#my man almost lose his mind in the dark forest

[valdeswan]

Cale: Why is there air conditioning in hospitals?

Choi Han: I dont know, why?

Cale: To keep the vegetables cool and fresh.

Choi Han: *snorts*

[stargirlrchive]

song chord ✩ jake sully

masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

summary: jake sully x female!reader but no use of y/n, arranged marriage, sunshine!jake x grumpy!reader, kind of lmao. angst, jealousy, mentions of death, feelings of insecurities. fluff. <3 i think that is all, pls lmk if i missed anything 

word count: 5,112

tìyawn (n) - love

comments: first fic in a few months, first avatar fic ever <3 i really loved writing this, so i hope you all love it too, okay mwah mwah bye ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

You had not wanted your night to end like this, angrily picking at your song chord as your mother whispered to the elders of her desire to have you wed, and to the Olo’eyktan none the less. Every stone, every achievement, you had earned felt as though it was taken from you. Ripped from your fingers just as you were starting to enjoy the fruits of your labors.

Toruk Makto sat across from your mother, listening closely as the elders proposed the idea of uniting your family. Joining forces to strengthen the clan, providing security and faith to the people he led.

You had wished so much more for yourself, to have your accomplishments be only your own. Not tied to a man you would never be equal to. All your life you had fought to be perfect, to be an accomplished warrior and fight for your people. Your eyes welled with tears as your fingers ran across the newest bead on your song chord. An iridescent pearl that your father had picked for you, that you held so dearly and were waiting for the perfect culminating moment in your life to add to your chord. Your Iknimaya was given the grace of bearing the pearl.

Your mind swirled with the prospect of being wed, being mated to a man you knew very little about, a man you had only met in passing. As much as you tried to find a way to fix this you couldn't, it felt like your thoughts were running a millions miles a minute and getting no answer. It was very clear that you had no way to object, your family would be so disappointed and the fear that nestled into your chest far outweighed the fear of sacrificing your future, it was almost debilitating. Either way you ended up losing.

You roughly wiped at your eyes and tried to calm your breathing, quietly counting to ten as you willed yourself to object, to tell them your future was yours and no one else's. You had lost so much due to the war with the sky-people, you did not want to lose this too. The words were on the tip of your tongue but your eyes locked onto Jake’s and his fear was clear as day within his eyes. It comforted you, a bit. Knowing you were not the only one silently suffering, but he was the last person you wanted to find comfort in.

He cleared his throat and the room was silenced instantly, causing a lump to form at your throat. “Before I agree I would like us to speak, privately.”

You nodded as he stood, following after him outside of the tent. He walked outside of the camp, towards the dark forest that was only illuminated by the fluorescent lights of the plants and small insects native to the land. Normally you would question why he was leading you away from everyone, but it felt as though all the energy was taken from you.

Not too far into the forest there was a clearing, a small pond with glowing fish. He grunted quietly as he lowered himself to sit, dipping his feet into the pond as he sighed quietly. None of you said anything for a while, you had stayed standing by the trees and looking up into the sky. Silently praying to Eywa to give you the strength to fulfill your duty with an open mind, and even an open heart.

He turned to look at you, watching as your brows furrowed even more as a shooting star passed by, “Do you mind sitting with me?”

A small huff left your lips but you did as he asked, slowly approaching him and keeping a sizeable distance between the two of you, dipping your feet into the water just as he had. “I did not expect to be mated, the thought had never really crossed my mind.”

You kept quiet, trying to focus on his words as you fought the tears trying to fall from your eyes, he took your silence as a sign to keep speaking. “I know a lot of the Na’vi still blame me for what happened, I do too.” His throat tightened, gruff with guilt and unshed tears balling up, and for the second time tonight you found comfort that you were both suffering. “I am trying to be better, and I will prove to you everyday that I am no longer loyal to the sky-people. Believe me, the Clan’s best interest is my main priority and I would never again willingly do something to harm them.”

Silence.

“I know it is not ideal, having to marry a skxawng like me, but I would like to continue the engagement if you wish.”

You sighed quietly and tucked your knees in, resting your arms on them to lay your head gently, “I do not blame you.”

He nodded and averted his eyes to the pond, not believing your words, “I-I just did not picture my life to be this way. After my father died I tried so hard to accomplish everything he wanted for me, that is why it took me time to complete my Iknimaya, I wanted everything to be perfect.” His ears twitched as he listened to you.

“I just do not know if this is what he would have wanted for me.” Your last words were whispered quietly, almost as if you did not want him to hear.

“I fear everything I have ever accomplished will be stripped from me, and I will just be seen as Toruk Makto’s wife. Expected to be the next Tsahik and I can barely interpret the will of Eywa for myself, how am I expected to do so for the rest of the clan?”

He laughed loudly, as if what you said was the funniest thing in the world. As if your worries were comical and before you could stop yourself you hissed in his direction, making your way to stand up. “I’m sorry-wait I’m sorry-you made me laugh but I did not mean to offend you.”

You stopped yourself from leaving, “See what I mean? Skxawng.”

Your lips barely twitched at the end and you hoped he hadn’t caught it. He did.

“I am a warrior JakeSully, I will not sit back and watch the people fight. I will be front line.”

He smiled at your words, “I would also like to get to know you better, no wedding within the next two-three weeks, yes?”

He leaned back on his arms and looked up at the night sky, millions of tiny stars scattered all across you. “Ok, no wedding soon.”

He sent you a warm smile and it eased the gnawing feeling in your chest, “One final request, I wish to be seen as your equal, taken into consideration when it comes to decisions of the clan, not just your wife but your partner.”

His silence scared you, fearful of what would leave his mouth, “That is all I want.”

A small smile made its way onto your features, feeling far more content then how you expected this night to go.

You were both silent for a long time, just enjoying the beautiful forest of Pandora, “I must go, it is well past Eclipse and my mother will be worried.”

Jake nodded and stood up, leaning his arm forward to help you too. You both silently made your way through the short distance back to the camp, quickly making your way to your tent. You were about to go in, without sparing him another look but his hand reached for your forearm to stop you from walking, “We are in this together, from here on out it is you and me. I am not taking this lightly and-and I will be your friend through all of this.”

Your eyes welled with tears again, having to come to terms with your future in those few seconds as you looked up into his golden eyes. “Thank you, I will try my best too.”

You sent him a small smile before moving into your tent, hoping to sleep away the still overwhelming fear of having no control of your life.

-

You blinked the sleep away from the night before, trying to relax the nauseating feeling that nestled in your stomach as you recalled the events of last night. Why had you so willingly opened up to JakeSully, why?

You did not know him, and from the whispers that followed him around you were one of the few Na’vi women that did not want to. You had opened up some of your deepest concerns last night, and for the life of you, you didn’t know why. You soothingly rubbed the beads of your song chord, trying to ground yourself and push the tears down that seemed to flow like a never ending river.

Your ears twitched gently as you heard movement outside of your tent, “Who is there?”

Someone cleared their throat as you sat up, fixing your chest beads and loin cloth on your way to stand up. “It’s Jake, um-I wanted to spend some time with you. As friends do.”

You tsk’ed lowly, slowly making your way towards the opening of the tent, head peeking out only to be met with a gentle smile on the Toruk Makto’s face. You refrained from rolling your eyes at the tall man, going back into your tent but leaving it open so he could follow. “Give me a few minutes and I will be ready.”

He hummed quietly as he stepped in, eyes jumping from corner to corner of your tent. Curiously walking towards a make-shift shelf, filled from top to bottom with your trinkets. From your first arrow, to dried flowers and pretty stones you had collected since you were a child. You observed him, feeling your heart jump to your throat as he reached to pick something up. Feeling exposed to him in a way you couldn’t describe.

Your mind eased as he gently picked up the only picture you had on there, one that Grace had taken of your mother and father that she gifted you on a random day during her classes. “My condolences for your father, I never got to meet him.”

You said nothing as you continued to ready yourself, turning your back to him and making sure he was still occupied with the shelf before changing quickly, adjusting the straps on the cloth that fell on your hips as he turned towards you. “What will we be doing, JakeSully?”

His nose twitched softly at his full name.

“Is it your hunting or training day?”

You shook your head no, “Perfect, let’s go for a ride.”

Your eyes lit up softly, anytime you got to spend with your Ikran was so special to you, your sweet Pey’lal. Following behind him happily as he threaded through the forest where the claimed Ikran’s rested. Your tongue instinctively started clicking once you made it to the large tree, looking towards the sky for a large blur of purple and blue.

There was a large gust of wind and a powerful thud as Pey’lal landed gracefully in front of you, nuzzling her head against your cheek as you laughed happily. “My sweet girl, I have missed you.”

You cooed happily as she made happy clicking noises at the attention you were giving her, Jake clearing his throat made you snap out of your happy bubble. Pey’lal looked up as if just noticing him for the first time, moving her head to the side in question, flapping her wings as a warning sign. Your hand reached out to soothe her, letting her know to stand down. She relaxed instantly. “This is Pey’lal, my Ikran. Isn’t she beautiful?”

Your smile reached your eyes for the first time and Jake nodded, “This is Bob.” He patted his Ikran’s head who huffed in slight annoyance and it caused a laugh to ripple from your throat, “Bob?”

Jake’s face flared as his ears twitched, “I think it fits him, he is quite goofy.”

“If you say so, JakeSully.”

There was a beat of silence before you connected your queue to Pey’lal’s, jumping smoothly onto her back, “Well, let’s get to flying.”

In the next instant you were off, looking back momentarily only to see Jake jumping onto his Ikran to catch up.

-

It had been several weeks since Jake had taken you out to fly, or out on a date as he called it. But ever since then it was as if he was glued to your hip, accompanying you even when it was not necessary. Like when you went to pick fruit or went hunting, Pey’lal was even growing accustomed to him being around. Just yesterday she nuzzled her head against his chest as he called out for Bob, something she had only ever done with you.

You had tried to be annoyed with him, wanting to keep him as far away from you as possible but he had slowly, very slowly, started to crack the walls you had built up and began staking claim.

Like even now, as he sat across from you and smiled at your annoyance towards him, your tail swishing in frustration. “You are Olo'eyktan and cannot even pronounce basic words.”

You tsk’ed quietly as he leaned back on his arms, not focusing on what you were saying. He laughed deeply, one that you could tell started in his chest, “I cannot focus today.”

“You can never focus.”

“You are distracting me.”

Your brows furrowed together, confusion evident on your face. Another laugh left his throat, “I do not like being laughed at, JakeSully.”

“I am not laughing at you.” It continued, the sound warming your chest as you feigned being offended, purposely dropping your ears, “I just think you are so-so-interesting.”

You huffed and moved away from him, “You really know how to woo me.”

His face dropped and you bit back the smile that threatened to crack across your face, tucking your tail away as he scooted closer to you, “I meant that in a good way-I did not want to offend you.”

You turned your face to him, the laugh escaped you as soon as your eyes locked onto his, face full of concern, “I was only kidding you Skxawng. I think you are interesting too.”

He pushed your shoulder with his own, smiling so hard his cheeks felt sore.

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you, and in the next instant it hit you just how close he was, the side of his thigh pressed against yours and you flushed deeply. Ears twitching as you tried to stop your body from going rigid against his.

Jake's finger twitched softly as he contemplated reaching for your hand, he wouldn’t put it past you to flick him with your tail if he tried to, but even still he wanted to know how your hands would feel against his.

Your face was turned away from him, clearly trying not to face him and he swore you knew what he was up to, your fingers twitched softly as it rested on your leg. Before he could think about it too much he slipped his hand under your own, tangling his fingers with yours and closing, rubbing gently along your knuckles.

Your hand had tensed as he held it, still avoiding his gaze and he almost retracted but slowly your fingers relaxed into his, his tail swished softly in excitement as you folded your fingers to hold his hand.

“Your hands are sweaty, Toruk Makto.”

He refrained from laughing, “Yeah well-you make me nervous. One wrong move and I know it will earn me a tail flick to the head.”

You laughed at his words and turned to him, cheeks still blazing as he got a good look at you. Your cheeks were a soft purple and a smile that reached all the way to your eyes.

“Do not tempt me.”

Your tail gently flicked against his arm and he felt a warm sensation start in his belly and make its way up to his chest, causing goosebumps to rise all across his arms.

After a beat of silence he began speaking again, “So, how do you say it? Kalultal?”

“No-no! Kelutral!”

-

The weeks had started to bleed into each other the more time you spent with Jake. Your eyes instinctively looked through the sea of Na’vi as you searched for him, a proud smile on your face as you lugged around the Hexapede you had hunted not too long ago.

You had noticed him a couple of feet away, his back towards you and there was an instant smile that made its way to your face, trying to get to him faster. Your eyes were taking in his back, a small heat rising to your cheeks as you let your stare run across his shoulders and down to his arms.

You opened your mouth to call out for him but you clamped up almost instantly, ears twitching in question as his head was thrown back and a loud laugh left his lips. Your eyes finally shifted to who was in front of him and felt a sting begin to settle in your stomach. It was Neytiri.

They were talking animatedly between each other, laughing and you were not sure why it left such a bitter taste in your mouth. Cheeks now flushed but for an entirely different reason, anger bubbled in your chest. You tried to wrack your brain for what it could be, you had always gotten along with Neytiri so why had you started to feel a sense of insecurity in yourself as you noticed how easy it was for them to get along? How easy it had been for them since the beginning.

The realization scared you even more so when you came to the conclusion that it was jealousy, you had started to feel some sort of claim to the Toruk Makto and it hurt. You felt so stupid, how could you think he wanted you when Neytiri had been a part of his life from the moment he was introduced to the clan? She had shown him the in’s and out’s, he had fallen in love with your people, with your home, through her.

You felt a lump rise to your throat as you handed off the Hexapede to be skinned for the feast later in the evening, rushing past the crowd of people behind you. You wanted to be far away from him, from her, from everyone. Your ears had turned inward and all you could hear was the beating of your heart. It came in loud thuds, deep and sorrowful.

You had made it towards your tent, not noticing that Jake had clocked you dropping the animal off. He had called you several times which you had not heard. He had noticed how your shoulders were tensed, a look so unfamiliar to him on your face and he knew something was wrong. His fingers tangled around your forearm before you slipped into your tent, you jolted back against his chest showing him just how distracted you were.

Jake called your name softly and his brows furrowed together as you refused to look at him. “Is everything alright?”

You hissed in his direction and yanked your forearm from his grip, Jake stepped back in astonishment as he took in the anger swirling in your eyes. “Leave me alone, JakeSully.”

“Woah-what? Did I-what’s wrong?”

You ignored him and walked into your tent, pacing the perimeters as you tried to keep the emotions from erupting into something uglier. You felt like an open wound and hated that it was caused by the man who only a few months ago you wanted nothing to do with. Your tent was opened as Jake stepped in, confusion evident in his face.

Your angry haze landed on him, his hands up in surrender trying to not overwhelm you as he neared you, “I do not want you near me, Toruk Makto. Just go!”

“I am just trying to figure out what’s wrong, yeah? Let me help.”

“You are the last person I would want help from, get out!”

Your hands had reached up to push at his chest and even Jake knew you were going easy on him, but the pushes were persistent. The frustration more evident each time your palms landed on his chest.

His hands reached out to grab at your wrist, the beads of your song chord digging gently into your skin. Your wrist felt like they were on fire at his touch and felt the anger surge through your body all over again. Hands wriggling angrily against his as he stepped closer, concern clear as day on his features but you could not bring yourself to care. All your deepest insecurities rearing their ugly head at you, a sob threatening to escape from your throat as an uncomfortable feeling settled into your stomach. A feeling that you would not be enough, not for your family, not for Jake, not for the clan.

Your anger peaked, a scream was ready to erupt from your throat as Jake was not letting your wrist go, he was still trying to calm you down. You ripped your wrist from his grip in a whip of anger and felt all the air leave you at once. Your song chord had tangled along the leather braided clasps on Jake's wrist and ripped from yours, the beads falling like a waterfall all around the two of you. “No-no-no!”

Your eyes and hands frantically searched around for the pearl your father had given you, not locating it anywhere and a small whimper left your mouth as the tears flowed from your eyes and down to your neck.

Jake was on his hands and knees instantly as you wept, helping you gather the stones that had been placed on your chord, “Please just leave, Jake! Go with Neytiri and leave me alone.”

Your voice was raw with emotion and it made his heart clench, his ears twitched in confusion but he said nothing as he continued to gather all the beads he saw, an uncomfortable sting making its way to his wrist.

He could tell your holding back from sobbing, you had folded into yourself after all the stones were gathered, your back shaking from your tears. “I will help you build it back, I will weave the chord with you. I am so sorry.”

His hand had reached out to your shoulders pulling you up against him and into his chest, there was a strain on his wrist at the awkward way it bent causing a low hiss to fall from his lips. His hand settled on your head, rubbing soothingly as he felt you calm in his arms, a pinch each time his hand dragged forward but he didn’t care. “Will you let me help you?”

You whimpered quietly as you melted into his embrace, “There is no point.”

“What do you mean, tìyawn?”

You felt your heart flutter at the affectionate name, but your heart felt heavy as you realized you had lost the pearl your father had gifted you, “I lost the pearl for my Iknimaya. It was a pearl my father had gifted me, it meant so much to me and-and I waited for something that felt worthy of carrying the stone and now I have lost it. I no longer want a song chord.”

You broke out into another fit of tears, only this time wrapping your arms around Jake’s neck to find solace in him, and he comforted as best he could, wrapping his arms around you as his fingers traced your back to calm you down once again.

He felt the pinch against his wrist again, an irritation settling softly in his chest at the persistent sting. He pulled his arms closer to you so one rested on your hip while the other tried to unclamp the leather bracelets that sat on his wrist. When the bracelet was off he felt instant relief, his ears twitching at the sound of a pebble landing on the floor. He swore a silent prayer to Eywa fell from his lips as his eyes locked onto the pearl. It was iridescent and had small scratches since you wore your song chord almost everywhere. His fingers reached for the stone, picking it up gently as if he feared it would break under the weight of his fingers. “Is this it?”

Your head lifted from his chest, looking into his palm and a watery laugh left your throat, still thick with emotion as you reached out for it. You looked up into Jake’s eyes and it seemed like hundreds of tears kept flowing from your eyes, Jake's lips were turned downwards as he rubbed at your cheeks, trying to erase the evidence of your sadness. He hated it, he hated seeing you hurting and in that instant swore that he would spend the rest of his life trying to keep you happy.

“I do not like knowing you are sad.”

Your emotions consumed you once again as you stared up at him, eyes flickering to his lips for a brief second. Sniffling softly you leaned your face closer to him, pressing your forehead against his and you let your eyes flutter closed. You could not bear to look at him, he consumed you in every way and the clarity hit you like a ton of bricks. You were in love.

You let your lips fall against his in a quick motion, it was soft even though it only lasted a few seconds. When you pulled back his eyes were closed, cheeks a deep purple, ears twinging pink as he reeled from having your lips on his. “I am no longer sad, Jake. Just sorry, and embarrassed for how I behaved.”

He was all over you in the next instant, lips pressing into yours almost bruisingly as if he tried to forever engrain the feeling of your lips on his. Hands gripped at your hips tightly, pulling you flush against him and a small whine left your mouth. He used the gap between your lips to his advantage as he gently slipped his tongue, almost as if asking for permission. Your teeth softly bit down on the tip of his tongue, soothing it by sliding your own across his. He felt the groan come from the center of his chest, he felt all of you as he wrapped pulled you in closer.

You were the first to pull away, Jake’s lips chasing after your own as you sucked in a long breath, trying to fill your lungs with as much air as possible. You turned from him slightly and placed the pearl with your other stones, turning back to him as your eyes scanned all across his face. “I only want you, my tìyawn. No one else, do you understand me?”

You nodded and let your forehead fall against his again, whispering the words that told him just how you felt, “Oel ngati kameie.”

A laugh rippled from his throat and he placed a kiss to your cheek, “Oel”, a kiss to your nose, “Ngati”, a kiss to your lips, “Kameie”.

You finally pulled away from him, looking at the beads that Jake had gathered for you. “So you will help me?”

He nodded happily, watching your every move as you stood up, picking up a small box that was on your shelf. He couldn't stop the smile that fell on his lips as your tail switched softly, contemplating what material you wanted to hold your beads. You settled on a weaved tan thread, sitting back down next to Jake and you hummed quietly, “You do not have one right, Ma’Jake?”

Jake swore his heart was going to fall out of his chest, “No I do not-no one ever told me to make it so I did not think to do it.”

“You must make one now, we sing the song chord to remember. Each bead is a story in our life.”

Your fingers brushed Jake’s as you handed over the extra piece of string for him to use, placing the box in between the two of you, full of beads, some simpler than others but just as beautiful. The two of you settled into a comfort silence, Jake pausing on occasion to think on certain events that were important enough to add to his chord, digging his fingers into the box.

