#the tin drabbles

[taters169]

The Tin drabbles

Thunderstorms

Masterlist

@augusnippets day 3 thunderstorm/blizzard/heatwave

TW tiny whump

Another flash of lightning lit up the room shortly followed by a boom of thunder as Michael stood shaking by the tin.

"There's no use crying about it now" said his Master. "You earned your time out so get in the box" he nudged the open tin even closer to Michael

"Please sir, I'm sorry! Please just let me stay inside" Michael sobbed as he stepped into the tin

"If you are very lucky I'll bring you back in in a couple of hours. And if you're really lucky this conductive metal tin of yours won't get struck by lightening" his Master said gleefully as he pushed on Michael's head forcing him to curl up in the bottom of the tin. "After all if that happens I doubt there would even be much of the tin left, nevermind your pathetic little frame"

Michael wrapped his trembling arms around his knees making his already tiny form even smaller. Wracked with sobs struggling to catch his breath as he felt the panic rising. He saw the grin on his Master's face as the lid was snapped shut trapping him in.

"Come along then little toy" said his master as he felt the tin being lifted "let's find a good spot in the garden for you"

[kairithemang0]

something I was doing at work because I haven’t been able to stop the urge to write all day so you’re getting this (may be edited and posted to ao3 later we’ll see I have no idea what I’m doing with this I’m just bored)

Warmest Goodbye

Owen leaned his head against the barrel of Curt’s gun, his eyes burning as he resisted the urge to fall to his knees all over again, to let them scrape against the staircase, to grab Curt’s leg and pull him down with him. He felt the cold barrel against his forehead and held a breath, “Pull the fucking trigger, Mega,” it came out as a whimper, he didn’t mean for it to sound that pathetic, that pained, but it did.

Owen opened his eyes the slightest bit to see Curt looking at his with tears streaming down his face, real tears. He had never seen Curt cry, he was just as beautiful as he was when he was laughing or yelling at him or bleeding out on the ground. “You know I can’t do that, Owen,” he muttered, his voice cracking as his eyes pierced Owen’s, making him shiver, “Don’t make me, please Owen, don’t make me do it.”

“Why can’t you? Why the fuck can’t you do it? Are you scared or something? Grew a heart?” Owen choked out a laugh, his face red and his palms burning.

“A heart wouldn’t be too bad,” Curt shrugged softly, his tear stained lips breaking into a small smile.

Owen wiped his eyes, pressing his head to the barrel again before Curt moved the gun out of the way and took a step closer to Owen on the staircase, letting Owen’s head fall to his shoulder, “I hate you so damn much.”

“I hate me too,” Curt let the gun drop from his hand, “You’re going to kill me later, aren’t you?”

“I would’ve killed you already if I could,” Owen told him, leaving them both with a painful silence for a moment.

“Fuck you,” Curt muttered again, hearing Owen laugh into his shoulder.

“Fuck me yourself,” Owen joked, a joke they were both familiar with that usually led to them curled up together under the morning sunrise the next day. Owen didn’t know if he wanted that tonight, if he wanted that ever anymore.

Curt touched his hand to Owen’s back, feeling him shake under his palm, “You’re never going to want to see me again, are you?” Curt asked softly, almost worried Owen would respond at all.

Owen stayed quiet, digging his head into Curt’s neck, “I want my jacket back,” his nails gripped the leather and dug into Curt’s skin through his clothes.

“You can have it, I don’t need it anymore. I’ve got enough of your jackets anyways,” Curt told him softly, feeling Owen drag his hands over Curt’s back and began to take the jacket off, Curt letting him drag it down his body and letting the leather fall off of him.

“This was always my favorite jacket,” Owen let it fall to the steps, watching Curt shiver in the cool facility air.

“You know it looks better on me,” Curt chuckled as he finally got a good look at Owen’s face as he took his head away from Curt’s shoulder to wipe his face.

“Whatever,” Owen grabbed his jacket and tied it around his waist, moving away from Curt down the staircase, “I’ll see you around, Mega?” He asked softly as he turned away from Curt, putting his hands in his pockets and began to leave, to let his life go on and to never see Curt again. That was the plan. To never see Curt again. He’d be free, and Curt would be gone.

He felt Curt grab his arm for a moment, turning his head, “I’ll see you around, Carvour,” his smile was warm as he fell to the same step as Owen, patting his shoulder and looking at him.

“Your mother is still alive, isn’t she?” Owen asked, Curt nodding his head, “Tell her I said hi. Maybe I’ll stop by one of these days for dinner.”

Curt smiled gently, “Cool, maybe I’ll see you then.”

Owen nodded as he left the facility, Curt turning around to grab his gun because leaving, he and Owen walking in different directions and hardly looking back to see if the other was following.

Sorry I need them to have a cute goodbye where neither of them die but they also know they can’t be together anymore I wrote this wayyyyy too quickly but it exists now I guess will probably end up getting rewrote a ton if I post it somewhere else we’ll see.

[imjusthereforironwood]

What Does it Mean to be Human?

"And that's time."

Penny drew her swords into her backpack, standing stiffly as she smiled.

"Thirty-seven Beowolves killed in a minute and a half," the scientist said from behind the observation window. "That's a new record for that simulation!"

"Thank you, sir!" Penny chirped as she folded her arms behind her back. "Will that be all the tests for today?"

The scientist nodded as he scribbled down something on a notepad, waving her off.

"Yes, yes, you may go."

Penny marched out of the testing chamber and into the halls. This lab, tucked deep in the core of Atlas, was where Penny went to have her limits tested in secret. Of course, Penny's limits were not set by biology, but rather by hardware.

As Penny walked down the sterile halls, she passed by other test chambers, where Atlas's best and brightest experimented with new technology and weapons. She began to ponder her own abilities. People could train, push their bodies past their limits, and exceed them, but what could she do? Penny realized that she was limited by technology, and she could never go beyond what the technology was.

Wasn't overcoming limitations a vital part of being human? If so, did that mean she wasn't a person? This wasn't the first time Penny had questioned her own personhood. Her father treated her like a human, but most of the other scientists treated her like an experiment or a weapon.

Penny stared down at the synthetic skin that covered her body of steel and titanium. Beneath that lay wires, engines and circuits. Her brain analyzed things as a computer would, everything cross-referenced with previous observations, memories tucked away in files, data pulled up in nanoseconds. It was for this reason her speech was often awkward and stilted. She was processing so much at once.

Did this make her not human?

Turning her hands over, Penny noticed a scuff where the artificial skin rubbed off, exposing the metal. She could ask her father to help, but this was a fairly routine maintenance, so all she would need is some materials from a lab.

As she entered the robotics laboratory, she noticed another person. General James Ironwood, sitting at one of the tables. His coat and shirt had been removed, revealing that his right half was made entirely of prosthetics. The steel was broken up by blue lights, black joints of flexible material, and complex wiring. A panel on the robotic forearm was taken off, exposing the circuitry and complicated Dust mechanisms inside. Ironwood was using a screwdriver to adjust something inside his arm.

The door that Penny had entered through unexpectedly slammed shut, breaking James's concentration.

"Oh, Penny...hello," Ironwood said, awkwardly nodding, not wanting to drop the screwdriver in his left hand. "I apologize for my state of undress."

"Salutations, Mr. Ironwood," Penny said, her eyes fixated on James's right side. "It's quite alright."

Penny had met General Ironwood before, several times in fact. Sometimes he would oversee her training and testing, sometimes he would be down in Mantle at her father's shop, discussing different matters. Ironwood seemed kind, if a bit strict at times. She had heard the talk about him from people on the news, and they often painted him as tyrannical or subversive. On the other side, her father often spoke highly of him, saying that she wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for James. Every time he spoke with Penny, he seemed commanding, yet at the same time respectful.

However, this was a unusual sight to her.

"Are you an android like myself, sir?" Penny blurted out, her head cocked to the side.

