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sarawritestories · 9 months ago

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Unwavering Presence Chapter 4

Cassian X Archeron Sister (Reader)

Summary: Y/N comes to after being attacked and formerly meets the inner circle. Cassian and Y/N finally begin training, and he shows her around what he calls the heart of the Night Court.

Content Warning: Nightmares, flashbacks to under the mountain, Fluff

Word Count: 4.1

Chapter 3 Masterlist

A/N I want to take this moment to say thank you for all the love and support on this story! I am so grateful for you all! It honestly makes my day with every like and comment and reblog that I see! I hope you enjoy this chapter as we finally get some good Cassian X Reader quality time!

The Naga approached the sound of them slithering close causing me to whimper. One gripped my bound arms tightly from behind me, its dry tongue sliding up the column of my neck. The other gripped my breast tightly eliciting a shriek from the back of my throat. “A delicious treat, brother. Just for us.”

I begged for Rhysand to help, prayed he would make it in time. As the creature in front of me gripped my face puckering my lips as he pressed his to my own. I thrashed against them as hard as I could, but they were stronger than me.

Rhysand’s voice came clear as day but instead of sending help it was just my name.

“Y/N! Y/N!”

“Wake up, Y/N.” My eyes blinked open and violet eyes came into focus. Calloused hands grazed my damp cheeks, wiping away the tears. “It was just a Nightmare, Angel.” I sat up as he released my face and moved toward the edge of the bed. I looked behind him to find the chair Cassian was sitting in the night before empty and I tried to dampen my disappointment that he had left sometime after I had fallen asleep. Rhys looked to me, “Shields up, Y/N.” I jolted him and worked on building that wall around my mind as the High Lord continued, “I sent Cassian off this morning to run some errands for me. He put up a fight about before he left though.” He gave me a smile.

There was a comfort knowing that he stayed with me, but other thoughts whirled in my brain I sighed and rubbed my face, “Rhys, what happens now? Also where are we?”

“You’re in my townhome, this is where I reside normally. You were staying in what we call the House of Wind.” Rhys’ smile fades, “As for what happens next, there are two options we can take due to the fact you’re still human. The first, would be that we can send you back to the human lands and you would be able to be with your sisters.” I bit my lip as he prattled on, “Or option two, you become a member of the Night Court as my human emissary.” He grips my hand, “In my opinion, not that you asked for it, I would hope you would like to pick option 2. I would pay you well and you would be able to see Feyre every month. Not to mention, I like having you around.” I gave him a small smile and his eyes held unspoken emotion. “You remind me of someone I knew long ago, she would have loved you.” A tear slid down his perfect cheek.

I squeeze his hand, and with my free on wipe the tear from his cheek, “She must have been really special, if just mentioning her has this reaction. One day when you’re ready I would love to hear more about her.” I pause, “Especially all the reasonings as to why she would love me.” He laughed a boisterous laugh, and I was happy to take his sadness away.

When he stopped, he asked, “One day huh? Does that mean you would like to stay?”

“Yes, I would like to stay.” My stomach rumbled.

“We can discuss logistics and details on your position after we have gotten food in your stomach.” He rose. “There are clothes in the closet, Mor has already claimed you for the afternoon to go shopping.”

I quirked a brow, “So you knew I would say I wanted to stay?”

“No.” He opened the door and gave a playful smirked, “I was, however, hopeful that you would want to. Get dressed and come down to the stairs I’ll introduce you to everyone, formally.” With that he closed the door. I took a moment to look out at the window and gasped at the beauty of the city I am staring at. The sunrise coated the city in various shades of pink and orange the sun glimmering on the river as soft waves flowed down stream.

I got out of bed and discarded the nightgown I was gifted and put on the Teal sundress that had sheer sleeves and flowed down to my knees. I placed my hair up in a simple bun and walked down the stairs. Laughter erupted and I followed the sound I found a dining room that has almost every seat filled all for one that was in between Mor and Azriel. There was a short female with short black hair and mesmerizing silver eyes that rolled her eyes at the laughter and her eyes met mine. “Well, well, well, appears someone is awake.”

The laughter dies down, and all eyes turn on me and I rub the back of my neck, “Hi.” I whispered. Mor shot up and ran over to where I was and almost tackled as she wrapped me in a bone crushing hug.

“I’m so happy you’re staying with us.” Mor squeezed causing a squeak to come out of me.

“Mor, let her go you’re going to crush her.” The low timbre of Cassian caused me to meet his gaze and he gave me a smile and a playful wink as Mor released me mumbling the word asshole under her breath. She led me to the seat next to her and I gave Azriel a smile, he simply nodded his head.

“Okay as promised, formal introductions. You know Mor, obviously,” He points to Azriel, “This is Azriel, the Night Court’s Spymaster and our very own shadowsinger,” I looked to Azriel whose shadows swirled around him as if a part of him and he puffed his chest slightly a sense of pride of his High Lord’s words. “The tiny angry looking one over there is my Second in command, Amren.” She doesn’t look phased by how she’s introduced and raises her goblet to me and takes a sip. “Last but certainly not least, the General of the Night Courts armies, Cassian. Though I believe you two have been acquainted.” My head snaps at Rhys’ who gave us both a shit eating grin.

“Sorry, Princess, I may have told them about that night we met.” My eyes met the General’s hazel ones his face had a flush on them as he smiled.

I grabbed a croissant from the platter in front of me and took a bite, and gave him a smile, “That’s alright, General.” I took another bite as two puzzle pieces clicked together and I ask, “Are you still willing to train me?” I avert my gaze and pick at the pastry.

“Any reason why I wouldn’t want to?” He asked, the table has fallen to an uncomfortable silence awaiting my answer.

Flashes of last night whirl through my head, of how I couldn’t even push the Naga away from me. Before I’m able to catch it, a tear falls then another, and sobs unleash until I can’t stop them. I cover my face and let it wrack out of my system. I feel Mor’s hand rubbing my back and can feel a talon on my mental shields of Rhys trying to get me to let him in. Then there is the scraping of the chair, sound of large boots. Mor’s touch vanishes as my chair is gently pulled back. Large hands grip my wrist and give them a light tug as the sobs continue, as I meet Cassian’s face, there was no judgement or pity, if anything there was an underlying rage there. He grips my hands tightly as if to remind me that I’m safe and that nothing would harm me. I look at the table and everyone gazes hold the same sentiment.

“Look at me, Y/N,” Cassian softly ordered, I face him once more and his thumb is rubbing soothing circles and my heartrate spikes. “I promise, I will make sure that you will never feel powerless again. You were ambushed last night; you were wounded and left out to fend for yourself, no one here thinks that you are weak because of it.” He wiped the tears from my face. “Would you like to start today?”

I nodded my head, and he gave me a beautiful grin, “Wonderful, we can get you some training gear and you can meet me outside after we eat. Okay?” I nod again, and he squeezes my hands before letting them go and instantly missed the warmth they provided. As he stands pushes a free strand of hair from face and tucks it behind my ear, “You know what happened last night wasn’t your fault right?”

I bit my lip, “Maybe if I wasn’t so confrontational with Tamlin.”

“Don’t even finish that sentence, Girl,” Amren spoke for the first time since I entered the room, and everyone stilled. I met her gaze it was as if her irises were swirling with silver liquid, “Tamlin, is a coward and fool. He feeds off feeling superior over the weak.” Her red lips formed a smirk, “You weren’t willing to bend to him and challenged him. He simply used the one thing he had on you. The simple fact that your human. Make no mistake that Tamlin is the worm here.”

I tilted my head at her, and let her words really sink in and I blurted out, “You’re Stunning.” Heat immediately racing up my cheeks. Amren’s eyes widened a fraction as the table filled with laughter at the immediate shift in mood.

Amren smiled and tipped her head to me, “Likewise, girl, I think you’ll fit right in.”

Breakfast went on, and Rhys shared what my duties at Emissary would be, and he provided me with some fighting leathers that hugged every curve of my body. I made my way outside to find that Cassian was stretching, in his usual leathers with those gems on across his body. With the mid-day sun, he looked like one of the old gods long forgotten. He was beautiful, and the way he moved as he practiced made him lethal. His wings twitched, and his spine went rigid. He turned in my direction, “Right on time.”

I walked toward him, feeling disoriented by the heavy boots Rhys had given me. “What are these gemstones? If you don’t mind me asking.”

He smiled and I decided that I would never get tired of him smiling, his whole face lit up when he did the gesture showing genuine happiness there. “They’re called siphons they harness my power to make it easier to control. They are earned during this thing called the Blood Rite, an Illyrian tradition but I won’t bore you with the details about why we do it, or their backwards beliefs of them. Not today anyway.”

“Well, another time, I’ve never heard about Illyrians before. They are not talked about much in the history of the fae we’re taught back in the human lands.” I walk past him to where he was practicing, “I’m also a sucker for a good story.”

“Well, when I can steal you for more than an hour. You can ask me all the questions you would like.”

I crossed my arms, “Why would you have to steal me?”

Cassian quirked a brow, “You have met Mor, correct? She has not shut up about wanting to spend time with you.”

“Hmm. Well, I will need someone to show me around. Where are we exactly? As I know this is Rhys’ town home, but I’ve never seen a city as beautiful as this. Well, I’ve never really ventured far from our small cottage anyway.”

Cassian made a few strides toward me, “We’re in Velaris, the city of Starlight. I personally think it’s the heart of the Night Court.”

“I can’t wait to explore.” I was acutely aware of how close Cassian had gotten, leather and sandalwood infiltrating my nose. “So will you show me around?”

“Sure. Though you’ll break Mor’s heart.” Cassian joked and caused me to smile, “Alright, Archeron,” I turned to him and gone was the playful face is gone. Replaced with the serious gaze of a General. “Let’s get started.”

Cassian had me show him what Rhys had been teaching me and showed me some more stretches before he asked me how I would punch someone. I clenched my fist and Cassian immediately shook his head. “No, Princess, you hit someone like that you’re going to hurt yourself more than your opponent.” He came up and grabbed my hand. He opened my hand he began folding my hand where the tip of my fingers was tightly placed in the base of my palm. He then places my thumb over my index finger. “There, this will protect your fingers and give you the best chance of hurting someone instead of yourself.” He walks behind me and raises both fists and nudges my legs with his own to get me in the perfect stance my heart was racing at the mere touch and proximity of him. “Tomorrow we’ll go over exactly the best stance to throw a punch and keep your balance but standing like this,” He whispered in my ear and chills ran down my warm body. He moves my arm in a punching motion, his other hand on my waist twisting to move with the punch. He does it a few more times and after the fifth time he releases his grip and has me do those movements on my own. I could feel his eyes on me as I kept repeating the motion until he held up his hand. “Very good. I think we’ll call it for the day.”

I nodded and he walked over to hand me some water. “Thanks.” I sipped the water, and he drank some from his own cup. He grabbed my cup and placed it down with his. He pointed to the floor, “On your back, Princess.”

My face heated and I’m sure my cheeks were pink, “Why?”

Cassian smirked, “I’m going to help you stretch, its important to stretch the muscles so you’re not sore tomorrow.” He crossed his arms, “What were you thinking about?”

I huffed and followed his order to lay on my back. “I was thinking about nothing, grow up.”

Cassian knelt his hand rubbing my calf with a smirk, “I’m quite grown up, thank you. I’m over 500 years old.” My eyes widened at the fact as he bent my knee and pushed my leg toward my chest, the muscles stretched, and I bit my lip to suppress a moan.

“That feels divine.” I whisper and I hear a low chuckle as the General moved to the other leg. He met my eyes as he pushed back my leg, and I could not hold the moan this time. I covered my mouth as he placed my leg down and massaged my calves. “I’m so sorry.”

Cassian looked like he wasn’t breathing his eyes holding something like yearning there but shook his head and waved me off, “Don’t worry about it, Princess. It’s a natural reaction,” He pat my legs and rise to his feet. He holds his hand out to me, and I take it he lifts me up with ease and releases my hand. “Good job today, we’ll pick up tomorrow.”

Rhys walked outside and tucked his hands in his pockets, “Mor, sadly had to go do her job and has left for a few days. So, your shopping spree has been put on hold.” Rhys shrugged, “I could take you around, and give you a tour of the city if you would like.”

I looked to Cassian, “If you don’t mind Rhys, could your General take me?” Cassian smiled and draped an arm around my shoulders. “If you don’t mind, Cass.”

“I don’t mind,” Cassian looked at Rhys, “Do you mind if I steal her?”

Rhys smirked, “Not at all. Have fun you two.”

The two of us parted ways to bathe and change. A midnight blue top and matching pants were prepped for me as I came out of the bath, and I placed it the top on used to the slight mid drift. I placed my hair fall in its natural curls and placed it on moon pin in my hair and slipped on a pair of silver slip on shoes. I walked down to the front door to find Cassian, wearing a casual shirt with a leather jacket and pants. His wings were relaxed and tucked close behind him and his hair was in a half up bun.

He looked up as he heard my footsteps coming down the stairs, “Well you clean up nicely,” I teased elbowing him. He smiled and rolled his eyes at me.

Cassian’s eyes lingered on my outfit and back up to my eyes. “I could say the same about you, Princess.” He opened the door, and the late afternoon breeze tickled my skin, “Ready to go?”

I nod, and he lays a hand on my back and guides me out of the front door. Once he shut the door behind me, we were off. Cassian and I walked the busy streets of Velaris. We went into various shops looking at clothes and different works of art. I stopped when we were at a vendor selling various paintings. My heart sank, Feyre had not painted in months, and I doubt after yesterday she’ll ever want to. I would do anything if it meant that she would want to paint again. If I ever see her. Calloused hands grazed my neck and brought me out of my thoughts, “Where’d you go?”

“I want Feyre to paint again,” I whispered, “She loved to paint after we came out of Under the mountain she just wouldn’t. Now with last night will I be the reason she never paints again?” I cross my arms and I walk past the paintings, “I don’t know if I could live with myself if that were the reason.”

Cassian gripped my elbow, “Y/N, Feyre has her own healing journey to take, her reasons, for doing or not doing something are her own, you don’t need to shoulder responsibility for someone else’s grief.”

I give him a small smile and give his hand a pat, “Thanks Cas, but my job was always to protect her, and I took pride in securing that small ounce of peace she would get when painting. I would sneak money just to make sure she had enough paint.” I kept walking Cassian meeting my stride his wing flared and wrapped slightly around me almost protectively. “I was like that for Nesta and Elain I always made sure anything they wanted books for Nesta or plants for Elaine, tensions were high a majority of the time, I just tried to keep the peace and made sure everyone was happy and safe.”

Cassian was quiet as we approached a bookstore, and I gripped his arm with an excited squeal, “Can we go in here?” Cassian nodded and opened the door for me, and the smell of books and a thin layer of dust fills my nose and i couldn't contain my smile. I walk up and down the aisle, looking at all the stories. Cassian was a silent yet steady presence behind me. There was a portion of the store that had various leather-bound notebooks.”

“What about you?” I turned to Cassian my brows furrowed. “Feyre has painting, Nesta reading, and Elain had gardening. What did you like to do?”

I bit my lip and shrugged, “Protecting my sisters I guess.” I grazed the top on a journal, “I never really had the time to do anything, if I wasn’t chopping wood, or helping Feyre hunt, or trying to make money. I didn’t have time for hobbies.”

Cassian frowned and guilt washed over me for taking his smile away, “If you did have the time what would you have liked to do.”

I lifted a Journal and flipped through the blank pages, “Don’t laugh.” I looked at him, “I would have loved to write. Even if I didn’t know how to write, I would have loved to tell stories. The kind of heroes and villains and romance things that Nesta would read to me when I was small.” I placed the journal down and shrugged. “Just a silly little dream.” I give him a smile one to hide the lingering sadness. “Enough about that, I’m hungry.” Cassian’s frown deepened clearly seeing my deflection.

“I’ll be out in a minute. Rhys ironically enough wanted me to see if they had a book in stock. “ I nodded my head and walked out of the store. I looked out at the river and quickly walked over and leaned against the railing to stare out at the sea. The sun is beginning to set and enjoy the scenery around me. Soft waves crashed amongst the bridge, and the scent of the water spray filled the air. It was peaceful and serene.

I was entranced by its beauty that I didn’t even hear Cassian approach, his hand on back caused me to jump and turn. “Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you.” He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry for being a little jumpy. Did they have the book you needed?” I asked as he offered his arm for me to take, leading us to a little restaurant in an area he called earlier the rainbow.

Cassian shook his head, “No but I did find something else that piqued my interest.” He grabbed out of his pocket the leather-bound journal I was holding in the store and handed it to me, it felt as though the air had been sucked out of my lungs.

“Cassian-“

He interrupted me, “You may find that you have more free time here, you have worked hard to make sure your sisters were able to keep their hobbies. You should be able to explore something that interests you.” He gave you a smile “Plus I know there is one person for sure who would love to read whatever stories you come up with.”

I stopped, tears pooling in my eyes, “Cassian, I can’t repay you for this.”

Cassian also stopped, his hazel eyes warm and shining bright, “It’s a gift, Princess. Nothing to be repaid.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck, “Thank you, Cass.”

He chuckled and wrapped his arm around me. “You’re welcome, now let’s go get something to eat.” He pulled away and looped my arm with his once more and led us to dinner. At dinner he shared some stories of how he and Rhys met and how they met Azriel how they have been friends for centuries and in turn I told him of all the trouble Feyre and I used to get in before we lost our fortune and when it was over we fell into comfortable silence on the walk home.

Music played on the bridge, and it caused me to pause in my tracks. I gripped Cassian’s arms as my mind went back to late nights under the mountain.

Feyre had fallen asleep after sobbing, and I was still in the corner tears stained my face. The feeling of hopelessness taking over. I wish I had told Nesta and Elain how much I loved them before we left. I tucked my head into my knees and sobbed. Beautiful melody flooded my eardrums, something that held hope and happiness. Images flashed against in my mind of a beautiful orchestra on a bridge over river. The night sky was breathtaking as if they were swirling and dancing to the melody of the music. My eyes grew heavy as the melody hit the crescendo. I laid my head back and let the music sweep me into a peaceful slumber.

My breathing was labored, “Hey, hey, hey,” Cassian’s hand cupped my cheek, “what is it?”

“Rhys...he played this music in my head to help me sleep Under the Mountain.” Tears were streaming down my face clutching the journal Cassian bought me, “He was letting me know I wasn’t alone when I was convinced Feyre, and I weren’t coming out alive. He was showing me this band a piece of his home.”

Cassian eyes gleamed silver as well, “He’s annoyingly a good friend like that.” He looked over at the band as I chuckled, “Would you like to stay and listen for a little bit?”

“Please.” I whispered and he lowered his hand from cheek, but I reached out and laced my fingers with his. He tucked his wing around me to block the wind as we stood and listened to the music that kept me from breaking under the mountain.

Chapter 5

Story Tags: @hellodarling1357 @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @esposadomd @sleepylunarwolf @stressed-reader @kylaisra @marvelouslovely-barnes @magicstrengthandcourage @spideytingley @awkardnerd @donttellthecats @tastydewdrops @vermillionwinter @asweetblueberry2 @bunnyredgirl @homeslices @azriels-mate2 @oksloan3 @wallacewillow0773638 @fandom-crashlanding @writingstreetspirit @hannzoaks @minnieloo @tuggboatfishin @judig92 @atrxidxs @dustyinkpages @secretlyhers @mxblobby @blogforficslol @historygeekqueen

#cassian x reader #cassian fanfic #cassian acotar #cassian x you #acotar #acotar fanfiction #rhysand x reader #azriel x reader #archeron sister #unwaveringpresence #cassian acosf #cassian imagine

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ddreamywitch · 14 days ago

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Chapter Six - Wasteland, Baby!

knight!benjicot blackwood x princess!reader

word count: 6.6k

warnings: mentions of violence, arranged marriage

song: Wasteland, Baby! - Hozier

a/n: she juicyyy

“Rather small, isn’t it?”

Benji snorts next to you, but you don’t find it humorous.

The castle is small. Not even remotely comparable to what you are used to.

Which you would not mind, if it didn’t showcase so blatantly how little your father cared about where he had sent you off to.

Not remotely deserving of your status.

You clutch the reins and nudge Fury forward, breaking from your cluster of company until you were the one leading them up to the gates.

You don’t exactly do it to spite anyone. In fact, you’re not even sure if this is wrong. Traditionally your suitors would have to travel to you and not the other way around, but you figure being the first face seen would perhaps assert some kind of dominance that you so clearly lack otherwise.

You try not to think of the fact that Benji had shared a bed with you last night.

Not in a promiscuous fashion, at all, but because you were embarrassingly overwhelmed with the way your life was moving forward at the moment.

Now you won’t really look at him again, and it pains you a little bit, but you had to at least somewhat have your head in the right place when meeting your future husband.

The sun is shining today. Perhaps it’s a good sign.

Somebody yells something, an introduction of some sort, trumpets sound out and the gate creaks open.

It whirls up grey dust that stains the shiny black of your dress.

Marion had snuck it in for you, you were certain, nobody else would have approved a mourning gown to meet your Lord Husband.

Sitting on your horse like this, you melt into one, colourwise. It makes you look taller, stronger, powerful.

You trot forward, across the small bridge and into the court of the castle.

Lord Cathcart has his arms flung open, a wide grin on his face. You can’t bring yourself to return the small.

“Ah, the princess of the realm in my humble abode,” he greets you and finally as though saying your title reminded him, he bows.

Briefly, not appropriately low enough.

You nod at him, unwilling to get off your horse just yet. “Lord Cathcart.”

He makes a discarding hand gesture. “Please, call me Erik.”

“Erik.”

He doesn’t look bad. Of course not, neither does his sister. They’re both bronze-haired beauties, not particularly the kind of beauty you cared for, but undeniably beautiful nonetheless.

“I hope your travels were safe,” he continues. It is a painfully uncomfortable ordeal.

You glance at the castle residents, all lined up behind him, none of them moving and all of them staring at you as though you were perhaps a particularly interesting cow.

Livestock is becoming increasingly relatable to you as time goes on.

You haven’t answered yet. “Yes. No disturbances.”

Erik stares at your dress but then decides he would not address it.

Fury trudges forward until she is face to face with him, and you want to feel bad for the way he flinches at her height.

“Well then,” he croaks out. Your eyes flit over to Benji, who unlike you, is not concealing his amusement at all. “I suppose you will want to get rest and settle down in your chambers.”

You nod. “Very much so, my lord.”

Somebody is whispering something, eyes filled with curiosity and confusion.

You can’t blame them, the picture that is commonly painted of you — soft, sweet, kind — doesn’t exactly align with the entrance you’ve just made.

It is quite foreign. To remain seated. To not do the polite thing. It isn’t as though you’re being rude or as though you’re obliged to appease these people. The only reason you’ve ever done it was to be nice and you really don’t have the energy to be nice today.

“Lord Cathcart, I should inform you that her Highness’s horse Fury is unfortunately stubborn. The princess prefers to bring her to the stables herself,” Benji says. The sentence is shaped like a cautious reminder but his voice has an edge to it. You wonder now, whether the edge is natural.

Lord Cathcart nods, eager, excited, like a dog who’s been shown a bone.

“Where To then?”

“Oh, of course!” There’s a strand of hair that bounces. Like a tail. Many dog similarities about the man. “My stable boy will lead the way.”

A young lad breaks from the row and bows to you before approaching.

“Ma’am,” he mumbles.

Ma’am?

You open your mouth to correct him, but a loud smacking sound interrupts you. Your mouth falls agape in horror. Lord Cathcart had struck the boy.

“It is ‘your highness’, you fool,” he yells. Then he turns to you, wide-grinned once more, as though he had painted an entirely new painting in the blink of an eye. “Apologies, we aren’t quite used to such important visits here.”

You want to vomit. “Ser Benjicot and I will go ahead. The rest of you may wait.” You slide off Fury, grab her by the reins. “Come on, sweetling.”

The boy mumbles his sorrows through welled-up tears as he scurries across the court toward the stables, you and your knight right behind.

Once you are out of sight, tucked away behind the oaken doors, you rest your hand on the boy’s shoulder and force him to face you.