You had finished your chord quickly, knowing it by memory and Jake noticed you had not added any new beads, until the last one, that one was new.

It was a soft shade of blue, it stood out beautifully against the majority of white and brown of it. “That is new.”

His fingers ran across your song chord, it was so much more intricate than his, showing just how proud you should be of yourself, now a constant reminder how he will always be proud of you. “It is for you, Toruk Makto.”

You flushed and shied away from him as his ears twitched, pulling his own chord out to share it with you, explaining what each one meant. When he reached the last stone, it was a deep red, one that shined if light reflected on, “This one-It’s for you. My tìyawn.”

You reached for his hand and wrapped the chord twice around his wrist, “I am ready, to be mated.”

He let his fingers trace your palm, going over each line and scar, even tracing over the small callouses the tips of your finger had accumulated from training with your arrow. He was smiling so hard, cheeks hurting as he leaned over to pick up your own chord and wrap it around your wrist, it looped three times. “I want a huge ceremony, with a huge feast and lots of music and dancing.”

Your hand flew to your mouth as you tried to stop the laughter that bubbled at your throat, “I do not need such a big fuss over me, Ma’Jake.”

He brought you even closer to him, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he announced, “But I do, I want all of the Omaticaya clan to know I am mated to you. Forever you and me.”

Another burst of warmth fell over you, pressing a kiss to his lips before you moved to sit against him, your back pressed firmly to his chest as his arms wrapped around your frame, “Now tell me, what do the other beads represent?”

[undercoverpena]

5. pepper red

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter five of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 2.5k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] SMUT. p in v. dirty talk/mutual appreciation. minor competency. frankie is pretty, thick and sexy. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. you wear a date outfit but not specified. no use of y/n. an: if this was a sitcom episode, it wouldn't be allowed to be aired and also, i passed my exam, wahoo.

prev chapter | series masterlist

For some reason, it doesn’t surprise you that his bedroom is forest green. Or, that it’s accented by strong whites and similar dark woods as the living room. All earthy tones, him.

In the same way, it doesn’t surprise you that his skin is soft, all smooth as your fingers brush over his skin when you lift his t-shirt from his frame.

Because he looks as good as he did in those videos you’d watched over and over. Getting the chance to see if the silver scars were tricks of the light or stories he hadn’t shared. Your fingers discovered it was the latter.

“God, you look good, Frankie.”

He snorts, before sliding a thumb under your jaw, forcing you to confront big, doe brown eyes. Ones that you’d fall into if you could, especially as they pause, stare from one eye to the next, likely to see if there’s a lie there—a slither of untruth to your confession.

There isn’t.

A thing you ensure sits at the forefront, a silent plea for him to believe you. You suppose he must do when his mouth slides back over yours. Tongue pressing at your lower lip, seeking entry that you happily allow.

You lose yourself in it, him. How good it feels to have his lips on yours again. To have the added feel of purposeful and intentional fingers taking their sweet time to slide your outfit from you.

Because his hands trail over as much as they can. Doing so as though he’s busy carving a memory of you in his mind, making you real. A thing you won’t admit you’re doing too, too busy committing the way he feels, as you run your hands across his shoulders. Feel the expanse of them, the width, wondering—as his tongue swirls a shape on your neck—if yoga will really help you fit his broadness between your thighs.

Frankie must notice you’re drifting, thinking, because his mouth finds yours. A thing which cements you to the moment. Kissing you slowly, deliberately—a hint of mint amongst the drink he’d provided and you smirk, smiling against him.

Because he’s eaten a TicTac.

It mixes, fighting to refresh as though you hadn’t eaten and consumed the same fast food. But the act, the way his lips slide against yours, makes that joke melt as quickly as it appeared, because he’s completing his mission: the one to leave you breathless.

Tangling your fingers in his hair, you choose to pull him closer, deepening the kiss. Tongue sliding back behind his teeth as a soft moan escapes him; swallowed by your own as his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. The feel of him, hard and ready against you sends a thrill of anticipation darting through you.

It’s easy, simple, to allow the rhythm of your bodies to become a language all of its own. A two-way conversation being sketched out and written in sighs and moans, punctuated by the occasional gasp. A symphony of desire.

And then you make things shift. Change the tempo when your hand descends between the two of you. Feeling him, grasping his cock, taking note of the way he inhales at the feel of your fingers. For a moment, his mouth hovers over yours—both open, just breathing. His palms flat to your side—as you hold him, feel his cock twitch in your hand. Moving, slowly—almost torturously, but it’s actually with precision.

He’s so hard, thick. Your fingers tighten their hold, wrist moving more, palm sliding up and down as you taste the way he says fuck.

“Bed,” he groans, almost through gritted teeth.

Smirking, you bite his lower lip. Light. Not piercing or enough to leave an indent. “In a minute.”

And it leaves his tongue again. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, baby.

All you can think about is how good he sounds, looks—feels. His head tipped back, neck elongated—lips parting as each expletive lasts longer than the four letters that make it up. It’s cliché to say it’s never been like this, but a truth that personal isn’t always easy to confess.

“Not waited to do this right with you to come before you have, Rainy.”

His fingers, those calloused ones attached to those hard-working hands, wrap around your wrist. Light, but determined.

“Oh, Butterscotch,” you tease, mouth close to his. “You been thinking about this?”

He smirks, just as he clasps his other hand to your side—tugging, yanking you flush. Feeling him, all of him, as you’re guided, moved, backs of your legs meeting the well-made bed you’re about to mess up and ruin.

“Since the moment I heard you laugh.”

Your body falls back, the sheets cool, smooth, pressing against your bare spine, before his body comes up—caging you. Nudging your thighs apart with his knee.

“Just kept thinking, bet you make other pretty noises too.”

Lips parting, you knot your fingers in the curls at the base of his neck, letting his lips slide into his cheek. That dimple appearing. The one which tries to hide under wiry hair and shyness, but is deeper than ever now, nothing held back or hidden.

And you can’t help but watch, completely transfixed by the light from the lamp he'd flicked on. The one lighting up his face, making him appear golden, ethereal. Able to discern each of the shades that make up his eyes, the flecks within them, the different browns that make a colour you dream and think of constantly, but you’re not sure has any other name than Frankie.

“Can I touch you, baby?”

You find you can only nod.

Words failing, falling, simply replaced by a gasp as he slides them between your partly spread thighs—feeling it, how wet you are. How slick and desperate you are to have him. A mess, all for him, by him. It likely ruined the underwear you’d left on his floor and dampened the sheets under you.

“This all for me?”

The rasp of his voice only makes you ache more for him. Hips desperate to shift so his fingers do more than trace and tease, but plunge and curl.

“Yes,” you moan.

It's like he knows you. A thought that bubbles and bursts when your fingers grasp at his sheets, his two fingers feel so much different than your own; Than the toys you own that are shoved in protective bags inside your sock drawer. His seek, aiming to find that spot inside you, stretches you, making your toes curl and your knuckles ache from how tight they hold the sheets.

And he’s talking. A sea of things that you half-catch and miss the rest. That you look good, feel good, that he wants to watch you come apart before he even thinks about giving you his cock.

Words almost leave your mouth, but you’re barely present.

More electric than person; more liquid than solid. So fucking close already you can feel the tremors in your thighs from not rutting yourself against his hand when the base of his palm presses flat to your swollen nerves.

“Fuck, Frankie—”

“Do you like it when I talk, baby?” his voice becomes an anchor. Keeping you here, not allowing you to float too far as you nod, crinkled pillows sounding as you do. “I think you do. I think you like hearing how hard you make me, how much I think about you in this bedroom, in the shower—at work—“

You’re arching. Barely clinging to the present as your feet flatten to root you, to grip to reality as your ears ring and pleasure does more thrum, but builds and builds—all compressing, hot, closer to liquid fire.

“—look at me, baby.”

And you do.

Lids flipping open as you’re met with nothing but desire, lust and need. It pushes you, suddenly freefalling. Your throat aching, scratched with the syllables of his name as you dig fingers into his curls and curl your body as much against him as possible as he works you through it. Him coaxing, mouth on your collarbone as he licks and lathes as you moan, and pant.

It’s then you look at him again.

Bathed in a sandy glow, sweat peppered on his chest, glinting and glittering as you find his eyes on you, taking you in as you catch your breath.

He’s so handsome, beautiful. In a way that ruined you before, that made you think of nothing but him, which now devastates you—in a way you only want him to do over and over.

It’s easier to kiss him than say it.

To trace the words over his mouth as he hums, as the vibration tickles across your lips before you’re manoeuvring him. Only paused in doing so as he dragged his lips down your neck, the sound of a drawer opening, closing, hearing a wrapper crinkle.

It’s a blink and you’ll miss it moment when your hand snatches it from him, placing it between your teeth, trying as they do so easily in movies to lightly rip it over with your teeth. You struggle. Suddenly nervous about piercing it, mind in overdrive because what—

"Easy, baby. I've got it," he growls into your ear, taking it from you, opening it more with ease than you'd managed.

And it makes you crash your mouth back to his. Etching more things to his mouth, smudging them over his tongue. How much you want this, want him.

It’s why you’re grateful that Frankie moves with ease until he’s on his back and you’re on top of him. A hand finds a home on your back, once the empty wrapper is discarded, fingers spreading out, flowing warmth into your bones. Then the other begins aiding, lining himself up as the head presses against your opening.

When you take as much of him as you can, fingers soothing your hip at the stretch, the hiss drawn from your lips at the light sting, before your forehead meets his. It's a moment before you move again. His words are there, guiding, before the room is flooded with a moan that's unearthed from your soul. One that is almost smothered in his own, a groan that makes heat flood your ears and a smile grace your mouth.

“So good for me, feel so good—“

“Can take more,” you interrupt, breathless. Slowly moving again, lifting up before sliding back down his cock—walls welcoming him, stretching, taking him to the hilt. “Y’feel good, Frankie.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, you roll your hips slowly, torturously if anything. Still sensitive. Little gasps escape as you begin to find a rhythm, one that makes his teeth bite down on his lip.

Taking his hand, pulling it to your breast, wrapping around it as he cups it—as his groan stains the air between the two of you—you draw an O with your hips, feel that heat in your stomach.

“I like your hands, Frankie.”

A line appears, deep between his two brows. A look of shock, surprise—awe—spreads over his face like a sunny day suddenly appearing in a storm. Before, it’s slipping away, hiding, wriggling away to some depth of him you wish to call back.

“I like your voice, your smile—fuck, oh my god—and-and I like your thighs, and your…”

You continue, babbling, rambling as his hands find your hips, steadying, moving you, thrusting up into you as little spots appear in your vision, as your own voice becomes distant and easily forgettable.

But the look on his face is anything but the latter.

He’s spellbound, utterly captivated—appearing as though if his mind was a camera, he’d have filled up several memory cards with what he was trying to capture.

And it feels good.

A wanting so bad that it almost makes you snap there and then, more so as the head of his cock kisses that part of you once again, a whine coated in both a gasp and a moan—

“Put your hands on the headboard, baby.”

And you do, assisted by him moving you with him sheathed inside of you before palm after palm is placed. The fabric underneath is soft, almost like velvet—leaving marks of your touch behind in its wake as you feel his mouth on the underside of your breast.

“You look good like this,” he continues, mouth pressing kisses to your skin, “But then, you always do.”

Your eyes snap to his, finding nothing but hunger paddling in brown. You don't fight the heat that flares out to the last few places pleasure hasn’t touched. Where only compliments and adoration can kiss and warm.

Then he says your name.

Not baby, not Rainy, but the one you’d handed him in that paint aisle and set yourself on a course for unravelling. A thing you don’t regret, but rather wish had happened sooner.

Your name rasped in that deep way that echoes through the room long after the last letter is spoken, digging deep into your soul as it unlocks something. It makes every sound amplified; the rustle of sheets, the creak of the bed, the sound of skin meeting skin.

“Let me hear you, baby,” cuts through, slicing,

And you do.

Your whine shifts into a sob, almost choking on it as it snaps—as pleasure rips through you and drowns you in waves. There’s nothing but white, a much louder ringer, and the distant knowledge that you’re spraying his name across the room as your hips stutter and he thrusts up into you, twitching, fucking breathless from it.

His hands, large and holding tight, keep you rooted—slowly hearing him groaning, grunting, low hisses of your name and how good you feel tight around his cock.

His fingers dig into your skin when he follows you. When his eyes clench, and his mouth parts around your name, lighting it up, making it seem as special as he makes you feel.

You collapse fully against him, thighs still shaking, little tremors in your muscles as your fingers brush back his damp curls from his forehead. A smile easy to find, to let slide over your mouth as you kiss him.

The light from the lamp drapes over you—still sticky, a mess between your thighs as you kiss him again, bodies flush. More gentle, a light lick across his bottom lip as you feel him grin, hands roaming over your body, tracing the curve of your waist, the slope of your back

He murmurs your name, palm sliding up your cheek, tip of his nose brushing against yours. “Should clean you up.”

“Hmm…”

His thumb swipes, hearing him swallow as your eyes open and find his already on you. “Don’t go.”

"To clean up?"

"Tonight."

Biting your lip, you try to fight it—less a smile and more a grin. “Okay. I won’t.”

And his lips capture yours once more. A thing you relax into—easily. Just like you keep finding so effortless to do with him.

next chapter ->

[soulofapatrick]

I Like Your Mind - Edward Cullen x female reader

Summary: As soon as you meet Edward, you're both drawn to each other with an intensity you never expected

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: None

Y/N’s POV

I step into the Cullen house, my heart racing in my chest, and my mind filled with a mixture of fear and fascination. Bella has brought me here, introducing me to the family of her new boyfriend - Jasper Hale - and I can hardly believe where I find myself. I know their secret, the one they’ve been hiding from the world, the fact they’re vampires. And I know Edward can read minds which makes the whole situation even more daunting. But, as Bella races off to find Jasper, I’m left alone I the living room, taking in the stunning surroundings. 

The Cullens’ house is unlike any place I’ve ever seen. The air is heavy with an unspoken history, and everything within is both timeless and modern. A grand piano rests against one wall, a dark mahogany masterpiece, and the soft notes of a melody linger in the air, a testament to the musical talents of the family. On the opposite wall, a massive bookshelf houses an impressive collection of novels and ancient texts. Their spines form a spectrum of human knowledge, artfully arranged. 

My gaze drifts to the floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the room, offering a breathtaking view of the dense, ancient forest that surrounds the house. The trees stand tall and proud, their branches intertwined like guardians, protecting the Cullens from prying eyes. The afternoon sun filters through the leaves, casting dappled shadows that dance across the polished wooden floors. 

As my eyes linger on the tranquil forest, my imagination takes flight. I envision myself running through the woods, feeling the cool, damp earth beneath my feet. The leaves would crunch softly with each step, and the intoxicating scent of pine and damp earth would fill my senses. My heart would race, and a rush of adrenaline would surge through me as I lose myself in the untamed beauty of the wilderness. But, what captivates me the most is the idea of running through the forest in the rain. The thought of raindrops falling like liquid diamonds from the heavens, pelting the leaves and creating a gentle, rhythmic melody, sends a shiver of delight down my spine. In my daydream, I am drenched, my clothes clinging to my skin as I twirl and leap through the woods, liberated and carefree.

The rain washes away all my worries and fears, leaving only the exhilaration of the moment. It's as if the world, with all its complexities and complications, has melted away, leaving only the simplicity and purity of the rain-soaked forest. It's a feeling of utter peace, a sense of being one with nature and the world, a sensation I've longed to experience again. 

Lost in the serenity of my daydream, I sense a subtle presence to my right. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and a strange but not unwelcome shiver runs down my spine. Slowly, I turn my head to see one of the Cullen brothers standing there, a striking figure with sharp, chiseled features. He exudes an air of quiet strength and confidence, and I can't help but admire his physical appearance.

As I take in his feature, I quickly realise that this isn’t Jasper, as Bella would undoubtedly be with him if he were here. Besides, Jasper is known for his blond hair, which contrasts with the dark brunette locks of the Cullen brother beside me. His eyes, however, remain a shimmering gold, and their intensity is captivating. 

Going over Bella’s description, I recall that she mentioned Emmett to be big and buff. Emmett is tall and muscular. He has dark curly hair and dimpled cheeks. Despite his intimidating appearance, he is light-hearted and carefree. This man in front of me is almost quite the opposite with perfect and angular high cheekbones, strong jawline, a straight nose, and full lips causing my heart to quicken with a sudden realisation. In a hushed voice, I tentatively ask, “Edward?” 

The name hangs in the air between us, my uncertainty evident in the way I speak his name. The Cullen brother gives a small nod, his eyes holding a hint of amusement and there’s a small smile on his pretty lips as he says, “Hello.” His voice is a velvet whisper that sends a shiver down my spine. My cheeks heat up in response, and I can’t help but feel flustered by his presence. Turning my face away from him, I gaze out at the enchanting forest, using the breathtaking view to regain my composure. 

But just as I start to calm my racing heart, I sense his movement. Edward is moving closer, somewhat hesitantly as if he’s scared to do so but he moves so close I can feel the coolness of his chest against my back. The physical proximity is both thrilling and nerve-wracking, and I can’t help but wonder what his intention are as I continue to look out at the tranquil forest. 

The peaceful silence in the room is broken by Edward’s soft voice, barely above a whisper, “I like your mind,” he admits, his words sending a rush of warmth through me, “It’s quiet.” 

His words wash over me like a gentle caress, and I can’t deny the intrigue of his interest in my mind. It’s a compliment I could never have anticipated, coming from a vampire who can hear the thoughts of others. The intimacy of this moment is palpable, and I can sense the internal struggle within him, as if he’s torn between his desire to touch me and the realisation that we’ve only just met. 

Despite my rational thoughts screaming at me to maintain my distance, I surrender to the magnetic pull of Edward Cullen. My back leans into his cool, sculpted chest, and the sensation of his icy hands on my hips sends a shiver of anticipation coursing through me. It's as if the enchantment of the Cullen house, the breathtaking view of the forest, and Edward's irresistible presence have combined to create a spell that I am unable, and unwilling, to break. 

Closing my eyes, I allow myself to become completely enveloped in everything Edward. I’m hyperaware of how he feels behind me, the firmness of his chest pressed against my back, the subtle rise and fall of his breath against my neck as if it’s a force of habit for him despite vampires lack of need to breathe. His scent, a delicate blend of lilac, honey and sunshine, fills my senses and intoxicates me, wrapping me in a warm, inviting embrace. 

The moment feels intensely romantic, the air electric with the unspoken connection between us. I know that Edward can read my thoughts and perceive my view of him, and in this vulnerable instant, I choose not to resist. I grant him access tot he unfiltered depths of my desire, allowing him to see and feel the passion that simmers beneath the surface. 

The tension in the room crackles, the rain outside intensifying as if mirroring the fervour building within us. It's a clandestine dance of two souls drawn together by an unexplainable force. In this silent, electrifying embrace, I become an open book for Edward, my thoughts and desires laid bare, and I can only wonder what he'll make of the desires that race through my mind like wildfire

With a slow and deliberate movement, Edward turns me to face him, his eyes open and unguarded. They flicker with a hint of vulnerability, as if he, too, is uncertain of the depth of this connection. His gaze drops to my lips, and I can feel the warmth of his breath on my skin as he hovers close. His fingers twirl my hair around them, an intimate gesture that feels like an attempt to memorise every part of me that he can reach. The air crackles with anticipation as I hold my breath, my heart pounding in my chest, The world outside seems to fade away, leaving only the two of us in this electrifying moment. 

Edward’s gaze remains locked on mine, a silent promise of the depths of emotions and desire that lie beneath the surface. In the hushed room, our shared anticipation and vulnerability create an electric tension that’s impossible to ignore. His lips are tantalisingly close, and I can feel the coolness of his breath as he hovers near. It’s as if he’s about to kiss me, his intentions clear in the smouldering depths of his golden eyes. But he hesitates, his voice barely a whisper as he mumbles something about not being able to stop once he starts, a confession laden with both longing and restraint. 

Unable to resist any longer, I tangle my fingers in his tousled hair, an intimate gesture that communicates my desire and intent. With a gentle, yet urgent push, I guide his face the rest of the way down until his lips finally meet mine. 

As our lips meet in a hesitant and guarded kiss, a complex swirl of emotions and desires floods the space between us. Edward, despite his initial restraint, can’t help but respond to the fiery connection we share. His lips, cool and soft, brush against mine with a caution born of a lifetime of self-control. The kiss begins with a tentative exploration, as if he’s testing the boundaries of this newfound intimacy. 

The initial hesitancy slowly gives way to a growing intensity, and I can sense his need for more. His grip on me tightens ever so slightly, fingers digging into my hips, a delicate balance between desire and restraint. His response is careful, as if he’s constantly aware of his vampire strength, wary of causing any harm to me. The kiss deepens, his passion building, and the chemistry between us becomes an irresistible force that pushes us further into uncharted territory. 