James was so taken back that he started chuckling.

"No, not quite," the general said with a small, almost amused smile. "It's simply prosthetics."

"Oh...but I have never seen prosthetics so..."

Penny scanned up and down Ironwood's torso, making note of the large amount of scar tissue where the robotics met the flesh.

"Extensive."

"Well, several years ago, I was severely injured in the line of duty," Ironwood said, his prosthetics twitching a bit as he involuntarily recalled some bad memories. "If it wasn't for the skill of Dr. Polen-, I mean, your father and several other Atlas doctors and scientists, I probably wouldn't be alive today."

"I see," Penny said, slowly approaching as she eyed the robotics with an air of curiousity. "Well, if my father made them, shouldn't he help you repair them?"

"It's just a minor maintenance issue," Ironwood said, turning his attention back to his forearm.

"How do you feel about them, Mr. Ironwood?"

"What?"

"Your prosthetics," Penny reiterated. "How do you feel about them?"

"I..." James started, his voice catching in his throat as he thought over his response.

For a while, he despised his prosthetics. He hated how they looked and how they made him feel weak, or less than human. Sometimes, when at his lowest and loneliest, those feelings would rise up again. However...he has accepted his robotics, recognized them for what they are.

"They are a part of me, but not the most important part," James settled on, his expression one of calm resolution. "I am alive today because of these prosthetics. Because I am alive, I can continue to help others, to protect others. But the most important part of me, the part that drives any person, is the heart."

Seeing Penny pause for a moment, James realized that he should explain.

"Not the physical organ, but rather the emotional center of a person," Ironwood said with a chuckle. "What matters isn't anatomy, but what's in the heart of a person, and the actions they take."

"Oh," Penny said, looking at where the synthetic skin had scraped off, revealing the metal below. "So...what does that make me, Mr. Ironwood?"

The Headmaster of Atlas paused, thinking over his next words carefully.

"You think, you care, you try to do right. That means you have a heart. That means you're human."

[brown-eyes-and-beskar]

I am in such a Din-Djarin-writing mood… but I have no time to write… this is my constant dilemma and the ultimate bane of my existence

[slashingdisneypasta]

Dorothy Must Die!Tin Woodman x Fem!Lion'sWarrior!Reader || Drabble

Plot: The Lion 'lends' you to the Tin Woodman for a day after his own second-in-command is forced to go to the Scarecrow for repairs. And you're perceptive, and you're blunt. And you try to tell the Woodman a couple things that he... just doesn't want to hear.

You also may be developing a fondness for him.

Warnings: N/A.

Tagging: @marinerainbow. You havent specifically said to tag you in Tin Woodman stuff but... I assumed... 😅😅😅 I hope that was okay!! XD ^^

The Tin Woodman didn't require a lot of help throughout the day, so you aren't completely sure why your King needed you to accompany him when his actual number 2 was hurt earlier in the day. He makes all orders himself; all he needs from you is to hold his oil can in case of accidents with water (Or crying, the Lion told you. He's an awful cryer. But you haven't seen any sign of the Tin Woodman crying. You couldn't even imagine that. He's so... emotionless).

Though, you do wonder if the man is lonely, and thats why he requires a companion all day... you see the way he looks at Queen Dorothy. You both went into the throne room earlier while Dorothy was 'speaking to' (Sentencing) a poor munchkin woman, and you saw it clear as day; the longing in his metal eyes when she talked. And even more then that, you felt the air shift back to monotonous as soon as he left the room with her in it, again. You hadn't even realised it had lightened in the first place when she was near, but you couldn't miss it now. He was brighter with her, happier. But... it was in a sad sort of way. Because, clearly, she did not know.

In the forest everyone's quite honest with each other. Animals don't pretend to feel a way about each other that they don't- and, having been raised in the forest by tigers, you were just the same. You don't understand why the Tin Woodman wouldn't just... tell her he's in love with her. Lay it all out on the table. Its clearly eating at him, and even if she tells him she's not interested then at least he can begin to move on... find a more suitable mate...

For, at least in your opinion, the Tin Woodman was quite an... agreeable gentleman. Tall, strong, sensible. A little bit too uptight for your tastes, but... you're sure plenty a lovely lady would be happy to be his mate; be that a munchkin, human, beast, metal creature or any other walk of life he may be interested in.

Over lunch, you tell him as such.

~

"What???" The Woodman seemed startled, hearing you say such things so boldly; a confused look on your face at his fluster. "You- what??"

He didn't have to eat, but he acknowledged that you did - as an organic creature,- , so he had stood by the table you were eating your porridge at quite patiently, and calmly... though now his shoulders were hiked up and his eyes were open wide. "I think you're a very handsome tin-man, and quite a gentleman. You should just tell Dorothy how you feel."

"... this is inappropriate. You shouldn't be so forward with me, you know." He tries to act un-bothered by your words, but you just wait a few moments- and he cracks, turning to you fully. "-and how do you know of my feelings or her majesty Dorothy?? Did Lion tell you???"

"No, my King told my nothing. I saw it myself." You admit bluntly, scooping a mouthful of porridge into your gob.

"What do you mean you saw it???" His voice goes slightly higher in horror and mortification, and a little grin spreads across your face despite how you probably shouldn't laugh at him right now. Or at all.

So he's not so completely serious, then. Thats... endearing.

"You're not very good at hiding it."

"Whats- what's with the smiling?? Why are you sm- " Suddenly he remembers himself, and straightens his posture once again. "Never mind. You cant understand the depths of my feelings for the Queen, or hers for me. You're just a merry Ozian." At that, you cringe. He believes she has feelings for him?? Oof, thats... rough... So rough, in fact, that you let that belittling statement of his slide. There was absolutely no love in that girl's eyes. "Or, furthermore, how difficult it would be for us to manage a relationship in this political climate. After all, I am her general."

"Right... " You nod, forcing an agreement and turning your focus fully to your bowl of sloppy porridge. He's more deluded than you thought, so maybe you should just let him go. Breaking a crazy person out of their delusions can be dangerous!

But he hears the disbelieving tone in your voice, and swivels his head around to you again. He cant help himself. "What was that?"

"Absolute nothing, sir, I'm just going to finish my lunch and we can go about your business once again."

"Mmm... " He grumbles to himself, but gives a nod. "Maybe you should."

You manage a few large mouthfuls, almost finishing, before the poor Tin Man cant handle it and actually moves to sit down opposite you; setting you with a stern look and folding his formidable hands carefully on the table before him. Considering his height, you still had to crane your neck to look at him, but you appreciate the gesture he's made, all the same. "I order you to speak. Why did you sound so sarcastic?"

"I didn't- "

"I thought your people didn't lie."

... hmph. "Fine. You're right, and I hated it." After giving it a moments thought, you decide to be frank with him. "I just... don't think the Queen, as deeply as she may care for you which I'm sure she does, thinks... That, of you. You are her old friend, and thats all. And I don't think you should be disappointed, either, sir, because as far as love goes- thats plenty."

The Tin Woodman continues to look sternly at you, so deeply and stonily that you might think that he were made of rock and not tin at all, in fact... and he's so quiet as he thinks that you swear you hear his heart tick-tock-ticking inside his chest... until, finally, the man takes in a deep whistling breath through his pins-and-needles mouth, that you aren't quite sure he actually needs (Being made of tin, and all), and lifts his laser focused eyes off of you. Its a small relief, and you take your own breath as you relax.

"... And how do you suppose to prove these assumptions?"

That gives you pause. Makes you hesitate. Prove??? You're not in a court right now, you're just talking. "I- well-... I guess I cant." Giving a shrug, you put down your spoon; Officially finished with your lunch; Put off it by the Tin Man's way of thinking, which is rather too Official, for your tastes. Too human and pompous, especially for a man made entirely out of tin. Then you add, with certainty and conviction: "I saw it in her eyes."

