#i really feel like it's just this useless thing anchoring down my hand

[threadmonster]

Look, once I get my hand to relax and have more time again i'm gonna be unstoppable cuz guess who rediscovered their personal creative pipeline. Take that burnout.

[ddejavvu]

for a Tyler request what about him and reader getting into a really bad argument and storming off and when he cools down he can’t find her and is panicking

Alive and Crazy - Tyler Owens x Reader

come participate in tyler owens night !

Perhaps it was cruel of you to pick such a secluded hiding spot, but after all, isn't that what hiding's all about? Perhaps then the cruel part was hiding at all. But you can't shake Tyler's vicious words, "Y'know, if you don't stop trying to hold me back, maybe I should just cut myself loose."

All this over a tornado? His lifestyle is... intense. You are of the opinion that Tyler's hobby is ridiculously dangerous, and while you're slightly comforted by the safety precautions he takes (especially the drills that anchor his truck into the ground), you're less than impressed with the way he shows off and makes those precautions almost useless. Really, does he need to lean out of the window to see how long he can handle it? You'd only been trying to find some middle ground, but Tyler apparently seems to think you're trying to chain him up in the basement to prevent him from ever having any fun.

There's a secluded cabinet in the back of your laundry room that's perfect for hiding - just big enough to fit in and with an outlet for easy phone charging. You're just about to hit your two hour mark huddled in the cabinet when you hear thundering footsteps nearing your location.

"Baby? Hey, baby, y'gotta tell me where you are. Come on, baby, just wanna know you're safe. You in here?"

That's the last thing you hear before daylight spills into your dark cabinet, and your phone's screen becomes instantly duller in comparison. You glare up unimpressed at Tyler but his face crumples in relief so fast that you can barely hold the expression.

"Shit darlin'." He heaves a sigh, and any sympathy you'd felt for him instantly disappears when he has the gall to scold you next, "Do you know how damn long I've been looking for you?"

"Oh I'm sorry," You bite up at him, rage reigniting in your eyes, "Does my need for space inconvenience you?"

"No!" He nearly shrieks, but he reins himself in, "No, no, that's not- I shouldn't have said it like that. I was just worried."

"Well I'm not sure why," You turn back to your phone, but there's no concentration present as you mindlessly scroll, "I'd have expected you to be out enjoying your freedom seeing as you're cutting yourself loose."

"I'm not cutting myself loose." He vows, and it's soft instead of his typical drawl. He crouches, then makes the terrible, horrible decision to attempt to fit into the crawlspace with you.

"No- no, Tyler, you can't fit!" You squeal as he shoulders his way in, pressed flush to his body as he settles in a space half his size.

"It's fine." He grunts, but it's labored and very much not fine, "I just wanna be near you."

"I don't wanna be near you." You sneer, but you make no move to get up, "The whole reason I'm squeezed into this cabinet is because I was trying to hide from you."

"Did a damn good job, too." He admits, head slumped against the wall instead of your shoulder, "I was runnin' around for almost half an hour."

"Serves you right." You grumble, "Don't say mean shit if you want people to like you."

"I know." He reaches out and sets a hand on your knee, chaste and reassuring, "I'm sorry, darlin'. I just- lost control, or something. I don't know. I've been doin' this my whole life, and when you try to tell me how to do it, it makes me feel like you don't think I can handle it myself."

"Tyler, no one can. Some of the things that you're doing-" You stop yourself short, "I'm not saying you can't have fun. I'm not saying you can't chase- er, wrangle tornadoes. I'm just saying you don't have to keep trying to outdo yourself. There has to be a limit, otherwise you'll get killed."

He's silent after your speech, perhaps mulling it over, perhaps drafting his counterargument. In the end, he tips his head from the wall to your shoulder, and murmurs close to your ear.

"Yeah. You're right. I think... I think I just don't know when to stop sometimes."

"I agree with that," You try to keep too much accusation from seeping into your tone, "But that's why I said something. I don't want you to stop, I just don't want it to stop you."

"Yeah. Alright. I understand." And he sounds like he does. He laces his fingers with yours like he does, and he cranes his neck to peck his lips against your cheek like he does.

"You're not holding me back," He promises, "What I said earlier... that was dumb. This is a partnership, not some sort of prison sentence. I love you, darlin'."

"I love you too," You sigh, leaning sideways into his embrace, "You promise no more hanging out of windows?"

"I promise I won't anymore. Can't promise nothin' for Boone."

"Boone's crazy," You laugh, "You're all crazy. I just want you alive and crazy."

"Deal." Tyler grins, holding out a pinky and letting you lock it with yours, "Alive and crazy, darlin'."

[fabricated-misslieness]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: tyler owens x male reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: years ago, you broke up with him for his reckless lifestyle. now, when he's come back without changing a bit, you don't know why you let him back into your life.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.65k

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: angst, death is mentioned and tyler gets close to it not explicitly, kissing, swearing, baby as a nickname for your lover, lot of made up family members + names

ᴍᴀʏʙ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: cowboy slang vocabulary, yes it's 11pm, yes I wrote this in a day, yes I'm in bed, yes Glen Powells is hot

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Tyler Owens likes to live what others might call a dangerous life, although he much preferred to call it a life of thrill.

He started it off as a bull rider for a rodeo, and though by the end of it he was regarded as the star bull rider and sometimes even the star of the show, there was a big learning curve that ended him with a couple (something closer to four dozen, really) kicks on the ol' noggin. Luckily, none of it sprouted within him either physical or mental problems by the time he decided he wanted to move on; his mother always said he had a thick skull, anyway.

After the less dangerous, still excruciating years in university, he came out with a meteorologist degree. And what did he do with it? He became a storm chaser.

A peculiar fact that came with it was that even after landing a more dangerous job, he sustained less injuries than bull riding by a substantial amount. Suppose the thing is that the moment he gets his first serious one, he's likely done for.

You've been through it all.

You met him before he even started this life, in high school; your first kiss was at his bedside after a particularly harsh fall and kick, you persisted through the busier university schedule, and you supported his dreams to be a storm chaser.

But at the height of it all, after the first scare when the anchor mechanism on that old truck of his failed to stop the car from turning onto its side, you decided you two were over.

It was definitely selfish. You didn't want to be close to him when, and you said when, he died. You decided it would be a lot less grief on your end, and you know what? He understood you.

For years, you've been grateful for him. As much as you've been his anchor, he's been yours...but he'd have made you a widower, even if you were married or not, and you just couldn't take that possibility.

If you're caught in the disastrous thunderstorm he'll leave behind, you're not sure you'll ever make it out.

You hope you'll never find out.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

"Get your ten commandments out of my soup!"

So why did you let him walk back into your life?

"I'm sorry! Hey, don't hit me with that ladle!"

You're not sure.

You point the utensil at him as threateningly as possible, although it's practically the same thing as pointing a spoon at him. "I don't need you for a taste-tester, Owens, you best take note of that."

"Yeah, yeah," Tyler's body is shaking with laughs, even as he lifts his hands up in surrender. "yes, sir."

You roll your eyes, bedrugingly turning your back to him to keep chopping vegetables. Tonight, you'll be sharing this soup with the whole family, and you're currently trying your damnedest to make it good. That means avoiding whatever seasoning boiled Tornado Wrangler digits will bring.

Tyler leans back to admire you, no he's not looking at your ass, work away. It feels oddly domestic, even if he's sitting down like a useless husband watching TV on his recliner.

That feeling of domesticity is piled on further when he hears the sound of innocent laughing outside.

"You sure that kid's not mine?" Tyler suggests for the second time, gesturing out the back door with his head.

"Haha." You laugh sarcastically, not even giving him the satisfaction of turning his way. "No, my sister just so happened to marry a blonde. Even if she was somehow ours, I would've never kept you from her."

Of course you wouldn't have. You're too good for that.

The kid outside is your niece, a twelve year old girl shipped out of bustling New York City to the backdoor of America for being "too addicted to her phone", as your sister says. Despite her self-proclaimed hatred for the outdoors, she's actually having a lot of fun with the ranch dogs, who indulge her when they're not working.

Even though he's in no way related to the kid, and even if you and him could never biologically create anything together, he swears she looks just like if the two of you had a love child, which makes his heart swell all the more when she sees her.

"If we could've had one," Tyler begins, standing up to begin a slow, silent walk towards you. "would you have rather they be a boy or a girl?"

"Don't ask me that." You say with a laugh, meaning you're refusing to answer only because you don't want to have prejudice.

"Okay, fine, then." He settles behind you, pressing his chest to your back. "Huh."

"Huh, what, cowpoke?"

His hands are settled on the edge of the counter on either side of you, trapping you in. "I thought you'd flinch."

"I learned to expected the unexpected around you, Tyler Owens. Never a day went by that you didn't surprise me, so I decided I'd simply never be surprised."

Tyler sputters out a laugh. "Oh, hobble your lip!"

"It's true." You reply, offhandedly, fully concentrated on chopping some carrots, and Tyler hates that because you're not giving him attention.

So he opts to do something you'll obviously never expect and prove you wrong. He leans down to press his nose against your neck, and you think he's only going to kiss it, but instead...

Thbptttttt!

"Ew, Tyler, you did not!" It's a miracle you have the self-restraint to put the knife down, let alone only push him away and not slap him on the face. You clutch the spot where he just blew a raspberry and instantly regret it, recoiling away from the feel of his saliva like it's acid.

Tyler laughs. Despite your best efforts to push him away again as he approaches, he only dodges your hands and traps you against the counter again. His plan is accomplished, as he now has you facing him.

"You asshole." You snarl.

Tyler only smiles. "Yours, all the same."

He leans down to kiss right where he'd blown that raspberry, collecting most of his own spit on his lips and saving you the trouble of cleaning it himself.

Even when you wipe off the rest of the spit you'd previously touched on his sleeve, he laughs.

"What am I going to do with you?" You sigh, cupping his cheek and tilting his gaze towards yours.

He's a damn bastard, having the audacity to grin at you as if he's won some kind of victory. "Kiss me."

So he's a puppy, then. Licking you like it's a way of kissing and expecting a proper kiss back. "No, you don't deserve that."

He rolls his eyes, though his eyes find yours immediately after. "Yes I do. Kiss me."

You don't know why you let Tyler Owens walk back into your life like nothing happened. You don't know how you let him kiss your neck, or how you let him even ask to kiss you, or how you're even being friendly with him.

Scratch that, actually. You don't know why he kissed your neck, why he wants to kiss you, or why he's being friendly with you.

You walked out of his life, for God's sake. You walked out of his life because you feared dealing with the aftermath of his death.

He's a tornado. Tyler Owens, the tornado wrangling cowboy, is a tornado. He's a fire twister, even, the worst of the worst, a category F5. The damage he'll leave once he dies out won't be devastating, it'll be incredible.

That's what you're trying to avoid.

"What's wrong?" Tyler's smile has faded, his expression sobered up. Of course he can still tell when you're lost in your own thoughts.

"Nothing." You shake your head, wipe your nose to hide your sniffle and thus let go of his face. "Hey, how about you go check up on Sophie? My sister would kill me if she got hurt."

"Right, sure." He can sense something's wrong, but he withdraws anyway, respecting your decisions. He always does that, and you hate him for it, because he's so good.

You watch him head out the back door, and even as he closes it, you watch on.

He's too good for you.

When the distant sound of the boiling soup catches your ear, you inevitably tear your eyes away.

Right, let's make the best soup there ever was.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Tyler had unknowingly picked the right time to show up at your front door when he did.

"Aww, come on, you didn't have to make such a big fuss," Your great uncle speaks with those sloppy dentures of his, but even with the wet sound of his gums and lips, he sounds entirely endearing. "Tyler's back! This party should've been his."

Tyler's always been the life of the party ever since you brought him home for that first Thanksgiving (his "trial", so to speak), and that apparently hasn't changed.

"Oh, no, no, you're kiddin' grandpa!" Tyler only raises his glass from where he's leaning against the punch table. "It's your birthday! Hell, I didn't even bring a gift!"

"Your fine ass is all you needed to bring." Your famously single aunt grins and sends a wink, holding a glass full of wine she snuck in despite all the children around.

Tyler directs his own glass towards her to thank her, his smile never waning. "Oh shush, aunt Delilah."

As Tyler greets the family one by one, all of which clearly miss him, you're in the corner of the room pointing out each of them to your niece.

"Those are your cousins...I think. They're your mom's cousin's kids, and well...whatever, they're Jonas' kids. Becky, Jake, Bean–"

"Bean?"

"Sorry, his name's Nick, we just call him Bean 'cause one time as a toddler we found him sitting on a sack of raw beans, shovelling them into his mouth."

"That's crazy."

Even after you've named every face in the room and sent Sophie away with a pat on the head to mingle with her...cousins, Tyler's still talking to everyone.

Your heart burns like you've had some of uncle Dick's famous dripping fried chicken at the sight of it because nobody's ever like this when it's just you.

It's not even about the fact you're forgotten, it's a big family and you have your own close group of cousins in the middle of all of them, it's the fact that they missed him.

While you're distracted, your mom pulls you down to sit beside her on the couch, where your dad is telling another story of his. Many of your aunts and uncles and distant cousins are gathered around him, listening intently, but as you actually hear the contents of his speech, your attention fades away. It's one of those stories he always tells, about how the crop cycle was ruined until he had this eureka idea.

Distantly, you hear Tyler droning on about his whole tornado wrangling cowboy thing, explaining his latest feat like it's nothing but a regular Tuesday. He's got a lot more people gathered around him than your dad; not to discredit your dad, as he's doing his best trying to compete against Tyler in storytelling, but you know how that will end.

You kiss your mother on the cheek and stand up to find your more amicable cousins, only to be interrupted by your aunt Sissy, Delilah's sister.

"Hey, darling! How've you been?" She calls you over and immediately slings an arm around your neck, holding you close and rubbing your cheeks together in greeting.

"Good, good." You say immediately, an instinctual white lie as you wipe her transferred makeup off your cheek.

She doesn't even notice you're lying to her, maybe doesn't care enough to notice, before she's nodding her head towards Tyler and his crowd. "I'm so happy you're back together with Tyler, he must have so many new stories to tell."

"Um, actually, auntie," You try to correct her, then bite your lip, pausing suddenly to think. It'd probably be a lot better if you let her believe you were back together, but you've already dug yourself into saying actually. "we're–"

"Hey, auntie Sissy!" Tyler suddenly appears beside you like he wasn't just across the room, leaning down to gracefully accept the cheek kisses in greeting. He somehow comes out of it without getting stained. "How have things been? The old cat still slinking around the neighbors' yards?"

The two of them exchange a few words before he's slinging an arm around your shoulder, "Can I borrow this one real quick? It'll just be a sec."

"Sure, sure!" Whether an insult to your presence or a compliment to his coercion tactics, she's more than happy to let the two of you go. "Don't let me hold up your fun."

You're grateful for him steering you away from the party and out onto the front porch, but you're also dreading being alone with him after the whole thing in the kitchen.

Tyler doesn't seem too far off.

"Whew, I did not miss being around your family." He breaths out, leaning against the porch's railing.

The whole dread fades into confusion as he says that, and you lean against the spot beside him. "You didn't?"

"No...well," He shakes his head, "I missed hanging out with them. I did not miss having to tell them every single detail about where I've been since I've last seen them."

"I thought you liked telling them stories." You hummed, turning your gaze from the scenery ahead to him.

"Eh...I much prefer intimate crowds." He sends a wink. You flush and try to turn away, but he catches your cheek and stops you.

Tyler knows something is wrong, has known since you discreetly pushed him away earlier today in the kitchen. Looking into your eyes only further convinces him.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

His eyes narrow. His stupidly beautiful blue-green eyes narrow at you, and you know you can't lie anymore...but you can deflect.

"Did you know your eyes are blue and green?" You ask, lightly tapping his hand that sits on the railing.

"(Y/N)."

"Blue rim. Green...center? No, that's not the word, the inner? God, I don't know." You shake your head, and despite the movement, his hand doesn't leave your cheek.

"(Y/N)."

"They remind me of the classic scenery." You hold a pointer finger out. "Blue sky, green lawn, right? Or the Windows default wallpaper. Both are iconic."

His other hand leaves the railing and takes your other cheek. "Baby, look at me."

Baby. You used to hate it when he called you that, you weren't some baby, but now...now, how you've missed it.

You sigh, closing your eyes momentarily to collect yourself. No more deflecting and no more lies. You actually had to talk about your feelings now.

It had taken a lot of courage the first time, telling him: yes, I still love you, I'm just selfish and think that if you die, you'll take me down with you; no, I know you won't actually kill me, but you'll take my soul with you, and that's practically the same thing, isn't it?

"You don't have to tell me anything." Tyler speaks up before you do, beckoning your eyes open. "You just have to tell me to go away again, if that's what you want."

"No," You instinctively say.

"No," You say immediately.

No. No, how could you? You did once, and you're not sure how.

"Stay." You say, because you want it, you want him to stay.

"Okay." He says it easily, and his hands fall to his sides. He's willing to take that, just that, because...you don't know, maybe he still loves you. You're not willing to admit that.

You're not willing to accept that he still loves you after you told him you wanted to break up.

You take his hand before he can walk back into the party. "Why'd you come back?"

"I..." Tyler almost shrinks back, but you intertwine your fingers, and now you're the angler reeling him back in. "My car got flipped onto it's roof."

"Baby." You breathe out, pulling him in, pulling him closer to you, almost like he's not living flesh in front of you and you need to make sure he's breathing by feeling his chest heave against you.

"I was in the hospital for a little while...just some cuts." He assures first, to not worry you. He grabs both your hands, presses his nose to the knuckles, inhales the scent of their sweat like it's that of an apple pie, and it's weird but he needs it. "The glass broke, obviously, all of it, and some of my equipment, and, well, fuck, it was worse than a couple cuts."

"Ty."

