#worm on a string rise up

[tw1nl3s-th3-c10wn]

how do we feel about worm on a string supremacy? do we want them to take our spleens? do we want our livers taken and om nom nommed on? I vote for worm on string as president. will collect our organs and keep them safes.

I vote worm on string as president! we want them to take our organs and keep them safe and warm!! whos with us!!

[yourdarkcherry]

Is it casual now?// Ellie Williams x fem!reader

summary: you and Ellie had a “casual” thing until she decided to ghost you and replace you. your friends decide that the best way to get over her is to get under another woman.

warnings: jealous ellie, abby is the revenge, reader is barely surviving her first wlw heartbreak, she/her for reader.

a/n: if u cant tell im obsessed with chappell roan.

It was your fault. Sleeping with Ellie Willaims was your fault. 

Ellie was notoriously known as the toxic one, and you knew that. But you were like a moth drawn to a flame, you smiled at her when your eyes met hers too many times at the party. You allowed her to flirt with you, and encouraged her to make out with you at the backseat of the Uber. 

She told you she liked you, and that you were the sexiest girl she was with, but it was all casual and no attachments, it was just having fun.

You knew that deep in your heart, and you liked it because you weren’t looking for anything serious and simply liked the sex and the flirting without any attachment. You liked being able to sleep with anyone you wanted, you liked being able to flirt with anyone, no one blowing up your phone and no one requiring your time and care.

You liked it all.

Until Ellie wormed her way to your heart. It was truly your fault, all of your friends told you that a ‘Casual’ thing with Ellie was a recipe for disaster. 

You didn’t care, you were happy to be the one occupying most of her time, you were simply happy to be the one that got to meet her dad or Joel as she liked to call him, you were ecstatic being the only one to know how much of a big nerd she really is, to be the one to hear her sing, to be the only one that knows how to make her laugh when she’s sad.

That is all until she decided to replace you.

The sight of Ellie with another girl, the two of them were on the couch, the girl sat on Ellie’s lap and giggling into her neck as Ellie whispered things you never wanted to hear in her ear. Just seeing them like that made your eyes burn, and your breathing turned short and despite wanting to peel away your stare from them.

You couldn’t.

Your eyes were glued to them, your vision turning blurry by the second and your stomach turning sick, you didn’t drink anything at this party so you cannot blame it on the drinks no matter how much you wanted to.

In your trance at them, Ellie turned to stare at you—must’ve felt your burning look. You wanted her to push the girl away, to stand up and walk to you and lie to you that it’s not what you think it is. You wished for her to tell you any lie, to pretend like she wanted you just as you wanted her.

You would’ve believed it all, you would have succumbed to her and allowed her to take you to her bed and you would’ve allowed her back into your heart.

But none of your wishes came true. While maintaining eye contact with you, Ellie pulled the girl closer to her.You could feel the bile rising to your throat, and you ran outside the house party and threw up into one of the bushes.

Some part of you is grateful that your wishes didn’t come true, that the next day you didn’t wake up naked in Ellie’s bed. Because it makes hating her a lot easier. 

“It’s a good thing you two ended that weird casual thing you had,” Leah told you on the way to the cafeteria after class. “I don’t know about you, but if the person I was fucking with no strings attached made me meet their parents, I’d run.” You sigh and roll your eyes at her words.

“It was never casual, maybe at the beginning but it quickly escalated to something very codependent. I’m glad it ended, though.” She added, taking the booth seat. 

“Okay, can we stop airing out my dirty laundry for once? I was wrong and you were right, is that what you wanna hear?” you scoff at Leah. The woman grins and nods, “that’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

You sigh for the millionth time on this day. 

“I’m glad you admitted that I’m right, because from now on you’re going to do exactly what I tell you to do.” Leah said, then her eyes falling to something behind you and waving. Before you could look over your shoulder to what she’s looking at, or more rightfully, who she’s looking at, she holds your arm and stops you.

“You’re going to flirt hard with Abby Anderson, and you’re going to dress as a slutty cop when you go to the party this weekend with Abby.”

You open your mouth to ask who the hell is Abby Anderson and why does Leah think she can boss you around like that, but she cuts you as she speaks urgently. “You are a whore, act like it.” before you get a chance to feel offended at her words, you hear Jordan’s voice as he greets, “hi babe”

He rounds the table to sit at the booth, he presses a kiss to Leah’s forehead. She grins into it, and from the corner of your eyes you see a new figure, you turn to look at a tall blonde woman. She pulls out a seat and then turns to look at you when she notices your look.

“Hi, I’m Abby, Jordan’s friend.” You blink, taking in the sight of the tall, blonde woman who just introduced herself as Abby. Her gaze is steady and confident, her smile is charming and polite.

“Nice to meet you, I’m (Y/N)” you reply, forcing a smile as you try to mask your confusion. Leah’s instructions echo in your mind, and you're not sure how to react. Who is this Abby Anderson, and why does Leah seem so intent on orchestrating some kind of encounter between you and her?

Leah’s so obvious as she says with a knowing look directed to you, “(Y/N), this is Abby Anderson,” 

“Hi Abby, Leah tells me a lot about you.” you lie. 

Abby chuckles, and nods, “she told me about you too. She has a knack for thinking all the lesbians on campus know each other.”

As you burst out in laughter at Abby’s comment, Leah feigns innocence as she asks, “y’all don’t? I know all the bisexuals on campus.”

Jordan leans back, his arm draped casually over the back of the booth, watching the interaction with a keen interest. "So, you guys ready for the party this weekend?" he asks.

Leah comments, throwing you another look as she said, “(Y/N)’s been looking forward to it,” she says, shooting a grin at Abby. “She never attended a frat halloween party.”

Abby nods, and looks at you, “It’s pretty fun, any thoughts for a costume?” Her voice is smooth, and it grounds you even when you glance at Leah that’s glaring at you. 

“Uh…” you hesitate, glancing again at Leah that kicks your leg underneath the table. You finally answer, “uhm…I’m going as a cop.”

“No way! I’m going as a prisoner.” Abby said with pure surprise, and when your gaze falls at Leah and Jordan that are pretending to not have known. You also stammer as you try to lie, “wow, I had no idea!”

“What a coincidence, truly.” Leah says.

“You two should go together.” Jordan comments, and Leah claps as she affirms, “oh yes that’s such a good idea! That way you two won’t look like single losers, no offense.”

“None taken.” Abby says with an amused grin, then she tilts her head to you and asks, “so, what do you say?”

“Sure.” You nod.

As the night of the party approaches, your nerves begin to bubble up, and it's not just because of the skimpy costume Leah convinced you to wear. The real source of your anxiety is the possibility of running into Ellie Williams. 

She attended all the parties, she never missed one. You on the other hand stopped attending them after the one you saw her at weeks before with that other girl in her lap. After that, you swore to never see her again. Which was easy, considering you had memorized her schedule like the back of your hand. 

The idea of seeing her at the party, mingling with others and having fun, twists your stomach into knots.

“When’s Abby picking you up?” Leah asks, her voice coming out of the speaker of your phone.

You stand in front of the mirror, adjusting the police costume's accessories for the umpteenth time, trying to focus on anything other than the potential encounter. “In five minutes, you on the way the party?” 

“Yeah, Jordan is in the car with me.” She answers. 

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “Cool, I’ll see you guys there,” you say, forcing a smile that Leah can’t see.

“Hey, you'll be fine," Leah reassures, her tone softening. "Remember, this party is about you having fun and maybe getting to know Abby better. Don't worry about Ellie. If she shows up, just ignore her. You've got this."

You nod, even though she can't see you, and glance at the clock. Time seems to drag and race simultaneously, your thoughts racing ahead to every possible scenario that could unfold at the party. The memory of seeing Ellie with another girl, looking so carefree and happy, still stings. It was that moment that made you realize it was time to let go.

A knock on your door startles you out of your reverie. You quickly grab your phone, ending the call with Leah. "Abby's here. I'll catch you later."

"Have fun, (Y/N)!" Leah calls out before you hang up. You take one last look in the mirror, smoothing down your costume and taking a deep breath.

When you open the door, Abby stands there, a grin on her face. She's in her prisoner costume, complete with fake tattoos on her arms. She was wearing a short sleeved orange button down, the first five buttons left open and giving you a good look into her chest. “Hey, Officer,” she jokes lightly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Please don’t arrest me just yet, I have a party to attend.”

You laugh, though it’s tinged with nervousness. “I’ll let you off the hook just this time.” you reply, stepping out and closing the door behind you. 

The drive to the party is filled with light chatter, Abby doing most of the talking. She seems at ease, excited for the night ahead, and her energy is contagious. You try to focus on her words, on the fun you're supposed to be having, but a part of you can't stop thinking about Ellie.

It’s truly the pinnacle of loser behavior as your friends always tell you, but you can’t help it. She plagues your mind, and everything about her haunts you.

As you arrive at the party, the music and laughter spilling out from the house only amplify your anxiety.You and Abby climb the steps leading up to the door, and enter through the wide door. Your eyes scan through the dim lit room with the red and green lights. The music pulses through the room, a steady beat that seems to synchronize with the thrumming in your chest. You scan the room, your eyes darting from group to group, hoping to spot familiar faces—or perhaps to avoid one in particular.

"Wow, it's packed," Abby comments, leaning in close to be heard over the music. Her presence is comforting, a steady anchor in the sea of partygoers.

You nod, your eyes still searching the room. Suddenly, you spot Nora and Mel in one of the corners, engaged in an animated conversation. They're dressed up too, Nora as a pirate with a makeshift sword at her side and Mel as a witch, complete with a pointed hat and a fake broomstick.

A wave of relief washes over you at the sight of your friends. You nudge Abby and point in their direction. "There are Nora and Mel," you say, a genuine smile breaking through your earlier anxiety.

Abby smiles back, nodding. "Let's go say hi."

As you and Abby approach Nora and Mel, their faces light up with recognition. Nora waves excitedly. "Hey, Abby! (Y/N)! Over here!"

Mel, grins widely, “there you two are! We were wondering when you'd show up." She gives you both a quick hug. "And look at you, Abby! Going all out with the prisoner theme, huh?" Nora hands you a drink that you down, hoping it will calm down your nerves.

Abby laughs, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Thanks” she says as she’s glancing at you, "and (Y/N) makes a pretty convincing cop, don't you think?"

Nora nods enthusiastically. "Absolutely! You two look great. Perfect match for the night." She takes the empty cup from you and places it somewhere else. Eager to find another drink, you take the red cup from Mel’s hands and down it too.

A new song starts playing, and as you recognize the song from the beginning of it. Nora’s eyes widen and she pushes you and Abby to the direction of the dance floor, “this is (Y/N)’s favorite song! You two should dance together!”

It doesn’t take you long to figure out that Leah most likely roped Nora into it too. The mission of getting you to get laid by someone new to get over your weird feelings for Ellie.

It seems like your friends are determined to push you out of your comfort zone tonight. Abby, ever the good sport, grins and shrugs. "Well, if it's your favorite song, we have to dance," she says, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Caught in a case of mild embarrassment, you let yourself be led to the dance floor. When you reach there, you kick out all the embarrassment out of your head, and then turn around as you bring Abby’s hands to rest on your waist from the back.

It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, but if your friends are so eager for you to sleep with Abby, you might as well do that. It’s probably the tell-tale signs of you being tipsy but the idea of making out with Abby seems like a good idea right now. You like her just enough, and she seems to like you too.

With that, you start grinding your ass on her. Abby leans in close, her breath warm against your ear. "You're a pretty good dancer," she says and you can hear her teasing grin. 

You smile back, feeling a flush of warmth to your cheeks and neck as one of her hands on your waist roams underneath your tits.

“Do you like my costume?” you ask, your hand resting on her own and you tilt your head to the side to allow her to press her face to your neck. She breathes in your perfume and whispers back, “I love it.”

You’re about to whisper the same line you used on Ellie when she saw you wearing that tiny scarlet dress she likes in that first party you met her. I wore it just so you’d sleep with me. But your eyes fall on the very same Ellie Williams.

Standing right to the side, and glaring at you like you were the one that cursed her with seven years of bad luck. Her piercing gaze sends a chill down your spine, and any playful mood you had vanishes instantly. The weight of her stare is too much, and instinctively, you pull back from Abby, the space between you widening in an instant.

Abby, sensing the shift, looks at you with concern, “something wrong?”

“I—I need to go to the bathroom.” you lie, and then take unbalanced steps towards the stairs to use the upstairs bathroom. Your mind races, unsure of what to do next. The party, the music, and the laughter all fade into the background as you enter the toilet.

You allow the cold water to sting your hands as you can’t really wash your face. 

But before you can fully collect your thoughts, the door swings open, and Ellie steps in, closing it behind her with a quiet click. The small space suddenly feels even smaller, the air charged with the unresolved tension between you.

Ellie’s eyes are a mix of emotions—anger, hurt, and something else you can’t quite place. She takes a step closer, her jaw set. “What the hell was that?” she asks, her voice low but intense.

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of her gaze. You rest your hands on the sink as you scoff, “why do you care?” then you push your weight back while turning around to face her, “you moved on, and I’m trying to move on.”

“Is that what it was? Moving on?”

You hesitate, the words sticking in your throat. You want to say yes, to tell her that you’re over her, but the truth is, you’re not sure. Seeing her now, the intensity of your feelings crashes over you like a wave, and you realize that moving on is much harder than you thought it would be.

“Actually, it’s not moving on. We were never something, it was never that deep between us.” You say.

You feel your heartbeat accelerating as you stare at her, before you stepped closer to the door and invade her personal space, “baby, no attachment.” you use the same words she told you that last night you slept with her.

Without waiting for her reaction, you turn and push open the bathroom door. You walk out, the noise of the party flooding back in, a stark contrast to the tense silence of the small room. As you step into the hallway, your heart races, the adrenaline from the confrontation making your pulse quicken.

