#Can you tell I've though about this too much?

[youngtacoes]

Strangers, no more

Cooper Howard aka The Ghoul x f!reader

Author's note: this is a long one !! i've had this scenario in my head for a long ass time and i just had to get it out on paper. cooper isn't as cruel in this one, sorry if that's not your thing, but he can be soft sometimes too! fyi: reader is 18+ and everything is consensual! If you're only here for the smut you can skip toward the end.

Word count: 6,8k

Summary: Cooper is a bounty hunter struggling for caps and you need to be transported safely across the wasteland in "good condition", luckily it pays well. What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: 18+ Mentions of r*pe, impregnation & torture, religious cult, angst, virgin!reader, losing virginity, graphic smut

~

It was getting bad, really damn bad. Days of good-for-nothing bounty jobs, vial after vial, cough attack after cough attack. He needed the caps desperately if he was to keep himself from turning feral anytime soon. He’d been taking small jobs here and there, just enough to keep himself at bay for a few days, but he knew he couldn’t keep going at this rate for much longer. He needed a bigger job, a bigger cash prize, a bigger bounty, but every time he stopped by the wall of people with prizes attached to them, he found himself disappointed in how low the numbers were. That is until he notices a fresh face staring back at him, hidden behind newer posters, large letters displayed across. "BIG JOB", and this one has an even larger number attached.

He steps forward, pushing the other posts away and rips the new face off the wall to study the number closer. Yup, he read it right.

Five thousand caps.

"Well, I’ll be damned," he muttered.

A young girl, maybe in her 20s. She looks well put together, innocent, and has a sincere smile on her face. For the first time in a very, very long time, he found himself wondering what her story was and why she was worth so damn much, but he didn’t like to dwell on it for too long. A job is a job, and this was going to be worth every damn cap.

On the poster, it states that she was to get picked up at the coordinates provided and to keep her in "good condition". Well, shit, that might just be the hardest part. The ghoul had never been one to take care of his captives, and most often he preferred if the poster stated "good dead or alive". This was definitely going to be different, and if it wasn’t for the "good condition" detail, he’d almost think it was too good to be true. Perhaps even think it was a trap.

~

It’s midnight, and you’re seated by your desk with a pen in hand, drawing carefully and concentrated on making art on this dirty sheet of old newspaper, but it was good enough for you. You drew flowers and insects from an old pre-war book about nature and their hidden treasures. You were always fascinated by the pre-war times, and though you will never know what it was truly like, you liked to imagine who you would’ve been back in those times.

It’s your way of forgetting about the current state of your life and the predicament you found yourself in. You were born in the wasteland, to a mother who did her best to protect you, but in the end, she had been brutally murdered by a group of raiders who attacked your farm, and you were taken captive by them at the age of 9. You spent a few horrid days with them before your current group found you and bought your freedom from them.

To be fair, you’ve been treated quite well by this group, and you thought you had a family in them at one point. That was until a few months ago when they decided you needed to be isolated from the rest for reasons you still didn’t quite understand. The leader of the group, Margot, had carefully selected you for a special assignment, and made sure to tell you the isolation was for your own good. Apparently you needed special treatment before a long journey to a sacred place called Halfway that was waiting for your arrival.

Your fellow peers would come and visit you to show their excitement, though you didn’t quite understand it, it must be something good with all the positive buzz that’s surrounding you. So your head got filled with all sorts of scenarios and dreams of where you were going and what luxuries you were to experience on this assignment. Though you had your doubts that it was all just a coverup for something else, you didn’t have any reason not to trust your group. They had been nothing but kind to you as long as you’d been there.

You’re startled out of your thoughts by heavy knocks on your locked door and a command shouted from behind.

"Lights out!"

You sigh at the command. "Yes madam!"

You don't bother packing up your drawing supplies, you'll be continuing with it tomorrow anyway, and the day after, probably. You find your bed and blow out the nearby candles.

Every night you can't help but wonder when your assignment and journey would begin. You had all sorts of feelings and questions about it, but every time you tried talking to Margot, she would give you answers that didn’t really answer anything at all, so you gave up on trying to figure it out a long time ago.

~

The next morning you’re awaken rudely by the guards coming into your room and practically dragging you out of bed in your dazed state.

"Wha- HEY-" you try to muster what’s going on, but before even getting a word out, you’re on your feet and Margot stands before you with her hands on her back.

"Morning lucky one. It’s time, the day we have waited long for is finally here," She's so serious in her delivery, it almost frightens you.

It’s happening.

"We’ve hired someone to transport you safely across the wasteland for your assigment, they’re here and won’t be kept waiting. Get ready in 5 and say your goodbyes, quickly."

Suddenly it feels like it’s all happening too fast, and a slight panic rise inside you. Margot must've notices your panicked stare, cause her features soften, and she steps closer to you.

"You’ve come so far, and I’m so proud of you,» She smiles at you with encouragement, "This is your moment, and I know you will succeed and make us all proud."

Her words give you enough to calm down before the panic escalated. And you give her a nod that you indeed got this. You can do this. You’ve done hard things before, this shouldn’t be any different.

"Yes madam," you say smiling back at her. She flashes you one last smile and a wink before turning and walking back out.

Outside you find everyone from your group waiting in the corridors. They smile at you, some coming to greet you, give you kisses on the cheek as you’re led out of the main building by the guards. It’s all a bit much, but this must be pretty big deal. Margot waits for you by the gate to your commune, but she's not alone. A dark figure stands just outside, looking impatient.

You’re filled with scepticism as you walk up them, but you have to put your trust in her. She notices you and takes a hold of your hands with a smile.

"You will do great," And the wave of panic that had a hold of you before, washes off of you completely. You nod confidently now, and you start believing that this is actually gonna be totally fine.

You feel the dark figure moving closer to you, his hat covering his face just enough to keep him anonymous for the time being. He still looks terrifying, but you have to trust this man is here only to protect you on your journey to Halfway, and that he will do his best to do so.

Margot shoots the man one last look, "Good condition," the man still doesn’t show his face, but he nods.

"Yes ma’am. Let’s go princess," You realize he’s talking to you, and you’re startled by the nickname at first, but you decide not to fuzz, at least not yet. He’s already started walking away, so you find yourself running up behind him, waving back to your leader for the last time, only she doesn’t wave back, she doesn’t even flash a smile. She stares back at you with a stern look as the gates to the commune come to a close.

It doesn’t give you the best feeling, but perhaps she was feelings sad you were leaving and didn’t want to show any emotions. Either way, you try to push the sight out of your mind, doing your best to follow the stranger. He doesn’t say a word for a long time, and you find that maybe it’s best we keep to ourselves for the time being, but as an hour or so go by, you find yourself a little curious.

You clear your throat, "Excuse me, sir?"

He doesn’t reply, but shoots a quick look over his shoulder to indicate that he’s listening.

"How long do you think we’ll be walking for?"

Given that Margot had given you absolutely no information about this journey, you figured it was worth a shot to ask your new strange companion.

"Couple’a days, if we don’t get sidetracked," His voice ragged, western, serious.

"Oh," not really sure if you dared asking for further details. You’d prefer to keep it peaceful for as long as possible, but you find the courage to ask anyway.

"Sidetracked by what?"

You hear him sigh, "Unnecessary bullshit."

‘Whatever that means’ you think to yourself. He doesn’t seem like the talkative type, but after months of isolation you find yourself rather desperate for someone to talk to, and if you are to spend days with this man, you figure it’s worth a shot trying to get to know him for whatever time you have to spend together.

"I see.. I’ll be on the lookout for that I suppose."

You can barely believe your ears when you hear a chuckle coming from the stranger in front of you.

After that positive feedback, you find yourself braver.

"I didn’t catch your name?"

His posture changes after the question left your mouth.

"I didn’t give to ya,"

"Well, I’m Y/N, but everyone calls me Lucky. It’s a bit of a recent nickname though. You see, I just spend 6 months in completely isolation-"

You get cut off abruptly when you find yourself crashing into the strangers back, realizing he's come to an complete halt. He turns around, his figure towering slightly over you. His hat is no longer doing it’s job to cover his face, and utter horror washes over you as it's fully visable in the golden hour light.

"Listen sweetheart, I’m here to do this goddamn job. I don’t wanna hear your whole life story, and you sure as hell won’t be hearing mine. How about we keep our histories to ourselves and try to get this over with as quickly as fucking possible. That sound good to you?"

Your eyes aren’t able to leave his face. His sunken eyes, skin looking like it's been melted by the sun, an obvious nose missing. A ghoul, a ghoul is transporting you. You’ve not met a ghoul before, and those you’ve heard stories of have been grotesque. Fair enough they had been feral, but who’s to say this one won’t turn?

You get the gist of what he’s saying, and simply nod in agreement, not wanting to make this trip any more uncomfortable than it already is.

His eyes bore into your own, and he’s a lot closer than you’d prefer. For a second you think his eyes dart down to your lips before he turns around to keep walking, but that would be crazy, and very disturbing.

~

Nightfall comes fast, and you’re finding yourself worried for where you’ll be sleeping for the night. You really don’t wanna ask the ghoul, but your steps are getting shorter and slower, and you think the Ghoul have noticed cause he starts walking off track and leads you to a broken down abandoned house off the road.

"Stay here," he says before entering the house, gun up, ready to shoot. You do as he says and wait patiently for him to clear the coast. It doesn’t take long before you hear squealing and two shots being fired. You’re not sure whether to go in or run, but it doesn't matter anyway cause you freeze up completely in these situations. All you can do is hope that the ghoul knows what he's doing.

He comes back to the door a few minutes later, gesturing for you to come in, you’re hesitant, but you do. It's not like you have much of a choice anyway, "What was the shooting about?"

In his left hand he holds a dead radroach, and you find yourself wondering why he’s holding it. That's so fucking gross.

"You should be grateful. I got us some lunch the road," he says, flashing you a smirk. It's almost like he knew you’d be repulsed by it.

"Uhm, y’know what? I think I’m good, for the time being." You try to be nice, but you feel like you might not have a say in the matter. This might be the only food you get for a while.

"Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll make a fire and we’ll put it on the grill."

You want to roll your eyes and complain, but you force yourself to give him a smile and if anything, show some appreciation. He did in fact just catch you a meal.

You’re able to swallow some of the grilled radroach, but after the fresh foods you had grown accustomed to from your commune, you found this hard to stomach.

Nightfall has fallen completely now, and you’ve done your best to make a comfortable sleeping spot by the fire. The ghoul sits nearby keeping watch, and you find yourself very curious of his past and who he is, or who he used to be. Thinking back to his speech earlier about keeping your histories to yourselves reminds you not to ask, but he didn’t say anyting about asking about where you were going.

"What do you know about Halfway?" You watch him closely for any hints he migth give away, "Is it as grand as everyone makes it out to be?" You lay on your side, arm resting under your head.

He doesn’t look at you, eyes fixated on the fire. "How about you get some rest, alright?" he avoids your question. How annoying.

You turn to lay on your back with a puff of annoyance. «Nobody wants to tell me anything,"

"Maybe there's a reason for that."

You turn to look at him, his eyes still not meeting yours. "What is that supposed to mean?" By the sound of it, nothing good.

"Look it's not my job to inform you of shit, and if your leader wanted you to know, trust me darling, she would've told ya."

His eyes flicker up to look directly at yours this time, and it catches you off guard. Not knowing what else to say, you decide to turn to your side, away from him. This whole thing is giving you a really bad feeling.

You’re back on track the next day. Your legs sore from the day before. Having been in isolation for 6 months will do that to you, you guessed, but you'll manage.

The ghoul hasn't said a word yet today, and though you didn't exactly get the answers you were looking for last night, you refused to give up completely.

"What did Margot mean when she said good condition?"

He doesn’t answer, of course he doesn’t. You sigh,

"Look, I don’t mean to be annoying. Truly, I’d just like to know what is waiting for me. That’s all, and I really don't see the harm in that." Still nothing.

"Hey! It’s not kind to ignore someone when they're talking to y-" The ghoul quickly turns, a rope firm in his hands. Where did that come from? He grabs your hands, tying them together before you’re able to protest.

"Hey- what’re you doing!?" You look at him in disbelief, anger and panic all in one.

"Trust me, it’s for your own good," You laugh at that, yeah right. Before you’re able to mock him, he takes out a piece of cloth and wraps it around your head, specially over your mouth, and it's keeping you from saying what's on your mind. For a second you’re actually fearing for your life.

"Listen, gorgeous. We’re about to pass through some dangerous territory, and the people in these parts would do a lot to get their hands on a pretty litte thing like yourself. You follow my lead and keep your mouth shut, can you do that for me?"

You look for any lies in his eyes, but you genuinely believe him. It’s not like you can argue against him anyway, but you put your trust in him and give a nod in response.

You walk for a short while longer before you actually start seeing other people on your path. They seem rough around the edges. Hostile, but not aggressive, yet anyway. You walk past a few who seem to be intrigued, but not interested enough to take their chance at battle with the ghoul. That is until a few of them start gathering in front of you. Four men stand before your path, making it impossible to keep walking without confrontation.

"Gentlemen, how do you do?" The ghoul seems to do his best to keep it friendly, not wanting to create an unnecessary conflict with precious cargo at risk.

"What’ve you got for us ghoul?" As you observe, you can tell some of them are clearly on heavy combat inhancing chems, might be a harder fight if it comes down to it.

"Delivery, to Halfway. Can’t lose this one I’m afraid." He says it so confidently, completely standing his ground, but still keeping it non threatening. The men seem intrigued, and even exchange laughs between themselves. You wonder what they find so funny.

"That religious sacrifice place? What a lucky girl,"

"Seems like she’s up for a hell of a good time,"

"Fellas, if you don’t mind, we’re on a bit of a tight schedule," The ghoul tries to interrupt their 'friendly' chatter, but to no avail.

"They only take virgins up there don’t they? That’s like their whole point?" One of the guys ask the other three.

"Yeah, it’s some crazy religious cult. They torture them and impragnate them for like 10 years or something, or at least that’s what I’ve heard."

You freeze at their words. That can’t be it. That’s not what’s been told to you. They’re joking, making it up to scare you. It’s not true.

"Crazy rich though, you must be getting a lot of caps for this huh?" Suddenly their tone is not so friendly anymore, but the ghoul doesn’t budge. He keeps his hand on his holstered gun, the other holding the rope that binds your hands.

"Lucky for you, we’re not looking to take her off your hands. This time anyway," They laugh once more, patting the ghoul on his shoulder before walking off, letting you pass. He pulls on the rope to shake you out of your frozen state, and you jolst forward, trying to keep up with him. But you're disassociating, not paying a single mind to anything around you. You're too much in your head about what was just said, and you'd like to say you didn't believe a single word, but for some reason you do.

You keep walking in silence, time becomes irrelevant when you're all up in your head. You don’t notice the radstorm closing in, nor the rain that has already started pouring. If anything is in your favor, it's that you pass by a town with an abandoned pre-war hotel that offer a room for 100 caps a night. For whatever reason, the ghoul decides to do that for you. You don’t ask questions, you don't care to.

Soaked, shivering and your legs just barely keeping you up anymore, the ghoul places you down on the couch in the room given to you. You let him guide you, and for once, you're glad he doesn't have much to say. He lowers himself down in front of you and starts taking off the disgusting saliva soaked cloth from your mouth.

You wipe your mouth your hand, "Thank you."

He keeps his mouth shut and starts working on untying the rope from your hands. You watch him crouched before you, he's being gentle when removing the knots. A horrifying reminder of what you won't be experiencing at Halfway, if the men from earlier was telling the truth that is. This thought is what breaks you, and the tears start trickling down your tired face. There's no point holding it back anymore.

He's looking at you, so clearly trying to hide the concern on his face as he stands up and walks to the door.

"I’ll head down to the square to look for some food,"

Whatever.

Your silence is making him uncomfortable, so he leaves. You stay seated, replaying the words spoken between the men from earlier, over and over in your head.

Everyone you knew had made Halfway seem like such an amazing place. That you were lucky to be going, you were chosen. The thought makes you want to throw up.

You don’t register that the ghoul is back, fresh mutfruits placed in front of you on the coffee table, and though you are starving, you can’t bring yourself to even eat one.

"Eat," he says sternly. You just shake your head.

"M’not hungry," you sniffle, drying your tears with the palm of your hand.

"It’s not nice to lie, sweetheart. You haven’t had anything to eat since the damn radroach. Eat," He's trying to act concerned, but you don't believe it for a second. You scoff and look up to meet his eyes, and he’s looking right back at you, an annoyed expression on his face. You can’t believe this guy.

"Why do you care if I eat or not? Let me be," You're so tired, and all you want is to sleep. Gradually rising from the couch, you head towards the bed.

"Please," his plead makes you stop in your tracks.

"Please eat, you're really gonna need the strength," he seems desperate, almost.

You turn around to see him standing motionless by the coffee table, clearly attempting to compose himself.

"No," you're stern in your reply.

He's growing increasingly annoyed, angry even, because he knows he can't force you or harm you in any way.

