#so there's no time to fuss over it anyway

[sidekick-hero]

A Leash, a Van, and a Christmas Plan

steddie | rated teen | 3.7k | tags: Christmas fluff, Nurse Steve, meet-cute, Bear the dog | Read on AO3

Steve had always wanted a dog—ever since he could remember. As a kid, he would beg his parents endlessly, swearing up and down that he’d take care of it. He’d walk it, feed it, clean up after it.

Despite all his promises, a dog remained one of the few things he didn’t get as a child, right alongside the attention and affection he truly craved.

So, the moment he could afford his own flat, he knew exactly what to do. Together with his best friend Robin, he made his way to the local shelter in search of a furry companion. Robin, a self-proclaimed cat person, indulged him in this quest to fulfill his childhood dream.

They wandered the shelter for what felt like hours. Even Robin started to joke that they should just take all the dogs home. Steve, however, found the decision nearly impossible. How could he pick just one? They all deserved to feel safe and loved.

Steve was not projecting. Okay?

Anyway, just as they were about to give up, they passed what looked like an empty kennel. A faint growl stopped Steve in his tracks. Curious, he stepped closer and found a small black bundle cowering in the far corner. The dog was young, terrified, and yet somehow still looked like it was ready to take on the entire world.

“Robin!” Steve called over his shoulder. His friend was busy fussing over a golden retriever a few kennels ahead. “Can you get someone from the staff?”

A week later, after passing all the background checks and paperwork, Steve brought Cerberus home.

The name wasn’t his idea. That credit went to Dustin, one of the kids who worked at the shelter. Dustin had taken one look at the little dog and declared that it would grow into a huge, black monster, making “Cerberus” the perfect name. Steve hated it—but he liked the kid enough to keep it.

Besides, they ended up calling him Bear anyway.

That had been three years ago. Since then, Bear had grown into the huge, black monster Dustin had predicted—well, minus the monster part. Unless, of course, you counted being a total cuddle monster.

Still, Bear was a big guy, and his size alone was enough to make most people wary. It didn’t help that he was fiercely protective of Steve, growling at anyone who dared to come too close. He always needed time to warm up to new people, but once you were accepted as part of his pack, you had a loyal friend for life.

Steve didn’t mind Bear’s intimidating presence, though. If anything, it made him feel safer. As a nurse at the local hospital, his unpredictable shifts meant late-night walks were a regular part of their routine. Bear’s size and low, rumbling growl made it easy for Steve to wander through quiet streets at night without a second thought.

It was on one of those walks—a bitterly cold December night, just two days before Christmas—that everything changed.

Months of working with Chrissy, his dog trainer, had paid off in more ways than one. Steve ended up with a kind-of-well-behaved-but-stubborn dog willing to (mostly) cooperate, and Robin got herself a girlfriend who was every bit as amazing as she deserved. Even if it meant that Steve would have to spend Christmas alone this year, while Robin took Chrissy home to her parents for the first time.

Usually, walking Bear was uneventful—a blessing, considering Steve, despite being fit and regularly working out at the hospital gym, was no match for 145 pounds of determined dog. Bear stayed close to Steve’s side, happy to keep watch, growling menacingly at any perceived threats but always trusting Steve to handle things.

That’s why Steve wasn’t gripping the leash as tightly as he should have been. His thoughts were far away, preoccupied with a little boy he’d been tending to—a boy stuck in the hospital over Christmas and heartbreakingly sad about it. Steve was busy planning ways to make the holiday festive for the kids in his ward when it happened: a sudden, sharp tug on the leash.

The leash slipped from his fingers before he could react.

“Bear!” Steve shouted, his voice cracking with shock and just a little more panic than he’d like. “Come!”

Bear, however, had other ideas. He bolted, disappearing into the dense trees at the edge of the park.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Steve swore as he took off after him, already regretting not listening to Robin when she suggested a cat. A cat, after all, wouldn’t have him tripping through brambles and stumbling over undergrowth, with only his runner’s light bouncing wildly to guide him.

Finding a black dog in the pitch-dark night was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Impossible.

“Bear!” Steve called again, cupping his hands around his mouth to carry his voice further. “Come here, buddy!”

He stopped, straining to hear anything—a rustle, a bark, a clue—but all he got in return was the sound of his own heavy breathing and the distant hoot of an owl. The silence felt louder somehow, now that one of his senses was compromised.

The realization crept in slowly, chilling him even more than the night air: he was alone, in the dark, with his dog gone and no one else around.

His breath came in visible puffs, clouds of mist dissipating into the cold. A shiver ran through him, though he couldn’t quite tell if it was from the cold or the unsettling weight of his surroundings. The trees loomed, their shadows stretching longer than they should, and everything felt just a little off.

He was on the verge of giving up—tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, frustration mixing with fear—when a loud snap echoed through the stillness.

Steve flinched, his heart leaping into his throat.

Then, a deep, rumbling growl broke through the stillness, followed by a sharp bark.

“Bear!” Steve shouted, bolting toward the sound. More barks followed, their tone higher and lighter—not aggressive, but curious.

“Good boy,” a voice called out, shaky but trying for calm. “Or—uh—good girl? I don’t want to assume, man. Or… woman. Shit. Please don’t eat me?”

The voice sounded young, male and unmistakably terrified. Steve couldn’t blame him. Anyone would panic if they were cornered by 145 pounds of black fur and sharp teeth.

Forcing his legs to move faster and silently praying he wouldn’t trip over a stray root or branch, Steve barreled toward the commotion, his heart pounding in his chest. Bear was obviously holding someone hostage, and Steve had no idea what he was about to find.

He burst through the trees and stumbled into a clearing. There, parked at the edge, was an old van—and standing on top of it was a man.

The guy had his hands raised in a desperate, placating gesture, his voice trembling as he pleaded with Steve’s dog.

“Easy, big guy. Good boy. Or girl. Seriously, no need for violence here—”

Steve couldn’t tell you why, but the whole thing was so absurd, so completely surreal. Bear, massive and proud, sitting at the base of the van like some four-legged guardian, and the poor guy perched on the roof like he’d been treed by a bear. The adrenaline coursing through Steve’s veins, paired with the overwhelming relief that Bear was safe—and that no one appeared to be bleeding—hit him all at once.

Steve doubled over, hands on his knees, laughing in near hysteria.

Both Bear and the guy turned toward Steve’s laughter. Bear let out a low whuff, the canine equivalent of “Look what I found!” Meanwhile, the guy, clearly panicked, shouted at him.

“Run! There’s a wild beast—it’ll tear you apart if you don’t move! Hurry! I can try to distract it, but I don’t know if it’ll work.”

Another wave of laughter threatened to bubble up, but Steve managed to swallow it down. The poor guy was terrified, and yet he was still trying to save Steve. It was kind of adorable, in a completely ridiculous way.

Instead of laughing more, Steve decided to end the guy’s suffering. He walked toward them, shaking his head.

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” the guy yelled, eyes wide. “Don’t come closer! I—I don’t think I can stop it!”

Steve smiled up at him, though in the dim light—provided by the van’s headlights and his bouncing runner’s light—he doubted the guy could see it. He kept walking until he was right beside Bear, the dog’s massive head level with his waist.

Calmly, he reached down to scratch behind Bear’s ears and said, loud enough for the guy to hear, “What do you think you’re doing, huh? We talked about this. No running away, and definitely no hunting down poor, innocent people.”

Bear responded with another satisfied whuff, his tail wagging furiously despite the fact that he was still sitting.

“What. The. Actual. Fuck.” The voice from above sounded incredulous. “Are you some kind of dog whisperer or that your beast?”

Steve looked up at Bear’s hostage, and upon realizing that his runner’s light was blinding him, turned it off. He could still see well enough with the headlights casting a warm light close by after his eyes had adjusted. The first thing he noticed were the guy’s eyes. They were huge and almost black in the low light, sitting atop full lips on a pale face framed by dark curls. He was adorable and hot.

“Sorry,” Steve began, running a hand through his hair. “Not a dog whisperer, or this big guy wouldn’t have bolted the second I got distracted and loosened my grip on the leash. In my defense, though, he’s never done that before. You must smell pretty incredible for him to chase you all the way down here.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Steve wanted to slap himself. Once upon a time, he had game. Real game. But apparently, those days were long gone, and now he was reduced to this—word vomiting as soon as he came face-to-face with a hot guy.

The guy—whom Steve had silently dubbed Bambi because of those wide, enchanting doe eyes—blinked at him, utterly speechless. Steve dared to hope he was overwhelmed by Steve’s suave charm, but that hope was dashed by the guy’s next words.

“Are you for real? You’re telling me it’s my fault for smelling like dog food that your… your beast chased me down?”

Something about the incredulous tone, coupled with the faint tremor in his voice that betrayed more lingering embarrassment than true anger, lit a spark of mischief in Steve. He wanted to make the guy laugh, to banish the last traces of fear, and—let’s be honest—to see how those full lips would look wrapped around a smile.

“Not dog food, no,” Steve said, tilting his head thoughtfully. “Bear here is a professionally trained drug detection dog. So he must’ve picked up something really interesting to go off the rails like that.”

It was meant as a joke—obviously, Bear was no such thing as a professionally trained anything. But at Steve’s words, Bambi’s eyes widened to cartoonish proportions. Before Steve could assure him he was kidding, the guy scrambled to climb down the other side of the van, his movements jerky with panic.

“Whoa, hey—wait!” Steve called out, stepping forward, but it was too late.

There was a sharp slip, followed by a dull thud and a pained groan.

Steve hurried toward the spot where Bambi had hit the ground with an alarming thud, but Bear was faster.

“Please make it quick, big guy. Haven’t I suffered enough already?” came a slightly wheezing voice, followed by another soft whuff.

When Steve rounded the corner of the van, he stopped dead in his tracks, the scene before him equal parts surreal and hilarious.

Bambi was sprawled on the ground, spread-eagled, his head tilted to one side. Bear sat beside him, their faces mere inches apart. Bear’s loose fur and skin hung comically, his head tilted in a way that screamed curiosity, as if he were silently asking, “What are you doing down there?”

Steve considered taking a picture. Robin and Chrissy would never believe this otherwise. But a low groan from Bambi snapped him out of it.

“Shit. Are you okay?” Steve asked, quickly crossing the remaining distance. He dropped to his knees on Bambi’s other side, mirroring Bear’s concerned expression as he leaned over him.

“This is hell,” Bambi muttered, his voice heavy with dramatic despair. “The hellhound Cerberus has chased me to my demise, and now Charon’s coming to ferry my soul to Tartarus.”

Steve blinked. Was this guy serious? A concussion seemed likely at this point. But it was hard to ignore the weird coincidence that Bambi knew Bear’s namesake.

