#sometimes your missing piece is a cat

[wings-of-ink]

How about a little something extra for your reading pleasure?

Below is the little story (around 3800 words) I posted about doing here. It's a fictionalized retelling of how we found our little Shadow cat. It's not terribly dramatic or anything, but it's a bit cute, especially for those of you who are a fan of Nathanael in the story. You get to see a little more of him at a different stage of his life. ^_^

~~~

Nathan stretched, looking up at the clear sky. It was bright, big, and beautiful, as always. Puffy clouds were rolling by, occasionally blotting out the sun, but only for a moment.

"It's gonna rain tonight," a voice said behind him.

Nathan turned, spotting his friend, Andrina, as she approached carrying a crate. "You think?" he asked, turning his face back to the sky. "Doesn't look that way to me."

"Here, you oaf, take this – it's heavy," she chided, thrusting the crate into his hands. "That's the last one."

"Thank you, dear," he said, lugging it onto the back of the wagon with the others.

"I'm tellin' you, cover that shit with a tarp unless you want all your merchandise soaked." Andrina heaved herself up on the side of the wagon, light ginger hair flopping over her face, concealing her bright blue eyes. "You have one right? I'm not helping you dry all this shit when we get home."

"Yes, Mother, I'll get right on it." Nathan laughed.

"If you weren't so bad at takin' care of yourself, I wouldn't have to mother you!"

Nathan rolled his eyes as he began to unfasten the tarp from the other side of the wagon. He sighed. He really needed to get something with a roof. Not that selling out of the back of the wagon was difficult, but it was becoming a hassle this way. He paused for a moment as he fiddled with the ties binding the tarp together. That feeling was settling in again. Something felt like it was missing. He was anxious, restless, feeling like he'd long forgotten something. He had hoped this feeling would leave him for good, it seemed as though he was wrong.

How long had he lived here again? Four or five years now? He liked living with Andrina and Erik, they'd become wonderful friends and he didn't want to leave them just yet or maybe ever. It had been long since he had such good friends. Settling anywhere for long always left him with these odd feelings. He hated it and wished he could just settle somewhere like most people did. But, if he wanted to try to live a somewhat normal existence, this was the way it needed to be. Maybe one day he would figure out a way to live that didn't make his skin itch with dissatisfaction. Maybe he would figure out why it was this way for him. Someday.

"Nathan?" a soft voice asked.

"Hm?" His attention snapped to the figure standing next to him. Erik – dark brown eyes peeked through his messy black hair with a look of concern.

"You did that thing again. Are you sure you don't need to see a healer about that? Andrina said your name but it was like you couldn't hear." Erik's thin bony hand gently touched his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I was just lost in thought. I promise I am well, my mind has just been loud lately."

Andrina reached across from her perch on the wall of the wagon. "Hand over the tarp, cloud-dreamer, and let's get on the road."

Nathan nodded, unrolling the tarp and giving the end of it to his friend as they all worked to secure it. Before long, they were on the road again and heading home. Andrina sat on the back of the wagon smoking her pipe as Erik sat at the front with Nathan while the horses walked the familiar path, not needing any guidance.

Erik nudged Nathan's shoulder. "I think I might know what's going on with you," his quiet voice said.

"Yeah?" Nathan raised an eyebrow. It was unlike Erik to speak up in such a way so casually.

"Yes, you should grow the beard." Erik smiled, trying to stifle a laugh.

Nathan snorted, raising a hand to feel along his chin. He'd kept it smooth for as long as he could remember. "Do you think I'd look good with one? Would it age me?"

Erik shrugged. "I think it would give you an attractive flair. Maybe make you look smarter."

"Ha!" Andrina laughed. "No, it'd make you look like one of those scammy so-called magicians that swindle kids for pocket money!"

Nathan pouted and Erik chuckled but notably did not disagree.

Erik went quiet again before taking a deep breath. "I think you're a little lonely."

Nathan almost laughed. "What? How could I be with you and Mother Hen always around?"

"There's different types of loneliness you know. There's a type for romance, for friends, for family – for silence…you just need to figure out which one tugs at your own heart. We've known you long enough to see the signs, even if you ignore them."

The conversation stopped there, giving Nathan a great deal to think about. Erik had a way of doing that to him. He was such a mild person but had a way of sneaking deep truths in without warning. And Andrina's uncharacteristic silence spoke volumes about her agreement.

Was it really that simple? Was he just missing out on something? But what could it be? He lived comfortably enough, had friends old and new all around, and his business was flourishing…what was missing?

"Hey!" Andrina called. "That little shop at the edge of town was opening today. We should eat there when we get home."

The men agreed and the rest of the way was filled with amiable silence and pipe smoke.

~~~

Andrina had been right.

It started raining halfway home. The bright sky slipped to grey as clouds blotted out the sun and a steady trickle began to fall. A cold chill clung to the wind from the north as well. When they arrived at the eatery, which appeared to be little more than a large shed with a stone oven in the center, they found a table without issue. It was late enough in the day, the rush of patrons clamoring for dinner had already gone. The warmth of the place was very welcome after their journey.

A clearly exhausted employee slapped three tankards on the table. "Welcome to Pista's Hut. We have ale. You get ale," they said, voice flat.

The three friends nodded, not about to argue.

"You're late for dinner, the cook will throw what we have left in the oven and that will be that. It'll be out in a bit." They walked away without another word.

Andrina chuckled. "Well, you two can never decide anyway, so this works in our favor. Ale's good at least."

Erik shrugged and picked up his tankard. "I'll eat anything."

Nathan sipped his drink, his thoughts still stuck on what Erik had told him earlier. The ale was good…

A while later, the server returned holding a metal tray and slapped it in the middle of the table. "Okay, we only had some dough, tomatoes, and a bit of cheese. The cook whipped this up for you. Smells good at least, and it's the best we got." They dropped a heavy cleaver on the table, making everything on it rattle. "Here's a knife to cut it. I'll bring more ale," they said before turning heel and walking away.

The three friends stared at their meal. What appeared to be a giant bit of flat bread was stretched wide on the tray, smeared with crushed tomatoes, bits of cheese melted on top. The bread was toasty in places and the top of the construction steamed, wafting a tasty fragrance into the air.

Andrina grabbed the cleaver, which Nathan quickly took from her. "Not after what happened last time, Andi."

She flopped back dramatically into her chair, cheeks puffing out. Erik covered his mouth as he tried not to giggle.

Nathan studied the food and began to cut the best way he could figure out. It was shaped like a pie or cake, so he split it into triangles. They each took a slice and began to eat silently.

After a few bites, they all looked at each other in silence, each waiting for the other to speak.

Erik began, "Is it just me or is this damn delicious?"

Nathan concurred, "It is absolutely delectable."

Andrina stuffed her slice into her mouth, working it around as it burnt her tongue.

The three devoured the construct, save for one small piece. When the server came to collect their dishes, they took the last bit, uncaring if strangers had touched it, and began to eat. The morsel seemed to cheer them up at least.

Thunder rolled outside as the friends finished their drinks. Home wasn't far at least, though they'd probably be soaked through by the time they reached it and put the horses and wagon away.

They piled outside after a time, huddled under cloaks as the rain continued. Nathan checked the cargo for tampering and the horses, slipping them a few sugar cubes for their wait, making promises of comfort to come.

He was about to load up when he heard a small clamor, like things falling, drawing his attention to an alley beside the eatery. It was dark, nothing but bins of waste scattered around.

"What is it?" Andrina asked.

Nathan shrugged. "Just thought I heard something."

He moved to the driver's seat of the wagon and was about to get seated when he heard something else.

Mew. Mew.

He stopped and looked again, still not seeing anything.

Erik leaned over. "Is that an animal? Look there by the bins."

Nathan couldn't see anything, so he went down the alley, walking slowly and listening.

Mew.

Mew…

Little squeaky sounds came from under a large bin. They ceased when Nathan reached it. He squatted low and peered under it, trying not to gag from the smell.

A little soggy ball of fur stared back at him with scared green eyes.

Nathan began to reach for it but stilled a moment. "Are you a rat? Are you going to bite me?"

Mew. 

"No, you must be a cat…I think…" He scooped up the tiny thing.

Nathan brought the creature over to an awning with a lantern hanging so he could see. It was a tiny kitten cold and wet, no bigger than his palm. It mewed in distress but didn't try to get away from him.

"My, my you aren't very old. Is your momma around?" Nathan looked back down the alley.

"What is it?" Erik called from the wagon.

"A kitten!" Nathan answered. "I'll be a moment, I'm going to look for its mother!"

Andrina groaned dramatically and then laughed as Erik chided her.

Nathan held the kitten close to his heart to share his warmth as he slowly plodded down the alley, calling in a sweet voice for any critters. After peeking around to the back of the building and spotting nothing, Nathan headed back, finding that the disenchanted server from earlier was taking a crate into the alley.

"Excuse me, dear, have you seen a mother cat around here?" Nathan held the kitten up for reference. "This one appears to have gotten lost."

They shook their head. "Nah, that one has been out here all day. Saw it this morning. If the momma didn't fetch it by now, she's not coming back."

Nathan's heart sank. "All day? It's been raining…"

"Just leave it where you found it, nature will take its course."

"No!" Nathan suddenly spat. He held the little creature closer and then cleared his throat. "No…Sorry, I'll just take it then."

"Fine by me."

Nathan hustled down the alley back to his friends and hopped up into the wagon. Passing the reins to Erik, everyone stared at the little furball who had gone quiet.

"We have a cat now?" Andrina asked.

Nathan sighed. "We…have a cat now. For now, I suppose. I'll figure it out."

The little creature snuggled closely to Nathan's chest the whole way home. It didn't make another sound, happier now that it was warm and blocked from the rain. There was a pull at Nathan's heart, a clear sadness a the sight of the defenseless kitten.

Once home, they guided the horses and cart into the barn and Nathan left his friends in charge of the horses. This kitten was little and too young for solid food. They didn't have much to offer it, but if there was one creature who could help it was Jaala – the goat who hated him.

Erik seemed to be the only one whom the goat respected enough to milk her, but Nathan had some extra sugar to offer in exchange for a bit of milk to help the kitten. He found a crate, filled it with straw, and settled the kitten inside who began to mew as soon as the comfort of being held faded.

"Just a moment little one, I need to make sure I can feed you."

Grabbing the milk pale, he checked to make sure it was clean before facing Jaala. She glared at him immediately, snorting in displeasure and standing defensively in front of her sleeping kid.

"Sorry girl, just me tonight," Nathan said as he searched his pockets for sugar. "Here, to sweeten the deal." He held out a cube to the goat who glared as she plucked it from his hands, biting his fingers in the process. Nathan tamped down his reaction.

He placed the bucket down as the goat barely tolerated his presence. "I need just a little bit of milk. Do you hear the kitty? Just like your little one, he needs something to eat." Nathan offered another sugar cube which the goat snatched right away.

As she chewed, he positioned the bucket and knelt beside her, quick to offer another sweet to keep her agreeable as he began to milk her. He rationed the last two cubes to get enough for a good meal for the kitten, quickly packing up and giving the goat her space when he was done.

The cat continued to mew from the safety of its little nest. Nathan sat in the straw and plucked the furball up again, bringing it to his chest. Pulling a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his robe, he soaked a bit of it in the milk and brought it to the little kitten's mouth. It latched on right away, suckling hungrily at the cloth until it was practically dry. Nathan dipped it again and repeated the process until the little one had drank all there was. And with a full belly, it fell asleep in his hands.

Nathan took the crate and the kitten inside with him where his friends had started a good fire. He changed his clothes and put on something dry, keeping an eye on the little one. All of them sat around the fireplace, sprawled on the couches and rugs there.

"Sucker," Andrina chided with a smile.

Nathan sighed. "I couldn't leave the poor thing to die."

Erik's dog, a massive black and white hound, sniffed around the crate, wagging his tail happily before getting up on Erik's lap. "Reminds me of when we found you," Erik said, patting his dog's head.

Nathan wrinkled his nose. "Yes, yes, I'm akin to a half-drowned cat with no teeth."

Andrina began packing her pipe. "You gonna keep the thing?"

He shook his head. "No, I'll just make sure it doesn't suffer and I'm sure one of the shops or farms could use a mouser."

Erik and Andrina looked at each other and smiled. They knew better.

As the days went by, most of Nathan's attention was on the little kitten. Once it was all dried and cleaned up, fed and happy, it still didn't shut up – unless Nathan held it. He kept it close, swaddled around his chest in a sling since its little cries made him feel…odd. Many of the townspeople stared when they realized a small kitten was tucked close to his chest, but Nathan didn't mind. He was already the oddball in town as it was, he would be stared at and whispered about anyway, this just gave them something to actually chatter about.

He talked to the little cat most of the day, asking its opinion on prices and what goods would sell the best in the coming season. The little creature didn't have much to offer but helped Nathan think by just listening.

Jaala the goat even became a bit friendlier, she almost didn't bite. But thanks to her generosity, the little kitten grew quickly. It filled the little sling and was able to reach out far enough to tap Nathan on the chin with little claws. Once the little one was big enough, Nathan could tell it was a male, and quickly dubbed him, "Cat," and sometimes, "sweet boy" when no one was watching.

As more time passed and the cat outgrew his little sling, he instead rode upon Nathan's shoulders instead. The merchant was not short of offers to take the cat who was growing to be quite a handsome sight – completely grey from nose to tail with bright green eyes. He had a dignified appearance – a dignity which ended strictly at his looks, Nathan observed. He was rather inelegant for a cat, his timing for everything could not be worse and he had nearly killed Nathan no fewer than 15 times on the stairs. But the little thing had no fear of dogs, or any other creature large or small. Nathan knew better by now that it wasn't bravery – he was just too dumb to know better. Nathan turned all of the offers that he received down, of course, saying that the cat had a bit more growing to do…

A whole season came and went before folks stopped asking. Everyone but Nathan knew the little stray had already found a permanent home.

As he sat lost in thought in the barn, staring at his wagon, a little paw came up to pat his chin. Luckily, the scruffy beard there protected it from the wicked claws.

"What do you want, Cat?" he asked, absently bringing his hand to the cat's head and scratching. "Oh…guess I answered my own question." He laughed. "You have trained me well."

The cat reached up and rubbed his head against Nathan's new beard, enjoying the scratchiness against his fur. The rumble of purrs became loud.

Nathan smiled. "You really are my sweet boy, aren't you. What do you think we ought to do, hm?" He glanced at the wagon, the goods stored there were dwindling. The thought of traveling to refill his stock was a bit exciting, even if he didn't need to go very far. "I want to take you with me, but I worry…"

Moow?

"No, we tried the leash, you rolled around like it was a snake trying to eat you."

Mrrrr.

"You did too."

The cat huffed.

"And Andi says I'm the dramatic one…"

Meoooow.

"I do trust you, I just worry you'll wander off and get lost. You may look elegant, but you're not the brightest. And what if someone tries to steal you away?"

The cat turned fierce eyes on Nathan and stared.

"You are so strange."

"Says the man talking to a cat," Erik's voice responded, making Nathan startle.

"Blessed stars, you scared the shit out of me!"

Erik chuckled as he approached, sitting across from Nathan and his cat in the straw. "Well, I'm not sorry…I came to check on you."

"Check on me?" Nathan scratched down the cat's back, bringing back his purring.

"Mm-hmm, you're doing that thing again."

"Yes?"

"It's a little different this time. You're not completely despondent." Erik laughed. "It's been nice. You've seemed happier now that you have a pet."

Nathan shook his head. "I don't have a pet…I…" He stared down at the purring mess in his lap which was currently working its claws into Nathan's fine robe.

"No, no, you're right. You don't have a pet…You are the pet. That little grey thing has you completely wrapped around his paw. You wore him around in a sling meant for children for crying out loud."

"He was cold…" Nathan bit down on a smile.

Erik snorted a laugh. "You're sweet you know. And I want to say something as a friend. Something me and Andi have been talking about for a while now."

"Go on, don't hold back."

"We all have secrets. We all have private things that we desire – hopes and even dreams that we aren't always aware of…. In a strange way, I think you've found one of those things you've needed. You still try to deny it – you haven't even named the poor thing, and we all know that cat isn't going anywhere."

Nathan nodded.

Erik continued. "You're restless. I know you are. I don't know everything about you, but we've been friends for years now and I think you're trying to hide just how restless you are even from yourself."

The truth stung.

"I wanted to tell you that it's okay. Some people aren't meant to settle at all and others are only meant to settle once they've found what they need. Me and Andi aren't going anywhere, you know that. One day we may even go our separate ways, maybe partner up with a lover or something, but we won't wander far from here."

Nathan nodded.

"Figure out what works for you. You now have a little someone that will go with you now. You can always come home."

"Should I call you 'poppa' now? That was a lot of wisdom considering how much younger than me you are." Nathan laughed.

Erik lightly kicked him in the foot. "I don't know where it came from…I actually came out here to warn you."

"About what?"

"Your little bundle of joy took a huge shit in Andi's bed and she is furious."

"Again?"

Erik nodded.

Nathan tried to hide his grin. "Guess I'm on laundry duty today then…I'll get to it in a moment."

Erik stood, clasping Nathan's hand in his own for a moment before leaving him in peace.

The little cat reached up again, purring and rubbing against his beard. Nathan wrapped his arms around the little furball and lightly hugged.

"How do you do it?" he asked as if the cat could answer. "Are you a magic cat? Hm? You can tell me, just whisper your truth to me." Nathan turned his ear to the cat who only nibbled at it in response. "I don't think I've ever had a pet before…"

MOOW.

"Sorry, I don't think I have ever been a pet before." He sighed. "Fuck sake, Erik is right. I am horribly smitten, aren't I? And you do need a proper name…"

Nathan stared at the cat's expanse of grey fur. He recalled how whenever the cat chose to hide he was impossible to find. The only way to spot him in the darkness was to catch the glimmer from his eyes.

Nathan picked up his sweet boy, staring into his eyes. "You're impossible to spot in the dark, you are so completely grey that even your toes match, and you are always following me…you are always…in my shadow."

Meow.

"Shadow."

Mrp?

Nathan smiled. "My little Shadow."