He’s perhaps three and ten moons, by the looks of it. He looks a bit like Tristan did at his age, but rougher around the edges than a young prince would be.

“You may call me anything you want,” you tell the boy.

He looks up at you. “My apologies, my highness.”

Benji chokes a laugh. You send him a warning look.

“If you wish to call me so, you would have to say ‘your highness’,” you correct him. “But you mustn’t worry. If you wish, you can even call me by my name.”

The boy nods. “My apologies, again.”

He doesn’t look convinced. Matter of fact, he looks as though he’s waiting to find himself trapped somehow.

You retract your hand and tilt your head. “How often does Lord Cathcart get violent?”

His eyes widen. “I don’t- His father before him– I don’t know, ma– uh, your highness.”

When you look at Benji once more, as though he might have an explanation for this dilemma, he has a face like a knife ready to be swung.

“Well, if I am to wed him, then things will have to change around here.”

Still, he doesn’t believe you but he doesn’t seem the type to disagree with you either and so you simply guide Fury to her resting place for the next few weeks. Or moons or years.

She doesn’t seem all too pleased, a spoiled girl, used to palace stables and quality carrots reserved for her.

“Marvellous first impression,” Benji huffs at you.

“What, on my part?”

He’s close to you suddenly and you wish that you didn’t enjoy it as much as you do. He somehow smells intriguing. “Obviously on your part. What kind of man strikes a child?”

You don’t unsaddle your horse, it is not your duty to do so but you rest your head against her side and sigh deeply. “Lord,” you sigh out and if it weren’t for the deeply rooted feeling of nothingness you would have probably cried.

Benji rests a hand on your shoulder. He’s behind you, an arm’s length of distance and yet you suddenly are struck by the thought of how distant he actually is from you, how you had fallen asleep in his arms, likely even drooled on him in your sleep and yet he is still your knight. Nothing more, nothing less. Bound to you and not a friend. Or a lover.

“I shall rest,” you cough up. “I shall rest,” you cough up. You cannot face him and you wonder if you could ever again do so, knowing who you were set to marry and knowing what might have happened in another life. You wish you had some sort of consolation.

Like perhaps your betrothed might not be the kind of man to strike his servants, but you do not and so you wish to go to your chambers and stare at the ceiling for the next few hours..

When you emerge onto the court you do not bother to walk back to Lord Cathcart.

"I shall see to it that I get my rest now, my lord. There will be room to talk another time."

He is narrowing his eyes at you. Be that because he is suspicious of your behaviour or because he cannot see you well from where he is standing, but he hurries towards you on his slender limbs. "I will see you to your rooms, your highness. If you wish, we can have a bath drawn for you."

A bath was not a bad idea at all, you must smell of horse and sweat and uncomfortable humidity but for some reason you cannot fathom the thought of doing anything at all.

"No thank you. I will bathe before supper has come and passed, but for now, my bones are too tired."

He pushes out his bottom lip in an odd childish manner, as though your rejection had hurt him in some way. Such a peculiar man. "Follow me," he says. "We have prepared your room the best way possible."

You nod and then glance at your entourage, still standing around, looking morbidly out of place. Capital men, your young new maid, none of them of high status and yet they are engulfed in a blanket of regality by comparison to the courtier's of Lord Cathcart.

"Say, where will my people be staying? And my knight?"

Erik offers Benji a more than disapproving look. "Downstairs, where they are in the best position to protect you."

A huff escapes you, at his disregard of rules. "Erik," it drags across your tongue like the bitterest of poisons. "My knight is to wait outside my door until nightfall where he is replaced with a member of the King's guard. Must I remind you of protocol, so early on in our courtship?"

"I have guards of my own, and you will be my wife soon. You are no longer in need of anyone else."

By god, you would have jumped at a chance like this, to be rid of your guards, the most luxurious prison of all, just a few moons ago. But now, as you stand there, you suddenly feel as though protection at all times is much more important than you had previously thought.

"We are to be married, on that I agree, my lord, however, it is of the utmost importance that my dignity is not compromised beforehand. Therefore my guards will keep watch until God in heaven has blessed this arrangement."

You give him the most saccharine of smiles, so sweet it would make your teeth hurt. "I'm sure you understand."

He clears his throat and looks back and forth between Benji and you and then over at your father's men. Really, they are more Tristan's than the king's at this point. Loyal to you either way.

Young Lord Cathcart shakes his head as though he is trying to get rid of something and then he grins his idiotic grin. "Why of course, your highness. I suppose it is better to be safe than sorry."

"I am certain you will have no trouble accommodating the lot of us. It is a small castle but it shall do."

You speak the tongue of the snake now. Never in your life have you made comments like this. Never had you been one to participate in the ill-speaking of others.

You had listened to gossip, had grasped at the tiniest bits of information the loose tongue of any lady would give you and soaked it up to safely put away into a corner of your mind. Knowledge is power.

Never in your life had you returned the favour to those who would gossip. Not one secret had fallen from your lips, not the slightest of jabs at whether somebody was getting quite rounded around the belly, or that they had worn the same dress on one too many occasions.

It doesn't feel as good as you had imagined it to, to be a participant now. With how much people talk and talk and talk, you had figured it would be more fun being mean, but you cannot ignore the uneasy pit in your stomach.

Lord Cathcart leads you to your chambers,, Tamsyn, your new maid hot on your heels, Benji to your right, your left arm looped through that of your betrothed and it feels as if you're walking toward your execution.

Hours later, you find yourself bathed and dressed in the most god-forsaken gown you have ever put on your body.

You are dressed as a peacock.

And worse so, you are wearing an old dress of Lady Cathcart's. You know it because she had worn it to the very costume ball at which it had become blatantly obvious that sin was afoot between your father and her.

Tamsyn is working hard at your face, perhaps she is hoping to take away from the fact that there are humongous feathers attached to your back. You wonder how much the dress must have cost just for it to be so desperately ugly that you want to scratch your eyes out upon seeing your reflection in the mirror.

"Tamsyn?" You whisper.

She croaks out a yes. Poor thing, so far from home, you think to yourself.

"Have you ever heard anyone speak of Lord Cathcart?"

She pauses, cheeks cherub-red, powdered brush frozen in front of your face.

"What do you mean, princess?"

You shrug. "Just that young boy from earlier. Have you heard of such behaviour before we came here?"

Her expression is that of a trapped animal. "I do not know if what I hear is true, princess. People talk a lot at the capital."

So she had. You wonder who else had heard of these matters and had not spoken up. People in power. Not your maid, but rather so the other Lords, the Barons, Dukes, Viscounts. Who had known what was happening and had let it happen? Who had known where they were sending you and had let you go? Has your father known?

You can picture it. Your father, with his red face and his horrid slur, laying in the bed he had shared with your mother, Lady Cathcart there as they laugh about the mean joke they would impose on you. Oh what a joy to send your child away, your daughter who carries her mother's face, whose disdain for your actions you cannot escape. What fun, to have her marry so low, to have her be forgotten by history as an unimportant Lady married to a weak, little man.

"Princess, may I speak freely?" Tamsyn says, no whispers.

You look into her big brown eyes. "Always."

"Your father has made a mistake sending you away. The people of the city barely tolerate him these days. They starve while he feasts upon their animals. They like you. Perhaps even love you. Times are changing...," she trails off. "I fear if something is not done, the people might do it themselves."

A knock sounds through the room and you nearly jump out of your skin, haunted by her soft and tender voice and her harsh and haunting words.

"Your highness, Lord Cathcart, wishes to see you," Benji says. "Are you decent?"

"NO!" you exclaim, louder than need-be. "He will see me once I make my way downstairs."

You think you hear a bit of a commotion on the other side but it quickly dispels.

Carefully you take Tamsyn's hand. "Whatever do you mean?"

She swallows thickly. Her moment's courage is gone.

"It is not treason to warn me of things," you mumble. "I would not betray your trust."

She nods but she doesn't wish to speak further and you are concerned that if you push too hard now that she may never speak again.

Another knock. "What?" You yell out across the room, more than annoyed.

With much care the door is opened and Benji walks in backwards, for modesty's sake.

"I'm decent Ser Benjicot."

He turns around and you wish you could wipe that expression of amusement right off his face.

"What?" you repeat.

He tilts his head. "Just here to report that Lord Cathcart has urged you to hurry up, as he would like to have dinner before sundown. Apparently the lighting is marvellous during."

You take the powder from Tamsyn, any more and you might have looked like a jester, anyways. "Let us go then. If Lord Cathcart insists upon it then so be it."

As you get up you damn near fall over, dragged down by the weight of your dress. All the curses in the world, you mentally send to Lady Cathcart.

"Do not say anything," you threaten your knight who has to fight his laughter harder by the second.

To make matters worse, the Lord of the house had sent a tiara with equally oversized feathers attached to it for you to wear.

You do not pride yourself in being fantastically tasteful like your sister Cordelia but you know for certain that you never could have come up with an atrocity of this scale in a million years.

You loop your arm through Benji's, praying that you will not stumble down the stairs to your death. Or perhaps that might be a kind fate, rather than having to spend the remainder of your life attached to a spiteful gnome.

But then, who would Benji have to offer his arm to?

Surely somebody, you remind yourself. He is a renowned rebellious man. It would be a miracle had he never lain with a woman before.

It crosses your mind that you have no reason to be thinking about this and so you push these thoughts back.

The pair of you walk through weird and winding corridors, decorated with stuffed animals and you stare at them as they watch you pass them by. "Have you heard of any commotion back at the capital?" you whisper to your knight.

He tenses beneath your touch. "Why do you ask?"

"Just— No reason. But I was thinking of my friends." You cough. They are not your friends, rather than simply people who you've offered your service to. "And they seemed so tense when I last saw them."

You don't need to look at him to know he is raising his eyebrow. "And when was that?" He asks with a tone of great authority for somebody of his rank.

"Before you were here. You know of my sole attempt, Ser Benjicot."

He takes a sharp turn to the left and you nearly trip.

You had never been known to trip. It bothers you greatly, how swiftly things seemed to be changing at the moment.

Benji sighs. "Nobody is quite happy with how things have been going along in the kingdom. After the death of your mother and the removal of Ser Attenborough from the position of hand the smallfolk has been growing uneasy."

You glance over your shoulder. Is it dangerous to speak so freely in a foreign place? Likely. "Is there reason to fear?"

For my brother. My sister who is visiting. For Marion even. For all the people at court that aren't corrupted by their own wealth.

Benji doesn't answer for a moment. "It is not yours to worry over such matters."

Of course. You scoff but you cannot be offended in truth, for you know that he is right. What would you even do? You held no true power, all you could do is warn Tristan and even so, what would you warn him about? Everyone knows of the dire situation in the kingdom.

You take another turn and you are not sure you would be able to find your way through this castle by your lonesome, as topsy-turvy as it is.

Finally you reach the grand hall and the sight before you is chilling. There are no guests at all.

Erik is sitting at the head of the table, whispering to a priest.

Servants stand in row along the cobbled and dark walls, statues or perhaps living dolls.

A shudder runs down your spine.

"Lord Cathcart," your voice chimes through the long room, reverberating from its hollowness. You've never particularly enjoyed hearing your own voice so intensely.

His eyes shoot up and his teeth are bared. "Your highness! My, you look just marvellous. Peacock is certainly your colour."

If it is a joke you don't laugh. Your smile is meek and you make your way towards your seat to his right. The only other of the about twenty chairs that has a dinner set resting in front of this.

Benji pulls your chair out for you and you squish the thick layers of dress down beneath the table.

"You may be excused," Erik tells your knight.

Your eyebrows raise.

"Have we not discussed this earlier?"

Erik nods. "That is what the priest is here for. To protect your virtue."

Benji does not say anything at all, not an ounce of protest and you can already hear his footsteps retreating.

"What of intruders? Kidnappers? Enemies to the crown? My safety is just as important as my chastity," you plead, exasperated, desperate to not be left alone with these strange men.

But you are waved off as you so often are.

The door opens and closes and you have to watch the closest thing to a friend you have here leave.

The sting of betrayal surprises you.

Lord Cathcart is delighted. "We have guards at all doors princess, you need not worry. I will protect you."

He couldn't protect you from a small dog, you are certain, but what use is protest? Somehow you will have to find a way to tolerate him.

Your wine is poured and you take a gulp and are hit with an instant wave of regret. "What is this?"

"Our local wine, princess. Do you like it?"

You consider lying for a moment. "Do you perhaps have anything sweeter? Cider?"

He claps and one of the frozen servants scurries quickly. Your chalice is replaced with a new one and the cider is only a tiny bit better. By god, you had not been aware just how spoiled you are.

The priest lingers by the fireplace. An ugly man, undeniably. Small bird-like eyes and wormy, moist lips. He's watching you with the eyes of a predator.

"Now, Princess," your betrothed says. "I am quite sorry for these circumstances,."

Your food is plated. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I am well aware that you must have expected a better match. Maybe even a love match."

The meat is cold in the middle. "I tried to not delude myself into thinking I would marry for love's sake."

He gives something of a look of consideration. “Still. Had we at least had the chance to know one another before being thrust into the other’s arms.”

He is not being thrust into anybody’s arms, you think to yourself. A husband is not the wife’s prisoner, it is the other way around. You don’t disagree with him, just keep chewing your hopeless, bland food.

“I am aware of my sister’s wrongdoings, princess.”

His voice has lowered to a whisper now, as though he is afraid of the shame his sister might bring upon him. As though his housekeepers do not quiver before him.

“What wrongdoings? Meddling in politics which do not concern her? You must clarify, my lord,” you demand.

The priest stares at you, unwavering.

Erik is uncomfortable. “No. I cannot. I do not know what she did, but I assure you she must have done something for you to be here now.”

“Where are your parents? Are they not concerned with their daughter’s actions?”

“They have long left the kingdom, as you surely know, princess.” There is a piece of lettuce stuck between his teeth. “They have no care for their children.”

“Well, at least we seem to have one thing in common.” Your voice drips with resignation.

He beams at you like an excited dog. “Yes!”

A bit absurd to get quite so excited about such a sombre fact.

“Lord Cathcart,” you say. You have to say this now. “I do hope we can find a way to make our marriage tolerable. But I must warn you that I will try to fight it until I am dragged down the altar. Once we are wed, I shall be an honourable, dutiful wife.”

There is a film of something strange across his face, the sheen of light disgust or aversion.

“Princess, this is an agreed-upon arrangement.”

You shrug. You wish you weren’t so scared. You wish your knight were here with you. “I am still the king’s daughter. I outrank you.”

Your heart is trembling with the fierceness of your words. You can't remember another time where you had spoken so frank.

But you had tripped today. It is due time you adapt to the world.

The air feels sharp. "Princess, you are my betrothed. There is no way out."

His knuckle blanch from how hard he grips the table. "I am sorry for the ordeal. But I will be your Lord Husband, you are not free to run your mouth like this."

It flashes across your mind how Benji had respected you more after you had spoken your mind and how disgusted with you Erik seems.

"I will not disrespect you in any regard. But if you are yourself sorry, why would you still agree?"

You know the answer. Wealth. The glory of marrying an Apricate girl. Proximity to the rulers.

He doesn't speak these things. "I will work hard against your unhappiness. But to remove myself from this betrothal would be undignified."

Have you gone too far? Had you been too crass? You do not know these unfamiliar waters, you do not know how much is too much, you have always given too little.

"I am sorry, my Lord. I do not mean to offend. I am simply-"

"Tired," he cuts you off. He rests his hand against yours. You wish you could remove it.. "How could I make you rest easier?"

Your gaze catches that off one of the paintings behind him. "Why do you lay hands on your people?"

He squeezes your hand and it feels like a threat but he catches himself. "For discipline."

"That is a foolish reason. Not even the king hurts his servants."

His beauty is so painfully tainted by the face he is making. "But this is the most efficient way. How else would they learn?"

The priest is still watching. Would a true man of god let this happen under his watch?

"Is it not god that taught us to treat each other with kindness?"

It feels as though you are speaking to a child and he truly doesn't understand what you are trying to imply.

But he gives in.

"If this is what you wish for then fine. I shall follow your command," he says.

You nod and take another sip. If you drink fast enough you might be able to interpret this as a win.

And perhaps while you are at it, you might unburden yourself by the plague that your knight is.

Comparison is the thief of joy and the way you cannot help but see how much of a better man Benji is, in comparison to the wimpy Lord Cathcart.

You never should have let him comfort you. It is like a gate in your mind has been opened and cannot be closed. A flood of thoughts, all repeating the same face over and over again.

"Princess, I must inform you of something and I am doubtful that it will make you happy."

Your stomach twists. "What is it?" Another big sip.

"Well, once we are wed—" He pauses. Which we will be, is what he is trying to suppress but the warning look in his eyes says it for him anyways. "You will be assigned a new sworn protector."

You pray to god that he doesn't see the frown you immediately pull into your chalice. "Pardon?"

"You will be assigned a new protector. My family is close with House Bracken and has been for many years. I cannot have that unhinged young lad running around my castle."

Unhinged is a strong choice of word, coming from him. "He swore an oath. How would I dispose of him?"

"In the same way your last knight was disposed of. It is not a dishonourable thing, but merely a precaution. I do not wish to run into trouble."

"My knight was picked in very specific conditions. He is part of the peace treaty in the Riverlands. If he returns, trouble will surely be worse."

It is quite funny how suddenly the tides have changed. Just about one moon, or two ago you were beyond upset with Ser Benjicot Blackwood, and had prayed for a way to rid yourself of him. And now, you were fairly certain that if he left, you would be the most lonely person in the world.

He isn't even your friend. You are not even sure he doesn't still partly despise you but with Marion gone and your siblings gone and your work (if one can call it that) taken from you, you had to call him a friend. Otherwise you might fall into a pit of deep despair.

Lord Cathcart had perhaps not considered the treaty. Or he hadn't considered that you might be aware of it. Either way he doesn't speak for a very long time and decides to aggressively cut his lamb up.

"You must know, it is a liability to have Bloody Ben running around my home. I can't imagine why your father would ever have him assigned to you in the first place, but I surely do not want this."

You disregard your food entirely. "Well, if you wish for it, I do not hold any power over who is sworn to me. But you hold no power either. If we were wed perhaps it might change, but even still. The Blackwood boy was chosen by the king and plays an essential role in keeping peace in this glorious kingdom. The choice is with him and his counsel."

And as you speak you wonder if they might execute him. Where else would they put him? Surely Lady Cathcart would find a way to have your father listen to her brother's request. And then what? He isn't allowed to return to the Riverlands, but how could they ensure that he wouldn't?

You must write to Tristan. Or perhaps Cordelia could offer him refuge in Arbormere. Without her husband''s knowledge.

It is becoming more noticeable by the second that this dress is not yours by the way parts of it dig into tender flesh.

Erik clears his throat.

And gets up.

You stare at him perplexed.

"Your highness, my princess, the realm's delight. I do not wish to sadden you." He grips your hand again, both of them this time. "But I cannot have you talking in this unwomanly manner. Politics do not concern you. Discipline does not concern you. How I handle things is not your concern. Speak disrespectfully again and I assure you, I can be much unfriendlier."

You swallow thickly before you rip your hands out of his. "I am still the princess. Do not dare threaten me ever again."

Tears of anger betray your coldness and you get up with enough force to send the table wobbling, wine stains the cloth spread.

"I bid you goodnight."

You turn to face the priest. "And you father."

He doesn't speak, still just quietly watching with bird eyes and nods.

Apparently luck is on your side after all, and the Lord of the house does not attempt to follow you.

You storm out of the room and do not slow down when Benji calls after you. He must have waited by the door. Has he heard your conversation?

"Do you even know where you are going?"

You ignore him, hectically climbing the stairs with your stupid, stupid gown.

Ser Corrigan nearly runs into you when you hurry around the corner but you ignore him too.

Since you have no idea where you are going you decide to continue climbing the stairs. You can hear Benji tell Ser Corrigan that he has not a single clue what has gotten into you.

You aren't even crying. You wish you were, you figure that would suit you more than an erratic outburst of anger. Maybe you are your father's daughter after all.

Finally Benji catches up to you and you are once more reminded of how restricted you are even by something as minute as the clothes you wear.

Forever the most privileged prisoner in the world.

"What on earth happened?" He asks, matching your speed as you keep going up and up and up.

"I cannot marry that man," you huff. This is surprisingly exhausting; your face feels like it's aglow from the heat.

"Did he do something?"

Did he? Not really. Can you even blame Erik for anything? He is doing what he has been taught his whole life, how he has seen women be treated by their husband's for forever. This is a tradition older than you or your mother or her mother before her. Generations of women who could do nothing but obey. Rage runs hot in your veins.,

"No," you say. "He did what was expected, I just figured I would—" Be successful in your rebellion. That if you had never spoken ill or not done what was expected that would mean it would be more effective once you do. But it wasn't. Not at all.

You can only place your hope with God now, and you have not done that in a very long time.

You reach the top of the stairs, the bell tower. Closer to the sky but not remotely a free bird.

With an exasperated sigh you lean against the wall, tilt your head to peek at the sun setting on the horizon, a fiery orange hue. The ridiculous feather tiara slips to the ground.

The dining room must be looking marvellous about now, it being faced west-way and all.

Benji also looks marvellous. Not nearly as out of breath as you, dressed in black leathers, his raven pin twinkling as his chest rises and falls.

"He wants to get rid of you," you tell him.

He nods. "That makes sense."

"How does that make any sense? You are here based on a contract, a deal, an entire peace treaty. He cannot just rid you of me."

He smiles halfheartedly. "Rid you of me? I thought it would be the other way around. That you'd be glad to be rid of me."

There is not an ounce of energy left in you to take such jests.

Benji is across from you. You are so high up, the tip of the tower. He feels too tall for the space. "I knew he was friends with the Bracken pack. I figured I'd run into some issues with that."

A strange sensation grows in your overwhelmed heart. "Why would you not tell me this?"

"You're so well-versed in gossip I thought you knew this."

You had known. But you had not realised that the bond between Bracken and Cathcart was strong enough to warrant such behaviour.

"He is like my father," you whisper. "But worse in some ways."

You consider it for a moment. "Better in others."

"So why are we up here? Are you planning to jump?"

You roll your eyes at him. "Idiot."

He nudges his boot against the bottom frills of your dress., and they leave a small splotch of brown. Somehow he is never fully clean. There are always specks of mud trailing him. You don't know how he manages it.

"Am I too not know love, ever?"

He nudges you again. "You are loved by so many. I'm quite certain that you are one of the most loved people in the world."

"It isn't tangible love. The smallfolk think they like me but they don't know me and soon they will have forgotten me in favour of my father's shortcomings. My siblings love me. Marion perhaps. Ser Rodrick once, but he hasn't written me any letters."

Benji sighs. "That is still more than what some people have in a lifetime."

There isn't a way to deny him because he is right. He has backed you into a corner with his words, but still he must be aware how none of that could make up for the marriage that was luring in your future. You do not even want to think of the consummation of it.

Silence remains as it so frequently does between the two of you.

He stretches his hand out toward you and you take it, not questioning why, as he pulls you forward, until your skirt wraps around both your legs.

With gentle hands he does the same, wraps around you until you are engulfed in his arms, his scent, his warmth.

Your head grows dizzy, as it rests against his shoulder.

"I am not familiar with the ways of the court," he whispers, his breath hot on the crown of your head. "But many noble women find a way to be with their husbands in a way that isn't too straining. Your sister seems content, doesn't she?"

"She wasn't always and she still is not. Her husband will not relent until he has an heir to take the throne. They get along fine but the bearing of children is laborious for her. My mother died when she had me."

His hand draws a circle on your back and you hope he never stops doing it.

"You're a witch. That won't happen to you."

You laugh but it is laced with venomous sarcasm. "I'm a terrible witch. I couldn't even say goodbye to my cauldron. Or my sick people."

He pulls away, yet just far enough for your noses to touch. "That was not your fault. And besides, you did try to leave the castle. You just weren't quite...tactical about it."

Your laugh dies in your throat when your eyes meet his. You're certain that nobody has ever quite looked at you like this. Least of all Benji.

