#(I guess?? I GUESS???? it's just a mention though)

[mystellenia]

first kiss with abby ୨ৎ

summary: after the romantic tension between you and abby reaches a peak, you two finally share a sweet kiss.

content: answer to this req and part two to this!! fluffyfluffyfluffy! ehehehehehe. i love fluff i love writing fluff. nothing nsfw. just lowk domesticity with abby and then super cutesy pie origami stuff and then a kiss 💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋 ok toodles enjoy

notes: three weeks of no post i’m sorry my children. i am back!!! classes just finished and now i have summer break so i just had to soak in my freedom from my fuckass med teacher. he can choke fr 💯

(wc 1.6k)

a series of vibrations from your phone rudely pulls you out of your sleep and you swipe your hand across the bed to silence the notifications. you find your phone connected to abby's charger on her vacant side of the bed, the sheets cold without the warmth from her skin to heat them up. she always ran hot—especially during the night—which usually resulted in her yelping at your cold feet pressed to her thighs and trying to absorb her warmth in the hours of the night. 

you raise your phone to your face and are met with four notifications from abby on your home screen. 

abby :p otw back with our loot  

abby :p two berry pastries for the missus and one cream cheese puff pastry for me 

abby :p and nadia gave us two chocolate croissants bc we're super cool 

swiping to unlock your phone, you head to messages and reply to her. 

you YAY thanks you're the best 

you we gotta get nadia a gift card or somethin

you or a bottle of liquor 

you head to the bathroom to brush your teeth with your toothbrush abby got for you for her apartment since you slept over so often. while you load your brush with toothpaste, your phone lights up with a notice from messages: "abby :p loved 'or a bottle of liquor.' " sticking the toothbrush in your mouth, you smile around the minty foam and continue freshening up before abby returns. 

around ten minutes later, you hear the jingle of her keys at the front door and practically skip to the living room to retrieve your pastries. 

abby unlocks the door and pushes it open, a brown bag with a cafe logo printed on it in one hand and a drink carrier with two coffee cups hanging from her ring and pinky fingers in her other. with her few remaining fingers grasping onto her car keys to not drop them, she nudges the door back shut with her hip and locks it. 

her blonde head donns a blue and white trucker hat, the brim of it blocking her from seeing you standing and sheepishly smiling a few strides away. she calls out to you to signal her return. 

"hey, i'm back! and i come bearing gifts. i got-" it's then that abby takes her hat off and notices you inching ever closer. "oh, hi. i got you herbal tea. there weirdly was a lot of traffic today, even though it's, like, seven." 

she continues on as she unpacks everything that she got for you. "then again, i guess kids have school. man, i hated that about high school—waking up early and getting to class on tim- you know what? you're not listening anyway with your food right in front of you," she chuckles. "go on. release! free!" she pokes, using command words for a dog. 

you kiss your teeth and scowl at her, mumbling a "whatever" before tearing into the paper bag. you're met with your two fruit pastries first, then you spot the chocolate croissants abby mentioned under them. 

the two of you stand and eat in comfortable silence in the kitchen, you sipping on your tea and abby picking at her puff pastry. when you finish, you clean both of your spots and abby throws away the paper bag and pastry wrappers, washing her hands after.

after breakfast, you guys ping pong around her apartment, moving from her bed to the couch to the floor and then back to her bed again, all just to talk or scroll on your phones.

hours pass, and after a brief joint nap in her bedroom, you guys now sat on the floor of her living room, light filtering in from her large windows and warming your skin. the floor was littered in origami squares of all different sizes and colors, the origami book abby had gotten for you split open between you two. 

there was a village of origami figures surrounding you, from hearts to frogs to ladybugs to cranes. the book was flipped to a particularly challenging page of an elephant, and you looked over at abby in confusion. 

she was just as confused as you, if not more. her hair was tied in a messy golden knot at the nape of her neck, loose strands crazy and framing her face. her brows were pulled tight on her face, her eyes bewildered and looking at the same piece of paper in her hands as if she'd never seen it before. 

"what step are you on?" she asks, looking at the square in front of you that you were working on. 

"twelve. out of..." you flip the page twice. "god. thirty." you sit up straight to stretch your back out. "i get it, though. kinda." 

"what? show me. i’m on, like, seven. i swear they skipped a step. or forgot to add a picture. just something is wrong." 

you scoot over to sit next to her, pulling your leg to your body and propping your cheek on it. abby places her piece in front of you puts her hands in her crossed lap, her eyes wide and waiting for you to make sense of her issue. 

"okay, let's see." you pull the book closer to you to confirm the step she's on. "step seven is... rotating and folding the back of the elephant." 

"which i did," abby verifies. 

you rotate the piece and immediately find her mistake. "which you did not." 

"what?! where?" 

"here." you trace your finger along the missing crease. "you see how on mine, this part is creased and pointed? like a peak?" 

"uh-huh..." 

"and yours doesn't do that." 

she simply hums, so you look over at her to confirm that she's listening. her eyes are unfocused and locked on your face. they flit between your own and then drop to your lips for a second. the single second feels quite long, though, when she looks so deeply at you in the way that she does, or when her baby hairs draw attention to her blonde lashes, long and very slightly curled around her sapphire eyes. 

she seems to snap out it—whatever it was—and she deeply inhales, licking her lips and refocusing on the task at hand. 

"can you repeat that?" she asks. "sorry, i... i zoned out." 

it was your turn, now, to lose focus and examine her. you stare at her lips, rosy and still glossy from her just licking them. you stare at the corners of them and the ever so slight frown her mouth always pulls into when she's focused. you stare at the little creases in them, the dozens of lines that- 

"are you looking at my lips?" she questions, interrogative and almost paranoid. 

"oh, um, sorry. i was-" 

"why were you looking at them?" she interrupts again, her eyes wild and demanding an answer from you. 

"because, i- well, you just licked them, so- i don't know. because." you swallow, mumbling, "what, can i not look at them or something?" 

her stone stare softens after noticing your flustered state, and the two of you exchange a long and quiet look. 

abby held her breath nearly the entire time. she didn't want to assume anything or read the situation wrong, but your eyes were dilated. they were dilated from looking at her, and just from that. 

as if it were out of your control—like you were magnets—you started moving closer to her. abby could not seem to remember how to control a single muscle in her body, so she just sat and watched you move closer as her cheeks grew pinker and pinker. 

you stop right in front of her face, the tips of your noses kissing and your breaths shared. after a few seconds, you realized abby wouldn't initiate anything, so you leaned in and pressed your lips to hers, short and sweet. when you pulled away, abby's eyes remained closed for a few seconds before they slowly fluttered open. 

"you just kissed me," abby whispers in disbelief, pointing out the obvious. 

"i just kissed you," you echo back. 

it's abby who leans in for the second kiss, thick and intense with emotion, her hand sliding up your arm. her hand reaches the back of your neck, and she pulls you closer and deepens the kiss. 

you press your forehead to hers and stop kissing her, an infectious smile taking up your features instead. 

"are you.. are you seriously smiling right now?" abby gasps theatrically with mock offense. 

your smile breaks out into giggles and you press your face into her cheek to hide. 

"wow, i cannot believe this. you are laughing at our kiss!" she teases. 

"stop, no i’m not!" you plead, still laughing. 

"whatever you say." she grabs your chin between her fingers and pulls your face back to look at you. peppering kisses on your cheeks, she relents on her taunting.  

"are you gonna show me what i did wrong, or what?" she says, referring to the initial topic of her paper elephant. 

you smile back at her. "yeah, i will." 

"okay." she presses one last kiss to your temple and then waits for your instruction. 

"i was saying, there's supposed to be a crease here, on what'll be the back of the elephant." 

abby nods and hums like she's listening, but really, she smiles at your profile as you continue to speak. 

@abbysbug @abbyonmars @abigails-gf @picklesarenice69

heheheh all done!!!! this was so cute to write especially the end like i was talking to @abbyonmars while i wrote the end and we were fangirling over typed words and pixels. but what else is tumblr dot com for if not to fangirl!!!!

[enhaheeseung]

SLEEP 🕒 - L. Heeseung

🕒Pairing: Heeseung X fem reader!

🕒Warnings: smut, mutual masturbation, cursing.

🕒Synopsis: it’s late, and you can’t sleep, but luckily, your best friend knows just the trick to help you out.

🕒Wc: 1,5k (Drabble)

-

Sighing to yourself, you set your phone down on the lamp stand after you noticed it was literally three in the morning.

You and your best friend had been watching movies talking and hanging out since ten and you hadn’t even noticed the time till now.

“You sleepy?” He turned to you just in time to catch you rubbing your strained eyes.

“Yes, it’s like three am, hee,” you groggily reply, turning on your left side facing away from him.

“Oh shit, you’re right. I’m sorry,” he chuckled. You could tell he was just as tired by how deep his voice had gotten.

“It's alright.” He set his phone aside as well and leaned up against the headboard.

“I guess I better get going.” On cue, he lets out a yawn.

“Are you crazy? It’s so late out you might as well just spend the night” you mumble out.

He rubbed his chin in thought; he was really tired, and driving probably wasn’t the best idea right now. “I didn’t bring anything for a sleepover.”

“Just wear whatever,” you respond, on the verge of passing out.

You feel a dip in the bed and hear him shuffling around. He takes off his pants and his flannel before he slips under the covers with you.

For most, it’d probably seem weird, a guy and a girl sleeping in the same bed, but the number of times you both knocked out together while studying during your high school and college days made this one of the most normal things between you two. “Goodnight, y/n. I might be gone before you wake up.”

“Just make sure to lock the door in the morning night, hee,” you whispered, turning off your lamp while he did the same after you.

You readjusted to get comfortable and pressed your cheek against your pillow, waiting for sleep to come over you.

Ten minutes passed, and sleep never came. You were tired, but for some reason, you just couldn’t fall asleep.

“Ugh,” you groaned and quickly cupped your mouth so you wouldn’t wake heeseung up with the racket.

Little did you know he was still wide awake.

“Y/n?” He asks, followed by a beat of silence. “You’re still up too?” He says with a hint of amusement in his tone. At least he wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping.

“Yes,” you laid flat on your back, copying his resting position. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I’m tired, but I just can’t seem to sleep,” you respond in the pitch-black bedroom.

“Same,” he sighs, folding his arms over his chest.

You both lay there in silence for a few minutes until he says something that completely catches you off guard.

“I read that having an orgasm can help you fall asleep,” he says casually.

You giggle and push his shoulder, or at least you think it was his shoulder. It was so dark you really couldn’t see. “And where did you read that?”

“The internet, of course, says it has something to do with the release of oxytocin or some shit” he lets out an airy laugh putting his hands behind his head.

“Interesting,” you hum.

“It is, works like a charm for me,” he says through a yawn.

“TMI”

“Oh please, we’ve talked about so much shit that this is PG,” he scoffs.

“Yeah, but not you touching yourself.” You cringe as the words leave your mouth.

“I didn’t say anything like that. All I said was it works,” he shrugs even though you can’t see him.

“Whatever,” you say, too tired to argue with him.

It’s silent again, and the idea he mentioned sounds a lot more appealing than laying here all night without getting any sleep.

But you can’t necessarily try out this little theory of his with him in your room, so that idea was out the window.

“You still up?” He checks on you a minute later, and you hum in response. “I mean, I could give you one if you want,” he holds in his laugh, knowing that you’re about to chastise him.

“Lee heeseung, stop it this instant,” you tell him sternly.

“Okay, okay, just thought I’d ask. I’m your bestie, and besties look out for each other, right?” He continues to push your little buttons.

“Yeah, by giving a shoulder to cry on, not giving each other orgasms,” you huff out a breath.

A thought popped into your head: you weren’t getting any sleep anytime soon, and since he wanted to mess with you, two could play that game. “I mean, you could,” the words leave your mouth in a nonchalant manner.

He gasped, not expecting you to match his humor. Most times, you didn’t when it came to something sexual. “Knock it off. It’s weird when you joke about it,” he laughs.

“Who said I’m joking?” You taunt.

“Cause the y/n I know would never,” he says confidently, thinking he knows you like the back of his hand, and normally he does, but just not when you’re sleep-deprived.

“What about the y/n who’s in desperate need of sleep and will do anything just to catch a few hours before work in the morning?”

His ears are perked up now, the soft, sultry tone of your voice alerting him instantly. “You’re really not joking, are you?”

“Do I sound like I’m joking?” You shift closer to him, and he feels your body heat right away, making his heart beat faster in his chest.

“I-I y/n, if you’re joking, just tell me.” his voice shakes a little, the slightest hint of a whimper traveling close behind his words.

Calling it quits with talking, you find his hand in the dark and grip his wrist, guiding him right between your legs. “Hee, I’d never joke about this,” you gasped as his warm hand cups over your mound.

“Fuck” he whispers and props himself on his side, slowly gliding his hand between your legs. “You really are serious, huh?” His voice sounds even huskier than it did before as he confidently presses your clit over your sleep shorts.

“Yes, hee,” you whine, desperation dripping from your voice as you clench your thighs around his hand, keeping it firmly nestled against you.

“Shit, okay, turn over for me” You get back in your original position, your back now pressed against his chest, his crotch a few inches away from your backside. “Now close your eyes.” his hot breath tickles your ear.

You do as he says, too tired to even think twice about what you’re getting ready to engage in with your best friend.

His two middle fingers rub circles on your clit, working you up quicker than you could have ever imagined. You’re already leaking a bit of precum.

“Mmm,” you moan softly. His fingers felt so good, especially when he slipped them further down, teasing your entrance while his palm rubbed your clit.

Your hand caressed the one that was between your legs, tracing the veins along the back of his hand. “Does that feel good?” He swallowed thickly, his lower body pressing against you unintentionally.

“Yes, hee, so good” he humps your backside, his swollen cock being stimulated by the softness of your plush bottom.

“Yeah, so good,” he whispers in your ear. You feel so good you don’t even notice the way he ruts against you, the movement of his hips forcing your waist to roll against his palm more, bringing you even more satisfaction.

“I’m so close, hee, I’m gonna cum” you cry out, body shuddering as the warmth and pleasure builds in your lower region.

“Shhh, I know, I know,” he breathes out heavily, placing a soft kiss on your cheek and a few more rolls of his hips. You’re both coming undone together, panting exhaustedly.

He rubs you through it, whispering encouraging words in your ear like. “Yeah, feels so good, doesn’t it?” “Let it all out,” “Keep cumming” “That’s it.”

The pleasure goes on for so long that another orgasm follows after giving you the most intense pleasure you’ve ever experienced. “Hee,” you whimper his name, your body trembling against his as you shudder in the aftermath of cumming back to back.

He nuzzles against you, cuddling you and helping you ground yourself until you catch your breath.

He’s still struggling to calm himself with how hard he just came. He hasn’t cum that fast and that much in a while. “Was that good?” He asked timidly into your hair, releasing a deep breath.

“Mmm,” you moan in response, your eyelids finally feeling so heavy that you can barely open them.

But you couldn’t forget about heeseung, so you flipped over on your side, your forehead touching his. “What about you?” You slowly reach into his boxers, gripping the base of his length, feeling a good amount of wetness covering his shaft.

“Ahh, s-sensitive,” he moans shakily.

You retract your hand right away. “Did you-“ he cuts you off, nodding against your forehead, and you slowly pull your hand out of his underwear.

“I’m good,” he assures you. “Let’s sleep now yeah? We’ll clean up in the morning” his words sound slurred and you can barely even understand what he’s saying cause you’re so tired.

Apparently, whatever he read about orgasms was true cause you’ve never fallen asleep faster.

-

Thanks for reading likes comments and reblogs are always appreciated sorry for any typos or errors I hope you all have a good day/night♥️

[after-witch]

The Glass House [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: The Glass House [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: You get your period and Mahito wants to run a few tests.

Word count: 3465

notes: yandere, consensual relationship, reader is on their period, mentions of other people's torture and death, humiliation relating to period, Mahito being Mahito is his own warning

It’s not often that Mahito bothers with your bathroom. Only, in the past, when you’ve been in it--naked and wet and usually mid-shower, as he apparently finds it entertaining to see what noises you make each time he surprises you. 

(Once, after comparing him to the killer in Psycho, he’d demanded to then watch the film. ‘But I didn’t stab you and you didn’t bleed chocolate syrup,’ he’d said, simply, after the scene in question.)

Today, though, he’s decided that there must be something interesting in there, because he’s spent the better part of 5 minutes rummaging--you can hear the sound of items being moved--in the closet and, judging by the sound of rustling, he’s now fiddling with the trash can.

“Hey,” he says, finally sauntering out of the bathroom. When you turn to greet him, a sarcastic remark about having fun digging through the trash on your lips, your heart stutters. 

In return, Mahito simply blinks at you.

“What’s this?” He asks, dangling one of your used pads from his hand.

The smear of dried blood in the center of the white pad feels accusatory, out of its proper context in the trash can. A bit of toilet paper sticks to the end of it, remnants of the ball you created to cover up your mess. 

“Oh fuck,” you say, reflexively. “Put that down! That’s--it’s--”

“It’s blood,” he says, giving the pad a sniff. “Smells funny though. Why’s it in your bathroom? Why’s it on this thing? When did you get hurt? Why were you hiding it in the trash?” The questions come simply, nearly rapid-fire. He probably says them as he thinks them.

Your cheeks burn something awful by the end of his questions, and your answer comes out half-stuttered. “It’s--I didn’t get hurt. I’m on my period.” 