"I'm okay, you see? Not scarred. I'm tough." He lets go of your hands momentarily to do a little twirl for you. He looks just the same as you left him.

"You almost died." You say anyway.

"Yeah." He doesn't deny it, he can't lie, because he can see through your lies as well as you can see through his. "I wanted to see you again, because...I wanted to see you in case the next time I got into an accident, I actually died. And you know what? I feel selfish for it."

"What? No." You shake your head, step closer. You're about to say more, but he starts first.

"You told me to stay away, but I came back into your life and I acted like nothing happened. You know, the life you're living? It's kind of what I wanted for us. A little ranch, some cows, some dogs, a farm. We get our own milk, our own eggs, grow our own food, and it's just the two of us..." His fingers climb up your arm like a little spider, and his gaze follows it absentmindedly. "Until we decide to adopt a little girl. You drive her to school, I drive her back home. We're happy, raising her. We teach her not to be like us, and she still turns out an exact replica of us, anyway. She's our princess."

"Sophie?"

"Sophie."

He sniffles. You tear your hand away from his only to cup both of his cheeks with your hands. "I'm so sorry, Tyler."

"No, I–"

"No, shut up." Despite the severity, you laugh, and he does too, until you're speaking again. "I shouldn't have left. I should've stayed right there with you. I'd have been right at your bedside, you know? I'd have kissed you like the first time. Remember what I said?"

He laughs again, "That my breath tastes like cow shit?"

"Yeah, that." You grin at him, and he loves to see you grin like that again. "I was selfish."

"I understood you completely, though. I thought I was saving you the grief." That's why he let you leave so easily, and you realize it now, looking into his eyes. "You were right. You always are."

"I'm not, Tyler. I was wrong." You shake your head, "I thought it worked. Weeks went by when I didn't think about you, because I fought the memories of you back. A year after, it settled in that I wouldn't be seeing you, so I thought I wouldn't even think about you anymore, but...the memory of you, your smile, your kisses, your warmth resurfaces every month, and god, I missed you. And missing you without the possibility of having you is just grieving you."

"...and now I'm here." He leans a bit further away, and you see all of him. You see the way his blue-green eyes are glassed over, and you've no doubt yours are the same; you see the familiar way his hat is perched above his head and how he still wears the top two buttons of his shirt undone and how his smile is just the same.

"And now you're here." You nod.

He places his hands over your wrists, holds them, presses his nose against yours. "I missed you too."

"Mhm?" You hum. Your breaths mingle with his, pressed this close together.

"And I love you, too. Still do."

"Fuck." You laugh, a teary little thing, but it's real and genuine and not a figment of his imagination. "I love you too."

And then you kiss, and he's missed it so much, and you've missed it so much, the two of you. You're slotted together, like pieces of a puzzle. You're not you without him and he's not him without you.

When you part, you wipe a couple stray tears off his cheeks, and he does the same for you.

"Should we..." He chokes a little on his words, then shakes the nerves off. He has you back, and his smile returns. "head back?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we should." You find yourself leaning back in, anyway.

You share another kiss, maybe two. If he'd brought a friend or three along, he'd have signalled them to light the fireworks in his truck to add a little magic to it, even if it already feels like fireworks are going off between your lips.

You could spend eternity like this.

When you've had enough of each other for the moment and finally head back in, your great uncle raises his spoon at you and laughs. "There you are! This soup is amazing, kid!"

Or at least that's what he would've said, had his dentures not gotten stuck in a hard carrot and splashed right back into his bowl.

One of the carrots which you added last, thanks to Tyler's distraction earlier today.

The tornado wrangler of a boyfriend you've regained is laughing his ass off beside you, while you cringe. So much for the perfect soup.

"Come on, (Y/N)." Tyler wraps an arm around you, pulling you close, and you're so happy he can do it casually again.

"Let's get us a bowl."

[featherandferns]

fluff drabble for 13?

13. You ate the last slice of cake. You're dead to me now.

absolutely!

feel free to request: prompt list

have your cake and eat it too - prompt 13

No.

No, no, no. This can’t be happening.

Your stomach twists and churns and you feel your light mood immediately drop like an anchor sinking to the water’s bottom.

You push a few more things out the way, hoping that maybe the remaining slice of cake is somehow hidden behind two bottles of beer and a half empty punnet of strawberries…but it’s useless and built on false hope. The cake that you’d been saving specifically for this afternoon is gone.

“Goddamn it,” you mutter, ticked off.

Closing the fridge, you trudge to the cupboards in search of something sweet to have instead. There’s a two-week out-of-date protein bar, topped with chocolate. It’ll do. It’s definitely not as good as that last slice of strawberry shortcake, though. As you eat, you stare out the window of the Chateau’s kitchen absentmindedly. Normal thoughts pass through your mind, like plotting the murder of whichever of your friends ate the last slice of cake.

When someone’s arm wraps around your waist and hoist you up, you let out a surprised yelp. JJ presses wet, purposefully sloppy kisses to your neck as you groan out in protests, trying to shove him off.

“Cut it out!”

JJ finally lets up with a laugh, putting you back on the floor. You spin around to face him. The moment you lay eyes on him, you know who the victim is for your imaginary daydreams. In his spare hand, the one that he hadn’t wrestled you up from the floor with, is the last slice of cake. There’s a huge bite already taken out of it. Whatever JJ’s babbling on about is falling on deaf ears. You’re staring at the cake like it might start talking to you.

“Is that my cake?”

“Huh?”

He follows your gaze and shrugs. “I just found it in the fridge.”

“That was mine,” you tell him.

JJ raises his brows, a shit-eating grin already growing on his face.

“This was yours?”

“Yes, it was.”

“Well, how come? Does it have your name on it?”

Making his point, he lifts the plate up nearer to his eyes and pretends to search for your name pasted on the frosting.

“No, I don’t see your name,” JJ concludes.

“I’ve been saving that all day,” you darkly say, glaring holes into his head. JJ doesn’t even tremble under your deadly gaze. If anything, his smile grows.

He picks up the slice careless, like it’s a twinkie or something that he found under the sofa and has another bite. Talking with his mouth full, he says, “I can see why, I mean, it’s really good.”

Reaching out for it, you say, “at least share it with me.”

He’s taller than you and easily holds it out of your reach. Grinning down at you, he swallows then asks, “why should I?”

“Because you’re a nice boyfriend,” you say. You’re jumping up, trying to reach for the half-slice left.

“I am?”

“When you want to be.”

“Hm,” JJ thinks. “I guess that’s true.”

“JJ! Come on!” you whine. So close.

But he’s backing away from you, still holding the cake up. “Well, what’s in it for me?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do I get in return for sharing my slice of cake with you?”

You bite back to the urge to remind him that it isn’t his slice of cake. “I don’t know. The satisfaction of being a good boyfriend?”

“Yawn.”

“The joy of making someone happy?”

“Boring,” he sing-songs.

JJ leisurely takes another bite, somehow still too quick for you to grab the cake from him. You have to be careful. You can’t let him drop it. Whilst you’ll be put off eating it, he has no shame and would still finish the whole thing off.

“Oh! I know!” JJ says as an idea comes to him, swallowing his mouthful. Grinning boyishly, he continues. “You have to give me head.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Trading head for cake is technically prostitution,” you tell him. A bit of a stretch, but still…

JJ barks out a laugh. His body relaxes when he does, and his arm lowers just enough that you can reach. In his brief moment of distraction, you jump up and swipe the cake.

“Hey!”

You immediately make a run for it, laughing manically, darting under his arm and out the front door. JJ’s laughing too, racing as after you.

“Give it back!”

“Never!” you call back.

The Pogues, who are sat outside, perk up as you race past them. Crumbs are falling off the cake as you go.

“What’s going on?” Pope asks.

“I’ve been robbed, Pope! That’s what’s going on!” JJ tells him.

JJ catches up and tackles you into his arms. You start screaming through your laughs, trying to wriggle free.

Locked in his hold, you still try and keep the cake from out of his reach. It’s like a stalemate. If he lets go of you with even one arm, you’ll break free again. If he tries to take a bite from the cake, you simply hold it out of his reach, but if you try and take a bite, he’ll practically ram your head with his as he goes in to take some too.  

“Why don’t you two just share it?” Sarah offers, humour in her voice as she watches the whole exchange transpire. John B and Kie have gone back to their conversation; yours and JJ’s antics like white noise to them by this point.

“Oh, we’re well past the point of that now,” you tell her.

You’re not sure how the idea came to JJ, but the moment it does you’re screaming through your uncontrollable laughs and falling to his mercy. He’s tickling at your stomach, relentlessly ambushing you on either side.

“JJ! Stop it! I’m gonna pee myself!” you practically cry through your hysterics.

JJ lets up and lets you go. You collapse onto the ground, trying to catch your breath, and JJ swoops down and takes the last slice of cake. There’s no time to even say goodbye. He eats it in one huge mouthful. You gape up at him from the grass. Betrayal.

“You bastard,” you dramatically say.

JJ wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I hope that cake was worth it. You’re in the doghouse for a week,” you tell him.

JJ stands upright, hands shoving into his pockets. Cocky, he tells you, “you can’t stay mad at me for a day, let alone a week.”

“Watch me. You ate the last slice of cake. You’re dead to me now.”

He quirks a brow. Behind him, the sun shines, casting him in a gorgeous glow. Damnit. Even looking at him has your resolve breaking.

“What if I gave you head?” he offers.

You bite back your smile. JJ knows it’s there nonetheless; starts grinning too. Knows he’s won once again. Rolling your eyes, as if having him go down on you is some kind of inconvenience, you sigh.

“I guess that could win me back.”

[spikezonebby]

Can I request a song fic? TFP Shockwave with a human fem reader, Monster by Starset. Genre: your choice really. Song lends itself well to several things depending on how you want to play it (angst, comfort, romance).  

Monster - TFP!Shockwave/Human!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,849

Shockwave could not think of a single instance where he would ever describe a human as truly capable. However, their application of energon-based tech was getting close. Energon crackles through what would normally be frail fiber optic cables surrounding him, turning into truly formidable bonds.

The cables wind around his back, anchoring him by the neck into an arch with his hips tilted forward to hold his balance. More cables bound up his thighs to his calves, leaving the struts tight and close, without a single millimeter of give. And the final pièce de résistance was, of course, his hand and his canon folded tight against the small of his back, forcing his chassis up and flat. LIke a massive heaving table, imbobile and exposed.

They even unhooked the latching cord of his canon, letting it lay limp and useless on the ground next to him. 

There’s a click, and then a whoosh of doors opening somewhere in front of him that he couldn’t see. But he knew the sound of your steps.

“Good morning, Doctor Shockwave.” You greet him in the same blasie manner you had a hundred times before. Complete with the strained whirl of hydraulics. The mechanical arm of the traction belt lift fashioned in the center of the room beside him came to life.

He says your name, complete with title of doctor yourself, as a simple and even acknowledgement that you were in the room. Ire burned in his chassis but he learned long ago that his imprisonment here was not your specific doing. No, you were just the pair of hands tasked with studying him. You were accompanied by two other human guards, dressed to the nines in carbon fiber and armed with prods, also powered with energon. 

“Where do you find all of the energon to power your contraptions?”

You make a soft hum, then finally he can see you out of the corner of his optic. The lift rises up level with his chassis, and there, you pull sterile medical gloves with a quick latex snap. 

“Doctor, you know I cannot answer that. You’re smart enough to figure it out anyways.”

It was your simple way of saying that his hypothesis was probably close. Cybertronians weren’t the only ones capable of harvesting the powerful blue crystals.

“Hmph. How disappointing. Normally you at least appease me with some mildly stimulating conversation while you poke around in my spark chamber.”

“Well, I have received some very disappointing news today.” You begin, and he feels the itching sting of your fingers dragging over the access ports over the side of his neck, then plug in an alien line that feeds prompts directly into his processor. No matter how many times he tries to deny the incoming commands, his HUD view floods with them again. He knows what you want, but Shockwave wasn’t known to be an easy subject to study.

Even for you, she who had worked her dexterous fingers into circuits countless times before. Violated the sanctuary of his body. Painless as your examinations had been, they still left him with no less ire and humiliation. 

He shuts down another dozen prompts, you simply send them again.

“I hardly care for your turmoil.” He hisses. You don’t seem surprised.

“I thought you would be interested, since it involves you.”

Shockwave curses when his surprise gives you a window to bypass his consent commands, flicking his chassis plating open and exposing the outer covering of his spark chamber. With the glass pane coverage and purple plating dripped down, the roiling magenta and cobalt shades shone through the glass outer covering. Not fully exposed yet, but getting there, slowly. 

Like the world's slowest and least sexy strip tease.

“What, has opening me up like a toy and playing with my internals not yielding fascinating enough answers for you?”

“I’m afraid not.” You agree, gravely, and he’s surprised yet again that you’re not sending more codes to open him up further like he’s some kind of clam and his spark a pearl. Instead, he’s able to barely turn his helm enough to watch as you take something out of your coat. 

The housing of his spark itself didn’t carry any sensors, but he could feel the proximity of you close enough to his essence. He can feel the energon cables biting into his throat as he tries to look down. There’s pressure and something heavy laid atop it. Then the cable is yanked from his port and he instinctively snaps his plating back over.

…What had you affixed to him?

“You see, something has become very clear to me. The work I do here is unappreciated.”

There’s an electric pulse over his spark, like a pacemaker buzzing tight and hard against him and forcing his spark to echo back the electricity. It momentarily steals the breath from his vents. The guards behind you seem confused, their grip tightening on their prods.

“My work is being stolen from me beneath my nose and my name erased from it. I didn’t start working for Silas so I could build weapons. I wanted change. Real change that having power and knowledge brought.”

That’s when he notices the heavy welding glove you pulled on over your dominant hand. It slides up over his neck, hooking under the edge of the energon cables with something cool and sharp he didn’t remember seeing you pick up. A human-sized scalpel.

You lean over him, rising up above his view, your reflection cast in the glowing red glass of his single optic. 

“Why build a weapon when the perfect one already exists right here?”

“Hey! What are you doing?” One of the guards finally cries in outrage, snagging you by the back of your coat. They haul you away from him with an outraged shriek– his spark pulses again with painful electricity that he doesn’t understand– and ripping the barrier of your glove out of place from the scalpel against his neck.

Energon electricity crackles against the scalpel, defusing it and sending energy rippling through Shockwave’s body with a roar. His entire body tenses, snapping delicate unpowered fiber optic in the brief nanoseconds between waves of power. He snarls, flexing his shoulders and snapping the cables off of him in a storm of crackling wires.

In a cloud of fried wires and nostril-burning smoke, the guards scream and call for help, damning your name. The crazy scientist! The mad doctor finally lost her marbles! Shockwave can feel his tanks churning as aftershocks of pain make his protoform and artificial muscles cramp.

“CALL THE BREAKOUT TEAM! CODE PURPLE! I REPEAT: CODE PURPLE!”

“Quiet, you!” Shockwave hears you hiss, the crackling of an energon prod ripping through the air. Your silhouette fights through the smoke, ripping a prod from one of the guard’s hands by the mace head before you turn it back on the guard and smash them across the head with it.

Shockwave finds the end of his power cable and jams it back into his gun with a satisfying click then low whirrrrrr that has the whole room going silent. A jolt of electricity jostles his spark again and a half-charged bolt of pure blaster energy crashes into the ceiling, carving through alloy and wires, drywall and fiberglass insulation, like it’s paper.

When the smoke clears, Shockwave cycles his vents against and again, trying to dismiss the overloading heat and pain. His struts quiver and he catches himself on the hydraulic lift. Finally tall enough to rise above it, the vents along his ribs draw in another breath of stuffy air that does little to clear his processor.

And then he sees you. Stumbled back over the lift’s safety rails with an energon prod clasped in your gloved hand and an unconscious guard laid out behind on the ground down below where you’d thrown them. 

“Doctor.” Shockwave says, as he lifts his cannon level with your whole little body. “I must commend you. Letting your test subject destroy the facility that used you does seem like fitting revenge.”

“Not so fast, Shockwave.” You pant, hooking a finger in the collar of your shirt, “Did you really think I’d set the monster free without a backup plan?”

Then you pull it down, revealing a heart monitor strapped over your chest. As you take careful, measured breaths your heart rate slows and the dull thrum against his spark does too. Shockwave’s grip on the lift tightens, bending the metal beneath his fingers like a dry leaf.

“...A dead man’s switch.”

“Not exactly, but close enough.” You say, leaving him with more rage-induced questions than answers. “You know the drill. It can’t be removed unless it’s bypassed, and if my heart rate drops to zero…”

“The only thing that could kill me that close range without being directly on my spark… would be an EMP pulse.”

“Bingo. Now, let’s strike a deal.” You push yourself up fully, finding your pace and your footing before your legs can turn to jelly. “I set you free, so you get us both out of here. Because if you leave me here, I’ll just remotely set off the pulse.”

“It’s not much of a deal if I’m not getting anything extra out of it.” He says, his cannon still shoved in your face. But your heart rate stays the same. You weren’t scared of him. No.

You had him right in the palm of your hand.

“You’re not dead and you’re not tied down. That’s what you get out of this.”

“...And I get to be your monster. Rampaging through the remains of MECH, tearing through your colleagues.”

A smirk crosses your lips, and he wants to blast you just to wipe it off your face. It might even be worth dying, if it wasn’t completely illogical.

“When you put it like that, it almost sounds like you’re getting some stress relief out of it too.” You chuckle, and then… you’re offering him your hand. Your tiny, human hand that he could crush without a second thought. Yet it was those hands that outsmarted him, bound him up, tied him to you by blood and energon.

It was clever. He hated it. He hated you. He wanted you dead. It was commendable.

“That is… logical.” He admits, begrudgingly. “But mark my words, Doctor…”

Shockwave feels another pulse of electricity rattle his spark and make it skip as he lifts his cannon to the wall behind you. Then he lets loose a blast of sheer power that blows a hole in the wall behind you, hitting you with a wave of heat that billows your hair and your coat.