[edalynn]

I think one of the reasons huntl0w leaves such a bad taste in my mouth is because it really feels like Hunter throwing himself at the first “available” person he has even a semi positive interaction with. Luz is in the middle of a romance arc with Amity by the time of Hunting Palisman, they’ve hooked up by the time he interacts with Amity in Eclipse Lake, and Amity is a lesbian besides, and everyone else he interacts with before Any Sport is too old for him, or too young in King’s case. Then Any Sport comes along and he meets the first character who checks every box of in his age range, no established love interest, not canonically not into men/no established sexuality, and has at least semi positive interactions with him. And, if you believe the minuscule blush in Labyrinth Runners is actually supposed to be romantic, then he’s crushing on her by the next time they meet, despite the implications of limited interactions, like how Willow is nervous/scared around him at first. That’s not normal or healthy!

YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, EXACTLY! YOU GET IT!! HOW does the progression of those interactions read as healthy or romantic at all!?? Everyone was just so desperate to ship Hunter with canon character for some fucking reason that they latched onto the first viable one that he has any type of positive interaction with. Whereas before, there was a lot of "please get this boy some friends" or "please give him a loving family" and now it's just. Give him a girlfriend. That will fix him, right? That's healthy right? I hate it here. I never thought I'd be the person to be crying "can we please stop being allonormative for once?" out here, but here I fucked am. Sometimes it's okay for characters not to canonically end up in relationships! Or be attracted to anyone! Whether it be at all or just anyone canonically in the show! Even Zeno, Hunter's literal VA, said at one point that he would've preferred that they had explored Hunter's attraction to boys instead! While in the human realm! But instead, we got this shit because of hunt//low freaks and shortened show runtime!

And on top of that, like you said, Hunter and Willow's initial interactions are NOT healthy or good! It's Hunter tricking her and trying to kidnap her and her friends! (Buddy I need you to stop kidnapping potential partners on Belos' order- Cat reference) Willow is scared of him and doesn't trust him! Rightfully so!! And then when REAL Willow actually sees him in LR, she STILL doesn't trust him and isn't even trying to stand up for him to Bump and is willing to allow them to do whatever to him until he proves he WAS with Gus beforehand. She doesn't like or trust him! He has to earn that! And if Hunter actually had a crush on her prior to that after asias, THAT'S FUCKING CREEPY.

[screampied]

you always had a bad habit of falling asleep—not just anywhere though, but on sukuna ryōmen’s notorious throne. .

he hated it.

he hated how how you hogged up his space.

he hated how your near-quiet snores would echo through his poorly aged walls.

most importantly though, he hated how frustratingly cute you looked . . all scrunched up, curled up in a ball, and occasionally shivering a bit from the cool air that settled against your bare skin.

“tch..” he’d sigh, feeling his muscles ache with each step he took toward you. as usual, sukuna had just returned from some battle and here you were, always waiting for him to return. he’s probably told you over about a hundred times that you could have slept in his private chambers but no—you always preferred his throne. always.

you never told him, but part of the reason why you loved sleeping on it was because of his strong scent that always lingered on the piece of ancient furniture. a musky scent that you’d grow to always miss whenever he wasn’t with you.

“oi. you awake?” sukuna grumbles, and you shift a bit once he lifts you. you could hear him murmuring vexed curses under his breath as he positioned you to lean up a certain way. crimson-velvet eyes bore into your sleeping state and sukuna held back a snickering smile. “pft. ‘course not,” and you felt him starting to trod away with you snugly cradled in his broad arms. as sukuna made his way upstairs, he softly strokes a thumb underneath your nape. “brat. sleep in my bed next time. you’re gonna get back aches at this rate.”

despite his cold-hearted, rough exterior he was always gentle with you. only you. just you.

sukuna carried you in his arms like every other night—sometimes, he wonders if you do this on purpose. purposely falling asleep on his throne just so he could pick you up bridal style, bringing you back to his bed.

each step he took shook your entire body, and you let off a groan in your sleep from the abrupt bumps. “i know. i know little one. just a few more steps.” he rolls his eyes, secretly finding your slumbering state adorable. never in a million years would he ever admit it though.

as the wooden stairs creak—he continues to walk, occasionally looking down at you. right as he’s at the final groaning step, sukuna tenses a bit, feeling your head brush up against his soft exposed pecs.

his fleecy kimono was half open and you’re just buried in his arms, snuggling all against him like a needy cat.

the audacity. .

his pink slit brow furrows as he scoffs at the sight, bringing you inside his quiet spacious bedroom. gently, he starts to lie you down on the mattress but that’s when your arms wrap around him.

“eh? what are you-” sukuna grunts, and that’s when he collapses right against your chest. sukuna deadpans once your warm legs and arms sneakily snake around him—clinging onto him tight like a koala. “keh.. such a handsy pest, even when you’re dead asleep.” he clicks his tongue, letting you drag him further into the bed with you.

sukuna feels a strange feeling pooling near the very bottom depths of his heart.

it’s eerily strange . .

it doesn’t feel like the usual resentment, hatred, or even arrogance he feels toward others ‘below him’.

he finds himself melting into your tender touch, his chin gradually burying itself in your shoulder.

the soreness in his muscles started to subside as he was just on top of you—inhaling your sweet scent, stubbornly grumbling swears in your neck.

sukuna was feeling . . . soft.

he was so closely pressed up against you that he could feel the steady racing beats of your heart. each slow-paced ba-dump! that pumped out of your chest quickened by the second.

was . . he the one making your heart race?

sukuna heard how your shallow breaths significantly slowed, and your arms started to tighten more around his thick neck. he didn’t think he’d ever feel like this. whatever… emotion this was.

sure, he’s had to carry you up to his chambers so you’d sleep more comfortably lots of times but this- this moment felt more a bit different.

“i . . can’t sleep like this, y’know,” the demon breaks the silence, huffing at the awkward predicament he was in. sukuna was currently lying on top of you, hovering over you just so he wouldn’t crush your cute human body. with each longing second passing, he could already feel his limbs starting to ache from just idly hanging over you. “at least let me rest near the side.”

no reply.

sukuna scoffs again, realizing he’s practically talking to himself. but instead of responding with actual words—you cling onto him even tighter, your non-verbal way of saying ‘stay.’

“you’re even more annoying when you’re asleep,” he sighs, pinching his forehead. “fine.. i’ll- i’ll stay like this. here, with you. ‘s not like i plan to go anywher—” sukuna gets cut off once he sees you shifting a bit in your sleep again.

the silence was undeniably loud. with his lips mutely parting, he watches as you get more comfortable, letting off a few heavy exhales.

sukuna starts to ponder to himself. you looked so peaceful . . sound asleep.

he wondered what you were dreaming about. he was so busy staring at you while you slept that he didn’t even notice that he was starting to get drowsy himself. sukuna’s eyelids started to droop and he grunted, letting off an obnoxious yawn.

with watery eyes, sukuna stretches his arms before sinking his face back into your left shoulder. your warmth made him quietly purr into your neck. it was faint, but you heard it.

sukuna even mimicked some of your movements from earlier, softly rubbing his forehead against you as you held him close. “huh. this isn’t . . that bad,” he gruffly utters, his gravely voice pitching.

your chin rests on the top of his head, and sukuna gives you one last glance.

“i. . i love you.” he quietly whispers, thinking that just because you were asleep you couldn’t hear.

but- you did, you heard it all. every word.

little did sukuna know, you were actually wide awake the entire time. you woke up when he was carrying you up the stairs, but you just pretended to be asleep from that point up until now.

a small genuine smile curves on both sides of your crooked lips as your eyelids remain closed. in a sweet groggy voice, you instantly replied, “love you too ‘kuna. it’s about time you finally said it.”

sukuna’s eyes widen as his head quickly rises from against your chest. you’re looking down at him with very much open eyes now and the world’s smugest grin.

his cheeks—they’re burning, flushing with a rosy flamed color and you don’t think you’ve ever seen sukuna ryomen more embarrassed.

“you . . you didn’t . . hear that.”

“i definitely heard it.”

“ugh. i hate you.”

“i love youuu.”

“i… love you too, stupid cheeky human. now go back to sleep. hmph.”

[nezuscribe]

part one

fake dating your best friend gojo satoru is a lot harder than you imagined.

not because he's not good at the faking part, he's really good at that. in fact, he's so good that you sometimes forget it's all an act. something to get him closer to the girl he's been crushing on since freshman year, and you closer to a guy he thinks you've been crushing on for forever.

thank god he doesn't know his assumption is completely incorrect.

so, yeah, maybe agreeing to fake date the guy you've been in love with since you were playing in sandboxes wasn't your brightest idea, nor was it particularly smart to help him try to get together with the girl he likes but so what? this was probably your only chance to truly experience gojo.

your friends were all shocked when the two of you came out with the news. they looked at your with furrowed brows and parted lips, not knowing whether to say congratulations or i told you so.

and it get's even harder tyring to protect yourself as this whole scheme continues because he's just such a good fake boyfriend. like that time you flunked an exam? you could've sworn he was playing with your feelings just for fun at this point.

---

"what's wrong?" his muffled voice came out from behind your bedroom door. the two of you agreed to meet up for a "fake date" that would be plastered across your socials to make geto and suki jealous, but you had missed out on his last phone call, his plethora of texts, and weren't responding to his onslaught of questions.

you groaned into your pillow, face dry with old tears as you sat in a hunched and curled up position. you were so mentally exhausted from studying the past week and failing so miserably that you didn't even have the energy to open the door for him.

"was it that test?" gojo asked, and you just groaned louder at the thought of it, wiping at your nose.

you could hear him sigh, getting his answer from your weak excuse of a response. even when the two of you were in high school you'd kick yourself down over these sorts of things. now, in college, it seems to have gotten ten times worse.

"look...can i come in?" he knows you don't want him there, but that's the exact reason he's pushing this so much.

you swallow, sniffiling again as you raise your head from the pillow just a bit so that he could hear your groggy voice.

"i looked pooped out," you tell him, "i don't think i can make it tonight."

there's a pause,

and then he opens the door.

you groan in annoyance, looking at him from over your shoulder with a wrinkled brow and ready to berate him for being so emotionally inept when you spot the mountain of things in his arms.

snacks, food, his laptop (for movies, never anything work or school related), and that peach ice cream you love so much but is never in stock.

he lays it all out on your desk with a pleased smile, watching you roll over on your bed to take it all.

"kinda pieced it together when you didn't pick up," he explains, pointing to all the things he knew would cheer you up, "thought this would help."

you slowly lift from the position you'd been rotting in for the past three hours, going on wobbly legs as you make your way over to where he was.

fresh tears well up in your eyes because this isn't even fair, you still flunked that test, and the guy you love is acting like he actually cares about you.

at your reaction, gojo's smile drops, a worried expression taking over his face as his hand shoots up to your arms, caging you in between his strong body as you lean your head back and let out a strangled wail, one reminiscent of a cat.

"hey, hey, come on," he shushes, bringing you in for a tight hug, one reserved only for you, or so you hopelessly tell yourself, "it's okay, it's just a test."

your breathing quivers, "a really important one," you say, muffled against his chest, "a really really important one."

gojo shrugs, one hand rubbing up and down your back, the other one gingerly cradling the back of your head.

"and you'll do really really good on the next one, yeah?" he says softly, all teasing gone from his voice. you hate this, you hate that he's actually nice and not some jackass who's just using you.

you nod limply.

"maybe you could just buy the grade for me?" you say through a hiccup, looking up at him through watery eyes as his face of concern melts into a more relaxed one, rolling his eyes as he pinches your side.

"always thinking about my wallet, huh?" he chastises you, pushing you away by the flick of your forehead, shoving some chips into your outstretched hands.

"it's something good to think about," you mutter weakly, opening it as you look at the ruffled chips, rubbing at your nose as another hiccup escapes your chapped lips. it's stupid, you know that, but you can't control it.

"hey," he calls, his voice dipping a little, the one that forces you to look up at him because it means he's being serious, "it's gonna be okay. promise."

you nod, blinking slowly as you eat a chip, chewing lazily.

"besides, my crazy smart fake girlfriend can do anything she puts her mind to, right?" he says with a boyish smile, taking some chips for himself as he gives you another hug.

your shoulder sink again.

damn it.

[hachiane]

things that are not talked about enough in Love and Deepspace

i'm surprised i haven't found something like this for LADS, so decided to document some interesting things I found while playing. i limited myself to Main Story, Kindled Memories, Moments posts, texts, interactions, (or stuff you can proc while playing) and did not include limited time events or the chibi comics.

(i've definitely missed out on many so feel free to reblog and add your own encounters!)

read part 2!

Sylus and Xavier are big eaters

Rafayel gets seasick, despite being a fish

Sylus got lost in a train station once

Rafayel can hear fish scream

Nobody comments when Sylus polishes a gun in public at a cafe

Xavier and MC lived in the same building for 6 months before they find out

Sylus’s heart rate can reach up to 150 bpm, and he wants MC to sync to it

Nobody recognises Xavier while he’s wearing the Lumiere mask

Rafayel scolds a cat

Rafayel then made MC choose between him and said cat

This happens twice

Sylus goes ice fishing, often with little success

Xavier also goes fishing, often with more success

Nobody comments when the boys show up to the cafe in nothing but bath towels

MC has said that the dual-prong claw reminds her of a really big fork

Rafayel makes you choose between him and a cat printed on a badge

Sylus has implied that his muscles and abs are not real

Rafayel synced his phone to MC’s steps tracker at one point

Sylus also does this

Xavier names every bird that visits his house

Rafayel used a piece of bread as an eraser, then ate it afterwards

Sylus sleeps sitting up

MC loses a fight against 12 crabs

Zayne believes in mythical creatures (or, at the very least, unicorns)

Sylus’s nickname “Lil S”

Rafayel paints with the blood of his slain people sometimes

Xavier found a bird egg in one of his flower pots one day, and wants to boil and eat it

Sylus guides a scared duck back home

This happens twice

“I’m pretty sure there’s bad juju in that custard bread.” is a line Rafayel once said

MC accidentally grows garlic instead of daffodils

Zayne mistook a plastic bag for a white cat

Sylus gets his motorbike stolen

Sylus and MC were spotted on a joyride because they were wearing glow-in-the-dark glasses

Xavier’s Hunter Uniform is popular with kids

Xavier takes a photo using a public telephone

Sylus recommends tequila as a dinner option

The account named rafayel_ridable_fish_dinner

Zayne’s nickname at the cafe “Large 100% Sugar Latte To Go”

Sylus expressed an interest in baseball

MC is a true crime watcher

MC gifts Zayne a jar of air, and he recommends her to get a MRI scan

[ilovolderman]

The Secret Notes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Bucky leaves little notes for you.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, cute doodles

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". It doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5. thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

It all started one afternoon when you fell asleep on the couch, a book slipping from your hand. Bucky passed by and found you there, peaceful and unaware. Smiling to himself, he gently picked up the book and noticed the page you’d been reading.

With a quiet laugh, he scribbled a note on a scrap of paper:

“You stopped here. Heroine’s rule: naps first, saving the world later. - B”

He slid the note inside the book, marking the page, and placed it on the table beside you. As he left, he couldn’t help but smile at the idea of you finding it when you woke up.

The next day, you found the note in your book, and you couldn’t help but smile. It was silly, but it made your heart warm. You had to reply, of course.

Taking a fresh piece of paper, you wrote:

“A nap is a hero’s secret weapon, Bucky. Thanks for the reminder. If I do end up saving the world today, I’ll be sure to credit you. - Y/N”

You tucked the note inside his jacket pocket, hoping he’d get a good laugh when he found it. It felt so simple, so small, but the thought of sharing little moments like this with him made everything else seem a little brighter.

It wasn’t long before the notes became a daily exchange. They started off funny—sometimes quoting ridiculous lines from movies, or making playful jokes about the Avengers’ absurdly weird missions. You would find them in your locker, under your coffee mug, or tucked inside your boots. They never failed to make you smile.

Even now, after months together, he still took the time to leave you notes and little reminders.

After a particularly brutal mission, you found another note tucked into the pocket of your jacket. You nearly missed it in the rush to get ready for a debriefing. But when you unfolded it, you found it written on a torn piece of notebook paper, and a doodle of a sleeping cat at the bottom.

“You’re allowed to rest, you know. I’ll guard your coffee while you nap.”

You smiled before you could stop yourself, warmth blooming in your chest. It had been a rough couple of days—bruised ribs, no sleep. The note felt like a soft exhale in the middle of chaos.

Unfortunately, you weren’t the only one in the hallway.

“Whatcha got there?”

You spun around to see Sam squinting at the piece of paper now very obviously in your hand. And before you could shove it back into your pocket, the man had already snatched it like he was intercepting a rogue football.

“Sam, come on—”

He blinked and read it once. Then again. Then a third time.

 ““You’re allowed to rest, you know. I’ll guard your coffee while you nap”...and there’s a little cat at the bottom. Why is there a cat?! WHO DRAWS CATS?!”

You stared at him, trying very hard not to look like someone caught hiding a secret. “You done?”

“Oh, I’m so not done,” Sam said, holding the note like it was radioactive. “This is a nap-themed love letter, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s just a...friendly reminder.”

“With a doodle,” he said, as if that was damning evidence in a court of law. “Who writes you sweet notes about coffee and naps after a mission? That’s like—domestic.”

“Maybe I wrote it to myself,” you tried.

“You’re not a cat doodler. I know your vibe. You don’t doodle.”

You grabbed for the note. He dodged you.

“Sam—give it.”

“I will not. I’m onto something here.”

Just then, Bucky strolled around the corner with a cup of coffee in hand and a granola bar between his teeth, looking way too casual.

Sam froze.

You froze.

Bucky stopped mid-chew, immediately sensing the chaos in the air. “…Did I miss something?”

Sam, eyes narrowed like a detective in a sitcom, turned slowly toward him.

“Barnes.”

Bucky blinked. “Wilson.”

Sam raised the note like it was a badge. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?”

Bucky looked at the paper. Then at you. Then back to Sam.

There was a half-second pause.

And then Bucky shrugged. “Cute cat.”

You choked on a laugh and immediately turned it into a cough.

Sam squinted. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got? ‘Cute cat’?”

Bucky popped the last of the granola bar into his mouth, completely unfazed. “You’re getting worked up over a doodle.”

Sam pointed at both of you, eyes wide with dramatic betrayal. “Okay, I don’t know what is going on, but something is going on. I feel it in my soul.”

You patted him on the shoulder. “Maybe you just need a nap.”

“I—NO! No, you don’t get to use the nap line on me! That’s part of the conspiracy!”

Sam was already walking away. “I’ll guard your coffee, Wilson,” Bucky called over his shoulder, deadpan.

The hallway finally settled into silence after Sam’s echoing footsteps disappeared around the corner. You let out a small laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

Bucky lingered beside you, coffee in hand. His eyes flicked toward you, and the smallest smile curved at the corner of his lips.