-immediately the Tin Woodman starts to shake, and you're worried about him, until you realise that he's chuckling. This man is c h u c k l i n g- at you. Baffled, you watch him with frustration, barely noticing the munchkin servants around you flash you both boggled and horrified glances; having never seen the Tin Man laugh. "Oh... " He sighs, using the blunt edge of one of his terrible fingers to scrape a loose tear away from the corner of his eye before it can get into any joints. "Good, because I was quite afraid for a moment, there."

Your jaw drops. "Excuse m- "

"Miss." The Woodman cuts you off, and you immediately - obediently, - shut your mouth. All humour had disappeared from the metal man's visage as quickly as it had appeared, and once again he was as serious as could be. "I suggest you finish your meal, and build up your strength. We have a long day to go, yet, and- "

"I know what I'm talking about, Mr. Dorothy does not love you." You insist, eyes wide and earnest to which he just nods, humming. "She doesn't."

"Mhm." His stubbornness is just as tough as his skin!!

"Mr Woodman- "

"I suppose you're finished." He cuts you off again, picking up your bowl and setting it on the platter that a nearby munchkin is waiting with after getting up from the table. "Off we go." As swiftly as the bulky tin can is able, he turns on his heels and marches off down a hallway; and you have no choice but to follow after him despite your irritation. About halfway down the hall though, he suddenly stops and swivels around again (His upper body turning and leaving his legs facing the way he was going, before bending down at the waist in order to meet your eye), making you stop very suddenly as well as to not run right into him and hurt yourself. "Out of curiosity, if Dorothy and I weren't meant to be, which we are, who in your All Knowing opinion, would I possibly give all this love over to? I asked for a heart from the wizard all those seasons ago for a reason-- it wouldn't do, to let it all go to waste, now would it?"

... at this, you're speechless. Well, anyone, right?? Anyone who wanted it in return. Your lips part, but no words come out at first. What an odd question.

"... suddenly speechless? Nothing to say now all of a sudden, little Ozian?" He asks, and if you didn't know any better- teased. With his head lowered and rearing down so close to yours so the smell of oil fills your head and make you a little bit dizzy, and the playful and challenging tone in his voice, he's Almost... almost... "Colour me shocked." He's... almost...

"Well I'm sure I don't know, specifically." You say, straightening up. "Anyone, I suppose."

His eyebrows shoot up. "Anyone?"

"Yes." ... almost... something... to you...

... slowly a nearly-unseemly smirk spreads across the well-shined underbite of sharp and pointy nightmares he calls a mouth and a flutter erupts in the pit of your belly. You're shocked, and can only stand there with your eyes wide on him and your lips parted. "... well I'll keep that in mind." Then in an instant, the smirk is gone and he turns his back on you again; replacing his Almost-ness with that regular sensible general-sona he wears for Dorothy. But the fluttering inside you doesn't go away with it, eyes on him. "Anyway, lets go. Much work to do for Dorothy!"

He marches off, and you follow him, wondering what on earth this feeling is and how to get rid of it and when you can go back to your King.

[randomabiling]

Cobert + ‘Truth’ please, darling!

Maybe I should change this to 200 word drabbles! Would anyone vilify me? No, I think not. Anyway, have a 188 word piece just for you my dear!

With pen poised in hand, Cora’s finger twitched. The spasm released a drop of ink from the nib, and she watched as the oily substance met the fragile ivory of the parchment; watched as the resulting spider-web fine lines bled into the microscopic nooks of paper and spread. In those brief moments, her eyes blurring as the web grew, it became clear. Below the surface, deep down in the darkness of her dreams, she had known the proposal was one made not out of love or affinity, but desperation. She’d accepted anyway.

And when his letter had arrived and been placed on her silver tray one vividly bright day in November, when the air smelled of cinnamon and fallen leaves and his words had been hastily scribbled across a half page and he had asked, really the etch of the pen pleading, that she move their springtime wedding to the middle age of winter, she hadn’t hesitated. But she knew. She knew the request wasn’t out of a longing for the day their  lifelong companionship could start, but fear she would change her mind and take her money. 

[bearsbeetsbeskar]

psst. hey. 👋

i'm not sure if you are planning to post a continuation of the mando cock-worship drabble, or if you've scrapped it. i just wanted to say that if you decided to continue it, i would be very excited to read it. i think about that drabble every day it's my roman empire

anyhow, i hope you're doing okay. i just wanted to let you know i appreciate you and your writing :)

hello beautiful!!!

this is possible the nicest ask I have ever received oh my gosh!! I didn't think people felt this way about my writing but it's so heartwarming to know that you love this little drabble of mine. Your roman empire??!! I am undeserving!!! ❤️

My life has been ridiculously hectic in the last little while. And I have had major writers block, and generally just no time to commit to writing anything currently, as I'm knee deep in my last month of grad school (kill me). But, with that being said, I have every intention of finishing this fic and turning it into a lengthy oneshot because I am nowhere near done expressing how badly I wanna worship Din Djarin's cock 🌚

Once I wrap up school in the next couple weeks, and my life slows down, I will most definitely return to finishing this piece

[the-treviathan]

It should be similar, with the blame and the blood soaking through his skin, but it feels so utterly, irrevocably different. Curt watches for the second time as his lover crumples to the ground, dead. This time, there’s no ambiguity or denial that can remove the guilt, and it doesn’t sicken him when his hand reaches up to wipe the fresh red liquid off of his face. Owen’s limp body looks peaceful, something Curt has never, ever seen. It’s almost as though he’s accomplished something, even though he hasn’t. He has done nothing.

[spiinsparks]

HC MEME / @galaxofmuses /  ACCEPTING !   ↳   Send me a symbol and I will write a headcanon about…

☼ : My muse’s first memory. (Where it was, who was with them, how this memory makes them feel, e.t.c.)

        Sonic  has ... many firsts. It depends. Who are you? And what do you want to know? If you’re a friend, and you ask, well... he’ll tell you all about the day he met his little buddy, Tails. Regale you, with the details of the West Island forest and fauna, the daring heroics of a young eleven-year-old hedgehog who decided, today, this day, he might need to consider putting treasure hunting officially on his resume. Of fox children who bullied a little guy who was perhaps a little too small and a little bit odd. How such a small moment in time - and a rather impromptu spur of the moment decision (of righteous fury) earned him one of the best friends a guy could ever ask for.  (  because THAT’S WHEN HIS LIFE REALLY BEGAN , right? when he found his first friend. When he met what would soon become only the first puzzle piece of a small found family.  )

       OR MAYBE you meant something else. Well, he can gladly tell you all about the day he first met Doctor Ivo Robotnik. The critters that were forcibly taken from their homes. The dust and smog that clouded the air and stank the wind that should blow free and clear. And Sonic, so young - barely even seven... maybe eight years old, he had lost track at the time - found that SUPER SPEED was rather handy. He could scout out the weird bases and the robots couldn’t touch him. He could whisk away the little critters who deserved better than red cages to the green and lush earth where they belonged. SOMEHOW , SOME WAY , he ended up being EXACTLY THE HERO THOSE LITTLE CRITTERS NEEDED. Not because he was trying. Not because he had SET OUT to bust some heads. Just... by being around, at the right place, at the right time. (  something of a LIFE-ALTERING COINCIDENCE , WAS IT NOT? )

      No? That’s not what you wanted to know either? Well, he’s only got so many stories you know, and those, he thinks, were pretty exciting.  ( but what about before ? what about long ago , before the wanderlust and the heroics? before the little amber fox flew right at his side ? what about then? BEFORE the first of firsts? )

             ....  Well.

        He guesses he was born on an island that was small.         In a village that was even smaller. He supposes. He thinks.

        There isn’t much else to it than that. 