“I’m so sorry, man,” Steve said, raking a hand through his hair. “It was just a joke—I didn’t think you’d believe me. Robin’s right. I’m hopeless.” He let out a frustrated groan. “I mean, who almost gets someone killed trying to make them laugh?”

To Steve’s surprise, a hand reached out and found his, squeezing it once.

“You wanted to make me laugh?” Bambi asked, his voice soft.

“That’s what you’re focusing on? Not the ‘almost got you killed’ part?” Steve sighed, but a faint smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah. You looked so scared and embarrassed. I just wanted to see you smile. So I made a dumb joke… and ended up getting you hurt instead.”

Bambi—he needed to find out the guy’s name, Steve reminded himself—hummed softly, his lips quirking into a teasing smile. “So, just to be clear: You’re not a cop, and he—” he gestured toward Bear, still sitting like this was all a casual hangout in the park—“is not a drug detection dog?”

Steve let out a rueful laugh, one hand rubbing the back of his neck as warmth crept up his cheeks. “Nope. Not a cop. Not a drug detection dog. Just a pediatric nurse with a terrible sense of humor and a dog who’s usually better behaved.”

Eddie’s tentative smile grew into something full and radiant, so dazzling that Steve momentarily lost track of everything else. It was the kind of smile that made you think cheesy things, like comparing it to the sunrise—hopeful and brilliant, warming something deep in Steve’s chest.

“What’s your name?” Steve asked, shaking himself back to reality. “I keep calling you Bambi in my head, and I’m pretty sure that’s not it.”

That did it. Eddie burst into surprised laughter, his head tipping back as his eyes crinkled at the corners, the sound bright and unrestrained. It sent a wave of smug satisfaction through Steve, though it didn’t last long. The laughter soon faded into a low groan, Eddie wincing as the movement jostled whatever injury he’d sustained.

“Shit, sorry,” Steve blurted, words tumbling out as his concern surged. “Are you okay? God, I didn’t mean—”

Eddie’s hand found Steve’s again, squeezing it firmly. “Shhh,” he soothed, his voice low and warm. “Hey, it’s okay, sweetheart. I mean, your sense of humor might be the death of me, but what a way to go, huh?”

Steve barked a startled laugh at that, though it quickly gave way to a more serious tone. “I’d really prefer you don’t die on me,” he said, pausing deliberately for the guy to fill in the gap.

“Eddie,” came the soft reply.

Steve smiled, relief and something else he couldn’t quite name washing over him. “I’d rather you don’t die on me, Eddie.”

They were both smiling at each other, the night cold and silent around them, as if the world had paused just for this moment. And then, as if the universe wanted to underscore how surreal and cinematic everything felt, it started to snow.

Big, soft flakes drifted down, landing on Eddie’s long eyelashes and melting on his nose and cheeks. Eddie’s smile widened, his expression pure delight as he laughed softly, tilting his face up to the sky. Without hesitation, he stuck out his tongue to catch a few flakes, his laughter bubbling up again at the absurdity of it.

In that instant, Steve felt very much like one of those snowflakes—falling, utterly and irrevocably.

“So, Nurse—” Eddie’s voice broke through the quiet, pulling Steve from his rose-tinted thoughts.

“Huh?” Steve blinked, realizing he’d been staring.

Eddie grinned, a hint of mischief lighting his face. “I was being sneaky, trying to find out your name,” he explained, “while also asking for a little help here. As much as I’m enjoying the view, it’s getting kind of cold down here.” He shifted slightly, wincing before adding with a smirk, “I thought I’d be clever and ask Nurse Prince Charming—that’s what I’ve been calling you in my head since we cleared up the Charon situation—to help his patient off the ground.”

Steve threw his head back and laughed, the sound warm and unrestrained. He couldn’t help but feel charmed by Eddie’s offbeat but endearing mannerisms. In all his life, he couldn’t remember meeting anyone quite like him—and they’d only known each other for a few minutes.

“It’s Steve,” he said finally, his smile lingering. “And I’d prefer to check you out real quick—” he paused, realizing how that sounded, and tried to recover, “—to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself too badly before helping you up. That okay?”

Eddie’s grin turned sly. “Oh, darling, you can check me out as much as you want,” he replied, tongue-in-cheek.

Heat flooded Steve’s cheeks at the innuendo, even as he tried to stay professional. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he muttered, though he couldn’t deny that having an excuse to touch Eddie wasn’t exactly the worst thing in the world.

“I think it’s safe to say it’s nothing life-threatening if you can joke around like that,” Steve said, shaking his head but unable to hide his fond smile.

Eddie snorted—a sound that shouldn’t have been cute but somehow was—while Steve carefully began to palpate his ribs.

“My uncle always said my last words would be a joke,” Eddie mused, wincing slightly as Steve pressed on a tender spot. “Probably after my big mouth got me into trouble.”

Steve chuckled softly, trying to keep the mood light as he continued his examination. “Well, I’m not letting you test that theory tonight, so sit tight.”

Eddie’s ribs were bruised, and he’d probably be sore for a few days, but thankfully, there was no serious injury. Steve helped him up carefully, Bear trailing close, unusually subdued but steadfast. The dog stuck by their sides as Steve walked Eddie around the van to its rear. Following Eddie’s quiet instructions, Steve opened the door and helped him settle inside.

The interior was cramped but functional. A mattress with a thick sleeping bag was tucked in the back, surrounded by scattered clothes, empty bottles, a bong, a pizza box, and an acoustic guitar propped against the passenger seat. The van had the unmistakable feel of a makeshift home, and Steve’s heart sank.

Eddie caught him staring, and a nervous laugh bubbled out as he rushed to explain. “It’s not what it looks like... God, I can’t believe I just said that. Jeez—” He cut himself off with a sharp breath, grimacing from the strain. After a moment, he added, quieter, “I know it looks bad, okay? But it’s just for a few days. Until I get back on my feet. It’s fine. Just a hiccup.”

The words were defensive, but the shame lurking beneath them hit Steve like a punch to the gut. Eddie was trying to downplay it, but the tightness in his voice gave him away. Steve wanted to say something, anything, but before he could, Bear whined softly, breaking the silence. The big dog nudged Eddie’s thigh with his muzzle, his soulful brown eyes a perfect mirror of Eddie’s own.

Eddie, who’d been so terrified of Bear earlier, now reached out instinctively, stroking the thick fur of his head and neck. His fingers found the sweet spot behind Bear’s ears, and the dog leaned into the touch, letting out a contented huff.

“You were planning to sleep here tonight?” Steve asked softly, the question heavy with concern.

Eddie didn’t look up. He just nodded, his hand still moving absently through Bear’s fur.

Steve cursed silently. The thought of Eddie spending the night in this van, in freezing temperatures, sent a chill down his spine. Even if he kept the engine running, the risks—carbon monoxide poisoning, frostbite, worse—were too high. Steve couldn’t stomach the idea.

“Come home with us,” he said, the words tumbling out before the thought had fully formed. He just knew he couldn’t leave Eddie here.

“What?” Eddie blinked, his hand pausing mid-stroke. Bear, displeased by the interruption, let out a soft, insistent whuff and nudged Eddie’s hand again.

Steve forced a smile, trying to sound casual. “Bear and I both want you to come home with us. I can bandage your ribs properly, and you can keep petting Bear. Clearly, he’s touch-starved and desperately needs some affection.”

Once again, Steve was not projecting. Okay?

Eddie raised an eyebrow, scanning his face carefully. "Oh, so Bear needs some affection, huh?”

Steve rolled his eyes, his cheeks heating. “Look, are you coming or not? Because I’m not leaving until you agree, and I’ll have you know Bear can be very persuasive.”

At that, Bear whuffed again, his tail thumping lightly against the van floor, as if to second Steve’s statement.

Eddie’s lips twitched, and for a moment, Steve thought he might actually laugh. “You’re not giving me much of a choice, are you?”

“Not really,” Steve admitted, his tone softening. “But seriously, Eddie. Let us take care of you. Just for tonight.”

Eddie hesitated, his gaze dropping to Bear, who was still gazing up at him with unrelenting devotion. Finally, he sighed, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Fine. But only because your dog’s giving me the eyes.”

Steve grinned, relief flooding through him. “Smart choice. Bear’s impossible to say no to.”

Bear, as if understanding, let out a low, approving bark.

As Eddie took the hand Steve offered, his fingers cold but steady, Steve felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the touch itself. It was the kind of warmth that came with hope—the quiet, surprising hope that maybe neither of them would have to spend Christmas alone this year.

[whisperofwonder]

The Best Medicine

Kageyama Tobio x reader - 1k words

Your daughter is sick. Kageyama stays home with her.

Reader is referred to as "mommy"

"She'll be fine," Tobio assures you. "I'll be here with her all day."

"I know," You sigh. Ever since you left work early yesterday to pick your daughter up from daycare, you've been fussing over her. It's just a fever and a cough, something that the doctor assured you will go away on its own with some medicine and time, but you can't help but worry just a little. It makes sense for Tobio to stay with her today - it's the off season, and he doesn't have any training scheduled. You're the one in the middle of a big project at work.

"I just gave her more medicine," You continue as you gather your things for work, "And it should keep her knocked out for a bit. The rest is good for her." You're saying it as much for yourself as for Tobio's benefit. He nods along anyway. "Just remember to have her eat a little something when she takes the next dose," You add as you pull on your coat.

"I will. Don't worry," He says more firmly, gripping your shoulders and looking you in the eye, forcing you to stop moving for just a moment. "We'll be just fine here. If anything comes up, I'll give you a call right away."

"Okay." You manage a smile. "Thanks, Tobio."

"Of course. I love you," He leans in for a peck before he releases you.

"I love you too," You reply on your way out the door, "I'll see you later."

With that, you're gone, and Tobio turns back into the quiet house. He doesn't have much lined up for the morning, he just starts a load of laundry and then settles on the couch with a replay of a recent match on the quietest setting. He takes a few notes every now and then.

Eventually, lunch time draws near. After heating up a quick meal for himself, he's slotting his few dishes in the dishwasher when he hears the call.

"Mommy!" Your daughter whimpers, and he closes the dishwasher, making his way to her room before she has a chance to call out again. It's just about time for her next round of medicine, anyway.

"Hi, baby," He says gently, brushing sweaty strands of hair away from her forehead. She's still warm, but the fever has definitely gone down.

"Want Mommy," She insists, her lower lip jutting out in a pout.

"Mommy's at work," He reminds her. You'd said goodbye to her this morning right before you left. "She'll be home later." She doesn't look pleased, but she doesn't say another word. "Are you a little hungry?" He asks, changing the subject.

"No," She shakes her head.

"Not even for some applesauce?" He asks as he gently tugs the blanket off of her. "It will help the medicine make you all better."

