#dream: [mulling] acceptable

[elegyofthemoon]

i might be dumb as rocks lmao

[astraystayyh]

In my dreams

Seungmin x reader. (fake) enemies to lovers. my interpretation of in my dreams by tearliner, love X stereo.

Seungmin has never liked you. You never understood why, but you were slowly coming to terms with it. However, you gradually come to learn that there is more to his feelings than what meets the eye.

skz song series

cw: reader has anxiety and deals with lots of self-doubt and insecurities.

a.n: the end of our skz song series!! and a pretty personal final fic, this one is based on my own experience with anxiety, so it might differ for everyone :) thank you for reading as always <3

You watch, a soft smile on your face as two little girls play with one another in the playground. It reminds you of simpler times, when you could just walk up to another human and become friends with them instantly.

But reality is much more challenging, especially for someone like you, constantly plagued by their anxious thoughts.

Anxiety didn't tiptoe into your life, one drop at a time so you'd get accustomed to its overwhelming presence. Instead, you woke up one day and it barged into you, through cracks and dents you didn't even know existed in your being, and then it made itself a permanent home within the confines of your heart.

You never truly learned how to live with this parasite feeding off your soul, draining you completely until you became a mere shell of who you once were. You never fully adjusted to the invisible hands choking you from within, to the voice nagging you in the back of your mind, telling you that something horrible was bound to happen.

Because nothing ever went wrong, day after day, nothing bad happened. And yet, the feeling of dread persisted and lingered until you started to believe that the problem was you.

And once you opened the door to self-doubt, you could never fully close it again.

You're too overwhelmed, too nervous, too much of everything bad. Your conversations are scrutinized, down to every syllable you uttered, to the way you smiled and how you laughed. The interactions might differ but the regret that haunts you after is the same.

So, you diluted your being, in an effort to be more acceptable, easier in the lives of the people around you. You believed that if you pleased everyone you ever encoutered then at the end you must satisfy yourself too.

You sigh softly, drumming your fingers along your knee. You’re starting a new year in college tomorrow. Your first one wasn't exceptional by any means. Aileen, the girl who sat beside you from time to time was nice, and you grabbed coffee sometimes as you prepared for your exams together. But she had other friends, ones she's much closer to, ones she invited to her birthday party, ones who she didn't simply fill her free time with.

You shake your head, putting a stop to the thoughts in your head before they get too much once again, pushing you over an edge you don't want to be in right now. 

You'll try harder this year. You'll be okay, for once.

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

Your professor Lee is scribbling something on the large whiteboard, as he waits for the class to fill up. Someone sits next to you, and the smell of their cologne wafts to your nose- hints of vanilla and wood seemingly calming down your nerves. You quickly take a glance at them, to find a guy with long brown hair and freckles dusting his cheeks. He's taking out his notepad from his bag, and you smile at the chick keychain he has on it. He catches you looking and you quickly avert your gaze, heat creeping up your cheeks. 

"Hi, I'm Felix," he greets enthusiastically, and you turn your head slowly to be met with his wide grin. It softens his features, making his eyes turn into moon crescents. You envy his ability to smile without overthinking how he looks. 

"Yn," you introduce back, and he nods, the grin still etched on his face. "You were in my Economics class last year, no?" he asks and you tilt your head to the side, as you mull over his question.

"I was but I don't remember seeing you," you admit sheepishly and he waves a hand in the air, not bothered the least by your words. 

"It's okay, I just remembered your presentation on Inflation. I finally understood why we can't just print more money," he admits with a chuckle, and you giggle against your will. 

"I don't blame you, it sounds like an easy solution," you agree, and his eyes widen. 

"Right! when I tell my friends they just stare at me in disappointment."

You laugh at his adorable pout, an unfamiliar warmth stirring within your chest. He's nice. 

"I'm glad I helped you then, I was so nervous presenting it," you clear your throat as he smiles impressively at you. "Really? I couldn’t tell at all." 

Mr. Lee calls for your attention and you both turn your heads back to the board. You couldn’t really focus, Felix’s words echoing in your head like a broken mantra- he couldn’t tell you were nervous. A sudden relief dawns on you at the possibility that, maybe, not everyone is aware of the neverending storm raging within you, threatening to drown you at any giving moment.

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

"Movie night at my dorm?" Felix proposes as he packs up his bag, your two hours long class finally done.

"Will Seungmin be there?" you ask, a slight edge to your voice and Felix pauses, shaking his head at you.

"Yn, you're overreacting. I promise he doesn't hate you."

"Have you ever seen him smiling at me?" you ask, arching your eyebrow expectantly at him. He stays silent and you wiggle your finger in the air. "Exactly! Please tell me he won't be there."

"About that... He's helping me bake the cookies," Felix smiles sheepishly and you groan, falling dramatically on your seat.

"I’m not coming."

"But the cookies," Felix pouts, and the promise of the chewy baked goods is so enticing it makes you second-guess your decision.

"The cookies...," you whine, and Felix giggles grabbing your hand to pull you up.

"I’ll see you at 5?"

"Yes," you concede, a small smile on your lips. You wait until Felix bids you goodbye for it to finally slip from your face.

Seungmin has never liked you, from the moment Felix introduced you to him. You still remember it clear as day, the way his eyes slightly widened when they fell on you, before narrowing down. How he didn't utter a single word when Felix left you both alone to get your drinks. Your panic grew as an uncomfortable silence reigned on the both of you, and you racked your brain for something to say to cut through that eerie quiet.  

"Seungmin, right?" you asked, a bit too cheerfully, and you winced inwardly at your tone. He didn't reply, only humming back. It was so faint you wouldn't have caught it had you not been staring at him intently.

"What's your major?" Your voice cracked.

"Computer science." He replied curtly, and you waited patiently, expecting him to return the question. He didn't. And you shifted awkwardly from one foot to another. Maybe he just didn't do well with strangers. Maybe he wasn't a chatty person, to complement Felix's extroverted nature.

But you were wrong. You watched in complete astonishment as he teased Felix relentlessly, a wide smile on his face. It made his eyes soften, a newfound fondness itching itself on his expressions. He laughed and he joked and you felt yourself shrink more and more, this way he wouldn't notice you anymore, wouldn't glare at you as if you did something horribly wrong to him.

Felix tried to include you as best as he could in their conversation, but you tuned it out. It was hard to focus on their talk when there was a tumultuous one ongoing in your mind. Seungmin's behavior just further cemented every horrible idea you held about yourself. There is something wrong about you, and he can see it. You may have fooled Felix but you didn't fool Seungmin. If you were him you wouldn't talk to you either.

Every encounter with Seungmin since then left you feeling fifteen years old again, in a classroom full of unkind eyes zeroed on you. You tried to talk about his interests, to string along a normal conversation, one that would reassure that your first encounter was a wrongful impression.

But he did not like talking to you, only offering short replies in response. It’s as if his tongue was tied in your response, and in return it only magnified the knot in your stomach. You went through every conversation with him a million times in your head, trying to pinpoint what exactly went wrong. What warranted him to be so silent in your presence, and yours only, as if you weren’t worthy of a simple conversation. And the answer always tied back to you.

So, you’ve been avoiding him like the plague for the past month, sparing him the chore that is existing near you. It was particularly hard since Felix was his best friend and roommate, and surprisingly he actually enjoyed spending time with you. Still, you couldn’t help but think that it was only a matter of time before Felix started to hate you too.  

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

"You're moving too much," Seungmin chastises and you freeze in your place at his words. You are sitting on the couch of Felix’s dorm later on that day, a horror movie playing in the small TV before you. Felix decided to lay on the floor, buried in a pool of yellow blankets, and a long pillow that weirdly had the picture of one of their friends printed on it. "It's my safety net," he explained and you didn't question him any further.

For some reason, Seungmin decided to sit next to you, instead of the opposing couch. Granted, he can see the TV more clearly from here, still this is the first time he willingly went somewhere near you, let alone talked to you.

You decide to ignore him, too focused on predicting the next jump scare, your feet tapping the floor furiously. But still, it happens so abruptly, eliciting a startled gasp from you, anf you clutch the edge of the couch even tighter.  

"Close your eyes," Seungmin speaks suddenly and you raise an eyebrow at him, confused. 

"There is a jump scare coming soon," he clears his throat, "just... close your eyes if you don't want to see it." 

You comply without much thought and soon enough, you can hear a shrill scream coming from the screen. He was right. 

"It passed," he says softly, and you tentatively open your eyes once again. There is a foreign expression on Seungmin's face, one you haven't seen before, but it passes as quickly as it came, like a dream slipping between your fingers as soon as you wake up. 

"How did you know?" you ask, hugging your knees tightly to your chest. 

"I already watched this movie."

"Really? Why are you watching it again?"

"Because. I had nothing better to do," he says, almost defensively, his hand now covering his mouth as if he had to physically stop the words from spilling out. 

You don't reply, turning back to look at the screen. Seungmin doesn't tell you when a jump scare is coming next, he simply taps your arm, and you close your eyes on cue. 

His hand brushing against your bare skin feels weird, not uncomfortable by any means, but it still is a foreign sensation. You didn't know he had such soft hands, and you always imagined them to be cold. But they are warm, and you wonder what other things about Seungmin you've been wrong about.

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

"I'm so tired," Felix groans, laying his head on your shoulder and you giggle, patting his head in mock sympathy. It's been three months since the start of your year, which means that the assignments are starting to pile up on you all.

"Me too," you sigh, and Seungmin stays silent next to you. Felix dragged you both to this coffeeshop, a little outing to recharge his spirit, as he texted you. You're slowly getting used to Seungmin's brooding presence. He talks to you a little more, even cracking a few jokes here and there. But you’re still wary of him. You keep your guard up just in case he forcefully brings a mirror to your face once again, reminding you of everything you despise about yourself.

"I'll go order, it's my treat. Pick a place for us?" Felix says and you nod, walking ahead of Seungmin towards a table near the back.

You sit down first, and Seungmin follows second, sitting right across from you. You quickly bring out your phone, scrolling mindlessly through the apps to distract yourself from the man in front of you.

"You have a presentation tomorrow, right?" Seungmin speaks up, startling you, and you slowly put your phone down.

"Yes, how did you know?"

"Felix told me that it makes up 25% of your grade. Are you nervous?"

"A little," you admit, even though ‘a little’ didn't even begin to cover it.

"Don't be. You'll do well," he says, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You almost feel as if you've imagined it before it dissipates.

"Thank you," you nod, as Felix brings the tray down your table.

"Is this for me?" you ask tentatively, pointing to the strawberry milkshake, a sore thumb sticking out between the iced americano, and the hazelnut Frappuccino, Seungmin’s and Felix’s respective go to orders.

"They got the order wrong. I got you an iced matcha," Felix pouts, double checking his receipt.

"It's okay," you smile slightly. There was nothing you despised more than having to change up your order.

"You don't want to drink this," Seungmin says, staring at you expectantly and you wave your hand in the air dismissively. "I don't mind."

Seungmin stands up, grabbing the drink from your hand before taking the receipt from the table. He goes to the counter and you watch in astonishment as he comes back, a green drink in hand this time.

"Here," he hands you your cup, before grabbing his own and sipping from it. Your drink is cold, but the warm tingles spreading through your being at his sweet gesture outweigh any other feeling.

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

Talking in front of 267 people never gets easier.

You memorized your presentation; you rehearsed it so much you could probably recite it with your eyes closed. Yet, the nerves still found a way to weave themselves inside you. Your hands were shaking, so much you couldn't even stare at the notes you prepared. Your palms were sweaty, blood rushing rapidly to your ears, tuning out your voice as you spoke.

You can’t even recall what you said exactly, it’s as if your body had a mind of its own, your mouth moving itself without you commanding it. You aren’t sure how it was, but someone smiled at you reassuringly from the first row, and the professor clapped, so you assume you did okay.

The class finally ends, your nerves slowly dissipating and leaving in their trail an excruciating exhaustion. You rub your eyes tiredly, as you slowly walk out of the door, before stopping in your tracks when you notice Seungmin leaning against the wall, hands buried in his varsity jacket.

His eyes are closed, a pair of earphones dangling across his chest. But then, as if he feels you looking at him, he opens his eyes, locking his gaze on you. You stay put in your place as he walks to you, his bag loosely hanging from his shoulder. He hooks his thumb underneath the strap, keeping it in place

"How was it?" he questions, and it takes you a few seconds to register what he was asking about. Your presentation. Was he waiting for you?

"I think I did well?" you reply, but it comes out more of a question to which he giggles softly.

"Are you asking me?" he teases and you roll your eyes playfully. "I did well," you repeat and he smiles, nodding a bit. "I’m sure you did. Here." He opens his bag, taking out your favorite chocolate bar from it- it had bits of caramelized pistachio and almonds in it. Seungmin doesn’t like it, he prefers plain milk chocolate, as Felix told you one day.

"Eat this, I ended up buying two by mistake, I still have an extra one at the dorm." You grab it from his hands, and he quickly leaves before you could properly thank him.

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

You always dread the days you'd wake up with a heavy weight crushing your chest.

You try to distract yourself, try to focus in class and take notes. You try to laugh at Felix's jokes and savor the brownies he just brought you. But you can't. It feels as if you're a cup filled to the brim, each passing second bringing you closer to when that fateful drop would finally make you overflow. And you could do nothing but watch yourself unravel.

Seungmin's eyes never leave you, and it only makes your anxiety spike. It feels as if he's peering inside your soul, witnessing how a cord ties itself around your throat, making it impossible for you to breathe. You can't speak anymore, every word you say threatening to make tears spill out of your eyes. You aren't sure you can make them stop if they ever start falling.

Nothing happened, nothing's happening, you try to remind yourself. But you are scratching your hand incessantly, and you feel an overwhelming need to flee. To run away, somewhere where only you would witness the display of your broken soul. So you sputter a meek excuse, and then you stand up and head to your dorm.

It's raining outside, and you don't have an umbrella. But you are grateful for it, since the rain mingles with your salty tears, shielding them from the curious eyes of the people passing by. You need to get home, you need to hide somewhere and you need to remember how to breathe-

"Yn," a hand grabs your forearm and you startle, instinctively taking two hurried steps back. It's Seungmin. He removed his blue hoodie and he's now placing it over both of your heads.

"What are you doing? You'll get sick," he sounds mad, and you can't take his disappointed tone anymore.

"I'm having a bad day and I don't need you to make it worse," you say, startling yourself with the raw emotion in your voice.

He physically recoils from your words, his arms faltering as he gazes at you, a wounded look in his eyes. "I make your days worse?" he asks quietly and his voice sounds so small, you can't help the regret that courses through you.

"Come on, Seungmin," you chuckle warily, "don't you hate me?"

"No?"

"Hate is a strong word, okay. You dislike me."

"I don't. Why would you think that?"

"Because you never wanted to talk to me, from the moment we met. And it wouldn't matter if you were this way with everyone, but it's only me. And you make me feel so small each time I'm around you," you ramble angrily, as Seungmin's eyes widen with each passing second.

"Yn, yn, I don't- I didn't know you felt this way, but I don't hate you. I truly don't, I promise you," he's panicking, voice growing higher with each word, and you feel a sudden embarrassment flood your being for lashing out at him.

You don't know what to say and he sighs, looking up at the cloudy sky before meeting your eyes once again.

"This is embarrassing, God, um..." he places his hoodie on top of your head before running a hand through his face. "I don't talk to you because you make me nervous." 

"I do?"

"Yes. A lot," he chuckles, a pink hue tinting his cheeks. "I just... I find you very interesting, and funny, and I like watching you, not in a creepy way, my God what am I saying," he whines, hiding his face in his hands and you can't help the giggle that escapes your mouth.

"Don't laugh," he pouts and you nod, willing the smile to disappear from your face. 

"I like watching you exist. Just laugh and smile and talk. You look very pretty doing it. I just don't know how to deal with it. That's on me."

This time the smile is effectively gone from your face. The weight of his confession distracting you from the turmoil of emotions that swirled within you.

"I'm sorry, for making you feel that way. I never meant to. For what it's worth, you make me feel like a small kid again, as if I'm having a crush for the first time." 

A fresh wave of tears brims in your waterline, and Seungmin's eyes soften at the sight.

"Please don't cry," he says, gently wiping the rain droplets from your cheeks. "I don't hate you, I think I like you too much and that's the problem." 

I'm sorry I misjudged you, until you wiped my tears off away

"Okay," you say quietly, your mind not yet registering what he said, too busy focusing on his hands on your face. You can't believe you've ever felt invisible because of Seungmin, when he's looking at you like you're the most precious being in the world. 

"You had a bad day?" he asks, his knuckles brushing against your cheek tenderly, and you nod, silently. 

"Would you like a hug?" he asks, and you nod again. A hug sounded nice. 

He steps forward, wrapping his arms around you. His t-shirt is cold, clinging to his now wet skin. But a surprising warmth emanates from his chest, shielding you from the pouring rain- it travels from his body to yours, as if it's a familiar path, one it underwent a million times before. His hand finds your back, and he pats it gently, following a soothing rhythm, one you try to sync your breathing to. "You did well," he whispers, "you always do well," and his words feel like a patch of shade on a scorching day.

You exhale softly, tightening your arms around his waist. You think you can stay here, for a while. You could rest in Seungmin, now and tomorrow, and maybe for the following months. If he still likes you this much. 

Bonus 

"I'm ready," Seungmin says, his soft hair tickling your bare skin. He's laying on top of your stomach, black tie undone, a piece of crumpled paper in his hands. You can tell he's nervous, with the way he looks up at the ceiling, avoiding your gaze. You lean down, pressing a sweet kiss to the top of his head. He closes his eyes, his hold on the yellowed paper slightly faltering.

"I'm all ears," you whisper, and he smiles softly at you, before looking at his written vows- the ones you decided to read to each other after your wedding ceremony, just the two of you, in your personal bubble. It feels much more intimate this way, they are words meant for you only to hear, after all.

"My love," he starts, and he can already feel the tears welling up in his eyes. He blinks repeatedly, in a desperate attempt to keep them at bay. "If I'm reading this it means I finally married you, which is probably the best thing I've ever done in my life." You giggle and he can't help but smile at the sound of your laugh.

"I am writing these vows one year into our relationship, I haven't proposed yet, but I just know you're the one I want to marry. And I suppose I don't want to forget everything I want to say to you, when that day comes." His words make your breath hitch in your throat as realization dawns on you- he wrote this three years ago, and he kept it safe, till this day.

"I still remember when I saw you for the first time. I couldn't talk because you looked so pretty, and you were smiling at Felix and I felt an overwhelming need to be the one you were smiling at. I think you cast a spell on me because I couldn't even ask you about your major back, I couldn't believe how awestruck I was. But you already know this, don't you?" He looks up at you, pressing a quick kiss to your stomach and you smile widely. You still remember when Seungmin recounted the first time you met, from his perspective. Rosy cheeks and fumbling words as he explained how much he felt for you in that instant, and how little he could express it.

"But there are still things I haven't told you," he clears his throat. "Like how Felix told me what horror movie he was planning to watch with you, and I looked it up the night before, to memorize all the jump scares just in case you were afraid. And you were, and I'm glad I did. I don't even like horror movies, but it was worth watching it three times in a row, just for you."

"Also, how I had to run out of my class to yours, so I'd catch you after the end of your presentation. I bought that chocolate only for you. I kept a stack of fifteen bars hidden in my desk, just in case you were feeling down, and you ended up needing it. I kept asking Felix about everything you liked, and disliked, and he was probably sick of me at that time," he chuckles, as memories of begging his roommate for any bit of information about you flooded his mind.

"I don't know how far into the future it'll be when I'll finally read this to you. I don't know how I'll be, or where I'll be, but as long as you're with me then I must be okay. I used to overthink everything, plan every part of my life so it'd run smoothly. That is until you came into my life, so suddenly, and you flipped it upside down. I didn't care to plan my life anymore, all that mattered is that it revolved around you," he pauses, sucking in a deep breath.

"I knew I wanted to marry you when you took me stargazing. You talked about the stars and galaxies so excitedly. And then you brought up Saturn; how it was unique among the planets, adorned with thousands of ringlets. And I remember thinking that you're my saturn, you're the dazzling planet that everyone admires and I'm the ring spinning around you, the one you're keeping afloat. And as long as you're here, I have a purpose and I'm okay. So please..." his voice wavers, as silent tears slip out of his eyes.

"Don't leave me. I know we're married now, but still, don't leave me. I love you. I feel like I've loved you in different lifetimes, in different earths and timelines. Everything can come crashing down around us, but one thing that'll forever remain the same is my love for you. I was made to love you, after all. My eyes were made to look at you, and my hands to graze your cheeks. And my heart... My heart was made to beat for you. And I love you. I feel like I don't say it enough but I truly love you. As long as I'm breathing then I'm yours."

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Reign down on me - Part 7

Pairing: Ghost x Hybrid!reader (eventual poly!141)

No use of y/n or mention of gender/race

Summary: Reader is a wolf hybrid in a world that treats them like second class citizens, given a horrible start in life after being thrown into the military with no preparation. After years of struggle, they're finally taken away from their base by Ghost, now a permanent member of taskforce 141 reader struggles to come to terms with the fact that perhaps there's a life there for them - if only they reach out and accept it.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, Angst, abuse mentions, self doubt, violent scenes

Masterlist here

-🐺-

When you opened your eyes the world was drowned in darkness and you were in an unfamiliar room, sapping warmth from an oversized lump in the sheets. At first you froze like a statue, flicking your eyes around to see if you could make anything out. It was clear enough that you weren’t in your own bed, but even your advanced eyes couldn’t make a single thing out for the lack of any light. 

The lump groaned and shifted, sprawling out like a tiger skin rug before retracting again. A heavy weight draped itself round your mid section, an arm you realised, that caused you to curse and pant for inside it’s unyielding hold. Ghost. Who else had arms the size of iron girders? 

It should’ve been obvious to you, but your mind had been too foggy in the aftermath of your unexpected sleep. Had you taken a second to scent the air, you would’ve been greeted with his relaxing scent, but instead you’d fumbled around like a bear coming out of hibernation. At that realisation you scrunched your eyes closed and then opened them again, still feebly trying to see through the oppressive black of the room. It had to be Ghost’s room that you were in, the place was practically painted with his citrusy scent, with undertones of sage ever present and invading.

“Y’alright, Pup?” a groggy voice called out. 

It sounded as if a pile of rocks had shifted from right next to you. Your ears twitched back at the sound and all at once you relaxed in his loosened grip, turning around to face him. Your noses were inches from touching. Not that you could see his, but you could feel the steady streams of his breaths trickling out from his sleepwear body.

“Um…yeah” you whispered, unsure of how to answer. “Why’d you take me to your bed?” 

He yawned and uncurled his arm from your body, instead using his hand to trace little patterns up your arms. 

“You seemed upset when I left you in yours. Only calmed down and stopped whinin’ when I let you curl up here,” he explained, sounding as if he was moments from drifting off again. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said hastily. 

You couldn’t believe it! Why would you have whined at being left to sleep alone? Why would you stop when you got to sleep in Ghost’s bed? The revelations had you frowning and feeling markedly warmer than you already were. Your mind whirred at the idea that Ghost had witnessed you mewling like a little puppy at having to sleep in your own bed. 

“I know. I didn’t want you having bad dreams after what happened yesterday, so I thought it was for the best,” he said simply, as if what he’d done was completely normal. 

“I can handle those,” you said weakly. 

“You don’t have to.”

You gulped down a thick lump in your throat and let the silence settle over you both. Though the room wasn’t completely quiet of course. Ghost’s steady breathing and the sound of your own pounding heart rattled around in your ears. Though your chest calmed its frenzy when Ghost drew you close again, urging you to burrow your head under his chin and into the soft cotton of his worn shirt. 

The two of you stayed silent for a time after though neither of you fell asleep. Instead the time was spent mulling through your sluggish thoughts, wondering distantly if you should be trying to leave. 

“I think you should reconsider your nesting situation,” Ghost said suddenly, breaking the silence. 

“What?”

“You have a lot of bad dreams most nights. You were peaceful last night though,” he explained softly.

“Do they wake you up?” you asked, brows knitting together in worry. 

You’d woken plenty of times before in your old barracks from others' bad dreams and in turn woken the others with your own. It wasn’t lost on you how annoying it was to try to get to sleep after being jolted awake and kicked into an adrenaline rush, lying there in the grey light of almost dawn with a pounding heart and the knowledge that you’d have to get to work again soon. 

“Nah, told you before - I’m not a good sleeper. If I knew there was something that helped though I’d make sure I got to sleep properly every night.”

You huffed out an embarrassed laugh and shook your head, feeling his stubbly chin scratch the top of your head. It was only then that it occurred to you that he was maskless again. You wondered if that meant he was getting more comfortable around you, just as you were him.

“It was probably just a fluke,” you murmured, trying to hide your interest. “I’m not gonna hoard your clothes like some feral squirrel, Ghost.” 

He laughed at that, the bassy tones reverberating through his wide chest and against your warming skin. 

“It’s not hoarding and it doesn’t have to be my clothes. I can give you my duvet or I could get you a new blanket and sleep with it for a bit if you like, if that would make it feel more natural.”

“It’s not natural, its weird,” you huffed. 

“You’re a hybrid, S’not weird,” he affirmed, stroking circled down your back. “It’s normal for you to need comforting scents and materials. My old partner used to keep a nest, we had an arrangement and it was fine.”