With a slow and deliberate movement, he begins to walk me backwards, his lips never leaving mine, until my back makes contact with the cool glass of the windows, drawing a gasp from me. It has Edward smiling softly, golden eyes a little glazed as if in a trance of disbelief this is happening before his cold nose bumps my neck, making my pulse jump. I should be scared by how close he is to my jugular but I don’t feel any fear or anything, especially when Edward places a soft kiss on my jugular, a silent acknowledgement of the temptation that throbs beneath my skin. His lips are cold, but their touch is gentle, sending shivers of desire coursing through me. 

My hands tangle back in his soft locks, guiding his lips back to mine, their coldness a stark contrast to the burning passion that courses between us. In that moment, I am both vulnerable and empowered, willingly allowing myself to be drawn further into this intoxicating dance of desire. 

Each kiss makes me feel more alive, more connected to a world I never knew existed. The world outside may be drenched in rain, but in this electrifying embrace, a different kind of storm rages, a tempest of emotions and desires that we can’t control. His lips, cool and velvety soft, meet mine over and over again in a symphony of fire and ice, a fusion of elements that ignite a burning desire deep within me. 

His body presses against mine, a solid and unyielding presence that leaves me feeling both vulnerable and empowered. The contrast between his cool skin and the heat of my own sets my senses ablaze. As we deepen our connection, the room seems to spin around us, and I lose myself in the feeling of everything Edward. 

The room is charged with our passion, and I can feel it deep in my core. Every kiss is like a secret, a stolen moment in a world that is entirely our own. We lose track of time and space, our lips locked in an intimate dance that only intensifies the fever that has drawn us together in the first place. 

But then, like a bolt of lightning in our own private storm, I hear Bella’s joyful squeal. Edward pulling away from me, and I let my face fall into the warmth of his chest, overwhelmed by embarrassment. As I hide from the world, I can feel the soft rumble of amused laughter in Edward’s chest, a sound that both soothes and electrifies me in equal measure. 

“Fuck yeah!” Bells shrieks with joy and I flip her off over Edward’s shoulder as he wraps his arms around me, stifling a laugh as he can probably hear all of my silent insults and embarrassed thoughts thrown Bella’s way. 

“It’s okay.” He murmurs, fingers carding through my hair and I just hum, letting my eyes flutter closed in contentment. I don’t care how quick this is happening, all I know is I need Edward and no-one else so I’ll live with the embarrassment if it means I can have Edward. 

“You have me.” 

                           ┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

TAGS: New Tag List Form

Twilight Masterlist

[okovanoko]

I got tired of waiting for yandere-smut and wrote it for myself and for you, lol.

Warning: English is not my native language. This is my first time (👁👁). I mean, I post my dirty thoughts on Tumblr. So don't judge me, I just wanted f-cking yanderes to death.

Tags: yandere, yandere, yandere; breeding, breeding, breeding, female reader, smut, smut, smut, Dark! Xavier & Female reader folded into mating press.

Sorry, today you are a pretzel.

Xavier always thought that after all this damn time, he would be able to control his emotions. He tried. He really, really tried.

Xavier?

He tried from the very first moment he met you after so much painful waiting. He tried not to attack you when you found him on his mission while he was sleeping. If the Travelers hadn't ruined the moment… Oh, how he would have ruined you.

….. Xavier?…

Just the sight of you not remembering him made him burn inside. He was painfully pleased to watch the expression on your face when he pointed a sword at you in that dark forest. Did you think that he would hurt you?... Did you think that he didn’t notice you?... He wanted to laugh and fuck you until you cried... But if you don’t remember him, then

… Why do you need to remember everything else before Him...?

Hey! Xavier!

He blinks and the next second he sees you. His sweet girlfriend pouted, looking at him with concern and sorting through the food on her plate… He wanted to stuff your cheeks with everything he had accumulated during this time.

M? What happened, My Lady?

Xavier smiles slightly as he starts eating his noodles again, watching other people pass by outside the cafe window… Although he didn't care about them at all, he couldn't take off his mask. After all, you thought he was so good… And you didn’t even know that all this time he was creating this facade ONLY for you. His sweet girl...

You're flying in the clouds... again. Did you feel the Wanderer... or do you want to sleep? It's soon evening...

Oh, you're talking about work again. He gets a little annoyed when you talk about the Wanderers. They don't bother him one bit. At least as long as they don't threaten you. Or use them for fun and stress relief.

It's nothing. You just didn't say anything and I got distracted for a second.

He looks at you with indifference, knowing how you feel right now. He just needs to press on some points and…

Ah… Sorry…

Here it is. His good---

I remembered that I forgot to visit Doctor Zayne.

You are smiling…

… … …

You smile… And he almost loses his composure, but No. Not now. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong mood…

He heard this name, he knows this man… And…

…Doctor… Zayne?

You smile even more and he feels his heartbeat slow down even more than it already is.

He is my personal doctor. Due to some circumstances, this happened! But he is my good friend and acquaintance, so don't worry!

He nods. But...

Don't think you'll be fine the next morning.

Oh, sorry… The next morning you won't even get out of bed.

Just a little more… A little more…

Xavier speaks quietly, but so calmly, as if he were talking about the weather. Meanwhile, you look so beautiful… Just for him. Hair is tangled, everything is in disarray. He even sees some drops of cum, but he just grins, chuckling, almost madly.

Ngh… Xa…!

His gaze immediately moves lower and examines your mouth, from which only quiet sobs and stuttering can be heard. There's a trace of white on your lips, but Xavier doesn't mind as he kisses you again.

A little more… You can stand it, right? You…

He thrusts harder and growls as his cock fills you up so deliciously and properly.

You are strong… I know… I know that my girl can withstand all this…

Xavier smiles tenderly as he puts you back into mating pressure. You tremble and squirm tiredly as his dick moves inside you again and again. And he doesn't like it.

Quiet.

His eyes darken and he holds your hands tightly above your head.

Or you will face consequences, my dear…

He pulls out slowly, leaving the tip at your entrance before thrusting back in sharply. His lips curl into a cold smirk as you squeal and throw your head back.

Shh… Just don't stop me from giving you pleasure…

You don't remember when he started. And Xavier doesn't think he knows when he'll finish. The sound of his sperm and your juices splashing inside you is his music. The sound of your moans for him is the meaning of his life.

Let's. More. I know that you will endure and be able to give me so much more, my love.

Hunter smiles madly when he sees you cum again. Oh, how many minutes have passed? Doesn't matter. He's not tired yet. He didn't even start. And he needs more. Xavier hears your soft sounds and twitches under your skin… But he doesn't stop and his eyes fill with hunger when he notices how your clit is swollen. Like a berry. Like an apple. Like forbidden fruit.

Ah… I completely forgot about this…

Xavier lowers the hand he was holding onto your wrists down. You still don't have the strength to resist. But the blonde can watch the tears running down your cheeks as he squeezes your clit. His cock twitches inside you and he stops for a moment.

What's happened??

He frowns innocently, leaning towards your ear. His fingers deftly push and pull on your clit, which he’s been overstimulating for a while.

Can’t my girl cum again?… I know that you can…

Xavier watches as you frown and cannot say anything: your mouth is open, but there is no sound; your eyes are empty, but they only look at him.

Haha… Hahahaha!

The hunter chuckles madly, his hoarse and rough voice does not seem familiar to you… Although this is your Xavier.

This is my girl…

He thrusts again, resuming his rough and fast pace, squeezing your clit. And you feel like you're going to the edge again.

I know that you can withstand all this…

Xavier leans down and kisses you deeply, sticking his tongue in as if he's claiming his property.

Because you always could, my love.

[cissywritess]

MAD MAN 1

Warnings: 18+ Dark themes, dub/non-con.

Pairing: Dark Bucky Barnes x reader.

Summary: Bucky waited 6 months he doesn’t have much patience left.

MAD MAN SERIES

Prologue

: English is not my first language, my apologies for mistaken grammar.

You shot right up with a fright, you try to huddle yourself up but chains wrap around your feet. You try to remember what happened, when you realize about the man you let in, how dumb could you have been. The room you were in had some light peaking behind a curtain. You could make out some of the room like plush animals, the furniture that awfully looked too expensive. That’s when you hear the door handle turn. 

“aw is my baby awake?” He said. You were confused, you opened your mouth to say something but nothing came out. He took steps towards you and you instantly tried to go backwards but the chains were keeping you in place. You sob.  “Please- please let me go, I-I won’t tell anyone I promise” You cry out, scared out of your mind. He leaned on the bed and smiled, what’s wrong with this man, you thought.

“I know you won’t because you will be my little girl,” He responded while you stared with wide eyes. 

“I-I don’t understand” Tears escaped from your eyes. He puts his hand on your cheek wiping your tears away. 

“You will honey,” He smiles at you. You then shake your head, you want to go home, where you feel safe. He doesn’t like the way your reacting so he slaps you, not as hard but enough to get your attention “It looks like you'll have to learn how to be my good girl,” He says. He then unchains you, your survival instincts kick in and you think about running. It’s almost like he read your mind “Don’t even try to run, you'll lose that battle” within minutes his caring voice is gone and replaced by an emotionless one. He obviously knew you'll need some training, what can he say, he has very little patience. He picks you up, and wraps your legs around him, he gets out of the room you were in and makes his way downstairs, you look around and see how homey it is. It’s a cabin deep in the forest. You reach another level this one lower which you assume is the basement. He stops in front of the door, as he opens it you think on what he’s gonna do, so many thoughts running around your head, that’s when he heads down stairs and harshly drops you on the cement floor. He leaves without saying another word. The basement looked way different than what you saw upstairs. There was a mattress on the floor with 1 light ball hanging in the middle. You cry, what did you do to deserve this. 

You lose track of time, you were on the mattress huddled up, letting all the tears drop down your face. You're scared, hungry, thirsty, you want to go home. As much as you hate your house it's better than being kidnapped by some Mad Man. The small crappy house, where you lived alone, loneliness that hugs you, where you ate crappy food, where you wear crappy clothes, where you have to wake up to go to a 5-9 job. Then you hear footsteps, you back up to the wall wanting to melt into it. This man can hurt you from what you see he has bulging muscles, and is very buff. He crouches down and titles his head almost like he’s examining you.  “Now why is my baby being a crybaby,” He tells you. Bucky has been hearing you cry from upstairs for 3 hours already, he thought you would stop after 20 minutes, but you just won’t stop. “Can’t you see I care for you darling, I want to take care of you, make you feel good,” He continues while you feel him grabbing your ankle, you try to rip away from him but he hold you in place as he pulls you down, which makes him be on top of you. His hand climbs up to your thighs and you whimper, you turn your head away from him, but he grabs your jaw, he forcefully kisses you as his hand makes it into your pants. You gasp at the sensation, he rubs your clit in circles. You can’t help but bite down on your lip trying not to moan as your body betrays you. You plea thinking maybe it’s not to late for him to let you go, though it has no effect. “I know you love it sweetheart,” He groans, “so wet for me. bet no one touched you like this.” He was right no one has. You shake your head wanting him to stop but he doesn’t listen. That’s when you feel one of his fingers enter you. Your mouth slightly open holding in a breathe. You try to squirm away but he was far to strong, his finger goes in and out hitting that spot. “Come on sweetheart let go, let daddy take care of you” He smirks when he feels you clenched around his fingers. Maybe you should let go, your mind is fuzzy, from the sensation, the pleasure is to much. So you let go, you moan as he adds another finger. That’s when you feel that pit in yourself stomach. “There you go, cum for me,” He says. Your breath fastens as his pace does and that’s when you felt 3 seconds of relief. Your mind is fuzzy. He picks you up and heads upstairs.

“How about a bath?” It wasn’t a question because he entered the bathroom in your room and placed you on the covered toilet and started a bath with bubbles and toys. You were even more confused, is this man treating you like a baby? You think. He undresses you and places you in. He washes your body and he starts “my sweet little girl, I’ll be taking care of you, I know how hard you were living. I did all of this for us” he says. You take a moment to process everything.

“Why?” You ask. He pauses washing you and looks at you.

“Because baby, I love you,” he smiles at you and kisses your forehead. Love? How can this man love you? You don’t even know him. “All you have to do is listen to your daddy, that’s what you will call me alright doll,” he continued. Daddy? Is this some twisted fantasy. “If you aren’t a good girl Y/N, you have to go back down in the basement where you’ll be treated like a brat, you understand” he looks dead at your eyes. You have no clue what to say so you slightly nod, but he want an answer. “words” he tells you.

“Y-yes d-daddy” you fumble out. This man is crazy you don’t know what else he would do. You can maybe gain his trust and escape. You think.

What you don’t know Bucky knows everything.

MAD MAN 2

[morallyinept]

A full transcribe of JAVI GUTIERREZ'S dialogue/lines from the film THE UNBEARABLE WEIGHT OF MASSIVE TALENT.

Includes full dialogue, and dialogue from any deleted/additional scenes available.

I've created this as a point of reference when writing for Pedro's characters, and I hope you find it useful. Even if you just want to read the dialogue. 🖤

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO CHARACTERS DIALOGUE

☝🏻Dialogue has been fully transcribed by myself using reference to original scripts (if available), audio subtitles and using my own two ears. Therefore, mistakes can be made, however I have tried to be as fully accurate as I can. If you spot an obvious mistake, please kindly let me know. Where audio is not clear, I have marked with *inaudible* Scenes are separated for ease of reference.

FULL SCRIPT DIALOGUE:

Of course.

__________________

Mr Cage, I’m-

Javi. 

I’m not sure I understand. 

I think so. 

I am Javi. 

__________________

It was fine. Normal. No big deal. 

He was incredible. But also like, super cool. He was taller than I imagined because they say actors are pretty short. 

No. 

He was… just right. 

No, we didn’t bring it up. I didn't bring it up. It wasn’t the right time. 

I don’t know, Gabriela, maybe I am living in a fantasy world. I mean, look who we are talking about here, the man is a legend! 

__________________

Hi. 

Huh? 

Oh no, I’m sorry, I thought that… did you say? No, I… Oh, never mind. Yeah, so along those same lines, I was wondering, and it’s totally okay if you haven’t, but I was just wondering if you had a chance to read my screenplay? 

Mr Cage, this is Ms. Gabriela Lucchesi. She runs all of our agricultural operations. And this is uh, my cousin. Lucas Gutierrez. 

What? What do you mean “retired”? 

__________________

Gabriela said you are really excited about the cliffs. 

Oh, shit! Shit! 

We must go now! 

Faster! 

The General! 

The General! The General forbade me to see his daughter Matilda. But we defied his orders! And now, he wants to end my life. Can’t you see him? 

Stanislavski? Is he part of the resistance?  

I’m sorry, but you can’t quit acting! You can’t! 

Whether you like it or not, you have a gift. And that gift brings light and joy to an increasingly dark and broken world! 

And to turn your back on that gift, is to turn your back on the entire human race  

I’m afraid so. 

If we don’t go now, they will fucking kill us! These people smell blood and they come running. They are almost to the edge of the forest. I can hear them! And Matilda, she is waiting down the coast. We have to go now! We have to jump! 

I’ve always loved her. 

Oh, shit! 

__________________

Are you two close? 

How did you meet Olivia?

Beautiful film.

So what happened? 

No. There's one woman, but uh… sometimes circumstances get in the way of love. And that's just the way it is. Anyway, Mr Cage, what is your favourite movie? 

Number one, Face Off. 

Number two, let me think… uh. The Cabinet of Dr Caligari. 

__________________

It’s hard, like you said, 100 plus years of rich cinema. 

Paddington 2. 

I cried through the entire thing. It made me want to be a better man. 

I fucking told you. 

__________________

Truth, or dare, Nick? 

Did you hate my screenplay? It’s okay if you did. I just need to know. 

I sent it to your agent. He was supposed to give it to you. 

Now? Like, right now? 

I sent it. 

No. Honestly I’m too nervous. My heart is beating so fast. I think I need to go to bed. 

__________________

I just want to thank you all for coming tonight. It means more to me than you can know. And I would like to tell a story. A few years ago, my relationship with my father had deteriorated to the point where we were no longer speaking. He could be extremely difficult, my father. And to be fair, maybe I am not that much better. Haha. But when he got sick, I realised I didn’t want to lose him before we could repair our broken relationship. 

But I didn’t know how. And then one day, about a week before he died… it happened. A miracle. I looked up and I saw on a tiny little hospital TV… Guarding Tess. We disagreed about literally everything, my father and I. Except for this movie. We both loved it. We would quote it back and forth. In a way, my father was Tess. The former first lady, and I was Doug Chesnic, the secret service agent charged with taking care of him. That movie brought us together. So, on behalf of my late father and myself, I want to thank you.

I bet you didn’t know Doug Chesnic could have such an impact on someone. 

Well, thank you for your sacrifice. It was extraordinary. 

So, does that mean you want to be in it? 

I say, yes. Yes. 

__________________

Mr Cage. 

Nick. I realised that if we are going to create a work of art, we can’t just sit and stare at a screen. We have to open our minds to the infinite possibilities of what the cosmos has to offer. 

Divine inspiration. LSD. 

So, I was thinking that maybe our movie would be character-driven. 

Right. Or like big explosions. 

And work on multiple levels. 

And maybe it's just the drugs talking, but what if we had, like a big drug scene?

Fuck, man (In Spanish)

It’s going to be so fucking good! But like, what's it about?  

__________________

In terms of genre, I-I like comedies. But not when it’s just two people sitting around, talking. 

Oh. 

Nick. Listen. You know what I was thinking? Maybe we could have, like a paranoid, thriller-y angle. 

Right. Right. Wait, have they been watching us? 

Fuck! Did you see that? They just looked over at us. 

No, no. Maybe it was just a coincidence. I will look again. Are you ready? 

No, that’s how you spook a bear. 

A fake laugh? Okay, good. 

Oh, no. 

__________________

Do you see them? 

Here. Use me as a human stool. Do it! 

I have a very big head. I’m not gonna make it, am I? Will you tell Gabriela I will miss her? 

No. It’s okay. You go live a good life. 

But then, we will both die, and I could never live with myself after that, so you let go! You let go! 

Goodbye, Nicolas Cage. 

I’ll never forget you. Now you get the hell out of here, you go!

Mr Cage? 

Hey. 

Oh. Yeah… turns out we could have just walked around. 

Whatever. 

There they are!

__________________

Ow! Ow!

You have to drive on acid, you are a better driver than me. 

Because I read that you did all of your own driving stunts in Gone in 60 Seconds. 

The wheelies are amazing. Now drive the car! They’re coming, let’s go! 

Oh! Holy shit! 

Holy shit!

No, Nick. I have an idea. Maybe this movie… maybe it’s about this. About us. Our relationship. 

__________________

You want me to let you in there, huh? 

Regardless of what the consequences are? Because once you go in there… it could change the way you feel about me. Our entire relationship could change, Nick Cage. 

Is it too much? 

I know, I am sorry if it is weird. 

The Rock. 

Con Air. Heh. 

No, it's not creepy. 

Mandy is a masterpiece. 

Of course they are real. 

Made especially for the film. 

Just look at the guns. 

Hmm. About 6,000. 

I am sorry, Mr Cage, but this is not for sale. 

__________________

Hold on, hold on. Your daughter gets kidnapped? 

But who kidnaps her? 

The barrel is definitely not warped. Who kidnaps her? 

It feels like a completely different movie. 

And then what? The finale is about two men saving the girl? That’s terrible. 

Give me the gun. You know the key to shooting well? Controlling your breath. Do you know how to control your breath, Nick? Your heart. Your heart must be still. At peace. My heart… is not still. My heart is not at peace. Do you know why? 

Because you’re lying to me. 

Don’t fucking lie to me. 

Don’t fucking lie to me! 

I know why you keep on talking about this kidnapped girl. You feel guilty about your relationship with your own daughter. 

You are blocked. Creatively. Because you feel guilty about what kind of father you have been. 

Pull! 

__________________

Nick, I need you to come with me. 

I’m sorry to have to take this step, Nick. 

No, it is the only option. 

What? There’s no need to call them. They are here. 

Unfortunately, I can’t do that. You left me no choice! 

Yes. Creatively. 

No, physically he is tremendous. I mean, he will probably outlive us all. 

Ha!

Look, I have grown to care very deeply about your father. And ex-husband. We are working on a movie together. A beautiful character-driven, adult drama. But, he has so many unresolved issues with you, that it is beginning to bleed into the work in a negative way. Isn’t that right, Nick? 

Well, you see he has so many regrets. 

Well, I had a cat die in the kitchen. And my grandmother was never able to get rid of the smell. I am very sorry for the inconvenience, but this is an emergency. Have lunch with us. And let him say what he has to say. Don’t you think that is a good idea, Nick? 

__________________

Wow. That was fucking pathetic. 