“I will find a way to remove it. Then I will kill you. For now,” He drops his cannon and turns his attention instead to the newly blown hole in the wall. “We have a deal.”

Your heart monitor buzzes, breath leaving you in a single punched out wheeze. For now, you had the tyrant in a new kind of chain. For now long, you didn’t know.

But it would be long enough.

[driftward]

Title: FFXIV Write 2023 - 19. Weal Characters: Y'shtola Rhul, Zoissette Vauban Rating: Teen Summary: Through thick and thin, for better or for worse Notes: This one is too big for FFXIV Write, and I think I shall be expanding it at a later date

It was raining outside of Gage Acquisition's headquarters. A lazy Gridanian rain, warm and heavy, fat raindrops that seemed less to fall than to sort of meander their way down to the ground in their due time.

Zoissette held an umbrella over Y'shtola's head, and the two were walking along the pathway. It had been a quiet walk.

Despite the time they had spent apart, they still knew how to enjoy a comfortable, companionable silence. Y'shtola had asked after Apple, and Zoissette still had no answers. Zoissette had asked after the thirteenth, and Y'shtola had much the same.

She was one of the few people Zoissette felt really comfortable around, after returning from the rift. Around most of the others, she was friendly. Gregarious, even, she could not help it, it seemed so hard to keep herself in as she had before.

But still.

She had always felt like an outsider before, and she still did now. Sometimes she wondered if she would ever be fully a part of the shared human experience.

But with Y'shtola, she felt like she belonged. Grounded. The woman's strength and confidence were an anchor, and the ease with which Y'shtola treated her, the naked honesty of the woman.

If the rift made her lost, then Y'shtola, in more ways than one, brought her home.

She just wished Lavender had arrived home with her. The familiar had not come to her since she had arrived, though. The little armature was full of a life of its own, but it was its own being, its own existence. She was glad for it, but it was not the same.

She pushed those thoughts out of her mind as they stopped out in front of the building, and Zoissette looked to Y'shtola.

"I appreciate your company more than I have the words for. But I am certain you have other more important matters to attend to."

Y'shtola looked up at her, and gave her a smile.

"You are the important matter I wish to attend to, my friend. Trust that I keep my affairs well in hand, even as I keep you company."

"...thank you."

Zoissette fidgeted with the umbrella handle a bit as Y'shtola looked her over. She knew what she was looking for. She was afraid of what she would find.

"...'tis much the same," she said after several long moments. "I do not have the fine tune instrumentation of the infirmary, but while you have gained some muscle mass, your aether remains ever thin."

"I am not recovering."

"It is true, that the rate of replenishment of you aether seems to have reached a plateau. But it is early, yet, even - and perhaps especially - for one as puissant as you."

"I feel so useless in the meanwhile."

Y'shtola looked thoughtful for a moment.

"And yet you have begun investigations, have you not?"

"That - that is different. I am used to being a warrior. That is what a knight is for. That is what a knight should be for. I feel like I lost sight of that, and have regained it again, only to lose the capability to be so."

"And yet you still are. You would not say such things of Krile, who has little martial prowess. Or your own brother, who still shines as a knight true."

Zoissette shifted from foot to foot, considering.

"You are right."

"I suspect I only tell you that which you already knew."

"You are right. I know. I know. I just - I just feel so useless, Shtola. Mathye hovers as I go about tasks I once found trivial. Tasks I now find challenging. Klynt or Ryssthota are at my elbow anytime I even voice consideration of approaching the laboratory. C'oretta and Meya are spending too much time on me. I have shifted from shield to gunblade, to try to make up for my deficiencies, but... still. I do not wish to be a burden. Not on you. Not on anyone."

Zoissette looked away, feeling herself unable to meet Y'shtola's eyes. She was complaining. She was whinging. Others would be envious of her position. She should be glad for what she had, not whatever this was. She was better than this.

But at the same time, she wished to run and hide and fade back to vanish behind a desk. Useful but invisible but helpful. Good, reliable Zoissette, able to be called upon at a moment's notice. Not someone who needed looked after all the time.

Again, she missed Lavender. They had learned to lean on one another in the rift. She would lean on her once more.

She felt Y'shtola's hand on her arm.

"This may be a burden, but not one I shy away from. For how oft have you helped others in need with no wish for recompense? How oft have you been fulfilled by helping with our burdens, and allowed us to draw succor in return? 'Tis true, what brought us together is what you are, blessed of Hydaelyn and strong in arm. But what has kept us together as comrades is who you are. Kind in spirit. Curious in mind. Patient through trial. I am with you. In weal and in woe. If weal, then weal, and all is well. If woe, then that woe must needs be endured, and I would not countenance that you do so alone."

The rain fair hummed for a moment, and the colors around her shifted slightly. She blinked, staring into the rain, as it somehow became more blue. She turned to her. Y'shtola was resplendent in her composure, in her poise, as she always was. Confidence and power which she was now so clearly offering to Zoissette. Half a meder away, Zoissette felt she could feel the woman's presence radiating off her, and she almost seemed to glow. Zoissette tentatively reached a hand out to touch her face, and Y'shtola smiled, and closed her eyes gently, and there was just the gentlest pulse of living levin, and.

Oh.

Oh, hells.

[smp-live]

The apocalypse happened a few years ago. And- it's vague, the apocalypse. It's not some big earth-shattering moment. It's confused tv reports and impulse decisions and little growing bits of tension until the pot boils over.

The details are fuzzy; it all happened so quickly that many civilians were left unaware of what exactly went down. One day, they were living, and the next, most weren't.

Nukes, EMPs, solar flares - the survivors find it doesn't matter. One way or another, the world ended, millions died, and everything’s different. Hostile. Harsh. Unforgiving. The sun is bright and searing, and radiation burns skin not covered head-to-toe.

People are cruel and will take advantage of anything they can. If you're not a part of an already-existing group, good luck.

Somehow, two men end up on a wooden pallet floating in the middle of the ocean. Maybe it was a plane crash, one of the few still running downed by a stray shot; maybe a boat capsized, embrittled by the radiation. Same as the apocalypse, it doesn't matter. What does is that now they’re surrounded by debris and a shark thirsting for blood and there’s one thing they both know: trust no-one.

So they don’t. Names hold power, as they’ve learnt over the past few years; names imply trust. When it becomes apparent they’re stuck together and the time comes to introduce themselves, the elder of the two stares out to sea and says, “Call me...” And that phrase brings back memories of a book he’d read long ago, in the Before Days, and so he finishes, “Ishmael.”

The younger panics and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind: “I’m Gunk.”

‘Ishmael’ raises a skeptical eyebrow, clearly amused. “Gunk,” he repeats. And ‘Gunk’ nods, crosses his arms.

“Yeah, bitch. It’s...” his mind blanks, “Russian.”

Ishmael’s brow climbs further, and he looks on the verge of laughing, lips twisting ever-so-slightly upward. “Last name?”

“Uh,” Gunk wracks his brain, and something from a history class, years ago, stands out. Nearly forgotten amongst all the useless information - what he calls anything that doesn’t directly contribute to survival, nowadays - and only clinging on through his brain classifying it as ‘important’ for God-knows-why. “Gorbachov.”

“Like... Michael Gorbachov?” There’s a hint of laughter in Ishmael’s tone now, the first in a while. He tries not to let that thought depress him.

Gunk nods, relieved at the reminder of the rest of the name, even if he still can’t place it. “Yeah. He was my father.”

“Michael Gorbachov, eighth and final leader of Soviet Russia, was your father,” Ishmael deadpans, and, frustrated at having been outplayed, Gunk scowls.

“What of it?” he challenges, which makes Ishmael laugh, throwing his head back to the blistering sun high above.

“Okay, Gunk,” he says, and yet it doesn’t feel patronizing.

They both know the other is lying, that much is obvious from the constant teasing and jokes about Gunk’s ‘father.’ But it doesn’t matter, because in the slow turning of the days, they grow close. After all, there’s not much to do on a makeshift raft in the middle of the ocean, other than chat.

Ishmael is handy, and the main reason for their survival. He knows how to purify water and fillet a fish, how to add on to their raft without nails and swim against the ocean current. Gunk wonders where he picked all that up, but never asks.

(A survivalist father and paranoid brother, whom Ishmael hasn’t seen in half a decade. The thought that they’re probably still alive brings him comfort.)

Gunk, on the other hand, does most of the grunt work. Fishing in debris that floats by, diving down for rocks when they briefly dock, and the ever-important duty of keeping the shark they named Clive from destroying their miserly raft. He keeps up a steady stream of chatter through it all, and Ishmael thinks that’s what makes the monumental effort to go on worth it. Then, he wonders when he let himself get attached.

(It was a week or so in, when Gunk had fashioned himself a shelf out of the bottom of a storage bin and some planks, and proclaimed it his ‘comfort shelf.’ Gunk felt the same when Ishmael didn’t tell him to dismantle it, only pushed it aside, even though they were supposed to use that wood to repair Clive’s last attack.)

They survive, they grow closer, they hesitantly trust, and yet, they don’t pry. They don’t share their real names. Not until one day.

Ishmael goes swimming out to a nearby island to scavenge for food and chop down a few trees, if he can manage. Gunk stays on the ship - an anchor is next on their to-do list, and so he’s responsible for keeping it from drifting off with his tiny paddle. Except it’s not well-crafted, and grey jaws reach up to snap at the wood he’s standing on so he uses it to stab Clive, and the tip breaks off. The raft starts drifting away.

“Ishmael!” he calls, then again, louder, “Ishmael! Fuck, man!” But he’s nowhere to be seen, and the current is dragging Gunk awfully far out from the island.

He keeps calling, shouting, screaming, increasingly panicked at leaving his friend, the man who’d helped him survive for months, now, behind. Until his voice grows hoarse the way it never did from rambling for hours on end, and a little speck appears on the beach of the island.

Ishmael waves widely at him, and he must be shouting but Gunk can’t hear it over the lapping of the waves. So he assumes what was said, hollers, “I can’t fuckin’ come back, arsehole!” and raises the remains of the paddle over his head to clarify.

The speck stills, then bursts into motion, tossing everything he’s holding aside and shucking his shoes. Gunk can practically hear him mutter about what an “ridiculous child” he is, because although they’ve never shared their ages Ishmael’s decided he’s the elder of the two, which obviously means Gunk is a child.

And then Ishmael dives into the water, and he’s closing the distance between himself and the raft with each stroke. He cuts a straight line through the waves, until he suddenly swerves to the left. Gunk is confused a moment, before he notices - a grey fin jutting out of the water next to him.

Clive goes in for another pass, then another, and Ishmael jukes him out both times. He’s maybe five meters away, now, but the shark is coming back so Gunk screams. But Ishmael’s head is underwater, and he doesn’t hear. Just keeps going, towards safety he won't make it to.

Clive barrels into him. Ishmael vanishes underwater.

He doesn’t come back up.

Gunk is diving in before he can properly think, pushing past the cold shock of the sea, as he uses his self-taught skills to bring him to where he guesses Ishmael last was. Then, he takes a deep breath, squeezes his eyes shut, and goes under.

After a nervewracking few moments, his elbow bumps into something and he latches on, desperately dragging it upwards. They break the surface and he gasps for breath, Ishmael limp against him.

The trip back is agonizing. Ishmael is deadweight, their clothes are waterlogged, and Gunk has never been the best swimmer. But Clive is still lurking, and he refuses to drown after all this time, so he manages to drag them both back to the raft through pure willpower and spite.

Gunk collapses next to where he’d heaved Ishmael onto the planks, taking a second to compose himself. Shivering violently, he curls into a ball - he'll have to go for a spare change of clothes. His eyes drift shut. In a moment.

Then, panic seizes his heart as he becomes aware of how still Ishmael is. He jerks up, staring at him, searching for any sign of life, anything-

But a moment later he relaxes, when Ishmael rolls over and starts heaving out saltwater. Gunk reaches over and pats him on the back until it subsides, and he falls back onto the wood.

“You,” Ishmael says, letting his eyes flutter shut, “are so stupid.”

Gunk feels a burst of indignation. “Hey, what the fuck! I just saved your dumbass, Ish-ma-el.” He scowls at Ishmael’s placid little twist of the lips.

“Wilbur,” he murmurs, hands folded over his chest.

“What?”

“My name is Wilbur.”

Oh.

“I’m Tommy,” he says after a moment of silence where it sinks in, what he’d just been told, the trust laid on him, and then lays down next to Ishmael - Wilbur, now.

Wilbur just hums and wraps an arm under his shoulders, tugging him close - which is new; they’re really going all-in with this trust thing, huh? - then says, “So, so stupid.”

“Oi,” Tommy protests, but leans in closer.

Things aren’t really visibly different, after that. They still bicker, still do the same daily tasks, still slip up and call each other ‘Ishmael’ and ‘Gunk’ - though it becomes less and less common, other than with a teasing tone. They finally get their anchor, which means Tommy has the chance to go on land; though he quickly grows to dislike it after an incident with a particularly pissed-off boar.

To an outsider, everything remains the same. But to the inhabitants of the raft, it feels different. More homely. Warmer.

Once, after Wilbur chides Tommy over something or another, Tommy rolls his eyes and says, “You know, we really are like brothers.” He tries to keep his tone joking, and to not let himself hope for the words to be true.

Wilbur freezes. “Don’t say that; I’ll cry.” He blinks once to keep the tears at bay, and tries to push down the warmth in his chest.

(They both fail.)

About four months in, a light appears in the distance, at night. They angle their sail towards it and the dark shadow on the horizon. A few days later, it becomes apparent what it is: a lighthouse.

Inhabited land. Civilization.

They gather their meagre supplies once they dock, then ditch the raft in favour of climbing the lighthouse. And, from the top, off over a hill, Wilbur spots it first, points it out to his brother, who squints-

A Dome.

[notebooks-and-laptops]

a study in kisses

I have 6 days until my deadline and I should be doing work, but alas, the gay pirates dragged me out of bed at 2AM to write this. Hopefully getting this out will tide over my fic writing cravings until I have time to sit down and write the dozens of long fics I have planned for this pairing. Stede/Ed/Izzy, but Stede/Izzy centric. As always, you can also find this here on my AO3!

-///-

The first time Stede Bonnet kisses Israel Hands it is a show. A fuckery, though with slightly more emphasis on the fuck than normal. The aim is quite simple and it sits in the form of the noticeable bulge in Edward Teach’s leather pants.

Their arrangement is still new, and the fragility of it is not to be underestimated. But it is Izzy’s job to make sure that Edward is content, and it is Stede’s job to make sure Edward is happy and the math was really always going to equate to three rather than just two. Just like Edward Teach was always going to be the pieces of ‘Blackbeard’, ‘the Kraken’ and ‘Ed’.

Their lives are lived in thirds that built wholes. But after a little explanation from Lucius, and a conversation that went as smoothly as pulling teeth with Izzy the arrangement has been formed. New. Fragile.

Beautiful.

When Stede kisses Izzy, in the captain’s cabin with Ed watching, it’s spur of the moment. Their current dynamic involves sharing Edward and doing their best not to break out into open fights on deck. But there was mischief tonight, open in Stede’s eyes and buried in the crook of Izzy’s smirk, and somehow it all came out in this.

Izzy is the third person that Stede Bonnet has ever kissed and he is just as unique in his approach to it. He does not kiss like Mary, whose lips were always chaste and closed. He does not kiss like Ed, whose passions are loud and deep. Izzy kisses with teeth. It’s a biting thing, there is a leather gloved hand fisted in Stede’s hair and a hand running like claws down his back. It is like their bickering, but there are no words needed. More efficient, Stede thinks, and almost has to break the kiss to giggle at the thought.

Edward actually moans watching it. There is no question as to if he’s enjoying what he sees.

When they finally break apart, Stede’s lips feel kiss bruised.

Izzy himself is red faced. There is something Stede can’t decipher in his eyes before they turn back to Edward. After a further moment of staring at that little ‘x’ just under Izzy’s eye, Stede turns back to Edward too.

“Good?”

“Fucking fantastic,” Edward breathes, like he’s just seen a holy miracle performed and not the two most antagonistic men on board the vessel (and the loves of his life) make out, “get the fuck over here both of you, now—”

Their attentions break from one another, then, and focus instead on Edward.

But afterwards, when everyone is sated and curled in the bed, Ed in the middle, Stede can still feel that kiss on his lips.

 -///-

 The second time Stede Bonnet kisses Israel Hands it is to save his life.

For all he’s been a pirate for nearly a year by that point, Stede had yet to face a storm of such magnitudes. The ship feels like it will be broken apart by the water that thrusts it high in the air with every crest. Everything that they are would be lost to whatever creatures live below, and nobody would ever find them again.

A likely outcome if they weren’t sailing with Blackbeard and First Mate Hands.

They are like nothing else, in this particular element. They are not Edward and Izzy, two individuals, they are Blackbeard. They are the singular legend born from a tempest’s lightening bolt. The rain spits on them in disgust but they are not deterred. They do not give in. They shout orders to a terrified crew and in their silhouettes, there is the promise of survival.

Stede is still not the best at hands on labour, though he’s better than he was. He’s helping Lucius secure the doors and trying not to feel useless. At his left, Izzy makes his way towards the anchor at the prow of the ship.

But even the best of sailors are servants of the sea.

Stede watches it happen almost in slow motion; he watches Izzy trying to put down anchor with Black Pete. He sees the thrust of the wave as it batters over the brow of the ship. Lucius screams Pete’s name, but Pete has found his gripping.

Izzy has not.

There is panic, deep and utter panic, like how he felt when a dozen English men stood before him as a firing squad.

Stede is already pulling off his jacket and stumbling forward.

“You’ll fucking die!” someone shouts. Jim, maybe. Buttons? It is so hard to hear anyone out here, the clouds overhead are too angry to let anyone’s voice be heard—

Besides, he’s not really listening.

