#this is in no way a disregard of fanfics though

[just-another-author-i-guess]

Ppppft!!! Elliot casually entering in Judd's room at the worst possible moments, yes please!! I like to think that Judd put all those signs in his door mainly because of his dad 🤣 Elliot and Diane embarrassing Judd is everything i need in this life, hopefully in front of his crush lol 😈

This has been stuck in my head literally the whole week— it’s too good not to write seriously 🤭

Tags: fem! Reader, mentions of sex? Like a lot of mentions, also masturbation, also cockblocking lol, but as I keep saying this is big mouth fanfic what do you expect, Nick and Jessi being jealous boggles my brain, it’s too funny, Elliot Birch is an actual menace, he also has no regards for privacy, it’s his house so he can enter whatever room he wants ig, author had way too much fun writing this

I based this on my first big mouth story, read it HERE

Author’s note: I’m cackling. I loved writing this so much omg— why is it funny tormenting the characters so much 🧍🏻‍♀️anyways, I did my best with Diane and Elliot’s dialogue,, but it’s hard lol. I hope you find it as funny to read as I did to write, and also, ig I kinda lied bc the third and fourth reason technically doesn’t have anything to do with people barging into Judd’s room. But he does get embarrassed, and I needed a good title, sue me. No but seriously, I hope you like this haha

Four (4) reasons why Judd has ‘keep out’ signs on his door

Word count; 4,7K

Reason one (1)

The air in Judd’s room was warm, and humid, and seemed to have stilled once the two of you collapsed on the bed, worn out from an intense round of fucking. 

He barely bothered covering himself, instead he threw you a somewhat sweaty shirt he had been wearing beforehand and pulled the covers up enough to just barely cover his hips. You accepted it with shaky hands and a worn out smile, almost purring as you slipped into the garment and burrowed yourself under his covers as well.

Between your legs, now resided a slowly cooling and increasingly sticky mess, still leaking from you as you turned in the bed. However, your boyfriend never made a move to get up and fetch a towel. He did reach out an inviting arm, though, urging you to scoot closer to him. You did so with a hazy look on your face, nuzzling into his neck and inhaling. 

You listened to his heart beat wildly, his blood bump and felt so, so content. You heard him relax as well, a deep, low, grunt of a sigh as he settled in, clearly as ready for a nap as you were. 

With the humidity and the stillness of everything, it was too easy to close your eyes and bask in the feeling of sleepiness. You were right there, on the sweet, blurry edge between sleep and consciousness when a series of rapid knocks broke through the silence.

Judd groaned, clearly on the cusp of sleep himself— voice even raspier than usual. Besides mumbling a few threatening words under his breath, he didn’t move to open the door or even care to call out to whoever was knocking. It would most likely be Nick, anyway, coming to bother you and he would set the world aflame before he let his stinky little brother see his girlfriend half naked. 

None of you even had time to register it, before the door rattled, opened and a much too cheery Dr. Birch stepped through. 

You froze— wide eyes searching Judd as the crease between his eyebrows became deeper and a murderous expression overtook his sleepy face. 

“Dad.” He rasped. “Get the hell out.”  He was quick to tuck the covers around you, especially your still very wet crotch and ass, completely disregarding the fact that he was butt naked himself. You shrieked as he suddenly rolled you in the sheets— grateful nonetheless as you came to face Elliot Birch, the man completely indifferent to the two of you and your nakedness. 

“Oh, my sweet Judd!” Mr. Birch exclaimed, ignoring how you both looked very much like you wanted him to leave. “How magnificent is it, that you feel comfortable sharing your nude self with me and Y/n?” 

He clasped both hands over his heart, dramatically, and Judd somehow turned even paler than he already was. He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like; “I am going to fucking murder you.” And darted for the floor where he had thrown his jeans. 

“Oh noo! No need to feel ashamed, Judd, I’ll take my pants off too!—“

“— no!” A choked out yell escaped you too quickly. Your face felt hot, and you didn’t have to look in a mirror to know that you were beat red by now. You did not need to see Judd’s dads bare ass after already already being embarrassed beyond belief. 

Dr. Birch chuckled and smiled warmly at you. “Setting your boundaries, I see. I’m so proud of you Y/n— my son has such a strong willed girlfriend!” 

Your cheeks burned. “Uh, right. Thank you, Dr. Birch,” 

“Call me Elliot!” 

Judd scoffed behind you, finally getting his pantless situation under control. “Fuck off, dad. Now. I mean it.” Even he was a bit too stunned to come up with a proper threat. 

Elliot sighed, smiling. “Oh, I will, I will! I’ll leave you two lovers alone in just a minute! I do have a little favour to ask you first, though, Juddy,” 

“What.” Judd deadpanned, the tips of his ears colouring slightly at the horrific nickname. 

“I have this tag still on the back of my shirt, you see, I would have taken it off before trying the shirt on, but now I appreciate it so much I didn’t want to take it off myself— Ah, it holds such good memories of this morning!” 

This morning in particular, Nick tried to hit on you and Judd threw a milk carton at him. 

Judd sighed, deeply, and looked a bit like a feral bull. “You are such a fucking pussy, dad.” He growled, but still walked towards his dad with intend to help. 

“Thank you! That is such a beautiful organ,” You kinda wanted to snicker, at the absurdity of the whole situation, but kept your mouth shut. Judd worked quickly, ripping out the tag and throwing it at his dad. 

“Why the hell didn’t you ask Nick?” Judd grit out, coming to sit on the edge of his bed by your feet. He put a protective, soothing hand on your leg under the covers. 

Dr. Birch laughed. “Because you’re so strong! And I love you, son,” 

Judd visibly clenched his jaw, you had no doubt that if this continued a vein would pop on his forehead. “I hate you.” He countered.

“And I validate that feeling! You have such a way with words, you should think about being a writer, don’t you think so too, Y/n?”

“Get the fuck out.” Judd snarled before you had to respond— thankfully. You smiled awkwardly at Mr. Birch, as if trying to confirm Judd’s words but in a much politer way. 

He smiled. “Alright, alright! Have fun, you two, and be safe!” He said over his shoulder, as if it wasn’t obvious that the two of you had just very much had your fun, and sauntered towards the door, closing it gently behind him.

Reason two (2)

Unfortunately for Judd, he didn’t have his own bathroom in the house, having to share two between his family.

Around the shower, was carefully placed a plethora of different pastel coloured shampoo and body washes— all of which belonged to Leah and smelled like a candy crush fever dream. Judd sorted through them roughly, pushing most of them over in his search to find the all-in-one and shampoo for dyed hair he usually used. 

As he showered, working the shampoo into his hair and revelling in the warm, steamy water spray, Maury appeared; ‘You’re taking a shower for Y/n, huh?’ The hormone monster drawled. He was bored; checking his nails as he made himself comfortable on the toilet outside the shower. 

Judd grunted. It was true, you would be over in a bit and he didn’t want to smell like the raccoons.  “Why are you here?” He demanded. 

The monster chuckled and held up his hands in defence. ‘It’s not my fault you can’t stop thinking about Y/n.. Ahh, remember last week when she sucked you off in the shower? Why’s she not doing that right now? Let’s call her,’ Suddenly Maury had Judd’s phone, and was waving it around. 

“Fuck you. Let me shower.” 

‘No, let’s fuck Y/n!’ Maury countered enthusiastically. ‘And besides, y’know that’s not how it works,’ He grinned mirthfully, slithering around the glass wall of the shower to point a long, clawed finger at Judd’s cock— sure enough it was rising to attention. ‘You gotta jerk off. C’mon, give me a good show!’ 

Judd could have punched Maury— and he had actually tried that before, just for the monster to disappear and reappear behind him with a smug look. So instead of drop kicking his hormone monster, he promptly ignored him and turned around to face the water spray. 

‘Nuh-uh,’ Maury grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him around— he shook the monster off with a deep growl. ‘Think about Y/n’s nice, biiig tits, ah~’ Maury shuddered, but continued. ‘Remember how they looked all wet, uhhh I bet she’d let you blow your load all over them next time,’ Maury was unrelenting, an increasingly deepening blush spread over Judd’s face and ears and he let out a strangled groan. 

“Shit, fine!” He hissed and the monster whooped in victory. 

Judd was quick to tip his head back and grab his dick with a closed fist. He sighed through gritted teeth as he got to work— swiftly and quite roughly pumping himself as Maury cheered him on. He closed his eyes and let his jaw go slack, imagining it was your hand around him and recalling the alluring noises you made whenever he was pleasuring you. 

His release build steadily, hand movements getting more frantic and his breath sped up. The spray of water only seemed to get hotter, and the steam in the room became more dense. He leaned forward— spreading his hand out on the wall in front of him to get a better angle, and keep his balance. Now his head hung low, and he panted open-mouthed as he tightened the grip around his cock and sped up his movements again. He was so close, just a few more pumps and— 

The bathroom door flew open and Judd all but jumped out of his own skin. He had locked the door when he first entered, right? 

‘Nooo..! Elliot, get the hell out!’ Maury yowled— appearing on the other side of the shower and trying to push out the intruder, who unfortunately was Judd’s dad. Elliot could neither see nor hear or feel the monster, so Maury’s punching and shaking left him completely unfazed as he continued further into the room.

Judd’s eyes shot open, slack mouth turning into a frightening scowl as he heard his dad sing to himself. Elliot sauntered about the bathroom— humming a song about lotion and browsing through the cabinets. 

“Don’t mind me, Juddy!” He yelled over the water, as if it was a most normal occurrence to walk in on your 18-year-old son taking a shower. 

Maury slithered back into the shower. ‘Let’s kill him. Now. And then we can tend to your little.. problem after,’ He suggested, glaring at Elliot’s shadow through the shower window. Luckily, it was steamy enough to only show silhouettes, so Judd could at least maintain a bit of dignity. 

Judd grunted and nodded in agreement, turning off the shower. “Get the fuck out,” He rumbled, low and threatening. 

“I can’t find my lotion anywhere! It makes my skin so soft— just the way your mother likes it,” Elliot tutted, completely ignoring Judd’s orders. 

“I’ll fucking skin you alive. Get out.” Judd repeated, this time raspier, raising his voice. The steam from the warm water was slowly dissolving— leaving the glass in the shower clear enough to reveal most of Elliot to Judd and vice versa. 

Elliot chuckled warmly. “You have such a poetic soul, son. It’s such a shame you don’t write more,” 

A cross between a deep growl and sigh escaped Elliot’s oldest son. “What the hell are you talking about.” Judd said, and though it sounded like a question he didn’t actually want to know the answer. 

Dr. Birch turned to his oldest, now fully visible behind the shower glass and said; “Your creative potential! Ohhh! You should write Y/n a love letter, she would love it—“ 

“— Fuck no.” 

Elliot’s eyebrows creased, and his facial expression turned earnest. “I know you’re very good at pleasing Y/n with your body—“

“—Dad, shut up—” Now Judd was really embarrassed, he had both hands covering his privates, but was still very much butt naked in front of his dad, a reality that didn’t fail to make a blush creep over his ears and cheeks. The fact that he was also still rock hard, didn’t help at all. 

“— But!” Elliot continued, pointedly ignoring Judd. “You should do something romantic for her! Something with your heart! You should always show a woman how much you love her, Judd,” He reminded, a gentle smile on his face as he watched his son grow increasingly embarrassed. 

“Okay. I don’t care. Get the fuck out.” Judd deadpanned. He had let his facade slip for just a brief moment— before covering his appalled expression up with a vicious glare. 

“Oh, but I still need my lotion—“

“— I’ll gut you and fill you with your fucking lotion if you don’t get out.” He snarled, strained and deep and his look made it clear it was definitely not up for debate. 

‘Boo! Get the fuck out, Elliot!’ Maury added in the background, throwing a shampoo bottle at the man. 

All he did was chuckle at the threat— shrugging his shoulders. “Alright, Juddy, I respect your boundaries. It’s important to acknowledge such things,” He smiled and relented his search for lotion. He continued humming obnoxiously, however, as he left and softly closed the door behind him. 

Reason three (3)

You gasped, puffy lips parting to make way for the eager sound. Judd had roughly thrown you on the couch, slotting himself between your legs and ferociously attacked your neck as soon as you had walked in the door.

Finally, finally, the two of you were alone— in fact, you had the whole house to yourself. Leah was out, Mr and Mrs Birch had taken Nick out for dinner which left you and Judd the perfect opportunity to fuck on the living room couch. And you barely got a saying (not that you minded) before Judd was putting that plan into action. 

Scrambling to put your hands under his shirt, you clumsily felt him up— lightly scratching at his abs just how you knew he liked it. He growled, heavy and husky and bit hard on your neck in retaliation. 

A strangled whine escaped you and you pulled at his shirt— you needed it off. You felt him grin against your throat, just the slightest twist of his mouth as he scraped his teeth against you. 

“Use your words, baby,” He breathed, cruelly dragging his teeth so slowly against your sensitive neck and grinding into you— so you could properly feel him. 

It was so unfair, he knew you’d have no chance of responding when he started palming at your tits, squeezing one in each hand. 

You tugged harder, pulling Judd closer to you in the process. “Off.” Was the only thing you were able to whine.

He licked a long stripe up your neck— tasting you to the best of his ability before he obeyed you. He sat on his knees between your legs, and you watched him with a flushed face as he pulled his shirt over his head and discarded it on the floor somewhere. 

Connie, who previously had been banned to the floor where she sat and watched the two of you intensely, stood up— her mouth dropped cartoonishly, hanging on the floor as her tongue lolled out. 

‘Sweet mother of jeebus! Look at those strong, delicious abs..! Lick them— c’mon lick them, hurry! Lick them till he’s all you can taste, sugarplum!’ She cried, and it wasn’t a question, it was a demand. 

You couldn’t help but oblige. You sat up, the way your legs were placed allowing you to straddle him and push him backwards on the couch. To your utter bamboozlement he let you, allowing you control for just a moment as a self-satisfied eyebrow-raise came to his face. 

Half sitting up, he now had the perfect position to ground up into you and you immediately lost what little control you had. Two large hands enclosed around your hips in a lock tight hold—starting a rhythm in which he could press your hips down on his. 

He kissed you then, a tingling feeling erupting in your lower stomach as you tasted the Jack Daniel’s on his tongue. He licked into your mouth with newfound fever, swallowing your desperate yelps and moans— one hand wandering from your hip to your shoulder where he started to push the strap of your tank-top down.

You arched your back, pressing into him, and he took the opportunity to roughly squeeze your ass. In retaliation, you reached a hand down— roughly squeezing his cock through his jeans. 

He groaned, a throaty, baritone sound. “You bitch..!” He cursed and then he was pulling your hair— suddenly pulling you back from his mouth with a harsh tug so he could position you in a way that allowed him to abuse your neck some more. 

He bit you so hard it was sure to leave marks, red and swollen bite marks that would sit on your neck for weeks like an obnoxious neon sign. You sighed and started working his belt—fighting to get it off so you could get your price quicker.

However, just as you were done popping the button on his jeans, the front door clicked and swung open. 

“No, dad! You’re embarrassing me—“

“— You used to love your father’s hugs, Nick, what’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong, mom, but I’m a man now. I don’t want hugs.”

“Awww, please, Nicky. Let me give my little man a hug,” 

“No, dad, leave me a— Judd?” Nick walked further into the room, in an attempt to escape being coddled by his dad— but came face to face with you on top of his older brother instead. 

Judd’s grip on your hair immediately loosened, Connie cursed and tried to close the front door before Elliot and Diane could enter— you sat up, mortified and corrected the strap of your top back to your shoulder. 

“Nick.” Judd stated, barely bothering lifting his head to look at his brother. You, however, stared the tween down wide-eyed. “Fuck off, we’re busy.” He grunted. The very same sentence he said whenever Nick would brother the two of you in his room.

You watched as Nick’s fists clenched, his face going through multiple shades of red till it landed on an angry glare directed at his brother. “Judd, you're such a slut!” He yelled, voice crack audible and was that.. tears in his eyes?  

“Are you going to cry, you little prick?” Judd cackled— sitting upright all the way so his chest was pressed to yours. 

“Now, Nicky, what are you slut-shaming your brother for?” Dr. Birch waltzed through the front door along with his wife— as if this moment couldn’t get any worse. You moved to get off Judd, but when he grunted and held your hips down, you noticed he was indeed still incredibly hard and you would need to sit still, so as to not expose his boner to his family. 

You felt hot, too clammy as red colour spread from your chest all the way to your ears— like a kettle heating. 

‘Yeah, fuck this. Sorry, sweetheart, but I cannot deal with this today! You’re on your own!’ Connie patted your head, slowly backing away and into a portal that would take her to god-knows-where and throwing you a ‘peace out’ sign. Wow. Such support. 

“Look at what he’s doing to Y/n!” Nick accused, waving his arms at the two of you. 

You didn’t know it was possible, but Dr. Birch frowned, looking down at his son. “Now, Nicky, it’s never okay to slut-shame someone, especially not when you’re witnessing such a beautiful moment! Judd is just sharing an intimate moment with Y/n, nothing to be ashamed off,” 

Judd stiffened under you, he was tense, you were tense, both of you embarrassed beyond belief. Your ears burned bright red, horrified. 

Your boyfriend let out a warning growl. “Shut the hell up, dad—“ 

“— Oh, Y/n! It’s so good to see you!” Then it was Diane talking, she walked towards the two of you on the couch with a warm smile. You couldn’t bear to look her in the eyes— not when you were literally sitting on Judd’s boner, so instead you buried your head in his shoulder.

“Good to see you, too, Mrs. Birch..” You muttered, feeling Judd’s hands tighten around you. 

Diane tutted. “Oh, Y/n, no need to be embarrassed. I’m glad you both feel comfortable having sex under our roof, and you are more than welcome to,” 

It was an attempt to soothe you, yet it sounded so warped coming from your boyfriend's mom’s mouth. 

Judd heaved a long sigh. “We have.. shit to do. Leave.” He said, sounding equally as mortified as you felt. 

Mrs. Birch chuckled lightly. “We’ll be upstairs, Juddy. You two just enjoy yourself, and Y/n, please stay for dinner!” She hummed— you wanted to cry. 

You kept your head burrowed into Judd, listening as Mr and Mrs. Birch’s footsteps resounded towards the stairs, yet one pair of feet remained. 

“Get the fuck out, shitface.” Judd deadpanned. 

“I’m allowed to be here, it’s my house too!” Nick was defiant, pouting at his brother.

Judd’s jaw clenched— Nick would definitely come to regret this later. “You have a second to leave before I come over there and rip your beady eyes out, you fucking creep.” His voice was low and carnal and it was clear he meant business— that was no empty threat. 

Nick paled slightly, but before he could even begin to find the right response, Diane called from upstairs; “Nicholas Birch! Go to your room and leave your brother alone, now!”

At that, Nick complied immediately, secretly relieved to get a free ticket out of the situation before Judd would beat him to a pulp as he flew up the stairs.

Reason four (4)

You were sprawled out on Judd’s bed, a raccoon curled on your lap and Connie laying on her back by your feet. She was watching Judd intensely as he worked out— occasionally commenting on his grunts or groans as he lifted the heavy weights. 

You didn’t bother entertaining her, gently stroking the raccoon while scrolling on your phone. The animal chatted to you, small hands wavering about as it chittered. You thoroughly enjoyed moments like this, when you and your boyfriend could co-exist quietly and in peace. Judd was lying on the floor somewhere, having moved on from the weights to instead practise his pushups. The two of you would probably go out later, after the rather excruciating last few interactions you had with Judd’s parents, the two of you decided to skip dinner with them for the time being.

Your phone was hooked to Judd’s speaker, as he had graciously allowed you to play music for him while he worked out. The raccoon in your lap seemed to enjoy your taste in music as well- tail swaying softly to the baseline.

Catching your hormone monster from the corner of your eye, you saw how she stiffened and suddenly sat up. Her hairs stood up, ears turning down as she surveyed the room— she turned to say something to you, but right before the sounds escaped her, three shy knocks came to the door. 

Judd, who was now doing crunches, sat up fully to fix you a blank stare. He gestured towards the door with his head and raised eyebrows, you pouted but got up. The raccoon in your lap protested as you softly shooed it off— it scurried off under the bed to hide from whoever came to disturb you. Connie followed closely behind you, slinking after you like a shadow as you approached the door. 

Opening the door, you were already quite ready to fight off Nick or Mr. Birch, but what you didn’t expect, however, was your sister standing there and wringing her hands with a nervous expression.

“Uh, Jessi?” You didn’t even know she was here, actually you hadn’t seen her since yesterday evening when Judd picked you up from your dad’s.

Connie raised a hand to her face and pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘Oh sweet child..’  She muttered, studying your sister from over your shoulder.

Jessi took a step back, startled, when instead of her crush she came face to face with you in pyjama shorts and one of Judd’s shirts. You bend over a little, to be more on level with her. “What are you doing here? Do you need a lift home, or something?” 

She gaped at you, clearly losing track of whatever she was going to say. You watched, a bit concerned, as gears turned in her head. Then, you felt something, someone, else at your side. You wrinkled your nose as Judd came up besides you— his sweaty palm enclosing around your waist as he pulled you to him. 

You wanted to comment on it— tell him to shower before he got his sweat all over you, but he beat you to it; “Hey Y/n’s sister Jessi.” He grumbled, granting the tween a downwards glance. 

Jessi looked positively constipated, and also a bit like she was going to puke. You freed yourself from Judd— dropping to your knees and gently holding Jessi’s shoulder. “Jessi-bear, are you sick?” 

Connie followed you closely again, this time appearing behind your sister, clutching her closely and spreading a palm over her forehead to feel her temperature. ‘She’s down with a baaad case of Judd fever!’ The monster exclaimed, slightly shaking Jessi, whose blush had now risen from her neck all the way to her ears— colouring her face completely red. 

