#so he had some semblance of control and could clean things up and get things in order if needed

[sieglinde-freud]

golden deer!laurent would be so fucking funny and i dont think he expects it because he spent so long managing the shepherds hes like “i can handle anyone really” (<- said much smarter and wordier) but then he mostly dealt with his friends who he grew up with who are colorful, yes, but he also grew up with them. either that, or his parents’ friends who were quirky but mostly mature, somewhat adjusted, grown adults. at the officer’s academy though? in the GOLDEN DEER HOUSE? hilda says to him “i get people to do things for me bc im good at compliments” he says what. lysithea not-so-subtley implies shes about to die early he says what. claude with the subtely of a shovel to the face implies that he’s going to food poison the future king and future emperor for the mock battle and laurent says what. lorenz says “i just dont get why women dont like me” and laurent says “dont worry youre not that bad. in fact i know someone like that, but—” and lorenz says “i have had five misconduct charges filed against me this week” and laurent says what. i dont think ylisse has adequately prepared him for any of this. what the fuck is a crest

[grimmweepers-archive]

— ★ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: afab!reader. dry humping. premature cumming. ok it’s his first time, he’s trying. reader is a tease. 0.8k words. MDNI. 18+ only.| masterlist

Virgin!Alhaitham who is known for being one of the brightest minds to come out of the Akademiya in years. A genius in his own right who can speak over 20 languages and executes everything he tries to perfection. But still has one thing that’s completely out of his realm: sex. 

He acts like it’s no big deal, shrugging off the idea of casual flings just to get his dick wet. It was beneath him, a pointless distraction from his personal goals. Instead, he turned to erotic literature, dissecting it for information like he would any other subject. It’s still educational, he reasons, a way to learn without getting tangled in something that would just waste his time. 

But then Virgin!Alhaitham starts dating you, and suddenly everything he’s learned doesn’t seem so abstract anymore. He’s thorough, methodical— he thinks he knows enough to ensure his first time with you goes off without a hitch. And yet. 

The first time you grind on his clothed cock, he was unprepared for the intensity, the friction, the heat— before he knew it he was already twitching and soiling his pants, his face flushing with embarrassment as he squeezes his eyes shut, white-knuckling your thighs at the realisation that he just came prematurely. 

“Did you just cum?” You ask with a playful lilt in your voice.

“I didn’t mean to…” he mutters, slightly mortified.

But really, who could blame him? You’re too much for him. Too beautiful. Too sharp. Too incredible with just the right amount of taunting. The way you look at him is overwhelming. Every touch leaves him on edge and every kiss is so sloppy because he wants you so badly, he can barely think straight. 

It happens again and then again after that. No matter how much he tries to keep his cool, to stay calm and focused, he can’t handle it. You make his brain fog up, his thoughts scatter, and he curses himself because all he wants to do is fuck you without cumming at just the sight of your pussy. 

However, you don’t let him off the hook that easily. After he’s ruined his boxers, you love to tug down the waistband and admire the mess he’s made, smearing his seed on your fingers and licking it clean with a grin. Just give it a minute and his cock will be hard as rock all over again. 

When he finally manages to put it in you, it’s with one big, unexpected thrust. He can’t help it— the way your walls gripped the tip sent his hip jerking forward as it moved on instinct. 

“I’m… sorry,” he breathes out, though there was no regret in the way his cock throbbed in you. 

And the worst part? You know exactly what you’re doing to him. You bat those pretty lashes at him, feigning innocence while you’re driving him wild, watching him try not to nut just from groping your tits and hearing you sigh his name with that breathy, sweet voice. 

He’s in over his head and you’ve completely flipped the script. Alhaitham has spent his whole life being the one in charge, always knowing what to do, but with you, he’s just a bundle of raw, needy energy. 

And now— he burns with a desperate need to fuck you harder, faster, to feel every inch of you clenching around him that he’s completely lost in it. You’ve made him realise how much he’s been holding back and now he’s ready to give you everything he’s got. 

So when he starts thrusting, it’s deep and unsteady, driven by hunger he’s never felt before. And poor Alhaitham, so out of his element, feels his usual self-control slipping away with each thrust. He thinks the least he can do is stay quiet, to maintain some semblance of composure. But then you whisper in his ear, telling him he can be as loud as he wants. 

And the moment those words reach him, he breaks, unable to hold back the sounds that had been clawing at his throat. He lets out strings of groans and grunts, each one rougher than the last, filling up the room with his lewd noises. 

He’s determined to keep going, to fuck you senseless but you’re so wet and tight, you’re damn near milking him. Between your occasional praise and begging him for more, he finally snaps with a guttural moan, burying himself inside you. His body trembles as he spills into you but even then, he doesn’t stop. He keeps moving, slower now, to savour every last second, despite the sensitivity.

When it's all over, he collapses on top of you, so utterly spent. All those late nights he allowed himself to indulge by jerking off at the thought of you, feeling a little guilty while trying to imagine what it would be like, was nothing compared to the real thing. 

As he lays there, panting and dazed, he tells himself that this will be a problem.

Because now he can’t do it any other way. If this is what he wanted, he was going to have to get better at it. And being the diligent person that he is, there is only one way to improve: practice. 

And who better to practice on than you?

a/n: the idea of virgin!alhaitham has me breathing into a paper bag

© 2024 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[mi-olaaa]

Sweet like honey.. (18+)

Fem!reader, softdom!kento, oral (fem + male receiving), shibari 🤭, and a lil bit of honey 😓, black plussize reader as always! Enjoy pookies!!

☆ ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ ☆

↳˗ˏˋ Jjk m.list..ˊˎ˗ ☆

“Suprise! Slip my panties to the side.”

Nanami Kento was a very particular man, from the way he went about his day, all the way down to how he wears his ties. And that’s why, you— his ever so precious girlfriend were in your current predicament..

You see, Kento loves coming home to you. On time of course. So on the days he has to do overtime, he seeks out a different routine to have some semblance of control. He gets home worked up, needing to wind down, and here’s where you come in, all sweet like honey.

How could you deny Kento’s whims when he asks so politely to frogtie you, one of his favorite styles, arms behind your back, legs open and tied to your thighs by your ankles, looking oh so pretty and delectable, open and ready to cater to his whims. “Ken—” he cuts you off with a needy kiss, slender fingers finding their way to your pretty pussy, effectively shutting you up.

“C’mon love, you wanted to be a good girl, right? So be an angel and hush, let me worship you.” All you can hear is your muffled whines, and the loud squelching noises echoing off the walls with Kento’s every move of his fingers. He had those sinful brown eyes of his staring into your soul— as if to challenge you to do otherwise.

You don’t even catch it, too caught up with the way his other hand is gripping your hair by surprise, earning a wrung out moan from your lips and a smile from his. You stay quiet and let him tend to you, wringing orgasm after orgasm from you, just from his fingers, but you know it’s not over.

He spreads your legs as wide as he can while you’re tied up, pushing your back to the bed, hair tousled and in his face, and all you can think of is how much more sexy can this man get?? I mean his glasses are long gone, dress shirt partially unbuttoned, tie loose and slacks strained against his dick, and it doesn’t help that he’s eyeing you down like you’re his last meal.

Peppering kisses down those gorgeous, plump thighs of yours, taking extra time to kiss along stretch marks and cellulite, whispering sweet nothings before abruptly getting up, leaving you confused, but hushing you before you could speak. “I’m just grabbing some things love, don’t worry, I didn’t forget about you.” Kento rolled up his sleeves, fumbling with some things on the nightstand before returning.

In his hands he had a bottle of honey, the same one that you left on the nightstand this morning when you had a cup of tea earlier, and the way your face turned sour had him laughing as he sat back down on the bed. “Kento— what the hell do you plan on doing with a bottle of honey?” And he just wouldn’t stop laughing to even answer, all you got was another hush, and a look from him that had you dripping on the sheets.

“Just trying something i’ve been wanting to do, you’ll like it.” Is Kento’s only response, you start to open your mouth again, abruptly stopping when you feel the cool, golden liquid being drizzled over your thighs. The soft click of the cap closing and a whispered “itadakimasu..” unfortunately was your only warning of how feral your boyfriend was about to get. All of the earlier shit was just to ease you into it, get you relaxed, this? This was him blowing steam.



The noises you made as Kento all but devoured your thighs, biting and lapping at them just to see them jiggle, were funny to him apparently, he couldn’t stop grinning. All he was doing was cleaning up his mess, lapping up the honey, and you already looked ruined, heaving and writhing under his ministrations. When he finally got to your pussy, his eyes were yet again eager and burning into your soul.

You wiggled and whined to your heart’s content, but that wasn’t deterring Kento, you were tied up and his to play with, his to dive face-first into, his to tease and touch, ‘till your nipples were sore and achy. Kento made it seem like you must’ve been sweeter than the honey he just licked off you, his tongue was just berating your poor pussy, lips suckling on your clit, making the nastiest slurping sounds ever to grace your ears.

Every kiss, bite, lap and groan had shivers going up your spine, setting your body on fire with the need to cum on his face. You couldn’t take much more, with how he was sweet talking you, kind words and praise falling from his lips, while his actions were downright dirty. It confused you, in the best way possible, but it wasn’t until he stilled for a moment, groaning into your pussy, the sound muffled— that you came to the conclusion that he came in his pants.

“Shit. I’m sorry love—” He couldn’t even get the words out, you so undeniably turned on by the fact that you haven’t even touched this man yet, how you may be tied up, but he’s on his knees for you, let all hell loose. With a wrung-out cry of his name, you came, squirting and creaming on his beautiful face to high hell, soaking the front of his dress shirt, shit, you managed to get some in his hair, neither of you even knew you had it in you to do some shit like that.

Kento was at loss for words, just staring down at you, breathing heavily. “You just-?” “Yeah..” You sounded embarrassed almost, and he couldn’t have his pretty girl thinking she had to be ashamed of anything she does, he pulled you up to sit on your legs again, back in your starting position but moving you to the floor, thighs wet and glistening, pretty pussy throbbing.

Kento’s need to dig in your guts just got overridden by a new need to reward you, give you a small taste of what he’s been eating on all afternoon. “Open your mouth love, ‘wanna give you a taste too.” Without a second thought you open your mouth, he tilts your chin up, keeping eye contact with you as he unzips his ruined pants, and slides his dick out of his boxers. But before even moving in your direction, you can hear the click of a cap, and see honey being drizzled on his dick.

You’re stuck in a trance of some sorts, watching the honey slide down his dick, and onto the angry, mushroom tip. It slides down slowly, coating the entire length in its sticky sweetness, before you finally make your way to the tip, giving it a soft kiss that has Kento shuddering as you take him in. Your tastebuds are immediately met with the sickeningly sweet flavor of the honey, mixed with his dripping precum.

He bobs your head gently up and down his length, watching you with squinted eyes, taking in every veiny inch, groaning and reaching up to card his hand in your hair, jaw slacked so wide, he’s drooling.

But you kept going, growing addicted to how the honey and precum mixed in your tastebuds to produce the most wonderful flavor, sweet, with a perfect dash of salt. With the noise echoing off the walls, you were sure the neighbors heard, and if they had an issue, they could watch for all you cared. You were sucking the soul outta Kento, tongue teasing the tip, sliding down every vein.

And he loved it. Within a record time of 4 minutes, his knees were buckling and he was giving you something else to taste on your tongue other than honey.

You eased off his dick with a teasing ‘pop’, licking your lips, content to swallow his kids— and he just looked at you like he still needed to release steam, so you let him pick you up like a ragdoll again, and let him put you back on the bed, on your stomach, still tied up to high hell. Your dripping pussy, and glistening thighs were presented to him, and it’s the rope holding you in place, tightly bound but not suffocating, only emphasizing how good you looked on display, trembling all for him.

Thighs bursting out the seams of the ropes, but his excellent craftsmanship kept you bound, and spread open as much as you could muster while tied. Kento kneeled for a moment behind you, enjoying the sight of your pussy, the bright, scarlet red rope bound to you, the slight pudge of your stomach touching the sheets, even the way your ass was up and out, stretch marks adorning his favorite parts of you.

You of course, got impatient, wiggling to catch his attention, it never left you, but he was savoring the look of you. “Ken? C’mon..” He got up, delivering a harsh slap on the globes of your ass, you couldn’t see his face, but you just knew it was probably tore up. “Patience love, let me worship you.” Regardless of his words, Kento gently slid into your pretty, dripping cunt, meeting little resistance due to how long your foreplay was this time.

And as soon as he slid in, he was gone, taken over with the need to remind his pretty girl that while he may be a soft dom, it’s not because he can’t be rough. The bed creaks and groans at his pace, the speed of him driving into your pussy, just to hear her talk back to him, was a complete 180 to how you two were just teasing each other.

“Mhmn— Ken..” You gasp out, hands gripping onto nothing but pure air, partially because you forgot they’re tied behind your back. “Shh, just take it, you’ve been doing so well love, don’t make me take it back.” Kento said through a clenched jaw, watching with each thrust how it seems your whole body just.. jiggled. It had him going harder, kissing your cervix almost, just see your ass move just one more time.

Your eyes were rolled back, and Kento knew it by how your toes curled and how your pussy kept squeezing him tight, he knew you were gonna cum soon before you even knew it yourself. And of course he had to help his pretty girl out, snaking a hand under you to rub at your swollen clit, biting and kissing at your neck, encouraging you to cum.

“Just one more baby? How’re you feeling?” Whispering oh so sweetly into your ear, biting the shell of it teasingly, hand holding onto your hip for leverage and the other’s fingers still massaging your weeping clit. All you can muster to respond is a nod to Kento’s question, the foreplay and rough pace finally catching up to you, pussy aching with the need for your boyfriend to just fuck you senseless.

Kento works his ass off, giving you the meanest strokes, kissing and toying with you, and it all pays off, because not too long after settling on a pace that has your pussy damn near red and raw, you’re hurdling headfirst into your 4th orgasm of the evening, tears pricking at your eyes from how sensitive you’re getting. Kento’s fingers slow their pace on your clit before stopping entirely, so do his strokes.

He pulls out of you, his hand moving up and down his glistening dick as he cums, shooting it down your back, a small whisper of your name leaving his lips. Kento takes a moment to admire you, before you break him out of his focus with your wiggling, and pleads to be untied. He doesn’t even untie you, swiftly cutting the rope from you for a faster removal.

You lie flat on the bed as Kento massages your legs and wrists, figuring you had to be sore from the position, peppering kisses down your back, “You did so well angel, took me like a champ love.” He murmurs into your neck, kissing it.

“Yeah? That doesn’t help the fact that I’m all sticky and need a bath now.” You pout.

“We’ll wash up love, but i couldn’t help myself, you were sweet like honey.”

☆ ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ ☆

Authors note: life was kicking my ASS 😭 I’m glad I can finally start back uploading pookies ☺️ enjoy this— hopefully I haven’t lost my ability to write.. 💀 (y’all were supposed to get some baby oil action w/ this, but I’ve since then taken everything to do with baby oil out of my fics AND drafts with current events..) I hope this isn’t too long or short or like really weirdly worded either, had to rewrite almost 75% because I deleted some by accident… *insert crickets* Enjoy!!