No, no, no. I am honestly speechless.

Shit. I think we have more work than I realised, but this is good. This is very good. This is a good first step. 

Gracias. 

__________________

(In Spanish) Well, Lucas. What was so urgent you came all the way up here? 

(In Spanish) Sergio Baldassari? The head of the Calabero crime family? I thought he was dead? 

(In Spanish) You’re the boss. It’s your call. 

(In Spanish) Wait. The election? That means you… You kidnapped Delgado’s daughter. 

(In Spanish) What? Who’s being betrayed? 

(In Spanish) Lucas, what's wrong? What does any of this have to do with me? 

Oh, bullshit. 

(In Spanish) What? No. Lucas, no. I had no idea. 

(In Spanish) Lucas. Calm down! Calm down!   

(In Spanish) Lucas, please don't do this. I swear to God, I didn’t know. No! No! No! No! No! 

__________________

Hi. 

I’m sorry. I should have asked you before bringing them down. 

And I was thinking maybe a kidnapping would work. Our movie would start out as a beautiful character piece, and then slowly change into a more thrilling… 

Would you like to drive out to the cliffs? Clear our heads and think through the third act? 

__________________

So… 

Yeah. 

These? No. I’ve had these. 

I don’t wear them very much. I don’t think they're really me. 

Do you wanna try them on? I think they would look amazing to you. 

Oh, wow! Those look incredible on you. 

Yeah. 

Like, permanently? 

Okay. 

I totally agree. It’s just… easy. 

Well… I guess it’s time to figure out how this thing ends. 

__________________

Nick… I meant what I said back there. Which is why this really hurts. 

I’m sorry, Nick. 

Wait. You were gonna kill me? And are those my golden guns? 

Why the fuck would you kill me? 

My cousin Lucas is the head of the organisation!

The whole world thinks I run it. When my father died, Lucas took over. He forced me to be the figurehead. 

You don’t just leave this world, Nick. You, and everyone you care about, is in constant danger. Why do you think I cannot be with Gabriela? 

Are you fucking kidding me? I can’t be with Gabriela because that would put a target on her back. Wait, you seriously didn't realise that we liked each other? 

You're in the CIA! 

No way. You go first. 

I don’t wanna kill you.

I fucking love you! 

It’s my cousin. He must've known I wouldn't kill you. 

__________________

Faster! 

Okay. You just run out there. You get the truck. You come back and get me. I will keep a lookout. 

I love that plan. I do. But, you are a faster runner than me, even in subpar footwear. I saw how fast you were in National Treasure. 

Not according to the Making Of featurette. 

Wait! So you’re gonna go? I’m going with you. 

There they are! 

__________________

He’s coming up on us. 

On your left! On your left! 

Holy shit! 

Hit the brakes! Hit the brakes! He’ll hit the back of the truck. 

Yes it will, yes it will! Just do it, do it, do it, do it! 

Don’t worry, he’s totally passed out. 

Fuck! 

I’m okay. Are you okay? 

__________________

There are more soldiers coming. We have to go. 

His people could still be in the area. We have to go. 

I have a place. Let’s go. Come, come. Come now. 

I bought this house 10 years ago for a situation just like this. It has everything we need. Food, passports, materials for disguise. We’ll be safe for the night. 

Olivia. I promise you will get your daughter back. 

__________________

The girls are likely being held in my cousin’s compound. It is a monastery that they use as a cover, but it is a fortress. It is impenetrable. There are walls on every side. 

Tunnels. But with metal doors that only open from the inside. Even if it weren’t for all of the armed guards, it is impossible to get in. 

We are going to walk straight in through the front gate. 

Lucas is trying to form an alliance with Sergio Baldassari, the head of the Calabero crime family. 

Exactly. And since no-one has seen him, no-one knows exactly what he looks like. Olivia. Nick says that you were an incredible makeup artist when you met. So, with some prosthetics and a little makeup…

__________________

Wait. Where is Nick? 

He will never make it out if there alive.

Hey! 

Shit, come on. Nick, go. Go! 

Oh, shit! 

Olivia, hand me the guns. They’re right in there. 

Okay, stop the truck. I will slow them down. 

Yes! You are two kilometres from the embassy. If I slow them down you will all make it. 

No! 

I'm never going to have any kind of a life unless I stand up to my cousin! I need this. Now, go. Go!

You stayed. 

__________________

Nick. 

Oh, no, I couldn't watch. I was, uh… I was too nervous. How did it play? 

Really? Oh, wow!

This is… Nick. Thank you. 

Do you wanna ride to the party with me? They want to interview us. Uh, Vanity Fair. 

__________________

DELETED SCENE:

I just want you to enjoy yourself, have fun. You will have the rest of the day to unwind, tomorrow to explore. And the big party on Sunday.

N.A.T.I.O.N.A.L.T.R.E.A.S.U.R.E.2

Colon. Book of Secrets. All caps.

I mean, I can change it, if you want.

I should have changed it. I apologise.

You are right, why would I? It is a wonderful film and a phenomenal password.

Welcome to Mallorca, Mr Cage.

__________________

DELETED SCENE:

Okay. You ready?

What do you say we cut the chit chat, A-hole!

Yes, I'm sorry. 

What do you say we cut the chit chat, A-hole?

What do you say we cut the chit chat, A-hole!

What do you say we cut the chit chat, A-hole!

We cut the chit chat, A-hole!

Chit chat, A-hole!

A-hole!

What do you say, what do you-what do you say- fuck, Javi! What do you say-what do you say-what do you say we cut the chit chat, A-Hole!

__________________

FULL MASTERLIST OF PEDRO CHARACTERS DIALOGUE

[tommys-little-writing-corner]

One Small Shadow: Chapter I

》 The youngest of Sindel's daughters, (Y/N) was only born after the passing of King Jerrod. Growing up shadowed by her family and their magics, the Third Princess does what she can do best. She stands by and waits... 》 Chapter I: Waiting... 》 General Notes: Fem!Reader, Complicated Family Relationships, Canon Divergence, Angst Train, No Beta We Ball Like Kobe, No Romance, Y/N is described to be feminine with certain features, Bounces between Y/N's POV and third person 》 Chapter Notes: The first few chapters of One Small Shadow take place before the start of the plot of Mortal Kombat 1. 》 Word Count: 600+ ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂

(Y/N)'s P.O.V.

I hate looking at this damn mural.

It sits in the main hall where the thrones lay, always alight with candles. Sometimes by the bright flame of the sun or by the pale flame of the moon. It's a mural portrait of my mother, Empress Sandel, and my late father, Emperor Jerrod.

I never knew Jerrod, not in the way my Mother and sisters knew him. My mother was expecting me when he was killed. Nobody spared me any details, only that it was a great tragedy over a thousand years ago. Now his soul resides in the forest, along with all other members of royalty and more.

Many say I do hold some resemblance in him, a trait I share with my sisters. We have his dark eyes-- the way they seem to sparkle with a plan, with a mind game to taunt others. setting down stones to be stepped on. However, it would be my sisters who would have his smile, his dark hair and everything.

I would be the one, the youngest of three of about roughly a thousand years old in age, who would have my mother's white hair. Pale like marble stone, like the colorless stars in the sky. Unlike my family who kept their hair long, I kept mine short, barely touching the corner of my jaw below my ear. It was better to maintain hair that way, easier to hide it whenever I wanted life out of the palace. Another talk for later.

I hate how everyone around me doesn't understand how I feel every time I look at the painted mural.

"You should be mourning-- you have no father, as does your sisters do. As your mother doesn't have her husband anymore."

How was I to mourn someone I never knew?

I only knew his name, the painted faces that decorated this wall along all other walls. The stories of praise and glory from the Umgadi who remember him, who loved him well as does everyone else inside and outside the palace. However, only because I was born three months after his death, I would never know the man personally as did everyone else who once knew him.

Maybe a trip to the Living Forest, where his soul resides, I would get to know him. Maybe he would be willing to talk, to tell me tales of his life before death. No... I would not be able to go beyond the walls of Sun Do. The ones made by my ancestors many lifetimes ago. Mother doesn't like me wondering around, not without armed guards, without Umgadi, or even the likes of Reiko. Since losing Jerrod, she became paranoid about an unfortunate fate falling onto me as well.

Certainly, she truly thought things well. Despite magic running in my veins, in my family blood, I could conjure no magic. To her, I seemed defenseless without a means to defend myself. It was why she insisted me having to be monitored and protected at all times if it could be helped.

I hate looking at this damn mural.

"Princess, you're needed at the entrance. To meet with the Empress and your sisters."

The Umgadi guard reminded me, making me snap out of my reoccurring thoughts about the mural in front of me. My lips curled into a frown as I looked over my outfit one last time. Dark purple ceremonial robes that almost matched colors with red wine, shades darker than the purple Mother wore. A layered skirt-piece that touched my ankles over black tights, black longlseeve under a dark purple top. My hands and arms decorated with golden jewelry with pretty gems-- fitting for a royal princess, but not as flashy as my older sisters. Subtle, quiet, just like me.

"Right..." I responded with a flat tone, turning my head towards her and nodding. "... Let's get going."

▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂

TO THE KONTINUED...

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Poets and Painters (Midday) - Wolffe x Reader [Mature Fic]

Warnings and Information: In desperate need of just one day to take his and his men's mind off the war, Plo Koon orders that everyone make a stop on a relatively uninhabited planet in a peaceful sector of the galaxy to… have a picnic? Just what does he have in mind? A certain flint-gray Commander is finding it hard to believe that they're just on the planet for a day of R&R in the middle of a war, so he isn't letting his guard down. Perhaps someone will help Commander Wolffe find some way to help him relax before the day is over… 2nd person POV. Reader is undescribed save for minor details like personal touches to a uniform, and has a gender-neutral alias. Allusions to canon-typical violence, mention of injury and loss, and Plo just being a dad to the 104th Battalion in the background. Swearing. Discussion of more adult themes and some lewd jokes the more the fic progresses (this is not an Explicit fic but it is Mature; Minors please DNI). Takes place on a fictional planet.

Word count: 4,665

The trick to keeping Commander Wolffe from prowling the edge of the clearing like a caged animal had been surprising. To everyone. 

Allowing him to watch you work keeps him seated on the hill beside you, where he does not worry his brothers or Master Plo Koon by continuing to make lap after lap. He had left your side once, to take a look at something the Clone pilot Warthog had to show him, and then did a little shiny-wrangling (namely Soapsuds) because they were too close to the forest for his comfort, but he was quick to return. 

He's not much of a conversational partner, whether that's out of respect for you to let you concentrate, or simply a product of his personality. When he has something to say, Wolffe keeps it brief. 

"I'm not that pale." 

"But your scar is." you reply with a gentle smile and a soft laugh, carefully adding traces of a lighter flesh-tone to the vertical stripe of scar tissue in your sketching of the Commander. You keep your pressure light on the page, and make your best efforts to keep the strokes in roughly the same orientation. The smile gives way to a frown the longer you fill in the length of his scar on the page. Your heart hurts for what happened to him at the hands of a dark Force-wielder. What her blade did to him. "I imagine it was quite painful, to lose your eye…" 

"Yes." Wolffe replies in a clipped voice, suggesting to you that while he does not want to dismiss your sympathies, he clearly must not want to talk about this with someone he does not know, either. You feel a tug on the lapel of your uniform, and the gloved pad of his thumb brushes over something. Oh. You'd forgotten about that. "You added a wolf's head into your uniform, Arcadia?" He's changing the subject. And that's okay. 

That's more than okay. 

Glancing down best you can, you see the sloppy replication the flint-gray Commander refers to. The thread used for the head is a steely gray, the stitches are almost invisible and camouflaged in the color of the uniform, save for the eyes in your favorite color. It was meant to be practice for repairing holes in your clothing, you explain. "For emergency situations. I wanted to see if my stitches would hold up after being washed. I completely forgot it was there." You don't explain why you went with the image of a wolf. You won't need to, in his presence.

It's easy enough to guess why this would be the animal, of all possible choices available to you in this galaxy, you would stitch into your lapel. The name surrounds you. Wolfpack. General Plo's callsign is Wolf Leader when they engage in battle by starfighter. 

It is the name of the man next to you - granted it bears an additional forn and an esk. 

Wesk-osk-leth-forn-forn-esk. 

Wolffe. 

"It held up well." he compliments you, releasing the fold of the lapel and assuming his silence once more. Degree by degree, you are seeing he is not eternally gruff or cold with you, or anyone: merely a man made stoic and far more vigilant than before by war. In his vigilance, he continues to visually sweep the field for signs of trouble or mischief. 

Maybe, while he's distracted…

You stealthily swap out the current coloring pencil in your hand - a deeper skin tone - and pluck out the Lamp Black pencil in the mix, drifting your hand lower down the page until the end of the pencil was now lined up with the loosely defined crotch and codpiece of his armor. 

Maker alive let's just get this over with. 

The body glove is going to be innocent enough to fill in, but defining the shadows around the pubic bulge in his kit will be faster. Just keep it quick and be discreet. Work fast. Hope no one sees. Hope no one asks. 

Your pulse screams in your veins when he clears his throat - loudly - next to you, and you are so certain he is now trained on you, and acutely aware of where your pencil is. "Hm-mm…" Oh kriff me sideways. "Excuse me," he apologizes, clearing his throat again softer this time, "didn't mean to startle you, but I was trying to catch Suds' attention." Thank the Maker he didn't look when he apologized. Just a few more marks to finish shading in the codpiece, and then you can start on the body suit. "O-oh. Is he wandering off again?" 

"Looked like he was about to." 

Still breathing down their necks even from here? "Y'know-"

"As their Commander I am going to look out for my brothers, Arcadia." He sounds neither happy or unhappy with what he assumed you would say. And it's fair of him to assume that, in a sense. You only wish he didn't have to feel so defensive. 

"I understand that," you promise him, and for the moment, you set down the pencil in your hand so you are not dividing your attention between the artwork and Wolffe. "and I wasn't telling you to stop, either. I only wanted to warn you that, I think, General Plo Koon seems worried about you, that something is keeping you from enjoying yourself." 

To his credit, he gives your words a moment of quiet contemplation. Whether that's to consider the truth behind the words you said, or to come up with an explanation of sorts, Wolffe remains silent and still like the forest that surrounds you on all sides. What secrets does that forest hold? What lives within? 

What will you find other than sap and blood on your palms when you pull back the thorny branches? 

"I don't believe we're here just to relax for a day." Commander Wolffe admits with a heavy look of guilt and uncertainty. "I think the General has other reasons for bringing us to Little Archossi, and he won't tell us." 

"Reasons? Like what?" You pick the pencil back up, and return to the slow, gradual task of adding color to the page. You're going to give him time to think. Time to answer, if he even wants to. He may not. Warning him that he's possibly made his General concerned about him seems to shake him down, somewhat. "I'm sorry." 

It's reflexive, apologizing for upsetting him. That seems to pull him out of his silence, for the moment. "Don't be, Arcadia. I'm not going to fault you for having good intentions. Or a good eye." 

The kri-? 

In dawning horror, you see and fully realize where your pencil lead is. And looking over at him, you see that he does too. "I-I'm so sorry, sir…" You admit that you hoped he wouldn't notice, and that adding the necessary shading and color around areas that carry their shares of suggestive and sexual imagery and connotations would have been completed with as little attention drawn to it as possible. While you're not exactly ashamed to have drawn those parts of him, you feel a bit awkward to have him take notice of your work when you add the color. 

Half of his mouth quirks in a smile, an expression of his respect, understanding that took guts to admit. "That's nothing to apologize for. It's just part of the art, Arcadia. A little "awkward" would only be understandable. Would you feel better if I purposely didn't watch?" 

Well, seeing as how you're almost done with the inner thigh, you don't see much of a point to the gesture in this part of the progress. But, he did offer. And this seems to be what's keeping him seated in the grass. And what's keeping Plo Koon freer to spend less time being concerned about his diligent commander, and more time in showing his troops more aspects of Kel Dor culture and history, it seems. (Orchid keeps asking questions that Tack could easily answer about Dorin, and it serves as a neat little lesson for some of their newer shinnies. Plo is certainly grateful for the curiosity that allows him to be a teacher, rather than a fighter, today.) 

You shrug lazily, laughing softly under your breath. "I'll leave that up to you, sir. At this point…" 

Wolffe chooses to keep an eye on his brothers, so you make the process of shading the inner thighs quick, while being careful not to get sloppy. You're not trying to recreate a master painter's work here in the first page of your sketchbook, but you don't want to look at this one day and become filled with the urge to tear it out because all you can see are glaring imperfections, either. That's nothing but a fanciful daydream of making so much progress in your artistic prowess that you would ever be struck with such a thought, of course. 

You are preoccupied with a war against the Separatists: when would you ever have the chance to make regular progress and impressive strides without backsliding and the natural degradation of your skills when you do not use them? You're a small part of the busy crew that keeps the Triumphant running smoothly. 

People constantly need you. And that's all well and good, but sometimes you find yourself running into the same problem over and over again that crews of this size inevitably face: when you, who provides the help, needs someone, who is there for you? Do you turn to another crewmate who is already up to their neck in all the problems they juggle? Turning to one of the Clone troopers is ill-advised, no matter how much they swear they don't mind lending a hand or an arm (or two) to assist. 

You've been doing fine aboard the Triumphant; better than fine, in fact. But that worry claws at you, sometimes. I'm here to help everyone. But if I needed help, who would I go to?

Who does the Commander go to when he needs help, come to think of it… General Plo? Or maybe Sergeants Sinker and Boost, if the matter was a little closer to the heart, something he believed was best kept between brothers? 

Who does Wolffe turn to in his hours of need, you wonder. 

You need to rest your wrist, and soon. You have just a little more of this tree's canopy to color in though, and then you're calling it good. You've been working on this "sketch" for more than three hours with the Commander at your side. You want to have this done soon. You want to go check out some of these things other crewmates have been laughing themselves silly over for the last hour that leave them gasping and wheezing for breath, clutching their sides and drying their faces. You're burning to know what's so funny, why they keep calling your name to come see.��

Curiously guessing over and over what General Plo's reaction will be when you show him this amateurish endeavor in outdoor art drives you to continue, however. Just a few more tiny, feather-shaped leaves… Wolffe notices the sharp twinge in your face, and the uncomfortable spasm in your fingers as you adjust your grip around the Sunflower coloring pencil. 

"Getting painful?" 

"Just a little." you admit, knowing if you pause now, you will delay when you pick the pencil back. "I'll manage." 

"Making art shouldn't bring you pain, Arcadia." 

You scoff, just slightly. "Physical pain? Agreed. But emotional pain, that's another matter. Don't worry, I'll be done soon, Wolffe." 

He asked you to call him Wolffe a short time ago. It wasn't exactly necessary to call him Commander or Sir all the time if you had him sketched out on your page quite like… that. His legs parted and bent at the knee - flat in the grass out in front of him. Wrist of the left hand resting just on the surface of his thigh, with his hand hanging limp just inches from his groin. You were generous enough to draw his fingers in a more neutral position than how they had looked in reality… Otherwise, if his soldiers and brothers got a hold of the sketchbook, there's no telling how many jokes you'd have to hear about making it look like their Commander was jerkin' it in front of you. 

Calling him "Wolffe" would do just fine when it was just the two of you alone on this hill. Perhaps he felt it was only fair if he was calling you by your name. You had no title or rank, like him. You are just a humble part of the crew, but he assured you no less important than one of the soldiers. 

It takes all of us, he said. That's how we win this war. 

You've come to the home stretch, feeling the ache in your fingers deepen with every tiny skritch and shwoop! as you methodically color in your work leaf by leaf. "Just one last, little leaf," you promise, "and then I'm done." 

"Not going to sign your magnum opus, Arcadia?" Wolffe prods a little teasingly. He's smiling at you now, even. Hours ago, he was somber and battle-ready, no smiles, no nonsense. Now, he's beginning to make small jokes. "Should add a signature so future museums know who to accredit this to." 

"A leaf and then a signature." you chuckle warmly. "Future museum… Honestly." He only offers a shrug in response to that, and you take it to mean well, you never know. "What, you're trying to tell me you think this would honestly end up in a museum gallery one day?" 

He shrugs again, gazing off into the distance, into the forest. "Overheard one of the boys in the mess say something about the notion once. Something they read. Some kind of commemorative effort made by one planet to make sure they never forgot their bloody history by way of art and song and poetry inspired by that time. Evidence of a time best not repeated, but not forgotten either." 

Such an insightful and wise thing to be said so casually, poetically, and yet, there's a weighty truth to every syllable and enunciation. 

We doom ourselves to repeat the past when we do not remember it and do not teach it anymore. When we allow ourselves to forget, the shades of rouge we sop the bristles of our brushes in will not be in the rich scarlets of Dathomir, or the forever-burning rubies of Mustafar, it will instead be with blood. 