One of his fingers is stuck to the bottom of the pad, and he peels it off deftly, holding it closer as you wish you could snatch it from his hands and forget this ever happened.

“Oh,” is what he says, eventually, with a quiet hint of curiosity. “I guess I’m lucky then. I’ve been wanting to study human menstruation for a while now.”

The word study sticks to your chest, but you aren’t able to peel it away so easily. You don’t want him to study you; don’t want to be under his scrutiny in such an obvious way. It’s easier to pretend he knows about people, about humanity, when you’re firmly playing at something closer to a normal relationship.

As if anything about this was normal. 

“Can’t you study one of your… experiments?” 

Experiments. Oh, what a simple, inoffensive word for what they really are--you shake that thought away as easily as a mosquito, though it never truly leaves the room. 

At this, Mahito’s eyebrows raise, and the edge of a smile tickles his lips. 

“Oh,” he coos. “That’s awfully selfish to say, even for you.”

He closes the distance between the two of you now, and you don’t bother resisting when he gives your chest a poke--thankfully with the hand not currently holding your used pad--and encourages you to sit back down on the sofa.

“I want to see.” Simple and clear, like most of the things he says to you. His directness with you is something that does make him stand apart from most people. If he wanted attention, he told you so; if he wanted to be left alone, the same. There weren’t mind games with him or--or hell, if there were mind games, you were too stupid to notice them and that was just fine with you, because the alternatives of your past relationships had been far worse. 

“Why?” You ask, if only to delay the inevitable.

Mahito shakes the pad on his hand, smiling a little at the way it sticks, before he peels it off and sets it on the coffee table. He sighs. “Movies never show it. They always show the woman eating ice cream or screaming at her boyfriend or cuddling with pillows, but they never show what’s actually happening down there.”

You squirm without moving.

“It’s just blood.” Your tone stays flat, uninterested. If he thinks it’s boring, he might move on. “Nothing special about that.”

Mahito’s smile reminds you of an eel. 

“Then show me.” 

It’s not a request that you can parry off, so you don’t bother; instead, you spread your legs, pulling up your skirt so that Mahito won’t do it himself. You might just lose the garment entirely, if it was left up to him.

Mahito claps, then crouches down in front of you, getting far too close to your pad-clad underwear for comfort. He takes a sniff and you’d like to die on the spot.

He gives the pad a poke. 

“Why do you put this in there? What’s it called again?”

You close your legs a little--instinct--and he holds them open for you. It’s easier that way, you think. Easier when he takes control and you don’t have to fight your instincts. 

“It’s a pad,” you force out. “I put it there to absorb the blood.”

He tilts his head. “Why?”

Your nose wrinkles at the question. “So it doesn’t get on my clothes or everything I sit on.” A ghost of a memory pushes through your brain--blood stains on school bus seats and church pews--and you force it down.

Mahito tilts his head, and you think he’s about to ask what you’re thinking about, but instead he sighs and rests his head against the edge of your thigh.

“Humans are so squeamish.” His fingers reach up and climb up your leg, dancing on your inner thighs, towards the pad. You twitch--it tickles--and he smiles. “Does everyone use pads?” 

“No,” you say, as he grips the top of your underwear and begins to slide them down. You do move, now, but not to oppose him. It would be pointless. Instead you hike yourself up a little, so that your bare privates aren’t touching the couch. “Some people use tampons,” you finish, as if you’re not sitting here, hunched on your sofa, while a curse pulls down your underwear to get a look at what’s underneath.

Mahito glances up at you. He wants you to elaborate.

“A tampon is like a cotton stick, I guess? You put it up--there--and it absorbs like a pad. But from the inside.”

“Oh!” The edge of Mahito’s fingers play with the pad on your underwear. “I guess some of my experiments have been on their period, then. I wondered what those were.” He pouts, just a bit. “Maybe that’s why some of my experiments haven’t been working out right. I wasn’t taking menstruation into account.”

The thought has your stomach roiling. But you don’t want to talk about it. Don’t want to think about it--what Mahito does, when he’s not here, and how what he does is just as much a part of him as the moments when he’s snuggling with you in your apartment or fucking you into your mattress.

When you look back at him, he’s grinning.

“You’re squeamish, too. About my work.” He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. “Don’t worry. It’s cute on you.”

With that, he gives up all pretense, and peels the pad away from your underwear in one swift motion.

“What are you doing?” You ask, even though you know the answer.

“Keeping it.” He sets it next to the already used pad. In contrast, the pad he’s just peeled away still has mostly brighter red blood on it, rather than the dull, brown old blood from the bathroom trash can. “I want to see how long it takes for you to bleed through your underwear. And some more things,” he adds, casually.

Oh, you think. This is too far, too weird. It’s puncturing the bubble you’ve created around you and Mahito in a way you don’t like.

“Mahito, I am not--”

In an instant, his eyes are on you. It’s a look that says, “You are,” and your lips feel like they clamp shut without hesitation. Something low climbs into your stomach and takes root there. When your shoulders slump, defeated, he pats your knee in appreciation.

“We’ll have a slumber party this week,” he tells you, voice getting more giddy as he goes on. “For three days? Four? However long you bleed.” He stands up and begins to survey your apartment, but for what you don’t yet know. “I can get a lot of experiments done in four days.” 

You don’t have the heart--or the stomach--to deny him.

--

When you were thirteen, you once got your period in the middle of class. You didn’t know it until you leaned forward in your desk to get a closer look at what the teacher wrote on the blackboard--your needed glasses at the time, and didn’t yet know it--and one of the boys behind you let out a distinct tween boy guffaw, snickering just loud enough for everyone to hear: “Dude, that’s fucking nasty.”

And then you’d felt it--wetness clinging to the inside of your black pants. And you’d scooted back, looked between your legs, and there it was: a smear of red on the dull grey chair. 

You were too embarrassed to do anything but sit back down, cheeks so hot that you began to sweat, and listened as everyone behind you began murmuring about your period. You had wanted to die for almost two weeks, and for the rest of your school career, you wore a sweater around your waist just in case you started without warning. 

That incident, as life-defining as it had been, was not as embarrassing as what you’re going through right now.

“Mahito,” you mumble, voice thick from your tightened throat. “Is this really necessary?”

Mahito, seated at a folding table he’s hauled into the living room, glances up at you. You, naked as the day you were born and perched awkwardly on top of a porcelain bowl that Mahito had shoved underneath you.

“Which part? The bowl or you being naked?”

“Both,” you blurt helplessly.

Mahito smiles. It’s such a pretty, awful little smile. “The bowl is,” he admits. His eyes leer over your body, awkward as it must look right now. “I just like to look at you.”

God help you, you feel flattered; the warm flush in your skin tingles with the new emotion. Mahito’s praises never failed to make you feel like that, even in the midst of something like this.

Mahito abandons the table and squats in front of the sofa, peering in between your spread thighs at the bowl underneath. You squirm, and he smacks the inside of your thigh sharply. You stop moving.

“I thought it would come out faster.” His tone is soft, low. Detached to everything but mild curiosity. Like a child studying an insect in a chair. “But it’s more… oozing than anything.”

“Don’t call it oozing,” you say. 

Before he can answer, a timer resting on the folding table dings delightfully. Mahito doesn’t waste time and yanks the bowl out from underneath you, leaving you to land flat on the sofa with your bare ass.

“’Hito!” You whine. “It’ll stain!” Thoughts of having to get the smeary blood out of your couch override the desire to keep your whining to a minimum, lest Mahito get annoyed with you. But, you think, it doesn’t matter much now. He’s not even paying attention.

Instead, he whisks the bowl over to the table and places it on the scale to weigh.

He sighs out something like disappointment. “It’s not that much blood at all, really. I don’t know why women complain about it so much in movies.”

He wasn’t paying attention to your whining earlier, but he does hear your incredulous intake of breath at his words. He glances back at you, confusion written on his face.

“What? It really isn’t. Now, when someone loses a limb, that’s real blood loss. And it spurts out, instead of oozing.” He nods, affirming his thoughts to himself. “That would be something to complain about.” 

“It’s not just the blood,” you say, half absent. Your mind drifts to when and where and how Mahito might see someone lose an arm. Did he cut it off? Or another curse? Did the blood droplets spray over his face? Did the person die right away or--

While you were lost in thought, Mahito left his post at the table and returned to crouch in front of you, now sitting flat on the sofa despite the inevitable stains. 

“Go on,” he says simply, all the while pushing your thighs apart with his hands. There’s a bit of blood smeared on the inside of your thighs and he leans forward to give it a lick. The awful feeling nesting in your stomach bristles. 

“Don’t.” 

Mahito blinks up at you. “I want to,” is all he says, before he does it again. 

The look he gives you--Will you try to stop me?--is met with you dropping your chin, just in time to see him smile. He gives another lick. “Tell me what else makes you complain when you’re on your period.”

You think about the sneering boys behind you at school, the way one of them tapped you on your shoulder and said, voice full of glorified condescension, “Aren’t you even wearing a pad? That’s nasty.” 

Instead, you rest your hands on your naked stomach and murmur out the answers Mahito wants to hear.

“Cramps.” You swallow, forcing yourself to taste the ghost of your milkshake from lunch this afternoon and not the bile that wants to come up. “From the um, uterus contracting. It can hurt really bad.” 

One of the girls in the class discretely handed you a pad, but your embarrassment had been so awful that you pretended not to see her, even when she waved it in front of you. “What a bitch,” she’d murmured to a friend afterward. 

“Back pain,” you continue, voice cracking. “And you can get tired. You want to eat but can’t… or you don’t want to eat at all, sometimes. It’s just… a lot of stuff.”

Your body jolts when Mahito puts his hands on your stomach--he wouldn’t transfigure you, he’s said that, and you remember his words well. But it doesn’t stop you from imagining.

“Is that why women get angry when they menstruate?” The mild glare you give him is met with the most innocent of expressions. “What? It’s what all the movies say. Though the man usually gets hit with something after he says it.” He smiles, as if daring you to hit him. You don’t.

Instead, you keep talking. Maybe it’s a way to ground yourself. Maybe you just want to talk to fill the space where dead, disfigured women, corpses created at Mahito’s whim, exist.

“Your hormones can fluctuate.” You smile a little at the forced nostalgia. “Sometimes I get really upset over dumb things. Especially when I was younger. One time, I sobbed because my mom said she was going to get fast food for dinner and she changed her mind.”

Mahito rests his elbows on your thighs, digging into them harshly. His hair tickles your skin, and you wonder, idly, if he’ll get your blood on the silver strands.

“Do you want to cry now?” He asks, almost sweetly. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Do you want to cry? No. You might, though, if things keep going the way they are. So you dig your teeth into your lip and shake your head.

“No. This is just… embarrassing, I guess.” To be naked. To be bleeding. To have Mahito sitting there, your blood on his tongue.

Mahito quirks his head, then scoots back to pry your thighs farther apart so he can get a better view of your bleeding privates.

“I don’t see why humans get so embarrassed about their bodies. It seems silly.” He rests his chin on his elbow for a moment, hums, then hoists himself up and returns to the table where he’s got a few used pads and the bowl still lined up. 

“Mahito?” You ask, while he’s tinkering with his findings. “Can I put my clothes on now. And a pad?”

“No,” he answers, voice light, without even looking behind him. “I need to put this inside you first.”

You do move to get up off the couch now, a pang of fear shooting through your stomach, but you stop when he turns around with a wrapped tampon held aloft. Where did he get it--the thought flickers, and turns into something more pressing: Why does he have it?

But you know the answer, don’t you?

“I don’t use tampons.” A useless thing to say, but you say it anyway.

He simply blinks at you, and crouches back down in front of you, parting your thighs like air.

“They’re uncomfortable,” you try, louder.

This time, he stops moving, and a little bit of hope flickers through you just long enough for him to furrow his eyebrows.

“But when I make my penis, it’s much bigger than this, and you don’t say it’s uncomfortable.”

Your mouth opens to answer, and your tongue sticks to the inside. It’s stupid to argue with him when he’s got his mind set on something. So you don’t.

When you don’t continue to complain, he nods, then unwraps the tampon and skims the back of the wrapper. At least he’s reading the damn instructions, you think, in the instant before he awkwardly shoves the tampon inside you--too rough and hard, and you whimper as it pinches  in an entirely awful way.

Mahito’s lips quirk. He checks the back of the wrapper again, tsks at himself, and pulls it out. This time, the insertion is less chaotic. It’s still sore, but no longer painful. Just… uncomfortable. 

“Aw.” He pats your thigh. “You did great. Let me start the timer!” He jumps up, hair swinging as he rushes to begin the timer for whatever phase of the experiment he’s on.

“Can I put some clothes on now?” Though you’re no longer hoping to avoid staining your sofa, it wouldn’t be awful to be a little less vulnerable in the moment.

Mahito taps his chin with his thumb, considering. Then he shakes his head. “I want you naked. But we can cuddle on your bed for this part, so you don’t get crabby!” 

There’s no time to voice a complaint or offense; he hoists you up, some of the blood that had smeared against your bottom rubbing off on his arm as he carries you into the bedroom. He doesn’t seem to mind; he simply plops you on the bed--fuck, your comforter--and hops on to wrap himself around you.

Silence stretches around you, even as he wraps his arms tighter and presses his nose against your neck.

“Are… we done after this?” You venture to ask, quiet and tired.

Mahito talks into your neck, cold breath--is it even breath?--ghosting your skin. “Oh, no. I have lots of things I’d like to find out this week.” You can feel his smile pressing into you. “You’re being very helpful, you know.”

“I am?”

Mahito hums against you, and sniffs your hair. His answer is so light and sweet, the contrast makes you feel a bit sick.

“Earlier, I’d considered just grabbing someone to experiment on instead, but since you’re being so sweet about everything, I figured I’d just use you instead.”

The dread in your stomach puffs up, its sodden hairs standing on end. 

“So you saved me from having to find at least one woman to test my questions on. Maybe two,” he adds, voice still light. “Doesn’t that feel nice?”

“Nice?” You ask, voice hollow.

Mahito presses a smooch to your neck. “Don’t most people feel nice when they do a good deed?”

A good deed, to stand in for women who might have otherwise died horribly. For women who would have spent their time not thinking about humiliating childhood period experiences but their families--their partners, their children, if they had them. 

A good deed to snuggle with Mahito, while miles away, someone was begging for death from underneath a mass of twisted flesh.

“I guess.” Your voice cracks, but it doesn’t bother him. You suppose a lot of things don’t bother Mahito and so often, you try not to let them bother you. 

He sighs against you, and presses his hands lightly where you’d laid them earlier to indicate your cramps. His fingers dully stroke against the spot, and you wonder what it would feel like for his fingers on you not to bring mild comfort and the growing tingle of affection--but terror and pain and fear.

You wonder, too, if Mahito ever thinks the same thing.

[studioghibelli]

a tale of two cities | a cooper howard x reader

summary: you’ve been kidnapped by the Big Man. a certain bounty hunter comes to rescue you.

warnings: inaccurate fallout lore, obvious age gap, pre-established relationship, mentions of virginity, angst central, very brief allusions to previous sexual encounters, etc.

notes: wanted to try out a different writing style with this one. don’t know how i feel about it just yet! hope y’all enjoy, i love my sexy bone man so much.

“-Well now, you see what we got here, don’tcha? Young female, vital organs intact, high egg count-“

“What do you know about my eggs?”

In unison came a harsh “Shhh!”

You stood behind a counter of an “organ bank” that you knew was a front for something or another, eyelids heavy with annoyance as you listened to your captor bicker with the festering attendee.

“Can you please get this over with?” You were practically begging, knees sore from the long journey, and tongue dry from a lack of water.

“Didn’t your daddy ever teach you to keep your mouth shut when others were talking?” A man with a ratty face and browning teeth glared at you, the bowie knife in his hand glistening with the promise of an oncoming cut if you kept running your mouth.

You looked down at the ground, kicking at a pile of rubbish. You couldn’t help yourself when you muttered: “I never knew my daddy.”

“Bitch!” The man snarled, holding the blade of his knife to your throat.

The attendee at the counter stood up, placing a hand on your captors arm. “Now, now, Isaac. You know the Big Man doesn’t like his women all scratched up in the face.”

This supposed Isaac shot you a chilling look, before retracting his blade. The attendee spoke again. “I can give you seventy-five caps.”

“Seventy-five? You’ve got to be kidding me, man. This one’s worth at least ninety.”

“Ninety? She’s got a scratch, right there-” The attendee pointed in your general direction, muttering something or another about the Big Man.

You stood there, crossing your arms and staring at the ceiling. You counted each speck in the tearing paint, getting up to 962 different splatters, before they had finally reached an agreement. Apparently, you were worth 83 caps.

Hmm. Not bad.

“Alright ma’am, follow me. Right this way.”

You followed the mystery person, turning to glance over your shoulder. The ratty captor twirled his fingers at you, glancing down to shuffle through his caps. You snapped him your middle finger, rolling your eyes as you tripped over your own two feet.

Big Man was not a name you had ever heard of, and to be frank, you had no clue what was going to come to you. At best, you’d have a kidney taken out, and at worst you’d be sliced up for sandwich meat.

“So…. what is this place?” You asked.

“A breeding center.”

You stopped dead in your tracks. You were sure your eyes were about to pop and roll right out of their sockets. “A what now?”

“A breeding center.” The attendee repeated it as though it were the most normal thing in the world. “The Big Man has goals for our side of the Wasteland, you know. It all starts with young women and his seed.”

“I think I’m going to vomit.”