[lostinlovingrevery]

Let Me Wash Your Sins Away (Let me Love You)

Old Man Logan X Reader Drabble

Plot: You love him, but he won't let you. Until one day he comes home, nearly on his deathbed, and he finally lets you take care of him the way you always craved

A/N: A drabble of an idea that popped in my head, this came out more angsty than I originally planned, and I also started getting tired towards as it's almost 1 in the morning for me, but I really wanted to finish it tonight, so it probably sound a little rushed towards the end. but I hope ya'll enjoy! I just wanna take care of Old Man Logan <3

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, descriptions of blood and gunshot wounds, kinda angsty, talks of worshiping, mentions of dirty thoughts and just being horny towards Logan in general but he won't let you (go to horny jail)

Word Count: 3113

You sat at a table, tapping your foot anxiously against the floor, as you glanced at the clock, for the tenth time in a row in the last five minutes. You pressed your palms to the table, in an attempt to ground yourself from the nausea-induced anxiety you were experiencing. Your brows were creased in worry, your lips pulled back tightly in a grimace. 

You were waiting for someone. Someone who somehow manages to fill you with an intense rush of emotions, both love-

And fear. 

Not of him, but of what is happening to him, what could happen to him.  

You met Logan a little less than a year ago, and he had managed to carve a space out in your

 heart, the quiet, reserved, and sometimes cranky old man that he is.

 He had found you and asked you for your help in taking care of Charles, your powers and excellent knowledge in handling mutants who couldn’t control- or lost control of their abilities had made you perfect for the job. You, of course, jumped at the opportunity to help. You didn’t know Charles Xavier personally, but you admired the work he’s done and quickly grew fond of the old man. Throughout the year, you attempted to get to know Logan, since you had to put your trust in him to keep you, Charles, and Caliban fed, sheltered, and safe. Logan was initially dismissive of you, and it wasn’t because he was a jerk but because he saw something with you he hadn’t felt in a long time and it terrified him, especially after 200 years of living and losing anyone and everyone he’s ever cared for. Life had beaten him to a pulp on the ground, yet he was still pushing himself up, not ready to give in just yet- and you were there, helping him up every time. You were persistent though, and you had carved a way into his heart as well. Yet it all remained unspoken. Logan was stubborn as a bull but so were you. You both carried on your daily routine, you took care of Charles, and you cooked and cleaned as well, while Logan worked, making money to keep food on the table, and afford Charles medicine.

There were moments though, soft moments with Logan that filled your heart. You always tried to make things easier on him, so that when he wasn’t working, he could truly rest. Sometimes, while you were preparing dinner, he’d come out of his room and sit with you, albeit silently. You could always feel his eyes on you even with your back turned but if you looked at him he’d look away. If you were in the living space, he’d sit out there with you, and if you caught him on a good day, you’d get some semblance of a conversation out of him. 

One day, out of the blue, he had come up behind you, closer than you ever felt him before, so close that you could feel his breath on your neck and the heat radiating off of him. His hand came around you, resting on the hand that was holding a pepper that you were dicing. His hand was rough and dry, covered in calluses- yet it was so careful and so gentle as he rested it over yours. You’d stop, your breath hitching and your heart pounding in your chest at his proximity. Your eyes would flit to his hand on yours, and you would see the deep scars resting on his knuckles where the sharp, killer adamantium claws would unsheathe themselves, and you felt yourself having to resist the urge to kiss each scar. His thumb would brush over your hand, and he would lower his lips to your ear, his breath sending waves of goosebumps over your skin.

“Thank you.” He’d say in a low voice, deep and mesmerizing. “For all that you do around here.” 

His scratchy beard would brush against your ear, as he turned his head, and pressed a kiss to your temple. He removed his hand from yours and left the area that was designated a kitchen in this old factory. You’d be left shaking, trying to catch your breath, not from fear, but just at the intimate moment he’d bless you with. 

There were many moments like that, but he’d never talk about it, because anytime you bring it up, he’d make you shut up with just a firm stare, and it led to something unspoken. There were countless moments similar to that you shared with him, each one never leading into anything more. You never kissed (on the lips), you never had sex, you barely even had a hug from him. Logan though, the sly dog he was, always found a way to get his lips on you, whether it was the top of your head, your cheek, the palm of your hand, your shoulder- hell he even got the back of your neck once. It was teasing, giving you just barely a taste of what it could be like. You picked up on it not long ago. He’d come up when you were distracted, say something sweet, and get his lips on you somewhere, and then walk away. It filled you to the brim with frustration because it always made you want more, yet he’d never allow you to do anything to him. You tried. You’ve tried to peck his cheek, his hand, anything. You’ve tried to initiate conversations and intimacy, you tried to be as sly as he was- but he’d always shut you down. The point is, that he’s stubborn, and he refuses to accept any affection from you, in any shape, way, or form. 

You practically worshipped Logan. He knew it too, there was no way he didn’t, with the yearning glances he catches from you, the way you’re so eager to help him, how you’d make his favorite meals, you’d pick up his favorite brand of cigars and leave it on his pillow for him to find when he comes home from work. You’d go out of your way to please him, and you knew him in every way that mattered. You didn’t need him to tell you how he was feeling because you could read his eyes easily. You knew that you could take good care of him. If only he’d let you. 

It’s okay though. With the way you felt about him, you didn’t mind his stubborn ways. You didn’t mind everything being unspoken. You knew that you would slowly chip away at his adamantium skeleton eventually. He would break finally, and let you love him the way he deserves, the way he always deserved. You’ve come to the acceptance that Logan had been through years of hurt, and that he wasn’t going to open up overnight. So as much as you desired him, physically, emotionally, spiritually, you just hoped and you prayed to whoever was listening- that you’d get the chance to make him happy before the man got himself killed. Or being the adamantium killed him first

You stared at the door, willing it to open, for Logan to walk in, his usual self, exhausted and grumpy as he shed his jacket. You’d ask him about his night, and he’d answer gruffly on whether it was good or bad. If you were lucky, he’d tell you about some annoying ass customer he had, and you’d smile and laugh, and then he’d barely crack a smile, because he got to make you laugh, even if it was just a moment. There were a few times you’d seen a hint of that beautiful smile breaking through, and every single time it took your breath away. 

You heard heavy footsteps, and you jumped up from your chair, almost knocking it down with how fast you moved, as you quickly ran to open the door and greet him. 

You weren’t expecting this.

He looked terrible. Worse than you've ever seen him. His usually nice suit was practically torn to shreds, blood, and dirt staining the white dress shirt. The bags under his eyes were deeper and darker than they were when he left hours ago. His salt and pepper hair was a mess. You could see his hands were shaking terribly, and he was leaning to one side, barely able to put his full weight on the other side. He looked at you, exhausted, and almost desperate as he stepped inside. You covered your mouth with your hand.

“Lo- Logan! What happened?” You finally exclaimed, quickly going to his side, and helping him walk further into the room. You pulled out a chair from the table and helped him sit- pulling off his jacket- making him groan in pain just from moving his shoulders and arms as you slid the jacket down his arms. You discarded it to the side, still focused on him. He just leaned forward, not responding to your question. You could see the bruises along his neck- and that’s when you spotted the holes- bullet holes that littered through his torso, have created torn holes throughout. “Logan-” You gasped as you observed his whole self. He barely grunted in acknowledgement to you. This was exactly what you were afraid of, some days, he’d come home fine, just cranky, and others-...This was the worst you’d seen him, and it made you fear the worst, terrified now that even if he gets through this, what will happen next time? You felt the tears begin to well up in your eyes, but you quickly swallowed them back, you couldn’t allow yourself to be overcome with emotion right now, especially since he needed you now. “Lo, C’mon.” You encourage, grabbing his arm to get him to stand. He wouldn’t at first, either because he was too weak, or he didn’t want to move. “Lo, baby, come on. Work with me here.” You said softly to him, and that seemed to reach him- as grunted, pushing himself off the chair- and you led him to the bathroom. You sat him on the toilet, while you turned to turn on the tap, letting it run to get warm, as you turned your attention back to Logan. 

He had tipped his head back, leaning against the back of the toilet, arms hanging limply over his thighs. His mouth hung open just a bit, as he took shallow breaths, his chest rising and falling with each, an occasional grunt of pain escaping him. You clenched your fists, pushing back the emotion you felt, as you moved to unbutton his dress shirt. His hand came up quickly, grabbing your wrists- somehow managing to still be so gentle as he grabbed you, and stopped you from continuing, and you looked up at him. His eyes hung half open, looking down at you

“Lo, let me take care of you.” You say firmly, your eyes staring back piercingly at him. “Please-” You brought your free hand to his cheek. Your thumb softly stroked over his cheekbone, where a small bruise was painted, his eyes fluttered shut at your touch, and slowly he released his grip on your wrist. 

You continued your mission. Carefully unbuttoning his dress shirt, you slid it down his arms in a similar fashion to his jacket. Next, you worked on the wife beater he wore underneath. You gently encouraged him to lift his arms upwards, allowing you to tear the ruined shirt from his skin. It made you gasp, seeing just how wrecked his torso was. You placed a hand over his chest gently, and his muscles flexed at your touch.

 “Did you…Expel the bullets already?” You asked quietly. He grunted and nodded quietly. You nodded with him. Then you looked down at his pants and took a deep breath. You brought your hand down, resting it on his knee. “Is it okay if I… help take these off of you?” You ask quietly. 

You could see his muscles flexing, tensing up, and holding like that. Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed harshly, and for a moment you wondered if you had gone too far, but then he nodded, flooding you with relief that you hadn’t pushed his boundaries. You brought your hands to his buckle, slowly unbuckling it, pulling the leather belt open, and then you moved to unbutton his pants. Your hands were practically shaking as you did so, your mind was going far off into places it shouldn’t. To be honest, this wasn’t quite how you imagined taking his belt- or pants off for the first time. Yet the moment, while not quite what you imagined, felt intimate nonetheless. You looked up at him. His eyes were shut tight, and his breathing was deeper, but more practiced like he was telling himself to breathe, it almost seemed that his nerves at your actions matched your own. That’s when it hit you. Nothing about this was sexual. You and Logan had your feelings for each other, both physical and emotional, but that was something to be addressed at another time. At this moment, he just needed you, to be what you’ve always been for him so you came into his life- his reason to keep going. You kneeled, working on his shoes, pulling each one off, and then his socks. You helped him stand, as he leaned against you, and you pulled down his pants- and his boxers. 

You kept your eyes away from that part of him, purely to be respectful. He hasn’t said anything, and you know he ain’t exactly shy. You wouldn’t want someone oogling at your body when you’re already in pain, and vulnerable, having to put your trust in someone taking care of you. Trust already wasn’t easy for Logan, and you weren’t about to break it or take advantage of it. 

He stepped into the tub and lowered inside it with your help. He did his best to silence his grunts and groans, trying not to be loud for your sake, but the warm water both soothed and stunned his body. His open wounds, only just now starting to heal, began to bleed into the water, as well as the dirt that clung to the lower half of his body slowly washed off. You grabbed a rag, dunked it into the water, and looked at him. You knew this moment was pivotal to your relationship with Logan, and it wasn’t because he was sitting here naked in front of you, or that he allowed you to undress him. It was because he was finally, finally allowing you to take care of him, the way you always wanted. You knew you needed to be slow, and gentle with him, as you began to wash over him, starting with his face, then his shoulders, his back, and finally his chest. Slow, soft circles as you began to wash the blood, the dirt, and the sins off of him. The water had become so dirty, that you had to drain the bathtub and refill it again, just to wash over him once more, this time with soap, as you ran your hands through his hair, scrubbing his scalp, before moving down to his shoulders, massaging at the tense knots you felt there. Logan had leaned his entire body towards you as you worked him over, eyes closed, an occasional pleased groan escaping him, whenever your fingers ran through his hair, or your hands brushed soothingly over an aching spot. 

“We’re almost done.” You say soothingly to him, as you squeeze the rag over his chest, excess water pouring out, washing away another layer of soap. “Then you can dry off, and get into bed, and rest. Okay?”

He turned his head to you. His eyes were more alert but relaxed. 

“You shouldn’t have to do this.” He muttered lowly, examining the details of your face. “This isn’t right. You…You shouldn’t be taking care of me, sweetheart. I don’t deserve it.” 

You looked at him, your expression turning into something soft. That’s why Logan refused you. He rejected your advances, all your attempts at getting close to him, because he didn’t believe he deserved it. You knew he struggled looking at himself like he was a good man, and you never understood why, because the Logan you knew, was a hero. Not because he served in wars, was a part of the xmen, and did all the glorious things that heroes did. He was a hero because despite all he went through, all the heartbreak and hurt- he still got up every day, and he took care of you. He took care of Charles. He kept enduring the hardships life threw at him- all for the sake of helping this one man, who saw potential in him and changed his whole life around. Logan could have left, he could have moved on from everything like he had for 200 years, but he stuck around for Charles, and you wondered if you’ve become a part of that reason too. 

You brought your hand to his cheek, looking him in the eyes. “Yes, you do Lo.” You say softly. There was so much more you wanted to say, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. He looked so exhausted, and so vulnerable. Now wasn’t the time for admitting feelings. “I want to do this. I want to take care of you, because you take care of me.” 

There was a moment of silence.

Logan brought his hand up to yours that cupped your cheek, and closed his eyes as he savored your touch. You kept him going. He avoided letting you reciprocate his affections because he believed you deserved better, that he didn’t deserve you and the worship he saw in your eyes every time you looked at him. How many nights has he resisted the urge to go into your room, climb into your bed, and show you how he really felt for you; Even tonight, as he got the shit beaten out of him, he thought about you- and he knew he had to make it back because the idea of leaving you alone in this world was too much to bear. He couldn’t let your hands touch him, your lips on his skin because he carried too many sins with him, and he wouldn’t want to ruin the good he sees in you. Now though, as you carefully wash him, gentle, caring, worshiping with every brush of the washrag against his skin, he felt that maybe he got it wrong. Maybe, instead of him protecting you from his sins…You could wash away his sins, and create something new, all for you to do as you please. 

Maybe now, he'll finally let you love him.

[veebeeboo109]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{The past you have lost.}

Read on ao3. Part One.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Violence

Chapter 20: The Story Erased

Dimensions are funny. They don’t have distinct shapes. Not spheres or ellipses. Their edges are not so easily defined, and as they float in a vacuous void they sometimes align. Intersect. They mingle. Tickling at each other with the edges of the undefined borders.

On the edge of creation itself, dimensions get funnier. More absurd. The timelines written and fates unfold in ways that don’t make sense. Absurd in every way– the words unreadable even to the author. 

It’s in this peripheral timeline that your past lies. Nestled in an indefinable polygonal universe where myths and stories overlap like the plaited upper crust of an apple pie.

The planet of your birthplace is a scorched, war-torn place. The surface is covered in vast towering forests filled with deep, ancient magic and monstrous creatures. Oceans with gluttonous waves that only the very bravest dare to sail lest they be swallowed up by its wrathful gods. Expanding deserts of scorching sand are broken up by wide rivers, giving birth to lush fertile valleys. 

Kingdoms rise and fall. Settlements and villages claim to be under the protection of kings are flattened and raided by insurgent clans. All vying for control of the planet. Powerful people willing to destroy the land beneath their feet, and then lose the people who would serve them if it means they get to sit on the throne. 

Zayne has been fleeing this war his whole life. Running from the call of the deity he is blood-bound to serve. Only through magic and arcane arts has he found some semblance of sanctuary. Through years of hard work and isolation, he’s carved out a place, safe from the plundering, the fighting, the brutality. 

A large hollow on the inside of a mountain. A cavernous space with only two entrances– one that is shadowed and hidden by an illusion deep within a darkened forest. And the other, only escapable through miles and miles of tunnels that leads out on the other side to a desert.

There are little vents, barely the size of a goat that leads up to the surface, letting beams of light in. Well-placed crystals reflect that light to bounce around and illuminate the vast cavern. 