She hesitates for a moment. "Kay," She agrees quietly. He picks her up, carrying her to the kitchen. If she weren't sick, she would have scrambled out of bed and darted down the hallway on her own. It's clear she's still not feeling like herself.

After the snack of applesauce and dose of medicine, he lifts her to his hip again, prepared to tuck her back in bed. Her eyes are already drooping. In her room, he moves to lay her back down on the pillow, but she clings to his neck.

"No, Daddy," She whimpers into his chest.

"I'll read you a story," He suggests, settling down on the edge of the bed with her still in his arms.

"Don't wanna story." She shakes her head, scrubbing a fist at her eye. "Wanna watch TV."

He sighs and softens. "Okay," He agrees. In the living room, he puts on one of her favorite shows. He moves to set her down on the couch, but she clings to him again.

"No," She shakes her head.

"No?" He echoes, then settles her on his lap. "Alright." If she wants to stay close to him so badly, how can he say no to that? She leans against him, soft and warm in his arms, entranced by the colorful animations on the screen and clutching her bunny.

The older she gets, the less interested she has become in sitting still and cuddling. It seems she's always on the move, running around and playing. It isn't often that he gets to just hold her like this.

His eyes wander from the screen down to her, eyes drooping again as she slips her thumb in her mouth. Just this once, he decides to let it slide. She's getting so big. Sometimes he doesn't even realize how quickly. Soon enough she'll be off to school, maybe joining sports or the band, spending time with all of the new friends she'll make. She won't be his little girl who fits in his arms like this forever - he should savor this moment.

Time blurs by as he holds her, half-paying attention to the show as one short episode turns to another, half-dozing himself. He doesn't even realize how long it's been until he hears the door open.

"I'm home!" You say as you step inside. It isn't long before you find them in the living room, your daughter cradled against Tobio's chest. He smiles at you, and your daughter stirs against him, woken by the slight commotion.

"Hi my love," You coo at her, "How are you feeling?" She only hums in response, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Why don't we let Daddy get up?" You ask, reaching for her.

"Hm-mm," She shakes her head, snaking her arms around his neck again and burying her face against him. You look at him with wide, surprised eyes, and he can only return the expression. Earlier, she'd pouted because you weren't there. He's just as taken aback.

"Well," Your expression softens as you whisper, "I guess you had a good day with Daddy then." You lean in to kiss him, and he returns it. "How long have you been sitting here?" You ask.

"A few hours," He estimates, "But I don't mind." He presses a kiss to the top of her head. "She'll be begging for you before you know it," He predicts, and you shake your head with a smile. You both know he's right. For now, if snuggles with Daddy are what she wants, how can you deny her?

[komelliko]

manipulative!boss!sunday x timid!secretary!reader

summary: After Sunday spoiled your 'not-date' with Aventurine, he feels he still has to warn you about some things. wc: 1.6k - this is nsfw! cw for dubcon! fondling, masturbation, sexual fantasy a/n: The guillemets «» are still used to indicate Sunday's telepathy!

part 5 / part 6 (nsfw) --- You insisted that Aventurine not walk you back home—It was hard to articulate one sole reason why. Sunday's confrontation was a large factor, though. It didn't feel right to throw him into more trouble like that—let him get the sweep, as he put it. You could brave the streets back to your apartment by yourself without much hassle, anyways. Very little of Golden Hour was left unlit, after all. You turn to look behind you. The feeling of still being watched crawls up your back like a creeping fungus, a sense of unease clinging to your spine all the way until it reaches your throat. But in the cacophony in golden light and bustling figures, you can't make anything out. You know who it is that's following you. You just pretend he's not there, and simply press on.

« But something tells you that you have to take another route. » You're not sure why...? So you stop, you steady yourself, and you try to figure out where you are and how long it is until you're on Glaux Avenue. « Something tells you that you have to walk behind the food truck and into the passageway between that jewelry store and that automobile dealer. » Hesitant, you trust the strange feeling, slipping behind the truck and into a dark passageway, two impenetrable walls of brick squeezing the thin line of the alley together, bins of waste and discarded belongings littering both sides. You don't understand what makes you think this will be a shortcut to Glaux Avenue. 

« But something tells you that if you just take a few more steps, just barely enough to no longer be in the light, just a few more, one more step... » You get the notion that someone familiar is behind you. You freeze in place, recognizing the exact sound of the footsteps calmly approaching you in great clarity. You turn a quarter of the way around, not yet enough to meet his eyes before— Sunday clasps a hand over your face. You feel your lips smushed under his palm, your front teeth against the cool cotton fabric of his white glove. "Listen to me for a moment," he commands. "Don't speak." You stay silent, eyes locked on the wall in front of you. You assume you'd be terrified out of your mind if you had it within yourself to be that way. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the surprise. Besides, you were sure making a fuss wouldn't do anything good. "No matter how I or any member of The Family may act around that man in public, I cannot stress to you how little you should trust him. From this moment forward, do not answer any questions he asks, do not accept anything he offers you, and by Xipe, do not ever let me find you fraternizing with him ever again." Oh. You swear you could almost break out laughing. This- This wasn't Sunday. Sunday had been unusual at times, sure, but it was all innocent (if uncomfortable) behavior. It's almost comical, you assure yourself, to hear such harsh threats come out of his mouth! That explains why you can barely believe what he's saying, after all. Nothing to do with being terrified of your employer—nothing of the sort. "...Awlrigh...?" "Are you not taking me seriously, [Y/N]?" You take in a sharp breath, even if it's stunted by Sunday's hand in your face. Frantically, you shake your head no. "Good. I'm glad you have returned to being reasonable." His hand lifts off your mouth, an awkward thread of saliva connecting your bottom lip to the damp stain of breath on the palm of his glove. Sunday closes his hand, almost as if he's tenderly holding the spot on his glove for safe keeping, before bringing it down to hold on to your waist. "[Y/N], you are one of the most important people in the entire Family. What you decide to do with your time impacts not just you, but the entirely of Penacony. Do you remember what I said about upholding our reputations?" "Yes, sir." "I meant every word of it." Both of his hands are now holding your sides, bringing you in to press your back up against him. "You must understand what the good people of Penacony would think of me if I let my dear assistant run off with a member of the IPC." Sunday takes in another breath as if he means to say more, but stops himself. You can almost feel his composure slip for a moment, and as you turn your head back to see what the matter is, you notice him looking around warily—Checking for witnesses. His right hand slowly and hesitantly ascends, wrapping his fingers around your breast, creasing the cloth of your blazer underneath his grip. Sunday barely stifles a groan, his other hand squeezing your side fiercely as if to steady himself. "I w- I would not consider myself a vengeful man, [Y/N]," he stammers, lightheaded with his own desire as he fondles you. "Nor would I consider myself a man who is jealous beyond reasonable means. It is not covetous nor avaricious merely to insist upon what is already mine." His last sentence is tugged almost into a hoarse cry, and he bites his tongue to suppress another groan.

Though he would be remiss to admit it to you at a time like this, Sunday understands what he is doing is unconscionable, and he hated himself for it. But there is simply no other recourse. In matters of temptation, his behavior only seems sinful on the imperfect surface. For temptation is the fledgling form of greed, of gluttony and corruption, but the source of that which drove him to take you in his hands and tortured him night after night with thoughts of defiling you was instead responsibility.

Sunday has an obligation to make his possession of you known to himself, to you, and most importantly, to others. Others like that Avgin scum who dared to try and steal you from him behind his back. More were bound to attempt similar foolish things if Sunday did not reassert his authority with proper haste. You feel Sunday's breath curl down the back of your neck as he moves your hair to one shoulder. He plants a kiss on the soft flesh of your neck, right where it meets the edge of your jaw, and you shudder at the feelings of his lips against your skin. "If I can't trust you to make wise choices with your time off, I might not be able to give you time off at all," Sunday whispers lowly in your ear, his tone dreadfully serious. "We don't want to worry about you getting in trouble, do we?" He pauses for a moment, before adding "I certainly don't." And just as his hands remove themselves from your body, you turn around and Sunday has vanished. ... ... ... ...

Sunday is able to think about little else once he reaches his quarters, and he shuts his door emphatically the moment he enters.

To alleviate his own misdeeds, it is imperative that he approach it in an orderly fashion. Sunday takes off his coat properly and hangs it on the third spoke of his coat rack. With his dorsal wings free to open, Sunday takes off his vest one arm at a time, folding it neatly and setting it on his dresser. Sunday rolls up the bottom hem of his shirt until it reaches his torso, then pulls the neck over his head, then extends his arms out to pull it off his body entirely—The shirt then folded neatly as well, and set next to the folded vest. As one last precaution, Sunday scans his quarters. Not a blind has been left undrawn, nor a door left cracked open, nor an object out of its usual place. Sunday listens to the sound of his own breathing for a moment, as it is his only company: It is labored, heavy with desperation, tortured with knowledge of Sunday's unfulfilled responsibilities. Sunday sits himself on the side of his bed, facing away from the door, and undoes his belt. Xipe will forgive him. Xipe will forgive him. That which torments him is much more than wanton impulse. The infraction of him spitting in his own palm and satisfying his own carnal urges is infinitesimal to the weight of Penacony's corruption. With no person to confess to but himself, Bronze Melodia of Xipe, Sunday has full authority to absolve himself of guilt. For a cause like his, his actions are no transgression. With the stories he's listened to, Sunday knows the habits of lesser men, and lesser men do worse daily without even a second thought. Sunday brings his other hand up to massage his face, his head rolling back from the feeling of his own hand stroking him. In due time, it would be your hand, soft and gentle and perfumed and perfect in ways he could barely fathom, the rhythm of your delicate fingers brushing against his smoldering-hot skin euphoric beyond his wildest imagination. Sunday falls back onto his own bed, one foot lifting to dig its heel into the mattress as his movements grow more fervid at the thought of your face, your voice, the kind look in your eyes. Nothing short of taking you entirely could satiate him, and he knew it; There would be no other way to fulfill his responsibilities towards you. He bites his tongue, holding back grunts a more sinful man would make carelessly, and dares not to buck his hips into his own hand like some sort of uncouth aberrant. Still, even as his tongue is held, your name is repeated in his thoughts like a desperate prayer. With the invocation of your name, he begs for mercy from this torture. With your name, he begs for release. [Y/N]. [Y/N]. [Y/N].

--- a/n: tumblr was fighting with me this whole fucking time and I finally figured out it was because of it that third sunday mind control sentence and for the life of me I could not tell you what was so bad about it so prevent me from posting this feedback is always appreciated! tag list: @j1yu425 @crepezinhos @i-am-tiredd @8x9d @ruruize @herrscherofprocrastination

[crunchystarz]

haiii I love your writing and esp your self aware au!

