#everything that can happen keeps happening with no respite

[penguineatscarrots]

Thinking bout that post about knowing the birthdays of people you no longer speak to or seeing things that remind you of them but knowing you'll never be able to tell them

What's done is done but man if I'm not mourning the loss of it all

[eerna]

crashes my fist against the table. the way Ali has been Nahri's weakness since the beginning, no matter the nature of their bond. Ghassan saw her once and went "oh yes she will adore my famously unlikable son which will make my exploitation easier". she can't help but let herself be led by his optimism and dreams of justice and he is so happy someone appreciates him the way he is that he just holds onto her even stronger. no amount of ancestral hatred and prejudice and distrust could compete with that chaotic resonance and everyone around them could only stop and stare in horror

[notjustjavierpena]

(Mid)summer Loving

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Yes, based on that new picture. I’ll call this my first contribution to getting railed in a sundress season. 

Summary: The last two years of being with Joel has transformed the both of you. Mostly him. For the better. 

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, joel’s kink is being loved and appreciated, long haired joel!!!, healthy joel, established relationship, piv sex, size kink (it's big), rough, loud and desperate sex, dirty talk, praise kink, creampie, railed in a sundress season contribution, they are so soft for each other, bit of aftercare. 

Word count: 3.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55988128

(Mid)summer Loving

It happens when you hear him through the crowd of people in the community center. Your head whips in his direction, your eyes settling on the crinkles around his eyes as he laughs at something Tommy has said to him. He swirls the whiskey in his glass and downs it with slight difficulty because he is still smiling. 

You are only a table away, sitting with some of the women from your patrol group who gossip about potential suitors in the room, especially amongst the newcomers. However, you don’t really pay attention to what is being said because the love of your life sits across from you. It makes you able to admire him, struck by his transformation since he first came to Jackson and barged into your life. Your heart is so soft for him. 

The most obvious change is the hair. It’s gotten longer, the ends curling slightly in a way that softens his otherwise rugged appearance of big leather boots and tripled layered clothing. He used to have it shorter, and while you loved its fluffy bounce on top of his head whenever it was caught in the wind, it doesn’t compare to how it now frames his face by just brushing his collar in the back. It may be a subtle shift to others but to you, it means that Joel is more at ease with who and where he is, and that he has allowed change to find him.

His beard, too, has filled out. It is now thick and even, not at all the patchy scruff that you noticed the first time he talked to you by the rag pile in the trading center. He’d searched for fabric that could be used for shining the creations that he makes when seeking respite in wood carving. You had noticed the patch that resembled a heart first, your own heart skipping a beat as you forced yourself not to point it out to him immediately. That patch is gone but you’ll spend no time mourning it when the result is Joel looking healthier than ever, almost as if his body has responded to happiness with you by filling in all the gaps that heartbreak had left. 

Then there’s his face. It glows, despite his age, with a newfound youth, the signs of weariness and stress of years lived too hard it once bore completely wiped away. When you first met him, your heart had ached for his tired eyes, bags underneath them revealing all the sleepless nights and the burdens that he carried. The way they shine when they look into yours has your heart at ease and you can only hope he feels the same. 

Around you, the women keep chatting, talking animatedly and giggling while you sip your drink and stay silent until they are nothing but a low hum in the background. 

You only snap out of it when your name is said out loud. You furrow your brow, “Sorry?”

“I said that you don’t have to worry about things like this,” one of them chirps happily, “You already got your man.”

“Guess not, guess you’re right,” you chuckle softly and start to feel shy. You have never been one to be glaringly obvious in your happiness to the point where you display it at every opportunity but then Joel came along. He may worry about the gap of years between the two of you, often feeling undeserving of your love and attention but you only wish that he could see himself from your point of view. To you, he is everything. He doesn’t see how his presence calms and grounds you, how he makes you feel safe even in a world beyond repair. In his embrace, you feel even the biggest of anxieties and the worst of your challenges shrink into nothing. All he has to do is put his gentle, calloused hands on you and talk to you in that familiar southern drawl, and then your mind quiets down instantaneously.

However, if not his hands or his voice, his loving gaze also seems to do the trick. He suddenly turns his head in your direction, catching your eyes, and the sound of the lively conversations from each table mutes to nothing. He smiles at you and mouths a ‘you okay?’ at you. 

‘Save me’ you decide to mouth back at him, making a face to see him smile with amusement. He slaps his brother’s back before putting both hands on the table to push himself to stand. You didn’t think he would take it seriously but just the sight of seeing him approach you makes you want to go home with him. 

“Ready to go, honey?” He asks when he reaches your table, placing a hand on your shoulder and gently squeezing. 

“Hi Joel,” your friend group says in unison.

“Ladies,” he nods and they giggle like schoolgirls, “Gotta get this one home.”

You shake your head with a little smile at their reaction. Then you swing your legs over the side of the chair. Joel helps you up and a moment after having said your goodnights, you leave together like you’ve done for a few years now. 

Outside, people are scattered across the town square where a huge bonfire has been erected in the spot where the Christmas tree usually stands. Today is the annual midsummer celebration. Jackson is decorated with bundles of flowers that have replaced the painted eggs that tell people it is Easter. You smile at the memory of Ellie having been forced to join in on getting people in the spirit of Easter which had resulted in you trying to guess which of the eggs hanging from the sky had been crafted by the angry teen. You had decided that it might’ve been the one painted completely black.

Now, bright colors from nature hover above your head instead as you make your way down the main road. Joel holds your hand all the way home. He strokes the back of it with his thumb, feeling no pressure to fill up the silence between you as it has reached a point where it is comfortable. 

When you reach your shared house, Joel stops you by the front door instead of opening it for you in the gentlemanly way he always does. He stands in front of you, the porch light softening his features as he gazes at you.

“You seemed a bit distracted with your friends tonight,” he notes, “Is everythin’ alright?” 

“Just thinking about how lucky I am,” you answer with a smile, your voice sincere, “To have you.”

“I’m the lucky one, baby,” Joel huffs out a little laugh of disbelief, trying to brush off how flattered he always feels each time you say things like this. He gathers your hand in both of his, lifting it to kiss the back of it a few times, “Best fuckin’ thing that ever happened after the world ended.” 

“Don’t let Ellie hear that,” you tease gently. In your chest, your heart hammers against your ribs from being loved by him. 

“I’d never dream of it,” he steps closer with his eyes burning to get closer to you. You see them darken slightly as desire fills them and your heart jumps into your throat at the realization of what he wants. 

You. 

He wants you. 

That’s the one thing that has also changed since you met him; he has become much more untameable when he has you around. Who knew that his stamina was so impressive? Who knew that Joel Miller getting a confession of love - whether it consisted of the actual words or simply was said in your actions - would have him dragging you to somewhere private as soon as possible? 

“I love you, Joel Miller,” you say dreamily, pulling the trigger, “To the day that I die.”

And then suddenly Joel rips the door open so roughly that you’re afraid it might come off its hinges, pulls you inside along with him and slams it shut behind the both of you afterward. He locks it without hesitation, not about to be interrupted by any of your neighbors even if it’s most likely that everyone is out and about the town to be social. 

You are pressed up against the door next, his broad hands resting on your hips as he holds you against it. He bunches up the skirt of your sundress, groping your sides on top of the fabric, and you sling an arm around his back. Your other arm reaches up so you can cup the back of his head, your fingers sliding into the hair there. He has the perfect length for pulling these days - you should know - but you’ll wait for the right moment. 

His lips nearly bruise yours with how hard he kisses you, beard scratching your skin as he practically eats at your mouth to the point where your head swims and your belly swirls with hours of suppressed desire. You need him now, already soaked through your underwear and ready for him to be inside of you.

“Fuck me,” you whine against his lips, heart beating rapidly in your chest. So much that your breathing is already uneven, “Please, Joel, please.”

“S’alright, baby, I know whatcha need,” he rasps as his lips messily start descending on your chin, all the way across your jaw until his mouth attaches to your throat. You let your head bump against the door with a breathy moan, giving him access to bruise your neck too. He creates a purple mark that you will try to hide tomorrow during patrol to avoid interrogation on how Joel Miller is in bed. Only you can know. 

Your skirt falls down the slight amount it has been pulled up when Joel goes to unbuckle his leather belt. The noise of the metal sends a shiver through you, anticipation rising to your cheeks by heating them up underneath no touch. You look down to see the belt hanging open, him shoving the denim down around his thighs afterward and following up with his briefs too. 

The sight of his cock makes your mouth water. He is fully hard already, standing into the air at full attention and threatening to smear your pretty dress with his precome by poking into your belly if he dares get closer. You moan pathetically and he shushes you gently. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he soothes you like he would a child that has scraped their knee. He curls his fingers in the fabric of your dress once more before hiking it up along your thighs until he can stuff the bottom of the skirt into the top of your dress, effectively holding it up so it doesn’t fall down over your soaked panties again. 

You grab at the sides of your underwear to shimmy out of them but Joel doesn’t exercise enough patience to wait for you to step out of them, so he hooks his fingers into the front. He finds your eyes when he feels how wet the cotton fabric is, doesn’t directly say anything about it but just shows you how full-blown his pupils are at the realization. Without warning, he yanks your panties to the side. 

Satisfied with his work, he makes you gasp as he bends his knees to reach down and splay his strong hands on the back of your thighs. He lifts you off the ground and wraps you around him, pressing his knee into the door to hold you up while guiding his throbbing cock into you. You moan desperately at the initial sting, brows furrowing with slight pain as he sheaths himself inside of you to the hilt. 

“Oh my God,” you whimper, letting his name fall from your lips in a helpless chant as he pulses from how your walls choke him as you strain to take him like you always do in the beginning. He might just split you open right here in the hallway when he starts fucking you. 

“Shh, you can take it,” he whispers with the most brutally gentle peck on your zipped lips, “It’s okay. She knows it’s big, baby, but she can take it. I always fuck ya real good, don’t I?” 

You nod helplessly, and fuck you, he does. It’s fast and hard and dirty. The poor wooden door rattles alongside the jingle of his belt buckle with each slam of his hips, the doorknob painfully gnawing into your lower back, and you fear the fabric of your underwear will snap from the strain that is put on it as it sits to the side. Sometimes you think you might even cut a hole in some of your pairs with how often Joel, still two years later, rushes to get his cock into you. There’s something oddly satisfying and offensive about just being able to bend over and let him see that all he has to do is push in. 

“That’s it, look at me, baby, such a good girl f’me,” he praises to get you back to him, not here to lose your attention to the way his cock feels inside of your tight heat. Your eyes settle on him again, your mouth hanging open to elicit pathetic gasps each time he knocks the wind out of you by driving his hips up into you and effectively pounding your g-spot. His face is so close to you; you can feel his breath and share it with him, can study every little imperfection in the form of tiny scars and dark lines that you hadn’t been able to see earlier from your seat a few tables over. 

“Joel,” you pant, digging your heels into the small of his back, clinging on desperately and angling your hips as he has his way with you. The slight adjustment has him going deeper, touching something inside of you that ignites the first sparks of an orgasm. Your nails claw, dig and scratch at his back in ways that would have been enough to draw blood if he wasn’t wearing a shirt, “Fuck, baby! Don’t— ngh, don’t stop.”

“You feel so good,” he replies with a groan, most likely powering through the exhaustion and strain on his body to make you feel even better. He is everywhere on you, his hands on your thighs, gripping and squeezing. He is everywhere in you too, his cock twitching inside of you each time you cry his name.

“I’m—“ you sob.

“Let go, baby, I can feel ya,” he growls when you dance around the edge of your orgasm because your fingers on both hands tangle into his beautifully chocolate hair, yanking harshly as impending pleasure knocks the breath out of your lungs. Your skin burns, your whole system halts and goes into overdrive at the same time until all you can do is shout silently at the ceiling. Your walls clench in mind-altering ecstasy then and your quietness is over, replaced by a relieved whine as you come on his dick. It is intense from how fast you’ve gotten there since he entered you, your body writhing as it is held against the wall. He fucks you through it, has you wailing as he chases his own high. 

You cradle his head during his last few thrusts, feeling his damp breath against your shoulder as he buries himself inside of your spent cunt and comes hard. It feels so good when he groans as he fills you up, the sound vibrating through his entire body. You whimper at the ceiling with the way he pulses deliciously with each breathy moan until he has no more to give you. 

He leans all his weight into you as he comes down again, holding you in place with his chest against yours to make sure that you won’t fall down and drag him with you. He gives you a moment and places a string of lazy kisses on your lips until he slips out of you with a soft sound. 

Carefully, he places you back down on the floor and eyes you as he does it to be certain you won’t collapse. He moves off of you when it feels safe to do so. 

“I say it back?” He asks as he leans against the door with you. Automatically, you tilt your head towards him. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, turning his head a second later to fully look at your disheveled state. You have a hand on your chest to calm your breathing but it still matches your fluttering heartbeat. He still aches between your legs.

You look back at him, awaiting his words with short breaths, “Say what?”

He makes a gesture to the both of you, “Before what we just did happened. I tell ya that I love you too?” 

“No?” Your reply is almost a question. 

“Shame on me,” he smiles and turns his whole body so that he faces you completely, shoulder against the door. His eyes soften as he reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. The warmth of his touch is nice when the sweat has started to cool you down, and you lean into his palm, feeling the roughness of his calloused skin against you. 

“Shame on me, indeed,” he murmurs, eyes on your slightly open mouth, “Because I do love ya. More than I can understand sometimes.”

“You don’t have to say it back every time, Joel. I know,” you try to brush off how much your body and mind buzz at the same time. 

He shakes his head slightly, his eyes never leaving your mouth, “No, I do needa say it. You deserve to hear it. I love you.”

You nod and reach to hold his wrist when he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your open mouth. Just a few minutes ago, the now-careful hands had been rough on your skin and his words had dripped with sin.

“Now, how ‘bout I take you to bed?” He asks and pulls your dress’ skirt out of the top, watching it tumble down and fall back into place around your knees. 

While you wait for him to get dressed again, fatigue seems to finally have caught up with you because you feel like you might collapse in your hallway at that suggestion. When it’s safe to do so, you let yourself fall into his arms and he catches you without hesitation. 

He scoops you up, goes upstairs with you in his arms, undresses you, washes you down with a warm flannel, and gets you into bed. You curl up on your side and after a while, after hearing his boots come off and the shuffling of clothes, the bed dips from his weight. 

The warmth of his body against your back lulls you to sleep. Oh, how simply he loves you. Forever doesn’t seem like a lot to ask for.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[ja3yun]

The Doll House | Sim Jaeyun

doll!jake x fem!reader warnings: fluff, smut (mdni), subby!jake, oral (m. rec), creampie, slight throat fucking, whimpering and whining, pet names (baby doll, pup), begging, anything else lmk! wc: 7.7k synopsis: it's your first week at your new job and you make a shocking revelation that puts your world in a spin and lets you experience something you never knew was possible masterlist | sunghoon a/n: hi! this is the first part of a 4-part series! again, i need to thank the requester for this because i am having so much fun writing it <3 the plot and everything will be gradually laced within each chapter so, while they can stand alone, it's best to read them all. thank you for everything and as always, likes, reblogs, feeback is all welcome!

p.s, please read the intro it sets up the whole story so you guys know how y/n got there and who soonyeol is.

You've been inside this home for exactly 42 hours and 51 minutes and surprisingly nothing significant has happened.

The silence surrounding the mansion is unexpectedly comforting, providing a much-needed respite from the hectic city life you've despised. The constant noise - whether it's the cries of babies, the grumbles of angry men, or the blasting car horns powered by thoughtless road rage - has progressively worn on your tolerance. No one talks about how exhausting it all is.

Maybe this is why people go on holiday, you wonder. Even though you're here for work, there's a sense of relaxation in the air that leaves you feeling peaceful. 

Before Soonyeol went on her ominous business trip, she left you a binder full of strict instructions on how to mind her house. It’s packed to the brim with dos and don'ts such as; cooking exactly 4 meals for the dolls at 5.30pm, placing them around the dining table, and never entering their rooms unless transporting them to their recreational activities. 

Each doll had their own rigorous routine, with some reading, some playing the guitar, and so on. Soonyeol made it clear that sticking to these routines is a must, which included the difficult chore of physically changing the towering dolls in the morning and before bed. They weren’t exactly hollow or porcelain, they were super realistic, their skin had some form of heat to it, and they had some weight to them but not as heavy as they first appeared. You had asked Soonyeol what they were made of but she brushed your question off, leaving you even more curious, the only conclusion you could come up with was sandbags or clay.

Currently, you are in the kitchen, cooking up a meal that none of them will touch. Of course, you didn’t expect them to chow down on your homemade lasagna considering they couldn’t even move their mouths, but seeing everything laid out and untouched after you give them exactly 35 minutes to eat (a rule in that godforsaken binder), it fills you with a sense of unease.

Within the mansion's walls, time seems to grind to a halt unless you make it move, you as the sole animate presence amidst the silence. 

You bring the plated food into the dining room, placing a dish in front of each doll. Despite the absurdity of the situation, you play along dutifully, conscious of Mia's warning that the dolls may be rigged with hidden cameras. To be fair, their eyes do seem to follow you, or perhaps that was just your imagination.

“This is such a waste of food,” you scoff, placing the last plate down to the doll with freckles on his face who is labelled in the binder as Sunghoon. You can’t help but think about all the food that is being wasted when there are people still relying on food banks, it makes you bubble with anger, yet, you’re the one doing it. You could easily just not feed them and just pretend to Soonyeol you did, but again, the eyes that surround the castle could be the difference between you keeping this job and going back home with nothing.

Soonyeol could easily fire you if it got back to her you starved her precious babies while she was gone, and that £5,000 is enough money to get you by while you look for another job, so you’ll do as you’re told for now.

With a resigned sigh, you wipe your hands on your apron and offer a forced smile to the lifeless dolls, "Enjoy," you mutter sarcastically, before turning on your heel and retreating from the room, leaving them to their silent feast.

“Thank you!” 

The words catch you off guard, freezing you mid-step. Did you actually just hear that? Slowly, you spin on your heel, astonishment written over your face. There they sit, precisely as you left them, their expressions the same as before. Yet, undoubtedly, the voice came from their direction.

Narrowing your eyes in suspicion, you examine them closely, your fingers poking Sunghoon’s shoulder to try and elicit any response, but one never comes. 

You could have sworn you heard a voice, a soft accent drifting into your ears. It’s not like it could have been the TV or radio, Soonyeol was lacking in the entertainment department, opting for more classic ways to entertain herself like board games and books.

"This place is making me lose my mind," you scoff, disbelief mingling with a nervous laugh. You are officially losing the plot, thinking the dolls can suddenly speak. What’s next, they’ll suddenly get up and help you with the dishes?

Maybe you just need to go for a walk around the mansion, touch some grass or whatever. Your mind needs some nature to set itself straight. With a final incredulous glance at the dolls, you shake your head, dismissing your fanciful worries. 

Stepping into the garden, you're greeted by the warmth of the summer sun kissing your skin. The sprawling lawn stretches for acres, overgrown yet hinting at hidden beauty beneath the tangled vines and moss-covered statues.

The pathway is clear, giving you a chance to wander further into the field. With some TLC and a green thumb, you ponder whether you could turn this landscape into a true garden, it’s not like there is much else to do, but would Soonyeol be okay with that? Everything else in this house is seemingly stuck in a different century; the large gold-framed portraits, the scatter of porcelain dolls that look like something straight from a horror movie, and the furnishings scream Renaissance. Maybe she prefers it that way.

You are perplexed by the mystery surrounding Soonyeol and her isolated living. A lack of information about her and this home has you grasping at straws. The mansion has no internet or even a good phone service which raises your suspicions about her more. There is only a landline phone that is set to make local calls. All you've learned from this information is why she resorted to placing a job advertisement in the newspaper.

Questions swirl in your mind. Why choose such isolation? Living alone, devoid of company or modern comforts, seems unimaginable. Two months might be tolerable, but for someone to endure years in solitude, it's perplexing. But then again, who are you to judge? She might prefer her own company and God knows there must be a lot less drama.

Lost in thought, you reach out to touch a thorn from a withered rosebush, only to recoil in pain as it pricks your index finger, "Shit!" you shout, instinctively sucking on the wound as blood wells up. Why you felt driven to touch such an obviously dangerous plant escapes you completely.

Sulking back inside the house, you walk directly to the kitchen, the sight of familiar surroundings provides some consolation as you go towards the sink, your injured finger throbbing with each step. Who knew a thorn could cause so much damage?

You reach for the basin and turn on the cold tap, hoping for a little relief. As chilled water falls over your wound, you sigh with relief, the coolness relieving the pain immensely, with a sudden sensation of peace flowing over you. 

The clock's chime breaks through the quiet, jolting you back into reality. It's 6pm so it's time to tend to the dolls again. You reach to get a plaster from the first aid kit, only to find it empty except for a single bandage and some foil blankets. Panic sets in as you examine the seriousness of your bleeding finger; it’s a neverending flow of crimson which only makes you pout, sucking on it once again.

Desperately searching the kitchen cupboards, you find bits of kitchen roll and sellotape. It's not ideal, but you have no other choice. You gently wrap the kitchen roll around your wound, securing it with sticky tape. The improvised dressing will have to suffice; the thought of spilling your blood on Soonyeol's cherished dolls sends chills down your spine. You don't want to think about what she would do.

Stepping into the dining room, you're greeted by the familiar sight: cold food arranged neatly before the four unyielding dolls. Their impassive stares seem to pierce through you, sending a chill down your spine.

With a theatrical pout and arms crossed, you address the silent company, "Didn't quite hit the mark with my culinary masterpiece, huh?" you jest, met only with the silence of inanimate figures. Chuckling to yourself, you gather the untouched plates onto the cart, contemplating a pragmatic solution, "Well, I suppose I could just freeze these and give them to you tomorrow," you quip. Soonyeol said to feed them, she didn’t say it couldn't be the same meal over and over again.

After clearing up the dining hall and putting the meals in the freezer, you make your way to retrieve the rusty wheelchair you are convinced will give you tetanus from the hallway closet. It’s the easiest way to transport the boys from A to B, and you daren’t carry them anywhere in case you drop and smash them. 

As you unfold the chair, a creak reverberates from behind you, causing your muscles to tense involuntarily. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as a chill courses through your veins. While the old house has its usual symphony of creaks and groans, this sound feels different, more sinister, as if someone - or something - is lurking in the shadows.

“Hello?” you say whispering yet not daring to look behind you. If you have learned anything from the multitude of horror movies you’ve watched over the tears, it’s that as soon as you look back, all shit breaks loose.

You stand there with your heart pounding in your chest and you scold yourself inwardly for succumbing to irrational fear, "Come on, Y/N, pull yourself together," you mutter, attempting to rally your nerves. But the silence that follows your whispered reassurance only amplifies the unease settling in the pit of your stomach.

With a resigned sigh, you steel yourself for whatever may lie behind you, “Fuck, Y/N, just turn around. If you’re going to die, you might as well get it over with,” you chide yourself, voice tinged with frustration.

Thinking it’s best to just face whatever your demise is, you swiftly turn around, half-expecting to come face-to-face with some unseen terror. Yet, all that greets you is the empty hallway, bathed in the dim glow of the flickering lights. There's no sign of an intruder, no lurking threat—just the same mundane surroundings you've grown accustomed to.

You never thought you’d think this, but you’re happy to see the tiny collector dolls that line the hallway.

A mixture of relief and embarrassment floods over you as you realize the absurdity of your fears. "God, I'm losing it," you mutter, a manic laugh bubbling up from deep within. With a self-deprecating shake of your head, you lightly slap your forehead with the base of your palm, chastising yourself for letting your imagination run wild.

First, the talking dolls, now this unfounded paranoia—it's becoming increasingly clear that the isolation of this mansion is taking its toll on your sanity. 

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you shake off the lingering unease and embarrassment to focus on your duties. 

With a determined stride, you make your way back to the dining room, the memory of your brief bout of hysteria fading into the recesses of your mind. You push the wheelchair over to the table to retrieve one of the dolls, however, a glint of blue catches your eye.

A plaster - suddenly, inexplicably there, resting in front of the doll named Jongseong.

Your brow furrows in confusion, disbelief coursing through you. "How... was that there the whole time?" you mutter, disbelief colouring your tone as you glance between your injured finger and the God-sent plaster.

With a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, you reach out to pick up the plaster, examining it closely as if searching for any sign of trickery. But it appears to be nothing more than an ordinary adhesive plaster.

"Okay, this is getting ridiculous," you mutter to yourself, unable to suppress a nervous chuckle. The rational part of your mind insists there must be a logical explanation for the plaster's sudden appearance, but logic seems to have taken a backseat in this peculiar mansion. 

Surely you would have noticed it on the table when you were serving the food…right?

Deciding to set aside your questions for the moment, you carefully retrieve the plaster and apply it to your injured finger, the soothing sensation providing a small measure of comfort.

As you finish tending to your wound, you cast a wary glance at the dolls, half-expecting them to spring to life and offer an explanation. But they remain as silent and motionless as ever, their enigmatic presence only adding to the mystery of this place.

With a resigned sigh, you focus once again on getting the dolls to their rooms. Maybe if they’re out of your sight, you’ll stop conjuring up these ridiculous notions that are swirling in your mind.

“C’mon Jaeyun, let’s get you to bed,” you say softly as you pick him up with a strong heave. The weight of him in your arms is a humbling realisation that you need to start going to the gym more because lifting a doll shouldn’t be this taxing.

Plonking him onto the wheelchair, you begin to make your way to his room. The corridors grow longer each time you make the journey to their respective bedrooms and with the house being the size that it is, transporting them is the equivalent of taking a quick nip to your big Tesco and back.

Finally reaching Jaeyun's room, you turn the ornate handle and push the wheelchair inside. The room is bathed in a soft, amber glow, casting a warm hue over the plush furnishings and intricate decor. With careful precision, you guide Jaeyun onto the bed, taking a moment to study his features up close.

The doll's face, once unsettling in its hyper-realistic detail, now holds a curious fascination. Despite the initial unease you felt in their presence, you can't help but admire the craftsmanship that went into their creation.

Jaeyun's eyes, a rich shade of brown, hold a mesmerising depth that seems to draw you in and they glimmer with an almost golden hue when touched by sunlight, adding a touch of ethereal beauty to his already captivating features. His lips, full and luscious and they evoke sense of envy into you, marvelling at their perfection. His nose, a graceful arc that sits harmoniously amidst his features, only adds to the beauty.

