bat, distinguishing the fact you were dreaming was a struggle as-is, since you passed out so suddenly. Your lungs heave as you sit up from the couch where you’d been napping supposedly. The apartment was still, you glance at the clock on the stove and find it’s only 4:30 PM. This was about the time Luigi usually came home from work.

Rubbing your neck, you walk to the bathroom, relieve yourself and wash your face. You prepared for your boyfriend, which wasn’t really anything too extreme. Sometimes you’d make dinner — mostly he would. He loved introducing his family dinner recipes into your menu. You suspected tonight was going to be his night to cook, so, you just cleaned up the kitchen as a nice deed.

4:30 became 5:00. 5:00 became 5:30. Your brow furrowed at what and where the hell he was. You called — no answer. Another time — nothing.

Then panic settled in, majorly. You tried not to when he was late, sometimes his boss kept him overtime and others were him stopping to get food or groceries. Once it was well-after 6 PM and he hadn’t responded nor showed up, you worried badly.

Then a call came. You answered, but it wasn’t Luigi. “Hi, is this Y/N?”

“Who’s asking?” You respond.

“I’m officer Rodney, we found you as the emergency contact for Luigi.”

“Yes… That’s me. Why?”

“Luigi’s been in an accident while driving. He’s being escorted to the hospital by ambulance.”

“What??” Your heart quite literally dropped to your ass. “Is this a joke?”

“No, ma’am. He’s in pretty bad shape from what I was told.” You were in such shock, you just hung up and ran out the door. You and Luigi shared a car, but most of the places you liked were within walking distance of the apartment complex. As fast as your feet would take you — you ran, and ran, until you saw an ambulance actively driving to the hospital a few blocks down. You followed it and low and behold, it was the one with Luigi.

Everything was real- it had to be. The looks of the EMTs, the people in a rush, your heart beating wildly — it was getting hard to breathe as you rushed inside the emergency room, unsure what to do and where to go. The woman behind the desk just reassured you everything would be alright and to take a seat. Her smile was smothered with hot-pink lipstick, her expression was a little uncanny. Internally, you wanted to smack her. It annoys you when people try to sugarcoat a bad situation. You did feel guilty for thinking that because she was only doing her job.

You take your seat in the foamy, metal chairs and stare up at the small, box television mounted to the wall. Playing random episodes of Looney-Toons. You chew on your inner lip for what felt like ever. You sat there for two-and-a-half, uncomfortably ong hours. All your brain could replay is the idea of Luigi dying, or being paralyzed, or going brain dead. Is there worse?

Nothing happens.

Another few episodes play quietly, creating an unsettling atmosphere that only a liminal space could offer — one that you would never escape.The TV turned to static and the lady behind flex glass had left, the other patients in the waiting room stared at their phones, read over old magazines or watched outside. The windows were foggy, with thundering skies and hail.

Finally you stand, all you hear is the loud echoing beep of a heart monitor that signals someone’s heart is giving out. With the nerve that Luigi was already hurt, and suffering with a panic-fueled feeling in your bones – all you can do in that moment is run. You push on the emergency doors harshly; which a person without access wouldn’t normally be capable of opening.

The hallways were long, it was taunting how empty it was for an emergency room. As if some rapture happened and you were the only one left behind. You stuck out like a sore thumb, scanning the rooms for Luigi. You exhale shakily, then poke your head in one where the beeping came from. You swing open the paper-feeling curtain; and whatever your brain was trying to do to you, it worked. There laid Luigi, lifeless, a goner upon the bed with earthly-gods who were supposed to save him. Your heart thumped wildly in your chest, it was the last thing you saw before waking up.

Sweating, panting, you sat up from your pillows – glancing at the clock on your nightstand. 3:26 A.M., and snoring quietly beside you – still, Luigi is safe. You choked on tears that began streaming on their own, with full-body tremors and a quivering lip. Luigi sat up curiously as the bed played back your shivering, hearing soft sniffles, “Baby, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

His sweet voice coos and turns over immediately taking you into his embrace. All you’re able to do is soak it in, his warmth, his love, him. “Shh, it’s okay, I got you.” He’s so tender, he didn’t need you to respond, all he needed was to hold you.

All you needed was to be held.

“I’m sorry for waking you up, Lu,” you sniffle, he shakes his head. “No, no, don’t apologize, bellissima. Did something happen?” You nod slowly, still coming down from the fears your dream inflicted on you.

“Bad dream.”

“Had to be pretty bad to wake you up in tears, love.” He smiles weakly to you, gently peppering your temple with his kisses.

“I lost you." Was all you were able to muster up, you could hear your own heartbeat. Yes, Luigi was alive and right here beside you - all your brain could replay was that disturbing image of him being lost to the winds of fate. “Lost me?”

“You got in an accident.” You whimpered.

“Oh, honey, it’s alright. Don’t cry, it was just a dream.” He hushes you, cradling you in those big, strong arms of his. “I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere, my love.” You just curl up into him, knees to chest and everything. There’s no need for anymore talking, until Luigi says something. A word you weren’t sure of. “Ya’aburnee.” He smiles while wiping your tears away.

“Ya — what?” You raise a brow.

“Ya’aburnee, it means you bury me in Arabic.” He chuckles, he always knew random ass words in different languages. “You’re worried of losing me, you think you couldn’t live without me, right?”

“Yes, Lu. I don’t think I can ever live in a world without you.” You whispered. “I know it sounds selfish but I hope I go before you.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Lu smiled, “Let’s not think about that yet. Pondering the future is such a dangerous thing to your pretty brain.”

You smile slyly and poke his cheek, “You always make me feel so much better.” He squeezes you tighter in his flexed, uncovered arms. He looked so nice in a tank-top. His tan skin reflects the moonlight gently. “Don’t worry baby, I promise that whenever you go, I go.”

“We’ll grow old together and die together?” He nods to you.

“You wanna try going back to sleep?” He murmurs, securing you in his embrace. “Want to get rid of me already?” You giggled.

“Well.. I am tired.” He smiles, brushing your strands of hair behind your ear. You squish his muscle-y arm and nod, “I’ll try.”

He plants a big kiss on your lips, then pulls you back, tucking you in beside him. He spoons you from behind and continues tickling you with neck kisses.

Your breaths steady out, he stays awake until you fall asleep. “Ya’aburnee, carrasima.” He mumbles against your skin.

“Ya’aburnee.” You mumble back in your sleep.

[zeke-fanfucs]

✎ ✉︎. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Bastards VS Zombies

I got inspired by @Z4ync and their Fanfic! Decided to post one of my own! So thank you z4ync for the inspiration!!!!!

——————————.𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓☽.𖥔 ݁ ˖———————————

This fanfic will have my Kamor. It’s after the whole series ends (which I have no clue what GBA will pull us into. Anyways, Kamor and the gang defeated the big bad (annoying ass Mad Crow) and Kamor regained his voice. Plus, Albus gets faithful back and his family. (He gets his happy break!)

✩⋆｡‧₊˚⭑˚₊‧｡⋆✩ ✩⋆｡‧₊˚⭑˚₊‧｡⋆✩ ✩⋆｡‧₊˚⭑˚₊‧｡⋆✩ ✩⋆｡‧₊˚⭑˚₊‧｡

Little facts on my Kamor, after the whole training from both Hipswitch and Albus, Kamor was naturally flexible (from his past life). Plus, he’s stubborn with medical issues (trauma from the Crow Loser). He also sometimes forgets he can talk and sometimes just goes mute. And a little fun silly fact that I decided on my version of Kamor, Kamor is talented in Aerial silks! Cause he’s a silly little guy!

It was four days since their lives were twisted by the storm of the battle with The Mad Crow. Hipswitch still can barely wrap his head around the events. But he shakes his head as that wasn’t the most important thing in the moment. He hesitated at the doorway before entering the medical room. He saw Mahatma fidget with his steps, turning again and again. Mahatma was worried, even Attila couldn’t calm the restless Doctor.

Hipswitch grab Doc’s shoulder making the poor sleep deprivation Doctor jump, he was also confused about the event that happened four days ago, which made Mahatma jumpy. Mahatma relaxed at the sight of Hipswitch but his calmness was only like a fleeting gush of wind on a hot day. Mahatma stammered, searching for the right words to say to the Obscuran who he came to see as a family member.

“Hipswitch.. I- he’s.. doing better.. I’m sorry I- i should be doing more but-“

Hipswitch shook his head. He knew mahatma was practically pushing his limit to provide the best care to Kamor.

“You’re doing all you can doc, it’s.. fine”

Hipswitch's gaze moved to the unconscious black hair man. In the battle between the psycho man in a crow mask, Kamor had used a large amount of his power that were still unknown to the group, Kamor’s hands stain with the unknown blackness ink. His heart beat and respiratory have gone back to their normal rhythm. Hipswitch reached for Kamor’s hand, the robot felt a sense of relief that his partner is recovering, well only a bit. Mostly everyone took Kamor’s comatose state differently. Mahatma poured his heart and soul in research on the best ways to care for a comatose patient. Even Attila felt a pang of annoyance about how he felt helpless. Albus, well he.. let’s just said, Hipswitch was thankful that he now more help with Albus, Faithful seemed to have a way on calming the idiotic warrior. In the meantime, Hipswitch focused on hunting bounties down, they still need to pay bills and now add the expense of Kamor's cares.

Obscurans don’t feel. Society can’t see them feeling. They all think Obscurans are a tool pretending to be living. So why has Hipswitch.. feel this ache in his chest? Worse yet, Hipswitch was a bounty hunter, this job literally makes you stop being merciful, it’s best not work space to feel. But yet, Hipswitch was like this, and Kamor seems to have a way of making feel it’s okay for him to be.. well him.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚

Back in the medical room, the sound of the beeping of the ventilator and Mahatma’s bouncing foot. Attila scolded him in his head. Mahatma sighed

“Sorry.. sorry it’s just.. Kamor been .. he’s been asleep for four days. I- I don’t know how to—“

Mahatma stop as he heard the beeping going off. He panicked as he assumed the worst possible scenario. Kamor flatlined! He turned around and stumbled off his chair. His eyes widen as he saw.. Kamor sitting up on the bed, ripping off the very expensive medical equipment. He rushed up and stumbled off

“Wait wait! I- I have so many questions but please stop ripping those off! Hipswitch spend a lot-“

Kamor coughed as he looked up confused

“Wha-“

Kamor coughed dryly. Mahatma stop for a second. Kamor talked. Well a word.. kinda. But he talked! But Kamor kept coughing probably cause his throat is probably dried like the sand dooms. Mahatma rushed to grab a glass of water and then watched Kamor drink half a gallon. Kamor lets out a exhausted sigh

“How..- how long have I.. been.. asleep?”

“Four days, well.. four days and 12 hours.. so 108 hours.?

Mahatma poked Kamor’s cheek. Kamor looked at mahatma

“I’m not a zombie.. I’m.. fin-“

Kamor tried to get off from bed. He fell on his face cause Albus decided that was a perfect time to visit

“Welp! You’re awake, finally. You have Hipswitch and Mahatma a scare. Not me, I knew you’ll pull through!-“

Attila laughed

“you were sobbing like a baby! Faithful had to drag your ass so you could get some sun!”

Albus punches Attila’s shoulder. Mahatma whines

“Ow! Why Albus…”

Albus shrugs “it’s Attila fault!”

Kamor chuckled. He missed this bantering, he shuttled as he remembered his time in his own mind. The darkness surrounding him like an inky sea. He shook it off as he looked around.

“Where’s.. Hipswitch?”

Albus held his hand to stop Attila to keep him punching him in the jaw. Albus blinked

“You talk? Huh.. your voice isn’t how i imagined. You sound.. what’s the word.. uhh.. posh?”

Kamor glared at him. He’s insulted, mostly cause it’s Albus calling HIM “posh”. Where even did he learn the word Posh. Kamor knows he can’t read.

“Well you don’t have your horn- where are your horns?”

Kamor wobbled up, leaning on the bed for support. Albus chuckled

“Yeah.. it seem the demon blood was like.. What did Delvin say.. something about being like fuel and I used it all up.. something like that. So I’m back to being a regular handsome warrior.”

Kamor snorts

“Alright all mighty Warrior. You didn’t answer my question, where’s Hipswitch?”

Albus grins “Aw, you miss your roboyfriend?”

Kamor glares at him “I will literally make sure you even get a drop of alcohol. Don’t test me.”

Albus smiled “try threatening me without you in that dress.”

Kamor groans in frustration “it’s a hospital gown asshole! Mahatma, can I wear my clothes please!”

Mahatma smiled “Sure but let me do a quick checkup!”

Kamor frowns “Do we..?”

Attila growled “Yes moron, we need to check you aren’t bleeding internally. But be my guest. Just don’t come crying to us when you throw up blood.”

Kamor sneered

“Oh great. I really didn’t miss your attitude Attila.. but fine. NO NEEDLES. I mean it, don’t think I won’t stab Mahatma with it, I will.”

⋆♱✮♱⋆ ⋆♱✮♱⋆ ⋆♱✮♱⋆ ⋆♱✮♱⋆ ⋆♱✮♱⋆ ⋆♱✮♱⋆ ⋆♱✮♱⋆ ⋆♱✮♱⋆

After that “lovely” check up, Albus help Kamor search for the robot. Kamor looked worried, he clutched his shirt, what was he going to say? What was Hipswitch going to say to him? What if Hipswitch wants him to leave? Or what if.. Hipswitch doesn’t feel the same? Is it a bad idea to confess? After all the mess, will Hipswitch accept him? To still be his.. partner?

Kamor hadn’t noticed when Albus left. He snap out of his thoughts as he heard that familiar honeyed voice

“Partner..?”

Kamor froze. He turn to see him. That robot, the one who made him feel alive again. Hipswitch was in shock, Kamor was awake. He looked okay. Albeit frazzle and thin, but he was awake. Hipswitch wanted to hug him, but would Kamor like that? Before Hipswitch could utter anything. Kamor ran to him, stumbling a bit since he hadn’t use his legs for four days. Hipswitch caught him

“Partner! Be careful-“

“Thank the gods! You’re okay.. you aren’t.. I- I was so scared.. I saw you so hurt in the fight .. I-“

Hipswitch stop, Kamor was worried for him? Hipswitch held Kamor closer

“I am partner, Devlin fixed me up, actually gave me a few new updates. But I’m fine- wait. You can speak now?”

Kamor stop, his worry disappeared as he bursted out laughing

“You barely just noticed? Why is everyone so shocked. Is my voice that disturbing?”

Hipswitch shook his head “What? No! Nono, I didn’t mean that partner!”

Kamor smiled “I’m only teasing you. But I’m glad you’re okay.. really am..”

Kamor hugged him tighter “I didnt know what I would do if you were hurt..”

Hipswitch tilted his head “I’m sure you would. I mean Albus and Mahatma would have-“

Kamor glares up “They aren’t you! Geez Hipswitch, I care for you! You know you deserve people to care for you too.”