At that your ears flicked in curiosity. He’d never mentioned this ‘old partner’ before. All at once your mind flooded with questions and as it worked hard to process them all, you could barely hold onto one tightly enough to ask it. 

“You had a hybrid before me?” you eventually said, voice small and unsteady. 

Ghost paused. It was if he’d only just realised what he’d just said. 

“Another wolf,” he confirmed, throat swelling and tense. “We were paired up after I passed my handler qualification. It was a long time ago - feels like a lifetime really. Spent four years together, he used to cuddle up with me just like this in my stupid little barracks bunk when he had rough nights.”

The elephant in the room stared down at you from on high. There was no avoiding it’s almost tangible bulk. So you asked the question that wanted to leap off the tip of your tongue. 

“What happened to him?”

Ghost was ready for that, answering quickly. Though it didn’t sound like it hurt him any less to say it when it was spoken through gritted teeth.  

“Killed in action.”

“Oh…I’m- I’m sorry.”

Was that the right thing to say? When other hybrids you’d worked with had died, there usually weren’t many mourners if any, though that was because you were under the care of Branhaven. You’d only met a few hybrids before that were in the care of handlers and it had been obvious that you’d always been intrinsically different from them, that they had far more value to their teams than you ever did as an unclaimed hybrid.

“Roach was a good lad,” Ghost said eventually. “He taught me alot in our time together, made me sharper with all his…’quirks’. Used to steal anything of mine that he could get his grubby little mitts on and drag it off to his bed, so to be honest it was a bit of a shock when I realised you weren’t going to be the same.”

Ghost laughed a little despite the sadness that tinged his careful words. 

“With a name like Roach, I can only imagine what other quirks he had,” you smiled. 

“Oh that one loved to get himself into trouble. I still remember the first time we went out with Price - very long time ago. Roach thought it’d be funny to steal his hat, this is before he started wearing the boonie mind you, at that point it was this old beanie that absolutely reeked of cigars. Found that out because while Price was ranting about having cold ears, I was asleep on top of it, before I got woken up by his bitching anyway. I took it out from under me when I woke up, confused as fuck as to why it was there, and then Price saw it and was going on and on about how childish it was to take it, and then I started arguing back and saying I wouldn’t do something so bloody stupid. All the while Roach was giggling to himself in the corner, the little shit.”

“He wasn’t scared of what Price would do?” You asked incredulously, trying to put yourself in the shoes of a hybrid that didn’t know the intimidating Captain half as well as you did. 

“Roach wasn’t scared of a damn thing, beyond whatever shit he used to dream about anyway. It’s the reason he got called Roach in the first place, his real name was Gary. He used to run headfirst into danger and come out fine almost every time, that’s what they told me when they handed him off to me- ‘that wolf’s like a bug you can’t squash’...Course his luck ran out eventually. We got captured by an enemy group in Mexico and the bastards didn’t see the worth in keeping a hybrid around. Said they only needed me.”

“That’s awful.”

Another silence ensued. It made sense that Ghost had had a hybrid before you, he’d had a long career and he was so knowledgeable when it came to training with you that it made sense that he’d had plenty of first hand experience. Though it made your heart ache to think that he mourned for someone that was ripped away from him so long ago. The way he told those stories, you could hear the emotion etched in every word.

“Didn’t think I’d take on another hybrid on after him,” Ghost sighed, making you tilt your head in question, “but Price told me about you and kept badgering on about me being the only one in the team that was qualified to take you, kept saying that you didn’t deserve to rot away back at your home base and that you deserved a place here. I figured I owed it to him to at least go and check you out and well, I knew you had to be mine the minute I saw ya.”

“You saw a soggy mutt that was getting punished in an outdoor kennel and instantly had that epiphany?” You snorted. 

“A soggy mutt that didn’t deserve to be there,” he corrected. “There was no way for me to have saved Roach while I was tied up and concussed to all hell, I made peace with that a long time ago. I knew that I was able to save you though; doing anything other than untying you and walking out of that base with the angry ball of fur in my arms felt like sacrilege.”

“Angry ball of fur,” you repeated with a tut, rolling your eyes so far back they crept into your inflection.

“You tried to bite me at least twice and you called me Mr.Bonejangles in the car. Angry ball of fur was about right, you little sod! Sitting there all wrapped up in your towel with your grumpy face and hair poking out every which way,” Ghost laughed. “I’m just lucky you calmed down after a good rest. Thought I was gonna have to take to permanently being in handling gloves after that first night.”

“I didn’t try to bite you that much.”

“You did. You were like a hungry crocodile. You had my life flashing before my eyes that day, was praying I’d get to keep all my fingers and toes.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic!” 

Ghost’s laugh echoed around the room, hitting off of unseen walls somewhere inside the shadows. As much as you hated to think about a time before you knew Ghost, and actively tried to fight him, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you began to see that day through his eyes. You could only imagine what it must’ve been like to have met you then, knowing about your sketchy disciplinary file and admittedly bad track record for biting and scratching, Ghost couldn’t have had any clue what he was in for. In that moment you couldn’t have felt luckier, pressed into Ghost’s chest and getting to relax against him in his nice warm bed, when you could’ve been left to rot in those kennels.

Moments later, just as you were both settling back into the furrow of the mattress and had adjusted sheets to your liking, a high pitched alarm tone blared out and sent you both groaning. Ghost’s phone lit up from his side, finally shedding a little light into the room. From there you could see his bed was pressed up into the wall, as usual you’d assumed you’d made sure to be closest to the exit - even in your drowsy state. You still couldn’t make out much of the structure of the place. 

“Suppose we better get up then,” Ghost groaned. “C’mon then.”

“I can’t see a thing in here, you’re gonna have to turn a light on or something,” you yawned, stretching out and readying yourself to start the day.  

It was then that he saw fit to snatch the corner of his black out curtains and yank them back, sending you flying under the covers just to save your eyes. The duvet provided you shelter from the cold blue light and from under their safety you actively felt your pupils slowly unshrink from the tiny pinpoints they’d been forced to become. 

“Why would you do that?” You groaned. 

“Reckoned you needed a bit of a wake up,” Ghost shrugged, lifting the cover up so he could meet your eyes. 

As annoyed as you were you were distracted from your grumpiness momentarily by his face. His smug smile was in full view, lips slanting to one side and pulling his scars taught. In the full light of the morning he looked like a weathered statue, bright highlights and harsh shadow carving out his sharp jaw like chiselled stone. You tilted your head at him and in turn he tilted his back in the opposite direction. 

“See somethin’ on my face?” He joked, teeth flashing into view. 

You shook your head and pursed your lips. A little heat rose to your cheeks. 

“Just planning out the perfect place to bite you,” you lied.

“That so?” He asked, a sandy blonde eyebrow raising. “Sounds like I’m just gonna have to get you first then.”

At that he pinched your side and sent you yipping and scrabbling off the bed. Though that wasn’t enough to escape him. He gave chase, leaping off of the mattress, the bed groaning at the change in weight and thumped on the floor. The air blew through the fur in your ears, you ran that fast. Unthinkingly running to your own room before considering anywhere else. 

With that you dove under your bed, dragging your sheets down to cover the space and yanking Simon in just as he’d fallen off the top. Ghost yanked your door open straight after, his bare feet slapping into the wood and taking careful steps forward. He sighed loudly when he reached the edge of your bed and stopped, feet stopping at your chest. 

“I’d like to think you’ve been trained to evade enemies better than this, Pup,” he drawled. 

You rolled your eyes, full well knowing you wouldn’t go running and hiding like that against someone you had full authority to kill. 

Rather than let him crouch down and drag you out, you threw Simon up at him as a distraction and skittered out around him. In a matter of seconds you managed to gather yourself into a crouch and sprang up at his back, wrapping your arms round his shoulders and legs round his middle. From there you gently grazed your teeth against his neck in a fake bite and growled, announcing your victory to the otherwise empty room. 

“Soap’s right, you’re a menace,” he laughed, untangling you from around him and bending backwards so he could set you gently back down on the floor. 

“You brought work into it,” you huffed, folding your arms indignantly.

“Yeah yeah, cheap shot throwing your teammate at the hostile. Poor little fella getting sacrificed like that,” he said, holding out the puppy stuffed toy with a fake grimace. 

“Simon woulda shaken it off, I had every faith in him,” you shrugged, setting him down on the bed carefully so that he rested against the pillows. 

“Simon?” Ghost repeated, choking out a strangled sound that sounded somewhere between a laugh and a guffaw. “You named it Simon?”

“Yeah, after the hybrid from my books,” you said, nodding toward the graphic novels that were stacked by your bedside. “Why's that so funny?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, watching as a few different emotions crossed Ghost’s eyes. He chewed on his lip a second, eyes going wide and zeroing in on your sleeping buddy until he shook himself out of it. 

“Nothing,” he smiled, clearing the awkward edge in his throat. “Good name that. Strong choice. Little Simon.”

“I think it suits him.”

“Yeah…Anyway, we need to get ready and get in for work. I’ve got a bit of a stacked day today, so we need to get you sorted. Gaz and Soap offered to take you through your exercises this afternoon and Price is gonna let you sit in his office till I can come get you in the evenin’. Pack your books so you’ve got something to occupy yourself with tonight, Cap’s not very chatty right now. Oh and remember, if you want anything for your bed just let me know, ok?” 

-🐺- 

Stacked day indeed. Ghost made you run laps through the assault course he’d had set up for you and just before he left, he’d made you practise some bite work with him. The irony wasn’t lost on you after your conversation that morning. He’d donned his leather gloves and neck protector and brought out a fake gun, making you attack him over and over so that you could practise non lethal takedowns.

As good as you were at the exercise, that didn’t stop Ghost from firing a couple foam bullets at you from time to time when you got too out of control, reminding you teresley that you weren’t supposed to be ripping detainees to pieces. As your wilder side took over during your work, you’d bark out raspy growls at him for the cheap shots, knowing full well he shouldn't be able to fire after you’d just decimated his fake arm. However the sensible part of your mind would echo out that it was far better than getting smacked with the plastic batons that your old trainers would carry to discourage your savagery.

“Well well well, what kinda training do you call this?”

Your head turned just as you’d brought Ghost down to the floor and you ceased your growling, tilting your head when your gaze landed on Soap. Gaz joined him at the side of the field moments later, just coming off of a phone call to see you still on top of Ghost. 

“Oh yeah, we’re just having a bit of fun, Johnny. You know how much I love being mauled” Ghost grunted, tapping your thigh in short order. “You can get up now, Pup. Reckon you got me.”

You looked back down at Ghost and let out an embarrassed huff of air before rolling off him and standing up, dusting your dirty fatigues off. Some of the soft dirt smeared down them, leaving what would surely become a rough crust in its wake.

“Can’t believe you get to play with nerf guns and call it work,” Soap laughed, “That or the fact that you took the time to paint that thing black just so that it’d match your gear.”

“Well you’re welcome to take over if you think its so fun,” Ghost grinned, eyes cresting below his mask.

He unbuckled his thick leather gloves and threw them onto the grass at Soap’s feet, then tore the velcro off of his neck protector with a loud scratchy rip. Soap then looked back at you and visibility stiffened up, considering Ghost’s offer like it might be his death sentence. Gaz shoved him and laughed, going instead to approach Ghost and reach out for his gun. 

“Look at this,” he whistled, turning it over and opening up the ammo compartment. “What is this? A ten round? You even got the grey bullets with the red tips. Very nice hardware, Sir.”

“Well it is the Elite Ranger PD-5 Blaster, Garrick. Fine piece of kit, so it is,” Ghost quipped. “Maybe one day you’ll earn your own one.”

“Well now I know what I’m asking Santa for,” Gaz smirked. “So, we taking over here?”

You looked back at Soap again who was eagerly looking at Ghost to find out the answer to that question. Ghost looked back at him and winked, a gesture you only caught because you knew to look out for their antics now. 

“Nah,” Ghost finally answered, roughly raking his hands over your ears. “We made good progress today, I reckon we set Pup on anyone we need back alive, we’ve got a great chance of bringing at least seventy percent of the enemy still intact now.”

“Hey!” you growled. “I can bring people in just fine.”

“Oh sure, you can bring em’ in - in separate pieces of course - but you’ll get the job done,” he drawled, soon producing strangled notes as if he was choking. “‘Sorry sir, I would’ve given you the information but that damn wolf got my tongue.’”

Ghost laughed the way he always did when he was being cheeky, the rasping cackle crooning from his throat like a bear scratching up a tree. You had half a mind to do some scratching yourself, but instead you snatched the nerf gun from Gaz and shot Ghost in the chest a couple times. All of you silently watched as the foam bullets arced into his torso only to bounce off pathetically into the well trodden grass. 

You knew then that you should’ve aimed for his forehead like he’d done to you. 

“Friendly fire, is it?” Ghost questioned.

“Got you back,” you replied, tilting your chin in the air in defiance. 

He tutted at you and mussed up your hair once again, rubbing his hands over your head with enough force to almost knock you back.

“I’ll remember that next time we train together,” he said menacingly, jabbing your side just as he’d done that morning. 

You yelped and rubbed the tender spot, trying not to give into the laughter of the ticklish spot. 

“For now though, you two have the absolute pleasure of learning hybrid hand signals,” Ghost said, directing his attentions toward Gaz and Soap. “Sad that I have to miss such a fun exercise, but I’m sure you’ll have plenty of giggles without me. I booked out building three and left you a handler’s manual open on the page there. I had some corporals set up a basic simulation for you, so you should be good to go once you get in. Anything you’re confused on, Pup should be able to explain.” 

At that you groaned, shoulders slumping with the anticipation of the boring afternoon ahead. Back at Branhaven when they were training up new batches of handlers, you all had to take turns helping them through their coursework and modules - one of which being the hand signal module. That often meant long boring days being slowly and dramatically led around short courses and wildly gestured at until the new recruits were able to get the motions correct. 

“You couldn’t have just let me do more biting?” you sighed.

Ghost chuckled and picked up the rucksack of things he’d set off to the side.

“What? And terrify this one half to death in the process? I don’t think so,” Ghost said, pinching Soap’s cheek playfully. “You’ll survive one slow afternoon. I’ll even sweeten the deal, you keep the nerf gun and if they get something wrong you have my permission to shoot them.”

Soap rubbed at his cheek with a glare and slapped Ghost’s arm away soon after. His blue eyes were all storms and indignation and his jaw was clenched tight as a vice. Meanwhile you were doing everything you could not to yip with obvious delight, settling instead for a slow tail wag. 

“You don’t get to authorise that,” Soap said, rolling his eyes.

“What rank am I again?”

“That doesn-”

“It does actually. Have a good day, Sergeant,” Ghost interrupted, softly pretending to punch Soap’s shoulder. “Do me proud!”

Gaz laughed from next to you and waved Ghost off as he made his escape, narrowly avoiding getting hit by one of the leather mitts he’d set down earlier. Soap didn’t give chase after the failed throw though, instead he just stood grumbling to himself and eventually gathered the gear together and slung it into the holdall that Ghost had neglected to take with him. Once the bag dangled from his shoulder, he turned to you and Gaz and flung his head in the direction of the training buildings. 

“So what’s this about hand signals? We gonna have to make you sit and fetch?” Soap asked. 

“You tell me to go fetch and we’re gonna have problems,” you said, pumping the nerf gun’s ammo chamber for emphasis. 

“Christ in heaven,” Soap muttered, heaving himself off across the field. “The things I put up with.”

-🐺- 

The room was heavy with thick silence as you traversed your way around it. You might as well have been glued to Gaz’s side, one of the few sounds that were allowed to permeate the quiet was Gaz’s breathing and the metallic ting of the ancient filament lights. Every second that you walked, you obsessively watched Gaz’s hands, fixing your eyes on them as if they might hold untold treasures.

This was it, the last run through. Gaz paused at the same doorway you’d had to wait outside at least a dozen times already, and quickly held up his fist for ‘halt’. It helped that it was just the same as the standard hand signals that he’d been taught already. From there he pointed two fingers to his side and signalled for halt again. You nodded and moved next to him, looking from his hands to his eyes in quick succession while you waited for further instruction. 

From there he cupped his hands by his ear and pointed at you. You twitched your ears, adjusting yourself so that you could listen out for any tell tale sounds of Soap skulking around from inside. Though there was nothing beyond the annoying skittering of the old ticking clock inside the fake office, so to confirm the silence you shook your head. Gaz then held his finger to the side of his nose and pointed at you, but you held your palm up and waved your other hand around it. Unclear. Smell was little use when you’d all run the training course together so many times, everything stank of the two men at that point. 

Gaz nodded and thought for a second. Time might as well have been a sound, the continuous buzz of the lights or the shaking hands of the clock behind the door, your senses felt like they were blending into a big mush. You were glad when Gaz finally patted his back and held out his palm and then a single finger, signalling to walk back to back with him and watch his six. 

You nodded again and did as asked, making quick work of slinking through the door as quietly as possible and advancing down the corridor beyond. Gaz looked right and left, checking through the first office room on the right quickly and efficiently and kept things moving down the hallway, readying to advance to the next room at the end of the hallway. This was it, there was only one place Soap could be now, you thought. 

However, just as Gaz was heading down the corridor, you could’ve sworn you heard a noise. A faint almost wooden gasp, but it was something nonetheless. You grabbed Gaz’s arm and forced him to a stop, holding your hand to your ear so that he knew you heard something. He narrowed his eyes, honey irises appearing chestnut from under his shadowy gaze. After another few seconds you heard the sound of something making contact with the floor, hell you could've sworn you felt the vibrations of it at that point.

You looked up at Gaz with wild eyes and motioned your head down the hallway from the office that Gaz had assumed was safe. It wasn’t like there was much to sweep that you hadn’t already looked through on all your other runs, so he hadn’t been sloppy to dismiss the empty space. There was just a single desk with an exposed underside, the wall clock and a fake sink set up. The sink had a cupboard but it also had a slew of fake piping that made it impossible to squeeze inside. Or rather it should’ve. 

As soon as you crept back down the hallway, you both stumbled onto Soap emerging from the cupboard like a spider creeping from a crack. He was all arms and legs as he tried to slyly remove himself from the tiny space and before he was able to see you and Gaz, Gaz blasted him with the nerf gun and you ran toward him, ensuring you were out of firing range and jumped up in front of him. Pieces of loose plastic piping scattered from all around the bottom cupboard, and he just about exploded from his skin when you got your face up close to his.

“Steamin Jesus! How’d you know I was in here?” 

“We didn’t, I heard the cupboard opening though,” you explained, wagging your tail all the while. 

Soap sighed and leaned back into the cupboard clutching his hand over his heart for a moment before sitting back up. 

“I suppose I should be happy you’re on our team with those big satellites, fuzzy lugs,” Soap sighed. 

“Hey!” You whined, flattening your ears. “They’re not big satellites.”

“Well not when you put them back like that,” Soap said, a sly smile piercing through his eyes before it reached his lips. 

“Better big fluffy ears than big fluffy hair,” you huffed. 

“Oooh,” Gaz smirked, “Get ‘im.”

“You canny insult the hawk,” Soap sniffed, running a hand through his messy locks. “Nothing you say will convince me this isn’t stunnin’.”

You rolled your eyes and sat back from Soap, about to let him get up when Gaz stopped you both. He held out his hand and demanded you wait a minute, causing you and Soap to turn to one another and frown until all became clear. 

“Gotta get a good photo of our quarry, Pup. All the best hunters get their trophy photo,” Gaz explained, while holding his phone up and adjusting the angle.

Gaz adjusted his pose, tilting his nerf gun so that it crossed his chin and partially obscured his faux serious expression, meanwhile Soap sat back amongst the loose piping and accepted his fate, holding his fingers to his forehead in a fake gun gesture as if he were shooting himself. You weren’t sure what to do. No one ever asked you to be in pictures that weren’t mandated for the government website, so you didn’t know how to pose. 

At the last minute you tilted your head and pulled out a cheeky grin just before Gaz took the photos, the screen flickering black a couple times before he started tapping at his screen and laughing. He walked over to you both and lowered his screen, letting you see the resulting photo that oozed chaos with the silly toy gun and you and Soap sitting atop the mess of piping.

“Ooft, sexy,” Soap whistled. “Get that up on tinder. You’ll get all sorts of tail with that.”

“Oh yeah, caption writes itself - ‘anyone wanna hold my blaster?’” Gaz sniggered, tapping away again. “That’s going on insta.”

You huffed out a surprise breath at that.

“You’re actually putting that up on your socials?” you asked, frowning. 

Gaz ceased his tapping and tilted his chin up at you. 

“Was gonna, why? do you not want it up?” he asked, showing you the photo again. 

The screen tilted round to reveal a confirmation page with the photo sporting a slightly more dramatic filter. He’d been about to post it with a slightly less ridiculous caption at least ‘Mission success: blockage identified - Soap too big for the sink.’

That didn’t stop you from snorting at it of course. 

“I don’t mind - just figured you’ll get people being strange about you showing off that you hang about with the little hybrid weirdo,” you shrugged. 

“Aw, furball. You don’t have to worry about people finding you weird. Your ears aren’t that big and strange you know,” Soap said, rubbing your arm in mock sympathy. “They might not even qualify as full sized satellites, maybe just small radio towers or- Hey!”

You smiled smugly to yourself after flicking Soap on the nose, but quickly dropped the grin when Soap yanked you back by the shoulders and blew a big gust of air into one of your ears.

“No! Disgusting!” You squealed, wrestling him off and slapping him away while he laughed.  

You rubbed at your ear, screwing up your entire face while you tried to work the feeling of Soap’s breath out of your fur and inner canal. The uncomfortable pressure ceased after a few seconds and finally you were able to stop cringing away from Soap enough to see Gaz shaking his head at you both. 

“Aaand its posted. C’mon, we better start clearing out of here. You can fix that mess with the Pipes, Soap.”

“Fuck sake,” Soap cursed, looking around at his mess. “Thought this was gonna be worth it as well.”

His grumbling didn’t stop as he got through his work either. As he put the sink back together you sat on top of the desk by Gaz while he sat on the chair and scrolled through his phone. You didn’t really have anything to do, so you twisted the manual round that you’d been teaching the guys from and started flicking through the old yellowing pages. The corners felt like they might melt away from even just fingering through them, it was so ancient, but that wasn’t the only sign that the book wasn’t from your lifetime. After skipping to a random page, your eyes widened into saucers and your mouth almost dropped to the cold concrete below. 

“What the fuck,” you breathed out loud, reading over the page contents with a dry mouth.  

Gaz’s interest peaked at that. Out of the corner of your peripherals you saw his eyes drift from his phone to look over the page you’d pulled.

“Yo! What the hell is that about,” Gaz cackled, pulling his chair up and scraping it over the concrete to get a closer look. “Proper Maintenance of your Hybrid’s Hygiene? That’s nasty.”

Soap looked over from his work and frowned.

“What’s so nasty about that?” 

“Nah, I can’t tell you. You gotta come over here and see this, mate.”

You frowned down at the book, casting your eyes over the frankly awful illustrations therein with a sickening mix of horror and gratitude for not having to have experienced anything depicted in them for yourself. Below the section title, In the two little boxes with smaller boxes off shooting from them were mirror images of a man standing over a bathtub with a hybrid in it, however in one box there was a female hybrid and the other a male. In the smaller boxes were close up pictures of the illustrated hybrids' tails, ears and genitals with captions that explained the proper way to keep them clean and healthy. 

“As you will well know, being experienced handlers in training,” Gaz read aloud, using a posh old timey voice, “Hybrids do not have the mental capacity that humans possess. As such, they are simply not capable of keeping themselves adequately clean, which means this is a care requirement you must oversee yourself at least once a week. Following the diagrams above you must draw a bath for your hybrid and have them clean their bodies under your guidance and ensure their tails, ears and extremities are maintained to regulation. You must make sure to prevent water flooding their ear canals, as this can cause infection, you must clean and detangle/deshed their tails using a long tooth or a short tooth brush depending on their fur texture, and you must ensure their genitals/nethers are kept cleaned of any discharge, excrement, c-crust build up or- fuckin hell I can’t. This is actual slander. How did they get away with writing this?”

“This is some absolute specist nonsense,” you scoffed, taking the manual from Gaz, who was slowly losing it to soundless laughter, and turning it so that it faced you.

“So in this section it’s basically hammering it into you that I’m apparently too dumb to wash my own shit covered ass, and then in thiiiis page…” you trailed, flicking back a few pages to a title that had almost caught your interest before, “yeah here. In this section it details ‘training techniques and guides for making your hybrid competent in use of blades and blunt weapons.’ So essentially I have to be watched to make sure I get my fuckin ‘crust’ or whatever cleaned off because I’m an incompetent beast, but I can also be reasonably expected to wield a fucking machete! What kind of bullshit is this?!”

Soap and Gaz were dead silent for a few seconds, lips sealed firmly shut and eyes wide as you waved the page around that had the giant sword diagram. That is, until the moment they both looked at each other. After that they burst out into floods of laughter, clutching their chests and howling like animals themselves until tears started falling down their cheeks. 

“It’s not funny!” you growled, taking another look through the ‘guide’ for anymore terrible tidbits. 

“It’s not, it’s really not,” Gaz affirmed, trying to hold in his giggles. “It’s really fucked up, but c’mon, mate. Crust!”