There are pools along the southern side of the cavern for water, and enough exposed soil to have a garden. Zayne intends to spend the rest of his life hiding here. He uses magic to build himself a house. A single room cottage is just enough for him. That’s all he needs. He has to remind himself at least once a day. This is all he needs. 

But there’s some thread woven in the fabric of his soul that seeks to help others. He’s strong. He’s capable. The power he wields could save lives, and this haven he’s found could keep them safe for generations. 

So, he begins to plan. He carves runes into walls of the cavern, plies them with magic to make this place undetectable. To make it firm. Unmoveable. Unfindable. He uses the gift of foresight that he had thought lost to him to find his first group to save. 

Master of Fate. Foreseer. They call him names of fables and legends. A man who comes at the perfect time and brings them to his sanctuary. His little house is paired with others. His cavern becomes a settlement, and the plain folk work to make this place safe from the world outside. 

You stumble into his sanctuary one cold winter day, wrapped in a thin cloak and shoeless. You are with a small group of refugees, uprooted by a recent series of razes by a group of barbarians. Your village has been destroyed, and any family that you may have had is long gone. 

Zayne greets your group as he does all of them. Informs you of how things work in this place, and how to best put their skills to use. You don’t even look at him, shivering beneath the ochre colored threadbare cloak. He sees your shivering shoulders, your bare nearly frostbitten toes and something twists in his chest. 

He reaches out to you, offers to help you. He wraps your feet in bandages and speaks gently to you. He tells you that he can find you some shoes, and come spring, there will be enough hides to make some new ones. 

When you finally meet his eyes, Zayne feels his fate settle into place. Sealed with hot wax and pressed with the imprint of your fingerprint.

He doesn’t indulge in the desire to be close to you, no matter how much it may nag at home. However, you are not one to deny yourself, and you follow him. You follow him around like a kitten, padding behind him on your misfitting shoes one of the other women gave to you. 

You help him with his chores. You mimic the movements of his hands when he reinforces the magic that protects this place. You ask him what the symbols in the books mean, and he realizes you’re illiterate. 

Zayne resigns himself to his fate. His fate that results with the two of you sitting up late into the night, his little cottage illuminated with a single tallow candle and a small fire in the heart. He shows you the symbols you were so curious about, and gives you passages to practice until you’re reading with ease. 

Next comes the magic. The runes that he writes are an unnameable language, and they’re impossible to understand for someone without the gift of magic. You don’t understand it, but the runes still light up for you. It’s like watching someone pick up an instrument they’ve never touched before and play. It’s sloppy, but it works. The music you play when you write the runes doesn’t have to make sense to you, but the intention remains. And it’s strong. 

Unwittingly, you become secondary to Zayne. When you walk along the paths of the settlement, people associate you with him. They respect you, they adore you. They thank you for helping and offer you things like a deity receiving offerings.You deny them all, happy to help. 

It’s a sign of peace, when children get into mischief. Stories and rumors that spread through little lips to little ears mean they feel safe enough to make up nonsense. 

The story of one of the pools being haunted reaches your ears, and you tell Zayne the outlandish tale some of the children bestowed to you. That a shadow lives in the heart shaped pool at the very edge of the cavern. It pulled one of the teenagers into the depths when they’d started throwing rocks at it, and they have a bite mark on their leg from it!

Zayne gives you a disbelieving look before he turns his attention back to the mortar and pestle. Grinding beetle thoraxes into a mush to add to a poultice he’s been working on. He makes a comment that children can be creative and returns to his work. 

A few weeks later and more stories of the heart shaped pool, and your curiosity finally gets the better of you. You go to the pool, expecting a large fish or even a trapped seal– so you bring some dried fish with you. 

There is indeed a shadow in the pool. Swirling around in its inky depths, barely illuminated by a refracted beam from a crystal nearby. This is one of those that goes unfathomably deep, and you see the long, serpentine shadow spin around the limited space. 

You keep a few feet away from the edge and toss a dried fish onto the water’s surface. The desiccated carcass of the mackerel floats and sends tiny ripples across the crystal surface. You sit down onto your knees and wait, watching it float lazily until thwip! Faster than lightning the fish is snatched and the surface of the water is barely disturbed. 

With glee in your heart, you toss another. And watch as that one is snatched too. When you throw the third, it’s snatched but then tossed back at you. Hitting you squarely in the face with a wet, fishy slap.

Aghast, you stand and go to the edge of the water, and that is where you meet Rafayel. 

He’s an agitated thing. Hissing at you that you and the rest of your lot should be bowing to him. That he is the god of the tides and the swells!

You note that he’s in a little pool, and so he’s not the god of much right now. He splashes you with a wave that nearly knocks you off your feet and disappears beneath the water. 

You return to Zayne soaking wet, and you see the dark haired man laughing at you with his eyes. 

It takes you another month to convince the god of the tides to speak to you again. More mackerel is offered as well as some berries you’d found while out in the forest recently. The summer had made them fat and sweet, and Rafayel devoured them ravenously. 

You go to the pool once a day, in the evenings before bed. And eventually, Rafayel is there to meet you. Resting on the edge of the pool with his head on his crossed arms. He pesters you constantly, teasing you for dressing too plainly and for the lack of berries when you don’t bring any. 

He talks of his kingdom. A wondrous, luminous civilization at the bottom of the ocean untouched by the wars and desolation above for centuries. Only recently as the pollution begun to reach their waters, and Rafayel had set out to find its source. To recon and return. However, he got stuck. A leviathan chased him to these pools and in the battle that hollowed out this cavern decades ago, it sealed him inside. 

You don’t know if you believe his tale, because it would mean Rafayel has been here far longer than Zayne. That this sanctuary was carved by happenstance in a battle of deities. What an outlandish fable!

Late in the summer, when the heat has reached its peak, a band of armed soldiers comes rushing into your sanctuary. Some of the plain folk panic, because they recognize the colors of their cloaks and the sigils on their golden armor. 

Zayne intervenes, and the soldiers fall at his feet to beg for sanctuary. They have defected from their king and seek only peace. Peace, and aid for the one they carry on a rudimentary stretcher.

The man lies unconscious, heavily bleeding and his wounds poorly tended to. The sight of his ashen pallor makes your stomach twist, and you’re promising aid before Zayne can stop you. 

The Prince of Philos. That’s what the people whisper as you lead the knights and their unconscious ward to a tent. The others who usually tend to the wounded refuse to help you. They refuse to help him. The young man who’s the heir to the throne of a kingdom so hell bent on owning this planet that they’d sooner see it destroyed than in someone else’s hands. 

But a man shouldn’t suffer for the sins of his father, that’s what you tell yourself at least. You’re not a healer by any means, but Zayne has books and you’ve seen enough of war to know how to clean a wound. How to sew up separated flesh. How to wrap it tight, but not too tight. You know what infection smells like and how hot a body can get before it dies. 

Xavier is tough, and you learn his name when he wakes up on the third day. It’s a brief moment of clarity and he thinks he’s dead for the majority of it. In whisper-soft tones, he asks if you’re an angel, and you laugh and tell him no. 

It’s five days of tending to Xavier before Rafayel can’t take it anymore, and shows up at your door with a furrowed brow and human legs and demands to know where you’ve been. 

Overcoming the shock of his altered form is one thing, but he’s also very very naked. He scoffs at you when you try to cover him with a blanket, but eventually you're able to get to cover himself with one of your old cloaks. He wraps it around his waist and ties it, like it’s a favor he’s doing for you and not basic modesty. 

Rafayel is not pleased that you’ve been neglecting your daily visits to play sick nurse. He’s very nonchalant about the sorry state of the prince, nudging him with his foot and scoffing at him. He tells you it’s a waste of time, and that you’d have a much better time if you spent it with him. 

You make your disdain for such talk plain. Telling this so-called god that if he has no care in his heart for the wounded then he should return to his pools and stay there. You have no interest in spending time with such callous people. 

Rafayel huffs and leaves your tent, but he’s back in less than an hour. He plops himself down next to you, giving you the silent treatment for the remainder of the afternoon but sighing heavily. 

Eventually he starts to help you, bringing in washbasins of water to clean Xavier’s wounds, and even helping you apply some poultices and bandages. Even though he complains about it, Rafayel’s work is perfect and gentle. He whines about helping clean Xavier’s hair, but still holds the prince’s head with a cradling touch. 

Zayne visits often, and has to, on multiple occasions bring you to bed to prevent you from sleeping on the floor of the healing tent. He carries you some nights, and other nights Rafayel does. 

It’s not clear when Zayne’s house because your house too, and foggier still when it became Rafayels. The sea god returns to his pool often, but many nights he can be found next to you– claiming a necessity for body heat even in the midst of summer. 

It’s a full month before Xavier is lucid, and you’re not sure how to interact with him when he’s awake. He’s a quiet man. Soft-spoken but not docile in the slightest. He takes what you’ve done for him very seriously, and when he’s able to get out of bed, the first thing he does is kneel before you. 

There’s sweat on his brow from the pain of such movement, but determination set in his cerulean eyes. Then and there he swears his life to yours. Your sword. Your shield. His life is your, for you have spared him and brought him back from the brink of oblivion. 

It’s a lot to absorb. Being at the central point of such dedication makes you a little dizzy, and you try to deny him at first, but what’s done is done. The oath has been made. The exchange signed in blood. He is yours– now, and forever. 

The armored soldiers that had brought Xavier into the sanctuary have incorporated into the settlement well. They have joined in hunts for meat and game, and take turns in shifts guarding the entrance.When they hear Xavier has risen, they rush to his side. 

Xavier promptly informs them that their fealty now lies with you. You are their master, and it is up to you to decide what to do with them. Xavier is no longer a prince. No longer their liege. He is just a man– and he smiles softly like a man with sudden airy freedom when he says those words. 

After talking with Zayne, he appoints them to the rotation of guard and hunters. Letting them decide where they are most comfortable. This is a sanctuary– people should be free to do as they wish. Though, when Zayne tries to suggest Xavier join the watch or the patrols, the fair haired man informs the Foreseer that he will remain at your side. The others can protect the sanctuary, and he will protect you. 

Zayne consents to your new sworn shield, a part of his heart soothed by the idea that you have protection when he’s not there. For so long, it had just been the two of you. From dawn til dusk you were by his side, but it is as he feared. You are radiant. And all who come into contact cannot help but be drawn to your light. He was bound to have to share eventually. 

But you always return to him. At the end of the day it is his house you come back to. New rooms have been added on, and there is more space than there once was, but you always find him. Share meals with him. Share stories of the friends you’ve made and the antics the sea god and prince get into. 

Xavier and Rafayel pose issues for the sanctuary, in Zayne’s mind. They are powerful, and their loyalty is to you. There is nothing to guarantee that they would come to the sanctuary’s aid if it came under attack. This unsettles him slightly, wondering if– should the sanctuary somehow pose a risk to your life, what actions would your new companions take? 

It takes almost a year before Zayne opens up to the others. Before he offers to break bread with them and offers them more than a few words of conversation. Xavier is strikingly intelligent, and they share an affinity for the written word. Xavier’s knowledge of politics aids in Zayne’s management of the sanctuary, and, eventually, Zayne calls Xavier his friend– and not just your guard. 

Rafayel takes offense at the rudimentary way the sanctuary has been set up. No thought at all to the aesthetic or design of it all. When Zayne informs him of its utilitarian nature, the sea deity scoffs and says that it is fine. He is here now and can make this place as lovely as it deserves to be. 

Time and care is put into this place by all of them. Altered in ways like a signature, molded around their overlapping desire to keep this place hidden, safe, and self-sufficient. 

Men of great power seem incapable of leaving no trace. Something indelible in the way they walk. Footsteps branded into the earth leaving behind folklore and fable. Tales of heroism and danger to both teach and delight the young and the old. 

It is another story. A rumor. That brings the fourth of your lovers to your side. Like the whispers of Rafayel’s pool that drew you to him in the first place, another round of hushed stories told by the youth is spread. 

This time, the children whisper of the tunnel– the gully, as the plain folk name it. Carved once by a long winding river that cut through this place but has long since dried. It runs for miles and miles beneath this mountain and beyond, leading to the desert.

They say that there is a beast in there. Lying in wait in the darkness, waiting for the unfortunate day that the sanctuary is breached and the people try to escape. Maw opened and waiting for the people to run inside and swallow them whole. 

When you hear one of the older teenagers spooking the young ones with this far off tale, you interrupt them. Telling them no such beast exists, and that there is nothing in the gully. Nothing but darkness. They should be ashamed of scaring the children like that, and you promptly send them to the shallow pools to do laundry as punishment. 

Though, you hear it again. The group who tends to the gardens speak of rumblings. Vibrations beneath their very feet when they grow close to the gulley’s entrance. Could it be? The hydra come back once more? Waiting until it is strong enough to devour the lot of them?

You ask Rafayel, and he laughs at you. That hydra is long dead. Each and every head severed and rotted beneath the soil, giving nutrition to the very food you eat now.

Curiosity gets the better of you once again, and you venture to the mouth of the gully. It’s hard to find a time when you’re not being followed by Xavier or Rafayel– or both, but the very wee hours of the morning you have some time. 

Standing at the mouth of the gulley, you feel the vibrations beneath your feet. Not large, barely discernible, but there. The softest of rumblings and it’s rhythmic– like breathing. 

You come back the next morning, and it’s still there. Though sometimes, it gets stronger. Like something taking in a large inhale and exhaling. Snoring, maybe. Whatever it is, it’s large. Large enough to make the very earth around you tremble with its sleepy breath. 

You voice your concerns to Zayne. Something is in the gully, you tell him. Something big. Zayne gives you a look and laughs softly, telling you not to believe the excited tales of children. 

It’s nearly autumn, and there are herds of animals that traverse the forest. Grand hunts are planned with every capable hand being forced to attend. The sanctuary cannot waste this opportunity for a feast of game. The meat alone is undeniably precious, but the pelts. The bones. Every part of the animal is needed to get through another winter comfortably. 

So, you wait until the men have gone. They’ve brandished their bows and their arrows and set out. Xavier leaves you with his blade, and Rafayel with a scale. Telling you not to be foolish and that they will be gone for only a week. Zayne goes too, relying on you to keep the magic in place in his stead. A large honor and a show of his respect and trust in your abilities. 

The gulley is pitch black. There is no light reflected past the first ten feet, and so you wield an orb of starlight in your palm. A simple spell that Zayne taught you and Xavier helped you perfect. But it’s like the gulley swallows it, the light only emanating barely past your body. 

You call out softly, Hello? You whisper to the darkness and the darkness replies. A low, rumbling growl of warning. It rattles the walls around you, pebbles from disrupted earth falling from the ceiling. 

You press on, because you must. And you come up on a fiend. A beast of ebony and crimson. Resting curled like a cat, with its tail around its armored back. Thick as a soldier’s shield and sharper than any steel. A dragon lifts its head and bares its teeth at you, and the heat of its breath hits you like a flame. 

In your utter terror, the light in your palm vanishes, sending you both into the darkness.

By the time you scramble to conjure another, there is a man in place of the best. No longer sitting curled as wide as the gulley can hold, but mountainous tall. His claws reach out and grab your face and dig into your face, he demands to know why you intrude on his domain.

Foolishly, you reply that you didn’t. That this place is part of the sanctuary where you live. The dragon is amused by your terror and lets you go, telling you to turn away and to not come back. He disappears into the darkness, and you run for your life back the way you came. 