That legendary young man, with a supposed undying thirst for blood. And while you had seen him angered, the way he is looking at you now makes it hard to imagine that he had ever been anything but tender.

The moment stretches out, up into the sky and across the two of you like the dome you are standing beneath.

In hindsight you won't be sure how it happens but something pulls the two of you together and your lips meet.

Your breath hitches, heart hammering the way Fury's hooves do when she gallops across a field and it is better than the rush of any wine you've ever had.

Your head is screaming at you to put a stop to it, but you cannot bring yourself to, when every fibre in your being is yearning for more, your hands in his hair. It is foreign and odd but in a fantastical way.

And in the end, it is him who pulls away.

"Oh," you breathe, chest rising unsteadily.

The grin on his face is prideful. "Mhm. Oh."

A twig snaps in the court, but it does not matter. His lips are on yours again.

#benjicot blackwood #hotd #benjicot blackwood x reader #davos blackwood #benjicot x reader #house of the dragon

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elysiaheaven · 1 month ago

Text

"Pure Insatiablity"-[𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓-2] 𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐍 𝐗 𝐆.𝐍 (Yandere) 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 (𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐓)

Words:

Genre: Yandere/Fluff

Summary: After a small smooch session, You decided to ask him on a first date that is outside to an ice cream shop. You sadly realized how much your book is affected the 'simps' be careful, some people just might eye his aesthetic! You have a small motive too Mission : Invite him to a sleepover!

( Reader is a g.n!)

TW: Obsessive behaviour, Lovesick, Blood, Violence, Crazy! Your daily dose of cringe! (He's crazy ><), (Reader is obsessive in love with him) Mentions of disturbing poetic lines?

EXTRA: He's a character from a game named Killer chat! Please play it! It's so good! I think I need to do more research on him, If what I wrote doesn't really scream him! I'm sorry! I'm still learning abt him! I KNOW IT'S BAD I'M SORRYY!!

You and Ronin walked through the quiet streets, the echo of your footsteps bouncing off the alley walls. His hand gripped yours with just enough pressure to remind you of his presence. He was always like that—an anchor, pulling you deeper into his orbit, and you couldn’t help but sink further in your love with him.

But something nagged at you. It wasn’t jealousy, peruse, but curiosity. How did Angel deal with this devil. Some tips to make yourself interesting You bit your lip, trying to work up the nerve to ask.

"Ronin…" you started hesitantly, your voice small, but he just glanced at you, his eyebrow raised, as if daring you to continue.

"How was it… you and Angel? You know, when you were together?"

He didn’t respond immediately, his pace unchanged as you walked. For a moment, you thought he might ignore you altogether, but then he sighed, a slow, deliberate sound, his lips curling up into a dark smile.

"Keep thinkin’ about it in that pretty stupid little head of yours, darlin’," he teased, his voice dripping with that post-ironic bite that was so him. "But fine, if you really wanna know…" His tone shifted as he spoke, and you could tell he wasn’t playing games this time. His gaze turned cold, distant, like he was pulling from memories he wasn’t entirely comfortable revisiting.

"I felt safe with her, y’know?" He said it so casually, but there was something deeper in his words. "She was like… a reflection of something I couldn’t have anymore. I was projectin' Ther—onto her. Still got a lotta unprocessed shit about them. It's just two people were broken tryin to fix each other."

You blinked, trying to process that. "Ther?" You whispered. Yeah, you knew he mentioned it. Forsaken town, First love.

His grip on your hand tightened, and for a second, his eyes flashed with something colder than usual. "Stop carin’," he muttered, his voice sharp. "You’re askin’ all these stupid questions and you’re gonna get lost in ‘em. That what you want? To drown in this obsession you’ve got for me? ‘Cause I’ll let you. But stop stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and suddenly you felt that lovesick haze wrapping around your mind again, his voice pulling you deeper into it. You forgot, almost instantly, what you had just been talking about. All you could focus on was him. His presence, his voice, the way his hand felt against yours. Your mind whirled, caught in the spiral of your adoration for him.

He noticed, of course. He always did. He gave you that dark smile again, the one that told you he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

"Why’d you even ask about Angel, huh?" His tone was challenging now, mocking, as if daring you to admit what you were really thinking.

"I… I just wanted to understand," you stammered, looking down at the ground. "I wanted to know how she was with you. For… tips."

He stopped walking then, turning to face you fully. His eyes narrowed as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Tips for what, baby? You plannin’ somethin’ for Angel? If you do, I will have a reason to abuse my crowbar." His voice dropped, a dark serious tone....

You shook your head furiously, eyes wide. "No, no! I would never!" You gasped, the thought of hurting Angel—a sweetheart, someone who had been nothing but kind to you—making you feel sick. "Even if I’m crazy, I wouldn’t hurt her. She’s… she’s too nice. I care about her too much, Ronin."

You said it softly, almost to yourself, as if admitting it out loud made it more real. Your mind spun with the thought of Angel, how she’d always looked out for you, tried her best to help you, even when you were too far gone in your obsession with Ronin to notice sometimes.

Ronin watched you, that cold gaze of his never faltering. "That so?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "And here I thought you didn’t care ‘bout anyone but me."

"I don’t care about impressing you with that," you blurted, shaking your head again, a desperate edge to your voice. "I don’t need to do something crazy to make you notice me. I just… I have to be someone. Someone you find interesting. Someone who stands out, right?"

Ronin’s lips curled into a wicked smile, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he whispered, "You’re already like someone when you’re just normal."

You didn’t hear him—your mind too clouded, too wrapped up in him to catch the whisper.

You perked up suddenly, your eyes lighting up as a new thought crossed your mind. "Oh! I just remembered something!" you chirped, unable to contain your excitement.

Ronin raised an eyebrow, clearly not as enthusiastic as you were. "What now, darlin’?" he asked, voice tinged with mild annoyance, though he couldn’t quite hide the curiosity in his eyes.

"There’s a new ice cream shop near my place!" you said, practically bouncing on your heels. "We could go there, y’know? You could stash your stupid crowbar at my place, and then we can grab some ice cream. It'll be fun!"

For a moment, Ronin looked genuinely taken aback. His usual cold expression faltered, his eyes narrowing in what you could only describe as confusion. He stared at you, silent, and the longer he didn’t say anything, the more you started to worry. You bit your lip, fidgeting under his gaze.

"Ronin…?" you asked softly, concern creeping into your voice. "Are you… okay?"

His expression hardened, and he shook his head with a low chuckle, though there was something off about it. "You stalked me or somethin’ when I was a kid, huh? You have been to angeltown?" His tone was dry, almost mocking, but there was an undercurrent of something else—something more vulnerable, hidden beneath the layers of sarcasm.

"What?" You blinked, genuinely confused. "No! What are you talking about?"

"It’s nothin’," he muttered, eyes flicking away from yours as if he didn’t want to explain any further. "Just… remembered somethin’. Forget it."

But in truth, he was remembering something far more personal than he’d ever let on. Back in his small hometown, there was an old ice cream shop he used to frequent with his childhood best friend—his first love, Ther. They would go there all the time, sneaking off after school, sharing laughs and stolen glances over melting cones. His favorite flavor had been apple crumble, and somehow, that preference had stuck with him all these years, even as everything else changed.

It was a memory he didn’t care to revisit, especially not with you looking at him like that, all wide-eyed and hopeful, dragging him into your bright, pretty world.

"Okay," he finally said, voice low and resigned. He glanced down at you, and you could see the walls he always kept up, the ones you couldn’t ever fully break down.

Your eyes widened in excitement, your heart fluttering at the thought of something so simple, yet so intimate. Your first date with him—ice cream! "Oh my god, this is gonna be our first ice cream together!" you squealed, barely containing yourself. You tried to act cute, hoping for a rare smile from him.

But Ronin just sighed deeply, as if the very idea was exhausting. "Shut up," he muttered, his hand briefly ruffling your hair before pulling away. "So hopeless..."

"I’m sorry," you whispered, though you couldn’t hide the small grin tugging at your lips. "Hehe."

He rolled his eyes and just started walking ahead, his crowbar resting over his shoulder, not even bothering to check if you were following. Of course, you hurried to catch up, practically bouncing along next to him, whispering little apologies under your breath, giggling to yourself.

You reached your small, somewhat sad-looking house, a modest place nestled in the shadow of larger buildings. It wasn’t much, but it was yours, and right now, You turned to him, practically vibrating with excitement, pushing him lightly. "Come on, come in! Don’t be such a grump."

He looked at the house, then back at you, his expression unreadable. He hadn’t said a word about how unimpressive it was, but the way his eyes flicked over everything made you feel self-conscious for a moment. You almost wanted to apologize for it, but then again, this was Ronin. If he cared about things like that, you wouldn’t be here at all.

You changed the subject quickly, "They have apple crumble at the ice cream place, you know! It’s their famous flavor! But! we can try your fav too!"

Ronin’s gaze snapped back to you, and for a second, there was something unreadable in his eyes. His face hardened again as he narrowed his eyes at you. "How the hell do you know that’s my favorite flavor, darlin’?"

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "I didn’t! I just… It’s their famous one! I didn't know..!" You laughed awkwardly, hoping to shake off whatever tension had crept into the conversation.

But Ronin wasn’t letting it go. He stared at you, his expression shifting to one of suspicion. "You messin’ with me or somethin’? Huh?"

"What?" you said, confused and a little thrown off by his sudden shift in tone. "No! I wouldn’t—"

Before you could finish, he cut you off, "Forget it." He shook his head, almost like he was trying to shake off the conversation. "This is stupid. I don’t wanna go."

You could feel the excitement you’d built up start to deflate. You frowned slightly, watching him as he crossed his arms, his crowbar still hanging loosely from one hand. "Ronin, c’mon," you said softly, trying to calm him down. "Just relax a little, okay? Leave the crowbar here, at least. You don’t want people thinking you’re the Butcher, right?"

He gave you a look, his lips twitching upward in a smirk. "What, afraid the boys in blue are gonna catch me, darlin’?"

"Yes!" you exclaimed, a bit exasperated but still with a smile. "Just… humor me, alright? We don’t need the extra attention."

He chuckled darkly, looking at you with that familiar devilish glint in his eyes. "So careful… It’s sad, really. But I ain’t stupid. I know how to keep safe." He turned his head away, glancing toward the alley like he was already plotting his next escape route.

"Okay, then," you said, pressing him gently, trying to get him to focus. "So let’s go. Ice cream, remember?"

Ronin sighed heavily, dragging the crowbar along the ground for a moment before he finally propped it against your front step. "Christ, stop with the annoyin’—" He stopped himself, his voice cutting off mid-sentence as his gaze fell on you.

Your eyes met his, wide and pleading, and something in them seemed to stop him in his tracks. He looked at you for a long moment, his expression softening just a fraction. "Again with those eyes," he muttered, almost to himself. "Stop lookin’ at me like that."

"Like what?" you asked, confused and a little concerned by the sudden shift in his demeanor.

"Like that," he said, his voice lower now, a whisper that carried an edge of frustration. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "It’s too damn similar."

You blinked at him, more confused than ever. "Similar to what?"

He didn’t answer you, just stood there for a moment, his jaw clenched tight. Finally, he exhaled sharply, like he was forcing himself to drop whatever thought was running through his head. "It’s childish," he muttered. "This whole thing is stupid."

But even as he said it, Ronin pushed past you, walking toward the alley ahead of you like he had already given in. You smiled, hurrying to catch up with him, practically bouncing with excitement. This was a small victory—getting him to go, even if he was acting like it was a chore.

You tried to play it off, walking beside him and giving him a sidelong glance. "You don’t have to go if you really don’t want to, you know."

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his lips curling into a smirk. "Shut up, darlin’. You dragged me into this, now I’m gonna see it through."

You grinned, a blush creeping up your neck. "Okay, okay, I’ll stop talking. But… thanks for coming with me. I know it’s kinda… silly."

Ronin didn’t respond right away. He just kept walking, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his expression unreadable. After a few moments, he glanced over at you again, and for the briefest second, you thought you saw something softer beneath the usual cold exterior.

"Y’know," he said quietly, his voice almost too low to hear, "you’re more like someone than you realize. When you’re not actin’ all… lovesick."

You blinked at him, confused by his words. "What do you mean?"

He didn’t elaborate, just kept walking ahead, his pace quickening slightly as if he wanted to put some distance between you and the conversation. You furrowed your brows, wondering what he meant, but you didn’t press him. You were just happy he was here, with you, even if you didn’t understand everything that went through his head.

Ronin, hands in his pockets, posture effortlessly cool. He carried himself like the devil he pretended to be—like nothing ever fazed him. But you saw through it. You always did.

You smiled softly to yourself, tilting your head. "Did you miss me?" you asked, your voice innocent but layered with a lovesick longing that was impossible to hide. You always wanted to hear him say it, wanted him to acknowledge that he thought about you when you weren’t around.

Ronin’s smirk twitched. He was quick with his answer, too quick. "I was good. Y’know, like... I’m fine, darlin’." His voice was casual, but the way he flicked his gaze away from you betrayed him. He thought he was hiding it so well, but you could see the cracks. He wasn’t as cool and unaffected as he pretended to be.

You pursed your lips, a playful frown creasing your forehead as you watched him closely. "V lied about that too, didn’t he?" you pressed, your eyes narrowing just a little. "He told me you were fine without me, but... were you really okay, Ronin? With not talking to me?"

Your voice softened, a trace of vulnerability slipping through. You wanted to know the truth, wanted to hear it from him, even though you already suspected the answer.

Ronin’s jaw clenched, his hands digging deeper into his pockets. He was trying so hard to keep up the act, but you knew him too well. "I didn’t need to talk, I had to fuck up some cars." he said, his tone rougher than before, trying to deflect. "I was busy, y’know. Cleaning up my victims and all that." He shot you a devilish grin, trying to distract you with his usual dark humor. He wanted to keep it light, to rise you up out of your lovesick thoughts, but you could see right through him.

"Cleaning your victims, huh?" You let out a small laugh, tilting your head again as you walked a little closer to him, almost bumping his shoulder with yours. "Ronin, don’t lie to me. I know you better than that." Your voice was soft, gentle, but there was a certainty in it that made his attempt to dodge the question crumble even more.

He stopped walking for a second, glancing at you, his eyes darting to meet yours before looking away just as quickly. "It’s your fault I had to come out, you know?" he muttered, but the playful edge in his voice didn’t fully mask the truth. "I was layin’ low, had a good streak goin’, but no, you had to drag me back out, didn’t ya, darlin’? You should be sorry for ruining it."

"Sorry for ruining your perfect streak," you whispered, grinning despite the mock seriousness of his tone. But there was something in his words that made your heart skip a beat, something in the way he was still here with you, in the way he hadn’t really wanted to stay away.

He turned his head to look at you, and for a moment, his smirk faltered, his eyes flicking up and down as if he were sizing you up. "Grow some spine, will ya? You’re actin’ all pathetic," he teased, but there was no real venom in his voice. Just that post-ironic attitude, the way he tried so hard to play the role of the devilish rogue, but underneath it, you could feel the truth.

And it was so sweet, so Ronin. He thought he was being smooth, but you could see the cracks in his armor, and it only made you love him more.

"I’m not pathetic," you whispered, your heart fluttering as you took another step closer to him. "You missed me, didn’t you?" Your voice was lovesick, hopelessly romantic, like you were clinging to every word, every chance he’d let slip that maybe, just maybe, you meant something to him.

Ronin huffed, rolling his eyes, but his lips twitched again, betraying the fact that he couldn’t quite keep up the act. "You’re makin’ this harder than it needs to be, darlin’. I’m tellin’ ya, I was fine."

You smiled softly, tilting your head as you gazed up at him, your eyes soft with affection. "You weren’t fine," you said gently. "You missed me, didn’t you?"

He stopped walking again, his gaze locking onto yours. There was a brief silence, just the sound of your footsteps on the pavement and the distant hum of the city. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at you, trying to keep up the facade, trying to maintain that devil-may-care attitude he always wore like a mask.

But you could see it, the way his eyes softened just a little, the way his posture relaxed ever so slightly. He was trying so hard to hide it, but he wasn’t doing a very good job.

"Christ," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "You’re impossible."

You giggled softly, feeling your heart swell with affection. "I knew it."

Ronin’s lips twitched again, and he glanced away, trying to regain his composure. "Stop actin’ so smug about it," he grumbled, but there was no real bite in his words. He was giving in, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

"You’re just my Ronin," you whispered, your voice full of that lovesick adoration that made him roll his eyes, but deep down, you knew he didn’t mind it as much as he pretended to.

You entered the small, brightly lit ice cream shop, a chime from the door announcing your arrival. The cool air hit your skin as you walked in, but something about the place felt off immediately. It wasn’t the place itself—it was the way every pair of eyes inside turned to look at Ronin the second he stepped through the door. The cashiers at the counter, the waitstaff, even a few customers… all of them paused, their gazes lingering on him for just a second too long, whispering and giggling among themselves.

Ronin noticed too, but, in typical fashion, he didn’t seem to care. He just strolled in like he owned the place, finding a booth in the corner and sitting down casually, his back resting against the wall. You followed, but as you took your seat across from him, you could feel your frustration building. Those eyes on him… the way they looked at him like he was some kind of sideshow attraction—it made your skin crawl.

You glanced at him, but he seemed perfectly at ease, arms stretched out along the back of the booth, his lips twitching into a faint smirk as he scanned the menu lazily. "So," he drawled, flicking his gaze up to meet yours. "What’re you having’?"

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes still scanning the room, catching more of those glances, more of those giggles from across the counter. Why were they looking at him like that? Maybe it was just coincidence. Maybe it was… something else. You forced yourself to focus and asked, “What do you want?”

Ronin leaned forward just slightly, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Apple crumble," he said, his voice low and teasing, like it was some private joke. He knew you’d catch the significance.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you tried to stay composed, biting your lip as you glanced at the menu. "I… I don’t know what I want," you mumbled, feeling a little lost in your thoughts.

Ronin gave you a long, unreadable look, then leaned back again, his expression softening for just a second before he shrugged. "Get that 'flavor-name,' Ain’t it your favorite?"

You blinked, surprised. "Y-yeah, it is…" You smiled softly, nodding, but there was something distant about his expression, something faraway that flickered across his eyes for just a moment before he bounced back, his devil-may-care smirk returning. You were about to ask him what that was when a waitress appeared at your table.

She was all smiles, her attention laser-focused on Ronin like you weren’t even there. "Hi there! What can I get for you?" she asked, completely ignoring you. Your fingers clenched into fists under the table, a wave of irritation bubbling up inside you. But before you could say anything, Ronin answered, his tone cool and detached.

"Apple crumble."

The waitress giggled, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "That’s a great choice! Is your style, like, inspired by that serial killer book? You know, the one with the guy who—" She trailed off, giggling again, clearly trying to flirt.

Your heart dropped. You knew exactly what she was talking about. It was your book. The one you’d written, the one where the main character was based on none other than Ronin himself. And these idiots didn’t even realize it was you sitting right there. But of course, they’d recognized the clothing style—his whole look was...written by you the way you saw him!, the subtle touches only someone who knew would notice.

Before you could snap at her, tell her to fuck off and that it was your book, Ronin spoke up, his tone dark and playful. "Well, I know the writer personally," he said, his gaze drifting toward you with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Got plenty of inspiration, actually. And I think the writer did a damn fine job… wouldn't you say?"

The waitress, clueless, just laughed, her eyes still locked on Ronin. "Wow, really? Well, they must be really good at what they do!" She leaned in slightly, biting her lip. "You’re cute, you know that? I bet they wrote the character to be onto someone like me, huh?"

That was it. You snapped.

"Could you fuck off? you growled, your voice low and dangerous, every ounce of your lovesick adoration for Ronin now tinged with a fiery possessiveness. "I don’t care if you thinks he's-cute—I have money, and I’m not here for your stupid comments."

The waitress blinked, clearly taken aback by your sudden outburst. She let out a small huff and muttered something under her breath before walking off to place your order, but it was too late. Your anger was already burning hot, threatening to bubble over into something darker, something primal.

Ronin chuckled, his gaze sliding back to you, his eyes filled with that same devilish amusement. "Feelin’ a little murderous, are we, darlin’?" he teased, leaning forward, his voice a low purr. "You looked like you were about to tear her apart. Got something you wanna share?"

You clenched your jaw, trying to calm the storm inside you, but it was so hard when he was right there, taunting you, pushing all the right buttons like he always did. "I just…" You swallowed, your voice shaking with the intensity of your emotions. "I just can’t stand the way she looked at you. Like she had a chance."

Ronin smirked, leaning back in his seat again. "So, you’re jealous, huh? That’s cute. Really cute."

"Shut up," you muttered, but your voice lacked any real bite. You were lovesick, and he knew it. He always knew exactly how to twist you around his finger.

"Come on, darlin'," he whispered, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "She was harmless. Just a dumb waitress tryin’ to flirt. But you…" He leaned in close again, his breath warm against your ear. "You’re the one I’m here with, aren’t ya?"

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at you with that unreadable expression. You could tell something was stirring beneath the surface, but with Ronin, it was always hard to tell what exactly. Finally, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Damn, darlin’, you’re worse than those fangirls and fanboys who come ‘round hopin’ to see the style in the flesh.”

You blinked in confusion, not quite sure what he meant. “What?”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting with amusement. “Y’know, when I’m at the garage, workin’ on scooters or cars—people come in, they recognize the style. The way I dress. The way I act.” He paused, his grin widening. “You wrote it so damn well that people think it’s me in real life. It’s like a show every time. They get all worked up, thinkin’ they’ve spotted the real deal.”

Your jaw clenched. Anger bubbled inside you again, not at him—never really at him—but at the world for not understanding that you were the one who crafted him so carefully, so intimately. You created this version of him, this persona that everyone else now saw as their own discovery. It made your blood boil, the way they fawned over him, completely missing the deeper connection you had.

Ronin’s eyes flicked over to you, and you knew he saw it. That anger bubbling beneath the surface, no matter how hard you tried to hide it. But, of course, Ronin was always good at seeing through you, pulling at the threads just to see how far you’d unravel.

He leaned forward, his smirk darkening. “Look at you, darlin’. You’re tryin’ so hard to keep that pretty little face of yours calm, but I can see it. You hate the way they look at me, don’t you? All that attention, all those eyes, and none of ‘em know what it’s really like to be close to me. But you do.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt yourself trembling, your pulse quickening. He was doing it again—getting inside your head, stirring up all those feelings that you tried so hard to control. And you couldn’t stop it. You didn’t want to stop it.

“Of course I do,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “I hate it when they act like they know you. They don’t. They don’t know you, not like I do.”

Ronin laughed softly, a low, mocking sound that made your heart ache and flutter at the same time. “You’re somethin’ else, y’know that? Worse than the rest of ‘em, even. But that’s what makes you so fun, baby. The way you get all wound up over me.”

He was right, of course. You were worse than them. You were completely consumed by him, and he knew it. Every little look, every word, every touch sent you spiraling deeper into your obsession. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“I don’t care what you think,” you muttered, even though you knew it was a lie. “I just… I hate that they don’t see the real you. They just see the version of you that I wrote.”

Ronin’s eyes darkened, his smirk fading into something more serious, more intense. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “And what is the real me, huh? The one you see? The one you wrote?”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “The real you… you’re mine,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. “You’re my Ronin.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at you with that same unreadable expression. Then, slowly, his smirk returned, darker and more dangerous than before. “Yeah,” he said softly, his voice sending a thrill through your veins. “I guess I am, darlin’. I guess I am.”

Your heart swelled at his words, even though you knew better than to take them at face value. He was always playing games, always toying with your emotions, and yet, you couldn’t help but fall deeper every time.

“Shut up,” you muttered, but there was no heat behind your words. You were completely and utterly lovesick, and he knew it.

Ronin grinned, leaning back again with a satisfied smirk. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now, stop lookin’ so pissed, and enjoy your damn ice cream, darlin."

He finished his, soon.

Ronin leaned back with a long, exaggerated sigh as he shoved another bite of his apple crumble ice cream into his mouth. "One ice cream, darlin’? This is all we’re doin’? Christ, I’m tired of this bullshit already,” he grumbled, though you could see the small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. As always, he played at annoyance, but you knew better.