Do you think you can do one for your au with Riddle and mc where mc basically fusses over him (trying to do all the chores before and after work so he doesn’t have to even though he has nothing better to do, double checking for his needs/wants a lot) all the time like they’re trying desperately to keep a house plant alive even though he’s more than fine?? (If that makes ANY sense 😭)

thanks a bunch, take your time!🖤

Xo, Manny

"Take a break"

Self-aware!Riddle Rosehearts x GN!Reader

Cw- Reader honestly just overworking the self, fluff, oneshot

Word count: 1446

A/N: HII imma be so honest I hope I did this req right if not I beg your biggest pardon 🙂‍↔️(fancy voice), also while this is technically a yandere au this one is just Riddle getting reader prioritize their needs so, either way enjoy!

Riddle Rosehearts was always your favorite twisted wonderland character. Even so you never expected or could have prepared for him to not only gain Self-awareness but also become a real person.

Since he's started living with you, you felt the need to monitor him almost like a toddler. You're always cooking and cleaning for him , despite his constant protests. Yeah he can do everything himself he's fully capable but a part of you is so afraid that he'll break or something if you don't.

You would wake up early in the morning just to make sure everything was tidy and Riddle would have breakfast when he eventually woke from his slumber. You would always clean up after him even if he told you he was going to once he was finished.

You made sure he'd get sleep or drink enough water. Which would be fine if you yourself did the same. You're always so worried about if he's getting enough of something or if there was anything he wanted, yet when it came to you, you'd completely brush them off.

You stumbled through the door late at night. Riddle watched observantly from the couch, closing the book he was reading. His gray eyes followed you as you went to set the bags you held in your hands on the island surface.

“You're home rather late [Name] “ He spoke as he stood up, slowly making his way over to you. You just yawned and stretched out your stiff body. You could just feel his gaze on you.

“Yeah sorry they had me working late— yawn , you need anything? I could make you some dinner if you hadn't already or I could run you a bath” you responded trying to stay upbeat despite your clearly tired appearance.

Riddle shook his head. “No not at all you should sleep “ he spoke sternly, crossing his arms. You let out a tired giggle.

“Yeah yeah I will, after I finish cleaning up the kitchen — speaking of did you eat and drink today?”

The red head let out a sigh. You'd constantly worry about him, he was completely capable of taking care of himself, he wasn't a small child anymore and despite not being completely familiar with this world he wasn't stupid either.

“Yes, I did but from the looks of this you clearly haven't, ” You snickered a bit before shaking your head.

“Oh you worry too much, I've just had a busy night I'm fine” You replied, walking over to the other side of the island just to be stopped. You lazily tilted your head as Riddle held your wrist firmly.

“I already cleaned the kitchen while you were away” The house warden said, before gently guiding you away with a hand on your back.

“Great, I'll make us something to eat” you said, letting out a yawn. Riddle sighed before leaning you over to the couch.

“You shall do no such thing, now sit” He commanded, his voice stern. You blinked , but continued to sit anyway, not wanting to see what would happen if you didn't. The idea of him using his signature crosses your sleep deprived mind and it makes you shiver despite him ever using it on you since he got here.

“Riddle I'm fine I promise I just need to—”

“To what Collapse of exhaustion?” Riddle cut you off, his voice was pointed and full of authority. Much more serious than before “You're overworking yourself again, I'm more than capable of taking care of everything so just relax” he continued, expression softening at your tired state.

You groaned and laid back against the couch cushions. You felt a little guilty. He was the one teleported into a different world. You should be the one taking care of him and all his needs, not the other way around.

Riddle moved around the kitchen with ease. You watched as the red head got on his tippy toes to grab one of your mugs from the cabinets. You wanted to tell him you could do it for him but you just knew he'd protest. You slumped into the couch more.

He was quick to take the kettle off the stove once it started to hiss softly. He carefully poured the hot water into the cup. Riddle was observant and made sure to add just the right amount of sweetness. It had to be perfect. Once satisfied he set the tea down to go find the cookies he had made earlier.

He had a lot of time to spend when you were gone after all. He made his way way over to you, gray eyes watched as you perked up at the sight of the sweets.

“You didn't have to rea—”

“Don't start “ The house warden cut you off. He handed you the cup, carefully so you wouldn't burn your hands. He placed the cookies on the coffee table before sighing.

“You seriously work yourself to exhaustion and still proceeded to worry about me, it's foolish if you ask me” Riddle said, placing his hands on his hips. You looked down at the warm liquid in your mug thinking for the right words.

“It's just, I'm supposed to take care of you , I owe you that at least you know… “ you mumbled before taking a sip of the tea.

“You owe me nothing, I am not a child who needs to be protected, I am not fragile and neither are you however “ He pauses for a moment looking down at you. “You can become fragile if you do not upkeep yourself “

You opened your mouth to respond;to protest, but Riddle held up a hand to stop you.

“I am not ungrateful,” he spoke out, his voice softening yet still stern.“I appreciate everything you’ve done since I arrived here.You’ve given me a home, patience, and care that I could never have expected. But…” He hesitated, his gray eyes searching your face for a moment before he continued. “...You can’t give all of that to me at the expense of yourself.”

You blinked at him, a little stunned by the depth of his words. “Listen I’m not—”

“You are,” Riddle interrupted firmly, leaning slightly closer. “You work late, come home, and immediately worry about whether I’ve eaten or rested, yet you neglect your own needs. Do you think I don’t notice? I’ve seen you skipping meals, staying up far too late cleaning, and leaving your own tasks undone to take care of mine.”

You frowned, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze. If you could you'd sink into the couch cushions even more. “I know that, Riddle. I just… It feels like if I don’t do these things, I’m failing you somehow.”

His eyes widened for a second before shaking his head. “No, no how could you be failing me? If anything you're failing yourself”

You hesitated, your tongue poking at your cheek as you toyed with the mug in your hands. "I'm not failing myself," you tried weakly, though the exhaustion in your voice betrayed you. Riddle let out a long sigh, running a hand through his vibrant red hair.

“You are," he countered, his voice lowering. "And if you won't take the necessary steps to care for yourself, then I will ensure it happens."

Your breath caught in your throat "You don't have to do that, Riddle," you said, "You're supposed to be my guest, not my caretaker."

Riddle's lips twitched, his frown somehow deepened more for a split second. A look of…disappointment? "A guest? Is that how you still see me?"

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the question. "I mean… I guess. I don’t know how else to describe this situation. All I know is I don't want you to go back to being under that pressure like you did back at home”

His mind went blank for a second. He shook his head and cleared his throat. “[Name]” he started softly. You watched him as he looked away with red cheeks. After a moment he continued.

“Like I've stated before you've helped me in ways I couldn't imagine you don't need to push yourself just for my sake I can help I am a house warden after all, I care for you…a lot so do not tangle yourself in with my needs if you are not to take care of your own…please”

You wanted to protest but the words laid flat on your tongue. You could just nod in defeat as you rested your mug on the coffee table. Riddle smiled slightly before clearing his throat and putting back a stern face—blush still clear on his face.

“Good now I shall go run you a bath, then you shall get some much needed rest” The house warden said taking your now empty cup and plate into the kitchen.

When was the last time you felt cared for like this? All you knew was that it made your heart swell. Riddle Rosehearts was always your favorite..

MASTERLIST

[louisaguy]

“Diana, you really are being silly about this,” Ingrid hissed, hurrying to keep up with Diana as she did her best to power walk away from her fellow agent. And preferably out of a window.

“Oh! Well! Shall we have a little laugh, then? Ha-ha-ha!” She pressed on a little faster, a twist of glee shooting up in her when Ingrid gave a fraction of a stumble.

“Diana,” Ingrid whispered again, nearly begging as she tailed the woman she still had the audacity to be calling her friend. “Come on, now, it’s only one assignment--”

Diana stopped suddenly, scoffing to turn around and look Ingrid in the eyes. “Oh, only one assignment!” she snapped sarcastically. “You make it sound so insignificant, Ingrid, that you snaked me out of my rightful place--”

“Oh my--” Ingrid shook her head. “Do you even hear yourself? ‘Your rightful place’, like you’ve been promised the world and more, you are so full of it--”

“--As Partner’s protégé , it should be me working next to him on this assignment, not you! And not only am I being passed over, I have to endure the humiliation of not even knowing the details-- I mean, since when do you have higher clearance than I do!?”

“You’re Partner’s protégé now, are you?” Ingrid crossed her arms. “Tell me, when did he bestow that title on you? Because I was under the impression we were all working our way up the ranks, that any one of us could be in line for First or Second desk--”

Diana barked a laugh. Ingrid frowned.

“...And anyway, Diana, like I said, it’s only one assignment. I’m sure you’ll get the next one.”

“No.” Diana’s jaw locked defiantly. “It’s never just one assignment.”

And perhaps Ingrid was right. Perhaps this assignment would prove insignificant in the grand scheme of things, and Diana was here making a fuss over nothing. But a single assignment, Diana knew well, could make or break a career. And, intentional sabotage or not, it rankled with her that Ingrid-- Cartwright’s favorite, and five years Diana’s junior-- would be chosen to work with Partner, for whom Diana had been the most loyal underling of for years. The closer she got to forty-- and she was quite close now-- the more she worried about the amount of time she had left to climb in her career, and whether each new height she reached would be her peak.

And she wasn’t ready to peak yet in her current position-- reasonably high up in the service, nothing to sniff at, but not the one calling the real shots. She had her sights set on First Desk. And nothing would stop her from reaching it. Not even her so-called “friend” Ingrid, who, unfortunately for them both, also had her sights set on the top.

Diana let the fury and the frustration of the previous two hours, as she pleaded her case to Partner and was swiftly and unmercifully denied, emanate through her as she shook herself out, turning away from Ingrid and continuing down the hall to her office door. Ingrid trailed her again, though less urgently now that they’d had their little row, and was just starting to speak again-- saying God knows what, Diana resolved to tune her out-- when Diana swiped her keycard and opened the door to her office.

…And froze abruptly, causing Ingrid to bump into her from behind.

“Diana, what--”

Then Ingrid saw what Diana was looking at, and she froze, too.

The light was on in Taverner’s office. Not a file out of place. Except…

A child, somewhere between five and ten years old-- Diana was always terrible at guessing children’s ages-- was sitting in the big plush chair at Diana’s desk, sticking his legs out as he spun himself in a quick circle.

When he spotted the two women standing in the doorway, he caught himself against the desk, though still swayed in the seat, dizziness making his body lurch in slow rotations.

“Hi,” he said plainly.

Diana, who was already not having a spectacular day, didn’t bother to contain her frustration. “Why. on Earth,” she asked dangerously, narrowing her eyes at the boy. “Is there a child sitting behind my--”

Ingrid squeezed her forearm, leaning forward to whisper into her ear: “Diana, hush. It’s baby Cartwright.”