Hipswitch stop. He looked down, Kamor could have swore he saw a smile. Kamor smiled back

“Hipswitch I have to tell you something important..”

Hipswitch senses Kamor’s seriousness. He nods as Kamor takes a deep breath. He looks at him

“I lo—“

Just then, a freaking sandworm decided to show up! Curse its horrible timing. On cue like if Kamor’s life was a movie Albus laughed. Kamor is going to kill the bastard! He turn to Hipswitch

“Screw it! I’m not wasting the courage I build. I like you!”

Kamor blushed like some idiot. Gods, just take him now. He shuts his eyes. But he felt familiar arms around his waist as he was yanked away from the sandworm. Hipswitch was carrying him! This.. felt kinda familiar. Well except the WHOLE ASS SAND WORM CHASING THEM.

Hipswitch looked at Kamor. His voice filled with emotion he never expected to ever feel

“I like you too Partner, I’m happy to be your partner too..”

Kamor smiled

“Yeah!”

Roll end credits!!

Me

[lovcrss]

pretty please could i request a peter maximoff fic? >__< i'm thinking one where peter gets arrested for some petty theft (again) and u can't help but find it attractive HAHA he looks like such a total loser but ur all heart eyes.. a total 'crush' by ethel cain moment

obsessed with this, LOVE PETERRRR

handcuffs | peter maximoff

The evening started off peacefully. You went to a coffee shop with friends after a long day and had much fun. The weather was perfect for walking and you used that opportunity to walk back to the X Mansion.

You’ve been working with the mutants for a long time, supporting their missions, helping with their physical health and being a major problem solver. Out of all of them, Peter Maximoff should be the most lucky to have you to get him out of trouble.

His little scandals and adventures always caused him a lot of trouble. He was wanted by many for his mischievous tricks. The gift of super speed was mostly used for petty things such as stealing, yet somehow he would always get away with it.

Charles always warned you about Peter, telling you to keep an eye on him and you tried hard, but Peter was spontaneous and restless. With him, you never knew what could happen.

Enjoying your walk back to the mansion relaxed, you receive a warning text. It was from Charles: “Peter is at it again. I sense trouble, please check it out.”

After you were finished reading the text, sirens started blasting somewhere behind you. Police cars passed and your gut told you that something was wrong. Running after the cars, you cursed Peter for being so recklesss.

When you arrive at the scene, your suspicions appear to be right. Police cars surrounded a gaming shop, where Peter got all his video games from. Peter’s silver hair pokes out the door, in between two officers who held his hands behind his back. You quickly jog closer to the mess he made, calling his name.

Peter looked up and saw you, after which he smiles ironically and shrugs his shoulders. He looked all flushed and ashamed. “What can I say?”

You shake your head disapprovingly, glaring bullets at him. “Officers, will it be possible for me to take it from here?”

“No, unfortunately. We have to report him back to the station.”

One of them put handcuffs on him and that’s when a weird feeling interrupted your train of thoughts. With his hands pinned behind his back, Peter throws his head back, closing his eyes defeatedly. His Adam’s apple popped though his neck, he sighs, his eyelashes falling to his rosy cheeks. Even in this state, Peter managed to look like a statue. “Oh thank you, officer”, he jokes.

Snapping out of your daze, you realize what’s happening when they start approaching the car. “W- uhm, Wait up-”

Peter turns around to look at you. Suddenly you appear more nervous than you were when you arrived, you had no idea what was happening but he noticed it.

“I’m right behind you!”, you shout after him.

“Don’t speed too much”, Peter calls sarcastically.

—————————

A cab took you to the police station. It was half empty, so it was easy to spot Peter right away. He still had handcuffs on, looking bored and embarrassed.

The officers who took him here were speaking to the receptionist, guarding Peter between each other. You enter, hurrying to check the situation. It seemed like they checked him in the sistem, but now you were there to take responsibility for him.

Once he saw you, Peter straightened his posture and focused, relieved to see that you came to his rescue once again. His lips squeezed together in an “oh well” manner.

You roll your eyes, quickly whispering in his ear: “I’ll deal with you later.”

His eyes darken, lips part and face turns red in a flash. For a second the arrest was worth hearing you whisper that sentence to him, making his blood rush through his veins.

He watched you speak to the police, loving how in charge and leading you looked. You held your head high and tone calm as you negotiated.

“Give us some time and we’ll let you go shortly”, they told you.

Meanwhile you notice how the handcuffs made Peter’s muscles more defined, his back wider and his behaviour more tamed than ever. It made you wonder why the hell you hadn’t reported him yourself earlier to watch him in this state. With his arms behind his back, wrists crossed and head thrown back, his silver strands of hair falling around his head he looked hotter than ever.

You were so stunned you didn’t notice when the officers tried talking to you. Peter looked at you to see what you were gonna respond, instead noticing the look in your eyes as you watched him. “Hello?”, he tilts his head.

Reality hit you once again, trying your best to focus. “You were saying?”

The conversation between you and the police resumes, while Peter notices the shift in your behaviour. He observes: you nervously play with your hands, red in the face and constantly glimpsing over at him, not even sure if you were listening to what was being said to you. This was confusing, but he liked the way you were looking at him.

Once you were finished, you were instructed to sit down on nearby chairs. Peter joined you while the officers weren’t looking, still handcuffed. He was tamed and still a little ashamed of the situation he found himself in, getting caught like this, more importantly having you witness it. On the other hand, you were more aware of his presence than usual since they caught him.

He was eager to tease you. “You know I’m the one arrested, not you, right?”

“What?”

He looked you up and down. “Well, I can sense you’re nervous. Did anything illegal tonight, Y/N?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about”, you scoff, playing it off, trying to ignore him and crossing your arms.

He chuckled, standing up. “Whatever you say, ma’am.”, he shrugs.

His long sleeved shirt showed his muscles and you couldn’t help put notice them. You felt like you were being tested, like Peter knew exactly what he was doing. Subtly, you stand up and pull at his handcuffs. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”, he smirks.

Your glare riles him up even more, adrenaline entering his system. He realized you secretly loved watching him in those handcuffs.

Going back to the reception, you talk to the officers again. Negotiations were ahead, deciding if Peter was going to get punished slightly or not. “Bail is possible, since this is his first strike”, the blonde policeman explained.

Hearing this Peter went back to being embarrassed, staring at the ground and squirming in his place. This only made your excitement grow.

“Don’t worry, we will make sure this doesn’t happen anymore. Right, Peter?”

His gaze was still focused down. “Yes, I promise”, he mumbles slightly desperate, nodding.

After a few minutes, they finally announce: “You’re free to go, for now.”

You wait outside while they took his prints and take off his handcuffs, much to your disappointment. As he walks out, Peter barely looks at you. His shame and sudden lack of cockiness only amuses you. “Why so sad now, Quickie? You miss the cuffs?”, you tease.

He rolls his eyes. “Not funny. Matter of fact if anyone misses them, it’s you.”

You play dumb. “What the hell are you saying?”

“I’m saying I saw the way you looked at me.”

“You’re too cocky”, you scoff.

“Am I?”

It was already past midnight, you waited for a cab to take you to the mansion. He had his hands in his pockets, still feeling humbled. “Should’ve just ran from here.”

“I’m tired, let’s just put this behind us now.”

Your relaxednesses was suspicious to him, making him gain a little confidence again. “Still gonna deny it, huh?”

“Deny how I saved your ass once again?” , you raise you eyebrows at him.

He kicks pebbles, humbled once again.

“However, I think I’m gonna buy you those handcuffs for later”

[iamzer0]

ƝЄƔЄƦ ƛԼƠƝЄ

𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚌 𝙷𝚡𝙷 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟼

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜: 𝙺𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚞𝚊, 𝙶𝚘𝚗, 𝙷𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚔𝚊, 𝙿𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚙𝚎, 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚉𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚌𝚔 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢, 𝙸𝚕𝚕𝚞𝚖𝚒, 𝙱𝚒𝚜𝚔𝚢(𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎)

(Hey guys sorry I haven’t been active it has been a ROUGH few days, to cut a long story short I’m back in therapy. You know what that means that means MORE UPDATES 💪 I’m doing better so I’m gonna try and update more love y’all so much ❤︎)

Life with the Zoldyck family surprisingly wasn’t as bad as staying with the phantom troupe. The Zoldycks weren’t openly threatening you but they gave you a look that said ‘try me and I’ll kill you’ type look.

It was low key creepy staying with them because of how quiet most of them were.

Kalluto was quiet and reserved but he always lingered around you, following you around. He is good at sneaking around but you being on edge all the time allows you to feel his presence.

Kikyo was how do I put this, smothering. She was always asking you questions and having you try on outfits and dresses. (even if you are a boy she’s making you try on dresses) She treated you like a doll it was VERY annoying.

Milluki never left his room and therefore never bothered you, but you did see him occasionally he always gave you a look.

Illumi was well strangely suffocating, not in a physical way he never touched you but his overall presence just feels a bit suffocating.

Zeno was chill, you thought he was cool. He would share stories with you about his past mission and such he was actually really nice to you. He even at first helped you train your nen.

Silva was a character, he had a glare like a mountain lion but treated you with kindness. He was nice to you but was always standing over you, watching you as if you were about to make a move.

You knew your curse was slowly infecting the family. You even for a split second considered staying cause of the luxury of their mansion but you knew it would only lead to more pain for you in the future.

So for the millionth time you created a plan, you knew that they would be almost impossible to escape, from their butlers to the cameras to the big fuckin wall of theirs escaping is virtually impossible.

So you decided to smooth talk your way out of here.

You were currently eating dinner with kikyo, Zeno, Kalluto and Illumi. Kikyo was ranting about various things. You had been poking at your food while lost in thought.

“Dear? hello? [reader]?” Kikyo said trying to get your attention. You snapped out of it and were greeted with them all staring directly at you.

“Huh what?..” you said confused. “Are you feeling alright dear?” Kikyo said putting her hand on your head checking for a fever.

“Yea just… distracted…” you said trying to find the words.

Kikyo didn’t seem to take this answer well she bombarded you with various questions.

You looked at Illumi desperate for him to do something to get his mom to stop but he just stared back blankly, same Kalluto except he just looked sad.

You then started at Zeno with pleading eyes, he seemed to get your message “maybe they’re just tired from all the stuff they’ve been doing today” Zeno said interrupting Kikyo.

In reality you hadn’t done much of anything today, just try on clothes, walk with Kalluto, talk with Illumi about his upcoming mission and talk with Zeno. It was a mostly uneventful day.

But you simply nodded in agreement and left it at that.

Kikyo sent you off to bed, while walking away you turned to Zeno and mouthed a thank you. He simply nodded.

You laid in bed restless, you had been up thinking about what to say and who to say it to. You needed to leave before this infamous batch of assassins got to protective.

You decided you needed to talk with the head off the house, Silva. You got up and attempted to leave your bedroom, key word attempted.

You got stopped by the butlers immediately. You started struggling “lemme go! I have to uhhh bathroom!” You said frantically.

“Let them go” Illumi said from behind you the butlers paused. You could have sworn you say fear on their faces.

They dropped you, you told Illumi you needed to talk with Silva and it was very important. You said some lie bout the phantom troupe and he let you pass.

The hallway was long and dark the butlers eyed you like you were the scum of the earth. Finally you got to Silvas room.

You knocked 3 times announcing it was you. The door creaked open and you slowly shuffled in.

He was sat on a bed of pillows, his room was strange.

He invited you to sit, you explained your predicament with the whole nen curse thing. “And i can get the curse removed but only my friend knows how to, it’s kinda an unknown thing so like she’s the only one who can do it.” You said trying to sound as convincing as possible.

You had also maybe told Silva that the curse was slowly killing you. In your defense this might have been the only way he would let you leave.

You hadn’t lied, just bent the truth a little. “I see” was all Silva said he thought for a moment on what to say.

“I’ve noticed your nen there is something wrong with it, you may leave to have the curse removed.” He said calmly.

“Really?!” You said excepting for him to say no.

“Yes, but after the curse is removed you are to return to us at once.” He said with a hint of sadness.

“Thank u thank u!!” You said happily. “You may leave tomorrow morning” he said closing his eyes he seems to be thinking quite intensely.

You slept happy that night. You got up bright and early, you snuck out of your room tiptoeing as to not wake the others.

You ran into Kalluto on your way down the hallway. “We’re are you going?” He said with genuine curiosity. “Oh hi?.. I’m going through something pretty bad right now and I need to leave to get cured of something that is plaguing me” you said trying to sound professional.

He didn’t say anything, you just sorta left he watched you as you walked down the stairs slowly.

You passed by Zeno on your way out. You looked at him and he nodded as if to say goodbye.

“HOW COULD HE LET THEM LEAVE LIKE THAT!” Kikyo said running around the house frantically. “WHAT IF THEY GET HURT?! Oh it just isn’t fair!” She said crying.

She had gotten quite attached to you.

“What if they are lying” Illumi said to his father, “they were telling the truth there is a curse attached to them” Silva said in his usual calm voice.

“What if they don’t return” Illumi said despite his calm demeanor he was mad you left. “We can get them back easily” Silva said.

“Ah sweet freedom” you said enjoying the sunshine. You needed to find Bisky and find a way to get this stupid nen curse out of you.

You took several trains and a blimp back to were you had last met bisky. You walked towards the direction of her house.

“[reader]?!” You whipped you head around and found Bisky standing there. She ran up to you giving you a hug. “I thought they kidnapped you!” She said softly.

After a heart felt reunion, you and Bisky sat down at a coffee shop table together. She told you about something that might help you.

“I’m not positive it will work but it’s worth a try” she said drinking her coffee.

“There’s this game greed island have you heard of it?” Bisky said. “Oh yea I know what you are talking about! It’s that game you can go in right?” You said almost happy.

“Yes! Look at the auction this guy bought it and he’s looking for contestants to play it, whoever completes the game takes home 3 cards from the game with them!” Bisky said now exited.

“It’s all really interesting but as I was saying there’s this card angels breath it’s a healing card maybe if we go into the game and find angels breath it can heal you of your curse!” She said now incredibly excited.

“You think it will work?” You said hopeful.

“We have to try, first of all do you have a hunters license?” Bisky said “yea I earned it a little while ago it was rough but totally worth it” you said proud of your accomplishment (for those that haven’t read my other parts, reader meets the boys in heaven arena so that means you got your license by yourself)

“Good good because to even have a chance you need a license”

After eating y’all left towards the building Bisky said would get y’all in the game. Of course the guards didn’t take you seriously but a beating and showing of y’all licenses was enough to get y’all in.

The guys that bought all the copy’s of the games, interviewed y’all and eventually y’all were let in.

Everything was going smoothly a bit too smooth.

As y’all waited in the room guess who you spotted or rather they spotted you.

None other than Gon and Killua, Gon practicly jumped on you. “[READER]!!!!!” He screamed as he tackled you.

Of fucking course you thought.