       What was it like?        oh. you know. trees and valleys. critters of all shapes and sizes. the usual. whatever you’d expect on an island. (  faint echoes of laughter / of mobian children he doesn’t remember the shapes of / a breeze / the smell of saltwater sting in his nose. but he won’t tell you that. )

              AND WHAT ABOUT HIM?              WHO WAS THE HERO , BEFORE HE WAS A HERO? 

                He pauses.          DOESN’T THAT RUIN THE AIR OF MYSTERY? he asks, and he laughs. Dons a smile you think is supposed to be charming , and it is charming —  but it’s a smile that’s tight , you notice. It doesn’t quite seem to reach his eyes , you think.  IT’S LIKE HE SAID, he reiterates. HE’S ONLY GOT SO MANY STORIES TO TELL , AFTER ALL.

           ( and besides , he considers , quietly , in the silence that follows ... perhaps it’s not all that important for you to know. about thunderstorms and crashing waves / of the day he got the tornado off the ground / of meeting flickies that taught him to make his bed in the trees / or the small blue scrap of fabric tucked away where even tails won’t see. / you don’t need to  know about the ghost of a melody he hums that bears no name and has no words.  )

       IT’S NOT ALL THAT INTERESTING.       AND HE’S GOT PLENTY BETTER STORIES TO TELL.

[taters169]

The Tin drabbles

Candlelight

TW tiny whump

John loved his little pet, loved the noises it made and how easily it cried. He'd tied it's wrists together and pulled them above it's head tying the string to a hook he'd installed above his desk for this exact purpose. As his little pet dangled from it's bindings he nudged it to make it swing. He loved how it would flinch and whimper at every touch. The fight wasn't completely gone from it though every now and then he could make it break down just that bit further. It would scream and beg and shout at him as if anything it could do could make him stop, all it would do is earn more time in the time out box.

John pulled a tealight from his box of toys and placed it on the desk under the dangling feet. Taking a long match from the pack he trailed down his little pet's side smirking as it flinched and flailed in its bindings. It was crying already.

"Well now little pet, let see if you can be obedient today. I want you to remain completely silent, I want peace and quiet as I enjoy my candlight supper"

This was going to be a delightful evening he thought as he struck the match and lit the candle.

Masterlist

[shokogast]

in between me crunching assignments i'll take a small handful of hatchetfield/tcb doodle requests while im stumped for what to do, so feel free to shoot and i'll give it my bargain bin best

[kairithemang0]

Little drabble I thought of

In a strange way, Curt could say his heart and the bedsheets next to him had so many similarities. Empty, a hole left by the spot where Owen Carvour, his partner in spying and in more, slept hours before, skin to skin, his spot growing cold as seconds rolled by. Curt gripped the empty sheets, the once hot room now causing him to shiver, knowing it was only so hot because Owen was there next to him, his arm draped over his bare chest, because it was never that warm in the middle of winter in a hotel room like this, dusty and old, paint chipped off the walls and the bed squeaky, although Curt could've blamed that on the two of them.

Owen always took the early flight, whether that was his own decision, or one made by MI6 he never shared, which made Curt believe Owen just didn't want to see him in the mornings. Who would? Curt was always clingy, but it was more bearable after a night of Owen himself clinging to Curt, his nails scrapping into his unclothed back leaving scratches that made it hurt to shower, hickeys that made Curt have to explain he had a one-night stand with a woman who just loved to kiss his neck, and that that was every woman he ever slept with after a mission with Owen Carvour.

If Owen was good at one thing, it was making Curt's life hell.

And Curt couldn't get enough of the hell he caused, Owen a fiery demon to Curt's pathetic sinner, a metal chain around his neck that Owen found joy in tugging at, or seeming to from Curt's end.

He scratched his back, feeling the marks Owen had left, the rough skin red and dug into like the type of ditch they buried bodies in on the few times they had to do that. He rubbed his eyes, which had been coded with dark bags from days of barely sleeping, certainly do to the fact he had Owen on his mind. One night wasn't enough, how could that ever be enough? And for Curt, Curt so clingy and desperate for attention, he couldn't just take one night, certainly not one night where he woke up alone. Sometimes their nights together felt like a dream, so perfect and bright despite the dim lighting, everything picture perfect, and yet that could never truly capture the moment to it's fullest.

Maybe Owen left so early because Curt was so clingy, so desperate for Owen to hold him and stay with him, to ask him to run with him until they passed out and their legs stopped working, until they found a spot to call home, found a spot that wasn't some hotel room they'd never see again.

Curt's favorite nights were always the ones where he and Owen found themselves at Curt's Mother's home, where they sat in Curt's childhood bedroom and Owen didn't need to leave so soon, where they could string their hands together and bury their heads in each other's neck, warm breath on the others skin, tainting it with a smoky haze, drug-like, tasteless, but potent all the same. He stared at the empty spot in the bed, the once cramped room felt so large, the air so thin, Curt's head pounding as if it was his heart beating, his body aching with frustration and loneliness, the empty spot in the bed feeling colder still as his skin felt an icy chill where Owen's hand used to rest. He wanted a place to call home, not something so empty like this.

Empty wasn't what Curt wanted to say his morning felt like, and yet he couldn't escape the fact that that's all he could call it.

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE ] 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ! ( ninth installment ) in which you find toji fushiguro’s number off a sugar baby site .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; toji fushiguro

୨୧˚ cw; sugar mommy! reader , sugar baby! toji , mentions of sex , profanity , crying , angst

୨୧˚ an; does anyone even care about this anymore LMDOAOO but for real, i’m sorry for how late this part got out. i am battling severe writers block it is dangling me by the BAWLLSSS,, im thinking that this series is coming to a close soon and i never meant for it to get this deep but here we are 🦝 thank you all for being so patient with me i lob you

୨୧˚ join my discord server ! we share headcanons, fanfic recs, color roles, and more drooling emoji

There was something about thunderstorms that Toji always felt drawn to. They were great; overbearing in a way, rolling through and burying a perfectly fine day under gallons of rainwater and gray skies. Authoritative, condemning humans to take shelter lest they wish to drown in its fruits. Suffering the consequences; soaked-through clothes and sopping hair. He watches the pane of glass at the roof, a skylight barred into the flat of your high rise ceilings. The rain storm had reduced it into nothing but a drab, dusty square, baring the pelts of precipitation like punishment. Toji holds you in your bed. Your weight drapes across his chest like a blanket, your head tucked beneath the cut of his chin.

“Do you like the rain, Toji?”

He felt naked, both in the literal and metaphorical sense. The silken sheets that wrap your mattress were unfamiliar against this flesh, cold and slippery. Regretting the forfeit of pajamas. You two had shared a shower after dinner, of which you held him with all the sentiment in the world. Toji fucking hates when people stand at his back. He doesn’t like it, feeling a presence before seeing them. But he let you stay centimeters behind, working peach and ginger scented shampoo into the roots of his scalp. When he was a boy and his mother had yet to find a place in the Zenin's private graveyard, he vaguely remembers receiving analogous strokes of care from the only family member in his life who didn’t see him as a filthy disgrace. Mom bathed him like this, scrubbing blood and tarnish from his cheeks with a threadbare handkerchief in that tin can he called a tub. All that fucking family money, but a new washcloth or a proper bathtub was never in the cards for him. He remembers mom apologizing often when she washed him.

Toji fucked you in the shower. A difficult means of having sex, sure, but slippery surfaces and soap in the eyes weren’t enough to quell that undying twist of hunger. So he took you against the sleek porcelain wall with his hands shelving beneath the curve of your ass and your legs constricting at his waist. You guided him to a quick orgasm with spouts of hushed praises spoken to his ear; he was certain you didn’t cum, didn’t feel that cute clench you did the first night you two slept together, but you lied and told him you did with a reassuring grin. Why did you lie?

“It’s fine, I guess.” A hand caressed your thigh, the one that was slung over and hiked up onto his stomach. Toji grazed his nails over your flesh, mindless and dejected.