Forcing yourself to keep moving, and trying to put as much distance between yourself and Ellie as possible. You promise yourself that night that you won’t allow her to take up one thought of your mind.

[thegnomelord]

Simon Ghost Riley

CW: SFW, GN reader

You're a tactile thing.

You're not satisfied with the occasional thickly veiled words of endearment Simon throws your way like scraps off his plate. You shouldn't be expected to be satisfied by the rare phantom brush of his gloved fingers against yours or his hand on your nape when you two are hidden in the far back corner of the changing room. You shouldn't be expected to have a partner who can never commit to the smallest crumb of tenderness (bloody fool), ready to shrug off your hand and brush past you at the barest creak outside the door, dozens of well rehearsed denials worming through his tongue; there's nothing between you two at all.

You're a tactile thing. Or perhaps you just lack that 'in' before the 'human' part of you.

He knows you want more — deserve more. Simon sees how your eyes wander to the passing couples while you two only pretend to be one for a mission, your fingers twitching with the restrained urge to replicate them. And when you do touch him to keep up the act, you don't have to force yourself to do it. Whether it is holding his hand like the couple passing you, or kissing him as tenderly as the two girls kiss on the corner, everything comes so naturally to you that it leaves him torn. One part wants to reach out, grasp you like the lifeline that you are. The other wants to pull away even more so you wizen up and leave him for someone better.

But you never do.

He can see it every time he looks into your eyes, every time you see him off to another mission and every time you greet him with a steady shoulder to hold his exhausted body up — the care. The affection. The need to hold. To kiss. To spell out with your fingers across his skin what otherwise falls on deaf ears.

You could do it so easily too; he has so many scars, he's sure your clever mind could find meaningful shapes in the static of pain etched into his skin. Shit, the half dead nerves in his skin tingle just from the fantasy of your tough, wondering if your fingertips would trace the upside down 'L' curving under his peck, the 'O' left by the meat hook, the shallow 'V' at the corner of his lip where the Glasgow smile starts, the scratchy 'E's all across his back made up of flogging scars.

You're a tactile thing. And you make Simon crave to be one too.

You make him earn for more than a quick fuck — that's the closest you two ever get to a real connection, bloody fervent and raw just like him. Simon wishes he could call it something else, but crowning that desperate clawing for release as 'making love' leaves him feeling sick to his stomach. There's no love in the act — not from him — just a frantic rutting of hips and a bruising hold, eyes shut and biting into the meat of your shoulder to chase away any softness you might try to bring in.

Ironic when it's his tongue that burns with three painfully simple words: I love you.

The inevitable release feels like like a punishment, like he's back in that dingy cell, orgasm torn out of him like Prometheus's liver. It makes his teeth dig deeper until warm blood fills his mouth and fizzles out the words he wants to say. He disentangles from you the moment he can feel his limbs again, putting only a few inches of space between you two but the empty area created feels as deep and wide as a canyon.

He lays there next to you, mind a low buzz of static. His own flesh doesn't know what it wants. One part wishes to pull you close and hold you tight until he grows moss, to remember what it's like to be held without it coming with dozens of strings attached. The other desperately claws to get away before yours becomes the next jaw he has to use to bash his way out of yet another coffin.

He can't bring himself to do either.

He lays like a statue next to you. A minute passes. Then two.

He can feel your eyes on his chest, your gaze burns his skin as you watch the slow rise and fall. The clock on the wall ticks along the many moments he takes to decide what to do, what action will pull him out of stagnation while your heat is right there next to him. He wonders, briefly, if this was Adam's true temptation, the fruit just a formality at best.

It's by the five minute mark that he thinks he's tricked you into thinking he's asleep, his theory confirmed when your fingers experimentally brush his bicep. You always become a little more touchy when you think he's asleep, when he doesn't have to prove to bygone ghosts that he's emotionless.

He's practiced this many times before with spare pillows and your clothes arranged in his best facsimile of you, your lingering smell on the fabric keeping the thoughts of 'this is stupid' and 'you're pathetic' from becoming too loud. But suddenly trying to put it into action has his pulse skyrocketing.

He breathes in deep like he's tired to try and calm his nerves. You retract your fingers like his skin is iron hot, afraid of 'waking' him, and he mourns the loss. He mumbles some slurred words he hopes you'll take as sleep talking, muscles tensing before he rolls over like a sleeping bear. He tries to make it as believable as he can, but his main priority is draping as much of himself over you as possible .

His first attempt is better than expected. Honestly it's perfect. His front almost perfectly aligned with yours, skin to skin so there's nothing to hide yet his masked head still ends up the crook of your shoulder. You two are chest to chest. He remembers why he doesn't do this when you both can feel his heart beating far too clearly.

He prays you can't tell how his heart beats for you and you alone.

You stay stock still under him, waiting, waiting, waiting, and when he shows no sign's of 'waking up' you relax under him. Your chest shakes with a shaky breath, you never believed you'd get this far, and ever so slowly your fingers curl around his hand that had so perfectly ended up over yours. He struggles not to smile when you squeeze his hand, just a little pressure in an attempt to see how far you can push without cutting this dream short.

The sweat on your body feels cool against his skin and it leaves him shivering. It gets you to carefully pull the sheets up over you two before slowly wrapping your arm around his firm waist, fingers experimentally trailing up and down the length of his spine. It's so hard to keep his breathing normal when you press your thumb into a tangled knot of muscle near his pelvis, the one that had been bothering him for a while now. He can't help the way his back arches under the tender care of your fingers, breath stuttering as he tangles his fingers between your own so neither one can pull away and squeezes your hand, biting his balaclava in an attempt to keep himself silent.

He thinks you're aware of his deceit, you hate to be with how you lazily seek out each little painful knot along his spine, caressing each vertebra when you pass it, fingers reverently tracing his scars without an ounce of pity or disgust. But you don't draw attention to it either, face angled to look straight at the peeling paint on the ceiling so you don't somehow meet his gaze and ruin this for the both of you.

His body feels like kinetic sand and his mind is filled with low tv static, so he doesn't think when he nuzzles his nose into your neck. It's a small and timid move, easy to miss or misconstrue as just movement in his 'sleep', but to him it feels like a massive leap in. . . some kind of direction. He doesn't want to think about it now, can't think about it when the smell of you curls so nicely in his nose; like a drug he wouldn't mind getting addicted to.

He feels you move your head enough to press your lips to his temple, the heat of your skin palpable through the fabric. He shudders, eyes shut tight like he's a little kid again, sharp tears burning his eyes when you whisper in his ear how you love him, as you touch and caress his battered body to show you love him, as you kiss his temple so tenderly it hurts.

God, Simon has never wanted to do something as much as he wants to return your affection now. Even the worms and maggots crawling beneath his fingertips urge him to do it. . . but he just can't.

He's not ready for that yet, it feels too fast, too soon, his chest feels so jam-packed with feathers that his ribs will shatter if he even tries to open his mouth. So for the moment he lets himself enjoy the comfort of your hold, the press of your lips against his head, the slow glide of your fingers and the easy happy beating of your heart.

You can call him unhappy (miserable, utterly broken) but for this single moment in time he feels alive.

[astralnymphh]

i can so vividly see a music listening session taking place in jackson!ellie's garage–bedroom–thangg on her bedddd lying flat and gazing blankly at the ceilanggggg and like— she's got one headphone in, you the connecting one, and it'll just autoplay a cassette you brought n stuck in her chunky built walkman, and a certain song will play that you aren't all that into, least favored of the album— but her raspy voice sounds heavy in your free ear, "this songs' pretty good babe, like you got some fuckin' good taste." casually, and you reply monotone, "eh, ts' not really my favorite—", ellie instantly clears up, "yeah, it's not thaat great— like the, um— strings sound a bit awkward and the beat it's— yeah ll' just stop talkin'." being so fucking awkward about it, but you adore that weird part of her— and the fact she dropped her opinion dead like a fly for you. one, a.k.a you, can only imagine the jerk of her messy brows on each word spoken, and how flickery her pupils must be doing that silly little scratchy scratch beneath the rise of her bottom eyelid, n' a small shake of her head, cursing herself a, "fuckin' idiot." so so silently. goddess, i loave her. ♡

this is such an after–sex moment too like ellie going from dumb–in–love confessing how fucking deep you've plowed your way into her heart and changed the way her thoughts function for the better n' how she's gonna slip a gem of joy upon your finger one day with her groin pounding pussy 2 pussy— to being a fucking dork. oh yeah, n' i can totally visualize her worming back over cherry pout puckered to snog your mouth the moment a song about kissing comes on, "come onn, perfect song don't leave me hanginggg." so faeking corny bru

(img from grifynt on pinterest)

[hells-wasabii]

hii, hope you're doing well. May I ask for alastor x reader where reader is way more powerful than alastor? and weird thing for al is that r didn't sell their soul to anybody or make a deal, they just slayed and managed to become very strong overlord just by themselfs. Could be fem or gn reader, please

Thank you, have a nice day/night <33

A/N: I went with a gn reader, wasn't too sure how to incorporate a specific gender into this one, but i hope you enjoy!

Character: Alastor

Type: Headcanons (Alastor x stronger reader, General)

Now, this was certainly interesting! It seemed to Alastor that history really did have a way of repeating itself! Just like himself, a new soul had arrived in hell and stirred up quite the commotion! And during his seven-year absence no less! You were one powerful demon, quickly rising in the ranks of the overlords and eventually even making your way to Pentagram City. Only where Alastor had stagnated in power by himself, you kept rising. You were stronger? Than him? Now he really was interested.

But what intrigued the radio demon the most was the source of your power. Where did it come from? He had heard the rumors that you had no souls, but that just didn't make any sense to him. Not in the slightest.

Souls equal power, plain and simple, whether it means obtaining the souls of others or selling your own. but you had done neither. quite the anomaly you were. He just knew that he had to meet you!

The moment that he even stepped into the same room as you, the radio demon was filled with a sense of dread. He could feel the power radiating off of you. Alarm bells rang in his mind, he knew you were a danger. But this also meant that he knew exactly who you were when he saw you. The overlord with no souls, power with no strings attached. You certainly did not disappoint, that was for sure.

Now, Alastor was not a demon to form alliances, but one with you would he certainly wouldn't mind making an exception for. Whatever he could do to get close to you. He'd sniff out any possible opening and poof, suddenly the radio demon was ingrained in your afterlife.

He would be looking for any opportunity to worm his way in, trying to find out why exactly you were so strong. Trying to get you to make a deal. It didn't matter to him if he had to start small, as long as he could get in it was a start.

He knew one thing for sure. You were exactly what he had been looking for. He had to add you to his collection. And he would do anything to have you.

[sai-int]

Ophan!reader going to johnnies (bf/fiance/hubby) parents to meet them, and is like immediately accepted by his massive family (it’s cliche but cute)

the worms in my brain did a happy dance when I read this omg, ps I listened to all too well 10 min version while writing this

>> fluff, established relationship, Johnny x reader

The jolliest of seasons had arrived with December’s first snowfall. Soft, fluffy flakes floated down, tapping against the windowpane before gathering in a thick, gentle layer over the ground. Outside, string lights stretched from one side of the street to the other, casting a warm glow that made the whole block twinkle like a scene from a holiday postcard. The snow caught in the lights, making it look as though the whole street was dusted in stardust, each flake reflecting the winter wonderland that was forming.

Inside, the cozy warmth made the contrast even sweeter.

You and Johnny were nestled on the couch, wrapped up in each other's warmth as you watched the snow drift quietly outside. The low hum of the TV and the soft crackle of the fireplace were the only sounds in the room, creating a comforting, blissful silence. His warmth beside you, the steady rise and fall of his chest, made you feel safe and perfectly content despite the winter chill just beyond the walls.

"Edinburgh's beautiful this time of year, ya know?" Johnny murmured softly in your ear, his voice a gentle warmth against your skin. Your back was snugly pressed against his chest, the thick blanket you’d crocheted wrapped around the both of you, adding to the cozy cocoon.

"Ah was thinkin'," he continued, his tone a blend of tenderness and hope, "since ah ken how ye get around these times… maybe ye should come with me this year… meet my mam, my family."

You knew what he meant. Christmas. Family, joy, love—the things you’d always kept at a distance. But with Johnny, Christmas had started to feel like something magical, like a season worth celebrating.

"You think so?" you asked, turning to meet his gaze. His cerulean eyes were filled with warmth and certainty, a soft glow in the firelight that made your heart skip.

"Aye, lassie." he whispered, his voice sure and steady, wrapping you in a warmth that reached deeper than the blanket around you both.

By the end of that night, plane tickets were purchased, dates were set, and his family was well informed.

...

It was Christmas Eve, and you and Johnny were pulling into his mother’s driveway. As he parked, you glanced over at him, nerves fluttering in your chest. You worried about what his family might think, unsure of what to expect, how to act—and especially not feeling ready to celebrate Christmas.

You hadn’t known what to get anyone, or even what made a good Christmas gift, but Johnny had guided you through it. What was meant to be a quick trip to Target turned into two hours, $500, and a sack of gifts hefty enough to rival Santa’s.

Sensing your unease, Johnny turned to you, his eyes meeting yours with that familiar warmth. He placed his hand over yours, his steady touch calming the anxious knot in your stomach.

"They’re goin' tae love ye, Bon. Promise," he murmured reassuringly, his voice soft yet certain.

You nodded, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. When Johnny saw that you were okay, he flashed you a reassuring smile and stepped out of the car, circling around to open your door. He pulled the massive sack of gifts from the trunk, giving it an amused look.

“Ah think ye overdid it, lass,” he chuckled, his smile so warm it felt like it could bring world peace.