There is a hand on his shoulder though, tugging him backwards. He wants to throw them off. That is a member of his Crew that just went overboard, and while many pirate ships might see their crew as collateral that was not how they did things on the Revenge. But the hands were insistent and firm and… Edward.

Edward with a rope in his hands.

It’s tied around Stede’s middle quickly. He might not be trained in most things where the sea is concerned, but he is at the very least a strong swimmer. He’s had private lessons since he was a boy, and most of them took place in the ocean, another one of his father’s brutal methods at training him to be a ‘real man’. He used to get sand in his hair too often, a texture that he didn’t enjoy at all.

But right now, he sends a ‘thank you’ to his father’s soul in hell that he gave him this one skill.

Stede trusts Ed is holding on tight to one side, and jumps in.

It’s cold. That’s the first thing. It’s fucking freezing. Chilling enough to kill. And the damn waves keep coming, blocking his vision. He could very easily die out here, and if the rope snapped he’d be gone for good.

But Izzy only just went over.

It’s a blur. A blur and he’s not too sure he’ll survive it, but eventually he’s got his hands around Izzy and he’s being pulled up. Izzy is heavy, and waterlogged, and it’s difficult to get a firm enough grip on him, but with the crews help they eventually are on the deck again.

And Izzy isn’t fucking breathing.

Edward is there. There is panic in Edward’s eyes. But Stede knows this one too, and so he’s already trying to breathe air into Izzy’s mouth, before he’s regained his own, following the rhythmic beats to Izzy’s chest that he vaguely recalls being taught at boarding school after one of the younger children fell into the lake and almost drowned.

There are ten seconds where it does not appear like anything is going to happen.

They are a dreadfully long ten seconds.

But then Izzy coughs, splutters.

Stede feels relief course through him.

“Get him into the cabin, now,” Stede sits back on his heels. The storm is still blowing, unrelenting in her assault.

“Stay with him, Stede. I’m needed up here,” and Edward looks, for a second, not like Blackbeard in command of the storm, but like a man who almost just lost the love of his life in a damn predictable boating accident. He needn’t have been worried; Stede is pretty sure that someone as annoying and stubborn as Izzy Hands will only go when the devil himself comes to collect him.

But still, the relief leaves a taste at the back of his mouth, it’s a physical thing, and it doesn’t leave him until Izzy is snapping at him about debts and stupidity and training the crew to manage a fucking storm right.

 -///-

 The third time Stede Bonnet kisses Israel Hands it is of his own volition and this time, there is no audience but the stars.

Stede has always associated moonlight with Edward. He associated it with the night they’d spent becoming a lighthouse when the moon wasn’t full enough to bring Edward’s original plan to pass. He associated it with the night Edward had let him hold the soft red square of fine silk in his fingers and Stede had put it in the lapel of his jacket. He associated it with the evening that Edward had confessed he’d been planning to kill him in a bathtub and watching it set that night while pinned to his ship’s mainsail.

Tonight though, there was no full moon. The moon instead was new. But the stars were much brighter, and they framed Israel in quite a gorgeous light. Easy to miss, at first, stars. At least, when you weren’t adept at navigating by them like those who had grown up on the sea. But no less beautiful than the moon. There was a metaphor in there somewhere, but Stede had more important things to do than find it.

“Fuck off, Bonnet,” Izzy had muttered, but there had been no heat to his words so Stede hadn’t bothered.

He’d been practicing with the sword. Stede knew what it was like to be on the end of that blade. He knew how skilled Israel was.

Apparently, it was because he practiced late at night. It was almost…romantic. Like a knight out of one of Stede’s books. Only with far less manners.

“Remember when I slapped my sword on your arse during our duel?” Stede asked, after a while of just watching.

Something passed Izzy’s face that might have been amusement. A raging success if ever Stede were to have one.

“You were a fucking imbecile,” Izzy concedes.

“Were?” Stede’s voice is teasing, “oh, Izzy, I didn’t know you—”

“Shut up,” Izzy responded, rolling his eyes.

“Make me.”

And the sword was put back in Izzy’s scabbard.

And then, Izzy did.

It was…unexpected, Izzy’s lips on his, but not unwanted. Whatever the fuck their relationship was, it wasn’t conventional, but Stede quite liked the freedom in ‘anything goes at sea’. It had given him Edward. It had given Edward Stede, and Izzy without guilt or need for classical monogamy. And it had apparently created…. this.

Izzy Hands was annoying, rude, stubborn and quite often mean. A Complete and utter arsehole, Stede would stick by that. But he was also…well. He was rather fetching with a sword, and Ed was gloriously possessive over him, and he had the driest sense of humour that Stede had ever encountered but it was there. Underneath it all.

Izzy kissed no less like a bite this way, but this time it wasn’t for anyone’s eyes but their own.

“I still fucking hate you,” Izzy muttered, against Stede’s lower lip.

“Liar,” Stede murmured back.

[atlabeth]

nightmares - mike munroe x reader

summary: It was a deal made by two almost-friends in the early hours of the morning after the worst night of their lives, when they realized that all they really had left was each other.

a/n: so this is once again. not my normal content but ive been on an until dawn kick lately and fell in love w the characters all over again. i dont know if anyone still reads or writes for this fandom but. here u go. enjoy

warning(s): lots of cursing, canon typical violence, mentions of graphic violence/death (but nothing too descriptive), mentioned depression, insomnia, and alcoholism, some heavy themes but its hurt/comfort so it ends in fluff

wc: 4.8k

You were running.

You were running, and it was freezing — fuck, it was freezing.

You knew your surroundings; how could you ever forget? Every fucking moment on the goddamn mountain was engraved into your mind for what you assumed would be the rest of your life, an assumption that had since been proven correct.

And now, against your will, you were back. Of course you were back.

A shudder ran through your whole body as that all-too-familiar screech rang out behind you, each second of it like nails on a chalkboard in the worst way. Your lungs burned like all hell but you couldn’t stop — if you stopped, you were as good as dead.

Some part of this fucked up thing was almost funny. Humans were always boasting about how they were the top of the food chain, how they were the height of evolution. There was nothing to keep an ego in check like being hunted by a supernatural creature.

Any thoughts of bullshit philosophy were dashed from your mind as you took a hard right, nearly falling over from the sharp curve of the mountain but just able to catch yourself. Your heart was thundering in your chest, the beats nearly lining up with your sprinting. You felt an intense urge to turn around, try and gauge your chances, but the thought of slowing down for even a second terrified you. It’s not like you needed to anyways — you knew exactly what was after you.

You were nearing the end of your road, both literally and figuratively. You stumbled over a tree root, your hands splayed out in front of yourself at just the right angle to keep your momentum going and, in some feat of luck, stay upright and running.

But your luck had just run out.

Your senses were proven correct as the harrowing cliff edge came into view, and a thousand things screamed in your mind at once as your demise stared you right in the eye. You barely managed to catch yourself, very much aware that the snow falling into the void could’ve just as well been you.

That fucking screech again, even closer than before, and you whipped around as you took an instinctive step back. Your hands patted around everywhere, searching for something to defend yourself, but you had nothing. No gun, knife, even the ground around you was devoid of rocks.

You had nothing. You had nothing to defend yourself from this goddamn nightmare creature, and you were going to die.

Your eyes darted around wildly in an attempt to find something, anything, to save yourself, but there was nothing. You took another step back and felt your foot slip, your breath catching as you barely managed to save yourself with a twist and a lunge away from the edge. The shock of the ground and the cold against your skin was just enough to remind yourself that you were actually alive. Another pile of snow mimicked the fate that seemed imminent as it trickled over the side of the cliff, and you screwed your eyes shut as you tried to shut your mind up.

Think, goddammit, if you wanted to get off of this fucking mountain you had to think—

The screech that pierced through the night sky was far too close for comfort, and as your head snapped back towards the woods you swore that your heart stopped beating.

It had caught up. You were out of time you were going to die but you didn’t have anything and you were going to fucking die—

A flash of white pushed off a tree and lunged towards you, teeth bared as it emitted that horrible screech. You didn’t even have time to scream, completely frozen in place as one clawed hand reached your neck, and you braced for the moment of release.

You shot up in your bed, breathing rapid and unsteady with a barely contained cry on the edge of your lips as your hand instinctively flew to your neck. You heaved an almost strangled sigh of relief to know that your head was still attached to your body (it might’ve seemed obvious, but… your head wasn’t exactly on straight at the moment, all jokes aside) and collapsed against the headboard.

You ran your hands across your face as you tried in vain to calm yourself down, ultimately having to turn on your lamp to ease your troubled mind that there was nothing going thump in the night.

It had been this same routine almost every night — horrible nightmare, wake up crying or screaming or both, and start the day at 3 am because you couldn’t fall back asleep.

It was exhausting. You were exhausted.

You knew you couldn’t go on like this, but what choice did you have? Therapy had been mandated by the police for a certain amount of time after the incident, but… it’s not like it had helped. How could it, when no one truly knew what you had gone through?

Well… that wasn’t completely accurate.

One person knew what you were going through, and you hadn’t said as much as one word to him since that night. You didn’t really… know what to say.

Hey. I know we’re not all that close, but I’m sorry your girlfriend and all your friends were killed by a Wendigo and that I made it instead. Hope you’re not going insane with grief. I’ll send you a card at Christmas!

...yeah. You had no idea what to say to him after months of no contact.

The relationship you had with Mike Munroe was a strange one, to say the least.

None of you were the same after that night on the mountain. The horrors of the mines would be forever entrenched in your head, flashes of the Wendigos appearing every time you closed your eyes. You and Mike were the only ones who made it off, and the guilt you carried everywhere was a burden you knew you couldn’t shoulder. And even after the physical scars had faded, you knew the mental ones never would.

Sometimes you wondered how you had even managed to get involved with the group in the first place — bonds that had been made in your freshman and sophomore years had somehow managed to stay strong enough throughout the rest of high school, strong enough to cement your spot in the friend group and the yearly lodge visits. You liked them all well enough, enough to go up to an isolated mountain with them for a weekend or so, but… yeah. Sometimes you did wonder what the hell you were doing with them.

But now?

Now, you would give almost anything to hear Sam’s laugh or one of her compliments, or tease Ashley and Chris about their very obvious feelings; hell, you found yourself missing Matt’s useless football facts. And even though Emily and Jessica weren’t always the nicest, you still had managed to worm your way into their hearts. Knowing that you would never get Emily’s brutal but helpful advice or get dragged to a football game by Jessica again?

If someone had told you the difference between life-long trauma and a completely normal existence was that blonde girl with the braids in your biology class, you might’ve thought a little harder before accepting that party invite.

The days after you were rescued from the mountain passed in a daze, questions and interrogations from police never sticking for too long. And it didn’t even feel like it mattered, the way none of them seemed to believe you.

They kept you separated from Mike throughout the whole process, and you were only able to catch glances of him when you were being transferred to different rooms throughout the long process. It really was like something out of a horror movie — a group of teens go up to a lodge in the woods, and only two return with a story of unspeakable horrors — and rather than try and work out what had happened, they seemed intent on pinning the deaths on you and Mike.

As if you weren’t dealing with enough after watching your friends get murdered by the monster of another friend, the people that were supposed to be helping you were instead trying to charge you with them. If it wasn’t so fucking infuriating, it would’ve been laughable.

The worst part? You could hardly blame them.

When you took a second to listen to yourself, to what you were spouting to the police, you sounded insane. If you hadn’t witnessed it all first hand, you wouldn’t have believed yourself.

You told them to go down to the mines. That the thing that killed your friends would be down there, and they could see it for themselves.

You didn’t know if that was the right choice. Hell, you might’ve been sending those cops to their deaths. But it was the only way you could think of to get them to believe you.

(You doubted they would go down there anyways. What was the word of two crazy college kids over actual logic? Not much, you imagined.)

You were in that damn interrogation room for what felt like forever until you were finally taken to a hospital to get your wounds treated. But even in the hospital bed, police were by your side asking about what happened every day of your stay. After your discharge, you were forced into custody until they got information that they deemed satisfactory.

By some miracle, you and Mike weren’t charged with anything. The news might’ve gotten hold of your story, but you didn’t know. You didn’t want to know. You didn’t ever look at the news after the tragedy, too afraid that you would see the smiling faces of your friends staring back at you, or pictures of you and Mike with news anchors trying to talk about how involved the two of you were.

If there was one thing worse than going through hell, it was other people trying to make a profit off of your spiral.

Your friends’ families offered their condolences, but not much else. You didn’t hold it against them. Your survivor’s guilt was strong enough to know exactly why they didn’t reach out further.

(You blame yourself for their deaths, after all. Why wouldn’t they?)

It was the same situation with Mike.

Maybe you had purposefully drifted apart from him, trying to build up walls of your own so that he wouldn’t be able to spring it on you first. You assumed he hated you after what had happened, and he had every right to. You might’ve helped each other through the night, but you had no other option. Now, everyone else but you was dead — people he cared about more than you — and you just couldn’t face that.

But as you stared at yourself in your bathroom mirror, you realized that you might have to.

You looked awful.

Weeks of sleepless nights were catching up to you, appearing in the form of

hollow eyes and dark circles, along with a slight discoloration of your skin. The scars from the mountain had mostly healed, but there was a particularly nasty gash on your cheek that was still showing — it wasn’t doing you any favors in the ‘looking completely normal and sane and not severely sleep deprived’ department.

You splashed some water in your face to try and wake up a bit, but the slight drowsiness that followed you everywhere seemed to be a permanent part of you now.

(It was almost funny, in a way. You were so paranoid and alert all the time, unable to fall asleep, and yet it was all you could think about in moments like these. You wondered when irony had become such a staple in your life.)

You had tried talking to therapists, your friends, your family, even searching the internet for advice on what to do after a life changing traumatic event. Nothing had worked.

The simplest solution had come to mind more than once, but you had pushed it aside with the determination to work through this on your own. But now, staring at yourself and seeing how much you had deteriorated…

You had to go talk to the only person who would understand.

~

You had considered turning around more than once on the drive over.

Because, really, what the hell were you doing? Showing up at his doorstep in the middle of o dark thirty because— because what?

Because you had a nightmare?

He had gone through the same thing you had, probably even worse. Losing Jessica right in front of him, having to cut off his fingers to get free, spending countless hours alone, dealing with the nightmare that was the sanatorium, and then…

Well, you had been in the mines with him and Josh when it happened. There was no doubt in your mind that the scene replayed in his head endlessly, just like it did for you.

Showing up… it was going to be a mistake. You knew it was.

For all you knew, Mike had moved on already. He was stronger than you, he always had been. Maybe your presence would send him spiraling once more, or maybe it would just earn you a verbal beating like no other. Mike had always been nice enough, but the trauma you had endured was enough to turn a saint into his own worst enemy.

You didn’t know what would happen. You didn’t know anything, and as you turned down his street you regretted more than ever not keeping in touch with him. Maybe then you wouldn’t be in this situation, scrambling after your last hope for salvation after slowly killing yourself over the past few months.

But there was no chance to turn back now, because before you knew it your knuckles were rapping against his front door.

The pause between your arrival and a response was so long that you considered leaving and pretending like this never happened, but just as you began to step back the door swung open.

You didn’t really know what you were expecting, but… he was there. The only other testament to the horrors of Blackwood Pines, and maybe the only person that could help you through this.

“...hi,” you murmured, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat as you looked the personification of your shame in the eye.

Mike blinked a few times, whether to try and wake up a little or out of surprise from his visitor you didn’t know, but it was a few seconds before he responded in kind. “...hey. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around.”

You chuckled dryly as you nodded. “Yeah. Sorry for the sudden arrival. I’m, uh… I’m kind of surprised you even opened the door.”

He huffed out a short breath in a facsimile of a laugh. “Not getting much sleep these days.”

“That’s something we’ve got in common.” You crossed your arms across your chest and let out a loose sigh, eyes wandering around in an attempt to think of what to say next. It should’ve been so easy, but… but for some reason, it just wasn’t.

“Guess so.” That awkward silence stretched out once more, neither of you knowing how to fill it. Thankfully, Mike continued to take the plunge, but it wasn’t without a slight barb. “What are you doing here?”

“I—” you stopped just as you had begun, because you really didn’t know. You had come here for help, but could Mike really do that for you? He was the same as you — a fucked up teenager trying to deal with something so far beyond him.

“I don’t know,” you admitted as you made eye contact once more. “I… I really don’t know. I’m out of options, and… I can’t keep going like this. So I came here to talk, or— or to try and get some help. I don’t know.”

That same silence filled the air once more, the night ambiance the only thing in between the two of you. You missed when that silence used to be comfortable, but… you could only blame yourself for it.

“So— so, what?” he asked, the beginnings of a frown starting to crease his brows. “You just— we go through all that together up there, and then when we get back down you don’t say a word for months. And now— now, out of nowhere, in the middle of the night, you just show up and ask for help?”

“God,” you muttered. When he put it that way, it was true. It was ridiculous, to expect his help after the way you had just left him to deal with it all on his own for a reason borne of your own insecurity. “You’re right. This was— this was stupid. I’m sorry.”

You had already turned to go when you felt a calloused hand on your shoulder, causing you to stop in your tracks.

“No.” His voice was surprisingly soft as he sighed, stepping back with a shake of his head to make room in the doorway. “No, I—” Mike paused for a moment, as if he couldn’t find the right words to say. “I’m sorry. You can come in. Obviously, you can come in.”

Your eyes widened slightly as you tried to hide your shock at the gesture, but you weren’t about to turn it down. You nodded, and he stepped aside to make space for you to walk in. When you did, you were met with a mess not unlike the one back at your apartment, save for the beer bottles. Clothes were strewn about haphazardly on every surface, so you took a seat on a clean spot on the floor, leaning back against a chair and pulling your knees up to your chest. You actually preferred it this way — it was grounding, in a literal sense. Mike pushed aside a laundry basket and did the same, but pulled one leg up and let the other lay extended.