You sighed as your sister seemed to boot up again from her temporary lockdown. She quickly stepped back from you, and you realised she was holding something behind her hands. Connie noticed it too; ‘Aw Jessi.. So cute, but sad. Very, very sad. Actually kinda pathetic, you better let her down easy, Y/n, sugar.’ 

“I am not Jessi-bear! And I’m not sick! Just.. Just regular, old, fun, Jessi..” She waved you off, and you stood back up— slightly surprised by her outburst.

You tried, and failed, to hide your grin. Apparently, Judd thought your sister's awkward demeanour was funny as well. “Okay, regular, old, fun Jessi. What do you want?” He said, raising a brow at the flustered tween. 

She swallowed thickly, and you fixed Judd a glance that meant ‘don’t be mean’. He retaliated by shrugging and wrapping his arm around you again. Jessi’s blush somehow grew more vivid— she looked a bit like a cat on edge as she dared a glance up at your boyfriend. 

“I was just, y’know, strolling by–” Connie clasped a large paw over her mouth, shaking her again. ‘–Stop talking, baby! Stop talking!’ She howled, though Jessi didn’t seem to hear or even feel her. 

“This hallway has such interesting architecture, did you notice that?” She finished off, fiddling with whatever she had behind her back and making a point of staring at the ceiling instead of Judd. Your boyfriend in question only grunted, keeping his intense glare on Jessi. 

Sighing, you said; “It doesn’t. It’s a hallway. Look, if you need a lift home I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes, but shouldn’t you hang out with your friends or something instead? I’m sure Nick is looking for you,” You hinted, but all you got from Jessi was a vivid glare. 

“Yeah. Actually, you’re right. I was just dropping by, but I’m actually really, really busy, so..” She shifted on her feet, turning to leave and accidentally exposing you to the thing she had been holding. 

Judd’s eyebrows drew closer together, in a full on scowl. “Is that my shirt?”

You snorted. “Oh my god!” You stared at your sister in bewilderment, trying to decide whether it was funny, gross or awkward beyond belief; You settled on a good mix of both.

Immediately, the garment slipped from Jessi’s hands and she paled. “I-I-I found it like this! I just wanted to return it!” She could have puked, breathing speeding up as she fought off the hyperventilation and stared at the two of you with a horrified look that meant you had definitely caught her red-handed. 

“Are you stealing Judd’s shirts? I knew I had a bunch of them, did you seriously take them?” You asked, now mortified. Judd let out a series of low, cackling laughs as you watched your sister tear up. She opened and closed her mouth, fighting to say something but ultimately gave up— running off down the hall as you watched her retreating form with bewilderment. 

You’ve reached the bottom🧍🏻‍♀️thank you for reading this far, haha, I hope you enjoyed it. The last one was heavily inspired by that scene in the new season were Jessie walk in on Judd and his girlfriend(?), I just saw that and needed to write something similar

I’m now on my winter break, and I’ve got a lots of idea for Judd content for y’all this week so look out for that!

With this story, I literally need to add this meme; reblogged to me by @raccoon66

Thank you so much lol, it’s literally the best thing ever 🙏🙏

Tags: @dlfvrr , @bxbyyyjocelyn

[heliads]

Hello lovely! I was wondering if you could please write an enemies to lovers Sirius x reader fanfic where they're always bickering and arguing but one day, reader seems rather numb and he makes an obnoxious comment like "Trouble in paradise, princess?" and they get mad and say "Oh, get f, Black! Easy for you to have a go, isn't it? Why do we always have to talk about my shitty life, Mr. Tell Me A Fucking Secret?" and the reader storms off and he finds out that they're brother died? Sorry if that doesn't make any sense and i fully understand if you don't want to do it. Don't forget to drink water and have a great day :) 💞

'an apology' - sirius black

masterlist

Everyone likes Sirius Black. Everyone but you, it seems. You’re not sure how in Merlin’s name he managed his widespread popularity. Maybe there was a secret prank of the Marauders a while back in which they jinxed everyone in the school to grow besotted with the long-haired, mischievous, good-for-nothing scoundrel, then accidentally forgot to cast the enchantment on you. It wouldn’t even be that unrealistic, except there’s absolutely no chance that Sirius hasn’t picked up on your disregard for him. In fact, if you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he enjoys it.

Of course he would. Of course Sirius Black, Quidditch star, Marauder, prankster extraordinaire, absolutely reckless and divinely insensible Sirius Black would get a kick out of riling you up. How could he not? It’s like it’s against his programming to do anything that makes sense.

The two of you have been clashing since the day you met. No matter where you are– walking to class, accidentally paired up for a class project, meandering through Hogsmeade– you and Sirius have a knack for finding each other even in the thickest of crowds, and then promptly wanting to murder each other. You squabble over small things, like tying one’s tie incorrectly, and big things too, like when Sirius pranked you too hard one time and it took the entirety of the Marauders and your friend group working in tandem to prevent a genuine slaughter.

Needless to say, every day in which you can avoid running into Gryffindor’s favorite troublemaker is a good one. Needless to say, in a small castle like Hogwarts, that task is pretty much impossible. Even when you pledge to yourself that you’re going to pick the high road and stop letting yourself get riled up by him, you still somehow manage to get yourself lodged in yet another petty dispute.

Today, though, you really don’t want to see him. You woke up this morning to terrible news from home. Professor McGonagall had called you into her office to deliver the solemn verdict herself. Although she can be a terrifying presence, you’re glad for her today. This way, there wasn’t anyone else around but her when you found out that your brother had died.

It seems impossible. You can picture your brother in your mind– laughing, smiling, running around– and the idea that he could be dead is nonsensical. You would know, you think. Surely you would know. If a bright light like your brother could be snuffed out overnight, you would have been able to feel it. Yet you didn’t, and the world is still spinning, and you are expected to get yourself up and keep on living even though your brother is no longer here. You’ll never be able to see him again, never hear him call your name whenever you go home. He’s gone, gone forever, and you can’t think about anything else but him.

Professor McGonagall, surprisingly, is a good person to help you with loss. She listens to you brokenly sob for a while, then lets you stay in her office for as long as you need to stop crying. She offers you some biscuits, which are only mildly stale, and offers to write you a note to get out of her class, at least, although she can’t speak to the rest of her fellow professors.

You thank her, then head out. Although the idea of curling up in your bed for the rest of the day and perhaps the rest of the year as well is quite tempting, you know that if you let yourself go into misery, you’ll never be able to claw yourself out. You decide to go on with the rest of your classes for the day, as much for the distraction of not being alone with your thoughts as anything else. 

You can quietly tell your friends what happened, and they’ll make sure nobody bothers you. Your brother died. Nothing seems to matter anymore. The idea that someone like Sirius Black might try to cause you trouble is almost laughable. Your brother is gone. What can a classroom bully possibly say to you to make this worse?

Sirius Black is getting bored again. He always starts idling halfway through Charms, anyway, but it’s not like that’s his fault. Flitwick should know better than to put oil lamps in front of his students, anyway; yes, they were supposed to be practicing discretion with their incendiary charms, but what does Sirius care about that? Besides, the fire he started only lit Peter’s sleeves on fire, and they managed to snuff that out pretty quick anyway. No damage done, not really.

By the time the day is halfway over, Sirius is itching for something interesting to happen. James is shaking his head and laughing at Sirius’ impatience, chiding him for not paying attention, but Sirius has seen his best friend’s eyelids drooping more than once today, so it looks like both of them are stifled for entertainment.

Sirius can tell that it’s gotten bad, because he’s hardly stepped out of the Great Hall after lunch when he spots Y/N L/N trailing down one of the corridors, and he actually starts grinning ear to ear. Y/N’s a fascinating person. They argue with Sirius like there’s no tomorrow. Sirius regards Y/N as an ever-changing maze to solve. Every time he thinks he’s hit a wall with ways to bother her, he finds something else. It’s delightful. He’s kind of obsessed with her.

So, upon seeing her, it should come as no surprise that Sirius would bid a hasty farewell to his friends and hurry to catch up with her. Usually, Y/N’s quick to shoot him a glare whenever she sees him, but this time she hardly seems to notice him when Sirius appears by her side. Strange, but he can change that.

“Good afternoon, sweetheart,” he says glibly. “I’ve missed you since I saw you yesterday, you know.”

Sirius pauses expectantly, waiting for Y/N to hit him with a rather devious comeback about how she’d rather walk over hot coals than willingly spend time in his company, but instead, she just keeps walking. Her shoulders are hunched, and her gaze is somewhat vacant, as if her mind were a thousand miles away. The quick thought flashes through Sirius’ mind that maybe she’s thinking about some guy, like maybe another student flirted with her earlier today and she’s distracted by it, and immediately his gut twists over with hot, white, irritation.

Fine, then. If she wants to ignore him, Sirius will make that impossible. He can up his game. “Tell me a secret,” Sirius drawls, each word slow and silvery like the smoke he loves so much, “What’s got a pretty face like yours looking so twisted up? I know it can’t be anything too terrible, I don’t think it’s possible for you to worry that sweet head over anything major. Don’t tell me you’ve gotten yourself into some trouble in paradise, princess. I just won’t believe it.”

That does get Y/N to look at him, but the sharp glance she directs at him is full of not anger but pain, pure pain. “Shut up,” she hisses at him. “Don’t you ever get tired of messing with me? Easy for you to have a go, isn’t it? Why do you always have to dig into my life, Mr. Tell Me A Fucking Secret? Leave me alone.”

With that, Y/N abruptly turns and stalks down a nearby corridor. Sirius watches her leave with absolute astonishment. They’ve had some verbal sparring matches which have turned nasty, to be sure, but never before has she looked at him with that much loathing. Worse than that– Sirius swears that he’d caught sight of some tears in her eyes when she’d regarded him with such misery.

Impossible. Y/N has never actually been hurt by anything he’s said to her. Right? No, she hasn’t. Sirius would know. This must mean that something has happened, something bad. Across the corridor, Sirius catches sight of one of Y/N’s friends looking at the scene he’d just caused with great distress. When she realizes Sirius has noticed her, she makes to follow Y/N, but he quickly stands in her way to keep her there.

“What’s going on?” Sirius asks plainly. No use in beating around the bush.

Y/N’s friend looks away. “None of your business, Black. Y/N’s right, how about you leave her alone for the time being?”

Sirius swears he can feel something break in his chest, some tendon plucked like a bowstring. “What are you talking about? What do you know?”

Y/N’s friend tries to get away again, but when it becomes evident that Sirius will not be leaving without an explanation, she sighs and gives in. “Y/N found out this morning that her brother passed away.”

She doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t have to say anything else. Instantly, Sirius feels rooted in place, struck by an awful wave of guilt. Y/N must be drowning in grief, and he’s just gone and teased her even worse. Merlin, she must hate him if she didn’t already.

When he looks up, he realizes that her friend is gone. Slowly, Sirius goes down the corridor he’d last seen Y/N, carefully checking every door and room in search of her. After a while, he finds her sitting on the ledge of a window, knees tucked up against her chest. The afternoon light falls on her face, revealing fresh tear tracks. Sirius’ heart thuds dully against his ribs, the unenviable guilt rising up to choke him once again.

She looks up when Sirius drifts closer, and her face twists. She flinches as if she’d like to run, but Sirius raises his hands hastily. “I’m not here to fight, honest. I wanted to apologize.”

Y/N regards him suspiciously. “Since when have you ever apologized?”

Sirius winces. “You’re right, I’ve been terrible. It’s just– Merlin, Y/N, I had no idea. I’m so sorry about your loss. I wouldn’t have said a thing if I had known, I promise.”

“So you would have been fine to belittle me like usual, but since you found out I– I lost my brother, you feel bad? Perfect. Now leave me alone.” She says tersely.

Sirius grimaces. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just– I have a brother too, you know? Even though we don’t quite get along, I can’t imagine losing him. The fact that you’re still able to get up and walk around is amazing to me. I think you’re really strong.”

Y/N stares at him, but some of the defensiveness is gone from her gaze. “Really?”

“Really,” he affirms. “This is a terrible thing to have happened to you, and I’m so sorry that you have to go through this. Losing family is awful. Just know– I’m here if you want to talk, alright? I know you probably hate me for everything, and I wouldn’t blame you for it, but if you want someone, I’ll be around.”

Y/N stays silent, and Sirius takes that as his cue to leave. Just as he turns to go, though, he hears a soft voice behind him. “You can stay.”

Sirius looks back at her hopefully. “Yeah?”

“I’ll allow it,” Y/N tells him, but the corner of her mouth starts to quirk up a little into a somber half-smile, so Sirius realizes that he’s okay again, that they’re okay again. It feels far better than he could have imagined.

He takes a seat on the ledge opposite Y/N, and they both look out over the view of the grounds below them. Or– Y/N does, really. Sirius is more distracted by the girl in front of him. There are some things he’s starting to realize about her, about how he feels about her. It’s a good thing he has her forgiveness, so he has the time to think a little more about it.

harry potter tag list: @blondsauduun, @cameronsails, @neewtmas, @lovesanimals0000, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @eclliipsed, @frenchgirlinlondon, @23victoria, @ilovexavierthrope, @faerieroyal

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[nonsensology]

So I've had these Grunkle Stan crackships on my mind for almost a year now. Could be interpreted as platonic, but I think there's great and fascinating potential if interpreted fully romantic. Full musings and explanations below (Warning: very disjointed and random).

Uncle Chan from Jackie Chan Adventures

Maybe Ford and Stan stumble across the Chans on one of their globe-trotting adventures. Both groups fight off the same supernatural threat and surprise each other with their ease and familiarity with the weird and fantastical.

I feel Uncle is kind of a weird in-between of Ford and Stan. He is knowledgeable but not a nerd like Ford, is generally cranky but doesn't get into trouble like Stan does, although he does have a level of disregard towards authority if it gets in the way of his goals. He's quick to do research instead of impulsively charging into a situation.

I think Uncle's dynamic with Stan would be hilarious. They would argue a lot on how to deal with a threat, but once they agree to work together, they could kick ass. Once he gets past his initial annoyance, Stan would probably enjoy Uncle's quips, even more so when he realizes that Uncle does not say them to be funny, he's just naturally snarky.

Uncle is never shown having any romantic interest or relationships, so I kind of headcanon him as ace, but I think it would be really interesting to see what kind of queerplatonic relationship he and Stan could form.

Jade and Mabel would probably hit it off immediately, and while Jade isn't as studious as Dipper, she also has an enthusiasm for the supernatural so she'd probably get along decently with him. She'd also probably think Stan and Ford are super cool, especially considering their lax attitude toward giving children weapons. Though they do still take the kids' safety very seriously.

Jackie is doubtful of Stan, much like he was with Viper, but seeing Stan look out for the kids would probably endear him a little. Ford might also help ease his worries, and maybe they both could have fun discussion about archeology.

I think Tohru and Soos could get along decently, though Tohru would find Soos' eccentric musings odd at first.

Additionally, Uncle's shop is in San Francisco, practically next door to Dipper and Mabel in Piedmont. The kids would easily visit each other every weekend.

Bruno Madrigal from Encanto

Stan has been to prison in Colombia, so I don't think he'd willingly travel there for fun, and Encanto Valley seems relatively closed off from the rest of the world, so I imagine their meeting is accidental, maybe a result of the Stans getting caught in a storm or something. They stay for a while in the valley while repeating their boat.

Stan might initially be outraged at the idea of the Madrigals not charging anyone for the use of their gifts, but perhaps lightens up when he sees how close-knit the community is. He'd still come up with ways they could show off their powers Mystery Shack style, probably butting heads with Alma in the process, lol. He might encourage Bruno to adapt a more showman-like approach to his seer abilities to make it more presentable and less intimidating.

Bruno and Stan connecting over their shared feelings of isolation from family is definitely what drew me to these two together in the first place. If they ever got serious about their relationship, I can imagine the biggest hurdle would be deciding if they should continue a long-distance relationship, since neither is keen on asking the other to be separated from their family.

Yuuko Ichihara from xxxHolic and Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle

Major spoiler alerts for both series. It's been many years since I've read them, and Tsubasa had so many plot twists that even CLAMP (the writers) admitted they were confused by the end result. I also might be misremembering some details, so bear with me. Factoring in the plotlines for both series and Gravity Falls would make for an incredible AU fanfic that I unfortunately am not qualified to write.

Due to Yuuko's shop being in Tokyo, a whole ocean away from Oregon, I like to imagine some timey-wimey space mumbo jumbo allowing Yuuko and Stan to meet in the dream realm. Maybe at some point, Yuuko's shop would obtain a door connecting it to the Mystery Shack.

Stan and Yuuko both have a mischievous side, though Yuuko is generally more reserved. They could start out as drinking buddies, though I imagine Stan would probably favor a light beer, while Yuuko loves sake.

They also both use aliases (it is never revealed what Yuuko's real name is), but Yuuko would likely be upfront about it. As their relationship progresses, Stan would probably feel comfortable telling Yuuko his real first name, even after she tells him the supernatural dangers of giving your real name.

While Stan scams his customers, he generally sells harmless entertainment and trinkets, whereas Yuuko grants wishes and operates strictly on an equivalent exchange basis. To quote the wiki, "All of Yuuko's customers must pay a price in order to grant their wishes, which can be no more or no less than the one demanded, or else harm will come to one's way. She is not one to tell the customer the most direct way to solve their problems because in the end, it can only be solved with that person's own realization and resolution to change themselves... Her abilities are not unlimited and may almost seem like a curse as it appears that she is unable to do anything for anyone or grant any gift (other than feelings) without it becoming a binding transaction." 

When Stan finds out just how powerful Yuuko is, I think he might react with a mixture of hesitation and awe, especially when she reveals she knows about his past, and Ford being lost in the multiverse. I am on the fence on whether Yuuko would use her powers to bring Ford home sooner, or let Stan continue working on the portal because he's already close to completing it and this would be significant in defeating Bill.

I found that the main villain of Tsubasa, Fei Wang Reed, surprisingly parallels Stan. Both endanger reality to bring back someone who is lost, but while Stan does it out of love and devotion to his family, Fei Wang Reed only did it in an arrogant plan to prove himself a powerful sorcerer. And in Fei's case, the person is already dead. CLAMP's universe establishes that the dead cannot be brought back to life, and Fei's wish to do so would cause the universe to be destroyed. I wonder if Bill would factor Fei as part of his plans.

Stan also surprisingly shares a lot in common with Fai D Fluorite. Both use their twin's name (Fai's real name is Yuui), and for much of the series Fai's tragic backstory regarding his twin is unknown, and he hides his trauma under a laid back exterior. I think Stan would empathize a lot with Fai, after he finds out his backstory.

Kimihiro Watanuki is revealed to have been created to fill a void left by Syaoran after the latter wished to turn back time. I remember Watanuki's character arc involved realizing that people cared about him. "Don't disappear", "Continue existing". Stan would probably take Watanuki under his wing, much like he did with Soos. Watanuki might find life with the Pines family far more chaotic than he's used to, but slowly warm up.

Yuuko is revealed to have died a long time ago and has basically been in magical stasis due to Clow Reed's unintentional wish. When time finally moves forward again, Yuuko eventually passes on. She doesn't return in the canon series, but Watanuki is stated to have also suspended his time to wait for her return. In this AU, maybe she reincarnates in the past and reunites with Stan and the Pines in the present day.

[otrtbs]

Okay Y'all

It has come to my attention that someone is selling copies of Art Heist, Baby! on Etsy this evening. If you've been here for a little while then you'll remember something similar happening to me on Amazon. This seller on Etsy is also selling copies of several other fanfics. Once again, this is not me, I do not condone this, I didn't give my consent for this, and I am frustrated beyond belief.

I am taking measures to contact the seller and to get the Etsy listing taken down. (feeling super disheartened abt the people who have this fic in their basket rn icl. DO NOT pay (esp this ungodly amount) for fanfics you can read for free online. and don't profit off of fanfiction.)

I do feel like every time something like this happens, I run to tumblr, make a post, and make something like this everyone else's problem. And I want to apologize for that and say that this is in no way y'alls issue (unless you are the one selling fanfiction and/or buying it). It is my fanfic, my issue, and I am handling it (though, I always appreciate each and every single one of you going out of your way to help more than you could possibly know). However, I am making this post to let everyone know that

I am no longer allowing people to make physical copies of my fanfiction.

People have used my acceptance of hand binding my fic for personal use and abused it to sell my fic and mass-produce it. Not cool. So I would like to say I am no longer allowing physical copies of my fics to be made. I don't know if that will fix or change anything and I am extremely doubtful that the people who are the issue will even listen to or care about what I wish since they've already disregarded that but I really don't know what else to do at the moment. I am hoping this issue will get resolved shortly! As always, Art Heist, Baby! is available to read online for free on ao3! (how cool is that?) Thanks for reading and hearing me out. Sorry again about another post like this but it's always fucking something with this fandom and I just don't ever know what else to do.

[candycandy00]

Serve Me, Save Me - A Sukuna x Reader Fanfic Part 1

After Ryomen Sukuna inadvertently saves you while killing his enemies, you decide to devote yourself to him as a servant. But the trauma from the attack triggers panic when you find yourself in his bed.

Part 1 | Part 2

Smut (not much in this part). 18+. Slow burn. Softer Sukuna than I’ve written before but he’s still a monster. True form Sukuna. Rape and its aftermath feature prominently as a plot device but rape does NOT occur between Sukuna and Reader. Features PTSD, panic attacks, etc. 

If you’d like to be tagged in future parts (I have no idea how many there will be), comment to let me know! You must have your age in your bio or intro post or just tell me you’re an adult in the comment! Likes are appreciated but comments and reblogs (especially with feedback in the tags) make me feel all warm and squishy! Seriously any feedback at all is so wonderful! Divider by @benkeibear!

You ran through the village as fast as you could, fleeing the men armed with swords who were currently cutting down everyone their blades could reach. They spared no one, not women, not the elderly, not even children. Your parents were among the first victims, your younger brother next. And all you could do was run for your life. 