Your cheeks flushed, wondering if maybe you had overdone it. You’d picked out gifts for everyone expected tonight—his parents, grandparents, three sisters, two brothers, and all six nieces and nephews.

“I just hope they like the gifts…” you murmured as he took your hand, balancing the sack over his other shoulder.

The door opened to reveal a petite woman who could only be Johnny’s mother. She had the same deep blue eyes, filled with that unmistakable kindness and warmth.

“Seven hells! Johnny, where ye been hidin' ‘er? Right bonnie lass, ain’t she?” his mother exclaimed, grinning as she stepped aside to welcome you both inside.

“Don' go scarin' 'er away no', Ma,” Johnny laughed, placing a gentle hand on the small of your back as your cheeks flushed. His mother shut the door behind you, mumbling something about keeping the house warm.

The moment Johnny spoke, a lively hum broke out from the living room, where nearly every face you’d bought gifts for was gathered. You braced yourself, expecting everyone to greet Johnny first while you stood awkwardly in the background, but reality couldn’t have been further from that.

Small children, all under ten, dashed over and hugged your legs as three beautiful women (Johnny’s sisters, you assumed) moved to embrace you, pressing warm kisses to your cheeks. They immediately pulled you into the family circle, showering you with questions and heartfelt compliments. It was as if Johnny wasn't even there.

Johnny’s mother could have left the door wide open, letting the winter winds blow through and settle into the bones of the house, and still, nothing could have cooled the warmth spreading through your heart.

mlist

[thebluester2020]

[SDV] Kinktober Day 12: "Aphrodisiacs"

Summary: After Jio comes home "sick" from a mission, you're the only one whose able to handle the side effects.

Warning(s): Porn with little plot, Desperate / Whiny Jio, Dub-con(Kinda-ish?), Begging, Rough Sex-ish, Jio being whipped for Y/N.

Side Note(s): Lol this is literally just porn. (Mostly cause I haven't played his route in a hot minute so I need time to remember what his route was like 💀)

In the back of your head, you wondered exactly what suddenly made your husband so ill.

However, it was a little hard to think too much of anything when he was currently pinning you down on your shared mattress, his chest pressed firmly against your back as he feverishly fucked into your pussy as if it were the last thing he would do in his entire life. "J-Jio!" You panted, your arms pressed firmly against your sides as the elf currently had his arms wrapped around your torso, effectively keeping you from attempting to squirm your way out from underneath him.

"W-What's gotten into you—fuck!" You clenched tightly around Jio's cock, his length pistoning in and out of your cunt as strings of your slick began to stick onto his abdomen.

"Sorry..." He moaned into your ear, the raspy sound of his voice making you moan in turn at how feral he sounded. And he was, after he ran into a slight accident during his mission, mistakenly encountering a rare type of flower that was said to cause men and women to ever to their baser instincts. He almost didn't come home in fear of harming you, but...as he tried to seclude himself in the forest, waiting for the effects of the strange flower to hit him.

Slowly but surely, all his mind could think about was you.

Suddenly, the sound of your moans inside his mind wouldn't leave his head. The touch of your smooth skin underneath his hands...the imagination felt so real that he feared he was losing his mind. His cock ached so badly in his pants, no matter how many times he fucked his hand to completion within the woods. The thoughts wouldn't die down.

And that eventually led him home to you, where the final piece to his mind completely falling prey to his instincts was you welcoming him home so eagerly in that low v-cut shirt he loved. "Y-You fell so good my love," He moaned. "So fucking warm..." Moan after moan was being forced from your lips as Jio's cockhead pressed right against your g-spot after every thrust. You felt tears begin to well up in your eyes, feeling yourself being fucked dumb as if he had been fucking you for hours when, in truth, it's only been a couple of minutes!

"I love you...I love you..." He continued to babble, his green eyes slamming shut as he began to kiss and suck hickeys into your neck. Your mouth opened into a silent scream when you felt his hand worm its way under your body to begin rubbing at your clit, the tight clench of your pussy on his cock making him let out a delicious groan.

Jio sucked another hickey onto your neck, a broken series of moans escaping his kiss-swollen lips as he sped up the pace of his thrusts. His balls slapped against your ass, creating a lewd and loud squelching sound that made your head spin. Your lover was tempted to pull out a little, to see the mess that he was sure you were making on his cock but he was greedy.

Every instinct inside of him was telling him to remain close to you and aim to be closer. The warm feeling of your walls on his cock, your sweet moans, and the way you cried out for more.

It was so addicting that he couldn't help the needy whine that left his lips. "O-Oh my love..." He moaned as his head fell to the crook of your neck before shakily rising to where his lips glossed over your ear. "Please...pleasepleasepleaseplease, may I cum inside? Please say that I can..." He begged.

You struggled to look behind you at your husband. "C-Cum inside..." You moaned softly, your voice broken and shaky.

"T-Thank you—O-Oh Yoba...!" He cried out, trying to bury his face deeper into your neck, your cries turning into pleasured yelps as you felt his cockhead batter against your cervix. Jio pulled your body closer to you, using whatever strength he had to trap you even closer against his as his pace became more erratic. Faster, sloppier, all as his loud groans spilled from his lips like a fountain before both of your jaws suddenly fell open together as Jio's cum flooded your inside, the feeling of his hot seed pushing you over the edge and further sinking you into a pit of pleasure as he rolled his hips against your ass, your cunt milking him for every drop that he was worth.

"S-So full..." You whispered, wiggling your hips a little as Jio continued to pant behind you.

Before you could ask him to roll off of you, you squeaked when you felt his cock hardening once more inside of you.

"J-Jio!?" You gasped in confusion, soon being met with a pair of hungry green eyes as your elven lover smirked at you.

"We're not done yet, w-we won't be done allll night long my love..."

[apocalypse-shuffle]

ERIK | THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA

(multi iteration)

—

“An Amati to be Worshipped” (Erik |The Phantom of the Opera x Fem!Reader)

| Erik just can’t keep that mysterious demeanor about him in check when it comes to you. Or his temper. Or his lust.

| NSFW, 18+, minors dni, violinist!reader, (TW: stalker!erik, non con voyeurism, masturbation) questionable history/depictions of 1800’s French culture (I tried)

| picture source: shots from Ben Crawford & Emilie Kouatchou’s run as The Phantom & Christine on broadway

| 1k+ words

In one word Erik was miserable.

His truest obsession, his sweet violinist, was out sick and as such he didn’t get to peer down upon her from box five as she drew those elegant fingers across her bow and string.

He missed her sun worshipped skin like a starving man missed food. She stood out like the brightest star from the pit. Playing her violin like it came as easy as breathing, much in the way Erik himself played his many well versed instruments.

Watching the performance earlier that night had been truly disappointing. Not even Christine’s voice could make up for the lack of the melodic rises and falls that came from his violinist’s strings. It was a clear missing puzzle piece in the whole show. One that irked him down to his soul and made him vow to gut the hapless fool in your place while you recovered.

And he wanted to curse that too.

The newest stage hand had forgone cleaning up the stage after pre-rehearsal a few days ago and you, his greatest muse, had slipped and fallen.

Your decent from the stage to the pit had almost made him reveal himself from his elevated position in the rafts. You’d dropped so abruptly, so thoroughly, that you’d screamed. A wretched sound forced from your mouth that had made even Erik gasp and want to reach for your fallen form.

Erik himself, with that fear and fury still thriving through his very spirit, had only just come from doing what he promised when he saw the tears tracking down your face. He’d gutted DuBoi within an inch of his life, the worm wasn’t worth being taken to his torture chamber, and left him to rest for his remaining hours as he chocked on his own tongue.

He stomped through his passage ways now, in search of you of course. After avenging your ails he was near giddy to get back to what he’d taken up doing since your most unfortunate injury.

He rounded the narrow corner to your bed chambers in the sick bay and hummed lightly as his eyes finally lay upon your form.

You were exquisite.

He could watch you for hours, and did. With the opera house quieting down after the night’s lackluster show and Christine not being due for a lesson, his presence was not needed anywhere else as twilight descended.

You mostly read, books from Senegal that were in a French dialect he was too unfamiliar with to read easily, and worked on your music. That was always his favorite part of the night.

Whenever everyone retired to their shared quarters you would sneak off, usually to the roof, lean against the Angel statue and pull out your beaten pieces of sheet music to write on. You’d hand draw the measure lines with steady hands and the finest ink you owned and then you’d be off.

Many a night Erik had watched as you embarked on the painstaking, and very familiar, process of writing your own music. You wrote, playing on your violin to check your song, until your eyes started to droop and the sun began to peak in the horizon.

You’d cringe, sigh, laugh and celebrate on the roof at your melodies, good and bad, and Erik would watch and wish to celebrate alongside you. To help guide you into finding your musical voice. To embrace you in your combined cheer.

He longed like no other to feel the touch of another. Of companionship.

There’d been many nights that he’d fantasized of stealing you away. As far as he was concerned the light of mundane people didn’t deserve to be blessed by your darkness. A darkness that he’d cherish. That he’d compliment, even.

Your songs weren’t amazing by any measure, you were clearly a beginner, but they were yours and he lived to hear you.

He’d read you music, even hummed your baby masterpiece in his free time. Tweaked little bits and sung it to you until the subtle change in tune got stuck in your head and you’d put the tweaks to paper. Even twisting them again yourself to fit your song more preferably. He always liked your changes immensely, and was honored that you mixed parts of him into that bit of your soul.

You were doing that tonight, in fact. Last night he played a new idea on his own violin. Behind the walls as you’d slept he’d had the pleasure of serenading you and now that his melody had sneaked into your subconscious mind you were writing away.

Erik closed his eyes as you began to play. Even bedridden without an audience, and your own choppy tune being strung together, you were amazing.

He listens to you for hours. Ear practically up against the wall Erik stays up and then subsequently falls asleep with you.

When he wakes he can tell the sun hasn’t risen yet by the dead silence that meets him but he knows you’re asleep. When he rises from his seated position in the cramped pathway and looks through the peephole to the sick room he confirms his guess. The area is still lit but you yourself are passed out, having seemingly been in the midst of playing until the moon’s siren song pulled you under.

He watches you silently. Eyes tracing your figure. Your dark skin just about twinkles under the harsh lights. The yellow lighting of the gas lamp doesn’t do you justice and yet somehow you manage to enrapture him still.

Your shut eyes flutter as he looks upon you. A smile graces his lips; you're enchanting. He wants to be able to speak with you. To mark the creases of your smile up close. To trust you with the secrets of why he hides in the shadows. To feel what it'd be like to have and to hold you.

To feel you succumb to him.

Completely.

He can’t help it. Almost against his wishes his mind turns to thoughts of you beneath him. To the way your skin would yield to his hands and his to yours.

To the arch of your bodies pressed together and the sounds he would siphon from your plush lips.

It makes him squirm in place as he watches you with different eyes. Sinful ones.

His eyes travel down your body and instantly Erik knows how he’s going to spend the rest of the opera’s still hours. Your allure too strong and Erik too weak for you.

Unable to tear his eyes away from your breasts, Erik can only desire the pleasure of the flesh having his sweet violinist would bring. Your satisfaction has long been made a priority of his after all. It would only make sense for him to satisfy your more…sexual needs.

Even though he could only dream of it currently.

He imagines himself in there now. How he’d start by putting his hand to your cheek, the first touch of another’s skin he’d have in decades. He closes his eyes as his breath stutters out of him.

He would challenge the very God Christine prays to every night, a fool's errand perhaps -but one he would happily embark on, for the chance to see the stark contrast of his skin against yours.

Once more he opens his eyes to gaze upon you. He imagines after he touches your cheek he’d let his fingers trace down your throat and sternum before pausing just above your breasts. Trembling slightly, Erik thinks of caressing and cupping them, of running his thumbs over your dusk nipples. Marveling at how lovely they felt in his hands. Of the gentle sounds you’d give him in return.

Not letting himself think, he lets his hands travel over his own body, cape falling to the floor as he unclips it. He pictures leaning down, putting his lips around your right nipple, and beginning to circle it with his tongue while gently pinching the left one.

He imagines the way your eyes would flutter as he stimulates you with his mouth. Tongue gently sweeping over the stiff peaks of your nipples as you sighed your satisfaction.

Thereafter is when he allows himself to fully succumb to his rampant imagination. All his dreams of whimsy coming through in his mind's eye.

He thinks of you waking up, of skilled dark fingers moving to gently lift his head up, of the smile you’d give him.

“Was last night not enough? Have you come back for more?”

“Whatever you will give me.” Erik sends his own smile back. An action his face is largely unused to but that he is happy to make happen for you.

Your fingers run over the top of his head, through the few skant hairs there.

“Then give me your full devotion,” you say and Erik’s heart sours before he’s going back to your chest.

He says, "With pleasure," and lightly bites your nipple, pleased to feel you shudder.

He’s had the pleasure of learning recently that you were extremely responsive to touch and by god does he wish to apply that knowledge.

Erik then allows himself to fully be given to conjured images of you giving way beneath him. To him delving between your folds and the heavenly noises you make for him.

The thought of you crying out his name is what finally has him spurting into his hands, stuttering gasps falling from his mouth.

When Erik next opens his eyes, the scene of you so beautifully coming undone seared behind his lids, there are tears stuck to his lashes and pooling in his eyes.

His breath hiccups from his chest as he relaxes his hold on his cock. The spent organ flopping onto his thigh.

Erik allows himself to gaze upon you once more, something near shame threatening to claw through him as a few droplets cascade down his cheek, before the morning settles and he is once again back to the reality of being known no longer.

A monster forever bound to his faith hidden in the looming loneliness of shadows as his only company.

Its only shining light being you.

NOTES: Ohhhhhhhh. I hope y’all liked this. I just live for Erik being a needy pathetic simp.

P.S: I won’t respond cause this is a side blog but I do like comments, you can leave one.