They bombarded you with so many questions it made Kikyos question look like a breath of fresh air.

They held onto you so tightly it was impossible to breath. You started thrashing and screaming, guards rushed over and threatened the boys that they would be kicked out.

The guards stood between you and the monsters, they started arguing with the guards saying that you were their sibling and they had a right to talk to you.

You simply ran back to biskys side(she wa sin the bathroom so she didn’t see them jump on you)

“Are you alright?” Bisky said concerned “yea I’m fine…” you said keeping your head down as some strange attempt to make yourself small.

The guards explained the rules and how the game works the entire time the boys were staring at you intently.

A quick rock paper scissors game happened to see who would go in first. Gon of course won, you had placed 17th and bisky was 16th she said she would wait for you.

As you entered the game you met a weird lady that let you know the jist of how the game works and off you went. You landed and almost instantly grabbed biskys hand and ran. Lucky for you Gon was occupied with some random guy that was talking to him.

Luck seems to hate and love you.

All you could do was hope Bisky was right, what wonders await you here?

That’s all for today I want to right more but I’m so tired rn so I’ll try and update y’all tomorrow. Love you all bye bye(p.s sorry if there are spelling mistakes my phone hates me)♡´･ᴗ･`♡

[crazycat010]

What am I even doing?!

Of Shadows and Stardust MASTERLIST

GOJO SATORU X READER part 2

Warnings: mentions of death, fatal car accident, alcohol abuse, slight child abuse, hitting, solitude and loneliness, reader being basically split in half between their normal version and sorcerer version, running away from home, (mostly from memories or brief references).

Word count= 3K+ words

Once again, you were woken up at the first lights by her grumbling. What was the matter with her? Ever since you’d encountered the Second-grade curses a few days ago she had been restless, muttering and blabbering mindlessly in your own mind, making it impossible to concentrate on anything and causing you the worst migraines ever.

“What the heck?! Just Shut up! I’m trying to get all the sleep I lost because of you!” You thought, yelling at her in her mind, frustrated.

“I know what we must do. I figured out a way to solve this problem!” She muttered.

“What problem? What are you talking about?” You started getting out of your bed and preparing a nice warm shower. Perhaps that would ease your senses and bring a little comfort in these painful days.

“You know what I’m referring to, ungrateful child!” She scoffed loudly. “The curses started arriving in masses at the Tokyo Central Elementary School just as you became a teacher there and started going there regularly. It’s a pattern that has been following you  ever since we came in contact…”

“What’s your point?” You asked, utterly confused and completely stressed out by the whole situation. Realization however, was starting to kick in, and soon sadness followed, filling your soul like water in an empty glass.

“You and I both know it’s not a coincidence. You can try to fake it as much as you want, but we’re the problem. We always have been. Wherever we go, we attract curses, like light attracts moths. We both have known for the longest time, but you’ve decided to ignore it. Now that we’ve gotten stronger, we need to take action and do something about it!” She explained. It made sense.

Besides, you’d always known, deep down, you just had never actually acknowledged it.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?!” You screamed out loud. You already knew the answer, it was just to painful to admit. How were you supposed to live like that?

“We need to escape, find somewhere quiet and without any people around. We’re threats to all living life.”

“Talk for yourself.” You said, getting under the boiling hot jet of water, trying to suppress all the emotions that were hitting you all at once.

You thought about how you’d gotten to know her.

Turbato pacis, that’s how you referred to her. It meant ‘disturber of the peace’ in Latin, the Ancient language your mother had forced you to learn during high school.

You’d never given your mother enough credit for keeping your family together while working three jobs and taking care of both you and your father for god knows how long, not until it was too late and didn’t matter anymore, anyways.

Something about you had always been different. You remember how you used to win every single street fight you got your stinky ass into with the big mouth of yours. You always wanted to help the defenseless, those whom people chose to tear the eyes away from.That’s how your mother had raised you: a brave warrior that helped the poor, wether it was with food, sweet words, hugs, or punches. You felt kind of like Robin Hood, the main character of your favorite tale. Ever since you’d been first read the story to, you’d been amazed and greatly impressed by the grand gestures of such noble-hearted and gentle man, a kind soul who stole what others didn’t need and, instead of keeping the bounties for his own poor self, he gave them away to those in need, aiding his people in any way possible.

That’s what you dreamt of becoming, a beacon of light in the surrounding darkness, justice in a pool of misery and mischiefs. However, life had many surprises prepared for you, leading you through one bad situation after the other.

Even though you never lost, you always ended up patched up by your furious mother, mad at you for your reckless behavior. You couldn’t help but pick fights with people bigger and stronger than you, which did indeed mean their downfall, but also a broken nose for you, if not worse.

You’d always fought injustice, like your mother had wanted, until the most unjust event happened to the two of you.

You were chatting mindlessly, probably about school, an ice cream in one hand and the other holding your mother, who was skillfully managing to eat her own creamy delight while balancing in her arms three shopping bags and that small black full of scratches leathery backpack of hers, where she kept her most useful belongings, alongside some money and tissues for her daughter. Your father was right behind you, busy checking business stuff on his phone. You waited patiently at the crossroad before the traffic light became green, and then you started crossing the road, as you would normally do.

Nonetheless, it was no normal or ordinary day that one, on which your mother ad been able to convince you to go shopping with her, bribing you with food.

A drunk man had decided he wanted to go outside too that random Thursday evening, and thought, why not have a ride on his new car as well?

Too much liquor in his body, he hadn’t even noticed his pants were missing, so how could he have seen the traffic light turn red at the crossroad? The last thing he saw before ascending to the skies to his long-lost mother were two women, or at least one woman and one woman-to-be, crossing the same road as the one his was driving one, before all went down.

You didn’t have the time to realize it as your mother threw herself on your small figure in a useless attempt to keep you out of harm’s way. You should have died as well, that day, but fate seemed to have other things planned for you.

The car crash was chaotically, to say the least, and it ended with the new red car crashed on a nearby secular tree, two unrecognizable bodies shattered in the middle.

Nevertheless, one of them was the driver’s, as you’d somehow and jumped your way out of the crash.The aftermath was a mix of sorrow, grief and anger driven actions, compelled mostly by your father, who had watched the whole scene unfold right under his very nose, unable to think or react.

You didn’t understand how you’d saved yourself, too shocked from all the events to even try to think hat maybe, there was a connection behind all the mysterious stunts you always pulled whenever danger came your way.

That was until she actually came out, Y/n 2.0, another way you called her.

Out of everyone, understandably, your father was the most stressed out one. He moved frantically, spending his days pacing the living room with a never-ending bottle of beer in his left hand and a picture of your mother in his right one. He couldn’t rest, eat or drink, just like you. However, being the innocent child you were, you didn’t understand what was happening, simply wanting your dada back from crazy-land.

You tried to tell him to calm down, tried to get him to sit down and have dinner with you, but before you knew it, he had dropped the picture of your mother, taken a big gulp of that golden liquid, a small amount of which fell in small droplets on his chin, and swung his big calloused hand aimed for your cheek.

You closed your eyes, preparing yourself for the hit, but it never came. Trembling, you opened your eyes to see your father’s eyes wide open in a mix of surprise and alcohol-driven rage and madness. While you covered your face with one hand, the other firmly gripped your father’s forearm, preventing a rather harsh hit.

Panicking, you quickly let go of him and ran upstairs to your bedroom, locking yourself inside and heading to the little sink to wash your face.

As you rinsed it thoroughly and then proceeded to dry it with a dirty cloth. As you did that, you couldn’t help but notice the reflection in the mirror. It was you, as usual, but the ‘other Y/n’ had black eyes, the darkest bag under her eyes and black and green tattoos, that resembled strange figures and terrorizing snakes. Her black hair had stripes of a flashy bright green in it and she wore a black long robe with green and silver accessories, very different from your worn out beige school uniform and plain black hair.

As if it couldn’t get any weirder, the reflection started talking to you.

“Hello Y/n.” It said, with the calmest tone.

You screeched in surprise, not knowing what to do, but still kept your eyes on the mirror, as you tried to learn more about her.

As you were about to discover, she’d always been a part of you, ever since you were born. However, until then, you’d always had control over her, or as she’d say, she kept quiet and didn’t interfere with your life. Nevertheless, she was still a part of your life, helping you during fights for example, but never completely taking over your body. When the incident with your mother had happened, she’s sensed your turmoil and knew something was about happen and she’d have to help you. That’s why she intervened during your fight with your father, and had now completely detached herself from you in order to protect you, leading to the creation of two Y/ns, as one could call it. She tried to reason with you that you couldn’t stay there anymore, and being the sweet and pure kid you were, you agreed, not taking the risk of hurting anybody.

That was the night you escaped, with a small backpack and a picture of your family in hand.

You didn’t know what you were to do, but perhaps that’s what made it so exciting, the thrill of a new adventure.

In time, you learned to co-exist with Enchantress, the name you usually used for her because of the power she held. She taught you all you knew about curses, and you tried to teach her about life in the real human world, whenever you could get her to listen. You became each other’s best friend, unable to rely on anybody else or trust the mere strangers that popped into your life.

After you’d gotten into a good university and found a way to live freely without the need of your father’s or any other tutor’s presence, Enchantress stepped aside, letting you live your life at its fullest. She still talked to you and entertained you with her snarky comments, but she’d actually intervened, until a few days ago…

You felt the water becoming cold and knew you had to get out of here, not only of the shower obviously, but you had to leave your job and go somewhere isolated and safe, for everybody’s sake.

That day, after spending some time in school and enjoying your last hours with your students, you resigned from your job without explanations, and started packing your bags as soon as you came back home.

What you didn’t expect that day, was a visitor, much less Gojo Satoru himself knocking at your door and seven p.m. in the evening.

“Helloooo…” He cheered, but frowned and gave you a confused look upon noticing the scattered bags all around your apartment.

“Are you moving out?” 

“Hello to you too Satoru.” You said calmly, going back to stack the brown boxes one on top of the other.

He kept his frown, urging you to answer his question.

“And yes, I am moving. I should be gone by tomorrow afternoon.”

He gave you a saddened look, and only after a while you understood its meaning.

“Oh gosh, I forgot to tell you! Sorry Gojo, ehm-I mean Satoru. I really wanted to call you but I didn’t have the time. It was a pretty fast decision, if you know what I mean.” You tried to explain to the white-haired man.

“Don’t worry, I figured you must’ve been busy. But why are you moving out? And where would you be going anyways? I thought you really liked it here…” He said, looking around your apartment.

He’d visited you a couple of days after you’d first met and you’d told him about how you’d just moved in a couple of months ago and really enjoyed your new home and job.

“I did, it’s just…” You stopped yourself before you could say anything else. You couldn’t lie to a sorcerer! He’d detect it right away and then you would be in big trouble. You had to avoid talking about the reason for which you were leaving. “It’s complicated, really. And besides, there is no real matter. It just feels like I don’t belong here…” That part was true. Ever since you’d run away from your home, you felt like  you didn’t fit in anywhere, and all the dangers you’d faced had only made you stronger and perhaps gave you some trust issues, and now you constantly felt alone and unwanted, though it was a minor thing, considering your real issues- Cough-cough-Enchantress-.

“What if you come teach at Jujutsu High?” He asked.

What?! He wasn’t possibly proposing to…huh?

“I mean, the kids already have teachers for sorcery stuff and everything, but there’s a lack of more…How can I say?…normal subjects? Like, they don’t know anything about Maths, History, literature, science or any of that stuff, but I know it could be really important if they don’t become actual Sorcerers or even if…I mean, they could really use a teacher like you.” He said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

Surprisingly enough, you thought about it. You knew you had to get out of the city, but wherever you went, you had to get a job to survive, or you’d have to go back to the way you were as a runaway teenager, which were years you only wanted to forget about.

Besides, at the High School you’d be protected from curses and evil sorcerers and you wouldn’t bring more danger or trouble than the ones all of the students would ordinarily face.

“Don’t you dare!” Enchantress, ever the party crusher seethed. “We’ve already made this decision! We’re heading to a small village in the country where we won’t bring danger to ourselves or anybody else. Besides, you’d be living with sorcerer, which means they would find out about us sooner or later, whether you like it or not, and I’m 100% sure they won’t like us. I heard stories about people killed for this! For being like you! You can’t do this, the risk is too great, as you would put it, the cons are way more than the pros.” She tried to reason with you, though you tried to keep your mind open to every possibility.

You hadn’t made a final decision yet, so why not try?

Besides, Gojo seemed like a pretty chill guy, so after getting on friendly terms, you could tell him about your situation and you were sure that, with his kind nature, he’d help you (he did say he liked you, and you didn’t want to use his feelings against him, but, they sure would help!).

“I…have to think about it…” You told him, not giving a definite answer.

“I understand. I don’t want to put too much pressure on you, but I think you’d be a great fit for the kids and everyone there will love you. Besides, it’s a very friendly and chill environment, so you’d get used to it pretty quickly. In addition, you wouldn’t have to worry about food or a place to stay, since all of us teachers and students live in buildings on the High School grounds.”

You nodded in thought, but he began speaking once again: “Anyways, I got the feeling you’ll move out regardless, so why don’t you let me help you gather all these boxes and then we can go eat something?”

“Yeah sure, thanks.” You answered. A new feeling entered your heart, a feeling of fondness, happiness mixed with something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You had finally found a friend you could trust, so why not? Why not try to be part of something bigger, be part…of a family again.

You felt your eyes begin to tear up and, without any warning, you threw yourself in Gojo’s arms. He didn’t ask you anything or question your motives, keeping you latched onto him as tight as possible.

As soon as you felt better, you muttered with a cracked voice, in between soft sobs and hiccups: “Thank you, for everything.”

With a hopeful gleam in his eyes, he said, making circles on your back with his long fingers to soothe you and ease your nerves: “Does this mean you’ll come teach at my school?”

You simply nodded, your mind (mostly Enchantress though) screaming at you to not do it, but for once, you didn’t listen to her. For the first time in a very long time, you followed your heart, that pleaded you for a chance to be part of a family that truly loved you, regardless of who you were or what you did. You were finally free, and it felt like a weight was lifted from your shoulders as you detached yourself from Gojo, who stood in front of you with that recognizable beam of joy in his eyes. It reminded you that you weren’t in this alone, and even thought you’d just met him, he would help you throughout every step of your journey, your trustworthy friend. On this journey, you’d probably make mistakes and things would probably go wrong many times, but that didn’t matter. For the first time, you thought about what you wanted, without over caring about the consequences of your choices on other people: it was your life dammit!

Heart full of hope and joy, you felt ready ready to start this new unexpected chapter of your life!

Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it. You're welcome to come check out my account and my other posts and/or make requests :) (MASTERLIST) Do NOT plagiarize this or any of my content.