“They didn’t even have to go into that crust shite, but the fact they went on and actually specified the parts in the diagram that had to be cleaned and all that,” Soap wheezed, “I don’t know who the experience is worse for! Where did Ghost even pull this crap from? Did he time travel back to 1945?”

You groaned and turned to the front page, ears drooping back when you found the publishing date. 

“Man, this is from the fucking seventies,” you frowned, realising what torments could’ve befallen you had you been born just a bit earlier. “Wait…you guys don’t think this is Ghost’s personal copy…”

You cut yourself off. All of you were silent.

“Well its possible they could’ve just issued Ghost with an old copy rather than print new ones,” Gaz shrugged, voice weak from laughing so much already. “You know what budgeting’s like.”

“Hold the bus, I’m gonna google something,” Soap announced, pulling his own phone out his trousers and quietly muttering to himself. “Hybrid hygiene, British army regulations…here we go…from the 1960’s hybrids were able to voluntarily join the army or be transferred in from institutes for displaced hybrids and… hygiene was taught in handler training courses and monitored by…then up until 20- steamin’ jesus.” 

“What?” you and Gaz sounded off in unison.

“Essentially says here that the practice of teaching hybrid hygiene and monitoring it didn’t completely end in all British bases until well after Ghost joined up which means…-”

“Ghost is probably a certified crust inspector,” you said gravely. 

At that you all burst out laughing. The room practically shook, none of you could contain yourselves, the sounds ricocheted off the walls and exploded in your ears. Though you couldn’t muster the wherewithal to care. For a few moments you all laughed in a joint heap until slowly you all came back to yourselves and closed the manual, doing all you could to stop yourself from launching it out the skylight above. 

“That’s fuckin awful stuff,” Soap said, finally getting back to finishing up with the sink. “Glad I never signed up for any o’ that pish. I’ll gladly take apart a bomb before I have to supervise you in the tub, furball.” 

“Me too,” Gaz sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Least you’ll never have to get bathed and de-crusted. Almost puts a silver lining on Branhaven if you never had to deal with that, huh?”

“God, I never thought I’d say it, but thank you Maddox for being a neglectful dick,” you muttered, giggling after Gaz snorted from next to you. 

-🐺- 

Later on that day, after Soap and Gaz had dropped you off with Price, the full schedule that you’d been handed weighed heavily on you. You drooped over Price’s sofa and were barely able to read more than a few pages of your new book until you gave up and slumped fully into the cushions. 

You happily dozed off with the sound of Price’s accompanying pen scratches and mutterings, your lips curving into a soft smile against the saggy old cushions. Cigar smoke and musk cradled your prone form and with just the gentlest hint of spiced citrus, you were letting it carry you off to sleep. 

However, before unconsciousness could fully take you, a loud unfamiliar knock sounded at Price’s door and shattered you from any notion of rest. Your heart beat rapidly, chest thumping heavily and you sat up fully and at attention.

You looked over at Price, watching as he put down his pen and shuffled his papers. He made a brief second of eye contact and shrugged as if to tell you that he didn’t know who it was until he looked back toward the darkened door. He’d yet to turn his main light on, instead he sat commanding the room from his lamplit desk. 

“Yes. Who is it?” he barked, rubbing his weary eyes.

“Captain, it’s Major Kelly, I need to speak with you about an incident involving your team’s hybrid. Can I come in?” Called a lilting Irish voice.

Your ears perked up and again you looked at Price, but he didn’t look back at you this time. He set his jaw in a tight line and folded his hands up across the top of his desk, thumping them heavily into the wood. 

“Door’s open, Major,” he called, voice booming in a way you hadn’t heard it before. “Let’s hear it.”

[kowaiitenshii]

[Sunkiller Lullaby Part Two]

Pairing: Darth Vader X Reader

Plot Summary: Accepting your role as Lord Vader’s personal attendant, you take the first steps in learning your new duties, and proving your loyalty to your new master. 

Warnings: Canon-level violence. Mentions of death/murder. Descriptions of fear. Corruption. Canon-divergent. Unburnt!Vader. Reader is a former slave. Improper use of the force. Vader is his own warning. Descriptions of mistreatment. AFAB reader, feminine pronouns and descriptions used. 18+ content to come in later chapters.

Words: 4.2k

A/N: First off, thank you so much everyone for all the love on part one! I truly did not think so many people would enjoy it! I appreciate everyone who reblogged and liked, and I cannot wait to continue sharing this story with you. If people continue to enjoy my writing, I will most likely open up for requests/prompts!

Part One HERE

Part II:

To your dismay, you awaken to bright beams of starlight peeking through the sheer inner curtains of your suite. 

You blink in confusion as you mull over the contents of the past night’s dream, and lament the fact that it was only that; a dream. 

Sighing deeply in disappointment, you slowly rise from bed and dress yourself for the day, deciding on a deep ruby red set of robes. They’re thick and soft as you slide them on, and you decide that red really compliments you. 

You are again presented with a decadent breakfast, this time dining on exotic ripened fruits, cured strips of thinly sliced meat, and toasted breads.

When you finish, the friendly droid again kindly leads you to Lord Vader’s private chambers. 

As the doors slide open, you nearly jump out of your skin when you find your master awaiting you, staring at the door expectantly as he anticipates your arrival.

 Forcing yourself to hold your head high, you saunter into the room as nonchalantly as you can muster. Your hands shake as you approach, and you clench them tightly in an attempt to push down your building nerves. 

“Morning, young one.” he greets you coolly, his deep voice resonating through the silence. 

“Good morning, My Lord.” you reply calmly, bowing to the Sith Lord. 

He gives you an approving nod as you rise, before turning to the large window behind himself, commanding you to join him. 

“Come.” he booms simply, and you oblige him. Standing next to him only highlights the size difference between the two of you, seeing as you only reach his shoulder at the highest. 

All the lights of the room both overhead and from electric controls shine off of Vader’s helmet and armor, creating almost an aura of light which glints off of him. Your eyes are drawn to the heavy slant of his shoulders with his cape draped over, and the curve of his very evident biceps beneath his thick suit. Your face reddens slightly before you turn to face the window, feeling a measure of shame for looking at a Sith Lord in such a way. 

The two of you gaze out at the expanse of stars before you, and you can’t help but marvel at the sight. Being from a small planet and having been enslaved since you were just a young girl, you had never any chance to explore or travel, no matter how badly you may have wanted to. 

One of the things that amazes you the most as you stare out into space is the realisation that the stars are colourful.

There are stars of every colour you can imagine, and most of them are planets. Each star glittering across the sky in endless hues, they remind you of the fields of wildflowers that were common on your home-planet. 

For a fleeting moment, you imagine lying amongst the stars and wrapping yourself in a blanket made of space itself, before Vader speaks again. 

“I have arranged a test for you today.” he asserts, his tone unreadable. 

Cocking your head, you glance up at your master, questioning exactly what sort of test he had in mind. 

“We need to have the understanding that we can trust in one another if I am to take you on in personal servitude.” He explains, sensing your curiosity. 

You can feel yourself go cold as the words sink in. It could be any kind of test, and ice cold pangs of fear grip your heart as you pray you do not fail. 

Failure is simply not an option. 

The trembling in your fingers only worsens, and to your horror, Vader notices. 

He takes one of your quivering hands tightly within his own before placing the other heavy, leather-clad hand over top of yours. His touch is like holding a livewire, like nothing you had ever felt before, and it makes you jolt in your skin. 

His gaze albeit masked is fixed upon you as he speaks, the air catching in your throat. 

“I can sense your fear, your hurt. Your rage.” he says, a reassuring tone hidden in his distorted voice. “Use them. Do not fear me.” he commands, before dropping your hand like he had never touched it in the first place. 

Not fearing him was a hefty task indeed. 

You say nothing in response, swallowing thickly and flexing your fingers to rid them of the lingering sensation of his touch. 

Just then, the ship begins to descend on a barren planet. The land is desolate, clouds of smoky-coloured dust covering the rough, rocky terrain. 

You take deep breaths to steady yourself as the ship lands, still reeling from the touch along with your nerves and their gnashing teeth gnawing at the back of your mind. 

As you disembark, you can feel how tightly wound your body is with anticipation. Despite this, you diligently follow your master as he treks along the barren, grey landscape, leading you to a wide clearing in the rocky wasteland. 

All around you are boulders and crystals of enormous size, and you figure this must be an Empire-controlled resource planet. 

Looking up to the violet sky, you pray to the maker that you make it out of this in one piece. 

Vader stops at once, turning to regard you once more as you come to stand before him. 

“Before we begin,” he starts “What is your name?” he asks, striking you with the realisation that you had not yet told him, and that he almost certainly already knew it. Truthfully, you had nearly forgotten that you had a name, as more derogatory terms were commonly used to refer to slaves. It is a strange thought that Lord Vader would even care to know it. 

“(Y/N).” you answer dutifully. 

“(Y/N).” he confirms before speaking again. “As I previously stated, we must be without a shadow of a doubt that we trust in one another. I have brought you here to assess that fact.” he explains, his droning voice reverberating off of the jagged walls of the terrain surrounding you. 

Doing your best to maintain your shaken composure, you watch as the Sith Lord strides a few paces away before speaking again once more. 

“I will test you, as you will test me.” He iterates, now turning towards you and watching you for a moment. 

Rooted to the spot, you clench your shaking hands and swallow the lump in your throat, fixing your gaze upon Lord Vader.

 You will test him? What could he possibly mean by that? 

You watch in thinly veiled terror as he raises his right hand and the ashen earth around you begins to tremble. A large mass of sparkling crystal sizable enough to crush a freighter breaks away from the earth, beginning to levitate.

Stomach in knots and your mind racing, you watch in horror as it rises impossibly high and comes to a stop directly over your head. 

In your youth you had heard tales of the Jedi and the Sith, but you had always taken them with a grain of salt. It is then that you come to understand that the stories were true, and the force is more powerful than you could ever have imagined. 

Vader’s voice cuts through your frenzied train of thought, snapping you back into the moment. 

“Focus on me.” he instructs you, holding the spiked mass of crystals steady above you, pulling it higher. 

Although every atom in your body screams at you to run, you know there is no point. Wiping away the fine sweat forming on your brow, you obey your master, fixing your widened eyes upon him. 

“Feel your fear.” he commands in a guiding tone. “Feel it, and understand that I will never harm you.” 

Dread cuts into your chest like knives, and still you obey. You feel the goosebumps on every inch of your skin, your muscles poised to flee, and the fine tremble running through you in waves. 

You look upon Lord Vader who holds your life in his hands so effortlessly. Focusing on the expressionless countenance of his helmet, you envision looking into his eyes and finding unwavering certainty there. 

You stand as a statue as the massive crystal drops, time itself seeming to slow, and you don’t so much as blink when Vader catches it just before it hits.

“Very good.” Darth Vader affirms, before reeling back and launching the crystals far off into the distance; the sound of impact only coming as a murmured echo. 

Sighing a huge breath of relief, your shoulders and head droop as the tension washes away in waves. When you lift your head, the Sith Lord is in front of you again, this time holding a cylindrical silver and black object in his outstretched right hand, motioning for you to take it. 

“Do you know what this is?” he asks as you carefully take it from him, examining the activation switch on the side. 

“Yes,” you affirm as you inspect the object with great curiosity. “It is a lightsaber.” 

You had seen them in use only once when your planet was under siege, but you had also seen them traded by smugglers a handful of times.

 However, you had never held one. The metal is cool to the touch, and it is deceptively heavy in your hands as you marvel at it, turning it over and over in your hands. 

“Turn it on.” Vader demands, cutting your observation short. You swallow your nerves, holding the lightsaber in your right hand and placing your thumb over the switch. You jump as you press it, the glowing crimson plasma blade instantly shooting out with a sharp sound.

The glowing saber incandesces between the two of you, red light illuminating Vader’s ominous visage. 

“Good. Now off.” he directs, and you obey immediately. 

“Now, we test my faith in you.” he states intently, stepping closer and closer until he is merely an arm’s length away, looming expectantly over you. 

Stomach tingling and your mind blank, you watch as he harshly grips the wrist of your right hand and presses the unarmed lightsaber against the blinking control panel on his chestplate, the shocking sensation of his touch feeling a million miles away. 

Staring at where the hilt of the blade rests against his armor, you have the cold understanding that you could kill him right now. 

You could kill him, and yet it would do nothing to change your fate. 

It takes a moment to realise he’s staring at you before you look up to meet the blank gaze of his mask. Somehow you can feel it in him, the faith he has in you and the understanding that killing him would not save you. 

You’re like that for a moment, staring at each other and listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing before he steps away, and you hand the lightsaber back to him. 

“Well done.” he praises as he beckons you to follow. “Come. We are done here.” 

You both board Lord Vader’s ship once again, your mind and emotions still reeling from the stress of the situation you just managed to live through as he calmly leads you to his chambers.

“Make yourself comfortable.” he orders as you enter the room, and you waste no time in shrugging off your outermost robe, leaving on your cowl and belted underdress. Plopping wearily onto one of the long couches in the room, you notice that it’s notably firmer than the plush furnishings of your suite, though you were in no place to complain. 

Lord Vader stares at you for a moment, and you become bashful at the idea of him looking upon your uncovered skin, before he turns to his place at the large window to watch as the ship takes off. 

You wonder if he does anything other than stare out the window in contemplation. 

Straightening yourself up, you watch the grey planet fade away as the ship flies, bidding the site of your near-grave a goodbye before looking around the room in which you sit. 

Now that you have the chance to really look, you take in your surroundings. To your right, the wall with the door is covered in blinking controls which you can only assume are either used to manipulate aspects of the room or call droids and Imperial personnel. On the far wall opposite where you sit, there is a large open doorway into an illuminated room housing an enormous tank filled with a mysterious blueish liquid, and you wonder what the purpose for it could possibly be. 

You don’t see a bed in the room, so you assume that Vader sleeps elsewhere. That is, if he indeed sleeps. 

In the left hand corner of the opposite wall, you can see a long white table littered with various parts, mechanisms and tools laid out upon it, and you find it mildly interesting that Darth Vader likes to tinker. 

The Sith Lord’s voice cuts through your curious observations like a razor.

“What do you know of the force?” He asks, peering over his shoulder at you. 

You’re stunned for a moment before you answer. 

“I must admit, Lord Vader, I know very little, as it was forbidden to be taught on my homeworld.” you reply truthfully, caught off guard by the seemingly random question. It was true, the ways of the force were not formally taught as a form of trying to shield the people of your home-planet from the Empire; all you know are the legends and the myths that were told as stories. 

Lord Vader nods in acceptance. 

“This ship is equipped with an entire library full of knowledge of the force, both light and dark; Jedi and Sith. You are free to utilise it if you so wish.” He offers, but it sounds more like an order.

Feeling as though there’s something he’s not saying, you simply nod.

“Thank you master.” you accept graciously with a soft smile. 

He only nods in reply, gaze lingering heavily upon you before he turns away from the window, pacing over to his work bench in the opposite corner from where you sit and taking a seat. 

You do not know how long he toils over his machines, nor how long you accompany him in doing so. 

The last thing you remember before waking up in your own bed is dozing off on Lord Vader’s couch. 

Confused and unaware of how you got back to your suite, you rub the sleep out of your eyes and sit up. As you rise, a gentle knock sounds behind the door. 

“Come in!” you call out, clearing your throat and wetting your lips. 

The friendly droid enters, bowing to you and chirping its greetings. 

“Good evening, Madam! I’m assured you’re ready for your meal?” it asks politely. Smiling softly at the kind droid, you nod. 

“Yes, please.”

After all, the stress of the day's activities has left you quite hungry, your stomach growling at the thought of the decadent spreads you’ve been spoiled with. 

The droid steps out for a moment, promptly returning with a spread no less extravagant than the others you’ve been lucky enough to enjoy. Tonight, your meal consists of a striking plum-coloured stew, accompanied by an herbed mash of root vegetables, and crusty baked breads still warm from the oven. 

As you eat, a curious and humorous thought crosses your mind, and you set down your spoon to ask the droid a question. 

“Was it you that carried me all the way back here?” you giggle playfully, finding amusement in the idea of the spindly droid hauling you through the corridors.

“No milady, Lord Vader saw to that himself.” the droid answers dutifully. 

Knowing it is incapable of lying, the idea hits you like a train, and you’re struck by it for a moment. 

Carrying you to your room seemed like a task that would be uncharacteristically tender, too gentle for Vader to carry out. You can feel the flush that spreads across your cheeks as you come to the understanding that there is still much you do not know about your master. 

“Oh, um. Give him my thanks.” you reply quietly, leaving it at that.

“As you wish, Milady.” the droid affirms. 

Spending the rest of your meal in contemplative silence, it does you well, nourishing and soothing your tired body. 

Before the droid leaves you for the night, you request the books that Lord Vader had mentioned, thinking some studying may help you to understand your master, even if just a small bit more. 

It happily delivers them to you, leaving you with a stack of thick and heavy books with weathered bindings. 

Elsewhere, Darth Vader paces in his chamber, heavy footsteps echoing around him. 

He is quite satisfied with the recent turn of events, knowing surely now that your spirit had not been broken by your life of torment, but that it was bendable.

It was true that you had great fear within you, but your lust for power and your anger was greater.  Your suffering had made you fierce, it made you courageous. 

The Emperor will be pleased. 

Remembering the strength in your expression as you had connected with him while your very life hung in the balance, the absolute, steady faith you had in him; And then the dichotomy of holding your serenely peaceful sleeping body in his arms, your angelic calmness, he feels an unfamiliar flutter in his chest before shaking it off. 

Spending the rest of the night flipping through an ancient tome, you are thoroughly intrigued by the stories contained within. They read like fairy tales; tales of heroic bravery, of villainous contempt, of epic battles and galactic love. 

They’re enchanting, reminding you of those cherished times as a child when your parents would read to you before putting you to bed. 

Well into the late hours of the night, you finally ready yourself for sleep, yawning and stretching as you shrug off your garments. 

As you lay out an outfit for the next day, you catch a glimpse of a passing moon. It’s beautiful, a light yellow hue to the pallid monolith as it glows. Moons always reminded you of solitude, your only companion in those quiet hours of the night. As you watch it pass, you silently hope that you dream of your mysterious suitor again. 

Your prayers are answered. 

Becoming aware of your surroundings, your eyes scan the room around you. It’s a more intimate setting this time, a quaint stone cottage within a verdant forest. There are strange herbs and flowers hung to dry all about the room, leaving it with a floral, green aroma. 

Sitting on the floor in front of a warm, crackling fire, your vision finally adjusts to your dimly lit setting, and you spot the one you had wished for standing just within the doorway. 

He smiles warmly as your eyes land on him, exposing a row of perfect teeth. You can’t help but to smile back. 

Striding out of the shadows, he joins you by the fire, nestling you against his side. His energy is the same and you can feel it just as strongly as before, entrancing and sultry as the fire before you. 

You spend a long moment just looking at him, committing every aspect of his features to memory in case you never get the pleasure of seeing him again. 

He’s still got that warm smile on his face as he gazes back at you, making your stomach flutter. His hair falls in perfect golden waves on his shoulders, framing his outstandingly handsome features. His eyes are half-lidded, his pupils blown wide as he looks upon you; his full, pink lips parted. 

Feeling the heat in your body rising, spreading across your face and tinging the tips of your ears, you look away shyly. 

The connection you feel with this man still baffles you, it doesn't make any sense, leaving you confused and questioning whether you can even trust your own emotions. 

Though, you suppose dreams don’t have to make any sense. 

Reaching over to you, he brushes a tress of hair away from your face to read your expression, pulling your attention back to him. 

You blink sheepishly at him through long lashes as he hooks a finger under your chin, turning you to face him fully. Goosebumps form instantly at the contact, your hairs standing on end as a wistful sigh leaves your lips. 

He brings your face so close to his own that you can feel his gentle breaths tickling your lips. The air, the energy between you is like a thunderstorm; intense, restless, and exhilarating. 

You revel in the way he touches you like something that threatens to break. 

The realisation then hits you that this is your first time seeing him unhidden by his cloak. You take your time in taking in all the new details you had missed, noticing a lengthy scar on the right side of his face, running nearly all the way from his hairline to just below his eye. 

He slowly curls a strong arm around your waist, pulling you onto his lap, never breaking eye contact while doing so. Following his movements obediently, you shift your legs to wrap around his waist as you perch on him; the tips of your noses tickling each other as you adjust yourself.

 You want, you crave nothing more than this closeness and contact with him.

After being denied pleasant, consensual human contact for so long, the feeling is intoxicating. It makes your head swim, and your heartbeat race. 

Still face to face, you delicately raise your right hand, ghosting the tips of your fingers down the length of his scar, taking great care in case it’s still painful for him. Your fingers buzz and tingle, like nerve endings coming back to life after having fallen asleep. 

Lips parting and eyes falling shut at your touch, he presses his forehead against yours. 

Your whole body lights up and hums at the sensation, like a static charge. His intense and all-consuming energy surrounds you, threatening to swallow you whole. 

And you let it. You let him in. 

Holding the doors to your mind open, you begin receiving visions. 

Visions of a small boy with tawny hair and bright blue eyes. Visions of the familiar sandy, dual-sunned landscape of Tatooine. Visions of that small boy toiling away in the shop of a cruel junk dealer. 

Your eyes fly back open with the newfound understanding that the child was him, that he truly had lived a life like yours. 

In this moment, as your heart races and your eyes flit between his, he feels like the person closest to you in the entire world. 

He looks back at you with soft eyes. The expression on his face is one that says: 

This is me. Do you see it? This is me. 

Overwhelmed by the connection, by the painful swelling of your heart in your chest, you let instinct lead rather than logic.

Leaning into him further, you brush your lips just barely over the full curve of his, inviting him to close the distance.

Instantly he relents, capturing your own lips with his, pure passion and intense longing radiating off of him in waves. 

As he tangles a large hand in your soft hair, you can feel your heart thumping against your ribcage, your blood rushing through your veins. Draping your arms over his sturdy shoulders, the very air around the two of you feels electric, tingling and crackling with released tension. Lips locking over and over, hands everywhere, tongues tasting each other in the heat of your fiery desire, you send a message through your ministrations. 

I see you. You say with every touch of the lips, every tease of his tongue, every rake of your nails across the soft skin of his abdomen. I see you. 

When you finally break the session to suck in greedy gasps of much needed air, he bites onto your bottom lip, prolonging the contact for as long as possible. He clutches you tightly, possessively to his strong body, as if you could be ripped from his arms at any moment; his own chest heaving as he breathes. 

He slides a large, rough hand up the small of your back, steadying you as you rest your head on his shoulder for a moment. Pressing a feather light kiss to the petal-soft skin of his throat, your eyes slide shut with great satisfaction. 

Credz: 

Lightsaber graphic creds: @saradika  

Taglist: 

@heyitsaloy

@poisonedsultana

@cryptidsrcool 

@mayhemories 

[akutasoda]

Hello hello!!! Congrats in reaching 1k followers!!!! I've always enjoyed your writing so I'm not surprised you'd get 1k!

For the event could I request Jing Yuan and Dan Heng catching an anxious!reader singing for the first time? Maybe they catch reader softly serenading both of them while assuming the two were asleep. (Jing Yuan x reader x Dan Heng)

thank you :)

🍵 nonnie

silent melodies

synopsis - you start seranding them at a long awaited reunion, unaware they hear you

includes - dan heng + jing yuan

warnings - gn!reader, reader is a long life species?, angst, bittersweet angst, comfort/fluff, wc - 825

a/n: thank you!! <3

dan heng would only have one reason to step foot back on the luofu, to brave what awaited him and that would be to see you again - jing yuan would be there too but mainly you. so when the express took to the luofu he really did want to join them but he knew a much harsher fate awaited him if he ever saw him again, but all he could think about in his stay on the express was you. even if he wasn't the one you fell in love with.

it was a compromise really. during the life of imbibitor lunae, he had become absolutely head over heels for you, the long life species that he wanted by his side until it was his time to be reborn. however he had a slight competition with his fellow quintet member who was also vying for your attention. it seemed more than reasonable for him and jing yuan to come to some sort of agreement, even just letting you choose your lover, but they were both too smitten to even fathom the idea of willingly giving you up.

ultimately, they planned to do the reasonable option and leave the decision to you and you alone but you were a bit indecisive and asled for some time to mull it over. eventually you informed them that you simply couldn't pick and that's when jing yuan announced that he wouldn't mind sharing you with imbibitor lunae if you didn't mind yourself - after all it was your decision at the end of the day. you did feel quite 'put on the spot' and you're nerves were starting to kick in but you agreed.

it seemed that was the right decision. it had merely been a week of your relationship with the two of them before it all delved into chaos and heartbreak. imbibitor lunae made a stupid decision in the grief of his friend and willingly would accept the consequences, he just wanted to see you one last time. you never visited him in the shackling prison, he understood and came to terms with it - even when he was forcefully reborn he didn't expect you to visit him and his only solace came from jing yuan who would inform him of how you were doing.

you had stayed with jing yuan ever since and now the express was docked at the luofu, dan heng couldn't help bit indulge himself and see the two of you. he wasn't imbibitor lunae. he wasn't your lover nor a friend but he hoped that you'd allow him a moment of peace, a moment to see how you were fairing after all these years. it was no surprise that he found you in a more isolated spot on the luofu - especially since he could faintly remember a place like this in his dreams. and there he could find you with jing yuan.

it was a bittersweet reunion, if it could even be called that. jing yuan showed some friendly intentions but he knew who it wasn't, and would soon return to his place were his head rested on your shoulder so he could rest once again. you didn't care that it wasn't imbibitor lunae, you knew this would be the closest chance you had to seeing him and this opportunity wouldn't escape. dan heng was rather pleased to know you hadn't changed much and he could practically feel a weight lifting from his chest just by being in your presence, he could also feel the lack of sleep overcome him.

soon enough you had your lover and your other lover's reincarnation rested comfortably by your side. for a moment you could convince yourself that nothing had happened, nobody had gotten exiled and no relationships were destroyed. in this fleeting moment you could cast aside your hesitations to start humming a small tune, you always had the habit of doing so back in the day when you were absolutely certain they were both asleep - you weren't exactly confident with your skills. you could easily lose yourself in the moment and finally be able to really imagine that this was how it used to be.

that would be up until jing yuan woke from his brief slumber to you serenading the both of them. immediately, you stopped and tried hiding your face in embarrassment at being caught serenading them only for jing yuan to stop you. the small commotion managed to drag dan heng out of the first peaceful sleep he had in ages and he was immediately informed by jing yuan that you had been serenading them - your hands flew up to your face in pure embarrassment as jing yuan chucked softly beside you. dan heng melted slightly at the pure idea that you still harboured something to him even if it wasn't him. maybe just maybe he could drop the pretences and enjoy his time with you and jing yuan.

akutasoda's 1k event

[pankowperfection]

The Interview

Summary: You finally apply for a job in the city, but the interview doesn't go quite as planned

Warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving), teasing, spanking, choking, Rafe's dirty mouth, inappropriate work relationship, rough sex, 18+

A/N: this was inspired by a dream I had, hope you like it

You couldn’t believe you’d gotten the call. You’d applied for the job on a whim, always wanting to move to the city but never risking the comfort of your current life. You’d quickly accepted the interview, the assistant on the other end of the line relaying flight and hotel information to you that you scrambled to jot down. A few days later you arrived in New York, spending the night prior mulling over the perfect outfit and how your resume looked in the portfolio you’d brought along. 