When we have enough evidence, it silences the naysayers and the fools. It validates the choking and trembling voices that say I have tasted the bitter blade of war. I have stood before the yawning maw of nothingness it leaves in its wake. I will never be the same. You do not have the right to tell me that I am some kind of paid actor. 

If they were conspiracies, do you not think I would be among the loudest of your prophets who tout these twisted claims in the hopes of converting another?

"Fascinating. Thinking something like that will come of the Clone Wars, Wolffe?" You've finished the drawing, now. Taking an ink pen, you jot down your signature in the tidiest handwriting you can manage in the lower right corner, making note of the date for good measure. You'll think up a creative title for this later. 

There's a third rising and falling of the shoulders from the man sitting beside you. "It's too soon to tell." 

"That's fair." you reply, gathering up your supplies to put them back into the bag for safekeeping. "But you just know, if it does happen, the Separatists aren't gonna like the art." You have faith that the Republic will prevail. How could it not when the soldiers who fight for the Republic are some of the most courageous, persevering people you know? (What will come of them after?) 

You're likely right about that, he agrees with a throaty chuckle. The Separatists will not like losing this war, and they'll like the art even less. "I can only hope… that it will not just be the Jedi who are…" Wolffe grows silent next to you. He's not certain what word he wants to use to best explain his thoughts, he admits plainly. There are too many. Too many answers that are right, but he struggles to find the one thing that is most correct out of all of them. 

Given what Tack has told you, the answer is obvious. "You're hoping that the galaxy will remember the Clones were a part of this conflict too. That the galaxy won't forget the sacrifices made by your brothers, and they won't forget how many lost their lives. You probably hope that when the free peoples of the galaxy remember the Jedi, they remember you, too. Both must be appreciated together."

"You're probably right," Wolffe concedes firstly, "And you're too wise beyond your years, Arcadia." Strangely philosophical, he tells you, for how old he guesses you to be. Maybe he's the right one this time, thinking to yourself on his words. 

Maybe he's not the only one hoping that when this war ends, no matter the outcome, those who served as a part of the Grand Army of the Republic will not be a forgotten topic ten, twenty… even forty or fifty years down the line. 

Tack has made a breakthrough in his mysterious flower just before Master Plo is free to come take a look at the sketch and color work you've completed, and concern for his men takes precedence. You would not blame him in the slightest if he forgot he expressed interest in seeing what you accomplished with art materials given to you as gifts. Because of your station with the crew of the Triumphant with a secondary speciality for risk assessment, you're involved in this discussion with the researcher and his commander and general. 

Right now determining the risks posed to the men of the 104th matters more. Art and philosophical pondering will have to come later.

Tack explains to both Commander Wolffe and Master Plo that he thinks the smatterings of blue flowers that dot this clearing here on Little Archossi are known as Dinocaeruleus anthos. By their common-name, you know that these flowers are a warning. A silent, unassuming danger for all their beauty and silky blue petals. 

Terrible blue flower. 

"You can make toxic honey with these flowers?" Wolffe asks more to himself than Tack, as he reads ahead in the compiled information. Plo is taking his time to read the information on the screen of the datapad in his hands. To make sense of this, the Jedi is being thorough. 

"Poisonous, Sir, more accurately." Tack makes the correction habitually, and Wolffe does not take it personally. He knows that Tack knows what he meant, and given his aptitude for analytics and other such sciences, his researcher is not correcting him to be a smartass. "But, yes, you can make bad honey with these flowers depending on what pollinators you harvest from. They are not wholly dangerous on their own. Eat it, it might make you feel nauseated due to natural bitterants. Touch it to more sensitive dermal surfaces and it will prove a powerful irritant." 

From a short distance away, you hear the voices of Orchid and Soapsuds, Tack's batchmates (you assume), commenting on what the four of you are discussing in the shade of the tree you spent the morning sketching. "So what Tack's saying is don't stick your d-" The speaker finds himself with the other's hand anxiously plastered against his mouth to shut him up in a hurry. "Maker alive, shut up!" Soapsuds warns him, "Orchid, why are you so vulgar?!" 

There is a pointed sigh from Commander Wolffe that is aimed at the two of them. Don't make me come over there. Behave yourselves in front of the General. 

Plo makes no indication that he's noticed the situation occurring just out of reach. You have to imagine he hears Suds and Orchid wrestling with each other in the grass, now, though, and is ignoring it. "Arcadia and Tack, in your opinion, will these be enough cause for concern to consider returning back to the ship?" Plo wonders aloud. The Kel Dor returns the device to the researcher, and folds his hands together in an act of deliberate contemplation, resting them against his stomach. 

Tack looks at you, and you at him, then the Commander. There is a look in his eyes, both the stark silver and the warm vandyke brown, that reads to you as a surrender of control. 

I will carry out your judgment. 

Tack scoffs and shrugs, his arms thrown wide. "Honestly, General? I don't know enough. I'd need more time to determine through more analysis and comparison. This is only one search result for one flower it could possibly be. But it was enough of a match to make me get the Commander while he was talking with Arcadia." Enough of a match to send him into a tizzy over it. Tack had tripped coming up the hill in his haste, trying to ask if - from where he was sitting - the Commander noticed anyone messing with the blue flowers. 

We have a potential problem! had Wolffe on his feet faster than engaging a hyperdrive. And then there was a flurry of questions. Was it contact from the planet's inhabitants? Has someone gotten hurt? Are they needed to assist another battalion? Where's the General? 

He has the look again, now. Worry. The inner anxiety is eating him alive. Tack doesn't know. So what about you? 

"I see…" Master Plo hums. "And what are your feelings, Arcadia? What do you think about the situation?" 

You think. What do you think about this situation? Is it worth double checking the matches for the flower, to make sure that it really is Dinocaeruleus anthos? Are the men really going to be so flippant as to disregard any kind of warning put out about these flowers if they are the Dinocaeruleus, or worse yet, a far more harmful flower? (Not necessarily, but you have to consider that warning the troops that this flower can have detrimental potential invites the opportunity to inflict it.) 

There is one thing that is already clear to you, at least. "Tack should first make sure these flowers are what he thinks they are before we make any kind of advisory, General. That is my opinion." 

Another thoughtful hum. "Interesting. And why is this your opinion, little one?" 

"We should avoid unnecessary panic. Until we know for sure what these flowers are, I say we don't say anything. We invite unnecessary risks by making the men paranoid." you suggest, glancing first at the Jedi, and then the flint-gray Commander to his left. They had every right to accept or disregard your counseling as the commanding forces of this battalion at the day's end; you hope they will consider it at the very least. 

"I'm in agreement."

"Then we will do as Arcadia advised, and we will let young Tack take more time to confirm his findings. Until then…" Plo trails off, nodding decidedly. Thank the Maker. Tack dismisses himself in a hushed, hurried tone. If he's going to spend more time pouring over information on the Dinocaeruleus anthos, he shouldn't dawdle. The Jedi kindly wills the benefits of the Force to guide the researcher before he turns to address you once again. "Have you made use of the gifts given to you since we last spoke?" 

Blinking with a mild start, you realize that Plo has changed the topic. "Oh, yes, I have. Let me go get my sketchbook from my bag, sir." You scoop the entire bag from the grass, re-tucking your datapad among your things as you extract the book and turn it to the necessary page for his convenience. "Here." 

Taking it carefully in his hands, the book is cradled like a priceless relic as his eyes must trace over the page. Once more your property is treated with such care and respect by the Force-wielder. "My… Arcadia, you have quite a gift." 

The action is perhaps more childish than professional, but you cannot help but duck your head at such praise, fearing to meet his gaze should he see how flushed your face is. It is not the heat of the sun above you, denoting that it is now high noon, that makes your face burn. You're never quite sure how to accept a compliment. 

You opt for humility. "Oh, it's hardly that great, General Plo… I wouldn't say I have a gift… just… a-an attention for detail." And that much is true; dedication to detail is why you spent hours on a simple "sketch" to begin with; why you took so much care and effort to get everything done the best you could. The form of Commander Wolffe's armor. The curve of his jaw and the roundness of the ala of his nose. The correct texture of his hair within the typical haircut many of the Clones have. 

But though gentle insistence, the General repeats his sentiment. "Attention for detail is no less of a gift, Arcadia. In war it is a mark of wisdom, in art, it is a skill." A skill that has made for a very fine portrait of the Commander. "Have you seen Arcadia's work yet, Commander Wolffe?" He offers the sketchpad with an invitation to have a closer look, though it isn't necessary. 

"I watched Arcadia add the colors, yes." Wolffe confirms. "Quite the process."

Not to mention a strain on your wrist, but one well worth it for the praise given to you from the Jedi, and now many of the men who have congregated to come and suss out what's going on. "I can only imagine… Even gone through the trouble of adding proper shadows to such… rich color." 

Sinker and Boost smile softly, not quite sadly (but certainly somber), when they take note of the color of paint their commanding officer wears when you allow the book to be passed around so everyone is welcome to have a closer look. They hold it longest out of everyone, looking at this artistic replication a little more closely than most.

"The ol' maroon, eh? Think it's meant to depict another time, before Abregado?" 

"But he's drawn with the scar, Boost."

"Ah, yeah, good eye. Missed that bit." 

You timidly clear your throat to draw their attention, and explain that of all the colors, you didn't have gray. "I didn't want to leave his armor naked, either." Not when you went through the trouble of adding the face of the wolf and the other design to each of his shoulder pads, or the unique shape of his visor when you drew the helmet next to his hip. 

You would not deal him further, small cruelties by stealing the colors out of his coat completely. These markings he has chosen for himself mean something to Wolffe. The color he wears now is a mark of mourning. The color in the pages of your book will serve as an homage. 

You have not forgotten your brothers. You will always carry them with you.

Hmmf. Are you a poet now too, Arcadia?

No sir. Not really. 

You're uncertain where the words came from. Borrowed from something you read once? Did you perhaps hear the General say these words once upon a time? You can't recall what inspired you to say such a thing. 

But you'll remember the change in his gruff exterior, the way in which he was quieter than quiet for just a moment, and he pivoted in the grass to better face you and make you his equal. 

It's only the two of us here on the hill, Arcadia. Call me Wolffe, please. 

Don't have a fic taglist for the time being, but I'll likely start one soon if I can figure out how to make those forms some people have since I write a variety of stuff. For now, though, if you'd like to join a taglist for specific types of fics (example: just TBB-centric or just TCW-centric (or both)) don't hesitate to ask. 🩷

[Masterlist]

[Early Morning] [Here] [Late Afternoon] [Evening] [Deep Night] [Golden Dawn part 1]

[Golden Dawn Part 2]

[waywardsummoner46]

Eternity: Prologue

Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x (?)Reader

Summary: You should’ve known that running from your past would be your downfall… you just never would’ve imagined it’d land you right into the waiting arms of an Endless, one that’s been searching for you for eons. he may be trapped for now, but your new job at Fawny Rig may just be the solution for that. Heed the warnings: you took something from him and now he must consume you for himself…

Word Count: 619

Warnings: mind manipulation/control, possessive and obsessive behaviour, more to added with more chapters

A/N: I need to quit starting new series when I haven’t even finished one yet but here we are. This will progressively get darker and more intense as more chapters are written so beware. As always, I hope you’re alright and let me know what you think!

Strolling through a forest this late at night seemed to be a very bad idea… to most.

To you, on the other hand, you thrived and revelled in the peace of the night and mystery of the forest. It had become your safe haven ever since… well, no need to dwell on it.

The crunch of the leaves underneath your bare feet and the sound of your quiet breath were what echoed throughout the otherwise quiet night. Your only audience being the nature encompassing you and the stars that gazed down on you.

You continued to walk calmly through the trees, only stopping once you’d found a wide enough perch for you to mirror the stars’ inquisitive gaze. How does one describe the stars? There’s too much to say; you can’t decide to focus on their intricate beauty or their intense shine in the night sky.

After a while of merely admiring the stars, you heard the caw of a bird and your head darted in its direction. “Hello, little raven,” you whispered to it. The bird cawed once more.

“Care to join me?”

The raven shuffled closer to you tentatively, almost as though it was afraid of you - something you had to remedy immediately. “There’s no need to be frightened, little one. I won’t hurt you, come, sit on my shoulder.”

Obliging you, the bird carefully flew to your shoulder and curled its feet into your shoulder, appreciative of their sharpness.

Silence once again sat heavily through the night, a welcome, blanketed atmosphere. Just you and the raven and the stars.

… It began as a small, nagging feeling. Like an itch, ever persistent yet never in reach to dispel. Then it grew into something more, something akin to shivers running up and down your spine and when the feeling reached its climax, it was too late.

You finally understood why the stars felt like they were gazing down at you: they were. Eyes the size of planets dominated the skylight.

Then the stars started to move. To shrink into a constellation of a man who now stood in front of you. His pale hand was outstretched from his long, black, rich robes and his handsome and stern features were drawn into an intense look… a look that was directed at you.

The realisation that you could be in danger beyond your comprehension is what inspired you to do it. Stupid though it may be, you too cautious steps towards the ethereal being in front of you with your own hand waiting to touch his.

When your fingers nearly grazed his, he raised his head minimally and a delicate eyebrow rose song with the anxious parting of his lips. What would happen when you touched his hand? What did he want? Who was he?

You were in some sort of a trance. Indistinguishable whispers overwhelmed your hearing and the hand in front of you drew you in for an unknown reason. The raven was now on the being’s shoulder rather than your own but something told you that he was as transfixed as you were.

“Take my hand, my love, and allow me to care for you… for eternity.”

Eternity sounded nice… you reached to finally grasp his hand and when you did-

“(Y/N)! YOU’RE LATE FOR YOUR NEW JOB!”

You jolted up and with wide eyes (and a tingling palm), whispered, “Fuck”. Fawny Rig was your only chance to get away, you can’t lose it.

After speed-running your morning routine and shouting a goodbye to your roommate, you gave one last look at your itching palm before you caught a taxi for your new future, not knowing that the danger was even closer than ever before…

[aonungswifeyy]

Do It If You Dare

warnings: angst, smut, mention of b!ood

neteyam x fem reader x lo’ak

all aged up! (n - 20, fr - 19, l - 19)

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

chapter two

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Lo’ak was walking by himself, through the woods.

It was getting dark out, but his mind was elsewhere.

He was tired. Slightly annoyed, and all together, just wished to be alone.

It wasn’t the first time he had a disagreement with his brother. But this time, it was a lot different.

His brother’s words broke his heart.

“When you act the way you do, do you expect someone to see you as a suitable mate?”

It was no doubt that his father would put him down constantly.

But now his brother? From the person he least expected it from.

Everyone saw him as an outsider. A demon. Demon blood, that ran through his veins.

If anything, he’d be better off living with humans, with the way that he was treated. But even then, he knew that they’d probably kill him, when they find out his father was in fact, the Jake Sully.

The man they’ve been hunting for years.

Planning to kill.

So he didn’t fit in either way, which made it much more harder for him.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Lo’ak reaches a certain point, where he begins to feel tired, hitting his back against a tree, as he slid down onto the floor.

He sighed, looking up.

It was eclipse.

Even at this age, his father would not trust him to be out at this time. So he knew right now, his father would probably be screaming.

Going crazy.

But, he wanted to get away.

He had to.

It was getting too tiring for him, mentally and physically, to even be around his family anymore.

The insults they’d thrown at him. They might aswell be called his enemies.

He sighs, his eyelids feeling heavy.

Lo’ak just wished to sleep peacefully, for one night.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

I have no idea where I am right now. But I keep walking.

After those two Na’vi people left, I walked the opposite way.

I’ve been walking through trees and branches. Trying my best not to fall.

It’s quite hard being up, with these boots. I can’t even keep my balance properly.

But if I take them off, I’ll lose them and my father will kill me, the next time he sees me.

My sense of smell is a lot more heightened, in my avatar body. And I can smell quite a.. refreshing smell.

Like honey?..

I’m not sure, but whoever or whatever it is, it smells sweet. Amazingly.. sweet.

I’m not sure why, but I can feel my body almost gravitating towards it. My body has lost all its self control.

This scent is doing something to me. I just want to be near it. So close to it…

“Argh!” I hit my head on a branch, without even realising it.

“Who’s there?” I hear a male’s voice.

Well now I see where that scent was coming from.

I try to move back, but I lose my balance.

That’s it, my life is officially over.

Just when I thought I was better than everyone else, I am in fact, a lot worse than expected.

I fall right down onto the ground, right in front of him.

“Oh for the love of god” I mutter.

“Wh-who are you?” He stuttered, standing up, his position clearly in defence mode, as he’s looking down on me.

Maybe if I show i won’t hurt him, he might spare me.

So, I put my hands up to surrender, “I’m just trying to get home.”

“Stand up” He tells me.

And so, I do.

I can’t use any weapons. Not now. If anyone finds me out here, attacking a Na’vi, I’ll be torn apart.

Murdered.

I hadn’t even realised I’ve gotten further into the forest, all on my own.

I see his silhouette, before he comes out in the light.

And my, is he tall.

His skin is almost.. glowing. His eyes are shiny, his hair is braided quite perfectly. With his features, however, it’s hard to tell if her a real Na’vi.

He’s dressed as one, no doubt.

But his nose it a lot smaller compared to real Na’vi noses.

I tilt my head, and look at him. I can feel my eyebrows furrow in confusion as I look at him.

“You’re an Avatar. Why are you here.. dressed in Camo?” He asks me.

I notice his hands.

Four fingers.

He must be, who the two Na’vis’ were looking for earlier.

“Hello?” He waves his hand in front of me, before I realised that I was busy gawking at him.

“Oh sorry-”

“Why are you here?” He asks me again.

“I um.. I got lost” I shrug.

“And you think it’s appropriate for you to come here, on our lands. Like this?” He brings his hands, touching my clothes.

His hands, on my vest.

“Don’t touch me like that” I don’t know why I blurted that out, but I did, moving away from him.

He seemed slightly hurt, by my reaction, but what did he expect?

I barely know him, for him to touch me that way.

“It’s because of my hands, isn’t it” he holds them up once again.

I see he’s referring to his fingers, as he’s wriggling them in my face.

“No. It’s because I do not know who you are” I reply. Not wanting to give him the wrong impression.

“Oh” he I could see the relief from his face.

“I’m Lo’ak” he introduces himself, “Lo’ak Sully.”

“You’re Jake Sully’s son?” I ask.

“Oh god” I see his comfort suddenly become discomfort as he moves away from me, “just go. Get out of here, and I’ll keep your presence here a secret.”

“Answer my question. You’re his son? You’re Toruk Makto’s son?” My hands reach out to my gun.

“Yes..” he turns around to look at me.

I don’t know what he plans to do, or how he plans to hurt me, so I put my gun up at him.

“Don’t move” I tell him.

“I said I won’t tell anyone about you, why do you want to hurt me?” Lo’ak asks.

He’s starting to realise just how wrong it was, to trust an Avatar in camo.

“Yes because your the son of a betrayer” I tell him.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Lo’ak stood with his palms facing Y/N, trying his best to stay calm.

He blames himself, once again, for it coming to him almost getting killed, but he couldn’t help himself.

Not when he was faced with an Avatar as beautiful as Y/N.

There was something about her, that had him forgetting the threat that she could be against him.

Against his people.

Her eyes were full of innocence, even with that gun in her hand.

She had great curves, her waist was slim, her face was tiny.

She was very attractive, that he lost complete focus.

Not realising she was ready to shoot him as she cocked her gun.

“I-I don’t want to hurt you! I won’t hurt you!” Lo’ak shouts.

“Too late” she replies.

She places her finger above the trigger, but before she could even push it, she fell to her side, feeling a stinging pain in her shoulder.

“Lo’ak!” Kiri calls out.

He turns around to see his sister stood behind Neteyam, who had his bow out, in position, his arrow had already been gone, and put into Y/N’s shoulder.

“Agh, shit!” Y/N cried out.

Neteyam ran towards her, seeing her dragging her legs to reach out for her gun, before he jumped above her, his knees placed on the floor, each side of her waist.

“Get off me!” Y/N shouts, wriggling beneath him.

He holds her hands behind her back, tying them together, his head then tilting to the side to look at her.

She lets out a hiss, causing him to chuckle, “you’re coming with us, sweet.”

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

chapter three

[hatchetno1]

sage forest mental institution.

chapter 5. in which you discover...well, something. word count: 2.6k note: straight up this fic has stopped making sense. i am losing it cw: toby has mood swings. some crying too.

You make up for the lost dinner with a big breakfast, scarfing down your food as quickly as Jeff had grabbed the soul out of you the previous day. You almost worry that you’re eating too noisily beside the artificially smiley faced-man, but he seems to be eating more noisily than you. Absolutely no manners.

“Morning!” Chirps Toby like a baby bird, except in a baritone as he enters the dining area, in the same clothes as yesterday. Jeff growls at him through a mouth full of food to shut up.

Whoosh.