Love you guys! See you soon!😘

Written by crazycat010 © 2025 crazycat010

[pinstripe-wings]

I’ve been in the mood for Jazz/Prowl, so I wrote this:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65281249

I also put it under the read more, cause why not:

Title: The Vent Incident

Rating: T

Tags: Jazz is going stir crazy, Prowl is bad at feelings, downtime equals more energon, Prowl discovering things about himself, fluff and humor, a bit of, nonverbal communication.

Summary:

“Why have you not left?” Prowl asked. “Or entered my office properly?”

“…I’m stuck.” Jazz flashed a tight smile. “Help a mech out?”

-

A perfectly ordinary start to his morning ought to have been a blatant warning sign that such a peace was too good to be true and would soon be interrupted.

Prowl didn’t even have to calculate how high a percentage on whether or not he’d be disturbed; the mere fact that today marked a whole Earth year of no fighting against the Decepticons.

It wasn’t the end of a the long running war, but it was a very much welcome break to get things into order before a resurgence in battles.

Between today’s continued lack of enemies to engage with and an equally quiet base, Prowl’s anticipation of receiving an early break from his otherwise productive start to the day grew.

But until this expected interruption, there were more reports to be filed, forwarded to appropriate addressee, or be stored.

Prowl went through recent reports quickly and efficiently, mostly dull and uninteresting, considering the lack of Decepticon movement. There were a few incident reports than was usual, but unsurprising when there was a base full of restless mechs and femmes looking for something to pass the time.

Ratchet was displeased with the amount of damage he and First Aid were repairing due to reckless driving or aggressive sparring.

Prowl checked his chronometer.

Ah.

In approximately two Earth hours, he was to go retrieve a cube of energon to fuel himself with.

This was plenty of time to finish up the newer reports, and with a less cluttered office, Prowl could later move on to the backlog of old reports and records.

The time passed in a peaceful silence.

Prowl allowed his tacnet to churr some data, based off of other times that the base had been so pleasantly quiet, then added in the probabilities of what might or could happen based off those calculations.

There was a (24%) chance of some mech getting into Wheeljack’s workshop; never a good thing, as one never knew what that mech was up to at any given moment. There was a (62%) chance that someone was in the medbay being scolded by Ratchet. There is less than a (2%) chance that the Decepticons might attack the Autobot base; perhaps (6%), if any new scout reports came in, but unlikely to be of any substance.

Prowl ran another calculation to do with the inaction in particular, weighing it against the mechs and femmes in the base.

A (96%) chance that he will be subjected to the presence of one mech in particular was unwavering.

Almost as soon as he dismissed other results, Prowl’s doorwings lifted and tilted. The tactician had just alerted to a telltale vibration that was currently headed toward his office from the left. Prowl consulted the time, then nodded absently to himself as he gathered data pads within reach.

There was his incoming visitor.

Said visitor was not quiet in the least bit, on purpose (83%) as the vent grate overhead was removed. The grate cover was unnecessarily dropped with a loud ‘clag’ as it hit the floor. 

“Heya, Prowler.” A cheery voice greeted the tactician.

”Jazz.” Prowl greeted as he picked up one of the data pads before him. He tracked the saboteur through vibrations with his doorwings. Prowl noted that Jazz remained within the vent.

Not unheard of, when Jazz wandered through the base’s vents, but it was somewhat less expected.

Prowl knew well that Jazz’s ultimate goal in sneaking into his office was to either snoop, or sprawl his entire frame over Prowl’s own as closely and affectionately as possible.

Currently, Jazz tapped his digits against the wall in a beat none but Jazz himself heard. 

“May I assist you with anything?” Prowl questioned, once he deemed enough time had passed to allow Jazz the opportunity to worm out of the vent, yet the mech hadn’t emerged.

“I was just checkin’ on ya to make sure you’re gonna join me fer some energon in ‘bout an hour.” Jazz began to use his other hand’s digits to tap, which created a more elaborate beat. 

”I plan to.” Prowl’s helm tilted as he mused over why Jazz might believe he needed to ask. Prowl turned over a few numbers, then dismissed them. He had failed to turn up in the past, so it made sense for Jazz to clarify. “Wouldn’t a comm have sufficed for that query?” 

”They’re off, my mech.” Jazz’s voice lilted upward.

Prowl checked, confirming the other mech’s words.

So they were.

“My apologies. I wasn’t aware of this. An oversight, on my part.” Prowl reactivated the temporarily muted comms from emergency-only pings. “Was there anything else you needed from me?”

“Other than you, Prowler?” Jazz’s tone shifted, the rhythmic tapping ceasing.   

Tac net struggled to make sense of that tone, eventually settling on fondness (57%) and teasing (79%) within Jazz’s vocals.

“Let me rephrase.” A hint of fond exasperation welled within Prowl. “Is there anything you need from me while I’m on shift, or do you have plans for after we get our energon?”

”Nah, was just checking’ on you.” Jazz sounded happy, digits drumming against the wall. “As fer after refueling? Might have somethin’ for the end of your shift. I got plans you’ll like.”

Prowl considered Jazz’s words, and after figuring that was all, he refocused on the backlog of old reports. The tactician was able to focus for all of about fifteen minutes, during which Jazz could be heard wiggling, his claws digging into metal, and the mech’s armor being audibly scraped against the vent’s entrance. Prowl assumed this meant Jazz had finally decided to join him in the office until the break, so he didn’t need to fully pay attention to Jazz’s antics. At least until Prowl’s wings picked up on the vibration of a slow vent of frustration.

Interesting.

Had Jazz not been done conversing with him? Why hadn’t he said anything, if that was the case?

“Why have you not left?” Prowl asked. “Or entered my office properly?” He finally turned in his seat, helm tilting back to observe the black and white mech.

“…I’m stuck.” Jazz flashed a tight smile. “Help a mech out?”

“There is a 24% chance that you cannot fit through some of the smaller vent shafts within this base.” Prowl studied Jazz, a frown present across his derma as he puzzled this out. “You’ve had a 95% success rate of exiting into my office without scraping your armor or causing yourself any duress.” Prowl tracked Jazz’s helm motion, visor vibrancy, and his servos. “Usually falling out to land on your pedes after a flip to place yourself onto my frame. Oftentimes directly onto my lap.”

“I guess I finally packed enough mass into my protoform to be noticeable. Y’know, with no missions to run, no one to seriously spar with, and lotsa extra energon to go around.” Jazz’s helm and arms were currently out of the vent, as were his shoulders, likely after some skillful twists. But most of Jazz’s chassis is, as he stated, stuck.

It’s obvious even from where Prowl is seated that Jazz’s armor is pressed outward around his protoform. Prowl’s doorwings flare out as he focused. The other mech’s field was held tight to his frame, so Prowl focused on Jazz himself.  Prowl soon picked up on the minute shift of pedes, the louder spin of his spark, and the sound of various struts flexing and straining. “You are unable to go back out the way you came?”

”Nope.” Jazz lifted his arms out to Prowl beseechingly as he flashed another smile. “C’mere and help me, Prowler.” Hands stretched out toward the Praxian who was otherwise (outwardly) watching the scene indifferently.

”When I could use this to my advantage and get more of my work done?” Prowl asked dryly. He saw Jazz’s smile become fixed, but still, the saboteur held his servos out steadily. “Being stuck there means you cannot interfere until I assist you out.”

A new tactic was pursued, much to Prowl’s faint amusement.

“You wound me.” Jazz grinned despite this as he lifted one hand to press over what little of his chassis poked out of the vent. “I thought we were tight, Prowler.” Jazz, for whatever reason, chose to lightly twist two digits together, as if n emphasis of his words. “I thought we’d spend time outta of the base and watch the sunset together.” The hand splayed wider over armor. “I wanna get private time with my boo.” Jazz’s derma were twisted with mischief as he attempted to heave a dramatic ex-vent. This was somewhat lessened in intended effect, as Jazz merely scraped his armor into the vent itself.

Prowl’s own derma twitch up as he rose from his seat and approached the vent.

Jazz immediately perked up, both hands rising to…point at the tactician.

Prowl stared.

”Aw, c’mon Prowl, you gotta recognize the finger guns.” Jazz gestured again, only to have the other mech’s confusion deepen. With a light groan of exasperation (good-natured fondness, 89%) Jazz spread his larger servos out to make grabby hands at Prowl.

Prowl stepped forward and lightly grasped Jazz’s hands, which slowly curved over Prowl’s in return to gently squeeze them.

”Prowler?”

Prowl stood there holding hands with Jazz, quiet, before he leaned up on his pedes to reach the vent, and brushed his derma to one of Jazz’s audial horns. 

“You’re killin’ me here, babe.” Jazz bemoaned as he insistently tugged on Prowl’s hands. “At least gimme a lil smooch if you’re not gonna help me outta this vent.”

Smooch.

Another human term, like ‘finger guns’.

”I did.” Prowl murmured, even pressing another ‘smooch’ to Jazz’s other audial horn. He hid a smile over the ex-vent, even as Jazz leaned into Prowl’s derma.

“Didn’t peg ya for teasin’. Guess yer learnin’ some stuff while we’re on Earth.” Jazz managed to nuzzle on of Prowl’s cheeks as the tactician twisted his hands out of Jazz’s grip.

“Hold still.”

With an interested hum, Jazz froze in place.

Prowl moved to grip the upper and lower part of the vent, and heaved.  The metal crumpled under his hands. Prowl stepped back one done, and braced himself, as he was correct in the assumption that Jazz would be upon him in seconds.

And he was.

Jazz was out of the vent, happily wrapping himself around Prowl’s shoulders and waist.

“I thought we were waiting until after shift to do something.” Prowl stated, even as he wrapped his arms around the smaller mech.

“Aft.” Jazz said without heat as he angled his helm while he leaned up to capture Prowl in a kiss. 

Prowl indulged this for approximately one minute, before leaning back. “I should finish my current work before we retrieve our energon.”

“You always have some kind of unending work.” Jazz said lightly as he dropped off of Prowl to land lightly on the floor.

Prowl had a very distracting end to his current shift, which Jazz lingering just in his periphery being a distracting, if attractive, nuisance. Jazz continued to be very distracting, so much so that ending his shift and retrieving their energon became a distant memory the moment the two of them left the base for a drive.

Jazz said he had plans for them, and one of those plans was to be as much a menace on the road as he could be, goading Prowl into chasing him by having the tactician’s Enforcer past stir at the sight.

This was acceptable, since there were no humans around in the area to see two cars racing about.

Prowl’s entire focus was on Jazz in his alt mode; sleek, teasing and inviting as Jazz revved his engine while driving alongside  Prowl.

Then, Jazz sped off.

A thrill of the chase dashed away anything else that Prowl may have been contemplating in the moment. He spent most of his processing power on keeping up with Jazz, around the curves in the road and sharp turns, with only a small part of his processor keeping alert for danger. Prowl wasn’t sure where Jazz was headed, but the two of them were driving far away from the base, no doubt as far out as they could to not have any bored mech follow them.

Prowl caught up with Jazz as the two of them drove up to the edge of a cliff. As they went back to alt mode, Prowl noted that there was an overhang above them to block out possible weather.  Prowl looked back to Jazz, and in the moonlight that was at the edge of the overhand, Prowl got a proper look at Jazz. He’d been wondering why Jazz had become stuck in the vents. Prowls answer was right before him, visible to his own optics.

There was a faint bulge of protoform showing beneath Jazz’s endure chassis to either side, which pressed his armor out just a tad. It’s enough of a change that it accounted for Jazz becoming stuck within one of the larger vents that were on base.

Jazz noted the way Prowl studied him; with a smile, Jazz leaned back to better show off his armored front, and the peeks of protoform. Jazz’s visor brightened as he shuffled across the rocky ledge he was standing on to press into Prowl’s side.

Prowl realized with a jolt that the sight he was seeing meant that Jazz was healthier than was usual. Prowl’s right doorwing curved back, allowing which Jazz closer. Prowl felt a hand slide up take his own.

Jazz held Prowl‘s hand to the protoform in the saboteur’s side when he fluffed his armor up a little to allow access.

Prowl brushed digits lightly along old scars that came from either battle, or torture, during times that Jazz was held captive by the Decepticons when caught in a spec ops mission. At present, Jazz’s field was alive and vibrant.

There was also a sneaky hand slinking up along Prowl’s side in a ‘finger-walk’, until the digits dipped down under armor to trade protoform.

Prowl hadn’t been aware that he’d gained some bulk since energon hadn’t needed to be rationed as closely.

Jazz’s light, playful touch settled on the tactician’s wrist port, tracing lightly along.

”Do ya wanna let me know just how much you like ta see me like this? I can tell, just do y’know. Yer makin’ those optics light up in that way y’do when you like somethin’.” A digit pressed down on Prowl’s wrist port, then released the pressure to pet it. “We’re alone. You interested in this, or do y’just wanna hold me close tonight?”

Prowl considered the offer, his helm tilted down to meet the visor and the soft, relaxed smile beneath it. He turned over what he was up for, what he wanted to do, and thought about the way Jazz was not as jittery as he had been earlier in the day. A longer pause as decisions were made, before Prowl’s wrist port all but snapped open to reveal curious cables that began to twitch through the air.

~

Jazz woke up with his helm and shoulders resting comfortably on Prowl’s lap. He laughed, amused by the way he’d been unexpectedly knocked out. As soon as he was able to use his words, Jazz reached for Prowl.  “Guess you missed me a whole lot before we gotta year of no fighting, yeah?”

Prowl’s hands wordlessly clasped Jazz’s. 

“S’okay, I heard ya loud and clear here.” Jazz clumsily tapped a digit to Prowl‘s now-closed wrist port. There was a sense of satisfaction in the saboteur as he stared up at Prowl, admiring what he saw. “You look good too, y’know, without that tac net drivin’ you to the edge of your processor with dozens of possible outcomes for a battle plaguing ya.”

Prowl moved one of his hands to rest on Jazz’s helm, palm heavy even as his digits were light as he carefully traced the sensitive audial horns. Prowl lifted his doorwings up in order to pick up Jazz’s EM field. It only amplified the sensation, of Jazz giving off a large, strong field of happy/content/affection. Prowl could sense Jazz’s vents, and used that, as well as Jazz’s field, to see what the other enjoyed right now.

”S’nice.” Jazz said, apropros of nothing.

Prowl’s wings settled into a comfortable position as he was assured that Jazz was well, despite inaction. Jazz was even able to drift back off to recharge with Prowl keeping careful watch, while Jazz hugged one of the tactician‘s arms close over his spark.

This was something of a rarity.

Jazz falling into recharge outside of base, or recharging without his team around him to keep watch. Jazz was usually on guard, more so than Prowl himself.

This was different.

Prowl found he approved of Jazz relaxing around him, outside of the safety of the base.

The lack of conflict with the Decepticons was doing wonders for Jazz’s physical health, if not entirely great for mental, given the stir-crazy energy and need to move and do something. Perhaps Prowl could discuss options with Optimus Prime at some point, as Prowl was certain (92%) that other mechs and femmes were in the same position as Jazz was.

…though Prowl did have enough free time to spend with Jazz in peace and quiet, as they were now.