“Why?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had been accumulating once more. “Why did you just…” he gestured around with his hands to try and get his point across but ultimately settled with a sigh. “You didn’t say anything. You didn’t try to text, or call, or write, or— or anything. Hell, I would’ve probably jumped to get a messenger pigeon from you. But it was just… radio silence.”

You picked at the dry skin on your thumbs as you tried to come up with an answer. “I… I don’t know,” you repeated. “It was stupid, and it was horrible of me to leave you alone. I mean… I don’t know why I did it. I know what I’ve been going through, and I know you’ve been going through the same. So I don’t know why I didn’t try to reach out and see how you were doing.”

He chuckled mirthlessly as his eyes swept over the empty bottles that had accumulated on the coffee table. “I’m not the best with alone.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “I thought…” you shook your head as you looked at the ceiling. “I thought that you hated me. I know that you cared about them all more, you were closer to all of them, and… and I thought you wouldn’t want anything to do with me. That I would just always be a reminder of what you lost. And… and, I don’t know. Maybe it was my way of trying to move on. Was a stupid fucking idea, though.”

That got a genuine laugh out of him as he ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I get that. I dunno why I didn’t try to talk to you either. Maybe since you didn’t say anything, I didn’t want to either. This whole thing fucked me up.” His gaze moved to you. “Fucked us both up.”

“You can say that again,” you muttered as you tapped your fingers on your knees. “I can’t look anywhere without seeing them. I mean, I see that fucking…” you grimaced. “I see Josh, and I see what that thing did to him, and I just— I’m right back to step one.”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “...yeah. That was seven layers of fucked up.”

“You can’t just keep saying everything was fucked up,” you said dryly. “It was shitty, too.”

Mike snorted, some kind of slightly masochistic humor going on between the two of you. “Nothing really gets the point across like fucked up.”

“Guess you’re right,” you finally conceded with a small smile. “This is… this is nice. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to… I don’t know, to talk to someone like this.”

“It is,” he murmured.

Another pregnant pause hung in the air, but the silence wasn’t as uncomfortable now. Trickles of what it used to be like, of your old life, were beginning to poke through.

“I never hated you,” he said suddenly. Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and it was like his brown eyes were piercing through you as he continued. “I never did. After it happened… yeah, I was mad. I was fucking pissed, but it was never at you. You were my friend too, y’know? Even though we weren’t that close, we were still… we were still something. And I’m glad you made it. I just wish you hadn’t convinced yourself that you had to go through this alone. Maybe things would’ve turned out different, these past few months. For both of us.”

You nodded, choosing to avert eye contact first because you almost couldn’t handle the sincerity. Your heart sank a bit at the sight of all the beer bottles, and you knew that he was right. Maybe things would’ve been different if the two of you had weathered it together from the start. And so you said that.

“I still can’t help but feel like I’m to blame for—” you gestured around at the mess with a sigh, “for this.”

“Look.” His voice was raspy as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and as he met your eyes once more you were able to see how truly exhausted he was. With dark circles that matched your own, scars that were still healing, and a certain hollowness behind his eyes… It was like looking in a mirror. And it made you realize how fucked up the two of you had really become.

Mike had always been good at holding himself together, putting up his signature egotistical-douchebag-jock act in the face of anything that threatened to tear him down, and more often than not he came out victorious. But not even class presidents were immune to the horrors that they had faced, and it was taking more of a toll on him than you had realized.

“It’s not your fault. You— you did everything you could; I know I’m still alive because of you. Besides, we were idiot teenagers — we still are — and none of them deserved to die because of it. Not Hannah, not Beth, not any of them.” Mike shook his head and sighed. “Not even Josh. Man was fucked up even before all of this, but he didn’t deserve what happened to him. He needed help, but instead he got his fucking… god. I can’t even say it. But he didn’t deserve it.”

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, the subconscious process having stopped because of the weight of his words. It was cliche, but you didn’t know how much you needed to hear those four words: it’s not your fault.

“Maybe you should be my therapist,” you joked weakly. But as you let your eyes trail back to Mike you bit your lip. He hadn’t included himself in that statement, and it wasn’t too hard to figure out why.

“Mike… it wasn’t your fault either. You’re not just saying bullshit to try and make yourself feel better, it really wasn’t your fault. What do they say? ‘Getting through your guilt is the first step to recovery’ or some shit? You deserve to be here just as much as I do.”

“But it was,” he insisted. “It’s easy for you to say that. You tried to stop it, I… I just went along with it. Fuck, I started it all. Hannah and Beth went missing because of me, Josh went out of his fuckin’ mind, and if he hadn’t brought us all back up there for his revenge plot then they wouldn’t have died. How is it not my fault? Why do I get to live when all of them died because of me?”

“Mike,” you sighed. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know why we made it back when none of them did, but it’s not your fucking fault, okay? You— yeah, that prank was fucking stupid, but— but how could you know what was going to happen?” You huffed a laugh that was only slightly unhinged. “People pull pranks all the time. Native American legend cannibal spirit things don’t try to kill people all the time. You can’t keep blaming yourself. It’s not going to help them, and it’s not going to help you.”

That silence stretched out once more as he took in your words. You didn’t know if he believed them or not, but you did. That had to be worth something, right?

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” he muttered, breaking the silence once more. “And I… I don’t know. I don’t know why it took almost fucking dying from those goddamn things, a— and seeing what happened to all of them...”

“I don’t know,” he repeated, leaning back against the foot of the sofa. “All the shit that happened, all of them dying — I don’t know how long it’ll take until we’re okay again. Hell, I don’t even know if we ever will be okay again. What happened up there was fucked up in the worst way, and the fact that no one believes us makes it a hell of a lot worse.”

You chuckled darkly as you cupped one hand in the other. “You can say that again.”

His lips twitched for a moment as if he wanted to smile but ultimately thought better of it. “I know we aren’t that close anymore, but the truth is we’re the only ones on this fuckin’ planet that know what really happened up there. We’re the only ones that will ever really understand what happened to us, and… and I think we’re the only ones that can really help each other through this shit.”

He met your eyes once more, something resolute in them. “So the next time this happens, because it will, if you don’t want to be alone… you can come here. Any time, any day, no questions asked. Just knock on that door, and I will be there. No more isolation, no more trying to get through this on our own. We gotta be there for each other, because we’re all we have.”

You nodded gratefully, a feeling of warmth slowly creeping through your body with his reassurance. “Thank you, Mike. You… you have no idea what this means to me.”

“I think I have some clue,” he murmured.

As you exchanged weary smiles, you saw a faint twinkle in Mike’s eyes. He was always the kind of person to help others, even if it was for the wrong reasons, and that was one thing that stuck with him after the disaster. And in that moment, a long lost feeling washed over you — safety.

You hadn’t felt safe in… well, it seemed like forever. Adrenaline and pure instinct were responsible for getting you through those twelve hours, along with an overwhelming wave of numbness and denial. But once all of that wore off, the nightmares had begun. Your friends, the Wendigos, the mountain itself — anything and everything that your mind could use against you, it did.

It was a living hell. You could hardly ever sleep anymore, horrific images always jolting you awake after an hour or two and keeping you awake for the rest of the day. It was no wonder Mike had ended up with a drinking problem — it was probably the only way he could sleep, the only way he could bring some form of peace to his mind. By some miracle, you had avoided that fate, but… you would be lying if you said you hadn’t come close.

But somehow, for some reason, you could tell that things were going to be different. Now that you and Mike weren’t avoiding each other anymore in the name of painful memories… you felt like things were going to be okay. Or as close to okay as you could get these days.

You weren’t alone, and neither was he.

He had saved your life on the mountain more than once. Now, he was saving you again. Just in a different way.

-

perm tags: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77

ud tags: @kwyloz

[beann-e]

god imagine if when bakugou has a kid their just like him. like imagine a 6 year old with a sarcastic nasty mouth who just doesn’t give a fuck. Which eventually leads to bakugou getting his ass handed to him. Look here’s a teaser

“ holy sh—fuc—why aren’t you sleeping “

“ why aren’t you sleeping “

“ because I cant sle—- “ a soft cough left the older males mouth as he sat up straighter “ I don’t have to explain anything to you — you little rodent “

“ ro— ro— rodent ? “ the small child’s voice came out in a loud scream as the male in front them shifted in his seat uncomfortably

“ here come on let’s go to mama “

God you had to have been his only way out of this situation

“ mamas sleep “

of course you were.

Of course you were tucked away into the confinement of your own bed recovering from a hard day of work. The soft covers draped over your body while the fan worked wonders around the room.

God your such an asshole , a pathetically beautiful and lucky asshole

“ heh , then why aren’t you? “ the older male deadpanned as he stared down on the child. He let out a small sigh when he didn’t receive an answer “ ok then why don’t we both go to our own rooms and sleep too huh ? how ‘bout that “

“ katsumis sleeping in there “

“ fuck —you just seem to have everybody in your corner huh you little brat“

The room went quiet as he watched the small girl crawl up on the coach using his pants leg as an anchor to help her get up there. Her small legs pushing her up only for her to fall back down because her arms couldn’t pull up the weight of her small body. His mouth opening to let out a sigh before he reached out and pushed the girl up on the couch his hand pushing her butt and sending the girl flying onto the couch like a football.

Only to make her giggle and crawl back over to sit next to him.Body settling in the same position as him with her small chubby legs spread out and her hands placed behind the couch as far as they could go leaving her chest out in the open. A small smile on her face when she noticed she looked just like the male to the right of her. And honestly she did she always did without even trying .

It wasn’t that bakugou hated kids no.

It was just that he would rather be left alone and not be bothered with them. He thought maybe when he grew up and had his own kids that would change but after the birth of your first child together, then the second , and lastly the third he only noticed the small change that occurred.

He could put up with them of course but he always found them annoying mostly because anytime he seen them he had just gotten back home from work. meaning he had to hear them screaming their heads off and fighting with you in a plea to skip bath time while he walked through the door and straight to your shared bedroom

Most of the time he was the disciplinary parent so you can only guess how quickly each of them would fall in line when they all looked up to see the loud footsteps echoing through the house belonged to their father.

His hero uniform still on with his eyes locked on each of theirs in a tired gaze frowning up at him as his right hand carried the belt he’d picked up from his bedroom on the way over to the bathroom.

His face speaking volumes before his mouth did . His right hand only gripping tighter when he thought about how long you had gone with them acting like this and him not being around to stop them from mistaking your exhaustion as submission

You weren’t soft per say but after having 3 kids and taking care of them by yourself you’d grown weak and tired.

Your mean manner and discipline you thought you had set up in your house only withered away more and more with every kid you had and now you were really just tired of taking care of three kids all by yourself with no help.

“ take the shitty bat— “

your hardened gaze moved from your kids to him as his hand holding the belt wavered — remembering your rule of no cursing in the house because your middle child had just started second grade and the teacher had already called once.

“ haha daddy’s scared of mommy “

“ of course he is have you seen her “

“ hey mommy’s not scary she’s just — “ your youngest daughter katsu spoke as she quickly turned to katsuki “ hey daddy what’s that word “

“ what word ? “ his face went stoic before he sighed annoyed with the small child “ how the hel— heck am I suppose to know what word you wanna say — i’m not a mind reader katsu— that’s not my quirk “

“ well maybe if you spent a little more time with her you’d know asshole “ your oldest spoke under his breath “ strict katsu that’s the word your looking for — she’s just strict I mean someone has to be when our fathers too busy sa— “

“ hey come on kai just— just get in the bathtub your up next anyways “ your voice was soft a small sigh leaving it before you wrapped katsumi and katsu in towels tucking them away from their older brother. “ ‘sumi— ‘tsu follow your dad he was just leaving —he can help me put you two to bed tonight — “ you rolled your eyes at the male hovering over you “ lord knows i need it—in you go kai “

“leaving — wh— the hell if I am ——- your just gonna let ‘ em get away with that “ bakugous mouth moved faster as he gripped the belt like it was a separate life form when he saw your innocent eyes look up at him “ get away with what babe ? “

“ they just verbally assaulted me y/n “

“ oh did they hmm” you turned back to your kids “ maybe you should file another villains report “

“ wow “ his voice went quiet at your remark you two had been on the outs recently because he kept saying how much he wanted more kids in the moment only to turn around and bask in the light he was given during their birth and then turn back around and spend no time with them at all.

you shook your head “ i’m sorry I don’t understand what they’ve done wrong “

You were tired of it.

“ i’m going to bed after this ‘suki I don’t know if your gonna be there or if your sleeping at the office again but please this time write a note so I don’t tell katsu her dad will take her to school in the morning “ you scoffed “ again “

That was how he ended up here he had gone to the office but he came back when he realized he’d screwed up his whole family. He assumed that if he had the fame , the money , the whole setup that he could provide for his family’s every need.

What he’d forgotten is that maintaining relationships within your family is actually apart of said needs. He didn’t understand until all three of his kids had something to say about his absence how much it was messing with them. So he came back home and sat on the couch.

Just his luck that he was greeted with not only the youngest but the smartest of his three children. He would’ve much rather have walked in to hear you screaming at him for leaving in the first place not the toothless child next to him bothering him with useless questions about his absence

“ dada “ his eyes went over to look at katsu who’d found a place on his side This would be her twelfth question in a matter of five minutes “ can I sit in your lap “

his eyes furrowed this was a different question than he’d expected “ katsu baby you don’t have to ask things like that “

“ but you— your never here so I just assumed that you may be trying to get away from us so I didn’t want you to have someone you don’t like in your lap “

“ what kat— “ his back hit the couch before he propped himself up and dragged the small girl onto his lap “ I adore you guys I love you and I never meant to make you guys feel unloved it’s just that“

“mm “ her voice coming out accusingly just like yours causing him to tense while imagining you as the small girl in front of him.

“ work baby “ he sighed as he rubbed the girls shoulders up and down heating up her cold body “ work is really hard when your an adult and you never get any time off with my job it’s constant “

“ daddy is all work hard “

“ yes “ he smiled

“ if all work is hard— meaning it’s all the same then why can’t you just get a different hard job that doesn’t take up all your time “

his heart pounded inside his chest as he stared down on the smaller girl his eyes wide “ w— what um aren’t you like what 5 —6 how— “

“ you missed when my quirk came daddy it’s super knowledge”

his smile tightened along with the grip he held on the couch cushion beside him “ of course it is yeah of course it is — just my fucking luck “

[angelguk]

OMg angst thoughts for jock couple...one of them (probably oc) most likely got stood up for a date bc jk has trainings so oc goes on a spiral thinking abt what if theyre just in this relationship cos its comfortable for them and like theyve known each other the longest and maybe theyre dating bc of some twisted ver of stockholm syndrome n oc gets all 😔😔💔😡 and starts ignoring jk for some time

i have been mulling over this for awhile (i think you also sent a follow-up angst ending but lets set the scene first shall we)

pairing: jock!jk and oc 

warnings: angst, poor communication, oc being insecure and jk being clueless (and kind of an asshole)

soundtrack: antidote by gas dapperton 

(titled — bite the hand that feeds the heart)

You’ve tapped your phone on roughly ten times now, narrowed eyes staring at the time with each lighting of your screen. Every minute that ticks by sinks deep into your heart, clawing something open there, ribs struggling to keep your feelings contained. But you can feel them swelling at the brim of your gaze, eyes blinking harsh under the subdued tawny glow of streetlights. You kick you shoes against the ground to speed up time, pressing your back into the hard brick wall behind you, searching for some sense of support. Even with your mindless excursions, the time still drags on, shifting from ten to fifteen to thirty idle minutes waiting for your lover. 

He turns the corner the second you decide to give up and go home.

“Hey!” Jeongguk’s hair dances in the night wind, delicate curls lifting gracefully. “Sorry–sorry! Coach kept us late for a team meeting and then Yoonoh wanted to borrow my notes and then I found out I had an essay due which I had no ide–”

“It’s okay.” You cut him off with an iciness, kicking yourself off the wall, your dark sweater coddling your frame. Autumn was seeping in, once vibrant green trees falling into hues amber and gold. This was your favourite season, the slow quiet onset of winter warming your heart. But that feeling is absent now, your face sent in a scowl as you trudge towards the nearest convenience store, eyes focused on the bright white luminescence of it not bothering to check if Jeongguk is following you.

You can’t see it but he’s staring at the back of your head strangely, lips twisting down with concern. 

When he grabs your arm, easily linking it with his, you nearly shrug him off. 

“Hey,” Jeongguk tries, tone ginger. “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to be late, but today was he–”

“You could have texted.”

“I–I I know, I just for–”

“It’s fine, Jeongguk,” you snap, finally giving into the urge to shove him away. “It’s fine. You just keep doing this and I hate it.”

You steady walk forward is interrupted by him yanking you back, twisting you around to face him.

“Doing what? Is it my fault that I’m busy all the time?”

“No,” you spit. “I understand that. But you keep thinking I’m just gonna be around waiting for you forever, Jeongguk and that’s not fair!”

The sigh that drifts from his lips irks you. Like you’re the inconvenience to him when all you’ve done is rearrange your world to fit him at the centre. 

“God what is your issue? I’m late a couple times and suddenly I’m the villain?” His eyes are hard, jaw set like this has been stuck in his throat for a while and the words are ecstatic to be let out. 

“Literally fuck off,” it’s there already, the edge you’ve been slipping on since this all started. At first it was a quiet worry, mulling at the back of your head, but lately, ever since Chayoung opened her big fat mouth it’s grown louder. Insistent to be heard, demanding to break this gentle thing in your hands. “You’re being a dickhead right now.” 

“Me?” Jeongguk huffs. “You’re the one complaining about something useless.”

“Useless? My time is useless to you?” 