[shes-an-artist]

Tickle Fight ~ Gentle!Winter Soldier fluff

Summary: You have a hard day at work and Bucky tries to make you feel better, but it just winds up turning into a tickle fight

Content: FLUFF, FLUFF NOTHING BUT FLUFF, implied married couple activities but not mentioned.

Word Count: 4159 words

a/n: So there is some French in here, but it’s translated. I am personally not yet fluent in French, but I know the phrases used. Anyway, this was inspired by @ebbarnes’s fic called Gentle Hand and part of @buck-star’s writing event

Strap in for some good old tooth rotting fluff…

You didn’t mean to slam the door, but it came out as you dropped your jacket on the floor, absolutely drained from the day.

“Hey, baby-“ Bucky called from the kitchen as he sat with his laptop, still working on his paper for his degree. You and Sam had convinced him to go to college for a bachelors at least. So, he picked New York University. It took some pulling of strings, but they finally accepted him into the classes, but only online. 

“Hey, whoa, whats wrong?” He stood up, closing his computer when he noticed your expression and quickly came to your side like a clingy dog. 

“I’m okay, Bucky.” You tried to sound okay, but those blasted tears welled up in your eyes, betraying your troubles.

“Doll..” He looked hurt, he always did when you were sad. He hesitated before hugging you close, his real hand rubbing circles into your back. “I’m glad your home, baby.”

You nodded, your arm wrapping around his shoulder, feeling his metal arm under the shirt he wore. The tears spilled over at his affection, staining his shirt. 

“I’m so-sorry, Bucky,” You sighed, rubbing your eyes. “I feel so stupid-“

“No, no, honey,” He ducked to meet your eyes, his hand cupping your cheek and wiping the tears away. “You’re beautiful and amazing, and I love you for it.”

“But I can’t do anything right!” You fussed, stomping your foot. Bucky paused, his expression wavering at your outburst.

“I- I’m sorry, James. I didn’t mean to shout-“

“Shh,” He pulled you close to him again. “You could never hurt me, doll. Don’t worry about me, okay?”

“But you’re my world, Bucky. I have to worry about you.” You frowned, feeling like absolute trash.

“Look,” He placed a kiss on your cheek before looking at you. “How about you go take a long shower, wash your hair and then we’ll have diner, okay? I’ll make your favorite.” He flashed a warm smile, making you smile(with difficulty) back. You took a breath, wiping your eyes and sniffing. 

“Okay, bear.” You nodded. “I may be a second or so.”

“Take all the time you need, love. I’m not going anywhere.”

You decided to keep the light off while you showered for multiple reasons.

1. You didn’t want to see yourself in the large mirror

2. It was soothing for some strange reason

3. Plus why not

The hot water washed all the sweat and tears from you as you sat down on the tile, worming your fingers through your scalp and scratching at the roots. The steam cleared your sinuses out along with your lungs. You felt as if you could breathe clearer as you stepped out onto the mat, wrapping a fluffy towel around yourself. You could smell the scent of meat rising through the vents. Bucky couldn’t bake to save his life,  but boy, he could grill like a champ. So his steaks were the ones you practically lived for. You smiled and took a long breath, feeling lightheaded as you let it out again. You giggled as you remembered when he tried to make you a pie for your birthday the year you two had met. It was a failure to say the least. 

You turned on the blow-dryer, but also the string lights above your sink just to see what you were doing. But on the mirror, there was a square sticky note.

You leaned closer, reading the handwriting. It was definitely Bucky’s.

“You are beautiful, enough, worthy, lovely, and chosen.”

You had to laugh to keep the tears from overflowing again. He left notes like this, but never with this message. He must have really thought it out before putting it up.

Ah, you loved him.

You finished drying your hair and let it hang loose over your shoulders as you tugged on your warm leggings and one of Bucky’s hoodies. For some reason, his were way comfier than yours. And he never minded when you confiscated one.

You could here the timer going off from the kitchen as you moved into the living room. Bucky had already turned on the soft lights that emitted from behind the furniture and behind the TV which was already set for your favorite movie. But before you sat down, Bucky came running into the room telling you to hold on before you sat down.

“Don’t move. Do not move a muscle-“ He ordered before running back into the laundry room, just as the dryer buzzer went off, and tugged out your queen sized blanket, immediately wrapping it around you, scooping you up, and gently dropping you onto the couch. 

“Bucky!” You squealed, his grin making you smile ear to ear.

“Not a word,” He said before handing you your phone, now charged mostly.  “Dinner will be served shortly, madame.”

“Merci bea coup, mon mari.” You smiled back at him as he gave you another forehead kiss and then went back to the kitchen. The smell of steak wafting from his wake. You hummed and snuggled deeper into your blanket, he had stuck it in the dryer on high heat for at least 15 minutes, making it a burrow of warmth and comfort. You had an obsession with soft and fluffy things, blankets were no exception. Bucky had given it to you as a wedding present last year.

Your phone pinged in your hand, Natasha’s ringtone sounded. You unlocked the device and found the text. It was a selfie of her and Steve next to the Effiel Tower, a grin plastered on each of their faces.

“So good!!” You replied, typing quickly. “Happy honeymoon!! <3”

“Thank you!” She was quick to respond, surprising you. There was a large time difference from Paris and New York, easily eight hours- “Hope to you see you and James soon!”

“Sameeee!”

Natasha was your bestest friend ever. Not withstanding the factshe introduced you and Bucky, but she was kind otherwise. 

“Dinner has arrived,” Bucky said from behind you as you sat up and began to tie your hair back so it wouldn’t get in your way, but he sat the plate of steak, mashed potatoes and kernel corn into your lap, taking the hair tie off your wrist and whipped around to your back, gingerly pulling your hair into a low bun.

“James!” You giggled, trying to turn to look at him, but his metal arm reached around and tapped your plate. 

“Eat.” He ordered with a smirk as he finished off your hair. 

“You’re the most wonderful man I ever knew.”

“I should hope so,” He leaned against the couch. “Otherwise methinks I got some questions.”

You giggled through a mouthful of potatoes. “Oh, salt please.”

“Yup.” He pushed himself off the couch, speed-walking into the kitchen. When he returned, he carried your salt and his own plate, flopping down next to you, taking in the blankets warmth for himself. 

“Oh, c’mon, James.” You rolled your eyes. “You’re a personal radiator, why do you need the blanket?”

“Because I’m your husband and I wants blanket. Now gimme.” He practically growled, but there wasn’t a trace of gruffness in his tone. You snickered as he shoveled a forkful of steak into his mouth, still holding eye contact.

You shook your head, amazed that he hadn’t broken into laughs same as you. “Your steak is amazing, as always, bear. Thank you so much.”

“Anything for my girl.” He genuinely smiled, making your heart soar and speed up at the same time. To see him smile meant the world to you. After everything he’d gone through, he deserved to have a reason to smile. “Feeling better than the little cloud of rain that walked in here earlier?”

“Much better,” You finished off your plate, setting it on the coffee table in front of the couch. “I’m sorry I was so upset earlier..”

“Whatever is was, I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.” He reassured, mimicking you and then wrapping his arm around you so you were only separated by the thick, fluffy blanket and his hoodies. “Do you want to tell me about it now that you’re all cleaned up and feeling better?”

With this atmosphere and his adorable way of being with you, how could you not?

“Okay,” You sighed, getting comfy -er. “Well, I don’t think you’ve met my boss, Mr. Carmichal.”

“I’ve heard you mention him once or twice, but I don’t think I’ve met him.”

“Alright, well, if you’ll pardon my language, but he’s the biggest suka I have ever met.”

Bucky snickered at your choice of words. “Go on.”

“So today he demands to see me on work hours, and secondly, he’s refusing to grant me that raise that’s been coming to me for the last three years.”

Bucky’s expression hardens, someone was neglecting you? He would be ‘meeting’ this Mr. Carmichal…

“Alright.” He said, urging you onward.

“And you’ll never believe what he wanted to see me about.”

“What?”

“Apparently, I am using too many coffee stirrers at work, so I am now being fined for each second stirrer. And apparently he knows all and sees all, so I owe the company—“ You raised your palm to see the scribble on your arm that didn’t completely come off in the shower. “—1456 dollars and 98 cents.”

If you weren’t so serious, you would have snickered at Bucky’s shocked expression.

"One thousand, four-hundred fifty-six dollars and ninety eight cents???” He repeated. “You could by a car for that much.”

“Well, probably a hot-wheel. But nothing bigger.” You sighed, rubbing the figure off your skin. 

Bucky was silent for a long moment as you rested your head on his shoulder, his hand fingering through your scalp, soothing you.

“Do you have your boss’s number?” He finally asked. 

“Yeah, of course.”

“Give it to me.”

“What? What are you going to do, James??” You sat up.

“I’m going to call this guy, and you’re going to quit your job.” He held out his metal hand. 

“Are you insane? I can’t quit just like that!” You objected.

“Why not?? You can work with Potts! I bet she and Stark wouldn’t mind having you! You’re one of the best hackers I know of!”

“Software programmer, James.”

“Baby, I watched you track down HYDRA using this—“ Hetouched your forehead. “—And a laptop. I think you can work for Stark. I’d really don’t like the idea of you working for a guy like this Carmichal for four days a week.”

You sighed through your nose, looking at your phone. “But what will I say? He’ll have me to a contract.”

“Does your piece of paper say you can leave whenever you want and they can fire you whenever they want, with good reason?”

“Sure, down at the bottom. I had to ask Pepper about it before I signed it.”

“Then you’re not forced to finish that contract.” He held out his hand again.

You looked at him and then at your phone. “I hope you know what you’re doing, bear.” You said as you handed him the phone.

His lips turned up in a smirk before he unlocked your phone and scrolled through your contacts.

“Here we go.” He hit the number and held the phone up to his ear. 

“He may be at home by now.” You reminded, noting the time.

“Do I look like I give a darn about this suka?”

You held back your chuckle as the other end picked up.

“What do you want, Barnes??” Carmichal snapped. “It’s 9 o’ clock at night!”

“I have a working clock,” Bucky shot back, maintaining his eye contact with you. “This is (y/n)’s other half. I’m looking for a Mr. Carmichal.”

“Oh, I wasn’t aware Barnes was married.”

“Where do you think she got her last name?”

You held back your giggle by burying yourself into the blanket. 

“Look, you,” Carmichal snapped. “What do you want!? Its late!”

“Well, aware, mister.” Bucky continued without missing a beat. “Its what happens when the sun goes down. Anyway, my wife has been coming home after work with the worst case of an inferiority complex I have ever seen. It seems to me, someone has been treating her like a piece of garbage.”

“She doesn’t work like she’s getting paid for!”

“Oh? I thought she had a raise coming too.”

“Get to your point, man! I’m about to hang up.”

“I called you, mister. Lets not get sidetracked. As I was saying, no one treats my wife like that. Understand?”

“She’s a lousy worker!”

“She tracked down HYDRA and now works for the Stark Industries.”

Silence on the other end.

“She hasn’t informed the company—“

“Isn’t there an item on the contract she signed that explained in detail that she could terminate her employment with your company at any time?”

More silence and more giggles from the lump of blanket that you were. Bucky was working him like a champ.  Maybe you should give him all your scam calls…

“There is, but—“

“Then she terminates it.”

“And who the hell are you to quit your wife’s job???”

“Oh I dunno. An agent for SHIELD and part of Avengers, but nothing too important.”

Your hand reached from the blanket and flipped the bird, only to be smacked by Bucky.

“Wait- Barnes… NOT THE WINTER SOLDIER—!”

“`Bye.” Bucky hung up, dropping your phone on the couch. You let out a peal of laughter, throwing the blanket off you. 

“There, was that so hard?” He shrugged, also unable to hold back his own grin.

“You were beautiful, Bucky.” You squeezed through your giggles. “I’m gonna make you answer all my scam calls from now on.”

“Please no, I’d better not quit my day job.” He smiled as he pulled you onto his lap. 

You couldn’t stop smiling and snuggled close to him. “Love you, bear.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.” He brushed his metal hand against your cheek, his touch feather-soft. You were always fascinated with his arm, the way he could rip metal apart like paper, but he could also thread a needle like he’d done it before eighty times before. His fingers were cold against your smooth skin, a contrast to his other hand which was just as warm as yours. He’d always run hot.

But his flesh hand trembled under your arm, tickling you. You giggled, squirming away.

“Bucky—“

“Who me?” He smirked devilishly. “I didn’t do anything.” He ticked again, making your squeal.

“James Barnes,” You tried to sound sincere, but there was little fight against his attack. “Stop it-“

“I’m not doing anything, doll.” He leaned closer, reaching to your legs where your most ticklish places were. You squirmed and squealed, feeling rather trapped as he continued to tickle you.

"James!” 

“Who??”

“James Bucky Barnes!” Your legs railed inside the blanket as you kicked to get away. And when he finally let go, you bolted like a doe to the bedroom, his loud footsteps following close behind.

You let out an excited squeal as you hurdled a pillow at him which of course did nothing but it made him grin as he chased you. His eyes bright as he nearly caught you but you rolled over the bed, landing with a flop on the carpeted floor with a grunt. 

He jumped around to pin you to the floor, but you were ready.

When he leaned over you, you grabbed his right underarm and relentlessly tickled, laughing in triumph as he let out a laugh as well, his face turned up in a grin. 

“WHO’S GOT WHO NOW, HUH SOLDIER??” You heckled, still tickling down his torso. He would have collapsed on top of you if you hadn’t of wriggled out of the way and planted yourself on his knees.

“I fight back, Bucky.” You warned, your fingers curled as you held your hands above him. His eyes sparkled with his amusement, his metal arm laid to the side so he wouldn’t hurt you by squeezing too hard. 

“Terrifying little thing,” He smirked, shaking his head and sitting up on his elbow. “I’m so scared.”