Barely a second and a whirlwind of brown and orange later, Toby’s at his throat. You did not expect this to occur during your peaceful meal.

“What did you say.” Toby growls at him, gripping Jeff’s collar so tightly you think his shirt might just tear apart. But Jeff matches that iron grip with his own on Toby’s wrist. “I said,” Jeff snarls, “shut the fuck up.”

How do you de-escalate a situation between two angry, violent people?

You remember a really stupid viral video from years ago and stand between them, your cereal bar between your lips.

“Whatcha dooooin’,” you mimic Toby’s line yesterday, keeping the tremble in your voice to a minimum. You need them to regain a sense of normalcy, or at least confuse them enough that their anger will end.

“Uh.” Jeff stares blankly at you. “What the fuck are you doing?” His lip curls up in a sneer of disgust. You suppose they were actually stupid enough for it to work…?

“Oh!” Snaps Toby back to attention. “Can I join you for—woo—can I join you for breakfast, Y/N?” He grins down at you like a ray of sunshine, like nothing ever happened.

Extreme mood swings.

“Sure,” you reply, and in no time Toby is shoving Jeff to one side so he can sit with you.

“There’s a left side and right side on her, lover boy,” complains Jeff, but he leaves all the same when he’s done with breakfast as Toby yaps into your ear about random topics. One sentence it’s the weather, and the next it’s torture methods. The range on this boy is a bit too concerning for your liking.

“Oh-oh, Y/N, Y/N, did you know that if you shoot a person in the head, they’ll…”, he giggles childishly here, “pee their pants?” It’s amusing how he giggles, a literal “heeheehaha” kind of sound, amongst small vocal tics. Smiling at him both out of amusement and out of politeness, you say, “Do you wanna know something?” His eyes light up even further, and you wonder if there’s a limit to how bright one’s eyes can be. “Wh-what?” His legs shake up and down and he clenches his fists, almost vibrating in his seat. Wow, that’s a lot of energy. But given his mood swings, it’s likely this won’t last too long.

“Sometimes,” you begin, “sometimes they live. It’s not a guaranteed death.”

“I know!” Toby exclaims, slapping the tabletop with both hands. You try not to give away your startle with any sudden movements, for fear that his current state is truly volatile and may be overtaken by negative emotion if you show any sign of hurt or fear. “Brian has sh-sh-shot many people, and, sometimes they—fuck, crack!—don’t die!” His grin is brighter than the sun, the corners of his eyes crinkled with joy, and you could almost mistake him for a young child if not for his sunken eyes and dark eye circles.

“But,” he begins thoughtfully. “Sometimes I throw my hatchet at their heads, uh, and, they die! Instant K.O!” He makes a bzzzzhhhh sound, like a buzzer. His attitude towards death is…concerning. You wonder if you could observe him in action as he kills his targets.

Your mind seems to have entirely shifted to an “I’m a therapist and nothing fazes me” mode, but you know that if he were to actually let you follow him on a murder spree or whatever it is he does, you might piss your pants and have a panic attack at the sight of the death of another human being. Did he ever have to get used to murder? Or was he always so cheerful about it?

“I see you’re getting along well,” comes a male voice, a slight grouch to it, a couple feet behind the both of you. Toby’s neck cracks as he whips his head around to face the person, and so do you turn to face them, though not at the same literal breakneck speed.

“Timmy!” Exclaims Toby.

What a strange nickname for such a stand-offish man.

One second he’s seated beside you, and the next, in a blur of brown and blue, something that you can only presume to be Toby clings itself onto Tim-not-Masky, and the two men go tumbling onto the ground, yelps of pain coming from Tim and more “heeheehaha”s coming from Toby.

“You fucking bastard,” spits Tim(my), but with little venom in his voice. Their relationship is almost that of brothers.

“You love me anyways!” Toby teases, nuzzling the man, who protests by saying something along the lines of “Toby I’m not gay,” and “Toby you’re not gay”.

“How would you know?” Says Toby lowly, grinning in a mockingly malicious manner like a fifth grader trying to mock-flirt with his friend. Tim shoves him off with a disgusted look and an ugh, then hurries to the kitchen to get away from the boy, who looks prouder of himself than he should be.

“So…” You tread carefully. “Are you gay?” Then, almost stumbling over your words, you blubber, “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with it.”

Toby goes quiet for the first time today, deep in thought. Just as you worry that you might’ve said something wrong, he speaks up. “Nope! I’m straight as a stick! I…I think.” He frowns a bit at that. “I dunno.”

“That’s okay, Toby,” you reply, taking another bite out of your toast. “I don’t know either.”

“But…you seem like you…—wa-woo!” He swallows, putting his thoughts together in his head. “You seem like you know everything!” He seems to be idolizing you already, which is not good. This is not good. You’re not qualified to be regarded as an actual therapist; you can only be an equal to whom they spill their worries. You conjure the brilliant idea of straight-up telling him you’re not to be put on a pedestal.

“I’m a normal person just like you and Tim, Toby,” you say. But this does nothing to put out the flame of wonder in his eyes. Did he even process what you just said at all?

You’re alerted of Tim’s presence as he sets a bowl of cereal and milk down on the tabletop, right opposite Toby. “He thinks normal people are the best,” he states flatly. “Because Brian and I are normal to him and he thinks we’re his whole world.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or dig a hole, cry, and wait for The Operator to come after your ass.

—

After your little…learning experience with Toby, you get to setting up your office. The proxies were surprisingly resourceful, having transported entire bean bags, a big-ass carpet and a table from wherever they raided straight into your little extra room, along with a thoughtful little box of snacks and the stationery you requested. Just as you wonder if you actually did write your request for snacks down onto the paper yesterday, you find a little note in the snack box. It’s surprisingly cute, and could be mistaken for a kindergartener’s work. On it says, “With love, Toby,” in very shaky handwriting, along with a cute little heart next to it, equally shaky.

Chuckling to yourself, you set the note aside and get to work. To your relief, you do not overestimate your strength and actually manage to shift everything in place. The carpet doesn’t cover the entirety of the ugly blue tiles, but it’ll have to do. You’ll also have to do something about the cold lighting in the room, flickering every so often. What if you just place a piece of yellow paper on it? Easy fix, you laugh to yourself. But for now, you don’t have a ladder nor a means of getting up there, so you can’t even slap Toby’s cute note onto the light bulb.

Speaking of Toby, you think about the “patients” under your care. The most prominent profile in your mind right now is the youngest boy. If you had any access to the internet right now, you’d be able to do more research on his symptoms and conditions. Alas, you’re literally off the grid right now, and have to settle for descending into a half-sleep half-daydream sort of trance when bored.

And so it is that trance you descend into as you shuffle boxes here, boxes there, furniture back and forth, playing idly with placements, rolling pens across the desk—

“Hey Y/N! —woo!— I like what you’ve done with the place!” Comes Toby’s cheerful exclamation from the doorway.

The place is desolate. It’s absolutely dismal for a therapist’s safe space, one that they offer to turmoiled patients.

“Uh…thanks, Toby!” You try as hard as possible to not sound sarcastic, but it seems you don’t have to worry about it—the boy’s already flopping himself onto the beanbags, rolling around and frolicking. Damn, proxies don’t get many good things, do they?

Nonetheless, you take the chance to get some work done and pick up a pen and foolscap. “Toby?”

“Yeah?” Comes his reply, his head immediately turning to you from his ridiculous position. It looks like he’s trying to do a backward roll on the beanbag, with his ass in the air, knees beside his head.

“Wanna talk about life?”

—

And so the both of you talk. And you talk, and talk.

Toby had sat up normally—well, as normally as he possibly could, with his fidgety mannerisms and all—and he’d spilled. It’s how you come to learn of his past, or to be precise, the fact that he has no memories of it.

But as much as the empty cup can, it spills, even just a few drops. He can’t get into cars without severely panicking, so when sent out on missions, they use vans instead.

“I pretty much only remember my name,” he informs you. “Other than that, I don’t know much. I mean, I’m pretty sure I had both parents…and sometimes, I think I remember having a sister,” he says wistfully. “I think I loved her.”

You jot the information down as furiously as you can, letting the boy run his full train of thought.

“Sometimes…sometimes I wake up in the—mm!—middle of the night, and I feel like I remember everything…and then I can’t help it. I start crying.” He twiddles his thumbs even more furiously in an attempt to negate the negative energy he’s radiating. “Sometimes,” he continues quietly, “I think I remember her name.”

You allow the boy a moment to catch up to his feelings and thoughts. Then, you ask gently, “What do you think her name is, Toby?”

“Um…” He scratches his head, his messy brown hair curling every which way. “Lyra. I think.”

You smile. “Lyra must have been beautiful.”

“She was, I think.” A sniffle. A tear runs down his cheek, and you begin to panic, before reaching over for a box of tissues—you’d forgotten to write this down, but the proxies were thoughtful enough to bring you a few—and passing it to him.

“It’s okay to cry, Toby,” you murmur what little comfort you can. “I doubt you’ve talked to many people about this, in such a vulnerable manner.”

He sniffs. “Thank you,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I think I’m grateful the—sniff—that The Operator had us bring you back alive,” he says. “He ss-sent us to the asylum, and told us—sniff—to wait for someone to come, and when that ss-someone came, he’d let us know.”

“Many people came and went, and Jeff kinda…” He gestures vaguely, but you chuckle. You know exactly what he means. “He—ah!— killed ‘em all, except for you.” He forces a dry chuckle. “You’re lucky. B-but, I still can’t believe he sent us to look for a therapist, of all things. Probably just wants to prolong our shelf life o-or—mm!—something,” he mutters the last part.

Wow, the Operator’s kind of turning out to be a bit of an asshole, huh? You think to yourself, but pay it no mind. It’s something to ponder later, no matter how important it might be. The patient’s health comes first.

You nearly fail to catch the fact that Toby just stated that they did not kidnap you at random. He said, he sent us to look for a therapist. You don’t know what to do with this information. Laugh? “Haha, tall-ass eldritch monster sends his tiny humans to look for a shrink!” Cry? “Fuck, tall-ass eldritch monster knows what a therapist is. Who knows what else he knows?” That doesn’t make too much sense.

But the Operator’s powers still remain a mystery to you. Though, you suppose he was being literal after all. How else did he perceive your presence and make the (fortunate? unfortunate?) decision to bring you back alive? Hell, does this even concern you when your life is at stake? Is your life even at stake? Well, it is, but it also isn’t if you can treat his proxies.

It’s all a little too complicated.

“Y/N?”

You shake out of your stupor. You’ve been absently gazing at Toby staring back at you for the longest time, but it’s only now that you actually see him. Your vision is blurred and you dismiss it as a product of not blinking for a while.

“Are you ok-k-kay? You’re crying,” worries Toby.

Oh, so that’s why your vision is blurry. What kind of therapist cries in the middle of the session?

Before you can get the words “I’m fine” out of your mouth, Toby’s body language shifts to that of an obviously anxious one. Too quickly for you to even try to convince yourself he’s fine, he shoots up and shakily pulls out a few tissues from the tissue box, but he shakes so much that the box falls to the ground, and he follows, crouching over the fallen object.

“No, no no, no no no,” he mutters shakily, voice thick. A sniffle.

You act before you think. “Hey, hey,” you soothe him, hand reaching out for his shoulder. “What’s going on, Toby?”

He looks back at you, eyes and nose red, lips curled downwards, stifling sobs. “I-I’m so—sss-sorry, Y/N,” he mumbles. “I can’t do this to you. I love you too much.”

And all of a sudden, he shoots back up to full standing height, and before you can even blink he’s reaching for the handle of the door, slipping through faster than light and slamming the door back closed.

You’re left there to stare blankly.

chapter 6 is out.

[mixsethaddams]

Something that I think is often overlooked by all of us when we create the Steddie universe is that Steve would absolutely suffer with internalised homophobia.

He had a very WASP-ish upbringing (I say ‘ish��� because I think he’s Catholic but you get my drift) and especially in the 80s that would have brought with it a lot of preconceptions about gay people. Not to mention we know how important social status was to him for a long time, and no doubt his parents instilled that in him. Steve would have been the ‘I’m totally fine with it!’ type who then freaked out as soon as he thought he was being hit on. Being called ‘big boy’ and instantly short circuiting is a great example of this, not to mention him calling Jonathon queer as an insult in season one.

Eddie would have had a lot less to lose in terms of reputation or family interference. We know canonically how much Wayne loved Eddie, and as a heavily queer-coded character (bi, gay, whatever) it’s easy to assume that wouldn’t have been an obstacle. Plus he was already known as a ‘freak’ so adding an extra facet to that wouldn’t be anything new to him. He’s a loud and proud character and doesn’t shy away from being himself or speaking his mind. We even see this in the upside down when he tells Steve about his opinions of him.

It’s lovely to think that Steve would instantly fall into being 100% on board with being in a relationship with a man and kissing and touching, and sharing little sideways glances in public. The much more likely scenario is that no matter how good or right it felt, poor Steve would still panic every time he felt himself enjoying a kiss too much. He might even ignore Eddie in public entirely and only meet with him at night. Eddie would never be invited to Loch Nora and Steve would park a half mile away from Forest Hills so no one saw his car.

It would take months, years even, for our boy to feel totally comfortable in his relationship with Eddie. Only for Eddie knowing that this is really what Steve wants because he whispered it to him in the pitch dark under the covers, the only place he ever felt safe enough to express himself, he wouldn’t have bothered to keep trying. Eddie would have gotten sick of being treated like hell in public and begged for forgiveness in private, told him to find a nice girl to settle down with, and left.

Eddie would stick with him though, and the little milestones would come gradually. The first time Steve kissed him during the day, the first time he touched Eddie’s dick over the sheets without their bodies being hidden away underneath them, the first time he was able to keep his eyes open during sex. Eddie would talk to him, guide him, let him figure out what pace worked best, and never rush him.

Steve would try his best because he wasn’t lying, this was exactly what he wanted, but when you spend that long being told how wrong it was, you can be forgiven for taking a little while to settle into it. He held his breath for so long he almost passed out the first time he held Eddie’s hand in a dark movie theatre, slowly inching over until he could grasp his fingers. It felt dangerous. His mind was screaming at him to let go. Steve was trying, for Eddie.

They’d get there eventually. Steve would hit a lot of dead ends along the way, but Eddie always helped him get back on the right track.

[bumblesimagines]