"Whatever good condition means, I’m sure they'll be pleased as long as I’m alive, right?" Your voice gradually getting louder. "Being that their plan is to torture me for 10 years and all, they must have lots of stimpacks around to keep me alive enough to birth their whole next generation of psychos, don't you think?" Tears start falling.

"Don’t make me beg again," His eyes are shut, as if he's trying to block out your words, as if they affect him somehow. what a fucking joke.

"You’re so afraid you won’t get your paycheck. Well fuck you, and fuck the caps they’re paying you for this," you say it with so much pain and hatred, and you’re sure you’ll regret it later but you don’t have an inch of fuck to give at the moment.

Suddenly you see his angry features fall, and he catches himself in a cough. It's grotesque, and it seems to be getting worse with each one. He looks at you with disrepair, and you can tell he's struggling to catch his breath. You don't know what to do, but you're getting scared for him now. It looks horrifying, but before you're able to come to his aid, he scurries out the room.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. What just happened? A part of you wanted to run after him to make sure he was okay, but at the same time you wouldn't mind too much if he left and never came back. Shaking, you decide to tuck yourself into the left side of the bed. Trying not to think about how dirty it is, you curl yourself into a ball and cry out every last drop.

You’re never able to fall asleep, the tears just keep coming. You thought about running away, but knowing that the ghoul was getting paid a lot for this job, he would likely find you again in no time. What would be the point?

Your sobs are suddenly interrupted by the door opening, and you quiet yourself down to listen closely to every sound. The sound of the ghouls boots scraping the floor as he makes his way to the couch, his coat and gear getting thrown down on it. You decide to pretend that you’re already asleep as you hear him make his way to the bed. Feeling it dip slightly as he lay down in it.

But your cover is blown when you sniffle from the snot in your nose. You damn yourself as a sigh from the stranger fills the room, and you start feeling embarrassed about the way you treated him earlier. It’s not him you should be angry at, if anything it’s Margot and your group. The ghoul is just doing his job, to collect a price which he must need desperately, you can’t really blame him. He owes you nothing.

"Cooper," his raspy voice turned soft for a second.

"What?"

"My name is Cooper, some call me Coop. Whichever rolls of your tongue the best."

You feel awful now, "I’m sorry," Wiping away the tears and the snot to the best of your ability.

"For what sweetheart?" He sounds like he already knows what you’re apologising for, but decides to ask anyway for his own amusement.

"For cursing you out, it’s not your fault, and I shouldn’t blame you," You say, already feeling better for apologizing.

You both stay silent for a while, only sniffles from your nose filling the room. It’s embarrassing, you feel like such a child.

"C’mere darling," He says it in such a soft way. You can barely believe your ears. Looking over your shoulders you see him looking at you, only the dim light of a burning candle nearby to light your surroundings. He’s on his back, gesturing with his hand for you to lay in the crook of his arm. You contemplate it for a second, but it doesn’t take much convincing if you’re being honest. You’d take any form of comfort to make you forget this whole thing, even for just a night.

You turn around, inching closer under the sheets, finding a comfortble spot in the crook of his neck, your head resting on his arm. You’ve never been this close to someone except your mom when you were younger. It’s scary in a way, being this vulnerable and intimate with someone you barely know.

Your breaths are shallow, thoughts racing through your mind and it’s making your heart is beat so fast. You can’t tell what he’s thinking, his body doesn’t give anything away.

You lay like this for a while, just a few dry sniffles and breaths heard between you. You recognize the closeness of him.

But you want to get even closer. You want him wrapped around you and have him absorb your whole being. It may come from having learned that you have extreme trauma waiting for you, and you can’t help but want to experience something good and genuine before that.

Your breaths become heavier, deeper, and you feel yourself wanting something; wanting him. This could go terribly wrong, but what exactly do you have to lose? Fuck it. You push away the what if's and inch your face closer to Cooper’s neck, your hands find themselves carefully making their way to his chest. He doesn’t react, and from what you can tell, he doesn't seem to mind.

You see his breathing stop, and you’re feeling brave. So you test the waters, gently sliding your hand up to his chest, letting them glide across his shirt. While your lips carefully grace the rough skin on his neck. You hear him puff out the air he’s been holding in while curiously letting letting you wander, but he doesn’t seem to resist.

When he doesn’t stop you, it’s easy to find the courage to keep going. Your hand wanders further down his chest, stomach, but he catches your hand right before it reaches the hem of his pants.

"What do you think you’re doin'?" He doesn't sound disappointed, more so curious. You feel a bit embarrassed, but you stand your ground, like you've already stated, you’ve got nothing to lose.

"Please Coop," just a whisper in his ear, "Please show me what it’s meant to feel like", a plea, practically begging.

He can’t help but let out a low growl, obviously turned on by the thought. "I’m meant to deliver you as a virgin, sweetheart."

You want to cry again, a sob brewing deep in your throat. "Please, they won’t know- They won’t find out," Your lips find his neck again, leaving trails of kisses up to his jawline, tongue swirling along the rough surface. You never thought you would find yourself in this position 2 days ago, but here you were, begging for a bounty hunter, a ghoul, to take your virginity.

Lucky for you, he seems to be out of fucks to give and lets go of your hand after only a few seconds of thinking it over. You don’t hesitate to let your free hand go under his shirt to feel his skin. It’s so textured, but you don’t mind. You’ve never touched anyone this way before, there wasn't much to compare it to.

Your hand travel lower until it finds a buldge. Being that this is your first time being intimate with somone, you’re startled by the unfamiliarity of it at first. But it doesn't take you long to realize that you were the reason for his cock hardening, and that turned you on more than anything.

Cooper, who's been laying still for some time now, has clearly been contemplating if he should stop this whole ordeal or not. He wants to touch you so bad, show you how good he can make you feel. Have you shaking with pleasure because of him, but he seems to let you be in control for the time being. You didn't mind, and it gave you some reassurance that this wouldn't be rushed, nor that he would force you to do something you didn't want to.

Your hands are shaking at this point as you try to unbotton his pants, and Cooper can't help but to give you a hand in your already broken state. You’re eager, and waste no time removing your own.

"Get over here darlin'," he says with that gentle voice again, gesturing for you to straddle his hips. His length is exposed now, and you feel yourself getting nervous with anticipation. You find it hard to believe that he's gonna fit inside you, it seems impossible.

Yet, you gain the confidence to sit up and make your way across his lap. You're not sure where to sit specifically, but you want to study him further and therefore straddle his thighs. His cock in view in front of you, laid across his stomach, stiff and drooling. Cooper doesn't say anything, but he watches you carefully, wondering what your next move will be. You don't pay attention to him for now.

You do however find yourself curious, and grab the length in front of you. It's warm, and you circle a thumb across the top where it's drooling a clear liquid. You hear him hum under you, an approval of the gesture you just performed. Butterflies take over your stomach, and you feel throbbing in your lower area. You want his cock so desperately inside you now, just to hear those sounds from him again.

"Sit up for me'," the gruffness of his voice draws your attention to him. You obliged without hesitation, "Scoot closer," and you do, of course you do.

He stretches a hand down between your thigs and you're on your knees straddling his hips. Rough fingers run between your folds and they run smoothly.

"Well fuck me, you really want this huh?" He's teasing you now. You nod frantically.

"Use your words sweetheart," He inserts a finger in your untouched hole. You gulp at the sensation, "Yes- yes I do-".

He hums again, moving the finger inside you, bending and stroking. It feels strange, but not painful. "I know you do honey, but I need to make sure you can handle me first, alright?"

You nod frantically, you knew already that you were prepared to do anything he wanted. "Yes, sir,"

Without warning he adds another finger, and it's starting to sting a little. You try to control your breathing as he starts moving them in and out of you, "I know it hurts baby, but it's only for a lil while. You trust me, don't you?"

You nod again, "Yes- Fuck!" He was getting agressive with it now, but he's hitting a spot you didn't know existed and it's sending you to other dimensions in your mind. Your eyes are rolling back while his fingers work hard between your thighs. It's unlike anything you've felt before.

"There we go.. You're gonna be so good for me aren't you, princess?" His words barely register as you find yourself gripping his arm and holding on for dare life to not lose your balance.

"Mhm- y- yes," and before you knew it, his hand is removed from between your folds and you're left heaving for your breath and trying to focus your vision again.

"I think you know what to do, darlin'," You need him badly now, even more now that you know what pleasures are waiting.

You place yourself over his cock, and Cooper watches in patiently as he puts his hands on your thighs, stroking them gently.

You grab his length and place it under your opening, ready to lower yourself on him. "Slow now," he warns as you as his tip meets your entrance, before letting it slip in just an inch. You both hiss, him with pleasure, you with pain.

"That’s it, doll," He keeps his eyes on you as you wince in pain. Taking deep breaths as your hole adjusts itself to his full size, but you’re feeling impatient and start pushing yourself even further despite the burning sensation. You figure it’s better to get it over with as fast as possible so you can actually start enjoying this.

Cooper hums, "Patience sweetheart," you lock eyes with him, and he genuinely seems to care. He lets you have complete control over this, not pushing any limits, and it makes you feel even more aroused, being in charge; seeing his eyes roll back with edged pleasure, yet doing nothing to force his way in.

You feel comfortable enough to start moving now, and you do your best not to squeal when you feel it burn and sting. Finally your skin touch, your ass gracing his thighs, and though it’s still stinging a bit, you can feel his whole length inside you, and it drives you mad.

"Just like that, princess," You hear his soft grunts below, and it reminds you to start moving. Slowly easing yourself off him, just to lower back down again, trying to find the right pace and angle for it to hit the right spot. It doesn't take long before you feel Cooper bucking his hips just ever so slightly to help you out, and he does. He knew exactly how to thurst his cock to give you the extreme pleasure you were searching for.

"More- please," you moan, your hands find his chest to lean on. Nails digging into his already ragged skin.

"God, you feel so fuckin' good around me, darling," His hips buck into you again, pulling himself almost all the way out before slamming himself back inside you. It's rough, and his hands have found your ass to grab to help move you to his rhythm. You're dazed, eyes barely open from sheer pleasure radiating deep inside you. It's making your breath hitched, and your moans spurt out in cries.

"My- fuckn'- god-" you struggle to draw a proper breath, your vision is blurred and rolled back, barely open.

He’s grunting with pleasure beneath you, seeing you completely lost to the way his cock fills your tight cunt, the next time rougher than last. You both sense that you're getting closer to an edge, and that’s when you realize how lightheaded you are, probably from the lack of food you’ve had today, and Coop notices how your figure slowly droops with exhaustion.

"Woah easy darling-" You feel him sit up under you, and without much effort he sits up and holds you tight to his chest, flipping you over on your back in a swift motion.

You would act surprised, but you’re too lightheaded and close to a climax that you don’t react at all. You feel his head in the crook of your neck, breathing heavy and groaning into your ear as he pushes himself deep and steady inside you. Your moans are soft, almost silent, barely there, not enough energy to show him how good he’s making you feel. But you think he gets it, if anything he can see it in how your eyes roll back, how flushed your cheeks are, and feel how your walls are squeezing tightly around him.

"You gonna be a good girl and finish all over my cock, princess?" You feel a hand reach under your chin, placed firmy on your throat, a tight squeeze is applied as you feel his hot breath on your cheek. Sloppy kisses, and a traveling tongue, licking off all your sweat and tears. Having him so near and in control of your breathing makes you feel unbelievably hot. He could kill you right now, right at your high, and you wouldn't mind at all.

"I think I'm- Coop I'm gonna-," you’re whisper in his ear, and it only fuels him more.

He lifts your leg higher, hooking it over his free arm as he goes even deeper. "Show me how fuckin' good I make you feel, sweetheart,"

And with that you think you’re about to pass out, but instead you’re hit with the intense feeling of something combursting inside you. Your head slams back, and your hands reach up to grab the headboard of the bed, your knuckles turning white from the grip. You're dazed, exhausted, feeling the lingering pleasure from your orgasm still present inside your throbbing cunt. Cooper helps you ride out the orgasm in a slower pace while coming up close to his own.

"There you go doll, it's all right," His hand leaves your throat and he unhooks your leg to find your waist, placing them on each side. He's leaning back on his knees as he pumps himself into you, softly, slowly. Soft groans leaves his lips in heavy and hitched breaths as he gets closer.

Seeing you so beautifully dishevelled and limp beneath him, he starts guiding your exhausted body with his hands, pulling you onto his cock, using it to finish himself off. You allow him, cause you enjoy watching him his chest rise with every breath he takes. His eyes rolling back with pleasure from feeling your walls pulsate with each thrust, and with one last squeeze from you, he reaches his own climax.

His hands are grabbing your waist so tightly you can feel the bruises forming already, but all you can focus on is his heaving chest, and his exposed throat as his head is thrown back. Soft grunts and curses filling the room, and you imagine his eyes closed with painfully pleasurable bliss, all caused by you.

He rides out his own orgasm and tries to settle his breathing before he lifts himself off you. He doesn't look at you, but climbs tiredly out of the bed to readjust his clothing. You’re so sleepy, greasy, smelly, but you don't care. You're high, and happy.

You watch him at the edge of the bed, and you utter a soft 'Thank you', just to let him know you're grateful for risking the success of the job. You were meant to be delivered as a virgin after all.

You hear him chuckle from the foot of the bed, you guessed he’d never gotten a ‘thank you for fucking me’ from anybody before, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

"Close your eyes and get some sleep, alright?" Hell, he doesn’t need to tell you twice.

"I think that’s a good idea," You’re not really sure if the words ever left your mouth, being that you’re practically half asleep already. But you do notice the bed dipping slightly next to you, and how you’re gently being pushed on your side. Followed by something warm pressed up against your back, and gentle kisses being placed along your exposed neck.

What tomorrow brings doesn't matter in this moment.

Part 2?

[beomiracles]

heyy, can u do a med student reader x idol txt pair becuz i need to feed my delusions lol, also i love ur work sm :)

「 C'MON NURSE 」

DREAM RECALL “I…I don’t know if…if it’s something I should..” — “oh come one”, he leans forward as the smirk on his lips only grows, “don’t tell me you can’t have a little fun, nurse?” 

wc -> 1.6k

pairings idol!yeonjun x medstudent!gn!reader warnings none !

#serene adds ✎... ah this has taken me forever to get around to and I sincerely apologise >.< I had to research a bit for this one, so if I've gotten any facts wrong feel free to point them out ! part 2 with smut when? ahah joking (probably)

Wiping your sweaty palms on your white robe, you try your best to steady your breathing. The hospital was bustling with life, patients crowding the hallways and the phones at the front desks chimed nonstop. In other words it was a busy day, an extremely busy one — much so that you had received a most unique task. 

Five weeks into your internship at the hospital you had been assigned your first patient. To say that you were nervous would be an understatement. Still, you knew that this was how your work days were going to look like, once you finished med school. And while nervosity built in your stomach with each step, you also felt giddy with excitement. 

The contrasting feelings combined made for an almost electrifying buzz to course through your body. Once you reach the small room you had been assigned, realization sets in and you have to swallow a small gulp. With a trembling hand on the door, you take one final deep breath before swinging it open. 

Upon stepping inside you’re met with a young man, possibly in his mid twenties, sitting on the stretcher as his legs sway mindlessly in front of him. His head snaps in your direction and as your gaze meets his you’re taken aback by how handsome he was. Were all your future patients going to be this good looking? 

A small awkward smile presents itself on your lips and you give a rather stale introduction. The man grins as he stretches his hand out, “Choi Yeonjun”, he says as you take his hand. His grip was firm and you almost lost track of yourself as you allowed your eyes to linger on his own. 

“Didn’t know they had nurses this young”, he comments as he eyes you with a mischievous glint. Your face suddenly flushes with color and you awkwardly clear your throat, desperately hoping he couldn’t tell. “I’m a med student, I just happen to be doing my internship here..” you explain as you flatten out your white robe nervously. “Though I am working to become a fully trained nurse and.. and I do have the necessary skills to help you today”, you quickly add, cursing yourself for stammering. 

Yeonjun smirks, “I don’t doubt it, nurse.” Perhaps it was your nerves speaking, or the fact that the man before you was undoubtedly attractive — but you could have sworn that his voice held an almost flirtatious tone. Shaking your head slightly, you will such thoughts away as you turn your attention to your work. 

“May I ask what brought you here today?” Bringing out a small moveable table of utensils to busy yourself as Yeonjun begins explaining. “Well my left shoulder has been hurting immensely recently, I think I might’ve accidentally tore it on stage and–” 

“On stage?” 

The questions slips from your lips and you almost slap a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from interfering further. Yeonjun doesn’t seem to mind as he smirks, “I’m a dancer”, he says as he watches your expression morph from surprise to something more of an embarrassed one. A dancer? Your mind immediately began racing with thoughts that probably weren’t appropriate in your current situation. 

Upon noting your flustered expression Yeonjun chuckles, “not that kind of dancer I assure you.” Nodding gingerly you mumble out a quiet “no of course not..” How silly of you to jump to such conclusions; and about a patient no less. You could only hope that he didn’t make a complaint to your boss. 

“I’m a singer too”, he then adds in a seemingly unbothered voice and your eyes snap back to him in evident curiosity. He frowns, “have you not heard of our group?” he asks to which you shake your head, surely you would remember such a handsome man. Yeonjun purses his lips as he gives a small shrug, “tomorrow by together, sound familiar?” 