You see it flash in the honey of his eyes, quick enough that you might have missed it had you blinked. “What the hell is this about?” Jeongguk whispers. He’s reaching out for you, hands looking for an anchor. “Why are you so cryptic all the time? Why can’t you just tell me what the problem is?”

Maybe he’s right, because you’re not being honest here. But admitting it to him means admitting it to yourself and you’re too afraid to do that. Too afraid to lose the most precious thing to you, to your heart. 

“Cryptic? If you even fucking listened to me for one sec–”

“I do!” Jeongguk returns, eyes narrow. “You just say things and never mean them.”

That gets you, heart stopping dead in your chest. You suddenly wish you could take it all back; the kiss on the rooftop of his apartment, the nights you spent in his bed learning the taste of him, the murmurs of love you’d left on his skin. Because did they mean anything? Did you even truly love him?

That question burns in your head, splits your heart right open, bleeding through the cracks of your ribs. 

“You should go home,” you finally murmur. Jeongguk blanches, doe eyes wide. 

“What–what? Y/N what the hell are you talking about?”

“Go home,” you repeat, twisting your head away. You can’t look at him cause if you do you’ll cry and you don’t want Jeongguk to see you like that. He grabs your shoulder, you rip his hand away. “Go home, Jeongguk! I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

For second there’s a moment of silence, you take it and start walking forward, up the to convenience store.  A whisper in your head tells you he’ll follow, force you to talk to him, share the secrets mauling your heart. But then you hear the scrap of his sneakers against the pavement, fading away instead of drawing close. You walk until you’re at the top of the hill, frame illuminated by the stores bright lights. You look back then, hoping he’s still there. Your gaze finds an empty road instead, copper leaves skipping through the breeze. He’s gone, left you alone to drown in this, like the louder voice in your head knew he would.

[quindolyn]

can you write a james potter smut with a lot of choking, hair pulling and degradation :))

Patience Pays Off || James Potter

Word Count: 3834

A/N: I haven’t written in forever but this was for @randomoutsiders because it’s her birthday today. I know that I’m posting this after midnight her time but it’s still 9 here so I’m still celebrating Isa’s birthday. I love you baby. I’m still getting the hang of dom Jamie because in my head he’s my little sub and I have a hard time as seeing him as anything but the softest dom so this isn’t perfect

Warnings: rough sex, degradation, face slapping, spanking, dumbification, slapping reader’s tits, I think that’s it?

Masterlist

You were proud of yourself for making it through the entirety of the day without a major incident, since your first class of the day a fire had been burning in your belly, beginning as a mere flame before erupting into a blazing wildfire. Consuming you from the inside out.

The littlest thing made the fire burn hotter and brighter, the way James’ muscles flexed under his uniform as he walked through the hallways, shoulders back and arm around your waist like he owned the place. 

You couldn’t help but whimper, catching a glimpse of his toned abdomen as he stretched his arms upwards, loosening himself up after being hunched over a desk all day. You felt your heart skip a beat in your chest watching his hand grip his quill, jotting down notes in his sloppy handwriting.

All you could think about was how many better things we could do with those hands, how wasted they were on Transfiguration.

You couldn’t bear the thought of having to sit through dinner, watching his hands flex as he shoveled food from his plate into his mouth, eyes trained on his lips as he licked them clean of the remnants of his meal. It sounded like hell, but when you’d tugged on his sleeve right before the two of you entered the Great Hall, murmuring into his shoulder about how you just wanted to go up to his dorm you’d been shot down.

Knowing why you were so desperate to escape up to his dorm James simply told you to be patient as he tugged you into the hall, quickly ushering you over to your usual seat with his best friends and roommates. 

The whole endeavor had been just as hellish as it had sounded and by the time James was leading you up the stairs to his dorm, Remus and Sirius having disappeared to the Astronomy tower together.

As the door latched behind you you threw yourself at James’ chest, grappling for his shoulders as you smeared your forehead against his strong shoulder. 

“Daddy,” You mewled, feeling your pussy throb at the very feeling of his body under your hands as you dug your fingers into his shoulders.

James’ deep chuckle sounded from above you and you could feel the vibrations against your head, “Someone’s needy,” His large hand reached up, his fingers combing through your hair before anchoring themselves up towards the root of your hair. 

Using his hold on you he pulled your head backward so that you were forced to peer up at him, eyes wide and hazy from hours of being teased. Tears were beginning to well in your eyes as the sexual frustration of the day began to wash over you.

“M’not needy,” You whimpered, pushing yourself into him because even though you were pressed together it wasn’t enough. You needed more. 

“No baby? Not needy?” He asked, cocking his head to the side as hazel eyes held yours, the very feeling of his eyes on you had you squirming.

“No Daddy, not needy,” You insisted.

What succeeded that  was so abrupt that you almost didn’t register it but James lifted his hand, bringing it down against the side of your face, pulling a pathetic whine from you as the pain from his hand blossomed across your face. Instinctively you brought your hand up to soothe the warming flesh of your cheek but James caught your wrist before you could get too far.

“Don’t lie to me slut,” He growled, eyes darkening as he gazed down at you, said gaze hardening considerably, 

“That hurt,” You sniffed but the boy paid you no mind. 

“You’ve been needy for me all day, spent all of Charms hanging off my arm, ready to take my cock right there where everyone would’ve seen you. But you were too needy to even think about that.”

You felt shame pool in the pit of your belly at his statement, because no matter how much you’d try to deny it he was right. You would’ve let him take you right there if he wanted to. You could hear James’ voice ring through your head, Daddy’s needy girl.

“Am I wrong baby?” He asked almost like he could read your mind.

You shook your head but quickly remembered that you were to answer him verbally, “No Daddy, you’re not wrong.”

“There we go,” He cooed, bringing his thumb to the seal of your lips before pushing past it and letting his thumb rest against the flat of your tongue. You began sucking on the digit the second it landed on your tongue, humming around his finger as your eyes fluttered closed.

“Eyes open,” Your eyes were startled open as his rough fingers pinched at your clothed nipple through your uniform top and bra. 

James was silent as he let his eyes drag over your form, face open and pleading, your chest was heaving from the effort it took not to collapse onto the floor, your legs looking like they were about to buckle as your trembling knees knocked against each other.

“Were you horny all day baby?” He wondered as though the idea had just dawned on him.

You nodded, James' finger still lodged in your mouth before he slipped it out, wiping it clean not on his clothes but the material of your skirt. 

“On the bed bunny, and get all these pesky clothes off, I want my pretty whore naked for me.”

You scrambled to comply with his command, fingers clumsily pulling buttons through their respective holes before shrugging the garment off your shoulders allowing it to land somewhere on the floor around you. Your bra quickly followed and having already shed your footwear that left you only in the uniform skirt that had ridden up your thighs to the point where it was useless, barely even covering your panty clad pussy much less your ass.

You didn’t dare glimpse up at James to silently plead for help, knowing it would only ensure more mocking and teasing and you weren’t quite sure if you would be able to stand it. Instead, you stayed struggling with the difficult clasp at the top of the skirt’s zipper, slippery fingers struggling with the small hook.

“What? Can’t get it undone pretty baby?” James asked you from where he stood at the foot of the bed, you stood to the left of the mattress, brows furrowed as your head was dropped to examine the hook.

Your eyes flashed upwards, meeting James’ lust clouded gaze, hazel eyes trained on your face, he was doing little, if anything, to mask the sly smirk forming on his face from watching you fumble uselessly.

“It’s hard,” You insisted, quickly returning your eyes to the task at hand.

“I’m sure it is when you’re a dumb baby.”

“M’not dumb!” You raised your head in indignation, glaring at the boy who stood there as cockily as ever. 

“What was that?” His tone was harder than it had been mere seconds ago, the cocky smile slipping from his lips, “Who do you think you are, talking back?”

“You called me dumb Daddy,” You mumbled pathetically, casting your head down as the boy approached you, meeting your smaller figure in only a few strides, “And m’not,” Your voice stalled as your eyes lifted to meet the somber look on James’ face, “M’not dumb.”

James’ following silence was worse than any physical punishment he could dole out to you, the longer you stood there, eyes locked on James’, the louder your heartbeat became in your head. 

“Not dumb, huh? Then why is your skirt still fucking on? Did I say you could stop?”

At his words, your eyes dropped back down to the clasp where you found your fingers had stilled, almost shaking due to the intensity of his stare but no longer working on the task you’d been assigned.

Your fingers began to twitch again, trying to figure out the complicated clasp (though it was really only complicated thanks to the fog that had seemed to settle over your mind) but before you could make any progress the piece of fabric was torn from your waist with a force that had you reeling.

You could barely register the stinging along the skin of your waist and hips, all you knew was that there was a rush of slick flooding your pussy at James’ impressive show of strength. 

“Fucking useless,” The dark haired boy murmured, “Have to do everything myself.” As the words tumbled from his lips his large hands found the mounds of your breasts, squeezing them to the precipice where pain overrode pleasure. 

It took everything you had in you to not let your head tip back at the stimulation and let out the most pathetic whine. Knowing James would only use it as fuel was the only thing that kept you contained.

“Can get your panties off can’t you?” His right hand trailed down your form before encountering the waistband of said underwear, slipping a finger underneath it to pull the strap away from your hip before letting go and letting it snap back against your skin.

The contact stung but not enough for you to argue it with him, having wanted him all day you needed him, and you needed him now. Not even the wanting to voice your disdain for his action was going to get in the way of that. 

“Yes, Daddy,” You murmured obediently, sliding the panties down your hips before stepping out of them. A swift pat on the ass had you scampering onto the bed where you positioned yourself on your knees, hands clasped in your lap as you awaited James’ instruction

“Look at you,” The brunette muttered, a strong finger catching under the curve of your chin and using it to direct your visage upwards towards his, “On your knees for me like you know you’re supposed to be.”

“S’because I’m your good girl,” You mewled, trying to lean into James’ touch, seeking the comfort that came with it but sensing your intentions James quickly pulled his hand back, leaving you desperate for him to touch you.

Your thirst for said touch was quickly satisfied when he gripped your jaw in his hand, pushing your cheeks together, your lips forced out into a pout. You were sure that the grip he had on you was melding bruises into the side of your voice but you couldn’t summon the energy to care.

You were embarrassed to admit that the rough hold James had on you sent a tingle down your spine, a familiar throbbing in your pussy. 

“Gonna see how good for me you can actually be,” With those words James pushed your shoulders back onto the bed where you landed with a soft thud, straightening out your legs so that James could grab ahold of your ankles and wind them around his waist, pulling closer to you to trail his lips up the length of your torso. Leaving sloppy open mouthed kisses until he came to your tits, pinching each nipple between his fingers.

He delighted in the little whine you let out at that, using it as an invitation to roll the rosy buds between his fingers before palming your breasts, his large hands engulfing them. James groped the flesh before releasing your tits from his hold, an involuntary whimper leaving your lips at the lack of stimulation before he brought the palms of his hands down against them, smacking them harder than he had your face. 

“Fuck,” You breathed, attempting to clench your thighs together but met by the resistance of James’ hips positioned between them.

“Watch your mouth,” James scolded absentmindedly as he returned his mouth to your body, sucking hues of yellow and blue and purple into the soft skin before soothing the marks with his tongue. This gentle touch immediately followed by him nipping harshly at the forming bruises was jarring, jarring enough to have you bucking up into his hips. 

“Daddy please,” You’d had enough of the teasing touches and mocking smiles, you’d had enough of it all except for the one thing you really needed, his cock. 

“Use your words slut, tell me what you want.” 

“Want you please, want your cock. Need it so bad Daddy, so so bad,” You begged unabashedly, scratching your fingernails along his shoulder blades as you tried to pull him closer and closer to you.

“Desperate little cockwhore, want my cock so badly,” James grinned as he pushed himself off both you and the bed, peering down at your frame as he made quick work of the belt of his buckle. The clinking of metal was music to your ears and enough to have you propping yourself up on your elbows to watch him as he disrobed, shedding his clothes faster than any human reasonably should be able to.

Your mouth dropped open as James shed his last piece of clothing, inching his boxers down his muscled thighs until the length of his cock was able to pop out, escaping the restraints of the underwear. 

Though he hadn’t been letting on, his prick was all you needed to see to know he was as turned on as you were, just much better at hiding it. A good 8 inches in length his cock stood proud and tall, already engorged with blood the tip was a pretty rose color that seemed to be darkening by the second and you couldn’t help but lick your lips at the very sight of it. 

James took immense pleasure in watching your face as he worked his fist up and down his length, relishing in the way your eyes darkened considerably every time the head poked out the top of his fist.

“Hands and knees for me pretty slut,” You pushed yourself into the requested position, arching your back like you knew James would want you to, making sure to push your ass as far up into the air as possible.

You inhaled sharply as you felt the mattress shift, knowing that it was James settling in behind you you felt your pulse speed up, the anticipation was palpable as James smeared the leaking head of his cock over the globes of your ass.

“My whore, letting me rub my cock on her ass, making her all sticky and messy,” James punctuated his remark with a slap to your ass, though not the first time his hands had come down against you that night it for certain came with the most force behind it. You jolted forward at the impact before quickly sliding back into your position.

You could feel the blood rushing to your ass as it warmed under James’ hand which was now rubbing the afflicted area in attempts to soothe the skin. All efforts were in vain though when the hand was drawn back once again and brought down on almost the exact same spot. 

This time he managed to pull a strangled gasp from you, the pain only contributing to the heat beginning to boil in the pit of your belly. 

“Please,” You whined, arching your back even more and pushing your ass up against James, needing for him to relent and fill you up like you knew he could, “I’m done being patient I just need you.”

“Like you were ever patient, to begin with.”

“I was, I spent all day waiting for you to get up so you could fuck me and-”

Your bratty words had gotten you just what you wanted, James cut you off mid sentence as he pushed his cock into you, not even easing himself in he simply impaled you on his member. Hands found your hips and pulled you back to meet his so that your ass was still high in the air and he could be as deep inside of you as possible.

“Happy now you fucking cockslut? Happy now that Daddy’s fucking his pretty pussy?”

“Y-yes Daddy, your pussy” You stuttered out as the force of James’ thrusts dropped you down from your hands to your elbows, your hair tumbling in front of your face and effectively obscuring your vision.

This issue was quickly fixed as you felt James tug you up by your hair, using it to stabilize himself as he thrusted in and out of your ribbed walls. The friction his movement provided felt incredible, accompanied by the feeling of being full of his cock had the pleasure in your belly continuing to simmer.

If the distinctly wet sound of your pussy was any indicator you were absolutely soaked, James’ rough handling of you only reminding you how big and strong your boyfriend really was, how if he wanted to he could break you.

The pleasure in your belly was building quickly, with every sound of skin slapping against skin you felt your pussy ache, no matter that you were already stuffed full of his cock already. You needed more, you always needed more of him. 

“Slutty bunny,” James grunted as he planted his hands on your hips to hold you into place as he lifted his hips, able to reach deeper and deeper inside of you, “Such a whore for my cock, drooling over me all day. Is this what you wanted baby? Wanted Daddy to fuck you?”

“Yes! S’what I wanted, feels so good.”

“Of course it does, cock sluts just need to be full of Daddy’s cock, is that what you want bunny?”

“Yes, Daddy!” You screamed as you felt yourself being pushed further and further towards the edge of orgasm. Dancing dangerously close to the precipice of pleasure, so close you risked cumming without permission, and after hours and hours of desperation, you couldn’t afford to disappoint him. 

“Can feel you clenching around me slutty girl, you feel so fucking good around me, it’s like you were made for my cock.”

“I was Daddy, was made for your cock,” You were ready to say anything you needed to in order to get James’ permission to cum. Having abandoned all embarrassment, all shame, you didn’t care how much of a fool you’d make of yourself you just needed to cum. 

“That’s right slutty baby, you wanna cum? You wanna cum for Daddy?” 

His offer was enough to have you squealing if you weren’t gasping for breath with every powerful thrust, but you summoned the breath from within you to speak just a few simple words, “Yes please, wanna cum, let me cum please Daddy, have needed to cum all day I need it I need it please.”

Taking pity on you due to the desperation conveyed through your words James grunted his assent as he continued pistoning in and out of you. Eyes clenched as he felt your walls spasm around him, not wanting to cum quite yet.

You released a string of curses as you allowed yourself to tip over the edge of pleasure, putting up no resistance as it swallowed you in your entirety. You felt warmth rush through your every nerve as you became painfully aware of every sound and texture around you. 

The sounds of James’ low moans, the feeling of the silky sheets against your swaying breasts, the heat that emanated from your partner’s palms which had found sanctuary on the small of your back. It was like it was all sharpened to maximize the pleasure already coursing through your body, the feeling of James still moving in and out of you was intoxicating as your vision began to white over. 

The briefly sharpened senses faded, the noise in the room seemed to quiet to a low hum as you came down from your orgasm. But relief wasn’t what you were met with, instead it was James, still buried balls deep inside of you, allowing you to ride out your orgasm completely around his cock.

“Made such a fucking mess,” To prove his point James’ fingers dipped into the slick that had gathered at the apex of your thighs. Bringing the cum covered hand up he swiped the wetness off onto your back, adoring the way you looked covered in your own release. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” You blubbered, “Thank you for letting me cum.”

“Not quite done bunny,” James expertly flipped you from your knees onto your back, eyes watching hungrily as your tits bounced, nipples still hard from him playing with them earlier, “Daddy hasn’t cum yet, thinking I’m gonna cum on your pretty tits, look so hot when they bounce for me.”

Once you were settled in on your back James resumed his movements in and out of your cunt, he too was quickly approaching his release and the feeling of you around him was absolutely heavenly.

“So fucked out for me baby,” James grunted as his right hand found your throat, long fingers curling around your neck easily before squeezing lightly, watching the way your eyes went wide, “Stupid slut’s dumb on my cock. Giving you what you asked for and you’re too dumb to even try to work for it, I’ve gotta do all the work.”