This village was supposed to be safe from attacks like these. After all, it was under the protection of Lord Ryomen Sukuna. Your village worshipped him, and in turn he cut down any who would attack it, most often in nightmarishly brutal ways that served as warnings to his potential enemies. That’s why this attack was so shocking, so unimaginable. Who would dare? 

But Lord Sukuna was away, conquering some other town, bringing more enemies under his foot. Someone sent a shikigami to notify him of the attack, but who knew when it would reach him, or if he would even bother coming to the village’s rescue. 

Even though you and your village honored him as a deity, none of you were stupid. You were under no illusion that he actually cared about the people of the village. But he did care about his reputation, his pride. And an attack on this village was a clear declaration of war on Sukuna himself. Surely he wouldn’t tolerate such blatant disrespect. 

You reached the outskirts of the village, where a small shrine had been erected for Sukuna. There was a much bigger shrine for him in the village proper, but this one was well cared for despite rarely being visited by him. 

The shrine was the size of a modest home in the village, enough room to house at least five people comfortably. So you had plenty of room to hide inside it, closing the door behind you and trying to be perfectly silent. You thought you had outrun most of the attackers, having stopped hearing pursuing footsteps several minutes ago. 

But you were wrong. 

The door slammed open, and four men stomped inside, kicking and breaking things as they came, gleefully flaunting their disregard for Sukuna’s shrine. They went straight for you, and you prepared yourself to die. You closed your eyes and waited to be cut down. 

Unfortunately for you, these four men were in no hurry to kill you. 

*******************

When Sukuna received word that one of his villages was being raided, he went there immediately to see what fools would intentionally earn his ire this way. He didn’t really care how many villagers were slaughtered, but he was intensely annoyed that anyone would have the gall to attack them when they were technically under his “protection”. 

As he moved through the village, he sliced up the attackers into increasingly small pieces. It took no effort at all, barely a thought, and they were reduced to tiny chunks or ribbons of bloody flesh. 

He found a gang of them in his shrine in the middle of the village, making a mess of the place, the shrine maidens murdered. It was a direct insult to him, so he slowed down, took his time, sliced up their limbs and left them to writhe on the floor in pools of their own blood. He could come back to them later, force them to tell him who their leader was. If any of them survived long enough, he could enjoy making examples of them. His mind was already coming up with creative ways to display them outside the village, preferably still alive. Their screams of torment would work well to discourage future attacks. 

As he moved through the village at a leisurely pace, picking off the remaining enemies who had scattered like insects before his wrath, he remembered the smaller shrine to him. It was on the outskirts of the village, but if the attackers ransacked his main shrine, there could very well be some of them in the smaller one. 

When he reached it, he immediately heard screaming coming from inside. A woman’s voice, crying, in pain. He walked inside almost casually, and leaned against the door frame. The people inside didn’t even notice him at first, so caught up in what they were busy doing. 

Four men were in a half circle around a young woman, clearly a villager. She was naked save for some ripped pieces of clothing here and there that clung to her, and one of the men was presently thrusting into her while the others held her down. She was screaming, struggling, trying to break free of their grasp, but it was futile. She was covered in bruises, scratches, even a few cuts from their swords. Her lip was busted and bleeding, one eye already swelling, and various other small injuries littered her form. 

“Having fun in my shrine, I see,” Sukuna said. 

All of the men froze, then slowly turned to look at him. Whatever they had heard about Ryomen Sukuna, they were still unprepared for what they saw: a tall, monstrous man with four arms and four eyes. 

The one raping the village girl pulled away from her and stood up. Before he could pull his clothing back on, his body was chopped into twenty different pieces, his blood splattering all over his comrades and the girl on the floor, who screamed and scrambled to get away from the carnage. The other three men were foolish enough to draw their swords, but they were all just chunks of meat on the floor before any of them could take a step toward him. 

Finished with his task, Sukuna turned to leave, but then he heard a small, frightened voice say, “Thank you, Lord Sukuna, for saving me!”

He looked over and saw the girl bowing low to the floor, her bloody, violated body trembling. 

Saving her? She’d already been brutalized before he arrived. Ah, but the four men would have killed her, probably after raping her several more times. He responded with a dismissive wave of his hand. He’d had no interest in helping her, but if she was “saved” as a byproduct of him killing his enemies, so be it. 

He left the shrine and returned to the center of the village to speak to the survivors. He would need to tell them to clean up his shrines, and he supposed he could give them assurances that the enemies would suffer unimaginably for their crimes. 

For the next week, Sukuna remained in the village, torturing the lone survivor among the attackers into giving up the name of the man who ordered the attack, as well as overseeing some of the repairs to his main shrine. The villagers brought him gifts and offerings, heaping praises onto him for protecting them, even though he’d done very little in that regard and the attack had come in the first place because someone wanted to challenge him. 

One day a young woman appeared at his shrine, her beauty quite striking despite the faint bruises and small scars that dotted her skin. She bowed after being led inside and into his presence. 

“I’ve come to offer myself in service to you, Lord Sukuna,” she said. “You saved my life. It’s only right that my life belongs to you. I would be happy to work in the shrine, prepare your meals, whatever tasks you need done. Even if you choose to kill me for your amusement, I am eager to serve.”

He was sitting in a seat custom built for his large frame, one elbow propping up his head as he leaned onto his hand. He grinned down at the woman. He quite liked this type of submission. “Stand,” he told her, so that he could get a better look at her. 

Just then, he recognized who she was. The girl who was gang raped in his smaller shrine. She looked quite different now, fully clothed with her hair neatly pinned back. “Why offer yourself to me?” he asked. 

She glanced up at him, and he made a motion with one of his hands to signal she was allowed to look at him and speak. 

“I really do feel that my life belongs to you, my Lord,” she said. “And I have no life in the village now. No man will take me as a wife after… after what happened.”

Ah, yes. This village, as well as several others, had the ridiculous custom of requiring brides to be virgins. Sukuna himself never understood it. He’d fucked virgins as well as mothers of several children, and in his opinion the mothers were far more satisfying. But he didn’t really care what their customs were, so he made no rules when it came to things like that. 

Looking at the young woman before him, he thought to himself that the men of this village were fools to pass up a beauty like her for such a stupid reason. No matter. 

“I accept your offer,” he told her, gesturing for her to go deeper into the shrine, where rooms were available for servants. 

She bowed again. “Thank you, my Lord.”

*******************

Walking through the shrine where Sukuna spent most of his time in the village, you feel a sense of relief. After your ordeal during the attack, there were precious few options open to you. The two most obvious ones were becoming a servant or joining a brothel. The latter option was something you just couldn’t bring yourself to do. The thought of sleeping with strange men brought too many horrible memories to the front of your mind. 

You were not naive. You knew that being Lord Sukuna’s servant meant you would probably end up in his bed at some point. But you’d given it a lot of thought. Sukuna was away from the village quite often, and he had other servants he used for such purposes. You decided that you could handle occasionally being bed by one man better than entertaining several men every night. 

And… Lord Sukuna was a god. He was extraordinary, and he was beautiful. If you did have to sleep with someone, better him than anyone else in the village. 

That had been your mindset at the time. Just survive. Just make the best of a cruel situation. Shove the nightmares and trauma to the back of your mind and try to live out your life in relative peace. 

The first few days at the shrine were uneventful. You swept floors, washed laundry, and sometimes helped in the kitchen. You saw Lord Sukuna often, but had little interaction with him besides pouring sake for him a few times. 

All that changed on the fourth night. You were on your knees in the hallway, mopping the floor with a rag, when Lord Sukuna stepped out of the bathing room and walked down the hall. He wore a simple white robe and nothing more. His hair was still wet, water droplets dripping down his neck and to his chest. 

He stopped beside you, looking down. You paused your work and bowed low, waiting for any instruction he might have for you. 

“You,” he said in his smooth voice, “Come to my chambers within the hour.”

Fighting the urge to look at him, you kept your head down as you said, “Yes, my Lord.”

He walked away, and you hurried to finish up your chore as your face burned and your heart pounded. You didn’t think it would happen so soon, but you supposed it was inevitable. 

As you freshened up in your room, smoothing your tied back hair and changing into a robe slightly nicer than your work clothing, you tried to calm your nerves. You kept telling yourself you could handle this. You hadn’t been intimate with anyone since the attack, and honestly the thought of it terrified you, but this was different, wasn’t it? This wasn’t just any man, it was Lord Sukuna! A god to your village! Being invited to his bed was a great honor.

When you walked into his chambers, he was standing by an open window that stretched from floor to ceiling. Sheer curtains were swaying in the warm breeze of the summer night. While yours was not a seaside village, it was quite close. You could have walked to the beach in around an hour. As such, the smell of the ocean often drifted in on the wind. 

He turned to face you, and his tall, powerful form looked imposing. The room was well lit with oil lamps, making every detail of him clearly visible as he untied the silken belt around his waist and opened his robe, then let it slide off his shoulders. 

You couldn’t suppress your gasp. Standing nude before you was the most magnificent being you’d ever seen. He looked like a statue, like he was cast from smooth stone. Muscular, with black tattoos lining his body, he stood with two of his four hands on his hips, one holding the robe he’d removed, and the last touching the back of his neck. Four piercing red eyes sat above a very confident smirk. 

Confident because he’d noticed exactly where your gaze had settled. Between his strong thighs hung two enormous cocks, not even hard yet and already intimidating. You probably should have been frightened of him, of his unusual body, but at that moment you could only think that he was beautiful, that he was divine. 

“Disrobe,” he commanded, and you fumbled with your own sash, hurrying to untie it. Then you opened your own silk robe and pulled it off. You were not especially shy, but you did feel a bit self conscious in the presence of such a perfect being. 

His eyes moved up and down your body, seemingly pleased with what he saw. He stepped closer to the bed, and motioned for you to join him. When you reached it, he pushed you onto your back, and you felt your heart racing as he climbed on top of you. 

At first, you thought you were merely excited. You could feel a slickness between your thighs, and were relieved that you were even still capable of being aroused after everything that happened. But then two of his hands grabbed your wrists, pinning them to the bed, as his remaining hands moved over you, groping and squeezing your flesh. 

Your breaths became rapid and shallow as unwanted memories invaded your mind. You desperately wanted to avoid thinking about the last time you were naked and pinned down while other hands roughly explored your body, but the sensations were there, the fear was there, imbedded in your mind, burned into your body. 

At some point Sukuna had pushed your legs apart, and you felt two ridiculously large erections brushing across your body. You shuddered, images and sounds from that terrible day flooding your mind. Multiple shadows looming over you, men’s voices laughing and mocking, hands grabbing you, hitting you, hard cocks tearing their way inside you…

“No!” you suddenly screamed, bucking against Sukuna’s grip. 

He didn’t hear you, or he didn’t care. His mouth was on your neck, his hands still holding your arms in place. 

You jerked again, trying to close your legs. “Please stop!” you cried, tears bursting from your eyes. “Lord Sukuna, stop!”

At this point you were full on panicking, struggling against his infinite strength, screaming incoherently, sobbing when you ran out of energy to scream. You knew this would anger him. He would probably kill you, but you couldn’t help it. Your brain was full of vivid memories of the worst moments of your life, and you could do nothing to dispel them.

***************

Sukuna had planned to have an enjoyable evening at his shrine. He’d had a fantastic meal and a relaxing bath, and his plan was to fuck one of his servants before getting some sleep. Considering there were several beautiful servants currently living at the shrine who were all eager to please him, this should not have been a difficult plan to work out. 

So why the fuck was the woman beneath him shrieking and crying as if she was being murdered? She had seemed fine just a few minutes ago, not showing even a hint of reluctance even upon seeing his twin cocks. In fact she had seemed quite enamored with them, her eyes drawn to them while her face became flushed. When he’d first laid her on the bed and begun touching her, she was noticeably wet. 

Now she was hysterical, causing him to stop touching her, though two of his hands still had her wrists pinned down. When she realized he had paused, her screams died down and she laid there, panting, staring up at him with terrified eyes. 

Oh. It was her. He’d almost forgotten. He’d invited her to his bed simply because she’d happened to be there in the hallway and looked pretty on her I knees in front of him. He’d given no thought to her history, to what had happened to her during the attack on the village. In all honesty, he really didn’t care what had happened to her. She had voluntarily become a servant in his shrine, knowing what that would entail. 

It wasn’t as if Sukuna had never forced himself on a woman. It was rare, as there was simply no need for it. He could go to any of the villages that revered him and have women vying for the honor of pleasing him. But occasionally he used it as a way to punish his enemies, taking their wives in front of them. In most cases, the wives ended up moaning and cumming on his cocks while their pathetic husbands were forced to watch. 

In even rarer instances, so rare it had only happened a handful of times throughout his life, he had forced himself on powerful Jujutsu sorceresses who had tried to defeat him. Those cases were not even about sex for him, but about power, about dominance, about conquering their bodies to assert who was strongest. There was a thrill in breaking them. 

Looking down at the sniffling, teary woman in his bed, he felt no thrill whatsoever. There was nothing exciting about conquering something so weak, breaking something that was already broken. With a sigh of annoyance, he climbed off her and stood up. 

“Leave me,” he said, picking up his own robe from the floor and pulling it back on. “Your blubbering has made my cocks soft.”

The woman scurried out of his bed, then immediately dropped to the floor in a low bow. “Forgive me, Lord Sukuna!” she cried. “It hasn’t been very long since… since I was…” Her voice trailed off. 

“Since you were raped, I know. I saw.” 

Her face reddened. Was she ashamed that he’d witnessed at least a small part of the assault? Another thing about ordinary human women he didn’t understand. Why was she ashamed of the actions of others? Ah well, it didn’t matter. 

“I haven’t been… with a man… since that happened,” she continued, her eyes on the floor. “I beg for patience, my Lord. I’m sure that after some time has passed, I won’t be so frightened.”

He sighed again. He would have preferred for her to simply leave his chambers without a word rather than prattle on about her problems. “Fine, fine,” he said, waving one of his hands dismissively, “now go. I’ve suddenly grown bored and sleepy.”

The servant quickly pulled her robe on, saying, “Thank you for your mercy, my Lord!” before rushing out the door. 

Mercy? Sukuna scoffed. He’d simply found her annoying and sent her away. He considered sending for another servant, but he was no longer in the mood. So he sank into his bed and let sleep take him. 

[comradekatara]

Based on you own ideas of how the atla characters would develop in the future, in a time travel au which character do you think would be funniest to have wake up as their younger selves right at the start of s1? Sokka i personally think would hate it in a particularly hilarious way but i feel like there is also a lot of potential with ozai or king kuei for they ways it could derail the plot and confuse the shit out of everyone around them

LMFAO okay i am imagining kuei waking up one unspecified day and suddenly just knowing everything about the war while long feng continues to lie to him. this would be a really funny premise for a fanfic if kuei was even like. 20% smarter but unfortunately he’d just expose himself and long feng would have no choice but to imprison or straight up kill him and then claim that kuei contracted tuberculosis or something. ozai waking up back in power but with the knowledge of how he will be deposed is kind of terrifying, but i’m also laughing because that’s literally the plot of madame web. and yeah sokka would be incredibly frustrated because even more than before, he literally knows exactly what to do in any given situation, and absolutely no one is listening to him. and every time he proves his powers of prophecy they’re just like “wow!!!” and then continue to disregard everything he says anyway. the funniest thing about sokka Knowing is his relationship to zuko though, because zuko is the only person he actually does 180 on (unless you count aang, but like, eh), and it’s because zuko genuinely did suck and then he grew to suck a little less. but sokka would finally know what iroh meant by “he has good inside of him” and so he’d find ways to like. torture him. by quoting act 2 scene 3 lines 43-57 of love amongst the dragons while they’re fighting or something like that.

which brings me to the most obvious candidate. zuko is just clearly the forerunner here it’s not even a contest. everyone else grows a lot internally too, but zuko’s external growth is by far the most pronounced across the show. book 1 zuko literally has the opposite goals of book 3 zuko. so when zuko wakes up on his boat and has his stupid ponytail and is just like “what the fuck is going on,” he’s relieved to see that he’s in the south pole so maybe sokka and katara will have answers as to what is happening to him. and due to his lethal lack of tact, he still approaches their village in his giant hunk of metal and crashes through their wall and terrifies everyone. sokka is staring him down, preparing to die, clutching his weapons, and zuko just runs up to him and tackles him in a hug before sokka can even respond. and then he runs up to katara and hugs her too while she shrieks her head off and tries to fight him. and sokka is just standing there utterly humiliated because he couldn’t even defend himself against his attack….. and now he’s got his sister………. he’s a complete failure……… but zuko doesn’t even care that sokka is having an existential crisis and katara is screaming bloody murder, he’s just like “boy oh boy my best friends i sure am glad to see you :)” while they just keep trying to attack him and kill him. yeah, now that’s what i call comedy.

[copperhawkthoughts]

Something that I think about a lot (like, too much) is the way the players tend to disregard or not consider how their characters’ relative sizes would shape their interactions with the world and with each other. “I clap Grog on the shoulder,” “I kiss Caduceus on the cheek,” like, do you? Just like that? Hmm

I spent a couple hours and did math to work through this for the sake of about two sentences of fanfic; I couldn’t tell you why I’m so obsessed with this. compels me though.

Anyway now that he’s playing Orym, Liam actually incorporates this a lot - he’ll specify that he hugs someone’s leg, he’ll reach up to interact with something, glare upward when he’s bait-and-switched in front of someone.

All this to say, Matt having Caleb crouch down so that he was on a level with the smaller party members make brain go brrr.

Of course Caleb, who started reshaping his broken humanity around a little goblin girl, does that habitually. It’s great, I love it, I love Matt, I love Matt playing his friends’ characters, I love this show.

[sophierequests]

Could I please request a Toyla x reader..? (Bless you for writing for everyone I can’t find any for him 😭) they’re crushing on each other and them having to share a bed 🥺

you are foolish to want

Navigation┃Main Masterlist┃Request

Pairing: Tolya Yul-Bataar x gn!Reader

A/N: After reading this you might ask me: Sophie, will you ever write anything else than Hurt/Comfort when you get requests that aren't in any explicit genre? The answer to that question is: no <3 Also, the second time of using horses in a Tolya fanfic?? What has overcome me?? Thank you for the request! I hope you'll like this, even though the one bed trope isn't the main focus of this story </3

Summary: Tolya and the reader are on their way to the Lazlayon until unforeseen circumstances put a slight dent in their plans.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff (if you squint)

Word Count: 5.8K (oh god)

Warnings: Mention of almost dying, broken ribs and hurt feelings

The silence between you became louder the longer you indulged in it. It wasn’t really silence, so to say. It was more the state of not speaking. The forest surrounding you was anything but silent. Between the creaking of old rotting larch trees swaying in the wind and the padding of hooves against the more or less solid ground, nothing ever really felt quiet. 

He couldn’t be sure how much longer the path ahead of you could possibly still drag on; all he knew was that he likely wouldn’t be able to stay awake for the entirety of it. The tension of riding next to you alone would have usually been enough to keep him from falling asleep. Hell, the thought of you alone did the job well enough already. Yet something about this time felt different. 

It was just the two of you. No Tamar. No Nikolai. No Zoya. No one else to worry or think about. Just the two of you, wordlessly riding next to each other. 

And while his brain screamed at him to use that factor in his favour, to finally make some sort of move, his body recoiled at the impulse of opening his mouth and articulating his feelings. Whenever he even attempted to do so, an obstruction seemed to form inside his larynx, blocking the feeble sounds that might’ve crossed the breach of his vocal folds. Maybe it was his heart leaping out of his chest and ending up in the enclosure of his throat, desperate to be spat out and stowed away inside a neat little box that he could disregard as long as he pleased. Maybe it was bile at the thought of having to come clean about the months and months of yearning he had been subjected to since meeting you. Maybe both of these options rang true; he couldn’t be sure. The sole thing he was painfully sure of was that it had to be closely related to you. 

Everything was somehow related to you. You had always been everywhere and nowhere; everything and nothing at the same time. At least to him, he hoped. You occupied his mind, his space, and his time whenever he should be focused on anything else. When he wanted, no, needed to focus on anything else. You were everywhere just as much as you were nowhere. Nowhere he could reach. Touch. Hold. You had always been more of an idealistic daydream, rather than something concrete. And just like most dreams, you would be foolish to pursue.

“Do you think we’ll reach the Lazlayon before the night sets in?” Your voice broke through the air like a gunshot, forcing his gaze away from the impenetrable barrier of trees next to him. You stared at him expectantly, waiting until he could will himself to produce a coherent sentence.

He let out a huffed breath, absent-mindedly fiddling with the reins in his hands as if they were a set of tarot cards that would permit him to look into the future. “If we keep up this pace, we’ll likely get there right before sundown.”

“Oh, lovely. Just in time for Count Kirigin to welcome us. I’m sure he’s already buzzing with excitement,” you chuckled dryly, giving your companion a distinctive eye roll to accentuate your annoyance. 

Tolya rolled his shoulders, the mention of the count’s name sending a wave of unease through him. He didn’t necessarily hold any tangible grudges against him, he didn’t know him well enough to form any sort of well-shaped opinion of him to begin with, but what he knew was that the man was an absolute rake. If the countless times of resolute flirting with anyone that didn’t leave his presence on the count of three wasn’t enough to support this hypothesis, Nikolai’s long-winded tales of his drinking and lavished parties sure filled the gaps. Count Kirigin as a whole simply wasn’t a coeval he wanted to be around. Not when he was busy enough with keeping his emotions in check while you were close to him. 

“There’s still hope that he chose to go to bed instead of waiting by the door for us to arrive. I doubt that he’s all too invested in our presence. After all, Zoya isn’t accompanying us, so he won’t have much to ogle at,” the Heartrender objected slyly, using the scarce situation of being alone with you to voice his obvious disdain for the man in question.

“We can only hope.” You clasped your hands together, holding them in front of your chest as if you were in prayer. “At least we’ll share the same fate if it comes down to him having genuinely waited on us.” 