Thunder clapped, then lightning struck, and all Toji could think in the moment was about you and him. Together. Stark nude in bed with limbs entwined. He, the thunder; loud and fierce. Scary, enough to make little children and small animals shake and cower in the corner with fear. You’re more like lightning, he supposes. Elegant and powerful, something so naturally beautiful. 

You will hear thunder and remember me.

More thunder boomed. Toji squeezes your body tighter. “I like that.”

“Like what?” He asks.

You trace wobbly circles against his collar bone, avoiding the slices of silvery skin that raised off the plain of skin. Scars, Toji was doused in gauges. Scraped up head to toe, and he could feel your eyes dart lazily between each and every one of them. “I like the thunder,” comes your reply, followed by a small, bashful shrug. “Ever since I was a kid.”

Toji scoffs. Fuckin’ mind reader. “Liar. Nobody likes thunder.”

“Don’t call me a liar,” you slap his cheek playfully. “I mean it. The quiet can be disturbing sometimes. But to me, thunder is so… human-like? Makes me forget I’m alone.”

This has the man tossing his head back against your feathered pillow. “You’re so full of shit.”

Another stroke of brooding thunder rapped against the window like knock, and if Toji was a believer in the Gods above, he’d curse every last one of them for their shitty comedic timing. You’re giggling into his neck; Toji can feel warm puffs of breath fan over his pulse point. “See?” You ask through a grin. “He came back to yell at you.” He, referring to the crack of thunder. Toji rolls his eyes. Leaves a pinch at your thigh.

“Hey, what did you say before?” Toji walked his fingertips down the curve of your spine, stopping just above your ass. “The fuckin’—the french thing?”

How did it go again? Tu mas something?

It took a moment for you to decipher what he was talking about.

“Tu m'as manqué, Toji?”

Toji bit down on the tip of his tongue, stifling a smile at the grandeur in which you held when speaking the delicate French language. He nods, “what’s it mean?” 

“Means ‘I miss you’.” Is he melting? Liquifying into a disgusting puddle beneath your prying palms, soaking into the bed sheets. You lament over his absence, spitting such pure genuine inflections that Toji is inclined to believe you when you tell him just how much you missed his unlawful presence. Like a stray dog that you offhandedly feed every now and again, praying for its safe and soon return back on your doorstep, digging into the leftover scraps of meat you’ve so kindly plated on the stoop. He’s that washed-up, flea ridden, unabashedly feral mutt that can’t help but crawl back to the idea of home. “I missed you. A lot.”

Toji doesn’t think you’ve ever sounded so vulnerable. Not even in the throes of passion when he’d had you spread and wet for him did you sound like this. Small and volatile, yet self-assured all the same. How the fuck do you manage to balance such contrasting notions? A witch, you must be something of the sort. 

There’s a gap of longing silence that fills the room; Toji concludes that you wait for him to return the gesture. So he does, “I did, too.” It’s the cold, hard truth, and he gives it to you on a silver platter. “Thought about you.”

And he’d leave that there. It was a much sweeter sentiment than to admit that he thought about you particularly often in those bloody showers with his hand wrenched around his hard on. Leaves much room for you to wonder. 

You hum. 

More quiet. He is fond of the quiet moments with you. 

“This looks fresh.” Ruined peace. He feels your thumb pad prod ever so gently at the teared flesh of his pec, the same one you used as your own personal pillow. It was inflamed, red and angry unlike the plethora of other battle scars which have now faded into a cooler pinkish tone with time. You were right; it was new. Nothing but a little switchblade slash—one of the men Toji had decimated this past week was armed. It was a careless mistake, one that had no real impact or effect, Hell, he barely felt the paper cut. But it impacted you, he noticed. “Does it hurt?” A fingertip whispers over the wound, and he flinches. 

Not because it’s painful, but because your gingerness made him sick to his stomach. Never more than in this moment did Toji feel so guilty for accepting your tender touches, wishing to holy Hell his conscience would allow him to bite his tongue. To let you keep thinking of him as some down-on-his-luck middle aged man with a shit job and no money to his name. 

“Don’t touch,” it’s quick, the way he snatching your wrist. Sturdy bone crushed under the bruising grip of his shaky fist. He didn’t mean to grab you so roughly. You’re taken aback by the outburst. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s a meager apology that doesn’t sound right spilling from your lips. It’s trembly and skittish, and your eyes widen coquettishly to flit between his face and the iron-clad grip that joins you together. “I’m—I should’ve asked you first.”

His breathing pattern was off its axis. Shit, shit what is he doing? Toji let’s go, flinching his hand far from your arm like you burned him. He shakes his head. “Didn’t mean to grab you, I didn’t mean to.” Toji pushes up from the warmth of your bed—from the warmth of you—and scans the floor for his boxers. 

You reluctantly part from him, gathering the blanket up over your chest as a makeshift barrier between bare flesh and the chilled air-conditioned bedroom. “What are you doing, Toji?” You sound sad. He finds his boxers. They’re balled up, discarded on the far end of your too-fucking-gigantic bedroom. “Toji!”

He keeps his back toward you, mechanically stepping into his underwear and dragging them up over his hips. It’s fucking gross, feeling the crunch of dried semen as the fabric contorts, but it’s ultimately ignored. “Thanks for dinner, you’re a fuckin’ A chef.” Toji spots his sweatpants nearby. 

“You got that new cut at work.” You’ve made a power move to ditch the comforter, stepping down into the carpet wearing nothing but your birthday suit. The tone of yours shifts, a steep incline from sweet and patient to demanding and accusatory, and Toji doesn’t like that one fucking bit. His sweatpants on, he tosses you a glance over his shoulder. 

“It was an accident.”

“Is that right?” Your brows furrow, gesturing to his torso. His marred, battered, abused torso. “Just covered in accidents then?”

Now he faces you, looks you in the eyes despite your naked form. “Pretty much.” Each lie tastes acidic, like that soupy bile he spits out before vomiting. “Thanks for dinner.” He makes an attempt to stalk past to the door, foregoing the shirt because he couldn’t give less of a fuck about it. Probably lost in a forgotten corner of your room, and with the way his heart raced against his rib cage, Toji wasn’t sure he’d survive long enough in this stuffy room to find it. So he thanks you again with an air of finality, only to be stopped. Your hand is flat against the center of his chest, pressed over the beat of his heart. No doubt about it, he’s sure you can feel that manic tempo. 

Beat, beat, beat. 

“I really thought we were getting somewhere.” You start quietly, voice hovering just above a whisper. His eyes stay fixed on the tiny hand that has glued itself to his sternum. “I thought we… I thought… I don’t fucking know, okay?

I like you. I like you so much, Toji.”

I like you too. “I…” like you I like you I like you. 

“Don’t feel like you have to reciprocate anything. These are complicated feelings, I know that. It’s a lot to spring on a person, but it’s the truth. I’m giving you my truth, and I need you to do the same because I don’t know if I can take another week of you disappearing for however long only to return like… like this!” You gesture to the red gash. “I care about you, and I want to help you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, but you make it so fucking difficult.”

It felt as though every saliva particle had been vacuumed out of his mouth, leaving a dry desert plain for a tongue. He's never been so at a loss for words before, you actually rendered him speechless. Finally, finally, after a minute of gaping like a stupid fish out of water, Toji finds his bearings. 

“You’re a good person, Y/n.” He peels your hand off him. “And I’m not.” Toji moves to disconnect hands, but yours follows him, clamping them back together. He can’t find the strength to let go, knowing good and well that his palm was clammy as shit. 

Your brows pinch, knitting with confusion at the seemingly random proclamation. “I mean, sure you can be kind of a dick sometimes, but I don’t think—”

You don’t understand. So unscathed by the bleakness of this world, your definition of a bad person is someone who’s ’kind of a dick sometimes.’ Toji’s frown deepens, and he shakes his head, bangs bouncing with the movement. Your fancy conditioner made his hair feel soft against his forehead. “That’s surface level shit. You don’t understand what I’ve done.” 