You whined out at his degradation, squirming underneath him as his assault on your cunt overstimulated you to the brink of a second orgasm.

“G-gonna cum again Daddy,” You warned him, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure overwhelmed each of your senses. Even the room reeked of sex. 

“Are you there baby? Gonna cum twice before Daddy’s even cum once, greedy little thing,” James squeezed harder on your throat to the point where your mind became even fuzzier and a new sort of cloud settled over your mind. Just as the fuzz was beginning to get to be too much he released his hold on your throat.

Feeling himself approach orgasm James pulled out of your pussy, his hand quickly finding his cock and pumping it up and down as quickly as his wrist would allow him.

“Gonna cum on your tits baby, gonna cum all over your titties,” He moaned as he straddled your waist, continuing to work his cock in his hand.

“Fuck, m’gonna cum,” You closed your eyes as rope after rope of hot, white cum was shot across your tits, a few landing higher up on your body decorating your neck and one even reaching the side of your cheek.

“That’s it, that’s a good girl.”

You whined as the cum decorated your skin, making you even more pathetic looking than you already were.

“My slutty baby looks so pretty covered in my cum,” James smirked, collecting a line of cum off your chest on his finger before bringing the digit to your already parted lips. You dutifully sucked the digit into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before he pulled it from the warm cavity.

“M’not slutty,” You insisted.

“No? What kinda good girl lets her Daddy cum all over her then?”

You were silent, too gone to even begin to pick that fight.

“That’s right like I said, you’re my dumb slut.”

tagging:@randomoutsiders @weasleyposts @amourtentiaa @kittykylax @superbturtlemakerathlete @oliviashea05 @pinkandblueblurbs @st0nesnglitter @thatvenusbabe @itsmentalillness @zzzfour @greenlyblue @emmaev @temporaryissue @gubleryum @msmb  @miraclesoflove @velmasteas @drachoesimp @ashlovesthemarauders @artemis1orion @skaratjung @ava-brooke-blog1 @fairyprettygirly @ohwowimlonley @padfootswife @roonilwazlibswhore 

[lantsovsupremacist]

i don’t know how to forget you: nikolai lantsov

warning for some spice but nothing insane ! i imagine this takes place during seige and storm but nikolai looks like himself because we all deserve that. 😌 pretty short but i like it!

“and we’re just having sex no i would never call it love, but, love. oh no i think i’m catching feelings.”

the door slammed shut behind the weight of a limb. you’re not sure which one or who it even belonged to. you could blame it on the lack of light, the room only illuminated by a sliver of moonlight dripping in through a crack in the wall. but, you are more than sure that the hands gripping your waist, igniting the hot rush of blood through your veins, are more to blame.

eager to escape the exposition of tonight’s story and rush to the climax, you both trip out of your boots and onto the nearest surface. your back arches over a dresser, hips lifted up and thighs quickly pressed on top. his fingers dance their well practiced routine under the hem of your shirt, skirting along the sides of your rib cage to briefly tease before removing the now useless article of clothing.

he curses under his breath, breath catching in his throat as it always does when your shirt first comes off. his eyes trail along the expanse of your collarbone, lips quickly falling to suck on the ridges of your freshly exposed skin. his knee pressed into the inside of your legs, feet finding purchase directly beneath you.

you always allow him to take control in the beginning, secretly appreciating his attitude. your hands find his belt with ease, a secret memorized in the dark. he trails down until he reaches your bra, starting on his next obstacle as you finish with yours.

“bed,” you direct, nearly choking on the moan building in the base of your throat, “i thought you’d know by now i expect some class, lantsov.” your hands search in the darkness, fighting to grab onto any part of his body you can find.

you find his biceps first, pleased with the feeling as they tense under your touch. you do not mind the search. you never do. it is all easier in the dark, anyway. less you can commit to memory.

the laugh that follows is electric.

“tell that to my broken end table.”

you elect to ignore his comment, instead pushing him back by the shoulders in the direction of what you believe is his bed. he whines at the momentary loss of contact. and, saints, does it stir something in the pit of your stomach.

“always so fucking,” you pause to run you hands down his shoulders, “needy.”

“only for you, babe.” his smirk melts into the fire of your lips.

it is not the first time he has used a pet name, and you highly doubt it will be the last. he deliberately chooses to ignore any that are too sincere or loving. the unspoken understanding of boundaries between the two of you was how you survived the midnight encounters.

with greedy eyes, you help him strip off his shirt while his tongue finds its way into your mouth. your cheeks feel warm, a mixture of the warm night at sea and the shot you took before leaving your room. you brush your thumb across the golden pendant falling against his neck, a mast of a boat dangling from the chain.

you only have a second to regain the breath you lose from toppling onto the mattress before it is taken from you again. from underneath you, he reaches up to work a hand around the column of your throat. your head rolls back against your shoulders, a sigh of pleasure escaping your throat with your remaining air.

his hand drops to your chest and you take the opportunity to reattach your lips to his, only releasing your hold as you transfer them to his neck. his flesh burns underneath you, alive with indulgence. you push his curls back from his eyes, momentarily losing yourself in the hazel as your hips rock into his.

it is him this time who loses control of any solid pattern of breathing. his hands stray to grip your waist, anchoring himself with your body. you almost smile to yourself—a prince at your mercy.

it had not started out this way. the blonde was too full of foolish pride to release himself to you. now, he held onto everything single thing you made him feel in the night. the drunken accident fueled by empathy for a less than desirable situation—harboring two of the most powerful summoners at considerable odds—turned into another and after a while, alcohol was not involved any longer. maybe you were using him. maybe he was using you. all you knew was that in this moment, you certainly did not care enough to stop.

watching the muscles on his stomach tighten, you anticipate him flipping you onto your back. one arm goes to steady himself over you while the other falls to bring one of your hands above your head. you bring a strand of hair behind your ear, knowing he was not going to do it. the less of your face there was to see, the less chance he would sink too deep.

you grip his shoulder, lips returning to his neck as he starts what you both came there to do. no matter the rush between the two of you, he always watches you carefully here, making sure you were ready. you had no indecision when he was involved. no fear.

you gasp together, eyes closed and lost in the feeling of one another. the rush of desire to your core causes you to bite your lip. you trail your hand to the nape of his neck, tugging gently on his curls.

you rarely let his name leave your lips until you finish, greedy for the way only he seems to be able to make you feel. it is a pity, really, knowing it will all be over soon enough. for now, you would hold on to the trips to his room once the sun dipped behind the clouds.

settling beside him for a minute, you lick your lips and taste the last remnants of nikolai lantsov. saltwater. always saltwater.

you kiss the corner of his mouth as you leave, never leaving him with the feelings of your lips on his lest he get too attached. rolling off his chest, you drop your feet to the cold floor. biting the inside of your cheek, you suppress the urge to turn around and get one last look. all tousled hair, muscles gleaming with the slightest sheen of sweat, and swollen lips, you made the mistake of an indulgence once and nearly fell back into his bed and his arms. he could make you tear the heart from your sleeve and patch it on to his without a single word, only a look.

it was wartime. things were stressful. one of the most evil men alive was likely sleeping next door—if he even slept. everyone had to relieve the tension somehow and if tumbling around with the prince of ravka was an option, who were you to pass it up? it was just sex. nothing more. certainly nothing less.

the problem was that you did not how to forget him. when the feeling of desire and helplessness stopped, what then? you are not sure if you wanted the before back. you feared what would happen in the after.

[phantaloon-books]

Things about Tower of Nero that I want to highlight to remember them forever:

Lu being an absolute badass woman, I just love her too much

Piper McClean being canon wlw, she was actually kissing another girl, we really fell in love in october

Chaos being canonically female (just chaos being mentioned as a deity rather than what's below tartarus)

nobody DIED, like no one on the good side at least?? yes plenty of beings have died throughout TOA, but nobody died in TON?? so many died in TLO and BOO, I expected to mourn someone and I didn't have too??! it made me so happy

solangelo. that's it. solangelo makes me happy.

will being incredibly supportive of nico, and instead of stopping him, going with him on dangerous adventures because he doesn't want to leave him alone. also them treating Nico's PTSD for what it is

WILL SOLACE CANONICALLY GLOWS IN THE DARK. HE'S A GLOWSTICK BABY.

also will just appearing at the gates of the throne room, glowing in rage because someone touched his boyfriend (and tried to kill his dad), and him just marching through everyone (everyone else letting him), just to pick up his hurt precious boyfriend and take care of him.

meg McCaffrey got her happy ending. she's baby, she deserves her family and her happy ending. also Lu being the mother and the 12 children being siblings?? that's one hell of a way to tell nero to fuck off and right his mistakes. we love meg.

dionysus being the best olympian after apollo. the duo content we needed, and now will never get

nico mentioning bob and how he wants to go look for him, because he can still be in tartarus

rachel still being a Total badass and hitting people in the eye with her blue hairbrush thus being iconic

meg acting as lester's anchor and only reason why he didn't let go of the ledge, not falling into chaos, is top tier 'reasons why I cried reading', because if you think about it, Meg is the first ever friend apollo ever had, and them being best friends is everything to me

also apollo choosing to go looking as lester rather than apollo because lester feels like home is on top tier 'reasons why I cried reading' too

again, the only thing apollo did in the end (once he was god again) that could be described as 'godly' was be in several places at once, fly his chariot, and get meg her unicorn

but apollo shooting fucking fire out of his hands is crazy asf, it was so cool. he really got amazing godly powers this book.

rick being bold enough to showcase abusive parenting knowing that a huge porcentage of his readers are minors, helping many realize that they could be in abusive households, and giving them a tool to reach out for help

apollo defeating nero was so satisfactory, because you realize in the end, that nero wasn't really a monster, he was monstrous, but still very much human (if only with some godly power), and pretty useless once he couldn't hide behind props and weapons, his being wasn't powerful, he was just under layers of protection

the jackson/blofis scene was so warm and loving, they really are willing to put their family in danger, baby estelle in danger, to help 'percy's friends' even tho she knew percy didn't like apollo, but she still takes in everyone who needs help, and paul being a loving and accepting husband

sally working on her SECOND novel, she really is having her best life

none of the big heroes from other series having protagonism, besides nico and will, instead giving the other kids from camp halfblood their chance to show they're just as worthy as the "heroes of olympus"

(still I would have loved to see a scene with everyone else, like the heroes of olympus guys, fighting together one last time, just for nostalgia's sake - I legit hoped to see percy and annabeth arriving with chiron in triumvirate tower, but yeah)

the arrow of dodona may have been a dumb, cringey, and slightly ridiculous thing at first, and I personally rolled my eyes everytime it said anything, but it knew what would happen from the start, and without its sacrifice, apollo would have achieved nothing. we stan one arrow

nico wearing a white cowboy hat. idky but it makes my heart swell with joy. he a gay cowboy

y'all know I love Apollo's arch, and I just gotta point this out. his trials, his time as lester, started with him falling to earth, and ended with him getting up after purposely throwing himself off the earth, towards tartarus, almost falling to chaos. that's really clever writing.

the olympians watching over him, and some actually being concerned for him rather than his progress.

poseidon not really giving a fuck about the world or council meetings anymore because percy's not there anymore

athena being the only one apart from artemis who trusted apollo could do it makes me warm fsr

lester deciding that the best way to retell his adventures is by singing is hilarious to me, he really thinks it'll solve everything

Grover not telling percy and annabeth jason died seems so funny to me, he really said "nah it doesn't matter much, field trip, yes"

"hey man" my heart broke in twenty million pieces. like I don't know where I expected to see jason. but that wasn't it. and it hurt me as much as it hurt apollo man.

(also I kinda hoped we would see nico summon his spirit or smth, but I'm actually happy nico realized that jason went by his own choice, and he was in peace, so he decided not to summon him, because it was alright. that hurt too)

kinda love how lester passes out after literally every battle. it reminds you that even tho he's apollo, his body isn't. I'm sure we all would pass out too if we did a quarter of what lester did in the span of 4 days. his body isn't made to endure that, it doesn't even have a halfblood endurance, it's a weak mortal body

the trogs were fucking hilarious. their screeches and grrs, idk there's something ridiculous and so childish about them, it's so fun

really happy that apollo never had a /real/ love interest (reyna doesn't count), cause that wasn't what his story was about. instead he got to make so many friends, and have quality time with them and his children, it's amazing

apollo being thankful people were telling him he'd grown, and was more human, because he realized that was the best thing he could have learned from his time as a mortal

also him saying fuck you man to zeus and his speech, like "no asshole dad, I did learn, I'm not going to see this as punishment, it was a great time in which bad things happened but I enjoyed it." yes, we love apollo not letting zeus win

getting to see what everyone will do now. nico and will figuring out rachel's prophecy, probs saving bob. rachel living her best life away from her parents. leo doing what leo does, always helping those who have no one else. the hunters' open storyline about this fox, possibly hinting at content? piper settling down in a quiet life is what she deserves tbh, she's earned quiet life with a cute gf, wish her the best. Frank and hazel being the best praetors, and I bet they will continue to be so. And annabeth and percy, who chose their happiness over all, at last

kinda wish we got to see someone still really miss jason after apollo becomes god again tho lmao like apollo missed jason more than the others, nico and piper being the exception. I mean, leo is fine and dandy, hazel and frank are okay, percy and annabeth are done mourning... I just we got to see any of them really mourning, rather than reading they mourned. it would have made it feel more emotional

the last conversation and the last words in general. "the sun always comes back" and "we're friends now. call on me. I'll be there for you" that shit got me sobbing my heart out. rick really managed to do right by the books and end it like he should have, unlike BOO. he took what made TLO good and used a similar formula. it's very different from "and for once I didn't look back", but it still fills you with warmth and the feeling that even though it's over, it's okay.

I'm just really emotional, this is all I can think about, but you bet I'm gonna add more when I remember

[mostlydeadallday]

Lost Kin | Chapter IV | Futures and Fates

Fandom: Hollow Knight Rating: Mature Characters: Hornet, Pure Vessel/Hollow Knight Category: Gen Content Warnings: suicidal thoughts, amputation, abuse, dehumanization, infection, body horror, restraints AO3: Lost Kin Chapter IV | Futures and Fates First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Something is very wrong in Hallownest.

The Hollow Knight wakes up outside the Temple of the Black Egg. Hornet feels a shift in the kingdom from all the way in Greenpath. Together, the two of them discover the sacrifices each has made–and the grief neither one of them was allowed to feel.

Notes: it is TUESDAY my dudes. Been in a bit of a writing slump this week because I have a really hard scene coming up, but never fear! I have plenty of chapters queued before then, so I'm sure I'll get through it soon enough. Thank you for all the lovely notes on my last chapter! Every one of them makes me inspired to write about even more horrible things happening. ( •̀ ω •́ )✧ (No joke though, there is some fluff coming up. I promise.)

○

The knight had already risen to its knees, driven by the same uncanny urgency that had inhabited it outside the temple, before it realized it could go no farther. Its sister’s shape wavered, doubling and tripling and then appearing singly again, and the pain was screaming, screaming, screaming at it.

It leaned on its propped-up nail, fighting gravity, fighting its own traitorous body, and instinctively reached for her with an arm it no longer had, wrenching its shoulder forward to fling out the ghost of a hand. Renewed agony crashed down like a stone, pressing its head forward, its eyelids nearly closing in a dead faint.

No. No. It scrabbled back toward consciousness, toward her, the only real thing in a world that had grown terrifyingly vague. The red of her cloak seemed to pierce the haze, offering an anchor, a thread of sanity to grab onto.

She took one step back, and even that small distance felt like a chasm, a widening crack in already unsteady ground. The knight’s legs had folded and collapsed beneath it; it couldn’t feel them now, just a buzzing emptiness like the space where its arm had been. It had come this far on a last reserve of strength that had thinned and thinned and finally snapped. It was empty now, empty of strength, empty of purpose, empty of the howling, screaming goddess that had been its constant burden for so many years.

And its only thought had been to return to its father, its maker, its monarch. To atone somehow for losing the battle it had been ordered to fight. To offer itself up again like a chalice, a goblet, a vessel to contain the uncontainable.

It had failed even at that.

It knelt there, panting, shaking, void swirling queasily beneath its shell, a wretched thing, useless, and still, still it wanted.

To reach for her.

To beg, somehow, for help.

She had not moved since that single step, motionless except for the swirling of her cloak in the hot breeze. The needle in her hand shone, sharp and ready, a thread of shimmering silk floating from its pommel.

She could not redeem it. She should walk away, leave it here, sullied with the stains of its failure, and let it fall, as it had always been fated to. She was pure and good and real, a true child of their father, the Daughter of Hallownest.

And yet the thought of her turning her back, walking away, leaving it alone—alone—made something burrow into its chest like teeth, a pain so sudden and sharp that it gasped.

It resisted the urge to check for a new wound. This twisting ache under its carapace was too painful, too complicated to be physical.

And that was a betrayal too—a betrayal of its purpose, its bloodline, all its father’s careful work. Because this twisting-fluttering-choking in its body was foreign, corrupted, anathema to everything a Pure Vessel was supposed to be.

No mind to think. No will to break. No voice to cry suffering.

If this torturous twisting of futures and fates in its head was thought, then it had a mind. It was broken in every way it could be broken, and it had never had a voice, but it could suffer.

Its body, its life, its very existence had been an experiment. And the experiment had failed.

It had nothing to offer its father now.

Nothing but disappointment.

It had tried—tried to be pure—to be good—it had tried so hard—

It had felt the vast cold distance of this room when it had first entered. The pebbles that scattered over the edge had fallen so far that the echoes never returned to it. Now it wondered if this was something that could finally end it, if a long, swift fall and cold, hard stone could accomplish what the Radiance had failed to do.

Could the spells still cling to its mask if that mask shattered into dust?

A soft noise interrupted its downward spiral, and it dragged its gaze back up from the darkness.