“Oh, please don’t do that, miss. The Big Man hates bodily fluids.”

“Apparently all bodily fluids.” You muttered, your feet dragging as you followed.

The man stopped at an iron door, motioning with his hand towards the entrance. “You may enter in to his office now. Have a good day!”

You were face to face with your apparent destiny. Behind that door, you weren’t too sure what horrors awaited you. A gigantic, gnarled, half-radioactive man who was more monster than human? A charming megalomaniac with a penchant for collecting limbs? It could be anyone, anything, for all you were certain of.

But enough guessing, now it was time to get your hands dirty. And other places too, apparently. With a deep breath you pushed the door open, coming face to face with….

The shortest man you had ever seen.

He had a blonde bowl cut and icy blue eyes, plump pink lips and freckles across his nose. The top of his head probably stopped at your breasts, and he wore a black leather jacket that was stained by the sun.

“Ah, there you are, miss.” He spoke like a toddler, his speech inflections odd and hard on the ears.

Enter: Sarcasm. The man exuded sex, really.

You didn’t know what else to do. You stood there blinking, unable to form any coherent sentences.

This was the Big Man? You could reach your hand out, place your palm on his forehead, and stop him from touching you, like a child trying to pester an adult. The thought made a smile grace the corner of your lips.

“You’re…. uh- you’re the Big Man?”

“Yes.” When he nodded, his hair swayed in unison with his movements. It was almost mesmerizing.

“Um… okay. So do I just- do I take my clothes off here?”

“Ew. No. That’s not how we do things around here.”

“But the guy outside told me it was a-”

“Yes. We will artificially inseminate you.”

You sat yourself down in a seat, staring at him as you tried to process everything. “What…. the fuck.”

“I know this is a lot to take in, miss, but rest assured you will get the upmost care here.” Big Man smiled at you, clasping his hands together as he tottered over to his chair. “Now, I just have a few questions to ask you.”

“Uh, sure. Go ahead.”

“Age?”

You answered him, still not fully there as you took in the room. Book shelves lined with tearing pages, framed photos from days gone by, bottle caps and vials spread about- it was the room of a rich man, that much you knew for certain.

“Do you have all your organs?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Very good!” He smiled, writing something down on his paper. “Okay, yes. Let’s see here… oh! Yes. Of course. Are you a virgin?”

“What?” You scoffed, almost insulted that he would ask.

“It’s a simple question we need for our records. You won’t get in trouble if you’re not. Well…. maybe a little trouble.” He pinched his fingers in the air, a mischievous giggle escaping his lips.

You were half tempted to lie, but also half tempted to see what would happen if you were honest.

The truth was- you were definitely not a virgin. Your eyes settled on an inhaler of drugs in the corner, your head swarming with thoughts of your Ghoul, of his hands, of his tongue.

Your eyelids fluttered shut for a moment.

“Hey there, little lady.” His voice was imprinted in to your brain, the twang of his words, the smell of his clothes. “What do we have here?” He eyed you as he inhaled the last supply of his vial, tongue sweeping across his lower lip.

You were splayed out on the desk of the abandoned building, legs spread, open and tantalizing for him.

“Here to serve you your dinner.” You whispered, shooting him a sultry wink. “Mr. Howard.” You added with a giggle.

Cooper had nearly pounced on you then and there, his head buried in your thighs in record time. His nails dug deliciously in to your skin, and your hands cradled his smooth head as he devoured your arousal, allowing your taste to burn in to his tongue.

“Um… I am…uh.” You were flustered now, and you couldn’t help but fan yourself with a spare piece of paper beside you. “No. No, I am not a virgin.” You finally stated.

“What?!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “That’s not good. Not good at all.”

“Hey! You just said-”

“Terms and contracts my dear, terms and contract. Oh, this is not good at all. Not good. Well, we’re just going to have to dispose of you. Ugh. It’s so hard to find a clean woman out in these horrors.” He was moaning out in annoyance now, his voice pitiful and low. Blah, blah, blah. It all sounded the same to you.

You scoffed. “Whatever. I never even signed a contract.”

Big Man walked over to his intercom. “Keegan, we have another dud. Send in the reinforcements.” He spoke, eyeing you through narrowed, angry lids.

A few moments passed, and Keegan, who you assumed was the festering attendee that had walked you down to his office, had yet to respond.

“Keegan?” Big Man said into the intercom. “Answer me, my little peanut.”

God, this guy was weird. You stared at him with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow, trying your hardest to take this situation seriously. Okay, maybe not your hardest.

“Maybe a roach got him.” You shrugged, and the little man looked at you, scoffing as he shuffled through his drawers.

“He’s useless to me anyways. I’ll just have to do the dirty work myself.”

Neither of you had paid attention to the door opening, but soon the smell of gunpowder and dirt filled your nostrils.

You knew who it was without having to turn around.

“Allow me, my good dir.” The figure behind you purred, and you heard the sound of a lasso unhooking from a belt. In five seconds flat, Big Man was on his belly, wrapped tight in a rope.

“Cooper.” You muttered, giving him a glance from the corner of his eye.

“Little lady.” He greeted you back with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. “Knife or gun?”

“You asking me or him?”

“You.”

“Gun. He doesn’t like bodily fluids.”

There was a scoff. “Always were fuckin’ soft.”

A gunshot ricocheted through the walls, followed by a head thudding against the wood flooring. When you turned, the Ghoul was standing there, a hand on his hip as he inspected the chipped tip of his pistol.

You hadn’t seen him for months. You had gotten in to a fight, he had thrown some low handed insults your way, and it ended in a wrestling match that had you shaking sand from various crevices of your body for the weeks to come. The lonely, Ghoul-free weeks.

And to be honest, you had missed him. You had missed his dark eyes, his southern drawl, his witty quips. You had missed the way he’d hold you beside your fires, the way he’d practically dance with you while you were fighting off raiders and monsters.

With him, you had known some of the happiest times of your life. But according to Cooper, you were nothing but a distraction, a good time in the middle of a shit storm.

The thought made you scoff.

Yeah, just a good time. That’s why he just saved your ass. Well…. “saved.” There wasn’t much to save you from, and yet, he did.

“Why are you here?”

“Vials and caps in here.”

“How’d you know about it?”

Cooper rolled his eyes, turning to look at you over his shoulder. “I got my ways. Now leave me alone.”

“Leave you alone?” You scoffed, picking up a half broken figurine off the Big Man’s desk. You chucked it at his broad back, watching the fickle glass shatter against it.

He turned around in record speed, picking something off his desk and throwing it at you in return. You dodged it easily. “Don’t fuck with me today.” He warned, pointing the tip of his gun towards you. “I mean it.”

“Yeah right.”

Your name tumbled off his mouth low and slow, like a warning growl from a predator in the night. Your stomach turned, and you knew he was being serious, his barred teeth sent in your direction said it all. But for some reason you wanted to antagonize him, you wanted to make him feel pain. You wanted him to feel the way you had been feeling for what seemed like an eternity.

When he turned his back towards you once again, shuffling through boxes and shoving caps into his pockets, you picked up a dusty book, staring at the cover.

A Tale of Two Cities.

Raising your arm behind your head, you threw it square in the middle of Coop’s back, knocking him forward with a raspy grunt.

In two seconds flat you were tied up in his lasso and thrown to the floor, his weight resting on your body as he straddled your hips and pinned your hands above your head. His forehead was on yours, and he was growling through gritted teeth like a hungry tiger.

“Now, I gave you a warnin’, pumpkin. I think that was pretty fair of me.” His voice was deep, angry, and his eyes were aflame. “Don’t you?”

You struggled beneath his grip, gasping out for air as you kneed his stomach. He grunted out, the tips of his fingers digging uncomfortably into your wrist at the intrusion.

“Don’t you?” He repeated.

You finally gave up your futile attempts to struggle against him, your neck falling back against the floor. You stared at the speckles on the ceiling, swallowing. These days it seemed you didn’t have that much fight left in you. Exhausted seeped from your bones with every waking moment.

“Yes.” You whispered.

He hummed out in satisfaction at your response. “Thatta girl.”

His gloved finger traced over the edge of your jaw, and he breathed out quietly. His spare hand moved down your arm, tangling itself in your hair as the air grew thick with silence.

The Ghoul hummed out as his gaze traced over you, and you were unsure what emotion had befallen his features. He had always worn a mask of gruffness, of some dark, distant passed that you had never personally known.

“Should I kill you?” He asked quietly, an index finger tracing across your lower lip.

You were quiet, watching him examine you, as if he hadn’t spent countless hours getting to know every inch of you. Your body, your scent, your laugh- it was engrained into his brain. There was a you shaped crater in his chest. He was unsure how you managed to slip past his defenses, but you had.

He had become careless in his old age.

Yet despite it all, what a wonderful creature you were, to be careless with.

Cooper’s thumb was digging in to the dip of your cheek as he awaited your answer. “Should I?”

“I love you.”

The words fell from your lips before you could stop them, and you both stared at each other with wide eyes, unsure of what had gotten in to you.

“You what?!” 

“Ohh my God. Oh my God.” You were panicking now, unsure of why you would ever admit to something as embarrassing as that.

Cooper sat up, still straddling you, and looked up at the ceiling as he searched for words. He placed his hands on his hips, no doubt calculating what his next move would be.

Your next sentences were spoken in unison:

“Why would I say that?”

“Why would you say that?”

His eyes were stirring with emotions you had rarely seen him wear so evidently. Guilt, annoyance, bitterness- no longer was he the smooth talking cowboy. Not right now.

No. Right now, he had no idea what to do, no idea what to say. Hundreds of years of roaming the wasteland had not prepared him for this. Whatever… this was.

You sat up on your elbows, cocking your head to the side. Your thoughts were flooded by that night. The night you had seen him last, before he had knocked down the door to this office less than thirty minutes ago.

The campfire was crackling, a roasted slab of meat sizzling atop the embers. It had been a long day. An exhausting day. You were hungry, annoyed, tired.

The wasteland was full of assholes and cannibals, and it seemed on some days that they were all out to get you, and only you. The sound of boots behind you stirred you from your thoughts, and you smiled at the feeling of a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey trouble maker.” The Ghoul’s voice was quiet, tired, you knew he was aching after a long day, you knew no matter how much sleep he got, it never seemed to be enough.

“What if you never find them?” You asked quietly, poking at the flames with the handle of your gun.

“I will.”

“But…. how do you know?”

“I’ve loved her for two hundred years. I’ll love her for two hundred more if that’s what it takes.” He turned to look at you, and you knew he was telling the truth.

You swallowed thickly, jealousy coursing through your veins. You were the one who had been by his side for five years. You were the one who got him out of trouble, you were the one that had been there for him day and night, traveling the wasteland together, fighting off hoards of ungodly, unspeakable creatures.

And yet, despite it all, despite all the blood, the wounds, the sleepless nights- he only seemed to care about her. His ex-wife. The woman who had helped cause the end of this world.

“Who says she has?”

He turned to look at you, daggers shot in your direction. A silent warning to tread carefully- a warning you both knew you would not heed.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve loved her for all these years. How do you know she has, too? She doesn’t strike me as the loyal type, considering she’s part of the reason we’re here. You’re radioactive, I’m being hunted, the world around us is falling apart. To be quite honest, Cooper Howard, I’m not so fucking sure why you’re still hung up on her!” You had never been so heated, you had never raised your voice like this with him- but your ever growing resentment towards his mission had been festering for far too long, and now it was bubbling up at the surface.

That night he took you by the throat, holding until you saw stars. He offered you no words, he only choked you until he was sure he’d kill you. But something inside him wouldn’t allow for that.

What a horrible choice that was.

You slammed your heel into his groin, watching as he tumbled to the ground. With a mighty roar he tackled you, a face full of sand coming your way as he rolled you on to your stomach. While attempting to tie your wrists you squirmed away, kicking your knee into his chin.

For what felt like hours you two tangoed, wrestling until you were bound to give up. In a way, it was the most honest exchange you had ever experienced with him.

Two tired humans, fighting for something neither of them truly understood. It bordered erotic, the way your bodies moved and pressed, the way his blood tasted in your mouth, the way your skin felt between his teeth.

By the end of the night you both were laying down in a tangled heap beside the dying fire, and when you awoke the following morning, Cooper was gone.

In the dingy light of the office room, the memories of that night flooded your memory. You still had a healing wound on your neck the shape of his incisors, and your arms were calloused by the crusty scabs caused by his fingernails.

Above you, the Ghoul swallowed thickly. His hand moved from where it rested at his side, and he pressed it flat against your chest. For a moment he allowed it to rise and fall with each of your breaths, focusing on the feeling of your heartbeat on his palm.

“You’re a pain in my ass.” He whispered, sucking a rush of air in through his teeth. “Always have been.”

“Are you leaving me again?”

“No.” A long moment passed before he spoke again. “Because she was my wife.” He muttered beneath his breath.

“What?”

“That night. You asked me why I kept lookin’ for her. Because she was my wife.”

“Was?”

He looked at you, blinking slowly. “Was.” He repeated quietly, as though he had just discovered something he didn’t want to. The truth of the matter was- he had.

“Coop.” You whispered, cupping his face in your hands. His skin was rough and leathery beneath your fingertips, worn and aged by the harsh test of time.

“Did you mean it?”

“That I love you?” He nodded. “Yes.”

Cooper stared at you with sad, distant eyes. “I’d love you back if I could, sugar.”

“You-you could.”

He shook his head slowly, the brim of his hat gingerly shaking around his head. His finger traced shapes along the ridge of your brow. “I can’t. I don’t got anymore left in me. Been searchin’ for the same thing for so long, don’t think I can change my ways.”

Cooper eased off of you, sitting down beside you. His hand rested on your thigh, and you placed your own over it, staring up at the ceiling once more.

You counted 836 speckles before he spoke again.

“I can’t give you lovin’ but I can give you protection. And in this world that’s practically the same thing.”

“Don’t know if I could handle that, Coop.”

He let out a low sigh, pulling you close to his chest. “I know.”

You buried your face in his neck, hands grasping ahold of his arm as he hugged you. The Ghoul’s fingers were running up and down your stomach, your thighs, your sides- anywhere he could touch.

You both knew this was the last time you would ever see one another, and in the air a heavy feeling of burden hung low and dormant.

“D’you want to fuck? For old time’s sake?” He whispered in your ear, teeth gently tickling against your neck. Arousal stirred in your belly, and you knew it would be futile to fight against it. In this world, you had learned to give in to your primal instincts.

Turning to meet his gaze, you rested your fingers on his cheek, a smile falling across your mouth. “If you promise me something.”

“What?”

“If…. when you find them, will you send me a postcard?”

He laughed out loud, a chaste kiss being pressed to your temple. There was something sad to his chuckles, something neither of you had ever known before. Despite the feeling of emptiness that began looming within him, Cooper spoke once more, putting on that charming persona he had worn so many moons ago.

“What address should I make it out to, little lady?”

[dix0nvix3n]

𖤓°⋆ Chapter 1 °⋆𖤓

⋆☀︎｡Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader  ⋆☀︎｡Media: The Walking Dead; No Apocalypse & Alternate Universe ⋆☀︎｡Pronouns: She/Her  ⋆☀︎｡ Warning: Smoking (Cigarettes), One mention of weed, Talk of a bad past relationship. (That's it I think?) ⋆☀︎｡ Word Count: 2.5k

⋆☀︎｡ Author's Note: It's finally here... the beginning of my magnum opus. Even though I only have this one chapter out, there hasn't been a single day since I came up with the idea for the fic where I didn't think about it at least once. I just wanna thank all the people who let me infodump about it; y'all are true soldiers, cause I can really ramble on. Special thanks to @sinkdownbeneath for helping me write the intro because I was completely stuck for months with almost nothing to show, and being the person who let me yap the most, he can account for me pretty much talking about it every day for the past five months. So, anyway, I guess I hope y'all like my first finished something that wasn't just a blurb. Last night I only had a little over 200 words at 10 PM something, and now it's 7:44 AM with 2.5k words as I write this... I don't know what got into me, but anyway, enjoy!

June 1st, 1992

Daryl finds himself propped up against a tree, catching his breath. The cool summer air around him makes his chest ache with every breath he takes. He had been running, hearing the twigs snap and the leaves crunch beneath his feet as he darted past every tree, trying to evade potential capture from a party that had him jumping out a window when the cops showed up due to a noise complaint.

He spent much of his life within the comfort of the woodland, underneath the thick canopy of leaves and branches, the first roof he ever felt safe under.

He gasped for air, his legs exhausted and his lungs overworked, adrenaline still pulsing through him as he slid down the rough bark of a tree, pulling his legs up to his chest.

He's close to the road, hearing a solitary car cruise past. He can tell it's late from the stars that peek through the leaves that loom above him in the thick black sky, but he spots his glimmer of hope, which seems to be the soft light of a gas station just a bit beyond the road's traffic barrier closest to him.

With a deep inhale, Daryl knew he had to walk to the gas station and reluctantly call for a ride in a phone booth.

After fully catching his breath, he pulled himself off the ground and began walking towards the gas station, already dreading the thought of the phone call.

Reaching the gas station, he saw two cars; one belonged to the lone worker at the cash register inside, and the other belonged to a woman smoking a cigarette at the side of the building. The woman did a quick wave at him, which he found to be a little odd just because most people at this time of night aren't too friendly, but he gave a polite wave back anyway. 

Finally getting up to the phone booth, Daryl looked down at his watch, which read 1:00 AM, causing him to let out a deep sigh, realizing how late it was and how much of an inconvenience it would be for someone to come and pick him up. 