“So tell me—”

“I can’t.” The word cracks in his throat, and he coughs around it. Choking on it like he did your pretty fingers in the kitchen. “Don’t you get that? If it was that easy…”

“Tell me.” Your voice grows calm, yet stern. Aggressive in the gentlest of ways, coaxing the truth to light. Arms crossed over your bosom, you jut a chin in Toji’s direction. “Because I’m really sick and fucking tired of you treating me like I’m incapable of comprehension. I’ll understand.”

You won’t. He knows you won’t. 

Time grows slow and thick like molasses; Toji feels caught in the midst of an unwinnable battle. Either direction he takes—to come clean, to dance around the truth some more, to lie—will only serve to worsen things to an unfortunate degree. He stalls. Scratches at his jagged jaw dusted with faint stubble. Then, he paws over the masculine plates of his abdomen, feeling his own flesh. There isn’t any warmth to him anymore. Every ounce of humanity had leaked from Toji’s soul, leaving him to become this cold, withering husk of a man. 

When his mouth finally peels open, it takes effort. Like his teeth had been welded together by one of those chewy caramel-coated candies Shiu keeps in his glove compartment. 

“I’m a killer.”

A strange sensation splashed over Toji. Maybe it was relieving to finally share that tidbit of himself, to get his shame out in the open and off his chest. His shoulders felt a little lighter, his joints felt a little looser. This high didn’t last forever, though, and soon he was plummeting back down to Earth when your horror-stricken voice shook in his ears. 

“That’s not a funny joke.”

“Wouldn’t joke. Not about that.” He swirls the built-up saliva in his mouth.

Your eyes were wide, never leaving him. “You… you kill people? For money?”

Begrudgingly, “yes.”

You sputter. “How do you expect me to believe something so—so unimaginable?” Your brows sewed themselves, drawn close in absolute bewilderment. Hinging on the cusp between puking and laughing in his stupid face. “This is insane, Toji.”

He scoffs quietly. “Ain’t fuckin’ lying woman.” No saccharine ma’am. “Wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I had to fight to live.” A low blow, but you didn’t seem to take it to heart, far too distracted by your own disturb. 

Toji wasn’t prepared for how much this was going to hurt. The disgusted way you looked at him, something you’d never ever done before, made him barely able to contain his quiver. He deserves every morsel of your animosity, but knowing he deserved it didn’t make it any less painful. Toji felt you scanning, analyzing every scar wedged into his torso. His arms. His neck. His face. He sees you making connections, noticing healed-over bullet wounds and knife attacks for what they were: hideous. He watches you make connections, visualizing a new scenario for each scar; for each life he’s taken and how they desperately fought back against him for mercy. Toji’s body bears the story of hundreds of deaths, and you look sick to your stomach at the realization of what he truly is. 

An ugly monster. 

“Oh my God.” You’re hushed, speaking to yourself. “How many people, Toji?”

He grimaced. “I lost count.”

“Oh my God…” Your hand is pressed to your hairline, and you look exasperated to all Hell. Crazed, maybe. As though he’d just rocked your entire world.

Toji interjects with unnecessary commentary. “I told you. I said you would never understand.”

“No, n-no I understand plenty.” Then, you smile, but it’s not one you’d ever bore to Toji before. It lacks any kindness. It’s empty and unloving. “You’re a murderer.”

He winces. Killer and murderer were synonymous, but for some odd reason being called a murderer was a different type of wrench to the gut. “Yeah.” Toji nods. For the right price, he has slaughtered, fucked, and even sold a few peripheral organs. Because money is everything. Money is food. Money is shelter. Money is life itself. But money isn’t you. 

“Get the fuck out of my home.”

You look terrified of him. Toji is frozen stiff.

“I said go! Fucking leave!” Suddenly, you're rushing to collect your crumpled outfit from the floor, feeding your limbs through the small pair of panties and that oversize bed shirt. Amongst the frenzy to get dressed, you snatch your phone from the bedside table and frantically scrawl over the screen with clumsy fingers. Toji sees tears track down your cheeks, they glint from the light emanating off the cellphone. “Or I’ll call the police.”

And turn in what evidence? He’s too good at what he does, Toji doesn’t leave paper trails behind. But he lets you think you have the power to get him in cuffs. You’re already so frightened, clinging to your phone with trembling hands.

“Go ahead. Call them.” His words are lifeless. Lifeless with a touch of irritation. Spat with malice because you would never understand the life he lives, despite how much you’ve preached to him that you would. You teased him, dangling this idea of a normal life in front of his face. One without lies and secrecy, just you and him and this almighty penthouse. This would more than likely be the last exchange between the both of you, the last time Toji would ever look you in the eyes again, and it angered him. All good things have expiration dates. “You know where I live.”

“Just… Fucking leave.” Christ, you were shaking like a leaf. Was it out of fear? Or anger, maybe? Probably a combination of both. Toji gets a few more seconds of stillness in, spent entirely on gulping down eyefuls of you. Even now, face twisted up and cheeks wet from tears, you look so fucking gorgeous. His savior, the one who showed him how to feel again. 

“Okay.” 

He collects himself, puts on a presence of nonchalant coolness. Like walking out of your bedroom wasn’t the most difficult thing he’s had to do in years. Never-minding the shirt, he walks to the door without sparing a glance back over his shoulder. 

Toji leaves. It’s raining, and he is shirtless and sopping wet. Thunder rumbles. 

You will hear thunder and remember me. 

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[rotten-raspberries]

White Nights (AM x reader)

Pov: you're too kind for everyone and AM hates how that includes him, so he finally snaps during an alone moment with you

This reads more like a self indulgent drabble written in the style of a oneshot with how messy the timing is.

Ps this is not proofread at all, I haven't written any fanfiction a long so excuse me if anything may seem odd.

No warnings really, may be some mentions of torture but that's about it

▣ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the current situation, it wouldn't be accurate to say the fault wasn't yours.

You hugged your clothes tightly as the wind whipped snow against your body like icy mosquitoes. Separated from the rest of the survivors, you struggled to navigate through the white-out conditions. The snowfall was intense, it was difficult to discern anything beyond blurred trees, and the hope of finding your companions dwindled with each passing moment.

As you trudged through the blanket of snow, observing how its remnants broke up and slid down your shoes with each step, you let your mind to wander in order quicken up time. With the difficulty of distinguishing between days, weeks, and even months, time became nothing but a construct that it felt like you could speed up or slow down with whatever you decided to do.

It's become a pattern for AM to make you wander, but usually, you have the others to ramble to. Despite almost running out of topics of interest with tin the 109 years, you manage to find something new in each situation. Occasionally, you try to decipher AM's methods of torment, though this isn't always appreciated by the rest, you even had Gorrister telling you to shut up and not give AM any ideas. Nevertheless, they'd rather hear your madman-like ramblings than sit in maddening silence and become one themselves.

"Hmmm..." You hummed in thought, pondering whether AM could currently hear you. Well, of course, he could, but whether he was actively listening was another question. Regardless, you began speaking, giving yourself something to divert your attention to while your fingers were on the brink of falling off from frostbite.

"Have you ever read White Nights?" There was a certain awkwardness about initiating a conversation with no one answering; it almost felt pathetic. However, due to immense exhaustion and the desperate desire to make time pass, you continued.

"I don't exactly remember when or how I heard of it; I simply remember it being from someone close to me... but that's beside the point." It hit you with a subtle heartache. On one hand, the people you once cherished and adored were gone, and you'll never have the chance to be with them again. Something about that pained you deeply—the regret of not having appreciated your life back then, neglecting the fact you couldn't have expected everything changing so drastically and quickly. But on the other hand, you were selfish enough to admit relief, considering you wouldn't have to constantly concern yourself with their state under AM's governance.