And. Well. That changed things, then, didn’t it? She gave the child a once-over again. Young as he was, he seemed well behaved judging by the state of the office, the only thing out of place a pen and a doodle-covered paper sat in front of him. And now that it was pointed out to her, she could spot the resemblance to the Old Bastard in the boy-- his calm stillness that felt almost eerie in a child, his blue eyes wide and seemingly all-knowing. He immediately unnerved her.

She bit out a dazzling grin.

“Well, of course!” The forced cheerfulness in her voice made Diana want to choke on her own tongue. “Hello, young Cartwright.”

“My name’s River.” The boy pulled his sneakered feet up onto Diana’s chair, tucking them underneath him so that he could kneel to peer over the tall desk, and she had to choke back her reprimand-- do you have any idea how much that chair costs?

“Of course,” Diana said again. She already had a tension headache flaring up. “What a… lovely name.”

River made a face. “I don’t like it,” he told her, as if letting her in on a great and serious secret. “Granddad says my mum was in her ‘hippie phase’.”

“...Ah,” Diana said, unsure how else to respond. She had never been the most comfortable around children in general, and this particular one was even more disquieting. Both his mannerisms, uncannily similar to the man behind the curtain of everything going on at the Park, as well as his proximity to power, made Diana want him to leave very quickly.

On the other hand, his proximity to power could certainly be an asset…

“You know,” she said. “I think I’ve got a few candies in my desk drawer, if you’d like them.” In reality they were only breath mints, but she was hoping the child wouldn’t know the difference.

“Yes, please!” River chirped. He rolled himself away from the desk as Diana approached, but didn’t make a move to get up out of her chair. Damned child. “Granddad told me not to touch anything until he came back, so I didn’t snoop.”

Which meant he had definitely snooped. Diana repressed a groan, hoping whatever the little twat reported back to Daddy would make her look good, or at least not bad. At the very least, she assured herself, he wouldn’t be able to call her a slob.

“Here you are.” She deposited a few of the mints into River’s hand, though she’d done a quick count of the number in the tin and concluded that he’d already snacked on more than a few of them. “You know, you do remind me quite a bit of your grandfather.”

The boy beamed, which made him look absolutely nothing like David Cartwright. That man never smiled. Except, rumor had it, when looking after his grandson, whom he adored more than anything else in the world. More than his political power, even.

Yes, Diana was deciding. She had to find a way to please this child. If he left her office tonight upset, or even offended, she may as well kiss First Desk goodbye.

While River was occupied picking through the multicolored mints, Diana glanced up toward the door of her office again-- Ingrid had let it swing shut, but was standing near it with her arms crossed, an odd kind of amused smile on her face.

“What?” Diana whispered, coming back toward her. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing.” Ingrid tilted her head. “I’m just enjoying this.”

“Enjoying what?”

“Watching you suck up to a child.” Ingrid laughed. “I mean, really, Diana, he’s eight. Don’t you find this all a bit embarrassing?”

Diana made a mental note of the number. “Well, you can see yourself out, then.”

“Oh, no, no, no.” Ingrid grinned again. “This is the best thing I’ve seen all week.”

Diana ignored her and turned back to little River. Ingrid could poke fun all she liked. It wasn’t her approval that mattered-- it was Cartwright’s.

“How would you like to play a game?” She asked the boy, scouring her brain for any memories of her schoolyard days.

“Sure!” River agreed easily.

.

When Cartwirght finally came to collect his grandson an hour later, it was to the sound of River laughing. After attempting Diana’s sorry excuse for a game, he had convinced her to try one that he played at school. The boy even managed to rope Ingrid into playing, too, though neither agent could quite figure out the rules from River’s unfocused babbling (Diana suspected the rules may have well been changing based on River’s whims), so he kept beating the two of them over and over. Still, it kept him entertained until David appeared in the doorway of Diana’s office, and River hopped up to run over and happily take his hand.

She had suspected partway through the strange experience that River had been left here, in the office of one of the few high-ranking female agents in the Park, for reasons having to do with little other than her high heels, a suspicion which was confirmed when David said, “Thank you for looking after him, ladies,” in a way that made Diana’s teeth grind together so hard she thought one would crack.

But still. She kept her smile. Kept her composure. Until the OB and his grandgremlin were gone. And, all things considered, she felt she had made a fairly positive impression on the boy-- he waved goodbye to her (her, and not Ingrid), as he and his grandfather left. Hopefully that would earn her a point or two.

So, all in all, despite the horrid mess of a day that had preceded it, Diana felt overall quite satisfied with the evening’s end. At least, until Ingrid coughed next to her.

“Ahem-toady-hm.”

Diana scowled, elbowing her in the ribs.

[onegianthotmess]

“Hey, it’s cold outside, yeah? Stay a bit longer…”

Synopsis: When they’d first arrived and settled into their room in the home of Finnian and his spouse, Leona was quite annoyed at how cold he was and was fairly jealous that Morel had adjusted so easily. It seemed that even Gardenia, who was only a year old and much more fragile, somehow adjusted better than her father. But, after a few nights, Leona completely changed his mind since the cold meant Morel snuggled up to him even more in bed and they were covered with even more blankets, making everything ten times more comfortable. This also made Leona ten times more difficult to drag out of bed, but at least it made him ten times cuter…

A/N: I’ve been feeling the cold cozies lately (what I call feeling extra snuggly inside while it’s cold enough to freeze hell over outside during winter) and I wanted to write something that allowed me to describe the lovely feeling of being perfectly snuggled up in your bed during winter but also slightly Christmas-y since that’s what me and my family celebrate during the holiday season. If the title didn’t give it away, I took inspiration from the song Baby, It’s Cold Outside and basically used it as an excuse to write clingy Leona trying to keep Morel in bed. Such is the dynamic of chronic napper/one who always sleeps x early bird/one who never sleeps enough. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this little fic and are having a good holiday season so far!!!

Lions—and lion beastmen by extension—weren’t built for the cold. They were built for being the apex predators of the savanna, to live in hot conditions that taught them the absolute joys of enjoying a lovely rest in the shade and near a nice and cool water source. The blistering heat of the unfairly breathtaking savanna was their ideal habitat.

That was the environment Leona Kingscholar was built for. Not the fucking winter wonderland that was his father-in-law’s home.

When Morel had proposed spending the Christmas holiday with her side of the family—namely her father, stepparent, and two half brothers—Leona didn’t see much of a problem with it. After all, Gardenia was now a year old and could handle a two week stay somewhere without getting sick or causing too much of a fuss. And it was a bit unfair that Finnian always had to come to them to see his precious little granddaughter. The fact that it would be the first time Gardenia would be seeing snow was also a cute added bonus to the trip.

He’d dealt with the winters at Night Raven College a few times instead of going home to his family for the holidays, excusing that the unfamiliar climate had gotten him a bit sick. All of it was bullshit, he really just didn’t want to go home and Crowley was too busy with his head being sixty-five feet up his own ass that Leona probably could’ve stayed over the summer as well as the winter holiday and Crowley wouldn’t have cared.

So, with that past experience, Leona figured that he could live with a bit of cold and snow after suffering through NRC’s winters that were arctic compared to the warmth of Sunset Savana.

Oh, how wrong the Second Prince was.

Not only was he very wrong, but he was also very unprepared for just how cold his father-in-law’s homeland would be. The temperatures were well below zero when Leona and Morel arrived with Gardenia and Leona was shocked at the sheer amount of snow. In some places, snow drifts were likely about up to his shoulder, and the top of Morel’s head was maybe only an inch above that without her heels on. On top of all of the snow, the wind was so cold that it felt like pins and needles against his face and he could almost feel it through the hat—that Morel made just for him so that it would cover his ears snugly but comfortably—on his head.

Leona was actually extremely almost jealous of Gardenia at that moment because not only was she completely bundled up thanks to Morel’s maternal anxiety, the cub was also snuggly wrapped against Morel’s chest in a baby sling that was specifically bought for the trip so ensure that she wouldn’t get too cold or sick. It didn’t help that she was also sleeping soundly in the thing as well, the wind providing the perfect amount of white noise that was muffled through the thick hat on her head.

Leona had never been more grateful to be inside in his life once they’d actually made it to Finnian’s home and he let them in. Luckily the beastman was able to hold it together until he, Morel, and Gardenia, who was sleeping in what used to be Morel’s crib, were all settled into the guest room. Morel had only turned around to lay their cub down to finish her little nap when Leona had instantly wrapped himself in every last blanket on the bed, trying to warm himself up as best he could.

“Really, Cubby?” Morel asked, laughing a bit as her husband began to pout.

“I grew up on the savanna! I’m not built for this!” Leona hissed, no bite to his words whatsoever.

“Oh, poor baby,” Morel cooed, using her baby voice as she crawled onto the bed and wrapped her arms around Leona—as best as she could, given the mountain of blankets he wrapped himself in compared to her small size. “Do you need to be wrapped and swaddled up like Gardenia, Cubby!?”

“You’re lucky you’re my mate, or I’d claw out your tongue,” Leona threatened emptily, leaning into his wife’s embrace. Though it was subtle thanks to the layers of blankets, he could feet her body heat and it made him feel even warmer.

Throughout the first few nights, Leona wasn’t very happy. Even inside, he was still chilled to the bone and sat the closest to the fireplace he could, often holding his napping daughter while idle chatter or the chaos of a competitive board game filled the space.

But, as they reached the middle of their first week in Finnian’s home, Leona realized something amazing about the cold.

Not only was it an excuse to lovingly smother Morel with cuddles in bed as they slept, but Leona had more leverage to keep her in bed with him due to the warmth and comfort of both the blankets and his embrace, especially since Morel’s small size meant she got cold much quicker than he did. This revelation made him even clingier, holding onto Morel with a gentle but firm grip and trying every way he knew how to keep her laying in bed with him even for just a few more minutes.

Which brings us to the morning towards the end of their first week.

Nothing was planned for the household today. Since going outside and letting Gardenia see the snow for the first time in person yesterday, everyone silently decided to just stay inside for the day since it was still snowing quite heavily. Though they had extra blankets and each other’s body heat, Leona could still feel the cold of the room around his head, especially around his sensitive ears. He’d planned to stay in bed with his wife until noon, but said wife’s father had different plans.

Plans that started at six thirty in the morning.

“Morel?” Finnian asked softly as he gently tapped on the door a few times before poking his head inside. Leona was still asleep like the dead, but Morel murmured and sat up to face her father as he said her name. Even as an infant she was a light sleeper, a trait that unfortunately contributed to her being an early bird. “I’m sorry I woke you up, but I was wondering if you three would be out for breakfast?”

Morel yawned a bit, rubbing one of her eyes with her hand before she answered, “Possibly. But, given Leona’s sleeping habits, don’t count on it.”

“Alright, my dear,” Finnian nodded. “Have a good morning.”