You smiled softly, spooning some of your ice cream as he shoveled through his. “If you’re tired, we can get out of here,” you said, trying not to sound too eager. You didn’t want to rush him, but the thought of spending more time together made your heart race.

He paused mid-scoop, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “You done already?”

You nodded, even though a part of you didn’t want to admit it. "Yeah… I mean, if you want another scoop though…”

He scoffed, looking distanced for a moment before narrowing his eyes, trying to read you. “Another scoop?” he repeated, almost like he was testing you.

You smiled, pushing through the tension. “I’ll buy it for you if you want.”

Ronin blinked, his expression unreadable for a second before he shook his head, letting out another one of those dramatic sighs. “You’re somethin’ else, y’know that?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You get me too well, it’s scary. Almost like you’re in my head sometimes.”

You couldn’t help but grin at that, your heart fluttering at the way he said it, even if it was meant to be a jab. “Well, it’s my turn to spoil you a little,” you said, winking playfully.

Ronin snorted, rolling his eyes. “Your bullshit’s so cute it’s killin’ me,” he muttered in that mock-annoyed tone, though the slight crinkle in his eyes told you he wasn’t really annoyed at all. He liked playing along, rising you up because it amused him, but there was always that undercurrent of something deeper. He didn’t admit it outright, but you could tell he enjoyed these moments—just you and him, even in the simplest ways.

You both stared at each other for a second, and then, with a shrug, he relented. “Fine. I want another scoop.”

Your smile grew, and you couldn’t help the way your heart swelled. “Alright. One more, coming right up.”

When the waitress brought the extra scoop, Ronin wasted no time digging in, and you watched him with quiet adoration. Every bite he took, every small, almost unconscious movement, made you feel like you were watching something special—something only you were privy to. It was ridiculous, but you couldn’t help it. He was your Ronin, no matter how much he pretended to push you away.

After a few bites, he caught you staring and raised an eyebrow. “What’re you lookin’ at?”

You blinked, snapping out of your lovesick daze, a small flush rising to your cheeks. “Nothing,” you muttered quickly, looking down at your empty bowl. “Just… you seem to be enjoying that.”

He paused, studying your face for a second before smirking. “You’re so easy to mess with, darlin’. But yeah, I guess it’s not bad.” He took another large bite, savoring it a little too dramatically to not be teasing you.

You couldn’t help but smile again. “I’m glad.”

Ronin let out a low chuckle, finishing his ice cream before standing up and stretching lazily. “Alright, that’s enough sugar for one night. Let’s get outta here.”

You nodded, standing up as well, though you hesitated for a second. “You sure you don’t want another scoop?”

He shot you a look, exasperated but amused. “Don’t push it. You already spoiled me enough.”

As you both made your way toward the exit, you couldn’t help the lightness in your step, even though you knew he’d never outright admit it. These small moments, even when filled with his teasing and sarcasm, meant more to you than he could ever know.

Ronin glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips. "Stop grinnin’ like an idiot. You’re makin’ me regret ever lettin’ you spoil me.”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling too wide, but the warmth inside you was impossible to contain. "You’re welcome, Ronin."

He rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything more, just shoved his hands into his pockets and walked beside you, the night air cool and crisp as you both left the ice cream shop behind.

You said your goodbyes with him. Tho, he didn't show it. You can see maybe he did enjoy this day..

Things weren't so great.

You felt the familiar vibration of your phone as you made your way back to your house, alone after parting ways with Ronin. Your heart was still fluttering from the whole night, but the moment you saw the names on your notifications, reality hit like a truck. Angel, V, Misaki—they were all on your case, blowing up your phone.

You sighed, unlocking it and seeing their frantic DMs, especially from Angel, who was trying her best to keep V from spiraling.

Angel:

"Hey, I talked to V. He's pissed. I tried calming him down, but it's not working. You and Ronin really need to explain what happened. V is not gonna let this slide unless someone takes responsibility."

Your heart sank as you read her message, realizing just how badly things were spiraling. You quickly shot her a message back, hoping to at least ease her a little.

You:

"I went on a date with Ronin…"

It wasn’t long before Angel replied, and her concern bled through the screen.

Angel:

"A date? Oh god… Look, I’m not mad, but this is going to be a mess. V’s furious. Misaki’s trying to play it cool, but they feel bad for you. Just… be prepared. You need to explain everything. V won’t let it go."

As if on cue, your phone buzzed again, this time a notification from none other than Goreboy—Ronin’s online persona. You knew it was him even before you read the message, and something about his casual, detached tone made your heart race.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"What now, Darlin’? Don’t Freak. Just Follow My lead."

It was typical Ronin, brushing it off like it wasn’t a big deal, as if he hadn’t just upended your whole situation. Still, his confidence was oddly reassuring, and you couldn’t help but trust him.

You:

"Are you sure?"

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Yes."

That was all you needed. You took a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the inevitable storm as you all joined the group VC. The moment you entered, V was already going off.

"Explain yourself, Ronin!" V barked, his voice sharp and accusatory. "I don’t care what you think you’re doing. You should’ve stayed away from them!"

Ronin’s voice came through, calm and post-ironic as ever. "Y’know, V, you’re really makin’ this more fun than it needs to be." He drawled lazily, as if V’s anger was nothing more than a mild annoyance to him. "I didn’t ‘come after’ them, if that’s what you’re thinkin’. They showed up in my alley. I was just mindin’ my own business, darlin’ here just had to check on me."

You felt the familiar tug of lovesick warmth as he said that. He was defending himself, but in a way that still made it sound like it was your fault for being tempted by him. He knew how much you adored him, how much you’d do anything to be in his orbit. He played with it, as always.

V wasn’t having it, though. "Bullshit. You knew they’d come after you if you showed yourself. This is on you, Ronin. You’re dragging them into your mess."

Before you could stop yourself, you stepped in, heart racing. "No, V, it’s my fault. I… I wanted to see Ronin. It wasn’t him dragging me anywhere."

There was a heavy silence in the chat after you spoke. Angel and Misaki were quiet, unsure how to approach the situation. Misaki finally broke the silence, their voice soft but clear. "Poor you…" they muttered, almost to themselves

Angel sighed, her voice filled with sympathy. "Maybe… maybe it’s best to let them handle their own business. This is getting complicated."

V, however, wasn’t backing down. "This isn’t just their business. Ronin, you know better. You’ve got some sick game going on, and it’s not fair to them!"

Ronin laughed, the sound dark and mocking. "Oh, , I’m always playin’ games. You know that. But this time? I was just tempted. What can I say?" He chuckled again, clearly enjoying how much this was getting under V’s skin. "Besides, I told ‘em it was their fault for comin’ after me. I’m the devil, remember? It’s so easy to pull them in."

Your heart pounded in your chest as he said that, and something inside you snapped. "Stop blaming Ronin!" you yelled, voice cracking slightly. "It’s my fault! I wanted to see him! I’m the one who—"

Ronin’s voice cut you off, quieter but far more intense. "Enough." The weight of his tone silenced everyone. "It’s my fault I was tempted. That’s the truth. But you," he paused, and you could almost feel his eyes on you through the screen, "you need to log off for a bit. Let me handle this."

You hesitated, torn between your need to defend him and the strange, commanding weight his words held over you. You were lovesick, desperate to stay, to stand up for him, but he was telling you to go.

Angel spoke softly. "Maybe… maybe it’s for the best. Just… take a break for a bit. Let Ronin and V handle this."

Ronin’s voice came again, a little softer, though the devilish edge remained. "Yeah, darlin’. Log off. I’ll deal with V."

With a heavy heart, you nodded, even though no one could see you. "Okay," you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else. "I’ll… I’ll go."

As soon as you logged off the call, Ronin messaged you, and all the other frantic DMs from V, Angel, and Misaki vanished into the background, their notifications irrelevant. It was like the world narrowed down to just Ronin—his presence wrapping around you like a vice.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Just kidding, darlin'."

Your heart skipped a beat. Kidding? Before you could even ask, his next message came through.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Logged off with Ya. Figured the show’s over, huh? Don’t worry, it’s all Part of the Game"

You stared at your phone, anger bubbling up. What the hell did he mean by that? You quickly shot him a message.

You:

"What the fudge did you do, Ronin?

His response came almost instantly, like he was just waiting for your reaction.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Relax, darlin'. Just played a little game. Y'know how V gets with his 'fucking justice' and 'fucking morals'. Thought I’d Ruffle his feathers a bit. It’s kinda Funny, don’tcha think?"

"Played a little game, that's all."

He sent the message so casually, as if the chaos he just caused was nothing. You could practically feel the smugness radiating from his words.

You:

"Annoying! I can't see anyone's messages except yours!"

He responded instantly, his words quick, almost playful.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Of course. It’s just You and Me, darlin’. Lovers tryna enjoy each other Without the Bullshit distractions. But V, with his fucking morals and justice, thinkin' you're getting influenced by yours truly."

His words dripped with that usual post-ironic tone, mocking yet dead serious. And somehow, that made your heart race even more. You knew he was right, at least about one thing: you were completely under his spell.

You:

"That’s… true."

There was a pause before his reply came through, and you could almost see him grinning on the other side of the screen.

Goreboy (Ronin):

But you Love* it, don't you, Darlin'?"

Your breath caught in your throat as you typed your response, fingers trembling slightly.

You:

"Yes…"

He was quick to pounce on that, pushing you further into his devilish web.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"I know ya do. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. So go with the flow!

His words made your pulse quicken, the way he so easily took control of the situation, twisting it into something that was just between the two of you. His devilish charm always made you feel like you were playing a dangerous game, but you couldn’t help but crave more.

You:

"It's annoying how well you know me."

Goreboy (Ronin):

"I had a Good Time Today, by the way."

You nearly jumped out of your chair, excitement bubbling up inside you. Your fingers instinctively kissed your palms, a gesture you often did when the thrill of your affection overwhelmed you.

You:

"Really? Oh my god, that’s so cute! I’m literally squealing right now!"

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Christ, you’re Ridiculous. It's Embarrassing, honestly."

You could almost picture him rolling his eyes on the other side of the screen, but that only fueled your excitement more.

You:

"I can't help it! My love is riding the park on a unicorn of feelings!"

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Ew. Seriously? What the Hell is wrong with You?"

But deep down, you knew he loved it.

You:

"So… is apple crumble your favorite flavor or what?" You asked, half-joking.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"No shit, Sherlock. How Pathetic is it that you don’t even know what I like?"

You pouted, feeling a mix of embarrassment and defiance.

You:

"Well, you never tell me a lot about yourself!"

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Hmm, is that the case? You think I’m just gonna spill my guts to you, sweetheart? Maybe you’re just too wrapped up in your little fantasy world to notice."

You suddenly got a notification. Decided to check it than Check Ronin.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"........."

"Hello, Hell to Y/n."

"So, how’s your book coming along? I hope you’re writing about me, of course."

Dude, was down bad. He won't admit it of course. In truth the Devil wants yours attention.

Of course you are dumb to realize that he wants it. After seeing the nofication. You saw his messages

You couldn’t help but smile, a mix of pride and mischief bubbling inside you.

You:

" Oh, expect justice! I’m writing everything down! V is going to be sad because I got distracted by you, and now I have to rewrite so much."

Goreboy (Ronin):

" You finally replied. Ah, so I’m a Good inspiration For you, huh? How Adorable’."

The way he said “adorable” sent a thrill through you, igniting something darker beneath the surface.

You:

"It’s crazy! I even wrote about how much I love you, Ronin. It’s all in there—gore and all!"

His laughter came through the screen, dark and enticing.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Well, if we’re being honest here, My love for blood is Pretty Poetic, wouldn’t you say? It’s the ultimate Expression of affection. Give Me Your Aorta, sweetheart. Let me have it."

You felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, a strange thrill coursing through you as you pictured the grotesque imagery he conjured.

You:

"You want my aorta? For you, it’s yours. It’s not like I need it, right?"

Goreboy

"Aw, So cute."

K9 requests to message you

Goreboy (Ronin)

"V is really Trying to get you to Talk, but I Don’t Wanna deal with him right now. What Do you think? Focus on me or let Him Blabber on?"

You thought for a moment, weighing the options.

You:

"I guess we could let V talk... he does seem like he has something to say."

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Nope. I think you Should Focus On Me. I have a Better idea."

Your curiosity piqued.

You:

"What do you mean?"

Goreboy (Ronin):

"How about a round of Truth or Dare? I haven’t played that with you in ages, and it could be fun."

It took a second for the realization to hit you. This was a game you hadn’t played in forever, but the thrill of it sent a shiver down your spine.

You:

"Oh, I like the sound of that! But what about V?"

Goreboy (Ronin):

"We’ll deal with V later. Besides, if you Need Me to distract You from him, then I’m all yours."

His words were laced with something deeper, something tantalizing. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks.

You:

"So, you think your flesh and bone is enough to keep me distracted?"

He grinned, and it was the kind of grin that sent your heart racing.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"I bet I can Keep you Plenty Entertained."

You both laughed, the tension dissipating into playful banter.

You:

"Oh, please. You think you're all that? What’s so Special about You?"

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Well, for starters, "Insert your liking about Ronin's character" . That’s pretty rare, don’t you think?"

You:

"Right, right. How Romantic."

Goreboy (Ronin):

"I know, I’m like a walking Romance novel, just with a bit more Blood and Guts."

You giggled, the absurdity of it making your heart flutter.

You:

"I can’t decide if that’s charming or disturbing."

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Why not both? It’s like the Best of Both Worlds, darling."

sorry for ppl who thinks this story will be sooooooooooo cute ^^

#killer chat x reader #killer chat ronin #killerchat #ronin beaufort #ronin x reader #goreboy x reader #ronin beaufort x reader #killer chat ronin x reader #killer chat vn #goreboy #ronin x you

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in1-nutshell · 1 year ago

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Being Prowl’s Human Buddy and accidentally getting sent to the Shadow Zone

SFW, platonic, Human reader

IDW/G1

It is a true miracle to even be considered as Prowl’s Buddy.

True miracle.

Prowl is protective of his Buddy.

“Hey, I’m going out to the movies with some friends.”--Buddy

“Which friends are we talking about?”--Prowl

“The ones I met in club two months ago? They invited me over with some mutual friends.”--Buddy

“Oh… those friends.”--Prowl

“Yeah, those friends?”--Buddy

“Just take this before you go.”--Prowl

“…Prowl this is a taser and a walkie talkie.”--Buddy

“A taser that can bring down a gorilla and a direct line to my comms.”--Prowl

“…”--Buddy

He knows that they can handle themselves in situations but will put himself in it at the first sign of danger. He does care about Buddy even if he doesn’t out right say it. He hates it when Buddy gets involved in dangerous situations because of him.

“Buddy what you did was irresponsible and out right crazy! How could you go out in the field and try to get Starscream’s attention. You used a rock for Primus sake!”--Prowl

“Hey! One, I hit him in the head, which was a good shot from where I was mind you. Two, I did it for a good reason! He was going to shoot you! You didn’t see him, I did! I bought you some time to react!”--Buddy

“… Just leave the heavy hitting to me... Dismissed.”—Prowl

“Yeah, yeah I’m going.”--Buddy

“Buddy.”--Prowl

“Yeah Prowl?”--Buddy

“…Thank you…”--Prowl

“No problem Prowl.”--Buddy

Now to the fun part.

The Autobots had recently gathered some sort of Decepticon tech and were trying to figure out what it was. The twins, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, were tasked to move the tech to Wheeljack’s new lab. Buddy was on the desk with their new noise canceling headphones working on some data pads. Prowl was making sure the way to the lab was clear for the twins to get in.

They was complaining, which was mainly Sunstreaker about needing a wax afterwards, when the tech started whirling to life.

“What did you do?!”--Prowl

“I didn’t do anything!”--Sideswipe

“Don’t look at me!”--Sunstreaker

“What’s going on! Oh Primus—HIT THE DECK!”—Wheeljack

Everyone ducked for cover, as a stray beam of light began springing around the walls. Everyone was covered… except Buddy who was bopping their head to the music they were listening to.

“Buddy! Get down!”—Prowl

The beam hit them on the top of their head.

Poof! No more Buddy.

Lucky for Buddy the beam didn’t hurt or cause any discomfort. They just noticed that it had gotten a bit chilly and dark. Seeing this as the perfect opportunity to catch up with some sleep, they pulled their jacket and decide to take a nap with the music on. Hopefully Prowl wouldn’t be too mad if they took a nap. It was a slow day anyways.

Prowl in the meantime was about to have a glitch and spark attack at the same time.

The only reason he hadn’t so far was because Buddy was the top priority right now. He immediately gets the twins to go and get Perceptor to help Wheeljack look at the tech.

It takes a bit, but the two scientists eventually figure out what had happened to Buddy.

“The device was created to take anyone to the Shadow zone. A brilliant piece of engineering if I do say so myself.”--Perceptor

“Percy, not now.”--Wheeljack

“… the shadow zone…”—Prowl

“Yes, the shadow zone…”--Perceptor

“…”--Prowl

“I think you two finally broke Prowl.”--Sideswipe

“Sideswipe.”--Prowl

“Nope he’s fine.”—Sunstreaker

They manage to rewire some bits and the beam comes out again.

Poof Buddy is back!

They are on their back sprawled out. Prowl thinks they might be dead and dashes over to look and moves them gently. His helm had millions of thoughts going faster than Blurr on circuit boosters.

“Buddy? Buddy! Buddy wake up! Wake up! Wake up please!”—Prowl

Buddy wakes up to sudden movement. They wake up to see a bunch of distressed looking Autobots and a scared looking Prowl. He just holds Buddy close for a bit before carrying them to the medbay to make sure everything is okay.

“Hey Prowl? Look I’m not in opposition to the hugs, but are you okay? I feel like I missed something important.”—Buddy

Buddy doesn’t really get to know what happened. They want to continue to nap with those sweet headphones. Prowl is considering no more headphones allowed near the lab.

#transformers #transformers x reader #idw mtmte #transformers g1 #tf prowl #tf sideswipe #tf sunstreaker #tf wheeljack #tf perceptor #human buddy #maccadam

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trensu · 2 years ago

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Time travel AU, that takes place during in-universe present day and the time travel is actually future middle aged Steve getting accidentally sent back.

Like our 19yo steve is puttering about in his empty house minding his own business. And then he hears someone behind him Mutter vehemently, "fuck!" It gives him a heart attack, especially when he whirls around and sees, "dad?? What are you doing here? I thought you were in New York?"

The man who looks like his father gapes at him, and says "oh my god, I'm a toddler, jesus christ."

He then passes out and steve immediately lunges towards his phone to call Dustin.

Your typical time travel shenanigans ensue. It's all fine and dandy at first. Everyone oohs and ahhs over Future Steve. Present Day Steve is a bit in awe of his future self because the dude seems to have his life together. He's not saying anything no matter how many questions Steve throws at him because it might ruin the timeline or whatever the hell, but Steve can see it in the way he carries himself with a sort of relaxed confidence that Steve couldn't have faked even during his King days.

That awe lasts until Eddie shows up. Eddie burst into the room with his usual exuberance and beamed at Steve the way he always does when he visits that makes warmth bloom in Steve's chest like a carnivorous jungle flower. But then Eddie catches sight of Future Steve and he freezes. Future Steve grins at him and wiggles his fingers as a hello, which Eddie dimly mimics.

Steve and Dustin quickly inform Eddie what's up. Eddie laughs in disbelief, "two Steves. One from the future. Why the fuck not."

Future Steve laughs. "God, Eddie, you're so young! You're all kids."

Eddie flushes, "hey, I'm a grown man!"

"Boy, you can't even go for a drink without breaking the law right now."

Eddie splutters in embarrassment, and yet he proceeds to follow Future Steve around like a lost puppy. Steve doesn't like it. He especially doesn't like how squirmy and red Eddie gets whenever Future Steve pays him the slightest bit of attention. It's stupid. Eddie is acting stupid for no damn reason and it's like Steve doesn't even exist anymore.

(Steve pettily starts calling his future self Old Man Steve in his mind because fuck that guy, he thinks he's sooo cool but he isn't, he's just some boring old man that hasn't done anything to deserve Eddie's unwavering attention, what the fuck).

While Steve starts channeling his bitchy kingly self around Future Steve, the rest of the gang is working diligently to find a way to get Future Steve back home. Eventually some vague yet menacing government types show up. There has been, apparently, an entire branch of the research department created to figure out teleportation and other such sci-fi things that Steve is pretty sure they're making up on the spot.

Apparently, they noticed some weird readings on whatever fancy machines they got and came to investigate. Steve may not be a genius math whiz, but he's good at reading people. He can tell these guys know a hell of a lot more than they're saying. And he could've sworn that his future self actually recognized a couple of the scientists.

Steve lingers by the scientists, both miniature and full size, even though he's useless there because if he has to watch his future self laugh indulgently at Eddie's constant bids for attention he might have to dig out the nail bat. Instead he watches from the corner of his eye as Eddie excitedly asks about any dnd updates he could look forward to in the future; he watches Eddie shyly tug his hair over his mouth when Future Steve asks about his music. Steve's stomach sours at the way Eddie unconsciously sways into Future Steve's space during their conversation. He tries not to gag at how his future self's eyes glimmer with mirth at Eddie's antics.

Steve hates everything.

Eventually between the kid nerd brigade and the grown up nerd brigade, some sort of contraption is cobbled together that should send Future Steve back. Not that Future Steve or Eddie seem to notice, too wrapped up in each other. Has Steve mentioned he hates everything?

The lead scientist, the one Steve thinks his future self recognized, finishes calibrating the contraption with a pleased grin. She then turns to where Eddie and Future Steve are talking.

"Mr. Munson," she calls. Both Eddie and Future Steve turn around.

"Yeah?" they respond simultaneously. Future Steve freezes. The scientist chuckles.

"Apologies, I meant Steve Munson. Are you ready to go home?"

Steve is pretty sure his heart stopped in his chest. Eddie is gaping at Future Steve.

"Wait," Dustin says. "What?? Did you--Steve MUNSON?"

Future Steve smiles sheepishly. "Uh...I'd say I can explain, but I'm not sure if I should? You know. With the timeline and everything."

Dustin is running his mouth but Steve is absorbing none of it. He looks over to Eddie who looks as stunned as he feels. Steve goes and grabs his future self.

"Fuck the timeline," Steve chokes out past the lump in his throat. He grips Future Steve's arm desperately. "Are we--?" His voice cracks. "We're not alone? In the future? We're m-married?"

Future Steve softens. He places a firm hand on Steve's shoulder. "I know you won't believe this right now. I remember how I felt at this age. But yeah. We find someone who love us as much as we loved Nancy. We get married. He's our whole world, Steve."

Steve swallows. "...Eddie?" Future Steve nods and Steve takes a shaky breath. "He loves us back?"

"I know, right? I still don't know how we got so lucky."

Later, after Future Steve has gone back where he belongs (with his husband, Steve thinks in a daze), Eddie shows up on his doorstep. Steve lets him in and they stand there together in silence for a while. Eddie breaks first, tugging his hair over his mouth again.

"I never thought I'd get married," he says hesitantly. "I told myself it was because I didn't want to; forced conformity is bullshit, yeah? But that was a lie.

I mean forced conformity IS bullshit but I secretly thought being married would be...nice." Eddie's breath hitches. "To have someone in your corner. Someone who saw you and said yeah, that's the person I want to keep forever."

Steve reaches over and grabs Eddie's hand from where it's started to tug painfully at his curls. "I want to be in your corner." He doesn't say he wants to keep him forever, but he's pretty sure his expression betrays him if Eddie's quivering smile is anything to go by.

"Yeah, I'm getting that," he leans forward, resting his forehead on Steve's collar. Eddie sucks in a shaky breath. "Queers don't get married though. Queers get hunted down and murdered, Steve."

"Yeah, I know," he presses his cheek against Eddie's mop of curls. "Future me said we have to be careful. Patient. It'll be years and years, but someday we'll be able to, like, hold hands right out in the open and shit. We'd be able to marry. If you think you can be with me for that long, I'll make it happen, Eddie."