The Sun and Moon

Part 8

Request: Yes or No

Almost at double digits y'all! This one is a little short

~~~

"You have the chance to best him!" Eloise exclaimed, eagerly watching as Kate got into position. Her ball had perfectly aligned with Anthonys'. Something that had both Kate and Eloise grinning from ear to ear. 

"That wouldn't be very sportsmanlike, now would it?" Colin called as everyone gathered to watch Kate. (Y/N) stood beside Benedict, muscles aching and crying, letting (Y/N) know he needed to bow out before he awoke with soreness the next morning. 

"I was told unsportsmanlike conduct was a requirement for this game," Kate said and looked back at Daphne with a cheeky smile. 

With a soft chuckle, Daphne nodded, "A fast learner you are indeed, Miss Sharma." 

"What do you say, My Lord?" Kate asked, tilting her body toward Anthony. The Viscount lifted his gaze away from the two balls, addressing Kate with a curious look. "Are you in a losing mood?"

"My mood shall remain unchanged, regardless of your choice," Anthony responded cooly, resting his fist against his hip. His rather forced smile, however, told otherwise.

"Ah, is that so? You would bravely bear the crushing shame of defeat?" Her words made Edwina's eyes widen, her sisters' competitiveness and cockiness seeming to surprise her. Perhaps she'd never seen this side of Kate, or maybe she just hadn't expected it to come out in front of Anthony.

"Play pleasant, Didi," Edwina whispered with a frown.

"Not to worry, Miss Edwina," Anthony assured the younger woman, leaning in slightly as he spoke, a hint of sarcasm dripping from his next sentence. "In light of my brothers' and sisters' tactics, Miss Sharma conducts herself with much grace indeed."

"Ah." Clicking her tongue, Kate cocked her head. "Then you shall not mind this." Rearing up, she swung her mallet and sent Anthonys' ball flying through the air, disappearing behind some bushes. 

"Well done!" Daphne laughed, clapping her hands. Anthony clenched his jaw, inhaling deeply through his nose before tucking his mallet under his armpit and clapping along as well, another forced smile appearing on his face. 

"Miss Edwina!" Benedict called, tapping the ground with his mallet. "I believe it is your turn." 

However, Edwina seemed less than thrilled, clutching her mallet and approaching her ball. She aligned her mallet with it and after a second, she gave it a hit. The sound of two balls colliding echoed and (Y/N) hummed, watching his dark green ball disappear, followed by Edwinas' blue one.

"Apologies, Mr. Granville! I didn't mean to-"

"It's quite alright, Miss Edwina." (Y/N) brushed her off with a smile and shake of his head. While Edwina seemed far from convinced, shown through her sad doe eyes, she nodded and turned to face the others. 

"I think I shall cut out." She announced, giving Daphne a curtsy before walking past everyone, and heading back to the mansion. Anthony acted quickly, almost stumbling over his feet as he jogged to catch up with her. 

"Will you be joining Miss Edwina, (Y/N)? If not, you better go fetch your ball." Benedict said, glancing back at Anthony as he rejoined them. "You as well, Brother."

"Up for a walk, Anthony?" (Y/N) questioned with a grin, beginning his trek toward the small forested area. 

"Of course." Anthony quickened his face, gently bumping shoulders with him as he fell into pace with him. 

With a twinkle in his eyes, (Y/N) tilted his head. "Bet I can find mine before yours!" He called before darting off. Anthony paused for a moment, blinking after the painter before a grin broke out on his face and he geared up, racing after the man with a laugh. The two pushed through the brush, frantically looking for a shine of pink or dark green whilst giggling like schoolboys. 

"Oh. Dash it!" Lifting his head, (Y/N) looked over at Anthony, noticing him staring off into the distance, (Y/N) straightened up and walked over, ducking over a low-hanging branch and peering over his shoulder. Then, he spotted them. In the mud. 

"What are we waiting for, then?" (Y/N) asked, brushing past Anthony and moving around the muddy ground until he found a small opening without grass covering it. Anthony stood beside him and poked at the mud with his mallet, cringing at the squelching sound it made. Without a second thought, (Y/N) moved, walking through the mud until he reached his ball, water lightly splashing around, disturbed by his footsteps. 

Inhaling, (Y/N) aligned his mallet with the ball, taking a moment to glance at Anthony, only to pause when he noticed his expression. Anthonys' jaw had quite literally dropped. Chuckling softly, (Y/N) hit his ball, hard enough to get it out of the mud but light enough that it wouldn't go flying more than a few feet. 

"I'm a painter, Anthony. I get dirty all the time." (Y/N) reminded him, motioning for Anthony to retrieve his ball. 

"Right, of course," Anthony muttered, stepping into the brown mush and walking forward, almost stumbling when his foot abruptly sank deeper than expected. (Y/N) snorted at the sight, reaching out to steady Anthony before watching him hit his ball, the now speckled pink ball landing near (Y/N)s'. 

"Not so hard, was it?" (Y/N) smiled and took a step forward, only to feel his foot slip out of his boot. The loss of weight holding him down unbalanced him and he fell forward with a squeak, effectively covering his chest and arms in mud. The air remained silent for a moment, apart from the chirping of birds and crickets, before Anthony broke out into a fit of laughter. (Y/N) soon joined him, laughing as he rolled over and sat up, shaking his hands and flinging mud at the ground. 

"Come on! Don't stand there and laugh at me!" (Y/N) laughed and raised his hand, bending his knees and rearing himself up to stand. Anthony snickered softly and grabbed his outstretched hand, digging his heels into the mud and pulling. But it appeared karma would take swift action against Anthony. He lost grip due to the mud on (Y/N)s hand and tumbled backward, landing on the mud with a squelch. (Y/N) didn't waste time laughing at his misfortune and the dumbfounded look on his face, feeling tears prickle at his eyes from the hilarity of it all. 

"That makes us even, then!" He giggled and took his forgotten mallet, using it as a cane of sorts to push himself up. Steadying himself, he collected his boot and slipped it on before leaning over to grasp Anthonys' arms and pull him upward. The two stumbled once more but Anthony quickly rooted himself into the mud, arms wrapping around (Y/N) before he could fall again. 

"I suspect we'll have a lot of explaining to do." (Y/N) giggled, still holding onto his arms. A soft breathy sigh escaped him and he noticed Anthonys' silence, tilting his head upward in the slightest and realizing once again the lack of space between them. Anthonys' breath fanned gently against his face and he watched Anthonys' eyes lower onto his lips, the grip around his waist tightening.

"Anthony, we should get back." He meant to speak cooly but the words came out breathless and quiet. Neither of them moved, remaining pressed against each other with their noses nearly touching. Anthony swallowed and his lips parted. He leaned forward in the slightest, gaze flickering up to meet (Y/N)s' before they moved to look at something behind (Y/N). 

"Anthony?" (Y/N) frowned, noticing the way Anthony tensed and his features hardened. He turned his head to look over his shoulder, only being able to spot a bench and a tree. The sound of Daphnes' voice seemed to pull Anthony back to reality, arms releasing (Y/N) and dropping to his sides. His gaze fell onto the ground and he cleared his throat.

"We should go." Anthony agreed and turned around, carefully getting back to solid ground before offering (Y/N) his hand, clutching it tightly as (Y/N) awkwardly stumbled out of the mud.

"A-Are you alright?" (Y/N) asked as he regained his footing, glancing back toward the tree but Anthony wordlessly began the trek back to the others. The painter frowned, watching Anthony disappear through the brush and he turned toward the tree. Nothing looked off about it. Perhaps it held childhood memories? (Y/N) didn't wish to pry but the way Anthonys' whole demeanor changed struck him as odd so he began walking toward it, brushing mud off himself as he reached the tree and rounded a corner. He spotted it immediately.

A gravestone with a name carved in. Edmund Bridgerton. 

               ꕤ         ꕤ       ꕤ       ꕤ       ꕤ       ꕤ

"If it is a clear mind you seek, Brother, I may know how to help," Colin revealed, swirling the tea one final time before setting it down. "Worldly travelers use it as a way to open their minds and transcend ordinary anxieties." He explained, sprinkling a pinch of the powder into the tea as Benedict snatched the pouch from him and gave it a whiff. He immediately cringed and held back the urge to cough, offering it to the painter sitting beside him. 

"Have a whiff at that,

" Benedict muttered in disgust but (Y/N) made no movement to take the pouch. Looking away from his brother, Benedict nudged him with his elbow and furrowed his brows when (Y/N) snapped his head up to look at him. "You alright?"

"Yes, quite alright." (Y/N) answered and nodded, carefully taking the pouch and holding it up to his nose, only to instantly regret inhaling. If anything, it reminded him of horse manure. Grunting softly, (Y/N) set it on the table and shook his head, a chuckle leaving Colin before he offered Benedict the cup.

"It only takes the smallest of doses to feel the effects." Benedict took the cup from him, sighing softly before he took a sip. Smacking his lips a bit, he shrugged his shoulders. 

"Whatever's the point? I hardly think a tea will distract me from the momentous decision the proctors at the Royal Schools are making at this very moment." Benedict set the cup down at the table, raising his thumb to his lips and anxiously biting at his nail. 

"Or perhaps, it will allow you to escape the thoughts that have been plaguing your mind. The doubts, the questions that seem to linger no matter how far you go to escape them." Looking at Colin, (Y/N) could easily deduce the Bridgerton had no longer been speaking about his brother, and instead about himself. 

"Are you quite well, Brother?" Benedict questioned.

"You will see. This tea is quite the elixir." Colin looked back at his brother. "On one occasion, in Paxos, I found myself meditating for hours upon a single blade of glass." 

"Seems like quite...." (Y/N) trailed off as Benedict retrieved the pouch and proceeded to dump all of its contents inside his tea, frantically mixing it before bringing it up to his lips and gulping it all down. Colin and (Y/N) remained silent as they stared at Benedict in shock, slowly turning to look at each other with wide, concerned eyes.

"Nobody's ever died from this, right?"

"No, I don't think so..." Colin responded, looking back at Benedict who held a hand to his mouth as if it'd prevent the drink from rising back up.

"I suppose we'll see how strong it truly is." (Y/N) muttered, pulling the cup away from Benedict and inspecting the inside. He had indeed drank it all, specks of the purple powder coating the top. If it didn't kill Benedict within the hour, then surely he'd be alright. Hopefully.

"Tell me, (Y/N), why did you leave the academy?" Benedict asked again, licking his lips and cringing when his tongue picked up more of the powder. 

"You left? Why so? You enjoy painting, do you not?" Colin shifted in his chair, picking up his own cup of tea, though his had no powder mixed in. 

"It's... Well, it's nothing exciting. There was no drama, I just..." Chuckling softly, (Y/N) picked up his cup as well and stared down at the light brown liquid, feeling the warmth of it passing through the cup and heating his fingers. "I realized I just didn't belong there. I was more content at home, selling art to anyone who knew of me. I liked being home with my family, rather than away with strangers. I've always been alone and to suddenly not be... It wasn't what I wanted." 

"Truly?" Benedict asked, more softly and quietly.

"Perhaps heartbreak had something to do with it." (Y/N) revealed with a sad chuckle, raising the cup to his lips and taking a large sip. Setting his cup down and straightening up in his chair, he leaned against the armrest and sighed.

"Heartbreak?" Benedict questioned.

"It was silly. Nothing exciting, as I said." (Y/N) smiled at the two brothers. "Just loved someone who ended up with someone else." 

"Sorry to hear," Colin muttered, eyes falling down onto the table. "If you don't mind me asking... If you could speak to her once more, would you?" 

"Brother-"

"Perhaps, I'd think so." (Y/N) nodded. Colins' head snapped up to look at him. It seemed Miss Thompson still plagued his mind, even after the betrayal and her marriage to someone else. 

"I'd like to know what life is like for them... Are they happy? Are there regrets? Guilt?" (Y/N) could tell Colin had similar questions, questions he knew all too well. 

"But, there is as well, the fact that sometimes the truth will hurt us more than the pain of losing them." He added softly. "Some things are better left undisturbed in the past so they don't haunt us in the future."

"Sometimes I wonder if you're actually centuries-old... maybe you drink blood to replenish this youthful look."  

"Are you calling me a vampire, Benedict?"

"Perhaps."

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(Y/N) tightly held onto his cup of wine, biting down on the inside of his cheek in an attempt to hold back the urge to laugh at Benedict. The tea hadn't killed him, though from the stare Violet gave her son, perhaps it would've been better if it had. He took a small sip and set the cup back down, making eye contact with Colin and feeling his lips stretch into an amused grin.

"Why don't you eat, Benedict?" (Y/N) quietly encouraged, letting a soft giggle slip as Benedict shoved a piece of bread into his mouth. He turned his head away from the intoxicated Bridgerton and looked down the table, making eye contact with Anthony. The memory of the previous day replayed in his mind and he could tell Anthony had been thinking about it too. Nevertheless, Anthony offered him a smile, and (Y/N) returned it. He looked back at Benedict when he groaned, watching him reach for his cup only to knock it over, spilling the wine inside. The sound made Kate and Eloise flinch and in turn, Benedict covered his face sheepishly.

"It's alright, Ben." (Y/N) muttered with a chuckle, picking the cup back up, the wine having stained the white tablecloth underneath. 

"Benedict, dear, you alarm our guests." Violet voiced her displeasure, eyeing her grinning son.

"It's truly all right, Lady Bridgerton," Kate assured her with an amused smile.

"Perhaps," Lady Danbury picked up her cup and a fork, gently tapping the two together to silence everyone and pull the attention toward her. "It is time for a toast."

"To cheer our guests." Violet nodded in agreement. 

"Or to tend to other pressing matters." Lady Danbury added, turning to look at Anthony. (Y/N) felt the amusement of the night slip away and he turned to look at Anthony as well. He felt a prickle in his gut, like the tip of a knife getting ready to plunge in, but he simply took his cup and held it in his hand.

"A toast, right." Anthony rose up from his seat, clearing his throat and wiping his hands. "My sincere gratitude to the Sharmas for joining us, and to Mr. Granville for joining us last minute as well. It has been splendid having you here to witness what is now my second annual loss at pall-mall. Not to be repeated, I assure you. And my special gratitude to Miss Edwina. It was certainly been a privilege to truly make your acquaintance these past days. In fact, I believe there is a question I would like to ask you." 

The silence that fell over the room had been deafening. Edwinas' breathing had quickened and she stared at Anthony with hopeful eyes. He looked away from her, gaze drifting over everyone's face before he finally looked at (Y/N). The painter looked down at his lap as soon as their eyes made contact and Anthony felt his heart squeeze. "I should like to, uh..." Taking another deep breath, he smiled at her. "I should like to ask you to please refrain from telling anyone back in London about yesterday's loss. I fear the harm to my reputation would simply be too great." 

And with that, the prickle went away and (Y/N) felt confusion settle in instead, looking back up at Anthony. "To the pleasant days ahead!" He raised his cup and (Y/N) lifted his for a moment before gulping down the remains, unable to look at Edwina nor any of the Sharmas. Anthony had his chance to propose to Edwina. Why hadn't he? 

With dinner over, Kate and Edwina took their leave, heading to their shared bedroom as Violet and Lady Danbury pulled Mary aside to speak with her. The rest of the Bridgertons, whilst confused, headed off to their bedrooms. However, Benedict grabbed (Y/N)s' hand and pulled him along to the room they'd been in earlier. 

"Benedict, what-" Benedict pressed his finger against (Y/N)s' lips, effectively shushing him and he instead took out a canvas, taking some paints out, and shedding his coat. Pulling up his sleeves, he dipped his fingers in the paint and began painting, almost hypnotized by the canvas. (Y/N) stared at his friend and sighed, bringing a hand up to his temple.

"You Bridgertons are so confusing." He muttered, plopping down on a nearby chair and watching Benedict paint to his hearts content, only looking away when Colin peered into the room, raising a brow. 

"You two are still up?" Colin questioned, stepping further into the room. Benedict grabbed Colins' face and messily kissed his cheek, arms wrapping around his neck afterward.

"It's magical, Brother. You were right. I've allowed my doubts to plague me for too long. The Royal Academy Schools are not arbiters of taste. The world is!" Benedict exclaimed, a twinkle in his eye as he took in his painting. Eloise entered the room with a letter in hand and (Y/N) stood up, standing beside Benedict as Eloise handed it to him. Benedict unfolded it and read the letter, slowly looking up at the three.

"I have a place." He muttered before chuckling. "The Royals Schools have accepted me as a student. I got in!" Benedict whirled around, wrapping his arms around (Y/N) and sloppily kissing his cheek as well before stumbling toward the window and thrusting it open.

"Benedict, get away from the window before you fall!" (Y/N) called, following after the Bridgerton as he screamed into the night. Grabbing the waistline of his pants, he pulled him back inside and got him seated. "Fresh air would do you some good, but please don't fall."

"I got in," Benedict whispered, staring out into the dark abyss of the night. 

Smiling softly, (Y/N) ran his hand through Benedicts' hair, nodding along. "I knew you'd get in, Benedict. You've got the talent for it." He cooed, feeling Benedict lean over and rest his head against (Y/N)s leg. He looked back toward Colin and Eloise, motioning for Colin to get Benedict. The Bridgerton sighed and walked over, coaxing his brother to stand.

"Let's get you bathed and ready for bed before Mother sees you like this, Brother," Colin said, pulling Benedicts' arm around his shoulder and dragging him out of the room.

"Well, I suppose I should head to bed," Eloise said, turning towards the doorway. "Good night, Brother." She grinned over her shoulder before leaving the room. 

Letting out a soft chuckle, (Y/N) sat on the windowsill, feeling the cool night air envelop him. He sighed and ran a hand over his face. So much had happened over the course of two days. What more could occur before the ton even arrived? Right, the ton. His parents would join them soon, and his father would no doubt have a million questions. And (Y/N) would have to lie to him. To tell him nothing happened, that everything was perfectly fine when it wasn't.

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Carefully plucking the flowers, (Y/N) raised one of them and inhaled, smiling at the smell. He reached for another one, plucking it as a shadow cast over him, blocking the sun. He rose up and sighed, studying the flowers for a moment. Red and pink camellias. They'd be lovely to paint and if the painting turned out well enough, he could gift it to Violet. She'd always seem fond of flowers.

"Miss Edwina is no doubt hurt by what occurred yesterday." He spoke first, listening to Anthony sigh.

"It was not my intent. I... I was unprepared and-"

"Lady Danbury shouldn't have sprung it up on you. I understand they're eager for a wedding, but she should've let you decide when and where." (Y/N) continued and looked at him, giving his friend a soft smile. Anthony released the breath he'd been holding, relieved to see the painter hadn't been angry at him.

"If you wish to marry Miss Edwina... You must propose soon. With the ton arriving, there will be other gentlemen who'll take the lack of proposal as disinterest and they'll wish to pursue her." (Y/N) reminded him, hearing the gentle buzzing of a bee nearby, probably looking to settle on one of the flowers in his hand. "And-"

"Do not move."

"What-" Anthony suddenly grasped (Y/N)s' arms to keep him still, wide eyes focused on (Y/N)s' wrist. Looking down, (Y/N) noticed the small bee walking along his clothed wrist, headed towards the flowers. He shook his hand and the bee flung upward, landing on his neck and giving it a little sting before (Y/N) brushed it off with a small pout. 

"(Y/N), a-are you alright? Can you breathe?!" His eyes darted to Anthony upon hearing his panicked voice, noticing his erratic breathing and fearful eyes. 

"It was a bee, Anthony-" Despite his words, Anthony only seemed to grow more fearful. Releasing the flowers, (Y/N) raised his hands to cup Anthonys' face, forcing the Viscount to look him in the eye. "Anthony, take a deep breath. Anthony-" The Bridgertons' eyes began to water and he stumbled over his words, incoherently speaking until (Y/N) pressed his lips against his, silencing him. The action made Anthony tense and (Y/N) pulled back, dropping his hands from Anthonys' face. 

"I... I only meant to distract you, my apolo-" It was (Y/N)s' turn to be interrupted with a kiss, Anthony's hands gently gripping his arms. He only released him at the sound of a horse in the distance, realizing how out in the open they were. Anthony took a step back and swallowed. 

"I-I must help Mother with preparations." He excused himself, turning around and quickly walking away, almost breaking out into a jog. (Y/N) watched him disappear around the corner, raising a hand to his face, dragging a finger over his lips. Had that truly happened? His gaze lowered onto the grass and he crouched down, collecting the flowers one by one until he noticed color in the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he felt a sudden wave of dizziness at the sight of the shocked figure.

"Kate..."

[erinawritesheadcanons2]

Could you do a headcanon where Slender actually gets embarrassed or romantically excited about what Y/N says? Having Y/N being a flirt.

Slenderman, Trenderman, and Splendorman Having a Flirty S/O

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A/N: Hello there @vincentisstressed, I hope you do not mind that I added Splendorman and Trenderman who are the other Slenderman brothers. Just think of it as a Bonus since I don't publish as much as my other account inside here.

Warning: None

Gender: Neutral

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Slenderman

Slenderman is someone who is very formal in a way when he acts or speaks to other proxies. Other than that, he is faceless and because of that many people believe that he doesn't have an expression and does not have the ability to show emotions.

I believe that's wrong even though many fandoms portray him to be an emotionless monster or a caring father who loves Sally. I believe he can show emotions but not in the way a human does or we know.

He might act like he doesn't feel any excitement and embarrassment when you were being flirty and touchy to him since you are his S/O but that is A HUGE LIE.

You see because I believe Slenderman acts all calm but he is internally screaming and blushing at your sweet and seductive words, especially when you praise his intelligence and leadership skill.

If he has eyes, his eyes would advert and not look at you straight in the eyes because he knows he looks at you in the eyes. HE WILL LOSE HIS SHIT AND COMPOSURE.

You almost couldn't see but since he has pale white skin. You can see a little pink tint on the cheek area and you swore there is a little buzzing sound along with a tiny gasp escaping from him even though he does not have a mouth.

Pray that he won't get revenge on you after you fluster him almost to death. Once you two are behind the door, Slenderman are going to put his revenge on action twice harder than you but it's so subtle that he can pull 'I don't know what are you talking about my dear" card.

In conclusion Slenderman does get excited when you were flirting with him but he is also embarrassed. Just don't do it in front of other proxies or he is gonna die of embarrassment.

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Inside the abandoned mansion in the middle of the forest, a man sitting inside his office room and reading a book with a thick cover and thousands of pages on it. The faceless man is reading an old witchcraft book with an old language that only he has the ability to understand it.

Slenderman even though still aware of his surrounding as he was reading the old book, the man itself was more focused on the book and as the result. Slenderman heard the knock from outside of the door of his office room and not knowing the person behind the door, "Come in!" He said as he still looks at the book.

The dark mahogany door slowly moved away with a subtle and gentle creaking sound from it, showing a man/woman/someone with (H/C) hair colour, (E/C) Eye colour, and (S/C) skin colour. The faceless man didn't hear the footsteps getting closer and closer to him because his mind was still on the books until he felt a tiny contact on his tendrils.

He could not help but jumped in surprise and almost dropped the book on his hand, he was going to scold whoever making him jump in fright until he turns around to see you with a cheeky smile adorning your face. He was mesmerized by the color of your eyes and the way you look at him and it causes him to forget what he was going to say,

"Did I surprise you?" You tease him cheekily.

"N-no. I mean yes, you surprise me a little bit. Please do not sneak up at me like that when I am reading," he chided you, letting out a sigh even though he does not have a mouth.

"Why, it's fun to see you getting all flustered. Especially when you blush, it's so cute, Slenderman~" Your hand gently traces his shoulder, making Slenderman almost chocked on his tea.

"D-dear. Please don't do this. I am trying to focus on my book," Slenderman tried to stop you.

"Hmm...what about no~" you told him with a little snicker.

Slenderman face got redder with each second, not expecting his S/O are going to pull this kind of stun where he's really busy reading his books. The tall faceless killer began formulating a plan to put an act of revenge on you once you are done with the mission and at night after meeting with the rest of the other proxies.

‿︵‿︵＼ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ／︵‿︵‿Timeskip

After a killing spree with the other proxies and destroying the basecamp of the police with Clockwork's and Ticci Toby's help, every inch of your muscles was sore and it feels every inch of your body stiff from all of the running, and killing. Opening the door of your shared room with Slenderman, the smell of Lavender hits your nose.

It was strange because usually there was no odor in the shared rooms, even the smell of blood not in the room too even though Slenderman is a killer and just like the rest but you did not put it in mind, ignoring the strange event before getting inside fully and closing the door and jumping into the bed to ease all of the tense muscles.

Something warm was placed on the back and it was slithering softly and your face heated up, knowing those tendrils are from Slenderman. Glancing up to see the perpetrator, Slenderman is sitting next to you as his tendrils gently wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer.

"S-slenderman?" You stuttered.

"Hmm? What is it, my dear?" He asks in a gentle tone, playing the 'innocent card'.

"I-i'm tired, can we do this later?" You try to shove him away.

"What are you talking about, my dear? I'm just giving you a massage since you're tired," he still plays the innocent card, you definitely regret the afternoon incident, trying to rile Slenderman's up is not a good idea.

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Splendorman

Splendorman has a smiley face and is not faceless like his oldest brother Slenderman. This is why it's easier to fluster him or making him blush in embarrassment if you want to flirt with him.

He is more emotional than his brother and yes. His smiley face can even turn into a frown or angry fave when someone makes him upset or being rude to him. This is the reason why I say he is easy to get shy.