Morel sleepily waved after her father as he left, gently shutting the door and walking down the hall to the kitchen. The white haired woman was about to go back to sleep for a bit—she was especially tired after Gardenia was up so late last night thanks to Morel’s half-brothers playing with her—but she felt her bladder press inside of her. Morel groaned, feeling too cozy to want to leave her bed with her husband, but also not in the mood to hold it and possibly piss in the bed if she did fall back asleep.

But—and she should’ve seen this coming—just as Morel moved to get up and leave the bed, Leona’s arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her back down. With a small “oof” she was back to being snuggled up to her husband’s chest.

“Leona, let me go, I have to get up,” Morel laughed sleepily, trying to remain quiet so she wouldn’t wake Gardenia up. Though the cub slept like a corps much like her father most of the time, she could also sleep lightly just like her mother.

“No,” Leona replied simply, planting a small but firm kiss on his wife’s forehead. “Stay in bed with me, Herbivore.”

“Kitty, I know you’re cozy, but it’ll just be for a few minutes at most,” Morel sighed, trying to squirm out of Leona’s grip.

“No, it can wait,” Leona murmured, gently pulling Morel closer to him. “It can wait until about noon.”

“It really can’t, Kitty. I need you to let me go,” Morel sighed, still attempting to escape her clingy husband. She loved him and cuddling with him, but she’d rather not do that on urine soaked sheets and possibly piss on him as well.

With a huff, Leona pulled his wife on top of him before murmuring, “Hey, it’s cold outside, yeah? Stay a bit longer, Herbivore.”

“I would love to, but I wouldn’t love pissing all over you and the sheets,” Morel replied, earning a groan and a pit from Leona. With a laugh, the white hearted woman kissed her husband’s cheek with a smile. “If I give you a good enough deal, will you let me go?”

“How good are we talkin’, Morel?” Leona queried, raising an eyebrow.

“If you let me go to the bathroom and get Gardenia some breakfast, and you change Gardenia, you can stay in bed with us until lunch around one,” Morel offered with a smile, watching Leona think as the cogs and gears turned in his mind. “Do we have a deal, Cubby?”

“As long as you quit it with that stupid name, we sure as hell do,” Leona replied after a moment, giving his wife a peck on the forehead before releasing her.

Morel gave Leona a kiss on the cheek as a small show of gratitude before she left the room. She hadn’t realized how badly she needed to pee until the need his her like a truck halfway to the bathroom and the poor woman ended up cutting off her younger half-brother just so she wouldn’t piss herself.

“Really, Ellie?” he asked, more so playfully than actually upset.

“If you wanted me to piss right outside your bedroom, I would’ve done it!” Morel retorted playfully from inside the bathroom, letting out a much-needed sigh of relief. “I may be an adult and a mother, but I’m also the pettiest woman you’ll ever meet in your entire life!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” her half-brother quickly stated with a small laugh before he very nervously continued, “please don’t piss outside of my bedroom.”

Morel chuckled as she finished washing and drying her hands and opened the bathroom door, “Be nice to me and I won’t.”

“Fine, fi- Hey!” the younger boy quickly protested as Morel pat him on the head two times before walking back down the hall, blinding towards the kitchen.

The white haired woman smiled as she rounded the corner into the kitchen where Finnian was busying himself with making breakfast and reminding his daughter where she got her love of cooking from.

“Papa, do you have a small plate I can take for Dena to eat?” Morel asked as she took a couple of water bottles from the fridge. “I’ve made a deal with Leona that will require all three of us to stay in bed until around lunchtime.”

“I figured you’d say something like that when you eventually came out, so the answer is yes, there’s a plate for the baby,” Finnian replied, gesturing to the island. There was a tiny plate with some eggs and cut up bits of sausage on it, a tiny baby spoon sitting next to it.

“Thank you, Papa,” Morel smiled, hugging her father, who quickly moved to reciprocate the gesture. “You are so sweet. I love you.”

“I love you more, my darling Clementine,” Finnian sighed, patting his daughter’s head once they both pulled away from each other. “And you don’t have to thank me. I would never deprive a sweet baby of her right to eat, much less my own granddaughter. What kind of opa do you think I am?”

“A very good one,” Morel replied as she took the plate and spoon from the island, holding the bottles of water with her arm. “I’ll see you around lunch, Papa.”

“Make sure you and Leona eat at some point today, Morel,” Finnian smiled after his daughter, watching her turn the corner to exit the kitchen before calmly going back to preparing breakfast for everyone else in the house.

Meanwhile, Morel had made her way back down the hall and quietly entered the room her and her family were using for their trip, trying to not disturb anyone else in the house. The white haired woman quietly shut the door behind her before she turned around and stopped once she noticed Leona and Gardenia staring at her.

“Finally, I thought you’d run off or something, Herbivore,” Leona grumbled, not bite to his words whatsoever. He was too soft around his wife and daughter to ever actually have any sort of bite to his words at all.

Gardenia seemed to have been impatiently waiting for her mother as well, making grabby hands at her as she babbled, “Mama! Mama! Mama!”

Morel smiled at her daughter before she tossed a bottle of water to Leona, who expertly caught it thanks to his cat reflexes, before making her way to her side of the bed. The short woman set down her own water bottle and the plate of food on the nightstand before she crawled onto the bed, shuffling until she was under the covers and finally a bit more warm. But, she didn’t have long to get too comfortable, however. Leona quickly pulled his wife towards him and just as quickly maneuvered himself, Morel, Gardenia, and even the blankets to create a perfect nest of blankets wrapped around the three of the in the middle of the bed.

“Well, hello to you, too,” Morel chuckled as she gently took Gardenia into her arms. “Did I make my kitty wait too long?”

“Damn fuckin’ straight,” Leona sighed, burying his face into the crook of his wife��s neck as she hissed at him to watch his language in front of their very young and impressionable daughter. “I love Nina, but she isn’t big enough to fully cuddle with and use as a nice and soft pillow.”

“Well, you could, but you’d crush her,” Morel laughed lightly, Leona pouting and bumping her shoulder blade with his head.

“Papa! Papa!” Gardenia babbled, making grabby hands at her father as she saw his ears.

Leona let out a laugh through his nose, resting his chin on Morel’s shoulder as he raised an eyebrow at his daughter with a grin, “What do you want, brat?”

“Papa!” Gardenia repeated, leaning towards him and wiggling her little body as she puffed out her chubby cheeks in a pout. “Papa!”

“I think someone wants her papa’s ears,” Morel giggled playfully, moving one of her hands to gently tug on one of Leona’s soft ears.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Leona sighed, gently pulling Morel’s hand away from his ear before giving his hand to his daughter, who happily took it and began to gnaw on his pointer finger. “She can have my hand to use as a teething toy instead.”

“Stingy,” Morel hummed playfully, no actual bite to her words other than soft sarcasm, as she kissed Leona’s cheek and leaned her head against his.

It was cold outside. But, within their tiny nest of blankets on the bed, it was rather warm. And no one planned to leave for quite a while, especially after Leona and Gardenia fell asleep again while Morel simply smiled and gently pet both of her sleepy kitties.

A/N: HELL, YEAH, GOT IT DONE BEFORE CHRISTMAS EVE! I hope all of you enjoyed this little fic of Leona and Morel’s first holiday season as parents with Gardenia and have a wonderful rest of your holiday season! Especially since I’ve got one more piece planned that may or may not come out tomorrow!

[supercantaloupe]

unclear whether i'm getting upgraded to principal on the KC concert or not...?

[umbrvx]

[ sword drawn over 3d model reference: unbreakable faith cc Osdias on sketchfab ]

⚪ 9158

[pigeonclaw]

I haven't felt very motivated to draw lately (what chronic fatigue does to a guy 😔) but I have cracked open my sketchbook a few times. Mostly to doodle TBC.

[wraithsoutlaws]

TITLE: Perfect Drug CHAPTER ONE: Jawbreaker WORD COUNT: 4,309 PAIRING: Dagger/Dum Dum CW: Light violence, gore mention The story of how two fucked up guys become one fucked up couple.

The sky changed colors in the city. The endless scroll of neon gave it an artificial glow, and from the first moment he crossed the desert line, Dagger had resented it. Nothing looked real. Nothing was–not the food, the music. Certainly not the people. He found himself looking up as he drove further into it’s clutches, searching for a sliver of sky that felt familiar, but the only thing he found was a thinly veiled layer of bullshit.  Northside was different, though no less oppressive. The smokestacks kept the air murky, and no matter how many times he blinked or re-calibrated his optics, he couldn’t quite clear his vision of the red haze that defined it. But unlike Night City, it took pride in it’s own ugly. And he liked that. 

The All Foods factory sat like an icon at the center of it all, more mythical to the locals than even the crumbs of Arasaka littering the district. Dagger stood outside with a cigarette, gazing into it’s shuttered maw. 

A week had passed since he found his way to the building for the first time, toting a severed head in one hand, and a duffel of recovered Militech cargo in the other. He had taken both from a smoldering warzone in Sierra Sonorra where two behemoths fought their last battle; a cadre of Maelstrom gangoons and a unit of corpo dogs. He could have taken the wreckage back for the Wraiths. The gear would have fetched a pretty enny, and the head of a Milietech sergeant would make a lovely hood ornamented for his Quadra–but Dagger never cared for money, and he had plenty of heads already. 

He brought the cargo home to Northside instead, head in hand like a peace offering, still bleeding fresh after decapitation. He wanted a deal, not a payday. Something worth more than a shiny new car, or a pair of genuine leather boots, and after one long blurry fucking night, he got one.  

The Wraiths would protect Maelstrom’s interests in the Badlands and the ‘borgs would give them leverage in the city, pushing to wipe Sixth Street from Santo Domingo. Dagger would move between them, lending his skills to one while extending his power in the other.

In the end, he'd puppet them both.

His mama always said to dream big.

He pressed at a dwindling bruise over his ribcage as he double checked for his smokes in his jacket pocket. Each breath came with a dull ache that hadn’t quite quelled from that night, even a week later. He’d paid his price for admission. He could still feel the wreckage in his bones as he stood at the entrance of the garage, cigarette half smoked already, waiting for an answer at the door. The security camera at the edge of the roof peered down at him, it’s blinking red light a mimic of the trademark optics that were watching him from inside. And they were watching him. Making him wait, though they were the very ones who had set the meet. When he glared up at the lens, he could feel them on the other side.

Another minute passed. He threw his cigarette down, banging a fist to the rusted metal with impatience. After a moment of waiting he considered going around to the intercom, but it felt too much like defeat. He knocked again instead, kicking with a steel tipped boot for good measure and flicking another glare up to the camera. 