Once again you shake your head, rather embarrassed over your lack of general knowledge. Your patient doesn’t sound offended, “what a shame, nurse”, he grins. You thought he had a nice voice, so it would make sense for him to be a singer. But a singer and a dancer? Well that was impressive. 

“Do you mind telling me for how long and during which occasions you have been experiencing these pains?” you ask as you sanitize your hands once more. “Eh, about a week, maybe a little more”, Yeonjun ponders, “it hurts almost whenever I use my left arm, quite a bitch to train with.” 

Nodding along with his words your mind rummages through possible solutions. “I’ll need to examine both your shoulder and the mobility of your arm in order to determine how severe your tear is”, you explain and Yeonjun nods. “Would you need me to take off my shirt, nurse?” he asks as a smirk tugs at his lips. 

“Ah, that won’t be necessary”, you assure him as you feel your cheeks heat up. “I’ll only need your left arm to be free.” — “Alright” he shrugs as he wriggles his left arm free from his shirt, which inevitably rides up his stomach, exposing his perfectly toned torso. You have to pry your eyes from wandering and instead focus on his injured shoulder. 

“Do you mind me touching you?” Despite only executing your work, you thought consent played an important part in getting treatment. “Please do”, Yeonjun smirks and from the corner of your eye you could’ve sworn you saw him throw you a small wink. Gulping, you give yourself three mental slaps — it was just work. If you couldn’t stay professional when a slightly attractive patient entered the room then how were you to do this for a living. 

Get it together, a small voice in your head hisses and you couldn’t agree with it more. You try your best to focus on his shoulder, fingers moving across his soft skin to prod and squeeze at the flesh. Upon pushing against a particular spot, Yeonjun flinches away from your touch and you give him a knowing glance, “here?”, he nods. 

“You’ve most likely tore a tendon”, you state as your fingers continue to prod around the area. Yeonjun frowns, “a what?” You give him a dismissal wave of your hand as you motion for him to lift his arm, earning a painful grimace from him. “If you’re lucky it’s only partially torn, meaning it has yet to detach from your bone.” Yeonjun’s lips part in surprise, “that can happen?” You give him a small nod, “indeed it can.” 

You continue to move his arm in several directions, all leading to groans of pain from your patient. “But judging from the way you can move it, I’d say you’re quite lucky.” Yeonjun gives you a look of disbelief and you have to resist the urge to giggle. “How’s your strength? Can you lift things as normal, disregarding the pain of course?” He looks thoughtful for a moment before nodding, “yeah I can do everythin’, just hurts like a motherfucker”, he grimaces. 

“Well it’s a good thing you came in as early as you did”, you say as you let go of his shoulder and motion for him to pull his shirt back on. “If you had continued to put pressure on your torn tendon it might’ve just ripped entirely.” Yeonjun sighs as he gives his shirt a final tug , “so what’s your prognosis, nurse?” 

“Well, firstly you’ll need to rest”, you note as you get up to open one of the cabinets, rummaging through the variety of medications, “and if you desire to keep training then all activities regarding any use of your shoulder must be excluded.” Upon returning with a small package Yeonjun lets out a huff, “then how do I dance?” he questions to which you shake your head, “you don’t.” 

“You sure there’s no way around this, nurse?” he pouts and you shake your head once more. Running his good hand through his dark hair, Yeonjun looks at you, “that’s a shame, I was hopin’ to ask you to attend our concert next week”, he admits and you blink in surprise. He was going to ask you what? 

“I, I uhm, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of opportunities once you’re recovered..” your brain is foggy as you scramble for words to form at least one coherent sentence. Yeonjun’s lips curl into a smirk as he eyes your flushed expression, “then, can I convince you to see me for coffee instead?” 

His bold questions keep catching you off guard and you fiddle with the medication in your hands. “I…I don’t know if…if it’s something I should..” — “oh come one”, he leans forward as the smirk on his lips only grows, “don’t tell me you can’t have a little fun, nurse?” 

Suddenly you begin to feel as if the room might’ve emptied its supply of air; your face growing increasingly hot by the second as you avoid his lustful gaze. “I uh…I’ll prescribe you some ibuprofen”, you quickly turn to the small desk in an attempt to shield your very telling face, “it helps with inflammation, take them together with your meals for the next three weeks, it’ll reduce any swelling as well as pain”, you ramble as your trembling fingers sign the necessary papers. 

Taking a deep breath, you turn back to Yeonjun who was watching you with an amused expression. You hand him the small package and watch his smirk double in size as his eyes scan the small paper. “You got it, nurse.” 

It isn’t until the doors to your small room closes behind him that you breathe out the sigh you had been holding in for the past thirty minutes. But as your breathing steadies, your heart continues to race. Was it such a good idea to have written your phone number on the prescription paper? 

As your phone buzzes in your back pocket you realize that it most definitely was.

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[caramelberzatto]

second beginnings // c. berzatto

back at it again with another fic. i've missed writing for carmy so, so much.

Spring in Chicago was nothing like you’d ever seen. An already vibrant city seemed to welcome a new light as Winter loosened its frosty grip upon the streets. Gone was the slush and sleet that crowded the gutters and pavements, once treacherous journeys were now leisurely strolls. Small petals drifted down from the newly flowering trees that lined the sidewalk, and one landed in your hair as you wandered towards your apartment.

Having just spent the better part of Saturday morning in a crowded studio, steady hand guiding a finely polished brush over expensive canvas at some art class your sister had dragged you to, you were ready to get home and relax. There were avocados, cream cheese, and a bag of store-bought bagels on your bench, and you could almost hear them calling your name.

Matching your pace to the song playing in your headphones, you almost didn’t notice the man in the alley as you passed by a dingy building with newspaper covering the windows. You paused mid-step, taking a closer look. Plucking one headphone out, you called a name that hadn’t passed your lips in a very long time.

“Carmen?” The man turned, cigarette between his lips. “Carmen Berzatto?”

Starting down the alley towards him, you weren’t sure he’d even recognise you, but his eyebrows raised as he took you in. And as he said your name, welcoming you with a rough hug and a ‘no fucking way,’ you couldn’t help but grin.

It had been ten long summers since you’d seen him, and he was no longer the gangly teenager he’d been back then. You’d kept tabs on him through the years, unable to just let him disappear from your life after the monumental Christmas night that still made your blood run cold if you thought about it too much. Reading all those articles, watching from afar as he racked up achievements in the culinary world, working in the most prestigious restaurants across the world…

But then why was he here, standing before you in a back alley in Chicago, looking so… empty?

“You’re back in town?” He asked, hands still bracketing your shoulders as though he thought you’d disappear if he let go. “I thought you flew off to Italy or something.”

“I did, yeah. Hung out in Florence for a bit, eventually ended up in France. Brittany, but then I did a very, very brief holiday stint in Monaco. Fucking expensive there. Went and stayed with one of my aunts in Belgium, and—” You were rambling now, and Carmen was just staring at you, taking in every word.

“Sorry. Yeah. I’m back in town. Gonna stay around for a while, help my sister out.”

Carmy nodded, his gaze drifting skyward, then to the cars passing on the street, before settling on you again. “Yeah, cool. Your sister, she just, uh…” He snapped his fingers at his side, trying to recall whatever he was going to say next. “She just had a baby, right? Yeah, Natalie told me. At least, I think that’s who she was talking about.”

Nodding, a soft smile on your face, you were about to say something else when the screeching of metal broke through the Spring afternoon, and a door swung open spilling a young woman out into the alley. She was gorgeous, dark braids held back by a patterned bandana, with a kind face that, at the minute, was warped by a frown.

“Uh, chef, we’re gonna need you back in here.” She glanced over her shoulder, back through the door, hands anxiously fiddling with the cloth tucked into her apron. “Like, now. I’m so sorry, person I’ve never seen before, but who I can tell Carmy actually wants to talk to… from the way he’s staring at me right now.”

The woman smiled at you, offering a small wave that your returned. You liked her already. “I’m just gonna…” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder and disappeared back through the door.

Carmen turned back to you, sighing. Running a tattooed hand through his hair, still just as unruly as it had been in his youth, he shook his head.

“That’s Sydney. She’s, uh, she’s great. Talks a lot.”

You nodded, shoving your hands in your pockets. “She seems cool.”

“She is, yeah. Um, yeah, anyways.”

Silence descended, tainted only by the faint clatter and bang of… whatever was going on through that door. A breeze ruffled his curls, blowing them into his eyes, and he looked like that quiet wallflower again. The boy you’d once known. But as you stood there, taking him in, had he really changed at all?

His piercing gaze caught on yours, but he looked away instantly, almost guiltily.

“Well, I should go. It was… really nice to run into you.” The way he said it, like admitting a weighted truth, made something in your chest tighten.

Nodding, you said your goodbyes, and turned back to the street, continuing on your way home. Though the quick thud of footsteps on the pavement made you pause, and you turned to find Carmen catching up to you.

“Can I see you again?” The question flew out of his mouth before he could second guess it. “To, like, talk, or somethin’?”

“I’d like that.”

[modelbus]

I swear after this I will do requests... this is just something old for me to put up! I've had a busy past few weeks and I swear I'm fighting to do my requests. Disclaimer: I haven't played COD, and reality is what I decide (kidding, feel free to educate me on COD)

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Gn!Reader

Romance Readings

It was a guilty pleasure, and you knew it. Watching your money drain (as if you had any other need for it) as you indulged was saddening, but not saddening enough to make you stop. Other people got into drugs, or smoking, or alcohol, or some other high-inducing thing. Not you, though.

You got into romance novels.

The enjoyment of them started when you were a kid, curled up on a couch with a book splayed across your legs. Romance was, at its core, an idealized concept. Something to be chased but never obtained. And for you, the chasing was in reading about the relationships. You preferred the good - who doesn't? - but a bit of angst never hurt a soul. Certainly not you.

But in the military, you couldn’t exactly tout a romance book around. “The Seven Year Slip” was adorned with a cute and cartoony cover, sure to catch Soap’s eye and invite endless teasing. So, instead, you got clever about it. Price had a plethora of bookshelves in his office, filled to the brim with war books. All nice and shiny hardcovers with removable dust jackets.

All you had to do was slip one of those dust jackets over the cover, and it suddenly seemed like you were the best soldier ever. Everyone was none the wiser, and you got to indulge in what you enjoyed doing: smiling at the fictional couples you wish you were.

When you pulled it out to sit guard over the safehouse, Soap had groaned. Loudly. 

“You take this soldier shit too seriously.” He had grumbled, rolling his eyes. You didn’t retort, didn’t bring attention, didn’t care enough.

His (mostly joking) opinion wasn’t important to you. Soap was nice, you loved joking with him, but when it came to this? You can put up with the teasing comments over what they think your reading habits are. God forbid they actually find out what you’re reading.

That’d be a very shit day for you.

“Never seen someone smile so much at a military tactic handbook.” 

Your head jerks up, eyes wide, smile vanishing from your face. You knew that gruff  voice, although you were far more used to it without the tilt of amusement in it. Ghost.

“...It’s riveting.” You say defensively, knowing Ghost isn’t the type to make a quip and let it go.

“I’m sure. I don’t remember it having characters, though.”

Oh. Oh shit.

You’ve been caught.

“Can’t believe you got away with it for this long.” Ghost huffs, sitting down next to you. “Hand it over.”

Wordlessly, you hold the book out for him. He thumbs through the pages, keeping a finger on the page you were on so you don’t lose your place. After a moment he slips off the fake dust jacket, holding up the real cover: a cheesy image of dandelions being blown away.

“Could be worse.” He notes aloud.

“...there have been worse.” You admit, cheeks flushing red.

He chuckles, going back to the page you were reading. It’s only after a minute has passed that you realize he’s fucking reading it, making you lunge for the book to pull it away.

“Don’t read it!” Carefully, you slide the fake dust cover back onto it to hide the actual book.

“I’m bored out here, and you’re denying me the only entertainment?” Ghost asks, somehow monotone and amused at the same exact time.

You hate him. Next time he’s getting his ass kicked in the field, you won’t help that asshole.

“It’s a romance book.” You spit, actively feeling your cheeks get redder by the second. “Hardly something you’re interested in.”

“I’m interested in not fallin’ asleep. I’m reading it.”

“It’s my book!”

“And I could tell everyone it’s a romance book.”

You stare at him, and he stares back. Ghost is blackmailing you. You’re getting fucking blackmailed over a book. Was it even worth it at this point?

“I’m still trying to read it. And no, you can’t read it aloud.” You try feebly, but your grip on the book is already loosening.

“I’ll read over your shoulder. Move it.”

“Ass.” You grumble, but shift so he can loom over your shoulder ominously. Settling your eyes on your book, you choke on air at the scene you’re on.

It’s definitely not a scene you’d want Ghost reading over your shoulder for, that’s certain. Your headstrong lieutenant, reading a rated-R scene. You’re never going to be able to look him in the eye again, oh God.

“Keep reading, doll.” Ghost says lowly into your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “You dug the grave. Lie in it.”

Swallowing, you focus on the book, trying to speed-read through this part. Behind you, you can practically feel Ghost grinning. “What if I wasn’t done reading the page?” He asks.

“Shut the fuck up.”

[agentplutonium]

Hear me out:

Arranged marriage au David & Sweetheart who are absolutely distraught at the idea of marrying a stranger but willing to do it out of duty but then become friends when they realize they don’t actually have to kiss and also… the other’s personal guard is pretty cute (Milo is David’s guard and Angel is Sweetheart’s vv)

I'm finally getting around to this, be grateful (/j)

No, but seriously, I've been thinking about this strand of AU for so long (as Max can attest because he lives with me and therefore is subject to the horrors of my rambling) and I will take this AU to my grave. Moving on, a small snippet based off of this (with the whispers of this being updated in the future/made into a series).

(small note: Sweetheart will be referred to as Culver for the most part, and David will call them Dear/my Heart for appearances. Angel will be referred to as Red for the most part. Of course, the pairings will use the canon nicknames but I have to stretch a few things.)

Pairing: David & Sweetheart, David/Angel, Milo/Sweetheart (technically, they just aren't prominent atm)

WC: 1355

Rating: Gen.

max is talking about this post.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

"I cannot believe this is happening," Culver said, stretching out their back. The horse ride wasn't that far, but they hadn't taken a break yet and it's already been a few hours.

"Cheer up, Culver," Red chirped. "I hear that this king-to-be is very handsome."

"You know I've never been one for looks, Red," Culver said, rolling their eyes.

"I also hear that he's a great leader. In nearly every circumstance you two will be perfect for each other," Red said.

"Or, we'll be at each other's throats because we have different opinions," Culver muttered. "Besides, I don't know him! He could be a complete tyrant for all I know," they continued, back at their normal volume.

"Do you really think your parents would do that to you?" Red asked.

"They would send me to someone they thought that I could "fix"," Culver defended. "You know how they are."

"Aye, I do know how they are," Red caved. "I'm sure it will be fine, either way. You're a lovable person. It'll be easy for him to fall in love."

"I don't want him to fall in love after we're married," Culver said, barely keeping the whine out of their tone. "That's cheating. It isn't genuine, it's a forced proximity thing."

"Well, I don't know what to tell you," Red sighed. "But I will always be here to support you, your grace, you know that."

Culver relaxed, a small huff escaping their lips, "And I thank you for that, Red. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Red gave them a wink, turning back to the trail in front of them. As they came up to a bend, Red trotted ahead of Culver to ensure that the coast was clear.