Prowl’s hands roved down from Jazz’s helm to slowly, gingerly rest over neck cables. He marveled that Jazz does not immediately rouse and try to stab him. Jazz didn’t even leave recharge when Prowl settled his palm over the med port on the back of his neck. Prowl’s doorwings twitch as he moved his trapped arm to trace his digits along protoform, which peeked out from under Jazz’s armor in certain places. Jazz’s grip loosened, intentionally or not, to allow Prowl to better linger along the seams of armor.

Jazz’s field was muted; calm, content. It meshed with Prowl’s own alert, if equally calm, field.

Perhaps soon, the two of them will be able to continue their pursuit of one another, if the peace they were unexpectedly experiencing stretched on.

It’s quiet.

There’s no incoming fight.

Maybe there’s hope for the war to end.

”Don’t think s’much Prowler.” Jazz sighed out as he snuggled in, still half on Prowl’s lap. “I can hear your processor workin’ from down here.” A short pause. “You good?”

Prowl said nothing in return, but he communicated his current unexpectedly relaxed mood. Prowl leaned over, free hand moving to cup one of Jazz’s cheeks upside down, his digits lightly caressing. Prowl lifted Jazz up at an angle with one leg, careful to not upend him. Then, Prowl pressed his chevron to Jazz’s helm crest, where he lingered for a time.

A hand eventually reached up to rest on Prowl’s cheek in return, a digit gently tweaking the armor of his helm.

”Love ya too, Prowler.” 

[slippinninque]

📚Scene Break 📚

In which a books do their job

Fontaine x blackfemreader

warnings: None! Fluff and books, really! Some cursing, short fic

A bit stunned by the lines you’ve been reading, you let the book flat-open onto your stomach. You looked up past the cover of Fontaine’s sudoku to the blue sky above you. 

“What’s that face?”

“This book…sort of got me stuck.”

“Hm?”

As you flipped back a few pages, Fontaine put his pen into the pages of his own book, touching the pages together and looking out into the yard as you caught him up regarding the character you were reading about who was visiting a library’s reference desk. 

From the book’s description, there was apparently something else this woman needed aside from the career centric texts she went in for. 

You explained it all to a patiently listening Fontaine, thinking that the job she had at the department store wasn’t good enough and she wasn’t meeting expectations. Not that the young woman had many for herself, she wasn’t very motivated and even felt guilty about that….

“That so?” 

“Anyway, after she told the lady about her job and kinda gives herself shit, the librarian goes, ‘You managed to find employment, you go to work every day and you can feed yourself. That’s a fine achievement’. The woman said she’s never heard it put that way and, as simple as it was said…I feel the same.”

Closing the book again, you tapped the edge of it to your lips as you tried to put your feelings into words.

“I didn’t realize how hard I am on myself until recently. Focusing so much on work and trying just…make things happen, you know? Nothing too big just...keeping up. I have to be doing good ‘cause I’m not where I was and I’m not anywhere worse. That’s just as good, right?”

“ ‘Course it is. Doing what you can, when you can–that’s how you build. In anything. Goin’ too fast might make some shit happen but you can’t keep on like that.”

You heard what he was saying, but why was that so hard to get a hold of? To just accept? To be disciplined and to know when to jump on a possibility. It just looked easier for everyone else.

Fontaine moved the book aside and wrapped an arm under you, cradling you in his arms as he looked at you with a soft look of fondness. 

“There is more to all this shit than work. A job is a job, it ain’t your ticket to deserving your life. Enjoy your days how you want to. That’s what that book was saying to you, right?”

You listened to birds chattering overhead, a fussing yorkie a few doors down, the fade-swell of sidewalk chatter. In the arms of the only man in the world who could read minds. Probably.

“I...guess it is, huh? I can’t believe I forgot about what reading a book can do to me. There are a lot of things I have to get back to, really. I don’t even know if there is a place to start to get back to it all. 

“There’s always a place to start, baby.” Fontaine gave you a little shake and you were touched at how sure he was of you, “Here, now. Tomorrow, the day after–bit by bit and as much as you want. I know you. You’ll get there.”

Bird by bird…

Maybe books are the answers to your problems right now. The feeling of restlessness, of numbness, the sick-sweetness of visiting apps only to feel unfulfilled or bored still.

As soon as the simple cover of Anne Lamott Bird by Bird caught your eye from its forgotten place on your nightstand, the urge to feel it in your hands was surprising.

It was yellowed a bit and curled along the edges but it was in good condition over all. The sort-of fuzzy textured pages reminded you of those wide coloring books that scattered across the playmat of your childhood bedroom. Reading through Lamott’s teaching the rules of writing and life, it steadied you and for the first time in a long time–you caught a streak. 

A streak that led you all the way here. To the moment you would revisit in your heart when it felt like hope had run off again.  

You nodded, unable to find the words and stretched yourself more into his lap. Still mostly on the blanket you’ve brought out to the back porch. The weepy feeling in your chest rounded out to something warmer now. 

Fontaine picked up the sudoku again, one hand settled on your back and you took in small stacks of books the two of you brought outside to entertain yourselves with.

“Y’know what, you’re right and it’s easier now that I have my trusty assistant.”

“Who’s an assistant?"

You couldn’t hold in your laugh at Fontaine’s tone, he made it seem like he was going to push you away but you clung to him.

“I only mean the sexy man who worked so hard helping me move all those heavy books! Looked so good doing it, too, mind you.” A few kisses really sealed the deal and Fontaine brought you close again to use as a board for his book. 

That seemed to appease him as he resettled, flipping open his sudoku once more.

“I take other forms of payment,” He said haughtily, “Since I’m the assistant and everything–tell you what, I prefer other forms of payment!”

If Fontaine’s numbers were wobbly in their boxes, it was his own fault for making you laugh. 

-----------------------------------------

💕taglist💕: @megamindsecretlair @sageispunk @miyuhpapayuh @cardierreh15

✨ending notes✨: a little something while I had the time! believe me when I say everyone should grab a book! Just hold one in your hands, smell the pages! 🤸🏾‍♀️📚✨💕

"What You Are Looking For Is In Th Library" by Michiko Aoyama is what I'm reading right now and it's so good! tell me what you think, thank you for reading!

@mcondance @thadelightfulone@mag1calenchantr3ss @cocoeffects @wide-nose-and-wonderful

@8ttached@thadelightfulone @hobiesmain @thickeeparker

@longpause-awkwardsmile @ms-angiealsina @harmshake @notapradagurl7

[greenboyfriend]

choose something cold... (tarot card reading)

"what do you need to know?"

image 1: it's cold. I mean, really cold. but your blood is warm, even if your fingers are blue. where's your soul? image 2: a framed painting depicting a wintry landscape, complete with a log cabin, whose blue smoke trickles from its chimney and blends in with the world around it. image 3: three ornate glasses, made of ice. are those cracks intentional? or just by virtue of its design? image source not everything may resonate with you, and that's ok! take what does & leave the rest. don't force it.

1.・。.・゜✭

there’s an opportunity being presented to you. it may be a celebration of some kind, or just something that has a lot of excitement surrounding it. what i’m getting most of all is that this may be a chance to find freedom. with the seven of swords reversed, maybe you’re the type of person to handle your problems on your own, “lone wolf” style. there’s a million reasons why someone might do this, but for you, you’re afraid or distrusting in others. when you opened up in the past, maybe it didn’t end up so well for you, and this has made you keep things mostly to yourself.  however, the four of wands reversed tells us that this lone wolf energy is blocking you from fully enjoying yourself. “freedom”, in this sense, is the freedom from yourself, or rather, your fear. in the original Rider-Waite-Smith deck, the seven of swords shows us a man with his arms full of swords, shirking off to his own devices. for you, these swords represent an unnecessary burden, being wary or even afraid of others to see your true colors/problems/ect. opening yourself back up again is a task much easier said than done, i know. but the 6 of cups shows us what this looks like, once fully realized. when we talk about our problems and emotions, we’re able to release and/or deal with them more easily. i’ve definitely been in the position of worrying endlessly about something, just to finally open up to someone, and realize that the answer was sitting in front of me all along. the six of cups represents this as having a “clean conscience.” being, you’ve released yourself from carrying a burden all alone, and have found freedom– the four of wands. finally, the king of cups reversed reminds you to have patience, and to be tolerant of others. not just one person can supply you with all the information or support you need.

(6 of cups, 7 of swords reversed, 4 of wands reversed, king of cups reversed)

2.・。.・゜✭

you’re in a period of transition, be that between attitudes or people. this change has you feeling down. maybe not emotionally destitute, but not in the best spot, either. as you wade through these waters, know that the queen of swords is by your side, and will lead you to better times. the queen of swords is someone with a good head on her shoulders, and will always tell the truth. she is very forthright, and doesn’t do any under-the-table dealings. she holds herself to these standards because of her past experiences, and knows that an honest, open approach will best suit her motives. you may embody the queen of swords already, and if you do, great! if you don’t, that’s ok, too. but it’s time to start really leaning into that kind of energy. don’t conceal the truth– both to yourself and others–, and let yourself have a laugh every once in a while! the thing about being experienced is that you know not to take everything so seriously. the queen of swords can see the big picture, and knows that, even if right now is tough, later will be much better. the place/person/vibe you’re coming from is represented by the knight of wands. i’m getting, cockiness– to the point where you/they were being presumptuous. this might also have had to do with someone being hot tempered, and restless, where they couldn’t handle being bored, so they’d decide to pick a fight. this energy is still here, but not necessarily causing harm just yet. what’s really impeding your path towards healing is the knight of cups. the knight of cups reversed is in direct opposition with the queen of swords, in the sense that he allows his emotions to take control of him, rather than accurately assessing the truth of his situation. he may let his imagination become overactive, and begin believing things that aren’t true. where the queen of swords faces all her dealings head on, the knight of cups may shade the truth, dance around the issue, or simply hope someone else will deal with it. he may also tend to isolate himself from others, which only worsens his imagination into spurring up unrealistic scenarios and focusing too much on his own “failings.” i’m thinking… you’re going to need to temper the knight of cups with the knight of wands. use that fiery, self confident energy to seek out the truth, rather than make assumptions. and, in turn, the knight of cups can help to deplete those feelings of restlessness through introspection. most importantly, keep your head level, and honor the truth above all.

(queen of swords, 6 of swords, knight of wands, knight of cups reversed)

3.・。.・゜✭

so… there’s a lot to unpack here, image 3! i’ll start with this, the energy of the queens of wands and of pentacles are important right now. the queen of wands seems to be especially important, urging you to work hard to maintain her optimism, confidence, and enthusiasm. this situation will require you to be a sort of “soft” leader for others, where you can be looked to for inspiration. if you’re able to serve as a role model through keeping your head up even when the going gets tough, and to do so with strength and vigor, it will not only help you and your purposes, but will also inspire those around you to do the same. the opportunity to embody this energy is not fully here yet, but once you hear the call, you’ll know it’s for you. strike the iron while it’s hot and give it your all! no time for dilly dallying. in being a leader (even if you’re not completely cognizant of it) you will have to temper your generosity with what you know to be true. so, for example, if someone is late to a meeting one time, you may give them the benefit of the doubt. but if they’re continuously late, some changes need to be made. this can also apply to other situations, where you will need to decide between your loyalties and what’s true & just. you may have already experienced scenarios like this in the past, so it will help you to call back to those times for foresight. doing what is fair may be difficult in the moment, but will lead to the best outcome. the queens come together here to guide you on your way. keep trying! you know that you’re resourceful, so don’t be afraid to try your hand at solving problems. it may also benefit you to remain down to earth during this time, and not to try to control what others think or say. at the end of the day, you are your own person, and what a wonderful person you are!  finally, we arrive at the page of cups. i’m getting a very loving, forgiving energy from this card. it may benefit you to invite that energy into your life, both towards yourself and others. when a challenge faces you, or someone is less than nice, decide to turn away that anger with love. consider, what may compel them to act this way? maybe they’re going through something you don’t know about. it’s not that you need to nurture them back to good health, but realize that maybe, they’re just not worth your time, and a simple nod & turning of the cheek will do you both some good. most of all, listen to your intuition to tell you whether or not this argument/situation is really worth getting into.

(queen of wands, 8 of pentacles reversed, 8 of wands reversed, queen of pentacles, ace of swords, 3 of wands reversed, page of cups)

[moonchildxoxx]

HIII omg I saw you said that you added So’lek to your master list so I had to come in cause I’m surviving on crumbs of So‘lek x na’vi!reader. If you’re comfortable can I request a So’lek x fem!na’vi!reader who always seem to be blue but she’s just looks like it, he had been curious about her since childhood and he would drag her around to cheer her up but it never seems to work (he doesn’t understand) when they grow up he still wants to cheer her up and reader is just confused why he want to cheer her up so much when she’s not sad. Basically slow burnish? Cause I’m weak for slow burns, mostly fluff and a little kisses if you’re comfortable cause I can’t take angst my heart would break.

Have a nice day! Your writings are amazing! Love the Neteyam ones! Thank youuuuu 😭🫶🫶

Title: You Always Look Sad

Pairing: So’lek x fem!Na’vi!reader

Word Count: ~_____

Genre: Slow burn, fluff, misread emotions, soft boi energy, mutual pining, emotional intimacy

Rating: T / Teen (for romantic tension, emotional vulnerability, and soft physical affection)

Don’t like, don’t read.

⠀

Synopsis:

It starts with a frown. Or what looks like one.

So’lek has followed you since you were children, all sunlight and laughter, determined to make you smile. You’ve always been the quiet one the still one mistaken for sad, but never broken.

As you grow, his teasing becomes tenderness. His restlessness settles into something steadier. And when he finally realizes he doesn’t need to fix you to love you, everything begins to change.

⸻

From the time you were children, So’lek followed you like a curious ikran hatchling.

You didn’t understand why.

You weren’t loud like the other kids. You didn’t laugh often, or dance in the evenings, or get into trouble chasing fan lizards. You were quiet, observant. Some said your spirit was “blue” in a way that had nothing to do with your skin.

Still, you didn’t feel sad. You just liked… quiet. The way wind moved through the trees. The cool hush after rain.

But So’lek? He was a sunbeam. Wide grin. Wild eyes. Always moving, always tugging someone along for the next game or the next half-formed adventure.

And for some reason, more often than not, that someone was you.

He’d tug your wrist gently and say, “Come! You haven’t smiled today.”

And you’d blink and follow, not sure why it mattered.

He’d climb trees to toss you glowfruit, splash you with river water, tell you stories that didn’t make sense but always ended with him laughing and looking to see if you would too.

You didn’t. Not much.

But you watched him and somehow, that seemed to be enough for him to stay.

⸻

As you grew older, it didn’t stop.

If anything, he got more relentless in the most endearing way.

He’d appear next to you during training and nudge your ribs with a grin. “I saw you frown. Are you okay?”

You’d frown harder. “That’s just… my face.”