The noise must have worked. The door swung open with a growl, sudden enough it nearly took an inch off his nose. Before he could blink, the front end of a revolver shoved itself against the scar on his cheek, forcing his back to the wall with its presence. Seven eyes peered over the muzzle, a shiny chrome scowl beneath them. Dagger’s fist moved on instinct, nestled now against the underside of Dum Dum’s chin where the skin still felt human. The steel claws in the chassis of his hand inched in the sheaths between his knuckles, hungry for a drop of blood. They stood still, entwined in each other’s violence, neither one ready to budge.

“Keep that gun in my face any longer and I’ll get real acquainted with your fleshy bits.” He wasn’t sure which lens he should look at, or which ones were looking at him. His icy gaze settled on the ones that looked most like eyes, though he couldn’t read them. The tip of his claws met skin, just slightly. Enough bite to prove he wasn’t lying.

Dum Dum didn’t sweat it.

“You think your trigger is quicker than mine?”

“Might be fun to find out.”

The sound that came from his throat could have been a laugh. A moment later, Dum Dum drew the gun back and slid it into the waistband of his pants. Slowly, Dagger followed suit, letting his hand fall away with a tinge of disappointment. A click of his tongue.

“Scared?”

“My bullet would rip through your meatpan before your chrome even touched me,” Dum Dum said. He sounded sure, the weight of his optics nearly prying Dagger apart, scanning his hardware in bemusement. He wouldn’t find much, except maybe that his assessment was correct. Which begged the question: why not pull the trigger?

Dagger grinned.

“You gonna invite me inside?” 

Dum Dum didn’t answer, turning a corner toward the street without looking back at him. “Nothing in there for you.”

“Is that right?” Dagger pulled his cigarettes from his jacket and lit one as he followed. A busted up Chevillon was parked on the corner, garish Maelstrom colors splattered across the rusted paint like a badge of honor. Ugly, like everything else around it. He smiled. “Taking me out to pasture then?”

Smoke slithered from his lips as they walked. 

“You wanna play with the big dogs you’re gonna have to work like a bitch.” Dum Dum stopped at the car, and spared him an indecipherable look. “That means you do what I say, when I say it, how I say it. If I tell you to lick the shit off my boots you better fucking get on your knees and do it, yeah? Piss me off and it’s bye bye with a bullet. We’ll sell your meat to the Scavs without a second thought.”

Dagger raised a brow, amusement flickering in his eyes as he took another drag from his smoke. “My god, I think I can see Royce’s hand up your ass using your mouth like a little puppet. Don’t you wanna be a real boy?”

Dum Dum looked tough, but Dagger had seen enough already to know that he folded for the big man as easy as paper. He half expected the gun again, but to his surprise, he only saw a smile on the other man’s face–teeth that looked too human to belong to him. The tension in his shoulders seemed to drop.

“You are one stupid motherfucker.”

He almost sounded impressed.

Dagger stared him down with the same grin, head tilting. Anyone else, he might skin them alive for the assertion but Dum Dum could be useful. No doubt more than any of the other rusted lugnuts lurking in the gang who’d still be more than happy to kill him. If he wanted this to work out, he’d need someone watching his back, and he’d already proved he wouldn’t pull the trigger.

Dum Dum slid into the driver’s seat and gestured for Dagger to go around. He wasn’t thrilled about playing passenger, his own car parked down the block, but he decided not to push it. He didn’t know his way around the city yet, let alone wherever the fuck they were headed. Or why.

He climbed into the Chevillon, choosing to play nice, a decision quickly waning as he waited for an explanation that never came. He blew smoke toward Dum Dum, a juvenile attempt to get his attention as the engine turned over.

“Got a problem, princess?” Dum Dum asked without looking. At least his head didn’t move.

Dagger leaned back in his seat. “Just wondering what the fuck I’m doing here.”

“You’re the one who knocked.”

“Funny.”

The car pulled onto the street. 

“Got a pick-up.” The flat drone of his voice gave away his own annoyance in the silence. “And I wasn’t bullshitting before. Do as you’re told and we won’t have a problem.”

Dagger rolled down his window to vent the smoke from his cigarette. “Pick-up? And here I was hoping for a little fun. Ain’t you lot known for your violence? No offense but thats a waste of my talent and I’m keen to believe it’s a waste of yours too.”

“Royce wants to know you can follow orders. You might be hot shit to those desert dogs but you’re a long way from the top out here.”

Something in the gravel of his tone indicated a warning, but Dagger flicked it off with the ash from his cig. He glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, watching the city blur past the tinted glass. Northside was less colorful than the rest of Night City, all smoke and concrete. In a way, it reminded him of home–the badlands, an endless sprawl of sun bleached dirt, harsh and rigid. Vibrant in its decay. They bore their similarities alright. He could smell fire in the air. A laugh lodged itself in his throat as he finally looked over.

“So that’d make you what, then? The babysitter?”

A grunt. There might have been humor in it. Or a threat.

“You should count yourself lucky. Anyone else prolly woulda shot you by now.”

Dagger didn’t doubt it for a second. Dum Dum was different from the rest, and somehow just the same. He followed orders, and crumbled like soggy paper for the top dog. Out of fear or loyalty, he couldn’t tell yet, but he lacked the self-respect to see that Royce would throw him out as soon as he wasn’t useful. He wondered what might happen if those strings pulled taut. If something sharp happened by to whittle them down. 

Dum Dum’s voice caught him by surprise.

“I’m actually impressed you’re still walking. Didn’t think you’d show up after that beating last week.”

“That right?” Dagger said, casually flipping down the visor ahead of him and examining his face in the two inch mirror. The bruise beneath his eye had faded from plum to a brown rot and for a moment he could feel the impact of the metal punch that knocked him on his ass again. It wasn’t the only one. His body was littered, like the canvas of an old painter–splashes of color hemorrhaging against his skin. He knew there was a cracked rib, probably a concussion, too. A few busted teeth, and more. Welcoming gifts from Maelstrom. It was his own suggestion, a last ditch effort to get close to the gang without having chrome shoved up his ass. An initiation plucked from his smuggling days. Each member got a single hit. If he was still alive by the end of it, he’d get in.

And Dagger always got in, smiling and spitting blood. He’d do it again just to prove that he could. 

“Hell, I thought that left hook from Lars might kill you.” Dum Dum laughed.

Dagger flipped the visor closed. “You kiddin’? My Daddy hit me harder for stealing a cigarette when I was eight years old.”

“You were prolly just a pussy back then.”

A grin cut across his lips as naturally as the sun cresting over the cityscape. “Well, he had a harder swing than you, at least.”

“Makes sense.” The car turned a tight corner and Dum Dum’s head tilted toward him for the first time. “Considerin’ I pulled my punch.”

Dagger met those empty red lenses with a raised brow. “The fuck you did.”

The crack of his own teeth rang out in his ears again, as if that chrome fist was crashing into his face all over. He could still remember his seven eyes watching him as he stumbled back, spitting blood and enamel in his face. He tongued the empty space on his bottom gum where the molar used to sit. Dum Dum had extracted it more seamlessly than the world’s best dentist ever could.

Pulled his punch. 

Dagger scoffed.

Dum Dum didn’t show any sign of humor. His silence said it all.

“And why the fuck would you do that?”

A pause. And then finally a smile.

“‘Cause the harder we hit you, the louder you laughed. Didn't wanna give you the satisfaction.”

Dagger’s face fell, as expressionless as the red lenses in front of him, which seemed now to burn holes through his chest in the silence. He should cut them from his skull, but the feeling passed at the sight of a smile on Dum Dum’s lips.

“Fuckin’ lunatic,” he said, somewhere between affection and dismay.

Dagger took it for a compliment. He grinned, and a bruise sang triumph beneath his skin. 

The car pulled off the street beside a painted wall that looked nearly identical to every other street corner in Northside. Dagger could find his way through every small vein of dusty road across the Badlands with his eyes closed but ask him to distinguish between one block or the next within the industrial sprawl of the district and he’d be lost. He pressed his forehead against the window and looked up. Not even the sky could help him. The shadow of the city all but smothered it. 

Dum Dum cut the engine. 

Wrecked cars littered the crowded alleyway where they sat now, nothing but skeletal remains, picked clean by the vultures. But there was one ahead of them, a black van that stuck out among the rest. The pick-up, if he had to wager.

“What are we waiting for?” he asked, his cigarette almost nothing but ash. He finally flicked it out the window. 

Dum Dum didn’t answer. He studied the van ahead of him in the quiet, and after a moment Dagger pushed his optics to scan it too. Standard. No heat signature inside, though there was something stored in the back, a chemical signature he couldn’t get a specific read on. Drugs, more than likely. Of course it was. He had heard the ‘strommers had their own brand of shit. The kind with enough kick to push past the thirty pounds of chrome in their head. 

“Something the matter with it?” On instinct, Dagger looked in the rearview, scanned the surrounding area. A flash of light flickered somewhere behind them and disappeared. He waited for it to happen again, but he saw nothing. 

“Gadge ain’t here,” Dum Dum said, tone flat. Once more unreadable.

“Taking a leak?”

A grunt. He leaned back in the seat, hand dropping down to the revolver wedged between his seat and the middle console. He flicked his head forward, toward the van. “Well, go on, bitch boy. Check it out.”

Dagger’s eyes narrowed, but he pushed back the urge to tell him to fuck off. He lit another cigarette on the way out. The street was quiet, though somewhere a few blocks down a siren echoed off the smokestacks. He paused when he reached the back of the van, head turning over his shoulder. There was nothing here. Nobody in sight beside those seven glowing eyes behind the glass, and still the hair rose on the back of his neck. 

No Gadge. No blood. No struggle. So why did he have a bad feeling? He focused his attention back to the van as Dum Dum waved a hand at him impatiently. Another quick scan told him the same information before he finally reached for the handle and pulled the bed open. A creak of metal cracked through his ears.

It almost deafened the gunshot.

Dagger ducked, dropping low without thought. His cigarette fell to the ground half burned, mocking him as another bullet riccochetted against the back of the van. His first thought was Dum Dum. Royce had changed his mind on the deal, ordered his execution. A quiet hit didn’t sound like his style, and Dagger was almost disappointed he wouldn’t get to see the ugly bastard one more time just to call him a fucking pussy to his face, but a moment later he could hear the ‘borg’s static voice yelling at him from the car to get the fuck up.

He stayed low, unable to pinpoint the direction of the gunshot, and made his way back to the passenger’s side of the Chevillon.

The engine sputtered to life at the same time as the van in front of him. He crawled inside just in time to witness the driverless van crash through a charred Mackinaw to the next street over.

“Fuck!” Dum Dum yelled, flooring the pedal before Dagger could get his foot pulled in all the way. “Shit’s hacked. Gonk’s don’t know who they’re messing with.” 