“As you should be,” You slid off and eased yourself closer, giving him a slow kiss.

He moaned when you pressed your lips to his, he practically melted onto the carpet. You could feel his trembling under you, making your heart miss a beat.

When you broke apart, he gasped for breath, completely flushed. 

“Holy smokes,” He whispered, still breathless. 

“I’ve kissed you before, baby.” Your brows knitted together. “What’s so differ-“

But you couldn’t finished as his metal hand slithered to your neck, pulling you gingerly toward him. He met your lips with his, his warm breath making your cheeks red along with the blush that filled your face. You had only been married a year and he STILL did this to you. But you weren’t complaining. 

“Love you, angel.” He whispered, his lips brushing your cheek as he took in your scent. You knew he could feel your heart rate speed up through the layers of fabric that separated you. It wasn’t as if they were about to come off either, cuddling was all you needed.

“I love you too, James.” You smiled, your eyes meeting his. You could never really read his eyes, but you knew he was so, so down to the ground over you. Literally and figuratively.

You pecked a kiss on his lips again, making the appropriate ‘mmmwa’ noise to follow it. 

“You taste like steak.”

“Ya think?” You raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. “Huh, wonder why, you smart man.”

Bucky rolled his eyes as he nudged you off so he could sit up. “So are you fine with working for Stark?”

“Personally I wanna work with you and the Avengers.” You titled your head, your mane of hair was now loose from the bun Bucky had styled it into, so it tumbled over your shoulders. You recalled when Bucky had long hair. But he rarely let anyone touch it.

“We’d distract each other.” He scrunched his brows together.

“But your a pretty distraction!” You countered, trying to look innocent.

Bucky chuckled and flopped back on the floor. “I’ll talk to Steve when he gets back.”

“Oh-!” You bolted from the floor to the living room and snatched your phone off the floor from where you had kicked the blanket. You heard Bucky’s firm footfalls as he followed you. 

“C’mer-“ You waved him over trying to find the picture Natasha sent. “Look!” You held up your phone.

“Ooh, thats a good picture.” Bucky nodded. “Clint still owes me ten dollars.”

“What- why?”

“Him and I made a bet that it’d be a lot more dates before that punk would marry Nat.”

“Ha!” You snickered, setting your phone down. “He’s just old fashioned, James.”

“I’m older than Steve!”

“I know, but do I look like I care?” You touched your bottom lip and tugged on it, making doe-eyes at Bucky. 

He sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes. “Do that again and I just might climb all over you.”

You squealed and fell on the couch again, absolutely elated. He smiled and eased next to you, his eyelids dropping sleepily. You took a breath and tunneled your fingers through his hair, giving small scritches. He seemed to melt under your touch, his small moan making your heart twinge. He adored the little moments of affection you could spare him, anything. A hug in the middle of the night, head-scratches, the rubs you gave him after his intense workouts you so cheeringly encouraged him with. Everything. He relished it. He couldn’t live without you.

“I love you, Bucky.” You soothed. 

“Love you too, doll.” He rumbled, his metal arm resting over you while his other one roamed behind your back and rested on your hip, taking in your warmth. You intertwined your fingers with his metal ones as a hum escaped your lips as you nearly fought to stay awake. Whenever he cuddled with you was enough to send butterflies into a hurricane, but tonight was softer. After a crappy day, you merely wanted affection and fluff. 

And no one could give better affection than one mister Bucky Barnes. 

“We should really put the Christmas stuff up soon.” You mumbled as your hand burrowed under his shirt so your warmth could sooth where his metal arm met the flesh. 

“Tomorrow, sugar.” He replied, sounding just as sleepy as you. 

“Tomorrow.” You nodded.

It wasn’t long before you were both sound asleep.

The scent of toast woke you from your light sleep as you crawled out from your cocoon of the blanket and blinked. You had no idea what the time could be but based on the scent and the cold light coming in through the closed blinds of your bedroom, you guessed it was early morning. You yawned as you slid out of the bed. You remembered falling asleep on the couch so you assumed Bucky had placed you and the blanket back in your own bed. When he did, you couldn’t have guessed. True, he had habits of waking up and taking a short walk around your house just to calm down from a nightmare, and neither of you could really time them in order to make them less worse. But he never complained. That was another thing you loved about it.

You shivered slightly and looked at the time before you pulled a discarded hoodie off the foot of the bed and tugged it over yourself. 6:47. Not bad. That gave you enough time to shower— 

wait, no,

Bucky had quit your job meaning you were going to the Avenger’s compound today to ask Pepper about a job. 

“Right,” You mumbled sleepily as you pulled your socks on and ambled toward the kitchen where Bucky was looking at his computer as a mug of coffee cooled down next to him. You carefully stepped over the squeaky spot on the floor and began to pull the French press out of the cabinet. But cold fingers quickly slipped under your hoodie and pierced your skin as you let out a surprised scream.

“JAMES!”

He laughed behind you before he drew his metal arm away and hugged you from behind. “Good morning, angel.”

“You are naughty, James.” You tried to sound stern but not with him.

“Hmm, do tell.” He nodded as he buried his face in your hair. 

You smiled and shook you head as you heated up the water for your coffee. “How progress on your thesis?”

“Slow and excruciating.” He grumbled as he let you go, (with evident objection) so you could finish your process. “They want something done exactly how everyone else does it and I don’t understand why it has to be done just that one way. I can think of two other easier way to get it done in twice as less time.”

“Poor Bucky.” You stuck out your lower lip. “But I know, its hard to have to conform to their standards. But thats how society judges people. So what if so-and-so has a doctorate? That just means they went to school longer and can regurgitate the right information onto a piece of paper. Big whoop.”

Bucky just watched you and smiled as you went on your rant while you poured the steaming water into the French press. He loved it when you went on a tangent. It was cute in a way to see you get worked up over something.

“What?” You asked as you pushed the small plunger down. 

“You.” He smirked. “You’re cute when you’re pissed.”

“James,” You sighed and smiled at same time, resting your free hand on the counter, but you were quick to facepalm to hide your blush. “Why are you so adorable right now?” 

“I was about to ask you the very same question.”

You shook your head again. “Will you get me the cream and sugar please?” You pointed to the place where the items were kept as Bucky reached around the set them in front of you. “Danka.” You said before adding just the right amount to your morning coffee. Clint’s wife, Laura, had taught you a perfect combination of sweetness and the bitter flavor of the coffee beans for a soothing and yet invigorating drink. That reminded you to get a girl’s night together after Nat got back from Paris.

“Any suggestions how to approach Tony about a job?” You slowly took a sip of coffee.

“Uh, nope.” Bucky deadpanned. “He’s not hard to approach, baby.”

“Guess I’m too used to Carmichal.”

“Our friendly neighborhood suka.”

“Oh yes.” You snickered. “We need to get Tony to get him a nickname.”

“Nah,” He shook his head as he finished off his own coffee and shut his laptop. “I’ll drive you to the compound.”

“Thanks, Bucky.” You smile and go off to shower and change for the day.

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

Thank you for reading! Dividers by @strangergraphics

<3 Sandy

@oh-to-be-a-murderer, @fictionalmenjusthitdifferent

@crazyinlovewithmarvel, @teafangirl

If you want to be tagged(or removed!) Whenever I post fics or one-shots, send me an ask and I tag you! :D

[haveyoureadthismcytfic]

Summary:

“hey how’s treebark zine going?” you ask. i look up from where i’m shoving two worms on strings together and making kissy noises. “huh?”

Author: @martynsimp69

Note from Submitter: "It’s the most beautiful written piece of literature I have ever been blessed to read"

[velarisdusk]

Shadows at Twilight

Nesta & Azriel

word count: 2.3k content: [ platonic nesta & azriel, modern au, mention of substance abuse (cocaine), physical altercation, strong language, emotional conflict, family tension, mental health issues, mention of abandonment, mention of smoking (marijuana) ] summary: Azriel and Nesta's Thursday night smoke sessions become a lifeline. As tensions rise, the fragile balance they've been trying to maintain begins to falter. author's note: stoner nesta came to me in a dream but of course i had to make it depressing ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

The soft resonance of guitar strings filled Azriel's small apartment as the evening sun cast long shadows through the blinds. He sat on the edge of his worn couch, fingers absently plucking at the instrument while his eyes focused on the glowing screen of his laptop. With a heavy sigh, he closed the email—another rejection from a local venue.

“Thanks for your submission, but we're not looking for new acts at this time," Az muttered under his breath, mimicking the polite dismissal he'd read too many times before. He set the guitar aside and ran a hand through his dark hair, glancing at the clock on the wall. Nesta would be here soon.

He stood, stretching out the kinks in his back from hunching over his guitar for too long. As he moved to open a window, letting in the cool evening air, Azriel found himself thinking about how these Thursday nights had started — in the aftermath of Feyre, Rhysand, and Nyx's sudden disappearance. He recalled Nesta's frantic call that day, her voice strained with panic as she described the overflowing mailbox and the unanswered calls. She had demanded answers from him, but Azriel had been just as much in the dark.

The memory of that wellness check still felt surreal: entering the eerily quiet house with the police, only to find that impersonal note on the kitchen island. "We're leaving. Please don't look for us." Those words, so final and unexplained, had left a void in their lives that these smoke sessions had somehow started to fill. Az shook his head, pushing away the lingering questions. No use dwelling on it now. He was determined to keep the evening light.

The coffee table became a feast of their favorite munchies: salt and vinegar chips for Nesta, a mix of sweet and spicy nuts for himself, a couple of king-size Reese's cups they'd inevitably fight over, and some sour gummy worms for good measure. Az placed two cans of Cherry Coke next to Nesta's spot and a ginger ale by his. He knew they'd probably end up DoorDashing Taco Bell at some point—their crunchwrap cravings were pretty predictable—but it never hurt to be prepared. As Azriel pulled open the drawer beneath the table, revealing their well-used smoking paraphernalia, a knock sounded at the door.

“S’open!” he called out, quickly arranging the grinder, lighter, papers, and a small jar of pungent bud around the centerpiece.

"Hey," she said, making a beeline for the couch. "Sorry I'm late. Work was absolute chaos today. You wouldn't believe the client I had to deal with." Her hands fluttered as she spoke, the words tumbling out faster than usual. Azriel watched as she sat down, noticing the slight tension in her shoulders and her perfectly manicured nails tapping a relentless rhythm on her knee.

“No worries,” he said, tone neutral as he rolled them a joint each. “Rough day?”

Nesta shrugged, reaching for the TV remote. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. Smiling Friends?”

Azriel leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he angled his body to catch her eye. "Hey, are you sure you're alright? You seem... off."

Nesta's shoulders stiffened slightly. "I said I'm fine, Az. Can we just watch the show?"

As she turned to face him, irritation flickering across her features, Azriel's eyes widened. Even in the dim light of the apartment, he could see her pupils were blown. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

"Nes," he said, his voice low and careful, setting the joint down. "What did you take?”

Her defensiveness flared instantly. "What's it to you?"

Azriel's brow furrowed, a mix of concern and dry humor in his tone. "Well, I’d like to know if I should be ordering pizza or calling poison control. Seriously, what’s going on?” His eyes narrowed as he took in Nesta’s jittery movements, the slight sheen of sweat on her forehead. With her dilated pupils, the pieces clicked into place.

"Cocaine, Nesta? Really?" He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his voice. “What were you thinking?”

Nesta's posture stiffened, her eyes flashing with defiance. "Oh, that's rich coming from you. Don't act all high and mighty."

He blinked, caught off guard. "What are you talking about?"

"Please," Nesta scoffed. "You think I don't know about your little pick-me-ups before gigs? You're such a hypocrite."

Azriel's jaw tightened, his voice low. "That's... that's different. I'm not spiraling like you are."

Nesta leaned forward, her eyes blazing. "Different how? Because you're a 'tortured artist'? Give me a break." She made air quotes, her movements sharp and exaggerated.

He stood abruptly, pacing a few steps before whirling back to face her. "I'm not the one making a walk of shame to work every other day, or calling my estranged sister from borrowed phones."

Nesta shot to her feet, matching his stance. "No, you're just wasting your life playing dive bars. At least I have a real job." Her fingers drummed rapidly against her thigh.

"At least I'm not throwing away a law career I worked so hard for," he retorted, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Nesta's laugh was brittle as she threw herself back onto the couch. "You don't know anything about my work."

Azriel leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "I know you've been calling in sick more often. You told me yourself last week."

"So what? Everyone needs a mental health day now and then."

He remained against the wall for a moment, studying her with concern and frustration. Then, slowly, he pushed off and took a few steps toward her, closing some distance between them. His voice was low but firm as he continued. "A day, sure. But you're—"

"I'm what, Az?" Nesta interrupted, her voice rising as she crossed her arms tightly across her chest. "Enlighten me."

Azriel's eyes darkened, his voice steady but laced with frustration. "You're running from your problems. You're burying yourself in your work instead of actually facing them."

Nesta's jaw clenched. "You think I don't know that? At least I'm trying to keep it together. Unlike you, hiding behind your music and your so-called 'artistic struggles.'"

Azriel's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Don't turn this around on me. Yeah, I’ve got shit going on, but I’m not self-destructing. I’m not jeopardizing my career and my relationships."

Nesta scoffed, her eyes flashing with defiance. "You’re one to talk about relationships. When was the last time you let anyone in? You’re just as closed off as I am."

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "This isn’t about me. It’s about you needing help. Real help. You can’t keep running, Nes."

Her expression crumbled for a split second before she masked it with anger. "And what do you suggest I do, huh? Therapy? Rehab? You think I haven’t considered those? It’s not that simple."

His voice softened slightly. "I know it’s not simple. But I care about you, and it hurts to see you like this. You don’t have to keep punishing yourself like this.”