There’s a week until Zayne and the others return, a dragon could decimate this place. Rain fire and destruction like rain from above and leave nothing but rubble for them to return to. You have to do something. Appease the dragon and beg for him to spare your sanctuary. 

So, you steal the remaining dried meat from Zayne’s stores and pack it into a bag. You recall stories of dragons liking shiny things, and you pack another bag of crystals from the collection you’ve created over the years. The prettiest and most colorful born from the cracks of the cavern. 

When you return to the dragon, his laugh is dark and deadly. He asks you whether you long for death or simply too stupid to know when it stands before you. 

You throw the bags at his feet and fall to your knees, begging him to spare your sanctuary. You didn’t mean to disturb his sleep, and you’ll do anything for him to leave the sanctuary alone. 

The dragon seems neither impressed nor moved by your display of groveling. He calls you pathetic, but takes your offerings anyway. He tells you that a fiend is not satisfied by one meager sacrifice. To satiate a beast, you must feed it often and plenty. 

You ask what he wants, beg him to name a price. He laughs at you, and tells you to try again tomorrow. He wants to see what you come up with. 

The rest of that week, you go everyday to the dragon’s lair. Bringing him trinkets and things you can scrounge up that he might like. You bring him more food– fresh berries and baked tarts. You bring him a blanket you stitched, embroidered using thread Zayne had given to you. You bring him more crystals that you fashion into a bracelet for him, the way Rafayel taught you to keep the gems from falling.

The day before the others are set to return, you’re shaking with anxiety. Zayne could possibly reason with the dragon, but Rafayel will certainly try to fight him. Xavier too, if need be. 

Only blood and death awaits if you do nothing. So you do something you haven’t done since coming to the sanctuary, you arm yourself. You tae Xavier’s lightblade and some dusty armor and haphazardly tie it your chest. 

When the dragon sees you again, you look like a doll put together by child’s hands. The blade in your hands is too heavy, and the armor hanging off your body. But the fire in your eyes burns him the same as it would from any warrior. This display– gazing upon a woman with the determination to protect what she loves– is the best offering you’ve brought him yet. 

Amused, he asks what you intend to do with that sword, and you reply you will do what you must. The protectors of the sanctuary are to return within a day, and you will protect them. If the dragon desires destruction, he will have to kill you first. 

The dragon informs you that it is you that assumed he desired to destroy anything. You who begged on hands and knees for him to be merciful when he had done nothing but sleep too close to your home. Though he admires your effort, the sanctuary was never in danger from him.

He laughs at the shocked look on your face, and tells you that he has finally decided on his price. He shall have you. For the remainder of your mortal years, he shall have you at his beck and his call. Whenever he wishes to see you, you will come. For that is what he desires. 

You ask him if he plans to leave, and he says not far. This sanctuary is home to his pet now, and so it should be protected. He shall find a place higher up on the mountain, and the mere sight of him will ward off even the most bold of raiders. 

He leaves you feeling foolish, and you sit and wait for the others to return. 

When Zayne, Rafayel, and Xavier return, they’re in a hurry. Shedding filthy clothes from their hunt and searching for armor. For weapons. A dragon is circling over their mountain, and they must prepare. 

Sheepishly, you tell them what happened. That you met the dragon and he is here to stay. He won’t bother the sanctuary so long as you visit when he calls. There is quite the uproar– each one having their denials. It’s a night of yelling, from all of you. You argue that it’s the least you can do. If the dragon had wanted to kill you, he would have. You think he might just be lonely. 

The dragon doesn’t call for you until a month later, and it comes in the form of a raven. Flying into the sanctuary and finding you helping tan some of the many hides the hunters had brought. 

You follow the red eyed raven out of the sanctuary and into the forest, up a winding path and to a high up ledge. The wind is strong and the cave the dragon lives in is shallow. It’s cold and hardly a home, but you don’t comment. Not this time at least. 

This visit, you bring him a bag full of more crystals and some fresh meat this time. And in return, he gives you his name. It’s not pronounceable in your tongue and so you call him the closest name you can. Sylus. 

He preens when you name him, and you’re starting to think your assumption was right. He’s lonely. This fearsome beast did not make this wager for want of cruelty or sadism, but because he likes to be around you. 

Autumn brings with it harvests. Wild gourds to find, and nuts to gather. The leaves begin to change and the wind gets a little sharper. There are days when you venture out without Xavier, and you’re not sure how Sylus knows but he always seems to because he will find you. Sitting high up in the trees and watching you pick at fallen acorns.

Weeks go by and eventually you comment of Sylus’ living conditions. His bed is nothing but a couple furs, and he has nothing to protect him from rain coming in. Winter is approaching, and his little cave is hardly shelter from it. 

You form a plan, and it takes a while to get everything in order. Getting a reclusive dragon down from the mountain and into your sanctuary isn’t as simple as it sounds. This isn’t a puppy you found while wandering the forests, it’s a fiend. One that the people will fear if they aren’t properly prepared. 

So you start in a similar way to how you found him, with rumors. You use Rafayel and his way with words to weave stories of the dragon that protects your mountain. The sea god finds the dragon interesting, and desires to meet this other creature from legend. So, he helps you with this plan to bring the dragon down into the cavern below. 

Xavier is reluctant, he does not trust a dragon on principle alone. It takes him longer to warm up to the idea of him living in the sanctuary with you all, and you only convince him it’s to better protect everyone. If Sylus feels welcomed by the settlement, he’ll feel more inclined to protect it. 

Zayne is, oddly, the hardest to convince. He is so cautious and worries what adding yet another large personality will do to the mix. It’s bad enough having Rafayel here, who could level this place if his whim willed it. Having another man who could end everything they’ve worked so hard to build? No. 

You decide better to ask forgiveness than permission when it comes to Zayne. So, the very last thing to do before Sylus moves in, is tell Sylus that its happening. 

You wait until he calls on you again. Its the day after a heavy rain, and you nearly slip on the damp rock and the way up to his nest. The raven that accompanies him caws at you in aggravation when you slip again, and you’re clinging to the cliffside by the time you reach the top. 

Sylus never touches you. He avoids it as much as he can, but he grabs you the moment you’re close enough, and laughs at the way your knees tremble from the dangerous climb. You spy his cave, and it’s exactly as you feared. His nest is soaked, the little fire he’d built nothing but wet kindling, and you can see the way the rain poured in, pooling at the back. 

He notices you’ve come empty handed this time, and you tell him its because you have an offer for him. 

When you tell him to come back with you. That you have made room for him in the sanctuary he laughs at you the loudest yet. A fiend? Walking into your idyllic little cavern? The people will riot. They’ll flee, thinking it better to risk raiders than the maw of a dragon. 

It takes some convincing, and you have to hold his hand when you come down the mountain together. You can feel his hesitation, even if it doesn’t show on his face. He fears how the people will react when they see him. He cannot hide his horns, his tail, his claws, but you assure him he doesn’t need to. 

With you leading him, the people recognize the dragon. The stories you’ve spread have integrated themselves among the settlement that they people are overjoyed. They’re nervous, as Sylus is a tall and imposing figure, but they welcome him.

Zayne is not pleased when Sylus comes into his house, knocking his horns on the entryway. But you stand fast, saying that if he sends Sylus away, you will go with him. This only makes Zayne frown harder, and for a few days, he doesn’t speak to you. 

Things feel precarious, and winter sets in. Zayne feels distant, and Sylus is tense. Xavier is steadfast is his guard and his counsel. He offers you some advice that maybe, maybe they feel like you might be choosing one over the other. Declaring your intent to follow Sylus would have wounded Zayne, who values you highly.

You realize you’ve hurt Xavier too, when he tells you this. So you make efforts to make amends. You assure Xavier that you have no intention to leave the sanctuary, or him. Not for anything. 

Rafayel and Sylus form a tenuous friendship, The sea god is intrigued by the dragon, but Sylus, you learn, was not raised among his kin. He doesn’t know much about dragons beyond which he’s discovered himself. This intrigues Rafayel more and so they spend time comparing their…less human qualities. 

Making amends with Zayne is….tedious. It takes time for him to forgive you for threatening to leave, and for going against his command of ‘no dragons’. You dedicate more time to studying with him, learning the runes and getting up earlier than him to go through the rounds of reimplementing magic so he doesn’t have to. Even then, it’s a month before he speaks to you again with any length.

You keenly feel the loss of his companionship, and it frays you. So, one night you do something you haven’t in years. You silently enter his bedroom, and crawl into bed beside him. It’s cold, you mumble. And you and Zayne both know he’s a poor source of warmth. He doesn’t push you away, and holds you like he’s missed you. 

Winter is a time of huddling together. Forging bonds over fires and finding the way the pieces fit together. Sylus and Xavier have a competitive spirit with one another. They find themselves at odds. The five of you grow closer. And Zayne’s one room cottage becomes a proper house. With two floors, multiple rooms, and even little study filled with books. 

Their combined magic makes the sanctuary nearly impenetrable. No one, not even the strongest of sorcerers could detect the magic hiding the entrance in the forest. No one, not even the fiercest warrior, would dare tread upon a mountain circled by a dragon. And no one, not even the boldest of gods, would interfere upon the sea god’s new claim. 

The love between you is fragile. As fragile as the seedling sprouting in the spring. The winter passes by in a fever of feather-light affection and tentative kisses. You aren’t sure how to navigate this, and neither are they. It goes unspoken and unnamed, but there is a loyalty forged between the five of you that burns as hot as a dying star. Steadfast as steel, and hard as adamantium.

It’s summer again when the dream breaks. Nearly five years after Sylus had joined, he came rushing into the sanctuary after having patrolled the expanse of his domain. It startles the people he sprints by in his rush to reach your home. 

An army. He cries. An army approaches from the west with banners of white and silver. At least a thousand strong. They did not stop in their march when Sylus approached, and did not cow when he roared at them in warning. His draconic form was not frightening because they’d expected it. 

They’d been found. The sanctuary was in danger. Plans had been made for this occasion, but to actually have to use them? Your stomach turns with nausea as Zayne jumps into action. He and Xavier are the leaders in this, and they set to work immediately. 

They send scouts down through the gully, the people must be evacuated, and it’s the only way. A pair of their fastest runners are sent, but they return too soon. Barely a mile down, the gully hase caved in. There is no way out. 

When Rafayel goes to scout himself, he detects the remnants of magic. Stinking of destruction and sulfur. Someone caved it in on purpose, and made sure to do so with the rest of the tunnel too– there would be no digging out. 

The five of you try to avoid a panic in the people. They look to you and your group. With wide, fearful eyes they seek to find answers– for which you have few. 

Do you fight? Even with the strongest of warrior you have too few. Too many would be lost, and the sanctuary would be rubble. Fleeing is the only choice, but how? How to exapce with hundreds of people into the woods? They would be not only at the mercy of the elements, but the creatures that roam as well. 

An envoy arrives ahead of the army. A man clad in black armor with a silvery banner. His presence broaches the protective wards outside. There is much debate on who will meet him, and it’s eventually decided that Zayne and Xavier will. 

You, Rafayel, and Sylus stand at the very edge of the entrance out of sight. You hear the envoy hand Zayne a rolled parchment with demands. This settlement has not declared allegiance to any kingdom or god, and must do so to remain. 

Bend the knee to Astra, god of stars and stories. The envoy declares, Declare your allegiance to his service and his worship, and declare Astra the rightful ruler of Philos and the cosmos. Only then, will your settlement be spared. 

Zayne does not reply. The sound of parchment being unfolded could be heard and the terrible silence of it being read makes your heart pound. 

The scroll is crumpled and tossed to the grassy forest floor, Your message demands sacrifice. Payment for time unserved. Zayne’s voice is a deadly blade, and it’s a wonder it doesn’t kill the messenger. 

Astra demands your priestess. The one your people worship instead of him. The envoy informs, like he was going to go through this whole meeting without mentioning that tidbit of information. 

Zayne informs the messenger that no deal will be struck today, and to return to his master with a request for better terms. 

The three of you are caught eavesdropping when Zayne and Xavier return back to the shadows of the cavern, but no one speaks. 

Astra. One of the gods in this endless war. God of stories, he calls himself. Formless but with a handful of powerful priests as his agents to command his army. He seeks to control Philos and its kingdoms. To erect temples to his worship throughout the land– at least, that’s the story. 

He could just be a man. A man claiming godhood and enough people believed it to make it true. Rafayel is offended by the claim and says as much as you return home. 

You’re barely in the door before you say what they’re all fearing. That you’ll go. If it’s you that Astra’s demanding, then it’s what you have to do. 

Zayne’s sanity is on a knife’s edge, and he– along with the others– vehemently denies this. You won’t sacrifice yourself. They won’t allow it. 

What other choice is there? You say. The sanctuary. Everything you’ve built here. All the lives– the families that have been made here. The children born and raised in this safe haven. They are worth protecting. If your sacrifice keeps this place safe then it’s an easy bargain to make. 

Arguments ensue. Debates of morality and the worth of a single life. The option between giving allegiance to an evil god or attempting to flee is heavy. There isn’t a right answer, and there are too many wrong ones. A horrible game of rolling the dice and there’s no winners. Everyone is going to walk away from this table bloody and penniless if they don’t come up with something. 

Of course, it’s Zayne that comes up with an answer. After you’ve gone to bed, Zayne stays up through the night tearing through the tomes and texts he’s collected through the years. The book he stole from his birthplace– a city in service to Astra– that he’s refused to open all these years. 

He’ll use the god’s power against him. The god of stories will find his story rewritten. It’s a spell written only in theory, because in practice it cannot be done. Shouldn’t be done. It uses the user’s own life force to unravel the timeline they are in, to become nothing but an author to rewrite the word to their desire. A powerful, heinous spell. 

Sylus finds Zayne pouring over the texts and brings it to the attention of the others. While Zayne intended to do it alone, the others won’t let him. To truly unravel a thing like Astra, he will need more than his own mortality can provide. 

Sylus offers his own. Use his unnatural life. Use his soul. Undo this fate of almost love. Keep you safe. Keep the others safe. The sanctuary could burn for all he cares, but you….you have to live. 

Rafayel inserts himself saying that it would take the life of a god to kill another. That only Rafayel’s life force will be enough. Use him, and rewrite a world without this war entirely. Write a story where the world is peaceful and lovely. Where no one has to die. 

There is no agreement when it comes to these things. Whose life is worth losing? Who’s soul is worth sacrificing? It is an unanswerable question, and it is clever Xavier that finds an answer they can agree to.

Zayne must be the one to enact the spell. Only he, as a former agent of Astra can work the runes and weave the magic needed to do this dastardly thing. He puts you, Sylus, Rafayel, and Xavier into an unnatural sleep before he sets to work. He doesn’t say goodbye, none of you do– because if it works, then you’ll meet again. 

It is no simple trick, unweaving the tapestry of a universe. And more than a simple life is cost by the caster. The very threads of the universe they exist in are untied. They are stripped down to the barest of silk with the power of Zayne’s magic. 

Rewrite this story. Zayne sets the intention, and the runes he writes burn away the molecules of his flesh. Reality around him shifts, matter comes undone, Time stopped and rewound.

A new story is written. One without war. Without Philos and its greedy king. A timeline cleaned up of the filth this one was filled with. No Astra. No raiders. Not even a sanctuary, because it never had to be. The people that filled it are free to live lives full of choice and sunlight. No caverns and scrounging for food. 

A better life. A better story. 

Zayne signed his name and sealed his fate. Relinquishing the last of his memory to the demands of the spell. He was able to preserve the minds of those he loves, but he won’t remember any of it. In this new universe, he will be just as unaware as the rest of them. 