“So… cat doodles are suspicious now?”

You laughed under your breath. “Apparently. Next time, maybe draw a dragon or something. Keep him guessing.”

“Well,” he said, voice low and amused. “That could’ve gone worse.”

You glanced down at the note in your hand, then back at him. “I mean... he didn’t accuse you of writing love sonnets. So, yeah—definitely could’ve been worse.”

Bucky huffed a laugh, leaning casually against the wall. “Should I stop? The notes, I mean. I didn’t mean to... cause a scene.”

You looked up at him, warmth already blooming in your chest. “No. Don’t stop.”

His brow quirked slightly, curious. “No?”

“They’re one of the best parts of my day,” you said honestly, your voice soft. “They make the hard days easier, and the quiet ones feel full. I’d rather risk a hundred Sam-level interrogations than miss even one of them.”

A grin pulled at Bucky’s mouth, slow and sweet. “Yeah?”

You gave him a playful nudge. “Even if Sam tries to launch a full-scale investigation.”

Bucky let out a quiet laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Let him. He doesn’t scare me.”

Then, softer, with that familiar gentleness he always saved just for you, he added, “I’ll keep leaving them, then. Every note, every doodle... they’re little pieces of me. And you’re the only one I want finding them.”

Your smile widened, heart fluttering in that helpless, happy kind of way.

“I guess that makes you my favorite mystery author,” you said lightly.

Bucky leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours. “Only for you, doll.”

You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a folded note—you’d planned to tuck it under his pillow later, but something made you decide to give it to him right now. You held it out to him, your smile a little shy.

He opened it slowly. Inside, your handwriting was a little messier than usual, but still clearly yours.

“You’ve got a way of making everything seem a little brighter, even when it’s a rough day. I’m lucky for it.”

Bucky looked up at you, lips parted just slightly. For a long second, he said nothing.

And then he stepped closer, closing the small space between you. His hand brushed yours, slow and warm, and he laced your fingers together.

“You’re gonna destroy me with these notes,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

You leaned into him, heart full and beating a little too fast. “Guess we’re even.”

Bucky pressed a kiss to your forehead—gentle, lingering, like a promise he never needed to say out loud. Then he tucked your note carefully into the inside pocket of his jacket, where all the best ones lived.

“Don’t tell Sam,” you whispered with a smile.

Meanwhile in the kitchen...

Sam sat at the table, muttering to himself with a pen tucked behind his ear and a spiral notebook open in front of him. On the top of the page in large, underlined letters:

Case #109: WHO THE HELL IS Y/N DATING???

Underneath it were four bullet points:

suspicious nap note

Bucky is too chill

cat doodle = code??

is Steve somehow involved???

This was war now.

And you and Bucky? You were winning.

taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd @poodleofstardust @poodleofstardust

next part

[freyito]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜɪᴍᴇʀᴀ ᴘʀᴏʙʟᴇᴍ...

✭ pairing(s): aventurine, dr ratio, boothill, gallagher, sunday, argenti, mr. reca, sampo, jing yuan, blade, luocha, jiaoqiu, moze, mydei, phainon, anaxa (seperate) x reader

✩ in which: you bring home a chimera that looks like them.

✧ a/n: SOMEHOW IT FEELS LIKE ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE IVE POSTED A FIC??? IDK IF THIS IS NORMALLY HOW LONG IT TAKES ME BUT AUGHHH!!!!!!! i got a job again and many more things happening irl but i am FINALLY! FINALLY!!! starting to get back into the groove of writing and drawing and even gaming teehee... sometimes all you need is a change to get out of a slump i guess.

you may also notice that a few characters are missing from this post! thats cause whenever i do one of these big ol posts, a couple of characters really tend to make it feel like it drags on for me. that leads to me really dreading writing the fic and, of course, leads to me taking a month on the fic lol. this will be one of the last posts i do with all the male characters (and female, if i ever decide to write for them in the future), before i move onto writing five characters at most. im sorry if you guys liked these posts and your favorite characters werent written for, i know these are like. my most popular pieces. it just takes so long and by the time i reach certain characters i feel like im all outta juice.

✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora

🗒 cw: gn reader, just fluff, not proofread

✎ wc: 4.3k

⎯ Aventurine

“Well… I suppose we’ll see how this goes…”

AVENTURINE isn’t exactly against the idea of a chimera, but with all his catcakes, is it a good idea…? Both of you don’t know, and you feel a little embarrassed to admit that you didn’t think of this before bringing home the chimera. He’s not mad though, he’s quite taken by the little creature. But, with his penchant to collect catcakes, he worries about possible socialization issues.

The chimera, however, fits right in– aside from its striking eyes. Loafing and lounging with the catcakes, day in, day out. With a big ol’ smile on its cute face, happy to be with its kin… You think. Chimeras have the body of lion cubs, right? So aren’t they like… kind of related to catcakes? It’s a question you’d rather not ponder. Still, even so far from home, the chimera seems quite content. Paired with a bunch of companions who are all spoiled equally.

That being said, it seems you have chosen one of the laziest chimeras known to man. Ever since you had brought it home, it had kept Aventurine in bed even later, refusing to get up from his chest, even if the man had a meeting. It seems Aventurine has spoiled it far too much, or it has gotten so used to the comfortable life that it’s gotten quite stubborn…

⎯ Dr. Ratio

“Interesting….”

Most would not take RATIO as any type of pet person. No cats, certainly no dogs, no birds… the list goes on. Even his colleagues would not have guessed he’d take such a shine to such a… cute creature. As far as they know, cute is not a word within Ratio’s vocabulary. So, when his peers and students see a chimera toddling behind him, they can’t help but be interested.

He acts like he isn’t attached to the chimera, treating it more like a specimen than the cute little lion-butterfly-thing it is. When you first brought it to him, he was quite intrigued. A creature from a planet that not even the memokeepers can reach… It's a wonderful research opportunity, and a gift. One he cherishes, despite his logical approach to it. 

It seems he has bonded with the chimera on a deeper level than you expected. It just so happens that you have picked up a chimera that not only looks like Veritas, but also one that was just as enlightened as he was. You think. You don’t understand a lick of the chimera’s little chirps, but Ratio seems to understand well enough. Then again, the math that he prattles on about with the chimera, you don’t understand either.

⎯ Boothill

“Awh, who’s this little feller?”

BOOTHILL is actually quite delighted when you bring a chimera home to him, even if your reasoning is a little… odd. Looks like him? Well, there’s only one of him and that means there’s only one look-alike; the man in the mirror. Still, despite this, he’s practically in love with the chimera. It’s been so long since he’s even had a pet– and he’s always missed the dogs and cats on the ranch– so why not indulge in your silly little shenanigans, and appreciate this little critter you’ve taken the time to pick out for him?

The two get along so well. Boothill had always wanted a pet eventually, but with his lifestyle he was afraid to ever adopt. Considering he was running around half the galaxy, he was wanted, and the closest thing to home he knew now was a ship, it was just unfair to subject any sort of animal to that life. Now that he had you and a proper home, however, he had been debating getting a pet for a long, long while.

So imagine his surprise when you had handed off a chimera to him the minute he got home after a particularly rough bounty. Even the most snarkiest, annoying personality would have him charmed. It could constantly choose you over him, and he’d still fawn over the thing. He’s happy you have someone to keep you company when he’s away, but the little kid in him (who remained, despite the fact that everything around him had burned to ash) is much more happy to come home to a pet once more.

⎯ Gallagher

“Another stray, hm?”

Despite the chimera’s protests that it is not a stray, GALLAGHER doesn’t seem to mind a new pet. He’ll just pretend he didn’t hear that comment about the chimera looking like him. You had compared him to a dog so many times before, that he was practically immune. Even if a chimera wasn't a dog, or a cat, or… well, there was no use in wondering what exactly it was. Though, he was quite intrigued that you had brought home something from Amphoreus of all places, it seems that the nameless just keep going for bigger and bigger marks.

The chimera itself is quite happy to get away from its work and laze about. On the days that Gallagher is home, it enjoys curling up on his lap (or his chest, if Gallagher is napping), and bathing in his and your attention. It’s quite domestic really, you have seen Gallagher with his other pets before, but he’s more of a big dog kind of guy. To see something relatively small curled up with him, when he’s watching TV or getting ready for bed, it makes you feel… light.

He’s also quite happy to have a pet that can actually talk back. Gallagher often catches himself muttering to himself because of how much he tends to talk to his pets. So when he gets responses from the chimera, even if it’s asking to go back to bed or telling him that this work is just ‘too much’ (all Gallagher was doing was pouring himself a drink, the chimera simply chose to follow him), it was still wonderful for him to have a buddy. It’s not everyday that you have a pet that can talk back to you, right?

⎯ Sunday

“Ah… you thought of me…?”

Now, SUNDAY isn’t against pets, he’s just a little nervous. The last pet he had… Well, you know what happened to it. But, by all means a chimera is an extraterrestrial. So, naturally, he’s a little shocked. Even if the little chimera is as cute as a button and just so damn happy to be in his lap. While he knew stepping aboard the Astral Express would mean he would see quite a lot– which included different planets, and by proxy, different flora, fauna, people, and what not– he never really expected to be face to face with such a… thing.

Looking into its wide, golden eyes, however, he feels a sense of… kinship. As weird as it is. He does his best to ignore it, not to get too overly attached to the chimera. After all, surely you must bring it back to Amphoreus. Right? He does his best to ignore the papers in your hands, and chooses instead to believe that this ‘adoption’ is more of a ‘foster’ situation.

That worry dissipates with the coming days. He finds himself quite enamored with the chimera, even sneaking it leftovers when he can. He doesn’t mean to, but he ends up reading the creature passages from his books, or from some data entries he borrowed from the archive. In fact, the idea that you would have to bring the chimera back breaks his heart a little. Not that you would, it’s quite cute to watch the chimera follow Sunday around.

⎯ Argenti

“What a stunning creature!”

Isn’t the word ‘cute’ better instead? Nevertheless, ARGENTI is quite enraptured by the chimera. So much so that he doesn’t seem to realize the similarity of the creature. Really, when you saw the sparkle in its eyes, you knew this was perfect for him. The similarity was uncanny, really. With the way the chimera was staring into your very soul, chattering off (which, you could already imagine it was praising the beauty of you), a part of you wanted to get it contacts.

Needless to say, The chimera is glued to Argenti. Or perhaps it's the other way around? The man doesn’t have any traveling companions, and he had preferred for you to stay on his ship whenever he was out on one of his excursions. The chimera, however, seemed to be quite the trusty companion. That little ‘awoo’ must be vicious, given how highly the man spoke of it. ‘It’s like a cry from the very heavens!’

It seems your gift is quite well loved, though. Not that Argenti would ever dislike your gifts. You could give him a rock– one that isn’t even shiny or shaped in an interesting way– and he’d treat it like you’d have proposed to him. The chimera, however, seems to have struck a rather special chord within him. It is hard to know if you’ve truly surprised him, but you can definitely see how attached he is to the chimera. It has been too long since someone gave him something so meaningful. Perhaps even the first time.

⎯ Mr. Reca

“Ah, is this a new crew member…? Or perhaps, a new star?”

Is there a universe where MR. RECA isn’t looking for some scene to capture? ‘Cause it’s definitely not this one. No one has ever had the ability to capture something, anything from Amphoreus, so of course he’s fascinated with the chimera. He glosses over the fact that the critter looks like him. Not enough time to think about that, when this is a star in the making. What shall he come up with this time?

He unknowingly dotes on that poor little Chimera, as well… in his own way. There’s no critiques for the creature's performance (though, you must think that it doesn’t understand exactly what Reca’s goal is.), only dazzling praise, even for something as simple as curling up and taking a nap. Such a tiny little thing, full of all sorts of inspiration! It deserves nothing more than the best of praise!

For at least a month straight, he simply cannot stop thinking of ideas and ways to make the chimera a star. A documentary, perhaps. No, no, that’s too simple. A thriller, maybe? Now, that would be interesting. How could he use such a cute creature for such a medium…? Ah, so many things to work out! This excitement keeps him fueled for days. Oftentimes, he’s writing out scenes at his desk, pacing, or even talking your ear off. All while the chimera is curled up in his lap, content as can be.

⎯Sampo Koski

“And what’s this? A new business venture?”

Of course SAMPO looks at the chimera and sees a business opportunity. Not that he’s planning to sell it, no… this little fella could be the new face of his business. Cold Feet Junior, even. Needless to say, he loves the chimera. Who wouldn’t? Such a precious little treasure from way out there, somewhere not even the great Sampo Koski can get to.

Aside from the chimera now being the face of his business, he brings the thing everywhere like it’s a little chihuahua. It gets pampered to high heaven, with little treats even you have never heard about before. From all sorts of places, from Izumo to Punklorde. You start to wonder if these treats are even good for the chimera, considering just how different these foods must be from the ones back home. The chimera seems fine enough, however.

When he can’t bring the chimera with him, however, he’s the most pathetic man you know. He’ll fake cry, use a voice that is just so tear-jerking, and say a sorrowful goodbye to the chimera. He texts you everyday when he is out, begging for pictures, asking if it's okay, asking if it's eaten… and so on. You, of course, do your best to shower him with pictures of the chimera, assuring him that it’s never been better. To which, he always responds with some sort of keyboard smash (rare for him), and praises going your way, and the chimeras way.

⎯ Jing Yuan

“Hmm…”

JING YUAN could never turn down a gift from you, of course. Especially one so cute. If you hadn’t caught him at such an inopportune time (also known as nap time), perhaps his reaction would be more grand. Or the same, he’s never been one for big expressions. A simple ‘thank you’, a kiss, and something in return has always been his style. However,  this seems like a lot more than just a simple gift. A creature from Amphoreus… and a potential playmate for Mimi.

‘Potentially’ becomes a ‘definitely’ after some socializing. Instead of the chimera attaching itself to Jing Yuan, it’s very, very fond of Mimi. The grimalkin is quite well tempered, if not tolerant. The way the Chimera climbs onto him, like he is a mighty steed and not a proud lion… it’s charming in its own way. And yet, all Mimi does is maybe huff a little, and be on his merry way. Most of the time, he’d do the exact opposite the chimera wanted, by the sound of its annoyed chirps. Perhaps this was his way of playing with such a smaller creature…?

The chimera ultimately finds its spot on the bed. When you and Jing Yuan cuddled up, Mimi took his spot at the end of the bed. The chimera, unsure whether to stick themself at the end of the bed, in between you and Jing Yuan, or just sleep on the floor. Before it decides to exclude itself, Mimi makes the decision for it. With another huff (perhaps irritated that he had to leave his warm spot), he hops down from the bed, grabs the chimera by its scruff (not without it complaining, of course), and hops right back up. When you wake up in the morning, you find the chimera, stuck between Mimi’s paws, with the most content, familiar, smile on its face, while Mimi licks up its cheek repeatedly.

⎯ Blade

“...”

How many more times will this happen? First a cat cake, now a chimera. What’s next? A seal? BLADE really doesn’t know how to react. To be thought of is wonderful, but does it really always have to be in this kind of way? How many more creatures out there look like him? He can only hope you don’t find them for your ‘Blade collection’. Those poor, poor souls…

Regardless of his… pondering, the gift doesn’t go unappreciated. The chimera and Blade are like two halves of a whole, really. While Blade is sulking, so is the chimera… right next to him. When you adopted it, you swore it was just full of energy. Chirping and chattering to anyone who would listen, chimera, human, chrysos heir, no one was free from its chattering. In truth, you thought it was silly that something that held such a resemblance to such a broody man had such whimsy.

So, to see the little critter suddenly adapt Blade’s sulking and… edge, it’s a little surprising. Or not, if you understood how this tale has gone before. It’s actually kind of cute in its own odd way. When you point out the similarities in personality, all Blade feels he can do is grumble and huff. He should be used to your penchant for finding things that look and act like him by now, but somehow you always manage to surprise him. 

⎯ Luocha

“What an… intriguing gift…”

LUOCHA is never one to turn down your gifts, and he certainly won’t start now. But, despite the worlds he has traveled to and all he’s seen, somehow he’s never seen quite a creature. Perhaps it is the resemblance that throws him off. He doesn’t want to turn down your gift, but where he travels to may not be the safest place for the little Chimera. Very rarely does he stay home long enough to take care of any pet, either. He rationalizes that while it is a little amusing, this must be for you.

And of course he isn’t going to take that kind of companionship from you. It’s actually kind of endearing to him that you went through all this trouble to find a cute little look-alike. He’s more entertained by the way you dote on it, by the way you call it ‘Luo-Luo’ (even though the Chimera seems over it), and he wonders to himself if you truly got this chimera for him, or to have something to coddle while he was away. Not that you coddled him, normally. He isn’t a man to be doted on like that, and you are just too shy to do that to him.

He indulges in the adoption of the chimera, of course. Even when he’s out for months on end, he makes sure to call and check up on the Chimera (and you, but he does that normally). He shouldn’t be so surprised to see all the little outfits you’ve stuck the critter in, from cats (which makes no sense, considering the body of a chimera was a lion), to wolves. He wonders how many people you have commissioned for these little outfits…

⎯ Jiaoqiu

“And this charming little companion is…?”

JIAOQIU truly thought that the Tuskipir would be his only pet. He didn’t really need a service animal outside of the emotional support, considering he had a cane, and he knew the Yaoqing like the back of his hand. You, however, decide that if one critter does well, why won’t two do better? Plus, while the Tuskipir was used for more emotional wellbeing, Chimeras were experienced with work, and when you think about it, they’d make quite the service animals. 

What a shame that he can’t see the resemblance clearly. Still, he is quite touched by the thoughtfulness behind your gift. The chimera warms up to him all too easily, immediately taking its place by his side. Jiaoqiu doesn’t verbally admit it, but being thought of in such a way, especially after a trip that took you across the cosmos warms his heart. Even if he is pretty much completely recovered, it was quite nice to be cared for. Even as a healer.

In truth, as endearing as your gift was, he had expected the chimera to get in his way, under his legs, and become annoying in all sorts of ways. Given how happily it yipped and barked when you first arrived with it, he truly assumed it would be an annoyance. He’s pleasantly surprised that once the chimera has acclimated and settled, it becomes a wonderful companion. Chimera’s stomachs are so strong, you think, watching as Jiaoqiu feeds the critter a particular slice of beef that almost looks red, with the amount of spice he has put in the hotpot broth.

⎯ Moze

“I… Hm.”