Culver still wasn't looking forward to any of this, though.

~~~

"I can't believe this is happening," David muttered, tugging at the collar of his shirt. It was hot outside, too hot to be wearing his full regalia.

"I hear that your betrothed is very good at governing," Milo offered, trying to cheer David up.

"Really?"

Milo shrugged, "It's all I have left. You shot down the fact that they're the handsomest person in their kingdom. You shot down the fact that they were beloved by their people. You shooting down this. I don't know what to tell you that will get you excited for this new chapter in your life," Milo said.

"You're not going to. They're a stranger. The only reason I'm going along with it is because it would be stupid to turn down such a powerful alliance."

"Well, the good news is, once the wedding is over, you don't have to interact with them outside of publicity events," Milo offered. "Or, you fall in love with them after the wedding."

"That's superficial," David grumbled. "How do I know if I really love them or if it's just because they're here?"

Milo shrugged. "Only so much I can do, boss," he said.

A guard signalled the arrival of someone at the gate, and before David knew it, two horses were trotting down the path. David took a deep breath.

"Here we go," he muttered.

One thing is for sure, the rumours about their beauty weren't a lie. The royal was very attractive. It didn't make David feel any better about this arrangement. They slipped off the back of their horse, assisted by their knight. They approached, smile on their face. once they were a few feet away, they bowed.

"Your Majesty," they said. David approached as they straightened. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine," David said, bending to kiss their hand. "Please, come inside, my dad will be pleased to meet you."

Culver accepted, taking David's outstretched arm, interlinking them. David led them into the castle, followed by the two knights. Culver kept their eyes dutifully forward. David half wondered to himself what their intentions were. Were they excited for this? Did they have any plans? What did they know? How much power were they looking for?

Gabe was in the study, as he knew he would be. He always was here when they were expecting guests. He said that it made people feel more comfortable, and he got better arrangments out of it. It was in this room that it was decided he was to marry this stranger. David wondered just how much good luck it actually brought.

The conversation with his dad went off without a hitch. Culver was a hit with him, making him laugh and smile. His parents loved them. They seemed to know exactly what to say, and knew how to correct their mistakes (which were few and far between). David had no doubt they were a beast in political settings, getting what they wanted in the most efficient way possible.

Eventually, his dad excused himself.

"I should leave you two alone to get to know each other," his father said. "I should check up on your welcome dinner, anyway. Only the best for my son's spouse."

"Dad," David muttered.

"I'll see you two later," Gabe cut him off before leaving.

Culver seemed to deflate the second that the knights closed the door behind him. David was surprised, to say the least.

"Listen," they started, rubbing at their eyes, "I'm sure you're a nice guy, but you have to know."

"Know what?" David asked, shifting in his chair.

Culver took a deep breath. "I don't want to marry you. I never had any interest in marrying you, I just know that this will help my people. That's the only reason I'm here."

David felt a wave of relief wash over him. "Thank god," he muttered.

"Excuse me?" Culver asked.

"I'm so glad we're on the same page about this," David said. "I admire you being upfront about this."

"What else was I going to do? Lie? I only lie if I need to," Culver said. "It wouldn't benefit me to lie to you now. Especially since I was under the impression you wanted this."

"No, not at all," David said. "I was told that you were the one with the idea, actually."

"You're kidding," Culver said. "Is that what my parents said? No surprise, I guess, but still. Lord, cannot believe they would lie like that."

"So you don't want to get married to me?" David asked.

"Not at all," Sweetheart assured. "I'd much rather be running my own kingdom right about now, but this was the best thing to happen to my kingdom since I was young. This contract will be promising to my people."

David felt a smile creeping across his face. "That's how I feel, as well."

"That... was surprisingly easy," Culver said. "You're really okay with me having no interest in you whatsoever?"

"Absolutely," David said. "So long as you agree to keep up appearances and not fuck over me or my kingdom."

Culver chuckled, and it didn't sound at all like how they laughed before. Was David close to hearing what their real laugh sounded like? "Well, I definitely don't have plans for fucking you over. I'll keep up appearances if it means that I'll have my parents off my back, among other things."

"Well, good," David said, nodding.

There was a knock at the door, and then Milo was poking his head in. "Sir, you're being summoned by your father."

"I'll be right out," David said. "In the meantime, show Culver and their knight to their rooms, please?"

"Right away, sir."

David stood up, holding his hand out to Culver. They took it, standing up themselves. "I will see you at dinner," David said.

"Yes you will," Culver smiled. They were ushered out of the room by their knight.

David followed after a moment, Milo holding the door open. Once he was out, Milo shot him a look before leading the other two down the hall. Culver turned slightly to wave at him, that smile still there.

Perhaps this could work out, David thought, since they were already so in sync. Maybe they could be friends after all of this.

Only time would tell, he guessed.

[amourtoken]

Slut thoughts slut thoughts slut thoughts goddddddd

More toxic mentor Ruffilo x apprentice reader thoughts? This one's a little shorter but I'm planning to add to it as more thoughts appear.

*NSFW below the cut, MDNI*

cw: Age gaps (legal, but possibly controversial? They're mentioned.), toxic Nicky, branding, exhibitionism, glove kink ig, he's a dick, raw sex (wrap it up bitch), oral (m receiving), love/hate (it's rlly love/love but shhhh that's a secret), Noah is here! (Nick is a cunt), degradation, dacryphilia, pining

♡ Nicholas loves that he's got a few years on you, it really accentuates the whole mentor/apprentice relationship and he always pulls the "I'm older than you so I know what's good for you" card when you whine about things

♡ now that you've apprenticed under him a few months and he's got you melded into the perfect little cock sleeve, he's gotten a bit sloppy. Leaving hickeys just above where your shirt could cover and being just a little too touchy around the other shop guys.

♡ this normally wouldn't cause issues around anyone else however need I remind you your literal father is his boss and would skin him if he found out he so much as laid a finger on you in his dreams. That being said, Nicky didn't double check the schedule before deciding he was gonna have you on your knees. Who walks in unannounced? His boss.

♡ Luckily Nicholas' desk faced in such a way you couldn't see anything underneath unless you were literally in his chair, which spared you for the moment. To keep you quiet he used the hand buried in your hair to push your head entirely down between his legs, his cock filling your throat and making your eyes water pathetically. At this point he wasn't even truly doing it to keep you quiet or keep you hidden, he was doing it for his own enjoyment. Once his painfully long conversation ended and the room was clear, he pulled you off his cock and laughed at how messy you looked. (Asshole!!!! I fucking need to fuck him so bad hate him!!!)

♡ he made you get a tattoo of his initials after your "6 month anniversary" of being his apprentice. He said he wanted to brand you so everyone knows who trained you so well (this mf is not talking abt the tattooing I promise lmao). So now you have a pretty "NR" on your hip bone just barely low enough to be covered up by your clothing. He gets achingly hard whenever he remembers it's there.

♡ he claims you get on his nerves and swears up and down that he's definitely fucking other people cause he could "never date a random college airhead" (he's not, it's a lie, don't believe him lol) when he's talking to the other guys at the shop but if any of them so much as look at you in passing he has to actively restrain himself from jumping down their throat.

♡ speaking of this possessiveness, Nicholas ended up staying late at the shop one evening conveniently at the same time the new piercer Noah was there. Noah thought you were fucking gorgeous and had full intentions on asking if you had any plans this weekend so that you two could maybe hang out, unfortunately this plan was canceled cause Nicholas had you laid back on his tattoo chair split on his cock. He knew you two weren't alone, and made zero effort to keep you quiet, in fact he was encouraging the noise.

"Louder, can't fuckin' hear you- tell me how good this dick makes you feel"

"Bet I've ruined you for everybody else."

"Awe, are you crying? So fuckin' needy you're really crying for some cock?"

♡ afterwards he walked past Noah like literally nothing had happened even though minutes before he had you making sounds anyone else would've called 911 over. Safe to say poor thing didn't get his date.

♡ Nicholas loves playing with you while he's wearing his black latex gloves, he thinks you look pretty when his gloved fingers are forced down your throat and he's basically trained you to find them arousing cause he does it so often. He'll squish your cheeks in one hand before telling you to open your mouth so you can suck his fingers like you would his dick. (He literally stares at you like you hung the moon during this but God forbid he says he CARES ABOUT YOU)

[bioticlaw]

Can You Tell Me Who I Am?

You wonder if zealots ever find themselves in the same position as you: lost in a paradox without a clear path. When you look at him, you see salvation, but in that salvation, you also see ruin. The Doctor gives, and the Doctor takes away. You picture yourself kneeling before his feet and feel nothing, yet you can’t see yourself following anyone else but him. Then what are you supposed to be?

PAIRING: Dottore x Reader, minor Scaramouche & Reader

CONTENT: yandere Dottore | gender-neutral reader | human experimentation, unhealthy relationships, master/pet, emotional/psychological manipulation, conditioning, religious themes, implied sexual content, dom/sub undertones, canon divergent but spoilers for sumeru archon quest! Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. ( ~10k words )

NOTES: finally, after nearly two months, I can finally share what I've been brainrotting over :')))) is there a plot?? not really tbh the demons just won. this is disgustingly self-indulgent but I'd still like to dedicate this to @eanul-rambul and @hiperacid2 for sitting through my madman ramblings and making this story possible!! this can be read by itself, but if you'd like, the prequel/first part can be found here! much love, enjoy :3c // @houseofsolisoccasum

DARK CONTENT UNDER THE CUT | READ ON AO3

The people of Sumeru do not dream.

The Akasha terminals harvest it all from them to create a singular massive brain for the collective to take knowledge from. That was what the Doctor told you on your journey from Snezhnaya to the land of wisdom. As expected of him, he figures everything out without batting an eye. He never makes mistakes and he is never wrong, so what he told you can’t possibly be a lie.

A walk through the Akademiya confirms his initial findings as well. The people of Sumeru do not dream. They live in ambition and convenient, unlimited knowledge, far more valuable than a mere dream can be. It’s not your first time meeting such personalities. The longer you work with the Doctor, the more people you meet, including some of the Harbingers he doesn’t seem too particularly fond of. He seems to have a fondness for relying on your ability to judge a person. From their strengths to their weaknesses, he has you remember all of them should they decide to turn against him later.

Even if you don’t understand why he wants your insight (human emotions aren’t your area of expertise—very far from it, in fact), you have no reason not to trust him. It will become useful in the future, he said. You can do that for me, can’t you?

You can, and you will.

They say that dreaming is when the human mind becomes the most vivid. It’s where Sumeru’s knowledge all stems from: a collective mind of sorts, bountiful sciences for the academic mind to pursue. The Doctor was particularly interested in this system, so he’d taken the Akasha terminal you were given to study more closely. It wasn’t a request.

It also wasn’t something you were going to decline. It wouldn’t have made a difference regardless. With or without the terminal, just like the people of Sumeru, you do not dream. Your day ends with a period of nothingness before the new one begins and gives you a mission to complete, as per routine.

Still, you believe it is quite inconsistent with typical human behaviours you’ve observed. Every person has a dream, don’t they? Some dream of travelling the world and getting to adventure much like the golden-haired traveller and their flying companion. Some dream of a happy life for their families, and some dream of exacting revenge on certain people.

But you don’t. You don’t have a dream, though you suppose if you were ever asked about it, you’d say that it’s to serve the Doctor. It’s what you’re made for. You kill anyone he tells you to kill. You guard him from the shadows, ready to slit the throat of whoever dares lie to him. You follow every order and every whim because it is your duty—your ‘happiness,’ you think—to do so.

You always have, and you always will.

Your gaze flits over to the Doctor who stands before the giant automaton, the Shouki no Kami, that looms over him. Thanks to his insistence, the project has been progressing just as he’d like. You remember his crazed words when the idea came to him, his words an epiphany and almost choir-like among the dullness of machinery. Warmth rises to your cheeks as you watch him engrossed in his work, lost in his own world. It’s a sight that’s familiar to you, a constant in each day you spend with him.

How strange, you think. This must be the sensitivity implant he’d put in you. Not too long ago, he had expressed his interest in your responses to foreign stimuli. You weren’t made aware of when he would put it into motion, so this is entirely new. Is this what people refer to as fondness? To feel nothing but a semblance of joy when you watch someone close to you?

You try not to dwell on it and return to the task at hand. The Doctor had stationed you by the entrance to the workshop, close enough to reach when needed and not too close to disturb him. Ready to be at his beck and call, just where he likes you.

It’s quiet in the workshop save for the dull whirring of the cogs and wheels overhead. It almost fascinates you how such dreariness can exist in a lush and vibrant place like Sumeru City. The workshop, despite its hollow grandness, doesn’t seem like an optimal place to be productive. You find that it’s not that different from his laboratory back at Zapolyarny Palace. There, the windows show you nothing but snow and frost. Here, all you see is metal on every corner, drab and colourless unlike the city and its lush outskirts.

You suppose the Doctor is simply not like other people. He doesn’t need to feel the sunlight to have a change of mood. He doesn’t share their composition, either; this much you know thanks to the nights where he’d lay himself bare for your recalibration. It’s one of many secrets you keep for him.

Something hits the floor with a loud clang, making you snap out of your reverie. Right, you have a job to do. He hates it when people zone out. His patience has been running thin to begin with thanks to the ‘tedious and menial’ conversations he’s had to have with other researchers. Aggravating him further is nowhere near the decision you must choose to make.

While you always do as he says without question, doing nothing proves to be possibly the most arduous task you’ve done. You don’t feel anxious or afraid—you can hardly feel anything at all, but you’re lost, so to speak. It’s out of routine and order to only be on standby.

“—Why don’t you escort the grand sage to safety?” His voice breaks the silence and echoes in the chamber, bringing you back to the present. “I unfortunately have my hands full and can’t see to it myself. Could you do that for me?”

There’s a lighthearted tone to his words. He must be excited to finally make use of the puppet he’s been working so hard on. In just a matter of a few seconds, the long-awaited plan is going to come to fruition and as always, you will be there to witness it.

“Of course, Doctor.”

(Anything.)

“Come back to me when you’re done. I’d like you to stay close in case any… complications occur.”

When you return, a couple of mechanics are tinkering away at the automaton. Finishing touches, you assume. You’re not entirely sure what the process entails. The Doctor hasn’t told you much about this project. All you’ve had so far is bits and pieces of information, namely how this is meant to be all for who the Doctor and his fellow Harbingers refer to as Scaramouche.

They’re a total anomaly, nonexistent in your memory, never seen and never known. You wonder if there’s a reason why you’ve never come face-to-face with it. He tends to tell you whatever’s on his mind, not seeking for you to be a conversationalist, but as an echo chamber. Maybe it’s his segments that know of this Scaramouche character.

While it’s not unusual for the Doctor to keep certain things from you, it raises questions that will go unanswered. Trust has always been an unspoken agreement between you and him. As his servant and his guard, his creation, there is nothing you won’t do for him. You’ll figure out a way to cut down every Archon alive if he so wishes it. But does he not share the same sentiment? Are you, ultimately, just another one of his disposables? Does he not trust you after all this time?

(After all the steps he’d taken to keep your lips sealed and you completely, utterly his?)

“I’ve called for the subject,” he says with a chuckle. “He’ll be arriving any moment now—”

“Let’s just get this over with,” comes a new voice you don’t recognise.

“Heh. You’re right on time.”

When you turn, you see a young man dressed in Inazuman clothes and a large hat adorned with gold and red threads. His face is twisted into a scowl that contradicts the softness of his features. His brows are furrowed as he glares at the Doctor in visible disdain. Nevertheless, he reminds you of ice and porcelain statues in Snezhnaya, carved for everlasting beauty and grandeur.

It is now that you realise that he is here—the new god himself in the flesh.

The missing puzzle piece, the sign of a new beginning. If that is who he’s meant to be, you believe that he will be fully revered without fail. If this is the one to worship at the altar, sacred offerings and prayers would be made day and night, pleading for their god’s wisdom.

With your constitution, your priorities do not lie in faith, but elsewhere: in recalibration and maintenance, in servitude and protection. There is much you don’t understand about religion, but is he not the very image of a being worthy of worship? An inexplicably beautiful, powerful being who holds the honour of succeeding their Greater Lord Rukkhadevata? A replacement for the Lesser Lord Kusanali, who is deemed beyond lesser in researchers’ eyes?

Scaramouche is cold and callous, but is that not how gods should be? Domineering, easily able to strike fear into their subjects? The fact holds as he stops beside you and gives you an irritated glance. Already is he regarding you, a stranger, with so much disdain, or something more malicious. You’re suddenly overly aware of your talons—sleek, black metallic, lethal—and the alarms ringing in your head. Accordingly, you deem him a threat to be kept under surveillance.

“This is your new pet project?” Scaramouche scoffs. “You’re declining, Dottore.”

As if he can feel you ready to act, the Doctor dissuades you by blocking you with his arm. A wordless warning. Despite finding it an unwise decision, you let your hands hang limply by your sides and return to your normal posture.

He’s right. He always is. Only he gets to decide who the enemy is. This Scaramouche is not an enemy, but evolution itself; something that transcends science and the mortal realm. You cannot ruin something he worked so hard for.

“I’m sorry, Doctor.”

“Perhaps you should wait for me to give you a command,” he says dryly. Though he appears to be smiling, you know better than to trust that his ire has fully dissipated. Clasping his hand on your shoulder, he nods at the other Harbinger. “This is my assistant, but let’s save the pleasantries for later, shall we? Go on, now.”