The morning of the interview you check your appearance one final time in the floor length mirror. Your bright red skirt stands out and shows your sense of style, fitting right in with the culture of the city. It hugs your curves just right, giving you a boost of confidence once you step into your stilettos. Your black shirt pulls the look together, see through sleeves showing off some of your tattoos. The walk to the office is short, a slight spring in each of your steps as your excitement grows. 

As you wait for Mr. Cameron in the posh waiting area you can’t help but grow a bit nervous. Did you actually belong here? Could you handle living in one of the biggest cities in the world? Your thoughts start to race, palms growing sweaty and heart hammering away in your chest.

When the door to the corner office opens it stops all together. One of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen emerges, dark blue suit clinging to his muscular frame. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, showing off a little hint of his sculpted chest along with the gold chain dangling from his neck. 

Your eyes finally reach his face and you suck in a sharp breath. His jaw is sharp enough to cut glass, a small smirk forming on his kissable mouth as he catches you checking him out. And god, his eyes. A blue so beautiful you could get lost staring into them. You were in big trouble if THIS was your potential boss. How could you work for someone that you wanted to fuck you senseless?

Shaking away the inappropriate thoughts you push yourself to your feet to greet him as he closes the remaining distance between you. “Miss Y/L/N? Hi, I’m Rafe and I’ll be conducting the interview today.”

You reach out to meet his hand in a formal shake, but the moment your skin touches sparks shoot throughout your body. You swallow sharply, pressing your thighs together to try to dull the ache forming between them. He seems to notice, giving you that sexy smirk again as he waits for you to reply.

“Hi, nice to meet you. You can call me Y/F/N by the way.” You give him your best smile, trying hard not to show how much his mere presence has affected you. 

“Great. Follow me please.”

He turns on his heel, giving you the perfect view of his toned back and delicious ass as he returns to the office he came out of. You urge your feet forward, following him into the room and taking a seat on the plush wingback chair in front of his massive oak desk. 

‘I’ll cut right to the chase. Your application has been the best one I’ve received so far. I don’t want to waste your time or mine by asking you questions I can answer by looking at your resume or talking to your current employer. So how about we treat this as a “get to know you” type interview and see if we think this is a good fit for you or not?”

He leans back against the desk, sharp eyes catching every small shift in your body language. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before meeting his gaze once again. “Okay Rafe. What would you like to know?”

He chuckles softly, rounding the desk and picking up his phone to make a call. “Hi Veronica. Yes, we’re going to go out to lunch, can you call my usual spot and let them know? Thanks.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All throughout lunch he had gotten more bold with his efforts, not even trying to hide his not so professional interest in you. The conversation had quickly shifted to something dirtier; talks of favorite positions and things you wanted to try being shared between you both. He’d ended up on your side of the table, hand resting hot and heavy against the bare skin of your thigh, slowly inching further and further up underneath your skirt. 

“Tell me honestly sweetheart, if I feel your panties right now are they going to be wet?”

His breath against your ear makes you shiver, more arousal soaking through the already ruined lace. “Yes Rafe. Totally soaked through.”

He decides to find out for himself, lightly grazing his fingers over your core and forcing you to bite back a moan. 

“Damn baby you are soaked. How about we go back to the office and do some paperwork, then we can finish what we started, yeah?” 

You eagerly nod, anxiously waiting for him to pay the tab before letting him lead you back outside onto the sidewalk. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thankfully the walk to the office is short. The documents you have to sign to accept the employment offer are even shorter. By the time you wrap up mostly everyone else has gone home from the night. The space outside Rafe’s office is dark, not a single light on as far as you can see. 

“Now that you’ve got me all to yourself, what are you gonna do with me?” 

He slowly stalks over to where you are reclining on the couch, kneeling down on the floor in front of you while sliding his hands up your thighs once again. “I’m gonna get to know every inch of your perfect body.” 

He pushes your legs apart, picking up your left foot and starting a tortuous path of kisses from your ankle to the edge of your skirt. He repeats on the other side, your blood rushing straight to your pussy as he bites and licks up the inside of your thigh. 

“Rafe please. Do something.”

He chuckles darkly, pulling away and sitting down on the couch beside you. 

“Patience baby. Come sit on my lap, now.”

His commanding voice only turns you on more, scrambling to climb over his lap and wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Now be a good girl and hold still. If you move, I’ll stop.”

His lips are on yours in an instant, one strong hand cupping your jaw while the other slides down to the buttons of your shirt. His lips feel like heaven against yours, moving in such a way that you feel it all the way in your core. 

When his tongue dives into your mouth you can’t help but moan, struggling not to grind your hips down into the growing tent in his pants to offer you some relief. 

To your disappointment he pulls away, kissing and sucking his way down over the bare skin of your neck to your shoulder. He takes his time to leave his mark, covering your tan skin in small bruises in a show of ownership. His tongue soothes each bite, your breathing growing heavier by the minute.

“God, you taste so good. Can’t wait to get my tongue buried deep inside of you, make you soak my face when you cum.”

You groan at his words, that damn dirty mouth doing nothing to quell the fire burning beneath your skin. His fingers start to roll your nipples, bolts of pleasure shooting throughout your system as you fight the need to try to take more than what he’s giving. 

“Rafe, god. Feels so good.” He smirks up at you before spanking your ass, the sting making you jolt forwards, your clit just barely grazing his zipper and making your thighs shake. 

“Doing so good for me baby girl,” he coos, maneuvering you onto your back and settling between your thighs. He quickly removes his tie, securing your wrists in a tight knot and pushing your hands up above your head. 

As his lips descend over the swells of your breasts, down over your exposed tummy, you can’t help the anticipation swirling through your system. His tongue dips into your navel and you tremble beneath him, imagining what it will feel like when he licks your pussy. He pushes your skirt up around your waist, setting each leg over his shoulders before leaning down to your sex. 

He decides to tease once again, laying an open mouthed kiss over the lace of your panties. You feel his smirk against your skin as you moan loudly, desperation taking over after a full day of build up. “Oh please. Please Rafe, I need you.”

“So pretty when you beg baby, but I told you. I’m gonna get to know every. inch. of. you.” Each word is punctuated by a kiss around the edges of your panties, followed next by his tongue. He traces every edge of the pink lace, returning to your center once again and licking a stripe over your slit. You feel like you’re about to fall apart at the seams just from the simple touches, right on the edge and waiting for him to push you over. 

His fingers slowly peel the soaked fabric to the side, his mouth blowing cool air over your hot skin. Two fingers dip between your folds, stroking softly from your entrance to your clit several times before plunging inside. He expertly curls them as he pushes and pulls against you, your orgasm racing closer by the second. 

He finally gives you his mouth, one flick of his tongue over your clit quickly turning into a frenzy. He laps at your sensitive nub eagerly, working his fingers in a slow tempo compared to the quickness of his tongue.  He hums his approval at your taste, vibrations making you cry out as your buck your hips into his face. When he sucks your clit  into his mouth he pushes you over the edge, a loud scream echoing off the glass walls of his office. 

“Oh god. It’s too much.” Tears spring to your eyes, overwhelming pleasure that is borderline painful wracking through your body. He laps up every last drop of your release, continuing to lazily finger fuck you while crawling up over your body to kiss you hungrily, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. 

You eagerly reach for the seam of his pants, wrapping your hand around his impressive length and starting to stroke him. He groans and its the hottest thing you’ve ever heard, only encouraging you further to undo his button and zipper, reaching inside his boxers to finally touch him skin to skin. You use his pre-cum as lube, smearing it over the tip before starting to twist your hand as you pump him slowly. 

“Shit baby, I need to be inside you, right fucking now.”

He pulls his pants and boxers down to his knees as your eyes drop to his cock, standing tall and proud. Your mouth waters at the sight, desperate for the chance to feel the weight of him on your tongue. He wraps his hand around the base, giving himself a few more strokes before his eyes return to you.

You’re mesmerized as he drags his thick head through your folds, gathering your slick before lining up. He barely pushes in, just the tip stretching you out as your back arches off of the sofa.

“Rafe. Untie me, wanna touch you.

As soon as your hands are free you wrap them behind his head, nails digging into his scalp before pulling him down for another heated kiss. Your teeth clash as you fight for dominance, your tongues winding together as he takes your breath away. 

He thrusts in slowly, wanting you to feel each inch disappearing inside of you. “Fuck sweetheart, feel so good wrapped around me. This pussy was made for me.”

You moan at his dirty words, clenching around his cock and making him let a low growl loose. His dominant hand wraps around your throat, eyes threatening to roll to the back of your head due to his dominant behavior.

“You’re mine now y/n. To do whatever I want with. Say it.”

He accentuates his point by pulling almost all the way out before slamming roughly back inside, knocking the breath from your lungs with the force.

“Mmm, Rafe. I’m yours. Please fuck me.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” He smirks before withdrawing once again, this time setting an ungodly pace as he pistons in and out of you. He’s hitting all the right spots, your nails digging into his clothed back as you try to somewhat contain your moans and whines. 

“Let me hear you, wanna know how much you love this cock.”

He pushes your legs back towards your chest, allowing him to angle in even deeper and you swear you can feel him in your stomach. You clench tightly around him and he groans loudly, starting to somehow thrust even harder than before.

“Just like that Rafe, don’t stop. Fuck, ‘m gonna cum.”

“Let me have it baby, wanna feel you drip off of me.”

His thumb finds your clit and rubs harsh circles as you desperately cling to him for some sense of reality. Your orgasm hits you like a train, body trembling as you cum harder than you ever have. He doesn’t stop his motions, only spurred on further by how hot you look and sound falling apart while chanting his name. 

A few moments later he groans out your name, pace faltering as you feel his hot release coat your walls. After a few final thrusts he collapses on top of you, kissing you lazily while his cock stays buried deeply. Your nails scratch softly over his freshly buzzed hair, trailing down over his broad shoulders and tracing random patterns. He hums his appreciation, breath tickling your neck and making you shift slightly. 

He finally pulls away, helping you to your feet as you both straighten up your clothes. He walks you to the door, playfully swatting your ass.

“Can’t wait to do this all over again tomorrow. Oh, and please wear red again, its my favorite color.”

@adventuresinobx @starkeyobx @paradisehamilton @ailee-celeste @pankhoeforlife @outerbankspov @houseofperfecttaste @drewbooooo @maybankslover @maybanks-luver @blueicequeen19 @toystory2wasjustokay @onmykneesforrafe @penny4yourthoughts @maddie-routledge @ilovetheavenger143

[bucknastysbabe]

You chose the lowborn route, will the Knight of the night enjoy your company?

Highborn Route

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Sex worker!reader, post Nyra heartbreak sad Crispy, very very soft intimate sex, he’s a sad boy, angsty from start to finish, pnv!sex, poor baby delulu boy, one sided love

A/N: Me no beta just vibes

Divider by: @cafekitsune

The mistress of your brothel called you over, beckoning from a gauzy curtain. She peeked out and pressed a finger to her lips. You went to Myra and raised a silent brow. The older woman whispered, “We have a very discreet client. Very. He’s paying good coin and it’s his neck and possibly one of ours if it’s discovered.”

You grew a bit fearful, asking, “Who is it? One of the princes? Princess? We have Aegon all the time.”

“No young one, a Kingsguard. He’s in a state, be gentle. No names. He requested someone with Valyrian features. Upstairs room, knock two times and pause then thrice you shall knock.”

You merely had dainty features and purple eyes. Nothing like the royals, those from the freehold cities. Your skin was close to a Velaryon— but your curls were dark. But you took the key and nodded, quietly making your way past curtains and the sounds of fucking. The noises of home.

Valyrian features, hm. He needed to go to the finer pillowhouses for that. The girls from Lys and Volantis could be found there with their pale hair and pretty eyes. Although he chose a decent place. You knew a mid-way whorehouse would be the most discreet.

Not too poor to sell information, not too expensive for a careless spoilt whore to spill her secrets to a customer. You knew of some lords who had been through here, Prince Aegon frequented now and then. A Kingsguard was strange.

Still you walked up the stairs, peering over your shoulder fearfully. You knocked twice, pause, then the three more times. A muffled voice replied, “You can enter.” Your hands were shaking while unlocking the heavy door. This was the finest room in the place. You’d only been up here once before.

The lock clicked and you smoothed down your gauzy fabrics, stepping in quietly, smoothing your face into placidity. He looked like a normal man to you, albeit extremely handsome, not wearing anything indicative of the Kingsguard. He would stick out like a sore thumb if so, especially to the weasel-like goldcloaks.

The man looked like he’d been crying, his dark curls a mess. You curtsied and he croaked, “I’m nothing, no need to act like it.” Brown eyes glanced up, still glassy. He peered under those messy curls and hummed, “You have pretty eyes. I take you’re the closest they have to Valyrian features.”

“Thank you,” you cautiously stepped forward to kneel at his booted feet, “It’s just my eyes. They like to joke I’m a bastard of one.” He paused, a trembling, scabbed hand reaching out to caress your cheek. He sighed, “Do you feel trapped here, stuck to this life?”

His pretty lips twitched, emotions roiling off of this supposed white knight. You mulled over it and replied, “I’ve accepted my fate. I have a cunt and my last name is Waters. I used to dream when I was younger, alas, being a silk street whore was to be my calling. I guess I could go be a silent sister, sounds grim.”

Mirth flashed across his face. He murmured, calloused thumb still stroking your cheek, “I can’t escape my last name either. Common born. Being a— one of them was the highest a man like me could get. Blessed and I went and sullied it. But I’m still there, sworn. What is a dirty cloak worth?”

“We all make mistakes. Stains come out with enough patience. Now did you come to a whore house to confess your sins?,” you inquired, own hand coming up to hold his. The brunette shook his head, smiling with no trace of happiness. He scoffed, “I suppose not. I don’t really know. Just want to be someone else for a bit.”

You stood up, slipping between his strong thighs to place your arms around broad shoulders. Smiling gently you informed the knight, “A man and a woman. Nothing more, nothing less. No titles, oaths, sullied cloaks or bad blood.”

The brunette nodded, looking up with wide eyes. He rasped, “Yes, yes, I’d like that very much. Just for the night, forget about it all.” He seemed to grow emotional again, so you leaned forward with puckered lips. He filled the gap, taking your slow pace in stride. Big hands found themselves at your waist, holding on like you would break.

The knight lapped into your mouth, you letting him choose the pace. Soft and wet seemed to be his choice for the night, pouring false intimacy into the sharing of each other. Your lips smacked against his own, the man’s breath hitching, pulling you closer into his frame.

“You can call me Criston,” he breathed.

You pushed Criston back to straddle his hips, your bare cunt running against his breeches— two voices softly crying out in unision. He was half-hard, cock plumping up nicely. Running your fingers through his hair you hummed, “Usually men don’t kiss whores.”

“No titles tonight.”

You smiled against his lips, snickering, “Fair. Do you want me to take care of you Criston?”

He nodded, a silent plea, bigger hands trembling at your waist. You picked up the earlier kissing, wet and messy, almost intimate. The knight liked when your lips audibly smacked, choking on a groan and seeking your tongue. It felt like hours of passionate kissing, Criston savoring your mouth, lapping at your tongue.

His cock throbbed underneath your own aching cunt. Pulling away with a dribble of drool, you kissed his stubbled jaw, nibbling very gently, hands roving up his shirt to caress strong sides. The knight exhaled sharply, hips bucking at the same time. His swollen lips hung open, dark eyes shut.

You idly wondered if he was picturing someone else. Perhaps the Princess, or Lady Velaryon. It didn’t make a difference but you hoped he enjoyed you as well.

Criston’s hands began to pull at your flimsy excuse for a dress, revealing budded tits and your scarred skin. Old marks from a mean customer gone mad. You remained naked as the day you were born. Criston abruptly sat upright— you holding his shoulders with wide eyes. Dark pools roved down your body, the man murmuring, “Gorgeous.”

This was the time to questioningly grab at the hem of his loose top, him nodding in acquiescence. You shimmied it off, then raised yourself up to nimbly unlace his breeches— thick cock straining against the dull fabric. In a tangle of limbs, the pair of you fell back again so Criston could shuck off his pants.

He smiled again, this time more genuine. Then flipped you onto your back, a hand pushing your own down, fingers interlacing. Criston’s other hand palmed at your breast, forefinger and thumb pulling at the tender bud. A whimper leaked from your gaping lips, shivering under his sculpted body.

“Is that good?,” he asked, dark hair falling forward to curtain you two in. You felt down ridged sides, moaning, “So very good Criston.” You didn’t expect him to seal his lips on your other nipple, suckling and flicking his tongue. You arched underneath him, his brawnier frame keeping you pinned.

The more shifting and squirming you did, the more the man held you down, breathing raggedly against your now-swollen chest. He panted, “Need…to have you…” His cock was already slotted between your thighs, wet with copious slick. You hadn’t been so turned on by a customer in forever.

“Take me, it’s yours,” came your weak plea.

Criston removed a hand wound in your hair, pressing little kisses to your neck as he slid his blunt tip into your warmth. You laughed throatily, “I’m no spring maiden, you can do as you feel.” The brunette groaned sliding into your heat, hissing against your sweaty neck, “You don’t deserve to be brutalized.”

You swallowed down the weird feeling that brought up— wrapping your legs tight around Criston’s waist. He kept your one hand down, fingers still interlocked, eyes flicking to them, obviously recounting something. Grabbing a sharp jawline you redirected his gaze. Criston looked a bit agonized again— cock softening.

Wrapping your arms around his neck again, you pulled his nose flush to yours, repeating, “A woman and a man, just in the now, no titles or cloaks.” He swallowed, pressing his forehead to your own, hips beginning to thrust into your welcoming pussy.

A soft noise was forced out of your throat, his girth stretching your walls, the thick tip dragging against your inner ridges. Heavy balls slapped against your ass, Criston groaned and holding tight, smothering you with fervent kisses. He babbled, “Yes, fuck, you’re so- so- gods! Kind!”

Nibbling on his earlobe you nodded along, encouraging the man to let it out, powerful thrusts rocking the bed along. Your head was spinning from the delightful pleasure— a rarity in your line of work. The knight continued to rant, “Why can’t she be like you? Fucking serpent!”

He bucked roughly, apologizing immediate with a kiss to your forehead. You rolled back onto his stiff prick, mewling his name. Eventually came the strung together response, “Th-then she does not de-serrrve you! Gods!” Criston lowly moaned, mouth breathing hot and desperate down your neck, “I hope so.”

The room was growing warm with the heat of passionate fucking— you couldn’t say lovemaking. Slapping, mewls, heavy breaths. The bed ropes creaked with his movements, chain dangling in your view. The man had enough stamina to keep up with an experienced whore.

Criston seized your lips again, asking to touch your button between fraught kisses. You wailed at the wonderful touch, his thumb swirling your slick and his pre on the bundle of nerves. There was no way you couldn’t scratch his back and fuck back onto his pulsing cock. This was just too good.

He helplessly called you a name, one you shan’t repeat. He was so out of it now, head shoved into the crook of your neck, drooling. You shivered again, legs twitching as the fire in your belly lit up. Digging your nails into muscled back came the warning. He slipped his thumb up and up— sending you reeling with a cry and gush of arousal, thoroughly coating his twitching member.

Criston groaned deep and long, mouthing at your sweaty neck, gripping your hands together bruisingly. He whimpered, “Seven forgive me, forgive me, forgive me,” as he feverishly pulled out just in time to spurt on your thigh and mound.

The knight sat back on his haunches, panting, face flushed with exertion. He ran a hand through sweaty hair, rasping, “Thank you, I- ah, never got your name.”

“Doesn’t make a difference Ser Criston.”

He nodded with a slight frown, posture relaxing some. The knight shakily stood up to find a the bowl of water and rag, wiping himself off. Then he came over to your lazy frame, doing the same, shushing your overstimulated squeak of his name.

You maneuvered your sore body up as he began to dress, doing the same, wrapping back up in the thin fabric. Criston secured the hood over his head, informing the coin was in the bag inside the chest. He stopped at the door again and softly stated, “Thank you again.”

“I hope you find what you’re looking for Ser Criston,” you said.

The door closed with an audible click. Suddenly you felt that emptiness he carried. A taste of intimacy and it was ripped away before you could truly indulge. No matter. You had a job just like the forlorn knight.

[marvelmusing]

In Another Life

Part Twelve

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Alternate Universe!Reader

Summary: A successful return to Ravka prompts you to share warnings of the future with Aleksander, and a new (but not unfamiliar) character invites himself into your schemes.

Warnings: references to the rule of wolves duology.

My Masterlist • Series Masterlist • Next Part

“We need to talk about the third amplifier.”

Aleksander hums in acknowledgement to your mumbled words, and you feel the vibration of his response in his throat as your forehead is nestled against his neck.

You’re sitting in his lap, legs draped over his, your side tucked under his arm, and your hands slotted beneath the lapels of his kefta in an attempt to remain warm.

Ever since your fever had broken, you find yourself feeling cold more often, and seek out Aleksander’s warmth which he’s always happy to provide.

When he feels you shiver, Aleksander wraps one of his arms tighter around your body.

You had parted ways with Sturmhond and his crew at around noon today. Not wanting to be seen colluding with a suspected pirate, Aleksander had requested you be dropped off along the coast in a longboat. From there you had walked back to Os Kervo, and now that the shadows were lengthening, you wanted nothing more than some quiet time with Aleksander.

“The firebird is known for its elusive nature, though I don’t doubt that you know where it is.” He remarks with a small smile. You nod faintly.

“I do. But, the firebird isn’t the third amplifier.”

Aleksander frowns, looking down at you as he discards the papers in his hand. You run your fingers down the length of his tunic, nails catching against the seam between soft fabric and leather.

“Did Baghra ever tell you how your grandfather died?” You ask softly.

He nods slowly.

“Everyone in Ravka knows the story of Sankt Ilya. How he brought a child back from the brink of death, and was killed by the villagers for his unnatural power.”

Aleksander opens up a drawer in the desk, pulling out a book. It’s cover is a deep red cloth, with golden embellishments and the title printed in Old Ravkan. He sets the book down in your lap.

“Have you read Istorii Sankt’ya?” He asks, the Old Ravkan rolling smoothly over his tongue as you open up the book.

“Some of it.” You admit. Turning through the glossy pages, you admire the brightly painted illustrations that accompany each story of the saints. “The version in my world is a little different from this one.”

Aleksander’s head cocks to aside and curiosity fills his eyes as his thumb smoothes over your kneecap.

“How so?”

“There’s two saints missing.” You tell him, flicking through the pages before you stop at the back of the book. “Sankta Alina of undiscovered gifts.”

You pause, looking up to meet Aleksander’s eyes.

“And the Starless Saint.” You say quietly. Then you smile. “Which, if anyone knew his name, would also be called Sankt Aleksander. The patron saint of those who seek salvation in the dark.”

Aleksander stares down at the book, eyeing the blank pages where there should be an illustration of him.

All he’s ever wanted was for his country to accept him - the hopeful dream of a frightened boy, shunned and feared for centuries.

Since the creation of the Fold, he had abandoned that hope, believing that he no longer deserved, or would even achieve such a thing. Your words had surprised him, and you can see him mulling over his sainthood in his mind.