However, just before the supernova. Before the final page. Another line is written. Another hand writing in lines unintended by Zayne and the others. Another name was signed, and the story….changed. 

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[hugmekenobi]

A Series of Firsts

A Bad Batch S1 Prequel Oneshot: 'First Scheme'

Gif by @imalovernotahater

Hunter x femaleJedi!reader

Summary: The rest of the Batch begin their quest to make you and Hunter admit what's developing between you

Warnings: No use of (Y/N), swearing, mildly suggestive thoughts, awkward Hunter and reader, brief angst, minor lies/deceit, making up tools and ship happenings, scheming brothers

Genre: Friends (idiots) to Lovers

<Previous Prequel Oneshot

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3K

Rating: 18+ (a catch all for all my works)

Author's Note: Alright, I'm back! Thank you all for your patience and I hope there's still an interest in these little stories! Happy reading!

“Nice work back there.” Hunter said kindly as you boarded the ship last. 

“Thanks, you too.” You said briefly but politely before you walked down the corridor of the ship as it got in the air. 

Hunter watched you go with a heavy heart and he couldn’t help the questions that your actions brought. You were keeping him more at arms-length these days and it was a pretty big change compared to how things used to be between you but it would appear that he couldn’t expect anything more since the way you behaved with him now was entirely different from how you were with his brothers. Where you seemed to enjoy being around the rest of them and building some semblance of friendship, you seemed to avoid him any chance that you could. And that was fine, healthy even, he needed reasons to keep down and get over whatever deeper feelings he may or may not have for you. But, he still wondered about what he’d done to upset you so much recently. 

Even though part of you longed to be by his side again, you forced yourself to stay away from Hunter. You had to keep away from him these days. It was the only solution you could think of but it was still proving to be rather ineffective. Your thoughts always came back to him whether you wanted them to or not. Your internal appreciation blurred the line between professional admiration or something more and you couldn’t have that. You were in a permanent state of confusion when it came to him and what you might be feeling and in turn what that meant for your own ingrained philosophy. So, you’d resorted to distance instead but you were yet to see the benefits of this.

An alarm blaring brought you back to the present moment and the shrieking noise was then swiftly followed by a nauseating swaying of the ship. 

“Tech, what’s going on?!” You yelled. 

“System glitch and I’ve lost control of the steering. You need to get the ‘4.4 spanner gauge needle.’ That’s the only tool that can reach the mechanism!” Tech called back to you as he fought to keep the ship level.

“The what?!” You shouted over the strained whirring of the engine and screeching alarms as you braced your hand against the wall to keep your balance as the ship moved all over the place. You’d never heard of such a tool.

“I’m not going to waste time by repeating myself!” 

“Tech, that cannot be a real-”

“If you should like the ship to explode, by all means debate with me but I’m telling you that that’s the part we need!” Tech insisted.  

You ground out a sigh but did as he said. 

You unsteadily entered the small supply closet and began scouring the shelves for the part he was searching for but you were having no success. 

“Crosshair, any chance you can help me find this thing?” You called out. 

“Busy.” Crosshair answered shortly as he casually cleaned his rifle, unbothered by the rolling ship from his passenger seat. 

“Echo?” You tried someone else. 

“Helping Tech!” 

“Wrecker?” 

“I can’t fit in there with you, but Hunter’s free!” Wrecker said by way of reply with a nudging elbow to his brother’s shoulder.

You resisted the urge to sprint out the space. Great, that had been the one you had been hoping to avoid having in here. 

Hunter shot Wrecker a suspicious look but went to the closet anyway. 

He was barely over the threshold when he felt a shove in his back followed by a particularly violent lurch of the ship all of which sent him totally off-balance and then saw him- to his horror- crashing into you. 

You half-turned with your questions as to where something like this could be but you never got the words out. Before you knew it, you were flat on your back with a strong body tightly pressed on top of you. You blinked a couple of times to make sure what was happening was a real moment and not one from your dreams but there was no mistaking any of this and your breath caught in your throat as you drank in the image above you: Hunter’s face was inches from yours, his lips were inches from yours- you could feel his breath on your skin, his body was a secure blanket and you had a passing thought surrounding the idea of getting rather used to that sensation. Your breath stuttered as those warm brown eyes looked deep into yours as he held himself above you. Stop staring, stop staring, stop staring. You commanded yourself with little success. 

Hunter was mortified. He couldn’t believe this was how he’d ended up.  Get up, get up, get up. He willed himself internally but your legs had parted for him to accommodate the fall so he was perfectly placed between them and he couldn’t bring himself to leave as his mind whirred with various thoughts in an inappropriate panic. He braced his hands on either side of your head to lift himself slightly but that was as close as he got to rising.

Suppressing the urge to brush the loose strands of his hair that came just past his bandana, you whispered nervously instead, “Should- uh- we get up?” 

“Yes- um- d- definitely.” As Hunter scrambled up and held a hand out to you to bring you to your feet, both of you launched into a series of simultaneous, and awkwardly frantic apologies. 

“I’m sorry-”

“No, I’m sorry-”

“The ship tilted and I wasn’t-”

“No, I should’ve been more careful turning-”

“You didn’t expect me to crash-”

“You didn’t do it deliberately. And I should’ve waited until-” 

“No, you were expecting help and I-”

“We can just settle this by saying that neither of us is at fault.” You realised with a mildly embarrassed laugh at how ridiculous the two of you were being over this. 

That sounded perfect. “Okay, so we’re in agreement then, everything is fine?” Hunter asked through a stressed breath. 

“Yeah, we’re all good.” You nodded but then you realised something else. “Um…” You then simply darted your gaze down to where Hunter still had a grip of your hand.

Hunter dropped your hand, although the act left him with the immediate desire to hold it again but he forced himself to ignore it. He cleared his throat awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck. “So, uh, you’re looking for something?” 

“Yup. A ‘4.4 spanner gauge needle’ supposedly. I couldn’t see it anywhere and no matter what Tech says, I really don’t think such a thing exists.” 

“I haven’t heard of it either or at the very least, we definitely don’t have that if it does.” Hunter confirmed. “We can just get outta here.” He went to open the door but after pressing the control panel, he was met with no movement. 

“Hunter-”

“One minute.” He replied shortly. The lack of response from the control pad was making him rather anxious because being trapped in here would be the last thing either of you needed. 

“Hunter, did the ship just suddenly stabilise?” You voiced your observation aloud. 

Hunter stopped trying to open the door and realised that you were right and everything suddenly clicked. “Those idiots.” He muttered to himself. 

“They trapped us in here?” You figured and your heart thundered in your chest with the implications of what that all meant. They hadn’t exactly been shy about letting them know their thoughts on your situation with Hunter but their words always brought a false hope that you were forced to downplay and ignore. Plus, you couldn’t have those feelings and you had been getting better about pushing them down- this situation was going to make it rather difficult to get past them. 

Hunter picked up on that reaction from you and a brief hint of sadness stirred within his chest. Of course you wouldn't want to be trapped in a tight space with him. He pulled out his comm link. “If any of you are around to help with this door, get in gear and get us out.” 

“The ship de-stabilising then recovering as abruptly as it did seemed to short out the door circuit. It’s a simple repair, no need to panic.” Tech fibbed smoothly into his comm as he merely tapped through his datapad. 

“Those two things have no correlation.” You snapped into your comm. 

“The door is stuck, yet the ship is secure. What would you call it?” Came the smarmy reply. 

You heaved an irritated sigh. “Tech-”

“We should be able to repair it, it just might take a few minutes.” Echo’s voice came through next.

You didn’t need to have enhanced senses to figure out that every word out of their mouths was bullshit. 

“Get the door open, now.” Hunter ordered firmly. 

“What?” 

“Wrecker, you heard me-”

“Sorry- cutting out- can’t hear-”

It was obvious to both of you that the static in between each word was a self-made sound. 

“Wrecker-” Hunter hissed into the comm but then there was only the sound of the comm clicking off entirely.

–

“Don’t worry guys! You won’t be trapped for long! We’re on it!” Wrecker shouted towards the door in keeping with the plan. 

“Oh yeah, we’re on it.” Crosshair drawled as all of them sat on their bunks and busied themselves with anything but ‘repairing’ the door. 

“The four of us are soldiers of the Republic and have faced battalions of battle droids with no help, no weapons but our blasters, but this was the best we could come up with?” Echo couldn’t help but comment as he was hit with just how simple this strategy was. 

“You rejected my ideas.” Crosshair pointed out with a brotherly glare. 

“Yes, because ‘let me just shoot at them until one of them admits it’ is not a real plan.” Tech replied frankly. 

“This is never going to work.” Echo grumbled. 

“This was your idea!” Wrecker reminded him. 

“Well, now I think we could’ve done a little more.” Echo gestured to Crosshair. “There has to be a happy medium between shooting at them and just locking them in a supply closet.” 

“I don’t think it’s a bad start. What else could they spend their time doing in there? They’ll have to talk eventually.” Wrecker assumed heartily. 

“I think you’re underestimating how irrationally stubborn they both are.” Tech countered. “We may be waiting a while.” 

–

It had to have been going on close to an hour of just the two of you sitting beside each other in the cramped space in a suffocating, uncomfortable silence. 

“I’m sorry you’re trapped in here with me. I’m sure you’d much rather be with any of my brothers.” Hunter broke the silence. 

“Wait, what do you mean?” You queried with a furrowed brow.

“I know you’re not . Whatever problem you have with me, I’d be happy to fix-”

“No, I don’t have a problem with you.” You corrected quickly.

Hunter looked at you expectantly. 

You were left debating the best way to answer without giving too much away. “I- well- I like you fine.” You rushed to cover up any deeper and unintentional admissions. “You just make me nervous, that’s all.” 

“Oh.” Despite himself, Hunter couldn’t prevent the flurry of hope your words brought. 

“I don’t know how to handle being around someone who can pick up on my every reaction. So, I thought limiting my time around you was the best way to go.” 

And the hope was quashed. Right, of course that was why. He’d be foolish to think anything different. “I can’t exactly help it.” 

Shit, I’m explaining this terribly. You thought to yourself. “No, I know. I don’t mean it like that. I’m not blaming you or- ugh- what I mean is-” You were struggling. 

“Yes?” 

You knew you had to spell it out as bluntly as you could manage but still not give too much away. “You make me nervous because I like you and you’re a good friend and I’m not used to that. I like being around you but I got nervous because you might be able to tell. And I didn’t want to confuse you or anything so I felt like I had to get a handle on myself first for some stupid reason and I guess I was overcompensating to cover it.” You said apologetically. 

A certain word stung more than he wished it would but Hunter hummed his acceptance of that before he said more light-heartedly. “So, you do like me then?”

A huff of laughter escaped your lips. “Yes.” You said with a friendly roll of your eyes. “You’re a great leader and brother. It’s impossible to not like you.” 

“Great leader, huh? You think so?” 

“Oh, now you’re just fishing.” You teased but then you paused as you sensed the deeper insecurity that came from him. “Hunter?”

Way to ruin a nice moment, Hunter. He chastised himself internally before he said to you, “Sorry, it’s just something I worry about sometimes. I didn’t mean to put that on you.” Hunter said in embarrassment. He’d crossed a line with that. You had such a calming effect on him that he found himself wanting to talk to you about the things that were on his mind that he usually felt like he had to keep contained but he really should’ve kept his mouth shut. 

You were quick to reassure him. “No, no, don't worry about it.” The fact that he trusted you enough to say something like that to you made your heart flutter and you didn’t take it for granted. “I knew it from pretty much the second I met you that you were a different type of squad leader. You don’t ask anything of any of us that you wouldn’t do yourself. You listen and you show that you care. You don’t see that all the time from people in positions of command.” You said quietly but with total sincerity. “It makes you unique and not in the way you were designed to be. You’re a great leader, Hunter, and I like that about you a lot.” 

Dammit, the hope was back. “Thank you.” Hunter murmured. 

“You’re welcome.” You replied back just as softly. 

Hunter waited for a beat before he said his piece. “You weren’t the only one that knew something straight away. I’d never seen anyone like you before, you were incredible to watch. I offered you a spot here all those months ago because of how easily you worked with us. I don’t think you could be any more of a right fit. You take us as we are and that means a lot. You’re one of us.” 

Guilt coiled in your gut. How could you be one of them when they didn’t even know you but you ignored it for now. Something bigger was building in the tight space between the two of you that demanded your attention more. You angled yourself to face him properly. “You think so?” 

“I know it.” He confirmed and he placed his hand on top of yours before he could stop himself. 

You didn’t mind his touch and you suddenly found yourself flitting your gaze between his comforting brown eyes and his mouth. Your mind wandered back to what his body had felt like and heat spread through your body. There was something you could only describe as desire rushing through your veins as you found yourself wanting to feel his touch everywhere. You couldn’t do this, could you? There had to be a dark side to this, to what you were experiencing but you couldn’t sense it but that was all you’d been taught. And yet despite your uncertain thoughts, you weren’t stopping, you kept inching closer to him. 

Hunter mirrored your movement and a different kind of nervous tension coursed through his body. If he was smart, he would stop this before it went too far, but he wasn’t feeling particularly smart right now. Not when he was a few seconds away from doing something he’d only ever allowed himself to dream about. 

Just before your lips were about to meet the door opened and you’d never moved so fast in your life. 

“Assholes.” You muttered reasonably affectionately to the group as you shoved through them to get free.

“That’s an interesting way to say thank you.” Crosshair remarked wryly to your back.

“Well?” Echo asked once you were out of earshot.

“ ‘Well’ what? What the hell were you all playing at?” Hunter asked irritably as he got to his feet. 

“We merely felt it appropriate to give you two a space to impart some honest feelings to one another.” Tech said breezily. 

Hunter placed his hands on his hips and shook his head. Of course that’s what all this was for. “You wasted your time because, as I have told all of you before, there isn’t anything there.” He said as an unconvincing response. 

“We kept you in there for an hour!” Wrecker blurted out in annoyance. “And nothing?” 

“Talk about hopeless.” Crosshair said with a roll of his eyes. 

“Shut up.” Hunter grumbled. “Nothing was ever going to happen because- and I don’t know how many times I have to say it- neither of us feel that way for each other.” 

That simply received a collective look of exasperated disbelief from the rest of his brothers. 

“Hunter, she feels the same way that you do. If you just-” 

“Don’t start with that, Echo.” Hunter interrupted sharply before he too moved away from them. 

–

“Is it possible we made it worse?” Echo wondered as he studied the way you and Hunter could barely look each other in the eye. 

“Unlikely. I believe this reaction to be a result of the confinement of close quarters. They may not have acknowledged anything but something must have happened for them to be behaving in this way.” Tech theorised. “We’ll simply have to keep going to determine the best way for them to vocalise everything.”

“So, we’re not done?” Wrecker asked excitedly as they all watched you and Hunter awkwardly dance around each other in the cockpit. 

“Oh, we’re just getting started.” Crosshair confirmed as he placed a fresh toothpick in his mouth. “How soon before we can do my idea?” 

Next Prequel Oneshot>

Tagging a few who might be interested: @thegreymarveljedi, @andreaaxy, @notgonnaedit, @youreababboon, @dreamsight73, @ooostarwarsfandom501st

[mawofthemagnetar]

TFC’s Completely Normal Afternoon Where Nothing Goes Wrong And Nobody Dies Horribly

(shoutout to @lindentree for inspiring this silly fic!)

TFC sat in his little bachelor pad, coffee in hand, watching the steam rise out of his mug. 