It is rare for MOZE to talk without thinking. It is even rarer to interrupt his thoughts all together. You should be impressed with yourself. When met with the gloomy demeanor of the Chimera, Moze can only squint, open his mouth to form words, and ultimately lose them. What is he supposed to say? He’s never had a pet before, the strays in the alleyways who liked his scent were the closest thing to having one. All he really can do is hold the Chimera and stare into those oddly familiar eyes.

There is a quiet camaraderie between the two, once the confusion settles from Moze’s mind. When Moze is home (considering his work is too dangerous for any sort of pet), the two have a tacit, quiet understanding that you can’t quite… get. The Chimera follows Moze around, at a distance, and studies him closely, as if trying to commit his movements to memory. You swear, at some point, you heard Moze say ‘this is how you sweep’. When you walked in the room to check, the two were quiet as can be, while Moze was sweeping the kitchen floor, the Chimera perched on the counter.

When Moze is out, the Chimera sits by the door, or in the living room, or sometimes sleeps in his spot on the bed while waiting for him. It’s almost kind of heartbreaking when you think about it, knowing Moze is gone for most of the week. At the very least, it seems the Chimera is much, much more receptive to cuddles than your dear lover is. As much as it seems to miss its twin, it can’t resist curling up in your arms and taking a nap. It seems that the Chimera catches up on sleep in Moze’s place.

⎯ Mydeimos

“Hmph.”

MYDEI refuses to acknowledge the similarity. He pouts, sighs, and does his best to walk off and ignore the furry little companion you had brought home. The chimera trots after Mydei regardless, happy as can be, even if the man was ignoring it. You had to commend him, really. If you had something that cute following you around, you would fold immediately. But Mydei was stronger than you (and much, much more stubborn).

When Mydeimos wasn’t home, the chimera took up all his spots, short of the one in the kitchen. It’d sit in his chair at the table, enjoy the warmth of the private bath, and even take his spot on the bed. Which, Mydei truly doesn’t appreciate. Some days he is out from dawn till dusk, but he has always made it a point to come back home just before you fall asleep, so the two of you could sleep together. So to find you curled up with this little rascal, who was oh so happy to take his place, he doesn’t know what to feel.

He’s not jealous. No, no, he swears he isn’t. Why would he be jealous of a chimera? How silly. Despite that, you notice how he’s suddenly in much more of a rush to see you on the days that he is gone. He tries to beat the chimera to the bed, establishes his dominance in the kitchen (as if anyone could beat him), and makes it known– well.. you don’t know what he’s trying to prove to a chimera of all things. But it’s quite funny watching him try to one-up the creature, who was simply acting oblivious. Everytime you pet the chimera or praise it, you can always hear Mydei sigh. It’s not that he was neglecting the chimera in any way, not, he just had to one-up it. Almost every time he could.

⎯ Phainon

“Aha… Do I really look like this thing…?”

You are the third person to tell PHAINON a certain chimera looks like him. It worries him a little. Does he, a truly fearsome warrior that totally doesn’t have the air of a puppy, look like such a cute little creature? Looking into the chimera’s eyes, which are practically shining, he can’t help but concede… only for you, though. 

The very first thing this chimera does is challenge Phainon himself. To his surprise (and dismay), the chimera starts to take all his favorite spots.  Right by your legs, on your chest when you're sleeping, or when you're just laying down, and even in the baths. You find it cute, but Phainon… he’s not one to turn down a challenge, even if it’s initiated by a chimera. He takes every chance he can get to sweep you up off your feet and carry you off somewhere the chimera can only watch, like the hot baths.

While you find this kind of charming, if not funny, you can't help but feel bad for the chimera. When you show even the smallest amount of pity for it, however, Phainon decides its time to switch tactics. Instead of taking everything the Chimera did as a challenge, now it was a battle of charm. Anytime the Chimera begs for food (within his proximity), he rests his chin on your shoulder and tries to snatch the food from you. If the Chimera is sleeping on your lap, he makes an effort to also try and lay his head in your lap, and always, always, looks up at you with those pretty blues. You have to admit it's cute, but kind of pathetic. Not that you would ever want him to change.

⎯ Anaxagoras

“Hmph. But it is no Dromas.”

You, of course, know about ANAXA’s love for Dromases more than anything. You were one of the few who were graced by him and his magnificent onesie’s presence, after all. But, still, when you saw the little chimera, with its muted green coat and its missing eye, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity. Perhaps he is truly amused at the fact that you have found his doppelganger? Or maybe he’s finally figured out where one of his eyepatches has finally gone… either way, his tone is hard to read.

It is not long until you notice how he dotes on the chimera… in his own way, at least. He doesn’t outright ignore the critter when it toddles behind him, and on more than one occasion you have caught him talking to it, prattling on about his theories while he cleans his gun. Despite acting annoyed that you had taken one of his eyepatches for a ‘silly little costume’, he does not attempt to remove it. Not once. You take this as a victory, of course.

The real kicker is when you caught him sewing a Dromas onesie for the Chimera. His hands aren’t the steadiest, but he sits so quietly (for once), all while the Chimera lays curled up right next to his legs. You don’t mean to stare for too long, but he ends up catching you. Instead of acting shy (Which, he never did), and brushing you off, he only huffs softly, and shakes his head, before going back to his sewing. You read this as an invitation to properly watch, and when you step into the room, he doesn’t complain.

© freyito, 2025 | masterlist | queue | kofi | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS

[midniqhtt]

joel miller

masterlist • pedro pascal • 06/09/25

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs six

one I two I three I four I five

𑣲 maybe maybe I @eupheme

𑣲 a christmas miracle I @punkshort

Years of tension after a failed hook-up attempt with Joel boil over at your office Christmas party, but not in the way you expect.

𑣲 them or us I @/punkshort

𑣲 replicate failure to protect I @josephquinnswhore

Joel cannot bare to lose you, not the same way he lost Sarah. Through his own self declared failure to protect.

𑣲 the last piece of us I @absurdthirst - @storiesofthefandomlovers

When the world ends that night, Joel has to make a choice between you and his daughter. You encouraged him to save Sarah and twenty years later, he finds out that you survived that night when he sees you in Jackson.

𑣲 the last part of him I @/absurdthirst- @/storiesofthefandomlovers

When Joel and Ellie come to Jackson, you are instantly attracted to the gruff and slightly solitary man. Chasing him down until you become interwoven in his life.

𑣲 solstice I @covetyou

Three little words. Joel heard those same three words damn near every day for the last seven months. Most days, they were the only words you said to him. Sometimes, if he was lucky, you'd say them more than once. Other days, you didn't say anything to him at all. He liked those days least of all.

𑣲 jingle bells I @strang3lov3

you and your cat stay with your dad’s best friend over Christmas.

𑣲 sarah’s friend I @joelslastofus

Joel struggles to fight temptation with Sarah’s bestfriend after he’s forced to share a bed with her.

𑣲 ex!joel I @/joelslastofus

Joel and you have broken up towards the end of your pregnancy until Sarah convinces you to come to Tommy’s annual Christmas party.

𑣲 qz!joel I @/joelslastofus

Joel has a dangerous reputation in the QZ, so when you run into him you are afraid of him until he shows you another side to him.

𑣲 not so heavenly surprise updated version I @queers-gambit

you share exciting news with your husband but don't receive the reaction you thought you'd get. and then, the Outbreak.

𑣲 let the redeemed tell their story pt2 I @/queers-gambit

reunions are bittersweet. feelings are hard. times are tough, redemption is sought, goodbyes feel impossible; there's blood in the snow, tears in their eyes, and a haunting goodbye in the air.

𑣲 the fuck it list I @auteurdelabre

During work at your father’s construction company, you’re inspired by your sexually liberated bestie to create a F*ck-It List of sexy experiences you’ve always wanted to try. But when the list accidentally ends up in the hands of Joel Miller— your dad’s best friend, the company’s co-CEO, and your immediate supervisor—things take an unexpected turn.

𑣲 daydreams I @morning-star-joy

It's been years since Joel's kissed anybody, and your lips are all he can think about.

𑣲 to live for the hope of it all I @daryltwdixon

Joel never meant to let you get under his skin, but you did—slowly, quietly, until you were all he could think about. When you go missing on patrol, the months of keeping his distance end in an instant. Finding you hurt, vulnerable, waiting for him— he finally stops fighting what was inevitable.

𑣲 family matters pt2 I @/daryltwdixon

You and Tommy had been trying for a baby for years. When a trip to the gyno answers questions you didn’t even know to ask, your husband enlists the help of his one and only brother.

𑣲 what remains of us I @stylesispunk

Joel doesn't die after the brutal encounter with abby because you saved him on time.

𑣲 a lot to live without I @/stylesispunk

what are you supposed to do if there is no him.

𑣲 i only see daylight I @/stylesispunk

What is waiting for you after life ends? Joel woke up to a life he had spent missing this whole time. You are there, Sarah is there, and a baby too.

𑣲 trouble I @forever-rogue

𑣲 salty I @/forever-rogue

𑣲 it only falls into place when you're falling to pieces I @theetherealbloom

There are a lot of people you thought would live forever. You swore Joel would be one of them.

𑣲 stitches I @pedgito

You've patched up Joel countless times before, but this is different.

𑣲 request I @joelspeach

you give joel head on the morning of THAT DAY, and it’s what saves his fucking life.

𑣲 you came? you called I @cavillscurls

𑣲 healed I @whocaresstillthelouvre

After Joel's suffering at the hands of Abby, he survives. You, a new resident of Jackson, are tasked with healing him, bringing him back to life in more ways than one.

𑣲 catfish!joel I @iamasaddie

𑣲 too close for comfort I @gutsby

You’ve been babysitting Sarah Miller forever. One day, you’re surfing the web on her dad’s computer, and you find some…unusual things in his search history.

𑣲 easy to please I @/gutsby

Months pass, and you can’t make rent—again. You find another way to pay your sleazy landlord. Again.

𑣲 still here I @sl-ut

joel is older than y/n, but that’s never been a concern of hers until very recently.

𑣲 your bear pt2 I @rrickgrrimes8

Joel Miller doesn’t just lose Sarah that night but his other daughter too. but maybe you can still be found.

𑣲 well worn I @mothandpidgeon

You grapple with Joel’s death amongst his things. 

𑣲 rest I @alwayslurkinginthebackground

𑣲 too old I @cinnxmxngxrl

You’ve been throwing yourself at Joel Miller for months, even if the answer was always a no. But tonight he comes knocking at your door.

𑣲 die for you I @dulceamore

abby wants you dead instead.

𑣲 joel dealing with wifey I @pedge-page

Mother's day starts with a bang of bad luck

𑣲 blurb I @littledes1re

𑣲 the dog of war I @bits-and-babs

When Ellie is taken by David, Joel breaks open the part of him locked away since his hunter days. As the guilt eats him alive, you try to help him subdue the black dogs of mental warfare.

[theorist-fox]

Hesitate

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposted on AO3.

Previous << || >> Next

Word count: 6k

Summary: Simon loses sight of you for far too long. In that time, he realizes he can't go a day without having you within reach. When you return, he tells you in the only way he knows.

18+

CW: smut (fingering, PinV), but with plot. Tiny angst, fluff. Protective and possessive Simon Riley. Mentions of stabbing and blood. Minor injuries.

Masterlist 🦊 | In The Walls Masterlist 🦊

“Quiet.”

He barges in. Because of course he does. There isn’t a piece of flooring in this godforsaken base that hasn’t been violently reclaimed by Ghost’s boots.

Not even in your goddamn room.

Thankfully, you have the reflexes of a trained operative and have moved out of the way in time, otherwise you'd be sporting a wonderful, purple knob in the middle of your forehead. And while there is a certain distaste surging in your chest – the kind that makes your lips pucker and your stomach knot –, you know there is very little you can do to move the mountain that is Ghost.

So, you close the door behind you with an exhausted sigh, as he ventures further into your room.

“Good eve-“

He swivels on his heel as soon as your mouth parts to speak. “Where the fuck ‘ave you been, uh?”

The balaclava on his face does absolutely nothing to hide the hatred sizzling in his eyes. Funny, because you’ve always thought that it was the whole point of the thing – to hide his face. You wonder, sometimes, if he knows just how expressive his eyes are. 

Does he know he tells so much more with those than he ever does with words? 

Nevertheless, yours are as telling as his own, as they bulge out of your sockets. The odd look you give him is comical, compared to the ire that's practically singeing his clothes.

“Uh,” you stutter. “Deployment?”

He narrows his eyes at you into tiny slits. So tiny you have to squint your eyes yourself to catch a glimpse of his irises.

“Alone?” He asks, clearly skeptical.

To match the distrust in his tone, you tilt your head toward his, brows furrowing in confusion. 

“…Yeah?” You reply, and the more you go on the more sarcastic you sound. “We do that, sometimes. Lone ops, recon. Y’know, we’re in the UKSF, in case you, uh – forgot.”

He hums gravelly. A sound that causes his body to straighten up as if the cogs have finally started whirring and working seamlessly once again.

“Don’t get smart, now.” He warns, freezing you with a look.

You pucker your lips and instinctively show him your palms, cheekily replying with an “I would never.”

Wrong move, unfortunately. 

You are your worst enemy. 

If this conversation goes downhill, you are the one to blame. Schedule a punishing whipping for yourself, later – you better fetch the goddamn cat o’ nine tails.

The movement causes the long sleeve of your loungewear to slip further down your forearm, pooling at your elbow, and exposing a large bruise. A galaxy of greens and mauves in the shape of five fingers and a large palm.

Ghost’s eyes zero on your arm with the rapidity of a hawk. Price has always said it, after all: he only knows one sniper who’s better than Ghost, and she’s a thousand klicks away now. You miss her – Farah would’ve been a lot nicer about this than him.

When his focus returns to you, he doesn’t even have to ask. As you’ve already stated time and time again, he conveys a lot more with his eyes.

And they are absolutely fuming. 

You suck in a sharp breath, nodding your head slowly while returning your sleeve where it’s supposed to be. Fucking traitorous piece of cotton that should stick around your wrist.

“Y’know,” you start, your chest all puffed because – well, you ain’t breathing right. Not with Ghost staring you down like you’ve gone and killed the King of England. “I had to sneak in, grab the USB key our contact set up for us, and then – bang, vanish. And I did it, yeah? I was brilliant at it.”

The smile on your face is as fake as the cheerful tone you’re using to dispense this information. It cracks as soon as you see the fabric of the balaclava shift on his jaw. 

He’s grinding his molars into dust.

“And?” 

You gesture vaguely. Shift your eyes to the ceiling. Tongue your cheek. Try to downplay it. “Well, ‘s nothing really.”

“Sergeant.” He barks. If he had hackles, they’d be dusting the ceiling. 

You sigh. 

God, how long have you been holding onto that breath? You’re positive it was the air you’ve inhaled, like, ten thousand years ago.

“Someone thought I was acting a bit dodgy and had me pinned to the floor.” You made grabby hands with a cheeky smile, “I have meaty forearms. Plenty to grip.”

Humor is usually the key to lessen the tension that would strangle your and his lungs. Normally, he’d let it go. He’d listlessly smack the back of your head or pinch the flesh of your biceps and call it a day.

Now, sarcasm seems like the last thing you should’ve resorted to. His posture is stiff and straight. The night lamp on your bedside table sheds light against his back, making him look like he's the wolf ready to pounce what it's going to be his dinner.

It makes your blood curdle.

“Yeah, okay.” You huff, digging your fingertips in the back of your neck to release some tension. “Nothing happened. I jabbed him in the throat before he could shout for help and shoved him under a desk. Got myself a proper blood shower.”

Ghost’s eye twitches.

And then he goes silent. 

Not the news of the year, of course. He’s always silent. You know he doesn’t get his callsign from that, but you can’t help but find his personality incredibly fitting with the military nickname.

However, this isn’t the usual Simon shut-up-and-sod-off Riley. He’s so still you wonder if he’s breathing. You have half a mind to wave your hand in front of his eyes to check if he’s gone catatonic.

You don’t, of course. Dogs bite.

You sneer, more in concern than anything, and gingerly take a step forward. Initially, your question comes out simply as a sideway tilt of your head paired with a puzzled look – a question mark would be floating above you, if physically possible.

But when that doesn’t seem enough to coax an answer out of him, you blurt out an “Oi.”

His eyes are jaded as they swivel to your face. Always with the heavy-lidded gaze that makes him look like he’d love to be anywhere but where he currently is. 

He seems… calmer. You're not sure whether it's a good or a bad thing. You prefer it when he's fuming because, as the saying goes, better the devil you know. 

“Off.” He states. 

Of course, he prefers syllables to full, clear sentences. Expressions you (or anyone else, really) don’t seem to catch, unfortunately. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve told him that if he wants to have a conversation, he should start stringing words one after the other instead of settling for just one.

“What?” You deadpan. “Off with the bullshit? Off with my head? Words, L.T.” 

You don’t seem to have learned from your past mistake of using humor to sneak out of a predicament when Ghost appears to have all hell ready to unleash. 

He roughly points at your chest, “The shirt,” and then aims his finger to the floor. “Off.”

Look at you: dumbfounded. 

Sure, you two have fucked, occasionally – ever since he’d come to terms with the idea that he could do it without getting into trouble. It’s not like he gives two shits about someone finding out, he just doesn’t want to deal with commanding officers explaining to him why he shouldn’t stick it anywhere he finds fitting. God forbid someone puts him through one of those seminars about relationship policies and how they can disrupt the chain of command.

You splutter, “Wha – Excuse me?”

“Ya heard.” He reiterates. “The shirt. Off.”

You scoff. “You wanna fuck now?”

“Didn’t say tha’, did I?” He says flatly.

“Oh, sorry!” You snark. “Didn’t think there were other reasons why you’d want me to flash my tits.”

“Didn’t say tha’ either.” He deadpans and swipes his index finger in the air again. “Off with the shirt.”

You huff, pinching the bridge of your nose while, stubbornly, still wearing the t-shirt. 

“Not in the mood to have sex, honestly,” you explain, trying to stay calm in the face of the implications of the request. “I came back this morning, I’m beat. I need a cuppa and some sleep –“

He switches, then. “Take off that fucking shirt, sergeant.”

You bristle. Anyone would, at that tone.

Suddenly, you’re back to basic training in Pirbright with your wench of a drill instructor calling you a fucking idiot. 

Needless to say, you follow through with his order and rip the shirt off with more spite than cooperation. With a big frown on your face, you turn on your heel and start stomping angrily towards the bed.