He nodded in agreement. It was a comforting thought to know that he was there with you. The fact that you were meant to take on the journey to the Lazlayon on your own at first disconcerted him greatly. Not that he wouldn’t have trusted you to come back in one piece, however, having you be out of his sight for so long without a possibility of contacting you made him uncomfortably aware of the actual extent of his feelings.

Another wave of silence settled around you. It was more comfortable this time. Especially since it didn’t take too long for you to speak up again. “I’m glad Nikolai decided to have you come along.”

His smile falters for just a split second, the wave of emotion your simple statement had created stripping him of the last bit of feigned confidence he had. Perhaps his years of studying and breaking down ancient poetry had gotten the best of him. Convinced him that there was more to the comment than merely you being glad that someone else had to suffer through the hours on hours of travel. But that’s what you would have said, right? You would have said ‘someone’ instead of explicitly mentioning him. During times like these, he genuinely missed Zoya’s bluntness to bring him back down to earth.

“Oh, uhm, it’s good to know that you don’t see my presence as patronising,” he stammers, his voice hitching and cracking as if he was a puberty-stricken young boy again.

You tilted your head and looked at him with narrowed but gentle eyes. The same eyes that always seemed to magically find his own whenever he had stared at you for a bit too long. “Your presence could never be patronising to me. I like being around you.”

In an ideal world, he would have told you that the feeling was mutual. The sentence would have rolled off his tongue equally as casually as it had off yours, and you both could have continued your travels with the knowledge that you appreciated each other’s company. This was not an ideal world though. In fact, he didn’t even give you a verbal response. Instead, he hastily turned his head away from you, futilely trying to cover the gleaming blush that had spread across his cheeks in a matter of seconds.

Once again, the steady whirring and rustling replaced your short-lived stab at a conversation. It took another hour for the unkempt thicket to gradually turn into a widespread field, stretching out in front of you until it was obscured by the dense artificial fog that hid the watercraft testing grounds of the Gilded Bog. It would have been a stunning view if you hadn’t been aware of the massive amount of work that lay behind it.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips when Count Kirigin’s estate came into view. Your whole body ached after riding for hours on end without a break, making you long for a warm bed and a good night’s sleep. It didn’t take long for Mother Fortuna to knock that idea out of your head though.

Just as you had intended to throw some sort of sarcastic comment in your friend’s direction, a sudden sound of a rifle being fired cut through the forest behind you. After that, everything continued to go downhill horribly fast. 

You barely managed to calm down your horse, yanking the reins to the side to let it spur out its fright by trotting in a circle. Tolya, on the other hand, was less lucky. He hadn’t been able to react quick enough, his horse rearing on its hind legs before he was in the right mindset to properly hold onto the straps of his saddle. He was thrown off its back quite roughly, his back hitting the hard ground with a bone-chilling thud.

“Tolya!” you called, dismounting your horse without thinking about the looming threat of someone directing their gunshots at you. It was as if you were passing through a tunnel, eyes only focused on what was in front of you.

A litany of his name spilt out of your mouth as you knelt down next to him; you repeated it so many times that it didn’t even feel like a real word anymore. But no amount of repetition could bring him to regain consciousness. He remained laying on the ground, perfectly still and with no reaction to anything you did. Years and years of basic medical training flickered through your mind, hopelessly trying to give you an impulse that might be able to save his life. Your hands promptly moved to the pronounced column of his throat, a motion that would have been intimate if you weren’t filled with panic. The skin underneath your fingers was warm - and unexpectedly soft - as you dug for any form of heartbeat. When you finally localised a faint but rhythmic thudding, you sucked in a deep breath, momentarily considering changing your stance on the Saints if they had been the ones to grant you this minuscule act of reassurance.

“Tolya,” you tried again, hands cradling the sides of his face as you shifted him onto your lap. His eyelids fluttered open briefly, immediately seeking out contact with yours. It took another moment for him to recognise what position he was currently in. Your hands on his face and his head on your lap felt almost too good of a situation to be anything but a dream. 

He wanted to say something, anything for that matter, but a piercing pain in his chest caused him to let out a stifled groan. It hurt to move. It hurt to speak. It hurt to breathe. His whole body felt like it had been pulled apart and reassembled without a manual, and you couldn’t do anything to ease his discomfort.

“Hey.” You let your thumbs smooth over the ridges of his cheekbones, your feather-light touch creating an embarrassingly visible trail of goosebumps all over his arms. Everything you did was too soft. Too delicate. Too wholly overwhelming. “I know it hurts. Just stay here for a while and-”

“Saints!” A shrill voice made your head shoot up, the memory of the gunshot striking you like a brick. When a familiar figure scrambled out of the woods, an extravagant hunting rifle strung over his back and a mortified look on his face, you began to piece together what was going on. “I’m terribly sorry! I- We were just coming back from our hunting trip and we didn’t- Oh, no.” The count ran a shaky hand through his neatly slicked-back hair, causing a few stiff strands to fall onto his forehead.

Something inside you wanted to be mad at him. It was his fault after all. If he had been more careful and a little less trigger-happy none of this would have happened. However, Tolya’s weight still very much present on your legs substituted your anger with worry. “Kirigin, I’ll need some help getting him to the Lazlayon. He needs to be looked at by someone more…medically-inclined than me.”

Emil nodded his head reverently, calling over a few of the other men that had joined him in his hunting party. With their help, you heaved him back to his feet. His nails dug into your shoulder as you helped him walk to your horse; neither of you trusted his horse enough to not throw him off again. It was quite the struggle, but after a lot of cursing and griping coming from the normally very composed Heartrender, you reached the opulent mansion just before the sun had vanished behind the mountain range completely.

Upon entering, the count immediately called for a medik, showing the two of you to his drawing room while he flittered through the foyer in a frenzy. Tolya let himself fall onto one of the plush divans with a groan. His hand flew to his side as soon as his back met the fabric underneath him, flinching as he seemed to have pressed down too hard. It was a strange picture to see him look this helpless. He appeared small and vulnerable, almost as if a bare touch could cause him to break and crumble.

“Don’t move,” you requested gently, one of your hands reaching out to take hold of his. He was aware that this gesture was merely meant to give him a piece of reassurance; you wanted to give him something to hold on to, something to get his mind off of the erupting pain in his chest. Still, a nimble twinge of hope sent a burning wave of longing through his body. “I think you may have broken a rib. After your fall earlier that would be one of the lesser evils,” you assessed, letting the fingers of your free hand brush over the clothed expanse of his chest. “We should probably pass a message to Nikolai. You can’t be expected to take on the ride back anytime soon. But all of that can wait until tomorrow.”

The medik arrived just as you closed your mouth, forbidding Tolya from saying anything in response to your short-lived ramblings. He was a bit miffed by the fact that the person treating him was a simple medik instead of an actual Healer that could have fixed him up in the blink of an eye. However, a faint memory of Kuwei accidentally setting a whole section of the laboratory on fire told him that their presence was a bit more required downstairs. 

He was ripped from his thoughts when the medik pushed down on his ribcage with unexpected force. A jolt of pain flashed through him again, and embarrassingly enough, that only caused his grip on your hand to tighten. You didn’t show any sign of discomfort as he did so, entirely concentrated on providing the tiniest bit of comfort you could offer him.

“Fractured rib,” the woman beside you muttered, her brows furrowed as she looked at his exposed chest stomach. “This will take a few weeks to heal on its own. We can send for a Healer as soon as one’s available, but that will probably take just as long. The new project is keeping everyone busy, I’m afraid.”

“I will send a letter to the King,” the Count interjected, rubbing his palms together in an attempt to cope with his nervousness. “The Healers at the Grand Palace are often more willing to make the trip than the ones we have on our hands here. I’m certain he would do everything in his power to ensure that one of his most trusted…guards is back in his service as soon as possible.”

“I suppose that would be for the better.” The medik took out a few differently coloured vials from the pouch on her hip, handing them to you as if the person needing them wasn’t also in the room with you. “These are painkillers. Make sure he takes one of these twice a day.” You nodded along slowly, letting go of Tolya’s hand to not drop any of the flimsy flasks. “It would be best if someone keeps an eye on him for now. Especially after taking the medicine. In case the pain gets worse, you know where to find me.” She directed her gaze at Emil who merely dismissed her with a grateful wave of his hand.

“Thank you for…taking the initiative.” You gave him a brief smile, sitting on the armrest of the sofa where Tolya was still laying. Slowly but surely, the heaviness of the day began seeping through your bones.

“But of course! That’s the least I could do after causing such a mishap.” He pursed his lips but opted to force them into a straight line while he pondered his next words. “I shall send for a servant to mind you during the night if that’s alright with you. Someone should probably be there to attend to you, just in case something happens.” 

Tolya looked up at him, evidently not too fond of his suggestion. The idea of having some stranger even do as much as stay in the same room as he slept didn’t sit right with him at all. “I…appreciate your kindness, Count Kirigin. However, I would prefer it if you refrained from doing anything like that. I’m certain it will be fine if I’m left unsupervised for the night.”

“The count has a point,” you reasoned, a distinct expression of worry present on your face. “You’re hurt; don’t be so blasé about it. It would genuinely be better if someone is there for you. At least for tonight.”

“Maybe you could stay with him for the night if it’s the aspect of familiarity he’s concerned with?” Emil offered, his eyes darting between the two of you nervously. If his upper body had allowed it, Tolya would have shot upright in his seat after hearing that. As much as he hated the notion of having someone else practically babysit him while he was asleep, anyone else would be a better option than you. He wouldn’t survive spending a night under these circumstances.

His suggestion caught you off guard with what felt like brute force. He was a good friend; one of your closest actually. Yet you had never even seen the inside of his bedroom. Spending the night in the same room, no matter under what circumstances, seemed like a terrible way to improve that friendship.

“I… Tolya? Your call.” You shifted all the responsibility of decision-making onto the Heartrender, giving him an apologetic look while he struggled to find the right words.

He mentally considered all the implications this action might entail. What if he snored? What if he talked in his sleep? What if the medicine made him do or say things he might regret? What if nothing out of the ordinary happens and he was just diving into the worst-case scenarios? “If I have to choose, I’d prefer your presence,” he mumbled, instantly clamping his eyes shut in order to avoid looking at your face while you let his words sink in. 

“It’s decided then,” you chirped, slumping off your seat to carefully place the ampoules in your bag. You sounded pretty much unbothered by the prospect of sharing a room for the night. Weren’t you even a little bit uncomfortable with that?  He should be glad that you were taking this situation so well, however, your unexpected nonchalance concerning the topic made every last speck of hope that you could possibly like him back dwindle down to nothing.

“Very well!” Kirigin clasped his hands together with a resounding clap, the jovial nature returning to his face in an instant. “Now, if you’d be so inclined - and able -, please follow me upstairs to the guest bedrooms.”

The guest bedrooms of the count’s estate reminded you of the countless ornate rooms you had seen at the Grand Palace; broad wide rooms with high ceilings and long windows that made them appear more like a makeshift dining hall than an actual bedchamber. Needless to say, the Lazlayon was a bit more bucolic than what you were used to seeing in the capital, but the white walls and the rococo king-size bed definitely opposed every notion of humility one might expect if there was no prior knowledge of Kirigin’s spendthrift way of living.

Neither of you really had enough willpower to change into your nightclothes, so you merely rid yourself of the thick jackets and clunky boots, which you mindlessly tossed on top of your bags. The bedding would be changed in the morning anyway.

It was a terribly awkward scene, the tension practically electrifying the air around you. Tolya sat on the bed, his back perched on the carved headboard while he watched you scurry around the room like a rabbit in front of a rifle. You also seemed to have realised what the offer of staying in the same room for the night might imply; your previous casualness being gone completely.

“Here,” you said, handing him one of the vials the medik had given you earlier. He took the medicine from your hands, eying it with a suspicious expression. In comparison to his hand, the tiny bottle looked like a prop right out of a doll house. The image of comparing your hand to his popped into your mind, but you hastily shooed it away, thinking about how inappropriate that thought was. “Drink. I’ll get you some water to help with the taste in case you need it.” 

Quickly, he downed the viscous medicine, cringing at the sickly-sweet flavour that spread inside his mouth as he swallowed. As soon as the liquid went down his throat, he had to stifle a cough, the taste only getting worse the longer he occupied his mind with it.

You plopped down on the empty spot next to him, cautious to not spill any of the water that you held out for him. When he reached out to take the glass, your hands touched his for a split second, your fingertips barely brushing over his. Still, that simple gesture was enough to make his head spin. Saints, he hated that you had that effect on him.

“Thank you,” he breathed out, not quite knowing what exactly he thanked you for. Thank you for being there for me when I fell off that damned horse? Thank you for holding my hand earlier? Thank you for staying with me tonight? Thank you for getting me that glass of water? He could probably think about at least a hundred things to thank you for off the top of his head.

“How are you feeling?” Your voice sounded just as sweet as the medicine tasted, he thought. He just liked listening to your voice a whole lot better. Were the painkillers already kicking in?

“Better. Sore, but better. I’m dreading thinking about what Nikolai will say once he gets wind of this.” He let his head slump against the wall behind him, his eyes glancing at you furtively as you scanned his body for any sort of unease or pain he might still feel.

“Forget Nikolai. He can survive without you for a bit longer. And Tamar is still there to save his ass when it comes down to it.” You gave him a quick smile, taking his hand to give it a reassuring squeeze before leaving his side again. “The only thing that matters now is that you’re getting better. No matter whether that happens naturally or with the help of a Healer."

“I’d prefer it happening through the help of a Healer,” he muttered under his breath, scowling at the idea of having to spend another six weeks alone in the confines of a bed without being able to follow his usual duties.

“Well, an actual break would do you some good every once in a while. After everything that Nikolai put you through during the last few years, you should be eligible to take off at least a few months without him being allowed to say anything against it.”

“So eager to get rid of me now?”

A sharp snort escaped your mouth as you looked at him, the feigned pout on his lips making him look like a kicked puppy. Sometimes you had the suspicion that Nikolai’s inherent obnoxiousness was rubbing off on him.

“Believe it or not, I still like being around you. Even though you now gave me the added stress factor of having to keep a close eye on you when we’re around horses.” You walked over to one of the cushioned armchairs that decorated the corner of the room, leaning against it without actually sitting in it. “And If I really would be so eager to get rid of you I wouldn’t have agreed to play your nursemaid for the night. Especially not if I had known that I’d have to sleep in one of these forsaken chairs. Kirigin could have at least given us a double room.”

Tolya’s previously playful expression dropped. He had been so hung up on the fact that you’d be with him for the entire night that he had completely neglected to think about the logistics of his request. Had he known that you’d end up sleeping in a chair rather than a bed, he would have answered differently. 

An unwelcome thought clawed its way into his mind; he wanted to strangle it before it could properly manifest. Had he been Nikolai or Tamar he would have immediately sprung into action, offering you his bed, and probably also his heart while he was at it. But he wasn’t like either of them. He wasn’t brash, or romantic, or even socially intelligent. These attributes would be foreign on him, like a coat that was just a bit too big to fit correctly - contorting his actual silhouette to make him look like something he wasn’t.

“Are you okay?” you asked, a worried undertone present as you spoke. He quickly closed his mouth, straightening out his features to appear more collected than he felt before fixing his gaze on you again. You didn’t only sound worried, you also looked the part; eyebrows tightly knitted together while a distinct flash of concern gloomed in your eyes. “Are you still in pain? Should I get-”

“No, it’s- I’m fine, Y/N. I was just thinking…” 

“Care to share with the class?”

Even though everything inside him rebelled against opening his mouth and speaking his mind, his heart moved quicker than his mind could process. “Sleeping in an armchair can’t be comfortable. We could share the bed,” he trailed off, watching as you gawked at him like a fish on land. “If you want to, that is.” He felt the need to add that, even if it was only enough to calm his raging nerves.

“Tolya, you’re hurt. You need the rest more than I do. I can’t possibly do that in good conscience.” The room was filled to the brim with the nervousness exuding off of the two of you. It was almost sad to watch you two stumble over your own words, acting as if you were two little schoolchildren that both had a crush on the other.

Seemingly taking your refusal as a challenge, he awkwardly shuffled towards the edge of the bed, leaving the other side very clearly unoccupied. “Would that be enough space for you?” Your eyes darted from the comfortable-looking bed to the stiff armchair you had originally intended to sleep in. Much to your dismay, the bed did look more inviting than the chair could ever be.

“I really don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” was everything you could muster up to talk yourself out of it. A futile attempt at not giving in to the want clouding your coherent thoughts ever since being in the same room as Tolya.

“You wouldn’t.” You couldn’t. “Trust me, I don’t mind. I couldn’t let you sleep in a bloody chair with a good conscience either.” As if to underline his statement, he patted the empty space next to him.

With an exasperated sigh, you shook off the roots that had metaphorically formed around your ankles and moved to the offered side of the bed. You felt terribly awkward as you slid into bed right next to him. You two had never been this close. Not in this context.

“Thank you,” you whispered, laying flat on your back with your hands folded over your stomach. He mirrored your movement soon after, albeit a bit slower.

He wanted to say something - anything - to relieve some of the tension buzzing between you. But everything he could have said wouldn’t have improved the situation in the slightest. Just like a few hours ago in the woods, the silence was anything but silent.

“You really scared me earlier, do you know that?” you mumbled, breaking through the uncomfortable silence. Again, he thought. “This could have ended with way worse consequences than a fractured rib.”

“I know.” The words were heavy on his tongue, suffocating him. Up until the possibility that worse things could have happened had sounded like an impossible what-if situation to him. But judging by the honest fear in your voice, he really could have suffered a fate way worse than being forced to rest for an uncertain amount of time. The only feeling he could recall after his fall was the dizziness of laying on top of your lap and the intoxicating touch of your hands on his cheeks. He didn’t even think that he genuinely registered the pain in his chest until he felt the impulse to move. “Thankfully, we didn’t have to find out exactly how badly this could have ended.”

“Good. I honestly wouldn’t have known what to do if you hadn’t woken up. What I would do without you.” The last sentence was so unexpected that it almost knocked the air out of his lungs. You had your way of catching him off-guard with your words that was so brutal, but equally as stunning.

“You won’t have to that out either. Not if I can help it.” He wanted to tell you. He wanted to tell you so badly that breathing normally became more and more difficult. But he couldn’t. Not right now. And maybe not ever.

Silence fell over you again. It was such a stark contrast to the chaos raging inside his head that he barely noticed when you turned to lay on your side, facing him. He forced his eyes to close in hopes of at least getting a few full hours of sleep before he was pushed back into a world where it wasn’t normal for you to sleep next to him.

“Tolya?” you whispered, resisting the urge to nudge him. 

“Mhm?” he murmured, eyes still clamped shut.

He heard you shuffling next to him, probably to put a bit of distance between you and him. “I have to tell you something.” You shuffled again, the mattress giving in ever so slightly when you did. You were sitting up now. “This might be a terrible time to do so, but I have to get it off my chest.” That caught his attention enough to look at you again. You sounded so serious.

“Uhm, sure, go for it.” To say that he was concerned would have been an understatement. His whole body tensed, much to the dismay of his fractured ribcage.

“I don’t recall the last time when I was genuinely so afraid of someone I care about not being alright, but what I felt when you didn’t wake up at first was way worse than just being scared. I'm not sure how to tell you this, and I’ve been putting this off for quite some time now. But I don’t just care about you like how I care about the others. I think I'm in love with you." The last words tumbled from your lips in a hurry, so quickly that he almost didn’t comprehend what you were saying. He could have sworn that this was a fever dream. Maybe the medicine had kicked in way stronger than he expected it to. Maybe he was genuinely going mad. Whatever it was, it didn’t feel real.

You realised how badly timed this confession was as soon as you saw the completely befuddled expression that was plastered all over his face. Suddenly, sleeping on the armchair looked way more appealing than the shared bed. You felt like you were trapped in a mass of writhing quicksand, slowly but surely devouring you until there was nothing left to take. This was way more embarrassing than you had imagined.

“I, uhm, this was a mistake.” You felt your cheeks heat up, burning you until you couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to get out of this bed. Preferably also this room. “It would be best if I leave, I’m so sorry. I’ll go downstairs to call fo-” 

Tolya seized your wrist just as you wanted to throw the covers off of you. The rash movement caused him to wince slightly, but he didn’t let go of you. A thousand questions forced their way into his mind, and he could answer none of them. 

“Wait.” He didn’t know what else to say. But he knew that you needed to stay. “Are…are you being sincere?”

“What? Of course? Do you genuinely think I would make a joke out of something like that? Especially in our…current situation?” you questioned, absolutely bewildered that he thought you were joking around.

At this point, his face was beet red. He couldn’t tell where his embarrassment came from. Whether it was the fact that he had been tiptoeing around his feelings for months by now while you felt the same or the fact that he had the genuine audacity to ask you if you were kidding.

“Tolya, I can understand that this makes you uncom-”

“No, no, don’t!” His grip on your wrist tightened as you tried to wriggle yourself out of his grasp. That was his cue to say something. Anything if it made you stay.

“What do you mean?”

“I love you too,” he blurted, maybe a bit too quickly. But the fear of having to watch you leave made his heart act before his brain could.

“You do?”

“Do you genuinely think I would make a joke out of something like that?” He gave you a sheepish smile, his eyes gleaming with adoration. Saints, he really was in love. “I never said anything because I didn’t think you’d feel the same.”

He had intended to let go of your hand, giving you a moment to process what he had just said. You didn’t let him pull away though. Instead, you took his hand in your own, tightly squeezing it before allowing your lips to curl up into a wide smile.

“Sounds like we’re both idiots then.”

“At least we’re idiots in love.”

“But idiots nonetheless," you laughed, your heart thudding even louder when you heard Tolya join you.