With gentle admiration, you touch his bottom lip with your thumb, amazed at its softness. If Jaeyun were a living, breathing being, you can't help but imagine how irresistible those lips would be, how you would find any excuse to steal a kiss. The feel of his lip beneath your thumb is uncannily real, its texture mirroring your own, and as you release it, it springs back into place as if alive.

Your eyes dart over his face, drinking him in as you fix his long, dark hair, “You’re so beautiful,” you whisper, the words leave your lips almost unintentionally, spoken in peaceful tones as if frightened to disrupt the calm tranquillity of the moment. 

“Thank you.”

Your entire body goes rigid as you hear the same words from the dining table, mirroring the exact accent you had heard before. The hand that had been gently brushing aside the stray strand of hair now drops to your side, your eyes fixed on Jaeyun's mouth as it forms into a bright smile.

As if gasping for air, you stare at him in disbelief, pointing a trembling finger in his direction. "Y-you just spoke!" you manage to exclaim, your words choked with bated breaths. Panic threatens to engulf you as you try to understsnd what is happening.

Your mind races, grasping for something, anything to hold onto as the world spins around you but there's nothing, and your body betrays you, collapsing to the ground in a desperate attempt to escape the surreal nightmare unfolding before you.

With wide, terrified eyes, you watch as Jaeyun moves slightly, preparing yourself for the inevitable scream that threatens to tear from your throat. But before you can utter a sound, he rushes towards you with a look of panic etched on his features.

Jaeyun's eyes are filled with concern as he gazes down at you, his hand covering your mouth to stifle any outcry. With a gentle yet urgent expression, he leans in closer, his lips forming almost silent words as he implores you to remain quiet, “Please. Shhh, I’m sorry!” he says with urgency, trying to stop you from bellowing out and causing alarm.

Your chest rises and falls with the rapid beat of your heart, your head suddenly feels faint and conflicting emotions wash over you. Fear, confusion, disbelief - all vie for dominance as you struggle to make sense of the impossible situation unfolding before you.

With wide, frightened eyes, you stare up at Jaeyun, searching his face for any sign of explanation or reassurance. But all you find is the same look of concern mirrored in his gaze, a silent plea for understanding.

“I promise, I’m not going to hurt you,” he utters, his body now relaxing as he feels your mouth close under his palm, “If I take my hand away, please don’t scream, okay?” 

His words are filled with panic, a frantic attempt to prevent more concern. When you look into his eyes, you can sense the sincerity in his plea, a glimpse of humanity you didn't think was possible.

For a moment, the world seems to stand still, the air thick with tension and uncertainty on both of your parts. But then, with a shaky breath, you nod in silent acquiescence, willing yourself to trust the doll before you. 

Jaeyun’s hand slowly withdraws from your mouth but is still armed in case you fall through on your promise to stay quiet. Once he's satisfied that you won't scream, Jaeyun rises to his feet, offering you a shaky hand. You accept, noting the slight tremor in his grip, evidence that he's just as affected by this inexplicable turn of events as you are.

Standing before him, you can't shake the feeling of disbelief that washes over you. None of this makes sense - talking dolls, moving on their own accord - it's all so implausible, so surreal. And yet, here you are, faced with the undeniable reality of Jaeyun's existence.

"What are you?" you ask tentatively, withdrawing your hand from his as you study him intently, searching for any clues to unravel the mystery.

Jaeyun tilts his head in confusion, his expression mirroring your own bewilderment. "I'm a doll, you know that," he replies matter-of-factly.

"Yes, but how are you moving? How are you speaking? Are you possessed? Alive? Am I dreaming this?" you barrage him with questions, your mind racing with a million possibilities, each more absurd than the last.

“I’m Sim Jaeyun, manufactured in 2002,” Jaeyun says as though it’s so obvious, which to his defence, it is - the stamp on his back that you’ve caught sight of while changing him is proof, "I'm the model made for Australia. G'day mate!" he adds, attempting to inject some levity into the conversation with an exaggerated Australian accent. But his efforts fall flat in the face of your mounting terror and confusion.

"I don't understand," you whisper, your voice trembling with uncertainty, "How is this possible?"

Jaeyun's expression softens, sympathy flickering in his eyes as he meets your gaze, "I wish I had all the answers," he admits, his voice gentle yet tinged with resignation, "But the truth is, even I don't fully understand what's happening to me. I ended up here one day. The others just tell me not to ask questions.”

As Jaeyun's words sink in, a surge of disbelief sweeps over you, threatening to overwhelm you in a sea of bewilderment and despair, "Others? You mean..."

"My brothers, the ones you've been looking after for Soonyeol," Jaeyun says, his voice calm.

The realisation hits you like a tonne of bricks: all four dolls, like Jaeyun, are somehow alive. You've spent the last two days living under the same roof as these living dolls, entirely oblivious of their true selves. The idea of it sends shivers down your spine, and a dreadful feeling rises in the pit of your stomach.

Every creak in the floorboards, every echo in the halls - you had chalked them up to the ageing mansion itself. But now, you realise that they were caused by these living dolls moving about, silently watching and listening to your every move.

You contemplate the idea that you're going insane because the stress and isolation of the mansion have finally taken their toll on your sanity. But deep down, you know that this is far too real to be a figment of your imagination.

Sensing your distress, Jaeyun guides you to sit beside him on the bed, his touch gentle yet strangely disconcerting. A doll is offering you comfort while your mind is in a whirlwind of emotions that threaten to overwhelm you. In what world is any of this normal?

His thumb strokes the back of your hand as you sit in silence. A small smile creeps on his face and a blush somehow paints itself on the apples of his cheeks as he remembers your earlier comments.

“You think I’m beautiful?” he asks gently, drawing you back into reality from the maze of your mind.

“What?”

"You said I was beautiful," he repeats, his tone gentle yet earnest, his eyes filled with a quiet joy. Jaeyun's smile widens slightly, his body shifting to fully face you.

As you finally meet his gaze, the weight of his words settles upon you, and you see just how much your earlier compliment meant to him. The twinkle in his eye reflects a depth of emotion that mirrors that of a human, his happiness evident in the way his features soften and his eyes light up with warmth. If he was beautiful before, he is otherworldly now.

“Yeah…you are,” you confess, now reciprocating his blush.

Jaeyun's hand gently cups your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine and you can't help but feel something blossom within you. His palm, slightly cool against your flushed skin, serves as a reminder of the surreal reality in which you find yourself.

Jaeyun's lips suddenly meet yours, enveloping you with his gentle kiss. Touching his lips earlier paled in comparison to the sensation of his soft, plump mouth moving against yours, and it sends a shiver of pleasure coursing through your veins; for a fleeting moment, you allow yourself to be swept away by the intensity of the moment.

But as reality crashes back down upon you, the weight of what you're doing comes crashing down.

This is a doll, not a real person.

You push Jaeyun away and your mind suddenly clears, “What are you doing, Jaeyun?” you ask both perplexed by his actions and a little disgruntled by yours.

His wide eyes only serve to make you feel guilty, there’s a tinge of hurt in them along with confusion. His hand removes itself from your face, leaving your cheek cold and craving his touch again.

"Soonyeol says I should kiss when I want to show my appreciation," Jaeyun explains, his voice tinged with confusion and a defeated tone that tugs at your heartstrings. It's clear that he's not accustomed to being rejected like this, his owner obviously giving him what he wants.

Now that you think about it, Soonyeol must know they’re real, meaning she has relationships with these dolls. Granted, you figured that out when you were undressing them and saw they are anatomically correct, but now this is a whole new layer. She has formed connections with them that go beyond using the dolls for her pleasure. 

"Isn't it cheating?" you ask, locking eyes with Jaeyun, ignoring your swift realisation of the risk. Those beautiful brown eyes seem to draw you in, inviting you to forget all reason and succumb to the burning need between you.

He shakes his head slowly, a tinge of hesitation in his eyes as he chews his lip, "No. Soonyeol shares us, which means I can be shared. It's how it works," he says, his words laced with desperation as he tries to defend his actions. He knows Soonyeol won’t see it that way, but he needs you for his own selfish pleasure; he can’t wait two months until his minder comes back.

However, the rational half of your mind perks up one last time, refusing to be influenced by Jaeyun's words, forcing you to express the painfully evident reality that lies between you, "You're a doll, Jaeyun," you say, the words thick with reality.

However, as if feeling your wavering resolve, Jaeyun's demeanour changes, his puppy-like appearance giving way to one of mischief and longing. With a sudden boldness, he comes in closer, your noses touching as your breath hits his lips.

"I'm a doll with everything you need," he says seductively, sending shivers down your spine as his luscious lips brush against yours with each syllable. 

Your heart races as Jaeyun's proximity overwhelms your senses. Despite the nagging voice of reason in the back of your mind, you find yourself unable to resist the magnetic pull of his presence.

As Jaeyun leans in for another kiss, his persistence and gentle touch send a rush of heat coursing through your body. You find yourself melting into his embrace once more, unable to resist his lips on yours. His smile against your mouth fills you with something beautiful.

His hand finds your cheek, his touch tender yet possessive as he deepens the kiss, sending your senses reeling. The surreal sensation of his tongue, colder than any other person's you’ve had the pleasure to kiss, intertwining with yours only adds to the intensity of the moment.

But as the kiss grows more passionate, you feel Jaeyun's hands begin to roam, his touch becoming more urgent and insistent. The way he impatiently tugs at the hem of your t-shirt and his hips practically humping the air through desperation, heightens your own arousal.

You draw back, taking your shirt off, giving him what he wants. Jaeyun's eyes light up in delight at the sight before him, his gaze raking over your exposed skin with hunger. Without hesitation, his hand instinctively reaches out to touch you, his fingers grazing over the fabric of your bra as he seeks to explore every inch of your body.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, as he stares up at you. You understand why he’s so used to getting his way, that face of his could start wars if he asked. 

With a soft smile, your fingers continuing to thread through his hair with a gentle touch, "Nothing in comparison to you," you confess, your words spoken with genuine admiration.

Jaeyun's response is a soft whimper, his body trembling slightly under your touch as he leans into your caress. It's clear that he thrives on the affection and validation you offer him, cherishing every compliment and sweet gesture. He isn’t going to take control of this situation, he wants you to lead him, to make him feel like he is yours.

And he looks so fuckable right now.

Feeling emboldened by the rush of desire coursing through your veins, you seize the opportunity to take control of the situation. With a newfound confidence, you gently push Jaeyun back onto the bed, straddling him as you hover above.

His eyes widen in surprise, a mix of anticipation and excitement flickering in their depths as he watches you with rapt attention. With a playful glint in your eyes, you lean down to capture his lips in a searing kiss, your hands trailing down his chest and exploring every contour of his body.

Jaeyun responds eagerly, his hands roaming over your back as he returns your kiss with equal fervour. But as the heat between you intensifies, you can sense his longing for more, his desire for you palpable in every touch and caress.

You plaster on a mischievous smile and lean back slightly, teasingly tracing your fingers along the waistband of his pants. He hitches in anticipation, his eyes darkening with desire as he silently urges you to continue.

With deliberate slowness, you begin to unbutton his pants, savouring the feeling of power that courses through you with each movement. As the fabric falls away, you're met with the sight of his cock outline, his arousal evident in the way he strains against the confines of his underwear.

You lean down to press your lips against his neck, trailing soft kisses along his jawline as you whisper in his ear, "Do you want me to look after you, baby doll?"

He mewls out and nods quickly, knowing that is the only thing he needs right now. Your touch is different to Soonyeol’s, yours is filled with a new fire that you’re discovering, while Soonyeol’s is experienced and knows of Jaeyun’s wants and needs. He can’t deny that he feels even more alive than before right now.

Trailing one finger over his clothed cock, you apply pressure as you reach his tip, causing him to whine out. You aren’t typically in charge in the bedroom but you can’t deny how easy it is when Jaeyun is underneath you, silently begging for you to claim him.

You pull down his boxers, seeing his cock in a new light. Honestly, you tried not to stare at it too long when you changed him but you knew whatever Soonyeol had ordered, she ordered it with herself in mind. He was average-sized but curved to the right, meaning he could hit places some others couldn’t; even the thought made your mouth water.

There’s a desire to know how his cock is standing to attention considering there isn’t any blood in his body, but this whole situation defies logic so what’s one more question to add to the pile? All you can really think about is how good having him inside you will feel.

Grabbing his length, you begin to pump him gently, still trying to navigate how fragile he is and how far you can take this. He isn’t made of glass but you still need to be careful. 

His reaction is immediate, his jaw slackening as you pick up the pace, your movements becoming more assured. Jaeyun’s legs kick slightly as his body involuntarily moves under your touch, desperate for more than you’re offering him.

Sensing his need, you lean in and give his cock a teasing lick before spitting on it, slickening the surface to make your motions even smoother. His breath hitches at the sensation, a low groan escaping his lips as he arches into your touch, craving more of the pleasure you're giving him.

With a hunger that matches his own, you release him from your grip and lean down, taking him into your mouth with a slow, deliberate motion. His gasp fills the air as you envelop him, the wet heat of your mouth sending shivers down his spine.

"Y/N..." Jaeyun's voice is barely a whisper, filled with a mix of disbelief and pleasure.

You glance up at him, meeting his gaze with a smouldering intensity before returning your focus to the task at hand. With practiced skill, you move your lips and tongue in tandem, exploring every inch of him with a fervour that leaves him trembling. 

There is an urge to look after him, with each whine and whimper he screeches out in response to your tongue flicking over his tip, you want to cherish him as your own. You carefully watch his face to make sure he is enjoying himself which clearly he is, his eyes screwed shut and chest heaving despite the lack of air.

Pushing his length further into your mouth, you feel the tip of him hit the back of your throat, piercing your tonsils as they involuntarily try to swallow around him. You switch between bobbing your mouth and enveloping his whole cock down your throat, staying there for a moment as you nuzzle your nose against his lower abdomen.

His fingers thread through your hair, a silent plea for more as you continue to lavish attention on him, each suck and swirl of your tongue pushing him closer to the edge of ecstasy.

"Oh god, Y/N," he groans, his voice thick with need. "I-I can't... I'm gonna..."

Can he cum? Like physically, is your mouth about to be filled with doll cum? You’re going to find out eventually.

But who says he can get everything he wants just at the bat of an eyelid?

You pull back slightly, your lips glistening with saliva as you gaze up at him with a wicked grin. "Not yet," you tease, your voice husky from the beating your throat has just taken, "I want to hear you beg for it.”

His eyes widen with anticipation, a need burning in their depths as he watches you, “But Soonyeol always lets me cum,” he pouts, the edges of his mouth drooping down.

“I’m not Soonyeol though, am I?” you retort, your hand stroking him again, “I can stop completely if you want?” 

Jaeyun doesn’t like that idea, shaking his head manically and chanting ‘no’ as he looks at you with pleading eyes. His minder is kind, always giving him the pleasure he needs when he wants it, so this is new to him, yet, he can’t help but find some pleasure in the prolonging of his orgasm.

“Come on, baby doll, beg for it,” you murmur against his tip, looking up at him through hooded eyes as you tease the tip of his cock.

His breath catches in his throat at your words, his mind a haze of desire as he struggles to find his voice, "Please, Y/N," he gasps, his voice thick with need, "Please let me cum. I need it, I need you so bad."

The desperation in his voice and his tiny weeps send a shiver down your spine, and with a satisfied smirk, you relent, taking him fully into your mouth again. 

You aren’t like this in bed but he just manages to bring out this side of you and you can’t complain about it. 

As Jaeyun's fingers tangle in your hair, a shiver of anticipation courses through you, heightened by the primal instinct driving his actions. You feel the tension building in his body, his movements becoming more urgent as he approaches the brink of release.

With a final tug at your roots, he tightens, his balls drawing up as he releases into your mouth with a guttural groan of pleasure. His hips buck uncontrollably, driving himself deeper into your throat as he rides the waves of ecstasy coursing through him.

You surrender to the moment, allowing him to take control as he thrusts into your mouth, his movements are rough yet achingly intimate. Each sensation sends sparks of pleasure racing through you, mingling with the taste of him on your tongue as he spurts his essence. It’s not exactly cum, it doesn’t taste like it, but it’s filling your mouth up, some of it dripping out onto the bed below you.

And as he finally reaches the peak of his pleasure, his body trembling with the force of his release, you swallow him down, accepting him completely. You lap up the last few drops before giving a gentle kiss on his bell, smiling slightly as you relish in your work.

Jaeyun’s face exhibits one of pure bliss, his grin wide and his eyes closed. He looks so ethereal right now, your only wish is to cater to him. Soonyeol must have her hands full if she does this with all of them, no wonder she would need two months off.

Sitting up, his hands pull at your jeans, unbuttoning them with determination but you stop him, “Jaeyun, what are you doing?” you ask.

“I’m going to fuck you, is that not okay?” Jaeyun’s eyes have that spark in them just like before but more intense, like he’s bursting to the brim with happiness.

You can see the determination in Jaeyun's eyes, the fire of desire burning bright despite the recent climax. His eagerness to please you matches your own desire to cater to him, but you can't help but feel a twinge of apprehension.

"Are you not tired, Jaeyun?" you reply gently, placing a hand on his cheek to capture his attention, “I don't want to push you too far."

Jaeyun's expression softens at your words, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering sincerity, “I’m a doll, Y/N, I don’t get tired.”

Damn, maybe you should invest in one of these unalive-alive dolls with the £5,000 you’ll get from this job.

He sees your astonishment and laughs softly, his teeth on full display, “You’re so fucking pretty when you’re confused, Y/N,” his voice is back down to a whisper, his hand enclosing yours on his cheek as he nuzzles into it. Jaeyun knows how to use his charm to get what he wants but it’s significantly easier when the person he is trying to persuade wants it just as much as he does.

You find yourself nodding in agreement, unable to resist his enticement. With a shared understanding, you move in to capture his lips in yours, sealing the moment with a delicate kiss.

His hands go back to work, pulling at your jeans to take them off of your hot body. You help him out, pulling away from his mouth to undress yourself, leaving you both naked and wanting nothing more than to be entangled in one another.

“Wow,” he utters as his eyes trail your body from head to toe. His owner is beautiful but you have something about you that is sucking him in, the curve of your hips and the stretch marks on your thighs; you’re a vision he never wants to forget.

You turn scarlet as you see him staring at you, suddenly feeling less confident than before. But he quickly eases your mind as he licks his lips and pulls you into his lap, placing you to sit right on his cock, “I think you were wrong earlier,” he mutters into your shoulder as he places kisses along your chest.

“What do you mean?” Confusion lingers in your mind as you process his words, your fingers instinctively tangling in his hair as you look down at him with a mixture of surprise and affection.

“When you said you weren’t as beautiful compared to me. I think you’re so wrong,” he admits in a hushed tone, hands roaming along your waist and down to your thighs, feeling every inch of you.

Leaning down, you kiss him again except this time, you grind your hips, letting his cock slide between your folds and his tip brush against your clit teasingly. The action makes you both groan out in lust, wanting nothing more than to be tangled in one another. 

Jaeyun lightly slaps your ass to signal you to hover slightly, ready to dive into you. He hasn’t had sex with anyone other than Soonyeol so his eagerness is palpable, his mouth fighting a bright smile akin to a puppy.

Once you’re above him, he guides his cock to your hole and sharply pushes into you, causing you to fall forward onto his chest.

He enthusiastically bucks his hips up into you, ensuring that he is catering to every inch of your pleasure. Although he enjoys being looked after and cared for, he will always reciprocate; your enjoyment is as important to him as his own.

It's funny how different he is with you than with his owner; with you, he wants nothing more than to impress you, evident by the way he's focused on fucking into you, but with Soonyeol, he does whatever he wants to give her pleasure but there's no need to put in massive amounts of effort.

You feel his dick pressing deep into you, that curve that you noticed earlier is now doing wonders against your walls. Meeting his thrusts, you bounce on him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you pick up your pace. 

The sound of your skin slapping against Jaeyun is like music to his ears, the smile he was trying to fight off now splitting his face, the joy of fucking you so obvious from his expression. He wants to do this forever.

Looking down, you see him lost in glee and lust as he continues to thrust up into you at a fast pace, his gaze down at where you’re pussy is sucking him in. Gently, you lift his face to look at you, his wide gleaming eyes now staring into yours.

“You’re doing so good, pup,” you assure him, kissing the tip of his nose. He feels his non-existant heart soar at your words, his face radiant with your praise. And you weren’t just saying it, he truly was sensational, probably the best you’ve had in a long time. 

Jaeyun takes your words of appraisal and uses them to fuck into you harder, his mouth now attached to your nipple and he sucks and licks at it like a man starved.

You can feel that familiar coil in your stomach that signifies you’re close to release. Snaking your hand down to your clit you begin to rub circles on it quickly, but as soon as Jaeyun notices, he nudges your hand away and takes care of it himself, rubbing and pinching it between his thumb and pointer finger.

Throwing your head back, your breathing stops momentarily as you push out your orgasm, your wetness coating your inner thighs and his cock as you cum harshly around him, “Jaeyun, fuck!” you cry, hands gripping any part of Jaeyun they can.

Jaeyun shudders as you clench around him, spilling himself into your heat along with you. He rubs his face desperately against your tits, relishing in the feeling of you against him. He has this aching need to be as close to you as possible.

Both of you are in complete and utter bliss as you hold one another, coming down from your highs.

As Jaeyun peppers open-mouthed kisses along your neck, he savours the sensation of your heartbeat, saddened slightly by his lack of. If he had one, he wished you could hear how loudly it was beating from pure satisfaction and tenderness.

"That was incredible, Y/N," he murmurs against the curve of your nape, his smile pressing warmly against your skin.

You tenderly kiss the top of his head and linger there for a moment, your fingers tracing light strokes along his back. But as the clock chimes once again, signalling the passage of time, reality intrudes upon your blissful moment.

"Fuck, I need to get the others to bed," you say regretfully, reluctantly withdrawing yourself from Jaeyun's embrace. The air feels colder now that night is settling in, and the absence of his touch leaves you longing for his warmth.

Jaeyun watches you with a mixture of understanding and longing as you get dressed, his gaze following your movements with a hint of reluctance, he wants you to stay beside him the way Soonyeol does, to look after him a little longer.

Before you part ways, Jaeyun reaches out to gently grasp your hand, "Y/N," he begins, his voice soft yet filled with urgency, "Please, don't tell the others. We aren’t supposed to tell you, and they already think I’m incapable of keeping a secret,” he says disheartened, the last sentence laced with vulnerability.

His plea catches you off guard, but you can see the sincerity in his eyes. Kneeling beside the bed, you take his hand into yours and kiss it softly, “I promise, I will not tell anyone, okay?” you reassure him, punctuating your sentiment with a smile, “This stays between us.”

It’s a promise not only to him but also to yourself. At the end of the day, no matter how good it was, you fucked a doll - an alive one, but still a doll. 

With a grateful smile, Jaeyun leans in to press a gentle kiss against your lips, a silent gesture of gratitude for your understanding, “Thank you, Y/N. This won’t be the last time, will it?” he asks tentatively, trying to seek out how you might feel about the entirety of the situation.

You weigh up the question in your mind. On one hand, you would have someone to talk to and indulge in, but on the other, it’s risky and if Soonyeol found out, you know there would be hell to pay.

“Let’s just see how it goes, pup,” you say vaguely, kissing his forehead one more time.

This mansion is filled with secrets that you need to uncover, and you have two months to do it.

taglist: @nshmrarki @kgneptun @ui11iane @addictedtohobi @parksunghoonsgf @chaewonshoney @chiiiiiiiiis @lilyuwon @rayofsunshineeee @moon7jay @erehkinnie30 @brownsugarbaybee @minniejenseo @woninluv @jaysluvs @fakeuwus @capri-cuntz @ash024 @who-tf-soddhi @bambangan @vousty @heeseungspookie @alvojake @yorukoshii @haechonly @riftanswhore @belowbun @emikotakayami @branchrkive @featjunranghae @thejjrl @nyxtwixx @sunghoonnsupremacy @nctislifue @itsnikitty @enhypenlovre

[angelicyoongie]

The Ivory Fang (I)

— pairing: mermaid taehyung x (f) reader — word count: 6k — warnings: (soft?) yandere, mention of illness (not the reader) — summary: You have run out of options when it comes to treating your mother's illness. When a mysterious man offers you a solution that might save her, you decide that nothing is too strange if it means it'll lead to a cure – not even finding and striking a deal with a mermaid.

Part 01 - 02

"My apologies, miss, but there's nothing I can do to aid your mother. Her malady is too severe."

The healer gives you a sympathetic look before he closes his door, the bell hanging above it chiming into the quiet night. You let out a shaky exhale, staring at the door that just sealed your mother's fate.

You have exhausted every possible option of looking for a cure, pleaded with every healer you've come across to please just try, but none have been willing. They always take one look at your mother, pale and gaunt in her bed, practically rotting away as she lays there, before they scurry away, refusing to treat her.

They may see a lost cause, a patient too sick to be cured, but you just see your mother – the woman who raised you by herself and taught you that even if all else fails, she would always be there to catch you.

The gold coins in your satchel clink together as you pull yourself away from the healer's door, your steps heavy as you begin the walk back to your house.

"What a fool," You grit, kicking at a stone in front of you, "If you had any common sense you should at least pretend like you had a cure and bled me dry."

Your throat bobs as you glance up at the night sky. The stars twinkle on without a worry, indifferent that their biggest admirer hasn't laid her eyes on them in months. You never quite saw the beauty in them like your mother did – like she still does – but they are practical for lighting your way home. It's the least they can do, as the tearful wishes you've bestowed upon their fallen brothers and sisters have all gone unheard since your mother fell ill.

It happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that you still have no idea what caused it. One day your mother was fine and the next she was unable to get out of bed, falling in and out of consciousness. It's been months of you doing everything you can to help her, but nothing has even given her a moment of respite from the illness that's ravaging her body. You're truly at your wit's end.

You press your hands to your eyes as they begin to blur, willing them not to fall. On the off chance that your mother is lucid when you return, you don't want to cause her the worry of seeing your swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Taking a few deep breaths, you attempt to calm yourself, rubbing at your eyelids until the urge to cry subsides.

As you let your hands fall away, you find yourself squinting as you re-open your eyes, hazy lights filling your vision. Your steps slow as you draw near the source, a lit-up storefront beckoning you in with its warm, flickering lights.

"This isn't.." You look over your shoulder, seeing the faint outline of the healer's door further up the road. You walk along this path every day and yet, you have never seen this store before. You can't quite seem to recall what used to be there but you know it wasn't this.