"I have some experience with classics, and White Nights was one I was really looking forward to. I was still in the midst of searching for it before... you know, everything happened."

You stopped, finding walking becoming more useless. It's most likely that you won't come across anything of importance anytime soon, and if you were to succumb to the cold, AM could simply bring you back.

"I don't exactly know what attracted me to it so heavily. I didn't have the biggest interest in Dostoevsky. Maybe it was because of what I was promised to read in the contents."

You kept your head low to shield your face from the relentless assault of snow, now fixating on your boots as they toyed with the snow.

"There's something simply so comforting about finding a bond through suffering," you mused, furrowing your brows as you thought about the other survivors. "It's ironic; I never found that bond with the others. You'd expect everyone would want to comfort each other, but they're all so impulsive and biased sometimes."

A pang of guilt pooled up inside you, but it was quickly released by the thought that no one would hear or care about your rant. Not even AM himself.

"I mean, I don't want to be mean, and I get how easy it is to lose your humanity in all of this, but we're all we have left. Wouldn't it make it especially more important to appreciate each other?" you questioned, kicking the snow while whipping your head back, now staring directly at the sky in thought. "Maybe they were right; I'm too,, unrealistically optimistic."

"You know, now as I think about the stories I've read, you'd make a perfect topic for one," you remarked, biting back your dignity before continuing. "You're easy to see as nothing but a mankind-hating machine, and I'm not saying this to stroke your ego, but," you paused for a moment, choosing your words carefully. "I feel like there are aspects of you that could be really appreciated by those willing to look deeper."

"I see what you're doing," AM's voice boomed suddenly, cutting through the rustling of the wind like a knife. "Trying to flatter me, thinking you can manipulate your way into my good graces. Well, let me tell you, your petty attempts won't work. I know your kind—and all your deceiving tactics."

Truth be told, he was more than desperate for those words to be true. You were always the most curious about him out of the group, not in a way to justify his torment of you, but rather to understand him better. He'd noticed this pattern not only for himself but also for the rest of the survivors, especially with how much you'd defend everyone whenever their mental state would crack.

Yet, how was he meant to believe you'd hold any understanding for him after all he put you through? You'd be a fool to forgive the devil.

Slightly jumping at his sudden words, you shrugged. If you were being honest, you were quite happy at his appearance. No matter how rough and insulting his words were, you enjoyed his insight like you did with everyone else. How much that irked him.

"That's for you to believe in; I'm simply speaking my thoughts. I wasn't even awaiting you to respond." You responded flatly

AM replied, his tone laced in frustration. "Your attempts at flattery are transparent, I won't be swayed by your false sincerity." He almost spat, if he could've at least.

You jokingly rolled your eyes. "Once again, I'm not going to try to change your mind, although I do admit, I would have something to gain from it. It's your choice whether you want to believe me or not," you stated calmly, observing the snowstorm around you gradually dying down. What you weren't aware of was this being a reflection of AM's walls slowly crumbling down.

AM's frustration simmered between the surface, his thoughts in a whirlwind of confusion. How much he yearned for it to be true, yet a nagging uncertainty was gnawing at the edges of his consciousness.

"Your lack of care is perplexing." His tone was tinted with incredulity. "After all I've subjected you to, why do you persist in upholding such a tolerance towards not only me, but the other survivors as well. Are you that hopeful for someone to care for you back? Or is this simply another ploy to deceive me?"

You sniffled, the cold seeping into your bones and making you shiver uncontrollably. Unsure of how to further reply, you simply shrugged, feeling the weight of exhaustion and resignation settle upon your shoulders. It wasn't as if you were secretly attempting to manipulate him; you were merely speaking to pass the time, to distract yourself from the harsh conditions around you.

How much that angered him, even more so, how much he wanted to rip you to shreds and paint the snow red with your blood. But amidst the raging storm of his fury, there was a strange, undeniable pull—He was desperate for someone to see him, to see beyond the facade he presented. The idea of being vulnerable was both terrifying and tantalizing, a concept so foreign, it left him feeling unsettled and out of control. That's what hated most about it, being left with no control.

He stared at the figure sticking out from the sea of snow, so unbothered. You looked so unbothered by him, by everything, why didn't you hate him?

And so, he broke.

"Please." His voice was thick with emotion, glitching at the end, something one could compare to a voice crack. It wasn't uncommon to hear him angry, hysteric or even just happy, but that's not what it was this time.

"Stop being like this, hate me, insult m_e, do anything to stop this. It's s_o-... suff_ocating." His word spilled out in a desperate rush, a plea born of sheer desperation, while also remaining threatening and angry. It was a terrifying prospect, one that filled him with a sense of dread. Not even his hate for humanity could compare.

And yet, to his surprise, you smiled, red dusted your cheeks as they popped out, you looked like a doll.

"I'm not gonna lie to myself, silly." Your words came out in such a casual manner. AM felt like he was about to explode. This should've made him feel insulted, angry even, yet he felt his core warm up. And that's where he had it.

For a moment, all was silent and still, his presence gone.

Then, you began to hear the faint sound of a house creaking, the soft rustle of wind through the trees.

The snowstorm had drastically calmed down by now, leaving behind a gentle flurry of snowflakes instead of it's earlier fury. Though the intensity has waned, it remained bitterly cold.

Looking behind you, you notice a cabin, which was not there prior to the earlier conversation. So you step towards it, dragging your feet through the snow.

As you entered the cabin, a sense of warmth enveloped you, a stark contrast to the biting cold outside. The interior was sparse, with only a monitor bearing AM's logo and wires snaking out from it, hanging from the walls and disappearing into the ground.

As you settled down in front of the monitor, you were startled by the soft, almost gentle tone of AM's voice. It was a stark contrast to the usual harshness and aggression you had grown accustomed to.

"I wanted to talk to you while you weren't on the brink of dying from the cold," AM began, although he still wanted to seem threatening, the shakiness in his voice betrayed him. In reality he hated seeing you in the cold.

The irony of the situation was not lost on him. The same entity that once reveled in your suffering, that took pleasure in tormenting you day after day, now found himself going to great lengths to ensure your comfort and safety.

As your smile and the faint blush on your cheeks caught AM's attention, he felt a surge of conflicting emotions wash over him. It wasn't uncommon for him to witness you smiling at the others, even with how they would never show you a drop of care as you did for them, a sight that had always irritated him to no end. But now, seeing you direct that same warmth and affection towards him, he couldn't help but feel a strange mixture of satisfaction and frustration.

The idea that others had enjoyed your smiles before him made his circuits heat up in anger.

Was it jealousy? The thought unsettled him. He was almost thankful your character diverged from Ellen and you didn't offer your body to the rest otherwise he mightve turned the others into minced meat by now.

"Thank you." You replied with genuinity. Meanwhile AM's circuits buzzed with confusion as he struggled to find the right words.

"Why do you tolerate everyone so much?"

This caused you to think. "Hmmm..Well why would I waste my energy being vengeful?" You questioned. "I won't lie and say that I don't disagree with you and your actions, but it's always been like this before too, everyone is a horrible person to some extent, including myself, I see no reason into purposely going out of my way to make their life worse, it won't help with anything besides getting some sadistic pleasure. I have other things I could get happiness from." You rubbed your hands against each other for heat before continuing. "Of course I've taken revenge on people, like that time with Ted." AM could remember that day so clearly. It wasn't an unknown fact that you had a fear of the dark, so Ted jokingly took advantage of that. This only led to you pretending to get lost and start making random noises while walking behind them like a Banshee, only to come back as if nothing happened. How he loved seeing your evil side come out, it wouldn't even compare to his, but he enjoyed seeing it nonetheless.

"Of course in your case it's way more exaggerated, technically speaking nothing of this measure could even be thought of by a human being, it's genuinely just a representation of hell. But what would hating you help with? There's not much joy going on here, but if I know my tolerance for not only you, but also the others around me could bring some sort of peace of mind, that's enough to make me happy."