Taglist:

Grishaverse fics in general: @yesshewrites1 @dal-light @treasureofmy-heart

Tolya Yul-Bataar: @juneberrie @horny4knives

[ladelinee]

Authors note: Here it is! My first fanfic! It took me a long time I know, I blocked myself a bit at the end 😅. But it’s done. enjoy cuties!❤️ (and sorry if there are any grammar mistakes)

Word count: 3,5K

Warnings: intrusive thoughts, teasing, cussing, smoking.

All shook up

As I walked through the lobby, the click-clack of my heeled shoes broke the silence, almost like a constant drumbeat. It was just another day, another challenge.

I was staring into a blank space as if I were out of myself. Since its opening two years ago, the International has become one of the busiest hotels in Las Vegas. The reason? Elvis Presley.

His name was on everyone's lips, from my boss to the guests trying to find out more about him, it's a shame that I haven’t met him yet. And now, there I was: A young lady Guest Relations Manager having recently transferred two months ago into this male-dominated company. I often feel that the staff looked down upon me, seeing me as the mere "young and cute bossy girl." I felt that they were not taking me seriously and disregarded my suggestions. That was why I had to hide who I really am and present myself as a serious and professional person, to be respected.

At the entrance to the casino, I spotted Alex, one of my few friends here. He's the typical guy saving money for university, not taking the job too seriously but very friendly with me. A charming guy, though, nonetheless. His hidden talent is his ability to perfectly imitate Elvis, which he loves to show off whenever he can. Alex walked over to me with a big smile on his face.

"Heyy there she is, ya heard the King's comin' tonight? He's bringin' his mafia along. Ya know, with all this media buzz around him and the big show tomorrow night, he's gonna need special attention. The boss wants us to hold off the media too, so let's make sure his stay at the hotel is smooth. Hope we can make 'em feel welcome and without any troubles, ya hear baby?" He said mimicking Elvis’s southern accent to make it more interesting.

Suddenly, my heart skipped a beat. Elvis is coming. My hands began shaking and my mind was suddenly filled with a flurry of thoughts and insecurities. I've been a huge fan of him for years and was excited to see him in person, but this was different. I was here for work and was supposed to treat him the same way I would any other guest. But that thought only made my heart race even faster. It was going to be a tough night indeed.

“Are you serious?? Alright, we better start organising everything!” I said, stepping away from Alex. It was time to get started with the preparations. I had to handle everything; managing the media, securing the privacy of the other guests in the hotel, and, of course, ensuring Elvis Presley received a warm welcome at the International.

After a few hours passed, everything was in order. I started putting on my best uniform with a black blazer and skirt. I spent extra time doing my makeup, redressing my lips several times as I was feeling shaky.

My office phone rang, shaking me out of my reverie: "International Hotel, y/n speaking, what can I help?" I answered gently.

My boss cut through the pleasantries and interrupted my peace with a breathless "Elvis is in the building." Taken aback, I paused momentarily, then jumped to my feet and rushed to catch the elevator.

I found myself on the 30th floor, and all the elevators were moving very slowly, making frequent stops on each floor. In an anxious hurry, I furiously pressed the button with the feeling that my life depended on it, hoping to rush down and introduce myself to Elvis Presley. My limbs trembled, my heart was about to break free of my chest, and my breathing was quick and shallow. It was a sea of scenarios going through my mind, and I was pondering the best way to address Elvis politely.

Alex met me on my way down the elevator. Before I could say any word he said: "Hey! Where have you been? You missed Elvis Presley; he's so kind! He was very tired so he went straight to the penthouse. The Colonel asked not to disturb him, though" as the elevator began to descend again.

A wave of emotions washed over me and my stomach dropped when I realized I had missed my opportunity to meet him. I took a deep breath and tried to remain professional as the elevator doors opened and I faced my next challenge: keeping my cool, doing my job and dealing with my angry boss whose wrath I was surely to face after arriving late.

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

Sitting in my office during the night shift was torture. Boredom plagued me and the regret of not having met Elvis was too much to bear. I swore under my breath, angry at myself. The hours of the night seemed unendurable. What if I go up to the penthouse? It will get things worse… I knew this was my role and I would have to suck it up by behaving myself.

My frustration with the situation was growing and I kicked a nearby table, the sound echoing through the office. I stared at my reflection in the mirror and called myself silly for missing out on such an opportunity. Abruptly, the floor began to shake violently. I waited for a second to see if I had caused it with my kick on the table, but no, it was an earthquake! As the shaking increased, I scrambled around the hotel, searching for a safe place to wait out the disaster.

In a rush to evacuate, I made my way down the emergency stairs. Since I was relatively new to the hotel, I quickly got lost, the immense size of the building was contributing to my feeling of disorientation.

After several minutes of wandering in the dark, I spotted a dim light coming from a nearby door, the glow invited me to investigate further. Filled with curiosity, and desperate to make sense of my surroundings, I opened the door to take a closer look.

I cautiously entered the room, relieved to find the earthquake had ended, but my sense of relief quickly faded when a deep and gruff voice spoke out from the darkness.

"Hey, darlin'" The voice caught me off-guard and sent a shiver of unease down my spine.

“My, my, you're a jumpy one, aren't ya?” the deep voice replied from the darkness.

I shot back, “Well, excuse me, I wasn't expecting some kind of mysterious man in the darkness.”

I thought it might be Alex attempting to pull a silly joke on me and I was starting to feel a little annoyed. "Anyway, what are you doing here?" I inquired in a slightly irritated tone, assuming it was just a prank, considering that it was a difficult area to reach. “Seriously, Alex? Let’s go back to work and make sure everyone is safe. I didn’t have a good day and this is the last thing I need”

The figure got closer to me, gently pushed away my hair and whispered into my ear: "Sure thing, boss". I could feel his warm breath in my neck and sense the amusement in his voice, as if it were a game.

After a moment, the figure took a step back and lit a cigar, held between two ringed fingers and turned over to switch on a little lamp. When the smoke cleared, I saw the face of Elvis, with his captivating blue eyes, dark hair, perfect nose and lips. I was mesmerized by his smile, his voice was still ringing in my ears and the smoke from his cigar filled the air.

To my surprise, I discovered Elvis dressed in a black and red robe, accompanied by golden slippers. I could perceive a white item beneath the robe, but it was difficult to make out any more due to its loose cut. Furthermore, his bare, hirsute chest was appealing, and it was all that I could focus on.

My body was flooded with adrenaline, as if about to burst. I felt intimidated by Elvis's physical presence but also filled with excitement and an intense attraction. I was frozen, unable to process what was happening, my blood boiling with a cocktail of emotions.

Elvis noticed my reaction.

"Ahh, so you do know who I am?" Elvis purred, the deep voice sending a shiver of anticipation down my spine.

With a sly grin, he leaned in close, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered, "Sweetheart, I have to admit, I'm really enjoying this game. You're making this really fun to play."

He took a step back and blew out a big puff of cigar smoke, smiling broadly, savouring the moment and taking enjoyment in my reaction.

Even if I wanted to scream and go to his arms, I had to remain calm and professional. Actually, not reacting would be a nice strategy as he will see that his play game is not working.

“Mr. Presley, nice to meet you… unfortunately under these circumstances. I am glad you are enjoying the premises of this hotel. I would never have guessed you were in... in… “- damn, I didn't even know where I was.

“In the backstage of the showroom?” He chuckled.

“Hell, I’m more than enjoying the hotel, sugar. I gotta say the International is quite lovely. The room is very good and inviting. The bed is…” He changed his facial expression as if he was aware of something and started staring at my body while walking around me. “Oh boy, so comfortable and tender. I would sleep in there all night”

Is he talking about the hotel? I was getting confused by his words.

“Okay, the lobby was nice, but now, ya'll have to excuse my language, darlin', but the hallways in this hotel” Elvis pauses, his tone turning even friskier, his gaze never left my body, running from top to bottom and back again.

"The hallways are… oh gosh, phenomenal. And then the casino... the casino, dear god, that place is…” He takes a moment to catch his breath, his eyes moving slowly across my body once again.

"It's like a playground for sin, darlin', and I could be playing for hours.” He pauses, smiling slyly as he lets the words sink in and stare at my eyes.

Right, he is definitely not talking about the hotel.

Before I could even consider how to respond to what I had just heard, our feet began to feel a familiar vibration. The earthquake was back and even more intense than the previous one. As I noticed a tower of precariously stacked chairs near the door begin to shake, I realized that they were about to fall towards us. Elvis acted quickly, grabbing me and pulling me to the ground for safety.

All I heard was an abundance of noise, and I could not see any clear semblance of my surroundings. This was primarily due to Elvis's arms and body shielding me for protection, blocking my view. With my eyes tightly closed, I waited until the violent shaking ceased.

"There you go. Now we can finish our little talk, 'ya alright, baby?" Elvis whispered. I cracked my eyes open when the commotion ceased, finding Elvis on top of me. He was supporting himself with his arms each just inches apart from both sides of my face, close to either cheek, leaving me speechless. I had never been so close to him before, I could feel his accelerated breath and smell his cologne - a combination of manly and clean and woody scents mixed with cigar aroma that had a truly captivating effect on me.

I felt something cold against my chin, and when I took a quick peek, I saw a golden necklace dangling from his neck. It gave me a quick peek of his bare chest, I had to struggle to control my blushes.

Reality hit me hard. If my boss found out that Elvis was injured and I didn't do anything to help him, I would be in a whole lot of trouble.

"Mr. Presley!" I exclaimed with a panicked tone. "Are you hurt? I am so sorry; it's me who should've looked after you. Please let me help you," I continued, as the anxiety consumed my body.

Elvis's smile faded from his face, as he focused on something else. This worried me since I didn't know what he was looking at. Was I bleeding or something?

To my surprise, he put his hand on my chest. My heart started to race. "Well, bless my soul! What a fine name you got Miss y/n y/ln" he said, reading my employer badge. His smile returned, leaving me feeling a bit flustered and exposed.

"Mr. Presley, I understand that you wish to learn my name, but I don't believe it is the best time for that" I responded in an attempt to maintain my cool.

“Please Mr. Presley, let me check if you are alright” I requested, trying to free myself from him. “Sorry this place is a bit tight I can’t barely move if you could please stand for a second…”

Elvis chuckled again, his eyes were sparkling with mischief. “Oh darlin’ I ain’t hurt. But I appreciate your care. Don't ya worry, I've been in tighter spots than this" he said, standing up and walking over to the wall.

I couldn’t help but feel anger rising within me; I was convinced that he treated every woman in the same manner. Despite those emotions, I desired his compliments to keep coming; had I become insane?

"I think I need to leave to make sure that everyone is safe," I said, cutting him off. Setting my pride and responsibilities as my top priority.

“Darlin’ don't even try and hide it, ya know you’re blushing like a damn beetroot” He gave me a naughty smirk.

I looked at him, and I walked towards the door, intending to leave the room. I felt like he was objectifying me, and I was not going to allow such a thing. “Good night, Mr Presley” I replied politely.

“Hey hold your horses lil’ lady! And please call me Elvis”. He continued, his tone more relaxed and friendly after seeing my reaction.

With a sense of courage, I grabbed the door handle, ready to exit the room and leave Elvis behind. I wondered what would happen next. I wasn’t sure if I was going to be strong enough to deal with my boss and meet Elvis’s requests. Maybe the best choice would be to resign. Yet, I was still waiting for him to beg me: "Please don't go, please don't go." He had me completely hooked already. And then…

The door was locked.

“C’mere sweetheart, m’sorry… I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.“ he said as he was walking close to me. “it was just a little tease, I didn't mean any disrespect, honey. You're a truly amazing woman." Elvis continued, curling one lip cheekily, making me smile a little.

“Apologies accepted. But I’m afraid we have a little problem, Elvis.” His eyes shined when I called him by his name.

“The door is locked. I am sorry, I could not even bring a walkie with me in case of emergency”

“Ah sweetheart, ya ain’t have to be sorry. I like stayin' here with ya, but I’m impressed how good ya are and how much ya care about others, we gotta lot in common. We both put our hearts into what we do, no matter what, ya know what I mean? So I’ll understand if ya wanna leave”

His words shocked me a bit. I made the wrong judgment about him. Despite the enormous fame that comes with being Elvis Presley and being surrounded by people constantly, he remained very kind towards me. Even so, with the earthquake, he was still gentle and protected me. This man surely belongs to another world.

“Darlin’, ya want me to open the door for ya?” He asked, leaving me concerned.

“Oh no, please don’t push or bang I don’t want you to get hurt” I insisted.

“Honey. I’ll show ya how a real man handles a door. Step on the side” He said with confidence.

His words made me confused, I didn't know what to expect next. Elvis opened up his robe, reaching deep inside his chest where the white strip was. To my surprise, the white strip was a shoulder holster. he took out the gun and fired at the door as it was made of paper.

The noise was deafening, and made me scream in shock and take refuge in his arms. I thought the bullet might ricochet and come right back at us.

“Y'know, sugar, maybe that ain't your first scream, but I promise ya ain't gonna be the last one" Elvis joked while looking at me in a teasing way with his right eyebrow raised.

"Are you kidding me right now?" I asked with an irritated tone. "You just fired a fucking gun right next to my ear!" He didn't seem to take me seriously, instead smiling slyly and wrapping his arms around me.

"Don't get angry, darlin'," he said, his breath making me shiver. His chest was still exposed, and I had to fight not to look.

"You're right, I shouldn't have scared you like this" he continued, his tone soothing. "But at least I did open the door, right?"

"You're right" I whispered back, my voice trembling. "At least you did open the door." I looked up at him, his gaze locked with mine, my breathing getting heavier.

"I think you're enjoying this little surprise,darlin’” was all Elvis said with a charming grin, caressing my back with his fingers while the other hand kept me firmly to him.

I tried to struggle out of his grasp, but his big and strong arms were impossible to pry free. And to be honest, I wasn't really trying so hard to escape his embrace, either. In fact, I was starting to feel quite...

"Yes, I think you like it." Elvis breathed deeply, his voice and breath coming across as both intense and sultry as he was feeling my heartbeat.

My irritation and annoyance started to disappear, and I couldn't fight the urge to look at him.

When I realized what I was doing. I pulled away from him to regain awareness of myself. I knew I shouldn't be acting this way, yet I was helpless against the charm that Elvis held.

Elvis chuckled softly as I pulled away and straightened myself. He looked at me with a warm smile, his eyes sparkling with amusement and something more.

Suddenly, we heard a sound, and I assumed that it was the rumblings of the earthquake. However, when the footsteps began to get louder, we realized that it was actually a pair of feet rushing towards us.

Eventually, Joe Esposito opened the door from the other side. There was a distinct look of surprise on his face when he saw us.

"Elvis? Elvis! Are you ok?" Joe asked, his voice tinged with concern. "We were looking for you and heard the gunshots, what's going on?" He inquired, relieved but also worried.

“Hey man, all good don’t ya worry. We just got stuck down here. But thank God miss y/ln was very professional and supportive. My clever girl…” Elvis winked at me and smiled.

"Good evening, Mr. Esposito." I had met Joe previously while working with Elvis and was aware of his efforts in coordinating everything around the hotel in advance for him.

"Thank you for locating us." I said in a grateful tone, "I've made my attempts to keep Elvis safe at all times while we were inside this room, and I'm grateful that you've come to assist us."

Joe remarked with a smile, "Miss Y/ln, thank you so much for your exceptional services. Now I know that Elvis was in safe hands. Let me give you my number to keep in touch, beautiful. You deserve a good tip."

Before Joe could proceed, Elvis stopped him and whispered something quietly to him and Joe stopped. I couldn't make out what was said, but Elvis's expression was serious. After the little whisper, Elvis looked at me with a warm smile.

"Well, Miss," Joe continued, "I better take Elvis to a safe place immediately. The Colonel is going nuts!"

“Absolutely” I replied "If you require any additional assistance, do not hesitate to let me know. Have a lovely evening, gentlemen."

As I flashed my customer-service smile, Elvis returned my expression with a sly, cheeky grin. I couldn't help but return the gesture, amused by his impish expression.

“Nice to meet ya Miss y/ln. Until we get locked again in another dark room sometime.” Elvis mumbled with a smirk as he walked down the corridor.

“Sure thing, boss” I smiled whispering to myself.

Part 2 here!

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

I honestly hate how the shipping discourse for the show is all about which guy Katara should end up with and no one questions why we think Katara needs a boyfriend by the end or if she should have had one. Like the big problem with Kataang is it's treatment as necessary. I guarantee that a canon Zutara would have been similarly mocked and derided for how forced it was that these characters who had maybe three scenes of positive interaction in the whole show would suddenly be made the endgame couple in the finale, like it would be far more infamous than Kataang.

I don't agree that Kataang was treated as "necessary" as in "Katara NEEDS a boyfriend because a female character NEEDS to have a romance arc/subplot because that is a RULE of writting, not an optional thing to add to a story" but rather as in "This was literally set up, foreshadowed and developed from the beginning and we're not throwing it away just because the fandom latched onto a different idea" which is how good storytelling works.

Katara had plenty of moments that developed and challenged her as a character without romance being a factor. Her friendship with Aang was equally as meaningful and important to the story as their romance. Kataang might not be everyone's cup of tea - hell, for a while I was only lukewarm on it myself - but it is very far from this "problem" people act like it was.

But you are fully correct when you say Zutarians tend to act like Katara is only worth anything if she's with Zuko - that's why the overwhelming majority of them disregard EVERYTHING about her character to pretend she was "just Aang's girl even though Zuko is better" and their fanfics/headcanons have her do things like move to HIS nation, marry him and be FIRE Lady, dress only in RED, only care about the politics of HIS nation, and their kids only ever inherit HIS title and home (even in stories in which the South actually has stuff).

They disrespect and disregard Katara WAY more than the show or any Kataang fan I've ever seen ever did. The series actually treated her with a lot of respect - again, I'll never stop pointing this out, we hear HER backstory and motivations in the first minute of the show, while Zuko and Aang only got the same threatment 11 episodes later. The writers even made her suddenly go from "struggling to learn waterbending without a teacher" to "Self-taught prodigy" because they realized there'd be more opportunities for her character to shine if she was already great at it.

[cauliflowertree]

hi fern!! could you do remus lupin with "you're cute when you're jealous."

maybe slytherin!reader?

remus lupin—honey sweet.

summary: remus finds your jealousy amusing.

word count: 0.5k

fanfic no. 034

everyone seemed to be obsessed with the marauders, particularly the gryffindors—they all wanted to be a part of their group, sit with them at dinner or be their friend, the honorary fourth member, for no one ever seemed to count you, lily, marlene or dorcas. those who nurtured small crushes on the boys even cheered for them during quidditch matches, regardless of the house in which they belonged.

it was simply the way it was. and though remus told you time and time again he had eyes for no one but you, your jealousy could still get the better of you. you’d no cause for concern, but it was the blatant disregard these people had for your feelings, or your existence in general.

this time it was some gryffindor, it was always worse when they were gryffindor—they didn’t like that remus lupin was with a slytherin. they were congratulating him on his latest exam marks, top of the school; you were so proud. but surely your pride was the only one that mattered to remus. yours and his friends’.

out of the corner of his eye, remus could see you seething, your lips pressed in a tight, thin line, your countenance threatening. he tried to bite back a smile, for it was all very amusing to him, and not offend whoever was speaking to him. and when they were finally done with their little speech, they congratulated him one last time with a lingering arm touch.

“right!” you sounded from across the room, having had quite enough.

“thanks so much,” remus said quickly, shooing them off.

he walked over to you with haste, grasping your hand in his to walk you back over to where you’d been sitting. he laughed quietly, though this time he could understand your aggravation.

“it was nothing,” remus said calmly, caressing your cheek.

“it was not nothing. they were flirting with you. they always flirt with you. and they don’t care that you have me, that’s what makes it so frustrating,” you explained, leaning into his touch.

“it was nothing to me,” remus altered his previous statement, rubbing his thumb over your cheek. “you know, you’re cute when you’re jealous.”

you tried, and failed, to maintain an expression of anger, to dramatise the seriousness of the situation. but you could never stay angry for long when remus was around—it simply dissipated.

“awh, rem,” you laughed bashfully, pressing your forehead against his chest.

he knew how to diffuse all the anger built up inside you and replace it with nothing but adoration. he knew the very inner workings of your heart, like it was a mechanism he had taken time to learn and master.

“come here, darling,” remus instructed, lifting your head up by your jaw, “let me kiss you.”

you nodded, wetting your lips slightly in preparation for the long, lingering kiss remus left you with, perfectly aware of who would be watching.

🏷 @cherrystrees @sw34terw34ther @imabee-oralizard @mad-elia @velvetcloxds @natashxromanovf @masivechaos @ell0ra-br3kk3r @garfieldsladybird @flesh--amnesiac @maricoolerthanme @uwiuwi @juneberrie @goodoldfashionedluvergirl

[e-leohiss]

"Debts & Owes" || A Soap MacTavish fan-fiction

Characters involved: Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Price, & Laswell, + others. Pairing: Soap x Fem!Navy!Reader Wordcount: 7.9K Contains: violence, blood, cursing, swearing, rage, abuse, near-death scenarios, aggression, vengeance, bit of fluff, slowburn, I-like-you-but-I'm-not-aware, Song link: Devil in a Dress - Teddy Swims

Autor's note: Finally dropped the final output for this Soap fanfic *weeps in Victorian*

**PLEASE DO NOT translate, repost, or in any way reformat my work on this site and on any other social media.

"Debts & Owes"

Fingernails impatiently tapped the clipboard’s surface. Kate Laswell checked the wall clock for the nth time since the minute-hand had passed four o’clock. Forty minutes were closing in excruciatingly slow and there was a lot they had to discuss. However, the last set of people required for the meeting have yet to show. 

Kate’s eyes shifted to the clock and the minute-hand struck the 8th. “C’mon, Laswell. Take a seat already, would you?” the Brit’s smooth voice pleaded to the Station Chief. She’d been leaning down on her palms bowed over the head of the desk for quite a while which disquieted the sergeant. However, she didn’t give in to Garrick’s plea.