“Make it quick.” You snap, getting on your knees on the edge of the mattress, ready to get pounded into oblivion. 

You’ll like it, eventually, even if you’re not really in the mood. 

Ghost fucks you good. It’s undeniable. 

You’ve soaked his sheets, his clothes, his mask – he’s that type of good. You won’t tell him though; his ego is already too big. If it grows more, HQ won’t be able to contain it and the whole base will blow up into smithereens.   

You’re saving lives, here, by keeping your mouth shut about it.

But he has other plans, it seems. 

“The fuck are you doin’.” 

It is not, in fact, a question. 

You look over your shoulder and find him still standing where you left him, a few paces back.

You quirk a brow, and shoot it back at him, “The fuck are you doing.”

“Why are you bendin’ over.” He states.

"To fuck?" You say, an unsaid obviously lingering in the air. 

Something shifts under his mask, as if he’s scowling. “Who said I wanted to fuck?” 

You splutter, yet again caught by surprise. “You made me get naked.”

He sighs, sounding exasperated, and approaches you, who is – by the way – still shamefully on all fours on the tiny bed of your quarters. 

Suddenly, all that spite sublimates under the heavy, hot weight of embarrassment. 

What are you doing, on your knees on the bed, half naked, if he doesn’t want to fuck?

In your defense, while the two of you often spent time chatting about everything and nothing, that happened in public places. Not once has he knocked on your door for a spot of tea and decent conversation.

Regardless, as soon as you manage to stand on your knees, you can feel him right behind you. Scorching fingers of shame crawl up to your neck. You feel your chest warm up, all the way to the apples of your cheeks. Awkwardly, you bring your arms up to cover your breasts. 

“Off,” he orders, again.

You swallow dryly, offering an insecure smile. “…With the pants?” 

He gives you a glacial look. Your blood freezes in your vessels. You think you might have turned cyanotic. 

“Fuckin’ hell – Off the bed.”

Obviously, your feet touch the ground with impeccable speed, because after that display, the least you can do is follow through with his orders before you make a fool of yourself twice in under a minute.

You feel his fingers curl around the top of your head, only allowing the pads to tangle through your hair and touch your scalp. It’s as if he doesn’t really want to touch you, but feels compelled to do so.

He flicks his wrist to give you a sense of the direction he wants you to turn to, and you do, waddling a little on your feet as you slowly twirl.

Your hands are tucked under your biceps, which are currently strangling your ribcage in an attempt to cover as much of your chest as you can with your forearms. 

When you’re finally facing him again, you look up at him through your lashes. His eyes, however, are not on your tits as you expect. He’s not even ogling, to be honest – which would be a blow to your ego, if the situation weren’t so… odd. 

Your brows are pinched. Your mouth parts only so you can suck in some air and then worry your lip between your teeth. 

This is much too intimate than what you’re used to. 

You realize, as he studies your body, with that weirdly placed hand on your head, that Ghost has never… seen it. 

Or – well, he’s seen it all right, but he’s never looked at it. Your encounters are usually very quick and to the point.

He fucks you. 

You come – once or twice. Thrice, if he’s feeling particularly generous.

He comes. 

Get yourself a glass o’ water and jog on. ‘M knackered.

Yeah, okay. G’night, prick.

Right back at ya.

That’s it.

Sometimes, you don’t even take off each other’s clothes. Sometimes, he doesn’t even turn on the lights. 

Now, his gaze is heavy as he looks at the dip of your waist, then at the fuzz below your belly button and where it leads, until the hem of your slouchy sweatpants that have seen better days. It’s like having lasers pointed at every nook and cranny of you, leaving scorching lines along your profile. 

He taps his finger on your forearm, the one without the bruise – a silent request to take your arms off your chest. Your hands are shaking as you comply, but you’re too preoccupied with him to notice. 

Ghost seems utterly uninterested at the sight of your tits bouncing down in response to gravity, instead setting his focus on the edges of your ribcage.

He flicks his wrist again, and you slowly turn the other way, giving him your back.

You feel his fingers twitch against your scalp, before a cold fingertip brushes against your right side.

"Here." He states, barely tracing the lines of your ribs. 

It's been so long since he's last spoken that you feel goosebumps rise along your neck. God, his voice will never not make your insides churn.

Regardless, you spread your elbows out, lifting your right arm so you can look at where he's pointing. You can't see much, but you definitely feel how the slight movement of your shoulder causes your right side to ache as if the skin were ready to burst at the seams.

“Ow.” 

You frown and curiously try again to take a peek at the cause of the pain. After some squirming, you spot the darkening patch of flesh, speckled with purples and yellows.

“Mh,” you muse. “Didn’t know that was there.”

The hand on your head finally abandons it, allowing the muscles on your neck to relax. 

You continue, somewhat feeling the need to explain why there is yet another bruise. “When that man saw me, he knocked me onto the floor. Must’ve hit it harder than I thought.”

He hums noncommittally. You could’ve told him the most absurd tale, and he wouldn’t have batted an eye, much too focused on the expanse of your back. 

You shrug, then. “’S alright. It’ll pass. It’s just a bruise.”

It’s then that he meets your eyes. 

There’s always a sort of veil over his, whenever the air around you both thickens. You wish you had scissors to rip it, sometimes. Or walk to the curtain and take a peek inside. 

“What is this?” You gesture at the two of you, looking back at him over your shoulder. “What are you doing?”

He deflects your questions with the same reflexes he uses to dodge bullets, answering instead with a question of his own. “You went to medical?”

Your lips twitch and you have to school your face into more muted frustration. 

Your response is a little petty, but you can’t help but give it to him. “No, just a couple of bumps, nothing that needs a trip to the doctor."

He is a looming shadow behind you, encompassing you with dark tendrils that threaten to swallow you whole. He sucks the warmth of the room with the ice embedded in his eyes – it forces you to look away, finding comfort in your own hands cupping your biceps.

You don’t even manage to reach for your t-shirt again, feeling the need to cover yourself up, that he curls an uncharacteristically gentle hand around your jaw. 

You stiffen. 

He seizes that moment to turn your head, his other fingers already hooked at the hem of his balaclava around the neck. He slides it up and off naturally.

There’s always some sort of solemnity when his face comes into view. 

Each groove and bump tell a story of their own, not a single one coming from the same tale, nor the same blade. 

He has crow's feet, but he rarely smiles – if ever. There are lines originating from the sides of his nose tipping at each corner of his mouth. They should symbolize happiness carved, but you fear it’s the opposite. 

Thick, convoluted scars paint him like rough brush strokes given by an angry hand – bristles of steel, paint of blood. 

Teeth peek out from a particularly gruesome injury that has torn the flesh off his upper lip. He constantly looks like he’s scowling at you, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d probably think he was. Would fit the character, and all.

Truth is, Simon rarely cares enough to scowl at anyone. You can either get a cold side glance or a disinterested one – if it’s the former, then you might be in his good graces. 

Right now, though, you don’t think he’s giving you either. His eyes are murky; a mud of anger, annoyance, and disappointment. He looks like he hates you with all his might, staring at you as if he could, by sheer force of thought, scoop out the eyes from your sockets.

“You wanna kill me?” You mumble, finding it hard to speak as he holds your jaw between his fingers. “Get in line, mate. There are at least a bunch a’ Russian men and their mothers before you, ever since I shanked their colleague.”

Then, his eyes leave yours to glance at your lips. He must think you haven’t noticed, because he doesn’t bother to hide it. However – and you’ve always found this incredibly interesting – Ghost tends to forget when he’s wearing the mask and when he isn’t. 

Each time, it’s like watching a child learning how to rein it in. Or, you know, like that sibling you have to surreptitiously elbow under the table at Christmas dinner when your pissed uncle is going off a tangent regarding the most idiotic, misplaced subject ever known to man.

That’s Ghost right now. 

The sibling elbowing him? Simon.

He blinks out of his headspace and then frowns, returning his eyes to yours.

“Don’t need to.” He grunts. “You’re doin’ a fine job by yourself.”

You scoff. “It’s just a bruise.”

His jaw ticks. 

“Yeah, but it’s on you.”

It’s said low and bitter, as if he’s had to fight tooth and nail to yank it out of his chest. 

You, on the other hand, are stock still in place – not only because of his hand holding you firmly by the jaw, forcing you to look over your shoulder to where he stands, but also because what was that?

You swallow but it's futile because your tongue is stuck to your palate. The air surrounding you crackles. The oxygen is lacking, and your lungs are suffering from it. 

You blink. That’s all it takes, and he lands his mouth on you.

Ghost’s kisses are always rough, determined to take your breath away and leave you wondering if you’ll ever say any other name but his own. This one is not much different, but you have to recognize that it is somewhat angrier. 

His lips part as if he could swallow you whole, working his tongue against yours and hindering your movements with his fingers holding your face, and a hand over your belly.

You can work with this. This, you know how to behave around. This is charted territory – the hunger, the stress, the need to decompress and find solace in the oasis you offer so generously between your legs.

You know the dance, and so you press your bum against his groin. You weren’t in the mood, like – ten minutes ago. You were a different person back then. 

If Ghost now wants to split you in half, you’d hand him the butcher knife.

You’re already turning feverish, lifting your right arm to tangle with his hair, ready to grab and pull and bite and – 

He stops you.  Palm to your knuckles, guiding it down once more. He doesn’t hold your hand, instead removing his own as though your skin were burning coal. 

Not as carefully, though, he snakes under your sweatpants and unceremoniously dips his middle finger inside your cunt.

“Fuck,” you hiss. 

You weren’t that wet, and while you're not one to say no to a bit of pain, this has caught you so off guard that you decide to chastise him by nipping at his lower lip. 

It’s not much of a punishment, you guess, because his hips jerk to rub himself against you. 

You wish to move and take this to the bed, where you can lie down and be his pillow princess. Let him fuck you until his heart's content, because you're tired and you'd love to get used for his pleasure and yours.

But he’s an unmoving statue, boots glued to the floor and hand shackled to your pussy, dipping in relentlessly until your knees buckle under the sheer pressure of his finger buried to the knuckle. 

When your hips start undulating to increase the friction – specifically of his palm against your neglected bundle of nerves where your pussy tips – he inserts a second finger, and you positively melt against his chest. It’s then that he releases your lips, allowing you to moan under your breath. 

He starts sucking blindly at whatever piece of skin he can find, leaving love bites on the length of your shoulders all the way to your neck. Teeth and tongue and words that escape his lips, while he curls his fingers inside you, drowning your thoughts in frayed growls from his mouth, and raunchy squelches from between your legs. His offhand gets busy and starts toying and pulling at your nipples. 

You're being absolutely ravaged; his nails are talons and he wants to rip you apart and eat you inside out after he's prepped you alright. It's juxtaposing - the pleasure, and the crudeness. It's new, but not unwelcome.

“You should’ve told me.” He grunts. You don’t pay it much mind, he usually murmurs a lot during sex, and less than half of the time you catch what he says – the other times, you’re already too stupid to use your senses.

“Should’ve.”

He snaps his finger upward, burying them to the knuckle.

“Told me."

Then rolls his palm against your clit.

"You were being posted." 

Finally, he curls his fingers inside, making your legs quiver.

You whimper and your eyes roll back. Is this your punishment? Hell fucking yes, then. You’ll keep your secrets more often. 

But alas, you do feel compelled to at least explain and apologize.

“M’sorry,” you breathe, “It was a last-minute thing. Got called the day before.”

Surely, he’ll understand. That’s how deployments work: they give you a timeframe, and you might or might not get the dreaded call. If you do, then you’re off – one day you’re lounging at the beach, the next you’re buried in gore.

No in-between. 

You don't want to distract him though. You're so close. If he just – moved a little, maybe? Or allowed you to rest your legs somewhere. 

You shift imperceptibly so that you can rub your clit at your preferred pace against his palm. The callouses on the heel of his hand make it somehow even better.

He allows you, meaning that even if you’ve kept the deployment from him, he’s feeling magnanimous.

You roll your head against his shoulder to nuzzle his neck, the tip of your nose tucked behind his lobe. You pant as he fucks you with his fingers, and murmur sweet things about how good he is to you, because he’s being kind and for that he deserves a generous stroke to his ego. You leave open kisses on his neck, his jaw, lapping the sweat off his skin with your tongue – to try and give back some of the pleasure he’s offering you.

When you come, it is with a loud groan muffled in his neck, and he holds you by the waist before you keel over. The orgasm almost stings, since he’s ripped it out of you so quickly and forcefully. It tingles from the tips of your toes, curling against the linoleum, all the way to the knot that finally snaps in your gut. 

Only then, when your vision clears and your skin still prickles in goosebumps, do you hear him through the ringing of your ears.

“You don’t understand.” He’s saying, like a prayer repeated gruffly to the skin of your neck. 

He doesn’t say it once, he doesn’t say it twice. He repeats it with fervor, and the more it escapes his mouth, the angrier it gets.

You feel the back of your knee being pushed by his own, and you stumble forward on the mattress. You’re confused, still descending from the high of your orgasm, feeling your limbs move under his command and notyours. Trying to find sense in his words. 

You don’t understand.

Your ears are cottoned – the orgasm has been that blissful – but you still catch the sound of a zipper being pulled down. Your front is plastered against the mattress, cheek buried in linen of freshly washed sheets. 

You don’t have the strength to stand, nor to look behind, so you can solely rely on your hearing, on your touch.

Shallow breaths. 

Shuffle of fabric – he’s taking off his shirt. 

His hand skims over your back, purposefully avoiding the bruise on your side. 

A finger pulls down the sweatpants to your ankles – the air feels cold against your skin, flushed and burning. 

Wet fingertips trail down your legs with uncommon reverence, until they reach down and yank the pants off your feet.

The denim of his jeans shifts. A thud – he’s on his knees.

He forces your leg to bend and kisses your ankle. Then the arch of your foot. Your toes, and it makes your cunt flutter around nothing. The actions are paired with a wet, rhythmic sound – he’s touching himself the way you’d touch him. 

He has fingered you with such voracity you thought you’d rip in half on his hand, and now he’s on his knees, kissing your feet. He’s switching rapidly – angry, then devoted. 

The former you know, but the latter is different. It’s new. 

You feel the mattress dip and protest under the additional weight, each of his thighs on either side of yours, keeping your legs flush together. 

A hand appears in your vision, gripping the sheets. 

You kiss the knuckle on his thumb, and he flicks it gently over your nose. 

His chest exudes warmth even if he isn’t properly touching your back. He simply hovers above it, putting his weight on his palm, while his other hand is busy stroking his cock.

You're wet and prepped just how he likes, in fact he slides in easily. 

You already came, which means you're hypersensitive – it feels like he's inserting something long and scorching hot inside. Your breath hitches in your throat at the intrusion, and he dips his forehead to your shoulder, leaving an apologetic kiss.

He fucks you slow and deep, dragging backward without ever pulling out. He wants to stay sheathed inside. He wants to bury himself in there, with your velvet walls squeezing him dry. You won’t complain. You’ll keep him snug until he’s sated. Until you are, too.  

This dance you know as well, and so you fold your arms behind you, bending your elbows so that he can grip both your forearms with one hand and use them as leverage to rail you until you’re only babbling nonsense.

But he… doesn’t?

He still fucks you, sure, but his hand doesn’t reach for your arms, preferring the sheets instead, and it makes you feel a little neglected, wondering if you're doing something wrong. Sure – you just came, he’s treated you to your nice little post-operation orgasm, and then proceeded to fuck you. So, he must still be into this – into you. 

Right? 

You thought this could’ve been a nice way to reciprocate, since you know how much he likes to get you to bend as he pleases.

A thank you of sorts. 

You reach up with your fingers, tickling his abdomen to make him notice that you’ve prepared yourself for him, arms knotted behind your back like a bow on a present – just in case he’s missed it, you know?

But he reaches down only to guide your arms back to the bed, distending them ahead. He goes to hold one hand but stops, instead digging his palm back into the mattress.

Just when you’re about to protest, lifting your head from the bed, he drags his tongue around the shell of your ear. 

You shudder. 

"I- I'm not good at this." He grunts as he fucks you slowly, dragging breathy moans out of your lips. "So jus’ listen for once in your goddamn life.”

It’s then that his pace picks up, punching a ragged groan out of your lips at the first abrupt thrust. 

He’s either doing it to shut you up, or to make you focus on something else while he speaks. So, maybe, if you’re busy molding your pussy around his cock and rolling your eyes to the back of your head, you won’t hear what he’s saying.

“Lieut –“

“Simon.” He chides loudly. “Fuck – Told you it’s Simon, ‘ere.”

You grip the sheets as your head bobs to the pace he takes. Your breathing is more akin to a wheeze, and your belly flutters each time he hits you just right.

“Simon,” you whimper.

“Yeah,” he croons. “Simon. Good.”

Simon is as breathless as you are, but much more contained.

“Need to know where you are,” he murmurs under his breath. “You got no idea wha’ I –“

He releases a shuddering breath that tickles your ear. 

You’re keening and shivering, trying to focus on his words but it seems like he’s trying his best to prevent you from listening, even if he’s the one who’s asked you to.

There’s something rabid in his motions. He bullies his cock as deep as it can reach, his hips brutally slap against your ass. You can feel the fat recoiling, the vibration tipping at the base of your skull. He’s feral and yet it’s so different.

He groans, but it's frustrated more than satisfied. 

“You got no fuckin’ idea, do ya?” He mutters the sentence like a curse. “No fuckin’ idea. You – “

You reach for his hand with your own, but he swats it away. 

You try again and he nibbles at your ear.

“Don’t." He warns lowly, stilling his motions until he’s hilted all the way inside. 

You suck in a breath as he shoves himself until there’s not an inch of space for him to move.

He’s ramrod stiff above you, struggling to keep his chest off your back – denying you of his skin. Of intimacy. Of contact. 

You twist your head that much to look at his face and find him staring blankly ahead. 

To say it worries you would be an understatement, especially if paired with the puzzling behavior he’s had all evening. 

You follow the trajectory of his gaze with your eyes and heartbreakingly discover that he's burning holes in your bruised flesh – the hand of that now-dead man still darkly imprinted on your skin. 

Skin still untouched by him.

You feel yourself falter. “Si-“

“You’re hurt.” he croaks. “I’ll hurt you more.”

You don’t know what staggers you the most: his cock up your cervix making you dizzy, or the hesitance in his voice. 

Hesitance.

Simon doesn’t hesitate. He’s not tentative. 

He takes.

If he can’t take, he delegates, and whatever he needs eventually will fall into his hand. 