He’d laugh like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

Sometimes you’d be alone at the edge of the water, weaving quietly, and he’d sit beside you and start making the worst bracelets imaginable just to make you groan. His fingers were too big, too clumsy, but he always looked so proud of the crooked mess.

“Look,” he’d say, holding it out. “This one is for you.”

You’d glance at it, then at him. “…You know I’m not actually sad, right?”

He blinked, caught off guard every single time. “But… you look like you are.”

You shook your head, quietly amused. “That does not mean I am.”

But he kept trying.

⸻

It wasn’t until you both were nearing adulthood warriors, bonded to your ikran, steady on your paths that things began to shift.

So’lek hadn’t changed much. He was still bright, still loud, still warm in a way that made you feel oddly safe.

But now, his hands lingered when he brushed yours. His gaze held a little longer when he looked at you from across the fire.

And he stopped dragging you off to “cheer you up.”

Instead… he just sat with you. Listened. Watched the world in the quiet the way you always had.

And you started to see the way his eyes flickered with something soft every time you laughed. Even just a little.

⸻⸻⸻⸻

One night, you sat under the glowing vines near the Tree of Voices. The clan was gathered for a song night, but you’d slipped away early, content to listen from a distance. The soft hum of voices rose and fell like the forest breathing.

So’lek found you there, of course.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat beside you, close but not too close.

Then, after a while, he turned to you and said, “Have I ever made you smile?”

You blinked at him, surprised by the question. “Yes. Many times.”

He tilted his head. “But you never laugh like the others. You never… beam. I always thought you were hiding something. Something sad.”

You turned to face him fully. “Why does it matter so much to you?”

He hesitated, mouth parting. Then he smiled soft, different from his usual grin.

“Because I see you. And I want you to feel… known. Like you’re not alone.”

Your throat tightened. Something warm unfurled slowly in your chest.

“I have never been alone,” you whispered. “You never let me be.”

He looked startled. Then shy. Then deeply, deeply pleased.

You reached out and touched his hand lightly, just for a moment.

“And I never wanted you to stop,” you added.

He looked down at your hand, then back up at you, and for the first time, he looked unsure.

“May I…?”

You nodded, not even knowing what he meant.

He leaned in slowly, slowly, giving you time to stop him but you didn’t want to. His forehead brushed against yours, and your breath caught.

You stayed there, breathing the same air, warm and trembling.

Then, gently, he brushed his lips against yours barely there. Just a question, not a demand.

You kissed him back.

Just once. Soft. A little clumsy.

When you pulled away, your fingers still curled into his, you whispered, “I was never sad. But you… you made me happy.”

His grin was small, crooked. Real. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

⸻

You didn’t know it, but So’lek had been holding onto a thought for seasons.

A simple one: You deserve to be happy.

He didn’t understand the way you stayed quiet in crowds or why you turned away when others laughed. But he saw your gentleness. The way you helped the youngest children tie their braids. The way you stilled when a bird landed near. The way your fingers moved with grace when you wove cloth or cords, like each movement was a kind of music only you could hear.

And when you did smile those rare, breathtaking smiles it felt like victory.

Like sunshine breaking through canopy clouds.

Still, no matter what he did, you never beamed the way others did. You never laughed until you cried or danced until your feet hurt.

So he kept trying.

He didn’t know he was in love with you, either. Not until he saw another boy talking to you nothing romantic, just casual conversation and for the first time, something bitter and sharp flared in his chest.

He’d known you since you were children. But suddenly, the thought of someone else making you smile that way…

No. That wasn’t happening.

That night, he couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking about your eyes how they never quite gave everything away and how much he wanted to understand them.

To understand you.

Had he been trying to paint sunlight over a sky that was already beautiful in its stillness?

⸻

The next day, you were sitting in the roots of the ancient tree near the water, knees tucked beneath your arms, watching fish ripple under the surface.

He sat beside you wordlessly.

After a moment, he asked, “Would you tell me if you were sad?”

You turned your head. “Of course.”

“I just… I’ve always thought you were. From the start. You never laughed like the others. You always seemed like something was missing.”

You were quiet for a long time.

Then, finally, you said, “I feel things deeply. But I don’t wear them on my face.”

He glanced at you.

“I’ve never needed noise to feel joy,” you said. “Just because I don’t shine doesn’t mean I’m dim.”

So’lek stared.

His chest felt like it was caving in around something important. You weren’t sad. You’d never been sad.

You’d just been you.

And all this time, he’d been trying to change you. To make you something you weren’t just to match his own picture of happiness.

It hit him, he hadn’t been listening. Not really. Just chasing a version of you that smiled more often, laughed louder.

“…I didn’t know,” he said softly.

You smiled at him, and this time, it wasn’t faint. It was steady. Warm.

“I know,” you said. “You meant well.”

He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wanted to be the one who made you smile.”

“You already are,” you said without hesitation.

He blinked. Looked up.

Your eyes met his and this time, you didn’t look away.

And for once, he was the quiet one.

⸻

That night, he brought you to the cliff edge above the sea your favorite place, where the winds whipped strong and salt drifted high in the air. The two of you sat side by side, the moons glowing full above, casting a soft silver light over your skin.

He reached for your hand.

You let him take it.

Fingers laced, warm and sure.

“I think I’ve been in love with you since I was too young to know what love was,” he said. “And I’ve been stupid about it. Loud. Pushy. Trying to fix something that was never broken.”

You laughed soft, low.

“Very stupid,” you agreed.

He gave you a crooked grin. “But I never stopped trying.”

“I know.”

Then, hesitantly: “Do you… feel the same?”

You didn’t answer with words.

You leaned in and kissed him, slow and steady your hand resting against his cheek.

It wasn’t a firework. It wasn’t sudden.

It was inevitable a tide that had always been pulling you forward.

When you pulled back, you said, “I do.”

And that was all he needed.

⸻

You still didn’t laugh often.

You didn’t suddenly become loud or dance until sunrise. But So’lek stopped expecting that. He stopped trying to fix what was never broken and instead found joy in knowing you the real you, quiet strength and all.

And sometimes, when you did laugh full and bright, head tilted back he felt like he could fly.

He still told you ridiculous stories. Still splashed water on you in the river. Still brought you wildflowers with far too much pride.

And when he saw you watching him from across the firelight, soft-eyed and certain, he no longer wondered whether you were sad.

He just knew:

You were his.

And you were happy in the way the forest is happy: quiet, full, and unmistakably alive.

⸻

[xyziiix]

•𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝙰 𝚆𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙽• VIII

•Pairing: Mid-honour!Arthur Morgan X Fem!Reader•

•Shit Summary: The gang hadn't been in Horseshoe all of one week, and already the boys were causing trouble in town•

•warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, SMUT: unprotected p in v, short but sweet fingering, not that graphic (probs is) reader is described as female with female biology and wearing feminine attire, no use of Y/N — and I plan to keep it that way for future chapters — reader can be lifted up? Other than that no detailed descriptions of reader•

•Long but important A/N at the bottom!•

•This is not proof-read as I was too impatient to post•

•series masterlist•

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←LatestChapter

This breeze was much more welcome than Colters gale, this one refreshing, more gentle — unlike the sharp, unforgiving winds that’d mercilessly flown through the glacial terrain, it was something you’d be happy to forget.

The day is dunked in warm pinks and orange hues from the setting sun, dusky fading light, the fingers of the trees sharp and black against the horizon. Horseshoe Overlook did have a stunning view, you’d give it that.

Pots and pans clatter near Pearson’s wagon, followed by a rusty voice damning the cookware to hell and back. The nearby fire pits crackle and glisten with heat. The faint scent of pine and smoke tickling your nose, and the quiet chatter of fellow gang members serenades the peaceful atmosphere of camp.

Well, mostly quiet.

Said peacefulness is cruelly interrupted when you hear a bark of your name, the familiarly rigid tone making your shoulders stiffen. And with a schooled, but validly wary, expression, you slowly swivel on your stool to see Miss Grimshaw stomping over to you.

“What do you think you’re doin’?” Susan asks you, in a voice that’s hard, yet somehow shrill enough you worry that nearby glass would shatter.

Your brow lifts, and you stare at her, deadpan, as if it was a trick question. “What’s it look like I’m doin’?” You wave a hand over the heap of clothes on the table in front of you, a needle and thread held in said hand.

“It looks like you’re just starin’ off into space, girl.” She manages to speak so quickly that one might worry her tongue would tie itself into a knot. Should you be so lucky.

You give her a look, one she’s had to see on your face and deal with since you were a delinquent— a cross between a smile and a pout, as if you were just as clueless as her. With an exasperated sigh and a pinch on the bridge of her nose, she regards you with a weary shake of her head. “Those clothes ain’t gonna patch themselves.” The bite in her tone reappears, though you know it’s just for show, as she gestures to the clothes sprawled out in front of you.

“Guess I better get a move on then.” You make a show of gathering a worn shirt, fingers skimming over the fabric until you find the gaping wound in the fabric. The woman huffs, somewhat satisfied, chin jutted up as she strides away from you, probably to scream at someone else who wasn’t breaking their back or chaffing their fingers to her liking.

That same gentle breeze flows through camp, barely moving a few strands of hair away from your face. Bored, you place the shirt back on the scratched table, indents from five finger fillet scarred into the surface. You glance over your shoulder, eyeing the hitching posts where Artax was loosely tethered. Poor horse hadn’t left camp either, he was probably just as restless as you.

Arthur hadn’t been around since early afternoon, something about meeting the boys in Valentine. Meanwhile you were stuck at camp, had been since the gang settled into the charming Overlook.

It wasn’t that you were against doing your share of the work that needed doing, it weren’t like that at all… you’re just more… in your own element when you’re slinging a revolver at your hip, not fumbling with needles and thread or bent over a wash basin to scrub at stubborn stains.

Miss Grimshaw was also aware of that, which is probably why the woman was — not so discreetly — circling the perimeter of camp like a baited shark. You briefly calculate the amount of time it’d take you to reach your mount and surge out of the tree line, but an anticipating Susan would probably tackle you to the ground before that could happen.

The cadence of jingling spurs catches your attention, eyes flickering towards the source. And you’re shocked at what you find.

Arthur was a few feet away from you, deftly angled in a way that made it clear he was trying to sneak past you. He was marred by a thick coating of drying mud, he wouldn’t have been easily recognisable if it weren’t for the subtle, familiar swagger in his posture. He looks tense, frustrated. But you’re more concerned as to why your outlaw looks as though he’s been rolling around with the hogs.

“Arthur,” your voice is unintentionally shrill as you stand up, his lips twist into a tight line, face etched with lines of frustration and streaked with mud. “What the hell happened to you?”

He dismissively waves you off as he beelines towards the wagon, you’re hot on his tail and your needlework is forgotten on the table — Grimshaw be damned. He bats the canopy flaps out of his path upon entering the private space, and you quickly slip in behind him, the warm glow from the oil lamp a contrast from the evening sky outside.

“Bill and his incapability t’keep the bluster outta his mouth, that’s what.” Arthur practically growls, and you watch, dumbstruck, as he yanks his satchel off of his shoulder and drop it onto the side table — flakes of drying mud breaking off of him at every movement.

“That don’t explain why—“ you pause at the crimson that coats his knuckles, barely noticeable under the grime. “You got into a fight?”

“Weren’t me that started it.” He grumbles defensively, his back to you as he removes his hat, giving a half-assed attempt at shaking the dirt off of it before slapping it onto the table next to his satchel, and you cringe at his mud-caked hair.

“Arthur, we ain’t even been in the Heartlands one week,” your rant starts strong and exasperated, your hands perched on your hips and your brows furrowing so tightly together that Arthur resists the urge to smooth it out with his thumb as he turns to face you.

His expression remained unreadable as you continued to chide him, only a handful of your words registering to him as he instead took in your own appearance — his eyes drawn towards your bosom, and the way your hand placement accentuated the swell of your hips. Even when you’re looking at him like you could smack him upside the head, which he wouldn’t put past you, he can’t help but admire your… you.

“Are you even listenin’ to me?”

The snap of your fingers makes him blink back to reality, his brows slowly knitting as exasperation spreads over his chest at your lecturing, causing a lengthy sigh to be pulled from his nose. “I don’t wanna hear it, woman.” He tells you gruffly as he peels his jacket off with a grimace. “Gotta get this shit off’a me.”

“Why didn’t you get a bath at the hotel?”

“Didn’t wanna stick around after that shit-show.”

Your lips pursed as you watched him move around the small space, unsure what to make of the state of him. You’ve seen him in worse conditions, streaked with crimson rather than dirt, reeking of copper and gunpowder rather than the heady scent of earth, but it was still aggravating considering you’d cleaned up earlier just for it to get messed up again…

“You joinin’ me?” Arthur’s voice broke you out of your brief reverie, your brows inching up, searching for clarification, “gonna have t’go wash up by the river, ain’t I?” There’s an edge in his voice, one you can’t quite put your finger on, but the subtle glance he gives you is a hint.

The rest of the scolding you had for him dies on your tongue. Though, you try and feign an air of resignation — like you were doing him a favour, despite the way your heart skips a beat at the prospect of joining him to bathe.

“Fine.”

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The sun had since laid its head, the sky now spilled with ink and navy, dotted with countless stars that flicker over the dark canvas of the night. Tall, douglas fir, serve as an outcrop for the crescent moon in the far distance.

Arthur had opted to wait for the sun to finish setting, because while he’d rather not sit in his own filth and reminder of the fight he’d had, the Dakota river — though being closest water source to camp — wasn’t very secluded. And he wasn’t gonna take any risks.

Though the night served as privacy, and there’d be very little chance of any passers-by at this hour. Plus, if something were to happen, Arthur’s gun laid only a few feet away on the shore, along with the rest of his dirtied clothes, your own a growing pile as you had yet to enter the water.

Arthur was already in hip-deep, eager to scrub away his sins, his back to you as he cupped water, dragging it over his skin to wash away the grime and hints of dried blood — not all of it his own.

The smooth pebbles and stones were cool under your bare feet, though probably not as icy as the waiting water in front of you.

The air is crisp, carrying an earthy odour, perhaps from the river foam, or from plant material decay. There’s also tinge of something salty… but fresh is the most accurate description of your surroundings.

The tender breeze strokes your skin, while is being gradually exposed, your blouse falling into the pile of clothes by your feet. While you undress, your eyes are stuck to your lover like a magnet, taking in the way the pale skin of his broad back — a contrast to the sunburnt, more tanned, skin of his strong arms — seemed to look so smooth in the moonlight… there were a couple thin scabs littered over his shoulder blades, the curve his spine trailing down his vast back, dotted with two dimples at his lower back before the rest of him disappears under the waters surface.

Your chemise joins the heap, followed by your bloomers, the last barriers of clothing removed, bared to the world, to him.

Without further ado, you gingerly step into the lapping water by your feet. You swallow a gasp, your body taken aback by the temperature difference, though you acclimate to it quickly, your arms wrapping around your chest as you wade over to where Arthur was. The water grows deeper the further you go, the current pushing against your legs and thighs, though not strong enough to wash you away.