Trepidation slowly sinks in as you keep walking forward, intent to let your feet carry you past the shop without a backward glance. Even so, a moment of morbid curiosity makes you pause, your eyes drinking in the soft glow of the seemingly floating lights in the window. Turning your head this way and that, you can't see the string holding them up, the thread much too thin to be visible in such low light. The windows are covered with rich fabrics, not allowing you to look inside past the heavy drapes. Your initial thought about this being a magician's shop falls short as you notice the etching into the glass, the lettering spelling out 'The Healing Shoppe'.

The name gives you a foolish burst of hope, your body already halfway up the stairs before you remember just how odd this whole thing is. A mysterious shop has appeared out of thin air and you're going to trust it just like that? Every rational part of your brain is urging you to leave, to forget that you ever laid eyes on this shop. But.. You can't simply ignore it on the odd chance that something inside might help your mother.

Taking a deep breath, you cross the last steps and find yourself in front of the door. As you press down on the handle, it gives away with a soft rattle. The sound is peculiar, certainly like no bell you've ever heard before; but with no visual clues of what it might be, you find that you can't quite place it. You take a hesitant step into the shop, the dimly lit space in front of you more like a hallway than a proper room. The walls are empty aside from a few lit candles, only a heavy drape obscuring what you assume to be a doorway further down the corridor.

"Hello?" You call out.

You pause, straining your ears for a reply, but nothing comes. Just as you're about to leave, worried that someone simply forgot to close up their shop, you hear a heavy thud from behind the curtain.

There's no noise aside from the impact, no immediate call for help, but there's still a possibility that someone may be hurt. Perhaps they fainted or are too weak to call out to you. You decide then that you're just going to take a look behind the drape, just to make sure everything is alright so that you can leave in good conscience.

You walk past the flickering candlelight, stomach swirling with unease as you reach out for the curtain. The material is soft in your hand, threads of shimmering silver woven so delicately into it that you can't even feel it as you run your thumb across it. The fabric is heavy as you finally push it aside, your eyes widening in surprise as you take in what it was hiding.

The room you step into is filled to the brim with shelves and cabinets, all of them displaying a different collection of oddities. There's dried flowers and herbs hanging from the ceiling, the many bunches of lavender spreading a calming scent throughout the space. There's a round table placed in the middle of the room, two chairs pushed up against it. The tablecloth is made out of the same material as the drape and your fingers are already itching to touch it again.

Glancing around, you find that the shelf next to you is stacked to the brim with gemstones of every cut and color imaginable, their polished surface reflecting the sparkling jars from across the room. If your mother was here, she would insist that they were filled with stardust, the shimmering substance so bright it's nearly imitating the night sky you looked up at just moments before.

You walk slowly around the room, captivated by all of the different items you find. A shudder runs through you as you pause near a display filled with skulls, some of the shapes so outlandish you wonder if the owner has somehow mended different species together just for show.

As you finally make a full circle back to the doorway you stepped through, you realize that there's nothing in this room that should have made the thud you heard earlier. There's no one here and nothing even seems slightly out of place.

Stumped, you lean forward on the table, running your fingers over the soft texture of the cloth as you give the room another look. Is there a door you missed somewhere? Perhaps you were too captivated by the content to really pay attention to the room.

"And who might you be?"

You spin around, heart in your throat, from the sudden deep voice speaking up behind you. 

You stumble over an apology as you take in the cloaked figure in front of you, their face obscured by the big hood pulled over their head. The uneasy feeling in your stomach returns tenfold as you realize you're trapped between the table and this mysterious person, their broad frame blocking the only way in and out of the room.

"I–" You're saved from your poor explanation as the figure pulls their hood off, revealing the most beautiful man you've ever seen in your life. His light brown hair is tousled and wavy like he just came from a swim in the ocean, his skin sun-kissed as if he's spent his days laying by the shore. You find yourself unable to form words as you take in his chiseled jaw and almond-shaped eyes, the colour such a striking light blue, they almost appear white.

It's a little unsettling how piercing his gaze is, almost as if he's looking right into you rather than at you. Just as your eyes flicker to the curtain behind him, an excuse forming in your head for a swift exit, the man says, "What brings you to my shop?"

Flashes of your mother's gaunt face appear before your eyes, the sound of her breathing becoming heavier and heavier echoing in your ears. Even if you feel uneasy in this man's presence, you can't let this chance slip to your fingers. You owe your mother that much.

"I noticed the sign out front, that you have a healing shop? My mother.." You take a deep breath, swallowing down the lump in your throat. "My mother is very ill. No doctor or healer is willing to help her, they say her sickness is too severe. You.. You're my last hope."

"Hmm, I see," The man nods. He gestures to one of the chairs, "Please have a seat and explain your troubles. I need all the details you can give regarding your mother's malady."

You quickly slip into the nearest chair, your palms clammy with nervous anticipation. This is the first person who has ever bothered to ask, who actually seems to care. You watch the man as he rounds the table, his gait awkward and staggered as he walks with difficulty to his chair. The way he moves is nothing like you've seen before. It's certainly no ordinary limp, you've never seen anyone walk so .. unnaturally before.

The man catches your eye as he lowers himself to his seat.

"I know my condition is quite unsightly, please excuse me. Due to some unforeseen circumstances, I have had to train my legs to bear my weight. It has left me feeling like a fish out of water."

He flashes you a crooked smile, the amused twinkle in his eye alerting you of a joke you don't quite understand. You wonder if his condition is similar to your old neighbor's. The man had a painful sickness in his legs and spent most of his time in a wheeled chair, but he could walk on them if it was necessary. Though the few times you did see him walk, it still looked, well, human.

"Oh no, that's alright," You wave your hands, embarrassed that your staring might have made him feel self-conscious.

Desperate to turn the conversation away from the man's illness, you begin recounting everything you can remember about your mother's sickness. You tell him about how it began so suddenly, the severity of it and how no one else is willing to aid her, all noting her as a lost cause.

"Most curious," The man hums. 

He leans back in his seat, his piercing gaze moving slowly across your face, scrutinizing it. He mutters something under his breath, too low for you to hear, before he raises his voice and says, "While I may not know what your mother's sickness is, I do know that there is only one thing that can cure her. A mermaid's magic."

"Pardon me?" You stare incredulously at the man. "Did you just say mermaid? As in the creatures from folktales?"

"I do know it sounds outlandish, or perhaps you'd find insane to be a more fitting word, but it's your last chance at curing your mother. Have you not exhausted all man-made options?"

You slump in your seat, biting down on your lip as you mull his words over. You have indeed done all you could to save your mother and to no avail. While it does sound absolutely mad to go searching for a mythological creature to aid her, perhaps crazy is just what you need. You're not sure just how much you trust this strange man but for all you know, he could be speaking the truth. He certainly looks like he believes in it himself.

"Where.. Where would I find one?"

The man tuts. "That's not the question you should be asking, guppy. A mermaid requires a sacrifice of equal value to what you are asking of them. What are you willing to give to receive their help?"

"Anything," You reply, "The cost doesn't matter. I'd give up anything to save my mother."

The man grins, his smile a little sharper than before, as he pulls out a weathered map from his cloak. He traces the route you need to take, crossing over the vast ocean to reach a cluster of islands on the other side.

"Finally, you will need to take a boat from Pearl Bay to this island right here. Once you locate the mermaid, you have to offer him this," The man places a tooth on the table, the whites of it glistening under the candlelight.

You hesitantly reach across the table to pick it up, the size and weight of it much more substantial than you were expecting. You find that the tooth is much more like a fang, one end pointed and sharp. It's nothing like you've seen before.

"What animal does this belong to?" You ask, tracing what looks like a red vein embedded in the side of it.

You look up as you're only met with silence, the man's heavy gaze transfixed on your hand and the fang held in your palm. He only seems to remember his surroundings as you lower it to your lap, removing it from his sight.

The man clears his throat as he pulls the hood back over his head. Ignoring your question, he nudges the map closer to you on the table, "I have given you everything you need. It is up to you to decide whether your mother lives – or dies. Good luck."

Your mind is made up a few days later when your mother starts coughing up blood. You doubt she has more than a few weeks left to live at the rate her sickness is eating her up, so you'll have to act right away if you want to save her. You still have your doubt about the journey, about the creature you're supposed to find, but the risk is worth it if the alternative is being left to always wonder if it could have cured her. You know you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if the mysterious man was correct and you didn't do anything about it.

"I'll find a cure, I promise," You give your mother a gentle kiss on her forehead. The lines on her hollowed face are scrunched with pain, her every breath a mere wheeze as her chest struggles to rise and fall. 

You meet the saddened eyes of your neighbor as you press a few gold coins into her hand, whispering a few words of gratitude for her care while you're away. The journey shouldn't take more than ten nights to complete but you have paid her far more than that, just on the off chance that the weather delays your return. With your goodbyes said, you heft your rucksack onto your shoulder as you slip out of the cottage and set course for the port.

The sun has barely risen as you locate the ship that will take you south, the wooden dock filled with travelers and crew all headed in different directions. You're surprised to find that the ship is quite large, the deck just as bustling as the dock below. With all of the boxes and barrels being loaded up, you figure it's likely a cargo ship, moving wares and supplies out to the islands. While the journey is bound to be loud and quite cramped, you think the noise might actually do you some good. You hadn't realized just how much of your own energy had been sapped alongside your mother's, how much you missed the sound of laughter and life being lived around you. You'll be stuck on this ship until it reaches Pearl Bay, unable to do much other than sleep and converse with the people around you, so perhaps this will be a much needed break – a chance for you to wind down until you reach shore. Gods know you'll need it, especially since you're supposed to hunt down a fabled creature once your feet hit solid ground.  

You fight to open your eyes as the sound of the howling winds outside sweep through the room, your stomach turning at the thought of having to move to see what caused it. The trap door slams shut before you muster up the courage to turn over, the sounds once again dampened by the heavy wood.

"Ay girlie, who made you this angry?!" A crewman huffs as he stumbles down the stairs to the lower deck, bracing his hands on the walls for support.

You bite your teeth together as another thunderous wave crashes against the side of the ship. The next round of nausea washes over you as the ship rocks back and forth, the wood groaning as it tries to steady itself. It's been three days of hellish waters, the storm breaking out as soon as the ship hit the open sea. You've spent most of it confined to your cot, barely being able to keep any water or food down before another rough wave causes your stomach to empty.

The lower deck is filled with pained moans and whimpers, the majority of the passengers fairing just as poorly as you. It feels like you're stuck in a loop of absolute misery with the heavy rain that pours down on the deck above and the angry sea that threatens to pull the ship under at any moment.

You let out a slow breath through your nose, trying to think about anything else but the bile slowly rising up your throat. So much for that relaxation. Desperate for some respite from your turning stomach, you close your eyes and turn your focus onto the indistinct chatter happening on the other side of the room. The low, murmuring voices prove to be enough of a distraction that you soon find your consciousness slipping, a welcome darkness taking over you as the storm continues to rage outside.

The next time you wake up, the ship is quiet and still, like the previous days were nothing more than a fever dream. It takes you longer than you'd like to make your way up on deck, your legs trembling and weak after barely any substance over the past three days. The fresh air and warm sunlight feels heavenly on your skin as you stumble past the other travelers sprawled out on the deck, a few of them still moaning about the ship moving too much, despite its now still glide on the quiet water. The ship's railing seems like a good spot to rest, the sturdy wood providing a nice support to lean against as you survey the sea around you. The water is crystal blue, glittering under the bright sun. You've never seen anything quite like it. You let out a gasp as a school of fish pass by the ship, their gray hue reflecting the light so beautifully it looks like molten silver dancing around under the water's surface.

You stand by the ship's edge for a while, long enough for the other passengers to begin retreating back to their cots. Just as you're about to do the same, you see what looks like a white, large fin hitting the surface of the sea, the creature below too obscured by the distance from the ship to really make out. Even so, you can tell it's no regular fish. The small waves caused by the impact must surely mean that it's a strong animal.

"Did you see that?" You turn to the man resting next to you, hoping he might have an explanation of what you just saw.

The man startles as you address him, clearly on the brink of falling asleep where he stands. He blinks, rubbing his eyes as he turns his attention to the spot you're pointing to.

"There's nothing there, miss," He grumbles, openly annoyed that you woke him up.

"What? But–" As you turn back to look at the sea, you realize he's right. The creature you saw is no longer there.

"Was likely just a dolphin, miss. There's lots of them in these waters."

"I suppose so," You concede. Having never seen one in real life, only on paper, you have no clue how large they're supposed to be. Yet, something in your gut tells you that this was no dolphin – this was something entirely different.

You're not left to ponder the creature for long, not when you're alerted that Pearl Bay has been spotted in the distance. Your final night at the ship passes by in the blink of an eye, time seemingly fueled by your nerves as you suddenly find yourself stepping onto solid ground once again. With a decent night's rest behind you and a warm meal in your stomach, you set course for the next point on your map.

Following the mysterious man's instructions, you find the path going along the outskirts of the bay, walking until you stumble upon the described hut nestled close to the water's edge. The woman inside seems eager to rent you a rowboat, citing that she doesn't get much business on the far side of the island. 

It isn't until she asks you where you're going that her demeanor changes, her expression turning haunted as she glances in the direction of your destination, just barely visible where the sky meets the sea.

"There is something wicked in those waters," The woman shudders, her hands shaking as she accepts a gold coin for payment, "You'd better stay away if you value your life, miss."

Your stubbornness won't allow you to turn back now, not when you've already come so far, but that doesn't mean you're not affected by her warning. Her spooked expression lingers in the back of your mind as you push the boat out to sea, your own hands trembling with uncertainty as you grab the oars and begin to row.

Perhaps you are truly foolish to ignore all of the warning signs you have been presented with, but what is a little danger if it means it can heal your mother? You'll just have to stay vigilant, making sure not to take any risks and be alert to your surroundings.

With your rucksack tucked between your legs, you hum a gentle tune, trying to calm the anxiety building with every stroke forward.

The eerie feeling grows heavier the more distance you put between yourself and Pearl Bay, the island in the distance seemingly never drawing closer no matter how long and how hard you row. You set out before the sun had reached its highest point and now its rays are almost touching the sea, the sky a pure orange. Truly, it feels like you have just been paddling in place this whole time, not moving an inch despite the bay becoming fainter and fainter behind you.

Your arms are burning from the hours of exercise, your breath labored and heavy with exhaustion. You were hoping to make it to shore before nightfall –  the map did not indicate that the journey would be this long – but you fear your body might shut down if you try to push it for much longer.

You pull the oars into the boat, intending to just take a short break and rest your eyes before your final stretch of the evening. 

You swear you haven't dozed off for more than a quarter of an hour, the sunset still vivid and bright, but as you reopen your eyes, you're shocked to find the island close, its proximity now near enough that you can make out the palm trees on the shore and faint details of the wild mountain imposing behind them.

"How?" You breathe.

As you shift on the bench, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you notice that your feet feel much colder than before your nap. Wet.

Glancing down, you find the bottom of the boat filled with water, the amount already well above your ankles. You fumble for the oars, cursing as you begin to row with all of your might. You can't tell where the leak is coming from and scooping the water out with your hands won't get you anywhere. Your best bet is just to get the boat as close to land as possible and then swim the rest of the way.

You resolutely do not think about what may be lurking in the water as you finally abandon the sinking boat, your rucksack balanced precariously on your head as you lower yourself into the cold water. You wonder for a split second if it's better to leave it but the extra portions of food you brought with you will surely come in handy now that your way of returning to Pearl Bay is at the bottom of the ocean.

Biting your teeth together, you begin to swim, your gaze locked onto the beach. Time feels endlessly long as you push yourself forward, the minutes ticking by so slowly they might as well have been hours.

You let out a sob of relief as your feet finally touch solid ground, every limb shaking with exhaustion as you waddle the rest of the way up to dry land. You collapse the moment you hear sand crunching under your soaked boots, panting, as your vision swirls from fatigue. 

You lie there until the chill begins to set in, your dripping clothes sticking to your skin like an icy embrace. Groaning, you push yourself up on your feet, knowing you'll have to attempt to create a fire if you want any warmth to return to your body.

The sky is beginning to grow dark, its orange hues replaced by deep purple and blue. It's only now that you realize just how unnaturally quiet the island is, with no noise to be heard aside from the water lapping at the shore and a gentle breeze flowing through the palm trees. Even if you hadn't been this exhausted and cold, you would never dare to venture further into the thick vegetation in the dark. You don't trust the island to not lead you astray.

"Suppose I'll stay here for the night," You murmur. 

You rummage through your rucksack, pulling out the change of clothes you had brought with you just in case. You're ever thankful for your own foresight as you strip out of your soaked garments, goosebumps racing down your skin as you hurry to pull on a dry blouse and trousers. It isn't just the cold that's making your skin crawl – you can't help feeling like somewhere in the darkness of the deep ocean, or in the shadows in the midst of the trees, someone is watching you.

You glance around as you do your blouse up, finding absolutely nothing staring back at you.

Yet, the feeling lingers.

It takes you longer than you'd like to admit getting a fire started, the branches you find a little too damp to really catch a spark. Still, some deity seems to take pity on you and allows one of your attempts to succeed, the branch igniting and spreading the flames to the rest of your small bonfire. You scarf down half of the food and water you brought with you as you soak up the warmth, deciding that despite your still vocal stomach, it's better to save the rest for tomorrow. You have no idea how large this island actually is, so there's no question that you'll have to keep your energy up.

With your stomach slightly sated and your shivering down to a minimum, you curl up on the beach, as close to the open flames as you dare. You use your rucksack as a makeshift pillow, piling up the rest of your supplies close by. Despite the unnerving, oppressive air that hangs over the island, you succumb to sleep quickly, your exhaustion too great to fight.

Your dreams are restless, haunted by sharp teeth and whispers, a deep baritone voice urging you to come find him. You wake with a start, alarmed that the puff of air you sensed across your ear in your nightmare felt a little too real.

Heart racing in your chest, you quickly survey the beach, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Your bonfire has long since extinguished itself, its ashes intertwined with the sand below.

Reaching out behind you, you frown as you don't feel the pouch of water you know you left there the night before.

Turning around, you're met with absolutely nothing. Your food and water are gone, and the clothes you left out to dry are nowhere to be seen.

You would suspect an animal to be behind it but you really don't think there's any here. It's too quiet. Not even an insect has passed you by since you stepped foot on this island. 

Perhaps the sensation you felt wasn't just a dream, maybe there's someone – something – here.

"You're fine, you're fine," You whisper, digging your hands into the sand to ground yourself. You don't have time to panic. If all of your supplies are gone, it just means you have even less time to locate the creature you came here for. You have to move. Now.

You push yourself up to your feet, dusting sand off your clothes. Your boots are long gone too but you doubt they would have been of much use anyway with the way they were gurgling the night before.

Taking a deep breath, you begin walking towards the thick vegetation a little further up the beach, where the sand meets lush, long grass. The jungle you step into is so dense that the sunlight barely manages to peek through the trees, only small dapples of sunlight flickering across the ground as the leaves move with the wind. The map provided to you didn't show where you would find the mermaid once you reached the island, so you're left to wander aimlessly, pushing aside shrubs and climbing over fallen trees.

Even if you have no idea which way you should be headed, it's almost as if your body knows, your feet carrying you in what you can only hope is the right direction. Your path becomes clear as you break through the trees and find yourself at the edge of the mountain, near the shore. Your journey must have led you to the other side of the island, and the massive cave that's carved out of the mountain is too imposing to be anything but your destination. From the folktales you have heard, it seems like the perfect place to find a mermaid.

The cave mouth is facing out into the ocean, its size big enough to fit a ship through it. You say a small prayer to whatever deity is willing to listen as you square your shoulders and walk in, your barren footsteps echoing into the quiet mountain. You keep close to the wall as you follow the rocky ledge that trails along it, mindful of the stream that runs parallel to your path. The water here is darker, not as willing to divulge what may be lurking beneath its surface. It seems this cave has a paved a road for those with feet and fins.

You follow the ledge as it veers to to left and it soon becomes apparent to you that you have stepped into a tunnel, something much smaller and damper compared to the cave entrance. You can almost graze your fingertips against the mountain above you now.

It doesn't take long before the tunnel opens up before you, showing you sunlight streaming in through holes in the mountain. This cavern is large and wide, showing off a pool of water in the middle of it. You freeze near the edge of the tunnel, still shrouded in its shadows, as you finally lay eyes on the creature you have been searching for – the mermaid.

It's lounging in the water, its back turned towards you as it uses its arms to rest on the pool's edge. You find yourself mesmerized by its tail, the massive thing almost as long as a full-grown adult. It's white in colour but the scales appear to have a pearlescent luster to them, shimmers of pink and green reflecting in the water.

The mermaid's body resembles a man, showing off a chiseled back and strong muscles as he moves his arms. The mermaid's tousled, light brown hair looks oddly familiar from the back, but you know no men who sport that kind of style. There's no place for vanity in your town.

"Hello?" You call out as you step into the cavern.

You hold your breath as the mermaid flips its body around at the sound of your voice, its strong tail splashing in the water. Dumbfounded, you watch as the mermaid pushes his hair back, revealing a face you already know.

It's the mysterious man from the healing shoppe, the same one that told you to come find the mermaid – to come find him.

The man grins as he drinks in your shock, his teeth much sharper than you remember them. 

"Ah, pretty human, it seems that you decided to save your mother's life after all."

"You.." You struggle to make sense of what you're seeing, none of it adding up. "Who are you?"

"Me? Oh, pardon my manners. You may call me Taehyung, human. I believe you have a request for me?"

A sudden gust of wind comes through the cave as the mermaid utters his name, a loud rattling echoing between the walls of the cavern. You remember hearing that same sound before, the night you stepped into his shop. The moment you glance up to find the source, you find yourself immediately regretting it.

The darkest spots of the cave's ceiling are filled with clumps of hanging bones, all made up of various animals. They rattle as the wind makes them sway, causing them to knock into each other over and over. You swallow thickly as you spot a skull that is very distinctly human, its warning not lost on you.

You scramble a step back as you look back to the water and find Taehyung much closer than before. He's resting casually on the pool's edge, his chin in his hand as he observes you from only a few feet away. His icy gaze is locked on to you and there's a glint in his eye that makes you all too aware that you have nowhere to run. Even if you make it out of the cave, you will still be trapped on the island. The water is Taehyung's domain and you're surrounded by it.

Foolishly naive and desperate as you are, you have let a predator lead you right into his grasp.

a/n: want to read chapter two right away? you can! just click here and it'll bring you straight to early access 💖

welcome to the third installment in the crimson shell universe (all of the stories are stand alones though, so you'll be fine even if you haven't read the others)!! i know we didn't see too much of tae in this chapter but i can promise you he'll make plenty of apperances in the next one 👀 this is a yandere mermaid story, but this fic will be... softer (?) in comparison to the others! i'd love to know what you think so far!! 💖

the next(/final) chapter will be posted in three weeks time! if you don't want to wait and would like to support me, you can read it now through early access on my kofi! the link is above. thank you!! 💖

[littlestarprincess]

I just saw someone posted art (good art! really captured the feel of the painting they were referencing) of Xue Yang with Xiao Xingchen dying in his arms and captioned it "local man experiences consequences for the first time in his life" and like

I haven't read the novel yet. I'm only really running off the anime and I JUST finished Xue Yang's arc so I'm still in recovery but ? ? ? Xue Yang's life ? ? ? Has been nothing but consequences ? ? ?

He was in prison for a while because he murdered a bunch of people. He got betrayed immediately after the person he was supporting gained power and was either almost killed or just severely beaten (the reason Xiao Xingchen was there to heal him in the first place). Prior to all of that, he got his fingers purposefully crushed by someone's carriage because he stood up for himself as a child, after that person promised him payment, set him up as a messenger in a messengers-will-be-shot-on-sight scenario and then declined paying him. In pastries/candies because he was a child.

Like, I'm not saying that anything he did was a good idea. I'm not saying that how he dealt with Xiao Xingchen was healthy, good or anything less than horrifying, but . . . he's definitely not an "Oh, I'm just naturally evil" type of person and IDK why fandom is trying to present him that way?

[thef1diary]

Baby Jr | Four

— Meticulous Avoidance

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work.

Series Masterlist

pairing: carlos x fem!reader

wc: 2.8k

The sun slants through the blinds, casting elongated shadows across the room. You sit on the edge of the bed, your hands trembling slightly as you stare at the tenth pregnancy test you've taken, still in disbelief.

"No," you murmur as two pink lines stare back at you, confirming what you've been fearing for the past couple days.

You're pregnant.

Carlos's face flashes through your mind, his smile, his touch, the intensity of those nights spent together. It was supposed to be casual, fun, a temporary escape from the reality of the world around you.

While trying to escape reality, you've been hit in the face by it.

You and Carlos were reckless, that was a given, but now you also had to face the consequences of those moments shared.

You attempt to push back the wave of panic threatening to engulf you. Your vision blurs as your eyes fill with tears and your hands tremble, still holding on to the test.

How could this happen? How could you let it happen? What are people going to say? What is he going to say?

Your mind races, trying to grasp onto some semblance of control amidst the chaos of your thoughts. But deep down, you know there's no escaping the truth.

You're carrying Carlos Sainz's child, and everything is about to change.

Rising from the bed, your movements are mechanical, as if you're navigating through a foggy haze.

The room feels suffocating, the walls closing in on you with each passing second. You need air, space, a moment to breathe and collect your thoughts. With trembling steps, you make your way to the window, dropping the pregnancy test on the floor. You push the window open to let in a rush of cool morning air but even the fresh breeze fails to dispel the suffocating sense of unease that grips you.

Outside, the world carries on, oblivious to the turmoil raging within you. Birds chirp in the distance, cars hum along the street below, and somewhere in the distance, the low murmur of voices drifts through the air.

But in this moment, none of it matters. All you can focus on is the life growing inside you, a tiny, fragile being whose existence is now irrevocably intertwined with yours.

You lean against the windowsill, your gaze fixed on the horizon, lost in a maze of swirling thoughts and emotions. Despite how much you try, you cannot stop thinking about the new situation you've found yourself in.

How will you face Carlos? How will you tell him the news? And more importantly, what will his reaction be? The questions echo in your mind, unanswered and unsettling.

But for now, there's only one thing you can do: keep it to yourself. You remind yourself that the next race is two weeks later, offering a temporary reprieve, a brief respite from the inevitable confrontation that looms on the horizon.

As you draw in a steadying breath, you steel yourself for the challenges that lie ahead. Tears still continue to flow from your eyes, but as you peer down at your stomach, you can't help but feel a tinge of hope in between the fear of your future.