He stepped inside the phone booth, staring at the phone for a minute before popping in the quarters he luckily grabbed from the living room floor of the party. If he hadn't grabbed them, he'd be completely fucked and have to figure out his way back to his apartment.

After dialing the number he knew would pick up, the phone rang just a few times before a tired and clearly just woken up by a phone at one in the morning voice picked up.

"Hey, Mr. H... Could ya pick me up?"

"Thanks. 'm sorry about this; kinda just started walking and didn't stop. Ended up at some party, and now I don' know where I am."

"Yeah. Place is called Peachy Speed, never seen another gas station called this; it must be family-owned or somethin' and the closest road sign says it's on Navel Street. You know where I'm at?"

"Okay, cool. See ya in a bit. Sorry again."

After hanging up, Daryl stepped out of the phone booth with his head held down, letting out a deep exhale and running a hand through his hair until he heard a pair of feet shuffling up to him.

He looked up to see who it was, and it was you, the woman who waved at him.

"Need one?" You held out an open pack of Marlboro Reds, with only one cigarette missing from the pack.

"Oh. Yeah. Thanks." His thoughts stuttered for a moment because he was caught up in the fact that you came over to him. You're really pretty, and now Daryl feels like a nervous schoolboy trying to ask a girl to the prom just because of a simple gesture.

He grabbed a cigarette out of the box and reached to pull his lighter out of his pocket, only not to feel it, and checked the other pocket to have the same luck. "Shit."

You let out a small chuckle. "Need a light too?” You pulled a lighter out of your pocket and handed it over to him.

He nodded his thanks and popped the cig in his mouth before lifting the black bic with a spiderweb seemingly hand-painted on up to the end of the stick. Flicking the flame to life, he took a long inhale and handed you back the lighter, as he really took a moment to take in the sight of you. 

You were in a black tank top tucked into a pair of black ripped jean shorts. Under the pair of jean shorts were fishnets with an intricate pattern of moons and stars, and you had on a pair of slightly battered-up Doc Martens. 

As he exhaled the first plume of smoke into the night sky, he saw your kind smile, which sent a rush of warmth through his face. Your lips had a simple gloss on them, but your eyes were a different story, painted with smokey eyeshadow, sharp graphic eyeliner, and two rounds of mascara on each set of your top lashes. He also noticed the simple yet pretty titanium stud on the left side of your nose and two helix rings on both your ears.

He thought you were gorgeous, his heartbeat a slightly faster pace than what it normally rested at.

"Rough night?" You asked as you lit up a cigarette for yourself, letting out a slight gag at the taste and smell that you weren't used to, which caused Daryl to let out a small chuckle.

"Sorta. More of just hated the fact I had to call and wake someone up to come and get me. First time smokin'?" He said before he took another drag.

"How'd you know?" You said sarcastically as your face contorted in disgust a bit at the taste building up in your mouth and throat after each puff.

"Maybe try a different brand. You'll find one ya like." A small smile graced his lips as he butted off the ash at the end and took another drag. 

"Nah. Think I'm quitting after this one. I'll just stick to weed."

He let out a chuckle. "May I ask, why'd ya even start?"

You let out a small groan, running your hand through your hair in slight embarrassment. "I finally left my shitty boyfriend once and for all. I finally realized he'd never like me for the real me. I constantly had to put on this mask around him, and I finally found out that it was impossible to fix him and the fact he didn't actually like me. I know it sounds weird, but I guess my thought process was that my epiphany about him would stick with me after smoking one like a character in a movie or something." You let out a laugh. "Stupid, right?" 

He snubbed out the end of the cigarette, as it was almost a roach at this point. "Nah, it ain't stupid. A lot of my best thoughts come after smokin' one, cleared my head more times than I can count. You deserve one after the bullshit he put you through, I think. Hope the prick is havin' a shit night after realizin' he's lost you cause ya seem awesome to me so far."

You felt warmth begin to rise in your cheeks at his words. "Thanks. I know I deserve better. I'm just pissed; it took me so long to realize it. So, anyway, what's your name? I can't believe I haven't asked yet."

"Name's Daryl; what's yours?"

You had a few good puffs left of your cig but decided to snub yours out as well since you didn't like it anyway. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Daryl. My name is (Y/N). Do you wanna come sit with me at my spot against the wall? My most likely melted slushy is calling my name to get this taste out of my mouth." 

"Yeah, I can. Might be a bit till my ride gets here, so I might as well sit down." He started walking to your spot, and you followed in tow. 

When you got back to your spot, you looked down at your slushy on the ground. The dark purple concoction of blue raspberry and cherry slushy combo was completely melted. "Goddammit." You didn't fully care though; you paid for that slushy, because you were stubborn it meant you were going to have all of what you paid for, so you drank down the rest of the sugary liquid with a satisfied sigh. It was luckily still cold, at least, and it was just what you needed to get the taste of the cigarette out of your mouth.

As time passed, you and Daryl talked about whatever came to mind as you doodled some intricate pattern on the front of the pack of the Marlboro Reds with a sharpie, ultimately moving to the back when you ran out of room. You found out that he works as a mechanic for motorcycles and cars at a nearby auto body shop, that he rides a motorcycle that he built himself a few years ago, that he loves to hunt on occasion, specifically with a crossbow, and that he ran from the cops at a house party tonight.

You knew your short time with Daryl was up when you saw a 1987 Ford Sierra MK2 pull into a parking spot at the gas station, and Daryl stood up, doing a quick stretch. The man in the car smiled and made a small wave at you, and you did the same back.

"It was nice meetin' ya, (Y/N). I'd talk more, but I don't wanna keep him up any longer." He said as he gestured a hand towards the man who came to pick him up. 

"It was nice meeting you too. Thanks for talking to me, Daryl." You pulled the pack of cigarettes from your pocket and held them out to him. "Take these. You need them more than me. Plus, I just quit." You grinned at him as he took the box from you. 

"Holy shit, thank you." He smiled back as he placed the box in his own pocket and slowly started walking backward towards the car. "Hope ya have a good night and that Nick the dick has a shit one. 

You let out a laugh at the nickname Daryl gave your ex-boyfriend and waved him goodbye with a "You too." You leaned your head back against the wall, staring up at the night sky as your eyes finally began to feel tired, knowing you should head back to your friend's apartment soon and try and get some sleep before your nine AM shift. 

Once Daryl got in the car, he let out a quiet sigh as he looked out the window at you, wishing he dared to ask for your number. You were the first good conversation he'd had in a while, and his schoolboy-like crush on you kept growing the whole time you talked.

"So, who's that?" The man said as he shifted the car into gear, Daryl noticing the grin on his face.

"A girl that started talkin' to me after our call. Name's (Y/N)." He pulled the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, mindlessly tracing the pattern of doodles you did.

"You ask for her number? The car was now beginning to be backed out of its parking spot.

"Nah. Mind if I smoke?" Daryl shook the pack and began looking for one of the lighters he left in the glove compartment a few weeks ago. 

The man shook his head with a slight sigh and said, "Go ahead." He wasn't shaking his head over Daryl wanting to smoke, but over the fact he wouldn't ask for your number when he obviously liked you, but he knew he couldn't push him; he understood Daryl's nature.

Daryl looked back out the window at you, opening it as he blew out the first cloud of smoke. He then looked back down in his lap where the box lay, flipping it over to the back to see what you had drawn there as well. His breath hitched as he saw it. On the back was your phone number, and above it said, "Call me" with a smiley face. 

The tips of Daryl's ears were beet red, and he tried to hold back his face from turning the same color. He looked back out the window at you to see you grinning at him this time, to which he smiled and waved goodbye to you as the car pulled out of the lot. In Daryl's twenty-three years of life, he could say that this night was one of his best.

"Daryl, why'd you call me Mr. H again? Son, you've known me for five years; how many times do I gotta remind you to call me by my name? It's Dale for you."

Daryl let out a small cloud of smoke this time, wanting to savor this one on the peaceful ride back. "I'll tell ya again, it happens when I'm nervous; didn't wanna wake you up, s'all, and you still are my boss after all."

"Daryl, you're like a son to me, and I told you to never be nervous if you need help, and that includes coming and picking you up in the middle of the night if needed. I'm here for you." Dale placed his right hand on Daryl's shoulder, keeping his left on the wheel as he squeezed his shoulder lightly before returning it to the steering wheel.

"Now, it's not Mr. H or Mr. Horvath, son. It's Dale."

Daryl rolled his eyes playfully. "Yes, sir," he joked, letting out a chuckle.

It was the next day around 10:30 PM when Daryl picked up the phone on his nightstand and finally called the number you gave him, nervously wrapping the cord around his finger. The phone only rang twice before the other end picked up, "Hey, is this (Y/N)?" 

The inner teenage girl in your brain screamed in excitement, so happy that he finally called. "Omg, Daryl! I was wondering when you were gonna call me. I've been waiting since I got off my shift."

"Didn't know if you worked a mornin' or a night shift, and I didn't wanna leave too many voicemails on your friend's phone."

"Yeah, I worked a morning shift at the diner today. I got off at five. Morning shifts are the fucking worst." You're lying on your stomach on the couch, playfully curling the phone's cord around your finger and kicking your feet back and forth in the air.

You and Daryl talked for an hour, mainly talking about the shitty customers you dealt with today, sounding especially frustrated about the woman who yelled at you just because the diner was out of unsweet tea that you couldn't do anything about because the place was also out of tea bags to make more. What did she want you to do? Just up and leave your job and go buy the tea bags, your fucking self?

"Even though I don't want to, I gotta go to bed 'cause I have another morning shift tomorrow. I get off at five, so call me around six-thirty, okay?" 

"I get off at five too. Works for me. Goodnight, (Y/N)."

"Goodnight to you too, Daryl."

The call ended, and you both looked up at your respective ceilings, smiling as warmth bloomed through your faces. You both slept well that night, falling asleep to the thought of calling each other tomorrow.

⋆☀︎｡ Extra author's note: Here's what Dale would look like in 1992, I took Dale's age of 64 from the show since the apocalypse started in 2010 so he'd be 46 in 1992. I think this picture of Jeffrey Demunn is from when he was 43 maybe? I can't remember but that's close enough to 46 and even if he isn't 43 in the image he fits the look of someone in their mid-forties. Just imagine him without the cowboy hat, okay? There's not a lot of pictures of him when he was younger.

⋆☀︎｡ Taglist: @mrdixon , @yevmarie , and @shadowcitrine

⋆☀︎｡ Divider creds: @ saradika, go check her account out! She has some very cute dividers!

[barleyo]

Rural Bliss.

Real Dad! Leon X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: You, as a reader, are responsible for your own media consumption. It is up to you to read the tags that I have provided and determine whether or not this is a piece of writing that you would like to partake in. If not, scroll on by, if you do, please enjoy! Remember, I am not responsible for any discomfort you feel if you choose to read this.

Tags: incest (daddy-daughter), dub-con, oral (f receiving), LARGE AGE GAP (18 and 40+), pwp (light plot), mentions of predatory behavior, mutual creepiness, dark and disturbing content, choppy ass writing

Wordcount: 1.8k

!!! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT/DARK CONTENT !!!

Your mom had finally done it. She found a halfway decent guy and let him wife her up faster than you could say 'I do.' You weren't exactly mad about it. He was a decent enough guy, and he made your mom happy, so whatever. The only part that you were against was the fact that you would be staying with your estranged father for the rest of your summer until your mom and her boy-toy got back from their extensive honeymoon.

Your dad fucked off pretty quickly after you were born. Moved himself far away into the middle of nowhere, not once reaching out or keeping in touch. A small part of you wanted to know him, but a larger part of you was pissed that you would have to now temporarily live with a man who you could just barely remember the name of. 

What was it again? Leonard? Lucas? No, no, that's not right. Leon? Yeah, something like that. Leon. 

Leon, the man who left you and your mom. The man who, instead of raising you, decided to lick his wounds in the deep country, likely making a meager living off of growing potatoes and carrots. The man who was a stranger, connected to you only by blood. 

The man whose front porch you were currently standing on, banging on his door without a care in the world. You looked around while you knocked. It was a large bit of land. A few neighbors nearby, but not within spitting distance. At the very least, this town had a few stores with maybe a few people your age lingering around them. 

"I'm coming, damn it!" His steps were loud, you could hear them from all the way outside. The heaviness of his work boots must've weighed him down quite a bit. The screen door flew open and his face softened. "Oh, hey kid. Didn't know you'd be here so early. Come in." 

You followed him inside, letting your eyes trail his face and frame. You'd only seen a picture or two of him before. He wasn't exactly what you were expecting. He looked a lot older now than he did in the photos. More tired, less lively. His crow's feet and smile lines stuck out, but if the lonely, uncomfortable vibe of his house was any clue, you assumed he hadn't been smiling much in his life. 

He wasn't bad looking, though. Time hasn't weathered him, and you could tell he took care of himself. His arms and chest looked strong, clearly he had found some way to stay fit out in his desolate chunk of farmer-country. You could see why your mom picked him. He looked like a good one, despite his fleeting nature. 

"You're gonna be stayin' for a few months, yeah?" Leon didn't seem exactly uncomfortable with your presence, so you felt a bit more calm.

"Yeah, I guess so. Mom didn't really give me all the details, just kinda sprung it on me."

"Believe me, I know," he said under his breath. "Well, this place isn't much, 'm sure it's not what you're used to." He locked the door behind her and flashed an apologetic look. 

"It's fine. I'll make it work." You looked around. It looked lived in, strangely worn despite nobody else ever living there.

He led you down a dimly lit hallway, the floorboards groaning beneath their weight, until they reached a single room. It was a small bedroom, adorned with faded wallpaper and completely wooden furniture. The single window offered a glimpse of the bare, green landscape outside. 

"This'll be your room. You can unpack your things."

Hardly a week passed by and you were already sick to death of living with your dad. His jokes were bad. His cooking was shit. His attempts at bonding with you were creepy at best and damn near-assault at worst. He let his hands drift all over you when he pulled you in for hugs and tried pecking a kiss on your mouth before you went off to bed each night, and damn it, you let him.

Again and again, every night, letting that old man press his chapped lips against yours, holding back your urge to force your tongue into his mouth.

He bought you gifts that no other fathers would think about getting their daughters. Skimpy little clothes that left nothing to the imagination, while he wrote it off by claiming ignorance.

"That's what girls your age wear, right? I can't keep up with what you kids are into," Leon would say, covering his ass with feigned dopiness. 

His only redeeming quality was that he was hot and mostly oblivious. It was fucked up to think about it that way, but without having much other male contact during your stay, Leon was starting to becoming quite the piece of eye candy. The best part is that he thought nothing of it, acting like his teenaged daughter spending hours staring at his half-naked, sweaty body while he worked in the hot sun was normal. Just another day. Nothing special. 

He didn't make you work on the farm with him, so you got to do all the watching. You got to see those strong arms lift hay bales for the horses and chop trees for firewood. Most of your days were spent watching him from the front porch, mentally cursing yourself out when you felt your thighs clench together instinctually at his sexy movements. 

What was wrong with you? 

Were years of fatherlessness finally catching up to you? Couldn't muster any real love for the old man, so sexual yearning was the next best thing? Eye-fucking your dad and sharing touches that lasted too long were the cost of him skipping out on you.

You rationalized it the best you could. Maybe you didn't actually want him, maybe you the solitude of the countryside was getting to you. Maybe there was something in the air, some kind of sex-pollen floating in the breeze that made you wanna get bent over by a man twice your age that just so happened to be related to you. Closely related.

Leon didn't really know how to treat a woman well, but he tried his best with you. It was his first time really being a dad, but honestly, he hated it. Being a 'dad' sucked, especially when he'd rather have his daughter as his girlfriend. 

You made him so frustrated, so unsure of himself. Leon's only experience with girl's your age was in getting them liquor they couldn't legally buy themselves, fucking them like plastic sex dolls, and leaving them for someone else to woo and screw. 

He couldn't quite do that to you, though. He couldn't get you drunk and take advantage of you, pumping and dumping in your without a care about your pleasure. He had to take care of you, your health and comfort. All he really wanted was to take care of your body.

You were his little girl. He'd fuck you like he actually gave a damn about you if he ever got the chance, and he most definitely wouldn't be leaving you for anyone else.

That type of thinking brought him here. 

"Daddy, please..."

The walls in his house were too damn thin. He could practically hear each thrust of your fingers into your cunt from his bedroom. Your bed screeched agonizingly against the floors, punctuating your moans and hisses of pleasure. 

He saw his opportunity and took it. He had waited long enough, and this was the least he could do, right? You needed him, right? Right.

He pushed your door open, not having the decency nor the self-restraint to knock. You felt your body go still, but kept your hands between your legs. 

"If you needed me, coulda told me. Don't like t'hear you in here whining." Leon sat on the edge of your bed, crawling his way between your legs. "Fuck, that's pretty." 

He took in the sight of your fingers stuffed into your pudgy cunt, slick dripping between each digit. 

"No, you're—! this isn't what it—" you tried prying your fingers out, but a strong hand wrapped around your wrist to keep you in place.

"Isn't what it looks like? How about what it sounds like, huh? Sounds like you want your daddy to dull that ache in you." 

He was so far gone. He normally never did this. Leon was a man who took. He took younger girls virginity, mouth, pussy, or other. He was the one that got sucked off and got his perv dick wet. But for his baby? You, the little nymph who fell gracefully into his grasp? He was foaming at the mouth for a chance to slurp your pussy.