It did not see what its sister had done, but her cloak still rippled from the short movement, something quick, pointless. Her stance looked suddenly like indecision, her leading foot too light on the stone to be steady, hand clenching restlessly on her needle hilt.

It tried to meet her eyes, so bright even in the dim, directionless light, but she was not looking at it. She was looking—

—at its hand, at its fingers beginning to go numb where they gripped its nail hilt, at the edge angled toward her, at the shining metal that was as bright and pure as the knight was broken.

She was afraid.

She was afraid of it.

Something acid, something as corrosive as the infection, bubbled in its gut. She thought it a husk, a mad, mindless creature that would tear her apart to sate the infection’s feverish demands. Or, if not a husk, a machine, a malfunctioning construct, following no master but the violence it had been trained for.

Even if she had been right—even if it hadn’t been cursed with a mind, with a will, with this ravenous, intangible pain that churned in its essence—it would never hurt her. It would rather be drained to its last drop of void than raise a hand against her. She was royal, she bore Father’s blood, she was innocent in all the ways it had never been.

The nail seemed to burn its fingers suddenly, white-hot with the shame of her suspicion. The knight would rather break every oath, disobey every order, than endure the possibility of using it.

And then the reckless rush of its shade filled its limbs, and it knew what it had to do.

○

The knight lifted its mask again to face her, their regard a cold shiver across her carapace, like a skitter of claws. They watched her, silent as they had ever been, and her gaze flicked nervously to the nail again, cursing the tell, knowing they would realize she was afraid.

When they moved suddenly, she barely held her needle in check, barely kept from flinging it straight at their cracked mask. But they weren’t attacking, weren’t lunging for her, weren’t springing from their crouch to swing at her with every inch of their long reach. They lurched back, pushing upward, the nail tip grinding in the dirt, and then with a heavy swing they hurled it between the bars of the elevator.

It seemed an age before she heard the distant chime of its landing.

The knight dropped forward again, catching themselves on their now-empty hand. The shaking was back, every ragged edge of their cloak fluttering like a banner, even their carapace plates chattering together like teeth.

Hornet just stood and watched, plunged into an icy shock that froze her feet in place.

What—what was happening?

They’d abandoned their nail. It was against a knight’s code, against everything that had been instilled in them since hatching. Against their orders.

Her father’s creations never disobeyed their orders.

But they had seen her fear, seen that it was them she was afraid of.

They could still hurt her. They were still a weapon, trained in a dozen forms of combat, taught every offensive spell, instilled with a thousand different ways to kill. They could no more leave their training and their magic behind than they could remake their void into flesh.

But a nail could be willingly abandoned. A nail could be given up. A nail could be cast away.

Willingly. She was silly to use such language. A vessel had no will. A will was a weakness. A will was a flaw. They were made to be pure. Perfect.

Then why had they done it?

She stepped closer.

Foolish, she thought, and the voice in her head was her mother’s. Foolish, dropping your guard. Foolish to hope for mercy.

The knight sagged farther forward, like a pillar collapsing, the tips of their horns nearly brushing the elevator floor. As she moved closer, she realized she could hear them—their breath, at least, shuddering, irregular, wheezing from somewhere deep. She was irrationally fascinated; she had never heard a vessel breathe. They were silent.

They were supposed to be silent.

The knight listed absurdly far, bent double at her feet, as if genuflecting. Their slow topple ended before she could reach them; with an aborted movement, a belated attempt to catch their balance, they tipped over, elbow folding, mask ringing against the stone with a loud crack that made her flinch.

She paused for an instant, still on the edge of fleeing. They only lay there, half-turned on their side, cloak flung back, plated chest heaving with shallow breaths.

Something shone under the edge of the fabric, just at the joint of their left shoulder. Watching them carefully, Hornet reached out with her needle and flicked the cloak open.

Their body was a ruin. She had to fight her instinct to gag at the sight of the infection, more than she had ever seen on another being—another living being. Pockets of light bulged and glowed between the carapace plates, as swollen and orange as the setting sun. Nail wounds littered their chest, weeping black void and pale yellow fluid. Their entire shoulder was a mass of pulsing light, and their arm—

Their arm was gone.

Hornet swallowed. Her hands had gone numb. The gravity, the violation of losing part of yourself to this invasion, to this foreign sickness—it was almost worse than being taken over completely, consigned to mindlessness. At least then you wouldn’t be cognizant of what it had done to you. At least then you wouldn’t remember what you had once been.

She remembered. She remembered the Pure Vessel striding through the training grounds, tall and lithe and strong, their every movement a graceful dance between power and control, and swallowing a painful kind of pride that she shared blood with this being, hoping with everything in her little spider heart that she would become something like them someday.

Her shell had hardened since then, and her skills had been honed by years of life in the wild. She had ceased wishing to be like anyone and become herself, become her own. The days when she had looked after them with longing—for their strength and poise, for some connection between them, some hint of recognition—were gone. The two of them had always been on vastly different paths, one destined for a failed sacrifice, the other fated to rule a kingdom of the damned.

Maybe not so different after all.

But the knight didn’t seem corrupted. Their eyes were liquid black, shining dully behind the mask holes, not the lucent orange of a reanimated husk. And even if they were hollow, thoughtless, as she had always been taught, she wouldn’t even wish this on an automaton, not even one of the motionless, expressionless kingsmoulds that had guarded the steps of the palace.

She should put them out of their misery.

The thought flitted into her mind and stuck there, like a lumafly in a glass bulb. She shook her head, as if she could fling it free. In a few minutes she had gone from confusion to terror to curiosity to whatever this was, this aching pain under her thorax like a needle-thrust. Watching them struggle to move, to breathe, seeing minute shudders travel down their limbs every few seconds, she thought they might thank her, if they had had a voice to do so. The void leaking from their wounds was starting to puddle in their cloak, swirling helplessly, as if looking for somewhere else to go.

They shouldn’t have survived even this long. If they had dragged themselves here from the temple, bleeding the whole way—

They shifted their head to look at her, and a Seal of Binding flashed on the surface of their cracked mask. Of course. Father had built them for this, constructed every piece of them to endure beyond a normal lifetime. They were meant to be nearly indestructible. That they survived now was no testament to vitality or will, it was simply that they were not allowed to die, that their shade could not escape their shell no matter how hard it strained to.

Vessels were not like her, mother had explained once. They did not think, or make choices. They did not have voices, and would have nothing to say if they did. They did not suffer. They did not feel.

The Seal was not a cruelty, no matter how it might look. It was practical. But it had served its use.

Hornet could try to break it. It would take time, and resources she didn’t have here…

And something in her rebelled at the thought of splintering what remained of them, forcing magic into the cracks in their shell like a chisel. How would it be any different than what the Radiance had already done to them? How was it any less an invasion, a violation, if she did it for their own good?

She wavered, staring into the bleak emptiness of their eyes, that dense blackness that told her nothing, needle still pointed at their stuttering chest.

She couldn’t. She couldn’t kill them.

She lifted her other hand, still wrapped with a thread of her silk.

Maybe there was another option.

Before she could think her way out of it, she stepped forward, needle resting warningly on their slender neck, just below the curve of their mask. She was well within reach of attack now, but they had no nail, and if they had any soul, they had likely already used it to heal themselves—as small a difference as it would have made.

Still, she reached down and took their wrist, binding it to the bars of the elevator with a doubled thread of silk. That done, she backed down the length of their body and bound their legs as well, ensuring they couldn’t surprise her.

The skin between their chitin plates was satin-soft. She hadn’t expected that.

It looked ridiculous, when she stepped back to assess her handiwork. The knight couldn’t even stand, and she’d still thought this was necessary?

At least her silk was kinder than the chains that had bound them at the temple.

To them, there might not seem to be much difference.

With that frustrating thought, she reached out and pulled the control for the elevator. The metal cage swung shut and rumbled into motion, lowering them down into the dark shaft—toward the City of Tears.

[moon-lixie]

word count: 2.242k

song: Too Fast - Sonder

cw: Explicit sexual content, dom Chan, edging, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, protected sex, and creampie. There's also a bit of angst in there.

Useless, numb, and mediocre. You were now the things that you had feared the most, nothing but a piling clump of failures. It was hopeless to try to convince you otherwise, because that's all that you saw reflected in the mirror.

You felt nothing but sheer hatred towards the product of a lifetime. You had lived so long and yet this was the best you could do, perform poorly at everything that you meant to be good at.

You hated pitying yourself and being pitied but it almost looked like that was the only thing that you wished for now. Hands giving up even on begging for the slightest crumb of attention.

But you still tried, because if you were to beg then he would surely comply. His will would melt under your pathetic pleads, restrain dissipating into thin air, reluctancy being washed away by the thought of helping someone else.

He was the purest man alive, only when it came to his intentions. Always willing to try and fix the broken and stay by the side of pitiful souls.

But he was completely foolish sometimes, because some people had no repair and he never understood that.

"Are you sure?" He was reluctant but he would never explicitly say so out loud, that could possibly hurt you and he would never risk making you feel bad.

You nodded slightly annoyed that he kept asking over and over again if you were sure of this. His question was valid, you were intoxicated on failure and despair, so perhaps it wasn't the best option to take impulsive decisions. But you were laying already on his bed so you had no desire to back away now.

A soft sigh managed to reach your ears as a mere miracle, that's how meek it had been while coming out of his mouth. Following the puff that meant to release tension, he smiled at you. It was the sweetest smile you had seen in your whole life, it most surely belonged to an angel.

His hands wavered just like the wind; that's what you liked the most about him, he had the nerve of being shy after all. But then his hesitation would evaporate a second later, like the fake confidence that you allowed yourself to have often.

First he just caressed the side of your torso, slowly and taunting, knowing fully well that he drove you to the edge with the slightest graze of the tip of his fingers.

Lips were fast to follow his eager hands, crashing against yours hungrily. Whatever doubts he had a couple of minutes ago were now long gone. It was obvious on the way he moved his lips hastily against yours.

This is what you needed, so much attention that you couldn't even think about anything else.

He nibbled on your lower lip, softly at first but it became harsher as seconds passed by. A hiss escaped your lips when he bit down especially hard, he chuckled lightly at such a sound making its way up your throat before allowing his tongue to glide over your lower lip to soothe the stinging sensation.

With him you didn't have to feel so scared, he would take care of you no matter what. So you finally tangled your fingers on his soft locks, because he made you feel like it was okay to melt into his touch. If you did then he would still stay by your side and that was enough for now.

Despite having made several breaks in the connection of your mouths, to try and get some air, he still didn't leave the softness of your lips. The only difference was that now he eagerly let his tongue explore inside the cavern of your mouth.

Veiny hands pressed down on your torso as if it was possible to sink the mattress more under your weights. Then his fingers finally grabbed your waist firmly to stop you from moving, but it's not like you were planning to do such a thing.

You like the pressure of his grip, it reminds you that you're in fact there, alive and breathing the same air as him. You like even more the way in which he finds the way to rest his knee against the mattress in the small gap that your slightly parted legs allow him to.

When his mouth finally leaves yours for good you whimper shamelessly, wishing for him to be well aware of the displeasure his actions provoked in you. He chuckled once again, amused by how needy you could become. "Don't worry, baby. We're obviously not finished yet."

Cushions of flesh made their way along your jaw and the skin of your neck with kisses that feel so present yet quick and faint. Your hands fall limp on both of your sides as you try to relish in his warmth. He was your last anchor to life and right now the only one that you needed.

"You're boring me." You had the nerve to say when your agitated breath completely said otherwise. He knew better than to take your words literally so he slipped both of his hands under your shirt and explored the texture of your familiar skin eagerly.

He made you sit on the bed before tugging at the hem of your shirt. You complied and raised your arms so that he could get rid of the thin layer of fabric that hid you from his sight.

He unclasped your bra before tossing it aside and pushing you back towards the mattress. His mouth soon rested atop of your breast, sucking and biting hard enough for you to squirm under his touch but gentle enough not to hurt you.

After a couple of seconds he looked up at your closed eyes and smugly smiled. "I guess I'm not boring you anymore. Or are you still not entertained enough?"

"More." You lightly whispered under your breath. Immediately he dived back in to resume his previous activities while caressing your torso with his hands.

The pads of his fingers were soft and warm, just like the chocolate tone of his eyes. But his intentions were as burning as fire itself.

You would rarely allow him to help you, always closing yourself to the possibility of voicing your worries out loud. And that pained him; it completely broke him to watch you struggle on your own while he sat by your side. The only moment in which you were fully vulnerable were moments like these, in which you were literally bare under his eyes. So he always made the most of them, always gave his complete self into pleasing you.

Every time that he had the chance to have you this close he would claim you as his. Leaving purple and red proofs that he had been there, close to your heart even if just for a second.

He bit down harshly on your collarbone causing your nails to dig on his pristine white back. It hurt but it was better than feeling nothing at all, better than being on an amazingly boring loop of absolutely nothing.

His back hurt too, but he loved the kind of pain that edged him more into pleasure. The pain that you brought him was always the best he had ever experienced.

His teeth sunk into your skin various times more before he felt satisfied with his piece of art. He moved away from you to catch his breath and admire the purple and red combination of his neediness on your skin. It was perfect, just like you were in his eyes, but he knew that convincing you of that was perhaps impossible. That still didn't persuade him from trying to make you believe it.

"You're perfect." His thumb caressed your cheek with the same amount of affection that his eyes held while looking at you. And it felt too burdening, because you could never deserve him and all the love he had to offer.

"Ruin me, please." Ruin me until I have no tears left to cry, until my worries dissolve in between your thrusts, until I forget all of my problems. That's what you really meant to say, but luckily for you, the three words you mustered to pronounce were enough for him to understand exactly what you wished for.

"Your wish is my command, princess." It had been enough playing around already, his fingers finally found themselves at the height of your waistband. The button of your jeans presented no resistance against his complying fingers and soon you were completely raw in front of him.

Black fabric abandoned his torso before he lowered himself on the bed. His face ended up facing your inner thigh, the perfect excuse to kiss away at the skin of that area.

His lips were swollen and warm like flames, causing his kisses to be the responsible for the soft tremble of your knees.

With a swift movement he made room for him to lower himself onto your heat. It took a single puff of air for you to relax fully against the fluffiness of his bed.

You spared one last glance at him before closing your eyes and what you saw was a satisfied smile on his lips. It was nothing like the heartwarming smile that he had given you before, this one made you shudder in anticipation.

One kiss at the sensitive bud of nerves and you were sighing in satisfaction. That’s all he needed to continue joyfully sucking at the sensitive bud and slipping one digit at your drenched core.

He fingered you at a steady pace before he retreated his face away from your core. He slipped another digit and his fingers kept going steadily while his lips found its way to rest against your cheek.

You were biting down on your lip to stop yourself from making any noises. He started kissing your cheek adorably, making an obvious contrast between his lips and the sinful thrusting of his fingers.

“Please, make a sound for me.” The words floated on the room in between soft and tender kisses. And instead of complying to his plea you bit down on your lip with more force. “Please princess, do it for me.”

It seemed like he wasn’t the only one whose will dissolved in between pleads because you were soon reaching your high loudly, and his chest filled with pride at your sinful moans.

Eyes closed and head resting comfortably against his pillow, you attempted to catch your breath. Meanwhile he unbuckled his pants and discarded his undergarments; you knew too well that you were barely getting started. With him it always proved to be all or nothing, he wouldn’t stop until he was sure he had fully ruined you.

He tapped twice against your waist with his index finger and you quickly moved to rest against your knees and hands. You knew him, exactly what he liked and what he would never be willing to try just like he was well aware of how to make you scream. It was laughable to a certain degree; he knew of your deepest and most obscure desires and yet you wouldn’t allow him to take a glimpse inside your head, too afraid that he would end up seeing you in the same way you did.

Kisses were littered on your back as he opened a silver package and slipped a condom over his length before slowly pushing himself inside you. Once you had adjusted to his size he started pushing himself in and out at a pace that you could only call pleasing. Soon picking up his pace and not allowing your still sensitive core much room to last for long; you felt your high approaching and you whimpered loudly at the feeling of a knot tightening on your lower abdomen.

The loud and high pitched sound that slipped from your lips were the sign he needed to stop his hips abruptly and deprive you from the blissful feeling that was going to wash over you in a matter of seconds.

Before you had the time to comply he started moving again, slowly, one thrust at a time. Breathy moans were stolen from your mouth by the angle of his movements that allowed him to hit the perfect spot that made stars litter beautifully behind your lids.

He kept the slow pace for a while before moving rapidly without a warning; whimpers got stuck in your throat. Once again he suddenly stopped but this time you weren’t having it anymore. You tried to move to face him as you complained but his hands firmly held you in place.

“Don’t be so impatient.” He said almost mockingly before thrusting inside of you with force, just once. “If you wait then I’ll give you what you want.”

He was surely enjoying himself and you couldn’t deny feeling exactly the same. It would be futile and useless to deny the fact that just a simple glimpse at his torso could suffice to turn you on; when he touched you, you managed to make your way up to the clouds.

When he got impatient of waiting and teasing, he started thrusting in and out of you, going back to the perfect and somewhat relaxed pace from the start. The speed of his movements increased little by little, the knot in your lower abdomen making its presence noticeable more and more as he kept going.

Once he reached a pace that caused the mattress to rock along with your bodies, you knew you were done for. It wasn’t long before another wave of overwhelming pleasure washed over you, but this one made your legs and arms tremble as the pleasures came back every time you tried to close your eyes.

His thrusting became sloppier when you tightened around him and his pleasure was let loose not long after you had finished.

As you laid in bed trying to come back to your senses a couple of tears started rolling down your temples. After a couple of seconds it wasn’t a couple of droplets but a whole storm of emotions that didn’t allow you to live in peace.

You hadn’t forgotten your problems but at least you could finally cry with freedom. You could finally feel everything escape your eyes and tears while he held you close.

A soft kiss on top of your head and arms securely holding you close to a warmth you were too familiar with. That’s how you ended up.