—

As the days pass, the weight of your secret presses down on you like a lead blanket. Every time you meet someone whether it's a stranger or a close friend, you feel the guilt internally shaming you just for keeping the secret to yourself.

You try to bury yourself in work, throwing yourself into your duties as a media personnel with a newfound fervor. You weren't needed at the track since there weren't any races, but you did need to step up the team's media presence and engage with the fans during the brief break.

Although you weren't required to see Carlos in person, your work required you to view the images and videos in which he participated in along with his teammate. You wanted to bury your face in your hands as you watched the videos again because you could hear his laugh and voice.

From considering Carlos as a distraction, now you needed a distraction from him and unfortunately your job did not allow that.

It didn't help that he would still text you, because after all you were still friends before it became physical. He sent you photos of the sunset from whichever country he decided to fly to because you once told him that you loved sunsets.

He was unaware of the turmoil of stress you experienced every time a notification popped up on your phone with his name. Your first thought was that he found out, even though no one else knew the secret but you.

You couldn't ignore his messages or else he would know that something was up, and that was the last thing you wanted him to know especially during the break.

No matter how hard you try to distract yourself, thoughts of Carlos and the impending conversation linger at the edges of your mind, a constant, nagging presence.

Finally, the week of the next race arrives, and with it, the inevitable reunion with Carlos. You stand in the bustling paddock, surrounded by the frenetic energy of the Formula One world. The air is thick with the smell of rubber and gasoline, the sound of engines roaring in the distance while the fans cheered every time they spotted a driver.

As you continue walking through the paddock, you notice a crowd of reporters and fans circling a couple drivers. You couldn't see their faces until you craned your neck, and as soon as you did, you wish you hadn't.

You caught a sight of Carlos in the distance standing alongside Lando which in itself causes an uproar as their friendship is infamous. However, in that moment, you couldn't care less about Lando, instead your eyes were drawn towards Carlos, as always.

He looks every inch the confident, charismatic driver you've come to know, his easy smile and charm putting those around him in a trance.

For a moment, you consider approaching him, but then you wonder what you'd say. It's not like you could tell him the truth in front of the crowd and there was no other topic you could think of.

Instinctively, your palm rests over your womb, and once you realize your actions, you quickly avert your gaze from him, turning away before he can spot you.

You slip into the shadows, dodging behind equipment crates and team trailers as you make your way through the paddock. Every instinct screams at you to run, to hide, to avoid the inevitable confrontation that awaits. And so you do, weaving through the crowds with a practiced ease, your heart pounding in your chest.

But no matter how hard you try to escape, you can't shake the feeling that Carlos is watching you, his eyes boring into your back with an intensity that sends a chill down your spine. You quicken your pace, ducking around a corner and into the relative safety of the media center, where you hope to find refuge from the storm brewing outside.

The noise from outside disperses away which you were thankful for but it only magnified your own thoughts. Fortunately, you spotted Ava but as you walked towards her, you noticed that she was speaking to Charles.

You gave her a nod in acknowledgement when she spotted you and turned to sit at one of the further tables, taking a moment to sigh. She notices the tension in your demeanor, the way your eyes dart nervously around the room, and she can't help but raise her eyebrows in concern.

You offer a tight-lipped smile, attempting to brush off her concern, but Ava isn't one to be easily dissuaded.

She pats Charles' arm and smiles at him before wrapping up the conversation she was having with him. You watched from afar, noticing the easy camaraderie between them, a hint of something more lingering in the air. Perhaps you were just seeing things and overthinking it because you were involved with Carlos.

You discarded that thought as you saw Ava approached you, her gaze filled with genuine concern.

"Hey, everything alright?" she asked, her palm resting on top of your hand.

You nod, "yeah, just a bit stressed with work." You hoped that she wouldn't press further on the matter since she also knew about those stressful days at work, having worked in the same field as you.

But, she furrowed her eyebrows, "is it just work, or is something else bothering you?"

Her gaze fixed on you with a mix of concern and curiosity. The weight of your secret pressed heavily on your chest, each breath feeling more constricted than the last. You toyed with the idea of confiding in her, of sharing the truth that had been gnawing at you for weeks. But the fear of her reaction, of the potential consequences, held you back.

Ava reached out and squeezed your hand, her touch a silent gesture of support. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" she said softly, her voice filled with warmth and understanding.

You nodded, your throat tight with unspoken words. How could you burden her with such a heavy secret? What if she reacted poorly, or worse, felt betrayed by your silence?

But as you looked into Ava's eyes, seeing the genuine concern and compassion reflected there, you couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. Maybe she would understand. Maybe she would offer the support and guidance you so desperately needed.

The silence stretched between you, each moment filled with the weight of unspoken truths. Finally, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. "There's something I need to tell you," you began, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's... it's not easy, but I trust you, Ava. And I need you to know."

You had to tell her the whole story, start from the beginning from the night Carlos stopped by your hotel. You reassured your thoughts with a nod, racking your mind for the best way to explain it all.

As you gathered the courage to confide in Ava, Carlos' voice cut through the air, interrupting your moment of vulnerability by calling your name. You turn to see him approaching you, stopping once he reaches the table.

"Hey, can I borrow you for a moment?" he asked, eyes flickering between you and Ava.

You hesitated for a moment, glancing at Ava who gave you a reassuring smile. "I'll catch up with you later, yeah?"

You nod at her before looking at Carlos and standing up. He motioned for you to follow him, down the halls and away from prying eyes. As you walked with him, your mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions — frustration at the interruption, anxiety over why Carlos wanted to see you, and a lingering sense of guilt for keeping secrets from both him and Ava.

When you reached the secluded corner, Carlos turned to face you, his gaze ever so watchful. He had a smirk playing on his lips and for a brief moment it reminded you of the time you spent together before finding out life changing news.

You rolled your eyes once you saw how quickly his expression changed, now only a hint of mischief glinting in his eyes. Yet, you still asked, "why did you need to 'borrow' me?"

Carlos leaned closer, resting his palm against the wall like he's done before, his smirk widening into a playful grin. "Well, I just wanted to see you," he said, his tone laced with amusement.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise at his unexpected admission. "Just to see me?" you repeated, a hint of skepticism in your tone.

He shrugged and stated, "it's been two weeks since I saw you last."

A rush of conflicting emotions washed over you at his words — relief that he didn't suspect anything, guilt from earlier, and a flicker of something else, something you couldn't put a finger to.

His fingers trailed down the length of your arm, settling on your waist. With his proximity, a sudden wave of nausea washed over you. The scent of his cologne, once familiar and comforting, now felt overwhelming, almost suffocating.

"Carlos, what cologne are you wearing?" you blurted out, unable to mask the discomfort in your voice.

Carlos pulled back slightly, his brows furrowing in concern. "It's the same one I always use," he replied, his tone tinged with confusion. "The one you always liked."

You blinked, trying to push past the nausea and focus on his words. "But it smells...different," you managed to say, your stomach churning with unease.

Carlos' expression softened, his concern deepening as he stepped back but still reached out to steady you. "Are you okay?"

You took a deep breath, trying to quell the rising tide of nausea threatening to overwhelm you. "I think I just need some fresh air," you murmur, your voice shaky.

Without waiting for a response, you hurried away from Carlos, the scent of his cologne still lingering in the air of the hallway like a heavy cloud. You found it odd, as it was never this overpowered to the point where you could smell it from afar, instead it was fairly faint, only smelling it when you were snuggled up next to him in bed.

As you step outside into the cool breeze, you take a moment to collect yourself, the nausea gradually subsiding with each intake of breath.

The fresh air also gave you a sense of clarity, able to think about the situation without it becoming too much to bear.

The realization hit you like a tidal wave — you almost went right back into his arms as if the pregnancy never existed. You would've willingly gone back to your old ways, spending time with him simply because he smiled at you and wanted to see you.

The temptation to bury the truth was strong, to pretend as if nothing changed between you two. But it was wrong, you can't possibly deceive him like that. He would find out one way or another, especially as the months go by and your pregnancy can no longer be hidden.

You softly press your hand against your stomach, a sad smile growing on your face. You wouldn't have to tell him if you didn't plan on keeping the child, but having to live normally again, as if nothing happened, would eat you alive.

Plus, you didn't even think about that option thoroughly, already feeling a blossoming connection to the little life growing in your womb.

You shake your head, discarding such vile thoughts. With a heavy heart, you made a decision to avoid Carlos until you built up the courage to tell him the truth. It wouldn't be easy to tell him right away, because this news could shatter the state of your relationship with him, whether it's friendship or more.

As you returned inside the paddock, you spotted Ava who was rushing around, holding a large stack of items you couldn't see from afar. Watching her hurried movements, you found yourself lost in deep thought again, this time, strategizing how to share the news with her, how to confide in her. The weight of the secret you carried felt unbearable now that you were back at work, and the thought of continuing to hide it from Ava was driving you to the brink of madness.

You consciously straighten your posture, a silent reminder to yourself that you were in a professional setting. The familiar sights and sounds of the workplace surrounded you, pulling you back to reality. Here, amidst the hustle and bustle of the paddock, there was no room for distractions from your personal life. Each moment was precious, each task demanding your full attention and focus. So, with a determined resolve, you pushed aside the turmoil of your personal struggles, channeling your energy into the demands of your professional responsibilities.

As the day wore on, you found yourself avoiding any encounters with Carlos as decided, darting down different corridors and finding excuses to linger in secluded corners whenever you caught a glimpse of him in the distance. It wasn't necessarily hard to avoid him, which made you realize that your job didn't entail being around him as much as he made it out to be. However, it did send a pang of hurt through you every time you heard his laughter or his name uttered by other people.

With each passing hour, you grew more resolved in your decision to keep your distance until you found courage to tell him the truth, after telling Ava.

Speaking of, your phone pinged with a text from her. 'I'm coming over after work, be ready to tell me everything'

Fortunately, the first race after the break was in your home city, which meant that you could show Ava the pregnancy tests you've taken.

The warmth of her friendship offered a glimmer of solace amidst the chaos of the day, and even the past couple weeks, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief at the prospect of confiding in her about everything that had been weighing down on you.

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[immajustvibehere]

Touch Starved Arthur x fem!touchy Reader (Part 2)

Pairing: hh!Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader (fluffly)

Part1 here!

summary: Arthur takes you and Jack out camping for two nights. Both of you have to battle your feelings for each other until you finally....

warnings: one bed trope, fluff, domestic bliss

6000 words

In the manner of Arthur’s approach, you knew he was up to something. His big hands rested on his gun belt, his expression was casual. His attempt to appear relaxed was almost perfect. You weren’t fooled so easily, though. By the smug grin that started to appear on your face as Arthur came closer, he understood that you had sensed his unease from a mile away. Your intuition was exceptional, and Arthur silently cursed himself for his own transparency. And suddenly, there were his subtle tells…the scratching of his neck, the scrunching of his nose, the restlessness of his fingers caressing the leather of the belt.

"Hey, what's up?", you asked and propped your head up with your elbow resting on the table.

"Uhm...I have a proposition to make", Arthur awkwardly sat down at the table. Thankfully, barely anyone else was around to witness this encounter. The sun hadn’t risen yet and people were only slowly crawling out of their beds. In fact, Arthur still saw the remnants of sleep in your features but the steaming mug of coffee in front of you suggested that you were diligently combating it.

"I'm all ears."

Arthur couldn’t help but detect the playful undertone in your voice. You had grown more comfortable around each other the last few days and weeks and some banter and teasing were commonplace by now, particularly in the presence of others. But when you found yourselves alone, which hadn’t really happened since last time, you’d feel like there was a more genuine connection and care for each other than either of you would normally let on.

"Ya can say no if ya don't want to but-...well, I already talked to Abigail. She said she was fine with it", Arthur started. You had no clue what he was on about, but he pressed on, "I suggested we take out Jack for a night or two. The boy needs to see something aside this patch of land and I thought...if you would wanna tag along? You know, I was fine fishing with him but I'm not sure if I'd be any good at the other stuff."

"Yes, of course", you immediately replied. Arthur wasn't sure why he had expected a rejection or a dismissal that he was stupid to suggest such a thing. You actually looked pleasantly surprised about the idea.

You smiled: "It's not just Jack, you know? I haven't left camp since we moved here, so I'll get to see some of the country too!"

"Okay, sure", Arthur said, still somewhat in surprise about what you had just agreed to. But his surprise soon gave way to a sense of anticipation, especially when he noticed enthusiasm. He couldn’t supress a warm chuckle, evidently relieved that everything had worked out.

You briefly discussed the logistics, and Arthur settled on a plan: a night between Dewberry Creek and Ringneck Creek for the first stop, followed by, if Jack was up for it, a night in a room at the Rhodes Saloon.

The following day, you were all packed up. Your horse carried a rolled-up tent, large enough to accommodate the three of you. Jack rode with Arthur, he was the experienced rider after all and would be much greater use in keeping the child from sliding off the horse. It was a fine day, the morning sun was veiled behind some clouds, offering a respite from the usual stifling heat. Rain wasn’t to be expected, the clouds looked like they would clear sooner or later.

For the ride, Jack was dead silent for ten minutes at a time but then asked any question he could come up with. Arthur appreciated your willingness to respond, particularly when faced with Jack’s more challenging inquiries that needed to be tailored for a child’s understanding. Arthur was outright impressed at your skill in addressing his questions, and kept silent, even if Jack wanted his view on something specifically.

It was a smooth ride. Once you had passed the first creek you kept looking for an ideal spot to build your camp. You watched happily how Arthur pretended to discuss the area with Jack, granting him the final say in where to put up the tent. Arthur was responsible for the tent while you went off with Jack to look for firewood. When you returned, the tent had been putt up and Arthur had already gotten out the fishing gear.

"Are we fishing again?", Jack asked with curiously.

"Well, we gotta eat something", Arthur answered.

"But fishing's boring!" Jack said back and Arthur chuckled warmly. The last time he took the boy fishing, it was anything but uneventful, though he understood that a four-year-old wasn't so keen on standing still and waiting.

You squatted in front of Jack: "Why don't you take your toys with you to the water? You can play and Arthur and I'll do the boring waiting."

"Mh, okay."

You walked over to Ringneck Creek. Arthur settled on the same spot he had been to while fishing with Javier a while back. It had a good overlook of the place, so Jack could play in the distance, while still being in eye- and earshot. You and Arthur sat down next to each other, not saying anything and prepping the fishing rod. Even when there were no words exchanges, both of you felt comfortable in each other’s presence. Arthur felt your eyes on him as he pierced a tiny bit of cheese through the hook and handed the rod to you.

“The fish get cheese for lunch? That’s mighty fine, don’t you think?”, you joked.

“This cheese? It has been mouldy for days now. It won’t do us any good. But for fish? The stinker, the better”, Arthur explained and added in a mumble, “Or so I’ve heard…”

You both threw out your line and before you quipped: “So you keep your mouldy cheese in your satchel with the rest of your food?”

Arthur watched the rings expanding around his line, then swallowed quickly before looking you in the eye. Not very convinced he answered: “No…?”

He had expected a lesson on proper food hygiene, but you only grinned cheekily: “Glad I took care of food for this trip. But you really shouldn’t do that, you know? Next time you leave camp for more than a day, I’ll pack you something.”

“Ya don’t have to do that, really”, Arthur replied out of politeness, but the idea of you walking up to him with a sandwich to take on his journeys sent tingles to his chest.

“Mh. I insist”, you said, “I’ll have to take care of you if your stomach goes mad, so I’d rather prevent that. Not that I wouldn’t like to take care of you. Don’t you never keep an injury or sickness a secret in front of me, got it?”

“Yes ma’am”, Arthur said, “You sound like Miss Grimshaw, it’s good yer away from camp for a while”, Arthur joked. Deep down, he knew that you didn’t want to control him, but that you sincerely cared for his well-being. Something Arthur couldn’t quite understand. Of course, he would do the same for you – but that’s different because he had already figured out that he liked your attention more than anyone else. No, that he liked you more than anyone else. Arthur got a little lost in his own thoughts. He wasn’t yet entirely sure about his feelings for you. Mainly because he wasn’t sure how you felt. You were so kind and caring for everyone in the gang, he sadly doubted that he was anything special.

“I missed spending some time with you. Sorry that it’s so hard to sneak away from camp”, you said after a while, bringing Arthur back to reality.

“Doesn’t matter”, Arthur mumbled. He was embarrassed that he felt his cheeks getting warm, “We got away now, didn’t we? I feel almost bad that I take up so much of yer time.”

“Please don’t”, you laughed, looking at the man next to you with a smile.

“I think I saw Sean shed a tear when he heard that you’d be away from camp for two days”, Arthur mentioned.

“Yeah. I think he’s sweet on me”, you said so casually, that Arthur was caught off guard, staring at you in disbelieve.

Arthur cleared his throat before he slowly said: “I thought he and Karen…?”

“Well, Karen is good for one thing”, you said with an ambiguous smile, not meaning serious offence with those words, “I’m good for another.”

From the distance, you heard Jack calling for ‘uncle Arthur’. Arthur sighed with a smile and handed you his finishing rod.

“Yer okay to watch that?”, he asked.

“Sure, go ahead”, you encouraged him.

Jack wanted Arthur’s help to balance on a dead tree. It was wholesome to see how Arthur helped him up on the trunk and then held his hand so he would have an easier time balancing. Then the boy would sit on Arthur’s shoulders and break a smooth looking branch from a tree, using it to play swords fighting with Arthur. You knew that Arthur was gentle with Jack and compared to some men in the gang, even to John if you were honest, he was doing a great job. Still, you hadn’t dreamt that he'd be ready to take on a whole swords fight, pretending to get stabbed when Jack’s twig poked his leg. You noticed Arthur’s stolen glances in your direction. It was as if he wanted to make sure you were watching, though you didn’t have the impression that he only played along to impress you. Arthur seemed to genuinely enjoy it.

“Caught anything yet?”, Arthur’s voice woke you up from your daydreams when he walked up to you after a while.

“No…”, you answered and admitted, “I was a little distracted.”

“Ain’t blamin’ ya. We gave you a hell of a show”, Arthur said and took his spot next to you again. Luckily, a few fish bit later on and by the time you walked back to your tent, a fire could be built and the fish were grilled. A lot of time had passed, and the sun was already low in the sky. Jack demanded to be read to from his favourite book. After you had read a few pages and Jack had settled in to listen to some more, you handed the book to Arthur. He had been busy with stoking the fire and cleaning the grit, so he was a little caught off guard by the action.

“What am I supposed to do with that?”, he asked.

“Read to the boy”, you answered with a grin.

“Why can’t you?”, Arthur asked, his eyebrows raised in wonder.

“My throat is starting to feel sore”, you lied so obviously, that even Jack could have seen through it, “besides; I want someone to read to me too.”

Arthur considered the situation for a moment before giving in. The last time he read a book to someone…well, he wasn’t sure. Was it to Jamie when he was still a little boy or to Isaac? Did he ever even read out to Isaac? Arthur was prompted into opening the book when you suddenly snuggled up to him. But that alone made him lose his voice for a moment, so he had to collect himself before starting to read.

You loved how raspy Arthur’s voice would get when he was nervous, but it soon smoothed out and he had barely read for ten minutes when you had to stop him, because Jack had fallen asleep.

“’s barely even dark…”, Arthur commented after he had carried the boy to his bedroll in the tent.

“He did have an eventful day”, you said, and Arthur had to agree. The bottle of whiskey Arthur had brought was soon opened up and half was gone by the time you could make out the first stars in the sky. A lot of your conversation was just recollecting the day or commenting on happenings on the last few days, but after some silence, Arthur started a new conversation.

"Maybe, if ya told me what the other men ask you to do, I'd feel less a fool for asking ya fer something", Arthur suggested. The undertone of his voice revealed curiosity, but he had tried to keep that intent hidden. You were surprised that he remembered what you had talked about the last time it was just the two of us.

"You're unbelievable!", you exclaimed and giggled so light-heartedly. Arthur's heart melted when he saw the crinkles around your eyes. "You just want the gang's gossip!", you accused him.

"No! I'm just sayin'", Arthur shrugged with a smile, "It would really help a lot."

You looked at him, his blue-greenish eyes staring right back at you. You were an avid eye-contact holder, it was required for your role in the gang. But no pair of eyes ever compared to Arthur's. It was his turn to catch your gaze wandering to his lips, he also noticed how your eyes fluttered, when they looked up again, and then briefly away, as if you considered something.

"Fine. I'll tell you some. But I won't tell you who asked me for what."

"Sure."

"Mhhh...it's not the craziest stuff, if you’re expecting that. Most men like when I play with their hair. Or head scratches. I told you I was good at them! Someone likes it when I feed them. Like...you know...we go pick some berries and I feed them. It can be really,...domestic, I suppose. But then it becomes a lot of fun because we try to throw the berries into each other mouths, trying to catch them. It’s great..."

You got slightly embarrassed. When you spend time with other men from the gang, you always tried to give them an experience that made them happy. Some of it was oddly intimate. It didn't bother you much, but now, speaking about it with Arthur, you somehow started to worry that you'd be worth less in his eyes. Just because you have done those things with his friends. It wasn't like you slept with them. No, none, with very few exceptional instances, have ever been inappropriate.

You were silent for a while, those thoughts taking over quickly. And yet, what should it matter? It’s just Arthur, it was okay if he knew that side of you.

You sighed deeply, still finding Arthur’s eyes glued to your lips.

"Some of them like to show off to me. It's real stupid stuff. Like 'look how quick I can draw' or 'check out this piece of wood I whittled'. I suppose these are just things they are mildly proud at...but embarrassed to show someone. I...like that, though. It's really cute and reveals something about the person. There is always something to praise or enjoy about it. And they really appreciate it."

Arthur stared into the fire, nodding his head slowly.

After a while, he started with: "I ehrm-..." Then he pulled out his journal.

"It's nothing special either...", he flipped through some pages, only to reveal a double-sided sketch of Clemen's Point. A beautiful sketch, well-observed with depth and detail. You knew Arthur kept a journal – you never knew he drew in it! And from all the sketches the other men had ever shown you, most of them could have been done better by Jack, this was honestly impressive.

"Arthur-"

"I know, 's silly", and he was about to close the journal when you snatched it out of his hand and placed it in your lap. Not daring to flip the page but studying the sketch in front of you.

"Are you kidding? It's fucking amazing."

When Arthur looked at you in disbelieve, you doubled down: "Fuck you, man. I can't even pick out things I like to praise because the whole damn thing's just-!"

"Yer teasing me..."

"Am not! When someone shows me a drawing, I often have to guess, like ‘Oh, that’s a nice bison you drew.’ And then they correct me and go like ‘It’s supposed to be a dog.’ and we have a good laugh about it…but this…Is that Dutch's horse?", you asked, pointing at the little white stallion. Arthur confirmed it. You started to point at things, accurately identifying what it was. John's tent, the chicken coop, even the figure in the distance, that only was a vague outline of a person, you identified as if you had been there when it was drawn.

"You have more drawings in there?", you asked.

"Sure. But- wait", he took the journal back, carefully skipping the pages where he had sketched you, which had happened suspiciously often recently, and only showing you the landscapes and animals. You never expected that Arthur had an eye for things like that. A doe was captured perfectly in its shy manner. A funny looking cabin, a crooked tree. For all those things, Arthur stopped and took his time to draw them. It was stunning. You felt like he had given you a better idea of what sort of a man he actually is. To say you liked that version of him, was an understatement and you started to realise this with every sketch of ducks or fish he presented to you.

"When you find someone, someone you really like. And start a family...you could draw and sell those pictures, you know?"

Arthur was shocked. Firstly, why you knew about his wish to start a family, and secondly, that you suggested his drawings are nearly good enough for anyone to pay money for.

"Y/n", Arthur lamented, almost with a painful voice. As if you were that naive girl that had no idea about how life works. That there could never be a family for him, never a different life than shooting and robbing to get to some money.

"Have you ever painted? Like with colour and a paintbrush?", you interrupted.

"Ain't worth it. I'd be no good with colour. And it's too expensive."

"When's your birthday?", you asked out of the blue. You were determined. If you had to work your ass off for it or drop to your knees in front of Miss Grimshaw, you'd get this man a paintbrush.

"No", Arthur said firmly.

"Come on!", you quipped.

"Stop it. It's just a stupid thing I do to pass some time it ain't-"

"But I love them!", you interrupted, "I really do. Every single one you showed me."

"Clearly, something ain’t right in your head then", Arthur joked and put his journal away.

"You are a charming man, Mr. Morgan," you teased back, bumping into his shoulder.

As if your words had confirmed Arthur's accusation, he comically tapped your forehead with his index finger: "Really messed up, aren't you?"

"Why?", you said, switching gears and skilfully capturing Arthur's finger that had went for another tap. It took both of your hands to open Arthur's hand, not that he resisted, but his hands were huge. And with your guidance, Arthur's hand cupped your cheek. "Is it because I like to spend time with you? Do you think one has to be mad to enjoy that? Because if you do think that...I have to give you ten reasons why you are wrong."

Arthur barely listened to your words. His senses were hyper focused on his hand which was touching your cheek. Warm and soft. Not smooth like a perfect hide, but skin isn't perfect. Hell, his hand must be mighty uncomfortable. It was calloused, beaten up, scarred. There was no rational reason why you would snuggle your face into it like it was a pillow you readied for a night's sleep.

With pleasure you watched how often he blinked, how flustered he became, how his hand twitched in excitement under your touch. As careful as you were some butterfly, Arthur’s thumb dared to caress your cheek. The movement was so small, it was like he didn’t even want you to notice that you he had dared to do that. Somehow, this rough and hardened outlaw was a real sensitive guy. A sensitive guy who made your stomach flutter.

"I'll head to bed and join Jack, you coming too?", you asked, guiding Arthur's hand into your lap and holding in lightly with your two hands.

"Imma...t-take care of the fire a little longer", Arthur answered with coarse voice, his throat entirely dried up.

"M'kay", you smiled and stood up without letting go of Arthur's hand. Halfway in the process of standing up you halted, pressing a light kiss on Arthur's cheek and whispered good night, before finally letting go and walking off to the tent.

Though you were exhausted, it was tricky to sleep. You listened to Arthur who was still attending the fire, walking up and down, whispering to the horses and occasionally took a swig from the bottle. Jack slept at the side of the tent, you had taken the spot in the middle. No matter how long it felt until sleep finally took over, Arthur crawled into the tent ten minutes later, only to find out that you had messed with the sleeping set-up. It wasn’t the way he had arranged it, namely, a very inequal distribution of blankets and ‘pillows’ (rolled-up jackets or other garments). Arthur had planned to spend the night without a blanket, so you and Jack had two. But you had given up one of yours, which neatly waited on Arthur’s bedroll for him.