Tears welled up in Nesta’s eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. "I don’t need your pity."

"It’s not pity," he said, his tone earnest. "It’s concern. It's love, Nesta. You’re family, and I can’t just stand by and watch you destroy yourself."

She turned away, hugging herself tightly. The silence stretched between them, tense and heavy. Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, "I called Feyre today..."

Az's expression hardened, a mix of concern and disappointment crossing his features. He didn't need to ask how she’d done it; he knew her pattern all too well. "Nesta," he said, his voice low and controlled, "you can't keep doing this. They clearly want space." Nesta's head snapped towards him, her eyes blazing.

"You don't know what they want! None of us do!" Her voice cracked with emotion.

Azriel's jaw clenched. "Maybe not, but I know they left for a reason. Have you considered that your constant attempts to reach her might be pushing her further away?"

Nesta's eyes flashed dangerously. "Don't you dare put this on me. You're just as lost without them as I am."

"At least I'm respecting their decision," Azriel countered, his voice low but intense. "Unlike you, I'm not harassing my coworkers for their phones or showing up to work high."

"Oh, please," Nesta scoffed. "You're not some paragon of virtue, Azriel. You're just better at hiding your mess."

Azriel took a step closer, his patience wearing thin. "My 'mess' isn't a nightly habit that’s consuming my life. Wake up, Nesta.”

Nesta's face contorted with rage and pain as she shot up off the couch and turned on him. "You think I don't realize that? You think I want to be like this?" Her voice rose to a near-shout. She paced like a caged animal, her fingers raking through her hair as she glared at Azriel. "I'm doing the best I can!"

His eyes flashed with frustration. "You want to know what I think? I think Elain was right."

Nesta met his gaze, her words low and tense. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I spoke to her last week," Azriel shot back, his voice hard. "She thinks you're the reason Feyre left. And you know what? I'm starting to agree with her."

"You don't know anything," Nesta snarled, her body coiled with tension.

Azriel stepped closer, his voice rising. "I know she was always cleaning up your messes. Always worrying about you. Elain thinks she finally got sick of it, and I can't blame her." His jaw clenched, hands curling into fists at his sides as he towered over her.

"Shut up," Nesta hissed, her hands clenching into fists. Though she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze, the fury blazing in her eyes was no less intimidating. 

"Face it, Nesta. Your sister couldn't take it anymore.” His volume rose, each word more forceful than the last. “Your emotional walls, your recklessness, your unwillingness to change—it drove her away! And now you're doing the same thing to Elain!"

Nesta's face contorted with rage. "I said shut up!"

"Why? Because you can't handle the truth?" Azriel's words were cutting. "She told me she wishes you’d left instead; that we’d all be better off if—"

With a wordless cry of fury, Nesta lunged at him, her hands clawing towards his face.

Azriel's eyes widened in shock as he instinctively raised his arms to block her attack.

"Nesta, stop!" Azriel growled, catching her wrists. She twisted violently in his grip, her teeth bared in a snarl.

"Let go of me!" Nesta spat, trying to wrench free. Her eyes were wild, pupils still dilated from the cocaine. She kicked out, aiming for his shins.

Azriel grunted as her foot connected, but he held firm. "I'm not fighting you," he said, his voice strained but controlled. "You need to calm down."

"Calm down?" she shouted hysterically. "After the shit you just said? Fuck you!"

She threw her weight forward, attempting to headbutt him. Azriel barely dodged, releasing one of her wrists to push her back. She immediately swung at him with her free hand. "You piece of shit!" Nesta screamed, lashing out again. Azriel deflected another blow as she continued, "You don't know anything about me!"

Her attacks came in bursts, punctuated by her rage-filled words. "Fucking lowlife!" she spat, narrowly missing his jaw with a wild swing, her nails grazing his cheek.

"Damn it, Nesta!" Azriel hissed, feeling the sting. He used his greater strength to push her back against the wall, pinning her arms. "Is this what you want? To hurt me? To hurt yourself?"

Nesta writhed against his hold, her chest heaving. "You don't understand anything!" she shouted, her voice raw with emotion. "You think you're so much better than me, but you're just as fucked up!"

Azriel leaned in, his face inches from hers. His voice was low, intense. "I never said I wasn't. I’m not your enemy here, Nesta, I’m just trying to stop you from being your own.”

For a moment, they stood there, both breathing hard. Nesta's eyes darted around, like a cornered animal looking for escape. Then, abruptly, she went limp in his grasp.

"Let go," she said, her voice suddenly quiet and dull. "Just... let me go, Azriel."

Azriel hesitated, studying her face. Slowly, cautiously, he released her arms and took a step back.

"I'm leaving," she muttered, pushing past him towards the door.

"Your keys," he said firmly, extending his hand towards her. "Give them to me. You're not driving like this. Get a Lyft or something."

“What are you, my keeper?” Nesta scoffed. “Drove myself here, didn’t I…” she muttered under her breath. Her hand went to her pocket, then paused. For a second, Azriel thought she might make a run for it or lunge at him again. But then her shoulders slumped, and she pulled out her keyring, took her apartment key, turned towards him and dropped them into his palm without meeting his eyes.

She made for the door again. Azriel didn't try to stop her, but his voice followed her. "This isn't over, Nes. We need to talk about this when you're sober."

Nesta paused at the door, her hand on the knob. Without turning back, she said, "Don't count on it," and slammed the door behind her.

Azriel stood in the sudden silence of his apartment, the echo of the slamming door fading away. He ran a hand over his face, wincing as he touched the scratch on his cheek. Nesta’s keys felt heavy in his hand.

[grand-theft-carbohydrates]

the hardest part of writing is cutting very good passages simply because they don't fit the narrative in a cohesive way. ok remember this part?

He expected Gao Jianli to appreciate the story in the same way. But the look on the musician's face made him stop short. He had taken off his blindfold, there was no awe in his eyes, only pity.  "It must have been very painful," Gao Jianli whispered. "What's a little pain in the grand scheme of things?" the king replied with a laugh, amused by this girlish sentiment. "One suffers for a brief moment and earns a lifetime of benefits from it. Besides, I hardly remember it now."  The musician did not answer. He plucked a few notes on the zhu, and they sounded like raindrops falling on a hot terracotta roof. A gentle pitter-patter followed by the hiss of rising steam, like a tiny, sorrowful sigh.

Here's what was suppose to come after it:

The king frowned, not knowing if he liked this strange sound. It made something ache deep within his chest, a totally alien sensation. Like he was a bronze chime being rung with a mallet. Like the feet of one thousand ants marching across his skin. Like a cool, soft hand slipping under his clothes, tracing his fever-hot skin, and slotting itself between the bones of his ribs, worming around the fragile, blood-red membranes of his spleen and liver, so wrong and so, so gentle, higher and higher, until it reached his chest and laid itself softly over a bruise--  "That's enough!" King Ying Zheng's voice rang out harshly in the large, austere room. He had stepped backwards impulsively and almost tripped over the long train of his coat. It was a jerky, undignified movement, like he had been burned. Gao Jianli flinched at the king's voice and silenced the strings with press of his hands. His head was bowed like he was expecting a blow, yet his small, bright eyes were still focused intently on Ying Zheng.  The king stood there glaring at the musician, his chest heaving like he had run a mile, his mind all mist and jagged rocks. There was a gnawing at the back of his throat, the ghost of a memory of a boy who had been screaming for a long time, the wound torn afresh by the sight of a door opening twenty-three years too late, which was worse than never opening at all.  "Did that not please you, My King?" Gao Jianli's voice was rough. His tongue, small and pink, darted out and licked a bead of sweat from his upper lip. Ying Zheng itched to strike him, but could not force himself to get close enough to do so. The alchemy of Gao Jianli's music had not yet dissipated, the trembling coward was transfigured, in that moment he was half a sage and half venomous snake.  With great effort, the King of Qin collected the scattered pieces of himself with an imperious thrust of his chin. Qin men never show fear. In the bare light of day, the king could clearly see that the musician's hands were in fact very calloused. The tips of his fingers were armored in a thick yellow carapace, forged by decades of constant practice. Of course they're rough. The king reminded himself uneasily. Why had he assumed those hands would be soft? 

cutting this was the hardest decision in my life, but it just didn't fit. i cranked up the emotion too high without enough build-up, or any way to balance it out on the other end. (to put it frankly, there's not enough foreplay.) also gao jianli is suppose to be passively suicidal right now, and they've only just met. it would be a 180 for his character.

[skelebellie]

FIRST MEETINGS

million knives [stampede] x plant?reader drabble

synopsis: you meet knives for the first time. he thinks your someone else.

content warning: mentions of sharp weapons, blood, and physical altercations

this an equal household. i pine after all siblings equally. [aka i think knives is a goofy dude and his characterization in stampede is kiss kiss].

—————

it was a particularly normal day as you spent your time around town, discovering odd patterned geological formations that helped adhere the homes to the sand below it.

was it the smartest idea to go into a dark alley alone. no. did you think anything would happen to you in the middle day. also no.

you were lost in the sauce. failing to notice the screams of town folk as you observed the calcified rock. one moment you were holding it and then boom, it was dark.

when you woke up, you were shocked to be in a white room. it sent shivers up your spine, as the environment caused old memories to rise to the surface. questions could wait until later, for now you’d try to get out of here. hopefully the town was still there when you got back.

the door was unlocked, odd considering you were kidnapped.

you also didn’t have shoes on, thankfully that old socks separated the floor and your feet. you could sense your bag somewhere within the building, your body able to feel the shawl of plant material that you had been born with, always tucked into your bag.

it was like you were an assassin, peering around every corner and ears on high alert.

the closer you got to your objective, the quieter it seemed to get. an odd sense of loneliness filling the room.

you had found your bag and shawl, even your shoes (thank god, you didn’t have the money for new ones). the only downside being that some blondie covered in a robe was holding it, allowing light to shine through the transparent shawl.

you became defensive knowing he was touching something as important as your shawl, so you started making fast paces towards him. “Hey! You shouldn’t touch things that don’t belong-“. The sense of danger came first, luckily stopping you from making too much contact with the tail of sharp objects that wrapped around you. it certainly didn’t save your overalls, as a large rip formed across the front panel. damnit, now you’d have to sew it back again.

“anything plant belongs to me. im its rightful owner, a god” blondie chided at you, only causing more anger to bubble up to your throat. “J.J Doe, right? Elusive scientist who has published series of plant based experiments. No committee or board to shift through your work, your research seems to pop up in small town libraries. Never the same one.” The man stepped down from his pedestal, inching closer to you. You backed up, only for a reactive spindle of metal(?) to wrap around your neck. it swiped, leaving a sliver of blood and for the stop part of your turtleneck to fall to the ground. the more he keeps going the more work you’ll have to do to fix whatever clothes you have.

“i detest humans, a species of parasitic worms who use plants as tools for their selfish survival. however, I hate those who knowingly use their will to torture my brotheren even more.” he was too close for comfort now. a string of knives swiping close to your forehead, which you barely dodged by shifting backwards. the shift in weight caused you to fall backwards, rows of spindles wrapping around your legs, keeping you from getting up from the floor.

“should i take a finger for each sin you have committed. maybe slowly sever you limb from limb, so you may know the suffering of the plants who you experimented on. maybe-“ You were too focused on the rows of knives wrapped around your legs to notice that he now stood atop of you. crouching to straddle you as his eyes sent daggers into your mind, like a searing hot flash of static. “i should do it with my own hands. as disgusting as you vile creatures are.” his hand slowly began to approach your neck. his weapons should have instilled enough fear into you, but now you seemed petrified, tears threatening to pour at the very thought of him touching you.

“disgusting.” he muttered, looking down as you. his hand wrapped around your neck, and immediately began to squirm, your leg receiving shallow cuts as it brushed against the sharp cage around it. the contact sent an immediate blossom of heat from your neck. you wish it was another gang of badland raiders, anything but an independent plant. you covered yourself up to avoid making contact with anyone, trying to prevent the surge of information that you would receive and give which writhed out of your control.

behind closed eyes, you could see the blossom of blue, geometric shapes spreading from your chest to your neck, reaching out to the man who’s hand was around your neck. the closer it got the more erratic you reacted. It seemed like the man above you no longer intended to kill you, for now. Instead he fixated his eyes to the spread of patterns slowly approaching his hand, his own body reacting in a similair manner. the contact left your mind heavy with shocks of malice, anger, and pain? The scorching sensation caused a moan of pain to spill from your lips as fat tears fell from your eyes.

The man above you felt the fear over the connection, a dark pit of misunderstanding and embarrassment overflowing with an ebb and flow of confusion. flashes of images of syringes and scalpels as you held the blade towards yourself, harvesting your flash to run under analysis. you hadn’t been experimenting on other plants, you had been experimenting on parts of yourself.

the cage around your legs unwinded, as did the hand around your neck. you quickly moved your arms to cover your eyes, still unable to cope with the wave of information that was forced into your head. however, your action failed as another hand wrapped around your wrists to move your arms from your face, revealing puffy eyes and still falling tears. another hand came up to caress underneath your lashes, gathering the salty tears before they could run onto the floor.

“interesting. not entirely human, not entirely plant.” the contact caused a shocking sensation underneath your skin, flinching as his thumb made lazy circles on your cheek. you relaxed, feeling as if the threat of danger was finally over with. until the blunt end of a knife slammed into the already bruised skin at the base of your neck. knocking you out once more.

[astralnymphh]

╒═✰❝how the shadow shrouds❞

⋆' a smut teaser

⋆' . subtop/loser!ellie x dom!reader

⋆' content; drabble, blurbs, mature themes, smut, loser ellie, reader has a borderline dominatrix moment(at least in the actual fic), degrading (g), subtop ellie, painslut ellie, hair grabbing (g), voyeurism (e. aware + consenting), edging (g), slight dacryphilia, begging kink

⋆' a/n; this is merely a teaser piece for volume 2 of my tps series, so expect this to be short and not fully detailed. I just couldn't go without writing a teaser specifically for this chapter cuz it's such a hot idea.. this will be much more erotic in the actual fic.