To the right of Gaz, Soap scoffed as he flipped an unsheathed pocket knife in his hand, “Bunch o’ tardy toads they are. Professional my arse –”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, sergeant,” Captain Price chided. The Scot combed his mohawk back with a curse under his breath. Price shook his head and leaned back further on the edge of the desk with crossed arms. “Where the fuck is the Rear Admiral?” he questioned. He, too, was restless.  

Kate stood up straight. “Let’s give them a couple more minutes. We’re commissioned to work with the Navy for this operation so we will have to wait,” she reasoned. Though her expression exhibited a cool, spiking displeasure at the tardiness of their awaited guests. Kate had been given an update earlier that Rear Admiral Myers and her party had touched down on time. So, what could possibly be stalling them?

Gaz perked at the new information. “The Navy, you said?” his gaze shifted between Laswell and Price. “You interested in tellin’ the Navy Admiral to sod off if they show?” asked the third Brit in the room. The corner of Gaz’s mouth quirked, “You’re barking at the wrong tree, mate. Soap appears to be a better candidate than I.”

Soap scoffed yet his spirits seemed to lift at the topic. He pointed his pocket knife at Gaz and Ghost, “Naw jist haud on. Dinnae ken about that, but I’m gaunnie skelp a memo up those navy numpties’ unpunctual hides. Aye, make ‘em greet layk wee bairns.” he said.

Gaz released a half-suppressed laugh at Soap’s words that he didn’t fully understand, whereas Ghost rolled his eyes. “Fucking Scots,” he drawled. On the other hand, Price and Laswell chose to disregard Soap’s flippancy due to mutual thoughts…and because they were slightly amused. 

But their banter was cut short when the door rattled open. 

Speaking of the devil, Rear Admiral Myers sauntered in sporting the prominent dark navy blue service uniform. Her sleeves displayed two golden bands and above her chest two silver stars. The Task force formally acknowledged the presence of the rear admiral by standing up at attention, addressing the Navy admiral simultaneously. Kate met R.Adm. Loraine Myers halfway offering a handshake, “We’ve been expecting you, Rear Admiral Myers. I’m glad you’re here.”

“My apologies for my late coming, Chief Laswell. Got side-tracked a bit back there with a call,” R.Adm. Myers apologized, to which Gaz deliberately raised a daring brow at Soap. Laswell proceeded with brief introductions of herself and Task Force 141.

At last, the remaining navy sailors entered the meeting room led by an older soldier.

Laswell espied your five-member group which Myers noticed. “Laswell, here’s the team of the S.W.C.C. I mentioned before: Captain Benson, Lieutenant Junior Grade Hunter, and Lieutenants Griffs, Weston, and…” the admiral pointed at each respective sailor, ending with your surname. 

You all acknowledged Laswell and the Task Force. The captains even exchanged a couple of words between themselves. Both men were well-experienced through years or service yet Benson was on the older side. “Captain Price, I’m looking forward to working with you and your team,” said Benson, who grasped the Brit’s hand firmly. Price gave the slightly shorter man a curt nod, “Same here, Captain Benson. Hope the trip hasn’t made you all knackered.”

“Been a while since I’ve left my post, very refreshing. The air out here is less salty, if you ask me,” Benson jested. Smile lines decorated his cheeks under his salt and pepper scruff. 

Your team walked further in just as Laswell revived the projector. Soldiers from different military branches eyed each other's unfamiliar faces. Ghost, with his skulled balaclava on, received second looks. But being himself he simply looked back unabated. Surprisingly, one of the female sailors, named Hunter, paused behind him, bent down, and asked plainly, “‘Scuse me, sir. Not to be rude or anything but where can I purchase a cool mask like yours?”

Soap and Gaz, who sat on either side of Ghost, overheard. They exchanged looks — stunned by the woman’s boldness. Soap was about to interfere but someone got to it before he could act.

You landed a heavy hand on Hunter’s lower back eliciting a yelp from her. “Quit being rude, fool,” you scolded Hunter with a frown. Fortunately, none of the captains, the admiral, and Laswell had noticed the interaction as they were occupied skimming through each other’s printed files. 

You clicked your tongue, cocking your head to the side for her to continue walking. A sigh erupted from across the table, it was Lieutenant Frederick Griffs.

“Apologies, Lieutenant Riley. My comrade lacks proper manners when…inquisitive,” Griffs let out a strained cough. “We’ll sort her out ourselves after. Please, excuse her.”

“She’s all yours,” Ghost simply dismissed. He distinctly remembered a similar encounter with a certain Scot who demonstrated a rather bold greeting as well. 

You escorted Hunter as she rubbed the sore spot on her back. 

Ariel Hunter is the youngest in your group, 26 summers old, who still had the aura of a young-in. But, you and your group knew that she only seemed immature due to her curious nature. Honed exemplary skills of a promising sailor no doubt, but you looked out for her most times because the eldest-child-streak in you runs on auto-pilot. 

“Third hit today, really?” Hunter groaned. You pulled out the chair for her, “You’re incorrigible, Ariel. Keep your head straight, will ya?” 

Weston turned in his seat to present a teasing grin, “Yeah, Ariel, focus or else Ms. Sebastian here is going to be all up your ass. Poor you,” he used a thumb to point at you. Ariel snickered behind her hand at his joke referencing ‘The Little Mermaid’.

You flashed him a mocking grin while choosing a seat at the end of the table, right across a sergeant named MacTavish.

“Mind if I take this seat, Sgt. MacTavish?” you asked him. He looked up at you and shook his head. “No. Ye go ahead, Lieutenant.” You thanked him softly and took your seat. The minutes to follow required your full attention. 

“Soldiers, you are here to be informed that our target is a smuggling organization operating on the East shores. A covert mission with an assault team formed between Task Force 141 and the SWCCs, mission ‘Shark Coast’,” Laswell began. 

~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**

// 3:53 P.M. //

On the East coast within one of the hidden sites of the smuggling organization.

Soap pushed the battered door open and immediately ran to your crumpled form on the ground, walking right past the wounded corpse of a patrol guard that you’d taken down. The walls of the 3-story building weren’t going to hold much longer. The brittle concrete echoed throughout the compound sprinkling you in powder of cement. 

“Lieutenant! Ye awright, lassie?” He examined your body for signs of injuries even when you’d said you were good. “Thought I saw a familiar ally sneaking past the warehouse,” he hoisted you up by the arm. “Right, let’s get out of here.”

Your forehead scrunched further and critical eyes snapped to him. “MacTavish,” you spoke, voice hoarse, “what the fuck took you so long–”. The sudden urge to cough struck your tonsils. You coughed up the dust stuck in your throat spitting the mixture of saliva and dirt to the side. Soap stepped back to give you space at an arm’s length. You heaved, feeling the irritation in your throat alleviate a considerable amount. 

“Ten damn minutes of no response. Captain was about to burst a vein whether to come back for you or consider you K.I.A, sergeant,” you apathetically addressed the soldier. “Price wanted to stay back — refused to even get near the boat — but Benson agreed that I come look for you so everyone could exfil to secure intel at camp. Reinforcement will wait at the extraction point.”

But before Soap could explain why he had temporarily become M.I.A, small chunks from the ceiling began to drop. Both soldiers heard the metallic screeches around the building, solid pressure forcing metal to succumb.”Shite,” grunted Soap. Both of you ducked instinctively when a bigger portion of cement fell nearby.

“Take cover!” he shouted as the floor began to shake. Both of you leg it. Slinging rifles over your shoulders, you both maneuvered across the rubble heading straight for the desk by the opposite wall — the only furniture to shield both of you. You made it under the desk first, palms pressing up its surface to stabilize it. Soap gets underneath it beating the plummeting chunks and dirt a second early which would have landed on him. 

Eyes shut and faces turned the opposite way avoiding the cloud of gray powder that followed. “Fucking hell!” cursed Soap, coughing a bit into the crease of his arm. “No fucking shit!” you commented. Bits and pieces rolled over the edge of the desk overhead; all three floors projecting the wails of the collapsing building. 

You pushed up harder as the desk rattled. One hand goes down to check your radio, “Damn it all,” you cursed. You saw its wire torn right at the top, unmistakably caused by the physical fight with an enemy earlier. All of a sudden, Soap’s comms went off, his earpiece projecting mere glitches and static due to the weak signal; yet he spoke into it with hope that the receiver would catch his message. “Shark-Seven-One, negative on exit route –” a loud crash interrupted him. He doesn’t waste another second, “Building’s ‘bout to give out. Second floor fourth room on the right! We’re trapped!” But no clear response from the receiver came through. 

His comms weren’t working, that’s why.

Your thoughts are frenzied as you list the possibilities of your awaiting fate.

(a) I could be buried alive.

(b) We miraculously survive yet are halfway dead.

(c) I’d lose a limb or two, or paralyzed.

(d) Brain matter coats this sorry excuse of a building.

(e) We’re found but as good as dead.

Try me. Let it fucking try me. 

Your eyes scanned the area frantically. The wall to your left was almost entirely full of sliding glass windows. Large enough for a person to climb out of, luckily Soap can fit through. Your hands searched the pockets of your tactical bag for the dynamic rope. Soap noticed your sudden behavior. “Ye’ve got a plan, lass!” he exclaimed over the noise.

You cocked your head towards the windows explaining hurriedly,  “We rappel down and pray we’ve got some cushioning down there if we need to jump.” He mimicked you and pulled out a rope he had from his pack. “Getting buried alive isn’t my thing.”

You tied the rope around your thighs and waist. “Are you in?!”

The look in Soap’s eyes changed as he listened to you. His baby blue eyes shrouded with valor, “Aye, I’m with ye!” 

“Then keep up, Sarge!” You stepped out and bolted for the windows with cautious steps. You both heard glass crackle as the portion above the window breaks. A split in the glass lengthened gradually. Pressured by the time running out — you sent a gloved fist through the brittle barrier. “God damn —” you swore.

“Sufferin’ Jesus — are ye good?” he yelled. You replied sarcastically, “Jesus is perfectly fine.” 

Soap scoffed butwore a subtle smile as he tied the end of your ropes to the frame with haste before he slid it open for a wider exit. You ignored the pulsating ache of your fist as you swiped at the edges of the metal frame with a large portion of cement you’d picked up to clear off the shards.

Both of you peered down; twenty feet above, give or take. “There’s nothing,” you huffed. You’d both have to rappel all the way to the ground.

 A piercing crash outside the room had both of you duck out of reflex. Then a second crash —

“Jump, Soap!” He turned to face you, shocked. “You first–”

You grabbed the top of his vest and tugged it hard, giving him a firm, persistent look, “Show yourself out, or else I’m kickin’.”

Third crash. Fourth…

You pushed him toward the exit, twisted a section of his rope around the metal frame and both of your palms, and braced your foot on the window frame.

“Run for the open field once you get down. Now move it!” 

Soap quickly climbed out and took position by hanging on the edge of the window sill. He paused to look up at you. “I’ll see down there, L.T.,” he said, words solid they could have been stone. You nodded, “Affirm.”

He sucked in a breath then repelled his way down as fast as he could while you stabilized the rope for his safe descent.

Once his rope lost tension, you climbed out; you even lost your footing when a portion under your boot came off which made your heart pause in alarm. The air was thick in your nostrils as gray particles accumulated behind you. “Shit, shit, shit…” you chanted.

You mindlessly continued to talk to yourself out of stress, “Don’t be a coward. You’re a sailor who dives off the warship. Better I be shot between the eyes than be a damn pussy in this bitch–”

“Jump, woman!” Soap called out from a distance, warning you of the seconds that had passed unbelievably fast. Although you barely heard him over the noise as the second floor finally gave out right as you jumped with all your might. 

~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~

// 8:26 P.M. //

Within the heavily guarded grounds of the military campsite.

The dark of night mostly kept the camp shrouded from outsiders. Dim lights and lanterns lit the interiors and exteriors of the surrounding tents.

“If ye’d seen what she did, L.T.. A dare-devil, that lassie,” Soap voiced exasperatedly at his passive teammate. Task Force 141 had just finished being debriefed and both Soap and Ghost were headed in the same direction for a well-earned break. As soon as they had left Laswell’s tent, Soap began to run his mouth describing your near-death experience. 

“Jumping off a bloody window; hangin’ from a shabby branch as if ‘em messenger storks dropped her from the skies like those wee bairns carried in white sheets,” exclaimed Soap in disbelief; forehead crumpled and hands waving in the air as he walked backwards facing Ghost. 

Ghost rolled his eyes subtly at his companion’s behavior, “Quit that Johnny or you’ll lose your bloody footing—”

“And then the lass cursed at me! For not helping her down sooner!” Soap’s mind vividly replayed the scene of you hanging for dear life by arms and legs on the dingy branch, rope connected to the debris a few meters away pulling your hips down a bit. 

“Don’t just stand there gaping like a fish and cut the rope you useless bastard!” you yelled at him as he stood stunned, gaping up at you from a distance.

He huffed at the memory, and it was almost as if he could hear your stern voice now.

Under his breath he muttered, “Jings, crivvens, help mah boab.”

Ghost shook his head. “It’s one thing your comms were bollocked or you’d’ve heard me cursin’ your ear off for not reaching the boat on time,” he blatantly commented.

Soap raised a taunting brow at him, “What’s the difference? Ye’d take pleasure cursin’ me anyway.”

“Hit the nail right on its fucking head.”

“— beat you Ford, drop it already!” Your sharp voice that pierced through the dark of night made Soap react instantly. He caught Ghost’s eyes scanning him up and down because of how tense he suddenly got.

Soap regained his composure before turning around to spot the source. And there you stood outside a large green tent with two of your comrades, Weston and Griffs. He and Ghost both watched as you landed a low kick behind Frederick Griffs’ legs; whose laughter doubled at your sudden aggression, side stepping out of your reach.

Gerald “Gator” Weston perked up when he noticed Soap and Ghost a few paces away. “Evenin’ fellas!” he called out with a hand up. “You two done for the day?” he asked.

You and Griff’s bicker halted to acknowledge Soap and Ghost who’d walked closer. Ghost nodded his head whereas Soap quirked his lips in recognition.

“Lieutenants. Aye, I’m accompanying Ghost for a quick smoke,” replied Soap. “Said I’d spook the others if I’m found alone out here,” Ghost added.

This caused the three of you to react and Soap’s grin to widen. Griffs chuckled, “Respectfully Ghost, with them shadows on your side, you’d be mistaken for a phantom.” 

“And you’re an idiot, Ford…” You commented lowly, using his nickname. Griffs held his hands up in surrender, a mischievous smile plastered on his lips, “My bad. Just kidding.” He tipped his head at Ghost. 

“Tell me something I’ve yet to hear,” Ghost scoffed.

“Thank you, Ghost but I’m passing that privilege to the next person  — oof!” 

You stepped in, “What he means, L.t. Riley, is that it is a privilege his tongue can wag even when threatened of being cut off.” You peered down at Griffs who was hunched over from your jab, and you fought the urge to grimace at him. Weston was busy containing his laughter behind his hand. 

Soap couldn’t help but be attentive with your behavior. He took note that you seemed to frequently keep your teammates in check, under control. And he couldn’t help but somehow trace the same behavior back when you had risked your life coming back to search for his missing ass, and perhaps to shoot him down yourself.

Weston spoke up, “And it seems Ford here deserves a couple of minutes to self-reflect on the matter,” he jerked his head towards Griffs, “so don’t let us keep you both from goin’ about. Have a good evenin’ then.” 

Griffs straightened his back carefully. His right hand hovered above his sore gut but he still managed to flash a pained smile at Ghost and Soap, waving a hand in the air. 

“Lassie.”

You looked up and found his eyes on you. Soap stood about three-feet away, yet strangely he felt near. Everything else even felt too quiet as you focused on him.

Odd. 

The feel of the air surrounding you had shifted quickly. You would’ve taken a step back weren’t it for the sight of his chin hovering above the top of his chest as he gazed at you through his eyelashes. “I just wanted to say…” Soap’s tongue fumbled as he said your name. 

Much odd.

Soap blinked in realization that he had been looking at you unusually longer than normal. His eyes alternated between you and whatever. “I’ve yet to properly thank you, havnae I?” Soap sounded more embarrassed as his own words sunk in. 

“Thank ye for getting me out alive. Ye saved us both. I could be laying in my grave — or in a jar, if it wasnna for you,” his boots shuffled the dirt underneath. His eyes met yours again, but this time without breaking eye-contact. “I owe ye one, Lieutenant… Truly.”

Soap may not have noticed himself but the sudden sincerity that coated his words had you momentarily stunned. “But, it was you who found me first. Remember?” you reminded him.

“I ken. But it was your idea. And yer threat that got my hide moving, remember?”

You scoffed as if to say, ‘alright, fine’. “It’s no problem, really. I was just doing my job. You’re welcome, Sgt. MacTavish,” you responded quite flustered.

“Soap — call me, Soap,” he corrected quickly. The corner of your lips quirked upward, “Alright, Soap. If you insist.” You offered him a hand, “Go by San, or Saint, whichever you prefer. Though I’m afraid I only earned such a title through a joke. May God forgive me.” You shook your head at the memory. Soap gave your hand a firm shake.

“Saint, eh? Cannae say it doesna fit ye.”

His accent took you a second to comprehend his words but you didn’t comment on it. “He said it suits you,” Ghost explained from behind.

Soap turned to him, “Och, none o’ that! She understood what I said, L.T.”

“Whatever sings you to sleep, Johnny.”

“Haud yer weesht!”

You and the others couldn’t help but watch amused at their exchange. ‘They both get along very well’, you thought. Soap turned to you again, “I’m serious. As long as I’m able, I’m at yer service…San. Ye have my word.”

Instinctively, you would’ve told him to think of such nonsense, that his words of gratitude were enough. But the look in his eyes, the very same look you’d seen back in the mission, were compelling.

You took a step closer to him, bringing a friendly fist upon his collarbone. “I see no reason not to take your word,” your hand dropped to your side. “I appreciate it, Soap.”

Soap’s expression brightened. His hand reached around to clap you on your shoulder.

“I kent ye wouldna.”

~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**

Days, weeks, till almost four months have passed with the team consumed in carrying out mission after mission against the smugglers. It was tiring for everyone due to battles being fought on both water and land.

Although soldiers — no matter how tough — always found a way to raise their spirits, as did you. And to your surprise, conversing with a certain Scotsman became a daily routine.

As the entire mission was coming to its near end, the sight of him from a distance had you thinking back to some of the memorable interactions with him from the past couple of months.

One time, Hunter had snatched your unfinished written report and ran straight out of the tent. Most probably to reference some ideas to include in hers. Coincidentally, Soap had been nearby.

“Ariel — your ass is mine!”

“Pipe down, lassie, or you'll be mistaken for a bear. And there are no bears here, ye ken.”

You crossed your arms. “Better a bear than a rubber bird. Ain’t that right, ”

His mouth stretched into a grin, “I aim to charm, milady.” He did a neck bow while his hand twirled in the air. “Dear damsel, how may I allay your misfortune?” 

You released a sigh at his gentleman-act but accepted his offer to help. “Tell you what,” I looked him in the eyes, “you get my papers back unripped, and I’ll consider our agreement fair and done. Hm?”

He clicked his tongue. “You cannae be serious about getting yer papers back as being equal as when ye saved me.” He walked closer, stopping to stand before you. “I’ll go an’ get ‘em but my debt still stands. Unpaid, mind ye.”

He returned a while later with your report, with its thief.

Or that one time when almost every team member had gathered to eat dinner by the bonfire and you’d taken upon yourself to tend to other’s needs so the hungry soldiers could eat undisturbed after a hurricane of duties.

“Take it already…Where’s the water? Weird how you ask me as soon as you sit down, huh?...Captain, can I get you anything?...You too, Gaz? Anyone else want some water? Alright.” You made your way ‘round back the camp’s mobile kitchen in hope’s of this being a one-time trip.

You were preoccupied filling your hands with bottles of water when a hand unexpectedly plucked two from your clutch. “I’ll take it from here, San. Go on and eat yer dinner. Ye can take my spot over there, I’m done anyways.”

“I can manage. I’ll pass these around first then eat,” you declined and grabbed another bottle before turning on your heel.

He blocked your way. “Don’t you worry. I got it. Here, let me take them from ye,” he persisted. He left you the second he’d taken every single bottle.

“Now who ordered water?! Garrick? Didna you walk just fine seconds before? Here’s yer blasted water. Get you a spoon? There’s one by yer feet, wash it with yer water, eejit. You’re wasting fine utensils.”

And another, after a recon mission at a different hostile hideout that almost lasted two days.

“Medic! We need medic now!” someone yelled from the warship’s weather deck. 

Your speedboat was the last to exfil out due to the heavy cargo on board, causing your trio to be sitting ducks for the hostiles to take out. But using bullets wasn’t an option for them due to the fragile cargo. Whatever was in those couldn’t be damaged, and as their final attempt to retrieve the cargo, they utilized a chemical weapon called “mustard agent”. 

Luckily back up on-land were able to take the hostiles out making it possible for a narrow escape, but with a cost.

“I’m fine so help Ford!” you stepped back to steer clear of the two medical members. They had been attempting to calm you down since you got on the warship but your eyes always checked to see Ford. You tried to ignore the intense itch on your forearms as you held them up to avoid physical contact. A hand suddenly grabbed the collar of your vest forcefully. “Lieutenant!” bellowed Cpt. Benson.

You looked up at him with trepidation. Not because of him, but because of Ford’s state. You could hear the pained noises as other medics tended him. Benson jerked you back once, “Wake. Up.”

You both stared each other dead in the eyes. And with that look a lot was spoken. He immediately released his grip when you had realized your irrationality.

“Let them help you,” he motioned for the two medical soldiers. “Ford is in good hands, I promise. But if you die from infection, I’ll make sure to write your cause of death as ‘stupidity’.” Benson’s gaze shifted to look behind you. “Ah. Sgt. Soap, mind if I ask you to accompany Saint while she gets examined?”