“She ain’t gonna make this easy for me”, Arthur thought, before lying down.

-

“Uncle Arthur!”, Jack squatted next to the man who was still fast asleep. Well, until the boy started to shake him with all his might, though it barely rattled the man.

“Aunt y/n told me to wake you”, Jack smiled innocently. Arthur was trying to grasp the situation. For a fleeting moment, he thought there was danger nearby. Then he had been confused about why Jack was there. Only slowly, as Jack left the tent and the rays of sunshine hit his face, he remembered that he had went out camping with you and the boy. And clearly, he had overslept.

Arthur crawled out of the tent and stood up with a groan, stretching his tired limbs. The smell of coffee had reached his nose before he looked down to see Jack walking towards him, a half-filled cup in his hands.

“For you”, he exclaimed. Arthur took the mug and mumbled his thanks, looking up a little to finally lay eyes on you. The fire was on, the percolator boiling with water, and he saw that you were in the process of readying a little pan for some eggs you had apparently taken from camp.

“Good morning”, you said with a big smile.

“Sorry I overslept…”, Arthur grumbled, sitting down by the fire.

“Nothing to be sorry for. I’m glad you could catch up on some sleep.”

Breakfast was nice. You scrambled some eggs, garmented them with herbs you had collected earlier and re-filled Arthur’s mug. Jack was happy after eating a few bites and then playing with his toys in the distance. Arthur and you discussed the rest of the day and decided you would take your time, see if Jack was up for a ride and a stroll through Rhodes and spending another night at the Saloon.

Later, Jack helped you with washing the dishes at the creek. You managed to talk him into throwing a wet rag at Arthur, which he answered by throwing the rag back at you. This started a game of dogde or catch the rag. You laughed a lot. By mid-day you were on your horses, carefully navigating the shadows to escape the relentless sun. After one very slow hour of riding, with breaks whenever Jack discovered something interesting on the ground that needed further investigation, you arrived in Rhodes. After restocking on groceries, you made your way to the saloon, finding it relatively quiet and peaceful still.

“Can I help you, folks?”, the bartender asked, leaning on the counter.

“A room, please”, Arthur stated briefly. The bartender considered you for a moment, his eyes wandered from Arthur to you and finally your hand that rested protectively on Jack’s shoulder.

“We have a special deal for families. Spacious room, enough beds and a discount on a bath”, the bartender explained, opening the ledger where he kept track of which rooms were taken.

“Sounds great!”, you chimed in happily before Arthur could do as much as open his mouth.

“There you go. Walk up the stairs behind there, first door on the right”, the bartender handed you the keys, “Just let me know when you want the water heated up.”

“Will do, thanks!”, you answered. Your free arm was quickly intertwined with Arthur, who was taken by surprise. He stiffened a little but walked off with you and Jack rather convincingly.

“Whoa! This bed is huge!”, exclaimed Jack when you walked into the room.

“Ain’t for you though, little man”, Arthur chuckled. The room was equipped with a bed that was big enough to fit a couple and a toddler, but there was still a children-sized one in the corner. Arthur noticed how your arm slipped away from his as you entered the room, dropping some of your luggage onto the floor.

“Luxurious, isn’t it?”, you smiled. It was definitely better than the rooms you’d get in Valentine and probably even cleaner than the other ones the saloon had to offer. Jack was settling in, testing how bouncy his mattress was and unpacking his toys while Arthur walked up to you, clearing his throat.

“Yer fine with sharin’ a bed?”, he asked.

You raised an eyebrow: “We shared a tent last night, and that was a much tighter fit, wouldn’t you say so?”

“I guess…”, Arthur felt a little helpless. Sharing a bed felt more domestic and intimate than sharing the same tent. Also, Jack wouldn’t be all snuggled up to you, but in his own bed at some distance. Frankly, Arthur was excited. You watched his frown, not quite sure if its origin was because of discomfort or simple nervosity.

“Are you okay with that? I could bring my bedroll and-“, you wanted to suggest, but Arthur was quick to interrupt you: “I just didn’t know if you were fine with it. I don’t want ya to feel uncomfortable.”

“Don’t worry about me”, you smiled, “I’ll go down and ask for a bath. Abigail will be glad I we bring the boy back cleaner than he was before.”

Arthur was alone in the room for nearly an hour, before you and Jack appeared with damp hair, smelling of soap. It was decided that Arthur would also make use of the warmed-up water, and as he went off to the bathroom, you and Jack set your plan in motion.

By the time Arthur returned he was met with a sight that initially puzzled him. The two of you had transformed the little corner with Jack’s bed using the limited resources available to you, creating a makeshift fort out of pillows and blankets. Jack’s small bed had been turned into a cozy cave of sorts, sheltered from the outside world to the point where you needed a lantern to read a book within.

Arthur didn’t even see you at first, he only heard Jack’s bubbly giggle and you shushing him. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to play along and pretend that he didn’t know where you were…like some sort of hide-and-seek. But he decided against it, instead sighing happily, and sitting down on the big bed.

“I can hear ya, ya know?”, he said gently.

“No you can’t!”, Jack said back.

“Should have built it bigger, doesn’t look like I’ll fit underneath there”, Arthur commented. Now, you peeked out. Arthur saw how you opened a mouth, but something stopped you for a moment. His hair was wet and slicked back. He hadn’t even bothered putting on his shirt, but instead only wore his pants and union suit underneath. Hell, he hadn’t even bothered to button it all the way up. It hugged his muscles perfectly. You knew he was in good shape, but you hadn’t expected THIS.

“Shouldn’t have grown so big then”, you finally said, a fine blush on your cheeks.

As the evening advanced, you had read several chapters to Jack, lulling him into slumber. You then quietly slipped into the bed beside Arthur. After some casual conversation which both of you skilfully and awkwardly used to get closer to each other, Arthur asked something that had been on his mind for a while: "What do you get out of it? All the nurturing and caring for everyone in the gang? Has any one of them ever done right by you?"

"Well...I have a place to stay and sleep. I don't have to worry too much about earning money. And I like making others happy."

Arthur didn't like that. A place to sleep and food, he felt like, shouldn't be things you had to earn by listening to the complaints of others all the time.

"All you get is hearing the troubles of some dirty, foolish outlaws. Ain’t really a life, is it?"

"Some make me happy too", you admitted, quietly. You realised how Arthur tensed up slightly.

"I get to know y'all. Don't you think that's a privilege? For a woman my age? Others can't simply walk around in the street, offer some hand-holding a listenin' and expect this to pay for their meals."

"You want to do this for the rest if your life?", Arthur asked. You scanned his body, focusing on the dark hair that grew on his chest.

"No", you whispered, and gently, you put your hand on his chest. You felt his heart, no, you saw how it beat, the skin of his chest swiftly moving in an up and down movement.

Arthur...was different than the others. You didn't know if it was that there was an actual difference, or if it just felt differently. But the way he treated you, the way he held you...it was so gentle. Like it was touch meant for a lifetime. The others were slightly more prudish, because they knew they had a couple of hours with you and maybe they'd be shot and die the next day. Somehow...not Arthur. When he pulled you closer into a hug, it was always the same, as if it was a welcome back, a coming home. There was no holding onto it, because he sorts of knew you would always be there. And you wanted it to be like that too. Because you, as tricky it was to admit, had feelings for this man.

Now it was you who caught Arthur staring, staring at the unsure movements your lips made as you searched for something to say. Maybe to explain what this all meant to you.

"Do you think it's ridiculous, what I do?", you asked. You wanted to know Arthur's opinion, truly.

"What? No."

"Really?"

"Hell, we'd be a bunch of degenerates if ya didn't keep us together. Yer ignoring Micah. For good reasons, I gotta say, and look what a slimy no-good he is. We'd be all like that if it wasn't for you", Arthur said. There was humour in his voice, but he meant what he had said. You smiled slightly.

"I wish I had come to you earlier", Arthur said.

"We are making up for the lost time, aren't we?", you said and leaned into him. The gesture seemed so familiar that Arthur wrapped his arms around you with barely any thought. Arthur watched your fingers as they trailed through his hair on his chest, never resting somewhere for long but tracing lines from his collar bones to where his beard started on his neck.

“Do you mind?”, you whispered, your fingers resting on a button of his suit.

Arthur subtly shook his head and watched how you unbuttoned one button after another. You had him slip out of the sleeves so the suit could be pulled further down, now exposing his entire abdomen to you.

There was no way he could hide his hitched breath. Your touch tickled pleasantly as your fingers explored his skin. He was enjoying those careful attentions, you'd trace around bruises and old scars, Arthur was focused on how it felt differently, the abused flesh and the scar tissue that had lost sensitivity. He noticed, either for the first time ever, or he had forgotten in the meantime, how ticklish he was on his side, under the ribs. He had no urge to laugh, but his body reacted to your touch differently, squirming when your skin brushed over his. Arthur noticed that you took a liking to those reactions, because he felt the corner of your mouth, which was pressed into his arm as you leaned into him, curl into a smile.

It was quiet. Sometimes the yells of a bar fight could be heard or someone hammering on the piano, but that aside, it was only Jack's silent snores that disturbed the peace.

"Arthur?", you whispered and sat up.

"Mhm?", Arthur looked sleepy. It wasn't even that late yet, but something about the situation was making him sleepy in the best way. You said nothing more. You only put your hand on his cheek, briefly caressing his stubble.

"Would it be okay if I kissed you?", you asked.

For a few moments, Arthur's mind went completely blank. He only breathed a shaky "Yeah" and your lips brushed his already.

Instantly, Arthur's hands pulled you in closer. You were close, lips brushing, breathing each other's air. It was all you needed, before both of you finally pressed into each other.

You knew Arthur was gentle, but this sort of tenderness took even you by surprise. And Arthur- well, he was pretty sure he was dreaming. When was the last time he had kissed a woman? No, when was the last time he kissed a woman and felt like his heart was about to explode in his chest. He had craved this ever since the night you spent together. And by the way your hands wandered to his hair, fingers running through his strands, he knew you had wanted it just as much.

It was a soft kiss and both of you looked sort of surprised when it had ended. Arthur sat up slightly and pulled you on his lap, which earned him a happy grin. You started to pepper the man in front of you with kisses. Super light, as if a breeze was brushing his forehead, his cheek, his nose, under his ear, the corner of his lips. You had lost count, stirred on by a blushing Arthur underneath you.

"D-don't ya think that's enough?", Arthur said, kind of trying to dodge your kisses, but not really.

"Nope. You deserve this!", you said, but when you headed for his nose, Arthur managed to turn it into a proper kiss again.

Then you sank on his chest, lying on top of him with his arms wrapped around you.

For Arthur, this was a weird feeling at first. But he loved how your weight pressed him down into the mattress and how your hands always found a piece of his body to caress and tickle. He was embarrassed about how dry his mouth and throat became again, all of a sudden. He was convinced you realized how often he had to swallow and how hesitant he still was to move his hands any further down than the small of your back. Though if you noticed, you were very understanding. You clearly heard his heart hammering in his chest and waited patiently for it to calm down before speaking again.

"Can I tell you something silly?”, you said, lost in thoughts.

"Sure"

"I liked it when the bartender referred to us as family."

"Me too", and his hold on you became ever so tighter.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

@eyelovie @t3rritorial-piss1ngs @daenerysluvrr @cookiesandcreaminthetardis @tem60 @freshoutthewomb2 @itswormtrain @ineedyoubadly @lea-khena @anawkwardartistandgamer @pheesupremacy @tahitiansiguesss @c2ss1e @alyxhasonsocks @kagemaruzest69 @agaritas @lonesome-ranger @joelmillers-gf

[mydadleft471]

A Brief Respite

Summary: Something is bothering Messmer. Even if you can't fix what's wrong, you can show him how much you care for him.

Spoilers for both Elden Ring and Shadow of the Erdtree. No warnings, just tooth-rotting fluff for my favorite boi.

MESSMER LOVERS, I AM BACK!!!

Sorry for the radio silence! I was on vacation (which was so nice btw) and I got back and hammered this baby out! I missed writing for Messmer sm. Anywho, thank you to the genius @manitscold for the idea for this fic! If there's any other ideas for fics, please let me know!

Please enjoy and realize that ye olde English is a pain in the ass.

You awake early in the morning to sunlight streaming in through your window.

You rub your eyes and clumsily push the plush red comforter embroidered with Messmer’s insignia back and ease out of your bed. Per usual, the servants at the Shadow Keep had catered to your every need, and your breakfast was already sitting on the table in your quarters. You truly believe you get better service than Messmer himself.

He had always treated you well even before he began courting you, but now, he showers you with the finest gifts he can find. Beautiful embroidered dresses, specifically tailored for you, flawless gemstones, rich wines, and sturdy armor sets were all left for you in your private quarters. You live quite comfortably here.

He has also ensured your protection. His most trusted guards stand watch outside your quarters, day and night, and you are allowed to carry your weapon freely around the castle. You don’t really need your weapon much, as Messmer prefers to personally guard you whenever possible. You have never felt more safe. His presence is comforting and warm.

Lately, though, you haven’t seen him as much. Perhaps a battle went horribly wrong, or he’s sick. You don’t know, but whenever he is around, he seems like something is troubling him. He doesn’t speak as often and he remains closed-off, even from you.

You were, hopefully, going to remedy that today. You requested various flowers, bath salts, and oils from Castle Ensis, and they had finally arrived. You were going to make him relax, no matter what. 

Dressed in a fine dress made of red velvet with glimmering gold accents and with a satchel filled to the brim with salts, petals, and soaps, you begin to make your way to Messmer’s chamber. Servants bow their heads in reverence to you as you pass, and you greet two Fire Knights as you approach Messmer’s door. Not unusual, but today they’re standing directly in front of the door rather than off to the sides.

“Good morning. I wish to see Lord Messmer.” 

The right guard bows his head and replies solemnly. “My Lady, Sir Messmer has requested to not be bothered.”

“Even if it’s me?” You quirk your brow upwards and place a hand on your hip.

“Well… I suppose he wouldn’t bar you from entering. Apologies, My Lady.” You hear a wavering fear in his voice. Perhaps he realizes that keeping his Lord from you would be a terrible idea.

Stepping aside, they push open the solid metal doors and bow their heads as you pass. Being the Lady of the castle certainly had its perks.

The heavy doors shut with a heavy thump behind you and you proceed into the darkened room. There are a few candles lit around the chamber. You hear thundering footsteps from behind the throne at the front of the room. You wonder if you should’ve left him alone.

“I requested to be left well alone. Secluded from all.” His low, authoritative voice echoes across the stone walls. You see one of his snakes poke its head out from the darkness and you straighten your posture.

Messmer comes out from behind the large throne and hurries towards you, steps light yet graceful, befitting a demigod. He grabs your hand and inspects you for injuries.

“My darling, whatever is the matter? Has something happened?” His features soften and butterflies erupt in your stomach from his gentle touch.

“Nothing has happened. Everything is alright, love.” You reach your hand up towards his cheek to cradle it and he lowers himself to allow you to. You notice that the dark circles underneath his eyes have grown heavier and he looks weary. “Are you alright, Messmer?”

The question takes him aback. He shoots you a weak smile and gently kisses your palm. “Yes, my darling. It has been a rather vexing week, nothing more. Thou must not worry about such matters; I will attend to them.”

You know he is lying. Something has happened, but why would he be worried to open up to you? He has been forthcoming about his mother and his crusade in her name, so what could possibly make him think he can’t talk to you?

“Love, I’m here for you. I know something is bothering you.” He looks away from you, head bowed down. You make him look at you, and he meets your soft gaze with hesitation. “You do not have to bear everything by yourself, you know. Please let me help you.”

He sighs and grabs your hands with his much larger ones. “A sweeter companion I could never hope to have. But some burdens are mine to bear as they are mine own sins.”

“Are you thinking about the war?”

“Yes. The blood I have spilled would paint this castle ruby, inside and out. And yet, it is Mother’s will. Her vengeance has become mine own flesh.” He sounds conflicted, like he knows what is right and wrong, and yet, he can’t bring himself to stray from the path his Mother set him on. He pulls his hands away from yours, scared he will taint your innocence with his touch.

“I’m not scared of you.” His eye gleams bright gold at your words.

“Perhaps not now. But, should we have met before, my visage would haunt thy very nightmares.” His snakes gently coil around him more, as if comforting him. You long to do the same. To take all his pain and make it vanish into thin air.

But you cannot do that.

“I have a surprise for you.” You break the haunting silence and interrupt his spiraling train of thought.

“What is it?” He sounds exhausted.

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it?” You shoot him a playful smile, and he returns it with a much weaker one. You take his hand and begin to lead him back to his chambers behind his towering throne. Slowly, you make your way to the back of his room where a large marble tub sits vacant. 

“So… there’s really no better way to say this, but I need you to strip and get in the bath for me.” Heat rushes to your cheeks. You dare to look up at him. His gaze shifts between the tub and you rapidly, and his face matches his hair.

“Only if you want to! If this makes you uncomfortable, we can forget this ever happened. I got fancy bath salts and soaps from Castle Ensis to help you relax.” You open your satchel and show him the various bottles and wrapped packages you brought with you.

“Thou hast done this… to offer me a respite?”

“You’ve seemed preoccupied lately. A nice bath always helps me clear my mind and rest.” You give him a bashful smile. His eye is wide and his face is twisted in confusion.

“Thou does not wish for me to disrobe for thy own pleasure?” 

You think you’re going to die before this conversation is over.

“No! I just want you to get in the bath and relax!” You take a second to breathe and quiet your voice. You don’t want him to think that you want him just for sex. “I can wash your hair if you’d like.” 

“I’d like that.” You barely hear his response over your rapid heartbeat.

“Okay.”

You begin to run the water, making sure it’s warm, but not hot. You sprinkle in some lavender and rose petals and throw in some sweet-smelling salts for good measure. Messmer watches you with a curious eye. His snakes do the same. They flick their tongues and turn their heads side-to-side.

Once the tub is filled, the room smells fantastic. You set your satchel to the side and fetch him a soft towel and his favorite red silk robe. You set everything within arms reach.

“Okay, I’ve got everything set up. So I’ll, uh, step out for a few minutes. Just call me back when you’re ready.”

He nods at you and you make your way out of his chambers. Shutting the heavy door behind you, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Hopefully, this will help him relax and take his mind off of fighting a war he wasn’t meant to wage. You know you aren’t able to take away the horrible memories of hundreds of years of war, but you can help him forget, even if for a moment.

“I am ready.” His voice interrupts your thoughts. You take a deep breath and step back inside. Peeking around the corner, you see him sitting perfectly straight in the tub with his back to you, his snakes curiously peering over his shoulder for your return.

You sit on the edge of the bath and gently place a hand on his back, careful of where his snakes have torn through his skin. “How do you feel? Is the water okay?”

“I am… nervous. But the water is quite nice.”

“Why are you nervous, my love?” You rub soothing circles into his back.

“No one has ever seen me like this. Exposed.”

“I can leave if I’m making you uncomfortable.” You begin to stand up, but he grabs your wrist.

“Thy presence is never unwelcome. I am just not used to this. Thy touch. Thy care.” He lets go of your wrist.

“You deserve love and care, Messmer.” 

“Perhaps.”

“You do.” You lean down to wrap your arms around him, but he stops you.

“Thy dress. I do not wish for you to ruin it because of me.”

“Oh hush. Have you seen the amount of dresses in my wardrobe? Now lean your head back.”

He does as you ask and you see the worry in his eye. As gently as you can, you pour water over his head and smooth his hair down. You reach over and grab some shampoo and begin to massage it into his scalp. His eye flutters closed at the sensation of your nails scratching against his scalp and he shudders.

“Are you alright? Do you need me to stop?”

“No. This is wonderful.” You laugh and keep going. Your hands are comically small compared to his head, so it takes you quite some time to make sure all of his hair is covered. Not that you mind, however, when the slightest touch leaves him in such a state of relaxation.

Once again, you pour water over his hair and wash away the sweet shampoo. You ensure no suds get into his eye.

He has allowed you to move him how you please and you’re touched by how much he trusts you. Grabbing some conditioner, you run it through his hair and rub it into his scalp. Once again, he shudders and his breathing slows. He’s enjoying this.

“You’re very pretty, my love.” You see his cheeks redden and he opens his mouth to protest, but you scratch his scalp with both hands and he falls silent immediately. The next time he goes to rebuke something you say, you’ll just do this. You’ll never be wrong again.

Washing the conditioner out of his hair, you also notice that his snakes seem to be enjoying this. They watch you with content looks on their faces, tongues flicking out happily. You rinse your hands off and reach out to pet them. They nuzzle approvingly into your palm.

“They adore you, darling.” He gives you a loving smile.

“More than you do?” 

“An impossible feat.” The snakes hiss out in disagreement and you laugh. 

“Would you like me to let you get out?” You feel the water and frown as it’s beginning to get a little cold.

“Perhaps. I do rather enjoy this.”

“I’ll brush your hair when you’re dressed. How does that sound?”

“Marvelous. Thy surprise continues to enchant me.”

“Good.” You kiss him on the cheek and rise from where you were sitting. You move the towel and his robe closer to him at the edge of the tub, and leave his chambers again. You make a mental note to add the salts, soaps, and flowers to the supply list from Castle Ensis permanently. Perhaps this could be a weekly thing for him. You’d do it as often as it took for him to look so relaxed again.

The large door opens and Messmer greets you with a smile. He looks decades younger. His red hair dangles around his face, droplets of water kissing his skin and rolling down his neck. His red robe hugs his frame nicely. 

He holds out his hand and you take it wordlessly. He shuts the doors with a flick of his wrist and guides you over to his large bed. You notice that his hairbrush is already on the comforter. He sits down on the edge of the bed and you shuffle your way behind him.

“Ready?” You don’t need to ask, but you do.

“Yes. I do not know how this will go. Mine hair is… unruly.”

“Then I’ll just have to brush it everyday.”

“You spoil me, darling.”

“As do you. Now hold still, and tell me if anything hurts.”

You test the waters by running your fingers through his hair, and he wasn’t lying. His hair is rather tangled and will take some work to get straight. You silently curse your lover for not taking better care of himself, and get to work. You start with the ends of his hair and brush out the small knots at the bottom as carefully as you can. Eventually, with some work, the hair obeys and flows down his back as it’s supposed to. 

You take a second to check on Messmer. He’s been silent the whole time and you want to make sure he’s enjoying this. Your worries are short lived, however, when you see his eye closed and his face relaxed. His mouth is slightly open and his breathing is even.

“Is something the matter?” He asks you, still with his eye closed.

“Just making sure you’re alright, love.”

“With thee, I am blissfully content.”

“Please keep that in mind as I work through these tangles.” He laughs and shakes his head at your antics.

“I shall. I will repeat it as a mantra for thine efforts.” 

You give him a small peck on the cheek and return to your work. You begin to move up to the hair beneath his neck and slowly brush at any tangles you find. With some persistence, his hair is soft and silky once again. You notice one of his snakes out of the corner of your eye watching your gentle movements. The other is happily splayed on the comforter.

Slowly, you make your way to his scalp, and within a half hour, you have his fiery hair running in gentle waves down his shoulders. Putting the brush down, you use your fingers to sweep through his hair for any stubborn tangles, but you don’t find any. Satisfied, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and lay your head against his neck.

“I’m tired now.” Your remark makes him chuckle and wrap his hand around one of yours.

“I have no doubt.” He leans his head against yours and sighs. “This was a most pleasant surprise, my darling. I thank thee for this.”

“Of course. It’s the least I can do for you.”

He untangles himself from you and gently pulls you down onto the soft bed beside him. You tuck yourself into his side and yawn.

“There are days I find myself believing that I do not deserve thee. This is yet another one of those days.”

You kiss the back of his hand and shake your head. “You deserve all of this and more.”

“Perhaps.” He pulls you closer to him. His skin is smooth and smells like lavender. “Sleep, my beloved.”

“It’s not even time for dinner.”

“You would disobey your Lord?” He taunts you playfully.

“No, I would not.” You snort.

“I shall wake thee for dinner.” 

“You’re going to fall asleep with me.”

He relaxes into the cushions and pillows beneath him and kisses your forehead. “I do not hear thee complaining.”

“I’m not. I want to stay here forever with you.”

You’re beginning to slip into slumber. You let your eyes flutter closed and snuggle into Messmer’s side. He gently pulls a blanket over you and tucks you in as best he can.

“As do I, my beloved.”

“I love you, Messmer.”

Before you completely succumb to sleep, you hear his quiet reply.

“And I thee, my sweet consort.”

[stars-and-inkpots]

Reverence | Gale x Reader | (18+)

You take the opportunity to show Gale just how beautiful he is, and you have the perfect way to make sure he understands it.

Pairing: Gale/Reader

Tags: Mild sexual content, mostly implied sexual content, praise kink, touch-starved, body worship, fluff (at the begining), kissing (lots)

Notes: I am determined to help provide more Gale content because I don't think there is enough. This might get a part 2 if people are interested.

Part 2

Ao3 Link: Reverence

Word Count: 1,338

The city is a welcome respite from the harsh wilderness you’ve been travelling through for the past several weeks. Well, perhaps a welcome change for some of you; Halsin was far less excited to be within the city walls, but complained only once. While the city was stifling to him, he understood the appeal for the rest of you. Lae’zel, on the other hand, despised the crowds and made this more than clear on multiple occasions. 

But everyone was content with the decision to rent some real rooms at the Elfsong Tavern- the entire upper floor, in fact. Gale was particularly pleased with this; and while everyone had their own rooms, he was very content to remain in yours. 

Being in camp with everyone always there all the time did not give the two of you many opportunities to spend time together uninterrupted. Now, as you lay on the bed beside him while he reads through one of the many new books he picked up today, you can almost pretend that everything is normal and the world is safe. At least for the moment. 

Gale’s fingers card through your hair. Occasionally, he leans forward and presses a kiss to the top of your head. You wrap your arms a little tighter around him. Everything feels so domestic that your face flushes and your heart aches. Given the circumstances of… well, everything that's happened to you so far, you hadn’t devoted much time to thinking about the future. But as you feel Gale’s chest rise and fall with each breath, hear him chuckle to himself while he scans the book with rapt attention, you can’t think of any other way you would want to spend the rest of your life. The realisation is both daunting and a comfort. 

You find yourself staring at Gale. He’s too busy with the book to notice, so you have time to really take in the beauty of this man, and there really is so much of it. 