The closer you near, the more you can take Arthur in. Most of the dried dirt was off of him — save for a streak on his shoulder and neck — droplets of water racing down his forearm as he splashed water onto his chest.

The dark water lapped at your waist now, and you move around him so that you were facing him.

You frown.

Underneath the grime, you can see the aftermath of his fight. There’s an ugly, yellow and violet bruise blossomed over his ribs, another one splotched on his strong jaw, darkening the stubble that grows there.

Arthur seems to notice the worry spurting inside of you, of course he does, and his gaze lifts to meet yours as he scours the muck off of his forearm.

“M’okay, darlin’.” He reassures you, cupping the cold water to start washing the streak off of his neck, head tilted back slightly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, “should see the other feller.” He adds, his cerulean eyes glued to you. His tone isn’t as curt anymore, his frustration having died down, plus, his appreciation for your concern softens him inside.

You still huff, not entirely convinced when evidence of his injuries was staring right back at you. Arthur’s lip twitches.

“C’mere.” He tells you, voice resonant as he drops his hand from his neck to instead hold both of them out to you, beckoning you with a twitch of his finger.

The water that’d been clinging to Arthur’s hands, callous and firm, rivulet onto your own skin when his palms curl over your sides, trailing down your waist, the curve of your hips… Arthur’s gaze chasing the droplets. So pretty…

Your own hands lay on his broad shoulders, fingers accidentally pressing into one of the thin, shallow, but still tender slices on his skin. He sucks a small breath through his teeth. You notice.

“What’re these from?” You ask, voice quiet, flowing with the gentle sounds of the running river.

“Got tossed through a window at the saloon.”

You lean back, brows jumping up, “what?”

“M’alright,” he repeats with a puff, hands tightening on your waist before sliding down to your hips.

“It ain’t alright,” you argue, your hands pressing against his chest, the wry hair on his sternum tickling your palms. “Dutch said we ain’t supposed to cause trouble—“

“I know what Dutch said, sweetheart.” he sighs, exasperated with you, though he only pulls you closer. He then adds, a vexed plea, “let’s just forget ‘bout it for now, hm?”

He doesn’t let you argue further, tilting his head to nudge your nose with his own, his breath — carrying the scent of cigarettes and the acidic tinge of whiskey — hot against your parted lips. His hands shift on your hips, splayed, coarse fingertips pressing into the meat of your ass as he kisses you.

He tastes of tobacco, as well as the liquor that you could already smell on his breath, his stubble scratching your face as he groans into your mouth, the noise snatched up by your tongue.

It was as though he was trying to devour you, swallow you whole, or perhaps he was just trying to distract you from giving him an earful.

A thread of saliva stretches between you as he pulls away for breath, catching the moonlight before snapping. You wet your lips, the taste of him lingering on your tongue.

Arthur glances around momentarily, before spotting a boulder that had risen from the rivers surface. Perfect.

“Arthur?” You rasp as he starts steering you backwards, the water sloshing around both of your legs. Though after a couple steps, his rough hands drop down to the back of your thighs, hoisting you up with a grunt and carrying you the rest of the way.

You hiss as the cold face of the rock meets your back, a few jagged pieces digging into your skin. Arthur’s lips are back on yours, tongue pressing into your mouth with another rumbling noise of need.

You throw your arms around the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the sunny strands of hair at the nape. It’s grown out over the weeks, you think you prefer it longer.

You both reluctantly part to catch your breaths, lips swollen from his kisses and cheeks hot from the lack of oxygen. With one hand on your thigh, holding you up — the rock behind you holding most of your weight — Arthur presses a calloused thumb under your lips, gently prying them wider so he could roll his tongue over yours in one more brief, but deep kiss.

You can feel him, stiff and heavy against your navel, a hot and sticky bead of milky white smeared from the angry red tip.

“Arthur,” you whine, readjusting your grip on the back of his neck, both his hands back on your rear to keep you up at his level. Need burns between your legs, a blazing fire of want only he could tend to. “Please-“

“Please what, sweet girl?”

He damn well knows what. His eyes — darkened with lust — hold something knowing, something amused. He enjoys seeing you like this, it makes him rather smug, evident by the smirk he poorly suppresses.

Another whine, your cheeks and neck burning hotter than fire as you shift restlessly against him, ankles crossed behind his back. Was he really gonna make you say it?

“You know what I want.” You counter, though your breathless, needy tone bellies the demanding facade you tried to display.

Arthur wets his lips, and you unconsciously do the same, gaze drawn to the movement of his tongue. He makes sure you’re steady against the rock as he removes one hand from you, grasping his cock and dipping his chin so that he could let spit drop onto his length, slavering it over himself before nestling his hips more snugly against the warm apex of your legs.

But, instead of immediately giving in, he slips a hand between you, the rough pads of his fingertips inching down the thatch of hair between your legs, spreading your dewy folds and running a finger up the seam of your body.

He muffles your unsteady sigh with a lingering press of his lips to the corner of your mouth. “Gonna get you ready f’me,” he explains, the rumble of his voice vibrating against your skin, two thick digits nudging inside your cunt. “Don’t wanna hurt you, peach.”

It’s a sensible idea, but you’re already impatient. “Now, Arthur,” you plead, arms tightening around him, holding him to you, wanting more and more and all of him. “I can take it.”

He crooks the two digits inside of you, causing your breath to hitch, raising a brow at you in hesitation.

“I can handle it,” you insist, desperate. How could he ever deny you?

Slipping them free, he takes a moment to line himself up with you before adjusts his hold on you again, fitting underneath the curve of your ass and tugging you more securely against him as he pushes forward.

He slowly splits you open, his cock sliding into you and carving out a place for itself. Your head tips back against the boulder behind you, and he sinks deeper with a grunt. He bottoms out, balls flush against your ass as he tilts his hips upwards to reach an angle inside of you that has you seeing stars.

It punches the air from your lungs, being so full of him — a feeling you’ll never completely get used to. His grip on you tightens, blunt nails digging into the fat of your thighs as his head drops to the juncture of your shoulder, a throaty groan reverberating against your heated skin. He lets you take several moments to adjust to him, while he’s currently trying not to finish just from the feeling of being inside of you.

He brushes soft, wet kisses along the curve of your shoulder and neck, lowering his head to flutter his tongue over a pebbled nipple, pulling it between his lips, his mouth like liquid molten around the bud as he finally starts to move.

He draws back an inch or so before shoving his hips flush against yours again, the coarse hairs at the base of his cock pressed against the softer thatch covering your mound. The drag of his length, the friction, has your temples growing hot and thoughts even less coherent.

He does it again and again and again, his body fitting into yours like the last piece to a puzzle, the two of you moving in synch like a familiar song and dance.

The moan you’ve been holding back spills out of you, mingling with his own guttural exhale.

“God -“ Arthur grits his teeth, fucking you with deep, steady plunges of his hips, the rock face pressing harder against your back to the point you’re sure there’ll be bruises that you’ll proudly wear, you’ll wear it along with the marks his fingers are no doubt brushing into your thighs and hips. “Look at you, s’pretty like this, darlin’, my pretty girl.”

He really is enraptured by you right now… his breath ragged as he watches you with a slack jaw, taking this moment in, not daring to look away so it’s burned into his memory. Maybe he’ll sketch the view of you like this into his journal later…

The way your back arched against the slick rock he has you pressed onto, the way the droplets of river water — that had transferred onto your skin from his beard — rivulets down the curve of your neck, the valley between your breasts… slowing down at your abdomen before disappearing into the soft curls covering your mound.

…

Yeah, he was definitely drawing this later.

Arthur swallows your next whine, his tongue tangling with yours in a sloppy, uncoordinated and desperate kiss. Your hand buries into his hair again, eliciting another groan from him, your other hand pressing against the uninjured side of his jaw — the coarse stubble scratching your palm. He uses his grip on your ass to bounce you, grinding you against him, sending heatwaves rolling down your navel.

You can feel it, rapidly building inside of you. Like a Jack-in-the box, winding up taut until it unexpectedly bursts.

He breaks from the kiss, his pants mingling with yours as your foreheads press tightly together, your eyes fluttering shut as his eyebrows pull in concentration.

“Arthur, I’m —“

“I know,” a kiss is brushed onto your burning cheek, then he’s nosing against your jaw, breath ragged and a shudder running through his body — signalling he’s also near his peak, “I know, sweetheart… give it t’me, c’mon.”

There’s a certain demand in his words that has the coil pulling rigid, then it snaps.

You can only hear the blood rushing in your ears, not the sounds of the water rushing, not the wet smacking of his hips into yours, not even the delectable grunts being pulled from Arthur’s throat. Your body locks up, inner muscles constricting around his cock, coating the length, base and balls slick with your release. White-hot pleasure burns through your body, desire pulses in your veins and you feel like you’re melting. Turning into liquid ecstasy to be carried away in the current that laps at the both of you as well as the rock behind you.

Arthur isn’t far behind.

“Shit… atta girl,” he grunts in approval, the rut of his hips stuttering at the sensation of you coming undone around him, clenching down on him so hard it yanks a strangled gasp low from his chest. He tugs you flush against him, breasts pressed up against his chest, and he hitches your thighs higher up his hips, hoisting you back up before you can slip down the face of the boulder.

His thrusts shift into a vigorous grind, a whimper exhaled from your lips as the coarse hair covering his pelvis tickles your overly-sensitive clit. And at last second, he forces himself to pull out of your cunt.

Hot strings of spend shoot out of the weeping tip, splatting onto your abdomen, leaking down your skin and drying into a sticky mess. Arthur’s head falls back onto your shoulder, groaning and panting as his arms completely envelope you — one wrapped around your waist and the other following the curve of your spine, large hand cradling the back of your head, keeping you tucked against him as he empties himself.

Arthur isn’t a holy man, but by the way he’s chanting your name like a prayer as he releases, one would think he’s a devout believer.

Several moments go by, heart rates finally starting to steady, no longer beating against your rib cage like a wild animal trying to escape., Arthur gives you one last kiss, this one tender and affectionate, before he carefully sets you down.

You’re a little reluctant to untangle yourself from him, using him as an anchor to ground yourself, though you’re forced fully back to the present as your feet dip back into the chilly water, soles meeting the slick rocks under the surface, fresh water lapping at your hips again.

“Y’alright?” Arthur breathes, holding you steady until you use the rock behind you for support, legs feeling light and akin to jelly. Arthur releases a quiet groan as he rolls his shoulders, swallowing as he cups water to gingerly wash his softening cock, all the while keeping his gaze on you, ensuring you were fine.

“M’okay,” you reassure him, sighing as you shift your weight, getting the feeling back into your legs. You take a moment to also wash yourself, cleaning his release off of you, the evidence of your encounter carried down the gentle current.

He looks at you, his eyes softening, something that bellies the gruff outlaw he presents himself to be. He wades a step closer to you, calloused palm gently curling around your upper arm, guiding you towards him, hand sliding down to take yours.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to camp,” he murmurs, planting an affectionate kiss to the side of your head before starting to lead you back to the shore where your clothes laid waiting.

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ freezing.”

Arthur chuckles in agreement.

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*awkwardly* heyyyy guys… long time no see, huh?

-‘long time’? It’s been a fucking year bro

Yes! Yes I know! And I come bearing gifts and many apologies.

I will start by saying that writers block is a real mf thing. This has been in my drafts for ten months, and please believe me when I say I was looking at this every few days with the intention to finish it and post it… but as soon as I get it up my mind goes blank.

It’s also been more than that, I know a year is a really long time to go without posting, but, I’d like to think that over this year my writing has matured and evolved a little… had a bit of spice added to it 🤌— not that I think I’m the next goddamn Shakespeare, but I know it’s improved when I’m looking back at previous chapters and cringing while reading the shit I wrote.

I know it sounds like a piss take when I say this, but I have the full intention of finishing this story — I wish I could tell you guys the shit I have planned, shit that’ll make you happy, sad, horny, the whole works. But I ain’t gonna tell you cause I ain’t spoiling nothin’. It’s just hard for me to connect the dots and fill out the gaps between all the important plot points I have planned out, my head works in weird ways. All I’m gonna say is I promise I’m gonna try and get back into a regular schedule of posting this story.

Side note: sorry to others who come across this who have been waiting and sending asks about the other wip stories I have on my masterlist— I was really overestimating myself thinking I could be righting multiple series at the same time 😭🤦‍♀️ while I do have drafts (that need to be heavily edited) of these fics, I wouldn’t be expecting to see them anytime soon — because I’m prioritising this story for now. At least until I find the motivation to regularly post and not just once every six — or in this case, 12 months.

Also, I know this is gonna sound strange, because while I do know where this story is going and ending — as in the general direction — I’m still figuring out some things, like certain cannon points that I’m gonna incorporate reader into, reader and Arthur’s dynamic, who reader is personality-wise… there’s a lot going on up here rn *taps temple*

Oh, and one of the biggest things I’m trying to decide about Arthur is how I should go about his honour… for the first eight chapters he’s been leaning towards higher honour — at least that’s how it’s been in my head, though it might be hard to tell by my wack-ass writing for the last seven chapters — so I’m torn between making him dip down into low honour for a while… and splice things up a bit, maybe shake the dynamic of him and reader… or if I should just stick to high honour. Because I know that some people (I am some people) who prefer HH Arthur. Please share your thoughts via anon asks or commenting… I would love the advice!

One last thing! If I go about two weeks or more without posting WITHOUT a valid excuse, everyone has permission to bully and peer pressure me back into being active!

I’m very sorry my luvs here’s an Arthur edit🫶

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@flw3rrr @vena91 @sickvictorianangel @sykeswrites @babyttsumu @rexibn

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[wiimotion]

the catgirl care guide that’s been floating around online for i think almost ten years now has 5k words, a large portion of which is dedicated to an extremely detailed tangent on how to sexually stimulate it.. mine has almost 10k and i haven’t written the reproductive physiology part yet! AND there’s illustrations! WOW!!

this isn’t me being prudish and dunking on something because It Have Sex In It.. i’m just happy and proud! ‘cause growing up in my early tweens, a boy my age showed me the catgirl care guide and then Nekopara. and I wasn’t really sure WHY because I was just 13, but it didn’t sit right with me.. it made me sad and angry because I didn’t understand why catgirls were being treated like objects? sex toys? their bonds didn’t mean anything because it all has to be soiled for someone’s entertainment.. ouhh and then I realized the deep-rooted influence of misogyny on the trope.