"u're such a fucking loser, ellie williams."

those words wormed parching on her ear, the tepid cider staining your lips carrying a warm scent into her nose that made everything so woozy in her senses.

her ears parched because now, her boxers were sappy with arousal. pretty pussy pulsing on the couches' padding by your signal.

"am i?"

her reply duels you. pomegranate cheeks dulcified in brown sugar spots, hot to the touch, grazing against your own, limpid of any redness. you found esteem in the newfound control your voice held. ellie's pupils read like a palpable message, 'i want you, that bad.'

that bad. that bad being the way you gathered the short burnished hair of her scalp between your folded knuckles, tossing her down to a kneeling position with one gripe tug, her chin pressing the plush of your belly pouch. glossy pup eyes praying for that fierce grip you bear.

ellie us limited to the floor, and your looming shadow shrouds her.

yet, you would only give her half of what she longs for.

a stammer of her whispers stick a film of hot breath over your womb, "please– please, let me fuck you.." her slobbering lips shine, snailing strings of spit that tether to her tongue.

"what did just I say? hands in ur' fuckin' pants."

her mild adams apple bobs with a hitched swallow, hesitant tears brinking the shoreline of her bottom eyelids.

"yes ma'am," muttered ellie breathily, plopping her head down to observe her large hand undoing her pants.

"ey-" you wrap and pull her jaw up, forcing her to gaze up, sternly adding, "fucking look at me." your fingers dimple her skin and drag with reddening ripples.

now, her flexing hands halfway submerged in her unzipped jeans, rubbing discoid motions under her cotton boxers. the slick pools over her fingers, causing raw wet sounds to slosh from beneath the fabric of her boxers.

you could barely hear that shit, though.

the fingers tangled in the thicket of her rusty locks thrust her head back, stretching that elegant neck of hers even more. a choked 'guh.' bubbles from her chords.

"i wanna hear how wet y'are, show me." your cold request capers your throat and wisps out like a gravelly snarl.

the suffuse of blush clots her facial features, skin fermenting with a heat. like wildfire, her arousal spreads infinitely, spilling a heap of moisture to prune up her fingers more than they already were.

a gruff gulp is heard, "uhuhh~" and her other hand peels the waistband of her boxers forward, sounds of smacking wet folds carrying into your ears so deliciously. fuck.

"love it when' y'uh watch me.. mhhgmm, fuck baby, fuhhckk." moaned ellie, verde rings rolling halfway behind her dreary fucked–out lids, red puppy eyes.

the ravine between your upright stance and her pitiful kneeling one immerse your eyes in a beautiful perspective. balled paw messily stroking her achey, strained clit brings a bang of toe–curling pleasure to lash over her cunt, rising up her body.

she wasn't going to cum. not on your watch.

"stop."

her heavy eyes puff and shut, scrunching her brows, gently swaying her whole body up on her knees with each long rub to her clit. she doesn't listen to you. she keeps going. mumbling incoherent 'fucks' like an invocation over her purrs. what a greedy fucking loser.

"said' stop, d'ya hear me?"

the mitt in her hair heaves her crown up harshly, shoving her face plumb to your exposed navel, meek hands grip your thighs.

the tugged tenderness elicited in her scalp excited her further, confessedly – lewdly.

"can't come till i tell you to, kay?" your fingers wane from her scalp, caressing a beeline down her face 'till your index and middle nudge her lips, slipping the tips in, "suck, 'n finger yourself."

"baby, i chn't –" her whine pitches up, spitting your fingers out, "please put ur' hands on me – shhit, fuck!"

hard rubber tip of your boot found itself hiked up against her entrance clad in the jeans inseam, rolling your ankle in circular oscillation.

her entire body rattles, trembling at the mercy of your foot. eyes drowned out. mouth slack agape. soaking slit swallowing up the boxer fabric your foot pushed up. back arching convexly, plowing her rapacious clit on the bulbous edge.

"y-yess.. yesyesyes–" chanted ellie, fucking lost from consciousness.

unluckily, you chuck your foot away.

"no- nono, mhhn– i need'ju.." her mouth latches forward and hungrily nips at your thigh, frustrated at the loss of pleasure with salty tears dripping off her jaw, "I'll make you feel good– please.. nghh-"

so fucking hot.

you chuckle, "see? a pretty fucking loser, poor baby."

ellie just nonscensically rambles, ignoring you, "could fuck you s'good – scchlp," she sucks drool from her spluttered lip, "fuck eachother.."

this girl is antsy as fuck.

♡

that's all y'all get for now 🤣 wait for the rest!!

[wanderingxiao]

-Ownership-

Summary: After destroying a delusion factory, the balladeer finds you, and makes you his... pet?!

Pairing: Fatui! Scaramouche x Female Reader

First time ever writing Scaramouche, so please excuse if he sounds a bit OOC.

Warnings: abuse, torture, degradation, and foul language

Word Count: 3.4K

Enjoy!

Another harsh kick came to your abdomen as you hit the muddy ground harshly. Your lunch came out quickly as the partially digested food splattered to the ground beside you and trailed down your mouth. Your body ached and tingled with pain as tears endless began to flow from your swollen eyes. A hideously sadistic laugh came from in front of you, the sound almost being swallowed by the thunderstorms approaching quickly. Your eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to meet the bright clashes of purple of his eyes just like the glow of lightening. Despite not even meeting his gaze, you could feel the way his eyes bore into the back of your head.

“Awe hah… too beaten down and scared to even look me in the eyes.” A harsh grip was applied to your hair, and you were jerked up hard, enough to cause a shock of pain to shoot up your neck and down your back. Your head throbbed harshly as your blurry vision attempted to focus on the monster’s pale complexion. All you could really make out was the crescent shape of a terrifying smile and the psychotic glow of his eyes out of amusement. “Hey, I’m speaking to you. Or have I already beat the manners out of a disrespectful pathetic worm like you?” His words were sharp and precise, never missing a shot towards your heart or your brain for that matter. With the remaining strength you had left, you mustered enough salvia to spit into his face, a mixture of blood, saliva, and vomit slowly going down his left cheek. His face morphed into one of pure loathing and he knocked you out just like that.

How did you end up in this situation?

Well… long story short… you invaded a Fatui camp and destroyed a delusion factory.

Everything was going smoothly until the sixth of the eleven harbingers caught you in his puppet strings, beating you into submission and ultimately to the point of unconsciousness. You had some nerve standing up to Lord Scaramouche. He could have easily killed you, but he didn’t want to waste his breath on something as pathetic as a lowly human lesser than insects. He silently admired your courage to stand your ground against him and his terrifying power. Nothing interesting was happening currently in the Fatui, so why not take on a little pet to begin training? The thought alone made his lips curl with a familiar bubbling feeling emerge from his stomach.

Excitement.

“Rise and shine, my little pet!”

Your eyes slowly opened seeing a dim light above you, ears ringing, body numb and screaming in pain. Every breath felt like pain the moment you regained any consciousness and could feel every nerve in your body speak alive. “Ugh!” You groaned in pain raising your shaky arms to your head as you held it in severe pain. The distant and fuzzy sound of footsteps alerted you of someone’s approach. A rather short man came into your view, the large hat on his head confusing your eyes due to their swollen appearance. “Hey now, that’s no way to great your master now is it? Get up.” His words fell upon deaf ears as the pain overtook your consciousness, unable to focus on anything else by the pain in your abdomen, the throbbing of your head and the stinging on your skin. “Hurts… hurts s-so bad… c-can’t…”

“That sounds like a problem that does not concern me. Now get up before I punish you again.” Your words caught in your throat struggling to comprehend everything. The look on Scaramouche’s face was beginning to twist from excited to that of annoyance and irritability. “Now, now, Scaramouche. This is no way to take care of your things now, is it?” A man had entered the room, a dark beaked mask hanging from his face with bright blue hair. He was taller, and somehow more intimidating than the smaller man you now could call Scaramouche. “Your input is not needed or wanted, Dottore. I suggest you not stick your nose into my personal affairs or lay your hands on things that are mine.”

“Yours? Awe how romantic of you, Scaramouche.” Dottore smoothly teased him and ran his midnight gloved hands up your arm, sending a ripple of trembles up your entire body. Scaramouche growled and narrowed his eyes at him, crossing his arms as he observed The Doctor access your current condition. Despite his anger of others touching his newly acquired pet, he knew you needed to be tended to. “What has you so enthralled by a human? Her body physique is flimsy and weak, her appearance is mediocre at best despite your cold-hearted abuse. Hmm, Scaramouche?” The other harbinger hesitated briefly as he turned his gaze down towards your shallow breaths and gasps of pain. He smirked, “Her resolve is strong. She gazed upon me as if I was the most disgusting thing, she had ever laid eyes on. I want to personally break her and watch that resolve crumble and burn all by my doing.”

Dottore could only grin and him in response. He reached in and rustled around his coat before pulling out a shot full of pink liquid. He squirted it to check the pressure and ensure the syringe was secure before sticking it into your neck. Scaramouche gripped his arms as he watched The Doctor force an unknown substance into your body. His purple eyes watched as your body instantly relaxed, and your breathing slowed. “There. Consider that a gift from me as a congratulations on acquiring a new pet. Don’t break her in too harshly now Scaramouche… next time, I’ll make sure you pay me.” With that, the blue haired harbinger exited the small room the puppet had kept you in. His teeth gnashed together as he glared holes into your figure. “Hmph. Touching my things without my permission will not go overlooked.”

He huffed. “I’ll make sure you’re only played with by me.”

Your recovery from Scaramouche’s harsh assault took weeks to get over, or at least get to the point where you didn’t feel like you were about to die every waking second. He came by your bedside every day to check on your condition. The guards stationed outside the door were instructed not to enter the room or even glance in your direction, or “Lord” Scaramouche would punish them. He was strangely patient and quiet during your short interactions with him. The first day, once you were numbed up with drugs, he asked you questions about who you worked for and why you destroyed their factory. Your answers were the same every time he asked. “Burn in hell,” “Fuck you,” or “I’d rather die that speak to you.”

He was patient and didn’t spit any harsh insults at you or attempt to hurt you. He only asked you questions or occasionally brought you food, most being extremely bitter. His expression remedied stoic and emotionless during his meetings with you, until these expressions started to evolve. When you refused to answer and threw a bottle at him, he knew you were feeling better and decided to start and insult you. “Hah! Trying to throw a bottle at the guy who put you in here. That doesn’t seem very smart don’t you think?” His hand harshly slapped onto your thigh and squeezed harshly, digging his nails into your still delicate skin. You jerked up and clenched your jaw in pain, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing pain from your voice. “I’ve been patient enough with your pathetic responses, but now my patience is running thin, and when pets misbehave, they need to be taught a lesson.”

And there started your lessons from Lord Scaramouche as his personal little pet.

A black leather collar with the electro symbol adorned your neck, indicating that you strictly belonged to the Sixth Fatui harbinger. Of course, you never left his side for even a second unless he was taking trips to the abyss. He forced you to wear a tight long-sleeved shirt with a round cut up on your chest and upper cleavage with black matching tights with red outlines. All of it matched him and his aesthetics, flaunting his ownership over you wherever he went. Bruises littered your once smooth and delicate skin, black and blue with a nice purple hue peeking out. You had learned to behave for the most part, attempting to get the lesser of evils out of your new owner. However, your mind stayed resilient and strong, detesting the Inazuman man with all your being. Not even a peep of information squeezed past your lips. It was harder to break you than he thought. 

“Hah… this stupid boring paperwork is never ending. These reports from the abyss are useless anyways.” Scaramouche sighed and rubbed his temples irritated at the current situation. His large hat laid elegantly against the wall behind him, thin grey fabric gently resting against the hard walls of his room. You were sat next to him on the floor, where you belonged according to your master. Your fingers were playing with the collar wrapped tightly around your neck, giving you no room for mistakes or else it would clamp down and shut off all oxygen pathways to your precious lungs. A soft pressure was placed onto your head, causing you to flinch harshly until you realized Scaramouche was only trying to pet you. “Why so jumpy? You’ve been a good girl for me recently. Is it not okay that I reward my pet for being so good and obedient?”

“No, sir. I’m sorry. It just startled me a bit.” He only hummed in response and patted his lap lightly as he slid away from his desk. Your face soured immediately, but you reluctantly got up and sat in his lap, cheeks tinting a flush pink realizing your chest was right in his face. He paid no attention to your bashful expression and rested his head against your shoulder lightly, his cheek pressing against your boobs, silently enjoying the soft comfort they brought him. You remained silent during his short break from his paperwork, until he spoke an order. “��stroke my hair… please.” Your fingers twitched slightly in your lap at his hesitating order. You had never heard him sound so… gentle before. You rose your fingers and gently raked them through his dark indigo colored hair. A heavy sigh passed his lips as he sunk deeper into your touch. “I’m going to the abyss. You’ll be by yourself for a while. I expect to be greeted exactly like this. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.” He scoffed lightly, shifting in his chair to hug your body closer towards his, slightly picking you up to pull you closer. His face snuggled against the swell of your breasts, and he squeezed you tighter to him. “Don’t make any idiotic attempts at escape. If I find out… you’re dead.” A harsh smack came to your butt, causing you to gasp and snap your head to look down at him, hands flying up and away from stroking his hair. This caused him to send a terrifyingly cold glare at you. “Did I order you to stop?” You shook your head quickly, mumbling an apology before quickly going back to stroking his hair. He huffed and elected just to continue resting on your chest until he could finally go back to work.