It was a nice mug, all things considered. A gift from the other Hermits. A handmade blue thing, turned on a potter’s wheel, with an extra-large handle to give his old hands a break sometimes. Full of coffee from his ancient coffee machine, that gurgled and growled like a jackhammer being waterboarded.

TFC took a sip, and winced. Okay, so maybe it was time to leave the mine and get more coffee. He’d re-used the grounds for the fourth time, and now it was really starting to get properly bitter. 

He drummed his fingers on his glass-top table, listening to the echo against the cold stone walls of his little antechamber. Maybe he’d decorate the walls at some point soon. 

TFC shrugged, and opened his comm. Hopefully one of the other Hermits had some coffee beans. He wiped the stone dust off his screen, and held down the three buttons to switch it on. Yes, he kept his comm strapped to his arm like almost every other player with some semblance of sense. No, he refused to let the damn thing be awake for any longer than it needed to be. The Hermits were chatty folks, and when TFC was deep in his mines and deep in thought, the last thing he needed interrupting his musings was a million buzzing noises as Cleo and Jevin got into a slapfight in the general chat. 

TFC’s personal logo flashed across the screen (the three letters of his name in red, natch) and he took another slurp of his bitter coffee, wrinkling his nose. The comm beeped, and TFC opened the group chat and tapped out a quick message. 

<Tinfoilchef> anyone got any more coffee? I’m clean out. 

He put his comm down, and took another swig. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

TFC frowned. He was a patient man by nature. The same could not be said of the other Hermits, who were usually falling over themselves to help each other out. 

And he hadn’t gotten a reply yet. 

It had been a whole ninety seconds.

TFC scrolled up in chat, and he sighed, rubbing his face. He sank back in his chair in annoyance. 

Of course. 

He tabbed upwards, watching things spiral out of control… in reverse. 

<Renthedog was blanched to death> 

<Renthedog> THE PAIN! THE PAIN IS INDESCRIBABLE

<Vintagebeef was portaged to death> 

<Vintagebeef> RUN! THE BOATS! THE BOATS ARE COMING!

TFC rubbed his temples with his free hand, sighing in exasperation. ‘

“Guys, I dug up five stacks of diamonds, don’t make me do this…I don’t want to re-dig those tunnels…” TFC groaned. 

And of course the nonsense kept coming as he scrolled farther and farther back. Gee, that last message from Ren was about four hours ago, now...

<Iskall85 became part of the weft> 

<Iskall85> HELP GOD THE LOOM’S GROWN LEGS

“Does anyone on this server besides me even know HOW to weave?!” TFC growled, averting his gaze from his pile of unfinished weaving in the corner of the room. It didn’t exist. He couldn’t see it. His WIP’s couldn’t hurt him.

And on and on it went.

<Xisumavoid was hooked to death>

<Grian was torqued to death>

<Tango was unraveled to death> 

<Zombiecleo was racqueted to death>

“Right, I’ve seen enough.” TFC sighed, “On the bright side, at least I’ll have all the coffee I had a week ago, so there’s that…” 

He carefully tabbed through his various screens and menus until he arrived at the one bit of his comm that was set aside for admin functions. Now, TFC wasn’t a server admin. That much was true. But he had slight admin privileges, for one thing and one thing only: server rollbacks. 

While, say, Hypno would have had an extensive wall of options, showing his permissions and all sorts of bells and whistles, TFC’s admin console had a text box to input a date and a big red “GO” button. 

He looked mournfully at his ender chest, and, with a sigh, keyed in a date one week prior. 

And TFC jabbed his thumb on the big red button. 

The world flashed white, utterly blinding him, and a second later TFC was deep in the branch mine in a half-finished tunnel, the same spot he’d been exactly a week prior. 

Unfortunately, he was still in a comfortable sitting position, resting all his weight on a chair that suddenly wasn’t there, so he immediately toppled to the ground, landing on his ass in an undignified heap. 

“Ow.” TFC muttered, sitting up slowly and tapping through his messages. 

<Xisuma> oh, we rolled back. Is everyone alright!?

<Tango> Mumbo you are BANNED FROM TIME TRAVEL

<MumboJumbo> It wasn’t me this time! I mean it was. But blame Zedaph! 

<Zedaph> ME?! No! Blame Cub! Cub gave me the doodad! 

TFC rolled his eyes and typed out a message. 

<Tinfoilchef> Does anyone have any fresh coffee beans?

Silence. 

No messages. No new complaining. As all the hermits re-read TFC’s words and soaked them in. 

Finally, Cleo broke the silence. 

<Zombiecleo> TFC. How many times did you re-use your last filter of grounds. 

<TinfoilChef> eh, six? Seven?

<Zombiecleo> are you telling me we’d all still be in shuttlecock hell if you hadn’t gotten sick of the taste of reused coffee grinds?!

<TinfoilChef> Pretty much, yeah 

<TinfoilChef> anyway 

<TinfoilChef> does anyone have some fresh coffee? 

[crimsonbastard]

It's 2025 and people still think that Snape was the worst? Well fuck me.

"Snape was a total horrific monster:"

Alright let's analyse the "horrific" things that Snape did:

- Assign Normal Detentions to Students, like reshelfing old student records or cleaning potion utensils? Or suspending students when they go out of line (you know when they use an untested spell to slice open another student's chest) You know? Normal detention stuff, unlike forbidding a student from entering the safety of the common when there's a supposed mass murderer on the loose or forgetting to drink a potion that will prevent you from turning into a rampaging monster every full moon and endangering children.

- The other list of horrific things that Snape did was giving detention to a student who melted 6 FUCKING CAULDRONS, 6 CAULDRONS, because Neville sucked so hard that he became a hazard to everyone else around him. And you know what was the detention? Cutting up Potion Ingredients.

- Of course we cannot forget about the Toad. Poor Trevor, one of the many pets that is routinely subjected to magic as it's part of a students school work. To practice spells and potions on them UNDER SUPERVISION with contingencies in place.

- Poor Neville's parents were tortured by Bellatrix, but his greatest fear was Snape!

Firstly, Neville was a fucking infant when that happened, he barely had any memory of it and he only knew about it through others, secondly, by that logic, Hermione should be fucking afraid of the Basilisk considering she got put into a state of living death, but no, it's McGonagall failing her. The golden trio went through several near death experiences and yet most of them still have fears that are nothing related to it, (minus Harry) Ron is still afraid of Spiders despite nearly losing his life in the life sized wizard chess, or almost grtting crushed by the womping willow, it's to show how Harry's fear is far more "mature" compared to others.

- "Draco and Dudley had semi redemption arcs"

I wish I could claw through the screen and retch my guts out into that commentors throat because of how rancid that take is.

-Movie Draco ≠ Book Draco, sure Draco had some sliver of sympathetic moments, but he did not "redeem" himself in any way. He just got up, and left the war altogether with his family, It took Dudley to nearly getting his soul sucked out to finally warm up to Harry.

Sure the latter can be given the benefit of the doubt. But you know who risked his life for nearly a decade by spying on Voldemort? Who risked his life to save Harry and by extension the Wizarding world? It surely wasn't Regulus Chalamet Black. It was SEVERUS SNAPE.

- "Joined a Wizarding Death Cult, and spent his Adulthood bullying children"

- Joined a Wizarding death cult because? Let's hear it, because he was bullied so much, that to by the supposed champions of the "light" side that he thought the only place he could find some semblance of control over his life was the said cult. One of the commenter mentioned how Draco and Dudley's bullying can be explained because they were indoctrinated into it, but of course let's not give Snape the benefit of the doubt because he was born evil, the very first breath he took when he came out of Eileen's womb was filled with Malice. Hypocrisy be damned. Sure Jan, let's pretend that the Rich Kids got indoctrinated into doing questionable stuff but conveniently ignore the Impoverished, Isolated boy who was bullied by the more Priviledged and Well Off and sought camaraderie and protection from the only group of people who were "nice" to him and promised him power and fame.

- Sure Snape is a dick, but he didn't spend the rest of his adulthood trying to atone for his mistakes and fighting for the greater good with no personal stake for you to simply ignore that spew filth like this.

[luciferfemme]

That's (after) Life

just a little pre-pilot idea I had in which Alastor and Angel knew each other when they were alive

---

Ninety years. 

That was how long it had been since he had seen his love. Alastor had torn through Hell in his painful fury. It was a punishment to be sure. Things had been going good. After so much misery in his youth Alastor finally had it all. His own radio show, the love of his life, a brilliant, beautiful man who had made the last three years a dream come true. And then, like a cruel twist of fate it had all come crashing down around him. One moment he had been burying the body of the ne’erdowell he had murdered and the next he’d been ravaged by dogs, his body torn to shreds. He supposed it was a small mercy that hunter had come by and put him out of his misery. And yet— as he fell to Hell his fury was born. 

Many had questioned what power had allowed Alastor to manifest into Hell as he had, ripping through overlords like they were nothing. And they were nothing to him. Alastor had eviscerated everything that stood in his way, hoping to quell the gnawing ache in his heart every time he thought about that beautiful blonde man he had left behind. 

Niffty was the only demon who had seen the sobs that wracked his body some nights and lived to tell the tale. She had thoughtfully tended to him, bringing him water, and an aspirin, and cleaned up the mess whenever he tore the radio tower apart in a fit of desperation. In an effort to feel some semblance of control. For that had been what it was, wasn’t it? The desire to feel in control. Death had been entirely out of his control, and Alastor had found himself clawing (literally) to get it back. He had searched high and low for his love. Tearing through every avenue he could to find him, but to no avail. Perhaps, the thought pained him more than he could say, perhaps he had gone to Heaven. Anthony deserved to be in Heaven, a literal angel that had come into Alastor’s life following his mother’s death, and made it so much brighter than it had ever been. Anthony had swept in with so much bravado and beauty and charm and Alastor had been helpless not to fall for him. 

Nearly a century had passed and Alastor’s fury burned as bright as ever, and yet—he was tired. So terribly and unbearably tired. It was hopeless, not a trace of his beloved had graced him since the day that he fell and now Alastor was far too exhausted to do anything other than give in. He had even made a deal with a more powerful demon in the hopes that they could help him find Anthony, and yet nothing had come of it. 

Perhaps that was why when Alastor had seen the advertisement for the Happy Hotel with the promise of redemption he had decided to see what it was about. He didn’t think he was worthy of Heaven per se, but he was so unbearably tired, and if his Anthony was in Heaven, then really what other choice did he have? 

Of course he fed the Princess a line about boredom, he could hardly admit why he was really there, he was the Radio Demon for Satan’s sake, he would not allow her to hear his sob story, it was clear she was just the sort who would offer him that insufferable emotion called pity and Alastor couldn’t have that. No no, better to keep his motives to himself. He would play her little game, and perhaps if he was very very lucky, he would somehow find his way to Heaven to be reunited with his angel once more. 

[iovetecchou]

If I Can't Have You... ⧸ Jouno Saigiku

༞ Part 1. Part 2.

༞ Contains…! angst, toxic relationship, emotionally detached / mind broken reader, asshole jouno, mentions of blood and physical pain, minor sexual implications (not directed at reader) slightly? remorseful? jouno?

༞ GN Reader.

༞ 1,246 words.

You couldn’t tell how long it had been since everything had occurred. All you knew was that your life was now different. It was strange, though this different felt oddly familiar.

This contrast was something that settled in your chest. But fogged your mind; something that felt strangely nostalgic. Sure, your new normal was questionable. But at least you didn’t have to lie to yourself anymore, and neither did Jouno.

They always say ignorance is bliss. However, this newfound knowledge had set you free. You were unrestricted from your mind, unrestrained from your feelings, from your body. You didn’t have to worry about yourself anymore. Nothing about you mattered unless Jouno said so. He controlled the strings. Something about relinquishing said control; freed you.

You still woke up to no new messages on your phone. But it didn’t concern you anymore. Nothing seemed to matter to you. You still did your daily routines; cleaning up around the house, picking out Jouno‘s uniforms for the following week, and making meals.

It was as though you were on autopilot. Each day was like clockwork, but this routine was the only sense of stability you had left.

The moment you placed the meal you had prepared atop the dining room table… the door creaked open.

“Princess, I’m home! I knew that divine smell from the hallway was coming from our place. Nothing compares to—”

“My cooking. Come, sit, enjoy while it’s still hot.”

He’s told you the same line—

Over,

And over,

And over again.

You could always predict what he was going to say next. It felt as though you were on some poorly scripted sitcom, secretly anticipating a laugh track to follow. But it never came because these weren’t just lines from a script or some job; that you could walk away from at the end of the day.

No, this was your every waking moment, and it would be until the day you died.

“Ah, you know me so well. Why don’t you join me, hm? I’m sure it took you ages to prepare this dish for me—“

“I’m not hungry. I’ll give you some space to eat now.”

Jouno quirked a brow at your choice of words but decided to shake off your dismissive attitude, regardless.

“Some company would be nice. But if you don’t want to, I won’t force you… I’ll just call— ah… what was their name again? The person I was… tangled up with at my office the other week? Oh, I guess their mouth was a little preoccupied at the time so I didn’t quite catch their name. But, I can just call them up to keep me company instead.”

“If that’s what you want, Saigiku.”

You didn’t so much as flinch when those venomous words left Jouno’s lips. Your heartbeat remained on a steady rhythm. No spiked blood pressure and your tone of voice was eerily calm. Jouno was taken aback, by your lack of concern. Sure, he said all those things to get a rise out of you; but no give.

Jouno didn’t even recognize you. For weeks you’ve been a zombie. Following his every order and never contradicting his words. At first, this was best case scenario for the blind king himself. But… you weren’t anything anymore. Sure, you might have been there physically, but mentally? You were checked out. No semblance of life— or will to continue. You were just… there.

Jouno began to wonder if he took things too far. If he broke you beyond the point of return. He quickly pushed those thoughts into the depths of his mind. Besides, he had no reason to feel guilty. He was the entire reason you had a roof over your head. Food filling the kitchen, and books lining the shelves for your enjoyment.

Except, you hadn’t picked up a book in ages. Jouno noted. You used to read a few chapters of whichever book you were currently infatuated with to him each night before bed, but not anymore. And he couldn’t recall the last time you ate. Jouno secretly hoped you had proper meals when he wasn’t around— wait. Was he… beginning to show some concern for you? No, this needed to stop. Now.

“Y/N… Stop this nonsense immediately. Time for fun and games is over.”

“Was the food not good tonight, Saigiku? I’m sorry, I can make you something different. I’ll be sure to make enough for your unnamed guest as well. Do you think they’ll be here soon? I’ll start right away if so.”

Just what the fuck had he done. The old Y/N would never function this way or say these things. He didn’t love you by any means, but he tolerated you. And maybe some things you did in the past amused him. But you were nothing more than an empty husk now. Jouno knew now that he did push it too far with you. And he could hardly suppress that stomach-dropping feeling that crawled up his spine; remorse.

Jouno quickly sat up from his place at the dining room table, making quick strides toward you. Your back was facing him as you now made yourself busy with cleaning some of the dirty dishes that piled up.

Jouno grasped your shoulders firmly, spinning you on your heel, finally gaining your full attention.

“Y/N, I said cut it out! I hate what you’ve become. I want you to stop this. All of this. Immediately!”

“Stop? Stop… what?”

His hands gripped your shoulders even fiercer in frustration, but you didn’t care. The pain didn’t bother you much anyway.

“Y/N please… alright— look, I’m sorry. There? Are you happy now? Can you stop fucking with me now?”

“Sorry? For… what?”