"Open up, come on. Got nothin' to be shy about," he urged, forcing your legs open, pulling your fingers out, and shimmying closer to you. "Nothin' I haven't seen before."

That was somewhat of a lie. Sure, he saw pussies all the time when he bullied his cock into them, but he was normally never nose to clit, ready to lick.

He stuck his needy tongue out, lapping up the juices that you worked up when you rubbed yourself raw. He swirled around you clit as a test, trying to see what felt good for you. He soon settled on puckering his lips around your bud and sucking, swapping his spit in and out of his mouth to keep you lubed up. 

Your voice broke with hushed whines and chants. Yes's and oh's rang out, filling Leon's ears and his ego. 

He pulled his head back and lob a wad of spit onto your clit, chuckling when you shivered. 

"Feel good?" His thumb traced your clit in little figure eights. 

"Mm, s'good." Your hands trailed through his thick, soft hair. You gripped it tightly, pulling his head back to your cunt. "No, don't stop, jus' need your mouth again."

His sharp, strong nose bumped against the top of your pussy while he munched down on you greedily. His tongue traveled around you in an indecisive manner. One moment, he was using flat strokes to lick on your swollen nub, then pointing his tongue while he fucked it in and out of you. 

Despite the sporadic nature of it, the warmth and wetness of the contact of his mouth on you felt like heaven. It didn't matter what he was doing, as long as he was looking up at you with his piercing eyes and swallowing down your slick, you were satisfied.

"Dad, oh my God, yes!" It felt like venom coming off of your tongue when you moaned it, but tasted like honey at the same time. Something about it was so wrong, but felt so natural.

As your legs tightened around Leon's head and trapped him between your thighs, you knew it was meant to be. You were meant to be your daddy's princess. You were meant to feel like mouth on you, to be spoiled by his tongue, words, money, and his cock. You had been missing out on it for so long. 

You spent the rest of your summer making up for lost time, discovering just what having a daddy was meant to feel like.

[dinogoofymutated]

SFW!Colossus/Fem!Reader

I've been infected with another fictional man the way in which I pumped this out was ridiculous. I happened to re watch the scene in the movies where the government breaks into the mansion and seeing Piotr act like a big brother/dad to all the kids really got to me. That and the Deadpool movies (even though I thinks he's a little stuffy in those.) I even rewatched the episode he had in the animated series so that I knew I would get his character right and DAMN ugh god I juts have a thing for big men with soft hearts. especially the ones who are family oriented.

ALSO HOLY SHIT TY FOR 600 FOLLOWERS???? when did yall get here???? I swear I was at like 48 two weeks ago lmao time flies when you're thirsty for the X men I guess!! TWs: None? No pronouns mentioned but I went ahead and labeled it as fem because it's basically about kids forcefully adopting you as their mom. Kids having night terrors mentioned.

Can you imagine sort of just being adopted by the students at the mansion as mutant mom?? At that point you don't really get a choice. Like you start out being very patient with these kids and making sure to keep bandaids, burn cream, pain meds and all of that because one way or another something is gonna happen- and you want to be prepared.

And then you start making breakfast. I feel like normally they probably have a schedule for who has breakfast duty but if you wake up and can't go back to sleep and you take over no one really cares. More sleep for them!!

And then a few times turns into every morning. And you're setting out ketchup for one kids eggs and syrup for another ones hashbrowns- and making sure not to cook with nuts and make sure there's at least three different things on the table that are Kosher or gluten free. Keeping an eye on everyone as they come to get food and noting who did and did not make it to breakfast this morning so that you can make sure they eat later-

And one day you're waking up at 5am and getting ready for the day so you can go make breakfast like always, and you look in the mirror at some point and just realise, holy fuck, when did you become a parent?

It's such a regular thing for kids to call you mom at that point, a knowing how so many of them have come from rough backgrounds, it makes you really happy to know they find comfort in you and will come find you if they need comforting.

And then there's Piotr. Big, strong, Piotr. Piotr who wakes up before dawn and does chores around the mansion in the early morning air. You can take the man out of the farm, but you can't take the farm out of the man. He does the lawn care, chops wood, takes care of whatever animals that might need feeding, replaces the feed in the bird feeder.

Piotr who makes sure to stop by the kitchen to share a small cup of coffee with you before he does chores. Piotr who hangs Hummingbird feeders right outside the kitchen windows because you mentioned you missed the ones your grandmother used to hang. Just Piotr, being strong and masculine and an absolute sweetheart.

He reminds me of that one quote that heard somewhere about masculinity being about protecting femininity, not rejecting it??? That one!!!

Kids call him dad all the time, and even though yall aren't even together, you become the parents of the school. Scott and Jean?? Love them, but they don't have that same kind of parent energy.

It's such a regular thing for kids to find the two of you interacting one way or another. Someone woke up way too early and enters the kitchen to find yall during your coffee, and there's a sweet moment with yall telling them to go back to bed, or offering to make them a quick breakfast. Maybe if they're really young Piotr will offer to tuck them in. He might be really blunt when telling them there are no monsters, but will be a little more gentle when you set a hand on his arm and give him a bit of a look.

The kiddo asks for both of you to tuck them in and you obviously aren't going to refuse them. Which leads to everyone wanting both of you to tuck them in and soon enough you two are doing curfew checks instead of the professor.

It's becomes so regular for the students to treat you two as their parents, and no one actually believes it when they find out that no, you're not a couple. So, they do what kids do and try to get you two together.

First it starts with making sure you two are sat together during everything they can get away with. Then it moves on to things like mistletoe (out of season, Piotr mistook it as an accidental bloom made by one of the agrokinesis kids and took it down) and then more mischievous plans like telling one of you that the other needed help with one thing or another, knowing that either one of you would help out at the drop of a hat. Sureee, they were lying, but you two didn't know that. (most of the time)

The kids just want to see their parents happy and in love. There's nothing wrong with that, is there? It's not like You and Piotr hadn't been helplessly pining for the other the entire time anyway.

You sigh deeply once you finally sneak out of the dorm room, Piotr right behind you. The tall man takes extra care to shut the door very gently, making sure it clicks in place just as silently.

"I thought we were never going to get her to sleep." You whisper to him. One of the youngest girls attending the school had a rather difficult time with night terrors, and would struggle to fall asleep without being tucked in. When you and Piotr were doing curfew checks tonight, she was the only kiddo still awake, and she had practically begged both of you to stay with her untill she finally did fall asleep. It couldn't be just one of you, It had to be both. No matter how many rooms you both had to check tonight, you would never have left her shaken up in such a state. You just hadn't expected it to take an hour.

"Illyana had similar dreams as a little one. It takes time for children to overcome it." Piotr whispers back as you begin to walk down the hallway to check the rest of the rooms. Even when he whispers, his voice is strong and hard to keep quiet. You know there's truth to what he says, and yet you can't help but wish you could do something more to help her with her nightmares. You rub some warmth into your arms anxiously as you think about it, surprised when you feel the warm weight of Piotr's hand settle in between your shoulder blades.

"You're worrying again." He states, frowning slightly when you look up at him. You send him a resigned smile, before it quickly falls as you look away.

"I can't help it. I worry about all of them, her especially. They just... deserve so much more than their lot in life." You say. Piotr hums in response, his thumb brushing idly against your back.

"Their life like us, you mean? Mutants?" His question makes you wince.

"No. Yes? I don't know. I just... I just wish that we could give them more than... this." You say, waving your hands to motion about the mansion. "The school might very well be the only safe space they have their entire life. The world hasn't been kind to them, and I'm not sure it ever will be." Your words begin to quiet down as you finish the sentence, lowing to a whisper that only he can hear. You'd never, ever want any of these kids hear a word of what you're saying. Knowing that hope is really all they have at their age, and you of all people refuse to be the one to destroy that beautiful childlike optimism.

"That is what we are working for as the X-men, yes? To change that?" Piotr asks you point blank, his hand moving up towards the back of your neck in a soothing manner that still gives you goosebumps, feeling the comforting heat of his hand even stronger than before.

"Yeah, but..."

"Then we are doing all we can." He finishes, a smile on his face that's so determined and confident that it very nearly changes your mind completely. Nonetheless, it's a reassuring smile that makes your chest feel warm and fuzzy. You smile back at him finally, and you swear you see fondness in his eyes.

It doesn't take long before the two of you are finally at your door. You give Piotr a short and sweet goodnight as you begin to step inside, but he stops you before you go, gently catching hold of your arm. For the first time, you think you've seen him debate on his words. His mouth opens, but he doesn't speak at first, and you swear you see a blush rising to his cheeks as he does so.

"You'd make a good mother." He says eventually, and it makes you smile widely.

"You'd make a good dad." You tell him. There's silence between you as he brushes a stray lock of hair away from your face in a fond and caring manner, and you swear you could trick yourself into believing that you and Piotr were already in domestic bliss if this moment goes on for any longer. The tall man leans in, and you find your mind short circuiting as he presses a kiss to your forehead. The simple action somehow leaving you beyond flustered.

"Sleep well, Любовь моя. I will see you in the morning." Piotr tells you, before walking off at his regular stiff pace. You stand in your doorway for a minute, watching him leave with a bit of a confused smile on your face. Out of all the Russian nicknames he's called you in the past, you had never heard him say that one before. You wonder if you should pick up a book on the language as you close your door and finally crawl into bed, although part of you is content to leave it be. Colossus had always been blunt, and you're sure he'd tell you eventually. You fall asleep just as you always do, excited to see him when you wake up in the morning.

[wellionlybroughtthree]

sharp dressed man - matty healy

[this isn't beta read in the slightest, i couldn't bring myself to care and i was high writing most of this so i apologise for any mistakes.]

wc: ~4.5k

cw: as always mentions of anxiety and insecurity, smut, matty wanks in the shower and has reader watch]

singularity series chapter 2 | prev

Watching Matty dance around your kitchen with Sharp Dressed Man by ZZ Top playing in the background, wearing tight pink booty shorts that say ‘Juicy’ across the arse, wasn’t how you thought you’d spend your Sunday morning but here you are. As funny as you thought it would be to give him those shorts last night, wanting to take the piss out of him, you guess you forgot who you were dealing with. Because he is walking around with a kick in his step, like he’s the hottest thing since sliced bread.

This really backfired.

When you handed him those shorts last night, he gave you a sly look as if he was accepting a challenge and you were too tired to decipher what he was plotting in that head of his. Much to Matty’s whining you did not sleep naked, you could have sworn you killed his non existent pets over how pouty he was over it. You do not sleep naked, it is far too uncomfortable for you. The more clothes the better.

He hasn’t tried to kiss you again, or touch you at all really and you hate the fact that that’s all that’s been looping around in your head since you woke up. Flashes going through your mind of the sounds of his panting and moans, how he felt - it makes your stomach tighten and you damn near chew through your cheek trying to make the thoughts go away. Things were far easier when you wanted to kick him in the balls. This feels complicated now.

You honestly thought you’d be having more of a meltdown over this, you were so terrified of human contact for many years that you thought you’d crumble if it happened again. What you weren’t expecting was that you would enjoy it. The shorts are a good distraction though, you’ve been cycling through trying not to laugh and to not look at his arse - which he purposely keeps making sure is in your line of vision.

“...So, I was gonna make you breakfast but there is not really anything here - aside from toast, you want some toast?” He asks, looking at you over his shoulder from where he’s stood for five minutes inspecting your essentially empty pantry. There is usually not much food in the house unless it’s for you mum, or Loki. You usually don’t have the energy to eat and if you do it’s the bare minimum and easiest thing to grab. You used to love cooking. But like with everything else you used to enjoy, you can’t find it in you to care. “I’m not much of a breakfast person - help yourself to whatever is there, thank you though.”

Matty gives you a strange look, probably over the fact that you were actually being polite and not sarcastic, but the minute you notice you’ve been staring at his mouth again you look at the counter where you’re sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. “What about you, Loki? You want some breakfast?” Matty calls out, while he collects some bread and peanut butter. Loki stares at Matty from where he’s sitting just outside the kitchen, then grunts and gets up to walk off.

You smile to yourself, watching Loki jump on the couch and ignore him completely, then look at Matty. “You’re in the dog house now, he’s pissed he had to sleep out here and you stayed in my bedroom.” Matty stares at Loki with a frown, looking genuinely upset but then goes towards the toaster to start to make himself something to eat. “I’ll make it up to him, he has to forgive me sooner or later.” He mumbles, which only makes you smile more. He really does sound upset that Loki is giving him the cold shoulder.

He can be pretty moody when he doesn’t get his way. You got the silent treatment for a whole day once because you had to throw out his toy that he’d ripped to pieces because you were worried he’d choke on it. He’s not the brightest crayon in the box, but he sure is your favourite colour. “Just get him some bacon, he’ll be your best friend again.” You assure him, resting your chin in your hand.

Matty just nods, staring at the toaster while he waits for it to pop, and as you watch him with his palm pressed flat against the counter, his hand on his hip and messy curls draped over his shoulders, you can’t help the question that tumbles out of your mouth.

“Why did you get divorced?”

You can’t help how much the fact Matty has been married fascinates you, because you just can’t picture it. And after the past couple of days, instead of fighting thoughts about him, it’s a million and one curious questions about him that swirl in your head. Matty glances at you, his brows lifting at the sudden random question but the toast pops and he pulls it out to start to butter it on a plate. “If I answer that, do I get to ask you something?”

You shrug your shoulders, still just watching him. “I guess.”

He purses his lips with another nod, grabbing his plate and making his way over to sit on the stool next to you. “I got divorced because my ex wife didn’t love me - Why’d you and Jonah break up?” The way he says that with such a casual tone, has your lips parting as you stare at the side of his face while he starts to chomp into a slice of toast with his elbows resting on the counter. You blink at him, confused by how unbothered he looks. “What do you mean she didn’t love you?”

“Uh-uh, that’s cheating. Answer my question first.” He tutts, licking at his lips to get remnants of peanut butter from them as his jaw flexes while he chews. “He broke up with me.” Matty cocks a brow. “Why?”

“No no, you answer my question first.” You throw back, using his own argument against him. Matty smirks to himself as he takes another bite from his toast and you can’t figure out why. Maybe it’s because for once you’re initiating the conversation, or trying to learn something about him. Maybe it’s because you sound interested. Or maybe he just really likes peanut butter, who knows.

“I was a way for my ex wife to piss off her parents. Like her act of rebellion. They were rich upper class snobs, and the last thing they wanted was their perfect, proper, princess of a daughter marrying some queer hairdresser - covered in tattoos and torn up clothes that spent his weekends at rock gigs and bars. She didn’t love me, just the idea of me. I actually don’t know if she cared about me at all to be perfectly honest.” Again, he sounds complacent about the whole thing. He may as well be describing his toast to you with how emotionless he sounds about it but that doesn’t stop your expression falling as you stare at him.

“She sounds like a bitch.” You state, and this makes Matty grin as he starts on his next slice of toast. He looks at you, nodding as he chews. “She kinda was, but it was one of the things that had me caught up on her. Treat em mean - keep em keen. You know how that works. Your turn now, fess up about that Jonah idiot.”

You pull your lips to the side, feeling your chest sink and dart your eyes down. “Not much to say, he just got everything he could from me - guess I stopped being useful. So he left.” Matty pauses his chewing, swallowing and leans his face down to get you to look at him. “He sounds like a dick.” Your own lips pull into a smile as you flick your eyes up to his and nod. “Yeah, he kinda was.”

Matty watches your face with a lopsided lazy smile, and taps his finger against the tip of your nose. “He didn’t deserve you in the first place, darling. He did you a favour, his loss not yours.” You don’t know how to respond to that, the sincerity of his tone made your stomach flip, so you cover it how you usually do.

“Well the fact he was a dick kept me away from actual dick the last two years, so yeah he kinda did me a favour. Gave me time for more important things - like eating the topping off pizza first.” You grin at Matty who rolls his eyes, laughing under his breath but he doesn’t say anything else and just goes back to eating. It feels oddly comfortable to sit with him. Your small conversation isn’t causing the usual crippling feeling inside of you it usually does. He isn’t that bad to talk to you guess, but you’re still caught off guard with the whole ex wife thing. You always think you have him totally figured out but you never do.

Matty stands from the stool, grabbing your hand to urge you to stand up and it’s only then you realise you’ve just been sitting there staring at him again while your mind goes in circles. You still can’t get over how comfortable he looks in those fucking shorts. “Where are we going?” You question with your brows dropping together. Matty gives you a cheerful look, but then keeps leading you towards the bathroom. “We are going to brush our teeth, like responsible adults - you got a spare one I can borrow?” You watch him with a puzzled look while you follow him. “Uh…yeah I do - but I don’t need you to hold my hand to do that.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” He muses, ignoring the other part of your sentence and walks you to your bathroom, shutting the door behind you before going to lean against the counter. “So, spare toothbrush?” You side eye him with suspicion, going to the top drawer and grabbing a spare toothbrush still in the packet and handing it to him, to which he grabs your toothbrush from the holder on the sink and hands it to you with a sweet smile.

“What are you playing at, idiot?” You squint at him, but he ignores you again, handing you the toothpaste and gestures for you to use it while he starts opening his own toothbrush. You huff out a sigh through your nose, knowing he won’t tell you so you decide to just brush your teeth and let him be the weirdo he is. He eventually joins you and you both brush your teeth in silence. You stare at the mirror trying not to look at his reflection, where he’s just staring at you in the mirror. He looks far too amused for someone brushing their teeth, and it makes you uneasy.