If you are flirting with him, just with one simple liner or simple pickup line and you can see him sweating, red face, stuttering that it's inappropriately flirting with him.

He is more embarrassed instead by excitement like Slenderman does because he gives me the vibes that he prefers romance where you have to build trust and friendship first instead of short flings.

It's also easier for him to get along with children instead of adults. Thus, Splendormen are very close with Sally William, Lazari, and other younger proxies.

I feel also that, unlike his brother, I can see that he doesn't like it if you are getting too touchy as he feels uncomfortable unless you are a kid or your touches don't mean anything sexual about it (like hand-holding).

Splendorman would also scold you if you try to flirt with him and I can see his smiley face would be gone in one second if you were out of your lines as his face morphed into anger and angry Splendorman are SCARY.

Also, I feel like he prefers talking a deeper convo so if you want to flirt with him, be subtle about it and I am talking about making him feel comfortable first instead of just mindless flirt.

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Inside the hallway of the abandoned mansion in the forest, there are sounds of two people laughing together, a little girl and the tall creature with a smiley face on him. The two had a blast together as the giant creature are holding out a tiny teapot before he was pouting out an 'invisible' tea to the girl's cup.

The girl who was playing with the giant had long curly caramel brown hair, emerald green eyes like a gemstone, and a warm ivory skin tone along with dried blood on her face and her pink dress. The little girl was happily playing with Splendorman as Splendorman was serving the little girl.

"Would you like a cup of tea, ms. Sally?" Splendorman asks the little girl in a much silly tone.

"Hehe, yes. I would love it," the little girl giggles before shoving the cup to him and letting him pour it.

The two of them did not realize the sound of the door moving away, showing a person with (H/C) hair colour, (E/C) Eye colour, and (S/C) skin colour. Their/her/his eyes caught the adorable scenes between the two of them, especially Splendorman who are bonding together with Sally. The poor girl only had Charlie as her friend as the other killers are too old for her to play together and Splendorman is willing to play with her.

You could not help but continue watching the cute interaction between the two of them, not having the heart to stop their playing time even though it was almost midnight and Sally suppose to sleep right now or you going to earn a mouthful from Slenderman, Splendorman's oldest brother. For a moment, you just continue watching the two of them until they were done.

‿︵‿︵＼ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ／︵‿︵‿Timeskip

It was midnight and Splendorman are ready to go back to his room where he can just lie down and sleep after taking a warm shower. Sitting on the bed, the smiley giant decides to take a quick resting time before going to the shower so he could ease the tense muscles in every inch of his body.

Splendorman almost jumped out of the bed as he turns around to see you with a smile. His frown immediately was gone and replaced with a huge grin on his face "Hey Baby!! I didn't see you there, sorry. I'm just too tired," he said.

"It's okay babe, you don't need to apologize but I'm here to talk about something," you told him.

He tried to hide his anxiety but failed miserably because of the crack and stutter of his voice, "w-what is it darling? D-did I do something wrong?" He was even getting more nervous than before.

"No, you didn't do anything wrong. In fact, I'm quite happy."

"H-happy of what?"

"I saw you were playing with Sally and the two of you look like you two had a blast."

"A-ah, I see. I'm glad-' He was cut off by you.

" The two of you look so cute together when playing. Maybe we should have a child together," you wink at him.

"W-WHAT?" His face got more red after hearing those not-so-innocent words.

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Trenderman

I am not sure about Trenderman personality but I do believe that he can be very CRABBY, guarded, and easy to get irritated, especially if you destroy his designed creations.

Trenderman also often acts as if he was better and posh while judging his brother, proxies, and some humans if they are lacking 'Fashion sense of style' whereas he has a better sense of style.

However, he is not always acting like that once he is lowering his guard around those who he could trust like Slenderman by forcing him to wear a better and more sophisticated fashion.

Seeing this, I believe that you can flirt with Trenderman if you are interested to date him and he is more reactive than Slenderman and Splendormen.

He is excited but also embarrassed if you are flirting with him, especially if you are complementing his fashion sense and the way he creates his clothes. THE MAN IS FLYING.

Just like Splendorman when you are flirting with him. His face would turn red, his whole body is slightly shaking because of how nervous he is and he would stutter once he spoke.

Also if you touch him, his embarrassed shy state would get even worse because I can see him just standing there embarrassed like a statue that his brothers sometimes come to take him away.

Unlike Slenderman, he cannot go smooth it out or revenge is not in his dictionary, and as the result. He is much more fun to be teased, unlike Offenderman and Slenderman.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

Many mannequin standing and lined in the corner of the room along with many enormous fabric rolls in the middle of the mannequins and a large wooden table across from it. A tall faceless pale man standing in front of the mannequins, even though he has no eyes the killer still has the ability to see the view in front of him.

The tall faceless creature with eyeglasses pondering,' Is (Y/N) going to like the clothes that I designed for her/him/them? I made this with all of my sweat. tears and blood.' Trenderman takes a closer look, trying to see if there is any mistake in the pattern on the clothes or any dirty stain that he can take off.

On the two mannequins that were separated from the others, there is a cinnamon brown pullover made out of wool with a plain white t-shirt underneath it and the other one has a black shirt seersucker and maroon red vest for the outerwear. Those two he made it for his S/O which is you.

Trenderman did not realize someone was watching his every action when he was making those two as the person smiling in amusement, they/she/he was glad that Trenderman made those clothes for you even though ti was supposed to be a surprise but it was the best to leave him alone for now instead of going up to him when he is focused and because of that. You walk away from his working room and joining the other killers for the killing spree.

‿︵‿︵＼ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ／︵‿︵‿Timeskip

Trenderman stands in front of the room with the folded clothes in his hands, it was the clothes that he made for his S/O before he twists the knob of the door with one of his tendrils and pushes the door away. If he has eyes, they would be widened as the glasses creature sees you standing there with a smile since he did not expect you to be waiting for him.

"(Y/N)? You're waiting for me?" He asks

"Of course, I need to talk to you for a few moments," your hands suddenly yanking his arms and almost making him drop the clothes.

Once Trenderman goes inside the bedroom, he places the clothes on the bed before flipping the scarf that was wrapped around his neck. "So Darling, I made these clothes for you since you have a bad sense of style, try these," the fashionista ordered.

"Oh, I know you made those for me. I saw you made it, you're the best clothesmaker in here~" you wrap your arms around his waist.

The sudden contact made the poor creature goes red immediately and he was frozen in place. You could not help but see the redness across his face and giggle at his reaction, it was too adorable and funny for you.

"The best fashion designer in the mansion. That's why I feel like everyone should try your best-made clothes~" you continue teasing the poor creature until he collapsed on the floor out of the cold after your ruthless and endless sweet for nothing, oh well. You shouldn't have tease Trenderman too much.

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[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: "Bless What is Given You"

I realize that it's time to roll out the Christmas-y fics, but I had one more Thanksgiving story, and I didn't want to leave it out. I hope you will still enjoy it, even in December. There’s a nod to a missing moment from 3x19, but then it jumps to post s6 in Storybrooke, to all of them in their happy beginning… Most of this is also written in Robin Hood's point-of-view, so there is some Outlaw Queen in amongst the larger Swan Jones Charming Mills family fluff, if that is a deal-breaker for anyone...

** Also available on AO3, if that is your preference **

by: @snowbellewells

“Do you mean to tell me you think you know better than a queen?” Regina’s haughty voice practically dripped disdain from each clipped, precise syllable she spoke. The perfect arch of her sculpted brow rose in question, disbelief and disapproval clear on her challenging, flawless face, even if her tone had not made her opinion more than apparent. “My mother was Rumplestiltskin’s most prized pupil; he sought me out himself to train me as well, chose me to cast his precious Dark Curse… Do you honestly think the fact that you can scare off a few monkeys with your arrows and you’ve been squatting in his deserted castle makes you a better judge of...of…” Even though she spoke the “you” as though her mouth was swallowing something foul and her face scrunched up accordingly, it seemed that the formerly Evil Queen was at a rare loss for words to express just how ridiculous the very idea was.

Unfazed, the scruffy archer gazed right back at her cheekily, seeming more than a bit amused by her ruffled feathers and inability to continue. “Not sure that is quite the distinction you’re making it out to be, Milady,” he offered with a smirk.

From across the way, Snow couldn’t seem to resist chiming in with the outlaw who had once befriended a princess on the run; who, in what now seemed like another life had helped her fine-tune her skills with a bow and advised her on spots in the forest where one could most easily hunt game to eat without encountering Regina’s guards. Though Snow had long since made the choice to put their painful and sordid history in the past, there was something that teased a warble of delighted laughter up her throat at the sight of this bandit who once graced “Wanted” posters by her side agitating Regina to the point of losing all her icy, polished reserve. “It is a bit of a dubious honor, Regina, you have to admit.”

Charming beside her dipped his head to hide the chuckle rumbling in his chest as well, reaching across their round council table’s polished surface to squeeze her hand. The shepherd-prince consort would have been lying if he refused to admit there wasn’t a part of him who enjoyed watching her Majesty flounder for her unaffected poise. It went without saying that the curse they were speaking of had ripped he and Snow apart and taken their daughter from his arms almost the moment she was born; consigning them all to 28 lonely years of misery. The truth was that plain and that simple, but he wisely held his tongue. At least since his recent pirate friend had gone off on his own after their arrival back in their land, Robin was someone with whom he could break a bit of the tension and who might lighten all of their dark and despairing moods once in a while.

As they returned to discussing the plan to raid Gold’s castle here in their home realm, knowing Zelena had holed up in the Dark One’s stronghold - with Rumplestiltskin himself still prisoner - it became clear it was really the only method they had left to try, to hope that the man who always knew so much more than anyone else would also know some way out of this mess, some way to stop Regina’s rage and envy fueled half-sister. Belle across the table looked pale and strained, her lips pressed together in a thin line but determined, needing to help in whatever way she could. Even if they couldn’t free her True Love, even if his mind were already too fractured by his near death, the half-possession that had held his son’s mind within his body as well, and then that son’s violent loss, he wouldn’t want things to continue as they were; with him under Zelena’s control and bent to her will. Belle had to cling to that truth if nothing else.

Seeming to sense her flagging spirit, Charming saw Leroy sitting next to her place a clumsily large, ax-calloused hand over her slender, tiny one and give it a reassuring squeeze. The dwarf leaned over to whisper encouragingly to the petite beauty, and the prince realized that even within his inner circle of friends and allies there were deeper friendships, and stories leading to them, that he didn’t know, as Belle’s petite frame relaxed and her tense shoulders lowered slightly at the stout little man’s clearly welcomed assurances. The former shepherd thought he just made out the kind, if gruffly voiced, words, “Hang in there, Sister, the battle ain’t over yet.” Charming smiled; that might as well be a mantra for all of them.

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Robin of Locksley, otherwise known in the Enchanted Forest these days by his more colorful moniker of Robin Hood, simply could not seem to help it. He knew something about him - be it his cavalier attitude towards risk and danger, his leisurely and rather lax methods of ruling over his crew (Can he help it if he’d trust them with his life and has never had cause to question their loyalty or skill?) or perhaps it was just his very form and person she objected to. Whatever the case may be, he couldn’t help goading her Majesty, rattling that posh control of which the woman seemed so proud. Behind the cool and haughty veneer Regina Mills carefully wore, he sensed something injured - fragile, even - though she would be appalled at the thought that any weakness showed, he had no doubt of that. The irony, of course, was that bit of a chink in her flawless armor was the one thing that kept him from dismissing her as another selfish, cruel royal stepping on the backs of those less fortunate to get ahead. Her tiny show of pained humanity, the loneliness hidden behind those large dark eyes, beguiled him no matter how hard he tried to resist; drew his empathy where otherwise he would have had only scorn for her past actions and the villain she had been.

They were in the Dark Castle; seemingly, hopefully, having escaped Zelena’s notice so far, but stymied by a large door into the chamber where Rumplestiltskin had to be imprisoned. They had searched the entire rest of the castle and found it empty. None of them were foolish enough, however, to assume that the fact that they had not yet seen the Wicked Witch meant that the way ahead was safe or that she had not laid hidden snares for any intruders. Particularly not if this door were the barrier beyond which she was hiding the powerful being she meant to both use and prove herself to. There had been no other closed doors until this one, after all.

With a huff of impatience, as if she couldn’t be bothered to waste another second of her time - even with safety - the former Queen reached forward, her perfectly manicured hand nearly to the golden inlaid handle despite the Princess Snow’s warnings for caution and the Lady Belle’s wise suggestion that they wait. What appeared as bold unconcern and decisiveness radiated down her spine of steel, held ramrod-straight, but there was a slight tremor in those pale fingers, one he would have missed if he hadn’t been seeking it, just before they closed around the polished metal.

Some strange shiver of foreboding knowledge borne of a life in the forest, in the shadows, constantly on the move, pursued and on the run, made some more-than-tangible knowledge run through him, and Robin’s limbs and muscles were reacting before his mind issued a conscious order. Knowing the proud woman plowing ahead would not heed any words he called out anyway, he had silently reached over his shoulder, pulled an arrow from his quiver, nocked it to his bow, and let it fly before another moment passed, startling Regina enough as its course whistled past her ear to make her jerk back several steps. 

The feathered missile embedded in the heavy oaken portal with the solid “thunk” of a shot ringing true, but to the horror of all, rather than remaining there, vibrating from its landing, the arrow was lost from sight as the entire door was engulfed in instantaneous flames.

Watching the blaze which would undoubtedly have devoured her as well had he allowed her to pull open that door before loosing his arrow, Regina paused for mere moments before whipping around, dark eyes flashing, to arrest him angrily. “That arrow nearly took off my head!” she barked, voice as sharp as jagged glass.

Robin shot back, unable to keep himself from rising to the bait. Her lack of gratitude didn’t even surprise him by that point, but he hadn’t intended to be chastised for his quick-thinking aversion of danger either. “Where I come from a simple thank you would have sufficed.”

The regent’s black eyebrow rose in eloquent derision, making her opinion of where he came from quite clear without speaking a word. Yet, despite that hateful, snarling facade he could see the slight tremor he had previously noticed in her pale hands become a full-body quivering that, while still not plainly visible, had to be making it hard for her to remain standing, much less glaring at him with such vitriol. Her full, blood-red-painted lips trembled minutely as well until her perfect white teeth bit into the lower one, stilling it and making him swallow heavily with some reaction he couldn’t explain. She was shaken; that much he knew. But he could understand refusing to admit fear, not being able to let it show for the sake of those who follow, who must see strength to stay their course.

Thankfully, the clearly magical blaze soon expired and the way before them was as clear and unbarred as all the previous entryways they had encountered. Not without a bit of trepidation, but also as brave and determinedly as he had long since learned their hero contingent to be, Prince Charming and Snow pressed forward, followed anxiously by Belle (whom Robin’s heart panged for as she clearly ached to find the man she loved still able to recognize her and navigate his own mind) and the rest of their group. Regina just to the side, looked for all the world as if she were in no particular hurry to enter and see her former mentor, but could instead care less one way or the other. Hanging back, the outlaw of Sherwood Forest made sure the others had passed through the door and into the other room, well out of hearing, before he stepped up to Regina’s side, drawing almost nose-to-nose with her. He then leaned forward practically brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured. “There’s no need to pretend you’re made of stone, your Majesty…” He put precise emphasis on the title which she had let him know in no uncertain terms she preferred upon their first meeting in the forest. “In fact, with the present company, I believe you might get much further by letting them see that you have doubts and fears, just as they do. I know I like you much better seeing you as more than the Evil Queen.”

At her sharp intake of air with his last pronouncement, he pulled back quickly, half expecting a slap to be stinging his skin at any moment. Instead, he found color rising hotly up her neck, her chest rising and falling strenuously in that ridiculously low-cut corseted gown, and her generally looking more flustered and affected than he had ever seen her before.

She opened and closed her mouth soundlessly for several seconds until her tart tongue seemed to return to her, then spit out a quick, “Insolent bandit,” before moving to brush past him and follow the others.

Something in Robin snapped and surged to life in answer to her challenge; not allowing her to push him aside, he grasped her upper arm firmly and held on, her back to the wall and crowding in close to her, until their breaths were mingling in the same air, their faces were so close. Even as his pulse pounded and his heart rate skyrocketed, Robin wondered what had come over him. The woman had maimed and killed, schemed and plotted for her own selfish ends, and stood for everything he had devoted himself to toppling. She was nothing like his beloved Marian had been; someone with whom he would not have imagined sharing a thing in common - and yet he couldn’t fight the pull he felt. The need to imprint upon her not to put her life at risk so needlessly again.

Sweeping forward, he dove into an all-consuming kiss, taking her mouth with his and giving no quarter, delving further instead, and swallowing the whimper and hum that escaped her throat unconsciously, despite her best attempts to remain unaffected.  

Regina’s hands grappled blindly at his biceps as if trying to steady herself. She scrabbled for solid support before helplessly melting against him, opening for his questing mouth and giving herself over to the heated embrace. When they finally broke for air, she was breathless, and he huffed out a winded chuckle himself when she managed, “Well, Thief, that really was quite pleasant… Even if you do still smell of forest.”

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

Several realms, curses, and years later, in Storybrooke

The three men and their half dozen offspring of various ages creeping through the woods on the border of Storybrooke out near the town line are quiet and intent, completely and unabashedly focused on their prize. Up ahead, atop the small rise of a hill as the sun climbs fully into the cold, clear November morning sky, their prey struts proudly, stopping occasionally to offer its warbled call or peck at the rough ground beneath its feet. They have been tracking the large turkey for some time now, since before day fully dawned, and the time to strike has come at last.

Briefly, the thought flits through Robin’s head that this could be the same tom that had escaped himself and his Merry Men in this same forest years ago, when the hunt had been interrupted by the nightmarish interruption of a winged simian attacker and LIttle John’s subsequent transformation. To this day, the large and otherwise unflappable man stays far away from this particular section of the forest and refuses to go anywhere near the town line on foot. A quick glance at David and his preteen son to the right, then Killian and his little girl and second son to the left, gives him the hint from both men’s expressions that they are also remembering that rather ill-fated day, as bows are readied and last instructions offered.

He can only hope they will face nothing so unexpected this fine morn. The turkey before them has been promised to grace the main table of the large community Thanksgiving feast, and between the three men and their brood of adventurous junior hunters it is a matter of pride that they not return empty-handed today. Roland was promised the first unobstructed shot, and the young man, just barely a teenager but already capable and thoughtful as an adult, has already taken aim and is readying his shot to fly, much to his half-sister Margot’s displeasure as she stands just behind her big brother at Robin’s elbow. She is as untamed and mischievous as Roland is quiet and serious, and was much put out at the decision that Roland as the oldest child should get first chance, arguing rather heatedly that Roland might be biggest but she was the best shot. His blond-braided, green-attired second child is one of the best shots he’s ever seen at barely ten, but if she doesn’t learn to keep her temper and her slightly spoiled younger sibling petulance under control, he is certainly in for further trials in a few years.

Even in the few silent moments afforded him as they all hold their breaths, Rob feels the gratitude and love he has for his children, and the friends and adopted family surrounding them, surge through him with new strength. He had so very nearly left this world, numerous times over, as had the men on either side of him, and the women each of them loved. It was part of the heavy mantle they wore when standing against the Darkness in the world and fighting it back from the light and good time after time. Still, what better time than the present holiday to give thanks for the fact that they are all still standing and present to celebrate together?

Roland lets out a soft breath and then releases the arrow, just as a sharp cry rings out to the left.  His son’s aim is true, but the bird is startled from its perch just in time to have the shot glide by beneath its talons as it takes flight. David on his right is already directing Leo to adjust his aim quickly and get off a second shot, even as Robin’s eyes sweep to where Killian is righting Hope from a tumble over a jutting tree root, brushing off her dark leggings and checking her for injury as she clearly struggles to hold back embarrassed and disappointed tears.

What he hasn’t banked on is his daughter’s inability to wait her turn or hold back any longer. Quick as whip, Margot lets fly, striking the bird right as she intends and sending it toppling from the sky. Mouth falling open in surprise at her audacity and her skill in equal measure, Robin can’t help the surge of pride at his daughter’s prowess, even if he knows he should admonish her for taking Leo’s moment from him and wondering if he should be making certain Roland doesn’t feel overshadowed.  However, his eldest spares him the trouble when he whoops and claps Margot on the shoulder, crying out “You got him on the fly, Sis! Nice one!”

When the whole group converges together, he decides to let the lecture about abiding by the rules and taking turns slide for the time being upon noticing that Leo looks rather relieved that the pressure to prove his mettle before their quarry escaped has been taken off of his shoulders. Instead, he claps his little girl on the shoulder, squeezing with gentle affection until she looks up at him, beaming.  Like her brother before her, she is growing much too fast, turning into a young lady before his eyes, and so for a moment, he lets himself revel in the fact that she still wants to spend time out in the woods with him and wishes to make him proud. Her papa won’t hold the favored spot in her heart forever, so he may as well savor it while he can.

He thinks Killian’s youngest, barely old enough to be tromping around out here with them in truth, looks a bit teary at the downed and unnaturally still bird before them, so he hurries to bag their prize for the journey homeward and puts it out of sight over his shoulder while Killian picks his tired youngest up off his feet and begins asking him how many different types of trees he can recognize from their leaves on the way back. That seems a bit difficult for a five-year-old until little Liam David begins happily babbling (suitably distracted thankfully) and pointing out oaks, maples and scotch pines as the pirate’s unerring sense of direction leads their whole troupe out of the forest toward the main road where they’ve left their trucks, Margot takes his hand, and Hope her grandpa’s, and Roland and Leo fall in behind talking amiably and carrying the bows. Apparently they have a budding naturalist in their midst as well, and Killian Jones - as usual - knows exactly what he is doing.

When he, Roland, and Margot trail back into the mayoral mansion some time later, discarding their muddy boots by the door, but still scattering crumbled leaves and dirt in the entryway, Regina stands in the hall shaking her head, and directs the children toward the laundry room to discard their outerwear before heading up to wash for dinner.  She looks at him, trying to muster exasperation, but unable to do so. That flawless Queen is long gone; she has come a long way since they snapped and snarled at each other in self-preservation back in their home realm, neither wanting to fall in love and risk heartbreak again.

Snatching his jacket collar and pulling him in close, Regina nips at his lips playfully before murmuring against his scruffy cheek, “You still smell like forest,” she mocks, “but somehow you’ve managed to steal my heart.”

He shakes his head, offering back words she’d stunned him with once long ago, “That’s not quite the way I remember it.  If I recall, your heart was given to me,” he whispers, emotion taking over the jest, “and a person can’t steal what’s been given to him.”

All in all, he’s been given much more than a simple archer from Sherwood Forest could have ever hoped.

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