His hair, still slightly damp from his earlier bath, has grown slightly since you met him. You notice that the small braid you had put in his hair one night still remains, still miraculously perfect. When you reach out to hold it between your fingers, you can feel traces of magic within the strands and realise that Gale had enchanted it somehow, ensuring it would stay. It’s such a fond gesture: that he would go through the effort if only to maintain it- to keep a reminder of you with him all the time. 

The only indication that he’s noticed your discovery is the slight smile on his face and the pink that dusts his cheeks; he almost looks embarrassed. Gods, you love him. 

“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper. His blush deepens and his eyes finally part from the book to find yours. 

“Thank you,” Gale answers, but his voice is soft and you wonder if he really believes you. 

“I mean it, Gale. You are the most incredible person I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting; and not only in looks. You are intelligent beyond words, your skill with magic is unbelievable.” He looks away from you, the book almost entirely forgotten in his hand. 

“Alright, now you’re only flattering me.” 

“Calling it flattery implies I mean none of it. Gale, and I mean every word.” You take his face between your palms, turning him to look at you again. There’s a sadness in his eyes, one that makes your chest tighten. You need him to understand how much he means to you. “And surely you are not one to call me a liar, are you?” 

“Of course not, my love. I would never dream of it,” he answers, and kisses you. 

“So, you believe me then,” you ask, like you’re testing him. 

Gale gives you a look, a strained, conflicted sort of look. This man is stubborn to a fault, but this is not something you are going to let up on just yet. 

“Your eyes are the prettiest I’ve ever seen, like the forest in autumn.” You pepper kisses across his face, moving to straddle his hips. You run your fingers through his hair, smiling fondly at the grey hairs that are present throughout. “Your jaw, your cheekbones, your nose, it’s like the gods sculpted them themselves.” With each new thing you list, you press several kisses to it. You can feel the warmth of his face when your lips brush over his cheeks. 

Your hands move to hold his hips while you move yourself further down, kissing his neck as you do so. You only barely hear him suck in a sharp breath, but he doesn’t stop you- Gods, he doesn’t want to stop you. When you leave a final kiss at the top of his chest, your hand moves to the edge of his shirt, giving it a small tug. “May I?” You ask, and Gale doesn’t trust himself to answer so he nods. You pull the fabric up, and he helps you take it off of him completely. Your hands find his hips again while your lips return to now exposed skin. 

“I will never get enough of your hips, love,” you say, tightening your grip on them ever slightly. “All of you, so soft, yet so strong.” His stomach is soft, but you can feel the muscles tense under your palm when you drag your hand across. You keep kissing him; his chest, his stomach, his hips. You can hear how his breaths are becoming shorter- can hear him sigh so softly. He’s always so responsive to you: a trait you absolutely love. 

Your fingers tease the waistline of his pants, and you finally hear him speak for the first time in minutes. His voice is unsteady, already wrecked from just this alone. 

“Please,” he begs breathlessly. You don’t hesitate. 

You leave his underwear for now; you still have a point to prove. 

You continue to kiss down his chest, and then across his thighs. You indulge him, leaving a collection of blossoming purples across his inner thighs. The last is rewarded with a whimper, and his fingers curl through your hair. He’s almost shaking, his pupils blown wide when he looks down at you.  

“Please,” he repeats. You smile, and if Gale knows you, which he does very well, he knows it means you’re going to drag this out and tease him for as long as you can. 

“Soon, my dear, I just need you to do something for me first.” You move yourself back up so you’re straddling his hips again. “Say you’re beautiful.” You’re back to kissing just below his jaw. Gale lets out a shaky breath, but hesitates. “All you have to do is admit it, then I’ll give you what you want.” 

“This is hardly fair.” Gale does his best to sound annoyed, but you can feel him beneath you. You know how much of a hold you have on this man. 

You kiss him; a deep and passionate kiss that promises more, but you pull away before he can deepen it. 

“Say it,” you ask again. “I’ll wait as long as it takes, love.” 

Your hands are all over him: his shoulders, his face, brushing his hair back, tracing the curve of his jaw. It’s overwhelming in the best way. Gale can barely focus enough to string a single thought together. All he can think about is you. You and your hands and lips all over him, kissing each and every part of him. He’s never really considered himself beautiful, though many might think him vain. But the way you’re touching him, holding him, telling him how perfect he is in hushed whispers against the side of his neck, it’s enough to convince him that maybe you’re right. 

“I’m beautiful,” he relents, voice soft but still needy. He feels you smile against him. 

“Good boy,” you answer, and he moans at the praise. “Now to make sure you don’t forget that anytime soon.”

[leviathanleva]

Daisy

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader [DARK FIC]

Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

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[5.7k words]

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Chapter 8 "The Lie"

It’s been a journey.

Parched and starved, you’d been dragging your feet over the desolate wasteland deep into the night. The promise of a guesthouse only a mile or two away keeping your spirits up and your soreness to a minimum. Your head was still fuzzy with the trauma, as expected after taking such a brutal blow.

A pale coat of dust covers your boots, the blood has ceased oozing and now clings to your hair and skin like haunting war paint.

Cooper hadn’t said a peep about what had happened earlier, didn’t complain about you keeping his hand hostage either, just let you soak his glove in sweat while indulging in chain-smoking.

The lights coming from the inn are a beacon in the darkness, they slice through the shadow of the night, beckoning you with whispers of a bed and a full night of sleep. An exasperated sigh leaves you when you finally see it.

It was once a farmhouse. Large three-story mansion built of wood and reinforced by steel sheets only after the apocalypse. There’s a barn to the side, presumably turned into storage, a handful of soil beds from which vegetables are sprouting, a small herd of brahmin lay huddled in a corner, under a flimsy tin roof, sleeping in the remnants of a stable. A large rusty gate hugged by a sturdy fence, electric too once you were close enough to hear the distinct buzz. The generator rumbles behind a locked door in the ground, the basement if your speculations are correct.

It’s a fine establishment by today’s standards, well-known for offering respite for travelers because it was plopped in the middle of nowhere.

Regardless of the newfound relief, your pace stays the same, too achy and drained to rush towards the finish line. It’s a slow and agonizing walk, feels like an eternity, but as you climb the front porch steps you crack a smile. Your hand is promptly released and you take your usual place behind the ghoul, the medical folder still pinched under your armpit and looking like an old pancake.

The rich yellow hues shining through the dirty windows illuminate the creaky wooden boards beneath your shoes, the old benches on either end of the porch, and the large urns hosting a blooming tato plant each. There’s a mud-caked mat at the entrance and you can scarcely make out a “welcome” sign beneath all the grime.

Cooper spares you a glance over his shoulder, heavy-lidded eyes and husky tone indicating he’s just as exhausted as you.

“Don’ wander. No talkin’ t’ strangers.”

“Got it.” you nod, suppress the urge to hold onto his coat, and follow after him through the door.

You’re flooded with cigar smoke and the smell of spirit. Methodical chatter hangs in the air, mixing with the fluent jazz from the jukebox, random paintings are strewn across the walls, hiding the peeling wallpaper, some of the hanging lights are intact, some are missing their glass domes. Simple wooden chairs and circular tables, mostly vacant aside from a few rugged personas stuffed in the darker crooks of the establishment.

You take in everything under lowered lashes and caved-in shoulders.

It’s a cozy place, an oasis nestled along the road, a lovely little safehouse that welcomes any who have the caps.

The bar looks out of place, it’s too new and polished compared to everything else, dark oak shining under the soft glare of the old lightbulbs. A plethora of bottles are on display behind it, most of their labels scratched out or simply missing.

“Where’s Monique?” Cooper rests a palm against the counter and cocks his head to the female ghoul absentmindedly wiping at a glass with a stained rag.

“Holy Moly…”

You’re awestruck at the sight. She’s the second ghoul you’d ever seen and a woman at that. Despite the decomposition, she’s still retained her feminine features, one could even call her exotically beautiful. Donned in a full-body apron, a turquoise polo peaks under it; her eyes are sunken but lively, however the veiny red sclera makes you cringe. It just looks damn painful.

“Nice to see you too, Cooper.” she barks a laugh, her voice – distorted by radiation, but still cheery and friendly. “She went to bed so I took over. What’ll it be?”

“Got any rooms left?”

You’ve decided to focus on the hand-drawn menu hoisted above the liquor cabinet, scrunching your nose at the radroach skewers and cricket potato stew. There isn’t much that would suit your pallet, especially not the yao guai jerky. What even is a yao guai? Another overgrown bug?

The drinks have more variety than the food, even though most are alcohol. There’s still just plain water, specified as ‘mostly rad free’, then there’s tato and cactus juice. The options aren’t mouth-watering, but the drawings next to the headers are cute, some of them are even colored in.

“Got two, lucky for you.” she pauses then and the friendliness on her gaunt face gives way to confusion. She leans to the side as you step out of Cooper’s shadow to get a better view of the menu, her mouth shrinks out of its prickly smirk. “Oh, hello.” her curiosity quickly blossoms into sweet glee as she stares you down with startling warmth, then tosses the bounty hunter a passing comment. “Made a new friend, I see.”

You stiffen as the realization of her attention on you sinks in. Rolling your eyes to her, you find her beaming and you can’t help but return her welcoming smile with an awkward one. You fix your slouched posture, straighten up because first impressions are important, and give a polite nod.

“Mitzi, good to meet you. And you are?” she’s all giddy grins and wavy hands, finding you as a good treat after a long time of only having gruff wastelanders as customers. And you’re more than happy to humor her, she matches your character perfectly and you feel her filling up your energy levels instantly.

Your lips part as you fully intend to reciprocate her brightened mood.

“I’m – ”

“–An annoyance.” a dismissive scoff, one which has you shoot Cooper a nasty look. He’s indifferent, doesn’t bat an eye at you, instead nudges his chin at the untouched bourbon bottle. “I’ll take that one, room too, don’ care which one.”

Mitzie turns to reach for the bottle and sets it down next to the bounty hunter before sifting through the ledger hidden behind the counter. Keeping the privacy of her customers comes as a nice surprise. She mumbles something soft, supposedly checking the available rooms, then looks up at you.

“Shower or nah?”

“Excus – ” you blurt, then stop and suppress the need to ask for elaboration. “Shower.”

If she was alluding to the possibility of taking a proper bath, you’d cry. After months of rubbing soap into your sweat and using saliva to wash out toothpaste, you felt disgusting. Dirt had accumulated in places you didn’t even know existed and all of this excluded the greasy mess your hair had become. At times, you wanted to crawl out of your skin with how crusty you were.

And the stench was a whole other story you fought valiantly to ignore.

“Gotcha.” she hums and stuffs her hand into a jar before pulling out a large, rusted key and handing it to Cooper. “Master bedroom, second floor to the left.” her baby blues dart back to you. “Just so you know, showers cost extra.”

You hear the disgruntled groan and your expression sours.

Of all the things he dismissed to save up on caps, basic hygiene was one which you fiercely disagreed with. You’d already had this conversation multiple times, him walking around smelling like a dumpster fire with no regard for how that made him look was unacceptable. His clothes needed washing, he needed washing, and you’d scrub him clean if you didn’t know he’d stab you if you so much as tried to bring your soap bar anywhere near him. Both of you were in dire need of a proper bath. You’d work him into the idea, you’d already succeeded once when you were less acquainted.

With a sigh, you blindly pat the side of your backpack in search of the pocket holding your caps.

“How much?”

“Thirty per shower.” she answers simply, then perks up to holler at a behemoth of a man waving her over from the back of the bar. “I’ll be right there!”

“Deal.” you chirp and point at the menu. “And a cup of brahmin bone broth, please and thank you.”

“Right away.” Mitzi graces you with another cheeky smile before rushing past the counter and through a door to the kitchen.

You’re close enough for the smell of roasting meat and herbs to waft into your nose, your stomach twists with hunger and gargles in protest. You clear your throat in embarrassment, the jazz music does a wonderful job of disguising the ugly toon. A clatter of pots comes from behind the kitchen door followed by a meager slur of curses that has you hoping your order wasn’t the cause.

After gathering enough caps, you extend your arm to leave them next to the register. Your attempt is shot down by a sharp slap to the knuckles, you glance up at Cooper and prepare to debate why you should be allowed to wash up and spend the money for it. He snuffs out your bubbling protests with a stern look and a dismissive flick of his wrist.

Mitzi reappears shortly after with a tray in hand.

“Here you are.” she lays down a steaming tin can in front of you and scoots to the register, which is mostly used for decoration. “You want the total or separate tabs?” she scribbles down each of your amounts and lifts her eyes to Cooper.

“Total.” he gruffs out and litters the free space on the bar with scoops of caps fished out from his bandolier.

You have to bite down on your bottom lip to prevent a grin and tuck away your money. He definitely knew how to turn your legs to pudding and tie your tongue into submission. Sadly now that meant you couldn’t complain for at least a week.

“Hundred-fifty. Oh!” the waitress sloppily wraps a rag around your drink and squeezes it in place. “Here. I tend to forget smooth-skins have more delicate hands.” she winks at you and proceeds to gather up the payment, combing through it with a long bony finger and counting. “We’ll get to know each other another time.”

Once she was sure of the amount, Mitzi stuffs it all in the hefty pickle jar labeled ‘earnings’, then sealed it shut and stored it somewhere around her feet. She’s back to polishing shot glasses, gives both of you a ginger smile and nudges her head towards the staircase to the right of the counter.

“Enjoy your stay.”

You take the broth and let your fingers soak in the warmth as you follow behind Cooper with bated breath and a spring to your step.

A bed and a shower, you were being spoiled tonight. The covers and sheets are probably old, the room itself is most likely slowly rotting away and covered in grime and dust, but it’s heaven compared to sleeping on the ground with one eye open due to threats skulking about. The last time you’d managed to get a full night of sleep was back in Tillburry, and just the thought of being undisturbed had you going through a plethora of pleasant jitters.

You give the greasy drink, your dinner, a good sniff while climbing to the second floor.

It’s not an aroma that makes you salivate, but you’ve missed the luxury of warm food and the herbs do well at overpowering the stench of boiled beef. Even under the weak light in the corridor, you can tell it’s fatty enough to keep you sated for a while, it’ll have to do. The can is used as a cup for hot drinks, the broth came from elsewhere, either that or you were scammed into eating dog food judging by the peeling-off sticker of a poodle.

You thump over a long red carpet rolled out on the floor, squint at the hacked cough coming from one of the rooms, and then stop a foot away from the ghoul.

He jams the key in and after a deft click, the door creaks open.

Your refuge for the night isn’t as bad as you’d imagined. The bedding is mostly white minus a few stains, the wallpaper is torn a tad, but intact and it’s all relatively clean, there’s even a few trinkets lying about to bring more life. A wall clock is hung above the curved sofa next to the window, it’s not working but it is a nice touch. There’s a night lamp on one of the nightstands, a wide drawer, an ashtray on the table along with two more chairs in case there were more than two bodies in the room. There’s even a deck of cards next to the crystal alcohol glasses.

You watch Cooper set down the bourbon and slouch against the couch with a long exhale before shrugging off his hat and coat and letting his eyes shut for a moment.

“Darn hell, what a day…”

Safety is painted in his mannerisms, you smile adoringly at him and shut the door behind you.

True to her word, there indeed was a bathroom. You switch the lights on and peek inside. The tiles are cracked or missing, it’s old but clean and there’s a bottle of Rad-X among the diluted shampoo bottles. Lovely!

You hear a ripple and whirl your head to see the ghoul lighting a cigarette. His feet are perched up on the table and crossed, his bandolier thrown over the backrest of the sofa, he takes a long drag and strains to push open the window.

“You know Mitzi?” you ask and shed your backpack with a delighted moan before kneeling to zip it open. With your trusty Vaseline and a tiny vodka bottle in your free hand, you join him on the couch, sitting on the opposite end to give him as much space as possible.

“Hm? Sure I do, met some years ago.” he twists to partially face you and pinches the smoke between his lips before grabbing for the bourbon. “Thought you’d wash up first thing. Changed yer mind?”

You chuckle at that and dab the vodka into your palm before rubbing it between your fingers. It’s a mundane little habit you picked up since you learned vodka specifically was almost pure spirit nowadays. Considering the unthinkable things you touched on the hour, from blood to dirt and worse, and without a sink to wash your hands, you needed this at least before eating.

“I’ll shower later. Wanna take a breather first.” you cradle the broth to your chest and take another good whiff before sighing. “Plus, I’d like to drink this before it goes cold.”

“Hope you know tha’ ain’t all brahmin, Darlin’.”

“Let me stay ignorant, please.” you mumble before taking a long sip.

Cooper cackles but decides not to ruin your dinner. You watch him pour a glass of bourbon for himself, mull, and then pour a second one before setting it next to you.

“Mm?” you give him a crooked look, frown with scrunched eyebrows.

“Heavy broth goes good with booze.” he gestures for you to take the offer with a keen smirk. “ ‘Bout time we pop your cherry anyway.”

“Gosh, don’t call it that!” you hiss through a flustered face, but take the glass and ignore his mocking grin.

The jukebox can still be heard from the main floor, it calms your apprehension and you twirl in your spot to open the window fully, looking to the sky for further comfort. You’re intentionally stalling as you swish the bourbon around, elbows rested on the windowsill and gaze lifted to the cluster of stars. A chilly breeze caresses your bare shoulders and you shudder.

“Thought you’d get bored gawkin’ at nothing by now.” The ghoul spits, watching you like a hawk because he refuses to miss your first time trying alcohol. You wish he wasn’t, it adds unnecessary expectations and you’re unaware of how exactly you’re supposed to react. By the smell alone, you’re guessing it won’t taste pleasant.

“I’ll never get tired of the sky.” you muse out loud with an unreadable expression, then face him briefly. “Has it changed over the years?”

You don’t know how old he is, he’s refused to disclose that with you, but from the subtle hints in the past, it’s been longer than the average person. You wish he’s looser, that he trusts you enough to share more about who he is and where he comes from. He seems to know almost everyone you’ve crossed paths with, could work with any weapon and traversed the wasteland without a compass or map and still know exactly where he’s going.

“ ‘Sides the radstorms, not much.” he rolls his tongue over a mouthful of bourbon, then audibly swallows and scowls. He raises his glass towards you, waiting for you to mimic him. “ ‘Nough stallin’ ya pansy, it ain’t poison. Drink.”

Your nose is already wrinkled at the idea, but you oblige him by lifting the drink to your lips. Holding your breath you take a tiny sip and your skin explodes in goosebumps before the fire registers on your tongue. Your taste buds feel defiled, the foulness makes your eyes pop open and you spit before the urge to gag crawls too high up your throat.

First impression: No.

“Ugh…Ew!” a hand clasps over your mouth, obscuring both disbelief at the fact you’d spat straight against the window and pain at the utter nastiness of the flavor. You take the rag wrapped around your now lukewarm broth and wipe off the evidence with urgency. “How do you like this stuff? It’s awful!”

He’s cracking up a storm on the other end of the sofa, having burst into such an abrupt fit that half his drink was running down his vest. You sneer through a glare, hoping he catches your translucent reflection in the glass and feels at least a drop of remorse for your misfortune.

“Glad to make you laugh.”

He tries to say something, a snippy remark most likely, but his gullet is too dry and nothing comes out when his mouth parts. He washes down the hoarseness with another swig of alcohol and tries again.

“You’re doin’ it all wrong.” he’s all up in your beginner technique, even though you weren’t open to be taught how to become a proper alcoholic. Nasty habit that, but he’s given you no choice. “Gotta let it rest on yer tongue, enjoy the taste ‘n go slow.” he can see you sulking even with your back turned to him, can practically smell the discomfort and annoyance emanating from you.

He tones down the decibels when you refuse to face him. Unlike you, Cooper finds the concept of convincing you that drinking is a fun pastime activity strangely thrilling. That, and he’s a horrid old man who selfishly craves to claim all your first experiences, no matter what they are. It’s a vile desire and he’s aware, but the longer you exist in his presence the further his obsessive protectiveness develops. He chalked it up to you being dumb and defenseless, it was natural to become possessive of you and want to keep you safe.

He’d be caught dead before he let some mangy bastard touch you before him or be present for your first cigarette. And he’d take this revelation to the grave because he was too prideful to admit to his urges. This was for your protection, better him, a person you trusted, than anyone else.

“Come ‘ere.” he takes off his gloves and extends a hand to you, beckoning you in the softest way he can muster. “I’ll teach ya.”

You look back at him and the angry frustration simmers down to mild irritation when you notice he’s reaching for you. Tasting that nightmarish poison again makes you queasy, you don’t want to and you’re fussy, but falter for him once more with the intent of giving it another go and then never again.

He’s paid for your dinner, bed, and shower, it’s only fair to entertain his stupid ideas. That doesn’t mean you’re going to smile through the whole thing though, no, you’ll grimace until the end.

He shifts until his feet are firmly planted on the floor as you round the table.

“One last time.”

“Last time.” he repeats through a haggard breath and as soon as your fingers dip into his open palm he spreads his legs farther apart to accommodate a plan you were blissfully unaware of. “Promise, Sweet pea…”

He coaxes you closer, tugging on your hand until you’re standing between his legs, radiating confusion. Guilt prickles his heart, you don’t deserve to be manipulated into succumbing to his perverse advances. It wasn’t even a good lie. Teaching you how to enjoy bourbon…a load of horse shit, but what were the odds that you’d so pliantly let him desecrate you once the concussion and fatigue didn’t stand in the way of clear thinking?

You were vulnerable now and he was a fiend for taking advantage. He’d deal with the consequences later.

The concentration carving his expression is hidden under the guise of darkness as he gently lures you down until you’re hesitantly sitting on his thigh. An arm coils around your waist to keep you in place, you’re face to face and the ringing in your ears increases, completely deafening the music from downstairs. Blunt fingers melt into your supple flesh, deliberately massaging away the prolonged day. You’d had it rough today, poor little thing, you needed some good kneading.

He’d give it to you. Whatever the hell you wanted, you’d have it.

Rotten man. Defiler.

He shakes the thoughts away and feeds on the sugary lavender hints beneath the sweat clinging to your body.

You’re engulfed in warmth and finally, you can put a name to the ever-present musk he carries around – bourbon and cigarettes; the smell of home. Your hands are resting in your lap, pinching at your dress in a nervous tick as you fight to keep eye contact. Inexplicable tension writhes in the air, it chokes you with sadistic glee.

Cooper’s studying your features as they twist, searching for something specific in the involuntary muscle twitches.

“You don’ like it, you call quits. Got it?” he speaks softly, but with authority, already taking another sip and letting it rest in his mouth.

You’re no less lost than you were two minutes ago, left to wonder what he means because your glass is on the other side of the table. But now he’s mute with alcohol and unable to elaborate verbally so you simply nod in understanding.

“Got it.”

No cheeky smirks or mischief is dancing in his eyes. He’s the most serious you’ve ever seen him, it’s nerve-wracking, you’re left to blindly follow his guidance and you trust him, but anticipation has no boundaries. The bedroom turns stuffy and his once welcomed heat is forming sweat on your forehead and pinching at random nerves throughout your body.

He glides a hand to the back of your neck, holds it with solemn tenderness. You make a pathetic noise when he leans you back until you’re cradled in the safety of his arms without leverage, hovering above the sofa as he watches over you with a mellow look.

“Tha’s it…steady, Pretty girl.”

You’re rigid and hesitant in his embrace, don’t know what to do except give in and let him work you like a puppet. It’s humiliating, you want to be an active participant, give him what he wants without him having to hold your hand, but you can’t. The only soothing thought that comes to mind is that he’s a dominant man, he probably doesn’t mind.

Probably even likes it like this.

“This okay, Sweetheart?”

You barely register he’s asked a question, the gravel in his voice seizes your breath.

“Yeah…Yes?”

The ghoul is languid and gentle when he leans forward, taking his time, but you notice the twitch in his fingers, the hidden urgency behind the façade he’s adopted to not scare you away. But he’s still a rugged man, you can tell by the callouses on his palms and the leathery skin on his face as it rubs against yours.

It’s a peck at first, makes you tingle all over. He barely brushes his chapped lips against yours, testing the waters, and dulling your awareness with patience before he shatters and ruins your innocence. But you’re too enticing for your own good. You don’t startle; cling to his vest instead and shiver with a milky moan and his resolve cracks.

With a ravenous snarl, he squishes you against his chest when you offer no protests and the hands that held you are now clutching. He kisses you with a bruising need, changing into a brutish oaf as his tenderness fades. Your mouth opens in a gasp and he lets the bourbon seep past his teeth and ravage your taste buds. The flavor is the last thing on your mind as he devours you whole, a few droplets escape from the corner of your lips and trail down your jaw until they soak into your hairline. Starved of everything soft and sweet, he gorges and palps, litters you with clumsy bruises because he’s forgotten how to handle someone such as you.

He tilts his head to one side and his tongue glides past your teeth to twirl around yours, forcing you to open wide. His eyes are hidden behind squeezed lids, leaving him purposefully blind to your current expression. He didn’t want to see rejection, didn’t want to know if you were disgusted but too fearful to pull away. All he needed was just one moment of indulgence disguised as him teaching you to drink. Let him feast upon you for a bit and he will never touch you again afterward, he swears it.

It’s just to show you how to enjoy a good glass of alcohol.

But you weren’t stupid, you already knew this was all a charade. It’s agonizing when you wrap your arms around his shoulders and clutch at his back. You’re klutzy in your love, a shaking mess as you try to match his pace, but this is too new and with an absent mind, instinct can only tell you so much. Still, you fill his cavernous maw with high-tuned chirps of affection and you’re so pleased despite the uncertainty, you’re aching for him, you’re just as starved if not more.

Cooper wasn’t prepared for reciprocation, it leaves him boneless and barely holding you both steady.

You let your eyes close as well and guzzle down the remainder of the booze from his mouth. A strained growl reverberates in his throat as he cuts down the urge to buck into you. Too soon, not yet. He’s taken enough from you for one night.

You suck in a breath as your knees turn to jelly. Your thighs are quaking; he presses one hand against them to soothe you and earns a muffled mewl. It’s raw lightning, sparking over your skin and making your clothes feel so damn constricting. You’re clawing at your tights, scratching at his sleeves, turned feral with lust and lilting pleas in his chewed-up ear.

A clash of teeth and jerking tongues, muffled sounds of indulged wants and thinned nerves.

He’s intoxicating, gruff to the bone and you avidly drink in everything he offers.

“Greedy little thing…” he rasps over deep breaths once he’s pulled away enough to take in your possum-like state. “So how’d you like the bourbon?”