Steam rises from the surface as the metal plates of the automaton’s mask slide open. Although the automaton is only at half of its height, it encompasses nearly half of the room and casts a shadow in its wake. Scaramouche climbs into the cockpit with grace and agility, evidently familiar with the standard procedures.

You watch as the mask closes, sealing the sixth Harbinger inside. The Doctor patiently makes his way to the automaton with the Electro Gnosis held between his fingers. You hear chatter from the crowd behind you and murmurs that echo throughout the workshop, all in anticipation of what will take place soon. Not long after, he inserts the Gnosis in its rightful compartment and steps back.

Soon enough, Shouki no Kami comes to life. Electricity bursts in hues of amethyst and violet and sparks run across its surface. The insignia at its centre glows far brighter than anything you’d ever seen. You feel its strength with your eyes alone, as do your fellow witnesses. You realise now that you behold the birth of an almighty being, one ready to take fate into his own hands and overthrow the false god.

(You’ve never seen anything more beautiful.)

���

Dottore doesn’t play favourites, but if he were asked to pick a favourite thing about you, he would say without a doubt that it is your unquestioning compliance.

He’s fully aware that it’s how he encouraged you to be, but he’d be a fool if he didn’t acknowledge it. Trust is not earned so easily, even if years pass and one hasn’t wronged the other yet. Despite having sworn loyalty to the Tsaritsa and by extension Pierro, there isn’t a single member of the Fatui he’d trust with his projects.

But you, the one he made, the one he changed; you stand above them all.

It’s an entertaining sight indeed to see you fall and get back up time and time again with a new life, a new memory and the same ever-present constant: him. No matter what he puts you through, on the operating table or on dangerous missions, you trust him with your being. Your faith and loyalty are in his hands, binding you to him for as long as he’ll need you. Perhaps, in some way, you see him as more than your master. Feelings are fickle things and unimportant to him. Inquisitiveness and uncovering the world’s secrets are all he needs, but you—

You are a different variable.

You put your fragile life in his hands and let him keep you in his possession. You guard him like a loyal hound to the leader of its pack. Even if he can simply use his segments or remake you, it’s quite hard to imagine a life without you behind him. You’ve become a long-withstanding presence he can continue to study and rely on under the guise of diagnostics. No longer are you the meek little thing shyly watching him from the sidelines. No longer are you his benefactor who naïvely believed his lies about medical research and evolution. You’re an entirely new person, but one fact remains true all the same.

You are his, before and after ‘death.’

With you constantly dutifully close by, it hadn’t taken long for some of his fellow Harbingers to take an interest in you. It infuriates him to remember the wicked smile on Pantalone’s lips as he mentioned how much he was willing to spend on you. It’s worse to remember how Childe would tell you anecdotes of his travels in an attempt to convince you to join him. The memory never fails to make him huff in irritation every time it comes up.

How absolutely imbecilic. Is it not clear enough that you cannot be taken from him?

Dottore wasn’t always one to make rash decisions. He’s meticulous and calculated, sharp and precise. But to hear those idiots imply their desire for you made his blood boil for reasons unclear to him. There was no other way he could have dealt with the inexplicable rage surging in his veins or the warmth that bloomed in his chest. As long as you need him to live, and as long as your heart is locked behind a code only he knows, no one can take you away from him.

Since then, he’d given you another strict order. It was admittedly a selfish and conceivably unreasonable one that he made clear. You are not to interact with any of the Harbingers unless he is also present. It seems to have worked well for the most part. They don’t ask about you as much as they used to, as much as they are dying to know of your whereabouts.

It’s satisfactory enough. He can’t have you falling into less-than-capable hands. After tearing you down and putting you back together, there is zero chance he’s letting it all slip away. You know it fully well, too, that there is no other place for you to go except with him.

Unlike the average person, you lack innate desires and greed. With or without an incentive, you’d never leave him in favour of something or someone else. What reason would there be for you to do such a thing?

None.

You have never failed him. You can’t fail him, regardless of if the probability of success is slightly above zero. If you somehow deviate from your chosen path and escape him, finding you won’t be difficult. He has the agents to subdue you if necessary and the concoction to keep you pliant. While he’d prefer not to have a single blemish on you, it may be just the right choice with the right intention.

But there won’t come a day when he’d have to make that decision. You won’t fail him. As long as he has you in his grasp, you will never leave him. As long as he stays the subject of your fealty and the cause of your existence, you will never leave him. The reassurance alone is enough to ground him once again, his anger dissipating out of his mind like smoke in the wind.

Bringing you along to Sumeru was just another part of his routine. As far as he knows, you’ve never stepped foot outside Snezhnaya both in your past and present. He could practically see the cogs and wheels in your mind turning as you observed the horizon for reconnaissance. He wasn’t very keen on letting you become too curious, but for once, he’ll consider allowing it. It was fascinating, he thought, to see you try to mask your awe with apathy.

For the first time in years, you were human, and just a naïve little thing eager for adventure.

Dottore isn’t quite one for the arts. He can appreciate beauty where it’s done, even if the words of an artist matter very little to him. It’s too abstract, he finds. There is freedom in knowledge, but there is also discipline—something that artists lack in his eyes. Yet he wonders if the poets were right to liken their subject to a warm summer day. If seeing the glimmer in your eyes and your parted lips is how his mind interprets art to be.

(Are those worshippers right, in the end, when they swear ‘til death do us part’ to their lovers?)

He saw that wondrous expression again in the Joururi Workshop.

There was a lot to behold in those chambers: Shouki no Kami lighting up to life, the purple lightning streaks running across the surface. In the midst of it, all he could focus on was not the result of his success, but you. The face of an awed spectator, the face he’d see in the devout. He didn’t think too long about it, however. A sudden wave of annoyance crashed over him and so he took his eyes off you and back to his creation. He didn’t care how long you were in that flabbergasted state. He didn’t care for trivial things, he thought, albeit more bitterly than he’d anticipated.

There are a lot of things he could (and has) stripped you of. Your innate curiosity is not one of them. It’s not as if he could’ve stopped the questions in your mind from rising. He didn’t tell you much about the collaboration with the Akademiya. It wasn’t necessarily his intention to leave you in the dark about it, but when he thinks of your reverie again, he decides it was for the best.

Scaramouche is considerably more… sentient than you are, and Dottore is a careful man. The way you stared at that puppet was telling enough. The fewer interactions you have with him, the better. You picking up his opinions and attitude certainly isn’t ideal. Of course, he has a plan in case something like that were to happen, though he’d prefer not to use it.

He’s grown fond of the current you, after all.

Though a natural sceptic of fate and divine intervention, today the heavens have taken the victory. They mock him and laugh in his face, at his expense, as his beloved pet project grows fascinated with something else before his very eyes. As much as he hated to think of it, it was inevitable that you’d meet Scaramouche one day. Despite the other Harbinger having acknowledged you once (just to insult you, he thought indignantly), the more pressing matter at hand isn’t Scaramouche.

It is you.

He figures he’ll have to get you under control soon, if not now. Yet at the same time, the scholar in him questions. What would you think of the new ‘god’ from what you already know of devotion? What would you pray for at the altar in the throes of desperation?

Would you still look at him with the same loyalty and—dare he say it—love if your ‘heart’ lies in someone else’s hands?

He’s never been one to let his emotions take the reins. He leads himself with rationality and logic. Reason is a bigger priority than sentiment, he finds. And yet, he fully resents the implication of you finding someone else to belong to other than him. It is irrational to think of it. Keeping you in his clutches comes as easy as breathing does. With your body inside and out under his control, it leaves little to no reason for you to need somebody else.

As fun as it is to nudge you back in the right direction, he isn’t always as cruel as he seems. You’ve always been an inquisitive thing, which is why he has you record all of his musings and disorganised thoughts. You care about his work and you guard his laboratory in his absence like the perfect guard dog. Letting you wander about is relatively harmless, but he’d prefer to be able to keep his eyes on you.

The snowy mountains and frosted ground of Snezhnaya are all you know. In Sumeru, there is fauna and flora that you’ve never seen. Scaramouche is one of them. With him being a deviation from what little you truly know, it definitely wouldn’t take very long for you to develop some sort of fascination for him.

Were it someone he knew who wasn’t at all a threat, Dottore would’ve let it slide. He doesn’t find Scaramouche a threat per se, but the situation raises concerns regardless. As apathetic as you are to most occurrences, you won’t stay that way for long. What he saw on the journey to Sumeru is proof enough. After so many years, you could feel once more the wind in your hair as you breathed in the scent of the ocean. You could feel the sun’s rays warming your skin in ways Snezhnayan skies never have.

Contrary to what he’d initially told you, he never ‘took away’ your sensitivity or implanted a new one. All it took was small doses of anaesthesia and a new command—subdue anyone who lets their touch linger on you for too long. It worked for a while, but he decided to slowly lessen and eventually stop those doses. That was for your benefit as well. A new research question, one could say. How would someone unfeeling handle new sensations all at once? How touch-starved would you become?

Would you seek him out just like you used to?

Unfamiliar sensations inadvertently affect your mind, and you’ll learn once again what you crave more or desire less. He remembers the night you fully became his, all in mind, body and soul. How pliant you were and how you never ran away even when things became too much. How the most featherlight of touches would have you caving in, melting in his hold. He knows you like the back of his hand. He made sure that he would be the sole one who gets to be this close.

Yet for reasons he just can’t fathom, his plans of keeping you all to himself had gone awry.

Months have passed since the incident, and he finds himself equally infuriated thinking about how flustered you were when Childe dared to touch you. It was a minuscule gesture, not one you were unfamiliar with—a hand on the small of your back gently urging you in the direction you were supposed to go. For some reason unknown to him, it managed to fluster you somehow. Your eyes widened and you stumbled over your words, much to the younger Harbinger’s delight.

Incredibly irksome was what it was.

Dottore never denies that he is a selfish man. He won’t deny that he missed seeing your expressions from torture to bliss, either. Your reactivity was what he liked most about you. Here, he contemplates whether to put you under that treatment again. He doesn’t want to do it so soon, not when he wants to see it all coming back to you. Robotic and unfeeling is what people expect you to be, but what he misses is the vividness of your emotions—your fear, anger, sorrow, and joy.

“Isn’t it fascinating to discover something new? To feel something new?”

Yes, this is for your benefit and his. You’ll get to learn what it’s like to be a being of science, someone who dares to challenge the divine with pure knowledge. You’ll get to feel what you have lost, and he’ll get to watch as it changes you for the worse or the better. It doesn’t matter what the outcome is; you are ultimately his to own, his to toy with. This is just like any other experiment. It should be.

Regardless, it is hard to keep the annoyance at bay. It’s unclear how Scaramouche is going to interact with you. Between your endless patience (sometimes he wishes you’d just snap and show him what he’d missed these past years) and Scaramouche’s lack thereof, there is no clear vision of what will happen. It wouldn’t make sense to send you back to Snezhnaya so hastily, either. As far as he’s concerned, your presence is imperative, and who knows what’ll happen if he isn’t there to watch over you?

“Troublesome little pet,” he mutters. You’ve distracted him from his work again.

—

Pardis Dhyai tends to be a lively place. Scholars walk past each other at the plaza, some sit together on the grass and chat about what is on their minds. Crowds are hardly foreign to the Doctor, but he prefers to have his privacy. The more you visit here, the more you begin to think that you are the same way.

Today, however, the crowd is nowhere to be seen.

The indoor gardens are barren with only you as its visitor. No conversations can be heard in the background. Birds chirp a cheery tune beyond the forest and the running water flows in the fountain endlessly. You barely make a sound as you continue your exploration, observing the flowers you’ve never seen back in Snezhnaya. Hills of ice and snow hardly make a suitable environment for these florae, so it comes as no surprise that botany here surpasses home. It’s pleasing to the eyes, far more colourful than the glow of blue lights and drab walls you typically see.

The Doctor is busy in a meeting back at the Akademiya with the Grand Sage and a couple of other scholars. With the reasoning that it wasn’t something that required your attention, he’d given you permission to wander about as long as you returned before the meeting ended. It wasn’t an unreasonable request. Some of his matters are confidential, even to you who tend to be a witness to most. It doesn’t happen often, and when it does, you don’t find it an abnormality.

Still, much like that day in the workshop, doing nothing proves to be a most difficult task.

Despite the idyllic scenery that surrounds you, you feel hollow. Quite the oddity—you’ve always presumed that this is what romantics seek and what artists hope to immortalise on their canvases. Yet with the unfamiliar things spread throughout the room, nothing particularly strikes your fascination. Flowers are delicate little things and your fingers are razor sharp—you can’t touch them if you wanted to. A part of you is curious about what soft touches to the skin would feel like, touches that aren’t inspection or painful.

You stop yourself before you can reach out for one of the roses. You’d prefer not to end a life without reason. You solely harm and kill those who try to harm the Doctor in one way or another. Sometimes you’d bring them to him yourself and give him a new subject to test on. It depends on what he asks of you.

The bells above the door chime. You rise on alert, razors extending from your fingertips and ready to strike. As you whip your head around, you find that it’s not an assassin, but a subject you had met days prior.

Scaramouche stares at you with an unimpressed look that borders on disgust. “What trash heap did he pick you out of?”

“He did not pick me out of a trash heap,” you reply, suddenly irrationally irked. “I don’t have memories of when we met. All I know is that he saved my life.”

“And you believe him?” His brows knit together in visible annoyance. “The second of the Harbingers, spending his valuable resources on you? Don’t make me laugh.”

“I have no reason to doubt the Doctor.”

He scoffs. “You’re hopeless.”

After deciding that he doesn’t harbour any intention of hurting you, for now, your claws retract on their own. Not a word is spoken as you keep your gaze trained on him. He walks around the garden, seemingly deep in thought and regards you no more than a handful of times. He’s much different up close than he was back in the giant machine. Without the armour, he reminds you of the Doctor’s other segments; built flawlessly with a life to him that you can’t fathom yet.

“Dottore. Is he your god?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re kissing the ground he walks on. Is that how he trained you?”

It’s not something you’ve questioned a lot in your years of servitude. A master is a master and you are his pawn. What is there to be curious about?

“It’s the least I can do for him,” you answer after a pause. “Forgive my rudeness. I don’t see how this is any of your concern.”

His hostility raises your caution and you watch warily as he approaches you. You don’t break eye contact either, blankly staring at him until he speaks up again.

“Don’t you think?”

“I still fail to see why you’re asking me such trivialities.”

Though Scaramouche likely meant the question rhetorically, your curiosity is piqued nonetheless. You are capable of thought. You are capable of judgement, and you can see how someone is feeling just by observing them. What else could you possibly ‘think’ of?

You’ve always followed orders without hesitation. The Doctor’s time is valuable; if there’s anything you wish to know, you learn of it when you’re off duty. It isn’t a regular occurrence. He has you by his side at all times and gets irritable when you wander off. You aim to please him. You aim to be the best weapon in his arsenal, so you’ll follow him for as long as he’ll let you.

(Is that what ████ would have wanted?)

“Hey,” Scaramouche snaps. “I’m talking to you.”

You return the unimpressed look. “I was contemplating your question.”

“So?”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you an answer.”

“Figures.” He rolls his eyes, dropping the issue. “What are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be his favourite pet?”

Pretending the jabs were never said, you decide that he’s at least harmless enough for you to be honest. “I’ve been dismissed for the time being.”

It’s hard to predict what he’s thinking. The expression on his features is unreadable and leaves a strange sensation trickling down the length of your spine. Heaviness tugs at where your heart should be. You remember now—this is what you felt when the Doctor expressed his disappointment in you. Scaramouche glowers at you for reasons unknown, arms crossed over his chest much like the petulant children you see on some journeys.

“Is there a problem?”

“A problem?” He huffs a sardonic laugh. “It’s right in front of me.”

This is irregular. You’ve been trained to handle every situation possible, but for the first time in a while, you’re at a standstill. Thousands of possibilities can come from this encounter. Violence is a part of them, but considering Scaramouche’s status, it is the very last on the list.

“I don’t understand you,” he says, exasperated. |You have your own life ahead of you, but you choose to serve someone who doesn’t bat an eye at you. And you can’t tell me why you do it.”

“It’s my purpose.”

“Is it really?” He gives you a once-over head to toe then clicks his tongue, deciding that he’d gotten what he wanted out of you. “Whatever. Don’t tell him you saw me.”

Scaramouche’s words shouldn’t matter. He doesn’t know you inside and out like the Doctor does. He hasn’t repaired you with his own hands. But his questioning continues to leave you unsettled, mind wandering in directions it hasn’t been before.

You’ve never thought much about life without the Doctor. Your soul already lies within him, found itself a home within his ribcage. Your subservience is voluntary. Even if the Doctor wasn’t your saviour, you would still see him as one. Even if you didn’t owe him your submission, you would still give it to him.

He is your saving grace, your maker, your one true companion. He’s all you have. For as long as he’ll allow it, you belong to him. You are his weapon. You are his subject. You are his toy. You are his, just as you’ve always been.

Scaramouche must be doing this to get under your skin, and you are but a fool who’s allowed it to happen. You keep your glare trained on him as he eventually fades into the distance, leaving you with more thoughts than ever.