"You havent even asked me out for real yet," Eddie whines against Steve's shoulder. "Where's that charm? I may be a poor boy but I deserve to be wooed."

Steve barks out a surprised laugh.

"The drive in is doing a double feature this Friday, what do you think?"

Eddie pulls back with an exaggerated sigh.

"If that's the best you can do--"

"Hey!"

"--then I guess it's a start. But I'm expecting something fancy for a second date. I'm a girl with refined taste, you know."

"Confident about getting a second date already?"

"Mmhmm. I have it on good authority that this is gonna go for the long run, Stevie boy."

#trensu tells stories #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #time travel au

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dreamscapesofimagination · 4 months ago

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A/n: there is no love here yet for Jiro and i need to fix that bc mans is my top fav. We love a tall, sciencey man w hot girl tummy problems over here.

Formatted weird bc I am on mobile!

TW: Fluff! Jiro is a bit insecure. He is also head over heels. Ending kinda sucks bc i couldn't think of how to end it lol

Synopsis: Jiro thought he knew a lot about you- average blood pressure, enzyme values, how your lungs sounded beneath the stethoscope- turns out you are also a talented artist.

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

The floorboards creaked as Jiro stepped inside, thankful Yuri had been awake this morning to give him his medication before he had to come do this health check.

Without his meds, he knew he would have to scurry away quickly, and his condition would prevent him from sharing a small breakfast with you.

He didn't quite understand his feelings for you- sure, he knew how endorphins rushed through his system around you and triggered the increase of his heart rate.

He knew the scientific reasons behind his attraction- he just didn't know how to react to it. The two of you had been in limbo- not quite together but closer than just friends.

He knew you reacted the same to him- could see it in the way your heart rate would be erratic on the EKG when he would do it (Yuri had banned him from being around when your heart rate or blood pressure were monitered, and today Jiro was just to draw blood and ensure you appeared well) , or the way your cheeks would warm up when his fingers brushed your skin.

His eyes scanned the church, taking in the homey feeling you had created since moving in.

Plants littered some of the pews, and you had cushions placed around for the cats.

He could hear the shower running, and assumed you were in there. While he waited, he wandered across the old room to set his bag on the desk.

He began pulling out his supplies, before sighing when he realized he had forgotten his pen.

Surely you had one in one of the drawers?

He slid the top one open, eyes widening at what he saw.

A drawing.

Of him.

He carefully pulled out the sketchbook, unable to take his eyes from the drawing as his heart hammered in his chest.

He looked focused in the drawing, and he imagined you had drawn him from one of the times he had helped you study.

Flipping to another page, he felt as if he couldn't breath.

Him again, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

You had talent, and you used it to draw him, a chronically ill ghoul who struggled to hold conversations even with people he liked.

"Jiro?" the sound of your voice caused him to whirl around, guilty he had been snooping.

His breath caught at the sight of you standing there, in a tanktop and pair of shorts, toweling off your hair.

"I-uh- I was just waiting for you to finish, Yuri sent me to take some blood samples and make sure you are well,"

He winced internally at his stumbling words, feeling his stomach turn at his increased anxiety.

"I don't mind you looking at them, you're just so pretty and I wanted to draw you," a blush coated your cheeks at your admission.

He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, feeling his own cheeks burn.

You thought he was pretty? Half the time his already pale complexion was sickly due to his condition (and lack of sleep), circles that nearly matched his hair rimmed his eyes- not to mention his frequent bouts of nausea.

He jumped when your hand waved infront of his face, so lost in his own thoughts that your closeness had gone unnoticed.

"Ji, you okay? I'm sorry if I weirded you out." your voice was sheepish and oh so sweet, round cheeks burning with embarrassment.

He quickly shook his head, "no, you just surprised me. I've never really had someone be interested in me."

Jiro's voice was matter-of-fact, and clearly he was not searching for sympathy.

He had accepted his differences, and his schedule didn't exactly leave room for romance- nor did Yuri think such frivoloties were necessary. It wasn't until he met you that the consideration that he may be missing out had even entered his thoughts.

Yuri had even noticed, urging Jiro to just ask you out if only to stop distracting him with his 'mournful, pathetic expression and moony-eyed stares.'

Jiro had never really noticed nor cared about the captains absence of bed-side manner, though that comment had made him very aware of it.

"Well, now you do. I know you're very busy, but maybe one of the times you're free you'd like to do something?" you chewed your lip as you asked, n action he had long since learned you did when you were unsure of yourself.

An action that caused all his attention to fall to your lips, wondering what they would feel like.

"I think that would be enjoyable," his words came out softer than he intended, and your bright smile after his words caused his already hammering heart to nearly stop.

He wasn't sure he'd survive a date with you, but he would need to be incapacitated to not accept the offer.

#jiro kirisaki #tdb #tokyo debunker #jiro tdb #tokyo debunker imagine #tokyo debunker imagines #jiro kirisaki imagines #tdb imagines #fluff #sfw

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southerndragontamer · 7 months ago

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You Only Get Three Strikes

This is my interpretation of how things after the amazing fanart by @andaboop went

Actor hummed an old tune to himself as he adjusted his tie in the mirror and flashed himself a grin. He had just finished up setting things up for the confrontation with Dark in their next encounter, he wondered if it would work enough he could bring out Damien again. He had sent his….no not partner, that was reserved for someone else…..like minded fellow? That sounded right, out to go through the plan Actor had crafted for him about some hero, magician? Whoever the target he was after.

He’d really lucked out in meeting the other, it was always nice to have a trump card in your pocket and though he was a bit…jagged around the edges the actor was confident that the shared interest in their respective goals would help him figure out how to direct those edges the way he’d like.

His thought process was derailed when the door was slammed open. No, that wasn’t quite right, it wasn’t slammed so much as kicked in so hard it flew to the opposite wall. He whirled around, cane in hand ready to defend himself as his mind immediately jumped to William or Damien only to blink as he saw the glitch there. His smile fit into place as he relaxed.

“Oh it’s you my friend! You gave me a heart attack there-”

His voice cut off by force by a clawed hand that snapped around it with the speed of a striking cobra, or a bear trap when it shut from the pressure plate being triggered. He gagged and choked and instinctively tried to pry away the fingers that felt like they were going to snap his windpipe in two. He attempted to kick as he was lifted into the air and slammed against the wall.

Anti’s face was twisted in a near wild fury, all his fangs bared and body glitching as the lights began to flicker and dim. His eyes were glowing like a live wire as he spat out, Irish accent thickened even further than normal.

“Shut yer damn mouth. I don’t wanna hear a sound outta ye, unless I say you can talk.”

Actor couldn’t have tried to speak right now if he wanted to, he tried to nod as his vision swam with black spots. Just as he thought he was going to pass out, or need to reconstruct his throat again, he was let go and dropped like a sack of bricks. He held in the gasp as oxygen flooded into his lungs and covered his mouth to muffle the cough as he looked up at the glitch for a reason why he’d suddenly flown off the handle.

Anti’s glare was like looking at a lightning strike inches from where you stood, the sense of if he wasn’t careful he’d have to dig himself out of a grave again. The glitch stepped back and manifested his knife as he started to absently twirl it in his fingers with the ease of someone that had wielded a blade for a long time.

“I was willing to give ye a chance ya know, at working together. You talk a big game pretty boy. But you can’t cash it. I went with that ‘plan’ of yours that ye made for me. And do you wanna know what happened?”

Actor felt his stomach start to knot and sink, his heart picked up and he felt the hair raise on the back of his neck at the way the lights flickered and threatened to pop, sparks arced off of the glitch’s skin as his voice dropped into a growling hiss.

“I had the magician about to collapse at my feet when the damned timekeeper intervened. They got away from me. Oh I can find em again, easy as breathing, my strings don’t allow any less. But it’s the principle of it all.”

Actor resisted the urge to hunch in on himself as Anti’s head snapped around at a sickeningly off angle and speed and instead he began to try to save face, backpedal as he stood up. His best apologetic expression on as he tried to keep from going out of the frying pan into the fire. His eyes shone a brighter red and he weaved his own kind of power into his words like red ribbon braided together to hide blood.

“I’m sorry that it didn’t work like I intended friend, but I didn’t take everything into account it seems when I made my plan.”

That was as far as the ‘apology’, because such a word was only proper in a true sense of remorse for actions, got as he found his jaw exploded in pain from the literally lightning fast blow to one side. He felt bone crunch and fracture as he collapsed to the floor and held his jaw in place as it began to repair itself.

Only to choke and blood to spurt out of his mouth by the sharp kick that echoed with the cracking of ribs, just as quickly he was hauled up by the collar of his suit and the knife was pressed deeply against his skin. Ruby droplets trailed down the edge of the blade as Anti half snarled.

“I told you. Not. A. Sound. You must not have much grey matter between your ears, or you’re just a glutton to get your arse beaten. So let me explain this in a way you’ll be sure to understand.”

Actor winced and his eyes squinted as the glowering, searing light of Anti’s eyes were right in front of him. The knife cut in just a bit deeper into his skin. The glitch’s tone went from utterly furious about to stab someone, to calm and measured and almost cold rage that was somehow almost more terrifying.

“If you’re not one of my puppets, you get three strikes. Your first mistake was fockin things up for me reclaiming one of mine. The second one was the half-arsed, shite apology ya tried to make.”

And Anti grinned, slow and cruel and his eyes had a sadistic glint in them as he chuckled and finished in an almost croon. The lights shone green and the white noise of static snow started to hurt Actor’s ears enough to make him wince and he swore for a second something started to bleed.

“Your final strike? Thinking I was too stupid to know you didn’t expect more out of me than dumb muscle eager to get to fighting, someone that wouldn’t question anything.”

The lights flared such a bright green that it went white and then popped with the sound of fizzling soda and shattered glass. Actor subconsciously, human instinct still ingrained after so long of being inhuman, flinched, shut his eyes and covered his head. The sound of shrieking static made him cover his ears as they ached and he was positive he felt his eardrums burst, his head ached as the sound pierced through his skull.

The shrieking came again, not just a wall of sound but laughter. Actor had never been one that dealt well with being made a joke, pride bristled in indignation as his eyes snapped open and he started to growl, to snap back at the glitch for being so ungrateful for his help. His mask dropped as his true form slipped through the handsome image he portrayed. Like the true face of Dorian Grey, sickened, rotten and ugly.

Only he saw that Anti had dropped his mask as well…

Instead of a human with glowing green eyes, sharp claws and fangs to betray the inhuman underneath…what stood in front of Actor was something that could only be called eldritch. Lightning and static in a silhouette that was humanoid but not, it glitched and twisted on itself, crackling at the seams. He blinked and it shifted each time as if it couldn’t decide on how to ‘appear’. Too long, too many ‘limbs’ too long claws that took the place of fingers, jaws filled with rows and rows of razor blade fangs, it looked too big for the space it was in, the walls creaked and groaned with the strain to hold it in.

His head ached like the worst migraine he’d ever had, his ears rang and he felt blood dripping from his nose, the world felt like it tilted and he felt like he was going to throw up. There was a rumbling of thunder and then he was aware of his body falling and convulsing as his brain lit up with only agony as a reason. Past the pain and the searing white noise in his ears that felt like it was trying to break his mind apart, he grit his teeth at the shrieking, piercing laugh that had him swallow down bile.

“Already on the ground writhing like a snake without its head~ You thought you were such a tough shot because you constantly annoyed Dark, ohhh boyo you got no idea of what forces you’re playing with now~”

The sensation of barbed wire cutting and tearing, ripping into his skin as the glitch’s strings wrapped around his limbs and yanked him up to his feet. Up further still to Anti’s ‘face’…too many eyes, shades of green, black, blue and some brown, they looked like fractured images through cracks in a mirror. The glitch’s body waved and rose as it spoke, like watching a sound wave on a computer screen.

As much as Actor tried to hold it in, as he finally realized how in over his head he was, that making a deal with the glitch had been a horrible mistake, when he felt the lightning forced through his body again, he screamed. Anti’s cackling laughter of delight rang in his ears and covered the sound as it echoed in on itself.

“It’s been a while since I had a chance to play with something that can survive it~ Oh yes, I’m aware you can’t stay dead~ You’re gonna wish you were back in that manor when I get bored of you~”

#Actor!Mark #Jerk who caused all this #Markiplier Ego #Markiplier Fandom #Antisepticeye #Glitch Demon #Jacksepticeye Ego #Jacksepticeye Fandom #Fanfic #South Writes #Blood TW #Violence TW #Knives TW #Over 13 #Injuries TW

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the-lonelybarricade · 1 year ago

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"Though the eldest son of the only well-off farmer in our village, he was still lean from the winter, and his brown hair had turned shaggy. Relatively handsome, soft-spoken, and reserved, but with a sort of darkness running beneath it all that had drawn us to each other, that shared understanding of how wretched our lives were and would always be." - A Court of Thorns and Roses, Chapter 4 But what if Isaac Hale had never truly existed?

A contribution to @officialfeysandweek2023 Day 6: Mates. This is just a little teaser oneshot of a premise I'd love to expand on later down the road, once I've wrangled some of my other WIPs. Hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3

The first time Rhysand saw her, it truly had been a coincidence.

Two years before the end of Amarantha’s seven times seven years curse, the High Lord of Spring had finally begun sending his emissaries over the Wall.

That was the reason Rhysand had gone over the wall, though he could admit his intentions for volunteering were partially swayed by the glimpse of the human hand that he’d seen in his sleep. He hadn’t been planning on searching for her. It had crossed his mind, admittedly, but he had dismissed the thought just as swiftly.

Finding her would be a mistake. An easily exploitable one. So he had kept to the woods. He was only there to monitor Tamlin’s emissaries and remind Amarantha that human girls would only ever run away screaming where they to encounter a faerie.

Except for this one.

That was because she hadn’t seen him yet—was too focused on the snare she crouched over, nimble fingers looping the rope with an expertise that rattled him. She was pretty, a bit young. Sun dappled past the branches overhead, lighting the streaks of golden honey in her braided hair.

From the way she bent over, he could count the notches in her spine. She was poor, likely starving. If that wasn’t evidenced by her slight frame, then certainly from the fact that she was in these woods at all, rigging a trap like she was a hunter and not a teenage girl.

Rhysand would have continued on his way. Unseen, unfeeling.

But then she looked up.

Not at him. A bird took flight off a nearby branch, flapping its wings, and she rose, drawing her bow with a precision that awed him into stillness. She turned, bow poised and stretched back to the corner of her lips.

Startling blue gray eyes narrowed towards the sky, tracking the bird as it moved. Then she fired. He heard the wind whipping past the arrow, listened to it slice through the bird, how its fluttering heart stopped.

He had the strangest sensation that she had fired that arrow through his chest, instead.

She was the girl. The one he saw in his dreams. Rhysand wasn’t certain how he knew, but she turned, confronting him with the sight of her face in full. And he knew.

Those eyes. Like the sky at dusk. They were the ones he had been looking through.

And those hands, flecked with paint.

Amarantha may have sent him into those woods, but evidently so had the Mother.

Without fully thinking, he took a step forward. His huntress whirled, already reaching for another arrow. But she paused when she saw him. One arm stretched toward the quiver at her back, the other fell loose at her side. Her eyes were wide. Her lips, softly parted.

A fae body—particularly a High Lord’s—was built to possess a keen awareness of every sound, every sight, every smell not just in the immediate vicinity, but for miles. Rhysand could hear the soft murmurs of conversation in the Village on the other side of those woods. As a daemati, he could reach all the way back to the Mountain and tug at the awareness of any of the hundreds of minds intricately wound beneath his talons.

But when his eyes met hers, everything went silent.

Even his magic.

Everything apart from the sound of his own living, beating heart.

He’d forgotten he had one of those. But now he could hear it in time with hers. Their breathing synced. She gasped at the same time he exhaled.

“Who are you?” She asked.

Rhysand could only think to lie.

“Isaac Hale.”

“Who?”

He tilted his head, laughing like he imagined a bashful human boy might. “My father owns the farm on the west side of the village,” he said, reaching toward her mind. She unfolded at the slightest touch, parting for him with all the resistance of pushing through the surface of water. Remember? He crooned to her.

She blinked. “Oh.” Her brows merged. “You live on the outskirts of the village. I-I—”

“We never crossed paths much,” Rhys said.

“Yes,” she murmured. Her fingers tightened on the bow, tucking it behind her back. She tilted her chin down, saying toward the dirt. “My family didn’t live in the village… before.”

Oh?

“I heard about that.” He stepped closer, curious about this mind he held in his hands, how his magic practically sang when he stroked his talons against her. She straightened, but didn't seem to notice. “It seems like your family’s fallen on tough times.”

Her chin raised enough so that she could scowl at him. Not so ashamed that it overrode her pride. Good.

“Oh, come on,” he said with a light smile. “It’s not like you’re the only one. I’m out in these woods too, aren’t I?”

“I’ve never seen you in these woods before,” she grumbled. That seemed to jolt her back into motion. She shook her head, unconsciously pushing against his mental talons as she strode towards her quarry.

Rhysand, Mother condemn him, followed. “What’s your name?”

“What’s it to you?”

“You know mine,” he protested.

“I didn’t ask for it.”

Could the Mother and her Cauldron really expect him to turn away? He wanted to know her name so badly he was willing to take it, pry it out of her mind like ripping a wing from a fly. The only thing he desired more was to be given it freely.

She sighed. Long, exaggerated. The kind that said was going to tell him, but she wanted him to know he was being burdensome first. The kind that said she knew, already, that even with his magic twined around her defenseless mind, he was the one wrapped around her fingers.

The girl crouched over the bird, nose crinkled with disgust. Her sorrow permeated the air, thick and cloying. He twitched with the urge to remedy it lest the scent smother him. Such heartache for a bird. Even when it was being killed for her own survival.

He supposed he would not need to worry that she was in any danger of breaking Tamlin’s curse.

“How’s a wager?”

She turned her head. Pushed an eyebrow up.

Rhysand smiled. “Tell me your name, I’ll gut the bird for you.”

“Feyre,” she said.

Fey-ruh. He mouthed it, felt the world go quiet again. All that static noise in the back of his mind cutting away into a musical pause that lasted two full syllables.

He was in those woods for a reason. Rhys knew he shouldn’t follow her out of them. But, well. He had a bird to gut.

#All By Design #Feysand #feysand fanfic #feysand fic #feysand fanfiction #feysandweek2023 #feyre x rhysand #rhysand x feyre #feyre x rhys #rhys x feyre

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thewhumpcaretaker · 4 months ago

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◈━ 𝑩𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑰𝒄𝒆 - 𝑪𝒉. 𝑰𝑰: 𝑬𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒓𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝑷𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆 ━◈

Summary: The Messenger has been sent to ensure that Jens abandons his excavation before he sees too much. And, reluctantly, it does its job. It tortures him, with the icy waters of the Drake Passage as a weapon. But soon it will realize that much more is afoot.

TW: attempted mind control, migraine pain, vomiting (non-graphic), shock, passing out, descriptions of being a scary fish

NAME?

.̵̱̻͕͓͇̲̳̑͒͗͜͝͝*̙̗̯̬̀͜͜ͅl̵̝̥͕̐̿̑͊i̵͈̇̄̐͌͘͜͝͝v̜͉̜̉̓́͆̅͆̕͜ȉ̷̛̳͉̠̝͓͗̒̒̏̚:̵̤͈̭͒͐̂̿

MISSION SUMMARY?

Objectives: Prevent APOKRA sighting. Prevent knowledge acquisition. Failure consequence: Prevent knowledge dissemination. Purification of the target. Target: Jens Vídalín.

YOU MAY STATE YOUR REQUEST.

I request reassignment.

REASON?

The target resists verbal persuasion and melding has failed. The target consistently spawns in demolished sections of my psycheworld – that is, in deep space. He begins suffocating. Perhaps, for another, he will spawn elsewhere.

YOU KNOW BETTER. “SHOULD THE DEMOLISHED SECTIONS BE ACCESSED – “

“The only fault is my own. I am the gatekeeper.”

CORRECT.

Nonetheless, any control over the spawn point constitutes an energy drain. I fear that my efficiency may be compromised.

VERY WELL. UPON YOUR RETURN, YOU WILL BE RECONDITIONED.

Wait! That does nothing to solve the issue at hand.

CAN YOU NOT ENTER HIS PSYCHEWORLD INSTEAD?

…It is extremely inhospitable. Something is wrong with it.

WHAT IS WRONG? WHY IS THIS ISSUE NOT A PART OF OUR KNOWLEDGE BASE?

I don’t know.

IS THAT ALL?

…

REQEST DENIED.

And so the surface of the purple Quasar rushed away, and the Messenger slammed back into its body, some 35,000 ft. above Argentina. It lay flat against the outer hull of the plane, straddling the vertical stabilizer. It had taken an aerodynamic shape for the time being, the bulk of its torso smeared back into something unsettlingly smooth and its spine almost melded against the metal. To an onlooker, it might have looked like the outline of something vaguely humanoid with a seamless, metallic sheet shrink-wrapped over the top of it. But it held its human facial features. It wanted to practice those, for Jens.

Jens Vídalín, little ball of bitterness and misery and carbon down by the cockpit, tangle of machination in dark colors and soft fabrics, blood rushing in his ears like the ocean. Jens Vídalín, forsaken child. Jens Vídalín, whose fate was long spoken for. Jens Vídalín, pretty lamb. Perhaps, if the Messenger looked very beautiful to him, he wouldn’t be so frightened in his final moments. But he wouldn’t have to see it at all if he would just listen before it was too late.

That was a futile hope, and the Messenger knew it. It had tried to get him disqualified from the excavation. It had accosted him on the street, looking like a fortune teller and saying that he must not follow through with his plans. It had tried to talk to him again and again without revealing itself, had been trying to gain control of his mind for days when that failed, and had only sent him further into frenzy. It could feel him solidifying his resolve even now, bracing himself for the next leg of the journey. He had stopped trying to look in its direction, and it had stopped trying to reach into his mind. He was already too cold and dizzy as it was, and if it let him feel the icy wind tunnel racing past the outer hull at low pressure, he’d probably fall unconscious again.

But it brushed against his thoughts occasionally, without coming too close. He was absolutely radiating defiance. And something else too…wonder. Yes, wonder at being so close to the truth. It bordered on the sublime. Anyone who tried to stop him now would have to destroy him.

Messenger sighed with its half-formed lungs as the plane dipped into momentary freefall, gliding through a whirl of light snowflakes onto the runway. From here, Jens and his team would take a ferry to King George Island. Then, they would take another ship down the peninsula, towards the pole.

Jens was not looking forward to the ferry one bit. In fact, like most things, it terrified him.

The Messenger could look right at him in the airport, with eyes and not with thoughts, unlike on the plane. It was refreshing, to have physical sight of him. He set down his bag and leaned against a column while waiting for the others to collect their baggage, and Messenger stood at a distance, shifted into the shape of a janitor. He took off his glasses to massage his forehead, his fingers gradually working back through thick black locks of hair, and then finally gave up and let his arms fall back to his sides. Nothing seemed to help. He put his glasses back on before anyone could notice how ill he was.

But the danger of being noticed was small. The Messenger realized how little any of the others on the excavation crew bothered to look at him, though they talked amongst each other. He was, of course, an outcast everywhere. That should be a relief, as it very well knew. A life unbound from other lives was easily extractable, much better than killing someone beloved by all. But to the Messenger, it felt worse.

It saw him stumble on the way to the taxi. It saw him stumble again getting out. It saw him stop in his tracks when he caught sight of the Southern Ocean for the first time, and the Messenger stopped too, some fifty feet behind in the guise of a dock worker with a fur cap and five o’clock shadow. Past the docks, the water was churning in black, rising into the choppy greys of fog and distant mountains, giving out onto a white abyss of sky. The ferry could be seen rocking just a little on its moorings, and Jens was fixed on it. The Messenger squinted, trying to discern with these shoddy human eyes whether he was shaking. He must be. Good, all the better for one last chance to sway him. It checked itself to ensure the proper state of its features, and then mimicked the gait of the workers around them until they were standing side by side.

It turned to Jens casually. “Waves get up to twelve meters out there. You’re in for a wild storm.”