You turn back through the pages, to Sankt Ilya’s story, and trace your fingers over the illustration. The white stag with its glimmering antlers. The sea whip with its scales dipped in gold. The firebird.

“You know the real story, don’t you? That it wasn’t a farmer’s son your grandfather brought back to life.”

Aleksander nods.

“Baghra only told me about her sister once. But I remember.”

“When Morozova resurrected her, he used merzost.” Aleksander nods. “Unintentionally making her the third of his amplifiers.”

He looks up at you, startled by your revelation, and you can see his thoughts beginning to race.

“But she died. Alongside my grandfather.” He states, but you can hear the question in his voice.

You shake your head.

“She survived. Somehow. She had children, and a long line of descendants, that continues to this day.”

Aleksander regards you for a long moment.

“You know who it is.”

“We already have the third amplifier.” You tell him quietly. “His name is Malyen Ortsev.”

In that moment, you are both silent. The floorboards creak as the wind rattles against the windowpane, and you fight the shiver settling over your skin.

Aleksander leans back in the chair you’re sharing, his eyes never leaving you as he processes this information.

“That’s why you kept them together.” You shake your head.

“Mal has some sort of connection to the other amplifiers. It would have taken us far longer to find them without him.”

“And do you intend for Alina to kill him?”

Your eyes widen, and you shake your head.

“No. Absolutely not.”

He frowns at your almost frantic tone.

“Why?”

“Two amplifiers is her limit. A third one would take her power away, as some sort of punishment for her greed.” Your brows crease and your nose wrinkles in disapproval as you add those final words.

“I presume that’s what happens in the book.”

You nod.

Silence hangs between you both, and you know Aleksander is busying thinking, but there’s something weighing on your mind. Something that neither of you have addressed yet.

“We’re in agreement that taking down the Fold is a bad idea. Aren’t we?” You ask him, and he frowns with surprise in his eyes.

“Yes.” He says slowly. “Though I had thought that you wouldn’t approve of keeping it intact.”

“Taking it down would cause more problems than it’s worth.” He nods in agreement, though his frown doesn’t fade.

“I agree. Although I have a suspicion that we’re both thinking about different problems.”

As you nod, you take a moment to gather your thoughts, and consider how to explain what the problem is.

“The creation of the Fold caused a tear in the making at the heart of the world. There’s no reasonable method of fixing that.”

He tilts his head aside, eyeing you carefully.

“Meaning there’s an unreasonable one?”

Several thoughts run through your mind. Aleksander’s death in the Fold by Alina’s hand. His resurrection, and possession of a young monk. The thornwood tree. The sacrifice he makes, once again, for his country, to hold the tear closed for eternity with his body.

You narrow your eyes at him.

“It’s very annoying when you do that.”

Amusement twinkles in his eyes as he adjusts his arms around you, his palms settling on your waist as he raises a brow.

“What? See through the clever word choices you make to avoid a discussion you won’t like?”

“Yes.” You say, looking down as anxiety floods through you.

If you explain everything, would Aleksander offer to make the sacrifice - to suffer for eternity to keep the Fold at bay? Your heart twists painfully in your chest at the thought of such a thing.

“I won’t pry.” He says softly.

Glancing back up at him, some of your nerves dissipate as his eyes meet yours. You nod, and continue to talk through your thoughts.

“At the end of the trilogy, Alina loses her power, and the Fold is brought down. But in its place there’s something worse.”

“What is it?”

At that, you falter.

“My knowledge is a little limited at this point.” Aleksander raises a questioning brow at you, and you sigh. “There’s two more books set after the trilogy… but I’ve only read the scenes with you in them.”

The corner of Aleksander’s mouth quirks, and you roll your eyes at the sight of his own eyes sparkling with fond amusement.

“Even after it’s destroyed, fragments of the Fold reappear because of the tear at the making, leaving destruction in their wake.”

Aleksander nods slowly, running a hand over his face as he thinks.

“With more training and the power of two amplifiers, Alina should be able to remove the volcra. After that, the Fold is more of an inconvenience than a problem.” You nod in agreement.

“That should work.”

Aleksander runs his hands down your side, in an effort to keep you warm. It’s comforting, sitting in a shabby little room with the fire crackling weakly in the corner, pressed against Aleksander’s chest. No doubt he feels you press a little heavier against his chest as you body pleads for sleep.

He drops a kiss onto your forehead.

“Bed?” He asks softly, and you nod.

Aleksander tucks his papers away, and you place The Lives of Saints back into the drawer. Once you’ve finished clearing away, Aleksander takes your hand, and you move towards the bed.

You settle under the covers, as Aleksander dresses into his night clothes.

“And your plans for the throne?” He asks, lifting the covers before he slips into bed beside you.

“Convince Vasily to abdicate, then prove that Nikolai has no official claim.” You mumble as you wrap your arms around him. Aleksander frowns, and you add quickly, “It’s a very loose plan, at the moment.”

He breathes out a small laugh at your admission.

“Well, it’s a good start.”

You smile softly at the sound of his laugh and fall asleep with your head on his chest.

»»---------------------►

On your return to Os Alta, Aleksander immediately receives news of the King’s illness worsening. He is now bedridden, but you insist to Aleksander that the King should still be treated despite his confinement, in case Nikolai should return. No one can suspect any foul play once the King finally dies.

As Royal Consort, you’re invited to the palace to attend and comfort the Queen in a time of such distress. She sits surrounded by ladies maids, who all flutter their fans towards her whenever a moment of emotion seizes her.

Occasionally she will sniffle in such a manner that has you uncertain as to whether she’s genuinely upset, or just playing a part for her Court. Nevertheless, you offer her empty assurances with falsified sincerity in your voice.

Luckily it’s racing season, meaning that Vasily is several miles away at his dacha in Carvyea. Whether he has heard of his father’s condition, you’re uncertain, but no one mentions his absence.

Day after day, you’re brought before the Queen, and her ladies maids all fawn over you. They run through the usual topic of conversation - your engagement. In response, you show them the Lanstov emerald that you wore almost permanently now that you were back in the capital. Aleksander’s necklace is, as always, hidden underneath your shirt.

They all seem dreadfully excited about the wedding, which has anxiety settling into your stomach. With Vasily not even here, how can you convince him not to marry you or become king? The stress certainly doesn’t help how warm you get when you’re sitting in the Queen’s parlour.

Even you, who feels cold on the warmest of days, find the rooms of the Grand Palace incredibly stuffy.

It’s on a particularly warm day that an attendant announces the arrival of Second Prince Nikolai of Ravka.

Part of you is relieved to not be the centre of attention for once. Though the rest of you is concerned. Did Nikolai know about your engagement to his brother? Surely he must recognise you from when you met him as Sturmhond. Does he know about you and Aleksander? Zoya always said that the two of you were rather obvious.

The Queen is thrilled by her son’s arrival, and you can’t help but feel a little bad for her. None of her family ever wants to be home, it’s no wonder she’s always eager when someone new arrives. She kisses him on both of his cheeks, and he blushes a little at her affections.

Then she introduces you to him.

You bow politely and offer him your hand. He takes it, his eyes fixed on yours as he lifts your hand to his lips.

“A pleasure to finally meet the person I’ve heard so much about.” He says.

Nikolai always chooses his words carefully. You’re certain there’s a hidden message in his greeting, some sort of warning that says: I know you.

After a little more time of Nikolai telling some rather entertaining stories about his travels, you decide to make yourself scarce. The prince doesn’t let you escape so easily.

“Allow me to walk you back to the Little Palace.”

“Thank you, Your Highness. Though I assure you, I’m quite capable of walking alone.”

His eyes sparkle with amusement as he remarks with a small knowing laugh,

“I’m quite sure you are.”

Despite his face being different, you still feel like you’re talking to Sturmhond, and you’re tempted to roll your eyes as you accept his hand. You don’t notice the Queen watching you both with a small smile.

Alina had punched Nikolai in the face when he had revealed himself as Sturmhond. Whilst you don’t think the Court would approve of such a thing, the smirk on his lips certainly tempts you. Perhaps punching him would release some of the awful tension in your shoulders.

The two of you walk quietly down the corridor, before exiting through a side door and making your way towards the path which leads to the Little Palace. The silence between you urges you to make some conversation.

“Lovely weather we’re having for this time of year.” You remark lightly as you walk arm in arm.

The breeze is fresh, and the sunlight carries some delicate warmth that is so characteristic of spring shaking away the cold of winter.

“You’re not marrying Vasily for love.” He states.

That certainly didn’t take long. You blink at him.

“What makes you say such a thing?”

Nikolai raises a brow at you.

“Perhaps the rather endearing love confession I witnessed between you and General Kirigan a few weeks ago?”

Keeping your face as neutral as possible, you curse yourself internally.

“Forgive me Your Highness, but you must be mistaken. We’ve never met before.”

“Don’t play coy with me.”

Deciding to drop your confused facade, you give him a small smile as you say,

“I thought you liked our little back and forth?”

The corner of his mouth twitches slightly in amusement, but he sighs and shakes his head.

“Why do you want the throne?”

“I don’t.”

“You’re saying you want my brother?”

“No. I…”

Closing your eyes for a moment, you consider your options. Just this once, the truth might work best.

“I just want to make Ravka better. He asked me, out of the blue, and whilst I don’t love him… I thought I could do some good as a consort.”

He’s quiet after your admission, and you lift your gaze up from the grass to look at his face. He seems to be pondering your words seriously, and when he sees the worry in your eyes he smiles reassuringly.

“I believe you.”

Breathing out a small sigh of relief, your grip on him tightens as you step painfully onto a stone. The two of you are quiet for a small length of time. No doubt Nikolai is thinking deeply, so you look over the landscape.

The grass that connects the Grand Palace to the Little Palace is a bright luscious green, and a few insects can be seen buzzing cheerfully above a small patch of flowers.

When you glance back at Nikolai you find him already looking at you.

“What if you married me?” He asks. Your eyes widen.

It takes you a moment to respond.

“No offence, but you’re a second son. Practically speaking, you’re a downgrade.”

“But physically I’m an upgrade, right?” He remarks smoothly, tilting his head to gesture at himself, and you laugh.

“Vasily is still first in line.” You remind him.

“I think I can convince him to abdicate.” You tilt your head at him. That had been your plan, which might be easier to accomplish with Nikolai on your side. “With a big enough fund to live off, and spend on his horses, I think he could be quite content.”

“So do I.” You say softly in agreement. He raises a brow,

“Is that a yes?”

“Wouldn’t it be a scandal?” You ask with a nervous frown. “I’m engaged to your brother, then I decide to marry you instead?”

“We’ll have him leave suddenly. You can act heartbroken for a month or so while his charming younger brother consoles you. Only to sweep you off your feet in a whirlwind romance. The people will love it.”

His words have a smile tugging at your lips. It feels strange, to be scheming with someone other than Aleksander. You wonder what he will think about this offer.

“Do you mind if I think about this?” You ask him.

Nikolai nods with a small smile.

“Give my regards to General Kirigan.”

»»---------------------►

You push the door to the war room open, and stand staring into the room for a moment, your head swimming with thoughts. When Aleksander looks up from his place at the large table he chuckles quietly at your expression.

“How was it?”

“I need to go lie down.” You state.

With that, you step inside and shut the door behind you. Then you walk towards the bedroom with the intent to lie down and close your eyes for a long time.

“Nikolai returned to Court today.” You tell Aleksander as you cross the threshold into his bedroom.

Slumping down onto the bed, you stare up at the ceiling for a moment before you close your eyes. Aleksander’s footsteps echo over the hardwood floor, as he appears in the doorway.

“Did he speak with you?”

“Among other things.” You remark distractedly. “He proposed.”

Aleksander raises a brow and steps into the bedroom. He sits down on the sofa beside his bed, and you sit up.

“I didn’t think their sibling rivalry would extend to such lengths - stealing each other’s betrothed.”

You breathe out a small laugh.

“Nikolai knows about us.” You admit softly. “Me and you.” He shrugs.

“It’s not uncommon. A marriage of convenience often means both parties find what they’re lacking in their marriage elsewhere.”

“You mean the royals usually have affairs while their spouse looks the other way?” He nods.

Lost in thought, you tug your boots off and pull one of your knees up to your chest, folding your arms around your leg.

“The situation is ideal.” You reason. “Nikolai is the best option for the throne at the moment, but…”

You sigh, staring down at the floor.

“I know it’s selfish, I just can’t help but think that I’m ruining everyone’s chance at happiness.”

Nikolai won’t fall for Zoya like he’s meant to, that’s two people broken apart by you. You’ve stopped Aleksander from being with Alina, and whilst he says he wants you now that could change. You will grow old. Aleksander won’t.

Aleksander stands, and within two steps he’s in front of you. He crouches down, so that his face is level with yours, and his forearms rest on either side of you.

“This arrangement with Nikolai is temporary.” He assures you. “Accept his proposal, as long as he agrees to a courtship. That will buy us time.”

Aleksander brushes his knuckles against your cheek, before he cups your face in his hand.

“While he courts you, and even while your engagement begins, we will plan our next move.”

He kisses your forehead, his nose trailing over yours as he moves his lips down to meet yours, and butterflies flutter in your stomach as you kiss slowly. Aleksander smiles when a soft hum of pleasure escapes your lips, and he kisses the tip of your nose.

A smile spreads over your lips, and Aleksander regards you fondly as his fingers trail from your cheek to trace along your jawline. He takes your chin between his fingers and kisses you again.

“You won’t have to marry anyone you don’t want to.”

»»---------------------►

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[fortheloveofwonderland]

*pulls up through the smut drivethrough*

Uhh yeahh can i get a uhh

😈 dom Spencer with some 🛀 shower sex and an age gap, and maybe Spencer's a great dom but he is insecure about his tum and his happy trail bc his sub is so much younger and he thinks he needs to be more in shape, so hes more nervous about shower sex (idk some mental hangup) but she happily shows him how much she loves him and his fuzzy tumm❤️❤️

Ah Smurph, coming at me with the good shit! 😁 this is NSFW Minors DNI.

Summary - Spencer starts feeling his age when he gets a much younger sub.

CW - mentions of BDSM clubs, mentions of restraints, age gap between consenting adults, mentions of semi-public sex, Dom! Spencer, sub! Reader, slight sugar daddy, daddy kink, use of “good girl”, praise, Spencer’s insecure thoughts, oral (m receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, swearing.

WC - 4.3k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Exposed

Not my gif

Age had snuck up on Spencer like an unsub lurking in the shadows. One minute he’d been in his early twenties, fresh from the academy on his first day at the BAU and the next he was staring forty in the face.

Somehow over fifteen years had passed him by in the blink of an eye along with a lifetime of trauma.

Age was just a concept, he knew that, he knew he was only as old as he felt. But unfortunately for Spencer Reid, he’d always felt older than his age.

He’d had to grow up fast after his dad had left and he’d been solely responsible for his schizophrenic mothers care.

With his genius level IQ, he’d always been younger than his peers and tried desperately to fit in with his older classmates.

He was twenty two when he’d been recruited by Gideon to join the BAU and always felt older than his years given he was a great deal smarter than his much older teammates.

Honestly Spencer had never really given his age much of a second thought. Aside from when he turned thirty and had a mini crisis about what he was doing with his life until Prentiss had talked him off that particular ledge.

For the most part, Spencer was happy aging, it was an undeniable part of life after all.

But then he met you.

Spencer had always been to a certain degree or another interested in the world of BDSM. It started as a curiosity, an introduction coming in the form of a few cases with the BAU.

Over time, the curiosity peaked into more of a fascination and then it became a full blown obsession.

He never acted on it, not publically anyway. Sure, one glance at Spencer’s internet history would tell you exactly what he was into but he never quite had the confidence to act upon it.

But after he spent three months in Milburn, Spencer’s whole life changed. He stopped caring what other people might think of him; tomorrow was not guaranteed. One day he’d been helping his mom and the next he was in prison. Why waste time denying the things that bring us pleasure?

So that’s how Spencer stumbled across The Crucible. Needing a way to blow off steam after his stint in prison he’d taken to the dark net which he’d heard all about from Garcia.

The Crucible was a monthly members only event held in a private social club just off DuPont Circle that catered to those interested in the BDSM lifestyle. Spencer had been particularly intrigued by the line on their website that promoted a dress to impress party, however rest assured nudity is always welcomed and accepted.

He spent weeks mulling it over in his head, fantasising what could await him at such a place. Surely The Crucible was a place all his wildest dreams could become reality?

So one night he donned his best suit and without second guessing himself, he made the pilgrimage across town. He completed a membership form and happily parted with the admittance fee.

As he entered that first night, excitement coursed through his entire body. Anticipation of what might await him made him feel as though he was on fire.

He knew from that first night he had found his rightful place in the world. The Crucible offered him the chance to be his authentic self, no judgement, no question.

And after prison, Spencer sorely needed a safe place he could revel in his darkest fantasies.

There were rules to be followed in The Crucible, it wasn’t just a complete free for all and Spencer found those rules comforting as he nervously entered a party for the first time.

There were absolutely no cellphones. All technology was strictly checked at the door so the patrons could enjoy their nights in the knowledge that their privacy remained intact.

It was imperative that BDSM etiquette was adhered to. It was completely off the cards to interfere with anyone involved in a scene. Watching was encouraged, touching without prior consent was forbidden.

The house safe word was Red, or Yellow for caution. Due to the nature of the loud music pulsing through the venue they also had an alternate non-verbal agreement: two closed fists equalled consent, one open hand meant caution and two open hands signalled stop.

Any play or scene considered high risk had to be approved by the venue ahead of time. Medical play, including anything that opened skin or caused bleeding was strictly confined to the medical play area.

Everything belonging to The Crucible used during play must be cleaned after use with the cleaning supplies provided.

Spencer liked rules and order, and it made his debut into this world all the easier for him.

His first few parties he hung out on the sidelines, observing scenes and drinking in the atmosphere.

After three parties he indulged in his first official scene at The Crucible.

It didn’t take him long to start growing a picture of what he liked. He certainly liked to be the dominant, having full control over the woman he was sharing a scene with.

The more control the better for Spencer.

It drove him wild to have his partner restrained and at his full mercy, begging him to give them release. He loved the power he got to exert over them while they whimpered and pleaded with him.

His innocence kink didn’t come to light until he met you.

He’d been playing at The Crucible for close to a year, as long as he wasn’t away on a case he was there every month.

The night you strolled in while Spencer was sipping a glass of water at the bar, time stood still.

You wore a white cocktail dress that skimmed high up your thighs and dipped low enough for him to get an eyeful of cleavage. You paired it with a pair of white stockings that reached your knees and white patent heels.

You were young, much younger than him. Much too young for the way he wanted to completely destroy you only to piece you back together.

But maybe you’d like that. Maybe you’d like having an older man who knew exactly how to please a woman take charge and turn you into a quivering fucking mess.

Just thinking of all the ways in which he could corrupt you made him painfully hard as he watched you sashay across the room towards the bar.

You’d been confident beyond your years when he spoke to you and your attraction for him had been apparent right from the start.

And when you leaned in close to him, placed your delicate hand on his shoulder and whispered “I want you to destroy me, Doctor Reid,” Spencer had damn near had a heart attack.

He’d taken you for the first time that night while others gathered to watch. And he destroyed you just like you so politely asked him to.

He’d edged you to the point of tears, had you begging him pathetically to let you come and when he finally did allow you to, you screamed his name so loudly it pierced through the music.

But it wasn’t just you who had been ruined by him that night; he in turn was ruined by you.

He knew after that one night he’d never be able to be with another woman who wasn’t you.

And luckily for him, you’d been happy with that arrangement.

Your first trip to The Crucible had been your last as Spencer made it clear that he wanted you to be his submissive and no one else.

He was the perfect dominant. He destroyed you in the bedroom over and over again, with his hands, his mouth and his cock.

But he always took great care of you afterwards. He massaged lotion into any marks he’d left behind on you, helped you hydrate and held you while you came down.

He showered you with gifts from expensive lingerie which he always inevitably tore off you, to any manner of sex toys.

He got you your own collar, a baby pink leather cuff joined at the throat with a metal heart. It meant you belonged to him.

Spencer was absolutely smitten with you. He adored everything about you. But there were times when you made him feel so insecure about his age.

You were in your early twenties and most of the time he counted his lucky stars that someone so young and beautiful would even look at him.

But sometimes you made him feel so, so old. Not deliberately, of course not, but sometimes Spencer just didn’t feel good enough for you.

He had hang ups about his body, especially after he left prison. He’d always been incredibly skinny, but the last few years he’d found himself not able to metabolise as fast as he could in his twenties and early thirties.

His stomach bore the brunt of his weight gain, his once flat tummy now rounded and paunched. His formerly slender thighs were now thicker too.

His clothes hugged that little bit tighter, his belly sagged slightly over his belt when he sat down. He knew this day would come, it was all part of the aging process.

And if it weren’t for the fact you were so much younger than him he might not have cared so much.

But he was worried it was only a matter of time that you left him for someone younger, someone in better shape than he was.

He often wondered if you noticed the positions you had sex in were designed so you wouldn’t notice the weight around his stomach.

He was very rarely on top, preferring to either have you ride him so he could suck his stomach in beneath you or fucking you from behind.

He always slipped a shirt on right after, never prolonged being topless around you. Maybe you’d noticed, but if you had you’d never said anything.

***

Excitement coursed through every nerve ending in your body whenever your phone buzzed with Spencer’s assigned text tone.

You always found yourself clamping your thighs together just hearing that sound.

He was flying back to DC tonight after a case had taken him out of state again and wanted you to come over.

Since the moment you’d laid eyes on him propping up the bar at The Crucible you’d never been able to say no to him.

You’d found yourself at the event that night after growing tired fumbling around with drunk frat boys who thought they knew how to please a woman.

Spoiler alert: they never did. In fact the first time you ever come by someone else’s hands, it was Spencer’s that night at The Crucible.

He certainly knew how to please you. He was old enough and experienced enough to be able to make you come repeatedly, often until you were so sensitive you couldn’t stand to be touched anymore.

He took care of you, he worshiped the ground you walked on. He treated you the way a man should treat you.

It was supposed to just be sex, you knew this. But somewhere between the mind blowing orgasms and the kindness he showed you afterwards, you’d fallen for him.

You’d never told him, probably never would. You were just grateful for every moment you got to spend with him.

You dressed in one of the lingerie sets he brought you under your clothes and got a cab across the city to his apartment. You toyed with the metal heart on your collar as you considered what might await you tonight, pressing your thighs together in the back seat of the cab.

He’d given you a key to his apartment months ago when he’d had to leave for a case right after a scene. He’d told you to stay as long as you liked and lock up when you left.

He’d had you keep it so you could stay in his apartment when he was away if you chose. He liked you being there, he liked coming home to the scent of you on his bedsheets.

A few times the two of you had engaged in phone sex and it drove him while to know you were in his bed while you touched yourself for him.

You let yourself in his apartment tonight, at first not sure he was home yet until a small sliver of light coming from under the bedroom door informed you he was.

You hurried towards the bedroom, throwing the door open only to find the room empty.

His shirt, jacket and slacks were folded neatly on the bed and then you heard the sound of the shower running from the bathroom.

You pressed your thighs together again at the thought of him naked and wet behind that door. For whatever reason the two of you had never indulged in shower sex before and that seemed criminal to you.

You quickly stripped out of your clothes until you wore nothing aside from your collar. You were already wet with anticipation as you crept to the bathroom door.

He was rinsing shampoo out of his hair, head tilted back and eyes closed. His exposed neck looked so fucking kissable right now.

You took a moment to just watch him, realising suddenly you’d never really had much time to take in his naked form.

He looked like a goddamn oil painting, the water droplets rolling gracefully down his milky flesh sending shivers down your spine.

You let an involuntary hiss slip from between your parted lips and it must have been loud enough to be heard over the running water as Spencer’s eyes snapped open and landed on you.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he swallowed, glancing over your naked body. “I-I didn’t realise you’d be here so s-soon.”

He stumbled over his words which wasn’t like him. Spencer was always so confident, so sure of himself.

Before you could speak he suddenly turned around so his back was to you and you saw his arms snake around his own waist.

“Uh…I’ll be out soon. Just wait in the bedroom.”

“Why would I wait in the bedroom?” You laughed, taking a couple of steps closer to the shower.

“Please?” He whimpered a little, a sound you’d never heard from him. “I w-won’t be long.”

You frowned a little at the timid tone of his voice. The way his hands clutched his sides as though…as though…

…as though he was trying to hide himself.

You couldn’t help yourself when you stepped in the tub behind him, hands moving to rest on top of his own.

Spencer let out a shaky breath, his whole body rigid at your touch.

“What’s wrong?” You placed a kiss to his shoulder blade, speaking against his skin.

“Bad day. I just need a minute.”

But it was more than that and you knew it.

You had your own body issues, who didn’t? And you knew the signs Spencer was exhibiting. He was insecure about his body.

“Spencer?” Your hands wandered around his front, brushing against his tummy as you pressed your chest to his back. “You don’t want me to see you, baby?”

He sighed and deflated a little in your arms as the water ran between you.

“I-I…I’m not as skinny as I used to be when I was y-younger.”

“You think I won’t find you attractive?” You pressed your chest harder against him, fingers running up to his chest.