You turned your face halfway to look behind you through the corner of your eyes. Soap wore a neutral expression as he replied, “Not at all, sir. I’ll stay with her.”

With that, he made sure you got everything you needed to recover the rest of the day. He’d even updated you on Griffs’ state, leaving you a handful of times to check for himself, even when you’d told him not to. No matter how many times you’d told him it was fine to leave you in the infirmary, he did not budge and continued to run his mouth to “entertain”. Soap accompanied you till past midnight to switch with Hunter, much to your relief.

Stubborn, mohawked Scot. 

Your hands may have been covered in blisters but your foot did the job in interrupting his rambling. Twice. 

Heaviness in the air.

A dark gray sky spread overhead. “Move aside,” Griffs grumbled. Gaz mimicked his movement, blocking him. “Easy, mate. Let them finish first, yeah?” Gaz reasoned, but was disregarded.

Griffs looked past Gaz to face Cpt. Benson. “Tell me which one did it,” he fumed. “Ford, get your head straight, son,” Benson ordered. “You’ll get your answers but I ain’t gonna listen to you actin’ like that.”

Every soldier present could see how infuriated your comrade was. Weston was angry as well but he controlled it far more better. His attention, however, was too focused on Griffs to notice your furtive movements headed elsewhere.

In the center of camp, soldiers crowded the front of the makeshift interrogation room. Soap and Ghost stood from the sides, each guarding an assailant. 

Three assailants had perpetrated the attack off-camp earlier and one of them was being questioned inside by the captains, including Laswell. Their group of six — now with three dead — ambushed the soldiers patrolling the camp in the early hours this morning. Hunter had been with the group doing her rotations.

She’s currently secluded in the camp’s infirmary being examined. One of the men was responsible for dislodging her right arm, plus a stab wound — unsure yet how many — aimed for the kidney.

How greatly you both wished to reciprocate an eye for an eye.

Griffs’s fury came from the battered state he saw his teammate in; your wrath came from the thought of Hunter’s suffering.

The captain turned on his heel to join the interrogation. “Damn it, Cap’n! I won’t kill the man!” he called after Benson. But he’ll wish he was dead, he mentally added. 

Everyone knew he’d charge with belligerence.

 Weston approached Griffs. “Listen to them, man. We need your head clear since more of them could come. I get how you’re doing this for Ariel’s sake, but don’t do it. Just — not like this.”

Unfortunately, reasoning with him was no use. Especially not when something upsetting caught Griffs’s eye.

“The fuck you smiling for, shitface?” Griffs reacted, chest heaving from anger. Everyone was stunned at his outburst but quickly found the cause.

One second their eyes were on one of the assailants; a second later they shifted to you.

No one had noticed you’d gotten close enough, except Ghost. The moment you pulled out your handgun, Ghost aimed his own at you. Your arm stiffened and hand tightened around the grip; gun’s muzzle aimed at the face of the smirking man guarded by Soap.

 “Got something you want to say?”

“San?” Soap exhaled under his breath and immediately lowered his gun as his gaze alternated between you and Ghost. He had reacted on reflex when he heard the cocking of a gun thinking it was an enemy. His heart fell when he saw you.

You took heavy steps towards the arrogant scum. “Pleas, prayers, confessions,” you spat, “now’s the fucking time to wag that tongue before I put a bullet through it — ”

“Stop there, Lieutenant!” Ghost commanded raucously. His warning fell on deaf ears but his finger hovered over the trigger. Soap’s eyes took in the dark look in your eyes, aggravation took over your senses. But, he empathized with your actions.

Soap knew the feeling all too well and decided right at that moment that he wouldn’t stop you. Not unless your intentions were to commit a grave mistake, only then would he interfere.

At the same time, Weston walked up behind you. “San, drop the gun.”

“I did,” confessed the man, adding fuel to the flames. “Too bad that girl didn’t kick the bucket or I’d’ve broken her neck too — “ Soap yanked him back by the collar tightly that made him choke. Griffs roared in frustration from the back. “Son of a bitch!”

Weston whispered in your ear hurriedly, “Give me the gun and I won’t stop you and Griffs from roughing him up a bit. No blades, just hands, clear?”

You give it thought.

Ghost lowered his gun as you surrendered yours. Soap’s eyes never left your face — taking in the fiery satisfaction that seemed to reflect in your eyes at the expense of your gun. Immediately, you advanced toward them and strode with feral purpose.

His organ lurched at the smirk that appeared on your lips, teeth peeking behind the flesh as it stretched. 

He drank in the sight, greedily.

Arrogance seemed to drain from the man’s face as you drew nearer. With the momentum of your last step you landed a forceful blow to his gut. The force knocked him back on to Soap, who only pushed him back forward.

“Where’d your smile go?” you mocked. “Forget about the bullet, so smile, asshole.” 

“You fucking cun—” You landed a second punch. His coughs doubled from the pain. Still, between broken breaths, he managed to make an empty threat. “I’ll kill you.”

He's painfully straightened back up by his hair. Soap tugged harder as the man thrashed against him.

Soap shot you a look, holding the man steady.

Do it. 

One look was all it took you to tighten your fists again then delivering three hard blows to the man’s stomach.

Third.

Fourth.

The fifth punch on his cheek.

Splat. He spat out a mixture of blood and saliva.

You breathed heavily as you scrutinized his state. 

He looked far better compared to Hunter’s. So you grabbed the halfway-unconscious man from Soap’s hold, dragging him roughly by the shirt as his legs struggled to catch up.

The man dropped to his knees and arms once you pushed him towards Griffs.

Griffs looked vengeful as he studied the weakened assailant whose smirk was long gone. His body thrummed with anticipation to finally get even. For Hunter.

“You wished you had broken her neck, you said?” he repeated dangerously.

Fear gradually enveloped the man, his legs scrambling to push against the dirt to get away from the soldier. “I had orders, okay? I was just following orders!” But he’s grabbed by the shirt once again hauled back up by Griffs.

The man wasn’t given a chance to respond when two punches pummeled the center of his face. “Your words, scum. Not theirs.” The consecutive punch that followed goes for his nose. 

Crunch.

 A string of blood and mucus seeped out his nostrils, stringing itself onto Griff’s knuckles.

A gurgled cry broke out. Weak, but panic-filled rush drove the man to push against the soldier. Holding on tighter, Griffs delivered a sharp and swift blow to the man’s forehead using his head.

“Mph —” Cross-eyed from the sudden blow, extreme dizziness clouded the man’s senses. “Fucking coward,” Griffs spat. He let go to flick the sap off his knuckles.

Another pair of arms wrapped around the man from behind.

“No, no! Please, stop. Get away from me!” the man cried out. You soldiers wouldn’t actually kill him on the spot… Right?

The muscles of your arms contracted around his neck, cutting his airway. 

“Ack —”

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two…

“Right. That’s it, both o’ you.”

With contempt, you released the unconscious man whose body fell sideways on the ground. “Johnny,” Ghost called out, and jerked his head towards you. “Get her out o’ here.”

Without delay, Soap led you away with his hand atop your shoulder guiding you forwards. 

Ghost’s authoritative voice gradually rendered the soldiers back to attention. He called out to Griffs, “Prop that sod somewhere else. You’ll bring him in, and he better be up an’ talkin’ by the time the boss asks for ‘im. ”

The lieutenant’s further instructions tuned out the further you got.

Now quiet and sobered, you followed the sergeant without resistance. Amidst the chilly air, his palm and arm gradually warmed your shoulders as it remained there. Soap’s silence was odd to you; he was never this silent, not even on duty. 

You picked up the pace which had him let go of you. You took a seat on the firm ground by the large roots of a tree. “Lost a tongue, MacTavish?” you asked without sparing him a glance.

Soap scoffed, feigning annoyance. “Och, again with the ‘MacTavish’, lass.”

You huffed from the ache in your hand that started to throb. Shallow peeled-skin had a fine layer of dried blood, but the rest of it was from the other guy and a mixture of other slimy substances.

You breathed in, then out. 

“If you plan on reporting us to the superiors,” you started, “it’d be wise for a promising soldier as you to get on with it; the faster the paperwork ‘bout our roughhousing gets done.”

Soap took his place on the other side of the tree; shoulder against it, weight leaning on one leg. “I’ll leave the decision to Ghost,” he answered, which you thought confirmed what you assumed: that you’ll end up suspended, or something fair. “But I wager he’d say ‘twas a disciplinary act. Probably less.” 

Soap saw how swiftly you eyed him through his peripheral. “Lieutenant Riley?” you asked with disbelief. Ghost would never let that ruckus go undisclosed, especially from the captains. The man doesn’t seem like the type of soldier to do such a thing. Plus, he seemed unbothered with shooting you down earlier till you passed your gun.

“You’re messing with me.”

Soap reacted with an upside down smile. “Am not.” He distinctly remembered the almost non-existent chuckle — more like scoff — from Ghost when both Griffs and you were passing the unfortunate man back and forth.

You slumped, unsure whether to believe his words or not.

“He wouldna stop a bonnie lass from getting her fill. A sight for sore eyes, you were.”

“‘Bonnie’?” you asked. Soap clicked his tongue at his forgetfulness that the Scottish slang was still new to you. “Means pretty. That gaze-stealing charm the likes of ye have.”

His answer is met with a stretched silence. 

“‘The likes of me’ — you calling me pretty now, sergeant?” 

Your teasing voice felt like a warm breeze seeping in the chilly air. Relieved by your response, Soap hummed in approval. “Bonnie and strong. Poor lad’s lights went out,” his tongue clicked with feign empathy. “I wouldna want to suffer a shameful fate by the same hands. I’d shit mah fuckin’ breeks — unconscious or no’.”

You bellowed a hearty laugh, eyes squinted from the stretch of your lips. Soap basked in the melting sound of your laughter warming his insides. It was his first time seeing you unguarded, all seriousness gone. It made his heart thicken knowing that he made you feel so. 

You stood as the last echoes of your giggles dissipated. Your head and heart were no longer heavy and throbbing. In fact, anger still lingered with the thought of Hunter being in the infirmary.

The sight of his raised brow and smirk was so contagious that you flashed him a playful one in return. “Bet you Scots shake people up with flattery. Nice trick, playboy. You got me.”

Soap relished with the nickname you called him, like he could flaunt it this second to anyone. His confidence grew by the second that at the height of the moment he spurted…

“Yer in luck. We only flatter the real bonnie ones we like.” Soap shrugged his shoulders as if to show triviality behind his reason. It was quite the opposite. 

He tried to mask his mini-confession by adding, “Well — people and whiskey.”

His words earned another fit of chuckles from you. “You like whiskey, huh?”

“ Aye. Hand me a glass of fine uisge, I’d nurse it the entire night.” His accent oozed. You watched as he swept a hand through his buzz cut hair.

Without really thinking you uttered the word, “Uisge… uisge…”

From his hair, his hand subtly moved down to cover the growing grin on his lips. “Uisge–beatha,” Soap slowly repeated in hopes to hear your best mimic. His hearing heightened with anticipation.

And you did not disappoint. 

“Uisge–beatha.” Before you could turn to see Soap’s reaction, he’s already walking away returning to camp. Confused as hell, you crossed your arms and waited a few seconds for him to call you to follow. He didn’t.

You were oblivious to notice how Soap flushed just from you mimicking him. He adored the way you put so much care in your pronunciation. His own reaction shocked him that he began to walk it off in hopes it would die down before you could see. 

You began to walk with rapid steps. “Where’re you going…Soap? Hey!” you yelled.

“You need to clean your hand. And I need a drink,” he said nonchalantly. 

“No drinking on-duty,” you reprimanded glaring at the back of his head, still unable to catch up.

With one further stride of your own, you knocked your shoulder against his arm. It was firmer than you thought. Curse his muscles. “That was for leaving me,” you said with a frown, staring ahead.

“I’m not drinking alcohol, I’m just thirsty. You, however, have that arse’s muck on ye with an open skin. It’s unsanitary, San.” Soap glimpsed at you. “Wash it thoroughly an’ I’ll patch it up for ye.”

Soap led you to the mobile latrines leaving you to wash up, whereas he left for the spare medical tent nearby to get the necessary medicine. Your shared tent with Hunter was closer compared to his. “I’ll meet you there.”

You’d been sitting on your bed, droplets of water dripping down your cheeks, chin, and fingers when he’d rejoined you. “I didn’t leave you looking like that,” he said amused as he drew nearer. You hummed, not bothered by your appearance. The cool water provided a refreshing sensation. 

“Do you want to stay in my good graces and help, or get kicked out?” His heart surged for the nth time that day seeing your heated temper spark from its brief slumber. 

Soap dropped down on one knee to your right while laying out the items on your bed by you. “Wee devil. Done with hands, using legs now?” he surmised. He offered up a hand and a raised brow asking permission.

You shot him a pointed look before placing your damp hand in his. He shook his head, hiding a small smile. He took an antiseptic wipe and carefully dabbed your knuckles with it. Observing his actions, you took note how precise his process was. He even cleaned the underside of your nails that hadn’t washed off entirely. 

“Thanks, Soap.”

“It’s nothing.”

You clamped your mouth shut from making him think otherwise. It is something you damn Scotsman.

“Consider us even. You don’t have to keep a lookout for me anymore.” 

He paused. For some reason, neither of you could look at the other. “You want me to stop?” he asked.

Soap felt how still you got, even your breathing paused a second too long. Your fingers in his palm pulsed a fraction before you nodded. “You’d waste your time if this went any longer.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Your eyes snapped to him. You took in the sergeant’s grim expression, even the brightness of his eyes were different. And based on the tone of his voice, Soap was angry. 

His expression had you confused all of a sudden, but sparked your own temper. “You don’t have to. I am telling you to stop.”

You were about to pull your hand back but his fingers clamped to your wrist. You bit back a swear and tugged harder. His hold slipped but he took you by surprise by lunging forward to pin you against your bed; arms caging you in place. His knees had pushed both your legs to the side preventing you from kneeing him in the crotch. 

You hissed, “How dare you —” 

His hand reached out to pin your wrist by your head. “Ye want me to stop?”

“Yes and get the fuck off me!”

Soap released a deep sigh, and shook his head. “Looking out for you, do you want me to stop?”

Your glaring eyes tore away to look past him. “Yes, and don’t make me repeat myself, asshole. Get off.”

The pad of his thumb on your pulse loosened. “Lying again,” he accused. Your heart rate and your behavior. He’d confirmed you were indeed lying.

Piece of shit. This idiotic piece of shit! You swore in mentally.

Seeing how emotionally strained you were, Soap did not like how he was the cause of it. He knew you would’ve fought against him harder but your confliction was apparent. You didn’t want to lay a violent hand on him. Not on Soap. Not on another good thing that made your job more bearable and worth it.

Soap fixated his gaze on your joint hands. “Back in our first operation, ye asked me if I was with you,” he said. “I am. I’m here an' we’re in this together. Just… say the word and I’ll get my hands bloody so you don’t have to.” He took another deep breath in. 

“I dinnae mind lookin' out for ye. It’s no' a waste of my time. Just, please, don’t push me away.”

As he waited for your reaction, subconsciously, he started to rub your wrist soothingly with his thumb; a quiet apology for pressing down on it earlier. 

“I’ll push you right now if you don’t get off of me.” Your sudden threat had him back off. Both of you were facing different directions, avoiding any accidental look at each other. “Sorry,” he muttered, the feeling of embarrassment creeping in. You covered your face with a hand, the ghost of Soap’s soothing touch left tingles. 

You couldn’t see how Soap had started to cave into himself from embarrassment. 

Soap couldn’t see how red your face had gotten. Or the palpitation of your heart.

Soap wanted to leave so bad but he wouldn’t, not when you haven’t given him an answer. He mustered up the tiny bit of courage he could. But your voice beat him first.

“Do whatever you want. I’m not the boss of you,” you breathed out exasperated with your feelings, dragging your palm down your face. “But if you cross a line, so God help me —”

'I'll get my hands bloody so you don't have to.' Your heart lurched.

You’re pulled back by the shoulder to properly face Soap. The shine in his eyes unmistakable.

“D'ye mean it, San?” he asked, elated with your answer. The frown on your lips dipped further but so did your flushed skin. He had a clear view of it now, and he drank it in as much as he could.

You wanted to escape from him. 

Soap withdrew when you stood. “Don’t follow me,” you spoke through clenched teeth as your hand swiped at your balaclava from atop your table. His longer legs caught up to you easily. Was even able to dodge your swinging arm while you demanded he leave you alone. 

He even held up the flap of the tent’s entrance as you marched past him. 

He was back to acting like his old self the moment you two were outside. “I dinnae like to leave ye. I'll keep ye company, wee Saint of mine.”

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph —

You pulled your mask down taut, shielding your identity from bypassers. One of the soldiers even called out to Soap as you walked — more like jogged — past. “Sergeant Soap! Garrick’s been wondering where you are. Said you’re needed by Cpt. Price —”

“They can manage without me! Thanks, chum!” Soap dismissed foolishly. Swatting his hand in the air like an insect was bothering him.

You turned back 'round to get up in his face. Scowling. “The captain’s looking for you, dumbass! You better get going or else I’m —”

“Or else you’ll, what?” he leaned down to your level. Smirk widening. Your brows, eyes, and nose bridge may have been the only skin visible but he caught sight of the slight tinge of red creeping beneath the hem.

He expected you to turn away and resume your escape, but he did not mind that you only stepped closer.

As if you weren’t close enough, you dared to challenge it. 

“You think I’m bluffing?”

“I dinnae believe it till I see it, lass.”

Your eyes pierced, accepting the challenge. “Bet.” 

the end

[tenabrye]

Could you do a millions knives fanfic I never seen any of them on this app

I hope you enjoy this one, even though it may be a little short. ;)

warning(s): slight obsessiveness, mentions of murder, slight gore, written with a female reader in mind

He always believed himself to be a being that was incapable of feeling anything for anyone, let alone a human. So, why did he feel something for you? Knives knew when his feelings slowly began, and that was when he had met you for the very first time. It was a situation that he knew would have been bad for you if he hadn't intervened. Normally, he wouldn't waste his time on humanities squabbles, but this time...this time felt different. He didn't know why, or how, just that something inside of him felt off when seeing you. Not to mention how strange you acted after the incident. How nice you were to him, thanking him profusely for his assistance.

You disregarded the fact that there were corpses littered around you, some missing their limbs, heads, and a torso. He also found it strange that you showed no fear towards him after what you witnessed him do. A normal human would have screamed, cried, even, perhaps called him a monster and ran off. You did none of that. Instead, you stood there with a smile on your face, hand holding his as you gently shook it in thanks. He could have killed you for touching him, but he didn't. Instead, he only stared at you, his mind swirling with reasons to justify your behavior in this situation. Was this the hospitality that he often heard with your species? Would you react any differently if he told you who he truly was? What all he has done in his life thus far?

Knives questioned himself on why he allowed you to even accompany him. He had no issues keeping himself safe, seeing as his very presence invoked fear in most he crossed paths with. But you? You were an entirely different story. Barely any skills to defend yourself with, and you were knowledgeable with certain things, so why did he continue keeping you around? The answer was plain as day when you were in yet another incident that almost cost you your life. Despite listening to his instructions to stay put--something he was fond of about you--trouble still found its way to you. While he knows many would not dare to intrude and provoke him, there were a few that did. Specifically a group of humans looking for yet another place to ransack. Knives had no need to waste his time on something his followers could make quick work of.

That was until he heard your scream. It was the first time he had ever heard you make such a horrific sound. His body had never moved so fast and he was at your location within seconds. He couldn't completely understand why the sight before him angered him so, but it did. Seeing you down on the floor, cuts littering your body as blood slowly seeped out from your wounds. Various men surrounded you, one having himself straddling your backside. He had a fistful of your hair in his hand while the other held a blade, which he pressed against your neck after lifting your head back. The men hadn't realized Knives' presence, their eyes solely on you, however, that all changed when one of them hollered out, causing the others to turn their attention on their comrade.

A metallic appendage shot through his chest, lifting him up a few feet off the ground before it shot up, splitting the man from the middle. His now lifeless body fell to the floor, causing the others to now stare at Knives. The man in question did not hesitate, nor did he allow them to draw their weapons. With only a mere twitch from his eyes did other metallic appendages shoot out at the men, quickly sinking into their flesh and ripping them apart. The one on top of you didn't have time to deal with you as the slender weapon wound itself around his neck and yanked him off of you. With a raised hand from its master, the appendage tightened its grip around the man's throat, its blade-like edges cutting into his skin. Knives then balled his hand into a fist and watched as the man's head detached from his body, falling to the floor with a thump. The body followed suit, not that Knives cared. His gaze was solely on you as he approached your still form.

He surprised himself at how gentle he was when picking you up in his arms. You were alive, and it was odd how it caused him to feel such relief at that. As you lay in a makeshift bed, resting, he kept to himself and mulled over the situation. He came up with more questions than answers at this point, but it didn't matter. It was a slow realization for him to understand that the reason he kept you around was that he had become obsessed. How different you were from most of the humans he encountered, the loyalty you showed, and how you treated him despite the way he treated you at times. It reminded him of a certain someone from his past so very long ago. He wasn't certain if this was changing him or not, distracting him from his goal. He just knew that he wanted you here, by his side, and that it was easier since you did so of your own free will. He wouldn't mind if he had to resort to more forceful tactics, though.

Knives may have hated humans, but he could perhaps make an exception for you. He deemed you worthy of his attention, worthy of his protection, worthy of being his. Did you care about his obsession? Did you not mind the lengths he's gone for you? The blood he's shed to keep you safe? He didn't know, nor did he care. All he cared about was that you now belonged to him, and he had no mercy on those that dared to mess with that.