You fell into his hand without too much of a fuss. He gave you the impression that you were the one demanding and obtaining, but the truth obviously lies elsewhere. 

Simon wanted you, too. He wants you, too.

He gave you the chance to sneak into his office and request an immediate closure to the cat-and-mouse chase. He delegated it to you.

And then he took.

Hesitance, clearly, isn’t in his daily vocabulary. 

This dance, you don’t know. You’re out of your zone. You don’t know which steps to take without tripping over his toes and disrupting the music. 

He’s unmoving inside of you, catching his breath with his lips on your ear.

“Can’t hurt you.” He breathes, and you have to focus to even catch it. 

“You won’t,” you whisper, trying a first step. “I’ll tell you if – “

And it’s the wrong one.

He starts again, pulling out and fiercely slamming back in. Your breathing snaps, palm coming down to slap against the mattress, “Fuck!”

It would feel oh, so good, if you were in the right headspace. 

He won’t allow you to talk. He’s begging you, in his contorted ways, to let him speak without judgment. Without the fear of knowing he has dropped the mask too low. 

This is his time. 

You should’ve shut your mouth, for once, and allowed him to speak. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

He asked for one thing. 

Jus’ listen for once in your goddamn life.

You purse your lips in a line and nudge your head against his own, a silent way to prompt him to go on.

I’m sorry. I’m listening.

“You got no idea.” He repeats again, but this time his voice cracks – overwhelmed.

He starts his voracious pace that always steals your breath and fucks your brain into a mush.

“I’ve looked for ya, asked ‘round – no one fucking knew. Got told you were off on deployment, and that’s it.” 

Each word is as accusatory and irate as the cock he’s drilling inside of you. 

“You weren’t comin’ back. One. Two. Three weeks. No fuckin’ sign of ya.” He thrusts in for each week you’ve gone missing, “I was – “

He stops. Inhales sharply. Hesitates, once again.

“Don’t wanna feel tha’ again – don’t put me through that again.”

Suddenly, you can feel everything at once. 

Your body perks up. 

Vision, hearing, touch, taste, smell – all filled of him.

And it’s not about sex anymore. 

It never has been, but how obvious it is now.

You want to hold his hand, but you decide to leave him space. 

The hand-shaped bruise on your arm glares at him like a promise he silently made with himself and failed to keep. You won’t make him feel like he broke a thing, because he hasn’t.

If anything, you’ve never felt more whole in your life.

You and Simon have never gone further than physical. You don't know how to soothe a heart so afraid if it belongs to him. So, you do the only thing you’ve learned that manages to get through to him.

You keen and moan and breathe, allowing tiny praises and sinful curses to leave your lips. 

Like that – yeah. Shit.

Yes, yes, yes. 

Deeper. Please.

His name – not his callsign, not his rank.

Simon, you croon. Simon, Simon, Simon. 

You feel the pressure of his come spurting out, flooding your walls like a dam has broken and crushed. His mouth on your ear won’t allow a single sound to pass, but he’s clearly overly affected – you know, by the way his breath comes. As if he’s clinging to life and has found purchase for survival right on your skin.

You want to kiss him, but you leave the choice up to him. You won’t squirm under the press of his forehead against your temple, but your lips are there for him to taste – moist and plump and ready.

Simon’s lashes flutter against your cheekbone as he regains his bearings. Looks at you. His eyes hint at regret – it’s a fraction of a second that has your stomach knot. But then he squashes it down, when he realizes that you saw nothing wrong in his words.

He kisses your cheek, and then your lips. Thankfulness seeps through.

"Don't hide from me again," he murmurs and gingerly hooks his thumb around your pinky. Not touching you yet, not so close to where you’re already aching.

You curl your finger around his own. “I won’t.”

[spaghettiposts]

Window Crashin’

WandaNat x Spidey!Reader

Summery: Crashing into the wrong window at night proves to be the best mistake you’ve ever made.

Warnings: Very OBLIVIOUS reader, straight up stupid I can’t lie. Gay panics all around. Fluff

Word count: 1.6k

A/n: my first time officially writing for Nat and I think I’d like to continue so expect separate fics of her sometime soon.

Kraven had become an incessant thorn in your side, his relentless rampage ever since he announced “The Grand Hunt” in the heart of Central Park felt like a never-ending nightmare. One that persistently dragged on as the weeks floated by, each day a new form of tinnitus growing in your eardrums at the echoings of his horn. Falling once again into his endless game of cat and mouse.

Or in your case Kraven and Spider–with Kraven playing predator and you, the elusive Spider, trying to lure him away from innocent civilians roaming the streets of New York. 

Which wasn’t as easy as one would imagine, but you made do with what you had, brains over brawns. Clinging onto the hope that eventually, Kraven would grow tired of chasing and resign for the night, with the promise that he’d return. And so the cycle goes on. 

There were other options you could resort to, but those were last resorts, ones you only used if you were certain you couldn’t handle Kraven or in case of an emergency. In all honesty, you’re avoiding involving the Avengers, it’s really the last thing you want this to come to. A couple of broken ribs wasn’t an Avengers level threat.

You could handle Kraven by yourself perfectly fine, and nobody got hurt at the end of the day—except mainly your sleep schedule.

And now, as you swung through the thick chilling air on route to the compound; you were struggling to stay awake, the bruises littered across your body only making it harder to keep swinging. It wasn’t that sleep had ever been your strong suit, but now, it seemed like a distant luxury. The sacrifice of a hero came in many forms, and sleep deprivation was yours. 

Tony had sacrificed half his company in pursuit of a heroic lifestyle, hell, even Steve froze himself to save humanity. If humanity needed you to suffer from fewer hours in bed, then so be it. 

You fought relentlessly to keep your eyes from drooping and it only took the honking of a truck for you to jolt awake, merely missing out on the experience of being rammed by one. 

Shaking your head, you muttered words of encouragement to yourself, living on a prayer of making it back to the compound - in one piece. 

As the familiar building came into view, you let out a breath of relief you didn’t know you were holding. Taking a moment to gather yourself, you swung around towards the left block and homed in on your window, only to face-plant straight into it with a resounding thud.

You groaned against the pavement, pressing your hands on the wall to steady yourself before you could slide off. Silently thanking that radioactive spider for granting you the ability to stick to surfaces as you adjusted yourself, what the fuck?

A miscalculation on your part—or at least you pictured. Pushing yourself back from the wall, your eyebrows crinkled. Huh.

You always left your window open–had one of your teammates closed it off?

Assuming one of the guys must’ve closed it off, you didn’t question much, missing your bed and running on pure exhaustion to really assess the situation seriously. Gripping the sides of the window, you tried to pry from the outside, and after a couple of difficulties; you managed to unlock it, budging it open with a click. 

Finally, home sweet home. 

Your body toppled into the room first before the rest of your body crashed onto the floor, reaching an arm to shut the window behind you. With a sigh of relief, you picked yourself up, stretching your arms above your head, eliciting a satisfying ‘pop’ from your back, feeling all the pent-up tensions of the day leave your body. 

Pressing the button on your chest, making quick work of discarding your suit. You struggled more than you’d like to admit, having to hop on one foot to wiggle your feet out of the padding. 

Amidst your squirming, you failed to notice the crimson warps seeping from your bed, freezing mid-movement as the lights flickered on by themselves, looking like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You screeched, scrambling up to your feet, firmly clutching your uniform in a poor attempt to cover yourself from the two women on your bed, equally startled.

“Y/n…? What are you doing here?” Natasha says after a beat of silence, her eyes furrowing as she lowers her gun and the arm protectively wrapped around her girlfriend. Wanda mirrored her actions and let the red wisps fall before she turned to you disconcertingly.

You shrunk under their gaze, feeling your heart pick up. It was too late to salvage any attempts at running for it, so you turned away, ignoring how affected you felt by their disheveled appearances.

Instead, you focused on why they were inside your room in the first place. Not that you minded having two beautiful women in your bed but at this hour? 

“What are you doing in my room? I just got back, what’s…” Your voice trailed off, slipping on your suit, as you looked towards your dresser…was it always that color? And why was there a photo of Wanda and Natasha on your nightstand? Sure, you were hopelessly in love with the two but never to this extent.

Barely bordering on those lines. 

“Detka…this is our room,” Wanda said slowly, as to not startle you. 

You cursed under your breath, realizing your mistake. “Aw fuck, I must’ve crashed into the wrong—wall-side thing,” you explained messily, picking yourself up for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. 

“Crashed?” Both of the girls shouted and you winced, scooting off awkwardly to the side, feeling even more like an intrusion. 

“Yeah but it’s okay though, that’s nothing compared to Kraven's fists, trust me.” You meant to reassure them, but judging by the worried looks they exchanged, it had the opposite effect. Taking their silence as an opportunity to leave, you stepped back.

“Anyways, sorry for interrupting your night.” You mumbled apologetically, reaching for the window handle. “I’ll see y'all tomorrow— son of a bitch.” You grunted, banging your head against the glass for the second time this night. You were really starting to resent these things.  

And Wanda bit her bottom lip, “Malysh, it’s late and you’re…not doing well, why don’t you stay here tonight?” She suggested softly, her voice coming out as sweet as honey and you almost dropped dead there.

“Here?” You blurted out, feeling a mixture of surprise and uncertainty. “Like, with you and Nat?”

Natasha and Wanda shared an amused look, before nodding in unison. 

Your face crinkled, not really understanding what the looks were for but you assumed it was all in your head. Sparing one last glance at the two, you confirmed this was okay, searching for even the smallest bits of hesitancy or discomfort only to find nothing but welcoming smiles. 

With a small nod, barely audible, you murmured a hesitant “alright,” as you settled into the chair beside their bed, placing your feet on the small wooly ottoman.

Had your eyes been open, you might’ve noticed the way their faces dropped in disappointment. After months of obvious pining, not-so-subtle flirting thrown your way, you were choosing to sleep…not with them but on a chair.

A brief silence lingered, and you shifted in your seat. Even with your eyes closed, you could feel their eyes piercing and you were starting to sweat.

“Sorry,” You mumble, heat rising up your neck in embarrassment as you removed your feet off the ottoman, fearing you had overstepped. Still, their gazes remained unwavering and you rubbed your arm unsurely, “Is the chair off–limits too? I can take the floor if that’s better.”

“Dorogoy, we’re inviting you into our bed,” Natasha chuckles disbelievingly, fingers tracing the covers as to tempt you with the invitation. 

“Mhmm, yeah no. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” You shook your head, stumbling over your words. “I don’t do well in confined spaces with pretty women, I mean— no wait you are, both are super pretty but that’s not—“ 

Thankfully, Wanda interjected before you could embarrass yourself further with a giggle. You swore your stomach flipped. “Cute, but won’t you get cold?” She suggested, Natasha nodding and lifting the covers, adding, “It’s much warmer over here.”

Again, you waved them off and they were starting to get fed up with your excuses. “Oh nah! My suit has thermal heating installed, pretty cool right? Tony helped me insulate it–”

“Y/n, just get in the bed.”

Before you could protest further, you felt those warm red tendrils wrap around you, coaxing you into their bed, and you couldn’t even remember why you were fighting this in the first place when their arms wrapped around you. Not when their sheets were so warm, and their bodies warmer. 

Resistance be damned, as Natasha's hand ran gently through your hair, you relaxed into it, and both girls smiled. This was how things needed to be, always. 

Still, your heart was beyond nervous to even enjoy the moment but they were pushing at your shoulders to tuck you in further, getting settled themselves. They tangled their limbs with your own and it was official; there was definitely no escaping this. 

Pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, Wanda murmured a couple of words and you felt more comfortable clothes encase you. Natasha pressed a tender kiss to the shell of your ear before bidding you a good night.

You repeat her words back and they tighten their grip, closing their eyes. 

With exhaustion finally catching up to you, your eyes drooped helplessly again, fluttering shut, bones begging for sleep, and you finally surrendered to its embrace. Allowing yourself a moment of rest with the two people you treasure most in the world. 

And suddenly, crashing into windows didn’t seem so bad after all.

[stottlemorgan]

Low Honour Arthur Morgan NSFW Headcanons (Female Reader)

Author's note: Much like my Mid Honour NSFW Headcanons for Arthur, these are for me to flesh out his character in my head. Low Honour Arthur is much more warbled ground for me as I feel he can go in many different directions!! He’s a little toxiccccc, girlies (I know y’all eat it up like I do). I’ve used my first headcanon post as a framework in order to have it be some sort of pair piece to the Mid Honour side. This has some deeper bits about Arthur’s character within the smuttiness, I hope that it’s still enjoyable! Love y’all <333 Tags: 18+ smut, MDNI!, oral, masturbation, p in v, Low Honour Arthur being a meanie Word count: 2,562 Ao3 Link.

♡ Oh, this man will hold it all in until he bursts. He is a boiling concoction of self-loathing, shame, fear, and desperation. All he wants is to be wanted, to be loved, but he won’t allow it for himself because he can’t imagine any instance where he genuinely deserves it.

♡ When it comes to PDA, well, don’t count on him being consistent. One moment, he’ll let you wrap an arm around his waist or plant a kiss on his cheek, sometimes he’ll even squeeze your rear or hold your waist if he’s up for it. The next moment? A mighty volte-face. He’ll dodge your hands, turn away, glare at you as if you’re insane for trying to touch him.

♡ If you keep trying to rile him up, he’ll genuinely get agitated. Each time you touch him, he almost snarls, his mind tearing itself apart, both aflame with need and extinguishing it all at once. He’ll snap at you whilst his fingers twitch and his eyes rake down your body. “Simmer down, girl.” “None o’that now.” “I said quit it. I ain’t in the mood.”

♡ He’ll even go as far as to insult you to get you to back off, even if it in turn makes him feel worse. “Ain’t got two pennies on my person right now, Miss.” “Why don’chu go wear yourself out doin’ some work instead seein’ as you ain’t helped none today.” “Not sure you need makin’ more stupid today, darlin’. Go ‘n’ help Grimshaw.”

♡ There is one thing that he enjoys quite greedily though… You sitting in his lap. Your plush rear settled into the cradle of his groin and your soft body applying the most calming pressure to his person as he swills a sup of whiskey about his mouth. He’ll allow you to sink onto his lap at almost any time, in any way. It gives him a blazing kick of control and though he won’t admit it, it helps ground him.

♡ If you want to turn him on, it takes some time but not because his body is failing to react. He’ll grow solid as stone but you have to get him to a point where he feels ready enough to touch you in return.

♡ Some nights, he’ll allow himself a simple, rough bout of self-pleasure. His hands move quickly, sloppily, like his whole being is searing with an unscratchable itch. He’ll huff and grunt and spill over his fist without thinking too much, before he can think too much. He cleans up and tucks away his cock as though he’s uncomfortably tending to a wound, his eyes only flitting down occasionally to make sure he’s not missed anything.

♡ He doesn’t deserve the pleasure. He doesn’t deserve to be loved or held or valued for much more than the services he can provide. For the workhorse needs nothing more than a mere carrot to serve its master.

♡ But he also wants to take. To snatch what he so desperately wants from the world around him, from you. Whether he deserves it or not. He just wants a taste, he knows it won’t last for very long.

♡ Like a cat to cream, he just wants to lap insatiably before the hand that feeds him so sporadically rips it away again.

♡ He isn’t all that talkative a lot of the time. He can be vocal but it’s more subdued. Grunting, groaning, but through clenched teeth, huffing. Puffing very loud breaths through his nose as he squeezes his eyes shut and maintains a vice-like grip on your hips. The majority of his thoughts stay caged within his mind. I don’t deserve this. God, I don’t deserve this at all. I’m ruining this poor woman. I can’t stop myself. Foolish and desperate as always. Arthur, you sick son of a bitch.

♡ When he does feel like talking, he’s quite blunt. Telling you what to do to give him what he wants, telling you what to do so that you get what you want. “Up now, girl.” “Lean forward, now.” “C’mon.” “Come now, girl.” “That’s good.” “Doin’ well.” “S’at good enough?”

♡ His way of praising you is a bit more forceful. He wants you to feel it, not just hear it. Sometimes he’ll praise you through words, his voice strained, “That’s it, girl.” “Mm, you’re feelin’ good tonight, girl.” “Oh, there y’go. That’s it.” “Gooood girl, good girl, keep at it.” “Mm, right- right there– That- that’s it- beautiful-” 

♡ Other times he’ll praise you physically - squeezing your waist, smacking your ass, thrusting into you a few times a little quicker with a hum and a sharkish grin to show he’s enjoying you, mouthing at your skin, licking his lips after tasting you.

♡ You can praise him in return, but be prepared to hear him sigh. His face will scrunch as if you’d just kicked him in the stomach, and to him, it feels as though you have. “Wha’d I say ‘bout talkin’ like that? Mhm, yeah, I said quit it.” “You tryna piss me off?” “Shit, girl– Stop with all that.” “Shut up.”

♡ If you catch him out on a particularly tiring or stressful day, your words will choke him of breath. His eyes will dart up, he’ll blink uncomfortably, his mouth opening and closing, his tongue nervously wetting his lips as his self-loathing funnels down from his brain and floods his lungs, melting the usual bite from his voice. His forehead will land on your shoulder, or against his palm. “None o’that today.” “Please, darlin’.”

♡ Once in a blue moon, something more will slip from him, the pleasureful haze brewing a drunken feeling in his chest akin to romance. His touch will soften, his movements slowing, his gaze shining with a strange clarity… And he in those moments he lets you see him. “Ain’t deservin’ of you, darlin’.” “You been on my mind all week, I- I been thinkin’ ‘bout takin’ you into town.” “I weren’t plannin’ to leave ‘til mornin’. If you’ll have me.”

♡ If he smothers you, that’s just how it is, he won’t even think about it unless you let him know he’s doing it. “Mm– Arthur– You’re crushin’ me.” “Apologies, Miss.” His voice will leave him cattish, very almost chuckling.

♡ He’ll be gone for days or weeks at a time and return to camp abruptly in the middle of the night, practically ripping through the flap of his or your tent, grabbing, mouthy, and greedy. “Get up, girly.” “Evenin’ to ya, Miss. You’re lookin’ mighty warm ‘n’ comfortable.” “In my tent again, I see? You’d think you were waitin’ for somethin’.”

♡ If you try to look him in the eye, he’s quick to duck his head down, fuck you harder to make your eyes roll back and away from him, pinch you, push your chin up. Trying to form a consistent connection with him is futile, he won’t allow it. He’ll groan, the sound towing the line between vulnerable and truculent. “Stop that.” He’ll flip you over and shove your face into the pillows if he has to.