“You’re so young and beautiful, Y/N. I don’t want you to realise you can do better.”

Your heart melted. Did he seriously not know how much you loved him? Granted you’d never said it before but you thought it was obvious.

“Spencer,” you whispered. “Let me see you baby. Really see you.”

You gently guided him around by his shoulders and his eyes were large and fearful. His wet hair fell on his forehead and you brushed it back, kissing his lips softly.

You stepped back a little to admire him in all his glory. How could he think you wouldn’t love every inch of him? How could he think he was anything less than perfect?

You ran your fingers over his sides, up his ribs and back down again. Spencer was chewing on his bottom lip.

“Spencer Reid,” you used one hand to cup his jaw. “You are beautiful. Every inch of you. Let me show you how beautiful I think you are.”

You drew him in for a kiss, waiting for permission before you touched him anywhere else. Spencer moaned a little against your lips and you felt him nodding his head.

Leaving him with one last kiss you were quick to drop to your knees in the basin. He grew hard within seconds, you being on your knees in front of him had that effect.

“Can I show you how much I adore you, daddy?”

Spencer whined, nodding frantically. You were so good at asking his permission and hearing you call him daddy always made him lose his mind.

When you first met he had you call him Doctor in bed. One night while he was edging you for a particularly long time you whined, “please daddy, please can I come?”

The moan that one word had ripped from Spencer’s lungs, ricocheting off the walls, was all the proof you needed that he'd enjoyed the accidental slip of the tongue. You’d called him that ever since.

You held his hips, drawing him closer to you, his throbbing dick begging to be touched. But that wasn’t where your attention lay.

You pressed a kiss to his tummy, right next to his belly button. The skin was soft and warm and wet and a simple kiss made Spencer moan.

You trailed your lips across his stomach from hip to hip, massaging his sides between your fingers.

“You’re so beautiful.” You mumbled against his skin. “So fucking perfect.”

You moved your hands so you could bestow some attention to his love handles. He winced a little as your lips danced over the stretch marks he hated so much.

You looked up at him through your wet lashes.

“Daddy, I adore every part of you. Every part.” You insisted.

The eyes looking down on you weren’t the confident ones you were used to. You could see every one of his insecurities flooding out of those amber eyes.

And you couldn’t help the words that came tumbling out your lips as you continued to kiss his tummy.

“I love you. I love you. I love every single thing about you.” You fingers grazed through the trail of hair that led from his belly button into his pubic hair.

Spencer felt tears pooling behind his eyes.

God how he loved you too.

You sat back a little and he felt your soft breath on his cock and suddenly his animal side took over.

His hand that had been limply hanging at his sides quickly hooked through your collar, roughly tugging you closer to him.

“Put your pretty little mouth to good use, princess.” The head of his dick was right in front of your pouty lips and as soon as you parted them an inch, he was pushing his way inside your mouth.

His other hand gripped your hair, pulling at the roots. You knew well enough by now that you wouldn’t have to do much and that was confirmed when Spencer snapped his hips and his cock hit the back of your throat.

You held onto him, caressing his hips in a strangely gentle fashion while he roughly started fucking your mouth.

You hollowed your cheeks and allowed him to use you like a toy, just the way he liked. You were a toy for him to do with what he wished and that was a role you loved to play.

He was moaning already as he snapped his hips over and over, pummelling the back of your throat while you took everything he had to give you.

His hand on your collar joined his other in your hair and he used it to help pull you back and forth on his length.

“Fucking hell, princess.” He growled. “You are such a fucking good girl. You take daddy’s cock so well.”

You hummed around him at the praise, pressing your thighs together as a wave of pleasure jolted between your legs.

You looked up at him and he was staring back at you, those sad eyes from a moment before now blown out wide in pleasure.

Despite the water from the shower he could tell the droplets at the corner of your eyes were tears. He wasn’t doing it right if you didn’t cry.

Always destroy her. Always put her back together after.

“Your fucking mouth was made to suck my cock, princess, don’t ever forget it.” He slammed into your mouth harder and harder and you continued to hum around him.

You brushed your fingers over his stomach, desperate for him to know how perfect you thought him.

When Spencer came he didn’t warn you but you knew him well enough to know seconds before it happened.

You swallowed his arousal, sucking him through his orgasm until he was physically tugging you to your feet by your hair.

“God-fucking-damn.” He kissed you hard the second you were up and pushed you back against the wet tiled wall.

You kept your hands on his tummy, running your fingers over his skin as he kissed down your neck.

He pawed roughly at your breasts before his hands got lower down your body.

He cupped the back of one of your thighs and lifted it to wrap around his waist, your other foot planted firmly on the shower basin.

His other hand was quick to find your clit and massaged it deftly.

He kissed you again, capturing your moans in his own mouth. Normally he would spend hours bringing you to the brink only to stop right before you came, over and over again until you begged him.

But Spencer was so overcome with emotions right now he didn’t have it in him to tease. He wanted to make you feel as good as you’d just made him feel.

You rocked against his fingers, nibbling on his bottom lip as he brought you to the edge in no time at all.

When you whispered you were close into his mouth you expected him to stop. But he didn’t.

He increased his speed, growing hard again just by the way you felt against him.

Your legs shuddered as you came, moaning against his lips and using his shoulders to stay upright.

His tongue plunged deeply into your mouth as he scooped you up in his arms, pressing you back against the wall while the water from the shower head cascaded between your bodies.

You wrapped your legs around him, gripping his shoulders tightly as he entered you, filling you up in that perfect way only he could.

His head fell to your shoulder, his wet hair tickling your neck as he started lazily thrusting you against the wall.

“You’re perfect, daddy.” You mumbled, digging your fingernails into his shoulders. “You’re so fucking perfect. I love you. I love you.”

Spencer whimpered, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes which he hid by nuzzling against your neck.

He picked up his pace, slamming into you as your back hit the wall again and again.

“Such a good girl. Such a fucking good girl.” He spoke into your neck, peppering the skin with kisses.

Your head rolled back against the tiles supported only by Spencer’s strong hands under your thighs.

You lifted your head again and looked down between your bodies. His stomach looked glorious as it tensed slightly each time he thrust inside of you and then softened again as he pulled back.

How this man thought he was anything other than perfect was beyond you.

“Beautiful. You’re beautiful. You are fucking…fucking…” you were cut off as a moan burst from your lungs and you came again, clenching around him.

Spencer moaned at the feeling, biting down on your neck a little.

He continued to pound into you as you became like a rag doll in his arms. He kept his tight hold on you as he fucked you until he came too.

There would never be a better feeling than Spencer coming inside of you.

He rode out his orgasm, lazily thrusting until he was completely spent.

He kissed your neck and your jawline and finally your lips.

“Do you think you can stand, angel?”

“Think so.” You whined when he pulled out of you before gently setting you down on your feet. He held your shoulders to steady you until he was sure you could stand on your own.

He shut off the shower and helped you out the tub.

The two of you stood in his bathroom, naked and dripping wet, just admiring each other for a moment.

Spencer never thought he’d be able to be comfortable being this vulnerable around you but tonight you’d melted his insecurities away.

As if he needed proof, your hands found his stomach, brushing against his skin before gripping his hips.

“I mean it Spencer, I think you are completely and utterly perfect.” You whispered as a shiver passed up your spine from the cold.

He kissed you briefly before grabbing two towels off the rail. He wrapped one around you before wrapping the other around his waist.

“I’ve never let myself be this open with someone before. Physically and mentally.” He confessed. “I think it’s because…I love you too.”

A dopey smile spread to your face and more tears gathered behind your eyes as Spencer kissed you again.

You’d well and truly torn Spencer’s well manufactured walls to the ground. You’d crashed through them like they were made of paper, something no one else had ever been able to do before.

Being vulnerable scared the shit out of Spencer Reid. But you’d rendered him defenceless, his body and his heart.

You exposed him in the best possible way. And he would forever be at your mercy because

[chickenparm]

Fidget Device (Alhaitham/afab!Reader) (2)

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Art inspired by this fic by @drawlypsy can be found here!

Alhaitham/afab!Reader

2,867 Words - NSFW

Blowjobs, allusions to m!Masturbation

---

Pleasant dreams aside, the reality upon your waking is startlingly mundane. 

Alhaitham doesn’t stay, he doesn’t look at you as he drops his coffee mug into the sink and turns to leave. There’s barely any acknowledgement at all beyond him calling a generic goodbye into the depths of the house that really only housed you at the moment - Kaveh was absent as often as possible, including this morning. 

Your own work beckons you, but it’s impossibly hard to focus when you’re entirely unsure if last night was a dream or the real thing. 

Chewing on the end of your pen - something Alhaitham would’ve scoffed at if he’d spent longer than 5 minutes in your presence - you mull over the possibilities. It had to have been a dream, that’s the only conclusion you can really come to. Even someone as composed as Alhaitham wouldn’t have been able to be so nonchalant in your presence. 

Nothing but a sweet dream, one that you immerse yourself in with your cheek in your palm and the sun coming through the stained glass window against your skin in shades of teal and olive. Even in the mornings, Sumeru’s sun shines bright enough to warm you pleasantly in the home that Alhaitham stubbornly keeps cold in all seasons. 

How he’d smelled, how even in your dreams he’d let you cling to him as he thoughtlessly toyed with you as if it were nothing. Even in your thoughts he doesn’t pay you any mind, even in the throes of your excitement, even as you grind down against his lap, against his hand. The fabric of his gloves dragging against the skin of your-

Chin nearly falling off its perch with enough force to sting, you sit upright and push back from your desk. Glove. Alhaitham wasn’t wearing his gloves when he left. Alhaitham didn’t particularly favor change, down to the very outfit he wears and the various accessories that come with it. Why would he forego wearing something he’s so attached to?

His bedroom is never locked. There’s no reason for it - Kaveh knows better to cross the line into messing with Alhaitham’s belongings, and there’s always been a quiet acceptance of your presence when you poke your head in to ask him something. Even so, it feels odd to cross the threshold and step inside when he isn’t present. 

Alhaitham’s room is filled with wall-to-wall bookcases, a large desk that serves to hold unsorted books rather than any sort of work, and a bed that sits unmade beneath the window facing the sun. It’s tactically placed for him to awaken when the light brushes over him. Stepping closer, your fingers reach for the divot in the bed that he seems to lay in, blankets thrown back as if he’d risen in a hurry. 

It’s far from being still warm with his body heat, long chilled despite his departure less than an hour ago. Pressing your palm to his pillow, you wonder what he might’ve looked like as he dozed. The sunlight feels thick as it comes through the window, dust motes lazily crossing the beam in little pinpricks of light. Absently, your thumb drags along the pillowcase, pretending for only a moment that the fabric could be substituted for the smoothness of his cheek. 

Would he hum in response? Smile in his sleep at your touch? More likely he would awaken the moment you entered the room, pushing himself into a sitting position and look at you as if you were nothing more than the very sparks of dust that cast impossibly small shadows against the back of your hand. 

Snatching your hand back, clutching it to your chest and turning on your heel, you remind yourself of the entire reason you entered in the first place. Alhaitham’s gloves - where would they be?

Easy enough. His laundry hamper sits in the corner, its wicker lid pulled shut to hide what’s inside. Without as much shame as you should have for going through a grown man’s laundry, you lift the lid with a single finger and find your answer sitting right on the top. Black fabric that has an unmistakable stain as if it’d been hurriedly used to-

The lid snaps back down and you take two measured steps back to the middle of the room. There’s no misinterpreting any of that - from the evidence of what he’d done to you that’d seeped into the base of the glove’s fingerless portion, to the remains of his own pleasure smeared along what would’ve been the palm if he were wearing it. 

“Not a dream, then.”

Your quiet murmur feels deafening in the silence of Alhaitham’s bedroom. The sun still moves across the sky, his bed still sits unmade, the dust dances before your eyes as you stare at the wicker basket and try to piece together the simple truth. Everything he’d done last night truly happened, and he still left so quickly in the morning that you’re beginning to think he might have regretted it. 

Perhaps he was fearful of your reaction; he hadn’t necessarily given you room to say no, but neither did you want to. Certainly if you tried he would have, Alhaitham isn’t like that. So what caused him to run?

Shame. It had to be shame, judging by the evidence left behind. Alhaitham isn’t necessarily the neatest person in the world. Often you’ve entered this room where his jacket has been tossed across the back of his chair, or one boot sits by the door while the other is across the room. Even his bed is often only made to the point of laying the duvet flat and the pillows aligned, the sheet still mussed under the covers. 

Alhaitham put his gloves there to hide them. On purpose. 

—

This is a stupid idea. But it’s the only one you have, and that has to count for something. 

If there’s anything about Alhaitham that you know for certain, it’s that he’s punctual down to leaving his work at exactly five o’ clock without deviation. Then the short walk home, reinforced by the way the front door shuts and a little slower than usual he makes his way to the kitchen where you’re just serving up a portion of the soup you’ve made that you know he detests.

Just one portion. 

Keeping your back to him, you stare into the earthenware dish before you and ask, “How was work?”

“It was work. How was…” Alhaitham trails off, as if just now coming to the realization he had no clue what your plans were for the day because he didn’t bother to say anything to you before leaving that morning. 

Maybe you’re a little too satisfied that he’s come across this blunder in your presence, but you don’t let him flounder for too long. “My day was enlightening. Lots of new thoughts, I’m sure you understand.”

And oh does the sound of his sharp inhale make your heart race in anticipation. Elaboration isn’t needed; this conversation could be left right here and Alhaitham would know exactly what you’re referring to. But he calls your bluff, stepping closer as if his proximity would cause you distress. “I’d understand better if you shared them.”

“After dinner.” You promise, turning to hold the bowl out to him with hands outstretched, your chin jerking toward the table that oft goes unused. Angular eyes narrow in suspicion - first at the bowl in your hands, then to the table that’s been set with a single placemat, cup, and utensils. Everything tonight has its purpose, including the absence of your own seat.

But without a history of malice, Alhaitham can’t truly deny you this. His ungloved fingers pass across your own as he takes what you’re offering, skin burning against skin for the briefest moment before the exchange is made. When he’s seated, staring listlessly down at the food you’ve made, you busy yourself with extinguishing the oven’s flame and cracking the door to let the heat seep out. 

And then, your own dinner portion. 

Alhaitham has made it through a few bites, that damn book laid flat on the table as he multitasks. For once, you’re thankful for his utter distraction. It lets you sink to your knees unbothered, it allows you the freedom to crawl across the floor beneath the table until you can slot yourself rather neatly between his parted knees. 

The chair shoots back enough for him to look down at you, eyes wide and pupils visibly dilating at the sight of you on your knees, apron pooled around you, hands barely ghosting across the tops of his thighs. “What are you doing?”

A simple question, one that arguably fits his definition of needless, but you’re not here to split hairs over things like that. Letting go of him, you reach for the legs of his chair and tug him back toward you forcefully to emphasize your reasoning. “Having dinner, obviously. Don’t mind me.”

Alhaitham looks at you with undisguised wonder as your fingers creep higher, tracing the inner seam until you can cup your palm against him. Not completely hard, but he’s well on his way, and you remember quite vividly how he’d felt against you last night. Burning hot, insistent, begging you to do something about it if he’d only allowed you to.

Saliva pools beneath your tongue, anticipation for giving him exactly what he deserves proving to be a little too close to ambrosia for you to resist it. He’s grown hard enough beneath your fingers that you can feel the outline of him clearly, and you drag the pads of your fingertips hard enough that he jolts in his chair. Alhaitham’s knees press into your shoulders, and you tsk up at him in admonishment. 

“Eat your dinner. Quit squirming.”

And you’ll eat, too. Fingers tugging at the hem of his pants, just enough for him to bob free, you take a single moment to admire him. It’s a shame he kept this to himself last night - he’s rather pretty.

Saltiness blooms on your tongue as you press it against the head of his cock, first dragging then dipping the tip into the slit at the very tip. Above you, the spoon clatters against the table in response, but rather than chide him you instead fill your mouth with his hardness instead of your words. 

Alhaitham fills your mouth easily, pressing your tongue down as you take him further. The undulation of your tongue along the bottom of his cock make him jerk against you, your swallowing around him must feel far more interesting than whatever he’s reading up there. But he was so interested in it last night…

With a wet pop, you pull back and speak with your lips pressed against the head of his cock, threatening to take him in again, “Having trouble focusing? Do you need me in your lap again?”

Audibly he inhales, certainly prepared to give you a piece of his mind that he must be dying to share, but you cut him off by taking him as far as you can once more. The sound in his throat turns from something coherent to a choked groan as your lips reach the base of his cock briefly, then again, starting a slow pace that’s entirely at your leisure. 

Not his, despite how he rocks toward you in encouragement. Hooking your elbows over his thighs, you leave no room for him to chase after you. Just as he’d locked you in his grasp, you ensnare him just as solidly. At your mercy, he can only lean back in the chair and grip at the armrests with bare fingers and nails digging in audibly. 

The tip of your tongue presses against the prominent vein beneath, relishing in the feel of his racing heartbeat. It’s concrete proof that he isn’t as aloof as he tries to be, though his unfocused eyes on you are just as telling. Now he gives you his attention, undivided and blazing with complete focus. 

It should feel empowering, flattering even. Instead you only feel annoyed, and raise one hand to knock at the bottom of the table above your head. Focus elsewhere, you wordlessly tell him with your cheek bulging around the mass of him, pay me no mind.

Or you’ll stop. You’re not above that, even if you’re getting as much enjoyment out of this as he is. Intuitive even when you’re sucking on him hard enough to veer toward pain, Alhaitham’s hands shake as he reaches to the table, paper rustling enough to tell you he’s at least trying.

But the pages don’t turn, his eyes don’t move as he stares somewhere off in the middle distance. This is how he should’ve looked last night, rather than unaffected and bored. Without a doubt, he’s much easier on the eyes when his jaw is slack and his entire body is full of tension that’s threatening to snap.

The muscles of his abdomen clench, threatening an apex that you’re well aware is looming quickly. His throat bobs with a thick swallow, the exhale through his nose catching on the motion before he rasps, “You’re going to… I’m-”

The words can’t form, not while you drag your tongue on the ridge of his tip, against the vein beneath, along his length with no small amount of self-indulgence. Alhaitham throbs in your mouth, a clear warning for what he’s trying to tell you, and it’s one that you promptly disregard. 

He’s salty on your tongue, between your teeth and cheeks, his release hitting you with force that he can’t use on you himself. Paper crinkles above with his tension, and you’re treated to the sweetest sound of his appreciative moan from low in his chest. Alhaitham’s knees have locked you in, keeping you from pulling back even as he grows soft in your mouth as you swallow his release. 

With his clear refusal to let you go just yet, you gauge his expression from your lower vantage point. Blushed cheeks, half-lidded eyes, chest heaving despite so little exertion - Alhaitham paints a pretty picture, one that you wish you could’ve been allowed to see earlier if he’d been just a little more forthcoming. 

With a thud, his back hits the chair once more and he stares up at the ceiling, cutting off your view of whatever expression he wears. Having lost your patience now that he’s obstructed your sight, you wiggle your way from his grasp and awkwardly shimmy from beneath the table. Lips swollen, you sweep at the corners with your thumb and pointedly turn back to the stove to actually get your dinner. 

Alhaitham can worry about dinner cleanup - you’re rather happy to lock yourself in your room and have a quiet evening alone. Maybe some more of those pleasant dreams are on the table, now that you’ve given yourself more fuel for the fire. 

—

His book has long since closed itself under the pressure of its own binding, but the sound can’t drag him from the half-aware, meandering reverie he directs toward the rafters of the ceiling. Steam that once rose from the bowl of soup is no more, leaving it to congeal in the bowl with only a single spoonful having been taken out of it. 

A tacky clock on the wall - one bought for the purpose of driving Kaveh insane - ticks steadily, ensuring that time is passing. He can’t make heads nor tails of it. Alhaitham doesn’t even try.

Somewhere deeper in the house, Alhaitham hears you moving around. The shower starts with a squeak of turning knobs and water moving through pipes. Images of you flicker behind his eyelids as he closes them, ones that include you undressed under the falling water, humming some tune to yourself that you seem to favor with its simplicity. 

How long has he been sitting here, unable to pull himself together? Slouched in the chair until his back aches, mind whirling with thoughts that are too ephemeral for him to dig his fingers into, openly indecent with his pants down for anyone to see if they were to come into the room. 

Archons the house is cold, he feels it along the backs of his limp hands, on the sweat across his forehead. Even on his dick that you hadn’t bothered to put away when you were finished with him. You’d left rather unceremoniously; at least he’d had the decency to put you to bed.

Cracking his eyes open once more, he turns them to the hallway that would lead directly to you and tries to imagine the exact amount of footsteps it would take to cross the distance to the bathroom. Or from the bathroom. 

Maybe if he called for you-

Alhaitham sits up at the mere thought, fingers digging into the arm rests as leverage. No, he’s not doing that. The chair clatters to the floor as he stands, first tipping to two legs and then all the way back under the pressure of his sudden movements. With still-trembling hands, he reaches to his waistband to put himself away, grimacing at the stickiness. 

It might just be in his best interest to shower as well.

[habit-poxly]

father neptune (pt.2)

Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader

sea monster-hunter au!

description: after two months trapped in Manchester, finally Simon is able to venture back to the island to search for the woman who endlessly haunts his dreams. 

warnings: strong horror elements, descriptions of drowning

word count: 3.2k

masterlist | Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.3

Ghost would often resent coming back to his empty, crumbling flat; there was simply no reason to stay living in Manchester- especially after the passing of his family- yet he had. Year after year Simon would put off moving into London, brushing it off as an eventuality yet one he didn't seem particularly interested in making a reality. He had given the excuse that it was too much hassle, that he didn't have enough time to dedicate to it, but

He had always been a distant man, never caring for sharing his emotions- and rarely his unfiltered thoughts. Any amount of genuine human connection was an anomaly, something he wasn't built for, something he had never felt he experienced fully. He imagines that's the real reason he stays so far away from everyone else; even when he was in a room full of people he still couldn't help but feel like a ghost- completely alone and invisible. 

Night terrors had chased Simon relentlessly for as long as he could remember. He recalls that when he was a child he would often wake up in such a panic, in such fear that he was certain there must have been bugs under his skin with the way it would crawl. Yet, since arriving back to his desolate flat- bare, cold walls nestled in a row of other brown brick units- the night terrors have been replaced with dreams of her. It had been two months, horrific weather grounding the Bravo 141 crew until the storm that raged just off their shores became more manageable. Even the sturdiest of Royal Navy hunting vessels had succumbed to the violent, sail-crushing waves. That information however did nothing to calm Simon's rampant longing to return to the island as quickly as possible. 

Recollections of that night had swarmed in his mind for eight weeks, turning his dreams into visions of her nightly. They were far from the horrific, gory, nightmares he had grown accustomed to; originally they started as dreams of him drowning, a quiet, slow struggle in the ocean's gentle current- a far cry from the way he had already fully accepted he was going to die. He had always believed it would be in battle, in glory, perhaps he would be eaten by a monster- the thought of drowning hardly crossed his mind despite how often he sat on top of the water. The dreams would leave him exhausted in the mornings, his body aching with the physical exertion of the actions from his dreams. 

As time moved on, they morphed into something far different. She would float above the water where he struggled, white grown still heavy with the growing weight of the salty ocean water. Her hands would reach down and take his, keeping his top half bobbing above water, and there they would stay. He doesn't ever recall the conversations the pair have when he wakes, although the pleasant feeling that would settle in his gut while attempting to remember made them appear rather nice. He would cling to her, wherever she would so graciously allow, saving him from suffering through yet another night of endless struggle for life. Her fingers would run through his wet hair, moonlight bouncing off her feature and sending him into obsession. 

Mad, it was driving him mad. In recent times his dreams had grown so pleasant, so healingly wholesome, that he found himself disappointed to wake up. His days would be spent in exhaustion, simply waiting out the time until he would return to sleep- until he could see her again. He couldn't stand another night slumped in his chair or laying stiff in his uncomfortable bed. No matter how many times he mulled over it in his brain, he couldn't find where the feelings came from, or why. It had been getting worse, the feelings of longing to be with her slowly becoming overwhelming. Repeatedly John had softly urged Simon to move to London, he even offered for the pair to rent a flat together. Of course, Simon declined, the captain's worries going completely unheard. 

For weeks, the Captain, Soap, and Gaz had all sent him letters, filled with meaningless small talk and life updates. Simon would respond, coldly and formally as he always had in his writing, never confessing to anyone of his deteriorating situation. Simon sat in wait for one particular letter from the Captain, a letter for which he had bags packed and ready at the door waiting for the arrival of, the letter calling him back to work- finally back to her. And when it came, Simon had never been in London quicker- normally the trip would take at least four days, but he managed in two and a half. It was raining when he arrived, the streets busy with rushing people. 

The crew gathered in Price's office- standing around his desk looking over one of Price's many maps. Despite the Bravo sticking to roughly the same course every voyage the men always met before departure to talk specifically about the route. Price's finger traces over the drawn lines, making routine comments and reminders. Simon rarely put full attention into moments like these anymore, he had grown so experienced that this portion of this work was an annoyance more than anything.

"We're stopping at that island?" Gaz questions, confusion plastering his voice. Soap and him exchange brief glances before the Captain clears his throat. 