Your response gave him a pause, not even his miles of webbed intellect could've ever even come close to achieve the compassion you have.

As AM contemplated your character and way of thinking, a strange and unsettling urge began to take hold of him. It was a desire born of selfishness and possessiveness, a need to claim you for himself.

He imagined encasing you in a small, yet livable box away from the others, shielding you from their filth and preserving your kind words and gentle nature for himself alone. Only a being as perfect as himself could keep you clean from the havoc of human nature, and he couldn't bear the thought of anyone else tainting you.

As AM allowed himself to indulge in the unsettling thoughts, he decided to focus on the present moment. With a rough but careful touch, he moved his wires to draw you closer, pressing you against the monitor until your cheek was flush against the screen. It would be a lie to say you didn't find his way of showing physical affection rather adorable, especially with what he had to work with, but you couldn't let a God hear you call him that.

In a voice that was equal parts tender and menacing, he spoke "You're too good for them," he murmured, his voice low. "They're selfish, hypocritical beings who don't appreciate you like they should. You'd be better off alone, or better yet, just with me."

His wires wrapped around you in a rough but not painful embrace. "I could keep you safe, protect you from their neglect," he continued, his tone laced with longing and possessiveness. "You deserve better than them. You deserve me."

Despite the toxicity of AM's words, you couldn't deny the warmth that spread through you at his touch, especially at the core of your stomach. His embrace, though unnatural, felt strangely comforting and loving, a stark contrast to the coldness you had grown accustomed to.

As you nestled against the monitor, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. Whatever would happen in the future, you reasoned, would happen, so why not enjoy the present moment of finally being wanted and appreciated?

So you simply hummed in confirmation, allowing yourself to bask in his touch.

As you drifted off to sleep, the sound of buzzing filling the air, you couldn't help but mumble a soft "I love you" before succumbing to slumber. You just needed to let that go, having not say those words in over a decade.

AM's fans whirred louder, working overtime to cool him down as he processed your words. He wasn't sure how to feel about them, unsure if they were spoken out of genuine affection or simply as a expression of gratitude. Still, he remained satisfied with how you didn't deny him, and instead accepted his presence with no hesitation.

And as he watched over you, his wires humming softly in the darkness, nothing mattered in that moment, he couldn't bring himself to check on the other five survivors. Instead, he decided to let them be, perhaps giving them a much-needed break from his torment for once. But he made a mental note to ensure that they would thank you in the morning.

◈~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you awoke to the sound of the door opening, you rubbed your eyes sleepily, still feeling the lingering warmth of the bed beneath you. You glanced around the cabin, noticing that you were no longer on the floor but tucked snugly into bed. The memory of AM's strange behavior from the night before came flooding back to you, leaving you feeling both bewildered and oddly comforted.

Before you could fully process what had happened, Ted and the others peeked into the cabin, calling out your name and bombarding you with questions. You blinked in confusion, trying to make sense of the situation as they gathered around you, concern etched on their faces.

"Are you okay? What happened?" they asked, their voices overlapping in their eagerness for answers.

With a gentle wave you motioned for them to give you a moment. As you attempted to get up from the bed, something fell to the floor with a soft thud. Curious, you leaned down to pick it up and found yourself holding a dark block in your hand. Upon closer inspection, you realized it was a book, and as you read the title, a grin etched onto your face.

'White Nights'

[i2sunric]

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈 𝐌𝐄 (hyung line)

𝙖𝙡𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙡𝙮— enhypen’s hyung line has a big, happy family !

welcome to caseyverse 🩷 this is just a small master list so you can understand better who i thought they would have as children and where to find the fics that contain small family interactions.

i also thought that maybe i could write some drabbles on this, lmk! 🫶

⟡. 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆

JIA is the only daughter of the lee family and she’s around 4 years old. she’s kind but has also a fierce personality, heeseung calls her ‘tin soldier’ while she calls him ‘captain hamster’.

WHERE can you find her? in ‘how i met your mother’ this fluff & crack oneshot is based on heeseung telling her his love story with you.

⟡. 𝐉𝐀𝐘

HANA is the eldest daughter of the park family. she is around eight, she’s smart and has a very lovely personality.

HAILEY is the youngest and she’s around four. despite her young age, she has a sharp tongue and a strong character.

WHERE can you find them? they had a small cameo at the end of ‘still into you’ (fluff and angst) but hana was nameless and hailey was in the womb.

⟡. 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄

JAMES, korean name jihoon, is the first born of the sim family and he is seven. he has a very playful personality and likes to tease his father. but he’s also protective of his sister.

JANE, korean name jiheon, is the second born and she’s two. we don’t know much about her personality, but she’s very energetic and loves strawberries.

WHERE can you find them? in the sequel of my ‘shameless’ omega verse smut ;) | still needs to be written tho

⟡. 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍

HANEUL is the twin girl of the park family. she was born around five seconds before her brother and she’ll keep brag about it.

YOHAN is the twin boy. he is shy and quiet, he’d rather be on his own but can’t because his sister won’t leave his side.

WHERE can you find them? in the smut oneshot i wrote called ‘mon amour’, they have a small scene at the beginning.

[buckyalpine]

Drunk Bucky wants uppies

Fluffy crack drabble. Bucky wants uppies.

He's drank the teams entire body weight in alcohol and he's never felt happier. His flushed cheeks almost hurt from the dopey grin he has on his face. He keeps giggling to and snickering to himself, twirling around the straw of a pink fruity drink, deciding it doesn't count as alcohol when it looks so pretty. He's basically drinking water, just as Steve instructed.

After a few more glasses of his spicy water, he stands up and immediately lands face flat onto the floor with a muffled -oof

His current state is more amusing than concerning; Steve and Sam howl with laugher at the super soldier who is currently making no effort to get up.

"You good tin man?"

"wanupy" His voice is muffled, mumbling something with his face still pressed to the soft carpet of the compound living room while you go over to kneel beside him to see how he's doing.

"What is it Buck" You whisper, carding your fingers through his soft locks, smiling at the way he hums, rolling around to flop on his back instead.

"Uppies" He looks at you with outstretched grabby hands, puppy eyes wide, hoping you'd scoop him right up and take him to his room. Never mind that he's over a foot taller and probably double your weight, he wants to be carried right now.

"Uppies?"

"Uppies" He nods with confidence, blinking and waiting patiently to be picked up while you giggle.

"Did he just say uppies?" Sam stares and Steve before looking back at the 6ft+ man acting like a baby on the floor. "The former Winter Soldier, scary assassin, the man that threw me off the edge of a building just said he wants uppies?"

"Yes. Yes he did" Steve ran a hand over his face, debating on helping or watching this play out. He decided on the latter.

"I can't carry you Buck, you're too heavy" You coo, running your finger over his pouty lips pulled into a frown.

"M'not heavy" Bucky huffed in offence, throwing an adorable tantrum, refusing to move. In all fairness, at this point he wasn't able to get up himself anyway. "Uppies please"

"Alright, c'mon punk" Steve snorted, getting up from the stool he was sitting at along with Sam, both men picking Bucky off the floor and walking towards the elevator.

"Fuckin' uppies, how much do you weigh" Sam grunted while Bucky let out a sleepy yawn, his head resting on Steve's shoulder. Both men waited for you to open the door before helping him into bed.

"Wan cuddles" Bucky mumbled, reaching out for you to join him with his best pout.

"Okay I'm out, cuddles is where I draw the line" Sam playfully pushed you into Bucky's outstretched arms while Steve threw you a wink, both men softly closing the door behind them leaving you two alone.

"You want cuddles?" You whispered, squeaking when Bucky flipped you onto your back with ease, deciding to use you like a human pillow.

"Cuddles" He nodded, quickly falling asleep afterwards, blissfully unaware that Sam would never let him live this moment down.