♡ If you’re persistent in your efforts, he’ll become genuinely agitated with you. “M’not here for that. Stop.” And if he’s feeling particularly unfond of the attention, his body will falter, his cock softening, the solidity and heat flowing up and through to instead fence off his heart.

♡ When you climb atop him, whether it be to ride his cock or his face, he has a habit of averting his gaze to the sight of your glistening core adorning the cruel landscape of his body the same way a stream runs over the jagged rock of the bed. If he has an arm free, he’ll bring it over his eyes, chest heaving, teeth bared as he groans.

♡ This man will buck up into you, no question about it. He loves to roll his full length into you when he’s on top, feeling you pulse around him as you whine, so it’s not different when the roles are reversed. Take, take, take, give, give, give.

♡ By your umpteenth orgasm, you’re sheening with one another’s sweat. His skin sticks to yours, his musk sharpening your sweet scent as you breathe each other in through sloppy kisses. You’ll have to change your clothes, if you’re wearing any, as will he. Though, only with a full bath will you remove the tang of his sweat.

♡ This man is a glutton in all ways he allows himself to be. He’ll unabashedly devour you, his thick fingers dipping into your skin as he viciously mouths his way up and down between your clit and your core. He needs you to huff and gasp and moan, he needs to hear and feel what you’re feeling from him, for him. He’ll groan, pressing his cock into whatever’s beneath him. He’ll overstimulate you with purpose, watching you as your head falls back, as your heels dig into his back, as you cry out his name. His lips and tongue will be flushed a sweet pink when he pulls away only to take a few breaths before planting heavy kisses about your groin.

♡ When you kiss your way down his chest, his stomach, inching lower, his breaths tighten. His hands will already twitch with the urge to grab your head, want and discomfort waging a fearsome war behind his dilating pupils. He’ll grab at whatever is at his sides and his mouth will drop open with a low groan as you gently guide his cock into your mouth, you’d almost think you’re hurting him. He’ll stammer out a few half words as you start to suck and if you look up quickly enough, you’ll catch his gaze, wide and focused on you. So many words want to burst from him, yet they never do. His brow will furrow and his jaw will tense as he thrusts into your mouth, his breaths verging on whimpers. At some point, a hand will come to the back of your head and he’ll stroke your hair, his fingers occasionally twitching, grabbing as the pace increases. He’ll grunt and squeeze his eyes shut, the muscles in his jaw flickering, his body writhing. The need for more starts to slosh about in his stomach like gasoline, one spark of nervous thought away from combusting, from pushing you away and singeing you both.

♡ On occasion, he has wordlessly and swiftly ushered you out of his tent or left yours in a few long strides, heavy with his brutish build but also fear and discomfort. If he feels that you saw him a little too closely, feels that you were a little too kind, too familiar, his skin will burn with the compulsion to put as much distance between you as possible despite you remaining firmly at the forefront of his mind.

♡ In those moments, rough, strained huffs escape his chest as he quells the hot and gentle tears coalescing at his eyelashes. His stomach becomes an angry, swinging weight, dragging him about, seeking some sort of solace. He knows he could find it in you if he went back but he just can’t bring himself to bare more than his body to you.

♡ If you’re growing to be a little too loud during sex, especially if you’re semi-public, he won’t hesitate to clamp a palm over your mouth, giving your head a little shake. “Now now, enough o’that. You’re soundin’ like you’re wantin’ to be caught.” He’ll shove his tongue into your mouth, or even apply a light pressure to your throat, juuuust enough to stifle your moans into squeaks. “I said quiet now, sweetheart.”

♡ He likes to paw at your rear, your hips, your thighs, pushing them apart, moving to your breasts, his hands warm and rough and kneading your shoulders as he mouths at your jaw. When he settles into it, he loves massaging your body, giving you what he won’t give himself, a unique bristly tenderness. He’ll stabilise you, holding you, but there’s a lasciviousness to it. He’s helping you but his own gain is of equal thought.

♡ He’ll suckle on your skin, nipping at you, grinning as he pulls little gasps from you and purples your skin. If you don’t complain too much, he’ll pinch and squeeze you here and there, digging his blunt nails into your skin and bringing you flush to him with a low hum.

♡ You’re permitted to mark him in turn, “If you’d like.” Scratching his back and drawing a shiver and a hungry moan from him. He’s quite fond of you biting his shoulders, tonguing at his skin as you suck as his neck, bruising his back with your heels as he thrusts into you. “S’a dangerous mouth you got there, girl.” “Christ- c- careful, darlin’.”

♡ He’ll check in with you, though it’s quick. If you’re on your front, he’ll lean forward and cup the side of your head, guiding you to look at him briefly. “Y’alright?” “Yeah?” “That’s it, ain’t it?” If you’re on your back, he’ll nuzzle into your neck, kissing and humming. “How’s that feelin’, darlin’?”

♡ He’ll soak your skin with messy kisses, practically biting you as he moves to your mouth, your teeth clinking together. He’ll grin as you laugh into his mouth, a grating hum sounding in his palette, something sounding so close to him calling you his girl. “Mmm’girl. C’mere.”

♡ He’s not one to often tolerate an attitude. He’ll tense, his brow furrowing, eyes narrowing, jaw setting. He’ll grasp you, putting you into position, leaning in close, his lips brushing yours. “You gon’ keep grousin’?” “What’s that about, hm, girl?” “You wanna tell me what you think you’re doin’ talkin’ to me that way?”

♡ He’ll also click his tongue or tut at you, and even shake his head while he’s doing it if he’s feeling especially snarky.

♡ If you’re feeling overwhelmed, he’s not likely to stop if he thinks you can handle it. He’ll slow down for a moment, let you have a few breaths, but while you do, he’s palming at you, kissing your back or chest, riling you up still. “Shhh, shh, sh, c’mon now. You can take it, can’chya? I seen you do it before… Mhm, that’s it, good girl.”

♡ If it really is too much for you, he’ll hook his arms beneath yours from whichever way you're facing and bring you up to sit in his lap, a heavy sigh escaping him as he snuffs out the nasty compulsion to snap at you. He wouldn’t want to snap at you deep down, it’s just his body seething with need. “Come on, darlin’. Why don’chu take a minute? Here, come.” He’ll hold you to him, tense with arousal, his eyes closing, fighting how exposed the gesture makes him feel.

♡ He’s quite dominating, but the blade of his controlling nature has blunted edges when it comes to you. He can be aloof, snippy, rolling his eyes, but he’ll still kiss you and rub your shoulders or waist as he’s snapping at you. He won’t always say no to you taking some of the control either; though he has to guide you into it or tell you to take control.

Tags for my sweethearts (I can't remember exactly who, so sorry if I've missed you or tagged you accidentally! Love y'all!): @frillydolle @pinescent-and-gingerbread @zae-heeyyy @thoughts-of-bear @kayyqua @thundermartini

[vxnuslogy]

– jealous charms.

pairing: wise x gn!reader

premise: when jealous, wise had an interesting habit of trying to outdo whoever caught your attention. he needn't worry though, he'll still be your favorite forever.

– warnings: none

– author's note: another filler fic until i finish that one sunday fic that i've been marinating for 2 days now. | ~1.7k words.

“master, is it safe to conclude that you’re jealous of miss grace howards from belobog industries? you’ve been awfully engrossed in trying to replicate her creation for [name].”

a loud clatter echoed in the room as the pair of pliers in wise’s hand suddenly dropped to his work table. your head darts to wise’s hunched figure. his back was awfully straight and shoulders tensed as you raised an amused brow at him when he stood up from his seat and marched his way to fairy. muttering quiet curses as the bangboo on your lap tilted its head at him.

“is that why you’ve been glaring at her whenever we visit the construction site?” you questioned with a teasing tone. wise swiveled his head to your direction and narrowed his gentle eyes at you but you only let out an amused snort. he looked more like a wet cat than a big shot proxy with the way his cheeks burned red all the way to the tips of his ears. the color could probably rival the red tassel earring you gave him last year on chinese new years.

“firstly, i am not jealous–”

“i would beg to differ, master.”

“second!” wise turned to fairy, a hand to his hip while the other ran down his face, voice raising slightly as he tried to rid off the flustered tint on his cheeks. “if i were to be jealous of someone, it wouldn’t be grace.”

“will mister anton from belobog industries be the next candidate?” the ai quipped at him making the gray haired boy groan in frustration.

a laugh rippled from your chest as wise pouted and begrudgingly went back to his work station. but not before narrowing his eyes one last time at a glowing blue eyeball (?) that was fairy.

“aww wise it’s okay,” you gently place the bangboo down on the floor and make your way to wise. trying your hardest to take a peek at whatever he’s been working on. or at least get confirmation that he was actually making what you thought he was making. “everyone gets jealous sometimes.”

wise didn’t appreciate your teasing remark because he rolled his eyes at you and threw a piece of paper at your face. “seeing as though you’re not doing anything, do me a favor and pick up some more films for the store.”

it was your turn to pout. “jealousy doesn’t suit you at all, wise.”

with a sigh, you reluctantly left the room when he raised a brow at you with a smirk tugging at his lips. you hated how such a small quirk up of his lips melted all of your teasing. but then again, when it comes to anything related to wise you didn’t put up too much of a fight, no matter what it was.

– –

wise was not jealous. he repeatedly reminded himself of those words like a broken record. reciting it like a mantra in his head as he continued to bend and break the pieces of metal in front of him.

“master, now that the subject of your affection is gone, will you finally admit to being jealous?”

fairy’s words sent a shiver down his spine, silently thanking belle and you for going out to the arcade and prolonging your inevitable return even more. if either one of you heard fairy, he wouldn’t be able to live it down. a defeated sigh left his lips when he dropped his tools and buried his head in his arms.

“fairy, please just shut up.” wise’s voice was no more than a muffled plea as fairy continued to torment him.

“but all the data i’ve collected all share the same conclusion: you are jealous master.”

wise turned his head to their hdd system that glowed blue as fairy’s avatar floated. “okay so maybe i am a little jealous.” 

“but why, master?” wise felt an oncoming headache approach as fairy listed out the reason why he shouldn’t be jealous. “hollow raider [name] has made it clear on many occasions that they favor you the most. their sudden interest in miss grace howards cannot compare to their interest in you.”

wise knew that but it still didn’t feel right to him. with a groan he dropped his head back on the desk, his free hand coming to inspect the silver band he’s been working on for the past few weeks. “you’re making me feel stupid here, fairy.” an uncharacteristic pout graced his lips when he remembered how your eyes shined like bright diamonds when grace showed you her newest invention.

“it’ll help you in the hollows!” she had proudly proclaimed. and ever since that day, you’ve been wearing the bracelet that doubled as a tracker for both your health and your position to every mission you took on. wise felt the pricks of jealousy whenever you praised the older woman with a dazzling grin and an excited “it was very helpful!”

“i’m also helpful.” he muttered to no one in particular. 

“of course you are! you’re my proxy after all.”

wise felt his heart lurch out his chest as he hurried hid the band inside his hand when you appeared in the room. like a deer caught in headlights, he stiffly smiled at you. “w-when did you get back…?” he cooly asked, or at least he hoped it sounded cool enough for you to brush off whatever you heard.

with your hands behind your back, you stalked your way to his desk. “just a moment ago. belle is shelving all the new films now.” you lean in closer to wise’s space, trying for the second time to catch a glimpse at whatever it was he was working on. a tentative smile forming on your face when you ask him, “will you finally show me what you’re making? i won’t laugh, i promise.”

you certainly wouldn’t laugh, but you would tease him relentlessly. a final sigh escaped him as he leaned back on his seat and opened up the hand that hid his creation. “it’s… really nothing.” his voice was unusually timid when you walked over to his desk and took a peak. being in such close proximity with you has his poor heart and mind swimming. you wore perfume today and it was all wise could think about as you gingerly pick up the silver band.

“you need to give yourself more credit, wise.” 

this wasn’t good. if you continued to look at him like that he would surely melt into a puddle, and that would be incredibly embarrassing. a smile broke out from your face as you unclipped grace’s wristband and put wise’s creation on your wrist.

“does it have any functions?” wise has always enjoyed your curious nature. sure, it got you in trouble most of the time, but he found it incredibly endearing. he shook his head and opened up the closest drawer and pulled out a matching band several sizes smaller. “not any advanced ones, not yet at least.”

wise stood up from his seat and picked up the bangboo peacefully dozing off in one of the corners. taking its small arm gently, he slid the band over and glowed a soft white. the same thing happened to the one you wore and wise swore he felt his heart skip a few beats when you looked at him with big eyes filled with wonder.

“but it can accurately track your ether aptitude and send me an emergency message when you’re reaching your limit,” picking up the bangboo in his arms, wise made his way back to his desk and placed the little creature on it. “it’s still a work in progress, but i hope it’ll eventually be able to map out full hollows without much trouble.” 

your silence made wise nervous. you were never this quiet and he didn’t dare to look at you. that is until he felt a pair of arms wrap around his head and the scent of your perfume invading his senses. his breath started to quicken as you nuzzled your face into his hair, hands resting on his shoulders. wise felt his entire body tingle when your chuckle vibrated through his entire body and left a fuzzy feeling in his chest, a swarm of freed butterflies fluttering inside his stomach when you pulled away. warm hands holding both of his cheeks that were no doubt burning a bright red.

“did you make this for me?” wise didn’t like the way your eyes crinkled into amused crescents. “or did you just want to outstage miss grace?” he heard your laugh ring out when he turned his head to the side and murmured a soft maybe into your palm.

“god you’re so cute you know that?” a wide smile spread across your face as you smothered the boy into another hug. “don’t worry, no one could ever replace my proxy.”

wise wasn’t a physically affectionate person, not by a lot at least. but right now when he feels your laughter so close to his heart, he can’t help but wish to stay in your embrace. his arms slowly snaked to wrap around your waist and pull you closer, wanting to hug you like how your skin hugs the bones that make up your entirety. how lovely it must be to live inside your heart, to feel every beat pulsing through him as he listens to your heartbeat. slightly erratic but still calm, so unlike his that was beating so rapidly he feared it might escape his ribs and offer itself to you. 

“maybe i was a little jealous.” he didn’t know what urged him to say that but the laughter it stole from you made him smile like a fool. wise would stay jealous forever if you would hug him like this every time to assure him that he was still your favorite form of protection.

“thank you for always caring about me, wise.” there was such vulnerability in your voice that made wise tremble in your hold. all he could offer was a hum as he buried his head further into your chest making you chuckle. if only you knew the lengths he would go to just to keep you glued to his side, away from all harm and danger.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

[xothatnerdykid]

what's love got to do with it?

The students and teachers alike at UA High can't help but notice the strange behavior of the typically stern and stoic teacher of Class 1-A. They come up with all sorts of theories but soon discover the even more surprising truth: Aizawa-sensei is simply falling in love. Fluffy Aizawa x fem!reader drabble. SFW. 2,828 words.

The way everyone looks at him when he walks in, you’d think he’d grown a second head or something.

Aizawa glances up from his phone after reading a sweet little text from you, greeting him good morning and wishing him a good day at work, only to find every student's wide-eyed, unblinking attention focused solely on him.

One second, they were all happily chattering, and then, the next…

"Hmm? What?" He asks his class offhandedly, throwing his things on the table and taking his usual seat.

But instead of answering him, the whole room erupts into a whispered frenzy.

"Did you see that? Did he just...?"

"No way! Must have been a trick of the light or something."

"What the heck? I feel so unnerved. Llike we just spotted a UFO or something.”

“You guys saw it too, right? Are we all just collectively hallucinating?”

"Oi!" He calls their attention. "Would anyone care to tell me what it is exactly that's gotten all of you so worked up this morning?"

Stunned silence falls over Class 1-A again, and Aizawa can’t help but cross his arms and sigh. “Iida? Yaoyorozu? What’s going on?”

He doesn’t miss the way the class president and vice-president exchange a hesitant look before Iida answers him. 

“Apologies, sensei!” He hastily gets up to bow. “I will personally make sure everyone quiets down.” He zooms around the room and gestures frantically at his noisy classmates to settle down.

Bemused by their commotion, Aizawa observes them all carefully. What could’ve caused such a stir? He wonders. And why are they all so reluctant to tell him? Did he have a piece of spinach in his teeth or something? A quick glance downwards tells him he didn’t forget to wear pants or shoes or anything, so what was it?

“If I may, sensei?” Yaoyorozu raises her hand and he nods at her. “I think everyone was just a little distracted by your change in demeanor today."

He furrows his eyebrows at the young girl. "What change?"

"Well, we’ve never seen you smile before. Or at least, not like that.”

He blinks in surprise. He’d been smiling when he walked into class this morning? "What about it?"

"Well, sir," Iida adds, taking his seat once everyone's finally settled down. "It's quite an uncommon sight. Naturally, they were taken aback."

“You usually only smile when you’re giving us a tough time in exams or training exercises, sensei.”

The corners of Aizawa’s mouth twitch upwards at that, which he quickly covers up with a small cough. “Well, enough of that. Let’s get on with today’s lesson, shall we?”

Everyone straightens up to listen as their homeroom teacher goes over a few important announcements. And although he isn’t smiling anymore, Class 1-A doesn't miss the way his usually sharp gaze has grown soft and almost...fond as he speaks to them.

As soon as the homeroom bell rings, Aizawa dismisses them with an absent-minded wave of his hand and takes out his phone to text you: Do I really never smile?

You smile when you’re rounding up bad guys sometimes. You reply almost right away. Or when you see a cat.

He chuckles. Apparently I also do it when I’m torturing my students. Then…Or when I’m texting you.

You send back a little cat emoji, and the grin you get after reading that doesn't leave your face for the rest of the day.

_________________________________________

“Shouta! Helloooo? I said Earth to Shouta?” Kayama waves her hand in Aizawa’s face.

It seems to snap him out of whatever trance he’s in. “Sorry, what?” He blinks up at her.

She gives Yamada a look. “What’s with him today?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs, then turns to his friend. “Hey buddy, didn’t get any sleep again last night or something?”

You could say that, Aizawa thinks to himself with a smirk, then hastily scolds his features into their usually stoic expression. “No. Why?”

Kayama raises an eyebrow at him. “You've just been acting a little...off. Distracted, maybe?”

"Nothing to worry about," Aizawa reassures them, dismissing their concerns with a wave of his hand. He goes back to observing his students closely in the hopes of them moving past the subject, but Kayama and Yamada aren’t convinced. Anyone looking at him could tell something was different today.