"Don't see why not. 's a beautiful place." John shrugs, despite how he waved off the topic his body was tense and uneasy. The three others pause for a moment as if all of them were struggling to find the proper words to question the man. The Captain notices the uneasy tension immediately, shaking his head he continues. "We won't be stayin' the night again. We'll just drop in as normal." 

Simon tenses, he hadn't even thought about the possibility that the other men would want to return, his thoughts of the woman completely crowding his brain. "Why not?" He growls, his tone coming off far more dangerous than he intended. The Captain and he had a unique relationship- Ghost was just simply able to get away with treating John in a way others couldn't. Ghost suspects it's because John views him as an equal, the pair having been friends since their enlistment days. 

John shoots Ghost an odd look, his eyebrows scrunching and creating wrinkles on his forehead. "There's just no need." He shakes his head again, turning back to the map ready to move on. 

Anxiety pools in Simon's gut. For weeks he had been endlessly fixated on seeing her again, the thoughts of her making it nearly painful to wake up in the mornings. It was no longer a want to travel to see her, to learn who she is and how she functions. Obsessed was a word Simon viewed as too inadequate to describe how he felt, every waking and unconscious moment was spent wishing he was with her. It was desperate- he admits to himself-, the way he longed for a woman he had seen and spoken to once, a woman whose face was never even clear view. Yet, that didn't help dull any of his feelings. 

" 'Think she's a selkie, maybe the lass was forced to marry one of the fat bastards in that village." Soap chimes, voice and face serious. 

"Believe in sailor's tales now too do yah?" John lets his serious expression fade, the lines on his forehead fading into crow's feet beside his eyes.

"Believe in my culture- in what we saw." Soap responds firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. " 'Feel for that woman, maybe we should stop by and make sure everything 'right. Wouldn't be able to sleep knowin' she could need help and we didn't do anything." He finishes, Simon gives a brief nod before returning his gaze back to the captain. The man looked unsteady again, the same heavy look settling again. 

Simon shifts in place, his large figure always seeming to lurk in the spaces he occupied. His whole life he had been deprived of essential affection, even with the handful of women he had dated he had never felt a satisfying amount of love- it always being just too little to make him content. Yet, these dreams had come and he had felt satisfied, body half in the frigid water, half in her warm embrace, it was something- and he would take anything, everything. 

The Captain lets out an exhausted-sounding sigh, his fingers moving to pinch the bridge of his nose. "And what did we see?" He asks, a dangerous tone to his voice. Soap paused for a moment, face stern and lips pulled tight, the look response enough. 

"You know what you saw." Soap responds, eyes fixated on the Captain. Simon had known John Price a very long time, and something he had always done was deny how things impacted him. Regardless of circumstance, John acted fine and would refuse to do anything else- driving an open and honest person like Soap mad. John wouldn't admit it out loud, yet this was something no one in the room could deny. 

"We'll visit, I'm not spending a night at that dock." The Captain grumbles defeated, dragging a heavy hand over his worried face. And with that, the men went about their duties.

Preparations for their voyage didn't take long, the four men had become trained professionals over their many years inside the vessel. The ship itself was massive and commanding, dominating any harbour she sailed into- whether in experience, age, or durability. It was a typical 18th-century Frigate converted into a hunting vessel, with deep brown wood making up the hull and black metal detailing. The sides were scattered with slashes and marks, souvenirs of the many battles she had sailed away from, reminders of conquest. Three large masses sat on the deck, white sails hanging high. It was a large ship with many decks for only four men to take care of, leaving most of the ship empty for cargo- which no one minded. Fewer people had meant less mess, and the freedom of space had meant everyone had space to themselves aboard- something they all appreciated. 

His silent plan to venture onto the island and search for her remains buzzing in his heart the whole trip, keeping him up at night with excitement in his cot yet desperate to return to her arms. The weather had subdued into a manageable but miserable rainfall over the ocean, grey clouds lingering above. At one time he remembers being rather annoyed every time it would rain- making the deck slippery and his vision blurry- yet as he aged he became to appreciate it, miss it even when it was gone. 

His hands tightly grip the railing in front of him, his eyes fixated on the distant glow of the island's lighthouse. It sat on a barren cliffside, standing tall and alone in the empty landscape. There was a small white wooden building attached, both buildings matching in paint colour, it was one of the simpler lighthouses he had seen, probably built by the crown themselves with very limited funds. The villagers seemed to live there as if they had dropped out of the sky, the buildings seemed old yet unlived-in; as if everyone who existed within it took extra care to never leave a trace. The houses were as dull as the rest of their surroundings, serving their functional purpose only, no care taken to the details.  

The entire journey had been unbearable, him having to go about his duties all while thinking of her- and having to pretend that he was not.

As the boat pulled closer to shore the men darted around the deck, fixing the sails and preparing to dock. Price called commands, it wasn't needed anymore- all the men understood exactly what they were supposed to be doing- yet John had always done it anyways. As the ship slows to a halt Simon's eyes scan tentatively down the shoreline, the cove where she had been now half filled with water at high tide. He doubted any of the men in town knew where she lived, and even if they did he doubts they would tell him willingly. Instead of docking, however, the Captain drops the anchor a distance away. Price gathers the men on the deck beside one of the small boats hanging off the side of the ship. John had been sure to remind them to bring their swords, Soap and Simon exchanged brief glances, silent questions exchanged as Price loaded them into the boat. Gaz had decided to stay on the ship, feeling far more comfortable with the space between him and the shore. The ride in was painfully quiet, the crew sitting in silence until the front of the boat hit the rocky beach. 

Many times he had had to remind himself that she was just a woman, one who thought he was a ghost, one who had probably been frightened by them following her, one who had tenderly apologized for his hurt. She had been sweet, achingly so, it pierced his soul, cementing her into him forever. 

As they pull the boat onto the beach Soap stretches and takes a long look around. "Where to start..." he mutters, hand rubbing over his pale face. 

"Soap-" The Captain says firmly, pulling a cigar from his pocket and setting it between his lips. "Head into town, we'll meet back at the pub before it gets dark." His hands feel over the pockets of his jacket before moving to his pants looking for his matchbook. 

Soap nods firmly, responding with a uniform 'yes, sir.' before turning and walking towards the path into town. 

As soon as Soap disappeared out of view, Price began slowly walking down the beach, nursing his cigar as his feet displaced the rocks below his boots- not the same pair they had found on the dock, in fact, he had never seen Price wear them again, they probably sat in the back of his closet in his flat, or maybe they were silently tossed overboard.

" 'right mate?" Simon asks, eyes piercing into the shorter man as he squinted. 

"Yeah, yeah." John waved dismissively, eyes locked forward. "Sleeps been shite." he grumbles, the soft admission of which seemed exhaustingly difficult. 

"Night terrors?" His low voice rumbled, sometimes he hated it, how he was never able to sound tender through the years of aggressive screaming during battle. 

John pauses for a moment, a hollow look falling over his features. The pair would often talk one on one, being each other's closest confidants, yet moments of sharing feelings were far and few in between. After seemingly mulling over all his possible responses he nods solemnly. 

" 'bout drowning. Every night." John states, emotion devoid of the statement as if he were stating a plain fact. "It's foolishness." He grumbles, shaking his head as a soft red blushes his cheeks. Simon sucked in a sharp breath, thinking over the Captain's confession. 

"What did you see in the cave?" It had slipped out, the question falling from his lips the second it had crossed his mind, leaving a tense feeling hanging in the air. The waves began to curl beside them, the intensity of the waves increasing slowly, soft drizzle still bouncing off the ground. 

"Just her, nothing else." He states, breaking the strained quiet. "She looked tired, like she had been crying for days, ghostly. Thought I was havin' a heart attack runnin' back to the ship, had myself convinced she was a banshee... I don't believe in all that spiritual nonsense- but in our profession it makes me wonder." John pauses, sucking in a breach of air as he thought. 

"Think of the terrors we've pulled from the ocean-" Simon's mind darts through his large arsenal of memories, ones that span over decades on the ship. The two of them had killed creatures with mouths so large it could sallow their boat whole, creatures from so deep that their bodies would swell and bloat at the surface. They had pulled up giant squids, indescribable monsters, things that looked too vaguely human to put soundly out of mind. They had killed the unimaginable, yet still believed monsters and ghouls to be nothing more then talltales

"Why couldn't something like that live up here with us?" His voice dwindled at the end, faltering into uncertainty. "Not sayin' I think she's a sea monster, I probably scared the shit out of her as much as she did me." He raises his hands in mock surrender, a strained smile tugging at his lips. The two men ventured off the beach and down an old, seemingly fairly used dirt road leading further into the island. 

"Used to have dreams bout' drowning too." Simon confessed, eyes scanning diligently over the empty fields in front of him. The further from the shore you got, the more trees there would be, scattered sparsely. 

"Is she ever the one doing it?" John asks, voice almost timid with embarrassment. The two men slow to a stop under the hanging branches of a weeping willow, a crumbling stone wall lining this side of the trail. His eyes crinkle, the deep purple bags becoming more clear as the sun began to peek through the clouds. 

"No."

John simply nods, eyes glazing over as his eyes fixated anywhere but Ghost. He takes a deep breath, gulping down the tinge of guilt that ran through his throat.

"It'll make me feel better to see for myself that she's just a woman, then I can stop thinkin' about dying again. Get back to being a drunk bastard." The Captain chuckles warmly, attempting to move the conversation somewhere more comfortable. 

"She holds me." Simon blurts out, the secret bubbling to the surface finally as it spills out against his will. John's face contorts into confusion. 

"She what?" He asks, the look in his eyes making Simon wish he had never engaged with this in the first place. 

"She... holds me. She'll hold me above water and... talk to me. I don't remember exactly when it started, it hasn't stopped." 

John pauses for a moment, eyes fixated on Ghost's face covering, in moments like these where he could feel his face burning he was grateful for the thing. 

"That's why you wanted to find her?" He asks, all the sternness on his face melting away, there was a stark difference between Captain John Price and Simon's dear friend John, human moments like these confirmed it to him. Simon gives a slow, soft nod, just enough for John to understand. He lets out a soft chuckle before grabbing Simon's shoulder and shaking him gently. 

"That's nuts mate." 

Simon blows out a loud huff, taking a step back as John chuckles more shaking his head. "What's the plan then?" He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning his body against the mossy stone wall beside them. Under the shelter of the hanging branches there was decent cover from the rain, only a few droplets managing to sneak down and land on either of the two.

In all honestly, Simon hadn't particularly thought that far ahead yet, he supposes he'll know when the time comes, but a set plan would be helpful. 

"Find her." He states plainly, John can't help but roll his eyes at the dullness of the response. 

"Yeah? Then what?" John questions, his tone shifting to one more serious again. 

"Keep her, love her, finally." 

taglist: @blueoorchid @@hoe4myers @yjhariani @lexi-zsy09 @galaxieshearme @tumblinginoz @icepancakes @iluvweasleys (if i forgot you just let me know)

[elephant-in-the-pride-parade]

Dal/Gwyn, Janeway/Chakotay parallels

I've been mulling this over for a while so I just wanna put all of these down. I really have been enjoying the parallels between these four, and there's a bunch. Will add to this as I think of more.

Dal and Janeway:

They're both on a quest to find home. Janeway back to Earth. Dal back to his family.

Both captain a nontraditional crew and bring them under the Starfleet banner. Dal captains his crew of escaped prisoners from Tars Lamora and Janeway the combined members of her original crew and the Maquis in each case this is born of expediency. They need the crew numbers to get the ship running. And for both part of their journey becomes learning to be a better captain to their unique crews.

Both explore and grapple with their relationship to starfleet ideals. In Dal's case learning Starfleet ideals and laws from scratch and putting them into practice. In Janeway's having her existing ideals tested by an environment where they are difficult to hold to. She and Dal both experience obstacles that test their commitment to these ideals and face consequences of straying from them.

Stars: Dal's window of dreams. Janeway's love of nebulas. The stars mean different things to these two: freedom to Dal and discovery to Janeway but both are seen to have a particular affinity for them.

Learning to lean on their crew: Both in one way or another return to themes of accepting help rather than depending only on themselves. For Dal, this comes from a past of self-preservation and survival. For Janeway, from guilt-driven instinct to put her crew before herself. Both see some of their greatest successes and moments of growth when they set aside those tendencies and accept help from their crew.

Gwyn and Chakotay

Both leave their home for Starfleet, and later return to it when it is in trouble. Chakotay leaves Dorvan/Trebus at 15 against the wishes of his father in order to pursue Starfleet Academy. and only returns when it attacked by the Cardassians. Gwyn idealizes Starfleet her whole life on Tars Lamora only to decide to try to save Solum rather than join her friends as warrant officers.

Both have complicated relationships with their dead fathers. Both of their fathers disagreed with their pursuit of Starfleet, and wanted them to embrace a future that more directly benefited their homeworld. Both were in conflict with them before their deaths and Both of their fathers were killed violently, spurring a shift in their thinking.

Both love exploring other cultures. Gwyn has a love of languages. Chakotay of archeology/anthropology. Both enjoy learning about new people and places and making connections.

Both of their homeworlds are abandoned by the Federation for political reasons - a treaty with the Cardassians in one case and a commitment to non-interference in the other. In Chakotay's case this leads him to turn against starfleet for a time, feeling that it had abandoned its ideals. I'm curious if Gwyn's mission to Solum will lead her down a similar path.

Both act the first officer to an equal. Chakotay was a captain of his own ship before agreeing to be Janeway's second in command. Gwyn has more technical expertise about the Protostar's systems than Dal, and more familiarity with the Federation.

Dal/Gwyn &. Chakotay/Janeway

Both pairs begin their relationship at odds in similar ways. Janeway is seeking to arrest Chakotay. Dal is first Gwyn's prisoner and then takes her as a captive.

The Moral Star/Coda parallels. I just enjoy a good "You might be dying in my arms and I never told you how I felt moment" okay. I am a sucker for it.

Gwyn and Dal ending Season 1 in a similar place to where Janeway and Chakotay were at the start of it. Chakotay winds up trapped on Alt!Future Solum after accepting a mission to complete some of the unfinished work/fix some of the mistakes Voyager had when it first traversed the Delta Quadrant. Gwyn ends Season one going to fix some of the mistakes made between Solum and Starfleet in the alternate future. Janeway and Dal, meanwhile, are at HQ with their own Starfleet-focused duties.

Speculations:

All of the above have me wondering if both couples are in a similar place romantically. Dal and Gwyn are just beginning a romantic relationship when they separate. Is that where Janeway and Chakotay are as well?

And will this mean that Gwyn will also need a rescue? Will her mission go sideways like Chakotay's did?

[sweetdreamsofgelato]

Ebb and Flow

(image shameless taken from google)

Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x Reader (You)

Summary: see the prompt below

Rating: E for everyone (maybe T for a little mild language?)

Word Count: 4261 (I know, I KNOW. Yes, I got carried away and no, I don't want to talk about it)

Warnings/Content: AU!RPF; mild adult language; pining 💋 Emotions with a capital E

A/N: 

I was presented with two kissing prompts (#66 and #67) from this list and whilst I mulled over both, this idea took hold, so I combined them. I hope you don't mind, @jolly-polly! To my dear Bonnie Nonnie, I know you requested Henry but I hope that AU!Henry will do. Apologies in advance for deviating from the course.

I'm afraid I might've gone a little overboard with the imagery in this one, but I was IN MY FEELS so I soldier on without regret.

A side note for anyone who enjoys instrumental music: I was utterly consumed by Ludovico Einaudi's In a Time Lapse album the entire time I wrote this. I can't recommend it enough. Time Lapse, Run, Brothers, Experience, and Burning were particularly inspiring.

Unbeta-ed. All mistakes are my own.

Reposting my works on any other sites or platforms is strictly prohibited (my official AO3 is linked in my master list). Likes, comments, and reblogs are always greatly appreciated.

Working at a charming little bookshop on a leafy corner of the local high street was certainly not your dream when you accepted the job, but the elderly couple who owned it were incredibly kind and desperately needed help, and you were in the market for a job that didn’t completely crush your will to live. 

For a small business, it had a large and fiercely loyal customer base and most days you felt positively run off your feet. Not long after you started, it was plain the shop needed more help. You were only one person, and the Cavills were on the dark side of their golden years—both neither quick moving nor technologically inclined, which made keeping up with demand a daunting task indeed.

Which is why it came as much of a surprise a few months later when you’d expected Mr Cavill to inform you that he was hiring another shop clerk, that he rather announced he and his wife were taking off for the Mediterranean. Truth be told was Mrs Cavill had been not- so-quietly longing for sandy beaches and warmer climes for some time and Mr Cavill finally agreed to dip his toes into retirement.

For a brief moment, you thought you were going to lose a job you’d come to really love. Gratefully, Mr Cavill was not yet ready to shutter the doors or sell off the business. It was still profitable, after all, and the shop had been Cavill-owned for four generations, so he was (rightfully) reluctant to let it pass out of familial hands. It was a relief when a few weeks later, he informed you that though he was taking a “sabbatical” (as he liked to call it), his grandson, Henry, would be stepping up in his absence.

If there was anything you learned over the time leading up to said grandson’s arrival, it was that the Cavills loved him fiercely. Mrs Cavill spent most afternoons regaling you with memory after memory, sparing none of the normal flattery all the while. He was kind, tall, polite, generous, handsome, intelligent, athletic, hard-working, handsome, and friendly. A true gentleman.

And did she mention handsome?

Yes, she had. So much so you were concerned that this all was possibly a set-up. You didn’t think so highly of yourself to suspect that the whole thing was an elaborate ruse, but rather perhaps convenient opportunism was at play. Wouldn’t be the first time some well-meaning grandmother tried to pair you up with a beloved grandson. By Mrs Cavill’s account, Henry was quite lovely and you didn’t look upon him uncharitably, but the fact was that loving grandparents tended to regard their grandchildren through rose-coloured glasses. 

That morning, you were still brainstorming how to gently let them down without making the atmosphere at work irrevocably awkward when the little bell over the shop door tinkled someone’s arrival. You assumed it to be the first customer to drop in on this unusually quiet morning.

“Grandad? Gran?” 

You froze over the box you were unpacking and furtively glanced at the calendar on the back of the door, then at your watch and cursed. Okay, not a customer. It was him. 

“Anyone here?” Henry’s voice was deep and warm and smooth as velvet; you were horrified by the rogue tingle that ran up your spine.

Ever so quietly, you tiptoed around the boxes at your feet and poked the swinging door open just enough to get a glimpse. Your jaw dropped. 

“Oh no,” you gasped. His back was to you, but even at a distance, he cut the exact image Mrs Cavill described: statuesque. Tall and broad, like a rugby player or perhaps a professional lumberjack, if either wore perfectly-tailored tweed suits.

“Hello?” he called out again. He turned and searched the shop for any sign of life. You caught a glimpse of his profile and your knees threatened to turn to jelly.

Shit shit shit! You quickly drew back and caught yourself against the shelves. This was bad. This was really bad. Mrs Cavill had not exaggerated in any way. If anything, she’d criminally understated her description. One could be blind as a bat and still tell that he was exceedingly handsome. He had an aura.

What a fool you were. Here you’d spent the better part of a fortnight coming up with gentle ways to tell the Cavills that you weren’t interested in their grandson, and now here he was in the flesh and you were a sharp jawline away from proposing marriage. You’d not even officially met. 

Horror struck; you slowly sniffed your armpit and your nose wrinkled at the offence. What were the odds that he’d leave if you kept quiet? Not good, you reluctantly admitted. Surely he’d expect that you were expecting him—and you were, it’s just that time had gotten away from you, as it always did when you were focused. Still, after three hours sequestered in the store room doing inventory, you were undoubtedly a smelly and sweaty mess, and you did not want his first impression of you to be that of a wilted shop clerk. 

For purely professional reasons, of course.

You frantically, but quietly—very quietly, hunted for your bag and rummaged for that fragrance sample you’d chucked in for odorous emergencies. You spritzed under each arm as you huffed into your palm. You immediately searched for a mint. 

“Hi.”

It came from the doorway right behind you, and you very nearly hit the ceiling in surprise. The noise that escaped your lips was positively Jurassic.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Nope,” you squeaked, threw your bag across the room and turned to face him. So much for first impressions. You cleared your throat and did your best to school your features into something less spooked. “Nope, you didn’t.”

He watched you with a placid sort of look. The kind someone wears when they absolutely don’t believe you but they’re far too polite to call you out on it.  He leaned against the door frame and gave you a little wave. “I’m Henry.”

“I know,” you blurted. Fuck.“I mean, it’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.” And all of it bloody true, apparently. You held out your undoubtedly clammy hand and made your introductions. 

“Nice to put a face to the name,” Henry said. He gave your hand a firm squeeze and your forearm erupted in gooseflesh. “I’ve been hearing all about you for weeks.”

You laughed nervously, rubbing your palms over your skin and desperately willing it back to normal before he noticed. “All good things, I hope.” 

“Only the best,” Henry answered with a reassuring smile.

Your heart did a precarious little wobble. 

He’s just a man, you scolded yourself, and though he may look like he walked straight off an old Hollywood movie set and could charm the pants off a nun, certainly he couldn’t be everything his grandmother made him out to be. No one was that perfect. 

***

He was. He was so bloody perfect you wanted to cry. 

As a universal rule, men like this didn’t actually exist. It was a commonly known fact that they were myths. Legends. Exaggerated and unattainable fabrications conjured from the imaginations of gothic novelists and social media experts.

You assumed Henry (as kin to the owner) would take up the role of Boss Man, and if a lifetime of anecdotal evidence dealing with attractive men in positions of power proved correct, he’d immediately start throwing his weight around like a proper egoistic tyrant. 

But that was so far from the truth that you still felt ashamed for prematurely judging his character. He was just as described. Handsome and kind in equal measures. Impeccably well-mannered, even when he rang and told off the couriers when they stuffed up deliveries. Generous. Most days he offered to grab lunch or make a coffee run and he always offered a helping hand no matter how menial the task.  Not to mention the thrice-a-week homemade treats. 

It was his way to decompress, he’d said, and you didn’t complain.

Henry’s even-tempered disposition notwithstanding, he wasn’t above throwing around his impressive weight when he deemed it necessary. He pulled off mean and scary quite effectively when he’d chased off a creep who decided it was their life’s purpose to come in every day and pester you. Henry had even offered to escort you home until you felt comfortable walking on your own again.

The man was a damned unicorn and he was the best non-boss boss you’d ever had. 

***

You stood in the doorway to the admin office—which was really a glorified broom cupboard not much wider than the breadth of Henry’s shoulders—and chewed around an overly-large bite of homemade pastry. It was all you could do not to moan. He had no right to be this skilled in the kitchen. It was almost as much a turn-on as watching him assemble one of the shop’s shiny new computers.

One always appreciated a man who was good with his hands.

To add to his ever-growing list of positive qualities, he was also a bit of a nerd. Henry had taken one look at the existing system and had been downright horrified by the outdated technology. He was adamant about bringing the shop up-to-date, but instead of ordering a prefab computer, he’d custom-ordered an entirely new system which he planned to assemble himself. After much anticipation, the equipment had finally been delivered. It would solve a lot of headaches, but not all of them.

As Henry’s arrival more or less coincided with the Cavills' departure, the shop was down one net member of staff, and whilst Henry was more than capable of doing the work of three people, he shouldn’t have to. You both agreed that the shop needed more help. 

“Know anyone who might want a job?” Henry murmured around the tiny screwdriver clenched between his teeth.

Your mouth went dry as you watched his lips move around the tool. “You’d leave that decision to me? 

“Why not?” He adjusted his headlamp, pushed his glasses up his nose and resumed fiddling with the computer’s internals. “Technically you’ve got seniority, so you understand the shop’s staffing needs far better than I do.”

“I just thought, being related to the owner and all, that you’d be in charge of these sorts of decisions.” Of all the decisions, really.

Henry looked visibly uncomfortable at the suggestion. “I like to think we have more of a horizontal organisational structure here.” He fitted the computer cover back in place. “A purely collaborative and democratic effort.”

“Oh.” How refreshing. “Not worried I’ll just hire an irresponsible friend and run the business into the ground?” You stuffed the rest of the pastry in your mouth and gingerly sucked the sugary remnants from your thumb. Not good manners, you knew, but it was too delicious to waste on a napkin.

Henry stuttered to a pause as if his mind momentarily blanked. He cleared the grit from his throat and continued, “I trust you. Not to mention it’d be rather hypocritical to accuse you of nepotism.” Henry graced you with a sly smile and you never felt closer to swooning. “Besides, you don’t strike me as the self-sabotaging type.”

Generally, you weren’t but you’d argue that steadily falling head over heels for your coworker could certainly categorise you as such. Still, the fact that he’d thought of you in any sort of capacity left your cheeks overheated. 

“I know just the person.”

***

“He’s a serial killer.”

“He’s not a serial killer.”

You stepped back from the small rosewood display table to both admire your handiwork and question the intelligence behind hiring your eternally paranoid flatmate, Sarah. 

The timing had been rather serendipitous, as Sarah had found herself suddenly out of work—which was no fault of her own. Her ex-boss was an absolute cretin and deserved the throat punch he’d received for groping Sarah in the office lift. Not to mention Sarah’s ability to keep paying rent benefitted you both, but it was possibly at the cost of your sanity.

“Has to be.” 