Jouno scored his bottom lip with his teeth in frustration. Drawing blood from how hard he had done so. You truly had no clue what he was talking about. This wasn’t just some ruse; you were gone. Even if he tried to pick up the pieces and attempt to put you back together… so many core components of you were missing. Irreplaceable ones.

“Have I… upset you, Saigiku?”

Your hands came up to wipe a few stray tears that managed to slip past Jouno’s closed eyelids.

He hadn’t even noticed that he was… crying. Until he felt your cold hands swipe over his newly dampened cheeks. He couldn’t help but laugh at how ironic all of this was.

Jouno was always the dismissive one when it came to feelings and emotions. But the roles were now reversed.

“Y/N, if you’re still in there somewhere, please just say something— give me a sign, just— anything!”

“Still in… where? I’m right here, Saigiku. I don’t think I understand what you want from me this time.”

The tears flowed freely down his reddened cheeks at this point. Jouno could care less about how he appeared at this very moment. He was desperate.

He didn’t want anyone else to have you. That’s why he isolated you and broke you down the way he did. But the person standing before him wasn’t… you. You weren’t much of anything anymore. The worst part of it all? Jouno was responsible for doing this to you.

“Y/N… I’m going to step out for a little while. I’ll be back tomorrow, perhaps.”

“Okay. Same time tomorrow?”

Jouno hesitated for a moment from your familiar words. His hold on your shoulders loosened as he took a moment to compose himself, taking in a shaky breath before he uttered,

“Indeed, same time tomorrow.”

[muffinchip]

Peering In 2/7

Summary :

Every single day, a single person visits Shrimpo's doorstep eager to chat and try to coax him out of his house. The problem is this certain someone knows his name and seemingly everything about him despite the fact Shrimpo never explicitly remembers this boy. But something seems off...

What's really going on here? And why can't he work up the courage to come out of his house?

(Highschool AU)

< Prev | Next >

Chapter 2 : F-eel-ing Crabby

Chapter Summary :

Shrimpo tries to grapple with reality while his mind continues to slip.

FGBC YLVAT GB LBHEFRYS

YRG ZR BHG BS URER

There was silence on both sides of the line. A chill went through him as he stared– just stared at the darkness of the living room.

Shrimpo felt like he was going to be sick.

“Hello? ███████?”

Spots of darkness started to dance around his vision when he hung up. He quickly threw the phone away—uncaring of where it went—and got up to sprint into the bathroom. Everything after that was a blur as he felt the bile start to rise in his throat, his head starting to pulse in time with his heart.

The leftovers of his earlier meal were left in the toilet bowl as he tried his best to swallow his own saliva, bitter taste lingering on his tongue. He spat what was left in his mouth before flushing all of it down the toilet. If he was being honest to himself, the water didn’t change much when he flushed. But he had other things to worry about, namely his dry and irritated throat.

He would ignore it if it wasn’t annoying him so much, so he had to force himself to get some tap water from the kitchen. The water felt cold as he swallowed it, at least it went down easy this time. As he lowered the glass from his lips, he glared at nothing in particular.

He HATES throwing up more than anything. The feeling of emptiness, the taste of bile, the way his body forcefully wretched up the pieces of food that he was already struggling to keep in. Filling up his cup a second time, he can’t help but lament his situation. Everything felt too close near him and yet far away at the same time. There was no way something was wrong with him, he was Shrimpo after all.

And yet every time he heard that voice… Damn it, why does he need to be so damn weak?! He screamed in frustration, not sure what to feel angry at, the stranger? His luck? Himself? “That fucker knows my number now- FUCK! GO TO HELL YOU LITTLE-!”

The sound of shattering was what registered to him first when he slammed his hand into the counter. Then, there was stinging pain radiating all over his palm and fingers. He felt himself start to heave as he shakily lifted his hand to stare at the blood that was dripping onto himself, the glass shards imbedding into his skin. There was a sinking and crushing feeling in his chest. He– he felt like he couldn’t fucking breathe.

A hand planted itself on his throat, seemingly trying to choke him out. He staggered backwards, trying to gain some semblance of control over his own body. That awful sensation of screams fading in and out of the void came back with a vengeance. He shuddered when he heard the singular scream that always sent shivers down his spine.

“SHRIMPO?!”

His world suddenly tilted and it all faded to black.

---

Ugh, why the fuck does this shit happen to him?!

Oh right, because everything has a grudge on him apparently.

Shrimpo painstakingly wrapped an alcohol-stained bandage around his recently cleaned hand. It was good that the glass didn’t go too deep into his flesh, he reckoned. Or else he might’ve needed to do surgery on his own hand. That sounds like it would go to shit very fast even if he could probably pull it off. He tied off the bandage the best he could with one hand, silently glad that he kept a first aid kit in the bathroom.

It was a struggle to try and remember what he was doing before he passed out with his mind blanking. He scratched his head and grumbled, whatever, it probably wasn’t that important because right now his whole body ached more than when he used to train. The fact alone, coupled with his fighting streak, was enough for him to warrant having the med kit in the first place.

Too bad he didn’t really have the energy for it anymore.

And there was also…

Nevermind, he should probably get some fresh air outside instead of sitting around in his damp and frankly disgusting bathroom. The walk towards his front door was strangely quiet, not like he wasn’t used to it already but it felt different. It was like one of those scenes in a movie when something important was going to happen. He finds that he still HATES anticipation, especially when it wasn’t the good kind.

It would probably be fine this time, right?

The door was in front of him now, waiting for him to open it. Shrimpo brushed his hand against the doorknob and froze. It was like.. eyes were suddenly on him. His injured hand shook as he closed it around the handle, a sudden chill washing over his entire body. It felt wrong. Something was wrong. Slowly, he pried his hand away from the entrance and backed away. It frustrated him to no end how he couldn’t even open a stupid fucking door. It was just a door. He would destroy it if his punching hand wasn’t already messed up.

So, he couldn’t go out, he can’t even open his own damn door! What does he do now? Why did he care so much about something that he hated anyway? There was nothing for him out there.

Shrimpo paced around the entry hall, trying to calm his beating heart. Since when was he scared of anything, especially something so stupid?! He avoided the sudden thoughts that his mind conjured up before continuing to pace around the house, feeling a deep restlessness inside of him.

The darkness that marked night passed by his house, blanketing it in an already gloomy atmosphere. There was no light around his house, the moonlight filtering through the curtains the only source of it, despite not doing shit for his lighting problem. Unwelcome visions began to cloud his sight, shadows becoming monsters shuffling through the halls. He keeps walking because what else was he supposed to do?

The feeling persisted like an annoying pest until the sun rose up, bathing the house in an even more unwelcome glow. He HATES the sun and its stupid light and how fucking hot it is. This is why he stays inside because it’s terrible out there and he hates everything about it, even if he would rather have a choice. His sight locks onto the door again.

Shrimpo will prove that he could do this, just to prove he can because of course he’s able to do a simple task like this.

He went over to the door again and peeked through the peephole, trying to make sure that it was safe and to ease the unsettling feeling. What he was not expecting was an eye staring right back at him, pupils light blue in color. He fell backwards onto the floor before quickly shuffling back up, suddenly having the realization that his stupid intuition was right. Someone was looking at him. And he would recognize that eye from a mile away.

“Oh- Sorry!” That stupid fucking creep was back. “Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?!” Shrimpo finally responds, trying to ignore this guy for as long as possible be damned. How long has he been there?! It wasn’t like he heard a knock like most of the other times. A cold feeling gripped his chest. “Why the FUCK are you here, damnit?!”

“Oh, I just thought that it’s a fin-tastic day to go out!” That was new, he never taunted him before. He probably knew that he can’t take a step out of his own damn house. “I know you haven’t been feeling great lately, so why don’t we both go fishing?”

“No! I HATE fishing!! Stop bothering me!” He spat at the boy behind the door, covering the peephole with one hand incase the other called out his lie. In truth, there was fishing memorabilia all over his house, even in the entry hallway which was NOT his. It was annoying.

He still put on that fake happy aura, the delight oozing into his words. “We both know that’s a lie. You used to go with your grandpa all the time-“

“DON’T FUCKING TALK ABOUT HIM, YOU SHIT-FACE!!” He slammed his hand into the wood, panting from the anger that was rushing through his blood. The slight dizziness that accompanied seized his throat shut. How dare he mention him using that stupid ass mouth of his. After all the shit he put him through, it wasn’t enough?!

“███████? What are you talking about?” His voice was bordering on laughter. Laughter.

He could hear the blood rushing through his ears. If this guy had a death wish, well, he’ll gladly tear him a new one because this door was the only thing keeping him alive. “DAMN IT, WHAT PART OF LEAVE ME ALONE DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?!” The other side fell silent despite his screams. “I HATE YOU! I HATE ALL OF THIS!!”

The boy‘s happy façade finally broke, his tone pleading. “C’mon, don’t mess around with me. Just come out, please?”

“NO! THIS IS ALL BECAUSE OF YOU! JUST DO EVERYONE A FAVOR AND FUCKING KILL YOURSELF!!!” Shrimpo shuddered and clenched his fist, feeling the adrenaline fade. Finally. It felt good to get that all out. Somehow, he felt like this nightmare was about to end.

His confidence shattered when he heard a sniffle coming from behind the door.

“I- I thought we were friends… ███████, you’re my only friend!” He managed to bitterly choke out in between his sobs. What was he expecting? For Shrimpo to forgive him because he felt bad for him? But he still didn’t dare look outside. “You’re- hah- you’re the only one..!” Still in the middle of his breakdown, he burst into laughter again. A kind of laughter that felt fake to him. “You’re the only thing keeping me together. I just- I still don’t get it!”

There was a thick tension between them as a silence fell over the scene. Hah, Shrimpo was getting weak to fall to someone’s trick like this. It didn’t help that a deep part of him felt pity for this stranger. “Don’t lie to yourself, I’m not your friend, you’re just a delusional bitch.”

This time, the stranger didn’t respond. And he quickly heard the sound of footsteps growing farther away. He checked the peephole to see that no one was in the vicinity. Finally, he was alone. It felt like a weight had lifted off of his shoulders. Hopefully, that guy would learn his lesson already. It was getting pathetic.

Shrimpo turned away but not before giving the door one last look.

He shouldn’t have bothered to try.

< Prev | Next >

[happypopcornprincess]

Call It What You Want (Chapter 2)

Note: The story is set somewhere in 2018, pre covid, before Yei won the world champion. A lot of Oyei, Yak and Cher's backstory has been my own creation. Also some new characters are also purely fictional.

Please do not repost or reupload this story as your own.

a/n: I imagined Ice being played by Aye Sarunchana [Torfun from ATOTS] and Lita being played by Sara Legge [Paan from Theory of Love]

TW: anxiety, PTSD, mentions of assault

Series Masterlist

---/---/---

One Week Later

Ice and Lita had basically held him up at their place for a week, refusing to let him go unless he willingly ate something. Ice stayed glued to him the entire time, and even though Cher never said it out loud, she knew he didn’t want to be left alone. It was a throwback to their teenage sleepovers, filled with rom-coms, junk food, and the comforting presence of a best friend. But this time, the laughter was replaced by a heavy silence, a shared understanding of the trauma he'd endured

And true to her word, Lita had pressed all charges. Attempted kidnapping, robbery, assault, and harassment. Cher had told her everything when she came back from the station, and she assured him not to worry as they have both proof and witness. “They’ll go to jail. I’ll make sure of it.”

He was grateful to have them, and even more grateful about the fact that they didn’t let this out to Cher’s mother. He knew she would want him to move in with her and would stay paranoid if he kept on living in his apartment.

He should be happy, right? His assailants are going to get punished, he’s got support from all his friends, he is safe. He should rest and get back on his feet.

But why can’t he rest?

The memory of his helplessness during the attack replayed on a loop in his mind.

How easily those men had overpowered him, the terror that had left him frozen. He could have been dead if it wasn’t for Yei coming to his rescue. He couldn't rest until he felt a semblance of control again.

As Lita dropped him off at his place, a flicker of determination sparked in Cher's eyes. He may have been a victim that night, but he wouldn't be one anymore. “Lita,” he began, his voice firm, “do you have any way to contact P'Yei?”

===

“I’m sorry for the mess, we just moved in, I didn’t have any time to clean up.” Yei was embarrassed by how messy everything was. He led Cher to the back of the warehouse and into their home. “Please, make yourself…” Yei kicked yet another box out of his way, “comfortable.” He led Cher to the back of the warehouse and into their home.

Cher, the boy from that night, had turned up at his warehouse out of nowhere. Turns out he lived nearby and judging by how his lawyer friend acted at the station… he was rich. The clothes he wore right now; classic brown trousers and loose white shirt, screamed upper class Thai money to him.

Which let him wonder what was he doing in the neighborhood late at night.

Cher took a seat in his living room/bedroom/dining area, Yei saw him looking around the place, crates of things everywhere, the gas stove in the corner still on cooking soup for lunch. Half of the rooms were in dire need of a reconstruction after years of neglect. He slept in the living room and gave the least damaged room to Yak, he knew how teenagers are with their privacy.

Thank God that boy was at school because his room was on a whole other level of messy.

But to Yei's surprise, Cher didn't seem disgusted. Instead, he looked around with a curious gaze, like an artist studying a blank canvas.

“So let me get this straight,” Yei begin, taking a seat across him, “You want me to train you for boxing.”

“Self-defense.” Cher answered with complete seriousness.

Well, this was going to be weird.

“Cher, I understand why you’re asking me to do this but…” Yei took a deep breath, “I am actually  thinking about retiring from boxing.”

"What!" Cher exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise.

Yei did his best to explain his situation. "I have a younger brother to support, and boxing championships only bring in a little money. I don't have any sponsors. How can I keep going like this? I need a stable job," he blurted out.

It felt strange to say it out loud, after keeping it bottled up for so long. Cher took a deep breath, his expression unreadable.

"So you're just going to give up boxing?" he finally asked.

Yei offered a sad smile. "I don't have much of a choice, Cher."

Cher remained silent, his shoulders dropping as he took a look around the house and out the main door at the warehouse. Cher kept looking at it, los in his thoughts as Yei was left wondering what he was thinking about.

“Is that warehouse empty?” he asked after a while.

Yei hesitated, unsure of where this conversation was headed. 'Yes,' he finally said, 'it hasn't been used in a while.

"What if I told you there was a way for you to keep boxing and make money?" Cher proposed, a glint appearing in his eyes.

===

Next Day

“This is a crazy idea, Cher. You hardly know this guy!” Ice looked at him holding her bottle in a tight grip. They were having brunch at his house when Cher explained his plan to help Yei build a Muay Thai training center in his old warehouse and teach him self-defense, Ice looked like he had grown two heads. Lita, on the other hand, just smiled and started investigating Yei on her tablet.

“It is a good investment Ice, believe me.” Cher said, sipping his beer in his living room.

“Holy shit dude, you were right.” Lita blurted out, slamming her food down and shoving the tablet towards the center of the table. There were countless articles about Yei Phadetseuk, a national-level champion and renowned boxer with a string of tournament victories under his belt. A household name in the Thai boxing scene.

“How the fuck is he unemployed?” Ice grabbed the tablet, scrolling frantically through articles.

'His dad left the family for another woman, taking his sponsorship with him,' Cher explained. 'His managers did a lousy job promoting him, and his mom recently passed away. He has a younger brother in high school and no income. That's why he hasn't had any fights scheduled.'

Lita shot him a curious glance, “well someone did their research.”

Cher nodded. 'I've seen him fight, Lita. He's got incredible potential. With proper support and training, I'm confident he can reach the world championships.'