“Sensei?” Kirishima hesitantly calls out to him. “I’m having a little trouble with my balance. Could you show me that move again?”

Aizawa nods, and everyone’s jaw just about drops to the floor when he demonstrates the proper stance with uncharacteristic patience. 

"Remember to be mindful of where you shift your weight," He guides Kirishima through the motions with a supportive tone, a stark departure from his normally gruff and no-nonsense approach. "And keep your focus. You'll get it."

Kirishima does as he’s told and looks to his teacher for feedback.

"No, adjust your stance a bit like this. Yes, that's it. Great improvement," Aizawa says, offering a rare compliment. 

Flabbergasted, the red-haired boy manages a stuttering, "Th-Thank you, sensei," before Aizawa moves on to help the next student. 

Observing everything from afar, Kayama leans over to Yamada and whispers, “He didn’t get a concussion on that last mission, did he? I've never seen him like this."

“Check what was in his coffee a while ago. And if he still has more — oof, it was just a joke!”

_________________________________________

“Okay, enough is enough!” Mina bursts into the room, dramatically crying. “I have to know!”

“Know what?” Kirishima asks as the others start to gather around her.

“What’s going on with Aizawa sensei? I saw him on the way here — he’s wearing a buttoned up shirt.”

There’s a collective gasp.

“Are you sure?” Momo asks.

Mina nods frantically. “And it was freshly pressed, too!”

Another round of gasps.

“And his hair was tied up!” The pink girl all but weeps, throwing herself onto the nearest desk.

“What do you think is going on with him?” Deku rubs his chin thoughtfully.

“He’s been acting so weird lately!” Uraraka whines.

As if on cue, Aizawa walks in. “Good morning, class,” he greets them without his usual gruffness.

Everyone hurries back to their seats, but Mina leans over to grab Kaminari’s sleeve, screaming under her breath, “He said good morning!”

“Look at his eyes!” He points frantically. “No puffy, dark circles or redness at all! He actually looks well-rested for once!”

“That’s where I draw the line!” Kirishima almost slams his fist on his desk. “We have to get to the bottom of this.”

Sero joins them, “Do you think Mic sensei and Midnight sensei know anything?”

Kaminari shrugs, “It’s worth asking.”

“Maybe Aizawa sensei has a secret twin and he’s pulling a prank on us?” Deku contemplates.

Uraraka shakes her head, “Sensei? Pulling a prank? I doubt it. What if there’s a new teacher at UA with a shape-shifting quirk?”

“Or Shinsou brainwashed him into being in a good mood?” Jirou chimes in.

As they huddle and murmur, Todoroki and Tokoyami shoot them curious glances, and Iida has to shush them discreetly. 

They snap back to attention every time Aizawa faces them, pretending to listen to the lesson. But as soon as their sensei turns away again, the room buzzes with whispered speculation. 

And though he acts none the wiser, seemingly engrossed in the topic they're supposed to be discussing, Aizawa can't help his amusement listening to their outlandish theories. A small, smug part of him relishes stoking the fires of their confusion. 

He knew he'd have some explaining to do, but for now, he’s more than happy to just let  them wonder.

_________________________________________

“Oh, look who finally decided to show up!” is the first thing Mic says when he spots him. The colorful cocktail in his hand is practically empty, but he happily sips the fun loopy straw for whatever dredges he can anyway.

“Are you going to make me regret it?” Aizawa grumbles, taking his seat next to his friends.

But Mic and Midnight just snicker, unfazed. They’ve had years to get used to his grumpiness after all (and a few drinks to put them in a better mood). 

"We have to admit, Aizawa," Midnight smirks up at him. "We had an ulterior motive for asking you to come hang out tonight."

"Don't you always?" He deadpans, lazily chewing at the gyoza they ordered without him. Although he doesn’t show it, he’s pleased to see there’s already a whiskey neat waiting on the table for him. 

Midnight rolls her eyes as she slides it over to him, "Yeah, but aside from just getting you to lighten up as usual."

"And getting you to sing karaoke with us, which I still can't believe—"

"You promised me we'd never talk about it again,” Aizawa groans as he rubs his hand over his face. “And that you'd never let me get that drunk again.”

"Awww, come on, buddy," Yamada slings his arm around him. "What's the point of having a good story you can't tell?"

"Fine, but I'll deny it, so no one will believe you anyway."

"I don’t know,” Midnight sing-songs, swirling her margarita in its glass. “With the way you’ve been acting lately, they just might.”

He frowns at her. “Meaning?”

Mic grins, leaning forward with an impish glint in his eye, "Meaning we heard you've been keeping secrets from us, Aizawa."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh really? Then would you care to tell us why you’ve been smiling so much lately?”

“Or who you’ve been trying to look nice for?”

Realizing they weren’t going to let this go easily, Aizawa sighs and takes a deep sip of his whiskey, the familiar warmth sliding down his throat. He's not one to discuss his personal life openly, even with his close friends, but there's something about their teasing that doesn't quite irk him tonight.

Aizawa tilts his head slightly, thoughtfully. "I'm just...happy, I suppose."

“But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

“Come on, buddy, you can tell us!” Mic nudges him playfully. 

“We want to know what’s got our favorite grump acting like a—" Midnight’s hands quickly fly up to cover her gasp. 

“Like a what?” Mic gives her a puzzled look, but Aizawa’s shoulders tense up at the glint in her eyes. That look usually meant very bad things for him. 

“Like a lovesick puppy!” She grabs Mic’s arm, excitedly slapping it before shaking Aizawa’s shoulders and squealing into his ear. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re in love!”

Aizawa chokes on his drink, and Mic pats him on the back to ease his coughing fit.

"Real smooth, Kayama,” he teases her.

"Sorry, but I couldn't resist," Midnight pouts, the twinkle of amusement still shining bright in her eyes.

Aizawa wipes his mouth and sets his glass down with a sigh. “Well, if you must know…There is…someone I’ve been spending time with.”

"Someone!" His friends chorus, delighted.

Mic nudges him gently. “Well? Don’t leave us in suspense!”

"Who is it? Do we know them?" Midnight leans forward, giggling.

Aizawa looks down at his glass for a moment, contemplating how much he should reveal. Although he feels a little overwhelmed by their excitement and their scrutiny, he also secretly relishes the joy of sharing this part of his life with his closest friends. 

It feels good, he thinks, to be around them and to know that they care so much about him. And though he’s never been one to discuss his personal affairs, he trusts these two enough to share the parts of himself he usually kept guarded. 

Seeing the expectant looks on their faces, eagerly awaiting his answer, Aizawa's ears turn the faintest shade of red. 

“Do you want to meet her?” 

_________________________________________

"Had a fun night?" You greet your boyfriend with a hug when he shows up at your door well past a reasonable hour.

You don't miss the small smile on his face when he takes off his shoes. "Actually, I did. But Yamada and Kayama were pretty insistent on meeting you." 

"You told them about me?" you respond, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. 

He nods, not quite meeting your gaze. "I think they'd like you."

"Really?" You plop down on the couch with him and stretch your legs atop his lap. 

"Yeah," He gently grazes your thigh. "They were wondering why I've been acting so differently lately."

"Like what?"

"Apparently I'm smiling more and acting nicer and" — He air quotes — “Stopped looking homeless."

You laugh. "And what did you say?"

He shrugs, “That I guess my girlfriend just makes me really happy.”

“Awww,” you pat his cheek playfully. “What’s next? You gonna tell me you’re in love with me or something?”

"Yes? I thought it was obvious?"

"What?" Your heart skips a beat at his nonchalant admission.

“Hmm?” He looks over, and seeing the evident surprise on your face makes Aizawa chuckle. "I thought I'd been making it pretty clear, but I suppose I should say it outright. Yes, I'm in love with you."

Your heart flutters at his words, a warmth spreading through you. "Well, for someone who's known for being so straightforward, you sure took your time saying that."

He brushes a strand of hair from your face and leaves a soft, lingering kiss on your temple. “I’ll say it as many times as you want to hear it, baby.”

You lean in closer, your lips almost touching his. “Alright,” you look up at him with a sleepy smile and half-lidded eyes. “I’m waiting.”

"I love you," he whispers, his voice low and tender. He places a gentle kiss on your nose. “I love you,” and then another on your cheeks…“I love you.”

He gently brushes his lips against yours, cupping your jaw so you can’t help but gaze deeply into his dark, smoky eyes before he finally closes the distance between you.

“Mhhm.” You smile, contentment washing over you like a gentle wave. "I love you, too, baby."

[bookshelf-in-progress]

A Father's Heart: A Beauty and the Beast Retelling

For the Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge at @inklings-challenge

Let me tell you, I sure confused that Beast when I returned. Have you ever seen a cat pounce on its own tail? That was the look of confusion the Beast had when he saw me in his palace. Only this cat was enormous—standing seven feet tall on his hind legs—black as soot, with claws this long, and a mouth full of teeth like butcher knives.

"Where is your daughter?" he asked me. Yes, that's what he sounded like—all deep and raspy, like he was growling and purring beneath his words.

"At home," I said.

"You did not bring her?"

“You told me,” I told him, "that I could return to be devoured or send her to take my place. I returned.”

"She did not wish to save you?"

“I never told her. Do you think I could lay that kind of burden upon my own daughter? What sort of father do you take me for?”

He had taken me for a cowardly one, I guess, because it took me a long time to convince him that my daughters were all safely at home, and I didn't plan to fetch any of them. He didn't seem to know what to do with me after that. He wasn't as bloodthirsty as I'd have expected someone with that many teeth to be.

"You will be my guest," he said at last—and he didn't seem too glad about saying it. No doubt he'd have preferred a pretty young girl as a houseguest to a weathered old sailor. But he gave me run of the place—I could help myself to anything, go anywhere I pleased. I didn't understand it. He'd been ready to kill me for a rose, and now he was giving me everything in the house?

I wasn't about to complain, though, so I set about to enjoy the place. The Beast encouraged me to enjoy the luxuries of the palace, but I've always been a working man—I didn't fancy living the life of an idle aristocrat. Before the week was out, I was working in the gardens—the place was overgrown like you wouldn't believe. When I wanted a rest, I'd explore the castle, and boy, was there plenty to see. He had rooms upon rooms of treasures—paintings, silks, wines, musical instruments, even an entire room full of exotic birds! I'd made my living selling such things, and my head swam at the sight of it—a tenth of it would have been worth more than all the riches I could have transported in ten lifetimes.

I didn't make my fortune by having dull wits, and I didn't lose it for lack of courage, so it wasn't long before I began to piece together the truth of this place and confronted the Beast with it.

"How long have you been cursed, your highness?" I asked him one evening at supper.

That great big cat was so shocked he knocked a wine bottle off the table. "Who says I am cursed?"

"Blazes, man, I'm not blind! This palace is worth more than most of the kingdoms of the world put together. If there was a king out there this rich, you can bet every merchant in the world would know of him. He'd have destroyed the world's economy. Fairy magic's the only way you get a horde like this, but you, sir, are no fairy."

Now the Beast seemed intrigued. "How do you know that?"

"A fairy would never have let me live—if he promised to kill me, he'd have killed me. No mercy among their kind. Only a human could have changed his mind like that—for which I'm very grateful, by the way."

"You're welcome," he said, seeming dazed.

I went on, "You're definitely more than a dumb beast; you walk and talk and dress like a man, so it stands to reason you were a man once—that furry coat of yours is just some fairy shell. Same way all these riches are probably just dirt and ashes once you take away the magic. Which means you must have run afoul of a fairy sometime in your past, who decided to curse you with an animal body and then trap you in a palace full of false riches."

I looked at the furnishings, the food, the Beast's clothes—everything spoke of royalty. "Fairies always meddle with royals, so you must have been a prince. The seventh son of the king of Gher went missing just before I went on my last voyage, so I'd wager that he is you. Am I right?"

The Beast goggled. "I…can't say."

"Which means I'm right. No fairy worth his salt would let you say you were cursed. Which means all I have to do is figure out how to break it. Those fairies always give you a way out—the more improbable the better."

I came around to his side of the table so I could walk around him and examine him from all angles. "You were disappointed when I came—you wanted one of my daughters, not me. When I did come, you didn't seem too keen on killling me—which makes me think it was an empty threat, trying to convince me to send my daughter instead. Which means she must be the way to break the curse. What can she do that I can't? Easy—true love. No fairy would think a girl could love a hulking monster like you, so that would be their impossible way to break the curse. You needed, what—true love? Marriage?"

"I can't say," the Beast said, but I knew by his face that I'd hit upon the right answer.

"That makes things simple. You let me out once before. Let me go home again and fetch one of my girls, tell her there's a prince waiting for her, and bring her back to join you in wedded bliss."

He seemed genuinely horrified by that. "I…can't say."

"Oh, of course. It won't count if she knows you're a prince. Well, I'll leave that part out. Tell her that the Beast who spared my life is in need of more company. With a bit of time and a bit of encouragement from her old dad, we'll have you back in human form by Christmas."

He thought it was worth a try, and something he could arrange with the conditions of his curse. So I went home to my children, convinced my sons not to follow me to slay the Beast, and made the castle sound intriguing enough that all three of my girls agreed to join me. I thought that maybe Hope would be the one to break the curse—she's always been the boldest of my girls—but it turned out that my quiet, gentle Beauty brought out the soft side of the Beast. It was the cutest thing you ever saw, the way they'd sit together reading in the rose gardens, that great big cat as shy as a schoolboy with her.

It wasn't three weeks before the Beast worked up the courage to propose—and my Beauty accepted without hesitation. Then there was blinding light and earthquakes, and when the dust cleared, the palace was gone. We were standing in a clearing in the woods—and a black-haired prince stood where the black-haired Beast had once been.

He's an excellent boy—I'll be proud to call him a son. He doesn't mind at all that his bride's the daughter of a failed merchant or that she once worked on a farm. We'll all be moving to his palace across the sea to live as honored members of the family.

Which is why we're moving out on such short notice—his highness doesn't want to be away from his kingdom any longer than he has to. I'm sure you'll find someone else to take the old place off your hands.

No, you don't have to believe me, but it's much better if you do. You'll look much less like a fool once it comes out that it's all true.

[nouvellevqgue]

✦ THE BOY IS MINE, O. BEARMAN

is where you're in a mission to prove that ollie is yours, but little did you know that he's also going to do the same to prove that you are his.

fc: pdm.clara on instagram

taglist: @queenofmanydreams @muglermami @4limq @avengers-assemble123456 @cabbyhabs @meowtastick @4mula-1 @miarabanana @amel1ee @dinosushilun1 @auggieblogs @namgification @charli123456789 @cherry-piee

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₊˚⊹౨ৎ ⋆｡✦˚‎

TWITTER, AROUND 2 HOURS AFTER HIS POST ON INSTAGRAM:

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ⋆｡✦˚‎

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TWITTER:

[stupidphototricks]

Nobody's doing it like Otto Chriek. He's a vampire who has sworn off drinking b-word. He likes hanging out in cellars and hanging from chandeliers. Photography is his passion, and his passion is painful and comes with a high risk of discorporation. He experiments with dark light and philosophizes about the nature of time. He figures out how to create photo plates with hardly any effort. He invents the three-color printing process. He designs a method to auto-reanimate himself. He lays down his life for the team (but then picks it up again*).

*(yes this is a joke from the book, all credit to Sir Terry)

William caught Sacharissa's gaze. Her look said it all: We've hired him. Have we got the heart to fire him now? And don't make fun of his accent unless your Uberwaldean is really good, okay? -- Terry Pratchett, The Truth

"Vell?" he said sternly. "Vot you all looking at? It is just a normal reaction, zat is all. I am vorking on it. Light in all itz forms is mine passion. Light is my canvas, shadows are my brush." "But strong light hurts you!" said Sacharissa. "It hurts vampires!" "Yes. It iss a bit of a bugger, but zere you go." -- Terry Pratchett, The Truth

William vaguely remembered something someone had once said: the only thing more dangerous than a vampire crazed with blood lust was a vampire crazed with anything else. All the meticulous single-mindedness that went into finding young women who slept with their bedroom door open got channeled into some other interest, with merciless and painstaking efficiency. -- Terry Pratchett, The Truth

"Good mornink," said Otto. "Do not movink, please, you are making a good pattern of light and shade." -- Terry Pratchett, The Truth

"I cannot promise an absolutely vunderful job first cat out of zer bag, off course." -- Terry Pratchett, The Truth

"Bodrozvachski zhaltziet! …oh, sorry, Miss Sacharissa! Zere has been a minor pothole on zer road to progress…" -- Terry Pratchett, The Truth

"Zer philosopher Heidehollen tells us zat the universe is just a cold soup of time, all time mixed up together, and vot we call zer passage of time is merely qvantum fluctuations in zer fabric of space-time." -- Terry Pratchett, The Truth

(Sounds kind of like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff...)

"It [dark light] is a light without time. Vot it illuminates, you see . . . is not necessarily now." -- Terry Pratchett, The Truth

"You vanted color, I gif you color," said Otto sulkily. "You never said qvick." -- Terry Pratchett, The Truth

A couple of bits that are more spoilerish under the cut:

That thing where Otto screams and (sometimes) turns to ash when he takes a picture is particularly funny if you imagine it from the point of view of the unwitting photographic subject, in this case Cheery Littlebottom:

"Ah, a vonderful framing effect!" said Otto, who'd been on the other side of the door. Click! William shut his eyes. WHOOMPH. "Ohhbuggerrrrr . . ." This time William caught the little piece of paper before it hit the ground. The dwarf stood open-mouthed. Then she closed her mouth. Then she opened it again to say: "What the hell just happened?" "I suppose you could call it a sort of industrial injury," said William. -- Terry Pratchett, The Truth

And the scene where Otto goes up against William's father is just a thing of beauty.

"Ve have people like you back home," he said. "Zey are the ones that tell the mob vot to do. I come here to Ankh-Morpork, zey tell me things are different, but really it is alvays the same. Always zere are damn people like you! And now, vot shall I do with you?" [...] "You think I bite him? Shall I bite you, Mister Lordship? Vell, maybe not, because Villiam here thinks I am a good person." He pulled Lord de Worde close, so their faces were a few inches apart. "Now, maybe I have to ask myself, how good am I? Or maybe I just have to ask myself… am I better zan you?" He hesitated for a second or two, and then in a sudden movement jerked the man towards him. With great delicacy, he planted a kiss on Lord de Worde's forehead. Then he put the trembling man back down on the floor and patted him on the head. -- Terry Pratchett, The Truth