Jens stared, unanswering. It stared back, letting the depthless fathoms behind its eyes unsettle him. His lips were tight. “I’ve heard your voice before.”

The voice box. Damn it. It wasn’t so good at making those.

“You must be thinking of someone else,” it said, and continued on, as if to make for a toolshed adjacent to the dockworkers’ offices. But he was already so on edge that he couldn’t let it go.

“Where did I hear your voice before!?” His own pitched upward in desperation, and he lunged forward towards the Messenger as if to grab its arm, forcing it into a backwards scramble and then a run to evade him. His peers pulled him back, apologizing to it – but it was already gone.

Jens’ companion surveyed the crowd, recognized no one, and turned to Jens. “What’s the matter with you?”

“…Nothing. I just…thought…I could have sworn I saw someone I knew. But I must have been wrong.” Jens shook his head before finally following them away.

It watched him go, steadying itself. That had been close. Better not to join him on the ship at all. And besides, if it could wear out his body now, he’d be sent home.

It circled around behind the toolshed, and then gave up the shambling gait for something more fluid, let itself slip into the water and its clothes slip away, its lungs slip right out of being. Water fluttered through its ribcage and its neck and over its scales. It was no elegant mermaid, but something long and slithering enough to keep pace with the ship when the time came, an armless human head on the body of a pale, ten foot serpent, such as swims in the deepest places. None saw its pallid ribbon slip between the rocks and then low into the harbor, and out, following the ferry.

How many shifts was that today? Five at least. It would be so good to feed, but it wasn’t really necessary. With any luck, it would not need to shift again for some time. The Drake Passage was a two-day crossing. Two days to focus entirely on the target.

It got comfortable, zig-zagging above jagged rocks, letting its eyes adjust to the trickle of colorless light that filtered down through the storm and then the waves. Fleshy, fishy cod ran up against it, recoiling in horror. They made this body lick its lips, though they would not offer it any real nourishment. Farther out, there were icefish and sweet snailfish – it could scent them by the fragments of their dead fluttering through its gills, and that hunger struck harder and harder. But what it needed was lightning. Plasma, rich, brilliant plasma.

And the storm delivered. The Messenger’s maw rose to meet it. Up, up, up, it raced, in a straight line, broke surface and dove into the sky and the sky arced down its throat in a thundering flash. What a sight it was! A serpent eating lightning. The boatman who watched it rear its awfully human face above the water would remember that moment for the rest of his life, and never tell. Who would believe him?

Other things, too, were hungry – killer whales calling to each other in the distance, but even they did not dare to approach The Messenger, whose intelligent, slithering movements they could not predict or understand. It touched bottom, enjoying its fullness, felt the sand against its belly with a simple, hedonistic joy, and left bizarrely snaking trails in its wake.

But it did not forget Jens in its play. No, not for a moment. It tilted its head (and the mind within its head) and sought him, from time to time. Night had come upon them in a curtain of deep grey, and the storm painted it with whites and purples now and then, snapped up by the Messenger if they were close enough. Winds began to buffet the ferry while Jens stared out a porthole, eyes wide.

The Messenger couldn’t quite see what he saw, but it could take in the nature of his state. It wanted so badly to help him… It would have to be brutal to him, really brutal. It have to break him… It hated this in every part, but it felt more powerful out here, closer to the APOKRA. And Jens felt more terrified. Maybe now, all would become possible.

Every touch wracked the Messenger. Its long tail thrashed out in an agony of unfulfilled affection every time it felt his mind. He felt too sick to eat or drink – not from nausea really, but from sheer anxiety. He was laying, probably in his bunk, with his head feeling like it had a cleaver through it, but with his eyes wide open for fear of being approached in his sleep. He knew it was near. And he knew the APOKRA was near. The Messenger had some notion that he couldn’t tell the difference between the two – not that it mattered. It gave him whole thoughts. Go back. Go home. You can live in peace.

NO. Go to hell, he answered.

Experimentally, it let something bleed through, and Jens thrashed just as the Messenger had, but in confusion and terror. He was trying to stop himself from screaming as he felt dark water rush over his body. Good. It would let him feel this every now and then, unpredictably. It drew nearer and nearer to the boat, and to the surface, closing the distance between them, giving him flashes of icy pain, of what he would feel if he didn’t give this up.

It was torturing him. And it would not stop for anything until it knew he would go home and live.

Its makeshift heart pounded with a sick mixture of terror and determination, such as a doctor might feel in the midst of surgery without anesthetic or an animal catcher trying to bring in something wild and beautiful for treatment. Just a little more, just a little more, and this nightmarish interaction would be over. Just give in, just submit, and this will all be easy…

The waves were twelve feet and cold enough to stop his heart. The Messenger rose up within a wall of water where it could see the little ferry by lightning strike, and let itself be thrown back down, over and over, each fall slamming into Jens. At some point he vomited and lay down again empty, fearing for his life. His body was getting fully chilled, and he struggled to warm it, probably pulling blankets around himself, but it was no use – the Messenger had too much control. He was shivering very badly, rocking and crying out and cursing at it.

But Jens would not break. He seemed made for this, trained for this. If it went any harder, he would pass out.

And then it felt it.

There was something else in Jens’ mind with them.

No, it couldn’t be.

APOKRA?

The thing did not answer. But something was happening to Jens. The Messenger felt coldness seep deeper than the bone – not merely unpleasant, not merely painful, but lethal. A second torture on top of the first had overcome him. He was – no. Yes. He was going into very heavy shock. He was dying.

The feverish effort of torturing him had already driven it to the brink. It was shouting in its mind. What are you doing? You can’t feed here, master! You’ve drawn attention to yourself!

It hesitated, but couldn’t hold itself back.

LEAVE HIM ALONE.

Still, the thing did not answer. Its mind had gone somewhere else, carrying Jens’ mind away in its claws. It felt like APOKRA, yes, that much was certain. Vast, ancient, hideous with all the martyrdom taken upon itself. And the Messenger, it seemed, was beneath its notice.

What the hell was the Messenger supposed to do? Jens was unconscious now. He must have passed out in his bed. The third being was inside his psycheworld, torturing him, just as something had made the lights go out on the plane. It must have been the same then, only milder.

Should it follow the two of them?

But then he would feel even colder, and he couldn’t take much more. His body needed the Messenger now, needed heat. And perhaps healing, if it wasn’t already too late.

On impulse, the Messenger streaked towards the ferry.

Hold on, Jens…

He could not hear it, and wouldn’t trust it if he could, but it was frantic. It threw itself against the side of the boat, sprouted a hundred tentacle arms rife with suction cups, and began to scuttle up the flat metal of the prow like an ungodly centipede. Someone above looked down over the railing, let out the sort of strangled noise that humans make when they see a loved one decapitated in front of them, and fainted.

This turn of events was not only thrilling, but convenient. The Messenger wore the fainted man’s likeness into the cabin of the ship, homing in on Jens’ room. It tried the door. Bolted.

Another shift was needed. Thank goodness for that lightning earlier. It became a totally improvised, shapeless sort of slime that oozed under the door and then straightened up again, into the full grandeur of its favorite human avatar, designed for Jens, in case he happened to awaken and see it.

It was panting over him, still soaked and leaving a trail of salt water across his floorboards.

He was sprawled across his bunk, a pathetic tangle of limbs and tears, quite unconscious just as the Messenger had expected. His bunkmate, no doubt tired of his noise and commotion, had gone to sleep elsewhere. “I’m sorry”, it whispered aloud, with its perilously recognizable vocal cords. At least they were rich and melodic. “I didn’t know what it was doing to you.”

He did not stir, only let out a low whine of pain. The Messenger stroked his forehead and thought of him with wild affection, with real giving. His hair was so silken, his skin so soft. But he was icy too. It pitied him, pitied him until its heart tore open – not the one in its chest, but its real heart, beating somewhere beyond spacetime in the psycheworld. And life force poured out of it, into his freezing brain.

How many times had he endured that alone? What an atrocity. And what the hell could the APOKRA be playing at? Food gets away all the time, just let him go and then he wouldn’t be seeking its burial ground…

Compassion kindled to rage. It should slip away now, back into the waves, but it didn’t. Fuck the APOKRA. Fuck reconditioning. A week hence, it might have to end him. But for now it pulled the blankets up around his shoulders, bent over him, and held his cold, forsaken body through the storm.

◃ Back ◈ Next ▹(coming soon)

Image Sources: 1 2 - drawing on top of this ocean image with this face superimposed

#cosmic horror whump #cosmic horror #original fiction #whump writing #oc jens vidalin #oc messenger #fear whump #caretaker forced to whump #reluctant whumper

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bythenineshards · 7 months ago

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Hook and Lace

Welp... Here's the Croc x Syre smut lol

Summary: Croc catches a scantily clad Syre in one of his coats.

Warnings: Rough sex, vaginal penetration, oral, little bit of shame, and exhibitionism, no aftercare in this scene (sorry).

Minors... please dni. This isn't for you.

A/N: So there's some context needed for this scene. I'll try to keep this short. Syre met Croc in Impel Down. She saved his life, and the two of them got...friendly. She also accidentally dropped her last name. Syre's family owns a generations old weapons manufacturing empire. Magellan didn't think it was wise for her to disclose her name to inmates for that reason. During the jailbreak, Croc rescued her from the prisoners and got her to safety (killing a few men in the process). After Marineford, Syre was released from duty in hopes that Bonne-Aventure Arms wouldn't drop their contracts with the World Government. Syre returns home, and life goes on normally for a short time. Crocodile then shows up and gives her a proposition. She marries him, he gets introduced into the society of her island, a partnership with Bonne-Aventure Arms and he doesn't take evidence to the WG that her family were friends and business associates of Gol D Rogers. Syre agrees. Thus begins a time in which Syre is torn between being attracted to him but obligated to hate him for threatening her family.

Syre liked the way she looked in lace. She admired the delicate patterns in white against her skin and the twinkle of a garter belt holding up her stockings. She played with her hair, pulling it up, contemplating in the mirror then letting it bounce around her chin. The maid would be back with her clothes soon. Not soon enough if she was being a little spoiled. Winter had fallen on Bella Violette and left her bedroom chilly this morning. She was about to grab her robe when she noticed something in the mirror.

A monstrous black fur coat was draped over one of her chairs. Syre glowered at it. Ridiculous man. Leaving his belongings all over her room like he owned the place. She had half a mind to burn it to warm up her room more. He must've forgotten it after his visit last night. A huff left her body with a shake of her head. She reached for her robe and was left wanting. It was lovely but too thin. Gerta had better get back soon or she was going to freeze in here.

Her eyes drifted back to the coat.

Stupid man, leaving his things all over my house, she grumbled internally as she padded over to it.

Her fingers ran through the luxurious black fur and her lips formed a soft smile. She lingered there, listening for footsteps to tell her that Gerta was approaching. Crocodile wasn’t home. He had business with her mother that morning and wouldn’t be back for at least a few hours. She bit her lip, well if it was going to be in here, it might as well be useful. Syre was glad she wasn’t in heels. She might’ve toppled right over with the weight of it as she pulled it from the chair and draped herself in it. Heels might’ve kept it from brushing along the floors though. It was comically big for her but she was warm in a matter of seconds under its weight.

If he’s going to leave his things in my room, they belong to me now… Another justification. Syre had gone back to the mirror and swayed a little to make the coat do the same. Her hands stroked the thick fur and pulled it tighter around her. She shrugged the fur closer up and inhaled. It smelled of his cologne, rich, heady and twisted with cigar smoke. It smelled of him. She had no justification for the warm feeling it gave her. A husband should make his wife feel comforted yet sensuous. Crocodile was not her husband. He was a filthy pirate that was blackmailing her family. He made her sick. He was scum and Syre hated him. Who cared that he smelled good and made her come undone so easily?

A dry rumbling chuckle sent warm prickly terror blooming in her chest, “Isn’t that a sight…”

Syre whirled to face the door, catching the coat and pulling it tight around herself. She didn’t want him to see the lacey things underneath and get laughable ideas. Curse this mansion and its well-oiled doors, “Were you raised in a barn? Barging in here like a heathen!” She chastised like a cornered animal.

Her vitriol was met with another chuckle as Crocodile closed the door behind himself. It was a pleasant contrast. Her pink and sugar features and his midnight black fur. The only thing that didn’t please him was the cocktail of fear and disdain in her doe brown eyes. It was a far cry from the sultry look he’d seen in her mirror.

“What do you want?” Syre spat at him, taking a step back as he moved closer.

“I believe that’s my coat,” he replied, “I was going to meet with your mother and came back for it.”

“You left it in my room.” She retorted, clutching the coat tighter.

“My mistake,” He gave her a wicked look, his eyes hungry, "It won't happen again.”

“Good, now begone with you.” She dismissed him with a wave and strode toward her vanity.

“My coat, Syre.”

She stopped, searching for something to say. “I'll have this sent when I am properly dressed. Have a servant fetch one of your others and leave me.”

She continued to the vanity and casually dabbed her wrist with perfume. Crocodile followed, eating up the distance with his long legs. Syre caught sight of him in the mirror and spun to face him. He was closer than she expected. Her startled step backwards jostled everything on the vanity. Her hands grabbed the tabletop for support as he loomed over her. With nothing holding it closed, he was able to glimpse the ensemble. His hook glinted in the faint morning light, coming to move the coat aside so he could get a better look. A satisfied groan eased from him as freely as cigar smoke.

Crocodile drank her in greedily. This coat had never adorned anything more lovely. He never tired of seeing her like this.

“Stop staring, cretin, and leave.” Syre mumbled, avoiding his eyes. She could smell his cologne and it was making her dizzy.

His brows lifted with amusement, the round side of his hook trailing down the center of her belly, “If that is what you desire…”

Syre made no move, said nothing. She trembled with the graze of his hook on her bare skin.

Crocodile leaned in closer, inhaling her subtle perfume, “Sweet girl, if that is what you want, look me in my eyes and say it again.”

Her eyes remained averted but her words were tart, “I want nothing to do with you.”

Quick as a flash, his large hand came to jerk her chin to look at him. A startled squeak rattled through her as his fingers squished her face. Her cheeks were pleasantly pink and her eyes, settling down from the brief shock, held the same guilty need he'd seen time and time again since their wedding. Since Impel Down.

“I see,” A smirk tugged at the smolder on his face as he released her and she looked away again. He seized the opportunity to place a kiss on her neck. A breathy whimper escaped her, making his smirk deepen. He whispered in her ear, “do you know what I think?”

“No. I couldn't care less.” She rolled her eyes.

“I think you've done well in pretending to hate me.”

“I will not have you slander me in my own home.” She snapped.

“Our home, Sweet,” he corrected in a deep purr. He leaned down, his lips barely brushing her neck. “No one's here to see you enjoy me. I won't tattle. So why don't you drop the spiteful hellcat act and be the sweet girl we both know you are. The one that gave me kisses in prison.”

Syre said nothing but her blush was reaching her ears now. After giving her neck one last kiss, he slowly sank down to his knees. Surprise made Syre look at him quizzically, “What are you doing?”

“I'm going to make you miss me. Even if you say you won't.”

Syre bit her lip as he gently pushed on her collarbone, guiding her to sit on the vanity. His hand slid under her thigh, prying it open with little resistance. The lace tore like tissue paper as he dragged his hook down her body. Despite the sharp tip causing no damage to her skin, she still gasped.

“Shhhh, I'll buy you more later.” He said, nuzzling the lace that the top of her stockings with his nose then the pink curls. His breath was hot on her exposed sex. It seemed like she was going to gasp again when his tongue came out to separate her folds with one long stroke. The sound came out breathless, soft and bordering on a mewl. He chuckled in response.

“So defiant yet already so wet…” He taunted, teasing her entrance with a thick finger. She could feel how easily the broad fingertip slipped over her beautifully displayed pussy.

Syre squirmed as his hook came to wrap her thigh but seeing he meant no harm, she relaxed. She watched as Crocodile’s tongue lingered on her aching slit, rolling torturously but never caving to her desire to be stretched around it. A soft sound made his violet eyes immediately meet hers.

Crocodile savored his feast, coaxing out breathy moans as his tongue lapped at her growing arousal. His eyes never left hers. Syre's legs trembled and her hips bucked of their own accord.

“See…” He drawled, pulling away to breathe. A string of saliva and arousal was wiped away as he panted. “Such a good girl… my Sweet Girl, blushing while I lick her cunt…”

Syre's lips parted to bite back that she didn't belong to him. She wanted to rebuke the idea but the heat in her cheeks made her silent. Holding back the desire to taste his name as a moan was challenge enough. Forming a coherent argument to rebuff him was a herculean feat. Especially as he yanked her closer and lavished her neglected clit with slow messy kisses. His fingers gripped her thigh so hard she feared it might bruise. His tongue flicked the small bud, swirling around it in tight circles and sucking on her parted lips. It all left her body warm and fuzzy with pleasure. Sinking her fingers into his hair felt sensitive and unreal, borderline ethereal. She was a delicate doll cast in sugar, poised to dissolve in his mouth.

“Sorry, Doctor Bonne-” Gerta said as she came bustling cheerfully through the door carrying Syre’s clothes for the day. She stopped dead at the picture before her, eyes widening in shock.

“Out. Your Mistress is busy.” Crocodile commanded, his tone leaving no room for questioning. Syre’s cheeks burned knowing that Gerta had seen how exposed and shamefully aroused she was. Part of her didn't care, she wanted to plead for him to keep going. Her fingers hadn’t left Crocodile’s hair. She just met her maid’s eyes, her own weak with desire. Syre's body was taught but her legs were held firmly open. Her eyes looked down at her husband. The indecent man wasn't going to wait for the poor older woman to leave. Returning to his feast leaving Syre to burn more vibrantly with embarrassment and the moans she was withholding.

Gobsmacked, Gerta fumbled with what to do. Decorum warring with the harsh order from the master of the house and the astonishing scene before her. She scurried to lay the clothes down on the chair, wiped her sweaty hands on her apron and went to ask her usual “will there be anything else, Doctor?” then realized how silly that was. Her mouth opened and snapped shut twice like a fish, her eyes seeking refuge on the polished wood floor. The maid then fled the room before she could be ordered to leave again.

“T-The servants gossip…” Syre managed to say.

“Nothing they didn't already know, Darling,” Crocodile retorted, rising from the floor. He practically slithered up her body to kiss her. She accepted the kiss without thinking about it, tasting herself on his tongue.

“See how sweet you are?” He asked, his hand easing the coat from her shoulders.

Syre wasn't particularly fond of being manhandled, or that's what she would say if asked in polite conversation. Crocodile on the other hand, enjoyed it thoroughly. Once the coat rested on the vanity, Croc had her bent over before she could squeak out a protest.

“Wait…what are you-” She began as he unbuckled his belt.

“If you want me to stop, use your words.” He demanded. When nothing came from her, he smirked, “that's what I thought.”

Syre's fingers gripped the fur underneath her. She abruptly sank down with a firm kick to her ankle. It wasn't meant to hurt her, just spread her legs further apart. She felt the blunt tip of his cock wetting itself in her folds. Croc hummed with satisfaction at just how soaked she was.

“Breathe,” he warned, as he lined himself up and pressed inside her heat with a groan. Syre's resolve was breaking as he, inch by glorious inch, stretched her.

Her legs went to jelly the moment he'd felt her relax enough for him to move. His pace was nowhere near as gentle as his initial easing inside. He pulled out slowly at first only to ram back in completely, bottoming out with a startled moan. His large hand running fingertips up then down her back. She didn't have long before the pace of his thrusts became merciless. She whimpered and moaned into the fur, feeling her walls squeeze his cock deliciously. Her shame caused her to melt into the fur and bury her face, amplified by the teasing low chuckle behind her.

"I wish you could feel how greedy your pussy is. Already trying to milk me like a spoiled brat. You can cum on my cock all you want, Princess. But you're going to earn what your cunt is begging me for.”

All Syre could do was whimper and mewl, too lost in the pleasure of being stretched around his cock to care that he was taunting her. Listening to the mingling of her cries and his grunts and deep groans. Every so often he'd utter a, “Good sweet girl.”

She was ripped from her haze when the cold metal of his hook wrapped her neck and yanked her upwards. His massive chest was flush against her back, pinning her to the vanity with hard muscle. Crocodile forced Syre to meet her own gaze in the mirror. His pace never relented as he growled in her ear, "Look at your pretty face. I want you to remember this face every time you say you hate me. Because I damn well will."

He nipped at her ear, her head filled dizzyingly with his panting. Her own breath caught when his free hand left its position steadying the vanity to rub her clit. She didn't even try to prolong her climax. He groaned feeling her come undone, fresh heat and arousal coating his cock with each wave.

“Atta girl…” He chuckled, giving her clit a pat causing a wave of aftershocks to clench him. Her soaked sex reinvigorated his pace.

The various bottles of lotions, perfumes and cosmetics teetered and fell without his support, rolling over the edge and hitting the floor. Those that found the rug were salvageable. Those that hit the bare wood floor met a messier fate. Crocodile’s merciless pace moved Syre's jewelry chest closer and closer to the edge with each thrust. The small cushion lined chest joined the shattered bottles not before erupting on impact, sending necklaces, bracelets and earrings scattered all over her room.

Syre boldly broke eye contact with herself to look at her husband. He was practically cheek to cheek with her, rutting her like a wild beast. Unruly locks of hair had fallen over his face as he kept his rhythm. Sweat was beading at his forehead and dripping down his face. He didn't notice her looking, his eyes were closed, savoring the feel of her weakly squeezing him for his seed. The sight of him was intoxicating and she felt her walls spasm, threatening a second climax. Syre was sure he felt it too, a smirk came before a growl as he nuzzled her face affectionately, "Again? So soon?”

Syre didn't have the wherewithal to answer. Instead she returned his lust drunk tenderness with some of her own in the form of a soft kiss to his cheek amid her breathless moans.

Her second release was more subdued. A pathetically weak plea for him to join her. She wasn't sure he'd accept the offer with how pitiful her offering was. His name drifted from her lips accompanying her begging.

“Please Crocodile… I need it… please fill me…”

His hand returned to her drenched sex to persuade her to give him a third, “I'm so close… just one more Princess and I'll give you what you want.”

Syre whimpered that she couldn't. He called her bluff with sinful circles at the apex of her thighs. Helplessly, she submitted to the pleasure and let it build. She was in a daze as the third orgasm had her trying to escape him. He yanked her back with a groan. Crocodile held her in place as she felt him pulse inside her. His body was tense above her, his hand bruising her hip as it kept her still. They stayed like that for a while after he finished. Syre was too weak and shaky to move leaving Croc to kiss her jaw and cheek, whispering to her.

“Good girl…”

Her neck felt bare without his hook around it. As he withdrew from her all of her was suddenly cold and lonely. Syre's legs trembled, his hot seed spilling out of her, the only thing keeping her on her feet was the vanity underneath her and that shook almost as much as she did. Her hooded eyes watched through the shaky mirror as Crocodile buckled his belt and smoothed his hair back into place. She made a slow turn, trying to straighten and face him, grasping the tabletop for dear life. Noticing her staring wide eyed, he sauntered over, glass crunching under his shoes, and took her chin in his thumb and index finger. His thumb grazed her bottom lip. He leaned down and gave her a quick yet mocking kiss.

“I'll tell your mother you say hello,” he said with a smug grin before departing her room without the coat he'd come for.