He rammed through the same debris as the van but caught a harsh edge of metal, and the Chevillon stalled for a moment before struggling through. The ringing in Dagger’s ears hadn’t stopped, and he only realized his hand was bleeding when he reached for his third smoke. 

“Hack means their close.”

Dagger rolled the window down and stuck his head out, catching the stale air of Northside in a suffocating wind. He could see the van ahead of them like a black smear, but it wasn’t the van he was interested in. Quickhack on a vehicle was useful, but it had drawbacks. One being proximity. Had to be close or you lost connection, even with boosted gear. 

A small Hatchback swung suddenly out from a sidestreet, narrowly missing their car as it sped past. Dum Dum swerved and lost a foot of paint on a fire hydrant in attempt to keep steady. Dagger scanned it as it followed track with the van, spitting chooh2 to catch up. Two signatures inside. A runner.

He ripped the gun from Dum Dum’s seat and pulled himself halfway out the window to take aim. He shot quickly and near blind, bullet lost in the wind as the chase veered left. 

“Fuckin’ shoot steady,” Dum Dum yelled over at him.

“Drive fuckin’ steady,” Dagger snapped, and this time he held his breath as he aimed for the speeding car. A shot came back at him in response and he ducked back into the window before firing again. The windshield spiderwebbed but the car stayed true, zipping through a line of traffic as they headed into a busier part of the district. A horn blared beside him. The hatchback disappeared between two trucks, and Dum Dum struggled on the wheel, crashing into the edge of a turning car and nearly throwing the gun from Dagger's slick, bloody grasp when he shot again.

He couldn’t track where the bullet hit, but he could tell that it missed.

With a growl, Dagger reached over for the wheel.

“Switch me places.” It was a command more than a question, but Dum Dum didn’t protest. He ripped the gun from Dagger’s hand as Dagger pushed his leg over to the gas pedal and shimmied across the seat in an awkward dance, climbing over him without slowing the vehicle until they both settled into their new positions.

Dum Dum took aim as naturally as Dagger did the wheel. He was no stranger to this, or to the electricity running through his chest as he gripped the wheel knuckle tight, grin spreading over his lips.

The tight streets were no match for an open road, but it got his blood pumping all the same. 

He could barely make out the back of the car up ahead, but he could see the rear light explode as Dum Dum fired beside him, leaving red glass sparkling on the pavement like blood. Another shot bellowed, and the hatchback veered wildly, nearly toppling sideways as it made a sharp turn. 

Dagger followed, cutting the same corner with the ease of sharpened steel. He couldn’t see the van further up, but he locked his optics onto the car. Blood splattered the window, and he knew that Dum Dum had hit one of them inside. The engine groaned as he pushed it further. The Chevillon didn’t have the same gumption as his Quadra. He could feel the waiver in her gait, but they were close now. Dum Dum felt it too. He braced his arm on the roof. One good shot is all they’d need.

Dagger seamlessly crossed over the center line, taking the opposite lane to blow past several cars that separated them from their goal. Traffic sped by, so close it rocked the car, but he didn’t flinch.

One. Good. Shot.

Dum Dum fired. 

Blood sprayed the windshield. 

The hatchback veered suddenly into a passing car, which came to a skidding stop, halting the traffic behind it and keeping Dagger from passing back over into the right lane. His mind raced, and on instinct he took a quick left to avoid collision, and then another.

Dum Dum screamed in his ear, but the words were deafened from wind, the ringing, the sirens. Neon lights burned together, flashing against his corneas. 

“Wrong fuckin’ way!” He heard finally.

The streets grew narrower, and then he understood. 

He could smell the ocean. 

 Northside’s warehouses were a shadow in the rearview as they headed toward the bay into Kabuki. Tyger territory. They had crossed the district line. 

Dum Dum reached for the wheel in a last ditch effort to change course. The momentum of the turn threw them upward, tires leaving the ground. The car spun uncontrollably, flipped, crashing through the barricade on the side of the road in a explosion of crunching metal. 

He could see the ocean.

A smear of open blue that could match the sky his heart yearned for. It was beautiful.

Almost.

And it hit like a fucking rock. 

His vision blacked for a moment before the water caved in around them. Slowly, then all at once. He barely had time to take in a lungful of air. Kicking at the door wildly, he swam away from the wreckage as the sea pulled them under. His gaze shot upward, searching once more for the sky to lead him. He followed the light up and up, chest starting to ache, until finally he found it.

Dagger gasped as he breached, shaking water from his eyes. He didn’t recognize the city around him, but he spotted a dock nearby. He swam toward it, then stopped. Looked back. The only remains of the Chevillon were petering bubbles at his back, and smooth water beside that. There wasn’t any sign of Dum Dum. By the look of him, he’d sink as quick as the car.

He glanced between the dock and the bubbles and back again. 

All that fucking chrome…

Walking back to All Foods without the drugs and their sergeant at arms might earn himself a spot in that industrial microwave that Maelstrom liked to boast. Dum Dum was the only one who didn’t want to kill him, after all.

“Fuck.”

He spit water then took another breath and dived.

The car left a trail like ink in the murky water. Dagger clawed toward it, dragging himself further down into the dark depths. Day turned to night. The city was different here, peaceful, and if not for the pounding in his ears, quiet. 

The distant red glare of those eyes shined like a beacon further down. He followed them like the north star, pushing himself to go faster. Dum Dum kicked despite himself, maybe instinct, maybe panic, but his weight worked against him, pulling him down quicker. Dagger pushed harder, reached further. Dum Dum finally noticed him, lenses fixed and unwavering, a calm coming over him as he finally got close enough to grab. Dagger heaved upward, working against the ocean’s cold grasp and the anchor like weight dragging him down. His chest began to burn, and the sky still looked so dark above them. 

He considered letting go, eyes squeezed tight, angry ‘ganic lungs ready to burst. 

And then he could breathe again.

He reached blindly for the dock ladder, trying hard not to heave. Dum Dum climbed up beside him, still as a corpse.

“Fucking gonk shit,” he muttered.

Dagger almost didn’t catch it over the sound of his panting. He laid flat on his back, taking in the welcome blue above him. He could finally see a break in the cityscape, clouds sneaking in at the edge of his vision. 

“Quite a fuckin’ thank you,” Dagger said without taking his eyes from above.

“Oxygen reserves. Could sit down there all day.”

He sat up slowly, running a hand through wet, matted hair. “All the good it’d do you. Be a pile of rust by the time they found you. If they found you.”

Dum Dum laughed. Short, quick static. Somehow it sounded genuine.

“And I’m sure you did that outta the kindness of your heart.”

“What fuckin’ heart?” He said flat, patting down his pockets for his cigarettes. He pulled the pack out, sopping wet. He didn’t bother trying to light one before he tossed them into the bay with a sigh. “Owe me some fucking smokes.”

Dum Dum opened his mouth to speak, but the words never made it. He lifted his head, and though he couldn’t see exactly, Dagger knew he was looking past him. A gun cocked at the back of his head. Cold barrel against his skull. He clenched his jaw, and turned to see a woman he didn’t recognize staring down at him behind glass eyes.

His automatic translator picked up her words better than his ears.

“Welcome to Kabuki, bitch.”

[waitineedaname]

i love the bingge extra because it's like

the horror of realizing you're the dark universe version of yourself. the injustice of seeing this other version of yourself be happy and loved, seeing him be treated with such gentle tenderness from a person who only ever treated you with cruelty

bad sex.

[bookwyrminspiration]

If I do not post this I will never stop fiddling with it and it’s already partially glitched my tumblr, so please enjoy some four horsegirls of the apocalypse for @an-ungraceful-swan’s dtiys <3

Original + taglist:

KotLC Art Taglist: @bronte-deserves-better @imaramennoodle @thisbluewind @we-have-no-bananas-today @theofficialkai517 @ruewen-and-rising @keefeinnit @thesandsofdawn @crumpledwitchfeet @ascendant-queen @tribblemakingalicorn @axels-corner @loverofallthingssmart @silveny-dreams @girlofmanyfandoms @enbies-and-felonies @impostertamsong @sofia-not-sophie @alabestrine @keefes-hairgel @fanartofthelostcities @three-bunnies-in-a-trenchcoat @a-lonely-tatertot @ketterdamkid @cosmogyral-cleo @meg-doodles @dragonwinnie-kotlc @anaccidentwaitingtohappen @maglorslostsilmaril @even-if-in-another-time @crazedfangirl14 @callas-pancake-tree @katniss-elizabeth-chase @wolfstar-being-ridikkulus @thefoxysnake @florida-preposterously

[suffarustuffaru]

hey guys u know how like reinhard can come back to life right after dying anyway what if u decapitate him and then his headless body casually gets back up and calmly puts his head back on like how fucked up would that be haha

[cupcakes-and-pain]

Rat: CYOA 7

Masterlist

You’re not about to miss what is probably your only chance at survival. You go to the address Jai gave you.

As you pull up, you have to admit, it’s wouldn’t have been your first choice as a meeting spot. An abandoned, falling-apart flower shop with a sign out front declaring trespassers will be stabbed on-sight. You hope that whoever put that warning is either not here right now or has been warned that you’re coming over.

Nevertheless, you approach the door and think it best to knock.

Jai opens the door, scowling.

“Come on, you should’ve been here awhile ago! Now we don’t have as much time.”

They don’t let you say anything before pulling you into the building.

Once inside, the first thing that hits you is the smell. It absolutely reeks in here, and you wrinkle your nose, earning a disapproving side-eye from Jai.

“Alright, then. I originally thought you were smart, being a college kid and whatnot, but since you aren’t, let me teach you how to survive. Step 1, if Virginia doesn’t approve of it, don’t fucking do it. Step 2, when in doubt, make a rude comment about Rat or whoever is tied up at the moment. Step 3, for the love of god, avoid eye contact! Avoid stepping close to Virginia. Avoid talking to her. The more attention you draw, the more she’s going to pick on you and put your limits to the test.”

That was a lot of information in one go, and you struggling to concentrate with the awful smell. What is that…?

“-ello? Hey, kid, are you even listening?! I’m not going to waste my time on you if you just stare off into space.”

“I’m sorry. I was just, um, thinking really hard about what you were saying. You know, forming a plan on what to do at tonight’s party and all that.”

“Really? Let’s hear it, then.”

Just to be clear, all three “lie, be worse” options means that you’ll hurt/drug him even if Virginia doesn’t pick on you.

Tag list: @kim-poce @scp-1296 @whumpsday

[sweetandglovelyart]

Now that I’ve finished the most recent comic page I think I should actually try and do some proper drawings of some of my OCs. Get ready to see Taranza’s mom Theraphoza, I’m working on drawing her first 🕷️

[marshmellowtea]

Tanya: Mike, come here, we have a sick puppy on our hands Mike: ...what?? Tanya: William threw up :( Mike: Oh THAT puppy Mike: Aww :(