A dull ache forms in your core at his sweet derogatory coo. You bite the side of your cheek to stifle the vulgar rattle trying to escape the confines of your heaving chest.

He lifts you into a proper sitting position and readjusts your dress back over your legs because he’s a gentleman tonight.

You’re a mixture of labored inhalations and sputtered words, struggling to descend to normalcy and proper manners. It takes you a moment to find your voice, you speak before thinking, high on a newfound addiction – him and his taste and his smell and everything that had to do with him. The knots in your stomach ease, but you’re still absently fiddling with the straps of his vest while trying to regain composure.

“Can we…” you shrink as his heavy gaze makes your throat tighten, lower your eyes in bashfulness but your insides burn and you need that fire sated. It’s his fault you’re like this, him and his sinful vulgarities. “Can you show me again?”

He croons a laugh and bloats with pride, doesn’t even care to take a shot before he latches onto you again.

“Needy girl…So pretty f’ me.”

You’re the one with the lingering hands now, sigh in relief when he violates your mouth again as if being apart had been torture. Nimble fingers intrude on his spine, slipping beneath the loose collar of his shirt and mapping out the marred flesh like it’s a piece of art. He shudders in your hold, mouths something that gets lost among the vocal sloppiness emitting from your feverish kisses.

You’re too eager at the mixed saliva dribbling down your chin, too delighted when he pauses to lick it off and keep you partly decent as he suffocates on his passion. You cage him between your thighs like it’s only natural, nestle down on him because he’s your new throne and he shoves a hand between your bodies to adjust his straining erection before you find out how desperate he is. You’re too spread and willing, unaware of the debauchery your actions hint towards.

He’s a man gone wild beneath you, boiling and unchained and drinking in your wanton display. A blank canvas for you to paint whatever you wished on as you submit to cravings he’d unraveled. He was a perverse bastard, stole your first kiss and hadn’t even made it proper, but there was nothing right in this world anyway. You returned his advances, you were happy, the rest be damned.

You leave his scalding tongue and nipping teeth to pepper his bony face with butterfly pecks. He’s a silent enjoyer, lets you drown him now that you were unleashed, with a ghost of a smile and lazy blinks, mild and content. Time slips past in a blur until you’re finally satisfied, having pruned and memorized every inch of his face.

You’re studying his features while cupping his jaw when the haze fades and you register just how many lines you’d crossed. His hardness digs into your thigh and you wince because you’d climbed him like a mountain, sat on him like he was just a chair and not someone you held dear. You’d taken advantage of his docile form, oblivious to the fact that this was what he’d hoped for from the start. You’d treated him like a tool to cater to your horniness without ever considering how much strain you’d put on him.

Maybe you weren’t as smart as he’d thought. No, that wasn’t it. You trusted him too much. Took his every word as fact.

Your heart is pounding and the trembling returns with twice the vigor as your serene smile dies.

“Oh my God…Jeez! I’m so sorry. Wait! I– ” you blabber while prying away with clumsy movements. You’re sure you’re about to have a heart attack and die on the spot.

What have you done?!

Why didn’t he stop you? Why did he look so high when you’d forced yourself on him without even asking for his consent? All he’d done was try to ease you into drinking and you’d thrown yourself at him like a…

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t even ask you…Why didn’t you say – Sorry. I’m – ”

“Whoaw there, Cowgirl.” he springs to action, forced out of his delightful trance by the utter horror written in your eyes. He grips you before you manage to stand, coercing you in a bear hug. Opposite to your shaken state, he rounds up your skittishness with honeyed words and caring touches. “Easy now, Sweetness. All’s fine, easy…easy.”

He stuffs you in the crook of his neck as you sputter more apologies, nuzzles his cheek in your hair and coos. You’re inconsolable for a time, badmouthing yourself because you knew no better and it’s heartwrenching because it’s his fault for taking advantage of your trust. He rocks you into silence while chuckling, criminally unapologetic.

“Now if I didn’ want any o‘ this I would’a kicked you off long time ago. ‘S okay, Sweet pea, all’s fine.” he palms himself until you can’t feel the incessant poke anymore, the scowls at his meager self-control. “Damn thing got a mind of i’s own.”

You hum in response, whiney and weak. He snorts at your deflated mood, to think his boner would be the cause of worry is comical. He lets a jab slip to bait you out of the cesspool of self-bludgeoning you’d thrown yourself in. He could be truthful and lay out the entire farce before you, but that came with the change you’d never let him near you again. Cooper isn’t a good man, nor a truthful man and what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you.

“Now quit yer mopin’, you’re ruinin’ m’ shirt.”

It does the trick. You stiffen against him and choke because how dare he.

“Asshole!” you recoil and land a weak fist against his shoulder. “You’re the one always ruining everything. I’m thinking about your comfort and your consent and trying to be nice and all you ever do is mock me. Awful man! You don’t even use the toothbrush I gave you. And you’re horrible company too.”

He’s laughing for the countless time that night, catches your wrist, then your other one, stifling your tantrum. A grin peeks beneath your stern glare, his high spirits are too contagious, and you wrestle against his unweaving hold without much zest.

 “Too bad.” he gives you one good jerk and you faceplant into his neck, then rests his chin against the top of your head and you can hear the cocky smirk forming. “Is either me or the wasteland, Darlin’, and the wasteland don’ give no kisses, trust me.”

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 9 >>>

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[scummy-writes]

Normalcy Bias

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Gilbert/Reader, Roderic/Reader

Words: 1383

Tags: Gilbert Route Spoilers, she/her refered to reader, angst, major character death, grieving, grieving sex, this is not dubcon.

Summary: It's an outcome that the four of you knew was possible, but only Gilbert had made the preperations in advance. Now, you're left struggling facing the inevitible.

It’s a desperate seeking of relief- one that seems to surprise you as much as Roderic.

The door closes shut behind the two of you, a faint click dissolving into the silence of the room, melding with the ringing echoing in your ears. Composing yourself seems impossible, you’ve been outwardly sobbing for hours, to the point of Roderic having to carefully remove you from the room before you cemented yourself to the spot, refusing to let your eyes stray from your lover for the last time.

Gilbert’s body would see no casket. There wouldn’t be an elaborate display fitting for his royal blood, nor a chance for you to say a final goodbye. His cremation would be swift, handled by Walter. His final order was in paper written long before you, a blatant refusal to let you take part any further from there. You knew there were a multitude of reasons for this, yet you still bit your lip near to the point of blood, trying not to seethe at your lover’s last wishes.

Irrationale blazed through you, difficult to keep in check as the thoughts raced. Walter would be the only one to have a proper farewell, to have the respite of an eulogy, the calm in having a say in his final words. To be at peace as he watched Gilbert’s body burn to ash, his remains left only to Walter’s knowledge.

Whereas you, the queen of Obsidian, would not even be privy to where your lover’s soul may rest.

A breath stuck in your lungs, clawing at your throat the more the visuals plagued your mind.

Those moments, where you clung helplessly to his corpse, biting through curses and tears until forced away against your will-  that was it. Your final exchange with the one so near to you was a storm of emotions you swore to never show to him, and yet that’s what you left his body with. A bitter memory, words of malice towards fate thrown his way, everything aside from the words of love you wished you could leave now.

Heard through your ruminations, there’s a quiet shuffling behind you, cloth pooling onto the floor. You don’t want to glance back, you don’t want to accept what will happen next, but with your eyes downcast you can see Roderic’s robe forgone, familiar boots in your vision.

An intake of breath is what causes your voice to slip out, a feeble but determined don’t. It’s hoarse, pleading, but Roderic wasn’t to listen to you. He remained loyal, even with death between him and his lord.

His fingers find your chin, your jaws clenched tight as he gently tipped you up to face him. To see a shadow of Gilbert, a perverse gift left behind for you. 

For the second time this day, you act out in ways you never wanted. It’s faster than your thoughts, yet Roderic’s cheek is twinged red all the same, his eyes wide for just a moment. In that crack, the first feel of violence held in your palm, you recognize all too much at once. How easy it was in your fury to strike another, how much of an illusion the man in front of you is.

Instead of rightful anger, instead of a dangerous glint in his eye, the grip on your wrist is with a tenderness you don’t deserve.

“It’s just a bad dream, little rabbit.”

“Don’t.”

“That’s all it is. And what do we do with bad dreams?”

It’s too much to look at him, to hear his voice come from those lips. Your gaze stubbornly looks aside, even as he pulls you closer to mutter in your ear. 

“We do our best to forget.”

.

It’s wrong. Your skin crawls between the waves of heat running over your body, the claw of your grip a mixture of disgust and longing. Despite that, your heart sings, falling for the delusion currently massaging your inner thighs, spreading your legs apart to slot himself between.

How much could you be blamed for allowing it? For giving in through the tears, desperate for something more pleasant to be left in your lover’s wake? To look past the brief moments of hesitation, the uncharacteristic gasps and unsure touches.

But no matter how much you pleaded with your mind, none of it was the same. Just a pale shell of what used to be. His fingers were like a ghost upon your skin, mimicking familiar situations but askew from your memories just enough to send foreign shivers through you. Each drag of his cock along your inner walls, each kiss given to your lips and neck, so close to being him. But so far removed in reality. 

Was this a sin? Was allowing your lover’s replacement to gaze upon your skin like he had - to etch his seed into your walls, to carve out a place of his own within you - a disservice to what you had called loyalty to your love?

The questions burned inside of you, while the twisting flurry of lust deep inside you burned just as bright. The emotions of shame and despair melded within your neediness, the imitation within your grasp eating away at your clarity.

It was wrong. You knew it to be so. But his skin still flushed with lust, eyes clouded over with the same neediness that screamed inside of you. Despite it all, how you wished to push him away and mourn differently, your warmth still clamped down on him all the same.

.

Sleep felt pointless. So out of reach and impossible to fathom, not while you stared up at the ceiling, the room draped in night. The moonlight barely gave the area a passing glance, yet instead of the childish fear that used to overtake you when he was still around, you felt nothing in your heart.

All that remained was apathy. The ache of your muscles, the nails you dug into your skin. A critical acceptance for the sins you committed tonight. An acceptance that, at the end of it all, Gilbert had known you far more than you knew yourself, knowing that you would fall so quickly.

A solemn prediction, that no matter the love and cherished memories you shared, you would still find comfort in his replacement in the end. That for all that was fought for, it was still never written for Gilbert to survive as long as he had. For Gilbert to be the last one fully encompassed in your love.

You don’t want to look at the man beside you, even as the sheets shuffle. 

The apathy within you wells up into disgust at your desperate, primal urges, and Roderic is the outlet you crave to pour it into, repeatedly. An unfathomable rage, a grief so deep you wanted it to be etched onto another- to try and have a shred of equality in your sorrows.

Unreasonable, selfish thoughts- wanting to carve your frustrations out upon his skin, again and again, until the one mimicking your lover refused to look at you once more.

But for you, that too was never written.

Despite how you seethe, how you bite against his calm words and touches, there’s still a gentle caress to your cheek. So unlike the man you love(d). It’s shy, skittish even, and it takes you a moment to understand it’s partly due to the tears trailing your skin.

A wounded animal, that’s all you had been twisted into, regardless of the boiling under your skin.

You hate that he acknowledges that.

He notices the way you flinch away from him, the heat between you dissipated enough for false emotions to fade away, and the touch against your skin falters. Yet, persists in other ways. Through the trailing of the curve of your cheek, through your hair, until it lays at his side again.

The silence stifles you, makes your throat burn the more you’re forced to register your surroundings, the lingering scent of him still in abundance. The implications of that make your hands clench, digging nails into skin yet again to abide the pain.

Roderic’s voice is low, a whisper against the thunderous anger welling up once more inside of you, but the moment he speaks, ice cascades over your skin.

“I lost him too.”

[folds hands] well. well.

I was watching hannibal, and as spoiler-free as I can manage, the topic of funeral sex came up. They discussed, loosely, how after funerals or heavy losses, whether through death or another form of it, people will have sex as a way to handle the grief. Not all of the time, but sometimes the emotions would get overwhelming.

And I had to pause the episode midway through and I immediately slapped down like 300 words to this.

It's not perfect, but I wanted to explore the idea of what could happen when Gilbert dies, especially if it's pretty early on in their relationship. It made me realize how much lack of closure anyone in the situation would get. I have her irrationally angry at Walter, but in truth he'd likely have to hurry and dispose of Gilbert's body before anyone else saw it, and so he'd have a short amount of time for goodbyes as well.

I also wanted to put forth the consideration towards how Roderic may feel in all of this. I hope it's pretty clear that this was not dubcon or noncon, but just an abundance of overwhelming emotions getting to both of them. That their grief drove them to impulses.

coughs. anyway. I listened to the album 'hospice' three times while writing this and wanted to shrivel away. Thank u claudia, dice, mimi, and aqua for watchin me stream this wip and hear me ramble about it.

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[sunlightmurdock]

Ashes, Ashes | Two | Bradley Bradshaw

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Synopsis: In which Maverick didn’t make it home after the Uranium mission. He’s missing, presumed dead. There are things that have to be done — someone has to take care of the house, the bills.

So, Maverick’s daughter is back in Fightertown for the first time since she was in elementary school. There’s a gaping hole in both of their lives now, and somehow, the world’s supposed to just keep on turning without him.

warnings: bradley bradshaw x minimally descriptive oc avery mitchell. age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, military inaccuracies. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.

…

Bradley rents a bungalow about twenty minutes from base, towards the south of the San Diego bay. He explains, on the drive there, while she is hugging an overnight bag of her things, that he’s been renting it from this sweet old lady for the past four years — but he’s only been living in it for about three quarters of that time, with deployments.

He talks a lot. Shooting halfway amused looks across at him every now and again as he talks over his music, explaining his entire rental history, Avery just lets him go on and on.

Maybe he’s worried that the silence will give her room to start tearing up again, but she knows that won’t happen — it was already a rare occurrence, just the once. 

She lets him talk. He doesn’t seem to mind how much attention she’s paying either. Anything other than silence is fine, even if he’s the only one filling it.

The respite comes when he parks in the driveway, hops out, and proudly displays the home to her. It’s white all over and covered in plants, all up the driveway and over the porch. There’s a surfboard sitting on the porch, waxed up and looking ready to go.

Inside is masculine and simple, and spotless. It looks more lived in than Maverick’s place, but in an exceptionally organised way. 

Just past the front door, he has an organised entryway with a closet and one of those shoe racks that looks like an end table. 

Beyond that, his living area is all open plan. His kitchen is to the left right as you walk in, and the living room is the clear focus. He’s got a big grey sectional pointed at a big tv with a stack of video games beside it.

He doesn’t ask her to take her shoes off by the door, but she copies politely when he kicks his off. 

That leaves her, blue and white tube socks, toeing against the chewed up corner of the area rug while he busies himself with fixing the few things he deems to be out of place. 

Itching to keep moving, she prods at the fabric, examining the teeth marks, wondering where the dog must be.

“Oh— that was my ex-girlfriend’s dog. I’ve been meaning to buy a new rug.” He explains, furrowing his brows at the spot as he tosses a throw pillow down onto his soft looking grey couch. “Um — so, I do have a guest room, but it’s kind of a gym right now. You can just make yourself at home, and I’ll go get everything out of your way.”

“I can take the couch.”

“No, no, you deserve some privacy at least. I’ll just be a sec — I have sodas and beers in the fridge, glasses are in the cabinet to the right. Help yourself.” He’s a good host, and a better one than she had been yesterday, considering that Maverick’s place is now technically her own.

As he heads for the long, stretching hallway, she shoots a look back down at the mauled rug. With how spotless the rest of this place is, he must have really liked that girl to let her bring her dog here, and to let it chew up his stuff.

She wonders, aimlessly, if he was mad about it. If they argued. If they broke up long ago.

Avery hasn’t had too many relationships of her own. Some mediocre sex and a couple of couch-based movie dates here and there, nothing to write home about. 

She sits cautiously, sinking into the pillowy cushion of the couch, taking the time finally to really look around her. The space is bright, with big windows all around and a view of the bay. There’s a sun catcher dancing from the curtain rod, casting rainbows across his wooden floors.

Maybe his ex had bought that, too.

The bungalow is small, but it fits all of his belongings with an abundance of space left. Avery thinks back to her father’s place, always cluttered and spilling over with junk, treasure from his years of travels.

Maybe Bradley is a little bit less sentimental about keeping things.

He rattles around in the room at the end of the hall for a while, huffing occasionally. While waiting on the couch, she considers getting up and offering to help a few times, but ultimately convinces herself against it.

“Alright! Fresh sheets and some space to move, there’s still a bunch of stuff in there but I tried to get it out of your way.” He comes strolling back down the hallway and drops down onto the couch at her side, letting out a heavy sigh.

She screws her mouth up a little, looking across at him while he rests his eyes, long, dark eyelashes brushing his warm cheeks. His long legs, covered by worn denim, stretch out far enough that he has to bend them around his coffee table.

When one hand comes up to card through his mussed curls, she catches sight of the tattoo inked across the expanse of his bicep. LXXXVI. ‘86. She starts to think on it, letting him enjoy his moment of peace, when he shifts and startles her enough to drag her eyes away from his flexing arm.

“Thanks, for everything,” Avery manages to still sound a little cautious in her tone, even when she’s rushing to speak. “Staying last night, driving me around today, letting me stay with you. I really appreciate it.”

He smiles without opening his eyes, reaching out and letting his hand pat skim across the seam of her jeans, patting at her knee platonically.

“Any time.” He breezes, cool. 

The first night is uneventful. Avery sleeps restlessly on the futon in Bradley’s spare bedroom, turned home gym. 

She pretends that she doesn’t see the numbers on the sides of the weights, and pretends also that she doesn’t give a little bit of her imagination to the way that tattoo must move when he lifts them.

When she wakes up, Bradley is gone and there is a note on the kitchen counter explaining that he went for a run. He was gone for two hours, trying to run far enough that the sick, hot, thudding feeling in his chest would stop.

Back at the house, Natasha stops by and spends the afternoon. She lets herself into the place with her key, which sits on her own keychain like she’s had it for a while. Watching a sitcom from the armchair while they sit beside each other on the couch, Avery notices that the two of them are very close.

She wonders if Natasha happens to have a dog.

Sleep doesn’t come any easier for either one of them the second night. When he finally catches sight of the red, flashing declaration on his alarm clock that it is now 2:01am, Bradley gives up.

He tries to be quiet as he’s getting up, careful not to wake Avery. They’re in much closer quarters in his place than they had been back at Maverick’s house, her door is right opposite his across the narrow hallway.

He pads down the hallway, rubbing at his eyes, tossing up whether he’s going to try to drink something warm and go back to bed, or if he’s just going to stay up. He can’t keep not sleeping.

He almost heads straight for the kitchen, freezing in his tracks as he finally takes note of the blue light coming from his living room, and the sound of women’s voices. It takes him a second, even though he’d been being so considerate on her behalf, to remember that he has a guest over.

“Ave?” He mumbles. 

The TV immediately falls silent. She winces from her spot on the couch, craning her neck to try to see him at the edge of the hallway.

“Just me. I’m sorry! Did I wake you?” She sounds worried. He’s still half asleep. 

He shakes his head as he steps out from the shadows and heads for his kitchen. “No, I just wasn’t expecting you to be up. I couldn’t sleep.”

He passes by pretty quickly, concealed behind the kitchen island in just a few steps. Still, she saw him. Illuminated only by the light of the television, wearing a tight pair of black boxer briefs and dog tags around a silver chain. Long, muscled legs and tapered hips. 

Sure, he was good looking before, and clearly fit — but she wasn’t expecting what had been under those slightly loose t-shirts.

Her mouth is dry as she mumbles out a soft, “Me either.”

“D’you want a tea?” He stands with her back to her now, reaching around in the darkness of his kitchen. She stares, unblinking, at his back.

“You drink tea?”

“Sometimes,” He cranes his neck to look at her over his shoulder. “That’s not weird.”

Her lips almost quirk, and she gives him a confirming shake of her head. “I didn’t say it was. Do you have green tea?”

He scoffs without looking. “Of course I have green tea.”

This whole lack of sleep thing isn’t new to him. It comes with the grief, but it’s there even when he feels like he isn’t grieving anymore. Since he was a kid, Bradley has had thoughts that keep him up at night, thoughts bad enough to stir him from peaceful, pleasant dreams.

He’s tried every tea in the catalog.

He carries the two mugs across the living room without once noticing the way he’s been stared at. He sets hers down on a cute little wicker coaster on his coffee table, walking past and dropping down onto the corner of the sectional.

His legs stretch out and he shifts and twists until he finds himself comfortable. “What’s this?”

She sets her gaze steadily on the television, her hands in her lap, wondering if he’s this brash with all of his house guests. With a swallow, she shrugs her shoulders. “Oh, it’s just this TV show about a columnist in New York in the nine—“

“Are you explaining Sex and the City to me?” Bradley sounds bewildered, his face stark as he stares at her across the couch. Avery’s lips tug at a smile, and she almost forget the nerves she’d been feeling.

Until, the light from the television catches on the silver of his dogtags. Her gaze drops, like a flicker, to his bare, toned chest — and she swiftly looks back to the television.

“You’ve seen it?” She asks softly.

He’s beyond good looking. He’d always been okay looking, he’d had a nice smile in all of those pictures she had seen. But now, the roundness of his cheeks is gone and he has grown into his nose, his lips are a shade of pink that would be a bestseller in cosmetics. 

Avery curses herself; she had been pretty successfully pretending not to notice that he had gotten good looking. Then, he comes strolling down that hallway and making her tea from his apparently extensive collection, having the nerve to sprawl across his own couch looking like that. 

Across from a girl who hasn’t seen any action in the better part of a year too. 

She almost scowls. 

“Every episode,” He answers gleefully. At first, she thinks of Natasha or that mysterious girlfriend with the badly behaved dog. Then, he adds, “This was my mom’s favourite TV show, ever.”

And suddenly, she feels a little guilty for acting like those muscles make him some kind of ladies’ man. Just because the rest of them have been, she guesses. 

Bradley seems like a nice guy. He slept in a bed clearly meant for a child all night last night, and he let her take the first shower this morning, he chased her across the parking lot and offered to fix all of her problems in one fell swoop. 

Maybe that’s because of some kind of debt he thinks he owes to Pete, and maybe it’s just because that’s the kind of man he is.

She glances across, watching him chuckle at a classic Samantha one-liner and take a sip of a raspberry herbal tea. Wrinkling her nose, she settles back down into the spot she had been relaxing in, and lets herself zone out again. 

They watch a couple of episodes. Unlike earlier, Bradley doesn’t feel the need to talk. He likes the quiet, mixed with their frequent chuckles. It’s an okay thing, to not have to fill that silent void. 

Avery is the first to excuse herself to go back to bed, and she hasn’t once mentioned his little Calvin Kleins or the way they make his thighs look. 

As she walks away, Bradley catches himself. He hadn’t much thought about what she might wear to bed, or what she’d been wearing when he first sat down with her. Her hips wiggle in her stride, her fitted pyjama shorts hugging her ass as she heads for the guest room. 

The material of her loose t-shirt is tucked in at the back. Those cotton shorts hug her hips and show off just the tiniest glimpse of her round ass, from where they have ridden up a little.

He looks away before she’s even out of view, but it doesn’t change what he had been thinking. She’s Pete’s kid, for gods’ sakes. Not much of a kid anymore, but still, it wouldn’t be right.

Man, Maverick would hate it, too. 

Bradley wishes, silently, that he was here to scold him. Pete would square his shoulders and get that rare and serious look on his face, warning Bradley to keep his hands to himself. And Bradley would smile and taunt him, saying, “Don’t worry, Mav, I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

With her dad gone, it just makes it worse.

These next few weeks are going to be hard, and the least he could do is think with his head to keep things simple between the two of them. He heads back to bed late enough for it to almost not be worth it. 

He wakes to the sound of chaos over the comms, that same last conversation, those snowy peaks behind his eyelids. 

Mouth dry, heart thudding, his eyes are still shut when he stumbles out into the hall and twists the bathroom door handle. It jams, and he remembers. The sounds of water coming from behind the door stops abruptly.

Peeking her head around the shower curtain, already wincing, Avery calls back out to him. “Sorry! I’ll just be a second!”

“No — sorry, take as long as you want.” He calls back, shaking his head and heading for the kitchen. Restless and anxious, he splashes cold water across his face and thinks about Pete.

He saw Mav do this insurmountable times. He remembers all of the mornings that Mav would wake up gasping, shaking, and he would head straight for the bathroom, bolting the door. He’d come back out okay again. He wonders if Mav still did it, even all these years later.

If he still heard Goose’s voice through the comms, calling him out of his dreams. 

The thought makes him shudder. The bathroom door unlocking makes him flinch, looking up sharply. 

Avery steps out of the bathroom, her hair still dry and tied back, droplets of water still beading along the skin and flowing under the plush blue towel she had taken from the linen closet. He had told her to help herself, but he’s staring at her now and she’s second guessing herself.

He stands at his kitchen sink, his hands braced against the countertop, his knuckles white. She barely even notices his little Calvin Kleins. Her brows knit together as she takes a step toward him, barely visible around the corner.

“Hey… are you okay?” Her face creases with concern, lingering in the hallway so that he can see her just enough.

He remembers to let go of the countertop.

“Yeah,” He breathes out, unconvincingly, reaching up and shaking a hand through his tangled curls. He takes a second, trying to gather his thoughts enough to keep the conversation moving. “Were you still thinking you’re gonna need a job while you’re here?”

She blinks, her scrunched up face relaxing as she takes another step closer, cocking her head at him.

“Um, yeah. I think so.”

He nods. “Get dressed. We’ll go see my friend in a bit, can see if it’s something you might be interested in. Maybe, then we’ll take your car to a mechanic this afternoon.” 

Out of the house, he feels like he can breathe again. It’s just sleeping, that’s all. When he’s really awake, he can control it all a little better, it doesn’t get to him as much.

He drives the same way he had yesterday. Three fingers around the bottom of the wheel, seventies music playing. Today, the windows are down. Avery makes a pretty good passenger — she doesn’t ask him to change his music and she doesn’t put her head in the way when he’s trying to check his mirrors.

Mainly because she isn’t once watching the road, but that’s okay. 

She looks around the city like she’s seeing it for the first time. Mav lived her for longer than she’s been alive — and the entire place seems foreign to her.

Bradley knows both of his parents’ hometowns like the back of his hand, and he still hasn’t ever lived in either one of them. 

“Did your dad ever tell you about Penny?” He asks so calmly, drumming his fingers along the wheel, Ray-Ban caravans sitting across the bridge of his nose.