#syre bonne aventure #one piece oc #oc x canon #syre x crocodile #crocodile x oc #smut #Hook and Lace #Bonne-Aventure Syre #op sir crocodile #sir crocodile

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sabo-has-my-heart · 1 year ago

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Hello!! I really loved your Soulmate AU Ace x reader where reader and ace meet in their dreams but forget about each other when they woke up. I I would like to request a part 2, (If you can no rush) You can write any scenario you want. (I’m not too sure if I should add suggestions if I make a part 2 request but just in case) Maybe the next scenario could be meeting Whitebeard and the Whitebeard pirates, maybe also with Luffy and sabo, or maybe a scenario where in the 3 years he was looking for reader he was also looking for blackbeard in the middle of it and the scenario leads up to Marineford but this time he lives. Sorry for my long request. (All of your works are so great!! Ive read most of the ace x reader stories u have🧡)

Warnings: injuries, soulmates

Word Count: 1320

Sitting in his prison cell, Ace sighed. This wasn’t exactly what he’d wanted when he introduced you to his family aboard the Moby Dick. He’d been looking forward to a party, everyone laughing and congratulating him on finding his soulmate. Good natured teasing and getting to show you off. Hell, even Thatch getting that devil fruit hadn’t been that bad. Sure, it had taken some attention off of the party, but that didn’t matter… not until Teach had tried to attack Thatch. You hadn’t even thought, just reacted, getting in the way of Teach’s blade. He’d still made off with the devil fruit when Thatch had whirled around in surprise, but no one had really cared about that. They’d all been too concerned with the fact that you’d been wounded and the fact that you’d saved Thatch. Thatch had immediately taken you to Marco and gotten you patched up, but Ace had been furious. He’d attacked Thatch, injured you, and taken off with the devil fruit. Ace was supposed to be in charge of him! He’d gone after the man before anybody could stop him. When you’d called him on a den den mushi, furious with him, he’d felt kind of bad. You were angry with him. He didn’t want you to ever be angry with him; but he couldn’t let Teach get away with this! So he’d gone against your pleas, gone against your begging, and continued after Teach. He wouldn’t let Teach get away with everything he’d done.

Standing on an island, you waited. They should have been here by now. They’d said that if you or your island ever needed their help, they’d be there. So where were they? You’d even asked for him specifically by name.

“Hey, Y/n?” A voice called, making you whip around. A small smile graced your lips as your eyes landed on a blond haired boy with a top hat.

“Sabo! Thank you for coming! Listen, I know it’s probably weird that I called you, especially when it’s not my island in danger, but when you saved the island you said ‘if we ever need you’. Well I need you desperately.” you said, your eyes already pleading with him. Sabo looked at you seriously, nodding his head.

“I can’t promise anything, but we’ll do what we can.” he said with a smile, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. Taking a deep breath you looked up at him.

“My soulmate was sent to Impel Down. They’re going to execute him. Please, I know pirates aren’t exactly on the top of the Revolutionary Army’s ‘people to save’ list, but I’m begging you. Ace needs you.” you pleaded, tears already running down your cheeks. The boy’s brow furrowed. Ace? Why did that name sound so… familiar? Hesitantly, he nodded in agreement, trying to figure out why it felt like something in his mind was trying to break free.

“Alright. I’ll help if necessary, but only if necessary. I’m one person, Y/n. I can’t storm Impel Down by myself and I won’t get the RA in on that. Do you know where they’re taking him for the execution?” he asked, a serious look on his face.

“Marineford. They’re going to try to execute him at Marineford in a week.” you said, trying to wipe the tears away as best you could. Sabo had agreed to help, it wasn’t much but it was something. Of course, you’d asked for Sabo for a reason. After so many dreams with Ace, you were able to connect the young blond boy in the dreams with the blond young man who’d helped save your island some years prior. Sabo would have the strength needed to add to Whitebeard’s already formidable forces and, with luck, would help him remember his brothers.

For better or worse, Sabo seemed to slowly regain his memories on your trip there. Things were still hazy, but it was enough for him to know how important Ace and Luffy were to him and why he needed to save Ace. Of course, while not weak by any means, you weren’t the fighter that the rest were, you might keep up with some of the weaker Whitebeard recruits, but definitely not enough to try to fight. Thankfully, the blond you were with wasn’t an idiot, giving you a marine disguise so you could sneak behind everyone. You both hoped it wouldn’t be needed, that the others would be able to get to Ace without your help. But you were there if need be.

Running through the battlefield, Ace yelled at his brothers, holding you in his arms.

“I can’t believe you! Honestly! She told you I was her soulmate and you still brought her?! What if something had happened to her?! I’d have killed you, that’s what! And you! Don’t you ever listen to your older brother? I told you to get out of here! And Impel Down? You tried to rescue me from Impel Down? Do you have any idea how worried I was! I’m going to kill you both!” he shouted, the three of them finally stumbling back to one of the ships that still stayed afloat.

“Ace! I’m the one who asked Sabo to bring me along! Don’t be mad at him.” you pleaded, caressing his cheek. He looked down at you in concern, he’d been so worried about you, “I couldn’t just sit by and do nothing.” Ace sighed, pulling you close as the ships started to pull back, the remaining pirates climbing aboard while fending off marines. Watching the surrounding chaos, you sighed with some measure of relief. Things weren’t over yet, but with how Whitebeard’s power rocked the entirety of Marineford, you weren’t too worried.

It wasn’t until everyone was well and truly away that Ace set you down, giving you both a confused and aggravated look.

“How did you even know Sabo? How’d you find him? This isn’t something you ever shared in our dreams.” Ace asked, checking you for injuries.

“The Revolutionary Army saved my island a couple years ago. Sabo was one of the revolutionaries there. He said if we ever needed their help, to contact them. It wasn’t too hard to connect the Sabo of your memories with the Sabo of the RA. I was planning on telling you before you took off on your own.” you said, letting him check you over, the young man huffing and nodding in acceptance when he found the only injury to be the one from Teach.

“Don’t be too mad at her, Ace. She was worried about you.” Sabo said, putting a hand on Ace’s shoulder, giving a small smile.

“I still can’t believe you’re actually alive. I don’t know whether to be pissed that you didn’t remember us or our bond or be thankful that we’re all back together again.” Ace said, hesitating before pulling Sabo into a hug, “It’s good to see you again. I’m glad you’re not dead.” Ace said, a little softly. Luffy joining in as he tried not to sob. For once, Ace wouldn’t call him a cry baby. Their brother was alive, he was alive, you were alive. He wouldn’t say shit this time.

“Well, I suppose you already know Y/n, but Luffy, this is my soulmate.” Ace said once they’d separated, pulling you close. Almost immediately Luffy had his arms wrapped around you, screaming something you couldn’t quite make out while the two older brothers chuckled. Though to be honest, Ace was really happy about his little brother’s excitement. His family aboard the Moby Dick liked you, his brothers liked you, you saved Thatch, and you’d reunited them with Sabo. He was pretty sure nobody could be as amazing as you and there was nothing he’d ever be able to do to repay you for everything you did. Hopefully his eternal and unwavering love would be a good start though.

#one piece #one piece ace #portgas d. ace #fire fist ace #portgas d ace #ace x reader #fire fist ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #one piece sabo #sabo the revolutionary #monkey d luffy #straw hat luffy #mugiwara no luffy #hiken no ace #hiken no ace x reader #revolutionary sabo #chief of staff sabo #flame emperor sabo #soulmate au

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berrymoos · 1 year ago

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MY BABY MY BAAABYYYY .... YOURE MY BAAABY SAAAAAY IT TO MEEEEEE .... im on s13 of ninjago & he has not left my mind since s1 oughshdjshdj he's so baby

𓂃 ．．🍪🐻🧡🏵🧃

🎂 — regressor cole headcanons!

the rock of the group deserves to have some small time sometimes. what more can i say? rocks can crack too, specially ninja rocks (。-`ω-)ｰ

stress regressor, 100%. he rushes to be the responsible one of the team whenever something goes wrong, worries himself sick over mistakes, pushes himself to make up for them no matter what bc if he doesn't something could go wrong again and someone could get hurt and then his friends won't like him anymore– and all that weight on his shoulders is rough

all of the ninja r his caregivers to some capacity. every single one. all of them r strong too – kinda comes w being elemental masters / ninja n all – so they can carry him whenever they want <33 cole loves it too, they're so cozy (o^∀^o)

i don't think wu or misako know directly, but if cole ever told / regressed around them, they wouldn't be v surprised – like they know smth is up, but they won't confront him bc that's his business

lots of ppl hc cole having a kindergarten to middle / teen regressor headspace & that's SO big-brained, i eat it up every time – BUT baby cole my sweet sweet boy. infant ages to like 2yrs old. give him a rattle; he likes rattles kenwkdek

the eepiest baby ever, partially bc of how young his headspace is, partially bc he's the master of earth – it takes up a lot of his energy when he's big, but since he's so used to it, it doesn't rlly register how wiped he actually is until he's sitting down, his brain is whirling to a stop ... & then it's like “mmnn woa m eepy..” hes also very prone to regressing when he's tired; doesn't happen all the time, but it's become more often than not

(jay has, in fact, taken a picture of a sleeping cole on the couch, meme-ified it w the “why he so eepy” caption , & sent it to the gc. they went loco /pos)

on that note, he can fall asleep p much anywhere: on the couch, on the floor, over a bowl of cereal, literally anywhere. his favorite places (aside from his bed) r his friends' laps <3 he's being held? out like a light

that earth master strength Does Not magically go away when cole is small, meaning his tantrums could cost them a wall & possibly new flooring. not that he has tantrums often bc he's v chill & low-energy!

(... it happened once & jay refused to babysit for a good week. for unrelated reasons ofc /j)

OOUHEJSH loves bears sooooo much it's almost silly. he's got a black bear onesie w ears on the hood, a tiny tail on the butt, & a dark brown teddy bear to match - his fave. "we bare bears" & "little bear" are his go-to shows. he can devour a box of teddy grahams in two sittings. glamrock freddy his absolute beloved. bears bears BEARS bears bears!!!!

kai called himself a papa bear once & cole went nuts jahdkajdkw “’apa bear ’apa bear!!!! ʕ￫ᴥ￩ ʔ” — “yup, that's me, don't wear it out! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧”

ok guys wait here me out: bearcub regressor cole. makin grororgroo noises to communicate. cute little snuffles n nose wrinkles when he smells smth good. loooong naps in a blanket fort. honey added to his bottle. bearcub regressor cole

the teddy's name is muffin btw. he & mr. cuddlywump are best friends & they always have playdates together 🫶

speaking of — jay is older than cole by a few years (maybe 4-7?), so he's consistently playing the older playmate / big brother role for cole. YES he will absolutely drag the baby into mischief, but if anyone dares to try separating them he IS throwing a fit about it. also he's the only one who can turn a laid-back baby cole into a zoomin 2y/o. watch out for them.../silly

back to the rattle thing for a sec – jay has a toy drumset & nya has a toy guitar, so the three of them put on a music show for the rest of the team! they're always asked for encores & they always deliver! their band name is The Mudshockers & kai is their biggest fan👍🏾

he likes dancing but since he's unsteady on his feet the younger he is, sometimes he'll just sway his body o, bop his head, or shake his rattle to whatever beat there is – even if said beat is just in his head. other times he'll get nya or zane to dance with him when he's able to stand!

omigosh wait ,,,, zane picking cole up & bouncing him to the beat ,,,, im gonna MELT they're so cute 🥹

cole adores fuzzy / fluffy material. his element requires him to summon rocks from the ground, & rocks are hard - he deserves some soft things in his life ( =^×^= )/ᰔᩚ if any of the ninja have something visibly fluffy in his presence, they'll very quickly have a small in their lap, nuzzling them & humming contentedly. muffin & his bear onesie r his favorites because of that!

ALSO remember the casual outfit he wore in "child's play" (the ep where the ninja got turned into kids)? he managed to find the adult-sized sweatshirt of that shirt & it's now a staple regression outfit ... whenever he's not in his onesie

he's still got a MASSIVE sweet tooth, bc who would cole be w/o it? (/j) ,, the only difference is that, instead of it manifesting in “oooo chocolate cake & cookies & ice cream!!!” it manifests as “mmm baba w sugar n hunny.....” – not to say cole doesn't have his moments where he craves a cakepop over warm chocolate milk. zane usually is in charge of preparing his bottle bc he always gets it juuuust right

THE NINJA HAVE A BABY BAG IN CASE HE DROPS ON LONGER MISSIONS AAAAA ,,, cole's a lil embarrassed @ first & fervently insists that he won't be regressing on the mission, but it proves to be incredibly useful when he gets hungry in the middle of like, nowhere & there's a section completely dedicated to snacks & drinks

(... & when cole actually regresses bc of stress / sleepiness & they have the majority of his stuff on-hand)

jay can never escape being called a dingus no matter what. baby cole catches him doing something stupid? “ ‘ingus...”. a joke too corny for his taste? “ ’inguuus.” jay complains abt this unfair treatment, how he's being bullied by a baby & he is slandering him ... but no one comes to his aid. zane'll scoop up cole & say “hm, are you sure that was an unprovoked statement on his part?” while kai will just spout nonsense like “wooooow jay ... a power outage in ninjago city and bordering countries?” by your hands?” w/ lloyd n nya just shaking their heads. jay's like “GAAAAAAAASP, NOBODY is on my side??? coco is being a BULLY & you guys are just ALLOWING it???? i see how it is.......”. cole's laughing hysterically throughout all of this 🫶

honestly jay's the funniest person to cole when he's small. he could be being Himself & cole's losing his mind over it. nobody can compete against his hilarity no matter how hard they try. best way to tell when cole's dropping is if he's laughing way harder at one of jay's stupid jokes /silly

mmmhmdhsjshsi ,,, jay coming up w the nickname "coco" & callin him that as a joke while he's big, but cole just gets super fuzzy-brained bc ,,,,,,,, coco ........ ohohohohoh ,,,,,,, & jay is like “oh! mkay then!” now he uses it all the time when he's regressed hdksjdk

ON THAT NOTE, nya came up w "pebble", & just like "coco", it spread to the rest of the team like butter on a warm stack of pancakes. nowadays they very rarely use "cole" when he's small – why should they, when they have "pebble" & "coco" under their belts!

... kai calls him "coco pebble(s)" sometimes 🫢

spoiled to the max. he breaks the handle to his paci? don't worry, zane just ordered 6 more. he loses a stuffie? jay's giving 3 of his to him. he's hungry? nya's got several different flavors of milk in one arm & baggies filled with teddy grahams in the other. absolutely spoiled rotten

he doesn't have any of those fancy deco pacis bc hes v prone to dropping them in his sleep & doesn't wanna mess them up, so he gets the printed designed ones or the plain-colored ones & slaps some stickers on them :] he rlly likes his black-stickered paci but he's not picky!

lloyd loves joking abt how he's no longer the youngest on the team whenever cole drops. he'll walk into the room & say “guys, i'm not the youngest anymore!” without warning while cole's in his arms, half asleep w a paci

sometimes he feels like he shouldn't be regressing bc of his status as "the rock of the group" & gets hit with an influx of negative thoughts. like – he's their anchor, their strength, the glue that holds everyone together when things go south ... so what is he doing regressing of all things? if they don't have a rock, the team won't make it! all of that negativity :( hes prone to pushing down his regression & busies himself w other things until he just ... breaks. wooo :((

after day of the departed (read: cole gets his physical body back), he literally launches himself into his friends & snuggles them like there's no tomorrow in sight. for a good two weeks he's the clingiest baby boy to ever exist: holding everyone's hands, leaning against the nearest person, cuddling, sleepy cuddling – the most common occurrence bc sleepy cole is sleepy. GOODNESS hes so clingy!! if he's in the right (or ig wrong) mood he gets fussy if his human pillow moves away from him kdnfoendk. nobody minds at all; they got their baby boy back & that's all that matters <3

self-indulgent pkmn au hc: cole's midnight lycanroc may look scary (...and kind of is hssjskdje), but it's soooo sweet & gentle with him omg. it has special mittens it puts on its paws to keep from accidentally hurting him w its claws & 100% will help zane make a bottle or lloyd prepare a snack. the fur on its neck is mad fluffy - there have been many, many times someone's walked in on cole with his face stuffed in lycanroc's fur, fast asleep on its back while roc's layin there with him, tail slowly awag <3

#🧸．berry's headcanons #ninjago agere #fandom agere #sfw agere #agere hcs #i literally love this little man so much it isn't even funny - hes been my fave since CHILDHOOD he is so close to my heart #& his agere border is prolly one of my faves to look at i just love the orange w the hint of black !!

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soukokumychildren · 1 year ago

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Halloween Shopping

Might as well dunk this here, it's pretty funny (and probably makes no sense), but I'll paste it here regardless. A little funny write I wrote roughly a few weeks ago, enjoy XD (PS. Keep in mind this was more of a rough idea than really any story, and it was meant to be a joke I sent to my friend)

Dazai walks up to Chuuya, who's sipping on some hot coco (either takes wine, apple cider, or hot coco, nothing else), and taps him on the shoulder giddily. "Hmmm?" "Fukuzawa approved." Chuuya looked up at him now. "Approved what?" "Approved for Halloween decorations. If we buy them." A beat of silence. Chuuya yanks his phone from his pocket, dials up the nearest Halloween store, and snatches Dazai by the scruff, and immediately drags him. "We're going on a shopping spree. And we're decorating this place right."

Chuuya takes Dazai, borrows the Agency’s van, and drives off with a giddy expression. They arrive at the Halloween store and Chuuya is awed. At everything. It takes everything in him to hold back his feathers as he steps on buttons that activated horrifying animatronics, sorted through assortments of Halloween costumes, and pranced through the shelves of decorations, all the while music suited for Halloween played in the background. By the time they were done they stocked a cart full. “Dazai,” Chuuya whined. “Can’t we buy the whole store?” Dazai chuckled. “We could easily do that and more. But why?” “Cause, it’s so fucking awesome here. I’d want everyone at the Agency decked out for Halloween.” Dazai snorted. “It’s cute how much you love the Holiday.” “Well, of course, stupid. It’s the only time of the year I get to have my wings out and nobody calling me a monster or reporting me to the government,” Chuuya hissed to the brunette, much to his pleasure. “I know, I know, my little deity.” He pulled the cheek of the redhead as they made it to check out. The lady at the front boggled at all the expensive items, but cashed them in none the less, and reported it was about 560$, 79 cents. Before she could even finish her statement, she was handed Chuuya’s credit card. When Dazai mentioned they could afford the store and more, he wasn’t kidding. They cleaned the Mafia money and began investing it, soon becoming undercover billionaires, just to piss off people. And that meant they enjoyed themselves much more than necessary.

The woman looked like she had half a heart attack when the both of them weren’t even remotely phased on how much they spent on decorations, and wheeled the cart out of the store, bringing it to the van and unloading it. This time, Chuuya’s feathers sprung up, and he winced from the loud noises, but beamed at Dazai. “This is going to be fucking great. I can’t wait to see their faces.”

After all, that’s one of the reasons why Dazai decided to run through with this plan. To give the Agency a heart attack. But Fukuzawa didn’t put his foot down on any particular rules, except for the two having to pay for it, which was nothing on their end. So they drove back to the agency, and Chuuya used his ability to lift it up, Dazai carefully walking in front (because the redhead eyes him with suspicion) up the stairs, and infront of the Agnecy doorway.

Chuuya throws open the door grandly and steps inside like he owned the place, dropping the mound of Halloween decorations next to his desk and more boxes waiting behind, Dazai flicking his eyes over to Kunikida, who looked like the most bug-eyed chicken in history from pure shock. Atsushi looked at the stuff up and down. “Um.” Chuuya whirled to him. “Get crushed, or decorate with me?” Chuuya cracked his knuckles and offered a toothy smile. Atsushi didn’t even hesitate. “D-decorating!”

Eventually, the commotion stirred the others. Kenji bounced off the walls out of pure excitement for seeing these new decorations, ones he’s never seen before. Kyoka was surprisingly invested into it, and Chuuya took the two to show them how to decorate. Tanizaki flashed some of his ability as spooky holograms and laughed as Naomi dramatically squealed and hid behind him for protection. As the bundle unloaded, Kunikida grew more and more pale, and casually fainted in his chair with foam coming out of his mouth as now Yosano joined the party, Ranpo hovering around all of them with interest, since the Agency was usually quite bland every year for Halloween, poking and prodding at all the well made creatures, scary things, animatronics, flashing lights, and things that made noise. Eventually the entire place was decked out, and the entire Agency just gawked. It looked so freaking cool.

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handspunyarns · 4 months ago

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You Were Marked: Days Twenty-Seven to Twenty-Nine (Din, Part I)

pairing: din djarin x *reverse age-gap* *plus-size* fem!O/C

word count: 6K

chapter summary: Din tries to remember before he forgets.

warnings:  angst, heartbreak, mental illness, amnesia, past hurt, current medical emergency, English and Mando’a cursing

***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***

You Were Marked: Masterlist

You Were Marked: <- Previous Chapter

Din stood at the top of the ramp of the Razor Crest, staring at nothing, his mind a confused whirl of thought.

Din could not have begun to explain what he had just done. He crisscrossed half the galaxy — twice — for a woman, of all things. Until recently, he had seriously thought that he was just not cut out for a long-term relationship. Of any kind. Friends were erratic in their habits. Women, even more so.

Grogu, of course, changed all that. Din hadn’t even known the boy’s name; it had taken a few hours before he’d even learned that the kid was a boy. In retrospect, it was probably a good thing that Grogu had been male — Din had a hard enough time dealing with a child in general. A girl-child would have possibly sent him off the deep end.

Females had confused him his entire life. Even his own mother had been difficult to comprehend at times, with her occasional sudden mood shifts, her quickness to temper that seemed to happen regularly. It hadn’t helped that when he’d gone to his father for advice, his father would chuckle and say, “Oh, it’s just a female thing, son,” or possibly, “Well, it’s hard to explain … let’s revisit that a few years from now.” Unfortunately, the few years from now never happened between Din and his father. Later, Din had been schooled on the female condition in the Mandalorian manner, and buir filled in the gaps.

His buir had seemed to not need another person in his life on a long-term basis, and also seemed to be more … fluid in his short-term partners. This was fine with Din, just as buir was fine with Din’s attraction to females exclusively (at the time). Buir had simply dispensed with his conventional wisdom regarding consent and not hurting anyone, along with reminders that relationships of any kind would be awkward until they weren’t.

We, as males, are idiots and morons, kid. We are bound to fuck things up royally when it comes to an ‘other’. And it’s gonna be weird for you, I guarantee it. But you know something? It’s gonna be weird for her, too, kid. Whoever that ‘her’ is. But someday, it will all be just right. You’ll figure it out.

Never forget, though, that you’ll still be an idiot. You’ll just be her idiot.

Din felt perfectly certain that he was an idiot. Only an idiot would have … whatever … he just did. Do what now?

Din continued to stand at the top of the ramp, staring blankly into the main part of the ship. The shab? What in the ever-loving-shab am I doing? He took one more step into the Razor Crest and reached out to the door control. He pressed the button blindly, and the door irised closed. He took two more steps forward, as if his motor systems were now under the control of some celestial puppet master. Or … perhaps … a Jedi, Din wondered as he looked at Grogu, who appeared sad, but not at all like the screaming bundle of emotional outrage the boy had been… recently. Apparently. Instead, Grogu quietly raised his little hand, and Din watched his helmet slowly float towards him. He went to one knee and held out his hands, catching his helmet and looking it over. It appeared undamaged, despite him throwing it like a murderball at an invisible opponent for some unknown reason. “Thanks, kid,” quietly said Din. He stood back up, turned the helmet in his hands, and placed it back on his head.

The familiar and comfortable screens and sensors glowed, quieting his mind. He felt better, he felt more … right. It’s time to take off; I must go to Manda’lor, thought Din. Confused, Din blinked a few times. What the … why am I …here? He had the coins; it was time to leave. Coins? What coins? Whatever; he was obviously done here on this planet, and he had other Aqualish to fry. He went to the ladder and pulled himself up into the cockpit, beginning the launch sequence. Grogu silently joined him in the cockpit, sitting in the aft chair and force-pulling the safety straps. The Razor Crest lifted off the leafy ground and rose above the tree line. In the near distance was a large copse of tall, thin trees that appeared to have fruit on them. Gorugelly, thought Din.

Wait. What?

Din rattled his helmet in confusion and throttled the Crest towards the outer atmosphere. He felt exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and for no good reason that he could discern. And Grogu was acting like he was feeling under the weather (like he got into some sour berries again). On top of it all, Din’s chest ached, up towards his shoulder. He felt the achy area and found a very tender spot on his skin. He’d have to look at that later, right now he needed to plot the course to Manda’lor. Once he settled that, he had important business on Nevarro.

I do?