And then I got really autistic about domestic cat behavior and speculative biology. (　´∀｀) I really love the IDEA of catgirls but never the execution (until DunMeshi). I think probably being an autistic animal girl had to do with that. In around 2018, Elon Muskrat (an insult to the humble semiaquatic rodent) would make comments about someday making genetically engineered catgirls. Hearing that I would always be like “Ok! Let’s explore why this would or would not work!!” These days, though, I think he changed it up to robot catgirls…

But, anyways—if you bother to think about the ethics of a genetically engineered catgirl, there’s already a dark, dark underbelly people have explored time and time again. It’s just a stupid idea. (╬☉д⊙) But.. we already are living in a future where millionaires and nerd-manbabies-who-are-basically-president will both cut corners and do basically everything in their power to make a bad thing work. For money! For power!! Writing about catgirls, something that is just.. so so unavoidable, is how BAD it is?! This isn’t going to work! Why would you want an animal like this in your house?! (ﾟ益ﾟ) Some corners I’ve had to cut already involve shortening the size of the canines, because, otherwise, a catgirl would have canines several inches long like a fuckogn chimpanzee and then one bite is giving you severe irreparable nerve damage for life. But cute sex slaves.. right..? right..?

If you own a cat or have seen, like.. ANY cat.. do you understand how horrible it’d be if they were 5 feet tall.. People fail to understand this because a doting, obedient, lobotomized?? woman is just soooo sexy yaaay! Cats are one of the least obedient domestic animals ever. >_> Imagine a roommate that effortlessly pushes the air fryer or electric kettle off the island so she can lay on top. It’s funny but you’re going to want to kill yourself eventually!!!! Some cats are better in pairs, or small groups.. is it okay that while you rest for work in the morning, there’s basically fully-grown adults running around in the dead of night, giggling and throwing each other into the ground, knocking everything off of every surface? of course you are! It’s cute! Now get to work, wage slave.. I hope your catgirls don’t chew through cables while you work off the debt you accumulated paying for them…

anyways. another thing. The sexualization of the estrus cycle in cats.. it’s so odd..!! When the light conditions are right she’ll scream and yell basically all the time and become restless and try to escape. It’s a good thing she has opposable thumbs and the sapience to do so. Good luck. (-᷄◞८̻◟-᷅) I have written about reproductive physiology in my catgirls, but it’s entirely clinical and mostly neutral (maybe it’s negative to mention relevant pathologies that stem from it, and the psychological effects on catgirls? lol..)

( ´≖◞◟≖｀) I think I have autism. I love catgirls. They shouldn’t exist. Let’s make sure they don’t.

[prentissluvr]

feverish — joel miller

gn!reader, platonic!reader, fatherfigure!joel , sickfic , cw : mentions of fever & coughing, sickness in general, mostly unedited , wc : 1K , anon i hope you enjoy it !! <333

joel notices immediately when you begin lagging behind him and ellie. but you don’t say anything, so neither does he, just pausing occasionally to let you catch up.

in the end, it’s ellie who says something.

“hey, are you okay?” she asks you once you’re all settled by the fire. joel, whose attention seems to be solely on the meat he’s cooking, is peering at you subtly, listening intently for your reaction.

“i’m fine,” you wave off her concern, “just a little tired today, is all.” your answer’s not a complete lie, it’s true that you’re tired, but what you don’t tell them is the way you can feel the sickness starting to settle in your bones. really, it was yesterday you first started feeling it, but it hadn’t begun to slow you down until a few hours into hiking today.

“well then, we’d better get to sleep right after eating,” joel advises. “best get as much sleep as you can for tomorrow.”

you heed his advice, curling into your sleeping bag the moment you can in hopes that good enough rest will prevent you from truly falling ill. ellie talks for a few minutes the way she normally does before sleeping, but joel cuts her off earlier than normal tonight for your sake. with that reasoning, she actually listens to him and settles down to sleep herself.

—

your hopes of escaping sickness are unfairly stolen from you in the morning when you wake up with the sun, groggy and completely out of it. your nose is stuffy, throat sore, and limbs heavy when you rustle about in your covers. you just turn to your side and do your best to drift back into what turns out to be a quite restless sleep.

the next time you wake, it’s to ellie gently nudging your shoulder for you to get up as joel finishes cleaning up camp. you groan in protest, halfheartedly pushing her away.

“it’s almost time to go,” she says, “joel let you sleep in.”

you let out a huff of breath, wishing you could lay in bed all day before struggling to sit up. rubbing at your eyes, you take in the state of your tired, compromised body and decide it’s certainly best if you say nothing about it. no reason to make anyone worry or slow down your journey.

so you push past your discomfort, standing up and quickly packing up your bag. but your plans to cover up your sickness do not go as well as planned when you begin coughing and sniffling uncontrollably.

about the fourth time you lean against a tree to support yourself during a coughing bout, joel stops completely, handing you water and waiting until you’re done to speak.

“you’re gettin’ sick, kid,” he states, very aware that you’ve been quiet in order to prevent causing an inconvenience to him and ellie. you shake your head, so he continues. “you can let us know if you’re not feeling well, you know? that’s not something you can control. what d’ you say we make camp early and rest for the day?”

“no!” you exclaim, “no, that’s alright, i’m fine. i swear. i don’t even feel that sick, it just sounds like it,” you try to explain away the actual extent of your sickness.

he says your name, gentle and firm like the hand he places on your shoulder. “you look like you could fall over any second. i ain’t buying any of that, alright? you need to rest so that you don’t get more sick, you understand me?

you want to keep trying, to convince him and a watching ellie that you’re fine, but it seems you can never argue with that tone of voice he uses when he’s truly serious about something.

“fine,” you relent with a sigh, feeling half grateful, half guilty, and one hundred percent sick as you trek along until you find an appropriate campground.

joel orders you to lay down when you try and help set up, only asking you to move once a fire is going so that you can soak up it’s warmth. as you lay there, it seems as if all of your stubbornness is catching up to you, and you can’t resist it when your eyes drift closed despite the sun still being clear in the sky.

with a mind too groggy with sickness and sleep, you don’t process much even when you’re awake. ellie stays close by to your laying form, silently worried by the sickness that’s visible in your face and the coughs that wrack your body. she jumps up each time joel asks her to do anything, eager to help you rather than just sit by and do nothing. joel too is dedicated to caring for you, his soft palm feeling your forehead for signs of fever as you slip in and out of sleep. he does his best to create a broth from bones and freshly hunted meat throughout the hours that you sleep for you to eat when you wake.

when you squirm uncomfortably in your sleep with your brows furrowed, he does his best to calm your distress with gentle touches. past memories of caring for a sick child are clear in his head, both hurting his heart but helping him to help you the best he can.

you try to resist his help again once you wake, but the weakness in your limbs doesn’t let you get far, so your resolve crumbles far faster this time. he helps you drink and eat all while ellie does her best to cheer you up with corny jokes and over exaggerated retellings of things that have happened throughout your journey all together. it works well, her words resulting in your laughing so hard that you begin to cough and a non-threatening glare from joel in her direction.

but soon, you tire again, so joel insists you go back to sleep, just as twilight fades into total darkness. you don’t argue this time, nor at all the next day as he and ellie patiently nurse you back to health until you’re spry and well again.

[yanderes-of-inkwell]

Cagney Carnation in “Blood in the Grass”

Note: Haven’t written prose in a long, long time, and I’m not particularly good at it, either, but I hope this was decent! Word Count: 1.5k Warnings: Delusional mindsets, derogatory narration towards reader (mirrors Cagney’s thoughts), dismemberment, gore, jealousy, murder, possessive behaviour, swearing.

The night was quiet on the Inkwell Isles.

Among their diurnal inhabitants lost in the land of dreams, there remained one outlier, trapped in a state of restless consciousness: Cagney Carnation.

The sentient flower had been consistently losing sleep over the past few days, and this misery of fatigue could only be attributed to a certain, pesky gardener who’d become an ever-present thorn in his side. When not attending to their work, they often took time out of their day to pester him, looking for conversation or bringing him some worthless trinket or other.

Cagney didn’t know why they bothered, given how outwardly hostile he was towards them in the beginning, but he’d given up trying to understand the strange human. Rather, he chose to accept -rather begrudgingly- their constant presence in his life. If not for his stubborn pride, he would have even gone so far as to say there was something amusing about them, their pathetic attempts at winning his favour bringing an interesting change of pace to his mostly isolated, peaceful routine.

This was the root cause of his current issue.

For the past week, his thoughts had been plagued with nothing but them, even in their absence - especially in their absence.

The bothersome little intruder had seemingly taken up permanent residency within his mind, and no amount of distractions or frustrated petal-pulling could get his thoughts back on track. It was infuriating, annoying, a waste of time, but above all else, it was confusing.

Such feelings were utterly alien to Cagney, whose concept of caring for another came only from stories shared, not from personal experience. Caring was, as far as he was concerned, something other people did, but it seemed his metaphorical heart had other plans. For as much as he was an immovable object, his meddlesome acquaintance had become his complimentary unstoppable force, invading the depths of his mind without trying or even realising.

And it was this dilemma that placed him in his present situation, tugging at his petals in frustration while sleep continued to evade him. Every time he closed his eyes, his thoughts always shifted back to them; to their soft smile, the twinkle in their eyes, their ramblings about the flowers they’d planted, whatever lowlife had caught their fancy-

Cagney’s train of thought disappeared as a rustling sound wafted through the night air, putting him on high alert. The thorns protruding from his body grew sharper, as did his claw-like fingertips. He pulled his roots from the ground silently, the stem splitting in half to create two makeshift legs. He stalked forward.

The sounds continued, becoming clearer as he neared their source. Peering out from behind the foliage, his gaze landed on a witless human man, trying to navigate the flower’s garden in the dark. His hands flailed out in front of him, grasping at nothing as he sought purchase, likely the fence he’d no doubt stumbled over on his way in. Cagney scoffed at the sight.

While he normally had no patience for intruders, the man’s arrival was a welcome distraction from the all-consuming obsession festering in his mind, and he decided to embrace it. His form shifted as he slipped beneath the ground. The man continued to stumble around fruitlessly for another moment before Cagney sprung out from the dirt in front of him, greeting him with a soft, simple, “...Boo.”

The man screamed. He fell back, hand clasped over his left breast while he fought to steady his breathing, staring in bewilderment at Cagney’s more docile form. “Oops,” he muttered, forcing a mocking, deceptively sweet giggle from his throat. “Did I give you a fright, mister?”

The man panted, beads of sweat dripping down his brow before he wiped them away, his expression softening. “Y-Yeah... fuck, don’t jump out at me like that!”

Cagney huffed, his form shifting back to its true appearance, thorns and all. “What, are you scared of a little, old flower like me?” he asked, bearing his sharp teeth in an exaggeratedly wide grin.

The man winced as he stood, dusting his pant legs. “Look, I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I’m just trying to get back to the Come-On Inn.”

“And let me guess: you got lost,” Cagney snickered. He leaned back as he spoke, shifting most of his weight onto his elbow, which rested atop a low-hanging tree branch. “Sure don’t look like a local.”

“That’s cause I’m not,” the man replied, narrowing his eyes. “Just visiting a friend, alright? Don’t wanna start no fight.”

“Oh, yeah? And what kind of schmuck is going around inviting a broken compass like you to these parts?”

The man nearly bristled at Cagney’s words, muttering the name of his friend before following it up with, “-and they’re not a schmuck!”

Cagney froze.

It was them. That stupid gardener, the very same one who’d made a habit of visiting him every day and getting on his nerves. So then, this must have been-

“Jamie,” Cagney blurted out before he could stop himself. The name left his lips with a tinge of venom to it.

“H-How...” Jamie sputtered, taking a step back. “How’d you... know my name?”

The plant gritted his teeth. “Oh, I know all about you, Jamie. That little friend of yours never stops yapping my ears off about ya.”

Clasping his hands together, Cagney pressed them to his cheek like a smitten schoolgirl, and began speaking in crude imitation of the gardener’s voice, “’Oh, I can’t wait for Jamie to arrive! Jamie wrote me another letter! Jamie has such nice hair! You won’t believe what Jamie said the other day!’” He batted his eyes for additional, mocking emphasis.

“Makes me sick,” he spat, face twisting into a sneer once he dropped the act.

Jamie’s indignant expression faltered. “What... what’s this got to do with you? Who are you, anyway?”

“None of your damn business,” Cagney responded harshly, snapping forward. He leaned down so he was closer to eye-level with the increasingly uneasy man. “You know, I don’t like your attitude much, you little vermin. So why not do yourself a favor by get out of my garden and off this island, eh? Not like that friend of yours wants you around, anyway.”

“I...!” Jamie stuttered, trapped between anger and mortification. “I’ll have you know I have a date with ‘em and-”

His words died in a wheeze as Cagney abruptly seized his throat with a thorn-adorned vine, crushing his windpipe. The more he struggled, the tighter his grip became, until four more vines sprouted from the ground to grab his arms and legs as well.

“Shut. Your. Mouth,” Cagney snarled, glowering at the breathless man in his hold. “I don’t want to hear another word out of you. They are not going on some trashy date with you. They’re-” he faltered for a second, the word ‘mine’ on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it down. “-not yours.”

His grip on Jamie’s right arm grew firmer, pulling at the bicep until a sickening pop sounded. Jamie’s mouth opened in a silent scream, stretching until it hurt while he struggled feebly, tears slipping from his eyes at the pain of his shoulder being dislocated.

“Aww, did that hurt?” Cagney asked, feigning a tone of concern. “Oh, poor thing! Here, let me help you with that pesky arm.”

He continued to pull.

Jamie’s body trembled fiercely, ligaments, veins, and flesh tearing beneath the topmost layer of skin until his muscles finally gave out, his arm torn by the shoulder from his torso. He tried again to scream, to plead, to cry, but the vine around his neck prevented even the smallest of sounds from coming out, its thorns digging into the skin until they pierced, blood beginning to pool in his throat.

His other limbs soon followed. One by one, Cagney tore his other arm and both of his legs off his body, splattering the grass beneath them with blood. The sight of his face twisting in unbearable agony did nothing to deter him.

“This,” Cagney roared, his form changing yet again, wild and monstrous. “This is what you get- what you deserve for stepping on my territory.”

With those final, manic words, he lunged, razor-sharp teeth enclosing around Jamie’s head and sinking into his neck. He bit down hard, then harder as the man’s body tried to resist, before it finally gave out. His jaw snapped shut, slicing through flesh and bone before he threw himself back, tearing Jamie’s head from his neck. He spat it out.

The head dropped to the ground, adorning it with one last pool of crimson as Cagney set the limbless torso down as well, panting. Despite his disgust, he licked along his blood-stained teeth, spitting the metallic fluid out as it gathered on his tongue.

A beat of silence passed as he gathered his bearings, his body shifting back to normal slowly. He blinked, the mania that had consumed him fading. He looked down at the corpse before his stem. He pondered the burdensome cleanup that would follow, gaze drifting to the lake not far from his home, from which he’d undoubtedly have to drag water in order to dispose of the liquid evidence.

Ah, but it didn’t really matter, did it? Even if the task required the rest of the night to complete, being able to rid himself of that pest was worth the trouble the cover-up would take. After all, a worthless life lost meant nothing in the face of being able to keep his sunshine all to himself.