The look that Avery shoots him gives him more than enough of an answer. She sets her phone down in her lap and studies him, frowning slightly.

“Who’s Penny?”

Shit. Bradley shakes his head and his voice pitches up a fraction. “Oh, she and Mav were just good friends for a long time.”

A product of one of Maverick’s ‘good friendships’ herself, Avery doesn’t need Bradley to explain to her what that means. It makes her a little less excited to get to wherever he’s taking her. 

With one quick glance across, he catches the little frown settling across her lips.

“She owns that bar on Breakers Beach. We drove past it yesterday when we saw Admiral Simpson?” Bradley prompts her, glancing across at the passenger seat. She nods along. “I texted her yesterday and she really wanted to meet you, said you can have some shifts there if you want them.”

Avery wrinkles her nose, trying not to frown across at him when he’s doing his best to just be helpful.

“What? — What’s that look?” He prompts, looking across at her with an amused smile toying at his lips. 

“She’s like a long time ago ex, right? She wasn’t dating Pete recently?” 

Bradley thinks on his answer for a moment. He isn’t surprised that she figured out there was something between Mav and Penny, he would have figured it out too.

But, he had heard of Mav’s experience with Penny Benjamin a long time before he had actually gotten to meet Penny Benjamin. Really, he’s surprised to find that Avery has never heard of her, she and Mav were really on and off for quite a while.

He guesses that Mav kept that kind of thing from her.

Which means that he would want Bradley to keep the fact that he had seen Mav and Penny leave the bar together three times in the weeks leading the mission to himself too.

“Yeah. Like a long time ago.” He confirms.

“Alright, okay — yeah, this’ll be good,” Avery sounds more like she’s giving herself a pep talk than like she’s replying to him. He shoots her a smile and a nod anyway. “Thanks, again, by the way. You’re cool for setting this all up.”

Cool. Not the kind of compliment he’s usually searching for from a pretty girl, but he’ll take it.

Reaching across the centre console, he gives her knee a quick squeeze. “Not so bad yourself, Mitchell.”

Briefly, his palm lingers there. It’s just because he’s focusing on turning into the parking lot, but it’s still his large palm hugging the curve of her knee for a minute longer than it should have.

Completely over the thick protection of her jeans, but she stares at the touch anyways. Then, she dares to look back up at him. Totally relaxed as he pulls into a spot up front like it’s his own personal one. 

One more squeeze, and he takes his hand back and swings open the door. The parking lot is surprisingly busy for the middle of the week at noon.

 Avery follows him out of the vehicle, gingerly matching his pace as he heads inside. It’s once he’s spotted that she falters. 

“Rooster!” Someone even taller than he is comes marching up right away and throws his arms around Bradley. Bradley hugs him loosely, greeting him with an aloof but firm pat of the back.

“Payback.” He greets quietly.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you. How are you holding up?” His warm eyes bore into Bradley, his head bowed slightly and his voice sincere. He hasn’t spotted her yet.

“I’m alright,” Bradley sounds convincing enough, but this Payback guy hadn’t seen how rattled Bradley had looked this morning. “This is Avery.” 

Finally, Payback’s gaze flickers to the girl standing behind Rooster. Halfway tucked behind his shoulder, staring at him through her lashes, looking totally lost and sheepish.

“Mav’s kid?”

In the short time Bradley has known her, he knows that’s not the kind of response she would have wanted to get.

Swinging his arm out and throwing the heavy limb around her shoulders, Payback watches Rooster drag the stunned girl out from behind him and present her at his side. “It’d pay you to learn your new bartender’s name, Fitch.”

He’s looking Avery right in the eye, and he already can see that Bradley’s going to have to be reminded that not everyone likes the heavy handed approach to affection he can have.

Still, he smiles at her like he means it and nods his head respectfully.

“Already got it, it’ll be good to have you around, Avery.” 

A small smile works its way across her lips, grateful if not anything else.

“Nice to meet you.” She answers him quietly, stiff against Bradley’s side. He pats her back and urges her forwards.

“Here, this is Penny. Penny, meet your new bartender.”

Penny Benjamin is tall and striking, standing behind the bar with her eyes already on the new bartender. There’s a recognition and affection in the blue of her gaze that tells Avery she was lied to just a moment ago.

That’s a woman who cared deeply for Pete Mitchell.

It puts a bad taste in her mouth, a pit in her stomach, a sudden coldness about the possibility of this job. Even if just for a short time, for however long she’s here, she’s just going to be an extension of the man she had always felt so far from.

Penny cocks her head to the side, just a bit. Sure, she can see semblances of Pete in the girl across from her, but it’s the rigid, flighty look in her eyes that catches Penny’s attention. 

Across from her is someone with something to prove, and a character they’ve been playing for a long time now. That’s what feels most familiar.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Avery says stiffly, trying to sound like she means it. 

Penny nods, smiling. She glances towards Bradley, then back to the girl still tucked under his arm.

“You too. Let’s talk.” 

As Jimmy takes over the bar duties, Bradley’s left with the prospect of facing his friends when Penny and Avery disappear toward the back deck.

He scratches at the back of his neck, shooting one last look at the two of them over his shoulder, and wondering what he’s supposed to say to all of those guys. 

One by one, he could manage… but all in a group like that? — He hasn’t seen most of them since it happened. 

It’s Natasha that he can trust to catch his eye first, giving him that kind of look cautious parents give their kids when coaching them on a bike. She worries a lot for someone who swears that she doesn’t care about the meatheads she hangs out with.

He heads for her as coolly as he can manage, hoping that the other guys know not to give him a hard time today. They don’t, they never would. 

His therapist says it’s a defensive thing, the way he waits for people to say the wrong thing. When he’s hurt, he expects it, almost. He’s trying to get out of it. 

They can all give him credit for that.

Even so, it doesn’t take long for conversation to fade from small talk to the newest, most exciting subject.

“So, she’s staying at your place?” Natasha’s the first one to bring up the missing party, picking up on a comment about the two of them arriving together.

Bradley shakes his head and fiddles with his root beer bottle. “No, she’ll be over at Mav’s place once we get her car fixed up. It’s a real piece of shit, I don’t even know what they’d do to make it run any better.”

“Mav loves cars — and he lets her drive a shitbox like that?” It’s Javy who scoffs that out, the only one still talking about the Captain who had taken a shine to him in present tense.��

Bradley just shrugs. This isn’t the place to unpack whatever went down between Mav and Avery. He doesn’t know enough, even if he wanted to talk about it.

“She came all the way down here by herself?” Callie asks. She doesn’t say it, but she’s referring to the fact that her mother came all the way out to Lemoore to try to move her into the barracks like it was college when she was that age. 

Bradley shrugs again. He hasn’t heard much about Avery’s mom in the past twenty years, he isn’t even sure that he ever met her — certainly wouldn’t be able to pick her out of a crowd. All he knows is the gossip he’d gotten from his mom when it was all going down. 

“How’s she doing?” Bob asks, his blue eyes deep and sincere as he searches Bradley’s face, knowing better than to ask the same question. 

“Okay, I think.” Bradley muses, thinking of how quickly Avery had questioned the recovery efforts yesterday. “I dunno how close they were, but it’s always gotta be hard. Just… trying to make it a little easier on her, I guess.” 

They all nod, slowly.

And then Avery comes marching back inside, her chin high and her hair a little wind-swept, making a beeline right for the closest thing she’s got to a friend in this town.

“Hey.” Bradley offers her a smile, and reaches out for her. His hand grazes the back of her bicep, and she smiles more genuinely than she has in the past two days.

“Hi.”

He catches sight of himself being watched, and takes a look back over Avery’s shoulder to find Penny looking. Her blue eyes flicker down to his hand on Avery’s arm. 

Pursing her lips, she rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and Bradley’s mouth almost falls open. There’s no way she thinks that he’s hitting on Avery. He’s just being friendly.

Penny knows Bradley well enough to know that. He’s always been a very affectionate guy. Still, the look that she gives him is one that certainly, and silently, tells him to keep his hands to himself. 

He blinks, and finds his friends looking back at him expectantly. 

“So, you’re taking the job?” He checks, shaking off Penny’s watchful eyes and settling back into what he knows. Avery nods her head at him.

“Starting tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. That’s way soon. He’s going to have to make sure he doesn’t keep her up until four in the morning watching the misadventures of Carrie Bradshaw tonight. 

“Well, guys, say hi to your new bartender.” 

He brings the bottle of rootbeer back up to his lips and shoots a quick glance back over Avery’s shoulder. Penny stares back, unfazed, as he narrows his eyes back at her.

What does she know about anything, anyways?

…

[thewallshaveeyes]

I took a stab at drawing the goat's narinder (pupinder? Naripup?) And came up with this. Him being a samoyed just feels right to me. But tbh? I have NO CLUE what to do with the bishops (random ramblings below the cut)

So like. Pup narinder, I imagine him as being the bishop of life and light, and being just super sweet. And the thing is, I imagine he says pretty much the same stuff Narinder does, but the way he words it gives it an ENTIRELY different meaning.

"I still have need of you" -> implies that the lamb is a tool for Narinder to use. He can't throw them away just yet, because there is still some use left in them. Defines them by their usefulness

"I still require your services" -> puts more value on the goat's abilities to act if that makes sense. Acknowledges that the goat is a being that is capable of making decisions on its own and puts trust in the idea that it'll use its abilities to help him. Defines it by its autonomy.

i also imagine him talking about sacrifice in a much different way. Instead of seeing sacrifice as cashing in souls like currency, I feel like he'd see it as a mercy. "Why allow your followers to slowly work themselves to death, living in pain and fatigue until they give out, when you can offer them a smooth transition into the afterlife?"

Also because of this personality swap, the idea of him betraying his siblings out of pride doesn't make as much sense. What do I propose, then? Easy! As the bishop of light and life, he couldn't stand to see followers suffering for any slight against his siblings, so he took those in who needed respite. He offered an oasis to those unfaithful to his siblings, and when that happened, his siblings got PISSED because they saw that as him stealing their followers. So, they tried to confront him and take back their followers, only for narinder to defend his followers by maiming his siblings. This caused the others to chain him up in the gateway and either sacrifice or convert the rest of his followers.

Now, with all of this, I have several ideas for the bishops but can't really use them all.

Idea 1: Domain swap. Everything stays pretty much the same except for their domains (and consequently their colors). Heket would be plague, Leshy would be war, Shamura famine, and Kallamar chaos. (Honestly zero clue what to do with the colors OR crowns for that matter. Keep the same crowns? Crowns change colors, too??? -\('–')/-)

Idea 2: Species swap. They turn into slant-variants of each of their species (which changes their colors, too). Heket could be a frog, maybe Leshy is an isopod or something, Kallamar would be an octopus (duh), and Shamura could maybe be a bat?? Centipede?? (Thinkin of something that lives in a cave maybe. Scorpion?)

Idea 3: Domain inversion. This could work in tandem with the previous one but anyways. Idea being that their domains invert (just like Narinder's) which causes personality changes. Leshy could be the bishop of order, causing him to be a MASSIVE control freak who panics when the goat comes back (making him more cowardly like Kallamar). Heket could be the bishop of gluttony, causing her to give the goat more of the benefit of the doubt (making her more understanding like Shamura). Kallamar could be the bishop of vitality, seeing the goat as nothing more than an insignificant worm and underestimating its power (making him more assured like Leshy). Shamura could be the bishop of stagnation/sloth, dissuaded and distraught by the goat's challenge to the old faith (making them more vengeful like Heket).

Of the ideas, I'm most attached to the third. Plus with the personality swaps, their injuries could also swap. Heket could be think no evil since she was the most open-minded, Shamura could be see no evil because they were ignorant to the world around them, Leshy could be hear no evil since he refused to give anyone else a voice, and Kallamar could be speak no evil since he was a loudmouth.

What are we thinking, chat? Thoughts? Comments? Ideas?

Aside/edit: with idea #3 (which I'm more and more attached to as I write this), that could be interesting bcs it would recontextualize each bishops' patterns in their boss fights.

Take Kallamar for example. For the lamb, he is terrified of fighting them, which is seen when he pretty much just button mashes doing everything he can to keep that fuckin thang away from him. You can tell that he's panicking during the boss fight from how erratic his movement is. But in the goat's universe, Kallamar's fighting style could be indicative of his disregard for the goat's existence, moreso swatting him away like a pesky mosquito. Inversely, Leshy's fight with the lamb not only shows that he has no clue what the fuck he's doing, but that he doesn't think the lamb does, either. He doesn't even try to hit the lamb physically until well into the battle. For the goat, however, this could be out of fear. Leshy is terrified of the goat, trying as hard as possible to avoid it until he desperately resorts to smacking it around just to kill it. I know that none of this has any bearing on what we see of the goat in the lamb's cult, but it could help explain some of the confusion the goat experiences when it interacts with the lamb's bishops for the first time.

[findmeinthefallair]

The contrast is so poignant when it comes to Belos isolating Hunter for years and instilling the fear of wild magic, versus Hunter's future in carving palismen to connect with nature and with others.

We have his signature gloves as part of all his outfits before he went to the human realm, representative of that isolation and fear: Belos wanting to keep 'Caleb' to himself, wanting to prevent Hunter from forging connections and thus finding freedom. The gloves come off once Hunter has room to create and experiment and explore.

During the many many months in between him beginning to learn the palismen-carving craft and us seeing him mastering it in the epilogue, there would've been many setbacks. Many cuts and splinters via mistakes (thus, more wounds and scars...small, but numerous) and bandages on his hands, like what happened with the sewing needle. Thus, many times when he was reminded of what happened with his best friend. I can imagine that on the more difficult days of learning under Dell, remorse and horrible memories eating into him, he'd be more at risk of leaving more cuts because it would be harder to focus. There would've been days where he got close to giving up.

In his arc, this changed everything:

He was found by a free-spirited, strong-willed palisman.

This was when things began to be truly dangerous:

but by then he gathered enough courage to finally question Belos directly.

What a high price to pay. Recovery from trauma is certainly that way in real life too. But it led him on that path towards transformation, towards what he truly wanted.

In his old life, he'd point a staff at others to intimidate, to instill fear, and be Belos's instrument in furthering a cause that Hunter didn't truly support.

In the future, he generously gives palismen to others from the heart, via new creations made with his own hands, to bring more love, connection and wonder into the world. Letting others live out their truth via the bonds forged with their new palismen, the same kind of truth he himself had to fight so hard for.

If we rewind back to what the Bat Queen said in Hunting Palismen:

contrast that with this point in Hunter's arc:

Still blocked and numbed out from fully experiencing the worst thing he had ever been through: being possessed and in that process, slaying Flapjack.

Willow and Gus had just began to reach that vulnerability within him, moving him with their love and support (which is why the anger he had for around 2/3 of For the Future began to subside).

But it wasn't enough.

In the finale, he gets some temporary respite and relief:

But I believe the real gruelling work was to begin beyond this exact point:

More vulnerability ahead, to pave the way for healing.

Putting the scene of him looking at the old Flyer Derby photo (in For the Future) next to the scene where the Bat Queen sums up what palismen are all about...it indicates to me how steep the climb would be to connect with the full range of his emotions and memories, which parallels his development under Dell's mentorship. To bring some beauty out of that horror he has endured. To bring about the conviction that yes, he deserved Flapjack's gift, from Flapjack's sacrifice.

It would've been years before he would confidently and effortlessly rest in the truth of who he really is, and who he would like to be (remember his "Even if I'm not who I'm supposed to be, I like who I am right now" in front of the mirror, right before getting possessed?).

Liberating himself from enmeshment with his violent abuser and that old life, a process he'd have to repeat again and again even beyond Belos's death. Changing that narrative of "supposed to":

into freely choosing the person he would like to become after Flapjack granted him love and literal life. We receive the one clue that he wanted to freely choose, as early as this scene:

When it comes to palismen, we have "emotion" and "conviction" and also the deepest wishes that witches have in their hearts.

For emotion to flow freely, there must be vulnerability, generosity and love: Hunter integrating even the most difficult emotions into his story.

For him to grow into acceptance of his future major role, it would have involved wrestling with many questions to reach that place of conviction.

[friendsoup]

HALLO!! I THE ONE WHO REQ THE MEDI AND DIKKE FIC AND OMG THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR WONDERFUL WRITING!!! I ABSOLUTELY LOVE HOW YOUR WROTE THEM ALL. I legit have lot of fun reading it and laughing at poor digger but got bully by two serious person. I really adore how you write their interactions that just seem in character of them and then the end had me screaming in giddyness.

If is okay could i req again for medi and dikke with a reader that often sleep randomly at the most uncoventional of place, which is how vertin found out your relationship with them. Feel free to decline if you cant but still thank you so much again for writing my req i really love it and i hope you have a nice day!! 😭💖💖

Also i so sorry for ranting

A Quiet Moment

Recipe: Established romantic relationships, GN! Reader, Reader x Medicine Pocket, Reader x Dikke, Dumbass and idiot used as petnames, You and Medi try to out fluster each other, Dikke is a super simp for you, Vertin is supportive WC: 2,001

Chef's Note: WAAAHHH I'm glad you enjoyed the last one!!! I had a lot of fun writing it!!! I'm super happy to write for you again, anon! Don't be afraid to be a repeat customer! If you want, you can assign yourself an emoji even :0! Anyways, I had fun writing this! I have a bunch of requests I gotta bang out though....hehe

Medicine Pocket wasn’t the type for “love”. Or any other foolish emotions. They’ve always found romance to be such a stupid waste of time, taking away from more important things, like their research. More than once a scientist on their team would do something absent mindedly while thinking of their wife at home. Then they’d mess up, ruining Medi’s most important results. Those times were met with no sympathy, Medi ruthlessly tearing into her team members for their foolishness.

…However, you were kinda cute. And interesting. That’s what Medi liked about you most. You were strange, not like the other people they’ve met. They liked everything about you that was different. Your laugh, your personality, your interests. They found it fascinating the way you thought, the way you acted. Medi wanted to study you, and if that wasn’t love? They didn’t know what was. However, the two of you had been keeping things on the low. Medi didn’t want their reputation as a mad scientist to be tarnished, nor did they want to show any weakness in front of their fellow arcanists. Not to mention that you had a reputation of your own to uphold, and a lack of close friends on your team to blab to. The two of you kept quiet about your little arrangement, but that was fine. Neither of you felt the need to brag, and given how fast gossip spread around the suitcase, the two of you were happy to stay far from it. But oh, the foolishness of a person in love never fails.

Naps had always been one of your favorite ways to pass the time, and with how much training you were getting, a heavy layer of exhaustion hung over you like a blanket. No matter how hard you tried to fight it, you were always a few seconds from falling asleep. Lost within your own dreamy haze.

Today just happened to be especially tiring. You were helping out with some chores around the suitcase, preparing for the next mission, when you felt the strong siren call of another nap wash through you. You dragged yourself through the halls, your body too tired to stay upright for long. You needed a place to sleep, and quickly. You found your respite in the dining room, underneath the table. It was nowhere near meal time, so you were certain you’d be undisturbed for a while. Dropping to a crawl, you made your way underneath and placed your head on the wooden floor. It wasn’t comfortable, far from it, but it was enough for you to begin to drift off. Medi hadn’t been looking for you. At least, they didn’t think they were. They’d been wandering all day, avoiding chores like the plague and ignoring the urge to continue their studies. They’d been suffering through a major creative block with their experiments, which frustrated them to no end. They were a genius! Why couldn’t they get it together?

Medi found you underneath the table. At first they laughed at the sight, then a fond smile came to their face. And then, realization. “[Y/N]!” They called, kneeling down to your side. “You’re going to hurt your back if you sleep on the hard floor!” They warned, shaking you awake. 

Groggily, you turned to them, annoyed that your nap had been cut short. “Nuh-uh.” “The fuck do you mean ‘Nuh-uh’?!” They exclaimed, “Dumbass! You’re going to hurt yourself! What are you thinking?!” “Tired.” You answer. “So, so tired.” Medi bites their fingertip through the glove, narrowing their eyes at you. “I’ll have to take a blood test to make sure you’re healthy. Even for an idiot like you, this isn’t healthy.”

“You’re worried.” You state, a warm smile growing on your sleepy face. “Nuh-uh!” Medicine Pocket shoots back, turning their face away from you. You can see a blush on their cheeks.

“You know…” You begin, reaching for their hand, “I might sleep better if I have something to rest my head on.” Medicine Pocket’s face grows redder, a pout twisting their expression. “What are you getting at, dumbass? Spit it out!”

“Can I rest my head on your lap?” You ask, bluntly. 

Medi covers their face with their hand, still not daring to look at you. A smug smile grows on your lips, enjoying how much you’ve flustered your partner. You don’t expect them to agree, PDA isn’t something the both of you necessarily enjoy. It’s more a game of chicken, seeing who bends first. Medicine Pocket swallows, then nods. “Of course you can.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Oh, I wasn’t serious!” You argue, the thought of PDA making your face heat up. “Too late to back out now!” They giggle, scooching next to you. They take a seat right next to your head, patting their lap. “Come on, sweetheart, take a nap with me.”

The pet name, despite how mockingly it’s used, sends an arrow straight through your heart. Though you’re hesitant, the offer is appealing. Cuddling with Medi isn’t something you often get to do, and here they are, presenting you with the opportunity. And so you lift your head, and place it on their lap. They squeak instantly, the flush returning to their face all at once. “Hey! What if someone sees us?” “They won’t.” You mutter, already losing the battle to sleep. You yawn. Medicine Pocket is so warm, and feels so soft beneath your head. You could stay like this forever, you think. “Nobody will.”

“Are you sure?” Medicine Pocket asks, yet they get no answer. You’ve already fallen asleep, lost in your own dreams. Medicine Pocket sighs, putting a hand on your head and stroking your hair softly. You remind them of one of their dogs like this. All gentle and cute. They find themselves smiling uncontrollably, lost in the bliss of being close to you. About a half hour later, Vertin enters the dining room. “Medicine Pocket? [Y/N]?” She calls, glancing around the room. “Where did the two of you go?” She asks herself, a scowl deepening on her face. The two of you were skipping your responsibilities, and as leader, she had to get you both on track. Medi froze, eyes wide with fear. They couldn’t be caught in a situation like this! Especially by the Timekeeper! But they also couldn’t escape! Your sleeping face was just too cute, they didn’t want to disturb it!

And then you snored. It was a slight, quick breath, but Vertin is a very perceptive girl, and she heard it right away.

“[Y/N]?” Vertin asked, “Are you napping again? You’ve ought to get your tiredness checked out by a-” She leaned over to peer under the table, locking eyes with Medicine pocket. “Oh!” Vertin exclaimed, before her eyes fell upon you, slumbering away. “Oooh.” “It’s not what it looks like!” Medi objected, keeping their voice to a hush. “It’s just- I’m just! It’s an experiment! They’re a test subject to me!” A light danced in Vertin's eyes as she saw you two, though her face bore no changed expression. “It’s alright. Your secret is safe with me.” She gave a curt nod, and stood. “Vertin- Wait!” Medicine called behind her, panic in their voice. “You’ve got it all wrong! No!” “You have nothing to worry about.” Vertin reassured them. “I wish you two love and prosperity.”

“Vertin?!”

Though Vertin did not breathe a word to a single soul, the suitcase was alight a week later with rumors of the new couple among their numbers. And though your days of being a quiet couple were over, at least Medi didn’t feel so embarrassed to be seen sleeping next to you anymore.

Her Peace

Dikke had never been a fan of romance in plays.

The way bards would speak on and on about the sweetness of love, of the bliss of another’s touch, of the pangs in one’s heart, it didn’t seem possible to her. How could love be so powerful? She’d felt romance before, towards some fellow knights, though her feelings never clouded her judgment. She always managed to keep a clear mind, and was able to keep her thoughts rational. The stuff the bards spoke of was hyperbole. …You muddied that belief. Dikke was unbelievably weak for you. It scared her, in all honesty. She’d never been so vulnerable around someone before. Your smile made her sway, your laugh made her weak in the knees. She found herself thinking of you late into the night, unable to close her eyes without seeing your face. The walls she’d spent so many years building, crashed around her. Destroyed by a single person. Nobody knew of this relationship of yours. It wasn’t as though it was secret, it just wasn’t something you discussed with other people. Dikke didn’t often speak on matters of the heart, and you never found a good excuse to bring it up. And thus, the suitcase was unaware of the budding relationship in their midsts. Dikke had been training for hours. It was what she did to clear her mind, to calm her anxieties. There was something comforting about doing repeated exercises. It kept both her and her blade sharp. However, it was also extraordinarily tiring. The hard labor strained her muscles, making each movement painful. Though she was careful to never overexert herself, she still remained sore after each intensive workout. This time was no different.

Dikke dragged herself through the forest, focusing on her deep breaths. Birds sang in the trees around her, the same songs they’d sung in her homeland. Bees buzzed by her, brushing gently against her as she walked, clumsily making their way through. The same way they did a hundred years ago. And before then as well. Dikke lost herself in thought as she walked, allowing the nostalgia to ease her weary bones. And then she saw you. Like something out of a fairytale. You were sprawled beneath a grand oak tree, your chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. Dikke was stunned by your beauty, completely beside herself at the sight of you. Was it OK for her to see you like this? So vulnerable and pretty? Her heartbeat quickened, it was so loud she was worried it would wake you. You looked so peaceful, it made her dizzy. The fact that you could sleep so soundly here, without a care in the world… She wanted that tranquility. That trust in the world. Dikke sat next to you in the plush grass, keeping her guard up. She couldn’t just leave you here! What if something happened? She’d never forgive herself! As quietly as she could, she removed her cape, draping it over you in a single movement. Dikke loved the view of you in her cape. Seeing it made it hard for her to think, her brain only filled with thoughts of you. Surely it was alright to indulge. Just this once? You wouldn’t mind the company, would you? Holding her breath, Dikke laid beside you, leaving a few inches of space between the two of you. She didn’t want to intrude, but she wanted some of that peace. Some of that tranquility you held.

It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep. The mix of the workout and your presence was too much on her weary mind. By the time Vertin found the two of you, you were entangled in each other’s arms. Your head on Dikke’s chest, and her face pressed into your hair. The sight surprised the timekeeper, though she knew better than to react. She didn’t want to risk waking you up.

Later, Vertin would seek you out. “I see you’ve found your knight in shining armor.” She tells you. Though it doesn’t reach her face, you can hear the smirk in her voice. “What do you mean by that?” You ask, confused. “I wish you and Dikke well. That’s all you need to know.” She responds. You grow too flustered to continue the conversation any further.