You finish up, both rinsing your mouths and you give him another strange look when he places the toothbrush in the holder next to yours. So he’s planning on brushing his teeth here again…or? Why would he leave that here? You jolt in shock however when Matty grabs your waist and lifts you up, only to plop you down on the counter top, then walks off to the shower and opens the glass door and starts the shower running.

“What are you doing?”

He faces you and tilts his head, hooking his thumbs into the hem of the pink shorts. “I’m having a shower.” You pull your face back, looking mortified. “I am not showering with you.” Matty purses his lips to hide his smirk, and keeps his thumbs hooked in the shorts as he slips them down to just above his pubic area and then pauses. “I know, that’s why I said I’m having a shower.”

“Okay, I’ll leave you to it then.” You blurt, leaning back when he pulls his hands from the shorts and walks towards you, placing his palms flat on the counter either side of you and dips his face close to yours.

“Hmm…No, I want you to watch.”

“Have you lost your fucking mind!” You snap with your voice breaking from how high pitched it went which makes his eyes light up in amusement. “I said I’m gonna help you figure out things you like, you’ve got me curious what those other things might be, darling. Just relax and give it a chance, you can leave whenever you want. Just try.” He says with his voice slowing as he leans closer. Your insides are clenching and flipping and doing all kinds of contortionist bullshit, and your brain is scrambling to figure out what the hell he expects exactly.

“If you like it, stay. If you don’t, leave. Pretty simple - I won’t force you. Totally up to you.” He continues, keeping his eyes focused on yours while you fight the urge to bite through your own tongue. Why are the only speeds this guy knows 0 or 100? “What does watching you shower have to do with things I like?” You stutter out like a fucking idiot. You’re confident and quick witted in situations where you can cover your nagging self doubt with jokes, but faced with any kind of intimacy and you’re a blubbering moron. Where as that seems to be the area where Matty excels and it’s terrible for your cortisol levels.

“Ouch, here I was thinking you might actually like seeing me naked.” He teases as he places his hands on your hips and tugs you forward until you’re flush against him with your thighs either side of his hips, and you swear to god you hope you pass out so you don’t have to deal with this. You thought maybe because he hadn’t tried anything since you woke up, maybe last night was a once off or it’d be forgotten…you should’ve known better. Is this payback for the shorts?

“Just humour me.” He hushes, nudging his nose against yours. “Give it a chance.”

You hold your breath trying to think of anything to say, but all that’s spinning in your head is how much of an idiot you are because you’re actually considering this. “Relax - you’re safe.” He coos, gripping your hips tighter which makes you let out your breath in a sharp shallow exhale. “I do need a favour first though.”

You raise your brows, encouraging him to just hurry up and tell you because you’re about to start sweating bullets from how quickly this entire thing has flipped upside down. He sucks his lower lip under his teeth before releasing it. “Can you kiss me again?” You hesitate for a moment, swallowing and he glances from your mouth back to your eyes with a low voice still managing to sound coy somehow. “Pretty please? Cherry on top? Extra sprinkles too? I’ll be good I promise.”

You roll your lips into your mouth, your eyes giving away the smile you’re trying to hide as you fight the urge to laugh and hate the fact that you find this idiot adorable now. You actually enjoy kissing him. And he knows that now. It’s bad news, it gives him a power over you you don’t want him to have. Yet you lean forward, pressing your lips to his. If your subconscious were a person, it would be beating its face against a wall right now. Hormones make you fucking stupid.

He lets out a triumphant hum but immediately takes control of the kiss, hooking your legs around his hips and taking a hold of your face between his large hands. There is that silence in your head again. The kiss goes straight to heated, his tongue breaking past your lips to roll against your own and the way his mouth is attacking yours has you panting for any kind of air you can get. His soft moans that start vibrating up his throat have your skin prickling and it’s like your body doesn’t know what to do with itself, you went so long without feeling things like lust or pleasure and now it’s all you’re being bombarded with in a span of 48 hours.

After a few minutes of him scrambling your mind with his mouth, he pulls back with heavy eyes, pecking your lips once more before he rests his hands on your thighs with a smug look. “Thanks for the help.” He says with a deep exhale while he catches his breath. You quirk your brows together, trying to grip your bearings again. “Huh?”

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head, when he explains what he meant by holding your thighs and thrusting his hips forward, pressing a very distinct hardness against your centre and every muscle in your body constricts. He smirks at how rigid you become, lifting his brows with cheeky eyes and unwraps your legs from around him, pulling away and watches your reaction as he grabs the hem of his shorts again to pull them down. What the fuck is going on?

You dart your eyes away, looking at your lap and trying to stop your heart feeling like it’s about to give out, hearing Matty chuckle to himself before you hear the glass door to the shower open and close. You should leave. You really should, but you’re not and you don’t know if it’s because you’re paralysed with nerves or you actually want to be here. All you hear is the steady stream of the water being interrupted by Matty stepping underneath it, letting out a low relaxed groan that has you gripping to the edge of the counter top while your eyes stay firmly stuck on your legs.

The sound of the water hitting the ground in uneven patterns rings around the air, while you assume he’s washing himself but you just can’t bring yourself to look up. You’re still figuring out this attraction to Matty, if that’s what it is. You know that he’s physically appealing like, genetically but you’ve never been one that’s overly swept up in looks - are you just physically attracted to him? You guess you haven’t felt attraction in so long, you’re just unfamiliar with it now. The feeling is so new again, it’s uncomfortable because you don’t know what to do with it, or where to place it. You feel blindsided by it.

The seconds tick past like hours while your pulse hammers in your body until you hear Matty’s gruff voice trying to sound soft and reassuring. “Look at me, darling.”

You swear you’ve never found your legs more fascinating than in this moment.

“Hey.”

So, how about those legs?

“Look at me or I’ll get out of the shower and stand in front of you naked until you do - or just leave. It’s up to you.” You think your legs would give out if you tried to stand right now, so you swallow the ball of nerves in your throat and slowly drag your eyes up, taking a deep preparing breath before you move your gaze to the shower. Just look at his face.

Your eyes catch his bare wet torso, with his shoulders leant back against the tiled wall, facing you and staring at you through the misty glass and you notice his stomach contract as he breaths, the spares hairs from his belly button that trail down between his hips…That’s not his fucking face! Your eyes whip up, catching his hooded ones as he watches you with a calm expression but there is a faint concentrated crease between his brows. His hair is soaked and pushed away from his face, stuck to his neck and shoulders, and you watch his adams apple dip as he swallows before he speaks. “Just watch me okay? See how it makes you feel - if you want me to stop just tell me.”

It makes you feel like you’re going to have a stroke, just to clear things up. Matty’s eyes stay on yours, but his brows cinch tight together when he sucks in a sharp breath and his lips part, before he huffs out a puff of air with a barely audible moan. Oh God. Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Don’t look down.

Your eyes glance down before you can stop them, seeing the fogged image of his fist wrapped around his length as he pumps it in slow motions and your stomach clenches that tight you just about hunch over, feeling like you’ve been kicked. Shouldn’t have looked.

You hold onto the counter for dear life, genuinely scared you’re going to fall over and you dart your gaze back to his face, completely frozen where you sit. You feel like you’re in some kind of trance, watching a car crash you can’t look away from while he keeps his eyes on you, rolling his head back against the wall to expose his throat while his chest starts to rise and fall faster. Your nerves are firing over your body, and the tension in the room that feels thicker than the stream damn near has you shaking while you watch his mouth fall open, echoing a deep strained moan around in the air as he starts to pant.

You’re certain you’re going to faint and crack your head on the tiles, you can already see it happening. Everything in you is screaming to look away and you just…can’t. Matty doesn’t take his stare off of you, and while you struggle to focus solely on his face you can see his shoulders tensing along with his chest muscles as he starts to work himself faster. He’s hazy through the steam on the glass, but droplets of water that trickle down it leave streaks that let hints of his clear image come through.

“Staying darling?” He drawls, his voice is low and out of breath and you sure as shit hope he doesn’t expect a verbal answer because your vocal chords feel as stunned into paralysis as your body does. He takes the fact that you haven’t budged as a response, and a ghost of a satisfied smile pulls on his mouth before he wets his lips and his breathing gets faster. “Just keep looking at me - M’thinking about you being in here with me, your hands on me. It’s driving me fucking insane.”

You swallow for what feels like the hundredth time, and your knuckles are white from how hard you’re holding onto the counter. A sheen of sweat starts to build on your forehead and chest, which you can’t tell if it’s from the steam in the room or what you’re seeing. Matty’s chest does a sudden jump, while his brows crease together and his jaw drops with a strained ‘oh fuck’ as his eyes pinch shut. Oh fuck indeed, you couldn’t have said it better yourself.

You’re clenching your jaw tight, but not as tight as you’re squeezing your damn legs together as his grunts and moans become louder mixed with the occasional profanity panting out of his mouth. You can hear the pulse ringing in your ears but it’s doing nothing to drown those sounds out, and when Matty’s jaw drops and his face scrunches up in so much pleasure it looks painful with his shoulders hunching forward you’re almost certain you’re going to faint.

You can see his body tremble and tense while he curses and grunts out moans that get cut off with sharp pants as his muscles constrict with what you can describe as nothing short of bliss across his face. You watch helplessly as Matty composes himself, catching his breath slumped against the wall and eventually moves back under the water and runs his hands through his drenched hair as it streams over him. He rinses himself off, then shuts off the water and wrings his hair out, flipping it away from his face before pushing the door open and walking out to grab a towel hung over the towel rack to wrap low around his hips.

You’re still a damn statue on the counter, trying to wrap your head around what you just watched and don’t even realise how heavy your own breathing is. You feel like this should be awkward, but it’s just not. The air of calm confidence he has as he turns and walks towards you, giving your rigid body a once over before he stands in front of you has you just speechless instead of anxious. He doesn’t say anything, probably aware that you wouldn’t be able to respond even if you wanted to and just grabs your waist to help you get off the counter.

You’re surprised your legs didn’t collapse underneath you. You feel like a walking stunned zombie, everything you just saw replaying in your head like some erotic movie in flashes. You turn because you think you’re going to leave the bathroom, but Matty stops you and stands behind you with his chin resting on your shoulder. “Not so fast.” He tutts, smoothing his hands from your waist down to your front to lift the hem of your shirt and dip his fingers into your shorts.

You dig your fingernails into your palms to stop from jumping when his fingers go lower, sneaking past your underwear until they go between your legs and explore in a lazy back and forth stroke, arousal coating your heat that has you choking on a gasp. He pulls his hand from your shorts, moving his mouth to your ear and you can hear the damn cocky smile in his voice. “Guess we can add watching someone getting off to the list of things you like…naughty girl.”

You’re still wordless, absolutely shocked into helpless silence which only seems to entertain him more as he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. “You feeling okay?”

“Ha!” You wheeze, the only audible sound you can make because that question is so fucking ridiculous right now. He moves his hand to pat against your behind. “You’ll be fine. Besides, this’ll give you something to think about until I see you again. Come on, I’ve gotta get dressed.”

He nudges you forward with a hold on your hips, which makes you stumble and Matty chuckles to himself. He coaxes you out of the bathroom and walks you towards the bed where you flop down to sit, still acting like some trauma patient that’s seen some wild shit that sent them completely mute. Matty looks so happy with himself, you swear he’s trying to kill you.

You can hear him pulling his pants on, but that’s not what grabs your attention and makes your face whip to the doorway in panic. The front door opens, then shuts and you can hear your mother’s usual dramatic groaning as if she’s a creaky old chair. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Matty notices your whole body become stiff, looking to where the noise is coming from, then back to you and gives you a strange look but you only look at him feeling like all the blood is draining from your body. “You need to leave.” You burst, darting your frantic eyes to the door and back to a shirtless Matty that’s barely done his pants up. His brows scrunch up in confusion. “What?”

“You need to leave right now - preferably out the window.” You whisper yell, waving your hands at him. However, Matty doesn’t get a chance to ask you why you look like you’re about to have a nervous breakdown because your mother’s voice comes from the door.

“Hey, I need a pain kill- oh, who’s this?”

Oh fucking hell.

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

Claws

《Stray/Catlad!Jason Todd / Reader》

-

Smiling brightly, you happily walk beside the dark-haired boy. He pays you mind, head in a book, ignoring you. A scowl on his face as sound of your foot-steps copying his.

Sighing, he closes the book, pausing, waiting for you to say something. His attention fully on you.

"What." He asks plainly, glancing over your love-sick smile as you happily hold two tickets in your hand. "Hi Jason! I just wanted to know if you would want to go too a movie with mw this weekend?"

Eyes brimming with hope, you watch him frown deeper.

"Can't. I'm busy with work."

"Oh! Well, that's okay. Maybe-"

Jason pockets his book, heading to his bike as he hops on. Putting on his helment as he starts the engenie and drives off.

"...Aw man..." You sigh, deflating as you look at the tickets. Noticing in the corner of your eye a cat themed book mark on the floor.

Picking it up, your face warms up as you beam at the written initals on the back.

"Well, theres always next time! Hmmm.. Maybe I'll pass this tickets to Bruce.. I don't wanna tell Dick though. He'll probably get upset.."

You hold the book mark close, skipping along home.

-

Turning away from the night sky, legs swinging back and forth on the ledge. You overhear a grunt, you glance down. Seeing a fight down below. Catwoman scratching at Batmans chest with her claws as he grits his teeth.

There goes a calm patrol...

Getting up, you feel a hand grab yours, twirling you around, your body bumps into a familar chest...

"Panther..."

You said politely, rolling your eyes with a smile. Taking a step back as you look at him with slight caution.

"Heya Purr-ity~!" He says snarkly, licking his lips as you turn away.

"Eyes up here." He states, grabbing your cheeks. His claw like gloves digging into your face as you gaze at him doe-eyed, scoffing. Swatting away the hand, the wind becomes stronger as your tickets fly out from your pocket.

Damn! You forgot to leave them in your civilian clothes!

Eyes widening, you try to grab them, but was beaten to the punch..!

"Huh... Didn't know you liked the books." He mumbles.

"Well, kinda. I got into them recently and saw the movie was coming out..."

You recalled Jason throwing his copy of the book at you after you spooked him on accident. Hoping to ask him out to a cafe together, instead, you got a free book and a bruised forehead.

What luck!

"...And you coincidentally had two tickets.."

"Yeah? I was gonna' give them to Batman instead-"

The male laughed, throwing his head back at the idea of Bataman watching a romantic historicall fiction movie. All in his get-up as he grumbles nonsense.

"Yeah, no..." He smirks, holding the tickets tighter. "No way he's going to do that! Sides', who he'd go with? Catwoman? Yeah, instant rejection." He says dryly, shrugging his shoulder. "Even those Bird-Brains know better to give that to their Boss."

He mentioned Nightwing and Robin, shrugging.

You sneakily try to grab the papers back, yet he easily dodged.

"Guess' you and I are going."

"Wha-?"

You feel him pick you up, slung over his shoulder. Half-expecting him to throw you. Instead, he starts running as he carries you!?

-

Jason Todd in this Au, is succsessfull in stealing the wheels off the bat-mobile. That catches the attention of certain cat-like thief. So he becomes her protege. Super Easy.

I headcanon Jason being kinda closed off in his Au, but slowly becomes more open. He's happier in his own little world with his books and Selina's multiple cats.

-

"Panther..? No.. Move! Move please! Move you stupid cat! Panther!"

Pushing away the thief, the sound of a crowbear smashing into your sides rung in the desolate area. "AUGH-!" You scream, Joker laughing as you fall and crash into one of the shipping crates of Joker-Gas.

"..Purrincess..?" Panther spoke slowly, the nickname a bit bitter on his tounge, more fond of Purr-ity. Yet it meant nothing now, no sweet familiar giggle. Nor playful banter..

Instead, horrible laughter.

In this Au, Jason doesn't die. But hates Joker in general. While.. Heroine(Y/N) doesn't suffer OG Jasom Todd fate..

Possibly, but super close calls.

Also, made up a small au where she has a Ric Graysom situation, so a possible idea too. Dunno, I wont decide.

"D'aww... How sweet! Give it up for lovers!" The clown cackled as the henchman stare in horror. Blinking out of his shock, the thief snarls in a animalistic manner. Yelling as he grab one of his guns, pointing at the head of the stupid clown.

-

"Wow..! Ears! So cute!" You said in awe, wearing your civilian clothes as the thief grumbles. Looking away, not bothering with you. Even when you and the other, "hostages" sat as Catwoman snagged the musem jewlery.

You sweat a bit, not partically used to his cold shoulder. Often him hogging your vigilante time instead.

-

Pressing a soft kiss on your knuckle, you eye Jasons bloodied hands worriedly. Sure, you adored the contact, but you were worried.

"Thank you, for your help- B-but your hurt!" You make sure your hands cup around his. Worriedly glancing around for a bandage or calling one of the officers.

Protective Nightwing Lol.

"Don't worry, (V/N)! Got one of the paramedics right here!"

You pout as Nightwing gets in the middle of you and Jason. Pushing the health care hero between you two. The Big Bird ushering you to Bat's side.

[What?? More Batboys as Cat Thiefs?? Yes. Originally, i wanted to call him. "Alley-Cat", but found out there already was one! Anyway, yay! Comments and art are always wanted and appriciated!]

[meanbossart]

Hi! First off, wanted to say I love your du drow and your art style! It's absolute chef's kiss and always look forward to your posts ❤️👍

My question is; does du drow have any weapons and armour that he prefers either because it makes him stronger or aesthetics and if not is there ones that you enjoyed using for his playthrough?