After setting the Crest on her course into hyperspace, Din hopped down to the ‘fresher to look at whatever was bothering him. He removed his cuirass and got his jacket open. Staring at the wound there, Din wondered, what in blue fuck? Who bit me? It looked red and angry; perhaps it was a bit infected. Din cleaned the wound and covered it with a bacta patch.

Then, as he stared at the durasteel mirror, Din’s mind … skipped, as if he’d been unconscious, or sleepwalking. How long have I been standing here? He checked the chronometer on his vambrace and saw that he’d been out of it for a good couple of hours.

What the shab just happened to me?

He looked in the mirror, remembering that he’d put a bandage on his chest, but he couldn’t remember why. Din lifted the bacta bandage to see that it was a bite-wound. It looked like … a human bite. Angry looking. And it itched like something else! What the …? Why can’t I remember who bit me? There were times he couldn’t remember a person’s name — although he did his best to remember a prostitute’s name long enough to get in and out, as it were — but he’d never allow someone to bite him like this! Perhaps someone fought him a little dirty when taking down a mark — except for the fact that the bite was under his cuirass. That didn’t make any sense at all!

Confused, Din made himself hot water for caf (remember the caf crystals this damn time) and opened a cabinet, looking for a ration bar. What he saw instead was a canvas bag that held something round. He took the bag off the shelf and opened it, releasing a warm, yeasty aroma. The bag held a round loaf of beautiful-looking crusty bread. Again, what in blue fuck? What … what is going on? Am I drunk? Stoned? Did I get some weird-freaky-mind-altering pollen from the planet I just left? That is bread, right?

Din slowly lifted the bread out of the bag. It was relatively fresh bread too. Fresh bread would mean that he was recently somewhere that had to wherewithal to bake, and, frankly, the gutter scum he dealt with on a day-to-day basis didn’t necessarily jibe with that. So, where did I get this? He held the loaf under the edge of his helmet and inhaled deeply. Tears suddenly pricked his eyes. Someone … important made this bread. This bread was special, somehow. “Grogu? Know anything about this …?” Din looked around, but Grogu was nowhere to be seen. Din was so accustomed to the little guy being his shadow that to suddenly not see him was strange. Din looked at the round loaf of bread in his hand wondering where it had come from, when he heard the unmistakable wail of an upset Grogu from the cockpit.

“Ad’ika?” yelled Din as he dropped the bread in the basin, forgetting his water in the heater. He leapt up the ladder, finding Grogu crumpled up in a little ball on the aft seat, crying his little head off. Din swept him off the seat and onto his shoulder. “What is it? Are you hurt?” Grogu clutched at Din’s cape and continued to cry. Din checked the boy over but couldn’t see anything that could possibly be hurting the kid. Din sat in his chair and began rocking the seat, wondering what in Frith (what the fuck is Frith?) was upsetting Grogu so much, but the boy seemed inconsolable.

Grogu was sad.

Grogu was sad that Patu was sad. But Patu didn’t know why Patu was sad. Patu forgot Mama. Patu did not know how Patu forgot Mama. Patu did not know why Patu forgot Mama.

Before, Grogu didn’t know why Patu forgot Mama. But now, Grogu knew why Patu forgot Mama.

Grogu loved Mama. Grogu wanted Mama to be happy. Grogu knew that Mama thought that Mama could only get better on Bad Planet. Dark inside head of Mama told Mama that. Dark inside head of Mama lied to Mama. Grogu didn’t know what dark inside head of Mama said, before. Grogu didn’t know who the dark inside head of Mama was, before.

Grogu knew who the dark inside head of Mama was now.

Grogu loved Mama. Grogu loved Mama so much that Grogu had tied a tiny thread of the Force around Mama. Grogu tied the tiny thread of the Force to the love that lived inside heart of Mama. The love Mama had for Grogu. The love Mama had for Patu. Grogu let Mama go back to Bad Planet. Grogu could hear Mama on Bad Planet. Grogu could hear the dark inside head of Mama on Bad Planet.

Dark inside head of Mama were the Dahls!

The Dahls had been friends of Grogu! But the Dahls were bad!

The Dahls told Mama bad things. The Dahls told Mama lies. The Dahls made Mama tell Patu lies. The Dahls made Patu believe the lies. The Dahls made Patu bring Mama back to Bad Planet. The Dahls made Patu forget Mama.

Grogu was sad for Patu. Grogu was sad for Mama, too. Grogu was sad that Grogu could hear the Dahls. Grogu was sad that Grogu could now understand the Dahls. Grogu was mad at the Dahls. Grogu was mad that the Dahls were telling Patu what to do. Grogu was mad that the Dahls were telling Mama what to do. Grogu was mad that the Dahls were the dark inside head of Mama.

Grogu was sad that Grogu didn’t know the Dahls were bad.

Grogu was mad at Grogu!

“Buddy, buddy, it’s okay,” whispered Din, as Grogu continued his sobbing. “I don’t know what you’re sad about, but it seems like … I’m supposed to be sad, too. I don’t know why; it’s as if … I forgot.”

Din rocked back and forth for a long time, holding Grogu. Din patted the boy’s back and hummed a little repetitive tune. Din couldn’t remember where he’d heard this little ditty. It was a nice melody, as if it would have any number of verses … as if it were a song for any occasion. The next thing Din knew, all was quiet, and he was blinking as if he’d dozed off … not that he remembered falling asleep. Grogu was silent, somber-looking, and gently patting Din’s cuirass. “Better now, kid?” Din tapped Grogu’s forehead with his and stood up. He was wobbly and his legs were kind of asleep, as if he’d slept in his chair a long time … or if someone had been recently laying on top of him, cutting off circulation. Yeah. Right. No one’s done that for a while. My equipment hasn’t gotten wet for... Din checked his chronometer again and discovered that he’d lost a couple more hours, and a spark of fear began to take hold.

What the kriff was going on?

Din rattled his helmet, trying to shake cobwebs out of it. He hopped down the ladder and put Grogu down on the floor before heading to the tiny galley. The mystery bread was still in the basin. In the heater was the cup with lukewarm water. Din decided to reheat it for bone broth. “Hey, kid? Hungry?” Dumb question, thought Din, noticing that Grogu was toddling toward Din’s quarters. He frowned and headed Grogu off at the pass, squatting before the kid. “Making a liar out of me, little guy? I told her you were always hungry,” Din said with a chuckle, picking up the child. Her? Her, who? Din sobered quickly, concerned about these … skips his mind was taking. “Who am I forgetting, kid? Who is she?”

“Mama.”

“Mama?”

“Sad Mahr,” said Grogu, pointing at the floor in Din’s quarters. Din turned on the lights to see what Din was pointing at. At the end of his bedroll was a tiny pile of hand-knitted items and two of his spare blankets, carefully folded in a different manner than he folded blankets. Why is that important? “Was someone on this ship besides us, Grogu?” Where is that someone now?

Din went to one knee next to his bedroll. Grogu squirmed out of Din’s arms and picked up an item from the pile. He put on the little jacket and ran to Din so he could tie the attached belt. Din tied the belt, asking, “Where did you get this, little guy? Who made this for you?” Grogu pointed to the folded blankets. Din frowned at Grogu, but picked up the top blanket as he stood up. The blanket partially unfolded itself, and Din caught the lightest scent coming from the blanket, as if it had been somewhere outside the ship recently … or if someone had slept on it.

Din held the blanket up to the bottom edge of his helmet and took a deep breath, trying to place the scent. It seemed so familiar … so … warm … and soft. Like soft skin. Soft, and warm, curved like a woman should be, rounded and convex and concave, beautiful and shapely. With a shy smile on those lips that were equally as curved as her body. With hopeful eyes that lifted her expression just above constant sadness. With strong and sure hands that lovingly held Grogu and … and … touched me. A woman who made my heart skip a beat every time I looked at her.

Who is she? Where is she? Grogu calls her Mama, for kriffing out loud!

“Who is she, buddy?”

“Mama!” Grogu ran forward and hugged Din around his ankle.

“I appear to have grown a Grogu,” muttered Din, not as an observation but as a repeating of a sentence he’d heard before. His heart came alive with such a yearning it took his breath away. She must be … if she’s Grogu’s Mama, then … Din’s chest began to burn, as if someone had doused his thermal in fire lighter and dropped a live flame on him. He clutched his chest. Grogu began to cry again, sobbing “Bah daws! Bah daws!” over and over. Something terrible is happening somewhere, thought Din. Something terrible is happening to a woman I must care about, but I can’t remember who she is!

Din suddenly felt one of those mind-skips coming on, and his panic began to rise, threatening to overwhelm him entirely. “Hold on,” he implored Grogu as he rushed to the cockpit, dragging the blanket, while the boy leapt up after him. Din sat, and without bothering to strap himself in, dropped the Crest out of hyperspace. He lowered the solar shield on the view screen, which obscured the cockpit from the outside. Now that the cockpit was dark, he could slide down to the floor and remove his helmet. His heart was racing, and he felt nauseated and dizzy. He tried to slow his breathing, but it seemed impossible. To calm himself, Din slid underneath the console, curling a portion of himself in the small space underneath, hugging Grogu tightly. He hadn’t felt the need to self-comfort in a small space in decades. He realized that he was chewing on the tip of his gloved thumb, something else he hadn’t done in decades. Those habits started the day his parents were killed.

Young Din had been brought into the Mandalorian covert by the Watch member who had rescued him. It was quickly decided that he should stay with his rescuer, as Din had taken hold of the man’s sleeve and refused to let go. Din dutifully followed the large metal man down the labyrinth of hallways, certain that he would never figure his way out. The metal giant brought Din into a small set of rooms, and Din relaxed slightly at the familiar sights: cushions, low tables, and a tiny kitchen with a cooker and everything. The large metal man left Din alone to find blankets, and Din felt lost again, and became terrified, and needed to hide.

The Mandalorian had obviously heard him climb into the cabinet and pull the door mostly shut. It was only a few seconds later that the metal man tapped on the cabinet door. “Hey, kid, you in there?” The large man’s voice was quiet, not booming or scary, but still mechanical and frightening in its own way. Din sat silently, hugging his knees, trying to make himself as small as possible. The huge metal man spoke again. “Tap once for yes, twice for no, kid. You in there?”

Din sat stock still for a few moments. Then he reached out and tapped his side of the door with one tap.

“No worries, kid. Stay there as long as you want. I’ll check on you later.”

Din was surprised, as he had expected to be pulled out and … well, he didn’t know what, but that made him frightened, too, so he stayed in the cabinet for hours, chewing on the tip of his thumb. He didn’t suck his thumb anymore, that was baby, but chewing was okay. His father even did it sometimes. Din stayed quiet, the tip of his thumb in his mouth, doing his best to not cry. That was also baby.

Much later, there was a tapping on the cabinet door again. The metal man asked, “You hungry, kid?”

After some thought, Din tapped twice.

“Okay. How about some blue milk?”

Din tapped once, surprised that this scary metal man had something like blue milk. Din listened to the metal man moving around, and then the cabinet door opened just enough for a large, gloved hand to come through, holding a cup of ice-cold blue milk. Din carefully took the cup in both hands, like his parents taught him. After he had taken a swallow, Din remembered that his parents were dead, and they weren’t coming back. He tried to cry quietly, but he sniffled, and then he heard the metal man grunting as he sat down on the floor outside the cabinet.

“Don’t worry, kid, you can stay in the cabinet. It’s better that you stay in there for the moment, anyway. Because I’m not allowed to do — this — in front of you.”

Din heard a shuffling noise, and then the metal man’s voice changed. It had been mechanical and flat, frightening. But now … it sounded like … just a regular voice.

“I’m a Mandalorian. Do you understand what that means?”

Din tapped twice.

“I am a Child of the Watch. We wear armor and obscure our faces from the galaxy. I cannot remove my helmet in front of any other living thing. That includes you. This is the way. But … I wanted you to hear my real voice. I wanted you to know that I’m a person, just like you. If you don’t believe me … well, close your eyes tight, and just put your hand outside the door.”

Din was soothed by the man’s voice. It was deep and slightly raspy, but sounded friendly, and calm, and … quiet, very much like his father’s voice, and the voice made Din feel a little safer. Din shut his eyes as he had been told and opened the cabinet door enough to put out his hand. He felt a warm, large bare hand hold his, and the man introduced himself, and Din, polite as his parents taught him, introduced himself back.

“It’s good to meet you, Din Djarin,” said the Mandalorian. “I’m sorry I must meet you this way. I’m sorry that your parents were killed. Ni ceta.” Din sat quietly. The Mandalorian continued, “You may stay in the cabinet as long as you wish today. You may sleep in there tonight, if you like. I have also made a pallet for you out here. Tomorrow morning, I expect to see you outside the cabinet, however briefly. Akaan nakar'tuur. Tomorrow is a new battle, kid. This is the way.”

The Mandalorian gave Din’s hand one last squeeze before letting go and carefully closing the cabinet door. Din remained in the cabinet for a while longer, drinking his milk and wiping his eyes. He listened to the man as he went about his evening routine. It sounded to Din like the man made something to eat.

“Hey kid, I’m going to eat this right quick. The Creed says I cannot eat before you, because that would mean I took my helmet off before you. This is the way. So, what that means is that I need you to stay in the cabinet for a little while longer. Do you mind?”

Din had no intention of leaving the cabinet anyway, but he liked that this large scary metal man asked him like that. It was something like what his parents would do, and Din found it comforting. He tapped once.

The Mandalorian chuckled, saying, “Hold on. Did you mean yes, I mind if you eat, or yes, go ahead and eat?”

Din was confused and almost laughed, too. But laughing seemed wrong.

“Kid, we gotta work out a better way to communicate. This isn’t working for me. We’ll try again tomorrow.” After eating, the man turned off the lights, and went into a back room. Then it became quiet.

Din waited a while longer, and then opened the cabinet door. On the other side was a pallet of soft blankets and a pillow, along with a tiny dim lantern, a mug of tea, and a piece of flatbread with soft cheese and sliced meat on a plate. Din carefully got out of the cabinet, and he put the glass in the sink above him. He sat down on the blankets and ate the flatbread. It was good. The tea tasted good, too, even though it was cold. Din put the plate and mug in the sink before settling down in the blankets. He looked at the dim lantern for a while and decided that he wasn’t going to chew the end of his thumb anymore … unless he happened to be in the cabinet. Then it was okay.

Over the next few months, Din spent a lot of time in the cabinet. Buir only requested that Din at least start the day outside the cabinet; then, he could retreat to safety as needed. Buir liked to chat with him in the mornings; that was when his thoughts were the most organized, he said, and he didn’t particularly wish to talk about the day’s activities to a closed cabinet door. Buir also started Din on wearing gloves, because, as he told Din, he was concerned about a wound on the tip of Din’s thumb that would not heal.

Eventually, Din began to feel comfortable in large open spaces again. Shortly after that, he officially became buir’s apprentice, and the confidence that Din gained in training overcame the need to self-soothe in a confined space. Gloves took care of the thumb-chewing problem — especially when Din had to start paying for them himself.

This is the way.

But now, now, Din was so overwhelmed by his sudden failing memory and his lack of ability to control his thoughts that he had retreated into a confined space again. He wasn’t frozen like he had been in the Hold, he wasn’t still, no one had told him to be still.

Hold? What Hold? Who would have told me to be still? What does that even mean?

Grogu whimpered and patted Din’s helmet. “Bah daws, bah daws,” he grumbled under his breath. Then Grogu sighed the sigh of someone much older than he before he said, “Daws bah.”

Wait, what? Din shook his head. “Daws? Daws. Kid, are you saying Dahls?”

“Daws,” said Grogu, nodding.

“Bah daws? Bah Dahls. Bah … bad. Bad Dahls, kid?” Grogu whined and nodded again. Fabulous. Bad Dahls. Now I need to remember what in blue fuck a Dahl is. “Bad Dahls are making me forget her, aren’t they? Bad Dahls are hurting her in her head? Her heart? Where she thinks she’s sick?” Grogu frowned and began slapping Din on his cuirass. “I’m trying to remember her,” said Din, shaking his head. “It’s… as if her hair is blowing across her face, concealing only some of her features at a single time.” Grogu slapped harder on Din’s cuirass, prompting Din to grab Grogu’s hand. “Kriff, kid, what is it?” Grogu growled, and jerked his hand away from Din. Then, he gave Din a rather hard poke on the sore spot just under his cuirass. Din hissed in pain, but his memory had a moment of clarity: her face, her sweet and lovely face, and her name was just on the tip of his tongue …

“Razor Crest. Razor Crest, are you receiving me?”

Din was so surprised at the sudden voice that he smacked his head on the console above him, making a loud thunk. “Dank ferrik!”

“Razor Crest, respond please. Are you in distress?”

Din pulled himself out from under the console, along with Grogu. He sat in his chair, Grogu on his lap, and slapped the comm. “Razor Crest here.”

“Everything okay in there?” Din frowned, thinking that this voice sounded familiar. He switched on an exterior monitor and just saw the wingtips of a New Republic X-wing. “You’ve been sitting stationary for a few hours, Razor Crest.”

A few hours? So much for hiding under the console. Still lost a bunch of time. Din gave Grogu a signal to be silent before he answered. “Uh, everything's under control. Situation normal.”

“What happened?”

“Uh, we had a slight weapons malfunction, but uh... everything's perfectly all right now. It’s fine. It’s all fine … here … now. Thank you.” Din paused his rambling. “How are you?” Smooth, Djarin.

“Did you need a tractor in?”

“Uh, uh... negative, negative. It’s fine, here, we’re all fine. Just give us a while to lock everything down.”

“How many are on board, Razor Crest?”

“Just me.”

“You keep saying ‘we’, Razor Crest.”

Fuck my life! “Uh, yeah, I said ‘we’, you know … meaning … the … Universal ‘we.’ Us, I mean. In the galaxy, way ... of ‘we’ ... I’m still the only one aboard.”

There was an interminably long pause while both ships stood stationary in the vacuum of space. Din held his breath, waiting for an answer. Finally, the comm crackled, “Okay, Razor Crest, I’m going back on my sweep. If you’re still here when I circle back, we will chat again.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Din, relieved. The last thing he needed was a tractor to a New Republic ship when he was in this state. Especially with Grogu aboard. Din reached down and grabbed his helmet, placing it back on his head, raising the solar shield, intending to go back to hyperspace, when his eyes fell on his holopad.

Din picked up the holopad and looked at the list of recent messages, which led him to believe that he had been … on Tatooine recently. Well, yes, months ago, he had, but the date-stamp on these messages were just a few days ago.

Okay, skips in time of a couple of hours are potentially… plausible. But how do i forget going to Tatooine? Seeing Cobb? Fennec and Boba?

So, for what seems like the forty-second time today, what in blue fuck?

Din clicked off the messages and went to the stills files, opening the most recent ones. The largest file was actually a holovid he had taken of a gaggle of topless burlesque dancers, all feathers and giggles and sequins, and it seemed that both he and Grogu had a fine time with those pree lay-ees, as the little guy would say. Why he and Grogu were surrounded by topless burlesque dancers, he had no idea, but he wasn’t one to look a gift orbak in the mouth, for kriff’s sake.

Then there were a few stills of a lovely woman, a little more … full-figured than his usual type, but still pretty. A bit simple-looking — certainly unsophisticated — with sad eyes and long, unstyled hair. She had odd-looking metal splints on her hands and fingers, and what appeared to be a deep wound running down her forehead and nose. She also had missing teeth and facial swelling as a result of some form of violence.

Who are you, lady? Why are you important?

“Mama!” interjected Grogu.

As if someone at the other end knew Din was looking at his holopad, a message pinged through. Din opened it up and read,

CV: Here’s a holo of her. I took the liberty of touching up her injuries and drawing in teeth. I wanted to see her as she was when you saw her for the first time. I wanted to see exactly who you fell in love with.

… … … …

CV: If you left her behind, then fuck you.

Din’s eyes fell closed at Cobb’s rebuke. His finger trembled over the file. Cobb Vanth, I wish I knew what I’ve forgotten. Please remind me, friend. Please don’t hate me for what I don’t remember. Din tapped the file icon, and a still from a holo vid popped up. It was the same heavyset woman in the act of turning to whomever was taking the holo. Her arm pointed towards the holopad, and her mouth was mid-word, and she also had a full-toothed smile. Her eyes sparkled with laughter, and her cheeks were pink. Her skin was clear and unmarked by injuries.

Din took in a sudden breath as if he’d been drowning but had made his way to the surface. “Oh, ma’mwsh ha’laa …” whispered Din. All his words for her came back. Ma’mwsh ha’laa, my mesh’la, cyar’e, ner kart’a.

Marathel.

Oh, Marathel. How in the name of that son-of-a-bitch Frith could I have forgotten you?

His heart opened and broke at the same time. Oh, yes, how he loved her. His Marathel, his soft woman with the beskar hair. The woman who had suffered so, the woman he had left behind; how could he have done something so reprehensible? To her, who had brought him such kindness and love and light and laughter? Din felt tears fall from his eyes as he whispered, “I love you, Marathel, ma’mwsh ha’laa,” his voice hoarse and breaking. “Nothing else matters,” he said, and the bite mark on his chest began to burn.

Marathel, ner kar’ta, you bit me and marked me as yours as a Dahl would mark her mate. Rodanthe drove me to you, telling me to ‘love you’, while the other Dahls made me take you back, made me leave you behind, made you drive me away. Why, ner kar’ta, why are they doing that to you, to me, to us? I thought the Dahls loved you and protected you! What have they done to you?

Din reached for the controls on the console, intending to change course back to Unmanarall, to go back and find her, and if he had to kill the Elders and the Dahls and everything male on that rock then by Frith he was going to! Like I should have done when she took me into that Hold, and I stood there and did nothing! Those Dahls could have saved her from that torture! They let her suffer!

And then cold gripped his heart, cold like he’d dived into frigid water, and he felt his heart stop beating for what seemed like forever as icy fingers slipped through his arteries and froze the blood there and cut off circulation to his mind, and he thought for a moment he would lose his memory of Marathel again, but he didn’t, he remembered her perfectly well. A tall, attractive, good woman who had endured great suffering all her life. A woman filled with kindness for others, despite her own anguish. Din felt ... great pity for her.

But ... that was all.

Thoughts of her elicited no more a response from him than if he’d read about her on the sub-ether. As if she were a stranger to him.

What ... what ... now?

Din looked down at Grogu, who was clutching at the edge of his cuirass and looking up at him with sad, confused eyes. The boy frowned and said, “Mama?” as tears spilled over Grogu’s eyelids.

“I ... don’t know, Grogu. I don’t know what just happened. Did we ... " Did I just stop ... loving her?

Before Din could finish that thought and try to make sense of his confused mind, the burn started again, shoving out the cold from his heart. The bite burned, his whole chest burned, the burning radiated down his left arm and his entire left side was on fire. His mind was still sluggish from the freezing cold sensation he’d just experienced, and he wondered, was this a heart attack?

Pain followed the burning, excruciating pain as if he was being flayed by the Darksaber in thin slices, all up and down his left side, torment that made him yell out, and Grogu began crying harder as Din leaned forward over the console, sure now that he was having a heart attack. Well, this is turning into one shitty day, he thought as he fell off the chair to his knees. Grogu went down to the floor with him, crying out, grabbing Din’s arm. “Dammit kid, you know what you’re supposed to do! Like I told you to do if something like this happened!” Grogu began shaking his head no, and Din felt warmth radiating across his chest from Grogu’s healing hands. “Stop it, kid, I need you awake, so do like I told you, please ... I’ll call for help, but no one must know you’re here!” Din groaned as his heart continued to squeeze painfully, agony like he’d never felt before.

This is not just a heart attack, thought Din. This might be the end. “Grogu ... son ... do like we talked about. It’s going to be okay,” Din whispered as he reached up and hit the distress call on the console before he fell down to his hip, each fibrillating heartbeat pure torture in his chest. Gasping, Din slid to the floor. He took Grogu’s tiny hand. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.” Din took one more deep breath, and with his last ounce of strength, said, “I love you, son ... You mean more to me than anything I’ve ...”

Din slumped down to the floor, and all that he could see was darkness.

You Were Marked: Next Chapter ->

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