Several hours pass before you’re back in the Akademiya. The hallways are crowded, much to your dismay, but you dutifully wait at the end for your Doctor to arrive. You’re unnoticed for the most part. Frantic mutterings and crazed discussions become white noise as you lean against the wall. Your eyelids flutter shut and a quiet sigh leaves your nose while restlessness slowly brews within your chest.

“Ah, there you are. Tired?”

You straighten up. “Doctor! I… I’m sorry.”

“Poor thing.” He smiles wryly. “Seems I’ve overworked you.”

“No, I’m alright, I was…”

“I jest,” he chuckles. “Well? Shall we go?”

The walk back to the laboratory is quiet. Your sharp glare scares off curious passers-by and scholars looking for small talk with the Doctor. Meetings with the sages always leave him in a sour mood; it’s for their benefit as much as it is for him, you think.

The lights turn on one by one and machines whir to life, filling the room with low buzzing sounds. You shift your weight from one foot to another, brows furrowing in thought. Your mind tells you to talk to him about Scaramouche, but is it the right time? It’s difficult to gauge his current mood. All you know is that the unease is similar to the last time he’d been in a meeting with the other Harbingers.

“I can hear you fidgeting,” he snaps. “Spit it out.”

As suspected, nothing ever gets past him. You heave out a sigh and regain your composure, not wanting to worsen his disposition. While he’s never had an explicit rule that forbade you from interacting with the other experiments, you wonder if your interaction with Scaramouche would be considered overstepping. The uncertainty of the consequences dawns on you, sending you into a state of inquietude.

“I met Scaramouche again today,” you admit, relenting. If this is forbidden, the Doctor may have mercy on you for the first offence you were unaware of.

Attempting to gauge his mood doesn’t yield much of a result, but there’s something in the air that borders on impatience and anger. His posture, however, is relaxed as he assesses the situation on his own. The atmosphere feels tense—as tense as those pesky Harbinger meetings he’s always complained about. You can’t read him like you can the others. He never lets any vulnerability show, not the smallest tell or twitch.

“I assume he had some things to say.”

You hesitate. “He asked if I had a god.”

The noises from whatever he’s tinkering with abruptly stop.

“And what did you tell him?”

“I couldn’t give him an answer.”

He exhales through his nose, his shoulders rising and falling with the heavy breath. “I see. Don’t indulge him next time… I’d prefer it if you stayed close to me or in the laboratory.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“One last thing, my dearest hound. You don’t need a god.” He peers over his shoulder, glancing through you from the corner of his eye. “You need me.”

—

Is he your god?

The question echoes in your head for days. It demands an answer each time the mysterious Balladeer crosses your mind. The books you read in your leisure hold no answer for you, either. Theories upon theories and centuries’ worth of history could not prepare you for the inquiry. As much information as you’ve gained, not a sliver of it helps you. If anything, more questions are raised—those of the mind and soul.

You’re well cognisant of the fact that you’re no longer human by definition, with some of your organs being synthetic. Your arms are not flesh but obsidian and the rarest metals, sharper than blades crafted by the best smiths. Cybernetics have been implanted into your eyes and your ears, enhancing your abilities as a living weapon.

But are you truly living? You follow the Doctor and sing his praises, but do you do it because you want to, or because he trained you to?

Is he your god?

The breathtaking view of the Shouki no Kami flashes before your eyes again. Everything spoken and written by the Doctor about the upcoming project echoes in your mind. Then, the image changes to those with the Doctor—him in your view as you lay pliant on the operating table, him inspecting your hands with a relaxed expression. You hear voices of the past. Voices that belong to him as they say how you were on the brink of death when he’d graciously saved you. You don’t remember anything before your ‘reawakening,’ so you trust him—they must be true.

You think again of the grandeur that resonated as Shouki no Kami stood tall in the chambers of the workshop. The violet sparks and the overwhelming awe you felt upon seeing it. He who wields the Electro Gnosis shall become stronger than anyone, strong enough to replace the previous god, and you may very well understand what the choir sings of.

If this is what Scaramouche can become—the Everlasting Lord of Arcane Wisdom himself—he falls under the definition of a god. At the same time, so does your Doctor. His infinite knowledge, his ability to create life, and his outstanding achievements that put him on a pedestal higher than everyone else all make him perfect.

Archons and the Adepti have hymns and ceremonies dedicated to their sanctity. Statues built in their likeness stand tall throughout the lands of Teyvat. Art and literature are made of them and their legendary exploits. You believe Scaramouche will have poems and symphonies in his honour one day, but is the Doctor not worthy of the same? Is the man who bestowed upon you a new life, a new identity, not as great as the divines, if not better?

You stare ahead at the blueprints pinned on the corkboard. Scrawled notes and rough sketches of current and upcoming projects are scattered throughout the surface. If all goes well, he will allow you to witness their creation at his hands and his segments’. Anything he does is always a sight to behold.

You don’t need a god. You need me.

Your loyalty doesn’t lie with the Tsaritsa. It lies with the Doctor himself. Archons don’t have any meaning to you, and thus, they do not have your trust. The one altar you will offer yourself to is not any of theirs; it’s the table where the Doctor fixes you. You need me, he had said. He is right and he never lies—gods are nothing, but he is everything. You believe him wholeheartedly.

“Zoning out? Great job, you just got him killed.”

In a flash, your claws dig into the skin of Scaramouche’s throat as you move to pin him against your chest. He scoffs sarcastically but makes no move to wrangle free, going so far as to lay his head against your shoulder with a smirk.

“That’s better.”

“How did you get in here?” Your voice is stern, levelled. If this was any other person, their throat would already be slit without a second thought, but Scaramouche is important. An essential piece to the puzzle that will be the domination of Sumeru, living evidence that not only Archons can wield a Gnosis. Your jaw clenches. “The Doctor won’t be pleased about this. You need to leave.”

“There it is. The Doctor this, the Doctor that,” he sighs, “I can’t understand you at all.”

“You need to leave,” you repeat. “Or I will cut you down where you stand.”

“You won’t.” Scaramouche chuckles. “You can’t.”

Your hands are trembling and a burning sensation crawls up your neck, engulfing you in the flames of rage. You can feel it—the lightning and the storms, all brewing within the confines of your chest. Irritated, you loosen your grip and shove him away, making it a point to keep your blades unsheathed and pointed at his throat.

“Hm. Are you always this rude?”

“I almost believe you want me to hurt you,” you hiss.

He grins impishly. “Really?”

“Talk.”

“Fine,” he says with an exaggerated sigh. “Tell me, hound, have you ever experienced betrayal?”

Your brows furrow. “I don’t see how this is important.”

He shrugs. The gesture, albeit minuscule, makes visions of violence run through your mind, visions of bloodshed and mercilessness. Your hand does not waver from where it points at his jugular. Unfazed, he continues, “Don’t you think he’ll betray you one day?”

“I trust him,” you cut in. “Without question.”

With a bored expression, one akin to an impatient teacher, he softly swats your hand away from him. You don’t push back, though you stand guarded—using force remains an option.

“Dottore doesn’t need you. He already has his segments,” he drawls, pretending to check the dirt under his nails. “You’re only there as a toy.”

As irritated as you feel, something in the back of your mind tells you to listen to him.

It’s not that you’re unaware that you are a test subject. Because of your enhanced durability and patience, he often seeks you out for his experiments. You’ve had plenty of substances and chemicals injected into your bloodstream. You’ve been pushed to your limits until he deems it satisfactory. You bear all the pain he inflicts on you and you melt under his touch when he repairs you himself.

Your existence revolves around him. Your body does not belong to you—it belongs to him, and he shall do whatever he pleases with it. This is the life you’ve accepted. This is your pride. This is your ‘dream.’

But it doesn’t explain the weight upon your shoulders. The anxiety lodged in your throat, the numbness spreading across your skin, the chill trickling down your spine. The sense that there is something wrong, very wrong, but nothing points to anything. All the paths ahead of you lead to him. Where are the ones without him?

No matter. You don’t exist to think.

“I’m doing my role,” you say with finality.

It’s a response you have said many times, whether to attempted assassins or lesser agents, yet somehow, the words don’t feel like they’re yours. They’re automated, rehearsed. You shake it off. Routines aren’t out of the ordinary. Following a pattern is merely a part of what you do.

He scoffs. “Fool. You just don’t get it.”

You feel like you should. You feel that there is more weight to his words than he’s letting on, but you simply can’t see this from a new perspective. What you’re doing—how you live now—is enough, and the fulfilment that comes after the Doctor’s praise is something you always aim for.

They can call you whatever they want. His pet, his guard dog, his toy, none of it matters. The only person you listen to is the Doctor. Without him, you are nothing. Without him, you have no purpose.

Then what will you do without him? When he inevitably decides that you are no longer needed, that a replacement would suffice? Every image that comes after is out of your control. The Doctor isn’t afraid of discarding things he deems useless. Would he dismantle you, hide you away until he needs you again? Would he throw you into the same pile as all of his broken segments? Would he decide to dispose of you entirely, shutting down all of your systems and turning your world into a void?

An invisible knot lodges within your throat and your mouth goes dry, uncomfortably so. Sweat beads at the crown of your head and the tremors in your hands are becoming harder to hide. The room spins and renders your vision distorted. You purse your lips, doing your best to keep the instabilities in check. You cannot show weakness. Anyone can turn against you in the blink of an eye.

“Is that all?” you speak up after a beat of silence. The shakiness in your words is more audible than you anticipated. “I will ask you one more time. Leave.”

Scaramouche watches you with an unreadable expression before he thankfully does as demanded without further argument. Your chest feels tight as you glare daggers at the door, keeping your ears trained to hear if the footsteps are going quiet as they should be. The razors on your fingertips retract. It is over.

Shaking your head, you return to the task at hand, unaware of the blinking light in the corner of the room monitoring your every move.

—

The laboratory becomes less of a frequent sight as you are given more tasks to do.

No longer are you needed to wait on the Doctor hand and foot outside the conference room. No longer are you needed to guard him in the workshop. Your time is spent lurking in the shadows, waiting for the opportune time to strike. He has you stay so close yet so far away, demanding your presence one moment then dismissing you the next.

The aberration in routine is too drastic to ignore. You’ve begun to analyse him the same way you do with your kill targets, mentally cataloguing his every action in an attempt to discover a common factor. You broke down everything he said, trying to find any hidden meanings behind them, to see if he speaks to you in riddles. Just like the attempt to search for who you were, you found nothing.

Naturally, you concluded that he is hiding something from you. He’s more adamant about being left alone while he works on a little project. His segments are the ones carrying out the tasks you are usually assigned to. When you’re not on reconnaissance, you’re left with the chores. It’s not entirely unusual for him to command you without further explanation. The tasks are simple enough, but the sudden shift brings forth unwanted anxieties.

You wonder if this is a gateway to something worse. The dismissals and growing lack of conversation remind you of someone no longer interested in what they used to love. With the Doctor’s eccentricities to begin with, nothing aids the formation of a relevant hypothesis or predicts a pattern. Some nights you’d find yourself trying to pick out past mistakes, any errors you might’ve missed, only to be met with nothing. You’d feel strangely heated—upset—being reminded of the possibility that he has simply tired of you.

You’ve always given your all in what he asks of you. If he needs someone killed, you do it clean, untraceable and unsuspecting. If he needs you to retrieve something, you make it seem like what you’ve stolen has never left. You lay yourself on the operating table when he demands it, let him inject toxin upon toxin into your vessels. You’ve been the perfect puppet for as long as you can remember, but is it not enough for him? Does he want more from you?

Maybe it’s his current collaboration with the sages of the Akademiya that is making him neglect you. Shouki no Kami is no small feat and the Doctor is meticulous. He could be devoting more of his time to perfecting the project. A burst of jealousy clouds your mind at the thought. Surely a project he’s had for centuries will be more interesting and resourceful than what you can offer him.

And yet, his demeanour every time you come across him contradicts everything you’ve suspected. He hasn’t been behaving particularly strangely. His mood is still quick to change and his temperance with the other scholars is as turbulent as ever. He still wordlessly watches you complete his orders, fingers drumming against his arm as he’s deep in contemplation. There shouldn’t be room for suspicions, but there is, and the lingering unease has started to hinder your progress.

You come to realise that perhaps this is what he’s called you here for.

The room is eerily quiet as the Doctor leers at you from where he leans against the workbench. You’re kneeling before him, eyes cast on the ground while you wait for him to speak. You don’t remember the last time you failed him, much less trigger a change in his temper. Your mind races with possible punishments he could inflict on you. Would he isolate you from the rest of the world? Would he shut you down for days on end, waking you when he decides you’ve learnt your lesson?

A sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. You don’t have to see it to know his features are marred with ire, his lips pressed in a taut frown. The impatient tapping of his foot seems to accelerate your train of thought, sending tremors to your frame. His glare burns into you and suddenly you feel all too exposed, vulnerable, and it is here that you realise that you are afraid.

But the scolding you were preparing yourself for never happens.

Instead, you feel a cold and heavy object wrapping around your neck and locking with an audible click. With a gloved hand, he takes hold of your chin with a disturbingly gentle touch, tilting your head up to meet his. You feel his breaths quickening against your cheeks, excitement bubbling in his blood at the confused expression on your face.

“Just as I suspected,” he whispers, voice tinged in manic delight. “It suits you. But…”

Searing heat rushes around your neck and tears spring forth as you look up at him wide-eyed, lips parted in shock. Words die at the tip of your tongue, dissolving into nothing. Still, you don’t move or ask. You aren’t supposed to. Much like an obedient child, you sit and wait, even as you feel as though you’re going to collapse. The burn on your neck gradually wanes with time, the pain fading away but leaving behind a red trail in its wake.

He crouches down beside you and grazes his fingertips over the fresh wound, causing you to involuntarily wince. His glee is more than evident with how he holds your face in his hands and inspects you with pride.

“Why…”

“Why?” The mirth on his features immediately twists into a scowl. “Are you questioning me, pet?”

Your reply is instant and without a second thought, your mind unable to register the underlying threat in his question. “Is… Is that what I am, Doctor?”

“You are whatever I want you to be. Does that not suffice?” He presses against the wound, visibly overjoyed by the choked noise you let out. “Have you forgotten your place, pet?”

“No!” you gasp, tears streaming down your cheeks in rivulets. You don’t remember the last time you cried—you thought you couldn’t—but they flow on their own, uncontrollable and never-ending. “I’m sorry!”

It hurts. You feel as though you’re being torn apart by the neck, skin burnt and blistered at the Doctor’s will. Is this what he had wanted? Is this the foreign stimulus he needed to see your reaction to? Your pain tolerance was high and allowed you to withstand any trial he put you through. Did he take that away just to see you squirm? Just so he could hurt you himself?

For someone so unfamiliar with feelings now, everything comes back to you in full force. While you knew that the Doctor never saw anyone as his equal, the degrading act hits you harder than anything could ever do. You were proud of your duty of serving him, of being the subject he always looked for, but you are now lost in a void.

“I asked for one simple thing.” Whatever joy he previously had is all gone. The gentleness in his touch becomes harsh, fingers pressing against the collar again to rub your wound. “And my dearest little hound ignores it.”

“It hurts, Doctor, please—”

“Have I not been clear enough?” he continues, ignoring your cries. “Must I spell it out myself?”

The pedestal you put him on crumbles into pieces, surrounded by a cloud of dust and smoke. The holy light is replaced with unbounded darkness and the marble flooring is splattered with blood and broken parts. In the destruction, you see your lifeless body lying among the faceless, and all he does is watch as you wither away with his old selves.

“You treat this as a punishment,” he says with disappointment, breaking you out of the dreamscape you’d found yourself in. “But I implore you to consider it a gift.”

Not waiting for your reply, he continues. “A reminder of sorts. For you and for anyone who looks at you. It was quite the hassle deciding between this or reworking you entirely.” He shoves you away and gets back on his feet, slowly pacing around the room as he speaks. “I’d have to start over from zero again.”

You don’t understand. You don’t know what reworking entails, and you don’t know what he means by starting over. All you can do is stare blankly at the tear-stained ground as your body becomes static and shuts out everything around you. Only he and you exist in this void. Only he is in control.

“I made you myself. Gave you a body when you had nothing.” He stops in his tracks, hands behind his back. “And you repay me with disloyalty.”

It’s been days since you last spoke to Scaramouche. You haven’t seen him since, and here the Doctor is, punishing you for something that was out of your control. A part of you screams at you to fight back, to tell him that he was the one who sought after you, but all you can do is tremble where you stand. You want to apologise, despite your instincts telling you not to. That the Doctor is lying to you, just as he likely did before.

“Please,” is all that leaves you in a broken whisper. Defiance brings nothing. You’ve learnt it the hard way, you know you have, even if you can’t remember what it was. Briefly, you question if he’s ever taken control of your memories, forming a faux story for you to remember. The dreadfulness is enough to answer the question.

He sighs, disinterested. “As thrilling as this is, you are wasting my time. I have duties to attend to.”

“Doctor…”

“Stay here and wait for my return. Do not leave our quarters. Am I clear?”

You feel as though you’ve been through this before. Visions come to mind, but none of the vignettes play; only a sense of familiarity and hurt remain. There is something about his effortless cruelty that hovers just out of your reach and keeps you in a perpetual state of insecurity. Are you not enough? Haven’t you done enough?

Hasn’t he had enough?

Numbly, you nod, your voice wavering as you finally manage to speak, “Yes, Doctor.”

—

As time passes, you come to realise that your punishment was only an interlude for something worse.