Have an lovely day!

Thank you so much, I'm happy to entertain!

Aesthetically (and "canonically" I guess, since this is even mentioned in A Novel Experience) he really likes the drow armor that you steal off of Minthara and it's his go-to for whenever he needs to look presentable. I actually finished his run wearing it even though it's light armor, it just felt right, lol.

Also, for writing purposes, it just feels like something you can realistically move around in freely and bring around with you in your travels. UNLIKE -

I adore the look and benefits of the whole helldusk armor set. When I'm playing to, uh, actually win, it's definitely my go-to and the most appropriate for his build. I just can't get over the way it just seems to be one solid piece of metal - how am I supposed to bend down to tie my bootlaces or smooch my short vampire on the lips.

The balduran's giantslayer is my favorite weapon for him and I'm sure the moment he set eyes on it he knew he Needed that gross looking, extremely unwieldy looking thing as well. Greatswords in general are his main weapon of choice. Though I think he would put it away as a novelty item in post-game events for being too flashy and settle for something less attention-grabbing.

[five-rivers]

A continuation of my pollfic. Sorry for the long gap, I was battling sickness.

.

Well.  Danny's literal fatal flaw was curiosity.  He wanted to see where this would go.  

He could always turn human and walk away later.  Or fall away.  Or something.  Danny wasn't sure that the library had a bottom to fall out of.  Some places in the Zone didn't follow normal spatial rules.  A lot of places in the Zone didn't follow normal spatial rules. 

His parents probably wouldn't see it that way, though, so he just… wasn’t going to mention it to them.  Finger spelling about it would take too long anyway.  

“Danny, honey, I know you wanted to show us what the library was like, but you can come back later.”

“Or never!”

Yeah, that was what Danny was afraid of.  He didn't want to go home just to lose it from being stuck inside all the time.  

The ghosts outside moved the ice sphere with unsettling smoothness.  If it wasn't for his acute sense of balance, he wouldn't know it was moving at all.  On the other hand, the aura-tugs of telekinesis were very obvious, worrying at his aura even through the ice.  

That was… disturbing.  He had to consider how that power would behave in a fight.  Disturbingly well, he'd guess, if they could keep up the coordination.  You could just grab your enemy and hold them down.  

Or, well, not so much if your enemy had any kind of ranged powers themselves, but still.  Like he said, if they could keep it up…

The orb dropped, as if falling down some kind of shaft, and Danny barely kept himself from smacking against the bottom when it stopped.  Then, the smooth forward motion started again.  

It was very bright down here.  He had to squint.  

The sphere dipped again.

“It looks like they've put you down on some kind of… ring stand.  This might be a good time to act, Danny.”

Danny nodded.  That was true, but he still–

He flinched as something silently impacted the outside of the sphere, and then-  Were they drawing something on the outside?  Something… Danny leaned forward, leaning against the inner wall to get a better look at it.  

It looked like a glowing version of one of the aid symbols on the visitor badges.

[comicgeekery]

Sherlock and Co.

So I just listened to the latest episode, the conclusion of A Case of Identity. I have to say, it was deeply disappointing. For the most part I've been really enjoying Sherlock and Co. It's been fun and engaging. The actors are great. It's a solid new take on "Sherlock Holmes but in the 21st century". I love that they're going through all the stories of the original canon and giving them modern updates. So many Sherlock Holmes adaptations seem to have the basic trappings of the characters and premise without any interest in the original mysteries. This show is clearly being made with love and deep attention to detail. Also, on a personal note, my heart melts every time it explicitly (and even casually!) confirms that Sherlock is autistic and that that is a DISABILITY for him. He gets overstimulated. It gives him an often restricted diet. He hurts people's feelings from not picking up social cues and feels bad about it! There's also a lot of hints that Sherlock used to struggle to interact with others FAR worse than he currently does, to the point where he has never graduated from any school he attended. And John is kind and supportive, understanding the situation as a friend and a doctor, while also having his own understandable limitations. He gets annoyed with Sherlock sometimes and they need to hash things out. It's not perfect between them, but I can see how they're growing closer as they come to understand each other. John Watson is also handled very interestingly in this podcast. He's clearly got some issues of his own he's going through. There's some obvious PTSD from his time in Afghanistan, but also more mundane issues. He feels unappreciated by his mother and still grieves the father that died when he was ten. He's clearly massively insecure, as he constantly expresses jealousy of other people's wealth, good looks, and success. He seems to perk up every time he hears of an idea that could, in theory, make him rich or successful. He constantly second-guesses himself in any social situation because he's so afraid of looking foolish. I even think the reason that he himself decided to call their detective/podcasting business Sherlock and Co. (rather than Sherlock and Watson or something more evenly balanced) is because of his profound insecurity. He doesn't think anyone would care about the role he plays in the business. Clearly Sherlock is the only interesting person there.

But for all of that, I think this is the most competent, helpful, and good Watson I've ever seen. (ACD's Watson is excellent, but the stories almost always really downplayed his role in the crime-solving.) He is shown, again and again, to be an excellent doctor and more than that, one who is very calm and capable under extreme pressure. (Which makes perfect sense with his history as an army doctor.) If someone gets shot at your wedding, Dr. John Watson is the one who will have the skill and the presence of mind to use an expired condom as a tool to save their life. And he's also a good co-detective. He regularly helps Sherlock see connections that Sherlock might have missed. Things relating to pop culture, to social norms, to anything medical, not to mention all the support and encouragement John offers. And Sherlock genuinely appreciates it! These two are an actual, real team! It's excellent! (I have a soft spot in my heart for Nigel Bruce's Watson, but I can't deny that he inspired a real line of idiotic, totally a sidekick, why-are-you-even-here Watson portrayals. Granted, we've gotten away from that in most modern portrayals; Liu, Freeman, and Law were also very capable, though I think Liu was easily the smartest. It's just refreshing to have a Watson I can respect.) But all of that is a pretty roundabout way of getting to my point of what disappointed me with A Case of Identity. So, in the original Case of Identity story, a woman comes to Sherlock and Watson saying that her fiancee has disappeared. The eventual solution is that everything about this fiancee was a lie. He was actually her evil stepfather in disguise "wooing" her with the intention of disappearing mysteriously and leaving her too heartbroken and loyal to think of marrying anyone else (and thus depriving her stepfather of her fortune). The Sherlock and Co. adaptation has a solid update to the story. It's now about a rich, though insecure, man who's being cat-fished. He loves "Angel", even wants to marry her, and has given her tons of money for two years now. He's only going to Sherlock at all because he has a friend who thinks the situation is sketchy. In a parallel to the original story, it turns out that "Angel" is actually Des, the client's stepfather. It started off as a scheme from Des and the mother, Clara, to keep Miles from dating women they didn't approve of. Then Des went behind Clara's back to keep the charade going and get more and more money, consequently getting more and more intimate with his stepson the whole time. I was already a bit nervous at that point, because Des was coming dangerously close to playing out a transphobic stereotype. Being a man who pretended to be a woman for personal gain, and willing to completely betray and deceive the people closest to him. It also didn't help that John had made a point of saying that there was nothing wrong with being a Tory mere minutes before. (Which to me read as more of his insecurity and need to not alienate the in-universe listeners but certainly wasn't interrogated.) But I tried to be optimistic and kept listening. Unfortunately...it was even worse than I'd feared. Des turned out to not only being grifting his stepson through a semi-incestuous cat-fishing scheme, but he had a split personality. Angel had become real through Des having a mental health crisis. And she could spontaneously take over, which she did in order to grab Clara and hold a knife to her throat when the truth came out. Finally, Angel/Des tries to kill themself, which is something the show has the audacity to make a joke about before the audience knows if Des lived or died.

Sooooo, yeah. That's incredibly offensive on so many levels. Angel, while not quite a trans character (I think?) plays into transphobic rhetoric beat-for-beat. It's also an incredibly cliche representation of split personality disorder that plays into extremely tired representations of people with mental illnesses being violent dangers to society. And that's especially disappointing because of the attention Sherlock and Co. usually pays to portraying mental health issues with sensitivity. What the fuck, Sherlock and Co.? Did you get a new writer for this one? Did they time travel directly from the 1950s? This is cheap drama that hurts. It hurts trans women. It hurts people with mental illnesses. And it hurts the wider queer and disabled communities. Which, if you're trying to get popular with the most vocal Sherlock Holmes fans today, are largely the exact people you most want to like you.

Cards on the table, I've been really hoping this show would finally be the adaptation where John and Sherlock would become an actual, explicit couple. It's something fans have longed for for literal generations and now that all of Sherlock Holmes is in the public domain it can finally definitely happen. I felt like Sherlock and John had good chemistry and were maybe even flirting in previous episodes, but I'll save those theories for now. My point is that this is a show where I believed that could happen. I trusted Sherlock and Co. to be respectful and thoughtful. And I'm not saying that all my goodwill is gone now. But it has taken a hit. Sherlock and Co. has been overwhelmingly clever and interesting, finding creative ways to recast the classic stories while still keeping their hearts. I love the acting, I love the action and mysteries, and I haven't even come close to expressing how much thought I've put into what overarching plot threads might be getting established in each episode.

But I won't be able to continue to enjoy those parts if I come to spend my time listening more concerned about if a plot twist is going to leave me feeling attacked. I don't know who writes for this show and I don't know if you read any reviews on Tumblr, but I hope you do. And I hope you do better in the future. An apology and some good trans representation in the future would be nice. Please, I really want to be able to obsess about your show peacefully!

[aspenaspenaspenaspenaspen]

I don’t like how the Sokeefe confession went down, because it felt so abrupt compared to the build up of the series.

I think this because the whole series it’s Keefe who’s loved Sophie since the beginning, Keefe who hinted his feelings and flirted with her, and Keefe who couldn’t confess. And it was Sophie who couldn’t figure out her feelings and was oblivious to his. So it felt strange that though Keefe technically confessed first in the letter he left, it was Sophie who initiated the actual confession.

I understand that all the build up for Sophie confessing was in Stellarlune, but it just didn’t fit with the rest of the series, and honestly, felt unfair to Keefe (from a readers stand point, I’m sure he’s very happy in cannon). He should have been the one to confess.

I’ve heard people complaining that Chapter 42 was written like a fan fiction, and I disagree with this statement for two reasons, one that I think this is supposed to be insulting the actual writing of the scene, and I would never insult Shannon Messangers writing, and two because I don’t like to spread that fanfic writing is bad because fan fiction can have some amazing writing.

However I can see the similarities to Chapter 42 and fanfiction. As an avid reader of fanfiction, a reader can tell when the fanfic author is just writing a confession as a way to get the characters to kiss, the confession may be abrupt without a lot of build up, but also may just be very easy and quick. And that’s sort of how I felt reading the Sokeefe confession. It felt too easy for all the build up and angst and unrequited but eventually requited love that is Sokeefe.

Keefe should have been the one to confess, and Sophie should of had a harder time accepting feelings instead of pining for Keefe the entirety (?) or Stellarlune, and it should have been more difficult. Also Ro shouldn’t have been peer pressuring Sophie….

….And that’s the real controversial take here. Because, I do genuinely believe Sophie likes Keefe in cannon. I’m not a big Sokeefe shipper but I saw where this was going throughout the series. However in cannon, to the reader, it looks like Ro had to convince Sophie that she liked Keefe, and even if I think she does, it still feels like peer pressure when reading it. And I think Keefe would also be disappointed if he heard that it was Ro who convinced Sophie that she like him, because it should have been Sophie battling with her own feelings, not Ro telling her how she feels (regardless of if she was correct).

If I were to rewrite the Sokeefe part of Stellarlune, I would’ve have Sophie understanding that part of the letter, but pushing down her feelings and choosing to be oblivious in order to avoid facing her feelings when she already has so much going on. Have her think about Keefe while he’s gone, and be jealous of Biana (or suspicious whatever you’d call it) in that one scene but have her obviously be falsely justifying it in order to push down those romantic feelings.

Then when she does find Keefe, make her avoid mentioning the letter at all costs. Have it hang over their heads at every moment their alone together, have it be awkward. Then, on accident have her mention the letter. Let there be a pause.

Let Keefe be a bit bitter about Sophie refusing to acknowledge anything. Have him be all like “oh so you did see the letter.”

Have Sophie still refuse to talk about it. “yeah, I guess I was so distracted with trying to find you I didn’t really think about it (lying). was there anything important in there?”

Have Keefe’s eyes turn dark “no, I guess not. (lying)” and have him rudely stalk of.

Then later have them doing something for the black swan with their friends, looking over scrolls, idk research or something.

Have Sophie be frustrated after the scrolls don’t tell them anything important. “why can’t the author of these just tell us what this means?” She should grumble

And Keefe should say “well maybe you should read between the lines to figure out what they mean.”

Sophie throws down the scroll in her hands “well maybe people should just say what they mean instead of writing it down in a way that can mean anything!!” Keefe sets down his scroll, walking off outside. No one else knows what’s going on but Sophie sighs and follows him out.

“Keefe! Wait!” She shouts. Keefe would whirl around, tears in his eyes.

“Don’t you think I’ve waited long enough?”

Sophie stares at him, surprised that he’s crying.

“I’ve waited this whole time to because I didn’t want to pressure you. But you can’t even acknowledge it.”

“Because I don’t know what “it” is! You left, and you leave me this note, and I’m just supposed to understand what it means?”

“You know what it means! Why else would I write it?”

“You wrote it because you were leaving-“

“I WROTE IT BECAUSE I LOVE YOU”

“YOU WROTE IT BECAUSE YOU THOUGHT YOU’D NEVER SEE ME AGAIN!”

Suddenly there are tears in Sophie’s eyes too. “You’re accusing me of avoiding all this but you were just as willing to! You didn’t want to confront me with your feelings so you wrote down your confession, but now you’re back and all you can do is shout it at me.”

Keefe takes a step closer, his eyes wide.

“How am I supposed to know you mean it if you don’t say it?” Sophie looks down, tugging at an eyelash.

Keefe takes another step closer, taking her hand in his. His voice is croaky and wet but each word is clear.

“Sophie Foster…I love you.”

And that’s when it all hits Sophie, because that’s everything she needed to hear and all the things she’s been stuffing down comes up and hits her all at once, and she physically stumbles into Keefe.

“Foster?” Keefe asks, catching her. Sophie looks up and makes eye contact with him.

“I think I’ve just fallen for you.” (The joke is that she actually fell over. In case it wasn’t clear.)

[scribbledghost]

I was outside in the sun too long this weekend and my pale ass got an entire sunburn and I'm Suffering so now I'm imagining FemSimon to cope with it. Warnings: None, fem!reader, pale reader (or at least mentions of red skin in relation to a sunburn)

Simon chuckles when she walks in to your shared bedroom to find you sprawled on the bed with an ice pack on your face. You've got a fan pointing at you, the ceiling fan on, and you're wearing one of her old military tank tops to keep your shoulders exposed to the cool air.

"Alright, love?" she asks with a smile.

"What do you think?" your muffled voice answers from beneath the ice pack.

"Why don't you sit up? Got a cold cloth and some aloe for you."

You do as she asks, albeit with some groaning and protestations. The ice pack drops onto your lap, revealing a bright red sunburn on the lower half of your face that stretches down to your collarbone.

She chuckles softly to herself at your expense when she notices your grumpy expression.

Simon maneuvers behind you, running the washcloth across your skin to dampen it before putting the lotion on. She starts with your shoulders and nape of your neck before moving down to your arms.

"Learn a lesson, did we?" she teases.

"Shut up," you quip. "Not like you've never gotten sunburned before."

"I haven't."

"Sure. Let me guess, you tan perfectly every time?"

"Mhm. An impeccable bronze."

You huff out a laugh.

"Yeah. I'd like to see that."

You will, one day. One day she'll take you to a quiet beach somewhere and spend the day with the waves, making sure to coat you properly with sunscreen to avoid a repeat. She just knows you'd look stunning in a bathing suit.

After finishing the areas she can reach, Simon moves around until she's facing you. There, she gently applies the aloe to your throat and collarbone before moving up to your face, starting with your nose.

You scrunch your face in mock annoyance when she squishes your cheeks as she passes them over. The facial expression holds no bite, and she can't resist leaning in to kiss your nose.

Unfortunately, aloe was never her favorite taste. She endures for you though.

[xoxochb]

Could you pretty please write for Leo x ares child who loves weapons and has a comically high number of them hidden on their person at any time?

I just can’t stop about the “I sleep with a knife under my pillow” and the:

Person 1: Why does x have a knife?

Person 2: X felt unsafe

Person 1: Now I feel unsafe

Person 2: want a knife?

Person 1: why do you have all these knives?

Person 2: would you prefer a gun?

Idk food for brain i guess!

Thank you so much if you do same if you don’t!

I loved your Jason grace x clumsy s/o!

(Btw do u have somewhere I can check what you are working on/what rqs you got so i can check if mine got eaten? Though off you wouldn’t see this ask if it did. Oh, I’m so dumb. Oh, well. I hope you see this. Have a lovely day!)

˗ˋ did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed? ˊ˗

warnings: weapons, mentions of violence, short

pairing: leo valdez x daughter of ares

summary: read the request!

A/N: hii, so you can check what fics I’m working on in my master list. the ones I’m working on usually have a line through it like this, and I do see all of my requests that get sent in 🫶🏼

“why is y/n holding a knife?” some random aphrodite kid asked

“she felt unsafe” leo stated

“she felt unsafe? I should be the one who feels unsafe! she’s got weapons on her like it’s the apocalypse!”