Ice chuckled, “Also; he’s kinda hot.” she added, pulling up a photo of Yei in the boxing ring – shirtless, glistening with sweat, and undeniably ripped.

Cher swatted her shoulder playfully. 'He's a good man, and he saved my life. This is the least I can do for him. He has the talent; he just needs someone to help him showcase it properly.'

'Are you absolutely certain about this, Cher?' Lita asked, a hint of concern in her voice. 'Take your emotions out of it for a moment. Analyze this as a businessman, then decide.'

“I am saying this with a sound mind Lita. I won’t jump to conclusions without having a plan, I promise.” He assured his friends.

Cher understood his privileged upbringing. Witnessing all the entitled, two-faced heirs around him, he knew he never wanted to become one of them. His skills in management and renovation were the reason his mother had allowed him to move out after college. He was confident in his ability to help Yei and his brother out of this predicament.

“Have you talked about this with him?” Ice asked him.

“Yes, I have. He said he’ll think about it, but I’m sure he’ll accept. He gets to keep boxing, all while earning money. It’s a win win situation.” Cher smiled.

While Ice and Lita shifted off to a different topic, he couldn’t help but look out of the window, thinking of the kind man with golden eyes and his gentle smile.

He had saved his life, and now it was his turn to do the same.

To be continued...

/---/---/---

Masterlist || Part Three

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Taglist - @seoulmates98 @randomia-in-wonderland @fandomforever369 @nitorem

Comment down to be added to the taglist.

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More Thai BL Fanfics

Tangled Fates: The Sign Series Fanfic A Phaya x Tharn fic about their past life as Sapuna and Wansarut.

[nero-vanderwolf]

There are a few things Makoto has managed to establish. 

He is 100% stuck in a timeloop. He found out the hard way, waking up on the Station platform a few minutes to midnight when he could have sworn he was just on Gekkoukan High’s roof. 

He also knows that there are only a few people who retain their memories. 

He’s one of them, obviously, but there’s also that girl Kotone, Aigis, the Velvet denizens. It’s a comfort to have at least a few friends remember alongside him. 

The first time he had looped, he had immediately staggered into the Velvet Room to see if he was losing his mind. The jury’s still out on whether or not Elizabeth and Igor remembering the loops was a comfort or not, but Aigis is always at his side, ready to provide reassurance that he isn’t alone. 

If he lets the loop go on long enough, Ryoji is added to those numbers as well.  That fact is far less comforting than Elizabeth or Aigis remembering. He would almost prefer Ryoji to not remember all the times they’ve killed each other. 

But as it stands, there’s nothing he can do about it. 

Tonight is not a pleasant night. Last night, he watched Shinjiro die for what felt like the hundreth time. Maybe it was. He’s stopped feeling any sort of grief over it, knowing that everything will just go back to normal on his next visit to the roof. 

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t cry. No, he sobs and retches into his sink and rips the mirror off of his wall. He can’t stand the sight of his own face anymore- tired and empty-looking, like he’s some kind of ghost. He watches the glass shatter on the ground, sinks to his hands and knees in the mess and watches his palms turn scarlet. 

The pain is almost comforting- it reminds him that he’s real. That this loop is real, for however long it remains that way. 

He’s vaguely aware of footsteps thumping to the rhythm of his heartbeat, barely noticing as the door flies open. Junpei freezes in the doorway, staring at him as he rises to his feet. 

He must look like a dead man walking, with sallow skin and sunken, dead eyes and palms stained scarlet. He’s still in his school uniform- he barely wears his casual clothes anymore. The shirt he’s wearing has been stained with dirt and blood and tears and bile so many times he’s stopped bothering to change it. It’ll just turn out clean again on the next reset. 

“I’ll be right back,” he mumbles, and staggers past Junpei up to the roof. The pain in his hands dulls to a throbbing ache, and he balls them into fists just to feel the stabbing sensation again. Just to get more blood to flow. Just to feel something again. 

Scars have started to form where they shouldn’t, remnants of past loops that are finally catching up to him. A thin line on his neck from a glass shard. Little pinpricks on his palms from so many nights of shattered mirrors and heaving sobs. Two matching, jagged lines on either side of his spine from a particularly nasty Shadow. 

A pale, crescent-moon on his hairline from Takaya. He remembered that loop more vividly than the others. Maybe because it was the first time someone else had made him reset. 

Shinjiro was dead. Shinjiro was dead again and there was nothing he could do this loop. 

Anger surged through him, and he ran towards the rapidly-retreating form of the killer, of the bastard who dared to think they were brothers. He lunged for the gun, for the murder weapon, for any semblance of control over the situation. What he got in return was a searing pain on his temple, the sound of his friends screaming ringing in his ears. There was a sudden burst of white pain, burning so hot it was almost cold, and he was falling, falling, falling- 

And he had woken up. September 27th, 2009. And he had resolved to never try that particular reset again. 

He’s zoning out more. He needs to get a fucking grip, and he knows it, but it’s hard to get a solid hold on reality when it won’t stop looping back on itself. 

More scars keep showing up, too. Phantom pains in his legs from broken bones, burning behind his eyes from what’s probably adding up to years of not sleeping. The pinpricks in his hands never fully heal, always pink and raw and sliced open far too easily by the same old routine. 

In some loops, he rips the mirror from the wall and shatters it. In others, he calmly takes it off and asks Mitsuru or Akihiko or Junpei if they can pawn it off. Most of the time, it ends up in the Command Room, hidden under the sofa to keep anyone else from breaking it. 

It never works. 

Aigis changes, too. She seemed far more human than the first go-around of this twisted game, perhaps permanently changed by the love of her friends. 

She still seems more human than robot, laughing and dancing with Yukari and making jokes with Akihiko and cooking with Fuuka (and when did Fuuka get so good at cooking before the loops?). 

But when she sees Makoto, her expression changes. It’s understanding, he knows it is- it’s sorrow and understanding and hope all rolled into one agonising expression. Makoto thinks he prefers to see her happy. 

Another loop. Shinjiro gets shot. The mirror gets shattered. New scars show up on Makoto’s skin. 

And he thinks distantly that maybe, maybe he deserves this punishment after all. 

GAUAYABAHHHHHGHHH TIMELOOP AUS I LOVR YOU BUT I HATE YOU!!! makoto just losing himself over all the loops hes gone through, just repeating the same things hoping something will change. it feels like a punishment that he cant escape. he feels hopeless aufghh...

[idontknowreallywhy]

Commute day again! Today’s unedited train snippet is based on horrifying recent events in my own life.

I think it falls roughly within the fluffwhump category.

This was going to be a Gordon-centric fic but he didn’t quite experience the level of indignation I felt was merited, so big brother had to step up.

Hereby claiming “smirk” for Fluffember

Stress Relief

✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️

Scott stood frozen in the middle of the room and felt the last shreds of sanity slip from his fingertips.

How could this have happened?

It had disrupted his understanding of the universe, as if reality itself had finally betrayed him.

The only anchor to his old life, the innocent, trusting life he had lived up until this juncture, was Gordon. His beloved little brother who was writhing on the floor at his feet, shaking and crying…

And howling with laughter.

At him.

Scott opened his mouth to raise an objection to his brother’s frivolous attitude to this disaster but no words came out. Instead, he coughed and spat foul tasting green slime on to the carpet.

It glittered offensively at him.

“H….hooooow?” He croaked desperately.

No explanation was forthcoming - the slippery little fish had rolled on to his stomach and was beating the floor with his fist. Scott spat more slime at him. He probably deserved it.

Wait, did he? Had this been a prank?

Bewilderment was shunted aside by anger.

“GORDON!! WHAT DID YOU DO?”

His brother looked up at him, eyes streaming:

“It wasn’t me, bro” Gordon gasped then bit on his own fist in an apparent attempt to regain some semblance of control “you’re not supposed to squeeze them that hard”.

A tiny seahorse figure fell from the end of Scott’s nose and Gordon dissolved into another fit of giggles.

Scott looked down at the slimy rubbery mess in his clenched fist and frowned, the confusion returning with backup.

“But isn’t… isn’t that… the… ENTIRE POINT?”

He waved the remains of Gordon’s puffer fish toy to emphasis his point and gloop splattered on to the ceiling. To join the rest of the gloop on the ceiling.

“It’s a stress ball! You squeeze the indestructible ball, it remains indestructible and you feel less stressed afterwards! THAT’S WHAT IT’S FOR!!”

Scott’s voice teetered on the edge of a whine.

“Yeah but none of them are really that robust big bro, particularly not in the face of Mr Big Cheese Businessman levels of stress.”

Uhoh. Scott looked down at the brand new, ridiculously expensive designer suit his PA had quietly handed him when he’d turned up ten minutes before the board meeting fresh off the back of a muddy rescue.

The suit oozed at him.

It was apt really. Some of the board members had oozed too. He’d just been sharing some of the ludicrous highlights with his little brother (who was always pleasingly sympathetic on the topic of corporate hogwash) and had absent-mindedly picked the actionably-falsely-advertised item off his brother’s bedside table to toss from hand to hand as he ranted.

He blinked rapidly as something slid into his field of vision. Gordon stood and gently plucked a tiny glittery shark from his commander’s eyebrow.

“Let’s get you cleaned up shall we?” Sympathetic tone and matching facial expression were being masterfully deployed.

“NOT my room. This stuff will ruin my nice carpet.” He sagged. “Honestly Gordo, it was such a tiny thing… how is there so much of this… ick?”

Brown eyes twinkled as Gordon smirked knowingly. “One of the mysteries of the cosmos, big brother.”

🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑🦑

Gordon steered his slimy brother into his own en-suite and closed the door behind him, turning away to survey the sparkling chaos his brother had created.

There was a pause. Gordon could hear the shower switch on and some indistinct muttering from the other side of the door. Then a cough, followed by a snort, followed by a bark of laughter.

Gordon smiled to himself. Maybe not quite what the designer had planned, but the little toy might have had its intended effect after all.

[qrow-branwen-rp]

The Happily Ever After Ending?

This is going to be a long one and honestly I had more, so feel free to send me asks about it. I want to talk about it so much. Thank you for your time!

This first AU was inspired by two major things. The first and most important thing, I have a crippling need for my favorite characters to have a 'happy ending'. I just want them to be happy!!! The second is me playing through The Witcher 3's 'Blood and Wine' DLC again and seeing Geralt not only get a chance at a peaceful home, but to be the first Witcher to die in his own bed. His own happily ever after. I'll admit I teared up a little bit while playing.

So this AU for Qrow is what would be his 'happy ending' and what he would do with himself in that world. Salem has been beaten, the Grimm are no more, and Huntsman aren't need as much as they were. There is still danger and threats in the world, of course, but Qrow can retire and let his nieces generation take on those threats. He's beaten his alcoholism and been sober for the longest he's ever been and learned to 'control' his semblance. (Honestly it wouldn't shock me if his semblance only caused misfortune because his self-worth was that bad, so by mentally being better his semblance causes fortunate outcomes...but that's a rant for later)

So Qrow is healthy, both mentally and physically, has no reason to keep his distance from his family, and has nothing but free time on his hands. What does he do? He could teach, but honestly he'd get to attached to his students and be tempted to follow them out on missions. Which he can't do if he has other students to teach. Could he do nothing? I imagine he tried that for a week and he's going stir-crazy, he needs to be busy. Does he spend time with his family? Of course he's got a sister to reconnect with and nieces he'd need to see, but he can't do that all the time. He'd get sick of them as much as they'd be sick of him if he was around all the time.

So what does he do with himself, not that he's not a Huntsman. What he's always done really. Serve others.

There's no need for him to fight anymore, but he can still help out. The roads between the kingdoms might not have the risk of death by Grimm, but what about the risks of starvation and exposure? Those are threats that he can deal with so he sets up an inn near Mount Glenn (Which without Grimm has been getting a constant stream of people looking to live there). It's a simple, but solid two story wood and stone structure. (Which I will need to design at some point and if you have any recommendations I would be glad to see them).

It's not the biggest inn ever, but it's run by a retired Huntsman so anyone making trouble gets tossed out. You need somewhere to meet that's safe, his inn is the place. Are you hungry and have no money? He's made a pretty good stew and fresh bread that's on the house. Been on the road and you need a shower and to sleep? Water's not always hot, but the sheets are always clean. Looking for family that's supposed to be in the city? Qrow keeps his ear to the ground and can at least point you in the right direction.

Bottom line; If you're hungry, cold, tired, or scared? Come by the Crow's Perch and rest awhile.

[llcsecret]

Ok, so I just had this idea and I have to write it before I go to sleep.

I have the headcanon that Leo is an insomiac. I mean, how could he not? He has always had a really light sleep, even when they were kids, but since they went to the surface things have been getting worse and worse. Specially after Splinter's dead, and after they had to fight the Super Shredder. Sleep won't come and every time it does then nightmares won't let him sleep more than an hour or two at the time.

And don't get me wrong I think all of the brothers are plaged with nightmares, but in Leo's case he just can't even sleep to get some of those. So he finds things to do. He reads all of his books and comics again and rewatches Space Heroes two times before he moves to the kitchen. He tries new recipes that not always go according to plan, but he always leaves the kitchen clean before Mikey comes to make breakfast. Obviously he trains, but once Raph found him doing that at three am, so after that he tries to do it less so his brothers won't worry about it. The insomnia comes and goes, so he doesn't want to put too much attention into it, nor he wants his brothers to do so.

Sometimes (most of the time) Donnie is up at the same time, even though is not that he can't sleep but that he doesn't want to. So Leo stays with him until Donnie collapses, has the right mind to go to bed, or is convinced by Leo to go to sleep.

And of course Leo is tired, of course some mornings his body is heavy and his knee is hurting more than normal, but he doesn't know what to do about it. He doesn't know if it is his mind trying to protect him from something (most probable), or how to stop it. But he prefers to be doing something, than just staying in his bed, waiting for sleep to come, something thay he knows it's not happening, letting his mind wander about things that are going to follow him even when his awake. So he tries to find a new balance for his sleep schedule and grip hard whatever semblance of routine he can find.

But of course that doesn't work for long. It doesn't matter that Leo tries to convince his head that meditating is like sleeping, the fact that he's becoming so clumsy does not go ignored by his brothers. Or the fact that they have to call his name two or three times before he reacts to the sound. How he some times starts speaking alone in murmurs, or how the lair always seems to be cleaner in the mornings.

They confront him subtly and kindly, because they know Leo is going to try and deny it, and when he does they get into a big fight, because the tension is high, and Leo is tired and he can't control very well his emotions or the things that get out of his mouth. 'You know we are right!' 'I don't want your help! Leave me alone!'

So the three younger turtles take a decision. They apologize to Leo the morning after and Leo apologizes back because what he said was not fair, they were only trying to help. They all go into the kitchen to eat breakfast and Leo starts doing his morning tea. Once it's ready and they are all seated down Mikey asks the turtle in blue to get the Chantilly cream from the fridge. Leo doesn’t think to much of it and eats his breakfast once he's seated again.

And normally he would have known instantly if there was something in his tea, but he had only slept five hours in the last four nights, so he doesn't, and an hour later he's sound asleep on the sofa.

Donnie, Mikey and Raph feel horrible about it, but they knew that if their brother didn't sleep soon then things were only going to get worse and worse. Leo was going to be really mad when he woke up, but if he physically couldn't sleep on his own then they would be happy to help anyway they could.

I'm sorry, I don't know if this makes any sense. English is not my first language and I'm still learning how to write long things on my own. Please be kind if you don’t agree with me, it was just something that struck my mind and I found interesting.