The Traveller’s arrival in Sumeru and the failure of the Sabzeruz festival had thrown a wrench into the Doctor’s plans. More disagreements between him and the sages occurred, none of which you knew of, but his mood grew more dour with each passing moment. You haven’t seen Scaramouche since he’d broken into the laboratory that night, and there’s a nagging thought telling you that you won’t see him again, either.

He’d been defeated at the hands of the Traveller with the aid of the Dendro Archon and disappeared, presumably under their custody. Years worth of work had fallen apart in a blink of an eye. The Grand Sage and his underlings were swift to surrender to the Mahamatra himself, forcing the operation to a halt. The people of Sumeru were freed from the influence of the corrupted Akasha terminals, and ‘the good’ began to rebuild what they had lost.

Meanwhile, the ones who had been on the verge of victory were left with the scraps.

The Doctor had returned from his negotiation with the Dendro Archon with more irritation than when he’d left. As per agreement with her, he’d destroyed his remaining segments stationed throughout Sumeru. In return, she gave him her Gnosis. Though it seemed like a fair deal, it did nothing to lift his spirits. He didn’t believe in wasted effort—how could he, when it’s in everything he does?—but there was not a moment of hesitation when he decided to abandon the project entirely.

It was a clear enough sign: he saw it as an utter failure.

A part of you is curious (or worried?) about what will become of Scaramouche now that he’s no longer needed. The Doctor either completely abandons his projects or destroys them. With Scaramouche missing, will he be hunted or presumed dead? Will you come across him again one day? He’d left behind only a husk of what he could’ve been, a being at heights you don’t know he can reach again.

And now, all that is left to do is to salvage what you can from the disaster.

What used to be filled with sounds of whirring cogs and wheels is now completely silent as the machines are no longer in motion. The metallic walls haven’t changed in their dreariness and the lights flicker on and off overhead. The centrepiece lies in ruins, smothered by dust and rubble as the last of its vibrancy begins to dull completely. You can see broken concrete and shards of glass everywhere, a visible mark of what had woefully transpired in the last twenty-four hours.

It’s a stark difference from the first time you’d been here. The chambers are devoid of people and it’s daunting, more so with what remains of Shouki no Kami. The god has died before it can bless its people, leaving behind remnants of its power and godless land. What was meant to be a hall of worship had become a battlefield, a site of devastation and loss. Your gaze drifts back to the Doctor standing before the disaster.

If you had a heart, it would ache for him and weep.

You know he’d chide you for the sympathy you have for him. He’d make you remember that your ‘emotions’ are his, that he’s the sole person who gets to break you and build you back together. Still, you can’t help but feel sorrowful on his behalf. He’ll get back up and come up with a better plan; he’ll never crawl or bow in the face of an obstacle. He will move forward and you will continue to trail behind him, just like the loyal dog he wants you to be.

You’re reminded of the question Scaramouche had posed to you before—the question of whether the Doctor is your god. As it stands, you find that you still don’t have an answer for him. You don’t know what a god is supposed to be. You don’t know how close you can be to a god. You don’t know what makes the perfect god, if it’s benevolence or evil that constitutes their power.

You’ve heard stories of cruel gods: the fall of Khaenri’ah, the Raiden Shogun’s tyranny; stories about Rex Lapis at the height of his time as a warrior and those punished by Celestia. You’ve heard of the kind ones, those who created life and allowed them happiness beyond the waters. The Archons are all worshipped for different reasons: the grant of freedom, the discipline of contracts, the pursuit of wisdom and the like.

You wonder if zealots ever find themselves in the same position as you: lost in a paradox without a clear path. When you look at him, you see salvation, but in that salvation, you also see ruin. The Doctor gives, and the Doctor takes away. You picture yourself kneeling before his feet and feel nothing, yet you can’t see yourself following anyone else but him.

Then what are you supposed to be?

Your existence relies on him. Your life belongs to him. Your purpose is to be at his beck and call, by his side, beneath him, anywhere he needs you. A life without him would lead to nothing—or would it? Would you break free and find a life of your own like Scaramouche has? Your heart sinks into your bowels at the fogged outcome. You don’t know if it’s fear or ‘love’ that holds you back from thinking of freedom. You don’t know if you need it or if you don’t.

Were you to ask him what you are, he’d let the question linger and let it go forgotten. Were you to ask him who you were, he’d tell you a different story from the last, and there’d be no way of finding out what is the truth.

(Do you need to?)

“It’s about time we returned.”

The Doctor stops just by your side and faintly tilts his head towards you. He seems to be staring at something on your face but says nothing. Without another word, he marches forward and you dutifully follow him until you reach the same port you’d first arrived in.

The ship was docked and already filled with the other agents who’d gotten it ready for the long voyage back to Snezhnaya. It softly bobs in the waves as the Doctor boards, ignoring the salutes and greetings he is given. With your head down, you take post on the deck of the ship.

You feel gazes burning on your back. Behind masks, the surrounding agents are undoubtedly staring at the burns around your neck and the collar that lays atop it. A sense of shame washes over you and you instinctively bring your hand up to cover it, your eyes cast on the wooden floors beneath. It makes you overly aware of the collar’s presence, bringing back the tingles on your skin and memories of the pain inflicted by the Doctor.

He may take the collar off of you when his whims call for it in the future, but the scar burnt into your skin will still be visible. Owning you alone wasn’t enough of a tangible claim over you. Keeping your heart locked away in his quarters wasn’t enough proof of his ownership. Breaking you apart and putting you back together wasn’t enough reassurance that he was in total control.

It should all hurt you—it does—but a voice in your head tells you that the Doctor is not an unreasonable man. It’s soft, timid, and nostalgic in a way that makes you think of summer days and toothy smiles. It’s doused in affection akin to a king’s loyal servant feeling for their master. The voice belongs to a person unknown, though you feel that they’re closer to you than you think. Conflicted, you shakily exhale, the sea breeze turning your skin cold and your eyes dry.

Is he your god?

The question sounds once more, and you find that you have an answer this time—the Doctor is not your god, but if he were, then he is one who has forsaken you.

[papay0]

List of songs that make me think about labru (in different universes and scenarios)

Super psycho love (Simon Curtis) ,these lines specifically

“Something lately drives me crazy

Has to do with how you make me

Struggle to get your attention”

“I love you and despise you” that’s pretty much their whole dynamic, at least from kabru’s side

“Please say you want me too

Because you're going to

Say that you want me every day

That you want me every way

That you need me”.

this part is more from a fanfic I read than anything lol (I don’t mind I feel kind from highlonesome)

Si po’ (Diego Lorenzini) this one is in Spanish but pretty much the song is about two very busy people who were finally able to clear their calendars for one night so they’ll spend it in each other arms and they couldn’t be more happy about it.

Roughly translated it goes something like this (it’s so hard to translate Chilean slang TT)

“the stars aligned

you wont guess what happened

remember that thing (??)

that had been set for today

yeah i was able to move it

i have all the time in the world for you

yeah and now you’re also free

so we will have all the time in the world to do mmm”

Post canon/ established relationship, with laios being king and kabru his royal advisor one can safely assume that they have lots of work and little free time

Despair (Leo) from kabru’s perspective I think coming to the realization he had feelings for laios was not something he was happy about XD so

“I've lost my cool

I'm not sure how to act

Not even sure how I can keep my pride intact”

“Cause it's not romantic, I swear

I'm not gasping for air

I want you to be here

But please don't come near

'Cause even though I'm pretty sure my head's exploding

I'm not ready for hand-holding

It's not love, I swear

It might be closer to despair”

Using you (Mars Argo) this one’s here mostly because I’ve seen a few edits that used it but yeah it makes sense to me

“I love you and I hate you and I'm losing my mind

And you tell me all the time that this will pass and that I'm gonna be fine

We're such a mess together, you make me lose my temper”

[celestie0]

🪷 girl fuck these people I'm really sorry you're getting so many messages bitching about no smut in ch10. Like who even cares? Does a story or chapter have no value if the characters aren't going at it like rabbits and fucking and sucking on each other?

At this point if you're so disappointed about no hanky panky just go read one of those pornhwas where the characters start screwing at the drop of a hat.

I would've loved that chapter with smut or without smut idgaf it doesn't even matter to me (and the same is for most of your readers too, I'm sure of it). We've all stuck around with your work for so long, and we have faith in your direction as well as your decisions regarding the pace of the plot. It's never that serious, especially not to the stage that bozos feel the need to weep in a writer's asks and swamp them with negative messages. Go jack off or play dj with your hello kitty and go to sleep like the rest of us.

Again, no matter what you do with your work it's entirely your choice. Ofc we as readers can have our own takes and how or why we interact with the work can vary, but it shouldn't reach this stage. I've seen this same story of bullying and pestering authors on tumblr too many times with other authors whose work I enjoy, and many have left their blogs because the harassment made them lose interest in writing and sharing their pieces. It's fucking heartbreaking. Pornhub dot com is right there for y'all to be doing entirely too much in the asks of these writers who are already overwhelmed and write and share all this FOR FREE. If you have so many qualms about it pick up that bic and get to writing bitch!

I'm sorry babe take care! We love you🫂

AHHH LILYPAD ANON I APPRECIATE U SM THIS MEANS THE WORLD TO ME 😭😭 you’re always so kind to me i sobs

yeahh sigh :( i was just a bit upset that ppl were already finding fault w a chapter i haven’t even released yet just bc it doesn’t have smut in it 😭😭 like i obviously know by now that i can’t make everyone happy, but it’s not right to subtly pressure me into a certain direction for my story (ik this is a normal thing authors/writers have to deal with, i am just a weakling unfortunately 💀💀 my therapist wld agree)

i know it’s not most of my readers though :”) everyone is so sweet n kind n patient, i just don’t understand the some few that think that just bc they tell me they’re disappointed there’s no smut, that i’m somehow gonna go back to my 80pg dissertation of a chapter n make it 100pgs just to add some for them 😅…like no. what it DOES make me feel is icky n sad

frankly it’s really uncomfortable to make an author feel bad that there’s no explicit sexual content in a story 😅 your horny brainrot is showing. like, i AM def planning to write smut in kickoff, there will be multiple smut scenes to come. but even if i suddenly chose not to include them anymore, that’s my right to do so.

and yes, if they want smut, they can write it themselves. why do i need to be the one to write it for you? i don’t owe anyone anything.

i totally agree w you. honestly, i feel bad sometimes setting these boundaries, but you’re SO RIGHT in that SO many authors leave their platforms bc of hateful asks/pressuring comments etc, i’ve seen it time n time again. bc it’s true that it DOES get to people, especially when creating art is already a very stressful thing. i don’t have to passively tolerate rude strangers on the internet just because i’m trying to protect n pursue my passion

thanks sm for trusting my direction :”) and YES absolutely!! i love it when my readers disagree w character actions or emotions, bc characters have flaws n i’m intentional about those flaws, so it’s exciting to see opinions my readers have, even if they’re in disagreement, because it’s interactive w my work. not that i expect anyone to interact ever. i understand that i post on my own accord, so readers can choose whether to interact on their accord as well.

but something about pressuring me into writing explicit sexual content into a story that i’d like to think is a lot more than just smut, is really disheartening.

- ellie 🐸

[middlingmay]

Hi 🥰, I hope you're doing well. If it's okay, could you tell us a little bit about your Horse Trainer!Gale and Veteran!Bucky au? It intrigues me a lot. I love reading your various AUs, they're so nice.

Hello! 😊 I'm braw, thank you, I hope you are too? I love your blog! And it's always so nice when you interact with my posts. I'm so glad you like my AUs so far, thank you so much!

I'm going to tag @trashbag-baby666 here, too, because they also asked about this particular AU.

I've written the first part of it, which will be posted in the next week or two, but like most of my AUs it starts a little heavy and before the fellas actually meet.

So! Here's some more lighthearted snippets from that AU:

In a nutshell, Gale runs a therapy clinic for people, and works with horses to help them process what they're going through. John finds his way to the clinic after meeting Curt one night. More on that in Part 1.

Gale never actually planned to open a therapy clinic with horses. It was kind of an accident.

He inherited the land from a grandparent on the condition that he kept all the horses and operated the ranch. And for some reason, people just kind of, arrived, found him easy to talk to, and next think he knew Marge was setting him up as a Charity.

Gale was just treating people like he would spooked horses, and apparently that was helpful, so.

He does take it seriously, once it's up an running though.

He's terrible with donors. They want to be schmoozed and charmed and flattered, and Marge has told him more than once he can be terrible controlling his face when faced with that level of bullshit.

John is terrible with horses, but delights in the donkeys. There's one donkey that runs to the fence whenever it sees John, and Gale doesn't and will never understand their relationship. John will talk to it for ages and Gale's fairly sure the donkey talks back.

John develops a habit of hanging back and watching Gale whenever he leaves on a ride, exercising the horses or heading out with a client. Gale thinks it's concern and John's fear of horses and it's kind of sweet. But really, John's looking at his hips and his ass, because he is a weak, weak man for Gale.

I hope that wets your whistle until I get round to posting part one ❤

[gotham-daydreams]

For your Not [] I was wondering how would Alfred and Y/n's relationship post kidnapped will go? Down the drain? Sure, they may have some reprieve from the rest of the family with Alfred, but would they resent Alfred for causing them to come back to the manor? After gathering the clues it was Alfred that pushed them to find you.

Also would Y/n have eventually gotten back into contact with Alfred after taking their much needed break away from the family, to help figure out and find themselves?

Well, that's the thing, I suppose!

I have thought about their relationship post kidnapping, and honestly I don't even know if the reader will ever logically know the extent of what Alfred has done to ensure that they stay in the position they're in. Especially, well, considering how I plan for Chapter 4 to go.

Of course at some point they'll definitely be able to deduce that he did something- they'll be able to tell from the things some of the Batfam says and just generally how Alfred acts, even if said things they catch with Alfred aren't all as they seem. But if they'll know the full extent of it? How much he played a part in what happened? In what ends up happening? Maybe not, not everything but maybe enough to be afraid. To get a peak into the ruin and shitty mess that is their life, and the true extent of that ruin. But a glance is only a glance, y'know?

I guess that's the scary thing - for me personally, anyways - that they won't know right away. That even when it happens they'll have no idea, and for those moments where they remain ignorant, unaware, and blind- Alfred is their saving grace. The only sane person amongst the endless sea of madness and derange that is the Batfam. The only person that seems to under their side, that not only comforts them but someone they actually feel comfortable and safe with. Alfred is the only one they trust, and... well, I rather not spoil how he feels about that.

Though, for the reader- from the little they put together and the little they know, its heartbreaking all the same. They don’t want to accept it- who would? The only person after being stripping and taken from their life- is just as insane as the rest? The only person they felt like they could confide in? That they could trust? That they could allow themselves to be vulnerable with when the others were away? That person is just as insane? Just as cunning and- and tricked them too?

It ruins them, and even if I won't say much else as it will be shown when I have it written- I think what I've said here is a good enough image of how badly things get from there once the reader even gets an idea of what Alfred may have potentially done. Though even if they did reach out now, they would probably still hold the whole "everything is fine" attitude they've got going on, and just try to talk to him normally- if not then at least passively mention how the family is sort of being weird and giving you a hard time (will that cause him to stop them? Not at all, but maybe things could've turned out differently. Which may be a recurring thing?? Well- it sort of already is but yk!)

As for the reader reaching out- I think I mentioned this in an previous (albeit older) post a bit in passing, but the reader has technically been in touch with Alfred! Just... not in a way he prefers. They are technically communicating with him, but it's very one sided (which is by design) and... well, may or may not be one of the reasons Alfred kick started this mess.

If this didn't answer your question then I apologize! Feel free to send in another ask if you want, and I can clarify anything you have any questions about!

[mrmorganswoman]

Hey, I've always thought about a girl who made Arthur that way... cold but soft at the same time, serious but funny.

Maybe she was in the gang when Dutch and Hosea found Arthur. She tried to help him. She saw both him and John as her little brothers.

Maybe she was the old Arthur of the gang, hunting and dealing with folks, making money for the gang. Maybe that's why Arthur is like that.

She died miserably, that's for sure. That's why Arthur chose to copy her persona…can you write something like that?

omg that is just a heartbreaking amazing idea omg!! the exact type of thing i like to write lol. also congrats to you on being my first request!! Xx

Dear Sister

How many years had it been?

‘Too fuckin’ many…’ Arthur thought with an angry sigh. He had the date written down in his journal, along with a sketch of her. And pages upon pages written about her, of every memory of her he could recall. He could go and look, if he had a mind too. But he never could bring himself too. It was too painful. He looked at the small whiskey bottle in his hand, and downed the last couple of gulps. It burned, but that was good. Better than whatever it was he was feeling before.

“Arthur, honey come 'ere. Sit down with me…”

The teen grumbled, before sitting down next to his older sister. She wrapped her arm around his shoulder, and it was like the anger within him melted away. He leaned his head on his sisters shoulder and sighed.

"What's wrong with you, kiddo? Talk t'me."

Arthur sighed into his sisters shoulder, and felt stupid tears prickling in his stupid eyes.

"I feel like a fuckin' fool. I wasn't shootin' right- And then I got mad at Hosea by mistake and now here I am- Dammit why can't I just be like you!"

She started stroking Arthur's honey blonde hair, giving his scalp a gentle massage.

"You listen to me Arthur." She began, her tone comforting and warm. "Even I have my bad days, where I can't seem to make my shot on the first try or when I make a dumb mistake on a simple job. It's fuckin' hard, aint it sweetheart?"