“I don’t know what to tell you” leo shrugs

you did feel unsafe, that is a fact, but you always feel unsafe. being a demigod means fighting monsters, and even being under the camps protection was not enough to stop you from being worried, so you came to a conclusion one day that you would always carry weapons around incase there was an issue

“leo have you seen my taser?” you ask, patting down your pockets

“I think it’s in your cabin, I saw it under your pillow last night” he says

you run off and the aphrodite boy speaks again, “she keeps a taser under her pillow?! is that even allowed?”

“she’s an ares kid, of course it’s allowed” leo defends

the aphrodite boy gives him a weird look and a few moments later you come back with a taser and a dagger

“what did I miss?” you ask sitting down, and leo throws an arm around your shoulders

the aphrodite boy gives you a blank stare, “nothing”

“great!” you beam and continue on with your day like you don’t have at least five weapons on you at the moment

[voidcat]

— a broken record

characters: aventurine/you, the ipc, original planets & characters, xianzhou alliance (mostly mentioned)

notes: 3.5k of a beast! Hello, hi, as I’ve mentioned before our mc has a prewritten history and backstory which will be revealed as the story goes on, hence the shifts of perspective you’ll come to see as you read & as I write. Second part of this chapter is an example of this. The storyline begins linear but this will be distorted as the plot goes on. Hsr characters and ipc doesn’t have full of revealed role so I’m taking creative liberties and adding planets, systems and characters when I see benefiting the story. I hope I do the characters justice and you guys enjoy this as much as I do:) love yall bye<3

songs: Too Sweet, It Will Come Back, A Dramatic Irony

i. it will come back

The corporation has its eyes everywhere; but not all those eyes belong to them.

It is a well guessed and partially accurate fact, that their arms and limbs, eyes and noses spread far and wide, recording every instance big or crucial; watching intently to plan their next move.

The IPC spreads far and wide, beyond stars and planet systems many don't even know the existence of. But as there is a price to everything, their range comes with its cost.

His heels echoing on the stone pavements, Aventurine knows of the strategists and analysts the corporation has working under them. Just because he is yet to meet one in the flesh does not make them any less real, though that’s where the rumors seem to hint at. An urban legend at best, exceptional people all in their own field, always watching, observing, recording, collecting information.

The rumors start after this part, where their loyalties lie.

It is something not many care about frankly, everyone has their reasons to work for— or under the IPC, it’s not up for others to judge why someone would willingly work for them, harvesting data for them; nobody knows for certain whether these analysts travel from one location to another, or stay stationed at certain spots for long periods of time; do they like to watch planets burn and shackled, or are they prisoners of the corporation via the extension of someone dear, with hostages and deals one’s forced on; all these questions and more nobody dares to ask around.

As people stare at him, Aventurine walks towards his target, the classy looking pub across the street, the best and most prestigious in the area, known for its delicacies and safety, or so the people of this planet think.

His outfit is the same, the flashy peacock holds his head high, a smirk adorning his face, eyelids low, he is well aware of the attention he gathers, as intended., Ggo on, keep staring, a voice inside him says.

Like anyone else in his line of job, he didn't give much thought to those rumored, but now there is a spark, and his eyes intently roam the place as he enters, hat in one hand, he keeps close to his chest.

There are signs for those wandering eyes.

Or so the people whisper about the urban legends. No one sticks out exactly yet, those kinds would not end up a myth if they stuck out like a sore thumb.

It was pretty much the same with the history of IPC and how it gets the job done, their tactics and course of action always following a system, even with the risks taken, the gambles taken into account, there was always a formula, a pattern that follows– then he decided to take a look at some records and found out interferences happened.

The why of it remains a mystery as of now, the how does not take much; they hold the information, it is up to them how many cards they lie on the table, how much they keep to themselves and how they name their price. A little rebellion as much as they can afford maybe, is it their conscious or just selfish desire, or to feel that they hold the strings above all; he is yet to find out.

Eyes on his target, he makes his way to the secluded booth, greeted with enthusiasm laced with a little fear. Not many people of this planet know of the outworlders traveling beyond stars, only those who rose to their respective ranks are given access to such information after all.

The arrival of IPC is both something that sent them into frenzy; excitement of the ‘what-if’s, fear for the worst case scenarios. They don't need to know of the fates of those erased from the maps to get that survival instinct kicking in.

Eyes lazily gazing over the marshall and the gambler, you take a sip from your drink, allowing the ambiance of the place to take over.

A delightful tune to your eyes, no hungry gaze locked on you for once, a decent cocktail by your hand and a job almost done. The planet itself isn't too advanced but more or less up-to-date with the systems surrounding itself; or the ones in charge are, which is a great deal considering certain systems and planets’ situations. Better to have some sort of an idea than to jump in blind. The gambler’s interactions seem to near its end, still managing to captivate the small crowd around himself until the very last second, flashy smiles and dazzling gestures. From the air around him and the happy but reluctant face of the marshall, you can safely assume a deal has been struck between the planet and the IPC, one can only hope it won’t bring destruction and grief with it, or that all life will cease to exist by the time that comes; with the IPC, one can never know for sure, when it is resource-rich planets they intent to use and mine.

Sweet tunes of the piano and bass remain vibrating in the air, a cello and a small set to keep up the rhythm. The little gathering dispels yet not all of them leave, scattering around the place.

He arrives by your side sooner or later, still making sure to take his time and talking with few others he must’ve seen worthy of their word or to kill time somehow. By the time the gambler sits by your side, you let your finger dance over the rim of your glass, half of the whiskey already gone, faint notes of its scent lingering in the air.

Aventurine tilts his head to the side, beginning with a line not too daring but equally natural and tame; nobody wants to scare people away within a few words, and he has plenty of time before he is expected back in the headquarters of IPC.

instead of a reply, you grace him with a smile and your fingers wrapping around your glass.

Taking your smile as a sign to keep going, he takes the seat next to you, resting his forearm on the counter. Faking a gaze at his clothes, “It seems I must've overdone it.” he says halfheartedly, in question. The voice of a man who knows all too well what he was going for, a sheepish smile that feigns innocence, fully aware of the cheap acting it’s putting on. Warming the atmosphere, creating an air of comfort and ease, friendliness and truce.

“Cannot say for sure,” you hum, “up until now you’ve had everyone’s eyes on your person,” your fingers relax around the glass, “which is more or less how the usual crowd operates, you only happen to beat the others to the quota today.”

He listens as you speak, noting how you talk in sync with the music. As primitive as the planet might be, the access to data was plenty and right under his palms, yet such small details are lost, he wonders if the music lacks lyrics or if they play it here so, just to bring out the conversations happening.

“Well, lucky me, or how else could I find myself a spot near yours truly?” he exclaims, both of you aware how cheap and easy the compliment is.

“I doubt you would have any struggles.” you say as you bring the glass to your lips, taking a small sip of the ashy drink. As true as it is, he takes a step back, filling the space with a smile instead.

Do you find him so charming that you would allow him to draw near any other way or have you noticed how he stands out among the rest as well– your spot here at the bar does not have the best of view but anyone with a slight curiosity could notice it was a certain class he had a meeting with prior. Maybe it's the difference of status you mean, that his meeting alone would be intimidating. Yet it isn’t enough of a reason to justify this possibly, this particular establishment isn’t one anyone can waltz in, hence the reason it was chosen for today’s meeting.

Humming to the melody, you take another sip. “How do you find the establishment so far?” you inquire and at your question, he chuckles. “I see, I see, I should’ve held back a little, maybe leave the hat back at home, huh?”

Only at his words you seem to notice the hat by the counter, your fingers leaving the glass to play with its rim instead, feeling the fabric and the details adorning the garment.

“I wouldn’t know.” you say, closing your eyes, “But speaking for myself, I’m quite fond of the combination so far.”

Silence falls over for a while as the music continues.

“What brings a lovely person such as yourself, alone at the end of the workweek, to a place better enjoyed with someone else?”

Unnecessarily long, his brain jabs at him, but he doesn’t care, from your reactions, you seem to enjoy the rambling and the coyness.

“Exactly what you’ve said at the end.” is your reply. Nails hitting against the glass, you draw out a melodic series of clanks. You follow the rhythm well, he notes, with recognition and following at hand, it is no difficult feat to speak in sync, allow the music to swallow and put your words into spotlight.

“Perhaps the most prestigious place around here, and a little pretentious in the eyes of some– like a certain face I happen to be avoiding, but that’s where the charm of it lies, wouldn’t you agree?” you change the topic and bring it back to where he left, giving him two options, two different roads to take.

Is it the ex that is pretentious or does he find the location as such; he has a feeling the answer to this remains ‘both’.

“The ambiance manages to be intimidating and capture a warmth to it, too.” he says, “a troublesome ex perhaps?” Why pick when you can have it all, he is willing to take it and where it’ll go, until you put down the stop sign.

“And delightful melodies all around, truly a safe haven at times.” you continue his words. “Not really, just his own person, blue hair to match his soul. It often felt like, with his own goals set in mind, ambitions and beliefs, what other people thought to be pretentious was nothing more than a misconception frankly.” you sigh.

“And yet, too much to deal with at the end of the day, hm?” Aventurine asks.

With melancholy on your face, you only close your eyes and nod with a hum.

“You remind me of him.” your words catch him off guard, a lightning bolt down his spine, he finds himself straightening up in his seat.

At his sudden reaction you hold back the chuckle that's by your lips, “with all the contrast you hold to him, relax,” until you cannot, and giggle, “it seems I’ve gotten rusty, my apologies, I was trying to–” you ramble off, unable to finish your sentence.

Cute, he thinks, and another part of him finds it impressive how despite it all, even when words seem to escape your grasp, you still manage to speak in rhythm.

A new song begins playing, with a slight change of tune and color, making Aventurine raise his head without noticing.

“Have you ever thought as if some songs– music can resemble a person?” Your question pulls him out of his bubble. With your chin resting against your fists, you stare at him with big, shiny eyes. The ‘how so?’ rests on his tongue, “It can depend on the song, and the person, I’d assume.” he plays it safe. “How do the lyrics to this one go?”

You let out a hum in sync with the music again, you must’ve heard it plenty before, or just like it to a certain degree.

“I wouldn’t know.”

You say it matter-of-factly, like a kid stating they like ice cream.

The initial surprise wears off and he allows another smile to bloom on his face, unable to rid of his furrowing brows and the confusion still lacing his beating heart.

His eyes quickly go over the place and he cannot spot a single musician in sight, just an old looking gramophone by the bar, behind the counter, jolting by itself at times, as if giving out its final performance. He could swear he saw a small batch of musicians when he entered, they must’ve taken a break perhaps.

“Whoever’s behind it must be an excellent compos–” “honey, you make this so easy.” Your words glide off with the melody, yet something about it sticks out, poking at his ears, something in his guts tell it is distorted.

Yet you keep smiling at him, almost a dreamy, singsong state to your person.

“What is it that catches your attention to the music here?” He hears you speak, eyes looking for the musicians he swears were there several system hours ago.

Swinging slightly to the melody, he knows better than to not keep someone waiting.

“How it brings out the words spoken by whom you’re speaking.” He states, like a kid answering for a pop quiz they’ve been memorizing for all week long.

“And how it drowns out anything else from the outside.” You complete for him, “that's the main reason this place is often sought out by a certain class.”

He has noticed it too, of course, every planet primitive or advanced, always have their ticks and tricks to separate classes and to feel important in their little bubbles.

Eyes finding yours, Aventurine finds your expression to be distracting, you should know better than to smile like that, naive yet sharp, pure yet knowing, holding the secrets to some sort of concept he does not even know the existence of.

He weighs whether to speak next or wait, but it seems you won’t be making any moves until his begins.

“It must’ve been difficult to compose pieces with such a certain goal set in mind though, I’d be delighted to meet the geniu–“ “Oh, how I wish we too had lyrics to accompany our songs just like yours beyond stars.” Your exclamation cuts through the air like a dagger.

What you’ve said registers a bit later than he’d prefer but his face pales before his consciousness gets to work.

“Oh but you didn’t know, did you?” Your voice tone hasn’t shifted much since the moment he has met you, but he begins to find it grating, how you seem to enjoy toying with him, to the best of your abilities.

“Not many outworlders do, none at all, if we are being frank here.”

“And why is that?” Aventurine asks you, glasses pushed to the bridge of his nose, his demeanor a tad more intrigued.

“Now that…” you begin, leaning towards him slightly, “I truly don’t know.”

Hands clasped before you, you take your eyes off him as if this is just some casual date between citizens of the same village.

“But I know what your lot says, that this is a primitive planet at best, just happened to be lucky and advance in certain areas.”

This much information at your hands, you must be among the ranks of government officials. It does not come as a surprise to Aventurine that the Marshall would bring along more than just manpower to an important meeting, determining the destiny of countless lives.

“It is only fitting that the art here has evolved to the form it once had when life was anew and the people had nothing but fire, stones and one another, walls of the caves to draw on, piles of wood to set fire to.”

He takes notice how you avoid using the word ‘devolve’, you must’ve seen something in this turn of events that makes it different to what it used to be, possibly more than just the state of your species.

Not so long after this rundown that you take your leave, still humming the same song from before, Aventurine finds himself wondering what meaning have you attributed to it— and by extension, to him?

And by the time he is back on the ship, preparing his report, his mind begins to forget about you already.

It is unlikely that fate will cross his path through this planet again, reading its name in future reports will be the most at best. The songs however, take their places at the back of his mind, playing over and over when he has just lied down to take a moment,

An interesting detail, indeed, he thinks. But the question remains: was it left out deliberately, or truly only known by the natives of the planet, unable to be reached with no interaction nor contact? Sloppy work or is something bigger at play?

Ii. a dramatic irony / l’inverno

Luofu is ever changing and eternal, as it ever was, just as its citizens are.

Yet today is not one of those days, today, your countless days of watching, noting, and occasionally drinking tea, pays off; the anomaly is on the move, and so are abominations of abundance. Posing the picture perfect threat, as they are meant to be, you wait to see how fruitful this one will turn out to be. Planting seeds often results in disappointment, for most of them require constant care. It’s the matter of collecting those that can stand on their own that enrich one’s wealth.

The anomaly that was supposed to become an abomination themselves stand between the people and the abominations of the stage, one fist clenching, other readying the makeshift weapon, eyes going back and forth, telling those they once swore to protect to stand back.

It is too early to celebrate but you think a nice dinner in Aurum Alley to treat yourself after the day comes to an end would not hurt a soul. Whispering small words on what to do and not, ‘hey didn’t we keep dental records back in the day as well?’, silently entering in and typing in the name of that lost warrior to their system… such things shouldn’t necessarily earn you a pat on the back– it’s not your fault the people have grown slow and dull with the days of peace they are born into. A tea against the artificial sunset wouldn’t hurt a soul, and it certainly won’t hurt the financial resources of the IPC though.

Your job, though what it entails is often unclear, is no rocket science as the people of the blue planet once said. It’s where and how you plant the seeds of suspicion that matters, how you goad them all the while making them feel the ideas were theirs to begin with, just a little nudge toward the right direction, no big deal there.

Focusing back on the present, you go over the expressions people seem to carry. Despite the fear in their eyes, the people watch the ex knight with hope, chests rising high because they have faith they’ll leave this place alive.

Yet something still stinks.

You have left the ‘how’ of the ex knight managing to live out like a regular knight, stranger occurrences have begun to appear at a rapid rate nowadays, got everyone in a frenzy, even the IPC, which, in and of itself is a great deal of success. With the path of Akivili under the spotlight once more, the horizon seems a little wider for you; creating discordances within the flow of events now that their attention has been divided.

You return to the scene before you and notice how the fist does not only clench but seem to hold, then you recall how the time forsaken warrior jumped right into the abominations as they picked out the innocents lying on the ground– not a distraction but a set up.

Setting up the stage before the grand finale, a knight defying time and logic, you can see in their eyes and body how the rumored impulsive nature has evolved, shifted into a new path, bringing along with it a technique unique to its time and person.

You watch as the lights go out and the show starts. It lacks the elegance it was rumored to carry but you’d not be surprised, this is something borrowed, something learned, without their old master, there is no longer a correct way of applying it yet they still play it like a violin, pull the strings and trap the abominations in, one by one, three by three, they try to attack but the knight deflects faster than them.

Then taking a pause, steadying a step back, they look back and tell the people to evacuate the space. As you watch people hurriedly go all around, desperate to help in some way, one running off to alert the authorities, your eye catches a string not shining like the rest, positioned oddly.

In the shadows, nobody sees, and it the crowd, nobody notices you moving.

Crouching down, you pick it up and place how the rest seem to be angled.

Satisfied when you see the golden, light-like shine return to it; a glance at the knight and you see them move, enduring the hits and swinging out the makeshift bow, performing like a violinist and radiating trust with every step. Nowhere near their master yet but quite on the way and more than enough.

By the time the backup arrives, the young swordmaster of ice and soldiers behind him arrive, you take your leave, pulling up your hood, you bring a hand over to your face, letting it sit and feeling the change.

The Alliance seems to be doing well under the general and from the looks of it, it will continue to do so. The nearing presence of the IPC won’t hold as serious a threat as it may to other planets.

The representatives of the company don’t seem to notice your presence as you walk past them and toward the alley.

Among their ranks employees with duller and duller senses, one might even be hopeful as to think the downfall of the corporation will begin shortly.