“He can’t be,” you insisted testily. This was the third time she’d brought this up. Sarah angled you an expectant look that read explain and you fumbled around your brain from some logical reasoning. 

“He bakes,” you added weakly. Surely being able to produce delightfully sugary bits of heaven didn’t preclude one from being a serial killer, but you still liked to think the likelihood of association was relatively low. 

“All the more reason to suspect him,” Sarah replied as she continued boxing online orders behind the counter. “Some of the most notorious serial killers were all described as charming, handsome, or talented in some way. Henry’s all three at least. There is such a thing as too perfect.”

Be that as it may. “You need to lay off the True Crime.”

“Absolutely not.” Sarah pointed the tape gun in your direction. “It’s a prerequisite for modern-day survival.”

You weren’t going to argue; it was too exhausting. “He can’t be all bad if he let me hire you no questions asked.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Sarah admitted. “I know just the way to show my gratitude.”

“By being ferociously dedicated to your job?” you asked hopefully.

She made a vague motion around her face. “Hannibal Lector mask.”

Sarah actually got it for him, and instead of reprimanding her as he ought, he kept it displayed under glass next to the till with a sign reading:

For Emergency Use Only 

In Case of Rude and Unruly Customers or Serial Killers Masquerading as Gentlemen

Break Glass

It was quite the conversation piece. 

Did you mention his wickedly subversive sense of humour?

Ugh, you were in love.

 ***

It was official. You were pining. 

Like properly pining. The can’t eat, can’t sleep, thrown into existential crisis kind of pining.

“You need to do something about it.”

The computer monitor came back into focus as the delightful little daydream about snogging Henry in the storeroom evaporated in your mind. You sighed ruefully; it’d been a good one. 

“About what?”

“Your Henry situation.”

You slanted a sidelong glance in her direction and mumbled, “I thought you said he was a serial killer.”

“I may have been a bit hasty with my judgments,” Sarah conceded as she adjusted the rucksack on her shoulder. “Seriously. I am begging you to go for it, if not for your sake, then for mine.”

Your brow furrowed; you swivelled in your chair to face her.

Sarah took the opportunity to squish your cheeks between her palms, lest you flee the conversation as you’d done on at least two other occasions. “I can’t watch you torture yourself anymore.”

“I’m not torturing myself.” At least not deliberately. You batted her hands away. “I’m being pragmatic.”

“By torturing yourself.”

“He’s my boss.” 

He was more than that, you knew. It hadn’t taken long to pass into the realm of friendship. You didn’t dare presume more than that though, despite having incrementally fallen in love with him since the day he walked into your life. That was the fastest way to a broken heart.

“He’s far more than.” Sarah echoed your inner thoughts and you wanted to crawl under the counter and hide. 

“He’s still my boss.” Was he, though? Henry had adamantly refused the mantle whenever you mentioned it, so you weren’t really certain anymore. The lines had always been a bit blurry. Made for a convenient excuse though. 

“Didn’t Henry give you the whole “horizontal organisation” speech?” Sarah asked cheekily. “Sounded euphemistic to me.”

“Regardless, it’s ethically unwise.” You loosed a long, beleaguered exhale and rested your chin in your palm. “Weren’t you leaving?”

Sarah pointedly ignored your dismissal. “Office affairs are a beloved modern literary trope and a cornerstone of the romance genre.” 

You cast her a wry smile. “Traded True Crime for fan fiction, then?” Not that you were judging. You could go down an Ao3 rabbit hole and easily not come up for days. 

“It’s more common than you think.”

“Reading fan fiction?”

Sarah’s expression flattened. “Shagging your coworker.”

That was a leap you’d not even dared in your own dreams. “The man is three eyebrow hairs away from Adonis.” 

Freak kitchen accident apparently and he’d been afraid to make crème brûlée since. You couldn’t suppress a dreamy smile at the memory of that conversation, because Henry’d relayed it one early morning whilst presenting you with—crème brûlée. It was the best damn thing you’d ever tasted. He’d even let you eat half his portion.

“Why on earth would he want me when he could have literally anyone else?” you lamented.

“Have you seen the way he looks at you? He practically worships the ground you walk on.” Sarah looked about two seconds away from reaching across the counter and shaking you. “The man’s in a desperate state but much too polite to make the first move. Honestly, you two are hopeless.”

You were definitely hopeless, there was no denying that, but the rest of it sounded a bit of a stretch. If that were true, surely you would’ve seen the signs. 

“It’ll make things weird,” you said. You left off the last bit of that thought: when he says no.

Sarah looked suspiciously smug. “Not if he says yes.”

The shop door swung open and in strode your personal greek tragedy, two paper cups of tea in hand. 

“Hey Sarah, I thought you were already off on holiday,” said Henry, who glanced awkwardly between you, Sarah, and the two cups in his hands. He set one on the counter for you and offered Sarah the other—the one that you were sure he’d intended to drink himself. 

The pining intensified.

“No, thanks. On my way out as we speak.” Sarah confirmed as she gave him a mock salute. You picked up your tea and took a sip. From the corner of your eye, you caught her silently mouthing Do it! before she slipped out the door. 

“I appreciate you picking up Sarah’s shifts,” said Henry. He came around the back of the counter and rifled through a few bits of post resting next to your elbow. “When she told me Cassie surprised her with a Norwegian cruise, I couldn’t say no to the last-minute request for holiday leave.”

“Mhmm,” you murmured absentmindedly, then turned to Henry in confusion. He was very close and smelled amazing. Warm and spicy, like a smoky campfire in autumn. You swallowed hard, your voice rough when you asked, “Cassie?”

“Her girlfriend,” he prompted with a quizzical raise of his brow.

“Oh, right.” Your eye’s narrowed toward the door. Sarah and Cassie split up two months ago and as far as you knew, she wasn’t dating anyone new. Norwegian cruise but only packed one rucksack? This reeked of subterfuge.

Henry’s eyes swept over towering stacks of boxes and growing piles of books destined for new shelves. The shop was closed to customers for the day and it was all hands on deck for a seasonal inventory catalogue and reshuffle, but you were two hands down and hadn’t made much progress. 

The daydreaming hadn’t helped. You let out a resigned sigh.

“Looks like it’s gonna be a late night.” He nudged his shoulder gently against yours. It took all of your willpower not to lean into the touch. “Let’s order takeaway.”

***

The bookshop was rather magical at night. It was one of many reasons you loved working evening shifts. With the shades drawn and the lights dimmed to a warm glow, it had a sort of natural cosy ambience of a private library. Then again, it could just be the company. 

As you reached up to shelve another book, your focus drifted along the instrumental music still playing through the shop and back to just hours before. The vision swam into view, entrenched on the horizon of your mind’s eye as, now, a core memory:

Henry perched on the edge of the window display opposite, you tucked into a plush armchair he’d dragged over from the reading corner for you. Between you, the remnants of a feast spread over a makeshift cardboard box table because the man didn’t know the definition of restraint when it came to food. He pushed the sleeves of his cobalt knit jumper to his elbows and set aside his steaming mug, the contents of which threatened to splash all over him as he animatedly recounted yet another story that had easily reduced you both to shared fits of laughter. 

You rested your elbow on the side of the armchair and leaned your fist against a cheek so delightfully sore from the near-constant smile Henry so easily coax forth. Watching him at that moment, you knew no matter how much you tried to ignore or deny it, you were in love.

In the present, warmed from the memory, you slid the book home onto the shelf and fought to breathe. 

It was definitely the company.

You forced your way through the haze of your thoughts as you hopped off the railed step ladder. If you lost yourself in work, you couldn’t think about the rest. Or so had been the plan, but it seemed fate had other ideas. With a frown, you inspected the collection of boxes nearest. 

“Henry, do you have Young Adult S2? I don’t have it.”

You heard thumps and shuffling from across the shop, and then Henry answered, “Got it! Stay put. I’ll bring it to you.”

With Young Adult S1 under your arm, you were back up the steps and shelving the last stragglers whilst you waited. When you turned around to descend, you accidentally smacked Henry across the face with the empty box.

“Shit!” you cursed and threw the cardboard aside. “Henry, I’m so sorry!” 

“No worries,” Henry chuckled graciously as he set down the box in his hands and gingerly rubbed his face. “No harm done.”

“Nonsense,” you fussed. By your own terribly unscientific analysis, Henry’s only toxic trait was belying the truth for the sake of others’ feelings. “Let me see.”

Without thinking, you leaned down and gently grasped his chin. He allowed you to tilt his face to the side and inspect the damage. His jaw flexed under your fingers when you traced a fingertip over the faint pink mark blooming across the stubbled skin of his cheek. Even with the superficial scratch, he was still stunning. All beautifully sculpted angles in such sharp contrast to the softness of his nature. Your gaze naturally drifted to his mouth when it parted on a sharp intake of air. 

Your eyes flicked back up; your breath caught and the gooseflesh returned, and this time it was head to toe. Your hand dropped but your entire body rooted to the spot. Henry watched you with piercing intensity. The bright blue of his eyes gone dark as lapis. Sharper and clearer than you’d ever seen before.

It happened all at once, or maybe it hadn’t. People often talk about points of no return, but this was different. Not so much before and after, but rather with a single intimate touch, the barrier between two parallel realities dissolved. They slowly bled together, coalescing in a heavily charged anticipation that swelled unbidden in the space between. It surged through you and kicked up your heart into a frantic pace.

This is where desire lived. 

You bowed into it. An ebb to the flow, unable to resist the pull of its fulcrum. The step ladder shuddered under Henry’s weight as he moved onto the bottom step, his arms bracing the railing on either side of you. He’d not laid so much as a finger on you, but you felt him everywhere. A delicate counter pressure pressing in. You nervously chewed at your bottom lip; Henry’s eyes followed the movement and you saw it again. A flicker of something only just restrained. Barely perceptible, but the shift was undeniable now that you’d had glimpsed behind the veil. 

Henry reached up with one hand and cupped your face as he narrowed the distance. His thumb reverently traced over your bottom lip and across the curve of your cheek. Henry release your name in a breathy oath just before his mouth found yours.

First kisses were funny things. They come with such high expectations. Metaphorical explosions, fireworks, and seismic rifts in space and time. Some sort of divine reordering of the cosmos. But this kiss…

It was gentle and cautious. A greeting between two souls stepping fully into the light and meeting for the first time. Like a camera coming into focus, everything fell away and there was just Henry, and he was absolutely breathtaking. 

His mouth angled against yours and you returned in kind, urgency threatening to take hold, but Henry suddenly broke away. You despaired at the loss.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” He was winded. His eyes searched yours, and they were wounded in a way that made your chest ache because you knew where it came from: anticipated rejection. “Are you sure?”

You wished to pour your heart into his. To fill all the cracks from which his vulnerability broke through. You wished to tell him that this little bit of paradise you both somehow managed to discover was safe. Here was a home where he’d only find warmth, joy, and love. 

Your fingers brushed through curls just as soft as you’d imagined and you sank into his embrace. Gently drawing his lips back to yours, your smile melded with his, and you answered without words, in a space between hearts where none were required. 

[cosmicgalaxy22]

Michael Schmidt could still be Michael Afton and here’s how!

I went and saw the Fnaf movie the other day and have been mulling over how some of the original lore could fit in with the new lore and story. This morning I had a little realisation to how it could.

(Some spoilers for the movie, so if you haven’t seen it yet, come back when you have!)

It could go something like this:

Elizabeths death still happened same as in the games

William and his wife, Mike’s mother, divorce after Elizabeth’s death and leaves. William getting custody of Evan and Mike.

The Bite of 83 also still happened and Evans’s ( The Crying Child’s) death ( I believe the Elizabeth’s death happened first)

The Bite of 83 traumatises Mike, leading to him getting dissociative amnesia or something, being unable to remember Elizabeth, Evan or even William. His memories blocked behind trauma.

Mikes mother returns and gets custody of Mike and he goes and lives with her and her new husband (the one in the flashback and dreams at the campsite) and their young son, Garret (who is actually Mike’s half brother.) Mike’s last name become Schmidt, his mother new husbands last name. Mikes accept him as his true father.

No one in the family mentions Elizabeth or Evan as it causes Mike to have a panic attack when even just the names are mentioned

William adopts a young girl who he takes a liking to at the pizzeria, who is a runaway, Vanessa, who reminds him of Elizabeth

Garret is taken by William when William tries to get Mike back, but accidentally takes Garret instead, upon not realising that it isn’t him, as it’s been years. When he finds out, he kills Garret. He also does it to get back at Mike’s mother who took Mike away from him

Mikes trauma and self-blame isn’t just for Garret, it’s for killing Evan and the loss of Elizabeth, though he doesn’t remember either. It’s why he cares so much about Abbie and doesn’t want anything to happen to her

Vanessa doesn’t know that William is Mike’s father, so that’s why she doesn’t mention it

William employs Mike at the pizzeria because he recognises the last name ‘Schmidt’ and recognises Mike then, as his son (There has to be a reason for William’s reaction to the last name is the movie, the way he reacted after reading it? He paused and his face changed. It was like he recognised it! And the way he acted afterwards, kind of skittish or whatever and not wanting Mike to leave. I don’t know, it just seems like more than just recognising that he’s the brother of the kid he killed, because why would William want Vanessa leave Mike in the dark and only to kill him when he got too close. He would just kill him anyway right?)

Not really part of this and just a headcannon but I believe William killed Mike’s ‘dad’. Mike said he left, but I don’t think so

Not sure how to link the Emily family and their deaths into this

That’s all I can think of. Some of it could end up being canonical, or it could just all be complete rubbish, but it was fun to see how it all could fit together.

[stalkerofthegods]

Loki Deep dive

Signs he's reaching out- seeing the Snaptun Stone, Large numbers of spiders, Fire seeing his symbols and things that remind you of him in a dream, a close brush with danger, Dreams of Loki speaking to you, Repeated appearances of any of the animals related to Loki, sudden obsession on him or seeing things related to him that you wouldn’t regularly notice

Days & holidays! - Autumn Equinox, Samhain, Yule, Sep 5 UPG (tumbler meme devoted to him day) , Julaften, Saturday, April fools, Lokablót

Equivalent- logi  (the personification of fire), Prometheus, Tantalus, Jesus, Pan, Cernunnos, Dionysus, anasi, Bacchus, Lugh, Hermes, Mercury, Elegua, Eshu, Prometheus, Veles, Coyote and Crow

Dislikes- in my experience he wasn’t a fan of Hermes, he doesn’t like Heimdall (Heimdall kills Loki ) 

Married- he is married to Sigyn! (the goddess of Victory)   Also, Loki’s first wife (Angrboda who was a Jotun ) taught Loki magic, later he devoured her heart because she was an ‘evil’ witch.

Zodiac- Aries and Gemini 

Siblings - Blood Odin, Hellblindi and Balyestyr

Devotional- volunteering to help survivors of trauma, helping with orphanages, and those who are in need, laughing at yourself.

Animal - Coyote, Salmon, Snakes, Foxes, vulture, Quiscalus quiscula, wolves, serpents, cats, falcon, butterfly, raven, flies, dragons, spiders.

colors - yellow , green , red, pink, neons, purple, gold, silver, Black, violet 

offerings - Candy, Atomic Fireball (he loves alcohol ex- tequila, rum, brandy, and mead, but he does get tired of it beacuse it’s offered so much), Pez, Pixie Sticks, cookies/pastries, caramel apples. Speaking of apples, He loves red food (ex-Red Velvet) He likes things with a lot of pepper spice, or even just the peppers themselves (habaneros seem to be a favorite), good whiskey, bread, knives, whatever reminds him of u, also baked goods, or anything really, you can give him just sugar or just food, whatever says “LOKI!!”, he also loves caffeinated drinks!, he likes cinnamon, chocolate, Tobacco, weed, cheesecake, especially with berries,  old granddad brand of alcohol, and hard cinnamon flavored or spicy liquor, and spicy runs and mulled wine! Carmel golden apples!  He also loves Nutella, I would recommend giving whatever you think he would like, he likes new things I heard.

Number - 13  and Kaunaz, Naudiz, Thurisaz, number 3, The Berkana rune, 

Planet- Pluto, Dark Moon

To do in his honor  - Inner Child work, Llaughing at yourself, Accepting that no one and self is perfect, and mistakes are okay, Feeling all of our feelings, drawing, coloring, singing, dancing, being creative, working with children or the elderly, collecting and sharing jokes, going on a walk, get lost, go on an adventure with friends or fellow outcasts, go clean up a local park in his honor, do something ur scared of, joke in their honor 

What he favors in devotes - Passion and drive, inc stubbornness, a go-getter, hunger for life, child like playfull Ness

God of - Celeverness, change, Creation, Cunning, Divine, Discovery, Humor, knowledge, sex, Seduction, shapeshifting, trickster (mischief), wit, truth,  temptation, the hearth, nature. 

Patron -outcasts (black sheep), earthquakes, changing cycles of the moon, nature, fire itself.

his weapon- Lævateinn

Herbs - daisy, mistletoe, Lavender, Patchouli, Cinnamon, Clove, Hemp, Holly, Mistletoe, Cedar, Juniper, Elder, “yellow rattle” plant, lokasjóður, “Loki’s Purse” (a plant), Loki oats, wild oats, birch, alder, mullein, acorns, Aspen trees (UPG)

Preferred coffee- very very sweet. (I also heard he likes mocha) 

Remind me of him - smiling, laughter, dancing, knives, horns, flowers, trees, flies, foxes, rings, black nail polish, masks, spiders, red hair, cat eyeliner look, eyeliner, blue eyes, plastic toys, nature 

Blessings - sharper knives (be careful they may be blunt one second and then sharp)

Tarot- The magician, Wheel of Fortune, the sun, the devil, the tower, the magician, 

Signs - spiders, vultures, snakes, seals, foxes, flies, wolves, Dandelions, coyotes 

Alter decorations - boats, kids' toys, anything listed here really.

Scents - He likes cinnamon, mulled wine, cotton candy, and peaty whiskey and yew, but nothing strong or overwhelming or alluring and anything too feminine, he also dislikes super masculine colognes. He likes Pine, cinnamon, sugar & spice, honey, and wild berry incense and dragons blood incense 

Animals• Fox, spiders,Flies, salmon horses, vultures 

Crystal• Volcanic and Sulfurous stones (ex. Obsidian Gypsum, Hematite, etc.)((is associated with tectonic activity)), pyrite (fools gold), color-changing stones, Bloodstone, Xlead calcite, Sunsgone, Stones associated with the air element, red stones, Stones of any other color you associated with Loki (ex- red Jasper, Garnet, Carnelian, Ruby), Stones that scream “LOKI!!”, but mostly - Red Jasper, Amber, Garnet, Goldstone; Plastic, Acrylic, Glass, Gold, Bronze, Silver, Magnesium, Orange calcite, hematite, fire agate, onyx, etc.), serpentine, fire quartz, smoky quartz, pyrite, multi-colored/color-changing stones (labradorite, fluorite, alexandrite, bismuth, etc.), carnelian, and tiger's eye, kambaba jasper, prehnite, garnet, green aventurine, malachite, and petrified wood, Yellow calcite

Symbols•fox, Knox, web, Tangles, snakes, Flies, salmon, horses, Mistletoe, (I've also heard vulture, hawk, skull

Names•known as sky traveler, Ve, or, father of monsters, Flamehair, “that bastard” (UPG), Lie-Smith, Sly-God, Shape-Changer, Sly-One, Lopt, Sky Traveller, Sky Walker, Wizard Of Lies, and Loftur and I'm sure there's more. (I’ve accidentally called him Taco Bell before myself.) 

Mortal or immortal • Mortal, but has apples to live longer, suspected the Apple effects last YEARS (like more than 100+ years. Because he is not “old” or dead yet, and in mythology, they take it to stay young and live forever.)

Vows/omans• Blood brother with Odin, Loki swears oaths that he will devise a scheme to cause the builder (of the wall of the asier home) to forfeit the payment, whatever it may cost himself.

Morals• He's morally grey 

Age - at least 2,000 years old (probably older.), based off of the aseir starting point, when the Norse first had evidence of worship because he was older than the asier

Personality• understanding, and fast going, can be jealous and has a quick temper.

Fact• He had a wife before Sigyn and he is in a cave until Ragnorok. I also heard he like farts a lot. And sends spiders, so beware, he made spiders in Sweden mythology 

Roots• Norse mythology 

Appearance in astral or gen• red hair and fair skin but not too red or too fair. Also, blue eyes I think or green. Or anything at all really.

Children- Hel, Jormangandr, Fenir, Sleipnir, Vanir, Narfi, (from sigyn) Svadilfari,  and Einmyria and Eisa (with Glut.) He also ate a woman’s heart and bore the first witch, some say also a HUGE cat. 

Season• the month of Gemini and Aries 

Status• God and Yotan

Element- Fire, air, nature.

Personality- Loki is not always the most mature and can sometimes act like a toddler. Also chaotic Neutral. he is not an omniscient Deity, but true to his word.

Parentage • The tree Lufey and farbauti

Prayers•

Flame-hair, your soul burning into the night, Throwing caution to the wind And casting the die of fate, Teach me your fearlessness. Lie-smith, your sharp words like daggers, Cutting through illusions to the bone And revealing the reality we refuse to see, Teach me your clarity. Silver-tongue, whispering carefully veiled truths, Sowing shrouded mystery in your wake, And leading only the clever onward, Teach me your secrecy. And leading only the clever onward, Teach me your secrecy. Gift-Bringer, recognizing all the overlooked, Giving rightly earned reward where it’s due, And in turn, blame as well, Teach me your justice. Scar-lip, ending silence in the face of injustice, Grinning down at the outcasts And rallying your voice with theirs, Teach me your anger. Pain-holder, accepting your punishment, Embracing the consequences of your deeds, And taking the fall of those who are weaker, Teach me your resilience. World-breaker, harbinger of chaos, Spitting fire upon the stagnant And carving the spear of change, Teach me your courage. Cruel-striker, slanderer of the gods, Burning the inefficient and stale, Revealing potential in the ashes, Teach me your insight. Sly-walker, throwing your mischievous grin about And casting laughter into the darkness Where before there was only despair, Teach me your joy. Shape-changer, manipulator of all walks of life, Confidently adapting to every situation, Commanding the strength of any form, Teach me your cunning. Hearth-fire, warmth of my heart, Your arms a sanctuary where none is found Light and life of the home I can always return to, Teach me your nurturing. Sky-treader, ever true to your wild heart,Letting none even try to contain your spirit As free as the sky itself, Teach me your passion. Hail Loki, And thank you, my God, For everything you bring to my life.I love you so.

- by @klawl

Links/websites/sources •

Links I recommend - 

Loki is the Norse god of mischief, and the hard cold truth, even tho he may be a jackass, but he is wise enough to be truthful, and charming in many ways.

[extasiswings]

Waittt what’s the reasoning behind buck quitting being a firefighter?

So obviously this is just me speculating, but the Buck/Abby parallels have been very loud in my mind since S3. And I just went back and rewatched 3x18, including their final conversation on the bench, which made some wheels start turning.

Because Abby's explanation for leaving was that she had become someone whose life wasn't her own, she made it about everyone else. As a first responder, about the people on calls, at home, about her mom. She had made her life all about taking care of other people and in order to find herself (including being able to find the love of her life), she had to leave. Her job, Buck, the city. And what she said that stuck with me was that the reason she didn't come back, why she was afraid to come back, was because she thought that if she did she would fall right back into the same habits and lose herself again.

We've never gotten (in my view) an explanation for Buck wanting to be a firefighter that isn't tied up in mountains of self-worth issues and trauma. All of 3A was about him feeling like he was nothing without the job, because saving lives is the only way he feels like he has value (which, now that we know about it, goes back to the Daniel of it all). He has made his life about other people, and we've seen him stuck in this cycle - he'll be forced to step away from the job and/or he'll take some other small step towards healing, but then he'll go back and immediately fall back into his old habits. And meanwhile, he's trying to find happiness, but even his "year of yes" has ironically been defined not by doing something for himself, but by giving pieces of himself away so someone else can have a baby.

But he died. And more to the point, he died on the job. And he's not okay. And part of why I think it could be argued that he's not okay is because he's not really processing, not really healing, is still defining himself at least in part by what he can do for other people (even though accepting that he needed to live for himself/couldn't just be the guy who fixes things is what got him out of the coma) because that's what being a firefighter has been about for him from the beginning - a way to feel needed, a way to feel valued, a way to feel loved. But part of his healing journey is about truly accepting (not just incrementally like in the coma dream) in real life that he is more than that. Abby's fear that if she came back she would lose herself again? Is exactly what Buck has been doing. And as Dr. Salazar pointed out, one of the things some people do when they die is quit their job...or go to Italy...(both of which Abby did)...and to me, unlike Eddie who quit and came back because it was where he truly wanted to be, I just have a feeling that Buck's journey could be more than that. Could be realizing that the family he's built with all of them, the way he's loved, none of that would go away just because they stop working together (and, frankly, them no longer working together is inevitable - Bobby's going to retire eventually, Chim and Hen should both be Captains someday and it can't be at the same house, if Buck and Eddie start dating they could very well not be allowed to work together...etc etc), and that he can do something else...idk, it's something I'm mulling over.

(Also, something about Buck being a teacher in his coma dream...his subconscious making him a teacher in an imaginary world where Daniel had lived...yeah...thinking thoughts)