Arthur nodded, absorbing every word she said. Taking every breath to heart. He loved his sister so so much, he really did wanna be like her when he grew up. She was the best gunslinger he knew. She was Dutch's most trusted associate. She was orphaned, just like him, and taken in by Dutch. And now here she is, the finest outlaw Arthur knew! She did good for the gang, making them money, pulling off the most complicated heists with ease. She could hunt, moving through the forest like one of them lynx's, silent and deadly. And, according to Dutch, she was the best enforcer they could ever hope for. Never once failing to collect a debt, or scare people off their trails.

"Honey you listen to what I'm telling ya' now. I want you to never forget your worth. You are a skilled, gifted, good young man and ya' always will be. Don't you never let anyone tell you otherwise. And when times are tough, you are tougher. I want you to be strong for me Arthur, always. You promise?"

Arthur pulled away from his sister, looking at her in her pretty blue eyes. Though he would never tell her that.

"I promise. sis. I'll be strong for that stupid little John too." Arthur said, his tone is light but he meant every word with a deadly seriousness.

"Atta boy!"

Arthur looked at the bottle in hid hand, and with an enraged yell smashed it against the nearest tree. It shattered, a few sharp shards flinging back and cutting him in the face.

"Arthur! What the hell is the matter with you!?"

Ugh. Of course it had to be John.

"Get lost!" Arthur snapped, quickly standing up off the ground. Arthur stormed off, but stubborn John followed him anyways. "Marston god dammit leave me ALONE!"

“ARTHUR!” John yelled. Arthur snapped his head around, enough anger in his eyes that John was surprised he wasn’t dead. "Arthur you’ve gotta know by now that I know when she is on your mind! I know how you feel! She was as much as sister to me as she was to you! And-”

“WERE YOU THERE WHEN SHE DIED?!” Arthur roared, every speck of rage, grief, and sadness he was feeling fueled his words. “WERE YOU THE ONE WHO HAD TO LOOK INTO HER EYES AS THAT AXE WENT THROUGH HER HEAD!? DID YOU HEAR THE SOUND OF HER SKULL CRACKIN’?! DID YOU HEAR HER SCREAMING YOUR NAME FOR HELP WHEN THERE WASNT A DAMN THING IN THE WORLD YOU COULD DO?! DID YOU HAVE HER BLOOD COVERIN’ YOUR HANDS? YOUR CLOTHES? IN YOUR HAIR?”

“Arthur-”

“YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH MARTSON CAUSE I AIN’T FINISHED!” Arthur inhaled a deep and shaky breath before he continued. “You know what it sounds like, or how it fuckin’ feels to have to pull an axe outta someone’s skull? The way it sticks, how hard you gotta pull on it? The sound when it is finally unstuck?”

John sat there, motionless. The words Arthur spoke made him ill, but it was the truth. Their sister died a horrible death, one she didn’t deserve in the slightest.

“I couldn’t even bury her body. I had to run. They shot my horse dead, and when I came back she was gone.”

John opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it. When John didn’t speak, Arthur continued.

“So Brother.” Arthur spat, the venom in his tone enough to make flinch away from them. “Don’ tell me you know how I feel, cause I can assure you, ya’ haven’t got the slightest fuckin’ idea.”

With that, Arthur stormed off. He headed deeper into the woods, not giving a damn about the time of night or predators or anything. He needed to be far away from everyone and everything, to clear his head.

He knew he couldn’t save his sister. Then or now. She was gone, nothing left of her but the gamblers hat on his head. It had fallen off, before….

‘I’m gon’ kill that son of a bitch…..’ Arthur thought, knowing with a deadly certainty that this was the only thing he could do. He had attempted to find them before, but this time he wouldn’t fail.

He couldn’t save his sister, but he damn sure would give her the redemption she deserved.

a/n: thanks for such an amazing request anon! i might have to include this sister in the fic im working on rn! Xx

[siriuslystarbucks]

Cemetery

Written for @prongsfoot-microfic prompt May 11, 2023: Cemetery

((A/N: James's parents have been dead 2 years))

James is crying softly, near silent. The only sound he makes is a sniffle, happening occasionally as they stand in front of the gravestone.

Sirius has one arm around him, the other holding his hand. He rubs at his back or the skin on the back of his hand. There's nothing he can say to help him feel better, so he doesn't try. All James needs is for him to be here. He glances at the gravestone and swallows thickly. It doesn't hit him as hard as James, but he still misses them.

Euphemia and Fleamont Potter

Beloved Parents

Last year, the first year after their deaths, had been rough. This year's been easier, but he wouldn't describe it as being easy for James. Knowing that his parents were old didn't prepare him for the news that they were sick, and even the news that they were sick didn't prepare him for the inevitable one month later. Sirius did his best to get him ready for it in that month, but James had been optimistic. He accompanied him to St. Mungo's, helped him with the funeral arrangements, and held him every time he cried or froze in place, unsure of what to do.

James stops crying and turns his face to hide in Sirius's shoulder, but he makes no move to suggest he wants to leave, so they stay where they are.

Sirius rubs at his back and waits. He wishes there was an easy fix for this, something he could do to pick James's mood back up; knowing that there isn't doesn't stop him from wanting it.

"I miss them so much," he says eventually.

"I know you do," Sirius replies. "I miss them too."

"There's so much that's going to happen in my life that I wanted for them to be around for." He turns his face to the side so he can wipe at his face. "Getting married. Finding a house of my own, and getting a cat for it. The big things yes, but also... also the little things, like inviting them over for dinner once I feel like I'm not a kid anymore, or hosting a party." He stands up straight now, no longer leaning on his boyfriend, though still touching him.

"I'm sure they would've loved to see it all," Sirius says, squeezing his hand.

James smiles sadly but doesn't resume crying. "They won't get to see any of it. But-" he takes a breath in "-maybe this moment is the best they'll get."

"Us visiting them?"

"No," he replies softly, smile losing the sad edge bit by bit. "This." He turns to face Sirius fully and holds his hand in both of his own. "I've known for years that I never want to live without you. Ever since I met you, it feels like, but since we moved in together, it's been more than that."

Sirius's heart beats louder, certain that he knows where this is going. He can tell James right now that the answer is yes, but it's clearly something he wants to say in its entirety, so he keeps his acceptance behind his teeth as a smile steals across his face.

"You're my best friend but you're also the love of my life, and I want to live by your side. And one day, when we die-- hopefully very far in the future-- I want for us to be buried like my parents are: together. I want every single day to have the promise of you in it because I love you. Sirius..."

He's about to start crying; tears of joy must be a novelty in a cemetery.

"Will you marry me?" 

Sirius nods first, uncertain he can say a word without coughing. He swallows it down and blinks away the tears that sprang to the surface. "I would love to."

James's smile is beatific, though he had to know what the answer would be. He leans in and kisses his fiance softly, and Sirius sneaks another kiss before he can pull away. 

He glances at the gravestone-- their names seem to glimmer in endorsement-- before refocusing on James. "I think they'd approve." 

"I know they would." James brings his hand up to his mouth and presses a kiss to his knuckles. "Shall we go? I think a celebration is in order."

[waitineedaname]

Do u have any transfemme Jiang Cheng headcanons you’re willing to share 🥺 every time you bring it up it makes me unreasonably happy so I would love to hear more about it 🫶🫶

AHHHH no really major headcanons, it's just something I like to rotate in my mind a lot! transfemme jiang cheng is. so special to me. I guess I have a few thoughts

I think a big part of Jiang Cheng's relationship to gender comes from Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan being the models of masculinity and femininity growing up. Jiang Cheng already relates a Lot to Yu Ziyuan, and I think if JC is transfemme, it's a big deal to her that Yu Ziyuan wields so much power. She's an incredible cultivator, a fierce fighter, and generally is a force to be reckoned with. At the same time, she's still a woman living in a misogynistic society. YZY would probably make a better sect leader than JFM, but she's a woman and his wife, and therefore he gets the final say in things

This in turn I think affects Jiang Cheng's feelings about gender and being sect leader. Jiang Cheng has a tendency to prioritize sect concerns > personal desires, and I think in this situation, masculinity is seen as a tool. Even if she knows privately that she is a woman, she would not be public about it because she's already in a precarious position being such a young sect leader. She needs all the respect she can get when rebuilding the Jiang sect, so she stays in the closet by choice. She might eventually come out years and years later, once the Jiang sect is stable and she knows she's not going to get fucked over, but that's really not her first priority

I do think she tells her siblings, though. Jiang Yanli is probably the first person she tells, and she's endlessly supportive. Wei Wuxian is kind of clueless about this sort of thing (see: not realizing he liked men until he got resurrected into the body of a gay man) but he loves Jiang Cheng so he'd be supportive, especially if he learned when they were both still kids. Of course, this makes the tragedy of Jiang Cheng losing everyone even worse. After her siblings died, there was no one who knew who she really was. Thank god for resurrections, huh? fucking hell

in a modern au, I think being a woman would fix her. She would be able to come out without all the other bullshit to worry about, and I think it would be very healing for her. I've known a number of people to go on estrogen who said the effects were more emotional than physical, and I think HRT would be so good for her. I just need Jiang Cheng to be happy goddammit. has she not been through enough

that got long. I guess I had more thoughts than I expected lsdkjflksdjf I also have a snippet from a modern au wip that I don't know if I'll ever continue/finish, but I'll put it under a read more bc I find it funny. I think Wen Qing should crack Jiang Cheng's egg, as a treat <3

Wen Qing knew Jiang Cheng too well. It was something he both loved and hated. There were very few people outside his family that could see through his blustering and read him for who he was, and Wen Qing was one of them. Hell, she was better at it than his own brother.

She didn't hesitate to call him on it either. He wouldn't be forgetting the way she'd looked at him after he introduced her to his parents and told him this explains a lot about you. Rude. Correct, but rude.

Because she knew him so well, she knew the best times to drop these bombs on him. Exposing him when he was in the wrong mood might make his temper flare, or it might make him curl into an insecure ball. Neither were reactions he liked having around her.

Wen Qing knew the best time to drop revelations on him was when he was happy and as close to relaxed as he could get, which is of course why she apparently decided the best time to bring up this particular bombshell was when he was floating in postcoital bliss.

“I'm going to tell you something,” Wen Qing said, her ankle still hooked gently around his calf. “You can't freak out about it.”

Jiang Cheng paused in the middle of pressing lazy kisses to her temple, heart rate immediately spiking. “Now?” he said, incredulous and a little whiny. 

“It's not a bad thing,” she reassured him, gently scratching his scalp. It relaxed him like a charm, though he was still suspicious. “Do you promise to listen?”

“Do I have much of a choice?” he asked, propping himself up on her chest. Her lips quirked in a smile as she looked down at him.

“I think you're a woman,” she said, direct and matter-of-fact.

Jiang Cheng jolted upright so hard he slammed his head into the headboard. Wen Qing frowned and sat up as he rolled off her. “You're going to give yourself a concussion,” she said, accusatory.

“You're insane!” Jiang Cheng said, attempting to sit upright without making his head swim. Wen Qing huffed and pushed him down with a firm hand to his chest. He could throw her off if he wanted to, but, well, he didn't want to. He rather liked it when she pushed him around and climbed on top of him like she was right now, pinning him in place and preventing him from running away from the conversation.

[moll1703]

So in my last post I made a playlist for huskerdust. And on that I added “The Winner Takes It All” by ABBA.

It is SO HUSKERDUST. Just hear me out.

I imagine it is Angel singing this to Husk after confessing his feelings to him. He thinks Husk doesn’t want him and uses Husk’s (theoretical) past relationships to counter Husk’s own confession.

I don't wanna talk

About things we've gone through

- This line referring to both Angel and Husks deals.

Though it's hurting me

Now it's history

I've played all my cards

- Angel thinks he’s funny cause lol “cards”Same for the next line as well.

And that's what you've done, too

No more ace to play

- Angel doesn’t want to talk about his past but Husk is just as hesitant if not more.

The winner takes it all

The loser standing small

That’s her destiny

- Angel sees Husk as some kind of winner because he believes Husk being with him will do him no good, but in return he is the “loser” (lol) because he will never get to be with Husk like he wants.

I was in your arms

Thinking I belonged there

I figured it made sense

Building me a fence

Building me a home

Thinking I'd be strong there

- Angel and Husk were getting close and Angel believed they could work together, but with their deals thinks it will not work out. He also mentions how the hotel became a safe space for him and how Husk was a big part of that.

The gods may throw the dice

Their minds as cold as ice

And someone way down here

Loses someone dear

The winner takes it all (Takes it all)

The loser has to fall (Has to fall)

It's simple and it's plain (It seems plain)

Why should I complain? (Why complain)

- Again Angel thinks he’s funny cause “dice.” Angel’s life on earth was shit and he was given a crap hand.

- “loses someone dear” would be Angel referring to Molly.

- Finally he believes he deserves all of the shit he deals with because he “did it to himself” lol no you didn’t.

But tell me, does she kiss

Like I used to kiss you?

Does it feel the same

When she calls your name?

Somewhere deep inside

You must know I miss you

But what can I say?

Rules must be obeyed

- In this head canon I have Husk makes Angel aware of his past relationships and Angel kind of throws it in his face to make Husk see how he’s not good for him.

- Angel makes his feelings for Husk known but goes back to his earlier point of how their contracts would never allow them to be together.

The judges will decide (They decide)

The likes of me abide (We abide)

Spectators of the show (Of the show)

…

A lover or a friend (Or a friend)

- The judges being Alastor and Valentino.

- Spectators being Charlie, Vaggie, Nifty and so on.

- And Angel wanting Husk in a capacity even if they cannot be together romantically he needs Husk in his life.

I don’t wanna talk

If it makes you feel sad

And I understand

…

I apologise

If it makes you feel bad

Seeing me so tense

No self-confidence

- Angel thinks Husk does not reciprocate his feelings so Angel wants to give him an out.

- Husky has previously mentioned how Angel’s self confidence is hot.

Can you tell I have thought about this way too much? This could end however you decide, but this song hits hard for these too and also in Mama Mia, so I highly recommend it.





[bettsfic]

Hi Betts,

I recently listened to an interview with an author that said “when they decided to get really serious about writing and their dreams they made a ten year plan.” So me being the planner that I am, said maybe I should do it too, especially since this writer is pretty successful. Have I made a decent enough plan? No, because being real about your dreams and committing is scary af.

But I have developed this thinking that each story I have to work on has to be “publishable” and if I can’t immediately envision its success I need to push it away. For some people this is fine. For me, I’m pushing aside every idea and am constantly writing for an invisible audience. Which has its pros and cons.

I want to become efficient so that I can be a good author. One who meets deadlines and puts out work they are proud of. But I’m wondering if it’s even possible to try to work to be an author and still create work that is fun and true to you? If a decision isn’t meaningful I won’t include it in my outline. It feels like the only time writing can be fun is when I was young and had no clue about market and rules and just assumed my dreams would come true.

you know, what i keep finding over and over again is that i was right about a great many things before i had any idea what i was doing. i just didn't know why i was right, i had no context or evidence for my rightness. granted, i was arrogant, but arrogance isn't wrong; it's just uninformed. when you inform arrogance, it becomes confidence. you become informed by getting a lot of feedback on your work and giving feedback on work; having your work accepted once or twice and accepting someone else's work; having your work rejected hundreds of times and being the one to reject. maybe you've done all those things already, in which case you're firmly on your path and there's not much you have to do besides keep going.

i definitely relate to what you're saying, though. i would be lying if i said i wasn't just days ago in a phase of berating myself for my failures and wishing i could work harder and more efficiently. i've cultivated some confidence about my work, but there are some ways in which i'm too arrogant and others in which i'm too humble. i have a long way to go still in informing myself about my work and the process of making it.

you'll be in positions where you have to make creative concessions for the sake of publishing, but don't make them before you get anything on the page. listen to your own ideals and make those ideals happen in your work. a year ago, i finished a novel that was my favorite thing i'd ever made, and i was so proud of it, but i knew it wasn't publishable in the state it was in. even though i'd worked a year on it, it was still an early draft and bore the marks of an early draft, but i couldn't see that because i'd never taken any project further than that one. i'd never felt closer to a project or more intensely toward it. and when i was done, i went through six months grieving it, in a sense, because i knew i'd have to rewrite it. i had to kill the thing that it was in order for it to become what it needed to be. i came to accept that, and the next six months sat on the frustration of not knowing what direction to take it, but having the wisdom to know i couldn't rush it or force it.

and then the fix came to me all at once. the fix involves getting rid of many things that were once dear to me. not even darlings, but entire themes i felt were meaningful, that were the very things i want to share and explore in my work. i don't feel so bad about giving those things up now. what i take out will be put into something else eventually, and what i keep will stand out more starkly. the new parts i write will fit better and serve the story itself, even if it's no longer the story i originally intended to tell.

when you're drafting, your work is in a private conversation with yourself; it's about you even if it isn't. but it can't stay about you. eventually it has to stand on its own. and you might think, well why can't i just write something that stands on its own to begin with? but if you do that, writing is just work, it's business, and it may be more efficient but it's also less meaningful. there's no such thing as efficient creativity. it takes as long as it takes, and if you force yourself on a ten year timeline you might as well focus that energy on something more lucrative and within your control. there's so much about writing that's just chance and discovery and failure and faith.

so i think you should go back to assuming your dreams will come true and not thinking too much about anything except the work itself until you get to the point where you have to. and it will hurt. it may hurt more than anything hurt you've ever put yourself through. but trust you'll get to where you're going, even if it takes longer than you intended.