[kittyball23]

So, here’s a oneshot request: Can you make an alternative version of your oneshot “Battle of the Bands”? So it’s basically the same, but except, there are some changes. And they’re focused on Veneer. On the outside, he acts how he acts in the original version, but inside, he has been keeping his secret that he has been secretly vocally trained by Floyd to find his true talent while Velvet was away, and Veneer comes up with his own plan inside, and at the climax of the oneshot, he turns against Velvet and joins Poppy, John Dory, Spruce, Clay, and Floyd and helps to free Branch. The reason I’m requesting this is because some people have been theorizing that Veneer will be redeemed. I would be glad if you did this idea.

I definitely had to finish writing this up after seeing the new Veneer clip that came out!

Redeemed (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: A slightly altered take to the oneshot "Battle of the Bands"; The final confrontation between the Trolls and the doll siblings takes place, with a twist for the better

__________________________________________

“STOP RIGHT THERE, YOU FREAKS!”

Shock jolted through Velvet when she heard that voice boom out at her. She stopped, midway to inhaling that sweet Troll essence that would make her the most envied diva in Mount Rageous, when she’d been interrupted. She saw the blue-haired Troll within smile, and followed his line of sight below to where six little Trolls had just made their way over.

John Dory had been the one to call out, with a determined look on his face.  Behind him were Clay and Spruce who, from the look of it, were ready to rumble. Alongside them were Poppy and Floyd. Poppy frowned up at the dolled-creature, while Floyd too put on a brave face. And, sidling up to Poppy was Viva, who had met up with the group and was just as prepared for the showdown as her sister. It was a display of courage on all their parts, though Velvet thought otherwise.

She began to laugh in an instant at the five little Trolls, finding them ridiculous.

Veneer, however, didn’t laugh along with his sister. So far, he had been agreeing with everything she’d said, and it had succeeded in having them rise to fame, sure… but the cost it was coming at had disturbed him greatly. Floyd had been captured before this Branch Troll. And Floyd could’ve easily ran away, but he didn’t. He came back to face them, even after the danger he knew he’d get into. Veneer suddenly stopped to think… would Velvet do the same sort of thing for him? He tried to avoid looking at Floyd, but he could feel the magenta Troll’s gaze on him. And it was one of disappointment.

“Excuse me,” John Dory shouted, “I believe you have something that belongs to us!”

“Or should we say, someone,” Spruce pitched in with a huff.

“Oh, really?” Velvet asked sarcastically. “Sorry, guys, but this diamond – and everything in it – belongs to ME. So if you want it, you’re gonna have to – “

“HIT IT!”

Velvet startled at the interruption, a part of her infuriated for having her victory spiel cut off, and a part of her confused for what started happening right after the Pop Queen had cried out the command. Because the six Trolls gathered together, and jumped right into a song-and-dance routine.

“Every little thing I do Never seems enough for you You don't want to lose it again But I'm not like them Baby, when you finally Get to love somebody Guess what? It's gonna be me!”

“Ugh, what the heck is this supposed to be?!” Velvet asked angrily, getting no response aside from more singing. She was going to turn away and disregard whatever nonsense was going on, when she noticed something happening. She had to blink to make sure that she was actually seeing correctly, and sure enough it was right there, clear as day. It was a sort of light that was glowing around the six, similar to when Floyd’s talent had been sucked out, and it was sparkling and thrumming with energy as the routine continued. The lights were all a different color that coordinated to each Troll – a vibrant green, an alluring purple, an electric yellow, a tame magenta, and a couple of bright pinks. It swirled and sparkled in a way that had Velvet in awe, so much that she was taken off guard when the energy shot right out at her in a surprisingly powerful burst.

She yelped and fell back, right on Veneer, and causing them both to fall down again in a tumble of skinny arms and legs. She was relieved to find that she’d managed to hold onto the diamond, but her heart dropped when she gave it a quick examination. Right there, stretching like an ugly scar on one side, was a large, and quite deep-looking crack. Velvet made a noise of surprise and ran her finger over it, hoping it was just a horrible illusion, that her twisted dream was not at risk of falling apart at the seams…

… but found that it was very much real.

Taking note of the surprise on her face, the Trolls cheered, feeling the entirely opposite way of their rival.

Velvet narrowed her eyes menacingly. “So that’s the way they wanna play,” she muttered, and in a fury she hauled Veneer up by the arm. “Get up already!” she growled. “Looks like we got ourselves a little Band Battle.”

“A Band Battle?” Veneer echoed, but before he could continue saying what he wanted to say, Velvet had already shoved a microphone at him and grabbed one for herself. He sighed. Velvet would never listen to a word he said anyways. She hadn’t when he’d tried to ask her if it was wrong to hold a living being hostage just to improve themselves in the limelight. She had just rebuffed him, telling him that if he really wanted the fame, he wouldn’t be asking “stupid questions” like that.

I DO want the fame, Veneer told himself. It was all he and Velvet ever wanted. To be recognized. To shine like stars. To have their names plastered on every billboard and to top all of the charts. To be able to have enough money to buy whatever they wanted, when they wanted. But, every time he wondered if it was the right way to go about it, something else always came up. Like the way that his sister started to sing, elbowing him roughly in the ribs to join her so that they could gain the upper hand.

“Sweet dreams are made of this Who am I to disagree I travel the world and the seven seas Everybody's looking for something…!”

The production, like all of their other productions, was very flashy, an over-the-top deal. Because with Velvet, it had to be. It annoyed Veneer sometimes, but she seemed like she knew what she was doing… especially when he suddenly felt energy surging through him. It wasn’t the same colorful, friendly type of thing that had encompassed the Trolls. This was a dark kind, not only in the dull black and enchanting green schematic, but also with the wickedness that came with it. It was the way poison would look, if poison could be depicted in an abstract form. It flowed through Velvet too, and she grinned as their song blasted the Trolls back in a replica of what had happened to them moments earlier, only this time, the tables had been turned.

But the Trolls were as steadfast as they were musical.

“Don’t give up!” Poppy ever optimistically urged them. “We can do it!”

The group sang again, determined to prove it.

And Velvet and Veneer sang back at them, determined to put an end to it. Or, at least the former did. Veneer was starting to wish this whole ordeal could be over with. Why couldn’t they all just get along?

But back and forth the supercharged music went, both ends were vastly different, and both were putting up quite the challenge against each other. But it was when the Trolls pulled together on another one of their verses, putting every bit of heart and soul into it that things in the battle began to sway. In a loud, clear crescendo, the brothers, Viva, and Poppy succeeded in creating a massive sonic-like explosion. The diamond cracked significantly more, rooting out from its initial crack so that it formed smaller ones, like tree roots or branches.

The siblings noticed and gasped, but Velvet was quicker to react. She adjusted her golden top better, straightened the loose emerald-colored curls on her head, and gripped the microphone so tightly that her knuckles turned far whiter than they already were.

Their musical counterattack, much to the Trolls’ distress, superseded their song. The soundwave was violent and overwhelming, wracking the Trolls body with horrible electrical pulsations that blew them backwards. While nobody suffered a physical injury, it seemed that their resolve was weakened.

“Hehehe, we’re winning! We’re WINNING!” Velvet giggled, clutching Veneer’s arm and jumping up and down like an excited little girl.

“Yeah… woo-hoo…” Veneer half-heartedly replied. He glanced over at the Trolls, who were growing distressed. Floyd in particular was looking quite worn, and Veneer felt guilt at knowing that it was because of him. The power that he and Velvet had drained from Floyd was what had been helping them ride off the battle. It had been the reason for the magenta Troll’s hair to turn white and his skin to have turned a strange, transparent color. Floyd had been the one to try and help Veneer, something that he had yet to tell Velvet, and this was how he repaid him? Holding his brother hostage in order to deplete him as well?

But just then, a new voice filled the air. And it was Branch’s.

“Let me take you to a better plaaaace,

I’m gonna make you kiss the sky tonight

Yeah if you let me show the waaay,

I’m so excited, to see you excited!

Take you to a better place (yoo hoOooOo)

And baby you can love me on the way

We’re flying up to outer spaaace,

I’m so excited, to see you excited!”

From within the cracked diamond, his voice carried on strongly, and the six Trolls were inspired.

Poppy was the first of the six to add her voice in the mix. While not an official BroZone member, she still knew the exact words of the song by heart, and sang them with much heart put into it. Viva put an arm around her and joined in…

Then JD followed in after her...

.. then Spruce...

... then Clay...

... then Floyd...

... who joined with the others harmoniously so that they were creating a heart-stopping sound... But there was still a question on their minds - would it be that perfect Family Harmony?

Velvet didn't want to wait to find out. As soon as Branch had started singing, she’d grabbed her mike and was prepared to retaliate harder than before. “Come on, Veneer! We can beat them!”

But Veneer was no longer on the same page as his sister. He was fed up. These Trolls were working so hard to save their family member, and Velvet just wanted to continue to make things difficult for them. This time, he was not going to let it slide.

“NO!” he shouted to her.

Velvet gaped at him. “What?”

“You heard me. I said NO!” Veneer said firmly. He tossed his microphone on the ground and kicked it to the side. “I’d love to be famous with you, Velvet… but not like this.” He shook his head and crossed his arms.

Velvet’s cheeks were turning crimson. “How else are we gonna be famous?!”

Veneer had an answer for that. “We just have to practice. It might take time, but that’s how it is. Fame doesn’t just come overnight. You have to work at it, and have the right people by your side.” He looked over at Floyd, who had told him those very words at one point during his capture. That it was possible for him to be a great singer without having to use Troll essence. Floyd looked proud to see that Veneer was using his advice to stand up against his sister and grinned.

"That Troll has been getting to your head!" Velvet growled.

"That 'Troll' has shown me that I do have real talent within. And that we don't have to do this!" To hammer in his point, Veneer stepped away from Velvet and stood by the Trolls’ side. “I don’t want to be a part of this scheme anymore, sis!” he cried, and then joined in singing with the Trolls.

“Let me take you to a better plaaaace,

I’m gonna make you kiss the sky tonight

Yeah if you let me show the waaay,

I’m so excited, to see you excited!

Velvet shrieked in anger. “Fine then, be that way! I always knew you were good for NOTHING!” She picked up her microphone and sang back, angry at her brother’s betrayal.

“Sweet dreams are made of this Who am I to disagree I travel the world and the seven seas Everybody's looking for something…!”

The dark magic was strong and wild, and struck against the Trolls' harmonious one, entangling it in a mess of twisted energy. It was difficult to tell which of the two sides were winning with how stunningly chaotic things became, the rays fighting and wrestling, good against bad, in a heated struggle for dominance.

But the group still kept on singing.

Poppy and Viva sang like they never did before in all of their lives. John Dory gave it all his boldness, Spruce all his heart, Clay all his spunk, Floyd all his sincerity, and Veneer all his determination.

And the doll-like sister was giving it their all too - all their spare stolen talent that is, which was rapidly being depleted.

She took no notice until Veneer's voice suddenly cracked and became pitchy at a key note in the song.

"Some of them want to use you, some of them want to be ab -ACK! UGHCK CAH!” She coughed suddenly over the unexpected interruption. In a panic, she tried again quickly, opening her mouth and willing her vocal chords to cooperate, but what came out was less than stellar. It was there that she realized that she was losing. Her gaze honed their gaze on her most precious possession.

The diamond!

She reached for it, and immediately drew back, giving a sharp cry for the sudden, electric ZAP that had erupted from Branch's enclosure. Velvet suddenly regretted not having inhaled his talent right when she had the opportunity. It was as though the Troll musical magic had created a forcefield, preventing her from even laying a finger on the diamond.

Then the most marvelous thing happened.

And that, folks, was the accomplishment of impossibly fabled perfect Family Harmony.

It was exactly as mystically glorious as the brothers remembered it, with all of the colors and light and absolutely in-sync sensation that coursed through their veins. Their magic pulsed and glowed, stronger than ever and - if one looked closely enough - it could be sworn that it formed the image of one great, big ethereal apparition of a Troll… One who, in the climactic moment of the band's union, blasted out a massive burst of pure, bright, rainbow-colored energy. The last thing Velvet saw before the force of the energy blasted her from the yacht they were on into the river below was the diamond, rippling and snapping, and then making the telltale CRRRRRAAAACKK! that indicated that it had broken completely.

Branch, also blinded by the light, had hardly realized what had happened, barely getting a sense of where he was, at least until he felt himself surrounded by Poppy, Viva, and his brothers.

“WE DID IT!” Poppy cheered, squeezing Branch in a tight hug. “WE DID IT! WE DID IT! Oh, Branch, I’m so glad you’re okay!!”

“Oh, Poppy!” he cried in relief, holding her just as tightly and never wanting to let go. He’d been fearful that he could never have her in his arms again, but that fear could now rest at ease.

His older brothers were just as pumped as the Pop Queen. “WOO-YEAH!” John Dory shouted. “She’s right – we did it, we owned it, we brought the house down! Or at least that evil diamond… WOOOO!” He made his rounds with the brothers, chest-bumping with Spruce, double-high fiving with Clay and Viva, and lovably noogy-ing Floyd.

At his feet, the diamond pieces lay scattered by Veneer. Finally, the one item that had been the cause of all the turmoil had been decimated. He felt bad for his sister Velvet, but he would’ve felt worse if he’d let her continue on with her awful plan. Hurting someone and being a big phony were not the ways to accomplish anything.

He suddenly felt a presence beside him, and looked down to find Floyd. Veneer swallowed, twiddling his thumbs and feeling incredibly guilty.

“Hey, um… no hard feelings?” he asked, kneeling down and putting his hand out to show that he meant no harm.

Veneer was lucky in the fact that Floyd was not one to hold a grudge. The magenta Troll smiled up at him and accepted his hand for a shake. “No hard feelings,” he assured.

The Trolls all breathed a sigh of relief. Things were back to the way they were supposed to be - as in, nobody being kept hostage as a talent slave! Which meant…

Branch and his brothers all exchanged glances with each other.

“Sooo… what do we do now?” John Dory asked.

Poppy shrugged. “Well, we could head back to Pop Village… I mean, that is, if you wanna go back?” 

She scanned the brothers’ faces, who seemed to be a little doubtful at her suggestion.

“Back to Pop Village?” Spruce asked.

“We haven’t been there in years…” Clay mumbled. It wasn’t even in the same place, with how they’d all learned about the relocation into the forest after King Peppy’s evacuation on that one Trollstice. One glance at Viva and he knew that she too felt the same way as he did.

“I barely remember what it even looks like!” the Putt Putt Queen admitted.

But it was a homecoming long in the making, and one that Branch - who stood silently in between Poppy and Floyd with bated breath – was hoping that they’d go for.

Luckily, his brothers’ thoughts were right on the same track.

“Sure, we’ll go!” John Dory said, speaking up for the band. “But only on one condition…”

“What is it?” Floyd asked curiously.

JD grinned slyly at his magenta-haired brother. “That none of us ever see another diamond again!”

And everybody laughed, sharing the same exact sentiments.

[pencilpat]

okay okay! first i wanted to say i love your art! it's so unique and cool!! also super soft when you do moceit and analogical 🥺🩵💛 💜💙 i think those are the characters i find perfect in your style, logan is just 💙✨ (/gen)

so! on the topic of moceit and analogical, maybe some headcanons you have for both pairings? :3 🩵💛 💜💙

Thank you, that's so sweet of you to say! I love every tag you leave on my art, and the whole system is glad you enjoy our work!

Moceit:

Patton has trouble with seeing the other sides as equals, tending to view himself as an authority figure. Not only was Janus the first to challenge this, he was the first to become an equal. Janus challenges a lot of Patton's preconceived ideals and it's good for him - Patton has been living by the morals of a child while also putting himself in a role of power over the others. Janus is needed in order to break apart that dynamic.

Janus and Patton really both love hanging out in the outdoors, and just being around each other and chatting quietly is their favourite way to spend time. Very old married men behaviour.

Janus isn't much of a cuddly person, but Patton very much is. Janus is willing to concede to bedtime cuddles and maybe 5 hugs a day, but no more, no less.

Janus rarely talks about himself and his emotions, he's not fond of the vulnerability that comes with sharing facts about yourself. However, Patton tells Janus everything about himself. To the point that Janus knows about his cold shoulders, even though Patton didn't even know why Janus likes Halloween best.

Patton crochets so many warm clothes for Janus to use during winter to keep him from getting all slow and foggy brained. Janus can become nearly catatonic if he gets extremely cold, and Patton tries to help him stay warm as possible to prevent it.

Analogical:

I LOVE queer romantic analogical!! They care for each other so greatly, even if it couldn't necessarily be defined as a 'relationship', and neither of them want a relationship anyways. (aroace kings)

Logan writes fanfic and Virgil lays against his back on the bed and just hangs out with him. He calls it "nerd stories" but he loves editing for him and proofreading his work (and he loves the opportunity to spend time with Logan and engage his interests and passions in general).

Logan really enjoys letting Virgil show him his music! He enjoys breaking down the beats and melodies logically and the excitement of discovering new things. Logan is an emo and goth music fan by proxy.

Both of them are a bit touch averse and not incredibly physically affectionate, so cuddling or even hugging is rare between them. They much prefer to parallel play beside each other, doing their own thing yet enjoying each other's company.

Virgil truly understands Logan's current struggle, being disregarded and pushed aside, having your opinions discredited and ignored. That's why he never gets mad at Logan for snapping or jumping to conclusions that people hate him. After all, Logan was the one that taught him about cognitive distortions. Virgil is pretty much the only person Logan will accept comfort from at this point.

That's all that is on my mind for now, I love both of these ships so deeply <3

[sleeplessdreamer123]

Fanfic Idea! (Could be Lucemond, if you squint, where instead of dragons, they are made to be avatars)

Aemond making a contract with Vhagar, the god of war, just after the funeral of Laena, has caused the family rift to grow ever larger.

In Old Valyria, there are steps when it came to becoming the next avatar of whatever spirit or god of the deceased, the immediate family is given first priority above all, they were supposed to have time to mourn, at least fourteen days before a contract would be formed, but of course, Aemond disregarded that, the same way Alicent and her father disregarded the mourning period of the queen before entering the king's chambers.

As soon as night fell, he went to the Pit, the ancient grounds where Valyrians could form a contract with their gods and spirits, and offered himself up as an avatar. Unlike in his birth, where none showed any interest in him, leaving him screaming his lungs out as his father looked on unhappily, this time, a figure of Vhagar showed himself.

He was in the state of disarray, needing a vessel, any vessel, and Aemond was the only vessel in sight. At least, that was the explanation of Daemon, who's anger rised as his daughters felt like they lost their mother all over again.

During the argument, Lucerys has slashed the eye of Aemond, and claimed it was Arrax who sought it fit, a punishment to both the avatar and the god who did not follow the rules of the exchange. Of course, Alicent calls it all lies, claiming that Lucerys attacked Aemond simply because of jealousy that a powerful god has chosen him as a vessel. Rhaenyra immediately called her unfit to talk, as she is not a Valyrian, she knows nothing of their ways, nor what she speaks of.

A fight in the pit, each Valyrian glowing as their contracted gods and spirits were sensing a fight to start, bestowing them a miniscule of their powers to aid them.

When Alicent said she wished to claim the eye of Lucerys, her son screamed, and looking at him, the injury glowed. Lucerys' own eyes glowed, and he repeated his words. The punishment was just, both refused to wait, both decided to forego the rites of Laena's immediate family, and so, both were punished, an example given.

Alicent, enraged, pulled ser Criston's knife in sn attempt to do bring justice into her own hands, only to be stopped by Rhaenyra. She was wounded by the knife, and her golden blood dripped from it.

The families, though split years ago, has officially separated after that night.

They were reunited a few years later, though not in a happier tone, as Vaemond decided to make an appeal, to remove Lucerys as heir, to the dissaproval of many.

After his beheading, they were all to meet again, greeting each other through kissing their cheeks, though Aemond seemed to have lingered quite a bit when it came to Lucerys, his eye glowing as Vhagar forced himself to look at Arrax's avatar once more.

His contract with Vhagar was not an easy one. Due to the punishment, they could not fully bind themselves together, often fighting for control, causing Aemond to have immense headaches. Though he was given Vhagar's strength and knowledge in combat, he was also given Vhagar's rather unruly personality, quick to anger, quick to fight. They could understand themselves well enough, but their emotions do trigger the other much more than it should. Vhagar has been behaving well enough, however, after the trial. Perhaps the presence of the avatar of the god who punished him was keeping him at bay, as Aemond noticed Vhagar's interest in him.

It did not last long, sadly, as Lucerys' laughter grated Aemond's ears, and his self control was taken over by Vhagar's anger. A not-so-hidden insult in a toast, and the fight began again.

Then the king died, and the war started, and Vhagar, chased Arrax in the sky. Lucerys' near death severed Arrax's only way to the world, and though Lucerys was brought back to life, he could no longer feel Arrax, the connection between them broken beyond repair. For the first time since his birth, Lucerys was alone, his soul, his body feeling completely empty, and incomplete.

Aemond doesn't understand what Vhagar was feeling, his emotions jumbling up with Aemond's so much he didn't understand if they were his or Vhagar's. He feels sadness, he feels pain, he feels shock, he feels delight, he feels remorse, he feels many things, but most of all, he feels hollow, as he watched Lucerys cry out to Arrax, a connection he could never truly understand.

With this, Vhagar has completely acted differently, he was subdued, in a way. Though his strength and knowledge in combat is still shared, he has not tried to take over Aemond again.

Aemond feels he is mourning, though for who, he doesn't really know, nor does he understand. He does notice Vhagar's interest in Lucerys has increased, with every time he goes to him, Vhagar makes himself known, looking at him, as if he was looking for something within him, perhaps he wished to see if Arrax has returned?

He doesn't, and as Daemon meet him in the sky, the spirit of the Blood Wyrm encircling him, giving him the strength for one last shot, Vhagar seemed to accept his end, rather than fight it, something that is so against everything he has shown himself to be. As he prepared himself for his end, he could feel Vhagar's relief, as Daemon plunged his sword to his other eye, he felt Vhagar leaving him to go who knows where.