The next day, Scaramouche left for the abyss, promising to bring you back something special for being a good and obedient pet.

Unfortunately, you wouldn’t be there to see it.

“I’m back.” Scaramouche kicked the door to his office open, tired, and annoyed from his trip to the abyss instead of staying beside his new pet. He hated to admit it, but you brought him comfort. You were something to call his, something he didn’t realize he had longed for. At first, all he wanted was to break you down and toss you away or better yet kill you. Either would’ve been fine with him, but you still offered resistance and hatred towards him yet obeyed and comforted him when he told you to. It felt real to him. He had unexpectedly brought back some Inazuman flowers for you, Dendrobium. A nice gift that could break your walls and let him consume your world. All he was met with was silence. Panic overtook him as the flowers crashed to the floor. “Hey… what the hell is going on? Didn’t I tell you to come greet me when I got back?!”

No answer.

His frantic footsteps searched around the room for you, thinking you could be hiding or something. Nothing. He could feel his stomach turning repeatedly making him feel nauseous. His hands trembled in disbelief, panic, and most of all betrayal. He should’ve never trusted you to be good and remain beside him. You hated him after all. His eyes suddenly landed in the black collar he had locked around you, cut off by force. There was no way you had the strength to pull that off yourself and break it. It was imbedded with powerful energy that would shock you if you ever attempted to take it off. Someone else took it off. The only person smart enough to be able to take it off you was the same man that had touched his belongings before.

Dottore.

Scaramouche jerked around and sped down the halls of the Fatui base. The sound of his heels harshly stomping to the ground was the only thing he could heart despite his heavy panting as he turned another corner. The anxiety once fueling him was replaced by pure rage as he spammed The Doctor’s lab room open. His world came crashing down once he saw your limp body on a shining metal table, your eyes were lifeless and cold. The masked man smiled as he flicked a vile of pink liquid, one of the same hue he injected you with when you first met. Multiple tubes and cables were attached to your body, your once vibrant skin full in color. His fists shook violently against his sides as he started to scream.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING WITH MY PROPERTY?!?!?!” His loud and booming voice bounced off the walls and crashed down onto your ears, making your eyes slowly open and recognize a blob of black, red, and purple. The Doctor only chuckled in response to his lessor’s sudden outburst of pure hatred. “Come now, Scaramouche. You were being too gentle with your methods of obtaining information. So instead, I did it for you.” He walked around you, your shaky hands slowly outstretching towards Scaramouche in a plea to help save you. His eyes flashed with pain as he saw you desperately trying to reach out to him. “Name: (Y/N) (L/N). Occupation: visionless adventurer. Family: all killed by the Fatui when she was just a child. Goals: destroy the Fatui. Oh! And look at this… she knows our famous little traveler we’ve been looking for. Such valuable information, hmm Scaramouche? No wonder she was so unwilling to give it to you.”

His teeth grit tightly, eyes narrowing as he approached threateningly. “You have what you want, now give her back.” Dottore looked down at you, your shaky hands still reaching out for Scaramouche. He smirked and took your hand into his as he studied it well. “D’awe… look how well you’ve training her though. Obedient to you, with so much hatred in her heart for you. And here she is, still reaching out for you.” Scaramouche was now getting impatient as he summoned a blade and gripped it tightly. “I won’t ask again. Give her back to me.” Dottore rose his hands in defeat, seeing it pointless to fight with one of his fellow harbingers. He unlocked your arms and legs and harshly removed the tubes and cables attached to your body. 

“S…Scara…m-mouche…” You voice was weak and cracked, quiet and barely above a whisper. The Balladeer approached and grabbed your hand carefully as he looked down at your tear-stained face, same as the one he saw the first day he met you. Instead of hatred, your expression now showed a desperate look to be held and protected by the man who got you into this mess in the first place. You were his property after all, he should take care of you. “I’m here.” He said softly, carefully lifting you up into his arms effortlessly as he turned to glare at Dottore over his shoulder. He clicked his tongue and began walking out with you in his arms tightly. “I will NEVER forget this Dottore… you will pay.”

He didn’t wait for a reply and carried you silently done the hallway back towards his room. Members of the Fatui looked on in confusion and fear as the most disliked harbinger walked along the halls with a deep rage filled expression. Everyone stood clear of his path, fearful to get caught in his electric crosshairs and be his victim. Once he reached his room, his kicked the door open and kicked it back close, stomping on the flowers he’d left abandoned. He made his way towards the couch sat in a lone corner of the room and laid you down gently. His eyes never left your expression, hands beginning to shake again as he watched you pant in pain and hold your chest.

“That bastard… touching my things… trying to steal them from me… defile them… YOU SHOULD’VE FOUGHT HIM!!” Scaramouche then directed his anger towards you, his voice loud and painful. Your ears were still ringing, and you could barely make out anything he was saying. He turned away from you as he continued, “All you are is a pathetic and insolent insect. A filthy human… weak… worthless… a waste of life and space.” His harsh words were drowned out by your ears as you raised a shaky hand to his face and gently cupped his cold cheeks. His head jerked towards you quickly, eyes widening in surprise seeing a soft smile on your face. The rest of his insults caught up in his throat. Your thumb rubbed gently against his skin, slowly but surely calming your breathing. “Thank you… f-for saving me, sir…”

He was speechless. You’re thanking him? After he just hurdled those insults towards you? Let you get taken by Dottore, experimented on, and ultimately did not protect his now most prized possession. “Ha… Hahaha!!” He laughed and grabbed your hand on his cheek, holding it close to his face as he enjoyed the warmth you brought to his cold body. He stared into your tired eyes, confused yet relieved at your words. “What an idiotic thing to even say, but…” his words fell silent as he gazed around your face. “Why do you find comfort in me now? I’ve hurt you, so much.” You closed your eyes, causing his stomach to drop with anxiety that you had left him. He didn’t like when you slept in general. It scared him that you would no longer wake up. “Because… despite your rudeness… I can tell… how much weight is on your shoulders… and that you genuinely care for me.”

“I own you, and I always will.”

[cluelessmoose]

MOOSE.

Soulscape Saccade

Soulscape Saccade (Title May Change)

Warriors Centric- Our lad is pulled from his world and gets tossed after a group of heroes in a shiny new adventure. Which would be made so much easier if he wasn't being thrown into different animal forms with each new world, apropos of nothing that rune trap he only barely escaped from.

OR

Warriors meets the Chain but he takes the shape of the spirit animal of the host Link's world they're in, and they have NO idea this random animal is another hero, and Wars also takes a hot minute to cotton onto what's happening because it's not like any of it was explained before it all started with him almost being caught and... something'ed by a Dark Link

There's also a part of the plot I'm still waffling over including or not and the mechanism by which he's locked into this is a little wishy washy BUT STILL the animals are all but picked

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

He stepped back, facing the direction of the building magic, but it was moving fast as a fired arrow, a low humming fading into hearing and reality warping around it as the phenomenon slipped up the hill, a strange transparent ripple in the air a few feet above the ground. Link whistled, a sharp three note warning, and Ygrette had barely acknowledged before the rift opened before him, still moving quick as a bird. He had barely a moment to realize it wasn’t trying to let an enemy out but instead trying to capture him within. 

Link rolled out of the way only for the ground to vanish under his shoulder as the magic ate him regardless, a startled cry escaping him. He felt reality twist around him then worm in on itself, a string spun between two fingers until it collapsed and malformed into a self-contained tangle, the familiar butter rum sense of goddess magic and smokey licorice of twili greeting him, almost enough to hide the fast fading tinnitus of malice’s touch on the travel point. Link felt his momentum swerve away from the other end of the rift, as sudden as  blinking and suddenly facing the wrong way, but there was no time for anything more than a flashpoint of trepidation before he was finishing the failed dodge and rolling to his feet in a strange place, sword at the ready as he warily spun around. 

Twili magic was thick here, the same heady sense of burning botanicals that had always lingered around Midna’s shadow companions. The trees were old, towering farther above than he’d known was possible, the forest oddly silent of all but the high off, distant creaking of branches. There was something tickling at his mind, a kind of brightness and warmth he could only wonder at, but trying to follow it was like flexing a muscle of a limb he hadn’t had before. It pooled and split, the sense of it rising pure and joyful as laughter within him. His heart skipped a beat and something sharp seized in his chest-

Link whirled as he snapped out of the wonderment, sword up and blocking- 

Nothing. 

He blinked in surprise before instantly searching for the danger that had to be nearby. His instincts were screaming at him that something was wrong even as the happy, bright thing in his mind steadied and sunk into place, and even if it felt wholly different to the sick coil of wrongness the circumstances and timing were too much to be disregarded solely because it felt friendly and good and precious-

He snapped himself forcibly from the blooming affection, instantly suspicious that it had charming properties woven into its allure, possibly to make it all the more irresistible as an implant or trap, and Link could not allow it. He may not be talented enough to interact with it to cut it out from himself but he threw up walls around it, letting his magic drown it and keep it down, muffled and distant. The happy feeling dispersed instantly, even if he could feel the core of it deep within him still. 

That would have to be good enough. There was no time for anything more because something was breathing at his back and he spun again to find naught but sparse grass and hulking tree trunks. Something could certainly hide behind them but this urgency spoke of danger hovering right over his skin, a blade  at the throat, waiting to bite. Link’s gaze darted around, searching for an enemy that wasn’t there, dread building like an incoming flood. Where were they?

Realization snapped into place like a breaking bone. His eyes shot down, already tensing to move, but it was too late. 

The magic building beneath him gave up on subtlety and locked him into place, a trap neatly sprung. Without missing a beat Link activated his blade- it may not be the Goddess Sword, but it was forged with light magic all the same. He stabbed down, baring his teeth as the runes bled into sight, utterly illegible to his untrained eyes but seeping dark magic all the same. It all but screamed at the sword’s strike, throbbing like a beating heart before spinning up like a striking snake. The runes bloomed into three dimensions, rising and multiplying as they surrounded him in the eye of the whirlwind. The forest around was obscured in a moment, inky darkness spreading like smoke from the runes, edged in searing crimson as it rose higher around him, the imperceptible screaming growing louder as the magic swelled. 

He drew his sword from the ground and slashed the encircling magic, scoring a blazing line of white through it. The gash closed behind the blade though, little more than a short comet’s burst tailing his slash before the billowing darkness consumed it. Link gave frustrated cry, desperation building as the window to get out unscathed closed with every racing pulse of his heart, but even as he dragged himself a single step to try to escape the ensnaring runes around him collapsed inward, coating his skin and eating hungrily at his magic.  

A scream wrenched from his lips, cut off sharply as the magic dove in around the sound. It hissed and reeled back- his scarf flaring about him defensively, the protective light magic woven into it by Zelda herself humming and singing as it fought back the darkness. He gasped, body jerking as he tried to bring the sword up, frantically wondering whether it was better to strike out with his magic or hide it within himself, whether the bright connection from before was friend or foe in all of this. 

Time ran out. 

The rune circle was well-prepared and purposely tailored for this attack; even Zelda’s magic, strong as it was, was only a general protection. Link went down in a wave of bright-edged darkness, his very soul burning as the malicious power washed over him. He crushed down the panic- Link knew he was alive by conscious design, his death averted by restraint, not powerlessness against his desperate attempts to fight back or escape. He was fading fast, the physical struggling already nothing more than a taut twitching of his body as the evil energy wound around him, binding his limbs in snakelike coils. His fingers clawed into the dirt, consciousness waning fast as his magic flickered, fast losing the fight against the trap’s runes. 

Runes had power when used correctly; anchored as they were magic could be cultivated within them with the right materials and symbols and patience. They were as versatile in function as the runesmith was creative and clever, but traded off flexibility for precision; any small change on LInk’s part could have rendered this circle, intricate as it was, useless. Any companion would have been able to smudge it and let him free, the scarf and its powerful enchantments alone enough to jar it and allow him to last even this long. His screams tapered off, caught in a rictus of pain too complete to allow for even that. 

Something slipped in his mind, the last of Link’s defenses falling apart in shreds under the Malice slicing into him. He was barely aware of the way the cordoned off intruders in his mind and magic were free now, -and in the darkness around him there was something familiar, and he latched onto it unconsciously, the enchantments in the scarf giving one last desperate pulse in answer to his desperation. He slipped into the familiar cool shadow feel, drew it from that shared point to soak into his being, let it alter him as it wished, helpless-

The runecircle’s steadfast grip on him faltered, then slid off his newly tainted aura, but Link barely had time to be relieved before his muscles wrenched themselves from his bones, mind blanking out as agony blazed across his body, an invisible force breaking and remolding him. He had no breath to scream with, his body disconnected from the wild urge to flail and writhe. He lasted barely a handful of moments before his consciousness broke away and shut him off from it all, flickering back to aching limbs and a disjointed sense of himself, thoughts sluggish from the memory of pain, even the startled recall of struggling and inevitable capture barely breaking through. 

He laid there, breathing and afraid of the alien feeling of his body, his magic shadowed heavily in twili magic. There was no sign of the rune circle now, likely falling from activation when it ceased perceiving him as its target. He needed to get away from it so he could slough off whatever magic was drenching him, had to hide and be ready for when the caster finally made it here to see what went wrong. Link tried to get up and failed as his arms and legs bent in all the wrong places, his torso’s flexibility wholly different than a hylian’s. The sound that echoed from his alien form was high and throaty in panic, and he flailed, helpless now in a whole new way than before, sharply aware of the danger looming if he was caught here, unable to move. 

Another warming pool of interdimensional magic heated below him, and Link only held back the scream for fear of alerting the enemy of his position yet in the dormant trap. He tried to roll free, the half-hearted attempt to clamber to his feet meeting with the horrified realization that he was no longer bipedal, but this doorway was no more escapable than the last had been, and with a defiant cry Link fell through the earth and space between worlds, taken once more.